Our Recipes

The vegetables of summer are steadily dropping off their vines and sliding back into the sun-soaked recesses of memory. Much as I look forward to fall–rain, endive, leaves, rain, a hiatus from mowing the lawn, endive, rain–I still crave the crisp, succulent, almost arrogant freshness of a veggie sandwich: all that is vegetal between the savory bookends of bread and cheese. And nothing loves a great salt like a veggie sandwich. My favorite: Amabito no Moshio(藻塩) is an ancient type of Japanese salt, called shio. Shios are identifiable by their fine, snow-like texture. Their firm, intensely mineral backbone lends a delicacy and brightness to food, much as acidity supports definition and complexity in wine. Amabito no Moshio is the granddaddy of shios, created some 2,500 years ago in what was then more or less a neolithic Japan. Seaweed was hauled out of the water by fishermen and dried on the rocks, then sprayed with water, then dried some more, then sprayed some more, etc. etc. until a now salt-encrusted seaweed could be rinsed to make a saturated brine. The brine, along with bits of the kelp, would then be boiled off over a wood fire, resulting in a delicately seaweed-infused salt. Today, The Meadow’s Amabito no Moshio, made with the hondawara variety of seaweed (Sargassum fulvellum) is inspired by that tradition. If today is your day to celebrate the veggie sandwich–perhaps your last true fresh veggie sandwich of the year–do it with the proper reverence, and with a last backwards glimpse of summer’s sunny sanctity. Serves 5 Ingredients: 8 slices black bread or pumpernickel 1 teaspoon horseradish (optional) 4 ounces (8 tablespoons) cream cheese ½ bunch watercress, large stems trimmed 8 thin slices ripe tomato 2 thin slices red onion, halved 1 cup mung bean sprouts 24 thin slices cucumber ½ avocado, cut in 8 thin wedges 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar Small grind of black peppercorns 4 three-finger pinches Amabito No Moshio sea salt Spread the (optional) horseradish very sparingly over each slice of bread. Spread the cream cheese on one side of each slice of bread. Top four of the slices with a small fistful of watercress, two slices tomato, a half-slice red onion, ¼ cup sprouts, six cucumber slices, and two slices avocado. Mix the olive oil and vinegar and spoon a small amount over the vegetables. Season each sandwich with a grinding of pepper and a three-finger pinch of Amabito no Moshio sea salt. Top with remaining cream cheese and bread and serve immediately.

Usually the thing to ask when using salt is: how can I make the most of the interplay between salt and food? There’s texture to consider, the mineral flavors of the salt itself, and the visual cues that sensuously salted food can provide to get the engines of your appetite revving.   A spinach gratin is a slightly difficult character in this regard. Gratin is incredibly delicious, easy to eat, and naturally accommodates a variety of dishes, but its nature is to avoid acting like the life of the party. Also, much of the salt comes from the cheese, and the general texture of the dish is so full and rich that it leaves little room for any but the most aggressive salt crystals to have an impact on the mouthfeel of the dish. It takes an aggressive salt to shine against the backdrop of such a dish with sufficient luminosity to actually illuminate it without overwhelming it with saltiness. One salt jump to mind: Maine Coast Sea Salt. The salt has a hard, bright, faintly hot but minerally flavors and a somewhat hard crunch, so you don’t need a lot for the salt to contribute a note of rowdiness to the spinach gratin. A few pinches on the top of a gratin will greet your lips with something unexpected, an in-your-face attitude that awakens you to the full pleasure of the gratin’s comforting flavors. Serves 4 Ingredients: 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil 4 ounces shiitake mushrooms, stems trimmed, caps sliced about 1/4 inch thick 1 pound cleaned baby spinach leaves 3 two-finger pinches Maine Coast Sea Salt  3 grindings black peppercorns 2 tablespoons dry sherry 1 cup heavy cream 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard Grating of nutmeg 2 ounces shredded Gruyere cheese Preheat a broiler. Heat the olive oil in a very large skillet (raw spinach occupies 50 times the space of the same spinach cooked, which means you will need a pan many times larger than you think you will need) over medium high heat. Add the mushrooms and sauté just until tender, about 4 minutes. Add the spinach leaves and stir until completely wilted, about 3 minutes. While the spinach is cooking season it with one pinch of Maine Coast sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Transfer to a shallow gratin dish or casserole. Return the pan to the heat and add the sherry. Bring to a boil. Add the cream and boil until the volume is reduced by half. Remove from heat and stir in the mustard and nutmeg. Pour over the spinach and spread evenly. Scatter the gruyere on top of the spinach mixture and run under the broiler until the cheese is fully melted and preferably a little brown. If it begins to get oily before it browns remove it right away. Scatter the remaining Maine coast sea salt over top and serve immediately.

