Central Bottle brings a new wine-buying experience to Central Square

From a distance, the new Central Bottle on Mass Ave near MIT might look a little too cool and architectural. But get up close, and you’ll notice whimsical touches like light fixtures made of tiny Campari bottles—not to mention the blue-eyed baby toddling around, forcing his parents (busy part-owners Nick Zappia & Liz Vilardi) to keep everything breakable out of his reach.




A visit last night to this week-old spot revealed a lot of warmth behind the glass façade—and a lot of innovation too, including a flat screen TV against one wall for connecting by Skype with winemakers and vineyard managers on other continents during wine tastings at the store (videos of these will be archived at centralbottle.com).

Nick, who also runs The Blue Room in Kendall Square, told me they have a couple bottles open for tasting every night. And on Thursdays the place transforms into a wine bar, with wine for sale by the glass along with bruschetta-like snacks called cichetti.


I’m told they also carry box wines from I Clivi (one white, a Tocai Friulano; one red, a Merlot) that are fantastic. Yes, box wines. Fantastic. If you don’t believe me, consult The Passionate Foodie. In addition to wine, you’ll find a wall hung with salumi, a decent selection of fresh cheeses, enticing jarred preserves like cranberry mostarda and sugar pumpkin & fig chutney, olive oils, Iggy’s bread, and more.


But perhaps one of the most charming things about Central Bottle is the story behind its conception—in which four partners (including David and Maureen Rubino, along with the aforementioned Nick and Liz) rented an apartment in Venice for a week “so they could cook, yell out the window in Italian and make dramatic hand gestures, spy on the neighbors, get lost in the winding streets, go to the opera, celebrate a birthday, meet the Rialto’s fisherman, and most importantly become intimate with the elusive enoteca…so they could come home and share what they love so much about Venice—intimate places to gather, eat cichetti, drink and buy wine.”


I haven’t been there on a Thursday yet, but it seems to me that the folks behind Central Bottle are on the right track to create just such an atmosphere.

An Iron Chef competition among friends in Porter Square

A few years back, a couple of Porter Square dwellers decided to host an Iron Chef-style competition between friends from all walks of life who share one thing in common: their love of good food. It's since become a popular tradition. Hosts Peter and Viva select the main ingredient (this time it was hearty leafy greens), and a rotating cast of home chefs spend weeks testing recipes to hone a single dish to present to the judges, who wear funny hats (just because), award points, and provide feedback on the final products. The other guests/audience members--me included, at the most recent Iron Chef in early November--get to lap up the tasty leftovers.

Any good Iron Chef competition must include a little fire. Here, a former chef who gave up the demands of a professional kitchen (but still likes to dabble in the culinary arts) prepared mushrooms with Calvados brandy to serve with his dish.

The first course served to the judges was a cold green soup made from kale, chard, beet greens, smoked ham, onions, carrots, shallots and heavy cream.

Next came hostess Viva's quiche, prepared with chard, shallots, goat cheese, homemade bacon cured with roasted garlic, and a little puff pastry on top for good measure. I snapped this photo before she had a chance to add the arugula side salad.

One of my favorite dishes was this beef Wellington served with an intensely flavorful veal reduction, the aforementioned mushrooms, and a beet salad made with Greek yogurt. But it lost points with the judges for failing to highlight a leafy green.

The winning dish was a sweet, vibrantly green spinach bread (a riff on zucchini bread) that was topped with a sauce made from purple kale, star anise, lemongrass and amaretto, and drizzled with a raspberry coulis. It earned points for creativity and presentation.

But the dish I'd be most likely to make at home (and the 2nd place winner) was my friend Cynthia's mildly sweet European dessert tourte made with Swiss chard, Grand Marnier-soaked raisins, and orange zest in an almond meal crust. The brilliance of this tart is that it takes a traditionally savory green loaded with nutrients and transforms it into a light, citrus-flavored dessert that does not taste overly leafy. It is the opposite of spinach in Fillo, for instance, which packs a punch of spinach-y flavor. Though I'd never tasted one before, this type of sweet tourte is evidently quite popular in France. Cynthia's recipe (below) is slightly modified from Daniel Boulud's Cafe Boulud Cookbook.

