Recent reading (and watching).

Look how big chickens have gotten in the last sixty years.

A typical cow in the European Union gets a government subsidy of $2.20 a day which is more than the daily wage of 1.2 billion of the world’s poorest people.

Have you been eating sushi wrong (video)?

Jaques Pépin's omelet (video) totally changed how I cook eggs.

Snowstorm Pasta

Late work night pasta with fettuccine, mackerel, capers, salt cured lime, a dollop of tomato sauce, three leftover artichokes, some beans and parsley and lemon zest. Follows all the Leftovers Pasta Rules. Looks ugly at first, then gets better.

Chilled Salad

 

If you regularly buy too much at the farmer's market and the results crowd out your fridge all week here's one way to cut the clutter and help ensure you don't end up throwing a lot out. Spend half an hour blanching your haul in a single pot of heavily salted water, dropping each batch of cooked vegetables into a fresh bowl of ice water. Seal 'em up and use throughout the week. Then make something like this.

My whatever-works kind of farmer's market salad. The one pictured has blanched asparagus, peas, favas; boiled potatoes, chickpeas and egg;  ricotta, anchovies, capers and basil ripped from an indestructable plant that's been surviving on my sill for five months. I doused it in good olive oil, salt, pepper. (Sometimes I dress it in a vinaigrette of torn basil leaves pounded with a clove of garlic, Txakoli vinegar, salt, pepper and olive oil.) Serve it cool.

It also works great with green beans, tinned tuna, shreds of cured ham, chunks of salami, flakes of Comté, a squeeze of lemon, and probably a hundred other things.

Potato Salad Nicoise

Basically, instead of tinned tuna I used tinned mackerel. It makes a lighter dish that's slightly less sweet. Then other changes appeared.

This Nicoise salad is courtesy my usual style of random crisper box cooking, what my daughter has affectionately dubbed "chickpeas and groceries." The Nicoise elements are potatoes, green beans, hard boiled egg, tinned fish. To that I slipped in sliced radishes, parsley, capers and a couple anchovies. Black pepper, salt and some olive oil, too. No olives, no lettuce. And I mix it all in a jumbled mess which makes it more like a potato salad Nicoise, not the picture-perfect composed salad you usually see.

Nicoise salads — like most salads — are trickier than they seem. Besides starting with good ingredients there are a few techniques that keep it away from bland-dom.

Potatoes: cook them whole, in their jackets, in very salty water. Cool them in the water, then undress them. Slip the peel off with your fingers or the edge of a paring knife. Chop into odd sized chunks.

Tinned fish: dump in the whole tin, olive oil and all. Don't skimp on the quality of the fish. This is one place you'll really taste the difference.

Green beans: barely blanch in very salty water, then chill quickly in a bowl of ice water. Dry them off.

Egg: cook it on the softer side of hard, then chop it to bits so it emulsifies a bit with the olive oil.

Olive oil: add a lot of a tasty one. This one is from Nice if that helps.

Mix: with your hands. This is my advice on mixing nearly every salad. Hand mixing lets you know when all the parts are coated. It gets the salad to be dressed more homogenously. When it's ready to eat it's not pretty (like the picture above), but it's very tasty:

Four Leftover Pasta Tips

It's not hard to make leftovers into an ultra-tasty pasta dish. If you have anything from a couple odds and ends to a large, frightening buffet lurking in your crisper—it doesn't matter. Last night I made leftovers pasta (above) with so many different things it looked like my refrigerator threw up. But it tasted fantastic. 

I've figured out four simple techniques that help make it taste great.

1. Have a Fat Strategy

If you've got a bit of hamburger or bacon that's headed for the dish, cook it first and use the fat for the rest of the cooking. Same goes for an old sausage or salami end. It doesn't matter what kind of fat you use, just think about how to get it in the dish at the beginning. Last night I had an old jar of peppers that were packed in olive oil. The peppers were long gone. I kept the jar with the oil; it's perfect for this kind of dish. Also, don't skimp on the fat. Its going to be the vessel for the flavor and the source of the mouth-filling texture.

