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.

From the Sept., 2013 Food & Wine

Soup is one of those food groups that as a rule fail to excite me. With the exception of a really cold winter’s day when a hot bowl of soup suddenly seems like a good idea, soup is usually the last thing you’ll find me eating (the one exception is my longtime Chinese restaurant favorite, hot and sour soup—something I’ll happily consume in any kind of weather). Chalk it up to my gluttonous disposition, but soup has always struck me as a little too insubstantial to get excited about, the thing you eat when there’s nothing else in the kitchen, or when you’re simply trying to be responsible at lunchtime and not eat that BLT. All of which makes it a little surprising that it would be this recipe for creamy zucchini soup to jump out at me from the current issue of Food & Wine. Alright, so there is a walnut cake on page 56 of the magazine that looks pretty enticing, too (and a recipe I will definitely be returning to soon as there’s a whiff of fall in the air), but it was the soup that kept calling me. For one thing the bright green color just screamed summer, much the way a bowl of guacamole or a salad slathered in green goddess dressing does. And then there were the various ingredients called for by the recipe—which in addition to the zucchini included good things like cilantro, leeks, a poblano pepper, and crème fraîche. In other words, here was a recipe with plenty of healthy, seasonal ingredients, but that still offered a dollop of decadence as well.

I should also mention that all of these “healthy,” “seasonal” ingredients are ones that I love, so even without the caloric addition of the crème fraîche, this was a dish whose shopping list I would have been happy to play with under any circumstances. That said I don’t have many occasions to prepare leeks, so it was with a great deal of pleasure that I added my sliced rounds to a pot of hot olive oil and let the nutty/oniony fragrance reach my nose: olfactory bliss! Things were off to a good start, and only improved with the addition of the zucchini slices, a few cloves of sliced garlic, and some chicken stock. (You can also add a rind of Parmesan cheese if you want at this point, something I did and suggest you do as well, as it adds a subtle hint of earthy saltiness to the finished dish).

After simmering the various ingredients for fifteen minutes or so, the soup is taken off the heat, the chopped cilantro is added (and the rind removed, if you’re using), and the chunky mixture is rendered smooth by being given a short turn (in batches, probably three) in either a blender or a food processor. At this point the mixture, creamy but still a vivid shade of green, is returned to the pot, and the cup of crème fraîche is whisked into the puree. This last addition takes the soup from smooth to velvety and lightens the color a few shades, to something resembling sage. In terms of color and texture, you couldn’t ask for anything more enticing.

Even so, none of that would mean much without the benefit of great flavor, as well—something this soup also delivers in spades. It’s subtle and earthy with a (very) gentle kick at the end thanks to the poblano, and as often happens with a good bowl of soup the pleasure lingers, wrapping you in a sense of well-being long after its gone. In fact, although this soup can be eaten either hot or cold, in its marriage of earthiness and refinement, it’s reminiscent of another, better known soup—vichyssoise. Like that potato based dish (which is eaten chilled), this soup, with its base of sautéed leeks and crème fraîche finish, reveals a French DNA, but one that’s enlivened with a variety of ingredients common to cooking in the American southwest, namely cilantro and that poblano pepper. It’s a cultural mash-up that comes together seamlessly here, creating a combination that’s at once classic and adventuresome.

Although the soup is wonderful alone, garnished with just a few cilantro leaves, to kick things up a notch try laying a few pieces of crabmeat across the soup’s creamy surface—a pairing of the sweet and earthy that’s pretty irresistible. Or add a few homemade croutons, for a marriage of the creamy and the crunchy. Whichever way you go, this is a soup that’s sure to please… even those who aren’t sure about soup in the first place.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
—1 large leek, white and tender green parts only, thinly sliced
—1 large poblano pepper, cored, seeded, and thinly sliced
—5 medium zucchini (2 ¼ lbs), cut into 1-inch rounds
—2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced
—Kosher salt, to taste
—Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
—1 qt low-sodium chicken broth
—1 small Parmesan cheese rind (optional)
—One 5-oz bunch cilantro, stemmed and coarsely chopped, plus more leaves for garnish
—1 cup crème fraîche

Directions:
—In a large pot, heat the olive oil until shimmering. Add the leek and poblano and cook over moderate heat, stirring, until softened, about 8 minutes.
—Add the zucchini and garlic, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp-tender, 5 to 6 minutes. Add the chicken broth and Parmesan rind and bring to a boil. Simmer over moderate heat until the zucchini is very tender and no longer bright green, about 15 minutes.
—Remove pot from heat, discard the Parmesan rind, and add the chopped cilantro.
—Working in batches, puree the soup in a blender or food processor until very smooth. Return the soup to the pot, whisk in the crème fraîche and reheat gently if necessary.
—Season the soup with salt and pepper and ladle into bowls. Garnish with cilantro leaves and serve.

