Risotto is very in right now.
No, I'm kidding, actually. It's just that I've only now discovered it. What with the white wine and octopus, I was inspired to make my own.
(Sidenote: most of the ingredients for this were procured on a trip the Little Italy/Jean-Talon area, among others the Milano Fruiterie. This is due for another post because it's too much intenseness to deal with here.)
My first reference for Italian cooking is always Marcella Hazan. She's a bit of a god. The first good and still the best person to write an Italian cookbook in English, she brought real Italian food, and some of its values to America. Thank you. She has lots to say about risotto, including that it's pretty unique. True enough. Every cuisine seems to use rice, from Morocco to Japan. Understandably, since it's one of the great things in life. But Italians have taken rice and made it risotto and made it their own; good thing too.
So. Risotti have a sort of fascinating basic mode d'emploi. First, sauté finely chopped onions and anything else solid that will flavour the risotto in butter (or olive oil--depends). Of course, some delicate things won't stand up to this and must be added at the end. Octopus is an example. In such a case, the brine or juices, etc, would be added at the beginning and the actual flesh a little before the rice finishes cooking.
Anyways. The rice must be short-grain, which is to say it must be cultivar destined for risotto. The popular, all-purpose variety is called Arborio, by far the most renowned. I'd no idea there even were any other suitable kinds of rice until Marcella told me so. (They are Carnaloni and Vialone Nano. Arborio is much easier to find.)Once you have all this rice stuff sorted out, proceed to sauté the rice with the onions and miscellany until the rice is thoroughly coated with delicious butter stuff.
The difficult part about this is the stirring. When they say stirring constantly, folks, they sure aren't kidding. Not only that, but a wooden spoon will not cut it. You need a firm spatula that's powerful, heat-resistant and can get that pan circumference where the rice will stick. You must keep the motion constantly; stirring, scraping, folding, and doing it fast as you can. Marcella says the bottom of the pan must be completely scraped every ten seconds. It is so, so true, but also kind of fun, so don't freak out.
So, after you've made the flavour base and added the rice, the time has come for the liquefaction. Or something. Risotti generally have beef/chicken/veal/whatever stock as their main liquid. Many have wine. Some have seafood juices, etc. The point is to give the rice soup some serious flavour.
Side note about stock: I was very wicked here and used bouillon. It's a total and complete cop-out, and I hang my head in culinary shame. But the risotto came out beautifully, so I think it's reasonable to think of it as means to an end. Next time I really will make stock, though. For anybody else, my experience was that bouillon is an acceptable substitute.
The catch about adding the liquid is that it must be added about a cup at a time, no more (although it's not necessary to measure--just eyeball it). Liquid. Stir madly until the rice has absorbed it all. Liquid. Stir madly until they it desoupifies completely. Liquid. And so on, until the desired texture has been achieved, depending if you want your risotto thick or thin, etc, etc.
A tip to make the stirring easier is to really add the next cup of liquid right after the rice has absorbed. As the dish progresses, stirring the rice without new stock makes it stick to the pan much faster and easier.
Okay, then. Say you've added all the liquid the recipe calls for, more or less, according to taste. You continue to cook the rice (um, I got a little exhausted, but that's the price to pay) for twenty more minutes approximately. Don't let up on the stirring! The same rigidity applies. Everywhere you go, they say the rice should be cooked slightly al dente. Cook it how you want it. The risotto will probably be better if it has a bit of a bite to the grain, preserving more of the dish's unique texture, but if you want it soupier, go ahead. Even more al dente? Fine. It's a matter of preference and various variables.
The final step is called mantecate. It's very simple: you simply take the pan off the heat (I used a dutch oven for its heat-conducting and heavy dutiness) and add some more butter and some grated parmesan. Cool to palatable and enjoy.
Remeber that there are more different risotti than you can possibly imagine. Some sound really weird and un-italian, but here are some ideas, just to give you an idea of the diversity: spinach & curried veal, red wine, lemon and pomegranate (okay, that sounds incredibly bizarre, I'm sorry, I'm sorry; I'm getting these off random sites), mushroom, asparagus, with raisins (?), sausages & leeks, basic tomato... I could go on forever. All of them will probably have their deliciousnesses. Try some out.
