Wine Dinners and Wine Learning: Matthews Estate at Monsoon

“Oh, I don’t know anything about wine” or “I just like the kind that gets me drunk” I hear these phrases all the time from my peers, even my most food and flavor obsessed friends. Yet, despite happily dropping $50 on a dinner and another $40 on cocktails in a night, it seems that people my age don’t seem to attend wine dinners. Brian Otis, the representative of Matthews Estate and I mulled over this. It strikes us both as disappointing that these opportunities for great food, amazing wines and education are dismissed. I had chosen to accept the free media pass to Monsoon East’s Matthews Estate wine dinner to discern if there was truly value in attending such a dinner. Yes, I do see the irony. I began a mental tally of how many things went above and beyond my average $45 a person night out with friends–that’s figuring splitting an appetizer, my own entree and one glass of wine. This meal was 5 courses, plus an amuse bouche and a dessert (with cocktail), 6 glasses of wine (refilled, so really more like 8 or 9), and coffee. Tip and tax all included.

Before the food was served I struck up a conversation with Mr. Otis and we discussed the donated Veuve Clicquot. He explained to us the origin of the wine’s name, the widow who basically invented the modern champagne. I asked a few more questions about various champagne type wines, cavas and proseccos. It was a little like having a private wine encyclopedia. Chalk up one point for being very worth while.

Unfortunately, that point is counteracted when the first course is served. Our beautiful Kusshi oysters must have been plated a while ago, as the oyster is warm and the smoked dill cucumbers overwhelm the oyster with smokiness. A beautiful presentation, matched well with the champagne, but an unfortunate bite.

I began to worry as we started the next course. One look at my scallop told me the sous-vide then searing around (as oppose to the top and bottom) of the scallop had somehow overcooked the scallop. I heard someone remark the texture reminded them of chicken. That’s not a good thing. However, there were two saving graces to this course. The first was a marvelous yuzu curd which lifted the muted flavor of overcooked scallop and lent it the luxurious feel of a curd and bright flavors of a citrus. The second saving grace of the course was the wine. The Champagne matched up perfectly and kept the weight of the dish from pulling down the palate. Ups and downs even out this dish on the points scale.

I could detect the crispiness of my Idaho trout from across the room, and while it was a well cooked piece of fish, the start of the show was the roasted sweet corn with smoked bacon vinaigrette. This was like bacon popped popcorn, that crisp flavor of popcorn, with a this time not overly smokey flavor. A Sauvignon Blanc from Matthews Estate which was much inquired about but not actually available for sale, as it has been sold out was our wine. The wine was bright and matched well with the fish, yet finished with a crisp flavor that was caramel, but without the sweetness. This was a trend, these wonderful wines with absolutely beautiful finishes. Definitely a point here for the wine pairing and for the bacon popped corn flavor–which reminds me to pop some popcorn in bacon fat and top with bacon salt in the near future.

The next course took the dinner in a new direction: that of it wowing me with the food. 72 Hour braised short ribs had the texture of a perfectly medium rare steak. The gnocchi beneath it could have used a little bit of a sear, but were as light and fluffy as any I’ve seen in Seattle. Listening to chef Nathan describe the process and theories behind the dish helped me to understand not only what went into the dish, but into the thought behind the wine pairing. This dish went with the Claret. In describing the Claret, winemaker Aryn Morell (whose name was sadly, misspelled on the menu) corrected the definition of Claret I had learned from NPR. It is made from the second class grapes, those that didn’t go into the prime Bordeaux blend. Ding, Ding, Ding, this dinner was racking up points with me as my wine education skyrocketed and I ate a fantastic piece of meat, which in and of itself would have made a great $25 entree. The wine might not have been their premium blend, but the things that brought it further from a premium wine were the same that matched it up well with the fatty braised meat.

