My love of trash is no secret, and that love affair started with the lowly squid. Most people’s only interaction with squid comes with rubbery deep fried calamari rings dunked in marinara sauce, but this oft-neglected creature can do so much more. There was a point a couple years back that we would eat squid pretty much at least once a week. Luckily for us, it’s also the cheapest thing at the seafood counter, clocking in at about $5/lb. We’d grill it, saute it, put it in a pasta sauce, seafood soups and stews, salads; pretty much anything we could think of. For a while, we were buying the frozen three pound boxes and keeping them in the freezer because it was even cheaper. And yes, almost all squid comes frozen. The stuff you buy at Whole Foods? Frozen. They defrost the same three pound box of frozen squid that you can buy and charge you three times the price.

Any time we’d see squid on a menu, we had to order it. Actually, we still do. When properly cooked, it’s tender and tastes like the sea, not all rubbery and bland like most people think. The most incredible dish we ever ordered was on our honeymoon in Positano where we ordered the grilled squid. The dish came out and it was one gigantic squid, perfectly grilled and juicy. The single squid must have weighed about half a pound, and to this day remains the benchmark for all of my grilled squid endeavors.

Grilling squid is pretty much the easiest thing to do. Rub the squid with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and then chuck them on a hot grill. The trick, of course, it to cook them to the right doneness, something I still continue to struggle with. The experts say to cook squid for either a minute or an hour. Anything in the middle will just be rubbery. But on the grill, I find that when cooked for too short a period of time, they just feel raw and chewy. I tend to leave them on one side until they get some nice grill marks,about 4 minutes. Another 4 or 5 minutes on the other side, and they should be done. Any longer, and you’ve cooked all of the moisture out of them, making them too tough. Squeeze some lemon on top when then come off the grill

As a base for the squid, we made a smokey eggplant puree. An eggplant that’s been halved, rubbed with olive oil, and slowly grilled for about 25 minutes until the outside is charred and the insides are soft. Scoop out the flesh after it’s cooled, dump it into a food processor with a handful of mint, some fresh chili, the juice of half of a lemon, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Whiz it up until it’s a nice thick puree. Finally, to cool things off, some good thick Greek yogurt mixed up with chopped cucumbers, lemon, salt, and pepper. Many of you may look at the photo above and just say “ewwwwwww”, but please, just give the squid a chance. It may br trash, but it has feelings too..

To be perfectly honest, for the majority of the year, the local produce in New England isn’t exactly the most exciting stuff in the world. Sure, I get a little twinge of excitement at the sight of the first Springtime ramps, the local berries are pretty amazing, and everybody loves to go apple picking. But how excited can you get about potatoes, carrots, and squashes after a few years? It seems like everyone looks forward to the last couple of weeks in august, when it’s finally corn and tomato season. We’ve waited all year, and finally, the time is now.

Farmer’s Markets and home gardens are overflowing with local heirloom tomatoes of all shapes and sizes, and if you don’t take advantage of it now, well, you’re a dummy. This is as good as it gets around here, so enjoy it while it lasts. Yes, the heirlooms are a bit more expensive than your normal garden variety tomato (no pun intended), but they’re sooooooo worth it. They’re only around for a month or so, so forgo your eBay addiction for a month and spend your cash on these babies. Some of them look a little funny, and then all taste different. Sample as many varieties as you can, and more importantly, enjoy them in their pure and natural state. All these need is a little salt and a splash of olive oil, and you’re good to go. All those crappy caprese salads of tomato, basil, and fresh mootz that you pretend to enjoy all year pale in comparison to ones made right now.

Of course, if you’re a little more ambitious, you can test your architectural and construction skills and attempt to make some of these tasty stacks. Trying to take advantage of as much local produce as possible, I paired these heirlooms from Kimball Fruit Farm with corn, red onions, and cucumbers from Sergi Farm, and Super Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes and basil from our backyard. The corn is quickly sauteed with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper, and the onions were pickled in cider vinegar, salt, and sugar. Then, it’s time to start building. Just have fun and try layering alternating colors and textures; a a slice of yellow tomato, a few pickled onions, a slice of red tomato, a fan of thinly sliced cukes, a basil leaf every now and then. Top it all off with a shower of the corn, more sliced basil, a pour of good olive oil, and a drizzle of good balsamic vinegar (feel free to use the really good 25 year aged stuff that’s sitting in the back of the cabinet waiting for a “special occasion”).

These are really pretty to look at, but as soon as you dive in with a fork and knife, all structural integrity will be compromised. Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the flavors that you won’t get a chance to enjoy for another 11 months. Oh sorry, did I just depress you? Don’t worry! Pumpkin season is just around the corner!

There are those nights you look in your fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner and you think to yourself “What the hell was I thinking?” At the market on Sunday, everything just looked so good. Ah, look how pretty those bunches of radishes look! We can make some sort of salad with them. Smell how amazing this fresh celery root smells! It smells just like, um, celery! We’ll find something to do with that as well. The days go by, your stock of other veggies has dwindled, and by the end of the week, those radishes and celery root are staring you in the face, and they’re laughing.

“Ok, buddy-boy, what are you going to do with us now?”

