Category: vegetable

Poor Man’s Caviar

Smoking eggplants on a grill [Shutterstock]

It’s also called Jewish Eggplant Caviar, Sephardic Eggplant Caviar, Greek Eggplant Caviar, Turkish, and, to round it out, Israeli… and all these variants somehow, for obscure reasons, tied to the Jews, regardless of provenance.

It was my father who introduced me to this dish. He did it the best way possible. He cooked it for me, without ceremony or preamble. He was a far better cook, it turned out (I came to realize, having learned this only in retrospect), than my mother, but he hardly ever prepared anything in the kitchen. His devotions to work, which were not, fundamentally, at a conceptual level very much different from cooking, prevented it. He was a pharmacist and for most of my early youth – until I was seven or eight – he pursued his vocation, for which he was licensed of course, and graced with a degree from the Columbia University College of Pharmacy. He graduated in 1930. From then until he sold his last drugstore, in 1953, he practiced his trade with virtuosity and great seriousness.

As he learned the trade, and the underlying science of pharmacology, at a time when most prescriptions were written for drugs that had to be compounded from elementary components as pure chemicals, and dispensed in whatever form the pharmacist could contrive for ingestion by the patient: sometimes a powder to be dissolved, sometimes a tablet, sometimes a capsule, sometimes an emulsion, sometimes an elixir. It was then common practice – what is now nearly 100 years ago, when, freshly minted as a pharmacist he began to make a living at it, my father got his first job in a working pharmacy. He must have had something of an entrepreneurial spirit, because it was not long before he had gone through a succession of jobs, working for others in junior positions, that he formed his first partnership in a store in the Bronx.

I am not sure how long this first partnership lasted, and don’t recall if there was a second, but I do know that somewhere in the progression of his career, he went solo, and he had at least two stores of which he was sole proprietor, and largely sole employee. It meant, practically speaking, that as a child growing up from infancy – when I was born, he owned what was fated to be his last store: Fenton Pharmacy, on the corner of Fenton Avenue and Boston Post Road in the Bronx, literally across the street from the extensive housing project I called home for the first nine years of my life – I hardly ever saw my father, as he opened very early in the morning, and came home late in the evening. A measure of his devotion to his clientele.

Anyway, my point was, he made up concoctions, from prescriptions, and a variety of ingredients as designated, and prepared in a certain formal order of procedures, and they had to work, which meant no mistakes. Analogously, it has always been suggested to me, no doubt by the self-same practitioner of the pharmaceutical arts that I called my dad, recipes for dishes for cooks to prepare to order, from a variety of ingredients as stipulated in precise measurable amounts (more or less) were more or less the same operation. And called for the same innate skills.

Whatever the confluence (or mere coincidence) of requisite skills, the fact was, in my experience (and, even as a very little boy, I was discerning and discriminating about what “tastes good” to the point of fussiness and censoriousness when a dish didn’t meet my standards; this charmed my father no end, and it was a good thing he would always chuckle when I made my pronouncements, because I am sure this helped mellow what was clearly an over-compensating tendency to carp—a fault I am sorry to say persists into my declining years, when it is at least a little more appropriate to the gerontologic stereotype), all in all, my father was a really good cook.

If I was showing the engagement and attention of true interest in what must have been one of those rare occasions of his leisure coinciding with the opportunity to indulge one of his many culinary favorites, it must have been still some early stage in my development. I had to have been old enough to retain the details of his instruction, however, because I have remembered how to make this dish ever since. Let’s say, I had to have been somewhere between ten and twelve years old. By then, we had moved to Providence RI, because he had changed careers, given the opportunity, and was made sales manager of a small pharmaceutical company that made some very popular over-the-counter items whose success derived from the efficacy of one ingredient, which was virtually a miracle cure, adored by parents around the country for its usefulness in controlling a rampant and unavoidable nuisance ailment of infants: diaper rash.

This all has nothing whatever to do with the cooking lesson my dad decided to bestow on me one day. I forget all specific contextual details. Time of day, day of the week, the weather are absent from memory, but not the ingredients, and not the general order of battle in the preparation of this amazingly simple and delicious dish. It may have been one of the warmer months, and it may have been a weekend, because there was charring of the skin of the main ingredient involved. I do vaguely recall that there may have been a charcoal grill involved – the use of which to some other supercedent application, for example, the grilling of a main course of meat of some kind, necessitated this supplemental cooking device.

I do know we did have an electric cooktop and oven in our kitchen (very much the latest in domestic appliances of the high end variety—it was how I was introduced to the still premium brand of Thermador, which made our excellent kitchen devices). And I do know such a means of producing high heat, otherwise applicable in a great range of methodologies, was not a very efficient way of scorching the outer surfaces of foodstuffs, but especially vegetables.

I remember distinctly my father telling me “I’m going to show you how to make poor man’s caviar,” which he proceeded to suggest, without an outright assertion, that it was perhaps magically even more of a delicacy than the namesake dish that, however old I was, I knew was rare and therefore dear. I also knew eggplants were what you bought at the grocery store. I would have been hard put to find a source for the real thing, though I had already been introduced to the luxury roe by virtue of a very special trip to New York, something of a gustatory baptism, that included a visit to The Russian Tea Room, the acknowledged shrine of celebrants in quest of such piscatory pilgrimages. It’s probably superfluous to add that I loved caviar from my first bite from the statutory spoonful (on a spoon made of bone, the traditional implement for tasting).

