Dark and spicy, rosy and puckery

Well, it's not yet my birthday (although we're not too far off), but already this year I've had the occasion to make one of my favorite festive dishes, the crowd-nourishing slow-cooked pork shoulder. This time, the occasion was a fête to celebrate the arrival of fall (and the last chance to have a big gathering on our huge deck 'afore the weather turns too crisp). Though my roommates and I declared our shindig a potluck, experience has taught us that cooking the bulk of the meal is probably a safe bet if one actually wants to eat something approximating a dinner (fact: most people like to bring beer as their potluck dish). And that was a o.k. by me; I love cooking for a group. While my roommate Dave slaved over a labor-intensive (and delicious) veggie lasagna, I stuck my pork roast in the oven and called it a day.

Well, not quite; it's hard for me to let myself off too easy when I cook (I'm working on it). Having decided to prepare the meat in the Puerto Rican style pernil, as opposed to going for the Southern comfort of the BBQ pulled pork I also sometimes make, I opted to serve the finished product in corn tortillas, as tacos. Clearly, I needed some condiments to go with. And it just so happened that days earlier I had noticed some mighty fine-lookin' tomatillos at the Co-op, and thought about how I had never cooked with them before. Immediately, salsa verde, that vibrant, often incendiary Mexican preparation came to mind. One down, one to go; in addition to heat, my tacos would need some crunch. Given my recent obsession with canning, I decided that a quick pickle of red onions was the way to go.

For the onions, I used a simple recipe from Epicurious; in addition to the onions, it calls for exactly three ingredients: apple cider vinegar, water, and salt. It takes about five minutes to throw together; I bet you could make it right now. Go ahead, then! Need a further push? Just look at how pretty the finished pickle looks, all glowing and rosy pink:






















For the salsa, I adapted a recipe from Bon Appétit; similarly approachable, it called for the tomatillos to be boiled together with a few jalapeños, then whirled in a blender with fresh parsley, cilantro and mint, and not a small amount of garlic. Looking for a clean flavor, I left out the dried cumin the recipe called for; I also found the finished salsa to be lacking in acidity, and corrected that with both apple cider vinegar and a squeeze of fresh lime juice. I see that Bon Appétit didn't post a photo of the salsa, and neither will I; its hue wasn't exactly appetizing. But piled together with the pork and pickled onions, I doesn't look half bad; nay, the colors are almost complementary:



















Pickled Red Onions
Adapted from epicurious.com
Makes about 2 cups

Ingredients:

- 2 red onions, sliced into half-moons
- 1 c. apple cider vinegar
- 1 tsp. salt
- Water

Preparation:

1. Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Blanch the onions for one minute, then drain and shock in an ice bath. Drain again.
2. Return onions to the pot and add the vinegar, salt, and enough cold water to just cover the onions. Bring mixture to a boil and simmer one minute; transfer onions and brine to glass jars and let cool. Note: if planning to can (preserve) the onions, you will need to sterilize the jars. Canned onions keep indefinitely; if not preserving, transfer the jars to the refrigerator, where they will keep for about a month.


Salsa Verde
Adapted from bonappetit.com
Makes about 4 cups

Ingredients:

- 3 lbs. tomatillos, husked, rinsed
- 2 large jalapeños, stems (but not seeds) removed
- 5 garlic cloves, peeled
- 1 bunch fresh cilantro, thick bottom stems trimmed
- 1/2 bunch fresh parsley, thick bottoms stems trimmed
- Handful fresh mint leaves
- 1 1/2 tbsp. vegetable oil
- About 1 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
- Juice of 1 lime
- About 1 1/2 tsp. salt

Preparation:

1. Place tomatillos and jalapeños in a large pot, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Drop to a simmer and let cook until tomatillos are soft, about 15 minutes. Drain.
2. Place tomatillos and jalapeños in the bowl of a blender or food processor. Add garlic and herbs, and pulse to combine, then let run until smooth.
3. Return mixture to the pot, add oil and let simmer for 5 - 10 more minutes, until salsa thickens. Remove from heat. Add cider vinegar, lime juice and salt; taste and correct seasoning. Let cool and serve.

I'm back

Ahem. I apologize for the long delay between posts, but I was making some wonton soup and it took a long time.

I kid, of course. Well, not entirely. I did make wonton soup--that's what I'm here to tell you about on this sunny, mild Toulouse afternoon--and it did take a long time. But additionally, my less-than-a-year-old laptop decided to bite the dust several weeks ago, and after I sent it in to a repair center, I was left in the lurch, internet-less and unable to share my culinary creations. The cooking didn't stop--actually, I've been cooking more than ever lately--but I'll have to play some catch-up on the blog over the next few weeks.

So let's get right into that wonton soup, shall we? About 2 months ago, I posted about Paris Store, an Asian supermarket where I stocked up pantry essentials like fish sauce, sesame oil, sambal oelek and preserved vegetables. I also indulged in a few impulse purchases, such as Vietnamese nems, chewy sesame candies and a packet of wonton skins. When I got home that day, I threw the wontons into the freezer, not sure what I'd do with them, or when.

