Category Archives: Food

Where to Find Your Safe-to-Eat Razor Clams

Seattle PostGlobe tipped us off to this Three Sheets Northwest story on the razor clam season opening tomorrow, October 16. The department of fish and wildlife has given the okay for digging on five Washington coast beaches. You need a license if you’re over 15, and you’re allowed to dig up 15 clams.

That’s in contrast to northern Puget Sound, which the Seattle Times reports has a terrific case of “red tide” toxins. You don’t want to chance it: “The department said Thursday that tests found so-called ‘red tide’ toxin levels up to 100 times the closure level.” There’s a table of open/closed shellfish beaches here.

Béchamel Lesson #1: The Croques

Croque Madame

Now that we’ve already discussed the way to make a proper Béchamel, it’s time to move on to actual dishes. We’ll start with the Croque Monsieur and Madame, open-faced hot ham and cheese sandwiches helped along with a nice layer of béchamel and, in the case of the Madame, a sunny side egg; masterpieces of simple French fare and the kind of dish that, when made with good ingredients, rival any number of far more complicated preparations.

Seattle is not without Croque-serving restaurants–Café Presse has a nice one for $6 ($7.25 for the Madame), as does Bastille in Ballard, albeit for an alarming $9 ($11 for the Madame). If you are new to the Croque, these versions are worth trying. However, if you are truly interested in a superb Croque, you must be prepared to make it at home. Besides, except for the béchamel, making a Croque is not so much cooking as assembling.


Most important are your ingredients. First, make a well-seasoned Béchamel. For the bread, the traditional choice is thick-cut square white sandwich bread (in France, Pain de Mie), but I like a something a little more substantial, something like Grand Central’s Como bread or Essential’s Columbia loaf. Cut one 3/4” slice for each sandwich.

The Ham in a Croque is traditionally an unsmoked Parisian Ham, but really you should use whatever ham you happen to like. My favorite is Zoe’s Meats Applewood Smoked Ham–you can buy it at Delaurenti for a small fortune. Budget a few slices of ham per sandwich.

Now! I’ve been flexible up to this point, but as for the Cheese, there is absolutely no room for interpretation. It needs to be Gruyère, Swiss Gruyère or Gruyère de Comté (essentially the same cheese, but made in France). Do not buy domestic Swiss cheese. Do not buy Jarlesburg. Only buy real Gruyère. (That being said, a hot ham and cheese sandwich with sharp Cheddar is a glorious thing, it’s just not a Croque.)


Grate enough cheese to amply cover the top of each of your sandwiches. If you are going to make a Croque Madame, and I highly recommend that you do*, the eggs are your own affair, but it should be noted that the beautiful orange yolk of a sunny-side-up farm egg really ups the sexiness here.

To assemble your sandwiches, spread a thick layer of béchamel on each slice of bread; you can also add a thin layer of dijon mustard if you’re so inclined. Layer on your ham, followed by the grated cheese. Broil the sandwiches until the cheese is melted and bubbling and starting to brown. If you’re making a Croque Madame, fry the egg while you broil. Eat with knife and fork while still piping hot. And if you want to be really civilized, pour yourself a nice glass of white wine.

*I don’t believe I’ve ever actually had a Croque Monsieur as there has never been an occasion when I didn’t want a sunny-side-up egg.

Vacation Bread

Right now I’m on a rare vacation in rural Vermont: taking walks, looking at leaves and hosting house guests; and while house guests are really just friends, when then are staying with you they become something else. They become people whose needs are your problem. They become people who require coffee and sustenance. Hopefully they can make coffee. All you need to do is make some Oatmeal Bread.

This bread is an old-school American sandwich loaf–the kind we have all but forgotten about in our current mania for crusty, European-style breads. There exists a powerful collective nostalgia for this type of bread, and yet it is the type of all-purpose loaf that is almost impossible to find. It’s soft and homey, perfect with butter or as peanut butter toast, equally delicious when made into grilled cheese or as the foundation for glorious leftover-roast-chicken sandwiches. In other words, it will feed your guests for several meals a day and leave you time to do the crossword.

Made with rolled oats, a bit of honey and milk (or buttermilk!), this dough is relatively stiff and thus easy to knead by hand, in case your stand mixer is back in Seattle. I like to bake it in a loaf tin, but if you are without one, it’s just as happy baked freeform. As far as breads go, it’s pretty quick: about two and half hours from start to finish. Make it for yourself, make it for your friends. And if you’re lucky enough to be going on vacation this Columbus Say weekend, don’t forget to pack the recipe.

