- Full Title: The World of Filipino Cooking: Food and Fun in the Philippines by Chris Urbano of "Maputing Cooking" (over 90 recipes)
- Autor: Chris Urbano
- Print Length: 144 pages
- Publisher: Tuttle Publishing
- Publication Date: September 25, 2018
- Language: English
- ISBN-10: 0804849250
- ISBN-13: 978-0804849258
- Download File Format | Size: epub | 35,99 Mb
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This eBook edition published by 4th Estate in 2017
Copyright text © Giorgio Locatelli 2017
All photographs © Lisa Linder 2017
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Giorgio Locatelli asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
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Source ISBN: 9780008100513
Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008100520
The places I call home
Seasonal salads and vegetables
Panini, crostini, pies and other snacks
Pasta, rice and pizza
Favourite fish and seafood
Grilled meats, roasts and stews
Cakes, treats and ice creams
About the Publisher
The places I call home
Home means many things to me. Home is north London with my wife, Plaxy, and now grown-up ‘kids’, Jack and Margherita, who come and go but still expect to raid the fridge as soon as they walk through the door. When Plaxy and I are at home on our own, the meals we share are about simply cooked fish, vegetables and salads, and many of our favourite recipes are included here. But when Margherita was small, much of our cooking had to begin with something that she could eat, since shortly after she was born we discovered that she had an allergy to around 600 foods, especially fish, tomatoes and eggs. So for years we could never have fish or tomatoes in the kitchen, and ingredients like almonds would be kept in jars in separate labelled cupboards to keep her safe. We never wanted her to feel different, so we would always find a way of making something for her that looked like what everyone else was eating, even if the ingredients varied. But for me, that should always be at the heart of all home cooking: the idea that you adapt and change according to what you buy fresh that is in season, what you have in your cupboard and your fridge, and who you are cooking for.
Home, for me, is also Corgeno in Lombardy, northern Italy, where my whole family was involved with my uncle’s restaurant, La Cinzianella, on the shore of Lake Comabbio, so my grandmother was in charge of the cooking in our house while my grandfather raised rabbits and chickens and grew vegetables in the garden. Many of the meals that my grandmother cooked, I still cook at home for my own family, and when I do, it is as if I am back in Corgeno with her and my grandad again.
According to the day of the week, we might have risotto with saffron, pasta with homemade passata, fish from the lake, and once a week fresh prawns; or stews, such as osso buco or my favourite, spezzatino, made with beef, potatoes and peas, according to whatever pieces of meat Stefanino, the village butcher, had kept for my grandmother.
When my elder brother, Roberto, and I would come home from school there would often be a soup made with my grandmother’s broth and maybe a scallopine to follow: a sliver of pork, veal or chicken, encrusted in breadcrumbs from the big jar in the kitchen and fried. I still think that in a family environment, soup is very important. It is a great comfort food; it doesn’t need so much planning, and you can make a potful and freeze some in a container for next time. If I get home late from the restaurant, or from filming, having tasted so many dishes during the course of the day, all I want is a simple soup to soothe and settle the stomach. Or a simple pasta.
I never tire of a plate of spaghetti with a brilliant tomato sauce, but I often think that while the great advantage of pasta is its familiarity, that is also its worst enemy, because we all have our one or two favourite recipes that we make over and over again, when actually a dish of pasta should reflect the changing seasons. It is a perfect medium for introducing kids to ingredients with different textures and flavours throughout the year.
