It’s one of the ironies of being a new parent that even though we are spending more time than at any other point in our adult lives at home, we are finding it virtually impossible to do any cooking. Even when we do steal a few moments of quiet to get behind the burners, by the time the food is done, so is the nap our baby was taking. Of course, eating your dinner cold is nothing new to a food blogger – teasing the plating and getting just the right lighting usually takes a while – but at least we used to be able to eat our tepid meat and congealed sauce without the throaty vocal stylings of a five-week-old as an accompaniment.

Another delightful aspect of being a home-bound parent is that, when leaving the house involves assembling ten things, a stroller and an acquiescent child, one is motivated to make use of what is close at hand. In a moment of hunger-inspired desperation this past weekend, we took that maxim to its logical conclusion.

Literally lying beside our front door was a pair of pumpkins we had originally intended to carve for Halloween had our sculptural ambitions not been thwarted by the arrival of said infant. Still edible, they were quickly hacked, seeded and roasted in a hot oven with salt and pepper while the baby slumbered peacefully in his swing. In a “waste not, want not” moment, also into the oven went the pumpkin seeds seasoned with chipotle powder and brown sugar, emerging a scant twenty minutes later, crispy and snack-tastic. The baby, now stirring, its nostrils a-quiver.

From all of this, plus the contents of a still well-stocked spice rack and half a Mexican chorizo I rescued from a sad end in the depths of our refrigerator, came a pimentón-scented pumpkin velouté topped with sweet chipotle pepitas, crumbled chorizo and a sprinkle of black Hawaiian sea salt that I forgot we’d bought, somewhat curiously, in a supermarket in France last Christmas.

Even the abundant use of the stick blender failed to completely rouse our newborn, though, in his now-customary fashion, by the time we were seated at the table, spoons-at-the-ready, our charming little nipper was once again in full voice, sharing his anguish at his meager milk-based diet. Happily, this soup is just as good, if not better, when reheated the next day. A quality we might not have fully appreciated before now.

Every now and then I’ll sit through one of those “secrets of the ancient world” shows on the History Channel. You know, the ones in which they have modern experts try to “decode” how the pyramids or the hanging gardens of Babylon were constructed using graphics that make you feel like you’re watching B-roll from The Da Vinci Code, and where, before every commercial break, there’s some sort of cliff-hanger like “Coming up, how this building ought never to have stood!”

So it was this past week, when shortly after the birth of our son, I was rocking him gently to sleep with one eye on a TV show about how Europe’s gothic cathedrals were built. Focusing on the massive limestone spires of the cathedrals of Notre-Dame d’Amiens, St. Pierre de Beauvais and Notre-Dame de Paris, this show was among the more interesting of its genre as not only did it deal directly with how modern architects are trying to prevent these houses of God from collapsing under their own weight, but it also brought back memories of our trip earlier this year to the Picardy region of northern France when we visited the first of these.

While the nave of St. Pierre de Beauvais did in fact collapse because of architectural over-reach, which its foreshortened and incomplete appearance reflects, Notre-Dame d’Amiens stands perilously intact as among the largest of its kind in the world. Sitting on the highest point in town, it can be seen, as was intended, from miles around. At night, it is so illuminated by floodlights that the visitor might be forgiven for thinking it is heralding an alien invasion.

When these giants of devotional architecture were being erected, they were in competition with one another for the title of the grandest monument in the country, but if competitive historic structural design isn’t your exactly bag, there is plenty else to appreciate about Amiens, including a feat of construction every bit as daring, but much more toothsome, than those stonemasons of yore managed. For Amiens, as Picardy in general, is famous for its duck products, and in particular for a fascinating multi-meat confection of duck, rabbit, pork and chicken livers all sealed-up crustily in a layer of savory pastry.

In truth, this was my train of thought. Fatigued as I was by several sleepless nights and hungry for something corporeally rewarding, the enduring might of colossal 13th-century cathedrals was far less intriguing than Jane Grigson’s recipe for pâté en croûte d’Amiens. Moreover, I was even more drawn to it because its preparation seemed to be easy enough for my addled senses to follow. Even after butchering and stripping the duck and rabbit carcasses, it didn’t feel like a lot of work, nor did the very basic pastry recipe cause any pain, persuading me, momentarily, that perhaps this parenting lark isn’t so tough after all.

