Brown Butter Seared Scallops, Lentilles de Puy, Dressed Cress and Scallion Oil

As I sit out on my deck this Sunday afternoon, I feel the coming autumn chill in the air.  Clayton may be in a tank top sitting in a sliver of sun, but here in the shade I actually need a light sweater.  Although I’m sad that my tan will soon fade (leaving me the color, and general muscular consistency, of tapioca pudding), I am looking forward to how the cooler weather opens up my kitchen, allowing me to cook indoors without cooking myself in the ambient heat during the process.  Last night, although muggy, was temperate, so I reaquainted myself with my stovetop.  What better way than to pan-sear some plump, juicy, never-frozen, tender scallops?  Thanks to Marcus at Whole Foods for the recommendation (even if he was talking to someone else – and I was merely eavesdropping), although their sheer size and perfection had already reeled me in.  As I wandered the aisles with my six scallops in tow, I alighted upon the bulk bar, and before I knew it I was loading up on some lovely French lentils.  After throwing a few more items into the basket, I headed home, figuring out the meal I’d make on the way.  I visualized a bed of fragrant, steaming, and toothsome lentilles de Puy topped with perfectly crisp-crusted scallops and drizzled with a verdant, herbaceous oil.  And I’ll be damned if that’s not exactly what I made…

Brown Butter Seared Scallops, Lentilles de Puy, Dressed Cress and Scallion Oil

6 very large fresh sea scallops
3 tbs butter
1lb French lentils
3 slices bacon
1 medium onion
6-10 cloves
1″ peeled fresh ginger
3-4 cloves garlic
1 medium carrot
1 qt chicken broth
zest and juice of 1 lemon
watercress
curly parsley
scallions
1 shallot
EVOO, sea salt, cracked black pepper

Remove the paper husk of the onion, cut it in half, and stud 1 part of it with the cloves.  Mince the other half.

Peel and cut the carrot into 1″ pieces, crush and remove the paper from the garlic, and peel about an inch of fresh ginger root.

Rinse the lentils several times, and pick through them looking for little rocks and stuff, which I’ve never found but I still look for (thinking the one time I don’t look I’ll crack a tooth on something).

Bacon.  I cut these three slices into, like, 4-5 pieces each.

Into my deep saucepan it goes, where I fry it to just crisp.

Add the studded onion carefully to the pan, along with the carrots, minced onion, garlic, and  ginger.

Add the lentils, and stir everything well.

Cover everything with chicken stock, bring to a boil, lower the heat to a gentle simmer, and cover the pot.  It takes about 45 minutes for the liquid to be absorbed, and the lentils to soften (but not mushify).  When their texture is just right, remove from the heat…

… remove the clove studded onion and knob of ginger…

… and stir in the minced shallot, the lemon zest, and some chopped parsley.  Set aside, tilting the lid so some steam can escape, until service.

To make the scallion oil, chop the green onion roughly, then saute it for just a moment in hot EVOO – just long enough for the green color to pop, but not to fry.  Dump into a blender with 1 cup of chopped parsley and the juice from the lemon, then whir until smooth.  Transfer to a small squeeze bottle, and keep warm.

My scallops weren’t cheap…

… but they were amazing.  I should have put something nearby to demonstrate scale; these bad boys are at least an inch thick, and even fatter the way ’round.

I melt 3 tbs of butter to foaming in my small non-stick fry pan, and set my scallops – which I’ve dusted with sea salt and cracked pepper – on the heat, leaving plenty of room between them to breathe.  I leave them undisturbed to sear for 5 minutes, or until I see the opacity of the scallop deepen halfway up its side.

Using tongs, I gently flip each scallop, revealing their caramelized, butter-encrusted faces.  Another 5-7 minutes of searing on the reverse side, and they’re ready for plating.

Fragrant lentil caviar sweetened with carrot and emboldened with bacon; fork-tender sea-sweet scallops browned with butter and encased in crisp; scallion lemon and parsley EVOO dressed watercress and daubs of herbaceous oil.  A perfect marriage of land (pig), earth (beans), and sea (scallops) – all brought together for a fulfilling and delicious dinner on a stormy late summer’s night.

