Finding our people.

My friend Elizabeth and her husband Skyler were unbelievably generous with their recommendations when it came to all things mid-coast Maine. They've been living in Rockland for about two years now, and they are (being my friends) very into food - good food. And so we basically just did everything they told us to do. That's how we found ourselves at Sweets & Meats one afternoon, a charcuterie and grocery in downtown Rockland, buying cheese, pâté, and baguettes.

The staff were lovely and helpful, offering samples and recommendations as we put together a cheese and meat platter for our hungry houseful of people, right down to the pickled local fiddleheads and housemade pâté de campagne.

On that trip (the first of many), Louisa spied this cucumber soda - which, believe it or not, I'd never heard of, let alone tried. Verdict? Delightfully light, a bit sweet, and very much redolent of cucumber - particularly its most melon-like qualities.

The next morning, a croissant was in order. I went for broke and chose the chocolate version. Topped with dark chocolate shavings, it was perfectly crisp and flaky, and the chocolate filling (bittersweet, I do believe) was still creamy and lush when I gobbled it down at around 10:30 AM. Pretty dang impressive, especially when you consider that we weren't even in France.

Encased meats, indeed.

When in Chicago, one should probably eat sausage. The city's heritage lies in its former stockyards, and a Chicago dog is still one of the best things the city has to offer. These days, local folks in the know (and lots of obnoxious tourists like moi) venture north to Hot Doug's for their sausage needs.

The line at Hot Doug's is ever-present, but they keep the pace up and people move through so quickly that there's always somewhere to perch once you get your order in. (And don't forget to bring cash - they don't take plastic.) sEllie and I decided to order two sausages and some fries to split between the two of us. We ordered a chicken sausage, Italian-style, topped with everything (pickle, onions, tomatoes, celery salt) and a brat, topped with grilled onions and mustard.

Both were delicious. The brat was beery and porky and marvelous, split down the middle to allow for just the right amount of mustard and onions in each and every bite. The spicy chicken sausage was brightened up by the vegetables, and its casing snapped as perfectly as any pork link's.

And the fries! We didn't even make it on a weekend (Friday & Saturday, to be exact) when they have duck fat fries, so these were the low-end version - and they were still insanely delicious. Perfectly cooked, but clearly made with fresh potatoes. In-N-Out, take note.

And the winner is...

The winner of our Creminelli giveaway is one Tara Bellucci! Tara had the fabulous idea of using the salami on a pizza; I, for one, support this wholeheartedly.

Congrats to Tara, and many thanks to all of you who entered - your salami-riffic ideas were much appreciated! Tara, an email with the giveaway details is headed your way.

Giveaway: Creminelli Fine Meats

As loyal readers know, I am a huge (huge) fan of pretty much anything the fine folks at Creminelli see fit to produce. Their artisanal meats are just too good to pass up; I find myself drawn to their display at Fairway more than is probably healthy.

And so, when they reached out to me a couple of weeks ago to offer a giveaway to my lovely readers, how could I refuse? I promptly got down to sampling some of their latest wares, the better to ensure you are all informed about the giveaway for which you're volunteering. You know, just in case. For you, readers. I ate the salami for you.

I'm a simple woman, so the Casalingo, simply cured with salt and pepper, has to be my favorite. I imagine it would best be enjoyed with a plate of fresh and pickled vegetables, and maybe some roasted peppers to boot. A big glass of red wine wouldn't hurt, either.

The Tartufo I think I'll use in scrambled eggs, eggs being ever so delightful with a truffle or two. And lots of white pepper. And maybe some creme fraiche.

And, finally, the Barolo. This one is rich and musky, and demands to be served alongside some hard, salty cheese and a hunk of fabulous bread as part of a late, fireside supper. No, really - it does. It told me so.

My friends, there's no two ways about it: this is some damn fine salami. If you're interested in scoring one of Creminelli's Gourmet Artisan Salami assortments for yourself (you'll get the Tartufo, the Wild boar and the Barolo), here's how you can enter this most excellent giveaway:

1. Leave a comment below telling me how you'll serve your Creminelli salamis this holiday season (and don't forget to leave an email address) (One entry.)
2. Tweet about the giveaway using the hashtag #queeniecreminelli. (One entry.)

I'll choose a winner at random on Saturday, so be sure to enter by midnight on Friday, December 16th. Good luck, my porkers!

The fine print: Creminelli can only ship this gorgeous meat to physical addresses (no P.O. boxes), and only to the U.S.

