Christmas 2011, Stuffed Cabbage

Not turkey.  Not a soft fillet of white fish.  Not even a ham.

Stuffed cabbage, people.  Stuffed with pork.

This entry chronicles my attempt to cook a traditional Hungarian Christmas dish as an American (Kansan) married to a Hungarian living in the Northeast.  This dish is always better the second day (notice a theme here?) and so I have started on Christmas Eve.  My family celebrates with the arrival of the angels, tree, and festive meal on Christmas afternoon.  Pictures and list of ingredients at end.

I consulted various websites and cookbooks, as well as my mother-in-law about this dish.  Here is how I am making it this Christmas Eve morn:

Remove the outer leaves of a cabbage and rinse well.  Drop the entire head into a large pot of boiling water for about 7 minutes.  Remove the head from the water (so easily said, very awkwardly done).  Then nip (<------technical term) the base of a leaf and peel it away whole from the head.  Continue doing this until the leaves will not come away in one piece.  Then return the entire head to the boiling pot for 2 - 3 minutes. (Leave pot boiling until you finish.)  Remove more leaves, returning the head to the pot as needed.  I returned the cabbage twice to the pot.  I was able to peel about 15 leaves off my cabbage.

Remove the core from the cabbage and discard.  Chop the remaining cabbage and set aside.

Prepare the leaves by paring down each stem so that it is the same thickness as the rest of the leaf.

For the meat filling:

Dice one large onion and add it to a dutch oven pot with a bit of canola oil to soften for 5 minutes or so. Add 1 teaspoon of sweet paprika and 1/2 cup white rice and let cook for about 3 minutes.  Let this mixture cool.

Blend with hands 1 kilo ground pork, two eggs, 1 teaspoon black pepper, 2 teaspoons salt, and rice mixture.

Here is the description from Habeas Brulee.com  I followed about how to stuff the cabbage leaves:

To fill each cabbage leaf, set the leaf on the table rib-side down, so that it naturally curves into a sort of cup waiting to be filled. Roll small handfuls of meat into oblong patties that fit the size of the leaves, and place the filling on the cabbage leaf, near the bottom of the leaf. Fold the sides of the leaf over the filling, and roll the cabbage around the meat, being sure to tuck the bottom end of the rib around the filling to keep it all snugly wrapped.

Now mix the chopped up cabbage with a 25 ounce jar of sauerkraut.  Place a layer of the sauerkraut mixture in pot and then layer your little cabbage packages on top.  Repeat sauerkraut mixture layer and then another layer of stuffed cabbages until you reach the end of your supply.  Place remainder of sauerkraut mixture on top.  Here I began to doubt my amount of sauerkraut (gut feeling.  don't ask.) and so I opened a second jar and added about another cup or two.  Then cover the entire contents with water.  Bring to boil.  Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes.

At this point I followed Habeas Brulee to make the sauce.  She recommends:

A few minutes before your kitchen timer goes off, make a roux by browning the flour in a bit of oil in a separate pan. Stir in the paprika, then remove from heat. Add the sugar, salt, and tomato paste, and mix well. Ladle some of the water out of the cooking cabbage pot and mix in with the paste, just to thin it out. Add the thinned paste back into the pot with the cabbage, and carefully stir it in to dissolve it in the water. My grandmother instructed me to the shake the pot to get the paste mixed in, but my pot was too full for me to risk that.

But here is what really happened:  I was distracted and instead of mixing the paprika into the roux, I added the tomato paste.  At that point I removed it from the heat and added the paprika, sugar, and salt.  Oh well.  My mother-in-law told my husband that she makes the meat (and I assume the sauce) the same way she makes them for stuffed peppers.  I am apparently inspired from numerous sources and will just see what happens.....

I stirred in the tomato paste mixture, gently, gently as my pot was filled to the rim.  Now I am wait another 30 minutes before I test for doneness (meat) and flavor.

The test taste:

At 1 hour of cooking, the meat is done.  It tastes a bit salty to me.  The dish is not bad.  But it is not amazing.  Unfortunately I do not have a childhood of flavor memories to reference here.  I'll have to ask the resident Hungarian to do a taste test.

And the consensus was:  it is not bad.  perhaps, even good. but a bit bland.  Today I  happened to have served kolbasz (sausage) and mashed potatoes for lunch.  (And roasted peppers, made the night before.  Just saying.)  In true Hungarian style we decided that the one remaining spicy Italian pork sausage could only improve the stuffed cabbage.  And it has been added to the pot.

Now we will let it sit overnight and serve it for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  With sour cream, of course.  And homemade white rolls.

Preparing the tidy little cabbage rolls.

My pot was filled to the brim.

After the tomato paste mixture is added.

Very Sexy, indeed.

Taste Test

A few notes:  Next time I would use even less rice.  I would also use either bacon or sausage in the initial cooking to take it to the next level.  Also, I would make my meat filling more oblong instead of round in shape.  I should have counted, but did not and so can say that I ended up with about 15 cabbage rolls and that I had enough meat left over for two more.

Tinkering with the pot on the day after Christmas:  I added 1 teaspoon marjoram, 1 bay leaf and the remainder of the sauerkraut (about 2 cups).  Much improved!  I will definitely add these to the recipe and perhaps extra cooking time as well.


Revised Recipe for Next Time:

1 head cabbage, leaves steamed off and remainder diced
2 x 25 ounce jars sauerkraut

Filling:
1 large onion
1/3 cup white rice
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
2 pounds ground pork
2 eggs
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
2 teaspoons salt

Sauce:
oil (for roux)
2 teaspoons flour
1 teaspoon sweet paprika
2 6 ounce jars of tomato paste
1 teaspoon sugar
salt to taste if needed
2 bay leaf
2 teaspoons dried majoram leaves

Also contemplate adding sausage or bacon to pot.


