Roasted Pork Tenderloin with Honey and Mustard

It's a good day for Donna Hay.
(OGITK, Confessions of a Blogaholic)

I've already told you, haven't I, that blogging makes me do strange things. Such as this little roast here.
A fillet. Of pork. Roasted. Me. Who until few months ago almost didn't even know the flavor of pork ...
The thing is, today I woke up and started thinking of her, the Coco Chanel of food styling; the most beloved and most celebrated cookbooks' author among all food bloggers, the rookies and the pros; object of worship and source of untold frustration for those photos of her, clean, minimalist and always tres chic. A cult that transcends the logic of what's edible, an absolute reverence, for the most part incomprehensible to those who have never stood in front of a chicken with their camera.

And while thinking about the Divine, I remembered that:
1) By Donna Hay I own one book, which, like its other fellows on the shelf, is new, untouched, and sadly dusty (and how couldn't it be?);
2) By Donna Hay, I've never tried anything.
Shame on me. It was definitely time to make amends. And to make up for the lost time, I've studied the volume from top to bottom, only to choose the easiest recipe, as custom.
Divine, I hope you can forgive me anyways. I mean, I say it again, it's pork!


Roasted Pork Tenderloin
with Honey & Mustard
for 3

pork tenderloin 1, about 1 lb.
honey 2 tablespoons, full
whole grain mustard (aka Moutarde à l'Ancienne, which is much more In) 3 tablespoons, full
parsnips 4
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh oregano to taste

Not only pork, but also parsnips. And whatthehell are these parsnips? Try to think of a pale carrot, or an oblong potato, or maybe something in the middle, and there you go, you'll have a fairly accurate idea of parsnips. For more information, you just need to read here.

Peel the parsnips, remove ends and cut them in half lengthwise. Season them with two tablespoons olive oil, salt and pepper, and place them side by side on a slightly greased baking pan. Bake at 375 for about 45-60 minutes, depending on their size.
Meanwhile, prepare the marinade by mixing honey, mustard and few sprigs of fresh oregano, finely chopped (if you wish, you can add a couple of teaspoons of mustard seeds). Trim the meat from the fat and cover it with the sauce. Let it stand in refrigerator until ready to bake.
Lay the fillet over the parsnips, brush the marinade on top, making sure to cover it even on the sides, and bake at the same temperature for 25-35 minutes (depending on its size), until the fillet is golden on the outside and fully cooked on the inside.
And so this is done as well. Time to check mark it.

Pecan and Fig Stuffed Quails

And so it happened that one fall afternoon Fate gave me four quails, poor them. And pitiless as Agamemnon, I decided to sacrifice them to this blog, like modern Iphigenias bound to propitiate some kind of Goddess' wrath.
But this time, as testified above, no divine intervention came to rescue the victims.

Well...what can I say? There's always a first time. But due to my poor familiarity with such mystical experiences, I'd like to add that most likely this whole thing won't happen very often. But...Oh My Goodness, these quails are really tasty.


Stuffed Quails
with Pecan & Figs
serves 2 (a little hungry) people

quails 4, already cleaned
(...so what? Are you kidding?)
dried figs 7-8
pecans 1 handful
onion 1/4
garlic 1 clove
brandy 2 tablespoons
orange, juice and peel 1/2
bread crumbs 1-2 tablespoons
honey 2 tablespoons
olive oil, salt, pepper, fresh thyme to taste

Rinse quails, pat them dry with kitchen towel and rub them inside and out with salt and pepper. Mince onion and sauté it in a little bit of olive oil with the garlic clove, peeled and cut in half. After few minutes add chopped figs, brandy, 2-3 tablespoons of orange juice and grated peel of half orange. Season with salt and pepper and cook for few minutes until figs gets soft. Discard garlic clove. Let the mixture cool down a bit, then add toasted chopped pecans and bread crumbs. Adjust the taste with more salt and pepper, if needed. If the stuffing is too dry, add a little more orange juice or olive oil. Place about two tablespoons of stuffing inside each quail, without filling them too much, tie their legs with kitchen twine and place them in a baking pan.
In a separate bowl, mix 2 tablespoons olive oil, 2 tablespoons honey, 2 tablespoons orange juice and few fresh thyme sprigs. Brush about half of the mixture over the quails and bake them at 400. After 10 minutes, brush them with the rest of the marinade and bake for 20-30 minutes longer, until quails are nice and brown.

