Wallowing: Linguini with Clam Sauce and Chilis

When you break up with someone (or they break up with you), what do you do with the food? You know, the food that you loved to cook and eat together. The food that meant something — although in hindsight, you're not sure quite what. I guess if you hate that person, you just don't eat it anymore. It becomes repellent, like the time I got food poisoning after eating salmon and had to avoid it for several years. Or, even worse, when I was 17 and drank gin for the first time and threw up for 12 hours straight. That was in 1982 and I think it was just a year ago that gin revisited the bottom of my glass.

But, what if you don't want to avoid it? Because you still love the food. Because you still love the person. What if you didn't want to break up. They just chose someone else. So, you're not so much broken up as just broken. Do you give up the food then? It's not like it makes you sick like salmon or gin, but it doesn't make you feel particularly good either, and your friends have been telling you for years (yes, years) that you need to get over it already. You're supposed to heal. In order to heal, do you need to give up the food?

I have a friend who is currently married with two beautiful girls. But there was a time — before the married and way before the girls — that she wallowed for several years about someone else. At one point, just a couple of months before the wallowing came to a close, we made a fire in her parents backyard and burned all of the stuff that he had ever given her. Anything that meant something — shoes, photos, letters.... I'm not there yet. If I purged my house of this relationship, it would be empty. I'm already empty enough. But my fridge is still full.


Tonight I made linguine with clam sauce — one of the last things we ate together, when we knew that it was the end and every moment needed to count. I don't know what makes this recipe I found in the April Saveur so much better than every other linguine with clam sauce recipe I've ever made, but it is. Maybe it's the serrano chile, half of which you stir in with the pancetta and garlic; half of which you sprinkle raw on top. The chile makes it hot — ideal for extra exciting kissing, or for dulling the pain.

I didn't premeditate the meal. Or if I did, I told myself that I made it because S just left for two weeks of summer camp, and she refuses to eat clams. So, I ate them alone while watching Friday Night Lights. In episode one, the gorgeous star quarterback who's sure to take the team to the state championship is paralyzed after a tackle gone wrong, and by episode four, his best friend is sleeping with his girlfriend. That's worse than me. At least I can walk. And then when the new quarterback's dad, on leave for two weeks from Iraq, sees that his 16-year-old son is not only playing football and going to high school, but also earning the rent money by slinging soft serve and burgers and single-handedly taking care of his alzheimer's-ridden grandmother who's locked herself in a closet, he decides to go back to the war and sends his son to live in Oklahoma with a relative. That's worse than me. Way worse. I've never even been to Oklahoma. So, with the help of fictional characters in crisis, I made it through the linguine intact.


Which leaves me with the rest of the food. Do I forgo spicy pork and eggplant? And oysters? And Cuban take-out? And what about the places? Do I stop going to the Cape? Because I'm going on Friday. And, chances are, I'll eat some oysters. Maybe it's a coincidence; maybe not. Maybe I just need to wallow a little bit more. And wallowing is better in the summer by the ocean. With the salty brine of an oyster to wash the memories away.




Linguine with Clams and Chiles
adapted from Saveur, April 2010

kosher salt, to taste
1 lb. pasta, preferably linguine
1/3 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
4 oz. pancetta, minced
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced crosswise
2 serrano peppers, stemmed and thinly sliced crosswise
30 littleneck clams, scrubbed clean
1/3 c dry white wine
3 T chopped flat leaf parsley

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook, stirring occasionally, until just al dente, about 6 minutes. Drain pasta, reserving 1/2 c pasta water, and set aside. Meanwhile, heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until just crisp, abt 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer pancetta to a paper towel and set aside.

2. Return skillet to medium heat and add garlic and half the peppers; cook, stirring often, until garlic is golden brown, about 3 minutes. Add clams and wine, increase heat to high, and cook, covered, swirling pan occasionally, until clams open and release their juices, 5 - 10 minutes. Using tongs, transfer clams to a plate and set aside. Bring sauce to a boil over high heat, return pancetta to pan, and add reserved pasta and 1/4 c cooking liquid. Cook, tossing pasta occasionally, until sauce clings, about 2 minutes. Sprinkle in some more of the cooking water if it seems too dry. Add 2 T parsley, season w salt, and toss to combine. Transfer pasta to a serving bowl, arrange clams over pasta, and pour over any clam juices from the plate. Drizzle with more olive oil and garnish with remaining serrano.

Wallow if needed; otherwise, just enjoy.

