Whatever your tradition, Happy Thanksgiving

3:30 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning and I’m wide awake. I’m writing this from a little town dotted in the middle of a cornfield (literally) in Northwestern Ohio. This is where Lisa’s family lives and where I’m thankful she escaped from. If I wanted a life partner that hails from some romantic far-off shore, I looked in the wrong place. Her family is as pure bred mid western American as it gets. All are hard working with a do-the-right-thing mentality. They were warm and inviting when I met them for the first time – 10 Thanksgivings ago –and they are no less today. Lisa’s Dad is an interesting man. He’s a guy that can fix anything and he is quite accepting of the fact that I can fix nothing. Instead of lecturing me on how I should possess some of these qualities, he just brings his tool box down to Florida a couple of times a year and swings his hammer around my house until the jobs are done. He’s fixed soffits, rewired rooms, built gates, installed lighting and generally picked up the slack for his inept son-in-law. His conversation is intelligent and engaging. I love when this guy visits and I love visiting him. So here I am.

Earlier this month I wanted to get a traditional Thanksgiving recipe up since I haven’t written a new recipe in a while. I’ve come to realize that wasn’t going to happen. It turns out my life isn’t very traditional. Currier and Ives has no colorful depiction of my last 43 years. Now this isn’t a complaint, mind you, just a fact. I’ve travelled for a living for the past 7 years and I now have an apartment in Ft. Lauderdale where I spend my weeks as my family continues their life 4 hours away. As a very young boy, I recall a family steeped in tradition. We all gathered at Grandma’s house (on my mom’s side) in Erie, Pennsylvania and sat at one very long table that ran the entire length of their formal dining room. I remember saying grace then passing around platter after platter of very traditional fare. From a foodie point of view in the 21st century, most of you would have been appalled. Boxed, canned and processed was considered en vogue. In the 1960’s, canned foods were in their adolescence and the idea of opening canned corn and canned cranberry sauce was way more appealing than making it. I was well into my 30’s before canned vegetables disappeared from my own pantry. Still, it was these moments that I remember from my earliest Thanksgivings and Christmases that are the only remnants of true traditional family holidays.

When I was 6, we moved to Florida permanently. Like many others, my folks really needed to escape the cold weather. Winters in Erie could be brutal. My dad’s parents had already made the break to the south some years earlier and we had spent a year there when I was about 3 before returning to the snow. We actually rented a place just a few blocks from where I currently live on Lake Tarpon while my parents had a house built. We returned to Erie a few more times over the years for occasional holidays and family get-togethers. Our last big family gathering was when I was 16 for my grandmother’s 90th birthday. All my cousins and aunts and uncles celebrated her joyous life. She was humble and ladylike in all she did. She never wore pants, only skirts or dresses, and her hair and makeup were always done just subtly perfect. I was her youngest grandchild and she paid me every bit of attention that a youngest grandchild could ever hope for. The next year, grandma died. She left with me, though, the memory of a striking woman who took her matriarchal responsibilities very seriously. Now that mom and her siblings are also all gone, I’m glad I had those times.

After those early years, holidays became a hodgepodge. When we didn’t go up north, we would have Thanksgiving and Christmas with just the three of us. It was caring and loving and I was oh-so-thankful that I could ride a new bike on Christmas morning without the cold, but there was something missing without the family all gathered together. When I started my own family, I was in the military where tradition is hard to maintain. Then my colorful 20’s produced a couple of marriages and 5 kids. This made it even more impossible to make holiday gatherings consistent. Make no mistake, we’ve had spectacular holidays. It’s really about surrounding yourself with those you love and not who’s house you gather at. My kids and I have managed to be together most holidays and for that I am grateful.

Being with Lisa’s family transports me back to a time when I was a child. Her dad’s house has the same creaky floors that grandma’s did. They use a tea kettle that whistles and the coffee is instant. When we gather later today at Aunt Linda’s house, the cranberry sauce will come from a can and I will eat it. The green bean casserole will be topped with canned fried onions and I will eat it. There will not be one dish from Bon Appétit magazine or The Food Network or anywhere else other than the 3x5 card index that Aunt Linda has been using for as long as she’s been making the holiday meal. I can’t wait for the raspberry pie (made with raspberry jell-o, sugar, cornstarch and frozen raspberries). The kids will run around like mad, the ladies will gather and chat and the guys will gawk at the always lopsided Thanksgiving football games. Later, a friendly card game will develop in the basement where I plan to clean out Aunt Betty yet another year. While I’m not with my older kids this Thanksgiving, I am helping my 5-year-old Olivia form her future tradition with Lisa’s family. My wish is that she grows to cherish that as I did.

