Food & Wine - Sarasota Soundings

FINALLY! Dim Sum in Sarasota

Skip — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 23:29:46 +0000

Dim Sum at Yummy House on the North Trail.
Copyright © 2013, Skip Lombardi

A great day in Sarasota need not include a trip to the beach. It could simply be a trip to see the great new exhibit at the Ringling Museum, Fifty Years of Modern Art: Georgia O’Keefe to Norman Rockwell, followed by Dim Sum at Yummy House on the North Trail.

In fact, the more I think about it, a great day in Sarasota may not necessarily include a trip to the Ringling Museum either*.

Yummy House
3232 N Tamiami Trail
Sarasota, FL 34234
(941) 351-1688

Hours:
Mon-Sun 11 am – 9:00 pm

* But seriously…any day that includes a trip to the Ringling Museum is a great day in Sarasota…with Dim Sum or without. We feel that the Ringling is one of the great cultural resources in Florida

And by all means, we encourage you to take advantage of the free admission on Mondays for Sarasota residents and go see American Moderns.

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Avocado with Pomegranate Seeds

Skip — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 20:23:44 +0000

Our favorite winter breakfast has long been avocado on toast. Years ago, each December, our Floridian grandparents would send us (via Railroad Express!) avocados from their back yard. It became a family tradition to enjoy some on Christmas morning.

This year the Florida avocado crop is especially bountiful, so we’ve been playing around with variations on guacamole.

So far, this is our favorite. But because we have a lot more prep work to do for tonight’s Italian feasting, we’ll spare you our usual lessons in botany and Mediterranean mythology and just give you our very quick and simple recipe for holiday guacamole. We think one picture is worth a thousand words.

Avocado & Pomegranate Seeds on Toast
Copyright © 2012, Skip Lombardi

Our recipe may be scaled up, but keeps its color best when made in quantities that will be consumed within 48 hours. The measures below are for one large Florida avocado.Choose one that weighs (with pit and peel)anywhere from 12 to 18 ounces.

NOTE: We really prefer the taste and texture of the Florida fruits over the smaller California Hass variety.

Ingredients:
1 large, ripe Florida avocado

For EACH Avocado…

1 teaspoon freshly grated orange rind
Juice from 1/2 a small tart orange
1 Tablespoon ordinary white vinegar

1 very small FRESH garlic clove, minced (@ 1/4 teaspoon)
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated ginger-root
A little minced fresh green chili (@ 1/4 teaspoon)
A few sprigs of snipped FRESH dill (@ 1 teaspoon)

Salt & freshly ground black pepper
Dill sprigs and fresh pomegranate seeds, for garnish

Preparation:

Grate the orange rind, then juice the orange half into a non-reactive 1-quart bowl. Add the grated rind.

Add the vinegar and all the seasonings except the salt, pepper, and garnishes.

Peel the avocado and add all the pulp to the bowl. Mash it with a fork, leaving a few chunks. Stir to combine with the seasonings. Add a little salt & pepper to taste. The flavors will continue to develop so it’s better to under-salt and taste again just before serving.

It’s ready to enjoy now, but will keep, covered, in the refrigerator for 4 days. We like to serve ours on lightly toasted semolina-sesame bread from the Bavarian Bakery, but the avocado mixture is delicious on crackers,tortillas, or chips.

Garnish with fresh dill and pomegranate seeds, whose slight acidity is a lovely complement to the unctuous avocado.

Happy Holidays!

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Revisiting Chicken Scarpariello

Holly and Skip — Fri, 28 May 2010 10:17:00 +0000

As we prepare the manuscript and ebook formats of our culinary history and cookbook, Almost Italian, we are rephotographing some of our creations. While we’ve spent three years looking into the rear-view mirror of our 1956 De Soto as we blogged about the evolution of Italian food in America, photography has raced ahead. Digital photography has enjoyed advances that would dazzle those paisani disembarking in New Orleans, New York, Providence and Boston to pose stiffly for their first black-and-white photos on American shores.

One dish that merited a retake was Chicken Scarpariello, Chicken Shoemaker-style; and so we made it again last night. But because it was so hot last evening, still in the high 80’s, we grilled the chicken rather than giving it the traditional stove-top braise. The palmetto-smoke infused both chicken and sausage, adding one more dimension to an already zippy dish.

