Those of you who have dined at our table or seen the photos know that Jeff and I are lovers of architectural cuisine…but this takes the cake!

Rioja is in the air…and we will be in the air and on our way to Rioja is two short weeks!!! While Jeff and I were planning our upcoming trip-within-a-trip to Spain’s most famous wine region, Rioja, we had a craving for something, anything, a la Rioja or Riojana. This is the Spanish version of “cooked with a bottle of good red wine.” Having recently shot our Beef Bourguignon episode of Bringing it Back Home (which will now be showing on Uncooked’s sister station, www.Devour.tv,) we were in a cooking-with-wine mood, until we located a bottle of Lan 2001 Crianza from—you guessed it—Rioja, and decided to pour it into crystal wine glasses, not the skillet! This well balanced red is strong on cherry flavor with hints of coffee, and I knew it would be a perfect match for our one-dish-dinner!

I can’t believe that the countdown to Spain is on! We leave in just over two weeks, for two weeks in Spain, a few days in London, and then wherever we end up for a few more days before heading back to New York. It is not quite cleaning-out-the-fridge time (see www.roadfoodie.com, December 20, 2006) but it is definitely time to start poking around in the depths of the freezer and see what we come up with, especially since we have been too busy to shop—or even place an order with Fresh Direct. We got kind of lucky on last Friday’s poke in the freezer: We found a package of hamburgers from Omaha Steaks, which were a thoughtful Christmas gift, and half a bag of frozen French fries, left over from the last time we were recipe-testing and figured if the fryer was out, we might as well live it up! Poking around in the refrigerator yielded three slices of bacon and the butt-end of a piece of blue cheese! Heaven on a bun, if you ask me!

So after a hard day’s work, we picked up two sesame rolls from Amy’s on Ninth Avenue, and headed home to fry us up some burgers. First, to really grease up the skillet, I cooked the bacon, and then removed it, added a little olive oil and butter to my cast iron pan, and sautéed up a diced red onion, which I also set aside before frying up those juicy, delicious all-beef patties to medium-rare perfection. Concerned that maybe this wouldn’t be tasty enough, Jeff mixed together a little mayonnaise with horseradish and a strong pinch of some of our recently-acquired Colman’s dry mustard, which we spread on the buns before adding the bacon, burgers, blue cheese, and fried onions. I said it once, and I will say it again: Heaven on a bun, if you ask me! Side-dish: Shoestring French fries tossed with sea salt and rosemary, with their very own dipping bowl of mayo mix.

After our mid-day breakfast, we finished up our shopping list and hurried off to Esposito’s, farther down Ninth Avenue, to pick up a few pounds of beef short-ribs. We were planning to spend the remainder of the weekend prep-cooking for our UPCOMING TRAVEL AND COOKING SHOW! Bringing It Back Home is our podcast-style show which will debut on the new cooking and lifestyle internet channel, www.uncooked.tv, which will be up and running in early April. In each episode, Jeff and I tell a story, i.e. “We drove the car over a cliff on the way to eat paella…and here’s how you can make it at home without all the fuss of risking your life!” We had to have our dishes for our first two episodes ready in various stages of preparation, so we wound up making a lot of Beef Bourguignon. In fact, we made so much we decided to eat some before we even shot!

On Sunday night, after spending about a day and a half making paella and Beef Bourguignon, we didn’t really have anything planned for dinner. Always the creative thinkers, we searched the freezer yet again, and came up with a package of frozen puff pastry. So Jeff took a couple of servings of our shredded short ribs Beef Bourguignon and placed some in the center of a square of puff pastry, folded each one to make two turnovers, and baked away. Served with a slice of brie and a dab of Branston pickle, it was the best thing I’d eaten since Friday! Maybe we ought to be doing a show called “Leftovers.”

