DC Culinarian

Recipes Revisted: Arroz A La Catalana

Let me tell you something about pimentón. It's smoked Spanish paprika, and I put it on EVERYTHING. Chicken, fish, eggs, salad, steak, roasted vegetables -- I even ate a spoonful of it once. If it were a politician I'd vote for it. If it were a church I'd tithe. Yes, it's weird. But Mark Bittman is a pimentón freak as well, so in that regard I consider myself in good company.

When it came time to make paella during March Spanish, I figured I'd just start with pimentón and build around it. When I came across this good, meaty recipe for Catalán-style paella, I was sold, and not just because it lent itself to excessive pimentón-ing. It also called for a meat that I had not had a whole lot of experience with: rabbit.

Finding rabbit is no small task. There are quite a few specialty markets and butchers in the area, but call after call proved fruitless until finally I ringed up Wagshal's in Spring Valley, which had two rabbits left. After some confused head scratching and some quick online research, I managed to butcher the wee beastie reasonably well.

To accompany the rabbit, more meat. Pork ribs, chorizo, cured ham -- there are a few veggies in there too, but this dish is all about stacking meat on meat. The key ingredient, however, is the rice. You can't make proper paella without right kind of rice: arroz bomba. This short-grain rice absorbs significantly more liquid than its longer-grain cousins. It can be difficult to track down, but be sure to make that effort. It will definitely be worth it.

Photos and recipe (via Penelope Casas' The Food & Wines Of Spain) after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Camarão No Abacaxi

Pineapple is an underappreciated fruit. More often than not you find it chopped in fruit salads, baked into desserts, or blended into cocktails. And while it performs capably -- indeed, admirably -- in those roles, pineapple's potential as an ingredient in savory dishes often goes overlooked. To grill a slice of pineapple is to know one of the greatest aromas in all of cookery, to say nothing of the taste.

Brazilians, however, have a well-developed appreciation for the pineapple, in particular the monstrously large variety they call abacaxi. And when I saw that Flavors of Brazil had a recipe for lobster-stuffed pineapple, I jumped on it... with a few modifications.

First off, I switched out lobster for shrimp (camarão, in Portuguese). l didn't want to, mind you, but the economics of running a food blog and planning a wedding often come into conflict, which meant finding a more affordable crustacean.

Also, the recipe calls for removing the flesh from the pineapples and mixing it into the stuffing. I went a different route. I cored the pineapples but left the flesh intact, and broiled the pineapple halves before stuffing, which imparted that wonderful caramelized flavor and made for a striking presentation.

The stuffing boasts the complex flavors of lime, crème fraiche, and tequila (it was Sunday, so cachaça was unavailable, thank you very much DC liquor laws). The richness of the stuffing is offset by the tart sweetness of the broiled pineapple, which makes for a wonderful pairing.

To accompany the shrimp-and-pineapple goodness I whipped together a simple side of roasted Yukon gold potatoes and shallots, seasoned with salt, pepper, and chopped thyme.

Photos and recipe after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Caldo Verde

Right now it's winter in Brazil. And though Amazonian rainforests and the tropical beaches of Rio tend to come to mind when we think of South America's largest country, it does get quite chilly at times, particularly at higher altitudes. To beat the cold, Brazilians dig deep into their Portuguese roots for a hearty soup called caldo verde.

Literally translated, caldo verde means "green soup." The green comes from very thinly sliced kale, which is stewed together with potatoes, onions, garlic, and chorizo. Those are, however, just the basic building blocks. Recipes for the soup vary from region to region -- the excellent blog Flavors Of Brazil has three different recipes to suit all your caldo verde needs.

I opted to go for a simple, tradition caldo verde preparation adapted from Leite's Culinaria. And I say with no reservation that it was one of the best soups I've ever had. The two dominant flavors of kale and chorizo complement each other beautifully. Borrowing from the Bambá de Couve-style, I threw in a poached egg, which provided added richness without being overwhelming. It has a slight spiciness from the sausage which is tempered ably by the potatoes. 

Also, caldo verde is cost-effective. I made over a half-gallon of soup and the ingredients cost me less than $10. At Whole Foods. (The chorizo was on sale.) Delicious and cheap -- two qualities I think we can all get behind.

Photos and recipe after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Crepes De Frango Com Champignon

I yearn for authenticity. When cooking up international fare, I want the real magilla, not a passable facsimile. As such, I was thrilled when a friend loaned to me a cookbook of recipes devised by his Brazilian grandmother (vovó, in Portuguese). Homemade recipes straight from grandma's kitchen? I defy you to find a higher standard for authenticity. That the book was in Portuguese only reinforced its true Brazilian bona fides. (Incidentally: thank you, Google Translate.)