Aw, shucks.

So, I don't know if you guys know Jessi Langsen, but you should. She's pretty awesome. Luckily, you can find her in several places out here on the interwebs - she has a Tumblr, a blog, and a Twitter feed. She is, in a word, joyful. Joyful about life, about food, about Chicago (her adopted hometown) - you name it.

So, why, you might be asking, do I have a picture of salami if I'm talking about Jessi? Well, friends, she very, very kindly sent me a little present the other day: two gorgeous links of Creminelli salami (The Americano and the Musica, both of which I am passionately in love with.).

The Americano is made with Berkshire pork and flavored with ginger and cinnamon - the perfect thing for fall. The Musica has a stronger flavor, likely thanks to what I've discovered is the secret ingredient: pork liver! Both are utterly luscious, with just the right balance of fat, meat, spice and salt. Seriously. I had to stop myself from eating both links whole.

I served myself a little breakfast feast of Jessi's gift, along with a dollop of maple butter and a dish of Dijon mustard (I favor Maille for its clean, wine-y flavor.). I spread a teeny bit of the butter and a smudge of the mustard on little slices of sourdough, then topped with individual slices of salami.

Pure, porky heaven. Thanks, Jessi!

A little bit of Paris in Yountville.

On our first afternoon in Napa, my mom and I paid a visit to an old favorite: Bistro Jeanty. Bistro Jeanty sits on Washington Street in Yountville, one of a few restaurants that make up what is quite possible the best couple of blocks for food in the entire world: The French Laundry, Bouchon, Bouchon Bakery, Bistro Jeanty and Ad Hoc. They're all right there; you could, theoretically, spend the entire day just eating, never walking more than a couple hundred feet between meals. (Someone's probably done it; if not, get on it, people with stomachs of steel!)

Bistro Jeanty opened in 1998, and has been packed to the gills for pretty much every meal ever since then. It's a bistro in the classic French style, serving perfect versions of all the dishes you've ever loved from that genre, including vol-au-vent made with sweetbreads and braised rabbit, cassoulet and daube de boeuf. On our visit, I decided to go for two smaller dishes, starting with one of my favorite things: frisée aux lardons salad.

Bistro Jeanty's version is served as a perfect poached egg perched atop a tangle of frisée and teeny, just-this-side-of-crunchy pieces of bacon. The vinaigrette itself is deliciously smoky; I wouldn't be at all surprised if this were due to a pinch or two of bacon fat in the dressing. In fact, I hope it is, because I plan to copy it.

Next up, one of the day's specials: pieds de cochon. When I ordered this as my main, the waiter cautioned me that it was an appetizer; was I sure I wanted such a small portion for my lunch? I assured him it would be fine, and was soon vindicated by the arrival of a dish accompanied by mashed potatoes. Anything that comes with mashed potatoes simply is not an appetizer!

Regardless of how you classify it, this was a delicious dish. Pieds de cochon does, in fact, mean pig's feet, and consists of the random bits of meat from the trotters, bound together in a kind of charcuterie not too different from headcheese. It's not unusual to see it served lightly breaded and fried, as this version was. It was very rich, and seasoned with tiny bits of black truffle. In face, I don't think I could have handled a bigger portion; it was perfect as it was.

For dessert, Mom and split what has to be one of springtime's great treats: fresh strawberries with creme fraiche and brown sugar. The tangy cream, the sweet berries and the molasses flavored sugar all combine into a little piece of heaven. If you've never had a chance to enjoy this combination, do it now - especially since strawberry season, at least on the East Coast, is at its height.

Bistro Jeanty
6510 Washington Street
Yountville, California
707.944.0103

Little plates, big flavors.

On Friday night, Cristin and I met up at Salumeria Rosi Parmacotto to enjoy some Italian nibbles and dish about the goings-on in our lives. We ordered a bottle of red wine along with come caponata, brussels sprouts, burrata and arista.

First up was the caponata, a sweet and tangy eggplant relish studded with stewed onions and peppers. This was delicious - alternately musky and bright in flavor, and full of interesting texture. It was particularly tasty (and sinful) heaped onto the small slices of focaccia that came in our little bread bowl. The salt on top of the focaccia set off the sweet caponata beautifully.

Next, the arista. Arista is pork loin, slow roasted and basted with an assortment of spices. It's served cold, sliced thin, and it's quite yummy. One of the subtler breeds of salumi, it's gently porky and lightly fatty. Perfect for a middle course on a warm spring night - and I suspect it'd make a tasty sandwich, too.