Inspiration struck about a week ago, when I was browsing the meat aisle at my local supermarket. As I've mentioned on the blog many a time, poverty frugality often guides me in my cooking. Though eating well is one of the most important pursuits in my life, I do not have a lot of money to spend on fancy ingredients, and so I seek out things that taste good but don't come at a high price. Rather than seeing this as some kind of hindrance, I actually enjoy the sport of bargain-hunting, and feel that it's a fun challenge. Spotting some random food item that has had its price slashed will often completely determine what I'll be making for dinner that night, as I scoop it into my shopping cart.

Such was the case when I decided to make these wontons. As I said, I was eying the meat offerings at the store when I noticed two items: first, a two-pound assortment of pork bones, labeled "Bones for animals," and priced at 55 cents; and second, a package of ground pork, on sale for 50% off, making its final price a whopping 2 euros. First a big pot of rich pork stock flashed into my mind (I love making stock, and do so often during the winter), followed by a vision of plump little pork dumplings floating in it. Later that afternoon, at the open-air market, I picked up the rest of the ingredients I would need--a knob of fresh ginger, a bunch of scallions and a small head of Napa cabbage--and I got to work.

First, I trimmed the pork bones of excess fat, then chucked them into a deep soup pot that I filled with cold water, brought to a boil, and dropped to a simmer. Then, I mixed up my wonton filling, seasoning the ground pork with salt, grated ginger, and sesame oil, and mixing in finely chopped scallions and cabbage. Then, I laid out my (defrosted) wonton skins on a clean, cornstarch-dusted work surface, 9 at a time, keeping the rest soft and supple under a damp paper towel. I filled each dumpling with one teaspoon of pork filling, no more, no less. You want a plump, juicy end result, but it's essential not to over-stuff your wontons, or you'll risk them bursting apart in your soup:

















Next, I dipped my forefinger in a little bowl of water, ran it over two sides of the wonton squares, then pinched the dumplings into a triangle shape, making sure to press out any air and to verify that the edges were well bound together. I attempted to make a pretty pleated dumpling but failed, so I sort of folded the dumplings into little envelopes, sealing with a bit more water once they were folded. You can make any shape you like, as long as everything is well sealed:

















With my dumplings done, it was time to finish my pork stock. I skimmed off any foam and fat that had risen to the top, then dropped in a knob of ginger, a halved onion, a chopped carrot and some peppercorns, and continued to simmer for another hour. I skimmed again, then strained the stock and returned it to the heat, adding dashes of soy sauce, fish sauce and rice vinegar. When it came to a gentle boil, I slipped the wontons in in batches, stirring gently and flipping them to ensure even cooking. When they were cooked through, about 8 minutes later, I scooped them out with a slotted spoon and tossed them with a little vegetable oil to prevent any sticking. I like to keep the wontons separate from the broth until I heat myself up a bowl of soup, so that they don't get soggy.

To serve, I heat the broth and dumplings up with a bit more shredded cabbage just until it's wilted, then stir in additional sesame oil and sambal oelek. Yes, it's a long process, but it results in a filling, delicious soup best tackled with a deep spoon and a pair of chopsticks:


















Pork and Cabbage Wonton Soup
Serves 8 - 10

Ingredients:

- 8 - 10 cups Asian pork broth (see recipe below)
- 1 package wonton skins
- 1 1/2 lbs. ground pork
- 1 scallion, thinly sliced, white and green parts
- 1 small head Napa cabbage, finely shredded and chopped
- 1 tsp. grated ginger
- 1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
- 1/2 tsp. salt
- Water
- Vegetable oil
- Additional sesame oil, for serving
- Sambal oelek, for serving

Preparation:

1. Prepare the wonton filling: in a medium bowl, combine the pork, scallion, 1 cup shredded cabbage, ginger, sesame oil and salt. Knead to combine. Set aside.
2. Make the dumplings: dust a clean work surface (counter, table or kitchen towel) with cornstarch. Lay out the wonton skins 9 at a time, keeping the remainder under a damp paper towel. Place one teaspoon of pork filling in the center of each wonton. Dip your forefinger in a bowl of water and run water over 2 edges of dumpling wrapper. Pinch the dumplings together into a triangle shape. Press out any air pockets and ensure edges are well sealed, then pinch or fold into desired dumpling shape. Place finished dumplings on a dish and sprinkle cornstarch over to prevent sticking.
3. Bring the pork broth to a simmer and drop in the dumplings, working in batches to prevent crowding. Stir the soup gently and flip the dumplings around so they cook evenly. When cooked through, about 8 minutes, remove to a dish with a slotted spoon. Toss dumplings with a small amount of vegetable oil, to prevent sticking.
4. To serve soup, heat desired amount of broth with dumplings and a handful of shredded cabbage per person. Divide soup among bowls and serve with additional sesame oil and sambal oelek.


Asian Pork Broth
Makes 8 - 10 cups

Ingredients:

- 2 lbs. assorted pork bones, trimmed of excess fat
- 12 cups cold water
- 1 onion, peeled and cut in half
- 1 carrot, scrubbed and cut into pieces
- 1 small knob of ginger
- 1 tbsp. whole peppercorns
- 1 bay leaf
- Light soy sauce
- Fish sauce
- Rice wine vinegar
- Salt

Preparation:

1. Combine bones and water in a large, deep stock pot. Bring to a boil, then drop to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, for about 3 hours, skimming foam and fat as it rises to the top.
2. After 3 hours, add the onion, carrot, ginger, peppercorns and bay leaf. Continue to simmer for one hour.
3. Skim any remaining foam and fat and strain stock to remove bones and aromatics. Return broth to pot and season to taste with dashes of soy sauce, fish sauce, rice wine and salt.

