Mezze Restaurant, Williamstown MA

by Don on June 1, 2011

This past weekend, Sarah and I spent an afternoon at the Clark with my cousin and her husband. Somewhat frustrating to me since a number of my favorites were on tour, but a good afternoon nonetheless. After the museum, the four of us went off to dinner at MEZZE (777 Cold Spring Road (Route 7), Williamstown, 413 458-0123, http://www.mezzerestaurant.com). An indication of what was to come was how they handled our reservation. We had a 6:00 PM reservation, but finding ourselves at loose ends earlier, I called to see whether we could shift it to 5:15. The voice on the phone was pleasant and accommodating. “We’d be happy to seat you then.”

Beth-Ann and Mitch are New Yorkers, and equally importantly, are knowledgeable and experienced restaurant-goers so I’d asked around for an appropriate choice for dinner. Mezze kept coming up, though invariably followed by, “I haven’t eaten there since they moved.” Not having tasted the food at the old place, I can’t compare. However, the new place is polished and professional and the menu was seasonal and interesting. Mitch found the provenance of each ingredient a touch effete. These days restaurants like to celebrate their sources, as much to promote the local farms as to showcase their own use of local ingredients. Mezze is justifiably proud of their sources. With the additional touch of Arctic Char, a salmon and trout relative rated as a Seafood Best Choice by the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Seafood Watch,  instead of one of the overfished species more common to restaurant menus, they go the distance in their sourcing of ingredients.

We started with a local cheese plate and a pork liver pate plate. I didn’t catch the provenance of the three cheeses, all relatively local, but each, an Italian-Fontina style soft cheese, a Gouda style semi-soft cheese, and a Roquefort style blue, was served at its peak and at the correct temperature. The plate was accompanied by a line of balsamic-blueberry reduction, a smear of rhubarb compote, a small pile of marcona almonds, a bunch of small red grapes and slices of pistachio-laced toast. The pate was neither a rough country style nor a whipped mousse, but a firm and creamy slice of very well prepared liver pate, topped with gently pickled onions, accompanied by bright yellow pickled kohlrabi logs and pink pickled baby turnips.

I also had a Caesar salad with house-cured sardines standing in for the anchovies and mustard greens for the romaine. Before it was served, the conversation turned to food, as it often does. “How can you ruin a salad?” asked Mitch. “If you start with good ingredients, it’s hard to mess it up.” “Overdressing it,” said Beth-Ann. “Gritty greens,” I added. Mezze’s salad was an example of how not to mess up a salad: lightly but sufficiently dressed and perfectly clean greens with shavings of a good parmesan, croutons, and expertly cured sardines rounding out the dish.

Sarah and Mitch opted for the diver scallops, six seared scallops on a pea shoots puree, topped with watercress, both leaving nothing on their plates. Beth-Ann opted for the Char, which came on a bed of fiddleheads, asparagus, and baby turnips, topped with a sprinkling of fresh tarragon. It was a large serving and I had to help her out. It came out after the rest of us had been served. The server apologized, explaining that the chef said the piece was a little thicker than he’d thought. Restaurant white lie or the truth? No matter either way. Topped with a nice spice rub, it came to the table cooked a point so the wait was worth it.

I went for the mutton special, slices of medium rare roast mutton, accompanied by a hash of lamb sausage and potatoes, topped with a 60 minute egg. This last, sous vide’d at 140, was very like a soft-boiled egg though the whites texture was airy-er and more like a meringue. The yolk was bright yellow like many organic eggs. It formed a nice sauce over the hash, accompanying the morel-topped reduction for the mutton. Mutton has a bad reputation as “tallowy” and strong, but this piece had a good slightly gamey, lamb flavor.

Each dish was well-cooked, well-seasoned, and thoughtfully presented. For dessert, we split a mango and lime trifle. Sarah’s and my coffee were each brought in 16 ounce French presses, a nice touch since we were assured of fresh coffee and a refill at our pace rather than our server’s. We’d started dinner as one of the two tables in the room, but by dessert, the place was nearly full. We were all driving back after dinner and none of us drinks very much to start with, so we did not investigate the wine list as thoroughly as we might, but from what I did see, I’d expect some well-chosen wines and local microbrews.

The décor is understated and tables well-spaced. Though the place was humming, the noise level never interfered with our conversation. Our server was friendly and attentive, but she did not introduce herself by name, another touch I appreciated. We remained cordial and friendly but not faux friends. Our corner table overlooked the grounds on two sides.

