Husk Remembers When

Time changes everything. Or, maybe not. A friend of mine remembers working with Sean Brock a decade ago when he was still a Johnson and Wales student working double-time as a cook at Sweet Grass Cafe, a humble southern comfort food joint. She called the 2010 James Beard winner "fried chicken boy" because he loved Southern Culture on the Skids and enjoyed throwing it around at their concerts. She remembers how "excited" he was when he left to start a new job at the celebrated Peninsula Grill. Kind of makes you smile, doesn't it?

As a restaurant critic and long-time observer of Charleston's ever evolving and increasingly delicious restaurant scene, I remember when Sean Brock first stepped up to the chef plate at McCrady's, in the wake of much lauded local chef, Michael Kramer's departure. Just in his 20's at the time, it had to be a significant challenge, but Brock pulled it off. Still flexing his southern muscles, the West Virginia native worked a lot of foams, froths and sous vide technique into his work at a time when no one else in Charleston was doing it. His culinary identity was a little jumbled, but never his food. McCrady's, to this day, remains one of Charleston's very best restaurants. Brock's exploration and evolution and talent are three of the biggest reasons why that is so.

Yet, at the just-opened Husk Restaurant, Brock's newest baby, all fried chicken boy's passions and experimentation pay off in a 100% perfect and pure southern way. At Husk, Brock's come home to the heart of southern cuisine and is breaking ground in ways that could safely be called revolutionary, if not super human. Brock's mantra and his mission is to create a new Husk menu daily using only ingredients produced and raised in the South. On the side, he grows his own heirloom plants from seeds he's rescued, tended and loved to ensure precious crops and southern traditions are not plowed under the deadly tills of mass farm production. Let's not forget the heirloom pigs he feeds, slaughters and cures, and the fact that he has a wife he adores and a life, to boot. Yet, when he was beaming down at his smoked bacon cornbread at the soft opening I attended a few weeks ago, he looked like a little boy that had just gotten first prize at the school fair. So excited, and ebullient and jubilant was he. Kind of makes you smile, doesn't it?

Brock's passion oozes from every lovely pore of Husk. Situated in a lovingly and painstakingly restored single house on sleepy Queen Street, its decor is polished with exceptionally tasteful southern love. Just like the food, there is nothing cliche in the decor. No gingham, no chintz, no frills. Hard pine floors, muted, earthy tones, and gorgeous ceiling to floor draperies dress the setting. Dried okra pods in a vase full of stone-ground grits are the organic, lovely center-pieces while cloth, grit-fragrant, grit bags house some of the most decadent salt and benne studded Parker House rolls you could ever hope to eat.

An adorable, miniature brick kitchen house is the sleek and sophisticated-yet-still country bar. Brock pays homage to all of his well-vetted artisinal suppliers on his ambitious daily menu. A huge blackboard at the front of the restaurant repeats the theme. I'm happy to see that Brock and his team have scaled back a bit on things since the soft-opening. The man, as hard as it seems to believe at times, is a human and there are only 24 hours in a day. Gone are the "snack" options - small matter because similar options are available at the bar. It frees up time for attention to the food - and that is what outshines everything at HUSK. Above all, it is the reason to go.

I could go on and on about all the things I sampled last night when I was there - such as the sublime Cornmeal Dusted Triggerfish (pictured) on a Potato Puree that flirted with butter and fennel in the most delicious way, but there is no point. Today's menu will be altogether different. I predict that's all that's ever going to change at HUSK. Brock's brought the South home, to where it's always been best, rooted closely to the earth and heritage cooking. HUSK's only going to get better from here. Reserve your seat today. The wait's only going to get longer.

Husk Restaurant
76 Queen Street, downtown Charleston
(843) 577-2500
www.huskrestaurant.com

A (Temporary) Farewell to Tarts

It's been five long months in the coming. Nights of creative tart thoughts turned into mornings of new tart recipe creations, followed by afternoons of buttery aromas wafting through the house, followed by yet another evening of tart possibility dreams.

It was an exciting time. Despite the tarts' relentless creativity call, it was a welcome opportunity after nearly a year on the road promoting Charleston Chef's Table (Three Forks, Dec., 2009) and Southern Farmers Market Cookbook (Gibbs Smith, June 2009). Being in the kitchen, is, after all, what I love best. So, to be there, snuggled in the warm aromas of baking tarts and tartlets, with the loving shadows of my dog Tann Mann and cat Chutney within flour-dusted arms reach, was pure delight.

We developed a cadence, the three of us. First stop, coffee and breakfast for me, food and walks for them. Next stop, the meditative process of making pastry, sometimes three batches at a time for the late morning and early afternoon recipe testings. Once the tarts were out of the oven, the next step was to deliver them to neighbors and, on some days, the construction crew that was building the house across the street. It was nurturing and peaceful and fluid. And, even when the taste-testing news was not always perfect, it always felt like a good days work.

Well, now the house across the street is complete, and so is the recipe testing stage of "Tart Love" - Sassy, Sweet, Savory and Southern. The simultaneous timing of the end of the house building and tart creations seems ironic and emotional, somehow. The next step, starting tomorrow, is to complete the writing of the book, which will be released next fall (Gibbs Smith). Saying goodbye to the tart-making step of the process feels a little bit like sending a young child off to school. I can bid goodbye, only knowing they'll be back later that afternoon (or later this holiday season) to warm my heart and my belly. For now, the final writing and editing stages begin and I'll have to bid a temporary farewell to my beloved tarts until they come back to me in book form sometime next year.

I can't thank my wonderful photographer Helene DuJardin enough for her tireless efforts and beautiful photography. My neighbors and pets always get thanks, just for being them. The photo above is of the final tartlet tested for the book, and it's not by Helene (just so you know!), but by me. They are Pimento Cheeseburger Tartlets, savory, final odes to a wonderful journey I will not soon forget.

Look for recipes from the nascent book in the several months prior to its eventual release in fall 2011. Happy cooking!

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.