Iron Chef: Lobster Roll

I chose to coast through college — selecting subjects that came easily to me and working just hard enough to secure an A, without ever worrying about actually learning something. I figured there'd be enough time for the details later. Well, later is now, and my lackadaisical ways and middle-aged memory loss have left me feeling slightly behind the curve.

Oh sure, I can be entertaining enough at dinner parties and book groups, but, in my work at a highly competitive high school, I'm reminded daily of my gaps in knowledge. Instead of choosing a profession where the coffee break conversation might be what's new with the Kardashians or the "octo-mom," I find myself surrounded by intellectuals who can breezily discuss any number of topics: linguistics, John Updike, Medieval China, or quantum mechanics. It can be daunting to say the least. After 45 years on the planet, the only subject I feel I can discuss with total confidence is the lobster roll. I try to work lobster facts into my repertoire whenever possible, asserting my intellectual prowess as best I can. "Did you know the tomalley serves the function of both the liver and the pancreas?" or, "Did you know that lobsters are the arachnids of the deep?" That sort of thing.



Since my childhood in Maine, I've sampled lobster rolls up and down the east coast. (I would never order one anywhere else; even inland New Hampshire is pushing the boundaries, and Vermont is out of the question.) I'm definitely a go-to person if you need a recommendation on your next trip to New England. Red's Eats: yes! Summer Shack: no! I've had $7 rolls Downeast, $24 rolls in the North End, and $32 rolls in the South End and loved them equally. I've had a long string of $15 rolls that should never have been on the menu (see Summer Shack above). But, I'm hard to please. And it's so easy to make a mistake: too much celery (or including celery at all); too much mayonnaise; not enough mayonnaise; using lobster that's been out of the ocean too long; not letting the lobster salad sit for at least an hour for the flavors to meld; serving it on a cold roll; over-chilling resulting in a watery and tasteless mess; experimenting with strange herbs (dill? really?); using a side-cut bun. The list goes on and on.... Most people shouldn't even bother.

Neptune Oyster lobster roll: best in Boston

A few years ago, when I was even more rigid than I am now, I found myself discussing favorite meals with Jean, then a new foodie friend. She's an artist and an expert on many things — I happily let her show me how to throw a pot and teach me the difference between cerulean and cobalt blue. But when it came time to discuss lobster rolls, I feared the friendship might come to a swift end. She's from New Haven. I don't know if you have any friends from New Haven, but they tend to be a bit braggy about all the food they claim New Haveners invented: the bagel, the cheeseburger, and the only thing I give them credit for, the clam pizza. Apparently when someone makes a lobster roll in the Elm City, they do away with mayonnaise altogether and top the chilled lobster with melted butter alone. Hmmmm.... I've already touched upon the risk of too much mayonnaise, but with only melted butter, you might as well just be eating a cold boiled lobster with a Parker House roll. What's the point? But, Jean refused to betray Connecticut and its strange ways, so we did the only thing two foodies can do when they disagree: compete. We arranged to meet at her house in Cambridge the following Saturday for a lobster roll cook-off.

The details aren't important. The only thing you need to know is that I won. My light, homemade tarragon mayonnaise was the perfect accompaniment to the succulent arachnid and buttermilk onion rings. But you don't have to take my word for it. Here: contrast and compare for yourself. Butter or mayonnaise? To be honest, I like a little of both.

Lobster Roll, Classic with Mayo

1 egg
1 T fresh lemon juice
1 t Dijon mustard
1/4 t salt
1/4 t pepper
1/2 c canola oil
1/2 c light olive oil
1 T chopped tarragon
The meat from one 1.5 lb lobster, torn into large chunks
Butter
Top-cut hot dog bun, preferably Pepperidge Farm

Blend egg, lemon juice, mustard, salt and pepper in a food processor. While processor is running, pour oil in a slow steady stream. Blend until thick and smooth.

Combine 2 T (or to taste) mayonnaise with lobster meat and chill, covered in plastic wrap, for at least two hours.

Just before serving, melt butter in a pan or on a griddle. Do not burn. When bubbling, sear the bun on every side until a light golden brown. Flatten just a little so the opening is wide enough for a lot of lobster.

Place lobster salad inside bun and enjoy! Onion rings are a particularly tasty side. As is a very cold beer. And, it's usually best to eat the lobster roll outside. By the ocean.

Elm City Lobster Roll

The meat from one 1.5 lb lobster, torn into chunks
Melted butter
Top-cut hot dog bun

Griddle bun as described above. Toss lobster with butter and insert into bun. Enjoy slightly less than you would the classic roll above.

