What I Ate For Dinner

Noodles are good to have in the repertoire: they're cheap, they keep and in most cases you can make a meal out of them with only a few adjuncts. So they're practical. But then there's the other part, which I used to hate but have grown to love. They can be kind of homely. You know, kinda greasy or saucy, a bit awkward to eat, bland and slurpy. At their worst, they used to make me wish I could photosynthesize and just skip the whole eating-food-thing altogether. But then I realized that noodles, especially like the ones I'm doing tonight, are kind of a joy because they're easy to get along with. They like my jokes. And they go good with beer. They're forgiving, compassionate, ever at the ready. These guys really deliver. They're like Rudy. All of which is to say that they edge out most people you come across. So perhaps noodles are some sort of super food. I guess that's over the top, but as someone who just spent three days making demiglace, I'm glad to know some noodles, too. This one's from David Chang's book.

The prep work is really the only work here. First, make the ginger scallion sauce with which you will toss the noodles. I make this in single servings and just toss up the noodles in the same bowl I use to mix the sauce. If you're doing a larger batch, you can make a bunch of sauce and then deploy it as needed. Your call.

Start by giving a good mince to some peeled ginger. Really chop it up, since big hunks of ginger are kind of a downer. You can also chop up some chilies if you want some heat. Throw a solid pinch (or more) of the ginger and however much of the chilies you want in a bowl. Add some chopped scallions, too. Follow that up with a good drizzle of sesame oil, just a bit of white wine or sherry vinegar, a drizzle of soy sauce and some fresh ground black pepper. I think a few drops of fresh lime juice really brings these flavors together, too. Mix that up with a whisk until all the liquids are emulsified.

A note about the sauce: This is obviously prepared to taste. If you're interested in ratios, here's what Chang has: 2.5 cups scallions, half cup ginger, quarter cup neutral oil (I subbed sesame), 1.5 teaspoons soy sauce, ¾ teaspoon sherry, salt to taste. Don't get hung up on these measurements; I've only provided them for referencing ratios.

Once you have the sauce knocked out, add a handful of noodles to the bowl with the sauce. You want something like ramen-lookin' noodles. You know the ones: long and narrow, not too substantial, eminently slurpable. Mix the noodles with the ginger scallion sauce, and then dump it out into a serving bowl.

Then top the noodles with whatever you have. I used bamboo shoots, which are easy. Just grab a can of the shoots, drain them, and let them stew in a saucepan with sesame oil and a few drops of soy sauce for (I dunno) 20 or so minutes. Low heat here. They should be tender and flavorful when you yank 'em out.

Quick pickled vegetables like carrot or celery are also great atop this dish. A few extra scallions earn their keep, too. As always, pork belly or a few shards of beef rib should need no invitation.

The Cold War years corrupted a lot: faith in democracy, trust in authority, and the prestige of chastity, just to name a few. But nothing in those glory years was so ignominiously backhanded to the waste bin of once-adorable-but-now-inconvenient notions as homemade macaroni and cheese. While we pondered the cosmos and the communists, the powder 'n carbs mix that passes under cloying appellations like "mac 'n cheez!" led the charge of "convenience foods" into grocery stores, supplanting from the American cultural memory the faintest recall of firm pasta accepting escort from crunchy bread crumbs and a fresh-made, well-seasoned cheese sauce. Instead, blue boxes and their electric orange contents carried the day for decades. Well, I, for one, say that's about damn long enough: tonight, we exorcise our Nixon-era ghosts with fresh macaroni and cheese from scratch.

The sauce is the only part of this recipe you even have to really pay attention to--other than eating it. Start with caramelized shallots, then deglaze with white wine and kill the heat after allowing the alcohol to burn off (a few seconds of bubbling). Allow to cool and add in some thick milk--preferably, one or a mix of vitamin D, half/half and/or cream. Turn the heat on med-low and bring the temp up as you add in grated cheeses. Tonight, I'm using a smoked mozzarella and aged Irish cheddar with just a bit of Parm. I find that smoked cheeses go wonderfully in sauces within limits, but that too much smokiness can weary the palate. As such, I'd suggest some more grounded co-cheeses as an accompaniment.

Allow the cheeses to melt into the milk on low- to medium-low heat while seasoning with pepper and lightly with salt (the cheeses already have quite a bit of salt in 'em), as well as a bit 'o balsamic. Stir frequently, if not constantly, so as to avoid burning. When you get small bubbles on top, the sauce has reached its maximum viscosity. For more thickness, add another iteration of cheeses. You'll of course want to taste frequently as the sauce develops. Finish with chopped fresh herbs--tonight we've got Sage--and, should you dare, chopped Serrano chili.

Combine the pasta and sauce while you still have a less than fully-thickened sauce since the whole deal will thicken quite a bit in the oven (more notes on sauciness follow). To distance myself from inheritance, I'm using Farfalle ("bow-tie") pasta tonight. Macaroni is of course great, but other pastas can go well, too, so feel free to experiment. Under cook 'em: they'll get the rest of the way done in the oven.