Lovely lovely lard

One of the best products available in French supermarkets is lardons, or small strips of salt- (not smoke-) cured bacon. Delicious little morsels of porky goodness, here in France they come pre-cut and portioned into small plastic packs that cost less than 2 euros.

Lardons are kind of a go-to ingredient that are perfect for those times when you might feel a lack of culinary inspiration. I can't think of many dishes that aren't improved with the addition of a bit of pork fat, especially when you're making a flavor base of things like sautéed onions and garlic. When you add the little bits to a hot pan, their soft salty fat melts away into the other ingredients, and the pink savory meat crisps up, adding a nice textural contrast to whatever you're making.

The French use lardons in a huge variety of dishes, the most well-known of which is probably coq au vin, the classic stewed chicken with mushrooms, or perhaps boeuf bourgignon, another wintry dish of beef braised in red wine. Among the more casual and less labor-intensive uses for lardons, quiche Lorraine definitely stands out. I've already seen my roommates and their friends make this dish twice, and I've only been here for about two weeks. Quiche Lorraine is incredibly easy to prepare and calls for only a few ingredients besides the lardons: sliced leeks or onions; créme fraiche; eggs; Gruyere cheese; and a pastry crust, either homemade or (most often) store-bought. I think of quiche Lorraine as the French answer to, say, a big pot of pasta and a salad, or something along those lines, which is usually what we Americans throw together when we want to have a big group of people over for dinner without thinking too much about (or spending too much money on) what we want to make.

Although it might seem as though this post is heading in the logical direction of sharing a recipe for quiche Lorraine, that is not, in fact, what I am about to do (I'll definitely devote a post to the subject later on, seeing as how the quiche and I basically share the same name). Instead, I'm going to tell you about a "recipe" I invented on the fly yesterday, when I was hankerin' for some déjeuner. When I got up to the kitchen, my roommate Ben had already made a big pot of pasta; I also noticed a potiron that had been cut into and was begging to be used up. When I opened the fridge and saw the packet of lardons, I thought of the pairing of salty pork and sweet squash and started salivating. I quickly peeled and sliced up a small portion of squash and set it over some hot water to steam while I sautéed the lardons with some chopped leeks and garlic:

















When the squash was just tender, I drained it, stirred it into the leek mixture along with some water, olive oil and salt, and admired the pretty fall colors that resulted:

















Finally, I stirred in the cooked al dente pasta, heated it through, and piled it all into a bowl. A little grated cheese and I had a sweet, salty, porky, nutty autumn lunch. All hail the power of pork!


















Pasta with Squash, Leeks and Lardons
Serves 4

Ingredients:

1 lb. dried pasta such as penne, ziti or rotini
1 small or 1/2 medium sweet winter squash, such as butternut, acorn or kabocha, peeled, de-seeded, and sliced thinly
1 leek, white part only, sliced thinly and rinsed of any dirt or grit
3 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 c. or about 4 oz. lardons, or use pancetta or bacon sliced into small strips
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper
Grated Parmesan cheese

Preparation:

1. Set a large pot of water to boil.
2. Place the squash in a steamer basket over a small amount of water and steam until tender, about 6 minutes.
3. Meanwhile, heat 3 tbsp. olive oil in a wide, heavy saucepan. Sauté the leek, garlic and lardons until the pork has rendered most of its fat and the leeks turn tender, about 5 minutes.
4. Salt the pasta water and boil pasta until al dente, about 10 - 12 minutes. Reserve a small amount of pasta water and then drain.
5. Drain the squash and add it to the saucepan, stirring well. Incorporate a little pasta water and season to taste with salt and pepper.
6. Add the drained pasta to the saucepan and stir. If pasta is too dry, add some more pasta water and/or olive oil. Divide among 4 bowls, topping each with grated Parmesan.

Just saying no to takeout

I'll admit it: I love takeout. I live in New York, and there is no shortage of reasonably priced local restaurants whose varied cuisines I would be more than happy to see arrive, like magic, at my doorstep. For me, ordering takeout is akin to what I imagine getting room service to be like: a luxurious, I'm-just-going-to-sit-here-watching-movies-while-someone-else-prepares-my-dinner type of indulgence.

That being said, I can probably count on two hands the number of occasions that I have actually gotten takeout in the past 2 years. Not only am I ridiculously cheap frugal, but I also, obviously, love to cook, and therefore rarely do my stove the dishonor of letting it stand idly by while I eat the fruits of some stranger's labor.

