Simple is best in the kitchen, especially a busy home kitchen, with life, family, world crises and whatnot a constant maelstrom. In the winter, that means comfort food, and with next week’s forecast calling for single digit temperatures, high winds, and snow, something rib-sticking is on my mind. We’re finishing up the last of 2019’s excellent local beef with a lovely brisket, and that requires an inspired side dish. This is where a classic French gratin dauphinois comes into play.
I like cooking aphorisms that make sense. I’ve got a small handful of them that I use when something in the kitchen frustrates me. This happened the other day, and the mantra I turned to was this – Whenever you feel moved to cook simply, do so. A dauphinois is a perfect example of that concept – good potatoes and dairy with seasoning, cooked low and slow – it really doesn’t get any better.
You’ve certainly made something like a gratin dauphinois – scalloped potatoes, for instance. Like Pommes Anna, dauphinois is French cooking at its best – simple, rustic, regional fare that strikes the bullseye. Any and every culture that has dairy and potatoes in their quiver has combined them in myriad ways. Of course all that glorious French cheese starts with great milk, a thing we’re also blessed with here.
Gratin dauphinois is potatoes, milk, cream, a soured cream of some sort, butter, garlic, a bit of nutmeg, salt, and a little cheese on top – you don’t want more than that, ‘cause if you do, it’s literally another dish altogether, (and not quite comme il faut, oui?) What you’ll end up with is super tender potatoes in a distinctly garlic infused cream sauce – c’est magnifique. There are many variants of the dish, but the all important roots are the same – good, local ingredients, simply treated.
In this culinary iteration, ‘dauphinois’ refers to the region, roughly 550 km southeast of Paris, in the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence. Most locals still refer to the area as the Dauphiné or Dauphiné Viennois, even though the modern political iteration is broken up into three smaller departments. Back in the 1200s it was a sovereign country called Albon – The Count from thereabouts had a dolphin on his coat of arms and was nicknamed le Dauphin – and there ya go. Tucked between national parks and mountains south of Lyon and north of Grenoble, it is a stunningly lovely area. Oh, and they grow and eat a variety of potatoes in the Dauphiné, too.
What this dish wants is what we here in the states generically call a baker – a floury, relatively soft variety that will readily soak up all that dairy and garlic. Over there, popular varieties might be an Agatha, Marabel, Mona Lisa, or Caesar – Here, a good old Russet, or pretty much anything else labeled as a baking variety will do just fine – Maybe, sooner than later, we Yankees will get to the point of having varietal potato choices again.
They also make excellent cheese in the dauphiné, naturellement. Reblochon, Saint Marcelin, and Beaufort cheeses all come from here. While the first two varieties are soft, Beaufort is a cow’s milk cheese from the alpine Gruyère family, a yellowish, somewhat firm cheese with a grassy nose and a distinct gruyère tang – and it melts really well, hint, hint. Over here, any good gruyère would certainly do for a topping cheese.
The cooking steps you’ll use are what makes a gratin dauphinois truly unique. Raw potatoes are poached in milk and garlic, then very gently steeped in cream and seasonings, before a final bake. Some swear by slicing the potatoes very thin, rubbing a shallow baking dish with butter and garlic, and then popping everything into the oven for a low and slow bake. You can certainly do that, but I believe the method I’ll share here make a superior dish.
Urban Gratin Dauphinois
2-3 Baking Potatoes
3 Cups Whole Milk
2 Cups Heavy Cream
1 Cup Crema (yes crema, because it’s far closer to crème friache than sour cream, and readily available these days)
1/2 Cup Gruyère Cheese
2 fat cloves fresh Garlic
1 Tablespoon Unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon Kosher Salt
1/2 teaspoon ground White Pepper
2 finger pinch ground Nutmeg
Rinse potatoes and slice to 1/4” thickness, preferably on a mandoline. If you don’t have one, take your time and make your slices as even as you can – that helps the dish cook evenly quite a bit.
Leave the sliced potatoes submerged in a bowl of ice cold water while you finish prep.
Smash, peel, and end trim garlic.
Rub a baking dish in the 9” x 12” range with the smashed garlic, then set garlic aside.
Rub the dish evenly with the butter.
Grate the cheese.
Combine cream, crema, salt, pepper, and nutmeg in an adequately sized mixing bowl and whisk to incorporate.
Add milk, smashed garlic and the potatoes to a large sauce pan over medium heat.
When the mixture begins to simmer, reduce the heat to just maintain that.
Simmer potatoes for 12-15 minutes, until they just turn fork tender.
When they’re there, remove them from heat and carefully pour off the milk – Leave the potatoes and garlic in the pan.
Preheat oven to 350° F and set a rack in a middle position.
Add the cream, crema and seasoning blend to the hot potatoes.
Put the sauce pan on a burner over medium low heat.
Let the pan heat gradually through – you don’t want a simmer here, just a slow, even heat. If the pan starts to simmer, reduce the heat.
Let the mixture steep for 10 to 15 minutes, until the potatoes are fully fork tender, but not falling apart.
Carefully layer the potatoes into the baking dish.
Pour the hot cream blend over the potatoes, then garnish with the grated cheese.
Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the top layer of spuds is golden brown, and most if not all of the cream mixture has been absorbed.
Our recent post on bone stock covered the process of making a big batch to store for a while. Our favorite versions of stocks aren’t nearly so involved – They’re the quick, simple stocks made most often from a chicken carcass, maybe a turkey, some fish, or fresh veggies. Recently, M got the crud, and was jonesin’ for tortilla soup. That is not only serious comfort food, it’s actually been proven to be good for you when you’re sick. She had some at several local restaurants, but they weren’t quite cutting it – It needed our mojo to be just right.
You wouldn’t be terribly out of line in assuming that tortilla soup is something invented to appease Gringos, but it ain’t necessarily so. While there are claims that the dish originated in the American Southwest back in the 1960s, there are far more, (and far older), roots in Mexican regional cooking. The dish is popular in Mexico City, as well as generally throughout central Mexico, where it’s called Sopa de Tortilla. Add beans and it’s Sopa Tarasca. Leave out the chicken and it’s Sopa Azteca – There are a bunch more variants, of course. It’s a sure bet that the folks that begat Tex Mex and Southwestern cooking brought their recipes with them from down south.
As with so many touchstone dishes, there isn’t really one master recipe, which is good – The one you love will do. Tortilla soup is so popular and so good because it comes in so many varieties, in so many homes – It’s made most often because there are things in the kitchen that need to get used, like a leftover chicken – We don’t make it exactly the same every time here, and I don’t believe most Mexican cooks do either – The consistency lies in a few fundamental ingredients. What needs to be in there? Homemade stock, chiles, aromatics, tomatoes, proper herbs, and crisp corn tortilla strips, far as I’m concerned.
Your stock will most times be poultry, but pork or veggie wouldn’t be out of line either. Chiles are a must, and those do need to be a dried, venerable variety – Pasillo, Ancho, Guajillo, Colorado, Chipotle, Mulato – whatever floats your boat. Those add a depth and richness of flavor, (and various levels of heat), without which tortilla soup is just soup. Check outour Chile page for the scoop on what each is packing. Any great soup needs an aromatic base; here I think onion and garlic are the must-haves. Tomatoes should be tasty, and fresh if possible – no mass produced red cardboard. Most folks call Mexican oregano and cumin the must-have herbs, but you can certainly cut that back to just cumin and sub something else you love for the oregano, like we do. The tortilla strips could be from corn tortillas that need to get used – Often enough, that’s another trigger that leads to this lovely stuff getting made.
Meat isn’t necessary in tortilla soup – remember that Azteca version I mentioned. If you do add it, it should really be something that needs to get used up. A chicken carcass with some meat on the bones is probably the primary trigger for whipping up a batch. You could use turkey, or pork, or fish if you wanted or needed to. Again, there really isn’t a ‘classic’ version of tortilla soup – it’s as individual as Mamma’s bolognese. So, here’s my swing at this heavenly stuff. The method we employ yields wonderful depth and breadth of flavor, which is really what it’s all about. If you’ve got homemade stock at the ready, good for you – You can go down to the part that reads, For the Tortilla Soup – Just in case you don’t, we’ve throw in a recipe for that too.
This recipe is a perfect opportunity to go explore your local Latin grocery. You’ll find the chiles, crema, queso, veggies, tortillas, herbs, and maybe even a chicken there.
Sopa de Tortilla Urbán
1 Fat and Happy Roasting Chicken – you’ll want about a pound of meat for the soup, plus the whole carcass for stock.
3 medium White or Yellow Onions
3 Fat Carrots
5-6 Stalks Fresh Celery
5-6 Cloves Fresh Garlic
2-3 dried Ancho or Pasilla Negra Chiles
4-5 large fresh Tomatoes (or a bunch of little guys – You want around 2 cups worth)
4 Tablespoons Tomato Paste
1 Tablespoon Lemon Thyme
1/2 teaspoon ground Cumin
6-10 Corn Tortillas
For the Toppings –
2 ripe Avocados
1 pint Mexican Crema
Fresh Mexican Cheese – I recommend Cotija if you want something that won’t melt much, and Chihuahua otherwise.
The day before you’re ready for soup, go and get your ingredients.
Rough chop one onion, 1 carrot, and a couple celery stalks, (AKA Mire Poix)
Stuff a fresh chicken with the mire poix, and spread the rest across a low sided baking dish or cast iron skillet, and set the chicken on top of that.
Roast the chicken and enjoy a great meal.
Next day, strip all the meat you can, (light and dark), from the carcass – pull or shred that as you’re doing the deed.
Set that meat aside in an airtight container, in the fridge.
