Annalena is not a fan of fancy soups. She prefers a soup that makes you feel like you're eating SOMETHING. So, none of this double consomme nonsense, or vegetable soups that have been processed to the point where you think you're drinking a glass of colored milk, and so on.
Now, do not think for a minute that I do not enjoy a well made vellutata or passata, or any of the soups that do involve some kind of "intervention" to take them out of their peasant quality. But there is a point where they just get so processed that I almost feel intimidated by eating them.
And then there are soups that actually should be left alone, period. Think of minestrone, for example. If you pureed minestrone, well, what would be the point? How about mushroom soup? I know that there's room for debate here, but I like feeling the chunks of mushroom in the liquid. It gives me a sense that I'm eating something with substance.
I used the example of minestrone, to lead into this next dish. Bean soups, almost always, have the beans whole. They're served up with whatever else is in the soup, and if it's a well made soup, they're absolutely delicious. And I had a bean soup on the docket for this weekend. It was planned as a simple country soup, not unlike the French dish "garbure," but with an Italian twist. Then, I read this recipe in a catalog from a famous cookware store (ALRIGHT. It was Williams-Sonoma). I did not much care for the recipe, but it called for pureeing part of the soup.
Hmmmmm. Interesting. I did not keep the recipe, because if there is one thing I know how to do, is make a bean soup. And I followed my standard process for bean soup, with some changes. And then I pureed it in the blender. It's terrific. I want you to have this in your rep.
First, I am going to issue a plea: USE DRIED BEANS. Yes, you will have to spend more time, but the next time you are in a supermarket, look at a can of beans, and see what's in it. Even the organic ones. Look at the salt content, and then read the nutritional value. You want that? If you're ok with it, open a can of them and taste them. Soft, soft, soft. Use the dried ones. I promise, it's worth it.
Ok, start with a pound of dried beans. The night before, put them under LOTS of water, then go to bed.
Next day, change the water, and put lots more in. As one Italian cook has put it "the beans have to DANCE.' Indeed they do. Put in plenty, and when the pot comes to a boil, lower the heat, and let them cook away, until they are aldente. You don't need to cook them to soft, because you're going to cook them again.
While this is happening, chop yourself up a good cup and a half each of celery, carrots, and potatoes. NO onions, and NO garlic. BUT... get yourself two, very large sprigs of rosemary. Put about three tablespoons of olive oil in a big pot, and add the vegetables, with a hefty teaspoon of salt. Cook away, for about five minutes. While this is happening, drain the beans, and then add them, and the rosemary, and cook for a few more minutes. Then, add two quarts of water (stock is absolutely not necessary for this soup). Cook away for about an hour, or until the beans are nice and soft. Pull out the rosemary sprigs. Don't be surprised if the needles are gone.
Cool the pot. When it's cool enough to handle, puree the soup in batches. Have some water ready. When beans are pureed, they give off a lot of starch, and they are very thick. Sometimes, too thick. Adjust the seasonings, and the salt, as you see fit.
I used a pound of small, brown heirloom beans I had bought at the end of the season at the farmers market, and I have a soup that is somewhere between ecru and beige, with dark brown flecks from the skins of the beans. Your soup will take on different colors, depending on what bean you use. I would stay away from kidney beans for this type of soup. I'm not a big fan of them to begin with, and pureed, they have a kind of "icky pink" color that I am not fond of. But if you like it, go ahead.
I like to serve soups like this with a nice dribble of extra virgin olive oil on them, and I don't serve them piping hot. The flavor is better when they are just on the hot side of warm. If you wanted to, you could put some chopped ham into this, or just about anything you like.
Hey, it's getting up to tax time, and you've just made over two quarts of great soup, for HOW MUCH money? A pound of beans is what, 1.50? Potatoes, celery, carrots, water, salt, rosemary? Hmmmm? Treat yourself to a nice piece of cheese or if you don't make your bread, a nice artisanal loaf. And just "sit back" into one of the most comforting of comfort foods.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Improving "garbage soup"
I hate the name of this dish, but that's what I've heard it called. I learned it, originally, from a recipe by Marion Cunningham. Now, I will say up front, that I have heard positives, and negatives about Ms. Cunningham. Some VERY positive, and some VERY negative. I will not repeat any of them here; if you're curious, you can probably find them on the internet. What I will say is that, by and large, I find her recipes interesting, straight forward, and almost inevitably too sweet. For example, there is a recipe for stuffed cabbage, that I make, that is based originally on her recipe, except I leave out the quarter cup of brown sugar the recipe called for originally. I cannot imagine stuffed cabbage with brown sugar in it. EWWWW. BUT... and I say this with all due respect to my readers - I have found that as you move in from the coasts, both East and West, and as you go down the coast on the East, people prefer their dishes sweeter. I have had tomato sauce in Pennsylania Dutch country that was sweeter than ketchup.
Oh, dear. I'm digressing. Moreso than usual. Back to "garbage soup."
Ms Cunningham described this as "the soup you make when there's nothing in the house to make soup with." Indeed, she's right": it calls for potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery, which are in just about every home at every time, and if all of them aren't there, you can substitute.
Well, I have made the soup and I will say that it is pretty darn good. But I made it BETTER. Yes I did, by using one of the other staples of your kitchen. You ought to have some dried mushrooms in your cupboard at all times. They are very expensive, but they are solid gold for cooking. I have seen all kinds of formulas for how many pounds of fresh mushrooms a pound of dried mushrooms equates to, and the numbers are always different. It matters not. Use them. They're good.
OK, here's the soup. Take an ounce of dried mushrooms, any type (I prefer cepes). Put them in a bowl, and cover them with two cups of boiling water. Then put them aside, and let them cool in the water.
While that's happening, chop up equal amounts of carrots, potatoes, and celery. At least a cup, maybe a cup and a half of each. Chop up half as many onions. Then, when the mushrooms are cool, drain them and chop them, AND DON'T YOU DARE TOSS THAT LIQUID.
Put some oil, olive oil if you have it, into a pot, and when it's hot, add the veggies - all of them - and saute'. Add a hefty teaspoon of salt, and then stir them until the vegetables just begin to sweat. It won't take long. Maybe 7 minutes?