My risotto was excellent. I made it with a combination of shiitake and portobello mushrooms (the two together are supposed to resemble the flavour of porcini mushrooms, which I can't find) in the flavour base. Chicken stock, some dry white cooking wine, arborio rice. Yummy. It had a great texture (it might have been a tiny bit gummy, so more liquid next time) and was one of those things that's very very flavourful, although what flavour exactly it's difficult to say. Mushroom flavour, I suppose. Delicious. Try it yourself. Good luck!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
St-Denis and awesomeness
I'm not quite sure how to go about this city blogging part. I haven't got a specific place to review, but just some wandering on St-Denis; but I suppose that's Montreal, and that's bloggable.
Of course, the reason I head to this stretch is Camellia Sinensis. So no, I don't mean the Mont-Royal to Sherbrooke station drag. This is the span from Sherbrooke to about Ste-Catherine. Yes, it's short. But it gets really dense in there. You can pack a lot of city into two blocks and then have pointless expanse for miles--elsewhere. Chinatown is proof, although I think it's just a Chinatown thing. Whether Chinatowns/International Districts/whatever are big or small, there's more of it per square foot than there is of the Main (well, in a different way). Maybe it's a cultural thing.
Anyways, back to UQAM area. Don't you just hate the construction around Quartier des Spectacles? The 80 bus has been derouted and it took me forever to find it this one time I was going to a cupcake place on Park. (It was closed. Apparently, it's really good, but I can never catch it at the right times. Cocoa Locale, I will get to you someday. Maybe.)
Anyways. If you go the long underground way out of the Berri Metro, you come out on the stretch I was talking about. There's some attractions around there. Cinémathèque Québecoise, for one thing; and the Cinéma Robothèque. And some normal movie theatre, right across from C. M. The profusion of movie theatres may be why some of the Festival du Films du Monde is there.
When you turn onto St-Denis from St-Catherine, there's a little green space in front of a building--part of the UQAM campus. There's a cool thing going on there right now. The design school is doing something it calls 40 ans, 40 chaises; I assume it's celebrating it's fortieth anniversary. And yes, with chairs. They have perfectly normal metal framework chairs, just without seats (I guess there are forty. I didn't count). But they've woven seats into the chairs, so that they're actually quite comfy. It's done with some kind of red seat-belt material. But it doesn't end there. The chairs are woven in to the place--into the storm drain here, the chairs connected by one woven-round strap. The trees are tied full of them. Some is woven into the upper balcony, some into the ironwork fence. And mixed in, tied in, woven in, are pretty neat, bright red chairs. You should really go check it out.
Right across, there's that neat church building that's attached to a newer bâtiment. Entering through the pretty old front-of-a-church brings you to it.
The next stretch is the nice part. It's a lot of old, colourful, beautiful houses, except filled with stores. That's past and present meshed if I've ever seen it. They remind me of the houses outside of Square St-Louis (the most awesome place ever. If you've never looked at the houses around it, do). The awnings, the terraces, the people, the narrow street, the cars. Somehow it's very, very Montreal. The kind of place you bump into someone and they'll say 'Scusez and you'll say Sorry at the same time and you'll both understand each other. It has the coffee shops and the sketchy shops and the shisha places. This is the Plateau. Je suis bien au Quartier Latin. It's pretty damn difficult to get better than this.
Le Commensal--a famous buffet-style vegetarian restaurant--is here. There are a lot of cool restaurants; this place is mostly restaurant, in fact. Part of what makes it so pretty is the color, and the levels. That's what always strikes me. These shops don't make a row, they make a commotion.
There's a little Tibetan hole-in-the-wall clothes shop north of Emery. It's really small, but it's really nice; I just got a gorgeous headband there for 8$. The prices are all reasonable, and the clothes are all gorgeous, if not all wearable. There's interesting Tibetan traditional stuff, but also bags, wallets, pretty things.
That's really all I have to say. I hope the first Montreal post is all right.
Of course, the reason I head to this stretch is Camellia Sinensis. So no, I don't mean the Mont-Royal to Sherbrooke station drag. This is the span from Sherbrooke to about Ste-Catherine. Yes, it's short. But it gets really dense in there. You can pack a lot of city into two blocks and then have pointless expanse for miles--elsewhere. Chinatown is proof, although I think it's just a Chinatown thing. Whether Chinatowns/International Districts/whatever are big or small, there's more of it per square foot than there is of the Main (well, in a different way). Maybe it's a cultural thing.
