From the April, 2007 Food and Wine

Towards the end of last winter, as the days were getting longer and the damp, New York City chill was just beginning to loosen its pincer-like grip, I made a dish I’m often drawn to when it’s cold outside: beef stew. From this you might assume that stew is a particular favorite of mine, and it’s true that when said dish features a rich, robust sauce, a variety of bright, caramelized vegetables, and meat that’s as fork-tender as it is deeply flavored, I am indeed a happy man. Too often, though, whatever recipe I’m working with produces less than this desired combination—because the meat is tough, the vegetables mushy, or the sauce fails to deliver the zesty kick that’s such a critical component for me. And so over the past few winters I’ve tried a variety of stew recipes, all in the hope of finally achieving stew nirvana. It proved a frustratingly elusive state and one I’d all but given up on attaining until that day last February when, quite unexpectedly, I landed on the answer to my beefy dreams.

Of course, I knew the recipe I was trying held promise—for one thing it came courtesy of Jacques Pépin (via Food and Wine), the man behind any number of my favorite dishes. But it also called for an entire bottle of full-bodied red wine, an enticing mix of vegetables (baby carrots, cipollini onions, cremini mushrooms), and a handful of diced lardons, all ingredients that suggested the sort of deep, enveloping flavors I was after. What’s more, the combination suggested something more akin to the French boeuf Bourgignon than to classic American stew, which given my particular stew frustrations struck me as a good thing. Still, I’ve held promising stew recipes in my hand before only to have my hopes dashed when it came to the eating, so whatever anticipation I felt as I assembled my ingredients and got down to cooking was tempered by the suspicion that the finished product would likely fall short of my high standards.

Right from the start, however, things took an appealingly fragrant turn, when the beef was introduced to the melted butter/olive oil waiting in my cast iron pot, and later when the chopped onion and garlic were added to the proceedings. I don’t know about you, but on a chilly Sunday afternoon there are few smells more comforting—or mouth-watering—than that of beef, onions, and garlic sizzling in a pan of olive oil. And it’s a combination of cooking smells that only gets better when you add your bottle of red wine, along with a big sprig of thyme and a few bay leaves, to the pot. If comfort food had a signature smell this would be it: bright, zesty, and a little spicy. And it’s a medley of fragrances you’ll be enjoying for the next ninety minutes, since once the wine comes to a boil the pot is covered and moved to a 350˚ oven, where the sauce will thicken and reduce, and the meat will contract and tenderize.

Of course, no stew would be complete without those all-important vegetables, which here are cooked separately and added to the stew just before serving—a neat trick that protects against the buzz-kill of mushy vegetables. To start, simmer the pancetta in two cups of water for 20 minutes, a process that leaches some of the saltiness from the cured meat and keeps it from overpowering the flavors of the other ingredients once it’s introduced to the mixture. The pancetta is then sliced into lardons and added to a skillet along with the onions, the mushrooms, and the carrots, as well as a tablespoon of olive oil, a ¼ cup of water, and a little seasoning (a large pinch each of salt, pepper, and sugar).

Once the liquid comes to a boil (this will be quick, as there’s not all that much water or olive oil to heat) cover the skillet and simmer until most of the liquid has evaporated—including the additional volume released by the mushrooms. This is followed by a quick sauté (about four minutes), or until the vegetables are tender and nicely browned. That said, if you’re not able to find baby carrots (there were none to be had on my most recent foray, the photos of which are presented here) and are using a larger variety, in addition to cutting them into bite size pieces, you may need to extend the simmer time by five minutes or so to ensure everything is sufficiently tender. I should also mention that in addition to those carrots I had difficulty locating either cipollini or pearl onions (according to the recipe either will do), and so was forced to use frozen pearl onions—which, despite their time saving appeal should only be used as a last resort since they’re virtually flavorless. If you do find yourself in the happy position of being able to choose between the two options, however, I strongly suggest going with the larger cipollini onions over the pearl, as their generous proportions present a more satisfying burst of sweet onion flavor, while their flat sides lend themselves to better browning.

When the vegetables are sufficiently tender fold the majority into the meat mixture, reserving a small portion to be used, along with a few pinches of freshly chopped parsley, as garnish. The net result is a finished product that’s as bright visually as it is in the flavor department, while the meat—blanketed in a rich, tangy sauce—is miraculously tender and moist. In fact, “miraculous” is just the word that came to my mind on that chilly Sunday last winter when I first made this dish—which by the way is most definitely designed for eating with a fork, versus the brothier variety requiring a spoon… another selling point in my book. At last, here was a dish that checked all of my requirements, and was blessedly easy to prepare, as well.

Cold weather? Bring it on.

Ingredients:
—1 tbs unsalted butter
—2 tbs olive oil
—2 lbs trimmed beef flatiron steak or chuck, cut into 8 pieces
—Salt, to taste
—Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
—1 cup finely chopped onion
—1 tbs finely chopped garlic
—1 tbs all-purpose flour
—1 750-milliliter bottle dry red wine
—2 bay leaves
—1 thyme sprig
—1 5-oz piece of pancetta
—15 pearl or small cipollini onions
—15 cremini mushrooms
—15 baby carrots, peeled
—Sugar
—Chopped fresh parsley, for garnish

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 350°.
—In a large enameled cast-iron casserole, melt the butter in 1 tbs of the olive oil. Arrange the meat in the casserole in a single layer and season with salt and pepper. Cook over moderately high heat, turning occasionally, until browned on all sides, 8 minutes. Add the chopped onion and garlic and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until the onion is softened, 5 minutes. Add the flour and stir to coat the meat with it. Add the wine, bay leaves, and thyme, season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil, stirring to dissolve any brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pot.
—Cover the casserole and transfer it to the oven. Cook the stew for 1 1/2 hours, until the meat is very tender and the sauce is flavorful.
—Meanwhile, in a saucepan, cover the pancetta with 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Drain the pancetta and slice it 1/2 inch thick, then cut the slices into 1-inch-wide lardons.
—In a large skillet, combine the pancetta, pearl onions, mushrooms, and carrots. Add the remaining 1 tbs of olive oil, 1/4 cup of water, and a large pinch each of sugar, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer until almost all of the water has evaporated, about 15 minutes. Uncover and cook over high heat, tossing, until the vegetables are tender and nicely browned, about 4 minutes. (TRG note: If you’re unable to locate baby carrots and are using a larger variety, you’ll probably need to extend the steaming time by 5 to 10 minutes; make sure the vegetables are nearly fork tender before proceeding to the sauté stage).
—To serve, stir some of the vegetables and lardons into the stew and scatter the rest on top as a garnish. Top with a little chopped parsley and serve.

Serves 4

The post 10/30/13 • JACQUES PÉPIN’S BEEF STEW appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the June/July, 2013 Fine Cooking

The heat is on here in the northeast, and in a sustained way I can’t remember experiencing before. Or maybe I just have a short memory for discomfort… though I tend to like summer weather, a sentiment I’m definitely not experiencing this time around. More likely it’s a combination of the temperature being higher than usual, and the fact that my foot and the lower part of my leg are encased in a spongy black material, the various panels of which are held in place by wide strips of industrial grade Velcro. (My torn tendon is healing but the 5-pound boot that’s helping it to get there must stay in place for at least another few months.) It’s a combination that can make the daily question of “What’s for dinner?” a particularly daunting one, especially when posed at the end of a torrid day as I limp home all flushed and sticky. Sometimes the answer is as simple as a salad, or if I’m feeling particularly wrung out, a few generous pats of goat cheese smeared across stalks of cold celery (and eaten right out of the fridge). Other times, though, something more filling is called for. On those occasions I tend to be drawn to the sorts of exotic dishes one might find in some far-flung destination where warm weather is a way of life. I suppose that’s one reason I was drawn to this dish for spiced lamb patties with apricot couscous.

Weirdly, lamb is something I’ve tended to stay away from in the past, and especially when the temperature rises. My trip to Morocco last December, however, seems to have changed that view, as it opened my eyes not just to the pleasures of lamb but also to how well-suited it is to warm weather eating—as long at it’s paired with the right ingredients. Although this dish (which I found in a recent edition of Fine Cooking) has more in common with Middle Eastern cooking than it does North African, it does bear certain similarities to the lamb dishes I sampled on my trip to Marrakesh in that it offsets the rich flavor of the meat with bright notes offered by things like lemon, olives, and a variety of dried fruit. Here that quality is achieved through the presence of three principal ingredients, namely dried apricots (which are mixed into the couscous accompanying the dish), plain yogurt (which is added to the meat before cooking and which also serves as a sauce to cut the richness of the meat), and fresh mint (which is added to the yogurt sauce, as well as sprinkled over the finished dish). Together these ingredients—the tart apricots, the tangy yogurt, the cool mint—provide the lamb with just the lift it needs to feel summery and bright, while still having the heft of a proper meal.

