Game Day Drumettes

photo(30)According to Claire Joyes, editor of Monet’s cooking journals, Monet had “perfected a ceremony” for his favorite fowl. He would remove the wings, sprinkle them with nutmeg, ground pepper and coarse salt, and hand them over to his cook to be flame-broiled. Since duck wings can be very tough, the James Beard Foundation blog has a recipe suggesting multi-step cooking. Here's a recipe that younger Super Bowl fans can help make. Not quite wings, but just as delicious.

Crazy-Leg Drumsticks (Drumettes) From Kids Cook 1-2-3 (Bloomsbury, 2006)

The nice herby taste comes from pesto—an uncooked Italian sauce made from fresh basil, garlic and pignoli nuts. You can find it in any supermarket. A dusting of Parmesan cheese turns into a crispy coating.

1/3 cup prepared pesto 4 chicken wings and 4 drumettes ½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

2. Spread pesto all over each chicken leg to cover. Sprinkle cheese all over leg (except the bottom where they will sit on the baking sheet—you don’t want the cheese to burn). Lightly press the cheese onto the chicken so it will stick. Add freshly ground black pepper.

3. Lightly spray a rimmed baking sheet with cooking spray. Place legs on baking sheet.

4. Bake 35 minutes until chicken is crispy and golden. Makes 4 servings.

Poisoned by a Pine Nut Tart

So there I was last week, developing Thanksgiving recipes for a major food magazine -- yes, they work that far ahead -- and nibbling on some pine nuts that I'd bought to make an open-face apple and pine nut crostata laced with Calvados. The first attempt wasn't exactly what I wanted but I kept nibbling at the tart until it was gone.

Two days later, after nailing the rest of the Thanksgiving meal -- a cider-glazed turkey, a puree of celery root, apples and carrots with sage buttered crumbs, and a stuffing made from rice, leeks, and herbs de Provence -- I'd had enough of my own cooking and took a friend to lunch to celebrate. The wine I drank tasted awfully bitter: Metallic and off-putting. Later that night I was invited to dinner at a friend's house in the neighborhood. It was hard to be polite about the meal because everything I ate tasted like I was sucking on cast iron.

I called my herbalist and my nutritionist, neither of whom had the faintest notion about what might be causing this odd eruption of bitterness in my mouth.

A frantic rummaging around the web unearthed a bewildering number of causes: from pregnancy, to mercury poisoning, to faulty fillings, but the one that began to make sense was pine nuts. Lots of people were blaming pine nuts they'd purchased from Costco and Trader Joe's but mine came from an upscale Park Slope gourmet food store. Fingers started pointing straight to China -- and why not? -- if they can poison our toothpaste, why not our pine nuts, too.

The condition is called "dysgeusia" or "metallogeusia" and not everyone is affected. The FDA says it is not an allergy but instead is an adverse reaction to something in the nuts. Its cause is still somewhat of a mystery. Lots of pine nuts have been shipped from China because they're plentiful and cheaper, but starting about ten years ago one particular variety of white pine nut grown there -- pinus armandii -- has been infiltrating packages of the good stuff. Pinus armandii is not classified as edible by the Food and Agriculture Organization, and is called "unfit for human consumption" by food safety experts at the European Commission. Strictly speaking, they're poisonous but don't cause permanent harm, which is why you still find them on food market shelves. These nuts, if you trouble to look, are much shorter than the more expensive ones from Italy that we once exclusively consumed; they should be avoided.

"Pine nut mouth" usually develops a day or two after eating the nuts and that's exactly what happened to me! Almost 48 hours after the last bite of my apple and pine nut tart came the ill-tasting wine and then several days of hideous heavy metal tastes in my mouth. Its cause is still the subject of some controversy, but toxicologists are pretty sure about the source. Its effects can linger from a couple of days to a couple of weeks and it is sure to put you off your feed. You can't "cure" it because it isn't a disease. Various bloggers report that taking activated charcoal tablets, which cost like the dickens at my health food store, lessens the symptoms (maybe), as does drinking aloe vera juice (perhaps not). I've heard that Pepcid works for some people as does sucking on those sour kids candies that I was tempted to buy.

