Satisfaction is an Investment

A couple months ago, Sarah was over for a visit while I was cooking.  She had just made some seitan from scratch, and we talked about fake meat and my history of a disappointing experience cooking with it. 

If I buy something that is highly seasoned and processed, the fake meat equivalent of a Dorito, then I enjoy it just fine, as I do all junk food.

But if I took something in its basic form – say, plain tofu – and tried to cook with it, I invariably seemed to end up with that kind of thin-tasting, unsatisfying meal that, until recently, had been the hallmark of cooking for myself.  

Prior to…well, really, the learning experience that has been this blog, most of my cooking experience has resulted in an end product that has been as hearty and satisfying to eat as a stick of celery.

Is it food?  Sure.  It has volume, texture, some kind of flavor.  But on the Hearty Satisfaction Scale, it’s about a 2.

Maybe it is all a question of umami. 

While I do eat seafood now, my cooking life has always been primarily vegetarian and often lo-cal focused.  When you cook primarily vegetarian/lo-cal food, it’s just not…automatic that what you produce will click with the savory/heart/umami receptors in your brain. 

This is what cooking very often seemed to result in for me.  It’s also one of the reasons why – despite my interest – I never stuck with it until I had a blog. At least with a blog, I could write about my failures and feel creatively fulfilled, even if the food was one big vat of celery-stick disappointment.

Until the past couple of months.  Something has happened with my cooking.  I think it started right after the Thanksgiving Thanksgiving Dessertaganza.

The President of the Debate Club and her hubs were here right after the New Year.  She’d last been here at the end of September.  I cooked for her then and I cooked for her this trip and she could taste a difference.  

The story of Mama Cass getting hit on the head with a pipe and expanding her vocal range is most likely apocryphal.  But I feel like the story, even if it’s untrue, is an illustration of a truth, which is that sometimes you toil and toil and make no progress, then suddenly experience tremendous progress that just feels like it happened TO you as opposed to being the result of any work on your part.

I think this maybe has happened with my cooking, some kind of development that, like most things in my life, I unthinkingly stumbled into, got it to work and then retroactively articulated it to myself. 

The epiphany: to a person with my sorts of taste buds, (ta da!) satisfaction is an investment.

What does that mean?  Basically that if, like me, in order to feel satisfied you’re going to need some richness, some umami action, some depth and body to your food, it isn’t going to come cheap.

It could require fat: butter or oil.  And so, if calories are a concern, this means you are spending them on satisfaction and ergo won’t have as much currency left over for quantity. 

This is an important distinction for me, because, as I wrote about recently, sometimes the main thing I do want is quantity.  I want a big bowl of something, not a little sliver of savory or a ramekin of richness.  I am hungry in such a way that only an actually large physical volume of food will make me feel satisfied.  So I need a bunch of vegetables with a little bit of something on top of it, or something else.

But if what I’m looking for is that complex umami action, then that I could eat my way through that bowl of vegetables and feel like I missed the boat.  So if that’s what my hankering is for, maybe it is the time to spend the calories on butter.

At other times, the investment is time, as in the case of making stock.

I have the patience of a cranky toddler.  In my cooking world of days past, making stock – 45 minutes for ONE ingredient in something else??? – seemed beyond the pale.  God just buy a box of it.  Then I found Mark Bittman's Roasted Vegetable Stock.   (His version is here, my go-to version with a couple of tweaks is below.)

It’s actually even more time-consuming than a regular stock in that one must roast the veggies for around 45 minutes.  But for some reason, Bittman’s description convinced me to try it once, and after that, I was convinced to continue making it all the time.

Where previous all-veggie soups or stews started out with the highest of hopes, only to end up watery-tasting and being eaten out of sheer duty only, things I made with this stock were satisfying in a way I previously associated only with eating out. 

Ergo, now it’s a staple in the Three-Bowls kitchen.  I make and freeze it on a regular basis. 

One of my tweaks from Bittman’s original to double the mushrooms.  I don’t feel like it makes it particularly mushroomy, just that it adds to the overall savoryness.  I use it as a base for almost every vegetarian soup or stew that I make, cook grains in it if there isn’t a lot of flavoring in the recipes, etc. 

If you cook a lot of vegetarian food and also find yourself slightly underwhelmed by your home-cooked stuff compared to processed food or what you eat out, try this and see if it might make a little difference.  While it is a time commitment, this cranky toddler finds it worth it.  

Tofu photo via Flickr user Rick.

Recipe Result: Mosaic (Deep Breath) Biscotti

I am continuing to slowly bake my way through the cookbook Dolce Italiano by Gina DePalma, Mario Batali's pastry chef.  I got a little hung up on the Lemony Semolina Cookies for a while, as I do with most anything that a) has the word "lemony" in it, b) uses zest and c) is a cookie, but I broke free of that citrus-induced trance and moved along to a new recipe.

And...(ominous old timey soap opera dun-dun-dun musical cue)...back to biscotti.

My ongoing biscotti failure has been previously documented here, so I'm not going to open up old wounds, except to open up the most painful old biscotti wound which is to say: it wasn't always like this.  I used to be able to make perfectly serviceable, not-shame-inducing biscotti.

Whither my biscotti mojo?  Why have you forsaken me?  I feel like it's only been since I moved to Seattle, so I am going to blame the Pacific Northwest (shakes fist around at general surroundings).

But every once in a while I feel compelled to try try again.  Since I had a random surplus of hazelnuts, I decided to try the recipe for Mosaic Biscotti (link is to a modified version that halves the original quantities - not a bad idea; it makes a lot).

The recipe is called "Mosaic" Biscotti because of the pattern made by the nuts and chocolate.  The biscotti in the picture in the recipe link is more mosaic-like than mine turned out to be as I opted to not use the pistachios, and just make it with hazelnuts. I only used, though, the 2 cups of hazelnuts originally called for (i.e., did not replace the 2 cups of pistachios with an additional 2 cups of hazelnuts) and I am amazed that the recipe would work with twice as many nuts as the cookies seemed pretty chock-full as they were.

As to the taste...I mean, they weren't bad.  Okay, so they were good enough that though I truly intended to send to my grandmother the ones I didn't give away to the local folks, I sort of accidentally ate them all myself for breakfast over the next few days.

But then again, they had a nice Guittard semi-sweet chocolate and some of the freakishly excellent hazelnuts from Holmquist, and so when you have so much of the cookie being two solidly delicious ingredients, it's hard for it to fail, really.

Ergo: I am still not satisfied. I feel like the texture and color was off (too soft despite what seemed to be adequate baking time).  I am starting to think that my oven is the problem, but what the actual problem is seems to require some sort of tedious common sense that I am blissfully free from.  

I will have to figure it out, as I now clearly owe my grandmother some biscotti and there are some birthdays coming up and biscotti's longer shelf life makes it a good cookie for gifts.

So this isn't over, biscotti.  You haven't beaten me. You can continue to disappoint me but I am going to bake you into submission at some point, just you wait.

Babycakes (and a Couple Ugly Stepsisters)

Book clubber Carolyn held a baby shower for book clubber Amy, and asked me if I would like to bake anything for dessert.  WOULD I??? 

Wheels started turning.  How ‘bout cupcakes?  How ‘bout three kinds of cupcakes?  Wait!  Mini-cupcakes!  (Get it: BABY CAKES!) OMG what if I could turn that Lime-Yogurt Sherbet into teeny-tiny ice cream pies?  Could I store them on some sort of tray of dry ice for serving?

At that point, the wrench of reality was thrown firmly into those turning wheels and so I backed up and decided to just stick with the cupcakes, four kinds: carrot cake with cream cheese icing, flourless sunken chocolate-orange, brown sugar with caramel sauce injected in them and chocolate icing, and lemon-buttermilk with raspberry-lemon curd injected and a raspberry-lemon glaze.

