Chefs Cooking for Hope (and for us!)

Last night was Chefs Cooking for Hope, one of the big fundraising events for the Friends of Dana-Farber. I'd wanted to check this out for a while, especially after last year, when co-worker Robbin, who does PR for the event, had rounded up some goodies for me while I was out sick.

I still have fond memories of last year's maple bacon cotton candy from Harvest:



But that was last year. This year, I wanted to see for myself.

Chefs Cooking for Hope brings together area restaurants and caterers, who dish out small-plate samples to a crowd paying $100 a ticket.

And while that might seem pricey, look at it this way: You're in a room with some of the best chefs in town. And they have food. And they ain't going nowhere.

And no one can stop you having seconds. Or thirds.

So here's what we found:

Oysters in a spicy beet mignonette from Rialto:



Seared tuna with wasabi from The Cottage:



Sweet, lightly marinated roasted red peppers from Strega:



Amazing grilled octopus from Bistro du Midi (and a reminder to vote for chef Robert Sisca in Food and Wine's Best New Chef poll)



Just-right beef tartare from Gaslight:



Light and airy rabbit liver pâté with port gelée and picked carrots from Sel de la Terre:



Eye-rollingly good veal terrine with violet mustard from Beacon Hill Bistro:



Wild mushroom ravioli with oxtail ragout from Miel:



And the dish that seemed to be the hit of the night: braised brisket in a dumpling, in a light dashi broth, with soy pearls, from Baker's Best Catering. You ate it like an oyster: juice, then meat. It was stunning.



Between bites, we stopped by the table for Citizen Pub, who was handing out samples of a lovely rye peach punch.



We liked the Citizen people, not only because cocktail, but also because one of the staff recognized me from a visit ... four months ago.

"Yes," he said, "you came in on a Tuesday. You asked for a sour drink. I persuaded you to have a second one."

Well, that does sound like the kind of thing I would do ...

By this point in the evening, we were pretty much full. Yes, we were eating small amounts, but if you're counting, that's nine small amounts.

Wait, make it ten: I almost forgot about the sweet plantain — halfway between tostón and maduro — topped with apples and eggplant, from (I think) Zephyr on the Charles. It was a crazy combination, but it worked really well.



So yeah, not much room left for dessert. Okay, maybe just a little suspiro Limeño from Taranta. Super-sweet dulce de leche with a meringue topping.



And we'll just look at the cupcakes



and the cupcakes



and the cupcakes.



These last are bacon (the maple kind, yah?) from bakery Glutenus Minimus.

Finally, we picked up a plate of goodies from the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts and rolled out.



Tonight, I think we'll be having a nice plate of steamed vegetables.

Saloon in Somerville is a swell joint

Okay, before we start, it's important to have this tune playing in the background as you read.

Ready?

This week saw the opening of Saloon in Davis Square. Owned by the same people who run Foundry on Elm, Saloon angles itself as a pre-Prohibition joint. But this is no sleazy speakeasy; it's a ritzy juice joint, see?



Entrance is via a narrow door on Elm Street, marked by two glowing orb lights. And here's the odd time-travel thing: I worked next door in the Gorin Building for two years, and I have no recollection of seeing that door before. And when I check Google Streetview (which is a little outdated, as it still shows McIntyre and Moore — sob!) it's not clear where the door should be. So, you know. Spookeh.

Down a flight of stairs is a windowless (and TV-less, amazingly; I assumed all bars in Davis Square were required by law to show ESPN at all times) room, handsomely outfitted in dark, heavy woodwork sourced from the now-closed Newbury Street branch of Capital Grille. The bar dominates one end of the room, with the dining area at the other. UrbanDaddy has a nice slideshow of the interior.

Is there drink? Yes, there's drink; a 200-plus library of liquors, including bourbons, ryes, single malts and white whiskeys. Many of them are available in three serving options: on the rocks, Old Fashioned or Manhattan.



On our first visit, on Thursday, we stuck to cocktails: The Boy tried the Old Pal (rye, aperol, averna) and I had the Brown Derby (rum, antica formula, maraschino, mole bitters). Both lovely, well-balanced drinks.

Last night I started with the Ward 44 (because pork belly whiskey) and ended with another Brown Derby; apparently my new tastebuds have decided that bitter and aromatic are Good Things in a drink. The Boy started with an Old Fashioned made with Willett bourbon and moved to neat, smoky Russell's Rare.

One could, if one was so inclined, take on the liquor menu as a winter project. Also a spring one.

Is there food? Oh lord, is there ever food. The menu at Saloon isn't huge — a handful of appetizers and around nine entrees — but it makes me happy in every way.

When we went on Thursday, my goal was to have the steak and kidney pie. Because even though it's often used as a cheap way of saying English food is crap, a well-made S&K is a thing of beauty, and they're pretty much impossible to find over here.

I was a tad concerned when I saw the price ($26? Serious?) but then our waitress explained it served two. And indeed it did.



The crust was buttery and flaky and, as is right and proper, nicely moistened on the underside with pie gravy. The steak was fall-apart tender, the kidney was earthy, and there were generous chunks of carrot and mushroom (I'm prepared to overlook the latter). The gravy was rich, deep, complex. The whole thing was perfect.

So I say to you: If you've never had steak and kidney pie, you should absolutely go to Saloon. And take a friend, 'cuz it's large.

(Oh, and sorry there's no photo. Saloon is a dark place and the only shots I took, using the flash, made the interior of the pie look scary.)

On our Saturday night visit, we started with a charcuterie plate. All the meats are made in-house by someone who clearly knows their stuff. Best were the prosciutto and the salami; note how they're marbled with sweet fat. Delicate, not overly seasoned, so the flavor of the meat came through.





And then I went for the bubble and squeak, another fine English dish, traditionally intended as a way to use up leftover veggies from Sunday lunch. This one involved very flavorful root veggies and Brussels sprouts, topped with sausage and finished with a rich onion gravy.



The Boy ordered the flatiron steak au poivre, which came nicely medium-rare with fries and creamed spinach.

Sorry, that should be: with creamed spinach finished with shaved parmesan, and fries IN A SILVER BUCKET.







The fries, BTW, were so good that I award them the highest honor: they were chips. Real proper chips.

After this enormous amount of food, we really shouldn't have had dessert. But it was trifle, so.



Bavarian cream, dulce de leche-soaked sponge, candied hazlenuts. Apparently Saloon only offers one dessert at a time. But frankly, one is all you need.

It's also worth noting that Saloon doesn't offer coffee (because bars didn't in the 1900s), a fact which took the pompous actor types at the next table ("It's so sad that I'd never be allowed to direct at the Globe in London because I'm American") by horrified surprise. Deal, people. The Diesel is close by, though apparently you preferred to go to Starbucks, thanks for sharing.

Sorry; it's been a while since I snarked about diners who converse in outside voices to people sitting three feet away. This bunch was particularly annoying.

That aside, dinner was fabulous. As we walked home, we talked about the fact that we no longer have to go into Boston to find good food and thoughtfully made cocktails. Between Pizzeria Posto, Foundry and Saloon (not to mention longstanding favorites like Redbones and Tu y Yo, and the soon-to-open Painted Burro), we're pretty well sorted. And that's just the cat's pajamas.

The vermouth project

At the beginning of this year, we celebrated our anniversary with an Eastern Standard cocktail class hosted by the lovely Bob McCoy.

As parting gifts, we got bottles of ES's housemade ambré and rosé vermouths, as well as recipes to make them at home.

So finally, last weekend, we did.

Actually, the process started earlier, as we had to find wormwood and gentian, bitter orange and dried ginger. Thanks to Christina's (and Rico), Penzey's and the Modern Homebrew Emporium, we gathered everything.

The rest of the herbs came from our garden.



But back up a few days; before we were artfully arranging dried herbs on a plate, we were slicing 24 strawberries (I know, I know, they're out of season) and soaking them in brandy.



The herbs went into a pan with rosé wine and the whole mess was brought to a boil and left to cool.



Well, this was easy. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh.

The recipe called for 600g of sugar to be heated to a "soft ball stage." Did we know what that was? Could we figure it out? Did it have anything to do with using a keg for second base? Uh, no.

So we heated the sugar, stirring constantly and watching for some sign of chemical reaction that would signal its readiness. And then ... we basically guessed.

The recipe said to remove the sugar from the heat and add the brandy immediately, so we did.

There was a lot of loud hissing and cracking. And the sugar turned into an impenetrable igneous carapace.



I know; those of you who work with sugar are rolling your eyes and sighing. What can I say?

We knew that the sugar would start to dissolve over time. So we left it alone.

After about an hour, I went back to check on its progress and found that enough had dissolved to make the strawberry-brandy quite syrupy. We didn't want the end result to be too sweet, so we decided to use what was there and add more sweetness later if necessary.

Back to business: adding ruby port, the strawberry-brandy syrup, and two more bottles of rosé to the wine-herb concoction.



A little zest:



And we're done!

We strained the herbs out, bottled the liquid, and let it sit for a couple of days.

And then the taste test.

Verdict: It's a little less complex that I would have liked, but I don't know whether that's because it's still young or because (once again) we eyeballed the herb measurements. I might add more wormwood next time — but again, my taste runs to more bitter notes.

There's a definite strawberry nose, and the color is lovely.



Next time, we'll try making the ambré vermouth. Anyone know where we can find orris root?

Cocktails + dinner: an education at Eastern Standard

Our overnight package at the Hotel Commonwealth included not only a fun and educational mixology lesson with Bob McCoy, but also a chef's tasting menu, paired with cocktails.

Bob kindly set up our reservation, and at 7pm we went downstairs to Eastern Standard.

We were led to a corner table that gave us a view of the whole room. And that was just the start of an experience that made us feel like VIPs.

The waiter came over and shook our hands. The manager came over and shook our hands. Bob stopped by to say hi.

Champagne cocktails arrived.



There was no menu, just a quick food-allergy check. And then the meal began.

(A quick apology for the variations in photo quality; we dined by candlelight. Romantic, but not well-suited to my camera.)

First, seared scallop topped with blood orange, with fennel and a swirl of spicy aioli.



As accompaniment, a Corpse Reviver #2: gin, Cointreau and Lillet Blanc with a touch of absinthe, bouncing nicely with the fennel.



Next up, a fantastic housemade charcuterie plate of calf tongue, chorizo, a creamy sausage, and a foie gras torchon in pomegranate.



The cocktail for this was a 19th Century, the rye and bitters making a lovely foil for the creaminess of the foie and the saltiness of the sausage.



Then, a light, fresh beet salad with local goat cheese and arugula.



And a Frisco cocktail (more rye, this time with lemon and Benedictine) to accompany.

Up next was the entree: beautifully cooked duck breast with sunchoke puree and apple-ginger sauce. Alongside it, the Best Thing Ever: a fritter of shredded duck. (Note also the extra lighting.)



Inside the duck ball:



And, of course, a drink: a Blood and Sand. Unsurprisingly, cherry brandy is a great match for duck.



(Also: gotta love the vintage glassware.)

And finally, dessert. A butterscotch bread pudding with praline ice cream:



Paired with one of my favorite Eastern Standard cocktails, the Ponce de Leon. Rum, sherry and the spicy, citrusy Licor 43 were meant to hook up with butterscotch.



And a tarte tatin that seemed to involve an entire apple:



And went perfectly with the final cocktail, Vincelli's Fizz, named after the monk who reputedly created Benedictine.

The other main ingredient was the rose vermouth we'd played with during our cocktail class. The drink was topped with a frothy head of egg white and finished with champagne.



The meal was not only fantastic, delicious and beautifully planned; it was also an eye-opening education into the concept of pairing food with something other than wine.

So now we have something new to experiment with at home: matching cocktails to every meal.

I wonder what goes well with breakfast cereal?

Behind the bar with Bob

We'd already planned dinner at Harvest in Harvard Square, but still felt as though we wanted to do something extra-celebratory for our anniversary; something unusual, adventurous.

Fly to Paris? Not enough time. Ski lodge in the White Mountains? Ha! As if!

And then, on the website for the Hotel Commonwealth, we found it: the Cocktails and Dreams package, which included a mixology lesson and a tasting menu paired with cocktails.

That's more like it!

We're big fans of the hotel's Eastern Standard, where both bar and kitchen produce delicious creations that manage to be creative and comforting at the same time.

So on Sunday, we checked in, and at the appointed hour were shown to a room for our private cocktail lesson with Eastern Standard's principle bartender, Bob McCoy.



Once we were settled in with cheese, crackers and plenty of water, Bob began by taking us through a history of the mixed drink, from the invention of spirits to the creation of the cocktail.

And then he turned the focus to one particular theme: vermouth.

I'd always thought of vermouth as a largely C-level drink; it's what people drank in the '70s to appear sophisticated, and apart from its validity in martinis and manhattans, didn't rate much.

Yeah, so I was wrong.

Bob poured us tastes of three vermouths: a sweet Italian called Carpano Antica, a dry French (Noilly Prat), and Martini & Rossi's Bianco.



We tried the last one first. The nose was like roast chicken, full of fresh oregano and thyme. And each vermouth was amazingly complex, herbacious, aromatic, changing character from sweet to dry in the finish.

We compared notes, sharing discoveries. And then Bob said, "Okay, let's make some cocktails. What would work well with the Carpano?"

The Boy and I shared a glance. A test! We hadn't studied! What if we didn't know anything? Even though Bob was fantastically easy-going, I still felt a little pressure to perform, to impress.

We knocked some ideas around. The Carpano is sweet, spicy, with orange notes. So how about rum? And maybe something orangey? Bob suggested Bauchant, which he described as halfway between Grand Marnier and Cointreau.

And then to finish ... chocolate bitters?

"Sounds good," said Bob. "Let me go grab some." He went downstairs to the bar and reappeared a few minutes later, arms filled with bottles.



For our second cocktail, we started with Eastern Standard's housemade rose vermouth, which is made with strawberries (evident from the first sniff).

It seemed very English, so we went with Hendrick's gin, limoncello (for a citrus note and also to add sweetness), and to finish — champagne!



"Okay," he said. "Come over behind the bar and we'll put this together."

We know our way around a drinks cabinet. We've invented a few cocktails in our time. But it's still a little daunting to be fixing drinks while a trained professional is watching. Bob was great, though, and gave us tips on using jiggers, strainers, and spoons, including when to shake and when to stir.



The Boy looked born to it.







And Bob handled the finishing touches.



If you're thinking this whole thing must have taken a while, you're right: Bob generously gave us two and a half hours of his time, answering our questions, making suggestions, and being wonderfully gracious and patient. Oh, and he made a dinner reservation for us.

We came away with a bundle of recipes and two bottles of lovely housemade vermouth.



Not to mention a more formalized understanding of how to create a cocktail; where to find wormwood; and an appreciation of the passion that Eastern Standard's team has for the work they do.