Combine the par-cooked pasta with the cheese sauce in some sort of oven-able dish. I usually go around the edge of the dish with a little bit of butter, providing the pasta with a well-lubricated exit strategy. Sprinkle panko (or bread crumbs, but keep in mind that store-bought panko is by far superior to store-bought bread crumbs) and finish with Parm so that you get some good browning on the top. Throw it under the broiler until the top is golden brown, or at least blond.

A word about the oven: the thin sauce will thicken up in the oven. When I've let the bread crumbs brown without much cheese on top, the sauce sometimes comes out quite thick, almost like a paste. None of the flavor is lost, of course, and the dish is still delicious, but if you really want lots of creamy sauce, I thought I'd share a few ideas. First, you can sprinkle lots of finely grated parm on top of the bread crumbs. The parm flakes will brown before the crumbs, saving some time in the oven (and therefore saving some creaminess in your sauce, too) while also producing a golden brown topping. Alternatively, you can reserve some of the sauce from the stovetop and either use it as a garnish over the browned crumbs or as a base on the plate atop which to affix the finished product. In either event, the arid effects of the broiler can be mitigated--although a drier macaroni and cheese is no penance.

Garnish with more herbs and serve--perhaps with a side salad.

It happens to us all. We have grandiose ambitions of fois gras or "un petit peu de saumon en papillote" every night. Turns out, lots can come between. Fatigue. Penury. Rough days. Tough breaks. But fret not, comrade of the kitchen: the Baron is here to encourage your gestures toward ambrosia, work night-style.

One thing that motivates this blog is pragmatism. How can you come up with a good, if not great, meal when the world's gotcha down? I mean, seriously, there are definitely times when the last thing I feel like is doing even the simple stuff, like choppin' up a shallot or waiting for something to reduce. That said, I find that making an easy meal quickly often lifts my spirits after a long day. Which isn't to say I never get take-out--I do, and there's a certain satisfaction to be had with that, too. But if you wanna perform some "clutch cooking," read on.

You gotta keep in mind: lots of your favorite restaurants probably knock out your favorite dish any number of times in a given night. The secret: mis-en-place ("your meez," which means "everything in its place"). The idea is to have your "meez" set up so that everything you need is within easy reach; then, on the line (at the stove), you can crank the heat up, sauté what needs to soften, add some liquid (puree, wine, stock, demi-glace, etc.) add the "substantive" ingredient (a grilled chicken breast, some seared fish, or as in our case tonight, pasta), slap a baguette and side salad on the plate and serve. The idea of short-order cooking is that you have medium-high to high heat, a select crew of full-flavored adjuncts (shallot, carrot, salt, pepper, chilies if you feel like it---these guys are the "home team"), and something with body (the aforementioned "substantive"). That way, you can bang these out all night if you're a restaurant---or just once, if you're tired.

So, tonight I offer the first in what will probably be series: "What I cook when I don't feel like cooking." Quick, easy meals made from a few basic ingredients in under 20 minutes.

Tortellini à la Baron

1. Sauté shallot, carrot and corn until soft.
2. Deglaze with white wine and add boiled/strained tortellini (sub any pasta here).
3. Add tomato puree and reduce until excess liquid evaporates and you're left with something like a sauce/glaze.
4. I finish this with Parm, a side baguette, and salad.

If you don't have a tomato puree on hand, you can always use chopped tomatoes, or add wine or stock with butter and garlic. You'll find that this can be made in about the same time it would take to get take-out, and for a lot less.

Just because you work long hours and you're tired when you come home doesn't mean you have to eat pre-packaged food. This simple dinner takes about half an hour to cook. We probably eat this or a variation at least once a week.

Start with four or five tomatoes. We get all of our winter produce at Golden Natural Foods. Bi Rite also has good produce in the winter. Of course, it tastes better with tomatoes from a farmer's market when they're in season. Cut the tomatoes in half and de-seed them. Puree tomatoes in a blender or food processor.

Saute whatever veggies you have on hand. Last night, I used shallots, carrots, and corn sliced off the cob. Saute until the shallots are brown but not burnt. Add in the tomato puree. Add some white or red wine, a little balsamic vinegar, and salt and pepper. Let the tomato sauce simmer for ten or fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally. The goal is to let the sauce reduce until it is thick.

While the sauce is reducing, boil some water for pasta. Fresh pasta is best, but we often use frozen ravioli or gnocci from Golden. Be sure not to overcook the pasta like I always do.

When the pasta is ready, mix into the sauce on low heat until it is evenly distributed in the sauce. Plate it up and garnish with some grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. This may seem expensive, but a small block lasts a long time and it's much better than the stuff in the green can. For a little extra heat, you can add a minced Serrano chili to the sauce while it's reducing, with a little left over for garnish.

Serve with some fresh bread and a simple green salad. You can make an easy vinaigrette with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a little dijon mustard.