Preheat your oven to 350° F and set a rack in the middle position.
Arrange the carcass along with the veggies you stuffed it with on a baking sheet or shallow roasting pan.
Add a couple of cloves of trimmed, peeled, and smashed garlic.
Smear 3 or 4 tablespoons of tomato paste evenly over the carcass.
Roast all that for 30-45 minutes, until the bones are lightly browned.
Rough chop another onion and the remaining carrots and celery.
Remove the pan from the oven.
Add all the roasted stuff, the freshly chopped veggies, and a couple of Turkish bay leaves into a 16 cup stock pot.
Add 10 cups of fresh water to the stock pot and set it over a medium high flame.
When the stock starts to boil, turn it down to maintain a low simmer.
Let everything cook for at least 3 hours, and as long as 6 hours.
Set up a colander in or above another stock pot or mixing bowl large enough to handle 6-8 cups of liquid.
Carefully pour the stock through the colander, and discard all the solids – You’ve cooked pretty much everything out of that stuff by this point, so it can sure go into your compost pile.
Cool the stock by filling a stoppered sink as high as you can with a 50%-50% mix of ice and water, around the freshly filled stock pot.
Drop the temp of the stock to below 70° F within 2 hours, and from 70° F to under 40° F within 4 hours after that – Total cooling time, 6 hours or less.
Refrigerate the stock overnight. This will allow a lot of the suspended solids to drop out of the solution, and also allow the fat to rise. In the morning, you’ll find clearer stock with a nice, solid layer of fat on top.
Use a wide slotted spoon or handled strainer and carefully skim off the layer of fat, and discard that.
This stock is now ready to make soup. You’ll need 8 cups for the tortilla soup. You can freeze the rest in sanitized quart mason jars, leaving at least 2” headroom for expansion.
For the Tortilla Soup
Preheat your oven to 350° F, with a rack in the middle position.
Peel and trim a whole onion, then cut in half.
Rinse tomatoes and leave them whole.
Trim and peel 4 cloves of garlic, leaving them whole.
Arrange onion, 3 tomatoes, and garlic on a baking sheet.
Roast veggies for 30 minutes, then remove from heat and allow to cool enough to handle.
Dice the 4th (and 5th if you like lots) tomato, and set aside in a mix en place bowl.
In a cast iron comal or skillet over medium heat, toast your whole chiles – lay them flat, pressing them down with a spatula, for about 15 seconds, then turn and repeat – Do this for two turns on each side, total of about a minute, tops – Don’t over-toast!
Dice roasted onion and set aside in a mis bowl.
Add toasted chiles, roasted tomatoes, and garlic to a blender vessel with 2 cups of chicken stock.
Pulse this mix into a smooth purée, about 1 minute, tops.
In a soup or stock pot over medium heat, add the purée and the diced onion.
Cook for about 8 to 10 minutes, whisking steadily. The purée will reduce notably, to a thick sauce.
Add remaining 6 cups of stock and about a pound of shredded chicken, stir to incorporate.
When the soup starts to simmer, reduce heat to just maintain that.
Add lemon thyme and cumin, stir to incorporate.
Preheat oven to 400° F, with a rack in the middle position.
Slice tortillas into strips about 1/4” wide by 3” or so.
Bake strips until they’re golden brown and crispy, about 3-5 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool a bit.
Soup should simmer for 30 minutes to fully marry and develop flavors.
Grate chihuahua or cotija cheese.
Peel and cut avocado into roughly 1/2” cubes.
Serve soup hot, with tortilla strips, cheese, and crema for topping.
You might also like more chopped fresh onion, or even fresh pico de gallo, crunchy iceberg lettuce, fresh diced jalapeños, fresh tomato, and fresh cilantro for additional toppings, and if you do, you should have them.
If you’ve ever lived in the southern part of the U.S.A., then you’ve likely experienced the tradition of eating black-eyed peas, (AKA, Hoppin’ John), on New Year’s Day – Doing so is believed to be not only a harbinger of prosperity in the new year, but a pretty decent hangover cure as well. Other anointed foods for New Years include pork, corned beef and cabbage, whole fish, and even ring shaped eats.
Here at UrbanMonique, we went to bed quite early on New Year’s Eve, but we still like to hedge our bets. As such, we decided it was a perfect night for M’s stunningly delicious split pea soup. That decision was made all the easier by the fact that we had leftover ham from Christmas, (including a gorgeous bone), and some amazing pea stock we froze back in the summer after harvesting snap peas from the garden. Split pea soup kinda gets a bad rap for the same reason Brussels sprouts do – Lackluster cooking, or overcooking, leads to less than stellar results – We’re here to shatter that reputation.
I hail from New England, where split pea soup has always been quite popular. Legend has it this dish was introduced to the region by southward migrating Québécois, but the ubiquity of split peas throughout many cultures may dispel that. Cultivars of Pisum sativum have been favored by humans for millennia – Romans and Greeks were growing them as far back as 500 B.C.E. – Given their propensity for far flung travel and conquest, it’s a safe bet they got them from somebody else. And in any age before modern food preservation, it’s a sure thing that drying peas was standard practice, as it still is today.
Harkening back to my comment about lackluster versions of split pea soup, it’s no surprise, frankly, when we recall the old rhyme, ‘peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.’ Lets face it, if that was good eating, we’d all still be doing it. Starting out with high quality, fresh ingredients will quickly dispel that nightmarish vision. Your journey toward that end must start with the peas themselves. Many of us have a bag of the little green guys in our pantry, straight from the store – It’s just as likely that said bag of peas has been in your pantry since the Pleistocene era too, right? If so, that’s a problem right off the bat. Dried peas, beans, etc will last a very long time, if stored properly, but left in the original plastic bag and tossed onto a shelf in the pantry doesn’t qualify as ‘proper’. The main adversary for split peas is oxygen, and that’s the case for pretty much all legumes, pulses, etc. The solution is a decent quality, air tight container – With those in use, you can easily get 3 to 5 years of storage, and if you add an oxygen absorber, like Oxy-Sorb, which is specifically made for the purpose, you ou’ll easily extend your shelf life to 10 years or more. Oxy-Sorb is great stuff, cheap, and readily available, by the way – A 100 pack costs about ten bucks, delivered from numerous online sources, and big chain grocery stores sell it as well – Same goes for decent quality food storage vessels, (and frankly, you’d be hard pressed to do better than quart, half gallon, or gallon mason jars for that job.)
As with all great soups and stews, great split pea soup depends on carefully chosen components and a specific process of assembly. It is a simple dish, but nonetheless, there are definitive steps that need to be followed. As always, this begins with the essentials, (other than peas, of course) – That’s good ham with a nice, big bone, fresh aromatics, stock, and seasoning. As for the latter, all too often what’s used for split pea soup is what’s suggested on the plastic bag they come in, AKA, water. While water sure works, stock is so much better, and is key to great soup.
Vegetable or chicken stock will work great, and if you’ve been keeping up with class, then you’ve taken opportunities to make and freeze stock along the way. As mentioned previously, back in July we had a bumper crop of snap peas, and took steps to harvest and preserve those – In so doing, the inspiration for pea stock hit me and we made some – It was and is incredible stuff – a lovely translucent green, with a scent redolent of fresh peas, even when defrosted some six months later – There’s a testimonial to why we freeze, dry, can, or otherwise preserve great home grown food, if ever there was one, (That doesn’t mean you need to have matched us overachievers – Use what you’ve got – Homemade preferred, but store bought is just fine.)
And while we’re talking homemade, if and when you get a nice bone, never, ever throw it out. Sure, your critters will love ’em, but your house made stocks and broths will love ’em even more. As for aromatics – It’s a safe bet that in too many home kitchens, the carrots, onion, garlic, celery and the like might be a bit long in the tooth by the time you get around to using them – In a word, don’t do that. The French have it right when they go to the market almost daily – If it’s worth making and eating, it’s worth fresh ingredients – Don’t buy the big bags of bulk carrots, onions, etc – Go to the market frequently, and poke, prod, smell, and look when you shop – Reject the rubbery, the off colored, or too soft, and carefully pick fresh stuff – That is one of the real joys of shopping, so take advantage.
And finally, there’s seasoning. I’ve said this before and will again – If you’re buying herbs and spices from the grocery store, you’re missing out. If you’re using spices from a cute little revolving wheel thingy, and the spices came with that, and you got it when you got married, you’re fired. Herbs and spices have very bit as much a shelf life as other foods, and less so than some – they’re good for 6 months or so, if they’ve been prepared and stored properly. If your wheel o’ spices is out where sunlight hits it on a regular basis, your stuff is toast and needs to be replaced. If it’s not from a high quality source, like World Spice, Penzeys, Pendereys, to name just a few, you’ve no guarantee that what your buying is up to snuff – And finally, never use my sainted Father’s wine buying plan when it comes to spice – The more you get for less dough is not a successful strategy.
So, with all that, here’s the scoop.
M’s Heavenly Split Pea Soup
4 Cups Vegetable or Chicken Stock
2 Cups Water
2 Cups (about 1/2 pound), Ham
1 nice big Ham Bone
1 Pound dried Split Peas
2 large Carrots
3 stalks Celery
2 Tablespoons chopped Shallot
3 cloves Garlic
1-2 Tablespoons Parsely
1 teaspoon Lemon Thyme
1/2 teaspoon ground Pepper
1/2 teaspoon crushed red Chile
1/4 teaspoon Sea Salt
2 Tablespoons Avocado Oil.
In a stock pot over medium high heat, combine water, stock and the ham bone. When the stock begins to boil, reduce heat until its barely maintaining a simmer. Allow the stock and bone to simmer for 60 minutes.
