Jakob's Bowl

Some Finds In The District Of Columbia

In no particular order:

• A  dark chocolate (75% cacao) Occumare bar from the Mast Brothers in Brooklyn made with  Oregon-grown roasted hazelnuts from Freddie Guy;
• Warm, sugar-dusted, doughnuts with whipped cream on the side while waiting for our table at the Tabard Inn;
• Dessert wine from Azienda Agricola Giorgio Colutta in Friuli-Venezia Giulia made from 100% Picolit Grapes;
• Fresh Peekytoe crab from Maine;
• Citra Wet-Hopped Cask-Conditioned Pale Ale from Troegs microbrewery in Hershey PA;
• Wood-grillied scallions with Romesco Sauce;
• François Chidaine Montlouissur Loire Clos du Breuil 2007, 100% organic Chenin Blanc with cured and smoked charcuterie.

A Tale Of Two Pizzas

Having been absent from the Washington D. C. culinary scene for over two decades, and noticing the prevalence of pizza joints in my walks about town, I decided to sample the city’s offering of traditional wood-fired Neapolitan pizza. Not having time to read through tons of reviews, I looked a number of ‘best of…’ lists, and right or wrong, chose 2Amys Neapolitan Pizzeria – located roughly near the National Cathedral. I arrived at about 7 PM, and the place was just about full, mostly with the early crowd just about finishing. The hostess and serving staff were very congenial, and I got one of the last two open tables. Of course, I had a Margherita on my mind, especially since they were topping them with Mozzarella di Buffala, but I also ordered a few bruschetta.

The latter came fairly quickly, along with my Moretti. I ordered eggplant with salted anchovy and turnip and prosciutto, and they were both delicious. I believe the eggplant had been roasted and chopped, and it was topped with a beautiful looking and very tasty anchovy fillet. More than likely it was one of the Ortiz special grade anchovies. The turnip had been cooked and pureed and its sweetness went well with the large slice of San Daniele. In both cases the vegetable was a perfect partner to the cured protein.

About five minutes after my last bite of bruschetta, my pizza arrived and at first glance, it looked like pretty decent - melted mozzarella, not too heavy on the sauce, and a few splotches of charred crust here and there. My first bite was might tasty; the bottom was thin and very crispy with the perfect amount of sauce. The cheese had cooled a bit too much, a sign that it was out of the oven for more than a few minutes before it got to me. Then came the let down… With an almost perfect bottom, I was sorely shocked when I bit into the crust, which had little ‘crunch’ in the exterior and too soft a chew on the interior, when pressed a bit it gave the appearance of being underdone. They were either not keeping an eye on the oven temp, or they were overloading the oven…if I could have been served the pizza without the crust, the meal would have been perfect, oh, well.

Tale Of The Tiger

I have been enjoying these delicious paste/plum style tomatoes from Tonnemaker's Family Orchards for about five weeks now, mainly in gazpacho and salads. I stopped by their booth at the Capital Hill Farmers’ Market this morning mainly to check out their apples and pears, but when I spied and then smelled these beauties, I had to buy a bunch of them – the season is waning you know. When I sliced one for my lunchtime ham sandwich, the heavenly aroma and deep red color had me reaching for the camera.

They are shaped like San Marzano tomatoes but they have a brilliant yellow-gold striping in the skin - of course my photography doesn't do their striping justice. Paste/plum tomatoes don’t do that well up here in the Pacific Northwest due to the highly variable amounts of sun we can get in summer. Most never get the deep red color and ‘meaty’ texture that they should have - many skip meaty and go right to mealy. Although they made a great gazpacho, when I used them earlier this year I wasn’t paying attention to their color and texture, and they are everything they should be including a deep tomato flavor. I haven’t been able to find their ‘official’ name, but I’ve seen them sold as Striped Roman, Yellow Stripe Roman, and Tiger Plum. Take your pick on the name, but more importantly take a picture to your favorite tomato farmer and have him or her grow some next season.

Where There’s Smoke...There’s Frikeh

As I sat tapping away on my keyboard, an amazing aroma began to waft out of the kitchen. The simmering Frikeh reminded me of smoldering hay on a warm, early autumn evening, and I knew that I had made right decision. As I stood in front of the fish counter waiting for my halibut cheeks to be wrapped earlier that day, the thought of braising them in pork stock with the Ayers Creek Farm organic Frikeh I bought last week instead of the Tarhonya - Hungarian spätzle – struck me. I had never cooked or tasted it before, but if it was traditionally served with lamb dishes, why not pork broth.

