The $110 Appetizer and the Gifts that Followed

Describing Venice as a "labyrinth" has the metaphoric equivalency of calling the Adriatic Sea "moist."  

Remember back to the SATs?  Venice : Labyrinth :: Adriatic Sea : ?

Get my meaning?  Good.  Then you'll understand what a remarkable feat it was even finding our hotel let alone the serendipity of finding one of the best restaurants in the whole city.

We took the train from Florence to Venice (assisted by a few very pleasant gypsies who helped fleece us out of 10 Euros more than they should have) and arrived at a train station.  Not entirely remarkable to itself, as we were traveling by train (see previous sentence), however, only in Venice will the train station be on the bank of a major water way trimmed in grand architecture dating back to the 13th to 18th centuries.  Speaking with the European tourists who frequent the city, we learned of the Vaporetti--the water buses that are the most commonly accessed water transport.  Studying multiple maps, we gained a good sense of what stop we needed and so we settled into the ride--jostling with locals and tourists from around the globe, and getting swept up in the sights of Venice.

We arrived at our stop, but on exiting the vaporetto, we had no markers to indicate which "street" would lead us to our hotel.  Wheeling our luggage behind us, we entered the closest alleyway to us.  As it turns out, everything in Venice that isn't water and isn't a building is either a bridge, a piazza or an alley.  And since the only land transportation is walking, size of alley doesn't really indicate the importance of the alley.  Wide alleys may dead end and narrow alleys may lead exactly where you want to go.  So it was with this alley we chose.  I remember thinking, "this can't be right," because the alley was so narrow I could not wheel two suitcases behind me side-by-side without scraping them against the 4-story buildings defining the passage way. 

We passed restaurants in open piazzas (mid-afternoon, so most were closed for lunch but may have served some light fare) then ducked back into another alley--still without any real idea of our direction.    By happenstance we glanced up an another alley we thought SHOULD be close to our destination, and there it was: our hotel.

We checked in, got the scoop from the boys at the front desk, toweled off (SO HOT and HUMID!) and then went back outside to explore. 

Venice is everything I wanted it to be and so much more.  I could go back tomorrow and enjoy it as if it were my first time. 

Initially, I had a mind to try and live on a budget.  This is probably the financial advisor in me, but I was really trying to shop and eat on the cheap.  At least until lunch on the second day.  We found a good, out of the way place (everything is sort of out of the way: did I mention that Venice is a maze?) and ate some really wonderful cuisine: frutti di mare.  Then everything sort of fell into place in my mind--like finding that one long piece in Tetris that clears all the rows:  I'm ME.  I love food.  Why would I punish us by avoiding some of the best food opportunities in the world?  Budget minded living gets you Olive Garden Venice.

We walked back to the hotel that night and past a little restaurant not 50 feet from the front of our hotel door.  We had passed it every time we went into or exited from our hotel, but with my newly renovated mindset, I noticed a basket of wild mushrooms, including boletes--mushrooms of the finest quality.  I used to hunt mushrooms in New Mexico and those were prizes, if found.  Their locations were closely guarded secrets by any mycologist lucky enough to find them.  Now, here they were, half a world away, and no less prized.  We told the maitre d' that we needed a shower but we would be back soon. 

They set a table for us upwind from the smokers (everywhere is a designated smoking area in Venice, doubly so outside) and we ordered a bottle of wine and asked how the chef recommended the mushrooms.  Like climbing the steps to Heaven, my taste buds ascended to levels of ecstasy they had never before known.  We split a serving of the boletes as an appetizer, then a shared course of risotto with seafood, we shared a small steak and vegetables, and finished with a panna cotta for dessert.  THIS!  This is what I know we deserved. 

We returned the next two nights, playing a repeat of that same theme: The second night having ravioli for an appetizer, a chanterelles risotto, seafood entree, more wine, more panna cotta. The third night we looked to blow out all the stops. 

Flashback:  I remember in college, The Old Towne Ale House had dollar beers and 10 cent wings on Wednesday nights.  Wednesday night became my night of gluttony, damned be the consequences.  And sure enough, the consequences usually damned me, some way, some how, either that night or the next morning. 

A voice in the back of my head may have whispered that this was about to happen again.  On a much larger scale.

Damned be the consequences? 

