Mallmann on Fire

by Francis Mallmann

  4 medium potatoes, about 5 ounces each, well scrubbed

  2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

  ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

  1 bay leaf

  ¼ teaspoon black peppercorns

  Coarse salt

  Place the potatoes, red wine vinegar, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, the bay leaf, peppercorns, and salt to taste in a large saucepan, cover with cold water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and cook at a gentle boil for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the potatoes are tender enough to be pierced through with a skewer. Drain in a colander; do not allow to cool, or the potatoes will break instead of smash.

  Place a potato on one side of a clean dishcloth on a flat work surface and fold the cloth over to cover it. Using the palm of your hand, slowly and gently smash the potato inside the cloth. With a spatula, transfer to a plate. Repeat with the remaining potatoes.

  Heat a chapa or a large cast-iron griddle or skillet over medium-low heat until a drop of water sizzles on the surface. Spoon a tablespoon of olive oil over each potato and place them oiled side down on the hot surface. Cook until they are crisp and golden on the bottom, about 5 minutes. Add the remaining ¼ cup oil to the skillet and slowly crisp the other side of the potatoes, about 5 minutes more. Serve immediately, sprinkled with coarse salt.

  Artichokes and Fingerling Potatoes a la Plancha

  My dear friend Rose Gray, of London’s famed River Café, was very fond of artichokes and almonds—two ingredients that are bitter when raw but, once cooked, have an earthy nuttiness. Here I decided to throw in my Patagonia wonder food . . . potatoes! Boiling the artichokes and potatoes and then caramelizing them on the chapa feels very Italian to me, as does the light vinaigrette of olive oil and lemon. SERVES 4

  Coarse salt

  4 lemons, 3 cut in half

  4 large artichokes

  12 fingerling potatoes, scrubbed

  About ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling

  Freshly ground black pepper

  1 bunch arugula, tough stems removed

  ⅓ cup toasted blanched whole almonds

  Bring 2 inches of salted water to a boil in a large pot. Meanwhile, zest the whole lemon on a Microplane and reserve the zest. Cut the lemon in half and squeeze the juice into the pot. Toss in the squeezed halves.

  For each artichoke, pull off most of the outside leaves, cut off most of the stem, and slice the remaining leaves off about two thirds of the way down to the base. With a sharp knife, trim off the tough green outside layer all around the base and stem. Rub the cut areas with the squeezed lemon halves and add to the pot with the trimmed artichokes. Reduce the heat to a gentle bubble and cook, covered, until the artichokes are tender when pierced through the bottom with a skewer, 15 minutes or so, depending on their size.

  Meanwhile, place the potatoes in a pot of cold salted water and bring to a low boil over medium heat. Cook for about 10 minutes, or until they are tender enough to be easily pierced through with a skewer. Drain in a colander and let cool just enough to handle (if cooled completely, they will break instead of smash).

  Put a potato on one half of a clean dishcloth on a work surface, fold the other half of the dishcloth over it, and, using the palm of your hand, slowly and gently smash the potato to flatten it. Transfer to a tray and repeat with the rest of the potatoes.

  When the artichokes are done, drain them in a colander, stem side up so they drain thoroughly. Remove all the leaves. Using a teaspoon, scrape out the inedible chokes, then cut the artichokes into quarters. Pat them dry with paper towels, drizzle with a little olive oil to coat, and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

  Heat a chapa or a large cast-iron griddle over medium heat. Scatter the arugula over a wide serving platter. Brush the chapa generously with olive oil, and when it shimmers, arrange the artichokes and lemon halves, cut side down, on the hot surface. Cook for about 2 minutes, until the artichokes are crisped and golden on the bottom. Turn and repeat until they are crisp and golden on all sides, then transfer to the platter. Remove the lemon halves when they are browned on the cut side and transfer to the platter.

  As the artichokes are done, add the potatoes to the hot surface, adding more oil if necessary, and cook until the bottoms are crisped and golden, a minute or two. Turn and cook until crisped on the other side, then add to the platter.

  Scatter the lemon zest and toasted almonds over the salad, season with salt and pepper, and serve immediately. At the table, everyone can squeeze the lemon halves over the top and drizzle with olive oil.

