While Queens may have the reputation for being the most ethnically diverse area in the United States, our very own borough of Brooklyn is certainly not bereft of global flavors. From the side-by-side Mexican and Chinese neighborhoods of Sunset Park to the century-old Italian areas of Carroll Gardens and Bay Ridge, to the more recently established Caribbean community of Crown Heights, there is rather more than a smattering of diverse flavors available to the curious epicure. Even gentrified Park Slope and Prospect Heights reflect the enduring presence of their Puerto Rican and Dominican populations with a wide selection of places offering “Spanish food”, a phenomenon which took me a while to decipher as it certainly isn’t Spanish in the European sense.

Dishes typical of Spanish-speaking countries, especially those ringing the Caribbean, but which also may be derived from actual Iberian cooking — known predominantly on the east coast as Spanish, or Spanish American — it’s basically a catch-all term that to me connotes delicious, often with tropical ingredients, but always complex and filling food. We’ve made mention of several of these neighborhood eateries in several previous posts – El Viejo Yayo, Los Pollitos, Bogota among them – but our most recent crush is on the wonderful Windsor Terrace institution, Elora’s.

Serving Mexican and Spanish food, whereby you can select from the greatest hits of Mexico as well as these Spanish-speaking Caribbean classics, Elora’s serves all these in such volume that one dish could easily feed a hungry family of four. And it is perhaps because of this, and their consequently narrow profit margins, that our regular server at Elora’s should, by rights, be enjoying the benefits of a comfortable retirement.

Pushing 80 years old, Don Nicolas is without doubt the oldest but also the most charming and interesting waiter we have ever had the good fortune to be served by. Born to Sicilian immigrant parents in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and trained as a tango and opera singer, it is his daughter for whom the restaurant is named. His musical career spanned several decades and took him the length and breadth of the Americas, before he retired from singing, settled in Brooklyn and went into the restaurant business with his marital family.

On our most recent visit while we waited for our heavily-laden plates to arrive, Don Nicolas was explaining to us the secret of his youthfulness – “if I stop moving, I become stiff and I might not get started again! When you are young you don’t think about these things and spend all your time on the couch!” Indeed, many less energetic thirty somethings might have struggled with the amount of food he was charged with lugging from the kitchen. But manage he did, depositing immoderate orders of pernil, bistec encebollado and chicharrones de pollo on our table before returning spritely with sides of beans, rice, and tostones. Still not done, he surveyed the table and in a trice was back with a deep bowl of raw garlic in oil. “Prefieren un poco de salsa de ajo por su tostones, no?” (you’d like a little garlic sauce for your plantains, right?), he asked.

When we congratulated Don Nicolas on his fitness and asked if his health is reflection of his restaurant’s hearty fare, he responded diplomatically that he enjoyed the beans and rice and the pollo guisado (stewed chicken) most weeks, but found the Mexican dishes to be too hot for his Argentine tastes. “No tenemos alimento picante en Argentina,” (we don’t have spicy food where I come from.) he explained.

In fact, chicharrones de pollo, deep fried chicken, or more accurately translated as chicken cracklins’, are a popular Dominican dish, sometimes also claimed by Puerto Ricans as their own — we’ll leave it to them to fight over where it truly originated — in which chunks of chicken are marinaded for a lengthy period in adobe, lime juice, rum and either soy sauce or worcestershire sauce before being lightly dusted in corn starch and tossed into hot oil. If you like fried chicken (and those who don’t must ask themselves some searching questions) then you should try this recipe. It goes perfectly well with the tostones we had at Elora’s or the beans and rice we prepared more recently, but it is just as good on its own with a jigger of hot sauce and a cold bottle of Presidente Dominican beer. And, sure, it won’t necessarily help you live well into your 80s, but it will make the next couple of hours more enjoyable.

When you think of old-style Italian-American restaurants does red sauce spring to mind? Red check wax table cloths, family-style servings, a free salad with your entree, rotund red-faced guys with their sleeves rolled-up, going “ey!” and slapping each other on the back? Sure, it’s a cliché, but it’s also close to the truth in a lot of places, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I, for one, love a classic east coast red sauce and meatballs joint, but it’s not the complete picture.

