Journal entries from September 2015

Mexico DF: Lunch at Quintonil


My apologies; I've been living in a whirlwind over the past few days, and I've had no time to post the promised notes on two great meals in Mexico City.  But I'm sitting on a train, heading to Boston, and Amtrak's famously fussy internet has finally kicked in. So quickly - before it deserts me - here are notes on my lovely lunch at Quintonil.  Should you be interested, it's an herb, a relative of amaranth, and as far as I can tell quintonil is none other than goosefoot (also known as lamb's lettuce), my favorite foraged green.

The meal began with the nopales ceviche with dried chiles, above). This was light and refreshing, but what I loved best was the way the chef played with the slightly slimy quality of the cactus paddles. Crisp at first, they They dissolved into a completely different texture as you ate.  The dried chiles, and that sprinkling of granita, enhanced the effect.


Salad of herbs, hiding a grilled tomato, with a sprinkle of cotija cheese. This was a salad with character. 



Beautiful sardines with purslane, fennel, seaweed. As delicate as any dish I sampled in Japan, and an entirely new take on Mexican cooking.


Hiding beneath this sweet little tostada was an oval of crabmeat in a strongly citric sauce. You spooned the sweet seafood onto the crisp tortilla; it was irresistible.


A crisp little tortilla shell filled with chanterelles and other wild mushrooms glazed in a sweet sauce. But the surprise was escamoles, tender little ant eggs with the texture of marshmallow and a flavor so subtle as to be nonexistent. This was all about texture: a tangle of crisp, soft and chewy that kept your mouth in a constant state of surprise. 


Squash blosoms in a huitlacoche sauce. It made me think about squash blossoms in an entirely new way.



Duck in recado negro - a kind of mole sauce, with pickled salsify and pureed kohlrabi. A little bit of yang in all this yin. 


Escolar - such an appealing fish - with chile guajillo puree and pineapple pico de gallo. No more than a few satisfying bites.

And to end the afternoon, a couple of extremely pretty desserts, splashed boldly across the plates.




Mexico City Moments

Why is this person I've never met before kissing me?

Because that is how people greet each other in Mexico.  One kiss, on the left check, even if you're being introduced.  It took me a while to stop holding out my hand, American-style, or keep myself from turning my head for the two-cheek European kiss.  

It's emblematic of this country: not an air kiss, but a warm one, usually accompanied by a hug.  This is a big-hearted, energetic nation which comes as a shock to anyone whose first thought at the word "Mexico" is "danger!"

The capital is a strange place of enormous contrasts; very rich, very poor and very large.  There are 19 million cars here, and the traffic is not bad, it's insane. People think nothing of a two hour ride to get from one place to another.   "It gives us more time to eat!" said one friend, scooping up a taco from a stand near our idling taxi. 

And the food! I've had so many memorable meals here. These are just a few highlights.

The sea urchin (from Baja California) at the wonderful Merotoro, a restaurant so open to the green park outside you feel as if you're eating outdoors. I also loved the octopus chorizo tacos there.


The chiles en nogada at the Nico's, a fifty-year old restaurant that was just inducted into the Fifty Best Latin American restaurants. It's one of those places where the waiters know their customers so well they might be family, and people stroll through the restaurant so easily you feel you're all eating at one big table. The food is traditional, and cooked with enormous care and skill. 


Their guacamole is also the best I've ever had. 


I was there for Mesa Redonda, a conference put together by Enrique Olvera (Cosme, New York) to discuss some of the most serious issues facing the world of food.  Michel Bras, the poet chef of the kitchen discussed terroir in loving detail.  Nicola Twilley - one of the most interesting writers tackling the science of food - had fascinating (and provocative) ideas on sustainability.  Jorge Larson, a biochemist, talked about biodiversity and Soledad Barutti, a firebrand from Argentina, took on food systems.  I think the entire audience fell in love with David Hertz, a Brazilian chef who's been working with Gastromotiva in the favelas, training the poorest people in the world.  My topic was communication, followed by Alex Ruiz, the Oaxacan chef, on tradition. Then the wonderful Lara Gilmore (wife and partner of Massimo Bottura of Osteria Francescana), and Wylie DuFresne discussed creativity in the kitchen.  The talks, which are on pod cast, were short, pithy, and extremely enlightening. I learned so much. 

