Forget Martha Stewart Living and to hell with the recession! Forking Fantastic, by Zora O’Neill and Tamara Reynolds, is the new de rigueur guide to entertaining, especially in these lean times. The two hotties behind New York City’s coolest underground supper club, Sunday Night Dinners, come out with knives swinging, vehemently reminding readers that cooking for friends and family is not about spending your children’s college fund on matching bone china and kitchen gadgets, designing a Philippe Stark worthy table corsage, or decorating your Christmas setting with real snow imported from the Himalayas. It’s about lounging around the table, eating, drinking, solving the world’s problems through hearty (albeit drunken) debate and enjoying good, honest food with friends and family. In fact, bone china be damned! And for that matter, table be damned! Have a picnic on your living room floor, or better yet, do as they advise and take your living room door off of its hinges and make a table. With our food-tv and star chef obsessed culture, Zora and Tamara’s guerilla approach to entertaining is a fresh breath of fried onion and garlic perfumed air. And, it is a much needed reminder that it’s better to sweat over a hot stove rather than over the spots on the tines of a fork; that cheap wine is actually ok to cook with (and to drink!); that being broke, single and living in a tiny, under equipped apartment is no excuse to avoid inviting a gaggle of friends over for dinner, and that cooking ain’t no spectator sport! And, if all else fails, there’s always pizza.

I can’t recall ever experiencing gut-busting laughter while reading a cookbook before, but nearly fell over as Zora described her first dinner party – referring to her guests as “limp legged ladle lickers”, as they sat on the floor drinking from ladles when they’d run out of glassware. Hilarious stories of kitchen maladies and a girth of kitchen wisdom learned over six years of bi-weekly dinner parties that’d take the average home cook decades to learn, are interwoven with hunger-inducing recipes like The Magnificent Lamb Roast (with complete instructions on how to build a lamb grill and spit with a 50-gallon steel drum and cinder blocks); Peter’s Cesar Salad (which I’ve made three times – it’s THAT good); the Croke Monster (a step-by-step guide for making a croquembouche for the complete novice – I’m going to attempt to tackle that one next week), and dozens more recipes that will leave you reaching for the phone to call all your friends and invite them over for dinner, once you’ve stopped laughing and convulsing enough to actually speak. As well, the book offers totally practical advice on stocking your kitchen (and why multi-piece sets of star chef endorsed cookware are the biggest racket going), crafting a menu (if it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing); how to exploit your at-home child labor force to help prep; and how to handle “The Hour of Self-Loathing” and avoid a complete nervous breakdown before dinner is served (Drink. Heavily). I cannot recommend this book enough. If there is one guide to entertaining that you should have out on your kitchen counter, and use often, it’s Forking Fantastic. This book will age well (like a nice leather handbag) as it collects grease splatters, dog eared pages, and wine glass rings – as I’m certain you’ll be using it THAT MUCH. I know I will.

WIN A COPY OF FORKING FANTASTIC!

And now for the contest! Want to win a copy of Forking Fantastic for yourself? In Chapter One,  Zora and Tamara recommend learning how to cook because it’s better, or at least more reliable, than sex. It will increase your chances of getting laid, they opine. And, it will get you through a long dry spell with a lot more self-respect. Got a favorite recipe and story about how cooking helped you get laid, win over your current (or ex – I’m impartial) squeeze (partner, spouse, lover, etc)? Email the name and description of the dish (and a recipe, if you’ve got it) and story of how it landed you your squeeze (pictures if you got ‘em – of the food, not the sex, please! And really, I don’t want graphic details – just a good story) to: cristina at thewaywardchef dot com. Be sure to include your name and address. If I post it here – you’ll receive a copy of Forking Fantastic in the mail! I have three books to give away and winners will be chosen by OCTOBER 25^th! So hurry your ass up!

Hey, they don’t call me wayward for nothing!

Note to mom: I don’t think you really need to print this post out for grandma! ;o)

Hamburgers are one of those things that I could never cook for myself and enjoy. It is the food of kicking back and relaxing, it’s a craving happily satiated, it’s a night off – and if I’m going to have a hamburger, damn it, it had better be good.

I’ve noticed an outcropping of trendy burger “eateries” popping up around the city over the past year or so, places offering organic burgers on homemade bread, every incarnation of veggie burger, turkey burger, bison burger, kobi burger, etc. All these places seem to have a very modern-trendy, clean lined and sterile feel about them – not entirely unlikable, but when I think hamburger I feel much more drawn to the places better referred to as a ‘joint’ rather than an ‘eatery’.