Here is a sight with way too much information about stuffed cabbage:
http://www.squidoo.com/stuffed-cabbage#module12673893

Green Chili Egg Dish

This recipe has been adapted from Cooks.com.

12 ounces shredded cheddar cheese
8 ounces canned chopped green chilies
8 eggs
1 cup flour
2 cups whole milk

Grease dutch oven.  I use my beautiful azur Emile Henry dutch oven, which makes everything taste better.  I grease mine by using a generous spray of canola oil.

Mix cheese and chilies (with liquid) together and spread in bottom of pan.

Blend eggs, flour, and milk until smooth.  Pour over cheese and chilies.

Bake 45 minutes at 400 degress.  Eggs should be set but not dry.

*I have omitted the chilies and used fresh peppers sauteed first before adding.

*This is delicious warm from the oven or at room temperature or cold.  I have taken it to potlucks cut into cubes.  I have served it for brunch.

Salted Pumpkin Muffins

I found a recipe online and it evolved.  Here is the original link:  http://smittenkitchen.com/2006/10/promise-keeper-pumpkin-eater/

And here is how I make it:

 
Pumpkin Muffins


1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup canned solid-pack pumpkin (from a 15 ounce can)
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1 mashed banana
1 teaspoon pumpkin-pie spice (I made my own blend using 1 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg, 1/4 teaspoon ground cloves, 1/2 ground ginger (scant)
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon large crystal sea salt


Place oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F.  Prepare a standard 12 muffin pan.  (I use canola spray oil.)

Stir together flour and baking powder in a small bowl.

Whisk together pumpkin, oil, eggs, pumpkin pie spice, 1 cup sugar, baking soda, and salt in a large bowl until smooth, then whisk in flour mixture until just combined.

Divide batter among muffin cups (each should be about three-fourths full).

Bake until puffed and golden brown and wooden pick or skewer inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean, 25 minutes.

Cool in pan on a rack five minutes, then transfer muffins from pan to rack and cool to warm or room temperature.



Notes:

You'll have leftover pumpkin pie spice.  I mix it with sugar and use it in my latte with honey.  You can also mix with sugar and sprinkle on muffin tops before baking.

You will also have enough pumpkin to make two batches, so you might plan on pumpkin muffins two days in a row!

Paprikas

I consider chicken paprikas, mashed potatoes, and cucumber salad to be the essential meal served by my mother-in-law.  This is certainly not the collective opinion of Hungarians, nor Transylvanians.  It is not even the consensus of the immediate family.  Perhaps it was the first meal she served me in her home.  For whatever reason these three dishes strike all the right notes for me when I think of my inherited family traditions.

Today's cooking lesson was hardly a delight.  The kids came home, hungry, from Leo's first trip to a movie.  It was Iza's third viewing of Bogyo es Baboca.  We were cooking the paprikas not for today's lunch, but mainly to squeeze in one more lesson before Katalin returns to Csikszereda on Monday.  We will eat it for tomorrow's lunch.  Long story short, I mostly observed this recipe without doing the work.

1 medium onion, diced
2 peppers (hopefully the thin, yellow ones) sliced into inch long narrow strips
2 carrots, grated

Place these into a pan and add oil.  Cover and let soften.

2 small tomatoes (or 1 medium), sliced

Add tomatoes, cover.

1 table spoon sweet paprika.
1 kilo chicken breast, cut into bite-sized chunks

Add these to pot and let cook in own juices.

Add water to pot to just cover chicken.  Let cook.

1 to 1 1/2 table spoons salt

Add salt.

Make a thickener:

Stir together one yolk, 1 table spoon flour (or more), and a bit of milk.  Add more milk until you have about a coffee-cup-filled amount.  Add a bit of the hot broth to the mixture and stir.  Keep adding a bit at a time.  Then pour the thickener through a strainer (to remove lumps) into the entire pot.  Bring the pot back to a boil and then you are finished.  (By the way, Katalin adds the egg white to the broth and lets it cook.  Why waste it?)

As I mentioned, I prefer this dish served with mashed potatoes.  It can also be served with tiny dumplings or store-bought pasta (like farfalle).  I also think that cucumber salad makes the perfect side dish.

Save room for cake.

Before the thickener is added:

Finished product:

Thanksgiving 2011

It is Thanksgiving in Budapest.

Or

How to Fry a Meatball.

1 kilogram ground pork
garlic, roughly half a head, crushed or finely minced
salt
pepper
2 - 3 thick slices of white bread
2 eggs
flour


Immerse the bread slices in a bowl of water.

Place meat, garlic, two eggs, about three x 3/4 full table spoons salt, and half the previous amount of black pepper in a bowl.

Squeeze the water out of the bread slices and add them to the bowl (remove any stubborn crusts that won't soften).

Use hands to thoroughly combine.

Test the mixture to determine if it needs more salt.  (I actually tasted it this time.  When we prepared the stuffed peppers, I basically put it in my mouth and swallowed in great fear and repulsion.  Really, is this a technique that home-cooks the world over practice with aplomb?)

Pour a little mound of flour on a plate.  Use about a table spoon of meat and plop it onto the flour.  Form the meat into a meatball, pounding it to make sure it won't fall apart in the oil.  Make as many as will fit into your frying pan.

Heat the oil on high and place the meatballs in the pan.  Lower the heat when it feels right.  It will take approximately 12 - 15 minutes total frying time.  You will need to turn the meatballs at least once, if not twice.  Turn the heat up and down as needed.  They should turn a golden brown color.