“My friends, I have opened a new restaurant in the Village, and you must come to visit me!” Who among us can resist the siren call of not just a new Spanish restaurant, but one owned by a friend who also happens to run our favorite under-the-radar eatery in New York, La Nacional, on West 14th Street, just off Eighth Avenue. Ostia, on Seventh Avenue just north of Christopher Street (next to The Duplex) is a cab ride to Spain! Lolo hails from Galicia, and the menu veers towards elegant interpretations of the simple dishes from the north of Spain. His business partner, Mateo, who spruced up the wine list at La Nacional, takes traditional tapas and spruces them up too. The flavors are fresh, and the presentation is high-style. Just like home. (If you happen to live with me and Jeff.) The long, narrow space, with its granite bar, dark wood floor, and tin wall, was filled to overflowing on the night we visited our friends.

We started our evening with a crisp, juicy Verdejo—always my favorite, alongside delicate croquetes, delicious bite-sized potato-filled morsels which really do melt in your mouth. Potatoes are a staple in Spanish peasant cuisine, but this is peasant cuisine fit for a king! Just a few nights before, at Boqueria on Nineteenth Street, I told my friend Adrienne, “These are the best damn Patatas Brava I have ever tasted.” I have to amend that statement, adding, “…up to now!”

Actually, they’ve come and gone already. Our good friends Helen and Graham, that is, and this time we didn’t just bump into them accidentally on the Costa del Sol, like we usually do. No, this time they arranged a trip to New York City from the little village of Warwickshire, which they call home. If their account can be believed, they had a wonderful time, despite the three seasons’ worth of weather they experienced in five quick days.

Although we had each bought Helen a New York souvenir as a birthday gift, she outdid and outclassed us all—how very British—by bringing each one of us a shopping bag filled with British delicacies. Here’s what Jeff and I found in our bags:

1. A squeeze bottle of Branston pickle. Jeff still talks about the day we went hiking with another Brit-in-Spain friend, Richard, and he made us pickle and cheese sandwiches. He may have been my only competition, but I am now armed with a bottle of his secret love potion—Branston pickle!
2. Wilkin & Sons Ginger Fruit Spread. Toast or ice cream?
   Another squeeze bottle, this one filled with Marmite, which is a “yeast extract.” I hear it’s great on toast. I hear it makes a delightful warm beverage. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.
3. A small jar of Bovril. Beef extract. See Marmite. I’ll keep you posted.
4. A jar of Colman’s dry mustard. I always thought this was only used in the “Joy of Cooking” meatloaf. Helen and Graham SWEAR you mix it with water and put a dab on the edge of your plate to enjoy with your Sunday roast.
5. A small burlap bag with wooden handles and clear plastic inserts showcasing Mrs. Bridges Afternoon Tea, Scottish Raspberry Preserve, and Scottish Blackcurrant Preserve. Since afternoon is approximately when we get out of bed on the weekends these days, I can’t wait for Saturday breakfast. Somebody go get scones.
6. A box of clotted cream fudge. GET YOUR OWN BOX!
7. A box of Thornton’s Special Toffee. Get your own box, and get another one for me while you’re at it!

I don’t know why so many people cringe at the idea of leftovers. Wait, I DO know why: Lack of creativity! It’s the same reason so many people cringe at the idea of a lot of things. As I am so fond of saying, Boring people are bored; interesting people are interested! And rather than allowing ennui to set in at the sight of the “same old same old” on our plates night after night, I relish the thought of making something entirely new out of something a day old. Who says there are no second acts in America?

Last week, in honor of the restaurant-rip-off-of-the-year, also known as Valentine’s Day, I did what I usually do when faced with the option of an overpriced prix-fixe and a “free rose for the ladies.” I cooked! I even steamed the windows up, with spicy short ribs braised in cabernet and diced tomatoes with chorizo and onions, which I served atop a ringed mound of risotto with mushrooms. It was so delicious I can’t even remember what else I served, and since it was a special night a la Hallmark, I didn’t even drag out the camera!

