So, lately we’ve been experiencing a certain degree of apathy with regard to food. Maybe it’s the time of year or the grind of work, either way, it’s not a great place to be for us, and hopefully somewhere we will leave soon. Nonetheless, sometimes inspiration can strike, and delicious, seasonal citrus fruit can be the spark.

Now, I use the word inspiration somewhat liberally here because really, all this dish is, is lightly fried monkfish medallions over a mix of Israeli and regular couscous. The “inspired bit”, if you will, is the sauce, an olive oil, tangerine, and Marcona almond emulsion.

Fried Monkfish Medallions with Mixed Couscous & Almond Sauce

Ingredients

• 1lb monkfish tail, sliced into 1 inch (2.5cm) medallions
• 3oz Israeli couscous
• 3oz regular (or flavored) couscous
• 1 large bunch white chard or escarole (chicory)
• 2tbsp golden raisins
• 6 tbsp whole marcona or other whole large almonds (1 tbsp chopped)
• 3oz your best extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tangerine, supremed, and juiced
• 1 handful good black, or kalamata, olives
• 3tbsp flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
• 12 oz vegetable or chicken stock
• 1 egg, beaten
• 4tbsp plain flour
• juice of 1/2 lemon

Recipe

1. Cook couscous with stock according to directions on package, or eyeball it if you’re feeling fancy.
2. In a blender grind all but 1 tbsp almonds, before drizzling in olive oil and tangerine juice. Taste and correct seasoning accordingly.
3. When couscous is cooked, stir in parsley, olives and remaining lemon juice. Correct seasoning if necessary.
4. Heat a frying pan to medium-high and add 2 tbsp regular olive oil
5. Sprinkle with salt and a squeeze of lemon juice, before dredging monkfish medallions in flour and egg.
6. Gently fry monkfish until golden brown on all sides, and remove to a cooling rack.
7. Add another tbsp olive oil to pan and add chard. Sweat until limp before adding golden raisins, tangerine segments and the chopped almonds.
8. Arrange all these delicious elements artfully on a plate before wolfing it down with a chilled Albarino.

In my opinion, infectious enthusiasm should be treated in exactly the same way as all infectious diseases; i.e. quashed ruthlessly with whatever combination of chemicals is necessary. With that statement out there, it’s probably unnecessary to further outline my feelings towards TV’s favorite, lovable faux-Cockney, Jamie Oliver. However, and as I have referred to in at least one other post, I grudgingly concede that he can cook, so from time to time – against my better judgment – I find myself thinking I should try some of his food…

… Just not today. Instead, I took (okay, stole) inspiration from one of his earlier shows – in which he made lunch for an Italian-British restaurateur who gave him one of his first breaks in the food biz - and made a tagliatelle and parsnip dish I am going to call my own regardless of its similarities to his.

You’ll notice that it’s parsnips again - our attempts at seasonal eating continue. The key to the dish is texture, so your parsnips have to be sliced finely enough to resemble the cooked pasta under your teeth – a mandolin or a vegetable peeler are your friends here. Then, only when it’s in your mouth do you taste the parsnip-y sweetness vs. the smooth starchiness of the pasta. Visually, squid-ink pasta makes the dish look more arresting, but regular would do fine too.

Tagliatelle Neri con Nastri della Pastinaca (Black Tagliatelle with Parsnip Ribbons)

Ingredients

• 1lb black (or regular) tagliatelle
• 1 large or 2 small parsnips, skinned and sliced into thin ribbons
• 3-4 asparagus spears, sliced into ribbons
• 4tbsp good olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, chopped finely
• 1 tsp red pepper flakes/peperoncino
• 1 splash (c. 1oz) dry white wine
• 1 tsp chopped parsley
• 1tbsp grated parmigiano-reggiano or pecorino romano

Recipe

1. Place pasta in boiling salted water and cook for seven minutes
2. In the meantime, heat large skillet/saute pan to medium high and add oil.
3. Hit pan with garlic and peperoncini and allow to flavor oil for a couple of minutes. Do not allow garlic to color.
4. Toss in parsnips and immediately hit with white wine. Stir.
5. Timing is important here. Pasta must be nearly done when parsnips go in pan or it’ll all be overcooked.
6. Drain pasta and toss in with parsnips until well combined and all is coated with oil/wine sauce. Add some pasta water if you’ve not enough liquid.
7. Kill the fire and hit dish with parsley and grated cheese. Plate quickly and enjoy the dramatic contrast of black pasta and creamy parsnip.