However, pulling the rich, golden-brown terrine from the oven, and hearing my mother-in-law comment that in spite of the recent arrival of our firstborn I was willing to waste time preparing such a dish in place of a easy greasy take-away dinner, I snapped at her rather meanly, that given the level of the strain I was under, and some fried crap in a tray just wouldn’t cut it. I subsequently apologized, and had my nerves not been so frayed by weariness, I would have replied much more civilly, perhaps saying that in this pâté en croûte, I, like the structural engineers on the History Channel, had found a temporary solution to crushing gravity.

There’s an awful conceit abroad the interwebs these days that seems to be encouraging more people than it should to title themselves “freelance food writers”. Perhaps you’ve seen it in the “About” section of a variety of the blogs you frequent? Coincidentally, there is an expression, “facebook hot”, in use among the youth (I know this because I snuck a peak into my sister-in-law’s Cosmopolitan the other day) to describe someone whose picture they have seen on said social networking site but found to be disappointing in the flesh. I flag both these things in order to highlight the little-known fact that the internet is full of charlatans, liars, and duplicity.

However, while it might be pretty straightforward to make oneself look good in a photo, masquerading as an accomplished writer is rather more of a feat. It strikes me that in order to be a food writer, the first pre-requisite is an ability to write well, not, as is apparently the common misapprehension, an interest or knowledge of food. Secondly, in order to be a freelance writer one must earn at least some portion of one’s living from writing, and, therefore, have a track record of getting published by others, instead of just self-publishing. Without both of these (and the former must come ahead of the latter), one is simply a blogger or hobbyist. [It's important to note that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a hobbyist blogger. We are definitely and contentedly hobbyists, deriving a good deal more expendable income from fluff-encrusted nickels and dimes found down the back of our couch than from our blog.] The point is that, even though most of us would love to get paid for doing stuff we do during our spare time, just because I might know how to use a lawn-mower and an edge-trimmer, exercising this knowledge in my back yard does not make me a “freelance landscaper”.

Those of you familiar with our body of work on this blog may recall previous references to Jim Harrison. Author of such novellas and books as Legends of the Fall, Sun Dog, and Dalva, Harrison has been compared in style and sensibility to such greats as Hemingway and Faulkner. In spite of these comparisons and the adaption of his work into high profile movies, like most successful writers he is modest about his work, and declares, in his often-hilarious collection of essays about food, The Raw & The Cooked, that, apart from his daughter, the only thing he has created that he is truly proud of is an annual spring-time dish of roasted quails stuffed with foie gras and leeks. Immediately, he avers that this does not make him a recipe writer, let alone a cookbook author.

If such an abundantly talented man can be so modest, might not we all be able to learn something from him about humility? We are all prone to attacks of hubris (take this early example of such from yours truly), and there are no real consequences other than self-delusion, but there is something rather saddening about declaring yourself a “food writer” on your blog and then immediately failing to demonstrate any of the requisite literary abilities in inept ramblings. Just because he was told he could be whatever he wanted, Jim Harrison didn’t automatically become 135lbs – except in his mind, and there are many things in our all minds best kept to ourselves.

Turning rustic country fare into a slick restaurant best-seller has become so hackneyed these days that finding a post-modern reconstructed pot-au-feu for $45 in a hot new city dining spot can’t be far away. However, (and while we may be wrong) it might be a while before this garlic and wine soup hits high-end eateries — and not because it’s not restaurant-grade food, but rather because it’s the kind of dish that seems like it can neither be adapted nor re-imagined in a single way that wouldn’t detract from the original.

Do not to be discouraged by the glut of garlic called for, even if you’re cooking for those suspicious of its myriad charms. For, while it is unavoidably redolent of the “perfumed rose”, the flavor is mellow rather than aggressive, far cleaner than you might reasonably expect, and altogether heartier than a simple garlic and broth concoction would suggest.

This recipe is taken wholesale from Madeleine Kamman’s When French Women Cook, and if you don’t already own a copy of this classic tome, then you should endure no more of your life without it. It is evocative of the no-nonsense, waste-not philosophy of female-run home kitchens in pre-war rural France, where chickens pecked outside and extra dietary protein arrived under cover of darkness from the local poacher. Emblematic of the authentic, hearty and stunningly delicious food within its pages, Kamman’s garlic soup recipe comes from the rugged Auvergne — a mysterious and wild region of south central France rumored to still harbor wolves, even bears — via the hands of a distant grandmaternal, Occitan-speaking cousin named Victoire.

There are no pictures of food in When French Women Cook. This lack of illustration, far from confounding the reader and potential cook, actually encourages use of the imagination to mentally conjure what the text describes. Arriving at the completed dish, confidence in your ability to interpret a recipe is bolstered as you behold a meal that truly transcends what the bleak gulleys of your cerebrum had conceived. A rewarding experience corporally and spiritually, just steer clear of close-packed public places for the ensuing 24 hours — you will positively hum with garlic. Hum.

And, while you’re at it, good fellow, I’ll have a warm bath with virtually anything you’ve got on the menu: pasta, potatoes, fish, chicken, soup, bread…

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before…

A man goes to the doctor complaining of neck ache. The doctor gives him some painkillers telling him to take two after a warm bath every evening for a week. When the man returns, the doctor asks him if he’s feeling better. “No,” replies the man, “my neck still hurts and it’s getting worse.” “Really? Did you not take two painkillers after a warm bath every night like I told you to?” asks the doctor. “I tried,” says the patient, “but I couldn’t swallow the pills after drinking the whole bath…”

No, dear readers, (and apologies for the excruciating “joke”), we’re not talking about any old warm bath, and certainly not the kind with bubbles and floating soap-dishes, no we’re talking about bagna caôda, the famed “warm bath” of the Piemonte and Liguria regions of northern Italy, that, as much as you might want to, you don’t actually climb into yourself.

Also spelled bagna càuda, this garlic, anchovy, oil and butter dipping sauce is to these parts of Italy what fondue is to the Swiss, and is typically consumed communally from a large central pot into which sharers dip their bread or raw, boiled or roasted vegetables. Like fondue, bagna caôda is always served hot, as it’s name suggests, and is usually eaten in the autumn and winter as an appetizer, starter or, even, a main course.

Quite apart from being phenomenally good and easy to make, it’s the ultimate combination of land and sea in the world of condiments. Combine anchovies fished off the Ligurian coasts with bright green and fruity Ligurian olive oil, tangy Piemontese garlic and sweet butter from the head of the Po Valley and you’ve got an awesome sauce that might be paired with anything. It’s not traditional – and you should try it the original way first – but we see no reason why bagna caôda couldn’t be made into a delicious pasta sauce with some tonno (Italian oil-cured tuna), spread on a fresh loaf for an amazing garlic bread, over grilled fish or chicken as an enhancing sauce, or mixed with mashed potatoes for a wonderfully flavorful side dish. Just be careful, it really is so damn good, you’ll be putting it your coffee next…

**I’d like to dedicate this post to Dana at Dana Treat for reminding me that a bit of  meat-free posts could be ok sometimes! I, like a carnivorous idiot, commented on her vegetarian blog post about brussel sprouts asking her to “just add pancetta” for a tasty twist (something cheesy like that). I was quickly reminded that that would be a great idea if she wasn’t a veggie. Anyways, although this isn’t purely vegetarian, it sure as hell does not contain meat. Thanks, Dana!**

Bagna Caôda con Verdure Miste Cotte (anchovy, garlic sauce with grilled mixed vegetables)

Ingredients (serves 4-5 as an appetizer)

• 20-40 pieces of your favorite veggies, cut into bite sizes (cauliflower, broccoli, fennel, carrots, mushrooms, potatoes, green beans and asparagus work well)
• 3/4 cup + 2 tsp good olive oil
• 6 cloves garlic, crushed
• 4 1/2 oz anchovy fillets, minced finely
• 2 1/2 oz unsalted butter
• ground black pepper

