Trial and Failure

One of the skills I truly own and accept is an ability to usually get a recipe idea right at the first pass. It saves time and it saves money. In short, it's very handy. The concept is there lurking in my tart-addled head, I work on it, and with a little tweaking here and there, it's a definite go.

Yesterday, with just five tart recipes to create before my self-imposed Nov. 1 deadline for Southern Tart Reform, I hit a recipe development road block of the highest order. Not one, but two, of my recipes were not on track. The first, Eggplant Tartlets with Goat Cheese Tapenade, I was able to rescue with a little bit of work, but the other, for the first time I can recall in over a decade, ended up in my trash can.

It seemed innocuous enough. The idea was to pair roasted cauliflower florets and sauteed bacon together in a light bechamel with a little cheddar and scallions thrown in for good measure and encase it all in a little fried pie pocket. I really thought it would work and kept thinking of it as a little quiche in a pocket, minus the eggs.

Well, it didn't work, in a big, bad way. At first, the problem was I made the bechamel with buttermilk. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but forgetting its acidity, I added super pungent, grated aged cheddar cheese to the mix. The result was heinous. So, I kept adding stuff to it. First curry, then more pepper, then sherry, then honey, then a ton of black pepper. It was still heinous, except more heinous than ever. It clung to my tongue like unthinkable nastiness. The whole scenario reminded me of my mother's home haircuts when I was a kid - with bangs. She'd start off OK, but then angle off in the wrong direction (especially with my bangs) and keep cutting more and more and more, until I looked like some kind of moulting mutant with an evil step-sister and a bad pair of scissors.

Back to the recipe, finally, in a desperate desire for salvation, I added the prepped cauliflower and bacon, hoping it would muffle the bad taste. It didn't. Hmmm. What to do? I decided to give it a night to think it over, thinking maybe I could sift the solids out of the goopey sauce and start over in the morning. Well, I tossed it all this morning and started all over. I stuck with the basics this time - milk, bacon fat, flour, salt and pepper and big chunks of Edam added into the cold bechamel before stuffing the pies. The result was heavenly (see above).

I guess it helps every cook to stay humble and to remember that mistakes happen. Most importantly, the toughest lesson of all: Less is almost always more. Unless, maybe, it's your hair.

Happy cooking!

On the Town with Herb and Hen

Herb and Hen are my parents. Herb is my father's real name (short for Herbert Nicholas) and Hen is my mother's nickname. She acquired it at some point along the long journey of raising her four children and it is an allusion to the whole "mother hen" thing. Her real name is Margaret. It strikes me with no small irony that they both have "food" names, especially since they, like me, love great food and have little patience for or interest in bad food.

That's probably a big part of the reason they come to visit me twice a year here in the great food town that is Charleston on their seasonal treks to and from their dual homes in Kansas City and Naples, FL. They've been doing that for the decade I've lived here. It's hard for me to believe that Herb is now 77, Hen is now 75, and I'm now 45. Maybe it's the passage of time, maybe it's the irrepressible knock of mortality on our collective consciousness' door, or maybe it's just the growing pool of wisdom that comes with time, but each time they come, we seem to have more fun, learn more, and eat more. And, perhaps most importantly, try and be more patient and kind, as hard as that can oddly be with those you love most.

They just left here yesterday after a four-day whirlwind of "Doin' The Charleston" which, for us, meant long walks, big breakfasts (at home) and an indulgent round of restaurant dining. The hardest part was, like always, selecting where to go. Hen has her favorites (Magnolia and Hominy Grill) and is loathe to depart from the tried and true, despite my desperate urgings to try something new. Herb is a bit more adventurous, but embraces Charleston Grill as his long-standing "night out" restaurant. So, all of these (save Hominy Grill due to schedule logistic issues) made our list, and we threw Al di La into the mix, for good, Italian measure.

After a long morning walk, Magnolia was the first gustatory target on day one. Hen loves the linens and lovely look of the place; we all love it for its consistently delicious Southern flared food. The fried chicken, mashed potatoes, pepper biscuits, pan gravy and super fabulous collards was my selection. Herb and Hen were decidedly more restrained in their respective ahi ahi and flounder dishes. All was amazing and we were left pondering the amazing legacy Executive Chef Donald Barickman has left upon this town. His touch is everywhere and still graces the goodness at Magnolia.

Al di La's panini (especially the mozzarella, arugula and prosciutto variety), steaming creamy tomato soup, and shepherd's salad, all served with $7 off on all bottles of wine on a quiet Tuesday were the tasty precursors to the final coup de grace that lurked later that evening at Charleston Grill.