Sorry for no Thanksgiving holiday recipe this year (it is a food blog after all), but instead just a hope and wish for you to be surrounded by loving family. I do plan on cooking for Christmas and I do plan on playing with a few new recipes for the holiday meal, so I will be sharing that in the coming weeks.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!

An American Institution

I know I’ve written a lot about steaks lately so let me apologize right up front. I have no greater affinity for steak than I do other foods; I love it all. It’s just that I’ve been to a couple of places lately that commanded my attention and last week was no different. On my second trip to New York City in less than a month, I was planning to have at least one great meal. On my first trip, I worked too many hours to really seek out anything other than the great neighborhood food that Chelsea has to offer. While I wasn’t even remotely disappointed with that idea, I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to look for that special destination that I always look for. This time would be different. My hours were a bit more normal at work so the evenings were mine.

After reading about and seeing several TV spots dedicated to Peter Luger Steak House, I wondered how far my Long Island hotel was from the place. Turns out, Great Neck, NY (just outside the city) had a location 12 miles from me –so off I went. I was pretty excited. I knew that this place had been in business for over a hundred years. I knew they had a unique way of selecting their prime beef (only certified family members could select the meat). I knew they were rated New York’s #1 steakhouse time and again by many publications. I knew I had to eat there.

Walking in to the restaurant was a bit unimpressive. Dark beams running in the walls, dim colors and stained glass windows inspired thoughts of lederhosen, oversized blond women sloshing steins of beer and large Oktoberfest banners draped across the ceiling. I’m a firm believer in preserving tradition, but I have no need to sit beneath a dimly lit sconce to look at my menu. Plus this is a newer location (there are only 2) just a short ride from the original. They could have fast forwarded at least a few decades, if not a century, from the original.

While many of the reviews I read citied overly rude host and wait staff, I was greeted by friendly people and served by a wonderful waiter who wanted to make sure my first experience here was great. He succeeded. If the décor was unimpressive, the menu is less so. There are only a few choices to select from and there are no real choices on the cut of steak. Everything is “Steak of one”, “Steak for two”, etc. There’s a fish of the day, roast chicken, pork chop, a few sides and appetizers. It’s obviously about the steak. Steaks are always porterhouse. Unfortunately for me, “steak for one” is just the NY strip without the adjacent filet but after watching a few steaks go by, there was no way I could down the two-finger thick “Steak for two”. I settled on the classic Peter Luger meal: a tomato and onion salad, a slice of grilled bacon, creamed spinach and “Steak for one” with hash browns. The salad was chuck wagon style. Thick sliced onion and thick sliced beefsteak tomato and that’s it.

The waiter said it is eaten with the house made Peter Luger steak sauce. While there was nothing special about this, the steak sauce was great.

It has the requisite smoky, vinegary, tomato-y flavor of most steak sauces with an added horseradish kick. I took a bottle home. The bacon slice was unique, delicious but a little unnecessary.

The creamed spinach was also just… um… well, creamed spinach. Tasty… good… but creamed spinach. I’m not even going to talk about the hash browns.

But the steak! This is what makes Peter Luger famous. Set before me was still a sizzling, pre-sliced NY strip that couldn’t have looked more magnificent. The contrast of dark outer char and pink medium-rare center were only topped by the beefy smell and buttery drippings that are drizzled over the meat tableside.

This could be a post card, a greeting card or a screen saver. The flavor was packed with perfectly dry aged lightness. It was tender, succulent and frankly, the best steak I’d ever eaten.

Seared under an 800 degree broiler just like they were 120 years ago, Luger found a magic that persists. Any disparity about my salad and sides melted away just like the rich mineral-flavored beef did as it passed my lips.

While the critics pan the cash only policy, boring side dishes and marginal service, there are few businesses that have thrived since the late 19th century. Just like the sizzling steak that is set before the guest, that says something. I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, maybe a few things but, hey, this is Peter Luger’s legacy.