The next morning, at 4 a.m. we gathered at La Central, the largest wholesale food market in the world. 


Lots of fascinating moments here, but for me the big surprise was the huitlacoche stand; turns out that all it takes is lots of water to make an ordinary ear of corn become this:


I'll be posting about great meals at Pujol (Olvera's Mexico City restaurant), where we had this impressive expression of mole, old and new


and Quintonil, where Jorge Vallejo is making light almost Japanese-inflected dishes like this ceviche of cactusIMG_6549

Here's the chef showing off his rooftop garden to Wylie


And I'll be writing about the terrific wines now coming out of Baja California, like this one:


But that's for another day. 


Mexico DF: Dinner at Rosetta


You know, just walking in the door at Rosetta, that you're in for a wonderful evening. There's something casually elegant about the graceful rooms in this old mansion in the Roma district.  Vines twine up the wall and a sprig of mint graces every jug of water; there's an interesting - and rather feminine - sensibility at work here.

With her delicate but modest beauty, chef Elena Reygadas looks like a Botticelli. The food that emerges from her kitchen has the same qualities. Consider, for example, the understated dish above.  

It looked like a classic risotto. The mussels were plump little pillows, the octopus cooked into remarkable tenderness. The stock was subtle, but filled with flavor. But what stopped me cold was the texture; I took a bite and it was the most perfectly al dente.... what?  Not rice, surely, too crisp for that. Some new grain, perhaps, I've never before encountered? I took one bite, then another, fascinated by every bite and absolutely unable to identify the grain.  And little wonder: This crisp, delicious and delicate substance turned out to be celery root. 

The chef worked with Giorgio Locatelli in London, which explains the Italian influence; she makes gorgeous ravioli, her pasta as delicate as flower petals.  But in her heart she never forgets where she is from; Mexico is never very far away. The first course?  Beetles, perched on nasturtiums and kale.


It's typical, I think, that the chef made them look so pretty.  Typical too, that they had an appealingly meaty taste - slightly smokey, a bit crisp, with an appealing snap.  Close your eyes and you'll swear you're eating delicious little bits of fried beef.


The beetles were paired with grasshoppers, cooked into crunchy little crackers.



Next came oysters; my photograph is fuzzy, but even in focus they looked like orchids painted by Georgia O'Keefe. 



Carpaccio of sapote: slightly tanic, refreshing, surprising.


Corn, airily disguised as quenelles.IMG_6521

Lechon - so crisp, so sweet, so seductive.


Hiding behind this soft, sweet cloud is a scoop of ice cream. 


 I've been so impressed by the food I've eaten in Mexico City.  There's great ambition here, and from the classic (the fabulous, fifty year old Nico's) to the new classic (Pujol) and the Japanese-inflected (Quintonil), I haven't had a single dish I wouldn't happily eat again. But Rosetta stands apart for the sheer pleasure of the place; this is a restaurant you come to when you want to relax and simply put yourself into the hands of a talented chef.


Oaxacan Breakfast Every Day, Please.

The wonderful chef, Alex Ruiz, a man with a big smile and a bigger heart, invited a group of us to have breakfast at his restaurant, Guzina Oaxaca (he's taken over the space in Polanco once occupied by chef Patricia Quintana.

It was, I think, the best breakfast I've ever eaten.

It started with hot chocolate- not too sweet, not too rich, tasting mostly of cocoa beans and extraordinarily refreshing.

And this plate of fresh vegetables IMG_6529

which soon became a fresh salsa, pounded in a molcajete.

