Paella

Paella is one of those dishes, like barbecue, that can spark endless heated debate. Everyone makes it differently, and everyone has found that one particular paella that is the apotheosis of paella. After that pinnacle is reached, no other paella will ever compare.

For example, some people swear that paella that isn't made in Valencia can never be true paella, due to the quality of the water in Valencia. And some people say that paella can not have both seafood and chicken in the same dish. (I happen to like it that way, though.) And then there are the paellas that are made with vermicelli (pasta), or beans, or the original, which is made with rabbits and snails, with no seafood in sight.

My Dad had a perfect paella in New York about 30 years ago, and nothing since has ever come close. For a few years now I've tried recreating that dish, and the response is always the same: "It's good, but it's not it."

This year, it was time to step it up a notch. In the past, I had attempted to make this dish by throwing some stuff into a casserole dish and throwing the whole thing in the oven for a while, but I realized that this inauthentic approach was just not going to cut it. It would never be that paella.

Therefore, it was time to ponder the variables that are generally considered part of an authentic paella. Most importantly, it's made in a paella pan. This is a large, shallow, circular pan that is ideally made of carbon steel. To be super-authentic, this pan is set over a wood fire, but I wasn't feeling that ambitious--obtaining the pan was just about the height of my aspirations. Part of the reason the pan is so important is because it enables the formation of a brown crust on the bottom of the dish. The brown crust is called soccarat, and some people claim that it's the key to a great paella, and in Spain, people apparently fight over the crusty bits.

(The Paella Pan)

Also of importance is the rice--short-grain rice is a necessity, and if you want to be really accurate, Bomba and Calasparra are preferred. However, these rice varieties can be difficult to find, so Arborio or Carnaroli are acceptable in a pinch.

Paprika is a part of all paellas, and smoked Spanish paprika is the ideal choice. This particular type of paprika can also be difficult to find, but it's worth ordering online because it's far more complex than regular paprika, and the smokiness will lend the finished dish that little 'something.' However, if you would like to use normal paprika, just make sure it's the 'sweet' variety, as opposed to the 'hot' variety.

Roasted red peppers are frequently a part of paella, and piquillo peppers are supposedly the best available. They're roasted over wood fires and retain their texture a bit better than normal roasted red peppers. Or so I hear. I had ordered some for this version of paella, but they didn't arrive in time, so experimenting with them will happen on another occasion.

So when it came time to attempt a more authentic version of paella, most of the key components were in place, and overall it was a success. We got a little bit of brown crust, and one tiny bit where the crust was a bit too brown. The paella was flavorful and delicious, and it was fun to eat, partially because the way it's brought to the table in a really big pan is in itself so entertaining.

If you decide to make the recipe as it's printed below, I apologize for the rather vague timing instructions. Ours took a while for the rice to cook (about 50 minutes), but I think that has a lot to do with the fact that I was afraid of burning the bottom, so I kept the heat a bit lower than the original recipe instructs. However, I left the directions as far as heat and timing pretty close to the original, as I feel it's probably correct; I just tweaked a few things (like the use of tinfoil), which I discuss in the recipe below. Your cooking times may also vary based on the size of your stove, so basically, just be careful as you cook--watch, listen, and smell, and you'll end up with a delicious dinner. Or, like I say each time we're about to embark on a new culinary adventure--you can always order some pizza.

Paella

(Inspired by This Recipe)

• 1 5 lb bag mussels
• 3 large, ripe tomatoes
• 10 blanched almonds, ideally Marcona
• 3 cloves garlic
• Packed 1/4 cup Italian parsley
• 1/3 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 package dried chorizo, cut into 1/4 inch slices
• 1 pound shrimp, peeled
• 2 teaspoons sweet pimentón de la Vera (Spanish smoked paprika)
• Kosher salt
• Freshly ground black pepper
• 1½ pounds chicken thighs, preferably boneless and skinless
• ¼ teaspoon saffron threads
• 4½ cups chicken stock
• ½ cup dry sherry
• 2 cups Calrose rice
• 2 red peppers, roasted, peeled, and cut into 1/4-inch strips, then cut in half lengthwise
• About 1 bottle beer (lager works well)
• 1 cup frozen peas

Place the mussels in a bowl of very cold water and place the bowl in the fridge. Every 30-40 minutes or so, change the water (for a total of at least 2 water changes). Slice tomatoes in half, and grate each on a box grater over a bowl. Discard skins; set pulp aside. In a food processor or mortar, puree parsley, garlic and almonds with a tablespoon or two of water until smooth.