One of the best things about becoming confident in your cooking is that, eventually, you'll probably be able to recreate or at least approximate some of your favorite dishes in your own home, without having to waste money on (nor unwittingly ingest the various chemical additives of) takeout. Anyone reading this blog of late will have noticed that I have become extremely enamored of cooking Asian, particularly Chinese, cuisines. And my increased facility with once-mysterious ingredients such as fermented black beans and preserved vegetables is perhaps my best armor against the siren song of restaurant food. That is because for me, and, I would wager, for a lot of people, my number one takeout craving happens to be Chinese food. Nowadays, in moments of tired-after-a-long-day-at-work weakness, I can look into my pantry and avoid the (you know you have one) takeout menu/miscellanea drawer.

Earlier tonight I was sorely tempted by thoughts of the excellent Thai restaurant down the street from me. But before I picked up the phone I checked out what was in the fridge: a lone lean pork chop and the last remaining member of a bunch of Japanese eggplants. Suddenly I was all caught up in a craving for Chinese eggplant with garlic sauce, with tender slivers of pork throughout. I was now committed to the cause, and duly chopped my ginger and garlic and set my wok to heat up. Working very, very loosely from a recipe I found online, I was soon rewarded with a plate full of creamy, tender eggplant and soft bits of pork suspended in a pungent, slightly spicy sauce. Delayed gratification, in this instance, was just as satisfying--if not more so--than the instant kind.



















Eggplant and Pork in Chile-Garlic Sauce
Serves 3 - 4
Adapted from The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Ingredients:

3 medium Japanese eggplants, about 1 pound
2 thin, lean, pork chops, trimmed of fat and sliced into small strips
1 tbsp. plus 2 tbsp. light soy sauce, divided
1 tsp. sesame oil
1 tbsp. plus 2 tbsp. rice wine vinegar, divided
1 tbsp. plus 2 tbsp. rice cooking wine, divided
Red pepper flakes
2 tbsp. chile garlic sauce
1 tbsp. sugar
2 tbsp. finely minced ginger
2 tbsp. finely minced garlic
2 scallions, thinly sliced
Vegetable oil for frying

Preparation:

1. Marinate the pork: In a small bowl combine the pork with 1 tbsp. soy sauce, 1 tbsp. rice wine vinegar, 1 tbsp. rice cooking wine, 1 tsp. sesame oil and a dash of red pepper flakes. Stir to combine and set aside.
2. Slice the eggplant into thick (about 1/2") medallions. Discard stem.
3. Make the sauce: in a small bowl, combine remaining soy sauce, vinegar, cooking wine, and sugar.
4. Heat a generous amount of oil (about 3 - 4 tbsp.) in a wok set over a high flame. Just before it begins to smoke, add the eggplant. Cook, stirring or shaking constantly, until eggplant starts to soften, about 8 - 10 minutes. Remove eggplant to a plate.
5. Add one more tbsp. of oil to the wok and heat over a medium flame. Add the garlic and ginger and cook briefly; then add the pork and cook, stirring, until it is no longer pink, about 3 minutes.
6. Add the eggplant back to the wok and stir in the sauce. Reduce heat to low, cover, and cook for about 8 - 10 minutes or until pork is cooked through and eggplant is very tender. Garnish with scallions and serve with rice.

A meal fit for the Joads

I've been thinking, lately, about bacon. Thinking about it a lot. Or, I should say, somewhat more than is usual, since it's not exactly rare that I have bacon on the brain. Why the pork dreams, you ask? Well, I've been re-reading John Steinbeck's masterpiece The Grapes of Wrath, a book that sits high atop the American literary canon, peering down and perhaps sneering just a little bit at all the books stacked up below--and deservedly so. I think I first read the book in seventh grade, and it certainly made an impression on me at the time. I don't think, however, that as a child I could truly understand and empathize with the crushing plight of its central family, the Joads, nor could I really appreciate the flawlessness and innovation of Steinbeck's prose. In short, I'm glad I made the decision to pick up the book again (and you should, too!)

But I'm getting off track--let's get back to the bacon. You see, in The Grapes of Wrath, the rise and fall of the Joads' fortunes can be reliably tracked by one thing: whether or not they have "side meat" sputtering away on the stove. In one of the early scenes of the book, when prodigal son Tom returns home from prison, he finds Ma in the kitchen in a classic scene of domestic tranquility, removing "high brown biscuits" from the oven and "curling slices of pork" from the pan. The book, here, carefully constructs for us a whole, complete picture of family life that is about to be torn down, shattered, trampled and spat upon by the powers that be, or Big Business. The bacon is just one of the things that assure the Joads they are safe, at home, together. But it's a persistent image. All throughout the rest of the book, Ma, Pa, Tom and Al all bring up side meat--repeatedly. As soon as they've got some coins in their pockets or even some credit at the rapacious company stores--they're spending it on side meat. When they're all out, things are bad. But when there's some bacon frying in the pan, it's a small victory; the sound and smell of the crackling pork, and the nourishment it brings, reminding them that they are still human, that they're still a family unit.

