Erica De Mane

Recipe below: Shrimp Tagine with Tomato, Ginger, and Fennel

Mums are out, the ugliest flower in the Northeast (and they smell bad, too).  They are the first sign that summer is closing down. (Pumpkins are next.)

But the weather is still fine, 83 today and not too humid. You can see the first signs of leaves going burnt orange, and some of my herbs are getting crispy around the edges, the basil just developing that late season cat-piss smell that makes me nervous. My fennel has gone to seed, but that’s a good sign. I like to dry the seeds and use them fresh-dried. Much better than most of the dead stuff you get at a supermarket. The aroma of my newly plucked seeds brings back a memory of a shrimp-and-fennel tagine recipe I found many years ago in Flavors of Morocco, by Ghillie Basan. I’ve made her version several times, and it’s lovely, incorporating many of my own favorite flavors like saffron, fennel, and smoked paprika. This time around I’ve, of course, fiddled with it. Not too much. Just enough to own it.

This dish is a cross between a Moroccan tagine and what I’d call an Andalusian cazuela de pescado.  From Tarifa, in Southern Spain, Tangier is just a one-hour ferry ride across the water, as I learned a few years back when I took that route myself. Spanish culture infiltrated Tangier during an occupation that lasted from the nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth. Many people in Tangier speak Spanish, and I saw churros being sold on the streets. Bisteeya, the Moroccan pastry filled with pigeon, almond, and warm spice, has Andalusian origins. So a dish like this tagine is a natural.

I’ve removed the cilantro from the original recipe, because I find cilantro revolting. I love Moroccan food, but not its use of cilantro. They put it in almost everything. I’ve gotten around it by substituting mint or basil, or parsley, or a mix of oregano and parsley, depending on the recipe. Here I’ve replaced it with Thai basil, which is still growing well on my deck and hasn’t gone to cat piss like the Genoa variety.

The end of summer is a bittersweet time for most cooks. I try not to let it slip through my fingers. Here in New York we’ll have tomatoes and fresh fennel and garlic until probably early October, and many of my herbs will hold on until it gets solidly cold. They’re mostly rugged  Mediterranean creatures.

I must add that I find it extremely important to support food distribution in Gaza any way I can right now. World Central Kitchen is trying hard to increase its food production to reach as many people as possible. If you’d like to help them out, either as a volunteer or with financial support, here is their link.

Read Full Post »

Recipe below: Torta di Cavolfiore with Pistachios, Capers, and Caciocavallo

It’s March, and there’s nothing new yet. I’m talking specifically about local produce. It’s too early even for dandelions. Maybe I could cook daffodils. They’re up all over the place.  I’m thinking maybe stuff them with mozzarella and anchovy, twist the tops closed, dunk them in batter, and then give them a fast fry. Doesn’t that sound good?  Pretty, too. But I just Googled “Are daffodils edible for humans?” and discovered that they’re not. They contain lycorine, which causes vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. So no. We can’t deep-fry them. I should have known, since even deer won’t eat them, and deer eat almost anything. I guess I’ll have to wait for zucchini blossom time. It’s not far away.

So now I am holding a big, beautiful white cauliflower. My first thought is to just go with a gratin, fairly classic, with béchamel, a few scrapings of nutmeg, a bay leaf, and maybe Fontina and Parmigiano. Crumbs on top. One of my favorites. But then my head swivels over to the torta side, as it often does. You all probably know that I love my pizza di scarola, the double-crusted escarole-filled torta I always make for Christmas Eve. I love it at other times of the year as well, like right now, when chicories are still the best greens in the market, at least in New York.

I’ve patterned this new torta somewhat after pizza di scarola, including some traditional ingredients (capers, anchovies) while leaving out others (raisins) and throwing in new ones (thyme, pistachios, caciocavallo), and flavoring it inside and out with Marsala.

It tastes like Napoli, which makes me very happy.

An Early Spring Picnic on Gansevoort Street

I like to pick up a mortadella and burrata panino at Sogno Toscano on Perry Street (or maybe instead wrap up a wedge of the cauliflower torta above) and then head west on Gansevoort Street, crossing the West Street highway, where I step right onto the Gansevoort Peninsula. There I find a weird little strip of beach, with actual sand, a few blue Adirondack chairs, and matching umbrellas. At the water’s edge are large rocks. The Hudson gently crashes again them, making a hypnotic water noise. You can’t swim at this man-made little beach, but it’s a good place to sit, eat a sandwich, hang out with the Canada geese, and listen to the rhythm of the tide.

The other side of the peninsula is a stretch of salt marsh planted with native grasses. Good for birding. Last spring I saw a young red-tailed hawk hunting for lunch, and really close up too, only a few feet away. I got a good look at its glassy yellow eyes. If you’re in the neighborhood, you might want to check it out.

Spring is just around the corner.