Is there a more beautiful dining room in all of Charleston? If so, I can only think of a few that come close. The deep, mahogany colored walls, multiple enclaves for Jonathon Green's artwork, and creamy upholstery all scream subtle sophistication in a decidedly Southern dialect. Mickey Bakst and his service staff make you feel like you're sailing first class on The Titanic. Not a single need goes unnoticed. And then, there is Michelle Weaver. Maybe one of the most behind-the-scenes, and publicly under-regaled chefs in town, Michelle does indeed weave magic. Her new tasting menu and recent additions to the standing menu - most notably the foie gras with a mascarpone cream nestled on sauteed apples and served with fryer-hot beignets - is worth a trip alone. The heirloom tomato salad (pictured above) burst with farm-fresh flavor and texture in Hen's mouth, while Hen and Herb both savored Charleston Grill's show-stopping crab cakes. All breads were warm and fresh from the oven, but the flavor that is not to be missed is the almost cake-like cornbread muffins, that sparkle with little golden gems of fresh corn.

Watch out, world! Charleston just keeps on getting better and consistently sets the most joyful stage imaginable for my familial visits. Thank you, thank you for all of you out there who make it happen! We all were walking with a heavier step and lighter hearts by the time Herb and Hen pulled out of the train station early yesterday morning. And, we'll savor all the memories forever. That's the greatest gift of all.

Fun with Pastry and Helene

Today I had the pleasure of visiting and shooting in Helene DuJardin's light-filled studio. We shot pictures of prepping, rolling and forming pie crust for the upcoming, drum roll please, Fall 2011 release of Southern Tart Reform. Those are my flour-dusted hands! Helene, the photographer and stylist for the book, is amazing. I loved chatting with her about the absolute uselessness of crazy kitchen gadgets and the purity of home-made pastry.

Tart, tarting away. Thank you, Helene.

Expecting the Unexpected

This week, I experienced a series of firsts. My first foray into West Virginia, my first visit to The glorious Greenbrier, and my first attendance at The Symposium for Professional Food Writers, a combination writing workshop, meet and greet among other food writers and awards/scholarship ceremony.

I had high expectations for all three, beginning with West Virginia. I was literally humming John Denver's Country Roads and thinking about "almost heaven" during the eight hour drive to Sulphur Springs from Charleston, SC. And, it was glorious. Life does feel older than the seas there. The softened curves of the ancient mountains cushion the valleys from the impatience and noise of modern day life and the air smells sweet, of sun and pine.

My father and many friends had warned me that I would be blown away by The Greenbrier. They were right. A hulking mass of white columns and startling high ceilings, it took my breath away upon first sight. It was like The Shining, minus the snow and the ghosts. The interior glows with an eclectic mish-mash of powder blues, pine greens, fuchsia, blood red and busy wallpaper designs that somehow work visual magic in a way that could only work here. The endless halls echo with palpable American history and the surroundings sweep you away with their beauty. My first morning there, a heavy cloud-bank swaddled the rooftop of the old building, just as the sun rose. It felt as if I'd accidentally caught the old girl stealing a nap and startled her into the new day.

And what a day it was, in fact what an amazing three days it was. I've been to award ceremonies before and I've been to writing workshops before. While pleasant, they're usually thinly veiled excuses for excessive partying and ugly ego battles. Though there was some partying, very little ego and so much more.

A star cast of pure talent from the publishing world, including "fonts" from newspaper, magazines and books, was on hand to generously share crystal clear and pertinent advice for food writers in today's ever-changing publishing world. Humor and unselfish giving of practical advice was as omnipresent as the delicious food and gorgeous flower arrangements. There was a genuine sense of appreciation for the unique challenges and opportunity our respective careers demand and afford; a kind of kinship that quickly forged its way into friendships with participants from around the world.

Much of the credit for this feeling of genuine camaraderie has to go to Symposium Director Antonia Allegra. Besides having arguably the best name on the planet, she also has a sincere love of the industry and exudes an almost maternal warmth, deep wisdom, and kindness. Like the cloud-bank clinging to The Greenbrier that early Monday morning, the "Allegra effect" touched everything and everyone in a way that made this symposium more than an opportunity to learn and to network, but a heart-touching memory of a lifetime.

Thank you, Antonia, and everyone involved in making The 2010 Symposium for Professional Food Writers at The Greenbrier everything that it was. It was, indeed, almost heaven.