For this new photo, we served our chicken and sausages on a bed of capellini, rapidly cooked just short of al dente, before we swirled it into the pan-sauce.

Since Memorial Day Weekend is the official start of the outdoor grilling season, we encourage you to try this variation of the Italian-American classic.

Follow the Chicken Scarpariello recipe on AlmostItalian.com with these small changes:

• If possible, build your fire with hardwood charcoal and/or dry palmetto trimmings. Grill the chicken and sausages outdoors until done (about 9 minutes per side for the chicken thighs).

• In a large frying pan on the stove, sauté the onions, garlic and red pepper flakes. Cut the cooked sausage into rounds and slide them and the grilled chicken into the pan. Add the wine and proceed with the rest of the recipe.

You can make the dish ahead and cook the pasta just before serving.

Any Knights of Columbus marching this Memorial Day will toss of their capes, doff their plumed hats to you, and be very happy to find this on the picnic table after the parade!

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Veni. Vidi. Veggie…

Skip — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 21:12:46 +0000

Note: Today, the 15th, is the Ides of March, signifying that the Vernal Equinox and March Madness will kick in next week and that your IRS returns are due a month from today.

We prefer to look backwards, to Shakespeare and his immortalization of Julius Caesar, the Emperor who chose the wrong neighborhood for what turned out to be his final stroll back in 44 BC (BC, btw stands for BEFORE CHICKEN, as in blackened chicken atop the salad most people suppose to have been named for the dude who said “I came, I saw, I ordered an antipasto…”

We first published this recipe in our other blog, Almost Italian, on October 12, 2007.

This was a favorite among the supper club crowd during the 1950’s, when tableside preparations were the rage from coast-to-coast. Head waiters in tuxedos relished the opportunity to make this salad as theatrical as anything the French had ever flambéed.

Lettuce Vendor

Technically, Caesar Salad would never have gotten a Green Card, let alone qualification as Italian-American, had its creator not been a bona fide Italian. Emigrating from Baveno, in the lake district of northern Italy, Cesare Cardini arrived in America in 1913. Within a few years, he had opened a restaurant just south of the California border in Tijuana, Mexico. It was there that he invented the salad that bears the revised spelling of his name, not that of the Roman emperor who dallied with Cleopatra.

Initially, the Hollywood patrons of Caesar’s Palace, Cardini’s first restaurant in Tijuana, came to take a break from Prohibition; but they were soon coming back for Caesar Salad. And it wasn’t too long before Caesar Salad began to appear on the menus of neighborhood Italian restaurants all over North America.

While Mr. Cardini’s salad contained several ingredients unusual for the period, like Worcestershire sauce and Parmesan cheese, the most unusual were the toasted croutons. One tale of the salad’s origin suggests that on the Fourth of July, 1924, Ceasar’s kitchen was running low on vegetables. Mr. Cardini is said to have gathered armloads of whatever was available, putting everything on a cart which he wheeled into the dining room. There, he began making this salad in full view of diners. Among his hastily gathered ingredients, were garlic-flavored croutons that had probably been destined to garnish soup.

The original salad didn’t include anchovies, but we have a clue as to how they eventually found their way into the standard Caesar Salad: Worcestershire sauce may contain many exotic flavor enhancers, like tamarind, asafoetida, cloves and—guess what—anchovies. I happen to love anchovies, so I have included them in my recipe.

Anchovies turned out to be among the more subtle subversions of Caesar Salad. Over the course of the 1980’s and 90’s, Italian-American chefs have pushed, prodded, and shoved additional ingredients into and around the salad. Blackened Chicken Caesar Salad, Grilled Tuna Caesar, Shrimp Caesar, Tofu-topped Ceasar, Caesar Burgers, and even Caesar burritos no longer raise eyebrows when they appear on upscale and fast-food menus.

During the 1990s, the California Department of Health banned the sale of Caesar Salad made with eggs. That regulation was suspended in 1998 when food scientists presented convincing evidence that coddling eggs, or dipping them into boiling water for 40 – 45 seconds, killed any lurking bacteria. If you do use eggs when making the dressing, please don’t omit this step.

