How many times can one person write the word crispy in one post title? Guess five times was enough.  Now how many times can one person write crispy within a post? Word count at the end of this post – I know you’ll be on the edge of your computer chair. Seriously, the other night I was craving crispy like something fierce!  I didn’t want fried chicken crispy or thincrust pizza crispy, but I wanted that delicate balance between baby food smooth and crunchy/crispy. Am I loosing you yet, folks?  Does anyone ever have this craving? Well, my craving was quelled by this fabulous mix of fish that was pan seared until the skin went super crispy (the trick? get all the moisture off your fish by patting it dry with paper towels and running your knife against the skin to remove any excess moisture and then putting it in a hot pan that is immediately turned to medium once the fish hits it skin side down), laid on a bed of creamy parsnip puree and sprinkled with all sorts of roasted vegetables.

One new thing that I discovered upon my crispy craving was that roasted broccoli rabe is really, really good.  I tried it and it worked.  The leaves and sides of the florets went super crispy with the stem staying perfectly crunchy.  I also roasted other things that were rolling around in my fridge including onions, a bit more leftover parsnip, cauliflower and shiitake mushrooms.

Ahhh, roasted mushrooms, my newest obsession.  They are sliced thinly and roasted until they almost become concentrated in flavor and crunchy.  If someone came out with a bag of roasted mushroom “chips” I’d happily snack away all day.  These are the perfect topping to any fish, pizza, chicken or bruschetta dish and I highly recommend you trying them.

I topped off this whole dish with a little “sauce” of reduced seafood stock with a squeeze of lemon and some butter mixed in.  The whole thing satisfied my crispy craving and made my cold winter night a little bit warmer.

Crispy count? 10.  How annoying was this post on a scale from 1 to 10? 10.  Deliciousness factor of this meal?  10.

CRISPY FISH WITH ROASTED VEGGIES AND PARSNIP PUREE (serves 2-4)

Ingredients:

• 2 filets of trout with skin (or any other mild flavored fish)
• 1 8oz. package of mushrooms (we used shiitake, you could use cremini, white button, etc.), sliced in 1/4 inch slices
• a variety of vegetables including cauliflower, onions, parsnips
• 1/2 bunch of brocolli rabe
• 2-3 large parsnips, peeled
• 2 cloves of garlic, roasted in the oven for 20 minutes (optional)
• 1 teaspoon whole grain mustard
• 1/2 cup milk (may need a bit more depending on size of parsnips)
• olive oil
• salt and pepper
• 1/2 lemon
• truffle oil (optional)

What to do:

1. Heat your oven to 450 degrees and boil and pot of salted water for the parsnip puree. 
2. In a bowl, toss the cauliflower in a bit of olive oil and (optional) a few drops of truffle oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Spread on a baking sheet lined with foil.  Next, toss the mushrooms with the same – olive oil, optional truffle oil and then salt and pepper. On a seperate part of the the baking sheet, add the mushrooms.  Repeat this “toss and season” thing with each vegetable you will roast, including the broccoli rabe, and add to a baking sheet, giving enough space for each vegetable to roast evenly.  Put in oven and roast at first for 15 minutes (total roasting time will vary for some veggies depending on how crunchy you want them to be).
3. Peel your parsnips and cut into 2 inch chunks.  Add to the boiling water and allow to cook until soft – about 15 or 20 minutes.
4. Pat your fish dry with paper towels and make sure you get the excess moisture off the skin by running your knife up and down the length of the skin. Sprinkle with salt and pepper on both sides and allow to rest until ready to cook.
5. After the first 15 minutes of roasting time is up, turn the vegetables in order to promote even browning. Your mushrooms will start to be looking more dried out than the other vegetables.  Turn each mushroom slice on to the other side – if they are to your liking, remove them to a bowl and reserve until you are ready to plate.  The broccoli rabe will need to be tossed around as well, ensuring that the delicate leaves don’t get too burnt. Put all the vegetables back in the oven and roast again – the mushrooms will only need another 5 to 8 minutes and the rest of the veggies will need another 15 to 20 minutes.
6. Remove your soft, boiled parsnips from the water and add to a blender or food processor along with the milk, roasted garlic, whole grain mustard and salt and pepper.  Add a bit of olive oil to bring it all together and taste for seasoning.  Keep warm in a pot or by keeping the lid on the food processor.
7. Heat a pan up on high heat until it comes up to temperature.  Add about 2 tablespoons of olive oil and your fish filets skin side down in the pan.  As soon as the fish hits the pan, turn your heat down to medium-high (or medium if your range has a very strong flame).  Allow to cook skin side down for 5 to 6 minutes.  Carefully flip the trout filets over and cook for a minute and then turn off the heat.  It will continue to cook in the hot pan while you assemble your plate.
8. Remove all the veggies from the oven and plate – add the roasted broccoli rabe on the bottom then a dollop of the parsnip puree and then lay the trout filet on top. Sprinkle some of the other roasted veggies around the plate, top the trout with a few of the crispy mushrooms, squeeze some lemon and drizzle with olive oil.  Enjoy.