Note: The soup can be refrigerated overnight. Reheat gently or serve cold.

8 servings

The post 08/27/13 • CREAMY ZUCCHINI SOUP appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the March, 2013 Bon Appétit

Last month I attended a friend’s birthday dinner, and seated to both my left and my right were vegetarians. Ten years ago I could count on one hand the number of people I knew who had eliminated meat from their diet, and now I was surrounded by them! Of course, the same scenario could just as easily have occurred in the ’90s. But the chances of its happening today are far greater—for the simple reason that being vegetarian has caught on. And caught on to the point where it’s no longer exotic or even notable. As someone who likes to feed people, this change is something I’ve been increasingly aware of, since more and more friends sitting down at our table are vegetarian. Though I may eat less meat than I used to (especially red meat, which seems to slow me down), I’m still most definitely a carnivore, so coming up with a meat-free menu that I’m excited to cook and eat is a frequent challenge these days.

I say “challenge” because eliminate meat from a meal and I tend to fear it will have no flavor, and (even worse) that I’ll end up leaving the table hungry. To my limited way of thinking, no meat equals no fun, and even though I know that’s just plain wrong, this tends to be my automatic response where vegetarian cooking is concerned. Which is one reason I was so glad to come across this vegetable stew recipe (an Italian vegetable stew, to be precise—so called for the presence of ingredients such as crushed whole tomatoes, red pepper flakes, olive oil, and Parmesan cheese), and why I was even gladder to have made it. Finally, a dish to rid me of my vegetarian bias! And even better, a vegetarian-friendly option I could get excited about cooking for people who also eat meat! In other words, we’re talking life-changing stuff here.

The recipe comes from Brandon Jew of San Francisco’s Bar Agricole (by way of the March, 2013 issue of Bon Appétit), and has a number of things going for it that got my attention. For one thing it just looks amazing—packed as it is with an array of colorful vegetables (kale, collards, carrots, to name a few) that can’t help but draw the eye of even the most committed carnivore. What’s more, the featured ingredients include a large quantity of cannellini beans, along with six cups of dried sourdough bread chunks, so the possibility of ending the meal still hungry is exactly zero. Add to this a handful of Parmesan cheese shavings and a drizzle of olive oil—both introduced just before serving—and you have the sort of flavor combination that’s hard to beat.

Like most stews this one benefits from being made a day or so in advance, though if your schedule won’t allow for that, it’s still plenty good if eaten as soon as assembled (a process that takes little more than a few hours, including the time needed to dry out the bread). In fact, much of the preparation is fairly passive, with the last 50 minutes allocated to simmering the various ingredients (minus the bread and cheese, of course). The exception to this is the preparation of the vegetables—which in the case of the collards and the kale require de-stemming and par-boiling prior to chopping, both of which are fairly speedy. But once everything has been peeled and cut down to its appropriate size, all that remains is some pouring and stirring.

Included in this pouring and stirring is a large can of whole tomatoes, which once added to the pot are crushed by hand—an addition that brings some important acidity into the mix, not to mention a chunky textural component. I mention this because I used a can of the pre-crushed variety instead (for no other reason than it happened to be sitting in the cupboard), and while the flavors didn’t suffer from the swap, I did find myself wishing for larger, less uniform chunks of tomato. So stick with the instructions and go with whole tomatoes if you can.

Also, since the Parmesan shavings and drizzle of olive oil are literally the crowning glory on top of this stew, be sure to use the best quality of both you can get your hands on; it will literally make all the difference in the final tasting. I happened to have excellent examples of both on hand (in fact, a Sicilian friend had just given us a really first-rate bottle of olive oil, which was perfect for the finishing touch here), though even without these enhancements this is one of those dishes I’d probably keep thinking about anyway. As it is, I’m just waiting for the right moment to make this stew again—a definite first for me where anything “vegetarian” is concerned.

And one final thought: If you plan to eat the stew over a series of days, consider mixing just a portion of the prepared bread chunks into the amount of stew you think likely to be eaten. (Don’t do this, and those otherwise appealing leftovers will feature clumps of sodden bread.) Or skip this issue entirely and, instead of mixing in the torn bread, top the stew with homemade crostini (see last week’s posting for an easy recipe).