Homemade Hard Tacos with Popcorn Shrimp and Poblano Queso Cream

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again now: I LOVE MEXICAN FOOD.  I guess I should specify it as “Mexican-inspired”, since I’ve never been to Mexico and can’t say with authority that any food identified as South of the Border I’ve ever eaten has been particularly authentic — but my homage still remains.  I just can’t get enough of the warm/cool, meaty/vegetable, cheesy/healthy, crunchy/chewy, soul-satisfying stuff that I think of as Mexican – like tacos, quesadillas, enchiladas, guacamole, salsa… the list goes on.  Now I am completely aware of the fact that hard tacos like the ones pictured above are in no way authentic, but one shouldn’t trample on Speedy Gonzales just because he’s a caricature, right?   Or let me put it this way: remember the “You think this has nothing to do with you” monologue Meryl so scathingly purrs in The Devil Wears Prada?  Where she points out to the still frumpy Anne Hathaway that the ‘blue’ sweater she wears is actually a distant low-rent cousin of a cerulean gown Oscar De La Renta debuted years earlier, that had been re-imagined and re-designed and re-marketed so often that it barely resembled its lofty parentage?  So – what has this to do with my tacos?  They’re the Casual Corner clearance bin progeny of the haute cuisine belonging to the same country that produced Freida Kahlo, Carlos Fuentes, and Diego Rivera.  But some of my favorite clothes come from the clearance bin, and I betcha a shiny nickel Freida, Carlos, and Diego would dig these fried popcorn shrimp hard tacos with fresh pico, marinated avocado slices, and homemade queso blanco sauce.  And so would Meryl – just ‘cuz she’s classy that way…

Homemade Hard Tacos with Popcorn Shrimp and Poblano Queso Cream

1 medium poblano pepper
1 ripe avocado
2 ripe roma tomatoes
1 small red onion
1 bunch cilantro
1 bunch scallions
1 lime
3/4 lb small Maine shrimp (about 50 count)
2 eggs
Panko breadcrumbs (about 2 cups)
1/2 lb white american cheese
1 tbs butter
1 cup milk (divided)
1 can black beans
1/2 cup cooked, smoked meat (bacon will work, or some BBQ leftovers like I used)
12 small corn tortillas
oil for frying (about 1 quart )
sea salt, cracked black pepper, onion and garlic powder, paprika, ground cumin, cayenne pepper, ground chili, EVOO
sour cream

I didn’t take a set up shot for this meal because, well, I sort of threw it together at random, so I didn’t know exactly what was going into it until I started making it.  But I did buy this poblano pepper — the least spicy variety of hot pepper usually available on the market — with the vague thought of roasting it for some reason.  To do so, I rolled it in some EVOO, dusted it with some some salt and pepper, and threw it into a 400 degree oven (turning it every so often) until all the skin is blackened, more or less.  If I had a gas stove, I’d just burn it directly with the flames, but alas – I ain’t got nothin’ fancy like that.

See?  It took about 12-15 minutes total.  Now I throw it into a paper bag for a few minutes, which will loosen the tough, papery outer skin, and make it easier to remove.

Like so.  Sometimes I have to scrape off the skin with the dull edge of my chef’s knife, but today my fingers did the trick.  I pull the seeds out, chop up this baby, and set it aside to use it later.  (At this point, I had not yet decided where….)

Oh, and I decide to save the oil it cooked in, too — since it’s so redolent of spicy roasted pepper.  I figure I could use it later — like bacon drippings.

Next up – my avocado.  I have several friends who don’t like this blissful, buttery, bastion of vegetal delight.  You know who you are, people — yes, I’m looking at you.  It’s my mission to change their minds, as I did El Claytonioushusbandman, who initially thought of it only in terms of guacamole, which to him looked like baby sh!t.  Since he didn’t like baby sh!t, he didn’t like avocados.  That sort of free-association has always irked me, so I quashed it like the bug up my a$$ it was by adding avocado so regularly, and so prominently, to so many dinners that he finally had to try it.  Now, he LOVES it.  I aim to convert my other friends, too, so BE. WARE.  Anyway, instead of making a guac today, I merely sliced this perfect specimen of gradated greenness and marinated it in some very fine EVOO, sea salt, black pepper, mined red onion, and leaves of cilantro.  My thought was that I’d add a slice, instead of a dollop, of avo to each taco.

By the way, I got those minced onions and cilantro leaves from the batch of veggies I prepped: they, along with my diced scallion, diced salted and peppered tomatos, and a rolled-till-softer-and-juicier lime would be the rest of the fresh on my plate.