File this one under “utter fabrications told to you by older sibling and believed for too long”. I must have been very young when my sister (15 months my senior) informed me that I should be wary of eating my grandmother’s suet dumplings because suet was the gooey material supporting bovine eye-balls. Quite where she got this idea from, I’m not sure, but she seemed to believe it and, as a credulous juvenile, so did I. And so convinced was I, that until some brief research yesterday proved her to have been telling porkies, I had held it up as truth for the intervening 25 years or so. Why I found her a credible source about this I have no idea – she’s been a vegetarian since the age of 12, and an extremely picky eater before that.

Suet is, in fact, raw beef fat that is typically from around the animals’ kidney or loin area, and while that may not be a much less appetizing prospect than eye-socket, it certainly helps explain why it should be used in the preparation of a traditional British dumpling. It’s basically a firm kind of lard that melts perfectly at the relatively low temperatures found on top of a stew, which is where a British dumpling is typically found.

American readers will be forgiven for commonly associating dumplings only with Chinese restaurants, or at the outside, with Russian or Polish cuisine, but in the northern reaches of Britain, suet dumplings are, or, at least, were a frequent sight floating on top of a thick stew during the winter. And indeed, suet dumplings do look and taste a bit like their Chinese counterparts – slightly chewy and definitely filling, except that they’re much less uniform in shape and are not wrapped in pasta, the filling is the dumpling, basically. Suet as an ingredient though, is not confined to the creation of floaters, it’s also used in the recipe for other traditional British favorites as spotted dick, pastry, Christmas pudding and mincemeat, demonstrating remarkable flexibility as a fat and flavoring.

Suet is also commonly used throughout the Caribbean in the preparation of patties, particularly in Jamaica, and I think that this is the reason for it appearing on the shelves of our local supermarket, as not far from us resides a large and vibrant Caribbean community.

We’ll definitely be exploring some patty recipes with suet in the near future (a $2 package goes a long way), but for the time being, please consider searching out some suet and making yourself a good old British dinner this weekend. It’s on oft-repeated maxim among survival experts that icy temperatures can best be braved when you’re core is fired with plenty of firm beef fat. I’m not kidding.

Chicken & Root Vegetable Stew with Herbed Suet Dumplings (serves 4-6)

Ingredients

• 4 bone-in chicken breasts, or (preferably) 6-8 bone-in chicken thighs
• 1 large yellow onion, roughly sliced
• 1 large leek, cut into 1 inch chunks
• 3 large carrots, cut into 1 inch chunks
• 2 parsnips, cut into 1 inch chunks
• 4 medium potatoes, cut into eighths, or 2 inch chunks
• 4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
• 1 bouquet garni (store bought, or wrap parsley, bay and thyme in the green part of a leek and secure with string)
• pinch of hot pepper flakes
• 2oz (50 grams) dry white wine
• 3 tsp olive oil
• 2-3 pints (1-1. liters) chicken stock (depending on size of pot you’re using)
• 2oz (50 grams) plain flour
• salt and black pepper

For the dumplings:

• 4.5oz (125 grams) plus a bit more, plain flour
• 2oz (50 grams) grated or very finely diced fresh suet
• 2-3oz (50-75 grams) water
• 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 1 tbsp chopped parsley

Recipe

• Heat oil in large heavy casserole or dutch oven to medium.
• Dust chicken pieces with flour and sprinkle with salt and pepper and place in pot. Allow to brown well on all sides – about ten minutes.
• Remove chicken and add onions, carrots, potatoes, parsnips and leeks. Sweat until lightly browned, about 6 minutes.
• Add garlic and hot pepper, and cook for a further 2 minutes, or until garlic softens and perfumes room.
• Deglaze pot with white wine or 2oz of the stock. Make sure all the caramelized chicken juices come up before adding remaining stock (or enough to cover contents) and bouquet garni.
• Cover and allow to simmer for around 40 minutes.
• In a bowl, combine flour, baking powder, salt, chopped suet and parsley. Mix well.
• Add half of your water and stir. If dumpling mixture is too dry add more, but you’re looking for a dough that’s nicely sticky and elastic, not too damp.
• Then using two tablespoons, make quennelles with dough and removing the pot lid, gently plop them into simmering stew. Alternatively, flour your hands well and make squash-ball size dumplings and drop them in.
• Then, re-cover stew and allow to simmer for another 10-15 minutes.
• Serve in a bowl and allow to stick to your ribs. Repeat with second helpings.

