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Bay Area Bites

Culinary Rants & Raves from Bay Area Foodies and Professionals

• Cesare's Salad: Tossing My Own.

  Posted by Michael Procopio

  on Nov 20, 2009

  I'm a sucker for a great Caesar salad. Call me old school, but there are few things that can beat it in my book. Garlicky, lemony, cheesy, and anchovy-y, if there is such a word. If there isn't, there should be.

  Sadly, a great restaurant Caesar salad has eluded me in San Francisco.

  With the possible exceptions of Zuni Café and Tadich Grill (both old school and old guard), I have been bitterly disappointed every time I order a Caesar salad in a restaurant. And the above venues merely create good salads, not, in my opinion, great ones. Yet I keep on ordering them everywhere I go. It's like forgetting the pain of childbirth or the tragedy of falling in love with a crazy sadist-- I fall blindly and hopefully back into bed with the salad section of the menu and think, "This time, it's going to be good. This time I am going to find the one I've been waiting for all my life." Invariably, I am served a Romaine salad with either a flaccid, mayonnaise-like dressing, or an underdressed, uninspired one with croutons like ship biscuits that leaves me asking my server for a little extra lemon and another napkin with which I might dry my tears.

  Perhaps I just live to be disappointed.

  And then, when discussing the demise of this salad with a friend over a lunch that included a particularly sorry looking one, I understood what all of these salads were missing, good and bad:

  Drama.

  The Caesar salad is a dish that cries out for table-side service. It is, in my opinion if not in fact, the ham actor of the salad world-- a fact none too surprising when one considers that it was first created in a pique of impromptu by Cesare Cardini, an Italian man living in the once-glamorous town Tijuana, Mexico. Fortunately for us, Cardini had the good sense (or delicious folly, depending on your point of view) to seek out his fame and fortune in Hollywood, dressing recipe in hand, where the salad soon became a favorite among the local movie stars and luncheon élite. Cesare's salad soon evolved into Caesar's salad and, somewhere along the way, the apostrophe "s" was lost, and Caesar salads were being dramatically created in front of and for delighted diners in leather banquetted dining rooms and Danish Modern living rooms across the country.

  Sadly, Cesare's salad is going the way of Banana's Foster, Cherries Jubilee, and the dodo, thanks to the demise of table side service. There is little room in most restaurants today to manoeuver the necessary salad carts, and diners (with the possible exception of brief fads like the Benihana's craze of the 70's, and eating at chef's tables in the 90's) seem less interested in having a server who entertains. Lastly, and perhaps most sadly of all, those venues who do still provide table side cooking are often so old-fashioned and unchanging that they have become a sort of dwindling, petrified forest. And those diners who habituate them are either equally as fossilized or, at best, there solely for kitsch.

  So what can one do?

  I, for one, have started making my own damned Caesar salads. Or Cesare salads, as I prefer now to call them. I can make them as obscenely garlicky as I like and can toss them as high and dramatically as my ceiling and physical abilities allow. I'm a professional waiter, after all, and one with a strong dramatic bent. Just ask anyone. Just don't ask me to make one for you at my restaurant-- there is no way in hell I could ever get that rolling cart past the drunken cougars hovering at the bar.

  Lyle's Muy Fuerte Cesare's Salad:

  Serves 2 to 4

  At my birthday party last summer, I had decided that my own contribution to the buffet would be my favorite old-school salad, since I was now, officially (according to some people) old. It was then that I realized that I had never actually made one before. The one's I had known and loved were always made for me by people who understand gusto like my friend Shan or my ex-boyfriend Paul, who was about as theatrically dramatic as they come.

  When I confessed this salad-tossing inexperience to my friend Lyle, he told me he would walk me through the entire process. Being my birthday, I let him take over, while I poured myself another glass of wine and watched him do all the work.

  This is a recipe muy fuerte-- extra garlic, extra anchovy, extra everything. Brash and unsubtle. In other words, just the way I like it.

  I would suggest preparing this dish with at least one other person in the room when you first try it. Talk the entire time you are mashing, whisking, and tossing. Remember: you are the entertainment. If you don't have anyone on hand to chat with, I suggest, chatting up your pet. If you have no pet, bring a houseplant into your kitchen and talk to that. If you are lacking a house plant, you are more than likely not the type of person who would ever make a Caesar salad and are therefore not reading this.

