A Kick in the Cuisine

by April Paffrath

Creamy burrata at Sportello. The inside is mozzerella and cream. You want this.

Where do you go for culinary inspiration?

Lunch the other day started me thinking about daily cooking during the season ahead. What will I do that I haven't tried yet? What simple combinations will make us linger over the dinner table and say, "God in heaven, can we please eat that meal all over again?" I realized, as I ate at Sportello with friends on Friday, that I need to work on support materials in a meal to make them truly amazing: The pastry doughs for Eric Kayser's savory zucchini tart. The soups de verduras like we eat in Spain that add a jolt of freshness to a meal. The foccacia studded with veggies fresh from the farm, and doused in sea salt and verdant olive oil. And, thanks to this meal at Sportello, which I've enjoyed many many times before, gnocchi that will add the deep (but never heavy) notes to a meal while remaining as fluffy as clouds. Barbara Lynch's gnocchi are nothing like the leaden versions that come in a packet at the store. And, lucky me, I learned how to make them from her at a class she taught at Stir. (More on that as I try it...with wilted greens and mushrooms, perhaps?)

Gnocchi that are light, soft and perfect. This is my favorite comfort dish.

Early spring is a time of happy research, spent thinking about the season ahead and how to make things taste gorgeous when they are fresh picked. I have stacks of cookbooks out on tables and chairs right now, which I read like novels, tasting vicariously through the authors' descriptions. Each book holds great ideas and I try my hardest to remember the exceptional ones that I know will completely make my summer. My mother and I both have formidable cookbook libraries. Mine in the hundreds, hers in the thousands. We have so much in common and our love of cooking and our ability to devour cookbooks as well as the food they talk about is one of my favorite inherited traits. I will write about cookbooks here again and again.

The way I cook is influenced greatly by many things— culture, favorite foods, dishes that characters ate in my favorite books, how my parents cook, and more. In our house, it's a daily barrage of tastiness that gently forms our culinary goals and appetites.

Travel plays a major part in how we eat chez nous. When we go to Barcelona, we bring back memories of eating at Cal Pep, Comerç24 and shopping for Lorenç Petras' mushrooms at La Boqueria. Once we get home, we weave our culinary adventures into our daily lives, hunting down black trumpets, making a basil ice cream, and finding the best bread for pa amb tomaquet (pan con tomate or tomatoes and bread). This season we'll be headed to Chicago, New York, and London...that we know of so far. I can't wait to taste things in each of those places that shake things up a bit.

We do the same thing in our own town, too. Boston has quite a culinary scene and I think it's woefully unsung. When it comes to restaurants, Bostonians are as lucky as can be. Where many cities this size might have a few stellar places, Boston has more that will thrill than I can name right now. Getting inspired here, it turns out, is easy. No. 9 Park, Radius, Beacon Hill Bistro, Marco, Oleana, Upstairs on the Square, and so many more. The chefs at these places care about food and where it comes from. The list can easily go on and on. As a city of eaters, we are incredibly and undeniably lucky. If you're stuck for ideas and inspiration for your own kitchen, you don't *have* to travel the globe when we have dozens of wells from which to draw genius. Do both, I say.

When we go out to eat, I taste the elements that don't usually make it into our home cooking. I look for ingredients, vegetables, sauces, herbs, and textures that I haven't played with enough. Suddenly, the list of things to try at home is miles long and so, so tasty. It's easy to get into a bit of a rut when work and life pressures infringe on our limited time. Traveling and tasting within your own city is a lovely kick in the cuisine.