Second City -out and about in Chicago

What a boring week I expected. The call came asking me to journey to Madison, Wisconsin. In my 43 years, not one soul has ever mentioned a reason I should visit Madison, Wisconsin. I know it’s a college town but since I’m not of college age, I saw no intrigue in this trip. Oh well, after the previous week in New York, a little down time in a boring place was welcome. I guess I could try some cheese. I landed late on a Monday night and grabbed a quick hotel next to the airport. Tuesday morning, I was at work at sunup. By noon, my phone was blowing up about an emergency in Chicago and I needed to get there ASAP. Chicago… Madison… Chicago… Madison… Chicago it is. Showing my geographic ignorance, I had to look at a map to see where the hell I was. Turns out, it’s only a 3 hour drive but if you’d have told me it was a 4 hour plane ride, I’d have believed you. By early afternoon, Madison, Wisconsin was clearly in my rearview mirror. If I missed any wonders that town had to offer, I’d have to settle for some dining experiences in Chicago as a consolation.

After a few hours getting some work done, I found myself in a downtown Chicago hotel on State Street. Everything was in walking distance, it seemed. Some short steps from my door was a restaurant I’d driven or walked by on previous visits. I’d always said I wanted to eat there but never had. Tonight I was going to the Weber Grill Restaurant. Chicago is famous for its steak houses and Weber is famous for its grills, so the marriage of the 2 has to be the perfect gastronomic love affair. Deciding to give this place a try was not an easy call though. Also in walking distance were Gino and Geogetti’s as well as The Chicago Chop House. Both of these restaurants set the bar pretty high for a great steak in the city of great steaks. Still, I wanted to stay true to the commitment of trying something new and the opportunity was ripe.

Usually the experience of a great Chicago eatery comes with an aura of dining in a 1930’s backdrop. Dark, hardwood walls with dim protruding sconces and dark paintings of men in suits. White tablecloths and crystal glasses with middle aged men having late night business meetings over a porterhouse and baked potato. That’s the Chicago I think of. You can toss that idea out the window at Weber. The clientele on the night I visited was a mix of youth and tourist. The room was large and open. The length of the restaurant is an open kitchen and the back wall is a row of stainless kettle grills under massive ventilation fans.

Conversations were loud, beer seemed to be the drink of choice and wait staff were running fast to keep up. The bar where I wanted to eat was packed 3 deep so I ordered a drink and proceeded to wait. I would not be deterred. Once I finally elbowed my way into a seat, I got a menu and ordered the French onion soup and a hand cut, dry aged New York strip. The soup was exceptional with a rich blanket of Gruyere cheese hiding the luscious, sweet onion laden broth below. My steak followed. It was perfectly seasoned, perfectly medium rare and perfectly unpretentious. There’s something about steak in the Midwest. As the cuts are being shipped to butchers shops around the country, there must be some clandestine gatekeeper whose job it is to reserve only the best beef for Chicago. While they did provide me with a steak knife, a butter knife would have done the job. I had a fantastic meal at a fraction of the price I’d have paid at one of the aforementioned steak houses.

On the second night, I strode out into the blustery wind that gives the city its nickname. The day had been unseasonably warm for October, but after the sun set and the wind picked up, fall was making its presence known. My plan for dinner was to find a corner bistro or pub or whatever looked good without looking too hard. I walked a few blocks down Rush Street then doubled back toward State Street. I walked by an Italian place with no intention of stopping in initially but the wind was beginning to wear me down. Ok, at the very least I would have a cocktail at the bar at Osteria Via Stato. The décor was slightly haughty and perhaps a bit pretentious but the bar was warm and inviting. I asked to see a menu while sipping a Manhattan –a bartender recommendation since they make their own sweet vermouth. I was blown away by their inspired offerings. This was one of those places that I wanted to try everything and I almost passed it by. This is not your typical family style Italian fare of lasagna and manicotti. While there were traditional dishes on the menu such as classic carbonara and pappardelle with a signature 3 meat ragu, there were less conventional dishes like a hunter’s stew made with quail, rabbit and housemade sausage or the slow cooked pork shank with Tuscan kale and white beans. This was a fortuitous find.

With too many wonderful choices, I asked the bartender if the kitchen could present a few small plates in lieu of full entrees. That way I could taste more. She checked and it was no problem to get a side order portion of anything –so to ordering I went. Grilled baby octopus with roasted fingerling potatoes was first.

Exquisitely tender and bathed in butter and lemon, the octopus had that ideal texture and flavor and the potatoes were an unexpectedly wonderful accent. Great dish. I’m going to have to try to work with octopus. Next plate was the special for the night: beef short rib risotto. Need I say more? Decadent, creamy and rich are the only words that come to mind. I’m rarely speechless when it comes to food but this is close.

