(The Tucci Cookbook, page 5)
Quick Shrimp Stock
(The Tucci Table, page 210)
Seafood Paella
(The Tucci Table, page 72)
Traditional Flaky Cake With Mascarpone Sauce
(The Tucci Cookbook, page 339)
Paella. One of our family's favorite dishes. We had made paella maybe a half-dozen times over the years, with varying degrees of success. The first time, we made it on a barbecue grill and it turned out great. Blind luck perhaps, as every time since never quite measured up.
Once, we got the outdoor grill so hot it warped the paella pan. Another time, Tom negligently poured the entire contents of a microwave-thawed bag of calamari, including its filthy liquid residue, straight onto the rice. Yuck.
Stanley Tucci must also love paella too, as he devoted several pages, and multiple photographs, to his rendering of seafood paella. The complexity and theatrics of its preparation are certainly other reasons, too.
Making a truly authentic paella is hard. We were fired up for this one and looked forward to giving it our best!
We picked marinated olives as a quick and easy prelude to the main course. Tom began the prep the day before our meal, because the olives needed to soak for twenty-four hours prior to eating. The first step was to 'dry roast' our dry condiments (fennel seeds, cumin seeds, and cardamom) in a warm sauté pan in order to get the seeds to pop and fully release their flavors.
Dry roasting of spices is controversial in culinary circles, as some people believe it vaporizes many of the essential oils characteristic to those spices.
In a large ceramic dish, we had combined three types of olives (Picholine, Sicilian, and kalamata) along with garlic, red pepper flakes, and orange zest into a bath of olive oil. The dry-roasted spices were added to the bowl and thoroughly tossed together. Voila! Finished!
The dish was mistakenly placed in the refrigerator for a few hours. Luckily, Tom discovered that the olives were supposed to marinade at room temperature. He pulled them out and set them on the stovetop.
Once the dish was placed in plain sight, however, it soon became the target of olive bandits who nibbled on them throughout the day. With each hour, they got better and better (Tom can attest). They had become one of the most delicious surprises of our entire culinary journey thus far!
As we awoke to heavy monsoon rains the next morning, the olive jar was half-empty ... and someone had slyly thrown more kalamata olives into it, hoping to cover his tracks.
Baking had been our Achilles heel, so we decided to spend the first part of the morning focusing on the traditional flaky cake. We really wanted to get it right. The key ingredient in this recipe is potato starch. It is what adds the flaky-lightness to the cake.
Our first mistake was not softening the butter sufficiently. When we put the sugar and still-hard butter in the mixer, it globbed inside the mixing thingys and we had to take it all back out, melt it in the microwave and start again. Then we began to 'cream' it for five minutes. Blindly, we turned the mixer on high and watched what happened. It creamed! With the mixer continuing to spin, we added the eggs, potato starch, and other dry ingredients. The batter became richer and fuller with each step. It was like silk when we poured it into the baking pan.
Baking directions are very explicit ... "three-quarters of a cup plus two tablespoons of granulated sugar" ... "do not open the oven door until the cake has baked for at least forty minutes or the whole thing will collapse". We followed them precisely.
The recipe called for a tablespoon of dark rum, so we decided to partake early with a few shots of Pusser's 15-Year Aged "Nelson's Blood' Navy Rum at 9:08 am.
Salute!!
Halfway through the baking process, Tom had a near panic attack when he suddenly realized that he forgot to put the flour into the mix. Then we learned that there was no flour in the mix.
Through the oven window (while nibbling on olives) we watched the cake rise, to almost double its original size. Forty minutes, then fifty minutes. It kept rising!! We looked at each other and wondered, 'when do we take it out?'
WWSTD?
After a full hour, we pulled it. It looked great, but when we tested it with a chopstick, the insides appeared undercooked, so we put it back in the oven for ten additional minutes. The second time we pulled it out, it had settled somewhat, but still looked delicious. We let it cool, and set it aside until later.
Our road trip to Little's Fish Market felt more like a road trip around Cape Cod, thanks to the heavy rain and persistent low clouds and fog. Harvey took good care of us, as usual, and we walked out with nine pounds of fresh shrimp, clams, mussels, and calamari.
Once home, we unwrapped everything, and de-tailed the shrimp (using the tails to make the shrimp stock for our main dish). As the stock simmered, Michelle diced onions and peppers and Tom rinsed and partially sautéed the shellfish.
