migas: a stand-out dish inspired by batali's so-so book 'spain'

When I buy a cookbook, it’s a serious matter. Cookbooks are expensive. I want to cook from them for life. Otherwise, why pay the $20 to $30 bucks?

My favorite cookbooks sport grease stains, dog-eared folds, and scribbles along the margins. They make me dream. They transport me to places I’ve never been through intriguing recipes and good writing. They can even sit in for good novel.

So when I mail-order a cookbook that bores me or offers few recipes I would actually cook, I kick myself. This was the case with Mario Batali’s “Spain: A Culinary Road Trip,” which I bought in anticipation of my summer trip to Barcelona.

Every time I see the book on my shelf, I feel like a sucker -- a sucker for Mario’s orange Crocs, for co-author Gwenyth Paltrow’s quiet beauty and Hollywood mystique, and for believing the two of them together could inspire me to cook.

The part-travel, part-cookbook and companion to the PBS television series, weaves location shots with Mario’s blow-by-blow of whom they met and where they went, recorded dialogue dryly rendered in text boxes, and recipes that, for one reason or another, fail to compel me to pick up my trusty Henckels and start chopping.

As a traveler, I enjoyed the photographs of the various regions of Spain and I found a few recipes that piqued my interest, but there was only one recipe that inspired me to cook and that was for migas.

The book offered little information about the stir-fried bread dish but Wikipedia explained that migas, literally translated as “crumbs,” was originally eaten as a breakfast made with leftover bread or tortillas.

Both sweet and salty, this easy-to-prepare classic peasant dish packs a ton of flavor. Many traditional recipes, including Mario’s, suggest cooking it with fresh grapes. I prefer dried currants, which offer a more subtle counterpoint to the salty, fatty chorizo. I've also changed the porportions and omitted the pancetta, which I didn't have on hand and upped the amount of chorizo instead.

I’m still unsure if the recipe was worth the book’s $34.95 cover price (ouch!) but this is one dish I’ll enjoy for a long time to come.

Here’s my version, inspired by Batali's so-so “Spain.”

Migas

1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3/4 cup roasted red bell pepper from a jar, drained and cut into strips
4 garlic cloves, not peeled
5 ounces of chorizo, casings removed, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
3-1/2 cups fresh breadcrumbs
1/2 cup currants
1 egg per person, fried so that the whites are cooked but the yolk is still moist, to top each plate

Put the breadcrumbs in a bowl and sprinkle with just enough water to moisten. Mario suggests covering them with a damp paper towel and setting aside for two hours. I skip this step. The important thing is that the bread be evenly moistened. A spray bottle would work well.

Heat the olive oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and stir until lightly browned. Add the chorizo and cook until the fat is rendered, about 8 minutes. Add the bread crumbs and mix thoroughly with the garlic and chorizo and cook, stirring frequently, until the crumbs are lightly browned. Add the currants and roasted red peppers.


Meanwhile, fry the eggs. Spoon the migas mixture onto each plate and top each plate with an egg.

 

beef bourguignon: a nod to france's beloved 'boeuf'

Every time I go to Paris, there are two things I crave uncontrollably: oeuf and boeuf. More than any other country, it seems, the French have perfected cooking egg and beef. From the classic croque madame to the simple but elegant steak au poivre, they have raised the bar for these humble ingredients.

My recent trip there did not fail me.

After traveling nearly 20 hours and heaving my luggage up the RER stairs and Paris metro stairs a total of eight times, I rolled my suitcase, out of breath, into the Crown Plaza hotel lounge where I immediately plopped into a cozy, wine-colored chair like a puppet with no string master. The waiter appeared wearing a starched white shirt and black bowtie. I was too tired to offer up scrappy French. “Croque madame and a glass of viognier please.” He nodded and disappeared between the velvet chairs.

To my great luck, my open-faced ham and egg sandwich arrived drenched in béchamel sauce and nestled in a pile of sizzling hot fries. Ah, the ouef. The glorious egg. When I punctured it with the tines of my fork, the bright yellow yolk spilled its silky liquid onto the bread.

Good French food is like a drug; it alters one’s reality, and if only for a moment, makes one believe they are living the postcard version of France where poets and artists make a decent living, workdays are fewer, and kissing is a national pastime.

It’s this version of Paris that keeps Paris busy being Paris. I. M. Pei may add high-tech pyramids to the Louvre but the bistro chairs will always look the same and a good steak with frites never goes out of fashion.

And thank God for that because my favorite French dishes are usually the most humble.

Co-owner Dominique Vessiere at Le P'tit Troquet

At Le P’tit Troquet, a charming, family-run 1920s-style bistro in the 7^th arrondissement, I sampled a delicious boeuf bourguignon with tender chunks of beef that had been braised for hours. The chef served the tasty stew with a side of homemade noodles and a garnish of fresh bay leaf and thyme. I adored the simplicity of the dish, which relied more on drawing out deep flavors through traditional cooking methods than on fancy techniques. For at least that night, I was happy to live in the postcard version of Paris, the one that never ceases to capture my imagination through simple, good food.

Here is my ode to France's beloved boeuf, a beef bourguignon, similar to the one I tasted at Le P'tit Troquet.

According to The New Best Recipe, all beef burgundies start with either salt pork or bacon. The book instructs cooks to boil the salt pork first to remove excess salt and argues a similar technique for bacon, saying that blanching bacon calms the smoke and sugar. Personally, I didn't want to calm my bacon flavors, especially since I was only going to use the rendered fat, not the bacon bits. Using just the rendered fat turned out a sauce that was delicate and balanced.

This recipe is a combination of three recipes, one from The New Best Recipe, and the other two from Saveur Cooks Authentic French and Paris Bistro Cooking. It's the tastiest version I've tried yet.

Boeuf Bourguignon

Serves 4 with extra

3 pounds beef chuck roast, cut into 1-1/2 inch squares
4 ounces bacon
1 bunch parsley
1 teaspoon peppercorns
3-4 sprigs thyme
2 bay leaves
4 medium carrots
1 large onion
4 garlic cloves
1 bottle burgundy
1 cup beef stock
1 tablespoon tomato paste
3 tablespoons butter
¼ cup flour
10 ounces button mushrooms
10 ounces pearl onions
salt and pepper
Parsley, finely diced, or fresh sprigs of fresh bay leaf and thyme for garnish
16 ounces fresh pasta (see recipe, below)

Special equipment: chinoise, pasta machine, bouquet garni bag.

Heat a Dutch oven over medium flame. Add the bacon and fry until crispy, turning once. Remove the bacon and pour out all but a tablespoon of the fat.

Add 1 tablespoon of butter to the bacon fat. On medium-high heat, brown the beef in batches, about 5 minutes per side. While the meat is browning, roughly chop the carrots and onions. Peel the garlic cloves. Assemble the bouquet garni by placing the peppercorns, parsley, thyme, and bay leaf in a bouqet garni bag and tying it off.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

When the beef is finished browning, remove it from the Dutch oven and set it aside on a plate.

In the bacon fat and juices from the beef, cook the carrot, onion, and garlic over medium heat for five minutes. Add the flour and stir for 30 seconds longer. Setting aside ¼ cup of the red wine, pour the bottle of wine into Dutch oven with the vegetables. Add the tomato paste, beef stock, the browned beef, the bouquet garni, and a generous amount of salt and pepper.


Cover and place in the oven. Cook for two hours.

Meanwhile, prepare the pearl onions by cutting a small “X” on the root end of the onion. Blanch the onions in boiling water for 3 minutes and remove. When they are cool, use your thumb and forefinger to pinch the skin toward the X mark until the inner onion pops through the outer layer leaving a shell behind. Heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a saute pan and saute the pearl onions for 12 minutes. Meanwhile, halve the button mushrooms. If they are larger than two inches wide, quarter them. Add the mushrooms, along with another tablespoon of butter, to the pan and saute for about 6 – 8 more minutes.