Heat 1/2 tablespoon olive oil in a large pan over high heat. Add chorizo pieces to pan and cook until lightly browned. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Season shrimp with salt and 1/2 teaspoon paprika. Sear the shrimp in the hot pan until golden brown and almost cooked through.

With a slotted spoon, remove shrimp. Season chicken pieces with salt and pepper, add to same pan, and brown on one side until deep golden. Remove chicken from pan and set aside.

Set 18-inch paella pan over two burners at high heat on the stove top, and heat 1/3 cup olive oil. Add tomato pulp and cook until darkened, about 5 minutes. Add 1 1/2 teaspoons paprika and 1/4 teaspoon saffron, and cook for about 1 minute. Add chicken pieces and sherry and cook until sherry is evaporated (you'll have liquid in the pan, but no longer be able to smell the sherry). Add chicken stock; bring to a boil.

Stir garlic, almond and parsley puree into the pan. Sprinkle rice across the pan and stir until the grains are submerged, then don't stir again. Add red peppers. Cook on high heat for 10 minutes, rotating the pan on the two burners to distribute heat. Using a small spoon, test rice and stock and add salt as needed.

Reduce heat to medium-low and continue cooking for 10 minutes. Test rice again. If the rice is drying out but still needs some more cooking time in order for it to tenderize, add some beer (or water or chicken stock) to the dry spots. The amount of beer needed will vary greatly depending on your rice, heat, etc., but we used about a bottle of beer.

If the rice is still hard, turn the heat down to low and continue to cook the rice until all parts of the dish are tender. You might need to intermittently cover the pan with a big sheet of tin foil. I wish that I could give you more specific directions, but I think that this is one of those dishes that you have to watch and play with, at least until you're practiced with it. We found that our total cooking time for the rice was about 50 minutes, about 10 of which were covered.

When all of the rice is tender but a little bit of extra liquid remains in the pan, scatter the mussels over the top, scatter the shrimp and peas around. Cover with tin foil and cook for about 5-7 more minutes, until the mussels are open.

In this last little part, listen for a crackling sound to ensure the bottom is toasting but not burning. It might be necessary to increase the heat to medium-high, but again, listen and pay attention to the dish. Remove from heat, leave the foil cover in place, and let sit for 5 minutes.

Use a metal spoon to scrape toasted rice from bottom of pan and serve.

Unseasonal Pan-Roasted Veggies, Seasonal Fresh Peas

For various reasons, including a Romesco obsession and a trip to California's Central Coast, we hadn't made a 10X10 meal in a long time.

We had been really really excited about the Daring Cook's May challenge, which was enchiladas with a verde sauce. We had fully intended to turn the pork shoulder that had been languishing in the freezer into some delicious Mexican-y goodness, but, again, for a number of reasons, it just didn't happen. The shoulder was therefore begging to be used, and of course, Susanne Goin had the answer in the form of Spiced Pork Stew with Polenta, Root Vegetables, and Gremolata.

I really do realize that I keep whining about how I'm over the whole braised meat thing for now, but it was an atypically cold day, and a stew really did sound perfect. Plus, I had had polenta on the brain for no good reason, so this sounded perfect. I love you, Susanne.

We didn't love the pork stew, but it was probably my fault, or what we call 'user error.' And, of course, I had another major Polenta Fail. I'll get this stuff right someday, I swear. My family has gotten to the point that they think that even when made properly, it can't be that great. Can it? But a lot of food people say that it can be that great, which is why I'm determined to get it right, much to my family's chagrin.

This time, it was another watery, flavorless gruel.

That's why we gave it googly eyes. Everything is better with googly eyes.

The one thing that I really loved about this meal, though, were the 'roasted' vegetables. Because they were root vegetables, they didn't seem very springy, but they've revolutionized my thinking when it comes to the preparation of hearty veggies.

Here's how I will in the future cook root vegetables (an adaptation of Susanne's recipe):

(It means a bit more active time than coating vegetables in oil and throwing them in the oven, but it's still easy, and it's well worth it.)

Pan-Roasted Root Vegetables with Gremolata

(By Suzanne Goin)

• Zest of one lemon
• 1 teaspoon minced garlic
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
• 1 lb. carrots (preferably organic with the tops attached), peeled
• 2 medium turnips
• 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 TBSP fresh thyme leaves
• 2 TBSP unsalted butter
• 1 cup 1/4 inch-thick slices shallot
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1 bag parsnips (if they're not sold in bags where you live, then about 6 medium ones)

Place the lemon zest on a cutting board and chop it coarsely. Place the garlic and parsley on top and chop the whole mixture together until it is very fine. This is the gremolata. 

Slice the carrots and parsnips into 1/2 inch slices cut on the bias. Clean the turnips, cut off the tails, and trim the stems. Cut small turnips in to halves or quarters, and if they're larger, cut them in half and then into 1/2 inch wedges.

Using 2 saute pans so that the vegetables are not crowded, heat the olive oil over medium-high until shimmering. Divide the carrots, parsnips and turnips between the pans and season with 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper, and the thyme. Cook 10-15 minutes, stirring often, until the vegetables just start to caramelize.

Add the butter and shallots and saute another 10 minutes, tossing often. If the vegetables are becoming too brown without softening, reduce the heat. The vegetables are finished when they're nicely caramelized and tender.

Toss with the gremolata before serving.

Spring-Time Peas

• 2 teaspoons olive oil
• One small onion, diced
• 1 lb fresh peas, shelled an rinsed
• 1/2 tablespoon butter
• Salt
• Freshly ground pepper

In a large saute pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and saute until soft, and almost caramelized. This will take 15-40 minutes, depending on how well you like the onions cooked. If they start to dry out or burn, add some butter and reduce the heat.

When the onions have reached the desired stage of doneness, add the peas and saute until tender, but still a little pop-in-the-mouth crisp, about 5 to 8 minutes. Toss with the butter (you can use more if you like, but we were trying to be healthy.) Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Deconstructed Paella, or Paella-Inspired Risotto, and Chicken Picatta with Preserved Lemon Risotto

I mentioned in one of the previous posts that I was planning to make something with the saffron that I thought I would have left over from another dinner, but didn't because I burnt the first batch while toasting it. I also mentioned that I was doing something top secret.

Well, the time has come for me to reveal my under-cover project. There's a group of bloggers who call themselves the Daring Cooks. There's also a group of Daring Bakers, but they're kind of out of my league, and I've mentioned that I'm not especially keen on having baked goods around the house, so I joined the Daring Cooks.

This is how it works--every month, someone is elected to pick a recipe of the month, which they post on the 17th. You then have until the 14th to make the recipe, per the specifications, and make a blog posting about it.

My first month's challenge was risotto. I was totally stoked about this, as I love risotto, and I recently found a large stash of Arborio rice in my spiffy kitchen drawer thingy. I've mentioned the zombie hoarding issues, but I haven't yet mentioned the moth issue.

Yeah, there were moths breeding in my spiffy drawer thing. It was really gross, and I probably shouldn't mention it in any kind of public arena, but I can assure you that the offending breeding ground was thoroughly eradicated. Anything that was not very tightly sealed was thrown out. I hate to be wasteful, but a lot of this stuff was a legacy of the hoarding days and was really old.

The Arborio rice, however, was tightly sealed and begging to be cooked. As Nick said, it was like they had read my mind.

In this Daring Cook's challenge, you can make a base recipe and elaborate from there, and you can also make the authors' recipe for Pumpkin Risotto or Preserved Lemon Risotto. Because of my Meyer lemon kick, Nick and I had actually recently discussed making preserved lemons. We talked about how it sounds pretty cool, but we weren't sure what to do with the lemons. Again, it was like they were reading my mind.

I mentioned the preserved lemon option to Nick, and we got to talking about what we would make with the preserved lemon risotto. One of us mentioned chicken cutlets, and Nick mentioned chicken Marsala. "Yeah, chicken piccata," I said, because I had been thinking the same thing. (That's what he meant, and I knew what he meant.)

