My Word

If you could only say one word for the rest of your life, what would it be? One word to sum it all up and define you. Don't linger on the logistics (i.e. it has to mean both yes, no and maybe). A word of however many characters that relates to you. I recently began asking this question to myself. I'm not sure why, it just entered my brain. I think though it may have something to do with the forthcoming changes in my life. Between graduation, leaving for school and being off on my own it's only normal. I asked this question to the others around me since I couldn't figure out my own word. The one response that I found to be most inspiring was "mille fiori" or "a thousand flowers" in Italian. It was my mom's word. There's not a whole lot of reasoning behind it, just a beautiful expression. When I say the word aloud I imagine looking at large Monet painting of a pastel colored field of flowers.
 
This past week all I did was struggle with my own word. While my friends and co-workers may have had their minds made up I was wordless. It hit me when a fellow co-worker of mine made and intriguing point. The word will change as you do and as your life enters new phases. It had made sense to me now. I was looking for an answer with an infinite amount of possibilities. There would never be just one word, there would be hundreds. So as of today my word is simmer. Why a cooking term? To you it might be, to me it's a reminder. An admonition to stop thinking about the future and to simmer in the moment. Enjoy what life has to offer today. Like standing in a field of a thousand flowers...seize the moment. Because in the blink of an eye its gone.
 
Your probably wondering what in the world does this have to do with food. Honestly it doesn't. It's just a thought that could very well be enjoyed over a meal, passed around in good company...

Jeremy

What's your word? Let's start a list below! 

Lazy Man's Soup

I'm lazy on occasion. OK, I've admitted my fault. I'm ashamed of my laziness, I mean I'm 17 years old! I should be running marathons and wrestling alligators (maybe). However, with school, work, Heirloom, the book and everything in between! Oh, what a world! I shuffle myself up the steps, through the front door and onto the living room couch. I bury my face so deep into the cushions as if I'm hoping to find the lost city of Atlantis on the other side. None the less I wake up to a cup of coffee and do what needs to be done.

The subject of cooking when we're most drowsy is unthinkable. Who wants to braise, sear, and deglaze when we can't even lift a finger. Sometimes though I find a home-cooked meal to be just my cure for a little laziness. It gets me on my feet and moving about. But what's a lazy man to make? Soup is my pick me up. The other night when I felt like I had been in a lazy coma I decided to make potato soup. The recipe below is similar to a Vichyssoise but hot and with the addition of parsnips. I love parsnips in this concoction, it's almost like an air-fresher (that's parsnip scented) lingering around in hearty purée of potatoes, leeks and thyme. I paired this with a sourdough gruyere grilled cheese, an optional but highly recommended addition. Try this comfort in a bowl, it's as easy as boiling potatoes. A task even a lazy man can carry out!


Lazy Man's Soup

3-4 lb russet potatoes, peeled and cubed

3 parsnips,peeled and cubed

4 Tbsp unsalted butter

3 leeks, cut in 1/2, sliced lengthwise (white part only)

1 tsp fresh thyme

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 1/2 cups chicken stock

1/8 tsp white pepper

Pinch of nutmeg

Place potatoes and parsnips in a large pot of water and bring to a boil. Cook until fork tender, 10-12 minutes. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a medium sized sauce pot and sweat the leeks together with thyme. Drain the potatoes and parsnips and add to the leeks. Add the heavy cream, chicken stock, white pepper, and nutmeg. Bring to a boil and then purée the mixture using a blender. Season with salt and pepper.

Eat in good company,

Jeremy

What's in a Frim-Fram Sauce?

"I don't want French fried potatoes,
Red ripe tomatoes,
I'm never satisfied.
I want the frim-fram sauce with the ausen fay
With chafafah on the side."

The song "The Frim-Fram Sauce" was made famous by the late and great jazz singer  Nat "King" Cole. There's no profound metaphor within the lyrics you should be searching for. It's simply an expression for the urgent need of this imaginary sauce. If your wondering, words such as "Frim-Fram", "Chafafah" , and "Ausen Fay" are just forms of doo-wop which are popular in blues. In the song a customer sings about all the items on the menu he doesn't wish to eat such as fish cakes and rye bread or pork chops and bacon. At the end, the customer says that if you don't have the sauce just give me a bill for the water. A fitting end for a rather meaning-less song. However, it's one of my favorite tunes to listen to in the kitchen.

I decided it might be interesting to give this famous sauce some literal meaning. What if the Frim-Fram sauce really existed? I'm not to sure about Ausen Fay (which sounds like a fish to me) or Chafafah (a possible relish of some sorts). A Frim Fram could be whatever you wanted it to be, except for a sauce that already is in existence. The other night at work as I strained the short ribs, I quietly hummed the melody to myself. It had occurred to me that all the vegetables and herbs within the braising liquid where going to be tossed. The combination of veal stock soaked mirepoix, herbs, and fat was invaluable now, just as the Frim Fram sauce was meaningless. What if leftover scraps from braising liquid could be puréed and used as a flavoring agent or better yet... a sauce?