I found a basic Frikeh recipe on the Hilldale Farmers’ Market website, and since the cheeks and assorted vegetables cooked in minutes, whereas the Frikeh would take 20 to 30 minutes to simmer, I decided to cook it separately. I started by thinly slicing some coins from an organic Red Core Chantenay carrot from Local Roots Farm, thinly julienning a Jimmy Nardello pepper and some Olympic Provisions Sopresseta, thinly slicing some organic Spanish Roja garlic, and coarsely chopping some flat leave parsley. When all of this was ready, I set the Frikeh to cook. After about ten minutes of simmering the Frikeh’s ‘smoky’ aroma transformed into something more complex, something akin to a Japanese noodle broth with definite notes of shoyu. At 25 minutes I drained the Frikeh - the liquid was a smoky brown color, but too strongly flavored for the halibut. The grains plumped nicely.

I set my pork stock to simmer and added the carrots, Sopresseta, and garlic; after about seven minutes I added the Jimmy Nardello matchsticks and the parsley. After five minutes more, I added the Frikeh and halibut cheeks. Seven minutes later I was dishing things up and finishing each bowl with a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. The dish was a definite success, and the Frikeh was a delight. The chewy texture was similar to cooked wheat berries, and the smoky flavor with notes of aged shoyu added complexity to the simple pork broth. I could see how this would pair well with rich lamb dishes. Once again, I was sorry that I had only bought a pound of this traditional wheat preparation. I just hope the Boutards will be offering it again this season.

What's The Frikeh Problem?

When I started to visit the Hillsdale Farmer’s Market just outside of Portland last summer, mainly to buy produce, preserves, polenta and dried beans from Ayers Creek Farm, they were still offering frikef, a traditionally processed and dried green wheat – usually made from ‘hard’ durum wheat - that has been a staple in the Middle East and North Africa for over a millennium. I had never heard of it before, but it really didn’t interest me that much. I had cooked with wheat berries, whole grain faro, and spelt before, and none of them high on my list.

As summer progressed the controversy over farmers processing foods in the open air hit. Even though farmers in Oregon had been drying garlic, beans, corn and other grains in the open air since there had been farmers in the state, it seemed that the Oregon department of agriculture thought it would be more sanitary to move everything into certified production facilities, a cost which would put many farmers out of business. Armed with a strict interpretation of the state agriculture regulations, the state inspectors targeted the Ayers Creek Farm frikeh, and it disappeared from their stall. Of course, this is when I became very interested in frikeh. The Boutards, and all of the small holding farmers, were very concerned since they process a lot of organic corn, wheat, and beans.

Needless to say I was completely surprised to see bags of frikeh in the Ayers Creek Farm booth last week. Well it seems as if a lot of voices were raised over the issue, and the state had developed a more reasonable position, one that didn’t discourage people from farming. Anthony and Carol said that it was the best frikeh that they ever produced, and they both believed that it was because they used soft red wheat this year instead of the usual hard durum. I bought a bag, and I am just now getting around to planning my first taste. As with every ‘traditional’ Mediterranean ingredient, my first source for information is Clifford Wright’s amazing opus A Mediterranean Feast (1999), and there it was, farik, aka firik, aka frikat, aka frikeh. Along with bit of history, there were four recipes, including Pigeon with Farikh (Egypt), Firik Pilaf (Turkey), Farik and Bone Marrow Soup (Tunisia), and Lamb with Frikat (Syria). The wheels are turning. (More on turning 'green' wheat into frikeh later.)

Parlez Vous Sardine?

I suppose this is a bit of an addendum to my International Sardine School post earlier this year. After tasting the Connétable sardine fillets, I was reminded of how good traditional Breton tinned sardines were. While today’s processing standards involve using frozen fish - often caught thousands of miles away - and ‘steam’ cooking them ‘traditional’ Breton tinned sardines are locally caught, processed fresh, and then cooked and packed in olive oil. They are head and shoulders above all others in terms of flavor and texture and this is why the French treat tinned sardines as a delicacy whereas the rest of the world treats them like a commodity.

On my last trip to Paris over an eon ago, I brought back a half dozen tins to try and understand the French zeal for these little fish, as described by Patricia Wells in her book on Parisian eateries. My epiphany took only one fish, and in my position as buyer, I immediately tried to arrange a shipment of vintage and non-vintage sardines and mackerel through one of my favorite importers. I wanted to share my experience with our customers. As I negotiated price and quantity, the Dollar dropped precipitously against the Euro, and the vintage sardines would have retailed for close to $10 for a four-ounce tin. Selling Breton sardines in this country became impractical, and I moved on to other things.