Fortuitously, the risotto challenge also coincided with the arrival of Sunday Suppers at Lucques, which just happens to have a recipe for chicken piccata.

First, however, I had decided to do a paella-inspired risotto, partially because my Dad loves paella. And what do you know, Suzanne Goin has a recipe for saffron risotto in her book; it's really too bad I didn't follow it.

I meant to follow the recipe, but as I mentioned, I burned the saffron that was intended for this recipe. I also meant to buy more when we went to Wegman's to shop for dinner, but by the time we got to the saffron, Nick and I were totally hypoglycemic, so we had a very full shopping cart, so we decided that we didn't want to spend the $16 on the saffron. Plus, Nick was still a bit traumatized by the intensity of the saffron in the last dinner, and I was not too excited about a plasticky-tasting spice. So we left it out.

In retrospect, though, I think that the dish could have used it, and I also wish that I had added fresh thyme and a crushed chile de arbol like Suzanne Goin suggested. If I ever make this again, I probably really will use her saffron risotto recipe the way I had initially intended, and I'll probably throw in some paprika somewhere. I somehow forgot that it's a key component in paella.

I decided that this would be called "deconstructed" paella because paella and risotto take antithetical approaches to the cooking of rice. Risotto is cooked slowly and incrementally, with more liquid continually added as the previous portion of liquid is absorbed. Paella, however, gets liquid added to the rice, it's all covered, and it all (meat and seafood included) goes into the oven to cook undisturbed. It wouldn't really be possible to cook risotto in the same manner because it would then not be risotto, so it was all cooked separately and combined at the end. Hence, "deconstructed" paella.

We started by pan-searing some dried chorizo in an attempt to get some tasty fat in which to cook the rest of the ingredients. Surprisingly little fat was rendered, so we added some olive oil and sauteed a chopped onion. Then the rice was added, and it was toasted until it was glossy and only a little spot of white remained in the middle. White wine was then poured in and simmered away.

At this point, hot chicken stock was added a cup at a time, and the mixture was stirred frequently until it had reached the point where the rice was tender without being mushy, and the rice was kind of coated with a sauce-like liquid, but was not gloopy and gelatinous.

In the meantime, we caramelized some sliced shallots and roasted a red pepper. The red pepper was eventually peeled, thinly sliced, and added to the onions. We called this a shallot roasted red pepper confit.

We also peeled some shrimp, tossed them with garlic and salt, let them marinate, and pan seared them.

The mussels were steamed with garlic, onion, and beer. Unfortunately, I decided to see if it would work to throw everything in the pot and steam the mussels that way, partially because we had no butter available, and we had used the last of the olive oil. Now I know, though, that you really need to saute some aromatics before adding the mussels. The mussels weren't terrible, but they could have been more flavorful.

To put it all together, some peas and the sliced chorizo were stirred into the rice, and this was plated in a pile. The mussels went around the rice in a ring, and the red pepper shallot confit was placed on top of the rice. The shrimp went on top of the confit, and it was all garnished with chopped parsley.

The risotto was a bit under-seasoned both salt and herb-wise, and I've mentioned that the mussels weren't the most flavorful batch ever. Overall, though, it was a nice meal.

The confit was actually Nick's idea, and it was quite lovely added a note of freshness and flavor to the dish. We discussed ways in which, if we were to make it again, we could do much better, but none of us were sure if it is worth doing again.

We also discussed the fact that I managed to burn myself on the toaster oven. I wasn't even doing anything interesting. I was making toast, which is really quite lame. As Nick said, I can make 'deconstructed paella,' but can't make toast without giving myself a second degree burn.

I don't know if you can tell from this picture, but it went through the epidermis into the dermis. This picture is after a few days of healing; it actually looked bigger, and you could clearly see the two layers of skin.

So, while my Dad liked the paella, it just can't compare to the paella that he used to get in New York. That paella was the pinnacle of paella, and it is never to be duplicated. Paella is like that, though. There are a million different ways to make it, and everyone ends up with an ideal version in their minds, and no other paella will ever live up to that standard. It might be their grandmother's version, the version they had while sitting in a town square in Spain, or the one they had 30 years ago in New York.

I guess I'll never really get it right. Especially if I leave out the saffron and paprika. It's not really paella at all, then, is it?

