The Feast of Saint Patrick

This post was supposed to go up on St. Patrick's Day, but we were too destroyed to finish it. No, not by copious amounts of Guinness, but by food coma.

St. Patrick's Day. The day when everybody is Irish. Dress in green day. Annoyingly pinch those who aren't wearing green day. Drink some green beer day. Or as we professional drinkers like to call it: Amateur night.

While my curmudgeonly side likes to deride the, well, amateurs who come out to drink tonight, I do like St. Paddy's. Alannah (as if you couldn't tell by the name) is partially of Irish stock. And the other side is Scottish, who according to my good Irish friend are merely Irish who couldn't swim. Add to that our ability to out-drink people twice our size, and you can see why despite all the douchebaggery, we'd like this holiday.

So imagine my delight coming home from work this commercialized-by-beer-distributors holiday to find Alannah taking on an entire hurling team's worth of Irish. Foods. She was even kind enough to take pictures of what she was doing, knowing I like to show off her stuff on the web.

I came up to the kitchen and saw her furiously whipping something up on the stove. It smelled cheesy. It smelled boozy. It was... Welsh?

Surprise number one: Welsh rarebit. Following the recipe perfected by Fergus Henderson. You know, that famous chef in London. Ok, so maybe none of this was Irish, but it's the same archipelago, right? Besides, ever since eating at St. John on our latest trip to London, I'd been jonesing for the very version of beer-and-Worcestershire-spiked cheese-on-toast perfected by Henderson. Paired with a glass of port, I was having myself a very happy evening.

She then led me up to the kitchen to help her with the next dish: Colcannon. Alannah first made this for me last St. Patrick's Day, when I learned a) that it's delicious and b) that I'd had it before as part of an airline meal under its English name, "Bubble & Squeak."

"Colcannon" sounds much more manly, like an Irish porn star with a thick mustache. The English name sounds like there's a mouse squished in it. Nomenclature aside, it's a hash of potatoes and cabbage, fried like a patty. Simple, but delicious. Of course, Alannah can't leave well enough alone, so she used red cabbage and savoy cabbage. She had me fry up bits of smoky bacon to add to the melange before it was fried, just to make sure it was customized enough to qualify for an episode of Pimp My Ride.

Speaking of customization, she put me to work on the next treat: Soda bread. Irish soda bread is a quickbread. In lieu of making a yeasty dough and proving it over the course of hours, you use baking soda as the leavening agent and bake it straight away. It's like an English scone or American biscuit, only it's often made in a huge round as opposed to little individual morsels. Again, Alannah couldn't leave it alone. Borrowing from my Iranian side, she asked me to put in a fistful of barberries, aka zereshk. Along with a fistful of caraway seeds and a fat pinch of sugar, this customization makes for the most flavorful soda bread, lovingly bastardized with Persian flair. I fear our kids will look like this soda bread.

While I was on boulanger duty, Alannah was doing a bit of kneading of her own, working on her magical pie crust. For she had spent much of the day preparing the filling for what would become a Guinness-brisket-trotter pie.

For the uninitiated, a trotter is a pig's foot. It's smelly. Kinda hairy. And doesn't particularly have much meat. In fact, in the wrong hands, it's downright disgusting. (Have you seen the film Precious? There's some pig foot up in that joint.) But, again, Alannah was plying me with food perfected by Fergus Henderson. And thus, she'd spent the afternoon on "trotter gear." She scrubbed clean the pig's foot, chopped up the aromatics, then drowned it all in port. Delicious tawny port.

How 'bout a pictorial spread?

Tawny port. As Alannah told me she did it: Some for the pig.
Some for the cook. Repeat.

The trotter and its aromatics. Alannah says,
"Trust me, you need all the aromatics you can get."

Starting the stew side of things.

The trotter concoction had to simmer for hours, letting loose all the collagen from the skin and connective tissue, and infusing it all with a rich, fatty, gelatinous property. In the end, there's not really any meat to use, but liquid richness.

In the meantime, she had also started a cast iron pot of a standard beef stew, using a nice fatty brisket. Brisket isn't easy to come by in France. We learned this when trying to make corned beef last year. Alannah had to overcome her language barrier to explain to the butcher that we wanted cow belly. Not pork belly. Not veal belly. Full grown moooooo. At least, that's how I imagine she explained it. This year, it was much easier, because the butcher had apparently remembered last year's exchange.

Anyway, she went with brisket because she knew I love corned beef brisket, but simply didn't have three days to brine it and somehow manage to surprise me. And because it tastes good. No other meat has the texture of beef brisket. Stringy, striated, chewy, and unique to the cut.

When making a stew, it's good to brown the meat and vegetables before adding any liquid. In northern France, as with in the Isles, it's assumed that you'll do the browning with butter. Lots of it.

To quote Hugh Jackman in that horrible romantic comedy
with Meg Ryan, "Rich. Creamery. BUTTER."

We buy our butter and eggs in bulk from a dairy family at the local marché. First off because we go through a lot of it. When you bake as much as Alannah does, you need to buy in near industrial quantities. When you eat like I do, you want to be as far from industrial as possible, as much to stave off the early death from this sort of consumption, as well as because artisanal ingredients taste better. That and even the fanciest of packaged butters – even the one that every food blogger in France pimps and goes on about like a bleating goat – contains stabilizers and flavor-enhancing compounds you're not supposed to know about. So we buy huge hunks of butter by the kilo.

But I digress. The butter is important because it's also what makes the magical pie crust so damn magical. You know that scene in American Pie? You know which one. Yeah, well, Alannah's pie crust will make you want to recreate it.

So, back to the filling, eventually you do need to add liquid. In this case, the liquid is Guinness. Again, some for the stew, some for the cook. Note that his beer is, obviously, black. (Ok, it's a very deep brown, but even in Ireland, it goes by "the black stuff.") Green beer should never be consumed. Hell, beer in a green bottle is even a no-no by beer snob standards.

Anyway, the stew must also simmer for several hours to break down nicely. The trotter gear must then be drained so that the gelatinous substance that's left can be added to the stew to create the world's richest, booziest pie filling.

To be honest, it doesn't look very good. But it's a pie filling, for fuck's sake. It's going to be hidden by a crust of golden, buttery, flaky, delicious dough.

Guinness-brisket-trotter pie.
The richness will nearly kill you.

Once covered with a crust, a brief 20 minutes in the oven is all you need. It seems short after hours and hours of stewing, and the smell emanating from the kitchen is intoxicating and satisfying in and of itself. If you're feeling impatient, you can wait it out by having a Guinness.

Of course, such a dish must be enjoyed with yet another pint of the black stuff. (Or a Smithwick's if you can find it. No such luck this year in Paris.) The point isn't to get hammered, but to enjoy the richness and depth of meats cooked low-and-slow with the earthy, mild bitterness of a good beer. A good brew adds more dimension to a meal like this, and it's a reason the beer is in the stew to begin with.

But wait! There's more!

A proper holiday meal just isn't complete until dessert is served. Though I couldn't eat another bite, I always have room for Alannah's chocolate-stout cupcakes. Which are made with, you guessed it, Guinness.

Here's the thing: I hate cupcakes. I'm not sure it's because the whole cupcake trend was kicked off by the equally deplorable Sex & the City, or because something about the confection doesn't jibe with me. Maybe because they were (and in 4-years-behind-California-in-most-food-trends Paris, still are) trendy above all else, and utterly destroyed by all the people cashing in on the trend and producing fancified little chocolate or red velvet turds covered in buttercream. Read the only trashing review of the beloved Kara's Cupcakes in San Francisco, by yours truly. Then spread the gospel.

But Alannah's little cuppies are tha bomb. They're the first to sell out at every Paris charity sale she brings them to, and they're the first and only ones I've ever actually begged for. In fact, she refused to ever bake them for me until she knew I was the right guy.

They're that good. And even better with a little tawny port.

Happy amateur night to all.

Goin' Deep / Au plus profond

Deep Dish Pizza two ways / à deux façons

I have a confession to make: I don't really care much about pizza. I know that as an American, that's like saying I could give fuck all about Major League Baseball, Ford Mustangs, and Pamela Anderson's tits. Maybe that's why I moved to France. Before we got married, everyone asked Alannah how she could marry a heathen who doesn't care for pizza.