I confess to being totally biased on the subject of what environment I like to eat my hamburger in, to the point that I haven’t even stepped foot in one of these newfangled hamburger places. Perhaps, for posterity or in the name of scientific research, I should check one of these places out. But when I want a burger I don’t want a white table clothe restaurant, I don’t want to be staring out the window checking out the shoes and handbags of the passers-by on the streets, or pompously displayed New Yorker, Zagat and/or Wine Spectator reviews stuck on the wall. I want a place where unfettered pleasure is the goal; a place where I can guiltlessly and blissfully throw down a pint and a burger without being reminded that there are vegetarians in this world, without having to debate whether I should go for the healthier choice on the menu, without having to choose whether I want foie gras or truffles. I want the decision making process to be simple and straightforward, streamlined in fact. Choice 1: Hamburger, Choice 2: Cheeseburger. Choice 3: There is no choice 3. Rare/ Medium Rare/ Medium/ Well (God forbid!). I don’t want a bun so thick or crusty that I must disconnect my jaw, like a boa constrictor, before taking the first splendid bite. I don’t want some fruity, homemade ketchup or fancy ingredients.

I want it medium-rare on a soft, white, fluffy cloudlike bun. Mayo, pickles, lettuce and ketchup. Lots and lots of ketchup. Ketchup on the bun, ketchup to dip it in. I love ketchup. I hate broccoli. And much to my parents dismay, that’s just about the only thing a Bush president and I will ever agree upon. But I digress.

One of my favorite places to get a hamburger is Café Fanelli on Prince and Mercer. That place never ceases to be an experience. A dark wood interior, long bar and comfy barstools, old black and white boxing pictures line the walls, two-tops in a row along the wall opposite the bar, the staff as checkered as the table clothes. The tattooed and pierced waitresses have a look like you’d better be careful how you behave or they just might kick your ass. The bartenders are salty, surly and sarcastic – just the way I like them. The clientele too is a pretty checkered bunch. The same drunk has been at the end of the bar since I first started going there eight years ago, and their is a cross between old-school SoHo artists (can you say, “rent controlled apartment”?), a few businessmen, a tourist or two and a few starlets who’ve wandered in off the street to use the toilet. The place is strangely unchanged and unaffected by the retail storm that has slaughtered much of the neighborhood charm, unfazed by the mignons of fashionistas and bankers that have come through its doors and replaced the old artists, bohemians and mobsters of yesteryear. Amazingly, it maintains a little bit of what the rest of SoHo used to be – brash, eccentric, and smug.

They have a decent burger served on a soft onion roll. But the pickles are on the side, and aren’t cut for proper placement on a hamburger. Their fries are good and they have Heffeweisen, Guiness, Stella, Bass and Brooklyn Lager on tap on tap so I can’t complain.

But recently, I found a new favorite hamburger joint (sacre bleu!). And I can’t believe it, but I was taken there by friends from South Africa! How is it that someone from S.A. knows where to get a great burger in this town without me knowing about that place first?! Impossible, or so I thought. I was hesitant but by my friends description, I knew I had to investigate.

We pulled up on 56^th Street in my friends bright orange rental car. It was like riding in a pumpkin, perfect for the season. By some strange stroke of luck (that I never seem to have), we found a parking spot right in front of the Le Parker Meridien Hotel and I thought to myself, how good could it really be? We walked into the grandiose lobby; polished, chic and trendy and I thought, “oh no, here we go”. We ducked behind a long, curtained wall behind the front desk and I felt like Jody Foster in Contact when she slid through the worm hole to another dimension. Suddenly I was in this tiny cube shaped hovel, maybe 400 square feet – maybe. Ramones and Soprano’s posters adorned the wood panneled walls, thick wood tables and walls carved up with initials “J.M.” heart “B.L.”, autographs, stickers from the women’s roller ball league, a few carved-up, vandalized booths, a large communal table in the middle. The counter and kitchen open to view and two guys working – one taking orders, the other flipping burgers over a flaming grill. And the best part was the smell – it smelled like grill smoke, char and sizzling meat. The menu was written in magic marker on torn cardboard and states:

If you aren’t ready you go to the back of the line.

They also had fries, milkshakes, Sam Adams and sodas.

I waited in line and mulled my choice, sure to be prepared when it was my turn at the front. I wasn’t going to be sent to the back of the line for not having my order ready. I waited and waited and like a good New Yorker, when I got to the front of the line and spat out my order so quickly the guy told me to slow down and repeat myself…

After a weekend of gluttony cooking (and drinking) up a storm at a friends farm in Pennsylvania, a stop for lunch at my favorite Middle-Eastern restaurant in Bay Ridge where we gorged ourselves yet again, I thought that there was no way I would possibly be hungry for dinner, much less a hamburger. I was thinking more like Perrier and a lemon…

But once I smelled that fine, fine smell of fat dripping into a fiery grill, I was suddenly famished. It was my dream come true and I was taken their by a tourist! Say it isn’t so… The burger was great, the flaming grill leaving its stamp on every tasty bite. The pickles fit, the bun was soft and fluffy. Perfection. I can’t wait, wait, wait to go back again – many more times before I leave for the Caribbean.