It had all made sense. I asked the chef at work if it were possible and she said it most definitely was. All chefs love to reuse scraps so therefore its not an uncommon thing to do. However, this unwanted surplus had no term or name to itself. With a heap of patriotism, I struck my culinary flag down upon the scraps and declared them my Frim-Fram sauce! Of course the moment wasn't as dramatic as I had envisioned it to be.

I spooned the now valuable castoffs into a quart sized container to bring home. Once in my laboratory of all things food, I had puréed the mixture in a food processor. It came down to a thick maroon colored paste. I could have added some beef broth to the mixture to thin it out and then ladle it across a piece of breaded veal. No, this sauce deserved to be showcased in its glorious renaissance. I found a jar of aborio rice in my small pantry and went shopping for some additional ingredients. Like a mad scientist I had created a dish worthy of a post.

Now without all the exaggerated sarcasm, I had made a Frim-Fram risotto with tandoori lamb sausage (courtesy of Whole Foods Market), crispy bacon, smoked aged Gouda, fried sage and roasted asparagus. To my family's surprise the meal was a success. A hearty dish full of robust flavors with hints of black pepper, cayenne and traces of short rib. The risotto was creamy which helped ease the sauce through its nooks and crannies. The cheese offered highlights of smoked wood that accompanied salted pieces of crisp bacon and mildly spiced lamb sausage. The dish could best be described as a déjà vou. Tasting the pulverized rib fat brings you back to the previous life of the abandoned blend.

The sauce can be taken from the remains of any stock or braising liquid (excluding bones). The recipe below can be done using beef stock instead of chicken stock but I highly recommend a Frim-Fram for this risotto.

Now it's your turn! Tell me what your Frim-Fram Sauce would be. If you send in an original recipe and photo of it usage It might just end up right here on Heirloom!

Eat in Good Company,

Jeremy

Frim-Fram Risotto

10 cups chicken stock

A few sprigs of fresh sage

1 teaspoon olive oil

1/2 cup bacon, chopped

1/2 cup sweet onion, diced

3 cups Aborio Rice

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 1/2 cups *Frim Fram sauce

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1 cup aged smoked gouda cheese, grated

4 links of cooked sausage of your choice (preferably spicy)

Salt and pepper taste

In a medium sized sauce pot bring the chicken stock and sage to a boil, then lower to a simmer.

In a large enameled pot over medium high heat, add just enough olive to coat the bottom. Begin to render your bacon in the pot,sitting constantly with a wooden spoon until it is brown and crisp, lower the heat. Using a slotted spoon transfer the bacon to a paper towel or bag to drain, set aside. Into the fat add the onions and sweat until tender. Add the Aborio and stir just coat. Deglaze the pot with white wine stirring until all the liquid has been absorbed. Begin to ladle the hot stock into the rice mixture until it is just submerged in liquid. Stir frequently until almost all the liquid has been absorbed, you should repeat this process 3 to 4 times.

Once the risotto is cooked thoroughly, fold in your Frim Fram sauce, bacon, butter and cheese. Season with salt and pepper and finish with a slice of cooked sausage.

* If you are not in possession of Frim Fram Sauce, simply substitute beef stock for chicken stock (optional). After all, Fram Frim is only what you make of it.

The Great Hostess

My great Aunt Lee Saias Nissim was what you called classy. She wore her hair neatly tied back in a bun, boasted a pearl necklace, and dressed in lofty fashion. She was 89 years old when she passed away last year. My nana Arlene (her niece) always speaks of her so highly and tells me how she was one of the great hostesses of her time. She was always ready to entertain company whether it be friends, family or even strangers. Lee was known to have enough food to feed an army (literally). She hosted dinner party's to sergeant's and generals at the nearby military base where she and her husband Marcel lived . Nana Arlene recalls a large white ice box coined "the coffin" in her home that was stock full of homemade meals. Like my nana she was Sephardic (Jewish Greek) and so her cooking reflected her culture. She made lemon egg drop soup, challah and babka, spinach pie, matzoh brie, and poached fish with egg sauce.

Back in 2008 she invited me to her small apartment to make spinach borekas with her. Luckily, I filmed the whole event. I remember her soft and gentle compliments as I tried my hardest to wrap the spinach stuffing in the phyllo dough. It was a true honor to cook alongside this family legend. These little triangles of heaven where always a hit at family gatherings. She also made Roscas, which are short bread rings sprinkled with sesame seeds on top. Their a sweet and simple treat to end a grand Greek meal. The recipe was given to me in a large white binder that contained her other famous dishes. The recipe and photograph collection was a momentum from the funeral my grandparents had attended. Lee's family said she would have wanted everyone to have a copy of the book so we may carry out her legacy. In order to pay tribute to the great hostess, I made her cookies for dessert the other night. As I pleaded for her help (as I trudged through the incomplete recipe), I could tell she was smiling (and laughing) at my attempt to make them. The Roscas came out just as my taste buds had recalled. Visibly smooth on the outside with an unexpected crunch on the inside. The traces of vanilla and toasted sesame linger warmly in your mouth. As good as they were, they will never be like she had made them.