Of all the dishes we ordered, the burrata was least exciting. It was good, but not creamy or magical enough to write home about. I was a bit underwhelmed, to be honest.

Last, but most definitely not least: the brussels sprouts. Lightly sauteed in pancetta fat (the pancetta itself was tossed back into the mix as a finishing touch) and touched with red wine vinegar, this dish represents three of my favorite things brought together in one perfect place. They'll be off the menu soon, since the cold weather is pretty much over, so go soon or go home.

Overall, I found Salumeria Rosi to be pretty darn good - a good value, great service, and pretty much everything we tasted was delicious. I'll definitely be back, and I can't wait to sample some more salumi options when I go.

Salumeria Rosi Parmacotto
283 Amsterdam Ave. (Between 73rd and 74th Streets)
212-877-4800

Oh, the butter.

For my birthday, Faith bought tickets to Margaret Atwood's reading at the Herbst Theatre in San Francisco. Atwood is one of my absolute favorite writers, and I brought her latest novel (The Year Of The Flood) with me on my trip to Sonoma - and finished it just in time. She's used her considerable sway over her fan base to turn her latest book tour into a series of fundraisers for local charities, which I thought was pretty nifty indeed.

Before the reading, though, we needed sustenance, and decided to head to Bar Tartine (the restaurant outpost of the legendary Tartine bakery) for an early dinner. As the offspring of a bakery, it's only fitting that Bar Tartine serve superlative bread. This being San Francisco, it was, of course, a sourdough, with a chewy crumb dark - almost black - crust. Served alongside, some of the prettiest, freshest butter I've had in a long while.

We decided to order a couple of snacks, a couple appetizers, and - in order to sample the brioche bun - to split a hamburger. First up, a round of housemade cheddar crackers. The crackers were buttery and rich, full of the sharp, only slightly smoky flavor of sharp cheddar. I never knew crackers could be this sinful, or this satisfying.

Next, we tried the radishes with fig and walnut puree. This was delicious - but we didn't really enjoy the radishes with the fig spread. We slathered the spread on our bread, dipped the radishes in the butter and sprinkled them with salt, and ended up much happier for it all. Gorgeous as separate entities, but a pairing that didn't quite work.

It was dark by the time our burger made it to the table, so I wasn't able to snap a photo of it. But I'm sure that the images we managed to grab of our appetizers more than make up for what's missing. First up, a tomato salad with Point Reyes blue cheese, frisee and edible marigolds. The tomatoes were of the late-summer variety: impossibly sweet and soft, tasting of sunlight and dirt.

Last, but most certainly not least, we shared a pork charcuterie plate. Rillettes made from the shoulder, and terrine from, well, the rest of the pig. Alongside were a little more of that sourdough (toasted this time) and some lightly pickled baby carrots. The rillettes were good, but the fatty richness obscured any other flavors that might have been waiting to get out. The terrine, on the other hand, was amazing. It too was bursting with piggy flavor, but was drizzled with an herbed vinaigrette. The sauce lent enough tang to bring a much-needed contrast to the pork, and it absolutely made the dish.

Our burger was similarly tasty. The brioche bun was (unsurprisingly, after what I learned on this visit) huge, full of sweet butter, and soaked up the burger's juices quite splendidly. All in all, a high point in a week of many good burgers.

My general feeling about Bar Tartine is that I would go back in a heartbeat, and that I'd love to actually eat at the bar. We sat next to the window (I wanted to take some gorgeous photos for you all), but the energy and activity all seemed to emanate from the rear - I want to see what that's all about.

Bar Tartine
561 Valencia Street
San Francisco, California
415.487.1600

Banh mi mania.

Once you have terrine and chicken liver pate on your hands, the next logical step is, obviously, to make some banh mi.

If you're one of the unlucky few who has yet to encounter banh mi, let me introduce you to this most delicious of sandwiches. Inspired by the various street sandwiches available in Vietnamese cities, banh mi are a perfect example of the country's fusion of Asian and French flavors. There's no standard, but most banh mi include at least one kind of charcuterie (usually either a rustic pâté or a more spreadable one), some kind of porky filling, fresh herbs, mayonnaise and pickled vegetables - all on a crusty baguette.

We based our homemade version on the recipe from Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet, and tried to be enterprising with what we already had on hand.

We took our last crock of chicken liver pâté, let it come to room temperature, and mixed in a healthy dose of cinnamon. Next, we sliced some gorgeous Kirby cucumbers, made a quick pickle with daikon and carrot, and followed the cookbook's instructions for a ground pork stir fry for the filling. Finally, we sliced the terrine (one slice each was plenty).