Sweet Swiss Chard Tourte

Crust:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/4 cups powdered sugar

1/2 cup finely ground almonds

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup cold butter

1 egg lightly beaten

Mix together the flour, sugar, almonds, and salt. Using a pastry cutter, large-tined fork, or food processor on pulse setting, cut the chilled butter into the flour until it resembles coarse sand with a few pea-sized pieces of butter still visible. Stir the egg into the mixture and toss gently a few times, just until it forms a ball that holds together.

Separate the dough into two balls, flatten slightly into thick disk shapes, wrap in plastic wrap, and chill for several hours before working with it.

For fast prep: put the dough in the freezer for 40-50 minutes before working with it.

Tourte:

1/2 cup golden raisins

3 TBSP warm Grand Marnier

1 1/2 pounds Swiss Chard, stems and tough center veins removed and washed

1 TBSP honey

1/2 cup pine nuts

2 large eggs, plus 1 egg, lightly beaten for egg wash

1 TBSP sugar

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 TBSP whole milk

1 tsp finely grated orange zest

1. Warm the Grand Marnier and then pour over raisins and let soak for 30 minutes. Drain before using.

2. Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to the boil. Plunge the swiss chard in the water and blanch for 5 minutes, or until the leaves are tender but still very green. Drain the chard in a colander and run it under very cold water.

When the leaves are cold enough to handle, drain them well, then squeeze them between your hands to remove excess moisture. Roughly chop the swiss chard and set it aside for the moment.

3. Melt the honey in a small pan over medium heat and toss in pine nuts. Cook, stirring until the pine nuts turn golden brown. Pull the pan from heat and cool to room temperature, then break the nuts apart if the honey has caused them to form clumps.

4. Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

5. Roll out dough and place one in tart pan on a cookie sheet and one on flat cookie sheet. Place in the refrigerator until ready for use.

6. In a medium bowl, whisk together the 2 eggs, the sugar, cream, milk, and orange zest. Stir in the cooked pine nuts, the swiss chard, and raisins. Spoon the filling into the tart shell and brush the rim of the tart with a little egg wash--this will be the glue for the top crust. Lift the circle of dough onto the tart and pinch the top and bottom crusts together. Trim off any excess dough and brush the top of the tart with an even coating of egg wash.

7. Slide the baking sheet into the oven and bake the tart for about 50 minutes or until the top is beautifully golden. Transfer the tart to a rack and cool.

To serve: The tart should be served a room temperature. Cut into 6 wedges and, if you would like, serve each wedge with a dollop of lightly whipped cream flavored with some vanilla and flower water.

To drink: Pair with a very late harvest wine from the Loire; an excellent one is Quarts de Chaume.

Raising chickens in the city with Novella Carpenter and my neighbor Holly

novella
Originally uploaded by Farm City

Novella Carpenter, an urban "squat" farmer in Oakland, CA, began her talk on urban agriculture last night at the Fort Point Arts Center by telling us she'd had a pretty weird trip to the East Coast so far. The editor of Vogue had invited Novella to her house--something this down-to-earth, dumpster-diving city farmer hadn't exactly been expecting. But since her memoir, Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer, was published, lots of esteemed publications, including the New York Times and The New Yorker, have taken notice of Novella and her lifestyle and philosophy of food.

Novella got her start growing vegetables in raised beds on an abandoned lot next to her house. Then came a box of live chicks that arrived in the mail. Now she calls chickens the "gateway urban farm animal" that led her to rabbits, pigs, and eventually goats. Because feeding these critters (especially the pigs) was expensive, Novella and her boyfriend took to scavenging for feed after dark in the dumpsters of Oakland's Chinatown. She described the Chinese donuts and wontons they scored, along with buckets of gross but protein-rich fish guts. As she found herself wading through garbage wearing a head lamp in the middle of the night, Novella reflected that she and her boyfriend were now "these pigs' bitches." So much for feeling like the powerful humans at the top of the food chain.

But as a result of one such dumpster-diving "date" behind Eccolo Restaurant in Berkeley (known amongst dumpster divers for whole roast chickens and other treasures), she met Chef Chris Lee. He would eventually help her make prosciutto and salami from the slaughtered pigs.

