You Are Now Free to Move About the Cabin

I have one weakness when I travel, and that's airport newsstands... oh, and seven-dollar beers. Okay, that's two foibles, but I'm gonna write about the former here. I simply can't help it; I'm a sucker for all that shiny paper and artificially lit subject matter, and price is no object. Give me a pretty picture and I'll shell out criminal amounts of cash. But you'll never find me perusing the entertainment section of Hudson News. People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive? Who gives a damn. Naked pictures of Brett Favre? Puh-lease! And who the hell is Kim Kardashian anyway? No, predictably, I'll waltz boldly over to the perfectly legal food porn aisle. Saveur, Bon Appétit, La Cucina Italiana, Southern Living, Coastal Living, and Sunset Magazine. But the most insidious of them all? Gourmet Magazine. Their stylists and photographers ought to be recognized by the Museum of Modern Art, or the Louvre or something. On my way back from the Bay Area last month, the latest volume reclined in a rack with a "come ye hither" stare. As if using Photoshop® weren't cunning enough, the words Special Edition cried out to me from the masthead like some maddening siren's song. My pulse quickened, my breathing grew raspy and shallow, my eyes rolled, glazed, into the back of my head. Once again, and adroitly so, Condé Nast had played unpitying dominatrix to my willing submissive.

But the really nice thing about food magazines? They're actually useful. They're chocked full of recipes and ideas that you can take and apply in your own kitchen. Try that the next time you pick up an Us Weekly.

Roasted-Tomato Tart - from Gourmet Quick Kitchen, Nov 2010

1 frozen puff pastry sheet 2 lb plum tomatoes, halved 2 Tbsp plus 2 tsp extra-virgin olive oil 3½ tsp finely chopped fresh thyme ½ cup Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese shavings plus additional for garnish

Put oven racks in middle and lower third of oven and preheat oven to 425°F. Line a large rimmed backing sheet with foil.

While oven is heating, roll out pastry sheet on a lightly floured surface with a lightly floured rolling pin into an 11 x 9 inch rectangle. Transfer dough to an ungreased baking sheet. Chill until ready to use.

In a bowl, toss tomatoes with 2 tablespoons oil, 2 teaspoons thyme, ¼ teaspoon each of salt & pepper until well coated. Roast tomatoes, cut sides up and in one layer, in foil-lined baking pan in middle of oven for one hour.

Brush pastry with 2 teaspoons oil, then sprinkle with 1 teaspoon thyme. After roasting tomatoes for 1 hour, move tomatoes in pan to lower third of oven and put pastry on baking sheet on middle rack.

Bake pastry and tomatoes until pastry is golden brown and puffed, and edges of tomatoes are browned but still appear juicy, about 15 minutes.

While pastry is still warm, scatter ½ cup cheese shavings evenly over it. Top shavings with warm tomatoes, cut sides down in an even layer (pastry layers will collapse under tomatoes), then sprinkle evenly with remaining ½ teaspoon thyme, ¼ teaspoon salt, pepper to taste, and additional cheese.

Tomatoes (without pastry) can be roasted 1 week ahead and chilled in an airtight container. Reheat in 350°F oven until heated through before using.

Gourmet says, "Sometimes the easiest way to cook something also happens to be the best." I couldn't agree more, and that was certainly the case with this tart. My sweet Lone Ranger championed that doctrine by whipping up a salad out of practically nothing and amazed me for about the one hundred and eleventieth time since our relationship began. I'll never doubt him at the produce market again!

Try this tart. You will be amazed by how five simple ingredients can produce such delicious results.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Tangerine Chicken

There are couple of island traditions particular to Webb cottage, one being a new jigsaw puzzle set up in a nook off the living room that is the exclusive domain of KT and her dad. The rest of us sort of pick at it in passing, but those two go at it with a vengeance, no looking at the box cover for hints allowed. The other is that every year, rain or shine, Natalie insists on watching either Airplane or Blazing Saddles with her grandchildren. Most of them don't really watch the movie anymore, but wait for that moment when the old girl bursts into fits of uncontrolled laughter, usually with the start of the soundtrack and the opening credits. She sits in her high back chair giggling like the feeble. It's most contagious, actually. And that sets up a story on probably the best meal we've all ever sat down to on Chebeague.