2. Think About Salt in Things, Not On Things

I tend to cook on the saltier side but for this dish I didn't add any salt directly to it. Instead I added things that had some salt in them. This time they were capers, salt-cured limes and harissa. As for the pasta water, it should be salty like the sea. To learn how much to salt your water eat a noodle straight out of the water when it's almost done cooking. It should taste seasoned.

3. Re-use the Pasta Water

It took me forever to figure out that this was the key to making great pasta dishes (that weren't topped with tomato sauce). Don't throw out the water, please! Use it in the sauce. It makes a huge difference.

4. Don't Finish Cooking Pasta in the Water

Finish it in the sauce. If the pasta is not yet al dente it's still hungry for liquid. Switch it from the pot of water to your sauce and it'll soak up sauce, not water—and you'll have a more flavorful dish.

For leftover pasta, the order I work goes like this:

1. Set the water to boil.
2. Put a big skillet on the burner and start adding things: meats/fat first, then aromatics like garlic, onion, pastes like harissa. Maybe a little bit of leftover sauce—whatever sauce I have. More leftovers next, especially ones that need longer cooking. Spices, too, like a stem of some old herb or a chile pepper. Cook on low, don't worry about stirring too much.
3. When the water boils add a small handful of salt and the pasta. When the pasta is not quite done, strain it and pour a half inch of the water in the skillet simmering the sauce. Add the pasta to the skillet. Save the remaining water. Cook on high heat till the pasta is done. Add more pasta water if it starts getting dry. You want the pasta to be wet, the water will make the sauce.
4. At the very end I may add things that barely need cooking. Last night it was some frozen peas, corn and a mound of mangy arugula, all added just at the end, stirred and poured out into a bowl.
5. I usually finish with freshly ground black pepper, Marash pepper and a squeeze of lemon.

Practice this a half dozen times and I guarantee your homemade leftovers pasta will taste better than almost any pasta dish you can eat in a restaurant. It certainly helps to use a great noodles like Rustichella or Martelli. If you're going to spend some money, do it there.

More pasta cooking details.

Recipe: Fried Pickle

 

Earlier this summer I had a long drink with Rick Field of Rick's Picks and he told me how much he'd been loving frying pickles. Why don't we make a Rick's/Zingerman's fried pickle kit? Maybe for the Superbowl? I don't usually trust ideas hatched under such conditions and, for some reason I can't explain, I've never had a fried pickle. So last Friday night we got to work.

A jar of Rick's People's Pickles has about 30 thick-cut slices. We fried all of 'em, save the six his daughters snagged for dinner.

Fried (People's) Pickle Recipe

1. Lay a paper towel on a plate. Put each slice on the towel and top with another paper towel. Let sit for at least ten minutes. (Reuse the leftover brine. Drop in a peeled hard boiled egg or green beans or some thinly sliced carrots. Refrigerate for a couple days before eating.)
2. Heat two inches of vegetable oil in a ten or twelve inch pan. We used a  cast iron skillet.
3. Dust the pickles with flour on each side.
4. Beat two eggs in a bowl.
5. Dip the pickle slices in the eggs then roll in cornmeal. We used cornmeal Rick bought in Vermont, but I'm thinking they'd also be good with Marino's Polenta.
6. Fry for about ten minutes, or until they turn golden brown.

We'd been drinking wine so the timing could be off—watch the color for your cue.  Also, it'd probably be helpful to know what temperature the oil was at but we didn't have a thermometer. (I pretty much suck at recipe development.) We threw some water in and it popped. The first pickle went in and Rick said, "That's a good fry." I took his word for it.

Later he explained, "You don't want to kill the pickle. Too many fried pickles are annihilated. We want to keep it juicy inside." Spoken like a man who's eaten a lot of fried pickles.