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!

Note: prepare for a very long read or click here to skip forward to the recipe.

In the same way that there is probably some truth in the Chinese claim to have invented the noodle that became the ubiquitous Italian pasta, the origins of the archetypical British dish of fish n’chips seems to stem from Sephardic Jewish and French Protestant immigrants to the UK. In the mid-18th century, fishing trawlers became large enough to catch significant numbers of North Sea bottom-feeding white fish and domestic railroads expanded so that much of the UK began to have cheap and regular access to this fresh bounty. Also at this time, the potato-cooking skills of French Hugenot immigrants and the fish-frying traditions of Southern European Jews came together in what was to be a lasting and wildly popular marriage.

The French fry had been invented years earlier when the poor had first ventured to cook this new world tuber - originally only thought good enough for animal feed – and these techniques have continued to be refined to this day. Jews immigrating to the UK and other areas of Northern Europe having been expelled from Portugal and Spain brought matza (matzo, matzoh, matsah,) with them, which they knew to be an excellent coating for fish when ground or crumbed. Combining these two techniques with the endemic British passion for beer and deep-frying, resulted in one of the most famous exports from the British Isles since limey sailors began spreading a horrifying variety of VDs in port cities the world over. 

Today’s fish n’chips (depending on where you go) still closely resemble the original ideas found in Portuguese fried fish dishes pescado frito, in which strips of fish are dunked in a light batter of water, matzo flour and salt, then rolled in crumbed matzo before deep-frying in a cauldron of hot oil. In fact, the Portuguese are sometimes credited with having introduced this technique to Japan where it developed into the extremely delicious tempura style. In the UK, beer was often added in place of water to the flour (typically plain flour nowadays, rather than matzo) and salt, with the resulting batter being richer, but somehow lighter, frothier and more golden colored.

The British habit of “chipping” potatoes into larger batons than the continental Europeans, and now the Americans, and only frying them once, appears to just be a local habit. Some have suggested that the UK picked up on an early potato-cooking technique and kept it while the more culinarily-advanced French and Belgians continued to experiment with thinner-cut potatoes and double-frying, so that they perfected the golden and crunchy frites of today. I prefer to think of the British technique to be based not on ignorance, but on textural appreciation. For why have a crispy deep-fried fish and pair it with something else crispy? Why not pair it with something softer and more unctious?

My Life with Fish n’Chips

Anyway, fish n’chips became incredibly popular in the UK and its colonies around the world, with the chip shop still a fixture on virtually every town’s high street in the UK, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. For much of my youth, growing up in provincial England, it was one of only two choices for cheap, take-away/out food – the other being the uniformly foul and greasy hole that was the Golden Lantern Chinese take-out, so fish n’chips played an important role in our Friday night social traditions. After choir practice at our local church, we’d often hit the chip shop for a “slap-up” dinner of cod & chips with mushy peas, and bread & scrape (sliced white bread with lard), all washed down with our weekly soda allowance – a can of Lilt (a pineapple and grapefruit flavored soda).

Mr. Chips, the snappily-titled chip shop in my Cheshire town was universally known as just “the chippy” and, correspondingly - demonstrating some terribly enlightened feelings towards the town’s tiny, but most obvious, ethnic population - the Golden Lantern, was referred to as “the Chinky”. Subsequently, this ordinary little town has gentrified virtually beyond recognition, with all manner of ethnic restaurants elbowing aside these two bastions of atherosclerosis. However, echoes of these former times can still be heard in local parlance. Sadly, the Golden Lantern is gone, replaced by Slow Boat and Treasure Village, which now, demonstrating how times have changed for the better, are referred to as “the Chinese”; Mughli, an Indian restaurant, is either ”the curry house” or “the Indian”, and Est! Est! Est! is “the Italian”.

Fish n’chip restaurants still play a significant role in British gastronomic and cultural life. As with many countries, the UK has recently undergone a revolution in its food traditions, returning to basics and local ingredients and striving for sustainability. This has led to a re-evaluation and revival of many traditional dishes, including the hugely devalued fish n’chips. With North Sea cod stocks (like cod almost everywhere) having crashed due to overfishing, some traditions have had to change, and now other white fish are used including hake, halibut and haddock in its place, but the typical methods of beer and matzo batter, quality malt vinegar, fine sea salt and first-class British potatoes cooked in beef tallow (beef lard) are emerging again, much to my delight.