And none of the dish’s various elements require much time in the kitchen, which is a good thing since no one wants to stand over a hot stove when it’s this warm outside. Couscous, of course, is always simple, and this version requires nothing more than bringing some chicken broth, the diced apricots, and a little salt and cumin to a boil over high heat, stirring in the grain, then removing it from the heat and covering the mixture for 5 minutes, until all the liquid is absorbed. And since the other elements require so little time to come together, once the couscous is cooked you can pretty much forget about it, simply fluffing the grain with a fork and adding a little olive oil and salt just before serving. I should also mention that while I played with the idea of some other accompaniments here—mashed cauliflower, say, or sautéed greens—ultimately I think the couscous is best. For one thing it just feels right in the company of the lamb and the yogurt. And for another, the sweet/tart note of the fruit gives the dish just the added zip it needs, not a mention a jolt of sunshine-y color.

As for the lamb, this is mixed with a tablespoon of yogurt (to help keep things moist), two large cloves of garlic (mashed to a paste with a pinch of kosher salt), and a little coriander, cumin, salt and pepper—a combination that imbues the meat with a subtly exotic spiciness. Once all the ingredients have been evenly distributed, divide the meat into eight patties, each about a ½-inch thick. These are then fried—and tuned once—over medium-high heat in a heavy skillet containing 2 tablespoons of hot olive oil (shimmering but not smoking) for between 5 and 7 minutes. The lamb is done when the exterior is browned and crispy and the centers are light pink. Be careful not to overcook the patties though as they’ll toughen up (a risk that comes with over-mixing the meat, as well, so be careful).

All that remains is to prepare the yogurt accompaniment, which simply requires stirring a little chopped fresh mint into some plain Greek yogurt. That said, when it came to serving the meal I did find myself wishing there was more sauce to spoon on to each plate, so instead of the quantities listed in the original recipe, I suggest doubling the ingredients—to 8 tablespoons of yogurt and 4 tablespoons of mint. The cool flavor and temperature of the combo is just what the lamb needs, so you’ll want to make sure you have enough for every delicious bite.

And with that the words “heat wave” begin to sound kind of appealing. Stay cool everyone.

Ingredients:
—2 cups lower-salt chicken broth
—3 ½ oz dried apricots, cut into medium dice (about ½ cup)
—Kosher salt
—1 tsp ground cumin
—1 1/3 cups couscous
—1¼ ground lamb
—5 tbs plain Greek yogurt, divided (TRG note: I recommend doubling the yogurt mint sauce, which would mean 9 tbs of the yogurt)
—2 large cloves garlic, mashed to a paste with a pinch of salt
—1 tsp ground coriander
—Freshly ground black pepper
—3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—2 tbs finely chopped fresh mint; more for garnish (TRG note: I recommend doubling the yogurt mint sauce, which would mean 4 tbs of the mint)

Directions:
—In a 3 qt. saucepan, combine the chicken broth, apricots, ½ tsp salt, and ¼ tsp of the cumin; bring to a boil over high heat. Stir in the couscous, remove from the heat, and cover. Let sit until all of the liquid has been absorbed, about 5 minutes.
—Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine the lamb, 1 tbs of the yogurt, the garlic, coriander, the remaining ¾ tsp of the cumin, 1 tsp salt, and ½ tsp pepper. Mix by hand, taking care not to overwork the mixture. Shape into eight ½-inch patties.
—Heat 2 tbs of the oil in a heavy-duty 12-inch skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering hot. Add the patties and cook, flipping once, until browned on the outside and barely light pink in the center, 5 to 7 minutes. (TRG note: be careful not to overcook or the patties will be dry and tough.)
—Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine the remaining 4 tbs yogurt and the mint. (TRG note: I ended up doubling the yogurt sauce as I didn’t feel the recipe, as written provided enough. If you do this you will need 8 tbs of yogurt and 4 tbs of chopped mint)
—Fluff the couscous with a fork. Mix in the remaining 1 tbs oil and season with salt and pepper. Divide the couscous and patties among four plates. Add a dollop of the minted yogurt on the side and garnish with additional mint.

Serves 4

The post 07/17/13 • SPICED LAMB PATTIES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Feb./March 2012 Fine Cooking 

When I was growing up in Philadelphia in the 1970s beef stroganoff was the sort of thing my parents would serve at their dinner parties… or at least I think it was. Writing this, I realize the statement is based on an early memory, and we know how reliable memory is—particularly vintage ones. Be that as it may, I do seem to recall waking early one weekend morning when I was five or six years old, walking downstairs, and finding lots of dirty dishes scattered about the living room and kitchen—a number of them still smeared with egg noodles and a beefy cream sauce. I wiped many of those plates clean (gross, I know, but boy was it good). Having said that, I will likely now hear from my mom telling me that a) she’s never made beef stroganoff in her life, and b) she would never have gone to bed with dirty dishes piled on the coffee table. Maybe so, but ever since that (real or imagined) morning I’ve had a weakness for the dish, just as I will always associate it with the swinging ‘70s. It’s a recipe that doesn’t get nearly enough play these days.

Not that I’m suggesting it’s something one should make a steady diet of. Cholesterol issues aside, one of the pleasures of beef stroganoff is that it retains a special occasion quality (and with the rich, hearty ingredients featured in the dish, it’s especially well suited to cold weather special occasions). It’s on a different level than beef stew of meatloaf, and I’m all for keeping it there. Still, no matter when you eat it, or how often, it’s a dish that deserves to be enjoyed far more than I suspect it is in this era of self-denial (juice cleanse anyone?). And given how simple it is to prepare, there’s no reason it shouldn’t be. So consider this my attempt to revive the popularity of one of my favorite dishes.

It’s actually something I’ve been planning for a while, since around the time (a year ago already) that I first tried the recipe presented below. With one thing and another, though, the moment never seemed quite right to post it, and so the dish got pushed to the back of the pile—until now. The recipe comes from the Feb/March, 2012 issue of Fine Cooking and immediately replaced all the other versions of the dish that I’d collected over the years. With its generous use of mushrooms and onions to bump up the flavor quotient, this one just comes closest to the combination of flavors and textures I remember from that first encounter. Add slices of lean, seared beef and a tangy sauce into the mix, and you have exactly the sort of thing that I start carving when the weather turns cold and wet (as it has here in the northeast during the past few weeks).

Of course, credit for this must also be given to the presence of those egg noodles—the traditional American accompaniment to the dish (supposedly Russians serve it with potato straws, which doesn’t sound nearly as appealing to me). I’m a big fan of egg noodles, in part because they’re such a good canvas for whatever is layered on top of them. When that’s simply a few pats of butter it’s a good thing, but when it’s a creamy sauté featuring the various components mentioned above, it’s even better. On a cold winter’s night, what more could you possibly want?

But before you answer let me share this: on a recent Sunday evening I whipped up a batch of said dish, and though we weren’t celebrating a birthday, or an anniversary, or a holiday, the meal was subtly elevated to special occasion status. In other words, no more winter chill, no more Sunday night anxiety, just great flavors on a plate, and a gratitude for being in a place—and with people—that I love.

Works for me.

Ingredients:
—1 tsp kosher salt (plus more to taste)
—1½ lbs beef top round or shell steak, sliced ¼” thick, slices cut crosswise into 1” pieces
—3/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper (plus more to taste)
—2 tbs canola oil
—3 tbs unsalted butter
—10 oz white button mushrooms, stems removed and caps cut into ¼” slices (4 cups)
—1 cup finely chopped yellow onion (about half a medium onion)
—1 tbs all-purpose flour
—1 cup reduced sodium beef broth
—1 cup full-fat sour cream, at room temperature (note: don’t use reduced fat sour cream as it will likely curdle)
—1 12-oz package wide egg noodles
—1 tbs thinly sliced fresh chives

Directions:
—Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil over high heat.
—Season the beef with 1 tsp salt and ¾ tsp pepper. Heat 2 tsp of the oil in a 12” skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Add half of the beef and cook, stirring often, until the meat is just browned, about 1 minute; do no overcook. Transfer to a plate and repeat with 2 tsp of the oil and the remaining beef.
—Remove the skillet from the heat. Add 1 tbs of the butter and the remaining 2 tsp oil to the skillet and stir until the butter melts. Put the skillet over medium heat and add the mushrooms. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms release their liquid, about 5 minutes. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has evaporated and the onions are beginning to soften, about 3 minutes more.
—Sprinkle the mushroom mixture with the flour and stir for 15 seconds. Stir in the broth and bring to a simmer, scraping up any browned bits in the skillet with a wooden spoon. Add the sour cream and whisk until the sauce is smooth. Add the beef and any juices from the plate to the skillet. Cook, stirring often, until the sauce is barely simmering. Season to taste with salt and pepper. (Note: Don’t worry if the sour cream appears to curdle when it’s whisked into the sauce—it will smooth out as you continue to stir.)
—Meanwhile, cook the noodles in the boiling water according to the package directions until barely tender. Drain and return to the pot. Off the heat, add the remaining 2 tbs butter and stir to melt. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
—Serve the beef over the noodles, sprinkled with the chives.

