Toast

Strong Cheese

I never knew. It isn't even actually a recipe, but it turns out to be a specific process called "Fromage Fort", traditional and French. I've been making this multi-purpose cheesy thing for some time, and now I have a name for it-thanks to Jacques Pepin. His great big coffee table book,Traditions and Rituals of a Cook, is not only very pretty, but actually full of good information, recipes, and engaging stories.

M. Pepin's father's process for this appetizer/condiment/supper dish is more picturesque than my own. When J. Pepin was a child, his family did not have a fridge. Perishable food was stored in a "Garde Manger", which, chez Pepin, was essentially a wooden box, kept in the coolest possible spot. The dried out ends of cheeses accumulated there, along with everything else that had to be chilled.

When the urge struck him, Pepin Sr. would sort out the odd bits of leftover cheese of all sorts, and trim off any moldy spots. He cut it all up into a covered container, ladled some hot soup over it, and left it for days to soften. Once it was softened, he'd mash it all up with a little wine and some garlic, pack it into a crock, and it was ready to go- as a topping with crackers, baked in little mini-crocks for a first course, or spread on baguette slices and toasted. You can make a toasted panini thing, layering it with ham between two slices, and cooking it with a press, possibly dipping the sandwich in beaten egg before toasting, for extra fanciness.I especially like to munch my version, plain, with radishes.

I would be far too cowardly for this original method, which, though perhaps more flavorful than the modern version, fills my brain, however unjustly, with images of festering, possibly deadly itty bitty organisms. I note that Pepin Jr. and his wife currently use a food processor, which is also my weapon of choice. This eliminates the necessity for prolonged stewing.

Basically all you have to do is put your assorted leftover cheese bits*- hard and soft, in a food processor with some chopped garlic cloves- a little pepper and a bit of dijon mustard if you like, and process it with enough dry white wine to make a thick paste. The amount of wine you need will vary, depending on the ratio of hard to soft cheese. Pack it in a crock or two, and refrigerate for a day or so to let the flavors settle , and then you are set to go.

You can freeze this stuff, and it keeps quite well in the fridge, too. Toasted, baked, or just spread on a bit of crusty bread, it's a nice thing to have around. And, you know,it's making something out of nothing. Waste Not, Want Not.

Not really a recipe, as you can see. And it is very likely that you have already made something similar. This is the sort of thing that I like to be told about myself, just ordinary kitchen sense really. We can happen upon these ideas from just hanging around a kitchen, or read about them. A friend can tell us something nice that they do with their leftovers, and especially if is simple, it might be of lasting use. I like these sorts of ideas even better than the best of special recipes. Not that there is anything wrong with the latter.

*I would not include an actual parmesan rind, as these are too valuable to be lost in the mix-one dried out parm rind adds so much pizazzz to a pot of minestrone or potato soup.

One Frozen Duck: Part II Confit and Cassoulet

I'm going to show you a really easy way to make a duck confit. When Paula Wolfert takes a short cut, you've got to know it's not a cop-out. The woman is nothing if not the queen of patience in service to authenticity. However, if you are not up for even this level of fiddling, you can make my inauthentic but IMHO tasty cassoulet with purchased confit. You'll need two leg/thigh sections for the payoff dish. There are many other nifty uses for a duck confit, too, I hope to get to that soon.

A. Confit

If you were following along with Part I, you've got a little plastic bag in the fridge, with some salted and seasoned duck parts, those being 2 leg and thigh sections, 2 wings, and the neck. You also have 4 cups of rendered duck fat. Possibly this is actually a duck/goose fat blend. You may even be stretching it with olive oil. I hope you have a crock pot, or other slow cooker. The smaller the better, really. The little ones are fabulously cheap, and have many uses, including impromptu fondue pot, overnight oatmeal maker, and so on.

Before you go to bed, plug in the crock pot, and set it on low. Brush most of the bits of seasoning off the duck parts, and put them in the pot. Liquify the fat by heating it in the microwave or otherwise, at a lowish heat so as not to induce bubbling over. Pour over the duck parts, and make sure they are covered completely by fat. If not, add that olive oil..or some lard until they are entirely submerged. Put on the lid, and go to sleep.

In the morning, sprinkle coarse salt on the bottom of a clean container large enough to hold the contents of the crock pot. Use tongs to lift out the very soft duck,
and set it all in the clean container. Pour the liquid fat through a very fine strainer over the duck, again making sure it's all covered with the fat. Let this cool while you get ready for work, or make some coffee and breakfast, or both. When it's cooled down, cover and refrigerate. Was that easy or what?

Later in the day, if you've used a flexible plastic container, you can pop out the confit and fat in a block. There will be a layer of rich duck jelly on the bottom. You can peel this off, and store separately in the fridge, to add depth of flavor to any of the duck dishes I'm going on about. Not to worry if not, though, the salt on the bottom will keep it from going off until you work your way down.

Store the confit in the fridge for at least a week, so the characteristic confit flavor can develop.Now you are ready to use these goodies. It is best, food safety-wise, to thoroughly heat the confit before serving. Mostly, you will want to cook it in its own fat until it's crispy, and delightful. Merci, Ms. Wolfert.

