Clam Chowder

It's Chowdah, Baby



If you've read The Once and Future King by T.H. White, a retelling of the Authurian legend, you may recall the Questing Beast. In White's tale the beast was something quested after, not something that went on quests. But I am culinary Questing Beast and in my case I am the pursuer and not the pursued.

In 1995 I began crisscrossing the country, coast-to-coast, spending time in the Pacific Northwest, New England, the Mid-Atlantic, and central California. As a long-time fan of clam chowder I thought these serendipitous, job-related journeys to the coasts would be an exceptional opportunity to find the perfect clam chowder. Specifically, a perfect New England Clam Chowder was the dish I avidly sought.

I failed.

The fragrant aromas of clam juice and milk mingling together still evoke not only the dish itself but the whole experience...

In Serious Pig, John Thorne writes:

"That time lingers in my mind as 'the chowder summer.' It was the start of my life-long love affair with the dish. The fragrant aromas of clam juice and milk mingling together still evoke not only the dish itself but the whole experience: the driftwood I had carried up from the beach and sawn myself, now crackling in the fireplace; the chowder full of clams I had just dug, cleaned, and prepared, and potatoes I had carried back three miles from the store, heating in the big battered pot on the propane stove."

I sought a "chowder summer" or fall, winter, spring. I knew what the perfect chowder would be like and I thought it could be found. Alas, no. The best chowder in Oregon was far too thick. The best in New England was far too thin. And all the others I tried failed in both flavor and consistency. Nevertheless, I learned a lot about what I sought in the quest itself.

The perfect clam chowder, in my mind, tastes more of clams than dairy. It has distinctive notes of pork, but these notes are background. It should be distinctively salty — recalling the sea. Freshly ground black pepper should enliven the flavor. The potatoes should contribute a slightly sweet note and a clear connection to the land. The consistency should about the same as heavy cream (not gravy), but with a less fatty mouth feel.

I still haven’t found perfection, but I come closer. For instance, someone recommended thickening the chowder with ground oyster crackers. Brilliant! The ground crackers add body without changing the consistency (it's still a soup instead of gravy, which using a roux gives you). Bacon (with it's slightly smoky component) is better than fat back. Use lots of clam juice. And choose small waxy potatoes for a slightly sweet note and something to actually chew on.

So here's what I made most recently:

New England Clam Chowder
Serves 6.

5 lb. mahogany clams, scrubbed
2 cups potatoes cut into 1/2" cubes and cooked al dente
4 strips lightly-smoked bacon
1 sm. onion, diced
2 8 oz. jars clam juice
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
1 tsp. anchovy paste
1 1/2 cups ground oyster crackers (or saltines), ground to powder
Salt and pepper to taste

Cook bacon in a soup pot over medium heat until slightly crisp. Drain bacon on paper towels. Roughly chop.

Cook onions in bacon grease until they begin to brown. Add one jar of clam juice and deglaze pot. Add the rest of the clam juice, cream, milk, and anchovy paste. Bring to a simmer.

Add clams and simmer until they open. Remove clams from broth with a slotted spoon and extract meat.

Add potatoes to pot and simmer for five minutes to warm through. Add clams, ground crackers, and salt and pepper and cook five minutes more. Serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | chowder| seafood | clams

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Paisano: Senate Bean Soup

Legislative Legacy



I've been working on an article for NPR's Kitchen Window about bean dishes. One that I recall from my childhood is the famous Senate Bean Soup, which is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day. The exact origins of the dish are unkown, but according to the official Senate Bean Soup Web site the original recipe is unknown, but one reputed original version contains mashed potatoes. However, the recipe served today doesn't include potatoes.

I never really cared for what my mother made (although as best I can recall she used the current version that now appears on the Web site). So recently I set out to see if I could improve it.

Senate Bean Soup is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day.

First, both recipes published on the Senate site call for Navy Beans and these aren't a favorite of mine because I find both the texture and flavor somewhat chalky. My favorite white bean is the cannellini. This bean has a subtle sweetness and an almost silky texture.

