From the Feb. 9, 2014 New York Times Magazine 

It’s been such a long time since my last appearance here that I don’t really know where to begin. Aside from the general rustiness—and associated writer’s block—that seems to have set in after an absence of so many months, there’s the challenge of condensing into a few readable paragraphs what has undoubtedly been one of the most momentous periods in Alfredo’s and my life. When I last logged on we were eagerly awaiting the arrival of our first child, so it will come as no surprise to learn that this emotion-packed period began with the birth of our daughter Carolina just after midnight on January 14th. Like our pregnancy, the delivery itself was smooth and drama free; our surrogate went into labor at about 8:30 pm on the night of the 13th—news that prompted a comedy of classic Daddy panic as we prepared to get out of the house and race to the hospital—and just four hours (and two big pushes later), Alfredo and I were gazing speechlessly into the beautiful face of the new center of our universe.

For me at least that speechlessness continues to this day—I still don’t have the words to fully answer when people ask what the delivery was like for me, or how it feels almost five months later to be a Dad. “Wonderful” and “amazing” are the easy answers to both questions, but it barely scratches the surface of an experience that is so layered and complex. For one thing there’s the miraculous quality of watching a new life emerge before your eyes, witnessing someone you have only imagined from grainy ultrasound images (a miracle all its’ own) suddenly appear before you—a head, then a shoulder, then a torso, until these various slime covered parts take on the unmistakable proportions of a tiny human, a tiny human that you helped to create. It’s an awe filled experience that’s hard to put into words without falling back on the various clichés we’ve all heard a thousand times before (and which I’m trying hard to avoid here). But my feelings around being a parent are no easier to sum up. Of course there’s the joy, and the delight, and the tidal wave of love that’s unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced, but there’s also anxiety, and fears (there are many), and the at times difficult realization that coming home from work and simply flopping down on the sofa is no longer an option, at least not if you hope to have any kind of relationship with your offspring.

I think we’re doing okay, though, figuring things out as we go along and asking lots of questions of the experienced nannies helping us through this process. Most importantly, Carolina seems to be healthy and happy. She’s very generous with her smiles (which take up the entirety of her face when something delights her, which is often) and she’s the perfect baby color—all pink and rosy. That’s actually a big deal for us and brings me to another reason why I’ve been away so long: Carolina’s health.

This presented itself as a major issue at about the eight-week mark, when our pediatrician became alarmed about Carolina’s jaundiced eyes and skin-tone. We’d noticed this too, of course, but being new parents and having been told in the first days of Carolina’s life that jaundice was normal for babies, we assumed the same was true here. I also knew that breast milk can cause the condition, and as our surrogate was pumping and shipping breast milk to us from the west coast, I figured that was probably the culprit here. Our pediatrician thought the same but just to be safe she decided to draw some blood (not a pleasant experience with an eight-week old baby) and run a few tests to confirm our theory. A few hours later she called with the lab results, which revealed that the condition was not caused by some outside factor like breast milk, but that it was the “direct” form of jaundice—in other words, there was a problem with Carolina’s liver.

How serious we didn’t yet know but our pediatrician wasn’t wasting time (itself cause for anxiety), so the next morning we raced to her office for more blood-work. This revealed still more alarming data, thus launching seven days of increasingly terrifying events: a sonogram, a liver biopsy, a multitude of scary phone calls, and finally a five-hour surgery. The problem—initially treated as a distant, worst-case scenario, then growing ever more likely until it became our terrifying, unavoidable reality—was something called biliary atresia, a rare, life-threatening condition that affects about 1 in 10,000 kids, most of them girls. In addition to jaundice we learned that white or putty colored poop is an indicator, both a result of the insufficiently formed biliary tree not allowing the body to eliminate bile. And adding to the stress was the fact that the one surgical option available to correct the problem—the Kasai Procedure—was only successful some of the time, that it worked most often when performed before the baby is 10 weeks old, that we wouldn’t know whether the liver was functioning as it should until three months after the surgery, and that even if successful Carolina would require constant monitoring throughout her life. So not only would we need to move quickly to beat the 10 week cutoff, we would need to prepare ourselves for living with our anxiety for the foreseeable future. Welcome to parenthood.

Needless to say the impact of all this was the emotional equivalent of a nuclear blast: crushing devastation, coupled with a primal impulse to just keep on going. We held it together when we had to—when we were with the baby or were meeting with her doctors—but succumbed to our emotions anytime we were alone, or whenever a friend or family member made it okay to let go, which was often. I can’t recall a time I cried as much or as powerfully as I did through this experience, the kind of racking, heaving emotion I’ve only seen in movies. Still, we willed ourselves to stay optimistic; this was challenging (why is it that in situations like these the mind is compulsively drawn to the worst-case scenario?) but it was something that felt critically important if we were all to get through this. And it helped that we had so many of our friends and family supporting us—cooking for us, holding our hands, offering hugs and comfort. When you are so afraid that every part of your body runs cold, the comfort that comes from simply having loved ones around is enormous, and incredibly sustaining. I don’t know how we would have gotten through this chapter without it.

We also did a lot of (for us) uncharacteristic things like going to church and speaking with a rabbi. I’ve quietly practiced Nichiren Buddhism for the past few years but raised the pitch in the days leading to the surgery, organizing prayer sessions at my apartment and putting out the word to various SGI organizers that there was a two-month old girl in need of prayers. And Alf did the same through his friends and family in Miami, calling on the Catholic community there (the “God squad,” as he calls them) to lend their support. Ultimately we had people around the globe calling on a higher power, in any number of religions, to help Carolina pull through.

So that was comforting too, as was the fact that we had a dream-team of surgeons and specialists at Columbia Presbyterian overseeing things. Between that and the fact that we already knew Carolina to be a strong baby with a powerful spirit, we felt reasonably confident, at least in our most rational moments, that she would pull through the surgery and be just fine. And so far that is exactly what’s happened. The surgery itself, which took place two months to the day after her birth, went off without a hitch, and about seven hours after tearfully handing her over to the surgical team, we were reunited with a smiling (if very groggy) Carolina in the recovery room. And her recovery, which would typically have kept her in the hospital for up to five days, went so well that she was sent home after three. Since then we have watched her grow stronger, fatter, and pinker. And while for many weeks it seemed that the whites of her eyes would never loose their greenish tinge that too has faded over time, to the point where you have to look very hard to discern anything other than purest white. Of course, these were just the visual clues—to be certain that the surgery had worked we would have to test her bilirubin, something we did six weeks after the surgery, and which revealed that her numbers had indeed dropped significantly. We weren’t yet where we needed to be (we test again in a week, and I confess that I am nervous), but the decline was at least a clear indication that the surgery had been successful.

And so life, blessedly, has returned to normal… more or less. I still scan Carolina’s face for any signs of jaundice and always feel the grip of anxiety whenever I enter the pediatrician’s office, but the fact that she’s so content and appears so healthy gives us both a lot of confidence. Which means that I can return to some of the things I pushed aside over the past few months—like this blog! Not surprisingly there hasn’t been a huge amount of time or energy for cooking over the past few months, so in lieu of preparing a complete dinner I’ve gotten into the habit of picking up a prepared entrée somewhere (a roast chicken, meatballs, whatever) and whipping up some roast vegetables or a salad to go with it. Still, I haven’t completely abandoned the concept of cooking dinner. Last Saturday we had a small group of friends over and I grilled steaks (first on the gas grill, which conked out on me mid-way through, then in a cast-iron grill pan on the cook-top), which I served alongside roasted asparagus and these wonderful, rosemary-infused roasted cherry tomatoes.

I’ve also been playing with the attached recipe for braised fish, which ran in the New York Times Magazine in February. Back in those chilly days of mid-winter the recipe appealed to me for its hearty approach to preparing fish—one that’s closer in spirit to a pot roast than it is bouillabaisse. But what I’ve found is that it’s equally enticing in warm weather, since the dish is composed of a variety of vegetables (onions, carrots, potato, fennel) paired with a flaky white fish—monkfish tail, halibut, or swordfish—and enlivened with red wine, paprika, thyme, and an optional pinch of saffron (which I recommend). In other words, just the sort of light, boldly flavored meal that’s perfect for these late spring days.

It’s also wonderfully simple, which more than ever is a prerequisite for any cooking endeavor I undertake these days. To start, pour three tablespoons of olive oil into a Dutch oven placed over medium-high heat. Once hot, lay the fish (lightly salted and peppered) in the pot and let it sizzle in the oil undisturbed for a total of five or six minutes, until it’s nicely browned. Set this aside, browned side up, then add the vegetables and herbs to the pot—along with a little salt and pepper—and stir occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about five minutes or so. With the onions no longer crunchy it’s time to add a few tablespoons of tomato paste and a teaspoon of paprika, a combination that imbues the dish with a reddish hue and a faintly smoky flavor. After a few more minutes of stirring—long enough for the tomato paste to darken a little—pour a half-cup of red wine into the mixture and allow it to cook down to the point where it almost disappears (and its flavor has been absorbed by the accompanying vegetables).