B. Cheater's Cassoulet

1 lb Great Northern beans
some of that dock stock you made in Part I- (or
a quart of good boxed chicken or turkey stock)
an onion with 5 cloves stuck in it
a couple of bay leaves
thyme sprigs
6-7 cloves of garlic
your confit and the fat that clings to it when you remove it from the container
4 garlic sausages- I used the already cooked chicken ones
a pork chop
bread crumbs from a country loaf- about 2 cups
salt
pepper
a 15 oz can of tomatoes
salt
pepper
olive oil

This is seriously unseasonal, I know, but it was cold here last week. I'm eager for the local produce and the farm box to start up, but so far, there's not much to be had. A friend brought me some just-cut asparagus from her garden, which was beyond fabulous- I was so lucky. I was all over cooking and consuming it instantly... but there's not been much yet, since then. In the meantime, if the weather isn't balmy where you live, you might want to give this a try.

Soak your beans over night, in water to cover. In the morning, drain them, put them in a heavy pot, add the stock, and water, if necessary, to cover. Put the pork chop, bay, thyme, onion and garlic in with the beans. Bring to a boil, then turn to a simmer. Salt and pepper to taste, then cook until the beans are very tender. When they are cooked completely, snatch the chop out with some tongs, and set it on a cutting board. Add the can of tomatoes, and continue to simmer the beans. (Don't add the tomatoes until the beans are tender. .The acid in the tomatoes will stop them softening properly.)Preheat the oven to 350F.

While the beans and tomatoes are cooking, shred the confit into a 3 qt covered enameled cast iron or stonewear casserole, preferably one which has a lid. It will have some fat clinging to it. Add a bit more fat, the sausages, sliced, and the pork chop, cut in cubes. Cook, over a low heat, until the confit is browned and crispy, and the rest of the meat has browned edges..Add the beans and their cooked-down liquid to the casserole, and mix it all up well. Cover with a thick layer of the crumbs, and drizzle or spray with olive oil. Bake for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until there's major bubbling up happening around the edges. the breadcrumbs should be nicely browned now. Consume with some friends and a bit of green salad.

If you like, you can assemble the whole casserole, and keep it in the fridge for a day. If you do that, you should let it come to room temperature for about 1/2 hour, while you preheat the oven. This is very sociable food. There is going to be a a nice duck breast supper soon. Stay tuned.

Loafing

I couldn't ask more from a holiday. Two weeks visiting family/friends in Sussex in an early spring, with a two day London excursion in the middle. It was a perfect balance of visiting, relaxing, and entertaining escapades. The weather was ridiculously good-there were daffodils, and blossoming trees, and I am nonetheless even sort of glad to be home. Eventually, I will tell you all about it.

At the moment, however, I am beat. It was only a 20 hour trip, door-to-door , with no glitches or holdups beyond a not too awful delay on the A23 enroute to Gatwick, caused by a dramatically overturned crane. But it has more or less done me in. And in a way it would not have done when I was a Young Thing, I'm forced to admit. A day later, and I'm still falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

So here is what I have for you today, along with a couple of pictures of visiting friends on a houseboat, in a very attractive little community of houseboats on the river in Shoreham. This is a recipe for an surprising (to me) delicious and versatile lentil-walnut loaf, which my cousin and I made as part of a dinner party for vegetarian guests. I was surprised, because I'd never made a lentil loaf before, and thought it sounded pretty dull, and more improving, or therapeutic, than delicious. I was not encouraged by the source- a rationing era cookbook with the non-enticing title of "Beans". Shows what I know.

We had our loaf with an onion gravy (variant recipe below) and "roasties" (an assortment of roasted potatoes and root vegetables), baby yorkshire puddings (more onion gravy), and a salad. It was all pretty much devoured, but the few loaf leftovers were delicious cold, in sandwiches. I think they would also make a nice starter- served like a pate, with some crusty bread and a couple of gherkins, or some other sort of pickled things.

This is what you need to make the loaf:

6 oz. of puy lentils, soaked overnight, and cooked until soft
4 oz. walnuts, powdered in a processor
4 ox fine breadcrumbs, preferably whole wheat
1 Tbsp tomato paste
1 egg
1 onion, chopped very finely
pinch thyme
pinch aleppo pepper (that's me, can't leave well enough alone)
1 clove garlic, snashed
1 tbsp olive oil
S and P to taste

Preheat oven to 350F. Butter a loaf pan and line it with foil, lengthwise, with the foil extending past the two short ends. Butter the foil. Heat the oil and cook the onion and garlic until just beginning to change color. Combine with all the other ingredients in a big bowl. Pack into the prepared loaf pan, and fold the ends in. Butter an additional bit of foil to cover the top. cook for 1 and 1/4 hours. Remove top foil, and carefylly unfold the side foil extensions. Let it rest for a few minutes, then lift out by the foil ears, and set on serving plate. Cut into slices with a sharp, preferably serrated knife. Serve hot with onion or mushroom gravy. when the leftovers are cold, it can be sliced more easily, and more thinly.