Rough chop ham, cut carrots into half-rounds about 1/4″ thick, chop celery, dice shallot and mince garlic.
Zest lemon, cut in half.
Place peas in a single mesh strainer and rinse under cold running water, checking for non-food detritus.
In a soup pot over medium heat, add oil and heat through. Add carrot, celery, and shallot. Sauté until the shallot begins to turn translucent.
Remove Bone from stock and allow to cool, then give it to your dawg.
Add stock, water, ham, and split peas to soup pot with aromatics over medium heat. Stir to incorporate. When the soup starts to boil, reduce heat to barely maintain a slow simmer. Simmer soup for 1-2 hours, until the split peas are where you like them – just slightly al dente is the sweet spot.
Add parsley, lemon thyme, a tablespoon of lemon zest, pepper, Chile, and salt. Stir to incorporate and taste, adjust seasoning as desired. Allow the soup to simmer for another 10 minutes.
Serve nice and hot, garnished with a little more fresh lemon zest and shot or two of hot sauce if you like such things. A dollop of fresh sour cream doesn’t suck, either.
Serve with crusty bread and a glass of decent Zinfandel, and you’re in hog heaven.
Charles Dickens knew how to party – He loved a good time, and he was very good at arranging and enjoying them. He appreciated good food a great deal, and perhaps even more so, good drink – Evidence of such is found throughout his work. Of that body of writing, my personal favorite is his seasonal classic, A Christmas Carol, In Prose, Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. This year, that joy of good booze reflected in the novella got my attention – Time to offer up some Dickens Christmas cocktails.
Dickens’ work had, at first, rocketed to popularity. The Pickwick Papers in 1836 were quickly followed with Oliver Twist, and then Nicholas Nickleby. He became an international sensation, but sadly, it didn’t last. By 1843, he had made some serious social and financial gaffes, and was living well above his means. He was a critical disaster, hadn’t written anything popular in several years, and was almost bankrupt. A visit to the Field Lane Ragged School, a street children’s school, coupled with his own financial difficulties, profoundly impacted the man. Thankfully, his rumination lead to the conjuring of certain characters in his mind’s eye, and was then manifested in the story of Ebenezer Scrooge’s epic redemption.
Trouble was, his publishers weren’t interested. Christmas in those days wasn’t as big a to-do as Dickens wanted to make of it, and the publisher just didn’t think it would sell. Yet Dickens’ epiphany at the poor kids school, and on a walk he’d taken through the slums thereafter, had shaken the man to the core. He felt driven to bring the plight of the poor to light, and to give them hope and cheer in so doing. Rather than quit, he hired his own illustrator, and editor, and paid for the printing as well. The rest, of course, is history.
Released on the 19th of December in 1843, Dickens’ self-published run of A Christmas Carol sold out by Christmas Eve, and only a year later, had gone through thirteen editions. Critics liked the novella, but more importantly, the reading public absolutely adored it. Written at a time when English traditions of the season were undergoing a sea change, A Christmas Carol caught fire – and that flame burns to this day – it’s never been out of print. What Dickens highlighted about Christmas, good will to our fellow beings, especially those less fortunate than us, and the celebration of the season with food and drink, is still largely what it’s all about today. And of course, it put him right back into the catbird seat as well.
Dickens love of food and drink, came not only from his late life epiphany, but from a troubled childhood. Turns out his father had been bankrupted and was sent to debtor’s prison. Twelve year old Dickens had to leave school and take a factory job, gluing labels on to bottles of boot blacking – It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out how awful that work would be, or how little it would pay. He didn’t do it for long, just a few months, but it made an indelible impression on him, sparking a lifelong opposition to the industrial revolution and child labor. It also permanently fixed in his mind an abundance of food and drink as a sign of well-being.
He certainly did like his drink. Victorian society didn’t take all that kindly to the consumption of beer, wine, or spiritous liquors, but Dickens frankly didn’t give a rats ass about opinion. He not only hoisted a few when the spirit moved him, he did so openly, in pubs and taverns. Throughout his writing, he made it clear that he felt that rich or poor deserved a good stiff belt when they wanted one. Through his works, I learned of gin punch, negus, smoking bishop, and a raft of other such tipples.
Charles’ Great Grandson, Cedric Charles Dickens, wrote in 1980 a great little book titled, Drinking With Dickens. It’s a wealth of stories, reminisces, and recipes that’s a delightful read for any fan of the man and his work. Drinking with Dickens underlines Charles’ love for booze with a passion. There’s an accounting of the contents of his cellar after his death therein, which listed well over a thousand bottles of wine and spirits. Here are our swings at Dickens’ Big Three – Negus, Smoking Bishop, and finally his favorite, Gin Punch.
It’s important to note that these drinks are not lightweight. Almost all the recipes’ booze is measured in bottles, (sometimes plural), per batch. While they’re not super high proof concoctions, they’re still pretty hefty stuff, so as Cedric noted, “remember Sarah Gamp’s admonition: “Drink fair, wotever you do!””
Our first entry is Negus, mentioned by name or as punch in several of Dickens works, like this passage from the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present, “Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.”
Negus owes its name to Colonel Francis Negus, who lived from 1670 to 1732. He was an army officer, politician, and for a time, secretary to the Duke of Norfolk. Somewhere in the first couple decades of the 1700s, he reputedly came up with this port powered punch.
You’ll need a microplane or fine grater for this recipe. If you don’t have one, you can carefully pare the citrus peels, and use ground nutmeg. You’ll also want a double boiler, ideally. If you don’t have one, you can do the deed in a heavy bottom sauce pan over low heat, but you lose some of the booze power in so doing.
1 Bottle Ruby Port
1 Meyer Lemon (A nice big, juicy regular one will do, too)
1 Blood Orange
2 Tablespoons Agave Nectar
Carefully zest the lemon and orange, taking care to get just the color, not the bitter white pith.
Juice the lemon and the orange – you can combine the juices.
In a sauce pan, boil enough water to fill a tempered serving jug, large enough to hold the whole batch of punch, plus another couple cups.
In a double boiler over medium low heat, add juice, zest, agave nectar, and port.
Stir the punch to integrate the liquids and agave nectar, then stir occasionally until the punch steams.
Fill the serving jug with hot water.
Add 1 cup of boiling water to the punch and stir to incorporate.
Pour the hot water out of the jug, then carefully pour the negus through a double mesh strainer into it.
Serve in the thickest walled mugs you’ve got, with a grating of fresh nutmeg atop each one.
Then there’s this – “I’ll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family,’’ Scrooge tells Bob Cratchit near the end of A Christmas Carol, ‘‘and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop!’’” This wassail punch has medieval roots, and the name likely stems from the traditional serving bowl used for the stuff, which does indeed look like a bishop’s mitre. Smoking Bishop is not a stand alone thing, by the way; there’s also Smoking Archbishop (claret), Smoking Cardinal (champagne), Smoking Pope (burgundy), and smoking Beadle (ginger wine) – Whew! In any event, it’s a classic mulled wine punch that’ll make your house smell fabulous. Seville oranges are a bitter variety that might not be in your local grocery store, but most definitely will be at the nearest Latin market. Neither the wine nor the port needs to be pricey – when you’re building something like this, workmanlike will do just fine.
Urban’s Smoking Bishop
6 Seville Oranges
1 Bottle Spanish or Portuguese Red Wine (a blend is good)
1 Bottle Ruby Port
1/2 Cup Agave Nectar
36 Whole Cloves
2 Sticks True Cinnamon
Preheat oven to 325° F and set a rack in the middle position.
Rinse oranges well, and dry thoroughly.
Stud each orange with six cloves, and set them in a roasting pan, or baking dish.
Roast the oranges for 60 minutes.
When your roasting time is about up, fill a heat tolerant bowl with very hot water.
Remove the roasted oranges, pour the water out of the bowl, and slide the oranges into that.
Combine the red wine and agave nectar and stir well to incorporate.
Add the wine mixture to the hot oranges, cover the bowl, and leave it in a nice, warm corner of your kitchen for somewhere between 12 and 24 hours.
After the fruit has steeped, juice the oranges into the wine blend – do that through a single mesh strainer so you capture cloves and fruit pulp. You can compost the fruit remnants and get your local squirrels loaded, too.
In a heavy sauce pan over low heat, add the wine and fruit juice mix, the port, and the cinnamon sticks.
Heat the punch very slowly, (so you don’t burn off the booze), until it steams – hence the ‘smoking’ thing.
Turn the heat off and leave the pan on the burner.
Remove the cinnamon sticks, and serve in nice, thick red-heated mugs.
And finally, here’s Dickens’ and Crachit’s favorite tipple, Gin Punch -“At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth … and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.” While a decent gin is all that’s necessary, Christmas is about as reasonable an excuse as there is to try something really distinctive. One of the beauties of gin punch is that all those botanicals mix wonderfully with what you’ll add. I’ll say without hesitation that the best gin I’ve ever had is Gifford’s Dry Gin, from Blackfish Spirits Distillery in Auburn, Washington, and yes, they do ship. Tell Carrie and Mike that we sent ya.
Urban’s Gin Punch
8 Ounces Gifford’s Dry Gin
8 Ounces Fino Sherry
4 Ounces 100% Cranberry Juice
4 Ounces 100% Pomegranate Juice
1 Honey Crisp Apple
1 Blood Orange
1 large Lemon
3 Tablespoons Agave Nectar
1/2 a whole Star Anise
2 Sticks True Cinnamon
1/4 of a whole Nutmeg
Thoroughly rinse and pat the fruit dry.
Cut the fruit into wheels about 1/4” thick.
In a heavy sauce pan over low heat, add the fruit, cranberry and pomegranate juices, agave nectar, nutmeg, cinnamon, and star anise. Stir well to incorporate.
Let the mixture heat slowly for about 15 – 20 minutes, when it should start simmering – adjust heat as necessary.
Once the mix simmers, turn the heat down to low and add the sherry, stirring to incorporate.
Let that mix heat through for another 10 minutes, then add the gin.
Keep the punch on low heat for another 5 minutes, to heat through – don’t let it simmer, just gradually heat.
Ladle into preheated, thick mugs – the fruit will be delicious, but probably nobody needs a cinnamon stick, star anise, or nutmeg chunk…
M and I wish y’all holidays of great peace, with family, friends, and critters all around.
Bone stock – Seems it’s entered, maybe even passed, the realm of tragically hip foods, but I’m here to say that it ain’t necessarily so. It’s winter, when soups, stews, and hearty sauces rule, and bone broth always has and always will have a starring role therein. You can buy the stuff, true enough, but what do you get? Most likely, you’ll find something that is but a pale shadow of its name, or a more or less real deal offering that costs way too much for our liking. Making it at home really is the only viable answer for acquiring top notch quality at a reasonable price – But doing requires some serious time and attention to detail. Is it worth doing? Without a doubt, the answer is yes.
Bone stock really isn’t trendy. It’s been around since forever, and for good reason – It’s not only delicious, it’s pretty darn good for you. Building a stock from bones, marrow, connective tissues and a little meat is genuinely nutritious. What you’ll find inside depends to some degree on what you make it from, but generally you’ll get calcium, phosphorus, magnesium, potassium, sulfur, and silicon from the bones. The marrow contributes Vitamins A and K2, omegas 3 and 6, and trace minerals – iron, zinc, manganese, selenium, and boron among them. The connective tissue adds glucosamine and chondroitin. All that stuff gelatinizes when you make stock, and the gelatin is rich in amino acids, especially glycine, proline, and arginine. There are recent, peer reviewed scientific studies that state, unequivocally, that your mom was right – chicken soup is good for you when you’re sick.
You can make bone broth from a bunch of other stuff – We do so from beef, pork, chicken, turkey, fish, (and veggies), on a regular basis. In its simplest form, it’s taking the carcass of that chicken or turkey, or beef or pork bones, simmering it low and slow with some aromatics, and then making soup or stew for your meal that night. It’s fun, delicious, and absolutely the right thing to do – using pretty much everything you can from that bird. But when you’re making bulk stock to last the winter, then you’re talking serious bone stock, and that’s what we’re going to do here.
So, where to go for bones? Really, no farther than your fridge or freezer. The first and most important step here is to not throw away anything from what you buy. Bones and carcasses are not refuse, they’re vital ingredients. You can store things up to make a big batch, or do what we do and make smaller ones as you go. In this house, no poultry of any kind is done being used until stock has been made, after however many meals we’ve enjoyed. That’s the way it’s been done through the ages, and it’s what you should be doing too. We buy local, grass fed beef from a high school friend who raises it. Bags of beef bones are part of the bounty we gratefully receive each spring.
You can ask local butchers for bones, without a doubt – I’ll recommend finding a good Carniceria – They are far more likely than your average grocer to have a Use Everything mentality. If you’re using whole bones, you don’t want to work with anything that’s really Fred Flintstone sized. Get your butcher to cut them down to an average of maybe 3” to 4”, or just grab a hack saw or a hatchet and do it yourself – It’s not that hard at all.
How many bones do you need to make stock? Depends on how much you want to make, really. What you’ll see images of here was almost 5 pounds of bones. You can do it with less and make smaller batches, no problem – what’ll drive quality is the freshness of what you use, and the ration of water to bones – more on that in a bit.
I’m certainly not going to claim that there’s Only One Way To Do This Right, but I will say this – What I’ll outline here works consistently for us, and will for you, too. The process isn’t as fussy as some, and fussier than others – What it entails is what I believe you need to do to make sure you build high quality stock that’s safe to eat. Understand this – doing this requires some of your attention for most of one day and part of another – in other words, it’s a weekend thing for serious food lovers, so if that’s you, read on.
A Note on Equipment.
You’ll need a good sized stock pot for this – a 3 gallon (12 Quart) is pushing at the too small side of things, but is viable – a 4 gallon is much better. There’s quite a bit of ingredients volume in a batch the size you see me doing here – We’ve got heavy duty 4 and 5 gallon stainless steel vessels. If you’re going to invest, do not buy a cheap ass pot – Light weight stuff doesn’t transfer heat at all well, and won’t last, either – and I’d steer clear of aluminum pots, period. I highly recommend the Vigor heavy duty stainless steel – aluminum clad stock pots from the Webstaurant Store – you can’t beat the quality for the price on those. You’ll also need a fairly large colander and some cheese cloth, which frankly, you aughta have anyway.
First things first – Blanching.
This is fundamentally the same thing you do to veggies prior to freezing them. It’s a quick cooking step with a very specific, and important, task in mind – It removes most of the impurities that will make your stock funky if you don’t do it. And fear not, you will be leaving the good stuff there.
Toss your bones into your pot and cover with a good 5” of cold water.
Put your pot on the most aggressive burner you’ve got and set it on high.
Bring the pot to a full boil, then reduce the heat to maintain a very brisk simmer.
Let everything simmer for 20 minutes, then carefully pour off all the liquid.
That icky schmutz left in your sink trap? That’s exactly what you did this step to be rid of.
Step Two – Roasting The Bones.
There are stocks, (the so called white stocks), that don’t call for roasted bones and carcasses, but that’s not what we’re after here. We’re after deep, rich flavors, and you cannot get there without roasting. This is a step skipped or skimped on far too often, and that’s no bueno. You want a serious, high heat roast, done long enough to genuinely brown and caramelize.
The other consideration here is what to put in there with your bones. For my 2¢ worth, less is better. We’re after the basics here, a focused and potent depth of flavor from bones. You can add whatever you want when you put the stock in use. A hint of an aromatic base with some good salt and pepper is enough. Adding an acid towards the end of the process helps break down connective tissues and gives you richer stock. Tomato paste or purée is the most common choice – it adds a nice bright note and richness to the mix.
To Roast roughly 4 to 5 pounds of bones.
Preheat your oven to 425° F and set a rack in a middle position.
Peel, trim, and rough chop 1 medium onion and 3 or 4 cloves of garlic.
Arrange your bones, carcass, etc on a baking sheet(s) with a rim. Don’t overcrowd things – leave a little room between each one.
Toss the chopped onion and garlic evenly across the pan.
Season everything with kosher salt and ground pepper – a coarse salt is perfect here, but don’t be too heavy handed.
Roast for 30 to 60 minutes, depending on the size and volume you’re roasting. You want your bones to get pretty dark – not burned, but notably, definitely roasted, so don’t be shy about the time it takes.
When things are pretty well cooked, but not quite there, pull your sheets out of the oven and carefully smear tomato paste or purée on the bones – I say carefully, because the bones are hot as hell.
Stick everything back in the oven and let them roast for another 15 minutes or so, until the tomato is notably browned.
Remove from the oven and move on to the next step.
Step Three – The Long Simmer.
At this phase, you can and should expand your choice of aromatics to add to the bones. We tend to go very traditional with ours – onion, garlic, celery, carrot, and bay leaf, with a little salt and good pepper. You can certainly add other goodies as you like – Fennel, winter root veggies, a little rosemary even. Start out simple, and as you get used to the process and what you like, customize your own mix. Don’t over season here – Again, we’re after basic stock – you’ll add seasoning when you use it.
Finally, let’s discuss how long is too long for simmering stock? This will depend on what kind you’re making. Lighter boned stuff like poultry is pretty much played out after 5 or 6 hours, tops, while heavy beef bones could easily go 8 to 10 hours if you have the time and patience, (and I hope you do – The bigger bones can keep on giving if you let them.) In any event, don’t even think about simmering for anything less than 4 hours for poultry and 6 for beef – if you do, you’re largely defeating the purpose of the whole exercise.
To Simmer The Stock
For every 5 pounds of bones, peel, trim, and rough chop
1 medium Onion
2 stalks Celery
2-3 Cloves Garlic
2-3 Turkish Bay Leaves
Add bones and aromatics to stock pot, and cover with just enough water to keep everything submerged – you don’t want the bone and aromatic mix swimming in the deep end of the pool – just keep it under simmering water, so it can do its extraction thing.
Add a teaspoon of sea salt, and a few twists of fresh ground pepper.
Turn heat to high until you develop a solid boil.
Reduce heat to a bare simmer, cover the pot and let it go.
Keep an eye on things when you first gear down to a simmer. The covered pot can get frisky – you’re best off turning your heat to low, and then bumping things up a bit if you need to – you’ll get to a consistent simmer faster that way.
Keep a pan or kettle with hot water near by to maintain the water level above the bones. Don’t add excessive amounts – just enough to keep everything submerged.
Step Four – Initial Straining and Cooling.
When your stock looks and smells and tastes like it’s done, it’s time to strain and cool. Be careful when you’re pouring hot liquids, for obvious reasons. I use another, smaller stock pot with a colander stuck on top for this first task, getting rid of the cooked out ingredients – you’ll do further clarifying later, so don’t worry about anything more than that at this point.
You can certainly add the used up bones and stuff to your compost pile, by the way. They’re pretty well played out, and the long simmer softens bones, making them break down a bit easier.
