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Simmons Sez:
Salsa verde is a versatile Italian green sauce
By Marie Simmons
Contra Costa Times Article Launched:07/22/2008 01:34:05 PM PDT
It's a bright, tangy, slightly piquant sauce — typically a silky melange of very finely chopped fresh parsley emulsified with olive oil and a variety of seasonings — and is by far a favorite, especially in summer. It goes together quickly in a blender or food processor (or if you're a purist, a mortar and pestle), and can be enjoyed in a seemingly infinite number of dishes.
For instance, it's tasty and refreshing drizzled over thin slices of cold roasted pork, beef or lamb. Sometimes I spoon it, in a thick green stripe, down the center of a row of sliced tomatoes. A big green dot of the sauce in the center of a halved hard-cooked egg perks up a Nicoise-style tuna salad. I also like to add a swirl in a bowl of chilled tomato or carrot soup, lap it over individual servings of roasted or grilled fish, or spread a thin layer on a plate and top with sauteed or broiled shrimp.
Some cooks use a variety of herbs in salsa verde, but parsley — the flat-leaf Italian kind — is always the primary ingredient. Then garlic, olive oil, vinegar or lemon juice, capers, minced olives and sometimes anchovy fillets are added. I even found a recipe that uses ¼ cup fresh bread crumbs. The bread helps to emulsify the ingredients, making the sauce thicker and creamier.
If I have other herbs on hand, I add a few sprigs to the mix. For instance, fresh mint, dill and basil make for a slightly more complex sauce with a vibrant herby taste. Anchovy is often added, although I never think to add it. I prefer lemon juice in place of the vinegar. I like the bright flavor that lemon adds to the mix.
I'm sure some will disagree, but I often prefer salsa verde to pesto, the other and perhaps more well-known Italian "green" sauce. Although I've never thought to use salsa verde on pasta, I bet it would be delicious. Oh, boy, I feel a new recipe coming on. How about hot cooked pasta tossed with a spoonful of salsa verde and topped with some coarsely chopped fresh tomatoes? Stand by. I'm off to the kitchen to give it a try.
Reach Richmond resident and award-winning cookbook author Marie Simmons at marie.simmons@comcast.net.
Recipe link: Salsa Verde or Italian Green Sauce
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| Simmons Sez: Cook off the cuff |
By Marie Simmons
Contra Costa Times |
| Article Launched:06/10/2008 12:28:57 PM PDT |
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I'VE BEEN in high-gear Grandma-mode for the past week. In between cooing into our newborn grandson's beautiful little angel face, I've been super-busy planning meals, grocery shopping, and cooking lunch and dinner every day for our daughter (the new Mom) and her family.
The other day, thinking about how I would turn eight boneless and skinless chicken thighs into dinner, it occurred to me that my everyday cooking is typically "off the cuff." If I'm not "working" on recipes for an assignment, I rarely if ever open a cookbook or whip out measuring cups and spoons. Instead, I rely on instinct.
Many cooks use the same intuitive power. I'm not sure where it comes from, but it sure comes in handy.
Inspired by an exotic brand of curry powder I found tucked away in my daughter's spice cabinet, I marinated the chicken in a mixture of yogurt, curry powder, fresh ginger, garlic and lime juice. With no written recipe to follow, I eyeballed amounts, putting my "off the cuff" talent to the test. This time it was successful.
After about 2 hours marinating time, I carefully threaded the chicken on skewers. My son-in-law — who just happens to be a chef, but is happy to let me take over the kitchen when I'm visiting — grilled them to perfection.
I served the thighs with a simple brown rice pilaf and a warm green bean salad with mint and red onion.
The next evening, I put my instincts to the test once again. With the leftover rice, chicken and beans, I concocted a mean fried rice. Using a stir-fry skillet, I heated a small pool of vegetable oil, chopped garlic and fresh ginger until sizzling. Then I beat an egg into the oil. When the egg set, I dumped in the cold rice and the chicken that I had cut into smaller pieces, the beans, and some crisp-cooked broccoli florets and sliced carrots. The stir-fry was finished with a hearty swig of tamari and once again — somehow — an "off the cuff" meal was on the table. Whew!
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Simmons Sez: Hot smoked salmon satisfies cravings
By Marie Simmons
Article Launched: 05/27/2008 12:00:21 PM PDT
SUFFERING FROM an anticipated case of California wild salmon withdrawal, I recently found myself drawn to the display of hot smoked salmon at my local market.
The ingredients on the package listed wild king salmon (it didn't specify, but I suspect it is Alaskan), salt, brown sugar and natural wood smoke. It sounded good, so I thought to myself, "Why not give it a try?" But before I hit the kitchen, I did what I always do before I cook a food I'm not thoroughly familiar with — I hit my reference books.
Since first moving West, about a decade ago, Jay Harlow's cookbook "West Coast Seafood" has been a reliable reference and kitchen companion. Once again the book came through with all that I needed to know.
Along with thorough instructions for how to hot smoke fresh salmon (instructions we won't need this season), Jay gives a concise but thorough tutorial on the differences between cold smoked and hot smoked salmon.
"Hot smoked salmon," he explains, is accomplished when "the temperature inside the smoking chamber is high enough (therefore hot enough) to fully cook the fish." In comparison, cold smoking, which produces the moist, delicate texture of delicatessen lox, requires maintaining a temperature of 60 degrees to 110 degrees for many hours, something that is practical only on the large scale of commercial smokehouses. He goes on to say that in salmon country, cold smoking fish is a time-honored tradition using old refrigerators or improvised smokers. My solution — to purchase salmon already hot smoked — suits me just fine. I like the convenience of the vacuum package, assuring a moist, flavorful smokiness every time.
For the first recipe, I toss flakes of the hot smoked fish into warm potato salad and add a generous drizzle of olive oil and the juice of a Meyer lemon. Then I toss in chunks of hard-cooked eggs, red onion and capers. It was good.
Next day I went back to the store for more. Half of this batch I add to a steaming bowl of penne tossed with diagonal slices of cooked asparagus and hot olive oil seasoned with grated fresh garlic. Because I didn't need the entire package for the pasta, the remaining was mashed into a hard-cooked egg yolk, along with a little sour cream, destined for stuffed eggs. On a roll, I beat some flaked hot smoked salmon into cream cheese with some minced green onions and served it as a stuffing for celery.
Next, I plan to replace the tuna in a Nicoise-style salad with hot smoked salmon.
Meanwhile, we were invited to friends for dinner the other night. And what did they serve with glasses of sparkling wine? Chunks of hot smoked salmon on thin slices of baguette. Yes, we'll miss our local salmon, but I think the hot smoked kind will keep us very well fed indeed.
Recipe link: Hot Smoked Salmon Potato Salad
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Simmons Sez:
Backward strategies for recipe development
By Marie Simmons
Contra Costa TimesArticle Launched:06/24/2008 12:00:59 PM PDT
COINCIDENTALLY, a day after I confessed — in my last column — my penchant for cooking off the cuff, I came upon a similar confession in an upcoming memoir by the Italian cookbook author and cooking teacher Marcella Hazan.
Although I have not had the pleasure of meeting her in person, I came to know Hazan well through the recipes in her first book, "The Classic Italian Cookbook." She taught me much about Italian cooking beyond what I had learned from my family. My well-worn copy — a sixth edition, published in 1978 — is living proof.
In her memoir (the title, according to the advanced uncorrected proof, will be "Amarcord: Marcella Remembers"), Hazan describes her approach to cooking as "spontaneous and intuitive." She continues, "Unless I was baking a cake, I never measured ahead of time, because it would have interfered with my instincts." I know exactly what she means.
But, she had to make adaptations when writing her first cookbook. She goes on to explain how she learned to "work backwards." For instance, when making mayonnaise, she measured out the oil, using only the amount needed for the preferred consistency; then calculated the amount she used by what was left in the cup. This method may sound confusing to some, but to me it makes perfect sense, because I sometimes use this and other related "backwards" methods when trying to adapt my cooking to a written recipe.
For instance, instead of using predetermining amounts when I'm trying to get a recipe down on paper, I sometimes chop or dice ingredients and mound them separately in bowls or on my cutting board. Then as I cook (all the while formulating the recipe in my mind), I measure out the amounts my instincts — and the appearance, consistency and taste of the recipe — dictate. I make a mental note, or more often these days a hand-written note, of the final measurement. It is hard work compared to "cooking off the cuff," but it's the way we manage to get our recipes correctly written and in print.
Reading Marcella's memoir made me hungry for her food. Leafing through the book stirred up all kinds of memories for me. The dog-eared page with the recipe for bagna caoda, the hot anchovy flavored dip for vegetables that I now serve every Christmas, the elegant recipe for vitello tonnato, cold sliced veal with tuna sauce, that wowed guests at a dinner party more than 30 years ago when we were living in our Brooklyn brownstone, and the insalata di tonno e fagioli, tuna and white bean salad, that to this day is still a summertime supper staple.
As I continued to flip the pages, I found a faded slip of yellow paper with the words frullati di frutta and a page number scribbled across the top. Ah, fresh fruit whips, the Italian version of a fruit smoothie. A refreshing nourishing libation I've been making for so many summers, I'd almost forgotten its source. It's so easy, it doesn't need a recipe.
Just blend 1 cup fresh fruit, 2/3 cup milk, ¼ cup cracked ice and a dash of sugar in an electric blender for about a minute. To get it right you won't even need intuition and instinct, just juicy fresh fruit and a big thirst.
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