Le Creuset Sex Pot: Brewed Ribs, Cod Stew, Wine & Tomato Stewed Chicken

written by Tracey Ceurvels

There is a pot that will change the way you cook and eat: the Le Creuset French Oven. And it’s perfect for hearty, cold-weather dishes.I’d been eyeing it for over a year, imagining all the dishes I could cook in this spectacular but very pricey pot. Then one day I decided I had to have it. Passion trumped price. Of course I wanted the best price, so I did my research.

I found it at Sur La Table in Soho, but they were selling it for $350, the same price at Williams-Sonoma at The Shops at Columbus Circle. I looked online and found the 6 ¾ qt. oval-shaped pot for $259 at Amazon.com, Chefscatalog.com, and Cheftools.com. Still, it seemed too expensive.

Then finally I found the perfect price! The Broadway Panhandler, one of my favorite kitchen stores, was having a sale: 50% off most of their Le Creuset cookware. The flame (“orange”) pot I’d been coveting was now mine for only $175. I raced home with possibilities racing through my mind with the fervor of hot spices.

That first night of Le Creuset ownership I made short ribs stewed in Brooklyn Brown Ale (I threw in some red wine, too), then chicken simmered in white wine and tomatoes, spent a Sunday making classic beef stew, a Saturday night making cod stew with saffron. I bought meat at Ottomanelli’s on Bleecker St. I ordered vegetables from Fresh Direct. I made daily trips to Le Vigne for wine, an essential ingredient for any stewed dishes. My apartment began emanating the scents of a rustic French restaurant. My toddler finally enjoyed dinnertime while my husband seemed to think his wife was auditioning for a stew contest, (but was very pleased nonetheless).

The cast iron French oven (otherwise known as a Dutch oven) is so forgiving and magical I think you could throw in any ingredients you have in the house and a hearty please-anyone meal would appear.

This is indeed a pot that every cook needs in the kitchen.

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Comfort Food & Family Traditions

written by Brandon Johnson

Imagine a buttery piecrust with chewy ivory ribbons and a leafy forest green filling. This unusual childhood treat carries a delicious aroma that still lures us to the dining table. In the fall of the 80s, as neighborhood friends visited our home with transforming dolls and ice cream truck treats, my mother baked our favorite pie. As she pulled the pie from the oven, the edible perfume filled our house with a scent so savory you could taste the air. And when the fragrance found our noses, we trailed the scent of garlic and butter. As if under a spell, the pie guided us to the heart of our home - the kitchen. Our little feet stood on their toes as we got a glimpse of what is known as a culinary legend in our family - spinach pie.

It was the blend of warm garlic, tender shallots and baby spinach sautéed in butter and combined with melted Swiss cheese, nestled in a flaky piecrust that brought us to the dinner table. Our family’s legendary spinach pie began as trick. Our mom knew my sister and I loved pie (what child doesn’t) so she covered spinach and cheese with piecrust to get our attention. As our small mouths took big bites, we realized the filling wasn’t warm apple or sweet cherry but was delicious, nonetheless. As we ate, our mom quietly congratulated herself for cleverly finding a way to add more iron and dairy into an 8 and 4 year olds diet. But what she didn’t expect was this pie would become a tradition. To this day, once we smell the scent of spinach pie we rush to the table with a nostalgic spirit and comforting memories. Thanks, mom. Get the recipe here.