On a side note, I know many New Yorkers will say Corner Bistro (Burger Bistro, as some call it) is the place to go for burgers. It was my favorite for years – but ever since a friend of mine got a glue trap with a rat on it stuck to his foot there, I can’t ever go back.

So happy to have finely found a decent replacement. Plus, you won’t have to endure the frat boys and drunk chicks at The Burger Joint.

29 days left in New York City and then I’m out of here… It’s off to the Caribbean or Florida although I’m not sure where exactly. We’ll see which way the wind blows…

I’ve given up my apartment and am leaving New York once and for all – not an easy task given that I have lots of friends and family here and New York has this way of roping me back in. I’ve been trying to leave for five years now! But those Caribbean waters are calling my name. A fellow yachty and I have been talking about sharing an apartment down in St. Martin for the season and I’m also considering getting a place in either Miami or Fort Lauderdale. Either way, I’ll be heading down to FL in a few weeks time to meet with some crew agencies and friends that have arrived from the Mediterranean. I’ve sent out my cv to crew agencies, emailed crew friends and looking to jump on a boat sometime in November. The Caribbean season doesn’t really get going until mid-December, but there should be plenty of work doing deliveries from the Med and the US down to the Caribbean.

As of November 1, I no longer have a place to live! AH! This should scare me, but it doesn’t. To some, it would seem inconceivable to give up an apartment and have no place to “live”, throwing caution to the wind and just taking off. But I feel free, and for me, that’s just how life works out best. Whenever I try to plan too much is when things start to go awry. I function much better just jumping in, and after last season on the yachts, I have a pretty good idea of what to expect, where to go and what the challenges will be. I can’t wait to be on the water again and feel the wind in my face. I feel totally optimistic about the coming season…

In the meantime, I’ve been keeping myself entertained by interloping in friends kitchens around New York. I spent the day today at the restaurant Barolo on West Broadway, learning to make fresh pasta! I went in this morning and met up with my friend, Maurizio, the chef – a bald-headed, overly caffeinated, Vespa riding Italian from Genoa. We met over a lengthy conversation at his bar the other night about chestnuts, as friends and I waited for a table for dinner. I’m preparing for an Iron Chef Chestnut cook-off at a friends farm in just a few weeks and pasta has been on my mind. So, I saw the chef and figured who better to talk to… We talked about savory chestnut cakes, chestnuts and game, and then he brought out some freshly prepared chestnut pasta to taste. After a great dinner (I had the cocoa pasta with wild mushrooms) and a ’78 Barolo, I decided to hit him up to let me hang out in his kitchen and learn to make pasta.

Maurizio put me in the capable hands of his master pasta maker, Manny. Expecting to walk into a hectic and chaotic environment, lots of bustling around, Manny perhaps being too busy to really show me his magic, I was pleasantly surprised that the kitchen was the exact opposite of what I’d anticipated. It was calm and sane as I walked downstairs into the prep kitchen; Mexican radio piping out of a flour dusted boom box, the butcher hand mincing lamb for a lamb ragout, another prep cook picking basil leaves and coring tomatoes. Something about Mexican music and foreign languages being spoken around me always makes me nostalgic for my time in restaurant kitchens…

Manny, a soft spoken and friendly Salvadoran, has been the resident pasta maker at Barolo for eight years and also moonlights as a pasta maker for other restaurants around the city. We started out the morning making 24 lbs. of pasta dough with eggs and durum flour; kneeding the dough in a giant mixer (you’d need Andre the Giant to kneed that amount of dough by hand!). He offered up the recipe: 18 lbs. of durum flour, 6 lbs. of a.p. flour, 50-something eggs. I declined writing it down, I don’t think I will ever be making that much pasta! Manny said he doesn’t need a recipe; he just goes by how it feels. And all along, as the dough was kneeding, Manny would grab a lump of dough and show me how the dough should feel – not too wet, not too dry, not too soft, not too hard. I fed a few pounds of dough at a time through a large pasta roller, which squished it out in thinner and thinner sheets – #3 for spaghetti, #1 for papparadell and ravioli.

We rolled and cut – busting out pounds of hand cut papparadell, linguini and spaghetti. Then we moved on to the ravioli making. Manny mixed up a batch of filling; ricotta, mascarpone, parmesan and lots of fresh herbs. After dusting them with semolina, he draped the ravioli molds with long, thin sheets of dough and showed me how to pipe in the filling. He worked like a machine, his dough was perfect, not a ripple out of place as he piped in the filling. Of course, when it was my turn to start piping, my raviolis really stood out – because each one was a different size! I didn’t quite have the trained precision that this pasta master had…

He said it was a slow day for him, not a lot to make (besides the 24 lbs. we’d just busted out), so we toured the walk-ins and he pointed out the black farfalle he’d made with squid ink, the chestnut linguini made with chestnut and chickpea flour, the cocoa pasta, apple and cheese filled ravioli’s, etc. Then, of course, it came time to sample and the chef set me up with a plate of apple and cheese filled ravioli’s with a lamb ragout. The ravioli’s were much lighter than expected and the lamb ragout was a delicious accompaniment to the mildly sweet filling.

On the way home, I stopped at the Buon Italia in the Chelsea Market and picked up chestnut, chickpea, durum and semolina flours to test out my new pasta making skills, and indoctrinate my new, hand-crank pasta machine…

Tomorrow I’ll be hanging with pastry chef Surbhi Sahni at the Indian restaurant Devi, on 18^th Street in Manhattan, picking up some new tricks to bring to the Caribbean with me…

Ahhh, life is good.

September 2006

Location: Kitchen Stadium Brooklyn

The Ingredient:
Beets

The Rules:

Use of Goat Cheese is Strictly Forbidden,

Arugula and Candied Walnuts are Highly Discouraged.

Wine must be a Chilled Red.

Iron Chef Amuse-Bouche: Cristina

Iron Chef Entrée: Michelli

Iron Chef Main: Greg

Iron Chef Dessert: Ian

~~~~~~~

Amouse~Bouche:

Pan Seared Garam Masala Dusted Sea Scallops

Served in a Roasted Cipolini Cup

Red Beet, Bitter Orange, Cipolini and Pepita Chutney

Garnished with Beet Green-Chive Puree, Honeyed-Beet Puree and Toasted Coconut

Medici Ermete Reggiano Solo Tenuta Quercioli 2005

Entrée:

Beets Three Ways

La Poussie Sancerre 2003

Vodka Flambéed Golden Beet Soup

Roasted Golden Beets, Roasted Golden Tomatoes and Yellow Peppers

Candy Cane Beet Ravioli

With Salt Cod Ricotta and Garnished with Fresh Pea Shoots

Raw Yellow Pepper Pesto

Caprese Salad of Smoked Mozzerella, Tomatillos, Roasted Beets

And Sautéed Beet Greens in a Mustard-Lemon Vinaigrette

Main:

Red Beet Ricotta Lasagna with Fresh Egg Noodles

Garlic-Onion Bechamel, Greyere and Parmesan

Tuscan Bread with a Grape Must and Pumpkin Pesto

Salad of Wild Field Greens, Heirloom Tomatoes and Aged Balsamic Vinegar

Cantine Federiciane Monteleone Peninsola Sorrentina Gragnano 2005

Dessert:

Curried Farmers-Cheese Cheese Log

In a Sweet Beet Chip Cradle

Salted-Caramel and Roasted Golden Beet Ice Cream

And Red Beet Sorbet

Drizzled with White Truffle Honey

Les Clos De Paulilles Banyuls Rimage 2003

~~~

It was late in the afternoon and between the rain and endlessly subways delays, the cause of which came in a barely discernable announcement over the din of crackling loudspeakers and subway station acoustics, my trip to the Grand Army Farmers Market and to my favorite fish monger, Fish Tales in Cobble Hill, ended up taking ten times longer than expected. I jumped on the subway home, but I knew by my second transfer and making the trains within seconds of each other, that my luck would soon run out. And it did, at 59^th Street when suddenly and without warning, the train was being put out of commission and there would be no more subways running on that line for the foreseeable future. Accepting my lot in life living on the worst possible subway line in New York City, rather than wait for a train that my never come, I hopped off and hoofed it the remaining 16 blocks to my house, weighed down with bags of scallops, beets, wine and various other ingredients. In three hours, three friends, all fellow professional cooks, would be arriving for our 1^st Annual Brooklyn Beet Off, and I hadn’t even begun cooking. Iron Chef “Beets”, we’d been talking about it for weeks with the enthusiasm of five year olds at Christmas time. So many ideas, so many things we could do, and of course the double-entendres flowed like cheap beer at a college tailgate…

I’d walked through the farmers market, a basket of perfect cipolini onions called to me, for what, I wasn’t sure but I’d find some way of incorporating them into tonight’s dish. Back at home I carved them into little cipolini cups and began roasting them off in the oven while I prepared the chutney, beet green puree, beet puree and other little garnishes. Beet tops, a fresh and healthy plumage in green and red, made for a festive centerpiece jammed into an antique Ball Mason jar; with cinnamon sticks, nutmeg, peppercorns and chili’s working their way into the final display. I set the table, worked my way through my prep list and tried not to think too much about what everyone else might be doing (lest I starting get nervous about it).