As for coming to terms with killing the animals she'd raised, she said that from the start the intent was always clear: she would give these animals a great life, and then they would provide her with meat. But still, she said, "I hate slaughter day."

These days, she has turned her attention to Nigerian dwarf dairy goats, which measure only about 20 inches in length and produce a lot of milk, some of which she uses for making cheese. Novella's gardens produce enough fruits and vegetables for neighbors to wander in and harvest them, which makes her feel as though she is "feeding the community," a source of pride for any farmer. But it's not a profitable endeavor--she breaks even, she says. Most urban farms are nonprofit, but she'd like to see a program that would teach people how to make money from growing and producing food in the city.

In Boston, more city-dwellers are farming than you might expect. A woman named Holly spoke next about raising chickens locally in Cambridge, where the law allows "chickens kept as pets." Some of her neighbors know about the four hens that live in a coop she built out back, she said; some do not. But so far her urban experiment--spurred on by a class she took with Joan Teabagy at Codman Farms in Lincoln, MA--has been very successful. And her hens produce enough eggs to keep Holly and her partner in plenty of fresh pasta.

Some advice from Holly on raising your own chickens in the city:

• Check the local laws: though Cambridge is relatively tolerant (there are lots of chickens in Cambridgeport especially, she says), Somerville does not allow chickens.

• Plans for building a hen house can be found online (Holly's is 5 square feet, with an additional 60 square feet for a run, which is enclosed with a plexiglass roof so that hawks can't get to the chickens).

• Shredded junk mail makes great chicken litter.

• Chickens need space to peck in the dirt (once everything dies in her garden, she'll let them run there, Holly says).

• As long as you keep their house clean, chickens don't smell (Holly adds fresh litter regularly and clean out the coop every couple of months).

• Skunks, possums, raccoons, cats and dogs are all threats to city chickens; keep them safe with chicken wire that is dug into the ground.

• Roosters can't be kept in the city, but this is not a problem unless you want to breed chicks.

• Using a bulb to light the hen house will keep hens laying eggs even during daylight savings time, when they normally wouldn't have enough daylight hours to lay. (Hens lay about one egg every day.)

• Fresh eggs will last up to a month in the refrigerator as long as you don't wash them.

• You can rent a mobile poultry processing unit for small slaughters (however, there is only 1 of these in Massachusetts at the moment, so demand for it is high).

Slow Food Boston, host of this event, is a great resource for more information on producing your own sustainable, local food.

Learning to make tandoor oven-baked naan bread at Mantra

Though it’s become an integral part of Indian cuisine, the tandoor oven actually originated in Turkey. Today it is found throughout the Middle East, along with the Balkans, Central Asia, Armenia, Georgia, and elsewhere. It is traditionally a deep, cylindrically-shaped clay oven, heated at the bottom with a charcoal or wood fire to temperatures of about 400 degrees for meat, and 450 degrees for bread.



Needless to say, most of us don't have one of these at home. But it's still fun to learn about cooking in the tandoor tradition during a weekly Tuesday night class at the Naan Bar at Mantra in Downtown Crossing.
 
Ranveer Brar, corporate chef at the One World Cuisine restaurant group (which owns Bukhara, Diva and many other Indian restaurants around the city), began by showing us how to prepare dough for naan bread. He mixed 2 pounds of flour seasoned with a pinch of salt and a pinch of sugar, 1 egg, and “thirty percent milk,” using the kneading attachment on a Kitchen Aid mixer to work the dough. It’s preferable to do so by hand, adding a teaspoon of oil toward the end, and being careful not to over-knead. He advised resting the dough in the refrigerator for two hours, and if you don’t happen to have a tandoor oven, using an unglazed porcelain or terra cotta baking slab (or a pizza stone, says my internet research). Roll the dough into a small flat round about the size of a plate. According to Ranveer, slapping it loudly as you shape it is essential. In a tandoor oven, the bread is pressed to the sides of the oven and sticks there. With a regular oven, you’ll need to watch for the dough to puff up, and then turn it over to cook the other side.