So after the semi-successful paella, it was time for some preserved lemon risotto with chicken piccata, or, what Suzanne Goin calls Chicken Paillards with Parmesan Breadcrumbs. Before making the risotto, however, I had to make some more stock because the Daring Cooks stipulate that you must make your own stock.

There are a lot of approaches to making chicken stock, and they include using a whole chicken, a lot of chicken wings, chicken carcasses, and various other combinations of poultry parts. The stock suggested by the Daring Cooks uses a whole chicken, and they tell you to use the chicken meat for other purposes. I'm sorry guys, but for a multitude of reasons, I just didn't like that idea.

I used to make a recipe from Epicurious, but I've been finding it bland, so I decided to try Mario Batali's Brown Chicken Stock recipe because I like to freeze the bodies of the chickens that we've roasted and use them for stock.

This recipe involved browning the chicken carcasses, removing them to a plate, and sauteing the vegetables until they're soft and brown.

Per Suzanne Goin's brilliant suggestions, I substituted fennel for celery.

Water and herbs were added, and the mixture was simmered for a couple hours.

It turns out that heat was the element previously lacking in my stock-making procedure. Because the chicken and vegetables were seared, this stock was way more flavorful than any other I've made before, and I've decided that it is now my go-to stock recipe. Thanks, Mario.

Now that I had restocked my stock supply, it was time to make the risotto. As usual, an onion was sauteed, rice was cooked until it had a nice sheen, the pan was deglazed with white wine, and stock was added bit by bit.

Toward the end, some chopped preserved lemon peel was stirred in.

In the meantime, chicken breasts were pounded thin (which makes the bunnies really mad), and they were coated with flour, egg, and a panko breadcrumb, Parmesan, and parsley mixture.

They were then pan-seared until golden and just cooked through.

The chicken were removed, and garlic and a broken up chile de arbol were sauteed until aromatic, and the previously steamed broccolini was cooked. This step was supposed to involve sauteing escarole, and it was supposed to include rosemary. I decided, however, that we would prefer broccolini and rosemary wouldn't be so great with the broccolini.

When the broccolini was finished, butter was browned, poured into a little dish that we got in Mexico, and capers and parsley were stirred in. The recipe calls for lemon to be added to the brown butter, but it was already in the risotto so I didn't want to overwhelm the dish with lemon.

So how was it? Delicious. The risotto could have been salted more and cooked a bit longer, but it was still yummy. Also, we were cautious with the preserved lemon, but once the risotto was combined with the chicken, the lemon got a bit lost.

Nick said that his chicken was overcooked, but mine was perfect--tender and juicy, and the breadcrumb topping was deliciously crisp.

What really made the dish, though, was the caper sauce. I'm not always a fan of capers, but they're growing on me. The nuttiness of the brown butter, the freshness of the parsley, and the salty pungent element from the capers perfectly tied all of the other flavors together, and I just couldn't stop eating this meal.

Once again, this recipe made me really excited to try more of Suzanne Goin's recipes. So far, her recipes add up to more than the sum of their parts, which equals deliciousness.

Winter Salad, Casserole-Roasted Chicken with Peas and Bacon, Clarified Butter

I made another winter salad before dinner tonight. I had previously mentioned that Molly of Orangette discussed her version of a winter salad in this month's Bon Appetite. I was curious, and I had some celery root left over. Therefore, it was time to give celery root another chance. As I've mentioned, I like to try things a few times before deciding that I don't like them. It's a lot like getting kids to eat like real people--you apparently sometimes have to make them try a food up to twelve times.

Anyway, this salad was again composed of celery root, fennel, and apples that had been made into matchsticks with the scary, scary mandolin. Okay, so what's the deal with the mandolin, right? Well, have you ever cut yourself on one of those things? First of all, it's pretty easy to do. And because the blade is very sharp and it slices off a good portion of the tip of your finger or knuckle, the resulting cut bleeds forever. Ask Hunter--he once bled profusely all the way through dinner. It doesn't help that alcohol is an anti-coagulant, either.

