Bobcat Bite, Santa Fe

I'm on my own again here in New Mexico -- James' visit -- all too short -- has ended. James has gone home to our pups, birds, and cozy orange cat. So I figured I'd assemble a backroads tour of the roadside diners and cafes of New Mexico -- basically a what Kathy is Having for Dinner (and breakfast and lunch). Starting with The Bobcat Bite.

The Bobcat Bite, just outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico, is the kind of "mom and pop" diner travelers hungry for local, authentic experience dream of stumbling into. Good food, good prices and waitresses that greet regulars by name and treat every customer like an old friend waiting to happen.

Perched along historic route 66, the Bobcat has been serving it's trademark burgers since 1953 when owners of the nearby Bobcat Ranch opened this friendly roadhouse to entice hungry motorists. It's changed hands a few times over the years but I imagine this small (about 8 tables and a 9 seat counter) is pretty much as it stood when the doors first opened. The menu -- thick burgers cooked to order, a few steaks and sides like grilled jalapenos, vinegary cole slaw, and home fries -- is simple, executed well (the menus describes the cooking -- medium was indeed pink throughout and perfectly juicy a feat more high-end chefs often struggle with), and served quickly.

There are a few other things on the short menu -- a few steaks, pork chops, ham, and of course grilled cheese. On my first visit I took some local advice -- "the steaks are awesome, but we're famous for our burgers." I'll be back for the steaks.

Open Wednesday through Saturday this time of year (winter hours -- October to June), and always crowded, the biggest problem with the Bobcat Bite might be getting a table. List your name on the dry erase board by the front door and wait. It won't be long until you're digging into a New Mexico specialty, the green chili cheeseburger.

Home Style Away from Home

We cook at home. Even when home is a vacation cottage or a hotel room. In my usual kitchen I have all my spices, my herbs (and my garden), my pantry, my knives -- everything I need, just where I can find it. Away from my home kitchen, dinner takes a lot more thought. I try to just buy the ingredients I need (no bottles and jars to cart home or waste), use the minimum of pots and pans (hotel selections are usually pretty limited) and get maximum flavor with minimal effort (everyone needs a little vacation). It's a dinner time puzzle waiting to be solved.

This simple sauté is perfect for any location.

I bought about a cup of polenta from the bulk food section of the local grocery store -- bulk foods are great for gathering little bits of grains, flours, nuts, pastas . . . whatever ingredients you might need -- a carton of chicken broth (that's 4 cups just about right for a cup of polenta), some pre-shredded parmesan from the deli section, 2 hot Italian sausages, one head of garlic and a bunch of broccoli rabe -- James' favorite. Farmer's markets are also a great place to only by the vegetables you need that day.

First I brought a saucepan of salted water to a boil and blanched the broccoli florets. I drained the broccoli and set it aside and used the same saucepan to bring the chicken broth to a boil. I stirred in the polenta and allowed the pan to simmer (stirring every now and then -- I don't stir constantly as most recipes dictate) for about 30 minutes until the polenta was cooked and smooth.

Meanwhile I splashed a bit of olive oil in a frying pan, removed the sausage from the casings and added it, along with thinly sliced garlic, to the oil already over medium heat.

To finish the polenta I stirred in butter, shredded parmesan cheese, a bit of butter (you can usually "borrow" that from a hotel breakfast), S&P, and a bit of fruity olive oil (some things are always worth the splurge at home or away). When the sausage was browned and cooked through I added the broccoli to the pan and tossed it around until heated through and flavored with the spicy sausage ( a good way to forgo vacation bought spice racks).

Creamy polenta, crisp bitter broccoli, spicy sausage -- an easy meal that always feels like home.

The Easiest Best Dinner Ever . . . Maybe

In spite of the fact that the Native Americans in this part of New Mexico threw off the Spanish (well sort of-- for a while at least) hundreds of years ago, my New Mexico abode is barely a stones throw (hmm maybe that's what the Indians used) from a Spanish and Portuguese import store. Trying to pass the afternoon and wondering what to serve James in a hurry late at night when I come bustling in from work I wandered through to see what they shelves held for dinner.

