Eat Drink Man Weblog

My friend Micah gave me a call – we were going to make dinner. It was going to be fancy, creative and adventurous.

I love cooking with Micah. He has the dive-right-in, never-say-die attitude essential to making exciting things happen in the kitchen. So many of my friends say “I don’t know how to cook,” and resign themselves to a lifetime instant macaroni and cheese topped with chopped up hot dog pieces. Micah realizes that the best way to learn how to cook is to start making foods you’ve never made before. Sometimes you wind up with a sub-par meal. Sometimes you even wind up with charcoal. But no matter what, you won’t wind up with decades of food out of a box.

Micah and I planned to approach the supermarket like a playground; we came up with a rough outline of our meal, and then would refine it based on what looked enticing. We wanted to make a salad out of cucumber cut into long, thin “noodles.” Maybe some julienned jicama for textural contrast. And an Asian dressing to play well with the subtle flavor of cucumber. We wanted to make fish encrusted with something. Macadamia nuts and pistachios had been done to death. Almonds were in. And we needed a starch component. We decided on mini falafels with a yogurt sauce.

We hit the store. They didn’t have any jicama. We picked up some zucchini and carrots instead. The tuna was the best looking fish in the joint, so that’s what we got. We walked by some gorgonzola. Now we had a new flavor to introduce to the yogurt sauce.

A quick note – the first almonds I grabbed didn’t meet Micah’s needs. He has a peanut allergy, and the almonds I had picked out were processed at a facility alongside peanuts. I was able to grab some acceptable almonds, but only because Micah was vigilant.

Whenever you are cooking for someone else, ask about food allergies or other dietary restrictions. When I’m invited to a potluck, it’s my first question. If someone has a food allergy, they have to avoid food that is even potentially tainted. Odds are it won’t ruin someone’s evening if you make a dish they can’t eat. A good host will be able to improvise and keep a guest fed. But when a guest can’t eat a dish you made, they won’t get a full sense of how awesome you are. Stay informed, and you stay as impressive as possible.

First we knocked out our cucumber salad. We fed the cucumber through a mandoline. A mandoline is a fairly specialized tool. It’s a blade mounted on a slide with an aperture of adjustable thickness. When you run a vegetable across the mandolin and you get perfectly even slices. Most have a julienne attachment, perfect for making cucumber “noodles.” It takes years of training to match mandoline results with a chef’s knife; if you are going to do a lot of work that requires meticulous precision, get in the market. If you’re unsure, pick up an adjustable Kyocera slicer. It can’t julienne. It is handheld, rather than free-standing. It only has four settings. But it’s about twenty bucks. If you think you might have a taste for homemade potato chips, it will pay for itself in no time.

A mandoline does this to a cucumber in under 20 seconds.

The cucumber salad took two cucumbers, julliened, two carrots, julliened, and one zucchini, julienned. We improvised an Asian dressing with rice wine vinegar, salt, pepper, red-pepper flakes, honey, lime juice, and scallions. I decided to let the salad soak in its dressing, hoping to simulate the cucumber salads I so enjoy at Japanese restaurants. But my cucumbers got soggy. Next time I’ll dress the salad just before serving.

Next came the falafel. I know I knocked food-from-a-box at the start of this article. But Falafel from a box is pretty tasty. And, well, I’ve never made falafel from scratch. Sigh. Someday.

I made the dough from the instructions on the box. But instead of making large patties, I made a bunch of bite-size cylinders. Then a dip in hot oil until golden brown. Group consensus declared that falafel-tots will be the next big thing. Coming soon to a hipster bar or diner near you. They are small, so they fry up quick. A lot of little falafels have more surface area than a few large ones – that means more crunchy, browned bits in the final dish. And mini things are just adorable and fun to eat.

It was a bit tedious forming the falafel-tots, but they were a hit.

To make the yogurt sauce I took Greek yogurt, and stirred in handfuls of crumbled gorgonzola until I had a pleasing, cheesy flavor. Because it has been strained, Greek yogurt is richer and tangier than domestic stuff – it has a robust flavor profile that can stand up to a bold player like blue cheese. I finished with a pinch of lemon zest to add some bright flavor notes, and added just enough cream to get a pour-able texture.

With starch and vegetable components locked down, it was time for the protein. Micah and I ground up the almonds and pressed them into the flesh of our tuna. Most crusted fish recipes recommend a 30 minute rest between crusting and cooking. Protein-rich liquids soak into the ground nuts, forming a paste that sticks to the fish and sears up firm. But Micah and I were hungry – we settled for ten a ten minute rest and then put the fish to the pan.

Tuna is a perfect fish for a crust. It’s best served rare. That means crusted tuna is a stratified symphony of color, flavor and texture. The outermost layer is dark, crispy and caramelized. Immediately underneath lies creamy white nut flesh. Then a bold shock of red, buttery tuna.

Pretty!

We attempted a wine cherry reduction to serve with the fish. But when your reduction smells done, it needs to be pulled off the heat immediately. I was across the room, so I wound up with a pot of charcoal. I improvised a cherry lime salsa, instead.

It was time to eat.

The cucumber salad turned out to be a fairly convincing faux-seaweed salad. The texture wasn’t perfect, but it was close. And given the relative supermarket availability of cucumber versus seaweed, I know what I’ll grab the next time I have a seaweed salad craving. As mentioned, the falafel tots were a hit. Of course, it’s hard to loose with fried food. And the tuna didn’t disappoint. The cut was previously frozen – normally not much of a problem. However, seared tuna is traditionally cut on the bias, thin. More surface area means more beautiful red on the plate. Freezing and thawing slightly changes the texture of a fish. The thin slices were a little crumbly. But still delicious.

Treat food as an adventure, and you’ll avoid hotdog-mac-n-cheese.