I used to think that I was too cool for the hand guard, but after the fourth or fifth time that I had to quickly grab a paper towel in order to staunch the large amounts of blood oozing from my hand before everything around me was ruined, I decided that I'm not too cool at all. (I've also finally learned that I'm not too cool for the oven timer.)

Hunter will no longer use the mandolin, and Nick finds the mandolin so scary that he can't even watch me use it. He can't even watch the Iron Chefs use it, and they kick ass. Yesterday, I hadn't yet put the mandolin back in its box after washing it, and Nick asked in a very anxious manner what it was doing out, because he doesn't like to be in its presence, and you better believe he's not going to attempt to wrestle that thing back into its home.

Tonight the matchsticks of fruits and vegetables were tossed with a dressing that contained mustard, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and walnut oil. It was supposed to be hazelnut oil, but Whole Foods didn't have any.

The verdict? It was pretty good, but I'm still not liking the raw celery root. I'm tempted to try it as a gratin, but is that cheating? Anything is good with lots of cream, butter and cheese, right?

The dressing was nice, but the nuttiness of my walnut oil did not shine through. Inspired by the lack of nuttiness, I threw some chopped pecans in there, and that was good. I may in fact make a salad consisting of fennel, apples, this dressing, and some pecans.

Or I might just eat the shaved fennel with lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and Parmesan, as I've previously mentioned. In fact, I've had this a couple times since making the celery root salad. Just so the apple doesn't feel neglected, though, it gets eaten with peanut butter as dessert.

Then it was time for the Casserole-Roasted Chicken with Peas and Prosciutto from Parisian Home Cooking. This recipe called for a 5 pound chicken, preferably with the feet still attached, to be placed in a Dutch oven with some melted butter.

I would just like to mention that I love love love my dutch oven.

A Le Cruset would be nice, but Cook's Illustrated says that the $40 version from Lodge is your next best option. Therefore, that's what I have, and it's just fine with me. This dutch oven transfers heat beautifully (almost too well sometimes), and you can make a delicious and easy meal by searing meat, adding some liquid directly to the vessel, and putting the whole thing in the oven to braise. The pot is pretty enough that the meal can be served in it, too.

Then when the meal is finished and you go to scrub the ominously cruddy bottom, it comes clean like magic, with a fraction of the expected scrubbing required. The dutch oven is also great for soups, mussels, and Jim Lahey's bread. That's another post, though.

So my 3 pound chicken Dutch oven "On one breast." What the hell does that mean, "On one breast?" Well, we kind of balanced it as well as we could, and into the oven it went.

A half hour later, we flipped it onto its other breast. Or what we thought was its other breast, as we had gotten kind if turned around while messing with it. A while after that, it was flipped over onto its back.


Once the chicken was overcooked, we took it out and allowed it to rest. At this point, the excess rendered fat was spooned out, and the shallots were sauteed. The recipe calls for four shallots, but what the heck does that mean? Do you know how much shallots vary in size? We erred on the side of abundance, as we like shallots.

Some creme fraiche and white wine went in there, as did some prosciutto. And no, that's not another one of my errors--the recipe really called for prosciutto. Why the title says bacon, I don't know. Perhaps prosciutto sounded too Italian, so they went with bacon.

I do have a confession to make. At this point, fresh sorrel was supposed to be added. Whole Foods didn't have it, and I'm not sure if I like it anyway. Not that I wouldn't have tried it, because you know how I harp on the subject of trying new or newish foods. If we make this again, I will certainly try to obtain some sorrel, mostly because Michael (the author) writes:

"What I like best about (this) improvisation is the sorrel, which tips the balance away from salty bacon and rich cream, cutting through and lightening the dish. Balance and subtlety is what French cuisine is all about."

The prosciutto cream sauce simmered for a while, the peas were added, and the chicken was carved and plated. Once the sauce was spooned over our legs and breasts, respectively, we pulled the baked potatoes out of the oven and dug in.

Wow, it was good. The cream sauce was tangy and satisfying without being too heavy, the prosciutto was wonderfully salty and flavorful, and the peas popped in the mouth while adding a pleasing freshness. Again--with cream and expensive cured pig product, how can you go wrong?

I mentioned that I overcooked the chicken, but it wasn't by much. And besides, since Nick prefers the white meat, only his was really overcooked, so whatever. I'm just kidding, Nick. 