We spooned it onto quesadillas, cheese and squash blossoms folded into hand-patted, just made tortillas. 


and onto these spectacular black beans, which were unlike any I've had before.  The beans were cooked with avocado leaf, which left behind a whisper of anise-like flavor, and epazote (the fiercest green I know), and then refried in lard with smashed plantain. The resulting flavor is sweet and vegetal, with the slightest hint of pork, as if a little pig had just passed through on his way to play.


That salsa also went onto chilaquiles



and huevos rancheros


These pork ribs, cooked with chiles and purslane, were irresistible (and especially good scooped into a bit of black bean and wrapped in warm tortillas).


Hungry yet?  There was more to come. IMG_6539


And finally, the densest, darkest, most devilish version of huevos rancheros - blanketed in a richly flavorful mole.  


I'll improve this post - but right now I'm running out to my next meal.  But I was so enchanted by this meal I wanted to put it up while it was still fresh in my mind - and mouth.


A Few Delicious Moments in New York


Summer lingers in the city. The weather's wonderful, and I’ve been wandering the streets, stopping in to meet friends.  Here are  a few of the most delicious things I’ve eaten over the past few days.

Riding the crosstown bus the other day, I got a text from Lisa and Hiro; they had just sat down at the bar at Le Bernardin.  I looked up; we were crossing Seventh Avenue, and I hopped off and went to say hello.

And ended up staying for a few delicious morsels, like that fluke in ponzu-chimichurri sauce above.

I really didn't meant to stay, but when these crisp little caviar sandwiches, with gruyere and smoked salmon arrived, how could I possibly leave? 


 Then there was this pounded yellowfin tuna, with jamon Iberico and sea beans.


I got up to go, but seduced by the joyous beauty of hamachi with rice krispy in kochujang sake vinaigrette sat down again.  It was just so much fun! (And such a pleasure to eat.)


Finally, I really had to leave.  I stayed for one last bite - lobster tail in lemongrass consomme with a refreshing little spring roll on the side - and walked out the door, feeling as I always do, that a great restaurant lifts your spirits and leaves you feeling both refreshed and fortunate.



That night I had the immense pleasure of stopping in at Food 52 for breakfast as dinner. It's a lovely space that feels more like a cozy cabin than a working office, filled with people who seem to revel in their work. We had a delightfully eccentric evening meal: matzo brei, corn pudding, peach cobbler, a summer squash casserole and fat slices of bacon - and even better conversation.  You'll be able to hear all about it soon, on their podcast. IMG_6487

The next day, walking downtown after a radio interview I ran into Mario Batali, carrying a dozen eggs.  He was off to the Four Seasons to celebrate his birthday (it's today).  I was on my way to meet friends at Il Buco Alimentari, but along the way I ran into yet another friend, and pulled her along with me.  I love it when this city feels like a village. 

Lunch was impressive.  My favorite moment? These figs, topped with lardo, marinated kombu and maracona almonds and sparked with lime zest.  Spectacular - and unusual - combination.


I’ve always admired the octopusIMG_6492

And I loved this, miso-marinated hamachi topped with trout roeIMG_6494

Still, try though I may, I can never resist their version of spaghetti caccio e pepe:


Lunch was over, but not the day.  Last night Bruce Cost cooked these gorgeous prawns.  Fished from a tank, they were so lively they tried to jump from the pot. Is anything better than a perfectly steamed prawn?


For a final flavor he served these pig feet stewed in rock sugar with lots of vinegar and ginger. It's a dish you eat slowly, savoring every delicious morsel, thinking how lucky you are to be alive.



Pumpkins? Already?


The apples were eclipsing the peaches and tomatoes at the farmers market this weekend, but there were still peaches - even apricots - so it was hard to be too unhappy about the changing seasons. Then I spotted the first of the pumpkins.