We changed the oil after the first batch.

This made about 28 meatballs.

These can be served warm, but most often are eaten room temperature or cold.

Tonight we will also make mashed potatoes and cucumber salad.  I have already brought home the dobos torta from the Ruszwurm cakehouse.

We have a playdate with a Swedish family living in our apartment building.  The mom and her three kids, ages 6, 3, and 1 1/2 will then join us as our Thanksgiving guests.  Even if they don't know it.

Becsiszelet, aka Wiener Schnitzel, aka Breaded Cutlets

Rinse a chicken breast and decide if it can be sliced lengthwise two or three times.  Most often you can cut it once for two slices.  Often there is a small bit that will end up being a third slice.

Then pound each slice into a thinner slice with a wooden mallet with a metal tip.  (There must be an official name for this tool.)

Pile the pounded poultry onto a plate. 

Repeat for each breast.  We are doing five today.

Then salt each breast slice, both sides.

Then pepper each breast slice, on one side only.

Dump some flour onto a plate.

Mix three eggs on a separate plate.

Turn over a breast several times in the flour, really push it in.

Then you will turn it over several times in the egg as well.

In the meantime, in other words before you douse the meat in the eggs but perhaps after you flour as  many pieces as will fit into your pan, heat oil in a frying pan.  The oil should be deep enough that your meat semi-floats on top.  

Let a bit of the egg mixture drip off and then place the meat into the pan.  The first batch cooked for about a total of 6 - 7 minutes.  The MIL turned them a few times, checking for golden brown color.  She says you should turn the meat two times.  Or perhaps three times.  You also have to adjust the heat as necessary.  So, for example, turn to high heat when you add the meat to the pan.  After two minutes--about the time you turn it for the first time, lower the heat to medium low. 

Her habit is to change the oil after using it twice. If the oil gets too bubbly, it is time to go.  You have to get rid of the oil and then be sure to dry the pan as water will cause popping and problems.

As one batch fries, prepare the next batch by turning each piece in the flour mixture.

Add more eggs to plate as needed.  Same with the flour plate.

We finished this batch at about 3:45.  Of course you can eat it fresh--the meat is warm and soft.  But the habit is that you make this meat ahead of time.  It can be served cold or at room temperature.  It is often prepared for holidays or parties because it can be made before the event.  I can almost guarantee that our freshly prepared becsiszelet will now rest on the counter until we are ready to eat around six-thirty this evening.

By they way, just for the record:  If I were narrating my own cooking, I would have included careful instructions about sanitizing the counter tops and utensils after handling the raw meat.  Not in this Budapest kitchen.  We roll with it.  Good old soap and water at the end.

Peppers, Mother-in-law Style

Dice 1 medium onion.  (Don't leave any big pieces, which I did due to large amount of tears.)
Soften the onion in canola oil (enough to cover bottom of pan plus some).
Add a heaping-ish table spoon* of sweet paprika.
Add about 3/4 cup white rice (a small coffee cup to be precise).
Cook for a while.  Let cool for a while.

In a bowl mix 1 kilo ground pork, two eggs, 1 1/2 table spoon salt, 1 table spoon black pepper.  Add cooled onion mixture.  (We didn't add the entire mixture, leaving out a few heaping table spoons.  It is important that there is not too much rice as it makes the meat mixture hard.) Mix well with hands. Then mix some more when your mother-in-law scoffs at your effort.

Then, gird your loins, and take out a little spoon and taste the mixture. Add salt if needed.  She added more salt, about a half table spoon.

Stuff peppers.  (I am guessing we had twenty small peppers.) It is best to find the small peppers with thin skin, often a yellow color.  Cut off the tops and remove core and seeds.  As you stuff the peppers, push the meat inside.  Be sure to leave the outside of the pepper clean of meat mixture as it will muddy your sauce.

Place stuffed peppers in pot, preferably standing up with meat showing (but this will depend on the size of pot and the size/shape/number of peppers).

Cover with water.  Add more salt to water.  I've lost track---maybe a half table spoon again.

Bring to a boil and then simmer, covered. Cook at a good simmer for about an hour or until the rice is soft.  (Taste it to find out.)  The meat cooks first, so be sure to taste the rice.  (I think that is what she said.)

Then add tomato paste.  Gently stir in or pick up pan and swirl to mix.  She bought four little cans (140 grams each).  We put two in the big pot and one and a half in the little pot. (We don't have a large enough pot in this kitchen to hold all of the peppers.)

Then the tasting begins.  Add 2 table spoons sugar to large pot.  Taste.  Some more salt (half table spoon-ish).  Taste.  More sugar or salt as needed.

After it is finished, around 2:30, leave it on the cool stove until you eat dinner around 6:30.

This is served in deep plates, always with sour cream offered on the table.  You place one stuffed pepper on a plate and surround it with a ladle of the sauce.  Usually there are thick slices of fresh white bread as well.

This dish is always better the second day.  You can freeze it as well.

*table spoon = a table spoon not a tablespoon--more like a table soup spoon to be precise

Thanksgiving '08

This year I decided to cook my family's Thanksgiving meal. This may just be the first time that we have stayed home without guests or extended family. Of course it was the first time that Miss IzaB. joined our family gathering.

Thanksgiving is an American holiday. You come to appreciate this when you are married to a non-American. (Well, technically now he is a citizen.) Outside the U.S. turkey and mashed potatoes do not conjure ineffable childhood associations of excitement, wonder, and the comfortable bewilderment of a family gathered to feast late in the afternoon. Thanksgiving foods, quite bluntly, are bland. True, the butter factor does add a savory afterglow. Yet even when the turkey is exceptional, it is decidedly not sexy. At all. Nor are you after second helpings.

