Best of Both Worlds
Ah, if only all of life’s little decisions were so easily resolved. When it came down to a choice between coq au vin or chicken-and-dumplings for dinner, I opted not to choose.
After all, the French classic comfort food, chicken stewed in wine, is served with a starch—potatoes or noodles or rice. So why not with fluffy, all-American dumplings? And, I figured, traditional chicken-and-dumplings (and my guests) would not suffer one little bit from a healthy shot of wine. My only cause for pause was aesthetics: Would a red wine broth produce unpleasantly red (read: bloody) dumplings? Not willing to chance it—and with apologies to Julia—I went with white wine.
Other variables included abandoning the mushrooms usually found in coq au vin for a mother lode of carrots and celery. I did not, however, cut back on the bacon or pearl onion content so essential to the French stew. Some things are too perfect to mess with.
The dish was a hit with the crew, though I have to admit the dumplings were subpar. (That’s what I get for experimenting rather than using the tried and true, found in the recipe included in this post.) However, the broth, and the vegetables cooked in it, was sublime—rich, savory, with less of the tannic punch characteristic of a red wine coq au vin. And definitely slurp-worthy.
We served the coq au vin avec dumplings with Elizabeth’s delicious arugula salad—and its lick-the-bowl salad dressing, emboldened by garlic, mustard and balsamic… a great compliment to the tangy stew.
Grenadine, Take Two
We admit it. Seeding and juicing pomegranates isn’t the most glamorous of kitchen tasks. (Although we were excited to discover the quick Whack-a-Mole method.) So in the service of great cocktails, Brother Dave has been searching for a good grenadine recipe that uses pomegranate juice instead of the fresh pomegranate version posted previously, and comes up with this super simple syrup from the book Boozehound: On the Trail of the Rare, the Obscure, and the Overrated in Spirits.
Grenadine3 cups Pom Pomegranate juice1 1/2 cups sugar1 1/2 ounces lemon juicezest of 1 orangeSiimmer for 45 minutes or so to reduce by about half.
The Scofflaw*
1 1/2 ounces rye
1 ounce dry vermouth
3/4 ounce fresh lemon juice
3/4 ounce real pomegranate grenadine
Shake in an iced cocktail shaker and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist.
*Scofflaw: a frequenter of speakeasies and general flouter of the National Prohibition Act, a term coined in 1924.
Three Cubed: Banana Salad
The Book: Harper’s Cook Book Encyclopedia (1902)
Opening Harper’s Cook Book Encyclopedia proved more than serendipitous. The volume is an exhaustive compendium of turn-of-the-20th-century recipes and preparations, but a previous owner had also used her trusted book to file away newspaper clippings for spring fashions, household hints, and some favorite “Why Mothers Get Grey” cartoons.
This, from “Caroline Coe’s Hints on Spring Housecleaning,” Omaha Daily News, April 22, 1913
To Clean Plaster Casts:
Busts and statuettes may be cleaned by dipping them into a thick liquid of starch, or apply a thin solution with a brush, covering every part. Let it dry two or three days. Then carefully peel off the starch. The dirt will come with it.
Somehow I’d never thought about springcleaning for the plaster, or ebonizing the woodwork, but Caroline has the answers.
The Harper’s Cook Book is a marvelous glimpse into life, both everyday and aspirational in the first decade or so of the past century. And a reminder of how much lifestyles and eating habits have changed in the past 100 years. There are lots of items that really don’t grace our tables anymore: mutton, aspic, violet jelly. And also recipes for “exotic” fruits and vegetables that are so commonplace today we rarely give them a second thought, like Banana Salad. It could just be me, but this recipe sounds a tad racy. Maybe that’s why the owner had page 327 bookmarked.
Banana Salad
A strip of the peel of a large and perfect banana may be turned back, and most of the pulp carefully scooped out. The short, thick variety of banana, in either red or yellow, is best for this purpose. To fill the space left by the removal of the pulp, prepare a mixture of thinly sliced banana, shredded orange or grapefruit, seeded and peeled white grapes, and a few kernels of English walnuts or pecans in small pieces. In their season, stoned cherries may be added. All must first be mixed in a bowl with a generous supply of dressing, and after the yellow cases are filled with the salad, each must be laid on lettuce leaves. These, like the apples, must be prepared in a short time before using. Either a mayonnaise or a good boiled dressing may be used.
