Dissertations and Dinner Plates

I recently had the opportunity to wine and dine a friend whom I met through Food and Paper. This gastronomic twist, combined with the fact that I had once witnessed said friend happily munch a handful of dried and sugared anchovies we had hunted down in the Strip District, told me an extra-special menu was in order...one that would suggest all my online talk of cooking is more than internet smoke and mirrors, and one that would be memorable in that anchovy-candy sort of way.

Although I didn't become aware of it until the dinner day had arrived, a certain something--not really worthy to be called a dinner party "theme"--seemed to connect the courses I had planned to serve. I haven't quite come up with a way to name this theme, but something along the lines of "Sarah's preoccupation with bones, raw meat, medieval medicine, and instruments of torture" is the closest approximation I've found thus far.

In full personal-oddity disclosure, I realize that this theme does not sound particularly culinary. But it does represent the sort of stuff I spend my days thinking and writing about when I'm not thinking and writing about food. Can a girl help it if her dissertation interferes with her dinner plates? I should say that I didn't bring up medieval gynecology, Christ's wounds, or saints' relics--not even once--during dinner, and it wasn't entirely easy considering what was on the table: marrow bones, followed by a spinach and pea potage worthy of a medieval apothecary's repertoire, followed by a bright pink mound of raw fish flesh, all topped off with a creme brulee I had scorched with a blow torch. My table-mates didn't even know they were dining on a theme; but, then again, when I brought out the ankle bones, they probably had an inkling that something weird was afoot. So, I suppose the menu was special, but in that self-referential academic sort of way. Fortunately, arcane scholarship about crucifixion and resurrected bodies tastes pretty good when translated into something edible.


Beef Marrow Bones with Sea Salt and Parsley-Caper Salad
from Bones by Jennifer McLagan



I've made no secret of my love of bones. I like to gnaw meat from bones (mmmm, short ribs). I like to gaze at bones, especially when they're displayed in precious metals and revered as the the index finger of doubting Thomas. And, as a child, I liked to carry them around as good luck charms.

I am thrilled to have acquired a copy of Bones, by Jennifer McLagan. I had to try the roasted marrow bones first, pictured as they were on the cover of her book. This recipe, Ms. McLagan says, was what got her thinking seriously about bones in the first place. I love the idea of eating what's inside as well as what's outside the bone. In the case of these bones, though, I didn't eat what was outside, but bought them naked and packed to the brim with pink marrow. Bones, by the way, are cheap. Marrow is sometimes called the poor man's foie gras.

I'm not giving a recipe for this dish because I think my technique still needs some work. I overcooked the bones a bit...a good portion of marrow melted out of them, and what was left inside, though rich and enjoyable, had a burnt flavor about it. There are many bones in my future...I plan to work my way through as many of Ms. McLagan's recipes as the ostiary will allow.


Tuna Tartare with Wasabi Ice Cream and Infused Oils


I tasted my first tartare, which happened to be beef, in Paris, 2002. Though I ordered it with a bit of trepidation, I just couldn't pass up that mixture of local gastronomic tradition and personal gastronomic novelty. I admit, I didn't finish all of it (we're talking a mound of raw beef that covered the expanse of my entire dinner plate), but I've looked for tartare on menus since then...In the States, for better or worse, it's almost exclusively tuna.

There are some good tuna tartares out there, and there are some bad ones too. The bad ones are not bad because the fish is old or fishy; they're bad because they're either "overcooked" with citrus juices or simply not flavorful enough. I've taken to making my own, using ruby-red tuna from Whole Foods, lots of ginger, chives, scallions, jalapeno, cilantro, lime zest, toasted sesame oil, soy sauce, and a bit of honey. This time, I made some oils infused with chives and dried chilis to drizzle along the plate. I served the tartare with crackers made from spring roll wrappers and a little scoop of wasabi ice cream. This was my first attempt at this particular ice cream flavor, and it was an almost-success. The flavor was good and strong, but the texture was sort of mushy, and the ice cream didn't want to form a proper little scoop. Because I wanted something light, more like a sorbet than an ice cream, I made the base out of milk. Next time, I'll add some cream, and perhaps one egg yolk.

Chilled Spinach and Pea Soup with Parmesan Baskets
adapted from Martha Stewart's Living, serves 4.



The favorite dish of the evening was this emerald-colored soup topped with Parmesan baskets filled with baby greens from my own tiny garden and sliced radishes. This is a nice choice for a dinner party because you can make both the soup and the baskets a full day in advance. The soup is so (so!) much more than the sum of its humble parts. I was completely impressed with its velvety texture and rich flavor. And, with all that spinach, I felt my muscles growing with every slurp. Yep, it's health food.

I am now enamored of Parmesan baskets. These little numbers transformed a good-looking soup into something striking. They're like jewelry for blended soups...and they're versatile accessories at that. You could fill a basket like this with any number of things, as long as they're light-weight. Imagine a basket filled with a cucumber salsa and a little spoonful of crab meat floating on a tomato gazpacho. Floated on a hot soup, any structure made of Parmesan will melt after a minute or so, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.

5 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
2 cups good quality chicken stock or vegetable stock
1 pound fresh peas, shelled (about 1 cup)
10 ounces fresh spinach, tough stems removed (about 6 cups packed leaves)
1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice, divided
1 cup micro greens or mache
2 small radishes, thinly sliced
4 Parmesan baskets (recipe below)

1. Heat 4 teaspoons oil in a medium or large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion, garlic, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and a couple grinds of black pepper. Cook, stirring, 3 minutes. Add stock, and bring to a boil.

2. Add peas, and return to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until peas are tender and bright green, 2-3 minutes. Stir in spinach. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until spinach wilts, 2-3 minutes.

3. Using an immersion blender, puree soup. Alternatively, blend in batches in a standing blender. Add a few tablespoons of water to achieve desired consistency. Stir in 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Transfer soup to a bowl, cover, and refrigerate, stirring occasionally, until chilled, at least 3 hours. Soup can be kept covered and refrigerated for a day or so before serving.

4. Divide soup among 4 bowls. Toss greens and radish slices with remaining teaspoon of oil and 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice. Season greens with salt and pepper. Divide salad among Parmesan baskets, and float one on top of each bowl of soup.


Parmesan Baskets
Makes 4.

3 ounces Parmesan cheese (about 3/4 cup), grated on the medium holes of a box grater

Heat a medium nonstick skillet over medium heat. Sprinkle about 3 tablespoons Parmesan on the skillet to form a 4-inch round. Cook until cheese is somewhat melted and starting to firm, 3-4 minutes. Using a thin spatula, carefully flip Parmesan and cook until firm but not browned, 20-30 seconds longer. Transfer round to a small bowl (about 2 1/2 inches in diameter) and press around the edges of the bowl. Continue to press lightly, shaping as needed, until Parmesan cools, 10-15 seconds. Repeat with remaining cheese, and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

The next time I make these baskets, I think I'll try heating the Parmesan in the oven on a Silpat mat. I found the flipping part of Ms. Stewart's protocol a bit difficult. If anyone has had any experience with this technique, please let me know what you think.

Parmesan baskets can be made in advance and stored in a covered container for a day or two.