BOURDAIN REFLECTION

"You have to be a romantic to cook well." -- Anthony Bourdain

I'd eaten countless times at Les Halles on Park Avenue South before I quit my career in fashion and luxury goods PR, and applied to culinary school. I had no idea who was behind the burners, or what went on in the life of those who inhabited the kitchen down below the vibrant dining room, where I periodically indulged in frisée a lardons, steak tartare, and cassoulet. The place was local-ish and it scratched an itch when I had a hankering for classic French bistro fare. 

It wasn't until years later, after I'd graduated from culinary school at Peter Kump's (now called the Institute of Culinary Education) and was already working the line at San Domenico NY, on Central Park South, that my parents gifted me Anthony Bourdain's breakthrough book, Kitchen Confidential. (The dedication is here, at right, with a final "Congrats on your cooking" -- the simplicity and earnestness of which I love).

I remember devouring the book very quickly. And though I had my doubts then, and still do, about the veracity of some of the anecdotes within those pages, I quickly decided that this guy was speaking on my behalf, and on behalf of those in my line of work. He spoke for those of us who loved cooking professionally and making people happy, but also those of us who reveled in the hours working when others were playing, playing when those others were sleeping, and sleeping when those others were in their office cubicles, restrained in suits and lucky to get a glimpse of the sunshine during their too-brief lunch hour. This was new to me, having gone from the necessarily image-obsessed offices of fashion and entertainment PR to the back of house, among the uniformed (a.k.a. dressed-down) ranks of the brigade-style upscale restaurant kitchen. This kitchen was a place quite often more brutal than a classic office environment: the pressure is intense, the competition among the cooks is fierce, the level of artistry high, while an atmosphere of militaristic menace and command-obsessed precision reign. So, that part Bourdain nailed. And he'd worked mostly at lobster shacks and mid-range restaurants slinging brunch, so his experience involved less artistry, more delinquency. The industry as a whole is indeed full of misfits and ne'er-do-wells (I had to throw that term in there) whose resumés did not look like mine when I entered through the kitchen doors. But their drive to make delicious food, with swagger, was intoxicating. And I was enthralled. I never looked back. And never did I long to sit in a cubicle over the hottest and messiest of kitchens.

Fast-forward to my years living and cooking in Rome. I almost never watched Italian television because, frankly, with a few rare exceptions, it's awful. It was the aughts, and my expat friends and I had developed an elaborate network of DVD swapping and TV show (illegal) downloading so that we could participate in the English language zeitgeist that required working knowledge of series like "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City" and "Lost". Once I'd learned to master downloading onto my laptop and viewing the shows through my computer attached to my television, with surround sound coming through my speaker system...well, when I wasn't working or running around enjoying the food and nightlife of the Eternal City, I watched as many shows as I could fit into an evening at home with my Roman kitty cat. And having seen some of Bourdain's shows in the late '90s back in New York, I knew to download all of "A Cook's Tour" and "No Reservations" (as they aired) and again devoured Bourdain's work. I even downloaded the single season of the TV adaptation of "Kitchen Confidential" starring Bradley Cooper (!) as Bourdain's character in this chef-driven drama (a series on Fox isn't a terribly relevant adaptation of the book, but Cooper is always magnetic and some of it was actually pretty funny). I ADORED these shows. In his travel shows, Tony's snarky-but-open-minded commentary on locales both exotic (Vietnam, various African countries) and familiar (U.S. cities and most of Western Europe) struck a chord with me. He was hilarious. Insightful. Worldly. Sweet. Sardonic. He was from Jersey. He smoked on camera and got drunk and ate anything and everything. He was my kind of chef. 