  Ingredients:

  Two heads of Romaine lettuce, well washed, outer leaves removed, and torn into bite-sized pieces.

  About 1/3 cup Parmesan cheese. Please use the good stuff. Nothing that comes out of a shaker will do no matter how good a deal you got with that double coupon.

  Whole anchovies for garnish are entirely optional.

  For the Dressing:

  1 coddled egg. Yolk only.

  3 anchovy filets (spanish, preferably)

  2 cloves garlic, crushed

  A pinch of coarse salt (kosher is excellent)

  The juice of one half lemon

  4 to 5 drops Worcestershire sauce

  4 to 5 drops Tabasco sauce

  1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard

  6 tablespoons (approximate) of extra virgin olive oil

  Coarsely ground black pepper to taste.

  For Croutons:

  For two cups of croutons (it is always a good idea to make extra):

  2 cups of day-old bread (french, sour, white-- take your pick), dried out a touch and cut into 3/4" cubes.

  2 tablespoons butter, melted

  2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

  a heavy pinch of salt

  Preparation:

  To Coddle an Egg:

  Coddling the egg yolk lends a richer texture to the dressing by thickening it slightly, in case you were wondering. If you want a better scientific understanding of this process, ask a scientist. I prefer to live in ignorance and call it a miracle.

  1. Bring your egg (which should be very fresh) to room temperature by placing it in a heat-proof glass of warm water for a few minutes. When this temperature has been achieved, drain water and cover egg with boiling water. Let stand for exactly one minute. Drain. Run cold water over egg. Egg has now been thoroughly traumatized and is now ready for use in your dressing.

  Making the Croutons:

  1. Preheat oven to 375F. Drizzle butter/oil mixture over bread cubes while tossing cubes with your free hand (if you have no extra hand available, use someone else's.) Coat evenly but do try to avoid an absolute drenching.

  Place a single layer of bread cubes on a baking sheet and pop into the oven on the upper rack. Peek into oven at around 7 to 8 minutes into the process, shake and turn cubes. Remove from oven when cubes have become golden brown and therefore have officially attained crouton status*.

  *To my mind, croutons should be very much like Lou Grant from The Mary Tyler Moore Show-- hard, crusty exterior, but soft and warm on the inside. They should, however, not smell strongly of bourbon in the middle of the afternoon.

  To Make the Dressing:

  

  1. Place kosher salt, anchovy, and garlic in the bottom of a wooden bowl. Mash these ingredients together with the aid of two forks until a rough paste is formed.

  2. Next, add mustard, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and lemon juice. Trade in the two forks for a wire whisk. Whisk until well-blended.

  3. Add coddled egg yolk to the mix and whisk with gusto for about one minute to allow the citric acid from the lemon to "cook" the yolk a little.

  4. Slowly drizzle in olive oil from as great a height as you dare, for theatrical purposes. Pause occasionally to taste with a clean finger. Make dramatic noises as you do so.

  

  5. Let the lettuce leaves rain down into your dressing-drenched wooden bowl. Do not add any sound effects at this point. With the two forks you had earlier cast aside or with larger, more festive, salad utensils, begin to toss the salad. Sprinkle in a little cheese here, a little there. Hum as you sprinkle. Something lilting and hopeful.

  6. Add your croutons, tossing and humming all the more.

  7. Now add cracked black pepper to finish both the tossing of your salad and the incessant humming.

  8. If serving directly from the salad bowl, sprinkle with a bit more cheese to garnish, if serving individually, divide equally among chilled plates, then add more cheese. Whatever you do, serve and eat immediately.

  Enjoy.

  
  

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• Pumpkin Cheesecake with a Pecan Shortbread Crust

  Posted by Denise Santoro Lincoln

  on Nov 19, 2009

  

  Pumpkin pie is the quintessential Thanksgiving dessert. Most people eat it just once a year, and that's after first gorging themselves on turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and about ten other side dishes. Yet more often than not I hear people say they'll take only a "sliver" of pumpkin pie, saving any available room for the other desserts. Sure, we serve pumpkin pie each November, but mostly because it's become obligatory: an expected holiday staple very few get excited about.

