The purpose of this trip was, principally, to visit my new nephew, William, who, we discovered, is a charming young chap with pink cheeks and a propensity for chewing his fingers, drinking milk, and synchronizing his burps and farts – some skills you just can’t teach. However, we also planned to visit old friends we hadn’t seen since our wedding 18 months ago, and, if we could fit it in, actually see some of London.

I’m sure many of you have heard and/or seen about the culinary renaissance that has been happening in the UK over the past ten years or so, that the country is rightfully proud of. Marco Pierre White, Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay, Rick Stein, and Heston Blumenthal, among others, have all made huge names for themselves domestically and internationally for their reinterpretations of classic British dishes and focus on the excellent produce of the British Isles. Much of this gastronomic progress has been realized in the restaurants of London, turning it from culinary wasteland to hot spot almost over night.

Now, my experience of dining in London as a resident were generally not at these temples of fine food, but instead at more down-at-heel places like the many gastro-pubs and curry houses. So, the first opportunity we got, Amy and I raced off to a local boozer in Putney (the Coat & Badge) for a quick pub lunch of pork pie, chips and mushy peas, washed down with a couple of pints of Fuller’s London Pride (a bitter made just over the Thames in Chiswick), and that evening, followed it up with a typically Anglo-Indian take-out curry from the totally average but completely wonderful Putney Tandoori.

Chucking back a chicken tikka jalfrezi and a lamb dhansak was like putting on an old sweater – familiar, comforting, and with a smell that evoked many happy memories. Rose-tinted memories for certain, because I’ve committed some fairly miserable and embarrassing mistakes of judgment at Indian restaurants over the years, including the time I ordered a fahl (an insanely-spiced dish), took one bite and then rubbed my eyes with a chile-soaked finger, and spent the rest of the night feverishly rinsing out my sockets fearing I’d blinded myself.

The day after our curries, we headed into London proper – to the centre/center – to revisit the nasty-ass basement bar where Amy and I stumbled across one another nearly six years ago, do some shopping down Neal Street, and then head up to Farringdon for lunch. Amazingly, the Gardening Club (the basement bar) looked like it had been given a face-lift, and was now, curiously, serving lunch, but neither of us could really face going inside for fear that it might change our cherished memories of the place. So, pushing on, we enjoyed the recent fall in value of the pound vs. the dollar and actually did some non-food shopping for a change.

One of the other “new” breed of British chef/restaurateurs, we knew about from having read about him, seen him on TV and bought his book, but who has garnered far less international celebrity is Fergus Henderson of St. John Restaurant near Smithfield Market. He is most famous for his widely-copied dish of roasted veal marrow-bones and parsley salad which we had eaten and loved at both Gabrielle Hamilton’s fabulous Prune, in NYC, and more recently at L’Express in Montreal. Now we wanted to try the original.

Below a sign featuring a hand-drawn pig, we entered the restaurant down a short hallway (the building which houses the restaurant is a Georgian-era carriage house, and one enters via the former carriage entrance the courtyard of which is now covered and serves as the restaurant’s bar, bakery and cafe area), and ascended a short flight of stairs to to the dining room full of anticipation. Factory-style lamps illuminated a white-walled space completely circled by head-high coat-hooks, and a thickly-painted floor was decorated only by ordinary white-clothed tables and dark, well-worn chairs.

Check out the slideshow above to see what we had for lunch, and then listen to the podcast below to learn more about St. John Restaurant, and our excitingly awkward meeting with chef/owner Fergus Henderson.

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!

We are fortunate enough to live in a city with a ridiculous amount of diversity when it comes to restaurants, and one place we frequent often is a ‘hip’ Colombian restaurant (what the hell, it is Brooklyn). When we go there it’s because of two things: 1) We’re friggin starving and are ready to eat till we drop and 2) we want to get drunk. They have very strong drinks, and the food, shall we say, ain’t exactly light either. Maybe the strong drinks are to help your appetite and enable you to eat more?

One of the favorite menu items is the very popular and typical Colombian dish Bandeja Paisa. Yes, I wasn’t lying when I called it a “gut buster”. There is no way in hell I’m not unbuttoning my jeans when I decide to order this one. Originating from northwestern Colombia (the province of Antioquia), this dish’s name stems from bandeja, meaning tray or platter, and what the people of the region are known as, paisas, or country-folk. The idea is that this mixed platter would be eaten at lunchtime after a hard morning working in the fields and would be followed (like there would be a choice!) by a lengthy siesta before anything resembling work could resume.

