Lobster Cantonese

(Photos by Debra Samuels for The Boston Globe)

The classic method for Lobster Cantonese calls for chopping the raw crustacean - a scary proposition. Instead, start with a cooked lobster - unconventional, but perfect for squeamish cooks. This recipe is based on one from Irene Kuo’s “The Key to Chinese Cooking,’’ which does begin with live shellfish. Many markets will cook the lobsters for you. Once home, snap the claws and tails off the body. Stir-fry fermented black beans and ground pork with garlic and ginger. The liquid from the cooked lobster becomes part of the tasty sauce; the lobster in its shell protects the meat from turning chewy and still imparts flavor. Prepare ingredients in advance, line them up near the burner, and the cooking time is minimal. The results are frightfully good!

3 cooked lobsters (1 1/4 pounds each)
Juices from lobsters plus chicken stock or water to make 1 1/4 cups
2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine or sake
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
1 1/2 tablespoons canola oil
3 scallions, chopped
1 piece (1 inch) fresh ginger, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tablespoons fermented black beans, soaked for 5 minutes, drained, and chopped
1/2 pound ground pork
1 tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon sesame oil
2 eggs, lightly beaten

1. Over a large bowl, snap off the claws and tails from the lobster (boil the bodies to make lobster stock for seafood stew for another day).
   
   
2. With a lobster cracker, hold a claw over the same bowl and crack down the middle, catching any liquid in the bowl. Twist off the base of the claw and crack in the middle. The meat should stay intact in the shell. Repeat with remaining claws. Hold a lobster tail over the bowl and twist off the base. Lay the tail on a cutting board and with a chef’s knife or cleaver, cut the tail into 3 pieces. Repeat with remaining tails.
   
   
3. Set a strainer over another bowl. Pour the lobster liquid through it. Measure and add enough stock or water to make 1 1/4 cups liquid. Add the rice wine or sake and pepper.
   
   
4. Heat a large wok or deep skillet over high heat for 30 seconds. Add the oil and when it is hot, add the scallions, ginger, garlic, and black beans. Stir-fry for 1 minute. Add the pork and stir-fry 2 minutes or until the pork loses its pink color.
   
   
5. Add the lobster liquid mixture. Bring to a boil. Add the lobster pieces, and cook, tossing with a wide spatula, until lobster is coated with sauce. Cover and continue cooking for 2 minutes.
   
   
6. Lower the heat to medium. Stir the cornstarch mixture. Drizzle it over the lobster mixture. Add the sesame oil and cook, stirring, for 1 minute or until the sauce thickens.
   
   
7. Pour the eggs into the pan in a circular motion. Cook, stirring gently, for 1 minute. Turn off the heat and let the mixture sit for 1 minute more.
   

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

One potato Two potato

Photo by Debra Samuels for the Boston Globe

By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / April 1, 2009

As Lexington resident Norma Currie explains it, she and her siblings did what many children do: "None of us would eat our vegetables," she says. But their mother was smarter than her kids. She cooked the vegetables and mashed them with potatoes. "And we loved them," says Currie, who still makes various versions of the spuds today. Sometimes it accompanies roast chicken or other meats and fish. It's a good way to have your mashed potatoes with less guilt and fewer calories. Carrots add volume and sweetness and their vitamins, of course. Spinach and mashed is another winning combination. Add rinsed spinach leaves to the hot potato water after cooking. Cover the pot and let the spinach sit for 2 minutes. The heat of the water softens the leaves, but they keep their vibrant green color.

Mashed potatoes with carrots

Serves 4

Salt and pepper, to taste
3 medium Yukon Gold or Yellow Finn potatoes (about 3/4 pound), peeled and quartered
2 medium carrots, cut into 2-inch rounds
1 tablespoon butter
1/4 cup milk

1. In a saucepan of boiling salted water, combine the potatoes and carrots and turn the heat to medium high. Simmer for 10 minutes or until the potatoes and carrots are tender when pierced with a skewer.
   
   
2. Drain the vegetables and transfer to a bowl. Add the butter and milk. Mash with a potato masher until the mixture is smooth. Add salt and pepper
   
   

Mashed potatoes with spinach

Serves 4

Salt and pepper, to taste
3 medium potatoes (about 3/4 pound), peeled and quartered
2 cups baby spinach leaves
1 tablespoon butter
1/4 cup milk

1. In a saucepan of boiling salted water, cook the potatoes over medium-high heat for 10 minutes or until they are tender when pierced with a skewer.
   
   
   
2. Turn off the heat and add the spinach. Cover and set aside for 2 minutes until the spinach wilts but is still bright green.
   
   
   
3. Drain the vegetables and transfer to a bowl. Add the butter and milk. Mash with a potato masher until the mixture is smooth. Add salt and pepper.
   Adapted from Norma Currie
   
   
   

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

Spicy Tuna Salad

photo for Boston Globe by Debra Samuels

Think spicy tuna and a sushi bar comes to mind. But there are other ways to meld rich fish and hot condiments. One is this composed canned tuna salad, made with the same spicy sauce used in those popular sushi rolls. You can make the same dish with shrimp, grilled salmon, smoked salmon, or leftover roast striped bass. The sauce begins with ordinary mayo, to which sesame oil and a few squirts of the Thai hot sauce sriracha are mixed in - enough to make a lip-tingling, faintly pink-colored sauce. Flake white tuna onto peppery arugula, garnish the plates with radishes for even more bite, and toss on a few cucumbers to cool the presentation. Then drizzle with spicy sauce. Not your mother’s tuna salad.

