Author Archive
The non-Italian food club (Mole duranguense)
What is that trick our minds play that we always crave what we can’t have? In Rome, food lovers’ paradise, I keep finding myself on the lookout for great non-Italian food. And I’m not the only one.
A couple of months ago at a party, my friend Luis mentioned he once carried a hefty iron tortilla maker in his hand luggage, from his native Mexico to Rome. Other friends immediately jumped at him: “Can you make us burritos?” And so he did, in a 4-course dinner that blew our minds. Weeks later I was invited over at Hande’s to have German food and most recently I organized an Indonesian dinner. I jokingly dubbed these nights “The Non-Italian Food Club”.
When a cab driver recently stated that Roman food is the best in the world I couldn’t say no. Just because he wouldn’t let me. Clinging to your traditions is a fantastic thing, because a lot of people including myself reap the benefits from unbending rules. But how many times do I have to say that ‘different’ doesn’t mean better or worse?
From a young age I was exposed to a variety of cuisines. Traditional Dutch food was only remarkable in the hands of both my grandmothers. My mom cooked a mean curry one night and a bouillabaisse the next. Obviously I followed her example. And then my horizon expanded even more during my stint in New York. Having great food at your fingertips 24/7 is exhilarating!
For the large immigrant population Rome has, the city boasts surprisingly few non-Italian restaurants. I’m not saying ethnic food, cause as mentioned in this article recently, is there such a thing as ethnic food? And besides, I mean ALL non-Italian food, whether it be Dutch, Scandinavian or Pakistani. Anyway, if you’re brave enough to venture out to one of them, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment most of the time. There’s a handful of half-decent Korean places, some Indian restaurants, Middle-Eastern maybe. But most of it is kind of bland.
I’ve set myself on a mission to find the best non-Italian eats in Rome, even if it means wielding through a lot of crappy food. My brave friend Katie already found a good number of them, including favorites as Mesob or Shawarma Station. But what about great Mexican? Or outstanding French cuisine? In the mean time, I hope there’ll be many more of these unforgettable home-cooked dinners!
Mole Duranguense de la abuela Elvira
This is a tried and tested recipe of Luis’s grandmother Elvira. ‘Mole’ is the general term for ‘sauce’. The best known version is ‘poblano’, containing chili peppers, chocolate, shredded turkey and some other 100 ingredients. This family version from the Durango region ‘only’ has 9 (excluding those used for the broth).
- For the broth: 1 onion, 2 garlic cloves and a bunch of fresh green herbs such as bay leaves, marjoram, thyme and so on.
- 3 chicken breasts
- 10 red ancho chilis
- 1 green plantain (peel included)
- 10 almonds
- 4 tablespoons sesame seeds
- 3 cm cinnamon stick, ground
- 3-4 slices of toasted bread
- 1 flour tortilla (browned in a frying pan with a bit of cooking oil)
- 1 ½ tablet of Oaxaca chocolate (alternative: 150 grams of 80% cacao dark chocolate)
In a large pot, bring water to a rolling boil, add roughly chopped onion, garlic, and fresh herbs and add the chicken breasts (whole) after a few minutes. Reduce the heat, and let the chicken boil until done. (This method is pretty common in Mexico, even so that it says ‘cook the chicken the normal way’ in the recipe). Remove chicken and set aside.
Slice the ancho peppers in half, remove the seeds and soak them for 20 minutes or so in some of the warm broth.
Slice the plantain horizontally (including the peel!) and fry the slices in a bit of cooking oil until golden.
Soak the almonds and the sesame seeds in a bit of warm water. Drain and place in a food processor, together with the chilis, cinnamon, the bread (in small chunks), the tortilla, and the plantain. Process until the paste has a velvety texture.
Add this paste to a heavy-bottomed pot, and, over low heat, add the chocolate piece by piece. Keep stirring slowly until you have a thick homogeneous sauce. If it’s too thick, add a few tablespoons of broth. Add salt to taste.