Things didn’t exactly work out; I got three pretty cupcakes…

(Clockwise from top left: Sunken Chocolate-Orange with Whipped Cream, Carrot Cake with Maple Cream Cheese Icing, and Brown Sugar with Dark Chocolate Buttercream Frosting.  And yes, the penny is there for size comparison.)

…and two batches of lemon-buttermilk messes. 

 

About ten minutes after I should have been in the shower, I started half-heartedly glazing the second batch (both tasted good, just looked like crap), but once I realized the lemon-raspberry glaze was quite pink, I decided to abandon the idea of the fourth cupcake entirely.  Amy’s not the kind of person who would be uptight about sticking rigidly to boy and girl colors, but she is having a little guy, so there wasn't much point in making myself even tardier to bring aesthetically-questionable pink cupcakes to a baby boy shower.

Here are the useful bits of information I gained through this particular bake-a-thon:

Very Successful Flourless Chocolate Cake Recipe: This Epicurious recipe for Sunken Chocolate-Orange Cupcakes was a BIG hit with everyone.  It was also very easy to make.  As I often do, I used more zest than the recipe called for (and a teeny bit of Cointreau) so it had a great orange flavor. I also had almond flour on hand, so I used that in place of the home-ground blanched almonds (I used ¾ cup of flour in place of the 1 cup of slivered almonds, assuming that they would probably deflate that much after being ground.)  I used some Guittard Bittersweet Chocolate, which is not my first choice, as it wasn’t their Oro kind, which I learned at the Chocolate Tasting is one of my favorites.  But I didn’t hear any complaints.

Injecting Fillings into Cupcakes: I got a couple of recipes and techniques from Demolition Desserts, which is by Elizabeth Faulkner, the pastry chef behind San Francisco’s Citizen Cake and Citizen Cupcake.  A lot of the desserts in the book are very creative, composed dishes, such as “Battleship Potemkin,” which was inspired by the bloody Odessa Steps scene in the Eisenstein film, and includes “Odessa Step Chocolate Shortbread” and “Bloodshed Raspberries.”

She also, though, has a lot of basic techniques and tips (like a recipe for vegetarian marshmallows made with Xanthan Gum), and one is a way to inject fillings into cupcakes. 

Basically you fill a plastic squirt bottle with the warmed filling (so it’s more liquid), push the filling to the tip, and insert the tip into the top of the cupcake.  You squeeze the filling into the cupcake, and she says “you can almost feel the cupcake take on weight.”  You watch for the top of the cupcake to rise slightly, and then cover over the hole with the icing.

I tried the method, and it worked, but unfortunately the filling I chose (a mixture of lemon curd and raspberry jam) got a thumbs-down from my friend Aimee as I frantically made her try it on our way to the Bourdain show.  I think maybe just plain jam would be nice inside a lemony cupcake (and in fact that was the original idea), but that will have to wait until next time. 

The brown sugar cupcake (recipe also from Demolition Desserts) was supposed to have a caramel sauce filling.  “Don’t burn yourself!” my sister warned when I told her what I was making, and I didn’t, but I did burn the sugar.  Rats.  At this point, I believe the score is now closer to Caramel Sauce: 4, Leslie: 1.  Don’t get comfortable, Caramel Sauce: I HAVEN’T CONCEDED ANYTHING.  (Except the feeling in the tip of my right index finger.)

Successful Raspberry-Lemon Glaze Recipe: The actual lemon cupcakes I made were from Demolition Desserts (just added a bunch of zest and extract to the Buttermilk Cupcake recipe and they tasted a lot better than they looked), but the pink glaze is from this Epicurious recipe, and it is delicious.  I think the construction issues with the cupcake were caused by my not knowing how far to fill the mini-cupcake tins.  I would really recommend, though, trying a lovely lemon cupcake with this glaze for a baby girl shower.

Relatively Successful Carrot Cupcake Recipe: Folks liked this Epicurious carrot cupcake recipe; I felt it was a smidge flat.  I might use a teeny bit more salt for better flavor next time, and maybe bump up the spice a bit.  But the texture was very nice.  I did not use the icing in that recipe; instead I made a cream cheese frosting that was sweetened with maple syrup rather than powdered sugar, just took a basic cream cheese and butter recipe, and added maple syrup until I liked how it tasted.