I’ll be honest with you? Radishes are not my favorite thing in the world. I love the idea of them more than the reality of them. The only radishes I’ve truly loved were ones eaten as part of the greatest breakfast spread of all time while staying with a friend’s family while travelling through Europe. Of course, we were two weeks into a five week drinking binge where our diet consisted mainly of beer and bread (and seven consecutive nights of paella while in Spain), so my body was probably just aching for any sort of vegetable at that point. I love the texture and crunch of them, but they’re a little bitter for my taste.

Celery root is one of my favorite unknown vegetables, and I keep trying to figure out new ways to use it. Roasted, sauteed, braised, shaved raw, and mashed (I’ve even tried grilling it), it has that great intense celery flavor, but the consistency more along the lines of a potato. They look all freaky too, which makes me like them even more. Using them raw is one of the more interesting ways to use them, but you must be sure to shave them or grate them fine enough. Otherwise, they’ll be tough and fibrous.

So besides the fact that they both came out of the ground, I don’t see much that these two ingredients have in common. So what? Let’s give it a shot. With the aid of my trusty Japanese mandoline, I get to shredding. First the radishes, which turn into pretty little matchsticks, and then the celery root, which looks like, well, celery root. These two will not be able to do it on their own. They need support. Ah, there’s always carrots in the fridge! They add the necessary sweetness to balance off the boldness of the radishes. For a little bite and crunch, some red onion will do just fine. That cucumber now sitting all alone needs some attention too, so we’ll throw that in there as well. A little chopped parsley gives some needed color, and finally, we need a dressing. We make almost a pickle brine for it using rice wine vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper. Somehow, it all comes together and works. Who knew? It was even better the next day once the dressing had a chance to do some pickling.

I don’t know when I’ll ever make this again, but when the radishes are looking good one day, and I happen to pass by the celery root, don’t think that I won’t think of this salad. Maybe next time, it won’t be an accident that they’re both left in the fridge at the end of the week.

• After 10 months of bitching and teeth-gnashing, our biggest gripe with our neighbors has disappeared with the easy installation of a door closer. Why did it take us so long to suggest it? Um, because we’re dummies. But they lived with the front door being constantly open for 10 years and never thought of putting one in. Seriously, I’ve never been happier to see a door closed all the time. Yes, this was the highlight of my weekend.
• How the hell is it fall already? We’ve spent a total of one day at the beach this summer. That’s just so wrong.
• George really doesn’t like the rain, despite his snazzy new jacket. He does, however, love the dishwasher.
• The sudden realization of why my pizza crust has been such crap lately. About two months ago, I had it to the point of where I couldn’t find any fault in it. Fast forward to a few pizza nights later, and I was left scratching my head why it wasn’t getting all nice and puffy and browned. The solution was simple: cut each batch into 3 doughs instead of 4. It can’t get all puffy if it’s rolled out too thin, right? Now, this is what I’m talking about.
• Sometimes it’s weird when people come up to me in real life and tell me how much they like this site (ok fine, I’ll call it a blog). First AV, then Jordan, both in a 24-hour period. Don’t get me wrong, I love the compliments and appreciate the encouragement, but sometimes I forget that people actually read this thing. Of course, that’s the point right? I love that people find it entertaining and are digging what I’m doing, but I always sort of considered it a little dorky and self-involved. But, that’s sort of me, so I guess it makes sense. Thanks for the kind words folks. I’ll try to keep up the good work.
• Friday begins the Lovely Suse’s birthday month. Yes, she doesn’t just have a birthday, she has a birthmonth. I swear, she can get at least 5 bithday meals out of this.It’s always nice to see a woman excited about her birthday. Send her lots of treats!
• sorry for the lack of posts last week. I was doing lots of behind-the-scenes tinkering with the plumbing of the site, so hopefully, that should all be resolved now. We’ll be back in full force this week. I promise.
• It’s sad to see how the Red Sox’s season is pretty much being flushed down the toilet, but I made myself feel better last week by watching the 2004 World Series Film. It was actually the first time I’d seen it, and golly is it good. Yes, I just said golly.
• “You mean I get to go the entire fall without having a bellyache?”
• How did I go from loving my finely-tuned German road machine to wanting a hippie eco-friendly hybrid. Well, maybe because my stupid car is dying a not-so-slow and painful death and it costs a fortune to maintain and repair and I’m sick of dealing with it, and I can’t ever morally or financially justify buying a car that gets less than 30 MPG. Good lord, what’s happend to me?

Look! Even the Church loves petecarpenter.com.

Most people who know me would probably say I’m a pretty easy-going guy. I generally don’t let things bother me too much, and I’m pretty even-tempered. Very few people have seen me really angry. Well, for the past two months, something very stupid and very frustrating has led me to fits of rage: Gourmet Magazine.

Much has been written in the last few months about the somber photography going on over at Gourmet, something I’ve noticed for the past year or so. This isn’t what makes me angry. Confused and thinking that their art director is severely depressed? Yes. Angry? No. I’m even fine with the written content of the magazine, despite the fact that it seems these days more like a travel and tableware magazine than a food magazine (yes, I’m aware that it tends to focus more on these topics than purely food as Bon Appetit does). The problem with Gourmet is that I can’t even read it.