After that, add six cups or so of water, or chicken stock, and the mushroom soaking liquid. Lower the heat to medium, and cook just until the vegetables are just aldente, and you have soup.
Now, you can play with this. My friend Dan, from Sweden, loves rutubagas (hooray for him). You can substitute one vegetable for these "swedes" or to add the rutubagas. Maybe you want to add cabbage, or something else that you have around the house? If you have a parmesan cheese rind, perhaps you can cook that with the soup to add some flavor.
In very many respects, this reminds me of minestrone, but without the beans. It's also really good, and very comforting on a cold night.
"Garbage soup" indeed. Sure sounds good to me.
Oh, dear. I'm digressing. Moreso than usual. Back to "garbage soup."
Ms Cunningham described this as "the soup you make when there's nothing in the house to make soup with." Indeed, she's right": it calls for potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery, which are in just about every home at every time, and if all of them aren't there, you can substitute.
Well, I have made the soup and I will say that it is pretty darn good. But I made it BETTER. Yes I did, by using one of the other staples of your kitchen. You ought to have some dried mushrooms in your cupboard at all times. They are very expensive, but they are solid gold for cooking. I have seen all kinds of formulas for how many pounds of fresh mushrooms a pound of dried mushrooms equates to, and the numbers are always different. It matters not. Use them. They're good.
OK, here's the soup. Take an ounce of dried mushrooms, any type (I prefer cepes). Put them in a bowl, and cover them with two cups of boiling water. Then put them aside, and let them cool in the water.
While that's happening, chop up equal amounts of carrots, potatoes, and celery. At least a cup, maybe a cup and a half of each. Chop up half as many onions. Then, when the mushrooms are cool, drain them and chop them, AND DON'T YOU DARE TOSS THAT LIQUID.
Put some oil, olive oil if you have it, into a pot, and when it's hot, add the veggies - all of them - and saute'. Add a hefty teaspoon of salt, and then stir them until the vegetables just begin to sweat. It won't take long. Maybe 7 minutes?
After that, add six cups or so of water, or chicken stock, and the mushroom soaking liquid. Lower the heat to medium, and cook just until the vegetables are just aldente, and you have soup.
Now, you can play with this. My friend Dan, from Sweden, loves rutubagas (hooray for him). You can substitute one vegetable for these "swedes" or to add the rutubagas. Maybe you want to add cabbage, or something else that you have around the house? If you have a parmesan cheese rind, perhaps you can cook that with the soup to add some flavor.
In very many respects, this reminds me of minestrone, but without the beans. It's also really good, and very comforting on a cold night.
"Garbage soup" indeed. Sure sounds good to me.
Workhorse? Bitter orange creme anglaise
When I was first learning how to cook, I remember reading that "Creme anglaise is the workhorse of the pastry kitchen. It is ESSENTIAL that you learn how to make it correctly." What followed was this detailed extravaganza of a recipe that would scare any potential pastry chef out of the kitchen.
Perhaps it is/was the workhorse. The thing about creme anglaise is that it's such a basic, relatively simple product that , in and of itself, I think it's almost never used. Rather, it's tinkered with, to the point where you could argue that you don't have creme anglaise anymore.
Well, back to that complex recipe. I remember making it a few times, and deciding it just wasn't worth it. It also, in my opinion, just wasn't very good. I remember there being flour, or cornstarch in it, and I could never cook that texture away. After it was chilled, it had a thick, kind of gloppy feel to it that reminded me of well made chicken stock - you know that thick gelatiny texture you get sometimes? Fine for soup, but for a dairy dessert? Uh uh.
I don't quite know when it happened, but when simplification (if you want to call it that), of cooking happened, the flour and other complexities of creme anglaise disappeared. I still made it, occasionally, but since I have my super duper ice cream maker, and everyone loves ice cream, well...
But, when you design a dessert, you have to think about everything. The bread pudding I was making was going to be served warm. Ice cream on the plate would begin melting right away. "What's wrong with that?" you may be thinking? OK, sit back a minute. When you see a dessert presented, say, on a TV show, and the cold ice cream begins melting next to the hot or warm cake, your digestive juices begin flowing, right?
Ever notice they cut away right away? That's because, in a few minutes, you're going to have a disgusting mess of cake crumbs, melted ice cream, and that beautiful construction is just going to look awful. So, for the bread pudding I thought, "something but NOT ice cream."
One food writer whom I respect has said that instead of making creme anglaise, he just melts good quality vanilla ice cream. He's not the only one who's written this. I respectfully do not agree. To my taste, creme anglaise is not nearly as sweet, nor as rich, as ice cream, and it shouldn't be. The thought of "melted ice cream" sat with me, however, and in my diseased mind I began thinking "if it's going to melt, why not start with the anglaise?"
Well, my thinking was a bit more foul mouthed than that, but this IS a family blog , right?
Next, came the question of flavor: what is going to balance bittersweet chocolate? I've written often of how I am not a big fan of chocolate, but when I do eat bittersweet, I think of the strong fruit flavors: berries, for example, but more often than not, orange. But not so sweet. Something that has the flavor of the orange peel in it, with that edge of bitterness.
As it happened, I had a few seville oranges left in the fridge from the failed attempt to make marmalade. These unusual critters have a VERY bitter taste , as the long suffering Guy will tell you from the time he got one in his lunch bag (I SWEAR it was an accident. It really, really was). If you don't have them around, which is what is the case for the normal household, use a regular orange. Use one that is organic, or unsprayed, or if you can't get that, please wash the orange thoroughly. You're going to be letting peel sit in dairy for a long, long time, and fat (from dairy) is an excellent solvent for all of the nasty pesticides and whatnot that are used on fruit (that biochem degree comes in handy from time to time). So, here we go. This is essentially a classic, simplified form of creme anglaise, with my orange trick.