Serves 4 to 6

The post 02/21/13 • CLASSIC BEEF STROGANOFF appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from The Hamptons: Food, Family, and History, by Ricky Lauren (Wiley)

Long before I recognized my mom for the excellent cook she is, it was my German-born grandmother who I held up as the master of all things kitchen-related. Her name was Freda Schloss (Nana Freda to me), and it was she who introduced me to things like herring in cream sauce, and poached eggs splashed with vinegar and tarragon—both of which she fed to me as a very little kid—and who always had a freshly baked chocolate cake (made from scratch, of course) waiting for me when I came to visit. No doubt it’s because of her own central-European palate that for as long as I can remember I’ve had a weakness for the kinds of flavors associated with this part of the world—dishes like sautéed cabbage in red wine vinegar, sauerbraten (a pot roast that’s cooked long and slow in a quantity of beer, wine, or vinegar), and wiener schnitzel paired with a dollop or two of lingonberry jam. In other words, rib-sticking dishes rounded out with some subtle heat or a touch of the acidic. In fact, so engrained in me are these sorts of pairings that whenever I scan a recipe or a menu it’s dishes with this kind of yin-yang quality that I’m unconsciously searching for.

It’s little wonder then that while flipping through Ricky Lauren’s recently published collection of recipes (the full title of the book is Ricky Lauren the Hamptons) it was the one for her mother’s Hungarian beef goulash that immediately grabbed me. There’s a lot in the book to make your mouth water, from a chicken potpie topped with pureed sweet potatoes, to banana-blueberry whole-wheat pancakes, but it was her goulash recipe that I kept circling back to. Maybe it was the fact that she calls the dish “Nana’s Hungarian Beef Goulash,” (a title that couldn’t help but make me think of my own beloved Nana), or perhaps it was the homey simplicity of the recipe, but whatever the case it was a dish I couldn’t stop thinking about—and the drumbeat only got stronger as the thermometer began to fall.

Like many of the items in the book, the goulash recipe comes with a brief anecdote—about how it was that Ricky Lauren’s Austrian mother came to master what can only be called one of Hungary’s signature dishes. That personal thread is one that wends its way through the entire collection, and is something that, along with the short historical snippets sprinkled throughout the book, imbues it with an almost memoir-like quality. It’s a fitting characteristic for a book in which so many of the recipes are clearly ones the Lauren family has been enjoying for years, if not generations. In the case of the dish I bring to you here, it’s a recipe that Ricky Lauren’s mother learned to cook while spending a summer with her uncle—not in Hungary as you might imagine, but in Czechoslovakia, a country with a certain amount of cultural give-and-take with its various neighbors, all of whom were at one time part of the same Austro-Hungarian Empire.

That melting pot quality is one of the real pleasures of this dish. In fact, anyone who is unfamiliar with goulash is likely to be struck by how similar the recipe is to that for one of our own national dishes: good old beef stew. Similar, that is, until your eye scans the list of ingredients and you come across the word “paprika”—one of Hungarian goulash’s principal flavoring components, and the point at which it forks off from so many of those other dishes featuring beef that’s braised long and slow in a quantity of liquid. As such it’s a little bit like a gypsy caravan that’s wandered into the English countryside, introducing a whiff of the exotic into an otherwise staid and familiar landscape.

Which is not to say that Hungarian goulash is just for those who like their food spicy, or even boundary pushing. Quite the opposite, in fact, since the presence of the all-important paprika can be dialed up or down according to personal preferences. For instance, as written, Ricky Lauren’s recipe offers a gently flavored rendition of the dish that calls for just a half-tablespoon of paprika—certainly enough for this key ingredient to shine through, but not so much that it will put those off who might be in search of something on the milder side. If that isn’t you, then try swapping out the traditional paprika called for here with the more strongly flavored “sweet paprika” (also marketed under the name “Hungarian paprika;” “sweet” here is a bit of a misnomer as it’s actually spicier than the standard) and increase the quantity by as much as 3½ tablespoons (to a total of 4 tablespoons). The addition will imbue the dish with even more of its signature reddish hue, while ensuring that it also has more of pronounced paprika flavor—perfect for those of us whose idea of heaven is getting lost in a spice market.

And two other tricks for those interested in dialing up the flavor quotient slightly. The first is to toss the cubed beef in a quantity of salt and pepper prior to searing—a process that helps ensure each forkful of meat has plenty of rich beef flavor. And the second is to swap out the 3½ cups of water (which, along with the beef broth, comprises the stew’s braising liquid), replacing it with the same amount of white wine. The latter is a move that injects the finished dish with a little of that acidity I like so much and that seems to me particularly well-suited for a dish as rich as this one. Still, like the paprika suggestion mentioned above, it’s a switch that may not be for everyone. The key is to play around to find the exact ingredients and proportions that suit your palate best.

And even in its un-fussed over form, the recipe as written delivers no shortage of wonderful flavor. How could it not, considering the presence of all that onion and garlic, which has been given a good five minutes or so to soften up in the presence of some oil, before being joined by a sprinkling of paprika and the aforementioned browned beef? Or when you consider that to all of this is added the various braising liquids, the remainder of the paprika, and the bay leaf (it’s amazing what a single bay leaf can do!), before literally being left to stew (in this case, “simmer”) in its own juices for several hours. It’s a process during which the meat magically breaks down, transforming into something almost buttery, and when the various flavors held within the pot merge to create a rich, unified whole.

No single ingredient better demonstrates this bit of kitchen alchemy more effectively than the carrots, which are added to the pot (along with the 2 cups of peas) just at the point when the meat becomes fork tender, which is to say at about 2 hours. Sample this addition forty minutes later when the carrots themselves are tender, and you’ll discover something that’s unmistakably carrot, but one that’s nonetheless both candy sweet and full of rich beefy flavor. It’s hard to imagine anything more delicious or soul satisfying—an addition that’s as bright on the palate as it is on the plate, and a taste, quite literally, of things to come.

All that remains is to adjust the seasoning (it will likely need some salt and pepper), thicken the sauce with a paste made from 3 tablespoons of flour mixed with the remaining half-cup of water, and stir in a portion of the chopped fresh parsley (reserving a little to sprinkle over top). Of course, traditionalists, or those like myself looking to introduce a little more tangy richness into the mix, may also consider stirring in up to a cup of sour cream just before serving—an addition that both brightens, and thickens, the accompanying sauce (just don’t do this if you plan on reheating as the cream will curdle). Either way, ladle the stew across a plate of wide egg noodles, sprinkle with the remaining parsley, and you have the sort of cold weather meal destined to generate family traditions all your own.

Ingredients:
—6 lbs lean stew meat, cubed (TRG note: I used a boneless beef chuck roast, cut into 1½-inch cubes)
—6 tbs safflower or canola oil, plus more as needed
—5 large onions, sliced
—6 cloves garlic, chopped
—1/2 tbs paprika (TRG note: for more paprika flavor you can also use Hungarian sweet paprika, as much as 4 tbs.)
—3¾ cups water (TRG note: for a more acidic flavor, dry white wine can be substituted for 3½ cups of the water)
—3 cups beef stock
—1 bay leaf
—1 lb carrots, peeled and sliced ¼-inch thick (about 6 large)
—2 cups peas
—Salt and freshly ground black pepper (see note, below)
—Chopped fresh parsley (about ¼ cup)
—3 tbs flour
—1 cup sour cream (optional TRG addition)
—Egg noodles (for serving)

TRG note: Prior to browning the meat I like to sprinkle it with 3 tsp of salt and 2 tsp of black pepper, tossing to coat evenly—an additional step that ensures the beef will have plenty of seared-in flavor.