By baking from the book I realized that food meant something to Aunt Lee. Food and cooking has its own personal meaning to all of us and to her it meant company. To her food brought people together, it proved we are never truly alone. Wherever food may be you always find someone to share it with. That's why Lee sought home-cooked meals as being important. It brought the family right back to her front door.

Eat in good company,

Jeremy

Aunt Lee's Roscas

1 1/2 cups sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1 cup vegetable oil

6 eggs

1 or 2 eggs for wash

5 to 6 cups all-purpose flour

5 teaspoons baking powder

Sesame seeds

Preheat the oven to 350F

Beat sugar and oil together with an electric mixer until smooth. Add eggs one at a time, then add the vanilla. With the mixer on low, start to incorporate one cup of flour at a time. Continue to add 5 to 6 cups until the dough is soft and pliable. Separate it into two balls of dough, then let them rest for 15 to 20 minutes.

Quarter each ball. Roll out one quarter of the dough into a log with a width of about 1 inch. Evenly cut the log into 2 inch logs. Loop each "mini" log into a small circle (like you would a bagel). With a paring knife make slits on the top of each cookie. Repeat with the remaining dough. Transfer to a sheet pan lined with parchment paper and brush each cookie with egg wash. Sprinkle with sesame seeds and bake for 10-15 minutes until golden brown. Let cool.

I Begin with the End

It's a question I frequently ask myself and others, what would be your last meal ? I secretly ponder the idea on a daily basis and the answer always changes. You might ask why such an inquisition? Is it because I'm preparing myself for the 2012 doomsday prediction or is just that I worry about these sort of things. The reason is simple, it's a great conversation starter or commonly known as the "ice breaker".

I trace the questions roots back to my summers at the C'est Si Bon Cooking School in Chapel Hill,NC. My mentor and friend Dorette Snover and I ask this question at the first meal we eat together with the teen chefs, who come from all over for a one week southern cooking extravaganza. It starts a waterfall of answers, more questions and controversies. Some have said they want 100 courses, some only 3 . Though some have said that there last meal wouldn't really be all that enjoyable, so it doesn't matter what they would consume in their final moments. To me it matters because food is the first and foremost thing on my brain and I sure hope it would be the last (is that troubling?). In all seriousness though I wouldn't have 100 courses or 3, I would have one thing, just one. All I ask is that I enjoy it in good company with friends and family. It would be like a potluck of final meals. So as of today, at this moment my final "dish" would be mussels meunière, a perfect way to make an exit.

Mussels were the first "exotic" thing I ever ate. I had fallen madly in love with the steaming bowl of wine drenched mollusks when my dad had offered me one when I was 8 years old. I mopped the bottom of the bowl with large torn chunks of grilled bread. When I finished, it was as if there was no mussels to begin with. The mussels had comforted me in a strange way. It was then that I had realized that food is just more then something we feed ourselves with. I had come from eating to live to living to eat. So I hope my final meal inspires you to look at food in a new light and to embark on a new culinary journey.

Now its your turn! Let's get this conversation rolling and tell me what your final meal would be. Plus if you send in a recipe with a picture and an explanation your final meal might just end up right here on Heirloom!

Eat in good company,

Jeremy




Mussels Meunière

Olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 shallot, minced

1 lb mussels

1/2 cup white wine

8 fl oz. clam juice

5 sprigs of thyme

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 lemon, halved

Fresh parsley, chopped

Use just enough olive oil to coat the bottom of a large sauté pan. On medium high heat brown the garlic and shallots, be careful not to burn. Add the mussels and deglaze the pan with white wine followed by the clam juice. Nestle the sprigs of thyme on top of the mussels, give the pan a good shake, bring to a simmer and cover. Cook until all the mussels have opened, about 2-3 minutes. Uncover and add the butter giving the pan another good shake. Season with salt and pepper and garnish with a squeeze of lemon juice and parsley. Serve immediately with torn chunks of good bread.

Heirloom's

I've always admired the heirloom for its triumph. You see, heirlooms are described as the fruits and vegetables that were once cultivated by our ancestors, without additions of pesticides. Heirlooms are the true breed of what we know today. Unlike an ordinary tomato it varies in size, has multi colored skin, contains blemishes and imperfections (all of which makes it beautiful).In more recent years the Heirloom has made a successful comeback. There are so many varieties of heirlooms whether it be a yellow pear tomato, a winesap apple, or a rare scarlet Chinese eggplant.

I like to think of myself as a culinary heirloom that's vine-ripe.

As I venture off to the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) this fall and leave all that I know behind, I find it crucial to be as unique as I can be just like an heirloom. I'm also vine-ripe meaning I've arrived at a stage of growth or development that's just ready or matured. From JeremyCooks to now I'm ready to move forward with my culinary adventures.

Like an heirloom this blog is special. It marks the beginning of a new chapter in my life and continues to chronicle my journey to becoming a chef. More then that it's my way of sharing my love for good food and cooking with others. I'll share recipes, but only through stories (real or imaginary) or lessons I've learned. I'll even introduce you to new and old friends of mine that share in the same passion. Please join me at my new table where there's always something to eat, a story to be told, and someone new to befriend!

Eat in good company,

Jeremy