Orange Roasted Chicken

Most likely at this point in time you’ve already figured it out yourself. I'm not exactly a kamikaze-foodblogger, ready to do anything to keep fueling the Holy Fire of culinary creativity. Sometimes I need to take a break, and it usually happens when at night I start dreaming of crying tomatoes, who beg me to find them one mozzarella that deserves its name; of lumpy dough growing out of proportion, accusing me of never feeding it with a sourdough starter; of out-of-reach croissants, that first shake their buttery fragrance under my nose, and then run, run far away, and happily jump into a bowl of coffee.

Unmistakable signs that it's time to take a vacation, amuse oneself in the sweetest culinary oblivion, forget how to make pastry dough, how to gut those poor sea breams, or why months ago I had bought a bag full of barley flour. And this time it hit me so hard, that for few weeks I seriously considered giving up and blog-retiring after only one year of (respectable) service. And because I trust you and I know you won't tell anybody, I admit that during the past months I've done crazy things, like selling 22 cookbooks (!!) one after the other, the Kitchen Aid, a clay pot that I had never used, and my beloved Imperia. And, even worse, I didn't even regret it. It was so easy. ZAC! The time to write an online ad, and that's it. Just try it.

And yet, as unexpectedly as it went away, the culinary fervor shows up again, taking over your commuter's fantasies and forcing you to reach for the few books that have survived the massacre. It may have been October's crisp air, that one random day ordered me to lock myself in the kitchen, baking cookies like crazy with the oven in full glory; or it may have been all those pumpkins, slaughtered for Halloween, that begged me to please use them for a risotto. The thing is, one day I simply went and bought a cute new apron, I took out the tools from the bottom of the drawer (what am I talking about? I don't even have a drawer...), and I recharged my camera's battery.

Enough doughs went under the blades, enough chickens went under the broiler to make me understand that it'll be always like that, an on-going change of feelings, an endless love/hate relationship with this insanity called blog. Foodblog, to be precise. That sweet vacation was not the first one, and for sure it won't be the last one either. Take me as I am.
Amen.


Orange Roasted Chicken
serves 4

chicken, cut in pieces 1
orange marmalade about 1/2 cup
lemon 1
bourbon 3-4 tablespoons
red onion 1
oranges 2
salt, pepper, ground clove to taste

Why the Holy Fire hypnotized me with visions of chickens, citrus, and marmalade, I don't know. As for me, I didn't put up any resistance, quite the opposite, I took it as a good excuse to use one of the countless marmalade jars in my pantry, freeing up space for the next one.

Pat the chicken dry with paper towel and rub it with salt and pepper. In a small pan mix orange marmalade, juice and grated zest of lemon, bourbon, and ground clove, and warm them up. Pour marinade over the chicken pieces, so that they are covered on all sides, and let rest for at least one hour.
Then, place the chicken on a baking pan lined with parchment paper, skin side up, add the onion and one orange, quartered. Drizzle with the juice of the other orange, and bake at 400 for about one hour, or until chicken skin is golden brown.
Place chicken on a serving dish. Collect the juices from the bottom of the baking pan, place them in a small pot and reduce them to a thick sauce. Pour it over the chicken and serve.
It may be unnecessary to say this, but I strongly recommend eating the above dish with your hands. Lick it, people, lick it.

Beef Tagliata

Or, How tagliata went back in fashion, from Milan to San Francisco.

As soon as I've seen this beautiful black thing, here, I said to myself I want it! And as soon as I've seen this beautiful recipe, again here, I said to myself I'll make it! There are some instincts you can't really resist, and if you do, please let me know how you manage because I'm really not able to.

