Hulking Empire apples from Champlain Orchards in Shoreham
I went to Neshobe River Winery (also the home of Foley Brothers Brewing) a couple weeks ago and brought home a bottle of their cassis-currant wine. It's lovely as a dessert sipper, but I've also been thinking of poaching pears in the tart, purple-black liquid for a fancy dessert. There were no local pears at the co-op when I went, so I bought two huge, dark-red Empire apples from Champlain Orchards instead.
Last week, I stopped at NECI on Main for a meeting with New England Culinary Institute executive chef Jean-Louis Gerin before reporting this week's feature in Barre. He and chef-instructor Andre Burnier were excitedly playing with the restaurant's newest addition: Vermont's first Nespresso machine. "It took just over a year of begging," Gerin revealed.
"It is the best espresso around here," Burnier said of the machine.
This Northern Oxtail stew is based on the Caribbean classic.
In Caribbean cookery, there is a thing called "browning." It can come pre-made in bottles, but it's very easy to make at home. It's basically just burnt brown sugar, mixed with water. When used to season meat, browning can be made in the pan and used to glaze the protein right then and there. It's also added to cakes, rice dishes and so many other things to add color and a bit of dark flavor to the mix.
I've had an oxtail from Kenyon's farm in Waitsfield (they sell excellent, very affordable beef and at their farm supply/variety store on Route 100) in my freezer for a while now, so I decided to go the oxtail stew route with it.
The wonderful thing about an oxtail stew — aside from the obvious joy of eating the rich, gelatinous, fall-apart meat from the bone, sauce drizzling down your fingers — is that every cook does it differently. And every Jamaican, Trinidadian, Barbadian mother's version is the best version. But most call for browning, and I wanted to make a fairly classic version, because it is just so, so, sinfully good. A perfect winter food.
In my line of work, my meals are sometimes planned months ahead. But even such a tight dining schedule leaves a little bit of room for serendipity. In this case, it was a for-work visit to Costello's Market that brought me to my latest discovery. I was loaded down with stuff like this perfect Tutto Italiano sub.
Things are hard in Vermont in the dead of winter. The ground is hard — frozen stiff, covered with ice and the crusty remnants of a long-ago snow. The sun disappears for days, shrouded in a layer of murky gray clouds, and the nights are long and cold. And, with the wind whipping through our old windows as though they were tissue paper, a warming meal is often more effective against the chill than a wool sweater or heavy blanket.
With New Year's day (and our pesky resolutions compelling us to keep away from overindulgence) now behind us, this bitterly cold week seemed as good a time as any to recall some of our favorite, over-the-top guilty culinary comforts.
1. Dutch pancake and waffle combo, Our House Bistro
Alice Levitt
Double the breakfast pastry, double the pleasure
On its own, a Dutch pancake is a fluffy, crispy thing of beauty. Imagine that a crêpe mated with a balloon — in some butter— and you'll begin to get the picture. But at Winooski's Our House Bistro, that coupling becomes an orgy with the addition of a light, eggy waffle. Add your choice of toppings (I like blueberries and chocolate) and the result is as decadent a breakfast treat as it is a dessert the next day. — A.L.
With brisket as an anchor, chili catches a waft of Southwestern authenticity.
During last week's cold snap, I cooked a nice, light, brothy soup — slurpable warmth to ward of the biting Lake Champlain wind. Over the weekend, I wanted to keep the soupy thing going, but I had this beautiful slab of brisket from Shelburne's LaPlatte River Angus Farm (widely available at local stores) that I had to do something with. Making a nice, slow-cooked, Southwestern-style chili seemed like a fine use for it.
I'm not really cool enough for the Light Club Lamp Shop. I'm the kid that didn't learn there was music other than musical theater and opera until I was 15. Even then, my idea of the latest hits was more Little Richard than top 40. The Radio Bean family, which includes the flagship bar and music venue, restaurant ¡Duino! (Duende) and the new Light Club, has always seemed to exist for people with a taste for the latest local music and fashion. That's not me.
But there's something about the Light Club. It doesn't judge. Dimly lit by an eclectic collection of lamps accrued over the years by owner Lee Anderson, the feeling leans closer to hanging out at a quirky collector uncle's apartment than being sniffed at by hipsters. Maybe the dim lighting helps. Whatever it is, I camped out at a table on Saturday night and would have been happy to stay entrenched at my banquette until closing.
Nothing warms a cold winter soul faster than a big, brothy bowl of steaming, slurpable, noodley soup. Nothing I can think of, anyway.
In my early twenties, I practically lived on miso noodle soup, which I would prepare quickly during lunch breaks from work, adding veggies and sometimes a bit of meat. The noodles varied, from instant ramen (sans flavor packet) to rice to glass to udon or, if I was in a super hurry, vermicelli. I haven't made it in years.
But temperatures are dipping into the single digits. And veggies — a beautiful Savoy cabbage and two hulking daikon radishes from Glover's Heartwood Farm (a welcome presence at Burlington's winter farmers market this season) —are languishing in my fridge, the time seemed nigh for a snappy soup. Also, I'm still detoxing from the holidays, and probiotics — like miso and kimchi — can't hurt.
This recipe makes a hearty but light midday meal, but add a soft-boiled egg or a bit of sliced beef, chicken or pork to the mix (boil this in the broth with the daikon), and it's a winning, one-bowl dinner, too.
Some people require only a madeleine for a transporting bite. Sorry Marcel, many of my childhood memories are harder to reproduce. Like my first taste of pho in Montréal. At the age of 9, I'd just finished appearing in a production of South Pacific. The French name of the dish, soupe Tonkinoise, conjured the exoticism of Bloody Mary and Bali Ha'i.
But the soup itself, a light broth made almost milky with sweet beef marrow, didn't taste exotic, despite its dose of star anise and cinnamon. It just tasted right. Though I've been able to replicate that experience in Montréal, it never quite happened for me in Vermont until last night. Pho Nguyen, the latest in a long run of Vietnamese restaurants at 1130 North Avenue, did it. They gave me back my Rosebud. The madeleine crumbled with comforting thoughts of Luther Billis and the boar's tooth ceremony.
Local homebrewer Bryce Healy adds hops to his brew in South Burlington.
Homebrewing, like any act of creation, involves inspiration and often passion. It's dirty, stinky, pricey and labor intensive, and there are never any guarantees that the beer will be good. But the fruit of a homebrewer's effort — whether good, bad, plain or interesting — is a reflection of that brewer's skill, as well as of their thoughts and ideas, hopes and dreams, and the moment when they made and nurtured the brew.
Most homebrewers work by day and brew on nights and weekends, but many dream of supplanting their nine-to-five gig with a job brewing professionally.
The idea originated with Winooski Beverage owner Jennifer Swiatek, who says she spends hours with local homebrewers every week as they line up at her shop waiting for Heady Topper and other hard-to-find brews. "You see these people in line for hours, saying, 'One day, maybe I'll get to do this for a living.' I wanted to give them that chance," she says.
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