After 2 hours, remove the Dutch oven from the oven. Using tongs, extract the beef chunks and set aside on a plate. Set a large bowl in the sink. Using a chinoise, strain the wine liquid through the chinoise and into the large bowl, pressing the solids against the chinoise with a spatula.

Discard the solids and pour the liquid back into the Dutch oven. Add pearl onions and mushroom mixture as well as the beef back into the pot. Cook together for 10 minutes.

Setting a deep pot over a high flame, bring 4 quarts of water to a boil for the pasta. Add 2 tablespoons salt and cook the egg noodles until they float to the top. Strain the noodles.

Add the remaining red wine to the beef bourguignon and cook for another three minutes. The New Best Recipe says "this late embellishment of raw wine vastly improved the sauce, brightening its flavor." I agree. Serve the stew over egg noodles and garnish with chopped parsely or fresh bay leaves and thyme.

Egg Noodles

3 eggs
2-1/2 cups flour plus more for dusting

Pour the flour onto an extra large cutting board. Form the flour into a circle with a well or ‘bowl’ in the middle. Crack the eggs into the middle of the flour. Slowly begin whisking eggs together, drawing flour from the sides of the ‘bowl’ into the egg mixture. Take your time and avoid lumps. The mixture should be smooth and silky. Once there is too much flour for your fork to handle, begin kneading the dough by hand, adding in extra flour until the dough is no longer sticky.

Cut the ball in quarters. Roll out each quarter so it will fit through a pasta machine. Set the pasta machine to Setting 2. Ensure the quarter of dough is well floured. Feed the dough through the machine twice. Repeat the procedure at Setting 4 and Setting 5.

Next, roll the pasta through the fettucine setting.


Repeat with the other three pieces of dough until all the pasta is cut and ready to cook. Follow the steps listed above and serve. Want to learn about wine pairing with beef bourguignon? Click here.

Interested in Paris? Check out more photos here.

chorizo tortilla with fino sherry: revealing the flavors of Spain

I slipped on my sandals, grabbed Paul’s hand, and walked with our dear friends, Mike and Cyana, a mile from our rented apartment to Barcelona's epicenter of fresh fishes and meats, fruits and vegetables, and artisan meats and cheeses: Boqueria market.

I was on a mission to better understand Spanish cuisine. For months I’d been trying to parcel out the culinary identity of Spain but had a difficult time, noting so many elements and styles. Aside from broad generalizations (like they eat bread and potatoes instead of pasta), I wondered what were the defining elements. I figured the Boqueria market would help solve the mystery, or at least serve as a starting place.

When I entered, I felt a wetness in the air from the fresh vegetables and cool meat stands. The bright pinks and oranges of the freshly squeezed fruit juices sold in plastic cups stood out next to the dense stand of hanging cured meats.

I pulled my camera out, poised to capture the kaleidoscope of eye-catching foods – fish with bulging, glassy eyes, exotic fruits, and what I thought would be a clan of happy workers, all thrilled to be selling Barcelona’s freshest. But as I focused on the scrubby, apron-clad vendors, I noticed some sporting grimaces.
 
“Que quiera??” a large, middle-aged fishmonger asked me sternly when I paused at her stall with my camera in hand. I was just looking, I said. She drew her arms to her hips, rolled her eyes, and walked away. As I meandered around, I noticed it wasn’t just her. Many of the sellers snubbed the camera-slinging tourists, all pausing to take photos but not buying.

No matter. I was on the hunt for good Spanish food. I didn’t need my camera. I just needed my eyes, my nose, and my tongue.

The four of us selected sandwiches, cheeses, fruits, a bottle off cava, and dessert and hailed a cab to the Park Guell, Gaudi’s miniature garden city, for an afternoon picnic.