Black beans are my favorite, even though it took a while for me to get back into the bean swing of things.  My grandmother, rest her soul, lived with us while I was growing up, and she made pinto beans ALL THE TIME.  Like, daily.  I kid you not. After eating them dutifully as a child and tween and teenager, I began to fear that that if you peeled back my skin, you’d see mashed brown, sofrito flavored beanstuff instead of human tissue, so I patently rejected them for years and years after I started cooking for myself, in an effort to purge them from my being. Clayton loved beans, so – as it should be in a good marriage - he did for me and beans what I did for him and avocados: he made me try them again.  Of course, I had to cook them myself, but his incessant request for a nice rice and bean dish guilted me into making them for us one night, which I did with black beans and absolutely no sofrito whatsoever.  Since then, I’ve found I do like beans if I prepare them with the flavors I like, which, in this case, means MEAT.  This sexy nub of smoked pork belly hails from Chef Tiffany Faison’s new Boston joint Sweet Cheeks Q, a rocking new BBQ  dive in the Fenway area.  I went several weeks ago with some fantastic friends (you know who you are, you crazy kids!), and after stuffing as much deliciousness into my gullet as possible, I froze the leftover meat for just this reason.  I fished out the bag when I knew I was making beans, defrosted this tidbit in warm water in my sick (it was fully cooked, and I was going to cook it again, so I wasn’t worried about this usually unsafe shortcut), and brought it into play.

And here comes that leftover poblano roasting oil — it served as a flavored EVOO which, along with chunks of the pork belly and some of my chopped onions and scallions, formed the base of this dish.  Once the onions are softened and the fat fragrant…

… in went the beans and about a half bottle of my beer.  I set this on medium, and let it simmer and reduce for about 10-15 minutes.

The special ingredient for this meal are these super-sweet, perfectly pink, quiveringly fresh tender Maine shrimp.  I fear the season for these baby beauties is already over (and it’s so short — only about a month!), but I’m happy to say I’ve enjoyed them a’plenty this year.  I’ve made garlic scampi, shrimp waldorf salad, shrimp chowder, seafood alfredo… well, several things with ma petite crevette since they appeared at Whole Foods’ fish counter, and I am happy.  But I’ve never fried them before, so this would be something new.  I had to peel them first, which was easy peasy – their little heads fall right off, and you can coax their naked bodies out of their shells with barely a come-hither.

In a medium bowl, I whisked together my eggs, half my milk, garlic powder, onion powder, ground cumin, cayenne pepper, and paprika.

Using the same dry spices as the egg batter, I made some seasoned Panko breadcrumbs, too.

At this point, 1/2 of the liquid in my beans has evaporated, so I add about 1/2 cup short grain rice to the pot, stir once well, then cover so the rice can plump in the beery beany juice.

Right before I fry up my shrimp, I make my taco shells.  I’ve found that the coarser, thicker, and subsequently cheaper small corn tortillas work better than some of the more expensive varieties, and that – unlike previous posts – a deep fry pan isn’t really needed.  Instead, I added an inch or so of oil to my deep wok, and heated it until superhot.  Using tongs and a large flat metal fork, I dipped half each tortilla into the oil, holding it submerged with the fork, then folded the other half into the sizzle quickly catching the already fried half in the clutch the the tongs to finish the shell off.  Each only took about a minute or so.

… yielding me 6 taco shells, which I held on a paper plate and sprinkled liberally with salt.  I cut the other six tortillas into 8ths, and fried them into chips.