Step two was hydrating the beans. In one case the recipe calls for a smoked ham hock and in the other for ham itself and a ham bone. Experience has taught me that the only opportunity you really have to flavor the beans themselves (as opposed to the liquid they're in) is when they're hydrating and soaking up liquid and whatever flavors that liquid contains — and as with pasta, if you want to salt the beans do it when they're soaking up liquid.

I decided to flavor the liquid with a smoked ham hock, salt (lots), dried sage, black pepper, celery, onion, and parsley. In effect, I made a stock.

For the final dish, I discarded the vegetables in the stock and added sautéed onions, country ham, and diced potatoes. The potatoes were primarily for visual and textural interest.

This was a great bowl of soup. Packed with flavor and with a marvelous texture.

Senate Bean Soup

1 lb cannellini beans
1 smoked ham hock
2 tbsp salt (seriously)
2 md onions
1 lg stalk celery — broken in thirds
2 tsp dried sage
1 sm bunch parsley
1/2 tbsp cracked black pepper
1/2 lb white potatoes — cut into 1/2" dice
8 oz country ham
freshly ground black pepper

Slice through the skin on a smoked ham hock in several places — this makes it easier for the hock to contribute flavor and to recover the meat at the end of cooking. Peel and quarter one of the onions.

Place beans, ham hock, celery stalk, quartered onion, salt, sage, and cracked pepper in a soup pot and add enough water to cover the beans by 2 inches. Over high heat, bring just to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover pot, and simmer for 3 hours. Check at two hours to see if you need to top up the liquid.

In the meantime, dice the remaining onion and country ham. Cook in a skillet over medium heat with a bit of oil or butter until the onions are translucent. Reserve.

When the beans have cooked for three hours, remove and discard the onion quarters, celery, and parsley. Extract whatever meat you can from the hock and add back to the pot. Add the diced onions, ham, and potatoes. Adjust liquid, and continue to simmer for 30 - 40 minutes until potatoes are done. Adjust seasonings and serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | beans | senate bean soup

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Scotch Broth

Sweet Torture



Water-boarding is nothing. If you really want to torture someone put them through my past three days and not let them eat anything.

Yesterday I had a big stock pot sitting on a back burner filled with roasted lamb bones, onions, carrots, and celery. I gently simmered the mixture for about 4 hours, then removed the solids, strained it, and returned it to the heat to reduce, ending up with about two and half quarts of savory essence of lamb.

The stock got its start the day before yesterday when I cut up a bunch of lamb my friend Tim Clark of Locust Grove Farm gave me to make sausage with. It's a great deal, Tim provides the lamb, I provide the culinary expertise, and we share the results.

The house was filled with the sparkling brown odor of roasting meat

Anyway, the day before yesterday the house was filled with the sparkling brown odor of roasting meat. And, before that as I worked on carving flesh from the odd parts Tim had given me, the smell of fresh lamb meat — a uniquely mineral scent. Once trimmed, I cut the meat up and seasoned it for the sausage (recipe to come in a day or two).

Yesterday, though, smelled of lamb stock… and duck confit.

As the bones simmered on the stove top, I made a second batch of duck confit in the oven. I haven't tasted it yet (I'm afraid if I do I'll end up eating the whole leg as I did the first one, and I have other plans for my five remaining legs), but I'm completely confident it will be excellent. Because the flavors from the cure were mild (and the meat wasn't excessively salty) I again gave it 36 or so hours to cure before cooking the confit. Duck poaching in it's own fat smells like heaven. Add simmering lamb stock to that…

Today, the stock became Scotch Broth and in addition to lamb I've been exposed to the smells of root vegetables like onions, carrots, and parsnips simmering. I have been eating, albeit not what I've been cooking (until today). But imagine how horrible these past few days would have been if I had had nothing to eat?

Imagine dragging this scenario out over a couple of weeks while offering the most flavorless (albeit nutritive) food you can imagine — tofu comes to mind. Perhaps because my "cause" is food I over-estimate the suasion of wonderful smells with no relief. But isn't the idea of promising a terrorist a good meal as an inducement to tell his secrets an appealing idea?

