A few days ago, one of our customers thanked us for “keeping your menu the same” for so many years.  I in turn thanked him for the compliment, and then asked him if he’d by any chance tried our etouffee.  Turns out he’d never heard of it.  After setting him straight, he got very excited and insisted on bringing his wife with him to the restaurant on Friday (etouffee day) to share this “new” dish with her.

My reason for sharing this anecdote is merely to point out that while we’ve earned a loyal following over the past 26 years with comfort food classics that folks have made a part of their lives, we’ve done anything but keep our menu static.

Case in point: take our menu specials from last week.  In a three-day period they ranged from the familiar (chicken tetrazzini) to the more exotic: Hummus Sandwich, Pork Chili Verde, and Jamaican Chicken Dinner.

By way of taking a little culinary excursion, let’s take a closer look at how these last three items made it into our menu, shall we?

Hummus is one of those foods that in the years since we first opened our doors has gone from being esoteric to darn near a pub food standard.  My first experience with hummus goes back to my upbringing in the Philippines, where I was introduced to it by our Moslem friends.  The Philippines has a long history of Arab influence that continues to this day, and that influence extends to the cuisine of the islands.  Our manager, Anna, brought us the recipe that we use, and we put a bit of a Mediterranean twist on it by using kalamata olives and lots of garlic.  The sliced cucumbers on the sandwich compliment these flavors quite nicely.

In our travels throughout Mexico, Jeff and I have encountered a number of different chili verde recipes, and we’ve borrowed from the ones we liked best.  Our chili verde requires a two-day process to create.  One the first day we sauté pork that we buy locally from Snake River Farms, then chop it up.  On the second day we cook two kinds of chilis and some tomatillo to prepare the sauce that the pork simmers in.  On the third day we rest.  Just kidding.  We never rest.

Our Jamaican Chicken Dinner with Bob Marley Sauce was inspired by an apple/almond stuffed chicken that we buy from one of our suppliers.  Boned chicken thighs are wrapped around apple/almond stuffing, and in searching for an appropriate sauce to serve with it we decided that Jamaican jerk sauce would be just the ticket.  While the Caribbean offers up a number of versions of jerk sauce, the common flavor denominator seems to be allspice.  Rather than using chicken stock for the liquid, we use marsala – which explains the nod to Jamaica’s favorite son, the dreadlock king of reggae.  We serve this dish with rice and greens, which would most likely be how you would enjoy it in Trenchtown, mon.  

So, while we have every intention of keeping those tried and true comfort food classics coming your way, you should also expect that our love of travel and mania for cookbooks is going to continue to influence our menu with the comfort food traditions of other cultures as well as our own.  After all, man cannot live by Yankee pot roast alone…although we suspect that burgundy mushroom gravy is a life essential.  

Monday, April 19, 2010 1:30:55 PM (Mountain Daylight Time, UTC-06:00)    Comments [0] 

You might think that the demands of running a restaurant for 25 years (make that 26) might detract from the joy of cooking, or that perhaps ones zeal for great food could become somewhat muted.  That could easily be the case, except for one thing: among the customers we serve every day there are some pretty remarkable cooks; and interacting with them helps keep our passion alive.

Cooking for people that love to cook is like being a “musician’s musician” – if you can please them, you know you’re on the right track.  And every now and then, they return the compliment by inspiring us.  Take Justin Boggs, for example.

We met Justin a few months ago when Behind the Menu recorded a podcast during which we talked about our mutual love for Cajun cuisine over a bowl of jumbalaya.  It turns out that Justin, who is a construction management student at Boise State University by day, has been relentlessly pursuing the ultimate red beans and rice recipe.  We’ve been cooking red beans and rice for years, and as tradition warrants, it has been a part of our Monday menu – Monday being “washing day” according to regional custom.  

While we talked about the chefs and recipes that have most influenced our approach to the cuisine of Louisiana, Justin revealed that his grail quest had led him to make his own andouille sausage.  It turns out that nothing he had found commercially available quite nailed the flavor he was searching for.  We have to admit that he seemed slightly obsessed, but to paraphrase Barry Goldwater, “extremism in the defense of culinary authenticity is no vice.”  We ended our conversation by inviting Justin back to the restaurant to share his recipe with us, once he felt he had achieved his goal.

We knew Justin was making progress when he posted a story on a local food blog, “Mundovore: Eat the World”, detailing his adventures in making his andouille sausage from scratch.  You have to give it to the man…he’s a machine.  We sensed that a reunion would not be long away.

The other day Justin came by with a container of the fruits of his labor.  We took it back to the kitchen, heated it up, and brought out a bowl of our own rice to serve with it.  Now, before I go any further with this tale, let me make something clear.  We’re not food snobs – but we’ve been around the culinary block a time or two, and we’ve had some damn good food over the years -- some of it we’ve cooked, and much of what we’ve learned has gone into our menu.  But Justin’s red beans and rice, particularly his homemade sausage, raised the bar for us when it comes to this traditional favorite.  In a word, we were blown away.

By the time we “licked the platter clean”, we were working out a deal with Justin to provide him with 20 pounds of pork for his next run of andouille sausage…in return for some of the final product.  Who knows…we might share some of it with the rest of you.  Consider it our way of saying thanks for not only bringing us your business, but your inspiration as well.  To all the Justins out there, we salute you! 

Thursday, April 08, 2010 7:42:27 AM (Mountain Daylight Time, UTC-06:00)    Comments [1] 

When we talk about "comfort food", soup and a sandwich would certainly seem to fill the bill.  But when we talk about "new adventures in comfort food", we have to dig a bit deeper into our culinary bag of tricks.  Fortunately for us, that's something we love to do.  Take our recent lunch special: tarragon chicken salad sandwich with sweet potato and star anise soup.

Chicken salad is a delicatessen staple all over this great land of ours.  To give it a slightly more exotic flair, we add tarragon to it, then serve it with tomatoes and lettuce, and the optional touch of red onions and a jalapeno pepper on the side, just for that extra kick.  But in this ensemble, it's the soup that plays the starring role.

We love sweet potatoes, which make a wonderfully creamy and sweet (duh!) soup...but the idea of using star anise as a flavor counterpoint came from the cookbook, "Hot Sour Salty Sweet: A Culinary Journey Through Southeast Asia", by Jeffrey Alford and his wife, Naomi Duquid.  The couple spent months traveling down the Mekong River, collecting cooking ideas and recipes from villages along the way.

For this soup, which we adapted from the intrepid authors who combine their love of food with an interest in anthropology (makes sense to us), we start by cooking star anise with our sweet potatoes -- then we add cream and puree the mixture. We end up soup whose creamy sweetness is balanced by the licorice notes of the star anise.  But we don't stop there.  We add a generous dollop of a ginger-infused creme fraiche before serving.  Our creme fraiche is created by letting buttermilk sit over night to essentially become a clotted cream.  We then grate fresh ginger into it.  When added to the soup, it introduces a sourness that accents the sweetness of the sweet potato, while the star anise and ginger add some delightful complexity to the flavor.

You have to admit...this sure beats opening a can of chicken noodle soup, doesn't it?

Tuesday, March 23, 2010 8:52:10 AM (Mountain Daylight Time, UTC-06:00)    Comments [0] 

After being in business for more than 25 years, we've certainly made a lot of friends, and we like to think that we've touched a lot of lives.  But part of the joy of this business, for all its challenges, is that we get a lot of love in return -- and no small part of that love has, over the years, has come from the people who work for us.  Recently, one of those people left us forever.  Calvina Coolidge Serwon passed away on November 18 in Meridian at the age of 85.

"Callie" worked for The Brick Oven Bistro as our "greeter" from 1995 to 2002.  She was the first face that our customers saw when they walked through the door -- and it was a face that always had a smile on it.  Her trademark outfit was her blue shirt and hat -- but the most memorable thing about Callie was her sheer love of life.  While she was old enough to have been the grandmother of most if not all of our staff, her attitude was a quiet example of the work ethic that characterized "the Greatest Generation".  I think the source of her energy and joy was best expressed by one of her favorite sayings: "Life is difficult enough...we might as well be good to each other."