My tiny tiny shrimp are marinated for a few minutes in the egg wash, and then tossed with the breadcrumbs before I shake off all the excess breading through a colander onto a paper plate.
After all my shells are fried. I cook my shrimp in batches (about 1/3 at a time, so the oil doesn’t bubble over) — it takes about 5 minutes per batch.
And what, pray tell, ever happened to that roasted poblano pepper? Well, it became the star ingredient in my queso blanco sauce – my absolute favorite guilty pleasure.  Down in Georgia, there was no shortage of Mexican(ish) restaurants that all featured this white cheese dip I could drain out of a straight gallon with a straw.  And I can’t find it ANYWHERE here.  The closest thing is Bukowski’s White Trash Cheese Dip, but even that’s not quite right.  I finally broke down and recreated it for myself, finally succeeding in making it once I realized that simpler was better.  It doesn’t need Monterey Jack cheese, or cheddar, or anything fancy pants – it just needs, at its most basic, white american cheese and milk.  Before I figured this out, you would never have found american cheese in my fridge, mostly because it’s not really cheese but rather a processed amalgamation of ingredients a cook like I usually eschew, but one can’t be a snob all the time.  Besides, I’ve already thrown authenticity out the window, so why not add a little processed deliciousness if it works on the plate?  Here’s how it’s done: melt butter in pan, add some milk, whisk until incorporated and milk starts to boil, add shredded cheese, whisk until blended and smooth, and either add more milk if too thick, or more cheese if too thin.  When the texture is just right, I add my diced green chiles, and try not to break out my suck-up-all-that-cheese straw…

A slice of buttery marinated avocado. A handful of hot, crispy, tender, sweet fried popcorn shrimp. A smattering of snappy tomatoes and fresh herbs.  A healthy drizzle of fragrant and milky cheese sauce.  All layered into a crispy taco shell and served alongside a nest of meaty black beans and rice.  It might not be really Mexican, but that doesn’t stop me from facing southwesterly and making a little bow – because these are delicious!  There is very little heat (you can add some jalapenos to make that happen), but the flavors come together as a perfect synthesis of crunchy and tender and chilled and warm, with the cheese acting as the glue holding the whole mouthful together.  The tacos are light and refreshing, and the beans and rice add substance and just the right amount of stick-to-your-ribness.  ¡Gracias, amigos!  This meal was muy delicioso!

Red Cooked Country Style Pork Ribs over Sticky Rice

I haven’t blogged for a week, although I have certainly cooked.  I need to start a series called “Lolita’s One-Shots”, or something like that — dedicated to single snapshots of all the lovely dinners I make for me and my man on nights when I don’t have the time or inclination to exponentially extend the cooking experience as it does to take pics about it along the way.  I also cooked extensively for others this week by catering a party for a small multitude of my Harvard undergrads (shout out!); spending the better part of three nights braising figs in wine, concocting compotes with cherries and cranberries, toasting a couple hundred crostini, and deviling several dozen eggs really takes up time.  But tonight I finally had the time, inclination, and inspiration to create something special for our dinner: sweetly braised pork two ways with a rich Chinese glaze over a tight nest of sushi rice capped with coriander and sliced scallions.  Thanks to Kiam Lan Kho at Red Cook for this recipe for “Hong Shao Rou” (紅燒肉) - I could taste my dinner before I even set a pot on the heat.  Richly sugary, savory and silky: a symphony of flavors that satiates the senses.  Easy – and worth it.

Red Cooked Country Style Pork Ribs and Slab Bacon over Sesame Sticky Rice

3/4 lb country style pork ribs
1/4 lb slab bacon (pork belly would have been better, but I didn’t have any)
several cups cold water
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 tablespoons sugar
2-3 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 whole star anise
3 cloves minced garlic
1/8 cup dry sherry
1/8 cup mirin
1 bunch scallions
1/2 cup cilantro leaves
1 cup sushi rice
1/2 tsp toasted sesame oil

These lovely country style pork ribs and slab bacon are from Blood Farm, which I’ve blogged about ample times before (like, the last 10 or so postings, I reckon) — they are my new favorite business evah.  Since I didn’t have pork belly, as the recipe called for, I worried that my country style pork ribs, which come from the loin – the opposite of the belly – wouldn’t be the right cut, so I added a small block of slab bacon (which is smoked (and therefore partially cooked) pork belly) to enough boiling water to cover.  I do this in my wok – the only cook surface my meat and sauce will need.  I boil for about 20 minutes, skimming as much gunk from the surface as I can as I go.

I then pick out my meaty bits…

… and strain the braising liquids into a bowl, reserving a couple cups to cook with later.

After wiping out my wok with a clean cloth, I add my sugar and vegetable oil to it, and set this to melt over medium heat.

These two components don’t melt evenly, but I can see the sugar pooling into brown liquid within the oil, which signifies that it’s ready.

To this caramel goodness, I add my meatwads, and I let them sear for a few minutes on this side…

… before flipping them to sear on the other.  Here comes the “red-cooked” — as the sugar browns and melds with the meat and fat, it turns a rich russet color.