With everything 'mies en place' we began making the paella, and we immediately started off on the wrong foot. A foil packet of saffron threads that we were heating in a dry sauté pan was completely forgotten while we were distracted and it burned to a crisp. Fortunately, we had extra saffron.
The foundation of a paella, comprised of spices and aromatic ingredients (such as garlic, onion, paprika, and tomatoes) cooked in a pan of olive oil is called the 'sofrito'. It is a sauce frequently used as a base in Spanish and Latin cooking. Tucci's recipe included all of the above, plus saffron, thyme, bay leaf, shallots, and bell peppers chopped into fine pieces.
By the time Michelle added the hand-crushed tomatoes into a rapidly-filling pan and we had yet to add nearly a gallon of stock and a pound of bomba rice, we knew we had a potential capacity problem on our hands.
Brimming with confidence, she poured everything in. Then Tom dumped in the last bit of shrimp stock, and the pan became so full that the liquid was barely staying in it by surface tension.
When Tam tried to wick some of it out with a paper towel, she inadvertently opened a continuous river of liquid that flowed out of the pan and onto the burner underneath, creating a huge yellow flame that engulfed our pan. We thanked her for her wonderful help and sent her to her room.
After several minutes of near disaster, the rice eventually absorbed enough liquid to start packing it with seafood. The pan was stuffed to the max, mounded two inches above the rim. We covered it with foil to make sure the clams and mussels would cook through.
The paella looked and smelled terrific! With our marinated olives and wine (Yalumbra Eden Valley Viognier, 2014), we proudly took photos of our finished product.
As we took our first bites, however, we looked at each other and agreed that it needed something, perhaps more salt (which we added). Still, the paella tasted slightly thin and somewhat bland. A few moments later, Michelle blurted out '"chorizo ... it needs chorizo". She was right. That was exactly what the paella needed, the fat and spiciness of chorizo.
Another lesson learned.
Our disappointment evaporated quickly once the flaky cake was cut and served with mascarpone sauce. The cake was similar to angel food or sponge cake, super-light and airy. The rich and creamy sauce, made with Grand Marnier liqueur, added the perfect touch. We also made the alternative Tucci topping, made from hand-made whipped cream and confectionary sugar.
We cooked. We learned. We ate!!!
Once, we got the outdoor grill so hot it warped the paella pan. Another time, Tom negligently poured the entire contents of a microwave-thawed bag of calamari, including its filthy liquid residue, straight onto the rice. Yuck.
Stanley Tucci must also love paella too, as he devoted several pages, and multiple photographs, to his rendering of seafood paella. The complexity and theatrics of its preparation are certainly other reasons, too.
Making a truly authentic paella is hard. We were fired up for this one and looked forward to giving it our best!
We picked marinated olives as a quick and easy prelude to the main course. Tom began the prep the day before our meal, because the olives needed to soak for twenty-four hours prior to eating. The first step was to 'dry roast' our dry condiments (fennel seeds, cumin seeds, and cardamom) in a warm sauté pan in order to get the seeds to pop and fully release their flavors.
Dry roasting of spices is controversial in culinary circles, as some people believe it vaporizes many of the essential oils characteristic to those spices.
In a large ceramic dish, we had combined three types of olives (Picholine, Sicilian, and kalamata) along with garlic, red pepper flakes, and orange zest into a bath of olive oil. The dry-roasted spices were added to the bowl and thoroughly tossed together. Voila! Finished!
The dish was mistakenly placed in the refrigerator for a few hours. Luckily, Tom discovered that the olives were supposed to marinade at room temperature. He pulled them out and set them on the stovetop.
Once the dish was placed in plain sight, however, it soon became the target of olive bandits who nibbled on them throughout the day. With each hour, they got better and better (Tom can attest). They had become one of the most delicious surprises of our entire culinary journey thus far!
As we awoke to heavy monsoon rains the next morning, the olive jar was half-empty ... and someone had slyly thrown more kalamata olives into it, hoping to cover his tracks.
-----
Baking had been our Achilles heel, so we decided to spend the first part of the morning focusing on the traditional flaky cake. We really wanted to get it right. The key ingredient in this recipe is potato starch. It is what adds the flaky-lightness to the cake.