Ingredients:
—1/2 1-lb. loaf sourdough bread, torn into 2” pieces (about 6 cups).
—1 bunch collard greens, center ribs and stems removed
—1 bunch Tuscan or other kale, center ribs and stems removed
—Kosher salt
—1/2 cup olive oil, divided, plus more for serving
—2 medium carrots, peeled, finely chopped
—2 celery stalks, finely chopped
—1 leek, white and pale-green parts only, chopped
—4 garlic cloves, chopped
—1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
—1 28-oz. can whole peeled tomatoes, drained
—8 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
—3 15-oz. cans cannellini (white kidney) beans, rinsed
—4 sprigs thyme
—1 sprig marjoram or oregano
—1 bay leaf
—Freshly ground black pepper
—Shaved Parmesan (for serving)

Directions:
—Scatter bread on a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer. Let stand at room temperature to slightly dry out, about 2 hours.
—Working in batches, cook collards and kale separately in a large pot of boiling salted water until slightly softened, about 3 minutes per batch. Rinse to cool. Squeeze out excess water; roughly chop. Set aside.
—Heat ¼ cup oil in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Add carrots, celery, and leek; stir until softened, 8 to 10 minutes.
—Add garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add tomatoes, crushing with your hands as you add them. Cook, stirring frequently, until liquid is evaporated and tomatoes begin to stick to the bottom of the pot, 10 to 15 minutes.
—Add broth, beans, thyme, marjoram, bay leaf, and reserved greens; season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer until flavors meld and soup thickens slightly, 40 to 50 minutes.
—Just before serving, gently stir bread and ¼ cup oil into soup. Divide among bowls, top with Parmesan, and drizzle with oil.

NOTE: Soup can be made 2 days ahead. Let cool slightly; chill until cold. Cover and keep chilled. Reheat before continuing. Store bread airtight at room temperature.

Makes 6 to 8 servings

The post 03/21/13 • ITALIAN VEGETABLE STEW appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Jan., 2001 Gourmet 

Few conversations are less promising than ones that begin with the words: “I had the most amazing dream last night!” Such is the nature of our unconscious wanderings that they’re never as interesting to the person hearing about them as they are to the mind in which they unspooled (unless, of course, you’re Sigmund Freud). Still, at the risk of putting you to sleep, I’m going to share with you one small detail of a dream I had last night, since it says so much about the impulse behind this posting. In my dream I’ve returned to the gym after a too long absence, only to discover that A) all the lockers are in use, and B) the gym floor has been taken over by a small, but very busy gourmet food shop (imported hams, French cheeses, shelves of fancy tomato sauces… you get the idea). In other words, because all the lockers were “full,” I couldn’t give my body what it needed (or wanted)—namely some exercise, and a break from all the rich foods I’d been eating.

Not surprisingly that’s exactly what I’ve been feeling for the past few weeks, a period in which I indulged extravagantly in the full range of holiday goodies, then immediately left on a 10-day adventure in Morocco—a journey where exercise was limited (lots of walking but little else, unless you count a 30-minute camel ride) and the meals were rich, starchy, and hard to refuse. And so in addition to being desperately in need of becoming reacquainted with my health club’s treadmill, I’m also ready to say goodbye to all those carb-laden foods… at least for the next day or so. Which brings me to this week’s posting for spicy kale soup, a recipe I first tried several weeks before diving into the season of gluttony and one I immediately earmarked as an ideal (and painless) way to get the year off to a healthful start.

Well, sort of… because while the recipe may feature an abundance of kale, it also calls for a ½ lb of Spanish chorizo, an item that’s not likely to show up on the American Heart Association’s favorite foods list anytime soon. Still, the kale’s the undisputed star here; it’s this that imbues the soup with both its dominant flavor and rich green color—a hue that practically screams “healthy!” And, of course, few foods in the good-for-you category are as easy to say yes to as kale (especially when paired with anything salty or spicy), which goes a long way to explaining why kale has become such a favorite item on restaurant menus in the last few years, and why I can’t get enough of it.

That compulsively eatable quality is on vibrant display with this soup, in large part because the leafy green is only introduced in the final minutes of cooking, once the various other ingredients have been sautéed and/or browned and added to the pot—a bit of timing that ensures the kale doesn’t lose its bright, grassy flavor and that the pleasantly rubbery leaves don’t turn to mush. As you might have guessed, it’s the elements that make up the soup’s base, namely the onion (and the garlic if you’re using, an addition I recommend) and the potato, that require longer on the stove-top, and it’s here that the cooking starts, a process that involves sautéing the onions and garlic until golden brown, then adding the sliced potatoes and cooking the mixture together for another four minutes or so. Next up is the liquid, which the recipe stipulates as eight cups of water. Here I propose a minor tweak, replacing four of those cups with low sodium chicken broth—a change that produced a richer, more satisfying flavor. Either way, once this mixture has had 15 minutes or so to simmer and the potatoes are tender, place a potato masher or hand blender inside the pot and pulverize the potatoes until they are coarse and chunky and the consistency of the liquid is more stew than broth.

