Monday, December 31, 2007

The Quest for Perfect Pasta

True to form, I have flung myself full-force into Pasta 101.  I began on the couch with Marcella Hazan's wise, written words from Marcella Cucina.  I particularly liked her analogy of the difference between hand-made egg pasta and store-bought dry pasta made from semolina flour:  if we were talking of fabric, the former would be the fluffiest, softest cashmere wool imaginable, and the latter an ultra-smooth linen with a 'crisp, firm hand.'  Hence, each is uniquely suited to specific sauces and preparations.  Egg pasta wants to suck up and embrace any sauce with cream and butter, but develops an unpleasant slick texture when dressed with olive oil.  Dry semolina pasta has a hard, impenetrable surface that can carry olive-oil based sauces cleanly without becoming saturated.  Not that I am even really that interested in the sauce-making; but the above description of egg pasta left me imagining what I hoped would be my pasta's porous and absorbent quality.  I kept thinking of a cat's tongue.

Contact with a wooden surface, and my human hands, I read, are the critical ingredients.  Farm fresh eggs don't hurt, either, which I am quite fortunate to have on hand.  (I'll remember that the next time I don't feel quite so affectionate toward farm living.)  I first separated 6 eggs (5 duck and 1 chicken, to be exact), setting the whites aside.  The six orange orbs waited expectedly as I scooped a modest mountain of flour onto my wooden surface.  Here I must confess that I unwittingly and incorrectly used cake flour.  I'll get that right next time.  Marching on, into the center of the flour went my egg yolks, and following George's instructions, I started blending the yolks and flour into dough with fingers alone.  My style, honestly, is much more sterile.  I prefer keeping my hands clean when I cook but this was opportunity #1 to follow the spouse's direction, so I swallowed my protest and did as told.  Once I had a recognizable fist of dough, I continued to knead for what I hope was 8 minutes, as Marcella was pretty insistent this is a requirement.  George told me to let it rest, so I did. 

After a suitable period of neglect, I brought my dough to the pasta machine and begin the process I have watched so many times: sending the dough through the machine, first with the rollers on the wideest setting, folding the pressed dough in threes, sending it through again, over and over until, well, until you're ready to do something different.  Which is when you begin cranking down the pasta machine rollers, one setting at a time, pressing the dough thinner and thinner, until you've gone from '10' setting to a '1', which is presumably thin enough to pronounce as finished.

More than the kneading, which Marcella promised to be a 'deeply satisfying rhythmic exercise', I found running the pasta dough through the machine to be my repetitive process of choice.  So much so, that I would often get down to the '2', then fold the dough up again to start from the beginning.  George assured me this was o.k., as the goal of this process was not just thinning the dough but also drying it a bit.  ('Justin Neidermeyer taught me that', he said.)  I also found that everything would be going swimmingly, my dough would be flawlessly gorgeous at '3', then I'd take it through the tiniest-bit-smaller-2 and my once-perfect dough was now scarred with ridges and ripples all over.  A sign that the dough was 'still tacky', George said, so I had permission to start all over.  This definitely appealed to my obsessive-compulsive tendencies.  Plus, hey, this was my first batch; and it's technically not even 2008!  Yet a few minutes later, all of a sudden my dough was cracking and stiff when I folded it up.  "Too dry" George pronounced, you're overdoing it.  Damn.  So I rolled it out one last time, and sliced the pasta into tagliatelli strips, before it was too firm to work at all.

Yeah, I get it.  The mastery of pasta is all in the touch.  How much flour in incorporate into your eggy crater; how sticky/dry is the dough; how sticky/dry is the ambient temperature and humidity of your kitchen; and knowing when your pasta has had just enough foreplay.  Making decent pasta is not brain surgery; it's not even stitches.  I'm there already.  But the mastery --perfect pasta-- will take time and focus.  Can I do it?