Last was the cavatelli. There are several different pronunciations for this, none of which sound like the spelling. “Gav-a-deel” is the one I’m most familiar with. Hand rolled pastas about an inch and a half long made with ricotta cheese then sautéed in butter with a wild mushroom broth, these are the best cavatelli I have ever eaten.

Simple and sumptuous with a pan roasted rich flavor, these were the star of my dinner. I can’t imagine a better meal. I left this almost-passed-by restaurant completely satisfied.

Chicago is a city full of life and wonders and the great food is only one of its draws. If you pass through town, I also recommend The Green Mill –Al Capone’s old hangout, which looks much like it did in the 20’s. The booze is legal now, there’s usually some live blues playing and the atmosphere is engaging. Kingston Mines is a one of a kind blues bar where the artists are always noteworthy and they have two stages so that when one band ends, another begins. Passing-through-town celebrities frequent this unique bar and I’ve had some great times here.

It wasn’t such a boring week after all.

Start spreading the news -New York

New York City. What can anyone say that hasn’t already been said? If you’ve been there, you already know and if you haven’t, you can only imagine. I’ve visited the city maybe a dozen times. I’ve eaten deli sandwiches so big that there is a difference in air temperature from the top to the bottom. I’ve mopped up amazing Ethiopian spiced meals with the spongy flat bread they serve. I’ve wandered the amazement that is Chelsea market, marveled at the unending choices of street vendors, sampled dim sum in Chinatown, picnicked in Central Park and dined at The Four Seasons. Yet, I haven’t even scratched the surface. The city holds so many culinary wonders that thousands –thousands, of books, articles, periodicals and blogs are solely dedicated this one-of-a-kind city. The sensory cacophony is overwhelming. That’s why I love it so. It’s the rush.

I was in town on business during a crisp, fall week recently. My work kept me much busier than I’m used to and I really only had late night dinners to enjoy and unwind. That’s fine by me though, because the best food you’ll ever taste is only 2 blocks from wherever you’re standing in the Big Apple. In most cities, I turn to the internet for guidance on where to get the best local fare, but not in New York. The best way to experience food culture of this metropolis is to simply go for a walk. You won’t travel far. My first day there was a bit of a blur. I worked late; very late. I didn’t get to my hotel till around 9:30PM after a 14 hour day. I was pretty exhausted. In these situations I typically order in and keep my expectations low. Greasy and poorly flavored Chinese food or some chain restaurant pizza is my standard. But here, in the world’s most diverse gastronomic town, I’m just as excited to order in as I would be to dine in any fancy restaurant. On this night, it’s pizza.

A trip to New York without eating pizza would be like going to the beach on a hot summer day and not even putting your feet in the water. It’s anti-American. It’s heresy. I ask the guy at the desk for the number of the closest place that delivers and he gave me the number for Tostino’s Pizza. I didn’t ask him for the best; just the closest. I didn’t have to. Any sub-par pizza place in New York would last about 3 hours. An hour later, a perfect pie was sitting in front of me and I was in heaven. Notice those black, crunchy bits yet each slice was designed to be folded in half and eaten in messy fashion. Not laden down with heavy ingredients or thick sauce, this pizza represents Americana, New York style. Of course you can get good pizza around the country (although every good New Yorker will argue that –they say it’s in the water), but what you don’t get is the volume. If you accidentally pass the pizza place on your left, the one a block down on the right is just as fantastic. Had I gone home the next morning, this pizza in my hotel room was all I would have needed to be satisfied.

The next day was just as grueling at work. I got back to my room pretty late and pretty tired. Still I had to venture out. I was in the mid-town neighborhood of Chelsea and I knew there was food to be had. In mid-town alone, there are around 2500 restaurants. I didn’t have to go far. Stepping out into the cool night, I walked all of a block before an Italian bistro caught my eye. Restivo’s has a patio out front (for the warmer days) and an inviting bar just inside the front door. The room was a bit dark –just soft lighting, and I thought I caught a glimpse of Frank Sinatra sitting at one end. The smell from the kitchen permeated every corner of the room. I could smell sauces, garlic, pasta and spices. Perfect. This looked like a great place for a late dinner. The menu was exactly what I expected. Classic Italian fare with few frills.