Ferdinando’s Focacceria on Union Street in Brooklyn’s Carroll Gardens neighborhood has been in business as long as any in New York City. In 1910, in the heart of what was then a burgeoning Italian community, it opened its doors principally to cater for expatriate paesani working at the nearby Brooklyn docks, and it’s been serving the neighborhood faithfully ever since. However, unlike many of the other Italian eateries in the area, Fernandino’s does not serve everything with lashings of tomato gravy (not that they don’t offer red sauce – try it with their tripe), instead, they serve their original regional Sicilian dishes as if they don’t care or aren’t aware that long-established Italian restaurants are supposed to top everything with a meatball. They are most famous for their panelle and vastedda (chick pea fritters and veal spleen sandwiches, respectively), which they didn’t just decide to start selling since David Chang and Michael Symon announced it was cool for Brooklyn hipsters to eat offal.

That Ferdinando’s and many other original Italian businesses are still in operation in Carroll Gardens speaks to the fact that descendants of the neighborhood’s original communities remain where their forefathers first landed, in sight of Ellis Island across New York harbor. Not that simply by merit they don’t deserve to be in business, but that health-ninnies and changing dietary proclivities have discouraged most people from looking kindly upon rolls filled with deep fried chickpea dough or boiled calf-innards.

Our recent visit was the culmination of several years of anticipation and a pleasant relief after a terrible, screamy morning with our 5-month old. It was planned as our first lunch out with the baby, and we arrived flustered and desperate that he would nap long enough to allow us to get through a meal in peace. Finding ourselves a table at the rear, as distant as possible from the other patrons, we settled ourselves in and admired the time-worn decor of sepia-tint photos of the old country, a thickly over-painted tin ceiling and some attractive stained glass. The baby sparked awake shortly after we’d ordered our wine, but to our amazement, he emerged from his car-seat cheerful, quiet and relaxed. Maybe he is as susceptible as we are to a relaxing restaurant atmosphere? Whatever the reason, cue a great lunch.

Owner Francesco Buffa’s food is unrepentantly rustic and from the mismatched plates to the friendly but slightly gruff service, it is a truly authentic experience of old Brooklyn that is increasingly hard to find. Starting with a cold octopus and celery salad and a plate of garlicky broccoli di rape with a basket of crisp Italian bread from Mazzola bakery two blocks up, before proceeding with a panelle and mozzarella sandwich and a vastedda special (with the most unctuous ricotta), our happiness reigned for nearly two hours. In fact, so becalmed were we and Paolo, that we had dessert and espresso as the wait staff cooed around the baby.

Buddhists say that expectations are the root of all suffering, but even if we’d had the greatest morning of our lives instead of one of the most grueling, Ferdinando’s would still have been special. We will be heading back again soon to try their famous pasta con le sarde (with sardines, raisins and pine nuts) and rice balls stuffed with house-made ragu and peas. Whether Paolo will cooperate remains to be seen, but the food is so good that it’s worth the risk.

I daresay there is a traditional dish from somewhere on the Italian peninsula that resembles this dish in some way, but in a radical, free-form departure from our blogging norms, we didn’t follow any kind of recipe here nor do the slightest bit of research in preparation. By way of an excuse, we didn’t really have time.

We’d been out for almost the entire day on yet another soul-destroying search for a new place to live, and, feeling rather bilious and irritable, were in need of emotional restoration. Returning to our soon-to-be former residence, we passed the Japanese-run fishmongers and noticed a small pot of monkfish liver just aching to be ours. Then, passing Russo’s our neighboring Italian specialty store, we bagged ourselves a box of their freshly-made spaghetti alla chitarra. Some light cream that needed finishing off, some chopped garlic, a splash of white wine, a sprinkle of chopped parsley, and fifteen minutes later, we were enjoying a the slightly bitter, oily maritime flavor of monkfish liver with a glass of chewy, slightly leathery Basilicatan aglianico. And if we weren’t completely emotionally restored afterward, we were hopeful enough to risk making another series of appointments to see terminally-dismal overpriced Brooklyn apartments the next day.

In the single beat of a butterfly’s wing causing a hurricane sense, I am convinced this dinner had a key influence on our house-hunting travails, as by sundown the following day we were the mightily relieved soon-to-be tenants of an actual house. In fact, it’s a pity monkfish liver is such poor material for an amulet, otherwise I feel certain I would be henceforth sporting an oily brown luck charm around my neck.

Regular We Are Never Full readers out there may have noticed that we’ve been less than active in the new posts capacity of late — some of you may even mourn the loss of our chirpy and spirited voices from your weekly web-browsing, though we expect many might find it welcome relief. Either way, we’re on temporary hiatus from blogging at the moment due to being in the process of finding a new apartment where we can cook, be somewhat more physically expansive, and hey, even entertain guests (!). All in all, a tricky proposition in a city where 700 square feet apartments are listed as “luxurious” or “roomy’, the description “sun-drenched” equates to the presence of a single window, and “galley” kitchens are advertised as being something to get excited about.

