Sarasota Soundings

My friend Chris checked in from Boston over the weekend. Apparently, the recent cold snap up there left him with more time on his hands than usual. He wrote to tell me about the $55.00 Macaroni & Cheese appetizer at the Waverly Inn in Manhattan. Of course I’m certain it was great Mac ‘n Cheese. I must say, in the interest of full disclosure, when St. Peter and I have that little chat about the five or ten greatest meals I’ve ever had, Tagliatelle ai Tartufi Bianchi will be among them. It involved no more than homemade pasta, butter, and the aforementioned tartufi bianchi. But I got to eat it—on someone else’s tab—at Castel Grinsane Cavour, Don Camillo Cavour’s old homestead in Piemonte.

I mentioned above that I thought Chris had some time on his hands, because rather than simply tell me about the $55.00 Mac ‘n Cheese and let it go at that, he sent me a few other superlative dishes floating around on some of the tonier menus these days.

If salad interests you, Florette’s of the U.K. and chef Raymond Blanc have gotten together to create this salad. The accompanying press release mentions, among other details:

This sort of makes me wonder if Rachael Ray has seen the Press Release. It would certainly give new life to her notion of pre-washed veggies.

By this point in the meal—if you’re an omnivore like me—you’re likely to be ready for some red meat. It should come as no surprise that Daniel Boulud has just the thing for you.

Of course if you’re feeling a little peckish for something sweet, Serendipity in Manhattan may have just the ticket with this sundae.

On the other hand, if you’re seeking something more substantial for dessert, this cake should satisfy your most exotic craving.

Naturally, I try to keep up with the fiber in my diet, and we have a couple of productive citrus trees in the backyard, so I’m confident I’m up-to-date with Vitamin C, but between these two recipes, it sounds like an awful lot of gold leaf to eat in one sitting.

Finally, you’ll surely want a glass of wine to accompany some or all of this opulence, so so let the indulgence flow.

After re-reading all of the above, I can’t help but wonder why we haven’t seen this sort of thing here in Sarasota—Sarasotans being no strangers to conspicuous consumption—but Fatima tells me we’re only now getting into high season. We’ll have to wait and see.

Chris, though, was thoughtful enough to create an imaginary tab if the two of us had this meal together.

Not too bad for a burger and salad. But, truth to tell, I’d forgo the whole meal if I could have a small fraction of the server’s tip.

Chances are you’ve not recently juxtaposed the words “George Foreman grill” and “fine dining.” Well, now you can: it turns out that the George Foreman outdoor pedestal grill is great for making an impromptu pizza and it may even be considered healthier, but what about other types, is margherita pizza healthy?

It is indeed reasonable to ask what a couple of unabashed foodies are doing with a George Foreman grill (henceforth, GFG). We’ve all seen the same infomercials featuring a couple of bad-guy burgers oozing fat into the “convenient drip-pan.” The voice-over says something like “And that used to go into our bodies?”

The grill was Fatima’s find. Passing a yard sale late in the day, she spied the grill—nearly-new and priced to move, as in “move it and it’s yours.” So, the price was right, and we thought we could have some fun.

For starters, we’d tried it with some chicken wings, and found the GFG lacking in the intense heat generated by hardwood charcoal in a Weber grill. We hadn’t quite dismissed GFG as a toy, but we hadn’t given it further thought when we had a rib eye or New York strip in mind for dinner.

But here in Sarasota, we think outside the box, outside the kitchen, and indeed, simply outside—like, on the patio. The keys to grilling pizza are having all the toppings ready, and moving fast when the dough hits the grill. For the latter task, the more deliberate, even heat of the GFG seemed ideal. It also didn’t hurt that the grilling surface is twenty inches in diameter; large enough to accommodate a less-than-dead-center placement of the dough at cooking time.