Now, bacon doesn't hold the same resonance for me, but it sure is darn delicious. And the Joads' constant yearning for it definitely got me hungry. That's when I put down my book, put on my coat, and strolled down the street to Jubilat Provisions, a Polish-owned meat shop that bursts at the seams with a seemingly endless variety of house-made kielbasa and other sausages, as well as various types of patés, smoked and cured meats, fresh Polish baked goods and jars and cans of imported delicacies of every stripe (it's one of my favorite food stores ever. Do yourself a favor and check it out the next time you're having a BBQ). And one of the best items in the house is the thick-cut, double-smoked bacon. I picked up a little less than a pound, using it first in an Austrian potato strudel that my friend Patricia and I brought to a potluck over the weekend, then, of course, crisped up in a pan for breakfast, and when I still had some left over, I thought of the Joads. Although they're not southerners, they eat (when they can manage to) what I think of as soul food: biscuits. Pie. Warming stews. Lots of things fried up in grease in a cast-iron pan. As it happened, my mom had made Southern-Style Barbecued Pulled Pork, and had given me some of the leftovers. So I had that component down. There's not much that goes better with pulled pork than good old fashioned collards do, and that's when I figured out how to use up my bacon. Finally, I wanted something sweet and starchy, but less heavy than cornbread, something that would fry up nice in my iron pan: I found a recipe for a type of corn griddle cake and worked from there. The resulting meal that I sat down to was warm and comforting, with sweet, soft meat; melting, smokey greens; and crisp, nutty, savory corn cakes. This plate's for you, Joads.



















Traditional Southern Collard Greens
Serves 4

Ingredients:

2 large bunches collard greens, washed, with tough stems removed
4 slices of bacon, cut into a small dice
Half an onion, sliced very thinly
2 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
Salt
Pepper

Preparation:

1. In a deep, heavy-bottomed, medium-sized pot, heat the bacon over a medium flame until it starts to sizzle and render its fat, about 3 - 4 minutes. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until it is tender and translucent.
2. Take several leaves of greens, roll them into a tight bundle, and slice them into long ribbons of medium thickness, adding them to the pot and stirring as you go. Repeat, in batches, with remaining greens. Season greens with salt and pepper, add about 1/2 cup water, and cover the pot. Drop the heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally and adding more water if necessary, until greens are very soft but not mushy, about 35 - 40 minutes.
3. When greens are done, shut off the heat and add the apple cider vinegar. Taste for seasoning and serve.


Corn Griddle Cakes
Adapted from epicurious.com
Makes 12 - 15 cakes

Ingredients:

1 cup yellow cornmeal
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. pepper
2 tsp. sugar
2 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus more for brushing the griddle
1 large egg
1 cup buttermilk (or sour 1 cup milk with 1 tsp. white vinegar or lemon juice)
1 cup thawed frozen corn kernels

Preparation:

1. In a medium-sized bowl whisk together the dry ingredients (cornmeal, flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder, pepper, and sugar).
2. In a small bowl whisk together the buttermilk, egg, and melted butter.
3. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, stirring to combine (don't worry about a few lumps). Stir in the corn kernels.
4. Drop the batter into a buttered cast-iron skillet set over medium heat, dropping about 1/4 cup batter at a time. Cakes will be about 3 - 4 inches across. Cook until browned and crisp, about 3 minutes per side. Repeat with remaining batter.

*Note: these cakes can be eaten savory or sweet. They were delicious with my Southern dinner and equally so the next morning reheated with additional butter and drizzled with maple syrup.

Birthday fun (with pork)

January 9th marked the 24th year in a row of my existence on this earth, and, also, marked the second year in a row that I chose to celebrate the occasion by feeding a huge, slow-roasted hunk of pork to my friends. For my potluck dinner/birthday party this year, I stuck with pork shoulder because it's a) ridiculously cheap, b) ridiculously easy to make, and c) feeds a ridiculously large number of people. Plus, it's a delicious cut of meat that fills your apartment (and stairwell, and foyer) with a heady, tantalizing, rich aroma during the six to seven hours it spends basting in its own porky juices in your oven. I don't keep many traditions, but I like the fact that one of the few that I observe involves consuming a large section of a pig once yearly.

So I had the pork shoulder, and I prepared it much the same way as the pernil that I made last year, marinating it overnight in a potent blend of chopped garlic and onion, chili powder, olive oil and vinegar. The next day, I slow-roasted it at 300° for, well, the entire day. But after that, all bets were off. I was serving pork shoulder again, but I wanted to mix up my preparation. I decided to convert the pernil into southern-style barbecued pulled pork. I mean, how can you go wrong with that? (Answer: you cannot.) So after six or seven hours when the pork shoulder emerged from my oven glistening with crispy fatty crackling and virtually melting off the bone, I pulled off great big hunks of meat, and, with almost no effort needed at all, shredded them up into long, soft strands. I piled these into a big heavy pot, then folded in a sweet, smokey, homemade BBQ sauce as well as (shhh) a healthy ladle of pork fat drippings that I had rescued from the bottom of the roasting tray. I then turned on the heat again, though this time on top of the stove, letting the pork cook into the sauce over a low heat for about an hour. The pork came out just as I had hoped: moist, tender, and full of sweet and slightly spicy flavor:








And let's not forget the cornbread. After all, what's a southern barbecue without cornbread?








If every year finds me surrounded by good friends and copious amounts of pork, the future looks like a bright one to me!