Oatmeal Sandwich Loaf

Makes one 8 or 9” loaf

3/4 cup water

3/4 cup old fashioned rolled oats

2 T unsalted butter

1 cup cold buttermilk or whole milk

3 tablespoons honey

1 envelope or 2 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast

2 3/4 cups bread flour

2 teaspoons salt

Bring the water to a boil, add the oatmeal and cook for an additional minute; remove from heat and stir in butter. When the butter is melted, add the milk or buttermilk, honey and yeast. Transfer oatmeal mixture to the bowl of a standing mixer, add the flour and salt and mix with hook attachment on low until dough is smooth and wraps around the hook (5-6 min.). If you are mixing by hand, put 2 1/2 cups of the flour in a large bowl, pour the oatmeal mixture on top and mix with a wooden spoon until the dough is stiff. Turn the dough out onto a surface that has been dusted with the remaining 1/4 cup flour and knead by hand until smooth.

Transfer dough to a greased bowl, cover and lest rest in a warm place until doubled, about one hour. Turn dough onto a floured surface and press all air out of the dough, then shape into a rectangle, roughly 6” wide. Roll the rectangle tightly starting on the 6” side and pinch in the end of the dough, making sure not to roll excess flour up into the loaf. Grease an 8 or 9” loaf pan and fit the dough into the pan, press the dough as needed so that it fits snugly. Let dough rise, covered for an hour or until doubled in bulk. Just before baking, make a 1/4” deep slit down the middle lengthwise of the loaf. Bake at 350 degrees F for 40 minutes or until golden brown (an instant read thermometer should read 200 F). Let rest in pan for 15 minutes, then unfold the loaf and let cool completely on a rack.

Saturday’s Mobile Chowdown Could Give Seattle a Good Idea

Skillet’s poutine, courtesy of The SunBreak Flickr Pool member 7502winona

Seattle magazine, as a side order of their October issue street food coverage, have cooked up a cool idea, a Mobile Chowdown featuring some of Seattle’s favorite food trucks: Marination Mobile, Skillet, Maximus Minimus, Kaosamai Thai, Gert’s BBQ, El Camion, Parfait Ice Cream, and Dante’s Inferno Dogs.

It’s this Saturday, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., at 1616 W. Bertona in Interbay. There’s also an ongoing Twitter contest for followers of @mobilechowdown. They’re asking one question each day from October 1 until October 10, (total of 10 questions) all having to do with the food trucks or the prize providers. The prize is dinner for two at Tilth Restaurant, a night at the Sorrento Hotel, and a year’s worth of Seattle magazine.


This is all very good. For a start. But the obvious question is why can’t I have my street food in one convenient location all the time? (Convenient, by the way, rules out Interbay.) This kind of forward-thinking is one more area in which Portland has Seattle beat. First of all, Food Carts Portland shames us with its very existence and abundance of wagon-prepared fare.


View Larger Map

But secondly, Portland has a street food corral downtown, where a wagon train of street food vendors have set up shop on the perimeter of what I vaguely remember to be a parking lot. This is a stroke of genius. Downtown workers are always in a rush to get a cheap lunch.

We still have the chance to one-up PDX on this, though.

We could line Occidental Square with carts (or run them down the center). That would give people (besides our wishfully labeled “transient” population) a reason to sit down and enjoy the tables and chairs set out there. If we wanted to progressive about it, we could even use the rent the city charged the carts to fund homeless services in the area. Who do we talk to about getting this going?

The Golden Ratio of Spaghetti Carbonara

The most delightful experience when cooking is to finally master something you’ve repeatedly messed up before. It gives one a sense of possibility–in cooking and in life. For me, this happened when first I made Ruth Reichl’s recipe for Spaghetti Carbonara.

Spaghetti Carbonara is meant to be eaten on cold nights in large bites and gulps. Made with eggs and bacon, it’s more sophisticated than the universally-beloved spaghetti with butter and parmesan, yet only slightly more complicated, and perfect when made for one or two.

Spaghetti Carbonara is a simple dish, but badly done, it’s really dreadful. I know, I’ve botched it before. First there was the time I made it for staff meal at the fancy restaurant where I worked. I dumped several pounds of hot cooked pasta into the eggs and lo and behold, the heat held by five pounds of pasta completely scrambled them–making a dish of dry pasta and coagulated egg. At least there was still bacon. Then there was the time that I ignored Ruth’s recipe and tried to get away with using an entire egg with a small batch of pasta for myself. The egg never cooked and most of it just sat, raw, at the bottom of my bowl. 

The solution to these mishaps is to never make Carbonara in large quantities and never ignore the golden ratio of Carbonara. Easier to remember than 1.6180339887, it is one large egg to half a pound of pasta. Less egg and it will be dry, more and there will be uncooked egg at the bottom of your bowl (which, as we’ve discussed, is totally revolting).

Slowly over time, my version of Reichl’s Spaghetti Carbonara has become adulterated, man-handled by cook friends and their ever-constant need to make perfectly good things even better. Now I add a bit of sauteed onion and a splash of cream. It hardly changes the essential character of the dish; and it does, truly, make this classic even better.