Sometimes it’s the company that makes a meal. In this case, company merely added to what was already good. Definitely a good choice.

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Lady Slippers and Morels – 2011

by Don on May 23, 2011

The lady slippers come out in May, at least at the nearby reservoir where I can always find them. I wasn’t sure what all the rain had done to them, but I took a walk this past Sunday. There were flowers in most of the places where I’ve found them before and, in a surprise, I found a white one. There were a lot of plants that had no center flower stalk. I don’t whether that means the flowers are coming or have passed, but usually after the bloom, the stalk and the withered flower hang around for a while. Anyway, here’s the white one. Not the best photograph, I know, but between the wind which kept everything moving and my limited skills, this is the best I could do. Next year, I’m going back for a better shot.

Last Thursday, my friend Perry, a mushroom hunter who sells to area restaurants, including Ristorante DiPaolo.  dropped off a bag of morels at my office. They were beautiful and I got the chance to cook them this Saturday night. I had some stewing veal in the freezer (who doesn’t, right?)(grass-fed, sustainably raised, torture-free veal. I end up buying a lot of it from my friends at Chase Hill Farm) so I made a fricasse of veal, sauteed the morels in butter and topped the portions with it. Served over flat noodles with asparagus on the side, I felt like I was eating the season.

It was the first time I’d cooked morels and I wondered whether to slice the big ones in half. Then, after I sliced off the end of the stem and saw how hollow they were, I was glad I’d left them whole. A little gritty since I was wary about them picking up too much water from the washing, but next time I’ll know better.

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Ibiza Tapas – The New Northampton Tapas Bar

by Don on May 20, 2011

It’s been a while since I ate something in a restaurant that didn’t taste like something I could make in my kitchen. Then, inside of a couple of weeks, first the chicken pot pie at Rose 32, then the meal at Ibiza. Bring it on.

We met some friends at IBIZA TAPAS, which is the way to eat here. With four of us, we kept ordering tapas in groups of two or three as we talked. The kitchen is pretty fast, so the food kept coming at a very reasonable pace. And, for the most part, the food was polished and well flavored.

We started with the croquetas bacalao (salt cod fritters) and the Codero Asado, a braised short rib. The salt cod featured eight bite-sized balls with a dot of good mayonnaise. Crisp on the outside, creamy on the inside, not a trace of salt. The short rib came as four pieces, a pile of braised meat on top of a slice of toast, garnished with some fried garbanzos with a slight crust and a creamy interior.

The next course were two cold dishes, a martini-glass filled with ceviche of (cooked) shrimp and bay scallops in a saffron-coconut sauce and Atun Marinado, a poke-like mix of chopped raw tuna, tomatos, scallions, chopped black olives, lemon and, I think, a little sesame oil. Our server cautioned us that the dish was deceptive—people thought that it was simply a pile of tomatoes. He was correct in both ways—on first glance, it seemed mostly tomato because of the color of the tuna. But each mouthful was full of tuna. If the place runs into financial difficulties, here’s a place they can cheat, but it’s not happening today. Our friend Tomma and I were reduced to drinking the coconut sauce for the ceviche, which might not have been traditional, but was too good to let go.

Our final group was Patatas Bravas (fried potatoes topped with a spicy tomato sauce),  Lomo de Cerdo Embuchado (sliced roast pork loin, topped with melted tetilla cheese and a vinegary black olive and tomato salsa) and Albondigas de la Abuela (veal and pork meatballs). Not to insult anyone’s grandmother, but the Albondigas were the only disappointment of the night. Four meatballs, cooked potatoes and red pepper strips in a tasty broth, the meatballs were a little rubbery. Since I’ve made several recipes of these, I was eager to taste Ibiza’s. The rest was up to the standards of the previous dishes.

Dessert was another tapa, Queso Nevat con Higos y Nueces ( a fig laced goat cheese on slices of toast) and Croquetas de Chocolate—four balls of deep dark chocolate covered in hazelnuts and briefly fried. Served in a teaspoon on a little square of lemon curd, I saved mine for the last bite.

The menu divides the cold and hot tapas into Traditional and Modern sections, which gives the kitchen some room to play. There are larger dishes and, on the night we were there, several paellas, but it’s going to be a while before I run out of the tapas to taste. The kitchen likes servings of four, which makes it easy to share.

The wine list is heavy on the Spanish grapes, like Temreanillo, whether the country of origin is Spain or someplace else. I had a sweet Sherry, like a nut-flavored ice wine as well. The meal, for four, with wine, was $101 and we all left satisfied. Definitely worth checking out, preferably with some company.