Caesar Salad

For the Croutons:

2 Cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ Cup Extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups French baguette slices cut into 1-inch cubes.

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Combine the garlic, a few grindings from the pepper mill, and bread cubes in a bowl. Mix until seasonings cling evenly to cubes. Drizzle the olive oil over the cubes, stirring gently with a spatula. Spread the seasoned bread cubes on a sheet pan and bake until the croutons are golden, approximately10 minutes.

For the Salad:

1 Clove garlic, peeled and cut in half horizontally
4 oil-packed anchovies, minced
1 Tbs. Worcestershire sauce
Juice of ½ Lemon
Salt & freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp. Dijon mustard
1 Large egg, coddled (submerged in boiling water for 45 seconds)
4 – 5 Tbs. Extra-virgin olive oil
2 Heads of Romaine lettuce (outer leaves removed and reserved for another use)
1/2 Cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Preparation:

Rub the inside of a wooden salad bowl* with the garlic halves, covering the bowl as evenly as possible. Discard the remaining garlic. Add the optional anchovies, and mash them with the back of a fork, while stirring to coat inside of the bowl as well.

Add the Worcestershire sauce, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and mustard. Stir well. Crack the coddled egg into the bowl and beat vigorously with the back of a fork until all ingredients are well mixed.

Slowly add the oil in a steady stream, stirring constantly, until the mixture is smooth and the dressing begins to emulsify.

To serve:

Tear the Romaine lettuce into 2-inch pieces. Add them to the salad bowl and toss to coat them with the dressing. Add the Parmesan and croutons and toss the salad again. Serve immediately on chilled plates.

Serves six.

* For an erudite and extremely funny treatise on the mystique of wooden salad bowls, visit the Los Angeles Times online archives to read:
COOL FOOD When Salad Bowls Stalked the Earth by Charles Perry

The post Veni. Vidi. Veggie… first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Suspect Salep

Holly Chase — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 00:09:02 +0000

The 1989 edition of The Oxford English Dictionary cites this 1712 usage of a powdered orchid root used to make a warm winter beverage.

“Salup, what is that Salup? I have often seen this fellow sauntering about the streets and could not imagine what he sold…”

As I write this, Washington, DC has white-out conditions. We know that many of our readers are buried by a blizzard and home from work and school. The novelty of Snowmaggedon may not yet be melting, but we offer a little diversion and something deliciously warming.

This post will lead readers out of the snowdrifts, on a ramble through history via flower-strewn meadows and cinnamon-scented kitchens in the Middle East. Stick with us and you’ll end up with a cup of comfort that has more than a little lore behind it, one that is singularly appropriate for Valentine’s Day.

In Turkey, Iran, and throughout the countries of the eastern Mediterranean, salep has a long been enjoyed as a wintertime beverage—milk boiled with sugar and a very small amount of powdered orchid tuber known as salep. Usually identified as Orchis mascula, though many other terrestrial orchid roots have very similar qualities, salep contains the polysacchyride, bassorin, which swells and thickens a heated liquid in the same fashion as arrowroot or cornstarch. When the hot milk-salep mixture reaches the consistency of a thin potato purée, it is served in cups. Each serving is traditionally dusted with ground cinnamon.

Though people in the Mideast do make the drink at home, connoisseurs seeking a light, warm, liquid meal seek salep in pastry shops or from pushcarts, where it is dispensed from huge brass urns.

Turkish Salepci

The orchid tuber powder itself is nearly tasteless and, in warmed milk, its thickening qualities are not readily distinguishable from other starches. Starches derived from sago, potato, corn, and arrowroot (though not of Mideastern origin) are now widely available and far cheaper than salep, which in its pure state can cost hundreds of dollars per pound. It is for this reason that the instant salep packets most homemakers now buy are so light on salep, with cornstarch and sugar being the primary ingredients.

Yet, packages of most brands still include an infinitesimal amount of the orchid root—or at least they say they do. But why bother? Is this like the whisper of goose liver in tinned patés of pork liver, a trace element of a delicacy lending credibility to the ordinary?