Few days later, I was fated to run into a sheet of slate while browsing through a gardening store, thinking of everything else than my duties In The Kitchen. Apparently one cannot escape his own fate, or at least this was the official excuse I gave myself to justify the purchase of yet another triviality. Two minutes later - it goes without saying - I was at the butcher shop, because she had told me imagine how nice it'd be the tagliata on top of a slate sheet....

So, what you think, you like it?
Yes? So do I!!


Beef Tagliata

one piece of beef, sirloin or roast beef, about one inch thick
olive oil, salt, pepper to taste
fresh rosemary, thyme, marjoram to taste

For the recipe I've followed exactly Lydia's instructions. Put a non stick pan over high heat. When burning hot, add a tiny bit of olive oil. Season meat with salt and pepper on both sides, then place it in the pan and let it cook for two minutes per side.
Meanwhile, preheat the oven to the minimum temperature (about 120 degrees) and prepare a piece of foil lined with a kitchen towel. Put the herbs on the kitchen towel. Remove meat from the pan and wrap it in the foil as if it were a package.
Place it in the warm oven and let it rest for about 15 minutes. As explained here, this step allows both to absorb the blood so that meat becomes more tender, and to warm up the center, which otherwise could be still cold.
Remove meat from the oven and cut it in slices a little less than 1/4 of an inch thick. Serve on a bed of arugula with few cherry tomatoes cut in half.

Roasted Cornish Game Hen with Pomegranate, Honey and Cinnamon

I know, I know. Pomegranate is out already, big time, not to mention Christmas. And instead here we keep turning a blind eye.
The thing is, although I can't stand all that Christmas cheesiness that each year starts haunting us one week earlier, when Christmas comes for real I don't want it to end, ever. That is to say, deep down I too have a soft heart.
Make no mistake here, in this recipe there's very little of pomegranate. Pomegranate molasses (or concentrated juice) is used instead to marinate the meat; it's a typical product of Middle Eastern cooking that I'm fortunate enough to find quite easily here. If you're serious about it, you could as well make it at home - you just need to reduce on the stove some pomegranate juice mixed with a little sugar and lemon juice (as explained here). But it will be for next Christmas.
With this one, I promise, I'll send pomegranate on vacation.


Roasted Game Hen
with Pomegranate, Honey & Cinnamon

game hen 1 each person
(to show off, call it poussin, you'll make quite an impression)
pomegranate molasses 2 or 3 tablespoons each
garlic 1 clove each
cinnamon, allspice, cayenne pepper, black pepper, salt, olive oil to taste
honey 1-2 tablespoon each

Rinse the game hens and pat them dry them thoroughly on the inside as well. Mix the molasses with plenty of cinnamon, allspice, cayenne pepper and slivered garlic. Pour the marinade over the hens and rub them so that the flavor gets everywhere. Let them rest in the refrigerator, covered with plastic, for at least 8 hours, turning them occasionally.
After this time, drain the hens from the marinade, sprinkle each one with salt and pepper, and tie their legs with kitchen twine. Arrange them chest side up on an greased baking pan, and bake at about 390-430 (depending on their size) for approximately 40 minutes. At the end, brush them with the honey and bake 5 more minutes.
Serve each hen on a individual plate and garnish with fresh thyme sprigs and pomegranate seeds.

Ayva Dolmasi. A Turkish Affair, aka Lamb Stuffed Quinces

I pack everything up and move to Turkey. I leave you a legacy of 153 cookbooks, many of which are still virgins, 74 types of cookie cutters, a pantry full of jams enough for the next 5 years, 12 types of flour, a notebook full of recipes, and an empty fridge. Yes, 'cause I decided I really like Turkish things, all of them, lamb, rose water, charred eggplants that are turned into puree, dried fruit mixed with chicken or red meat dishes, the barrels of yogurt, the spicy meatballs cooked on the grill.
I'm going to abandon my igloo and fly to the Aegean; I'll give up the never-ending Starbucks coffee and its paper cup for a nice cup of Kahve, black and strong; goodbye to spaghetti and tagliatelle, from now on only bulgur and pilaf.
At least until the next craze, Thai or Vietnamese, who knows?


