Shrimp-stuffed chiles

I would be hard-pressed to choose one thing that I miss most from my life in California.  There were so many great aspects of just existing in Santa Cruz that to pluck one out and put it on a pedestal might possibly render it lackluster–or, at the very least, a victim of nostalgia.   But lets face it; great friends, great pubs, great food, great wine, great coffee houses, great weather, great hiking, biking and running are really hard to come by all in one place.

Oh, don’t get me wrong.  I don’t pine away for my life there.  I love my life right where I am.  But every once in a while, particularly when March rolls around and the first green shoot of spring is still 2 months away, I miss my home state very much indeed.

Which, come to think of it, is probably why  in the little free time that I have, I’ve been filling the refrigerator with homemade spicy salsas, roasting and freezing the few fresh poblano chiles that I can find in the mainland grocery, and dreaming up recipes that echo the flavors of a past life in warmer climes.  Here’s one of them:

Shrimp-Stuffed Poblanos

Serves 4, 342 calories per serving (but don’t quote me on it)

Ingredients:

4 large poblano chiles

1 sweet potato, peeled and cut in small dice

1/2 cup frozen corn kernels

5 small shallots, peeled and sliced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 T. olive oil

1/2 t. salt

1/2 t. Adobo seasoning (I really don’t know what this is.  Penzey’s Spices sent it to me as a sample and it’s been sitting on my spice shelf for many months.  But it smelled good and I was in a bit of a hurry, so I tossed it in.  I imagine a little cumin, oregano, ground chile might give you a similar result)

1 lb. raw Maine shrimp, peeled

4 oz. feta cheese, crumbled

2 T. pinenuts, toasted

Salsa

Method:

Roast the chiles.  I do this by turning two of my stove burners to the highest flame possible and setting the whole chiles side by side on the burner grate.  As the skin blackens, I turn the chiles with tongs.  Roast the chiles until the skins are completely blackened, then place in a heat-proof bowl, cover the bowl with a plate and allow the chiles to “sweat” until they are cool enough to handle.  When the chiles are cool, scrape off the blackened skin (I use the sharp edge of a pairing knife held at a 45 degree angle), make a small lengthwise slit in the chiles and remove the veins and seeds.  Set the chiles aside.

Heat the oven to 400 degrees.  Toss the sweet potatoes, shallots, garlic and corn with the olive oil, salt and Adobo seasoning.  Tumble this mixture onto a sheet pan and roast until the vegetables are tender.

Put the vegetables into a heat-proof bowl and toss in the shrimp, feta cheese and pinenuts.  With your hands, stuff this mixture into the prepared chiles, place the chiles in a lightly oiled pyrex dish, reduce the oven temp to 350, and heat the chiles until the shrimp is cooked; about 15 minutes.

Serve hot, with salsa and a spoonful of pinto beans if desired.

I say scallops, you say scahlups

Bert Bingham called the other day wondering if I was interested in scallops from Art Beal, a fisherman in Stonington.  Here,they sell them by the gallon or the quart, and if you are lucky enough to buy them off the boat and get them into your freezer, then you can have fresh-from-the-sea tasting scallops until next January.

I bought a gallon from Bert and two gallons from Louise and haven’t had this many scallops at my disposal since I worked at the inn.  Then, they were the size of filet mignon, and I’d grill them lightly, serve them with a spicy, slightly thinned Spanish romesco sauce, fresh watercress and call it dinner.  Nothing fancy, but for guests that had never had a scallop this close to the source, it was pretty much life changing.  I count myself in that category.

Confession:  Before I moved to Maine and took a job as a cook at the Keeper’s House, I had never before in all my years working in restaurants or experimenting at home, cooked a lobster, a piece of haddock or halibut, or a single scallop.  My potential Maine employers really should have asked me these things right off, but I’m glad they didn’t.  I’ve lived much of my life trial by fire–and though I don’t recommend it–it’s turned out alright so far.  A thick skin, a well-developed ability to laugh at oneself, and grace under completely humiliating conditions are essential.

I remember the first time I served lobster at the inn; I was filling in for Deena, the regular Sunday cook.  I had practiced killing live lobsters by steam all week at home, and had disassociated myself enough that I could do it while keeping a relatively tight reign on my facial expressions.  You have to remember: I’m a California girl, through and through.  I had become a vegetarian when I was 10, and was a card carrying member of PETA by the time I turned 13.  Sure, that was all a long time ago, and I’ve been totally omnivorous for years now, but killing lobsters was a totally new activity for me, and I wanted to make sure I could do it without flinching.

Turns out my biggest mistake that night wasn’t the fact that I insisted, much to the embarrassment of my native Maine co-workers, on saying a little prayer of thanks to the little lobster souls that went of up in steam; it was the fact that I served them with a delicate champagne buerre blanc (in place of melted butter), and an artistically stuffed tomato (rather than potato salad).

Louise, who was the prep cook and dishwasher that night–and who, clearly, was not won over by the latest non-native installation in her kitchen–rolled her eyes as I whisked butter into my champagne and shallot reduction and said, “Seems like a pain in the ass when melted butter and a wedge of lemon has been good enough for the last 20 years.”