I don’t mean the actual printed words, but with the volume of advertisements and especially the heavy-duty cardboard advertising and special advertising sections, it’s literally impossible to turn the pages and flip through the magazine. I’m pretty sure that I’m not completely incompetent at turning pages, I seem to be able to read other ad-heavy magazines without a problem, but for whatever reason, after 5 minutes of trying to peruse the contents, I literally have to throw the thing across the room. The Lovely Suse can attest to this. My blood starts to boil, I start muttering through clenched teeth, and then I just have to get the thing out of my hands and I start screaming.

Are the pages made with some new type of paper that I don’t know about that makes the ads stick to every page of actual content? Forget about the fact that every ad now tries to look like a real story, and that there’s a five page “special advertising section” every 10 pages. My brain is starting to hurt and I”m getting all antsy just sitting here typing this. Can anyone shed some light on this for me? Has anyone else had this problem? We get at least 15 other magazines a month (don’t even get me started on the “Fashion Rocks” issue that’s currently included with every single Conde Nast magazine that we get), and none of them are this difficult to read. I understand the reliance on advertisements for revenue, and I get the various marketing tricks to try to make the reader pay attention to them, but what the hell is going on here?

Please excuse me while I go punch a wall.

• It’s a busy week in baby land. Congrats to Steve and Lisa on the newest member of the Carpenter clan, Scarlett Ellery. The second Carpenter girl of the year officially ends the Carpenter curse. Until Rachel was born in May, there were something like 8 boys in a row (including Rachel’s twin brother Alex). I guess we can no longer say “Carpenter’s only have boys”.
• In more baby news, congrats to Alex and Kim on the birth of Alexander Stevens III, henceforth known as Adub3.
• George had a very big week meeting all sorts of new friends (and enemies). First all of the other puppies in puppy kindergarten who despite being half their size, ruled the class. Next came his meeting with Filly, a chocolate lab approximately 47 times his size, which he seemed to take in stride. Although he probably wasn’t thrilled that Filly stole his banana and tore it apart. But they’ll be good buds. Then came the meeting of the 5 Charbonneau cats, which I think are still bugged out from his visit. He scared the living bejeezus out of them. Finally, a visit with Abby, another dog that outweighs him by about 70 pounds. They happily coexisted, although it’s tough for big dogs to play with a dog that weighs three pounds without almost crushing them.
• I’m very excited for the new season of Prison Break. It was my favorite new show of last year, and hopefully it can keep up the same pace and action.
• Believe me, I love corn and tomato season more than anyone, but I need to take a little break from the corn. I think I ate about a dozen ears of the stuff last week, and let’s just say that the belly needs a little break. I still haven’t gotten sick of the tomatoes though. Our super sweet 100’s are still growing like crazy and we pull off hand fulls of them every few days.
• It’s funny that when I was growing up, the hot dogs that I was raised on were Hebrew Nationals, and I sort of hated them. Maybe it was because my mom always boiled them, but I just wanted some Oscar Mayer or Fenway Franks. You know, the nasty ones. I didn’t care that the Hebrew National were all beef and good quality, I definitely didn’t care about that. Now, though, I’ve been reintroduced to the greatness of the Hebrew National since we give them to George as a special treat. I gotta say, when I don’t feel like paying $2/dog for Fearless Franks, these will be my go-to dogs.
• any comments on the new look? Can everyone read everything OK? For some, the font was too small and smooshed together (most likely those on Macs). Also, I had a not-so-smooth upgrade to Movable Type 3.31, so let me know if you see any wonkiness going on.

As much as I enjoy it, I can’t eat tacos every time I get a hankering for Mexican Food. I mean I could, but I’d be afraid of gettting sick of them after about the 26th consecutive day eating them. I’ve made it very clear that I have a problem this Summer with the food from South of the Border, as in, I can’t get enough of it. Sometimes, though, you need something other than something wrapped up in a tortilla.

During our visit last week to Jose’s, we veered off the usual path of tacos, enchilads, and tamales, and we ordered the Veracruz style snapper. The flaky fish came to the table bathed in a a chunky sauce of tomato, white wine, olive oil, onions, peppers, oregano, green olives, lime, and cilantro that was pretty much the best thing I had eaten all week. I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to try to make it at home, and I waited a whole four days to give it a try.

In my version, I lightly pan-fried until just golden tilapia fillets that had been dredged in a coating of flour, salt, and pepper. This would give the dish a little added texture, rather than just having a plain piece of soft-fleshed white fish swimming in the stew. After removing them from the pan, I added a few thinly sliced onions, a couple cloves of sliced garlic, and a sliced jalapeno along with a healthy glug of olive oil. Once these have softened, about 8 minutes, I added a few large roughtly chopped tomatoes, about a cup of white wine, a sprinking of dried Mexican oregano, salt and pepper, and a handful of pitted green olives. After about 15 minutes, the tomatoes had broken down and formed a thick, chunky sauce. Unfortunately, the jalapeno had made it incredibly spicy. A tablespoon of honey and a few splashes of water helped tame the heat a bit, and after a few minutes more, I returned the fish to the pan, spooning the sauce over the fillets so that they would warm through and take on some of the flavor. After a few minutes more, I added the juice of a lime, a handful of chopped cilantro, and we’re good to go.

