Dilute the BBQ sauce with the vinegar and pour the solution over the chicken thighs in a zip-lock bag. Close the bag and massage to coat the chicken. Allow to marinate while preparing the pasta toppings.
Heat a tablespoon of olive oil and sear the green onions over medium-high heat until soft, 3-4 minutes, then set aside. Adding more olive oil as needed, sear the zucchini strips, covered, on medium-high heat in the cast-iron pan until golden brown, ~2 minutes per side. Snip the cooked zucchini into bite-sized pieces and combine with the cooked green onions and basil in the serving dish for the pasta.
Now would be a good time to boil water for that pasta, by the way.
While the water is coming to a boil, using the same cast iron pan, sear the jalepeño rounds on medium-low heat, making sure to use adequate ventilation. Remove from the pan and set aside. Increase the heat to medium-high and add the chicken, bone-side down, and the BBQ sauce. Cook, covered, turning once, until the juices run clear, 4-5 minutes per side.
Meanwhile, cook and drain (but do not rinse) the pasta, then toss it with the onions, zucchini and basil, adding additional olive oil to coat if it seems dry. Top with the grated cheese. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste.
The chicken will have a slightly spicy flavor it picked up from the pan (from when you cooked the jalepeños), but serve each thigh with a few more rounds of the spicy green pepper for those who want a little more heat.
For this week’s peek into the Bucchere Family “cookbook,” I’ve adapted and hybridized both my grandmothers’ recipes to create this simple, refreshing beet salad. I often serve it with other simple things like sandwiches but, with its mild sweetness, it also serves as a great accompaniment to a savory meat or fish course.
Golden beet salad with fresh oregano from my deck
1/2 lb of fresh yellow or red beets (but not both together, because the colors bleed when they touch)
Wash the beets, but do not peel them. Drop them into boiling water for 10-15 minutes or until they can be easily pierced with a fork. You can roast them instead in a jellyroll pan at 400° for 10-20 minutes (again with skin on). I’ve found that how you cook the beets doesn’t change the taste of this dish, so it’s entirely up to you.
Once cooked, let the hot beets rest for another 10 minutes (or so) until they’re no longer too hot to touch. At this point, the skins should just fall off. Once you’ve removed all the skin, slice the beets up into bite-size chunks and place them in a serving dish. Add the olive oil, oregano, salt and pepper and stir to coat.
And . . . you’re done.
The dish can be served as is at room temperature or allowed to chill for up to three days in the fridge.
Optionally, you can crumble goat cheese on top. If you do, wait until right before serving. Unless you like pink goat cheese, that is.
Start with the sauce, since longer cooking times lead to a richer, sweeter taste (and lasting relationships). Pour the olive oil and one piece of the diced onion into a large pot and apply medium-high heat. When the one piece of onion starts to sizzle, add the rest of it. (Now’s a good time to open the cans of tomatoes, if you haven’t already.)
Stirring often, sautée the onions until golden brown, then reduce the heat to medium-low, pushing all the onions to one side of the pot. This should cause the olive oil to pool on the other side. You’ll need at least a tablespoon, so add more if necessary.
Now comes the part you’ll want to practice before trying to impress your special someone. (Or just do it before she arrives, leaving plenty of time to air out the house if needed.)
Understanding how to work with garlic makes the difference between tantalizing him or bringing her to tears. The secret: medium-low heat and good timing. Add the minced (or pressed) garlic to the hot oil and sautée until fragrant, but not burned. (If you burn the garlic, throw everything out — including the onion — and start over, knowing that your house will be safe from vampires for weeks.) When the garlic is “ready” (usually < 30 seconds, but use your nose), mix it in with the onion briefly, and, working quickly, add the cans of tomatoes and stir, raising the heat back to medium-high.
If you smell anything acrid, if your nose hairs are burning or if your eyes are watering, throw everything out and start over.
On the other hand, if things seem to be going well, add the oregano and about 3/4 of the chopped basil, reserving the rest for sprinkling on top. Add the bay leaf, salt, pepper and crushed red pepper to taste. When the sauce starts to bubble, reduce the heat to create a nice, even simmer. Give it a stir every ten minutes or so to make sure it’s not burning. Taking a break to stir means you can stop and give someone samples, so she can taste the subtle sweetness emerge from this Southern Italian staple, something many of us call “gravy.”
Now, it’s time to let the machines do the work. Use a food processor to pulverize, in this order: the bread, the cheese, the quartered onion, the garlic, the basil and the egg. Combine with the milk, 1T of oregano, salt, pepper and the crushed red pepper (optional) and mix into the ground meat, something that we traditionally do with our bare hands. The mix should stick and hold together, but barely. If things seem too dry and aren’t sticking together, add a little more milk or another egg, beaten. If things feel too loose, add some breadcrumbs. Be careful not to use too heavy of a hand with either, as this is a really good way to screw up a nearly complete recipe.