  TRAVELS WITH FIRE

  TRANCOSO, BRAZIL

  How do you define tropical paradise? For me, it is Trancoso, a village on the coast of Brazil, a few hundred miles north of Rio, as pretty as any of Gauguin’s tropical scenes.

  It was the first place that the Portuguese explorer Pedro Alvares Cabral landed when he claimed Brazil for the king of Portugal. Not much else happened there for the next four hundred years, until a bunch of hippies rediscovered it in the 1970s. It was their idea of paradise too: a great beach, no cars, no malls, with fruits falling off the trees and fish jumping out of the river and ocean right into your frying pan. Vanina and I thought it sounded like just the place for us, so we booked a room in the only hotel in town and fell in love with Trancoso. Before we left, we told the hotelier that if a restaurant space became available, we would love to do something there. Two years later, I received a phone call about a small place—maybe fifty seats. No walls, just a roof and a place to cook over fires. In other words, a perfect spot for my brand of outdoor cooking and eating and hanging out. Now we spend two months there every winter. Our baby, Eloisa, is as happy there as a kitten with a ball of catnip.

  The town—really just a village—is a cluster of ancient, or at least ancient-looking, cottages ranged around the quadrado, the rustic town green, with trees that throw the most seductive shade and grass that is tended only by grazing horses that keep it at just the right length. No cars. No screens in any windows, just wooden shutters, and shady porches for lolling around, reading a book, and listening to the breeze, the birds, the laughter of children at play. The huge tides from the ocean push for miles up the river, so if you are in the mood for a lazy float into the jungle, jump in and let the tide carry you upstream and, when it turns, return you to town. If you want to sunbathe, head for the beach, and if hunger should strike, make sure to raise your hand so that one of the many vendors can set up a brazier of hot coals and prepare some melted cheese on skewers. Fresh shrimp too. If this gets you thirsty, every beach has a bar, and every bartender makes ice-cold caipirinhas with the finest cachaça in the world. Or if vodka is your choice, then a caipiroska or two . . . or three.

  Among the local fish, the vermilion snapper is as beautiful as its name and as delicious as it is beautiful. And the open-air market on Saturday! As you would expect in the tropics, there are pineapples and bananas, mangoes and papayas—the best I have ever tasted. If juice stains on your shirt are the price of such pleasure, I am ready to tie-dye my favorite dress shirt in mango nectar. Don’t let me forget the beans. People don’t, as a rule, get too excited at the mention of beans, but surely, then, they have never had the freshly harvested beans that are a staple of the local diet here.

  Finally, if you are a napper—which is the very definition of proper civilized living—you will find yourself among many aficionados of this low-impact sport. Of course, a nap is even more delicious with someone you love.

  In the relative cool of the dawn—which is when I rise—I throw open the shutters as the first light touches the swirling mist rising off the trees and flowers. I sip a coffee and watch the late-night partygoers making their way home—some of them from my restaurant. My day is just starting.

  DESSERTS

  Burnt Peaches and Figs with Amaretto, Lemon Zest, and Mint

  If you cook torn or sliced peaches in sugar on a hot chapa, they will caramelize quickly, with a slightly bitter edge, while the insi
de remains uncooked and sweet. I don’t bother taking out the pits: I like the fruit served as rustically as possible. As a last step, I pour amaretto over the hot peaches and give them a final caramelization with more sugar. I use a salamander—kind of a hot branding iron—for this; it creates hissing, smoking steam as it sears the surface of the peaches. If you don’t have a salamander, you can get much the same effect by sprinkling the sugar on the peaches and turning them sugared side down on the hot chapa. SERVES 4

  4 ripe peaches

  4 fresh figs

  1 cup sugar

  1 cup amaretto

  Grated zest of 1 lemon

  ½ cup fresh mint leaves

  Heat a chapa or a large cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Cut or tear the peaches in half, leaving the pits intact. Tear the figs in half. If using a salamander, place it in the fire to heat.

  When the cooking surface is hot, spread half the sugar evenly over it. When it starts to melt, arrange the peaches and figs on it, skin side down. After several minutes, when the bottoms of the peaches are browned, carefully pour ¾ cup of the amaretto over the fruit, averting your face in case it flames up. Sprinkle with the remaining sugar. If using a salamander, brown the cut sides of the peaches for about 5 seconds each; otherwise, turn the peaches over to brown the cut sides. Pour the remaining ¼ cup of amaretto over the peaches.