No one sits at a bar in New York without talking to your bar mates. It’s just a simple rule. So I began chatting with the two guys next to me and it turns out I was chatting with the owner, Joe Restivo. Joe embodies every bit the part of a New York Italian bar owner. Thick accent, perfectly combed black hair, a little on the heavy side (I’m not one to talk) and ready to strike up a conversation at the drop of a hat, Joe explained the Menu to me. Tonight I was having Ossobuco over a mushroom risotto and for an appetizer, I went with escargot (not really Italian but a favorite of Joe’s). The snails were buttery and tender and had none of the slight toughness that I’m used to with escargot. Just another testament to New York that the quality of the ingredients here are superior to just about anywhere else I’ve been. Of course, the Ossobuco was perfectly braised and super tender with a rich, silky flavor infused with the tomatoes and spices it was cooked in. Another perfect meal.

I spent an hour or so chatting with Joe. He’s owned this restaurant and the apartments over it for years. He talks of hard work and I learn a lot about what it’s taken him to be successful. Joe owns a corner of New York City and that is no small feat. Nowadays, he spends much of his time on a farm in Pennsylvania but his passion for his work and his city come through. If I had only a few hours in the city, it was Joe I really wanted to meet.

There are so many reasons to visit New York, but as a foodie, the culinary experience is my favorite. But the museums, shows, shopping and pure amazement at the concrete jungle would make for a fantastic visit and with the holidays right around the corner, the city becomes pure magic. I’m not sure when I’ll be back but I’ll be just as awed the next time.

Note: I was so exhausted on this trip that I forgot my camera. These photos were the result of internet searches. I can't take credit for that.

No one does Crab like Baltimore

As a foodie, when I think of Maryland, I think of one thing: crab cakes. These meaty seafood delights are a dream to eat. Arriving in Baltimore very late on a Friday night, I knew that there was a sweet hearty shellfish dinner in my near future. I was consumed with the idea of crab cakes. Certainly you can get crab cakes all over the country and I’ve had plenty of them, but a few things about the Maryland version stand out as the best. While you may be inclined to think it’s the Blue Crabs from the Chesapeake Bay that are the reason, it’s actually how they make them but more on that in a minute.

The Chesapeake Bay is the largest estuary in North America. It’s home to a bountiful amount of wildlife and the ecosystem where salt and fresh water mix is the perfect home for Blue Crabs. Each year, 75% of the crabs are harvested and the remaining population has been responsible for replenishing the stock. These harvests are tightly controlled and this system has worked for decades. Unfortunately, as we infringe on the land surrounding this magnificent well of life, the effects of runoff into these watershed lands has been pretty bad for our little friends the Blue Crab. These once abundant crustaceans have dramatically decreased in numbers leaving the local fishing industry a mess. The good news is that efforts are underway to stem the tide of population reduction and it seems to be paying off. Add to the solution that Blue crabs are found throughout the east coast and Gulf of Mexico where harvests and populations are abundant. In fact, in Baltimore where the demand for crab is the highest in the nation, much of the crab consumed there come from these other regions. The bottom line is that while we work hard to rejuvenate the Chesapeake, we can still enjoy the delicious sweet Blue Crab.

Maryland is certainly the most famous part of the country for crab but they are not alone. Ask someone from the Pacific Northwest about sumptuous crab and they’ll begin extolling the Dungeness Crab. Peekytoe Crabs from Maine are celebrated for their sweet pink meat and make a fine crab cake as well. Yet, it is the Blue Crab that still has command of the crab cake industry and for good reason. They achieve a perfect trinity of brine, sweetness and texture that leads to an ethereal crab eating experience. As far as different preparations go, there are many. A Google search for “crab cake recipe” will yield a plethora of versions. For me, less is more. The perfect crab cake has few ingredients and, for god sake’s, mayonnaise is not one of them. It’s crab CAKE not crab SALAD.

As I often do, I asked the concierge for the best crab cake recommendation in the area. While he pointed me to the G&M Restaurant where they have been voted best crab cake in Baltimore for the past 5 years, he also suggested that the best place in the inner harbor was right across from the hotel. Happy to get a great meal by walking across the street, I headed over to Luna Del Sea Bistro.