The dinner till now had gotten better and better with each sip and each bite, and while the wine in our next course continued that trend, the beef tongue, while tasty just had a rough time improving upon the short ribs. The expertise of the chef still shone in his horseradish buttermilk and apple and parsnip salad, but I needed more of that sauce to amp up the somewhat bland flavor of the beef tongue and the lack of cohesive texture on it. Some parts were mushy, others chewy, all in all, I just like the pieces I could dip into the sauce. Like the yuzu curd on the scallop, the dish was excellent as long as the condiment lasted. This was paired with the Columbia Valley Red Wine, an easy drinker that was heavy on the Merlot. One point for the sauce and wine, but one also denied for mediocrity with the meat.

At this point I was still dreaming of those shortribs, wishing I had taken Aryn, the winemaker and his wife Edith’s offer of the extras on their plates, when the pork belly landed. That’s the picture atop this post. This dish nailed, with precision, the intersection of great wine and great food. The perfectly cooked pork belly both melted in my mouth and had ample outer crispness to give great feeling while eating. Meanwhile the mustard greens and the fried quail egg, aside from contributing to a visually stunning dish, made textural contributions of their own. But once again the condiment, the sauce, stole the show, this one in the form of a cabernet grape reduction made with grapes from the same place as those in the wines we tasted. This sauce was like wine flavored crack and astutely bridged the gap between our food and our wine, melding the experiences to the point where they were nearly indistinguishable. That’s a three pointer. Wait, no, a million points. Forget this system, I just want to go swimming in the cabernet sauce, floating around on an island of pork belly. In the shade of a mustard green tree and under a blanket of fried quail egg. Oh, what? Where was I?

It would have been near impossible to one up that course, but from the heavenly scent of the vanilla cream cocktail that came with the dessert, I might have admitted it could happen. While the scent oversold the dish a bit–seriously it was the best thing I’ve smelled in years–the dish was a well conceived, well executed take on apple pie a la mode, with crisped lumpia wrappers as crust and an apple jelly (with apple chunks) as filling, the cocktail as the ice cream.

To me, to deny that this wine dinner wasn’t worth every penny of the $100 it was charging would be near impossible. I wouldn’t expect this to be an every day experience for people my age and salary range, but I think for a once or twice a year thing, to delve deeply in to the wines we drink and the food we eat, and more than that, the point at which they intersect, is an important part of understanding great meals. In between times, wine educations can come from the blurbs on the grocery store aisles or at free wine tastings (I highly recommend 12th and Olive wine shop if you’re in Seattle).

Things you should and should not know about Cafe Nordo

When I agreed to accept free media passes for myself and K. for Cafe Nordo, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, however, I was won over by the line on the website that sums up my own personal feelings on such things: “Dietary Restrictions? Certainly you have a shrink who will care.” Now that I know, I almost don’t want to tell you, because half the fun was the surprise. So, if you are intrigued and also slightly frightened, be sure to stop reading now and just buy your tickets.

Things you should and should not know about Cafe Nordo
-Know that this is not a romantic date night
-Don’t know that you’re kind of supposed to dress up–Lou, our waiter greeted me, dripping with disdain and asked if he could take my “pajama top” when referring to my hoodie
-Know that you’ll talk to your neighbors, and probably laugh maniacally with them
-Don’t know that it is only one bottle of each wine per table, otherwise you’ll feel bad when you finish the bottle and look up for a second, only to find out you must pay for that one
-Know that you’ll be scared to ask for salt, but the sad fact is, for being required to “thank salt” so much, including a grace, it was the only thing I wanted for.
-Don’t know what you’ll be served–avoid looking on the online menu, the ones I couldn’t remember what they were made for much more fun

The show is priced at $85 and includes 3 hours of entertainment, 5 courses and 3 glasses of wine. I would definitely go again, paying my own way, if it weren’t for the fact that the menu is exactly the same. The show would be worth seeing again and the food, while undersalted, was of good enough quality that I would pay to eat more if it weren’t repeats. The entertainment value and great people I met however, make me say that I felt this was certainly worthwhile.

More info can be found at www.cafenordo.com

Asian Dumplings: A Book Review

If I had to choose my two favorite foods, it would be noodles and meat, so the dumpling is my own personal superfood. Andrea Nguyen, my new hero, has recently written my dream book: Asian Dumplings. Yes, all about dumplings. Oh, dear. I’m drooling already, just thinking about it.