Recipe

• Over medium-low heat, gently cook garlic, anchovy and 3/4 cup olive oil in a saucepan until garlic softens and anchovy has pretty much dissolved, stirring occasionally. Do not brown garlic at all.
• Season with black pepper to taste.
• Stir in butter and allow to melt. Combine thoroughly and keep warm, do not allow to boil or cook anymore.
• Parboil root (and cauliflower/broccoli/fennel types)vegetables until beginning to soften. Remove to a ice bath and allow to cool thoroughly.
• Toss the cooled + still raw veggies with coarse sea salt, pepper and remaining olive oil , and grill over a hot fire until blistered and crunchy.
• Serve immediately with a warm bowl of bagna caôda and lots of fresh bread to catch the drips. Enjoy!

A month or so ago we bought a package of veal liver at our local grocery store telling ourselves that we going to cook them, but not really having any idea how. We’ve made veal kidneys before without relying on a recipe so we were convinced we could do the same with the beast’s liver, but when we got home we found ourselves bereft of inspiration, and we put them the freezer and they there stayed until recently when we realized that we must figure out something to do with them.

Inspiration is overrated, so we abandoned our search for it, opting instead for a simple breading and pan-frying approach. You’ll notice that this dish kind of resembles a veal milanese in appearance, and it does, just don’t pound the livers or they’ll split and become purple goo. Because of this resemblance, as I was making it I was thinking of the great breaded sweetbreads we ate at Prune, and at the same time, I imagined this dish would be the perfect kind of thing to have for lunch on a cold, foggy day after a brisk walk in the rolling hills of Piemonte, and washed down with a gentle nebbiolo. And that might be the case, but it was just as good with a cold beer after a miserable rainy day trawling around Manhattan in search of baby gifts.

Veal Liver “alla Milanese” with Garlicky Mushrooms

Ingredients

• 6oz veal liver, cleaned
• 1 egg, beaten
• 4oz plain flour
• 3 slices stale country bread, crumbed
• 3oz olive oil
• 1 large portobello mushroom
• 1-2 medium cloves garlic, finely sliced
• 2 sprigs thyme, leaves removed and rubbed
• salt and black pepper

Recipe

• Put egg, flour and breadcrumbs into separate bowls
• Slice liver into thin rounds and sprinkle with salt and pepper
• Heat oil in a saute pan to medium heat
• Chop mushroom roughly into chunks and saute with garlic until soft but still al dente.
• Sprinkle with thyme and remove to a warm plate.
• Dredge liver slices first in flour, then in egg, and finally in breadcrumbs before placing gently in pan
• Fry liver for 2 minutes each side or until coating is golden brown
• Drain briefly on paper towels before serving immediately with mushrooms
• Garnish with lemon slices and good balsamic vinegar. Enjoy!

As we mentioned in an earlier post, it’s still fig season for another few weeks. This is a delicious way to eat up those unused figs or to try making this with some dried ones if you have had a hard time finding fresh ones. Believe it or not, this dish tastes delicious with either fresh or dried figs – we’ve had it both ways. We have taken a dish/recipe by Daisy Martinez and, because of time and space, adapted it a bit. In Daisy’s recipe, she makes her version of a Sauce Espagnole, or brown sauce, before adding it to the browned chicken. In addition to adding some smoked pimenton (smoked paprika) to my own version of the brown sauce, I also decided against straining the sauce and, instead, used a potato smasher (my hand blender isn’t in my apartment right now) to create a thick, chunkier sauce. The result is a very satisfying, yet light dish. Ok, so there is some bacon and bacon grease used in the recipe, but it’s only to add depth of flavor. Other than that, this meal is relatively healthy and would work well with dried figs for a fall or winter meal.

I highly recommend trying this dish. It would make a fabulous and cheap meal to make for a big group dinner, as well. Hey, we are in a recession! Gotta get creative!