Shred the chicken breasts with a fork, add the shreds to the sauce, stir for about 5 minutes. Turn off the heat and let the mole stand for 1 to 2 hours. Reheat before serving.
We served the mole with a slice of fried plantain, refried beans and saffron rice.
Picture courtesy of Gina Tringali.
Aaahhh, butter!
Butter. I’ll spread some on a slice of proper bread, sprinkle it with some sea salt and call it dinner. Or I’ll cook some fresh fish in a good puddle of the stuff and finish off with a squeeze of lemon.
I guess I shouldn’t be saying this out loud in the land of olive oil worshippers, but I really LOVE butter. My mantra: “you can never have enough of a thing that is bad for you.” At its best, butter is creamy but light, with a slightly tart, buttermilky flavor (never sour!). It is bright yellow in color, has a slight shimmer and just screams: FARM FRESH!
So, I guess I shouldn’t even be thinking this at all in the land where every single national foodstuff is revered as a form of GOD, but: Italian butter sucks. It’s bleak and unattractive-looking, just tastes like fat and nothing else. I’m still looking for that one particular type that proves me wrong.
Butter really is one of the things the Dutch can be proud of. Especially of ‘boerenboter’ (farmer’s butter), made of the cream (yeah…butter should be around 84% fat) of fresh, non-homogenized milk. This ‘non-homogenized’ means that winter butter tastes completely different from summer butter, when the cows have been grazing in the meadows.
Pure lactic acid-producing bacteria are added to the cream after which they are left alone for about 36 hours. The cream comes out slightly soured, after which the churning can begin. Churning is basically shaking and beating the cream until it becomes so confused it transforms. Little ‘lumps’ of fat separate from the liquid – the buttermilk. Then, these lumps are rinsed with cold water and worked into a creamy mass that encapsulates the remaining traces of the liquid. The milk proteins emulsify the fat. The way this process is done determines the taste of the butter to a great extent (temperature, duration of churning, etc).
This is one of my favorite lazy recipes. Try to get your hands on some French (Bretagne, Normandie) butter or Irish butter.
Entrecôte with sage and orange butter
Serves 2
- 2 medium-sized entrecotes (rib steak)
- 3 tablespoons fresh butter, room temperature
- 1 tablespoon sage, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon orange zest, finely chopped
- 1 teaspoon garlic, finely chopped
- 1.5 tablespoons fresh orange juice
- sea salt
Take the meat out of the fridge and its wrapping at least one hour before preparation. Season lightly on both sides with salt and fresh pepper.
In a small bowl, mix butter, sage, orange zests, garlic and juice with a fork to a creamy mass. Season with a bit of fresh sea salt.
Sauté the steaks ( = rare!) in butter and let them rest for about ten minutes, wrapped in aluminum foil.
Serve on preheated plates with a royal dollop of sage butter.
Picture courtesy of Luis Herrera.
The ‘Kapsalon’: fries Rotterdam-style
Thought gravy-doused poutine clogged up your arteries just by looking at it? Think again. In my native Rotterdam, people are going wild about a concoction called ‘Kapsalon’. Basically that’s a battlefield of fries, shawarma meat, gouda cheese, lots of garlic sauce, topped with lettuce. The snack is notorious for its unsurpassed beer-absorption properties.
I was a Kapsalon virgin until recently, just because soggy fries aren’t really my thing. But a couple of months ago, I had my first taste when I went back to Holland to write ‘Het Grote Frietboek’, a comprehensive book on ‘frites’. These famous Belgian and Dutch fries are usually served with mayonnaise (remember that famous scene in Pulp Fiction?), but you’ll find lots of other creative sauce combinations.
The book is doing well, we’ve sold about 60,000 copies and working on the second edition. I’m not hooked on the Kapsalon just yet, but I love the story behind it.
