The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

I’m no slouch when it comes to recognizing food and cooking terms, and I have a fairly extensive knowledge of ingredients, but lately I find myself puzzling over restaurant menus, particularly in fine dining establishments. I’m savvy to the notion that menus are written to entice diners to try the intriguing-sounding dishes. And I’ll admit that fricassee does, indeed, sound more interesting than stew; goat cheese “roulade” (from the French meaning “to roll”) beats goat cheese “log,” and any foreign name appears more exotic than its translation.

Still, I found myself grappling with a menu when, some months ago, my sister, Janet, and I were invited to join family friends for a birthday celebration. The establishment they chose, TEMPO Restaurant and Wine Bar (which, unfortunately recently closed due to the recession) was one I’d never heard of, and I decided to check out the website on the Internet. Its “vision” or mission statement read: “TEMPO is dedicated to the ideal of the great neighborhood restaurant…Our cuisine is a uniquely American expression of the Mediterranean table. We take our inspiration from the cooking of Spain, Southern France, Sicily, Sardinia and coastal Italy, with a healthy dash of the exotic from North Africa.”

I printed a copy of the menu and, by the time I had scrutinized and dissected it, I was excited enough to fantasize about what both Janet and I would order. We always share our food in an effort to try a variety of dishes, and I was hopeful she would acquiesce when I made my suggestions. I perused the menu, starting with the appetizers, first of which was Tuscan Farro Salad with roasted beets, sugar snap peas, red onions, banyuls vinegar, and caciocavallo cheese. I know farro is an ancient Italian grain and caciocavallo cheese is a teardrop shaped, semi-hard, mild Italian cheese, but what is banyuls vinegar? Turns out it’s French wine vinegar, from the region of Banyuls-sur-Mer, aged in wooden barrels for five years. How could I be stumped already?

I got stuck again a few items down when I came across the Duck Pastilla Rolls made of “crisp feuille du bric pastry,” almonds and raisins, with a Moroccan barbeque glaze. The pastry dough, it seems, is similar to the paper-thin filo favored by the Greeks for baklava and spanikopita. I’m well aware that “baccala brandade” is a creamy puree of salt cod, olive oil, milk or cream, and garlic served with crusty bread and that “polenta funghi misti” means an assortment of wild mushrooms presented on a bed of cooked cornmeal mush similar to grits. I stopped momentarily at the last appetizer, “Chermoula Shrimp Salad with baby arugula, roasted hazelnuts, with lemon and hazelnut oil.” I’ve heard of chermoula, but was forced to investigate to ascertain that it is a North African herb and spice mixture.

The pastas, I am proud to say, were a breeze. I’m confident in my knowledge that bucatini is thick hollow spaghetti; rigatoni is ridged, large, and tube- shaped; cavatelli are tiny, hand-rolled dumplings; pappardelle are wide ribbons of pasta half the thickness of lasagna noodles; and I even know fregola is Sardinian pasta made from rolling coarse semolina and water into tiny pebbles by hand. The fazzoletti gave me pause. Oh, yeah, “handkerchiefs” of pasta usually served with a hearty ragu; ragu being a meat-based sauce, naturally.

Of the side dishes, I recalled that rapini was just another name for broccoli rabe, and I knew that the pimenton-dusted fries with aioli were simply fries sprinkled with smoked paprika from Spain served with a garlicky mayonnaise. Finally, I arrived in the territory of main courses. I skated through the skate wing, roast porchetta, and even beurre noisette, which is a brown butter sauce, having only to pause to research Xeres vinegar (Spanish sherry vinegar) and wild fennel pollen, a seasoning collected from wild fennel flowers which are picked and dried and is then “dusted” on various cuts of meat to impart a haunting flavor.

Exhausted, but ravenous, I called Janet and told her of my findings. “What are we having?” she asked, confident that I had chosen well for us even before we’d stepped into the dining room.

TEMPO, by the way, was lovely. The sophisticated dining rooms were done in subdued shades of copper, gold, and bronze with simple geometric designs on the upholstery and cream-colored stucco walls; the draperies were crushed silk and nothing was jarring or over-stated.

The flavorful food was plated attractively; the service was knowledgeable and unstuffy; and one of the appetizers Janet and I shared was an exceptionally delectable special of the day. It was burrata with a mélange of multi-colored vividly marinated grape and cherry tomatoes served with crisp slices of toasted baguette. Burrata, you ask? It is a form of mozzarella made from buffalo’s milk. An outer shell of smooth mozzarella encases curds and fresh cream, or panna. When cut, it oozes its thick, impossibly creamy and ever-so-slightly sweet innards that can be scooped up with crusty bread. I even knew what it was before the waiter had a chance to explain.

Soft Polenta

Serves 6 – 8

3 cups yellow cornmeal

2 quarts water

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

10 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 ¾ cups freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Bring the water to a boil in a large saucepan and add 1 teaspoon of salt. Lower the heat to a simmer and very slowly add the polenta in a stream, stirring with a whisk until completely blended. It will now start to bubble volcanically. Reduce the heat to as low as possible, and cook the polenta, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon to prevent a skin forming on the top, about 40 to 45 minutes. The polenta is cooked when it falls away from the sides of the pan and has become thick and dense. Stir in the butter and Parmigiano-Reggiano and season generously with salt and pepper. Serve as a bed for sautéed wild mushrooms or chicken or meat ragus.