CHICKEN WITH FIGS (adapted from Daisy Martinez) – serves 4

Ingredients for Brown Sauce:

• 6 slices of bacon, cut into 1 inch slices
• 2 stalks of celery, cut into 1 to 2 inch pieces
• 2 carrots, cut into 1 to 2 inch pieces
• 1 onion, cut into 1 to 2 inch pieces
• 4 cloves of garlic, smashed and cut in half
• 2 sprigs of thyme, leaves off the stem
• 3 tablespoons flour
• 2 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1 1/2 teaspoon smoked pimenton
• 1/3 cup calvados (or other type of brandy/cognac)
• 5 cups of vegetable or chicken stock
• 2 bay leaves
• 3 cloves

Other ingredients:

• 6 to 8 fresh figs or dried figs (rehydrated for 20 minutes in hot water), sliced in half
• 8 pieces of chicken (we used 4 drumsticks and 4 thighs – skin on)
• salt and pepper
• olive oil

What to do:

1. Make the brown sauce by first browning the bacon, allowing it’s fat to render. When it is browned, remove with slotted spoon and drain most of the rendered bacon fat, leaving only about 3 tablespoons.
2. Add the celery, carrots, onion, garlic and thyme and brown them in the bacon fat on medium heat for about 10 minutes. Sprinkle the flour on the veggies and stir until it is all incorporated. Now add the pimenton and stir to incorporate well. Make a well in the veggies and add your tomato paste. Allow to cook for a few seconds then stir into the veggies. Cook for another minute.
3. Turn down the heat and add your calvados and/or brandy. Allow to burn down until it is evaporated.
4. Once it has evaporated, add your stock, cloves and bay leaves and bring to a boil. After it comes to a boil, adjust heat so that it cooks at a gentel boil. Stir occasionally.
5. As the Sauce Espagnole cooks, brown your chicken on medium-high in a heavy-bottomed pan. Add some oil to the pan before you begin and cook, turning to brown both sides – about 10 to 12 minutes.
6. Once browned, lower heat and remove your browned chicken for a moment. Turn heat up to medium-low and ladle in some of the cooking Sauce Espagnole (it’s not done yet, remember!) and pick up the browned chicken bits from the bottom of your pan. Once it is all incorporated and there are no bits left on the bottom, pour in the rest of the Sauce Espagnole into that pan. Add your chicken pieces back along with the crispy bacon and your figs. Turn heat to medium and allow to cook uncovered at a simmer for about 25 minutes.
7. After 20 minutes, cover and continue cooking for an additional 25 minutes.
8. Right before serving, remove figs and chicken pieces to separate pan. Take out bay leaves and discard. Using a potato smasher or hand blender, lightly crush (or quickly pulse hand blender a few times) the very soft veggies down. If you feel it needs a bit more “body”, sprinkle in a bit more flour.
9. Arrange some chicken and few figs on the plate and spoon some of the sauce on top. Serve with roasted potatoes or a hunk of crusty country bread.

Check out these other recipes you may enjoy:

• POLLO EN PEPITORIA “KINDA” (HAZELNUT CRUSTED CHICKEN IN A FINO SHERRY, SAFFRON AND HAZELNUT SAUCE)
• SPATCHCOCK CHICKEN (A TUTORIAL)
• BREAD-CRUSTED FISH WITH LEMON-BUTTER SAUCE
• PASTA WITH LEEKS, ASPARAGUS, MUSHROOMS AND GRUYERE, TOPPED WITH A FRIED EGG

On a cold, wintery day, there is nothing better than the warmth of a hearty bowl of Hungarian goulash. After much research, I adapted a recipe by Wolfgang Puck. I’m glad I trusted my instinct that his would taste pretty authentic considering he is from Austria. According to my research, traditional goulash should NEVER contain green peppers or tomatoes. So many recipes I found contained canned tomatoes, but this is supposedly a BIG no-no. Another key, I learned, to a kick-ass goulash is onions, and lots of ‘em. Slicing them thin (use a mandolin if you can) and sweating them down may take a bit more time, but the sweetness and oomph it adds along to the paprika is a taste that can’t be beat.

