We Got the Beet.

Growing up we had a Patrick Nagel print hanging on a wall in the dining room. It's exactly the one you're thinking of. Or maybe not. A lot of them have that woman in them. You know, the woman on the cover of Duran Duran's Rio. I never much cared for it. Oh, I loved the album, just not the print hanging on the wall in our dining room. My dad really liked that whole style; that very 80s, minimalist, pastel thing. My dad really liked the 80s, in general. And the 80s liked my dad. They made sense together. He was newly single, very handsome, a great cook, liked to travel, play tennis, hang glide and party. And, of course, he was into the art.

Patrick Nagel was born in 1945. My dad was born in 1945. Patrick Nagel's work was greatly inspired by and directly descended from Art Deco. And Art Deco is, without a doubt, my dad's favorite visual design style. His house and work are both filled with furniture and light fixtures from the Deco era.

Unlike my dad, who is alive, healthy and happy, Patrick Nagel died at the peak of his life and career, at thirty-eight years of age. Strange as it sounds, immediately after participating in a fifteen minute celebrity 'Aerobithon' to raise money for the American Heart Association, Nagel was found dead in his car. From a heart attack. The Reagan Era was a bitch.

This past weekend I was in a fun, food frenzy in the kitchen. I just wanted to make stuff. I see some rhubarb. Let's make a cake! I see leftover coffee and a pork tenderloin. Let's make a marinade and grill stuff! I see beets and carrots. Let's make a borsch! I see Greek yogurt and horseradish. Let's make a garnish for the borsch! You get the idea.

The borsch came out so bright, saturated, rich and vivid that it immediately reminded me, visually, of Pop Art. Flashes of bright colors and sharp shapes from the works of Warhol, Lichtenstein, and yes, Nagel rushed through my head. Fred agreed, but his head was swimming with images of Bauhaus and Kandinsky. Which is totally appropriate for cold borsch as all three are/were Russian! And thus our Sunday unfolded into the eighties-inspired photoshoot of borsch. I did very little styling on this shoot. Fred really ran with it on his own. I picked the soundtrack: The Go-Go's. Right around the time that Nagel was at his peak, so were The Go-Go's. And right around that time I participated in a lip syncing 'class' at Summer camp. And our group's piéce de résistance was, you guessed it, 'We Got the Beat'. I was Belinda Carlisle and my tennis racket was my guitar. Though I'm pretty sure Belinda Carlisle did not actually play the guitar. Man, I miss my Swatch.

The bosrcht was quite good. A success. It was rich and bold with a rear kick of subtle heat from the white pepper and the horseradish yogurt. It was complex on the palate but finished very neatly. This innocent little soup also made a morbid mess of anything that came near it. We had so much left over that we took it up to a Memorial Day BBQ in the canyon. I think I saw one person try it. Who can blame them? At a cookout abundant with steaks, lamb, burgers, sausages, corn salad, chips, banana crème pudding and booze, who wants to deal with a bowl of borsch?

Ah, well. It's not for everyone. People kind of either love it or hate it. I'm not certain what Patrick Nagel liked to eat, but if he's anything like my dad, borsch was not high on the list. 

Me, I'll take a bowl any time.

Chilled Beet Soup with Horseradish Yogurt

Serves 4-6

4 cups (or more) chicken stock

1 pound beets, peeled, chopped

1 cup chopped onion

1 cup peeled chopped carrot

2 teaspoons chopped garlic

1 teaspoon sugar

1 bay leaf

2 tablespoons horseradish

A handful of fresh chives, trimmed

Greek yogurt

Generous salt & white pepper to taste

Combine 4 cups broth, beets, onions, carrot, bay leaf and garlic in medium saucepan. Bring to boil.

Reduce heat to medium-low; cover and simmer until vegetables are very tender, about 35 minutes. Cool slightly. Remove bay leaf and puree in blender in batches until smooth. Transfer to bowl.

Thin with additional stock if soup is too thick. Mix in sugar. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and chill until cold, at least 4 hours or overnight. (Can be prepared 2 days ahead. Keep refrigerated.)

Ladle soup into bowls.

In a small bowl, mix horseradish and yogurt. Put a dollop of horseradish mixture in the middle of the bowl of soup and top with chives.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Classic Shad Roe with Bacon & Fresh Herbs

Two years ago: Yerp: Part 1 (of many).

Three years ago: Sautéed Baby Artichokes with Olive Oil, Garlic & Lemon

Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

I looked the phrase up. Years ago every Las Vegas casino had a three-piece chicken dinner with potato and veggie for $1.79. A standard bet back then was $2.00, hence when you won a bet you had enough for a chicken dinner. Winner, winner...