We told the maitre d' that we'd be back in 45 minutes and asked if we could have what had become our table.  We cleaned up and changed, and made our way back.  Our regular server had the night off, but we had seen tonight's server the previous nights and he had been prepared for our evening--looking forward to it, even.  We asked what he recommended for a bottle of wine to which he said the maitre d' recommends a very special bottle for us.  We accepted the personalized recommendation.  Let the stop blowing begin.  I asked about the mushrooms for the day, and there was a special treat: in addition to the chanterelles of the previous night, they also had a very beautiful, very large and very fresh truffle from the mainland. Truffle risotto?  Fillet with a truffle sauce?  We elected to have a simple saute of chanterelles for an appetizer, cuttlefish and pasta, the fillet et truffle and then we'd decide on something for dessert. 

The mushrooms came out of the kitchen and our waiter presented us two plates, as opposed to our customary one.  He hadn't been serving us the previous nights, and I hadn't thought to tell him that we share the courses. (In all honesty, each serving was exceedingly generous.  There would be no way we could each have eaten that much food without sharing, and we wanted to try as many dishes as we could.  Hence: sharing.)  We indicated our preference to our new waiter, but the appitizer damage was done.  And since we weren't really ordering from the menu, we didn't know the price.  We didn't think (want?) to ask, either. 

Damned be the consequences.  We ordered another bottle of wine.

We smiled and joked with the staff, with other patrons (Hello, John "James" Bond 006 3/4.  We agree, you didn't quite make it.) and passers-by.  We watched as people passed, women dressed to impress in their short dresses and high heels, staggering not at all on the cobbled walkways, the families with beleaguered children (or sometimes parents) in tow, the young, the old, the wealthy, the middle class, all flowing like water through the passageways of Venice. 

The hours passed and our evening started to wrap up.  My beloved excused herself to the women's room and our waiter and some of the staff joined me at the table.  I expressed my gratitude for the hospitality and the wonderful cuisine of the last few days.  I discovered that all of the ingredients are as local as possible and some--like the chanterelles, boletes and truffles--may be found wild.  They then presented the bill.

I would love to believe that I had a good poker face.  I knew the tab would be high.  I know I held it together well enough, because everyone was still smiling as my beloved returned with the maitre d',  having been introduced to our chef.  I paid the tab and kept the receipt.  Later I discovered the appetizer--those lovely chanterelles, hand picked and lovingly prepared--came to 75 Euros.  The rest of the dinner, the bottles of wine, all added up to a pretty penny.  Damn those consequences.

Rather than leaving, our maitre d' invited us inside (completely empty--for all the bustle of the restaurant, everyone wanted to sit outside) and offered us limoncello.  We sat and sipped and talked of good food and travel.  We shared some of our favorite recipes, and they presented us with a cookbook.  We shook hands and embraced as appropriate and we took our leave.  We waddled up to our room to go to bed for our last night in Venice.  The gondoliers still paddled through the tight canal, four stories below our window, their lanterns looking like fireflies dancing over the water. 

We reflected: the food was wonderful, the people were terrific.  The bill was large but worth it and the cookbook was a charming gesture of the hospitality of our hosts.  From one family who enjoys food to another.  The consequences were not that damned bad.

Here are a few interpretations of our favorite Venitian cuisine.  Buon appetito!

Sauteed Chanterelles
If you're lucky enough to get fresh chanterelles, that's great!  If you can't, don't despair: they dry well and can easily be reconstituted.  Simply simmer for 5 minutes in water, or white wine and water, or broth.  Remove from the heat and let stand, submerged in the liquid and covered for 10 minutes.  When they've softened, trim off the tough stem ends.  Reserve the liquid to flavor other dishes (like risotto).

1 1/2 cups fresh or reconstituted Chanterelles (I'm partial to Golden, but Black are also available and delicious)
1 1/2  tablespoons of Butter
1 large clove of Garlic, minced
1 small Shallot, sliced very thin
1/4 cup Dry White Wine
1 tablespoon Parsley, minced, plus a few whole leaves for garnish

(If the mushrooms have been reconstituted, saute them in a dry skillet for a few minutes to steam out most of the residual liquid.  Then continue.)  Melt the butter in a skillet on medium high heat until it stops foaming, then add the garlic and shallots.  Stir gently for 60 seconds (or one minute--your choice.  I'm not picky.) then add the chanterelles.  Saute for 2-3 minutes, moving them gently, occasionally.  Add the minced parsley and saute with the chanterelles for another minute.  Add the wine and reduce the heat to medium low.  Let simmer for 3-4 more minutes. 

Garnish with a couple of whole parsley leaves and serve hot.

Fruiti di Mare
Most every culture that exists near the sea has some kind of seafood stew.  I can't think of any that don't, but then again, I'm not really trying.  This is one inspired by the seafoods available locally in eastern Italy, but adapted for the supermarket fish available in the mountains of Colorado.

1 lb Shrimp, shelled and deveined
1/2 lb each of live Clams and Mussels
1/2 lb small Squid, cleaned and cut into rings (and tentacles if you're lucky enough to get the whole squid)
10 Roma Tomatoes, chopped
2 cloves Garlic, minced
1 large Shallot, sliced fine
3 tablespoons fresh Parsley Leaves, minced
1/2 cup White Wine
Olive Oil
Salt
Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 cup Chicken or Fish Stock
Pasta (spaghetti or linguine)

In a large pan over medium high heat, add 1/4 cup of olive oil.  Wait 30 seconds until the oil can be swirled easily in the bottom of the pan, then add the garlic, shallots, 1 teaspoon salt and 1 (slightly rounded) teaspoon of red pepper.  Stir gently in the pan until the garlic has softened. Add the white wine and stock and cover.  Let come to a simmer and reduce heat.   Add the clams and mussels and cover the pan again. (Take care to sort out any with broken shells or which have already opened.)  Let simmer for 10 minutes until the shells have opened. 

Add the chopped tomatoes and 2 tablespoons of  parsley.  Cover and let simmer for 5 minutes.  Add more wine and stock if needed. 

Start a large pot of salted water to boil.  Cook the pasta according to directions.

As you put the dried pasta in the pot, add the shrimp and calamari to the tomatoes and shellfish.  Cover the pot.  Cook for about 5 minutes then stir to mix everything.   The shrimp should be pink and the calamari white.  Cover and remove from the heat.

Drain the pasta, and in a large bowl, combine the frutti di mare and the linguini and toss once or twice with tongs.  Sprinkle with the remaining parsley.  Serve in individual bowls with a little crostini on the side.

Limoncello
My beloved has been making this for years, but has recently changed the recipe. This is a wonderful after dinner liqueur, or you can mix it with sparkling water for a summer afternoon treat.

2 large, organic Lemons
Cheese Cloth and String
a large Glass Jar with a Lid

750 ml Pure Grain Alcohol (Everclear)

1 cup Water

1 cup Sugar 

juice of the 2 Lemons

 

Wrap the lemons in a piece of cheesecloth and tie the ends like a satchel, leaving enough string on both ends to hang a few inches below the top of the jar. 

 

Pour the alcohol into the glass jar. Holding the string ends, make sure the lemon does not touch the alcohol. Secure the string around the mouth of the jar and close the jar tightly.  (If your jar does not have an airtight seal, you can seal the lid by wrapping the seam with adhesive tape.)  Leave the jar in a cool, dark place for 3 months.  (Beauty like this takes time. Deal with it.)

 

When ready, prepare a syrup by combining the cold water and sugar. Simmer over medium heat until the mixture boils and the sugar dissolves completely.  Remove from the heat and allow the syrup to rest until completely cool.

Unseal the jar, remove and juice the lemons. Pour the alcohol into a large jar along with the syrup. Add the lemon juice.  Mix very well. Pour the mixture through a coffee filter into a bottle.

Cork the bottle and let it rest for at least 1 week before using it.  Or as long as you can stand.  I think we waited about 5 minutes. 

There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

The December Holidays have come and gone. A new year has begun.

I realize the magic of my season comes from the solace of the hearth and kitchen.  Family and friends naturally gather where food can be found and the wafting aromas lure everyone to the kitchen.

In that spirit, I wanted to show you what I came up with for the hollidays.  I think it worked out well.

Happy Eating and Happy New Year.


Grilled Sweetbreads

Sweetbreads are the thyroid gland of a calf or a lamb.  Which sounds horrible but are really a wonderfully delicate and flavorful meat.  As with all offal, make certain it's fresh or frozen appropriately. 
1 lb veal Sweetbreads
Salt
Olive Oil
Salt and Pepper

Rinse the sweetbreads in cold water.  Remove any extra membrane.

Dissolve 2 tablespoons of salt in 2 quarts of water in a non-reactive bowl.  Add the sweetbreads.  (add more water if needed to cover.)  Seal in plastic wrap and put in the refrigerator for 8 hours or more.