At this point it’s time to add the sliced chorizo, previously browned for five minutes or so (roughly 2½ minutes per side), and given a few more minutes to drain on several sheets of paper towel. Although the recipe calls for adding sliced rounds of chorizo to the soup, I cut each round in half because the full round simply struck me as too large for my soup spoon. In any case, once the sausage has simmered five minutes or so along with the other ingredients—and for the spicy flavor of the sausage to permeate the broth—it’s time to add the kale, each leaf separated from its rib and sliced crosswise into 1/2-inch strips (something most efficiently achieved by folding the leaf into thirds before cutting).

If all this sounds ridiculously fast and easy, you’re right—a rib-sticking soup in little more than half an hour. What’s more, with its deep flavors and rewarding chunks of sausage and potato it has the homey quality that’s the perfect antidote to even the chilliest winter evening. Of course, like any soup or stew the flavors only improve with an overnight stay in the fridge, though if you’re like me it’s unlikely to last that long. And no wonder: add a hunk of French bread and a glass of red wine, and this dish makes cold weather something to celebrate.

Ingredients:
—1 large onion, finely chopped
—3 tbs olive oil
—1½ lbs boiling potatoes, such as Yukon Gold
—8 cups water (TRG note: low sodium chicken broth can be substituted for 4 of the cups)
—1/2 lb Spanish chorizo, cut into 1/2” pieces (TRG note: I cut each disk in half)
—3/4 lb lacinato or regular kale, center ribs removed and leaves cut crosswise into thin slices.
—3 cloves chopped garlic. (optional)

Note #1: Lacinato kale is also sold as Tuscan, Cavelo Nero, or black kale.

Note #2: Regular kale can be substituted but Lacinato has an artichoke-like sweetness that makes it ideal here.

Directions:
—Cook onion and garlic (if using) in oil in a 5-quart pot over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until pale golden. Meanwhile, peel potatoes and cut crosswise into thin slices. Add to onion and cook, stirring occasionally, 4 minutes. Add water (and broth, if using) and salt to taste and simmer until potatoes are very tender, about 15 minutes.
—Cook chorizo in a large nonstick skillet over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 5 minutes. Transfer to paper towels to drain.
—Coarsely mash potatoes in pot with potato masher (do not drain). Stir in chorizo and simmer 5 minutes. Stir in kale and simmer until just tender, 3 to 5 minutes. Season with salt.

Makes 6 servings

The post 01/10/13 • LUSTY KALE SOUP 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 Canal House Cooking, Volume No. 1

When it comes to hot weather dining strategies, some people advise that the best approach is to turn up the heat—be it in the form of spiciness or of temperature. And as counterintuitive as that may sound, these heat-seeking advocates may well have a point. (For my self, there seems to be a direct correlation between a spike in temperature and a desire for foods that will make smoke come out of my ears.) Still, when faced with the kind of heat and humidity many of us around the country have been dealing with lately, the cooling effect of a dish that’s meant to be served chilled can’t be underestimated; it’s like a blast of AC for your central nervous system, and who wouldn’t want a little of that when things start to get steamy? Of course, no matter how much more comfortable the item in question might make you feel, you’re unlikely to give it a second taste if it doesn’t rate on the flavor meter, which can prove something of a challenge for dishes that are served cold. Happily, it’s an issue you’re unlikely to encounter with this week’s posting—for that cold beet soup, otherwise known as borscht.

Now as much as I love borscht I recognize it’s a dish that carries with it a certain amount of baggage—baggage that for many people can get in the way of its enjoyment. For one thing there’s the stigmatizing “Borscht Belt” association, which unfairly conjures up a negative image (and stereotype) of those vacation spots in the Catskill Mountains where so many Eastern European immigrants spent their summer holidays in the first half of the last century. And then there are the various hurdles presented by the soup’s strange name, its purple color (or fuschia, in the case of this recipe), and the sweet/earthy flavor of the beets it’s made from—a characteristic many people simply can’t seem to get past. From my way of seeing things, however, all of these qualities are good ones: I love the Central and Eastern European heritage of this dish, just as I do its outlandish color, and its unique, vaguely exotic coupling of flavors. In fact, these last two qualities are ones that are particularly well served by the recipe I bring to you here.

It’s a version of the dish I stumbled upon in Canal House Cooking, Volume No. 1 (their “summer” collection), and as explained in the recipe’s brief preamble, the soup been a summer standard at Melissa Hamilton’s restaurant in Lambertville, NJ since it opened in 1988. (Hamilton is one-half of the Canal House duo, the other being Christopher Hirsheimer—who I feel compelled to point out is also a woman, despite whatever assumptions you might have arrived at based on her name.) And I should probably also mention that while I’ve been eating borscht (both the cold and hot varieties) since I was a kid, I’d never felt moved to make it myself. That is, not until I came across this Canal House recipe. There was just something about the image accompanying the recipe—so bright and delicate and refreshing-looking—that compelled me to slow down and read the actual cooking instructions. And what I discovered is that making borscht (or at least, this version of it) is incredibly easy.