The rest of my flavors include garlic, 1/2 my scallions,  soy sauce, mirin & dry sherry (to substitute for the Shaoxing  wine that I did not have), and my star anise.

The garlic, star anise, and scallions go in first.  I toss well to blend the flavors.

Then in goes my liquid ingredients: my mirin, sherry, and soy sauce, and the liquid I reserved from par-boiling my proteins.  I set this to simmer over medium heat…

… cover, and walk away for about 45 minutes.

After said 45 minutes, I can pull my meat apart with just the gentlest of tugs.  But there is still a lot of liquid left, so I remove the cover and let the sauce reduce while continuing to braise my meat for another 20 minutes or so — while I make my rice.

As this happens, I mince the rest of my scallions and pull the leaves off some cilantro – making about 1/2 cup.

My sauce has reduced to a thick glaze — just what I wanted.

Fork tender bites of pork and rich smoked bacon seasoned with a sweet, sticky, salty glaze, and served over a bed of rice drizzled with toasted sesame oil and flecked with minced green onions and coriander leaves.  Fresh, snappy, light, sweet, and filling, this dinner makes me wish I was in the Orient, where flavors are laced with mystery and distinction, riddled with tradition and history, honored by time and a sublime sense of taste.  I understand that my Western perspective generalizes the myriad subtleties of the kind of cultural richness China represents, but I wish, hope, and dream that I can someday appreciate firsthand the beauty they have to offer.  Until then, I will enjoy Chinatown, and I will explore my own abilities to render their savory perfection in my own humble ways.  Tonight’s offering was, if I dare say so myself, a step in the right direction.  Delicious!

Fish and Corn Chowder, Semi-Deconstructed

I have the Claytonhusband to thank for this meal; it was his idea, more or less.  Y’see, out on the farm, he digs up all sorts of lovely veggies, and sometimes they trigger his gastronomic imagination.  Potatoes are the newest crop he’s pulling from the earth, and their heirloom selves have been appropriately misshapen and deliciously ugly.  He fished out two particularly bulbous spuds and proclaimed them dinner, suggesting that something could be served in them were they to be rendered ‘bowl-like’, and wouldn’t something chowdery and fish-like be nice.  Along with two huge cobs of the season’s last sweet corn, that was all Lolita needed.  Witness my semi-deconstructed corn and fish chowder: a rich, sweet corn milk, crispy cubes of pancetta, and pan-roasted haddock piled atop a massive baked potato skin, and topped with snips of chives.  Warm, rich, and delicious – perfect for a chilly autumn evening.

Fish and Corn Chowder

2 large ears fresh corn
1/2 gallon milk
cracked black pepper
2 medium or 1 very large russet potato
1/2 lb pancetta, diced
3 small shallots
1 yellow carrot
3 cloves garlic
1 bunch chives
1 lb fresh haddock (or cod, or pollack, or schrod – any flaky white fish will do)

This picture is very suggestive.  Of deliciousness, that is!  Each of these spuds is about the size of a newborn baby’s head, and the corn the size of my forearm.  The Clayton grows some good veggies.

I start by shucking and de-silkifying my corn cobs, then using my potato peeler to scrape the kernels out.  Next time I’ll do this inside a large pastic bag instead of over a bowl; I got corn bits and juice EVERYWHERE.   The kernels I reserve for later, but the cobs get put into play right away.

I totally have to shout out to Rooftop Gourmet, who largely guided this recipe with their very similar “Pan Roasted Cod in Fresh Corn Chowder” post back in April.  In particular, the above technique of boiling corn cobs in milk really lit my fire — I’d never considered that before, although it seems so basic and natural I rather feel like a heel for not knowing about it prior to this posting.  It yielded what can only be called “corn milk” – a richly, thickly, butter n’ sugar sweet corn flavored lactic dream. I set my 1/2 gallon of milk and my two denuded cobs into a large soup-pot and simmered them together with a healthy sprinkling of black pepper for about an hour – skimming the skin off the top periodically.  Meanwhile, I rinsed, dried, wrapped in foil, and set my two potatoes in my preheated to 400° oven to bake for the same hour.

Pancetta is a wonderful thing.  It’s a smoked, spiced, and rolled pork belly – an Italian bacon.  Harvard Square’s legendary gourmet shop  Cardullo’s purveyed this healthy chunk to me, at a surprisingly (for them) reasonable price.  I dice it into chunks…

… then chuck them chunks into a pan to sear until crispy.