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How to Roast a Lamb

written by Jason Greenberg

It was a tough few weeks there for celebrated New York chef Michael Psilakis. First his partnership with restaurateur Donatella Arpaia took a hit when they decided to dissolve their deal at Mia Dona, the 3-year-old restaurant on 55th street (they currently still own Anthos and Kefi together). Then his newly opened gastro pub on the Upper West Side, Gus and Gabriel’s, received a less than favorable review from The New York Times. To be honest, the review was a blood bath: The reviewer, Pete Wells, wondered in print if Psilakis had invented a new technology that stripped food of flavor.
Having greatly enjoyed eating at both Anthos and Mia Dona, I was certainly surprised. The meal I had at Anthos last year was one I won’t soon forget. In fact, I have been itching to get back there ever since. I was quickly sold on the talent and expertise that Psilakis possesses. The dishes were subtle and delicate.
Things might turn around quickly for Psilakis, if they ever really went south. His first cookbook How to Roast a Lamb was recently released. In a time when celebrity chefs are a dime a dozen, its comforting to have one who you know is more than just a spokesman for products or the Food Network. Psilakis’ message, his goal, is to tell stories through food, to create memories and history—and more definitively, to share his own. While his book does have plenty of Greek inflected recipes like Shellfish Youvetsi, Poached Goat Avgolemono or Lamb Shanks with Orzo, it is more than a typical cookbook. Alongside pictures of Psilakis and his family, he tells stories that show the rich tradition that informs his menus. This is more than cooking for him, they are origins, memories that he clearly cherishes greatly.
The launch party for his book hosted at Saveur magazine’s test kitchen was also a family affair. His son ran around while Saveur’s publisher and staff gushed with love and enthusiasm. He spent most of his time in the open kitchen preparing small bites like roasted figs wrapped in pancetta, lamb sausages, and scallops with olive oil and juniper berries. When it was time for the chef himself to step out from the kitchen and address the audience, it came as no surprise that his speech also centered around family and friends. He thanked his family for letting him get away with not being around, missing weddings and birthday parties. He said that the book is a testament to them.
On my way out, I happened to share the elevator with Psilakis’ mother-in-law. She reached into the gift bag anxious to see if her copy of the book was signed. It was, as was every copy, with the transcription, “To a lifetime of memorable meals.”
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We Don't Knead Bread Book Club

written by Mei Chin

(Re)consider the loaf. This is what Jim Lahey asks us to do, over and over again, in his new book: My Bread: The Revolutionary No-Work, No-Knead Method. Recipes based around his no-knead bread, first made famous in Mark Bittman’s “The Minimalist” column in The New York Times in 2006, definitively prove that anyone, anyone, can make a good loaf of bread at home. All it takes, he writes, is “about 5 minutes of actual labor, followed by 12 to 18 hours in which the bread rises, developing structure and flavor on autopilot, and then another short rising time, and, finally, the brief baking in a covered pot.” Simple, indeed.

Lahey takes us through his career as a baker, starting with his collegiate days as an art student, making his first loaf as a gift for his girlfriend. Noting the similarities between sculpture and baking, Lahey discovered a passion that would take him to Italy and back, and left him understanding what bread can mean, and what a good loaf could possibly be. Eventually, while working on a request from Chef Cesare Casella, of the Italian Culinary Academy, for bread made in the style of ancient Rome, Lahey improvised his now famous recipe, and has made it ever since.

Recipes in My Bread are accessible and well-written for both neophytes and experienced bakers. All measurements are given in measured and weighted amounts, with clear instructions and pictures that demonstrate each step. Besides Lahey’s basic loaf, there are also sweet and savory breads, a section on pizza, and an homage to the perfect sandwich.

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...Hot Chocolate by Any Other Name Would(n't) Taste As Sweet

written and photographed by Rebekah Peppler

Rich, creamy and impossibly decadent, hot chocolate has lived up to its name as a drink fit for gods, warriors and kings for millennium. That is until America (okay, and Britain) got its sticky fingers all over it.While I grew up sipping my fair share instant hot cocoa made popular by brands like Nestlé and Swiss Miss, the distinction between hot cocoa and hot chocolate is much more than one word. It's a varied history, rife with centuries of sweet, cocoa bean-laden roots.

Making its entrée into civilization around 1000 B.C., cocoa was first harvested by the Olmecs and made into a liquid by their better-known successors the Mayans, who then shared it with the Aztecs. The Aztecs, prodigious people as they were, bestowed it with the title Theobroma or "food of the gods", spiced it with chili powder, honey and vanilla and served it lukewarm to give strength to their warriors.