Al Forno, in Providence, RI, put grilled pizzas on the American culinary map about twenty-five years ago, but they’ve been on the Italian culinary map a while longer. It turns out that my brethren in northwestern Tuscany have been making a grilled flatbread called piadina since around 1200 A.D. Carry on the tradition: If you have a flat rooftop, balcony, or merely a driveway, join the confederation of those able to cook outdoors. Celebrate this fraternity with grilled pizza, the ideal spur-of-the moment meal.

For this spur-of-the moment meal, the fridge offered some sour cream, a few ounces of Ducktrap River Farm smoked salmon, and a bunch of watercress. Fatima had made some sourdough the day before. Having been punched down a couple of times, the dough was ready to become crust. (I could have easily walked two blocks to the supermarket for ready-made pizza dough, but Fatima’s was perfuming the sun-room, crying out to be used.)

It seemed ironic to be cooking a pizza as refined as this on a grill as pedestrian as the George Foreman. In a way, it was like wearing orange high-top sneakers with an Armani suit. But we already suspected that this would be a great utensil to achieve a celestial pie.

As I noted, GFG won’t get as hot as hardwood charcoal, but the heat is even across the entire cooking surface. Thus, we could take our time crisping the bottom crust while we hovered over the grill, popping bubbles in the dough as they appeared.

When we had flipped the dough, we brushed on a little olive oil, added the salmon, dollops of sour cream and wilted watercress (microwaved for about 90 seconds). It was an easy task, then, to keep a close eye on the cooking and to position the pie without burning our fingers.

With crust crisp on both sides, yet chewy in the center, the pizza was wonderful. The salmon was slightly warm, the sour cream just starting to run. Would we do this again? Absolutely.

Could we give a second wind to the GFG? Would the manufacturer give us the Electroculinary equivalent of the Legion d’Honneur? Or at least put us on a retainer?

Alas, it seems clear that Mr. Foreman has done quite well without our endorsement. So even if cardiologists would rather laud the GFG for sparing arteries excess burger fat, we shall sing its praises for pizza.

You know that jaded New York diner’s query: “So, what do we eat tonight—Chinese, Italian, or Mexican?” Well, in Sarasota, where we can’t seriously consider Chinese, we’re happy to report that we can consider Peruvian.

What follows is the first installment of our review of Red, an upscale Peruvian restaurant on Hillview Street’s “restaurant row.” We’ve taken this unorthodox approach to sharpen our minds and taste buds, to better focus on just a few dishes and unusual wines.

For openers, we limited ourselves to a few representative appetizers paired with wines we’d asked our server to select. Arriving on each table as soon as diners are seated is a tiny bowl of toasted maiz patazca—huge kernels of roasted and salted Peruvian corn. This is accompanied by a pale green sauce of chiles, garlic, and mayonnaise. Our server told us that this was a dipping sauce for the corn, but confided that he puts it “on everything.”

As we waited for our first course, we struck up an easy conversation with the couple at the next table. They were indeed satisfied diners, happy to tell us about their Lomo Saltado, beef tenderloin with tomatoes and rice, and Tacu Tacu con Lomo Saltado, the same tenderloin served with a rice and bean cake, which they pronounced “fantastic.” They went on to tell us they’d already booked a table for six for the following evening so they could bring their foodie friends and family, in town from L. A.

Red’s wine list is eclectic, filled with bottles and wines by-the-glass you won’t find on most lists. Our aperitivo, Cakebread Cellars’ crisp Sauvignon Blanc, was a great way to begin our exploration. A Chilean Pinot Noir, Tierra del Fuego 2004 complemented our appetizer, Camarones al Ajillo. Six tail-on shrimp (and at least three cloves of sliced garlic) filled a small ramekin. Slices of crusty bread and sticks of perfectly deep-fried yucca were good vehicles for the sauce of butter and crema, the Latin American version of crème fraiche.