I have used most of Puck’s recipe, but have adapted a bit of it based on a few other recipes I read as well. Many eat goulash alone, with a side of spaetzle or flour dumplings. I added some boiled potatoes for my starch. Americans may put goulash over rice or egg noodles and top with sour cream, but that is not traditonally Hungarian. I’m also a big lover of paprika, so I use alot… you can scale it down a bit if you’d like. In fact, if you do not like it a bit spicy, do not add the hot paprika and just add one more tablespoon of sweet.

HUNGARIAN GOULASH (Adapted from Wolfgang Puck’s recipe)

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 2 medium to large onions, thinly sliced (about 4 – 5 cups)
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon caraway seeds, toasted and ground
• 3 tablespoons sweet Hungarian paprika
• 1 tablespoon hot paprika
• 2 tablespoons fresh marjoram (I substituted oregano), minced
• 1 teaspoon minced fresh thyme leaves
• 1 bay leaf
• 3 tablespoons tomato paste
• 4 cups beef or chicken stock
• 2 to 3 pounds of beef, cut into 2 inch cubes
• 4 medium-sized potatoes, peeled and cut in halves or quarters
• Salt and Pepper

What to do:

1. In a large saute pan or dutch oven, heat olive oil on medium low and slowly cook your thinly sliced onions until they are translucent. This should take about 30 minutes if you cook them on low and slowly. If you want to cook ‘em faster, go right ahead. I just love the sweetness the slow cooking of the onions brings.
2. Add your beef pieces and allow to sear a bit.
3. Add your garlic and ground caraway seeds and cook for a minute or so.
4. Add the paprika (both hot and sweet), the marjoram or oregano, thyme and bay leaf and allow to saute for a minute.
5. Add the tomato paste and your stock along with a pinch of salt and pepper.
6. Bring this to a boil, then lower to a simmer and cook for at least an hour (an hour and a half is optimal). This will allow the meat to become tender.
7. While meat is cooking, boil your potatoes until they are parboiled and then add them to your goulash a few minutes before you are ready to serve. Taste and add more salt and/or pepper if needed. Serve in a bowl with enough bits of meat and a few halves of potatoes and enjoy.

CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS YOU MAY ENJOY:

• PAPPA AL POMODORO (Tuscan Tomato and Bread Soup)
• SHREDDED CHICKEN SOPES WITH TOMATILLO AVOCADO SAUCE
• GNOCCHI DI PATATE WITH A BROWN BUTTER, SAGE, BREADCRUMB SAUCE
• VEAL SAUSAGES WITH HERBED POLENTA AND ROASTED BEETS
• LIVORNESE FISH STEW
• VEAL KIDNEYS WITH MUSHROOMS AND COGNAC

VEAL SAUSAGES WITH HERBED POLENTA AND ROASTED BEETS (Serves 2)

• 4 Veal Sausage Links
• 2 Large Beets, cut into 2” half-moons
• 1/2 cup polenta
• hot chicken stock for the polenta
• chopped parsley and sage

For the gravy:

• 1/4 cup red wine
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1/2 onion, finely sliced
• 1/2 habanero, finely chopped (optional)
• 2 teaspoons of BISTO (or 1 beef stock cube)
• 2 cups of boiling water
• Salt and Pepper to taste (for polenta and gravy)

What to do:

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Peel the beets, cut them into half-moon shapes and toss with olive oil and salt/pepper. Put on baking sheet and roast for 25 minutes.
2. In a medium-hot pan, brown your sausages on both sides. When they are browned on both sides, remove from pan and keep on side.
3. Add some olive oil (1 Tbsp.) to the same pan sausages browned in. Add sliced onions and allow to soften. When onions are translucent, add garlic and (optional) hot pepper. Allow to saute for a minute or two.
4. Add red wine and deglaze the pan, picking up any bits on the bottom.
5. Mix BISTO (or stock cube) and boiling water thoroughly. Add this to the pan. Bring to a boil. Simmer liquid until reduced by half.
6. While gravy is reducing, start your polenta. In a separate pan, combine polenta with 1 cup of hot chicken stock by first putting stock in pan and then slowly pouring polenta in it (STIR all the while… it will feel like you don’t have enough hands to do this, but just do your best!). Add a pinch of salt. Continue to stir vigorously with a wooden spoon, adding more chicken stock while doing so. You don’t want the polenta to be dry, but also do not let it get soupy (unless, of course that’s how you like polenta). You want it to be smooth and not runny. Keep stirring with a wooden spoon while on medium – low/medium heat for about 15-20 minutes. At the end, taste for necessary salt and smoothness. Throw in your herbs and some (optional) parmagiano cheese.
7. Take beets out of oven and allow to cool for a few minutes.
8. Add the sausages back to the pan. Allow to simmer for 3-4 additional minutes.
9. Plate your dish – start with a layer of polenta, two sausages per plate nestled into the polenta, topped with some gravy (get some onions in there!) and finish with a few roasted beets. Enjoy!