When my copy first arrived on the doorstep, thanks to her generous publisher, I opened the box and sat down on the couch. It was ten o’clock at night, I was exhausted, I had just returned from a long dinner meeting and just wanted to relax with my beautiful book. And then I opened the book.

My advice for readers of this book? Do not read without your favorite dumpling joint on speed dial. Two minutes in I was already begging B for a trip to the ID for a late night dumpling run. Five minutes in and I was debating going by myself, so as to prevent the need for sharing an order.

Luckily B. remembered that I had made some soup dumplings with K. the previous week and our leftovers (which I was supposed to share with her, oops, sorry, K.) were in the freezer and he was able to convince me a road trip wasn’t necessary.

What is it about this book? Aside from gratuitous pornography of the culinary variety, more specifically, DUMPLING PORN, it jumps around the continent giving recipes for things I barely thought of as dumplings, but love just the same, like Samosas, as well as for the classics. I was pleased to see all my dim sum favorites like har gow and shu mei, alongside the foodie favorite, Xiao Long Bao, or soup dumplings.

I was ready to write about how amazing and wonderful the book was without ever having dove into a recipe. But that, darling readers, would not be fair to you. Or me, and my incredible need for daily dumplings. When we were in Southeast Asia I declared I was born on the wrong continent because I did not have the opportunity to buy noodles in soup on the street each morning. I have now decided the problem is compounded because I don’t have a daily dumpling. I’m pouting, just so you know.

Regardless of my pouting, I went about following a recipe, so that I can be sure that I can give this book my seal of approval (HA! Like it didn’t already have it from name alone). In the morning before work, I put together my dough for Baozi. I came home to it and followed all the instructions. Soon enough I had the most darling little dumplings! Golden brown and crisp on the bottom, meaty and delicious inside.

I had chosen to make these because I had everything I needed in the house. Now I can’t wait to go out and get the ingredients for all of the other ones. Were my dumplings perfect? No, making dumplings is not like making Kraft Mac n’ Cheese, simple from the first time. There were ugly ones and broken ones, but they all tasted perfect, so I think that’s what matters.

Fried Dinner

You might think these fine, fresh green tomatoes look awfully healthy to have been a fried dinner. Worry not, they soon, looked a good deal like their mates, the fishies.

Oh, that’s better, a much more accurate shot of my fried dinner.

Once you get the oil going, it just seems like you might as well through everything in, right?

And really, what two foods are better to fry up than fresh local smelt from our local Asian market and a few of the green tomatoes from my garden that I’m beginning to suspect have no plans of ever turning red. For the record, I got 1 beautiful tomato, 3 that I caught after a rainstorm that had just split and were pretty good. There is about 20 still green on the vine though.

Moving along, I have no specific recipe for frying, but would love to offer a few hints, some of which you’ve probably heard before, others which you might not have.

-Set up two plates, small, with rims and one bowl First the bowl gets flour, one plate gets one egg, whisked, last plate gets breadcrumbs/panko/flour
-completely dry whatever you are frying, line it up next to the bowls
-heat oil in a medium skillet–you know it is ready when you put a wooden chopstick in and touch the bottom, you see bubbles coming up.
-if you are dexterous with chopsticks, I’ve found them to be the best tool, otherwise, try metal tongs
-coat all the item in the flour
-using your left hand, take one item, dip into the egg, then toss into the panko
-using your right hand, coat it in panko, remove and drop gently into the oil
-do this a few more times till you have a full pan of 4 or 5, depending on the size
-Take a break while they cook, wash the egg off your hand and have the chopsticks at the ready
-when you start to see brown around the edge, flip it over
-another minute or so, and pull it out, resting it on paper towels
-from high above, sprinkle salt on top
-Repeat with as many batches as you need.

There you have it. Easy frying, and it works for everything.

Ben Thanh: Vietnamese Beyond the Menu

A blue neon sign astutely states “Lau De” in the window of Ben Thanh, tucked in the armpit of the MLK/Rainier intersection. Literally, this area, with beautiful, imposing and classic Franklin High School to one side and the, bright, modern light rail to the other, looks like a forlorn place. But if you know that ‘Lau De’ of which the sign speaks, you look a little closer. Traditional Vietnamese goat hot pot, to a person like me, anyway, holds much intrigue.