You need 2 cups of whole milk, and 4 large egg yolks, plus 3 tablespoons of sugar. If you want to save a bit of time, 4 tablespoons of sugar is a quarter cup, but you'll wind up with a sweeter creme. Classically, you will use a vanilla bean, but we're not going to use that here. Instead, peel one or two seville or navel oranges. Use the juice for something else. You can use the peel in a large piece, or many small pieces, it just doesn't matter. Also, what you can do, if you don't mind the particles in the creme, is grate part of that peel instead of using it whole. That might be the better way to proceed with sweet oranges, because you'll get more oil into the dish.
Ok, let's dump all of that stuff into a pot, including the peel, and get our whisk ready. Start cooking, over low heat, until you get that familiar thickness that will coat the back of a spoon. It won't take long, and err on the side of too little rather than too much time, if you're feeling insecure. This is a sauce, remember, so you don't want it TOO thick. Take it off the heat, and when it cools, taste it. If you find the orange flavor strong enough, take out the big pieces of peel. To my taste, it was fine to leave the orange in the creme, up until service time. Then, pour it into a non reactive container that is clean, REALLY clean (remember what I said about dairy picking up solvents ? If you put the stuff in a container you recently used for tomato sauce, you may just have creme anglaise marinara when you're done), and refrigerate it.
For something like the bread pudding, spoon a few tablespoons onto a plate and put the unmolded pudding right on top of it. You could also pour this over a piece of cake, or toss some fruit, like bananas, into it. Maybe it'll become a workhorse again.
Play with your own variations, too. I bet you can think of other flavors that will work with the base of eggs, sugar and milk
Perhaps it is/was the workhorse. The thing about creme anglaise is that it's such a basic, relatively simple product that , in and of itself, I think it's almost never used. Rather, it's tinkered with, to the point where you could argue that you don't have creme anglaise anymore.
Well, back to that complex recipe. I remember making it a few times, and deciding it just wasn't worth it. It also, in my opinion, just wasn't very good. I remember there being flour, or cornstarch in it, and I could never cook that texture away. After it was chilled, it had a thick, kind of gloppy feel to it that reminded me of well made chicken stock - you know that thick gelatiny texture you get sometimes? Fine for soup, but for a dairy dessert? Uh uh.
I don't quite know when it happened, but when simplification (if you want to call it that), of cooking happened, the flour and other complexities of creme anglaise disappeared. I still made it, occasionally, but since I have my super duper ice cream maker, and everyone loves ice cream, well...
But, when you design a dessert, you have to think about everything. The bread pudding I was making was going to be served warm. Ice cream on the plate would begin melting right away. "What's wrong with that?" you may be thinking? OK, sit back a minute. When you see a dessert presented, say, on a TV show, and the cold ice cream begins melting next to the hot or warm cake, your digestive juices begin flowing, right?
Ever notice they cut away right away? That's because, in a few minutes, you're going to have a disgusting mess of cake crumbs, melted ice cream, and that beautiful construction is just going to look awful. So, for the bread pudding I thought, "something but NOT ice cream."
One food writer whom I respect has said that instead of making creme anglaise, he just melts good quality vanilla ice cream. He's not the only one who's written this. I respectfully do not agree. To my taste, creme anglaise is not nearly as sweet, nor as rich, as ice cream, and it shouldn't be. The thought of "melted ice cream" sat with me, however, and in my diseased mind I began thinking "if it's going to melt, why not start with the anglaise?"
Well, my thinking was a bit more foul mouthed than that, but this IS a family blog , right?
Next, came the question of flavor: what is going to balance bittersweet chocolate? I've written often of how I am not a big fan of chocolate, but when I do eat bittersweet, I think of the strong fruit flavors: berries, for example, but more often than not, orange. But not so sweet. Something that has the flavor of the orange peel in it, with that edge of bitterness.
As it happened, I had a few seville oranges left in the fridge from the failed attempt to make marmalade. These unusual critters have a VERY bitter taste , as the long suffering Guy will tell you from the time he got one in his lunch bag (I SWEAR it was an accident. It really, really was). If you don't have them around, which is what is the case for the normal household, use a regular orange. Use one that is organic, or unsprayed, or if you can't get that, please wash the orange thoroughly. You're going to be letting peel sit in dairy for a long, long time, and fat (from dairy) is an excellent solvent for all of the nasty pesticides and whatnot that are used on fruit (that biochem degree comes in handy from time to time). So, here we go. This is essentially a classic, simplified form of creme anglaise, with my orange trick.
You need 2 cups of whole milk, and 4 large egg yolks, plus 3 tablespoons of sugar. If you want to save a bit of time, 4 tablespoons of sugar is a quarter cup, but you'll wind up with a sweeter creme. Classically, you will use a vanilla bean, but we're not going to use that here. Instead, peel one or two seville or navel oranges. Use the juice for something else. You can use the peel in a large piece, or many small pieces, it just doesn't matter. Also, what you can do, if you don't mind the particles in the creme, is grate part of that peel instead of using it whole. That might be the better way to proceed with sweet oranges, because you'll get more oil into the dish.
Ok, let's dump all of that stuff into a pot, including the peel, and get our whisk ready. Start cooking, over low heat, until you get that familiar thickness that will coat the back of a spoon. It won't take long, and err on the side of too little rather than too much time, if you're feeling insecure. This is a sauce, remember, so you don't want it TOO thick. Take it off the heat, and when it cools, taste it. If you find the orange flavor strong enough, take out the big pieces of peel. To my taste, it was fine to leave the orange in the creme, up until service time. Then, pour it into a non reactive container that is clean, REALLY clean (remember what I said about dairy picking up solvents ? If you put the stuff in a container you recently used for tomato sauce, you may just have creme anglaise marinara when you're done), and refrigerate it.
For something like the bread pudding, spoon a few tablespoons onto a plate and put the unmolded pudding right on top of it. You could also pour this over a piece of cake, or toss some fruit, like bananas, into it. Maybe it'll become a workhorse again.
Play with your own variations, too. I bet you can think of other flavors that will work with the base of eggs, sugar and milk
Monday, February 22, 2010
It's so simple: veal roast with fennel and shallots
One of the best cooking teachers EVER once wrote that if a recipe contains more than five ingredients, excluding salt, pepper , cooking fat and water, she was not interested in making it.
While I think that is a somewhat severe rule, and I doubt that the author actually MEANT it, it's a fairly good guideline to follow when you cook. Very few dishes benefit from excessive ingredients. When too many "things" go into your dish, the flavors "crowd" each other, and you get a muddy dish. Sometimes, you want that: stews, frequently, are not about how flavors interact with each other, but how they "meld" into one, unique flavor that is not like anything in the dish. There's nothing wrong with that, and often, there is everything GOOD about that. But there is also something very special about a dish that doesn't require tons of shopping, tons of prep, and so many bowls on your plate that you can't cook, because you'll knock something over. And I think that if you analyzed many of your favorite dishes, you'd find that they usually do follow the five ingredient rule. (Baked goods are somewhat of an exception here: butter/sugar/eggs/flour/vanilla... There you are. And we haven't even gotten to the good stuff).
Perhaps the apotheosis of this style of cooking, at least to Annalena, is maiale al latte, that decidedly non kosher dish of pork and milk. Olive oil, salt, pepper, pork shoulder, milk. PERIOD. If your ingredient are not spot on, you're in trouble. Another one: pasta cacio e pepe. What's here? Pasta, salt (in the cooking water), cacio cheese, and black pepper. How simple? And how difficult. Try to skimp on that dish. I dare you...
This past weekend, I made a dish that defies the rule (beef bourgignon, and we'll get to that), and this one, which proves that "yes, we can!" It's an interesting combination of ingredients: veal , shallots, fennel, thyme and chicken stock are your five ingredients. You'll need olive oil, salt and pepper too. And you'll need some time. But it's worth it. Let's make it.
First, your cut of veal. You need a nice roast. I learned it calling for shoulder roast, and I used something from the center cut instead. I was happy with that. My roast was just over 2 pounds. Fine for a small portion of dinner for 8 people (we were having the beef as well, remember?). Veal is very lean, so try to get something boneless, with a nice layer of fat too. You also need nearly two pounds of shallots. That's a lot of them. Also three fennel bulbs. Finally, you will also need a pint of chicken stock (you can use wine instead, but this is so good with the stock...), and about a half dozen sprigs of thyme. Also salt, pepper, and olive oil.
Let's get to work. Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, pat your roast dry, and then mix together, a tablespoon of salt and lots of chopped fresh thyme. At least a tablespoon, more if you have the patience. Then add half a tablespoon of pepper, and mix them all together. Now, pat this all over the roast. There will be enough. And heat a healthy tablespoon of olive oil in a pot, just large enough to hold the veal, lengthwise, as well as the vegetables you chopped (test by putting everything in). Put that aside, and peel and slice the shallots (this is laborious. Keep at it), as well as the three fennel bulbs.
Put the roast into the pot with the hot oil, and sear it. Give it a good two-three minutes on the larger sides, and then about thirty seconds a side, on the smaller ones. Put it aside.
Add another hefty tablespoon of olive oil to whatever remains in the pan. And add the vegetables. You don't need to add salt, because the roast has been salted, and it's going back. Saute' the vegetables until they brown. There's a lot of veggies here, and you'll need about 10 minutes to get there. Add the stock. Again, keep stirring, for three minutes or so. Then add the meat back to the vegetables, put some on top of the roast, and then cover the pot. Put the whole thing into the oven and go and read Proust or something for about an hour and a quarter.
The smell coming out of the kitchen will make you very excited. When you take the pot out of the stove, and remove the cover (WEAR A POT HOLDER), the aroma may very well make you faint, it smells so good. If you want more aroma, chop up some more thyme, but you don't need it.
The vegetables will have cooked down to something resembling a very thick, french onion soup. You will have more of this than you need, and you can use it to sauce pasta or something else. Let the veal cook and slice it. This is crumbly, so you may want to slice it thick if appearance is very important to you, but if not, just slice thinly, and serve it up with some of the sauce.
I made this with roasted Jerusalem artichokes, but I could very easily seeing this on rice, or potatoes, or celery root, or just by itself.
It's a really wonderful dish. Promise me you'll try to make it.
While I think that is a somewhat severe rule, and I doubt that the author actually MEANT it, it's a fairly good guideline to follow when you cook. Very few dishes benefit from excessive ingredients. When too many "things" go into your dish, the flavors "crowd" each other, and you get a muddy dish. Sometimes, you want that: stews, frequently, are not about how flavors interact with each other, but how they "meld" into one, unique flavor that is not like anything in the dish. There's nothing wrong with that, and often, there is everything GOOD about that. But there is also something very special about a dish that doesn't require tons of shopping, tons of prep, and so many bowls on your plate that you can't cook, because you'll knock something over. And I think that if you analyzed many of your favorite dishes, you'd find that they usually do follow the five ingredient rule. (Baked goods are somewhat of an exception here: butter/sugar/eggs/flour/vanilla... There you are. And we haven't even gotten to the good stuff).
Perhaps the apotheosis of this style of cooking, at least to Annalena, is maiale al latte, that decidedly non kosher dish of pork and milk. Olive oil, salt, pepper, pork shoulder, milk. PERIOD. If your ingredient are not spot on, you're in trouble. Another one: pasta cacio e pepe. What's here? Pasta, salt (in the cooking water), cacio cheese, and black pepper. How simple? And how difficult. Try to skimp on that dish. I dare you...
This past weekend, I made a dish that defies the rule (beef bourgignon, and we'll get to that), and this one, which proves that "yes, we can!" It's an interesting combination of ingredients: veal , shallots, fennel, thyme and chicken stock are your five ingredients. You'll need olive oil, salt and pepper too. And you'll need some time. But it's worth it. Let's make it.
First, your cut of veal. You need a nice roast. I learned it calling for shoulder roast, and I used something from the center cut instead. I was happy with that. My roast was just over 2 pounds. Fine for a small portion of dinner for 8 people (we were having the beef as well, remember?). Veal is very lean, so try to get something boneless, with a nice layer of fat too. You also need nearly two pounds of shallots. That's a lot of them. Also three fennel bulbs. Finally, you will also need a pint of chicken stock (you can use wine instead, but this is so good with the stock...), and about a half dozen sprigs of thyme. Also salt, pepper, and olive oil.