Now you need to cool your stock relatively quickly. This is done first and foremost as a food safety best practice – hot broth takes a long time to cool, and it’s a serious playground for bacteria. An ice water bath is the best way to get the job done. Anything from a stoppered sink to a roasting pan or high sided braiser you can partially submerge your stock pot into will do the trick. A 50% -50% blend of ice and water is the desired medium. If you can increase the surface area between the hot liquid` and the cooling bath, by transferring the stock to something shallower and wider, that too will help speed the cooling process – So will stirring every 15 minutes or so.
The Cooling Mantra is this – Drop whatever the current temperature is to below 70° F within 2 hours, and from 70° F to under 40° F within 4 hours after that – Total cooling time, 6 hours or less. Do that, and you’re right as rain. You can also add some ice directly to the stock if you wish, up to 3 or 4 cups worth – As potent as this stuff comes out, you needn’t worry at all about overly diluting your stock at this point. Finally, do not ever put hot liquid into the fridge or freezer – not only will it not cool properly, it’ll heat up everything around it, and that’s just not good.
Once the stock is fully cooled, it goes into the fridge overnight. This will allow a lot of the suspended solids to drop out of the solution, and also allow the fat to rise. In the morning, you’ll find clearer stock with a nice, solid layer of fat on top. Time for the next step.
Step Five – Defatting and Clarifying.
Time to make your stock as clear as you want it – and that is the only criterion that matters. Your kitchen is not a Guide Michelin restaurant, and you don’t need to be able to read the date on a dime sitting on the bottom of your stock pot.
That said, you do want to remove the fat. Fortunately, that’s a simple thing with chilled stock. A wide slotted spoon or handled strainer does the job just fine. If you’re reasonably careful, you’ll get 99% of the congealed fat off your stock with no hassle.
Now, at this point you could leave things as is, if you wish. Yes, what you have will be kind of cloudy and a bit busy, but truth be told, so what? It’s going to be turned into soup, or stew, or sauce – so who’s going to notice? If you decide to stop here, don’t beat on yourself, it’s all good.
Regardless, what you see after the fat is gone may look like, well, loose meat jello. And if it does, congratulations, you’ve made some bitchin’ stock, indeed. If that’s what you got, you gelatinized a whole bunch of the available collagen, and that is exactly what you want – Liquid gold.
Now, if like me you’re just a bit fussy, then you might want to strain that stuff a bit more. It will liquify appreciably as it comes to room temperature. You’ll need cheese cloth and your colander again.
Put your straining setup in or over a stock pot and carefully pour your defatted stock through – Keep in mind that the refrigerated overnight caused most of the solids to settle – If you’re careful not to stir up that sludge, one pass will be all you’ll need.
Step Six – Further Tinkering and Portioning.
No matter what kind of bones you used, you really should consider making a reduction with some of your stock. Why? Because if your stock is liquid gold, a 50% reduction of that is platinum.
Reduction is as simple as it sounds. Put, say, 4 cups of stock in a pan, heat it to a boil, reduce the heat to a bare simmer and leave it there until it’s reduced in volume by 50%.
Cool the reduction, then transfer that to a clean glass jar with an airtight lid. Refrigerated, it’ll last a couple weeks. A quarter cup of that in 3 cups of water will make a great, fast stock. Even better, divvy it up into an ice cube tray with an airtight, locking lid and freeze it – You can pop out a cube or three when you want to make a quick pan sauce, or to add some zing to anything from mashed potatoes to asparagus, with a zillion options in between.
The rest of your stock can be portioned into pints or quarts and frozen, where it’ll be good for 4 to 6 months. Make sure, if you use glass jars, that you leave plenty of head room for the expansion of freezing stock – I’m talking a good 2”+, and err to the side of caution – broken mason jars in your freezer are no fun.
Your own home made stock, and/or reduction, added to a pan that just had something yummy sautéed in it, with a little butter added, and drizzled over whatever you’re having? That’s liquid gold right there.
When you make soup, or stew, or any number of sauces at home, you add a bay leaf or two, right? Ever wonder why you do that – I mean, really give it some thought? I’ll be honest – I hadn’t, so I guess it’s time to ask – What does bay leaf do for our cooking, anyway?
Full disclosure, a social media acquaintance sent me a link to a new-agey treatise on bay leaf. This thing claimed that, ‘recent scientific studies have proven’ that bay leaf converted triglycerides to monounsaturated fats, eliminates heartburn, acidity, and constipation, regulates bowel movements and blood sugar, makes the human body produce insulin, eliminates bad cholesterol, protects the heart from seizures and strokes, relieves insomnia, anxiety, kidney stones and cures infections – No freakin’ wonder we put them in soup!
Most if not all of those claims are, at best, gross exaggeration and distortion of facts. The real dead giveaway was this line – ‘Do you know that if you boil some bay leaves in a glass of water and taste it, it will have no flavor?’
My answer to that is, ‘do you know that that statement is complete bullshit?’ Either the author has never actually done the experiment, or did so with bad bay leaves. Had they done it properly, they’d have discovered a much more potent and nuanced result.
Before we dive into that, let’s define what exactly the bay leaf in our pantry is – it’s Sweet Bay, AKA Bay Laurel, or Lauris nobilis. It’s native to the Mediterranean, and cultivated commercially all around that region, as well as France, Spain, Mexico, and Portugal. Now for the record, the other bay we see in a lot of pantries is California Bay, and that’s a whole different beast, Umbullularia californica – it’s far more potent than sweet bay, with longer, narrower leaves.
Problem is, a lot of purveyors just call their stuff ‘Bay Leaf,’ and that can make things tough on us home cooks. Different growing areas produce leaves with subtle differences you may like or not – In any event, it’d be nice to know from whence yours came, wouldn’t it? Good outfits like World Spice and Penzey’s will tell you that information.
It’s good to keep both the sweet and California versions on hand, by the way. Because they both do have a place in our cooking. While California bay is intense and medicinal, the sweet, (often called Turkish), is lighter, more nuanced and savory. The latter is far and away my personal go to, for the record. California bay is nice, in moderation, in low and slow soups and stews where time and temperature can simmer out the lion’s share of the more volatile constituents that spring forth early on in the cooking process. In any event, you’d be well advised to find out what variety you have, and like best.
Sweet Bay is complex, with dozens of volatile compounds onboard each leaf. The heavy hitters are cineole, pinine, linalool, and methyl eugenol. Interestingly enough, most of those compounds are also found in basil. California Bay is a bit different, packing cineole, pinine, and sabinine – that last one is responsible for things like the spiciness of black pepper, nutmeg, and carrot oil. Cineole, linalool, and pinine are terpenes, a rather volatile chemical family that has much to do with a wide variety of powerful scents in the natural world. Their highly reactive nature makes them some of the first things we smell when bay leaves are used in cooking. Methyl eugenol is a phenolic found in over 450 plants, and plays a vital role in pollination – how about that in your spaghetti sauce? These compounds are fascinating, especially when we think about how they’ve made that journey from chemical warning sign, or pollination attractor, to our dining table.
On to that experiment then, since that’s the best way to ascertain that what you’ve got in your pantry is packin’. Set a small pan of water to boil and then reduce the heat to maintain a simmer. Toss in a couple bay leaves of your choice, let them do their thing for 3 to 5 minutes, and then stick your nose down there.
The first things you get will be those fleeting terpenes. If you’ve got California bay, those notes will be the big medicinal ones, menthol and camphor. If you’ve got sweet bay, you’ll still get some hefty initial notes, like camphor from the cineole, but as simmering time progresses, you’ll catch a sort of floral skunkiness – that’s the linalool’s influence. Piney, sagey notes come from the pinine, while the methyl eugenol might remind you of general earthy, savory notes. If you let that simmer go for 45 to 60 minutes, as you would for a soup or stew, and then taste your bay leaf tea, you’ll get hints of all these things – If you don’t, then what you’ve got is old, or old, crappy bay leaf – and that’s not at all uncommon.
Bay leaf’s contribution to your cooking is subtle – it’s a background stalwart, not a lead singer. What makes a sauce, soup, or stew great is the layering of flavors, and for that, a solid aromatic base is critical. Bay lends a raft of minor notes that, while perhaps not missed in and of themselves, certainly will be if they’re absent from the mix.
So what to do in your kitchen? Start by finding your bay leaf, opening the jar and giving it a big sniff. Do you get a nice, complex but subtle whiff of the stuff discussed herein? Do you remember where and when you bought those leaves? Does the container say anything about provenance? If the answer to those questions is, ‘no,’ then trash what you’ve got and get some fresh stuff. World Spice is a great go to for bay leaf – They carry both Turkish and California, and they’re always top notch quality.
Bay does just fine as a dried herb, by the way. If you keep them in a clean, airtight glass jar, out of direct sunlight and wide swings of temperature, they’ll be good to go for 6 months, easy. If you want more from your bay, store them in your freezer and they’ll last for years.
You can use fresh bay leaves in cooking, but know that their potency is quite a bit higher than dried leaves, so adjust accordingly, and again, be sure you know what you’ve got – A freshly crushed leaf of fresh bay from our garden smells subtly savory and complex, just as described, whereas, at least to me, fresh California bay smells like a medicine cabinet – an overdose of the latter will ruin a meal really quickly.
Finally, you can grow your own if you’re living in a USDA Plant Hardiness Zone 7 or thereabouts – We’re a 7+ here in the northwest corner of Washington State, and our little sweet bay plant is doing fine, even with a couple of hard frosts under its belt. Granted, it’s a small bush and not a tree – in its native turf, it can reach over fifteen meters in height. Here’s a very nice primer on doing so.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – Recipes aren’t really meant to be repeated exactly, time and time again – Even when you’re the one who wrote them. They’re a springboard to further exploration, and nothing more. After thanksgiving, there must be turkey soup with home made stock, and that begs for accompaniment by something delightful – like cornbread, for instance.