Tart Tips from the Queen of Tarts

I'm currently writing my next cookbook, tentatively titled "A Tart for All Seasons" (Gibbs Smith, Fall, 2011). I'm having a blast with it, especially the recipe testing, and am planning on making occasional blog posts and sharing recipes with you as I continue on this sweet and savory journey. One of my biggest lessons so far, in writing this book and in life, is that cooking presents constant opportunities for learning and improvement. I think that's one of the things that makes cooking so wonderful.

My lesson yesterday, as I was testing recipes for what turned out to be a slew of tasty tarts (a Rhubarb/Dried Apricot Free Form Tart and a Creamy Fresh Crab and Salmon Quiche), was that pastry can be too cold to roll. It is contrary to the technique that's been pounded into my head since forever, including when I used to shiver my way through Parisian winter pre-dawn mornings in a frigid work room making croissants with a talented pastry chef named Celeste. My fingers were so blue that one day, when I accidentally slammed one of them in a stainless steel cabinet, I didn't feel the pressure that nearly cut off my frozen fingertip. It was a cold, hard reminder why fat in pastry needs to be cold. This is because cold butter or lard makes it easier to handle the pastry and keeps the fat in tact, distributed in chunks throughout the flour, that will ensure extra flaky pastry.

The long holiday weekend provided me with an opportunity to refrigerate/rest pastry I'd prepped on Friday for three full days. Impatient to get started yesterday, I removed the pastry from the refrigerator and slowly started preparing it to be rolled out by giving long, pressing taps to the pastry with my rolling pin. The butter balls within the pastry were so hard that they cracked in spots, making for a rocky rolling road. Next time around, I'll let the pastry sit for 10 - 15 minutes before giving it a whack.

The good news is that, despite the slightly uneven edges of the quiche crust, everything tasted delicious. I particularly enjoyed the Rhubarb and Apricot Tart/Tartlets, which present a delicious taste and visual ode to the late summer pink rhubarb stalks and the fall-like, deep orange hues and chewy texture of the dried apricots. I use pre-made puff pastry here, which is so much more exceptional than it used to be and makes really beautiful little tartlets with a lot less pain and time. Oh, and the box reminds you to thaw the dough ahead of time so it's not too crisp to unfold and flatten. Here's the recipe:

Rhubarb and Apricot Tartlets
(Makes 8 Tartlets)

1 package (two squares) Pepperidge Farm frozen puff pastry sheets

For the filling:

5 cups coarsely chopped rhubarb (about 5 stalks, trimmed)
1 cup water
1 cup coarsely chopped dried apricots
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon dried Valencia orange peel
pinch salt

Egg wash - 1 yolk, pinch salt, splash water, combined

Optional garnish: 1/2 cup slivered almonds or 1/2 cup whole, dried apricots

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Remove the puff pastry from the freezer and allow to thaw at room temperature for 40 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the filling. Combine all of the filling ingredients in a medium pot. Bring up to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rhubarb has broken down and is tender, about 30 minutes. It should have the consistency of a thick stew. Turn the warm mixture out into a bowl and refrigerate until cold. (Note: The filling can be made a day ahead and stored in the refrigerator).

To compile the tarts, line a baking sheet with a sheet of parchment paper. Lightly flour your working surface with flour. Arrange the thawed pastry sheets on the surface, and using a 6" wide round pastry cutter, cut them into rounds. Place the pastry, spacing evenly, on the prepped pastry sheet. Fill the center with 2 heaping tablespoons of the filling, being sure to leave a 1/2" thick border of "naked" pastry. This will rise up around the filling as it bakes! Brush the bare pastry lightly with the egg wash. If desired place a dried apricot in the center or drizzle the filling with some slivered almonds. Bake until the pastry is brown and beautiful and puffy, about 15 minutes.

These tarts are delicious fresh out of the oven and are also delicious served cold or at room temperature. They pair famously with best quality vanilla ice cream.

Happy tarting! Please contact me at hollyherrick@hotmail.com if you have any questions or leave a comment here.

Hydroponic Lettuce Now Available at Charleston Farmers Market

Tristan's High Flying Make-Under

About a week ago, I tuned into Oprah, and stumbled upon a show about people that were over-done with fake embellishments of every kind, mostly, it seems, because they had no sense of self or identity. Carson Kressley, make-under master extraordinaire, was on hand to de-puff and de-fluff, working wonders in the process.

Tristan, a decade-long standing powerhouse of culinary excellence that has exercised the muscles of talented chefs from Ciaran Duffy to Aaron Deal, has seemingly undergone a like-minded transition. The restaurant unveiled its "re-launch" on August 13.