Anyways, back to UQAM area. Don't you just hate the construction around Quartier des Spectacles? The 80 bus has been derouted and it took me forever to find it this one time I was going to a cupcake place on Park. (It was closed. Apparently, it's really good, but I can never catch it at the right times. Cocoa Locale, I will get to you someday. Maybe.)
Anyways. If you go the long underground way out of the Berri Metro, you come out on the stretch I was talking about. There's some attractions around there. Cinémathèque Québecoise, for one thing; and the Cinéma Robothèque. And some normal movie theatre, right across from C. M. The profusion of movie theatres may be why some of the Festival du Films du Monde is there.
When you turn onto St-Denis from St-Catherine, there's a little green space in front of a building--part of the UQAM campus. There's a cool thing going on there right now. The design school is doing something it calls 40 ans, 40 chaises; I assume it's celebrating it's fortieth anniversary. And yes, with chairs. They have perfectly normal metal framework chairs, just without seats (I guess there are forty. I didn't count). But they've woven seats into the chairs, so that they're actually quite comfy. It's done with some kind of red seat-belt material. But it doesn't end there. The chairs are woven in to the place--into the storm drain here, the chairs connected by one woven-round strap. The trees are tied full of them. Some is woven into the upper balcony, some into the ironwork fence. And mixed in, tied in, woven in, are pretty neat, bright red chairs. You should really go check it out.
Right across, there's that neat church building that's attached to a newer bâtiment. Entering through the pretty old front-of-a-church brings you to it.
The next stretch is the nice part. It's a lot of old, colourful, beautiful houses, except filled with stores. That's past and present meshed if I've ever seen it. They remind me of the houses outside of Square St-Louis (the most awesome place ever. If you've never looked at the houses around it, do). The awnings, the terraces, the people, the narrow street, the cars. Somehow it's very, very Montreal. The kind of place you bump into someone and they'll say 'Scusez and you'll say Sorry at the same time and you'll both understand each other. It has the coffee shops and the sketchy shops and the shisha places. This is the Plateau. Je suis bien au Quartier Latin. It's pretty damn difficult to get better than this.
Le Commensal--a famous buffet-style vegetarian restaurant--is here. There are a lot of cool restaurants; this place is mostly restaurant, in fact. Part of what makes it so pretty is the color, and the levels. That's what always strikes me. These shops don't make a row, they make a commotion.
There's a little Tibetan hole-in-the-wall clothes shop north of Emery. It's really small, but it's really nice; I just got a gorgeous headband there for 8$. The prices are all reasonable, and the clothes are all gorgeous, if not all wearable. There's interesting Tibetan traditional stuff, but also bags, wallets, pretty things.
That's really all I have to say. I hope the first Montreal post is all right.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Soufflé au citron
Je me sens tellement Gordon Ramsay en ce moment.
Là, j'exagère. Mais je ne peux m'empêcher de sentir qu'un soufflé réussi constitue un milestone dans mon éducation culinaire. À vrai dire, c'est un tout petit peu triste que je n'en avait fait aucun à date. Aucun réussi, plûtot: même si j'en ai fait quelques-uns au chocolat, ils manquaient le drame essentiel du soufflé, et en plus goûtait l'amidon.
Peu importe. Je préfère toujours le citron au chocolat. C'est plus facile d'arriver à un goût intense. Le chocolat, quand c'est réussi, whoa! c'est réussi--mais si c'est ça moins, alors je resterai agrumoholique. Mais il est vrai qu'avec des quantités généreux de zeste et de jus, vous êtes pratiquement garantis un bon dessert. Souvenez-vous en.
Cette recette n'était pas tout à fait conventionnel. Une autre recette de Cook's Illustrated (elles sont toujours intéressantes à essayer, mais parfois un peu surcompliquées) avait pour but de démystifier et apporter au peuple le soufflé qui éclate de prestige. En faisant, on a totalement éliminé la base de crème pâtissière. Je n'en suis pas trop dévasté. Mes skills ne couvrent pas 20/20 la crème pâtissière parfaite. La raison principale pour ça serait d'éliminer le risque de starchiness et de permettre au saveur citron de briller sans être soumis au lait.
Alors: mélange de jaune d'oeuf et de sucre, ajouté ensuite de zeste, jus, et farine. Rien d'autre, sauf les blancs d'oeufs monté en neige. Petite indice, particulièrement quand les blancs d'oeufs devront être incorporés à quelque chose d'autre. Battez-les à main, avec un batteur d'oeufs, ou à mi-vitesse sur un malaxeur. Comme ça, les bulles d'air seront plus petits et moins facile à éclater: plus stable.