When the conquistadors returned to Spain with their plunder of cocoa they replaced the Aztec's spices with sugar, the warriors with the upper class, served it hot and kept it a secret for nearly a century. After word got out about the potation, hot chocolate spread rapidly amidst the high societies of Europe, picking up a proclivity for milk in Britain and maintaining its elitist status. However, in 1828 a Dutch chemist named Coenraad Van Houten invented the cocoa press, making cocoa powder easier to dissolve in liquid, more affordable and thus accessible to the masses. Nonetheless, the process, aptly known as Dutching, starkly diminished the quality of the beverage. Europe's elite chose to stick with the pricier original, and unequivocally tastier, hot chocolate, while Britain, and soon enough America, opted for the less expensive, more convenient cocoa powder.

In America the terms "hot chocolate" and "hot cocoa" were quickly deemed so interchanged that the high-class appeal of the hot chocolate was lost and, as evidenced today, hot cocoa became an overly sweet drink marketed for kids.


Fortunately, authentic hot chocolate is coming back in favor and the distinction between it and its cocoa cousin is being more readily acknowledged. Those in the (chocolate) know visit Jacques Torres and MarieBelle in New York, Vosges Haut-Chocolat in Chicago and Flour Bakery + Café in Boston to indulge in the true essence of European hot chocolate. Or, you can easily make it in the comfort of your own home, reverting back to a time before that pesky Dutchmen's invention and America's inane marketing scheme. A time when hot chocolate was a drink fit for the gods, the warriors, the upper echelon of society.

So, sit back, take a sip. Welcome to your kingdom.


Authentic Hot Chocolate (not to be mistaken for hot cocoa)

serves 2

¾ cup whole milk

¼ cup heavy cream

2 ounces high quality bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

2 ounces high quality semisweet chocolate, finely chopped

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Place chocolate in heat proof bowl and set aside. Heat milk, cream and salt in a saucepan just to the boiling point. Turn off the heat and pour 1/2 of the mixture over the chocolate and allow to sit for one minute. Whisk, starting from the center, until the chocolate is completely dissolved. Add back to the sauce pan and whisk to combine with the remaining milk mixture. Stir in the vanilla extract and allow to sit for 15 minutes. Reheat gently over low heat and serve with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a few chocolate shavings. Read more!

Comfort Me FRANNY!

written by Anthony Ramos

As much as I love to cook at home I find dining out equally as enjoyable. Sharing food with friends and family at the communal table is comforting and rewarding. Our hip Park Slope friends invited us to meet them at Franny’s on Flatbush Ave for dinner. The restaurant was unfamiliar to me – and being somewhat all things food snobbish – my initial reaction to the restaurant’s name conjured up unflattering images.

We arrived a little early and the line of patrons that ran outside the door surprised me, especially for a Monday night! We edged our way in to get our name on the ubiquitous list. The airy space was filled with gorgeous scents of garlic, basil, tomatoes and baking bread. Looking at the menu the fare is simple, Italian, pizza, a few pastas, uncomplicated appetizers and salumi. The concise menu reminded me of the few days I spent in Rome and Florence where unadorned cafes served some of the best food I’ve ever had.


Back out on the sidewalk, waiting for Beau and MaryKathryn to arrive, Marc whispered to me and told me that Maggie Gyllenhaal was also waiting for a table with her husband, actor Peter Saarsgard and their young daughter. Fellow Brooklynites, I figured, just out for a casual dinner with their friends – just like us. Like good stalwart New Yorkers no one flinched at the celebrity sightings and it was business as usual.

With the arrival of our friends, we immediately ordered cocktails, wines and some food to start. The Crostino of wood-roasted pancetta and herb butter and the Fried eggplant with cherry tomato and Parmigiano Reggiano that arrived from the open kitchen were deceptively simple, constructed of just a few ingredients. The crostino of Italian bacon and melted herb butter on thickly grilled bread was rustic and savory.

We choose the Rigotonicini with pork sausage, rapini and Provolone piccante and a brick oven pizza made with Buffalo mozzarella, tomatoes, red pepper and yes, more sausage. The pizza had that wonderful crispy char from baking on hot stone in the oven. It reminded me of the pizza I had in Rome, so I closed my eyes and imagined hearing Vespas sputtering around cobble-stoned streets. The pasta was perfect, really al dente the way I like it and the wilted rapini and piquant sauce flavored with sharp Provolone were enticing.