The very next day, I happened to come across a hint for what to do if you have leftover short ribs in the house: Make short-rib ravioli! That solved two dilemmas at once: What do we have for dinner tonight? And what am I going to do with those leftover short ribs in spicy tomato sauce?

Now, there wasn’t a recipe for the short rib ravioli, it was just an idea, and since interesting people such as myself are never bored, I knew exactly how to make ravioli. I then shredded the two remaining pieces of beef, mixed them with two tablespoons each of tomato sauce and grated parmesan, placed a little more than a teaspoon of the mixture in the center of each dough round, wet the edge, placed another on top, and sealed and crimped. I heated the sauce, boiled the ravioli in salted water until they floated, et voila, another masterpiece. Now, whoever said there are no second acts in America must be turning in his grave over the fact that we now have third acts in America as well! (See Clinton, Bill: Governor, President, Business Consultant.) Since I got eighteen ravioli out of my mix and no sane person could eat nine large beef-filled ravioli in one sitting, except the thirteen-year-old I used to be, we each filled up on six that first night, and saved the extra six for another night. (Uncooked, the ravioli refrigerated amazingly well.)

On Saturday, I steamed up the windows yet again with a big pot of French onion soup, topped with a heady mix of gruyere, emmenthal, mozzarella, and locatelli. While the soup was boiling away on the stove, we enjoyed a delightful appetizer of—you guessed it—short rib ravioli, this time served with browned butter and a smattering of grated parmesan.

Just the other day I was heard to say, “Hey, it’s been a while since anybody offered us free Broadway tickets!” The Universe has a way of answering requests, and within 24 hours, Jeff and I were in possession of not just two but four tickets to see the utterly delightful The Drowsy Chaperone at the Marquis Theater. We had our late Christmas dinner planned with Tammy and Julie (and we all really are far too busy if Christmas with friends finally comes around on Groundhog Day,) so we switched venues and decided on a late-night meal after theater.

First off, I just want to ask, if you haven’t yet seen The Drowsy Chaperone, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU WAITING FOR???  It is a completely hilarious, thoroughly entertaining example of what musical theater is all about, and it clocks in at under two hours with no intermission, so your late-night dinner doesn’t even have to be that late!

After our backstage tour, we crossed Broadway and entered a set designer’s brilliant re-creation of a classic New York City supper club, Bond 45, which used to be a men’s clothing store, and when I say used to be, I mean it went out of business when Jimmy Carter was still in the White House. Julie had dropped out of our group, claiming a hard week of work and an early flight, and we all realized that one should always inflate one’s party by one or two when making a reservation; it is a sure-fire way to procure a table large enough for shared appetizers and desserts, and all the glasses you will eventually accumulate.

Our preliminary libation was an Italian white from Tuscany, whose crisp minerality was an excellent complement to the simply named “Three Seafood and Four Vegetable” appetizer. The name sounds vaguely like something off a menu in Chinatown and the concept is roughly the same: Choose three cold seafood appetizers and four vegetable appetizers, and shortly thereafter, they will be beautifully presented on an oval platter for your group to share. Our choices were shrimp and scallops with endive, grilled calamari, marinated octopus, eggplant caponata, grilled asparagus, olives and sundried tomatoes, and glazed cippolini onions. I will leave it to you to figure out which ones were seafood and which were vegetables.

And just as I was heard to say, “I’m not leaving until we get free after-dinner drinks,” our waiter appeared with a bottle of sweet, bubbly Moscato and three flutes.

Which just goes to show you…Ask and you shall receive!

The cold weather is upon us…and this is not a bad thing. When the mercury falls, I get a hankering to turn on the oven and the stove and let our biggest, heaviest pot bubble and simmer all day. On Saturday, while Jeff and I were working on ideas for our upcoming Internet cooking show (more on that as details unfold) I put a pot of sauce on the burner marked High Performance and brought back memories of my childhood. I have read that of all our senses, smell ignites the strongest memories, and in my case I find that to be true.

