Have Blade Will Travel: The adventures of a traveling chef (15 page)

As I prepared to get the kitchen up and running, I learned that most of the restaurant staff had virtually no confidence in my ability to run the kitchen.  So I suggested to Jay that we put on a pre-season BBQ to allow the staff members to bond, and get the season off to a proper start.  He liked the idea, though suggested that instead of a BBQ, we put on a Bonacker Bake – a local dish featuring the local ingredients – named for the slang moniker applied to the locals, those born and raised on Eastern Long Island.  The term Bonackers is derived from Accabonac Harbor, which in turn is derived from the Algonquian language, meaning "root place," or "place of ground nuts.”

It began with a fire, started in a pit early in the morning, and fed with wood and charcoal for several hours to create a hot base. 
It was surrounded with cinder blocks and covered with a grate. 
We then took two 30-gallon stock pots, lined the bottoms with a three-inch-deep layer of clam and oyster shells topped with a layer of seaweed, then a layer of quahogs (pronounced “co-hogs”) – the largest of the local clams. 
This was topped with more seaweed, followed by layers of different food items, each of which separated by a layer of seaweed. 
The items included: half chickens, Russet potatoes, unshucked corn-on-the-cob, whole lobsters, and two large Russets on top. 
We poured in 2-gallons of boiling water, put the lid on, and set it on the grid above the fire. 
About ninety-minutes later, when the top two potatoes were fully cooked, the pot was pulled off, and the ingredients turned out onto large wooden trays. 
A keg of beer was tapped, and the feast began. 

The event went off without a hitch, and yielded the  results I had hoped for.  Once my co-workers saw me in action and indulged in the feast Jay and I had created, it was clear that their confidence in me had blossomed.  And of course, once I got the kitchen kicked into high gear, I completely blew them away.

I modeled my approach on that of Paul Bocuse, who at the time, one of France’s most celebrated up-and-coming young chefs.  I adopting his “cuisine du marché” style in which the menu was created daily, based on fresh, local ingredients.  My work that summer was as good as any twenty-four-year-young cuisinier within a radius of a thousand miles, and frankly, my kitchen – and my cuisine – kicked butt.

Naturally I sought Harriet’s input on my menu, and though I was committed to the mode of
la cuisine du marché
, which mimicked the great restaurants on the European continent – I still valued her input.  She had a great style with food, as well as great passion, and could come up with a great dish at a moment’s notice.  She suggested
Tomate grillée aux anchois
– three thick slices of tomato in a small casserole dish, topped with three, criss-crossed anchovies, drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil, pepper, slivered basil leaves and grated Parmesan cheese, then broiled until lightly browned.  It was gorgeous dish, beautiful in its simplicity, and became a signature dish that we ran nearly all summer. 

One afternoon, before we opened for business,
Harriet and I visited the home of Jules Bond, a local food columnist and gourmand.  Bond was gregarious and accessible, and my meeting him remains a significant memory – for having introduced me to arugula, known as
rouquet
in French – or rocket lettuce, as he called it.  The introduction to arugula may not seem like an ear th-shattering incident in one’s life, but in the life of a chef it is an event of some consequence.  For Arugula is a very unique food – with a distinctive flavor unlike any other leafy green, and its use then, signified an enlightened knowledge of cuisine.

Bond was born in Vienna, where he earned a law degree from the University of Vienna in 1935, then came to the United States to work as a newspaper correspondent.  After becoming a U.S. citizen in the 1940s, he served in the Army's Psychological Warfare Detachment during World War II, broadcasting for Radio Luxembourg.  His later career included more than 20 years at Voice of America radio – from which he retired in 1970.

Bond’s first book,
The Outdoor Cookbook
, came out in 1963, followed by
The International Gourmet Cookbook
.  He was also a contributing editor for
The Metropolitan Opera Cookbook
and
The New York Botanical Garden Cookbook
.  In addition to articles for Newsday and the Daily News, he wrote a weekly cooking column for the Suffolk County Times. 

