Wine-Roasted Peaches with Honey-Mint Yogurt Cream

I have a knack at making great friends at the very last minute before they, or I, have to leave wherever it is that I might be. This was the case with Naomi, who, after two semesters of seeing one another every week for our senior thesis seminar, finally asked me for a celebratory drink when we turned our big, fat, exhausting papers in. We quickly became fast friends, finding that we had much more in common than a love for France and European History.


And now, back to Europe -- Mother England -- Naomi must go. To celebrate her last night in New York, she had a brilliant cocktail party on her building's roof, where we sipped champagne and nibbled on a delightful array of desserts while gazing out onto the summer-hot New York City skyline. Among the deserts were two Georgia's Bakery favorites: the deliciously sinful, silken dark-chocolate cake, and the white-chocolate raspberry cake. Though my dessert contribution may not be able to rival the decadence of Georgia's famous Upper West Side treats, my wine-roasted peaches with honey-mint yogurt cream were a bit hit. I used chocolate Madeleines as a accent cake to complement the wine syrup. As Simon so charmingly said of my concoction: "They were so good, I ate three. So sorry to those of you who didn't get to try."

For those left out, here's the recipe so that you, too, may have a taste.



WINE-ROASTED PEACHES WITH HONEY MINT YOGURT CREAM

6 slightly unripe peaches
1 cup sweet red wine*
1 1/2 cups Greek strained yogurt
Honey
1 Tbsp minced Mint

* I used a red, Sangiovese wine because that's what I had in my fridge. It ended up working rather well, giving the peaches a deep, blood red color, and the syrup it made was deliciously colorful. I would also recommend any sweet wine of your choice, and even champagne may work and give a nice golden hue to the dish.


Set oven to 400-degrees Fahrenheit.

Cut peaches in half, and twist each half from the pit to have two whole halves. Set aside. If you cannot break the halves free, gently cut half from around the pit. If one side has a stubborn pit that cannot come out, roast the peach half with the pit and remove once flesh is soft.


In a large, shallow baking dish, pour in the wine so that there is enough to cover the bottom with about a centimeter-height of liquid. Add about two tablespoons of honey, for a sweet syrup. Add less honey for a less-sweet syrup. Whisk honey and wine mixture until honey disappears. Arrange peaches, flesh-side down, in wine. Place in oven, and let roast for 20-30mins, or until peaches are supple and soft, but not mushy.

Measure out yogurt in a large bowl. Mince mint, add to yogurt. Whisk yogurt until smooth. Add honey to taste, and whisk mixture until fluffy. You may wish to add more mint for a stronger taste. Cover and set aside in refrigerator.

When peaches are done, take out of the oven and place peaches on a working surface, like a large place, so as not to stain counter top or wooden cutting board. Take out remaining pits. Pour remaining wine syrup into a small pan, and reduce by bringing to a boil and reducing heat until liquid forms a syrup, occasionally stirring slowly.

To arrange peaches on a dish, spoon a circle of syrup in the middle of a single plate. Place peach, flesh side up, off center in the syrup. Spoon a dollop of yogurt-cream in center of peach. Just before serving, drizzle a bit of syrup in a line across peach and yogurt. Be careful -- if you pour this sauce on the yogurt too early, the fruit acids will make yogurt curdle. Serve with a sprig of mint, or a little cake nestled under peach.



Bon appetit!



Georgia's Bakery
2418 Broadway, at 89th Street
http://www.georgiasbakeshop.net/
212.362.2000

Diary of a New York Waiter

My best friend Josh called me this afternoon to tell me that he was a block away from my apartment, and was I home, could he come up, he had something to tell me. Of course, I was home, and of course, he climbed my five-floor walk-up to tell me the following story.

"Ooooh I love a well-dressed man!" I look up from my rehire application form at Cafe Fiorello, a traditional Italian mainstay on Broadway across from Lincoln Center, to find an older black woman with designer sunglasses and graying dreadlocks staring me in the face from across the bar. I decide to move to her end while I wait for a manager to come interview me. Why not? We start talking, and I mention that I've just spent five months in Ghana. She looks at me with one eyebrow raised and says without words that she is wary of white people who go to Africa, period. I quickly qualify my presence over there by saying, "I was just studying, that's all." We go on talking, she not-so-subtly identifies that I am not attracted to women, and then encourages me to pursue an old flame (a fellow waiter). Before I know it we are debating history and fiction, and the possible danger of fiction. I argue wholeheartedly on the side of it, believing that fiction can force us to stare knowingly into periods of our histories that we know nothing about. "Give me an author who's done that," she demands. I laugh nervously and say, "Toni Morrison." "Oh, Toni's not my favorite," she says laughing a hearty laugh. "Really? What don't you like about her?" "I am her!" I turn redder than the pomodoro langosta on the famous antipasto bar. I'm actually staring my literary hero in the face. I actually just debated the power of fiction with her. She sized me up, and I unknowingly told her how incredible I think she is. Just an average encounter at Fiorello's, which is frequented by stars like Meryl Streep, Al Pacino, Jim Carrey, Roseanne Barr and Barbara Walters. Ten years from now I'll say: one afternoon in Manhattan I shot the shit with Morrison.

Josh lives in Manhattan where he studies writing and literature at Columbia University. During the summer he joins the ranks of New York's young, vibrant future stars of the stage and screen at the infamous Cafe Fiorello. Buon Appetito!

Cafe Fiorello
1900 Broadway
New York, NY 10023
212.595.5330
http://www.cafefiorello.com/

Pasta Pomodoro

Apparently, Plato said: "No town can live peacefully whatever its laws when its citizens ... do nothing but feast and drink and tire themselves out in the cares of love."

It seems as though Plato was a few centuries too early to understand what it means to be a real Italian: that peace exists most often in those moments of feasting, drinking, and loving -- and that the chaotic combination of the three is sometimes the most fun of times.

Not that I, an American born half-blood Italian, can claim to understand completely what it means to be part of that warm-blooded, tempestuous, and sensual people (though some would contest that I do), but I can say confidently that I do know Italian cuisine. My heart pumps red sauce, balsamic vinegar, and Barolo wine.

Like any good Italian, I believe that food is about love. I first learned to cook in an effort to romance a boy into liking me. Unfortunately, my Portuguese mother and I didn't take into account that he was a WASP, and food was not an important part of his family upbringing. Needless to say, I didn't win his 12-year-old heart, but I did learn the most invaluable cooking lesson: how to make a perfect, hearty, and irresistible pasta pomodoro.

To welcome home my best friend Josh from his four-month celebration of life in Ghana, and in part to say goodbye to my dear friend Naomi who will soon return home to the UK, I decided to prepare a simple summer pasta pomodoro dinner for them and my roommates, just in time to welcome the beginning of a very, very hot summer in New York.

***

PASTA POMODORO
(serves six)

















4 1-Pint crates of cherry tomatoes, rinsed
1/2 Vidalia onion
1 small head of garlic
1 Tbsp Olive oil
1/4 cup Italian red wine
Salt and pepper, to taste
A few Basil stems
1 packet spaghetti or angel hair pasta
Parmigiano Reggiano cheese

Cut all tomatoes into 8-small pieces by first cutting twice in the north-south direction, and then once east-west (thinking of the cherry tomato as a globe). Set aside. Cut onion in half, east-west, then remove skin of one half of the onion. Make thin, 1/4-inch slices along the semi-circle curve side of the onion. Cut all slices in half to make quarter-circles. Set aside. Remove garlic from skin by smashing cloves with the broad side of a chef's knife.

Heat a large sauce pan over high heat. When hot, add olive oil and toss in onions. Saute until they begin to soften, then add garlic. Continue cooking until onions turn golden brown, but be careful not to overcook or burn the garlic heads.

Add tomatoes and stir to incorporate all of the ingredients. Reduce to medium heat. Let mixture cook, stirring occasionally. When tomatoes become soft and juicy, add wine and stir slowly, folding the wine into the tomatoes. Let cook on medium heat for about ten minutes, or until fragrant, stirring occasionally.

When mixture begins to resemble a chunky sauce, add salt and pepper and a few whole basil leaves. Turn to low heat and let simmer.

Fill a large pot with water, add a few pinches of salt, and boil. When water comes to a fierce boil, add pasta and turn to medium heat so water is just barely bubbling, about 3-5 mins for white pasta, 10-12 minutes for whole wheat pasta. When just al dente, drain. Return pasta to empty pot, add about a teaspoon of olive oil and a pinch of salt -- to avoid pasta from sticking.

Take a few large leaves of basil, roll along the long side like a cigarette, and slice into little curls. This technique, the chiffonade, keeps from bruising the basil.

Using a large fork, twirl a serving size of pasta and add to plate, styling like a bird's nest. Add a heaping spoonful of pomodoro to the center so that it overflows down the sides of the nest. Garnish with grated parmesan cheese, followed by a few basil chiffonades.

Serve with a favorite Italian wine, someone you love, and enjoy.