Roasted Pearl Onions

I found some pearl onions at the store this week and wanted to try some different things. This was the last of the onions, and I was roasting them for a beef garnish. I did it a little backwards, but this made it so they'd be done with no sauce, but so they'd be ready to be tossed into a sauce at the last second with other things. That's how a restaurant would do it, have them cooked already and waiting to be thrown in a sauce later.

Also, my butter timing would be different depending on what I wanted to do overall. That's hard to explain, but some kitchen people may understand.

Okay, so the onions are a little bigger than I would want, but you can't control what's in the bag (at a restaurant you may complain to the distributor if that problem persists). After peeling them, which takes a while, you're ready to go.

I got started with the following ingredients, besides kosher salt and pepper: a little red wine, some chicken stock, fresh thyme, some butter (in my case I used French butter), and the onions.

Start with hot oil and add the onions, and season with salt and pepper:

Then put them in the oven for a few minutes, but not letting them finish. After they get a little color, but still aren't done, retain them to the fire and add the butter and thyme. The thyme will pop and the aroma will be awesome:

As the butter bastes the onion (foams up over everything), add some wine, not too much:

As the wine reduces, add the stock and get it simmering again:

Now, return the lid and put it back in the oven. After ten or fifteen minutes, pull it out and check. The liquid/sauce will almost be gone, and below, those with a keen eye should be able to see that the pan's sauce is broken. That happens when you're trying to do this. This isn't about the sauce, it's about the onions.

Here's the final product, the soft and sweet onions over the sliced beef and rice. If I'd had a sauce going, I would've added them to it, but on this day my resources were limited.

Cara Cara Navel Oranges

Our weekly farm delivery this past week was all fruit, and inside were navel oranges. They send along a sheet of paper with the box's contents, and it seemed like the oranges had a specific name. I ignored it for the most part; they looked like regular oranges:

When compared to regular navel oranges, you can't tell the difference, which can't be said about blood oranges. Blood oranges usually have rinds with orange-to-maroon gradation covering the dark purple-to-red flesh. Below, one of those is a regular navel orange and the other was one of these cara cara navels:

I mention all this because when I went to peel the cara cara navel, I noticed something weird: the flesh was pink, like a ruby red grapefruit. Check below at the comparison of the two above oranges:

Cara cara navels are named for the cara cara region of the Venezuelan coast where they were discovered by the western powers in the late 1970s. Hardly available in the US until the late '90s, and even then it was only to be found at up-scale specialty grocery stores, some farmers are now starting to grow them in other orange heavy regions.

The flavor is sweet and less acidic than normal orange-flavor, and has been said to resemble berries and rose petals. I'm not so sure about that; I find it between regular oranges and blood oranges on the flavor scale. Mild, sweet, not so acidic, pretty refreshing.

Fenugreek-Pisco Fennel Garnish

This will turn out to be a non-trivial amount of work for a protein garnish, but it is fun to do. This recipe is modified from a baby-fennel recipe I used to do in New York, and the result is mostly the same. This is the time of year we're getting our fennel bulbs from our farm delivery, so finding cool stuff to do with them is the work.

A few notes before I start: the essence of this blog is how to make fine cuisine with the what you have on hand, and fenugreek and Pisco aren't run-of-the-mill items. Fenugreek is sold most commonly in American stores as a tiny yellow pebble-looking seed in the spice area, but it can be found in special Turkish or other Mediterranean specialty grocers as dried or fresh leaves. It is a main component of that wonderful Turkish Doner-kabob or shish-kabob smell or flavor. It's recognizable and awesome. It's also not totally necessary for this dish. Pisco is a Chilean and Peruvian brandy at about 70 proof, and can be substituted for with wine or a higher octane spirit.

Starting off you want to clean up the fennel and slice it for work. Here we see mine has been used already for something else (salad maybe):

Next we get some of the supplies needed. Pepper mill, kosher salt, and chili-flakes (optional) all are rather regular kitchen staples. The dark liquid is stock, which I usually have on hand from making our cat's food regularly (from boiling chicken carcasses), and the light liquid in the plastic measuring cup is the Pisco. Again, wine or another spirit would work, but the alcohol element is necessary. I'm not showing the fenugreek because you don't truly need it, and mine is so old I'm not sure of its potency anymore. I'm not showing the spice tumeric, which you will need. Tumeric is a yellow powder that stains everything it touches neon yellow or green or orange, and is something a spice cabinet should stock. You'll never know when you'll need it, and a little goes a long way, so it's not so bad to have.

Make sure you slice out the hard core bits from the bulb, and get rid of any brown spots. Also shown are a few minced garlic bulbs.

In your pan start with some hot oil, then add the fennel, and salt and pepper.

As the fennel softens, add the garlic and chili flakes and fenugreek (if you've got it), but make sure they don't burn. As they toast, add a sprinkle of tumeric:

As the aromas start to blend and the fennel still retains some crunch (it's a tough bulb, and will caramelize a bit before it ultimately softens), deglaze with the Pisco/alcohol element:

Let it reduce until there's no liquid (using perhaps less than what I've shown in my earlier photo), and then add the stock. Again, use less than in my photo. Bring to a simmer and let it go for a bit:

In the New York recipe the amounts of liquid are both quite small, so in the end, the tiny bit of liquid residue and the soft and tasty fennel can be mounted with butter and turned into something so savory and delicious that you don't know what happened. I didn't mount it with butter, but that's mainly because I added too much stock. That's not the worst thing, though.

As a garnish, use a slotted spoon and place the fennel on top of a red-meat protein, beef or lamb work best. Yummy: