O, Tomato

I have only so much to say about raw tomatoes. Sometimes they taste great, sometimes they taste lousy – the slime and the juice and the seeds and the pith can sometimes get the best of a raw tomato. Often, their quality almost solely depends on the other flavors that they are dressed with.

But O, how I can sing about cooked tomatoes, most notably roasted tomatoes. The simplest dish there is, roasting intensifies and deepens the tomato flavor while also ridding it of some of that ungainly extra liquid that sometimes befalls raw tomatoes. The tomato flavor quickly becomes sharp and rich and will even now bring out flavors in other ingredients, instead of relying on them. Whether in a salad, in a sauce, on a sandwich, on toast, with cheese, in soup, over fish, or just plain, the flavor of these tomatoes can make a meal and make all the other ingredients better too. For example, I can barely think of a cheese that wouldn't be absolutely terrific with roasted tomatoes. Maybe string or whiz.

Besides being so tasty and versatile, the tomatoes are actually healthier when cooked than they are in their raw form. There is many times as much lycopene – the tomato's most beneficial component – in cooked tomatoes than there is in raw tomatoes.

Finally there is the simplicity I alluded to. Roasted tomatoes require little to no seasoning, but come out absolutely best with a vinaigrette-like decomposition in the seasoning. I just sprinkle a little kosher salt, some black pepper, a little extra virgin olive oil and some red or white wine vinegar over a bunch of tomato slices or halves on a baking sheet. It doesn't matter how much, as long as all the tomatoes get some. Applying a little extra can't hurt, as it makes for some delicious juices to drizzle over at the end. I roast them in the oven for 10-12 minutes at 400 degrees and get the most tender, flavorful tomatoes. I could just eat a plate for dinner they are so good. Actually, ask Julia. The other day I did just eat some whole wheat pasta and half a plate of roasted tomatoes for dinner. I would do it again tonight without hesitation. That's how good these little (roasted) wonders are.

Last Supper

Last night, on my favorite food show, Top Chef, they asked the five remaining chefs in this year's competition to complete a unique and intriguing challenge: to cook the proverbial “last supper” for one of five super chefs. Each contestant drew a chef at random and was then told what that chef had requested. Later, they had several hours to shop and prepare the meal before service to all 5 plus the standard judges Padma Lakshmi, Tom Colicchio and Toby Young. For the meals, our DC girl and favorite, Carla selected Jacques Pèpin who asked for squab and peas; my other favorite, Stefan selected Marcus Samuelsson who asked for salmon with potatoes and dill; fan favorite and ultimate challenge winner Fabio selected Lidia Bastianich who asked for roasted chicken with roasted potatoes and a leafy salad; Hosea selected Susan Ungaro who asked for shrimp scampi and tomatoes Provencal; and the loser of the challenge, who was sent packing by the panel, was annoying Leah, who selected Wylie Dufresne and the simple task of eggs Benedict. Too bad for her.

Needless to say, it was definitely one of Top Chef's most interesting concepts for a challenge and even got me thinking about the concept. Despite its morbidity (Pèpin even exclaimed that he could definitely die after eating Carla's peas), I think all the chefs had a lot of fun harkening whatever culinary longing they would ask for foremost – or maybe last-most. All the choices seemed so simple and rustic – classic dishes that might be the oldest dish they can remember, their comfort food.

How would you think about your last supper decision?

Comforting, like macaroni and cheese with fried chicken and mashed potatoes?

Upscale, like butter poached lobster tail with black truffle bruschetta?

Sinful, like a dozen glazed donuts, a bucket of KFC original, a few McDonalds cheeseburgers and some turtle cheesecake?

Contrived, like two poached eggs with a falafel sandwich, twelve French fries, six strawberries, a porterhouse steak cooked medium rare, half a cupcake, bananas foster, pastrami and cheese on rye, fifteen fried shrimp and toast?

Simple, like Mom's baked chicken with noodles? Yum.

Of course there are many other ways too. And that's why you won't be hearing mine quite yet. I still have a lot more exploring and thinking to do before I decide. Maybe years worth. But I wanted to get YOU started on thinking about it, since I now have. One day we'll have that conversation, and perhaps we'll be important enough that a great chef will cook them for us. Until then I'll be living vivaciously and intriguingly through the Top Chefs and their elite audience.

Tag Team Pasta

Julia and I both love to cook for one another. Sometimes the most fun dinners though are the ones where we cook together. We got a little creative and adventurous as a team recently, and in no more than a laugh-filled half-hour had pounded out one of the more elegant dishes we had cooked in a while.