So I decided to explain to my non-American this way: it is like a dinner party you through just for your family. You know, you clean the house--even running the vacuum beneath the couch cushions. You plan the menu and write up a shopping list, starting at least a few days in advance. You buy all the best ingredients and cart them home. You set the table with the best stuff you have in the house, transforming your everyday dining table into an image of domestic order and splendor you hardly recognize. There has to be some form of bubbly drink, sparkling water with a lemon afloat will serve just fine. There should be courses: soup, main, and dessert, at least.

You are required to shower and take off your sweatpants. (Well, sweatpants might pass as long as from the table up you are not in leisure wear.) Remember, this is a dinner party and you want to show up looking like you appreciate all the effort being exerted in your honor. Sure you only had to travel a flight of stairs, but your journey to the table has really been taken together through the past year since the last time you shared a Thanksgiving meal.

You are carefully pleasant to one another, as well as gently direct if need be. You talk about something other than: what you had for lunch, your gastrointestinal health, and what you are doing tomorrow.

You exhibit outright delight in the food that you and your loved ones, your generous hosts, have lovingly prepared.

This, then, is the way I might have explained what Thanksgiving dinner should be if I had had the wherewithal to compose such an analogy extemporaneously at the dinner table. As it was, I managed a table cloth and three humble courses. I whittled my parent's traditional feast down to the Thanksgiving essentials. The side dishes of butternut squash and candied yams become my first course: a soup culled from the New York Times. (See below.) It was healthy. Then I served turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and brussel spouts. Pumpkin pie from Athan's bakery followed. Notice: no mashed potatoes. (And my family will notice, no dumplings. Without dumplings, what is the point of mashed potatoes?) Later my husband would pronounce this omission a mistake. I was fine with it.

While we had a fine lunch, it still was not a Thanksgiving lunch. Essentials are simply not enough. Roasting a turkey breast is not the same as having a stuffed bird. There is not nearly enough drama in the roasting or in the presentation. You need excess. You need to have a reason to practice restraint. You need to be tempted by that extra slice of pie or else you simply feel full and not satiated. You need at least one person to get huffy and slam a door.

There is always next year. My parents have had almost fifty years to build their Thanksgiving repertoire. I hope my own version will develop the same depth over the years. I'll keep the soup. I like the idea of a soup course to lengthen the time at table. But there will be dumplings and potatoes, and Grandma Schamber's meat dressing too. Not to mention warm rolls and butter. And gravy. You just have to have gravy with lumps. And that is where the dinner party analogy finally breaks down. With your family, you are allowed to have lumps and pour it on thick.

Sweet Potatoe and Butternut Squash Soup:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/20/health/nutrition/20recipehealth.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
I served it with buttered whole wheat toast cubes and a sprig of thyme.

Sunday Funnies: Yes, Pecan!

Stolen without permission from: http://justprettydeep.blogspot.com/

Friday Night in Boston: Love + Butter

Frying under the radar
At Love+Butter supper club, dining is a covert experience

By Janice O'Leary, Globe Correspondent | November 28, 2007

There's no sign on the door, there are no business cards near the entrance, and there is no phone number to call for reservations. You may dine there and never learn the names of your hosts. But that's all part of the mystery.

Love+Butter is an underground restaurant, or supper club, as it calls itself, the first in this area. It's not listed in any dining guides, and all the advertising is word of mouth. But those who have eaten there give this illicit venture and the chefs who run it top ratings.

For years diners on the West Coast have been scrambling for invites to underground restaurants, where local chefs take off their toques to cook in a small setting without the limitation of having to cater to public tastes. Other cooks also got on board, creating illegal supper clubs in their homes, friends' homes, even, in one case, a bus on the beach.

Love+Butter does not take place in a bus on the beach, happily. It's in a private home, where on weekend nights you can secure a seat at a table for six by making an online reservation. Unless you book it for yourself and five companions, you'll be seated beside a stranger. But by definition, the other guests are typically interesting and add to that sense of discovery. Love+Butter provides only water, so it's strictly BYOB, which wine lovers appreciate. There is no set charge for dinner, but rather a suggested "donation" of $45 per person in cash, with a discount for students or those working at nonprofits. Interested diners go online to see the five-course menu one week in advance. None of the courses are set in stone. Special requests such as fish instead of red meat, or restrictions because of allergies can be accommodated.

The underground spot has no license to operate, nor has the Board of Health inspected it, which means it risks being closed down. In California, one underground restaurant, Digs Bistro, was busted and shuttered, but parlayed its success into a legal business just last month.

While the air of secrecy does add spice to the experience, having a restaurant in a home means that the duo who run this place are both cooks and servers. As a result, some things are downright homey. Flatware isn't replaced after each course, and diners pour their own water. As for decor, crates of books line the walls. Think graduate student housing, only spotless.

The venture isn't a moneymaker.

"It would take one creative accountant to find profit in this," says one of the chefs.

So why do it?

For love. The love of good food and feeding others, they say. But also for a more sentimental reason: their love for each other. They wanted a project that would bring them closer. "We have very different professional lives," says one half of the duo. "This was a project we could do together." And they simply enjoy cooking for others. "We were feeding people long before this."

Making a meal in their tiny kitchen might test the tightest relationship, but for these two, harmony rules the house. On one visit, while they prepped for the night's meal, one had sent small rounds of dough to the oven, hoping they'd bake into puffy little cakes, but they flattened and spread into a thin, crispy layer of brown. They tasted it. Not bad, but not what they wanted. No worries. The other chef remixed the dough with more flour and tried again.

While the two cooked, there were no recriminations, no sighs of exasperation. It might have been a lesson for kitchens and marriages both.

