Genre

Très Veggie

Dan P.Wednesday, November 2, 19940

GENRE
November 1994

Hungry Man
Très Veggie
Vegetarian Meals with a French Twist

When I think of France, I think of my grandmother, an adorable young man named Daniel, and food. Admittedly, being a chef, when I think of anything I think of food. But France, more than anywhere else on earth, seems to be inextricably entwined with visions of the pleasures of eating – often to excess.

The remnants of my grade-school French allow me to inquire how to get to the local métro stop, ask the whereabouts of the pen of my aunt, and understand the chorus to “Lady Marmalade.” Luckily, my kitchen French is a bit better, and I generally know what someone is talking about when they say omelette, bon bon, or café au lait. I even know the word for vegetables, légumes, though I admit I had to look up where to put the accent.

In considering French cooking, vegetables are not the first thing that comes to mind, let alone vegetarian cooking. Even the 1,193-page bible of French cuisine, the Larousse Gastronomique, grants a grand total of one paragraph to vegetarianism and two to veganism, the latter referring to the outdated belief that it’s difficult to have a balanced diet in such a strict regimen. On the other hand, vegetables and grains are the core of Niçois and Provençal cuisines in the south of France, and cooks there wouldn’t think of serving a meal without them. The Niçois even claim to know more than 70 ways to cook vegetables – a claim that puts Americans to shame, since most of us have trouble handling boil-in-the-bag peas.

The French also have a devotion to eggs and things dairy – cheese, milk, cream and butter. For those who are looking for the strictly vegetarian, it often looks like a challenge to cook in a French manner. Luckily, it is indeed possible to cook without dairy and not risk offending your nearest francophile.

Among the vegetables that are available, but not common in use in the U.S., is fennel. This beautiful light-green bulb has a crisp, slight licorice taste that is delicious raw in salads or braised to brighten those cool fall evening meals. Although simple, this recipe is guaranteed to delight your tastebuds.

Braised Fennel

6 fennel bulbs
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and fresh black pepper
4 cups vegetable stock (yes, the omnivores among you may use chicken or beef stock)
¼ cup white wine

Trim the hard outer stalks of the fennel bulbs and wash and dry the bulbs. Heat the olive oil in a large pan. Sprinkle the bulbs with salt and pepper and quickly sauté in the olive oil until they just begin to color. Add stock (though homemade would be preferred, bouillon cubes dissolved in water is acceptable) and the wine, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pan and simmer for an hour until the bulbs are tender to the touch. Slice the bulbs lengthwise, season with salt and pepper, and serve hot. Makes enough for six as a side dish or two as a main course.

Carrots are among the favorite vegetables for many of us. I don’t know if it’s the bright orange color that reminds us of our school days in the safety patrol, or that buttery, sugary taste of candied carrots that mom used to make for special occasions. Updating that classic French dish gives us something that will bring a smile to any adult’s face, let alone a kid’s.

Carrot Fondue

(Fondue is not only the name for the classic Swiss dish with all those long color-coded forks and a bubbling pot of some unknown substance in the center of the table, but also a classic French cooking method of slowly cooking vegetables in butter or cream until very soft. Obviously, this one isn’t for the strict vegans.)

4 carrots
1 pint of heavy cream
salt and freshly ground pepper
Angostura bitters
2 tablespoons Madeira wine
2 tablespoons honey

Peel and finely dice the carrots, or thinly slice them. Put them in a heavy saucepan and cover them with the cream. Add a dash of bitters and the wine. Bring to a simmer and cook over very low heat until the carrots are soft and the cream has mostly absorbed into them. Add the honey, stir and serve. Makes enough for one to four, depending on how far you get from the stove before you taste….

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

GLBT, Humor, Vegetables

Mariachi Meals

Dan P.Friday, September 2, 19940

GENRE
September 1994

Hungry Man
Mariachi Meals
More Than a Hill of Beans

It’s that dreaded phrase: “Let’s go out for Mexican.” Visions of Taco Bell alternate with visions of greasy chimichangas, nachos, tacos and refried beans. A nightmarishly oversized lime-and-tequila Sno-Cone excuse for a marguerita flashes through my brain. Mariachi music plays in the background. In a cold sweat, I suggest we order pizza.

It is unfortunate that we folk up here in the U.S. of A. have managed to convert the rich and varied cuisine of the U.S. of M. into a hill of mashed beans – with jalapeños on top and corn chips below. With 29 states, two territories and a federal district, settlement by Spaniards, Portuguese, Frenchmen, Germans, Danes, Lebanese and Chinese, and native cooking that includes Aztec, Yaqui, Mayan, and Olmec, Mexican cuisine is far more interesting than that. It is mestizo, “of mixed blood,” a core ancestral fusion, not only of food, but of the entire Mexican culture.

Okay, yes, Mexicans do eat tacos. A lot of them. And enchiladas, burritos, tostadas, and frijoles refritos. They also eat fish and seafood, turkey and chicken, and an incredible array of vegetables and fruits, from the familiar, like celery, tomatoes and squash, to the unusual – jicama, tomatillos, nopal cacti and cactus pears, and sour oranges. Seasonings – Mexican cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, and oregano – taste elusively different from their counterparts we know in the U.S., and others, achiote, epazote, and hoja santa, are nearly unknown outside Mexican and Central American cuisine.

Corn is the staple grain of the Mexican diet, generally softened and cooked with lime (the alkali, not the fruit), and used whole in pozole or ground to produce masa, or dough, for tortillas and tamales. If corn is the heart of Mexican cuisine, chilies are its soul. There are dozens if not hundreds of varieties, from mild poblanos to smoky chipotles to hot jalapeños and serranos to the scorching habaneros.

We’re all familiar with the ubiquitous salsa and chips, but salsas and other sauces go far beyond chopped tomatoes, onions and chilies. There are recados, dry herb and spice mixtures, adobos, with chilies and vinegar, pepianes, thick, rich sauces thickened with ground seeds or nuts, and moles, spiced and thickened with ground chilies.

Let’s take a look at two simple dishes that can add some zip to your next dinner party. The first is a basic green salsa, which uses tomatillos, or “husk tomatoes,” instead of the usual red tomatoes. If you can’t find them fresh in your area, it is possible to use canned ones, though I don’t recommend them. You could also try fresh green tomatoes, which will make a different, but tasty variation.

Salsa Verde

1½ pounds fresh tomatillos
1 medium onion, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, minced
2 fresh serrano or jalapeño chilies, seeded and minced
1 cup fresh cilantro (coriander) leaves, chopped
1 teaspoon sugar
salt and pepper
vegetable oil

Remove husks from tomatillos and place them in a pot of cold water. Bring to a boil over high heat and then simmer for about five minutes. Drain and chop coarsely, saving the juices. Sauté the onions and garlic in oil over low heat until just softened, but not browned. Add the chilies and continue cooking for one to two minutes to bring out the chili’s flavor. Combine tomatillos, cilantro, sugar, and add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with chips or as a sauce over grilled fish. Makes four cups.

The second dish makes use of my favorite chili, the chipotle, which is dried and smoked jalapeño. Chipotles come in loose, dry form and also packed in a tomato sauce called adobo. This dish uses the dry form.

Cerdo con Crema Chipotle

1 pound pork tenderloin
1 medium onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1 chipotle chili
1 pint heavy cream
vegetable oil

Trim and cut the pork into one-inch cubes. Remove the seeds from the chipotle. Sauté the onion, garlic and chipotle in the oil over low heat until the onions are soft but not browned. Add the pork and continue cooking until golden brown. Remove the chipotle and purée in a blender with the cream. Pour the chipotle cream back over the pork and bring to a simmer over low heat. Let simmer for ten minutes to allow the pork to absorb the flavors and the sauce to thicken. Serve over pasta or rice. Serves two.

