Three Menus and a Recipe (or Two)

Two meals I really loved, one I wish I'd tried - and a couple of recipes you're going to want to make.

Like everyone else, LA is very much on my mind. Watching the devastation from afar is heartbreaking; so many close friends have lost their homes - or are in danger of doing so.

And so I went looking for something from a better time in that wonderful city, and came upon this memory of a lovely restaurant that no longer exists. (Curtis converted Maude into The Pie Room a few months ago.)

Curtis Stone loves to cook. He loves puttering around in the kitchen, loves playing with ingredients, loves watching people as they eat his creations.

Unlike so many chefs, cooking’s not a job to him. It’s a joy. And you feel that every time he slips behind a stove.

During the entire time Curtis and I worked together at Top Chefs Masters he talked about wanting to open a restaurant. He was always going out to look for the perfect space, always thinking about the menu he might serve.

Now he’s finally done it.

A caveat: I’m not a disinterested observer. I went to a family and friends preview, and like just about everyone who’s ever met Curtis, I wish him well. He’s a genuinely lovely person with deep intelligence and a real feeling for food. Still, I arrived at Maude (named for his granny, who taught him to cook), with serious trepidation; I was afraid I’d hate the place. I’d gone to the website and winced when I saw the pedigree of the people working there: The French Laundry, El Bulli, Robuchon, Alinea. It sounded pretentious.

I shouldn’t have worried. Is Curtis not Australian? The room is small and casual; it’s correct, but you’d still feel comfortable in a tee shirt. And the food? Seasonal, elegant in its simplicity, and completely flavor-forward.

The first course was a a quintet of tiny bites, beginning with a delicate little pile of orange sections topped with lime sorbet and ending with a single crisp mussel on an orange aioli.

Next there was a salad so small and gorgeous I wanted to wear it like broach.

The carrot soup - just a few little spoonfuls, was topped with a tiny sword of smoked parsnip, a crisped slice of serrano ham - and little green dots that swirled in the earthy flavor of carrot tops, the tang of chervil. It was a stunning expression of carrot, proof that a vegetable can have serious power.

Lobster crudo was another little jewel, another minuscule arrangement of color, flavor and texture, another balancing act that that managed to satisfy in just a couple of bites. Then a sliver of chicken terrine that looked like moss agate, snuggled up against a ferocious mustard ice cream. Three contrasts: temperature, texture, taste.

A fat raviolo of duck and smoked goose fat appeared, laced with lovely little red stripes of pickled chard stem. The final touch here was a dusting of grated duck egg yolk, a little miracle of molecular gastronomy.

Curtis clearly thinks in dramatic terms, and the menu was building, each course becoming larger than the one before in both size and flavor. We were exchanging subtlety for boldness, and as the flavors grew bigger, the presentation went in the opposite direction. We began with food for the eye and ended with food for the mouth: a slab of beautiful beef, a cube of beef cheek, broccoli, potatoes. Just a few bites, but they were big.

Cheese. Dessert. Wine. It’s all of a piece. What you sense is that this is a chef who knows exactly what he’s reaching for, a chef whose ultimate goal is simply to make you happy. And this is just the beginning: I can’t wait to see what Maude will be like once they all settle into the kitchen.

Jonathan Tam was the chef at Relae in Copenhagen where I had a meal of such gorgeous simplicity that I fell in love. The staff went out to a farm every morning to pick food, then came back to the kitchen to figure out what to do with their bounty. I was stunned by the results; one dish I remember with particular pleasure is soba made with leftover bread. Sadly the restaurant closed in 2020, but Chef Tam now presides over his own Copenhagen restaurant, Jatak.

A few years ago he came to New York for a short residency at Blue Hill at Stone Barns. Of course I went, and the meal was equally surprising and spectacular; this is the menu.

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Zarela Martinez, of the late lamented Zarela’s restaurant, pretty much introduced New Yorkers to serious Mexican food when she opened in 1987. After she closed her eponymous restaurant I really missed her food, and I was delighted when she sent me a note a few years ago saying that Mark Miller was in town and she was giving a little party for him. Would I drop by around 3?

I’ve known Mark since he was cooking at Chez Panisse, followed him to the Fourth Street Grill (also in Berkeley), and cheered when he opened the Coyote Cafe in Santa Fe. But it had been a while since I’d seen him – and I’ve always admired Zarela. Of course I wanted to go.

What I did not expect, however, was that I would still be there, sitting around the table, eating and drinking at 11 p.m. I shouldn’t have been surprised; Zarela is a woman who always honors an occasion.

The long and spectacular meal began with the most wonderful tortilla veracruzana – an incredible concoction of seafood, eggs and mountains of herbs. Along the way we had a slew of wonderful dishes including the most refreshing salad of pineapple, chiles, cilantro and onion. Eat this once and you’ll soon be craving it.

The next day I sent Zarela a note telling her how much I’d enjoyed the dinner. She responded by sending me the following recipes. (The notes are also hers.)

Zarela’s Tortilla Veracruzana
This would have to be close to the top of any list of classic, peerless, sensational Veracruzan dishes. You find different versions everywhere, but it belongs mostly to the central southern coasts and waterways of Sotavento.

I call it a “frittata” but that’s a rough fit at best. Tortas and tortillas are essential “round cakes,” dishes that have certain recognizable shapes no matter what’s in them. The Veracruzan torta de mariscos consists of seafood and egg combined and cooked in a round frying pan. There are three-inch versions, and others the size of large pies. There are ones with a little seafood suspended in a lot of egg, and ones that are nearly all seafood just barely bound together with an egg or two. The kind I like best is somewhere between a thick, tender pancake and a fluffy, moist flat omelet cooked golden on all sides. It is best if the egg whites are beaten separately and then combined with the yolks, but I’ve had good versions where they weren’t..