Their food philosophy is the popular one these days, buying local and organic whenever they can. A farmer brings them grass-fed lamb, which is tender and flavorful, prepared four ways: lamb's tongue with beets becomes an appetizer, set on Chinese soup spoons with herby pesto. The entree is fashioned from peppered lamb loin, braised lamb shank, and seared lamb belly.

"Each muscle is distinct," says the half of the duo who used to be vegetarian. "With several cuts of [lamb] we can put all kinds of cuts on display. It becomes an act of discovery."

A lineup of dumplings, vegetables, and rabbit broth for a second course is the only clunker in the mix. The dumplings are undercooked and a tempura carrot has lost some of its flavor, although the golden crust is a model.

The third course is Spanish mackerel fillet with two potato pancakes and white gazpacho with chorizo. "The only food I've had in Boston that's better than what these folks cook is at L'Espalier," announces one of the guests.

Amuse-bouches - tiny mouthfuls - punctuate the meal, such as an apple fritter with a crisp outside and springy inside, offered with a shot glass of apple essence and a palate-cleansing spoonful of salty-sweet cucumber jelly over preserved-lemon ice.

A fourth course, called "Herbs & Spices" on the hand-printed menu, includes an unusual trio, beginning with a tablespoon of Greek yogurt topped with rosemary sugar, a buttery cookie with juniper icing, and a bay-leaf gelatin cube, all with vastly different, yet compatible, textures and flavors. "We wanted to pay attention to each flavor - rosemary, juniper, and bay leaf," says one of the chefs, "in isolation and then unite them."

The final dessert course includes spiced cardamom bread with orange and lemon rind, ice cream dotted with pieces of preserved bergamot (the citrus that flavors Earl Grey tea), and a warm slice of pumpkin.

After dinner ends, the chefs answer questions about the menu. The two are smart, thoughtful, and quite shy. There's no denying that what they do, they do for love.

Love+Butter might smack of a certain elite foodiness if the meals weren't so carefully and cleverly prepared. And the secrecy is fun. Who doesn't want to give a smart answer to colleagues wondering what you're doing this weekend or be able to bring a date to a restaurant no one knows about?

Alas, there's no receipt to prove you were there.

(Who needs a receipt?)

No, Really, It Was Tough: 4 People, 80 Martinis

All you need to know about the Martini and how to pick your gin:

Spirits of The Times

No, Really, It Was Tough: 4 People, 80 Martinis

By ERIC ASIMOV

Published: May 2, 2007

The Times tasting panel sorts out which gins produce classic martinis, which add welcome nuances and which really ought to seek another line of cocktail.

South Bend Favorites

Farmers Market: We are officially regulars at the Farmers Market. A few weeks ago Bonnie gave us a dollar off on the price of a whole pecan pie we had preordered from the diner “because we are regulars.” This makes me feel, human.

We go to the Market every Saturday. Although it opens at the crack of dawn, we usually make our way there by 1:00 for a late lunch and shopping. We always eat in the diner first. We sit at the second horseshoe-shaped counter, where Sharon is our waitress. (I see Sharon more than I see my Mom.) Our two favorite dishes: The cheeseburger (see entry on best burger in South Bend) and the Market Omelet. The Market Omelet has it all: stuffed with fresh vegetables, cheese, and hash browns and smothered in sausage gravy. Oh yes. It is enough for us to share. I like to sprinkle a little Tabasco sauce on my half. Oh boy.

After lunch we make the rounds at the market stalls. We typically buy blue cheese, apples, and caramel corn (with nuts). We buy garlic and eggs from the Hungarian. The polish lady has the BEST pumpkin pies. We buy Christmas wreathes, pussy willows, and tulips as the seasons bloom. I salivate over the smell of fresh pretzels made by the Amish family. I buy a small container of freshly ground peanut butter (ground right before my eyes!). We pet the puppies up for sale. Once we even lucked into a batch of freshly prepared homemade tamales. We buy homemade candles and soap. We buy what we need and what the season has to offer. Concord grape season and asparagus season are always way too short for our taste buds.

Favorite Burger: Each burger is unique and fulfills a particular burger-need. Yet I have to go with the Farmers Market Burger as my best. Here is why: while the beef is satisfactory, the vegetables win it. In my opinion, it is the whole package that counts. The Market Burger has a thick ring of white onion, a tomato slice, crisp lettuce, and pickles served with each burger. I add my smidgen of condiments (ketchup, mustard and a smear of mayonnaise), layer the veggies, stack the slightly toasted white bun on top, give a gentle squeeze to the architectural wonder, and bam. There it is. And the portion size matters too. I can eat my burger and feel like I have room to share a slice of cherry pie if I so desire. While CJ’s burgers are sublime, there is also enough meat there to satisfy my yearly quota. CJ’s is legendary. Don’t get me wrong, I love their beef and the onion rings are perfection in a world of fried-vegetable disappointment. But I can do CJ’s once a year. I could handle the Farmers Market burger weekly. There it is. Disagree if you wish. And, by the way, the famous Redamak burger, doesn’t turn me on (and it is not in South Bend). The burger needs its vegetables. And those sad misguided burgers served with (gasp) red onion, forget about it.

Best Ice Cream: Hands down: Chicory Café in downtown South Bend. Trust me. They serve up handmade fresh gelato with a rainbow of flavors to entice and enchant you—deep chocolates and fruit concoctions that burst with flavor. Walk right past the Chocolate Factory (which has other strengths to be sure) and head to the Chicory Café for your dose of ice dream. Again, there might be some who swear by the Cold Stone Creamery. Their offerings appear voluptuous, but they always fall flat for me. They disappoint or, worse, leave me feeling bloated and guilty. The gelatos at Chicory are pure and simple and divine. No need for add-ins or sparkles or jaunty tunes sung by the underpaid teenage staff. Don’t be fooled by quantity. Go for flavor.