We’re heading to London to visit my new nephew in a couple of weeks, and will be hitting up arguably the finest chip shop in the capital, Fryer’s Delight in Holborn, which you will be the first to hear about right here in these pages. To date though, the best fish n’chips I ever had was at a very dodgy-looking chippy in Fleetwood, Lancashire (NW England, about 1.5hrs north of Manchester). Overlooking the grey and miserable-looking Irish Sea, I ate perfectly fried, golden cod, soft and salty chips and deliciously thick marrowfat mushy peas. It was a glorious, all-English experience.

But don’t think that fish n’chips only comes with mushies – oh no, variations abound in dressings. While the traditional is the simple sea salt and malt vinegar with a side of tartar sauce and M.P’s, others include, parsley sauce, brown gravy, curry sauce, garlic sauce, piccalilli, mayonnaise, Henderson’s relish, Worcestershire sauce, pea wet or pea’s water (liquid strained from peas during the creation of mushy peas) which is often free, baked beans, cheese or cheese curds, coleslaw, ketchup, chilli sauce, thousand island dressing, salad cream, chip spice, brown sauce, and summer savory (turkey stuffing & gravy), to name but a few.

Ever striving for the traditional in our take on the dish, we went with a pale ale batter, beautiful Atlantic cod (yes, i know it’s unsustainable, but our fishmonger doesn’t sell haddock or hake) thick cut chips, homemade mushy peas, homemade tartar sauce and, perhaps excessively, homemade curry sauce – my wife being a huge fan of dipping sauces. In fact, all of them are fiendishly easy to make, but as with most simple dishes, the key is high quality ingredients. Old potatoes and a shitty piece of fish even when perfectly fried will still taste like a turd. Similarly, beautifully fresh potatoes and cod fried in rancid old oil will be a disaster. Make sure you buy everything as fresh as possible. Fresh potatoes have very few “eyes” and yield a nice sheen of liquid when peeled, and fresh cod or haddock (hake is fine also) will have wonderfully shiny skin and nice firm flesh. If it’s already flaky and soft do not buy it, instead sharply reprimand your fishmonger for having the temerity to sell such tat.

Fish n’Chips with Mushy Peas, + Tartar and Curry Sauces (serves 2-3)

I’ve talked about my sweet ‘ole grandmom, Anna, a few times on this blog. This was a woman who waited tables at the Golden Nugget (now Bally’s Grand) casino (R.I.P.) in Atlantic City until she retired at 76. This is the same woman who would wear winter gloves in the summer because her tiny hands would get cold. Once she angrily blamed the family for “stealing” her gloves, only to open up the dishwasher to unload and found them stuck to a few plates. This was also a woman who would wrap up uneaten meals and sandwiches from her shift at the restaurant and pawn them on us. This was also a woman who was so excited to get 8 free place settings of Golden Nugget-labeled china before it became Bally’s (thank god she did not feature these prominently in her non-existent china cabinet!).

This was also a woman who would cook for her family every night but passed virtually no family recipes on to me. I still get sad that I didn’t push her more to try and remember all her old-school recipes before she died. She loved to say in her deep, raspy voice, “Oh, Amy, ya know I don’t remember how to do that!”. But even into her final years, Anna could still make a few of her classics really, really well, and without a recipe. One of my favorites was her ‘Scarole soup – that’s Italian-American speak for “Escarole Soup” or, as it is often called in my family, Italian Wedding Soup.

When researching about the origins of Italian Wedding Soup I discovered that, duh, this is only loosely based on a traditional Italian soup called Minestra Maritata and has nothing to do with weddings (the name literally means a marriage of soup). Minestra Maritata is a Neapolitan soup made with greens and meat, hence the “marriage” of those two ingredients.

In my Italian-American fantasy, my great grandparents on my grandmom’s side came from Naples and brought their Minestra Maritata recipe with them to the new world. Over time, the pieces of meat became tiny meatballs and the greens were the cheap and delicious escarole. Too bad… I’ll never be able to ask my grandmom if my fantasy is true! There are many variations of this soup but, of course, I think Anna’s is the best. You could have this done from start to finish in about 1/2 hour.