Possibly the best torta de mariscos I ever tasted was at La Viuda restaurant in the fishing town of Alvarado. The quality of the fresh seafood was exquisite, and it was used so generously that the omelet was practically falling apart with shrimp, crabmeat, and tiny baby squid. The recipe is not an exact rendition of that lovely torta, but I’ve adopted a few of its special touches, like the combination of fresh herbs and the delicate binding of fine crumbs.

Like many Veracruzan seafood dishes, this one depends on a versatile mishmash of very fine seafood cut up quite fine. People automatically make up a relleno or salpicón from the best ingredients on hand or the ones they feel like sampling at the moment. They might add tiny sweet oysters, hashed fish, or cooked diced conch or octopus. Play with the mixture as you like, but remember that it shouldn’t be watery and that you want a total of 2 – 2 1/2 pounds ( I used 2 this time but sometimes use more depending on how many people will be eating. That amount was perfect for 6 people.).

Plan ahead for flipping the torta to brown on the second side. I use a 10-inch Calphalon omelet pan. It’s easy to slide out the omelet onto a plate when the first side is done, then slide it back into the pan on the other side. You can use any brand of non-stick or well-seasoned skillet of this size but it should have rounded sides like an omelet pan.

1 small white onion
2 garlic cloves, unpeeled
5 bay leaves
1 1/2 – 2 teaspoons salt, or to taste
1 pound shrimp (any preferred size), in the shell
1/2 pound cleaned squid (bodies only; reserve tentacles for another use), cut into 1/4-inch dice to make about 1 cup
1 pound lump crabmeat, picked over to remove bits of shell and cartilage
1 medium-sized white onion, peeled
2 large or 4 – 5 medium-sized ripe tomatoes (about 1 pound), peeled and seeded
2 jalapeño chiles, seeded
1/2 small bunch Italian parsley
1/2 bunch cilantro
1/2 small bunch of mint (leaves only)
1/2 small bunch Mediterranean oregano (leaves only)
1/4 cup finely crushed soda cracker crumbs or best-quality fine-dry bread crumbs from good French of Italian bread (no substitutes)
4 eggs, separated
1 tablespoon olive oil

Place the unpeeled onion and garlic, bay leaves, and about 1 teaspoon of the salt in a large saucepan or medium-sized stockpot with 2 quarts of water, Bring to a boil over high heat; reduce the heat to maintain a low rolling boil and cook for 5 minutes. Add the shrimp and cook another 2 – 3 minutes (depending on their size), skimming off any froth that rises to the top. Quickly lift out the shrimp with a mesh skimmer or slotted spoon, letting them drain well. Place in a bowl and set aside to cool. Remove the onion and garlic from the simmering stock; discard. Add the squid and cook for 3 minutes. Lift out with a skimmer, letting them drain well, and set aside. Reserve the stock for another purpose (it will make a delicious fish soup).

Peel and de-vein the cooked shrimp; chop fine and place in a large mixing bowl with the squid and crab meat. Chop the peeled onion, tomatoes, jalapeños, and fresh herbs very fine and add to the bowl of seafood. Toss to distribute the ingredients evenly. Sprinkle the cracker crumbs and another 1/2 – 1 teaspoon salt over the mixture and toss very thoroughly.

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until they form glossy, not-quite-stiff peaks. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition to incorporate thoroughly. With a rubber spatula, gently fold the beaten eggs into the seafood mixture.

In a heavy-bottomed, medium-sized (about 10-inch) omelet pan or skillet (see above), heat the oil over medium-high heat until fragrant but not quite rippling. Reduce the heat to low. Pour or spoon the seafood mixture into the pan, smoothing it firmly with a spatula to spread it evenly without air pockets on the bottom. Cook, uncovered, for 8 minutes. Flip the cake by sliding it back into the pan. (If necessary, loosen it with a spatula, but I’ve never had a problem.) Cook for another 3 minutes, until golden, on the underside. Transfer to a platter or large plate and serve hot, cut into wedges.
Serves 8

Zarela's Ensalada de Pina
Mexicans do beautiful things with pineapple. Years ago I encountered a colorful and flavorful salad of ripe pineapple with green and red bell peppers that I still love. But I’m an incurable experimenter. A few years ago I decided to vary the idea by substituting jalapenos for the bell peppers and adding a little red onion. I think the flavors are much more vivid than the original.

If you can’t find red jalapenos, use all green ones.

1 large ripe pineapple, peeled and cored
1 small red onion, or half of a larger onion
1 or 2 green jalapenos
1 or 2 red jalapenos
Juice of 1 large lime ( about 2 1/2 tablespoons)
1/4 cup olive oil
1/2 - 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
A handful of cilantro leaves

Cut the peeled and cored pineapple lengthwise into quarters; cut each quarter crosswise into 1/4-inch slices. Cut the onion crosswise into paper-thin slices. Deseed and devein the jalapenos and cut into thin slivers. Toss the pineapple, onion, and chiles together in a salad bowl.

Whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, and salt (starting with 1/2 teaspoon and adding more to taste). Pour the dressing over the pineapple mixture and toss to combine well. Serve at once, garnished with cilantro.
Serves 4 - 6 people.

Reader Diane Garfield kindly shared these vintage menus with me.

There are a few things you should know about Sharrow Bay Hotel. When Francis Coulson leased a mansion surrounded by formal gardens (built in 1840) on the edge of Ullswater in 1948, he coined the phrase ‘country house hotel.’

And sometime in the 1970s Sharrow Bay reportedly invented Sticky toffee pudding.