  But pumpkin pie can be more than the standard fare of pureed pumpkin mixed with cream, sugar, eggs, and spices in a butter or graham cracker crust. I mean, honestly, do we all need to make the same pie every year? So this holiday, after a lifetime of eating traditional pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, I decided I was in the mood for something a little different. While enjoying some pecan shortbread last week, I started to wonder how it would taste paired with a pumpkin custard. But then my mind began to wander even further from the norm. Why make a regular custard filling when I could use cream cheese? I looked up some pumpkin cheesecake recipes, but most seemed more cheesecake than pumpkin pie, and I wanted to retain the pie's essence for the holiday, so I decided to make up my own concoction.

  As I wanted the pie to preserve some traditional flavors, I started with the customary pumpkin puree mixed with eggs, sugar, and cream, along with the conventional spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. With my eye on making my pie creamier and richer than in years past, I then mixed in a package of cream cheese that had been whipped with some sugar, more eggs and vanilla. Then, to wake up the palate a bit, I also added in some ginger. Of course I used a pecan shortbread crust, the idea of which started this whole adventure in the first place. Finally, once the cake cooled, I topped it with sour cream that had been flavored with maple syrup simply because I wanted a hint of tartness and sugar to help balance the rich creaminess of the cake.

  My new and improved pumpkin dessert was light and silky with a rich Fall flavor that wasn't overwhelming. Using only one package of cream cheese endowed the filling with a velvety sumptuousness that was more fluffy than overwhelmingly cheesy. The pecan crust's nutty and buttery crispness was also the perfect foil for the creamy center. And did I mention that you just press the dough in the pan, which means you don't have to prepare and roll out a crust? I have a feeling this new pumpkin dessert will find a place in my holiday repertoire of desserts, but I'm also open to future experimentation.

  

  Pumpkin Cheesecake with a Pecan Shortbread Crust

  Makes: 1 8-inch cake

  Ingredients:

  Crust
  1/2 cup softened unsalted butter
  1/3 cup sugar
  1/2 tsp vanilla
  1 cup flour
  1/3 cup chopped pecans

  Pumpkin Cheesecake Filling
  1 8-oz package cream cheese
  1/4 cup granulated sugar
  4 large eggs
  1/2 tsp vanilla
  1 15-oz can pureed pumpkin or 2 cups cooked pumpkin
  3/4 cups brown sugar
  3/4 cup whipping cream
  1/2 tsp cinnamon
  1/2 tsp nutmeg
  1/4 tsp cloves
  1/4 tsp ground ginger
  1/4 tsp salt

  Topping
  1/2 cup sour cream
  2 Tbsp maple syrup
  2 Tbsp chopped pecans

  Preparation:

  1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
  2. Mix together all ingredients using either the paddle of a mixer or your hands.
  3. Press crust into a 9-inch spring-form pan, being sure to make the bottom even and also pressing the edges of the dough about a 1/4 to 1/2 way up the sides of the pan. Set the pan in the refrigerator.
  4. In a medium bowl, whip together the pumpkin puree, cream, 2 eggs, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and salt until fully incorporated.
  5. Using a the paddle attachment on your mixer, combine the softened cream cheese, 2 eggs, granulated sugar and vanilla until creamy.
  6. Gently add the pumpkin mixture to the cream cheese, being sure not to over mix.
  7. Take the crust out of the refrigerator and set the pan on a large baking sheet. Pour the filling into the pan.
  8. Place the filled pan (which should still be on the large baking sheet) into the oven for 45 minutes or until the center only slightly jiggles. If the middle shakes like jell-o, leave it in until it sets further.
  9. Once the cake has cooled down, mix the sour cream and maple syrup together. Spread the mixture on top of the cake and then sprinkle on the chopped pecans.
  10. Refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight and serve.

  
  

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• Vietnamese Coffee: In Pursuit of the Perfect Cup

  Posted by Stephanie Im

  on Nov 18, 2009

  
  Vietnamese Coffee, Trung Nguyen

  Enjoying your slow-drip coffee is a quintessential part of life in Vietnam. Whether you're stoopin' it, shouting your order down the street to the local coffee cart on the corner, or enjoying a carefully prepared cup in an upscale coffee house, Vietnamese coffee is meant to be savored and enjoyed to the max.

  One reason is the time it takes to brew a cup. Vietnamese coffee is not for the rushy-rushy. Single servings are brewed through a simple metal filter called a Phin, which takes a good 5-10 minutes to produce a cup. The filter is fitted over the top of a cup, or glass (if you're making iced coffee), the grounds are placed inside the filter (about the same size grind as what you would use for a French press), a small weighted piece is placed on top, and then hot water is poured into the chamber.

  
  Vietnamese coffee, Phin filter

  Another reason to approach the experience with leisure is simply the heavenly flavor. Like espresso, Vietnamese coffee is deep and rich, and a little goes a long way. What makes it really stand out though in my mind, is its incredible buttery aroma and flavor. It wasn't until I bought some roasted beans from a mom-and-pop coffee/tea shop that I learned why exactly the coffee tasted so buttery -- you got it, it's because the beans are actually roasted in clarified butter! Brilliant.

  As if that doesn't sound decadent enough, sweetened condensed milk is typically used in lieu of cream and sugar both for practical reasons (it doesn't have to be refrigerated) and for taste (Have you had sweetened condensed milk lately? Think creamy, thick, dulce de leche goodness...in your coffee...everyday!). This is why Vietnamese coffee is a habit I could really get used to.

  
  Vietnamese Iced Coffee (Ca Phe Sua Da)

  In Saigon, with so much fantastic coffee everywhere we turned, it was tough to be too discriminating. So, I left it to the locals to show me the way. Vietnam is a country of food-lovers and total coffee addicts. My favorite conversation starter was asking a local: Where is the best food in town? People would bubble over with recommendations and loved talking about their favorite food, where to get it, and how to eat it. Everyone had an opinion.

  One afternoon, over a Lazy Susan laden with dim sum, an impassioned discussion over the most delectable banh xeo, the silkiest tofu, the best hand-pulled noodles with half a crab on top, turned into a full-on debate over where to grab coffee afterward. One fellow named Nguyen insisted, "The best coffee is at my sister's place," and after a few nods of acquiescence from his accompanying friends, we were off to taste for ourselves if he was indeed correct.

  We hopped on our motorbikes and went caravanning off through the maze of commuters. Put-putting over main highways, over to District 7 we went...on a mission for the perfect Ca Phe Sua Da (iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk). It was spontaneous, exhilarating, and as the wind whipped through my hair, I couldn't help but envision Anthony Bourdain's crew on our tracks, kicking up some dust behind us.

  
  Saigon Motorbike Ebb and Flow

  What we came upon was a breezy little oasis of an internet cafe, tucked away amongst sprawling new developments and construction sites. The cafe itself is called Goc Peo, but the main signage outside speaks to the main reason for visiting -- the rich and aromatic Trung Nguyen coffee served.

  
  Coffee time at Trung Nguyen

  Trung Nguyen seems to have made a nice business for itself, their chains and signs are all over Saigon, as well as the airport gift shop, and while the prices are expensive by Vietnamese standards, they are still relatively cheap by US standards (a cup of their famous "Legendee Coffee" was about $2 USD). Incidentally, Trung Nguyen has a pretty comprehensive website that explains all about what defines Vietnamese coffee and makes it unique, namely:

  1) The topography of the Annamite Range has allowed for a diverse variety of beans to flourish in Southeast Asia. By blending a variety of bean species (Arabica, Robusta, Excelsa and Catimor) rather than sticking to a single-source (like 100% Arabica), a broader flavor range is achieved.
  2) A lower-temperature, longer roasting process that is stable and consistent.
  3) Roasting the beans in clarified butter.

  Another interesting fact I learned about Trung Nguyen's coffee is that they produce what they call their Legendee Coffee, a "unique enzymatically-treated coffee that releases flavors bound in the beans and not released under ordinary processing." The Legendee Coffee was what Nguyen brought us to taste. Read more about the Legend of Legendee and how modern science has attempted to reproduce the infamously expensive (and kinda gross) Kopi Luwak coffee, made with the help of the weasel-like civit.

  My final verdict? The Legendee was worth experiencing, although a little intense for me to want to drink on a daily basis.

  
  Vietnamese Iced Coffee, Trung Nguyen

  Regardless, it was a joy to spend an afternoon in pursuit of the perfect cup with company who really loved their coffee. Company who loved it so much, they continued on their way, buzzing away to the next cup as we rookie tourists bid farewell.

  ADDRESS

  Goc Peo
  So 16 Duong 8B, KDC Trung Son
  Nguyen Van Cu noi dai ? TP. Ho Chi Minh City
  Vietnam

  
  

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