Why not Eat it Raw?

Uncooked egg yolk, anchovies, raw beef…if these sound like a case of food poisoning waiting to happen, then go no further. However, if they sound like mileposts on the route to gastronomic bliss, then read on. After a recent steak tartare encounter left me with an overall impression of mediocrity, I was determined to discover the secret to this seemingly simple dish. Everything else I sampled at the restaurant that night was well prepared and seasoned, yet the one component that required no cooking at all came up…well, cold. The meat was over processed- broken down to a homogenous mush- and the flavors that were there were bland and unremarkable. The perfectly runny yolk of the fried egg that topped it off added much needed richness, but was not enough to salvage the whole. I was determined to do better, but with the budget and time constraints of working with high-quality meat, I figured a little research wouldn’t hurt.

Being somewhat of a history buff/geek, I started with the dish’s origins. One source claims that it used to be served with tartar sauce, and thus began to be referred to as ‘a la tartare’- a viable, if less than captivating, explanation. A more colorful account gives credit to the Baltic Tatars, who in medieval times shredded red meat- probably horse- with their knives and ate it raw. Still not completely illuminating, but I did glean a few key points from this: first off, a knife has always been and will always be the proper tool for this task- no food processor allowed here. And secondly, medieval nomads did not have quite the same reverence for the noble steed that we do today, although the dog food factory might still take the prize for worst equine fate...

After further examination, it seemed that horsemeat was not relegated to obscure Russian provinces after all, but was quite common well into the 19^th century. It caught on during the Franco-Prussian war in 1870 when beef was in short supply, and due to its availability and an apparent lack of parasites, it remained prevalent, despite the Roman Catholic Church having banned it in medieval times.

At the turn of the 20^th century, tartare as we know it today began to appear on menus in France, and thanks to a boon in international tourism at the time, it was christened ‘beefsteak à l'Americaine’. It’s hard to say whether or not this iteration made use of the raw egg yolk, but the 1938 version of Larousse Gastronomique made clear that it was an integral to the recipe. Consequent descriptions almost always included parsley, capers, onion, and various other       accoutrements.

Alright, jumping ahead to the 21^st century; despite the significant variation amongst the slew of recipes I came across, there were some common factors. Capers, parsley, mustard, hot sauce, and either onion or shallot almost always made an appearance, with mayo, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, anchovies, and garlic making cameos as well. In terms of beef, the recipes exclusively called for tenderloin, but according to Jack O’Shea, renowned butcher at Selfridges Food Hall, this is not the only choice. O’Shea reasons that since you’re cutting the meat into minute pieces already, the tenderness of the cut is not of utmost importance. Additionally, the tnderloin actually has relatively little ‘beefy’ flavor when compared to its fattier, tougher counterparts. His suggestion? A mix of rump and flank steak. Now it just so happened that I had a lovely chunk of tenderloin left over from work, so- sorry Jack, but we’ll have to save the rump for next time- free meat is free meat, after all. As previously mentioned, a food processor is not the way to go here- it will obliterate your lovely meat into a gummy mess. Instead, use a super-sharp knife to cut the meat into slices, then strips, then cubes as small as you can. If you have a culinary background, imagine brunoising a potato; if you don't, imagine taking a big pile of meat and chopping the shit out of it.

To address the nature of this cut and its inherent issues, therefore, I had to look to the additional ingredients. First up, the lack of beefy flavor. Now tenderloin has plenty of natural flavor, don’t get me wrong, it just needs a little…boost. Since meaty was what I was seeking, the classic umami ingredients seemed like the best bet. Minced anchovy fillets were a natural choice, and before you turn up your nose, consider that Worcestershire sauce- which I also added to drive home that savory depth- contains  anchovies, and that stuff is beef’s best friend- no coincidence there.

