SAFFRON-SCENTED VEGETABLE COUSCOUS WITH NORTH AFRICAN-SPICED HALIBUT

Seriously, check out Food52 for an extensive compilation of approachable recipes by home cooks. Food52 is releasing a new cookbook in November, which I am again enlisted to blog about. In the meantime, I've become rather addicted to reading Food52's Jenny's In The Kitchen blog. She's a hoot. Not to mention, she speaks to recipes in user-friendly terms that we can all understand.  Follow Food52 on FB.

by Jenny's In The Kitchen, 

I can’t stop eating halibut. I probably should, because it’s seriously expensive. Plus it sort of spoils you for those times when you have to cook up some perfectly nice flounder or something. The other ocean dwellers sitting at your fishmonger start to feel your scorn, and are all like, “Dang it home cook, I can’t help it if I am not as meaty and sweet and delicate as halibut, but could you stop staring at me like I am your third choice for the Sadie Hawkins dance, because it makes me feel baaaaad!”

Well, they don’t say that. But I get sort of an active imagination when I stare at dead fish. We should probably discuss that later.

But we’ve established here that halibut is really good and I am out to find as many ways to cook it as I can, even though garlic and tomatoes cooked slowly and dumped on top will do just fine. But for a twist on things, I checked out, Saffron-Scented Vegetable Couscous with North African Spiced Halibut just to see how it would all turn out.

In general I am a fan of all North African spices, especially when they are anchored by some decent olive oil and a dash of citrus. This recipe is no exception, and you will find it offers you that weeknight ease, especially when you do as I did and bring the couscous down to bare elements. I actually regretted that; I think the flavors included in the couscous recipe would actually compliment this fish really well and encourage you to make it as deensiebatenvisioned the dish.

A few other things: you are making a paste that the author instructs you to put in a pan first, then place over the fish. In the interest of saving time, I made the marinade in a bowl and just slathered it on my halibut and let it sit on the counter in the baking dish for 30 minutes. I was too heavy of hand with this, and I overwhelmed this delicate fish a bit; it was sort of like a leather skirt when the outfit called for tulle. Don’t be aggressive.

Finally, I am not a big fan of cooking fish at 350. I say kick that oven to a full 425 and just watch it carefully so as not to overcook.  My family was a huge fan of this recipe. Why? I asked the Incipient. “Because it just tastes really good.” I have nothing to add to that.

Saffron-Scented Vegetable Couscous with North African Spiced Halibut bydeensiebat

Serves 4

Halibut:

• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 2 cloves garlic, presed or minced
• 1 tablespoon lemon juice
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons paprika
• 2 teaspoons ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon cardamom
• 1/2 teaspoon coriander
• 1/2 teaspoon turmeric
• 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon cloves
• 1 pound halibut

Couscous:

• 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
• 1 bulb fennel, trimmed and cut into bite-sized wedges
• 1/2 small cauliflower, cored and broken into bite-sized florets
• 2 cups Israeli couscous (also called pearl couscous)
• 1 pinch saffron
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 cup green olives, quartered
• 1 handful parsley, roughly chopped
• 1 handful cilantro, roughly chopped
• 1 lemon, cut in wedges

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Assemble the halibut marinade: in a bowl large enough to accommodate the halibut, mix together the olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, salt and spices. Taste, adding more salt if desired. Add the halibut, spooning the marinade over the top. Marinate at room temperature for ~30 minutes (the marinade has citrus, so you don't want to over-marinate for fear of mushy fish).
3. When the fish has marinated, transfer it into a baking dish. Scrape out any remaining spice paste from the marinade dish, and spread thickly on top of the fillets. Bake until the fish is done and flakes easily, 25-30 minutes.
4. While the halibut is baking, prepare the vegetable couscous. Heat a large pot over a high heat. Add 1 tablespoon of the olive oil, then add the fennel and cauliflower. Sprinkle with salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables begin to caramelize and develop light brown spots. Add a few tablespoons water and cover to steam, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are tender (2-5 minutes). Remove from pot, and place in a large serving bowl.
5. In the same pot, add the remaining tablespoon olive oil. Add the couscous and cook, stirring occasionally, until the couscous toasts and darkens slightly (just a couple minutes). Add 2 1/2 cups water, crumble in the saffron, and add the salt. Bring to a boil, cover, and lower the heat just enough to maintain a simmer. Cook until the water is absorbed and the couscous is tender, ~10 minutes.
6. While the couscous is cooking, assemble the remaining ingredients. Add the olives, parsley, and cilantro to the serving dish with the cooked cauliflower and fennel. When the couscous is done, tip it into the bowl with the herbs and vegetables, and toss well. Scoop the couscous onto plates, and top with the marinated halibut. Serve with lemon wedges.

