ESCAPES: Tel Aviv. White Hot, Part 1

Israel has been in the news a lot lately, unfortunately for the violence happening in Gaza and beyond. But Israel as a country, and an idea, is such an amazing place -- one I think is difficult to fully understand until you've spent time there. 

I've always felt an affinity for Israel and Israelis. This started in the late '70s when I was a little girl, and we lived down the street from a house that was always lived in by Israelis, passed down from family to family as they came to America to work for one host company. Some of the kids living in that house were playmates, and some became long-term family friends (Amir, Irit and Ron, the list goes on...). I also have cousins who moved to the Negev Desert for kibbutz life, several decades ago -- I even had my bat mitzvah there on the kibbutz. Their children, now grown and married themselves, are Sabras. And suffice it to say I've dated my fair share of Israeli men. I don't know. We're simpatico. 

So when I felt the need to get away and escape some difficult times in Rome a while ago, I decided to head to the place that I knew, besides Italy, made me feel happiness in my chest, in my head, and in my heart. And not incidentally, in my belly.

Tel Aviv is one of many cities around the world known as a "white city," here for its many whitewashed buildings and Bauhaus architecture, particularly concentrated in the city center along Rothschild Boulevard. Even the view from my point of first arrival (a deluxe hotel on the beach in the north of the city) was of a cityscape with a white haze about it. Part of this was the sweltering July heat that inched above 100 degrees on most days, with excessive humidity. But this was also the overwhelming color of the city itself: sandy-white, Mediterranean in feel, and now with an actual skyline. It had been 13 years since the last time I'd visited Israel, and Tel Aviv had really changed since then.

One thing that hadn't changed much, though, was the beach, and its focal role in locals' lives. On the whole, it's amazingly well-kept and clean for a city beach. During warmer months, this is the place Tel Avivans come to cool off, relax, play matkot (beach racquet ball), and maybe grab breakfast, lunch, a snack, or a cool drink. 

And speaking of, Israelis are a casual people when it comes to most meals, and they're big on local street treats -- foods they've adapted from various cultures that comprise their population, perfected, and made their own. We're talking about falafel, hummus, shawarma, sabich, and the like. So for the uninitiated, a little background info.

Hummus is a chickpea puree made with tahina or tahini, a sesame paste also eaten on its own and frequently used as a condiment in Israeli cuisine. 

Falafel is a middle eastern deep-fried vegetable fritter, in Israel most often made from ground chickpeas, herbs and spices. They are served tucked into sandwiches in pita or lafa bread or served on their own with hummus and other dips and salads.  

Shawarma is a spit-roasted meat, often turkey or lamb in Israel, seasoned with spices and basted in its own juices as it roasts, and is shaved to order in thin slices and piled into a pita sandwich or served in a platter. 

Sabich is a simple dish of Iraqi origin, most often in pita sandwich form and containing some or all of the following ingredients: fried eggplant, hard-boiled egg, hummus, tahini, chopped Israeli salad, potato, parsley, and amba (a mango pickle sauce). Most of these street foods are available in cafes, fast-food-style shops, or from street carts, and are served with a variety of homemade pickles and salads that are a wonderful contrast, and a wake-up call to the eyes and palate. 

And since Israelis tend to worship at the altar of eggplant, as I do, I must give a little space to the local preparation of a roasted or baked whole eggplant. I had it served to me on the beach -- cold, with chickpeas, tomatoes, parsley, and tahina...

or as presented to us at Abraxas North, Chef Eyal Shani's wonderful restaurant where fire and a few choice ingredients turn vegetables into something transcendent: cut in half and served warm, with burnished skin, and a swirl of tahina and tomato sauce, olive oil and egg. I can never really get enough of the eggplant dishes and their iterations, just as I can never really seem to get enough of Tel Aviv itself. Each time I go, it gets harder for me to leave. The energy of this metropolitan city, the beach side location and warm weather, the fabulous food, and not least of all the people themselves: these combine to create an irresistible pull. And I will be back, again and again.

More to come: Israel's cool city and hot restaurant scene + night life in my next Escapes: Tel Aviv.