This is not the gravy we had, as I had only one onion on hand at home, and no wish to go shopping. It is miserably cold here, and there was snow, which is definitely not what I would have ordered, if asked. Apparently I'm still jet-lagged, and this recipe is persistently jumbled and disorderly. But it is also nice, and quantities are adjustable and ad hoc. I will attempt a revision when I get my head screwed on the right way again:

Mushroom Shallot Gravy

Soak mixed dried wild mushrooms in madeira for an hour or two. Chop some shallots and a bit of red onion, and sweat them in a small, heavy pan in a little olive oil. Slice some cremini or ordinary fresh mushrooms, and chop the soaked mushrooms after wringing them out. Add the mushrooms, and saute until almost done. A little bit of thyme and a small sprig of fresh rosemary if available. Sprinkle the lot with a handfull of flour, and cook until the flour disappears and gets a little crusty. Add reserved soaking liquid, and some good quality vegetable stock (or any stock you like), and cook, stirring in the beginning, over a medium low heat until thickened to desired consistency and the flavors have blended.

And I did miss you, despite having a wonderful time.

Salty Goodness

"Anchovies, anchovies,
You're so delicious.
I like you better than
All the other fishes."

In "Conversations with Dead People", a 7th season episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", Buffy's sister Dawn declared her anchovy love to her pizza, just prior to the appearance of the First (Evil) in the guise of her (dead) mother, and the subsequent near total destruction of her home by demonic forces.* In a dvd commentary, writer Jane Espenson revealed that she included Dawn's poem in protest, because a certain pizza chain had recently removed the anchovy topping choice from its delivery menu.

No question that anchovies are the subject of some Very Strong Feelings, all around. Even prior to becoming a vegetarian, my daughter despised them so thoroughly that she could not bear it if her father and I ordered anchovies on our portion of the family take out pizza. The very whiff of the nearby anchovies poisoned her portion and her entire evening, and she absolutely could tell , even when we thought we had concealed each and every tiny fish. I live way the other side of the Great Anchovy Divide, and enjoy anchovies presented frankly, on a pizza, or elsewhere-including that one-time rage, "Jansson's Temptation."

A Scandanavian dish, popular in the sixties, when Danish Modern was the hottest of design trends, Jansson's Tempatation was a bit of fad too. It was made with sliced potatoes, which were baked slowly, melding with plenty of anchovies and cream- actually delicious, and much more subtle than you would think, though the anchovy presence was not a secret. A friend of my parents made it for dinner parties, and I was always hoping the children would be invited.

Since that time, I have learned a technique for cooking vegetables with an anchovy or two, where the presence of the anchovies, as such, is pretty well undetectable. You have probably come across this business before. It works brillantly with lots of vegetables, and is particularly yummy with green beans and cherry tomatoes, cooked together. You heat a bit of olive oil and some garlic, and mash in a couple of anchovies. When the anchovies are melted, you gently cook the veggies (parboiled for the green beans, but not for the tomatoes) in the oil until they are done as you like. I have served this to professed anchovy-haters, and they mostly scarf it up. (Naturally, I cannot serve it to vegetarian anchovy haters, because, as I have been informed on any number of occasions by close relatives, "A fish is not a vegetable.") If you are anti-anchovy, but given to challenging yourself-give this a try.

Less subtle, but still not overwhelming, is the pasta recipe below. I love this stuff. It is a typically simple, yet punchy Jamie Oliver recipe, though I rather think it is a traditional dish, as opposed to an invention..To make it you need only have ordinary pantry staples on hand, or, at least, my kind of on-hand cupboard stuff. You need:

Panagretto (see below)
1 1/4 lbs dried spaghetti
10 anchovies
a small red chili (dried) pounded (or aleppo pepper flakes or the like are okay, too)
clove garlic, peeled and finely chopped
salt and pepper

panagretto
6 Tbsps olive oil
3 cloves garlic, peeled
small handful fresh thyme leaves-stems removed-or tsp of dried thyme
4 oz bread crumbs, fine
half a lemon

Put a big pasta pan of water on to boil. In a heavy pan, add most of the olive oil and the garlic, and heat,then add thyme and bread crumbs. As they begin to fry and toast, stir them. Keep on until they are crisply toasted, then scoop them out onto some wadded paper towels. Spread them out, remove the garlic, blot off the excess oil, and salt and pepper them.

When the pasta water is boiling, salt it, and add the spaghetti. Heat the oil and chopped garlic in the same pan you used for the breadcrumbs.Lay the anchovies over the garlic, and mash them with the back of a wooden spoon. When they are melty, add the red pepper and squeeze in the lemon juice. (Watch out, the lemon juice will sputter, jump back.) When the spaghetti is done, drain it and pour the pasta into the anchovy pan. Turn it over and over with some tongs , coating all the spaghetti thoroughly. Serve right away, in wide bowls, sprinkling each serving with plently of the toasty breadcrumbs. this much serves four for supper, with a salad.

Don't put grated parm on it- it would fight with the anchovies, and ruin your fun.

*In the same episode, Dawn tried an interesting culinary experiment, involving microwaving a marshmallow, which puffed up dramatically (see screen capture). Later, the microwave exploded-but it wasn't because of the marshmallow.The marshmallow thing does work, BTW. Don't ask. The geekiness is in honor of the recent 10th anniversary of Btvs, soon to be seen in a different sort of Season 8, coming to a comics shop near you.