Once I’ve got a nice crispy sear on my pancetta, I remove the bits from the pan – keeping 2 or so tablespoons of the rendered fat in the pan and holding the rest to the side for later – and add in my diced aromatics: my shallots, garlic, and one large yellow carrot from the farm.  I had several orange carrots, too – but I thought that the yellow would work better with the color scheme of this meal.

I sauté this mix of earth-grown goodness until all the bits have started to sweat and soften.

Then I add the reserved corn kernels, stir well, and let saute for a few moments.  This is the flavorful base of the corn chowder.

Now comes the corn-milk, which has been simmering for an hour now, and which tastes just like farm-fresh corn.  I pour about 4 cups into the pan, and bring everything back to a simmer.

 My potatoes are ready, too.  I cut them in half, then scoop out the majority of their inner flesh, leaving two large bowls which I oil up with some of the pancetta drippings before throwing them back in the oven to crisp up a bit.

 The pulled-out potato gets added to the chowder.  It’s now a full-fledged soup, but I let it continue to simmer and thicken a bit, since I don’t want it too watery on my plate.  I taste it often, though – ‘cuz I can’t help myself – and adjust the seasoning with more salt and pepper until it tastes perfect.

 I didn’t really mean to, but I sort of reassembled my two haddock filets into the whole boneless fish.  This lovely lovely came from the Harvard Farmer’s Market fishmonger, Fresh Lobsters and Fish, owned and operated by Carolyn and Chris Manning.  I’ve enjoyed their excellent products before (see here and here), but this is the first time I’ve tried their haddock.

 Since these two filets are odd sizes, I trimmed them down into two roughly same-sized planks each, and chucked the scraps into the chowder to gently poach and flavor the soup.  The planks I salt, pepper, and dust with flour.

A pat of butter and the rest of my pancetta juice gets added to my small non-stick fry-pan, and heated over high-heat until the butter is completely melted and beginning to froth.

 Into the hot fat my fish planks go.  I sear them skin-side down for about 5 minutes…

 … before carefully flipping them to brown their top sides.  Oh my, but this looks delicious.

My potato skin cups are perfectly roasted and ready to go.  I salt and pepper them up thoroughly, then place them in the middle of my plates before spooning chowder all up in there.

Delicately pan-seared and balanced haddock filets top a rich, creamy, corn chowder served up in a potato bowl with crunchy, salty chunks of pancetta studded throughout.  Each bite is both familiar – as chowder is to all we New Englanders – and surprising, since the flavors don’t blend until they come together on the tongue.  The buttery crisp edges of the flaky white fish compliment the tough-tender spud skin and its pillowy soft interior, while the milky soup stays warm and hearty as it waits to be gobbled up with both fork and spoon.  Clayton’s initial idea, a fellow-blogger’s inspiration, and Lolita’s interpretation: a meeting of minds, a medley of flavors, and one absolutely marvelous meal.

Deconstructionism: Scallop Chowder


According to all the top chef TV shows, deconstructions are passé.  The judges always seem to diss them, but their contestants still do ‘em… and so do I.  It’s an interesting exercise to break down a common (or uncommon) favorite, and see how all its components work when they’re presented together on the plate in a different way.  According to all the top food blogs (a pantheon to which I hope someday to rise), pork belly is IN; and not a day too soon, if you ask me.  All things pork are a siren call to my senses, and my tongue yearns for it like a satellite caught in the irresistible gravitational pull of a delicious cosmic event.    Pork belly is bacon in its natural state — uncured, unsmoked, unsalted: just luscious Wilbur fat striated with marvelous Miss Piggy meat which, when roasted right, is covered with crispy crunchy come-n’-get-it cracklin’.  We’d eaten well already this weekend, so even though I wanted the pure fat pork belly promises, I really wanted a light dinner, too; er, but, since I’m me, I wanted cream and sweet and savor and sass and sublimity as well.  What’s the point of eating, otherwise?  Savenor’s had some super large, super fresh scallops, and a basket full of yummy silky Yukon Gold baby potatoes, and several bunches of fresh snipped chives, along with a perfectly portioned 1 lb slab of very clean pork belly… and suddenly, it all came together.