Douse 'em with a bit of hot sauce (I like Cholula, though I bet the new Piment d'Espelette hot sauce we just got in would be scrumptious) and eat 'em while they're hot. I thought they were pretty good.

If any of the crew at ZMO—or any other readers—try this, let me know how it turns out. I'm still thinking about it as a gift kit this winter.

A good fry.

Sardinewich

  

Toast a thick slice of farm bread. (Better yet, grill it). Rub a peeled clove of garlic on one side, then douse the bread in good olive oil. Mound up a pile of arugula leaves. Top with Portuguese sardines, spines removed. Season with sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, Marash red pepper flakes, another swig of olive oil and a generous squeeze of lemon.

I've also made this, variously, with salt preserved lemons, chopped onion, cilantro, fresh tomato, harissa, chopped hardboiled egg.. Whatever the ingredients a sardinewich tastes best when it waits on the counter for an hour.

For readers who noted past recipes were going too Virgo, I offer this, from a series of late night dishes I call Old Man Food.

Two Recipes for Fava Beans

Fava beans are coming in season. Fresh, they're delicious, but they're also a pain in the ass. You've got to shell them — twice. First, from their large pods (pictured above). Secondly, from their individual wrappers after boiling for about five minutes in salted water.

Favas with Olive Oil

Start with four pounds of favas in their pods and you're left with a half pound of edible beans if you're lucky. Is it worth it? Whether the labor is what you want to spend your evening doing is a personal choice. But for me, spring favas, just boiled, glowing green, warm as lips, swimming in a glossy olive oil with a cover of coarse sea salt are totally worth it. It's not a dish I make often. But  the first time each year is a bright sign of spring. I know the mud is receding and the earth will soon be littered with grass.

Fresh favas also go well in pasta. Here's a dish I recently made with favas, spring peas and Martelli maccheroni. It's worth mentioning since it incorporates a lot of good things you find at their best in spring. 

Tender Young Thing Pasta

Chop some fresh mild sausage into small bites (I like one my butcher makes with fennel seeds). Brown it in a deep skillet, then put the cooked pasta and some of its pasta water in the pan. Add the favas and fresh spring peas (already parboiled very al dente), then a few spoons of ricotta. Stir. Add fresh young arugula and pea shoot leaves, some freshly grated lemon zest. A couple turns of the spoon and count to one hundred and it's done. Top it off with more ricotta dollops, freshly grated black pepper and Parmigiano-Reggiano and a small handful of shredded mint leaves. If you are able to nab some spring morels they'd also be welcome. I guess pretty much any tender young thing is fine to add.

Spring cooking like this can be fussy, a lot of work. There's lots of shelling and an annoying tangle of trimming since arugula and shoots are very stemmy at this time of year. But do the work and, with it, know you've broken winter's back for good.

Citrus Salad with Olive Oil and Marash Red Pepper

It's high citrus season. This is the time of the year oranges, grapefruits and their cousins are at their best. You can really smell them from the outside — scratch and sniff the rind for full effect — and, inside, their fruit is at its most luscious. 

I like to make this salad, which is simply fruit (here grapefruit, blood orange and mandarin), olive oil and Marash red pepper. Which fruit you choose isn't that important. But it's key to peel, segment and seed them, in the process getting rid of as much white pith as possible. Scrape at the pith and get all the stringy bits off. This is quite a pain. Set yourself up with a very sharp knife and some 1950s Calypso music, to make it go easier, for it will take a while. To serve, lay the fruit on the plate, in a colorful jumble, douse it with long pours of rustic, fruity olive oil, then crop dust it with the pepper. Since Marash pepper is already salted you don't need to add any. Leave it to rest for a half an hour to let the flavors mingle and the fruit to warm up.

I stop there, but you could go further, perhaps adding thinly sliced onion, a small handful of capers, a squeeze of fresh lime. 

Backing up a bit, you might want to zest the fragrant peels first and save the zest for pasta or salad dressing.