TRG’s modified directions:
—In a large pot (TRG note: I used a 6¾ quart Dutch oven) over medium heat, heat 2 tbs oil. Once the oil is shimmering add a third of the meat and brown on all sides (about 5 minutes total). Remove meat and set aside on a plate. Repeat process twice more, adding additional oil by tablespoon increments as needed.
—Once the meat has browned, add another 2 tbs of oil to the pot (less if it still looks moist), along with the onion, the garlic, and a little of the paprika, and sauté until softened, 4 to 5 minutes.
—Return the beef to the pot and sprinkle with the remaining paprika. Add 3½ cups of the water (or wine if substituting), the beef stock, and the bay leaf. Simmer, covered, for 2 hours.
—Add the carrots and the peas, and cook until tender (about 40 minutes more). Season with salt, pepper, and the chopped parsley to taste (TRG note: I used 1 tbs salt, 1 tsp pepper, and 4 tbs of the chopped parsley), reserving some of the parsley to sprinkle over the top of the goulash just before serving.
—Mix the flour with the remaining ¼ cup water until smooth and paste-like, and stir the mixture into the stew to thicken it. (TRG note: I also allowed the stew to simmer another 30 minutes or so at this point, uncovered, to reduce the broth and intensify the flavors). To make a more rustic stew, add torn pieces of crusty bread.
—Adjust seasoning as needed, sprinkle with the reserved chopped parsley, and serve over egg noodles (TRG note: to thicken the sauce further, and to add a slight tang to the flavor, stir in a cup of sour cream immediately before serving—just don’t let the stew simmer or boil after the addition as the sour cream will curdle).

Serves 6 to 8

The post 12/13/12 • HUNGRY-MAN’S HUNGARIAN-GOULASH appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the April, 2012 Saveur

Many years ago, early on in my relationship with Alfredo, he took me to eat at an inexpensive Cuban restaurant on 8^th Avenue—a narrow, brightly lit place called Havana Chelsea. This was to be my big introduction to Cuban cooking, the cuisine Alfredo had grown up eating, and it was something I was looking forward to. What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was just how mystifying the experience would be, a result of the menu having been written entirely in Spanish, a language I’d bypassed during both high school and college in favor of French. Alfredo, of course, does speak Spanish (or Spanglish anyway) but his menu explanations came in such a jumble and were so abbreviated that I couldn’t sort out the difference between a tamale and a tostone (for the record, the former is a mixture of corn and pork cooked within a dried corn husk, while the latter is a twice fried slice of green plantain). And so I let my instincts drive my dinner choice, ultimately selecting something called boliché, which I understood to be a kind of Cuban beef stew. The selection was a good one, making me an immediate fan of Cuban cooking, though my pronunciation—more French (bo-li-SHAY) than Spanish (bo-LI-chay)—instantly branded me a food tourist and prompted lots of laughs from both Alfredo and our waitress, Violetta.

Almost twenty-five years later that mispronunciation has taken on the mythic quality of an old family joke, just as the meal itself has grown in my memory—capturing everything that’s best about Cuban cooking. Today I cook a fair amount of Cuban food myself, and not surprisingly I tend to focus on those meat-based ones that are sautéed or simmered in a quantity of broth and tomato sauce, just like the memorable stew I sampled that night. All of which brings me to the recipe I present to you here. It’s for a dish called ropa vieja, arguably one of Cuba’s most celebrated exports, and one that’s infinitely more enticing than its name suggests (it literally means “old clothes”). Still, despite these qualities, and the fact that the recipe features a strong acidic component—something I’m always in favor of, particularly in the context of a rich meat dish such as this one—it was one I’d never attempted making myself. Spotting this recipe in Saveur last spring convinced me it was time to change that.

One reason was discovering just how simple the stew is to prepare. That, and spotting the words capers, olives, pimientos, and white wine on the ingredient list was all it took to get me going. And so I set to work, first cooking up a small quantity of bacon (this provides the dish with both its smoky base notes, not to mention the fat needed to sauté the ingredients that follow—a trick that can be employed with virtually any stew), then browning the flank steak I’d cut into 1½” strips (you’ll want to brown in batches, as crowding the beef will actually slow the process). Both of these elements by the way—the bacon and the beef—are cooked independently of each other and then set aside, to be reintroduced later into a mixture that will contain the sautéed onions and peppers (just until soft, about 4 minutes), all of the dish’s wonderful spices (cumin, thyme, and oregano), as well as a quantity of chopped garlic and a 6 oz can of tomato paste. Yum.

Once the above ingredients have been given a brief turn in the pot—about three minutes, or just until the various elements start to caramelize—in goes the white wine. Use this to loosen up any of the tasty bits that may be clinging to the bottom or sides of your pot, and after a minute or so, reintroduce the bacon and the beef, along with the broth and the crushed tomatoes. At this point your work is essentially done (I told you it was easy), though some patience will be required since the entire mixture needs to simmer over medium-low heat for anywhere between 2 and 3 hours, or until the steak is fork tender (I called the meat “done” at the 2½ hour point, though stretching it to 3 hours would not have hurt it any as over-cooking is less of a concern with this kind of dish).

This last stage is critical, of course, since it’s the slow cooking that will ultimately provide the meat with its signature, shredded quality (this is where that “old clothes” image comes in, if you hadn’t made the connection already). That said, the actual shredding does require some participation on the part of the chef, so once the meat is ready, remove it from the pot, allow it to cool slightly (or risk burning the tips of your fingers), then pull it apart into strips—as long and thin as you’re able. Once done, return the shredded meat to the pot (along with any juices that may have accumulated), then add all of those lip-smacking ingredients I mentioned earlier—the olives, the capers, the pimientos, and a tablespoon of white wine vinegar. In other words, if the smells emanating from your Dutch oven didn’t have you swooning already, they surely will now.

Hold on just a little longer, though, as it’s important to let the sauce simmer a bit more, until it’s thickened slightly (think sauce, not broth)—a process that should take no more than a half hour. Once it looks thick and glossy, stir in a ¼ cup of chopped cilantro—an important flavoring component here, so best not to skip—and you’re good to go. What will be waiting at the end of your fork is all the rich, beefiness you associate with a really good stew, but rounded out by a bright, zesty tang thanks to the presence of all those acidic elements. It’s just the thing to cut through the richness of the meat and to raise the ho-hum stew experience to something truly special—a little Latin allegría as the cold weather begins to settle in.

And a final note on the dish’s traditional Cuban accompaniment: yellow rice. After considerable trial and error, and after conferring with various of Alfredo’s Miami-based relatives, I discovered that the signature hue associated with yellow rice does not come from saffron as I’d imagined, but rather from a little-known spice known as annatto powder (also called achiote and marketed under the name Bijol; I’ve provided a resource link, below, as it can be difficult to find). Since annatto actually has a very mild flavor, true “yellow rice” calls for a base (or sofrito) made up of a variety of ingredients including olive oil, garlic, and onion, which is then added to the rice and the various seasonings. For the purposes of this dish, however, the yellow rice plays more of a visual role than a flavoring one, since the stew itself really requires nothing more in this department. Given this, the recipe below provides you with what’s essentially standard cooking instructions for rice, but with the added coloring component—in other words, something that will achieve the bright yellow look on the plate that’s so key to the experience, but that will still taste much like traditional white rice. Or you can click here to get the full-tilt Cuban yellow rice experience.

Ingredients:
—6 oz bacon, roughly chopped
—2 lbs flank steak, cut into 1½-inch strips
—Kosher salt and black pepper, to taste
—1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
—1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
—1 Cubanelle or green pepper, thinly sliced
—6 oz tomato paste
—1 tbs cumin
—1 tbs dried thyme
—1 tbs dried oregano
—5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
—1 bay leaf
—1/2 cup dry white wine
—2 cups beef stock
—1 16-oz can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed
—1/2 cup halved, pitted green olives
—1/3 cup sliced jarred pimiento peppers
—3 tbs capers, rinsed and drained
—1 tbs white wine vinegar
—1/4 cup roughly chopped cilantro

Directions for Ropa Vieja:
—Render bacon in a 6-qt Dutch oven over medium high heat. Transfer to a plate, leaving fat in pot.
—Season steak with salt and pepper. Working in batches, cook until browned on both sides, about 6 minutes; transfer to plate.
—Add onion and peppers to pot; cook until soft, about 4 minutes. Add tomato paste, cumin, thyme, oregano, garlic, and bay leaf; cook until lightly caramelized, about 3 minutes.
—Add wine; cook, scraping bottom of pot, for 1 minute. Return bacon and steak to pot with stock and tomatoes; boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook, covered, until steak is very tender, 2 to 3 hours.
—Remove steak, and shred; return meat to pot with olives, pimientos, capers, and vinegar. Cook until sauce is slightly thickened, about 30 minutes.
—Stir in cilantro and serve over yellow rice (see recipe, below).

Directions for Simplified Cuban-style Yellow Rice:
—Place 2 cups long grain white rice in a saucepan and add 4 cups of water. Stir in a ½ tsp annatto powder (also called achiote or Bijol), and 2 tsp salt if using.
—Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to low, cover pan, and simmer.
—Cook until all the water has evaporated and the rice is tender, 25 to 30 minutes. Remove from heat, let sit five minutes uncovered, toss with a fork, and serve.