Dry chorizo is one of those magic foods. Like bacon (and any really good pork product) it adds immeasurable, instant flavor to simple dishes and makes a quick sauté something special. I quickly put a few links in my basket. Next I spied a small glass jar of lovely light green (sometimes they are white) Pocha beans, a favorite of chefs in Northern Spain. These gently flavored beans show up in casseroles, soups, and in favorite Pintxos (Basque tapas) mixed with clams, tomato sauce, and hearty chorizo - delicious. Right there in the store James' late night tapas-style dinner was born.

I sautéed the sliced chorizo over medium-low heat allowing the delicious paprika flavored fat to render out. Next chopped onions and a bit of minced garlic joined the chorizo and I allowed the mixture to cook until the onions were soft, adding a bit of olive oil here and there as needed to keep the mixture moist. In went the jar of delicate beans with their liquid (that's unusual for me but these beans had a tasty delicate broth in the jar) and a sprinkle of S&P. The beans simmered for five minute or so until everything was warmed through, the flavors were blended and the liquid magically became a red-tinged sauce.

Ladled over rustic toast, drizzled with olive oil, a squeeze of lemon juice and finished with flakes of crisp tasting sea salt this was maybe too hearty to really be tapas but flavorful, quick and Spanish style just the same.

I'm going back for more beans.

Pasta Is Our Standby

I've been coddled at sea level for a long time.

As I set out to make a quick pasta dinner for James in the dreaded hotel "kitchenette" I remembered my time in Colorado and my neighbor Roger (a flatlander and a Kansas native) saying -- "it's darn near impossible to fry chicken at 10,000 feet." Years of California cooking have nearly erased the memory of special instructions for baking cakes and the lower temperature, slower cooking boiling water dishes from my mountain cuisine. At higher elevations water boils at a lower temperature -- great for a braise or a simmering stew but not exactly the ticket for pasta which becomes tender and magically still toothy in rapidly boiling, super hot water with the shortest cooking time possible. An easy 10 minute dinner in California became a half hour of worrying and stirring in New Mexico.

All I did was sauté some chopped bacon (pancetta would have been the thing if I'd had it), onion, garlic, and lots of pepper (wish I'd had some crushed red pepper handy -- bought a bunch for gifts but none to use it seems) in some olive oil. When the bacon was getting crisp -- that took a bit, still have the smoke alarm issue -- and the onions softened I tossed in about a cup of artichoke hearts (chopped) I bought from the olive bar at Whole Foods and gave it all a good stir around with a healthy knob of butter.

When the pasta was finally cooked I reserved about 3/4 of the nice starchy water and stirred it, the drained pasta, the sautéed mixture, a good dose of parmesan cheese and a quick squeeze of lemon over medium heat until warmed through and nicely combined.

Hmm . . . spaghetti at 7000 feet, no wonder slow simmering rice and polenta took hold in the Alps. Next time a nice risotto.

Not Every Day Is Gourmet

Okay -- I admit it finally, I have been working out of town for the last few weeks. James' dinners have been a series of carefully labeled stews, bean dishes and easy-to-bake-from-frozen casseroles I left in the freezer for him along with a detailed "fridgeventory" describing the location and cooking method of all his future dinners. James eats while I pine for him in a hotel "kitchen" that consists of a two-burner electric hot plate from around the middle of the last century, a low-wattage microwave, and a fridge so small that it would be embarrassed by most Holiday Inn mini-bars.

But now His Highness has come to visit and this kitchen, as the hotel proprietors would call it, has to rocket into action.

Luckily I'm close to the local farmers market and, although it's still a bit cold for spring fruits, peas and asparagus here in Northern New Mexico, I found winter greens, lettuces and quite a few near-by growers of grass fed meats, pastured dairy produced farmstead cheeses, and locally made pork sausages flavored with my choice of New Mexico green chiles or garlic.