At 7o’clock the doorbell rang. I felt as if Morimoto himself was waiting, I hurriedly rushed to greet my friends. Like a troupe of Cheshire Cats, they pranced through my door with their tales in the air, grinning from ear to ear. Each one of us knew we had stretched our imaginations and had something great up our sleeve. Michelli set to unpacking quart containers on to the speed rack. Ian was put to task on the laptop picking out this evenings soundtrack and Greg had the ever important task of making room in the refrigerator for the wine and assisting me with concocting some sort of martini. Throwing together seemingly random ingredients we created an espresso-coconut martini with a cardamom-sugar rim. Several toasts and a round of fresh pomegranate martini’s later and we were sufficiently lubricated set to begin.

I was the first up with an amuse-bouche. Amuse-bouches are fun because the possibilities are endless and it can be a little bite of just about anything, as long as it’s pretty and flavorful. An amuse make people feel doted upon and taken care of because it’s a surprise, something they weren’t expecting. And, because it’s just a simple bite, it’s a great opportunity to play up expensive ingredients – in my case, day boat scallops.

I sprinkled the scallops in garam masala, a blend of cumin, cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, black pepper and nutmeg and then pan seared them. For the chutney, I caramelized cipolini’s, deglazed the pan with fresh orange juice and added orange zest, bitter orange marmalade, sugar, currants, pepita’s and spices. I did my best Kandinsky on the plate in beet puree and pureed beet tops, a roasted cipolini cup with two scallops topped with the beet chutney and garnished with toasted coconut, pepitas and long chives. Against black ceramic plates, the colors were bold and bright and made for a nice presentation. I only hoped that they would be as tasty in the mouth – and I think they were…

Prepared to be impressed, I watched as Michelli plated her masterpiece of Beets Three Ways. Roasted golden beets, roasted yellow peppers and roasted yellow tomatoes pureed into a bright golden soup and ladled into antique art-deco champagne glasses was lush and rich – the roasted vegetables giving it dimension and texture; thinly sliced candy cane beets fashioned into ravioli wrappers with an ethereal bacalla-ricotta filling and a raw yellow pepper pesto was fresh and vibrant in both presentation and flavor; beet “caprese” salad with smoked mozzarella and tomatillos all made for a sublime creation, beautifully presented and a delight to eat. Her pairing with an ‘03 La Poussie Sancerre was perfection.

Still basking in the glory of Italy’s World Cup win and in celebration of an up coming trip, Greg went strictly Italian with his creation, not only with his use of the Italian colors on his plate – but with his delicate pasta and bright, farmers market greens and heirloom tomato salad. Layering fresh egg noodles with a beet and ricotta mixture gave the lasagna a bright and festive look, the béchamel was light and well balanced, not heavy and laden as can often be the case, so the beets shined through and the sweetness was a nice counterpoint to the sauce. His use of Gruyere was a masterful act in that it added depth and dimension and played off of the more subtle flavors. Of course, Gruyere is a French cheese – but it’s said that Catherine di Midici’s cooks taught the French everything they know about food, so one way or another it can all be traced back to Italian.

The piece de resistance came in the form of dessert. None of us having a clue what the other was doing, we could only have imagined what this course would be like… The salted-caramel and roasted golden beet ice-cream with truffled honey was rich and intoxication, thick and creamy almost like a gelato, the contrast of salty and sweet played a game with our pallets and immediately making addicts of us all. The salt pushed and the sugar pulled and when the creamy-rich-salty-sweet became too much, a bite of the red beet sorbet proved to be the perfect pallet cleanser. Accompanying this heavenly creation was a curried farmers-cheese cheese log piped into a sweet-crispy beet chip – again a play on flavors and textures – and our taste buds loved it.

By the end of it all we were drunk on laughter, lively conversation and lots and lots of wine. And as my kindergarten teacher would say, “we’re all winners”.