Serves 6 to 8

The post 10/25/12 • COMFORT FOOD, CUBAN-STYLE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Dec., 2003 Fine Cooking (click here to view the recipe)

For the last several years my preferred means of transportation around the New York City has been a scooter. The benefits (easy parking, rarely having to sit in traffic, speed!) are such, that even when the weather is wet and miserable and I know that riding will be no fun, I’m inclined to say the hell with it and brave whatever discomfort awaits. I mention this because it was during one such outing recently that the memory of the pork roast I bring to you here came to mind. Now maybe this seems like a strange thing to be thinking of while dodging the taxis and potholes on lower Fifth Ave., but it was the end of the workday, a cold rain was falling, and it was getting close to dinnertime. In other words, I was wet and hungry, and what better way to distract myself than to imagine the meal I’d like to be eating in a few hours? Unfortunately it wasn’t in the cards on that particular night (we ended up with Indian take-out, I think), but the thought of that roast had insinuated itself, and a few days later it was on the table.

It’s a roast I’ve made many times over the years — and each time been delighted with the results. There are several reasons for this. For starters there’s virtually no effort involved, unless you count a very minimal amount of peeling and chopping effortful. In fact, it’s so easy that each time I return to this recipe I’m surprised by how little it asks of you — even after all this time, it still seems like I must be missing a few paragraphs of instructions. Of course, none of that would mean anything if it wasn’t also immensely satisfying, producing the sort of big flavors you hope for each time you slide a roast in the oven. If only all successful cooking endeavors were this easy!

Part of that ease is due to the fact that this pork roast cooks alongside what for me has become its ideal accompaniment — big pieces of carrot and parsnip, as well as wedges of Bosc pear. It’s the ideal mix of textures, colors, and flavors, with the sweetness of the pear presenting the perfect foil to the mellowness of the pork, and the carrot and parsnip offering just the right amount of crunch (and, in the case of the former, a tantalizing splash of color). What’s more, it eliminates the need for cooking a side of veggies to go with the meat, since the recipe offers an all-in-one solution. Once the meat and fruit/vegetable accompaniment are slipped into the oven, you’re work is essentially done.

This one dish approach also means the pear and vegetables benefit from what may well be the recipe’s biggest selling point — the glaze that’s slathered across the roast’s top and sides just before it enters the oven. In keeping with the simple-is-better theme of this posting, it’s nothing more than a mix of honey, Dijon or grainy mustard (I like the texture offered by the latter), and a few tablespoons of chopped sage. But don’t let the every-day quality of these ingredients fool you. Individually they may not seem all that exciting, but in combination they imbue the roast with something truly special. For one thing the mustard/honey combination offers a pleasing sweet and sour effect that, when cooked makes the roast and its wreath of fruit and vegetables compulsively eatable. But it also produces an enticing crust that offers a nice bit of crackle when you cut into it (not to mention a lure for wayward fingers), while also sealing in the roast’s valuable juices.

This last point is a critical one, and a benefit you don’t want to jeopardize by over-cooking. To that end it’s a good idea to check the roast often after the 30-minute mark, and to use a reliable thermometer when doing so. Cooking times will vary widely depending on the thickness of the roast (the one shown here took about forty-five minutes), so the only way you can really be certain that you’ve hit the mark is by measuring the temperature (145 degrees F is the target). A digital thermometer is way more reliable than the standard variety, and the key to ensuring that each slice produces a river of clear juices.

One final note: although the recipe indicates it’s meant to feed between four and six people, in my experience three to four is a more realistic number. This may, of course, be a result of the overeating that typically goes on around my table (with the place of honor reserved for yours truly) but I also like to think it has something to do with the appeal of this particular dish and its winning mix of flavors. It’s that good.

Ingredients:
—1 2-lb center-cut boneless pork loin roast
—Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
—1½ tbs Dijon or grainy mustard
—1½ tbs honey
—2 tbs roughly chopped fresh sage
—1/2 lb carrots (3 or 4), peeled
—1/2 lb parsnips (3 or 4), peeled
—2 firm but ripe Bosc pears, quartered, cored, and stemmed
—1½ tbs olive oil, plus more for the pan

Special equipment
—A digital thermometer

Directions:
—Heat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly oil the bottom of a medium roasting pan or 15” x 10” Pyrex dish and set the pork in the center. Season the pork with salt and pepper.
—In a small bowl, mix the mustard, honey, and half of the sage; spread on the top and sides of the pork.
—If the carrots and parsnips are thick (about 1” or larger around), cut them in half or quarter lengthwise so that they’re all roughly the same thickness (about a ½” thick at their thickest part).
—Toss the vegetables and pear wedges with the 1½ tbs olive oil and the remaining sage, season with salt and several grinds of pepper, and arrange around the pork. Pour ½ cup of water into the pan and roast in the center of the oven until and instant-read thermometer inserted in the center of the roast registers 145 degrees, 30 to 40 minutes. (The cooking time will vary widely depending on the thickness of the roast; start checking early, and check frequently once the temperature reaches 130 degrees.) If the vegetables and pears aren’t fully tender by the time the pork is done, return them to the oven until tender, another 5 to 10 minutes more.
—Transfer the pork to a carving board. Let rest for 5 minutes before slicing. Serve with the vegetables, pears, and pan juices.

Serves four to six.

The post 02/2/12 • GLAZED PORK ROAST appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Lidia’s Italy in America

On Monday night I was part of a small group that was treated to a private tour of the Elizabeth Taylor collection (jewelry, clothing, doo-dads) being auctioned off by Christie’s. The sale itself kicked-off the following night with some of Taylor’s most famous baubles (among them the Elizabeth Taylor diamond, formerly known as the Krupp) and while I wasn’t surprised to hear that many of these pieces brought record prices (the sale netted over $137 million), staring at them in their impersonal Plexiglass encasements was a lot less jaw-dropping than I imagined it would be. Taylor obviously fell in love with bling decades before the word moved into common usage, but it’s only when you stand in front of many of these pieces that you realize just how super-sized and ornate many of them really are — I mean, much of the stuff is huge . . . and really kind of tacky! The fact that a woman who stood just over five feet tall could pull them off the way she did is a tribute to whatever it is that made Taylor, Taylor (insert your own Taylor cliché here). And in the end, I guess that’s what was missing for me when I walked through the exhibition. Without Taylor’s presence to bring them to life, they were just big stones in elaborate settings.

Still, you can’t help but respect the gusto with which she reveled in the things she loved, or the energy she brought to the things she believed in. There was nothing prissy about E.T., no effort to appear more delicate or refined than she really was. Big, lusty, joyful all apply here. And while it may seem like a bit of a stretch, I find the same qualities hold true for the sort of cooking and flavors I’m drawn to. This week’s recipe is a good example. It’s about as subtle as the enormous diamond and ruby necklace Mike Todd presented to Taylor in 1957 (which is to say, not at all), and depending on your appetites, even more satisfying. I don’t know how Elizabeth Taylor felt about Italian-American cooking, but it’s not hard to imagine her digging into a plate of these braised beef roles (a.k.a. braciole) with something of her signature enthusiasm and abandon.

The recipe comes from Lidia Bastianich’s new collection, Lidia’s Italy in America. The book was released a month or so ago and features many of those recipes we know from classic red-sauce establishments in the U.S. — dishes like chicken Parmesan, sausage and peppers, and the seafood soup known as Cioppino. I love this kind of food. It’s less refined and subtle than the cooking one might find at even the simplest little trattoria in Italy, but it’s bold, and lusty, and compulsively eatable. It’s the sort of food I ate as a kid at restaurants like Villa di Roma in South Philadelphia, where it was impossible to order a bucket of muscles in garlicky red sauce without also consuming a loaf of soft Italian bread — because you couldn’t possibly let all that wonderful broth go to waste!

Braciole is a more recent discovery. My friend Dennis first made it for us several years ago, and for me at least, there’s been no turning back. I’m not quite sure how it took me forty-plus years to become acquainted with the dish, but once I was it immediately moved into “favorite” status. For one thing it features the kind-of red sauce that some Italian Americans refer to as Sunday Gravy, and that others call Neapolitan Ragu, but which is essentially a thick marinara flavored with garlic and oregano and flecked with bits of meat — in other words, really good stuff! And then there’s the fact that the sauce accompanies thinly pounded beef, which contains a variety of enticing fillings, such as cheese (sometimes Parmesan, other times Provolone), pine nuts, hard cooked eggs, even prosciutto. I mean, how can you go wrong here?