Now is another great time for samples. Take a pinch of the raw meatball mix and share it with your guest. (How this part goes might be a leading indicator of things to come.)
Form the meatballs (using your bare hands is best). They should be larger than golf balls but smaller than cricket balls. As you form each one, drop it into the sauce. Continue until you’ve finished the mix. Continue to simmer on low heat for at least 30 minutes to several hours (adding water as needed to keep those babies submerged). Try not to stir, at least initially, until you’re certain that the meatballs have cooked through and solidified. Even then, stir carefully! Remember, we designed these puppies to crumble when touched with a fork.
Instructions (Pasta & Serving)
When you’re about 20 minutes from your special dinner, cook the pasta to al dente, drain, combine with sauce and 2-3 meatballs each. Top with the remaining chopped basil and grated pecorino romano.
Whereas I normally appreciate feedback on my recipes, I’ll understand if you’d rather keep the results of this one all to yourself.
Had more fun last week with Farmigo’s amazing meats, this time searing Casa Rosa Lamb Chops in my cast-iron skillet.
This meal was too simple to deserve a recipe. I cut the chops into four pieces and seasoned them with sea salt, pepper and sumac. After searing about 2 minutes per side in a covered skillet, I served on a bed of fresh oregano with a side of strawberry jam and sprinkled with a pinch of pink Hawaiian sea salt.
It’s especially hard when so many delightful years of swing outs, lindy circles and sugar pushes suddenly come to a screeching halt like they did last night, when Le Colonial ended its ten-year, four-night-a-week run of free live lindyhop, balboa and swing music.
My wife — whom I met 16 years ago this Saturday (you guessed it) lindyhopping — and I have been going steadily to this lovely venue 2–3 times a month since 2011, usually on Wednesday nights. There we’ve cultivated scores of friendships with dancers from age 9 (our daughter, who often accompanied us) to age 85 (Bernie Schindler, an amazing human being who deserves his own blog post, if not a whole book). We’ve celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, engagements; we’ve loved and we’ve lost; and we’ve mourned those who’ve traded in their wingtips for wings.
In light of this news, there’s been significant chatter in the local dance community — both online and off — about why it happened. While it’s easy to point fingers at the management, it’s important for us to consider that there’s more than one side to this (and any) story.
To properly frame this discussion, first I need to offend every lindyhopper on the planet by stereotyping all of us into two broadly generalized groups:
1. People who dance for sport, wear snap pants and headbands, carry towels and water bottles and generally view dance as (fun) exercise
2. People who dance for the scene, wear vintage clothes, drink alcohol and generally view dance as fun per se, but also as a means of socializing
Of course, it’s a spectrum, not a binary system. In fact, I put myself squarely in both groups. There’s a time and a place for both, for me. Everyone’s different.
Back to Le Colonial. They had the beautiful problem of attracting both kinds of dancers (and everything in between). Just as it would be strange if I showed up at Lindy in the Park on Sunday morning in a three piece zoot suit, vintage tie and spectators, it would be just as weird to bring my gym bag, wear shorts, change shoes tableside and eat my own food and drink out of my own water bottle at Le Colonial.
When all is said and done, both groups of dancers bear some responsibility for Le Colonial’s decision because we didn’t spend enough money on food or drink to justify the ruckus we made (often generating complaints from dinner guests and unwelcome visits from management). Far too many of us dressed like schlubs, carried in way too much luggage and were rude to the staff. Add to that the constant game of musical chairs that happens between songs, which drives the servers — who routinely also get kicked, body checked and stomped on — straight up the wall.
Despite all these problems, live music could one day return to Le Colonial. For it to work, however, the restaurant needs to stop trying to be a restaurant and a lounge and a bar and a dance hall all at the same time. They would need to block off the main staircase leading up to the lounge and turn the whole thing into a proper music venue. Then, they would need to convert the Sutter entrance into box office and — gasp! — sell tickets. Remember, the musicians we love — and who love us back — need to pay the rent, buy food and keep the lights on. With a $10 or $20 cover, there wouldn’t be so much of a need for dancers to buy food and drink. For Le Colonial and the band, food and drink purchases would be gravy, with the meat and potatoes coming from the cover charge.
Bottom line: we dancers — in either camp — out of respect for the venues and the musicians, need to follow the “When in Rome” principle, saving the shorts and All-Stars for the 9:20 Special and trying to look our best when dancing at classier places like Le Colonial. More importantly, we need to be wiling to put our money where our collective mouths and happy feet are.
Because you get what you pay for. Conversely, you don’t get what you don’t pay for.
We didn’t pay for the world class music we enjoyed for years.