In 2005 the Colombian government planned to make bandeja paisa the national dish, but instead with the name of bandeja montañera (mountaineer’s platter). This move was actually faced with widespread opposition, citing that only a small percentage of the population actually eats bandeja (perhaps unsurprisingly, or they’d all be in cardiac arrest and/or 500lbs). However, the government persisted and now you can find all sorts of Colombian tourism paraphernalia advertising bandeja as the national dish – perhaps in a daring bid to encourage obese gringos to head on down for a feast…?

Anyway, like many traditional dishes the exact combination of ingredients/items often differs depending on who you ask, but, again, like many traditional dishes, there are a number of ingredients that all versions contain. Arepa (a thin shallow-fried corn cake), grilled marinated skirt steak, pork chicharron (crispy, deep-fried pork belly cracklins), a fried egg, chorizo, red beans (stewed red beans) and rice. [Note: some versions contain other foods including morcilla (blood sausage), sweet fried plantains, avocado, vinegary shredded red cabbage salad, fried potatoes, tomato sauce, and hogao (aka criollo sauce made with onions, tomatoes, pepper, oregano, cumin, and salt).] We combined our beans with the chorizo, substituted the rice with yucca fries, and cut the richness of the meal with the traditional Colombian condiment, aji.

Estimates vary, but it’s a meal of between 1,500-1,800 calories (that’s most of your daily intake), and yes, that’s right, and it’s all eaten for lunch. I, who can hardly sit up straight at my desk after a sandwich and an apple for my midday repast, find it almost impossible to imagine engaging in manual labor even after only half a plate of this magnitude. Combine this with the nearly year-round equatorial heat that part of Colombia enjoys, and I’d be retiring to my hammock for forty (or more) winks, which is why we tend to save up our bandeja eating for the colder months, and happily for us (but not our cardiologist) those months are on the way. So, get out the largest plate you own, starve yourself for a couple of days ahead of time, consider cancelling your plans for the afternoon, and get stuck into a bandeja paisa - it’s only your waistline at risk!

Bandeja Paisa

So, because this is a meal made up of many constituent parts, and because, with our version, we tinkered with the traditional ingredients a bit, what follows is basically a run-down of recipes starting with the most time-consuming preparations.

Stewed Pinto/Red Beans with Chorizo
See this recipe here we made a while back.

Yucca Fries

• 1 medium sized yucca (cassava), peeled and cut into 1/4inch (1cm) rings or half-moons
• 2 cups vegetable oil, heated to 350-375F
• 1tsp kosher salt
• Fry yucca rings until golden and crispy. Remove to plate covered with paper towels to drain, and sprinkle with salt.
• Keep warm in oven if not eating immediately as they get chewy and tough if left to cool

Skirt Steak

• Sprinkle steak lightly with salt, pepper and rub generously with sliced garlic.
• Marinate in olive oil until ready to grill.
• Heat skillet or grill to screaming hot. Brush marinade off steaks and grill on each side for about 2-3 minutes (depending on thickness – use poke test regularly) for a nice medium-rare.
• Cover with foil and allow to rest for 5-10minutes.

Shredded Red Cabbage Salad

• Shred or finely slice 5-6oz red cabbage after removing tough outer leaves
• Put cabbage in a bowl and mix with 3tbsp granulated sugar, 1tsp kosher salt and 1/2cup white vinegar
• Allow to marinate and grow together for as long as a couple of days.

Colombian Arepas

• 1 cup masa harina (fine cornmeal flour)
• 1/4tsp salt
• 1/2 cup hot water
• 4oz vegetable oil
• combine corn flour, water and salt into a sticky dough
• make a ball out of some of the dough and roll into a circle about 4-5inches across and 1/4 thick
• heat 1tbsp oil at a time, and fry dough circles until golden and crispy
• drain on paper towels, then dress with butter/margarine and serve immediately while still warm

Spicy Colombian Aji

• 1 sweet pepper, finely diced
• 2 jalapenos, finely diced and de-seeded
• 3 small cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1/4 onion, finely diced
• 10-15 stems cilantro, finely diced
• 1/2 cup white vinegar
• 1/2 cup water
• juice of 1/2 lime
• 1 teaspoon granulated sugar
• Combine all these ingredients together and let sit for at least an hour or as long as 2 days for the flavors to improve

Pork Chicharrones
We used the great recipe we found at Nikas Culinaria, and encourage you to do likewise.

Then, combine all this goodness on a plate (we suggest you share it with at least one other person unless you want to drift into a food coma you may never come out of) and enjoy with the latin cocktail of your choice (avoid beer, it makes everything swell up), or perhaps, as the Colombians would, accompany it with a few shots of aguardiente!

Thank you to about.com for featuring this post in their Colombian food section.

Disclaimer: Our dear Colombian friend kindly let us know that our too-styled, “pretty” version of Bandeja Paisa is a bit less authentic because of the way we put things on the plate. Hear our Juan Camilo discuss Bandeja Paisa and all things Colombian in our exclusive podcast interview.

There are a handful of things that have made Genoa famous, amongst them pesto and Christopher Columbus. Interestingly, in all the many, many stories told by Scheherazade (to persuade the emir not to have her killed) in the Arabian Nights, the only European city to be mentioned is Genoa. And, when you visit the city it is immediately apparent why Arabs, used to the mazy streets of the souks of North Africa and the Middle East, could base tales of intrigue and deception there.

Set on the side of a series of steep hillsides on Italy’s Ligurian coast, Genoa (Genova) has remarkably medieval feel to it with its rabbit-warren streets lined tightly with buildings that prevent sunlight from reaching the ground. This, together with the soupy local patios with its French and Portugese inflections, and you almost feel like you’ve left modern Italy and arrived somewhere in the 13th century.

All of which sounds terribly romantic and redolent of mystery and adventure, and, well, it is, except when you’re entering the city at rush hour without a clear idea of where your hotel is, and you desperately need to pee after a three hour drive. Happily though, once installed in our B & B and fortified by a few glasses of wine – hastily thrown back, we began exploring the city’s mazy streets in the growing dusk, emerging periodically, like moles from a hole, onto a variety of piazzas wondering how the hell we got there, and thoroughly enjoying it.

Eventually, we found some semblance of bearings, so that the next day we managed to locate a restaurant our host had recommended for its typical Genoese cuisine for lunch. The previous evening, we had dined on fried fresh anchovies and langostines near the harbor, and so that lunchtime we were looking for pasta. Call me predictable, but I had to have pesto, you know the basic pesto made just out of basil, pine nuts, parmigiano-reggiano and olive oil, so I ordered spinach tagliatelle with pesto alla Genovese. Amy, though, went for another Genovese specialty, ravoili with walnut cream sauce or salsa di noci.

Now, it’s not uncommon for us to rave on about something perfectly simple, and indeed, patient readers, this dish is precisely that, but at the same time, and as you probably know, we don’t get all worked up over nothing. This sauce really is a badass. Trust us, we wouldn’t steer you wrong. In fact, the only thing that could have made the remake – recipe below – as enjoyable as the original we ate in Genoa, would be if we could have placed another table in our apartment and installed the wiry, old gent who sat opposite us at it.

PASTA WITH SALSA DI NOCI (WALNUT SAUCE) AND MUSHROOMS (Serves 3-4)

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups walnuts, boiled for 25 minutes
• 1 cup of parmigiano reggiano
• 1/4 cup lite cream
• 1/2 cup milk
• 2 slices white bread soaked in milk
• 1 pack of mushrooms (your choice – we used white button)
• salt and pepper
• 1 pound pasta (we used long fusilli)
• optional: fresh thyme for garnish
• blender or food processor

What to do:

1. This is so easy to make, I could cry. Boil your walnuts for 25 minutes to remove some of the bitterness and soften. Drain and set aside.
2. On a plate or in a deep dish, soak two pieces of crustless, cheap white bread in some milk so it soaks it all up. Allow to sit for 5 minutes or so.
3. Get out your blender or food processor. Throw on some extra salted water to boil for the pasta.
4. In a pan, add your sliced mushrooms along with some olive oil or a pat of butter and saute until firm-soft.
5. Blitz the walnuts until fine first then blend all the rest of the ingredients together : the milk-soaked bread, the walnuts, the cheese, milk and cream along with a pinch of salt to taste. Add your pasta to the boiling water and cook till al dente.
6. Add the sauce to the pan with the cooked mushrooms, stir and warm on low for a bit. When pasta is done, add a bit of the pasta water to the sauce (maybe 3 tablespoons at most) and then add your drained pasta to the warming walnut sauce. Toss.
7. Plate your pasta and top with some fresh thyme, a bit of freshly ground pepper and some extra parmigiano. Enjoy with a big glass of red wine.

As regular readers will know, we are obsessed with pork, especially roasted pork, so while we’ve yet to make any more than the briefest foray into Cuban food, we definitely intend to compare Lechon Asado Cubano (Cuban Roasted Pork) and Masas de Puerco Fritas (Cuban Fried Pork Chunks) to their Puerto Rican and Colombian counterparts that we have tried, just as soon as our cardiologist deems it safe to do so. In the meantime, we elected to solve our latest leftover roasted pork crisis with Cuba’s other synonymous comestible – the Cuban sandwich.  In this case, we used the leftover pork from our Italian-Style Roasted Pork Shoulder with Salsa Verde.

And before you start accusing us of going all Everyday Food on you with our recent spate of unbelievably easy recipes, those of you who’ve never had a Cuban sandwich will quickly learn that as far as hot sandwiches go, this is among the best, regardless of how easy it is to prepare. Among the reasons for it being one of the best sandwiches, the double-hit of pork products probably features most prominently, but the gooey cheese mixed with the crunchiness of warm pickles is a combination which is hard to beat. Add to it that there are no chunks of tomato or hunks of lettuce to cause what Anthony Bourdain calls “tectonic dynamism” between layers of filling when you take a bite, and the cooking process ensures that it is a suitable girth for easy mouth-insertion, the outcome is a delicious, unctuous sandwich that is also a joy to eat.

Now, I’m describing our Cuban sandwiches, and we did quite a lot of research before making them to ensure we were making them at least reasonably authentically, but, as with many famous dishes, there is a whiff of controversy surrounding the ingredients of a sandwich Cubano. Apparently, in Tampa, Florida, it is common to find Genoa salami in your Cubano alongside the roast pork and honeyed ham, whereas in Miami that would be frowned upon. Similarly, in Key West, you’ll often get lettuce and tomato in the sandwich too, though again in traditionalist joints in Miami and Puerto Rico (home to many Cuban emigres) these would be on the side, if served at all. And, finally, lest we be deluged with complaints, we used Dijon mustard instead of the standard yellow mustard, partially because we prefer Dijon mustard, and partially because we didn’t have any yellow mustard at the time.

Cuban Sandwiches (makes 2 sandwiches – enough for four people)

Ingredients

• 1 loaf fresh Cuban bread (pan de manteca) or soft baguette-type loaf (in the US, Italian bread could work okay, providing it’s quite soft)
• 1/2lb roast pork, sliced thickly (say, 1/2inch, 1.5cm thick)
• 10 slices honey-roast ham
• 8 slices Swiss cheese
• 1-2 large pickles, sliced thickly (as above)
• 2tbsp Dijon mustard
• 1tbsp mayonnaise

Recipe

• Heat oven to 400F
• Slice loaf open end-to-end and spread one side with mayonnaise and the other with mustard.
• Then, arrange roast pork slices on mayonnaise-d side, repeat with ham, then cheese, and finally pickles before putting mustard-coated bread on top.
• Cut loaf in half (to make two sandwiches) and wrap loaf in foil. Place on a baking sheet and put your heaviest (oven-proof) iron skillet on top.
• Put in the oven and give it 20-30 minutes depending on how crispy you like your bread.
• Cut in half again (traditionally, it’s cut into triangles, or on the bias) and serve immediately with your favorite cold beer or, if you must, soda.

For more recipes and fun with roasted pork and other wondrous porcine dishes, go to www.weareneverfull/recipes.