Now, you’re probably asking, “Um, aren’t those green beans in the photo?” Well, yes, those are green beans. We had picked up some fresh beans from the farm and we wanted to use them ASAP. We figured we’d do a simple beans sauteed with garlic and olive oil as a side, but after blanching them, decided to just chop them up and add them directly to the pan. It all ends up in the same place, right? It worked out nicely, giving a little crunch and color to the final dish. You could also serve it like they did at the restaurant, with some tasty Mexican rice and refried beans to soak up the juices and some tortillas to wrap it all up in. Hey, isn’t that just like a taco? Yes it is, my friend. Yes it is.

You may notice some changes going on around here. I’m playing with the design a bit, trying to pretty it up. I’m sure there will be some hiccups along the way, so let me know if you see anything funny looking or broken. Hold on tight!

Sometimes, you find the most amazing things hidden in your own backyard. A few weeks ago while driving through the neighborhood, the Lovely Suse, pointing past a line of trees along the road, asked “Are those cornfields?” I know we live in the burbs, but we’re we’re still just 10 minutes from downtown Boston. It’s hardly farm country. Low and behold, they were cornfields. Belmont’s last remaining working farm, Sergi Farm is this little rural oasis tucked away amidst a quiet suburban neighborhood.

Like a lot of small towns, the area was once dominated by farms. This particular plot of farm has been continuously owned by one family dating back to 1633 when the land was granted by King Charles I, and used to stretch all the way out to Charlestown and Boston Harbor. It’s slightly smaller now, with only nine acres left, but it’s now protected by a preservation trust to ensure that it remains a working farm.

As soon as you turn onto the bumpy dirt road leading to the barn and farm stand, you’re instantly transported to another place. Row upon row of corn, blooming flowers, vegetables, and herbs, a beat up pickup truck, vintage tractors and farm equipment. Angelo Sergi is hauling in bushels of just-picked corn from the fields while his brother, Dom, runs the farm stand. Prices are marked on a blackboard on a side wall, and displays of tomatoes, zucchini, summer squash, cucumbers, onions, lettuces, eggplant, fresh basil, mint, and parsley fill the little room. Those fields of flowers aren’t just for looking at. They invite you to grab a pair of shears and go pick your own. $3 a dozen, and if you’re the Lovely Suse there for your first time, you get the 50% pretty girl discount. Yes, $1.50 for a dozen of the most perfect and vibrant flowers you can imagine. A group of kids is running around the fields with their mother, helping her pick out a bunch. It’s just some too-good-to-be-true postcard perfect scene, and we’re completely smitten. Oh, and did I mention that everything is organic?

Angelo is sitting out in a chair next to his truck shucking some of the “seconds” of the corn he just picked (apparently not up to their high standards). I ask him how long he’s been doing this for and when his response starts with “Well, I was born in that barn in 1933…” I know he’s been at it for a while. He says that he needs some help in the fields, and you almost have to hold yourself back from putting on some boots and grabbing a shovel.

Now let’s talk about the corn for a second. We’re told that most corn grown around here is 60 day corn, meaning that the corn grows from seed to fully grown in two months. The stuff they sell at Sergi is 120 day corn, planted in April, and left on the stalks extra long until they’re unbelievably sweet. So sweet and tender that when we got home and shucked the first ear, we had to take a bite out of the end. It was unlike any corn we had ever tasted. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even want to cook it because it was so damn perfect and I didn’t think you could improve upon the flavor. The brief grilling and a slathering of homemade chive butter didn’t exactly hurt the taste, but I would have been perfectly happy standing out in the middle of the field pulling raw ears down from the stalks and eaten them just like that.

I have a soft spot in my heart for farms and seeing the connection between the food I eat, the land it comes from, and the people who grow it. You’re helping to support the hardworking farmers, cut down on fossil fuel consumption (what, do you think that your peaches grown in California walk here on their own), the food just plain tastes better, and you gain a true appreciation for every single morsel of food that you’re eating. For most people, a grocery store is as close as they come to the source of their dinner, and with the disappearance of local farming, that separation becomes greater and greater. Having a place like this in my backyard excites me to no end, and I’m thrilled to be able to support them. I get the feeling that we’re going to become frequent visitors of our neighborhood farm, even if I don’t always get the pretty girl discount.

