Down East Magazine - Maine Vacations, Real Estate, Lifestyles

What do Maine and the Philippines have in common? I asked myself this improbable question several times recently. I had agreed to cook a five-course dinner with Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan at their award-winning Filipino restaurant, Cendrillon, in New York’s Soho neighborhood. As we planned the meal that would bring together elements of Maine and Filipino cuisine I worried that maybe we were forcing things by trying to make a connection between freezing cold northern New England and the tropical island-nation in the Pacific.

I first met Besa and Dorotan several years ago. My neighbor, Rich, who had served in the Peace Corps in a small Filipino village had heard about this fabulous restaurant in New York that serves real Filipino cuisine. We all went down to NYC and had an amazing meal at Cendrillon. Rich was nearly in tears speaking Tagalog and tasting foods that reminded him of this potent time in his past. Years later I met up with Amy and Romy at a food conference where they won a prestigious award for their book “Memories of Philippine Kitchens” (Stewart, Tabori & Chang). Long story short — we became friends.

Amy joked that we should cook a Maine dinner in New York at her restaurant. “Let’s do it,” I said thinking that, like so many other things, this one would fall by the wayside. But it turns out that when Amy Besa gets an idea she follows through.

So the week before Thanksgiving I found myself at the Union Square Greenmarket in lower Manhattan, shopping for vegetables with Chef Romy. This year-round, open-air farmers’ market wraps around Union Square Park and features an astonishing variety of farm-picked organic mixed greens, root vegetables (from carrots and parsnips to celeriac, turnips, and beets), apples, pears, homemade breads, maple syrup, and fresh herbs. Although we were shopping in November there were still bushels of the season’s last vine-ripened tomatoes. I couldn’t help think of my Maine garden, dormant now for several weeks, with not a hint of green in sight.

We filled a huge cart on wheels with gorgeous produce, almost all grown on upstate New York farms, and headed back to the kitchen at Cendrillon to get to work.

When we planned the menu – a combination of recipes from my most recent book, Stonewall Kitchen Favorites, and favorite Filipino recipes from Cendrillon — we knew we had to feature Maine seafood. “Everyone wants lobster,” Amy told me.

Whenever she mentioned the dinner to customers they chanted: “Oh, Maine. Oh, lobster. Oh, yum.” We also wanted to include Maine oysters, clams, and flat fish, so I called my friends at Browne Trading Company in Portland and placed an order. Browne ships Maine’s best fish to some of the hottest chefs in New York (and all over the country); I knew we were in good hands.

Back at Cendrillon the sous chefs were looking through the 300 plus oysters (Maine Winterpoints, Pemaquids, and Bagaduces), the sack of littleneck clams, and the fresh hake that Browne shipped in early that morning. The entire staff gathered, thrilled to see 40 squirming, lively Maine lobsters.

It was an ambitious menu, but Romy Dorotan turns out to be the most laid back chef I’ve ever met. In my experience, chefs tend not to be mellow. Think of the reality TV chefs who have become household names because they are so good at screaming and ranting and throwing pots and pans around the kitchen. So Romy threw me off when we calmly sat down Wednesday afternoon to make a remaining grocery list and write up a chore list. By the time the sun went down Wednesday, with the dinner a mere 24 hours away, we had not even begun to cook. I was a little nervous, so Romy sent me off to find heirloom beans for my Maine baked beans and ground allspice and cardamom for the ten pineapple upside down cakes I would be baking first thing the next morning.

I arrived early Thursday and was escorted to the downstairs (read basement) kitchen. Chinese music blared on the radio. The kitchen staff speaks a combination of Filipino, Chinese, and Spanish, and as I caramelized the brown sugar and butter (the base of the cake), I listened to the languages floating through the air and realized I was truly bringing Maine cooking to a place that had never seen it before. The Chinese music gave me good energy and three and half hours later I had popped ten pineapple upside down cakes out of the pan, flipping them over successfully.

Romy was working on a tomato granita (a savory type of ice) that he would serve as the base of Maine Oyster Ceviche. For the baked beans we simmered the beans to soften them and then mixed them with maple syrup, ginger, ketchup, chile paste, and brown sugar. The idea behind the bean recipe is to mimic a traditional New England bean-in-the-hole-supper where a wood fire is lit in a pit in the ground, and the beans are buried in the pit and baked overnight with the heat of the burning embers. We baked our beans in the Cendrillon oven at a low 275 degree oven for almost ten hours. They would be served with roasted beef short ribs with bok choy.

Romy steamed the littlenecks to make a Filipino-style clam soup, a delicate broth lightly scented with the clams and thin slivers of fresh ginger. He roasted the hake filets on top of whole coffee beans to infuse the fish with the subtlest, most delicate coffee flavor. The hake was served with roasted autumn root vegetables.

My next job was to chop the 40 pounds of cooked lobster meat (which Perry, the sous chef, had steamed to perfection). I wanted to create a new recipe for the dinner so I experimented with lobster cakes. The first step was to make a lemongrass oil.

Lemongrass, a favorite ingredient in many Asian cuisines, is a long, stalk of lemon-scented grass. The inner part, or bulb, is where all the flavor lies, so I gently sautéed the lemongrass bulbs in canola oil letting them infuse the oil with fresh, lemon flavor. I used the oil to sauté many onions (I lost track of quantities, but we were cooking for a full house of 70 people). I coarsely chopped the lobster meat and mixed it with the sautéed onion, fresh minced ginger, chopped green scallions, sea salt, and eggs (see the recipe below). The lobster cakes were lightly coated in Panko flakes - coarse Japanese breadcrumbs - and then pan fried to order in the remaining lemongrass oil.