Our second course was Aji de Gallina, which the menu described as “Peruvian-style shredded chicken in a creamy yellow pepper sauce.” Nice understatement. Here, ‘yellow pepper’ is aji amarillo, ever-present in Peruvian cuisine. It adds mild heat, floral sweetness, and most notably, a clear yellow color to sauces. But aji, a great enhancer of poultry, was just one element in our unctuously rich chicken salad. Garnished with parsley and hard-boiled eggs, the deceptively simple and delicious salad was served warm, on a bed of leaf-lettuce and chunks of boiled potato. With the salad, we enjoyed another Tierra del Fuego offering, a velvety, smokey Chilean merlot (2003).

The prospect of a little late-night street-food, Anticuchos—grilled, marinated beef heart—was irresistible. Red’s version is an uptown presentation of a decidedly downtown snack. Two skewers of vinegar-herb marinated meat were tender and juicy, served with a mild aji dipping sauce and steamed white Peruvian corn kernels. The cabernet sauvignon (Tierra del Fuego 2003) is a decidedly uptown wine, but perfect with this dish.

Red’s chef/owner, Jorge Corzo, has created an imaginative menu, full of personal refinements yet faithful to his Peruvian heritage. Our anticucho (indeed every dish we saw) was elegantly presented on simple stylish white china more reminiscent of a sushi bar. Could this be a nod to Peru’s large Japanese population? Most of us forget that Latin America is as multi-ethnic as the U.S. Peru’s cuisine certainly reflects this, but in quite subtle ways that we look forward to exploring in our next installment!

Red
1960 Hillview Street
Sarasota, Fl 34239
941.954.6956

We’ve been having a cold snap here in Sarasota, with the temperature dropping into the fifties during the day. I understand that to my brethren, say, north of the Mason-Dixon line, temperatures in the fifties may not exactly constitute a cold snap at this time of year. But here in this neighborhood, it makes the case for the “thinning blood” theory.

Some local hands have made the claim that blood thins in warm climates, and those of us who live here have therefore become more sensitive to cool temperatures. I’m not seeing a lot of science involved in this reasoning, but I can say that three or four weeks ago, I’d be wearing a polo shirt if the temperature went into the fifties in Connecticut.

No matter, though, the temperature favored a comforting meal. One such comfort food—for me anyway—has always been lentils.

Italian lore says that if you eat lentils on New Year’s Day, you’ll have good luck all year long. I feel pretty lucky, though, any time I eat lentils.

And certainly one of the most comforting elements of this dish is that it goes from stove to table in approximately half an hour.

Zuppa di Lenticchie
Lentil Soup

Ingredients:

1 Clove garlic, peeled, and coarsely chopped
1 Medium onion, peeled, and quartered
1 Medium carrot, peeled, and coarsely chopped
1 Medium stalk celery, washed, and coarsely chopped
1/4 Cup flat-leaf Italian parsley, chopped
1/4 Lb. Pancetta, chopped
Olive oil
1 Lb. Dried lentils, washed, and picked over
Salt & freshly-ground black pepper
1/2 tsp. Dried red pepper flakes
Juice of 1/2 Lemon, OR 2 Tbs. red wine vinegar

Preparation:

Place the garlic, onion, carrot, celery, parsley, and pancetta in a Cuisinart, and pulse ten times for approximately one second per pulse.

Heat enough olive oil to cover the bottom of a 3 quart saucepan over medium heat, then add the chopped vegetable mixture. Lower the heat and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the batutto, as it’s called, is quite soft; approximately 20 minutes.

Add the lentils and enough water to cover them well. Raise the heat and bring the lentils to the simmer. Skim, off any scum that rises during this time. Season with salt and pepper and the red pepper flakes.

Simmer for approximately half an hour, until the lentils are cooked through. While the lentils should not be exactly al dente, they should retain some texture. Add more water if necessary while the lentils are cooking, but note that this should be a fairly thick soup.

When the lentils are done, stir in the lemon juice or the vinegar.

Serve with Italian bread, or better still, with crostini that you’ve fried in olive oil.

Serves six.