Trust me on this--pick the Louboutins

I don't often turn up my nose at much in the way of food.  But I do have a way of not wanting to give certain recipes due attention because of preconceived notions that I have about the ingredients and whether or not they have any business sharing the same plate.  Such was the case for several years regarding the combination of salmon and lentils.

Strange bedfellows, I thought.  Sort of like dreadlocks and a business suit.  But somehow it works, doesn't it?

By themselves, I love both of those ingredients and have cooked with them numerous times.  But the combination to me was off-putting.  I'm not sure really why, it's just that the thought of salmon and lentils together on one plate didn't appeal to me.  Well, that's an understatement.  It sounded downright boring, pedestrian, monochromatic and flavorless.  There.  Have I maligned them enough?

So, until enlightenment took place--and that enlightenment was in the form of a lovely little glass of Cinsault rose (you can see my review below)--I was content to believe that ignorance was bliss and I was happy to allow salmon and lentils to exist together in the theoretical sense.  I like the idea of salmon and lentils in happy harmony: all those omega 3's, iron, vitamins and minerals pulling together to give me one whopping nutritious meal, with a dose of fiber to boot.  Which is why the CRON diet makes a lot of sense.  But following the CRON diet is an anathema to a foodie like me.  Pass the butter and the cream, please.  Eating the CRON way is like wanting to blow $1000 on a pair of Christian Louboutins and knowing that you can only afford the Skechers.

Photo from Fashion by He

Don't get me wrong--I'm all for nutrition.  But I want my nutrition to taste great and look beautiful on my plate.  And I'm usually not worried about calories--at least for a meal like a weekend dinner.  This is where CRONies and I part company, because I'm obviously a high-maintenance eater with a penchant for fine food and no personal regard for calorie restriction.  I want sexy food, and since I've witnessed and participated in the consumption of CRON meals, I can safely assure you that a plate of CRON food is not sexy.  It's prudent.  And when do sexy and prudent intersect?  Why, practically never.

When confronted with a choice between sensible, comfortable, affordable shoes and an awesome pair of red-soled 5" stilettos, I'll probably choose the stilettos.  There.  I've said it.  It's like going to a 12-step meeting for the first time to admit that I have a shoe problem.  Mind you, I didn't say I was actually going to try to walk in those shoes.

So, recently on a particular late April Saturday evening, I decided that I would make a searching and fearless moral inventory and finally confront my preconceived notions about salmon and lentils.  The weather was perfect for the dish, and I had a lovely French rose to bolster my intentions.  I also had a beautiful piece of sockeye salmon and a pound of French green lentils, which I love for their color, size and peppery flavor.  And I had the Barefoot Contessa as my guide, so I thought things might turn out rather nicely.  Almost the minute everything was in the pan with the lentils, simmering, the perfume of that gorgeous amalgamation made me weak in the knees.  Anticipating what those lentils would taste like almost vexed me, since I wanted to eat them before they were fully cooked.  Now you know what kind of problem I really have.

I was not disappointed.  The texture of the lentils, firm and tiny, steeped in leeks, onions, garlic, thyme, celery and carrots was a lovely counterpoint to the simply seasoned, crisped, pan-roasted salmon fillet.  The flavors were both familiar and impressively intense.  Together they were magical.   And I can't wait to make this dinner again--especially to serve as a casual dinner for friends, along with vegetable or salad and a simple dessert.

The Barefoot Contessa's Roasted Salmon with Green Lentils

The only modifications I made were due to necessity.  I had no chicken broth on hand, but I had low-sodium beef broth, which made a fine substitute.  I also had wild sockeye salmon with the skin on, but it crisped beautifully and kept the salmon moist, which is important, since wild salmon tends to be drier than farm-raised salmon.
 
What to sip while preparing this meal and with the meal...It's officially rose weather and I found this bottle at Central Market for about $10.  Les Jamelles Cinsault Rose 2010 (France) is dry, tart and full of fresh cherries and raspberries.  There's a bit of orange blossom on the nose, which makes it a delightful wine to sip by itself, but it's also a great accompaniment to the roasted salmon and lentils.  Prepared in the traditional saignee method, which "bleeds" more tannins and color from the grapeskins into the wine, this wine is a great value and artfully made.

May your tastebuds dance in whatever shoes you choose!

La moutarde, ma cherie

Mustard has got to be one of my favorite condiments and I doubt I could live happily without it.  Whether it's a smooth, mellow Dijon with the classic red, white and blue striped lid, or an intense and pungent grainy German in a charming little glass pot, a luxury mustard laced with Cognac in a black crock, or even a lurid yellow lunch counter standard in a squeeze bottle, I love mustard.  I'll admit that I'm a food snob but I'm also not afraid to admit that I dally with French's mustard from time to time.  Who can pass by that sunny tumeric-laden yellow and not want to experience that sharp acidity on a soft pretzel or a ball park hotdog?  And for me, no other mustard seasons deviled eggs quite like French's.  You don't need a lot, but that little bit makes all the difference.

I'm sure you have your own favorite mustard.  Or, maybe you're just not a fan.  If that's true, then I'm hoping that today's recipes will convince you in some way to give mustard a chance.  And if you are already a fan of mustard, then maybe you'll be adding some new ways to use mustard to your reperatoire.

Last Thanksgiving eve, a cousin I adore and don't see nearly enough and I were sitting around the dinner table and having a bit of a late-night nosh.  Along with the bowl of nuts to crack, some excellent cheeses, liver pate, crackers and of course, lots of red wine, I had put a jar of homemade mustard on the table.  Making your own mustard is actually very easy--I'm sure you know the trick of putting some dry mustard powder in a bowl and then adding water or dry vermouth and waiting for it to bloom.  If not, try it some time and put it on corned beef, sausages or a roast beef sandwich.  But be warned, it's very intense and pungent at first, so use it sparingly.  It will mellow with age and still be quite nice stored in the fridge almost indefinitely.  It also has antibacterial properties, so mustard really never spoils.  It just dries out and eventually loses its flavor.