And even better, in addition to my beloved beets it features a number of other ingredients that I like a lot, such as cucumbers, sour cream (lots of this—always a good thing), Dijon mustard, and balsamic vinegar. Now I’m generally not a huge balsamic vinegar guy, as it’s one of those ingredients that seems to have slipped into over use in the last decade or so (sort of like sun-dried tomatoes). Its inclusion here intrigued me, though, in part because it’s not an ingredient featured in any of the other borscht recipes I’ve come across, and because its sweet/tangy notes struck me as just the thing to round out the earthy flavor of the beets. Suffice to say that the recipe immediately became one of those that lodges in the back of my brain, producing a constant refrain “Is it time yet? Is it time?” Well, between the sultry weather and the fact that I plain couldn’t wait to give this soup a try, within days it’s moment had arrived.

And so I set to work, whipping up a batch of fresh breadcrumbs in the food processer (the crumbs function as a binding agent for the various other ingredients in the soup, and as such are worth making from scratch), then wrapping each beet in aluminum foil and placing it into a 400° oven for about an hour, or until you can poke one with a knife and meet no resistance. And by the way, the scent of roasting beets is something wonderful indeed—if you happen to know someone who refuses to give beets a try, see if that scent doesn’t turn things around for them. In any case, once the beets have had a chance to cool a bit, peel off the skins (once roasted the skins are a little like the residue that collects on top of boiled and cooled milk—in other words, it’s very easy to remove), then dice them and add to a large bowl with the various other ingredients. These include a cucumber that’s been peeled, seeded, and diced; half of a small white onion that’s been chopped; a cup of those fresh breadcrumbs; 3 cups of sour cream; a little mustard; the aforementioned vinegar; and small amounts of both sugar and heavy cream.

Once these ingredients are well combined (several good stirs will do it), it’s time to puree the beet mixture. Rather than doing this all at once you’ll want to work in batches, spooning a third of the mixture into the blender, and once smooth adding another third, and so on. The whole thing should take no more than five minutes—a period in which all of those diced vegetables and other ingredients come together to form a thick, creamy substance that’s somewhat lighter in color than the borscht standard thanks to the presence of all of that sour cream. And by the way, if the consistency seems too thick, the recipe suggests adding up to a ¼ cup of water— though it’s an addition I did not feel was necessary.

The recipe also advises allowing the finished soup some time in the refrigerator for the flavors to deepen—overnight at a minimum, or three days at the most. I’m sure this counsel is sound and that the soup would only improve with time, but we simply couldn’t wait that long; it looked too good, and we were hungry. And so after just an hour I ladled the soup into bowls, added a small dollop of sour cream, scattered some chopped chives across its placid surface, and dove in. Even in its “un-deepened” state the soup was wonderful—vivid, bracing, and above all, refreshing. I love the way the various individual flavors present in the soup (the cucumber, the vinegar, and, of course, the beets) shine through, while at the same time seamlessly coming together to form something all its own. I’d like to promise that the next time I’ll give the soup overnight to come together, but who am I kidding? Let’s just say I’ll try, and leave it at that. Either way, you’re sure to end up with something deeply satisfying—warm weather eating at its most luxurious.

Ingredients:
—4 medium beets, trimmed
—1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, and diced
—Half a small white onion, chopped
—1 cup fresh bread crumbs (see instructions below)
—3 cups sour cream
—3 tbs Dijon mustard
—2 tbs heavy cream
—1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
—1 tbs sugar
—Salt
—Minced fresh dill or chives

TRG’s directions for making fresh breadcrumbs:
—Rip slices of slightly stale bread, English muffins, or pita bread into small pieces and fill a food processor or coffee or spice grinder about halfway full. Pulse until you get the sized crumb you’re after. (Note: if you don’t have any stale bread on-hand, place the bread slices on a cookie sheet in a 300° or 350° oven until slightly crusty, about five minutes—fresh slices can turn gummy in the machine.)
—Make more than you need and store the leftovers in a Zip-lock bag in the freezer; thaw thoroughly before using.

Directions for making borscht:
—Preheat the oven to 400°. Wrap each beet in aluminum foil and roast in the oven until tender, about 1 hour. (To make sure the beets are done, unwrap one and pierce it with a paring knife to check if it is tender.)
—When the beets are cool enough to handle, peel (the skins will slide right off) and dice them. Put the beets in a big bowl. Add the cucumber, onion, bread crumbs, sour cream (reserve a few tablespoons of this for serving), mustard, heavy cream, balsamic vinegar, and sugar. Mix well.
—Working in batches, purée the beet mixture in a blender until smooth. Use up to ¼ cup water to thin the soup if needed. Season with salt. Transfer to a covered container and allow the flavors to develop in the refrigerator overnight or for up to 3 days. (The soup improves with time.)
—Serve the soup in chilled soup bowls or pretty glasses. Garnish with a spoonful of sour cream or a drizzle of heavy cream, and minced fresh dill or chives.

