Don’t quote me. (THE CHELSEA MARKET COOKBOOK)

A while back MG and I contributed some recipes to a secret project. Now the official Chelsea Market Cookbook is here! Let the world be exposed to Metalbelly‘s Texas Chili and my own golden garlic butter, that mysteriously tastes just like movie popcorn, as well as great stuff from people way more famous than us… lots of them! Check it out at Amazon.

One of my recipes, originally titled ‘Market Fish Stew’, was retitled Provençal Fish Stew and likened to a bouillabaisse in its description. While the use of leeks, fennel and pastis are typical of Provence, I have to admit my dish is way too simple (and adaptable) to hold court in the tradition of bouillabaisse. If the recipe I developed for the Chelsea Market Cookbook is a speedboat, the bouillabaisse I ate many years ago, at a tiny port restaurant in Marseille, was a French naval ship.

That first time, I didn’t really know what I was in for while hunting for the historic soup, but my goal was to find the perfect place to eat it. It should be noted, this was before personal opinions could be publicly accessed with ease. I couldn’t look at scores of reviews, there was no googling to be done. These were my early days of culinary exploration and because there were fewer resources, I was honing the skill of spotting a real deal restaurant by wits alone. With each new travel, in seas of tourist traps and among hordes of menus and foreign words, finding the local gem just by scanning the immediate details became my superpower.

The day I went shopping for bouillabaisse, I was on a solo mission with no one to translate or steer. As I wound through the streets of the port I scanned for a place with just the right light, a healthy level of sound, happy relaxed guests and staff, good smells. My ideal was smallish in size and maybe a bit off the path. Scan the menu, is it traditional and also unique? Is there variety, is there a clear specialty? This is the first glance.

I found my spot and ordered a bouillabaisse. Soon after, the waiter presented me with a plate of raw Mediterranean fish and various sea animals. However confused, I signed off with a nod. He disappeared leaving me to devour a whole basket of bread and rouille, a garlic and saffron ailoi, named for its color (rust). Rouille is a mandatory part of a bouillabaisse, meant to be sunk in the bottom of the soup, making the broth thicker and richer –not eaten as an appetizer. The waiter came back with a huge bowl brimming with the seafood in an incredible broth, thick with fishy shrapnel and a little gritty with seasonings. As I worked my way through that bowl of perfectly cooked fish, my guy refilled broth from a tureen and bread/rouille as needed. It was impossible to stop eating this bottomless bowl, and I probably took down enough for four people.

Sorry to report that I don’t know the restaurant name or the street it was on. I didn’t write notes on food then or take pictures of my meals with the enormous Nikkormat I was probably carrying. Since this momentous meal, I have researched and discussed many more details of regional French cooking, learning that there is much debate about what an authentic bouillabaisse really is; seasoning, type of fish, order of plating, etc. In my food-obsessed travels I realize that eating any dish in the place of its origin is such a unique sensory experience that it is hard to describe the final criteria when looking for the best local spot. One might say that you have to give yourself over to the place you are visiting, and its customs, in order to be admitted passage to an authentic experience. If you search for a restaurant with ketchup bottles on the table wherever you go, it is sure you will be denied this.

I walked Marseille top to bottom, letting it take me where it would. On a desolate road that ran alongside the sea, there were signs indicating boats in transit to/from Corsica, Italy and Algeria. I remember reading the exotic port names and feeling small and far away, isolated from the rest of the world (remember, no cellphones). I accepted that no one on the continent knew where I was at that moment and I could be anywhere according to the rest of the world. I continued into the ‘the pannier’ or old town which was a tight maze of narrow corridors. It must have been during a particularly quiet siesta because what was described to me as the must-see, crazy, condensed part of town was silent. The strange, lonely feeling deepened but didn’t last long. The noise level rose as the streets pointed back toward port and I turned a corner just in time to see an outdoor beer garden full of people (travelers) just like me. I hung with them for a bit before the desire to continue my loner journey resumed.