Let us pause to consider from whence this stuff came. Cornbread is largely seen as a southern culinary thing, but its roots go far beyond those boundaries. Our modern versions harken back in the 1600’s, when European interlopers adapted some bread making techniques to the new cereal the natives had introduced them to, (and had been cultivating, starting down in Mexico, for something around 10,000 years).
Nowadays there are regional variances in style, and it’s interesting that those are almost diametrically opposed to what we see with biscuits – The farther south you go, the cornbread gets more rustic and less cakey, often with little or no added sugar and very little flour, (in fact, sometimes none at all). Meanwhile, while up north and out west, while not exactly flaky, you find a sweeter, more floury version. White cornmeal, closely akin to masa, is more popular in the south, yellow up north. Those southern differences may have to do with the prevalence of Mexican regional cooking, and the proximity to the origin point of the cereal itself, while up north, European influences speak loudest. That jibes with my personal experience as well – Growing up in Massachusetts, I remember cornbread as overly sweet and therefore, not much to my liking. When M and I moved to Texas, I found what I was looking for – Something that’s a bit more savory, and highlights the natural sweetness of corn without adding sugar or other sweeteners to the mix.
In any event, cornbread isn’t something we make super often, so when we do, it can fairly be considered a treat. In that light, one should consider what it is you most want out of the stuff. For me, that means as moist as I can get it, while still being firm and grainy with genuine cornmeal flavor.
For a good few years now, I’d landed on a cheddar version that we like a lot. I’ve taken to soaking the corn meal in milk or cream as a critical step, and in fact, doing that does make notably moister bread. Grinding my own cornmeal fresh, from local, organic corn was even better.
Then, as fate would have it, a measuring malfunction lead to a new twist, or at least, new to me – I’d put too much cornmeal in the mix. Once I realized it, I balanced everything back out, but found I was out of the heavy cream I’d used for the dairy, so I thought – what the hell, why not throw in some sour cream?
The second part of this tiny epiphany had to do with the chosen fat for the batch. I’ve used, and advocated here, leaf lard and/or butter, but all of a sudden, I thought about biscuits, and realized that what has really made my current version sing is avocado oil. If you haven’t tried that yet, it’s not really avocado-y in taste at all, just very subtle and buttery – Perfect for cornbread. Since I’d putzed around so long, I didn’t bother with the dairy rest for the cornmeal, (and it turns out that, with this version, I didn’t need it.) And as fate would have it, what resulted was what M happily anointed as ‘far and away, the best cornbread you’ve every made’ – High praise, that, believe you me.
So I made a second batch, to make sure the recipe worked, then made one the old way, for comparison. What that does is give y’all a couple of options. In the picture below, the old recipe is the batch to the left, the new one to the right. First off, I assure you, both are fully cooked, and neither has had anything done to it other than being sliced. You can see how dense, moist, and almost muffinish the new recipe is, while the old one is lighter and airier. I like them both a lot, but M was right – The new stuff is heavenly.
Urban’s Old Standby Cheddar Cornbread
1 1/2 Cups Corn Meal, (yellow or white)
1/2 Cup All Purpose Flour
1/2 Cup grated Sharp Cheddar Cheese
1 Cup Whole Milk
4 Tablespoons Leaf Lard (or Unsalted Butter)
2 teaspoons Baking Powder
1/2 teaspoon Sea Salt
Optional: 1-2 seeded and cored Jalapeño chiles
Preheat oven to 400° F
Pour cornmeal into a bowl and add the milk; mix well and allow to sit for 15 minutes.
Mix remaining dry ingredients, (Including the cheese), in a large bowl.
Melt shortening, then combine all ingredients and mix by hand to a nice, even batter consistency.
Place the pan(s) you’ll do the bread in into a 400 F oven, with a small dot of shortening in each pan, (Or a tablespoon full if using a single pan).
When the shortening is melted and sizzling, remove the pan, pour in the batter and return to the oven.
Bake at 400° F for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden brown.
Urban’s New Deal Cornbread
1 1/2 Cups Cornmeal
1/2 Cup All Purpose Flour
1/2 Cup Heavy Cream
1/2 Cup Sour Cream
1/2 Cup shredded Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese
4 Tablespoons Avocado Oil
1 large Egg
2 teaspoons Baking Powder
1/2 teaspoon Sea Salt
Preheat oven to 400° F and set a rack in the middle position, with the pan your going to bake in thereupon.
Combine all dry ingredients and mix thoroughly.
Add the cheese, egg, dairy, and oil, and whisk into a uniform batter.
Carefully remove the hot baking pan and rub a little avocado oil around the inside, without burning yourself.
Pour the batter into the baking pan and return it to the hot oven.
Granitas are a lovely, light alternative to ice cream or sherbet that contain no dairy at all and are super simple to make; if you’ve never tried one, it’s time. This version highlights the tart sweetness of cranberries and citrus and is, quite frankly, stunningly pretty.
We’re highlighting cranberries ’cause we typically just haul them out for the holidays, but that’s not right, (but go ahead and do so now, OK?) Cranberries are incredibly tasty, make gorgeous food, and are darn good for you as well. They’re not only rich in Vitamin C, but have excellent infection fighting properties as well, as anyone who’s had a urinary tract infection knows. Cranberries contain compounds known as condensed tannins, which are potent antioxidants with known anti-inflammatory properties. Cooking does not degrade tannins, so here’s a delicious little fruit that’s remarkably healthy even when we do stuff to ’em. Here’s how you granita.
1 Cup Water
3-4 fresh Navel Oranges
1 each fresh Lemon and Lime
1 1/2 Cups Cranberries, fresh or frozen, washed and sorted
1/2 Cup Agave Nectar or Honey
Thoroughly rinse cranberries and citrus. If your citrus has been waxed or treated, put them whole in a bowl containing ¼ cup white vinegar mixed with 4 cups cold water. Allow them to soak for about 15 minutes, then rinse in fresh water and dry with a clean towel.
Zest all citrus, then juice each into separate small bowls or cups.
In a heavy bottomed sauce pan over medium-high heat, add;
1 cup of orange juice,
1 teaspoon lime juice,
1 teaspoon lemon juice,
The agave nectar or honey,
1/2 teaspoon of orange, lemon and lime zest.
Heat to a fast simmer, stirring occasionally, until the berries start to pop, (about 5 minutes).
Remove pan from heat and purée the ingredients with a stick blender; be careful, the blend holds heat well and is sticky.
Carefully pour the mixture through a steel mesh strainer, into a glass baking pan, (around 9″ x 12″ is right, and a half cookie sheet with sides will work if you don’t have the pan).
Press gently on the mix with a spatula; you’ll end up with some skins and zest that won’t make it through the strainer.
Slide the pan into your freezer for at least 4 hours, (and overnight is fine), along with 4 margarita or Marie Antoinette champagne glasses. Freeze until the granita is completely set.
Scrape the granita carefully towards with a fork while holding the pan steady, until you’ve got a nice shaved ice consistency.
Scoop granita into the chilled glasses, garnish with a Rosemary sprig, and serve immediately.
It’s a sure bet that, if you eat enough Mexican, Tex Mex, Caribbean, or South American food, you’ve enjoyed some form of carne asada. Certainly then, you’ve swooned over the rich and pungent blends of flavors presented by something that looks so simple, but tastes so complex. The answer lies in Mojo, the marinade that made carne asada famous.
The literal translation of the South American name for the dish is roasted meat, which tells us right away that the cooking side of things isn’t complex. All that magic comes from the mojo, and fortunately for us, it’s not only easy to make, it’s downright a gas.
Before we dive fully into Mojo, let’s spend a few looking at the history of carne asada – It’s as old as fire and cooking vessels, really. No one can lay claim to originating the dish, (although that hasn’t stopped many from trying). In addition to straight asada, there are popular variants that have much to do with how the meat is handled for service – Shredded or ground, as opposed to cooked whole and sliced, for instance. Shredded or pulled beef is found in American barbecue, ropa vieja in the Caribbean, and carne deshebrada in Mexico. One of the few variants with a fairly clear origin is carne asada fries, a sort of Tex-Mex swing at poutine, with carne asada and typical fixins replacing the gravy – Lolita’s in San Diego lays claim to that one, by the way. The versions most Americans are accustomed to stem from northern Mexican cuisines, although there are popular southern variants as well.
Specific cuts of beef are commonly associated with carne asada, and they’re not exactly the rock stars. These include skirt, flank, and flap steak, the stuff the folks doing the boogie up on the hill certainly did not buy for themselves. That stuff was considered refuse, and the genesis of great meals formed around such marginal cuts is another example of the disenfranchised making due. Yet here in the 21st century, popularity has turned all that on its head – When we shopped for this post, skirt steak wasn’t available, and both flank and flap were commanding $10 a pound – TEN BUCKS A POUND!! Remember what happened with short ribs, or veal bones, a while back? Same gig – Popularity breeds stunning expense, straight out. The moral of the story is to be flexible – When we spied eye of the round cut thin as steaks for $5 a pound, it was game over, and ‘authenticity’ be hanged – It’ll all eat just fine – Boneless chuck, the bargain basement of beef cuts, makes perfectly wonderful carne asada.
Now, on to that mojo. If you have a carniceria nearby, you can bet they offer carne asada, either in whole steaks, sliced, or chopped. You’ll likely find it either preperada, (marinated) or not, and if you get their marinade, what you’ll get can run the gamut from simple salt and oil, to quite complex mixes that rival a mole – The marinade is where the real poetic license lives with carne asada. What you create is up to you, (and we’ll provide plenty of options herein to get ya started.)