I started to feel like Dr. Jekyll, experimenting with all sorts of foods. Lemon juice lit up the inside of my mouth, roast turkey tasted like fuel oil, and a button mushroom almost sent me to the hospital. I took a Benadryl instead. Strangely, the things I could almost tolerate were triple-strength black coffee (Bustelo) and ice cold tap water which tasted surprisingly good.

One blogging scientist explained that you can't alter the bitterness in your mouth because the actual reaction is registered in your brain.

I suspect that storing pine nuts too long in my freezer exacerbated this miserable experience. But about a decade ago when the price of pine nuts began to soar, so did the number of complaints about this poisoning. The Sherlock Holmes moment comes when you discover that the offensive Pinus armandii happen to grow only in China. Great pine nuts are harvested in the United States, Europe and Turkey, so if you find a jar in your food market with no country of origin on the label, or if the nuts come from more than one country, you might want to put them back on the shelf.

Four days have passed and I'm almost back to normal. Gratitude never tasted so good.

A New Look at Basil

In the late 1970's, when curly parsley was not only the essential herb but the ubiquitous garnish, I remember my joy in the herbaceous perfume of fresh basil wafting through my cooking class in Florence, Italy. No one knew much about it then. Pesto had barely hit our shores and it was almost impossible to find in even the best supermarkets. Clearly things have changed and so it was exciting to be invited to be a guest on Martha Stewart's radio show "Everyday Food" the other day, to talk about basil and new things to do with it. Once upon a time, there was a serious issue of how to store it during the winter -- between layers of coarse salt, or suspended in olive oil and frozen, or whirled into pesto to use during the cold winter -- but thankfully, basil is now an essential herb, and ubiquitous garnish, and is available fresh all year long. During the course of the half-hour show, we talked about myriad new ways to use it, grow it, and discussed the different varieties available, from Thai basil, to holy basil, to chocolate, peppermint and pineapple basil. Sandy and I both agreed that it is the more generic "sweet basil" that has captured our hearts. The host of the show, Sandy Gluck, shared an idea for pureeing fresh basil into ricotta and using it as a base for bruschetta. My cheese-making buddy, Laurie Sandow, told me about a wonderful soda she read about using fresh basil, strawberries, balsamic vinegar and agave syrup. And in Radically Simple, there are a dozen hip recipes showing contemporary new ways to use it. And here is sampling of delicious ideas to get you started.

Wrap large shrimp in large basil leaves. Wrap tightly with  small strips of prosciutto. Saute in garlic olive oil.

Make fragrant basil butter: Process 1 stick sweet butter with ½ cup fresh basil leaves and a pinch of curry.

Swirl freshly prepared pesto into thick yogurt. Spread on warm grilled bread.

Grate yellow squash and zucchini on large holes of box grater. Saute in butter with lots of freshly chopped basil.

Cut a ½-inch-x-4 inch channel in thick swordfish steaks. Stuff with a stack of tightly-rolled basil leaves. Poach in olive oil.

Try basil mayonnaise: Process 1 cup homemade or store-bought mayonnaise with 1 cup basil, a clove of garlic and a few, optional, anchovy fillets.

Steep basil leaves in lemon vodka. Freeze.

Gently warm orange blossom honey. Add whole basil leaves. Stir and pour into mason jars.

Basil toasts: Bake ½-inch thick slices of baguette until crisp. Rub with a split garlic clove and fresh basil leaves until fragrant and “green”.

Morning snack: Spread lightly buttered toast with bitter orange marmalade. Sprinkle with a chiffonade of fresh basil.

Cut ripe peaches into thin wedges. Place in wine goblets. Splash with peach schnapps and julienned basil.

Strawberry-basil tea: Puree 1-pint strawberries with 8 basil leaves and sugar. Cover amply with boiling water. Steep 15 minutes. Strain into teacups.

Look for my basil-scrubbed toast, "green" corn, and many other basil recipes in the days to follow. Buy lots at your farmer's market this weekend and breathe deeply.