J'ai une confession : Je ne suis pas vraiment fan de la pizza. Je sais que comme américain, c'est comme dire que je n'ai rien à foutre au sujet du baseball professionel, le Ford Mustang ou les nénés de Pamela Anderson. Peut-être c'est pourquoi je suis venu à France. Avant de nous marier, tout le monde a demandé d'Allanah comment elle peut épouser un homme qui n'aime pas la pizza.

The truth is I do like pizza very much. I just don't subscribe to the theory posited in the film Threesome that "Sex is like pizza. Even when it's bad, it's still pretty good." Well, I don't agree with the pizza part. Good pizza is hard to come by.

En vérité j'aime beaucoup la pizza mais je ne crois pas la théorie du film Threesome ou on a dit "Le sexe est comme la pizza. Même lorsqu'il est mauvais, il reste bon." Bien, je ne suis pas d'accord avec la partie à propos de pizza. Une bonne pizza est difficile à trouver.

While pizza and Italian food in general have been improving vastly in France (you'd think this would never have been an issue considering the proximity), and while the toppings are varied and often creative, the styles are severely lacking. You have your authentic Italian thin-crust, wood-fired oven variety, as well as the godawful pseudo-American kind like Pizza Hut and Speed Rabbit.

Bien que la pizza et la nourriture italienne ont bien amelioré en France récemment (ouais, c'était un problème, même avec la proximité de l'Italie !), et bien que les garnitures sont bien variées et créatives, on manque le choix de style. On trouve l'authentique comme à l'Italie : croûte fine, dans un four à bois; ou le style pseudo-américain de merde comme Pizza Hut ou Speed Rabbit.

What you won't find here is deep dish pizza. Often mistranslated here as "thick crust" pizza, as it is assumed that's how Americans like it, deep dish pizza is something from Chicago that I believe Europeans would like even more than Barack Obama. And Europeans love him.

Ce qu'on ne trouve pas ici est la pizza "deep dish". Souvent maltraduit comme la pizza "à croûte epaisse" parce que les américains en aime, la pizza à plat profond est quelque chose de Chicago que je crois les européens aimeraient même plus que Barack Obama. Et les européens adorent Obama.

We set out to make a deep dish pizza the Chicago way. Classic sausage, onion and pepper with a cornmeal crust.

Nous avons trouvé notre défi : faire une pizza à plat profond à façon Chicago. La classique de saucisse, oignons et poivrons, avec une croûte à semoule de maïs.

But wait! According to my research, real Chicago pizza doesn't contain cornmeal. It was added by people trying to emulate the golden color of the originals by Pizzeria Uno and Gino's... who allegedly use food coloring to get the right color. Well, I believe that when trying to approximate a national food, you go by what the majority do. And in this case, that's a cornmeal crust. Let's do it.

Mais attends ! Selon ma recherche, la vraie pizza de Chicago ne contient pas de semoule de maïs. C'était ajouté à la recette par des gens qui ont essayé d'émuler la couleur dorée des originales par Pizzeria Uno et Gino's... qui apparement utilisent des colorants dans la croûte. Bon, je crois que quand on veut rapprocher un aliment national, on utilise les ingrédients de la majorité, et donc, la semoule de maïs. Allons-y.

A standard cornmeal crust (enough for a 12" cast iron skillet or pizza pan) is made of 220g all-purpose flour, 40g cornmeal, 1 tsp salt mixed with a solution of 2tsp yeast, 125ml warm water, 1tbsp honey. When a dough starts to form, mix in 4tbsp olive oil. Cover the dough and let it rest at least 4 hours, allowing it to almost double in size.

Une croûte à semoule de maïs standarde (assez pour une poêle de fonte ou plat à four de 30cm) contient 220g de farine type-65, 40g semoule de maïs, 1cc sel, tous mélangés avec une solution de 2cc levure, 125ml eau chaude, 1cs miel. Quand une pâte se forme, ajoutez 4cs huile d'olive. Couvrez la pâte et laissez rester au moins 4 heures, laissant la gonfler à presque 2x la taille originale.

Prepare your toppings, or rather, fillings. Since making pizza at home can be time intensive, you may as well use the best ingredients you should get in order to make it worthwhile. In addition to using fresh onions and peppers, take care to get a good mozzarella di buffala cheese and a high-quality sausage (in links or loose). Lightly sautée one diced onion with one large link sausage, crumbled, five diced button mushrooms. Once browned, add one diced green bell pepper. Set aside. Dice one large ball of mozzarella.