A pot of sauce means so much to me. Macaroni and sauce (which we did NOT call gravy!) recalls holidays and family and grandparents and cousins and the most delicious leftovers imaginable. When I was growing up, we always ate Sunday dinner early. If we had macaroni—rigatoni was the family favorite—and meatballs around 3, you could be guaranteed that meatball sandwiches would be served on the couch during the ABC Sunday night movie, and then we each got a meatball sandwich or two for lunch at school during the week. I was always horrified and a little amused when some kid in my class at St. Ambrose would try to trade me his baloney on Wonder Bread for my meatballs and sausage on a roll. Hah!

Moving into the twenty-first century…when my neighbor Paulie the Iceman (a real Hell’s Kitchen character) was still alive, whenever we made a pot of sauce, we would buy containers and make him reheatable macaroni-and-sauce dinners so he wouldn’t have to eat out every night. Paulie would even go down to Faicco’s on Bleecker Street, and knock on my door with a brown paper bag filled with ground beef and pork, parsley and cheese sausage, and bracciole so I could make him dinners. And all of our friends know that when we invite them over for one of our “Sunday sauce” dinners, complete with antipasto, they have become an integral part of our New York “family.”

We started our day Saturday with a trip to Esposito’s on Ninth Avenue for ground beef and pork, parsley and cheese sausage, and not bracciole, but spare ribs, so I could start our meaty-licious concoction. First I roasted the sausage and ribs, and then I got down to business, mixing the beef and pork with fresh grated parmesan and locatelli, basil and parsley finely chopped on the mezzaluna we bought in Venice, eggs, bread soaked in milk, and salt and pepper. Jeff says they are the best meatballs I ever made, but I swear he says that every time.

Then it’s on to the sauce…I start by sautéing onions and mushrooms in olive oil, flavoring them with salt, pepper, and cayenne, before adding a generous dose of whatever bottle of red wine happens to be open and unfinished at the time. Parsley and basil make their way into the pot, and then it’s a combination of whole tomatoes, chopped tomatoes, and paste. Add the meat, set to simmer, and get on with your day, stirring whenever you’re hungry for a taste. A little sugar, a little nutmeg, a little more salt and pepper, and, to borrow from Led Zeppelin, a whole lotta love, and before you know it, it’s DINNER TIME! Our Antica Hirpinia Aglianico (a little-known Italian grape we were introduced to at Becco) was smoky, spicy, and a perfect match for our late-night feast.

My “sous-chef—Jeff—who seemed to perform his role as seamlessly as a player in a long-running show” (www.Roadfoodie.com, May 15, 2006) is really an artist in his own right, and today I pay tribute to his talent in the kitchen. As another sub-freezing New York day settles around us like an icy blanket, our sparkling and warm apartment is filled with the smells of a bubbling, sizzling pot of chili. The tomato and hot-pepper infused pork and beef will spend the day melding into a delicious mix of body-heat-in-a-bowl, so that we may face the cold undaunted as the week wears on. Jeff’s most recent contribution to this genre was a pot of long-simmering chicken soup, which made several much-needed appearances throughout the last several days—as consommé, and with orzo or pastina, as a main course, an appetizer, and at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Who says you can have too much of a good thing?

Jeff’s chicken soup, delicious as it was, was really a byproduct of the big event of the week, his ARROZ.  Arroz, you may recall is Spanish for rice. This simple rice was an event in itself, and it gets high marks for beauty, creativity, versatility, and the most important food-related category, FLAVOR.  Creamy yet slightly crunchy arborio rice mingled with chorizo, shredded chicken thighs, peas, onions and red and yellow peppers to create a feast for eyes, the nose, and most of all, the tongue. First cooked stove-top, and then in the oven in a terra cotta roaster picked up at the Tuesday Flea Market in Nerja, this palate-pleasing, rib-sticking Spanish favorite also appeared under a few different guises (we are good at that) and in a few weeks we will have an answer to that age-old question: Does arroz freeze well? No matter, it warmed us up, and that’s what counts!