‘Kapsalon’ literally means ‘Hair Salon’. The snack was born in Delfshaven, a multi-ethnic neighborhood in Rotterdam. Nathaniel Gomes, a Cape Verdean hairdresser and owner of hair salon ‘Tati’, ordered lunch from the nearby restaurants and fry shops every day. Bored with the options, he decided to mix things up a bit. He asked the owners at the next-door kebab shop ‘El Aviva’ to pair fries and shawarma meat in an aluminum container. A Turkish assistant of the salon thought it was a good idea to top it off with gouda cheese, place the whole thing under the grill and serve it with garlic sauce, hot sauce and lettuce. Clients who saw Nathaniel relish the snack wanted to have it too, but since it had no formal name, he said they should ask for a ‘kapsalon’ (‘hair salon’). It became an instant hit, and all kebab and fry shops in the city soon added it to the menu.
Go to any fry shop in Rotterdam during the wee hours and you’ll find hoards of party people lining up for their portion of ‘Kapsalon’. The snack is a cross-cultural best seller: you see people of all ages, ethnicities and social groups thankfully dive into it.
To me, this is why the ‘Kapsalon’ represents Rotterdam for me. I’m definitely going to have it again, but I’ll make sure to have some beers before I order, because I’m sure pretty sure it’ll taste fantastic then.
Kapsalon
Serves 1 starving night crawler, ideally slightly intoxicated
- 1 portion Dutch fries
- 200 gram shawarma meat
- garlic sauce
- hot sauce (optional)
- 1 slice gouda cheese
- 1 handful of iceberg lettuce
Put fries into aluminum container, add shawarma meat, drizzle with garlic sauce and hot sauce (optional). Top with gouda cheese and place under a hot grill for 2-3 minutes until cheese has melted. Finish off with a layer of iceberg lettuce and serve with a plastic fork and lots of napkins.
Rome-antic dinner for one (vanilla risotto with orange and cardamom caramel)
I hardly ever feel lonely and I surely feel far from desperate. But I have to say, being single in the city of love completely sucks some times. Exactly because being alone and being perfectly fine about it is seen as a gross anomaly in Italian culture. And boy, do they rub it in.
Ah, l’amore!
In the birthplace of San Valentino, public displays of affection (so-called PDA’s) are everywhere. Couples, no matter their age, are walking hand-in-hand, stealing kisses, sharing a gelato. And of course, enjoying romantic vistas together. Lovely. But why do these über-romantic spots seem to be off-limits if you’re not in due?
I deliberately break the unwritten rules when I visit the most romantic spots in Rome by myself. Yes, my Italian friends, you heard it well: ALONE. After a week of hard work, I love to buy a few mignons at Cristalli di Zucchero. Delicate, petit, a perfect treat for one. I take them to the Giardino Degli Aranci, a perfect garden with orange trees and postcard panorama’s. Parco Savello, as is the official name, seems to be out of bounds for the solo visitor, but I can’t care less.
I just sit there on a bench, soaking up the sun and slowly indulging in bignè alla crema or pan di spagna alle mandorle. The entire city is my companion. If I feel extra Rome-antic, I peek through the keyhole of a large gate, which makes Saint Peter’s appear as if it were framed in rose bushes (definitely the worst-kept secret of the city).
I walk home and cook something for myself. Usually dinner is dessert, just because I can. I set the table with a napkin, poor a glass of wine, light a candle and enjoy my company.
I discovered this caramel ‘by accident’, when I was making a spice mix for mulled wine and left it on the stove too long. It’s a perfect sweet companion for the delicate vanilla risotto.
Vanilla risotto with orange and cardamom caramel
Serves 1 romantic soul including nightly leftovers
For the risotto:
- 2-3 cups whole milk
- ½ vanilla pod
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 1 cup arborio rice
- 2 tablespoons sugar
For the orange caramel:
- 1 cup fresh orange juice
- zest of 1 orange
- 3 tablespoons sugar
- 2 cardamom pods, crushed
- 1 piece cinnamon bark
You can prepare this rice pudding risotto-style entirely with whole milk, but I prefer switching to adding hot water at some point, because I don’t like it too milky.
Bring milk to a boil, remove from heat. Add vanilla pod and let it soak for 3 minutes. When soft, slice pod open lengthwise, scrape out seeds and add pod and seeds to the milk.