Read Full Post »

Recipe in text below: Roasted Red Onion Crostata with Anchovies, Thyme, and Sherry Wine Vinegar

I took a couple of weeks off from blogging to regain my head after the election. I’ve come out less sad but with a lingering feeling of disgust that has been working its way into my dreams. Obnoxious dreams. Among other things, I’m worrying about immigrant families being torn apart and all the heartbreak that will create. Promises made, promises kept.

And speaking of immigrants, last week I made my way down to Little Italy to check out the newly reopened Italian American Museum, on Mulberry Street. Didn’t know there was such a thing? It opened in 2008 in the elegant nineteenth-century Stabile bank building on the corner of Mulberry and Grand. I visited a bunch of times back then, always expecting it to be something more. Ellis Island ship manifestos are fine, but they’re really only interesting if your own grandmother is on one. I wanted the place to have more. More of what? More of the sounds, colors, and smells that have made up the Italian American experience. Several times I proposed to the director what I thought were fun and exciting culinary programs, but there was no follow-through.

The Stabile building was demolished in 2014 for what looks like purely financial gain for developers. The 1830s building was not protected by the city’s landmarks preservation laws, even though it was structurally intact.  There was a lot of protest at the time, but the developers won out. A higher building now stands in its place. In it the Italian American Museum has reemerged.

The main exhibit there now is a collection of puppets made by a Sicilian family named Manteo who settled in Little Italy in the 1920s and began making Sicilian-style marionettes and putting on shows for the community. The things are lovely and funny, with all hand-hammered metal and historical costumes. They are almost life-size. There were a few of the puppets on display at the previous museum, but the new place is showing a lot of them, so a step up, I guess. This new space, which includes a 60-seat theater, looks to be about three times the size of the old one. I’m not sure what they’re planning to fill it with, but  I’m optimistic that they’ve got ideas.

In addition to getting mildly excited by the return of the Italian American Museum, I’ve been purchasing a lot of round red onions, a good cool-weather item. I love their deep crimson color, their glossiness, and the pretty rings of red you see when you slice into them. I eat them raw, but they’re also good cooked, as most varieties retain their strength and their sweetness gets concentrated.

Nobody I spoke to at grocery stores or the Union Square Greenmarket knew what varieties they were selling. Maybe Red Bull, or Red Burgermeister, or Giant Red Hamburger. Those are a few names I found on Google. I bought beautiful ones from Madura Farms. The seller, who was not someone who works at the farm,  said they were a type of Spanish onion. They were powerful but cooked up sweet, and, importantly, they held their shape after being baked two times. I cut them into thick rings so they looked almost like roses after being baked into a crostata. I’ll be making the crostata again for Thanksgiving.

If you’d like to give it a try, you’ll want to start with the pastry, so it’ll have time to rest. Here’s what you’ll need for that:

2 cups unbleached white flour, plus a little extra for rolling out the dough
About a teaspoon of salt
A tablespoon of sugar
The leaves from about 6 thyme sprigs
1¼ sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into little pieces
⅓ cup dry Marsala, chilled
1 teaspoon sherry wine vinegar

Put the flour, salt, sugar, and thyme leaves into a food processor, and pulse a few times to blend. Add the butter, and pulse a few more times so you break the butter up further. Add the Marsala and the vinegar, and pulse briefly until you have a bowl of moist crumble that holds together when you pinch it.

Turn the crumble out onto a work surface, and press it together into a ball. Next flatten it out into a thick disk. Cover it with plastic wrap, and stick it in the refrigerator for at least an hour or as long as overnight before using it.

Set the oven for 350 degrees. For the filling, you’ll want to purchase two large,  round, shiny red onions. Peel off their papery outer skin and then slice them into ¼ inch thick rounds. You’ll want a dozen or so slices. Coat a large sheet pan with olive oil. Place the rounds on top in one layer. Drizzle them generously with olive oil, sprinkle on little dry Marsala, and season them with salt and black pepper. Roast them until they’re slightly browned, tender, and fragrant, about 20 minutes. Sprinkle them with drops of sherry wine vinegar, not too much but just enough to balance the sweetness of the onions. Let them cool.

While the onions are cooling, take 8 or 9 good-quality oil-packed anchovies, and mash them up in a mortar. Work in enough olive oil to form a thick paste. Add a few drops of sherry wine vinegar and mix it in.

Turn up the oven to 400. Roll out the dough to an approximately 10-inch round and place it on a buttered sheet pan. Brush the dough with the anchovy paste, leaving about an inch rim all around. Add a thin layer of grated Gruyère, which not only will taste good but will also help hold the tart together. Layer in the onion rounds. They should be a tight fit. I find a spatula works well for getting the rounds off the pan in one piece. Sprinkle the onions with freshly chopped thyme leaves.  Fold the edges up all around, so you have an approximately 1-inch border of fairly neat folds. Press the folds down so they stay put, and give everything a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of sugar.

Bake until the crust and onions are nicely golden, about 25 minutes. Let it cool for about 10 minutes before slicing. You’ll now have an antipasto offering for 5 or 6 people.

Read Full Post »