Préparez la garniture. Car faire la pizza chez soi peut prendre du temps, il vaut mieux utiliser les meilleurs ingrédients possible afin de ne pas perdre votre temps. De plus d'utiliser des oignons et poivrons verts bien frais, prenez soin et cherchez du bon fromage mozzarella di buffala et de la saucisse de qualité (sinon une chair à saucisse bien fraiche). Légèrement faites sauter 1 oignon haché avec une grosse saucisse décortiquée, 5 champignons de Paris hachés. Une fois doré, ajoutez un piment vert haché. Laissez froidir. Hachez une grosse balle de mozzarella.

Prepare your sauce: Heat 450g of crushed tomatoes (canned is perfectly fine), mixing in 2 cloves minced garlic, 2tsp salt, 2tsp sugar, and a handful of chopped basil. Stir well to integrate over medium heat.

Préparez votre sauce : Réchauffez 450g de pulpe de tomate (ça ira en boite), en ajoutant 2 gousses d'ail écrasé, 2cc sel, 2cc sucre, et 1 poignée du basilic haché. Mélangez bien pour l'integrer sur une chaleur moyenne.

Line your cast iron skillet or pizza pan with butter and a light dusting of cornmeal, then spread out the dough like you would a pie crust. Put the layer of diced mozzarella on the bottom, followed by the sausage/pepper/mushroom/onion mixture, and top the "pie" with sauce until just below the edge of the crust. (See photo above.)

Tartinez la poêle de fonte ou plat à four avec du beurre, faites une couche légère de semoule de maïs et puis mettre la pâte à croûte dedans, comme on fait une tarte. D'abord, faire une couche au fond avec le mozzarella, puis le mélange de saucisse/oignon/champignon/poivron et remplir la "tarte" avec la sauce, jusqu'à juste dessous le bord de la croûte. (Regardez la photo ci-dessus.)

Put the pizza in a 375ºF/190ºC/Th.7 oven for 30-40 minutes - about when the crust is golden. Remove, allow to cool a few minutes, and cut into large slices. Serve while hot. Or eat when leftover, because like any all-American pizza, it's even better the next day.

Mettez la pizza dans le four à 375ºF/190ºC/Th.7 pour 30-40 minutes - jusqu'à la croûte est dorée. Enlevez-la, laissez froidir quelques minutes, et découpez en grosses tranches. Servez chaude. Ou mangez-la froid, car comme toutes les pizzas all-American, c'est mieux le lendemain !

But wait... there's more! Here at Hungry Amateurs, we never do anything only once. We'll try anything twice. Three times if we like it. So of course, we had to do it our way.

Mais attends ... il y en a plus ! Ici chez Hungry Amateurs, on ne fait rien seulement une fois. Nous essayons n'import quoi deux fois. Trois fois s'il nous plait. Donc bien sûr nous l'avons fait à notre façon.

Frankly, I'm not a fan of the cornmeal crust. Again, this is an area where Alannah differs with me, but somehow we work it out. Vigorously.

Franchement, je ne suis pas trop fan de la croûte à semoule de maïs. Encore c'est quelque chose dont Alannah n'est pas d'accord, mais nous subsistons. Vigorousement.

Back in San Francisco a battle rages between the chi-chi hipsters (who love Little Star's faithful version of Chicago deep dish) and sensible people (who prefer Patxi's cornmeal-free approach). The first time I had Patxi's, I fell in love, remarking how buttery and brioche-like their crust is. And I love butter so much I'd do illegal things with it. So it was time for a new challenge: Make a deep dish pizza with a brioche-like crust. This is actually not that hard. Take the recipe above, remove the cornmeal and the olive oil, add one egg, 50ml milk, 80g unsalted butter and an additional 2tsp sugar.

À San Francisco un combat fait rage entre les bobos (qui aiment le resto Little Star et sa version de pizza fidèle à Chicago) et les gens plus raisonnables (qui préfèrent le pizza à plat profond sans semoule chez Patxi's). La première fois que j'ai goûté la pizza de Patxi's j'étais amoureux, remarquant la croûte plein du beurre - comme une brioche ! Et j'aime tellement le beurre, je ferais des choses bien interdit avec lui. Donc le nouveau défi : faire une pizza à plat profond avec une croûte briochesque. C'est pas difficile. Prenez la recette ci-dessus, enlevez la semoule et l'huile d'olive, ajoutez un oeuf, 50ml de lait, 80g de beurre doux et 2cc de sucre de plus.