I ran back to my mother-in-law’s apartment where I was staying, took off my filthy grimy apron and jeans, , showered in record time, and pretended my lower back was not a second away from spasm. Every time I cook in a restaurant kitchen I am painfully reminded of the intense physical labor that goes into preparing food. Standing for hours in the heat of a kitchen chopping, mincing, steaming, and hauling heavy pots and pans is back breaking work.

At around 7 p.m. the night of the dinner friends, family, and old Cendrillon customers began to fill the restaurant. Bottles of wine were opened and there was much cheer and merriment. The oyster ceviche was incredibly light and refreshing with a hit of horseradish, the tomato granita, and three types of Maine oysters. Next came the Filipino Clam Soup and the lemongrass lobster cakes. Based on the reaction to the Lemongrass-Lobster Cakes, I think I could easily quit my job as a writer and start marketing them. The hake was perfectly cooked, and the short ribs with bok choy and baked beans came out exactly as I had hoped — the meat falling off the bone, the accompanying bok choy full of crunch and fresh flavors and the beans sweet, but also spicy and perfectly tender.

I was a bit nervous when the upside down cakes were served. Baking is not my strength, but damn those cakes tasted good. And with a scoop of Romy’s Maine maple syrup ice cream on the side, it was the perfect ending to an East-West dinner.

Amy and Romy joked that we should start a restaurant in Portland. I can fully imagine Mainer’s embracing classic dishes like chicken adobo (a chicken stew cooked in vinegar, garlic, chiles, and coconut milk) and Romy’s amazing noodle dishes.

Knowing Amy and her determination there’s a chance this might happen. It’s now clear to me that there is a connection between the Philippines and Maine. Both share a love of seafood (the Philippines is a 7000 island archipelago that boasts wonderful fish) and good food in general. When two very distinct cultures merge in the kitchen unexpected, and great things can happen.

Cendrillon Restaurant is located at 45 Mercer Street, NY, NY; 212-343-9012.

Kathy Gunst’s Lobster Cake with Ginger and Lemongrass
For Cendrillon

Serve these lemon and ginger-scented lobster cakes for the holidays as a first course, an hors d’oeuvres, or with a winter salad. You can make the lobster cakes ahead of time, refrigerate overnight and cook to order, or cook them a day ahead of time and reheat in allow 300 degree oven until hot. Serve simply with a lime wedge.

About ¾ (three-quarters) cup canola or good vegetable oil
¼ (quarter) cup thinly sliced lemongrass (peel away several of the outer layers and chop the thick, bulb-like section)
½ (half) cup finely chopped onions
1 tablespoon finely chopped or grated fresh ginger
2 scallions, very thinly sliced, white and green sections
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large egg, well beaten, or 2 small eggs
1 ½ (one and a half) cups cooked lobster meat, cut into ½-inch pieces
2 teaspoons grated lime zest
About 1 tablespoon lime juice
About 1 cup panko flakes
1 lime, cut into small wedges

Place the oil in small saucepan with the lemongrass over low heat and let simmer and infuse for about 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly. Use a slotted spoon or a strainer remove the lemongrass from the oil and discard the lemongrass.

In a large skillet heat 1 1/2 tablespoons of the lemongrass oil over very low heat. Add the onions and half the ginger and cook, stirring, for 5 minutes. Add the scallions, salt, and pepper, and cook another 5 minutes; the onions should just turn a pale golden brown. Let cool.

In a medium bowl, gently mix the beaten egg, lobster meat, remaining ginger, lime zest, and lime juice. Add the cooked onion/scallion mixture and any oil remaining in the pan. Gently stir in about ½ cup of the panko flakes, or enough so that the mixture holds together. Form the mixture into 10 cakes, about 2 ½ inches long. Place the remaining panko flakes on a large plate. Gently coat both sides of each lobster cake, pressing lightly to make sure the breadcrumbs adhere to both sides. (The lobster cakes can be placed on a baking sheet, covered, and refrigerated for up to 12 hours.)

Heat a few tablespoons of the remaining lemongrass oil in a large skillet over moderate heat. When hot, add the lobster cakes and cook about 3 to 4 minutes per side, or until golden brown and cooked through. If the pan seems to be drying out add an additional tablespoon or two of the lemongrass oil. Serve hot with a wedge of lime. Makes ten 2 ½-inch cakes.


Chicken Adobo
from "Memories of Philippine Kitchens" by Amy Besa  and Romy Dorotan

1 ½ cups rice vinegar
1 cup coconut milk
¼ (quarter) cup soy sauce
12 garlic cloves, peeled
3 bay leaves
3 whole Birdseye chiles or small red chiles
1 ½ (one and a half) teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
One 3 ½ pound chicken, cut into 8 pieces

In a large nonreactive bowl or heavy resealable plastic bag combine all the ingredients except the chicken. Add the chicken and coat well. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.

In a large casserole or Dutch oven heat the chicken and marinade over high heat. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, to make sure the chicken is covered in the marinade, and until the chicken is cooked through, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Using a slotted spoon, remove the chicken pieces to a large bowl and raise the heat to medium-high and reduce the marinade/sauce until it is the consistency of heavy cream, about 5 minutes. Remove the bay leaves and chiles. Return the chicken to the sauce and cook until just warmed through. Serve hot with rice; serves 4 to 6.