Callie, you were more than good to us, and your life was a reminder that our real task in this world, as you always said, is to be good to each other.  Our jobs are just one context in which we have the opportunity to fulfill that mission, and we thank you for the example you set for us on how do go about doing that.  

If you'd like to learn more about Callie's life, you can click here to go to her obituary in the Idaho Statesman. 

Friday, December 04, 2009 7:09:19 AM (Mountain Standard Time, UTC-07:00)    Comments [0] 

As a purveyor of new adventures in comfort food, we'd have to do some heavy penance if we failed to offer pot pie on our menu.  I mean, how much more "comfort food" can you get than a meaty pot pie, right?  

We do find, however, that some confusion arises among all but the true pot pie connoisseurs when it comes to distinguishing between the "Hunter" and "Shepard" variations on the pot pie theme.  It is, therefore, in the interests of offering a public service that we take a moment to clarify the difference -- a difference that hinges the preference between beer and wine.

Let's start with hunters, why don't we?  Here in America, we take it for granted that hunters like them some beers.  Our Hunter's Pot Pie, however, has an Old World origin that owes its culinary pedigree more to the Burgundy region of France than to the mountains and woods of America.  Our Hunters' Pot Pie is therefore prepared much like a traditional beef bourguignon, and with a noticeable flavoring of mint accompanying the burgundy.

Now, with regards to Shepards, we have a much different take on pot pie.  Think of the plight of the lonely shepard, guarding against the depredations of wolf packs crossing the Canadian border to prey on his flocks and, no doubt, take advantage of our health care system. What better way to while away those tedious hours than with a brewski or two?  In tribute to these stalwarts, therefore, we add beer to a chicken-based roue.  Our Shepard's Pot Pie has less meat than its Hunter cousin, but with a few beers to accompany it, who the heck is keeping score?

In the case of both pot pie versions, we serve them with our very own fresh baked puff pastry.  And speaking of which, we've just added a new item to our menu that you pot pie lovers are going to find very intriguing: our Paradise Pork Stew.  Given our penchant for poring over cook books, we recently ran across a recipe that combines potatoes, apple cider, apricots...and ingredients that we can't divulge in the interests of intellectual property protection.  Of course, you're free to take a bite and guess all you want.

Sunday, November 22, 2009 10:19:59 PM (Mountain Standard Time, UTC-07:00)    Comments [0] 

Whatever season you consider to be "yours", even the most ardent lover of Summer reaches a point when the cool breezes and falling leaves of Autumn look mighty appealing.  But then, the next think you know, you're shoveling snow off the driveway in attire that would normally be associated with heading off to the Eastern Front.

Those days, my friends, are close at hand...but before they arrive, we thought we'd share a last glimpse of The Ghost of Solstice Past:a typical summer day on the Brick Oven Bistro patio.

But even as you hunker down with your Snuggly and a good book, don't forget that we'll be busy in the Brick Oven Bistro kitchen on some steamy cauldrons of homemade soups and stews.  And then, of course, there are our salads and quiches to consider.  

Just as every season has its pros and cons, so too does every season have foods that heighten its pleasures and soothe its aggravations.  We'll keep you supplied with both as winter draws nigh, and days grow shorter.  

Thursday, November 05, 2009 4:31:26 PM (Mountain Standard Time, UTC-07:00)    Comments [0] 

Our crawfish etouffee is NOT an acquired taste.  As we used to say about the Grateful Dead, "you're either on the bus or you're off the bus."  When it comes to crawfish etouffee, if you don't "get it" with the first spoonful, you sure as heck won't get it with the second...or third.

It's because of our deep respect for you, those of you on the crawfish etouffee bus, that we write this blog.  We have something important to tell you -- but first you need to get yourself a glass of wine, sit down, and take a deep breath.

We've altered the crawfish etouffee recipe.  We'll now give you a few moments to fully absorb the impact of this statement.  Have you finished hyperventilating?  If so, let us explain.   