Cabbage Roles

I came home from Cleveland after Christmas replete with holiday goodies, and feeling as if (ha) I might never again be very hungry. I know from experience that this sort of bloat can vanish suddenly, and leave a person rummaging for crusts, but it hasn't happened so far. This is a good thing, because there was just not much food in the house, and I haven't been in the mood for hauling a lot of groceries on the bus.

I'm happy to wait to shop until my kind friend with car returns from out of town. But there are some mouths to feed in the coming week, and a long weekend to cook ahead in. I found a great big savoy cabbage, some onions, and garlic- pretty much the only fresh produce in the house, since I dutifully used up my perishables before leaving for Christmas. The usual pantry things I hoard compulsively are also around, so I had me a mental browse around the various and splendid cabbage options.

God, I love cabbage. As you can see, I decided to make stuffed cabbage rolls- I did a vegetarian version, because of the food preferences of certain expected guests. I assure you that it does not look so lurid in person, I don't know what the story is with the reds here. My decision was not without pause to consider the other possibilities-a raised cabbage pie , Digger's cabbage soup , minestrone, and the like- including Paula Wolfert's semi-insane and totally delicious "Green chicken".

I also thought about trying two cabbage dishes I've not made yet. These were both my mother's special party dishes. She invented her own versions, and they were outstanding. Thus, there are no written recipes, and she doesn't remember how she made them. I plan to figure both out someday, but this was not the day.

One of her creations was a whole stuffed cabbage, with the meat based filling distributed between the leaves, which were gently prised open, after parboiling, without being detached from the core. The whole thing was gathered up in a bag of cheesecloth, to form a larger, slightly opened ball- rather like a blowsy, old-fashioned rose- and poached in a seasoned broth. She cut it in wedges to serve with a tomato and mushroom sauce. Impressive, delicious, and every bit as wacky as P.Wolfert's Poulet Vert. Her other cabbage opus was a strudel, made using purchased filo leaves. The cabbage filling had a sour cream and mushroom component, and it was a very good, and rich treat, usually served as a starter. Someday.

I have probably mentioned before that I don't buy cabbage much in the summer. I get beautiful cabbages in my CSA farmbox, so crisp and sweet that I realize that the average grocery store cabbage must be pretty old. They keep so well, and I guess the stores take advantage, and keep them forever. Probably the only way to get a fresh cabbage is to buy it from a farmer, or grow it yourself. I mostly use those crisp summer cabbages for slaws, and wait until now, when the fresh local veg are no more, to enjoy the many uses of the ordinary supermarket cabbage. Though a little aged, it is not to be sneezed at. This warm season forbearance gives me a feeling for a winter "season" of vegs-including, also e.g. the long storing winter squashes, and plenty of dried beans.

I decided on the cabbage rolls so I could make a lot, and divide them between the two dinners I'm making. You can use any filling you like, of course, but I do think onions, garlic, herbs and mushrooms are especially good in it. You can substitute other grains- barley or quinoa or the like, and your herbs of choice. Personally though, I love tarragon with cabbage. and it is nice to include the tiny, unstuffable cabbage leaves in the stuffing mix as well. This is how I made them, to serve a total of seven people:

I made a couple of cups of basmati rice, while bringing my pasta pot full of water to a boil, and soaking a large handful of dried shitake slices in some very hot tap wayer, to cover. When the water came to a boil, I cut the core out of my very large savoy cabbage, and lowered it into the pasta pot in the strainer. After a couple of minutes, I pulled the cabbage out, and carefully removed as many of the outer leaves as I could, without tearing them. I kept putting the cabbage back into the boiling water until I was able to remove as many leaves as I could, until I got down to the really small center ones. I put all the whole leaves, stacked, back into the strainer, and gave them a few minutes more in the boiling water, for softening, then drained them all, and rinsed them in cold water to stop them cooking.

I sauteed a chopped onion, a handful of pine nuts, the drained mushrooms ( saving the water), chopped, some lovely fresh wild mushrooms I picked up on the way home from work (nice and light, parcel-wise), garlic, a pinch of aleppo pepper, and the middle of the cabbage, minced, until everything was browned nicely, and then stirred in the rice, salt, pepper, and tarragon. While that was cooling down, I cut a little v-shape out of each cabbage leaf, from the hard center rib, to make them easier to stuff and roll.

To stuff a cabbage leaf, you set it on a surface, so that the inside is like a cup, facing you. Spoon a bit of filling in, near the bottom of the leaf, where the cup is deepest, and fold the bottom bit up over the filling. fold the sides in, and roll the leaf up to form the roll- like a burrito. As I do each one, I set it in a baking dish, seam side down, so it won't have a chance to come apart. If I have filling left over, I scoop it into a separate little baking dish, pour some sauce over, and bake it along side.

If I am making a brisket or something else meaty to serve with the stuffed cabbage, some of the meat gravy will be mixed into the baking sauce. Today I just blended a quart jar of home canned tomatoes, a cup of homemade broth, and the mushroom soaking liquid, and some salt and pepper, and poured it all over. I baked my tray of stuffed cabbage rolls for an hour at 350F, covered at first, then uncovered, and will probably bake it again for nearly as long the day I serve it, keeping an eye on, and adding liquid as needed.