Next, the lack of fat. Many recipes called for mayonnaise, however slapping a glistening spoonful of Hellman’s into my nearly-thirty-dollars-per-pound booty was anathema to me. But what goes in to mayonnaise? Egg yolks, oil, acid…that I could live with, so in they went- and now is not the time to be squeamish about raw eggs- you're about to eat raw cow, for pete's sake. The encore of my condiment aversion was induced by the thought of upending a squeeze-bottle of Heinz into my concoction, so despite ketchup being a repeat offender in tartare recipes, I left it out altogether. Next, Dijon for tang and heat, parsley for brightness, minced shallot for pungency and crunch, capers for brininess, diced cornichon for...pickley goodness (running out of attributes here), plenty of salt and cracked black pepper, a little lemon zest, and cognac, because everything’s better with booze. In the end, I followed the technique and basic proportions of Anthony Bourdain's recipe (omitting ketchup, subbing shallot for onion, increasing parsley to a generous handful, and adding lemon zest), and used Betty Fussell's as a reference. Next time I'm thinking about truffle oil, just to up the decadence factor even more, and if I had a quail egg I might garnish with the yolk, but for my first stab at tartare, I must say it was pretty damn delicious- and no one went to the ER- bonus!

Finally, the vehicle. Nothing against toast points, but really- is there a more clichéd or antiquated accompaniment? I might as well have used a ring mold for my tartare, stuck a toast point vertically in the middle, and added a whole parsley leaf. No, phallic-shaped towers of food with inedible garnishes have no place in my kitchen. In fact, they should probably be exiled to the culinary graveyard where they can wallow for all of eternity along with over-sauced plates and strawberry fans. I’ll always take a nice fresh baguette over sliced sandwich bread anyway, even if it is cut into fancy triangles- I caught onto that trick with my peanut butter sandwiches about twenty years ago. The secret to a good bread vehicle is a loaf with enough chew to have substance, but not enough to pull your teeth out- you shouldn’t have to chew the bread ten times more than you chew whatever’s on top of it. The thickness of your slice also bears on this delicate balance and is integral to achieving just the right bread-to-topping ratio. In the end, I think a fresh baguette, sliced about ½-inch thick on the bias and lightly toasted (not to the point where your first bite causes the whole slice to shatter and disintegrate cartoon-like into crumb debris) is just the ticket. A few extra cornichon on the side is a welcome but by no means necessary element, and to drink? My tartare endeavor just happened to coincide with the celebration of a recent achievement, thus, a bottle of Pierre Peters brut blanc de blancs was our coif of choice, but this truly was an embarrassment of riches, and such decadence is surely not a nightly affair (yet).

Any dry sparkler would work here, as would a light red- think gamay or pinot noir with just a hint of a chill on it. In closing, I’ll leave you with the words of Madame E. Saint-Ange from La Bonne Cuisine in 1929: "Steak Tartar is a culinary fantasy made of raw ingredients." Indeed, Madame, indeed.

The Scotsman of Jamaica (Plain)

Always up for trying something new- especially when it involves drinks after a long day of work- I gamely agreed to head over to the first Scottish spot in JP (and in Massachusetts, apparently) for some beers and banter, neither of which is in short supply at The Haven.

Though unremarkable from the street, the interior of this wee joint (oh come in- it’s Scottish- I can get away with saying wee…) has plenty of charm. Antler chandeliers, a faux-fireplace, shiny wood floors, and melamine chairs make the space feel like a cross between a log cabin and a page from a Restoration Hardware catalog, with just a touch of middle-school classroom thrown in. Retro posters and glass jars full of thistle and goldenrod add just the right nostalgic touch without being too campy.

We were served beers by the bartender and owner, Jason, whose accommodating attitude was only enhanced by a genuine Scottish lilt- though I’m pretty sure a sociopath could win me over with an accent like that. The menu was appropriately dominated by Scottish beers from the Williams Bros brewing company, and we obligingly sampled as many of the various brews as possible- a task made all the more daunting by the fact that most of them come in 16 ounce bottles, but we rose to the challenge. There was the Joker, a fresh tasting, slightly bitter IPA; Midnight Sun, a dark, spicy porter with molasses and ginger notes; Fraoch, a lovely heather ale made in the gruit style; and- my favorite- Kelpie, a seaweed ale with a distinctly salty, chocolaty palate. Intrigued? Just imagine those fancy sea-salted chocolates…in beer form. Not convinced? There are plenty of ciders and ales on tap as well…wuss.