I've often wondered, with all its wonders - great setting, marvelous staff, fabulous food - why Tristan hasn't automatically jumped out as a must-do in this city of all things delicious. Maybe, like Oprah's lost souls, Tristan was lacking a sense of self, too. Now, in its most naked and purest form to date, Tristan shines brighter than ever, especially in the hands of its latest maestro, Executive Chef Nate Whiting.

Gone are some of the things, I must admit, I liked. The sheer curtains that wrapped around the dining room, the zinnias that smiled prettily at the center of every table, and much of the bright, jangled art work. What's left is a pure, open space that invites peace, quiet and sophisticated dining. Gone, too, is the access to Market Street, no doubt to keep out the wandering, curious tourist masses that sometimes clogged this space in days' past. What's left is a peaceful, downtown dining enclave with freshly re-upholstered dining chairs and vanilla-hued table linens. And, the free, convenient valet parking is still intact.

Whiting, in just eight months, has composed a menu that is all his own. His style, like his smile, is refreshingly unfettered, unpretentious, slightly shy, and pure. Diners now can pick from a four course (2 appetizers, main course and dessert) prix fixe ($50), all selected from the new menu, or run rampant, selecting from the generous (but not overly done)a la carte menu.

Oven warm, house made sourdough rolls and fresh focaccia begged for the room temp butter it was served with and the warm weather-winner of an amuse bouche, a citron and fresh vanilla bean gelatin topped with cream and pine nuts, that followed was lovely. Both helped set the stage for what proved to be a most stellar evening of dining. Settled into the comfortable deep blue, deep-seated banquettes that line the dining room, my dining companion and I were charmed with the easy knowledge and banter of our server, who picked wines he felt "reflected" the tasting evolution of each dish we were about to savor. He hit the mark every single time and did so in a way that was absolutely not pedantic, yet absolutely endearing. A rare quality, indeed, and oh, so very welcome.

Whiting's pared down the froth and foam of Tristan's former She-Crab Soup ($8), fattening it up with pure lobster stock (the kind made from the shells that you can really taste) and beefing it up with authenticity. One of the best in the city, it was served at the perfect temperature over a cluster of fresh crab. Heaven could not get closer to earth in either the Roasted and Raw Beet Salad ($8) or the Marinated Heirloom Tomatoes salad ($8). The former, a composed salad of raw and roasted beet perfection, was artfully arranged, with whisper thin slices of veined purple and white beets here and roasted wedges of others, there, served over a whipped bed of tart/sweet local artisanal goat cheese and topped with chunky bites of salty, roasted pistachios. The latter flaunted fat, tempting chunks of multi-hued, skinless, plum-full-of-flavor heirloom tomatoes, a delicate mustard emulsion, a fat chunk of warm, tempered house-made mozzarella, and Lilliputian, super-crunchy, buttery croutons, rendering it one of the best things I've eaten all year. Bar none!

A refreshing and welcome intermezzo of peach and sage sorbet, served in Willy Wonka-like tilting, tiny bowls introduced just the right whimsical touch and gustatory invitation to the main course.

It may sound humble, "Diver Scallops (with) Scallop Mousse, Mustard Emulsion, Sauteed Asparagus & Prosciutto ($28), but it knocked beautifully on the door of perfection, yet once again. Whiting procures his scallops from a trusted fisherman in Maine, and do they deliver in the freshness and flavor department. Whiting's extreme skill is evident not just in the pillow-like, yet toothsome girth of his pretty scallop mousse balls, but in the temperature/browning balancing act he puts to work in the searing and cooking process of the scallops. This plate is a Tristan mandate that is not to be missed. I was less enamored with the beef short ribs ($27), but maybe I was still stuttering in the afterglow of those scallops.

A silky, gently chocolate pot de creme, served in a see-through, tiny glass pot and topped with chunks of Fleur de Sel, was gorgeous with a taste of the cherry sorbet and stewed, warm cherries served with it. Our able, welcome server, described the order to consume it, and he was right. It was a one, two, three punch winner that carried me into dream-land that night.

Tristan's on a new path of individuality, successfully corralling a concert of talent like it never has before. It was similar to seeing a good, old, slightly over-done friend in an all new, modern and super-enhancing light. I think it would do Carson proud. I know it did me. Bravo, Tristan.

Tristan
10 Linguard Street
Charleston, SC 29401
www.tristandining.com
(843) 534-2155