I first gave serious thought to the uses of Orchis mascula two decades ago when I gave a lecture on salep at Oxford. I’ll spare you some of that, but first, a little grounding in ancient Greek and Classical Arabic before we proceed to the recipe for a drink reputed to be a veritable elixir of love.

The word “orchid” stems from the Greek orkhis, or testicle, a reference to the fleshy roots of this family of epiphytes and terrestrial plants. Our subject, Orchis mascula is native to much of Europe and is widespread from the Canary Islands through the entire Mediterranean, Asia Minor and Levant, where I have come to know it as a culinary ingredient.

Orchis mascula

It’s Arabic name is khasyu ‘th-thalab, or fox’s testicles. The th of Classical Arabic tends to become s in popular speech, and salep is nothing more than the word for “fox.” With myriad European spellings, saleb, sahlab, salob, saloop, salub… the beverage was extremely widespread in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, when fascination and trade with the Levant was especially robust. Particularly prized were the costlier tubers imported from the East.Europeans and the British often made do with those of their own orchids, suggestively classified as “satyrions.”

It doesn’t take much imagination to wonder if plants with such an etymology have had medicinal properties ascribed to them. And indeed they have. From the 3^rd century BC writings of the Greek naturalist Theophrastus to a funky 1970 California cookbook on aphrodisiacs to the age of internet searches for “botanical Viagra,” the media abound with the supposed benefits of orchid roots.

The reputation of salep is colorfully inconsistent. Theophrastus’ reports that when mixed with goat’s milk, the tubers will grant prodigious male sexual powers. Victorian writers recommend salep for children and convalescents. From both fabulous and mundane accounts, it is clear that salep drinks were considered restorative; they were even suggested as an antidote to alcoholism.

Local orchids of the British Isles, their roots known as “dogstones,” were evidently abundant and cheap enough to serve the working classes. Salep was deemed a good breakfast for a chimney-sweep. Early in the industrial age, London salep-stalls were plentiful before their eclipse by coffee-shops. Patronized by laborers both late at night and early in the morning, the stalls were places to sober up and gain strength for the day ahead.

At the other end of the social spectrum, Gastronomie Larousse (1961) gives a recipe for potage au salep that can be passed off as the costly delicacy, bird’s nest soup. This gives us a clue as to notions of supply, demand, and celebrity in comestibles. Take two items from the gourmet ingredients list of Chinese cuisine, birds’ nests and shark fins. Both, like salep, add gelatinous texture—but scant flavor—to liquids. And again, like salep, they have been touted as aphrodisiacs. All three are in limited supply (from over-harvesting or destroyed habitats) and are correspondingly costly. As a vintage wine or stamp collector will tell you, rarity plays a part in the appeal of any luxury or collectible and, in the case of aphrodisiacs, helps to sustain their reputations.

I find no discernible difference in taste or mouth-feel between hot salep made with the precious powdered orchid root and faux salep made with cornstarch, the cheapest substitute. As noted, these days, the commercial salep powders are mostly cornstarch with sugar and vanilla flavoring. If you’re an endangered orchid, this should be good news, except that folk-beliefs die hard and if consumers demand genuine orchid roots, wild orchids will continued to be poached to satisfy demand for the aphrodisiac. Turkey, with its extraordinary bio-diversity (over 9,000 different plant species, including at least 148 species of orchids) and vast, sparsely populated areas, is especially vulnerable.

Luckily, environmental awareness and conservation projects are beginning to take hold in Turkey. Projects to employ local inhabitants in the cultivation of endangered orchids and other flora are now underway. Join us there in April and see for yourself.

Orchis mascula in the wild

As a Valentine to the country that has taught me so much about food, here’s a recipe for salep and my declaration that NO ORCHIDS WERE HARMED to bring you this post.

SALEP

2 Tbs. cornstarch
4 Cups milk ( whole or reduced fat, but not skim)
3 Tbs. granulated sugar, or more to taste

1 tsp vanilla extract OR 2 tsp rose or orange-blossom water
Ground cinnamon

Into a small prep-bowl, sieve the cornstarch through a tea-strainer to remove any lumps. Stir 5 or 6 tablespoons of the milk into the cornstarch to make a smooth paste. Set bowl aside.