"Go away!" I wanted to shout at them.  I'm not ready to wake up in the dark at 6 a.m., not prepared for crisp cool evenings.  I want summer to linger a little longer.  But that crowd of plump orange pumpkins made it difficult to ignore that fall is coming.  Too soon. 

Then, as if to underline reality, I opened a vintage issue of Gourmet from 1977, and the first photograph to leap out at me was this pumpkin souffle.  There is some consolation: it is, at least, cold. 


Recipes may be little time machines, but it's the ads in these old issues that prove how much our food (and wine) have changed.  I'd almost forgotten there was a time when I thought of Chianti as a thin, harsh wine that came in rustic straw-covered bottles.





And finally.... I thought home mushroom farms were a new-fangled notion.  But I was wrong.



Chinese Banquet 2.0


Jowett Yu, the Taiwan-born, Canadian-trained, Hong Kong chef is a man of the world. Raised partly in rural Yilan province (where his grandmother grew her own rice, pickled her own vegetables and made her own wine), he was always fascinated by food. After getting a university degree in history, he followed his heart to culinary school in Vancouver and then flew off to Australia to work at Tetsuya's. His own Sydney restaurants followed before he moved on to Hong Kong where he's now executive chef at Ho Lee Fook.

For the past three nights, however, he's been in New York where Chef's Club by Food and Wine showcased his cooking.  This is fascinating food, very much in the Sydney style and unlike anything being served in our city today. 

The banquet started with those drunken clams at the top, marinated in a mixture of beer and Shaoxing with piercing notes of lemongrass and basil and exhilarating sparks of chile.  I found these little morsels irresistible, and as I chewed on the delicious clams their texture reminded me how rarely the Chinese serve raw food.


Taiwan, on the other hand, was strongly influenced by the Japanese, who ruled the country between 1895 and 1945, and you often find sashimi on Taiwanese menus. But Yu has made raw fish his own, marinating kampachi in a plum and coriander vinaigrette and pairing it with pickled cucumbers that underlined the subtle richness of the fish.  I have never tasted a more successful substitute for soy sauce. 


Prawn toast okonomiyaki is another clever concept.  The thick crisply fried squares of toast with their kewpie mayonaise, their salt, their seaweed and Bulldog tonkatsu sauce are almost stoner food - all big flavors and bold textures. Then you realize that those bonito flakes shivering on top are actually smoked cabbage shaved into tremblingly thin slices and you laugh out loud. 



"Sixteen pleats!" breathed Francis Lam, sitting next to me, when these dumplings were plunked onto the table. "Sixteen pleats!" Not to mention the most delicate dumpling skins imaginable.  Like butterfly wings wrapped around a hearty cabbage filling. I think I could have eaten them forever.



Black kingfish, steamed with pickled chiles, capers, and shallots in a white soy dressing.  A really clean dish (love those greens!) and exactly what you want to eat at this point in the meal. 



Fried cauliflower and brussels sprouts in a bacon maple chile jam were undeniably tasty. But after the intelligence and humor of the previous dishes this combination struck me as fairly pedestrian - the sort of vegetable dish turned out by achingly hip restaurants across America.


 A huge hunk of short ribs glazed in soy, topped with scallions and served with green shallot kimchi (yes!) and a jalapeno puree.  Both did an admirable job of tempering the richly seductive fattiness of the beef. 


Horelicks ice cream. Cornflakes. Figs. Raspberries. Coffee crunch.

Cute. Funny. A little breakfast to send you off to bed.  Maybe I'm being grumpy, but I really loved this meal, and at this point in the evening all I really wanted was a simple slice of fruit.  


Here Kitty Kitty

For those who've asked, some pictures of ZaZa and Cielo:




This is ZaZa in her favorite pose.


And this is Mikkel, in the middle of the winter shoot, trying to get Cielo to turn around.  As you can see, it was all extremely glamorous....

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Great Balls of Squid!

(Dinner for one in Soho - to remind you what 1980 felt like.)