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Asian Slaw–who’d'a thunk it?

by Don on May 1, 2011

It’s been a good week for food. Especially eating. On Thursday (my memory doesn’t extend back further)(you know how that is), the Food Bank of Western Mass held a fund-raiser at the Blue Heron. The theme this year was street food—American, Mexican, Thai, Indian, and Greek.

It was pretty good—roast lamb from the Greek stand. Chicken skewers from the Indian stand–dark meat chicken, thankfully. So what if they are higher in fat than breast. By the time you finish cooking breast meat, it’s like Styrofoam. Dark meat has some fat in it. It bastes itself. It tastes juicy. Just don’t eat seven pounds of it and you’ll be OK. That’s the advantage of skewers, anyway. Great cilantro chutney, fresh and green tasting.

Wasn’t as fond of the pho, despite the oxtail broth and the plethora of add-ins. But the pork belly was delicious. Sarah, using her mix of poise and humanity, got the server to ladle on some Asian slaw that was somehow hidden in the back. Yet one more thing I’ll have to chalk up to thanking her for.

That slaw. Like a mix of savoy and Napa cabbage, finely shredded, sauced with tastes of sugar, salt, and ginger. It was the best of its genre I’ve ever had and I spent some time getting Lisa Ekus’ team to try it, hoping they had the influence to get the recipe or at least the technique.

No luck so far, so today I’m getting a Napa cabbage and digging through my cookbooks and the net for as many recipes as possible. How long to marinate the cabbage? Salt first? Fish sauce or not? I have to know. Summer is coming and I want that recipe in my pocket.

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SALTED: A Manifesto by Mark Bitterman

by Don on April 23, 2011

I first met Mark Bitterman at a food writer’s conference several years back. He gave an impromptu salt tasting that introduced me, and perhaps many of the writers in attendance, to artisan salts. At the time, I remember not being able to taste much difference between the various salts and commenting that the flake and crystal structure seemed to be the dominant characteristic.

After 304 pages of nothing but salt, I see that I was on the right track. Bitterman is a tireless advocate and, if sometimes his metaphors soar into the fantastical, well, chalk it up to exuberance. His case against table salt and Kosher salt is convincing—it is easy to see them as the white bread of salt—and he argues against over-salting largely in favor of salting at the table so the salt becomes a textural as well as seasoning element. There is a section on salt and hypertension which I think focuses too much on providing the numbers instead of distilling them into something more easily digested. But then, to those for whom salt is a poison, nothing in this book is really going to change their minds.

For the rest of us, Bitterman covers pretty much everything you need to know about salt. There are chapters about the history of salt the mineral as well as the seasoning. There is a section on artisan saltmaking that is fascinating. Who knew that all those salt ponds you always see in pictures of the Brittany coast were set in descendingly lower elevations, so that the brine will flow naturally at high tides into the settling ponds where the organic materials settle out first. Much of the differences in salts can be attributed to the amount of trace minerals left in the finished product (as much as 15%) and the rest to the shape of the crystals.

Fleur de sel forms on top of the pond, while sel gris settles to the bottom where it picks up a trace of the grey porcelain clay that lines the French ponds. Fleur de sel (flower of salt) has a flat crystalline structure while sel gris is grainier, more akin to wet sand. Sure, I knew that, but what I didn’t know was that the final ponds were as shallow as ¼ of an inch so that some skill is required to rake the floating crystals. He covers fire-evaporated salts, traditional salts, quarried salts, and hybrid salts that are smoked or have various flavorings, such as charcoal, saffron, or truffle incorporated. There is a section on industrial salt to make his point against the standard table and kosher salts. The Japanese, as you might imagine, have developed their own precise and unique techniques for evaporation of brine.

The middle section is filled with descriptions of various artisan salts, including a quick reference guide with pictures. Here is where you can look up that salt that someone gave you after a trip somewhere. You’ll find good descriptions of the salt and its story as well as suggestions for its use. You’ll also find some flights of fancy in the descriptions of its taste. Who else but Mark could come up with as many different and vivid descriptions of an essentially white product—raindrop, partially melted paraffin, flamingo dander, dry oyster-shell, and gemstone of silvery white and milk—that are immediately clear and precise?