In a saucepan, bring the remaining milk, uncovered, to a boil. Just as it begins to boil, reduce heat to low.

Stir in the sugar and pour in the starch mixture, stirring vigorously, so that lumps do not form.

Cook over very low heat, stirring continuously, until the milk thickens, about 8-10 minutes.

Remove mixture from heat. Stir in one of the flavorings* suggested.

Serve salep in cups or mugs and dust each with cinnamon.

*Salep in Turkey is usually flavored with vanilla. For a more Arab touch, substitute the rosewater or orange-flower water.

Setting its reputation as an aphrodisiacs aside, the most remarkable quality of salep is the elastic quality it imparts to chilled liquids. (Imagine room-temperature cheese fondue!) Churned from the milk of water-buffaloes, the renowned salep ice-cream of the orchid-rich region of Marash, in southeastern Turkey, has enough body to be hung up on a line, like a damp towel. But that’s a story for another day, one with sunshine and higher temperatures!

Tune in later this spring, after the botanical tour to Turkey that will be led by Sarasota orchidologist, Stig Dalstrom.

The post Suspect Salep first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Kimchi Confidential

Holly Chase — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 14:00:01 +0000

Update: October 6, 2010. Today, on their popular Morning Edition broadcast, National Public Radio featured news of a kimchi crisis. NPR’s Asia correspondent reported a serious kimchi shortfall in South Korea– due to a poor harvest season for the requisite Napa cabbage. Our comment ten months ago (see below) that “kimchi…is inexpensive to make…” still holds true for us in North America. Meanwhile, inside Korea, this staple food has soared in price .

Listen here to learn about Koreans’ passion for kimchi, and the sacrifices they’ll make to continue to enjoy South Korea’s national side-dish.

Google KIMCHI, KIMCH’i or KIMCHEE and you’ll not only get recipes for what you thought was merely a pickle, but you’ll learn a lot about how a people defines its national culture through food. The countries of North and South Korea are certainly divided on many issues, but no one disputes that pungent force which is a shared love of kimchi.

So why, aside from the fact that the most widely-known kimchi sports our holiday colors of red, white, and green, are we writing about kimchi now, two days before Christmas?

Need an almost last-minute gift for the gastronomes on your holiday list?

Slightly fermented Napa cabbage kimchi, not only packs a punch, but it’s quick and inexpensive to make. And at this chilly time of year, even in Florida, you don’t have devote precious refrigerator real estate to shelving it. Just make it and deliver to your lucky recipients. (Then THEY can find a cool place to store it, if they don’t devour it within a day or two.)

So, what if you have NO TIME AT ALL? This staple of any Korean pantry can be bought fresh from our local Korean shop in Gulf Gate. Better still, the shop sells everything—including the cabbage—that you need to make kimchi yourself, so that you can adjust the levels of salt, fermentation and chili-heat, as well as the other seasonings, to suit your own taste. If you do make it yourself, just be sure you allow at least 12 hours to wilt the cabbage before you intend to pack it into jars.

Kimchi can be made from scores of different vegetables, fruits, wild greens, and even seafood. Online, you’ll discover hundreds of recipes—in English, Korean, and several other languages.

Today, we offer our very basic kimchi simply as an antidote to all the sweet gift food that floods our larders in late December:

Napa Cabbage KIMCHI

One large head of Napa cabbage (approximately 4 pounds)
Salt (at least 1/2 cup)
8 kumquats or 1 large lemon (optional)
1/4 lb fresh, firm ginger-root
4 scallions (including green tops)
6 cloves of garlic, sliced lengthwise in thirds
2-3 Tbsp Asian fish sauce (such as nuoc mam)
1/2 tsp dark sesame oil (optional; it adds a smoky flavor)
1/4-1/2 Cup Korean-style coarse red pepper flakes; medium heat (or to taste)

NOTE: Korean-style red pepper is available in Asian groceries in 1-lb bags. Reasonable substitutes include other sweet-hot pepper flakes: Antep pepper (from Turkey), Aleppo pepper (from Syria), and Hungarian paprika. Taste a little before you decide how much to add to the kimchi. Antep and Aleppo pepper contain salt, so you may need to to dilute the liquid when you pack the kimchi into jars.