Still, we remain confident that we’ll find somewhere appropriate soon and will be back-up and blogging in our familiarly grating tones by early September, at the latest. In good time, we hope, to regale you with the still-fresh tales of our recent trip to Québec City, and the delicious comestibles its citizens introduced us to.

In the meantime, we wish you an enjoyable remainder of August, and look forward to hitting you all up when we’re back.

I feel kinda cheesy. I admit it, I feel cool about using a butcher. I understand this is lame and that butchers have been around for ages, but, truthfully, in the recent year, we’ve really gotten to know our neighborhood butchers. Growing up in the ‘burbs, meat was only bought pre-cut and pre-packaged. Yes, every once in awhile you’d see the grocery store’s butcher come out from behind those weird black, plastic doors with the small square window. You’d wonder what rock he/she crawled out from because, more often than not (now I mean NO disrespect) those grocery store workers who came out from the back had a few less teeth than me and looked as though “meth” could’ve been their middle name.

After our first attempt at making homemade sausage, I realized how invaluable a butcher is. We live in a country where many people don’t know what kind of animal their meat comes from. Hold up an eggplant to a 10-year old and good chance they may not even know what the hell it is. It’s sad that the neighborhood butcher is starting to become a thing of the past. Hell, I live in Brooklyn, NY, one of the most multicultural places on earth and, in my hood alone we only have a few butchers left. I’m talking about the neighborhood butcher, not that gourmet food store up the street. You know the place – the guy/gal behind the counter has butchers hands and fingers, you know his/her name and he/she knows your name, they don’t switch employees as quickly as McDonald’s and they can easily ask you if you want “the regular”. Word is that the decline in these gems is because young people aren’t interested in carrying on the family trade. Maybe with this economic downward spiral Americans will be more willing to work with their hands again and see the beauty how happy meat/poultry can make people.

Jonny and I have wanted to try and make a dish that we ate in Florence, Italy at the awesome Coco Lezzone since the last time we recreated their Pappa al Pomodoro. It was one of those meals from start to finish that will forever stay etched in my mind. Saveur did a cover story on their Herb-Stuffed Pork Loin in their April, 2006 issue. We tweaked the recipe just a bit (lavender wasn’t a part of the original recipe) and, thanks to our awesome butcher, the dish turned out phenomenally. We’re going to do a version of this for Christmas Day dinner because it’s pretty inexpensive and extremely delicious. I highly recommend you go give your butcher a big hug tomorrow.

COCO LEZZONE’S HERB AND LAVENDER-STUFFED PORK LOIN RIB ROAST – Serves 6

Ingredients:

• 1 6-rib center-cut pork loin roast (about 4-5 lbs)
• 6 cloves of garlic, peeled and ground to a paste
• 2 tablespoons of chopped rosemary
• 3 tablespoons of chopped sage
• 2 tablespoons of thyme
• 1 tablespoon dried lavender
• 2 tablespoons + 1/4 (or so) cup olive oil
• salt and pepper

What to do:

1. Preheat over to 475 degrees. In a small bowl, add together the garlic, all the herbs and lavender with a pinch of salt and pepper and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Use a fork to make sure it’s all incorporated together.
2. Push the handle of a long wooden spoon through the center of one end of the pork roast allowing it to poke through the other end’s center. Do this again, moving the handle back and forth and in a circular motion to allow the hole to get bigger. It will end up being about 3/4 of an inch wide.
3. Reserve about 3/4 of a tablespoon of the herb mixture to be use in a moment. Using your fingers, push some of the herb/garlic mixture into the center hole starting on one side and the finishing on the other. Put roast in a roasting pan.
4. Pour about 1/4 cup or so of olive oil over the roast. Rub it in a bit. Using the reserved herb mixture, rub all around the top and sides of the rib roast. Season generously with salt and pepper and roast the pork in the oven until golden brown – about 25 to 30 minutes. Reduce the oven to 350 degrees and continue to roast for an hour longer or until the internal temperature is 160 degrees.
5. Allow pork to rest about 10 minutes and then carve into individual chops. Serve with the pan drippings (which are DEEE-LISH, by the way!).

We literally just walked in after spending our Labor Day afternoon at the annual WIADP (West Indian American Day Parade) on Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn, but to describe what we just witnessed as simply a parade would be akin to saying that scotch bonnet peppers are sometimes a little spicy, i.e. an enormous underestimation. The parade is the largest in New York City with upwards of 2million people flocking to it annually.