As common and as diverse as spaghetti sauce, there are dozens of popular, commercial mojo variants, let alone the tens of thousands rendered by home cooks everywhere. The Spanish word Mojo derives from the Portuguese, Molho, which simply means sauce – a clear indicator of its ubiquity. There is general agreement that mojo originated in the Canary Islands, the archipelago off the northwest coast of Africa. Canarian cuisine is a fascinating amalgamation of the native islanders, (sadly, now largely extinct), Spanish, Portuguese, and African roots. Their cooking emphasizes freshness, simplicity, and powerful flavors, many of which derive from various mojos. Literally every Canarian family has at least two signature mojos, passed down from generation to generation. The signature island dish, Papas Arrugadas, (wrinkly potatoes), is demonstrative of all that. Whole potatoes boiled in salt water, and served with red and green mojo – And in an interesting twist of serendipity, the potato isn’t native to the Canaries – They came from South America, of course.
In its simplest form, mojo contains olive oil, chiles (pimienta in the Canaries), garlic, paprika, coriander (either fresh or seed), and cumin. As mentioned, there are two primary branches of Canarian mojo, red and green. The red, fueled by dried or fresh chiles and paprika, is most often paired with meat, while the green, made with green peppers, cilantro, or parsley, compliments fish courses. There are many other iterations, some using local cheese, (mojo con queso), garlic, almonds, and fresh herbs – Check out that almond Mojo recipe and you’ll see what I mean about rivaling moles. One could easily spent a happy year working through all these lovely things, and one of these days, I just might.
The flow of humanity in the 16th through 19th centuries, both forced and chosen, brought mojo to Europe, then South America, the Caribbean, and eventually, North America. Mojo not only thrived, it grew in leaps and bounds. Were I forced to define a generic, accurate version that we here in the Estados Unidos are familiar with, it would certainly include chiles, citrus, garlic, oil, and vinegar – A Mexican vinaigrette, in essence. Proportions are pretty broadly interpreted, with the main aim being making enough to generously coat and marinate your proteins.
Established Mexican, Caribbean, and South American variants also run the gamut from super simple to dizzyingly complex. What this means to the home cook is that, in all honestly, you can’t go wrong – Combine stuff you love and that plays well together, and you’re in like Flynn. I’m going to offer several variants, including fairly faithful renderings of styles you’ve probably tried and liked – As I always note, use these as a springboard for personal creativity, and know that you’ll likely never do the exact same thing twice – The real beauty of Mojo is as a last minute inspirational meal – You’ve got this, that, and the other thing in your stores, so what do you do with them? You do this.
NOTE ON WHAT TO MAKE: Tacos, burritos, chimis, or taco salads, with fresh pick de gallo and warm tortillas, are almost a must for your first meal if you’re marinating proteins, but keep in mind, this stuff has North African and Iberian roots, so get bold and go that direction if you feel so inspired. And you can always sauté the meat with something new, change the spicing, and make something totally different.
NOTE ON MARINATING: Any marinade containing citrus, other acids like Vinegar, or other fruits like papaya, kiwi, pineapple, fig, or mango will break down the connective tissues in proteins as they marinate – There’s an enzyme called protease, (papain in papaya), that does the trick. That’s great for tenderizing tougher cuts, and it’s the secret as to why marginal stuff like skirt stake or flank steak can come out so tender. That said, be careful with the duration – There are a lot of recipes out there that advise marinating overnight, and that’s taking things too far – Going over 6 hours risks mushy meat, and nobody likes that texture. Marinate proteins for at least an hour, and as long as 4 or 5, and you’ll get great flavor infusion and a proper degree of tenderization.
NOTE ON GRILLING: Anything you marinate in Mojo will taste best grilled. And if you can, do so with wood or charcoal, although gas works just fine too. With the thinner cuts or proteins commonly used for carne asada, you’ve got to keep an eye on things – We’re talking a 2 minute punk rock song per side, as opposed to the common, classic rock 3-4 minutes a side measure. A lot of restaurants grill carne asada to well done, but you do not need to do that. Grill to medium rare, then allow a good 5 to 10 minute rest before you carve. If you use the more rustic cuts of beef, like skirt, flank, or flap steaks, carve 90° to the grain, at a 45° angle for each slice.
NOTE ON OIL: You’ll see I call for Avocado Oil on several Mojo recipes. I like it for it’s rich, buttery feel and neutral taste, as well as its exceptional smoke point. You can certainly use Extra Virgin Olive Oil in any of these recipes, but you really owe it to yourself to try avocado oil in the near future.
First, the classic Mojo roots.
Canarian Green Mojo
1 Bundle fresh Cilantro
3/4 Cup Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 fresh Lime
3 cloves Garlic
1 teaspoon Sea Salt
1/2 teaspoon Cumin
1/2 teaspoon Black Pepper
Rinse and dry all produce.
Remove long stems from Cilantro, discard and mince the leaves.
Peel and stem garlic, and mince.
Juice lime, and set aside.
If you’re using whole spices, add salt, pepper, and cumin to a spice grinder and pulse to an even consistency, (3 or 4 pulses should do it.)
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl and mix thoroughly. You can leave the sauce rustic, or process it with a stick blender for a smoother consistency.
Allow sauce to marry for 30 minutes prior to use. Serve with fresh crusty bread, potatoes, fish, or veggies.
Canarian Red Mojo
1 large Red Sweet Pepper
2-4 fresh hot chiles, (chef’s choice, they don’t have to be red – Jalapeño, Habanero, Serrano, and Cayenne all work)
3 cloves fresh Garlic
2-3 Tablespoons Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tablespoon Cider Vinegar
1 teaspoon Sea Salt
1/2 teaspoon Cumin
Rinse all produce and pat dry.
Stem, seed, and devein the Pepper and chiles, (leave veins in chiles if you want more heat.)
Fine dice Pepper and chiles.
Process Cumin to a powder if you’re using whole.
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl and mix thoroughly. You can leave the sauce rustic, or process it with a stick blender for a smoother consistency.
Allow sauce to marry for 30 minutes prior to use. Serve with fresh crusty bread, chicken, pork, or beef.
UrbanMonique Signature Mojo – This is a great all purpose Mojo, with a couple of our signature twists.
2 small Limes
1 navel Orange
1-3 Jalapeño Chiles
1/2 bunch fresh Cilantro
1/2 Cup Avocado Oil
2 Tablespoons Live Cider Vinegar
Pinch of Sea Salt
3-4 twists fresh ground Pepper
Rinse and pat dry all produce.
Zest and juice the citrus, and reserve both.
Peel, stem, and mince the garlic.
Stem, de-seed, and devein the jalapeños, (leave the veins if you like more heat).
Remove long stems from Cilantro and mince the remainder.
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl and mix thoroughly. You can leave the sauce rustic, or process it with a stick blender for a smoother consistency.
Makes a fantastic marinade for chicken, pork, or beef. Also does great with tofu, veggies, or fish.
And finally, here are a few Mexican and South American variants.
Quick Cervesa Mojo – Great for folks that don’t like heat.
1 bottle Negra Modelo Beer
1 small lime
1 bunch Green Onions
3 cloves fresh Garlic
Pinch of Sea Salt
A few twists fresh ground Pepper
Open beer and pour into a bowl, allowing it to loose its fizz and flatten somewhat, (About 5-10 minutes)
Zest and juice lime, set both aside.
Peel, stem and mince garlic
Trim and peel green onions, then leave them whole, as trimmed.
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl and mix thoroughly. Leave the sauce rustic, do not process it.
Allow sauce to marry for 30 minutes prior to use. Makes a fantastic marinade for chicken, pork, or beef. Marinate proteins for an hour, then remove the steaks and the onions and grill both as desired. Goes great with the rest of the Negra Modelo six pack.
Taco Truck Mojo – There is no standard recipe, but this will put you in the running…
2 small Limes
2-4 hot Chiles of your choice
3 cloves fresh Garlic
1/2 Cup Avocado Oil
1 Tablespoon dark Soy Sauce
2 teaspoons Smoked Sweet Paprika
1 teaspoon Sea Salt
1/2 teaspoon Cumin
1/2 teaspoon Oregano
1/4 teaspoon Black Pepper
1/4 teaspoon White Pepper
Rinse and pat dry produce.
Zest and juice Limes, set both aside.
Stem, seed, and devein chiles, (leave veins in if you want the heat). Fine dice chiles.
Peel and stem Garlic, then mince.
Process spices to a consistent rough powder if you’re using whole.
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl. Process with a stick blender to a smooth, even consistency.
Makes a fantastic marinade for chicken, pork, or beef. Marinate proteins for at least an hour, and as many as 5 hours. Grill proteins as desired, and baste with the marinate as you’re grilling.
Garlic Papaya Mojo
1 fresh Papaya
1 small Green Bell Pepper
3-4 Green Onions
1 small fresh Lime
3 cloves Fresh Garlic
1 Tablespoon Avocado Oil
1 Tablespoon live Cider Vinegar
1/2 teaspoon Lemon Thyme
Pinch of Sea Salt
A couple twists fresh ground Pepper
Peel, seed and rough chop papaya.
Zest and juice Limes.
Stem, seed and devein green pepper, then dice.
Peel, stem green onions, then cut into 1/4″ thick rounds.
Peel, stem, and mince garlic.
Combine all ingredients in a non-reactive bowl. Process with a stick blender to a smooth, even consistency.
Makes a fantastic marinade for chicken, pork, or beef. Marinate proteins for at least an hour, and as many as 3 hours – don’t exceed that too much, as the papain enzyme in papaya is formidable stuff. Grill proteins as desired, and baste with the marinate as you’re grilling.