Some people flavor the dough with mint or toasted caraway seeds, and some stuff it with (or pile on top) delicious combinations of sweet or savory ingredients like coconut or garlic. At the Naan Bar at Mantra, you can try 3 varieties of naan--ranging from ginger & honey to sundried tomato & rosemary, along with even more inventive combinations like chocolate & marshmallow or PB&J--with 3 kinds of chutney, for twelve dollars.
 
But bread is not the only item you can cook in a tandoori, and Ranveer continued our lesson with meat kebabs. He encouraged us to marinate chicken, beef, or lamb in yogurt to make it tender, and to flavor it with 10% seasoning--which might include red chili, celery seed, cilantro, coriander seeds, fenugreek, cumin, fried red onions, and garam masala (prepared with a base of cardamom, coriander and rose petals, along with a balance of hot and cool spices).


 
And speaking of spices, Ranveer leads monthly spice tours (the first Saturday of every month) at Shalimar Indian Foods & Spices in Central Square, with a meal afterward at The Dosa Factory, a casual new lunch counter at the back of the shop, for twenty dollars. And even without a tandoor oven, knowing more about the amazing array of Indian spices (and their ayurvedic properties) would surely be a useful tool for any cook interested in expanding her repertoire to South Asia.  

To register for a class, call 617-542-8111 and ask for Laura.

Lidia Bastianich & Judith Jones discuss their relationship in food

Two doyennes of the food world came together last night at the Brattle Theatre to discuss the release of their new cookbooks as well as the history of their long relationship (the venerable Ms. Jones, once Julia Child's editor and mentor at Alfred A. Knopf, is now Lidia's).

Lidia began by remembering her initial discomfort with writing: "I could communicate with food," she said. "But I was insecure with words; I was editing myself before I even sat down to write."

It was touching to watch her turn to Judith Jones, now in her eighties, and say, "The most precious gift you gave me was liberty--the feeling that I can express myself in words."

In her newest book, Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy, she explores ten lesser known regions of Italy--by literally going into people's kitchens and talking and cooking with them. Many of her own photographs of the regions she visited appear in the book.

But as the two women tested recipes together, Lidia explained, it was clear that Judith had her own agenda--she wanted to know how to prepare each dish for one.

Now a widow, Judith lives alone, and she said that cooking for herself is a way of "treating yourself well." Describing her own rituals, she mentioned preparing simple meals that fill the house with good smells, and lighting candles. "It brings a lot of joy, and it makes you feel less alone." Thus, her new book: The Pleasures of Cooking for One. With more single households in America now than ever before (Judith cited the statistic that 51% of New Yorkers live alone), her message is timely.

As the evening concluded, an audience member asked where they'd be eating in Boston. Lidia mentioned Jody Adams and Lydia Shire as two of her favorite local chefs, and then revealed that she and Judith would be dining at Michael Schlow's Alta Strada in Wellesley tonight.

As for her favorite meal, Lidia said, "I love a perfect fig. Perfectly ripe, slightly cracked, with a drop of nectar on it. That is perfection for me."

Enchantment in the countryside at Gilson's Herb Lyceum

We'd read on the Herb Lyceum's website to expect a magical night. And as four of us arrived on a chilly Saturday evening to a restored barn from the early 1900s, decorated with antiques, and three long tables set with candles, we could tell this promise would be fulfilled. There were dried herbs hanging on the walls, along with old farm tools. Vases of dried flowers stood alongside black-and-white photographs and gourds of various shapes and colors. A kind woman named Cathy (Chef Will Gilson's stepmom, it turned out) gave us a warm welcome and told us about the history of the property--including its long tradition as a Gilson family homestead (though others have lived there), and the work it took to renovate the barn and restore it using antique fixtures and recovered wood.


There were four of us who'd come together, but she encouraged us to mingle amongst the mostly older crowd as though it were a dinner party. Cathy told us that many of the diners who come to the Herb Lyceum subsequently try Will's restaurant, Garden at the Cellar, in the city--but every now and then she gets people who go to Garden first and then make their way to the Lyceum, as we had done.