It was an unbelievable assault on the senses - the sights (thousands upon thousands of dancing people all decorated with their national flags and some astonishing costumes), the sounds (hundreds of different sound systems all turned up to 11 and all competing with one another as they slowly rumbled by on floats, accompanied by the ever-present encouragements for the dancers from some very vocal MCs), the smells (a myriad stalls selling Caribbean favorites, some better known that others), and the atmosphere (it is about 90F here today and there were some enormous smokers pumping out clouds of jerk-scented smoke, as well as many other “personal” smokers pumping out clouds of the other kind of smoke Jamaica is famous for).

Of course, apart from soak up the atmosphere, we did our best to sample the wares from as many of the stalls as possible. Sadly, our eyes were bigger than our bellies, and we frequently had the unfortunate experience of having to walk past many a stall not physically being able to eat anymore. Let’s face it, Caribbean food is not exactly light at the best of times, and on a scorching summer day, goat curry with roti, fish cakes, bake and salt-fish, all smothered in fruity hot pepper sauce, and washed down with spicy ginger beer, then shaken up and down with booming soca and dance-hall, is a recipe for a lot of sweating and the need for shade and a sit-down. Intense. Seriously intense.

My only touchstone for a carnival like this, is, well, carnival – the Notting Hill Carnival in London to be precise. And, not to offend anyone involved with that fun, enormous, crazy and, occasionally, violent Caribbean festival, the WIADP is a major step-up. The food, the sounds, the people, the culture, it’s all as much as you can take and more. It’s as close to being in a foreign country as I’ve ever experienced in America (note that, for me, America is a foreign country). It’s such a radical departure from what the area around the Brooklyn Art Museum usually looks like and where you usually see white couples jogging along behind three-wheel baby-chariots, that at first it takes you aback. Then, and suddenly, it just sucks you in, but, just as quickly, it spits you out again. It’s a lot to take and we had to retire for some shade and cold water, but we’ll be back. You should check it out next year, for once a year is enough to last you a while. That said, we’ll definitely be exploring more of our local Caribbean restaurants and trying to recreate some of their dishes and the ones we ate today now we’ve got a taste for it.

The first time I ate a version of this very old Venetian meal was at a very popular restaurant in my neighborhood in Brooklyn called Al Di La. The restaurant serves simple Italian food at it’s best and this is precisely why it is so popular. But since that dinner, a few years ago, I still have a vivid memory of their beet ravioli.

Casunziei is actually the name of a shape of ravioli made into a half-moon and crimped along the edges. Not only is this type of pasta filled with beets, it can also be filled with pumpkin or red radicchio. This ravioli is another traditional Italian dish made originally from “products that the land offered”. The oldest recipes are of two varieties: Red Casunziei and Green Casunziei. The red was made traditionally for the fall time and was filled with red beets, potato and yellow turnip. The Green Casunziei was made with spinach and wild chives grown in the spring. Don’t you just love the seasonality of it?

When researching this dish, it seems that there are a few ways to cook it – some add carrots and/or turnips to the filling, others add potato and/or ricotta. Some sprinkle with smoked mozzarella, mint or chives. I took, as always, the best of the traditional ingredients and what resulted was a beautiful and eye-popping meal. I decided to add ricotta and one potato to my filling to offset a bit of the sweetness beets can have. Not that I didn’t want to taste the beets, I just wanted to mellow a bit of the taste. But believe me, it didn’t take away from the flavor. If you have a food processor, this dish will be much easier and less messy to make. Beets stain, kids. Like a mutha. I looked like I feel into a red paint-can hands-first by the time I was done with making this. But, it was worth it and the results were stunning and oh-so-tasty. Also, forgetting the brown butter sauce, it is super healthy!

Get that ‘wow-factor’ from your friends and make this dish!