RECIPE: Feeling Bleu -- Salsa di Gorgonzola

When the weather outside is frigid, as it's been in New York and in many places around the globe in recent weeks, we crave comfort food. Foods that are rich, packed with flavor, and remind us of home tend to fit the bill when all we want is to curl up on the sofa with a movie, a blanket, and a plateful of "yum." One of my go-to dishes in cold weather reminds me of long dinners in cozy trattorie in Florence when I was a student there. For 8,000 lire, or about $4, we could order a large plate of gnocchi al gorgonzola, potato dumplings bathed in a creamy, pungent sauce topped with parmigiano, and it was heaven. Sometimes my Florentine "mamma," Cristina, prepared the dish at home. And now, when I crave the comfort of my home-away-from-home in winter months, this is one of a handful of dishes that I make to bring me back to bell'Italia.

I've been a fan of strong, stinky cheeses since I was a young girl, precociously ordering blue cheese dressing at every restaurant my parents took me to at the age of 7. Waiters did double-takes. As a teenager, I developed a deep love for well-prepared buffalo wings, particularly those from Chuck's in Princeton -- and the extra blue cheese dressing I'd use for dunking the wings and celery sticks was half the reason for eating the wings in the first place. So when I discovered gnocchi al gorgonzola as a 20 year-old student in Florence, of course I flipped. My love for this dish has not waned over the years, though I know it's not something in which I can indulge too frequently. It's not exactly diet food. But sometimes, indulge we must. Weather that stings your face when you step outside qualifies as motive enough.

Note that this sauce is classically paired with gnocchi, which are best when homemade and ethereally light and airy, though you can also toss a short pasta with the sauce, like a penne or rigatoni. You can use conchiglie, or shells, and even bake this topped with bread crumbs and parmigiano for a rich, Italian, adult version of mac-and-cheese. And keep in mind the classic Italian pairings that work well with gorgonzola: pear, radicchio, prosciutto, and pancetta.

You can toss cooked pancetta or strips of prosciutto in with the pasta. You can add the sauce to a cooking risotto and finish it with chopped radicchio. You can grill some radicchio and pour the sauce on top for a great winter antipasto. And you can toss pear slices in with the gnocchi, pasta, or risotto. Or use the sauce for a pizza in bianco, topped with pear slices and cooked in a pizza oven...and finish with some sliced radicchio and prosciutto. The possibilities are as endless as your imagination.

GORGONZOLA SAUCE

Makes about 2 cups

 

6 oz. gorgonzola cheese

2 cups heavy cream

4 TBSP. unsalted butter

Salt & pepper to taste

Chopped parsley, chives, or basil

- In a sauce pot, on medium heat, warm the gorgonzola cheese together with the heavy cream.

- Cook 4-5 minutes on medium heat,  until the cheese softens and melts into the cream a bit.

- Using a whisk, gently stir the mixture together so the chunks of cheese melt down and the sauce is relatively smooth.

- Add the butter and whisk gently to incorporate it into the sauce. Cook for another 5 minutes or so, over low heat, to blend the flavors. Add salt and pepper to taste.

- Taste and adjust for seasoning. Add chopped parsley, chives, or basil if you like.

 

SEASONAL EATS: Latkes for Hanukkah

Sometimes the simplest things are the best. For me, this holds true for the classic potato latke. It's a Hanukkah staple; all fried foods are (8 days of dieting this is not). And while I love fried chicken and fried rice balls and fried doughnuts in which many indulge during the Jewish Festival of Lights, I will take the lovely latke over all of them, any day.

Socca street vendor in Nice, France

The latke (the word is Yiddish) is a basic pancake or fritter, something most cuisine cultures share -- think Swiss rosti, French pommes anna, and German kartoffelpuffer. On a larger scale, savory pancakes and fritters are found all over the world, from Chinese scallion pancakes to South American corn arepas, from Russian blini to chickpea pancakes in Sicily (called panelle) and Nice (socca). 

Chinese scallion pancakes

And we haven't even crossed over into sweet versions. 

But back to the latke. The potato pancake seems to have originated in Eastern and Central Europe, where basically every country has its own version, though versions can be found north to the UK and Scandinavia as well. It's even considered the national dish of Belarus! Before the potato -- a New World food item -- arrived in the Old World, these pancakes were made with various other types of legumes, vegetables, and tubers. But once the lowly, most basic of ingredients was introduced, the potato brought fame to this fritter and put it on the map, so to speak.  And on Hanukkah menus the world over.