Carrot Cake Prep Tip: I used my Microplane zester to grate the carrot into itsy-bitsy shreds.  Requires more time and upper-body effort, but you get a) more even distribution of carrot and less likelihood of big awkward carrot chunks, b) more orangey color and c) a little more intense carrot flavor.

(Orangey!)

Cupcake Tin Buying Tip: CUPCAKE TIN MANUFACTURERS: please leave enough actual pan around the edges of the cup so that the baker HAS SOMETHING TO GRAB WITH AN OVEN MITT AND DOESN’T SQUISH THEIR CUPCAKES WHEN REMOVING FROM OVEN.  Look at how little space you have to work with on those pans below. If I used something thin enough to avoid the cupcakes, I burned my hands.  If I used something thick enough to protect my hands, I squished a cake.

Quantity Tip: Despite the fact that it is, in fact, only 1.5 actual cupcakes per person, 2 dozen each of 3 different kinds of mini-cupcakes for 20 people might be way over-cupcaking.  I asked Carolyn if she had any play dates coming up where she could use them up.  She said no, but she would schedule some.  Note to current and future potential friends with kids: I might be handy to know when it’s bake sale time at your kids’ school.

Another Endorsement for Ingredients on Hand: My little garnishes on the cupcakes were to help illustrate what the cupcakes contained, and alert those with nut allergies.  The garnishes (walnuts – which I had also thrown into the carrot cupcakes since I had them on hand, slivered almonds and Demerara Sugar, the sparkly brown sugar on the chocolate frosting) I just happened to have in my now super-stocked pantry.  It was great to be able to put a pretty little finished touch to them when the thought occurred to me without it requiring another visit to the grocery store.

More Vegetables, More Questions

I don't want to say this too loud.

Normally, any too-enthusiastic declaration of a new healthy habit usually jostles said healthy behavior right out of place.  It breaks off to roll under the couch, never to be seen again behind a dusty collection of diet coke bottles, single stick cigarette containers and empty pints of ice cream.

BUT...(come closer and I will whisper this in your ear) I think might be turning a corner with vegetables. 

Friday is the day that I get to see what is coming in my produce delivery and I spent a few happy minutes playing around with what was in my cart like...like I was shopping for summertime espadrilles or something.

And so today my bounty arrived:

 

Very exciting! 

Until I realized that every single item (other than the onions, lemons and pear) also came with its own opportunity to highlight how little context I have for fruits and vegetables.  (Oh, wait, I guess I don't have any questions for the rabe, because we've met, and I already know what I'm doing with the whole lot of it - yum!)

For example:

• Nantes Carrots: Soooo...what's your deal?  I put you on the list because if I have eaten you, I didn't pay attention. I think you are supposed to be sweeter than regular carrots, but so what?  I mean, like are you special and ergo should be saved for some kind of special carrot dish and would it be wasting your specialness to put you to work in a stock?  
• Kumquats: For serious, I am supposed to eat the whole thing?  I have before; why can't I accept that as correct?
• Kale: Crap, what am I going to do with you?  I mean, I have a ton of options, but what is the best way for me to make peace with your...kale-y-ness? I need some equivalent to the broccoli rabe bulgur recipe, a kale recipe that will make me fall madly in love with you right away. 
• Rhubarb: Do I even have time to deal with you this week?  How long will you last?  Are you going to force me to make a pie crust or will I just resort to a frozen dessert?
• Spinach: Ditto my comments for kale.  Also: are you going to make my stomach hurt? I went through a weird phase four years ago where spinach always made my stomach hurt, or at least appeared to.  Is it the oxalic acid?
  
• Avocado: Look, let's face it, you're going to be made into gelato.  But will I be able to discern just the correct ripeness in order to make this odd dessert as tasty as possible??

These, and other burning produce questions will be answered over the next few days, and I am hoping to have time to do a Getting-to-Know-You or two. 