CASUNZIEI – BEET STUFFED MOON-SHAPED RAVIOLI WITH A BROWN BUTTER POPPY SEED SAUCE – serves 4

Ingredients for Ravioli:

• 1 batch of fresh ravioli OR (if easier, but I’ll shed a bit of a tear) wonton wrappers
• 2 beets, peeled and boiled till soft
• 1 large potato, peeled and boiled till soft
• 7 oz of ricotta
• 1/2 cup of grated parmigiano reggiano
• 3 tablespoons of milk
• 1/4 teaspoon of fresh nutmeg
• pinch of salt to taste

Ingredients for Sauce:

• 4-6 tablespoons of unsalted butter (eyeball – you may want more sauce or less sauce so use whatever amount of butter you want!)
• optional: 6 sage leaves
• 1 to 2 tablespoons of poppy seeds
• freshly grated parmigiano reggiano
• (optional) pinch of salt
• (optional garnish) chopped chives

What to do:

1. Boil your beets and potato until very soft. Remove and allow to cool for a bit. When cool, mash by hand or blitz in a food processor till pretty smooth. Add to a bowl.
2. Once the beet/potato mixture is cool, add your ricotta, cheese, nutmeg, salt and milk. Stir to combine. Taste for seasoning.
3. Using a glass or ravioli cutter with a 4-inch diameter, cut your ravioli circles. Fill the midde of each ravioli with about 1 teaspoon filling. Wet the outer diameter of the ravioli with water using your finger. Bring one side of the circle to meet the other and pinch all of the sides closed. Dust with a bit of flour and allow to await its fate in the boiling water. Note to self – start boiling your pasta water. Don’t forget to add some salt!
4. Continue making all your ravioli until you have enough.
5. Add your ravioli to the boiling water and allow to cook (about 2 to 3 minutes). They should raise to the top when they are done.
6. In a separate pan, heat up your butter on medium-low and allow to cook until butter begins to get a bit of color. Add your sage leaves and continue to get a bit more color. Add your poppy seeds and toss a bit. Add your ravioli’s to the pan and toss in the butter sauce.
7. Plate ravioli’s with some of the butter sauce on top along with a pinch of (optional) salt and a dusting of freshly ground parmigiano reggiano and chives (optional).

Check out some of these other posts you may enjoy:

• PASTA WITH TUNA (Pasta Con Tonno)
• ITALIAN-STYLE SLOW ROASTED PORK SHOULDER WITH SALSA VERDE
• GARGANELLI WITH AUTHENTIC RAGU ALLA BOLOGNESE (Short, Hollow Pasta w/ Ragu with Beef and Red Wine)
• HORNAZO (Spanish Sausage-Stuffed Easter Bread)
• LA RIBOLLITA (Tuscan Vegetable and Cannelini Bean Soup)
• WINE-BRAISED LAMB SHANKS WITH ROSEMARY AND THYME IN PRESSURE COOKER

With over 61,000 pizzerias in America, how many do you think have really got it right? My guess is about 100. I’ve had some really, really, really shitty pizza in this country (Colorado!? San Francisco!!?) I’ve had some really, really shitty in my own neighborhood of New York City! I still have yet to find a place that really rivals the pizza I’ve eaten in Italy, until now when I realized I can make it myself in the comforts of my own home.

There’s place called Franny’s here in Brooklyn that is one of those annoying, overpriced and over-trendy but packed every night. When we finally decided it was time to see if it lived up to the hype, we were totally disappointed. When I eat something as simple as pizza, I don’t feel like dealing with a pretentious, trendy, annoying hipster attitude or staff. I don’t feel like being charged $16 for a pizza the size of a medium-sized plate and leave hungry. We ate reasonably-priced pizza at Isabella’s Oven, but the crust just didn’t quite do it for us. So, we decided to take matters into our own hands. We will never eat thin-crust pizza around New York City again. There’s no reason. For $20 worth of ingredients, a $15 pizza stone (genius, will never live without it – GO BUY ONE NOW), a $9 bottle of Chianti and my ipod, I can have a better, less expenisive, tastier and more relaxing culinary experience in my small Brooklyn kitchen then going to any of those shit-house, wannabe, up-their-own-asses Italian-style pizza places up the street (sorry, I think you’re finding out my true feelings on Frannys). Remember folks, there’s a difference between the type of pizza we’re going to show you how to make here and the many delicious New York City Pizzeria’s I love and adore (Lombardi’s, Arturos, John’s, Pino La Forcetta, Grimaldi’s, Di Fara, Totonnos, etc. etc.).

In fact, if you don’t feel like making pizza dough from scratch, go ask your local pizzeria for some fresh dough. More than likely, they’ll sell it to you. Just make sure it’s simple – nothing more than flour, yeast and water. No crazy bits of roasted garlic, no honey, no nothin’. The other thing that you must, must have, as I mentioned earlier is a pizza stone. This is KEY to making the best pizza at home. Third thing you must have is a really, really simple sauce recipe. Naturally, I recommend using my sauce recipe - it’s simple and delicious – just make sure you simmer it much longer than what is called for. The sauce should not be very wet, but more concentrated. Fourth is space to roll your dough out and a bit of muscle. I can’t toss friggin’ pizza dough in the air for the life of me so I spend my time rolling and rolling and rolling this pizza dough till it FINALLY does what I need it to do – roll out thin. Finally, you need a hot oven. If your oven has a hard time making it past 425 degrees, this may not work as well for you. You need to whack it up as high as it goes (550F+) and allow the pizza stone 20 minutes to heat up before you heat up the dough. Follow these simple instructions and you’ll have perfect pizza every time.