We swore it was just going to be a fifteen-minute trip to the bank…but time moves differently on the Costa del Sol, and the best way to avoid stress is to move differently right along with it.  Jeff and I drove into town to do some banking and to drop off some Three Kings Day Gifts (bottles of Tempranillo) to the friendly folks down at our bank.  Once inside, we hugged and double-kissed everyone present—try that at your New York City institution of saving and lending—and after rather quickly attending to our business, we learned that Christina, the bank manager, Carmen and Alexandra were at a café around the corner.  Although we had scads of things to do around the house (things which ultimately went undone) we decided to join them for a drink or two.

It was just after noon, so cerveza and aceitunas seemed perfectly appropriate.  Nothing like beer and olives to ease your way into what would turn out to be a long, enjoyable day! Jeff and I phoned our houseguests to let them know where they could find us, and then the whole party moved on to Vinoleto, one of our favorite tapas bars on the west side of Nerja.

The whole crowd from New Year’s Eve was at Vinoleto, enjoying the first day of the long holiday weekend, this one for La Fiesta de Los Tres Reyes.  Jim and Vincent enjoyed the excellent sangria, and Jeff and I sampled both a Rioja and a Ribera del Duero alongside our lunch-time tapas of shrimp wrapped in bacon, grilled duck, jamon and blue cheese sandwiches, and toast with duck foie gras and orange marmalade. YUM!

Vinoleto was in full swing, and the proprietor looked a little stressed out at the specter of all of us moving to the rhythm of the sun and sea, but thankfully one of the other patrons decided to work off his bar bill by waiting tables, and another crisis was averted. The small wine bar was packed to overflowing, and the partygoers, including Mavi, Vicente, Fernando, Diego, Anne Marie, Alexandra’s brother, Vicente, and a whole bunch of Mavi’s relatives down from Madrid for the holidays, accustomed to living inside and out year-round, quickly moved the festivities to the small outdoor terrace. There were multiple copies of the December SolTalk in the bar, and the Spaniards all got a kick out of reading the excerpt from Between the Mountains and the Sea, even though they had all heard that story numerous times in two languages!

Next stop was Ortega Pasteleria for our Roscon de Reyes—Crown of the Kings Cake. (There are two different types of bakeries in Spain. A pasteleria is a confectionary shop, and a panaderia is a bread bakery, although there is plenty of overlap.) While the rest of us were starting our holiday, the pastry-makers were in Christmas-in-the-mall mode, even carrying cookie sheets of cakes down the street on their heads for delivery to groceries and restaurants. (I managed to talk my way into the back room, which is the family’s sitting room in addition to the main bakery, in order to photograph the pastry chefs at work.)

At the first wail of police sirens—the only ones we have ever heard in several years here—we abandoned our spots at the bar for a front row peek at the parade.  Nerja has really stepped up both its Christmas decorations and its parade, and I found myself wiping away tears once again at the beauty and simplicity of this yearly spectacle, such a far cry from the crass commercialism of Christmas in the States.

After the Reyes bestowed their gifts on the Holy Family in front of the church, we rushed across the way to the ayuntamiento, or town hall, to get a clear view of the kings and Papa Noel as they came out on to the balcony to wave goodnight to all the children in attendance, who had to rush home to bed and await their gifts in the morning.

Yes, that’s right, there was more to come. A lesser troupe may have cried “Uncle” and gone home to bed, but all that eating and drinking had built an incredible hunger in us for a sit-down dinner, and who were we to deny ourselves dinner at one of the finest restaurants on the entire Costa del Sol? We meandered down to Meson Pata Negra, named for the famed black-footed pigs of the region, who dine only on acorns and thus produce the sweetest, most delicious jamon around. 