The suggested dressing:
Boiled Salad Dressing
To four well-beaten eggs, stir a pint of vinegar, two teaspoonfuls of sugar, a teaspoonful of mustard, salt and paprika to taste. Turn all the ingredients into an agate or porcelain-lined saucepan and stir over the fire until the boiling point is reached. Add two teaspoonfuls of butter, and beat until it is thoroughly incorporated. When cold, turn into a preserve jar and set in the refrigerator.
The result? Quite honestly, I wasn’t expecting much from this recipe, but it turns out to be a nicely balanced and unexpectedly refreshing salad. Something I’d not think of making but might manage to work into the repertoire, sans the banana boat presentation. Same goes for the boiled salad dressing. It’s not an idea that leaps to mind, but it has a smooth texture and bright acidity that plays off the sweetness of fruit. Thanks, Harper’s!
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Long Live the King!
The weather outside says deep freeze but, inside the house, the iPod pumps tropical music, the oven warms the kitchen, and the smell of cinnamon signals my brain to get out of the winter funk and to laissez les bons temps rouler.
It’s Mardi Gras season, y’all. And while nothing is as good as being in the Crescent City with friends (preferably with a plateful of barbecued shrimp at hand and the hurricanes a flowing), a reasonable substitute is to join the party vicariously—and take a big bite out of one of NOLA’s iconic foods: the king cake.
New Orleans’ bakeries do a mean mail-order business in king cakes this time of year. But—and to some this will be heresy—one can make a delicious (and, I dare say, an even superior) version at home.
While technique varies, the NOLA cake—a Technicolor version of a traditional pre-Lenten bread made, with some variations, across Catholic communities around the world from Twelfth Night through Epiphany—is essentially a buttery yeast dough filled with cinnamon, formed into a ring shape, finished with a sugary glaze and baked with a hidden “baby Jesus,” in the form of a ceramic baby trinket, bean or pecan, inside. The NOLA version is ramped up with green, gold and purple frosting and/or sugar, usually in over-the-top amounts.
For my first cake of the season, I went with the New Orleans Times-Picayune’s recipe, printed in its post-Hurricane Katrina cookbook, Cooking up a Storm. It called for rolling and filling the dough cinnamon-roll style, then slashing the bread open lengthwise before baking. This exposes the brown sugar and butter to the oven’s heat, giving the cake a great crunch. To finish, I drizzled the top with white glaze, flavored with almond, and followed with a gentle sprinkling of green, gold and purple sugars.
This was: So. Damn. Good.
Someone get over here and either help me eat or stop me. I fully intend to spend the next nine days testing other versions!
Cooking with Gas
Hallelujah! My oven works!
My forst foray into baking with my new (to me) gas oven was a tasty melange of almond flour, whole wheat flour, corn meal, apples and the requisite pound of butter. Yum. Simple, crispy on top, oddly light given its contents, and very moist, this single-layer cake improved with age as flavors melded.
The recipe for this butter cake made the Los Angeles Times’ “10 best” list for 2011. I don’t know if it makes my top 10 for the year–probably because I think it needs a hit of ginger or almond flavoring or cardamom–but it was mighty good. And it will definitely find a place in the brunch rotation here.
1. . . 2. . . 3. . . Strukli
Sifting through the leftover magazines at my local coffee shop, I came across a copy of the esoteric food journal Gastronomica. When what to my wandering eyes did appear, but a story about the Croatian dish strukli, “The Best Dish in the World.” Really? I have a vague recollection of my mother making strukli when I was young, a bland sort of boiled dumpling filled with soft cheese. And others in the extended family have mentioned it in ensuing years, without ever really seeming to remember what it is or how it’s made. So, the best dish in the world? This I had to try.
Strukli, for the uninitiated, is a pillowy kind of dumpling, filled with soft cheese (farmer’s cheese is traditional) that’s served either baked with cream or boiled and served with sour cream. Sounds like any number of dumplings from other cultures (borek, pierogi, etc.—virtually every country has its favs). But I did not realize that strukli occupied such an exalted place in Croatian culture. Strukli is the best-selling dish of all time at the Palace Hotel in Zagreb, apparent strukli capital of the world. The Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Croatia has awarded traditional home-made strukli the status of protected asset of nonmaterial culture. As such, it will be entered in the Registry of Protected Cultural Assets of the Republic of Croatia. Strukli is so popular that today’s harried housewives can pick up frozen versions at the supermarket to be able to put a quick meal on the table.
Wow. It was time to experiment.