Sautéeing on Himalayan salt blocks creates exponentially more flavor than sautéeing in a conventional skillet. This is because a salt block cooks your food in two ways. At a blazing 500 degrees or higher, the heavy block of salt has enormous thermal mass, sizzling away moisture to produce a thick crust of rich, concentrated flavor. At the same time, the Himalayan salt itself sets to work, bursting cell membranes, intermingling juices, and breaking loose new flavors that in turn sizzle away to make for even more concentrated flavors. Want to make the most of this miracle of cooking chemistry? Balance out the scallop’s rich buttery flavors with a spritz of citrus and reinforce everything with the lip-tingling spice of Szechuan peppercorns. You’ll not have another scallop that’s this fun to cook, impressive to serve, or tasty to eat. Serves 4 Ingredients: 2 4x8x2 inch salt block 1 1/4 pounds large wild-caught sea scallops (about 16) 2 tablespoons olive oil 1/2 teaspoon cracked red Sichuan peppercorns Finely shredded zest and juice of 1/2 lemon and 1/2 lime Place the salt block(s) over a low gas flame and heat for 15 minutes. Raise the flame to medium and heat another 10 minutes. Raise the flame to high and heat another 15 minutes, until it is uncomfortable to hold your hand about 2 inches from the surface of the block for longer than 3 seconds (approximately 500°F). While the salt block is heating pat the scallops dry and pull off their white gristly tendons (located on the side of the scallop) if not already removed. Coat the scallops with the olive oil and Szechuan pepper and let stand at room temperature until the salt block is hot. Place the scallops on the hot block. The scallops should almost skitter across the top. If they just plop there and sizzle modestly, the salt is and sear until browned and springy to the touch but still a little soft in the center, 2 to 3 minutes per side. Work in batches if your salt block cannot comfortably fit all the scallops at once. Remove to a platter or plates, or move the entire salt block to the table and set on an oven mitt or trivet to serve still sizzling to your guests. Scatter the citrus zest over top and drizzle with the juice. Eat immediately.

Man Ray. Some names were just tailor made for greatness. If my parents had thought to name me Man instead of Mark I might actually have made something of myself. Picasso. Nobody named Picasso could not be great, if you know what I mean. The name, Osso bucco has that air of irrefutable deliciousness. Veal shank braised in aromatic herbs, spices, and vegetables, a bit of wine and the incredible mouth feel of veal bone marrow that dissipates slowly throughout the flesh marrying everything in buttery richness, by any other name would be as glorious. So how do you salt a Picasso? The classic approach to seasoning osso bucco is to add salt up front, with the intention of letting the salt do its magic, slowly permeating the meat, helping to tenderize it and develop its flavors. In truth, the cooking method is sufficient to tenderize the meat, and the minerals naturally present in veal are enough to flavor it, especially since braising concentrates natural flavors. The cast of characters such as mirepoix (onion, carrot, celery) supporting the osso bucco don’t need salt to cook properly, though they can definitely use a touch for emphasis. With these facts and thoughts in hand, we can lightly deconstruct the immaculate osso bucco and approach salting it with a fresh perspective, salting less up front and adding a noble salt (like Piran Sel Gris) to its garnish of gremolata that traditionally tops Milanese dishes, providing us with a new name for perfection Serves 4 Ingredients: 4 pieces of veal shank, each about 2 inches thick 1/2 cup flour 2 tablespoons butter 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 cup finely chopped onion 1/2 cup finely chopped carrot 1/2 cup finely chopped celery 3 garlic cloves, minced 1/2 cup white wine 1 1/2 cups low salt veal stock or chicken broth 1 cup canned unsalted diced tomatoes 1 bay leaf Coarsely ground black pepper to taste Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lemon 1/4 cup finely chopped parsley 2 big pinches Piran Sel Gris or other sel gris Tie an 18 inch piece of string around the perimeter of each piece of veal shank. Dust both sides of each piece of veal with flour. In a large heavy deep-sided skillet heat the butter and 1 tablespoon oil until it foams. Brown the shanks in the hot fat on both sides. Remove to a plate. Add the onion, carrot, celery and sauté until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Add 2/3 of the garlic and cook until aromatic, about 30 seconds. Add any remaining seasoned flour. Add the wine and simmer until alcohol evaporates, about 1 minute. Add the stock, tomatoes and bay leaves; heat until simmering. Season to taste with pepper. Return the shanks to the pan along with any liquid that has accumulated on the plate. Cover and cook over low heat for 1 1/2 hours, until the shanks are tender.Mix the lemon zest with the remaining garlic and the chopped parsley to make the gremolata; set aside. When the shanks are fork tender remove them with a set of tongs to a platter, untying each one as you do. Skim the fat from the surface of the sauce left in the pan. Add the lemon juice to the sauce and spoon over the shanks. Drizzle with remaining olive oil. Add the sel gris to the gremolata and scatter over the shanks. Serve with black truffle risotto (pictured), or a simple pasta with olive oil and fried garlic.