SG Archives: Ciopino

Gallons of Gustatory Goodness



When a man asked God about heaven and hell, God first shows him a land where all the people have a delicious meat soup. But they have spoons longer than their arms, so they go hungry and suffer in hell.

Then God shows the man another place where everyone has the same wonderful soup and same long spoons. But here they use the spoons to feed each other. This is heaven. — Chinese parable

Soup is almost certainly the second oldest cooking method (roasting/grilling being the oldest) and dates at least from the invention of pottery. In fact, it's potentially older than that because it's possible to make soups and stews in animal skins.

Soup is almost certainly the second oldest cooking method.

Although it's unlikely that we have any genetic predilection for soup, we almost certainly have cultural predilections, shared with all other humans, and reaching back at least 10,000 years if soup began with pottery. That's a lot of soup under the spoon.

Given soup's long history, it's not surprising that stories such as the Chinese parable above have grown up around the dish. Here in the West our most popular story is Stone Soup, which is also a parable about sharing. Soup is an obvious metaphor for community with its common pot from which the same goodness flows to all who partake.

I spent this weekend making soup. Literally. The whole weekend. Act One began Friday morning with a shopping trip. Friday afternoon I made ham stock, beef stock, and Beer-braised Short Ribs. Continued Saturday morning when I taught a class on soups and stews making Country Ham and Barley Soup (here’s a similar recipe), Cheddar Chowder, Garlic/Tomato Soup, demonstrated how to make stock, and showed how to make the short ribs while serving the batch I made on Friday.

Act 2 began Saturday afternoon with a trip to the fish market followed by finishing the stock and short ribs I’d begun in the class. Act 3 occurred this morning when I made cioppino for my mother’s birthday dinner. There was a whole lot of soup-making, and sharing, going on.

Cioppino is the San Francisco version bouillabaisse. Traditionally it was made on the fishing boats while out to sea using whatever was in the nets when lunch time rolled around. The only repeated elements from one day to the next were olive oil (lots of it), tomatoes, wine, and sourdough bread. For me cioppino with fresh sourdough bread is what California tastes like. Here's what I did this morning:

Cioppino
Serves 4.

1 onion — diced
1/4 green bell pepper — diced
3 cloves garlic
1/4 c olive oil
1 1/2 c white wine
1 can diced tomatoes, 28 oz.
2 btls clam juice (I wasn't up to making another stock)
2 tbsp tomato paste
1 tsp anchovy
1 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper
1 dz littleneck clams
1/2 lb monkfish — cut into 1" cubes
1/2 lb scrod — cut into 1" cubes
1/2 lb shrimp
1/4 c chopped fresh parsley

Heat olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat, add onions and pepper, and sauté until onions are translucent. Add garlic and cook another minute. Add white wine and reduce to 1/2 cup. Add tomatoes (with juice), clam juice, oregano, tomato paste, anchovy paste, red pepper, and a good dash of salt. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 30 minutes.

Add clams to soup. When clams open add scrod and monkfish. Cook five minutes. Add shrimp and cook until shrimp and fish are done — 5 to 7 minutes. Add parsley and serve.

Try ciopino with...
Cheddar Cheese Bread
Prosciutto Bread
Key Lime Mousse

Originally published February 26, 2006.

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Potato/Beer Chowder

Brewpub Basic



It's odd how the lunch culture varies from workplace to workplace. I worked at one company where everyone would go out and get fast food then (usually) bring it back and eat it at their desks. At the next place I worked I got involved with a crew that went out to lunch every day. Sometimes there'd be six or seven of us, sometimes just two or three, but it was always the same basic group.

In Oregon everyone brought their lunch to work, although we'd go out to eat at one of the three greasy spoons in the area about once a month (we called these "editorial bonding lunches"). While in New Hampshire everyone ate at the company cafeteria

We'd go out to eat at one of the three greasy spoons in the area about once a month (we called these "editorial bonding lunches").

In California we'd grill burgers outside every now and then, but for the most part everyone ate alone at their desks. However, there was a brewpub not far from the office and every three or four months we'd go there for lunch. The beer was good and the food, typical pub fare, wasn't bad on the whole. However they served a potato/beer chowder that was outstanding. So I'd usually order a cup of chowder and half a sandwich

Of course I had to try to duplicate the recipe and I managed to come very close, the trick turned out to be the combination of milk, beer, and chicken broth. The chicken broth took me awhile to figure out.

Potato/Beer Chowder
Serves 4.

1 1/2 lb Yukon Gold potatoes — peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
4 strips bacon
1/4 c all-purpose flour
1 lg onion — peeled and diced
1 c beer
1 c milk
2 c chicken broth
6 oz sharp cheddar cheese — shredded
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp ground mustard
1/2 tsp salt
pinch of cayenne pepper

Cook the bacon to desired doneness in a large soup pot over low heat. Drain bacon (reserving rendered bacon fat in the soup pot) and crumble.