There’s a faint orange glint to the trees - if you stare really hard, you’ll see it - and the air is turning cooler. Night comes on more quickly now, and the city streets seem quieter.  On evenings like this I like to stroll through lower Manhattan, passing food vendors, picking up something warm to munch on my way home. Near East 9th Street, when I'm lucky, I stop for made-to-order takoyaki, irresistible little octopus balls in the style of Osaka. Flipped from small circular grill molds right into my hands, their savory-sweet, slightly briny aroma makes it impossible to wait for them to cool down. And what's a burned lip when you've got something this crisp and delicious? 

Just now, cruising through a 1980 issue of Gourmet, I came upon a squid ball recipe. It's squid, not octopus.  It's Cantonese, not Japanese. But it still felt auspicious. With its sprinkle of Sichuan peppercorn salt it seems a perfect way to welcome Autumn.







Kasha is Kool




A few weeks ago I put up an ad from a vintage Gourmet, touting a book of buckwheat recipes from the ancient Birkett mill.  The mill, established in 1798, continues to grind today, and it is still putting out Wolff’s buckwheat flour.  I was unable to locate a copy of the book, but today a copy arrived in the mail.  A friend had found one. 

This is the 9th edition, published in 1951.

A short note on buckwheat: it is entirely gluten-free, botanically unrelated to wheat.  (Its closest relative is rhubarb.) Here, without further ado, is a recipe that might appeal to those who eschew gluten.   

IMG_6454 (1)




A Fine Day to Cook


The sky is gray, the air damp; clouds loom.  It's a day to stay inside and cook.

After the silly recipes of the past few days, here's one that sounds like a project worth investing time in.  (I have no Tilsit on hand, so I'll probably substitute a pungent Gouda.)

I imagine serving this with roasted tomato soup, and perhaps a cucumber salad on the side.  Lovely little dinner on an almost-fall night.




A Cake to Conjure With


I'm trying to think who would want to create this cake, from the January 1975 issue of Gourmet, and suffering a total failure of imagination.  The same person, I suppose, who'd want to make this Filet of Beef en Gelee.


Should you, however, be that person, here's the recipe for the cake.  Roll up  your sleeves; it's going to take some time.







A Truly Ridiculous Recipe


I'm not sure I even need to editorialize about this recipe, which says a great deal about what the notion of "gourmet cooking" was when it was printed, in January 1975.  I imagine Gourmet readers, with a great deal of time on their hands, spending hours making these fussy little hors d'oeuvres. Every single step is time-consuming.

It gives me great pleasure to see these old recipes. And even more to know that this is one I won't be trying any time soon. Or ever.


 Tomorrow, another recipe from the same  issue.  It may be even more absurd.


A Recipe for a Cool Fall Day

It's hard to believe that Gourmet ever published a recipe for blood sausage, especially one that casually begins, "For every four cups pork blood...." Perhaps in 1951 the average American could go next door and borrow a few pints of blood from the neighboring farmer? 

Here, for your delectation, is the recipe.



And if you're in the mood for those sausages, perhaps you'd like some of these as well?



Good Sauce, Fancy Booze


From 1983 - an unusual green sauce, requiring all manner of interesting herbs


And a stunningly expensive bottle of booze (and remember, this is 1983 dollars).



Stir-Fried Potatoes - and More

A couple of fascinating recipes from the February, 1984 issue of Gourmet.  Although they're from a winter issue, they could not be more timely.  If you're going to make these stir-fried potatoes from the much-lamented Auntie Yuan restaurant, what better time to try them than right now, when new potatoes fill the markets?


 As for zucchini - well, if you have a garden, you'll be grateful for this simple recipe.  I made it last night - using red peppers in place of green and upping the amount of basil, and it vanished so quickly I never even got to take a picture!



And I could not resist this ad: farm to table, circa 1984:



Vintage Popcorn


File this under: Everything old is new again. From a 1984 issue of Gourmet, a whole slew of fascinating suggestions for gourmet popcorn.  Do not miss the bacon-Cheddar version!