Serves 4

The post 07/26/12 • BEST (COLD!) BEET SOUP appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From America’s Test Kitchen (click here to view the recipe)

As you might have guessed from the title, this posting was intended to serve as my contribution to your Super Bowl Sunday, which, of course, has long since come and gone. I confess I got a little jammed up in my planning, plus I wasn’t happy with the photos and felt compelled to do a reshoot. So here’s my recipe recommendation for the big game, a little late in the game as it were. I figured (hoped) you’d forgive me for this lapse in scheduling, if only because a really good bowl of chili is welcome any time of the year and doesn’t require a major sporting event to be appreciated (and for those who disagree, there’s always next year’s Super Bowl… Go Jets?). Either way, it’s a recipe worth keeping handy, both because the end result is pretty wonderful, and because the path to getting there is blessedly easy.

However, having now written that word “easy” for what seems like the one-hundredth time, before going further I feel I need to clarify that speed and simplicity are not necessarily the barometers by which I decide whether a recipe is worthy of your time and attention. How it tastes is way more important. That said, like many of you, cooking for me is something that often gets sandwiched between various other activities, so if I can identify a recipe that delivers on the flavor front while requiring a minimum of time in the kitchen, all the better. It’s one reason why I’m a fan of America’s Test Kitchen (the source of this recipe). Aside from working over a recipe with CSI-like efficiency to ensure it delivers on all fronts, they recognize that no matter how enthusiastic we may be about food and cooking, time is limited for most of us. As a result they have no qualms about devising shortcuts or in working with basic ingredients easily sourced at the supermarket, as long as the end result is a happy one.

That’s certainly the case here. For starters the recipe calls for the sorts of store bought items (canned kidney beans, commercial chili powder) that can shave hours off cooking time, even as they risk raising eyebrows among certain food purists. I can appreciate that and am all for cooking up your own pot of beans when time allows, but when it doesn’t and the goal is simply to get something healthy and great-tasting on the table, it’s nice to know there’s a compelling alternative. That’s especially true when the recipe takes steps to ensure that such time saving moves do not come at the expense of flavor — an ATK trademark and again one they call into play with this recipe.

To that end, right at the start a large quantity of chili powder and other spices are thrown into the pot along with the onion, pepper, garlic, and vegetable oil to build the most flavorful base possible. (The fragrant bloom of cumin and chili powder that immediately overtakes your kitchen confirms you’re on the right track.) And the mix of diced tomatoes with the tomato puree achieves the ideal balance of texture and acidity, the latter of which is key to rounding out the flavors of the beans and the ground beef. What’s more, with their suggestion to keep the chili covered for the first hour of its two-hour simmering time, ATK ensures that the final product won’t just be rich and flavorful, but that it will have the thick consistency we associate with this dish at its best. (Cooking times vary, of course, but for what it’s worth I did not need to introduce the 1/2 cup of water ATK suggests adding if the chili starts to stick to the bottom of the pot).

As made with the instructions below, the chili packs a nice amount of heat — not enough to make you sweat, but pleasantly pronounced all the same. Still, if you like things a little spicier, you can always dial things up a bit by increasing the dried red pepper from a single teaspoon to two, or even more. Either way, the recipe’s suggestion to squeeze a slice of lime over each serving is a good one and functions less as a flame retardant than as a bright counterpoint to the chili’s deep flavoring. It’s an add-on I’d never considered before and one that will now be a standard at my house. Along with a sprinkling of chopped cilantro and red onion, as well as a little shredded cheese, the combination of flavors is such that you’ll likely end up eating more than you intended. Try to put aside a little of it though — the chili’s even better a few days later.

Ingredients:
—2 tbs vegetable oil or corn oil
—2 medium onions, chopped fine (about 2 cups)
—1 red bell pepper, cut into 1/2” cubes
—6 medium cloves garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 2 tbs)
—1/4 cup chili powder
—1 tbs ground cumin
—2 tbs ground coriander
—1 tsp red pepper flakes
—1 tsp dried oregano
—1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
—2 lbs 85 percent lean ground beef
—2 (15 oz) can red kidney bean, drained and rinsed
—1 (28 oz) can diced tomatoes, with juice
—1 can (28 ounces) tomato puree
—Table salt
—2 limes cut into wedges

For serving (optional)
—Cheddar cheese or Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
—Red onion, chopped
—Cilantro, chopped
—Sour cream