Favorite Café for Writing: This is a tough call. I have to go with The Victorian Pantry--locally owned business, real mugs, help yourself coffee canisters, free wireless, delectable food, wooden tables. But. It is bit too far to drive and technically not in South Bend (it must be Granger, I think.) Slightly closer, but still in Mishawaka, I have to go with Panera which has the coffee buffet, real mugs, tasty treats, wireless, etc., but it is a chain restaurant. In South Bend, you can pick between the Chocolate Cafe and Chicory Cafe, neither of which offer the endless help yourself mugs, although they have wireless. And the coffee at Chicory might just be the best in South Bend (plus they have that remarkable gelato).

Favorite Café: Lula’s Café. It is the real thing. The house salad, the hummus, the sandwiches all satisfy. No wireless, but this is a good thing. I go there when I need to seclude myself from internet distractions. Coffee served in ceramic mugs, a stellar plus. (Plus I met the man I eventually married there. I was sitting next to the middle window and he was at the table next to me. Ah caffeine-induced romance.)

Best Brunch (and Beer): Fiddler's Hearth. We are regulars here for Sunday brunch. I love their beer, but we don’t get there very often during beer-drinking time. Menu favorites: Shepherd’s Pie and Fish-n-Chips. We go for the Sunday brunch: live music preformed by talented artists, delicious breakfast and lunch foods, and the Sunday papers read on wide wooden tables. Sunday, lovely Sundays.

What are your South Bend favorites?
Any hidden jewels or regular haunts?

New Year's Day Menu

French Meat Pie
by Sister M. Concepta Mermis
(with my commentary in blue!)

31/2 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
2 tsp. salt
3 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. pepper
1 1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1 tsp. celery salt
1 c. dry bread crumbs (or more)
1 onion

Cook meat and 1 onion in water to cover meat, simmer about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Break up the meat with a wooden spoon as it cooks. Remove onion and discard--even though it must be very, very tasty. Set aside to cool. Let cool (possibly over night) until the fat congeals on top.

Skim off grease (use to make pastry). Making the pastry shell with the grease from the meat is possible and delicious, but has reduced me to tears. I use store-bought pastry shells. Add bread crumbs and seasonings. You may need to add more bread crumbs. Put meat mixture into pastry shell, top with crust. Slit the top of the crust to allow steam to escape. Bake on cookie sheet or foil in case the pie bubbles over. Bake about 35 minutes or until brown in 400 degree oven. Let stand about thirty minutes before serving.

Makes enough meat filling for 3 - 4 pies. At least that is what I have written in my family recipe book according to mom's directions. Except that I HALVED the recipe and still got two pies. So really there is generous meat for 4 (8- inch) pies.

This year I bowed to pressure and added "Hungarian" spices to one of the pies. I used a hefty dose of paprika and two garlic cloves added in large wedges (meant to be fished out for the faint of heart), leaving out the cinnamon and cloves, of course. It was decent, especially with a dollop of sour cream. But it is not French meat pie. It is not New Year's Day.

Serve with creamed peas (and/or corn) and mashed potatoes. Pour the creamed peas over the slice of meat pie for the proper presentation.

Although I grew up eating (or choking down) black-eyed peas for good luck, I left them off the menu today. Living on the edge. Tempting the legume fates.

Post Bourguignonne

Dear Reader (Hi mom!),

The dinner party was a joy and the boeuf bourguignonne fork-tender and deceptively straightforward. Our guest of honor, G.S., recognized the dish by name, giving me a start because it is generally best to present an unknown dish and capitalize on the surprise factor. Nevermind the non-beef eating guest and the last minute vegetarian.

My next dutch oven adventure: coq au vin.

A nice surprise: I was chatting with my mom about the dinner party and my lack of dinnerware. She was puzzled because she had given me an entire set last April. I had no idea. I thought it was a tea set. I dug into the miles of tissue paper and sure enough there was a beautiful set of china, complete with salt and pepper shakers. It was a perfect setting for our quasi-french meal. It makes me wonder what other treasures I have waiting for me in packed boxes in the attic.

This week: Book Club (our annual Christmas fete), work, and then off to a southerly clime for a few days of honeymoonish type adventures. Sun, red wine, grass-fed beef, tango. . .

My read for the trip: Amy Hempel's collection of short stories and my first goaround with Orwell's 1984. Although Borges may be a better choice. . .

Boeuf Bourguignonne

A few entries ago I mentioned that I was NOT into cooking these days. Famous last words. We are hosting a dinner party and "we" are cooking a fabulous meal for six. Inspired by Julie/Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously by Julie Powell and the culinary expertise of M. in Book Club, I am going for that classic french dish, Boeuf Bourguignonne. Alas, I do not own Julia Child's cook book. I will rely on the Joy of Cooking, which is probably a bastardization of the original. It is the best I can do.

I am glad to have the excuse to cook. This occasion has spurred me to buy my very first dutch oven. Up until now, if I saw "dutch oven" in a recipe, I turned the page. Now I can master slow cooked meats (giving me plenty of time to read while I am cooking). The dutch oven is gleaming on my stove top as I sit here and type. I even bought a 10-cup coffee maker so that I can offer coffee to my guests. Domesticity is in the air. It is snowing too.

The meat is marinating. Tomorrow I'll slow cook it. Wednesday is the event.