Oh, how I wanted to take him around Rome and show him my second home, the city that I love. Oh, did I want to drink with Bourdain. But most of all, I was grateful for what he gave me (and so many others, as it turns out): a window onto the world, an invite into the global kitchen, a glimpse at cultures we may never experience for ourselves. It was the ultimate armchair traveler's experience, and more specifically, it catered to the food-obsessed -- chefs like myself chief among them. I loved all of Bourdain's shows but to me, despite his award-winning later work at CNN, I loved his "No Reservations" series most of all. He was still relatively curious without an overabundance of cynicism (though of course, that New Yorker cynicism is part of what makes him Bourdain). He represented the best of what travel does for humankind. And for each of us on a personal level. I felt he was there for me, especially when I was living 5,000 miles from home and felt detached, felt distant from my family, felt somehow traitorous living so far from my beloved NYC after 9/11. Bourdain made me feel like my wanderlust, my culinary curiosity, my love of exploring the world -- it wasn't a negative, it wasn't a liability, it wasn't even un-American. It was the greatest gift I possessed. It was to be nurtured, not extinguished.

I was, of course, traveling when the news broke that Bourdain had taken his own life while filming an episode of "Parts Unknown" in France (his first international travel destination as a kid, where his journey began, and probably no coincidence, where it ended). I was in the Florida Keys with my family, and my husband woke me up in the early morning with cries of "no, no no!" He had been reading the news on his phone while I slept, and he shook me awake and said, "hon, oh noooo, you'll never believe it!" The news hit me like a ton of bricks just a few weeks after Kate Spade had taken her own life. First it was an icon of fashion, my former industry, and now an icon of the food world, and of New York -- my current career and hometown -- had taken his life too. That he would leave his best friend chef Eric Ripert to find his body seems uncharacteristically cruel of him. I've always admired Ripert since the day he taught us lobster butchery and cooking in culinary school. My heart has gone out to Ripert in dealing with all of this, and losing his best friend in such a terrible manner. But the question still lingers: why? While we'll never actually know, my immediate thought was that it was a combination of romantic heartbreak, and his addictive personality and problems with substance abuse in the past. You can get over the former but you can rarely shake the latter, at least not completely. It seems like it's always the loveliest of souls who never stick around for the long haul. Back in Manhattan, the now-shuttered Les Halles (the last place of Bourdain's cooking employ) was covered with notes of remembrance, photos, love letters on post-it notes and an outpouring of sympathy and sadness, the sidewalk covered in flowers the length of the storefront. Tony was most certainly loved.

While there's a huge hole in my heart that Bourdain used to fill with his acerbic wit, his mellifluous and spot-on prose, and his gorgeously-filmed and insightful and funny television programs, at least we have all of that which he left us. It's down in writing, on film. And his interviews are a thing of beauty, whether podcast or radio show or television interviews. To read the things he's written and said is to mine pull quote gold. And so, below, I give you a few of my favorites. He was not "just a chef" -- a phrase I hate. We are all multi-hyphenates, as humans -- some of us much more than others, and Bourdain was one of those. He knew music and cinema and literature as well as any professor of any of those subjects. It makes his thoughts on culture and politics relevant. Personally, I will always look to someone who is well-traveled, who has really lived, to give his or her opinion on things over an "expert" quote-unquote, any day of the week. It breaks my heart to have to write this reflection in memorium, on what is Bourdain's birthday, and what Ripert and José Andres have dubbed "BOURDAIN DAY." We miss you, Tony. We always will.


"As you move through this life and this world, you change things slightly; you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life--and travel--leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks--on your body or on your heart--are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt."
 
“If I am an advocate for anything, it is to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. Walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food. It’s a plus for everybody.”

“Basic cooking skills are a virtue... the ability to feed yourself and a few others with proficiency should be taught to every young man and woman as a fundamental skill. [It’s] as vital to growing up as learning to wipe one’s own ass, cross the street by oneself, or be trusted with money.”

"I'm very type-A, and many things in my life are about control and domination, but eating should be a submissive experience, where you let down your guard and enjoy the ride."

“My hometown New York also has a big heart. It doesn’t like to see itself in that way, but we do come together when need be, often in moments of crisis.”

“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom... is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.”

And I've got to include his thoughts on Trump:

From Eater's post-election interview:

So, did you vote?