Posted by Kris at 12:03:59 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Beginner

Last week, I had dinner with an old friend who was visiting from L.A.  We ducked into Zoe's in Belltown to escape the stormy weather, and over a cocktail of the same name (the 'Stormy Weather' arrived complete with an inside-out paper umbrella garnish, very clever) we were discussing our favorite dance forms.  I lamented to my friend that I would love to learn Tango, but the few times I have tried classes, it was so painful to be a beginner again, virtually every partner --no matter how lackluster-- more skilled than myself.  My friend answered with a little advice I had given her years before, which of course I don't remember.  She said, "Well, I've never forgotten when I came to visit you in Spain, and after taking my first flamenco class I was feeling discouraged by being the newest --and worst-- dancer in the group, and when I said I might not go back, you said, 'If you never allow yourself the discomfort of starting something new, the rest of your life is limited to the skills and abilities you currently possess.  Which is fine, of course, if you're o.k. with that...'"

Thank God for friends with good memories.  I have no recollection of making that statement, nor even really being in a place in my life where these kinds of thoughts so easily percolated to the surface.  But last week, the concept stuck with me.   Everyone agrees that continuing to learn and grow in life is desirable.  But hand-in-hand with that growth comes the discomfort of being a beginner, noticably less comfortable for adults I might add.   You can't have one without the other.

The following day on my ferry commute home, I relayed this story to three friends, and before the boat landed on Vashon we spontaneously pledged to each learn or try something new in 2008.  Here was my chance: to finally become the Tango dancer I suspect is lurking inside my soul.  But a quick reality check with myself told me what I already knew; my home/work/motherhood/travel schedule would not readily permit a weekly evening dance class.  My 'something new' would have to be homegrown.  Which led me to...

Pasta making.  I'm not sure how or why my mind immediately made that leap, but it did.  Maybe it's the Italian-Argentinean cultural connection.  And by the way, I don't mean, learn-how-to-make-the-dough-and-roll-it-out, which, as my ferry friends immediately pointed out, would take, like, a day.  I mean, perfect the process.  Hone a touch that elicits ethereal ribbons of pasta.  A la Justin Neidermeyer of Pian Pianino.  I want to make pasta that makes you groan when you eat it.

I should probably confess here, for anyone that doesn't already know this, my husband makes great pasta.  Which means I will have an in-house coach.  Subsequently, I have already participated in countless ravioli-stuffing and tortellini folding sessions.  But it's kind of like frosting the cake: you can take credit for how it looks, but not how it tastes.  I want to own the entire process. 

Back to that in-house coach: I also thought it a semi-healthy idea to choose a pursuit that involved learning something from my husband.  I suspect he and I are not unique in finding that being instructed by one's spouse also does not occur easily and without discomfort.  (And if we are unique in this regard, you can keep that little secret to yourself.)  

So there you have it:  sprinkled between new restaurant discoveries, I'll try to document my experience of what I hope will be mastering the art of pasta making.  And I invite you to consider joining me in committing to a new pursuit in 2008.  "Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty."  ~Henry Ford
Posted by Kris at 08:49:40 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Saturday, December 29, 2007

I'll Be Right Back... Gusto Girls, Vashon Island, Washington

Gusto Girls is a quirky little restaurant on Vashon Island that churns out surprisingly good sushi appetizers, boasts a full bar for such a tiny little place, and hums along in their groovy way with a retro-loungy decor that somehow works for this decidedly low-key community.  The food has never disappointed me, but I have to be honest, it's not what I look forward to about Gusto Girls.

What's my favorite part?  Bear with me... Gusto Girls has the coolest women's restroom I have ever, uh, experienced.  The red walls and low lighting blend with the rest of the place, but what makes this loo off-the-hook cool is an addition of pure, thrift-store brilliance:  an old fashioned record player.