In any event, if my father could extract magic from the dubious innards of this strangely gourd-shaped fruit, so be it. And yes, as we always surprisingly learn, usually early in our education of domestic matters, the eggplant, like the tomato, is a fruit, a berry, in fact. Indeed it is related to the tomato and the potato, and like those other two trans-genus indispensable comestibles, it is treated almost exclusively as you would any vegetable. Though I am sure there is some renegade or anarchist chef or wannabe in some overlooked corner of the culinary-industrial imperium, who is feverishly discovering ways of turning the eggplant into some form of bonbon: a foam or a custard, or more like (and not unexpectedly, as you will be able to infer from this recipe) a pudding.

Before leaping right into the recipe, which is straightforward and simple enough, with a modicum, indeed, a minimum of ingredients, I’ll first state that the last few times I went to the trouble of scorching an eggplant somewhere artfully short of incineration, it was to make a dish I also love, called baba ghanoush – an Asian/Middle Eastern/Aegean/Bosphorus kind of a specialty, especially good for dipping, a wonderful accompaniment, a complement really (like a viola to a violin), to that far more popular and ubiquitous vegetal paté called hummus, which is, in contrast, a legume-based meze (to categorize it properly). Baba ghanoush is delicious, smoky, and savory, and, if made right, with all the necessary umamiesque features that are now de rigeur in our regimens.

And as I say, it’s usually baba ghanoush I have as the objective when going to the trouble of singeing an eggplant or two, leaping right over the opportunity of making this equally savory, equally lubricious, equally umami delicacy which is so much simpler and easier and faster to make. It’s easier and simpler and faster (and also cheaper, as it turns out) given that it omits a key additive in so many Middle Eastern meze, not the least of them hummus (the Queen of meze herself), and that is, tahini. Not every household has a supply on hand, and if not, it’s a particular hardship to come by in these days of Covid precautions venturing out for the rare ingredient (though tahini has become almost, but not quite, a regular household grocery stocking item in most super markets).

Plus, poor man’s caviar is the purer product, in terms of concentrating on the core flavors of smoked eggplant (smoked anything really… there being no savory as primeval and beckoning as the flavor of smoke, that evanescent residue of burnt organic matter).

So here is poor man’s caviar

Two medium eggplants
Three tablespoons of olive oil (spring for the better grades of EVOO)
Juice of ½ a fresh lemon
Two cloves of garlic, minced
[optional] ¼ to ½ tsp of ground sumac
[optional] ¼ to ½ tsp hot smoked paprika
[optional] ¼ of a red bell pepper or tomato, minced
[optional] ¼ of a small yellow onion, minced

First, pierce holes around the neck and the base of the eggplants with a coarse sewing needle, or an awl or ice pick will do

Using tongs (and cooking mitts), over a grill or other very hot open flame keep turning the eggplant so all surfaces are exposed to the flame until the skin is scorched, but short of allowing the skin to break down and fail.

The alternative, if a gas or other open flamed device is not available, is to place the eggplant on a lined sheet pan under a broiler in the oven, perhaps between three and five inches from the element. You’ll have to be vigilant about turning the eggplant periodically to ensure uniform scorching of all surfaces.

When the eggplants are done, and are cooled sufficiently to handle without injury, on a clean surface or within a very large bowl, remove all the scorched skin and discard it. There will be a significant amount of fluid inside the eggplant, most of it probably trapped, but perhaps already escaping, so be prepared to drain this fluid (which can be reserved for other cooking uses – which I will not go into in this recipe).

Cut away the stem end, and any remnant of the base that did not get cooked in the process, and discard (I assume you discard such remnants into a compost collector).

Mash the resulting total amount of cooked eggplant flesh, redolent of the smoky residue of the cooking method with a fork. Add one or two tablespoons of the olive oil and the lemon juice. Add the minced garlic, cutting back if you’re not a devotee. And sprinkle in the optional sumac and hot paprika (or either). The latter spices add that frisson of tangy spiciness that brightens up many Middle Eastern and Turkish dishes—and a good replacement for that tang of sea water embedded in the taste of the real mccoy of caviar, the fish eggs, that squirt of our salty primeval roots every time we bite down on the tiny morsels..

At this point, you have a choice for blending the ingredients to the right consistency. You can do it by hand, as I know my father did, steadily and patiently, using the tools you have at hand. A granny fork is a good place to start and potentially the most fatiguing and frustrating, as it will be slowest.

You could also use a mashing device, like a potato masher of the type you hold in your hand. Personally, I like a dough cutter, that crescent shaped hand-held device that has six or seven “blades” (sometimes they’re stout wires), and which conforms to the shape of the inside of a medium to large bowl.

The idea is to break down the cooked flesh of the eggplant into a uniform paste or jam, but no further, that is, so it retains some of the texture of the “eggs” that were part of the eggplant and so its not chunky, but not liquid either.

You can accomplish the same thing, very carefully, using a food processor. The trick is to pulse the ingredients (and the volume is such that you’ll have to be using a very large capacity food processor, as there’s a lot of semi-liquid ingredients that will leak from a smaller processor—most processors have a mark in their bowls to set the limit of the volume of liquid it can contain). Pulse until you have reached the desired consistency of a loose paste. And no further.

What you risk with a food processor is that you will puree the ingredients so it loses all integrity except as a liquid, at which point, you may as well procure some tahini, add some other solid ingredients, and especially the optional onion or tomato and pepper, and make yourself some baba ghanoush.

If you’ve gotten to the right consistency, that’s the time to add the optional tomato and pepper bits, and simply stir them in uniformly. They are meant as much, if not more, for the texture and the bit of color they add, as for any flavor.