NEXT... Food from a midwest childhood.

Very cool video from Grant Aschatz of Alinea and Next restaurants in Chicago. His concept and menu changes every three months, transforming the entire restaurant into a completely different place. Off-the-charts ambitious, exclusive, and expensive. His pre-paid dinner tickets sold out in 10 hours. I want to go...
So far, the themes have gone from Escoffiere's Paris 1906 to modern Thailand. Their PR videos are quite nifty. The restaurant is now focused on food from a Midwest Childhood. 

Martha Camarillo for TIME

Read the original Time article here

Watch the supremely cool video about NEXT Childhood the current concept. (Apparently, the current video has been privatized until they sort out the music copyrights :-( 

Rustic Cauliflower Bake, by Jenny Steinhauer

I found this recipe on the Food52 website and cracked up at how she suggested we invite this dish to Thanksgiving. 

And I just might...

So friends, in the category of cooking-as-life-metaphor, my Rustic Cauliflower Bake was one hot white mess, a Mad Men conjurer with a farm-to-table prescience, a decadent rapscallion with a virtuous soul.  In short, it is a dish you should consider inviting for Thanksgiving.

Food52, Jenny Steinhauer

We begin with the grim reality that cutting cauliflower is a pill. I am inclined less toward trimming than whacking at it like an unwelcome weed. As your friend, I can’t help but encourage you to get one of the those cream colored lovelies from the market at this time of year, but as your partner in week night sanity, I encourage you to get someone else to cut it up.

As that petulant brassica oleracea steamed away in my chicken stock and water, I mixed up my cheeses, sour cream and spices, skipping the garlic powder simply because I had none. (Had I given it proper consideration, I would have softened some fresh garlic in olive oil, which would be a fine addition to this dish. Think about it.)

Here is where it all came together: I didn’t even drain that cauliflower, because there was just a tad of liquid left in my pan (but no I did not overcook it and nor should you). I didn’t so much mix it with my creamy spices as dump that stuff on top and give it a stir. I used cheap cheddar from Trader Joe’s, nothing-special sour cream and some whatever bread crumbs BUT also the last of the tiny red and yellow tomatoes from the market, sliced up so gently, and then all topped with some ambrosial Spanish paprika I picked up over spring break in Miami.  

High and low, babies, just as we like it. I cooked it until it smelled good, which was around the 35 minutes ashley_samuel_pierson called for.

What is amazing about this dish is that unlike the veggies in so many nostalgic casseroles, the cauliflower maintains just enough firmness to gently resist your bite, while the cream mix melts around in submission, the paprika landing a fragrant final punch. I can’t say this dish will be the most beautiful at your table , but it will be among the more welcome. As you serve it, ask your guests to tell a story about their worst job ever. Dig in.

Rustic Cauliflower Bake by ashley_samuel_pierson

Serves 4 to 6

1 bunch cauliflower

3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon powdered onion

2 tablespoons ground mustard

ground black pepper

1/2 cup sour cream

1/2 cup sharp cheddar cheese- finely grated

1 tomato- sliced

1/2 cup fine bread crumbs

2 tablespoons butter

paprika

1. Cook cauliflower in chicken broth until just tender. Use 1/2 cup chicken broth and 1/2 cup water.
2. Mix together worcestershire sauce, powered onion, ground mustard, black pepper, sour cream, and cheddar cheese.
3. Fold this mixture gently with the cooked cauliflower until well coated. Place in a 2.5 quart baking dish. (Spray baking dish with cooking spray before pouring in mixture.)
4. Slice tomatoes thinly and place over top of cauliflower mixture.
5. Mix bread crumbs with melted butter.
6. Sprinkle bread crumbs and paprika on top of tomatoes and cauliflower mixture.
7. Bake in a 350 degree preheated oven for 35 minutes.

Ga-ga for Grenache, by The Globe and Mail

Grenache: Stepping out of the Shadows, 
by The Globe and Mail

It’s the main ingredient in some of the world’s finest wines. A-list critics go gaga for its juicy, fruity richness. Even affordable examples, at $8 to $15, can deliver more pocketbook punch than just about any other red grape. Yet few wine fans think of grenache when perusing the wine-store shelves.

Call it the best grape you’ve never heard of.

That last line is respectfully taken from a headline in the May issue of Bon Appetit magazine. It’s also the conceit behind a global summit of winemakers, critics and trade professionals taking place in southern France this weekend, designed to showcase the progress and growing commercial potential of wine’s stealthy underdog. The symposium’s chosen motto: “Grenache: unsung hero of the red wine world.”

If you’ve ever been treated to a sumptuous and expensive Châteauneuf-du-Pape such as Château Rayas, marvelled at an inexpensive Côtes-du-Rhône or sipped a chilled Tavel rosé, you’re probably a fan of the grape whether you know it or not.

One of the planet’s most widely planted red varieties, grenache is rarely listed on the front label. That’s because producers in the places where it tends to excel, notably France’s Rhone Valley and the vine’s homeland of Spain, are compelled by tradition to call their wines after regional regions or towns. In most cases, it’s also just one key ingredient in a blend, typically mixed with syrah, mourvèdre and cinsault. 

One notable exception is Australia, where the variety is often abbreviated to an initial in trendy blends known as GSM – for grenache, syrah, mourvèdre, Another exception, though not as helpful for uninitiated consumers, is the Italian island of Sardinia, where bottles carry the grape’s local moniker, cannonau. 

Almost always brimming with an opulent core of black cherry and raspberry-like fruit and lifted by savoury notes of herbs and black pepper, grenache is a fine foil – as the Bon Appetit article rightly notes – for hearty, well-seasoned meat dishes. I love grenache with lamb, braised beef or herb-roasted chicken. Heck, I love it, period. Am I betraying a bias?

“It’s a wow wine,” says Kelly McAuliffe, a U.S.-born sommelier based in Avignon, France, the grape’s unofficial capital in the southern Rhone.

“[Yet] the movie lights have never shined on it. It’s not in the dukes and kings houses,” adds Mr. McAuliffe, a grenache groupie who worked for years as a beverage manager for French superstar chef Alain Ducasse.

Mr. McAuliffe, who now runs a wine-tour business, is trying to change that. He believes the connoisseur’s rap against the grape is outmoded.

True, despite its global spread, the variety is tough to grow. Grenache craves sunshine and warmth to ensure ripeness during its long growing cycle. That’s the main reason you’d be hard pressed to find a Canadian grenache (most experiments with the variety in Canada have failed). And it requires parsimonious, arid soils to help concentrate flavours in the fruit. Otherwise you get a plant with overgrown foliage and lots of big clusters, but not much flavour. Some of the best grenache wines, in fact, come from older vines – aged between 40 and 120 years. (Mature plants produce less, but more concentrated, fruit.)

Once picked, grenache presents its own challenge for the winemaker. It has a tendency to oxidize or bruise with exposure to oxygen because of the low level of protective tannins in the grape skins. In the past, many producers would ferment entire clusters to draw out tannins from the stems. But those harsh-tasting wines would often take years of cellaring to mellow out, a practice for which few of today’s consumers have patience. Destemming machines have largely corrected that problem, Mr. McAuliffe says. “It’s made the wines more approachable much quicker.”

Evidence of that freshness abounds, perhaps most remarkably in the new, trendy reds of Spain’s Priorat region. That region’s star producer, Alvaro Palacios, who will be speaking at the French symposium, crafts a renowned red called l’Ermita that has been a darling of international critics since it was launched in the early 1990s. Today’s price, when you can find it: $800. Exceptional, luxury examples also are made by such Australian grenache stars as Torbreck, Henschke and d’Arenberg.

But you don’t have to blow cash like a rich collector to get in on today’s grenache action. El Burro makes an eminently gulpable $12 brand called El Burro Kickass Garnacha.

And consumers in British Columbia and parts of Alberta can pick up Evohe Garnacha, an old-vines bargain from tiny producer Bodegas Leceranas, at $17.95, from Spain’s Aragon region.

Many reds from southern France also represent good value, including the widely available La Vieille Ferme Côtes du Ventoux 2009 from the Perrin Family ($11.95 in Ontario).

One drawback of ripe grenache, with its sugar-saturated berries, is high alcohol, which frequently registers between 14 and 15 per cent. But in most good examples the alcohol is well integrated with the fruit, not at all conspicuously hot-tasting.

On yet another plus side, many grenache wines are aged in large, often old, wooden casks rather than small, new barrels, minimizing the vanilla-like and often astringently tannic influence of oak.

“Even white-wine lovers will love it because it’s not like a cabernet, high in tannins,” says Susan Doyle, manager of Lone Tree Cellars in Victoria, which imports the Evohe brand from Spain. “It really appeals to everybody.”

If only they knew to look for it by name.

La Vieille Ferme, France, 11.95: Medium-bodied and easy-drinking, with a seamless texture. You can find this at most grocery stores in Columbus.