in praise of sardines

Whipping chocolate through Molecular Gastronomy

My brother and I are complete opposites. I'm the artist, he's the math geek. I don't own a TV, he has one in every room - even the bathroom. In my free time, I read up on how to improve my paella. My brother plays computer games based on Dungeons and Dragons.

The family mythology says that my brother, who dashed from house to house pushing door bells while I was in a stroller, has known since he was 4 years old that he wanted to be a computer engineer. I, on the other hand, still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

Given my lack of interest in science, it may come as a surprise that I snapped up Hervé This' book Molecular Gastronomy: Exploring the Science of Flavor the second it was translated into English. Professor This (pronounced "Teess") has collaborated with many chefs, including 3-star Michelin chef Pierre Gagnaire, to help propel the movement that has become known as Molecular Gastronomy.

The most famous innovators of the Molecular Gastronomy movement reside not in the Professor's France, but across the border in Spain in the kitchens of El Bulli, Arzak, El Celler de Can Roca, and elsewhere. As a fan of all Spanish cooking, traditional and modern, I figured it is time that I loosen up some of my Luddite prejudices and learn about and perhaps even *gasp* play around with some of the new techniques.

I enjoyed the premise and promise of the Professor's book more than the reality. Perhaps I am not the best person to review such a book, as my interest in science falls even below my interest in the Olympic sport of curling. I rushed through high school chemistry in one summer, never took physics, and only got as far as trigonometry in math (although, as I never fail to gleefully remind my brother, I still managed to score 20 points higher than Mr. AP Calculus on the math portion of the SAT). There are lots of fun tidbits to chew on, but for the most part I found the book too focused on molecular theory and lacking in practical application. Then again, what did I expect from a chemist?

I ought to disclose one other bit of information. Truthfully, I only bought the book because one chapter, entitled "Chantilly Chocolate: How to make a chocolate mousse without the eggs," tantalized me with its possibilities. Unfortunately, like all the chapters in the book, this one turned out to be just 2 or 3 pages long. If you are more used to the in-depth discussions of Harold McGee's tome, On Food and Cooking, you will be disappointed with the brevity of the explanations in Molecular Gastronomy.

Incanto, an offally delicious trattoria

Although it's not as sexy as A16, as trendy as Delfina, nor as pedigreed as Quince, Incanto may be the most innovative and inspired of San Francisco's many Italian trattorias.

Tucked away on the outskirts of Noe Valley, Incanto suffers from being off many restaurant patron's radar screens. It bears the unfortunate distinction of being the southernmost restaurant within the San Francisco city limits on the Chronicle's list of the Top 100 restaurants in the Bay Area.

A few years back, the owner, Mark Pastore, took the small fortune he made in the software industry and bought a dilapidated old German restaurant at the corner of Church and Duncan Streets. He stripped it down to its frame and spared no expense to lovingly convert it into the type of rustic trattoria that dots the Tuscan countryside. The dining room is awash in neutral Al Gore earth tones, from the stone pavers beneath your feet to the antiqued brick and stucco walls. Through a set of monastic arches, you have a clear view of the bar area and a glimpse into the buzzing activity in the kitchen.

The food that comes out of that kitchen is what draws me to Incanto again and again. The chef is Chris Cosentino, an iconoclast sporting spiky bleached hair, a goatee, and thick-rimmed Elvis Costello glasses. Although foolishly never tagged as a Rising Star by the Chronicle, Chris creates some of the most interesting food in the city. His daily changing menus take the concept of sustainability seriously - perhaps even more so than Chez Panisse. For one, he and Mark have worked together to make Incanto the first and only restaurant in California to receive "Certified Humane" certification. What really sets Chris - and Incanto - apart from the crowd, however, is his refusal to let any part of the animal go to waste.