• So we’ve obviously been on a Mexican food kick for a while, and we’ve been searching far and wide for good local restaurants. After driving by it for three years, we finally stopped at the place that’s closest to us, Jose’s. We went there on the recommendation of our friend Robert (who we trust not just because he happens to be Mexican and makes the best tamales around), and we were pleasantly surprised. Ok, we were sort of ecstatic. The first question as soon as we sat down was “hot, medium, or mild salsa?”, the place looked like you hope a neighborhood mexican restaurant would look like (a little dark, sombreros and other mexican artifacts on the walls, tiled tables, a bar packed with 30+ different tequilas and a dozen different mexican beers, aisles bustling with servers, a family atmosphere), and the amazingly friendly waitress helped us decide among the 4 dishes we were deciding between and we let her pick our sauces, type of beans, etc. She picked perfectly, and the food really impressed us. A verucruz style fish with wine, tomatoes, green olives, lime, and cilantro, and a pair of tamales each served with a different sauce (adobo for the pork and tomatillo for the chicken). Both came with rice and beans that actually had flavor (but to the Lovely Suse’s disappointment, had peas in it). We kept looking at each other, making sure that this was really this good. And it was. Of course, it’s one of the more expensive Mexican places around, but it’s not some dirty taco shack, and for the quality, it was well worth it. I think we’ll be making some return visits very soon.
• As if one local discovery wasn’t enough for one weekend, after driving by it the past couple of weeks, we finally stopped at Belmont’s only remaining working farm, Sergi Farm, and it took us all of about thirty seconds to fall in love with it. It’s about 2 minutes from our house, and miles away from anything we could have expected. I’ll write more about it later this week, but these photos will give you a little sneak preview. You can go into the fields to cut your own flowers (first time pretty girl discount: $1.50 for a dozen), they have a farmstand where the sell all of their vegetables, and their corn is unlike anything I’ve ever had. More to come…
• In the continuing story of Fishy McFish, our upstairs neighbors came back from vacation this weekend, so it was time to tell them the fate of their beloved pet. Rather than drag it out, it was one of those “let’s get this over with” situations. I rang their bell, said hello, and said, “There’s no easy was to say this, and we feel terrible, but…” before being cut off as our neighbor said “oh, no, the fish!”, while laughing. It turns out that the fish was really old and that it’s tank partner had just dies a few weeks ago. It was already in a vulnerable state, and the shock of being moved to a different environment was too much for it to handle. It was bound to happen, he appologized for it happening to us, and was secretly glad that the fish was gone. I gave him the empty bowl, food, a Petco gift card, and the fish itself, straight from our freezer, which he proceeded to rap against the stairs and laugh at the noise that it made. We couldn’t have asked for a better reaction to the whole situation, but the son still hasn’t found out the news yet. More updates to follow.
• George likes hot dogs. A lot. Even more than cheese, which is saying a lot. He’s also finally loving his crate and goes in there on his own, and he loves his little bed that we have for him to sit in when we’re in our bedroom. We’ve also discovered that he knows how to untie knots. Seriously, we put a tennis ball in an old sock for him to chew one and tied the end of the sock. And he untied it and pulled the ball out. Smart pooch. Tonight is his first day of puppy kindergarten, so let’s hope that he gets straight A’s (or at least doesn’t poop on the floor).
• We saw a preview copy of the pilot for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and it has some seriously potential to be a great show.The fact that we watched the whole thing even though it was well after our bedtime says a lot. Because we really like our sleep.
• Always looking for a good snack mix to get us through the workday, time and time again I’ve been disappointed with the expensive prepackaged stuff that I’d buy at Trader Joe’s. But we’ve found our answer. Big shocker, we make our own. Buy bags of peanuts, almonds, dried cranberries, raisins, sunflower seeds, and the all-important dark chocolate chips. For $10, we made about 10 pounds of the stuff, which should last us a couple months, hopefully. Nice.

If I had to pick one cuisine that I never tire of, could eat every day for both lunch and dinner, and would most like to be stuck on a deserted island with, it would probably be Vietnamese food. Full of fresh flavors, bright colors, interesting textures, and a variety of styles, you never run out of things to try, and it never gets boring. With its reliance on fresh herbs, citrus, and the much-scarier-sounding-than-it-tastes fish sauce for flavor rather than fat, Vietnamese cuisine is much lighter than many other Asian styles of cooking. After spending enough time visiting Vietnamese restaurants, it was only a matter of time before we attempted to make the dishes at home.

One of our favorite dishes to eat is Bun Tom (pronounced “boon”); char-grilled shrimp over cool cellophane noodles with mint, cilantro, pickled onions, finely julienned cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, ground peanuts, and nuoc nam (a dressing made from fresh lime juice, sugar, and fish sauce) . It has it all: the warmth of the shrimp, the crunch and saltiness of the peanuts, the sweet, sour, and salty of the fish sauce and onions, and a hit of freshness from the vegetables and herbs. A little extra heat from some chili sauce helps put any untouched tastebuds into gear. It makes for a great dinner party meal, allowing each guest to customize their own bowl with whatever strikes their fancy, or is an easy weekday dinner with the chopping, boiling, and grilling done in about half an hour. Ok, maybe not half an hour, but each step of the prep is easy, the actual cooking time is minimal, and a cheap japanese mandoline greatly speeds the chopping process.

Variations of the dish abound. The shrimp can be replaced by grilled or poached chicken, roasted pork, grilled squid, or stir-fried tofu. The chopped cabbage can be replaced by julienned green papaya or a green lettuce. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t love this dish, and we’ve tried it on plenty of dinner guests. It’s part of our core weekday dinner repertoire, and we’ve been making it probably every two or three weeks for three straight years. Seriously, we never tire of it, and the leftovers are one of our favorite lunches. Ok, who wants some bun?