My grandparents, who had been through the war, never lost the fear that there might come a day when there was no food – something that Jack and Margherita have no reason to understand – but in Europe plentiful food has come at a certain cost to society. There is no doubt that we have to
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t Corn Bread with Honey Butter and Scallion Butter
Chris Feldmeier’s Santa Maria–Style Beans
Charred Broccolini with Salami and Burrata
Corn and Fava Bean Succotash Salad
Dean Fearing’s Frito Pie
Whole Leaf Caesar Salad with Fried Parsley Leaves and Anchovy Croutons
Braised Cabbage Wedges with Bacon
Shaved Brussels Sprouts Salad with Pecorino and Toasted Almonds
Dave’s Oven-Roasted Grouper with Spicy Tomato Marmalade and Tahini
Roasted Radishes and Turnips with Radish Sprouts and Dill
Grilled Escarole with Salsa Rustica
Mixed Grain and Seed Salad
Roasted Carrots and Chickpeas with Cumin Vinaigrette
Blistered Green Beans with Yogurt Dressing
Prosciutto Mozzarella Parcels
Radicchio Salad with Bacon and Egg
Backyard Peel ’n’ Eat Shrimp Boil
Celery Root Remoulade with Fresh Horseradish and Toasted Almonds
Green Potato Leek Salad with Scallion Vinaigrette
Corn on the Cob with Chile Butter
Lamb and Chicken Tikka Kebabs
Fire-Roasted Eggplant Caviar
Yogurt with Cucumbers
Marinated Radicchio and Beet Salad with Labneh Cheese Balls
Kale Freekeh Tabbouleh
Flattened Chicken Thighs with Charred Lemon Salsa Verde
Charred Lemon Salsa Verde
Pasta Salad with Bitter Greens, Parmigiano Cream, and Guanciale
Oily Garlicky Spinach
Kale Salad with Marinated White Anchovies and Ricotta Salata
Roasted Onions with Crispy Bread Crumbs
Spicy Pork Stew with Butternut Squash and Roasted Tomatillo Salsa
Roasted Tomatillo Salsa
Spiced Rice with Pumpkin Seeds
Pickled Jalapeño Peppers
Seasoned Avocado Halves
Southern-Style Korean Cut Short Ribs with Vinegar Onions
Pimento Cheese with Celery Sticks
Husk-Style Pickled Green Beans
Spicy Braised Greens with Vinegar and Ham Hock
Coleslaw with Green Goddess Dressing
Erik Black’s Potato Salad
Flaky Buttermilk Biscuits
Spiced Carrot Cake with Molasses Cream Cheese Frosting (on the Side)
Polenta Cake with Brutti Ma Buoni Topping
Torta di Riso
Dario’s Olive Oil Cake with Rosemary and Pine Nuts
Mexican Wedding Cookies
Bittersweet Chocolate Tartufo with Olive Oil Croutons and Sea Salt
Four-Layer Salted Chocolate Caramel Tart
Genevieve’s Salted Walnut Shortbreads
Dark Chocolate Pudding
Devil’s Food Rings with Spiced White Mountain Frosting
Liz’s Bird Food
Deconstructed Stone Fruit Crisp with Sbrisolona and Mascarpone Cream
Robert Abele’s White Chocolate Birthday Crunch
Spiced Caramel Corn with Salty Peanuts
Chai Chocolate Chip Cookies
Owning four busy Mozza restaurants in Southern California and two in Singapore, it’s surprisingly easy to forget how and why I started down the path that led me here so many years ago: because of the immense pleasure I get from cooking a meal and serving it to family and friends. For many years while running La Brea Bakery and the pastry kitchen at Campanile, my first restaurant, which I opened in 1989 with my then husband, I didn’t cook at all—other than foods, such as pasta with butter, for my kids’ dinner. But that changed about fifteen years ago, when I started spending time in Italy. From the very first summer that I rented an apartment in a small medieval hill town on the Umbria-Tuscany border where I now own a home, my being situated in Umbria and the bounty of the area turned out to be the perfect storm that blew me back into the kitchen.
With local ingredients including cherry tomatoes, red torpedo onions, and fragrant basil at the height of their season; regional specialties such as chickpeas, lentils, and sheep’s milk cheese; long summer days when it stays light until almost ten o’clock; and an endless cast of hungry friends who arrived weekly from Los Angeles and rented apartments and houses in the same town, I started cooking again—more than I ever had. And despite the fact that I had rented a house with a tiny kitchen stocked with aluminum pots and pans and one dull knife, I was reminded of how much I love preparing food for family and friends—old and new.
My friend Suzanne Tracht, also a chef and restaurant owner, of the Los Angeles chophouse Jar, had rented an apartment right on the piazza, in the center of town. During the day, Suzanne and I and other friends would explore the surrounding areas, discovering cheese makers, farm stands, outdoor markets that popped up in different towns on different days, and little artisan shops that
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Mexican classics, added in simple family favorites I’ve been fed by Mexican moms through the years and, in a few instances, wove together traditional ingredients into contemporary offerings. Then I compiled it all into a book that mirrors everyday eating at our house.