Here’s pictorial of all the pizza’s we’ve made recently to give you some ideas of toppings, most recreated from ones we ate while in Italy. Immediately following the picture you will find a really great recipe for pizza dough from Jeffrey Steingarten’s book It Must’ve Been Something I Ate. Buon Appetito!

Pizza with Cipollini Onions and Tonno

Pizza Romana (Pizza w/ Capers and Anchovies)

White Pizza with Mushrooms, Leeks and White Truffle Oil

Pizza with Anchovies and Cabrales (or Gorgonzola)

Bresaola, Arugula and Parmigiano Pizza

Pizza Romana (Capers and Anchovy) with Cracked Egg on Top

So, hope your mouth is watering and now YOU will think about a new pizza with toppings you love! Check out how to make pizza dough below.

PIZZA DOUGH ALA JEFFREY STEINGARTEN (an adaptation)

Ingredients:

• 6 to 6 1/2 cups of flour

• 1 1/2 tsp instant or active dry yeast

• 1 tbsp. plus 1 teaspoon salt

• 3 1/4 cups cold water

• 1/2 cup cornmeal or semolina flour

What to do:

1. In the mixer bowl of your food processor, stir the flours, yeast and salt together. Pour in the water and stir vigourously with a wooden spoon until everything comes together into a “shaggy dough”.

2. Put the bowl on the mixer and attach the beater – not the dough hook. This dough is too wet for regular kneading. Mix on low speed for a minute then beat on high speed for 3 1/2 minutes, scraping down the beater and bowl halfway through.

3. ***Steingarten explains the way to knw when your dough is perfect: With well-floured fingers, pull off a piece of dough about the size of a walnut and roll it in flour. You should be able to stretch it with the fingers of both hands without breaking for at least 3 inches across.

4. Scrape the dough out onto a heavily floured work surface. Fold one side over the other and allow to rest for 10 mintues. After 10 minutes, cut dough into 4 equal pieces and shape each piece into a ball and place each in a well-oiled bowl to rise until double in size – about 3 hours. ***NOTE: Steingarten likes to then put his dough balls in the fridge for an hour… if you have the time, do so, otherwise, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary.

   

5. Preheat your oven to as high as it can go (at least 500 degrees!) and allow the pizza stone to heat up for a half hour to one hour.

6. On a well-floured surface, pat each dough ball into as flat of a circle as possible. Stretch it by draping the dough over your fists, knuckels up, passing it from hand to hand until it reaches about 12 inches. ***NOTE: This is the thing, do not despair at this point if it’s not going as perfectly as you want. This is not as easy as Steingarten says. With practice, it’ll be easier. But, we give the fist to fist way a try for a bit, then bust out a well-floured rolling pin and litterally attack the dough with our pin until it gets as thin as we need it to be. We like it to be about 1/2 a centimeter thick when we first cook it on the pizza stone.

   

7. ***This is where I do things a bit differently than Steingarten. Using oven mits, take your pizza stone out of the hot, HOT oven. Scrape your pizza dough off your floured surface and place on the hot stone (it will begin to cook immediately) and place back in the oven for two minutes or until there is a tiny bit of color on the surface and edges of the dough. Remove from oven and place back on your work surface. It will be ‘stiff’ but not fully cooked.

8. Depending on what type of pie you are making (red pie, white pie, olive oil and herbs-brushed pie), put down your ‘wet’ ingredients first (ie: tomato sauce). Don’t put too much on, just a thin layer for taste.

   

   

9. Add your toppings (go light like the italians! you don’t need to have 2 inches-worth of toppings to make this pizza taste good) and then your cheese (get low-moisture mozzerella and fresh buffala mozzerella that’s as low-moisture as possible – the moisture in the cheese could moisten your crust and cause it to be too wet and heavy).

10. Add the topped pizza back to your pizza stone and put back in the hot oven for 4 to 7 minutes, making sure all the cheese is melted and bubbley and the crust has some color to it. Remove from oven and allow to rest for a moment before biting in.