Yes. No fan of the Clintons am I, by a long shot. But I’m a New Yorker, Donald Trump is a New Yorker. And the New Yorkers I know, we’ve lived with this guy for 30 years. I’ve seen Donald Trump say things one day, and then I saw what he did the next. I’ve seen up close how he does business. Just like if you lived in a small town, you’d get to know the sheriff, the guy who runs the hardware store, the guy who runs the filling station — Trump comes from that era of guys you followed, guys you knew about every day: Trump, Giuliani, Al Sharpton, Curtis Sliwa. I’d see him at Studio 54, for fuck’s sake. I’m not saying I know the guy personally, not like I’d hug him, but I’m saying that as a New Yorker, we pretty much are neighbors. And my many years of living in his orbit have not left me with a favorable impression, let’s put it that way. There’s so many reasons to find the guy troubling. When Scott Baio’s the only guy you can find to show up at your convention, you’re in trouble...

...And Trump — the man eats his steak well done! I don’t think he’s a good person. I remember the Central Park Five, and what he said. I’ve seen how he’s treated employees. I saw what he did to Atlantic City. I saw what he did to the west side of this town. It’s fuckin’ ugly. He’s going to make the whole world look like the back of Rick James’ van."

HOLIDAYS: First Mother's Day, and Cake

To start, a disclaimer: I fully realize Mother's Day has come and gone. Of course, mothers deserve recognition a lot more than one day a year, so I'm happy to extend the celebration. (Really, mothers deserve to be celebrated every day, all year long, but I digress). Still, I'd fully intended to have this post written and up by Sunday May 12th. Alas, things come up and loved ones need tending to, and so, I'm getting this out as soon as was possible for me.

My beautiful Mom and a very young me!

But I didn't want to skip this post simply because of a date on a calendar. You see, this year, Mother's Day has new meaning for me. I've always appreciated the holiday as one that is important to celebrate, a time for all of us to show some appreciation to the first woman in each of our lives. I've written here on this blog about my mother, the specifics of our relationship, and what makes her unique and beautiful in my eyes. 

Here I am around age 3, imitating my Mom, trying to breast feed...my doll.

For so many, however, this holiday is fraught. Many people have lost their moms. Some have terrible or non-

existent relationships with their mothers. Others still, like me for so many years, wonder if they will ever get to experience the holiday as an honoree, and not just an honorer. I've had to muddle through many a Mother's Day brunch or lunch, had to conjure a smile when all I wanted to do was pull my hair out or cry in a corner. One such Mother's Day happened for me a few years ago, when my husband and I had been trying to get pregnant for about a year, but hadn't told anyone as much. It was May and I was hopeful I was pregnant -- I would have been about five or six weeks along. The signs were there, and I was quietly exuberant/nervous through extreme nausea, exhaustion, and a fair bit of anxiety. And then, suddenly, I wasn't pregnant. Period. On Mother's Day. Exclamation point! I was visiting my family in Florida, and I remember feeling I needed to hide what I was experiencing. I laid face-down on a poolside lounge chair (the only place I could be alone), sobbing into my towel. I tried to explain to my partner via phone how this particular incident felt, the particularly bitter pill I was swallowing that Mother's Day. All this as my sister-in-law, a decade my junior, sat just yards away inside my parents' house, nursing her third baby, then just weeks old. Talk about muddling through.

Holding my newborn munchkin

So this year, Mother's Day is, for me, quite the contrast and a literal dream come true. Like most dreams worth their salt, my husband and I have put in a ton of effort to bring this one to fruition. It's taken a lot of hard work, patience, diligence, dedication, love, hope, help -- really, too many ingredients to list here. And as is so often the case for the most obscenely delicious outcomes, this recipe is different for every person who creates a child. But every child is a wonder, just as our little Noah is a wonder to me and to his father. We gaze at him with awe every day, and we can't believe he's ours. And that we get to be his. One of the benefits of all of this, something about which I pinch myself every day, is that I get to be his protector and provider, and I can give him all the affection and love in the world without having to moderate that emotion. Put another way, I can kiss him and talk to him and hold him and feed him and not feel like it's "too much" -- no one can ever say I'm going overboard, or look at me strangely like "that's not your actual child, lady. Back off!" I don't even get that luxury with my nephews, much as I adore them. My love needs to have boundaries for every other child. Not so for my own baby.

I am now a mother to a son. I put him to bed every night and wake him up each morning and my body produces food to feed him every day. (As a chef who's used to being "limited" to simply cooking existing food for people, this is a step beyond)! I watch him sleep and check his breathing, I bathe him and groom him and swaddle him and bounce him and calm him. I take his temperature, I change his diapers and make sure his delicious little bottom is clean and dry. And, I do a million other little things on the daily that I don't necessarily think about, that are instinctive, that are tiny acts of love and caring and can be described in no other way except natural -- impulses provided to us by nature. Of course in the English language, mother has become a verb, a gerund: mothering. 
This word often has a negative connotation, one of excessive oversight, an overbearing presence. But I think mothering is a great thing. It's something not only mothers can do, of course, but to me it connotes safety and caretaking, all of those little natural impulses I mentioned before. I may be at turns a loud, boisterous personality and a headstrong feminist; at other times I'm a pensive homebody. But when it comes to my child, I want to be as maternal as possible, I want to be all of those things I found so comforting in my own mother. I want to be his safe place. I make an effort every day to make him feel that in me. I felt it with my mother since I can remember, and my Mom still offers me that sensation, even now that I'm in middle age. It's amazing the powerful place a mother holds in our hearts.

One of my strongest food memories as relates to my Mom is that of our family birthday cakes since my brothers and I celebrated our first birthdays, and on through our teenage years. They were always chocolate cakes with cream cheese icing. When we were young, they were decorated so they'd look like bunny rabbits or trucks or Raggedy Ann or some other elaborate creation. But the basic flavor pairing was always the same. My Mom also made it in cupcake form for our school birthday parties (remember when moms could just bake anything and bring them in for the whole class? Sigh). My classmates always loved it when my birthday rolled around!

As it turns out, one of the things I most craved in my third trimester was...chocolate cake with cream cheese icing. But I couldn't have it. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes right after New Year's Day (Happy New Year!) and had to cool it on pretty much all things chocolate and carb-y (i.e. everything I began to crave at about the same time they became prohibited). This birthday cake is forever the sweet taste of home for me, though. Not only is it wildly yummy, but there is some kind of safety in this food. It is maternal, somehow. And so, since I couldn't have it during my pregnancy, I decided I wanted it in honor of Mother's Day -- to fulfill my craving, sure, but also as a sweet homage to my mother and all the birthday cakes she baked for us growing up. The cake itself is good old fashioned deep chocolate cake from a mix (we were Duncan Hines loyalists, but any deep chocolate mix will do). The icing is homemade. All it really takes is whipping together 16 oz. of Philadelphia cream cheese with 4 oz (one stick) of unsalted butter, both softened. You mix in 2 cups or so of powdered confectioner's sugar (to taste) and there you have it. I made the icing purple because I wanted to eat a cake with purple icing and pretty purple sprinkles. Blue or green works just as well for Father's Day, by the way. Any excuse for a cake is a good enough reason to make this one in particular.

Mother's Day selfie

So, was my first Mother's Day everything I had dreamed of? Yes and no. The weather was nasty, cool and rainy. And the day itself wasn't terribly different from any other day with a newborn: slugging along, trying to keep the baby from crying, trying to keep up with feedings, hoping to get a little sleep, and all the rest. We were still too exhausted to celebrate in any demonstrable way, and still paying off medical bills so soon after the baby's birth. But mostly, I had been too afraid to dream about what this day would mean for me, just in case it never actually came to pass. I didn't allow myself that indulgence. Which made the day all the more special when I realized about two weeks out that I was going to get to celebrate Mother's Day as a mother this year. It's still almost too much to wrap my head around. Perhaps by Mother's Day next year? Regardless, it was a day that I will remember forever because it was my first, hopefully my first of many, many more to come. Just snuggling with my little munchkin who made me a mamma is all I really need on Mother's Day. I am so thankful to him, and to my husband, for giving me this new title, and the hope of living up to all that it means. For those out there for whom this holiday continues to be difficult -- Father's Day too -- I hear you, I understand. It may not be much, but a little advice from a new mother? Try some cake. It really does make everything, from the worst of days to the best of days, better. 

Our love, Noah

QUICK BITE: Spring Side

Nothing says spring in the kitchen like bright green veggies of the season. This means something different for each person, depending on where one lives, since fresh spring vegetable medleys reflect the local terrain, growing season, and food culture.

For me, in New York City, I can see spring in the markets when veggies cover the stall tables in all shades of green, from the pale green of artichokes and spring onions to the kelly green of asparagus and ramps, to the darker forest greens of swiss chard and spring kale varieties. Mushrooms vary depending on the season, and morels are a classic spring funghi -- though many are imported from the Pacific Northwest, and they can be difficult to find here in the northeast... and expensive when you do find them. But they're sooo delicious! In reality, a good spring vegetable medley is comprised of whatever you love and whatever you can find locally, so don't let any set idea of what this medley should be get in the way of putting together a personalized, killer mix as an accompaniment to any main course, or AS the main course. (I love throwing a great veggie medley on top of a soft polenta made with generous lashings of whole milk and grated grana padano or pecorino romano cheese).

So, for tasty dinners this May and early June, try taking a cue from the farmer's market, and make a simple sauté of spring veggies: mostly green, with some mushrooms in there for good measure. The mix is a celebration of the verdant offerings from the garden, and the earthy flavors that spring from the shaded floors of forests and fields as the days grow longer. 

In the large photo at the top of this post, I sauteed some spring garlic in olive oil, and added asparagus, freshly cleaned and sliced artichoke hearts, zucchini, ramps, and shiitake mushrooms. All they need is a sprinkling of sea salt and they work with just about anything you can serve alongside them for lunch or dinner. Or, toss with fresh pasta, pile on top of polenta, or stir into a risotto. Most important is enjoying the veggies of the season at their peak. 


Eviva la primavera! Long live spring!

International Women's Day

"Everything you see I owe to spaghetti" -- Sophia Loren

"People who love to eat are always the best people" -- Julia Child

"I believe that all anyone really wants in this life is to sit in peace and eat a sandwich." -- Liz Lemon, 30 Rock













   
I am an unabashed feminist. The textbook definition of the word feminist, by the way, is no to be considered a "dirty word" by any stretch of the imagination. It simply means someone who believes females and males should have political, social, and economic equality. Period. Ovaries are not required to feel this way -- in fact, kudos to the men out there (like my husband) who are not threatened by the concept of feminism and can join in rallying for support of women everywhere. So, this year, after having been through the #metoo and #timesup movements, the ups and downs of the Women's March and the scandals of its leaders, the massive wave of women voted into government positions in the midterm elections, and a short film about menstrual shaming taking home an Oscar, I'd say women are in the spotlight in a way we haven't been for a long time. And, it's high time we salute women who make our lives more delicious. Since March is International Women's month, it's a great time to remember, here on this blog, the importance of women in today's world -- especially the world of food, drink, and hospitality. 

We women have chosen a culinary career because we have the capacity for nurturing, for giving, for feeding people, showing love through food and drink and making guests, clients, and customers feel cared for, appreciated, loved.  And of course, we make our friends and families feel the same thing. It usually stems from caring for those closest to us, actually, and grows from there. I started off as a young girl baking cookies and cakes for my family, and then my classmates, and I still get the "baker's high" when I make a birthday cake or a sweet treat for friends or family now. It's this showing of love through food that has propelled me as a culinary professional. It could be making the perfect osso buco with risotto milanese for a dinner party or in a restaurant kitchen that scratches that itch these days, but I feel it just as strongly now as I did back in 1980. Probably more strongly, actually, since it's now my career to feed people. 

The important thing here is that we all support women in the hospitality industry. Women supporting women is great, and it should always be a first step we can count on as a community of women, for women. But this support cannot be limited to women only. Every community needs to rally around its female contributors and creatives, especially in industries where it's historically been difficult for women to thrive (one could argue that's most industries, but I digress). Let's get behind those James Beard award-winning female chefs, and those who have taken home Michelin stars, and those female sommeliers at the top of their game, but also -- and maybe more importantly -- let's recognize, and support with coverage and with our dollars, those women who run small activities, corner cafes, coffee shops and boutique catering companies, those who teach cooking to our kids, those who fight for those living in food deserts and for kids to have nutritious school lunches...and everything in between. We must recognize the tremendous impact women are having in food and hospitality and call them out. Interact. Support. Recognize their contributions. This is the only way forward, and we can ALL benefit from women's hard work. We all deserve it! 

Happy Women's History Month, and have a wonderful International Women's Day (Festa delle Donne in Italian). Auguri!!!

DINING OUT: St. John, London

The London dining scene is as vibrant as it's ever been these days, and it's a fabulous representation of the melting pot that is this city. But among the newest iterations of Middle Eastern and Indian, French and Spanish and Italian cuisines, and restaurants touting everything from Sri Lankan to American retro burger joints...well, the celebration of classic and updated but always distinctly British food at St. John deserves to be highlighted, still. 

Chef-owner Fergus Henderson is renowned among a certain subset of chefs, particularly those Bourdain-loving, tattooed proponents of the nose-to-tail cooking and eating ethos, a trend for which Henderson is often given credit for launching. It's this very British, postwar, waste-not-want-not mentality that birthed Henderson's kind of cooking, and it remains a big hit among London diners, international visitors, and foodies who adore getting their noses into offal and bone marrow and all kinds of savory, meaty goodies and traditional dishes.

The space itself is part laboratory, part sterilized slaughterhouse in feel. It's industrial but somehow upscale, too. White, soaring ceilings, skylights, and dark wood furniture set this tone, with pendant lamps and a definitive lack of cover from linens, carpets, and the like. The staff is helpful and professional. And the menu is unlike most I've come across in my many years in the food industry, and my exhaustive travels. Take a gander at the current lunch menu, for example, which reads as colorful, properly British, and almost Dickensian:

Potatoes 5.20

Green Salad 5.50

Greens 4.50

Welsh Rarebit 6.50

Celeriac Soup	8.50
Brown Shrimp and White Cabbage	9.80
Kohlrabi	8.90
Crispy Pig Cheek and Dandelion	11.80
Brown Crab Meat on Toast	10.50
Cold Roast Dexter Liver, Radishes and Anchovy	9.50
Langoustines and Mayonnaise	18.70
Roast Bone Marrow and Parsley Salad	10.50
Hare Saddle and Swede	24.80
Witch Sole and Tartare Sauce	25.50
Roast Squash, Pickled Walnut and Goat's Curd	15.80
Kid Liver, Lentils and Mustard	19.80
Snails, Sausage and Chickpea	22.80
Lamb Tongues, Butter Beans and Green Sauce	21.50
Smoked Eel, Beetroot and Horseradish	25.20
Braised Ox Kidney, Bacon and Mash	19.80

As you might imagine, none of the dishes are overwrought or "fancy" in any traditional sense. Most of the dishes are pared down, if anything. The famous bone marrow with parsley salad, in the photo above, is one of the most iconic of Henderson's dishes, and the original (and spare preparation) of a bone marrow dish that launches a thousand bone marrow dishes around the world. Fergus Henderson did not invent bone marrow as a restaurant dish, but it is probably because of him that you can find it in so many creative iterations in dining establishments around the globe. Many chefs have improved upon the original. But you needed the original to start the trend in the first place.

Radishes with anchovy and butter. Crispy pig cheek and dandelion greens. Lamb tongue with butter beans and green sauce. Hare, quail, snails, eel, ox kidneys. These are the most important components of a St. John menu: the forgotten dishes and the flavor pairings ranging from old school classic to unusual umami bombs. The off-cuts. It's all given new life in this chef's hands. And, the place is always and still very buzzy, which makes it fun. (Offally fun? Punny? OK I'll stop...)