The patio was bustling on this warm end-of-summer afternoon. This is a small eclectic bistro with a diverse menu. While my eyes danced around ambitious offerings of pastas, mussels, clams and steaks, I really only had one meal in mind. A short while later, two 8 ounce crab cakes were placed in front of me. That’s a pound. I saw nothing but crab; no onions, no peppers, no fillers. This is why Maryland crab cakes are better than any other crab cake on the planet. While I’ve had others I enjoy, the residents of Baltimore demand a pristine rendition. Crab isn’t just the star; it is one of only a couple of ingredients. In my opinion, you shouldn’t be able to pick out anything else clearly. That’s what was I was looking at on my plate. As my fork slid easily through this cake, huge morsels of pure crab had the perfect blend of cohesion and flakiness. I was in a good place. No one is in a bad mood eating crab cakes. These were as perfect as any crab cake I could have had. Not one flake of that meat was missed. I was satisfied.

In a conversation with the manager, I learned that these are made to order. 8 ounces of jumbo lump crab meat get just a teaspoon of mustard, a teaspoon of a crushed Japanese cracker (I didn’t press him for info on that –I should have), and a dash of Old Bay seasoning. It is then formed into a smushed softball sized patty and baked till lightly browned. Not exactly NASA engineering but perfection none the less. Less is more.

So –while I recommend the crab cakes at Luna Del Sea, there are many fine places in Baltimore to enjoy them. A couple of years ago, the Owl Bar at the Belvedere Hotel catered a lunch I attended. Those crab cakes still stand out in my mind and I’m a bit disappointed I didn’t make it over to G&M as well. Ahhhh, another time. For now, I have my recent memories and a seafood store to get to.

Pan seared lamb chops with roasted cauliflower puree and port reduced shitake mushrooms

I fell in love with lamb many years ago. If someone asks you to describe its flavor, you just can’t. It tastes like nothing else in the meat world. Succulent, earthy and medieval all come to mind, but you just have to dive in and find out for yourself. I can’t recall my first chance meeting with this heavenly gastronome but I do recall making it for the first time. It was the Christmas of 1993. That was the first year that I had assumed all of the duties for the family holiday meal. As I perused cookbooks looking for the perfect menu (back then I was a cookbook purist), I stumbled across a leg of lamb recipe. It sounded just perfect. While I don’t remember the exact preparation, it cooked slowly for hours with orzo bubbling away in the bottom of the pan studded with tomatoes and spices. It was a hit. That was the beginning.

As the years have passed, I have made lamb many different ways and enjoyed its unique flavor in many cultures around the world. Mutton (lamb over 2 years old), served in the UK has few spices, is slowly braised and has a headier more robust flavor while Mediterranean preparations are loaded with brilliant peppers and aromatics that sing on the palate. Spring lamb is an outdated term that used to refer to lamb born in the spring and harvested the following spring. Today, spring lamb means any lamb that is the right age and weight and can be found year round. Generally sweeter and milder, most of the animal is tender enough to be cooked directly over heat. In Anthony Bourdain’s book, A Cook’s Tour, he describes a trip to an Egyptian market in search for the freshest whole lamb. Not being slaughter day, he pays extra to have a fresh lamb prepared before his eyes. He then packs the animal on a camel and caravans to a Bedouin camp outside the city where the animal is slowly cooked over open fire. Eating and drinking late into the night, he enjoys the most coveted part of the animal in the region –the testicles. His description is vivid and compelling. Most of us will not trek to the Middle East to eat lamb balls, but his passion is noteworthy. I highly recommend this book for any foodie.

For reasons I don’t completely understand, lamb tends to stay out of most American kitchens. It seems to be reserved for special occasions and high end restaurants. I know there are folks other than me that eat it because my grocery store sells it –but I never hear any of my friends talking about the lamb they cooked last night. Personally, I buy lamb every 6 or 8 weeks in some form or fashion. Since I’m the only one in my house that will eat it, I just buy enough for myself and make it when no one else is around. I chose a recipe to share that is quite simple to prepare and stars one of the most popular cuts –the lamb chop. These small cuts hail from the sirloin of the animal and contain a cross section of the tenderloin. They are by far the tenderest bits of lamb. Before they are cut, they are the “rack” and tied into a circle they make the coveted crown roast. While I have explored different spices and marinades, I find the lamb chop requires little else than some salt and pepper. With it I cooked down some shitake mushrooms in a port wine sauce and served it over a roasted cauliflower puree with garlic and parmesan. I rarely know how my vision of a recipe will turn out but this was spectacular. The lamb was perfectly rich and sumpuous complimented by the sweet mushrooms and creamy puree. You can whip this recipe up any night of the week in about 35 minutes and the ingredients cost less than $30. You dinner guest(s) will be impressed.