Boeuf Bourguignonne Recipe
(from Joy of Cooking, with thanks to Cracker Jack'd, who posted it December 13, 2005)

Cut into 2-inch chunks:

• 2 pounds boneless beef chuck, short-rib meat, or bottom round

Place the meat in a large bowl and add:

• 2 cups dry red wine (I chose a Beaujolais; Pinot Noir is recommended)
  
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 carrot, peeled and chopped
• 1 clove garlic, chopped
• 1 bay leaf
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme, or scant 1/2 teaspoon dried
• 1 teaspoon cracked black peppercorns
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Stir to combine and coat the meat. Cover and marinate in the refrigerator for 1 hour or up to 24 hours, turning the meat occasionally. Drain the beef and pat dry. Strain the marinade and reserve it and the vegetables separately. Heat a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add and brown:

• 4 ounces bacon, diced (I plan to subsitute a healthy dollop of zsir-otherwise known as lard- made by my local Hungarian culinary source.)
  

Remove the bacon, leaving the fat in the pan. You should have at least 2 tablespoons of fat. If not, add some vegetable oil. Return the pan to medium-high heat. Add the beef in batches and brown on all sides, being careful not to overcrowd the pan. Remove with a slotted spoon. Add the reserved vegetables and cook until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Stir in:

• 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Cook, stirring, until beginning to brown, about 1 minute. Stir in the marinade, then return the beef and bacon to the pan. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and cook, covered, until the meat is fork-tender, 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Add:

• 8 ounces mushrooms, wiped clean and quartered (I bought tiny portobellos.....)
  
• 8 ounces small boiling onions, peeled (I will use pearl onions as I have no idea what a "boiling onion" might be. To peel the onions: pour boiling water on the onions and let cool. Then cut off the ends and the skin will slip off with a little push.)
  

Cover and cook until the vegetables are tender, about 20 minutes. (It took longer than 20 minutes for the onions to tenderize. You could saute them in a little butter before adding them to the stew to speed up the process.) Skim off the fat from the surface. Add:

• 1/4 chopped fresh parsley
• Salt and ground black pepper to taste

To thicken, you may add in 1 tablespoon kneaded butter (which is butter creamed with flour).

Club Noma, Downtown South Bend

I had heard the owner of the new Club Noma speak about his plans for the hip new bar and restaurant for several years. Those well laid plans have finally been realized.

Last night we headed downtown South Bend to find some dinner and catch a bit of the Ohio v. Texas football game. The regular haunts were packed and so we gave up on the game and enjoyed the delicious soups at the Chocolate Cafe. Heading home, we noticed the Now Open sign in front of Club Noma. Despite our grungy dress, we couldn’t resist the opportunity to peak inside.

We were greeted with hors d'oeuvre of duck, salmon caviar, and chicken--all tasty Asian fusion morsels, a promise of what the dinner menu holds. The bar is a work of art. The owner's eye for detail is truly extraordinary. The bar attendants are stylish and classy (not to mention hot). The live DJ is turning the tables, backlit by smooth water lights. The music is right on for the hip vibe pulsing through the miniature jellyfish orbs over the bar, the bare brick walls (waiting for their soon-to-arrive neon logo), and blood red leather couchettes. Hot, hot, hot.

And soon the center stage will be taken by an enormous free standing jellyfish aquarium. We all know how mystically gorgeous those creatures are. They captivate with their sensuous arms and transparent bodies. Hot music, throbbing jellyfish, and did I mention the martinis?

I am a classic vodka martini girl, a little dirty, with blue cheese olives. None of those fancy sweet concoctions for me. But you would be surprised how difficult it is to find a good plain old martini--and I am not just talking about our bendy city.

Martini Report Card for Club Noma: A+

While I am a straight up martini kind of girl, Club Noma has a tempting list of martini cocktails. I might have to go for the one with pear in its description. Sounds healthy. I need to balance my olives with a daily fruit serving, per the suggestion of my good doctor.

Congratulations to the owner and staff at Club Noma. Well done.

Applause. Applause. Applause.

The official grand opening will be Thursday, September 14th.

Club Noma description
http://www.opentable.com/rest_profile.aspx?rid=4936

Club Noma
119 North Michigan Street
South Bend, IN 46601
Their website:
http://www.clubnoma.com/

South Bend Tribune Review
September 20, 2006
"New South Bend fusion restaurant reflects a vision"
by Heidi Prescott

Russian Tea Time

My parents emailed us with the announcement: They had planned a tour of their six children to celebrate their 45^th wedding anniversary. This trip would take them a few miles across town, hundreds of miles across the prairie, to Northern Indiana, the East Coast, and the Rocky Mountains within a week. They asked us to pick out a nice restaurant for each night of their weekly weddinganniversarypalooza.

I met them in Chicago and took them to a little place I had discovered a few years ago. It is a Russian restaurant, Russian Tea Time, with old world red velvet drapings, samovars, and nesting dolls. Lots of mirrors and attentive waiters. When I was sixteen, I convinced my parents to let me become a People to People Ambassador. I flew to Moscow and studied biology in Sochi along the Black Sea Coast. I viewed Stalin’s mummified body in great solemnity. I visited a tea plantation and ate fresh raspberries atop a mountain.

I was a sixteen-year-old Kansas girl serving as Ambassador of Peace. It was 1991 and political upheaval was the rule, little did I fully realize as I went about selecting the perfect black-lacquered box as a memento for my treasure chest back home.

So the selection of Russian restaurant to honor my parents’ 45^th anniversary was no accident. They gave me Russia, and I thought it would be nice to share a Russian meal with them.

We started with a flight of vodkas—bilberry, cranberry, and plain. These vodkas, served with dark rye bread chunks and pickles, go down like velvet. A fine way to start any long, long lunch.