For now, I'm going to go spend the next two hours washing vegetables, fretting about whether or not I should be washing them eat if I am not sure if I am going to be eating them soon, and/or distractedly paging through every reference book I have.  Thank goodness I'm only partially employed this week.

Getting to Know You: Sunburst Squash

AKA: Yellow Sunburst Squash, Pattypan Squash or Scallop Squash.  Pattypan Squash.  Pattypan Squash.  I think when the Tibetan Buddhists were reviewing candidates for a primary mantra, “Pattypan Squash” must have been on the short list before they decided upon Om Mani Padme Hum.  Just try to not feel benevolent and contented saying Pattypan Squash.  You can’t, can you?!

Appearance: Yellow and round with scalloped edges, a little green nub on one side and a bit of blossom scar on the other.  Generally small, about 2-4 inches.  Apparently also comes in green or white, although I assume those are just called Pattypan Squash (Pattypan Squash!  Pattypan Squash!) and not Sunburst.

(So deceptively adorable.  Do not believe it!)

Taste:  Erm.  Well, the people who like it say it tastes “mild and buttery” and “lighter and nuttier than zucchini.”  I say it tastes like zucchini with a wholly unpleasant bitter grapefruit type of flavor at the finish.

Growing Season/Area: In How to Pick a Peach, Russ Parsons says that while it’s known as summer squash, it’s actually more accurately considered a mild-weather crop that’s available throughout the year on a pretty consistent basis.  He also says that Florida, California and Georgia are the largest producers.

Buying: (Um, based on my experience, don’t.)  (But if you must.)  In How to Cook Everything, Mark Bittman says that you should pick the firmest ones possible, which usually means the smallest.  Avoid any that are dented, soft or bruised.  Plan for about 4-5 ounces per person, and 0 ounces per Leslie Seaton.

Storing: Store in a plastic bag (don’t wash yet) in crisper drawer and use ASAP.  Both Pioneer and Melissa's Organic say up to one week, but mine got brown very quickly (within a couple days).

Preparation:  Wash but do not peel.  Remove the stem and any of the scar on the opposite side.  When cooking, keep in mind that the size of the cut makes a big difference.  If you slice very thinly, it will melt into a rough puree consistency, so if you want more texture, keep the slices or dice thick.

Pairs well with:  Joy of Cooking says it’s great with “summer flavors like tomatoes, onions, peppers (sweet and chili), garlic, oregano, basil parsley, dill, rosemary, sage, and tarragon [as well as] lemon, cheese, butter, olive oil, capers."

Substitutions: Other summer squashes. I also read that it can be used to replace eggplant and carrots (although I would think it is much waterier than carrot so adjust recipes accordingly), and that very young squashes can be used in place of cucumber.

Nutrition:  Dr. Weil’s site says “Because [summer squash] is an unripe fruit, its nutritional value is unimpressive. It boasts fair amounts of carotenes, potassium and vitamin C.”

Recipe ideas:

• Sunburst Squash & Mushroom Soup (Recipe Result posted here.)
• Two-Skillet Pattypan Squash (Recipe Result posted here.)
• Sweet and Sour Pattypan Squash and Green Beans
• Summer Vegetable Ragout
• Corn, Pattypan Squash and Cheddar Flatbreads
• Indian-Spiced Grilled Baby Squash
• Use another vegetable and make something else.  In case you haven’t guessed it by now: I did not care for this veggie.

Getting to Know You: Broccoli Rabe

I received Broccoli Rabe in my produce delivery this week and I’m pretty sure I’ve never cooked it before.  So I needed to get to know this new veggie.

AKA: Broccoli Rabe apparently has outstanding warrants because it is also called Broccoli Raab or Rapini. Species: Brassica Rapa. 

Appearance: It has spiky leaves around a small bud which appears similar to a head of broccoli.  The bud sometimes blooms small yellow flowers, which are edible.