The final section provides recipes that showcase various salts. I haven’t had a chance to try them yet, but they are appealing. Since I happen to have a dozen or so artisan salts I’ve acquired over the years, I have been able to make some good comparisons and see why a Malden flake salt might work better on a salad than a grainy Celtic sel gris. The Hungry Ghost bakery, in Northampton, sells pretzels into which black salt crystals have been incorporated and, aside from the color which is striking, it is clear that that is the right salt for the task as opposed to say, a red Hawaiian alaea. Once you get past the unpleasant memories of crunching pretzel salt, you’ll appreciate the softer crunch of these salts.

For those fortunate enough to have a Himalayan salt block, there is a chapter on its care and use, with recipes. What could be more dramatic than cooking an egg or two over salt, or serving sashimi on chilled salt blocks? For those even more fortunate to have a Himalayan salt bowl, there is a chocolate fondue recipe that you won’t want to miss. The heated bowl will keep the fondue hot for as long as it takes to finish it.

In fact, for anyone who is interested in cooking, this book is a must. Of course, if you do read it, you will immediately run out and get some artisan salts, so if you’re thinking of giving Salt as a present, include a few. Bitterman and his wife sell a large selection in their At The Meadow stores in Portland, OR and NYC as well as by mail order. Locally, Cooks Shop Here has a good selection.

As far as I can see, the biggest downside to knowing this much about salt, is how disappointed you are when your favorite restaurant offers only table salt to complement their fresh ground pepper.

Salt: A Manifesto on the World’s Most Essential Mineral, with Recipes, by Mark Bitterman, Ten Speed Press, $35.

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Rose32 Bread – Wow!

by Don on April 15, 2011

Having a meal with my friend Bob Page involves a discussion of the meal at hand as well as all the meals we’ve eaten and all the meals yet to come. From sausages and Lebanese food in Worcester, to Italian and Atlantic seafood in New Jersey, to Mexican food in Colorado, he’s eaten everywhere and remembers it all.

So, over our second to last meeting (coffee at Northampton Coffee), the talk turned to Ware and the surrounds. I’ve been working there on a long project and spending two or three days a week in town. I told him about the Asian restaurant I discovered on 32 (Asian Gardens). We’d covered Lazar’s subs (get the chicken kabob sub with lettuce, tomato and feta and make sure they toast it) and the Salem Cross Inn when the talk turned to Hardwick. He’s already turned me on the Robinson Farm, raw milk, beef and veal, and now cheese (Robinson Family Swiss, a specialty) when he mentioned this bakery in Gilbertville, a part of Hardwick closest to Ware. Five minutes from downtown Ware on 32 North. He said the people had been specialty bakers in California before relocating to Western Mass. We agreed to meet there for lunch.

The bakery is Rose32 Bread. I’d expected it to be housed in a converted building and to be a little funky like such things usually are. First surprise. A new building, on the site of an old garage according to Bob, it was clean and modern and new. The parking lot was paved, there were tables outside, and inside…

Well, all I can say is Bob undersold it. A bakery case filled with various cakes and tarts (peach or mixed berry tarts, coffee cake, and more). Beside it, a set of pastries (cinnamon buns, croissants, cheese or apricot Danishes, cookies, and slices of some of the cakes. Behind the register were woven baskets filled with baguettes, rye breads, levain, cibattas, and more. An espresso machine to one side and a breakfast and lunch menu.

The servers are friendly—two of them asked whether I wanted coffee while I waited for Bob. I got the chicken pot pie and a cheese Danish. Bob got the curried chicken salad sandwich. We each got a Jalisco Mandarin soda (with pure cane sugar, imported from Mexico) and sat outside in the sun. The Danish was a flaky pastry dough wrapped around a mildly sweetened ball of smooth whipped cheese. It was dusted with powdered sugar instead of glazed with an apricot jelly like it would have been in New York and instead of a yeast bread for the pastry, it used a croissant-style dough. It was crisp outside and soft and buttery inside. The cheese was adult sweet, which meant that it was sweet but tasted more of cheese than sugar. It was fantastic. Bob’s standard is the croissant, plain or chocolate, and I understand why.

My chicken pot pie was a soup bowl of white meat chicken cubes, red potatoes, carrots and peas in a gentle and creamy sauce. A disk of flaky pastry topped the dish. It was lightly seasoned, and though hot sauce, salt and pepper were available, I didn’t want to interfere with the cook’s interpretation. I eyed Bob’s sandwich, thinking I ought to at least try the chicken, but he was having none of it. For the first time I can remember, our meal revolved around what we were eating rather than everything else that was available out there.