Ever since we added crawfish etouffe to the Brick Oven Bistro menu, we've been making it with a lobster base.  It was the very best lobster base we could find, but let's face it, when it come to access to lobster, we're at a bit of a disadvantage here in the City of Trees. It appears, for starters, that we've pretty much fished out the native lobster population from the Boise River.  But not long ago we found a source for something that will forever change our crawfish etouffee: lobster bodies.

I know it sounds a bit ghoulish, but when sitting down to a celebratory meal of lobster tails, haven't you ever been the least bit curious about what happened to the rest of the crustacean?  The answer is that some enterprising producers have been quick freezing the bodies and sending them to the Brick Oven Bistro (alright, I'm sure others are buying them as well, but they can write their own blogs).  In place of lobster base, we are now using lobster bodies to make the stock for our crawfish etouffee.  

Why are we doing this?  For starters, we just don't believe that "great" is good enough if you can up the culinary ante.  Making our soup base with lobster bodies gives our crawfish etouffee a much greater intensity and richness.  Besides, we have continually lusted after the taste of etouffee that we cultivated at our favorite source in Houston, Texas (we'll be happy to divulge the name if you're interested).  We're not quite there...but we're getting close.  For now, we're going to leave judgement of our efforts to you...you etouffee elite, you crawfish cognoscenti, you cravers of cajun.  Let us know how we're doing, and we'll keep you posted on when we have crawfish etouffee on the menu.  

In the meantime, we do need to issue an advisory: if the thought of dredging up large chunks of crawfish with every spoonful of etouffee is disturbing to you, it might be best if you stuck with the Bistro Club sandwich next time you're here.

Saturday, October 17, 2009 7:44:38 PM (Mountain Daylight Time, UTC-06:00)    Comments [0] 

You never know where a culinary inspiration is going to come from…or just how it might influence what you do in the kitchen.

Take our soup for this week, coq a vin.  Those of you familiar with this particular French dish know that more than your taste buds get into the mix when you bring a spoonful up to your mouth.  Your olfactory sense is bathed in the Burgundy wine that is a key ingredient in the soup base, and that flavor and its accompanying aroma coat your throat and your sinuses as your taste buds begin to pick up on the chicken, bacon, mushrooms and onions in the broth.  As Dylan would say, “something’s going on here, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones.”

So, just what is that something?  The answer, oddly enough, comes not only from France, but also from Japan. Permit us to explain.

As far back as the ancient Greek philosophers, the conventional gastronomical and anatomical wisdom was that humans could detect four distinct tastes: sweet, sour, salty, and bitter.  Even as medical science evolved, the belief continued that our receptors were limited to these four tastes.

It took legendary French chef Auguste Escoffier, and his creation of veal stock in the late 1800s, to prove that we humans could taste an indefinable deliciousness that scientists at the time simply concluded was all in our heads.  Halfway around the world, however, a Japanese chemist named Kikunae Ikeda proved that this taste was, in fact, related to a previously undiscovered receptor.  This “fifth taste” was given the name umami – Japanese for (appropriately enough), “yummy”.  The dish that inspired Ikeda’s research was the classic Japanese soup made from seaweed, dashi.   

Umami is, in fact, L-glutamate.  Quoting from a recent National Public Radio story, “L-glutamate is found in most living things, but when they die, when organic matter breaks down, the glutamate molecule breaks apart. This can happen on a stove when you cook meat, over time when you age a parmesan cheese, by fermentation as in soy sauce or under the sun as a tomato ripens. When glutamate becomes L-glutamate, that's when things get ‘delicious.’ L-glutamate, said Ikeda, is a fifth taste. When Escoffier created veal stock, he was concentrating umami. When Japanese made their dashi, they were doing the same thing.”

So now you know an interesting piece of culinary and scientific trivia.  But more than that, we’ve just given you some insight into how we do what we do in the Brick Oven Bistro kitchen when we make a soup like our coq a vin.  Next time you take a bite, you might want to observe a moment of silent praise for Auguste Escoffier and Kikunae Ikeda.  Then impress your fellow diners with the statement, “this soup tastes absolutely umami!” 

Thursday, October 01, 2009 10:50:00 PM (Mountain Daylight Time, UTC-06:00)    Comments [0]