Pimm's Cup

We're having an English breakfast with our neighbors down the hall tomorrow morning while watching DVR'd coverage of the Royal Wedding. Although usually reserved for Wimbledon, I couldn't think of a better libation than the time-honored Pimm's Cup to serve! My mixologist friend Stephanie Schneider, owner-operator of Huckleberry Bar in Williamsburg offered up her recipe and I am more than pleased to present it here on Evenings With Peter. I've already made the simple syrup and just can't wait to start juicing that ginger!

Pimm's Cup
Makes 1 drink
Ingredients
2 oz. Pimm's
5 slices muddled cucumbers (seeds removed)
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1 oz. fresh lemon juice
1 oz. simple syrup, a 1:1 ratio of water and sugar or perhaps 2:1
1/2 oz. ginger juice, peeled ginger put in a juicer

Method
Add ingredients into a shaker and throw in a fistful of ice. Shake, pour into a highball glass and tie one on while toasting to yet another SOB who has tied the knot. Cheers!

Thanks to wellfed.typepad.com for the gorgeous pic!

Lame Duck

Sometimes dinner parties just don't work out and our guests fall apart. The evening I present here dissolved into something most disappointing, frustrating and ultimately just plain exhausting. I'd hoped to write with absolute vigor about my Duck Pot Pie but I can't find it in me. The food was great, really great in fact, and took me several days to prepare. I made the stock a week ahead of time and froze it. I made my own duck confit, in a brilliant shortcut. So much for that. Here are the salted legs:

Set your simple table and take these recipes as you will, inspired by Good Dog Bar and Restaurant in Philadelphia where Baby and I spent our Easter weekend. Do find pleasure in creating a truly special dinner, at your own home. As always, wish for the best and choose your guests wisely.

Menu
French and Australian Cheeses on a rustic cutting board with crackers and a bed of parsley
Baby Arugula Salad with Blood Orange & Bacon Vinaigrette
Duck Pot Pie with a side of Corn Bread (the linked recipe is similar to what I did but I would hardly find all the butter or eggs to be necessary; incorporate at your own discretion). Black truffle honey is shrewd indeed for dipping
Rich Chocolates for dessert with pink Peeps, almond cookies, and Brandy, Armagnac, as you go

Dressing for your salad course: use the chart of my favorite Michael Lomonaco's Shallot and Champagne Vinaigrette with a few alterations. As classic duck a l'orange is so delicious I thought that using blood orange olive oil would set the whole duck deal up perfectly, which it did, with ribbons of bacon flavor too to stand up to the approaching game bird. Use 1/4 cup red wine vinegar, 1 tb Dijon mustard, 1 tb sugar, 4 peeled shallots, 1/4 tsp salt, 1/4 ground black pepper--throw into a blender and then slowly incorporate 1/2 cup blood orange olive oil and 1/4 cup softened bacon grease. Creamy, divine, and far more interesting than impeding company!

Click Duck Pot Pie for the recipe. The link from Saveur will help you make your own duck confit that the recipe requires but I suggest cutting to the chase as I did (otherwise buy it already done from D'Artagnan or a local butcher): pull the duck fat off the legs, render it in a cast iron skillet to release the most fat and when it's at room temperature, set the fat aside in the fridge. Pour coarse salt on all sides of the stripped duck legs, cover and leave to consider in refrigeration for at least eight hours. Wipe off the salt and slather with your rendered duck fat (I didn't "submerge" as the recipe calls for); put in a 250-degree oven for about 90 minutes, turning over once, halfway through. When you make your filling, keep the duck meat on the bone for flavor while it fully cooks in the stuff and then remove the legs. Once simmered down to a manageable temperature, use a deft fork or your own hands to pull off the meat and then proceed to stuff the innards of your extraordinary pie with abandon.

Dirt For Dinner

I don't mind telling you I ate dirt once. I was about five or so and I wanted to. I also used to wash my own mouth out with soap. In the event that I ever sassed my parents and was to be punished, I wanted to be prepared for the taste. Same went for when I would eat stale bread with a glass of water, in case I was ever thrown into jail. Also I had great plans for eventually opening a restaurant comprised only of marshmallows, served any way my clientele wished--basically lightly browned, a good fire on, or burned. Oh yes, left much to my own devices as a youth, I had a vivid interior life.

Some more stuff about my curious relationship with food: I never have really overeaten and have always remained relatively thin, but most times these days I don't eat enough, except in my gorging capacity as dining editor but even then I reign it in with portion control. In the last year I deliberately dropped 15 pounds, reaching a circumference that can once again fit into my pants.