We found a shaded picnic table and Mike and Cyana unpacked their plastic bags revealing raspberries, fresh figs, the sweetest dried dates I’d ever tasted, and juicy grapes. Paul and I pulled out two kinds of goat cheeses, four sandwiches, and an assortment of olives. Mike popped open the cava (literally, the cork exploded and a good cup of the liquid shot across the picnic table), and filled our glasses. We munched on our snacks and relaxed, peering out over the large plaza where a sword-slinging belly dancer periodically made her moves a small crowd of tourists.

The food tasted delicious and fresh but revealed no secrets. It did, however, make us drowsy, and, like the poppy-sniffing clan from the Wizard of Oz, we fell asleep on park benches.

As I drifted off, I thought about the question of Spanish food again. My copy of Lonely Planet’s World Food Spain, had helped me understand what Spanish cuisine was not: molded, mashed, or pureed beyond recognition.

“Your food will not be tarted up and made to look cute, or grand, or rare and costly. There is no over-reliance on sauces... no confusion of tastes.”

The book was published nearly ten years ago and despite the emergence of innovative, molecular Spanish chefs such as Ferran Adria, who sparked the culinary foam craze, I wondered if Spanish food was just a collection of local ingredients and styles prepared well, like the foods we enjoyed at our picnic.

We ate a wide range of delicious dishes that week that were labeled Spanish or Catalan (which is more Mediterranean-focused), including a tasty dessert soup of ‘Maria Luisa' with lemon ice cream, mint-and-ginger plum cake, melon, and lychee at Jordi Villa’s chef-owned Alkimia as well as a more down-to-earth meal of lamb, bacalau (salt cod), and pepper tapas at our favorite slow-food certified Mam i Teca. The tiny, five- maybe six-table wine bar and tapas restaurant by far brought me the closest to understanding Spanish cuisine, and the jovial owner-chef, Alfons Bach, was so spirited that he did a little dance, showing us some leg, as he closed the blinds, marking the end of the evening at around 1 a.m.

Still, it wasn’t until I returned home that I finally figured out Spanish cuisine. And it happened from what I deem an unlikely source: Martha Stewart.

I know, I know. It’s ridiculous. I travel all the way to Spain only to come home and discover the “real” Spanish cuisine from Martha Stewart. I’m embarrassed.

I made her chorizo tortilla and piquillo peppers stuffed with shrimp salad, starting with a Serrano ham and olive appetizer, which I downed with a sherry fino cocktail. What I finally understood after assembling all those Spanish ingredients at the same time was that the culinary identity of Spain was in fact, not a single identity, but a delicate ecosystem of fat and acid from locally made ingredients.

When I chewed on the smoky Serrano ham and followed it with a sip of super dry sherry fino, two ingredients I failed to try on my trip, I tasted Spain for the first time.

Tortilla Espanola con Chorizo

Adapted from Martha Stewart's Living. (Note on adaptation: Martha included six ounces of chorizo, which slightly overpowered the potato and egg flavor. I cut it back the chorizo amount by one ounce to bring out the sweetness of the potatoes).

Serve the tortilla espanola with Martha's Stewart's "Piquillo Peppers Stuffed with Shrimp Salad" and enjoy with a glass of sherry fino.

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1-1/4 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes (about 3 large), peeled and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
1 small onion, diced
5 ounces dried chorizo, cut into 1/4-inch dice
6 large eggs, beaten

Heat the oil in a heavy, 8-inch skillet over medium-low heat. Add the potatoes and onion, and season with salt. Cover and cook the potatoes until they are tender, about 12 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the potatoes and onion to a bowl. Add the chorizo to the skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes. Transfer the chorizo and pan drippings to potato-onion mixture. Reserve skillet.

Add the eggs to the potato-onion mixture and season with salt and pepper. Lightly coat the skillet with more oil if needed and heat over a medium flame. Pour in the egg mixture and stir to combine and press to flatten. Cook, running a flexible spatula around the edges occasionally until the edges set and the center is slightly running, about 6 minutes. Place a plate, upside down, over the skillet, and invert the tortilla onto the plate (be careful about the hot oil that will drip out of the pan). Slide the tortilla back into the skillet and cook over low heat until it's completely set in the center, a few minutes longer. Slice and serve.