Ayva Dolmasi
for 3

quinces, medium size 3
ground lamb about 1 lb.
onion, medium size 1
pine nuts 3 tablespoons
olive oil, salt, pepper, cinnamon, allspice to taste

The recipe comes from my last mindless appropriation, Arabesque: A Taste of Morocco, Turkey, & Lebanon, which won me over amidst another 200 books for its turquoise cover. No comment.

Wash the quinces, removing their downy coating, pat them dry and place them in a baking pan covered with aluminum. Bake at 320 for one or two hours (baking time will depend on the size of the quinces), until they're soft to the touch. Allow to cool down.
Meanwhile, finely chop the onion and sautee it in a little olive oil, until it becomes translucent. Add the pine nuts and toast them lightly. In a separate bowl, mix the lamb with salt, freshly ground black pepper, cinnamon and allspice. Add the onion with the pine nuts and stir well until you get a smooth mixture.
Cut quinces in half lengthwise and remove their core with a sharp knife. Scoop out the interior with a spoon, removing about 1/3. Chop the pulp you've obtained and add it to meat. Lightly salt the quinces halves and fill each one with a couple of tablespoons of the meat mixture, pressing lightly. Place them in baking pan lined with parchment paper and bake at 350 for about half hour.
If there's some filling left, you can make meatballs and bake them in the same pan with the quinces (or in a separate one) for the same baking time.

Six-Spice Steak

Yesterday I ran for 20 miles, and today my leg muscles are raising a chorus of protest. However, this is not the only reason why I decided to make myself a steak. It's also because I had a score to settle with meat since the previous post; plus, again because of the above tagine, I find myself with a pantry full of spices, and any excuse for using them is welcome.

I found the recipe - definitely of Asian influences - browsing through an old issue of Gourmet Magazine. Don't ask me what kind of cut I've used, because I wouldn't be able to tell you (the recipe calls for hanger steak, but who can find that?). To each place its own steak cuts. All you need is to be friend with Mr Butcher, and the problem is solved.


Six_Spice Steak
for 2 or 3 people

For the meat
beef steak, about 1,5" thick, cut lengthwise about 3/4 lb.
Sichuan peppercorns 1 tablespoon
whole black peppercorns 5 or 6
fennel seeds 1/2 teaspoon
anise seeds 1/2 teaspoon
cinnamon stick 1 piece, about 3/4" long
cloves 3
dark brown sugar 1 teaspoon
salt a pinch

For the sauce
soy sauce 3-4 tablespoons
rice vinegar 1/2 tablespoon
water 1 tablespoon
freshly grated ginger 1/2 tablespoon
dark brown sugar 1 teaspoon
minced shallot 1/2
minced garlic 1 small clove
fresh cilantro, chopped to taste

Preheat broiler. Lightly grease the pan where you'll cook the meat. Grind all spices in a food processor with sugar and salt until they're almost pulverized. Rub the meat with the spice mix and spread it evenly over it. Arrange meat on the pan and broil close to the heat, about 4 or 5 minutes per side (it must be on the rare side).
Remove meat from the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes. Collect the juice that's been released, add it to the rest of the ingredients for the sauce (except cilantro) and let it thicken on the stove for a minute.
Brush the steak with the sauce and sprinkle it with the chopped cilantro. Cut it into thin slices and serve over a bed of salad.

Lamb Tagine with Cinnamon and Dried Prunes

I'm sorry, the lamb ran away. The rest of the ingredients (more or less) are all assembled here. True, we're missing the main character, but he didn't feel like showing up in front of everybody, looking such a mess. And he put it off to the next tagine.