Heat your grill to medium high (about 400 degrees).  Rinse the sweetbreads thoroughly and pat dry with paper towels.  Break into skewerable chunks and skewer onto 4 skewers.  (I know--if I used my Thesaurus, I might find another word for skewer.  But I'm not.  Feel free to contribute your ideas in the Comments section.)  Drizzle lightly with olive oil and smear it around with your hand to evenly coat.  Season with salt and pepper.

Lay the skewers on the grill and get to grilling.  Toast each side until golden brown, about 3-5 minutes per side.  (Caution: keep an eye on them.  They'll go from golden brown to burnt in a hurry.)

Remove from the heat and serve warm with a great dipping sauce.  Chimchurri is traditional, but I used a homemade Asian-style soy and vinegar.  Delicious!


Beef Wellington
1 lb Mushrooms (I love a mix of wild mushrooms for a richer flavor)
2 Leeks, trimmed, rinsed and sliced into 1/4 inch quarter-round slices
1 teaspoon fresh Thyme leaves
2 tablespoons Butter or Olive Oil
1 lb Foie Gras
3 lbs Center Cut Beef Tenderloin
2 tablespoons Bacon Fat
Salt and Pepper to taste
1 lb Puff Pastry (we used my Mom's homemade Brioche)
1 Egg, beaten (for egg wash)

To make the Duxelles: coarsely chop mushrooms.  Dump it into the food processor along with leeks, thyme and a 1/2 teaspoon salt.  Pulse until the mushrooms are small and evenly-sized pieces, but not a paste.  Melt the butter in a large skillet on medium high heat.  Transfer the mushroom mix to the pan, add any more salt and pepper to taste, and saute until the moisture has mostly evaporated out, about 8-10 minutes.  Remove from the heat to let cool.

In the mean time, tie the tenderloin like a roast to keep its cylindrical shape.  Sprinkle evenly with salt on all sides.  (Most chefs prefer to not only trim the tenderloin for excess fat and silverskin, but also shape it at this time so everything cooks evenly.  I can see their point, but I know that my family prefers various degrees of doneness in their meat.  When the center is rare, the smaller ends will be medium well.  And that's OK.  Use your judgement.)  Melt the bacon fat in a large skillet (the same one you just used?  Yes.  It's got good flavor...) on high heat.  Sear the tenderloin on all sides, seasoning with pepper as you go.  Remove from the heat place in the refrigerator to cool.  (Remember, you want a sear on the outside and the inside should be cold and raw.)  The searing adds flavor and the tying, searing and refrigeration help keep it's shape.

While cooling, slice the foie gras into thin (1/8 inch) slices.  Assemble the foie gras slices like fish scales (slightly overlapping) on a large sheet(s) of plastic wrap.  It's OK if some of the plastic wrap shows through--this part doesn't need to be perfect, just reasonably consistent.  Spread the duxelles evenly over the foie gras.  Cut the string off the tenderloin, lay it on the foie gras and duxelles palette, and then wrap the plastic firmly around the whole thing.  Refrigerate for 30 min to an hour.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

On a floured board, roll out your puff pastry to a sheet large enough to encase the tenderloin with a little extra overlap.  Move it to a sheet of parchment paper.  (This makes moving it and cleaning so much easier.)  Working quickly, but gently, unwrap the meat from the plastic wrap.  The foie gras should now stick to the duxelles which should stick to the tenderloin.  Place in the center of the pastry and wrap the pastry firmly around it.  Trim the excess off the ends, keeping the trimmings for decoration or a puff pastry dessert (as you desire).   Seal any seams with egg wash.  Using a sharp knife, slice a few small vents into the pastry.  Transfer the parchment paper to a cookie sheet and put the cookie sheet into the oven.

Bake until the desired doneness.  I like rare to medium rare in the center, so using your probe thermometer, cook until it reads 125 degrees in the center.  Remove from the oven.  Take a second to admire your beautiful handiwork, then cover with foil and let rest for 20 minutes.  20 MINUTES!  No touching it, no matter how good it looks.

Starting in the center, slice into one inch slices and serve.  Some people will want to add a sauce.  This is so rich and flavorful that you really don't need it.  Gilding the lily and whatnot.