Pan seared lamb chops with roasted cauliflower puree and port reduced shitake mushrooms

Head of cauliflower broken down to individual florets
5 cloves of garlic
4 tbsp extra virgin olive oil, divided
3 oz (about 1/3 cup) dried shitake mushrooms
4 tbsp butter, divided
1 shallot, sliced
1 cup port wine (any wine will do –port makes the mushrooms quite sweet)
3-4 tbsp grated parmesan
1-2 tbsp fresh tarragon, roughly chopped
¼ cup chicken stock
2-3 tbsp heavy cream
8 lamb chops

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lay cauliflower and garlic out on sheet pan and drizzle 2 tbsp olive oil over the top. Season with salt and pepper and use your hands to mix around on the pan to evenly coat each piece. Ensure that the cauliflower and garlic are in a single layer. Place into the oven for 30 minutes or until fork tender.

While the cauliflower is roasting, add the dried mushrooms to a salted pot of lightly boiling water. Allow to boil for just a few minutes then remove from heat and let sit for about 10-15 minutes or until mushrooms have completely reconstituted. Drain and roughly chop. In a sauté pan over medium heat, add 2 tbsp olive oil and sauté the shallots until just fragrant –about 1 minute. Add the mushrooms and sauté another 2-3 minutes. Add the port wine and reduce by half, about 10 minutes.

Generously season the lamb chops with salt and pepper. In a separate pan over medium high heat, add 2 tbsp olive oil and place the chops in. Do not move the meat. Cook for about 3 minutes on each side for medium rare (depending on the thickness of the lamb chops). Remove from heat and allow 5 minutes to rest.

Remove cauliflower and garlic from the oven and transfer to a food processor. Add cream (start with 2 tbsp but add more to get a creamy consistency), chicken stock, 2 tbsp butter, parmesan and salt and pepper to taste.

To finish the port sauce, whisk in 2 tbsp butter till just melted as well as the tarragon.

To plate, place a scoop of the puree in the center of the plate, lay 2 lamb chops across the top and spoon a few mushrooms over that.

Serves 4.

A weekend in Canada -cooking

I think all clichés are born out of wisdom. In this case, “Be careful what you wish for” comes to mind. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew” is another. “Too stupid to know any better” is also applicable. I’m referring to being approached by some friends and asked if I’d take care of the cooking for a large party; a very large party. And what rolled off my tongue? “Of course. Sure. No problem. It’ll be fun.” And it was. Here’s the story.

Karen and Harold are my winter neighbors. They have a cute little place down here in Palm Harbor where they retreat to escape the evil winter weather of their home in Wynona, Ontario. Both former small business owners, they really are enjoying their retirement. Karen approached me back in January and, knowing my passion for all things food, suggested I cater Harold’s 70th birthday party in August which was to be held at their home in Canada. I accepted the challenge without hesitation and didn’t think about it again for months. Then around the end of May, Karen called and wanted to know if I was serious because the plans were well under way. There was a theme, color scheme, live music, dancing and of course, lot’s of food. “I’m in.” Now things were getting serious for me and my nerves were getting a bit jittery but I’d made the commitment. It was time to buckle down and figure out what to do.

I began with menu planning. Karen and I spoke pretty constantly about the details and we settled on finger foods. With a Caribbean theme, I was filled with ideas that needed to be narrowed down. Karen’s strong aversion to cilantro made it difficult initially because I don’t know many (if any) island style dished without cilantro but that was a fun part of the challenge. While I was quite concerned about execution, the creative aspect of dish creation has always been my forte. We came up with 7 items and there would be over 1200 individual servings. Yikes! What had I committed to? I was definitely getting nervous.

I landed in Buffalo, NY on a Friday afternoon. Harold’s daughter, Tammi, picked me up and we headed across the border and up the Qweensway. After a quick stop at the grocery for the last minute perisahbles, we pulled up to their home. Karen had already done most of the shopping from the list I’d sent her. What a marvelous home they have. Both spacious and charming, the place is the perfect party house. There’s a huge wrap around deck with an exceptionally large and well groomed back yard. But the one thing that stands out is the view. From their back porch, you walk about 30 yards and you are standing on a seawall that overlooks Lake Ontario. Directly across the Lake and about 30 miles as the crow flies you see the skyline of Toronto with the CN Tower being prominent. It was breathtaking, to say the least. My room was to be on the second floor with picture windows running the length of the room looking out over the lake. I had little time for sleep but this was a peaceful room.