Taste: It’s got a bitter, mustardy, peppery flavor that might be why, according to the Food Network’s website, it has not been especially popular in the US (has been used more as animal fodder). It’s used more commonly in Italian cuisine.  While it’s associated with broccoli due to its appearance and name, it’s actually a lot like turnip greens. 

Growing Season/Area: It’s available all year, but the cold weather tempers its bitterness somewhat, so fall and winter might be the best time to enjoy it.  According to How to Pick a Peach by Russ Parsons, in the US, it mainly comes from the California, starting in the Imperial Valley in the fall and winter, moving north to Salinas in the summer.  Some is also imported from Mexico. 

Buying: Food Network says to look for thin stalks and avoid bunches showing a white core at the base of the stem.  Body + Soul says “Look for vibrant green leaves and plump stems; avoid bunches with yellowed leaves, flowering buds, or dry-ended stalks. Smaller-leaved plants are younger and therefore milder and more tender than larger-leaved specimens. And take a sniff; a "cabbage-y" smell is a clue they're past their prime.”

Storing: Most sources appear to agree that it should be stored in a plastic bag in the crisper drawer.  Russ Parsons says it’s sensitive and spoils quickly, so cook it the day you buy it.  Most others say you have about 4-5 days.  I couldn’t find any notes on whether this is one you can wash in advance or if it’s best to wait until you use it, so your guess is as good as mine. 

Preparation: You can eat the stalks of broccoli rabe, so you can just trim off the tough ends.  Joy of Cooking says you can treat the buds like broccoli, and the leaves like chard or kale.  It lends itself well to many styles of cooking like sautéing, braising, or steaming.  Body + Soul says that you can cut down the “bite” of the veggie by blanching it first.

Pairs well with:  Italian flavor profiles and components seem to go well with broccoli rabe: garlic, strong cheeses, red pepper flakes, pasta, etc.

Substitutions: Chinese broccoli, dandelion greens, Swiss chard, kale, mustard greens, fiddlehead fern, nettles, sorrel, turnip greens.

Nutrition:  According to Body + Soul:

The big news with broccoli rabe is its cancer-preventing potential. Like all Brassicas, it's a rich source of glucosinolates, which your body converts to cancer-fighting sulforophanes and indoles. Studies show that these compounds are particularly effective against stomach, lung, and colon cancers, and promising research hints at protective effects against breast and prostate cancers as well.

A 3 1/2-ounce serving of broccoli rabe provides more than half your daily requirement of antioxidant-rich vitamins A and C, both of which fight off dangerous free radicals that can cause damage to your body's cells.The bitter green is also a good source of folate (a B vitamin that protects against birth defects and heart disease), not to mention potassium, fiber, and calcium.

Recipe ideas:

• Spicy Broccoli Rabe with Pine Nuts
• Rabe with Garlic and  Pecorino Romano Cheese
• Garlicky Broccoli Rabe
• Broccoli Rabe with Bulgur and Walnuts (I made this - it's awesome!  More soon in a Recipe Result)

Recipe Results: Tom Douglas' Pan-Roasted Halibut with Toasted Breadcrumb Salad and Green Lentils

I was chatting with one of the cooking shop class assistants the other day as we tidied up after class, and she mentioned a cookbook from one of our local Seattle top-rated restaurants.  She said that the food was very delicious, but that many of the recipes were multi-component-oriented and complicated so she didn’t cook from it that often.

This statement was one of those innocently-delivered comments that nevertheless set off a nanosecond long maelstrom of intense thoughts.  This was the gist of it:

• Oh!  That’s a good idea, I thought, look for recipes that are simple and not complex.
• Wait.  I’ve totally had this conversation with myself before.
• Why don’t I ever remember to do this?  See how bright this person is, all careful in her recipe selection.  Why can’t I be like that?!  I’m so dumb sometimes!
• A visual memory of a short-and-sweet basic recipe from my favorite teacher drifted into mental view.  It’s dish that I loved when he made it in class.
• My immediate reaction to the idea of this short recipe was lack of enthusiasm, despite how much I liked the dish.
• I realized that my emotional reaction to completing a short and simple recipe is the same satisfaction I would get if I jogged around the block.
• I realized my emotional reaction to completing a punishingly long recipe is akin to the euphoric high you get after a particularly grueling workout.
• I remembered why I rarely pick short recipes and returned my attention to the conversation.