Rommegrot
This pudding is completely stolen from NPR.  Yes, NPR.  Not Delicious Dish with Alec Baldwin, but the real thing.  Simple and delicious.  Just like Carl Kasell.
1/2 cup white rice
2 cups half-and-half or cream
Pinch of salt
4-6 cups milk
Butter, Cinnamon and Sugar

Heat the rice, half-and-half and salt in a double boiler over low heat. Cover and simmer for a minimum of 2 hours, adding additional milk as the mixture thickens. This is the minimum time you need for the rice to break down. Ideally, it should cook over low heat for 6-8 hours for a smoother, creamier rommegrot. Continue to add milk as needed and periodically check the double boiler to keep it from boiling dry. If it does boil dry it will turn your rommegrot brown. You can adjust the recipe and amounts of cream versus milk to suit your taste, although it is not recommended to make it with just milk.

When ready to serve, make sure the rommegrot is at a pudding consistency. Serve warm with a dollop of butter and a generous sprinkling of cinnamon sugar.

"Traditional Norwegian rommegrot does not use rice. It is essentially just cooked cream with flour, but in this recipe the rice acts as a thickening agent instead. I'm not sure how my family started making it with rice, but this is the way my Norwegian grandmother and also, I believe, the way her mother made it."

The Circle of Life, and All That

This was a meat-inspired week.  And I want to bring honor back to the word "butcher." 

Since returning from our rather unsuccessful hunting trip (*gasp!*  We'll have to buy our own red meat this year.  Read on for a plan), I've been running into meats of all sorts in all sorts of places. 

I've often said that if I wasn't a financial advisor, I would want to be a butcher.  For some, this is the most horrible thing in the world.  Akin to murder.  I challenge that line of thinking on an evolutionary basis.  Consider for the moment the human mouth.  Our tongue not only seeks out those things that provide a wide range of nutritional benefit, but our teeth and jaw alignment is perfectly suited to grind up a wide range of foods.  We have evidence of our earliest ancestors hunting and butchering animals at the dawn of the Stone Age, about 2.5 million years ago.  At that time, our teeth and jaws were much more like a chimpanzee's--sharper, pointed teeth up front, molars in the back in a longer narrower jaw hinged deeply in the skull and attached to massive jaw muscles.  Our palates have grown wider and shorter, and while some evolutionary theorists believe that forks, knives and cooking have made us weaker, I like to think of us as more refined.  We still have sharper, tearing teeth placed up front so that we can remove large bites, and broad molars for grinding and mashing.  Even our saliva is attuned to pre-digesting the essential proteins found in meat. 

But there is more than evolution at play in my admiration of butchery.  In much the same way Da Vinci explored the human figure examining musculature beneath the skin, a butcher knows his or her way around a carcass and creates an artform of separating different masses of muscle from bone.

The Denver Contemporary Art Museum hosted a a week-long art project called Art Meets Beast. Among other elements and events, Jimmy "The Butcher" Cross dissected a half a bison in roughly 2 hours. To put this feat of mastery into perspective, my Dad and I (who have a collective 80 years of experience in butchering our own meat) take 4 hours to butcher a deer, which is about half the mass of half-a-bison. Jimmy's knife (a 6 inch Boner) danced in and out and between bones like Gene Kelly weaving around light poles and umbrellas.  (By the way--there was SUPPOSED to be the music of Buffalo Springfield on the flugelhorn.  I heard no Buffalo Springfield and no flugelhorn.  Roger Green played "Home on the Range" on electric guitar as background music for the butchering workshop, however.)  Peter Marczyk of Marczyk Fine Foods (where Jimmy performs his craft) provided running commentary during the demonstration and expounded on the nature of bison, the butchering process and artform, the rise of American interest in knowing where our food comes from, and the lament that all too often, demand for particular cuts of meat (tenderloin, rib eyes, etc.) drive the price up for a whole animal and changes the marketability of beef, pork and bison in general.   I plan to buy a whole bison to split with my Dad in lieu of the elk we didn't get. 

This week, I also took the time to swing by and see my friends at Il Mondo Vecchio.  Walking through the doors on Loading Dock Friday, continues to bring a smile to my face.  The inviting fragrance of spices and curing meat promise a reward for the palate as well.  And certainly, I'm always excited to hear what's new and upcoming, and exchange recipe ideas.  Gennaro, dressed handsomely and incongruously in a dark suit and a tie, greeted us at the door and showed us around the facility.  He walked us through the curing process and then introduced the samples layed out for us to try.   Hot Coppa, Longanzia, Cured Duck, Beef Bresaola, Vino e Pepe Nero.  I picked up a half pound of Bresaola for my friend and a little of my favorite pork product, and a half pound of Duck Lardo.  On the way out Mark DiNittis was coming back into the shop. We discussed recipes, meats, and love of the craft.  He also let drop that he's going to be featured in a new book, Primal Cuts: Cooking with America's Best Butchers.  The dude is a rockstar. 

