Pear and Pinot (Grigio That Is)

Ginger Pear Chicken and 2008 3 Blind Moose Pinot Grigio: 5/5

Last night, overlooking a relaxed lake Michigan bathed in burnt yellows and oranges of the setting sun, I got a craving for something seasonal. So, perched on my orange couch, I thought of the flavors of the season I hadn’t had this year. I’ve tasted the crisp crunch of a fresh picked apple, the smooth creaminess of pumpkin soup, and turkey, stuffing, and cranberries are all just around the corner, what else was there?

Pears, juicy and ripe with pulp that seems to melt like butter in your mouth. So since I gorged myself trying nearly half of The Cheesecake Factory menu this past week, I wanted to make something that was lighter, yet seasonal. So I found this recipe for ginger pear chicken. http://busycooks.about.com/od/chickenbreastrecipes/r/gingerpearchick.htm

Although there were 4 1/2 stars, this recipe was only reviewed by two people, but I was willing to take a chance and doctor things accordingly. As I pondered over the recipe in my head, I decided fennel, with its slight anise flavor, and dried cranberries, with tartness and sweetness, would provide more complexity to the dish. A prior reviewer recommended topping the dish with a drizzling of balsamic vinegar, which I would suggest as well. The additional acidity, adds a mouth watering effect, and plays well with the the tart and sweet flavors already in the dish.

I’d like to take a minute and talk about ginger. Ginger, like potatoes, carrots, beets, and parsnips, is a root, and an ugly one at that. Where as carrots and potatoes tend to be cone shaped and oblong ovals, ginger is tuber, which basically means there is no rhyme or reason for the shape of this veggie. The first time I used ginger, I was intimidated to say the least. Here I am, holding this amorphous beige mass, that I have only ever seen picked and served with wasabi, and I am supposed to do what with it? Really the process is quite simple and just takes a peel and a chop, but for those less adventurous, it’s understandable that trying new things, especially food, is nerve racking. So my advice with any new food is to slice a little bit, smell it, taste it, and then cook it. Be careful, as some thing, like ginger, are very potent.

Since this meal was going to be lighter in nature I decided that a Pinot Grigio would be a great candidate to pair with the meal. Where Chardonnay tends to have a heavier body and a rich buttery flavor that pairs well with alfredo and light pastas, Pinot Grigio is silkier and a bit more delicate, lending itself nicely to the range of flavors in the dish at hand. As I scouted about the store, I wanted to find a bottle with notes of pear and citrus. Lo-and-behold, a bottle of 2008 3 Blind Moose had just that, and it was only $9.

To accompany the Chicken I prepared some rice with chopped green onion and seasoning. When everything hit the plate, the contrasting burgundy cranberries popped against the slivers of green onion. Without the two, the dish would have been beige and boring.

Moist and flavorful, the chicken breast, dredged in flour and browned before cooked throughout, had no thought of being dry, while the balsamic vinegar resonated on the palate giving off that mouth watering effect I was hoping for. Moist bits of onion and fennel provided a base for the sweet pears and cranberries, while the rice soaked in the excess juice from the chicken and pears.

With aromatics of sun ripened citrus, pear, and a hint of melon, the wine filled my nostrils with a scene of a perfect fall day, brisk enough for a coat, but just right with a cup of warm apple cider, or hot chocolate. Resting on my tongue, the wine’s light weight gave way to a stronger acidity and a lingering finish.

Together the meal was a perfect example of the power of pairing. Alone the Pinot Grigio was to acidic, making my lips pucker, and palate tense as it moved down my throat, but together, the wine’s acidity was cut down by the sweetness of pear and cranberry, only leaving the added flavors of the wine, which accompanied the dish perfectly. Alone the herby chicken and rice would have gotten monotonous by the end of the meal, but together the wine was able to bring out the subtleties of the dishe’s fennel, onion, and ginger flavors.

Usually it is the food that induces a coma after the meal, but this time it was the wine. Stimulated by good conversation, Michael and I had no problem finishing the bottle with the meal. With the boom of fireworks outside, as the lighting parade on Michigan Avenue came to a close, the only fireworks we were paying attention to were the ones inside our mouths from another perfect pair.