“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
- William Blake

Have you ever thought, as you sit red-faced, breathing shallowly, “just… one… more… bite”? Have you ever then taken that extra bite and thought to yourself — in your blood-starved brain — “maybe, after all, I could manage another one”? And, finally, upon swallowing said final mouthful and feeling a previously unknown thickness on your tongue, have you ever thought, “perhaps I’ve overdone it”? It is at this point, as your mouth slowly stops salivating, your breath becomes labored and characterized by sharp exhalations and sighs intended to revitalize your flaccid organs, and your belly feels so tight and distended that if it weren’t for the shocking quantity of food you’ve just ingested (and several other flabby bodily areas), you might resemble a starved Ethiopian child, that you begin to understand why gluttony was included among the seven deadly sins.

Such was my state of mind as I sat, gravely concerned that I might actually suffocate myself internally as my stomach pressed up hard on diaphragm and lungs, at Casa Portal restaurant in Madrid, after a meal that would make a man’s recommended weekly caloric intake appear somehow unlikely to provide sufficient nourishment. The culprit you ask? Well, apart from my own greed, gluttony and propensity to exceed normal physical boundaries, the culprit was fabada. Fabada Asturiana to be precise. The famed bean and pork stew of the Asturian mountains (Picos de Europa) in northern Spain.

As earlier posts have described, I passed a vacation several years ago traveling in northern Spain and found it to be a formative experience. The food, the landscape, the culture and the climate had a profound impact on me and have kept me returning to Spain as regularly as possible given the intervening years in which I’ve gotten married and moved to the United States. Enjoying fresh seafood, doused in garlic, parsley and olive oil, and washed down with non-carbonated local cider in the beautiful, secluded harbor town of Luarca is one particularly evocative memory. And so it was that when we were in Madrid recently I wanted to recollect these memories, so we spent most of a morning walking across the city in search of an Asturian restaurant that had been recommended to us.

Our meal began with a selection of Asturian appetizers, including a tunafish and tomato empanadilla, a whole steamed morcilla, and a large cooking chorizo simmered in cider, accompanied by chewy bread and a liter of Asturian cider. My wife was then presented with what can only be described as a pond-sized bowl of fish bisque, that we shared but could not finish. Thankfully, a pause of fifteen minutes offered some digestive respite to our already extended guts and allowed our moistening brows to cool. However, when the final assault came, it was one that an hour-long intermission would not have adequately prepared us for.

My fabada arrived in a bowl of similar proportions to my wife’s soup course, and in it, along with the delicious softened, yet still toothsome, large white beans, came half of ANOTHER cooking chorizo, half of ANOTHER morcilla, and an entire pork chop. Maternal warnings of eyes-bigger-than-belly swam in my head as I plowed in, loosening my thickly greased palate at regular intervals with an excellent Crianza from Navarre. The beans were, well, like butter, and the various pork products, each delicious and flavorful in their own way, but the star of the dish, and indeed the entire meal, was morcilla.

This blood sausage, sometimes made with rice, sometimes with grains, which we Brits would class as black pudding, is common throughout Spain and, I’m sure, is widely derided by most tourists — even those with gourmet aspirations — for being disgusting. As I began to labor through the final mouthfuls, it crossed my mind just what levels of dietary deprivation had forced the inventors of morcilla to collect an animal’s blood and congeal it with fat, salt and grains, and fashion it into a sausage for preservation and sustinence later on. In the same way, I often try to imagine the back-breaking work of so many grape-pickers during the annual vendanges as I take my first sip of a newly-opened wine, in order to better appreciate the effort and craftsmanship that goes into the things I enjoy most. However, in this instance, my reverie for Spanish food culture was interrupted (and would not return for a while) by a lack of blood to my brain, as it flooded south to my upper intestine to begin absorbing the porky appetizers of the previous half hour.

An uncomfortable period followed (I know not how long), during which my wife was kind enough to gently pat my limp hand and fan my flushed and fevered cheeks with a napkin, before I was able to even contemplate the short walk to the bathroom — the pressure having eased above was now pressuring a full bladder below. Even upon staggering back to the table and slumping ungraciously into my seat, I was unable to consider taking a glass of refreshing water so full was I. Apparently, until this point, I had been unable to articulate my suffering, but chose this moment to confess that not only might I have overdone it, but that I might also be experiencing a previously unheard of “pork overdose” that could turn out to be prejudicial to health. My wife replied pithily that at least I was advancing medical science by my gluttony.