I first came to Ben Thanh in search of a quick meal, low expectations, on a time limit, it was there. While I was vaguely aware that ‘lau’ meant hot pot, it somehow didn’t make much of a connection in my head and I was quickly distracted by the “Bun Cha Ha Noi” listed on a piece of paper under the glass on my table. The TV played sports, quietly in the background, and Vietnamese families slurped noodles. Noodles from giant bowls, over flames.

Our server was as kind as could be, and when we asked questions about all these mysterious dishes not actually listed on the already large menu, he had patience and courtesy and talked us through all of them. Never once did I hear the condescension of “You won’t like that,” but rather an excitement of our interest in their food “Do you speak Vietnamese?” he asked us at first. Flattered, we laughed. No, we just love the food. That first night we were steered toward what was called a “Thai Hot Pot,” but which, despite the name, matched the steamy, broad flavors that we had enjoyed while slurping down hot pot at street beer stands in Hanoi.

The thing about great Vietnamese food in Vietnam is the impressive flavor that is derived from the incredible freshness of ingredients. That snap when you bit into a piece of basil, the meat that was killed that day. To do such exact replicas in Seattle would be near impossible. Ben Thanh did not do that. But they did a darn good impression. And the friendly attitude of the waiter and his joy at watching us enjoy and discuss the food were precisely as we encountered in Vietnam.

Returning for our second visit we knew we had to try their specialty, the goat hot pot of blue neon fame. The waiter remembered us, remembered our love of spicy food. I was impressed as he managed to make sure we knew what we were doing with the hot pot without insinuating we didn’t know what we were doing–we didn’t. He described to us how they roll the meat in an herb paste to keep out any ‘grassy’ flavor in the meat, then described his own preferred method of eating the enormous pile of Vietnamese herbs, plate of crimped egg noodles and murky broth studded with chunks of all sorts of goat parts. Digging in this soup wasn’t for the queasy. Each piece tasted differently, ranging from pork belly-esque to “that was definitely some type of offal.”

Unassuming as it is, Ben Thanh doesn’t seem to have aspirations to be the next Green Leaf or Tamarind Tree. They don’t seem to be out to impress–the poorly blown up photos as the only wall decor, depicting rural Vietnam attest to that. Yet they seem to have that one quality inherent in great family-run restaurants: a love of serving great food. Nothing attests to that more than watching the patriarch sit down at the table next to us with a mountain of his own restaurants food while his son worriedly asks us how everything is.

Small Wonders of Summer, Part 2: Anchovies

Berebere Dusted Pan Fried Anchovies

“I’ll be on Capitol Hill later, I’ll drop them off” My anchovy guy said to me. Who was my anchovy guy? Well, his name is John, and he goes by “CoastalRovers” on twitter. That was about the sum of my knowledge when I gave him the address. Sure enough, he showed up shortly there after with a trunk full of fresh fishies (and god knows what all else). “Big or small?” He asked me. With no knowledge of fresh anchovies, pulled that day from the ocean, I guessed big. I handed over my $6 and watched him fill up my giant tupperware. Then he threw in many extra small ones, for good measure. It was a great measure, actually, since the small ones I didn’t even bother cleaning before pan frying.

For the next three days, it was anchovies for breakfast and lunch (dinners had already been planned). While the work of cleaning the larger ones was arduous–and messy, it was completely worth it. I had doubted myself when I first decided to buy there, and looking at the pile of little fish in my fridge wasn’t exactly inspiring me to get on with it, but I think I might have developed a bit of an addiction. I can’t wait for him to come back with another shipment!

