1 cup Crunchy Bread Crumbs (page 290)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Freshly ground black pepper
1 small bunch chives, chopped
Fleur de sel
Cook the eggs in a saucepan of boiling water for 4 minutes if at sea level, a minute longer if at higher altitude. Run under cold water and then carefully peel off the shells.
Slice the tuna ¼ inch thick. Stack the slices a few at a time and cut against the grain into ¼-inch-wide strips, then cut into ¼-inch cubes.
Drizzle a little olive oil onto each of four serving plates and scatter the bread crumbs over them. Mound a portion of tuna on each plate and sprinkle with the lemon juice. Season with pepper, sprinkle with the chives, and drizzle with olive oil. Gently break a soft-boiled egg open onto each plate and sprinkle the eggs with fleur de sel. Serve immediately.
Potato Salad with Black Olives
You are probably familiar with German potato salad made by dousing cooked potatoes with vinaigrette while they are still warm, then tossing them with pungent onions just before serving to wake up the palate. Here, I add smashed olives and oregano, which contribute texture, saltiness, and a distinct herbal note.
Potatoes, just like me, are natives of South America. They were first grown in the high plateaus of the Andes, and I believe that the very best potatoes for salad come from there, because, at such high altitudes, they have to struggle to grow. This gives them a coarse structure that is well suited to absorbing dressing. SERVES 4
2 pounds small red potatoes, scrubbed
Coarse salt
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
1 red onion, finely chopped
¼ cup fresh oregano leaves, roughly torn
12 pitted black olives, smashed
Put the potatoes in a saucepan with salted water to cover by about 2 inches and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Turn the heat down and simmer the potatoes gently for about 12 minutes, or until they are tender all the way through when pierced with a skewer. Do not overcook, or they will break up when sliced. Drain.
While the potatoes are cooking, make the vinaigrette: Whisk together the mustard and red wine vinegar in a bowl until well blended. Gradually whisk in the olive oil until emulsified. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
When the drained potatoes are still hot but cool enough to handle, pat them dry with paper towels and slice them about ⅓ inch thick. Put them in a large bowl, add the vinaigrette, and turn them gently in it, taking care not to break the slices. Check the seasoning and add more salt or pepper it necessary.
Arrange the potatoes on a wide platter. Scatter the onions over the top, then the oregano and olives. Serve at room temperature.
Shaved Hearts of Celery with Portobello Mushrooms and Meyer Lemon
The crunch of the celery plays off well here against the smoothness of the mushrooms. Meyer lemons have a sweeter, less acidic flavor than regular lemons. This is a surprisingly savory dish; in part this is because of the umami of mushrooms, and the Grana Padano is also high in this hard-to-describe but powerful taste. I prefer cheese here to the anchovies that Romans use in their version of this recipe.
Serve with slices of country bread and a good Pinot Noir. Why not white wine, you ask? While a white is the traditional way to go with salads, pinot noir is also quite light. I love playing against type, and I enjoy the contrast of a red wine with a salad. SERVES 4
1 large celery heart, leaves removed and reserved
1 large portobello mushroom cap, wiped clean
1 lemon, preferably a Meyer lemon
A chunk of Grana Padano for shaving (you want 1½ ounces shaved cheese)
Extra virgin olive oil for drizzling
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Slice the celery heart very thin on a mandoline and place in a bowl. Tear the leaves into bite-size pieces. Reserve separately.
Slice the mushroom cap very thin on the mandoline. Add to the bowl with the sliced celery.
Cut the lemon in half. Squeeze the juice of one half over the mushrooms and celery and toss very lightly. Cut the other half in half again.
Arrange the sliced mushrooms and celery on a platter and scatter the reserved leaves around them. Shave the Grana Padano over the top. Drizzle with olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and garnish with the reserved lemon wedges.
In table settings, as in recipes, contrast always makes things more notable.
Endive Salad with Mustard, Aged Goat Cheese, and Toasted Walnuts
Back when I had my first restaurant, I read a lot about French food. I somehow thought I could just show up in Paris one day, say, “Here I am,” and get a job. Not surprisingly, I received zero offers. Still, on my first trip there, I got to eat lovely food. I can still recall the endive and Roquefort salad that woke up my palate. However, when I came back, Bariloche, the only Roquefort I could find, was mediocre.
Many years later, in Paris for my TV show, I went to Barthélémy, a famous cheese shop, where I saw not Roquefort, but delicious buttons of Crottin de Chavignol, an aged goat cheese.
I serve this on a wide platter, not piled in a salad bowl. That way, you can pick and choose which taste or texture you want next. SERVES 4
3 tablespoons spicy Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
4 large endives, leaves separated
1 button aged Crottin de Chavignol (or 2 to 3 ounces other aged goat cheese)
½ cup toasted walnuts (see page 283)
½ cup Crunchy Bread Crumbs (page 290)
Whisk together the mustard and vinegar in a medium bowl. Whisk in the olive oil in a slow, steady stream until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in the parsley.