For the next Brooklyn Iron Chef: Chestnuts paired with wines from the Mediterranean. Stay tuned…

Whole Roasted Wild Black Bass with an Herb Pistou

Grilled Escarole with Lemon

Wild Rice Salad with Toasted Almonds, Cranberries, Mint and Raspberry Vinaigrette

Coconut-Espresso Panna Cotta with Chocolate Sauce and Toasted Coconut Shavings

~~

I cooked for a client yesterday at their lovely vacation hideaway on Fire Island. The kitchen had open, airy, floor to ceiling glass walls and a full view of the gardens including a vast expanse of green grass and a drop-off pool that melted into the Sound. The view was stunning, I watched wind surfers and kite surfers cruising across the water, and was reminded, once again, just how much I miss the Caribbean… But the view, with the added benefit of an eight burner Viking range stove and concrete and chopping block counter tops peeled me away from my nostalgia, if only momentarily. And yet, even with all that, working on land still seems slightly mundane. In fact, life on land seems slightly mundane…

The Caribbean season is right around the corner and I can already feel that sun shining down on my shoulders, the cool, clear water splashing around my ankles, the smell of the salty air and the taste and tingle of an ice-cold beer sliding down my throat… Mmmmm beer, as Homer would say…

On one of my trips last season, aboard the ketch, we were anchored out in Tabogo Cays with guests aboard. The captain had made espresso for everyone and I happen to have an open can of coconut milk, so I added some to my espresso – then of course, the captain put some in his and brought some to the guests and it turned out to be a hit.

This got me thinking… I’ve had Coconut Panna Cotta on my mind lately but I wasn’t sure if I should just replace the milk entirely with coconut milk, or do a 50/50 split. So, I was playing around the kitchen the other day and I decided to test out a few recipes.

The first batch I made with just coconut milk, to which I added sugar and gelatin and steeped with nutmeg. This batch came out tasty, if not a bit sweet. What I learned though is that although I knew that coconut milk separated in the can, it didn’t occur to me that might happen after I poured the mixture into the molds. And, when I went to un-mold the dessert, low and behold, it had separated. This didn’t pose too major of a problem, as it still gelled, but the clear coconut water had separated and gelled on the bottom and the coconut milk gelled on top.

For the next batch, I used equal parts coconut milk and half-and-half and the same amount of sugar, nutmeg and gelatin as batch #1. The addition of dairy added another dimension to the panna cotta entirely. The texture was more rich and creamy and the dairy gave the dessert an almost custard quality, the coconut flavor was slightly more subtle but still distinct and it didn’t taste nearly as sweet as the batch made with just coconut milk. As well, the coconut milk didn’t separate, at least not discernibly so. Although I thought both batches were delicious, the addition of milk made for a more luxurious dessert and enhanced both the flavor and texture.

Next, I played around with the addition of espresso. First I added espresso to the mixture containing just coconut milk. And, well, it made the coconut fat solids really stand out. The solids didn’t melt enough, even when heated, to give the base a homogenized color. Instead, it looked kind of gross so I tossed it and didn’t bother adding the gelatin. Then I made another batch with coconut milk, half and half and espresso and, well, it was bliss – even better than the version without the espresso.

And finally, I had to do the deconstructionist thing and make an espresso gelee which I poured on top of the 50/50 batch (without espresso). Un-molded, it looked beautiful, but my gelee was a little too strong so I’ll have to work that one out. All things considered though, my top pick is the 50/50 batch with the espresso added right into the mixture. And, well, the guests loved it. In fact, they said the food was better than going to a restaurant – and that is the reason I love what I do…

Coconut Panna Cotta

(serves 10 – 12)

2 cups coconut milk

2 cup half and half (light cream or whole milk would work fine)

1/2 cup sugar

Pinch of fresh grated nutmeg (or ground cardamom)

5 sheets gelatin, softened in cold water

3 rounded teaspoons espresso powder *optional

(Medalgio D’Oro brand instant espresso coffee)

12 2 oz. ramekins or molds

Combine coconut milk, milk, sugar, spices and espresso in a pot and bring to a simmer. Add softened gelatin and stir until dissolved. Portion into ramekins or molds and refrigerate overnight. To un-mold, remove from refrigerate and allow to stand for five minutes and then invert onto a plate. Dipping the outside of the ramekin in hot water will help release the dessert, but I also find that it speeds the melting process and the panna cotta can become drippy. It’s best to leave the panna cotta out until it loosens up on it’s own. Garnish with toasted coconut, chocolate sauce and mango.

Voila.