Photo credits Pizzeria Bianco and John Hall Photography

Note: This was written shortly after my first visit to Pizzeria Bianco in January of 2005, and it still goes down as my most memorable and inspiring restaurant experience ever. I’ve since gone back, and it was every bit as good as the first time, maybe even better. The Lovely Suse will make a visit to the Pizzeria next month without me which is filling her with endless guilt and sadness. I trust that she’ll bring me home some leftovers, but we both know that it’s just not the same. Luckily, I know I’ll get back there for a visit soon, so I’ll survive. In the meantime, let’s remember that first experience. You always do remember your first time…

A year and a half. That’s a long time to wait for a pizza. But this wasn’t just any old, run-of-the-mill, home-delivery, order-a-large-and-get-a-medium-for-free-and- include-crazy-stix-or-buffalo-wings kind of pizza. This was the pinnacle of pizza perfection. The holy grail of crust and sauce and cheese. Well, this must be about a trip to Naples, the birthplace of modern pizza, right? A place where pizza is taken so seriously there are laws governing how it’s made. No? Then it must be about a visit to New York City, home of legendary coal-fired pizza supremacy, right? Nope.

Phoenix, Arizona.

That’s right, I said Phoenix. Pizzeria Bianco, an 11 year old pizzeria in downtown Phoenix is slowly being recognized by the nation’s food press as a culinary destination. Chef and co-owner Chris Bianco, a Bronx-born pizza maestro, obsesses over quality, freshness, and local ingredients, using sicilian flour, making his own mozzarella, even growing his own herbs and greens in the garden behind the restaurant.
He can be found manning his imported wood burning oven every night that the pizzeria is open, obsessing over every pie that he slides into the fire. He is the true driving force behind what has become a Phoenix institution, noted by the waits of up to two hours for a table. After waiting a year and a half, another couple of hours was a piece of cake.

After putting our name in for a table, we retreated to Bar Bianco, the building next door to the pizzeria that has been recently been renovated into a bar/waiting area, where Bianco offers a selection of beers, wines, and small plates to tide the throngs over. We settle into one of the handsomely decorated rooms with a glass of wine and an artisinal cheese platter featuring 3 types of local and imported cheeses, local fruits and nuts, and toasted slices of the house-made bread. We eventually get the call, pay our tab, and move into the Pizzeria. The focal point of the space is the chef himself, flinging dough, assembling pizzas, pulling pies out of the wood-burning oven, and directing his staff, many which have been with him since the beginning. The menus are presented, and we’re ready to get down to business. Bianco keeps the menu short, focusing on what’s fresh and seasonal. A few appetizers and salads, five or six pizzas, coffee, and
dessert.

We start with an antipasto of oven roasted vegetables, cheese, and salumi along with the market salad of shaved fennel, blood orange, and Italian parsley. The antipasto sings of simplicity, letting the flavors
of the vegetables, sweet peppers, baby turnips, local squash, and mushrooms, and the wood fire speak for themselves. Since there are four of us, we decide to maximize our tasting possibilities and order four
different pies. The Margherita, local tomatoes, house made mozzarella, and basil, is the standard that we will judge others by, and here is no exception. The Biancoverde, a combination of mozzarella, parmigiano-reggiano, and fresh ricotta with arugula strewn on top will be next. The Wiseguy, with wood-roasted onions, house-smoked mozzarella, and fennel sausage, a mainstay of the menu, will be our third. Finally, the Rosa, the pizza that Bianco himself has said represents him the most, will be our final pie. It holds the odd-sounding combination of red onions, parmigiano-reggiano, rosemary,
and arizona pistacchios. It’s one that I’ve been making at home ever since reading about it in Peter Reinhart’s American Pie, and I’m interesting in seeing how my interpretation stacks up against the real
deal.

With the oven blazing and pizzas flying, ours hit the table a short while after we order. The smell of charred crust, creamy oozing mozzarella, sweet onions, and smoky sausage envelops the table. The crust is what strikes us right away. Slightly charred, puffy around the edges, crispy, chewy, complex, flavorful. It’s everything that a crust should be. No matter how perfect the toppings are, they’re nothing without the base to support them. But those toppings, of course they are perfectly cooked, with each slice holding together without turning into a gloppy mess. The Margherita shines with the supple pools of cheese, a slightly sweet and tangy tomato sauce, and the spark of freshness from the basil. The Biancoverde’s blend of salty cheeses is tamed by the spicy arugula. The Wiseguy not only talks the talk but walks the walk; a sausage pie unlike any other. Finally, the Rosa. It’s intense, in your face, complex, textured, fresh, local, pungent with onions, rosemary, and parmegiano-reggiano. You either get it or you don’t. A representation of the man behind the pies. And everything we had hoped for and more. Our attempts at this pizza in our own kitchen pale in comparison to the real deal. There are extra levels of flavor, something just beyond our grasp that we try to figure out. It’s hopeless. Forget about analysis. Time is short. So we eat. We push the limits of our stomachs, trying to cram as much of the good stuff down
our gullets before we have to throw in the towel, all the while trying to savor every bite, knowing that it will be at least another year before we can taste these pizzas again. Maybe just another slice of Maragarita. Ok, just one more of the Rosa. Fullness slows us to a crawl before we finally give in.