The adventurous part was making our own pasta from scratch. We always see it on TV – simply mix an egg per person with just enough flour so that it goes into a crumbly dough. It's never the exact recipe – different on Jamie Oliver than on Iron Chef America – but it's always the same concept. It was Julia's idea, so she was in charge of making pasta, while I was in charge of the cutting and cooking of the pasta as well as the sauce to accentuate it, a lemon truffle butter sauce.

Julia mixed 3 eggs with about 3 cups of flour in the food processor until it was a crumbly consistency and then worked the dough on the counter for a couple minutes until it was smooth and ready to be fed into the roller attachment for her stand mixer. She said that it seemed a little too brittle and worked a little more egg in so that it would feed and roll out into smooth sheets. It seems that it would have been easier to add more flour to a too-soft pasta dough than add more egg to a too-brittle dough, so we agreed that under-shooting the flour would be better for next time. Still, before I could even melt my butter with a little olive oil, truffle oil, onion, salt, pepper, lemon zest, lemon juice, goat cheese, paprika, sage and nutmeg and let it thicken into a nice, deep-flavored pan sauce, Julia was handing me lovely smooth sheets of rolled pasta. I was beyond impressed!

I floured each sheet all over as I folded them in half several times. Then I ran my knife through to make long, thickish, spaghetti-like noodles. Nothing too pretty or exact, but the nice rustic, homemade look that we love in our food (and Jamie Oliver promised us it would on his show.) As soon as I had cut and fluffed the pasta into a big mess of lovely looking strands, I put it all into my pot of boiling, salted water. Used to 10-15 minutes of cooking time for dried pasta? This fresh pasta takes just a minute to cook to al dente, maybe even less. It's amazing.

I tossed the finished pasta with the finished sauce and plated just in time for Julia to garnish each portion with a nice grate of fresh parmesan.

The pasta tasted amazing and we both agreed the sauce was subtle but really brought out the right flavors. The acidity of the lemon with just enough salty and rich complements really popped with the perfect al dente of the pasta. It was a comforting and delicious dinner, and one that was way more fun to make and eat together than to just order in some restaurant for $20. We got to learn a little through being adventurous and laugh our way all the way to a perfect dinner for two.

Heirloom Pie

So I bought all these really gorgeous mini heirloom tomatoes on sale about a week ago – and I failed to use most of them within a week. I hate when food goes to waste, but I hate it even more when good food goes to waste. I didn't know how much more time the tomatoes had – tomatoes seem to be like milk when it comes to determining the mystery of their spoilage. Not easy.

So I decided to avoid dealing with guesstures and eventual disappointment and decided that I would make a tomato pie. Don't ask why. I've never had one. I've never even heard of one. But it sounded rustic and delicious and I figured it had to be something people made. So I took those tomatoes and I stuck them all in a pot over medium heat. I drizzled a few generous tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, and some good balsamic vinegar, sea salt, black pepper, and a whole bunch of chopped fresh basil, rosemary and sage (didn't want those to go bad either). I let the tomatoes get awfully happy over the next 15 minutes until the skins were peeling off and the tomatoes were swelled and ready to burst.

And what did I do now? I helped them out. With the back of a spatula, I “bursted” those tomatoes so that all of the delicious stewed liquid inside could come out and richen the tomato compote. At this point I wanted the mixture to thicken and reduce, so I turned the heat up high until it was bubbling, and let the excess water cook away. As it reduced by about half, it gradually thickened, but I wanted to help it along even more, so I added several tablespoons of whole wheat flour and mixed it in vigorously. This helped thicken the mixture more, so that it would stand up as a pie filling. I took the mixture off the heat and tasted it to know that it needed slightly more salt and pepper.

I had already pressed a thawed pie crust into a glass pie dish, so all I had to do was scoop every last bit of heirloom tomato, balsamic, herb-filled goodness into the crust. I then layered about six slices of provolone cheese over the top and then pressed the other part of my pie crust over the top and pressed it together with the bottom crust to create a seal. Finally I brushed the entire top with balsamic vinegar, made six slits with my knife and then put some thinly sliced red onion on top for a little focaccia-like flavor and decoration.

I put the pie in the oven for 16 minutes at 425 degrees and this was the perfect amount of time. The crust was golden and crispy but not burned anywhere. I let the pie cool for a few minutes and then sliced it and served it.

It was a little hard to slice and was ever-so-slightly oozy, but what it lacked in finesse it easily made up for with mouth-popping flavor. Flavor-rich, gooey and savory tomato filling surrounded ever-so-delicately by the warmth and crispiness of the crust. It had a nice rustic character to it and was one that I was proud to have created. I might tweak it slightly for next time. But it was a more-than-adequate if not marvelous usage of my no-longer-wasted, now-beautifully-remembered heirloom tomatoes.