My idea was a chowder, where shellfish, smoked ham, potato, and cream come together with other flavors to make the scrumptious warm savory of a wholesome seafood stew.  I really thought the tender sinews of sea scallops would compliment the similarly textured flesh of a pig’s belly; that the mollusks’ briny sweetness would offset the pork’s earthy richness, and that these two proteins would stand in for the traditional clams and bacon. To round out the simulation, I figured substituting a thick, creamy potato puree for the typical chowder base, and adding some roasted carrot bits and, in some fashion, chives, would bring the dish home.  Here’s what I came up with:

Seared Scallops with Potato Puree, Carrot Cubes, Blistered Pork Belly and Chive Oil

1 lb fresh pork belly
Dry rub:
1  star anise
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tbs ground ginger
1 tbs allspice
1 tsp whole cloves
1 tsp juniper berries
1 tbs white peppercorns
1 tbs sea salt
1 tbs crushed black pepper
EVOO
1 lb Yukon Gold potatoes
1/2 c – 1 c heavy cream
3/4 stick butter, divided
4 extra large sea scallops (~ 1/2 lb total)
1 bunch carrots
1 tsp crushed thyme
1 bunch fresh snipped chives (about 1/3 cup chopped)
1/3 cup EVOO
2 tsps lemon juice (I used some of the citrus currently home-preserving some Meyers lemons in my fridge)

I start with the ingredients for my dry rub, placing them all into my mortar and pestle.

Right — all of my ingredients.  I forgot the white peppercorns on the first time around, so after I ground up all the star anise, ginger, cloves, allspice, and cinnamon to a nice fine powder, I added my wee pallid pellets, and ground them all up, too.

My pork belly; I try not to think about … well, this cut of meat in relation to, um,  MY belly.  ‘Nuff said; just know that my mind’s wanderlust is twisted and obscure, and… right, ’nuff said.  Anyway, you can see that the price isn’t prohibitive – whereas the fat content (all that lovely white stuff among the pink flesh) is extremely high.

See?  All the smooth, buttery white is melting fat, and the wee strips of pink represent the only sweet meat this slab of midriff has to offer.  To my eyes, this is the swell of an Odalisque’s inviting white belly; the seductive mounds of Maja’s tender tummy; the luxurious folds of flesh Luncheon(ing) in the Grass.  This is the idealized Botticellian belly that, in times during which my miniaturized voluptuousness mayhaps would have turned heads, such mature development of softness and latent energy was desirable and en vogue.  (To most others these days, it is CALORIES.  P’shaw, I say! Life’s too short…)

I looked through many posts (starting with FoodGawker, then Googling, then Epicurious, then – heck, lots more choices), and found TONS of ways to make crispy skinned pork belly with meltingly tender meat.  The Vietnamese refer to it as Thit Heo Quay; the Chinese (I think) call it Siu Yok or Sieu Yoke; the Filipino style is  Lechon Kawali; and my peeps love their Chicharron.  Some recipes call for marinating the meat with fermented bean paste and spices overnight before roasting; some call for it to be brined then boiled then dried then roasted; some for it to be boiled then dried then fried; and all sorts of recipes in between.  I, er, sort of threw myself into random mode, and cherry picked my procedures based on my impulses,  my ingredients, and my equipment.  So I started by flipping my slab meat side up, cutting deeply into it, but NOT through the bottom-most layer of fatskin, about 1″ apart.  I then rubbed salt and my spice rub into all the meat *very* generously.

I leave the skin-side bare…

Although you can barely (if at all) see it, I used two forks to stab my pork skin thoroughly.  I read in many recipes that this works better than scoring, and helps ensure an evenly crackled crust.

Using my kosher salt, I rub down the entire pockmarked surface of my belly’s skin.  I set this into my fridge for 2 hours uncovered (or, you can put it into a ventilated ziplock bag, and put it into your fridge overnight, taking it out an hour before roasting to bring it back to room temp).  I preheated my oven to 475°, then placed my belly, skin side up, on a rack, over a pan, into my stove, and walked away for 20  minutes.

After which time, my belly has begun to crisp and cook, and the house has begun to smell — well, like smoke.  All the spitting fat is making quite a mess (sorry, Clayton), but its such a seductive mess…!  I lower my heat to 350°, and let my roast cook for another hour.