These keep well, freeze well, may be improvised upon with impunity, and make me feel as if I might still have a grandmother. I do like my cabbage.

Tkemali: A Sour Plum Sauce

Tart and spicy, tkemali is used on most grilled meats and fish and just about everywhere in Georgia (the republic, not the state), much as Americans use ketchup. So says Darra Goldstein in her book, The Georgian Feast. It is a sauce made of sour plums, called tkemalis, not generally available elsewhere. And it is an important addition to Tabaka (grilled, flattened baby chickens) and Lobio Tkemali (a red bean dish), both of which I'd hoped to try. So I thought I'd make some. I had in mind brushing this stuff on some grilling lamb kebabs or the like, too.

Both Darra Goldstein and cookbook author Anya von Bremzen suggest the substitution of other kinds of unripe plums for the unobtainable tkemalis. The Georgian Feast recipe calls for Santa Anna plums. Please to the Table, Anya von Bremzen's anthology of recipes from the former soviet republics, uses prune plums instead. Otherwise, the recipes are very similar. I tried a sort of combination of the two.

The plums I bought were called "Red Plums." An honest name. Smaller than a Santa Anna, larger than an Italian type prune plum, they were, at least, red-which is apparently the color of the original. They were also my sole available choice, and gratifyingly unripe and rock-like. I was probably the only Iggle shopper to appreciate this feature. One recipe calls for the addition of lemon juice, for sourness, but after a taste of these guys, I knew none was needed. Who knew there was a use for unlocal, out of season, hard as a rock, unripe fruit?

If your plums are not very sour, you will want to add a bit of the lemon. Two days after I made this, the two leftover plums had ripened slightly, and were even slightly sweet. And, of course, it is not every supermarket which can be counted on to offer such thoroughly inedible fresh fruit.

Tkemali keeps unsealed and refrigerated for several weeks, and the recipes , with pretty much the same quantities of ingredients, are said to make either 2 or 3 cups of sauce. I decided to make a small amount to try soon, and to seal whatever was left for later. With this in mind, I sterilized 3 half-pint ball jars. I wound up with 2 full jars-sealed, and one half jar in the fridge. I thought I'd let the fridge jar sit for a few days for the flavors to meld, and try a bit with the beans or a little hen this weekend. My finger-licking of the scraped pot told me that this is definitely sour enough. Seriously puckery.

And isn't this a pretty, red stained glass condiment? This is what you need to make it :

plums, very unripe 1 1/2 lbs
water 1/4 cup
whole coriander seeds 3/4 tsp
fennel seed 1 tsp
garlic cloves peeled and chopped 2
salt 1/2 tsp
cayenne 1tsp
fresh mint minced 1 tbsp
fresh cilanto minced 1/3 cup

Sterilize 3 one cup ball jars. Cut the plums in half, cut out the seeds and put in a heavy pot with the water. Bring to a boil, cover and cook til soft- about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, grind everything but the green herbs in a mortar, to a paste.

Put the plums through a chinois or food mill and return puree to pot. Bring back to boil, add spice paste, and cook about 5 minutes, until thickened. Remove from heat and stir in the herbs. Pour hot into sterilized jars, and seal, if desired. Otherwise, store in fridge.

The little plate to the right is lobio tkemali-red beans and plum sauce. It is made with a half pound of soaked dried red beans, cooked until very tender in salted water, and mashed with 1/3 cup of the plum sauce, while still warm. You correct the salt, add a bit of pepper, and top with chopped cilantro. I am liking this very much on some toasted pitas. This can also be made leaving the beans whole. you mix with the plum sauce, garnish with cilantro and raw onion rings, and serve it cold.

Tkemali is a really distinctive taste, and I wasn't sure what I thought of it when I tried it plain...it's very sour. And I say this as a lover of sour things to eat. It is delicious in the bean dish, though...I am looking forward to trying it with something grilled, juicy and crisp.* Have I mentioned often enough how I love plums? Stay tuned for more plummy developments.

*addendum-It was very nice with marinated lamb grilled on skewers, rice, and a salad of parsley and raw onions.

Pork Rilettes

Rilettes make a tasty first course , and are an excellent picnic or take-along snack. You pack them in small containers, which are highly portable. I think they look and taste elegant, spread from their pretty little crock, which has been sealed on top with its thin coat of fat. They are as easy to make as anything could be, no special equipment needed, and no expensive ingredients required. Recently, I learned that rilettes keep several weeks in the refrigerator, which is a plus for a person who lives on her own. It really is strange that more people don't make them. I had never made them before myself.

I was planning on doing some casing sausages for my next project in the new-to-me realm of charcuterie. However, I hadn't yet rounded up any casings. (I finally did get some a bit later..at last.) I realized , leafing through my primer on the topic, that it contained a simple sounding plan for Pork Rilettes for which no shopping would be necessary. Moreover, what it called for, primarily, was time, rather than attention. It all seemed perfect, as I planned a day at home anyway, finishing some written work, and doing some too long neglected laundry.