Eventually, my bloatedness subsided enough for me to leave the restaurant and lurch slowly around the shopping district near the Goya metro stop, ashamed everytime my sagging and pallid features were reflected in a store window. And, lest, you think, gentle reader, that you might be prepared to risk a similarly harrowing experience in the daring pursuit of local specialties, you should know that as a result of my over-indulgence at lunch, I was unable to eat anything for the rest of the day and so missed an entire evenings’ worth of tapas.

If these were the immediate penalties of gluttony, the medium term ones have been even worse. I try in vain to shake off my fabada-induced weight gain each midday at the gym and, so far, I see no change in my girth. Yet, in spite of all this (self-inflicted) suffering, I still feel that it might well have been worth it. One only learns one’s limits by testing them, no?

Unsurprisingly, we have not yet had the courage to make our own version of fabada since returning to the States, though we intend to do so before winter is out. In the meantime, our good friend Nuria at Spanish Recipes Pic by Pic recently posted an authentic fabada Asturiana recipe on her site, which we will be putting through its paces just as soon as we can face it.

THIS IS AMY (the wife) TO SAY SOMETHING: The story you have just read above is not only true, but not even exaggerated. I really have never seen this man react to overeating (which we too often do, unfortunately) the way he did after consuming the fabada this day in Madrid. It was mildly hilarious, but kind of scary as I didn’t know how to say “Where can I get his stomach pumped” in Spanish. We hope to make our own fabada soon since we finally were able to find morcilla for sale in a speciality store. I’m just hoping it doesn’t have the same effect on the man this time.

If you are interested in reading more of our posts on Spain, please check out:

• The REAL Cocido of Spain
• Jamon, Jamon
• Pictures of Madrid
• Unusual Tapas We Ate in Madrid
• Tame Tapas We Ate in Madrid
• Cabrales Cheese: It’s a Bit of an Animal
• Vermut (Vermouth): Rediscovering an Old Classic
• CHORIZO, CHICKPEA AND POTATO SOUP

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.

First of all, when I was in school, I would’ve given my right leg to get a moment to go outside and just get out of the classroom. My gym teacher (ok, I went to a Catholic High School, so the strict factor was a bit different than it seems to be in the NYC public schools), a slightly overweight, 55-year old nun with a sharp wit and a LOUD whistle, did not show any mercy during our 45-minute gym class. During school I was exercising, moving my body around, at some point of the day. When I walked into a gym class yesterday what I saw was, again, disheartening. Because space is so limited in NYC schools, often there are as many as 200 students in gym “class” in one period. This is at least the case at the school I work at. What results is major overcrowding and disorganization during the one period they are supposed to be active each day. Also, keep in mind that many city public schools also do not have ‘recess’ due to lack of outdoor space (sad, huh… think about all those poor, hormone-crazed middle schoolers! Now wonder I catch them running around the hallways more than they should!). What I saw was 98% of the girls sitting in their gym clothes (if they even chose to change) against the wall, in groups, chatting. All the boys were running around playing an aggressive game of basketball. It was so bizarre and unfortunate. Something is lacking and I am starting to understand what this youth obesity problem is a major problem. I wonder if the schools are doing enough – and I mean the low-income schools. Another thing to keep in mind is that we do not have space and sometimes money to offer more than two or three organized sports for the students as well. That has a major trickle-effect not only with obesity problems, but also with helping keep these kids off the streets during the hours right after school ends. Most kids get into trouble during the few hours after school is over when they are often unsupervised (b/w 3pm and 6pm).

Finally, the straw that broke the camels back was last week when I took a large group of my seniors on a college tour trip. Because our kids are from low-income backgrounds, they are eligible for free lunch. Out of 40 kids on the trip, about 10 requested a free bagged lunch from the school. When I looked in the bag I had mixed feelings. There were cut apples in a baggie (but were already browning at 8AM, making them look pretty unappetizing), apple juice (decent choice, but sugary!) and for their entree – a sad-looking yellow-cheese sandwich on white bread. I know it is a free lunch, but isn’t there any way to get wheat bread for these kids? And yellow American? I know it’s cheap, but it just looks unhealthy and processed. If a kid is hungry, they are going to eat it even if it’s (ewwwww!) on brown bread! I know this issue has been slowly getting better in schools – soda machines have all been eliminated and the snack which is available is fruit), but there’s still snack machines with chips in it. I can not tell you how many kids choose to eat breakfast on the go and then wait till 3PM to use the $2 their guardian/parent gave them for an after-school snack on their late lunch – fast food. This happens. I’ve witnessed it too many times and it makes me sad.