I’ve never been to Vegas. And I’ve lived in LA for ten years. I don’t care about gambling at all, but I like the idea of winning my chicken dinner. I doubt they still do that, but I should go. I should at least check Vegas off my list.

What I do love, a lot, is chicken. For quite a few years now I have been mastering my whole roast chicken. It’s sort of my Sunday ritual. I get a chicken at the Sunday farmers’ market, or at Lindy Grundy, and roast it that night. In the past year, usually Maggie joins me as she’s generally around on Sunday nights. Fred has had one or two, I think. All of my peoples have had my roast chicken at some point or another. Like I said, I’ve been making it for years.

What I love so much about the Sunday Roast Chicken is how it’s really a whole week of chicken joy. Yes, it is dinner on Sunday night. But then it is sliced in sandwiches on Monday, chicken salad or tacos on Tuesday, and chicken stock on Wednesday, used both for soup bases and in our dog’s food for a little yummy, protein kick that lasts for the rest of the week. All from one, small chicken.

I’m not sure why, but unfortunately the chicken entrée is historically the pariah of the menu in most restaurants. It’s treated as the throw away, the cheapest option, the choice for the kids, the relative visiting from Iowa or the seniors at the table. I'm thinking about L.A. Story, the 1991 movie that Steve Martin wrote and starred in as Harris K. Telemacher. He attempts to land a reservation at an upscale L.A. French restaurant called L' Idiot (pronounced Leedy-O), only to be interrogated about his finances by the Fourth Reich Bank of Hamburg. "He can't have zee duck!..." the chef snorts. "He can have zee chicken."

There have always been exceptions, of course. Both Zuni Café's Judy Rodgers and French Laundry's Thomas Keller both have very famous roast chickens that are the stars of the menu. And lately, times they are a changing. Suzanne Goin has a Devil’s Chicken with Mustard and Bread Crumbs that blows my mind. Salt’s Cure often offers a half roasted chicken that is pretty tasty as well. But, to be shamelessly, brutally honest – I think mine is better. And the majority of the people that have had my roast chicken will agree.

On the night that I actually roast the chicken, something magical happens in the house. Regardless of the weather or time of year, it might as well be blustery and chilly outside and inside the whole house is warm and welcoming and smells like home. It feels like flannel and fireplace and jazz.

Although, I am ready for Summer in a big way, I cannot control whatever it is that is going on with our weather here right now (or ever, for that matter). And ever since Fred and I returned from San Francisco last week where we finally sampled the Zuni Café chicken, my wheels have been spinning. And so how fortuitous that we have had a cold, blustery, rainy weekend? And so last night, on a rainy St. Patrick’s Day, Fred and I built a fire, put the Pogues on the radio, and got to roasting a chicken – slow and low, that is the tempo. While that chicken cooked, we snacked on white anchovies, cheese, olives, soppressata, marcona almonds and bread. I also worked on a stock from the chicken feet. 

Then when it was all ready, and the house smelled like cozy, Fred and I sat down, poured ourselves a couple of glasses of garnacha and ate until we were sated. Heck, we even whipped up some sauteed broccoli rabe topped with a beurre blanc to add some green in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day (we are nothing if not festive). We saved the other half of the meal for Maggie to have when she returned home from working a double. And with the week ahead I look forward to all of the other dishes we create from that one little chicken. I'm going to shoot for a pasta tomorrow, I think. Or maybe Maggie can whip up some of her infamously spicy chicken lettuce wraps. Who knows, the possibilities are endless.

And, by the way, as I devoured my chicken dinner last night, I couldn’t help but say aloud, “Yep, mine isbetter”. Winner, winner...

Now, who’s up for Vegas?

A Sunday Supper:

Slow & Low Roast Chicken with Meyer Lemon and Thyme

with Roasted

Heirloom Carrots, Baby Potatoes & Cipollini Onions

Serves 4

Ingredients

• 3½-4 lb chicken (free range/organic and fresh)
• Salt and pepper
• 6 fresh thyme sprigs (or sage, or rosemary, or all of them)
• 1 large lemon, cut in 1/8 inch slices (Meyer lemons if available)
• 8 tbsp (1 stick) unsalted butter at room temperature, divided
• 1 bulb of garlic
• 1/4 lb mixed baby potatoes (yellow, red & purple)
• 1 bunch heirloom carrots (the more colors the better)
• 1/4 lb cipollini onions
• 1/2 cup red wine
• 2 tbsp olive oil

Special equipment:

A cast iron skillet that's about 3 inches deep, a pastry brush for basting; a board or platter for resting and carving; kitchen twine

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Preparing the Chicken:

Rinse the chicken well (inside and out) and pat it dry with paper towels.

Tuck the wings up against the breast.