Like his hero British chef Fergus Henderson, every night Chris features one or two dishes made from the innards, extremities and other odd cuts of meat that most chefs ignore. Two years ago, he began what has become an annual tradition, "Dining Head to Tail," in which every course features something from the "fifth quarter." I missed the first two events, but others - including Nancy Oakes, Mario Batali, and Fergus Henderson himself - have enjoyed menus that in the past even included a chocolate pudding thickened with pig's blood! Our own local bloggers, the BunRabs, were in attendance last year and shared - in their inimitable witty style - their experience and photos in their review titled "No Guts, No Glory."

I've already made my reservations for the next "Dining Head to Tail" dinner, which takes place in a few weeks on Monday, March 6. The tentative 5-course menu includes the following for $60:

• Beef heart tartare puttanesca
• Marin mountain oysters with pancetta afumicata and capers
• Finanziera, Piemontese market stew of cockscombs, sweetbreads, and sanguinaccio
• Spring lamb trio with spicy lentils, lemon and mint
• Suet pudding with chocolate blood gelato

{Gee, who knew their were oysters in the mountains of Marin! Gosh, do you think he meant "chocolate blood orange gelato"?}

On my most recent visit to Incanto a week or two ago, I thoroughly enjoyed my meal, which although relatively more prosaic was no less delicious. I started with local sardines (now you know the true reason I like this place) that had been lightly cured ceviche-style and were served with a salad of bitter curly-leafed puntarella and radishes.

Next I lapped up every bit of my flavorful seafood stew, in which every one of the clams, mussels, squid and head-on shrimp were as perfectly tender as their counterparts found in Spain and Italy. That favorable comparison is the highest compliment I can pay any seafood preparation in California, where I've found even the best restaurants sadly tend to overcook fish and shellfish.

For dessert, I was lured in by the combination of cardamom pastry cream, kumquats, and chocolate sauce in a napolean-like puff pastry creation. Although it didn't quite live up to my expectations, it was not bad.

Incanto's beverage service is as innovative and concerned with sustainability as the food. Mark, the owner, offers his guests complimentary local Hetch Hetchy water that has been filtered and, if desired, carbonated in order to reduce the number of bottles in landfills and recycling bins. The restaurant also offers all the wines on the excellent all-Italian wine list by the full- and half-glass. To help educate people less familiar with Italian wines, Mark cleverly places around the base of each glass a cardboard ring inscribed with the producer's name and the wine's region and vintage. Various wine flights are also on offer.

There are more clever touches and innovative approaches at Incanto that you can read about on their website here. I've said enough. Go to Incanto! Support this caring and wonderful little trattoria. Make the trek southward to Noe Valley, especially during the weekdays, which are less busy than they ought to be.

Perhaps I'll bump into some of you at the "Dining Head to Tail" meal on March 6?

Incanto
1550 Church St.
San Francisco
415-641-4500

Food|and Drink|Restaurants|Italian|San Francisco

Secrets to creating fluffy gnocchi (+ stinging nettles! + rant!)

Before I became enamored of Spanish cooking, like so many American cooks my first "cuisine crush" was Italian. In the early 90s, when I was a vegetarian for 3 years, I felt particularly inspired to pour through the writings of Marcella Hazan and Lorenza de'Medici to glean wisdom that would help me make better risottos, pizza, fresh pasta, and - my personal favorite - gnocchi. Later, during my decade of slaving at Bay Area stoves as a professional, I gathered tips and hints from my fellow cooks and chefs. Like a forager picking mushrooms in a forest, I carefully tucked the tastiest morsels into my basket of tricks.

Although I never pursued my romantic notions to live and cook under the Tuscan sun, it seems virtually every other cook and chef in San Francisco did - so many that it seems as if our city is a colony of some new culinary Roman Empire.*

Perhaps the most successful of this cadre of Italophiles is Delfina's Craig Stoll. In part, I owe my mastery of potato gnocchi to his recipe (which you can find after the jump). The real secret to consistently turning out cloud-like gnocchi, however, I discovered on my own.

Potato gnocchi are made with 2 primary ingredients: potatoes and flour. Sometimes a third ingredient - egg - is added. Because there are so few ingredients, the quality of each cannot be overstated. First, for the potatoes, I prefer organic russet potatoes. I prefer the balance of starch and sweetness found in organic russets, but if organic are unavailable, regular russets are a great second choice.

Through following recipes and my own experimentation, I learned that I prefer the taste of gnocchi made with baked, rather than boiled, potatoes. The (for lack of a better word) potatoey flavor is more pronounced from baked potatoes, because they lose some of their water content through evaporation during the baking process. After baking the potatoes, I let them cool slightly, then I scoop out the insides and press them through a ricer and let the resulting potato cool completely.

In defense of human-animal hybrids

I've been refraining from taking the bait and responding to President Bush's call for a ban on "human-animal hybrids" in his State of the Union Address last week, but I can no longer continue to hold my tongue. As the Sardine Man, it is my obligation to speak out.

Since this is a food blog, I will keep my political commentary brief: the President's call for a ban is overtly speciesist. {Seeing as it comes from a human-plant hybrid like Mr. Bush, I am not surprised}.

I am not alone in my opinion. My wife N agrees with my condemnation of the President's proposal as it affects her, too. What I am about to tell you I have previously kept private, as N prefers to keep a low profile. But, in light the President's recent speech, I feel I must be open with you all.

You see, my marriage to N is what some refer to as a mixed marriage. Although I have shared with you that her family is from the west coast of India, I have not been 100% forthcoming. How do I phrase this? N's family is from just off the Malabar coast, as in the Arabian Sea. What I mean is they are merpeople.

Initially, they were upset when they had learned that their only daughter - their Little Mermaid, as they endearingly call her - had fallen for a fish-headed man that she had met in school. Eventually they came to accept that, in so many ways, we complete one another. In fact, from this point forward, I shall refer to N as My Better Half.

We were hoping to join the other human-animal hybrids at this weekend's planned demonstration in front of the White House, but we'll leave that to the centaurs, minotaurs, and other beastly types. I always feel like a fish out of water at those social events, any way. I hear Cindy She-Hen will be there and it would've been nice to have met her.

Although I fear I am jumping the shark with this post, I want to encourage each of you to add your support in the comments section of this post so that I can forward a link to the President. My Better Half and I appreciate your support on this issue.

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Note: Unfortunately, due to a sudden increase in comment spam, I have begun experimenting with moderating comments. Have no fear, though, your comments will eventually be published - unless they contain spam!

Human-Animal Hybrid|Bush

Guavas in San Francisco?

I was raised a sugar addict.

When I awoke every morning at my house in a suburb of L.A., I would amble across the terrazzo floors in my slippers to the kitchen. There, in the cabinet that was just within my reach above the white formica counter top , I would find a dozen brightly colored boxes. Each box had a different cartoon animal on it - bears, rabbits, even a toucan -yet each critter shared the identical wild eyes and big smiles. How could I resist such friendly! fun! exciting! characters when my eyes were still full of sleep?

I poured the dry flakes-squares-nuggets-loops into my white bowl, the cereal tingling like I imagine diamonds sound when poured into a crystal vase. Then I added a splash of milk and a heaping spoonful or two of refined sugar and carried the bowl to the white Eero Saarinen tulip table, nestled myself into my tulip chair, and devoured my fix, all washed down with a glass of Sunny Delight orange flavored drink.

In retrospect, I wonder why I didn't just mainline high-fructose corn syrup directly into my veins. I suppose I was too young to use a hypodermic needle.

Thankfully, I've mostly weened myself off the sugar addiction in the intervening 30 years. Years have passed since I last had a soda or fruit juice sweetened with corn syrup. The closest thing to the Kellogg's of my childhood is the occasional muesli with yogurt.

My new addiction is fruit.

I can't imagine a breakfast that doesn't include a ripe piece of fruit. Being a good little disciple of Alice Waters and the Slow Food Movement, my fruit of choice varies with the seasons, is locally grown, and usually organic. Right now I'm eating a lot of different varieties of fresh citrus and apples and pears stored from the fall harvest.

And guavas. You might not think that local California guavas would be any good and for the most part, you'd be right. There is, however, one farmer who grows the most incredible Asian guavas and sells them at our local farmers market.