In broad strokes, the hub of this book is some fifty main dishes—most of them complete meals. I’ve bookended those entrées with a collection of plucky salad dressings and a few simple fruit desserts. (We usually toss together a salad to go with our main dish; dessert doesn’t play a large role in our everyday eating.) In addition, there’s a large selection on grilling—marinades, rubs, grilling skills for my favorite cuts and, of course, a robust collection of salsas to spoon on. And since grilled dishes cry out for rustic accompaniments, I’ve also included a selection of straightforward bean and rice preparations, plus a few simple vegetable salads that I think will capture your imagination.
It sounds as though the development of these recipes progressed along a straight path, but that’s only partly true. Yes, over many years I have developed a deep understanding of Mexican ingredients and techniques that has equipped me for streamlining the classics. True, I’ve tasted (and jotted down recipes for) many simple dishes at kitchen tables all over Mexico. But it wasn’t until I fully understood the crucial concept of everyday food—versus weekend food, special-occasion food, feasting food, however you want to brand it—that the framework for these recipes took form.
And the rather windy path to that clear understanding of everyday food, and the essential role it plays in our lives, took me through some unexpected terrain, through aspects of myself I’d rarely connected with. But as I navigated the various bends in my road, I began to notice a greater sense of wellbeing. I began getting healthier, more fit. Which means that, nowadays, I’ve become accustomed to an almost identical interrogation from practically everyone I meet.
“How come,” they all wonder out loud, blurt out loud, “you’re so lean if you’re a chef?”
It doesn’t really take much reasoning to parse the thought process: A chef gains notoriety by making really delicious food. Delicious food is rich food—the stuff that makes us fat. And the more delicious the food, of course, the more we indulge. If you’re a good chef, you . . . well, you should be at least pudgy.
Whether they’d admit it or not, I’d bet that most of my interrogators want to ask, What kind of freak is this guy? He spends all day in a great restaurant, surrounded by really good food, developing and tasting new dishes. Is he one of those weirdoes who’s into self-denial? Doesn’t he ever just sit down and dig in to the fruits of his own cooking? Does he have some kind of eating disorder?
Eating disorder? Are you kidding? Everyone who knows me will attest that I love to eat—from morning to night. I do it for a living. I do it for a hobby. I do it with friends and family, and when I’m alone. I’m always thinking about, and talking about, my next, or last, meal. Without trying to sound grandiose about the whole thing, I’m a chef because food and the people I share it with enrich my life with endless diversity and unexpected pleasures. From my youngest years, food has been my bridge to a full experience of life.
So, what’s the deal with my leanness? Abnormal metabolism or unique genetic makeup? I’m pretty sure that’s not it, because I haven’t always been lean. In fact, I was a Hostess-cupcake, Gilligan’s Island–reruns, chubby adolescent—totally unathletic. Some of that adolescent chubbiness fell off naturally during my last high school years, but then slowly started coming back—bit by nearly unnoticeable bit. It’s a common story: by my mid-forties, I’d accumulated at least twenty-five extra pounds—plenty noticeable on my average, 5-foot 9-inch frame.
That’s when I rather accidentally found myself on the path that led to my uncovering the difference between the celebratory, succulent works of art our restaurant is known for and fresh, simple everyday food that satisfies the spirit’s quest for deliciousness while providing the body with just what it needs to function at its peak.
When I was at my heaviest, several new ideas began percolating in my brain simultaneously. A friend started teaching yoga, and I found myself intrigued with her—yoga’s—approach to the body and its connection to the spirit. I knew of yoga’s purported stress-relief benefits and thought all that stretching could be a nice antidote to my fast-paced, late-night restaurant life. So I signed up to “dabble” in yoga, expecting little more than temporary detox. I’d never been able to stick with—let alone excel at—any physical activity.
