Salt News

Try to remember the first time you heard about the combination of truffles and eggs.  I was on an airplane, flying out for a week-long visit with my nana. Ice melted slowly into the puddle of O.J. remaining in the clear plastic cup.  My legs dangled from the chair, toes still inches from the floor, making me feel uncomfortable next to the impeccably dressed woman sitting next to me, who inexplicably took me on as a close confident, lavishing me with stories of shopping expeditions through the souqs of Cairo or scuba diving on Australia’s great barrier reef.  Breakfast was served; scrambled eggs and sausage with fruit salad.

“Oh God, what I wouldn’t do for some truffles,” moaned the woman in a tone that made my nine-year-old mind tingle in an odd new way.  “What’re truffles?” I asked. She explained to me the mysteries and seductions of the tuber, and I was at once disbelieving and flushed with anticipation; how could such a thing exist, and where could I get some? The decades since then have occasioned a long list of truffle experiences. There was the unrecoverable bliss of “first truffle,” a cirrus of black truffle over hand-cut pasta noodles.  There was the gold-miner’s delight of “truffle I found myself” pulled from moist loam in the southwest of France and stuffed into roasted guinea fowl. There was the madness of “best truffle,” an opulent scramble of white truffles and eggs served at the now-closed March Restaurant in midtown Manhattan.

Eggs are indeed a recurring and inescapable medium for savoring the truffle, and the miracle of black truffle salt is that you can concoct the living experience almost as easily as you can conjure the treasured memory.  This recipe for truffle salt and scrambled eggs includes the option for serving them somewhat fussily in cups of their own shells to give this decadent dish some visual pizzazz.

Continue Reading »

Mark Bitterman :: Jun.30.2010 :: Recipes :: No Comments »

Man Ray.  Some names were just tailor made for greatness.  If my parents had thought to name me Man instead of Mark I might actually have made something of myself.  Picasso.  Nobody named Picasso could not be great, if you know what I mean.  The name, Osso bucco has that air of irrefutable deliciousness. Veal shank braised in aromatic herbs, spices, and vegetables, a bit of wine and the incredible mouth feel of veal bone marrow that dissipates slowly through the flesh, marrying everything in buttery richness, by any other name would be as glorious.  So how do you salt a Picasso?

The classic approach to seasoning osso bucco is to add salt up front, with the intention of letting the salt do its magic, slowly permeating the meat, helping to tenderize it and develop its flavors.  In truth, the cooking method is sufficient to tenderize the meat, and the minerals naturally present in veal are enough to flavor it, especially since braising concentrates natural flavors.  The cast of characters such as mirepoix (onion, carrot, celery) supporting the osso bucco don’t need salt to cook properly, though they can definitely use a touch for emphasis.  With these facts and thoughts in hand, we can lightly deconstruct the immaculate osso bucco and approach salting it with a fresh perspective, salting less up front and adding a noble salt (like Grigio de Cervia) to its garnish of gremolata that traditionally tops Milanese dishes, providing us with a new name for perfection

Continue Reading »

Mark Bitterman :: Jun.09.2010 :: Recipes :: 1 Comment »