Within reach of the throne, there sits a low coffee table that bears the turntable, and a stack of albums.  On my first visit, I gamely lifted the arm --a little surprised and giddy to see the power light go on-- and placed the needle on the album that was already in place.  Was it Manhattan Transfer?  To be honest, I don't remember.  Actually, I think it was the Bee Gees.  There's something really, well, relaxing about the scratchy quality of music played on a 33, that made me smile and enjoy the moment.  Once I started flipping through the albums, I came across a Kate Bush classic.  In college, 'Wuthering Heights' was practically my anthem, and I hadn't heard that song in nearly 20 years.  I have no idea how many people were waiting to use the restroom but I didn't care: that song has never sounded so good, especially the second and third time I played it!  This year for Christmas, I gave my sister a set of Reidel wine glasses, and my husband, George, pronounced that good wine glasses make an already enjoyable experience even more enjoyable.  Well, dare I say the same goes for a turntable in the restroom!

Last night I maturely resisted Kate Bush (though full disclosure: I have since downloaded it from itunes), and opted for Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66 instead.  Mas Que Nada!   Yes!  Does it get any better than this in a bathroom?!  I think not!

Recently I was telling a chef colleague about the Gusto Girls restroom experience.  He commented that there should be something equally stimulating for the guys room, and suggested a few power tools and a big sheet of plywood.  Not a bad idea.

The last time I felt this excited about a restroom was in 1990, when I turned 21 and The Queen City Bar and Grill in Belltown became my hangout of choice, having discovered the Orange Crush cocktail specialty of Otis the bartender.  I remember thinking --probably largely due to my new state of young adult inebriation-- that the restroom was just exquisite.  Something about the tall ceilings, subway tile and candlelight.  Does anyone else care about this kind of thing?  Hey, ambiance is ambiance, no matter where you find it!  At risk of your eyes rolling, kind reader, I'm now led to another restroom memory; in a salsa discoteque in Mexico City, 1997, where the 15-foot vanity was covered with make-up and hairstyling products, hair brushes, curling irons, bottles of perfume, you name it, all of it heavily used, and an attendant eager to spruce up each 'customer' as she emerged from the stall.

OK, OK, I'll stop now if you're even still with me. 

http://www.gustogirls.com/

Posted by Kris at 11:25:36 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Friday, December 14, 2007

Basement Restaurant & Bar: Gothenburg, Sweden

I know, I know... How many blog-worthy places can there be in the 2nd largest city in Sweden?  At least one more, and I suspect a few others as well, but that will have to wait until my next visit.  I'll top off my Gothenburg entries with the restaurant where we enjoyed our last supper:  Basement Restaurant & Bar.

Our architect told us of this place, and we'll have to think of something very nice for him to repay the favor.  Arriving at 8:30, we stepped --expectedly-- down into this cellar-like restauarnt, immediately enveloped by heavenly smells that I now suspect was the pork brisket that is cooked for 16-hours.... Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself.  Ambiance:  cozy and charming.  A labrinth of small rooms with low ceilings and white-washed walls, alcoves and nooks filled with books, magnums and wine crates. 

There are only two choices, both tasting menus.  We opted for the four-course holiday dinner with selected wine pairings.  The fact alone that our server could remember and recite the entire offering --in her second language-- was impressive in itself.  Each course was an exquisite composition of mulitple elements, the kind you don't question no matter how unfamiliar (rosemary jelly with egg foam?) because when enjoyed in completion, the flavor combinations are, simply, brilliant.  The pace was leisurely, as our four courses were spread out over three hours.  (Good thing we didn't opt for the 8-course dinner, we would have missed our flights the following morning.) 

The Michelin star is well deserved here, but more than that, Basement has managed to pull off the sublime: composing serious, top-notch cuisine as refined and evolved as the other cutting edge restaurants in town, yet maintaining a comfort-factor in service and decor that is completely disarming and relaxed. 