Heat milk and beer in the microwave on high.

Add onion to bacon grease and cooking until lightly browned — about 5 minutes. Add flour to pot and stir, cooking, about 4 minutes longer. Stir in the milk and beer, being careful to avoid clumping and continue cooking until thickened.

Stir in the chicken broth. Add the potatoes and simmer until tender. Stir in the cheese a handful at a time, stirring between each addition until soup is homogenous. Stir in remaining ingredients.

Serve garnished with bacon and chopped green onions.

Try this chowder with...
Schwarma
Garlic Bread
Tomatoes Parmigiano

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Soup & Sandwich

A Match Made in Heaven



I've already confessed my love for sandwiches on several occasions. And it's true that a sandwich alone can be a complete meal depending on what's on it. But sandwiches have a natural co-partner: soup. A good match between soup and a sandwich can result in an extraordinarily good meal, for example, a grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup is something most of us remember from our childhoods &mdash and well we should as it's classic pairing of unctuous cheese, butter, crisp bread, and rich soup.

There are other equally good matches, though perhaps none so classic, and these are a few of my favorites.

Clam Chowder — It's Chowdah, Baby: Year's ago I set off on a quest for the perfect New England clam chowder. I ate bowls of it in San Francisco; Eugene Oregon; and Seattle, Washington and was unsurprised they were un-exceptional (wrong coast) but I had high hopes when I moved to the East Coast but I was still disappointed in most cases. But eventually I gathered enough data to make an honest effort at my own recipe. I won't call this perfect, but it's among the best I've eaten.

Country Ham Panini — Feelin' Country: A good chowder includes some pork. It could be bacon, lard, fat-back or even salt-back, but the background pork flavor is an essential element of great chowder. The last time I made a batch I'd made a recent trip to Bentons and so had some of Alan's "prosiutto" - his country ham slice paper thin. I made a panini. Crisp, salty, cheesy. I couldn't have chosen a better match for clam chowder.

Gumbo & mdash; Laissez le Bons Temps Rouler: We tend to think of gumbo as a New Orleans soup — or, at most, a Louisiana dish. But it's real origins are blend of African and French cuisine and so it's found wherever the French kept slaves, which includes most of the Caribbean islands. In fact the best gumbo I've eaten was at a Caribbean restaurant in Sacramento that's owner/chef was from Haiti. Of course, add rice and gumbo is meal in itself with meat, broth, vegetables, and starch. Nevertheless, sometimes a sandwich rounds it out beautifully.

Muffaletta — Interesting: New Orleans has two "most" famous sandwiches — the Muffaletta and the po' boy. And don't get me wrong, a good fried oyster or shrimp po' boy is mighty fine, even deeelicious. But to me no sandwich says New Orleans like the Muffaletta. And the olive mix is a wonderful contrast to the deeply savory gumbo. I've found it best, though, to have a big mug/small bowl full of gumbo and an entire quarter Muffaletta so that instead of the sandwich backing up the soup, the soup backs up the sandwich.

Ciopino - A Common Pot: Ciopino is a fish soup developed by Italian fishermen in the San Francisco area. Like all such dishes, it's composed of by catch - the fish caught during the day that probably won't sell. It's a close relative (in both flavor and history) to the famous French bouillabaisse. And like all such soups it's easy to make. Just cruise down to your local fish market and buy whatever looks good as well as bones and such-like to make the stock. Add the fish and serve.

Roast Pork Sandwich - Magic Sandwich: Unlike gumbo, ciopino isn't heavy. Nor does it already contain pork so a pork sandwich is a great match. My local equivalent of Whole Foods (Fresh Market) sells a very good sourdough bread and since sourdough starter died (God rest it's yeast and lacto bacillus) I've relied on them for that particular bread choice. Though I call for a Kaiser roll in this recipe, sourdough is a better pairing with the ciopino and complements — the red onion and pickled daikon.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | sandwich | recipe collection

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Duck Soup

Pulchritude and Poultry



I pulled the pot of stock from the fridge and it shimmied. It didn't wobble. It didn't shudder. It didn't ripple. It didn't sashay. Nor did it undulate, shake like a bowl full of jelly, or shiver. No. It shimmied like a skinny 15-year-old girl doing a hula dance on a Polynesian island for her boyfriend.