For the caramel, heat orange juice in a small saucepan with orange zest, sugar, cardamom pods and cinnamon bark. Bring to a boil and let simmer for 15-20 minutes until reduced to about one third. Sieve and let reduce further until liquid caramelizes and thickens. Be careful not to brown the caramel too much. Set aside.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, melt butter over low heat. Add the rice and stir about minute, until all kernels are coated. You shouldn’t let them brown. Bring heat to medium and add about half of the milk. Stir frequently, this will get the starch out of the rice and eventually produce a velvety substance. Slowly add milk when the previous liquid has been almost cooked away. Continue with hot water or more hot milk if necessary, on a slow simmer for about 17 to 20 minutes. The rice grains should be cooked but still firm. Add sugar and taste: the risotto shouldn’t be too sweet. Let the rice stand for a few minutes, then serve in a bowl and drizzle the orange caramel over.
Pictures again made by Luis, my ‘stylist-slash-photographer’. I loooooove your pictures, guapo!
Making whole foods sexy – the Italian way (Linguine di farro al sugo di broccoli)
I can’t help it, when I think about whole grains and beans there’s always a bunch of dancing hippies in the image as well. Strange, because I hadn’t even been born in the seventies. But my childhood health store memories left their imprint.
In the early eighties, my dad followed a strict macrobiotic diet to battle rheumatism and he often took me to one of the few organic grocery stores in town. I hated it. I hated the penetrating sour smell, I hated the harsh lighting and endless wooden shelves, I hated the grey complexion and dull hair of the dungaree-wearing customers.
But most of all, I hated the food.
One bite of their bread felt like a steady rock in your tummy. The meat alternatives like seitan and tofu were awfully spongy, the germs of the brown rice got stuck between your teeth and worst of all, the ‘good for you’ candy was really good for no one.
Today it’s a bit more cheerful at organic and health food stores, but to say that they’ve had a complete make-over is an exaggeration (there are exceptions, like Marqt in Holland and of course, Whole Foods). A walk down the aisles is still a trip down memory lane. Please producers, update your packaging!
I’m always trying to eat wisely but I don’t need my food to remind me all the time how healthy it is for me. Spaghetti that takes forever to chew, beans that make your mouth dry, crackers that leave your palate gritty. Ugh.
Now that I’m training for the Paris marathon I’m extra careful with what I eat. Die-hard runners have advised me to eat lots and lots of protein-packed beans and good carb grains like buckwheat or spelt. And it’s surprisingly easy. Being in Italy helps. Here, legumes are not ‘health food’, they’re just food. At any market you’ll find an abundance of all sorts of dried beans, and the sheer sight of them makes me happy.
As a legacy of poverty, most regional cuisines excel in making simple foods sexy. For decades, nonna’s and mamma’s have cooked and served cannellini, fave, lentils or orzo and mixed them with some delicate funghi, a few cubes of crisp pancetta or shavings of parmigiano. And of course, always topped with a good glug of the virginiest extra virgin olive oil.
I recently found these linguine di farro (spelt pasta). Mixed with a velvety sauce of ricotta and broccoli, it’s as sexy as super healthy can get.
Linguine di farro al sugo di broccoli (Spelt pasta with broccoli sauce)
Serves 2
- 200 gram linguine di farro (spelt pasta or any other whole grain pasta)
- 1 broccoli crown (about 300-400 grams)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- 1 small yellow onion, diced
- 1 cup ricotta (about 150 grams), grated
- 1 small handful of pecorino romano
- 1 small handful of pine nuts
Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil for the pasta.
Cut the broccoli into small florets (about 2 cm), also peel and cube the stalk (if you like)
In a medium sauté pan, heat olive oil over medium heat and add garlic and onion. Soften for 5 minutes, be careful not to burn them.
In a small sauté pan, toast pine nuts over low heat. Toss frequently. Again, be very careful not to burn them. Once golden brown, transfer to a plate.