Crisper Box Pasta

This is an easy dish I make to use up leftovers. Scour your fridge for vegetables. It doesn't matter what condition they're in. If they're edible they can make it into this dish.

The version I made today had

Leftover blanched asparagus, cut into two inch pieces

Leftover blanched broccolini, cut into two inch pieces

Half a nasty old carrot, chopped into dime size pieces

Half a limp stick of celery, chopped into thick fingernail wedges

Corn, cut straight off the cob

Fresh peas

A pickled artichoke, cut into small pieces, stem and all

You get the idea — anything works. 

The basic technique

Boil pasta in heavily salted water (see my pasta cooking tips here) till it's almost done — you'll finish it later in the skillet. What shape of pasta? As a general rule, if you have chunky pasta sauce like this, short shaped pasta is best, but don't worry. Here I've cooked it with Rustichella Spaghetti that I broke in three parts.

Meanwhile, sweat some finely chopped onion and garlic in extra virgin olive oil in a big skillet.

Add all the chopped vegetables to the skillet and warm them. Season with salt, black pepper, and some red pepper like Marash Turkish red pepper flakes.

When the pasta is done save a glass of pasta water then strain the noodles.

Dump the strained pasta into the pan with vegetables.

Add the pasta water, about a cup or so for two people, stir. Don't worry if you add to much, it will evaporate. 

Add some grated cheese like Comté or Parmigiano-Reggiano or a few dollops of fresh cheese like Zingerman's cream cheese.

Serve topped with some fresh parsley or cilantro leaves if you have them, a grinding of black pepper, and a squeeze of lemon for sure.

Recipe: Whole Baked Fish

Baking a whole fish is supremely easy. It's easier than cooking a whole chicken. It's easier than cooking a whole cauliflower. It's easier than cooking almost anything. Making a salad is orders of magnitude more difficult. I wouldn't even call it "cooking," but for the fact there's an oven involved.

Whole baked fish is also super tasty. It's one of those rare triumphs in cooking where the reward in flavor seems utterly divorced from the effort required. It shouldn't be this easy to make something this good.

While we're often used to fillets and fish parts in America, going whole fish is very common in the Mediterranean and, I'm sure, many other places I've never visited. I've had whole fish in Italy and Spain and, most memorably, on Greek islands where tiny unnamed species not much bigger than bluegills are served on a warm plate, taking hours and liters of wine to pick through.

Whole Baked Fish Recipe

Have your fishmonger clean a whole fish, leaving the head on. Yes, leave it on. It makes a difference.

My favorite fish to bake whole these days is branzino. My fishmonger was out of it this week so I got bream instead, pictured above. To give you an idea on size, this one was a little over a pound before cleaning. It makes a light meal for two.

Heat the oven to 375. Cover a baking pan with a sheet of aluminum foil (it makes clean up easier).

Wash the fish out. Stuff it full of whatever herbs you have. There's parsley in this picture. Cilantro is also good. Any herb more intense than these, go easy. Slice some lemons and shove them in every orifice. 

Slather the fish in olive oil, lay it on the baking sheet, into the oven it goes. As it cooks, you can baste it once or twice with its juices. Or not—it won't change things much if you forget.

You can tell it's done when the flesh flakes after it's flicked with a fork. If it's undercooked it will be very wet, the flesh layers indistinct. Don't overcook it, that's criminal. Slightly overcooked will be moist but have a tacky, sticky texture in your mouth. Way overcooked will be dry and nearly tough. I baked this bream about 30 minutes.

Serve as is. I don't even add any salt. Just maybe another drizzle of olive oil—a good one, you'll taste it—a squeeze of fresh lemon. Deliver it to the table whole. Use a fork and knife to peel back the skin and gently remove the flesh.

Bream, ready to serve. 

In Greece, with fish smaller than this, you may eat the eyes.

Bagna Cauda

In northern Italy, where bagna cauda is a common dish,
every Italian man over a certain age owns a pair of pants in this color.