We were amongst the only city dwellers dining that night--and it was fascinating to hear the new resident chef, Paul Callahan, talk about his experience of moving to a nearby farm in Groton as a result of his job at the Lyceum. Instead of seeking out ingredients as most chefs do, he told us, the local purveyors call him--offering grass-fed beef, or heirloom cabbage, or whatever is fresh and abundant. Chef Callahan's past experience includes such Boston institutions as L'Espalier and The Butcher Shop, and it's not hard to tell that working as the first full-time chef at the Herb Lyceum is a far different atmosphere.

"The difference is the people," he said. "I get to come out of the kitchen and interact with people--nobody is just a number here or a table that needs to be flipped--and I get to know the local purveyors." For a chef who loves to experiment with local ingredients and wants to have a dialogue with diners about the choices he's made in creating the six courses served at Friday and Saturday-night herb dinners, it's a pretty ideal fit.


All of the herbs used in preparing these dinners come from the gardens and greenhouses on the property. In the future, more of the produce will be grown on the grounds at the Lyceum too, and plans are in the works to start a CSA and expand the buildings to include space for bigger events (the current barn holds 32 people, maximum).

The menu at the Lyceum changes monthly, and diners bring along their own wine or beer. Highlights of our November meal included a sweet kraut made with apples and heirloom arrowhead cabbage from nearby Springdale Farms, and a day boat scallop that had been skillet-roasted with sage and brown sugar for a tasty sweet-savory crust. Cathy had told us that "clean platers get dessert," and it wasn't hard to fulfill her mandate as we spooned into a creamy roasted chestnut bisque, made with parsnip puree and dried cranberries.


Our main course was a rich, herbs-de-provence-braised short rib wrapped with spinach and foie gras inside homemade puff pastry, Wellington-style. A delicious smoked potato fondue (accomplished, the chef admitted, with an improvised smoker on the stove-top) and a variety of local squash in hearty, brown Perigueux sauce came alongside. By then we were totally sated, but the cheese plate proved irresistible: a wedge of creamy French cheese alongside Port wine-soaked bing cherries and honeyed pine nuts with lemon verbena. We finished with an upside-down quince cake drizzled with bourbon-spiked caramel and vanilla chantilly cream (made with vanilla bean, not extract, Chef Callahan was careful to emphasize) studded with thyme.



My only regrets were that we didn't get to stroll the grounds in daylight, and that two of our table companions were loud, overbearing, and increasingly drunk regulars who detracted from our focus on the delicious food and lovely atmosphere (if you go, steer clear of Grace & Tim). The other folks we sat with were quite friendly, and meeting new people at the table is a fun idea. But our experience ensured that when I return, it will be with enough friends to occupy one of the smaller tables.

Otherwise, though--thanks to Cathy and Dave Gilson and the fantastic Chef Callahan, along with good friends and outstanding food--the night was a magical one, indeed.

A Night in France, with Cheese & Wine & Ratatouille (but not the film version)

My friend Alli's recent trip to Paris (where she did not take a single picture, it must be noted) prompted her to cook an enormous pot of ratatouille and share with us the cheese and chocolates she brought back.

As we spooned up portions of the fragrant stew, a few of the guests admitted to being familiar with ratatouille only because of the popular animated movie of the same name. At this, Alli and I were both a bit aghast.

But our conversation made me curious about the origins of the dish, and with a little digging, I found this explanation from La Tartine Gourmande, a well known French food blogger in Boston:

What is Ratatouille?

In the 18th and 19th centuries, the name was used to refer to a coarse stew. It derived from tatouiller and ratouiller, both expressive forms of the French verb touiller which means to stir up. This dish originated in Nice and is known all around Provence and France now, with a lot of different variations. The base however stays the same: zucchinis,eggplants, tomatoes, peppers, garlic and onion cooked in olive oil. All the beautiful flavours of the South of France. It is known that the word ratatouille was in use in Nice whereas the word bourbouillade was used in Nîmes.

For Beatrice's recipe for Ratatouille Tatin Tartlets, you can visit her blog.

For Alli's recipe, you will first have to get to know her.

But under no circumstances should you consider seeing the film an appropriate substitute for trying this dish.