The mustard I had put on the table that Thanksgiving eve was one I had made by grinding brown mustard seeds in a mortar and pestle rather coarsely so that the some seeds had split and some were still intact.  Then I had added water, a little salt, and had cured the mustard for about 3 weeks in the fridge after initially letting it stand at room temperature for several hours.  It still had some bite, but was considerably more mellow than it was the first week of its life.  My cousin commented that he had never thought of making mustard but that he had recently received as a gift a very pricey French mustard made with cognac.  I gave him a wicked grin and went to get my bottle of cognac.  We dribbled the cognac into the jar of grainy mustard and stirred.  He tasted.  "Close," he commented.  And then, "I think we need to add more cognac."  Which we did.  And what alchemy!  There is something quite special about cognac and mustard seed mingling together.  And one of the benefits of making this kind of mustard is that it only gets better with age.  The only detractor?  You will run out of it quickly because you will want to put it on everything.

Here is the technique for making cognac mustard: put 1 cup of mustard seeds (either yellow, brown, or a combination) in a mortar and grind with a pestle until partially split.  Alternatively, use a clean coffee grinder or a small food processor, but take care to leave some texture by pulsing your machine, unless of course you want your mustard to be perfectly smooth.  Transfer the ground mustard seeds to a clean jar.  Pour in just enough cognac to moisten the seeds (about 1/2 cup), stir a little bit and then cover the jar.  Leave at room temperature for about 8 hours or overnight.  If the mustard seeds have absorbed too much cognac, the dibble in a little more until you like the consistency and texture.  Then store the mustard, covered, in the fridge for about a week before you use it.  Of course you can use it before then, but it really matures and tastes better as it ages.

I also want to share some recipes that I think use mustard in outstanding ways.  I hope you'll try some of them and agree.  I would welcome your comments.

An Excellent Mustard Vinaigrette   

      

          (an adaptation of a recipe I found in a women's magazine years ago)

¾ cup olive oil

1 tablespoon grainy Dijon mustard

1 clove garlic, minced

1/3 cup red wine vinegar

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients in a blender or food processor and emulsify.  This is wonderful on bitter greens with toasted walnuts, bleu cheese and pickled onions.  Yummm!  Enjoy…

Note: I like to experiment with different vinegars (like tarragon and champagne vinegar) and also like to use white Worcestershire instead of the regular kind.  You can also subsitute walnut oil for the olive oil with great results.  To really elevate this dressing, add 1 Tbs. of drained capers, minced shallots or chopped fresh tarragon after you've blended the primary ingredients.

Walter Jetton's Potato Salad
           
       Walter Jetton was President Johnson's personal chef at the LBJ Ranch.  Together, Mr. Jetton and President Johnson invented "barbeque diplomacy," a casual but intimate style of entertaining important diplomats, politicians and heads of state that proved remarkably effective.  This is "Texas-style" potato salad and it is a lively change from most standard recipes.

5 pounds potatoes
1 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup chopped green peppers
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup prepared mustard
1/3 cup chopped pimentos
1/3 cup sour pickle relish

1.  Peel and boil potatoes; cool and cut into bite-size pieces.
2. Add the remaining ingredients and mix thoroughly.
3. Chill well and serve cold.  Makes 10 servings.


Curry-Honey-Mustard Broiled Chicken

      From a small paperback cookbook published in 1958 called Good Housekeeping's Poultry and Game Book.

1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup yellow mustard
2 tsp. curry powder
2 lbs. chicken leg quarters (wings are also great)

1.  Combine honey, mustard and curry powder; set aside.
2.  Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
3.  Line a broiler pan or large cookie sheet with foil and arrange chicken pieces on pan.
4.  Generously brush chicken pieces with honey-mustard mixture. 
5.  Bake until chicken is done (about 35 to 40 minutes for quarters and less for wings).  Serves 4.


The Barefoot Contessa's Mustard-Roasted Fish

      I love this recipe because it's easy and it's great for dinner guests.  Serve with roasted asparagus, broccoli, or brussels sprouts, boiled new potatoes with butter and parsley, and a simple salad.  If you make your own creme fraiche, start it the day before.

4 fish fillets, approx. 8 oz. each (red snapper, perch, talapia, cod, etc.)
8 oz. creme fraiche (recipe follows)
3 Tbs. Dijon mustard
1 Tbs. whole-grain Dijon mustard (try substituting your homemade cognac mustard here)
2 Tbs. minced shallots
2 tsp. drained capers

1.  Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2.  Line a sheet pan wih parchment paper or use an oven proof baking dish.
3.  Place fish skin side down in the pan; sprinkle generously with salt and pepper.
4.  Combine creme fraiche, two mustards, shallots, capers, 1 tsp. salt and 1/2 tsp. pepper in a small bowl.
5.  Spoon sauce evenly over the fish, making sure it's completely covered.
6.  Bake for 10 to 15 minutes, depending on thickness of fish, until barely done.  Fish flakes easily at the thickest part when it's ready.
7.  Serve hot or at room temperature with plenty of sauce.  Serves 4.

Creme Fraiche:  Mix 1 cup heavy cream with 2 Tbs. buttermilk in a glass jar.  Cover and let stand at room temperature (about 70 degrees F) for 8 to 24 hours, or until thickened.  Stir well and refrigerate until ready to use.  Will keep for up to 10 days.