Southern-Style Barbecued Pulled Pork
Serves 12 - 15 (with leftovers)

Ingredients:

1 pork shoulder, 8 to 10 pounds
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1 large onion, quartered
2 tbsp. fresh oregano leaves or 1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tbsp. sweet paprika
1 tsp. ancho or other mild chili powder
1 tbsp. salt
2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil as needed
1 tbsp. wine or cider vinegar
1 recipe Sweet and Smokey BBQ Sauce (see below)
Reserved pork drippings, as needed

1. Score meat’s skin with a sharp knife, making a cross-hatch pattern. Pulse garlic, onion, oregano, paprika, chili, salt and pepper together in a food processor, adding oil in a drizzle and scraping down sides as necessary, until mixture is pasty. (Alternatively, mash ingredients in a mortar and pestle.) Blend in the vinegar.
2. Rub mixture into pork, getting it into every nook and cranny. Cover with plastic wrap and place in fridge. Let marinate for 12-24 hours.
3. Heat oven to 300 degrees. Remove plastic wrap from pork and place in a roasting pan, filling the bottom with about a half inch of water. Roast pork for as long as you can, or six to seven hours (you cannot really overcook it), covering the skin with foil if it starts to burn. Remove foil before cooking time is over to allow skin to crisp well.
4. Let meat rest for 10 to 15 minutes, then pull off pork cracklings (serve these with lime, hot sauce or both. You won't be disappointed). Using your hands, tear all pork meat off bone in big chunks. When all meat is removed from the bone, shred it into a large, heavy pot, using either your hands or two forks--either way, this is a messy job.
5. Fold in the majority of the homemade BBQ sauce, as well as a good ladleful of pork juice and drippings reserved from the bottom of the roasting pan. Cook, covered, over low heat, or until pork is completely soft and tender and has absorbed a good deal of the sauce, about 1 hour. Taste and add more BBQ sauce, drippings, or seasoning as needed.


Sweet and Smokey BBQ Sauce
Makes about 3 cups

Ingredients:

2 cups ketchup
7 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp. water
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
12 dashes Tabasco sauce
1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. chili powder
1 tsp. sweet or smoked paprika
3/4 c. dark brown sugar or more, to taste
3 cloves garlic
2 chipotles en adobo plus 2 tbsp. adobo sauce
1 tsp. salt
Ground pepper to taste

1. Combine all ingredients in a heavy saucepan and bring to a simmer. Cook for 45 minutes or until sauce has thickened, stirring often to prevent burning and adding more water as necessary.
2. Puree until smooth with a stick blender. Taste for seasoning, adding more brown sugar or salt as necessary.


Skillet Cornbread
Adapted from epicurious.com
Makes 1 loaf

Ingredients:

1 c. all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1 c. yellow cornmeal
1/4 c. sugar
1 c. milk
1 large egg
1 sticks (1/2 c.) unsalted butter

1. Preheat oven to 375°. Place several small pats of butter into a large cast iron skillet and place skillet in the oven. (If you do not have a cast iron skillet, butter a large, shallow glass baking dish and set it aside.)
2. Melt remaining butter in a small saucepan over medium-low heat.
3. In a large bowl whisk together flour, baking powder, salt, cornmeal and sugar.
4. In another bowl, whisk together melted butter, egg, and milk. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir until just combined. Batter will be thin.
5. Remove skillet from oven and pour in the batter. Place in middle of oven and bake until golden brown and cooked through, about 35 minutes. Remove skillet from oven and cool on a wire rack.

More Chinese food

A few months ago, I read the excellent food memoir by British author Fuchsia Dunlop entitled Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper. In the book, Dunlop, who by now has made a career of eating her way through China and writing about what she finds, goes back to the beginning of her story, relating how she first landed in the country and how--by ducking into noodle shops, flagging down street food vendors and inviting herself into the kitchens of local restaurants--she discovered her true calling. Dunlop has traveled all over China and has written magazine articles and cookbooks describing the cuisines of many of the country's diverse regions, yet the one location that she considers her true home abroad is the Sichuan (or Szechuan) province. It is while living in its capital, Chengdu, that she truly falls for Chinese food, characterized, in that region, by prodigious use of spicy, warming ingredients such as Szechuan peppercorns and chiles of all varieties. Though I had some prior knowledge and appreciation of Sichuan cuisine (a restaurant called Szechuan Gourmet is one of my favorites in New York), reading Dunlop's impassioned and evocative descriptions of the local fare left me completely tantalized--and wanting more. I didn't just want to eat Sichuan food; I wanted to cook it myself. Luckily, Dunlop is also the author of an incredibly comprehensive, highly regarded and easy-to-follow compendium of Sichuan cuisine entitled Land of Plenty. Minutes after finishing Dunlop's memoir, I was online ordering her cookbook.

While I waited for it to arrive, I set out to obtain all the sauces, seasonings and ingredients I would need to prepare the recipes. Though Sichuan cuisine is best known for its numbing peppercorns, fiery chiles and hot, deep red oils, the style of cooking relies on several more key ingredients in order to achieve the incredible fullness and depth of flavor that characterizes true Sichuan food. In order to stock my pantry, I ventured into Brooklyn Chinatown (one of my favorite places in the city to explore) and picked up Szechuan peppercorns, dried red "Heaven-facing" chiles, fermented black beans, light and dark soy sauces, toasted sesame oil, Chinese sesame paste, Chinkiang vinegar, Shaoxing rice wine, Sichuan chili bean paste, pickled chili paste, Tianjin preserved vegetables, potato starch and dried star anise. All cited by Dunlop as key ingredients in Sichuan cuisine, the items in this haul cost me about $17 total. Now I was ready to cook.