Our meal comes to an end, a quick stop at the counter to express our gratitude to Chef Bianco, and out into the cool night air. Was it worth the year and a half and two hour wait? Absolutely. Was it the best pizza we’ve ever had? Unquestionably. Is it the best pizza in the country, if not the world? Perhaps, but we’ll let everyone else decide. I guess you’ll just have to make the pilgrimage to the desert to find
out for yourself.

I know that sometimes I get carried away with exotic foods, fancy preparations, or just plain weird sounding dishes, and sometimes, you just need something simple. Those times call for a big plate of messy, sticky, sweet and spicy barbequed chicken. Everyone knows how to make barbequed chicken right? You take pieces of chicken, dump a bottle of KC Masterpiece on top, throw it on a hot grill, completely burn the outside while leaving the inside nice and raw, right? Well, that’s how I used to do it. Not very tasty.

Let’s first talk about the word “barbeque”. What most people call barbeque is really just grilling. Take a burger, hot dog, steak, or piece of chicken, cook it quickly on a gas or charcoal grill, and there you have your “barbeque”. As far as I’m concerned, real barbeque involves cooking over slow, indirect heat using hard wood smoke. While I can mimic this technique in my gas grill using indirect heat and a foil pouch loaded with soaked wood chips, it’s not quite the same. Still, it tastes pretty damn good, and it’s the best that I can do right now until I buy my industrial sized pit for the backyard.

This chicken gets its flavor from three places. The first comes from a rub: a mixture of seasoning and spices rubbed onto the chicken before going on the grill. My standard rub comsists of chili powder, cayenne, paprika, cumin, oregano, coriander, brown sugar, salt and pepper. I may have left out one or two, but that’s just to protect my secret recipe. The next stage of flavor comes from the smoke. A handful of hickory, apple, mesquite, or cherry wood chips soaked in water for 30 minutes, drained, and then wrapped in a heavy foil pouch with holes punched in it will be your smoke source. This pouch will sit over the flames in the grill, heating up the chips until them begin to smolder and smoke. The rubbed chicken is placed on a spot on the grill where the flames are not. Huh? If you have two burners, one is on and one is off. If you have three, keep either one or two of them off. The chicken will sit on the side that you have turned off, basically cooking like it’s in an oven, only with smoke adding tons of flavor and aroma to it. Close the cover, and let the barbequeing begin.

If you have a thermometer built in to your grill, the temperature should be in the 225-250 range. The slower it cooks, the more time is spends inside your “smoker” the more tender the meat will become and the more smoke flavor it will pick up. Of course, there’s too much of a good thing, as you don’t want the smoke flavor to completely take over. After a good hour and a half to two hours, the chicken should be cooked through. Now it’s time for the third flavor component to make an appearance: the sauce. I’ll be honest with you: I’ve been known to use bottled sauces because, well, they taste damn good and they’re easy. My go-to sauce of choice has been Sweet Baby Ray’s, but of late, I’ve been taking the extra time to make a quick sauce of my own. Ok, not really my own, but it is homemade. This sauce is, at its core, gussied up ketchup, but the smokiness from the bacon (or I’ve used a chipotle chili for this task) really makes it special. It only takes half an hour from start to finish to make, and twenty minutes of that time is the sauce simmering. It’s definitely worth giving it a shot. The sauce only goes on during the last five minutes of cooking, giving your chicken that delicious, sticky, caramelized finish. There’s so much natural sugar in the sauce that if you put it on any sooner it will burn. Simply brush it on one side, let it cook for a few minutes, flip it, brush the other side, cook for a few more, take it off the fire, and then one last glaze of the sauce to finish.

We’ve been making this for a few years now, serving it with southern style green beans sauteed with onion, red wine vinegar and sugar, and some homemade quick pickles made with cider vinegar, sugar, salt, coriander, fennel seed, and crushed red pepper. So there’s a little bit of sugar in this meal to say the least. A real southerner would probably scoff at my attempts to make real barbeque, but for those few hours when the entire neighborhood is perfumed with the sweet smell of hickory smoke, I think I do ok.

