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.

Once he’s managed to obtain said lucre though, Mayle is remarkably restrained in his descriptions of how best to prepare them. Of course, he says, you can stuff a pigeon with them, or combine them with cream and mushrooms as a sauce over beef or veal medallions, but the way to enjoy them at their best, most pungent, earthy and flavorful, is to do as little to them as possible. His preferred recipe is to grate a generous amount of black truffle into and over a simple, loose, French-style omelette, and enjoy with a glass of champagne, for breakfast.

Well, since our good friend Nuria at Spanish Recipes challenged us to submit our favorite omelette recipe to her Blog Your Omelet contest, we felt that we had to produce something pretty grand if we were to compete with her amazing range of eggy treats. So, here it is, both simple and sophisticated at the same time, not to mention being about the best breakfast imaginable, especially with the champagne!

The key to a good omelet, the great Jacques Pepin reminds us, is to keep it a bit “wet” or “loose” by not overcooking it (which Americans seem to hate, for some reason) and to never complicate the flavor of what should be the star of the show – the egg.  Americans know how to do this best – kind of similar to how we can complicate the simplicity of a pizza by weighing it down with a million toppings.  Look at the average diner omelet in America – it’s often stuffed with a lot of veggies and/or meat and oozing with cheese – perhaps the only way of saving the old diet “egg white omelet” from being boring and tasteless, however.

Regardless of how you usually make your omelet, and whether or not you have truffles, we urge you to try a simple and loose one next time. For ours we simply added butter to the warm pan and poured in our whisked egg and dash of cream, salt and pepper mixture.  Stir or whisk the egg while it’s cooking in the warm pan until it begins to come together. Then, stop stirring and let it sit and cook. When it looks mostly cooked but still nicely moist and with a bit of looseness on the top layer, you’re done. (Remember, eggs continue to cook in their own heat, so you can undercook it and it should still be good within a minute or so.)  If you so choose to, add some chopped chives and sliced mushrooms sauteed in some truffle oil (if you’ve got it) to the middle and then slice some black truffle (again, if you’ve got it) on top. No ketchup or hot sauce necessary, we promise.

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!

Last year, among the many beautiful and delicious places we visited was the affluent and storied Piedmontese town of Alba. The countryside surrounding Alba is literally bursting with good things – Barolo, Barbaresco, Barbera and Dolcetto wines, thermal and freshwater springs, and multifarious game, but the town’s most famous product, and rightly so, is the white truffle. Though we only stopped in to Alba for an all-too-brief visit, we wanted to make the most of our time there. So, after a gentle stroll around admiring the architecture, we quickly got down to brass tacks. We scoured the town for its famous food & beverage products, and either ate or drank them on the spot or purchased some to consume later, or both. In one store we bought bottles of the four principal varieties of local wines, and in another we bought a small jar of strawberry-sized black truffles, a 100ml vial of truffle oil (complete with small lump of white truffle), a 50ml squeezy-tube of white truffle puree, and another small jar of white truffle mousse. It was a targeted strike of almost military precision and I am very proud that we were so single-minded about it, especially after a bottle of wine and a large lunch. Indeed, now that we’re back in the US, where Albanese products are not only scarce but terrifyingy-priced, I am even more delighted with the foresight and commitment we demonstrated that day.

Of all the good ideas out there, two of the best (at least in my opinion) are: the thought that whatever the soil-coated, lumpy tumescence was that a pig was urgently digging up at the base of an oak tree was worth further investigation; and the thought of using said ugly growth to flavor butter. I should add that neither of those ideas were mine, yet I support them both vigorously. It is clear to me now that while pigs are not always particularly discerning in their choice of foodstuff – and I do not take many of my dietary decisions based on their proclivities – they make an extraordinarily good choice when they choose to root for truffles. And, if you’ve never eaten a truffle before, I am hereby going on the record and saying that they are as good as people say they are, probably better. They are one of the best things I have ever put in my mouth and I enjoy them more each time I have them. Potentially, they are the basis for a lasting and bankrupting addiction.

However, we weren’t able to come away from Alba with quite the volume of truffles and truffle-products that I would have liked, and sadly, I doubt that we’ll manage to make them last until we’re able to visit the town again. But instead of dwelling on this maudlin fact, we decided to make the most of what we had brought back with us and recently treated ourselves to a slap-up steak dinner that celebrated our Albanese truffles appropriately. We prepared a black & white truffle compound butter to go with our (perfectly-cooked) steak, and the result was possibly the richest and most decadent thing I could have imagined (see recipe below).

If you come across some reasonably-priced truffles anywhere, buy them. If you find any truffles anywhere, in fact, buy them, even if it requires some complex re-financing of other property. You will not regret it. If you can’t find truffles, or have nothing of worth to mortgage, you can make compound butters out of all kinds of things. Previously, we’ve made one with garlic and tarragon, and it was pretty darn delicious, and apparently, crushed walnuts and a dash of walnut oil are also very acceptable. I would suggest you make at least one kind of compound butter very soon to top your favorite cut of steak. It’s exceedingly good.

Black & White Truffle Compound Butter

1 stick unsalted, softened butter
1 small black truffle, chopped or shaved finely
1 tbsp white truffle paste
pinch of black pepper

Allow butter to soften out of fridge until very pliable. Unwrap it and put it in a mixing bowl. Add the truffles. Get your favorite wooden spoon and cream butter and truffles together until thoroughly combined. Take a spatula and scoop butter into a piece of plastic wrap leaving at least an inch of room at the ends. Roll-up butter in wrap and twist at ends to tighten wrap around butter. You should have something that resembles a short, wide sausage. Place compound butter wrap in freezer for 25 minutes before using it to allow it to set up. Slicing it onto your steak is also easier if butter is almost frozen. [If you're not intending to eat the butter immediately, you can just place it in the fridge.] Slice rounds of truffled butter onto your warm steak or potatoes and enjoy!