1/4 cup mayonnaise
2 teaspoons dark sesame oil
1 teaspoon sriracha sauce, or more to taste
1 bunch arugula, stems removed
2 cans (6 1/2 ounces each) solid white albacore tuna in water
1 bunch radishes, soaked to remove sand, trimmed, and quartered
2 Armenian or pickling cukes, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 scallions, chopped
4 small whole-wheat pita, halved and toasted

1. In a small mixing bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, sesame oil, and sriracha. Taste for seasoning and add more sriracha, if you like.
2. On each of 4 plates, arrange some of the arugula. Divide the tuna among the plates, setting it in a mound on each one. Add radishes and cucumbers.
3. Spoon the sauce over the tuna and sprinkle with scallions. Serve with toasted pita.

The flavors of Sicily, topped with tradition

Concetta checks the pizza sponge as Angela makes the sauce.

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.

By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009

DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.

It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.

Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).

The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.

Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma,
she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.

An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.

Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings.

One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.

Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.

Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.

Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The Flavors of Sicily, Topped with Tradition

Concetta checks the pizza dough sponge while Angela makes sauce

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.

By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009

DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.
It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.
Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).
The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.
Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma, she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.
An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.
Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings. One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.
Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.
Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.
Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The Flavors of Sicily Topped with Tradition

Twice a month, Concetta Cucinotta and Angela Molinario spend the day making pizza for their family in the kitchen of Cucinotta’s home in Dedham.
(Photos By Erik Jacobs for The Boston Globe)
By Debra Samuels
Globe Correspondent / August 12, 2009
DEDHAM - The old yellow plastic tub, covered with a soft, well-worn blanket, sits on Concetta Cucinotta’s kitchen table. You can almost see the blanket moving. Under it, a mound of yeasty, bubbly dough is spilling, like molten lava, over the sides of the tub. Lively Italian folk music is coming from a CD player and Cucinotta periodically breaks into song.
It’s pizza day for Cucinotta and her sister, Angela Molinario, a ritual that takes place twice a month. The sisters spend the day shopping, cooking, and feeding their families - along with anyone else who shows up. The crowd is rarely fewer than 15.
Cucinotta, in a flowered apron, starts to tame the dough. With a flick of her wrist, she scatters flour onto a big board and kneads the mass into submission. When you start with 10 pounds of flour, this is no simple feat. She makes quick work of forming six pieces for bread, six for pizza, and at least one mound for the Sicilian calzone called scaciadda (ska-cha-da).
The sisters immigrated to the United States in the early 1970s from the village of Saponara near Messina, Sicily. Their mother, Maria Gangemi, always made pizza for the family; the daughters have continued the tradition for the last nine years. Molinario is a seamstress in Lexington; Cucinotta, now retired, worked on the housekeeping staff of Children’s Hospital Boston.
Today, they’re making sauce and toppings that include sausage, onions, peppers, and pepperoni. Molinario sautes two huge onions in olive oil. When they begin to brown and release their aroma, she lifts them out of the skillet and stirs tomato paste and two large cans of ground tomatoes into the pan. “That’s the secret,’’ says Molinario. The tomato mixture sizzles and splatters and absorbs the onion flavors left behind. Eventually she returns the cooked onions to the skillet with dried oregano and basil, black pepper, and water.
An ornery stove that’s seen better days doesn’t always deliver consistently high heat, so the sisters jack up the temperature to 550. Somehow it turns out crusty masterpieces with an occasional burnt loaf.
Cucinotta hands off pieces of the dough to her sister, who lays one on a worn rimmed baking sheet. She presses and stretches the dough to fit the rectangular tray. Molinario grates bricks of mozzarella and lays the toppings within easy reach. “They are like a machine, these two,’’ says Enza Hart, Cucinotta’s daughter. Each pizza is spread with sauce and scattered with toppings. One is cheese only, another pepperoni, and so on. The diminutive duo - both sisters are under 5 feet - make the pies they know their family likes.
Still singing, Cucinotta lets the loaves rise on a floured bed sheet spread on the table, covering them again with the blanket. Her calzone goes into a rectangular baking dish. She rolls a piece of dough and sets half of it in the dish; the rest hangs over the edge. She heaps on onions, potatoes, sausages, and escarole, then folds the soft dough over the top, crimping the edges shut.
Cucinotta’s husband, Giovanni, comes in through the side door. He’s been shopping in the North End and sets down his haul of groceries. Giovanni gets the first hot slice. He pours himself some potent homemade wine. Giovanni points out a photograph of himself, standing in a hard hat on an empty, soon-to-open Zakim Bridge. His daughter explains: “My dad was a construction laborer for 30 years, and he worked on the bridge. His grandkids call it Nonno’s bridge.’’
Those kids are trickling in, along with some nieces. Aunt Angela gives 13-year-old Jennifer Hart a little knot of fried dough dipped in sugar. The phone starts ringing. “Is it ready yet?’’ ask the callers.
Everyone who knows the sisters knows it’s pizza day.
© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.