Poke tiny holes through the skin, everywhere with a toothpick or bbq skewer (this helps achieve super crispy skin).

Season 6 tbsp butter with 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves, salt & pepper and mix together.

Carefully slide your hand underneath the chicken skin, and gently move over the breast and leg meat to create space between the skin and the meat. You don’t want to tear the skin, so try to keep your hand as flat as possible and work slowly if necessary. Once you’ve created space, evenly distribute the butter beneath the skin.

Next, take 6 lemon slices and slide them underneath the skin, giving them a slight squeeze, and again evenly distributing them on top of the breast and thigh meat.

Take the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter, and gently rub it all over the outside skin of the chicken. Salt and pepper the outside of the chicken and inside the cavity. Drop 2 lemon slices, an onion, a bulb of garlic and any leftover herbs into the cavity, giving the slices a slight squeeze as you place them inside.

Tie the ends of the drumsticks together with twine. Place the chicken breast up in the cast iron skillet. Distribute the carrots, potatoes and onion around the bird. Drizzle the red wine over the top of the whole thing. Top chicken with sprigs of thyme. Finally, squeeze the juice of the remaining lemon pieces all over the top of the chicken.

Roasting the Chicken:

Place skillet in the oven, with the chicken legs pointed to the back of the oven.

After 30 minutes, lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees.

Check on the chicken every fifteen minutes or so, and when you see it beginning to brown quickly on top, baste the chicken with the pan juices. 

Roast the chicken for an hour, basting several times. The chicken will be done when the juices run clear and when the leg joint can be easily moved if wiggled. A thermometer inserted into the thick part of the thigh should read 180 degrees.

Printable recipe

One year ago: Creamy Roasted Parsnip-Carrot Soup with Crispy Bacon & Potatoes
Two years ago: Fresh Minty Pea Soup

Sliding Doors

I am at a new intersection presently. The landscape is changing. And soon I need to either turn right or I need to turn left. It’s hard when I’ve been going straight for so long.

This makes me think of the concept of Alternate History. Alternate History is a genre of fiction that was identified in the early 1950s that involves cross-time travel between alternate histories or psychic awareness of the existence of "our" universe by the people in another; or ordinary voyaging uptime (into the past) or downtime (into the future) that results in history splitting into two or more time-lines. Or, to put it simply, What If?

Remember Sliding Doors? I love that movie. I actually own it on DVD (but let’s not run around telling everyone that).

So, here I am. Left or right? I can’t keep going straight forever or I’ll run myself right into the ocean. I’ll float away. Last night I tried so hard to turn left. I really did. But I couldn’t. And, I fear, as a result that particular road may be too far behind me now to be able to reverse all the way back to. I should probably turn right, anyway. Hell, I know I should turn right.

Suddenly I realize the idiocy in Rush’s lyric, "If you choose not to decide you still have made a choice." Oh, Geddy, I still love you.

What if I just turn on my signal and imply I’m turning right? Does that mean I still have to turn? I wish there was a Sliding Doors-type of thing that I could watch in this trajectory. I would really like to see how both roads look. Where they lead.

But clearly that’s not an option.

In an oddly symbiotic fashion, I cannot commit to what on earth I want to make for dinner tonight. Michael Motorcycle is coming over and I don’t have a clue whether to go the route of tilapia or pork tenderloin. These options are as different as right or left and, now, at 6pm I, as yet, don’t have a clue.

So, I guess, for now,  I’ll keep going straight and make a soup. This is a beautiful and complex soup filled with the beauties Mr. Motorcycle and I picked up at the farmers’ market this past Sunday morning: parsnips, heirloom carrots, baby potatoes, garlic, an onion, raw cream, and bacon. 

As for which way I'll turn, in addition to the tilapia vs. pork tenderloin mystery - I'lll keep you posted. 

Until then, maybe I'll watch Back to the Future.

Creamy Roasted Parsnip-Carrot Soup with Crispy Bacon and Potatoes

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

3 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, chopped
1 cup chopped heirloom carrots
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon grated garlic
10 cups chicken stock
3 pounds parsnips, peeled and diced
1/4 to 1/2 cup raw cream
6 ounces raw bacon, chopped
1/2 pound baby, new potatoes, quartered, boiled in chicken stock and divided
Salt and pepper

 

Directions

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.  Scatter the parsnips and carrots on a baking sheet with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast until semi-tender, approximately 15-20 minutes.

Melt the butter in a 6-quart stock pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion. Season with salt and pepper. Saute until the onion is soft, about 4 minutes. Add parsnips, carrots, half of the potatoes, bay leaf and garlic.

Add the stock and bring the mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer, uncovered, until everything is very soft, about 1 hour. Remove soup from heat and allow to cool a little. Discard bay leaf.

Using an immersion blender, carefully puree soup until smooth. Stir in cream. Season with salt and pepper.

In a small saute pan, over medium heat, render bacon until crispy. Remove the bacon and drain on paper towels. Sautee the remaining potatoes in bacon fat until crispy and brown, about 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer potatoes to paper towel lined plate when done. Season with salt.

To serve, ladle the soup into serving bowls. Garnish with the crispy potatoes and bacon. 

Printable Recipe

Eduardo Facebook Saverin Shaffbar

For about a year or so, quite a few of my close friends have told me I should write a dating blog, or something along those lines. I find this to be borderline hysterical, as I have not even been in a relationship since season four of The Wire began. I suppose I have had some interesting adventures in the love and/or dating sphere since then, but absolutely nothing has stuck. Well, except Besito Ysidro, of course. And food.

For the past two or three winters I have been having a lot of fun playing with sunchokes. Prior to that they were relatively unknown to me. They are really very interesting, however, and their unusual texture and flavor make for fun and experimental dishes – but for me, mostly soups, purees, mashes and hashes.

Sunchokes

This winter I have been all about celery root, or celeriac. I have had all sorts of celery root things before, but I don’t think I ever stopped to consider that celery root was any different than celery. Who knows why that would be. And, in case you didn't know, celery and celery root are not the same thing. It is a kind of celery, grown as a root vegetable for its large and bulbous hypocotyl rather than for its stem and leaves.

 

At the end of January I had a lovely celery root soup at The Mercantile. This inspired me.

The sunchoke and celery root appeal to me in similar ways, ways not unlike the artichoke. I mean, who ever looked at any of these items and thought, “I wonder if I should try to eat this gross, and imposing vegetation?" These are ugly and unwelcoming looking shapes. But I'm glad someone did. Because they turned out to be so interesting – so complex, multi-layered, delicious, and fun to cook with. Actually, kind of like the men I am often attracted to. And dogs, for that matter. 

Mise en Place - Celery Root is on bottom right.

This brings me to Eduardo. The latest man in my life. I met Eduardo about a week and a half ago. He was being fostered by an incredibly sweet, and humanitarian, couple in West Hollywood. Regardless of the fact that they own four cats, some feral and with health problems (and none that care for dogs), they still managed to save Eduardo from a certain death at a shelter on the very day he was to be put down. They asked me to take care of him for a few days while they went out of town and it was love at first snuggle. I adopted him. Well, to be clear, Maggie and I adopted him.

Eduardo Facebook Saverin Shaffbar and his Twin.

Not unlike the celery root or the sunchoke, or the men I often find myself attracted to, Eduardo is not without his unattractive qualities. He can be quite the surly little man at times. But ultimately, when he's not growling at you for trying to pick him up, or put him down, he is beautiful, complicated, multi-dimensional, snuggly, goofy and well, pretty damned sweet. He sort-of dares you to love him. And he has the funniest little teeth. They are more like tiny human teeth than doggie teeth. Like tiny, little pieces of rice.

That being said, ironically, I have a date tonight. Not with a root vegetable or a dog. Or Maggie. But with a boy. Oof. Wish me luck. I will now leave you all with that recipe I know you've been waiting for - the soup I promised in the last post.

Celeraic Soup with Sunchoke "Croutons"

Serves 6

2 medium celery roots (celeriac; 1 3/4 pounds total), trimmed, peeled, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 8 cups)
1 pound russet potatoes, peeled, cut into 3/4-inch cubes (about 3 cups)
3 cups chicken stock
2 cups whole milk
3 garlic cloves, peeled
3 fresh thyme sprigs
1 fresh bay leaf
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, divided
3/4 cup heavy cream
8 ounces sunchokes, scrubbed
1/2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil 
chopped fresh fennel fronds (for garnish)

Combine first 7 ingredients in heavy large pot. Add enough water to cover. Sprinkle with salt. Bring to boil, reduce heat to medium, and simmer with lid slightly ajar until vegetables are tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Drain; return to pot. Discard thyme sprigs and bay leaf. Stir over medium heat to dry vegetables. Using immersion blender, blend vegetables until coarsely pureed. Add cream. Stir in 3 1/2 tablespoons butter. Season with salt and pepper. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. 

Preheat oven to 425°F. Cut sunchokes into 1/2-inch cubes. Place in medium bowl; add oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to coat. Dot with remaining 1/2 tablespoon butter. 

Transfer to rimmed baking sheet; roast until tender and golden brown, turning occasionally, about 25 minutes.

Place celery root and potato puree in serving bowl. Sprinkle sunhokes and chopped fennel over and serve.

Printable Recipe