• this weekend we taught George how to cook us Sunday Chicken and do our laundry. He’s one smart pooch. Well, maybe not that smart. He knows how to sit and not eat his own poop. Puppy class starts tonight, so hopefully, he’ll soon know his ABC’s and how to color within the lines.
• Michael Ruhlman’s The Reach of a Chef. His third book delving into the world of the professional chef, this time examining the changes that have happened with the rise of the celebrity chef, the food network, and the growing number of chef-driven brands and restaurant empires. I love his writing and his passion for the subject, and having spent some serious time in the kitchen, knows what he’s talking about. Definitely recommended.
• a visit from the Charbonneau’s, including a visit to the world famous Clam Box and Russell Orchards. We make a yearly visit to the Clam Box, and it’s worth the trip every year. No one in the world makes better fried clams, and their fries and onion rings aren’t too shabby either. Let’s just say they know how to use a fryer around there. Although slightly more expensive, the way to go is to get the large native clam box and a side of fries or rings rather than the clam platter. You get a whole bunch more clams, which is really why you’re there. Russell Orchard is another great spot, with pick your own fruit, a farm store, animals, picnic areas, etc. Despite the mosquitos and heat and tall grass, it’s definitely worth going out to the fields and picking your own. Really, what’s better than fruit picked right off the bush?
• workfriendly.net is a nice way to look at webpages without anyone at your office knowing what you’re doing by making a browser look like a Microsoft Word document. It debuted last week, and it’s been blocked by our corporate firewall already. damn.
• There’s something terrifyingly satisfying about pulling out crabgrass. Since our lawn is currently being overtaken by it, there’s a lot to pull out. Although research has told me that there’s not really anything we can do about it at this point.
• the empty fish bowl and can of fish food sitting on our back stairs depresses me every time i see it.
• getting up at 5am for 2 straight weeks (including weekends) finally started catching up with me this weekend. Luckily, we learned that we can put the pooch back in his crate for another couple of hours and go back to sleep.
• the latest addition to the tivo is The Dog Whisperer. I’ve seen the show before, but it takes on a whole new light after trying to train a puppy. Cesar Millan is some sort of freaky voodoo doctor with complete control over every dog, no matter how screwed up or obsessive or aggressive they are. Now, of course, we try to act like him when we’re dealing with George, which is probably a bad idea considering that we have no idea what we’re doing.

Today is a sad day. While on vacation, our upstairs neighbors entrusted us with the care and feeding of their 15 year old son’s goldfish. Like a bad sitcom premise, the fish died. I swear it wasn’t our fault, and more likely due to the shock of being removed from its tank and put in a bowl that quickly filled with algae. Still, we can’t help but feel terrible and a little guilty, even though we didn’t do anything wrong. If this was a sitcom, we would go out to the pet store and buy a replacement fishy and pretend that nothing happened. “Um, why is our fish a different color now?” So today is dedicated to Fishy McFish. He is currently residing in a plastic bag in our freezer, awaiting proper burial (or flushing). May he rest in peace.

Photo blatantly borrowed from the New York Times

I’ve got a serious taco jones going on. Actually, I’ve had one for about the last two months. I don’t know what it is about the Summer that brings it on, but my need for Mexican food seems to intensify as quickly as the mercury rises. Maybe it’s the bright, intense flavors, the relaxed mood of the food, or need to shed my gringo-ness, but this Summer has been especially severe. After the constant search for decent tamales, the exploration of obscure taquerias, and the ever present need for tortillas, limes, and avocados in our kitchen, you can just start calling me Pedro.

Apparently, I’m not the only one feeling it. In the past week, the New York Times has featured not one but two articles on tacos. Mark Bittman’s article on home cooked tacos pretty much sums up many of my ideas on the subject: corn tortillas, protein, crunch, creamy sauce, salsa. We’ll get to these in a minute. Cindy Price’s article on her search for the perfect taco on the California coast can’t help but leave you drooling and wishing that we were blessed with such taco treasures in the Northeast. Finally, in my search for a decent taco in my neck of the woods, I stumbled upon BurritoBlog. This guy takes it to a whole other level and has become an invaluable source for me and my taco quests, including menus and photos from many of my local joints.

Finding a great taco outside my home is a whole other story, so for now, we’ll focus on making a great taco at home. My memories of tacos growing up consisted of the yellow Ortega or Old El Paso box, with the rock hard taco shells, “taco seasoning”, and the squeeze packets of salsa. Along with the seasoned ground meat, our tacos were served with lettuce, shredded cheese, and for some unknown reason, shredded carrots. Maybe it was the only vegetable that we would eat and my mom was just looking for a way to get them into our diet. You’d load up the tacos, take a bite, and then watch the whole thing completely fall apart in your hands. Good times.

Nowadays, our tacos are a little more authentic. We use soft corn tortillas, warmed either in a pan or on the grill, and copying what we’ve seen at local taquerias, use two tortillas for each taco. This helps maintain the integrity of the taco after the first bite and keeps it from turning into a big sloppy mess. To help protect the tortillas, a thin base layer of guacamole helps them from getting too soggy. For the protein, depending on our mood, our tacos will feature char-grilled chicken, fish (tilapia, mahi mahi, or another firm fleshed fish), or shrimp. A quick marinade of lime, olive oil, chili powder, cayenne, Mexican oregano, cumin, salt and pepper boosts the flavor even more. A fresh crunch comes from finely diced white onion, although we’ve also been known to use red onions pickled in lime juice, salt, and sugar for about 30 minutes to perform this role (for those of you with issues eating raw onions, this works nicely to tame them). Some diced tomatoes add a little juiciness and freshness, a few sprigs of of cilantro, a little salsa, and a final squeeze of lime completes the masterpiece. It may sound like there’s a lot going on here, but it’s important to use some restraint with your fillings. Don’t overload it. Just a bit of each flavor and texture. Then eat.

Some people have strong reactions to the smell of baking chocolate chip cookies or apple pie, but for me, the smell of limes and tortillas on my hands is pretty much the best smell in the world. If you ever see me sitting there breathing deeply from my hands with my eyes rolled back into my head, don’t worry.There’s nothing wrong with me (although that’s debatable). I’m just trying to prolong the joy of my tacos.