    

***If you’re interested in learning how we made any of the pizzas you see pictured above, let us know. We don’t mind posting the recipes. For the most part, you can kind of get a feel for the recipe by looking at the picture and the title of the pizza. But, we’re here to help. You’ve gotta give these thin-crust pizza’s a try!

Our end of Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn (one of the two main thorough-fares in the neighborhood Architectural Digest recently named the best in America, Park Slope), is festooned with restaurants of all kinds. In fact, there are more restaurants, I would say, than there are any other kind of stores on the street. An average of perhaps two and a half eateries per block. Many of these have sprung up in the last few years and are of a certain type – dim-lighting, dark wood interiors and “fusion” menus – catering to the newly-arrived, brownstone-purchasing, high income-earning folks that used to only inhabit the upper west and upper east sides of Manhattan . Since the advent of these restaurants, many of the neighborhoods’ original retailers have left – in fact, just this past weekend, we noticed that the shady-looking storefront selling Articulos Religiosos had gone, probably to be replaced with some joint with a menu trying to emulate Tyler Florence. Anyway, in the midst of all this change and gentrification sits Los Pollitos II, a small, noisy Mexican restaurant specializing in rotisserie chicken, a few northern Mexican staples (fajitas, burritos, etc.) and some more Caribbean-coast inspired dishes, that has remained a constant in the culinary landscape of our changing neighborhood.

Last night, my wife and I were feeling a bit under the weather and decided we wanted Pollitos’ chicken soup, some rotisserie chicken, rice and beans and a salad. A very basic, wholesome meal without too many flavors. A large soup (more than a pint), half a roast chicken, a small rice and beans, an order of tostones (starchy, fried, smashed plantains) with garlic sauce, and a large house salad was ordered. We were told we might have to wait 45 minutes to an hour for our order, but we were undeterred — Pollitos has become a go-to restaurant for us (one month this year, when we were crazy busy organizing our wedding, we went there nearly twice a week) and when you want Pollitos, you can’t have anything else. So we settled in to bear our hunger pains until the food arrived. Not only did it arrive in less than half an hour, but the bill was $19.23 for enough food for two meals for two people, or maybe more because we eat too much. $19.23!! Worringly, it’s almost cheaper than buying ingredients and cooking it ourselves, but this isn’t unhealthy food. It’s not low-calorie and it’s certainly not fat-free, but rice, beans and chicken with a side salad is what most of the world would call a good meal and would eat more often if only they could afford it.

Their chicken soup is frankly, a triumph. Never before have I had chicken soup with more flavor and less fat. It arrives with carrots, potatoes, chicken (half a breast and a whole wing, in this case), onion and cilantro, and is, or might be, a meal in itself. Perhaps because they have so many bones from all the rotisserie chickens, their stock is just that bit richer than elsewhere, or perhaps it’s the cilantro, I’m not sure, but I would strongly recommend you try it whether you’re feeling a bit rough or in perfect health. I could rave on at length about how tasty their rice and beans is (something that a lot of people underestimate how hard it is to make tasty), how delicious their tostones and garlic sauce are (really amazing) and how much crisp, fresh salad they give you, but instead I’m going to devote my final words to their rotisserie chicken. It is succelent and juicy – even the white meat, the skin is crisp, salty and almost sweet, and the bones are chewable because of the slow-cooking. It may be the the finest rotisserie chicken in the city and you can get a whole one for under $8. I rest my case.

Indeed, we are not the only ones who have discovered Los Pollitos II, however, I think we may have the distinction of being two of its most regular customers. In the past year, we must have eaten there twenty times, and call me a pikey if you like, but I took my wife there for her birthday too! (They gave us a free dessert, a weird, sweet shot of something, and five of the waiters took an old warped guitar off the wall and serenaded her with “feliz cumpleanos a ti”. How’s that for customer service?)

CHECK OUT OUR OTHER RESTAURANT REVIEWS, FOOD COMMENTARY AND RECIPES.

Since I’m asking questions, have you ever been hungover (or just REALLY hungry) and wanting that food you ordered to come so badly you stare at the minutes ticking away on your clock?  Well this is what happened to me – catch me hungover and, worse yet, hungry, well, let’s just say beware.  But when you promise me my food within forty five minutes and you take over an hour to arrive with it (cold, mind you), well then you’re blackballed off my restaurant list for life!

Months later I realized how badly I was craving Thai but I REFUSED to go back to Mango to fulfill my craving.  I decided to create my own dish and here’s what I came out with. It’s my own recipe and it really turned out great.  The rice side is an adaption of a Delia Smith recipe.  This dish that takes a bit of prep time, but once you get it into the pressure cooker/slow cooker, you can just sit back and relax.  Make some extra for leftovers the next day – it really improves the next day. 