With so much good food coming out of our Cottage kitchen, and so much laughter at the table, it's usually hard to single out one favorite meal, but this year will be remembered as the summer the Captain was introduced to the family, and the Blazing Saddle quotes volleyed across the table got the better of us. The only thing missing was water coming out of somebody's nose.

A Saturday Chebeague Family Dinner

Tangerine Chicken Roasted Asparagus Creamy Risotto

Roast Chicken with Tangerines - Food & Wine, December 2009

Two 6-pound roasting chickens For each bird: 2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced 6 rosemary sprigs 3 tangerines, washed and halved 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil ½ cup dry white wine ¾ cup honey Salt and freshly ground pepper 1¾ cups chicken stock or low-sodium broth

Preheat the oven to 425°. Set the chicken on a rack in a roasting pan and stuff the cavity with the garlic, rosemary and 4 of the tangerine halves. Tie the legs together. Juice the remaining 2 tangerine halves. Rub the oil over the chicken. Pour the wine and tangerine juice over the chicken, drizzle on the honey and season with salt and pepper.

Roast the chicken for 20 minutes. Add 1 cup of the broth to the pan, cover the pan with foil and reduce the oven temperature to 375°. Roast the chicken for 40 minutes. Add the remaining 3/4 cup of broth to the roasting pan. Cover and roast for 50 minutes longer, or until an instant-read thermometer inserted in an inner thigh registers 165°.

Transfer the chicken to a carving board and let rest for 15 minutes. Strain the pan juices into a saucepan and skim the fat. Carve the chicken and serve with the pan juices.

While most of the boys were out on the golf course, Miss Muffy and J-Mac were outdoing themselves back home in the kitchen. These birds were unbelievably moist and sweet. All that tangerine juice and honey did a real number on the flesh. Muff and J garnered lots of kudos from around the table that night. I was reminded why I love chicken so much. This is a recipe you'll have to try for a weekend family dinner.

Well, the laughter started at the table and, as predicted, took a crescendo with Natalie's guffaws as Madeline Kahn made her way on stage for "I'm Tired", and petered out as Cleavon Little and Gene Wilder rode drove off into the sunset. But talk of that delicious meal went on for several more days.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

The Chebeague Island Inn

The Webb Cottage clan has longed to be loyal Chebeague Island Inn devotees for ages. Over the years we've seen owners and managers come and go. There have certainly been high and lowlights during that time. The views from the covered veranda are spectacular, and there's nothing better than sipping a cocktail in one of the comfy wicker chairs, idly watching the boat traffic on Stone Wharf as the sun sets behind the New Hampshire mountains 50 miles off in the distance.  However, there was also the unfortunate, now hilarious, still-partially-frozen fish filet incident, and the nearly inedible lobster roll massacre back when Y2K was still a novelty. Still, we go back every summer with high hopes. The 130-year old Inn has great bones and loads of potential. It just wants for the right blend of moxie, vision and a solid business plan to make it a full fledged destination spot. The old girl may have found those in spades with the Prentice family. New general manager Casey with his parents Richard and Gerri bought then Inn back in January and have made great strides improving service and coming up with a smart marketing scheme. They lured hot Portland chef Justine Rowe to the island with the title of executive chef, and he's already making a mark with a seasonal menu of traditional favorites and new classics.

Miss Muffy and I stopped in on my first full day on island to nose around a bit, deliberating whether we wanted to risk another infamous meal in the dining room. Upon learning of the new owners and chef, and after perusing the menus, we made dinner reservations for a Monday later in my stay. Mondays, we were told, were Nostalgia Night, when Chef Rowe puts his own spin on family favorites.

