Dancing on My Table

So many places to eat, so few nights…but the decision was made and off we went to the Rustic Canyon Wine Bar and Seasonal Kitchen, 1119 Wilshire Blvd (tel 310 393 7050). I wasn’t sure what we were in for but one dish I ate sent me into raptures and was instantly memorable. As is often the case, the small plates or appetizers on a menu can hold more appeal than a meat-laden assortment of entrees which are largely big pieces of meat with extras. To be fair, Rustic Canyon, has some nice offerings of local sea bass with caponata, whole roasted trout with escarole, currants and pinenuts, pan roasted ‘Jidori’ chicken – which I learnt means a chicken probably given a name at birth, spending its days running free scratching for worms, and generally living a molly-coddled life so it can end up on a menu at $26.00 somewhere.

But it was the roasted baby beet salad that I was after because I was on a mission to eat burrata. Wikipedia tells me burrata is a fresh Italian cheese, made from mozzarella and cream. The outer shell is solid mozzarella while the inside contains both mozzarella and cream, giving it a unique soft texture. But I can tell you more than that: it is the softest silkiest spun ball of num-num you’re ever likely to eat (you can see I’ll never get a job with Wikipedia!). My salad was layered with chioggia beets, that’s the gorgeous little ringed slice of beet you see on top of the salad in the pic, quartered baby red beets, slivered celery and a few celery leaves, which, are nice, in moderation (too many and they taste bitter), sliced crunchy apples, and little nuggets of toasty salty walnuts, and hidden in the middle melting layered globs of burrata. And no, I don’t share. This was all doused with a tangy honey and rosemary vinaigrette. Heavenly. Yes. Beautifully balanced with acidity and hint of sweetness. Yes. All gobbled up, platter licked clean. Yes.

My dining companion ordered cappelletti pasta stuffed, and I mean STUFFED full of potato and burrata, topped with a pale rosy-pink sweetish ragu. All rather light, luscious and lovely. Then he ordered the grilled pork chop with slices of roasted pears sitting on little mounds of celery root puree, and chanterelle mushrooms. The pork was cooked perfectly – pink to the centre, juicy and tasty. I followed my salad with ‘mezzaluna’ pasta shapes, stuffed with a filling of sweet butternut which spilled out like liquid gold, and tossed with brown butter and crispy sage. All delicious, no dessert required. The only grizzle was with the wines, some of which we tried by the glass before switching to a half bottle, but the proverbial match made in heaven eluded us this time.

I’m writing this from one of my favourite hotels, Loews, Santa Monica Beach, California. I love it because the hotel is so airy and spacious with gorgeous tall palm trees growing in the centre of the lobby, and the atmosphere is so casual and summery, which is a relief when you’ve flown 12 hours from New Zealand and left a squally spring behind. I’m able to open my windows onto a balcony and can see the rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean. Life ain’t so bad.

Last night I ate at Josie’s Restaurant at 2424 Pico Boulevard (tel 310 581-9888). I was stood up. My friend coming from the east cape got delayed by fog, so I was on my own. Rather than eat inhouse I decided to keep the reservation we’d made at Josie’s so went off alone. I felt fine, not awkward, although I sensed that everyone, wait staff included, wondered what the hell I was doing there eating alone amongst lovers and couples, families and friends. It’s a weird feeling when you realize that everyone is feeling way more awkward than you are, and that they expect you are feeling awkward. But I just ordered, ate, talked to my inner self, paid the bill and caught a cab home. Anyway, I liked the two things I had, with reservations, both appetizers: a watermelon salad with a little fresh cilantro (coriander) and slivers of pickled red onion and three fat crispy crunchy pieces of pork belly.

Then a small quail, bacon-wrapped (it was a piggy kind of night!) which was cooked to perfection, pinkish tender flesh with little cubes of what seemed like parsnip and baby florets of cauliflower, mushrooms, tiny diced pumpkin and single Brussels sprout leaves with a thyme jus. There was plenty of flavour and nice textural contrasts but both dishes were too sweet for my taste, but then, I don’t have the American preference for sweet flavours in savoury dishes. A good squirt of lime juice on the watermelon would have lifted it out of the ordinary into the extraordinary, and would have made a fresh counterpoint to the rich salty pork, and if the quail jus had been less syrupy more flavours would have come through from the other ingredients. Of course, that’s just one view…

We’re off somewhere different tonight, then on to the Big Apple tomorrow.

Here’s a wickedly tasty treat to serve up on Father’s Day – golden, spicy chicken drumsticks, so tender that the meat falls off the bone. Serve to dad as a snack with a chilled beer, or as part of a meal with steamed rice, or a rice salad, and either a cucumber and yoghurt salad flavoured with mint, or a spicy eggplant dish with tomatoes and onions. He’ll thank you for it!

Spicy chicken drumsticks

Yesterday I made an enormous batch of tamarillo chutney, hopefully enough to last us the year. We love it in sandwiches and rolls, with burgers and chicken, with bacon and avocado, and, well, with just about anything. So we need heaps. Now is the time to make it while tamarillos are at their peak and affordable. There are some lovely big ones around at the moment, which are less fiddly to prepare than baby ones.

Of course, and you’d think I’d know better…I meant to start making the chutney before midday. But time ticked away and before I knew it, it was 4.00pm. That’s a dumb time to start making a big batch of chutney and I’ll tell you why. It means you’ll be making it in the evening, and if it’s too cold to have the doors and windows open, you’ll be locking the smell of chutney in your house overnight. The smell of vinegar and bubbling sweet fruit is not so appealing first thing in the morning when you’d really rather smell toast and coffee! More importantly, as luck will have it, you’ll probably be tied to the pot stirring right on dinnertime. Well, that’s what happened to me last night. While everyone was tucking into roasted parsnips with a crispy parmesan, garlic and rosemary topping, leeks a la Grecque and a big salad from the garden and a crusty loaf, I stirred the pot. Drat! However, this morning, once I had opened the windows and let out the pong, when I saw the jars all lined up on the kitchen bench I knew it had been worth it.

Making chutney is easy because you just throw everything in the pot, but it takes a fair while to chop and weigh the ingredients. To make a batch of tamarillo chutney following my recipe allow 3-4 hours. Not that you’ll be at the pot that long! It’s really just in the final phase of reduction that the chutney can catch on the bottom of the pan. You’ll probably only need to stir it for the last 10 minutes or so. Make sure you have a long-handled wooden spoon because splatters of chutney can burn deeply.

Have jars and lids sterilized and at the ready, then pour in the hot chutney, use a clean knife to cut through each jar of chutney 2-3 times to knock out air bubbles, tap the jars on the bench once or twice to encourage the contents to settle, then top with a lid. Wipe jars and label once they’re cool. My kitchen gets very warm in summer, and as I have plenty of refrigeration and I want the chutney to keep well for a good year, I store the chutney in a second refrigerator ostensibly designated ‘the wine fridge’. But if you’ve got a cool pantry, it’ll keep very well in there.

Last night I carried out an experiment and made one batch in the large deep saucepan I use for chutneys and the like, and a second batch in an old aluminium jam pan. And guess what? The batch in the aluminium jam pan cooked more quickly, by at least 30 minutes – and here is why: it has sloping sides which allows for faster reduction. Simple.

Leave the tamarillo chutney to mellow for a week or two before using if you can. And pot some into small jars, too, to give away as gifts. Topped with a circle of fabric and tied with rustic string they look quite a picture!

Tamarillo Chutney