Directions:
—Heat oil in a large heavy-bottomed nonreactive Dutch oven over medium heat until shimmering but not smoking, 3 to 4 minutes. Add onions, bell pepper, garlic, chili powder, cumin, coriander, pepper flakes, oregano, and cayenne; cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are softened and beginning to brown, about 10 minutes. Increase heat to medium-high and add half the beef; cook, breaking up pieces with wooden spoon, until no longer pink and just beginning to brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Add remaining beef and repeat the previous step (i.e. cook, breaking up pieces with wooden spoon, until no longer pink).
—Add beans, tomatoes, tomato puree, and ½ tsp salt; bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, stirring occasionally, for 1 hour. Remove cover and continue to simmer 1 hour longer, stirring occasionally (if chili begins to stick to bottom of pot, stir in ½ cup of water and continue to simmer), until beef is tender and chili is dark, rich, and slightly thickened. Adjust seasoning with additional salt. Serve with lime wedges and condiments, if desired.

Serves 8 to 10

The post 02/16/12 • A SUPER BOWL OF CHILI appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From America’s Test Kitchen (click here to view the recipe)

Short and sweet will be the M.O. for this week’s posting . . . though given its subject, perhaps short and sour would be a more apt description. You see I’ve got a cold — not so bad that I’m stuck at home in bed, but bad enough that I can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. I’ve arrived at this conclusion somewhat reluctantly, after staring at my computer for the past hour, writing, and then erasing, one false start after another. So as much as I would like to compose something amusing for you here, I have to acknowledge that the best thing for all would probably be to get right down to business.

This week that business is hot and sour soup, which is fitting, both because the Chinese New Year begins on Monday (hello Year of the Dragon!), and because there are those who claim it rivals chicken soup (a.k.a. “Jewish penicillin”) in its ability to ward off a cold. Personally, I’ve never heard anyone refer to this particular dish as “Chinese penicillin,” but then maybe I’m traveling in the wrong circles. In any case, because of its winning combination of peppery heat and vinegary sourness, it most definitely has the ability to warm you up, cold or no. It’s also loaded with things that are a pleasure to eat, like tofu, and slivers of pork, and bamboo shoots, and mushrooms. All of which probably explains why it’s a favorite at most Chinese restaurants in the U.S.

It’s always been a favorite of mine. But lately it’s also been a source of some frustration, since it so rarely lives up to my memory of what the soup tastes like at its best. That’s true of most Chinese food I eat these days, which increasingly leaves something to be desired (a symptom of cost-cutting, perhaps, or simply the fact that I don’t have a good Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood). Still, despite the fact that I consistently find the soup either too watery (it should have an almost creamy thickness to it), or lacking in its all-important vinegary kick, I keep ordering it — there’s always the hope that this time will be different. And I don’t give up easily.

So spotting the attached recipe from America’s Test Kitchen was, well, exciting. Seriously, I probably did a little dance when I found it. Because not only had ATK presented me with a path to hot and sour satisfaction, they’d also done so in a way that was eminently do-able. And by do-able, I mean with no running around the city in search of hard to find ingredients that I’d have no other occasion to use (so no pig’s foot tendon, which in traditional recipes is apparently used to give the soup its requisite thick consistency). Everything here can be found at your local supermarket, and if it can’t be, ATK offers a feasible alternative.

Case in point: cornstarch, which you probably already have in your cupboard somewhere (I found mine way in the back), and which here replaces that aforementioned pig part as a thickening agent, but that’s also used in the marinade for the pork (to keep it tender when cooked), as well as in the egg mixture that’s drizzled on top of the soup at the very end — an addition that imbues it with a light, cohesive quality. Wood ear mushrooms are likewise substituted with fresh shitakes, while lily buds are swapped out for canned bamboo shoots.

As with any recipe, before actually starting to cook there are several preparatory steps you need to take — though here they feel somewhat more urgent as things move pretty quickly once you fire up the stovetop. The first involves the tofu, which ATK suggests draining of excess water prior to cubing. To do this, simply place it in a pie dish (to catch the runoff), then cover with a dinner plate, and weigh the whole thing down with two heavy cans. According to the recipe, after about 15 minutes the tofu should release a ½ cup or so of liquid — though it’s an amount mine hasn’t come close to producing any of the times I’ve tried the recipe (I’ve ended up with something more like two teaspoons). Okay, so maybe I started out with exceptionally dry tofu, or perhaps my dinner plates are too light. Either way, it’s a step worth taking, as you don’t want to water down all those amazing flavors.

The other key prep step involves the pork, which ATK suggests placing in the freezer for about 15 minutes to facilitate slicing (it does). As for the slicing itself, the recipe instructs cutting the meat into “1 inch by 1/8-inch matchsticks” — a direction I simply could not get my head around. Assuming you are similarly challenged, try approaching it this way: cut the length of the chop into thirds, then sliver the meat cross-wise into thin strips. This method worked just fine for me, and while I wouldn’t call the resulting slices “matchsticks,” the size and shape were perfectly in line with what the ATK video shows. Lastly, once sliced, the pork is placed in a marinade (comprising soy sauce, sesame oil, and the aforementioned cornstarch) for anywhere between 10 and 30 minutes.

