Category Archives: recipes

Pasta alle Vongole

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NEVER WAS A  show-stopper so easy to prepare. Linguini with Clams, or Pasta alle Vongole in Italian, has the hallmarks of a classic dish: fresh shellfish glistening atop a feathery bed of pasta with accents of red tomato and green parsley to draw the eye.

3 dozen steamer clams
1/4 cup olive oil
1 shallot, diced
4-5 cloves garlic, diced (or more)
1/4 cup diced tomatoes
1/2 cup white wine
red pepper flakes, to taste
1/2 cup chopped Italian parsley

1. Add a pound of linguini to boiling salted water.

2. Meanwhile, in a deep pan or pot over medium heat, sauté shallot and  garlic in olive oil until soft. Add tomatoes and a generous pinch of red pepper flakes and cook together for a minute. Add a half cup of white wine. Stir and raise the heat. Add clams and cover.

3. Remove the pasta when two-thirds cooked and add to saucepan as clams begin to open. Stir well. When all clams are open, mix in chopped parsley. The linguini should be al dente. Add a ladle of pasta water if necessary.

Serve immediately with garlic bread and salad. Serves 2 large portions or 4 smaller portions. Salute!

Oyster Po’ Boy

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WHAT IS A po’ boy, you ask? It’s a traditional Louisiana sandwich served on a French roll or baguette. The usual ingredients are shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, and some sort of meat, often fried shrimp or oysters.

The derivation of the term is disputed. One theory dates it to a 1929 streetcar strike, when a conductor-turned-restaurateur fed his former colleagues—called “poor boys”—free sandwiches from his shop.

The oyster po’ boy is also known as a “Peace Maker.” Men carousing about town traditionally brought home a Peace Maker to their wives at the end of a late night. 

Oyster Po’ Boy

Dip oysters in egg, then batter with a mixture of mostly cornmeal, a little flour, and spices. The “shake and bake” method of battering is easiest, which is to say: do it in a plastic baggie. Fry in oil and/or butter and remove to paper towels. Spread mayo, tartar, remoulade (or any combination thereof) on a French roll or baguette and pile with shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, and the fried oysters. Drizzle with hot sauce. Pickles, onions, and whatever other condiments you prefer are optional. Serve with French fries and a suitable hair-of-the-dog beverage.

Secret Ingredients

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This post goes out to my dear reader in Augusta, Italy, where the value of “little pigs” is understood.

I’m a fan of secret ingredients—just as long as I’m in on the gig. Secret ingredients can be exotic, hard to find, or, as in this case, curveballs. For two years running now, maybe longer, the Puget Sound Mycological Society‘s annual exhibit has employed a certain chef to whip up countless mushroom dishes for its cooking demonstrations, including a wonderful Cream of Chanterelle Soup. This year I collared the cook during a moment of weakness and extracted the recipe. The secret ingredient that puts this soup over the top is not the nutmeg (although the spice adds an extra dimension for sure) and it’s not the chanterelles, as velvety smooth and sweet as they are (a secret ingredient can’t be the main ingredient, after all). No, the secret ingredient in this chanterelle soup is an entirely different species of mushroom that lifts the soup out of mere excellence and raises it to the sublime: Boletus edulis, the king bolete—known to Italians as porcini, or “little pigs.” The porcini have been dried and aged to concentrate the flavor, then pulverized into dust before being reconstituted in warm water. The resulting wet mush is like a double-shot of the earth itself.

Italians have enjoyed the hearty properties of porcini for centuries. They use them to flavor soups, stews, and sauces with an earthy bass note that cannot be duplicated with any other ingredient, fungal or otherwise. King boletes fruit throughout the temperate regions of the world, although we are fortunate in the American West to have a noteworthy abundance while in traditional European hunting grounds the king, like many other mushroom species (including chanterelles) is increasingly hard to find. Spruce forests in particular are places to look. The largest concentrations of king boletes I’ve ever encountered have been in the montane forests of Colorado. Yesterday’s Cream of Chanterelle Soup was made with king boletes from the North Cascades and chanterelles from Oregon’s Rogue River Canyon. Ideally the chanties should be fresh out of the woods; frozen chanterelles such as these are acceptable provided they’ve been properly stored. The last time I made this soup, for the annual Yakima River Burning Pram, a buxom fly-fisher who called herself Trout Girl took a spoonful and asked me if I was married. Such is the magic of this fairly simple recipe.

Cream of Chanterelle Soup

6 tbsp butter
1 med onion, diced
1 lb fresh chanterelles, diced (frozen dry-sauteed is acceptable; see this post)
1 – 3 oz. dried porcini, rehydrated in 1/2 – 1 cup hot water
1/4 cup flour
4 cups beef stock
1/4 tsp white pepper
1/8 tsp ground nutmeg
salt to taste
1 1/2 – 2 cups heavy cream

1. Melt butter in large pot. Add onions and cook over medium heat until caramelized.
2. Add chanterelles, raise heat, cook 5 minutes, stirring.
3. Pulverize porcini into dust with food processor and rehydrate.
4. Blend in flour with sauteed mushrooms and onions. Add stock slowly. Add porcini mush and any leftover water.
5. Bring to boil, reduce to simmer 5 minutes. Add spices.
6. Lower heat and add cream.

Serves 4 – 6

Super Easy Wild Chanterelle Stuffing

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I like Sunday roasts so much that I have them pretty much any day of the week. Wednesday was roast night this week: a plump free-range chicken. It’s de rigeur in our household to have a side dish of stuffing with a bird. Often we’ll use wild chanterelles as a flavor accent in the stuffing, but this time around we made them the centerpiece. The beauty of this stuffing is that it’s super easy—aside from a bunch of chopping—and yet has that complex air of fancier concoctions. The toasted hazelnuts, with their satisfying crunch, go a long way in this respect. Also, if I’m making a stuffing that doesn’t include either sausage or dried fruit, I prefer my breadcrumbs finely crumbled, not big and chunky. But that’s just me. Do what you like.

1 med onion, chopped
2 ribs celery, chopped
2 med carrots (or 1 large), chopped
4 tbsp butter
4 slices sandwich bread, toasted and finely crumbled
2 cooked cups chopped and sauteed chanterelles
1/4 cup hazelnuts, oven toasted and chopped
chicken stock
salt & pepper, to taste

Sauté onions in butter for a minute or two, then add carrots and celery. Cook 5 minutes, then add chanterelles. Salt and pepper. When sauteed vegetables are soft, mix into bowl with breadcrumbs and hazelnuts. Add enough stock to thoroughly moisten. There should be enough stuffing to line a greased 8″ x 8″ baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees covered for 30 minutes, then uncovered for another 15 minutes or until desired crispness.

Paying Out the Last Silver

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With a heavy heart (and salivating chops) I defrosted the last of my silver salmon this afternoon. According to my laundry marker scrawl on the shrinkwrap, this fish was caught September 9th, a Sunday. I actually remember that day, because I caught two silvers within a span of 15 minutes. It had been a lazy Sunday and I didn’t show up at the beach until right before low tide, which was around noon. The sun was out, but it was windy, with uncharacteristically large waves crashing on the cobbles. I had to take my place at the end of the line, far from the point, and, I was sure, far from the sweet spot. Because it was Sunday few of the regulars were around, just a bunch of weekend warriors tossing their lures out and hardly bothering to reel them back in. They didn’t expect to catch anything, I could see that right away. They were hiding from chores and honey-do lists.

Just then I saw an interesting sight through my polarized lenses: plain as day, a pod of silvers zipped by in the curl of a wave mere yards offshore, fin to fin like a squadron of Blue Angels in tight formation. I turned to the guy next me. Am I seeing things? He couldn’t summon the energy to answer and robotically cast his line way over the salmon, fifty yards out to sea (this was better than painting the garage, that’s for sure). A few minutes later and the squadron was back. I put my lure in front of the pod, just a few yards out. A fish peeled off the group and hammered it in less than a foot of water. Seconds later I had a six-pound silver on the beach.

The guy next to me was surprised. “Wow, you got one,” he said, as if we were all assembled there for some obscure reason that had yet to be revealed to us. Five minutes later and I had my second. A limit.

I guess we ate one of the two fish for dinner that night and froze the other for later. Now is later. The last of my freezer full of silver salmon.

In truth, this one has probably been in the freezer longer than is optimal. Three months, no problem. Almost five months? That requires my emergency “freezer burn marinade.” Besides masking the burn without compromising the tender salmon flavor, it’s ridiculously easy to make, taking about 30 seconds, including the time to rummage through my cabinets: one part Mongolian fire oil, two parts roasted sesame oil, and soy sauce to cover. Chopped garlic and ginger (or, in this case, rosemary) give it extra zing—and a couple minutes more prep time.

Such a marinade encourages a Pan-Asian presentation (I know, I know, we’ve seen enough of this sort of thing around these parts lately, but you work with what you’ve got). My usual sides are julienned vegetables—zucchini, squash, onions—sautéed in the same marinade, and jasmine rice or cous-cous. A salsa of diced red pepper, red onion, mango, and cilantro also pairs nicely.

More Thoughts on Razor Clams

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My friend Trouthole thinks it’s sacrilege to consign razor clams to a kettle of chowder, but I’m from New England originally and there are few higher expressions of good home cooking than a hearty chowder on a winter day. (Don’t ask me about Manhattan.) That said, Trouthole has a point. No clam tastes better fried than the razor. I don’t want to be overly provincial about this. I’ll eat clams from all over the world—Cape Cod quahogs, Long Island littlenecks, New Jersey longnecks, British surf clams, Japanese manilas—but after discovering the meaty bivalve that Northwesterners have known about for millennia (going back to the first inhabitants) I have to concede that the crown goes to the razor.

This is no small claim coming from an uprooted Connecticut Yankee. Let’s face it: New England has a monopoly on fried clams and clam shacks. There’s a lot at stake here. Fried clams are to New England what barbecue is to the South, and like the barbecue wars, the region has its own family arguments about what constitutes a good fried clam. Generally speaking the clam is dipped in liquid (usually evaporated milk) and then rolled in some sort of flour (breadcrumbs, cornmeal, plain flour, or a combination) before deep frying. Whether or not to include the algae-packed stomach is one of the central squabbles in the tradition (this point being moot with razors, since they must be cleaned before cooking). If the clams are fresh and succulent, few foods compare.

Some will call it heresy, others an indication of how far I’ve strayed. But I’ll say it anyway: fried razor clams are the best. (The photo above was my lunch today: fried razor diggers, or feet, the anatomy of the clam used for digging into the sand, and the tenderest part.) Too often the clams of the East Coast, especially if not dug and shucked that day, are unobtrusive enough that a person with no particular love of clams—or an abiding taste for Styrofoam—can order a basket without fear for his undiscerning palate. Granted, the conditions of the clam shack where he orders that basket will be far superior to the simulacra we have here on the West Coast. But history and atmosphere notwithstanding, I still urge my Compatriots of the Clam from Ipswich and Essex, from Narragansett and Kennebunkport, to journey west and try a fresh razor clam in its native habitat. These golden beauties are positively ebullient with the essence of clam, the experience not unlike gulping down raw oysters: a sweet, delirious taste of the sea.

One last thought: razor clamming reminds me of that great Henry Weinhard’s beer commercial from several years back. A bunch of young slackers are on the dunes drinking Henry’s. Goatees, lots of plaid. “Here come the hotties,” one announces. Cut to a shot of the wind-swept beach with a cold, gray ocean backdrop—and a bunch of girls clad not in bikinis but in so many layers of foul-weather gear that they look like nothing so much as the Michelin tire man. Ah, the Northwest.