Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Tonnato, a new staple
A few weeks ago, for reasons stemming from duty and politeness, or because the universe was, unbeknownst to me, smiling, I ended up squiring about a woman whom I had just met, prior to taking her to the airport. It was one of those days when you could wring out the air around you and collect a quart of whey. So we promptly went out in the heat and walked about. We went to Duke University and walked through the gardens, which are floriferous even in late summer, and to the chapel, which is really a not-so-miniature cathedral. On one flight of steps my companion began to gasp a little, so I slowed the pace and remembered a hike, years ago in Arizona, when another companion had an asthma attack during which I contemplated my possibilities of success performing an on-the-spot tracheotomy with an unsterilized Swiss Army knife. Fortunately, as then, the moment passed, my companion mentioned that she needed to drop a few pounds, and we began to talk about food.
I read cookbooks and food magazines, but I can’t possibly try everything I read about, so each recipe gets mentally classified as a yes (yum), no (ugh, gross), or maybe (need more information.) So when she began to tell me about tonnato, I had only a vague recollection, something Italian, a sauce for pasta.
“No, no, no,” she cried, “It’s for chicken.”
She explained that you poached the chicken and made a sauce for it from mayonnaise, anchovies in olive oil, capers, and tuna. In the blender. Then you simply put the sauce on the chicken. I thought about it and nodded and thought it sounded crazy, and we finally went to get something cool to drink.
The next week we exchanged e-mails about business, but the tonnato sauce is mentioned, and soon I feel that I can’t send any more e-mail until I’ve tried the sauce. It’s hotter than Hades and the last thing I want to do is cook. I’m living on salads of romaine lettuce and smoothies of banana/frozen blueberries/orange juice/vanilla yogurt. And I find myself buying a can of anchovies and some chicken breasts.
Poaching the chicken breasts is painless, you bring the chicken broth to a boil, drop in the breasts, return to a simmer for four minutes or so, remove from heat and let sit for ten minutes. (Perfect for all but the fattest breast – when cut it was a little too pink, so I returned the pan to the stove, brought the broth to a simmer for two or three more minutes.)
Making the sauce was, um, interesting. I dumped the anchovies in the blender, with the olive oil from the can, added a hefty spoonful of mayo, and rinsed a heaping tablespoon of capers, and added those. Then I added tuna. Judging volume by eye, maybe somewhere between a half cup to three-quarters. My blender didn’t like this. I pulsed, tamped the mixture down, pulsed, tamped the mixture down, etc. We were going nowhere fast. We weren’t even going anywhere slowly. A glug of EVOO (extra virgin olive oil) helped, and after more pulsing and tamping a pate-like paste developed; I’d feel inaccurate if I called it a sauce – not quite liquid enough to be called a sauce. However, it tasted WAY better than I’d expected.
I sliced up one of the chicken breasts, still warm, and spread a couple of spoonfuls across it, and added a few grinds of pepper. Broccoli and cold refrigerator-pickled red onion completed the plate.
Here comes the cliché: on the chicken the sauce was a revelation. An eye-opener. The combination really works. You could serve this to others. You could make it for yourself. And now, I can finally e-mail her back.
A few weeks ago, for reasons stemming from duty and politeness, or because the universe was, unbeknownst to me, smiling, I ended up squiring about a woman whom I had just met, prior to taking her to the airport. It was one of those days when you could wring out the air around you and collect a quart of whey. So we promptly went out in the heat and walked about. We went to Duke University and walked through the gardens, which are floriferous even in late summer, and to the chapel, which is really a not-so-miniature cathedral. On one flight of steps my companion began to gasp a little, so I slowed the pace and remembered a hike, years ago in Arizona, when another companion had an asthma attack during which I contemplated my possibilities of success performing an on-the-spot tracheotomy with an unsterilized Swiss Army knife. Fortunately, as then, the moment passed, my companion mentioned that she needed to drop a few pounds, and we began to talk about food.
I read cookbooks and food magazines, but I can’t possibly try everything I read about, so each recipe gets mentally classified as a yes (yum), no (ugh, gross), or maybe (need more information.) So when she began to tell me about tonnato, I had only a vague recollection, something Italian, a sauce for pasta.
“No, no, no,” she cried, “It’s for chicken.”
She explained that you poached the chicken and made a sauce for it from mayonnaise, anchovies in olive oil, capers, and tuna. In the blender. Then you simply put the sauce on the chicken. I thought about it and nodded and thought it sounded crazy, and we finally went to get something cool to drink.
The next week we exchanged e-mails about business, but the tonnato sauce is mentioned, and soon I feel that I can’t send any more e-mail until I’ve tried the sauce. It’s hotter than Hades and the last thing I want to do is cook. I’m living on salads of romaine lettuce and smoothies of banana/frozen blueberries/orange juice/vanilla yogurt. And I find myself buying a can of anchovies and some chicken breasts.
Poaching the chicken breasts is painless, you bring the chicken broth to a boil, drop in the breasts, return to a simmer for four minutes or so, remove from heat and let sit for ten minutes. (Perfect for all but the fattest breast – when cut it was a little too pink, so I returned the pan to the stove, brought the broth to a simmer for two or three more minutes.)
Making the sauce was, um, interesting. I dumped the anchovies in the blender, with the olive oil from the can, added a hefty spoonful of mayo, and rinsed a heaping tablespoon of capers, and added those. Then I added tuna. Judging volume by eye, maybe somewhere between a half cup to three-quarters. My blender didn’t like this. I pulsed, tamped the mixture down, pulsed, tamped the mixture down, etc. We were going nowhere fast. We weren’t even going anywhere slowly. A glug of EVOO (extra virgin olive oil) helped, and after more pulsing and tamping a pate-like paste developed; I’d feel inaccurate if I called it a sauce – not quite liquid enough to be called a sauce. However, it tasted WAY better than I’d expected.
I sliced up one of the chicken breasts, still warm, and spread a couple of spoonfuls across it, and added a few grinds of pepper. Broccoli and cold refrigerator-pickled red onion completed the plate.
Here comes the cliché: on the chicken the sauce was a revelation. An eye-opener. The combination really works. You could serve this to others. You could make it for yourself. And now, I can finally e-mail her back.
# posted by Charlie @ 8:01 AM 