We laid out fresh herbs (mint and cilantro - basil would have been nice, too), dished up some cornichons, and got down to the business of assembling our sandwiches.

Banh mi should be so messy that eating them in front of strangers is a bit embarrassing - and these delivered. Fatty, fragrant, fresh, crunchy, salty, sweet and meaty, they were pretty much the best sandwiches any of the three of us had ever tasted. The sheer act of eating them felt somehow debauched, given all the pork and offal on hand - not to mention the pickles, mayonnaise, and white bread.

And, frankly - we were pretty proud of ourselves for undertaking the effort at all. Banh mi is one of those recipes that require you to make at least three or four other recipes to make the whole thing happen. As Nick pointed out, it was a pretty badass attempt, and a successful one at that.

To drink alongside, we heartily recommend mint juleps - hell, you already have the mint on hand, you know?

The only change I would make next time? The addition of pickled jalapenos. I cannot believe we didn't think of it on the spot. Ah, well - an excuse to do it all over again.

Challenging ourselves usually turns out pretty darn good.

So far, each visit to Nick & Louisa has yielded one culinary challenge. Two years ago, it was brioche. Last year, the pork belly-off. This year, it was terrine.

Louisa bought a terrine ages ago, but hadn't worked up the nerve to tackle the job. Sometimes, though, all you need to get the job done is an extra set of hands. And, as it turns out, terrine is remarkably easy - it just has a few delicate assembly-like tasks mixed in with the cooking.

Terrine comes in many varieties, including seafood, vegetable, and offal. For our first foray, we chose something more traditional and basic, Julia Child's terrine de porc, veau et jambon (pork and veal pate with ham). This recipe looked tackle-able and gave us a chance to try out Louisa's other new and slightly intimidating toy, her Kitchen Aid meat grinder attachment.

Louisa ground the pork and half the veal with the lard (oh, yes, indeed) while I marinated the other half of the veal in a mixture of cognac, allspice, thyme and shallots. That marinade was eventually added to the ground filling, along with some sauteed onion, minced garlic and a port reduction.

While Louisa busied herself with the stuffing, I blanched some bacon, which we needed to line the terrine and seal the pate together. Blanching bacon is just like blanching vegetables: drop the slices into boiling water, cook for a few minutes, then cool in an ice bath to stop the cooking. This is an essential step, since it prevents the bacon from shrinking when you bake the terrine.

Once the bacon was cool, I used it to line the terrine, leaving some overhang to fold over the top. Louisa filled the terrine with alternating layers of the forcemeat, the marinated veal, and some sliced, boiled ham. We placed the lid on, and put the terrine in the oven to bake for about 90 minutes.

Once the terrine was done cooking, it was time to turn it from meatloaf to pâté by compressing it with weight. We cut a piece of carboard to fit snugly into the terrine, then stacked four cans of soup on top. The terrine sat on the counter for the next five hours, squishing itself into the right texture.

Five hours later, we pulled the improvised weights and cardboard away to reveal the juicy exterior of the terrine. Ideally, you would refrigerate the terrine for another few hours, still weighted, to allow the fat in the mixture to firm up a bit and hold things even more closely together - but we had banh mi to make, and couldn't help ourselves. (We did refrigerate the weighted terrine overnight once we'd taken a few slices for dinner.)

The terrine sliced easily, and didn't fall apart, even though it hadn't yet been chilled. Inside the bacon wrappings was a gorgeous interior of tender pork & veal (all the more tender for being home-ground), bits of the marinated veal, the juicy ham, and the slightly boozy and autumnal flavors of the cognac, port and allspice.

The terrine was fantastic on our banh mi (more on those soon), and delicious on its own, served on baguette with a smear of grainy mustard, topped with a cornichon. Well worth the effort, it was more tender and flavorful than any commerical pâté I've tried.

I'd love to try adding some cognac-soaked prunes or some more aggressive seasonings to the mix - one of the cool things about pate is what a great canvas it is for experimentation. After all, the original purpose of charcuterie was to use up scraps of this and that - so why not begin at the beginning and get creative?

Charcuterie, chez moi.

It was pretty dang warm here on Friday. Don't get me wrong - this spate of summer-like weather we've been having is very, very welcome - not to mention good for Memorial Day business at the local beaches. That said, my motivation to actually cook tends to dwindle as the temperature rises. So, for lunch, I decided to break out the charcuterie.