Our self-imposed rule was simple. Other than the crust, the ingredients had to remain the same: One bell pepper, one link of sausage, one onion, five large button mushrooms, and one ball of mozzarella di buffala. Naturally, though, we're sticklers for texture and mouthfeel. So I sliced everything finely. The onions were first caramelized before adding the sausage, and the mushrooms were cooked separately and not added until the very end. Largely because I forgot them and Alannah had to remind me.

La regle que nous avons fait nous-mêmes est simple. Sauf la croûte, tous les autres ingrédients doivent rester pareils : Un poivron, une saucisse, un oignon, cinq gros champignons de Paris et une balle de mozzarella di buffala. Naturellement, nous sommes chevaux sur la texture et l'impression en bouche. Donc j'ai tout emincé finement. Les oignons étaient caramelisés avant d'ajouter la saucisse, et les champignons cuits séparément et pas ajoutés jusqu'à la fin. Carrément parce que je les ai oublié et Alannah a du me rappeler.

OK, so I cheated. I used red peppers as well as green peppers, and in a nod to another San Francisco favorite – the drunken 4am delivery of sausage and ricotta from Volare Pizza – I plugged the pie with chunks of fresh ricotta cheese. I paid dearly for this transgression, though. I went to our local Italian deli for a tub of housemade ricotta for a ridiculous price, not knowing that the Monoprix supermarket nearby sells their "gourmet" line of ricotta for a tenth of the price. D'oh! Also, I used a springform cake pan to get a higher wall and, thus, a deeper pizza.

Bon, j'ai trompé. Ainsi que le poivron vert, j'ai utilisé unpiment rouge, et en hommage à un autre favori San Franciscain – la livraison à 4 heure du matin d'un pizza de saucisse et ricotta de Volare Pizza – j'ai ajouté des morceaux du fromage ricotta. Cependant, j'ai payé chèrement cette violation des regles. Je suis allé chez notre épicerie italienne à prendre une barquette de ricotta maison à un prix ridicule, pas sachant que le supermarché à côté vend la version "Monoprix gourmet" à dix pour cent du prix ... Mince ! En outre, j'ai utlisé une moule à charnière pour une croûte plus haute et ainsi, une pizza plus profonde.

The result? Look at that and tell me you don't want to simply stick your di eat it all up.

Le résultat ? Régardez-là et dites-moi que vous ne voulez mettre votre bi manger-la tout.

OK, so Alannah still prefers the cornmeal crust. Everybody has as much of an opinion about pizza crusts as they do about toppings. But overall, the deep dish pizza inspired by San Francisco kicked Chicago's ass to the curb.

Bon, Alannah préfère toujours la croûte à semoule de maïs. Il y autant d'avis sur des croûtes car il ya sur les garnitures. Mais global, la pizza à plat profond inspirée par San Francisco a bien démonté Chicago.

Little Cream Filled Pies

I'm a big fan of Alannah's pie.

Mostly because of the crust. Part lard, part butter, all decadence. Flaky but not overly so, rich but not so much it overshadows the filling. Tonight, the filling was rhubarb and custard. This has been one of Alannah's traditional go-to pies for years.

Not so traditional is the form. If you look at the picture there, it's barely much bigger than a cup of espresso. That's because she baked it in a muffin tin, filling each hole with a pint-sized sheet of dough, filling the mini-pies with rhubarb and custard, then even doing the lattice-work to make them look like real pies.

She was a little worried about overcooking and undercooking the whole time it was in the oven, and although the custard solidified a bit more than we'd like (we're into dripping, creamy fillings that you have to lick off your fingers and lips), it still came out fantastic for a first-time experiment. A bit messy, a bit awkward, but in the end, totally worth it.


We're going to do it again, and we hope it catches on. Now that the overblown cupcake fad seems to be coming to its ebb, we hope to spark a revolution of cupcake-sized pies. Pies, by virtue of having filling, are better than cakes. Or as we like to say: Less fluff, more stuff.