Toasts & Roasts

 fig. a:  holidaze 2013

We hold these truths to be self-evident:

1.  The holiday season is upon us.

2.  Good God, there's nothing like a perfectly seasoned, perfectly rosé slab of roast beef--preferably one that's then sliced extra-thin, and served with horseradish.*

Okay.  Yes, the holidays are here.  And that means it was time for our annual "...an endless banquet" Christmas spectacular.

 fig. b:  all aboard!

But, the thing is, sometimes LIFE confronts you with an unexpected storm, and, suddenly, you have to chart a new course.

That's kind of what happened this year.  Everything's fine now, there's no need to worry, but something came up that forced us to make a last-minute adjustment.  What it meant was that the Christmas spectacular didn't actually take place at our place this year.  Consequently, we toned things down a bit, scaled things back, and got "back to the basics."

The holiday bash that resulted might not have been quite as wide open as it had been in the past, it might not have been quite as extravagant, but it was still pretty spectacular, and it was much more of a collaborative effort--and all the better for it.  For all these things, we owe our undying gratitude to our hostess.  (TY, RD!)  Such a lovely apartment, such a wonderful atmosphere, such a great time!!

 fig. c:  S.S. Shamrock!

Originally, we'd come up with this vague Lake Champlain "holiday steamship" theme.  The "point of departure" was meant to be our apartment.  I guess we ended up docking just a little ways up the coast.  And we exchanged the S.S. Champlain for the S.S. Shamrock.

Did I mention that there was a pretty significant snowstorm the day of the party?  No big deal.  We're Montrealers, we know how to deal with such situations.

Anyway, "back to basics" meant simpler preparations.  It also meant fewer last-minute preparations.  But it was still pretty plentiful.  The spread:

 fig. d:  rye!

1 spiral-cut, cob-smoked, maple-glazed Vermont ham with mostarda cherries
1 roast beef with horseradish
nordic shrimp salad
smoked trout & smoked sturgeon platter with cream cheese
crudités & herb dip
baked artichoke dip & corn chips
cheese platter (featuring 1 Jasper Hill Moses Sleeper + 1 Shelburne Farms cloth-bound cheddar)
freshly baked Danish rye & corn rye loaves 

Spanish clementines
gingerbread cookies
festive fudge 

AEB rum punch
aged egg nog

 fig. e:  fudge!

And, yes, getting back to that point #2:  a perfectly executed roast beef is a thing of beauty.  It also seemed like just the kind of thing that would have been served in the dining room of an elegant steamship back in the day.

We discovered a method for a simple roast beef that we really love--and that's proven to be foolproof--earlier this year in the pages of The New York Times.  The recipe accompanied an article on Louisville's enigmatic Henry Bain sauce.  Though the sauce was designed to be served as a condiment with everything from steaks to game, it's a stone-cold natural with roast beef.  In fact, Sam Sifton claimed that this may be the sauce's "highest use" in his article, so he turned to Tyler Kord, the sandwich master at New York's No. 7 Sub, for a killer roast beef recipe to go along with his recipe for Henry Bain.  And that's exactly what he got.  I liked the recipe for Henry Bain--it was definitely unlike anything I'd ever tasted before, and, it's true, it made for a tasty accompaniment--but I absolutely loved the recipe for that roast beef.

As many of your probably know already, getting perfect results with roast beef can be a little tricky.  Nobody likes a roast that's extremely undercooked, and overcooking a roast is all too easy.  This recipe relies primarily on ambient heat to gently warm the roast all the way to its centre, resulting in that ideal rosy hue, not to mention an extremely savoury crust, optimal juiciness, and some outrageous pan juices.

I've been impressed with Kord's recipe since the first time I tried it, but recently I made an adjustment to it that's even more to my liking:  I added ground caraway seeds to its spicy-garlicky rub, giving it a finish that was very much in tune with the nordic characteristics of our Christmas party spread.

Off-Oven Roast Beef  

1 beef roast, like top, eye or bottom round, approximately 3 lbs
1 tbsp kosher salt
1 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
1/2 tbsp freshly ground caraway seeds
3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 tbsp olive oil
red pepper flakes to taste

prepared horseradish or horseradish cream

Remove the roast from the refrigerator.  

 fig. f:  raw!

In a small bowl, mix together the salt, pepper, caraway seeds, garlic, olive oil and red pepper flakes to create a paste.  Rub this all over the roast.  

 fig. g:  rubbed!

Place the roast in a cast-iron skillet or roasting pan, fat side up, and allow the roast to come to room temperature, about 1 to 2 hours.

About 15 minutes before you want to begin roasting, preheat your oven to 500º F.

Place the roast in the oven.  Cook, undisturbed, for 5 minutes per pound.  [I tend to go a little over this recommendation:  e.g. 15 minutes for a 2.6-lb roast, and 30 minutes for 5.25-lb roast.]

Turn off the oven.  Do not open the oven door.  Leave roast to continue cooking, completely undisturbed, for two hours.

After the two hours is up, remove the roast from the oven.  Slice as thinly as possible.  

 fig. h:  roasted!

Serve with pan juices and prepared horseradish.  Or use to make whatever your preferred kind of roast beef sandwich is. 

[recipe based very closely on Tyler Kord's Off-Oven Roast Beef recipe, as featured in The New York Times, January 17, 2013] 

Just how good is this roast beef?  Well, the photos above are of the 2 3/4-lb roast we made the day after we made a 5 1/2-lb roast for our party--a 5 1/2-lb roast that completely disappeared (as tasty things often do).  You see, the next day we found ourselves still having major roast beef cravings, so I went out and picked up another roast and we whipped up another batch--this one served with roasted broccoli and a mixed greens salad.  And horseradish, of course.

The point is:  this recipe is a keeper any time of year, but it's great for the holidays.  Great for a party spread. Great for pleasing a crowd.  Great for making sandwiches.

Happy holidaze 2013!  Eat well!  Drink well!  Be well!

aj

*Actually, roast beef's a pretty lovely thing to serve with radishes à la crème, too.  In fact, the two combined would make for a pretty amazing open-faced roast beef sandwich.  Just a thought...

AEB classics #65: Bánh Mì

March madness--all-Asian, all-month--continues...

Inspired by Andrea Nguyen's Into the Vietnamese Kitchen, and disappointed by the last several bánh mì (Vietnamese baguettes) we've paid money for here in Montreal, we've started making our own.

AEB Bánh Mì

one small baguette, one 7-inch section from a baguette, or one small torpedo-shaped roll*
mayonnaise, preferably homemade or Japanese
Maggi seasoning sauce and/or light soy sauce
2 Thai green chilies
boldly flavored meat, such as Char Siu pork (recipe follows), thinly sliced
4 thin, seeded cucumber strips, preferably Kirby, English, or Lebanese
2 or 3 sprigs cilantro, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup Vietnamese daikon and carrot pickle (recipe follows)

Slice the bread lengthwise, leaving it attached on the back side. Hollow out the inside of the bread, making a trough in each half. If the bread is soft, crisp it briefly in a 325º F oven, then let it cool before proceeding.

Muddle the green chilies in the Maggi seasoning and/or the light soy sauce.**

Spread a generous amount of mayonnaise on both halves of bread. Layer the pork, the cucumber, the pickle, the cilantro, and the chilies on the bottom half. Drizzle the Maggi seasoning and/or light soy sauce over top. Close the sandwich and enjoy thoroughly.

Vegetarians: replace the pork with some kind of boldly seasoned baked tofu.

Vegans: replace the pork with tofu (see above) and replace the mayonnaise with your favorite soy-based mock mayonnaise.