The New York Times has an article today about bagna cauda. It's basically a lament that bagna cauda, (pronounced banya kowda), the Piedmont dipping sauce with olive oil and anchovies, never caught on stateside even though the Times "broke" it to Americans in 1960.

I don't know why it hasn't caught on either. Americans usually love foods that are dipped in other foods. Maybe it's the anchovies? Maybe it's because you dip vegetables? Maybe it's because one of them is a cardoon and who knows what a cardoon is? I don't know. Still, it seems that if, as a nation, we can  embrace dipping chicken wings in blue cheese or scooping corn chips through refried beans, we could get into this.

In the Piedmont, fall begins bagna cauda season. It's a natural for cool weather. The dipping vegetables, mostly roots like carrots, are in season. We have a few jars and warmers for sale. If the Times is right, you might be alone in eating it, but that doesn't mean it's not really tasty.

Harissa, Lemon, Olives & Olive Oil

When Majid Mahjoub was here last week, I asked him what's the simplest way he likes to eat harissa. He made a little picture. It's a dish with some harissa in the middle, surrounded by some sliced preserved lemons and olives, all swimming in some of his olive oil. Serve at room temperature, eat with a bit of bread.

Braised Pork Shoulder

Braising—which means long, slow cooking with liquid—is one of the oldest, simplest, and most delicious ways of cooking. There are a lot of cheap, sinewy cuts of meat that are flattered by spending a few hours in soft, warm bubbling liquid. They become so tender they melt. Braising is everywhere. It's how mom cooked her pot roast, how chili is made, and it's the technique behind the brussel sprout recipe I shared.

The basic technique for braising has two steps.
1) Season and brown
2) Cook in liquid

There are a million variations on that theme, but the gist is always the same. Here's a simple way to apply the recipe to pork shoulder, something I really like.

Get yourself two pounds of pork shoulder which will serve 4-6 or leave two people with lots of tasty leftovers. Season it with salt and pepper by sprinkling and rubbing them in with your hands. Be generous. Brown under the broiler until the surface is just short of charred, turning to make sure it's cooked on all sides.

Put it in a good soup pot with water and perhaps some unsalted broth (chicken or beef) and white wine. The water should surround but not cover the meat, an inch or more should be showing. Add some bay leaves or thyme if you'd like.

Bring the liquid to a boil then turn it down quickly. Set the heat to a temperature where the surface of the liquid barely moves. Cover and let cook for a few hours. Hell, you could probably let it cook for a few days if you wanted. It'll just get better. The meat will fall apart when plucked with a fork.

If you need to eat right away dig in. It's good to go. But if you cooked it ahead of time, braised meats get really spectacular when you take a couple extra steps. Take the meat out of the liquid and let them both cool in the refrigerator. For the liquid: skim the hard fat that surfaces, reheat the meat in it, then reduce and strain for sauce. Slice the shoulder in thick slices, drizzle the sauce on top and give 'em a grind or two of Tellicherry pepper. Serve with a bit of strong mustard on the side, like Dijon.

Pasta Cooking Details

Harold McGee wrote a good article on cooking pasta with different amounts of water in today's New York Times.

It reminded me of a few details I've learned about cooking pasta over the years. Each one is a small thing but, added up, I think they make a big difference in the way it tastes.

Salt. I salt the water pretty heavily as soon as I put the water on. "Salty like the sea," says Signora Passalacqua, the mother of my Sicilian friend Gioacchino. (He's the export help we use for many foods we carry, like the Sicilian sun dried tomatoes, which as it turns out, go great in pasta.) Salty water gives the pasta a base of flavor you just can't get salting afterwards. I use the French grey sea salt. Dollar per pound, it's still the best sea salt I've ever tasted.

Stir soon. As soon as I add the pasta to the water I stir. This is the best way I've found to keep it from clumping and sticking.

Stop short. I cut the cooking short of done, when it's still very al dente, i.e. it has a bit of snap to it.