Okay, I loved the relaxation I felt after the beginners’ yoga class—who wouldn’t? But about four months into i
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magazine pieces about fishing holes and duck blinds, but isn’t it all about food? Fishing, hunting, and eating all stem from the same drive: to consume and survive. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to combine the two. The editors of Field & Stream, Sports Afield, and Outdoor Life didn’t seem to mind one bit.
Half in jest, I introduced myself to my new readers at New York by writing, “There is a thing I call Kaminsky’s Constant: namely if a man lives long enough, eats long enough, and drinks long enough, there comes a time, usually in his early forties, when his age, waistline, and IQ are the same number.”
I wrote that half in jest. The other half … Well, that’s my occupational hazard and what prompted me to write this book.
As the Underground Gourmet, I indulged my passion, first developed in two years behind the wheel of a Yellow Cab, for what I call “drive-by dining”: a sense of food radar that told me when a place was worth a meal. If a restaurant smelled good, I was interested. Busyness was another good character reference. The real secret—which I sensed years before I could ever verbalize it—was that if the people who worked in the restaurant looked like they actually enjoyed doing what they were doing, then they were doing something right. A sour-faced staff is like a six-story Jumbotron flashing “Eat Here At Your Peril!”
At least three times a week, I would grab whoever wanted to join me and head out for the wilds of Queens, the shores of Staten Island, the back alleys of Brooklyn, the northernmost reaches of the Bronx, the forgotten ethnic enclaves of Manhattan, searching out the best food in town, whether it was Italian, Jewish, Chinese, Korean, Mexican, Russian, German, Greek, Indian, Persian, Vietnamese, Spanish, Dominican, Peruvian, Japanese, Lebanese, Turkish, Cuban, Polish, Hungarian, Portuguese, or Norwegian. Ethiopian too. Also Palestinian, Uzbeki, West Indian, Puerto Rican, to name just a few.
Did I mention that New York is the greatest restaurant town on earth? We may not have an indigenous cuisine, unless you count dirty-water hot dogs, but we sure have the cultural critical mass for an amazing variety of ethnic cuisine. A food critic could not ask for more.
In an interview with Dick Cavett, Bette Davis once confessed that she had been a virgin until she was twenty-eight years old, explaining that, once she had taken the plunge, she did everything in her power to make up for lost time. As covering the New York food world became my occupation, I was as eager as Bette to experience more. Within two years I had put on fifteen pounds. But I was having too good a time to pay attention to hazards—occupational or otherwise.
Writing about food for New York also gave me entrée into the world of celebrity chefs. I had cornered the admittedly small market for seven-thousand-word cover pieces on significant restaurant openings. When Daniel Boulud or Alain Ducasse or Thomas Keller opened a place aiming at four stars from the New York Times, I got to be the fly on the wall reporting on the frenzied critical path that climaxed on Opening Day. I traveled to France with Daniel Boulud on what I came to think of as The 100,000 Calorie Tour. My immediate purpose was to see the farm where he grew up, meet his family, and have a Sunday dinner. His goal was to introduce his young wine director Jean-Luc Le Dû to the greatest winemakers in Burgundy and the Rhône Valley. We drank absurdly great wine and ate enough foie gras to endanger Europe’s goose population.
When café society’s headquarters, Le Cirque, closed up shop for a year while preparing for a move to new quarters, I went to France and Italy with owner Sirio Maccioni and his band of chefs—submitting, in the name of accurate reportage, to an unending movable feast. For the record, I also shucked oysters, peeled and sectioned lemons, and sliced potatoes. I like the camaraderie of the kitchen.
Once you forge an acquaintance with chefs and devote yourself to the intricacies of how they think and cook, it’s not too long before you get invited to collaborate with them on that rite of passage: the Very Pretty Coffee Table Cookbook. I worked for four years on The Elements of Taste with Gray Kunz, presiding wizard at the revered Lespinasse in the St. Regis Hotel. For nearly a decade Lespinasse captured top honors citywide and nationwide for Kunz’s exquisite and eclectic cuisine. Our concept was simple: to analyze all foods and the way that chefs compose recipes, with the same rigor that wine writers use to describe just one food, fermented grape juice. We came up with twenty-two elements of taste, but simplified and pared the number down to fourteen when Food & Wine editor in chief Dana Cowin told us it was too complicated, bordering on geekiness.