Farm to Table Squared




This might be the most delicious chicken I've ever eaten. If you want to taste it too, you need to go to Fish & Game, Zak Pelaccio's ur-local restaurant in Hudson, New York. It's a beautiful restaurant, a former blacksmith shop that's all dark wood and local craftsmanship, with an open kitchen and the scent of wood-smoke wafting through the romantically-lit room.

But it is definitely not for everyone. 

If you're intrigued by the notion of a restaurant so dedicated to using local products that the chefs make their own fish sauce, their own Worcestershire sauce and spend the summer canning vegetables to use in winter, you'll want to eat here.  Fish & Game does more than pay lip service to the notion of local food; they're serious about the whole notion of local, seasonal and nose to tail. But like all great restaurants, this kitchen disdains the notion of playing it safe; the chefs are constantly experimenting, and not everything succeeds. 

But first, the chicken: an exciting expression of how great simple cooking can be. The menu says it serves 2, but this prodigious bird (which costs $65) is easily enough for 4. The skin is so crisp it crackles, the flesh so soft, smooth and velvet-tender that had I not seen the bird emerge, whole, from the oven I would have sworn the breast had been cooked sous-vide. We tucked in, eating it with our fingers, savoring every seductive bite.

And then, when we thought we were finished, the carcass arrived at the table. IMG_6401

I've always believed that meat is sweeter close to the bone, and I sat there, unabashedly stripping the meat away, placing it on the damp, rich bread tucked beneath the bird. Saturated with the moist bacon-scented drippings, this was a Tom Jones moment.  But the best was yet to come.

I woke at 4 a.m. with the bright light of the crescent moon pouring into the bedroom. Outside the tree frogs were having too much fun.  I looked up to find Orion spread across the sky. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I snatched the chicken from the fridge and took the carcass outside. Alone in the clear, star-dappled night I listened to the wind calling softly through the leaves, eating the last of the chicken.  

There were other fine moments in this meal. These oysters, with their spicy vinaigrette:


Lobster fried rice, an irresistible tangle of textures and a symphony of sensations: rich, soft, crisp, crunchy, the lobster gentle among those brittle fried grains of rice.,


And this corn with clams and caviar - an inspired combination.  The brininess of the clams underlined the sweet intensity of the corn in the most wonderful way.


Beans, tossed with all the herbs and vegetable of the season, pure summer.


And a puree of potato that paid homage to the great Robuchon dish - pure decadence - a mountain of butter with a bit of potato whisked in.

It would be difficult to end on a higher note than this simple panna cotta, sparked with plum, zinged with balsamic, just the right note of sweetness.


The wine list is impressive. We drank an extremely delicious Sicilian rose - Susucaru - from a slightly mad winemaker who, like the restaurant, is rigorous, organic and iconoclastic.  Still, I wish there were more affordable wines on this list.  The wines are fairly priced, but it's for rich people; there's almost nothing below $60. 

The food is also fairly priced; you're going to spend a lot of money, but if you're a food-focused person you'll think it's worth it to experience this intensely focused kitchen.  And if you're not..... you may just be annoyed. There's a cool arrogance to this restaurant, which leaves you feeling that they're more concerned with what they're doing than how you're feeling.  They have a mission, but it's not, ultimately, about making you happy. I know people who hate this place.  And I understand why.

As for me, I admire what they're doing.  But you'll have to excuse me; I have a chicken carcass waiting to become soup.  


Three Swell Recipes


The January 1977 issue of Gourmet has three recipes I can't wait to try. Two are for unusual pancakes. The first, from an article by Fanny Todd Mitchell on the pleasures of Auvergne, are for buckwheat pancakes. They're served as dessert, usually with jam or honey, but I imagine them with slices of ripe peaches and a dollop of sour cream.