I held a couple of waiter jobs when I was in college and was terrible at it. As it wasn't up to me to cook the food, I never cared if it ever made it to any of the customers' tables in a timely manner. I was too busy anyway scarfing down the lobster meat from the walk-in refrigerator at one place and devouring chocolate peanut butter pie off the dessert cart at another. 

I learned some things though during those particular posts. I would fiddle about with items I served such as boboli crusts, adding cheese, chopped tomatoes and bacon on them with a few spoonfuls of sour cream. I still love that. Once I called my friend when I bought a chicken and asked for any suggestions as to what to do with it. She suggested a sprinkling of lemon pepper in a 350 degree oven for 40 minutes or so depending on the size of the bird. Brilliant! 

But I never made a real meal until I was in my early 20's. It was an asparagus souffle from the pages of the Silver Palate cookbook. I would call it successful, but having tried my hand at souffles subsequently over the years, let's just call it beginner's luck.

Thankfully I finally figured out how to cook, instinctively divining what goes with what, all by myself, and have made a sort of peace with my odd, bordering-on-bulimic behavior toward food. My dinner guests are the better for it too and eagerly rush over, knowing I will earnestly try to serve them something else other than dirt for dinner.

Shouldn't You Just...?

Frill about while we are all aching for spring?

Modern advice on etiquette for the not-so-new millennium.

Orange Banana Cake

I never met Baby's mother, as she passed a few years before he and I met, but her loving memory looms large when related in the many stories told to me by her family and friends. Just the other day Baby told me about the Orange Banana Cakes she used to make for his birthdays when he was growing up. Well naturally, I set to work right away for a surprise! It doesn't seem like the Orange Chiffon cake mix exists anymore, so I used a Betty Crocker Butter Recipe Yellow cake mix and zested an orange into it along with beating 1 1/4 cups water, a stick of unsalted sweet cream butter and three eggs together as the back of the box suggests. I made Jell-O Banana Cream instant pudding separately and let it chill and thicken for a few minutes before folding it into the mix. Instead of making a whole cake, my batch was spread into a pan of mini bundts (12 all told) sprayed with Pam three times. After the whole thing rested for 10 minutes, I loosened the little beauties from the pan over a cooling rack and with no apologies, put a dollop of Duncan Hines cream cheese frosting on top of each. Marvelous!

Dinner a la 1978

Was London Broil a part of your childhood on occasion, when things shifted from the everyday burger, spaghetti, mac 'n' cheese or creamed ham on toast? It certainly was for me when my Mom would throw one of these steaks into the broiler. If you grew up with that rich, meaty Bonanza-like smell that rode out of the oven like a herd of fine cattle, chances are the memory hasn't been forgotten. When Baby and I moved into London Terrace a few years ago, around dinner time it seemed like all our neighbors were making London Broil when the opening elevator door paused on certain floors to envelope us with that definite, delicious aroma. Just the other day we were so inspired to broil the steak ourselves, with some creamy instant garlic-flavored potatoes and a slowly heated side of French-style green beans from a can with butter and salt. It all came out very well, and as confirmed by my Mom, all the meat needs is a little salt and pepper when placed in the broiler for about 10 minutes for sliced medium-rare perfection. Of course, hardly satisfied with that, we used a judicious sprinkling of Penzey's nostril tingling, Chicago Steak Seasoning with garlic, Tellicherry black pepper and hickory smoke--and we heartily suggest you do too.

Brussels Sprouts!

SADLY, JO'S HAS CLOSED. BUT THESE BRUSSELS SPROUTS ARE FOREVER!

The boys at Jo’s have got it going on. Their menu is consistently delicious and recently they introduced the cutting edge Punk Rock and higher-end Rockstar concepts, featuring wines all considerably lower priced than their competitors (who are surely gnashing their teeth). We settled in on a recent evening and flipped over the Brussels Sprouts. Forget notions of suffering foods you had to endure growing up—not only will you devour these plucky sprouts, you’ll ask for seconds! A visit to Jo’s is definitely in order but owners Jim Chu and Johnny Santiago were kind enough to send us their recipe to make at home.

Sautéed Brussels Sprouts Leaves with Shallots and Toasted Macadamia Nuts
Adapted from Jo’s
Serves 4

Ingredients
3 pints Brussels sprouts, stems cut and leaves taken off with a paring knife
2 shallots
3 Tbsp unsalted butter
2 handfuls Macadamia nuts, toasted and crushed (preferably by a wine bottle or rolling pin)

Heat pan on medium/high heat for one minute. Melt butter until slightly brown. Add shallots and quickly sauté. Add Brussels sprouts leaves and toss to coat until slightly wilted. Add salt and pepper to taste. Take pan off heat, add nuts and toss.