Remove and rinse any loose, outer leaves from the head of cabbage. Squeeze them out and pat them dry with a kitchen towel. Trim off and discard any discolored parts of the leaves or the full head. With a large, sharp knife or cleaver, cut the loose leaves into large pieces and quarter the entire Napa head lengthwise. Cut each quarter across into thirds.

Separate the leaf chunks into a very large, non-reactive bowl and mix with the salt—by hand or with 2 wooden spoons—so that each piece of leaf has a gritty coating of salt. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let it sit in a cool place for at least 12 hours.

Assemble a few large, clean, lidded glass jars and a roll of plastic cling-wrap.

Uncover the bowl. The leaves should be wilted and greatly reduced in volume. Pour off and reserve any accumulated liquid. Take handfuls of the leaves and squeeze them to release more liquid. Pour that off and add to the reserved liquid.

Slice the kumquats in half and remove the seeds.

If using a lemon, remove any seeds and slice into thin half-moons.

Julienne the scallions into match-stick lengths.

Rinse and slice the ginger into dime-sized pieces (no need to peel it).

Toss the sliced garlic with all the ingredients above and then add the chili pepper and a few drops of sesame oil. Toss the leaves so that they are evenly coated with the chili flakes.

Using a pair of tongs, begin to pack a jar with the leaves, pressing them in so that there is little room for air. For aesthetics, try to put a a few pieces of kumquat or lemon and the brighter green leaves and scallion tops towards the outside of the jar. Pack the jar firmly with cabbage to within 1/2 inch of the top. Repeat with another jar until you have used all the cabbage mixture.

Taste the reserved salty water poured off the wilted cabbage. If you find it pleasantly salty and a little tangy, great; you can use it as it is. If it is unpleasantly salty, dilute with up to one third plain cold water until YOU like the taste. Now, pour some of this liquid back into each jar, pressing down the cabbage to release any air pockets.Be sure that all the contents are covered with liquid and nothing is floating to the top of any jar.

Cut a double square of plastic wrap and place it over the jar opening so that it covers it completely and extends an inch beyond. Place lid over the plastic wrap and secure tighly. ( If you need an instant hostess gift, you could give the kimchi away at this point, but it is better to wait another 12-36 hours.) Read on….

Put the jars on a non-reactive tray or plate and let them sit at room temperature for at least 12 hours. The contents will begin to ferment and the liquid may rise and leak from the top of the jars, collecting on the tray. If the smell bothers you, simply rinse off the jars and tray as the liquid collects. After 24 hours, open one jar and remove a little of the cabbage to taste. If you like what you have, slow down the fermentation by refrigerating the jars. (It’s a good idea to keep a saucer under each as long as the jar is full.) If you prefer a more sour flavor, allow the fermentation to continue at room temperature. Keep tasting until you reach a balance of salty and sour that pleases you, then refrigerate the pickle.

Serve as a condiment with grilled poultry or meat. A few spoonfuls of kimchi will transform a bowl of steamed rice or Asian noodles.

The post Kimchi Confidential first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Change?

Skip — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 19:17:22 +0000

We don’t dine out often, but now that the summer crowd has left, we’ve treated ourselves to a few meals at local restaurants. My guests and I are all good cooks, and what we usually choose to prepare at home is different from the restaurant menu dishes that we sometimes crave. Perfectly battered, deep-fried seafood and stuffed squash blossoms are tricky at home, and we’re happy to patronize casual places that serve these delectations. Besides,once in a while, it’s nice to let someone else clear the table.

But the demeanor of our servers marred the experience of our two most recent restaurant meals. On both occasions the issue was one of etiquette. In each restaurant, I’d placed more than enough cash on the table to cover the register receipt for a meal we’d just enjoyed. And each time, as our server picked up the cash, she asked, “D’ you want change?” In both instances, I felt I’d just been deprived of a satisfying meal.

At one restaurant, the change due from our lunch tab would have topped thirty percent. At the other, the remainder would have been barely six percent. Of course, I have to ask myself if the servers’ expectations might also have been different. Perhaps our fellow luncheon patrons—many of whom sported hair-gel and gold chains—were lavish tippers. At the other, a burger-and-fries sports bar, our very young server (who might have just moved up from washing dishes) could have considered six percent to be just fine. We may never know.