10-Minute Summer Pastas

There is no better time of the year to take full advantage of nature's bounty and...good fresh pasta. There are several available on the market today.  However, I do long for Henry Lambert's ground-breaking concept -- launched in New York decades ago -- called "Pasta & Cheese." It was sensational to be able to go to a store featuring taleggio and gorgonzola (both rarities then) and revolutionary to encounter sheets of freshly made pasta that would be cut in front of you to your desired specs -- fettuccine, pappardelle, etc. I believe the first store was on the upper east side and opened right after I learned to make my own pasta in Italy -- the summer of 1978 -- when I began drying my own freshly-made pasta on broomstick handles perched atop two chairs in the kitchen of Gracie Mansion! Life was nothing short of discovery back then. It was a time of innocence, gleaming new pasta machines in home kitchens, and pesto madness. It was the delicious homemade Sicilian pesto that I had the other day at Arthur Schwartz's home, that made me remember my own version of  "pesto rosso" from Radically Simple: Brilliant Flavors with Breathtaking Ease. This pesto is unusual in that it is made with almonds and has fresh tomato in it. It hails from Trapani in Sicily and is known as pesto Trapanese. I hadn't made it in awhile and ran home to do so!  The secret, according to Arthur, was to use really good garlic. And I agree that it made all the difference in the world. He buys his at the Grand Army Plaza farmer's market on Saturday mornings. The Linguine with Pesto Rosso, below, is my take on this famous dish, here made with ingredients gathered from the four corners of my refrigerator. It would be lovely to serve with my salad of Shaved Fennel with Parmigiano & Hot Pepper -- to which I sometimes add tiny segments of fresh oranges.  It will put some sunshine into this gray summer day.

This week I will be offering more 10-ten pasta dishes, perfect for summer entertaining so, stay tuned.

Linguine with Pesto Rosso

1 cup loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley 1 cup loosely packed fresh basil leaves 1/2 pint ripe grape tomatoes 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1/4 cup whole almonds (with skins) 1 medium garlic clove 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano 2/3 cup freshly grated Pecorino Romano 12 ounces fresh linguine

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Combine the parsley, basil, tomatoes, oil, almonds, garlic and Parmesan in a food processor.  Add 1/3 cup of the pecorino and process until very smooth.  Add salt and pepper.  Transfer to a large bowl.  Cook the pasta in the boiling water for 3 minutes, or until tender.  Drain well and shake dry. Add the pasta to the pesto and toss thoroughly.  Sprinkle with the remaining pecorino.  Serves 4

Shaved Fennel with Parmigiano & Hot Pepper This is an unusual starter to a hefty meal or a nice side salad for a summer pasta dinner.  The little nubbins of cheese are unexpected.  Add fresh orange segments if you wish.

1 large fennel bulb, about 1-1/2 pounds 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 tablespoon white balsamic vinegar large pinch red pepper flakes 4-ounce piece Parmigiano-Reggiano 2 big handfuls baby arugula

Trim the feathery fronds from the fennel bulb; chop to get 1/4 cup and set aside.  Cut the fennel in half lengthwise and cut crosswise as thinly as possible.  Place in a bowl.  Add the oil, vinegar, pepper flakes, and salt.  Break the cheese into very small pieces; add to the salad and toss.  Stir in the arugula.  Scatter chopped fronds on top.  Serves 4

Remembering Pesto

The first time I had pesto was in 1978 in Florence, Italy.  I was studying with cooking teacher Giuliano Bugialli, whose book "The Fine Art of Italian Cooking" (1977), informed my personal cooking style forever. My outlook on seasonality and simplicity was born that summer -- the summer of '78 as I remember it -- when I was chef to New York Mayor Ed Koch and lived at Gracie Mansion with Hizzoner.  It was the soft breeze that came through the windowed kitchen door on Guiliano's terrace that transfixed me silently and totally.  Overlooking an elegant side street in Florence, the perfume of basil wafted into the part of my brain that would, from then on, trigger memories of my collective trips to that town -- a "living museum" as I called it then. I was 24 and although I had traveled to Italy, France, Norway and other ports of call, it was the collision of food and culture, art and history made edible, that enamored me. I remember loving the protocol of an Italian meal, how boiled things were served with boiled things, and fried foods with other fried foods.  That you never changed the order of a meal, and that sitting down to eat was a cultural institution as important as almost any other.  I was struck with the orderliness and logic of pairing certain pasta shapes with particular sauces, and how differently fresh pasta was treated from dried pasta.  I loved learning that good canned tomatoes were the sine qua non of the Italian pantry and that one opted for lusty dried oregano instead of fresh.

But this morning I'm remembering pesto -- because the smell of fresh basil is wafting through my kitchen window as a morning offering from my window box.  I also look forward to walking the Union Square market this morning (after all, it's Wednesday) and thinking of that special time in my culinary journey.  I will remember drying freshly-made pasta over a broom handle that teetered upon two facing chairs, I will remember the slices of simply-fried eggplant splashed with vinegar and dotted with chopped garlic and that dreamy basil, I will remember the roast duck stuffed with pancetta, sage and juniper -- that is equally nice, I might add, made with basil.  And of course, there was pasta al pesto whenever you chose.  Moving into my own world of radical simplicity, this week I will slice fresh peaches, splash them with peach schnapps and stir in a bit of julienned basil; I will make scrubbed toast -- and grill thick slices of peasant bread, rub them with a cut clove of garlic, and a fistful of basil leaves that I will scrape along the nubby texture.  A drizzle of olive oil, coarse salt, and presto! -- the herbal equivalent of the tomato-scrubbed bread one would find in Barcelona. And I will do the same with ears of simply boiled corn, rub it with basil until perfumed and slightly green.  A little melted butter and...

The first restaurant that made pesto famous was a chic spot in Greenwich village owned and run by the wonderful Alfredo Viazzi.  Some of you may remember.

Buy some basil.  Create some memories of your own.

The Window Box

One of the most special presents I ever received was an enormous window box made for me by my husband. It hangs outside the window of my brownstone kitchen where it soaks up the sun and, sometimes, too much rain.  Once the entire bottom of the box fell out and lots of dirt (and precious herbs!) landed in our backyard garden.  But my beloved husband simply made me another which has lasted for years and whose contents are thriving. I'm not much of a gardener but overlooking my neighbor's trees, flowers and well-manicured gardens, I am the master of my herbs.  What a pleasure to pick off tiny leaves of fresh thyme, to add sprigs of fresh mint to any dessert in a moment's notice, or muddle a few for a warm peppermint tea. More pleasure still from crumbling fragrant rosemary into a soup or stew, or to mix sweet-smelling lavender with goat cheese and spinach and stuff it under the skin of a chicken.

One of my most requested recipes was a result, however, of the abundance of basil in that window box years ago.  Salmon with pesto and pistachios has been copied by chefs and made by home cooks alike since 1996 -- when I first introduced the dish.  I simply slather a thick tranche of fatty salmon or voluptuous Chilean sea bass with homemade pesto and thickly blanket the top with freshly-ground pistachios.   It is virtually fool-proof and can even be made with a good-quality prepared pesto if you have no time to make your own.

I like to serve the fish with lemony mashed potatoes (you can use your own favorite recipe and add lots of freshly grated zest and a bit of lemon juice)  and a pile of something  I call green bean "fries."  Sometimes I serve a platter of "melted tomatoes" (from Recipes 1-2-3) alongside. Open a bottle of sauvignon blanc -- one of those crisp, delicious ones from New Zealand or South Africa.

Chilean Sea Bass with Pistachio-Pesto Crust & Green Bean "Fries" This is also great made with fresh salmon.   Make your own pesto (see below) or use the best-quality store-bought -- fresh, bright green and herbaceous.

4 thick Chilean sea bass, or salmon, fillets (about 7 ounces each) 2/3 cup pesto (made from fresh basil) 1/2 cup finely ground pistachios 12 ounces green beans, trimmed 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 lemon

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.  Season the fish with salt and pepper and arrange on a rimmed baking sheet.  Spread fillet with pesto, about 2-1/2 tablespoons, to cover completely.  Pat the pistachios heavily on the pesto to form a crust.  Drizzle the green beans with the oil and sprinkle with salt.  Place around the fish.  Roast for 16 minutes, until the fish is just firm.  Grate lemon zest on top.  Cut the lemon into wedges and serve with the fish and beans.  Serves 4

Pesto Presto 2 cups packed fresh basil leaves, washed and dried well 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano 6 tablespoons olive oil 2 tablespoons pine nuts 1 large clove garlic

Put the basil in a food processor with the cheese, oil, pine nuts, and garlic.  Process until smooth.  Add salt and pepper to taste.