CHECK OUT SOME OF THESE OTHER POSTS YOU MAY ENJOY:

• HUNGARIAN GOULASH
• JAMAICAN JERK CHICKEN
• WINE-BRAISED LAMB SHANKS WITH ROSEMARY AND THYME IN PRESSURE COOKER
• ORECCHIETTE WITH SAUSAGE AND KALE
• TOAD-IN-THE-HOLE (Sausages Nested in Batter)

Regular readers will remember the vigorous back-tracking done in the recent post In Defence of Sandwiches when excuses had to be made for having seemed to have been demeaning towards the humble sandwich. Well, friends, here’s some more hand-held, lunchable flip-flopping for you, I’m writing today about an excellent sandwich I made for lunch and which sat in my backpack, sweating away under the hot sun for half a day before being enjoyed. I normally mock such soggy sandwiches and compare them unfavorable to my delicious leftovers, but this was an extraordinary sandwich, and one that provided a gourmet experience not at the desk, as is my usual lunching spot, but on a rock in the hills of upstate New York.

Last weekend, Amy and I were hiking in Sam’s Point Preserve, close to the one-horse town that is Cragsmoor, NY, and we had decided to take a picnic with us as a way of economizing, having already splurged on dinner the previous night. After two hours on the trail, we sat down to lunch. Pulling the foil-wrapped bufala mozzarella, rocket (wild arugula) and pesto topped Italian bread roll from my bag, I was happy to see that it hadn’t wilted completely, and the foil had kept it from overheating. We’d even brought extra pesto along with us in a small plastic pot, so were able to use it like a condiment, dipping our sandwiches in for an extra garlicky-basilico tang. All extremely delicious and made all the more enjoyable by a beautiful view over the surrounding hills clothed with the yellows, oranges and reds of fall.

I raise this sandwich not just as an example of how to make an ordinary picnic slightly less ordinary, but also as an example (see image) of a sandwich that is not over-stuffed with fillings whose success relies on the careful balance of bread, condiment and just two high-quality fillings.

Another recent example of a successful, but simple, sandwich is the paté and cornichon sandwich I made for lunch the other day. Our first order from Fresh Direct was filled with “luxury and gourmet” products we wouldn’t normally buy, and for some reason buying things online made it much easier to swallow the $12 for a 1/4lb of jamon serrano.

Also in that order was a thick slab of country pork paté (literally) peppered with whole black peppercorns and surrounded by a generous layer of fat. Having bought some wholewheat Portuguese rolls, some amazingly cheap wild arugula and a jar of cornichons (baby gherkin pickles) we had the makings of a fantastic sandwich. Add a little smooth Dijon mustard, and you’ve got what the French might call “un sandwich de chasseur” or hunters’ sandwich. Fantastically simple, hearty and delicious, with the right blend of meaty fattiness, crunchy pickles, sharp mustard and peppery tang of the arugula.

The great thing about sandwiches is that you can put virtually anything between bread and that a great sandwich doesn’t have to have thirty-six slices of roast beef crammed into it. I often reminisce about a roll with 2 slices of the most fantastic jamon iberico that I had for breakfast in Barcelona train station a few years ago. Do you have a great sandwich memory or a killer sandwich“recipe” / combo that you’d like to share? What’s you favorite sandwich? And what’s the best accompaniment to it? Potato chips (crisps), fries (chips), salad, condiment/s? Let us know.