The next, a reader request for some pancakes sampled at the Buena Vista Hotel in Nassau, are an innocent version of crepes suzettes.



And finally, a recipe I could not resist, for a basil and fennel-scented chicken stew from La Mere Blanc. This sounds exactly like what I'll want to eat in early autumn!





A Fine Souffle


Today's vintage recipe - don't you love this photo? - is from the January 1985 issue of Gourmet. Although it's a winter issue, it's perfect for the current season, when markets are filled with just-picked peppers, young eggplants, scallions and garlic. I'll be making this for Labor Day lunch, using fresh red peppers and tomatoes in place of the jars suggested here. 



And here, as promised yesterday, is the young Jacques Pepin and his recipe. 





About Chiles...


This is from the January, 1985 issue of Gourmet - one of those issues that's filled with fantastic food and intriguing articles.  Trolling through I found a wonderful photo of a young Jacques Pepin, some souffle recipes I can hardly wait to try, an ode to parsley, an article on young American cheesemakers. And part one of the series on The Cuisine of Mexico by the always wonderful Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz.  

In this article she's dealing with dried chili peppers, offering recipes for moles, tingas, and pipians. The recipes all sound wonderful, but this one, pictured above, sounds both easy and very delicious. Here's the recipe. 

IMG_6366 IMG_6364




The World Expands: 1978

These ads, from a 1978 issue of Gourmet, prove that everything old is new again. The anglo-American palette was widening its horizons, and “exotic” products entered the ad market. In the current age of coconut craziness, the idea that it was being "introduced" is extremely enlightening. 


What can you do with coconut cream? The world is wide: Trout coco amandine, coconut bread, cornish hen coco casa. Oh my!

It's equally hard to think about a time when buckwheat (kasha is roasted buckwheat) seemed exotic. If only we could peak inside this kasha cookbook: 


I couldn't find a copy of the cookbook, so I offer in its place this treasure trove of kasha recipes, from Birkett Mills, which has been operating since 1797, turning out, among other things, Wolff's Kasha. 



The Mutton Chop of Fish

What, you might ask, is this?

No, this little fantasy is not dessert. And yes, that fish is real. This improbable confection on the cover of a 1952 issue of Gourmet Magazine is  filets de sole Joinville.  

I like to imagine America's bravest cooks eagerly devouring this recipe, running out to buy the (extremely long) list of ingredients, and then balancing that final mushroom in the middle. Had their friends arrived yet? What else was for dinner? Did anybody request the recipe? And where did they find the truffles?  We’ll get to the recipe, but first, a word from Gourmet’s editors: 

“The ancient Romans and before them the Greeks, no mean gormandizes, wisely considered the sole the most dedicated of fish and esteemed it for its nourishing and light flesh.  They went so far as to compare it not to the mutton chop in the Englishman’s tribute but to the partridge.  And, of course, they recommended sole, along with other fish, as an aphrodisiac, which was always their perfect and ultimate tribute…”

And for the curious, a note on M. de Joinville, after whom this delightful dish was named: 

"Filets de Sole Joinville was named after the son of King Louis Philippe of France. “Prince de Joinville” was by training and inclination a sea-faring man and had commanded the ship which brought the remains of Napoleon home from St. Helena. Like Lafayette a war or two earlier, Joinville came to the States, no longer United, to offer his services and those of his son and his two nephews to the government at Washington.  After the war was over, Joinville wrote an count of the Campagne du Potomac, La Guerre d’Amerique. For this Joinville, otherwise remembered very little for his services to his country and to ours, a dish of filets of sole was named. It is a most worthy dish, very beautiful, as you can see on GOURMET’S cover this month, most delectable, as you will find for your self when you have ventured it. “

Now for the recipe. It speaks, I believe, for itself:  IMG_4021 (1)

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« August 2015

About this journal
Where am I eating? What's for dinner tonight? And what books have I been reading? For a look at what's going on in my life lately, take a look at this journal, which I try to update on a regular basis.