Following the basic Gastronomica recipe, the strukli dough was made from scratch, kneading together flour, water and eggs, and then rolling it out until paper thin. The dough, now stretched across my 60-inch-round dining table, was spread with a mixture of ricotta and farmer’s cheese, rolled up jelly-roll style, and cut into pieces using, as tradition dictates, the rim of a porcelain plate.
The full recipe makes 20 pieces, enough to try the three different variations suggested.
No. 1. Basic, boiled strukli seemed the place to start. The dumplings are cooked in a thin broth made by sautéing onions in butter, adding a judicious amount of paprika, then water.
Some sour cream is stirred into the broth after the strukli are tender (about 10 minutes). The strukli are served in a soup bowl with some broth. Results: Good, but rather basic, sort of like a ravioli without much seasoning or sauce. The broth definitely needed work, even with a punch of brandy added during cooking. This was closest to what I remembered from my mother’s table, although in those pre-gourmet food days, she used cottage cheese. Definitely rib-sticking, though.
No. 2. The Gastronomical article suggested steaming as a way to combat the loss of flavor in the boiling method. Steaming did turn out fluffier dumplings that retained more of the cheese flavor. These were served, as suggested, with toasted bread crumbs and a dollop of sour cream. Better, but still kind of nondescript.
No. 3. The most intriguing recipe: baked strukli. The basic dumplings are baked in a casserole with copious amounts of butter and cream. Oh yeah, this was the winner. But what doesn’t taste good doused with heavy cream and butter?
Strukli: The best dish in the world? Of this I am still not convinced. Like most other comfort foods involving some variant of dumpling, butter and cheese, they seem to fall into the category of More Delicious in Memory than Actuality. One man’s strukli is another man’s madeleine.
Sweet Unity
The word, Yoga, literally means to unite. Some say it is the uniting of individual consciousness with higher consciousness. Others believe it to be a state of realization. However, practically speaking, it is a state of unity, balance, and equilibrium, between body and brain, brain and mind, mind and spirit. In food terms, it is the alfajor–spiritual equilibrium found in the form of a cookie. A state of unity, a balance between taste and absolute comfort for the mind and spirit.
Two light butter cookies with a layer of dulce de leche or sweet caramel cream – and rolled in coconut, a favorite South American cookie.
Known as arequipe in Colombia, manjar in Honduras, dulce de leche (sweet milk) in Mexico, this is about as close as one can get to sweet harmony. If you are lucky enough to have a Latin American bodega with dulce de leche in stock, even better, or, just boil a can of condensed milk for three hours, keeping the can covered in the boiling water and your caramel filling is ready. Adding cinnamon and nutmeg or even a dash of chipotle powder only heightens it decadent taste.
Closing your eyes and biting into this cookie will certainly make one have a new appreciation for the term yoga. Ohm, yum, ohm, yum.
- 12 tablespoons butter
- 1 cup granulated sugar
1 egg- 2 egg yolks
- 2 1/2 cups cornstarch
- 1 cup all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
- Zest of 1/2 lemon
- Dulce de Leche
- Grated coconut
Preparation:
To make cookie dough:
Cream the butter and sugar together, then mix in the remaining ingredients except the dulce de leche and coconut until well blended. Knead on a floured work surface until the dough is smooth and let rest for 15 minutes.
Make the cookies:
Roll the dough out to a thickness of about 1/4 inch and cut into 2-inch rounds. Place on a greased cookie sheet and bake in a preheated 300°F oven for 20 minutes. When cool, spread some dulce de leche on the bottom of half the cookies and press another cookie on top, allowing some of the dulce de leche to squeeze from the sides. Roll the sides in the coconut until the sides are covered.
Makes about 12 delicious, definitely non low calorie cookies!
Enter the Dragon
Funny how certain holiday traditions and foods crop up in different cultures, no matter how diverse. Witness the bowl of tangerines, symbolizing health and long life (especially with the leaves intact), that’s ubiquitous for the Chinese New Year, which starts today. My Eastern European family always kept the same bowl of tangerines on the table throughout the Christmas holiday, accompanied by a bowl of walnuts to crack, or maybe some sweets. And then’s there’s dumplings. Boiled or pan-fried as potstickers, they’re a mainstay of Chinese New Year menus, eaten for good luck. They’re not so far away from the pierogi of my Polish heritage, boiled or pan sautéed, as you prefer.