I had a cooking instructor in culinary school who once called potato-salt-fat "the holy trinity of food" (thanks, Erica). And it's true: as long as the proportions are right, there's nothing better. My straightforward, classic potato latkes are damned good. But I think it's best not to put this into recipe form...I'd rather tell you as a grandmother might explain how to prepare a favorite dish. Then you can decide on quantity.

So. You're going to want to make a pretty big batch of these babies. No one goes through the process to make a couple of latkes, mostly because no one can eat just a couple of latkes. To start, let's say for every 3 large russet potatoes, you want one medium onion. Both need to be peeled and grated on a box grater, into the same bowl. 

Once this is done (and work swiftly, to keep the potatoes from turning dark), squeeze the potato-onion mixture either in a dish towel or with just your hands, to get the water content out. Once the mixture is fairly dry, add 2 eggs and about 1/2 cup to 3/4 cup of a half-flour-half-matzoh meal mixture. Add plenty of salt and pepper to taste.

Use a good skillet -- cast iron is always great, but any seasoned skillet will do, even non-stick. I like a combination of vegetable and olive oil mixed (that Italian influence again) with a little shmaltz (chicken fat), though you can use anything from all-veggie oil to duck fat or lard, or whatever your little heart desires. Obviously, if you're using lard, kosher eating is not your lifestyle choice. But hey, everyone loves latkes.

So, fry the latkes in patties by dropping the mixture by spoonfuls into the hot oil (it should sizzle when it hits the skillet). A couple of minutes each side, drain on paper towel-lined plates, and you're done. The best way to see if they're seasoned to taste is to make one, fry it, then taste and adjust accordingly. Once you've logged some latke-making time, it will become instinctual.

These are traditionally eaten with sour cream and some scallions, and apple sauce. But I make all kinds of toppings for my latkes. (for an elegant party app, try creme fraiche, smoked salmon, and caviar). I also make a sweet potato version that's kick-ass. But that version's recipe is for next year...  

HAPPY HANUKKAH, everyone!

SEASONAL FOODS: Pumpkin

Autumn is represented by many things: colorful leaves, apples, jackets and sweaters and boots for cooler weather. But perhaps most representative of the change in the kitchen from summer garden to fall's harvest bounty? The pumpkin. 

In the U.S., the image we have of pumpkins is often of the jack-o-lantern. The members of the pumpkin family that we generally consider good eating fall under the "squash" moniker: butternut, acorn, spaghetti...but they're all members of the gourd family, which also incidentally includes cucumbers, melons, and zucchini. 

These plants are all native to The Americas -- particularly Central America and Mexico -- which is why pumpkin and squash are often featured in our traditional Thanksgiving meal. Pumpkin can go savory or sweet (or straddle the line between the two): served as a vegetable dish, roasted with garlic, onions, and savory herbs...or in the traditional pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, doughnuts, even ice cream. 

It's said that Columbus brought pumpkin back to Spain from the New World, introducing this (among many other food items) into the European culinary vernacular. Like so many other vegetables and fruits that have become integral to Italian cooking, pumpkin landed on the Italian peninsula with Spanish and Portuguese Jews after the Inquisition. Venice, the city that invented the word ghetto (stemming from gettare, to throw or toss aside) to describe the neighborhoods where Jews were "thrown out", also gave rise to numerous dishes that include pumpkin, and the Jewish population of Mantua is often credited with creating the much-loved ravioli con la zucca. In the Jewish-Italian tradition, pumpkin pastas often combine savory and sweet elements. 

Ravioli are stuffed with a pumpkin puree and are served with sage and butter sauce, and topped either with parmigiano (savory) or crumbled amaretti cookies (sweet) -- and sometimes with mostarda di Cremona, from the town of Cremona -- candied fruit in a mustard-flavored syrup that accents the sweetness of the pumpkin filling. 

Any way you slice it, these pumpkin dishes are of a northern Italian bent. But pumpkin is also popular in Rome, where the country's largest Jewish population resides. I often purchased chunks of zucca gialla at the market in Campo de' Fiori, instructing my "guy" Claudio to cut me the perfect size slice for what I was making. Sometimes the pumpkin would get roasted, or thinly sliced and grilled. 

Sometimes I would turn the pumpkin into a warming risotto, like they often do in the Veneto in colder months. Sometimes I would also buy the zucchine flowers. A favorite Roman antipasto is fiori di zucca fritti, stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, and battered and fried, found in every pizzeria worth its sale in Rome. I'd often prepare them stuffed with an herbed ricotta and goat cheese mixture, topped with a butter and herb sauce. I've done my fair share of cooking with pumpkin products.