 

Interested in Barcelona? Check out more photos here.

Note on ingredients: It's difficult to find piquiilo peppers at most local markets in my area so I purchased them, along with a couple of packs of Serrano ham, online from La Tienda.

crostata di fichi: look out ladies, here comes the tart of the party

Ripe slices of fresh Black Mission figs bathed in sugar and lemon juice top this lemon-zest tart crust to create a stunning, center piece dessert. It's such a sexy tart that I thought, why compete? I slipped on a pair of ripped-at-the-knee jeans and a pink T-shirt for our dinner party to step aside for the real beauty.

We started with a flavorful fig, arugula, and bacon salad and a glass of sparkling glass of cava. At the end of the evening, the gorgeous tart echoed the fig salad course and proved a delicous end to our heirloom tomato pizza dinner.

I adapted the recipe from "Dolce Italiano: Desserts from the Babbo Kitchen" by Mario Batali's top pastry chef, Gina DePalma, to give the tart a bolder flavor. I doubled the lemon zest in the tart crust, adjusted the flour amount slightly, added a second egg yolk in the filling, switched out the almonds for pine nuts, and doubled the lemon juice in the fig topping. The extra lemon takes the dessert from being excellent to outstanding.

Crowned with a dollop of whipped cream and served with a bubbly moscato d'asti, a slice (or two!) of this dessert makes for a celebratory end to a fun evening with friends.

Fresh Fig Tart (Crostata di Fichi)

1 recipe sweet lemon zest tart crust (below)

1/2 stick butter (four tablespoons)
1/4 cup confectioners' sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 tablespoons honey
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted and finely chopped
12 - 15 medium fresh Black Mission figs
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 cup granulated sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Flour the surface of a large cutting board. Cut the dough ball in half. Save half for your next tart. Flatten the other half into a disc and roll it into an 11-inch circle. It should be 1/8 inch thick. The sides will crack as you roll out the dough. Just pause and repair the cracks with your fingers.

Transfer the dough to a 10-inch tart pan with fluted sides and a removable bottom by rolling the dough over your well-floured rolling pin and then unrolling it onto the pan. Press the dough gently into the bottom and corners of the pan. If the dough breaks, just repair it with your fingers. This process takes a little time but the dough is forgiving. Chill the tart shell while you're making the filling.

In the bowl of an electric mixer or in a regular bowl using an egg beater, cream together the butter and confectioners' sugar. Beat in the egg yolks one at a time, followed by the honey. Beat in the finely chopped pine nuts.

Trim the stems off the figs and quarter them lengthwise. Place them in a large bowl with the lemon juice and granulated sugar, tossing to coat evenly.

Pour the tart filling over the bottom of the tart shell and spread evenly. Arrange the figs on top, flesh side up, in a circular pattern. Bake the tart for 40 minutes or until lighly brown. Cool the tart for at least 30 minutes before serving.

Sweet Lemon Zest Tart Crust (makes 2 tarts)
2-1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
Fresly grated zest of 2 lemons
1-1/2 sticks unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 cup heavy cream

Place the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and lemon zest in a food processor and pulse several times to combine. Add the cold, cubed butter a little at a time and process until the mixture is sandy and there are no lumps.

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg, egg yolk, vanilla extract, and heavy cream. Add the wet ingredients to the food processor and pulse 3 - 4 times. Pour the dough, which may still be flaky, into a large bowl and start working it together with your hands until it's a solid piece.

Form the dough into a ball, wrap in plastic, and chill until firm, 1 - 2 hours. You can freeze the dough for up to 2 months.

pasta snails with baby heirloom tomatoes, basil, and pine nuts

Every summer I visit our Takoma Park farmer's market and load up on large heirloom tomatoes and the babies, which burst with sweetness and flavor. This dish, which features the babies, celebrates the height of summer when heirloom tomatoes are at their peak.