Roasted Cornish Game Hens Roasted Shallot, Herb & Mushroom Stuffing Fingerling Potatoes, Green Beans Slow-Cooked Baby Back Ribs House Barbecue Sauce, Hand-Cut Fries, Cole Slaw Spaghetti and Meatballs Marinara Sauce Oven Roasted Pork Chops House-Made Applesauce, Sweet Potato Purée, English Peas Vegetable Alfredo Egg Noodles, Spinach, Asparagus, Roasted Corn Baked Lemon Pepper Haddock Basmati Rice, Asparagus, Chive Butter Sauce

I don't know how we pulled it off with eight very independent appetites; hell, I can't even order a proper bottle of wine for the table without some fuss, but we somehow managed to order at least one of every entrée. Nary a complaint was uttered by anyone with the first bite. I got a taste of everything and can attest to Rowe's expertise in the kitchen. Lovely, rich sauces, perfectly executed doneness on all the meats. The haddock most especially was firm and flakey and cooked right through. KT's meatballs were nice and moist with a fine outer crust to them. The meat fell off the bone on the ribs. There was also a pleasant heat in Rowe's BBQ sauce. I suspect they had a dry rub before cooking.

And my game hens! Well, you can see for yourself what I thought of those. The stuffing, with the herbs and mushrooms, was homey yet sophisticated. Even the vegetables were faultlessly blanched. Not those mercilessly boiled grayish green things negligent chefs often serve. The table raved and raved.

I don't think Management was prepared for the Monday holiday after the Fourth. Wait staff and owners alike were running around, madly accommodating the fast-filling dining room. Even Richard Prentice himself was called into service bussing tables. Personally, I like seeing that. It shows an honest desire to succeed and gives one the impression that no one is above performing even the lowliest task to keep the customer happy. In any event, we got the last three slices of poor Chef Rowe's strawberry rhubarb pie. A couple of the kids tried to lick the glazing off their plates, so I presume they liked the dessert.

As Richard cleared, I took the opportunity to introduce myself and let him know how much we enjoyed our dinner. He showered an inordinate amount of attention on us afterwards. He told us about his family, a little bit about their background, and their hopes for the business. We discovered that the Prentices and the Webbs used to live just a few houses apart from one another in New Jersey. That sealed deal. Between dessert and a final glass of Port, J-Mac schmoozed with Casey and Gerri in the lobby. Always the charmer, he had them grinning ear to ear with his enthusiastic approval of the changes in the Inn and his fervent hopes for a thriving Prentice run. I'm not entirely sure, but I think we made reservations for next year before heading back to Webb Cottage that night.

Chef Rowe also does an appetizer and cocktail service every afternoon on the porch. He calls it Sunset Landing and it's a brilliant excuse for the grown ups to get away for a couple hours.

Sunset Landing

Marinated Olives Devils on Horseback Blue Cheese Stuffed Dates Wrapped in Bacon Maine Oysters on the Half Shell Green Peppercorn Mignonette Artisanal Cheese Plate Honeycomb, Fruit Compote, Nuts, Crostini Charcuterie Plate Whole Grain Mustard, Pickled Onion, Crostini Lobster Corn Dogs Sun Dried Tomato Aioli Scallop Ceviche Grilled Baguette Duck Tenderloin Skewers Root Vegetable Slaw Bangs Island Mussels Dijon, Horseradish, White Wine, Grilled Baguette

How do you improve on cheese and bacon? Well, Chef Rowe sets up a 3-way with plump moist dates and gives it a clever name. Our hostess cooed when we ordered them. A young woman of obvious fine breeding. And they were out of this world! The nutty sweet meat of the date was heightened by the tang of the cheese and the smokiness of the bacon. They were the show stopper at our table. I could have popped them into my mouth all afternoon. We'd heard about the corn dogs, and I couldn't wait to try them. They just missed the mark though, in my opinion. The aioli was an inspired condiment, but the cornmeal dough could have used a kick with a pinch of cayenne maybe, or even just some citrus zest in the lobster meat. The ceviche was perfection, however. Just the right amount of acid from the lime, and the thin slices of scallop stood up to the "cooking" sauce. Finally, duck should never be served any other way than pan seared or roasted on the bone. I liked Rowe's idea, but our duck was a little dry, a bit bland and deprived of the crackling skin good roast duck is famous for.