I feel like we go on and on ad nauseam about our trip to Italy last summer, and I suspect that if it hasn’t happened already, our faithful readers will begin to tire of our constant references to those halcyon days of pastoral bliss, romantic nuptials, and devastatingly good food. So, before your goodwill towards us is exhausted, I want to wring out the last of it with this post on the remarkable dish that is deep-fried lamb rib chops

Perhaps ironically (and this may extend your patience toward us), the only meal, or in this case, part of a meal, that I ate during that trip that was not first-class was the secundi course of the meal in Bologna that included the frankly phenomenal ragu bolognese my wife wrote about recently, namely the deep-fried lamb rib chops. Not that it was bad or even close to bad, it was actually pretty good, but they were slightly overcooked and therefore dry, something I am almost proud to say I could discern even during the intense examination of the final dregs of our third bottle of Barolo.

Crispy exteriors combined with unctious, moist interiors are the holy-grail of almost every fried, grilled or roasted meat dish, where the crispy outer layer insulates the flesh and keeps it moist. However, there is a very fine line between success and failure in these endeavors. Too far one way and you’ve got a crispy outside, but a dry and tough inside. Too far the other, and you’ve got a limp crust and a bloody interior. Lamb rib chops are the beautiful, tender pieces that correspond to the rib-eye (the rib attached to the tenderloin) on a steer, and are frequently served as a rack, medium-rare, with the bones nicely trimmed (Frenched) and often with a garlic & parsley breadcrumb crust that is rarely as crunchy as you want it to be, and I wanted to experiment whether deep-frying could provide the crunch as well as the medium-rareness I had tragically missed out on that night in Bologna.

Indeed, the stakes were further raised by the horrifically high price of lamb in the US. It took this transplanted Englishman a long while to get used to the scarcity of lamb in this country where beef is king (despite there being huge swathes of land that are eminently suitable for sheep-grazing), and the cost has kept us on a steady diet of braised shoulder chops, unable to branch out into the leg or the rack until a fortuitous wander into our local Pathmark store coincided with a virtual giveaway of perfectly Frenched rib chops. Seizing this opportunity with a vigor that may have shocked my wife, I loaded up our shopping cart (yes, the trolley) with rib chops and it was this bounty, as much as anything, that convinced me to try deep-frying them. After all, if it didn’t work and they turned out like hockey pucks, we could still broil or grill ourselves some dinner with the rest.

A little bit of luck, and I prevailed in this experiment and I’m delighted to say that these rib chops were as good as any I’ve eaten anywhere. Assuming you also have the good fortune of finding lamb rib chops at a reasonable price, you should not only grab an armful, but you should try this recipe right away. It would be the perfect thing to impress dinner guests with, and since the chops are fried and therefore quite rich, two per person will suffice, making you appear generous and feel thrifty at the same time. Joy.

Fried Lamb Rib-Chops with Grilled Polenta, Broccoli di Rape and Balsamic Reduction

So, before continuing, I should say that I shallow fried my chops instead of deep frying them as I was nervous about overcooking them. Shallow frying allows you to do the “poke-test” on them (poke the meat with your finger, if it feels soft, it’s rare or very rare, if it is firm, it’s well-done, you want it somewhere between. The trick is knowing when is enough.)