The bright acid from the tomato connects the fragrant basil, barely cooked red onion, earthy toasted pine nuts, and salty olives and feta to create an explosion of flavor. A splash of lemon juice and a glug of high quality Italian olive oil bring the intense flavors into balance and the snail-shaped pasta shells (chiocciole) trap the goodness so every bite counts.

You can enjoy this fast, delicious dish at home or pack it up and take it to the park like Paul and I did a few nights ago. We followed our feast with a lively game of petanque, the French version of Italian Bocce, and paired the pasta -- and the fun-filled game -- with an excellent bottle of Brouilly, a light-bodied red wine from the Beaujolais wine region of France with hints of cherry and strawberry.

Pasta Snails (Chiocciole) with Baby Heirloom Tomatoes, Basil, and Pinenuts

Serves 2 - 3 as a main course or 6 as a starter

2 cups chiocciole
8-10 baby heirloom tomatoes, sliced in half
1/4 cup kalamata olives, chopped
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
15 basil leaves, sliced lengthwise
1/2 red onion, diced
1/4 cup oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
1/4 cup feta, crumbled
Juice from 1/2 lemon
1 tablespoon butter
4 - 5 tablespoons high quality olive oil
1/2 tablespoon sugar
salt and pepper

Sprinkle the sugar, salt, and pepper over the sliced baby heirloom tomatoes and set aside.

Cook  the pasta as instructed on the package.

Meanwhile, add butter to a non-stick pan and heat until the butter is sizzling. Add the diced red onion and sautee for 30 seconds (you still want the onion to have crunch). Remove the onion from the pan and set it aside in a large bowl.

Drain the pasta and add it to the bowl. Add the tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, pine nuts, olives, and basil and toss. Top with the lemon juice, feta, olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.

fig, arugula, and bacon salad: a high-five to fig season

There was a dearth of figs in Oregon in the 1980s when I was growing up. It wasn't until a couple of years ago when I signed up for one-day cooking class at Apicius in Florence, Italy that I learned how to eat and prepare the succulent little pillows of fruit. Once I got that down, I was pounding them down like vodka shots at a Ukrainian wedding. Where had they been my whole life?

The Apicius kitchen, a spare, functional space with several stovetops, offered just enough room for 15 students to make four dishes. That June day, I joined my cooking partner, a thin, blond American woman, in making the starter. We sliced open bright green figs, pan-grilled them, rolled them in prosciutto, and placed them on baby greens dressed in balsamic vinegar and oil. The flavors of the sweet fig and salty prosciutto were a revelation.

This recipe plays on that theme, pairing sweet, pan-seared black figs with crunchy bacon, shaved parmesan, and peppery arugula.

I served this for dinner for guests recently as a first course to two of my favorite dishes: heirloom tomato pizza and roasted sweet pepper and kalamata salad. Each dish was a tasty celebration of summer.

Fresh Fig, Arugula, and Bacon Salad

Serves 4

5 ounces baby arugula
8 black figs
4 strips of bacon, cooked until lightly crispy, then chopped
1/4 cup shaved parmesan
1 tablespoon sunflower oil
3 parts high quality olive oil to 1 part fig balsamic vinegar (I start with about a 1/4 cup of olive oil and eye-ball the amount of vinegar)
Salt and pepper

For the dressing. Whisk together the oil and fig balsamic vinegar until it's emulsified. Add several generous grinds of salt and pepper and whisk once more.

For the figs. Slice each fig lengthwise in half. Heat a tablespoon of sunflower oil or other high-heat oil in a cast iron grill or regular pan until very hot. Nonstick pans are fine too. Place each fig flesh down in the hot oil and sear for about a minute. Flip them over and sear the skin side for 30 seconds, then remove.

For the salad. Lightly dress the arugula leaves by pouring the dressing over the leaves a few tablespoons at a time, gently massaging in the vinaigrette with your fingers, until the leaves are just barely coated. Plate the arugula, then place four seared figs halves flesh side up in the middle of each plate. Top with shaved parmesan and bacon bits. Season with salt and pepper.