Let's get to work. Preheat your oven to 375. While this is happening, pat your roast dry, and then mix together, a tablespoon of salt and lots of chopped fresh thyme. At least a tablespoon, more if you have the patience. Then add half a tablespoon of pepper, and mix them all together. Now, pat this all over the roast. There will be enough. And heat a healthy tablespoon of olive oil in a pot, just large enough to hold the veal, lengthwise, as well as the vegetables you chopped (test by putting everything in). Put that aside, and peel and slice the shallots (this is laborious. Keep at it), as well as the three fennel bulbs.
Put the roast into the pot with the hot oil, and sear it. Give it a good two-three minutes on the larger sides, and then about thirty seconds a side, on the smaller ones. Put it aside.
Add another hefty tablespoon of olive oil to whatever remains in the pan. And add the vegetables. You don't need to add salt, because the roast has been salted, and it's going back. Saute' the vegetables until they brown. There's a lot of veggies here, and you'll need about 10 minutes to get there. Add the stock. Again, keep stirring, for three minutes or so. Then add the meat back to the vegetables, put some on top of the roast, and then cover the pot. Put the whole thing into the oven and go and read Proust or something for about an hour and a quarter.
The smell coming out of the kitchen will make you very excited. When you take the pot out of the stove, and remove the cover (WEAR A POT HOLDER), the aroma may very well make you faint, it smells so good. If you want more aroma, chop up some more thyme, but you don't need it.
The vegetables will have cooked down to something resembling a very thick, french onion soup. You will have more of this than you need, and you can use it to sauce pasta or something else. Let the veal cook and slice it. This is crumbly, so you may want to slice it thick if appearance is very important to you, but if not, just slice thinly, and serve it up with some of the sauce.
I made this with roasted Jerusalem artichokes, but I could very easily seeing this on rice, or potatoes, or celery root, or just by itself.
It's a really wonderful dish. Promise me you'll try to make it.
pane cioccolato
I wrote, last year, of my battles with bread pudding, and how finally, I had found one that I liked. Well, this year (it seems I make one a year, doesn't it?), I tried again. I'm happy with it.
I wanted to make a chocolate bread pudding, for the marvelous dinner we had last night. I had a friend in mind who loves chocolate, but who deserves something a little bit different than the usual. To be fair, if I made him a chocolate pound cake, or a chocolate cupcake, he'd be just as happy. Not me. And I began designing a dessert: chocolate bread pudding with bitter orange creme anglaise. I still had some seville oranges left from the time I didn't make marmalade, and I had visions of a soft cream underneath the pudding, that would impart the bittersweetness of a liqueur like gran marnier, but without the alcohol. And, it would offset the bittersweetness of the chocolate, because there was no question that it was going to be bittersweet chocolate.
I also wanted individual portions. Here's where the fun began. Every single source I consulted, made one large bowl of the stuff, and called up on you to ladle it out. Okay, not bad, on its own terms, but not what I wanted. Also, all of the recipes I consulted called for French bread, or pan di mie, or some plain, white bread kind of base.
Again, not what I wanted. If you recall, I did my huckleberry bread pudding, with brioche.
So, to the drawing board I went, with the recipe I liked best. "IF I were going to make a large pot of the stuff, this is the one I would make" was how I reacted to it. So, a nip here, a tuck here, and all of a sudden, you have the dessert.
Here's the interesting thing. The original recipe says that the dessert serves 6-8. I have 12 ramekins of the stuff. Half cup portions. And that's plenty. This is a rich dessert. It's easy. Try it.
You'll need about a pound loaf of challah. If you can buy the bread a day or two before you make the pudding, that's best. Leave it out to stale a little. You also need 2 cups of milk and one of heavy cream. A half cup of sugar as well, a big pinch of salt, 10 ounces of extremely good quality, bittersweet chocolate (I used scharffenberger. One bar is 9.7 ounces, and this is fine). Six large eggs, and some butter.
First, tear the bread up or cut it up into small pieces. Don't worry about taking off the crust. Put the torn bread into a bowl, while you prepare the dairy mixture. First, chop the chocolate fine. Then put the dairy into a pot with the sugar and the chocolate, and the salt, and stir, just unitl the chocolate melts. Let this sit for a minute or two, and then whisk in six eggs. (Make sure that milk isn't too hot. If it is, let it cool to just lukewarm). As you stir in the eggs, you're going to see a sheen form in the milk mixture. This is a good thing.
Pour all of this over the bread, and let the mass sit for an hour, while you prepare the ramekins, and the oven. Put the oven to 325. Then, get your ramekins. Like I say, this made 12, so borrow some from your friends, or make half a recipe. Butter the inside of each one. Position them on a baking sheet and then ladle the bread mixture in them, just about to the top. While you're doing this, bring a kettle of water to the boil. When it's there, put the tray in the oven, and then carefully pour water into the baking sheet, until it's just up to the rim. Close the oven door, and go away for 40 minutes.
The puddings will be a little soft at this point, and that's fine. It's precisely what you want. Open the oven door, and let the tray cool there. If you try to move it (as I did), you will slosh water everywhere, curse, wet your shoes, curse some more, and then have to mop. When the stuff is cool, remove each ramekin, and then move the water filled tray. it will be much easier.
Run a knife around the rim of each one, but it isn't necessary to remove them until you're ready to serve. It' just makes it easier to do it early, rather than later.
You can refrigerate these, but if you're serving the same day, don't do it. They're fine refrigerated, and get very dense. If they're never refrigerated, they are much ligher. Both are good, but they are very different.
I DID say bitter orange creme anglaise, didn't I? Well, we're gonna get to that. Next time around, when we look at creme anglaise, generally. A dessert very useful to have on hand.
I wanted to make a chocolate bread pudding, for the marvelous dinner we had last night. I had a friend in mind who loves chocolate, but who deserves something a little bit different than the usual. To be fair, if I made him a chocolate pound cake, or a chocolate cupcake, he'd be just as happy. Not me. And I began designing a dessert: chocolate bread pudding with bitter orange creme anglaise. I still had some seville oranges left from the time I didn't make marmalade, and I had visions of a soft cream underneath the pudding, that would impart the bittersweetness of a liqueur like gran marnier, but without the alcohol. And, it would offset the bittersweetness of the chocolate, because there was no question that it was going to be bittersweet chocolate.
I also wanted individual portions. Here's where the fun began. Every single source I consulted, made one large bowl of the stuff, and called up on you to ladle it out. Okay, not bad, on its own terms, but not what I wanted. Also, all of the recipes I consulted called for French bread, or pan di mie, or some plain, white bread kind of base.
Again, not what I wanted. If you recall, I did my huckleberry bread pudding, with brioche.
So, to the drawing board I went, with the recipe I liked best. "IF I were going to make a large pot of the stuff, this is the one I would make" was how I reacted to it. So, a nip here, a tuck here, and all of a sudden, you have the dessert.
Here's the interesting thing. The original recipe says that the dessert serves 6-8. I have 12 ramekins of the stuff. Half cup portions. And that's plenty. This is a rich dessert. It's easy. Try it.
You'll need about a pound loaf of challah. If you can buy the bread a day or two before you make the pudding, that's best. Leave it out to stale a little. You also need 2 cups of milk and one of heavy cream. A half cup of sugar as well, a big pinch of salt, 10 ounces of extremely good quality, bittersweet chocolate (I used scharffenberger. One bar is 9.7 ounces, and this is fine). Six large eggs, and some butter.
First, tear the bread up or cut it up into small pieces. Don't worry about taking off the crust. Put the torn bread into a bowl, while you prepare the dairy mixture. First, chop the chocolate fine. Then put the dairy into a pot with the sugar and the chocolate, and the salt, and stir, just unitl the chocolate melts. Let this sit for a minute or two, and then whisk in six eggs. (Make sure that milk isn't too hot. If it is, let it cool to just lukewarm). As you stir in the eggs, you're going to see a sheen form in the milk mixture. This is a good thing.
Pour all of this over the bread, and let the mass sit for an hour, while you prepare the ramekins, and the oven. Put the oven to 325. Then, get your ramekins. Like I say, this made 12, so borrow some from your friends, or make half a recipe. Butter the inside of each one. Position them on a baking sheet and then ladle the bread mixture in them, just about to the top. While you're doing this, bring a kettle of water to the boil. When it's there, put the tray in the oven, and then carefully pour water into the baking sheet, until it's just up to the rim. Close the oven door, and go away for 40 minutes.
The puddings will be a little soft at this point, and that's fine. It's precisely what you want. Open the oven door, and let the tray cool there. If you try to move it (as I did), you will slosh water everywhere, curse, wet your shoes, curse some more, and then have to mop. When the stuff is cool, remove each ramekin, and then move the water filled tray. it will be much easier.
Run a knife around the rim of each one, but it isn't necessary to remove them until you're ready to serve. It' just makes it easier to do it early, rather than later.
You can refrigerate these, but if you're serving the same day, don't do it. They're fine refrigerated, and get very dense. If they're never refrigerated, they are much ligher. Both are good, but they are very different.
I DID say bitter orange creme anglaise, didn't I? Well, we're gonna get to that. Next time around, when we look at creme anglaise, generally. A dessert very useful to have on hand.
Cutting the mustard, or, making your own
Annalena makes a lot of things you can buy at the market, sometimes for very little money. Bread is an example. So is tomato sauce, or ice cream. The reasoning behind this? Well, apart from being a little crazy, my "rule" is that I make it at home if I can make it significantly better than I can find it in a store. Or if I'm concerned about what else goes "in it." Anyone read the label on a loaf of Wonder Bread lately, or a container of Breyer's ice cream? And the final reason is: because I like making it. I don't make things where my abilities just do not justify the effort, given what I can buy. Fresh pasta is an example of this. Maybe one day, I will learn to make it well, and without fuss. As of now, though, I'm not there. Ketchup is another example.
But mustard... Ah, this one falls into the "because I like making it." Have you taken a look at the "mustard market?" You might only find 3-4 different kinds at your grocer, but if you go to a fancy foodstore, you will find DOZENS. I don't really know why there is such a craze of these, except that maybe it's not that expensive to make, and you can charge ridiculously high prices for the stuff. People seem to get a sense of security when they have a few different kinds, flavors, because all the cooking magazines talk about how useful the stuff is. As far as spreads for our sandwiches go, mustard is almost a negative calorie food. So if you're dieting, you use it where you would normally use mayonnaise, and so on and so forth.
Whatever. I have no idea why there are so many kinds. I like honey mustard and dijon mustard, made by organic companies. Occasionally though, I make my own. As taught by an Italian chef, Maryann Esposito.
Mustard is not an intrinsically Italian food. Indeed, its name, "senape," from what I undertand, was used because "mostarda," which sounds close, is not at all what we expect mustard to be. Mostarda, that wonderful sweet and sour fruit "relish" (wrong word here), is not interchangeable with senape. What I am told is that after World War II, with so many soldiers wanting the stuff for their sandwiches, sausages, and so forth, it became popular in Italy. Maybe that's not true, maybe it's conjecture, whatever the reason, the fact is, every now and then I make this.
And you can, too. Here's how. First, you need mustard seeds. Now, mustard seeds come in three varieties, named by color: yellow, brown and black. Black mustard seeds are used almost exclusively in Indian cooking, and we won't use them here. What we will use are the milder, yellow ones and the hot, brown ones. Equal amounts of each. Start with a cup each. You can get the seeds at a health food or spices store. A cup is about a quarter pound. Mix these up, and then cover them with 2 cups of vinegar. Red wine vinegar is traditional, but you can do it with anything you want. Then, cover it tightly with plastic (no foil, please. We have acid here, and it will eat away the foil), and let it sit.... FOR 2 DAYS. Yup, you need 2 days here. The seeds will absorb some, if not all, of the vinegar.
After 2 days, if you want to flavor this with honey or anything else, now is the time. Don't overdo it though. Then, pour the stuff into a food processor and churn away, until you get the texture you want.
When I say "the texture you want," you will get a grainy mustard, regardless of how much you process it. Smooth mustard calls for mustard powder, and that's another story. And in any event, the grainy mustard somehow looks and tastes "special."
You'll have 3 cups or so of product, and if you need a little housegift, or something, put some of this in a fancy jar with a ribbon (not Annalena's forte', this dressing up of goods), and there you are.
Yes, this is not something you will need to know how to make. Don't treat it as a necessary part of your cooking "life," but if you ever wanted to, now you can.
I made this for a party this weekend, where there were many tasty dishes. More will follow. Stay tuned.
But mustard... Ah, this one falls into the "because I like making it." Have you taken a look at the "mustard market?" You might only find 3-4 different kinds at your grocer, but if you go to a fancy foodstore, you will find DOZENS. I don't really know why there is such a craze of these, except that maybe it's not that expensive to make, and you can charge ridiculously high prices for the stuff. People seem to get a sense of security when they have a few different kinds, flavors, because all the cooking magazines talk about how useful the stuff is. As far as spreads for our sandwiches go, mustard is almost a negative calorie food. So if you're dieting, you use it where you would normally use mayonnaise, and so on and so forth.
Whatever. I have no idea why there are so many kinds. I like honey mustard and dijon mustard, made by organic companies. Occasionally though, I make my own. As taught by an Italian chef, Maryann Esposito.
Mustard is not an intrinsically Italian food. Indeed, its name, "senape," from what I undertand, was used because "mostarda," which sounds close, is not at all what we expect mustard to be. Mostarda, that wonderful sweet and sour fruit "relish" (wrong word here), is not interchangeable with senape. What I am told is that after World War II, with so many soldiers wanting the stuff for their sandwiches, sausages, and so forth, it became popular in Italy. Maybe that's not true, maybe it's conjecture, whatever the reason, the fact is, every now and then I make this.
And you can, too. Here's how. First, you need mustard seeds. Now, mustard seeds come in three varieties, named by color: yellow, brown and black. Black mustard seeds are used almost exclusively in Indian cooking, and we won't use them here. What we will use are the milder, yellow ones and the hot, brown ones. Equal amounts of each. Start with a cup each. You can get the seeds at a health food or spices store. A cup is about a quarter pound. Mix these up, and then cover them with 2 cups of vinegar. Red wine vinegar is traditional, but you can do it with anything you want. Then, cover it tightly with plastic (no foil, please. We have acid here, and it will eat away the foil), and let it sit.... FOR 2 DAYS. Yup, you need 2 days here. The seeds will absorb some, if not all, of the vinegar.
After 2 days, if you want to flavor this with honey or anything else, now is the time. Don't overdo it though. Then, pour the stuff into a food processor and churn away, until you get the texture you want.
When I say "the texture you want," you will get a grainy mustard, regardless of how much you process it. Smooth mustard calls for mustard powder, and that's another story. And in any event, the grainy mustard somehow looks and tastes "special."
You'll have 3 cups or so of product, and if you need a little housegift, or something, put some of this in a fancy jar with a ribbon (not Annalena's forte', this dressing up of goods), and there you are.
Yes, this is not something you will need to know how to make. Don't treat it as a necessary part of your cooking "life," but if you ever wanted to, now you can.
I made this for a party this weekend, where there were many tasty dishes. More will follow. Stay tuned.
Friday, February 19, 2010
When there isn't time for bolognese: simple meat sauce
As you all know, perhaps too well, Annalena is no fan of "quick" cooking. Good food takes its own time. And in any event, there are any number of dishes that do not take all that much time, and are wonderful. I turn now, however, to what some may view as an exception to one of Annalena's precepts. I respectfully dissent from that view.
This recipe resulted from necessity. It was one of those evenings when I actually had no idea what I was going to cook for dinner. I had not thawed any proteins, which is not usually a stopper, but looking at the refrigerator's contents was making me a bit depressed. Pasta is my universal "go to" dish in situations like this, but what to put on it as a sauce? Butter and cheese was not sounding like the right thing. Yes, there were vegetables in the fridge, but they were of the sturdy winter vegetable type, as well as two big bunches of escarole. They were destined to a side dish, and I was running out of ideas.
There was an ample pound of ground veal in the freezer, and my wicked mind got to work: meat sauce. One of the useful things about chopped meat, is that even if it is not completely thawed, you can cook with it, if it is soft enough to break into manageable sized pieces. Annalena refuses to allow a microwave oven in her kitchen, but remembered Nana thawing chopped meat in a big pot of hot water. That is in fact what I did, and it worked. Within half an hour , that solid block of frozen meat, was completely thawed. And we were ready to go to work.
Let me say up front that this sauce does not have the subtlety and depth of flavor of a slow cooked bolognese. It better not. For a quick winter supper, however, this was superb. It does depend on you having good tomato sauce at your disposal. If you don't, shame on you. I shall repeat the recipe here after we get to "the meat of the matter."
I did this with ground veal ("Of course she did," I can hear some of you saying). But you could do this with any ground meat: beef is obvious, as is pork, but try lamb or turkey too. Or, mix em up. I think the key thing here is to season it well enough and to make sure you have enough onions in the mix.
Chop two medium onions fine, and also smash and chop 3-4 cloves of garlic. Pout enough olive oil into a pan to just coat it. Then, add the onions, the garlic and the chopped meat, all at once, together with about a teaspoon and a half of salt.
Note that I combined everything at once. This is something I learned when I was studying chili recipes. I was always taught to saute' the vegetables first, and then add the meat, but this technique seems to let the meat pick up some of the wonderful flavors from the onions.
Here is where you will do what work you WILL do in this sauce. Just keep on stirring and turning, until the color of the meat has gone from red, to pink to just brown. Now, an optional step, taken from classic bolognese. Pour in about 6 ounces of white wine, and stir it around, letting the wine evaporate. (As I think about it, why limit to white? Use red if you have it, too). When the wine has evaporated, stir in about a cup of tomato sauce and lower the heat. Do nothing, but listen. When you start hearing a crackle, stir things one last time, and turn off the heat. You're done.