One of my favorite dishes to make is a simple pasta dish. I often taught it during my autumn and winter cooking classes in Rome, and it's remained a favorite of mine since I started cooking professionally. The sous chef at San Domenico NY once made a similar version as a special on the menu. I remember loving it, and over the years I tweaked it and made it my own. I like to think it's something that's a little bit Roman, a little bit northern Italian and Italian-Jewish, a little bit New York, a little bit New World. A little bit like me -- at heart, anyway.


PASTA ALLA ZUCCA (4 people)

3-4 TBS extra-virgin olive oil
4 TBS. unsalted butter
1 clove garlic
1 small-medium-sized butternut squash or other creamy pumpkin variety
8 oz. heavy cream
Salt & pepper to taste
1 lb. ziti, bombolotti, or short pasta of choice
1/2 cup grated pecorino romano (for the Roman touch) or parmigiano reggiano
Fresh thyme or chiffonade of basil

- Bring a large pot of water and one medium pot of water to a boil. Once boiling, add a generous dash of salt to the water.

- Peel the squash and/or pumpkin and cut into 1-2-inch dice.

- Boil squash in large pot of boiling water until tender but not falling apart, about 15 minutes. Drain...OR roast the pumpkin on a sheet pan in the oven, tossed with olive oil and salt and pepper, until tender, 30 minutes or so.

- Heat a large skillet over medium heat, and add the oil and butter together, until bubbling. Add garlic clove (whole) and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes.

- Add squash/pumpkin and saute over medium heat for 5 minutes. Turn down heat and cook covered for another 10 minutes.

- Add cream and cook for another 5-10 minutes, stirring. The squash/pumpkin flesh should break down into a chunky sauce.

- Cook the pasta until tender but firm, al dente.

- Remove pasta from the water with tongs, or drain in a colander and add it to the pan.

- Turn pasta to coat, add the pecorino, and turn to mix thoroughly. Add fresh thyme and/or basil and serve.

 

RESTAURANT REVIEW: Primo -- Rockland, Maine

Primo, in Italian, can be a double entendre: it means first (and often the best), but also primary, as in ingredients. And at PRIMO restaurant in Rockland, Maine, where the growing season is shorter than in many places in America, chef Melissa Kelly has managed to draw on the natural resources of the land. She runs what she dubs a "full circle kitchen," the idea of which I love. 

Like most kitchens that understand the restaurant business model for turning a profit, the idea of not wasting anything figures heavily. But Chef Kelly also raises animals for food, from hens to pigs, collecting eggs, curing meat -- and grows vegetables on acres of land and in greenhouses, harvesting edible flowers and collecting honey produced on-site. Not everything she uses comes from her land, but everything that comes from her land gets used. The rest is filled in by local producers she knows and trusts. In a time when so many chefs throw around terms like "locavore" and "farm-to-table," Primo is really doing it, as they've done for years, and the end result is a happy place to eat and drink. 

Primo encompasses both an American culinary ethos and an Italian adherence to tradition. Seasonality is obviously paramount in a kitchen so reliant on produce and proteins that are grown and raised locally: this has always been the way Italians cook, and eat. The idea of vegetables and fruits playing pivotal roles in a cuisine -- also Italian. So is the custom of serving cheeses and salumi and artisanal pizza, all center stage here. What's American about Primo is the dedication and hard work that are behind making this restaurant a success despite the odds, and that the driving force behind this is a woman -- something all too rare in the restaurant industry, though the U.S leads the way in this department.

So here, I'm writing less of a review of the restaurant's menu -- that changes a little too frequently -- and more of the restaurant on the whole. Though I can tell you that it's worth trying their house-made salumi and local cheeses. It's definitely worth considering one of their homemade pizzas, and often there's a pizza bianca with some seasonal greens, local tomatoes, and delicious, gooey cheese.

Quite often you can find a great foie gras appetizer, like the one pictured here, seared to perfection over garlic toast with champagne grapes and a frisee salad with figs and a sour-sweet port sauce. Who can argue with classic flavor pairings and high-quality ingredients, especially when it's so lovingly presented on colorful dishes?