Scotch Broth

Broth:
5 lbs lamb bones
2 onions — quartered
2 carrots — cut into fourths
2 celery stalks — cut into fourths
1 small bunch parsley
1 tbsp pepper corns
water
Soup:
1 1/2 lb lamb
1 1/2 onion — 1/2" dice
2 8" carrots — 1/2" dice
2 8" parsnips — 1/2" dice
1 3" turnip — 1/2" dice
1 tbsp red wine vinegar
1 c red wine
salt and pepper

Broth:
Roast lamb bones on a baking sheet at 350F until dark brown — 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Place bones and other stock ingredients (except pepper corns) in a stock pot and add enough water to equal 10 quarts. (If you don't have a pot this big, you need one.)

Bring almost to boil and reduce temperature. Continue reducing temperature until you have a slow simmer. Skim foam from to of mix as is appears. When foam quits appearing, add peppercorns.

Cook for 4 hours, remove solids with a skimmer, slotted spoon, or tongs and discard. Strain remaining liquid through a sieve into a 6 quart pot. Return to a medium-low burner and reduce to 2.5 quarts.

Cool overnight in the fridge then remove solid fat.

Soup:
Cut lamb into 1/2" chunks.

Add lamb and all other soup ingredients to broth. Again, bring almost to a boil and reduce temperature steadily to maintain a simmer. Cook for 1 1/2 hours. Taste and adjust seasonings. Serve.

Stay tuned for the other results of this week's culinary tribute to de Sade.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | lamb | scotch broth

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Potato Chowder

In Between



Yesterday was… well… not overcast so much as thoroughly cloudy but without real promise of rain. The high was only about 76 and when I went to bed it was dripping rain (accumulation 1/8th of an inch in the puddles). The leaves on the trees (except for the ones that have gone straight to brown and taken a header into the turf) are sorta, kindly, mostly green with a brownish-yellowish tinge they've had since the drought/heat wave began back in June. So I don’t have a lot to work with here in terms of seasonal clues.

But my body and mood; the color of the light and it's length; and the dry, dusty leaf smell all tell me it's fall — or should be. I've got a serious jones for Autumn and I'm looking for compromises to handle this seemingly deathless summer. I hate summer heat and endless days and lack of rain and just want it to all go away. My belly and soul are craving soups and braises and stews and the weather makes most of them inappropriate. Not that I haven't cheated a time or two, but food exists in a context and the climatic context for those dishes just isn't right.

I'm looking for compromises to handle this seemingly deathless summer.

If there's anything I learned from my ex-wife (besides never loan your ex your car) it's listen to your body. You don’t have to do what it tells you, but you should at least be polite and listen and my body is demanding heavy food and then saying, in a very whiny tone when I offer it something deeply savory, "No. That's not what I want." Then I had an idea: Potato Chowder.

It's not too heavy, but it is hearty. It's savory. It's adaptable. It's perfect for a cloudy, warmish, wanna-be fall day. So I made a batch.

Potato Chowder
Serves 6.

6 strips bacon
1 large onion — coarsely diced
1 pound Yukon Gold potatoes — cut into 1/2 inch dice
1/2 lb gruyere — grated
3 tablespoons flour
3 cups chicken broth
2 tablespoons Worcestershire Sauce
2 teaspoon ground mustard
1 cup heavy cream
additional salt and pepper to taste

Toss grated gruyere with flour. Dump in a sieve and shake to eliminate excess flour. Set aside.

In a large soup pot, cook bacon over medium-low heat until semi-crisp. Drain bacon, chop coarsely, and reserve for garnish. Pour off all but 2 tablespoons of grease.

Add diced onion and cook until it begins to brown. Increase heat to high, add a bit of chicken broth and deglaze the pot. Add remaining chicken broth and bring to a boil, reduce heat medium, add potatoes, salt, and simmer until potatoes are tender — about 10 minutes.

Whisk together Worcestershire Sauce, mustard, and cream. Stir into soup and heat to a simmer (but don't boil).