It was a good thing I had all day, because it took more time even than I had realized. This was in part because of the process of rendering the pork fat for the seal- an entertainment not recommended for the hopelessly impatient. I actually found it relaxing, which I suppose means I'm not nearly the frenzied soul I once was. Described in various places as taking an "hour or two", or "a couple of hours", rendering one pound of pork fat took me 4 hours. And you will probably want to render your own fat for this, unless you have a source for additive free, carefully rendered lard, which is not, I assure you, your ordinary American supermarket product. A peak at the ingredients on a bucket of supermarket lard is not for the queasy.

Perhaps I was overly cautious and kept the fire a bit too low under my pot. I did not want to turn the heat up too high, because of warnings that if the fat colored, it would be ruined. One does not, after all, want to putter around for hours with a bit of fat, and have it turn out worthless due to a moment's impatience. In any event, as I had much more beautiful, clear-as-a-window rendered lard than I needed to seal the crocks, I am now in the fortunate position of deciding what to do with the rest. More charcuterie? A lard/butter crust (my favorite) for a splendid pie? A "player to be named later"?

If you would like some homemade rilettes, this is what you do, adapted from Messers Polcyn and Ruhlman in Charcuterie:

1. Render some pork fat

In a small heavy saucepan, put about a pound of fresh pork fat, cut in smallish cubes. Add 1/4 cup of water. Bring to a simmer, then turn down very, very low and cook until the water is evaporated and you have a pan of clear fat, ornamented with lovely little brown crackling bits. This takes hours. Stir occasionally. Strain through a strainer lined in cheesecloth (or, in my case, a jelly bag, as I was out of cheesecloth). Cool, then keep refrigerated. Extract the little brown bits from the strainer and save to season your vegs, or sprinkle over mashed potatoes. (another bonus-bad for you, yet divine.)

2. Make rillettes

I made a considerably smaller amount than the Charcuterie directions, but the principles are the same.
You can make more if you have more folks to feed. As I said, it keeps for several weeks.

Fatty piece of pork butt, cut in 1" cubes 1 pound
a leek
herbs of choice for bouquet garni (I used marjoram, fennel fronds, bay and thyme)
small onion stuck with 3 cloves
opt, Veal broth to cover (Didn't have any hanging around, I used water-an option)
peppercorns
pinch of 4 spice (my Penzey's version has white pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves)
salt

Preheat oven to 300F. Slit, wash, and trim the leek. Insert herbs of choice in the middle and tie the lot up with kitchen string. Cute, no? Put peppercorns in some cheesecloth, or a tea ball.

Set your pork cubes in a little sturdy oven-friendly pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Drain and rinse with cold water. Pour in stock or water to cover by an inch. Add bouquet garni, 4 spice, peppercorns, 1 tsp salt, and the onion. Bring to a simmer, and cover, slide into oven. Cook 4-6 hours, until it's all falling to shreds.

Cool a bit, and drain, saving the liquid. Put the meat in the bowl of your electric mixer, and beat for a minute or two, adding some of the liquid, until it reaches a paste-like texture. Taste for salt and pepper, and adjust seasoning. Pack into small decorative containers, leaving a bit of space on top. Once they have cooled , heat the rendered fat, and pour over to cover the rilettes completely and come to the top of the container. Chill until hardened and white, then cover with plastic wrap, and store in the fridge. Tasty and rich, these are nice spread on crusty bread, toast, or crackers, and well set off by something pickled. My smaller version of the recipe makes 3 little 6 oz crocks as pictured, plus a bit left to try right away.

If my sweet and sour prunes were ready, I'd offer some with the rilettes. I think I'm going to need to make a few more pickled garnishes for future experiments in charcuterie. Fine with me, sounds like fun. Further readings on rilettes have alerted me to the possibilities of sealing the crocks with clarified butter, which is a tad less time consuming to fix than the rendered pork fat. Maybe next time. There is definitely going to be a next time.

Pruneaux a la Aigre-Doux

I have always liked prunes, now often referred to as "dried plums" in an attempt to avoid the non-glamourous associations which may come to mind. But my affection for the prune was reanimated by both the fabulous cake of the redfox (who just happens to be kith and kin), and the recent David Lebowitz pruneathon. So, as I began perusing my new copy of the lovely and inspirational Cooking of Southwest France, by the ever-wonderful Paula Wolfert, I heard her recipe for Sweet and Sour Prunes calling my name.

They were just the thing really, as they are recommended as perfect with a variety of charcuterie, an area I happen to be exploring lately. I really am a huge fan of that which is pickled, salted ,smoked, jellied or otherwise hand preserved- a kind of pantry-obsessed nutcase. (I'm also very partial to nuts- of the edible kind.But I keep them in the freezer-unless, of course, they've been pickled.) The only trouble is, I have to wait 6 weeks before these prunes are ready. I thought I'd better get started, particularly as I hope to enjoy them while I am still on this charcuterie kick.