I did have a breakthrough the other day while I was eating my homemade stuffed cabbage at my desk (post/recipe coming soon!) and two students asked me what that was and then asked for a taste. They like it!! Healthy, ground pork stuffed cabbage rolls! And they wanted the recipe! It helped give me hope again that this world is not just filled with fast-food junkies.

Does anyone else have a story to share on this subject? Am I alone in my feelings? Is this stuff happening in higher-income schools or in the suburbs/private schools? I’m curious, please comment if you can.

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There are many cultural and economic reasons for the lack of relaxed lunching in America and Britain, including the need to work hell-for-leather during the daylight hours, and the fact that traditionally, the day’s main meal is consumed in the evening in these countries. However, while it is an easily observable fact that the residents of these southern European countries rarely have a comparable standard of material wealth to us in the north, it is as easily observable that they rarely have comparable stress levels. It might be stretching the argument to say that a long, leisurely lunch, sometimes followed by a nap, automatically translates into a less stressful life but I would be hard put to argue that a nice, refreshing break in the middle of the day would somehow compound life’s stresses and strains.

The obvious conclusion is that a stressful, lunch-crunching, workaday life is incompatible with an enjoyable midday meal, and for many of us it is. Several of my colleagues rarely get to their lunch before 3pm and when they do it’s often a soggy sandwich that has been moldering in their desk drawer all day, or a bowl of tasteless/oversalted and bitter soup from the deli around the corner. This is, seemingly, a symptom of a busy, but productive, life. I beg to differ with this conclusion, and in fact, have been pioneering what I like to call the “at the desk gourmet.”

Peter Mayle (author of A Year in Provence and other books on southern French lifestyles) writes at length about how no-one can really enjoy their lunch while eating it hunched over a desk, scanning a computer for new e-mail messages, and to a great extent I agree. It is indisputable that a great lunch is almost always enjoyed to the utmost, sitting outside, in the shade, over the course of two, or more, hours, and accompanied by one, or more, chilled bottles of white wine. But, given that most of us do not have the luxury of such relaxed lunches, except perhaps on weekends, “at the desk gourmet” is about as good as we can get.

This style of lunching might be indistinguishable from a normal, rushed, lunch at the desk to the uninitiated, and in truth, it has many similarities — the location (desk), and the view (computer/cubicle), but there are some essential differences. The most crucial of which is, the food. Bringing leftovers or home-made meals into work greatly improves not only your diet and the variety of your meals, but also your levels of anticipation. For example, yesterday I brought in leftovers from a meal we made on Thursday — marinated skirt steak, shallow-fried corn-cake/sope, with grilled peppers and onions and a roasted tomatillo salsa. This I microwaved on medium for a couple of minutes, and then enjoyed at my desk – see image at right. Sure, the sope wasn’t as crunchy, nor the steak as deliciously rare, as when it was first cooked, but given the dull, cold-cuts and cheese sandwich alternatives, I’ll settle for a Yucatecan-style steak lunch anyday.

Today, I’ve brought in leftovers from Sunday night’s meal — a take on the Tuscan pollo alla diavola (grilled chicken with hot pepper), served with linguine and homemade pesto alla genovese and a tomato, basil and onion salad. I’ll have to eat it cold so as not to ruin the salad, and no doubt, the pasta will be a bit chewier and clumpier than when fresh out of the pan, but again, I’ll be enjoying a really delicious and healthy, homemade meal, off a real plate with actual metal silverware/cutlery while my colleagues wolf down something gross and expensive they’ve bought locally.

Finally, it’s worth noting the additional benefits of “at the desk gourmet” — the money saved (between $6 and $10 a day) and the time saved (two minutes in the microwave as opposed to 15-20 minutes in line waiting to be served, having your sandwich made and then queueing to pay for it). The former benefit is obvious — around $2,000/year saved, the latter less so, until you realize that the extra 20 minutes can be spent happily enjoying your lunch as you eat more slowly, savoring it more, aiding digestion and nutrient absorption. All in all, “at the desk gourmet” is, in my view, the way of the future.