Vernaccia di San Gimignano

"It kisses, licks, bites, thrusts and stings" says Michelangelo

Dante banished Pop Martin IV to purgatory because of it
Boccaccio fantasized about flowing streams of cool Vernaccia
Pope Paul III reputedly bathed in it
Santa Caterina of Siena used it as a medicine.

Vernaccia di San Gimignano was the first DOC wine, first white wine to get DOCG status.

And another fabulous cabbage dish

Cabbage with Hot Sauce

This is more of a method than a recipe, so the quantities I’ve listed below are only approximate. Just taste as you go, and tweak to your liking. It’s hard to mess this up, as long as you get some color on the cabbage.

When choosing an oil for this, be sure to choose one with a high smoke point, the safest bet for high-heat cooking. We usually use canola oil, because I keep it around for making  granola, but we have also used peanut oil and grapeseed oil. (Or, if you’re the type to have lard lying around - ooh la la - you could use that. It has a high smoke point too.) To learn more about high-temperature oils and fats, click over here or here.

½ head green cabbage, quartered and sliced into ¼-inch-thick ribbons
½ medium fennel bulb, thinly sliced (optional)
Canola oil, or another oil with a similarly high smoke point
¼ tsp. to 1 tsp. sambal oelek, to taste
Soy sauce, to taste
Salt, to taste (optional)

Place a wok over high heat. Let it heat thoroughly; it should even smell hot. Working quickly, pour in a glug of oil* and then immediately add the cabbage and the fennel, if using. Stir briefly to coat with oil, and then leave it alone for a minute or so, to allow the vegetables to begin to take on some color. Then add sambal oelek to taste, and stir again. (If you have a hood over your stove, turn on the fan! The hot sauce gives off spicy fumes.) Continue to cook until the vegetables are browned in spots and wilted. It won’t take long. Then add a glug of soy sauce, and stir well again. Taste, and season with more soy sauce or salt as needed.

Serve hot or warm.


From orangette

Thai Red Curry seared cabbage

I've been craving this dish all day! 

Thai red curry seared cabbage
Serves 2-3 as a single-dish meal; more as a part of a multi-dish meal

4 scallions, cut into ½-inch lengths, white and green parts separated
4 tablespoons Thai red curry paste (I like Mae Ploy brand; it's tasty but not very hot)
12 ounces cabbage, red or green (about ½ of a smallish head)
1 13.5-ounce can coconut milk (preferably Asian brands; be sure it's not sweetened coconut "cream")
½ teaspoon sugar
6 kaffir lime leaves, cut into chiffonade as thin as possible (optional, but you'll want it)
5 sprigs Thai basil, thick stems removed (optional)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
Fish sauce or salt, to taste

Optional garnish:

1 package enoki mushrooms
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
Salt, to taste

To serve:

Steamed rice (jasmine, preferably)

1. First cut your cabbage: If there are loose outer leaves, just peel them off and toss them. With a sharp knife, halve the head and take out the thick white core by making a V-shaped cut into the bottom of the head, removing the stem. Now, with the flat side down, cut the cabbage into ½-inch slices, give it a quarter-turn, and cut it into ½-inch dice.
2. If making the mushrooms: Heat the oil over medium heat in a large heavy saucepan or wok, something large enough to give you room to toss all that cabbage in. Cut the bunch of mushrooms off at the bottom of the stem to free them all (and to get rid of the dirt that's probably clinging to them). Turn the heat up to high, and when the oil is just smoking, add the mushrooms, preferably in one layer. (If you really can't reasonably call what you have "one layer," do this in batches.) Now don't touch them! Let them sizzle, shrivel, and brown, which will be quick. When they are the color of light caramel, toss and flip them in the oil and let them color all over. When they are a medium brown, remove the mushrooms, drain them on several layers of paper towel, and salt them generously. They won't really crisp, but they will be pleasantly chewy with a deep flavor.
3. Now make sure all your ingredients are cut to the appropriate sizes and ready to go; the cooking goes pretty quick. (This is a little weird, but give the curry paste a tiny taste. If it's painfully hot to you, go ahead and use less of it in the initial cooking; you can always stir in more later if you like.)
4. Heat 2 tablespoons of oil (or, if you've made the mushrooms, just pour off enough oil to leave 2 tablespoons in the pan) over high heat in a heavy saucepan, wok or a wide sauté pan, something big enough to let you toss all that cabbage. When the oil shimmers, add the white parts of the scallions, and roll them around a bit. When they just start to take on some color, add the curry paste and spread it out with a heat-proof spoon or spatula. Specks of it will want to jump around; don't mind them. Stir and flip the curry paste for a few seconds until it is fantastically fragrant and turning a deep brick red.
5. Add the cabbage, and stir and toss to distribute the curry paste through it evenly. Season with a few pinches of salt or dashes of fish sauce and toss, vigorously, until the cabbage begins to wilt. Add the coconut milk, sugar and kaffir lime leaves (if using), and scrape up any browned bits at the bottom of the pan. Bring it all to a boil, and turn down to a simmer.
6. Give it a taste! If you held back on the curry paste before, does it want more now? Maybe a little more salt or fish sauce to heighten the flavors? Is it too pungent or hot? You can help balance that somewhat by adding a little more sugar.
7. Let simmer until the cabbage is tender but with still a slight bit of resistance, a very soft crunch, and the sauce has thickened somewhat. Stir in the basil, let it wilt to unlock its fragrance, and serve over rice, garnishing with the fried mushrooms. 

