Looking for the Pearls: Dinner at The Beard Awards

I have to say right off the bat that I’ve never been much of an awards person. It’s not that I think that people shouldn’t be honored for their skill/creativity/talent/impact; it’s more because the galas that go hand in hand with these functions tend to be populated by gigantically tall people, and no matter how high the heels are that I dig out from the bowels of my closet, I still invariably get elbowed in the chest by the same statuesque blonde who I always decide may or may not be Donatella Arpaia.

But this year, I had been asked to judge a division of the James Beard Awards, and I felt it my duty to attend. I also wanted to meet—at long last—my friend and landsman Andrew Zimmern, with whom I have kept up a year-long correspondence; he was hosting the first night of awards with Kelly Choi, and I really didn’t want to miss this man who is the embodiment of what it means to eat locally (even if you’re turned off by his love of crawling multipedes). So I put on the suit, and off I went.

It was fun. A lot of amazing people were there—folks I’ve been in touch with for a long while, but haven’t actually ever met, like Naomi Duguid and her remarkable publisher, Artisan’s Ann Bramson; Sara Kate Gillingham-Ryan of Apartment Therapy; Nathalie Dupree (who was sitting three feet from me and who I still managed to not meet); and, of course, Andrew and his lovely wife, Rishia Haas. But also in attendance were Claudia Roden and Judith Jones, James Oseland; and Thomas Keller and David Chang, who at one point I spied book-ending one of the bars in the reception area. I figured they knew something I didn’t, so I sidled up and decided that whatever was being poured, I would drink it.

It was tall. It looked like cranberry soda. But it tasted sort of oddly smoky, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Neither could Rishia. I didn’t know what it was until I checked my menu, which called it a Smoked Ribena Collins, crafted from “Beefeater Summer Gin with Fresh Lemon Juice, Smoked Ribena Blackcurrant Syrup, Soda Water, Lemon Peel, and Garnished with Fresh Blackcurrants.”

Mine appeared to be garnished with only a small wedge of lime, but then again, I had a free ticket. It was pretty good, but somewhere between my first sip and my last, I decided that I don’t want anyone smoking my syrup. Ribs, yes. Brisket, fine. But for god’s sake, leave my syrup alone.

I knew, of course, that the various cocktails being poured–the Smoked Ribera Collins, the “Chamomile Smile,” fashioned from Beefeater 24 with Chamomile Tea Syrup, Aperol, and a Grapefruit Twist, and the “Cucumber Mint Creole,” which married Plymouth Gin (my favorite) to sherry, Aquavit, cucumber, mint, lemon juice, and simple syrup, and which I missed entirely—were a clear indication of what was to come in the dining room. I expected layer upon layer of description and ingredient, and I was not disappointed, especially given who was in the kitchen that night: John Besh, Suzanne Goin, Karen deMasco, and Gerald Hirigoyen.

Waiting for me when I sat down was poached asparagus in a “perfect blonde vinaigrette” (Gerald’s contribution); next came a remarkable redfish courtbouillon with brown shrimp and “crab pearls” (Besh); then came braised short ribs with baked ricotta, olives, pine nuts, and crumbled feta (Goin); and lastly, white chocolate panna cotta with morello cherries and cherry sorbet and some sort of Green & Black chocolate add on, which I couldn’t find (deMasco).

It was all very nice even though Besh’s luscious pearls were in fact chunks and Goin’s short ribs were shredded and miniscule, like a string or two of ropa vieja. I’ve done some catering, and I know that it’s tough cooking for 200 people; the food itself was delicious, but, like the cocktails, the dishes  felt so overwrought and verging on a kind of rushed hysteria that all I could think of was the fact that while the culinary world’s greatest minds and hands were all huddled under one roof and deconstructing dinner, a few blocks away, the Martha Stewart people were getting ready to air an episode featuring Alice Waters, Scott Peacock, Bryant Terry, and Cal Peternell, who were making steamed turnips, and greens on toast.

Is there sort of a mixed message going on here? All we seem to talk about these days is the evocative beauty of simple food—the preparation of seasonal ingredients of stellar quality, and their presentation in an elemental manner (see greens on toast, above). And to be fair, Alice hasn’t been the only one harping on about this for years and years; Peter Hoffman, Paul Bertolli, Dan Barber, Deborah Madison and scores of others have built their worlds—and ours—on the beauty of simple food.

I know that “gala” food has to be prepared and presented differently, and that for a lot of people, implied complexity is expected and desired. This explains the reaction of the cranks at the table next to me last June, when Susan and I were having dinner at Chez Panisse; they were completely unimpressed by the local pork served three ways, and they were loud about it. The dish was simple. It was unfettered, and uncomplicated. My neighbors didn’t get it. They wanted height. They wanted culinary fanfare. They wanted vertical plating.

They wanted pearls.

So which will it be? Vertical and complicated? Or simply and exquisitely prepared?

I’ll have the greens on toast.

Seasonal Greens on Garlic Toast

The best way to prepare this dish is to head to the market, and look for fresh, seasonal greens of different consistencies and flavors. I was lucky enough to find baby collards, which are tender enough to cook quickly; young kale; and young mustard greens. Sauteed together in a wok with a handful of smashed garlic, a bit of broth, a squeeze of lemon, the result is delicious hot, on toast, room temperature and topped with a poached egg, or even cold. I crumbled Greek Fetiri on the dish, and called it dinner.

Serves 2

1-1/2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

6 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed

1 small bunch baby collards, trimmed and chiffonaded

1 small bunch young kale, trimmed and chopped

1 small bunch young mustard greens, trimmed and chopped

1/3 cup chicken stock (or vegetable stock)

salt, to taste

pinch red pepper flakes

wedges of lemon

4 slices toasted country bread, rubbed with a garlic clove

crumbled feta or other sheep’s milk cheese

1. In a large saute pan or wok set over medium high heat, warm the oil until shimmering, and add half of the garlic cloves. Cook until just beginning to caramelize, tossing regularly, about 6 minutes.

2. Add the collards and toss well, cooking until they begin to soften, about five minutes. Add the kale, toss, and add the mustard greens. Cook for about 5-7 minutes, until they begin to reduce. Drizzle the stock over the greens, toss, set a cover or large cookie sheet askew over the pan, and continue to cook for about 3 minutes. Taste for salt.

3. Add a pinch of red pepper flakes, toss, and serve directly on garlic toast, with wedges of lemon and topped with the crumbled cheese.