Corned Beef and Cabbage

I'm half Scottish. Corned beef and cabbage is one of our family's favorites and, like tonight, I always enjoy way too much of it.  I boil everything together in a big pot with bay leaves, peppercorns.  I used to take the beef out and toss the new potatoes and cabbage wedges around with a stick of butter.

Tonight I portioned all 7 plates (mother in-law makes 7 -- really threw me for a loop there for a minute) with a hand-full of nice, lean strips of meat, steaming halved potatoes and semi-limp nearly tasteless cabbage.  I crushed some pepper lightly over it all.  Then I proceeded to make it my own.  I recently received a few bottles of an Umbrian extra virgin, straight from the miller.  I wouldn't call what I did dressing.  There's no other word than drenching for my utter lack of restraint.

I always looked suspiciously at the cabbage taking valuable real estate on my plate knowing it had no right being there.  What did it bring to the table?  Oh but now.  Now, tonight, it served dutifully as the canvas for a counterpoint (nay, counterpunch...nay, bitch-slap) to the corned beef.  This emerald Umbrian D.O.P. let out a fruity, sharp bitterness that was always missing.  Suddenly my fork wanted to side-slice another hunk of dripping cabbage leaves instead of catching a cab to the lower beef side.

It started me thinking about the ways I've enjoyed olive oil lately that you haven't.

For breakfast I toasted an english muffin, dunked the nooks-and-crannies side in a pool of Arbequina and topped with a thin slice of tomato.

At the office I placed a soft-boiled egg in one of those mini water-cooler paper cups.  Then I filled it up exactly half-way with a Tuscan varietal.  A dash of salt and pepper. Grab spork, dig in.

I love the flavor of artichokes but they test my patience. A few weeks ago I steamed one for 10 minutes until it nearly fell apart, took off the little pain-in-the-ass leaves on the outside and chopped off the top half of the bulb where the thorns are.  I tossed it all in a zip-lock bag with a little California Ascolano and salt, dumped it on a plate and ate it like a salad.  Ther were some rough patches, but I eat peanuts shell and all (only at baseball games and as long as they're salted).

Open foil albecore tuna pouch. Pour in Taggiasca. Eat.

Another office trick (complete with curious stares through glass walls): 1) Take a nice local tomato. 2) Bite like apple.  3) Drizzle EVOO in cavity.  4) Dash from little break-and-sprinkle paper salt pack.  Repeat steps 2 through 4.

We don't always have carpaccio lying around, but you can get some pretty red roast beef at the deli counter.  Instead of mayonaise, I've been using a spicy Ligurian like an au-jus and dunking my thinly-slice po-man's carpaccio on a roll.

Why I always have (at least) 6 bottles of olive oil on hand.

Alright, I love olive oil.  I guess it's the complexity of a really good extra virgin that breaks through and pleases me. I think about all that goes into crafting its character.  I've tasted (and tossed) bad olive oil in one-litre plastic bottles proudly proclaiming "first cold pressed." I've been treated to sweet Arbequina nectar pressed minutes ago on an estate orchard in the South of France.

I use olive oil liberally.  Most nights I'll bring a fresh baguette home from my artisan baker and I'll fill at least two identical dipping bowls with oils to contrast.  I mix it up, like pitting a California early harvest against a Tuscan varietal.  I submerge and drench the bread.  I'll fill a spoon to slurp some straight.  I'll take in the aromas, sniff the bottles, study the color.  Olive Oil is far more interesting than Scotch (another muse for me) and almost as interesting as wines are for many.

There are a lot of qualities I like in an olive oil.  Some of my favorites are green grass, artichoke and pepper.  Subtler tastes like butter, almond, and ripe olives have their place too and there are times when I want a reserved olive fruit essence, not a towering inferno of pungent power.

Although there are countless degrees, extra virgin olive oils are recklessly classified delicate, medium, or robust and each one has a place in my kitchen. I drizzle green, peppery oil over thinly sliced flank steak or potatoes roasted with garlic.  Oils with moderate pungency and balance are nice for dipping, drizzled over lima beans, brown rice or over onions and peppers. Come to think of it, anything.

The delicate oils I have less use for, but I still need some around.  I guess I like kick to almost anything (see "Scotch" above).  I use riper, buttery extra virgins over baked cod, sauteing sole, over mushrooms and haricot verts, white rice and cheeses.

I go through bottles of premium olive oils at a good clip.  Once a bottle has been opened, I want to use it within a few months. That's just me.  So when my delicate oil is halfway, I pick up another.  I need at least two bottles of every intensity on hand at all times.  Or I won't sleep well at night.