With those critical steps complete it’s time to bring a quantity of chicken broth to boil in a large saucepan, at which point the slivered bamboo shoots and sliced mushroom caps can be introduced, as well. Once these are tender (about five minutes) the drained and diced tofu can be added, as can the pork, along with any of the marinade that it hasn’t already soaked up (very little, based on my experience).

After a few minutes in the hot chicken broth the pork should have lost its pink color, which tells you that it’s time to add what ATK calls a “cornstarch slurry,” but that to most of us is simply a thickening agent made up of three tablespoons cornstarch mixed with three tablespoons water. Before adding this to the broth, however, be certain that it’s well mixed, and that once introduced to the broth it doesn’t clump — I failed to do this the first time I tried the recipe and ended up with a gelatinous lump at the bottom of my saucepan. If all goes as planned, though, after another minute or so the soup should thicken and turn translucent, a development that signals it’s time to add the key flavoring components: chili oil, white pepper, some soy sauce, and the all-important vinegar (black Chinese vinegar if you can find it, or equal parts red wine and balsamic vinegars). Now things start to get interesting, with the soup’s signature sharp/spicy fragrance announcing that it’s nearly time to eat. After a quick stir, turn off the heat, and without disturbing the contents of the saucepan, slowly drizzle thin loops of the egg and cornstarch mixture across its surface. Let this sit about sixty seconds, return the soup to a boil, give it a final stir, and serve — with some chopped scallions, and (ideally) a scattering of Chinese noodles, the perfect foil to the various other ingredients and textures populating your bowl.

Yes, there are a number of steps involved here. But they’re less time-consuming than they sound, and the end result is infinitely more satisfying than anything you’re likely to be served at your local Chinese restaurant — fresher, brighter, and way more complex. It’s reason enough to welcome cold weather.

Ingredients:
—7 ounces extra-firm tofu, drained
—4 tbs soy sauce
—1 tbs toasted sesame oil
—3 tbs cornstarch, plus an additional 1½ tsp
—1 boneless, center-cut, pork loin chop (1/2” thick, about 6 oz), trimmed of fat and cut into 1” x 1/8” matchsticks
—3 tbs cold water, plus 1 additional tsp
—1 large egg
—6 cups low-sodium chicken broth
—1 cup bamboo shoots (from one 5 oz can), sliced lengthwise into 1/8” thick strips
—4 oz fresh shitake mushrooms, stems removed, caps sliced ¼” thick (about 1 cup)
—5 tbs black Chinese vinegar or 1 tbs red wine vinegar plus 1 tbs balsamic vinegar
—2 tsp chili oil (decrease to 1 tsp or omit entirely if you prefer less spicy)
—1 tsp ground white pepper
—3 medium scallions, sliced thin

Directions:
—Place tofu in pie plate and set heavy plate on top. Weight with 2 heavy cans; let stand at least 15 minutes (tofu should release about ½ cup liquid). Whisk 1 tbs soy sauce, sesame oil, and 1 tsp cornstarch in medium bowl; toss pork with marinade and set aside for at least 10 minutes (but no more than 30 minutes).
—Combine 3 tbs cornstarch with 3 tbs water in small bowl and mix thoroughly; set aside, leaving spoon in bowl. Mix remaining ½ tsp cornstarch with remaining 1 tsp water in small bowl; add egg and beat with fork until combined. Set aside.
—Bring broth to a boil in large saucepan set over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium-low; add bamboo shoots and mushrooms and simmer until mushrooms are just tender, about 5 minutes. While broth simmers, dice tofu into ½” cubes. Add tofu and pork, including marinade, to soup, stirring to separate any pieces of pork that stick together. Continue to simmer until pork is no longer pink, about 2 minutes.
—Stir cornstarch mixture to recombine. Add to soup and increase heat to medium-high; cook, stirring occasionally, until soup thickens and turns translucent, about 1 minute. Stir in vinegar, chili oil, pepper, and remaining 3 tbs soy sauce; turn off heat. NOTE: For a less spicy soup, omit the chili oil altogether, or decrease it to 1 tsp.
—Without stirring soup, use soupspoon to slowly drizzle very thin streams of egg mixture into pot in circular motion. Let soup sit 1 minute, then return saucepan to medium-high heat. Bring soup to gentle boil, then immediately remove from heat. Gently stir soup once to evenly distribute egg; ladle into bowls and top with scallions.
—Serves 6 to 8 as an appetizer.

The post 01/19/12 • HOT AND SOUR CHILL-CHASER 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.