Gotabergsgatan 28, 411 34 Goteborg
http://www.restbasement.com/
Posted by Kris at 08:26:33 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Magnus & Magnus: Gothenburg, Sweden

Ever since I read about this restaurant in the NYT Magazine last September, I've been looking forward to experiencing Magnus & Magnus.  After all, Gothenburg has found herself in the enviable position of becoming the gastrohub of Scandinavia, center of the 21st century culinary revolution.  Magnus and Magnus shares the spotlight with no less than four Michelin-starred restaurants in the same city, two of which I had the great priviledge of experiencing during my last visit (Sjomagasinet and Fond: both, exquisite).  So it was with much anticipation I entered the small and charming santuary that has been so favorably received by the international press.

The casually elegant interior, I must say, is without parallel in this town: a cozy, square bar sits in the center of the room, with small tables encircling this nerve center of embibement.  A most intimate and charming single-table loft sitting directly above the entrance was noted immediately by everyone in our party as the private dining alcove of choice, not unlike your childhood tree or clubhouse.  There is a Moroccan theme about the place, save the Elvis-Sings-Christmas playing overhead.  Nonetheless, we tucked into our table for four and waited for the evening to unfold.

How do I explain what happened next:  the fact that our time at Magnus and Magnus was perhaps one of the most special and enjoyable dinners I have experienced abroad was not due to an easily identifiable element of the dinner.   The elegant and delightful server who took our joking in easy stride, the lovely Russian River Marimar Chardonnay she brought to our table after confessing she had recommended and served the last bottle of Chateau Nuf du Pap to the chaps in the coveted alcove, the mini salt-encrusted sourdough rolls that made me want to eat at least a dozen, the beef carpaccio with beets and broth, and the raindeer steaks enjoyed all around the table:  these are the elements that built our experinece, but truly I must confess that none of the above made me feel that Magnus and Magnus was tremendously special.  In fact, while perfectly delicious, the courses were, in all honesty, rather forgettable.  The invaluable element of our dinner was in the conversation that was collectively inspired by all of the above.  And therefore, tonight I go to bed pondering the fifth element, so to speak, that dining out has the potential to offer:  a heightened platform for friendship, for storytelling, for sharing.  And in this regard alone, Magnus and Magnus may have been one of the best restaurants I've ever experienced.

Magnus & Magnus
411 18 Goteborg

http://magnusmagnus.com
Posted by Kris at 16:08:08 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Best Espresso in Gothenburg: Cigarren

Greetings from Sweden, friends!  The coblestone streets and charming shops look quintessentially European this visit: every business is trussled in tasteful holiday decor, replete with white lights and green garlands around each window.  I've been in lovely Gothenburg for four days now, and feel thankful to find that the city's best cafe is conveniently located midway between the Hotel Avalon and the Figura design office: a brisk 15 minute walk that's all the sweeter while anticipating my next cafe cortado!

The lovely Cigarren sits on the Jarntorget square in the Linnestaden neighborhood next to the unfortunate Burger King, but you hardly notice the tacky neighbor once you lock eyes on Cigarren's crystal chandelier, gamingly hung outside under her front awning.  You'll pass several teak tables and chairs as you make your way to the door; wool blankets are thoughtfully placed on the backs of the chairs, waiting for the cafe's patrons who choose an outdoor seat despite the cold: prime square and fountain watching.  Inside the cafe are high bar tables and stools, a walk-in humidor for all your boss' tobacco needs, a pastry case of sweets, and most importantly, a barista who clearly takes much pride in how he prepares espresso beverages.  Caramel-ly and rich, strong but not bitter, and always a double shot topped with a rosetta of steamed milk swirled into the espresso elixir.  This could be Italy.  Paired with a chocolate-coconut bar that always screams my name from the pastry platter, I hardly notice my jet lag, nor the fact that I'm 4,720 miles from my home town, the land of supreme coffee snobbery!

Enjoy the tunes while you're there: it was 'September' by Earth, Wind and Fire on Thursday...

http://www.cigarren.nu/
Posted by Kris at 11:54:35 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |