Croatian Wine Dinner in Berkeley

April 2, 2007 – 2:07 pm

If you’re in or near Berkeley, California, you might be interested in checking out a four-course wine tasting dinner at Caffe Venezia on Thursday. Good labels, to be sure, and great accompanying dishes. I’m tempted to go just for the lamb braised in paprika and tarragon.

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Bakalar and Blitva - salt cod cake on
a bed of potatoes and swiss chard 10.00
Marco Polo Pošip, ‘05 8.00

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Sarma cabbage rolls filled with housemade kobasa sausage
and rice simmered in a sweet and sour tomato sauce 14.00
Bibich Riserva ‘04 8.00

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Slavonija tarragon and paprika braised lamb
with njoki(gnocchi) 16.00
Zlatan Plavac Barrique ‘03 14.00

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Krofi - Slovenian apricot filled doughnuts 8.00
NV Prošek Dioklecijan 8.00
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Four Course Dinner 44.00
Accompanying Wine Flight 18.00


Wiener schnitzel

April 2, 2007 – 12:40 am

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Since running Zagrebački Odrezak as a Sunday brunch item a couple of weeks ago, I’ve had a pow’rful hankering for Wiener schnitzel. I only got around to shopping for the veal last night and, as luck had it, the supermarket had none to offer. So I bought some inexpensive pork steaks, trimmed most of the fat and pounded them escallope. They were then floured, eggwashed and breadcrumbed, and I pan-fried them in clarified butter.

Since pork is not the traditional meat for Wiener schnitzel, I felt relatively comfortable taking other liberties with the preparation, such as melting Emmenthaler cheese atop the cutlet and positioning it between slices of toasted wheat bread with typical sandwich ornaments. Wiener schnitzel is also, in its purest form, served with little more than potato salad and a wedge of lemon, but I ran a russet potato through the mandolin and fried the resultant shoestrings.

In the wilds of America, this would commonly be breaded with flour only, receive the benefit of a ladle of milk gravy and then be termed ‘Country Fried Steak’. But it doesn’t really matter what you or anyone else decides to call it since it’s already gone.
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Pistachio Lemon Pepper Trout

March 31, 2007 – 4:30 pm

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Every year I get a pound of pistachios for Christmas from my grandmother. I’m not one of those people who has time to sit around shelling and eating nuts like a fat squirrel, so it usually takes me a while to go through them. Here it is, the end of March, and I’ve consumed maybe a third of the bag. I also cook with the pistachios from time to time. I’m fortunate to live in hiking distance from the Missouri River, and the gorgeous trout I reeled in the other day had ‘pistachio’ written all over him. The delicate flavor and texture of trout seemed the perfect canvas for a pistachio-tinged fresco of bright aromatics, and so I set about to preparing a fresh masala of pistachio lemon pepper. Ideally this should be completed in a hand-powered mortar and pestle to force the aromatic oils together, but I’ve lived a pretty mobile life for the last year or so and haven’t yet outfitted a permanent enough kitchen to have one. So I crushed pistachios, semi-dry lemon zest and whole black peppercorns with my chef’s knife in roughly equal amounts, then blended and crushed again. There was a sufficient quantity of salt in the pistachios to create a concentric field of olfactory unity between the triumvirate, but after seasoning the trout liberally with this blend, I did sprinkle a few more grains of coarse sea salt. Beyond this, I only inserted a few lemon slices into the body cavity, placed the fish on an oiled pan and hove it into a 450°F oven for broiling.

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While the fish, nuts, pepper and lemon came together in the heat, I sauteed a julienne of Portobello and Shiitake mushroom with onions in butter.

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I then doused the woody convivium with a few healthy splashes of burgundy and added a proportionate handful of fresh green beans. This was covered and removed from the stove just before the beans’ greenness peaked, and allowed to cook in residual heat until the trout was finished - which wasn’t long.

What else needs to be told? I plated it all up, sat down and enjoyed. Pistachio Lemon Pepper and fresh trout prepared with it were successful amalgams, and they have been duly added to the lexicon.

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Smoked Avocado

March 21, 2007 – 3:45 am

A few weeks ago I saw a recipe for guacamole on a popular food blog that called for “perfectly ripe” avocados. I was compelled to comment that there’s so much joy to be gotten from unripe and over-ripe fruits and vegetables, even avocados. More than a few cultures are known to make use of unripened fruits as if they were vegetables. Green mango is pickled in India and made into salads in Thailand, for instance. I enjoy thin slices of green mango with a dash of salt, cayenne powder and lime juice; the bright, malic pucker gradually gives way to hints of aromas the fruit would have in full ripeness, and the yet-unformed sugars add a starchy dimension of texture to the mouthfeel. Fried green tomatoes are a staple of Southern home cooking in the U.S., and they’re pickled in Bosnia. The list goes on, but let’s get back to avocados.

In my comment at the aforementioned blog, I spieled on the old “levels of texture and flavor” riff, even going so far as to suggest to the author that she dice and pickle some unripe avocado in lime juice and salt, then incorporate it into the guacamole with the perfectly ripe ones. I believe I said something like “little explosions of flavor.”

Then the chef side of my brain got stuck on avocados, and my subconscious involuntarily began concocting a new method of preparing the fatty, fibrous goblins. Comparison and association play a large role in developing new dishes for me, and in this case I focused my free association on the high fat content of avocados. Fat. Lipids. One of the things fat does really well is absorb aromatic compounds, which is why it conducts flavor so well. But my story must now take a brief detour…

Back in midwinter there was a freezing rain storm in the Midwest that caused tree branches to sag and snap under the weight of a heavy ice glaze. The effects of the storm were gorgeously quasi-fractal to behold. Grass, branch and foliage were soundly glazed over with ice.

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I had my eye on a drooping, three-trunked birch tree in the neighborhood. One of the trunks was in serious peril of breaking off, and after two days of struggling against gravity, it finally snapped.

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Once all of the devastation was sliced up and lain out in neat little piles for emergency workers to cart off, I approached the neighbor who owned the birch and asked if I could have the wood. Her reply: Affirmative. I whisked the bundles of wood away and allowed them to dry for a week. Birch is traditionally the wood of preference for smoking meat in Scandinavia, but I’d never used it in anything I’d smoked. It was time to give it a shot, and the first thing I did was cold-smoke some sliced, under-ripe avocado for about three hours. The effects were pretty incredible. They looked like avocado slices that had been left out to brown, but the brown was wood smoke residue (the phenolic compounds in wood smoke actually prevent oxidization, so they didn’t brown any further). I incorporated them with a julienne of smoked bacon into this salad, which additionally comprised radicchio, Romaine lettuce, red and yellow peppers, red and white onion and a pickled key lime and chili vinaigrette.

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It was a good enough salad, but the greens and vinaigrette drew attention away from what I really wanted to taste: smoked avocado. Next time, I’ll focus a dish on sliced, smoked avocado… I’m thinking with Gorgonzola and perhaps a drizzle of reduced balsamic vinegar, or maybe some red pepper puree. I have plenty of birch left, and hopefully I’ll get around to plating something like that up for you soon.

I wondered, of course, if anyone else had ever thought to smoke avocado. I had a feeling it was a first (and I wanted it to be), but a thorough Googling revealed that Chef Marcus Samuelsson of Aquavit in New York has featured smoked avocado with salmon roe on one of the cafe’s past menus. Smoked avocado wasn’t a first, but it’s nice to know that my instincts keep good company.


Pandy, Please

March 17, 2007 – 8:18 am

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Here I am singing and playing a sean-nós rendition of Eamonn A’ Chnuic. I recorded it especially for you today. And here’s a transcription of the song. The second English translation is the accurate one. “Ned of the Hill” was Edmund O’Ryan, a roving outlaw of 18th-century Ireland.

Edmond O’Ryan, the hero of [a] Gaelic song, was born in Kilnamanagh, Co. Tipperary, before the wars of 1690. After the defeat of James II, whom he supported, he was outlawed and had his estates confiscated. After a roving life full of romantic adventure, he was buried in the Church of Doon, Loch Gur, Co. Limerick. The song, in describing the outlaw driven by pain and beating on the closed door of his beloved, symbolized the lonely cause of Ireland. (Notes Clancy Bros, ‘The Rising of the Moon’)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Since cooking and eating corned beef, cabbage and potatoes somehow makes the matriarchs in my family feel as if we’re right back in Galway whence sprung my bloodline, a metric ton of the stuff has been changing hands on my mother’s side for an entire week. There’s a long tradition among Irish-Americans of getting completely drunk for St. Patrick’s Day - as if that, too, proves how Irish you are - but I will celebrate by grinding up the cured and boiled beef brisket foisted on me, then frying up some corned beef hash. And I’ll probably grind up some potatoes for pandy as well. As you can see above, I like my pandy extra creamy and smooth, with plenty of butter mixed in and melted atop. Pandy is essentially just mashed potatoes, but if you read my Thanksgiving post, you have an idea about the distinction between it and normal mashed potatoes. The definition of ‘pandy’ according to A Dictionary of Hiberno-English is here:

pandy, peaindí

// 1. n. v. a blow on hand given as a punishment; to strike, chastise < E dial. < L pande (palmam), hold out (your hand). ‘I got pandied for cogging (q.v. cog)’; Synge, Playboy, Act 3, FDA 2, 643: “Pegeen: ‘That’s it, now the world will see him pandied”, Joyce, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 61: “‘Yes, sir, but Father Dolan said he will come in again tomorrow to pandy me for it’”.

2. n. dish of potatoes mashed with milk, butter, salt, and pepper < Ir. peaindí. ‘Give some pandy to the child will you to shut him up’; O’Brien, A Pagan Place, 123: “. . .you started to scoop the potatoes out of their skins and mash them. You made pandy for dogs”.


Meat on a Hot Xylophone

March 6, 2007 – 4:05 am

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Someone decided to have roštilj (barbecue) at Igor’s weekend place in Tržić, way up in the wine-growing Samoborske Gorje, about an hour from Zagreb. In true northern Croatian fashion, there was plenty of meat, including thick trenchers of GRILLED BACON.

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Igor pulled the requisite green onion crudite from his garden, but after a couple of bites I was forced to point out that he’d mistakenly pulled the garlic shoots. “Igore, to nije luk vlasac,” said I. “To je češnjak vlasac.”

But I didn’t care. Despite the fact that garlic shoots don’t have nearly the crisp tingle and palate-cleansing effect of green onions, I continued to dip the straws in salt and nibble contentedly between bites of sausage and veal steak. I believe it was Natalja who’d brought the gorgeous salad of big, skunky homegrown tomatoes, sliced and marinated in olive oil and wine vinegar with peppers and actual onions. So lifted was my mood from the abundance of fresh air and protein, the girls had no trouble convincing me to sing a verse of “Šumi Šumi Javore”, an old, old, OLD classic you’ll hear the tamburica band play at any Croatian wedding. Indeed, there was plenty of Karlovačko on hand, but this was more of a mellowship with the older kids than a youthful search-and-destroy mission. No rowdy antics were to be had that day. As the evening sun fell behind the hills, so did the mercury in the thermometer. We left before dark, moods light, eyes heavy and bellies full. I think we all slept well that night, completely blissed out from a tranquil day well-spent barbecuing in the hills with friends.

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The Grape Whisperer

March 2, 2007 – 6:55 am

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The tradition of winemaking in Croatia dates back to the 5th century B.C., and a few of the republic’s best vintners are now going to some effort to refine and adapt the knowledge and experience passed down to them through the generations. Ancient techniques of viticulture are still followed, but they’re also commingling with daring innovations and a greater awareness of what other nations offer oenophiles. Between tradition and invention, a growing number of truly great Croatian wines are being produced. Nowhere is the competition to bottle the best more heated than in the sunny, coastal regions of Istria and Dalmatia. With the world again paying closer attention to that coastline as a holiday destination, it’s an exciting time to be a winemaker there. Smallscale agricultural and exporting endeavors still face a number of frustrating challenges, but a few outstanding vintages are currently available internationally. One of these is the Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru, far removed from the oxidized swill occasionally foisted on unwitting tourists by unscrupulous independent hoteliers.

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One of the things I enjoy about Croatia’s better reds is exemplified in Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru: You can taste the grape. Produced on the isle of Hvar from hand-selected Plavac Mali grapes by vinological genius Zlatko Plenković, it’s a dry red of distinctive character. Many ambitious dry reds strive for a sort of Cabernet or Merlot austerity that typically translates to a flat, over-oaked mouthfeel, but Plenković’s crème de la crème manages respectability from behind unpretentious complexity and lively chararacter. The high alcohol content effortlessly conducts even the denser, earthier aspects of the rich extract in the bouquet. Some suggest decanting Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru for at least 30 minutes, but it’s a wine that evolves rapidly and dramatically once it leaves the bottle. I’d hate to miss the first and second acts of the performance just to applaud the grandiose finale.

Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru is lusciously velvety in body, and the oak that does come through is buoyed on pronounced, ethereal fruitiness. After ten minutes in the glass, the oak softens, revealing more peat and damp earth as balance against the residual sugars. Jammy berry tones give way gradually to apple, then a fleeting glimpse of pomegranate. There is delicately pronounced tannin on the finish that comes as an even compliment rather than turbulent shock.

‘Complex’ is an aptly succint modifier for the Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru, but it manages this without being challenging or overbearing. It’s a beautiful wine that stands out from its peers in Croatia as mildly whimsical, just like the artist’s soul of its maker. Balanced. Elegant. Vivacious. Sophisticated. And, most of all, elusive. It’s a wine that teases with fleeting flavors as much as it delights, and well worth tracking down for your cellar. One could probably make a rewarding lifelong hobby out of tasting this wine as it ages. A minimum aging of three years from the date of bottling is suggested, but with alcohol hovering near 14%, it’s eligible for aging indefinitely.

In Zagreb, Zlatan Plavac Grand Cru is available from Vinoteka Bornstein at Kaptol 19 in Gornji Grad, just a brief stroll north of the cathedral. You can also retail-order it online from Wine Gallery or K&L Wine Merchants. Restaurateurs and shop owners can add this and other Plenković wines to their lists by contacting USA Wine Imports.


I want the funk uncut.

February 27, 2007 – 2:00 am

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All at once, I’m giving a new format and a new feature a spin today. Such daredevilry is most often the jurisdiction of heros, emperors and utter fools, and I am, without question, no emperor or hero. Older articles with larger images will probably look wonky until I get around to re-formatting them - if I ever do - but I have every reason to predict we’ll otherwise navigate the transition together swimmingly. Bit’ će dobro sve, mala… Bez briga. It’s a work in progress, just like everything else.

One of my own newly acquired heroes is Marijan Ladišić, who operates the Tilka Koze goat farm and cheesery with his family in Jastrebarsko, just outside of Zagreb. The photos in the nifty cyber-gadget above are from my visit to the Ladišić’s rustic, yet spankingly maintained farmhouse on a pristine plot of Croatian meadowland. Two words: ‘Wow!’ and ‘Yes!’ The Ladišić Family produces numerous varieties of exemplary organic goat cheese. If you click the image of the assortment below, you’ll be whisked off to one like it embedded with wee notes on the varieties we tasted with Marijan’s strong, homemade Reisling in the midsummer swelter of the Prigorske hill country.

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Let me just say that those were the happiest goats I’ve ever encountered in my life. It was like a party in that barn; the atmosphere was full of contagious, frolicking-good goat cheer (I spoke Croatian with a slight, gradated yammer for the rest of the day). I suppose, though, that if my existence was fueled solely by a steady diet of meadow grass, organic whole grains and a whole lotta love, I’d be bouncing around with a sparkle in my eye and a half-grin on my bearded mug too. Near certain am I that from now on, the funky aroma of goat life will remind me of those idyllic few hours spent at Tilka Koze. I’m looking forward to my next visit, and to buying up a few wheels of the good, dry-aged stuff. Thank you, Marijan and family.

If you’re in Zagreb and looking for a day trip in the countryside, you could do far worse than call Tilka Koze at +385 01 629 4129 and arrange a visit.

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Squid: Ethically Nutritious

February 14, 2007 – 2:36 pm

If you’re going to eat animals, fish and seafood are tops. I could preach and pontificate endlessly on the virtues of clean, high quality protein and heart-healthy lipids, but I sense that most of my readers don’t need to be told. By now you’ve surely also deduced that I am a seafood freak. Given the option, I’d eat a bit of fresh fish, mollusk or cephalopod every day. I love it all. Leave me on an island with my wee dinghy and net, then watch me thrive like Jehu from yonder mountain. Verily, I am a Fish Man.

I’m contractually obligated to inform you that feeding on fast-swimming sea creatures is even more conducive to a healthy diet. Look at (and eat) marlin and swordfish: They’re lean and strong because they have a taste for speedy prey. Their fast food addiction results in robustness and vitality. But if you can’t get fresh animals from the water, follow this simple rule of thumb: The more difficult it is to catch, the greater the likelihood that it’s better for you. Bison beats beef and pork. Ostrich trumps chicken and turkey. Squirrel, mongoose, cricket or hummingbird: If it was sprightly and spirited in life, so shall you likely be if you eat more of it. Just remember to get some exercise if you didn’t have to chase your dinner.

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All of the above points to reasons aplenty for eating squid, but there are further arguments in favor of the lean, speedy cephalopod’s place on your plate. Squid happen to be a remarkably abundant source of marine animal protein, and they’re terribly underutilized as a food source (perhaps the reason for their abundance?). If we would eat more squid and far less of depleted species like cod and sea bass, there might be a chance for Father Neptune to restore balance to life in the Great Briney Deep.

They love squid in Asian and Mediterranean locales. Japan leads the world in squid consumption. Since it hasn’t yet been linked inextricably to a culinary trend (you can have fashionable sushi or tapas without squid, after all), U.S. diners still have no reason to overcome their fear of the tasty underwater aliens. But since losing weight and a healthy diet are fashionable in America, my Stateside readers should consider this: Six ounces (170 g) of squid serves up a whopping 26 grams of protein in tandem with a mere 155 calories and 2 grams of fat. It’s a nearly perfect source of animal protein, containing a proportionate balance of all of the essential amino acids. Squid is very healthy eating. Don’t take my word for it, ask a dolphin.

Ask the Dolphin!

photo courtesy of Stephen R. King

Squid is also rich in selenium, riboflavin and Vitamin B12. That last nutrient makes it excellent hangover prevention, which may explain why there were so many squid-derived small courses and snacks on the table the last time I was in a Korean karaoke bar. And it’s not only delicious and nutritious, but also inexpensive.

I eat so much squid that I’m always devising new preparations of it, and today’s involved red chard. Chard - Swiss or otherwise - is the leaves of the beet root. They are beet greens. It’s a terrific leafy green vegetable. If you’re a spinach-fearing American these days, you’ll want to consider giving chard the time of day. You’ll commonly see Swiss chard with white stalks, but I was lucky enough to find some gorgeous red chard when I was squid shopping and had to have it. The result of my shopping and hunger was a brisk saute of squid and red chard. While this is not classic Dalmatian cooking, it is most assuredly inspired by the ingredients and tastes of the eastern Adriatic coast; and since I whipped it up for the first time yesterday, you could refer to it as nova dalmatinska cuisine. It’s just a quick, simple pan-fry of squid and chard, or Lignje sa Blitvom. Want the recipe?

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Lignje sa Blitvom

1 pound (1/2 kg) cleaned squid
1/2 pound (1/4 kg) Swiss or red chard
1 large handful of parsley leaves, chopped roughly
1 large white onion
4 cloves of garlic, chopped and crushed
1 or 2 medium lemons (how lemony do you like it?)
salt, pepper and dried chile flakes
olive oil

You could cut the squid bodies into rings, but for smaller, bite-sized squid, I prefer to leave them whole. That way, the body cavity becomes a nice little hiding place for flavor, like an edible spoon. Now set the squid aside and get to work on the chard. As you’ll see in the first image below, the center stalk of the chard leaf is quite like celery. Cut the leaf away from the center stalk on each side so it’s left looking even more like celery. Roll the leaf segments up together in a bundle, cut the roll in half lengthwise, then slice crosswise to achieve a leafy confetti. Slice the stalk thinly and diagonally to achieve a julienne (third image). Likewise, julienne the onion, then chop a small handful of it quite finely and set it aside. The middle image depicts what your vegetable mise en place should look like.

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Now heat 1/4 cup (50 mL) of olive oil in large skillet until it begins to smoke. Drop in the chard stalks and onions and saute. When they begin to carmelize slightly, squeeze in a bit of lemon juice, reduce the heat to medium, cover and simmer until tender.

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Once these are cooked, return the skillet to high heat. Add the crushed garlic, squid, chard leaves and parsley. Keep the mixture hot and toss it briskly, squeezing a dash or two of lemon juice in from time to time. After about a minute and a half of sauteeing at high heat, season with salt and pepper to taste, then squeeze a LOT of lemon juice therein. Cover and simmer on high heat for around two mintues, until the chard leaves have become tender. Whatever adjustments you make during preparation, this should be cooked VERY quickly so as not to rubberize the squid. That’s it. Plate it up, garnish with the raw, chopped onion you set aside, add a few pinches of chile flakes and drizzle with more olive oil and lemon juice if you like. Enjoy.

Here’s a printable version of the recipe.

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Heirloom tomatoes?

February 12, 2007 – 12:35 pm

Norway has agreed to foot the bill for a “doomsday” vault to house seed specimens of food-producing crops. This is good to know. In the event of a cataclysm or major F-up that’d prevent the normal cultivation of food crops for a while, we’d be in trouble without a back-up. It’s guaranteed that the need for seed would indeed be speedily decreed once the soil would again be deemed kosher for planting.

An Irishman wonders: What about potatoes? They do not, as you probably know, produce seeds. Can deep-frozen seed potatoes be brought to fruit? Does anyone know? I’d hate to think that our lizard-skinned, post-apocalyptic descendants would never know the joy of Kale ‘n Spuds with Cheddar.

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