This meal will definitely go on the repeat list, but if I'm feeling like a fatty, we'll stick with plain old roasted chicken. I used to think that I didn't really care for roasted chicken until I tried Thomas Keller's version. It's so simple, and so beautiful. All you do is dry it very thoroughly, truss it, and cook it at high heat "until it's done." I love that part--"until it's done." Thomas Keller doesn't need to be specific, because he's a mad genius. I also love his story of getting a knife thrown at him early in his career because he didn't know how to truss a chicken.

As Thomas Keller and numerous other people point out, one's ability to roast a chicken can serve as a true litmus test of their abilities as a cook. The same goes for cooking eggs, because the dishes that seem the easiest are often the ones that actually require the most practice, technique, and good judgement.

The butter that went into the dutch oven with the chicken was actually clarified butter. This was something that I had been meaning to make for a while, and I felt that this night would be a good night to do it. Not that it takes much effort or deserves any amount of procrastination. I had almost bought a jar of ghee (the clarified butter used in Indian cooking) at Whole Foods while buying the undersized chicken, but I convinced myself that I couldn't be that lazy.


The benefit of using clarified butter is its clean taste and its higher smoke point. With clarified butter, the milk solids have been removed. As these are what burn when you overheat butter, this allows the butter to be brought to a higher temperature. It is therefore better for pan-searing, and it lasts almost forever.


I followed Alice Waters' directions in order to make this culinary gold. The fact that they left me a bit confused from the beginning was probably a good indication that I should look elsewhere. Did I? No. I just overcooked my clarified butter.

This is what Alice Waters writes:

Melt butter in a small heavy pan over medium heat. Cook the butter until it has separated and the milk solids are just turning a light golden brown, about 10 to 15 minutes. Pour it through a strainer to remove the solids, leaving clear golden clarified butter.

A couple days later, I read this from Thomas Keller:

Put the butter in a small sauce pan and melt it over low heat, without stirring (I stirred it because I hadn't read this, and it was making some freaky noises). Skim off the foamy layer that has risen to the top and discard (I didn't do that). Carefuly pour off the clear yellow liquid (as you know, mine was not clear yellow), the clarified butter, into a container, leaving the white milky layer behind.

Although they pretty much said the exact same thing, Thomas Keller's directions somehow made more sense to me. Next time, I'm definitely going with the Mad Genius, even though I probably shouldn't even need a recipe for something so simple.

As I mentioned, the butter is supposed to remain golden in color, and mine is more like browned butter. But that's okay, as brown butter is delicious, and I'm sure that it will get used. The little crunchy milk solids will also get used somehow, as they are like crunchy little kernels of brown butter goodness. Once I get through this overcooked batch of clarified butter, I will definitely make another attempt. Wish me luck.

Casserole Roasted Chicken with Peas and Bacon

(From Parisian Home Cooking)

• One 4 pound whole chicken
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 cups fresh or frozen peas
• 4 shallots, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup dry vermouth or white wine
• 1/4 cup creme fraiche or heavy cream
• 1/4 pound prosciutto or bacon, thinly diced

Preheat the oven to 475 degrees.
Rinse the chicken and pat dry, Season the chicken inside and out with the salt and freshly ground pepper. Turn the wings under the bird and tie the legs together. Melt 1 tablespoon butter in the oil in a Dutch oven. Lay the bird on one breast, cover, and transfer to the oven. Roast for 30 minutes.


Carefully turn the chicken onto its other breast, cover, and roast another 20 minutes. Turn the bird on its back, cover, and roast another 20 to 30 minutes, or until the juices run clear when a thigh is pierced. Transfer the chicken to a platter, cover, and keep warm.


Skim the fat from the juices in the Dutch oven and return it to low heat. If using fresh peas, add them now. Add the shallots and cook until soft but not brown, about 4 minutes. Add the vermouth or wine, creme fraiche or cream, and prosciutto or bacon, and cook until the liquid is reduced by half, about 4 minutes.


Pour any juices that have collected around the bird into the pot. Add the frozen defrosted peas, which only need to warm through.


Remove from the heat, swirl in the remaining 2 tablespoons butter (we actually left this out), and pour the sauce into a sauce boat. Serve immediately with the chicken.