Just Like Obama

I tried to be Kenyan the other day, but it didn't work out.

Commonwealth School had its second annual "diversity" potluck lunch — a festive and delicious event where everyone is asked to bring in something good to eat. Preferably something that's meaningful and ethnic.

I'm short on ethnic.

Hopper's rendition of the lighthouse at the
end of my childhood street

When I was a kid, a lunch like this would have terrified me. On the southern coast of Maine, we didn't have diversity potlucks (or diversity at all for that matter), and if we did I wouldn't have attended. In the early '70s kids spent a lot of time standing around on the playground asking, "What are you?" In Cape Elizabeth it seemed the only acceptable answers were: English, French, Scottish, etc.... Irish, or Italian, perhaps, but, even if I had known where I came from, African certainly wouldn't have flown. As it was, I didn't have anything to say, so I would just slink away, panicked that the group would eventually turn to me, although I think we had a tacit agreement they never would.

I was adopted, and not only did I not look like anyone in my family, I didn't look like anyone in my school or town either. No one else I knew had brown skin (except Pearl Bailey, Sammy Davis Jr., and the Jeffersons), and my mother couldn't or wouldn't give me any answers.

Where's Janetta?

When I called my birth mother out of the blue at the age of 32, it only took about five minutes to fill in the black hole of my life (pun not intended, but it works). I'm half English and half Kenyan. My mother (the one I grew up without and now the only one I have left) can trace her family back to Henry Sampson, a passenger on the Mayflower. Google says he's Sarah Palin's ancestor too, but it's something I don't like to think about. My father was an international engineering student from Nairobi who my mother met the summer before her freshman year at Tufts.

Having grown up WASP and never known or cooked with any Kenyans, I now have the answers but still no food. No one wants kidney pie at a high school potluck, but I don't really feel the Kenyan connection. I was at loss — what should I make? Guacamole? Deviled eggs? Nothing seemed right.

Then fate stepped in. My new issue of Saveur arrived in the mail just a week before the scheduled lunch, and the magazine ran an article about Kenyan food.

James Fisher's photos for Saveur

I thought it was a sign.

It was not.

I made the Kuku Wa Nazi (chicken stewed in coconut milk) and it looked like vomit and tasted like nothing, so I threw the whole thing away like a week-old portion of fish. Nine pasty-looking chicken thighs swimming in a quart of coconut milk that no amount of turmeric or garlic could penetrate was not something I could share with pride. I really think they mistyped the recipe since I doubled the amount of chicken but kept the coconut milk measurement the same. I don't blame Saveur — it's still my favorite foodie magazine. My ethnic enlightenment just wasn't meant to be.

I arrived at the potluck empty-handed and filled with guilt. But even without a Kenyan contribution, the lunch was a huge success. My favorite dish was Mara's cheese enchiladas, which she'll write about next week.

The night before I had made an Indian curry, which I'll share with you here. I'm not Indian, but cabdrivers always think I am, and it was very tasty, which is all anyone really wants out of a potluck anyway.


Indian-Spiced Cauliflower and Potatoes
adapted from Gourmet TODAY

The original recipe doesn't call for a can of tomatoes, but it turns the dish into a curry; otherwise, it's more of a side dish. If you choose to omit the tomatoes, add 1/2 c water instead.

1 medium head cauliflower, cored and cut into 3/4"- wide florets
1 1/2 lbs Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" cubes
5 T vegetable oil
1/2 t cumin seeds
salt
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopeed
2 t minced jalapeño, including seeds
2 t peeled fresh ginger
1 t ground cumin
1/2 t ground coriander
1/4 t turmeric
1/4 t cayenne
1 14 oz can of whole peeled tomatoes

Accompaniment: thick Greek yougurt mixed with chopped garlic, salt, and cucumber to taste and nan bread, available pre-packaged at Whole Foods

Put a rack in upper third of over and put a baking sheet on rack. Preheat oven to 475 degrees.

Toss cauliflower and potatoes with 3 T oil, cumin seeds, and 1/4 t salt in a bowl. Transfer to hot baking sheet, spread out in one layer and roast, stirring occasionally until potatoes are just tender and cauliflower is tender and browned in spots, about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat remaining 2 T oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat until hot but not smoking. Add onion, garlic, jalapeño, and ginger and cook, stirring frequently, until very soft and beginning to turn golden, 8 – 10 minutes.