From Francis Lam's column on Salon.com

Pied de couchon mushrooms

My dad's famous spaghetti sauce

My mother actually taught me how to make this Spaghetti Bolognese recipe. In third grade, I had to write a recipe so my mother taught me how to make it. It became my first dish that I could cook for the family. Family legend had it that my mother learned to cook this while working in the galley of a big ocean liner that sailed around Africa when she was young. 

My father liked the flourish of having some signature dishes so took over the spaghetti sauce preparation. After my mother died, it became standard for my sister and I to be served spaghetti on our first night back home. Alyson and Dad even had it for Thanksgiving dinner once. It was the dish that signifies family more strongly than anything else in my life. Proust had his madelienes, I've got my spaghetti sauce. 

We ate it simply - very 1970s style. Plain spaghetti noodles (often the Winn Dixie or Piggly Wiggly brand) - never angel hair or penne or anything else. Kraft Parmesan cheese on top. A salad usually made with iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, bell peppers and served with a choice of store bought dressings and often, if we didn't have the frozen garlic bread , then white bread with butter. Remember, this is Sumter, South Carolina - the nearest place to buy arugula is a 60 minute drive away. We convinced my father to switch to curly green leaf lettuce and romaine when it became plentiful in the 21st century and he became quite a vinaigrette maker but the "Shake cheese" and frozen garlic bread were always a favorite.  


As my sister and I became older, the spaghetti and salad were joined with a glass of red wine - sometimes good and sometimes bad as he had a habit of checking out the sales racks at the local grocery store and buying his wine there. It always COULD have been good but sometimes it had gone bad. And he would often regale us with the story of eating spaghetti while as a young man in Italy. He would carefully chop it all up and then tell us about the Italian who was so appalled that he rushed across the restaurant to shout "Don't cut the spaghetti! Don't cut the spaghetti!". My dad would laugh and say - but I like it this way. American imperialism! I would shout as a 20 year old. Knew his own mind and didn't care about fashion, I thought as I mellowed and became older. My father knew his own mind - he didn't really care what other people thought about him. He liked the finer things in life but when it came down to it - he was a child of the depression and an American. He wasn't going to waste money on more expensive wine when this wine was "perfectly adequate" (plus I think he liked the thrill of perhaps finding an overlooked jewel in the wine bargain bin) and he liked to cut his spaghetti and wasn't Italian so who cared?
My father perfected this sauce and all my childhood friends had it one time or another. They always wanted the leftovers. Christmas 2008, my father was living with my sister in a house in Columbia, SC. A dream kitchen with a beautiful big gas stove, plenty of counter space, and a stainless stell refrigerator, dishwasher, and every type of appliance one could wish for were in that kitchen. He was quite frail from his repeated hospitalizations and couldn't stand as long as he used to. One of the most difficult things for him was having to be dependent on my sister who didn't really like to cook for his dinners. When I came home, I made him whatever he wanted for the Christmas holiday. I cooked elaborate breakfasts and his favorite lunches and dishes like Orange Fool that he had read about and was interested in trying (it was Winston Churchill's favorite dessert). He ruefully shook his head one day and said - I've never even cooked on that stove. 

I decided that wasn't a good state of affairs. We set him up at the kitchen table with the chopping blocks and the knives and the vegetables and in television chef style, we put everything in its own bowl. I put a chair next to the stove and we moved him over there with his walker. As he needed a dish, he shouted it out and I, his happy sous chef, handed it to him. We made a great batch of spaghetti sauce. And he got to yell at me like he always did when I was a child for "cooking the spoon" because I never take the wooden spoon out. 

Today is the one year anniversary of my father's death. In his honor (and in my mothers honor) I've cooked the spaghetti sauce. It never tastes quite the same as his sauce did but it puts me back in touch with him and happy days in the kitchen in Sumter, South Carolina. 

Martin Family Spaghetti Bolognese

1 pound of ground beef (the leaner the better)
1 green bell pepper (chopped)
1/2 container of mushrooms (sliced)
1 large onion (diced)
2 small carrots (grated)
1 can of tomato paste
1 can of chopped tomatos
dried oregano
2 or 3 cloves of fresh garlic (minced)
dash of "Italian seasoning" (basil, marjoram, oregano, sage mixture)
lots of fresh ground black pepper
2 bay leaves
2 cubes of beef bouillon
dollop of olive oil

Brown the beef in olive oil. Add 2 cloves or so of chopped garlic, the onion, the bell peppers and stir well. Cover the beef and vegetables with enough water and two small beef bouillon cubes to cover them all. Add oregano, italian seasoning mix, bay leaves, black pepper, and bring to a boil. Add two carrots grated very fine. After it comes to a full rolling boil, turn the temperature down to simmer and add the tomatos and mushrooms.

Stir well and simmer until reduced down. Tastes even better the next day!

My dad also added celery and fennel seeds or italian sausage from time to time but I don't care for those so my mother and I omitted those.

Autumn shopping at the Noordmarkt

Yesterday, I went shopping at the Noordmarkt, the Saturdays only organic market in beautiful Jordaan. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to make so I just bought some autumn only vegetables and a few other odds and ends. I bought a beautiful bouquet of dark green kale, two brilliantly red sweet potatos, four elstar apples, two cox's apples, some pied de mouton mushrooms, a jar of pitted kalamata olives, Rosemary foccacia, some fresh linguini, freshly made harissa paste from the herb producer and for that sweet end of summer taste, a jar of fresh made pesto.

Tonight I think I might make the new delicious dish that Asha introduced me to: Whole wheat pasta with toasted pine nuts, sliced kalamata olives, kale, and harissa paste.

Or I might make a mushroom ragu to stew for hours.

Tuscan still life

Vino Nobile, Aperol, cantalope, fresh plums and peaches, crusty bread, peccorino and truffle honey.