There's also reverence given to vegetables, by themselves. In the late spring, I enjoyed a mix of artichokes, lima beans, greens, and other spring offerings, lightly stewed. You can get salads, and in cooler months, you find interesting veggies like kohlrabi, cabbage, roasted squash of various varieties, and soups made of celeriac. You can also find traditional smoked seafood and preserved and pickled foods, as has been the culinary way in this part of Europe for centuries.

It's also nice to see that the meal can be rounded out by a significant dessert menu and pastry program, with breads savory and sweet, famous English puddings, and gorgeous local cheeses. There are standards like chocolate mousse and rice pudding, as well as madeleines baked to order (and also to go). But the oh-so-English desserts are what perfectly finish off a meal here: spotted dick, brown bread and marmalade ice cream, ginger loaf with butterscotch sauce. It's not for everyone, that's for sure. Nothing about this place easily appeals to the masses, though it is certainly an Everyman-style menu. But Chef Fergus Henderson pulls it off with aplomb, with skilled technique, a mix of imagination and nostalgia, and a wink and a nod to British culinary tradition, such as it is. Together, the mix works and is what makes dining at St. John a perennial pleasure.




St. John Restaurant
26 St. John Street, Clerkenwell
London  EC1M4AY
+44 20 7251 0848
www.stjohnrestaurant.com

RECIPE: Pasta alla Carbonara

In the "quaternity" of Roman pasta dishes, pasta alla carbonara, in my opinion, is tied for first place. (I have to give it up for the only pasta dish with a tomato-based sauce, all'amatriciana). Carbonara holds a special place in my heart as a dish I learned to make as a student in Florence 26 years ago. The backstories are myriad, including one falsely perpetuated by countless tour guides in Rome that this was the pasta version of bacon and eggs beloved by American soldiers, who brought the flavor combo to Italy during World War II. 

But no, though this is a dish eaten in various parts of the Italian peninsula, carbonara is a classically Roman dish, with Roman roots. This is proven by one of its key ingredients: guanciale, a distinctly Roman cut of pig that is its cured, highly-spiced jowl. This guanciale gives the carbonara sauce its unctuous undertones and the emulsified sheen in its egg yolk-enriched sauce. In reality, a carbonara is not a real carbonara if it uses pancetta (or heaven forbid...bacon!) as the porky element in the dish. Of course, the dish gets its saltiness from the cheese used: unequivocally pecorino romano (never parmigiano! Never grana padano!), a Roman sheep's milk hard aged cheese and the saltiest of the grating cheeses in the Italian culinary repertoire. This is another clue to the dish's Roman origin. The cracked black pepper is important as well -- the little flecks supposedly represent coal, as the dish is named after coal miners (carbonari) -- another origin story of this dish. Some claim the pasta was instead favored by the Carbonari, a secret political society of nationalists who tried to revolutionize Italy in the early 19th century (predating Italian unification), though dried pasta was not readily available to the general population until after World War II, so this is unlikely. Some believe it was created at a restaurant in Rome called "La Carbonara" (which could certainly be true, in terms of timeline and location). Whatever the correct origin story, the important thing to remember? This dish is Roman. It must be treated as such.

Now, I've had plenty of "inauthentic" carbonaras in Italy (not Rome) that used pancetta to pretty good effect, and even...dare I say...used a touch of heavy cream to help with the consistency of the sauce. This is heresy to a Roman cook, however. And since I like to stick to the classic preparation before allowing adept chefs to deviate from the original (one must study Renaissance art before one can paint like Picasso or Pollock, after all), I will present you here with a classic Roman recipe. One thing to remember, however: it is never, ever, EVER okay to add peas to a carbonara. Ever. Thank you and buon appetito.

PASTA ALLA CARBONARA (4-6 people)

2 TBS. extra-virgin olive oil

½ lb. thickly sliced guanciale (pancetta, in a pinch) cut into small strips

3 whole eggs and 3 egg yolks, lightly beaten

Generous couple of pinches of fresh ground black pepper

Salt to taste

1 lb. spaghetti or short pasta (like bombolotti or rigatoni)

1 cup grated pecorino romano cheese

-Bring a large pot of water to a boil.