Berebere Dusted Fresh Anchovies, Pan-Fried

Anchovies
Whole Wheat Flour (or regular, if it is all you have)
Berebere
Salt
Oil

There are no amounts for this recipe, because it is truly simple. Start heating the oil. You want it to come up about half a centimeter in the pan. Mix a little salt, flour and just enough berebere (Any spice mix would work as well, Garam Masala, Creole, you name it) to be able to see the specks of color in the flour. Wash and dry the anchovies (clean the larger ones by slitting down the middle and pulling out guts). Dredge the fish through the flour mixture. If you cleaned the fish, make sure it gets inside, too. When your oil is hot (at least 325 degrees), drop in 2-3 fish at a time. Leave them be for about a minute per side for smaller ones, up to two for larger ones, then flip over and repeat. When you pull them from the oil, drain on a rack, and if you’d like up the flavor by sprinkling with more salt and berebere.

Small Wonders of Summer Part 1: Padron Peppers

Pancetta Wrapped Padron Peppers

“What about a pepper could be that great?” I remember thinking, years ago, as I read Calvin Trillin’s piece on trying to get Padron peppers in the U.S. Well, Calvin, I’m sorry, I should never have doubted your impeccable taste espoused with such riotous wit. I have had Padrons a few different ways now, but this was the epitome of taste perfection. Nope, pure, Spanish, olive oil roasted with sea salt, you’ve been bested, but by an oh-so-worthy opponent: wrapping in delicious pork products.

Having found these fine specimens of capsicum, burn-inducing beauties at the Portland Farmer’s Market, I had no real plan for them. Stopping in to Laurelhurst Market for a little meat-buying, I had no plan for the pancetta I bought either. Then, like I was getting hit on the head with a hammer: Wrap peppers in pancetta. I had already eaten dinner that night, but I decided to test one. I took the thinly sliced pork product, its beautiful round spiral twirling easily around the pepper and placed it in the hot cast iron skillet. Seconds later as oil splattered willy-nilly, I nudged it, flipping it over. The browning made for crisp perfection, while the pepper retained but a shadow of its former crunch, leaving only its often formidable flavor, in the form of intense spice. Luckily the silky fat of the pancetta cooled my tongue. Ahh, Calvin, you may have lead me to the edge of the lake of snack perfection, but I have taught that snack drink in that cool, porcine water.

What have I been up to?

Life gets busy sometimes, and shocked as you are by it, I’m sure, posting on my blog is one of the things that has a tendency to fall by the wayside. Not to worry, though, as I’ve been having a good time. First I want to share with you what I will be up to in the next few days, weeks, whenever.

Without delving into the irony of a Taste of Kirkland being held in Woodinville, I will point out that the salient fact here is that I am crossing the lake for an event (pausing for applause). No, am not going solely because Pat Cashman, formerly of Almost Live! is hosting, though I’ll admit it is a draw. No, I’m going because Kirkland being our neighbors to the Northeast that I almost never make it to have seized the opportunity to strut their stuff and I’m going to open my mouth and stuff down that strut. I love an event with competitive cooking (there is voting and awards) and also ones sponsored by wineries. It’ll be Friday the 25th and you can get more information here.

I’ve also been taking Cheese Making classes at the Cellar Homebrew Store, which is great both because I’m learning about cheese and how to make it and also because it is next door to Fu Man Dumpling House, home of delicious dumplings of all kinds. Next up, I’ll be starting a Mushroom class, through the Puget Sound Mycological Society.

Where have I been? Well, I had a somewhat famous lunch date last week, as you can read about here. Want a hint? It was with a former NYT Restaurant writer at the temple of all things meaty in this town. And the owners were so generous as to give me a bag from the American Lamb Society that says things like “I love EWE” and “This Lamb is my lamb, this lamb is your lamb”. Sigh. I was a happy girl.

And there was this delicious meal, with a crew of my favorite eaters in the whole world.

Lastly, I made another attempt at the foodie icon of xiao long bao. While my pleating skills are coming along, and having a small wooden dowel for a rolling pin helped, I have to admit I still need more practice before I can open that soup dumpling stand of my dreams. In the meantime, I’ve just got to keep eating the ones I make for practice. Oh, darn.

10 Minutes to Lobster Mushroom Bisque

Tonight’s dinner, a beautiful Lobster Mushroom Bisque, I made, start to finish in about ten minutes. I’m betting myself I can do the blogpost in an equally small amount of time. Especially easy since in my hurry to scarf the soup, I had no intention of stopping to take a picture.