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

GLBT, Mexico, Red meat, Sauces

Breaking the Fast with Breakfast

Dan P.Saturday, July 2, 19940

GENRE
July 1994

Hungry Man
Breaking the Fast with Breakfast
The Meal Nobody Eats

In the course of an average day, the mythical average American adult watches four hours and 12 minutes of television and flips through a magazine for entertainment, and, no doubt, for the half-dozen breakfast ads for cereal, orange juice, coffee, English muffins, and at least one of a small child berating a parent for not eating a Pop-Tart. We are a culture obsessed with a meal we don’t even eat: breakfast.

We have to go to the gym. We have to get to the bank. We have to finish paperwork. We have to get dressed. We have no time. We have to get a child off to school. We have nothing in the cupboards or refrigerator that looks good. Basically, if whatever deity may or may not exist up in the sky thought breakfast was so important, it would have made the menus much more interesting.

Most of us grew up on breakfast cereal. Lovely little flakes, crunchy nuggets and colorful, squishy marshmallows abounded in bowls all across America. Prepackaged and processed breakfast cereal was introduced in the 1860s to the unsuspecting public by an equally unsuspecting cadre of Seventh-Day Adventists at their sanitarium in Battle Creek, Michigan. The latter were merely trying to add to their vegetarian diet. The former just wanted something to eat besides bacon and eggs.

Squirreled away (can I use squirreled in relation to a sanitarium?) in the facility was one C.W. Post. And living nearby was local resident W.K. Kellogg. Need I say any more about what happened between that sanitarium and Madison Avenue?

I am of the opinion that breakfast should provide your most balanced meal of the day. A proper selection for each of the four basic food groups is an absolute necessity: sugar, fat, salt, and caffeine. So yes, a sardine omelet, Bavarian cream doughnut and espresso would be a proper breakfast. But thanks, I won’t be joining you this morning.

We don’t want our nutritionists to keel over wholesale in horror. (Well, maybe just some of them.) In order to achieve the proper balance and still provide for something that the remaining nutritionists would only gasp politely at, we have to get creative.

About a squillion years ago, a friend gave me a coffee recipe guaranteed to charm that special guest on a first Saturday morning. that was back in the days when we believed in one-night stands and weekend romances. We have, of course, outgrown that belief. My friend called this Brazilian Coffee; I haven’t really a clue why, and neither do my Brazilian friends.

Brazilian Coffee

Serves 2

1 cup strong, fresh coffee
1 tablespoon sugar
a pinch of salt
1 ounce bittersweet chocolate
1 cup half & half (or ½ cup milk and ½ cup heavy cream)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cinnamon stick

Combine the coffee, sugar and salt in a pan. Warm over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Add the chocolate and continue cooking, stirring steadily, for three minutes. Whisk the half & half and the vanilla into the mixture and continue cooking another three minutes. Break the cinnamon stick in half, put each piece in a large coffee mug and pour the coffee mixture over.

That wasn’t so hard, was it? How about baking up a few muffins to impress that stud muffin still asleep in the other room?

Citrus (Stud) Muffins

1½ cups all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
2½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 egg
¾ cup milk
⅓ cup unsalted butter
grated rinds of 1 orange, 1 lime and 1 lemon

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Melt the butter over low heat. Beat the eggs, milk, butter and grated rinds together and stir into flour mixture. Stir until just mixed; if you stir too much, the muffins will be chewy. Pour into greased muffin cups (⅔ full in each one) and bake for 20 minutes, until a toothpick stuck in the center comes out clean, and the tops are golden brown. Makes about a dozen.

And that about covers our four basic food groups. So get creative with your mornings. And next time someone says you can have two eggs “any style,” let’s see just what kind of style you have…

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

Baking, Cocktails, GLBT, Humor

Is It Soup Yet?

Dan P.Monday, May 2, 19940

GENRE
May 1994

Hungry Man
Is It Soup Yet?
The True Test of a Chef’s Artistry

I grew up, like most of us thirty-somethings, believing that soup came in little red-and-white cans. Then it started coming in little red-and-white foil envelopes in little red-and-white boxes. We were red-and-white with wonder. Both versions said to mix with water, heat, and serve. Wow! Food even a college freshman could cook.

By the time I was 18 or so, I must have tried chicken with or without vegetables, rice, noodles, or matzo balls, beef with vegetables or barley, split pea with ham, and French onion with cheese and croutons. I hated cream of tomato.

I’m not 18 anymore (sorry, guys) and I’ve tried soup that comes out of a real pot. I realize it’s not as simple as opening a can or box, but the little bit of inconvenience is worth it. It’s not hard. Put solid things in liquid things. Cook or not. Soup.

Okay, so there are a few things that might not qualify. You won’t find me simmering pebbles (the stone kind, not the fruity) and chocolate chips in basil vinegar. Really. I’m not even sure we could get anyone to agree that it’s soup, even if it fits the technical definition. I’m also not putting it on the lunch menu. Trust me.

Soup fills the world of literature, from the Mock Turtle’s tribute in verse to “Beautiful Soup” in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to Robert Browning’s Hamelin rats lapping it up left and right. Whether it is the creation of a culinary genius like Fritz Brenner in Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe mysteries, or the production of the entire village in Marcia Brown’s Stone Soup, soup is a mainstay of the dining table.

To the best of my knowledge, every human culture on this planet and two others makes soup. There are simple ones, like Italian Stracciatella, with its flakes of egg and cheese sprinkled through chicken broth, or Kaeng Tom Yam Kung, from Thailand, with beautiful shrimp and lemongrass simmered in hot spices. There are thick soups – New England Clam Chowder, Vermont Cheddar Cheese, English Mulligatawny, and Algerian Cherbah. Even life itself started in a primordial soup.

In the professional world, a chef’s soups are considered a mark of his or her abilities. The French chef must have perfectly seasoned broths, crystal-clear consommés, and rich, unctuous flavors. The Japanese kokku is noted for stunning presentations of sea life in clear dashi, with simple, clean flavors. And Aunt Edna is noted for bowls of fresh chicken broth, each with a matzo ball you could knock down tenpins with.

There is an old Spanish proverb, “Of soup and love, the first is best.” (Well, actually, it’s “De sopa y amor, el primero es mejor.”) Whomever first said it was obviously experienced in such matters. It is spring, and it’s clear to me that if spring is a time for love, it is, even more, a time for soup.

Gazpacho Soup

Gazpacho is the perfect spring or summer soup, served cold, with crisp, clean vegetable flavors. Not only that, but it’s easy to make. This version serves six.

3 ripe tomatoes
1 cucumber
1 yellow onion
1 green pepper
1 carrot
2-3 cloves garlic
3 tablespoons really, really good olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
¼ cup good sherry
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
½ cup fresh herbs, like mint, marjoram, or parsley
1 cup ice water

Finely chop the tomatoes, carrot, garlic and herbs. Peel and seed the cucumber. Dice the cucumber, onion and pepper. Mix all ingredients in a large bowl, and keep cold until ready to serve. Adjust seasoning to taste; add additional ice water if needed to thin the soup.

Leek Soup

Okay, you have to cook this one, but it’s worth it.

2 large leeks, coarsely chopped
3 cups chicken stock
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon white pepper
¼ teaspoon mace (the spice, not the spray…)
4 teaspoons butter
thick sliced whole-wheat bread
brick cheese, grated
parmesan cheese, grated

Sauté leeks in butter until limp but not browned. Add milk, stock, and seasonings. Simmer 30 minutes. Put slices of bread in individual oven-proof soup crocks. Fill with soup, top with grated cheeses. Broil until brown and bubbly. Serves four.

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

GLBT, Humor, Stews and soups, Vegetables

Bitter, Sweet and Semi-Sweet

Dan P.Wednesday, February 2, 19940

GENRE
February 1994

Hungry Man
Bitter, Sweet and Semi-Sweet
The Shocking Tale of Chocolates and Love

Valentine’s Day 1969, I was 11. The Vatican dropped Lupercalia from the festival calendar. We were writing cards. I carefully lettered across its face, “Dear Irene… Would you be my valentine?” Irene wasn’t “my type,” but Mouseketeer Cubby was beyond my reach. A casual affair with my best friend Mike was still four years away and he was carefully lettering a card to his future wife.

Perusing several conflicting encyclopedias, I determined that Valentine’s Day as we know it has nothing to do with either of the St. Valentines. Unless it does. It is fairly certain that the St. Valentines did not know each other, unless of course, they were the same person, which they might have been. They certainly didn’t know Pope Valentine, the three Emperors Valentinus, the duke or duchess of Valentinois, or Rudolph Valentino, none of whom showed up in Rome until quite sometime after the Valentines were dearly departed. It is, however, entirely possible that Valentine’s Day has something to do with Lupercalia.

You see, after the martyrdom of the Valentines in the 3rd Century, like other saints, they got their own feast day. On February 14th. On the following day, February 15th, was Lupercalia. In this highly amusing festival in honor of Faunus, the Roman god of flocks and fertility and the inventor of the oboe, young men sacrificed a couple of goats and a dog, and then chased young women around, hitting them with goatskin whips. This was intended to make childbirth less unpleasant for the women. By comparison, no doubt.

In a dazzling display of logic and complete disregard for calendars, feast days and the sanctity of wife beating, folks in the mid-14th century turned Valentine’s Day into a celebration of love and courtship. Makes perfect sense. This brings us to my life, Valentine’s Day 1969, and goatskin whips. Which, using virtually the same logical pathways, leads me to chocolate.

I’m not talking about the wimpy, waxy, washed-out chocolate of your average candy bar from the corner grocery. How about something silky, smooth and sexy that is completely addictive and an aphrodisiac to boot?

From Theobroma Cacao, the cocoa plant, to that rich, gooey, melted mess in front of you – how does it get there? Pods. Each pod is filled with seeds. The seeds are removed and left on banana leaves to ferment in the sun. Then the seeds are roasted and hulled.

The seeds are crushed, turning into a paste called chocolate liquor. This is pressed to separate the cocoa butter from the cocoa solids. The cocoa butter is either blended right back into the solids to make unsweetened chocolate or sent to Coppertone. (So, drizzling chocolate on your body is not as kinky as you thought.) Sugar, in varying amounts, is added to make dark extra bitter, bitter, and semi-sweet chocolates. For milk chocolate, milk solids are added. You don’t even want to know from white chocolate…

The more cocoa butter, the richer the chocolate. Any good brand should say what percentage it contains. Trust me, you want at least 50%, no matter what your diet plan. Valrhona and Calebaut are considered just about the best makes out there. They’re worth the extra bucks.

More than you ever wanted to know about chocolate? Okay, I’ll make it up to you. How about a treat for someone special? Or perhaps they’d like a goatskin whip?

COGNAC TRUFFLES

8 ounces of heavy cream
1 pound bittersweet or semisweet chocolate
1 ounce butter, room temperature
1 ounce cognac
cocoa powder

Chop the chocolate finely on a dry cutting board and put in the mixing bowl of an electric mixer. Bring the cream to a boil and pour over the chocolate. Let it stand for two minutes and stir until smooth. Beat in the softened butter and let the mixture cool. On medium speed, beat in the cognac. If you have a pastry bag, pipe out balls of the mixture about ¾” in diameter on wax paper. If you don’t have a pastry bag, use a tablespoon. Place in the refrigerator to set. When firm, roll the balls lightly between your hands to smooth and soften the surface and then roll in cocoa powder.

Will you be my valentine?

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

Chocolate, GLBT, Humor

Pumpkin Pie Pot Lucks

Dan P.Thursday, December 2, 19930

GENRE
December 1993

Hungry Man
Pumpkin Pie Pot Lucks
Getting Over Overeating and Overworking

There is a stretch of road up ahead. It doesn’t lead to the Emerald City and it’s not paved with yellow brick. It leads elsewhere and is paved with good intentions. You set foot on the roadway. Your head fills with visions of relatives not seen since your last passage popping up like earthworms after a storm. The long road home, the Holiday Highway, get your kicks on Route 666.

This dark and twisting path winds its way from Roast Turkey to Popcorn & Beer, passing through Pumpkin Pie, Baked Ham, Plum Pudding, and Latkes. A fleeting festival opening on Thanksgiving and folding with SuperBowl Sunday. The former being one of the two important proclamations Abraham Lincoln made in 1863; the latter, apparently, some sort of sports event.

Two food traditions permeate the holidays. The first is overeating. By everyone. Repeatedly. All those months at the gym, all that stretching and bending, touching your toes, crunching your abs – gone in a binge the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Roman Empire. Tradition number two is overwork – usually by mom or grandmom – slaving away like Lincoln never did issue that Emancipation Proclamation.

Pigging out at the groaning board is something you’ll have to work out for yourself. I’ll save dieting for a future column. On the other hand, overwork can be handled by returning to the original traditions of most of these holidays. Everyone who comes to celebrate contributes to the food table. Potluck.

For most of us, potluck conjures up images of social events that our parents dragged us to. Places where the food consisted of cold, greasy chicken, eighteen casserole dishes of everyone’s favorite baked bean and potato salad recipes, and much too much green jello mold with fruit cup. Does it have to be that way? I think not. Even if you know you can’t cook, you know you have friends who can. Get out those invitation cards and get busy.

Whether you’re hosting dinner for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah, New Year’s, or even Human Rights Day (December 10th for those who aren’t sure), it’s time to put your foot and your whisk down. As host, take on the main course. It’s usually the least transportable. Turkey, a ham, roast chicken, fish, baked cauliflower, a walnut and mushroom roast. Your guests bring everything else. It makes for a communal event, everyone feels, justifiably, like they contributed. You’d be amazed at the wide range of cooking talent displayed.

In the best of all worlds, you’re not always the host. Sometimes someone else gets to clean their apartment, before and after the party. If dinner isn’t at your place, what do you bring? A casserole? Not one of those tuna and noodle things with cream of mushroom soup and potato chip crumbs on top. Maybe a mix of fresh vegetables in a spicy tomato sauce. Or layers of eggplants and squashes with cheese and herbs. Dessert? Pies, cakes, brownies, fruit marinated in liqueur.

One of my favorite dishes can be used as an appetizer, a side dish, or even a main course: Garlic-Mushroom Sauté. It’s simple, tasty, and your friends will be begging for the recipe. Just smile and tell them to subscribe to GENRE. Maybe that path home won’t look so foreboding after all.

GARLIC-MUSHROOM SAUTÉ

2 pounds of “wild” mushrooms (mix several different varieties like portobellos, chanterelles, shiitakes), sliced
4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
¼ cup of good olive oil
½ cup white wine
¼ cup heavy cream
¼ cup soy sauce
a couple sprigs of thyme (or ½ teaspoon dry thyme)

You will need a large, covered frying pan to hold all the mushrooms. Sauté the chopped garlic and thyme in olive oil until the garlic starts to brown. Add the mushrooms and stir. Add the wine, cover the pan, and turn the heat down to low. Let the mushrooms cook for about five minutes until soft and cooked through. Uncover, turn the heat back up, and add the cream and soy sauce. Stir to coat and let the sauce thicken slightly. If you’re bringing this to a holiday dinner, place in an oven-proof dish and reheat before serving. Makes enough for 4 main-course or 8 appetizer/side dish servings.

In keeping with the custom of quaffing quantities of spirits along with holiday gastronomic delights, I thought I’d offer the most traditional of all holiday libations: the Egg Nog – slightly updated, of course.

EGG NOG

12 eggs
1 pound sugar
1 quart Jamaica Rum
1 pint Peach Brandy
3 pints heavy cream

Separate eggs (yolks from whites, not from each other) and beat yolks with the sugar until frothy. Slowly add cream and then liquors, stirring constantly. Beat the egg whites until stiff and fold half of them into the yolk mixture. Pour in a punch bowl and float the remaining egg whites on top. Try not to imbibe at one sitting!

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

Cocktails, GLBT, Humor, Mushrooms

Aussie Dishes

Dan P.Saturday, October 2, 19930

GENRE
October 1993

Hungry Man
Aussie Dishes
Vegemite Sandwiches and Kangaroo Tails for All

There’s a bistro in the heart of Sydney that serves Pineapple Right-Side-Up Cake. Australians with a sense of humor about themselves? Could be…

In digging my way through to the other side of the world, I suddenly found myself down-under an avalanche of unfamiliar dishes. I decided to pass over the “bush tucker” of the outback with its fruit bats, witjuti grubs, kangaroo tails, honey-ants and blue tongue skinks. A couple hundred years of colonial cuisine did little to alleviate my bewilderment, what with yabbies, Moretan Bay bugs, pie floaters, dog’s eye and dead horse, damper, ANZAC biscuits, lamingtons, tim tams, vegemite, and pluto dogs.

I stayed on the yellow brick road, watched out for the witch, and found myself in “Oz Mod,” the new cuisine of Australia. The climate and isolation of this former penal colony have given rise to a spectacular array of fruits, vegetables, mushrooms, meats and seafood – many species found nowhere else on earth. Settlers from across our spinning orb have spiced the cuisine with everything from thyme and tarragon to star anise and wattle seeds. In a land where lemons grow on trees in the backyard, and papayas, passion fruit, custard apples, and mangoes are available at roadside markets, anything is possible.

On one hand, fish, low fat, and low alcohol are in fashion. On the other hand, Australians are the third-largest consumers of ice cream on the globe, and incredible ingesters of sugar, averaging a whopping 100 pounds of sugar per year, each. The “national” dessert of Australia, Pavlova, is a sugary meringue basket filled with fruit and whipped cream.

Just what is Oz Mod? To answer that I must point out that Australia is big. Nearly three million square miles of land area, almost 1,500 miles north to south by 2,000 miles east to west. Regional tastes can be as different as New England Clam Bkaes, Shrimp Creole, and Chili are in the U.S. My trek through the menus from coast to coast came up with a sampling that ranged from Indonesian-influenced King Prawns in Lime Sauce in southern Adelaide, through Mideast-style Lamb with Dried Fruits in eastern Sydney, to the very French Coral Trout with Beurre Blanc in northern Port Douglas, on to Italian inspired Grilled Kid Chops with Rosemary and Garlic in western Perth, and even south across the water, where a delicate Carpaccio of Tasmanian Salmon with Caviar and Edible Flower Confetti awaited in Hobart.

Since your local market may not carry warrigal greens, bunya nuts, or Balmain bugs, many “authentic” Australian recipes didn’t seem appropriate to share here. So, I picked a little favorite that you can make the next time you want to impress that special someone. Australian wines are in this year, so make your toasts with an outstanding Riesling from the Hunter Valley.

Sautéed Trout with Macadamia Nuts

2 fresh trout, each ½-¾ lb., gutted and scaled (leave the head and tails on)
½ cup chopped macadamia nuts
½ cup flour
1 tablespoon salt
1 teaspoon ground pepper
1 teaspoon grated orange peel
½ lb. fresh spinach
¼ cup safflower or other light oil
chopped parsley and lemon wedges for garnish

Heat a large (big enough to hold the two trout) frying pan over medium heat, add about half the oil and the nuts and sauté until just starting to color. Remove the nuts and set aside on paper towel to drain.

Mix the flour, salt, pepper, and orange peel in a plastic bag, put in fish and shake to coat thoroughly (one at a time). Add remaining oil to the pan, sauté the fish 5-6 minutes on each side until the skin is browned and when you look at the inside, the fish should be cooked through. Remove the fish and drain the oil out of the pan.

Quickly toss the spinach in the hot pan until just wilted. Mix in half the nuts, spread out on two plates. Lay whole fish on top of spinach bed. Top with the remaining nuts, chopped parsley and a couple of lemon wedges. Serves two. (Oh, if you just can’t deal with a whole fish, use fillets, and only cook for 2-3 minutes on each side.)

Special thanks for some of my Australian menu research to Kit Snedaker, Harry O’Neil, and Christine Cook.

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

Genre, Magazine articles

Fish, GLBT, Humor, Travel

Tea, Crumpets and Queens!

Dan P.Monday, August 2, 19930

GENRE
August 1993

Hungry Man
Tea, Crumpets and Queens!
Despite the bad rap English food takes, here’s a mouth-watering surprise.

“Pint of best bitter and kidney pie,” Christopher recites again for me. “It’s a safe bet for ordering in an English pub. Don’t order anything else. Except maybe fish and chips.” Christopher has lived his whole life in England and has just confirmed my worst fears about his native cuisine. Not that there’s anything wrong with steak and kidney pie or fish and chips – if you don’t mind your recommended weekly allowance of fats and oils packed into one lunch.

British cuisine is not Mom, Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and Chevrolet. It’s the Queen, Cricket, Bangers, Shepherd’s Pie, and a Land Rover. I’ve seen the movies. The British never eat anything but Roast Beef, Yorkshire Pudding, Plum Pudding, Toad-in-the-Hole, and Very Boiled Vegetables. I know that half the Western world eats Very Boiled Vegetables, but if only the rest passed the lips of the Queen’s queens, they’d be fat. They’re not. There’s nothing quite like a fresh-faced boy straight from the English countryside to inspire loyalty to the crown.

I follow said boy to said countryside. The cliffs of Dover, the back alleys of London and Liverpoll. There is real food in Britain. And an excellence I hadn’t quite expected.

The hills are alive with wood pigeons, quail, rabbits, deer. Fresh herbs right from cottage gardens. For the meat-eaters among us, there is nothing quite so mouth-watering as a straight-form-the-oven Game Pie. Tender, juicy bites of venison and hare mingle with soft wedges of carrots, turnips, and potatoes. A sprig of English thyme gives its all for the tastebuds.

I’ve lived around New York for the last ten years. I thought I’d discovered a Jewish boy’s heaven when I first tasted lox from the Lower East Side. Then I had Hebridean salmon, oak smoked, sliced thin enough to read through. It melted on my palate like an aged Bordeaux. Maybe not destined for a bagel with a schmear of cream cheese, but on a bed of greens with a light vinaigrette you could even win over your lover’s mother.

There is a tradition in French cooking to use meat stocks for soup. Luckily, a tradition the English have not fallen prey to. I like vegetable soup that tastes like vegetables, not meat. In spring, a simple watercress and lemon broth. Summer brings a light puree of fresh garden peas with pungent English mint. A cream of leek with Stilton cheese soup swirls in with the Autumn leaves. Chill winter winds are held at bay by a perfect potato, parsnip, and pepper potage.

Back in London, there is nothing quite like High Tea…with the Queen. Cups of steaming Earl Grey by our sides, we work our way up a three-tiered serving stand. On level one are the finger sandwiches. Crustless rectangles of bread with smoked salmon and herb cream cheese, watercress and cucumber, thin sliced sausage and slivered apples. On to level two with its scones and crumpets with clotted cream and jam. The crumpet, for those who’ve always wondered, is an English Muffin that didn’t fall into America’s hands. We crest the tray at level three, with bite-sized wedges of frosted sponge cake. A last draw on our mugs of tea and we wander out into the street, our quest for English cuisine sated.

Weekend mornings are no longer complete without fresh baked scones. Not the small wedges of dough with the density of lead that can be found at your neighborhood muffin shop. Light, sweet or savory, quick to make, ready by your morning coffee. Get out that food processor or crack your knuckles and…

Thoroughly mix 1½ cups of all purpose flour, 1½ teaspoons of baking powder, a pinch of salt, and ½ a stick of butter. Add a handful of whatever your heart desires; raisins, chocolate chips, chopped nuts, grated cheese. A ½ teaspoon of the spice of your choice, 3 tablespoons of sugar if you want them sweet, an egg, and 4 tablespoons of milk. Mix together quickly; don’t go overboard or the dough will get tough. Add a little more milk if the dough is still crumbly. Take 1½ inch lumps of dough and flatten slightly on a floured baking sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-15 minutes till golden brown. Eat. Long live the Queen.

Genre is a gay “lifestyle” and travel magazine. It was launched in 1992 by three entrepreneurs, two of whom shortly thereafter left to found QSF magazine. I went with them…

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