First out of the kitchen were homey-looking plates of oatcakes topped with curls of butter. Now, I had imagined oatcakes as crumbly biscuits, the only assets of which are a long shelf life and the ability to withstand extreme circumstances- including any attempt one might make to chew or digest them. On the contrary, these salty-sweet little morsels were more like a cross between an oatmeal cookie and whole wheat bread. Apparently I was thinking of something else…maybe pemmican or hardtack. Thanks in part to it being one of the only grains that would grow in the north of Scotland, oatmeal used to be a staple of the Scottish diet; a fact that led author Samuel Johnson to refer to it as a grain that in England was fed only to horses, but “in Scotland supports the people”- seems there was a bit of England-Scotland animosity at work here. Accompanying the oatcakes were lightly pickled red onion, crunchy slices of fennel, and red grapes.

Never having tried haggis before, and with no international travel in my foreseeable future, I figured this was my chance. For those of you who don’t know, haggis is a very traditional and (in)famous Scottish dish comprised of lamb heart, liver, lungs, etc. mixed with onion and oatmeal (again, not just for horses, Mr. Johnson), and cooked inside the sheep’s intestine. Resourceful? Absolutely. Appetizing? Ummmm… Served alongside the main attraction were ‘tatties and neeps’, which sound uncannily like kibbles and bits to my ears- an allusion made all the more unfortunate by the plateful of unidentifiable ground animal parts staring me down. In fact tatties are simply mashed potatoes, and neeps are usually rutabagas, but the Haven version makes use of the lesser-known kohlrabi, with quite successful results. The veg was not only roasted to crunchy-tender perfection, but was actually seasoned well- for once I didn’t have to shame-facedly request salt and pepper. As for the haggis, it had a unique, not unpleasant flavor- a bit gamey, a bit livery, but rich and well balanced. And we’ll leave it at that.

Next up? Take a hard-boiled egg, wrap it in pork sausage, and deep-fry it. What do you get? Scotch eggs! In all fairness, these suckers started out with a handicap in my book, being that hard-boiled eggs are simply not my thing. A yolk is meant to be runny, if you ask me, and cooking it to the hard stage is on par with cooking a filet to medium-well: sacrilege. That being said, there aren’t many things that wouldn’t taste good wrapped in pork and fried- especially dipped in a side of spicy whole-grain mustard- so I made my peace with it. If just imagining this dish is making your arteries pulse with apprehension, not to worry- it’s served with a few leaves of delicately dressed lettuce, which I’m pretty sure makes it a square meal, especially when you consider that egg whites are practically a diet food. Thick-cut skin-on chips gave us the perfect vehicle to test-drive the various sauces provided to each table- Worcestershire, HP sauce- although the Marmite remained securely lidded….curious.

While there were plenty of other tempting vittles on offer- sassitch and mash, beef and ale pie, fish and chips- an undeniable aspect of this cuisine is its filling nature, so we called it a night. The upside is that there’s ample fare to lure us back for at least two or three more forays into Scottish gastronomy. But if Highland grub is not your thing, not to worry; also on offer is Chicken tikka masala, and- get ready- fried mars bars….if it’s a nice evening, it might not be a bad idea to walk there and back. Or walk there and crawl back. Cheers!

Untold Story of Champagne

"What are the grapes used to make Champagne?"   

If you are a student of wine or know the basics, this question is not too hard to answer. But did you know there are 5 other varieties that can be used to make Champagne?

Here is the list:

Arbanne- important in Aube in the 19th century; flowery bouquet; sensitivity to mildew

Petit Meslier- cultivated in Aube; good acidity with fruity aroma; sensitive to viruses and grey rot

Gamay- banned by law in 1927; but if the vine grower is more than 95 years old and the vines planted prior to 1948, you can obtain a special permission to grow it

Fromenteau- fruity taste with tropical fruit note with body; also cultivated in Alsace

Pinot Blanc- a mutation of Pinot Gris and Pinot Noir

Due to the lack of commercial importance, only a handful of producers still make Champagne from these varieties. Two I found are:

Moutard Vielles Vignes Cepages Arbane
(100% Arbanne)

Aubry Le Nombre d'Or
(depending on a vintage but usually a blend of Arbanne, Petit Meslier and Pinot Blanc)




*WARNING: please do not write these varieties as answer for your wine test unless you are sitting for the Masters of Wine exam