En tout cas. On fait fondre du beurre dans un poêlon de dix pouces. Faut que ce soit ces dimensions exactes pour assurer la cuisson bien arrangée. Une fois fondu et chauffé, le soufflé et cuit sur la poêle à peu près 2min, durant quel temps les cotés prennent et forment un peu des bulles. Ce n'est qu'après ça qu'on glisse notre futur soufflé dans le four.
Si le soufflé n'avait cette hauteur incroyable qui me fait toujours rêver dans les photos des lives de recette, c'est à cause du poêlon. Il forme un dome merveilleusement doré, avec un peu la surface d'un lemon meringue pie, sauf plus jaune. Il s'est bel et bien gonflé. Une cuillèrée confirme que le goût était loin d'un échec lui aussi. La texture va presque sans dire. La seule plainte que j'ai pu avoir, c'est qu'après plusieurs minutes sur mon assiète, la texture s'est comme dégonflé. Pas gommeux, exactement, mais certainement avec une lourdeté dans la bouche. Probablement que tous les soufflés ont ce destin. Vaut la peine d'en faire, par contre. Vous allez vous sentir tellement Gordon Ramsay.
Là, j'exagère. Mais je ne peux m'empêcher de sentir qu'un soufflé réussi constitue un milestone dans mon éducation culinaire. À vrai dire, c'est un tout petit peu triste que je n'en avait fait aucun à date. Aucun réussi, plûtot: même si j'en ai fait quelques-uns au chocolat, ils manquaient le drame essentiel du soufflé, et en plus goûtait l'amidon.
Peu importe. Je préfère toujours le citron au chocolat. C'est plus facile d'arriver à un goût intense. Le chocolat, quand c'est réussi, whoa! c'est réussi--mais si c'est ça moins, alors je resterai agrumoholique. Mais il est vrai qu'avec des quantités généreux de zeste et de jus, vous êtes pratiquement garantis un bon dessert. Souvenez-vous en.
Cette recette n'était pas tout à fait conventionnel. Une autre recette de Cook's Illustrated (elles sont toujours intéressantes à essayer, mais parfois un peu surcompliquées) avait pour but de démystifier et apporter au peuple le soufflé qui éclate de prestige. En faisant, on a totalement éliminé la base de crème pâtissière. Je n'en suis pas trop dévasté. Mes skills ne couvrent pas 20/20 la crème pâtissière parfaite. La raison principale pour ça serait d'éliminer le risque de starchiness et de permettre au saveur citron de briller sans être soumis au lait.
Alors: mélange de jaune d'oeuf et de sucre, ajouté ensuite de zeste, jus, et farine. Rien d'autre, sauf les blancs d'oeufs monté en neige. Petite indice, particulièrement quand les blancs d'oeufs devront être incorporés à quelque chose d'autre. Battez-les à main, avec un batteur d'oeufs, ou à mi-vitesse sur un malaxeur. Comme ça, les bulles d'air seront plus petits et moins facile à éclater: plus stable.
En tout cas. On fait fondre du beurre dans un poêlon de dix pouces. Faut que ce soit ces dimensions exactes pour assurer la cuisson bien arrangée. Une fois fondu et chauffé, le soufflé et cuit sur la poêle à peu près 2min, durant quel temps les cotés prennent et forment un peu des bulles. Ce n'est qu'après ça qu'on glisse notre futur soufflé dans le four.
Si le soufflé n'avait cette hauteur incroyable qui me fait toujours rêver dans les photos des lives de recette, c'est à cause du poêlon. Il forme un dome merveilleusement doré, avec un peu la surface d'un lemon meringue pie, sauf plus jaune. Il s'est bel et bien gonflé. Une cuillèrée confirme que le goût était loin d'un échec lui aussi. La texture va presque sans dire. La seule plainte que j'ai pu avoir, c'est qu'après plusieurs minutes sur mon assiète, la texture s'est comme dégonflé. Pas gommeux, exactement, mais certainement avec une lourdeté dans la bouche. Probablement que tous les soufflés ont ce destin. Vaut la peine d'en faire, par contre. Vous allez vous sentir tellement Gordon Ramsay.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
White wine and octopus risotto
I went the Claremont (5032 Sherbrooke) recently. I know it's been a Westmount institution for ages. That means it's good, established, chic, and expensive. I don't mean Toqué or Buona Notte expensive--far from it--but just that you will pay more than fifteen for a main course. This meal was worth it, though; a real treat. You may be wondering about the title of the post. I'll get to it.