When you serve it, drizzle on the last tablespoon of olive oil. I used to like to serve it like real fish-egg caviar: with garnishes of chopped sweet onion, shredded hard-cooked egg yolk, and triangles of toast, preferably pain de mie. Some people also like minced or chopped cornichons as well, as a garnish.

Done right, Poor Man’s Caviar should taste deeply smoky and should linger as a texture and a flavor on the tongue. You can also add some sea salt and fresh ground pepper to taste, but that’s up to you. If you go this latter route, Maldon Smoked Sea Salt Flakes are a real bonus.

Poor Man's Caviar

Course: Apéro, Appetizer, Side Dish
Cuisine: Greek, Mediterranean, Sephardic, Turkish
Keyword: eggplant, EVOO, smoked
Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Total Time: 30 minutes
Servings: 6
Calories: 106 kcal
Author: howard@bertha.com

A classic meze with claims as to origin from all over the Mediterranean, the Aegean, and the Arab Gulf

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Ingredients

  • 2 medium eggplants
  • 3 tbsp olive oil EVOO
  • 1/2 lemon juiced
  • 2 cloves garlic minced
  • 1/4 tsp ground sumac
  • 1/4 tsp hot smoked paprika
  • 1/4 bell pepper minced
  • 1/4 yellow onion minced

Instructions

  1. Follow the instructions in the accompanying essay

Nutrition Facts
Poor Man's Caviar
Amount Per Serving
Calories 106 Calories from Fat 63
% Daily Value*
Fat 7g11%
Saturated Fat 1g5%
Sodium 4mg0%
Potassium 367mg10%
Carbohydrates 10g3%
Fiber 5g20%
Sugar 6g7%
Protein 2g4%
Vitamin A 231IU5%
Vitamin C 11mg13%
Calcium 16mg2%
Iron 1mg6%
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet.

Deep Dish Pizza Spinach and Broccoli

Deep Dish Spinach & Broccoli pizza served in its baking pan

This recipe is a bit of a departure for me. For one, unlike many recipes inspired by a dining out experience, usually of a classic dish, representative of a terroir rather than a personality, that was particularly well-rendered at a specific restaurant, this one calls for – demands – a shout out, as the dish is original to, is a signature of, the retailer. Moreover, that retailer is not merely a restaurant, not even merely a national chain, but a brand. Pizzeria Uno® has now been around a long time, since its beginnings: a single pizzeria, owned by Ike Sewell, with his idiosyncratic take on the deep dish pizza native to his home city, Chicago, and first offered in 1943.Pizza had been known to Americans, after its transit from Italy as the now universal flatbread phenomenon, but its popularity skyrocketed when American soldiers, stationed in Italy for the latter part of World War II, were demobilized. It’s not clear, and not worth an inquiry here, what caused the simultaneity of the Sewell innovation, and the advent of pizza as the country’s most popular street food.Deep-dish pizza, which apparently has several variants in the Chicago area, is itself just one of several modifications imposed on the basic recipe of a baked crust covered with savory toppings, the iconic ones being tomatoes and cheese. Usually pizza is understood to consist of a relatively thin crust of a simple yeast-raised dough consisting of the most essential of ingredients, flour, water, and salt, beyond the requisite yeast. Deep-dish pizza differs, at least in the version available from Sewell’s Uno, in that it is more reminiscent of the buttery crust, without yeast (indeed, without any leavening), that is characteristic of the French tarte or Italian torta.Personally, much as I prefer the “Spinoccoli” – it has the status of favorite on the now rare occasions I dine at Uno – in addition to having, as an ex-ad-man, a strong distaste for the name, which always comically reminds me of Sean Penn’s character, Spicoli, in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” I always thought the crust, admirable for its richness, because of all the butterfat, was the weakness of this pie, because of its thickness and toughness: I’ve never experienced it as flaky, but always as at least slightly overcooked and hard to chew.The other departure for me in presenting this recipe in the present state is that it is a work in process. What is presented here is the current state of the art in concocting not a mere simulation of the original, but a conscious improvement. This particular rendition, though far from optimal in my view, is more than presentable: certainly for family and good friends. Part of what bestows enough confidence to present it in this form is the success of the crust, which is, after all, a tried and true formula that has worked very successfully for another truly deep dish savory pie (or actually a tart, given that its filling is a savory custard (of eggs and cheese and cultured milk products), à la quiche, studded with an overabundance of vegetables, still toothsome and colorful and loaded with flavor. Though please note, if you are reading quickly, there are no eggs, and no cream in this recipe. It is an alternative non-ethnic pizza, not a savory tart.Although the combination of flavors in this recipe is clearly very close to the ideal proposed by the Uno original, this pizza still requires some finesse in terms of the texture and integrity of the ingredients as they combine in a very hot oven – there’s still a bit too much moisture for my taste, which makes for slightly sloppy serving and eating. It’s not quite ready for holding a slice in the hand and going at it, New York style. But some adjustment will fix that, and when I’ve succeeded in finding the right combination of adjustments, I’ll amend this recipe.The chief culprit (but not the only one), as the recipe already notes, is the kind of mozzarella. I used the mozzarella I had, which was a local Vermont-farm hand-crafted and very fresh high-moisture cheese. This would be great were I lucky enough to have access to a very high temperature wood-fired pizza oven, and I were making a classic, very-thin crust Neapolitan pizza with a classic yeast-raised dough. What the deep-dish style wants is more resiliency, elasticity, and less water in the cheese. The cheddar and parmesan provide that, but so should the mozzarella. So the recipe now specifies low-moisture, aged, whole milk mozzarella, available in any super market. Save the buffala for your caprese course.