Primi -- that's Italian for first courses, mostly pastas -- are expertly-prepared at Primo. And the pasta is homemade, like the fettucine served with shrimp, arugula pesto, roasted tomatoes, and lots of parmigiano (though most seafood pastas do not get cheese under any circumstances, shrimp is the one sometime-exception to that rule. I'm assuming Chef Kelly knows this about Italian food...)

Main courses include various iterations of local seafood, like cod, or dayboat scallops, sometimes even the ubiquitous Maine lobster. But chances are, even if the ingredients are common in these parts, the preparations won't be. Seared duck breast gets paired with an earthy warm farro salad and grilled cipollini, and grilled swordfish gets a spicy tomato-and-chile broth over charred vegetables. And all dishes get a flourish of homegrown greens and edible flowers so they look picture-perfect. 

Sometimes the dishes are a little heavy-handed in their presentation. Sometimes one too many ingredients are used in a dish. Not everything is perfect. But that's also part of the charm here. You can't find fault with the quality of the ingredients, nor the provenance. The flavor is there, as is the love in the preparation. And pride in the whole operation. When our attentive waiter found out I am a chef, he pulled me aside on my way back from the ladies' room and offered me a tour of the establishment. He showed me the other dining rooms and more casual bar where locals come to order pizza, appetizers, and share a bottle of wine. He brought me into the kitchen and explained how things work, where their in-house primary ingredients become their homemade menu items. It was a general and thorough behind-the-scenes: transparency, and pride in what they do as a team. They were happy to share all of this with a colleague, and I really appreciated it. 

We all loved our meal, some of us visitors from Manhattan, others relative natives who live nearby and can call Primo a top-notch local spot. Lucky them. In this restaurant they have a warm and wonderful place where they can eat, and dine (we know these are two different things), welcomed to a homey spot where the food is a bit more formal than the service, but neither is overbearing. And they can rest assured that the food they're eating has been raised, cultivated, butchered, caught, cooked, and served with love and pride. We need more places like this in America, and everywhere.


PRIMO
2 South Main Street 
Rockland, Maine
(207) 596.0770
www.primorestaurant.com 

*Additional locations now in Orlando, FL and Tuscon, AZ

Have Knives, Will Travel

Cradling my beloved Sicilian pachino tomatoes at Da Claudio, my favorite stand in the Campo de' Fiori market

I don't want to be boastful here, but it's not every day that you have an article written about you and your work in The New York Times. So, like a special birthday or anniversary, a milestone, I am going to celebrate this occasion. I'm showing my appreciation for the profile in this week's Frequent Flier column by re-posting the link to the article that ran this past Tuesday, October 16th in the business section of The Times, page B8. 

The column is dedicated to those who travel a lot, for business and/or pleasure. And I certainly do travel, and overall, I love it. The flying part of it? Not as much. Those who know me know I've had my fair share of travel drama (and missed flights -- particularly when going to or coming from London. Not sure what it is with that place and me missing my plane!). Flying has become considerably less fun since 9/11, and ever more complicated when traveling with knives, as one might imagine. For me, bringing my knife roll along is like a business person carrying a briefcase: it is my work stuff. But try convincing an overworked and cranky TSA agent of that. Anyway, the article sheds a little light on how it is to travel when your business is cooking for clients. 

This column, however, is not long enough to discuss all the fun I've had traveling and cooking for clients along the way, and over the past nearly-10 years that my company, Blu Aubergine, has been in existence. From teaching cooking classes and giving culinary tours in Rome when it was my full-time home, to traveling outside of the city to teach in a gorgeous villa in Tuscany, or a beautiful home in Westchester, to working with corporate clients on team-building cooking classes among international employees, I've loved teaching others about the food I love. And I've loved traveling to cook for others all over the world, whether it was for clients from New York City to Martha's Vineyard to South Florida, or overseas, from up and down the Italian peninsula to raucous dinner parties in London, to cooking for friends in the French countryside or in southern Spain. And while eating during the course of all of my travels around the world, I've gained enormous inspiration that informs my cooking, from Thailand to Argentina, Sardegna to Croatia, Israel to Brazil, the Greek Islands to the Caribbean islands. I explore so that wherever I might be, in whatever kitchen I find myself, I bring a taste of the world to my cuisine. And I hope to keep doing so for a very long time. 

If you need a hand in the kitchen, anywhere around the world, I have the answer: I have knives. And I will travel.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/16/business/a-chefs-travel-adventures-in-pursuit-of-culinary-inspiration.html