The menu is surprisingly short. This place seems to describe itself as an eclectic urban bistro, and while that's a pretty pompous thing to describe yourself as, "eclectic" certainly fits. We have "Claremont Poutine" right next to shrimp cocktail with chili and horseradish sauce. I would say that the majority is probably something like Italian; pizza, pasta, are creative, but not world fusion in any big way. They have different burgers, and various weird and tempting pastas, but I am attracted to Risotto of the day, which has an excitingly mysterious market price. I am actually kind of ravi by risotto as an of-the-day. I'm not above thinking it's downright nifty. Anyways. Today's risotto is the aformentioned white wine and octupus. Well. I could hardly pass that one up, especially on enthusiastic recommendation from the waitress.
I had actually never eaten risotto before. I know what it is, vaguely: a sort of Italian stew made from short-grain arborio rice gone all épaisse and crémeux and gloopy. I sort of had the impression it always involved tomatoes, but apparently this couldn't be farther from the truth. The plate presented me was lovely sort of lilac color. It was smooth with the unique texture of the rice grains in there. I'll have to try making it on my own. It had, as all restaurant dishes should, a sprig of parsley and a lemon wedge. I remember very distinctly that my first bite was phenomenal (don't worry, the subsequent bites were phenomenal, too). I feel like I need a new interjection of deliciousness, but yum. Laced with coriander (I think), interspersed with lots of delicious bits of octopus, sweet and seafoody, but with the delicate astringency of white wine without a trace of its alcoholy tang, and with a melt-in-the-mouth texture, this. dish. was. awesome. The portion wasn't gigantic, but it suited me perfectly. I ate every bite.
So! Go here, I guess, when you want a nice meal out. I'm not a big fan of the music, but then I never am. Other people at my table had a burger, which they enjoyed, and mussels in red thai basil sauce, which I tried (the mussels were excellent and so was the sauce; however, I don't know the briny mussels really needed the curryish sauce, or vice versa). Nice service, nice place, institution. I certainly had an exceptional meal here.
The menu is surprisingly short. This place seems to describe itself as an eclectic urban bistro, and while that's a pretty pompous thing to describe yourself as, "eclectic" certainly fits. We have "Claremont Poutine" right next to shrimp cocktail with chili and horseradish sauce. I would say that the majority is probably something like Italian; pizza, pasta, are creative, but not world fusion in any big way. They have different burgers, and various weird and tempting pastas, but I am attracted to Risotto of the day, which has an excitingly mysterious market price. I am actually kind of ravi by risotto as an of-the-day. I'm not above thinking it's downright nifty. Anyways. Today's risotto is the aformentioned white wine and octupus. Well. I could hardly pass that one up, especially on enthusiastic recommendation from the waitress.
I had actually never eaten risotto before. I know what it is, vaguely: a sort of Italian stew made from short-grain arborio rice gone all épaisse and crémeux and gloopy. I sort of had the impression it always involved tomatoes, but apparently this couldn't be farther from the truth. The plate presented me was lovely sort of lilac color. It was smooth with the unique texture of the rice grains in there. I'll have to try making it on my own. It had, as all restaurant dishes should, a sprig of parsley and a lemon wedge. I remember very distinctly that my first bite was phenomenal (don't worry, the subsequent bites were phenomenal, too). I feel like I need a new interjection of deliciousness, but yum. Laced with coriander (I think), interspersed with lots of delicious bits of octopus, sweet and seafoody, but with the delicate astringency of white wine without a trace of its alcoholy tang, and with a melt-in-the-mouth texture, this. dish. was. awesome. The portion wasn't gigantic, but it suited me perfectly. I ate every bite.
So! Go here, I guess, when you want a nice meal out. I'm not a big fan of the music, but then I never am. Other people at my table had a burger, which they enjoyed, and mussels in red thai basil sauce, which I tried (the mussels were excellent and so was the sauce; however, I don't know the briny mussels really needed the curryish sauce, or vice versa). Nice service, nice place, institution. I certainly had an exceptional meal here.
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