  Transfer the burnt fruit to a platter, sprinkle with the grated lemon zest, and scatter the mint leaves over all.

  NOTE: Burnt sugar can be easily scraped off cast iron with a vinegar and water solution poured directly on the hot surface.

  ALSO PICTURED ON PAGE 240

  Grilled Bizcochuelo Strips with Amaretto and Burnt Shredded Quince

  Bizcochuelo is a simple, very light cake. When it is sliced into strips, sprinkled with amaretto, dipped in sugar syrup, and grilled on the parrilla, it is striking to look at and delicious to eat. I like to serve it with Roasted Pineapple (page 254). Done on the grill, the pineapple comes out almost like a fruit confit (if you are cooking indoors, it turns out very well in the oven). I always dip the cake in the delicious caramelized syrup the pineapple has cooked in. If you skip the pineapple, use simple syrup. SERVES 8

  FOR THE BIZCOCHUELO

  Butter and flour for the pan

  4 large eggs, at room temperature

  ¾ cup sugar

  1 teaspoon fine salt

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  ¾ cup cake flour, sifted

  ¼ cup amaretto

  2 cups syrup from Roasted Pineapple (page 254) or Simple Syrup (recipe follows)

  Vegetable oil

  Burnt Shredded Quince (opposite), cut into slices

  2 cups mascarpone cheese, Greek yogurt, or ice cream

  Grated zest of 1 orange

  Fresh mint leaves

  To prepare the bizcochuelo, heat the oven to 350°F with a rack in the lower third. Butter and flour an 8-inch square cake pan. Line the bottom with a piece of parchment paper and butter and flour the parchment.

  Break the eggs into the bowl of an electric mixer and add the sugar and salt. Beat with the whisk attachment at high speed until the mixture doubles in volume. Add the vanilla and continue beating until the mixture forms a ribbon when the beater is lifted. Remove the bowl from the mixer and, using a rubber spatula, gently but thoroughly fold in the sifted flour in 3 batches.

  Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for about 25 minutes, until the cake is golden brown on top and a skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool for about 10 minutes in the pan, then unmold onto a rack and cool completely.

  When ready to serve, heat a charcoal grill or a large ridged cast-iron grill pan over high heat. Cut the bizcochuelo into quarters and cut each quarter into ½-inch-thick slices. Lay them out on a tray and sprinkle with the amaretto. Pour the syrup into a wide bowl and, using tongs, dip each strip quickly into the syrup and return to the tray; don’t let them soak up too much syrup, or they will fall apart.

  Brush the grill or pan with oil, lay the slices of cake on the grill (or in the pan), and grill, without disturbing them, for about 2 minutes, or until they are nicely marked. Turn and repeat on the other side. Transfer to a platter

  To serve, place 4 bizcochuelo strips on each serving plate. Arrange some of the quince and a dollop of mascarpone or yogurt, or scoop of ice cream, beside them. Scatter the orange zest over the top and garnish with mint leaves.

  Simple Syrup

  MAKES ABOUT 1½ CUPS

  1 cup sugar

  1 cup water

  Combine the sugar and water in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sugar is completely dissolved. The syrup will keep for several weeks tightly covered in the refrigerator.

  Burnt Shredded Quince

  In Argentina, and throughout much of the Hispanic world, quince is made into blocks of paste, called membrillo, often eaten with cream cheese as an appetizer or dessert. For this simple recipe, shredded quince is sprinkled with sugar and cooked on a chapa. Usually quince takes a very long time to cook. I particularly like this method because the quince cooks quickly. The sugar caramelizes and the sugar and butter soften the flavors and balance the fruit’s natural tartness. Serve over ice cream or as a garnish for poached fruits. MAKES ABOUT 1½ CUPS

  1 quince

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter

  ¼ cup sugar

  Heat a chapa or a cast-iron griddle over high heat. Meanwhile, peel the quince and shred it on a box grater, avoiding the seedy core.

  When the chapa is hot enough for a drop of water to sizzle on the surface, rub the butter over it and spread the shredded quince on top. Sprinkle the sugar evenly over the quince, and don’t disturb for at least 2 minutes, until nicely browned on the bottom. Turn and repeat on the other side. Serve hot or warm.

  Textiles

  I collect old textiles by the hundreds. Ancient batik from Indonesia, old indigo-dyed fabrics from Africa, Alsatian squared linens, antique damask from Persia, vicuña wools from the Andes, hand-sewn saris from India, Aubusson rugs from France, and needlepoint from England are all part of my family. They have all been on my TV shoots, in a tent in the snow, on a grill day at the beach, or used as tablecloths on my farm in the hills of Uruguay. They give comfort and warmth on the sofas of my log cabin on a remote island in Patagonia, hang from the roof of my restaurant in Trancoso in the north of Brazil, and add color to my bathroom in Buenos Aires (which has three sofas). Each is a memory of a time and a place. I catch a glimpse of a tiny part of one in a stack and am taken back, for example, to Paris in the 80s when I bought it even though I then had barely enough money left to pay my hotel bill.

  Pionono with Dulce de Leche and Strawberries

  Originally a pastry from Spain, in Argentina, pionono is a sponge cake rolled up around either a sweet or a savory filling. Here it is stuffed with fresh strawberries and dulce de leche. The sugars crisp and slightly burn on the grill, and I think that by now, you know I love char on almost anything. SERVES 8

  FOR THE PASTRY

  Butter and flour for the pan

  6 large eggs

  ⅓ cup sugar

  1 teaspoon fine salt

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  ½ cup cake flour, sifted twice

  FOR THE FILLING

  1 pound dulce de leche, preferably La Salamandra

  1 pint strawberries, hulled

  Vegetable oil

  To prepare the cake, heat an horno or the oven to 375°F, with a rack in the lower third. Butter a 12-by-16-by-¾-inch rimmed baking sheet, line it with parchment paper, and butter and flour the paper. Set aside.

  Break the eggs into the bowl of an electric mixer and add the sugar, salt, and vanilla. Beat with the whisk attachment at high speed for 5 to 10 minutes, until the mixture is very thick and light and forms a ribbon when the beater is lifted. With a rubber spatula, fold in the sifted flour, taking care to break up any lumps.
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  Pour the batter into the prepared pan and spread it evenly. Bake for 10 minutes, or until the cake is firm to the touch and is beginning to pull away from the sides of the pan. Lay another piece of parchment on top of the cake and invert it onto the paper. Cover with a damp kitchen towel and let cool completely.

  Have a bowl of hot water at hand. Spoon the dulce de leche onto the cooled cake and spread it evenly with a spatula until the surface is covered, leaving a ¼-inch border. You may need to dip the spatula in the hot water at intervals if the dulce de leche gets too sticky.

  If the strawberries are large, halve or quarter them. Scatter them evenly over the dulce de leche. Using the parchment to help you, roll up the cake from a short end as you would a jelly roll. If the cake sticks, sprinkle some hot water onto the back of the parchment paper to help release the cake. Turn the roll seam side down and cut it into 8 slices.

  Heat a charcoal grill or a large ridged cast-iron grill pan over medium-high heat. Brush the grill or pan generously with vegetable oil. Arrange the slices of pionono on the hot surface, spaced well apart (cook in batches if necessary), and grill for about a minute, until nicely marked on the bottom. Using a wide sharp-edged spatula, transfer the grilled pionono to individual dessert plates and serve immediately.

  Pears with Malbec, Cream, and Berries

  Fruit, cream, and wine—these are three food groups I could eat every day. There is no place on earth that produces more luscious berries than the mountain valleys and hillsides of Patagonia. The days are long and very sunny and the nights are cold: perfect conditions for berries. Many of these berries aren’t cultivated—in fact, some I haven’t seen anywhere else in the world. The deep purple, almost black, calafate and sauco of the Andes have delighted me on many a mountain hike. Likewise, the orchards of the valley of the Rio Negro, because of that same cycle of long hot days and cold nights, yield the most wonderful pears. Malbec grapes, originally vinted in France for the hearty black wine of Cahors, express a bit more elegance in the vineyards of our wine country in Mendoza. It still makes for a full-bodied, intensely fruity wine that reduces to a silky syrup. SERVES 4