ANNA’S ITALIAN WEDDING SOUP (AKA ‘SCAROLE)

Ingredients for Meatballs:

• 1/2 pound minced veal
• 1/2 pound minced pork
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
• 1/4 cup parmigiano reggiano
• pinch of garlic powder
• pinch of onion powder
• 2 tablespoons of parsley
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1/2 cup breadcrumbs (maybe more if mixture is too wet)
• salt and pepper

Other Ingredients:

• 8 to 10 cups of chicken stock
• 1/2 onion, chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 head of escarole, bottom chopped off and greens cleaned (chop in half if you don’t like long greens)
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 3/4 cup parmigiano reggiano
• 1/2 box ditalini pasta (some people use pastina)

What to do:

1. To make meatballs: Add all the top ingredients together and mix with hands. Pinch a bit of the mixture and roll into a small ball. Each meatball should not be more than an inch wide.
2. Heat up a bit of olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pan and fry the baby meatballs on each side – about 3-4 minutes. Remove from pan and drain on some paper towels.
3. Meanwhile, in another pot, add a bit of oil and saute the onion and garlic for a few minutes until a bit softer. Add the chicken stock and keep at a simmer. Add the escarole.
4. Add the pasta, stir it around and allow to cook in the stock – keep aware of the time so you don’t cause the pasta to go mushy. About two minutes before the pasta is done, add the meatballs back to the pot.
5. Beat together the two eggs along with the parmigiano reggiano. When pasta is done, kill the heat and slowly add the egg/parmigiano mixture to the soup while stirring.
6. Serve in big bowls with some crusy bread and a glass of chianti.
7. Be aware that the pasta keeps soaking up the liquid after cooking, so this is a soup that needs to be eaten immediately. Alternatively, you could cook the pasta separately and add in as much of it as you want to, reserving some for leftovers so they aren’t soggy.

Check out some other posts you may enjoy:

• Chicken with Figs
• South African Hot Toddies
  
• Fried Lamb Chops with Balsamic Rosemary Reduction
• Italian Roasted Pork with Salsa Verde

Nonetheless, the skate and its delicious wings are definitely worth appreciating. A comparative rarity on menus this side of the Atlantic, skate wing is fairly common in French bistrots and used to be a regular on the menus of fish restaurants across the UK, but the common and white skates are now critically endangered in UK waters and are officially listed by the Marine Conservation Society as “fish to avoid”. In the Americas, almost the reverse is true, at least for the time being, as meatier fish tend to dominate fish menus at the expense of the more delicate white fish, the Pacific coast from Mexico to Alaska is full of the big (or giant – it can grow up to 8 feet in wingspan!) and longnose skates which make for some fine dining.

Skates are a cartilaginous fish in the ray family (you know, stingrays, manta rays, etc.) which is linked comparatively closely (in evolutionary terms) with the shark family, meaning that they are relatively slow breeding and give birth to live young, and are therefore more susceptible to overfishing than the more prolific egg-producing gill fish.

But don’t let this put you off trying skate. Just make sure to ask your fishmonger where the skate he’s selling comes from, and if he doesn’t know, make him find out for you. All good butchers know the provenance of their meats, so why should fishmongers not be as knowledgeable about their wares?

When purchasing skate, make sure it’s fresh and without any ammoniacal odor, as for some reason I could find no explanation for they tend to go off faster than normal white fish. Also, you should ask your fishmonger to remove the “bones” from the skate for you. This makes it easier to cook and eat because the wings contain a fan of bones that can otherwise be a chore to remove with a knife and fork.

The classic preparation is pan-fried au beurre noisette, or with a brown butter and caper sauce, which adds richness and acid to what is basically a flaky white fish, but because for us a fish meal tends to be a cathartic measure (albeit an enjoyable one) designed to make us feel healthier, we combined our pan-fried skate wing with a salad of finely-sliced fennel, fennel tops and tomato, and some steamed asparagus with a simple vinaigrette. However, feel free to also enjoy it in the typical manner as a little fat not only helps the fish remain moist, it brings out the best flavors of the delicate skate flesh.

Pan-Fried Skate Wing with Fennel & Tomato Salad (serves 2)

Ingredients:

1 whole skate, bones removed (8-10oz, uncooked)

1cup regular (not extra virgin) olive oil, or canola/vegetable oil

1 fennel bulb, sliced finely. Reserve fennel tops and chop finely also.

1 large tomato, diced

1/2 fresh corn cob, boiled and kernels removed

3tbsp good olive oil

1tbsp lemon juice

1tsp smooth dijon mustard

3tbsp plain flour

salt & white pepper to taste

Recipe:

Put fennel (including tops), tomato and corn into a non-reactive bowl and mix well with vinaigrette. Allow to sit and steep for at least 30minutes or as long as overnight.

Heat oil in a frying pan to medium-high, around 350F.

Dust skate with flour and season with salt. Pat off excess and gently lay in the hot oil until nicely browned and crisp all over (2-3mins per side, approx.)