After getting my bearings on where everything was located, I immediately went to work. I had taken the time to map out a day by day food prep plan. This would turn out to be invaluable. For Friday night, my biggest challenge was to get 12 chickens roasted for a homemade chicken salad with avocado. Using Karen’s and her neighbor’s ovens, I got that done in a few hours but now there was meat pullin’ to be done. This is where I began to realize what a daunting few days ahead. 12 steaming chicken’s sat before me and I realized that if it normally takes me 10 minutes to do one chicken, I was going to be at this a couple of hours. That’s when the first of what would be many volunteers stepped up and the wheels really began spinning. Karen’s neighbor, Donna, and other neighbor, 12-year-old Cailin, stepped in and between the 3 of us we were done in short order. This is where the bells when off that I’d need a lot more help than I thought.

The next morning I was up well before the sun and hard at work. The clock was ticking. I had about 30 hours to go. As morning wore on (and my 2 day back ache began), several of Karen’s friends began showing up and offering to pitch in. Thank god. Without Kaley, Lynda, Liz, Tammie, Erin, David, John, Lawrence, Pam, Elise, Cole,Kevin, Cailin, Donna, Deepika, Marie, Brenda, Kenn, and Alice I would never have been able to chop, dice, slice, cook, skewer, roast, bake or sauté any of the items by myself. The plan was simple but time consuming. I began at about 5 AM by thinly slicing and pickling the red onions for the roast beef and brie sandwiches (not really Caribbean, but a request from Harold). Then there were the pounds of scallops for the scallop cups (a vibrant scallop salad served in lettuce cups). I sautéed for what seemed like hours. And so it went, on an on, all day long. I made several fresh sauces (remoulade for Shrimp Po’ Boys, Horseradish for roast beef), relishes (pineapple jalapeño for skirt steak) and marinades (Meyer’s rum and OJ for skirt steak). All the while my troop of volunteers, continued to do all of the prep work. From my kitchen view over the lake, I watched the sun rise and set while we continued to work. With Saturday’s chores finally behind us –and my back screaming, we sat and drank. I’m not sure what time I went to bed but I remember thinking it was too late.

Now it’s Sunday. Party day. With my Saturday to-do list completed, I turned to the Sunday morning portion. Raspberry tarts with homemade vanilla whipped cream were the first order of business. While making this, the rest of my enlistees showed up and none too soon. It was assembly time. I realized that I had several crews working on specific tasks and my role was changing from cook to conductor. I demonstrated to each crew how I wanted each item put together; how to assemble the hundreds of different sandwiches, skewer the 200 caprese salad skewers, fill the 120 scallop cups, top the tarts, flour the hundreds of shrimp for the Po’ Boys and so on.




Next I set up my outside station. The plan was to grill the island skirt steak and make the fried shrimp at the point of service so that we had 2 fresh hot items on the line. As party time approached, the food began coming to the buffet tables outside. When the clock struck 1 PM, everything was in place and the guests began to arrive. Folks dug in. Steel drum and island music played. The sun was high in the sky with just enough occasional overcast to make the day perfectly comfortable.

I grilled the marinated steaks and handed them off to be sliced and plated with the salsa. I also fried the shrimp that had been soaked in soda water then coated with a seasoned flour and cornstarch mix. This provided a light and crispy crust on the shrimp that tasted as perfect as any Po’ Boy I’d had on my many visits to New Orleans.




After just a couple of hours, my service was complete and I was ready to just enjoy. My nerves had melted hours ago simply because I was too busy. Now I was just running on adrenalin and some wine was in order. I mingled stopping by each table to ask if all was OK and I didn’t hear a negative comment. In fact, humbling compliment was the order of the afternoon.

If I missed the mark on any of these dishes, no one shared it with me. I did make a couple of mistakes that didn’t translate to the taste of the food. Notably, we had a lot of food; too much. While I did stick to the small plate theme, each item was probably too big so folks filled up. We ended up sending lots of food home with guests. Whole trays of sandwiches were destined for office break rooms on Monday.
What a terrific experience this was for me. I had fun even though I didn’t leave a 100 yard radius for my 3 days in Canada. A wise person once said, “If you make a living doing what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.” Now, I don’t make a living doing this but, as hard and long as we worked for 3 days, it never felt like a chore. I can’t wait for Karen and Harold to get back to Florida so we can reminisce about that great weekend.