(I’m working on my photography here people. bare with me, I’m better with knives than I am with a camera…)

Friends have offered me catering work, job referrals, even the opportunity to buy out my former employers’ gourmet food business. But I feel like a ghost in the material world – the light beckons me, and that light is the sun reflecting off of the clear, cool waters of the Caribbean. I can’t possibly imagine doing anything else… Land is nice, sea is better…

Through the wonders of internet (Skype and email), I’ve been keeping in touch with my yachty friends from the Caribbean who are now scattered about the globe; the Mediterranean, Adriatic, South Pacific and New England. They’ve been asking when I’ll be able to return to the boat world and keeping me abreast of their adventures…

I’d met a gal in St. Martin she was one of my roommates at the crew house and had come from South Africa to join a yacht as a stewardess. She had every proof of employment from the yacht, but had to go to Barbados to get her B1-B2 visa before she started her position. Upon arriving in Barbados, she was denied her work visa because the consulate said that she didn’t have enough ties to South Africa and was afraid she wouldn’t return. An unfortunate predicament for many South Africans yachties that I’d met along the way… To add insult to injury, upon returning to St. Martin, her passport was taken by authorities at the airport because they said she only had a single entry visa. They gave her two weeks to remain in the country and informed her that she could not have her passport back until she was leaving…

The crew house and yachty circuit was abuzz with her dilemma. We were brainstorming on what we could do to get her passport back, get her a work visa, etc. It’s St. Martin, there had to be an official that we could bribe… The boat she was to be employed on couldn’t pull any strings and couldn’t employ her. I left for Antigua and my friend’s day of departure back to South Africa was close at hand… So, I was thrilled to get an email from her recently that she had gotten a job as a decky aboard another yacht. The captain was able to get her passport back and secure her a B1-B2 visa for the trip to Florida, as well as a Shengen visa for the Mediterranean. She’d just taken some time off and been traveling around England and Italy and sounded like she was having a great time!

Some friends that I had made in Grenada and sailed back up to St. Martin with are based on a boat in Annapolis and they came up and spent a week with me here in New York. A few weeks later they sailed into Sag Harbor and dropped off a charter. I met up with them and as we cruised out to the yacht on the dinghy, the wind in my face, I felt at home again…

Over the course of the past month my knee has gotten much, much better and after an MRI, the doctor has said that I don’t need surgery! I’ve been doing physical therapy two days a week as well as a litany of exercises every day at home. Don’t be fooled, p.t. does not stand for physical therapy, it stands for PAIN and TORTURE! I go back to the doctor tomorrow and am hoping that he will tell me that I can go back to work soon…

I won’t be rejoining the boat in the Mediterranean. Unfortunately they couldn’t hold my position open indefinitely and so I’ve been replaced (not that I can be replaced, but apparently, I can)… Ahhh, but life goes on. I’ve already had inquiries as to my availability from other boats that I worked on in the Caribbean that are now on the East Coast of the United States. And from what I’ve heard through other yachties, there is just as much work available here as there was down in the Caribbean. So, as soon as I get the green light from the doctor I’m going to head down to Florida and meet with some crew agencies, walk the docs and frequent the local yachty haunts to inquire about work…

Mmmm, I can almost smell the salty air (and taste the cold beer)…

Suffice to say, my sea legs are gone. It’s going to take some time to re-adjusting, but hopefully my next adventure won’t be quite as harrowing as this previous season… No 30 foot seas, please. Been there, done that…

Well anyway, I know I’m a slacker of a blogger… But stay tuned, the next adventure of The Wayward Chef is just over the horizon!

This 4^th of July comes at a time when our country struggles with a war that has divided its people, a political crisis in the White House and growing racial and religious intolerance. But it’s comforting to know that even through these troubled times; the people of our great nation can put aside their cultural, political and religious differences and come together in unity to revel in one of America’s greatest pastimes; that of Competitive Eating.

And no, I don’t mean stuffing your face at the family barbeque, although I’m sure many of you were holding eating and drinking contests of your own. What I mean is the great, the history making, annual Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest in Coney Island.

I was tempted to enter myself, but as I’m working to restore my body to its pre-Caribbean luster, I’ve given up meat (temporarily, mind you), tobacco (permanently, god-willing), and alcohol (well, not really. I have to have one vice.). And despite my pleads and calls that the judges were being discriminatory, they weren’t willing to make an exception with zucchini’s and cucumbers in place of hotdogs for fear of inciting the already overheated, overweight, beer swilling, carnivorous mob that had gathered for this years event.

I did, however, make one exception to my newly adopted “healthy lifestyle” and sucked down a dog with onions, kraut and mustard while I stood among the unwashed masses and waited for the contest to begin. The hot dog hit my stomach like a rock and remained there the rest of the day as a gentle reminder that healthy living and highly processed meat byproducts just don’t mix.