But, best of all, just when I am missing the garden and the "girls" and our little animal family . . . James got off the plane with a bag of fava beans picked that morning from our front yard (street side) garden. These fresh green pods were barely past delicate black and white flowers when I left and now they hold delicately flavored fresh tasting beans. Normally fava beans have to be blanched and peeled of the bean's thick outer skin before being used in recipes. Only the smallest, youngest and freshest beans can be used straight from the pod.

For this simple late night hotel sauté I sliced the sausage along with an onion and several cloves of garlic and popped them into a frying pan with a splash of olive oil over medium-low heat while I baked potatoes in the mini-microwave. About 7 minutes in I tossed in the fava beans.

Truth be told, all things being equal, I'd have liked to cook over medium-high heat. After all these years on the restaurant-style stove I have come to appreciate and rely on the quick-cooking, high heat 18,000 BTUs can provide. But, another quirk of the hotel kitchen -- there is no exhaust fan. In fact unless I open the window and the door even boiling water for tea can set off the room's smoke alarm. And, as I found out late one Saturday night when I met three charming, handsome men in uniform from the local fire department, the alarm can only be turned off by a central switch in the hotel office which is only maned until 9 pm. You can't imagine the melodic tone a smoke alarm makes after 45 minutes. But, I digress . . .

Simple as can be I tossed some fresh lettuce leaves with olive oil, lemon juice, grated parmesan cheese, and S&P for a side salad. Opened the baked potatoes (a variety called Mountain Rose with delicate pink streaks through the otherwise creamy yellow flesh) and ladled on the combination from the frying pan, left to sauté just until the sausage was cooked through. Drizzled with a bit of olive oil and sprinkled with salt this wasn't a fancy dinner but the big man has already asked for it again. Call it my room service success.

A Lahey Bread That's Not For Me

This loaf is a bit of departure for Jim Lahey, bread genius and founder of Sullivan Street bakery. I've been cooking my way through his cookbook, My Bread, since James bought it for me this past Christmas. Lahey's specialty are crusty, artisinal Italian-style breads made easy for the home (and I guess, professional) baker.

This crisp brown "Irish" bread is Lahey's take on that nation's traditional soda bread. Just as the name suggests soda breads -- whether whole wheat, chocolate, or, as tradition prescribes, dotted with sweet raisins are generally leavened with baking soda and buttermilk for the acidic reaction. Lahey's uses yeast and buttermilk and pretty much follows the no-knead method he pioneered for all his other breads.

I can't say I was wowed by the results. When in the presence of greatness (or great recipes) I am always willing to admit I may be at fault or have made some mistake along the way, but honestly this bread seemed like a poor compromise. It had neither soda bread's slightly tangy flavor and hearty texture or Lahey's usual airy, soft "did you really make that yourself" crumb.

Lahey's breads are great the way they are -- I say don't dress them up, don't make them into something they are not, don't pretend to be (although Lahey himself might actually be) Irish. Bake where your heart is and the results will always impress.

6 (Maybe Should Be 5) Hour Pork

James has been feeling his way around the kitchen. I've gotten him to a point where he can set the crock pot going, add a few ingredients,and pop pre-made dishes in an oven he has preheated. One night I even left him a brown sugar honey glaze to spread on cooked corned beef before he finished it in the oven.

Why not a long cooking roast I thought. One that would benefit from extra time covered in a tasty spice rub and fatty enough to withstand some extra cooking time if work ran late. Obviously pork was the only answer.

Based on a recipe from Mimosa restaurant in LA I slathered a pork shoulder roast with a paste made from sage (2 heavy TB, chopped), rosemary (2 heavy TB, chopped), garlic (about 15 cloves), fennel seeds (1 TB), S&P, white wine (2 TB), and olive oil (1/4 cup) whirled together in the food processor.

I made, I think, 6 cuts of about an inch deep in a tied pork shoulder roast and rubbed the paste into the slits and all over the fatty side of the roast. I let the dressed roast sit -- fatty side up -- covered, in the fridge overnight until James pre-heated the oven (275º) and took the roast out to come to room temperature.

After 6 hours slow cooking the big man had slices of juicy roast pork with some quick sautéed asparagus and a fluffy baked potato -- plenty for dinner and plenty for sandwiches during the week.