It’s 40° F this morning, with a 17 knot wind out of the northeast, putting the wind chill at about 34° F. And it’s rained 3/4″ in the last two days, with more on the way. Can you say, Comfort Food? Sure, I knew ya could… Days like this call for something that conjures childhood memories of coming in from a frigid Massachusetts winter, to a house redolent with the rich smells of good things to eat. Beef Stroganoff, or should I say, Stroganov, is what I’ve got in mind, and I’m willing to bet that merely reading those words has already gone to work on you, too. I’m talking authentic beef stroganoff here, which raises an important question – What exactly is authentic, in this regard? Let’s find out.
Invariably, if you’re a student of food history at all, you’ve heard some version of the origin story for beef stroganoff. Count Alexander Grigorievich Stroganov was the Minister of Internal Affairs of Russia under Czar Alexander III, in the early 19th century, and later the Governor-General of Novorossiysk and Bessarabia. He was also the president of the historical society, a famous and wealthy man, and a bit of a gourmand. The rest of the story goes, in essence, that he collaborated with his French Chef to invent Beef Stroganov, which took Russia by storm, winning awards throughout the country, and is still with us today. While the modern dish is surely named Stroganoff, the origin story is kinda cloudy when you get down to brass tacks. And by the way, there are some serious issues with most modern recipes – More on that shortly.
Here are a few facts – first, the dish attributed to the Stroganov family is an age old Russian favorite – sautéed beef in sour cream sauce. Secondly, the upper crust during Czarist times loved all things French – Many spoke French at home and sent their kids to French schools, and French cuisine was considered especially à la mode. Third, many Russian cooks were French trained, and families who could afford to hire a genuine French Chef would do so in a heartbeat.
There is also evidence to support the belief that at least one Stroganov Count had a French Chef, though I’ve yet to read anything definitive attributed to which one was the one. While most popular versions tap Count Alexander Grigorievich Stroganov as the creator, there are rival claims for Counts Pavel Alexandrovich and Sergei Grigorievich as well. The first published recipe that specifically called the dish Beef Stroganov I’m aware of appeared in a cookbook written by Elena Molokovhets in 1861, (A Gift For Young Housewives). It’s also true that, thirty years later, in Saint Petersburg, a French Chef named Charles Briere was awarded a blue ribbon for a dish he called Beef Stroganov. But at that point, Alexander Grigorievich Stroganov had been dead for almost 75 years, and the youngest candidate, Sergei, had died in 1882. Nothing I read definitively tied Briere to the Stroganovs either – Clear as mud, right?
In any case, it’s certainly plausible that a French Chef might tweak either a rustic Russian favorite, (or for that matter, a French fricassee de boeuf), making it more suitable for refined Russian palates. And it’s still most likely, for my mind, that the dish came to fame with Count Alexander, who reportedly was a serious party hound. Certainly the French-Russian twist is evident in the truest version of the dish – sautéing beef, and then whipping up a pan sauce flavored with mustard is absolutely French, while beef in sour cream defines Russian fare to a T.
When the Communist Revolution engulfed Russia and buried the last of the Czars, many who were able fled their home country. Naturally, they took their favorite dishes with them. Beef Stroganov migrated first to China, where Shanghai was known as The Paris of the East – There is where it likely was first pared with rice, and where soy or fish sauce of some kind would have been introduced as well. The dish also worked its way through what would become the soviet block countries, and eventually to America – There, in New York City in 1927, the Russian Tea Room opened, with Beef Stroganoff on the menu. It was around this time and through these gyrations and upheavals that the name apparently changed from Stroganov to Stroganoff.
Enough of the history – Onward to the stuff commonly associated with beef Stroganov that, frankly, shouldn’t be – Please note, I’m not saying you can’t do these things – I’m merely pointing out that, if authentic is important, this stuff won’t be in the mix. Pretty much the entire no-no list came from American ‘improvements’ to the dish.
Mushrooms – Russian purists say unequivocally that mushrooms in beef stroganoff is inauthentic. You can do it if you dig it, but try it at least once without. Mushrooms are potent – They add a number of elements of taste and texture that can easily overwhelm what should be a delicate balance of flavors. So if you do add them, make them good ones, and pay attention to proportion – half to a loose full cup is plenty – And for the record? Yeah, I add them – Shiitakes from our tribe in Minnesota, along with a half cup of steeping liquid.
Served on Noodles – Never done in Russia. Served over mashed or roasted potatoes, or accompanied by fried potatoes are the ways it was done, and later, over rice as well. Don’t get me wrong, freshly made egg noodles are great with Stroganoff, but you owe it to yourself to try the more authentic accompaniments – And doing so gives you a built in excuse to make several batches…
Adding canned cream of mushroom soup. Please, just don’t, ever. That stuff is just so wrong, I shouldn’t need to elaborate further. I don’t care if your mom and aunt Sally used it – Just don’t.
Adding ketchup/catsup. While I found, (and endorse), the use of tomato paste and honey in the seasoning mix, ketchup ain’t the way to get there. The balance is way off, and frankly, even good store bought ketchup doesn’t taste much like tomatoes. The idea is to get a little sweet note and a little msg umami feel into the recipe, and there’s much better, more balanced ways to do that, as you’ll see shortly.
Ground beef, or cheap stew cuts. Remember what I said last week about choosing beef? You certainly can make Stroganoff with these cuts and grinds, but to do it right, what you need is a nice quality, lean cut. Top sirloin, eye of the round, tenderloin will all do a great job. Stroganoff, done right, is fork tender, almost melt in your mouth, and it doesn’t require long stewing or braising time, so a good quality cut is mission critical to achieving that end. Again, you can use that other stuff in a pinch, but if you want to make the version fit for a Count, you need pretty good beef.
What you certainly can do is use a protein other than beef. While some hard cores claim only kow is korrect, plenty of genuine Russian history and recipes I chased down indicated that pork, lamb, and chicken all were used from time to time in the old country, and you can too. And for that matter, tofu sautéed to a nice crispy crust, with a soft, cream interior, is also pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself.
This recipe is an amalgam of several authentic versions. Those recipes varied from absolutely simple to quite complex. I took the common ground from all of them, as well as a couple of my favorite tweaks from the dish’s travels, to arrive where I did. I encourage you to dig in deeper and come up with one of your own – But try mine first. That said, whatever version you make, pay attention to the technique I’m showing here. I guarantee you it’ll make the most incredible Stroganov you’ve ever tasted, or your money back!
Beef Stroganov a la UrbanMonique
1 Pound Beef Sirloin or Tenderloin
1 small Sweet Onion
1 Cup Sour Cream
1/2 Cup Beef Stock
1 Tablespoon Wondra Flour
1 Tablespoon Unsalted Butter
1 Tablespoon Avocado Oil (Olive Oil is fine)
1 Tablespoon Dijon Mustard
1 Tablespoon Tomato Paste
2 teaspoons Honey
1 teaspoon Soy Sauce
2 drops Fish Sauce
Trim all fat and connective tissue from beef, and reserve that stuff.
In a cast iron skillet over low heat, add a pinch of salt and all the trimmed fat, etc. cook on low, stirring occasionally, until the fat is rendered out of the trimmings, about 15 minutes.
Peel, trim, and slice onion into thin 1/8″ thick rings, then cut those into quarters.
Remove the trimmings from the skillet, and bring heat up to medium. If your beef trimmings didn’t render enough fat to coat the pan, add a little oil.
Add onions to the skillet, stir to coat with the rendered fat, and season lightly with salt and pepper.
Reduce heat to medium low and sweat the onions – This is done with the heat initially fairly high, then reduced – Its a quick process, 2 or 3 minutes, with steady stirring. The onions will look glossy and wet, but do not brown them.
Add the beef stock and butter to the skillet and stir, add another pinch of salt and a twist or two of Pepper. If you’ve been good and made demi glacé, pull a cube or two from the freezer and add it to the pan as well. Stir to incorporate, and reduce heat to low.
With a meat hammer, pound the trimmed beef lightly to tenderize. If you have a decent meat hammer, then the trick is to let the tool’s weight do the work – Don’t add muscle to the pounding, just guide the tool – You want your beef to end up about 1/2″ thick.
Cut the beef into strips about 1 1/2″ long and 1/2″ thick. Transfer to a non-reactive bowl.
Check your onions and stock. Give them a stir, and keep the heat low enough that they do not simmer.
Add flour, mustard, tomato paste, soy sauce, honey, and fish sauce to the beef and mix by hand until thoroughly and evenly coated.
Transfer onions and stock to a mixing bowl.
Increase heat to medium high and add a tablespoon of avocado oil to the skillet. When the pan is nice and hot, add the beef and sauté quickly, turning constantly. Cook for about 2 minutes until the beef is lightly browned.
Turn the heat under the skillet off, and add the onions and stock to the beef. Stir to incorporate. Cover the pan and allow the dish to sit for at least 30 minutes, and an hour is better yet.
When you’re about ready to eat, uncover the skillet and turn the heat to medium low. Allow the Stroganov to heat through, stirring occasionally. Do not allow the dish to boil or simmer vigorously – Nice and easy does it on the reheat. This will take about 15 minutes to heat the dish through.
When your Stroganov has 5 minutes of reheating left, add the sour cream, taste and adjust salt and pepper as desired. Stir gently to incorporate, and every minute or so thereafter – Again, do not allow the dish to boil, or you’ll break the delicate sauce.
Serve over rice, or mashed potatoes, with a salad or green vegetable. Garnish with parsley, cilantro, or basil, and chopped tomato if you like.