Remove fish to a plate and gently pat dry with paper towels. Dress with the fennel salad and add an extra splash of olive oil to moisten the whole thing a bit, then serve.

Check out these other posts you might enjoy:

Orecchiette with Sausage and Kale

Lebanese Food in A Small Brooklyn Kitchen

Another Easy Meal – Tortilla Soup

Something’s Fishy ‘Round Here: Livornese Fish Stew (il cacciucco alla Livornese)

With artichokes on sale for 98 cents each (better than the rabbit we bought the other week!), I just had to pick a few up. For some reason, I only grabbed two thinking I would make an appetizer or a side-dish with them. Well, let me tell you, this slight adaptation of a Mario Batali artichoke recipe can actually be eaten as a main if you buy large ones. The husband was still a bit hungry afterwards (our artichokes were on the small side) and our breath smelled like delicious garlic until about noon the next day, but this is a recipe I will make over and over and over again. So easy and simple and, if you’re a garlic-lover, you’ll never stuff your artichoke with breadcrumbs again. I also recommend cooking them in halves because not only is it easier to remove that damn choke, but I think the presentation is beautiful and it’s really easy to eat. Next time I’m going to chop up some capers and throw them into the mix. I’d serve with a piece of a baguette so you can “choop” up all that lovely garlic-parsley infused oil! Also, make sure you plan your cooking based on the fact that you must boil the artichokes for a good amount of time before you oven-roast them. Ok? Now, bring on the spring with this lovely artichoke recipe!

PARSLEY, GARLIC AND PARMIGIANO-STUFFED ARTICHOKES
(Recipe is for 2 artichokes, adapted from Mario Batali recipe)

Ingredients:

• 2 artichokes (the bigger the better)
• 1 lemon
• 5-6 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 1/2 bunch of parsley, finely chopped
• 3/4 cup of parmigiano reggiano
• about 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
• salt
• pepper
• dash of peperoncino (optional)

What to do:

1. Boil some water.
2. Remove the outer layers of the artichoke. Trim the rest of the artichoke leaves but cutting off the sharp edges with a knife.
3. When water comes to a boil, slice your lemon in half and squeeze the lemon juice into the water along with the lemon halves. Place your whole artichokes in the water and boil for 20 minutes.
4. After it’s done boiling, remove from water, drain and allow to cool a bit. Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.
5. Prep your garlic, parsley and cheese (along with the optional peperoncino) and mix in a bowl with the olive oil and some salt and pepper. These dry ingredients will be moistened with extra olive oil on top to drizzle the chokes with during cooking.
6. Cut your cooled artichokes in half and with a paring knife, or other small knife, cut out the hairy and sharp ‘choke’ from both halves. Look at pictures at left of the artichoke with and without the choke.
7. Put artichokes in a baking dish and “stuff” your artichokes in between the leaves with the garlic/parsley/cheese mixture and make sure to spoon some in the well of the sliced artichoke. Add any reserved olive oil that’s left to the pan.
8. Bake in the oven for 45 minutes until the artichoke is soft in the middle with browned edges. Spoon on some of the extra olive oil from the bottom of your baking pan onto your cooked artichokes.

***Thanks to Ellie at Weeknight Gourmet for trying this recipe tonight. She was a trooper by ‘winging it’ when I didn’t put how much olive oil was necessary. Great job, Ellie and thanks for giving me the head’s up that I needed to add to the recipe!
CHECK OUT SOME OTHER POSTS YOU MAY ENJOY:

• Does Hollywood HATE Food?
• The REAL Cocido of Spain
• Cabrales Cheese: It’s a Bit of an Animal
• Remaking a Tuscan Restaurant Meal (From Florence)
• AVGOLEMONO SOUP (Greek Lemon-Egg Chicken Soup w/ Orzo)
• PASTA (BUCATINI) WITH PISTACHIO SAUCE
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How many of you out there in We Are Never Full-land have never heard of Broccoli di Rape? Anyone who has heard of it but never saw or ate it? I ask this only because, after researching this delectable, delicious and healthy green, I discovered that it’s U.S. roots (or that the vast majority of the broccoli di rape crops) come mainly from the lovely state of New Jersey. Whoa-Whoa We’re Livin’ On a Prayer, Jersey? You talkin’ ta me, Jersey? Tony Soprano’s hometown and my home in the summertime, NEW JERSEY? Yup, that one. Hey, you learn something new every day.

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

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

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

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