Ingredients (serves 2)

• 4-6 lamb rib chops, frenched
• 1 cup plain flour
• 1 cup panko, or very coarse fresh breadcrumbs
• 1 cup soda water/sparkling mineral water
• 1 tsp salt
• 2-3 cups vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1 clove garlic, smashed but with skin-on
• 1 sprig rosemary

Recipe

• Combine salt, water and flour in a mixing bowl into a batter of medium thickness.
• Put oil in a 10inch (20cm) diameter frying pan. Should be about 1/2inch (1cm) deep.
• Heat oil to around 350F (175C)
• dip chops in batter, then dredge in panko (breadcrumbs) and lay them gently in oil. Do not overcrowd pan. We did ours two at a time.
• Fry chops for about three minutes per side, or until slightly darker than golden brown on the outside.
• Use poke test to determine done-ness.
• Place in a warming oven (200F/95C) and allow to rest for five to ten minutes.
• Add balsamic vinegar, garlic and rosemary to your smallest saucepan.
• Over medium heat allow it to come to a boil. Reduce heat to about medium-low and allow to reduce by at least half.
• Keep your eye on it at this stage because it can very quickly go from a perfect consistency to a bitter-tasting molasses.
• Remove garlic and rosemary and serve sparingly over your lamb chops.

Check out these other posts you may enjoy:

• Truffled Butter: A Prince Among Ideas
• San Gennaro Festival, Little Italy, NYC – Ain’t What it Used to Be (Girl’s Version)
• Pork Roll and Scrapple – The Dirty Culinary Pride of South Jersey/Philly
• SHREDDED CHICKEN SOPES WITH TOMATILLO AVOCADO SAUCE
• GRILLED STEAK WITH TARRAGON GARLIC BUTTER
• CHESTNUT CUSTARD TART
• SPANISH (AUSTURIAN) OXTAIL WITH FRIED POTATOES

This is the way we are with a dish we call “lidia’s lamb”. I’ve no idea what the real name for it is since I’ve never looked up a recipe for it and I’ve only watched it being prepared once, on TV, by Lidia Bastianich, on her show Lidia’s Italy, but that’s what we call it. Essentially, it’s lamb shoulder chops braised in a sauce made from dijon mustard, anchovies, garlic and chicken stock, but such a description belies its richness and savory flavors and, if you’re crazy and you don’t like anchovies, it will put you off. So, just take it from me, you need to try this dish. It’s virtually impossible to mess up, it’s delicious and you can make it from scratch in under an hour, making it perfect for a weeknight meal, or if lamb is hard to find or expensive where you live, a good option for a dinner party because it’s so easily scalable for larger numbers. Plus, once you’ve made it the first time, you’ll be having cravings for it a lot.

Lidia’s Lamb
(recipe serves 2, but for more just scale the recipe up. You’ll probably need more than one pan too, but you can figure that out yourself)

Ingredients
2 lamb shoulder chops (4-6 oz each)
approx. 2 pints chicken stock
2-5 cloves garlic, thinly sliced (depending on your tolerance for the stinking rose)
1-2 shallots, finely chopped
2-4 anchovy fillets (the salty ones in oil, you know what I’m talking about) (add more of less depending on how squeamish you are about anchovies – see final note below)
6-8 tbsp smooth dijon mustard (we prefer Maille, but Grey Poupon is fine. Don’t even think about using American yellow mustard! Save that for your hot dog.)
2-3oz plain flour
2 tbsp olive oil
black pepper to taste

Recipe
Heat a large skillet to medium-high heat. Dredge chops in flour and shake off excess. Hit pan with the olive oil and add the chops.
Cook chops for about three minutes per side, or until golden brown. Make a hot spot in the pan and add the shallots and garlic.

Allow these to saute for a couple of minutes until softened and fragrant, then add the anchovies. Stir anchovies vigorously around the pan until they start to disintegrate. After about another minute or two, add enough stock so that the liquid is at the same level as the “top” of the chops. Using your tongs, scrape the crusty bits off the bottom of the pan and turn the chops over. Add about half the mustard at this point and stir it in.

Reduce heat to medium and allow chops to braise in simmering liquid for about another 25-30 minutes, turning chops occasionally. Keep an eye on the level of the liquid and add more stock whenever it falls below the “top” of the chops. Meat should have begun to pull away from the bones after about 30 minutes.

Taste the sauce at this point. It should taste like it needs more mustard. Add some or all of the remaining tablespoons of mustard according to your taste. Increase heat to medium-high and allow sauce to thicken for about another 5-8 minutes. When it’s done the sauce should be around halfway up the chops and be of a medium thickness, with a pleasant sheen to it. Check seasoning and add black pepper to taste before serving.