This is not to impugn the short recipe.  After all, if you have skillz, you don’t need a lot of ingredients or steps to make something amazing.

I don’t have skillz, though. 

So I gravitate towards the complex. 

Or maybe it’s because of the ADD, as counterintuitive as that might be.   It’s like how can’t ever read short stories, I bounce around too much and can’t relax my brain enough to pay attention.  But the long form of a novel seems to click me into deep focus and I have that lovely floaty feeling of loss of self (aka “being in the zone”) that you get from being really deeply engaged in the present moment of any activity.  The exact same state I enter in, oh, say, the third or fourth hour of a cookathon.

That big preamble is all to say that even I, though, have my limits, and Seattle food guru Tom Douglas just about reached them with his recipe for Pan-Roasted Halibut with Toasted Breadcrumb Salad and Green Lentils.

The title alone has too many words.  And it’s actually four components: there’s a Lemon Vinaigrette that’s used that’s not mentioned in that novella of a name. 

(You don't know the half of it.)

But if you think that’s as complex as it gets, you’d be wrong!

Because I also had to make stock in order to make the lentils. AND I had to make breadcrumbs to make the breadcrumb salad.  AND both the breadcrumb salad and the lentils are a two-step cooking process, where the main ingredient is cooked solo and then processed again with flavoring agents.  

(Approaching hour four)

In the recipe’s defense, I will say that other than the chopping of all the 1.2 million different ingredients, it was time-consuming , but due to a lot of unattended cooking time, not necessarily super labor-intensive. I realize this statement, coming from me, after reading the above preamble, is pretty meaningless.  Basically, although about four and a half hours elapsed between the time I started cooking and the time I actually sat down to eat, I didn’t feel completely exhausted and annoyed by the process. 

And I did choose to make two-step roasted vegetable stock and breadcrumbs from scratch on the day of cooking.  If either had been prepared prior, it would have cut down on the time considerably.  If you made a double-batch of lentils the first time, you could freeze them for another serving later, which would also make this dish a heck of a lot easier to serve on something other than a special occasion.

(Finished Breadcrumb Salad)

And you would want to because despite all the effort…this shit is delicious.  DEEEEE-licious.  There’s a reason why there are 1.2 million ingredients and 25 steps and four components in this dish.  Every component was tasty on its own.  I might take the lentil recipe and use it just for making plain old lentils for salads, etc.

(Finished Lentils)

And when you put them together, each complemented the other without any one asserting itself too strongly.  The crispiness of the breadcrumbs, the brightness of the parsley, the tang of the lemon vinaigrette, the seared smoky outside of the halibut, the tenderness of the inside, and the mellow earthy and herby lentils…it all worked together brilliantly.

(Yes, once again highly staged but this meal earned it)

I am fascinated by chefs for many reasons, but the ones who really get me going are those who seem to have something that really feels akin to magic, where you might know every ingredient in the dish, but when you taste it, it’s that mysterious alchemy of creativity where 1+1=3.  I’ve loved almost everything I’ve ever eaten at a Tom Douglas restaurant, and although I’ve only so far made two of his recipes at home (although I think this one counts as about seven), it’s pretty cool when you can achieve that alchemy yourself just by following some instructions.

But I’m not posting the recipe, mainly because lord.  This is long enough already.  It would take up the rest of this blog.  It’s in Tom Douglas' Seattle Kitchen.  If you have a spare weekend sometime and want to make it, email me.

Giving it 5-star Holy Crap rating for taste, but just with the caveat that you better be ready to log some serious kitchen time if you want to make it all from scratch..

Update on Sunday, March 29, 2009 at 01:31PM by Leslie Seaton

Looking for the recipe?  I see you Googlers!  Mr. Tom Douglas himself has now posted it.