Despite my inability to convince the judges to offer a vegetarian option for the contestants, the games went on… The crowd hopeful that 22-year old Joey Chestnut, of San Jose, California would break the 5-year reign of Japan’s Emperor of competitive eating, Takeru Kobayashi. The race was neck in neck as the contestants sucked down dog after dog. Chestnut was in the lead for the first half of the contest and the crowd roared, “Joey, Joey”. Kobayashi using the “Solomon Method” he developed in 2001, breaking each dog in half, eating the two halves at once, then dipping the bun in water and eating that, left Joey in the dust as Kobayashi downed each dog with Ninja-like precision and a nimble gullet. Once again, Kobayashi held on to his title with 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes. That’s roughly 10 lbs. of, ummm, “meat”.

The average American consumes 115 lbs. of red meat per year. Kobayashi consumed 11.5% of the national average in just 12 minutes.

And the prize for winning the “International” Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest? Two cases of Nathan’s franks.

On second thought, maybe I really don’t need to eat meat. Ever, ever again…

My mind is wandering though lately, the sense of wanderlust and adventure creeping back in… I found myself in Union Square, standing in the middle of a pedestrian/taxi/bike-messanger traffic jam, thinking how nice it would be if the concrete would just simply melt into sand, and the glut of people and taxi’s were instead schools of brightly colored tropical fish. I imagined, all too vividly, slipping into the warm, crystalline waters of the Caribbean…

But the blazing of taxi horns and the smell of exhaust ripped my cruelly back into reality…

I’ve heard rumors that I can buy canned callaloo here in the city, not too keen on canned, but then a friend told me that she saw fresh callaloo at an ethnic market in Queen’s. This rumor definately warrants further investigation…

It doesn’t look like I’ll be making it back to the boat world this season, which is incredibly frustrating, but it’s giving me plenty of time to research new recipes. Perhaps by satiating my taste buds with sufficiant varieties of Caribbean and other ethnic foods I can quelle my growing restlessness until, once again, I can head to bluer waters…

I found Christophine in the market in Brooklyn China Town the other day. Here in the States it is called Choyote squash, but doesn’t really resemble a squash at all. Its taste and texture are a cross between cucumber and kohlrabi. I bought some and made tangy Thai pickles out of them to go with my curry – they worked really nicely and were much crispier than using cucumbers.

Christophine/Choyote Squash:

If you happen to find them in the store, no matter how you plan on preparing them, just remember to peel them first. And peel them under running water or you will get a serious rash all over your hands! In the Caribbean, they are often steamed and mashed with ginger and coconut milk or served raw in salads.

Here are the recipes for the Christophine Pickles and Coconut Thai Curry.

Tangy Thai Christophine Pickles:

2 Christophine, peeled, cored and sliced
1/2 Cup Hot Water
1/2 Cup Sugar
1 Teaspoon Salt
3 Shallots or 1/2 Red Onion, very thinly sliced (best using a mandalin)
1 Fresh Red or Green Thai Chili, thinly sliced

Combine hot water, sugar and salt and stir until dissolved. Add vinegar and allow to cool to room temperature. In a large bowl add Christophine, Shallot and Chilies and pour over cooled vinaigrette. Chill at least 24 hours and serve cold. The Christophine hold up much better than cucumber and get better the longer they are pickled – I made mine four days ago and they just keep getting better, but I have no idea how long they will last (or if I can keep myself from eating them to find out)…

Thai Coconut Curry

2 Tablespoon Veggie Oil
1 Tablespoon Finely Chopped Garlic
2 Tablespoon Red Curry Paste
2 Cups Coconut Milk
2 Cups Chicken Broth
2 Teaspoon Curry Powder
2 Tablespoon Soy Sauce
1 Teaspoon Sugar
1 Teaspoon Salt
2 Tablespoons Fresh Squeezed Lime Juice
1/3 Cup Fresh Cilantro, Chopped

Optional:

1 Package Thick Fried Tofu
2 Small Carrots, Thinly Sliced
½ lb. Baby Bok Choy, Thinly Sliced (almost any veg will do)

Or:

1 lb. Boneless Chicken Thighs, cubed

Heat oil in a large, heavy bottomed pan. Add garlic and cook 2 minutes. Add curry paste and stir. If using chicken, add and cook 1 to 2 minutes. If using carrots or other thick veg that needs time to cook, add now (Bok Choy or other veggies that don’t require as much cooking time can be added after other ingredients so as not to overcook). Stir until meat/veg is combined with curry paste. Add coconut milk, chicken broth, curry powder, soy sauce, sugar and salt. Bring to a simmer. (Add chicken and simmer until cooked through or add any remaining veggies and cook until veggies are done). Stir in lime juice.

Serve with jasmine rice, thin rice noodles or thick Chinese egg noodles. Garnish with fresh cilantro.