So far I've tried two recipes from Land of Plenty, and both have been extremely quick and easy, with delicious results. The first was Dry-Fried Green Beans. In this dish, trimmed green beans are fried in hot oil until slightly browned and softened, then removed from the pan and set aside. In the same pan, you then stir-fry ground pork with a small amount of garlicky, gingery preserved vegetables and a bit of soy sauce. Once the pork is cooked through, the beans are added back to the pan, and the whole dish is finished with a drizzle of sesame oil. That's it. The whole thing takes about 10 minutes to prepare, and is lip-smackingly good. I first prepared this for dinner with Gideon while he was in town, and a few days later made the same dish for lunch for myself, using broccolini in place of the green beans and eating it over white rice--authentic, no, but delicious, yes. Here are the green beans from that first go-around:

















The second dish I made from the cookbook was Gong Bao, aka Kung Pao, Chicken. An iconic Sichuan dish that combines a thick, sweet and sour sauce with spicy Szechuan peppercorns and dried chiles and adds the salty crunch of peanuts for good measure, Gong Bao chicken is a Chinese takeout staple but is very simple (and cheap!) to prepare at home. You start by marinating cubed chicken breasts in soy sauce, rice wine and potato starch, thereby "velveting" the chicken, a technique that ensures tender, juicy meat and also aids in thickening the final dish due to the inclusion of starch. As the chicken marinates, you stir together a sauce of sugar, more potato starch, soy sauce, vinegar, and sesame oil and set it aside. When you're ready to cook, you heat the peppercorns and chiles in oil, toss in the chicken and its marinade, add chopped garlic, ginger and scallions and stir-fry until the chicken is cooked through. Finally, you pour in the sauce, which, as it hits the heat, turns beautifully glossy and thick. Toss in a handful of peanuts, serve over hot, sticky white rice, and you've got a meal that's bound to impress your friends as much as it did mine--in this case my roommate and her boyfriend:

















Because I think it's only fair to adhere to copyright law, and because I really think Land of Plenty is a book worth purchasing, I can't include Dunlop's exact recipes here on the blog. However, I urge you to buy the cookbook--or at least check it out from your local library. If you like Chinese food even a little bit, you won't be disappointed--and, moreover, you'll probably learn a lot.

Soup's on (again)

One of the best parts about cooking a big roast like the one below is the leftovers. And not just the leftover meat, either, but also the bone. After making my big pork roast I was left with a huge shoulder bone and, after I had picked it clean of juicy, succulent tidbits, I put it in a ziploc bag and into the freezer, where it awaited the day I would decide to make soup. As I noted in this post, soup is one of my favorite things to prepare, mostly because it's so easy to make, so filling, and so cost-effective, too. On Friday, my day off, I awoke to a bitterly cold, gray day--sounds like a soup day to me.

The shoulder bone came out the freezer and went straight into a large, tall pot that I filled to the top with cold water. I dropped in half an onion and a few peppercorns, ignited the burner, and was on my way to creating a rich, intensely porky broth. That's how easy stock is. If I had had some other aromatics in the house, say, a carrot, a bunch of fresh herbs, or a bay leaf, I would have tossed those all in, too. But I didn't, so half an onion and some peppercorns it was--the bone has so much flavor inside that it hardly needs any help at all. I let the pot simmer away for about four hours, while I, braving the cold with both of my winter coats on, ran errands and gathered the rest of the ingredients for the soup.

When deciding what kind of soup to make, I tried to think about what ingredients would be best complemented by the flavor of the pork broth. Also, I wanted those ingredients to be fairly inexpensive. That's when the idea came to me: pork and beans. A classic combination, I figured that any type of dried bean would taste delicious cooked in pork stock. White beans, chickpeas, kidney beans or any combination thereof would have been perfect choices, but I decided I wanted something a little bit lighter and more delicate: lentils. So at the store I picked up a bag of dried lentils, along with some carrots, onions, celery and spinach, as well as a can of diced tomatoes. All the ingredients I would need for my soup (save for some garlic and potatoes that were already at home), together they cost about $7. I ended up with 10 or 12 servings of soup, meaning that each bowl cost me about $0.70. Not bad. Rewarded monetarily, I was also rewarded sensorily, by a big pot of warm, rich-tasting, aromatic comfort food.


