I took the Bresaola to Highland Tap and Burger and my buddy Eli, the executive chef there.  He creates a fusion of beer and meat products.  He'll sample the Bresaola in the cheese platter with homemade mostardo and a whole-grain ale mustard.  The nice guy gave me beer for the trouble.  And next week I'll introduce him personally to Il Mondo Vecchio.

If you're not already a committed vegetarian, I applaud you. You know the joys of well prepared meats and the majesty inherent in the noble beast.   If you are a vegetarian, I applaud you too.  You get a golf clap.  Way to stay committed to your principles.

Tonight for dinner:

Awesome Osso Buco
Instead of shanks, you can also use neck bones, tail bones or other less favorable cuts of meat.  Good Osso Buco is about the deep meaty flavor.
1/4 cup Vegetable Oil
2-4 Beef Shanks (about 3 pounds)
2-4 Lamb Shanks (about 1 pound)
Kosher Salt
1 medium Onion, chopped
2 medium Carrots, peeled and chopped
1 stalk Celery, chopped
1 tablespoon Tomato Paste
1 cup good Dry Red Wine
2 1/2 cups Vegetable Broth (or Chicken or Beef)
1 sprig Rosemary
3-4 sprigs Thyme
1 Bay Leaf
4 whole Cloves
12 whole Black Peppercorns

For a prettier presentation, use butcher's twine to tie the meat onto the bone.  Lightly and evenly sprinkle salt on the shanks.  Let stand on end to dry.

 In a large dutch oven (cast iron is great) heat the oil until smoking and lay in the shanks.  Brown them on all sides.  Reduce the heat to medium high and add the onion, celery and carrots.  Sprinkle on the 1 teaspoon of the salt.  Stir until the onion begins to turn translucent and then add the wine and tomato paste.  Stir gently until the paste dissolves.  Add the broth (I prefer vegetable because it's not as heavy and over powering).  Place the rosemary, thyme, cloves, black peppercorns, and bay leaf in a satchel of cheesecloth.  Add to the broth. 

Cover and let come to a boil.  Reduce the heat and let simmer for 1 1/2 hours.  Check now and then, making sure the liquid isn't boiling off too quickly.  add more broth if needed.  Using tongs, gently turn the shanks making sure that each part gets the liquid love it deserves. 

Remove the shanks to serving platter.  Discard the cheesecloth.  Ladle on the broth and vegetables.  Add fresh thyme and rosemary as a garnish.  Serve with crusty artisan bread. 

Boys and Grills

This is Father's Day weekend.  I hope you all called your Dads and and expressed your hearts' true feelings. 

And I know as I write that, not everyone has had such an idyllic life as I have.  I can say such compassionate things only because my Dad and I are close--friends, even.  But regardless of your relationship with your Dad, there is someone out there close to you who represents your ideal of fatherhood.  Go with that for the rest of the day and tell those people what they mean to you.

This is my blog and my Dad, however, so allow me to regale you with my experiences and impressions of my mind.  Whereas my Mom is regarded by the greatness (quantity and quality) of her food in the kitchen, my Dad is known for his grill work.  Like the cliched greeting cards you will find at the supermarket, he has prepared the meat of nearly every kind of animal--fish or fowl, beef, buffalo or game.  Steaks, fillets, roasts, whole, spit, or racked.  Even oysters in the shell (see below). 

So I was thinking, as an homage to my Dad, a man I love and admire, how can I pass on his grilling acumen?  Here's some of what I have picked up over the years:

1) Know your fire.  Every grill has hot and cold spots.  Use these.  My Dad switched years ago to a gas grill, built into the back patio.  I use charcoal.  Dad's grill has spots that stay 10-20 degrees cooler than other parts; I have to stack coals to one side or another to create a cold zone.  The hot parts of the grill are good for searing meat but bad for sustained cooking.  The cooler parts will be good to slowly raise the temperature of the food. 