We decided to share a sampler meal because we couldn’t decide between all the delicious options. Borscht (served hot, the traditional way), beet caviar, stuffed mushrooms. Followed by stuffed cabbage, Moldavian chicken meatballs, a breaded chicken delight, beef stroganoff, kashi and rice.

The finish must be handled with care. We managed it properly by drinking endless cups of deep amber Russian tea (available for sale on their website) and a selection of strudels, cookies, and cakes.

A hearty almost three-hour celebration.

The restaurant is located a few steps from the Art Institute, but the day was too mild to ruin by going indoors. So we headed to the Millennium Park to watch kids and adults splash in the Crown Fountain, a public art fountain. If you haven’t visited this park, go now. It is really one of my favorite parks in the world. Very well done. Especially worth it on a mild, sunny, and breezy day.

It was a brief world wind visit. I hope they do the same for their 46^th anniversary!

Lula's Cafe in South Bend

The two-day drive home from Boston was relaxed and delicious.

We stopped in Buffalo, NY where we ate buffalo wings at the restaurant that invented them, the Anchor Bar. I am not a fan usually, but these wings were meaty, crispy, and just-right spicy. Next time, we have to remember that hot is too hot for us. We are medium wings people.

The next day we decided to detour into Cleveland, OH to visit the pastry shop that had baked our wedding dobos cake. A perhaps little known fact: Cleveland is the largest (or was, at least) Hungarian city outside of Hungary. The shop has been located in the same spot since the 1950’s on a street that used to be lined with pastry shops, but I believe Lucy’s Sweet Surrender is a last holdout now. The baker is an American married to a Hungarian from Romania and he very generously gave us a tour of the shop, showing us where they make the strudel and all the other baking machinery.

I highly recommend ordering a dobos torte online. He will deep freeze it and then overnight it--very tasty and very authentic. (It is better to do this in the winter to avoid summer temperatures melting your torte en route.)

I spent one night back in South Bend before I headed out for a quick trip to St. Louis. I drove the six hour trip straight down Illinois in perfectly clouded skies. A long drive to be sure, but stops in Odell for pie at the Wishing Well Cafe and Towanda at the diner make that jaunt satisfying.

St. Louis always manages to surprise and delight. This time I got a tour of the botanical gardens to see the Chihuly blown-glass exhibit. More importantly I spent lots of time on the couch making googly-goo faces at baby Henry.

Now I am at Lula’s, THE café still in South Bend, despite several new ones that have arrived over the years. They still do not have wireless, however, which I support. It is always good to isolate myself from the Internet when I want to work on my writing.

We leave in a week for our “vacation” in Transylvania, our usual summer trip. This time my parents will join us for a week—it will be their second trip to Budapest, but their first to the Carpathian mountains and villages of Transylvania. I look forward to showing them life lived in the Székely way.

Sunday Lunch

Beef Pörkölt
Serves 4

Ingredients
25g/1oz Lard or 2 tbsp Olive Oil and 2 tbsp Butter
3 Onions, chopped
675g/1-1/2lb Stewing Beef, cubed
4 Potatoes, thickly sliced
240ml/8fl.oz. Fresh Beef Stock
240ml/8fl.oz. Sour Cream
2 tbsp Tomato Paste
Salt
Ground Black Pepper
3 Tbsp Paprika
2 Bay Leaves

Instructions
1. Heat the lard (or oil and butter) in a large saucepan, add the onions and meat and fry until the beef is browned on all sides and the onion is softened.

2. Add the remaining ingredients (except sour cream), mix well and bring to the boil then reduce the heat to very low, cover and simmer for at least 1-1/2 to 2 hours, stirring from time to time. Serve hot with sour cream on the side.

Nokedli (noodles)
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup water
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 large pot filled with salted boiling water

Place large pot filled with salted water and bring to boil. Combine eggs, salt, and water, beating well with whisk. Add flour, a little at a time. Add only enough flour to make a soft, sticky dough. Let mixture rest for about 10 mins. Beat mixture again. Using the side of a teaspoon, spoon small amount of dough into boiling water. Dipping the spoon in the hot water will remove the dough from the spoon (if you have a spaetzel maker, that makes is easier as you want very small noodles). The noodles are done when they float to the top. Remove from water with large slotted spoon, and place in colander. Serve immediately or rinse with cold water. You may want to make the dumplings in 2 or 3 batches so they dont overcook. Serve with chicken paprikas (or any dish that has a rich sauce). The dumplings are also nice added to a stew. You can heat the dumplings in a frying pan with melted butter. Do not let the dumplings get too brown or crisp.

Uborka Salata (Cucumber Salad)

1 or 2 large cucumbers
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup water
1 Tbs sugar
1/2 tsp salt
pinch of black pepper
1/4 onion thinly sliced

Slice the cucumbers paper thin. Sprinkle with salt and let stand for at least one hour. Squeeze excess liquid from cucumbers. Mix the vinegar, water, sugar, salt and pepper. Add to cucumbers and let stand for at least an hour and better if left overnight. Garnish with dill or red pepper or paprika when serving.

Happy Thanksgiving Eve!

For a Turkey Day ha-ha click on my link in the sidebar to McSweenys and read "Butterball Help-Line Help-Line" by Alysia Gray Painter. (You may have to scroll down to get to it AND story will be changed shortly after T-Day.)

We are headed up to the shore for salmon followed by pheasant with Belgium endives. Not to worry: I already picked up a sweet potato/pumpkin pie and a pecan tart to make sure my traditional food quota is satisfied.

I hope you all have a delectable feast! Write me and tell me about it....how lumpy is your gravy?

Make me salivate with your description....