LEMONGRASS BEEF SHORTRIBS WITH THAI-INSPIRED COCONUT RICE 

For Shortribs:

• 2 lb beef shortribs
• 1 stalk lemongrass, outer leaves removed, chopped into 1-inch pieces and bruised with back of knife – reserve bottom 2 inches of the lemongrass (slice this in half)
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 4 cloves garlic
• 6 cilantro stalks/leaves
• 1 teaspoon black peppercorns
• 5 cloves
• 1/2 inch piece of cinnamon stick
• 1 2-inch knob of fresh ginger, skin trimmed off
• 1 lime
• 1 tbsp fish sauce
• 1 hot chile pepper (whatever you like)
• 2-3 cups of beef or chicken stock
• cheesecloth
• 6 mushrooms, thickly sliced (Optional)

What to do:

1. Season short ribs with some salt and pepper.
2. In cheesecloth, add top part of lemongrass (remember to cut into small pieces and bruise), cloves, cinnamon stick and black peppercorns.  Tie to secure with kitchen twine.
3. Heat up your pressure cooker on medium. Saute your chopped onion.
4. In a food processor, chop your garlic, ginger, cilantro (stems and all), reserved bottom 2 inches of lemongrass and hot pepper.  Add a bit of olive oil to help chop it more.
5. Add the garlic/ginger/cilantro/pepper mixture to the pressure cooker.  Saute for another few minutes. Remove onions and garlic mixture and reserve on side.
6. Add a bit of olive oil back to the pressure cooker.  Add the meat and brown on all sides.
7. When meat has browned, add a small bit of hot stock and pick up the brown bits from the bottom of the pan.  When this is done, add back your onion and garlic/ginger/cilantro/pepper mixture and add enough stock to almost cover all your meat.  Give this all a bit of a stir to get the veggies well distributed in the stock.
8. Add the optional chopped mushroom and throw the spices in the cheesecloth in (make sure it’s somewhat submerged in the liquid).  Put lid on pressure cooker and cook as usual – 30-35 minutes.
9. When finished, remove meat on side and add the creamy coconut milk that rises to the top of a newly opened can (it’s much thicker than the watery-coconut milk below).  All the sauce to reduce on medium for 10 minutes.

For the rice:

• 1 cup of basmati rice
• 1 can of coconut milk + some boiling H2O
• 3 cloves garlic
• 1 inch knob of fresh ginger
• 1 hot chile pepper
• 4 stalks of cilantro
• 1 shallot, minced finely
• 1 stalk lemongrass, outer leaves removed, chopped into 1-inch pieces and bruised with back of knife – reserve bottom 2 inches of the lemongrass (slice this in half)
• 5 cloves
• 1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
• zest from one lime
• cheesecloth
• 2 teaspoon salt
• Sliced scallions for garnish

What to do:

1. In a food processor, finely chop (together) garlic, ginger, cilantro stalks and pepper.  Reserve.
2. In a piece of cheesecloth, put the cloves, cinnamon stick, some lemongrass pieces, black peppercorns and 1/2 of lime.  Secure with kitchen string.
3. Saute the shallot in some olive oil.
4. After about 1 minute, add the garlic mixture and saute for a minute.
5. Add basmati rice and toast for 30 seconds. Stir.
6. Add one can of coconut milk and the salt to the rice.  Add enough hot water so the line of liquid comes up to the width of 2 fingers above the line of rice (NOTE: Make the peace sign, then put those two fingers together. The width of the pointer and middle finger together should be used as your ‘ruler’ when pouring the liquid into your rice.  This method will always make the most perfect rice – thank you Daisy Martinez!!). Stir the rice, put the lid on, bring it to a boil, then lower the heat to a simmer (still with lid on – you can peek to see if it’s boiling/simmering) for 10 minutes.  After 10 minutes, turn heat to low and allow to cook for an additional 10 minutes – do not take lid off. After this, turn the heat off – do not lift the lid – and allow to sit for another 10 minutes to steam.
7. When it’s finished steaming, take off lid, fluff rice with a fork. Add the lime zest, the squeeze of half a lime and check for any additional seasoning.  Top with some scallions and enjoy!

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER GREAT PRESSURE-COOKER RECIPES ON OUR BLOG:

• Wine Braised Lamb Shanks
• Korean Style Pork Ribs
• Lebanese Fatteh Blahmeh