Pâté de campagne is one of my favorite types of charcuterie - I tend to prefer the more rustic versions, where the meat is chopped as opposed to pureed, and boldly flavored with cognac and black pepper. Of course, going for pâtés made of pork (pâté de grandmère is another good example) is also a more economical option than springing for those made with duck and foie gras.

Lately, I've been favoring Les Trois Petits Cochons for my charcuterie needs. They're based in Brooklyn and produce a full line of delectable charcuterie, including vegetable terrine and the aforementioned pate de campagne.

When I got home from the Greenmarket (where I'd bought a loaf of whole wheat sourdough from one of the bakery stands), I cut a few slices of pate, spooned a few pickled ramps out of their jar, sliced the bread and dished out a little whole grain mustard. A little light on the veggies, sure - but who needs salad when you've got pâté? Not I, my friend. Not I.

En plein air.

You know it's almost summer in New York when you eat outside for the first time. This probably isn't so different for non-New Yorkers - when I was growing up in Connecticut, we used to eat outside as soon as it got warm enough - but there's a curious willingness on a New Yorker's part to brave the smog and noise of congested avenues to dine al fresco the second the thermometer passes 70 degrees. (My friend Miles is a notable exception to this rule.)

Last Friday, after spending an afternoon off from work baking my sunscreen-slathered self on a rock in Central Park (that's a shot of the Great Lawn, taken just before dinnertime), I met my friend Cristin for an early dinner at Bar Boulud, near Lincoln Center. We actually ate there together at about the same time last year - and this time around, we had basically the same meal. Except, this time, we got to eat outside and enjoy the sunshine.

We shared a few small things, which seems to me to be the best way to eat, the vast majority of the time. Cristin ordered a flight of red wines, I tucked into a flight of French whites (white Burgundy - is there arnything better?), and we shared escargot, pâté grand-mère, and some delectably crispy French fries. Bar Boulud wins many, many points for serving its fries with tangy, European-syle mayonnaise. MANY POINTS.

(They lose a few points for some pretty shoddy service, though. They were hovering and imposing for the first twenty minutes, and then, when we were ready to order, they disappeared. They forgot Cristin's second glass of wine, too. For shame, frankly, at the price of $17 a glass.)

But, aside from the service glitches, it was a great, warm, sunny meal. So what if it's back in the 50s today?

Charcuterie takes Manhattan.

When I was growing up, my mom almost always served cold meats, sausage and cornichons with her cocktail hour cheese plates. Since I was not a cheese-eating child, I assumed the saucissons and pickles were for me. I've since realized that she was simply honoring the ages-old tradition of charcuterie, the French art of taking bits of this and that and making delicious terrines, head cheeses and sausages out of the scraps.

Of course, these days, charcuterie isn't all about scraps - foie gras appears almost as frequently as the ubiquitous chicken liver - but don't worry. They still give you plenty of whole grain mustard on the side.

On Saturday night, Cristin and I visited Bar Boulud, the latest and greatest addition to Manhattan's charcuterie scene. Sure, they ("they" being Daniel Boulud, proprietor of Daniel on the Upper East Side) serve real food, too, but the draw is the brightly-lit case of terrines, rillettes and sausages that runs almost the entire length of the bar. Also on offer: a fantastic selection of wines, including three tasting flights. I started my evening with the flight of whites, a collection of white Burgundies, and Cristin sampled the red, which included a Burgundy, a Rhone valley, and a Bordeaux.

We ordered the escargots, which came out of their shells and were served alongside four delectable potato croquettes. Coated in the requisite parsley, butter, and garlic, they were delicious, though not quite as tender as I would have liked.

Next up, the charcuterie! We sampled the pork rillettes, which was the terrine du jour, and the pâté grand-père, a pork and foie gras concoction. Both were delicious; the rillettes were made with olive oil instead of pork fat, which made them wonderfully light, moist and slightly tangy. The rich pate paired beautifully with my flight of whites (and, later, my glass of Meursault). We splashed out and ordered some pommes frites to go along with our meat (I'd heard good things about the fries). To my delight, they came with mayonnaise - I didn't even have to ask! - and were crisp, light and decadently salty.

For dessert, we each ordered the flight of sweet wines and promptly fell in love with the Banyuls. It paired marvelously with the fraisier coupe, and we left floating on a cloud of fortified wine and strawberry cream. Not a bad Saturday night, nor a bad way to kill three and a half hours.