I’ve peeled my pound of gold from the Yukon…


… and dropped it into a pot of salted, boiling water.  It will take about 20 minutes of roiling boiling for these to cook to ready.


I trim my small bunch of organic carrots and roll them in EVOO, sea salt, cracked black pepper, and dried thyme.  I place this pan in my oven, under my roasting pork, for 20 minutes, or until tender enough to be easily pierced with a fork.

Like so. Cover with foil to keep warm.

It’s the one hour mark, and I check my pork belly.  It is deeply dark roasted, its meat easily shredded with a fork, and its skin hollowly echoes when I tap it with the side of my knife.  But it’s not dark enough, so I baste it with the clear fats that have collected in the bottom pan, stick it back into the oven, and turn up the heat to broil for 8-10 minutes.

Meanwhile, I’ve drained my potatoes, leaving a little of the cooking liquid in the pan, and have mashed them thoroughly.

This is 2 tbs butter, cold and cubed.

I add it, one cube at a time, plus one tablespoon heavy cream at a time, to my spuds, which I’ve set over a low burner and which I’m stirring vigorously with a whisk.  I add all my cream and butter, whisking well, salting and peppering until it tastes perfect, and until everything is fully incorporated, and the texture of my potatoes is smooth and creamy.

I’ve also cut down my carrots into tiny little cubes.  My idea is, that were I to have made my chowder, I would have minced my carrots and some onions to sauté in butter before adding my cream and potatoes, so a small dice of sweet roasted carrots will capture the sweet vegetable flavor they bring.

After 10 final minutes under my top broiler, I pull out my pork belly to see blackened charred skin and a full pan of clear fat drippings.  I reserve the latter, and don’t fret about the former; most of the recipes I’ve read today indicate that you WANT the skin to be this burned, to ensure that you’ve cooked this outer fatty layer enough to get that crunch you really want.  If it doesn’t blacken, it might be chewy instead of crispy.

The solution to over-blackened skin?  A serrated knife.  I just scraped off all the black crap from my dry, cracklin’, toasted skin; it was easy peasy.  When I’m ready, I use my Chinese cleaver to chop – not slice or cut, since my skin is so cracking – my pork into small squares.  1/2 way through shattering pork crisps across my kitchen, I realized that if I chopped through the meat side, with the skin side down, I’d get the perfect pieces I wanted, without the mess.

The final ingredient: plump, juicy, dry sea scallops, each weighing about 1/8 of a pound.  NICE.  I dry these babies, then sprinkle them with kosher salt.  These cook quickly, and you have to pay attention, so be sure you’re ready to plate before you put them on the heat.

I’ve got a small saucepan set with a tablespoon of butter (no, I didn’t clarify it; I rather wanted the milk solids browned and sticking to my shellfish) and a tablespoon of EVOO over high heat.  When the fats are just about to smoke, I set my scallops into the pan and let them sizzle for 2 minutes, or until I see the cooked worked halfway up the disc of flesh.

Once my mollusks have turned a healthy crisp golden brown on the edges, I use my tongs to flip them.  Beautiful.


I’ve taken 1 bunch of chives, chopped it into about 1/3 cup, and whirred it with my hand blender with an equal amount of EVOO, 1 tsp of salt, and 2 teaspoons lemon juice (or, in my case, the juice from some Meyer lemons I’ve been preserving for a week or so) to make a chive oil.  I spoon up my potato puree, stud it with a couple scallops and a few chunks of crispy roasted pork belly, then scatter my carrots and squirt a few drops of my chive oil.  My plate is a steaming warm mound of silky smooth fluffy potato puree; the carrots have actually cooled somewhat, and their sweet toothiness contrasts perfectly with the spuds and fresh green snap of the chive oil.  My scallops and pork are tender to the fork, with the added bonus of crispy chichurron to add texture for my tongue.  A surprisingly light, fresh, sweet, flavorful, and fantastic meal – elegant and homestyle, gourmet and damn-good, all at once.  Literary deconstruction isn’t really my thing, but from an gastronomic perspective, it is a tantalizing approach to food.  Each bite was delicious alone; but each forkful, laden with layered bites of each component of the plate, was sublime in concert.  Baby, it’s cold outside, but it is warm and wonderful at my dinner table, and I wish I could share it with each of you.

Seared Scallops With Potato Puree, Carrot Cubes, Blistered Pork Belly and Chive Oil