This dish makes a perfect entrance as the foggy days of fall roll in. Warm, hearty and a soup that’s really a meal. I stole the idea from Carmelita, which did a Lobster Mushroom Bisque in a Tomatillo, hallowed out, for this year’s Sunset Supper event. Theirs actually tasted like lobster bisque. I was aiming for a little less dairy creaminess, so I didn’t use milk or cream in mine.

Lobster Mushroom Bisque

1 Large Lobster Mushroom or a few small ones
2 tablespoons of butter
1 cup of flour
2 cups of chicken or turkey stock
Salt, pepper, thyme to taste
Splash of Sherry vinegar

To make a roux, melt the butter in the bottom of the pot, adding in the flour and stirring. I didn’t brown mine, I mostly wanted the thickness, not the flavor. When it was good and ready, I added the stock, bringing it to a boil. While that does it’s thing, chop the lobster mushroom. Let it simmer for about two minutes, then blend. Salt, Pepper and fresh thyme to taste, then finish with a splash of sherry vinegar.

Dear Technology: Thanks for Taqueria Juquilita

The whole trip I had made fun of the GPS system, as it led us to longer routes or kept me from speaking up when I did know the way, then it helped me in a way I never would have guessed: it led me to Taqueria Juquilita in Chehalis, Washington.

We had been running the Hood to Coast race, 197 miles from the top of Mt. Hood to the shores of Seaside, and our little van of six people had subsisted on Cheese-It’s, Nila Wafers and the occasional Subway stop. My idea to drop by Whiffies Fried Pies was shut down, and I didn’t even bother pointing out that the napping station was right next door to clarklewis! And once, just once, a stand on course sold me a delightful cup of the absolute best blueberries ever. My team was oh-so-sick of hearing me exclaim about them. While I resisted picking the lovely huckleberries over my head while I ran, I did grab some blackberries as we stopped to hand off water to a runner.

Costco lasagna had been arranged for dinner, but after a run like this, I was craving something hearty, something truly warming, something soul enhancing. The next day, for lunch I got what I had been looking for, as we discussed where to stop for lunch. After the only opinions on record being “not McDonalds” I pulled down the GPS and punched in to have it find the nearest food. I listed the options: Pizza, Taqueria, Cafe, etc.

“Let’s do Mexican” one of my teammates chimed in. Secretly, I smiled. Excellent choice. We pulled off the highway and drove, following the machine’s directions, through a neighborhood of southern Chehalis, about a half mile from the freeway, to a non-descript, large, barnlike building with a small, high sign that said “Taqueria Juqulita” or, as the the GPS pronounced it “Tah-say-ria-Jack-ill-ta.”

I stepped inside, to an empty restaurant with jewelry store style glass cases, sparsely strewn with tamarind flavor candies, acting as a counter. We were motioned to sit. The room was bare and plan, the ceiling low and one whole wall taken up by an enormous antique style refrigerator. I laughed, it is the type of fridge that restaurants and bars in Seattle would kill for, a huge, functional vintage refrigerator that could be the centerpiece for a beautiful bar wall. It was a weekend, so I ordered the menudo, fretting a little, still, from the lack of other people. After we ordered, though, slowly, people began to trail in, by the end of our meal the place was full. So were we.

My menudo arrived first, but I did not tasted it, nor did I open my tortilla basket, as I waited for the others’ food to arrive. Had I, I would have seen my first tip off to how good the food was. In actuality, I realized it as Liz’s quesadilla was set in front of her, the giant corn tortilla clearly made by hand tipping me off. As I dipped my spoon in to the brilliant red, spicy broth of menudo, it was made even clearer, a perfect hit of spice, a broth thin in texture but rich in flavor, without an oily feel. The trip itself, within the broth gave way, like chunks of al dente pasta between my teeth with the smoothness of butter and the hint of stink in the best kind of way–like a perfectly ripe cheese. This was the food of recovery.

And so, I must admit, I forgave the GPS for its past sins. And added a new destination to any trip up or down I-5 between Seattle and Portland.