Nevertheless, I’m thinking that in the future I might bring a little tent-sign to put on my table. It would say something like “Change is good.” or ” Caution: Tipping Point! ”

Several years ago while waiting for a European flight at JFK, I ordered a couple of beers for myself and my travelling companion at a bar in the passenger lounge. When our server presented our drinks, I handed her a ten-dollar bill for two three-dollar beers. Smirking, she said, “You don’t want change, do you?”

I was as appalled then as I am now, but back then we just chuckled and said, “Ahh, that’s why we love New York…” Back then, it made a good story. But now, it just seems coarse.

I hereby give notice to restaurateurs: We’ve passed the autumnal equinox, and it’s time for a little seasonal shape-up. The days are shorter, the nights crisper. Change is in the air.

The post Change? first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Oranges, Sicilian-Style

Holly Chase — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 22:04:38 +0000

Arance alla Siciliana
ah-RAHN-cheh AH-lah see-chee-lee-AH-nah

No, it’s not a movie about Sophia Loren and the CFO of Tropicana…

It’s a recipe.

And this time, we couldn’t decide on which of our two food blogs it should appear…

A delicious example of how the simple treatment of seasonal ingredients is usually superior to more labored presentations, Arance alla Siciliana are certainly Italian… Ours this week, just happen to be Floridian; in fact, Sarasotan.

As a starter, side, or dessert—the dish is instensely flavorful, just the the thing after too many weeks of feasting. At the same time, it’s a good use of the local ingredients we like to salute. We made ours right here, with the unsprayed, benignly neglected fruit from our back-yard trees. We grew the mint, too.

So we invite you to see the full recipe and story of Arance alla Siciliana, Oranges Sicilian-Style, on Almost Italian.

Then, we dare you to serve them at your Superbowl Party. We promise they’ll disappear as quickly as the wings and nachos.

The post Oranges, Sicilian-Style first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Moonstruck

Holly and Skip — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 16:36:28 +0000

Honestly, we had no idea until we were already seated and enjoying the best pizza we’ve found in Sarasota that it was opening night on the corner of Lime and Ringling. But there was no mistaking Michael, owner of Dino’s Pizza, on a step-ladder as he hung a bright yellow “Opening” banner while a full moon rose over Sarasota Friday evening.

Inside, staff and family members—grandparents, grandchildren, and assorted in-laws—were readying the brand-new dining room. Mama was touching-up the textured wall paint, kids were placing cutlery on the booth tables, and Nonna was polishing the already-gleaming stainless steel buffet. A mustachioed Nonno was just urging people to take a seat.

And we knew, just knew, that the pies were going to be great. For now, one picture says it all…

Lunch & dinner. Eat-in or take-out. Go now—while you can still get in the door.

Dino’s Pizza
2289 Ringling Boulevard (corner of Lime Avenue)
Sarasota, FL
941.366.1191

Note: Dino’s Bee Ridge location is slated for a facelift in 2009.

The post Moonstruck first appeared on Sarasota Soundings.

Coming Soon to a Kitchen Near You…

Skip — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 11:49:01 +0000

We’re pleased, really PLEASED, to let you know that very soon, we’ll begin presenting a series of culinary talks coupled with cooking classes/demonstrations. We’ll be making these presentations—not in a supermarket, not in a cooking school—but in private homes, right here in Sarasota. We hope to have more specifics within a few days, but right now we can tell you that…

• As we did in our classes at Whole Foods, we’ll begin with offerings from the cuisines of Italy and the Middle East (Turkish, Arab, & Persian).

• Enrollments will be limited (probably no more than 8-12 participants per scheduled class, depending on the venue)…

• We will consider private presentations in your home, to suit YOUR schedule.

• We’ll focus on seasonal ingredients, simple techniques, and preparations that participants can reproduce at home.

Check back here for more details—or better yet—subscribe to our RSS feed and WE”LL KEEP YOU INFORMED OF THE WHERE & WHEN…

Buon appetito, afiyet olsun, sihhateyin, nush e jaan!

Skip Lombardi & Holly Chase

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