We often serve this with some roasted potatoes because they usually take approximately the same amount of time to cook as the meat, providing you cut them reasonably small, parboil them first, and slap them in at least a 400F oven. We also often serve it with some asparagus, kale or broccoli di rape on the side. It sounds kind of heavy I know, but it’s really pretty well-balanced and very satisfying. I promise you, you’ll like this one.

And, just a final note, if you’re worried that the people you’re cooking for don’t like anchovies, I will be amazed if they can tell this dish contains anchovies. All the anchovies do here is add a salty, umami-ish flavor to the dish that brings it all together. You’ll notice that I don’t add salt to the recipe – that’s why. So, please don’t exclude the anchovies because the dish will not be the same without them. Again, just trust us on this one.

How many of you out there in We Are Never Full-land have never heard of Broccoli di Rape? Anyone who has heard of it but never saw or ate it? I ask this only because, after researching this delectable, delicious and healthy green, I discovered that it’s U.S. roots (or that the vast majority of the broccoli di rape crops) come mainly from the lovely state of New Jersey. Whoa-Whoa We’re Livin’ On a Prayer, Jersey? You talkin’ ta me, Jersey? Tony Soprano’s hometown and my home in the summertime, NEW JERSEY? Yup, that one. Hey, you learn something new every day.

It seems as though this leafy green descendant of a wild herb and close relative to the turnip is slowly gaining popularity in the US. Why a slow gain in popularity, I wondered? I guess I’ve taken this for granted being an Italian-American and growing up on Broccoli di Rape in the home and in my family’s favorite red-sauce joints all over Philly, Jersey and New York City. In fact, I think that sauted broccoli raab with lot’s-o-garlic and peperoncino would be part of my father’s last meal if he was on death row… Dad, if you’re out there, am I right?

Also known as cime di rapa in Italy, broccoli di rabe originated in the Mediterranean and China. In fact, it is one of the most popular vegetables with the Chinese (another “aka”- Chinese Broccoli), which is less bitter and looks a tad different than the Italian version. If you do a side-by-side comparison of regular broccoli to broccoli di rape, you’d notice that the latter is much leafier with smaller florets. You eat the entire thing, leaves and all and the taste is also much (in my opinion) tastier and a bit bitter. Supposedly the most bitter part is the stem, but I would never dare think of cutting those lovely stems completely off! Some people just don’t like broccoli di rape. I really can’t imagine why! If you’ve only had it a few times, give my recipe below a whirl. Adding lots of garlic, spicing it up and eating it with some slices of Italian sausage may change your mind. If that doesn’t tempt you, why not consider how unbelievably healthy it is for you? Rich in calcium, vitamin A, C, B2, protein AND fiber, broccoli di rape is also cancer-preventing and contains something that protects the heart, lungs and intestines.

Soooooo, maybe the four pieces of fatty, Italian sausage counter-acts that? Take it out if you’re a vegetarian and it’s still an amazing side-dish. Whatever you do, I beg you to just give it a try. I’m on a personal mission to convince more people to eat it – none of this ‘slowly gaining popularity’ in America! Some people prefer to boil or steam their broccoli raab, but after my many years of cooking it up, I’ve decided that the best and tastiest way of doing it is to follow my easy recipe below. You can eat this alone with some bread, slice up the sausage links and make it as a side-dish, or cut it up and throw it over some pasta (replace the kale in this earlier recipe with broccoli raab and you’ll be golden). Try it with our gnocchi, too. In posts to come, look out for more delicious broccoli di rape recipes!

I have also submitted this to Real Epicurean’s March “In The Bag” challenge. He was kind enough to let me slide by not using the purple-sprouting broccoli the contest calls for. Hey, broccoli di rape is pretty similar! Thanks, Scott.

Before I say anything more, I should make it clear that I had never been to the famous San Gennaro festival that is running through this weekend in Manhattan’s Little Italy before Wednesday night, and that during our visit, my cellphone was thieved, perhaps leaving an extra special bad taste in my mouth. I’ll also make it clear that we spent three weeks in Italy this summer – though we did not visit Naples or any of southern Italy – and we had an amazing time and feel pretty well-informed about mainstream modern Italian culture. My wife is also a proud third-generation Italian-American from Philadelphia, so I’m also pretty well-versed in East Coast Italian-American culture. So, that said, allow me, if you will, to tell you why I didn’t find the much-heralded San Gennaro festival such a great cultural experience after all.