Lentil Soup with Spinach and Potatoes
Adapted from epicurious.com
Makes 10-12 servings

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons extra–virgin olive oil
2 cups chopped onions
1 cup chopped celery stalks
1 cup chopped carrots
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 teaspoon dried thyme
5 cups (or more) pork, chicken or vegetable broth
1 1/2 cups lentils, rinsed, drained
1 14 1/2–ounce can diced tomatoes in juice
4 cups spinach, stems removed, chopped
4 - 5 new potatoes, quartered
Balsamic vinegar

Preparation:

Heat oil in a large, tall pot over medium–high heat. Add onions, celery, carrots, garlic and thyme; sauté until vegetables begin to brown, about 15 minutes. Add 5 cups broth, lentils, potatoes, and tomatoes with juice and bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium–low, cover, and simmer until lentils are tender, about 35 minutes. Uncover and add spinach, stirring until spinach wilts. If soup is too thick, thin with more broth by 1/4 cupfuls. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Ladle soup into bowls, garnishing with a splash each of balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

Happy birthday to me

It was my birthday on Friday and to celebrate I did what most any foodie would do: cooked a meal for about 15 people. Sounds stressful, right? Well, it wasn't. When planning my party I tried to come up with some food options that would be cheap, easy and plentiful enough to feed a crowd. Suddenly I hit upon a winning idea: slow-roasted pork shoulder, also known as pork butt (how appealing). Since I've moved to my neighborhood of south Park Slope, I've been intending to take better advantage of the many Latin American ingredients available in the supermarkets around here: things like fresh cactus, a variety of fresh and dried chiles, and, most prominently, pork--in all its shapes, sizes and cuts. I'm talking trotters, pork kidneys, pork ribs, and, yes, pork shoulder. Because I don't tend to follow recipes, though, I also tend not to purchase ingredients that are unfamiliar to me, because I don't have an instinct for how to cook them. But I decided that my birthday would be the perfect occasion to break this bad habit, so I went whole-hog (ha, ha), buying a 10-pound pork shoulder and preparing it in the Puerto Rican style called pernil.

Pork shoulder is a tough cut of meat that becomes tender and succulent after many hours of low-temperature cooking, like braising on the stovetop or roasting in the oven. Because it's not a very "desirable" piece of meat, it's also very inexpensive--I got it at my local Met supermarket for $1/lb. A dollar a pound! Do the math and you'll see that that means that I fed more than 15 people for about $10. Not bad.

To learn how to prepare the pernil I looked at a number of recipes online and eventually settled on Mark Bittman's version. A New York Jew is perhaps not the most authentic source for a Puerto Rican recipe, but his method was the most simple and, after all, I didn't want to be stressed on my own birthday. The basic preparation is as follows. A day before you intend to cook the pernil, score its layer of fat and rub the whole thing with a strongly-flavored marinade made of chopped onions, garlic, cumin and chile powder. Wrap the meat in plastic wrap and set it in the fridge. When you wake up the next morning, turn your oven to 300° and put the pork in. Then you can basically forget all about it. Other than turning the pan every hour or so and making sure that the fat isn't burning--and covering the roast with tin foil if it is--you don't have to do anything but sit back and enjoy the intoxicatingly porky aromas that will fill your apartment, and, odds are, your entire apartment building. Around dinner time, remove the pork from the oven and let it rest for about 15 minutes. Then you can simply shred the meat into long, tender strands with a fork--it falls apart completely.

Pernil would be excellent served alongside rice and beans and a salad (to cut the richness of the fatty meat), but to keep things simple I chose to serve mine with two easy salsas: a basic tomato pico de gallo and a corn and black bean salsa (special thanks to Willy for his cilantro-chopping skills). With some warm corn tortillas on the side, it was a filling, satisfying meal that was perfect for the occasion.















































































Pernil
Adapted from nytimes.com
Makes at least 6 servings

Ingredients:

1 pork shoulder, 4 to 7 pounds (or use fresh ham)
4 or more cloves garlic, peeled
1 large onion, quartered 2 tablespoons fresh oregano leaves or 1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ancho or other mild chili powder
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil as needed
1 tablespoon wine or cider vinegar Lime wedges for serving

Preparation:

1. Score meat’s skin with a sharp knife, making a cross-hatch pattern. Pulse garlic, onion, oregano, cumin, chili, salt and pepper together in a food processor, adding oil in a drizzle and scraping down sides as necessary, until mixture is pasty. (Alternatively, mash ingredients in a mortar and pestle.) Blend in the vinegar.

2. Rub this mixture well into pork, getting it into every nook and cranny. Cover with plastic wrap and place in fridge. Let marinate for 12-24 hours.

3. Heat oven to 300 degrees. Remove plastic wrap from pork and place in a roasting pan, filling the bottom with about a half inch of water. Roast pork for several hours (a 4-pound shoulder may be done in 3 hours), turning every hour or so and adding more water as necessary, until meat is very tender. Finish roasting with the skin side up until crisp, raising heat at end of cooking if necessary.

4. Let meat rest for 10 to 15 minutes before cutting it up; meat should be so tender that cutting it into uniform slices is almost impossible; rather, whack it up into chunks. Serve with lime.

Pico de Gallo
Makes about 3 cups

Finely dice 6 ripe plum tomatoes and place in a large bowl. Add one large white onion, finely diced, 3 cloves of garlic, minced, one bunch of finely chopped cilantro, 1-2 jalapeños, minced, the juice of 2-3 limes, and plenty of salt. Mix well and taste to adjust seasoning.

Corn and Black Bean Salsa
Makes about 4 cups

Open a 15.5 oz. can of black beans; rinse them of their liquid and drain well. Place in a large bowl. Add half a 10 oz. bag of thawed frozen corn, half a large white onion, finely diced, one bunch of finely chopped cilantro, the juice of 2-3 limes, and plenty of salt. Mix well and taste to adjust seasoning.