Bond’s philosophy of food was very down-to-earth, and his cooking was known for its elegant simplicity.  In August 1993, Josephine Jahier, a staff writer for Newsday – the daily newspaper on Long Island – bragged about her “open invitation to the best table on Long Island. Not at a restaurant, mind you, but in the dining room of Jules Bond, friend, mentor, food writer and home cook without equal.  His genius was in taking [a] dead-ripe peach and letting it be; or in enhancing the flavor of a fresh oyster with a minimum of fuss.”

Bond followed the seasons with his choice of foods, something ingrained in him and derived from his Euro-roots.  He never understood the presence of raspberries in November, or tomatoes any time except the summer, and he was known to express contempt for those who did not acknowledge the seasons in food.  Those who got to know Jules learned about respecting ingredients – for he had no patience for dressed-up food, always returning to the simple and the unadorned

Jules Bond passed away on June 27, 1993, at the age of
84, after hitting his head in a fall at his home in Peconic. The following recipes epitomize Jules Bond’s simple, elegant style.

― ● ―

Rémoulade Sauce

1 cup (180 mL) mayonnaise

¼ cup (120 mL) scallions, very finely sliced

1 teaspoon (5 mL) minced anchovies

1½ teaspoosn (8 mL) Dijon mustard

1½ tablespoons (8 mL) finely chopped cornichons

2 teaspoons (10 mL) capers, drained and chopped

1 tablespoon (15 mL) chopped fresh tarragon

2 tablespoons (30 mL) finely minced fresh parsley

salt and fresh-ground pepper as needed

lemon juice as needed

• Blend all the ingredients together, and season to taste using salt, pepper and lemon juice. Serve with poached shellfish, or deep-fried shellfish and finfish.
  

NB: Rémoulade Sauce is a much more interesting and more complex accompaniment than the ubiquitous Tartar Sauce.

 
― ● ―

Jules Bond's Best Scallops

1½ (¾ kg) pounds bay scallops

½ + ¼ cup (120 + 60 mL) dry Vermouth

1 small shallot minced

½ teaspoon Kosher salt (1½  mL)

white pepper to taste

white flour, seasoned with salt and pepper

3 eggs, well beaten

Panko bread crumbs as needed

 ¼ cup (60 mL) olive oil

4 + 6 tablespoons (60 + 90 mL) unsalted butter

lemon wedges and parsley sprigs for garnish

• Blend the first Vermouth, shallot, salt and pepper in a bowl, add the scallops, and refrigerate for 1 hour.
  
• Discard the marinade, and pat the scallops dry with paper towels. Dust the scallops with flour, dip in the beaten egg, and roll in the bread crumbs.
  
• Heat the first part of the butter and the olive oil in a skillet.  Sauté the scallops over medium heat until light brown on both sides.  (The oil should sizzle slightly when you set the scallops in.)  Transfer to a paper towel, and hold in a warm oven.
  
• Pour the second Vermouth into the sauté pan, reduce by half, then stir in the second butter until fully incorporated.  Pour the sauce over the scallops, and garnish with lemon wedges and parsley.
  

NB: Rémoulade Sauce is an excellent accompaniment for this dish, in place of the sauce.

― ● ―

Arugula Salad for Serious Arugula Lovers

3 bunches fresh arugula

½ cup (120 mL) extra-virgin olive oil

the juice of 2 lemons

salt and fresh-ground pepper as needed

shaved Pecorino Romano

• Rinse the arugula leaves thoroughly, remove the stems, rinse well, spin in a salad spinner, and refrigerate.
  
• Blend the olive oil and lemon juice, salt, and pepper.
  
• Toss the arugula leaves in the oil and lemon, and arrange on a chilled plate.  Top with freshly-shaved pecorino Romano cheese.
  

― ● ―

I invited Rob Weiss, a former classmate from culinary school, to join me, and came up from Philadelphia to work with me for the summer.  He did not, however, have quite the same vision as I, and perhaps due in part to this clash, he fizzled out early on.  That I had equalized our salaries, putting us on an even par, turned out to be a bad call on my part, and a tough lesson.  You either have passion and commitment for what you undertake, or you don’t.