Add ground cumin, coriander, turmeric, cayenne, and ½ t salt to onion and cook, stirring constantly, for 2 minutes. Drain tomatoes and break up with your hands or a fork into the skillet, breaking up any browned bits from the bottom.

Stir roasted vegetables into tomato mixture and cook, covered, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes, until flavors are blended. Serve with yogurt mixture and nan.

Sent from My iPork

I honestly wish I had never bought the iPhone. I did it pretty much for the look. And the timing was right — my contract with Verizon was up; Dan, Suzanne, Mara, and Bob all had one; and I didn't want to be left behind. Plus, it's a thrill to buy something beautifully packaged from the Apple store, and I thought it fit my personality. Which it does — the addictive side. The phone is hard for me not to touch even for a few minutes. And, it doesn't actually work as a phone. But it's good for everything else.

I use it as an alarm clock and reach for it first thing in the morning while still essentially asleep. I check the time, then my finger might slide over to the weather, so I know what to wear. And, hmmmm, I wonder if anyone has emailed me between midnight and 6:00 a.m.... Is there any new news about Sandra Bullock and Jesse James in the Huffington Post? What are the lead stories in the NYTimes and on Boston.com? What are the new movie listings on Fandango? What are the people I haven't seen since high school up to on Facebook? Maybe I should play a few rounds of Sappho's Twilight trivia game or look for cheap tickets to Paris on kayak.com. This all before I get out of bed. On my phone. Which, again, doesn't actually work as a phone. Because of AT&T.

I used to try to meditate in the morning. My new routine is pretty much the opposite — being more equal to a spiritual death than enlightenment. And I'll need some spirituality soon because it's only a matter of time before I crash my new car and injure myself or others. Remember when a red light meant you just sat and waited for the green, maybe singing along to the radio? Now it's an opportunity to check in with the rest of the world. As a consequence, I virtually never see the light turn and am either propelled forward by the honking of the car behind me or my daughter yelling, "Mom! Go!" The other day I tried not to touch my phone for the entire three miles between home and work, but I do it without thinking and then have a do-over for the next five minutes until I fall off the wagon again.

Then a couple of weeks ago I got an email from Dan and at the end it said, "Sent from my iPad." Tech envy ensued, and I headed for my car but stopped short when I realized that if I want to have a semblance of a life I can't ever buy another iAnything. Unless they develop the iPork. Because I love pork. And, after all, this blog is about food and not addiction or technology. So here's the pork.

Just before the release of the iPad, it was restaurant week here in Boston and I enjoyed a luxurious long lunch at Toro with Bob and Mara, who were on spring break. Of course the iPhone came with, so I could show you a photo of this:

Egg, potato and onion omelet with aioli

and this:

Foie Gras with pear and bacon chutney

I obsessively photograph anything and everything I eat, so those pix were par for the course. What I didn't expect to show you was this!


Right in the middle of lunch, in came a dead pig carried by the Vermont farmers who raised it. The Toro guys started butchering it right in the middle of the dining room. You can imagine how Mara, the vegetarian, clung to her seat and didn't even reach for her iPhone, but Bob and I were on the scene immediately and had an amazing, horrible, wonderful, omnivore food experience as we watched professionals quickly prepare the pig for its afterlife as carnitas and sausage.


We didn't get to eat any of the pig — it was for a cook-off that weekend at the Liberty Hotel, but it gave me a hankering for pork (it doesn't take much). So when I got home, I got away from my screen and in front of the grill to make a fab recipe from this month's Saveur. I suggest you do the same.

Sweet and Sour Glazed Pork Chops
100% plagiarized from Saveur, April 2010

4 10 oz. bone-in pork chops, frenched
3 T extra virgin olive oil
salt & pepper
1/3 c balsamic vinegar
2 T honey
4 T unsalted butter
1 sprig fresh rosemary

Put pork chops on a plate; drizzle with oil; season generously with salt and pepper; let sit for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, build a medium-hot fire in a charcoal grill or heat a gas grill to medium-high heat. Combine vinegar and honey in a 1-qt saucepan and cook over medium heat until reduced to 1/4 c. Stir in butter and rosemary and set aside. Put pork chops on grill and cook, occasionally turning and basting with balsamic mixture, until browned and cooked through, 12-14 minutes. Transfer to a platter and let sit for 5 minutes before serving.

I served them with fennel baked in milk and stewed sweet peppers, both from the same issue and the perfect accompaniments.