I bought some cheap cigarettes in an alleyway. I happened upon a gallery opening in a cavernous garage-like space with minimalist paintings and loads of wine. Way earlier that day I trekked around the moon rocks of the Calanques peering down at the very place the delicious bouillabaisse fish come from. Traveling with my stunning vintage Laguiole (like a good Frenchman), I sliced saucisson and broke bread under the immense statues of the Palais Longchamp before wandering the fine arts museum inside. At night I sketched the illuminated windows of St. Vincent de Paul and pretended I spoke only Bulgarian to maintain my solitude when approached by curious passers by.

I fell in love with Marseille and its briny breeze. Was intrigued by the local accent and its choppy Italian inflection, the cultural mash-up, the crossroads and that overall, “hey! we’ve got a port so we can go anywhere, but we stay right here” kind of feeling. And after taking all that in, I’m pretty sure I had a spot on bouillabaisse that day.

What’s delicious. (FROM COSTA RICA)

In a country where you can buy the above items (pictured: lemongrass, kale/lettuces, avocado, papaya, watermelon, cantaloupe, pineapple, strawberries, freshly baked bread, oranges, honey, carrots, zucchini, mangos, beets and caimito (or star apples) on a sunny morning at the organic farmers market, the local cuisine cannot possibly be bad. It was my observation in Costa Rica that the more simply a food was prepared, the more impressive it was.

Items just grilled or lightly dressed with lemon or blended into a smoothie/juice were by far the best things we experienced. The produce is so fresh and beautiful, it needs very little assistance to be outstanding. And eating food that is so so simple and clean really makes for an energetic and healthful travel, despite the few sniffles passed around among the babes.

Perfect fish plucked from the sea at arms distance was the second best thing around. It was all one needed to eat in addition to that amazing produce. There were places for unique ceviches and fish grilled over hot coals. There were crispy deep-fried seafood platters and even some raw offerings. All outstanding. The local beverage, young coconut water, could be found everywhere. Sold in the shell under the name agua de pipa (or pipa fria if served cold), the big, green coconuts were hacked open, dressed with nothing but a straw and ready to drink on the side of every road, in every market, on the beach, etc. There was even  a tiny ‘easy open’ variety for convenient transporting.

But what good is a foreign food experience without some splurging? I had never before heard of this cake and have since learned it is a Tico specialty even though it bears another country’s name. The Torta Chilena is a sugar bomb that alternates dulce de leche with a crumbly cake in thin layers of sin. It was so good and terribly decadent. If you see one, run! …about four or five miles per slice eaten.

Happy Birthday Little G! Pura Vida! xoxo

Don’t lift a finger. (ROASTED TOMATO RELISH)

Dinner! After a whole day of stuff! Can be a tall order! For this reason I am often trying to create recipes that are quick and healthy and still fun and beautiful to prepare and eat. Like this guy, Roasted Tomato Relish, a dish I kept seeing in my mind and proposing on menus, ladled over baked fish or crostini or pasta what have you, but I had not actually made. I only knew how I wanted it to taste, bold and sweet and savory and tart all at once. I also wanted to use these gorgeous multicolored tomatoes, packing them with as much flavor as possible while they guard their shape and hue.

But let’s not overdo it! This recipe is so easy on purpose, it barely takes any effort at all or maybe it’s so fast that it’s like you don’t even care (but secretly you know that it will turn out awesome). Everything goes on a sheet pan and straight into the oven for 10-15 minutes. The thing is that all of the ingredients let off their juices during the high-heat cooking, co-mingling all by themselves on the tray. You don’t even have to stir. Slide everything into a bowl and done.

ROASTED TOMATO RELISH

2 pints of cherry tomatoes

12 fresh sage leaves, torn

1/3 cup chopped shallots

2 tablespoons flavorless oil (canola, grapeseed, etc.)

2 tablespoons olive oil

1.5 teaspoons sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons lemon juice + 3 sliced rounds

2 cloves garlic, chopped

• Preheat oven to 400F.
• Place tomatoes on a sheet pan and toss with remaining ingredients. 
• Place in the oven for 10-15 minutes or until tomatoes have split and softened.

Good times.

Paired with this. A taste adventure.