If Gray Kunz was the alpha of my cookbook career, the omega was the corresponding collection of tailgating recipes that I wrote with footbal
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, otter shells, razor shell, soft-shelled clam or long neck or steamer or sand mussel, tellin, trough shell, venus shell, warty venus or praire, wedge shell
Average size 2 inches (5 cm). Allow ten of this size per person.
All the clams of one sort or another listed above are prepared in the same way. They are briefly opened by being heated in a covered pan with a splash of white wine, and are then served in the half shell with a filling of, say, garlic butter (p. 102) or my spinach stuffing for cockles (p. 180). They are also all excellent eaten raw, with maybe some shallot vinegar (p. 106), or very lightly steamed.
We use local soft-shelled clams in our fruits de mer and buy in hard-shelled clams which are the North American quahog from the Duchy of Cornwall Oyster Farm at Port Navas Constantine (telephone 0326 40210). They send off clams, oysters and mussels by train.
Coalfish: see Coley
Allow about 20 average-sized (1½-inch, 3-cm) cockles per person for a first course.
It would be nice to be able to buy cockles still alive in the shell, but I’ve never seen them. They are easy to dig anywhere around our coasts. They should be opened in the same way as clams (see above) and similarly stuffed or eaten raw. If you’ve only eaten cockles pickled in acetic acid, you’re in for a treat.
Weight up to 30 lb. (13.5 kg).
I suspect it is the price of cod and the fact that it produces big flaky fillets, with no small bones to catch in the throat, rather than any enthusiasm about its flavour, that make it so popular.
Cod needs to be perfectly fresh to be worth buying – the same goes for most fish, of course, but the duller it is, the more this is true. However, as long as you follow the guidelines for choosing fresh fish, particularly in ensuring that the gills are a nice light pink, you may not be buying the most exciting fish on the slab, but is it always necessary for the main ingredient in a dish to be full of flavour? I don’t think so. What about fillet steak, for example? It’s not particularly full of flavour, but it makes a pleasant contrast to a good strong sauce – perhaps a Rioja sauce with ceps and chopped spring onions. My recipe for mussel and cod chowder (pp. 129–30) is a case in point, where the salt pork with lots of flavour and the mussels and their salty juice allow the cod to shine through as an unsalty, indeed slightly sweet contrast.
To me, though, cod is a fish of supreme worth because when salted down and then soaked in cold water, it becomes a totally different and far more interesting fish. I include a recipe for making your own salt cod (or morue, as the French call it) because it is far nicer when made from a piece of cod which is known to be perfectly fresh and which is not salted for too long.
We are lucky in Padstow to be able to buy cod from local boats which don’t go out for more than two or three days at a time, so that it is always in excellent condition. If you are sure that you can buy the freshest cod I would recommend my recipe for cod en papillote (pp. 202–3). If you are faced with the Icelandic deep-sea trawled variety, I would suggest using it for the cod and mussel chowder (pp. 129–30).
Coley, coalfish, saithe
Weight up to 20 lb. (9 kg).
A lesser member of the cod family which seems to be bought more for cats than humans. The fillets are a bit grey and therefore don’t look too exciting. Nevertheless, if you get some really fresh coley, you can use it in fish cakes or pies, or you might try it as a substitute for pollack in our battered, marinated pollack with raita and kachumber (pp. 218–20).
Weight up to 20 lb. (9 kg).
Conger eels are a sort of by-product of lobster fishing in that they are normally caught in lobster pots. They are extremely cheap and full of body. By ‘body’ I mean that quality found in such cuts of meat as shin of beef which when they are simmered enrich the cooking liquid and give it a gelatinous thickness. For this reason conger eel is a more or less essential ingredient to a good fish soup (though other fish like dogfish or ray have similar qualities). On its own, conger eel is a bit overpowering in flavour unless accompanied with something quite strong. In Brittany it is often served in a bordelaise sauce with button mushrooms and onions. The recipe for char-grilled conger eel with a rich red wine sauce (pp. 198–9) is the same sort of idea. A special treatment would be the poêle of conger eel (pp. 203–4), where a thick cut of conger, taken from the thickest part, is skinned, wrapped in caul fat and pot-roasted with various root vegetables.
Crab: the common brown crab and the spider crab
Both crabs weigh up to 6 lb. (2.7 kg).
The vast difference in price between crabs and lobsters seems to me more a matter of the difficulty of extracting crab meat tha
ntil visibly onset, has between 10 to 40 years to develop undetected.
A lot of the good nutritional advice is often contradictory or not very practical. One popular recommendation, for example, tells you not to eat any carbohydrates but instead a lot of animal protein and fat – others want to reduce the fat in your diet and others in turn recommend protein abstinence or only to eat fruits. Some “experts” claim that humans need meat and milk in order to live – others state the contrary and insist that grain is the best nutritional basis. Some even demonize the consumption of meat but as an “alternative to meat” recommend soy products or lupine protein. There are people who say you should only eat half of everything that is on your plate, others tell you to eat only cooked foods. Many recommend a diet according to the blood- or metabolic type – depending on the results of a blood test, some prefer a diet that is low in gluten, milk protein, histamine, nickel or other allergens.
Last but not least there are also the official authorities responsible for nutrition or organizations of industrial nations that publish recommendations to ensure a “balanced and substantial diet” for their citizens. But most people don’t even know what the recommendations, for example, of the German Nutrition Society actually look like. This takes place also for other countries. An army of qualified “nutrition experts” and dietitians try to make their newest dietary knowledge accessible to the public through governmental institutions, media, hospitals or schools. The nutritional landscape is at every opportunity flooded with campaigns such as “5-a-day fruit & veggies” or a vast array of recipes and cookbooks. On top of that: the medical and pharmaceutical industries and health insurances have been investing a lot of time and money in research, prevention programs and therapies for decades.
They all have the best intention and claim that with their proclaimed diet, people would get healthy or at least would not fall ill. Even doctors are often not sufficiently informed about the importance of nutrition that it has for human health; a medical education does not include dietetics. While many doctors assume that the diet is a factor in the emergence of human diseases, they do not believe that a healthy diet is actually able to heal diseases. Just an example: cancer patients are often told: “you can eat whatever you like!” It’s clear that the majority of the people are confused and resign, become indifferent and continue to eat what is offered by major food companies.
Research results: what is a healthy diet?
In order to obtain a profound answer to the question of what is a healthy diet, people should consider the results of animal testing, observational studies on humans, nutritional experiments as well as successful historical traditions.
Archeological studies impressively show that our ancestors who lived more than 10,000 years ago hardly showed any signs of caries, tooth displacements and other widespread ailments. The beginning of settlements and cultivations about 6,000–10,000 years ago and the increasing consumption of new food, like grain and milk products, went hand in hand with the first development of signs of arteriosclerosis and joint damage. But there was still no sign of cancer 5,000 years ago. (This was published in the American scientific journal Nature Reviews Cancer.) Why is that the case?
Countless scientific nutritional experiments on animals in the past 100 years draw a consistent picture:
When animals (regardless of their species) are given human food that is part of the typical “Western diet” they soon begin to develop the same diseases we “civilized” humans suffer from. For example, arteriosclerosis, cancer, myocardial infarction, high blood pressure, gall and kidney stones, joint degeneration, tooth decay, obesity, osteoporosis, neurodegeneration, diabetes, … This also includes afflictions that arise in the next generation: tooth displacement, narrow pelvic bones (lead to complicated births with females) or a nasal cavity that is too narrow (leads to reduced nose breathing) as well as behavioral disorders, retarded development, excessive aggressiveness or apathy. In an experiment carried out by Dr. Francis Marion animals required 100% natural food for three generations for all these damages to be reversed.7
Why have wild animals survived for centuries?
In comparison: How are those wild animals doing whose habitat (such as the jungle) has yet to be destroyed by human influence? From the point of view of these spared (so far) wild animals or naturally kept pets, our discussions on diseases or dietary rules must seem absolutely ridiculous. Please take the following with a little bit of humor:
© Pixelio.de / Oberlix45
Our closest relatives on earth, the apes and gorillas, but also o