Miss Muffy gets upset when I'm critical of restaurants and food, especially on Chebeague. Then again, she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. I've had to explain that I'm not being contrary, just honest, with the aim of helping to make an establishment better through constructive scrutiny. At the Inn, my criticisms are minor and don't stop me from heartily endorsing the place to all my readers.

Photo courtesy of the Chebeague Island Inn

Well, the Inn is now in good hands. The Prentices, I think, have a feel for what will ultimately work on the Island, and what might be too ambitious. They seem to be earnest and sincere innkeepers, with an eye toward satisfying their clientele. They certainly impressed me, and I look forward to going back again and again.

Chebeague Island Inn 61 South Road Chebeague Island, Maine 04017 (207) 846-5155 Open for accommodations and dining mid-May through mid-October.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Fyn

Just because you take to the sea and cross the world, it doesn’t guarantee that you will come by treasure.

Danes hate the phrase “good night”, so the birthday party went on until all hours and included a late night skinny-dip in the Lillebælt - bottle of snaps and shot glasses in hand. Heaven knows when we finally stumbled into bunks and tents, but plenty of overnight guests made for quick work of KP duty the next morning, and by noon most of us were ambitious enough for a walk.

The Danish leg of my trip was supposed to end that morning with a train to Hamburg and then a flight down to Bergamo, Italy. However, sometime earlier in the week the thought of leaving Strib became less and less appealing. The summerhouse has a magnetic hold on me. I don’t even like going into town all that much. So, with a small group of friends extending their stays, it didn’t take much persuading to get me to change my plans.

I wish I could regale you with tall tales of adventure, but we mainly stayed close to home or struck out on day trips, always back in time for a glass of wine and a good dinner. We spent one fine day in Århus walking along pedestrian streets in the shopping district, eating pølser, drinking strong ales and admiring the Danish masters at ARoS Århus Kunstmuseum.

P.S. Krøyer - Skagens jægere

Another day found us in Svendborg in southern Fyn, looking for yet one more of Denmark’s legendary lunches. We were not disappointed. At Hotel Æro, four of us split an enormous omelette topped with crackling (G.H.W. Bush would say pork rind). It was eaten with rye bread, spicy mustard and pickled beets. There were saner fish entrées, but who wants to be safe & sane on holiday? Emboldened by all that pork fat, one fellow diner ordered the Svendborg stew, or "Pound of Bacon Soup", strips and strips of crispy fried bacon wading in a shallow pool of tomato broth. Ridiculous.

Closer to home in Melfar (Middlefart), we returned repeatedly to Holms, the 425-year old inn that anchors that ancient ferry and whaling town. They serve leverpostej, a liver pâté spread, accompanied by sautéed mushrooms and crispy bacon. I ordered it three times in 10 days and cannot believe I’m still alive to tell the tale. There is an extravagant version called dyrlægens natmad (literally, veterinarian’s midnight snack!) served open-faced on dark rye bread, topped with a slice of corned beef, a slice of cooked meat in aspic, and finally raw onions and water cress. Even I never had the guts to order that.

With only a couple of days left on the itinerary, we migrated east toward Copenhagen. Needful of some down time, I snuck off solo early one morning, wandering the capital with nothing but a camera and a coin purse full of kroner. Snob that I am, I cast furtive looks of disdain at the more obvious tourists and kept to myself. I wanted to absorb the city, undistracted, through my pores.

Late in the morning, I met up with Whogus and a good old Dane, René. They found me drinking a beer in one of the squares off the main walking street. After more walking, lots more walking - and beers, LOTS more beers - and even some sightseeing, it was time to say goodbye. My friends escorted me - besotted - to the train station late in the day for my journey back to Germany and a morning flight to the States. No one was willing to utter the words goodbye. There were awkward handshakes, and then heartfelt hugs before the doors to my carriage closed. I listened to sad songs on my iPod, watching the Danish countryside whiz by, thinking there would be time for happy songs and happier memories later on.