According to Bastianich the dish is a Sunday night staple in many Italian-American households, though other recipes I’ve come across have mentioned it in connection with the traditional Italian-American Christmas dinner, as well. Whichever the case, it seemed festive and celebratory in just the right way, not to mention a nice alternative during this season of fruit cake and roast goose. And it provided a good excuse for making the dish for my own Sunday night dinner recently!

Bastianich suggests ladling the red sauce over rigatoni as a first course, separating out the braciole to serve next alongside some olive oil mashed potatoes and escarole sautéed in olive oil (recipes for both items are included in the book). Even by my over-indulgent standards that sounded more abundanza than I was looking for, so I simply cooked up some pasta and spooned a generous amount of gravy and several pieces of braciole over top. Admittedly the escarole would have been a good addition, though all in all I couldn’t have asked for a more satisfying way to end the weekend.

Or, for that matter, to spend the better part of the afternoon. This needs to be said, since while the dish is certainly as easy to prepare as Bastianich claims, it is also a time consuming process (something she doesn’t mention), requiring several hours of prep, not including the hour and a half in which the meat and sauce are left to simmer gently on the stove. This is to be expected anytime a recipe calls for pounding a large number of beef slices to a fraction of their existing thickness, and when there’s a lot of browning of meat involved. Still, the various steps involved don’t require any particular expertise or culinary know-how.

There’s the making of the filling, which includes stale bread-cubes soaked in milk (and squeezed dry), that are then mixed with toasted pine nuts (directions below, as these are not included in Bastianich’s recipe), some olive oil, and a quantity of chopped Italian parsley and hard cooked eggs. This is then spread across one side of the beef, topped with a long chunk of provolone cheese (not grated as with other braciole recipes I’ve come across), rolled up, and held closed with a toothpick. I did find Bastianich’s instructions regarding this last step a bit confusing, so note that when she says to roll the meat lengthwise, she means for you to lift one of the two longer sides of the beef and to roll it towards the opposite side (in other words, the exact opposite of what I did in the attached images). This will produce a braciole that looks more like a cigar than the sausage-shaped creation I ended up with.

Once browned all-over (roughly three minutes per side) the meat is set aside and you’re ready to prepare the sauce. This involves a quick sauté of the chopped onion, then the garlic, at which point a cup of dry white wine is added to the pot. When the wine is nearly evaporated, in go the crushed tomatoes, along with two cups or water, as well as a variety of seasonings (oregano, salt, hot pepper flakes). Return to a boil, add the meat to the sauce, and after an hour and a half at a low simmer the braciole will be fork-tender and ready to eat.

Since there were only two of us sitting down to dinner I was able to enjoy the braciole over a series of meals — ample opportunity to marvel at the tangy, garlicky pleasures of the meat-infused sauce, and the way the cheese remained intact within its meat sheathing and imbued each bite with a pleasant hit of salt. Together with the herbs, the egg, and the pine nuts, I found the filling pretty wonderful, though other recipes I’ve come across call for raisins, chopped figs, even cooked sausage or a slice of prosciutto — food for thought, if nothing else. (And I keep wondering what the addition of a tablespoon or two of capers might do the mix of flavors). The main thing is to feel free to play around and make it your own, whatever the occasion. That’s the beauty of the melting pot.

Ingredients:
—1 cup whole milk
—2 cups stale bread cubes (from 4 slices sandwich bread)
—2 to 2½ pounds boneless bottom-round beef rump roast, trimmed of fat
—1/2 cup chopped Italian parsley
—2 hard-boiled eggs, coarsely chopped (see directions below)
—1/4 pine nuts, toasted (see directions below)
—5 tbs extra virgin olive oil
—1 tbs kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
—Freshly ground black pepper to taste
—4 oz (1/4 lb) mild provolone cheese, cut into ¼” sticks (you’ll need 12 pieces)
—1 medium onion, chopped (about ½ cup)
—4 garlic cloves, crushed and peeled
—1 cup dry white wine
—2 28 oz cans whole plum tomatoes, preferably San Marzano, crushed by hand
—1 tsp dried oregano
—1/4 tsp hot pepper flakes

Directions for making the braciole:
—Pour the milk over the bread cubes in a bowl and let soak while you slice the beef.
—Slice the beef into 2 to 3 oz slices (ideally you want 12 pieces). Pound the slices all over with a mallet to about 1/4 to 1/8 inch thick. Don’t worry if slices tear — you can patch as needed by over-lapping the torn sections. Set aside.
—Squeeze the excess milk from the bread and place in a large bowl. Add the parsley, eggs, pine nuts, 1 tbs olive oil, and 1 tsp salt. Season with pepper and mix.
—Lay the pounded beef slices flat on your work surface and season with salt. Evenly divide the filling among the slices, approximately 2 to 3 tbs for each slice, then spread within 1 inch of the edge on all slices. Place a piece of cheese crosswise in the center of each slice. Roll the slices lengthwise and pin the rolls closed with toothpicks, pinching the meat to ensure each roll is tight.
—Heat the remaining oil in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Season the braciole with salt and add to the pot to brown on all side, about 2 to 3 minutes per side, in batches if necessary (you may need to trim toothpicks with scissors to facilitate browning). Remove the browned braciole to a plate and toss the onion into the pot. Cook until the onion is softened, about 4 to 5 minutes, then add the garlic. Cook a minute or two until the garlic is sizzling, then pour the white wine into the pot. Increase heat, bring to a boil, and cook until the wine is almost evaporated, about 4 to 5 minutes. Pour in the tomatoes. Slosh out each can with one cup of hot water and add to the pot. Season with the oregano, the hot pepper flakes, and the remaining 2 tsp of salt.
—Return the sauce to a boil, return the beef rolls to the pot, and adjust heat to maintain a steady simmer. Cover and cook until the braciole are very tender, 1¼ to 1½ hours. If the sauce is too thin, remove the braciole to a plate and reduce the sauce over high heat until it thicken to a gravy consistency.
—Serve over rigatoni.

Directions for hard-cooking eggs:
—Place 6 eggs in a single layer in a medium saucepan, cover with 1 inch of water, and bring to a boil over high heat. Remove pan from heat, cover, and let sit 10 minutes. Meanwhile, fill a medium bowl with 1 quart water and 12 ice cubes. Transfer eggs to ice water with a slotted spoon; let sit 5 minutes. Peel and use as desired.

Directions for toasting pine nuts:
—Place pine nuts in a dry skillet over medium-low heat. Shake the skillet frequently to ensure even browning (pine nuts are full of oil and will burn quickly if not watched carefully). When the nuts are fragrant and browned, take the pan off the heat. Transfer the pine nuts to a plate to cool.

The post 12/15/11 • BRACIOLE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Oct., 2011 Food & Wine

I tend to think of stew as a uniquely American creation. This may have something to do with the fact that one of the first stews I ever knew and loved was a classic beef variety that the housekeeper at my dad and step-mother’s house used to make for us when I was a kid. Her name was Helen and while I can’t claim to ever having been one of her favorites (she didn’t like my dad or me very much; I think she felt an allegiance to my step-mom’s first husband) it never interfered with my appreciation for her cooking. Helen didn’t prepare a lot of meals for us, but occasionally if my stepmother was pressed for time or working late she’d ask her to make one of the two dishes she did exceptionally well — fried chicken, and this particular beef stew. It’s been more than thirty years since I’ve tasted Helen’s cooking, but what I remember of that stew is chunks of fork-tender meet, big pieces of carrots and new potatoes that were soft but never mushy, and a thick, well-seasoned brown sauce that held it all together. It’s a dish I can’t help but think of each year as the autumn chill sets in.

Of course, those childhood memories notwithstanding, America can hardly lay claim as the creator of this particular dish — something I’m reminded of each time I direct my fork towards a serving of boeuf bourguignon or carbonnade a la flamande, both of which are essentially elaborate versions of the meal Helen used to make for us. And it’s something that was driven home by the Oct. issue of Food & Wine magazine — a special issue on Gallic cooking that includes a section on simplified French stews by New York Times columnist and cookbook author, Melissa Clark. The recipes in the piece include a number I’m eager to try, including Chicken Dijon, and a Provencal Lamb Stew with Basil, but the one that spoke to me the loudest and that I considered for all of a day before rushing out to buy the ingredients was Clark’s interpretation of the classic lentils with garlic sausage stew.

I’ve never tackled the traditional version that served as Clark’s inspiration here so I can’t speak with any authority as to how much time and effort is involved in the original, but given the subtle similarities between this dish and a cassoulet (both are thick with beans and studded with garlicky meat — okay, I said the similarity was subtle), I’m guessing plenty. No doubt it’s worth it, with hours of slow braising rewarding the patient chef with the sort of deep, full-bodied flavors that are particularly appealing this time of year. But for those of us who have neither the time nor the interest in manning the stoves all day, Clark offers a simple solution: the addition of a mustard and olive oil mixture just before serving that ratchets up the flavor quotient while keeping the finished dish bright and zesty.

The whole thing takes little more than an hour. You start first by browning the sliced sausage (the recipe calls for a pound, though I suggest increasing this by half as I found the finished dish a little light on meat). Once this step is complete, the browned sausage is set aside and the vegetables (leeks, carrot, garlic) are added to the pot, followed a few minutes later by the lentils, a quantity of water, and a variety of fresh herbs tied together in a bundle and left to simmer. The recipe suggests a cooking time for this stage of about 35 minutes, but I found that the lentils weren’t quite tender enough for me and so kept them on the stove for another ten minutes. Either way, once this step is complete you add a small head of chopped escarole, let it cook until wilted (about six minutes or so), and then reintroduce the browned sausage until heated through. You’ll be spooning the finished stew into bowls before you know it, marveling at what you created in record time (take that, Jacques Pepin!).

But wait, there are still a few final moves — ones that make all the difference! The key to fast-tracking a recipe as Clark has done here is the introduction of a few bright-tasting ingredients towards the end, to compensate for the lack of deep flavoring that can only come with hours of cooking. The first involves the addition of some chopped hazelnuts, which also serve as a nice textural counterpoint to the give of the lentils. For this you simply toast a ½ cup of hazelnuts in a 350 degree oven for 12 minutes or so, then rub off their skins with a kitchen towel before coarsely chopping them (all of which can be done while the lentils are simmering). The nuts are then added to each serving of stew, along with a tablespoon of chopped parsley, and a few dollops of the olive oil/Dijon mustard mixture. Together these elements (particularly the mustard, which as any meat enthusiast knows has a natural affinity for sausage) ensures that the finished dish will have the sort of flavorful heft you look for in a stew, but with none of the heaviness. Trust me, the results are so good they’ll give you reason to look forward to the next chilly, stew-friendly day.

Also, for all my vegetarian friends, try substituting the garlic sausage with a non-meat variety, such as the Italian grain sausage from Field Roast. Just make sure that whichever brand you choose features garlic as a key ingredient — it’s a flavor that’s critical to the dish’s success.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
—1 lb French garlic sausage or kielbasa, cut into ¾” pieces (more to taste)*
—2 leeks, white and tender green parts only, thinly sliced
—1 large carrot, diced
—3 garlic cloves, minced
—1½ cups French green lentils
—3 thyme sprigs, 1 rosemary sprig and 1 fresh bay leaf, tied together in a bundle
—Salt
—1/2 cup hazelnuts
—2 tbs Dijon mustard
—1 small head escarole, chopped
—1 tbs chopped parsley

*A vegetarian sausage can easily be substituted here, just look for one with plenty of garlic flavor.

Directions:
—In a large, heavy Dutch oven, heat 2 tbs of the olive oil. Add the garlic sausage and cook over moderately high heat, stirring until browned, 5 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the sausage to a plate.
—Add the leeks, carrot and garlic to the Dutch oven and cook over moderate heat until softened, about 7 minutes. Add the lentils, herb bundle and 5 cups of water and bring to a boil. Season with salt and simmer over low heat, until the lentils are tender, about 35 minutes. Discard the herb bundle.
—Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spread the hazelnuts in a pie plate and toast for about 12 minutes, until golden. Let cool, then transfer the nuts to a kitchen towel and rub off the skins. Coarsely chop the nuts.
—In a small bowl, combine the mustard with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add the escarole to the stew and cook until wilted, 6 minutes. Stir in the sausage and cook until heated through. Transfer the stew to bowls and drizzle with the mustard oil. Garnish with the nuts and parsley and serve.

The post 11/10/11 • SAUSAGE STEW appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Oct., 2011 Esquire (click here to view the recipe)

In the last week I’ve eaten pork braciola at Frankie’s 570 (the new West Village outpost of Frankie’s Spuntino); a big bowl of papardelle with a braised rabbit ragu at a newly resurgent Morandi; a large marinara and cheese pizza at Tappo in Chelsea; and, from the Sunday Gravy stand located at Smorgasburg — the open air food market held each Saturday at the Brooklyn Flea — a special delivery of the aforementioned gravy (which to the uninitiated is basically a spaghetti sauce thickened up with ample chunks of pork meat and sausage). All this may sound like red-sauce overload to some, but to me it sounds just about perfect — especially now that there’s a chill in the air.

I sometimes think I could serve myself a bowl of freshly made marinara sauce with nothing else and be perfectly content. And I probably would be, though my stomach might not. So instead I’m constantly on the hunt for other ways to get my red sauce fix. Of course there’s the obvious spaghetti option, but as good as that can be, eat a half pound of the stuff (sorry, I can’t do less) and I tend not to feel so great — especially the morning after when I wake up with a kind of carbohydrate hangover, all woozy and slow. Which means I’ve had to be a little more wide-ranging in my red sauce alliances.

The good news is that there’s plenty you can do with tomato sauce beyond pouring it over spaghetti or layering it between sheets of pasta (see first paragraph for details). Notable among this group is the meatball, which for pure marina compatibility has few equals. Despite the fact that meatballs have begun showing up on an increasing number of restaurant menus around town, and is even the featured item at one popular chain-let, The Meatball Shop, I’ll go out on a limb and say that where meatballs are concerned, no one wants a naked ball. In other words, it’s all (or mostly) about the tomato sauce — at least it is for me. You can layer a meatball with raisins or pine nuts, lard them with chunks of bacon, add more cheese to the mix, or less, but without the sauce, you don’t have much.

The right sauce, however — a good sauce flecked with fresh basil and the tang of garlic and oregano — can propel a so-so meatball to memorable heights, and an excellent meatball outta this world. It’s a response I’m not unfamiliar with, and one reason why a new meatball recipe can stop me in my tracks. That’s exactly what happened when I opened this month’s issue of Esquire and came across Shane Solomon’s meatball recipe. Solomon is the chef at the popular Pizzeria Stella in Philadelphia, and Philadelphia is one city that knows its way around Italian/American cooking. But beyond that, I figured if any resource could teach me a thing or two about meatballs, it would be a men’s magazine. Because let’s face it, meatballs may have their share of female acolytes, but if you’re going to assign this particular dish a gender, we’re definitely in the land of man food here.

One reason for this is that most men I know live in fear of leaving the table hungry — something that’s pretty unlikely when meatballs are on the menu. Eat just two or three and even the biggest appetite is likely to be satisfied. Which makes the fact that the attached recipe produces 25 to 30 meatballs something of a head-scratcher, because unless you’re feeding the starting lineup for the New York Jets, that’s a lot more meatballs than you’re going to want. Of course, you can always freeze what you don’t use (and, admittedly, you could do a lot worse than having a dozen meatballs sitting in your freezer), but considering the chopping, grating, and frying time involved here, I’d suggest reducing the recipe by half, cutting all of the ingredients by fifty percent with the exception of the grated cheese (you’ll want all of this for flavor, and maybe a littler more, too).

Either way, assembly is pretty straight ahead, with a gentle mixing of the meat, eggs, cheese, onions, garlic, and herbs, followed by the addition of the milk/breadcrumb mixture. Instead of shaping the balls with your hands, however, the recipe suggests using an old-fashioned trigger ice-cream scoop, which ensures a uniformity of size and shape, and has the added benefit of eliminating any air pockets that might be lurking in your pre-cooked meatballs. Once that critical step is complete and all your meatballs are in formation, it’s time to start frying. The goal here is not to cook the meatballs (that comes later) so much as to brown them, so pour just a ¼ inch of canola oil into your pan, heat until rippling, and crisp all sides of the meat. Be prepared to work in batches, though, as browning meatballs can be like herding cats. In other words, you’ll need room to maneuver.

Once browned, place the meatballs in an ovenproof casserole, fully blanket them with tomato sauce, and bake in a 350-degree oven for between 1¾ and 2 hours. This to me is the real genius of the recipe as it eliminates one of the problems I’ve often encountered on previous meatball-making outings — namely, that simply frying the meatballs can leave them with a disconcertingly soft center. What’s more, baking the meatballs and the sauce together allows the meat flavors to permeate the sauce, and the sauce to work its way into the meat. Solomon suggests serving the meatballs atop a small base of polenta, which provides some of that starchy goodness we associate with the traditional spaghetti accompaniment (minus the morning-after regret), while also providing a great way to sop up all that wonderful meat-infused sauce. Of course, you can always just tear off a hunk of Italian bread and dip and ladle to your heart’s content. Either way, be sure to have plenty of grated Parmesan cheese on hand; these babies should look like the Matterhorn before you ever introduce your fork.