The reason may be known, or at least may be understood by budding foodbloggers like myself. Photographing meat is so damned difficult; no matter how nice is your serving bowl or how well the dish turned out to be. It's already hard to take a decent portrait of photogenic subjects such as cookies, tarts or croissants (not that I've ever tried to make croissants, but let's not split hairs here....). So, it's already difficult take a decent photo of subject that are beautiful per se, let alone meat! Even worse if it's something with undefined outlines, like goulash or stews. What you've prepared with so much care (for this recipe, it took me one hour only to make the list of the spices I needed...) turns into an undefined brownish patch that would make anybody loose their appetite.

Yet, I really wanted to share this tagine, because it's delicious. Therefore, picture or non picture, I decided to palm you off with this post. I put together this patchwork-recipe looking around in the web and in all those books that I haven't put on sale yet. Cooking for so long with the spices, the lamb acquires a very distinctive taste, and most of all it becomes so tender that I still can't believe I made it myself (...I've never had a great relationship with meat). The most exciting thing is that while the meat is cooking, such an incredible scent will spread around your house (or your 20 square meters) that you'll feel like The Mistress of Spices. And I wouldn't be surprised if your neighbors, following the scented trail with their nose, will knock at your door with some kind of excuse, hoping in your famous generosity.

To avoid any misunderstanding, tagine is literally the name of the pot with a conic lid - usually a clay pot - that is widely used in Moroccan cuisine - and North African cuisine in general - for this type of recipes. The tagine is ideal for slow cooking, because thanks to its structure, aroma and steam are retained in the inside, and the meat turns out very tender and tasty. And with all the gadgets that I already own, how could I do without a tagine?
But let's come to the point, here is the recipe. Trust me, it's not your usual piece of meat.


Lamb Tagine
with Cinnamon and Dried Prunes
for two

lamb meat, cut into 1 1/2 inch cubes about 1 lb.
paprika, salt, pepper, fresh ginger, turmeric, ground cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, coriander, cloves, cayenne pepper to taste
whole cinnamon sticks 2
red onion 1/2
garlic 1 clove
saffron to taste
white vine 2 or 3 tablespoons
honey 1 or 2 tablespoons
pitted prunes about 10
olive oil

The night before, toss the lamb with one tablespoon olive oil and ground spices (paprika, fresh grated ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, cardamom, coriander, cloves, cayenne pepper, and cumin). Cover and keep it in the fridge.
The next day, heat one tablespoon olive oil in the tagine, add meat with all its spices and let it brown on all sides. Take it out of the pan using a slotted spoon, add another tablespoon olive oil and cook garlic and onion, thinly sliced, for 5 minutes, adding some water if needed. Put the meat back in the pan; add salt, pepper, whole cinnamon sticks and the saffron previously dissolved in the white wine. Add water to almost cover the meat, put the lid to the tagine and let simmer for about one and a half hour, stirring occasionally. If needed, add more water, and adjust the taste with salt and spices.
Now, add honey and prunes. Let cook for another 15/20 minutes until meat is tender and the sauce thickens.
Serve with couscous.

After All It's Just a Chicken...

...right? Wrong. It's ZUNI CHICKEN.
For those who live in San Francisco and surrounding, Zuni Cafe is an institution, one of those places you can go 1,000 times and yet, right when the espresso comes, you already dream of the day you'll afford to go back. It's not only for their menu - because if you think about it, they are famous for a roasted chicken and a salad! - but it's for the passion they put into preparing your food, their love for sustainable, local and seasonal ingredients, for their open kitchen where the chefs don't have ANY single spot of sauce on their uniform, for their rustic bread, so fragrant and crunchy, for the impeccable yet unpretentious waitstaff, for their deep knowledge of the history of all ingredients that go in your dinner - from the type of olive oil mill to the origin of the cocoa beans that go in the chocolate cake; it's for the people that seat at the table next to you, who instantly become your friends just because you exchange opinions on the ricotta gnocchi, it's for the wide windows that look above that theater that has become Market Street, for those stairs that lead to the second floor, and yes, so that you too can say....I've been there.

Since I tried it the first time, I've always wanted to replicate the recipe for Zuni Roasted Chicken at home. I have to admit, though, I am super lazy and the 20+ pages of meticulous description of the process, as they appear in the Zuni-Bible have always turned me down. Whaaaaaat? If it takes me 4 hours just to read the recipe, it will take me at least 3 days to execute it, and all this for a damned chicken!
That is correct, one of the secrets is indeed to plan in advance and let the bird rest in the fridge all naked - well, almost... - for one to three days, so that the meat can absorb all the aroma from the fresh herbs.

Last week I really set my mind on the project, I printed tons of pages on Zuni's chicken and I totally committed myself. I had also promised my pot friend Irene (pot being the pan and not the weed...) that I would confront the chicken one day and I would transfer the recipe overseas. You have to keep your own word, so they say.
The chicken is really excellent. The recipe is very simple after all (despite its lenght...), just follow this simple advice: in order for it to come out just right, you have to select and treat the ingredients with love, Zuni style.


Zuni Roasted Chicken
for 4 people

1 small whole chicken approx. 3 lb.
rosemary, thyme,sage 4 sprigs each
salt, pepper
country style bread, stale 8 oz.
currants 1 tablespoon
pine nuts 2 tablespoons
olive oil, white or Champagne vinegar, red vinegar
garlic 2 or 3 cloves
scallions 4
arugula or frisee a couple of handfuls

Prepare the chicken (at least one day in advance, better if 2 or 3), discarding any fat lump from the inside, rinse it and pat it dry, inside and outside. It is important that the chicken be really dry, because if it stays wet, the water will take too much time steaming before the skin can actually start turning brown.
Using your fingers, make a little pocket under the skin of each of the breasts and thighs, and insert one sprig of each of the herbs. Sprinkle the chicken with salt and pepper, cover with plastic and refrigerate.

For the bread salad, discard all the crust, cut the bread in slices approximately 1" thick and then cut them in big chunks. Brush with olive oil and broil for few minutes, turning them on each side so that the surface turns golden brown.
Make a vinaigrette with 1/4 cup of oil, 1 1/2 tablespoon of white or Champagne vinegar, salt and pepper. Toss the bread with one quarter of it and set aside. You can also prepare this few hours in advance. Moist the currants with 1 tablespoon red vinegar and 1 tablespoon warm water and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 475 (exact temperature will depend on the size of the chicken). Warm the roasting pan by placing it in the oven for about 10 minutes, then place the chicken in it, breast-side up, and put it in the oven. Check it after 20 minutes, if the skin hasn't started browning yet, raise the temperature by about 25 degrees; if instead it is too dark and the fat has started smoking, reduce it accordingly. After about 30 minutes, turn the bird over and let it cook breast-side down for another 10-20 minutes. Turn it again and keep roasting for 5-10 minutes longer (total roasting time will be anywhere between 45 minutes and 1 hour).

In the meantime, slightly toast the pine nuts. In another pan, heat a tablespoon olive oil and briefly saute the slivered garlic and scallions, without letting them turning brown. Add pine nuts, garlic and scallions, and drained currants to the bread salad. Drizzle with one tablespoon of water, taste and eventually add more salt and/or vinegar. Keep it warm (you can also place it in a baking dish and put it in the oven with the chicken during the last 10 minutes).

When the chicken is ready (you can test by checking the juices that are released, they have to be clear and not red), arrange it on a plate and let it cool down. Slash the stretched skin between the thighs and breasts, then tilt the dish and drain the juices over the roasting pan.
Discard the clear fat, add a couple of tablespoons of water to the rest and gently simmer for few minutes. Add the greens to the warm bread, dress with 2 or 3 tablespoons of the chicken juices and the rest of the vinaigrette which you prepared before. Arrange the bread salad nicely on a serving dish.
Cut the chicken in 8 pieces, and set them on the plate with the greens and the bread salad. Serve it while still warm.