There and back again. I drain the water, shake the pasta once or twice then quickly return it to a warm pot, mixing it with the sauce. The extra bit of cooking with the sauce softens it further and, instead of absorbing water, the pasta absorbs sauce, making it even more flavorful.

Warm bowls. I drain the hot pasta water into the bowls and toss it out just before serving.

I don't add oil to the water, run water on it after it's cooked or throw a piece against the wall,to see if it's done, which are weird tricks I've tried once or twice in my day. In my experience, most of those things don't do much to help the cooking. Some even hurt.

One of my favorite pasta dishes for two is half a bag of Rustichella's fettucine with half a jar of Il Mongetto's plain tomato sauce mixed with a full tin of good tuna in olive oil, (Ortiz is a treat). I eat it almost every week!

What do you like?

Roasted Cauliflower & Tarragon

Time for another fall recipe using a cheap, plentiful, seasonal ingredient.

This recipe is much simpler than brussel sprouts with pancetta. In fact, it's so cheap, easy and ridiculously healthy you should probably stop reading and start the oven. Put it on 375.

Cauliflower is from the same vegetable group as brussel sprouts, so if you hate them you probably have something against it, too. I say give it a chance. When cauliflower is roasted it looses much of its cabbage-y aroma. Plus, at three bucks a head it's not a risky investment. If you don't like it you can make delicious compost.

Fresh tarragon is a fragile, thin-leafed herb. Its flavor is slightly minty, with a hint of anise. When you have a huge amount of the bunch left over from this recipe, you can use with other roasted vegetables, green, salads, with fish or chicken.

~ Roasted Cauliflower & Tarragon ~

RECIPE

Cut a whole head of cauliflower into florets. Turn the head upside down and chop off any green leaf stems. Then hold the stem in your hand while inserting the knife inside to sever the florets at the stem. Try to keep most of them the same size — on the larger side.

Put them in a big heavy skillet and toss with olive oil, salt and pepper. The skillet should be big enough to hold all the florets without them stacking on top of each other. Roast with the lid off in the 375 degree oven for about thirty minutes. Turn with tongs every ten minutes or so. They'll char and get soft. Take a bite to test the texture. If they're too hard for your preference, leave them in longer.

When they're done to your taste take them out of the oven. Pour on some good olive oil (don't skimp). Shake them about. Sprinkle them liberally with Marash Pepper. Take a few stems of tarragon, strip the leaves and scatter them across the cauliflower. Eat while warm.

Brussel Sprouts with Pancetta

Brussel sprouts (or Brussels sprouts — either spelling is OK), the little miniature cabbages that we love to hate, are in season. They're cheap, plentiful, and, popular opinion aside, pretty tasty. At the farmer’s market you can buy them right on the stalk, which is kind of fun. Go ahead and walk around like the Queen Mum with her weird vegetable scepter.

I cook them regularly. Usually some variation of this recipe. This week I had some of the new La Quercia pancetta, which is outstanding.

~ Brussel Sprouts with Pancetta ~
RECIPE

Chop the pancetta in small cubes, about a quarter inch on each side. Warm them on a low heat till they're translucent. They'll look otherworldly, like they're glowing from within.

Cut the base off the brussel sprouts and peel off the outside leaves. Cut them in half if they’re bigger than in an inch or so across. Add them to the pan with a couple pats of butter.

Brown them for a bit. Add chicken broth so it covers the bottom of the pan (water is a distant second as an option). Throw in a couple leaves of fresh herbs if you have them. I added some sage.

Put a lid on and let cook for a bit till they're as soft as you'd like. It can take a half an hour or more.I prefer a little al dente, just a little firm to the bite.

Taste and season with salt and pepper.

I had an ear of corn so I cut the kernels straight off the cob into the pan near the end. It adds a nice bit of sweetness, which is good if your dining partner thinks sprouts are a little too bitter on their own.

Finish them uncovered in a 375 degree oven if you’d like them crispy.