Nevertheless, one of our early discussions was about demi-glaze, one of our key foundation sauces that summer, an accompaniment for the
Tournedos de Boeuf
that were a nightly offering on our menu.  Demi-glaze typically requires brown veal or beef stock, yet I wanted to avoid the use of veal and beef bones, substituting instead chicken bones.  Driven by a youthful idealism, I determined that the use of chicken bones, backs, and necks was somehow more environmentally responsible than the consumption of veal and beef bones – not to mention considerably less expensive.  So I followed the classical mode or preparing a brown sauce, using browned chicken bones, which yielded an excellent brown stock, that created an excellent Demi-glaze.

Rob wanted to order two jars of commercial beef base, “just in case,” as he put it, to which I responded “Just in case of what?” 

“You never know when we might need it.”

Of course I was adamant on the subject, and through the entire summer I did not permit the presence of even one single jar of commercial beef base. My argument was: “If we have it, we will use it, and I don’t want to use that crap in our cooking.”

Yet at the same time, I was hardly naïve enough to leave myself without some kind of a back-up for our demi-glaze – for whatever reason.  Thus I began my stock production a full week before we were slated to open, and the first batch of brown chicken stock was simmered down by roughly ninety-percent of its original volume, yielding a gorgeous liter of rich, thick, gelatinous
glace de viande
.  Glace de viande – meat glaze – was the home-made version of the commercial beef base that I refused to allow into my kitchen; and that commercial version was made up of mostly salt.  And with the second round of brown chicken stock, I created a batch of rich, brown demi-glaze. 

― ● ―

Demi-glaze, Summer-of-Moon-1974-style

20 pounds (10 kg) chicken bones, backs, necks, and wings

1 quart (1 liter) mirepoix – onion, celery and carrot, peeled, rinsed, and finely chopped

the green tops of two leeks - well-rinsed, and finely chopped

1 large bouquet garni - parsley and thyme stems, and bay leaf, tied into a bundle

1 heaping tablespoon (5 mL) white peppercorns, wrapped in cheesecloth (sachet)

2 - 6 ounce (170g) cans tomato paste

1 bottle (750 mL) dry red table wine

2 cups (480 mL) all purpose flour

1 pound unsalted butter, clarified

• Preheat the oven to 400-degrees F (200-degrees C).
  
• Rinse the chicken parts in cold water, drain, and place into a heavy-duty roasting pan.  Roast for one hour, stirring and turning the bones every 15 minutes.  Spread the tomato paste over the bones, and continue roasting another hour, until they are very well browned.
  
• Place the flour into a clean, dry pan, place in a pre-heated 400-degree oven, and toast for approximately 2½ hours, stirring and breaking up the flour every 15 minutes.  The flour should be medium brown when done.  Shake through a screen sieve, and set aside.
  
• Transfer the browned bones to a heavy-duty stock pot, cover with enough cold water to rise above the bones by 6 inches (15 centimeters).  Place on high heat, bring to simmer, then skim and discard the foam and fat from the top.  Continue simmering gently.
  
• In the meantime, place the onions, carrots and leeks into the pan (celery will not brown due to high water content), blend it with the chicken fat in the pan, and roast for an hour, stirring every 15 minutes.  Transfer the pan to the stove top, and pour the bottle of wine into the pan.  Over medium heat, using a wooden paddle or wooden spoon, loosen all the caramelized bits of chicken from the bottom of the pan. 
  
• Add the roasted mirepoix with red wine, and blend.  Add the bouquet garni and peppercorn sachet, and simmer gently for 6 hours, skimming foam and fat from the top of the stock. 
  
• Remove the stock from the fire, allow to cool, strain through a fine sieve into a heavy-gauge sauce pot, and simmer moderately for 2 hours. 
  
• Carefully strain the stock again, and set aside.
  
• Combine the clarified butter with the toasted, sifted flour, to create a smooth paste (brown roux) roughly the consistency of peanut butter.  Put half of this brown roux into a large stainless steel mixing bowl, and ladle in the hot stock, beating the roux and stock with a whisk.  Continue until the stock is well-blended into the roux, and transfer to a sauce pot.  Once all the roux has been incorporated with the stock, simmer the sauce for an hour, skimming and discarding the impurities that rise and collect at the top.
  
• Strain, cool, cover, and refrigerate until needed.