I deviated in three respects from the dictates of P.W. First, I failed to notice that I was supposed to be using prunes with the pits intact, and bought the wrong kind. Secondly, the Armangac I snuck in at the end was not original. However, I could not resist using it. I had a recent battle with myself about buying it, which I lost, or won, depending on how you look at it. It was an important part of another P.W. recipe from the same new cookbook, but it is uniformly very expensive. My plan had been to buy a couple of those little airline-sized bottles, just to use in a few recipes. A very much nicer than usual state store clerk went out of his way to see if any were available in the whole Commonwealth of PA, promising to get them in for me. Nope. So, I wound up with a whole large bottle, and intend to sip some after dinner to ease the pain of insolvency. Third, I used different vinegar. Mea culpa.

My slightly adulterated version requires:

prunes, with pits if you are paying attention while shopping 12 oz.
brewed tea 1 cup-PW suggests chamomile or orange pekoe
granulated sugar 1 1/2 cups
vinegar 2 cups PW calls for tarragon white wine vinegar-I used spanish sherry vinegar
sprig tarragon (if, like me, you didn't use tarragon vinegar)
cinnamon stick
cloves 2 whole
vodka
Armangnac 2 tbsps (opt)

First, put the prunes in a small saucepan with the tea, and simmer 10 minutes. Let them stand for a few hours. Meantime, mix the sugar, vinegar tarragon, cinnamon and cloves in another small saucepan. (This is the last small saucepan you need today. If, like me, you only have two of them, you can breathe easily.) Chill til cold.

Drain the prunes. You can toss the tea. I tasted it first, yokel that I am. Don't bother. Dry the prunes with a fresh dishtowel or paper towels. If you got the ones with pits, poke each one a couple of times with a pin. Needless to say, this is unnecessary if they are pitted and hence already have huge holes in them. Put them in a non reactive vessel of some kind- and strain the vinegar solution over them. Let them rest 24 hours.

The next day, strain the vinegar solution into a nonreactive pan, which you will have washed out yesterday, no? Toss out the tarragon, cloves and cinnamon. Boil 6-8 minutes. Put the prunes in a very clean glass pint ball jar. Chill the vinegar mix-then pour over prunes. Add the armagnac, then enough vodka to cover the prunes. Seal, and put in a dark dry spot for (at least) 6 weeks. Refrigerate after opening.

You may be able to see, in the picture, my embarassingly marthaesque vanity preserves labels. I have 2 kinds, one small and oval, the other larger and square, with spaces to fill in the type and date- I got them from My Own Labels, who give you quite a bit of room to customize. Mine also bear the name of my personal fantasy confiture company, "Wildlife Preserves". I know, I know. But I had to label them, didn't I?

BTW, as long as I'm babbling on about pantry goodies, here's a brief update on the Luxardo Maraschino cherry experiments: The far and away winner among my trials is the simple jar of mixed sweet and sour dried cherries, ordered from the Bakers' Catalogue people at King Arthur Flour, maraschino liquor poured over them to fill small jar, lid screwed on tight, in the fridge one month before opening. My oh my. I love these to bits.

Small Steps to the Garde Manger: Breakfast Sausage With Sage and Ginger

I recently bought myself a copy of Charcuterie, by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn, with intentions of reviewing it for Food Bound-the soon to be added section of the Well Fed Network, all about the literature of food. I also recently got a grinder attachment for my Kitchenaid, with my Amazon birthday gift certificate. I'm pretty excited (and a bit fearful) over entering a realm I've generally left for the experts. There is something about the preparation of sausages , pates, smoked meats meats and fishes which seems both more athletic and more mathematical than most cooking. Neither physical strengh nor mathematics has ever been my strong suit.

There does seem to be a fair amount of grinding, meat cutting, and temperature-taking involved. On the other hand, I adore pates and sausages, rilletes and bacon, confits et. al. and the general topic of preserving. Clearly if I want to write a useful review, I will need to make several recipes. So I thought I'd break myself in with what seems to be the simplest recipe in the book, a breakfast sausage with ginger and sage.

It is simpler than most of the preparations, because it does not need to be stuffed into a casing-it can be made into patties, or frozen in a log and sliced off as needed. I don't have any sausage casings, and will have to do some investigating to find some. Also, I was able to use the hunk of pork butt which was taking up a lot of space in my over-the-fridge, one-and-only freezer. I did cut the recipe in half, as the pork butt was only 4 lbs after I hacked out the bone. It was a good thing I did, because 1/2 of the recipe made 2 huge logs of sausage. At the rate I consume breakfast sausage, it is a very adequate supply indeed. You need these ingredients, which must be well chilled, as must your equipment:

boneless pork butt diced 5 lbs
kosher salt 3 tbsps
finely grated fresh ginger 5 tbsps
finely chopped fresh sage 5 tbsps
minced garlic 1 tbsp
ground pepper 2 tsps
ice water 1 cup

Equipment: stand miner with grinder and paddle attachments- chill bowl and moving parts

I'm sure you could also use a manual meat grinder and do the last step by hand. In truth, I would be tempted to try this with preground pork if I had none of this equipment, because the flavor is so good. However, it would not be the same-the texture of this sausage is lovely, too- and nothing like ground meat from the grocery. No pictures, I'm afraid, I thought I'd do them frying in the cast iron skillet, but the light in the kitchen said "flash or no photo." They did not retain their allure in the lurid glow of the flash. In fact, they looked quite frightening, so I've spared you. They look very nice in person, not special or different from any other breakfast sausage, though.