Tucked into a corner in the back of the farmers market, Will Brokaw (aka the Avocado Guy) sells a variety from his family's farm that they label "White Malaysian." The yellow to chartreuse colored fruits are not particularly inviting in appearance. They look like an apple or pear with a slight case of the mumps and often include a few brown scars.

Don't be put off. Pick one up. Close your eyes. Inhale deeply. I guarantee a smile will spread across your face as you are embraced by aromas of ripe pear, cut pineapple, and some heaven-sent flower you can't quite recall the name of.

Do sardines exist?

I was quite amused this morning to read that, according to Kate at Accidental Hedonist, "there's no such animal as a sardine."

With her proclamation that "[the fish] aren't called sardines until they are in the can," I realized that the highly esteemed Kate had most likely extrapolated her information from an article by the even more highly esteemed Charles Reichblum (aka "Dr. Knowledge™") that appeared in the Boston Globe and online last month. I lay all the blame for Kate's oversimplified notions squarely on the shoulders of Dr. Knowledge™, who boldly stated: "There are no sardines. It's all a big lie!" Like most things in life, the answer is far more complex than a few sound bites.

Here is my short answer: Kate and Dr. K are incorrect. Fresh sardines do indeed exist.

Just as soon as I finish eating my sardinas en escabeche, which I made from fresh sardines (pictured above) that I bought at the farmers market on Saturday, I will explain in painstakingly tedious detail why they are wrong. While I am eating, take a look at the "Sardines!" photo set that I just added to the right hand column of this page. There's plenty of visual evidence to refute Kate's and Dr. K's claims.

{MmmMmmm, that was tasty! I am curiously full for someone who has apparently eaten a figment of his imagination.}

I do not disagree with Kate's assertion that "the word sardine is a generic name for a number of different small fish." That is quite true. The fresh sardine cooked a la plancha in Sevilla that I rhapsodized about in my first post was most likely a member of the species Sardina pilchardus (Walbaum). According to my fishmonger, the fresh sardines I ate for lunch today were Pacific sardines, Sardinops sagax. Both are members of the complex herring family (Clupeidae), which includes more than 300 different species, including anchovies, shad, and herring. Both, I might add, were delicious and tasted and looked rather similar.*

The statement of Kate's that most puzzles me is that sardines don't become sardines until they are canned. That is of course absurd. I just finished eating exhibit A (and have previously eaten exhibits B-Z).

What's in a name? That which we call a sardine by any other name would smell as sweet. It really boils down to linguistics. I look to cultural norms and historical patterns to determine the meaning of the words I use. If the fisherman, fishmonger, cook and consumer all agree that the fish I so love is called a sardine, then who am I to argue? If it looks like a sardine, smells like a sardine, tastes like a sardine, then it is a sardine.

Spring is just around the corner!

Today at Rick Knoll's farm stand at our local farmers market, I spied the first fresh green garlic of the season. The arrival of the tender shoots, which also go by the aliases "spring garlic, " "young garlic" and "garlic shoots," is the first sign of the impending arrival of spring to the Bay Area. Within 4 to 6 weeks, our local markets will be bursting with fresh spring onions, asparagus, fava beans and peas.

Last summer, I discovered that green garlic, called ajo tierno in Castillian Spanish and all tendre in Catalan, is quite popular in Spanish kitchens. Later in the week, I'll share a surprising yet easy recipe I learned in Catalonia that features this milder, sweeter young garlic. Green garlic is my entry for this week's edition of Kalyn's Weekend Herb Blogging event.

Also, I'd like to apologize for my brief case of blogus interruptus this past week. My poor little iBook G3 (we had the very first model of the white iBooks) unexpectedly passed away, forcing N and I to patiently await the arrival of its shiny new incarnation as a G4. The G4 looks identical, but is much more nimble and clever. Hopefully, its brilliance will rub off on the eternally flummoxed fellow who clicks away on its keys.

There are many exciting and tasty tidbits to fill you in on, so stay tuned as I plan to update IPOS more frequently this coming week!

Food|and Drink|Vegetables|Weekend Herb Blogging