Char Siu Pork

2 1/3 pounds boneless pork shoulder, well trimmed (you should be left with about 2 pounds afterwards)

2 cloves garlic
2 tbsp sugar
1/2 tsp Chinese five-spice powder
3 tbsp hoisin sauce
2 tbsp honey
1 1/2 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
2 tbsp light (regular) soy sauce
1 tbsp dark (black) soy sauce
2 tsp sesame oil

Quarter the pork lengthwise into strips about 6 inches long and 1 1/2 inches thick. If there are odd-size pieces, make sure they're of the same thickness.

To make the marinade, whisk together the garlic, sugar, five-spice powder, hoisin sauce, honey, wine, light and dark soy sauces, and sesame oil. Add the pork and use a spatula or tongs to coat evenly. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 6 to 8 hours, turning the pork 2 or 3 times.

Remove the pork from the refrigerator 45 minutes before cooking. Position a rack in the upper third of the oven and preheat to 475º F. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and place a flat roasting rack on the pan. Put the pork on the rack, spacing the pieces 1 inch apart. Reserve the marinade.

Roast the pork for 30-35 minutes, basting with the marinade every 10 minutes or so. To baste, use tongs to pick up each piece and roll it in the marinade before returning it to the rack, turning the pork over after each go. The pork is done when it looks glazed, is slightly charred, and most important, registers about 145º F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the oven.

Let the meat rest for 10 minutes to finish cooking and seal in the juices. Thinly slice the pork across the grain and serve warm or at room temperature. Or, let it cool completely, wrap it tightly in plastic wrap, and freeze it for up to 3 months. Andrea Nguyen claims that this pork reheats well in a microwave oven, but we wouldn't know.

Daikon and Carrot Pickle

1 large carrot, peeled and cut into thick matchsticks
1 pound daikons, each no larger than 2 inches in diameter, peeled and cut into matching thick matchsticks
1 tsp salt
2 tsp plus 1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups distilled white vinegar
1 cup lukewarm water

Place the carrot and daikons in a bowl and sprinkle with the salt and 2 teaspoons of the sugar. Use your hands to knead the vegetables for about 3 minutes, expelling as much water from them as possible. They will soften and liquid will pool at the bottom of the bowl. Stop kneading when you can bend a piece of daikon so that the ends touch but the daikon does not break. The vegetables should have lost about 1/4 of their volume. Drain in a colander and rinse under cold running water, then press gently to expel extra water. Return the vegetables to the bowl if you plan to eat them soon, or transfer them to a 1-quart jar for longer storage.

To make the brine, in a bowl, combine the 1/2 cup sugar, the vinegar, and the water and stir to dissolve the sugar. Pour over the vegetables. The brine should cover the vegetables. Let the vegetables marinate in the brine for at least 1 hour before eating. They will keep in the refrigerator for up to 4 weeks.

Note: sometimes the daikon develops a strong odor as it sits in the jar, one that could be safely described as "funky." This doesn't mean that the pickle has spoiled. Before serving it, open the jar and let it breathe for about 15 minutes to allow the odor to dissipate.

Perfect for almost any occasion: lunch, dinner, picnics, late-afternoon snacks--you name it. The char siu pork and the daikon and carrot pickle are phenomenal in the bánh mì, but they're also extremely versatile, and ideal as part of a simple rice bowl meal.

aj

* If you live here in Montreal, we recommend a Portuguese torpedo-shaped roll, and we recommend toasting it as per the directions above.

** We've made them with Maggi, with soy sauce, and with a combination of the two.

Vancouver Diary 8: The Final Chapter

June 19, 2007

Our flight back to Montreal was a 2:00 pm departure, which meant we had to get to the airport at about noon. I made sure to make it out to Continental Coffee one last time to make a pick-up, but Michelle figured we had time for one more full-fledged food-related stop before going to the airport, as long as the place was more or less on the way. The question was where to go. Do we go back to one of the week's highlights? Hawker's Delight? We only really had a snack from there and it was right on Main. Toshi Sushi? Do they even do lunch, and, if so, would they prepare a take-out order for us? Or do we try someplace new? In the end we opted for novelty.

Duffin's Donuts

Michelle had read about Duffin's Donuts on Main and how there was some kind of Southeast Asian sandwich shop lurking within. She had a feeling Duffin's was worth a visit, and she was positive that a couple of take-out sandwiches were just what we needed for our flight. She insisted we'd be the envy of the entire passengers' cabin.

We weren't exactly sure what we'd find when we got there, but when we pulled in across the street things looked promising.

fig. a: signage, Duffin's Donuts

We're still not 100% sure of what we experienced at Duffin's Donuts. One thing's certain: it's located in an old ('70s?) doughnut shop. But beyond that, things get mysterious. The place is owned by a Southeast Asian family who maintained the shop's donut selection and their Canadian-style light meals, but then added a bunch of Southeast Asian treats to the menu. We've read accounts that the family is Vietnamese and that they serve Vietnamese sandwiches, but we've also read that they're Cambodian and that they serve "Vietnamese" sandwiches (why they wouldn't be Cambodian sandwiches in that case isn't clear to me). All we know is that they're known for their "hot torta" sandwiches, and that torta wasn't the only Spanish word on the menu. Michelle got the "hot torta" with machaca, while I got the carne azada number. Did all these Spanish terms indicate some kind of Filipino connection? We're still not clear on that. All we know is that we loved the whole Duffin's Donuts experience: the friendly service, the hybridity of the operation, and especially those "hot torta" sandwiches, which made for some awfully great airplane food. Overstuffed with avocado, tomato, and lettuce, and served on a big, puffy bun not unlike a Portuguese bun, both sandwiches featured generously seasoned, thinly sliced cuts of meat.

Did we end up being "the envy of the entire passengers' cabin"? I couldn't tell you. I was way too busy wolfing down my sandwich to notice.

Oh, and the doughnuts are good too.

Duffin's Donuts, 4898 Main St., (604) 879-5551

All in all it had been quite the week. A week filled with so many highlights, it took over a month to write about it.

Many thanks to Brady and Robin for getting hitched and for bringing together so many great people in the process, to S. and D. for being the consummate hosts and for somehow putting up with our powerful food fixations, and to all our other Vancouver friends, new and old, for making the 2007 "Yummers, Not Bummers" Tour such a success.

aj

The Czech-Slovak Bazaar, pt. 1

The booty: a selection of pastries from the Czech-Slovak Bazaar
Originally uploaded by ajkinik.

The Czech-Slovak Bazaar

Bazaar culture is a huge part of living in Montreal. Montreal is a city that is literally littered with churches (remember, this was the town about which Samuel Clemens once quipped, “This is the first time I was ever in a city where you couldn't throw a brick without breaking a church window”), and nearly every single one of them—Catholic, Protestant, and otherwise—holds a bazaar at some point in time during the course of the year, with most occurring in the fall. Most everyone has a favorite one, and we’ve got a few of our own, but one of our absolute favorites is the Czech-Slovak Bazaar (formerly the Czechoslovak Bazaar) that takes place every November at St. Ignatius Church (4455 Broadway W.) in Notre-Dame-de-Grace (NDG).

Montreal still has a rather large population of Eastern European extraction, although many of the Poles, Hungarians, Yugoslavs, and others who came here beginning in the late 19th century relocated to points west (especially Toronto and other parts of Ontario) over the decades. It’s safe to say that these days Montreal doesn’t have much of a Czech community or a Slovak community, but that doesn’t stop those that do live here from holding a bazaar once a year, and when you visit this bazaar you suddenly find yourself immersed in a loose-knit, largely elderly Czech scene (the Czech presence far outweighs any Slovak presence) you never knew existed. Show up at 10:55, minutes before the doors open, and you’ll get the false impression that this scene is bigger than it actually is, as you’ll find dozens and dozens of Czechs (primarily) milling about out front, jostling one another, swearing underneath their breaths (in Czech, of course, as they’ve all gotten used to no one ever being able to understand them when they do so in the outside world), trying to establish pole position so they can get first dibs on the pastry table. You’d think you’d need a larger community for there to be this kind of adrenaline rush, but, no, this is the Montreal Czech community in its entirety. They’re all like this, and that’s just part of the charm.

Time stands still inside the doors of St. Ignatius. For one thing, many of the attendees sport fashions that would not have been out of place on the streets of Prague circa 1982. The look can only be described as an Eastern Bloc parody of Western high style, with absolutely no ‘80s-retro-chic irony at play. For another, every year the stands look exactly the same, the vendors look exactly the same, and the attendees look exactly the same—in fact, you recognize a number of people you haven’t seen since last year’s festivities. One of our favorites is the late-40s-ish tall, blonde Adonis figure who sells the brand-name-knock-off auto care products (windshield wiper fluid, motor oil, etc.) at cut-rate prices. Another is the barrel-chested 50s-ish gentleman who helps clear the tables. This year he showed up wearing a pair of Nike Air Flight Elites™ and a knit belt that read “El Charro.”

There are always decent books and baubles to be had, even if the selection is slim, but the biggest reason to visit is the food. One corner of the room features savory Czech treats: steamed Czech sausages with mustard, potato salad, schnitzel, potato pancakes, and best of all, chlebicky. If you’ve been to the Czech Republic and missed out on chlebicky—as many people have—you’ve really missed something. Every family has their own method for making them, and they’re brought out for any kind of special occasion, but you can also find them at the many beer, sausage, and prepared meal eateries that dot a city like Prague. What exactly are chlebicky? Well, they’re just open-faced sandwiches, really, but open-faced sandwiches made with an attention to detail oftentimes lacking outside of the Czech Republic.

Our favorite chlebicky at the Czech-Slovak Bazaar is constructed as follows:
1 slice of bread (preferably a light rye)
1 thin layer of country-style pate
1 slice of ham, folded in half
1 slice of salami, shaped into a horn
1 slice of radish
1 sliver of pickled cucumber
1 sliver of red bell pepper
1 sliver of green bell pepper
1 slice of hardboiled egg
Parsley

As good as the chlebicky are, the real focus of attention at this bazaar is the mammoth sweets table. There you’ll find a vast array of kolaches, including kremrole, babovky, and oriskovy dorty, stretching across a huge, long group of tables in front of the stage, where contributors are always busily trying to put the finishing touches on more pastries so that they can replenish the supply. You choose a box (S, M, or L) and ask the staff to fill it up with whatever your heart desires (This year I was transfixed by the sight of one of the staff members wearing one of those ethnic pride t-shirts in the “Kiss me, I’m Irish” vein. The woman is a fixture at these gatherings that we recognized from years past, of course, but this year she wore one of those big, bold t-shirts with the huge lettering that provides a “humorous” definition of a particular term. The term in question was “Czech,” and the “definition” read that a Czech was someone of [Czechoslovakian tricolored flag graphic] descent, who was known for generosity, “fun,” kolaches, dumplings, and so on. So far pretty banal, but in addition, for some reason the sleeve read “Las Vegas.” It made it harder to focus on the desserts, harder to order). One of my favorites this year was a chocolate icing-covered carrot cake—it was extremely moist and had raspberry jam spread between its two layers. Delicious. We grabbed our usual assortment of Czech treats and made our way out of the madness that is the Czech-Slovak Bazaar, only to hit some more (“much more civilized”) bazaars in Westmount, before going home for tea and kolaches.

aj

Pictured: Babovka (center), Morovske kolache (front, center), tvarohove pirosky (with dark plum tops), odpalovane "puffs" (cream puffs) -- for some reason my parents can't remember what they're called (!).

m