Fricassee, Friends, and Feelings of Home

Chicken Ficassee with Chive Dumplings and Pacific Rim Dry Riesling: 4/5

Fall has such flavors—cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin, apple. Looking at golden leaves, falling gently to a browning green carpet calls for warmed cider, mulled wines, and food that reminds you of home.

Michael and I went to Texas a week or so back, and we returned with a cook book. Within its tattered pages, browning with age and soaked with grease stains and bits of recipes past, was a taste of history, Betty Crocker’s Cookbook from 1974. Thumbing through its pages, a picture of what looked to be chicken and dumplings caught my eye, making me feel the books past, wondering about a 1970’s household, unfamiliar with the gastronomic world.

Chicken Fricassee with Chive Dumplings. Fricassee means any meat that is stewed together with gravy and vegetables and served with noodles and dumplings. Don’t worry I didn’t know that either. I looked over the recipe, calling for shortening and salad oil, ingredients not usually found in generation Food Network recipes. All the same, I find it funny what you can find on the internet these days. Without even having the cookbook, you can find this recipe at http://www.recipezaar.com/Chicken-Fricassee-With-Chive-Dumplings-340905, imagine that.

I set off to make the meal, gathered my ingredients, and heated my cast iron dutch oven with butter and shortening. I have learned that butter is the key to browning meat. While preparing my chicken, my butter got to hot, and started to smoke in the pan. A fog began to circulate through the living room, and make its way towards the smoke detector. As Michael spun a towel like a helicopter beneath the smoke detector, I reduced the heat and hurried to get the chicken in the pan. Through the fog of our apartment, little halos danced around the evening city lights, beautiful, but not exactly pleasant for our eyes.

The rest of the recipe went along smashingly, until I got to the dumplings. Audrey, a co-worker from the restaurant that Michael and I have both worked at, and dinner guest for the evening, sat at the island separating our kitchen from the living area, talking about her latest school project that Michael was helping her with. Not until the dumplings were in the pot did I realize that the recipe said 3/4 teaspoon of salt, and 3/4 cup of milk, not 1/4. Fishing out the dumpling from the dutch oven, I debated trying to salvage the gravy covered dough balls. Squeezing the slimy dough, I opted for starting over. Luckily the second time went smoothly.

The smell of greasy chicken coated the apartment like a pat of butter on freshly toasted bread. Most of the smoke had filtered out of our windows, leaving the chill of the night to nip at bare forearms and exposed necks. Audrey, Mike, and I sat at the table, looking at golden yellow dumplings with specks of green, and a taupe gravy with beige chicken. As soon as a bite hit my mouth I was taken to my childhood, the chilly nights where kitchen smells would taunt my nose while I concentrated over algebra homework and a grumbling stomach. The T.V. blaring in the living room, covering the sound of rattling pots and pans, while my mom moved about the kitchen like an ant making its way back to the hill.

These are the flavors that satiate the hunger of fall, coating the throat as they move down to rest in the stomach. These are the meals that leave you feeling satisfied, and help you forget about the soon to be negative temperatures of winter.

Although www.winedin.com suggested a Pinot Noir or American Chardonnay, as I roamed the isles for a bottle, I was over taken by an urge to try something based on my own volition. I held a bottle of Pacific Rim Dry Riesling. While one would expect a Riesling to be sweet, like those of Germany, this was from Santa Cruz California, and it had dry in the title. I asked myself, as I ponder its description of lime and apricot flavors, would this be similar enough to a Chardonnay to hold up against the rich and creamy flavors of the dish? I went for it.

The Riesling had a powerful nose of apricot, but left us searching for the lime. We had all tasted the food before the wine, coating our palates with the bold peppery gravy and sticky dumplings. Swishing a bit of wine around in my mouth, I found that the body was that of Chardonnay, but the crispness of the wine was that of a Sauvignon Blanc. There was little sweetness, but the lingering finish was distinctively Riesling. Although a Pinot Noir might have paired a bit better, the effect was still enjoyable.

As Michael served up apple crisp a la mode for dessert, I finally let out a sigh of relief. Although this recipe might call for a towel helicopter, and a redo on dumplings, it was worth the effort, and left me with a lingering sense of home. Another perfect pair.