Toss the endive in the vinaigrette and arrange on a wide serving platter. Crumble the cheese over the endives, then sprinkle the walnuts and bread crumbs over the salad. Serve immediately.
Pear Salad with Mint, Blue Cheese, and Fresh Dates
The dates for my first try at this recipe came from a farm in Southern California that supplies Alice Waters and a few lucky chefs. Those dates are so much in demand that the small production is allocated like the finest rare Bordeaux. But if you are not a superfamous chef, I wouldn’t worry about it too much—chances are the dates in your market will be wonderful in this salad, alongside a full-flavored blue cheese and a touch of mint. You must serve it with slices of buttered bread—no French cheese lover would leave butter off the table, as I learned from my first mentor in France, Francis Trocellier, chef of Ledoyen in Paris. Every day he would have a wedge of cheese placed before him, along with a piece of bread and some butter, which he would slather on quite liberally; he’d have a salad alongside. This is my homage to him. SERVES 4
2 ripe Red Bartlett pears
8 ounces excellent American blue cheese, such as Rogue Creamery blue, cut into 4 wedges
12 soft fresh dates, such as Medjool
¼ cup fresh mint leaves
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Extra virgin olive oil for drizzling
Good country bread and butter
Cut the pears in half, remove the stems and cores, and slice into wedges about ⅓ inch thick.
Divide the pears among four salad plates. Arrange a wedge of cheese and 3 dates on each plate and scatter the mint leaves over them. Season the pears lightly with salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Serve with sliced country bread and butter on the side.
TRAVELS WITH FIRE
PARIS
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”
Like much that Hemingway wrote, those words have stayed with me since I read them many years ago.
When I first went to France, I was, as were many chefs my age, enthralled with the revolution presided over by young chefs such as Alain Chapel, Alain Senderens, and Roger Vergé. From the vantage point of the passing years, it is remarkable to me that what has remained in my heart is not their nouvelle cuisine, but the tastes of the classic dishes at Ledoyen, Taillevent, and Le Grand Véfour, three of the bastions of traditional French cuisine. The rich and deeply flavored ris de veau; poached chicken with truffles under the skin; crispy, airy pommes soufflées: these are the languages of flavor I learned in France and still try to express with my fires. To me, this type of cooking is deep, elemental, and satisfying.
I also loved the division of labor in French kitchens: the chef de partie, the poissonier, the rôtisseur, the entremetier, the saucier, the garde manger, and the patissier. It is meticulous, careful, and very measured, a far cry from the crash and bang and hurry of many modern restaurants, even at the highest level. Although I don’t preside over such a regimented kitchen, the notion that things take time and must be attended to with a watchful eye is at the heart of my cooking.
So when I took my Patagonian fires on the road, I very much wanted to return to France, and especially Paris. I love walking there, and the way the river divides the city, with a laid-back young people’s half on the Left Bank and the more serious haute bourgeois life of the Right Bank. And then the people! Their idiosyncrasies endear them to me. The way they eat, and drink, and dress . . . all seem so right. A croissant in the morning or a boiled egg in the shell. Steak frites for lunch or herring and potatoes.
And, of course, I adore the way everybody has lovers. The French don’t talk about it much: it is too serious and too beautiful.
As I think about France and the years when I worked at restaurants in and out of Paris, it always calls to mind my experience with Alain Chapel. He was a genius and at first wanted nothing to do with me. I was quite young and had just started cooking professionally. I bought myself a Michelin Guide and wrote to all twenty-one three-star restaurants, offering to come work in their kitchens for free. Some responded with invitations, and so each year I would go work in one for a few months. Chapel was never interested. But I persisted. I ambushed him in his garden one day, and he finally made me an offer. I could sign a contract and work for four years as a paid employee, or I could come for ten days and pay $1,000 per day.
At the time, I had a job in an elegant Buenos Aires restaurant and the owner said he would pay my way, so I went for ten days. Chapel was quite rough on me in the kitchen. Then, on the last day, I was allowed to eat lunch in the dining room. Chapel joined me for half an hour.
“I know I have been tough, but I was testing you. I can see you really like cooking and that you can be very good at it.”
I was so happy at that moment! The next day, I went to settle up and pay my tuition. I asked for the bill. Monsieur Chapel said, “What bill? There is no bill.”
LIGHT MEALS
Huevos Escrachados with Pancetta, Zucchini Ribbons, and Green Peas
These are not-quite-scrambled eggs. “Broken” would be a better word; indeed, when you bring a carton of eggs home from the market and one has a broken shell, you refer to it as escrachado. I cook the eggs in a cast-iron skillet, stirring them just enough to break up the yolks a bit but leaving no doubt that there are separate white and yellow parts to an egg. Add cooked green vegetables and bacon, and you have what I would call a fine and delicious mess. SERVES 4
2 small zucchini
4 ounces thickly sliced pancetta, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 cup shelled baby peas
6 large eggs
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
Trim the zucchini and slice lengthwise on a mandoline into very thin ribbons, laying them out on paper towels to keep them separate; pat them dry before cooking.
Sauté the pancetta in a cast-iron skillet over medium heat for about 5 minutes, turning occasionally, until crisp and lightly browned on all sides. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels.
Wipe out the skillet and add the oil and butter. Heat until the butter melts, then add the zucchini ribbons and peas and cook for several minutes, until the zucchini softens and starts to brown. Turn to cook the other side for a minute or two.
Break the eggs into a bowl, then pour them into the skillet, pushing the vegetables around to make room and breaking the eggs up a bit as they begin to set. When the eggs are done to your liking, season them with salt and pepper and scatter the pancetta over the top. Serve immediately.
Tortilla of Cast-Iron Fried Potatoes, Spinach, and Sun-Dried Tomatoes
I cook each of the main ingredients separately and then bring them together at the end. That way, you get a more powerful statement of the essence of each one. The tortilla can be flipped or broiled for added browning; don’t worry if it breaks. SERVES 4
2 Idaho (baking) potatoes, peeled
1 pound spinach, trimmed
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
8 tablespoons unsalted (1 stick) butter 4 tablespoons cut into ½-inch pieces
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
½ cup drained Sun-Dried Tomatoes (page 285)
12 large eggs
Double recipe Salsa Llajua (page 284)
Put the potatoes in a pot of cold water and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and boil gently for about 12 minutes, or until the potatoes are just tender enough to poke a skewer through them. Drain, pat dry on paper towels, and slice about ½ inch thick.
Meanwhile, blanch the spinach in a large pot of boiling water just until it wilts. Drain in a colander, cool under cold running water, and drain again, then squeeze very dry in a clean kitchen towel.
Heat ¼ cup of the olive oil and 2 tablespoons of the butter in a large cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add half the potatoes and fry for about 4 minutes, until golden brown and crisp on the bottom. Turn and repeat on the other side. Transfer to a large plate and cook the second batch of potatoes, adding 2 more tablespoons each oil and butter; transfer to the plate. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper.
Reduce the heat under the skillet to medium-low and add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add the sun-dried tomatoes, spreading them out in the pan. Arrange the fried potatoes on top, and distribute small clumps of the blanched spinach over the potatoes. Dot with the pieces of butter.
Beat the eggs lightly in a large bowl and season with salt and pepper. Pour one-third of the eggs over the potatoes and spinach, pulling in the edges as they set. Repeat with the remaining eggs in two batches, pulling in the edges as they set, and cook until the bottom is golden and the top is almost set, about 8 more minutes.
Run a spatula all around the edge of the pan to loosen the eggs, then set a wide plate over the top and invert the skillet to unmold the eggs onto the plate. Add more oil to the skillet and slide the eggs back in to finish cooking on the bottom. They are done when crisp and golden. Serve immediately, directly from the skillet, sliced into wedges, with the salsa on the side.
PICTURED ON PAGES 62
Tortilla of Cast-Iron Fried Potatoes, Spinach, and Sun-Dried Tomatoes (page 65).
Tortilla of Prawns with Grilled Potatoes and Avocado, Chile Pepper, and Fennel Salsa
In recent years, I have grown fond of searing fish and shellfish on one side only, leaving the other side less cooked and more succulent and tender. This works particularly well with sweet fresh-caught shrimp, langoustines, and scallops, grilled and bound together with eggs.
Grilling thin slices of potato directly on a parrilla allows the smoke to permeate them in a way that captures the full aroma of a wood fire. If your grill is clean, they don’t even need to be oiled. As the potatoes crisp, they will release from the grill grate and
you can remove them easily. SERVES 4
FOR THE SALSA
1 ripe avocado
Juice of 1 lemon
1 ripe tomato, chopped
½ small red onion, chopped
½ fennel bulb, trimmed and chopped
1 red chile pepper, seeded and chopped
Extra virgin olive oil for drizzling
FOR THE TORTILLA
1 Idaho (baking) potato
8 ounces peeled prawns or large shrimp
About ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 large eggs
½ cup minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 or 2 green garlic stalks or garlic cloves, minced
1 onion, sliced very thin
To prepare the salsa, halve and pit the avocado. Scoop out and roughly chop the flesh, then toss it gently with the lemon juice in a bowl. Add the tomato, onion, fennel, and chile, drizzle with olive oil to taste, and toss to combine.
Heat a charcoal grill or two large cast-iron ridged grill pans over medium heat.
Slice the potato paper-thin on a mandoline; do not rinse or wipe the slices. Arrange them in rows on the grill or in the pans; work in batches if necessary. The grill marks on the bottom will become clearly visible from the top as they cook, and the potatoes will release themselves from the grill when they are ready to turn. Using tongs, turn each potato slice and grill on the other side until they are marked. As the potatoes are done, remove them with tongs and set aside in a bowl.
Brush the prawns and the grill grate or one grill pan with olive oil and season the prawns with salt and pepper. Grill the prawns on one side only for 2 to 3 minutes, until they are pink and crisp on the bottom. Remove them with tongs and transfer them to a separate bowl.
Mallmann on Fire Page 4