Of course, we started with a plate of jamon pata negra, served two ways: sliced thinly by an expert jamonier yielding a long, thin knife, served with a plate of bread and sliced manchego, and also atop sweet honeydew melon. These starters went perfectly with our bottle of Condado de Haza, a favorite spicy Tempranillo, which was also an excellent choice for the grilled meats which followed.

Towards the end of our dinner, we bumped into the lovely Sarah Brookes, the publisher of SolTalk; and before grabbing a cab home to enjoy our holiday cake we joined Sarah and her friends Anne Marie, Jenny, and Kim at the bar for another glass of wine.  Back at home, we made quick work of the roscon, and rushed off to bed for a good night’s sleep so we would all be ready for tomorrow’s trip to the beach for our lunchtime paella.

It was hard to decide which we were enjoying more, the warmth of the sun or the wonderful food, and we have gotten equal doses of each almost every day since. On that first day, the house white lived up to the small sticker affixed to the bottle which read Seco y Afrutado, or dry and fruity. After cold tapas of the aforementioned bonito and tomato and garlic salad, Jeff and I started our mid-day meal with coquinas, miniature clams, each plump pinky-nail-sized morsel in its purplish shell swimming in a broth of white whine, lemon, and parsley. We also shared a plate of perfectly fried calamaritos, and if you have been following along you know exactly what they are—or, take a look at the recipe section! We also each had a delicious peregrino, or scallop—also mentioned above. As lovers of words, we were happy to make sense of how these got their Spanish name: Pilgrims—peregrinos—on the Via de Santiago de Campostela carry a scallop shell as a sign of their devotion to St. James, or Santiago. Remember your high school French? What do we call scallops? Coquilles St. Jacques! Scallops of St. James! It all comes together.
 

Not wanting to keep our new find all to ourselves (and Jon) we dragged our friends Vincent and Jim to Merendero El Pollo after we picked them up from the airport on Saturday. They were both threatening to suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after surviving the bomb in the Madrid Airport (really!) which delayed their flight several hours, and we decided what they needed far more than therapy was a trip to the beach with a fine meal in full sun. More coquinas, more bonito, more papas fritas, more tomatoes, more calamaritos, more vino seco y afrutado, and then we had to try something new.

We will probably not make it back to the merendero again during this visit. We have a little sightseeing planned, and a lot of friends to see, and the weather this year is so outstanding we are hoping to spend quite a few days on our local beach, but we know for sure where our first stop will be after our plane lands in Malaga next time around!

Expecting the usual large buffet-style Christmas party, we were pleased and surprised to discover that we had been invited to a sit-down family dinner. In addition to chef Vinny and his sister Donna (who seamlessly runs the dining room and bar at Gonzo,) we spent the evening with their parents, Vinny, Sr. and Mary, Aunt Norma, and their friend Arlene, also a chef. Eight minutes late for our six-thirty reservation, we were welcomed into their elegant home with hugs, glasses of wine, and a pre-dinner spread of fresh shrimp cocktail, assorted cheeses (my favorite was the blue) and quince preserves, and Hudson Valley Foie Gras Terrine. Thank goodness we had barely eaten throughout the day. We were going to need a lot of space to fully enjoy this feast.

Just to give you an idea of the pace of this sumptuous repast, it took place over the course of about SIX HOURS! Once at the table, our glasses of Livio Felluga Tocai Friulano, a crisp white from the north of Italy, were joined by a Chianti/Douro blend (from both Italy and Portugal) called Plenum, which combines the best of both regions in one glass.

These first three dishes were followed—after an appropriate break to work up more of an appetite—by baked calamari in tomato sauce, stuffed with chopped calamari; baked mussels, stuffed with chopped mussels; and whole lobster tails stuffed with crabmeat, mushrooms, and about a pound of butter. Take note of all the dishes which were STUFFED, and you will get an idea of what we all were as the end of dinner rolled around. However, that didn’t stop any of us from enjoying Vinny’s polenta cake with lemon and honey, the perfect way to end a perfect Christmas Eve dinner!