Reduce heat to low and allow to cool (there should be only tiny bubbles appearing) and stir in gruyere a handful at a time. Serve garnished with bacon, chopped green onions, garlic bread on the side.

Listen to your body. Pay attention to the seasons. And don't loan your car to your ex-wife.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | chowder | potato

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Lentil Soup

A Perfect Soup



In 1970 - 71 my family spent nine months in Egypt. As well-heeled Westerners (and in Egypt all Westerners were well-heeled at that time), we had a cook, Mah'moud and a series of house-boys and maids. A regular menu item was, of all things, roast turkey.

A turkey would feed the entire family (there were six of us plus a student) and so was a convenient size for dinner. And the turkey was awesome. Nothing like these hormone-stuffed, overbred mutants you find at the grocery store. No, these babies were much closer to wild turkey and packed with flavor — even the breasts were dark. Unless you've eaten a true wild turkey you can't imagine how good those Egyptian turkeys were.

As well-heeled Westerners (and in Egypt all Westerners were well-heeled at that time), we had a cook, Mah'moud and a series of house-boys and maids.

The next day, inevitably, we had lentil soup. Mah'moud would turn the turkey carcass into stock then pick off all the stray bits of meat and add them to the soup. It turns out that the turkey and lentil flavors are a near-perfect match. I'd never had lentil soup before that year in Cairo (and I'm not ordinarily a fan of dried legumes), but I came home a serious fan of lentil soup and have made it many times since. Unfortunately, I only knew two things about Mah'moud's soup — it was made with turkey stock and he served it with lemon wedges.

Over the years I've tried a lot of variations in the base such as chicken stock, beef stock, and pork stock. Turkey is definitely best. Then I made it once using a smoked turkey carcass and it was over the top with the smoky flavor contributing greatly to the savor of the beans. In fact, I discovered that if I didn't have a turkey carcass (even un-smoked) then a smoked ham hock was a close third place.

I also learned to take the time to make a proper stock. Simmer the meat with onions, carrots, and celery for at least two hours before discarding the veggies, picking off the meat, and making the soup.

One recipe I tried during my search for the perfect lentil soup called for grated carrot and sure enough, I found it added a pleasant bit of background sweetness so that went into the repertoire. The most recent trick I've come up with is adding a couple of stalks of lemon grass to the stock mixture and grated lemon zest to the soup mixture. These steps embed a couple of layers of lemony flavor in the soup that simply adding lemon juice at the end doesn't accomplish.

At this moment my house is suffused with the scent of the stock I've been simmering for the last two hours. Fortunately Kroger sells smoked turkey legs and wings so I don't have to smoke the turkey myself (although that is **always better). Shortly I'll go make the soup. I bought some Bay's English Muffins that I'll spread with garlic/parmesan butter and I'll zap some cabbage in the microwave (try it, it works) then drain and dress it with butter and fresh minced dill.

Lentil Soup
Serves 6.

Stock:
1 roasted turkey carcass (smoked turkey is better, and a smoked ham hock works)
1 md yellow onion — peeled and quartered
1 lg carrot — cut into 1" lengths
1 stalk celery with greens attached — cut into 1" lengths
1 stalk lemon grass
1 bay leaf
20 whole pepper corns
Soup:
1 lb green lentils — washed and picked over
2 tbsp olive oil
1 md yellow onion — peeled and diced
1 lg carrot — grated
zest of 1 large lemon
Salt and ground black pepper to taste
Fresh lemons — cut into quarters

Stock:
Break the turkey carcass into pieces and place in a stock pot and the remaining stock ingredients. Add enough water to cover completely, place over high heat, and bring almost to a boil — **but don't boil! Reduce heat to medium and simmer for two hours, skimming off any scum that forms and discarding. Add additional water as needed to keep ingredients covered.

Remove carcass from pot. Pick off any meat, and chop finely. Strain broth into another pot or container and discard solids (except for any meat that may have fallen off, which should be chopped).