2) Take the food's temperature.  Undercooked is generally better for flavor and texture than overcooked.  The best way is an instant-read thermometer on a long probe.  (Although my Dad would always operate by instinct, then cut into the center of the steak seconds before declaring it done.)  Remember, most foods will continue to cook for 5-10 minutes after removing it from heat. 

3) Know when to poke your meat.  The best time to put holes into your meat (if you must) is BEFORE it goes on the grill, and is usually only to let in certain flavors.  For example, little slices of garlic and sprigs of rosemary stuffed into tiny holes all around a leg of lamb offers a deep infusion of flavor.  For thick steaks, you may use a fork to poke holes before adding a marinade. 

4) Leave your meat alone.  Give it time to rest.  Most meat benefits by sitting on a slightly heated plate and covered with tinfoil for 10 minutes after taking it off of the grill.  This allows the juices to return to the muscle structure.  Cut into the meat when the temperature is too high, the juices have too much kinetic energy to be bound by the heated cell walls of the meat.  (Yes, I'm using physics and biology!  Isn't science cool?)

5) Know your marinades, rubs and sauces.  Marinades add flavor and if they use salt, sugar or oil, also aid in the browning of the grilled offering.  Rubs provide a good surface flavoring, and can caramelize on the surface adding a crispiness (especially good for some fish!)  Sauces are served afterward and compliment cooked food.  One can make a sauce from the marinade but reserve the liquid before touching it to raw meat.  This avoids cross-contamination.

6) Apologize for it being under/over done before anyone has any on their plates.  Set the audience's expectations low and dazzle them anyway.  Under promise and over deliver. 

To Dads everywhere: Thank you for all the wisdom you have imparted.  Thank you for (trying to) teach us the little lessons that we should know before life kicks sand in our face.  Thank you for inspiring us to reach higher, think better and do gooder (yes, I like saying that) than we would ever have imagined for ourselves.  We love you. 

Tonight for dinner, try:

Grilled Oysters
2-3 live Oysters per person (I prefer large Pacific species)
Hot Sauce
Lemon wedges

Line the oysters (live, in the shell) on a hot grill.  Watch them closely.  After about 2 minutes, the shells will open.  Remove from the heat, being careful not to spill the liquid from the shells. 

Let the guests open their own oysters (fingers are fine--no need for an oyster shucking knife.)  Add a dash of hot sauce and a squirt of lemon, then shoot the oyster, liquid and all.  This is the most flavorful way of eating these guys!

Sugar Steak
1 12 oz Ribeye Steak per person (1 1/2 inch cut)
Soy Sauce
ground Black Pepper
1/2 cup packed Brown Sugar
1/2 teaspoon Kosher Salt
1 tablespoon Red Chili Powder
1/4 teaspoon Cumin Powder


Lay the steaks out flat.  Sprinkle on enough soy sauce to coat each side of all of the steaks.  Add a light dusting of black pepper (to taste).  Cover and let them come to room temperature.


In a bowl, mix the sugar, salt, chili and cumin powder.


Make a two tiered fire in your grill, or for gas, get one side very hot and the other warm.  When the grill is hot, pack the sugar rub evenly onto each side of the steak.  Place on the hot part of the grill, at least 1 inch between steaks and leave the lid up.  Leave it alone for 3 minutes and then flip over.  Cook that side for 2 minutes more, then move to the cooler part of the grill.  Cover the grill and let cook until rare or medium rare (120-125 degrees.  Remember the steak will continue to cook for 5 minutes when you take it off the heat.)

Remove from the grill and cover for 10 minutes. 

Grilled Asparagus with Balsamic Vinegar Reduction
1 bunch of Asparagus
Olive Oil
Salt and Pepper
1/2 cup Balsamic Vinegar (the good stuff--aged)
2 tablespoons Sugar

Cut the white, woody ends off the asparagus spears and discard.  Rinse them well and lay out on a paper towel.  Pat them dry. 

In a saucepan, heat the vinegar until until simmering.  Continue to simmer and add the sugar, stirring until dissolved.  Continue to heat slowly, stirring occasionally until the volume has been reduced by 1/2. 

Place asparagus in a bowl or baking dish.  Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.  Toss to cover each spear and place the spears directly on the hot part of the grill.  Cook for about 2-3 minutes.  Turn them over.  Some charring will occur, but you don't want them too blackened.  Cook for another minute of two then return to the baking dish. 

Sprinkle with pepper, to taste and drizzle with the vinegar deduction.