To this fragrant base you then add two and a half cups of beef or chicken stock (I’ve tended to use chicken stock, for no other reason than it seemed a more natural match for the fish), bring to a boil, and allow the mixture to reduce by about a third—a process that should take roughly ten minutes. Once complete, lower the heat to a simmer and cook until the vegetables are almost tender, also about ten minutes. At which point it’s time to reintroduce the star ingredient—the fish—nestling it on top of the vegetables and making sure that the browned side rests just above the liquid. This should then be cooked undisturbed for another ten or fifteen minutes, until both the fish and the vegetables are tender.

Once everything is fully cooked, transfer the fish to a cutting board and slice it into thick chunks. Spoon the vegetables into shallow bowls, lay the sliced fish across the vegetables, and ladle the broth over everything, making sure to first adjust the seasoning. This last point is an important one as I have found on a few occasions—especially those where I did not use saffron—that the broth needed an additional kick. Still, even without that correction the broth and vegetables have a wonderful, mellow flavor—a hint of paprika, the tang of red wine, and the natural sweetness of all those vegetables (especially the fennel, which is a quiet scene-stealer here).

And then there’s the fish itself, essentially a sponge for all the goodness mentioned above. That said, I’ve found the delicate flavor of monkfish or halibut to be better suited to this preparation than swordfish—I liked its meaty, dense texture, but found the flavor to be overpowering in the company of the other ingredients. Also, for those interested in lowering their starch intake, try swapping out the potatoes for a similar quantity of Cauliflower (cut into 1-inch chunks). I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t always rather bite into a potato than a chunk of cauliflower, but the latter does an excellent job of providing the necessary heft here, while also soaking up all the wonderful flavors of the broth. As healthy concessions go, it’s a pretty painless one.

Either way, this recipe is a winner and one I hope you enjoy. For myself I’m very happy to be back on this space. I realized as I was writing this that one of the barriers keeping me from returning to the site was the knowledge that I couldn’t do it without sharing with you all what’s been going on. That was more than I could face, at least until we were breathing a little easier. I’m so thankful that we are now,  and that I’ve finally slain the dragon that was this posting.

I’ll be back soon.

Ingredients:
—3 tbs olive oil
—1½ to 2 lbs monkfish tail, halibut steak or fillet, or swordfish, as thick as possible and preferably in one piece
—Salt and pepper
—1 onion, chopped
—2 thyme sprigs
—1 pinch saffron (optional)
—3 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch chunks
—1 small fennel bulb, cut into chunks
—1 lb potatoes, cut into 1-inch chunks
—2 tbs tomato paste
—1 tsp smoked paprika (pimentón)
—1/2 cup red wine
—2½ cups beef or chicken stock (TRG note: I used chicken)
—Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

Directions:
—Put the olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is hot, sprinkle the fish with salt and pepper, and add it to the pot. Cook, undisturbed, until it is well browned, 5 or 6 minutes. (If you’re using halibut fillet and it has skin, brown the non-skin side.) Transfer it to a plate, browned side up.
—Add the onion, thyme, saffron, carrots, fennel, and potatoes; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about 5 minutes.
—Add the tomato paste and smoked paprika, and cook, stirring, until the tomato paste darkens a bit, 2 or 3 minutes. Add the wine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot, and let it bubble away until it almost disappears.
—Add the stock, bring to a boil, and let it bubble vigorously until the liquid reduces by about a third, about 10 minutes. Adjust the heat so the mixture simmers; when the vegetables are nearly tender—about 10 minutes later—nestle the fish, browned side up, among the vegetables; keep the browned crust above the liquid. Cook, undisturbed, until the fish and vegetables are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.
—Transfer the fish to a cutting board and divide the vegetables among shallow bowls. Slice the fish and put it on top of the vegetables. Taste the cooking liquid, adjust the seasoning, and ladle over all, garnishing with the chopped parsley before serving. (TRG note: As an alternate serving suggestion, slice the fish into large chunks then gently fold into the sauce and vegetables before ladling into bowls.)

Serves 4

The post 06/11/14 • BRAISED FISH “STEW” appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

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 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 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.

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.

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