Spaghetti Carbonara

serves 2, but feel free to double the recipe

1/2 lb. spaghetti, cooked in plenty of boiling salted water

4 pieces of thick cut bacon, if it’s not thick cut, use six, (oh hell, use eight), cut into 1/2” wide pieces

A couple of tablespoons of chopped onions (for the love of god, do not actually measure this, use as much as you like, and if that means none at all, that’s fine by me)

1 large egg

Splash of cream (think about a couple of tablespoons; this is optional)

Much parmesan cheese

Salt and pepper

Boil water; start cooking spaghetti. In a saute pan, cook the bacon pieces until they are about halfway done. Add the onion and cook until golden brown. Meanwhile, in a large bowl, whisk the egg(s) with the cream, some salt and pepper, and finally the cooked bacon and onion. When the spaghetti is done, drain and immediately dump the hot pasta over the egg mixture. Quickly toss the bacon and egg mixture with the pasta until it is evenly coated, the egg will cook and thicken as you do this. Toss in parmesan cheese, season with more salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately with more parmesan cheese.

Béchamel, the Gateway Sauce

Béchamel, the classic white sauce used to make all manner of wonderful things–Macaroni and Cheese, the Croques (Monsieur and Madame) and Savory Soufflés to name a few–should unquestionably be part of your cooking repertoire. It’s not at all difficult and yet, it’s the culinary obstacle you never knew was there. Learn how to make it and doors will open for you.

Béchamel sauce (or more snooty-like: Sauce Béchamel) is a sauce that comes from the French culinary tradition and thus any discussion that ignores Mrs. Julia Child would be both callous and unwise, especially because ever since that Julie and Julia movie came out, everyone and their mothers (including both my mother and stepmother) went out and bought a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

If you have your copy in front of you, you’ll see that on page 57 Julia leads off the sauce chapter with this all-important sauce. Along with many many Americans, I learned how to make béchamel from this very recipe, these very instructions. The proportions are perfect, the method is foolproof, but over time I’ve noticed that my professional cooking friends do things a little differently.

The issue at hand is that of whether or not to heat one’s milk.

Béchamel consists of butter and flour, first cooked together to make a roux, then thinned with milk and finally seasoned with salt, pepper, and occasionally a dash of nutmeg and cayenne. In making béchamel, the enemy is lumpiness. There are two ways to avoid it.

The first, Julia’s method, is to heat the milk so that when introduced to the roux, it does not cause the mixture to seize or thicken, and voilà, no lumps. The second, the method I have now adopted, does not require you to heat the milk. Instead, cold milk is whisked little by little into the thick roux until it slowly thins out enough to be free of lump-danger. The second method is faster, but both are perfectly good ways of making béchamel. If you’re having trouble deciding which to use, you can think of Julia’s method as the pill: always effective, but requiring some advance planning; and mine as condoms: fast and 99% effective, provided you don’t foul up. In the recipe below, I’ve listed both methods.

Over the the next few weeks, I’ll be writing more about some of the aforementioned béchamel dishes and providing recipes. Master your sauce now and prepare for culinary delights. (And see that movie,  the parts about Julia Child are pretty great.)

Classic Béchamel

Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck Also of note: Julia believes that the only way to season a béchamel is with white pepper. I do not use white pepper, a spice I believe to smell strongly of foot and instead use regular old fresh ground black pepper. True, black pepper will slightly discolor your sauce, but that should only be a problem if you’re completely insane or if you happen to like the smell of foot.

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoons flour

2 cups whole milk (or at least 2%; use nonfat and you will regret it)

salt and pepper

(nutmeg and a pinch of cayenne)

Julia: In a small saucepan, gently heat your milk; once hot, let sit on low. Make your roux: in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. Stir in the flour and continue to cook on low, stirring constantly until the roux is nice and frothy but hasn’t darkened in color. Add the hot milk all at once, whisking well to incorporate. Let the sauce come to a boil, reduce the heat and let cook on medium low for about 10 minutes, until the flour is fully cooked and the sauce no longer tastes starchy. Béchamel is ready to be used or can be stored in the refrigerator (press plastic wrap directly to the surface to prevent a skin from forming) for several days.

Rachael: Measure milk, set aside, twiddle your thumbs. Make your roux: in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. Stir in the flour and continue to cook on low, stirring constantly until the roux is nice and frothy but hasn’t darkened in color. Here’s where things get interesting. Turn the heat up to high. You’re roux is going to get very thick when you add the first addition of milk, so add milk little by little, a few tablespoons at a time and be ready to whisk vigorously with each addition of milk. Go! After a few additions of milk, you’ll notice that the roux is (hopefully) still lump-free and starting to noticeably thin out. At this point, you can add the remaining milk in larger additions, continuing to whisk well. After all the milk is added, let the sauce come to a boil, reduce the heat and let cook on medium low for about 10 minutes, until the flour is fully cooked and the sauce no longer tastes starchy. Béchamel is ready to be used or can be stored in the refrigerator (press plastic wrap directly to the surface to prevent a skin from forming) for several days.