A few final thoughts on the recipe: while Solomon suggests the addition of some finely minced pancetta or smoked bacon into the meat mix, I found the flavor an unnecessary addition. Follow your instincts here, but for what it’s worth I’ve marked this ingredient as optional in the list below. Also, given my enthusiasm for red sauce, it will come as no surprise that I have a favorite recipe for this favorite item. I pulled it from Fine Cooking a decade ago and have never looked back (I’m a one red-sauce recipe man). It’s just the thing for these meatballs, and it’s included below.

Ingredients for meatballs:
—1 lb ground beef (no more than 20% fat; lean meat is critical)
—1 lb ground veal
—1 lb ground pork
—1 lb pancetta or slab bacon (optional)
—2 whole eggs
—1/3 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (more as needed — as much as one cup for the meatballs; plus more for serving)
—1/2 cup finely diced yellow onion
—8 garlic cloves, minced
—1/4 cup finely chopped flat leaf parsley
—2 tbsp chopped fresh oregano
—2 tbsp chopped fresh rosemary
—1/3 cup fine, dry unseasoned bread crumbs
—1/2 cup whole milk
—1 tsp coarse salt (more as needed)
—1 1/2 tsp ground black pepper (more as needed)
—Canola oil
—12 cups tomato sauce (see recipe below)
—Polenta (for serving)

Note: This recipe makes 25 to 30 meatballs, so unless you’re feeding an exceptionally large crowd consider cutting the recipe in half. Do this by reducing the meat, herb, garlic, onion and milk quantities listed above by 50 percent, but leave the cheese quantity as is — it’s not that much and you’ll want it for flavor (you may even want to add more, as I did).

Directions for meatballs:
—Break up the ground meat into a large bowl then add the eggs, grated cheese, onion, garlic and herbs. Mix with your hands until everything is well distributed but don’t over-mix. Set aside.
—Slowly add milk to the breadcrumbs, stirring until the mixture has the consistency of wet sand. Immediately add to the meat mixture, season with the salt and pepper, and mix well. To taste for seasoning heat a small amount of canola oil in a small pan. When the oil is hot (it will ripple in pan) pinch off a bit of meat and fry in the oil. Taste and correct seasoning as needed. Refrigerate the meat mixture for about 30 minutes.
—Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Shape meatballs, ideally using an ice cream scoop. In a large skillet, heat about a quarter inch of canola oil until very hot. Working in batches, brown all sides of each meatball.
—As they finish, transfer browned meatballs to a deep, ovenproof casserole. Cover meatballs with tomato sauce (they must be totally submerged). Place in oven and bake until well done, about 1¾ to 2 hours. When done they should feel firm to the touch, or an instant read thermometer should read 160 degrees.
—To serve, spoon meatballs (2 or 3 per person) and sauce over polenta or simply serve with Italian bread. Top with grated cheese.

Ingredients for marinara sauce:
—3 28-ounce cans Italian plum tomatoes, whole or crushed (ideally San Marzano)
—1/2 cup olive oil
—6 cloves garlic
—1 tbsp plus 2 tsp kosher salt
—1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
—Freshly ground black pepper
—1/4 tsp dried oregano

Note: This recipe yields about 7 cups of sauce so if you’re making the full 35 meatballs you’ll want to double it.

Directions for marinara sauce:
—If you’re using whole tomatoes, put them in a large bowl and crush them with your hands. Discard any cores.
—In a 7-quart or larger saucepot, heat the oil to medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté until lightly golden brown, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and salt. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer, stirring occasionally for 45 minutes to 1 hour (the sauce will reduce and thicken slightly but shouldn’t get too thick). Stir in the basil, pepper, and oregano. Pour over meatballs.

The post 10/26/11 • REIGNING MEATBALLS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the July, 2011 Martha Stewart Living (click here to view the recipe)

I’ve never been much of a watermelon fan. This seems like an almost un-American thing to reveal, like sharing that you once burnt the flag in college or something, but there you have it. As a kid, the fastest way to end my enthusiasm at a cookout was to present a platter of watermelon, and it’s a sentiment I’ve carried with me into adulthood. Watermelon was what you got when your mom didn’t have time to make cookies, or cake, or to stock the freezer with ice cream sandwiches. I mean if there wasn’t the promise of something featuring processed sugar to follow, what was the point? As far as I was concerned there was only one reason to eat watermelon, and that was to get to the good stuff. The stuff they were holding back.

But a few years ago I started noticing something interesting — watermelon was showing up on the menus of some of my favorite restaurants in ways that even I found irresistible. Like this salad, which is made with feta cheese, tomatoes, and cubes of watermelon, all of it sprinkled with fresh mint and doused with red wine vinegar. Call it my watershed watermelon moment: here was an approach to the fruit that transformed it into something exciting, something I’d want to eat all for itself and not just for the promise of what might follow. And the kicker was that the very qualities that I’d found so dull in the sliced variety — its high water content, its diluted sweetness — were the things that made it work so well with the salty, or the acidic, or the spicy. In other words, the stuff I really love. The stuff I’ve never been able to get enough of.

So as summer approached (and then put its feet up) I kept my eyes peeled for recipes that would allow me to create at home the sorts of watermelon-based recipes I’d been enjoying at various establishments around town. Which is how I came to this Thai-inspired recipe for grilled pork cutlets topped with a watermelon and cucumber salad. It’s a summery approach to pork, and one that offers an interesting twist on watermelon, thanks to the presence of jalapeno, basil, and nam pla, otherwise known as Asian fish sauce.

I’m not certain how frequently watermelon makes an appearance in authentic Asian cuisine (I’d guess never, though don’t quote me on that), but on the exceptionally humid day I prepared this dish I might as well have been sitting at a beachside café in Koh Samui, and not just because of the moisture in the air. The lime, the jalapeno, and the fish sauce all combined to add a welcome piquant note to the mildness of the cutlet and the sweetness of the fruit, while the sliced cucumber added a cool component — all qualities that struck me as being pretty true to classic Thai cooking. What’s more, assembling the dish couldn’t have been easier — the salad is the most time consuming step, and for that all you need to do is toss some cubed watermelon (one of those baby seedless varieties will give you more than enough to work with) with slices of cucumber and jalapeno, then mix it with the basil, the fish sauce, the lime juice, and a bit of chopped coriander. Simple, right?

That said, I tend to like my food with more of a kick than this recipe prescribes, and so ended up doubling the amount of lime juice called for here. Depending on your preferences, you might want to do the same, or even to increase the amount of jalapeno slightly (say, from one chile to one-and-a-half). These adjustments are easy enough to make at the end, though, so let your taste buds be your guide.

Also, while the recipe calls for cooking the cutlets on a gas grill, I didn’t have access to one when I tackled this recipe and so decided to try it with a grill pan instead. It’s a reasonable alternative, though I did miss the slightly smoky flavor I would have had had I cooked over an open flame (I also could have done without all the smoke the pan released, though this was likely due to my heavy hand with the olive oil you’re only meant to drizzle over the cutlets before cooking). Still, I did manage to get those all-important grill marks on the paillards, which at least made them look pretty on the plate. And the flavor was good — better than good even, with the olive oil and the bit of Kosher salt also sprinkled pre-cooking giving the mild taste of the pork just the nudge it needed.

The star here, though, is undeniably the watermelon salad, so with or without a grill — or even without the cutlets — it’s worth keeping in your bag of tricks. In fact, I’m thinking it would work just as well piled on top of a meaty fish, like swordfish, or tuna steaks, or even on sliced steak for that matter. Which gives me an idea for dinner this weekend . . . See what happens when you start eating watermelon?

Ingredients:
—1 lb watermelon (about 1 small), peeled and cut into small wedges (3 cups)
—1/2 large cucumber halved lengthwise and sliced crosswise into half-moons
—1 jalapeno chile, halved lengthwise and very thinly sliced on the bias (seeded if desired)
—1/2 cup torn or small basil leaves
—2 tsp nam pla (Asian fish sauce)
—3/4 tsp whole coriander seeds, toasted and ground
—Juice of 1 lime
—8 boneless skinless pork cutlets (2½ ounces each), pounded about 1/8 inch thick.
—1 tsp extra-virgin olive oil
—Coarse salt

Directions:
—Heat grill to high. Toss together the watermelon, cucumber, jalapeno, basil, fish sauce, coriander seeds, and lime juice in a bowl.
—Drizzle pork cutlets with olive oil, and season with ¼ teaspoon salt. Grill until grill marks appear and pork is cooked through, about 1 minute per side. Top pork with watermelon salad.

The post 08/11/11 • PORK WITH A TWIST appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.