You combine everything but the water, quite thoroughly, and chill the mixture. Grind through the small holed grinder, into the chilled bowl of your stand mixer. This takes a while, especially if you have never done it before. There is a little pusher to help it along. Put the bowl on the mixer with the paddle attachment, add the ice water, and mix on medium for about 1 minute. Fry up a bit to correct seasoning, exclaim, "But it is perfect!"- always assuming you agree, of course. Make into patties, or do as I did, and form your sausage into conveniently sized logs, wrap in plastic wrap, and freeze. When you are ready to cook, slice off rounds from the log-rather like icebox cookies.

Now comes the hard part- cleaning up. You must disassemble your grinder and clean it meticulously-for festering bits of meat would be not only scandalously unhealthy, but a huge vile turn off. This takes forever. but I am here to tell you it is worth it. The seasoning is delicious and fresh, the texture is light and delicate, and these breakfast sausages are truly out of sight-in a good way.I'm looking forward to further ventures in more elaborate charcuterie.

Rosemary Tree

I don't get to Whole Foods very often; it means a hike, spending too much (they know how to hook me over there,especially when my CSA farm has gone winter-dormant), and then carrying my excess baggage home on the bus. I did stop by on Friday night, with a friend and a car, so I was able to pick up some Mediterra Mt. Athos firebread, which I love. I also succumbed to the lure of the Rosemary Christmas Tree you see above. This 18" cutie was reduced, along with its numerous healthy looking fellows , to $9.99. I could not be expected to resist.

I am very fond of the piney flavor of rosemary. I always grow some in the summer, but have never been able to bring it through the winter-it's too cold outside in Pittsburgh, and the dry heat, low light and cats in my apartment are death to growing things. This fall, I took my little summer rosemary plant to the Magic Windowsill at work, where my lemon tree is blooming again its second winter, after bearing an actual full size fruit. The window ledge there is wide and well lit, and they turn the heat off in the building every night.

This provides a nonfreezing, but cool night temperature, which is perfect for a lot of plants. There's a small palm tree, a Kaffir Lime-with blossoms and fruit, some jade plants and a good sized thyme plant. If my rosemary christmas tree survives the holiday, I will take it in to join the smaller rosemary plant there, and see if I can pull them through. Meanwhile, I have been keeping an eye on my little rosemary tree in a sheltered corner of the porch, planning to drag it indoors if it gets super cold, and to set it on my dining room table for my holiday party.

The root ball of my new rosemary plant, on examination, does have the the look of having been hacked mercilessly from a larger bush. It certainly is not some carefully grown standard, nurtured and gently urged into its shape by subtle pruning over the years. But hey, it cost $9.99. Even if it doesn't last long, it will be well worth the money. For less than it would cost to buy a few undistinguished supermarket cut flowers, it is a bargain. In addition to being seasonal and extremely cute, it should provide quite a bit of fresh rosemary. I see some rosemary ciabotta, roasted veg, rosemary pound cake, slow roasted lamb shoulder, and more in my future.

I've started with something I have not made before, because it sounds intriguing, and because I cannot stay away from preserving for very long. I am now aware that this jelly could been seen as a somewhat peculiar concoction. I liked the idea of it, and assumed that it would be universally appealing. When I told my elderly mother what I was making, she said, with the frankness of the slightly unglued, "What would you want that for?" I reported this to a friend as an eccentric remark, and was brought up a bit short when he raised an eyebrow and said, "Well, what would you want it for?"

It is a garlic and rosemary jelly, a condiment recommended as a substitute for mint jelly with roast lamb- also supposedly complimenting roast pork or chicken. It can be stirred into gravies and the like as well. Personally, I think it sounds great, but I haven't had any yet, so I can't swear to it.

The green apple pectin jelly, I made this summer is nearly gone, so I used the store-bought liquid pectin called for in the recipe- which is adapted from the newest Gourmet Cookbook. Speaking of stirring, the jelly must be stirred up a bit before using; the garlic tends to migrate to one corner of the jar. The recipe makes about 4 cups of jelly.
If you would like to make some too, you will need:

dry white wine 1 1/4 cups
white wine vinegar 1/8 cup
balsamic vinegar 1/8 cup
garlic, finely chopped 15 large cloves
fresh rosemary sprigs 4 four inch sprigs
sugar 3 1/2 cups
liquid pectin one 3 oz pouch

Sterilize four 8 oz canning jars. Put everything but the pectin into a large nonreactive pot, and bring to a rolling boil. Stir in pectin, bring back to a boil, and boil for one minute. Pour jelly through a sieve into a large glass measuring cup. Distribute garlic and rosemary among the jars, and pour jelly over. Leave 1/4 space at top of each. Process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Cool and check seals. Do not open for at least 24 hours, to allow flavors to develop. After that you can serve it to anyone who doesn't think you're off your head to want to make it, with their roast lamb.

And with that, my friends, I wish you, in the words of a gifted chef of my acquantaince who is presently the overqualified, yet incredibly helpful cheese guy at Whole Foods, a very "Happy Hollandaise".