of parmigiano-reggiano and suchlike

when i tell people i buy parmigiano-reggiano, the real deal, at whole foods for around $25 a pound, a lot of them look at me like i’ve lost my mind.

the thing, though, is that you can’t put a price on quality. and real parmigiano-reggiano has a buttery, nutty, meaty taste that cannot be emulated by any other “parmesan” out there—they are not aged as long, are softer, and contain less salt and glutamate, all of the finer things that contribute to the cheese’s naturally complex flavor.

you might find ones that are close. trader joe’s has a a pre-grated parmesan cheese they sell that is imported from (i think?) argentina. at first taste, it has all the flavor features of parmigiano-reggiano, and it adds a pretty good finishing touch to pastas.  the other night, however, i tried making my near-foolproof recipe for fettuccine alfredo (recipe to follow) with it, and the dish fell flat. the cream sauce had an uncharacteristically thick, clumpy texture, and the clove of smashed garlic i normally add easily overwhelmed the parmesan. and when i reheated the fettuccine the next night—fettuccine alfredo never reheats well anyway, and i don’t make a common practice of it—the dish had lost any semblance of parmigiano-esque flavor. needless to say, i am never skimping on my parmigiano-reggiano again.

any aspiring cook, even a total noob, can yield immediate results as long as they use the right ingredients at the highest quality. now, i’m not saying you should be dropping tons of cash on ingredients all the time. but for those who scoff at shopping for groceries at whole foods or other organic markets, try it just once. i swear, whatever it is, will be the tastiest thing you’ve made yet.

recipe: fried artichoke fritters

artichokes don’t get nearly enough love, tasty as they are. the fresh ones require a lot of time and effort, and those fuzzy chokes can be painful if you handle them the wrong way. 

these fritters are made with canned artichokes and are quick, easy, and very tasty. the balance of flavors and textures makes this one of my favorite appetizers. sola in chicago serves a different variation of them with a white truffle honey sauce; i go with a simple dip of mayo and a little squeeze of lemon.

ingredients:

14 oz can artichoke hearts or quarters
1 cup flour
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
1 egg + 1/2 tsp water
1 cup cornmeal (fine-ground works best)
1 tbsp dried oregano
olive oil
1/4 cup mayo
lemon to taste

1. drain artichokes in strainer and let sit for 10 minutes.
2. meanwhile, set up your breading arrangement: combine flour, salt, and pepper in a shallow dish. beat egg with water in a small bowl. combine cornmeal and oregano in another shallow dish. set aside.
3. dredge each artichoke in the flour mixture (note: if using whole artichoke hearts, split them in half lengthwise first). shake off the excess flour, dip each piece in the egg wash, then coat evenly with the cornmeal mixture. let sit for five minutes to allow the coating to set.
4. while the coating is setting on the artichokes, fill a large skillet with about 1/2 inch of olive oil. heat over medium heat until oil is hot but not smoking.
5. fry the artichokes until golden brown, about 1 minute each side. work in batches, so as not to overcrowd the pan (overcrowding will cause the artichokes to steam, not fry, creating a soggy breading). drain excess oil on paper towels, if necessary.
6. for the dipping sauce, squeeze lemon into mayo to taste and stir well. if you’re feeling ambitious, homemade mayo tastes excellent with this.

salt, part 2.

mayo (or aioli, if you use olive oil) is pretty easy on paper: an egg yolk, a squeeze of lemon, oil, and lots of whisking.

but then, of course, there’s the salt.

the first (and only successful) time i made mayo was a proud moment. i was dazzled by the transformation that occurred from the raw ingredients to the finished product, and all with my own hands! it had the right amounts of lemon juice and garlic, and a nice consistency that was not too thick or thin. but there was one problem—i didn’t salt it well enough. and while the end result looked and smelled good, it most certainly tasted blandtastic.

tonight i tried it again, but this time i was determined to salt it right. i added a pinch of salt, then another, then another. then came the emulsion, the vegetable oil, and plenty of whisking. many minutes later, the end product looked right and smelled right, but the taste?

O.M.G. SO. SALTY!!@!!@!11

this is officially the first time i have ever made anything that actually had too much salt in it! i am not sure whether i should be happy, or be really disappointed i screwed up an otherwise promising mayonnaise. on the up side, i have a better idea of what the upper limit is in the way of seasoning… so perhaps i should oversalt things more often?

and so, the salt saga continues…

meat + salt = <3

there are many stories about love and salt. a protagonist in one story proclaims, “i love you as fresh meat loves salt!“

it’s quite the concept, salt being a symbol of love. on the surface it is a mean, dehydrating, plant-killing crystal. but used correctly, salt is great! it makes sweets sweeter, meats meatier, and everything else in general tastier. and what better way to express your love for a significant other than to say, “you make my world more delicious.”

yet, i fear salt in my own hands. this past saturday evening, i made my first foray into the world of meatballs. it seemed simple enough—ground beef, some herbs and spices, bread crumbs, eggs… and then it came time for…

the salt.

relying only on my poor vision, i sized up the pre-ball meat glob and began measuring the salt out in my palm. when i had nearly a palmful, i stopped. my eyes darted back and forth. meat… salt… meat… salt… is this enough salt? does it need more? should i use less? i picked up the salt container, paused, then put it down again, finally concluding (with some hesitation) that the seemingly large mound of salt in my small palm would be sufficient. the salt was carefully incorporated into the mixture and my first meatball shaped: the test meatball.

now, some of you may have heard this already, but the smell of your food while it’s cooking can tell you a lot. well, as soon as my little prototype hit that searing hot pan, my nose knew something was amiss. it did not smell like beefy goodness at all! just raw, burning flesh. the subsequent taste test proved what my nose already suspected:

underseasoned. terribly, terribly underseasoned.

this doesn’t taste like beefy love, i thought. this tastes like bland, chunky, rubbery hatred!

i dared to add more salt to the rest of the batch. i added and added until i began to worry—is this too much salt now? oh no!

the remaining meatballs were better, but still underseasoned.

salt: 2,759. ren: 0.

i haven’t quite figured out why i am so timid when it comes to salt. maybe it’s all the years of watching tv chefs tell me i “can always add, but can’t take away”. maybe it’s the fear of my food tasting like it fell into a tank of ocean water. maybe it’s that i never realized how important salt really is to the flavor of a dish. regardless, salting is surely a craft i will be fine-tuning for many more years to come. i love you salt, really i do!