Steam or boil the broccoli in little water until done. This should take about 5 to 7 minutes. They’re done once you can easily stick a fork in, but the florets shouldn’t be falling apart. Drain and set aside.
In a high hand mixer cup or large bowl, blend ricotta, pecorino and two thirds of broccoli to a fine paste. Season with salt and freshly grated pepper.
Add the pasta to the boiling water and cook for 5-7-minutes until al dente.
Over low heat, add broccoli paste to the onion and garlic. Stir and liquify with a few tablespoons of the pasta water. The sauce should still be thick, but not pasty.
Add the pasta, mix well. Add the remaining broccoli florets. Ladle into two bowls, sprinkle with pine nuts, a bit of grated pecorino and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. Serve immediately.
Picture courtesy of Luis Herrera. Thanks again, Luisito!
What’s so boring about vanilla? (Shrimp in vanilla-wine sauce)
I was doing some research on vanilla lately and stumbled upon ‘vanilla sex’. I’d never heard about it before. The term is used to describe ordinary lovemaking, as opposed to getting it on in much more inventive, kinky ways. Vanilla is sweet and comforting, thus incredibly boring, say those who favor spicier varieties. They are the same people who are always looking for something new. I have news for them: vanilla can be extremely surprising.
Those who coined the term must have been referring to artificial vanilla. Dull, uninspired, fake. But ‘vanilla sex’ is a terrible insult to real vanilla. There is no spice more enigmatic and sensual than the prized vanilla pod. It reveals its multidimensional taste slowly, like a seductive undressing act, but lingers long and languidly. Even the name of the spice is sensual, if you may believe Wikipedia. The Spanish explorers called it vainilla, or ‘little pod’, a diminutive that shares the etymological roots with the Latin ‘vagina’.
Vanilla plays a starring role in many unforgettable desserts, but it works wonderfully in savory dishes as well. With seafood such as shrimp or lobster it’s pure magic. Other than you may think, they don’t make a sweet couple, but just have an incredibly chemistry together.
Like the best vanilla sex, this dish is lush, exuberant yet comforting and tender. I can assure you, eating it will be an orgasmic experience.
Shrimp in vanilla-wine sauce
Serves 4 as a starter
- 400 gram large shrimp
- 1 cup dry white wine (about 2 dl)
- ½ vanilla pod
- 2 tablespoons butter (unsalted)
- 2 small shallots, chopped as finely as possible
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- 3-4 tablespoons heavy cream
- fresh ground black pepper and salt
- 1 teaspoon maple syrup
- 2 tablespoons vegetable oil for frying
- Fresh parsley, coarsely chopped
Clean and devein the shrimp, but keep the shells. Refrigerate the shrimp. In a wok, stir-fry the shells and heads over high heat until they start to turn red. Add 2 tablespoons of water, fry one minute more and strain to extract a shrimp ‘broth’. Set aside.
In a small sauté or saucepan, bring the wine to a boil and turn off. Add the vanilla pod and let it steep for 5 minutes until soft. Remove the vanilla pod, slice it open and scrape out the seeds. Put seeds and pod back into the pan and set aside for 20 minutes so the flavors can blend.
In a medium sauté pan, slowly melt 1 tablespoon butter and add the shallots. Let them soften for 5 minutes, make sure they don’t go brown. Add wine (remove the pod first), lemon juice and shrimp stock, bring everything to a boil and reduce the liquid on low heat to about half the amount. Add the cream and let it reduce further until you have a thick substance. If the sauce appears to be to thick, add some more wine. Add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste and slightly sweeten with maple syrup if you like (the sauce should by no means become too sweet). Turn of the heat, cut up the remaining butter in small pieces and vigorously stir them in, one by one until the sauce is velvety. Keep warm.
In a large wok, heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil over high heat. Stir-fry the shrimp until done (about 2 minutes). Add them to the sauce, mix well and serve immediately with chopped parsley.
(vanilla pods: stock picture)
You can also serve this dish with white (coconut) rice as a main dish.