The word on rotisserie bird

The aromas from five rotisserie chickens, purchased just before the tasters arrived, were so enticing that the group of six sat at the table, forks at the ready, and let out a collective "Mmm." All of the birds had come out of their ovens between 4 and 5 p.m., timed perfectly for shoppers on their way home from work.

Debra Samuels

March 25, 2009
By Debra Samuels

Globe Correspondent / March 25, 2009

The aromas from five rotisserie chickens, purchased just before the tasters arrived, were so enticing that the group of six sat at the table, forks at the ready, and let out a collective "Mmm." All of the birds had come out of their ovens between 4 and 5 p.m., timed perfectly for shoppers on their way home from work.

Many markets have the birds on view doing their slow pirouettes on spits behind glass-door ovens. When done, the chickens are packed and placed under warming lights. We chose the plain flavor each store had to offer but only one bird was truly plain. Others were roasted with spices. Shaw's supermarket, Market Basket, and Roche Bros. list ingredients that include a solution of water, salt, sodium phosphates, and sundry other items (some up to 20 percent).

The winner was Shaw's Sea Salt and Pepper chicken, chosen by four tasters, labeled Culinary Circle. A friendly staff person at Shaw's told me they cook chickens every three hours (all the stores are on similar schedules) and if you're willing to take home a cold bird, it's $2 less. "It's not old, its just cold," she said. Boston Market did not list ingredients on its package; if it did, salt would be at the top. It garnered one best vote but was deemed way too salty for the others. The only bird without spices was Whole Foods Market's, which got four least favorite votes; most found it dry and tasteless.

Prices range from $4 to $10 for a whole chicken regardless of weight. Not bad for feeding a family, considering there will probably be leftovers for a sandwich or at the very least bones for a tasty chicken soup.

Culinary Circle, a Shaw's brand ($6.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
This chicken with sea salt and black pepper received consistently high scores across the categories. On appearance: "Looks appetizing, color is good." "Browned just right." "Best color - evenly roasted." Taste: "Breast is moist and delicious. Thigh is moist and tasty." "Juicy thigh; juicy breast." " Skin looks appetizing and is tasty too." "Not overcooked." Aroma: "Smells delicious." Only one didn't join the love fest: "Why no flavor? High marks for being moist, low marks for flavor."

Boston Market ($8.29)
Packaged on an aluminum tray in a lined hot bag.
The overwhelming consensus: way too salty. "More salt than could possibly be healthy. The chef must have stock in Morton's," said one. Chosen best by our resident salt lover and worst by another who found the "legs salty, and the back not done." Someone else found "thigh somewhat moist and very salty." The appearance received low marks from two for uneven coloration. "Bird doesn't look appetizing, burned markings are uneven." "Color is not attractive - too pale." As to size, "Puny," sniffed one as she examined this bird. Some found the meat and texture good. "Moist white meat, moist dark meat." "White meat is very tasty, but the skin is soft." And finally the only comment about the aroma: "There is none."

Whole Foods Market
Plain Rotisserie Chicken ($9.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
Apparently chicken being the only ingredient isn't enough. And the skin wasn't appealing either. "Doesn't look done enough." "Not browned enough. Pale and on the small side." "Looks like cardboard, tastes like chalk." The texture was indeed dismissed by all with one word: "Dry." If other birds were too salty, this one lacked it entirely. "Thigh: no salt! Breast: no salt!" "It's flavorless," announced one. But another said, "Dark meat is tastier" if she had to choose between white and dark. Then this: "Tiny wings and tiny legs." As the Borscht Belt line goes: "It tasted terrible - and there wasn't enough."

Roche Bros.
The Kitchen's Rotisserie Chicken ($6.99)
Packaged in a domed plastic container.
One person was very enthusiastic and picked it as a favorite. "Most inviting, visually dark. The taste is very moist and balanced." Another echoed that. "Looked good and the breast is plump." "Dark and white meat tasty and moist." "Not too salty - good!" One liked the way it looked. "Color is good, looks appetizing." But two others thought it looked burnt. One person thought the bird "isn't easy to cut." And in spite of the chicken being carried home in the domed container, with moisture collecting inside, two tasters commented that "the skin is crispy" and "somewhat crispy."

Market Basket
Perdue Rotisserie Chicken ($3.99)
Packaged on a foam black tray wrapped with plastic wrap.
This bird received relatively good marks for appearance. "Very even color; darkest of the five." "Color is OK but looks dry." On looks and texture: "Dry, crisp outside. Moist inside." One found it to have "a mushy texture overall." But many found the "white meat dry and the dark moist." "It seems overcooked but whatever is on the coating makes it feel moist," said another. Taste drew these remarks: "It tastes good, enough salt." "The flavor is OK not spicy." "Missing a spice or two or three."

© Copyright 2009 Globe Newspaper Company.