It just proves that the best quality ingredients in the right hands can create a soul satisfying experience. As for the name…I’d forgotten about those unflattering images after sharing a bottle of complex, earthy Sicilian wine.
photo credit: Vanessa Vichit-Vadakan
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"Escoffier was a Hustler" - Anthony Bourdain

written by Jason Greenberg

Listening to Anthony Bourdain speak is like running through a field of land mines. Okay maybe just a field of sound bites. He rattles off one-liners in such quick succession that you’re sure he had to have prepared them beforehand. Part journalist (he prefers storyteller), part chef, part writer and part comedian, hehas become not only the face of The Travel Channel, but also one of the most recognizable personalities in the food industry.

Bourdain was in town recently to take part in a Times Talks interview session—an event in conjunction with the Food Network’s NYC Wine and Food Festival. His interviewer was none other than former New York Times restaurant critic, Frank Bruni. Most of the questions and conversation centered on Bourdain’s television show, No Reservations. But one should always expect Bourdain to veer onto other food-related topics. His opinions on certain celebrity chefs are widely known, but lately he has been critical of beloved chef Alice Waters too. “She scares me,” he said, adding his own strikingly visual description of Waters as “Pol Pot in a muumuu.” The crowd certainly got a kick out of that. Although some, including Bruni, were slightly taken aback. Bourdain took issue with Waters’ appearance on 60 Minutes and her constant preaching on the nation’s eating habits. “The message is good, she’s just the wrong person to deliver it,” he said.

Bourdain did admit that sometimes he goes too far and occasionally regrets the blatant honesty he is known for. He recalled a time that he made disparaging comments about Chef Jamie Oliver. He later found out that Oliver had suffered from dyslexia as a child, and that Kitchen Confidential had been one of the first books he'd ever read—that he had been a hero of sorts to him. Bourdain has since apologized and the two had a beer.

The topic of the Food Network also frequently comes up in conversation with Bourdain. “It’s a Food Network world, I just live in it,” he told Bruni. Does he believe that a chef’s personality and on-air presence can be determining factors in the success of their restaurants or their career in general? Yes and no. There are some chefs, such as Eric Ripert, whom he believes should never have to give another interview because his food speaks for itself. Bourdain does, however, admit that there is a bit of hustling that is inevitable, even historical in the food world. “Escoffier was a hustler,” he said. “With the book deals and restaurants.”

After Bruni was done with his questions, it was the audience’s turn. Unfortunately, most of the questions were more chances to praise Bourdain than actual questions. But a few led to Bourdain to share more of his philosophies and insights. A few asked about the obesity epidemic to which he responded, “All I can say is stop eating at the king, the Colonel and the clown.”
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Spicy, Flaky and Smoky: Aleppo Pepper

written by Mei Chin

I am not a spice lover by nature. My parents don’t stomach hot food terribly well, but it was somewhere in the late 90s when my mother introduced red pepper flakes to our larder. But even from the beginning, it was never enough. Discovery, circa 1997? I love hot pepper enough to make the pizza guy’s eyes bulge out when I order a slice.

But that kind of heat (the red pepper flake kind) is a straight shot, a one-two punch. Aleppo pepper, a fruity, sultry pepper from Syria, is not that kind of pepper. Aleppo pepper is the dried, ground skin of peppers of the same name, is mixed with with olive oil and a little salt, and then set to ferment in the sun. It’s spicy and flaky and smoky all at once; the heat starts out mild, but then blooms in the throat, revealing fruitiness and smoke. Aleppo pepper is also clever at hiding itself in dishes where you don’t expect heat, only to reveal itself after the second, or third bite. It is completely delicious, and utterly addicting.

Rated at a 3-4 on the Scoville heat scale, Aleppo isn’t the hottest pepper around, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a pepper for when subtlety is called for, rather than a hammer over the head. It would even be good, sprinkled with abandon, on top of a pizza slice. Don’t think I haven’t tried it.

Photo: The Nibble

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