Soup:
Clean pot and wipe dry. Add olive oil and heat to medium. Sauté diced onion until it begins to brown. Add lentils, grated carrots, lemon zest, and a tsp of salt. Add enough broth to cover lentils to a depth of 1 1/2 inches.

Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce heat to medium low, cover, and cook for two hours, stirring occasionally and adding, as necessary, enough additional stock or water to keep the lentils under 1/2 inch of liquid. Remove from heat and stir in any chopped turky. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with lemon wedges.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | lentils | lentil+soup | turkey

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Ed, You Ignorant Slut

Ed, You Ignorant Slut



Ed Bruske, author of The Slow Cook, took issue with my Kitchen Window article on spring chowders. Ed and I have been reading each other's blogs for a couple of months now. He's a talented and thoughtful writer — and nearly as opinionated as I am. Ed's new on the flog scene, so do check him out. But as regards his issues...

The gist of his objections appears to be this: "It seems that if you simply twist the definition of a chowder a little — easy to do on a computer keyboard — anything that swims in a bowl can be called a chowder." (And note, Ed mostly blamed the editor and not the author for his objections, but in fact I signed off on the article before it was published, and, speaking as a one-time editor, this editor knows her business.)

The Food Lover's Companion defines chowder as: "A thick chunky seafood soup, of which clam chowder is the most well known," but continues, "The term is also used to describe any thick, rich soup containing chunks of food (for instance, corn chowder)."

According to The Food Encyclopedia chowder is, "a thick soup, frequently but not always made with seafood." And turning to the Joy of Cooking one finds: "Chowder — thick fish, meat or vegetable soups, to which salt pork, milk, diced vegetables, and even bread and crackers may be added."

I, too, have found myself pondering on the use or misuse of names associated with foods. Back in 2004 I wrote "By Any Name" addressing just this question. In the case of using the word chowder I checked my references first, and was vindicated. And if we look at the most likely origin of the word it's a reference to the cooking vessel (a cauldron or chaudière), not the contents. Does Ed argue that unless an 18th century-style cauldron is used it isn't chowder? Optionally, if you select jowter as the preferred etymology, then is the dish composed of fish purchased from a mounted peddler?

Words change. Just as the cauldron once used to make chowder in has now become a soup pot or Dutch oven (and there's another interesting bit of etymology) the ingredients have also changed. A Google search on "clam chowder" returns 953,000 results while "corn chowder" returns 412,000. But a search on "chowder" alone returns 3,850,000 — clearly there are a lot of things out there being call "chowder" that don't involve clams. In fact, in a comment to me Ed asserted that "To me, a chowder is still a pot of potatoes, haddock and fish broth." He did aver that there might be such a beast as "corn chowder," but didn’t even mention clams. (Note: "haddock chowder" garners only 14,100 hits.)

No man means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous. ~ Henry Brooks Adams

Words change. Awful begins as "to fill with awe" and ends with "horrible," bad becomes "good," and perhaps even the word for a mounted fish peddler becomes the name of a soup. And, for what it's worth, Google began as a proper name some 7 or 8 years ago and is now a verb — go figure.

However, Ed does make one valid point, albeit by implication, and that is that a given food is the version that to our minds is the archetype. To me macaroni and cheese is elbow pasta made with a cheddar mornay and baked in the oven as a casserole, to my nephews it's elbow pasta with a runny, bright orange sauce from a blue box cooked on the stovetop. And during the Only Annual Mac-n-Cheese Off we saw a lot of other takes on this supposedly simple dish.

And whatever it's called, doesn't that bowl of potato chowder look delicious? Whatever it's name, wouldn't it taste as good?

Technorati: Food | essay | chowder | soup | food commentary

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Chowders Lighten Up

Chowders Lighten Up

From its beginnings in New England, chowder spread westward across the continent, and was modified and adapted along the way. Potato chowder, corn chowder and potato-corn chowder are the most common variants, but chowders made of mixed vegetables, kale, and spinach have also popped up.

Read the complete article at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Technorati: Food | recipe | soup | chowder | kitchen window | npr

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