Ad the end, serve on a warm plate with a twist of black pepper and maybe a pinch of Marash pepper and a squeeze of lemon.

Ingredients
A pound or so of sprouts
A couple ounces of bacon (or pancetta)
A little bit of butter
A half cup or so of chicken broth
Salt, pepper

Optional
Fresh sage
Fresh corn
Marash pepper

Potatoes & Mushrooms Recipe

The first ZMO Journal recipe might deserve a little bit of introduction.

I cook at home a fair bit. I'm not a great cook by any means, but I've learned it's not too hard to cook really tasty stuff quickly. Even when they're not quick most of the things I make don't take a lot of time in front of the stove.

Most of my cooking is very simple. Now I know everyone says that about cooking, so let me explain what simple means to me.

There aren't a lot of ingredients
I use the same ingredients often so I don't have to buy a things that'll go bad
I don't use a lot of pans that I have to wash
I don't use many specialized tools

From time to time I'll post something that I made that I think is tasty enough you might want to make it at home. It'll feature an ingredient we sell. Call it education, demystification, or food porn...whatever you name i, I'm simply posting in in the spirit of sharing so that we can each feed our friends, families and loved ones just a little bit better. Enjoy!

Last night's dinner was a store-bought rotisserie chicken with some greens and this homemade side:

Potatoes & Mushrooms

Parboil whole potatoes (peeled, unpeeled, your choice) in well salted water for a few minutes. Parboil means you can poke a fork in them easily but they're not completely done. It took me about 10-15 minutes when I started from cold water with potatoes the size of small apples.
Slice into thick cuts, about a quarter inch at least.

Sauté some shallot, garlic in olive oil in a large skillet.
Add some salt and black pepper.
I also added some Merken, the smoky pepper we have from Chile.
Add the potatoes in one layer.
Add a little chunk of butter and enough liquid to just cover the potatoes.
Broth is best, but water is OK (you can even add half a bullion cube to water).
Add thick slices of some decent, small mushrooms on top.
If you've got some herbs, add those. Rosemary, bay and thyme are nice.
Put a lid on at first.
Take lid off about 10 minutes in.
Flip the potatoes gently so they don't fall apart.
Let the liquid cook off until it's gone.
Potatoes should be done now.
Eat.

Puerto Rican Sandwich

There’s a venerable diner in old San Juan called Café Mallorca. It’s the kind of place I like a lot. Big counter. Old guys working the sandwich press with ties on. Regulars eating and drinking alone.

They make a sandwich that’s kind of famous in San Juan called–no surprise–a Mallorca. Ham and cheese, stuffed in a buttered, split sweet roll (that’s the mallorca part), grill-pressed, then topped with lots of powdered sugar. In spite of its odd-sounding finale, it’s pretty tasty. And easy to make at home. A challah roll would make a good stand-in if you can’t find a mallorca roll around town.

A couple other interesting notes about Puerto Rico.

The Piña Colada was invented on the island in 1954. Odd, I thought, I didn’t see it on bar menus much. But loads of roadside stands had handmade signs offering it for sale. I laughed at first. They looked like lemonade stands selling cocktails to drivers. Later I learned: no alcohol.

Wild oysters are harvested on the northwest coast, near Aguadilla. I'd never seen wild oysters before. They look a lot different than cultivated, which is what you see for sale almost anywhere. They grow in a big craggy mass that looks like coral. The oysters are broken off the mass like barnacles off a hull. Their shells have odd shapes, twists and turns, it's hard to find a place for the knife. In Boquerón, a town 40 miles south, cart vendors line the last street before the water to shuck and sell them, six for two bucks. They may be ugly, but they’re tasty, sweet and punchy and go great with the local condiments—a squirt of lime juice and a dab of Bohia hot sauce.

If you’re heading off to a new place and are interested in some tips feel free to drop me a line. If I’ve been there—and sometimes if I haven’t—I keep notes.