The sausage and peppers sandwich we ate was good – too much onion, and not enough sausage and peppers, but good bread and basically, very tasty. I’m blaming the lack of peppers and sausage on the generally parsimonius nature of street vendors, but I was pleased to be served by beefy looking Italian-Americans with a characteristic gruffness that I enjoy. This, I thought, is what I came for – something authentically Italian-American – a kind of balls-out, overblown street food-fair where everybody talks with their mouths full and with grease on their chins. I wasn’t expecting anything authentically Italian because I know that wherever immigrants have settled across the world their attempts to recreate aspects of their former lives and homes are reminscent but never exactly alike the old country and I know this from personal experience. However much I think Brooklyn is redolent of certain Victorian neighborhoods in England, it’s always going to be Brooklyn and not Fulham or Highgate. But I was enthused by the food, the sheer number of zeppole and cannoli stands was impressive, and the smell of frying onions and sausage filled the air, even if for $6 I had expected more than one small piece of sausage. The crowds were mightily impressive too – I had expected it to be quiet on a Wednesday evening – but it was busy enough that it made me glad not to have come on a weekend when it would have been horrific with kids dropping ice creams everywhere and swarms of teenagers roving around in intimidating mobs.

But here’s the kicker, and watch out readers who read last week’s post on the Italian strike over pasta, you may find what follows peculiar, or at least at odds with my self-proclaimed admiration for the upkeepers of tradition. You see, what bothered me about San Gennaro, apart from the depressing chintzy sideshows that charged $5/dart and then gave away the world’s most awful teddy bear prizes, was a general feeling of decay that pervaded the festival. Not only were all the people working the stands kind of haggard and down-on-their-luck looking, but Little Italy itself is depressing because it’s a neighborhood with absolutely none of the vibrancy it is famous for. A few red-sauce Italian restaurants and round-bellied people on street corners going “ay, gabagool!” to each other does not make a neighborhood. It’s become a kind of film-set or theme park, with nothing really of substance remaining, and holding a festival for the patron saint of Naples in a neighborhood which is predominantly Chinese is even stranger than there being Ecuadorian food vendors selling mozzarepas and Colombians touting flame-grilled steaks.

Those of you who watched the final series of the Sopranos (and advance apologies to those who haven’t seen it yet for ruining at least one episode) will know that there is an ongoing war between the New Jersey and New York mobs, and that the New York mob are often pictured in their restaurants in Little Italy. There is one very telling scene in which one of the New York mob gets whacked while his companion is left untouched. The companion then starts hurriedly walking away from the scene through crowds of people. The scene closes with this guy looking frantic as a tour bus passes him with the guide saying something like, “to your left is Little Italy. It used to cover 30 blocks but is now little more than one street, three blocks in length, having been swallowed up by neighboring Chinatown.”

The point that scene made to me is one of demographics. Italian immigrants and their descendants are still present in great numbers throughout the north-east, but are being overtaken in their traditional neighborhoods by newer and more numerous groups like the Chinese and various Latino populations. This is exactly what I saw at San Gennaro – the last gasp of a once-great and homogenous group of immigrants – and it was depressing. I have deep respect for people who keep traditions alive but my San Gennaro experience left me with the impression that it was only the tradition that was left and none of the substance, particularly when the woman selling “I love guidos” t-shirts turned out to be Canadian and our sausage and peppers vendor was from New Jersey.

But what do you think? Am I unfairly maligning a strong and proud tradition that has a real future in New York City, or do you think New York’s Italian traditions are dying out? Before you answer you might consider reading this recent article in the New York Times.

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS RELATED TO THIS ONE:

• San Gennaro Festival, Little Italy, NYC – Ain’t What it Used to Be (Girl’s Version)
• FETTUCCINE FRA’DIAVOLO WITH CRAB AND SHRIMP
• FRITO MISTO DI MARE (FRIED MIXED SEAFOOD AND VEGGIES)
• Striking Over Pasta?
• PERFECT BROCCOLI DI RAPE/RAPINI
• SAUSAGE AND PEPPER SANDWICHES
• In Defence of Sandwiches (White House Subs, Atlantic City)