Our first mistake was not softening the butter sufficiently. When we put the sugar and still-hard butter in the mixer, it globbed inside the mixing thingys and we had to take it all back out, melt it in the microwave and start again. Then we began to 'cream' it for five minutes. Blindly, we turned the mixer on high and watched what happened. It creamed! With the mixer continuing to spin, we added the eggs, potato starch, and other dry ingredients. The batter became richer and fuller with each step. It was like silk when we poured it into the baking pan.
Baking directions are very explicit ... "three-quarters of a cup plus two tablespoons of granulated sugar" ... "do not open the oven door until the cake has baked for at least forty minutes or the whole thing will collapse". We followed them precisely.
The recipe called for a tablespoon of dark rum, so we decided to partake early with a few shots of Pusser's 15-Year Aged "Nelson's Blood' Navy Rum at 9:08 am.
Salute!!
Halfway through the baking process, Tom had a near panic attack when he suddenly realized that he forgot to put the flour into the mix. Then we learned that there was no flour in the mix.
Through the oven window (while nibbling on olives) we watched the cake rise, to almost double its original size. Forty minutes, then fifty minutes. It kept rising!! We looked at each other and wondered, 'when do we take it out?'
WWSTD?
After a full hour, we pulled it. It looked great, but when we tested it with a chopstick, the insides appeared undercooked, so we put it back in the oven for ten additional minutes. The second time we pulled it out, it had settled somewhat, but still looked delicious. We let it cool, and set it aside until later.
The cake after one hour, and with an
additional ten minutes of cooking time
Our road trip to Little's Fish Market felt more like a road trip around Cape Cod, thanks to the heavy rain and persistent low clouds and fog. Harvey took good care of us, as usual, and we walked out with nine pounds of fresh shrimp, clams, mussels, and calamari.
Once home, we unwrapped everything, and de-tailed the shrimp (using the tails to make the shrimp stock for our main dish). As the stock simmered, Michelle diced onions and peppers and Tom rinsed and partially sautéed the shellfish.
With everything 'mies en place' we began making the paella, and we immediately started off on the wrong foot. A foil packet of saffron threads that we were heating in a dry sauté pan was completely forgotten while we were distracted and it burned to a crisp. Fortunately, we had extra saffron.
The foundation of a paella, comprised of spices and aromatic ingredients (such as garlic, onion, paprika, and tomatoes) cooked in a pan of olive oil is called the 'sofrito'. It is a sauce frequently used as a base in Spanish and Latin cooking. Tucci's recipe included all of the above, plus saffron, thyme, bay leaf, shallots, and bell peppers chopped into fine pieces.
By the time Michelle added the hand-crushed tomatoes into a rapidly-filling pan and we had yet to add nearly a gallon of stock and a pound of bomba rice, we knew we had a potential capacity problem on our hands.
Brimming with confidence, she poured everything in. Then Tom dumped in the last bit of shrimp stock, and the pan became so full that the liquid was barely staying in it by surface tension.
When Tam tried to wick some of it out with a paper towel, she inadvertently opened a continuous river of liquid that flowed out of the pan and onto the burner underneath, creating a huge yellow flame that engulfed our pan. We thanked her for her wonderful help and sent her to her room.
After several minutes of near disaster, the rice eventually absorbed enough liquid to start packing it with seafood. The pan was stuffed to the max, mounded two inches above the rim. We covered it with foil to make sure the clams and mussels would cook through.
The paella looked and smelled terrific! With our marinated olives and wine (Yalumbra Eden Valley Viognier, 2014), we proudly took photos of our finished product.
As we took our first bites, however, we looked at each other and agreed that it needed something, perhaps more salt (which we added). Still, the paella tasted slightly thin and somewhat bland. A few moments later, Michelle blurted out '"chorizo ... it needs chorizo". She was right. That was exactly what the paella needed, the fat and spiciness of chorizo.
Another lesson learned.
Our disappointment evaporated quickly once the flaky cake was cut and served with mascarpone sauce. The cake was similar to angel food or sponge cake, super-light and airy. The rich and creamy sauce, made with Grand Marnier liqueur, added the perfect touch. We also made the alternative Tucci topping, made from hand-made whipped cream and confectionary sugar.
We cooked. We learned. We ate!!!
Next Chapter: Some Velvet Morning