I would have gotten some of the rye bread, but Sarah has two loaves of bakery bread at home, so I tabled that for a future visit. I took home a cheddar and green onion biscuit, a peach tart, and a slice of coffee cake for Sarah, and got some chocolate cookies to drop off for Oscar, Soren and Phoebe. Bob said the cookies were a specialty—when the owners first came to town, they used to bring the cookies to pot-lucks where they vanished before pretty much everything else. Sarah’s verdict was similar to mine. She liked the tart the best. These people are clearly professionals.

Rose32 Bread would be a hit anywhere, but in say Northampton, it would cost half again as much and you would miss that shiver you get when you find a little gem in some out of the way spot. It’s closed Monday and Tuesday and open til 3 on the weekends and it’s worth a detour. It’s that good.

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Brussels Sprouts and Chestnuts

by Don on April 9, 2011

Roast vegetable season, at least oven roasted, is nearing an end. Once I clean the grill and check the propane, grilled vegetables will begin with roast asparagus. (Gas, I know, but during the week it is incredibly convenient.) However good they are, I’m getting a little tired of roasted root vegetables, even Brussels sprouts.

We used to steam them but for me they were always overcooked and sulphurous. Sarah and I would have endless “discussions” about the topic. She likes her food generally more well done than I do and, well, it can be a trial. However, once I started roasting Brussels sprouts, that particular argument was over. There is no better way to cook them.

The technique is pretty simple: wash a pound of Brussels sprouts and let them drain well. You want them as dry as possible. I cut off of the root end and slice them lengthwise down the middle. Unlike roast potatoes, you don’t need a heavy pan for them, so I usually put some tinfoil on a baking sheet. Preheat the oven to 425.

Put the sprouts in the baking pan and mix them with a little olive oil—2 or 3 tablespoons. I try to keep them face down to start. Don’t worry about the leaves that fall off. Leave them in the pan. They will crisp up as the sprouts cook and become an incredible delicacy. Put the pan in the oven and cook for 30 minutes. Turn the sprouts after 15 minutes or so. If necessary, let them cook five minutes longer. If the rest of the dinner isn’t ready, you can turn off the oven and leave the pan inside for up to 15 minutes.

Serve sprinkled with a good fleur de sel. The leaves, which will look almost burnt, have a caramelized taste and crisp texture that is irresistible.

Chestnuts? Well, for this New York boy, the smell of roasting chestnuts is always Autumn in New York. Pretty much every Thanksgiving, I buy a pound, use my patented Lamsonsharp chestnut knife to cut a circle around each nut and bake them for 40 minutes or so alongside the turkey. If I am smoking a turkey, as I usually am, I sometimes put them on a tinfoil tray in the Weber and let them go there for a couple of hours.

Then, of course, you have to dragoon everyone who is hanging around the kitchen stealing scraps to help you peel them while they are hot. You have to get the brown membrane off as well and that is usually stuck in the brain-like folds of the chestnut. Pretty much everyone is exhausted by the third nut and I am left to do the rest. They don’t mind eating them, of course, but peeling, that’s another story.

I tried Italian dried chestnuts, but they are not quite the same thing. Ok in stuffing perhaps, but you never get that sweet cooked taste of a roasted chestnut. Marrons glaces? Well yes always, but they are a sweet snack. (However, if your girlfriend sends you for them in the middle of the opera, well, you know it’s over. )

So, when I recently got a box of Roland products for me to test, I made sure that it included a jar of chestnuts. Mostly, I knew Roland for its canned mini-shrimp and other Chinese style cans and jars of sauces. But they seem to be making a big push to expand into other areas and part of that includes giving me some free samples to play with.

So I did. Sarah insisted on keeping the chestnuts separate last Thanksgiving, just in case the jarred products tasted foul. I sautéed them in butter and let people add them to the Brussels sprouts. It wasn’t particularly successful, though I confirmed that the chestnuts themselves tasted fine. No off tastes, good texture, good flavor.

So when I got some more just recently, I had no qualms about adding them directly to the Brussels sprouts. I cut about half the jar, about 4 oz., into quarters and added them to the sprouts when I mixed them with the olive oil. Wow. Great roasted flavor without the peeling. Some of the pieces ended up pretty well done, so the next time, I’ll add them about 10 minutes in.

And I’ve got half a jar to play with. I’m thinking to put them on a tinfoil tray over indirect heat in the grill for about 20 minutes and adding the chopped chestnuts to a grilled asparagus primavera. Autumn and Spring. I’ll let you know.

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