Preparation of a New Year’s Eve menu to welcome the Year of the Dragon got us to talking about how much today’s cooks are coming to rely on the Internet and food blogs like this one to research traditions and recipes that have begun to fade from memory; younger generations don’t have the time or skills to prepare traditional meals, like the many, many courses good friend Amy remembers from her early childhood in Taiwan. Wanting to learn how to prepare those recipes and hand them down to her daughter, she’s tracked down a few authentic Chinese-language blogs with step-by-step advice that have made her realize some dishes she’s long put off trying, like Soy Sauce Chicken, aren’t necessarily as complicated as imagined.
She shared a few of her finds as we filled fresh dumpling wrappers with a mixture of ground pork, shredded cabbage, scallions, minced ginger and shallots, with a few splashes of sesame oil and soy sauce. The first of mine were deemed “too Polish looking,” by which Amy meant they didn’t have quite the right folded top and slightly rounded shape that makes these dumplings reminiscent of traditional ancient Chinese coins (hence eating them for good fortune); they looked more like pierogi. And with a husband of Polish-Czech background, Amy knows from pierogi. Eventually I got the hang of it, and half the batch were pan-fried and served with a streamlined Chinese New Year dinner, while the other half were popped in the freezer for later.
On the table:
- Potstickers, served with soy sauce-sesame oil dipping sauce. (See slideshow below for tips.)
- Baked whole branzini. A whole fish is traditionally brought to the table to signify prosperity in the new year. The branzini was simply stuffed with slices of fresh ginger and scallions, then sprinkled with salt and a touch of rice wine before going into the oven.
- Soy Sauce Chicken, skillet braised in a sauce of soy, rock sugar and water that reduces down to a sweet-salty glaze.
- “Oily” greens, steamed and tossed with oyster sauce. This unfamiliar Asian green, which looks a bit like a cross between Swiss chard and bok choy, takes its colloquial name from the natural sheen of its stalk.
- Steamed rice
- Tangerines
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Any Grieven Day
This post marks the first of many by our newest Point, Robyn Braverman. Robyn–a longtime humanitarian globetrotter–has found herself back in Iowa City, helping to run her brother’s organic farm. Welcome, Robyn! We look forward to your food chronicles!
Rituals and tradition should never be something one is obligated to do–rather it should be something we relish and actually look forward to doing.
Abject poverty and forced isolation forced my great-grandparents to eke out something edible from every part of a food item. Chicken, a scarcity, was one such item. My grandparents remembered their parents cutting up a whole chicken, using the gizzards as a bit of a delicacy, the carcass for soup, the meat for various other meals, and the skin and fat for something that my family has fond memories of: grieven, the Jewish version of chicharron, and schmaltz, that golden, rendered chicken fat.
What would a family gathering be without something sweet, chewy and mysterious that brings us back to the smells and sounds of kitchens forever etched in memories? Who knew that the mere sound of making grieven could harken us back to such precise and detailed memories of Bubbi Foreman’s kitchen? Oy. My mother remembers my grandfather never eating butter because he was accustomed to the flavor of schmaltz on rye bread.
Grieven. Upon hearing the word, I am transported back into my great-grandmother’s and grandmother’s kitchen. This really is the Jewish version of bacon.
Making it is fairly easy, unless, of course you are making it for 40 of your closest family members. Finding chicken skin is next to impossible. A trip to our local Mennonite chicken producer allowed us to buy six fat chickens at a time. Interviews with many a Jewish mother led me to the best grieven recipe. De-skin the chickens and chop it up. According to some Jewish mothers, cooking the chicken skin is about all you have to do, but the majority of those polled suggested adding chopped onion to the pan, once the chicken skin has taken on a grayish color. At that point, heating up the burner will give the onions and the skin time to get crispy. Once that is done, drain the schmaltz and serve.
Now, after some additional research, I discovered that grieven can actually replace bacon on a BLT, or it can be used as an alternative to bacon bits on a salad. The thing is, grieven never lasts long enough to try. Served at a recent buffet, in fact, it lasted less than 15 minutes.
Welcome Home
“Bread, that this house may never know hunger.
Salt, that life may always have flavor.
And wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever.
Enter the Martini Conradt castle.”
We interrupt this movie scene to offer congratulations to Kate on the move to her first home. We look forward to many new kitchen adventures, for wherever she has roamed, there’s been no place where the hand-made baked goods have been quite as fresh, the wine quite as fine, the dinner guests quite as enchanting, or the freezer quite as full of butter.