And vovó came through big time with this recipe for chicken in a mustard-mushroom sauce. It's simple, rich, and flavorful, pulling together a diverse array of flavors from the mustard, Worcestershire sauce, and parsley.

What the recipe lacked, however, was a serving suggestion. And seeing as it has all kinds of authenticity to spare, I figure that wrapping the chicken up in the thin French pancake would elegantly solve that problem while staying true to vovó's vision. Even if it didn't, it was still pretty damn good.

Perhaps I'm not as slavish to authenticity as I thought...

Photos and recipe after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Pão De Queijo

My first step towards making pão de queijo was an inauspicious one. I drove out to the bluntly named Brazilian Market in Wheaton to pick up a key ingredient -- sour tapioca starch -- and perhaps sample some comida autêntica. What greeted me a few seconds after walking in was a fire alarm. A very loud fire alarm that wouldn't be turned off. So I was forced to make my visit a short one, leaving with just the sour tapioca and ringing in my ears.

A little tinnitus, however, was worth it to make these miniature cheese buns that are wildly popular in Brazil.

And to make them properly you need sour tapioca starch, which is just that: sour. When hearing the word "tapioca," most Americans likely think of pudding. The starch, however, is made from ground cassava root, which gets its bitter flavor from poisonous cyanide compounds (no joke, they're cooked out prior to consumption). It's paired with parmesan cheese and folded into a light, eggy dough that, rolled into tiny balls and baked until golden, are chewy, crisp, slightly tart, and delicious.

Photos and recipe (via Saveur.com) after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Caipirinhas

One caipirinha is all right. Two are too many. Three are too few.

This is a retrofitting of James Thurber's famous quip about martinis, but the principle remains the same. The caipirinha, while not as well-known in this part of the world as the martini, is no less dangerous. Perhaps more so.

And that is why it has earned the rare distinction of being the first beverage to earn its own spot in The Plan. I write this entry both as an advertisement for and a warning about the national cocktail of Brazil. If you respect it, you will be delighted by its citrusy-sweet kick. If not, you'll be in for a short night and a looooong morning after.

The word caipirinha is the diminutive form of the Portuguese word caipira, which is a derogatory term for a country dweller. Literally translated, it means "little hillbilly girl." The name is meant to convey the "uncivilized" manner of the cocktail's preparation -- it's prepared and served in the same vessel. How gauche...

The primary ingredient is cachaça, a liquor made from distilled sugar cane juice, which is poured over ice and some lime wedges muddled with cane sugar in a old-fashioned glass. That's it. No tonic, club soda, or anything else to lower the alcohol concentration. You're drinking cachaça essentially straight, but you don't realize it. And therein lies the danger.

The flavor can be further enhanced with the addition of some fresh berries or watermelon or whatever fruit strikes your fancy. Pretty much anything goes with lime, and everything goes with booze, so you really can't go wrong.

Recipe after the jump.

July Brazilian -- Churrasco

The parade of meat begins! And when beginning, it's best to start simply, at the beginning. And this is as simple as it gets.

Churrasco (pronounced in Portuguese as "chu-RHAS-ku") is barbecue, plain and simple. The traditional mode of preparation involves staking the meat -- in the case, skirt steak -- on a long, sword-like metal skewer and setting it over open coals to cook. Once cooked, it is passed around, still on the sword, and hunks of it are cut off for your eating pleasure.

Lacking both an open grill pit and swords, I had to improvise a little bit, using a grill pan and a carving knife with a distinctly scimitar-like quality. The effect was reproduced to reasonable success.

I marinated the steak in a garlicky, vinegary red chimichurri spiced with cayenne and smoked paprika, and served it all with some grilled onions and parsley. It wasn't just good. It was damn good.

And what better way to celebrate July 4th than with grilled beef? Good eating, and Happy Independence Day from DC Culinarian.

Photos and recipe (via Epicurious) after the jump.

July Will Be... Brazilian

I set various mandatory criteria for myself when embarking upon The Plan, one of which was to explore the cuisine of at least one Southern Hemisphere country. Owing to the vagaries of plate tectonics and human migration, the Northern Hemisphere contains the majority of earth's landmass and about 90 percent of its population, so the other physical half of the planet is sometimes given short shrift.

And even though Brazil's northern extremes aren't technically south of the equator, I'll give it a pass because, after a month of relatively light Thai food served with a side of liberal guilt, I want meat. Lots and lots of meat. And Brazil is a carnivore's country.

So get ready to grill up some cow and pack a few arteries. First stop Rio, last stop ICU. From samba to thrombosis. From Pelé to palpitations. We're headed down Brazil way...

Bom apetite!