Comfort Foods and Indulgences

Pizza is local. A guy from Cincinnati traveling in Italy will thumb his nose at the pizza because it’s not what he used to eat in Ohio when he was going through puberty. Italians are no different. I know Romans who make rude gestures when they talk about the pizza from Naples.

“The crust is too thick — and then it falls apart in the middle. It is without structure.”

I’ve eaten a lot of pizza in Naples; I’ve downed an obscene number of pies at Baffetto in Rome; I’ve had Sicilian pizza in Sicily, Pugliese pizza in Puglia and Ligurian pizza in Liguria (excellent, by the way) and pizza, at its best, is totally local, which means to say it reflects the personality and the groceries of its neighborhood.

Obviously I’m not referring here to pizza chains, which produce cookie-cutter pies of no interest. Nor am I referring to take-out pizza, which is an abomination. Take-out pizza absorbs the taste and smell of the cardboard it travels in. By the time it arrives you may as well just eat the box. No, I’m talking about real pizza.

When I pulled out the pocket folder filled with recipes I’ve gathered from cooking classes I’ve attended over the years, I was surprised to see that some of the recipes dated back to 1984. That was the year I started taking classes from Andrea Halgrimson in her cozy little kitchen in Fargo. I had two young sons at the time. Gathering with a small group of food-loving people in Andrea’s kitchen was always a special night out for me.

I flipped through my stash of recipes to find Chocolate Strawberry Shortcake. On a May evening in 1984, Halgrimson mixed up a biscuit-like chocolate dough that she rolled out and pressed into large round cake pans. The two chocolate shortcake layers were packed with a filling of whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

That was the night I got over my fear of unflavored gelatin. Halgrimson showed how easy it is to dissolve a little gelatin in water in a glass measuring cup. She placed the measuring cup in a small amount of water in a saucepan over low heat. As the water in the saucepan warmed up, the granulated gelatin dissolved in the water in the cup. Easy.

Epic. It's my new favorite word. I can't stop saying it. And I'm sure everyone around me can't stand hearing it. It's just stuck in my head and currently living on the edge of my tongue.

I used the word WAY too many times yesterday. Once, when describing the epic "blackberry honey-hole" I found during my walk around the meadow. Then again when I mentioned the epic nachos I was making for dinner. And yet another time when I said I needed to go on this epic diet, after I ate the epic nachos and this epic shake. Oy. I guess I need a new word. I think it's going to be pariah. Don't ask me why.

So here's one of the reasons this shake is epic. First of all, when I buy buttermilk, I always buy the Bulgarian version. You see, buttermilk in its natural state is low-fat. It's the thin liquid left over after you churn butter from cream. Commercially-made buttermilk is created by adding bacteria cultures to milk, then heating the mixture to give it that tart, slightly fermented taste.

BUT, the Bulgarian version is a type of cultured buttermilk in which cream cultures are supplemented or replaced by yogurt cultures and fermented at higher temperatures for higher acidity. It can be more tart and thicker than cultured buttermilk. This is why it's epic. It's the only buttermilk I ever buy. And it is thicker and yummier and makes everything taste great. I hope you have it at your market. And I wish I knew why this process makes it "Bulgarian". Anyone?

With its classic Provençal flavors, this dish puts you in the heart of Provençe. Featuring herbes de Provençe, one of my favorite herb combinations, it's one of the easiest ways to bring the flavors of southern France into your kitchen. The Provençal herbs consist of a mixture of savory, fennel, basil, thyme, and lavender. Provençal dishes are known for their earthy, rich flavors beginning with quality olive oil and fresh ingredients. Extra-virgin olive oil is perfect for this recipe for its fruity flavor, reminiscent of the sweet air of the Mediterranean coast. And fennel, the classic Provencal vegetable, lends its sweet aroma and licorice taste to brighten the dish.

If there ever was an easy one-pot meal, this recipe is it. It's as simple as spatchcocking a Cornish hen, marinating it in lemon juice and herbs, and then roasting it on a bed of garlic, onion, fennel, and red bell pepper. The spatchcocking technique is basically removing the back bone, breaking and removing the breast bone, cutting off the wing tips, and laying the bird flat. This method makes for all around browned skin and faster cooking time. As the hen roasts, the vegetables underneath soften, mellow, and meld with its drippings while the meat reaches succulent tenderness. This recipe can also be made with additional Cornish hens or chicken.