  

- Once the water comes to a rolling boil, add a generous couple of pinches of salt (the water should be briny, almost like seawater), and toss in the pasta and stir. Cook pasta until al dente. (*Note: in the photo here, the white ring of still-uncooked pasta at the center of the shape means the pasta is al dente, and should be removed from the water immediately).

-Heat a large skillet over medium heat, add the olive oil, and then add the guanciale (or pancetta), cooking until lightly browned and almost crisp.

-Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk the eggs with the salt, pepper, and ½ cup of the pecorino cheese.

- When the pasta is al dente, drain the pasta and add directly to the pan where the guanciale was cooked (the pan should be warm but turn the flame off before adding the pasta).

- Add the egg mixture to the pan and toss pasta and guanciale to coat. This is the tricky step: the egg sauce should be warm enough that it thickens to form a sauce (not just raw eggs), but shouldn’t be so hot that the eggs cook and become scrambled. Turn on a low flame if necessary to help gently cook the egg sauce.

-Add a generous handful of the pecorino, and turn to mix thoroughly.

-Serve at once.

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SEASONAL INGREDIENTS: Pumpkin and Squash

Autumn is probably my favorite season for cooking, as the cooler weather and shorter days drive the desire to stay in, shack up, cuddle, dine...which makes it a perfect time for food that straddles the line between seasonal/fresh/light and comforting/slow-cooking/warm.

During my many years living in Italy, zucca, as the general pumpkin/squash family is referred to, was a favorite, and was a prevalent fall ingredient in dishes from the northeastern Veneto region down to Rome. Interestingly, pumpkin was for centuries considered a "Jewish food" -- one that the general population shunned, and so it crept into the Italian culinary vernacular through Italian Jewish populations and their recipes. The larger Jewish populations in both Venice and Rome are the source for a variety of the most beloved pumpkin and squash recipes still cooked today. 

The pumpkin flowers -- sometimes from actual pumpkins and sometimes they come from zucchini (a squash relative) -- are put to good use in Italian cuisine. In Rome, they are stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, then battered and fried, and served as an antipasto. In other regions, they're stuffed with ricotta cheese and herbs and are fried or sautéed. They're also favored pizza toppers all over Italy. The zucca itself is made into everything from soups to pasta sauces, risottos to gnocchi and pasta. And roasted pumpkin is a great accompaniment to meats braised and grilled, or fish and seafood dishes in their many forms.

Pumpkin pairs well with pork, so it's served with everything from crispy pancetta and prosciutto to pork loins and roasts, grilled chops, and even porchetta. You can marinate it in a little citrus juice or balsamic and olive oil, and grill it. You can puree it into a sauce or serve it as a side like mashed potatoes, as a healthy starch alternative. It really is a workhorse ingredient! In the U.S. this autumn, pumpkin butter seems to be replacing avocado as the seasonal toast-topper, and I for one welcome the change.

Pumpkin (and squash) are also great for you: they're an excellent source of beta carotene and Vitamin A, as well as some Vitamin C. The seeds of the pumpkin (often called "pepitas" in North and South America) are nutrient-rich, full of magnesium and zinc and protein. Pumpkin seed oil is a delicacy and is used a lot in Central European cooking. Uses for the flowers are mentioned above, making the pumpkin an excellent "whole vegetable" or "root to fruit" complete food item which can be fully consumed without waste.

And of course, at this time of year, we visit pumpkin patches and pumpkins begin to play a very important seasonal role. Not only do we consume pumpkin everything (please see John Oliver's segment on the ubiquity and frenzy over everything pumpkin spice, for a good laugh!) -- it's in our scented candles and body lotions, it's in our sweet and savory breads, and our Thanksgiving pies -- but we also decorate with pumpkins and gourds, we carve jack-o-lanterns, and we dress our kids as big round orange pumpkins! We're pretty pumpkin-obsessed in October and November, though that's fine with me. I've always been a big fan (as you can see me here at a very young age)...enjoy pumpkin season, people!