There are so many trite clichés about traveling “broadening one’s horizons.” What a load or tripe! You could walk to the corner market or Timbuktu and it wouldn’t matter one fig but for the companions who share the journey along the way. So if there is a lesson here in my summer story, it is this: enjoy the ride, embrace the company, and dwell on the truth that you only get one shot at this, so don’t screw it up.

Thanks for taking the time - Blog O. Food

Strib

"...but if everybody would stay content with what is his own and let others enjoy the same rights, then no law would be needed." - Code of Jutland (1241, preamble)

To me, Denmark is the rational embodiment of the "live and let live" sensibility. Danes respect privacy and the rights of property. As long as you're not hurting anybody, pretty much anything goes. You see evidence of this in their industry, in Danish homes, and in how they play. While maintaining a strong free market capitalist economy and a large social safety net, it has few fabulously wealthy or extremely poor citizens. People are not hung up on accumulating stuff, or in sticking their noses in other people's business. An ugly debate about the sanctity of marriage couldn't happen in Denmark. They just don't speak that particular language. And so, whenever I visit, I literally feel the baggage of my divided country slipping away with each passing day. By the time our party reached the summer house, there was no tension in my shoulders. I was infinitely patient, almost serenely calm.

An excellent state to be in, as there was lots of work to do preparing the cottage for the birthday onslaught. The gardens needed tending, the lawn furniture hauled out of the tool shed, bunks made up, and finally, the flag pole painted and the Dannebrog flown. In between were fabulous home-cooked meals, long walks through the countryside and wicked games of cards lubricated with plenty of excellent wine.

We had fine weather all through the week. It made one morning ritual an utter delight: the bakery run. Tradition has it that the first to arise each morning bikes into town for fresh breakfast rolls. Beating Whogus out of bed, however, is a challenge. I personally don't think he sleeps, or maybe he has a twin who steps in while the other dozes off somewhere unnoticed. But Whogus can be relied upon to wait for others to stir before heading off. Everyone seems to love this task most of all. One rarely makes the trip alone. So every morning we break our fast with a meal of still-warm bread, butter & jam, stinky cheese, and strong black coffee. And then we go off together or in small groups for the day's outings. On Thursday morning a large party tent had to be erected and wild berries picked for the night's dessert. Naturally the women all stayed behind to assemble the metal frame and hang the canvas while the boys donned straw hats and carried baskets out into the fields. Oh if saying it only made it so! By the time the guys - sweaty and grimy - had the shelter up, the girls were back with armloads of berries and plums. What an industrious lot!

Late in the day, all was prepared. We shared one last cozy evening together before the crowds descended the next morning. We ate out of doors, dawdling over coffee and chocolate before washing up and starting another game of røvhul. There was plenty of music (everyone seemed to have an iPod), and an almost palpable, convivial, loving atmosphere. I think everyone suspected that once the house overflowed with company, the intimacy would quietly dissipate.

Finally, the day arrived. There were dips in the Lillebælt, the narrow strait that separates the mainland of Jylland from Fyn where our little summer house sits. Many of us were reluctant to forfeit our daily constitution, but did consent to shorten it a bit. There was a light midday meal (mostly liquid on my part) as we chefs prepared the feast. A local Dane had arranged for the hindquarters of a fresh lamb and a turbocharged gas grill borrowed from his boss. In the kitchen, scores of helping hands whipped up pasta, potato and green salads. We were introduced to an herb that grew right along our stretch of beach, to brighten our side dishes. Of course there was snaps, beer and enough wine flowing through the prep work and the banquet itself to float the Danish Navy.

That satisfied silence that accompanies any good meal was punctuated by toasts in Whogus's honor, celebrating long friendships and familial ties. Shouts of "skål" rang out into the night and akvavit was lifted to smiling lips. And at last, wild blackberry crumble. Oats, brown sugar and butter crust atop berries so fresh and so ripe that adding sugar would have been nothing short of pure folly. As the mid-summer sun slowly set behind us, we each offered up thanks in our own personal ways for the accident of life and the blessing of friends.

Happy Birthday, Whogus - Blog O. Food