Deep Dish Pizza Spinach and Broccoli

Prep Time: 15 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
dough resting: 1 hour
Total Time: 35 minutes
Servings: 3
Calories: 1003 kcal
Author: Howard Dinin

Inspired by one of the original favorites from the chain Pizzeria Uno. A non-traditional take on pizza crust combined with all fresh vegetables and three kinds of cheese

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Ingredients

Crust

  • 112 grams high butterfat butter grass-fed, at least 82-score
  • 225 grams all purpose flour King Arthur recommended
  • .125 tsp sea salt fine or medium granulated
  • 5-6 tbsp ice water as needed

Toppings

  • 3 medium roma tomatoes ripe, skinned and cored
  • 1 cup broccoli florets
  • 1.5 cups spinach leaves rinsed clean and dried
  • 3 cloves garlic peeled and thinly sliced
  • 3 tbsp parmesan or grana padano finely grated
  • 1 cup whole milk mozzarella low-moisture, aged, coarsely grated
  • 1 cup cheddar aged sharp or extra sharp, coarsely grated
  • .25 cup olive oil extra virgin
  • sea salt to taste
  • black pepper fresh ground to taste

Instructions

Crust

  1. The crust needs preparation ahead of time. You'll need at least an hour to start, before beginning to prepare the other ingredients. The time is necessary to allow the dough to chill and rest in the refrigerator before rolling it out (which will require another good ten minutes to do it properly).

  2. In a food processor with at least a 7- or 8-cup capacity bowl, fitted with the usual general purpose (or multi-purpose) blade, after locking the bowl in place and inserting the blade, first dump in the flour evenly, cut the chilled butter into pieces about the size of a ½-inch die, and dump these in evenly. Add the scant ⅛ of a teaspoon of salt.

  3. Lock the bowl cover in place, and pulse the mixture in very short bursts, until it attains the appearance of very coarse cornmeal. Add one or two tablespoons of ice water through the food chute and pulse again. Keep adding water in similar very small amounts (you may have to add more than the total 6 tablespoons specified, so have more on hand), pulsing between dollops. The idea is to moisten all the dough, but only until it begins to form very small clumps.

  4. Do not allow the dough to form a solid mass. Stop when it still looks very loose.

  5. Dump the contents of the food processor bowl (being careful of the blade falling out) onto a sheet of wax paper on the countertop.

    The dough should adhere to itself easily, but not be sticky. If it is still slightly sticky and moist, dust your fingers and hands very lightly with flour. Though you should refrain from touching the dough with your bare skin. Your body heat can affect the texture and elasticity of the dough. The object is to keep the butter from melting.

    From the outside of the wax paper, using it as a barrier, form the dough into a ball, and minimally form it using your fingers and hands to a uniform shape with a smooth surface. If it's still sticky at all, very very lightly dust it with flour and use your hands directly to smooth it out.

    It should be about the size of a regulation baseball (hardball), about 3" in diameter.

  6. Wrap the ball of dough in plastic wrap completely, and place in the refrigerator for at least an hour. This is to allow the dough to relax whle the butter and flour bond.

Preheat Oven to 400°F / Continue to Prepare Crust

  1. After an hour or longer, with a small cup of flour handy, if needed, for dusting, take the ball of dough out of the fridge and unwrap it. Place it on your usual rolling surface, dusted with flour, and cleared sufficiently to roll out a 12-13" in diameter circle of crust.

    Even after an hour, the dough should be very firm. First, gently tap the top of the ball using the roller as a hammer. Slightly flatten the top. Turn the ball over, and repeat the flattening of what had been the bottom of the ball. Make sure the surface of the ball on the rolling surface is dusted with flour.

    After three or four repetitions on top and bottom of the dough, it should begin to take on the appearance of a very thick disk. When it has a diameter of about two inches, make sure top and bottom surfaces have a dusting of flour, and begin to roll evenly in all directions (to keep the dough circular).

    Every minute of rolling, invert the dough, and continue to roll evenly in all directions.

    When you have an even crust (it should be about ¼" thick) that is about 1 to 2 inches wider than the outer diameter of the skillet in which you will bake the pie, you are done rolling.

  2. Carefully fold one half the crust over the other and center on the cast iron skillet you will use to bake the pie. Unfold the crust, and gently tamp with your fingers to have the crust conform to the interior surface of the skillet, rising on the sides to drape over the edges of the side.

    Fold the edges of excess dough over into the pan and crimp at the top, which will make the top edge slightly thicker.

    Prick the bottom and the sides of the crust with the points of the tines of a dinner fork, every ½-inch or so.

  3. In an oven pre-heated to 400°F, place the skillet with the crust on a middle rack, and bake for 10-15 minutes, until the crust has just begun to show some color – a very pale gold.

    Remove the skillet to a heat-proof surface until ready to fill the crust with all the toppings.

Preheat Oven to 500°F for Baking

Preparing the vegetables for filling the pie

  1. After skinning and coring the tomatoes, quarter each one lengthwise.

    With a paring knife remove any pith and roughly seed each quarter.

    Cut the quarters in half crosswise, and set aside all these sections for a quick sautée in garlic and oil.

  2. In a separate pan or skillet, heat a tablespoon of olive oil briefly over a medium burner. Add the sliced garlic, and when it begins to cook in the oil, add the tomatoes and mix well with the garlic and oil.

    Add a few pinches of salt and fresh ground pepper to the tomatoes as they cook.

    Cook slowly, stirring often, for 5-10 minutes, until the tomatoes begin to soften. They will give off a fair amount of liquid. When the liquid begins to reduce, remove the tomatoes from the heat, and drain the tomatoes in a stainless or other non-reactive sieve. Drain well, and set aside.

  3. In a medium saucepan, add enough water to cover the broccoli. Bring to a slow boil. Add a tablespoon of granulated sea salt.

    Add the broccoli florets and parboil, uncovered, for four minutes.

    Remove all the florets with a slotted spoon and set aside in a bowl.

  4. Make sure the spinach has been thoroughly rinsed clean.

    To the still boiling salted water in the saucepan add all the spinach leaves at once. After a minute, drain the spinach in a colander or sieve, and after a minute of draining, gently press out any residual water.

    Add the spinach to the bowl of broccoli and gently mix the vegetables until evenly distributed.

Adding toppings/Filling the pie

  1. Sprinkle half the grated parmesan or grano over the bottom of the crust in the skillet.

  2. Distribute the tomato sections evenly over the bottom of the pie.

  3. Add the broccoli and spinach to the pie, distributing them evenly, mixed with the tomato sections.

  4. Mix the shredded mozzarella and cheddar together until distributed evenly, and then spread over the vegetables evenly. Add fresh ground pepper over all to taste.

    Sprinkle the remaining grated parmesan or grano over the toppings.

    Drizzle with a moderate amount of olive oil overall.

Cooking

  1. Put the skillet with the pie on the middle rack of a pre-heated 500°F oven.

    Cook for 10-12 minutes, or until the cheeses are just beginning to brown, and the crust is golden.

    Remove the skillet from the oven and place on a heat proof surface or trivet. 

    Serve slices from the pan at the table.

Recipe Notes

You will need an 11" or 12" seasoned cast-iron skillet as the baking pan and the serving container all-in-one. No other special preparation is needed for this pan. The recipe also calls for other pans in the preparation of the ingredients.

Nutrition Facts
Deep Dish Pizza Spinach and Broccoli
Amount Per Serving
Calories 1003 Calories from Fat 639
% Daily Value*
Fat 71g109%
Saturated Fat 35g175%
Cholesterol 153mg51%
Sodium 933mg39%
Potassium 337mg10%
Carbohydrates 62g21%
Fiber 3g12%
Sugar 1g1%
Protein 29g58%
Vitamin A 3200IU64%
Vitamin C 32.2mg39%
Calcium 570mg57%
Iron 4.6mg26%
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2000 calorie diet.

Home fries With a Side of Steak and Eggs

Breakfast with steak eggs and home fries
Home fries with sides

There’s nothing harder to cook well than comfort food. And no more difficult way to do it than home cooking. The emphasis is on the qualifier, “well,” as in everything in life. Nevertheless, it’s inherent in the idea of comfort food that execution is not paramount. Indeed, as most comforts reside in that Proustian reflex that is triggered by the first mouthful of whatever (usually) childhood favorite that even approximates the product of the exertions of one’s favorite cook—usually a parent or older relative—during some critical period in one’s upbringing, the chronological limits of which are no doubt to be determined at some future date by a credentialed culinary or food studies specialist with the usual two or three degrees after his or her name—a discipline that didn’t exist as few as 25 years ago, but is a serious thing, so stop giggling. It is immaterial the essential, dare I call it the absolute?, quality of the dish as “cuisine,” bearing all the weight and pretense and pomp of that term. And there’s the problem for me.

I at least make a big show of brooking no compromise, even in the homeliest and simplest of dishes. In practice, of course, what it boils down to is that the real mother of invention is compromise. I say all this just to set the stage for what’s coming. Trust that I know the horror of eating those “mashed potatoes to die for” that “we always had on the holidays” and that actually taste like papier maché that has been oversalted and made from newsprint from which the ink has not been removed, and leaves a faint aftertaste of margarine and milk less than a day from going bad, and yet I acknowledge the perfect seriousness with which we must always regard comfort food, because such is its status in the enchanted mind of everyone you know. Everyone.

I recognize what comfort food is. I recognize the aura of sanctity it bears in the minds of virtually everyone who is free to decide what they eat, when they eat it, and where and how—in effect, every able-bodied adult capable of mashing hard-cooked eggs, along with the most haphazardly minced scallions or chives (likely wilted) and a large dollop of Cain’s or Hellman’s or, even better, cheap store-brand mayonnaise. Add a secret ingredient or two—ah, but, forget it… there are no secrets to be revealed here, there are no Dinin secrets, not about egg salad [disclosure: I have no heirloom recipe, designated, of course, as “the best in the world” handed down by my bubbe, the last of my two forebears of that sex having died two or three years before I was born]—and do not stand between the result and the person, likely in some straitened state of emotional disequilibrium, suffering the neeed for a fix of comfort of the consumable variety, and of course, the absolutely fundamental condition of being hungry, at least as hungry “as the wolf felt.” Between two slices of very fresh sourdough bread.

But, for all that, I honor and respect the mythic status of such a dish in the mind of he or she who craves it, like a former lover who suddenly pops into your head when you’re having intractable problems with the current model, or the urgent need for your favorite alcohol when suddenly it’s the moment you realize everything has turned to shit on a critical project for work and you’ll have to start all over from scratch.

Comfort food takes all the edge off when the stakes are high—or has all the calming of a sedative when you’re too keyed up to relax and too exhausted to think straight. So, of course, it doesn’t matter if it’s made with the platonic compulsion of Escoffier or the scientific precision of Charlie Trotter. Given. It can be made by just as mediocre a cook as your mother in actuality was, and to you it will taste just delicious, and fill your brain with a flood of endorphins.

Nevertheless, I say, why settle for third best when there’s absolutely nothing about the homeliest of foods that demands any less than to reach for excellence?

A lot rides on the skill of the home cook to bring it home with dishes as important as those that comprise the vast menu of comfort foods. Likely few of these soul-satisfying dishes has universal appeal. One man’s mac ‘n’ cheese may leave another woman feeling queasy. There’s no predicting any one person’s favorites.

However, I’d venture to say that no meal provides the potentialities for comfort as well as breakfast—the matutinal repast long positioned, and long derided, as the most important of the day. I won’t enter that debate, not here. And I won’t predict the degree of proximity to unanimity on which daily meal truly fits that bill, but I do know that I love my breakfast. And I know very few people who skip it, however meager. Perhaps there aren’t enough of those types happy with a cup a’ joe and a pop tart in my life, but for that I merely count myself lucky.

I could get easily sidetracked on the vast subject of just exactly which baked goods as well as the breadth of choices from which I have been fortunate to be able to choose satisfy my longing for a good first meal of the day, before venturing to my encounter with the rest of it, and all that it will bring. But I won’t. Not now. Baked goods deserve a whole series of posts and having built the place to put them, I’ll just say, they will come.

Rather I come today to write of the potato, that estimable, yet at the same time lowly if venerated, tuber. And to address particularly the dish that is its quintessential manifestation at the morning meal. I’d even dare to say, to embellish that superlative, that the home fried potato is singularly appropriate upon which to dine only at breakfast. Consider all the cafes, diners and bistros that offer breakfast, not to mention lunch and dinner. It is only on the breakfast menu, including that which is “served all day”—leaving aside the ontological perplexities of such a concept—that one discovers the choice of home fries, assuming they are offered at all. More pointedly, there is the question of what exactly is on offer when the preparation in question is designated with that soubriquet. Before quitting this paragraph I’ll merely note that Barbara Haber, deep in the bowels of her canonical From Hardtack to Home Fries: An Uncommon History of American Cooks and Meals, notes casually, almost en passant, having just described one revered African-American woman cook’s time-honored Christmas breakfast, “‘thin-sliced skillet-fried white potatoes,’ more commonly known as home fries, a comforting dish that can turn up at any meal.”Haber, Barbara (2010-05-08). From Hardtack to Homefries: An Uncommon History of American Cooks and Meals (p. 187). Free Press. Kindle Edition. But who are you going to believe, a world-famous librarian and curator of the world’s most comprehensive collection of cookbooks, or me? I get around this conundrum by merely pointing out that it’s an age-old tradition, that of “breakfast for dinner” or any time. And what makes breakfast but home fries?

I put it to you that the home fry is a particular concoction, not to be confused with other versions of the fried potato, too often erroneously designated as such when, in truth, what is delivered to your place is some perhaps grand, perhaps desultory dish more precisely designated as hashed potatoes, or hash browns, or grilled (or baked or roasted, but not all the oils of Araby will make a potato stuck in the oven a fried potato, never mind a home fried potato). You might even be served, in the right venue, at the right moment, and likely the right locality, potatoes dauphinoise—and who does not love them for what they are?—but they would not be home fries. You will most likely be served what are called “home fries” by the New York Times current poobah of food (whose claim to fame used to be that he had written a cookbook unselfconsciously entitled How To Cook Everything, while at the same time accepting the crafty nom de cooktop, belying the obvious intent of this self-coronation, of “The Minimalist”). I mean Mark Bittman who, since he courageously and largely for reasons of health (the best reasons in the world) shed significant excess personal avoirdupois and almost, seemingly simultaneously, began reading, apparently for the first time, discovering a world beyond the kitchen, the editorial pages of his employer for so many years, has re-branded himself as a foodie/advocate, and he writes eloquent, reasoned, and deceptively impassioned pleas about how the entire planet or the entirety of mankind (take your pick) should eat sensibly, cost be damned, or we are all doomed.

What Mr. Bittman thinks are home fries are, indeed, telling from the exertions and offerings of most home-style restaurants, diners, and “breakfast all day” eateries, small chunks, cubes and wedges, approximately three-quarters of an inch in any dimension, of red-skinned potatoes, washed, but not skinned (and readily supplied as such, no doubt, by the likes of the empire of food supplies to the commercial food industry, Sysco, in mammoth polyethylene bags, ready to be poured in the desired quantity onto a well-oiled or greased griddle) to be cooked in fat, preferably vegetable oil, on all sides until browned, and then cooked a little further to add the requisite all-American crispiness. Well, I say, “bushwah.” I say, the lazy man’s fried potato, and lacking in some essential qualities for a home fry (or any other fry, most notably a proper pomme frite or what we call in the U.S. a french fry—but once again, what constitutes “proper,” although alluded to further along, is, in the case of the pomme frite, a rather complex subject and tricky undertaking in execution, and so will be taken up in some future post. The chief virtue of the Bittman home fry is that it can sit in the pan, or even out of it, until the diners are ready to consume them so the cook can readily re-heat them, and re-heat them, and re-heat them, again and again and again, without much damage to the consistency with any modicum of attentiveness–until they become rather limp, characterless shadows of their already unremarkable selves.

The home fry as I propose it to you can be, indeed is, a course in itself, and yet is served, likely, best as accompaniment to other components of the meal. In our house, we almost invariably have home fries at breakfast, and, given the predilections of the participants, this usually means eggs, usually scrambled, soft, but dry, and a breakfast meat, from sausage to bacon to steak, if one of us (the meat eater) is feeling particularly atavistic, or hungry to the point of ravenous. The eggs are not a big deal, and even a steak (always grass fed, and usually one of only four or five cuts: strip, filet, hanger, flank, or skirt) requires only to be watched closely as it sears on both sides in a cast iron pan. The steak may be finished entirely on the stovetop, or in a very hot oven, after being seared for a minute or two on each side in the pan before inserting the meat and its cooking vessel directly into the pre-heated oven.

Here’s what’s needed for the home fries.

Howard’s Home Fries

The best potato for this is, in fact, the Russet, of which there are small number of usually available permutations. Provenance is of little regard, Maine or Idaho (or even Florida or California). Just make sure it’s fresh, doesn’t show a clear and unambiguous green hue showing through the skin, has no burgeoning shoots or root buds growing from where the otherwise inconspicuous “eyes” used to be, bears no bruises or dark spots, and shows only the slightest, if any, marks of the spade (deep nicks, divots, gouges, and scars).

Why is the Russet best? Because it is of the mealy (so-called) variety, as opposed to the waxy (which most red and gold skinned potatoes are). Mealy potatoes are called that because the significantly higher starch content renders them of a particular texture when cooked, giving them a “mealy” quality in the mouth. What all this means is that the potato, in fact, is capable of a significantly higher uptake of moisture, in the form of added liquids, such as the various fluids and semi-fluids and fats added to baked or boiled Russet potatoes to make mashed potatoes, a dish for which the species is optimal.

What happens scientifically when the Russet is cooked is this, according to Professor Diane McComber (Iowa State University, retired;J. Agric. Food Chem. 1994, 42: 2433- 2439) “Russet Burbank potatoes were observed to absorb more moisture while less of the moisture in the lower-starch waxy potatoes was absorbed by the swollen starch granules leaving more free moisture. This explains why mealy potatoes are perceived as dry while waxy potatoes are characterized as moist.” The scientific underpinnings of my preference for Russets are amplified by the remarks of Mr. Harold McGee, everyone’s favorite kitchen scientist.

Mealy types (russets, blue and purple varieties, Russian and banana fingerlings) concentrate more dry starch in their cells, so they’re denser than waxy types. When cooked, the cells tend to swell and separate from each other, producing a fine, dry, fluffy texture that works well in fried potatoes and in baked and mashed potatoes, which are moistened with butter or cream. In waxy types (true new potatoes and common U.S. red- and white-skinned varieties), neighboring cells cohere even when cooked, which gives them a solid, dense, moist texture, and them together in intact pieces for gratins, potato cakes, and salads. [McGee, H. (2004). On food and cooking : the science and lore of the kitchen. New York, Scribner. pp.302-303]

The result of these responses is that, via a three-step cooking process, the Russet potato is transformed into the optimal manifestation of the home fried potato as sought, I would venture universally, as a quintessential. This recipe produces a result that has integrity, solidity, and an ensemble of mouth feel experiences, accompanied by complementary layers of flavor that is almost musical, if of a particular American genre of interwoven textures and harmonies. And here’s where the “proper” alluded to above comes in, as the same generic combination of textures—crisp on the outside, soft and tender on the inside—applies to the quintessential pommes frites.

Ingredients

(for 2 servings)

  • 1 large (approximately 1/2 pound) Russet Potato, skin intact, thoroughly rinsed and brushed lightly with a vegetable brush
  • 1 Tablespoon of 100% organic virgin coconut oil; you may substitute butter in the same amount, but if you’re trying to avoid saturated fats, I don’t see the point, unless you have a flavor preference; coconut oil and butter have the same melting and flash points, so the difference is in the flavor, with the coconut oil having the edge of neutrality—but choose your favorite; although highly saturated in fats, coconut oil and butter allegedly each have other components that makes eating them in moderation possibly even salutary
  • 1 Tablespoon of 100% organic canola (or other high flash point vegetable) oil
  • 1/2 small to medium yellow onion
  • coarsely ground black pepper to taste (I like Tellicherry)
  • a pinch of Celtic sea salt, fine ground (a pinch is generally understood to be 1/16 to 1/8 of a teaspoon; it is the amount you can hold comfortably between the tips of your index finger and thumb)
  • 1 stiff-bladed (with an offset) turner, at least six inches long
  • 1 11-12 inch seasoned cast iron skillet
  • 1 Adjustable vegetable mandoline-style slicer (I like the French-made Bron™, worth every penny as it will last forever)
  • 1 Knife-resistant Kevlar™ cutting glove, to fit (this allows you to hold what you’re cutting in your fingers, instead of using clumsy and hard-to-control food safety carriages, all without cutting your personal flesh)
  • 1 small or medium pair of chef’s stainless steel spring-loaded tongs
  • 1 large pan lid or cover sufficient to cover the pan and contents without allowing steam to escape
mandoline, glove and cutting board
Bron™ mandoline and Kevlar™ cutting glove, and a cutting board

With a very sharp bladed 8″ to 10″ chef’s knife cut the potato evenly in half lengthwise. Set aside.

Set up the mandoline slicer over a large wooden chopping board, to catch the slices. Adjust the straight blade of the mandoline to produce slices approximately 1/8-inch (3+ mm) in thickness; slight deviations in measurement are not critical.

First slice the half onion into slices, holding the onion in your gloved hand as you pass it through the cutting edge. Slice the entire onion.

Now (and this will go much more smoothly and rapidly than the onion, so be extra careful, even using the glove), slice one half of the potato entirely, and then the other half.

You will end up with a pile of potato slices covering a smaller pile of onion slices. Make sure any strays have been placed back on the board.

Trader_Joe_96070-organic-virgin-coconut-oil.pngOver a medium burner setting on the stovetop, heat the cast-iron skillet, and right after turning on the burner, drop the coconut oil into the pan, immediately followed with the tablespoon of vegetable oil. Swirl them both around in the pan once the coconut oil liquefies.

When the surface of the oil begins to shimmer, but not smoke, add all the onion and potato slices at once (I usually just slide them off the cutting board into the pan; but whatever method satisfies your own esthetic for operational detail, go for it). Immediately sprinkle the contents of the pan with the pinch of salt and a turn or two (or three) of the pepper mill set to coarse. Using the tongs, mix up the slices evenly, potatoes and onions, well in the pan, and let them sit in the heat to get an initial sear on some of the potato slices.

potatoes and onions in the pan
Potatoes and onions in the pan, tossed and turned for even coating.

When the ingredients have begun to sear, mix them again with the tongs, also turning them, in sections, so all surfaces are coated in oil and some optimal number of slices get exposed to the cooking surface. Sear some more, very lightly.

The onions and potatoes should only be getting very lightly browned. Don’t allow anything to burn, and, using the turner, make sure no ingredients, but especially the potato slices, stick to the bottom of the pan.

After about seven or eight minutes of cooking and turning, begin to gather the slices into a low mound toward the center of the pan. Cover the pan fairly tightly, so no steam escapes. The cover should not be touching any of the ingredients. Lower the heat of the burner to low, or even very low. Using a cast-iron skillet means there will be a signicant amount of retained heat, which will continue to cook the potatoes and onions until the temperature of everything drops.

Low mound of potatoes and onions
Potatoes and onions lightly seared and gathered in a low mound just prior to covering and lowering the heat.

Covering the pan will ensure, among other things, that the moisture escaping from the onions and potatoes will be trapped and will drip off the lid onto the ingredients for a braising effect. Trapping the moisture will also ensure that the starch granules of the potato will be absorbing it, becoming engorged and softening—essentially the body of the potatoes will cook at the temperature of the water vapor, just about that of steam, and so they will cook gently, making them very tender. The surfaces of the potatoes touching the pan surfaces will also begin to brown nicely, but not too much as a result of lowering the cooktop heat.

From time to time, for a period of at least another ten minutes, lift the lid to allow any trapped water to flow back into the pan, and to ensure, inspecting by eye, that nothing is getting overly browned or even blackened—the temperature should be low enough so as to preclude the possibility, but turning everything every so often, will make the cooking more even throughout and help avoid the possibility of over-browning too many surfaces.

The next stage of cooking, the third one actually, is ready to commence when the slices of potato noticeably adhere to one another, as a result of the engorged starch granules acting as a kind of glue. Using the turner, assemble the ingredients into a round cake in the middle of the pan, about eight inches in diameter. Press this cake flat gently. It should be even more obvious that the slices of potato are adhering to one another. As you begin to gather the slices into this cake, turn up the heat under the pan to slightly more than medium low.

While this potato “cake” is cooking, you may attend to other components of the meal (scrambling eggs, toasting bread, etc.). Watch the cake in the pan, and be especially mindful of signs of burning. After about five or six minutes after having removed the cover from the pan—and all this while you may, and should, be adjusting the cake, to keep it round, and to make sure “stray” slices are adhering to the main body of it—try turning the entire cake at once to cook it on its other side. In a perfect world, which this is not, there will be no strays or bits falling off, but there is no harm if they do. Simply scrape them onto the cake, onto the sides and the top, and press, so the “glue” of the potato starch makes them adhere. The surface that was on the bottom should be a deep golden brown, with some lighter and darker spots.

Browned potatoes and onions
Home fries almost finished. Seared and browned on one side and turned. The whole mound has become a cake. In another 4 to 5 minutes, it will be done.

Allow to cook for another four or five minutes. The idea is to form a crust, which will provide that mouth-satisfying crispiness or crunch, to blend with each mouthful of the soft, “mealy” interior. The home fry should have some of the texture or mouth feel of a dryer version of mashed potatoes (without all the added calories of butter or cream that are usually added—there are enough fat calories in the oils used to fry the potatoes for this dish). Try turning the cake again. It should hold its integrity and remain whole on the turner this time, turning like a big fat pancake. If both sides are fairly well browned, the heat can be turned to very low, or even off, as the retained heat of the pan will keep the home fries at the right temperature for serving. As you get closer to bringing all the dishes to the table, turn off the heat altogether for sure. There is no reason to cover the pan, as doing so raises the risk of making the home fries, especially their outer “crust” a little soggier than most people prefer.

One potato, as in this recipe, will provide two servings to be divided as you like (slicing the home fries, as a potato cake, down the middle is the simplest and most equitable way of creating the portions). Any leftover home fries (a most uncommon occurrence) can be reheated once, successfully, especially in a hot oven or on the stove top, just long enough to heat it through, and resurrect some of the original crispiness of the surface.

When served and eaten, it really shouldn’t need any corrective seasoning, unless the individual diner’s preference calls for it.