Okay, so Louise and I didn’t always see eye to eye in those days, but I took her well-learned advice to heart that night, and by the time the Keeper’s House closed in October of 2005 we had stripped down “lobster night” to it’s barest New England roots–a dinner of lobsters, corn and mussels layered with rockweed, cooked in a single steel pot over an open fire on the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. And served on paper plates with coleslaw and potato salad–paper cups of congealing butter on the side.  It couldn’t have been more perfect.

My battle with the scallop wasn’t so hard fought, unless you count how much crap my neighbors give me for the way I pronounce it (see title, above).  It’s hard to ruin a good scallop, and even in my inexperienced hands, they gave us some great dinners at the inn.  Lately, I’ve been enjoying them tapa style, with other small dishes, in lieu of dinner.  And every once in a while, I catch myself saying it the Maine way, and am always shocked when no one notices.

Here’s that recipe for the Romesco I mentioned at the top of this post.  It’s my adaptation of Spanish kitchen goddess Penelope Casa’s recipe in The Foods & Wines of Spain. And given that it’s March 1st, and not July, the scallops are seared rather than grilled.  Instead, I’ve pan roasted the tomato and the garlic to get that nice charred flavor.

Maine Scallops with Romesco Sauce

Ingredients:

• 2 dried New Mexican chiles, stems and seeds removed
• 1 c. water
• 1/2 c. red wine vinegar
• 1/4 c. olive oil
• 2 slices French bread
• 1 large tomato
• 2 oz. blanched almonds, lightly toasted
• 6 cloves garlic
• salt
• 1 lb. sea scallops, rinsed and dried, hinge muscle removed
• a large handful of roughly chopped fresh watercress

Method:

Rehydrate the dried chiles by placing in a saucepan with the water and the vinegar, bring to a boil and simmer for 5 minutes.  Drain and allow to cool.

Heat a large skillet over high flame, and toss in your unpeeled cloves of garlic.  Pan roast until the skins are charred and the flesh is soft.  Remove from pan and allow to cool.  Add olive oil to hot skillet and pan fry the bread until golden on both sides.  Remove from pan.  Add whole tomato to hot skillet and pan roast until skin is blackened and blistered, and juice begins to ooze out of the fruit.  Remove from pan and allow to cool.

Peel the garlic, remove the stem end from the tomato and peel that too.  Place all ingredients in a food processor, including any remaining juices and olive oil from the skillet.  Whir until the mixture resembles a slightly chunky paste.  Add a little extra olive oil and salt to taste.  Set aside.

Season the scallops with salt and pepper.  Wipe down the skillet, smear with a thin layer of olive oil and heat over a high flame.  When the pan is very hot, sear the scallops, a few minutes on each side and so they are golden and slightly caramelized.  Deglaze the pan with a generous splash of sherry, madeira or white wine, and continue to cook scallops until they are slightly firm to the touch, but with a fair amount of give in the center.  Remove the scallops to a clean plate heaped with the watercress, add any remaining juices in the skillet to the Romesco–and thin the sauce to your desired consistency.  Serve the warm scallops with the Romesco on the side.

Fish stew: it’s good for what ails ya

It began with the flu, just after returning from a Christmas visit with family up in Caribou.  I rallied for long enough to visit with a few friends who were in town for the holidays, then relapsed with an annoying cough and painful chest cold.  I’ve been craving this simple fish soup–brothy, hot, and–most importantly–spicy.  Steve and I are combining forces and putting it together tonight, and I can’t wait to sop of every last drop with a hunk of freshly baked baguette.

Spicy Fish Stew

Ingredients:

• 1 lb. haddock (or other mild white fish), cut in pieces
• 1 lb. raw shrimp, peeled  and deveined
• 1/2 large yellow onion, or one large leek, chopped
• 1/2 yellow pepper, cut in small dice
• 2 ribs of celery, or 1/2 small fennel bulb, cut in small dice
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2-4 T olive oil
• 1 28-oz. can whole or diced tomatoes
• fennel seed (if not using fresh fennel)
• dried thyme
• ground turmeric
• crushed chile
• saffron threads
• water
• white wine
• a handful of parsley leaves, minced

Method:

Heat olive oil in large pot (I think it matters that it’s a beautiful pot, if you have one, especially if you’re making this to exorcise a cold or the flu.  I use my green Le Creuset–a wedding gift from dear friends.  There’s something about this lusty looking stew in that green pot that just makes my heart sing!).

Add a pinch or two of each spice–the thyme, turmeric, fennel seed (if using), saffron (just a pinch will do) and crushed chile–and heat until they become very fragrant.  A few seconds or so.  Then add the onion/leek, celery/fennel bulb, pepper and garlic all at once.  Toss in the olive oil and cook until soft.

Add the tomatoes and their juice, and, if they’re whole, crush them in the pot with a potato masher.  Fill the tomato can half with water, half with white wine and add to the pot.  Cook until bubbling, then simmer for a short or long while.  If you’re making this ahead of time, go ahead and stop here.  It’s best if all those spices really have a chance to season the stew over time, so hours or even a day ahead improves it.  But if you’re like me, and don’t plan past the morning, just forge ahead.

After the stew has simmered and is very hot, and just before you’re ready to eat, add the fish and shrimp.  Cook for a few minutes, until the fish is cooked through, then toss in the parsley and give it all a good stir.

Serve immediately in pretty wide bowls, accompanied by warm crusty bread slathered in good butter.