This is not a "soupy" sauce. There is almost no liquid in it at all. you may even wonder where the tomato sauce is. It's there, as you'll find when you taste it. There's enough here to do about a pound of pasta, and it's a good meal. You may not even want to put grated cheese on it.
Now, for a review: to make that tomato sauce, you need good quality canned tomatoes. Whole ones. Do not use puree, do not use chopped. If you have a blender, puree them yourself. If you don't, get over the EWWWWW factor and crush them with your hands, and keep the juice. Use either 28 or 35 ounce cans, it doen't much matter, and always use at least 3 cans at a time.
For each can of the tomatoes, count on half a medium onion, chopped, and four cloves of garlic. You will also need sauce, and bay leaves , or some other seasoning. Here is a time where, if you have a dry "Italian seasonings" you like, use it.
Cover a large pot with enough olive oil, and then saute' the onions, with a teaspoon of salt, until they go to translucent. Then add half of the tomatoes, and all of the garlic. Follow with the rest of the tomatoes (this is a ridiculous step, but it works for me. Indulge the old lady). Stir the whole thing, lower the heat, and then add about a tablespoon of your seasoning, and/or two bay leaves. Taste, and add the salt you will need (because you will), underseasoning, as the sauce is going to reduce.
Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let it cook away for half an hour. Then, come back, uncover the pot, stir again, and cook for another half an hour. It is probably thick enough for you at this time, but if you like a heavier sauce, cook for another half hour, and keep in mind that you'll want to stir this every now and then to keep it from scorching.
You'll get PLENTY of tomato sauce from this. Probably 2 quarts. And you can freeze it, so you're set.
Make yourself some tomato sauce. It's one of Annalena's "money in the bank" ingredients, and then indulge yourself with this simple meat sauce. Dinner in half an hour. Who can complain?
This recipe resulted from necessity. It was one of those evenings when I actually had no idea what I was going to cook for dinner. I had not thawed any proteins, which is not usually a stopper, but looking at the refrigerator's contents was making me a bit depressed. Pasta is my universal "go to" dish in situations like this, but what to put on it as a sauce? Butter and cheese was not sounding like the right thing. Yes, there were vegetables in the fridge, but they were of the sturdy winter vegetable type, as well as two big bunches of escarole. They were destined to a side dish, and I was running out of ideas.
There was an ample pound of ground veal in the freezer, and my wicked mind got to work: meat sauce. One of the useful things about chopped meat, is that even if it is not completely thawed, you can cook with it, if it is soft enough to break into manageable sized pieces. Annalena refuses to allow a microwave oven in her kitchen, but remembered Nana thawing chopped meat in a big pot of hot water. That is in fact what I did, and it worked. Within half an hour , that solid block of frozen meat, was completely thawed. And we were ready to go to work.
Let me say up front that this sauce does not have the subtlety and depth of flavor of a slow cooked bolognese. It better not. For a quick winter supper, however, this was superb. It does depend on you having good tomato sauce at your disposal. If you don't, shame on you. I shall repeat the recipe here after we get to "the meat of the matter."
I did this with ground veal ("Of course she did," I can hear some of you saying). But you could do this with any ground meat: beef is obvious, as is pork, but try lamb or turkey too. Or, mix em up. I think the key thing here is to season it well enough and to make sure you have enough onions in the mix.
Chop two medium onions fine, and also smash and chop 3-4 cloves of garlic. Pout enough olive oil into a pan to just coat it. Then, add the onions, the garlic and the chopped meat, all at once, together with about a teaspoon and a half of salt.
Note that I combined everything at once. This is something I learned when I was studying chili recipes. I was always taught to saute' the vegetables first, and then add the meat, but this technique seems to let the meat pick up some of the wonderful flavors from the onions.
Here is where you will do what work you WILL do in this sauce. Just keep on stirring and turning, until the color of the meat has gone from red, to pink to just brown. Now, an optional step, taken from classic bolognese. Pour in about 6 ounces of white wine, and stir it around, letting the wine evaporate. (As I think about it, why limit to white? Use red if you have it, too). When the wine has evaporated, stir in about a cup of tomato sauce and lower the heat. Do nothing, but listen. When you start hearing a crackle, stir things one last time, and turn off the heat. You're done.
This is not a "soupy" sauce. There is almost no liquid in it at all. you may even wonder where the tomato sauce is. It's there, as you'll find when you taste it. There's enough here to do about a pound of pasta, and it's a good meal. You may not even want to put grated cheese on it.
Now, for a review: to make that tomato sauce, you need good quality canned tomatoes. Whole ones. Do not use puree, do not use chopped. If you have a blender, puree them yourself. If you don't, get over the EWWWWW factor and crush them with your hands, and keep the juice. Use either 28 or 35 ounce cans, it doen't much matter, and always use at least 3 cans at a time.
For each can of the tomatoes, count on half a medium onion, chopped, and four cloves of garlic. You will also need sauce, and bay leaves , or some other seasoning. Here is a time where, if you have a dry "Italian seasonings" you like, use it.
Cover a large pot with enough olive oil, and then saute' the onions, with a teaspoon of salt, until they go to translucent. Then add half of the tomatoes, and all of the garlic. Follow with the rest of the tomatoes (this is a ridiculous step, but it works for me. Indulge the old lady). Stir the whole thing, lower the heat, and then add about a tablespoon of your seasoning, and/or two bay leaves. Taste, and add the salt you will need (because you will), underseasoning, as the sauce is going to reduce.
Cover the pot, lower the heat, and let it cook away for half an hour. Then, come back, uncover the pot, stir again, and cook for another half an hour. It is probably thick enough for you at this time, but if you like a heavier sauce, cook for another half hour, and keep in mind that you'll want to stir this every now and then to keep it from scorching.
You'll get PLENTY of tomato sauce from this. Probably 2 quarts. And you can freeze it, so you're set.
Make yourself some tomato sauce. It's one of Annalena's "money in the bank" ingredients, and then indulge yourself with this simple meat sauce. Dinner in half an hour. Who can complain?
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