A few weeks back I wrote an article for NPR's Kitchen Window on cooking duck. As with most of my NPR pieces, the hardest part was deciding which recipes to cover. I was tempted to do duck confit because of the holiday season and because duck rillettes made from the confit are so special as a holiday appetizer. But I figured no one was going to take on making confit during the holidays. I considered the classic Peking Duck, but then I'd have to also provide a recipe for crepes - which would have been off-topic. One recipe that I didn't include but really wanted to was duck soup.

I strained the liquid, discarded the solids, and reduced it to about a gallon. Now I had the essence of duck in a pot.

It seemed incumbent on me to provide a recipe for roasting duck, because for best results it's a two or three step process in order to extract the excess fat: simmer the duck for 40 minutes in a stock pot, dry it overnight, then roast it at high heat for 30 minutes. This process would utterly destroy a chicken or turkey but for duck it's, well, water off it's back.

At then end of the roasting process you have the duck stock that had just sashayed out of my refrigerator. After roasting and mostly eating the duck I dumped the carcass back in the stock and simmered it another couple of hours to extract more flavor plus the gelatin in the bones. At this point I had about two gallons of liquid. I strained the liquid, discarded the solids, and reduced it to about a gallon. Now I had the essence of duck in a pot. I also happened to have a pair of roasted legs I hadn't eaten - but this was purely an accidental bonus of living alone.

After some internal discussion, I decided to make lentil soup. Whoooeee, we are talking some awesome soup here.

Duck and Bean Soup
Serves 6.

5 - 7 qt duck stock (see NPR article)
duck carcass
1 preserved lemon (or 1 stalk lemon grass, or the juice of two lemons)
1 lb lentils (I used the French du Puy lentils)*
1 carrots - peeled and grated
1 onion - peeled and finely diced
4 tbsp olive oil - separated
3 cloves garlic peeled and finely minced
zest of 1 lemon
1 cup assorted, pitted olives
Salt and pepper to taste.

Place the stock on the stove and add the duck bones and preserved lemon. Bring just to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for two hours. Strain out solids and discard. Return to heat and reduce to about 4 quarts. Taste stock and if necessary add more salt.

In the meantime, brown the diced onion in 2 tablespoons of oil.

Add all remaining ingredients except last 2 tablespoons of oil to pot, return to a boil, then lower heat and simmer for 1 - 2 hours until you like the texture - adding water if needed.

Taste again and adjust seasonings and serve with lemon wedges. I found that garlic bread was a perfect accompaniment to this soup.

*Note: I chose lentils (and any lentils will work), but I nearly went with cannellini beans, which would have also been great but would have taken 3 - 4 hours to cook.

Because I had a duck leg/thigh I stripped it off the bone, shredded it, and added it to the soup at the last moment.

Try this soup with...
Quick Cheddar Cheese Bread
Parmesan/Bacon Burger
Roasted Garlic Bread

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | duck | beans | soup | main dish

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Buttercup Squash Soup

Makeover



Squash soup has been really popular this year — and no wonder, squash soup is a great idea, but too often it fails in execution. It's often banal, watery, and insipid. Something more like flavored squash juice than a true soup with soup's promise of savor, depth, and nuance. Some years ago I had a bowl of soup like that in cooking class and its lack of character irritated me. So I set out to create something more like what I imagined squash soup could be.

I scanned lots of recipes and I figured out why so much soup was watery — squash is watery. So I decided to drain it after it was cooked. So I roasted the squash the day before making the soup then scooped the flesh out into a large sieve set over a bowl. After a night in the refrigerator I had over a cup of liquid in the bowl. I suppose I could have reduced the juice and included it in the soup, but instead I just threw it out.

Horseradish has sort of a grassy flavor that I thought would draw a hard line against the soft flavor of the squash.

Next, I wanted to add a distinct edge to the soup. Cumin or curry powder were too obvious, too predictable. After some thought I hit on horseradish. Horseradish has sort of a grassy flavor that I thought, with it's bite, would draw a hard line against the soft flavor of the squash.

Maple syrup seemed like a sweetening agent that would complement the harshness of the horseradish and I thought buttermilk would add richness without ameliorating the effects of the horseradish and maple syrup.

The result, though not perfect, was mighty good. It was thick, rich, and full of flavor — a very long way from bland or insipid.

Buttercup Squash Soup
Serves 6.

1 butternut squash — 2 1/2 - 3 lb (butternut can be substituted)
1 leek — cleaned and cut into strips
2 tbsp. butter
3/4 c buttermilk
3/4 c chicken stock
2 tbsp maple syrup
4 tsp prepared horseradish
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/8 tsp ground cloves
1 pinch ground nutmeg
salt to taste

Cut squash in half across equator, clean out seeds, and place cut side down in a baking dish. Add about 1 inch of water to baking dish and cook in a 400F oven until tender — 45 minutes to 1 hour.

Scrap flesh out of squash into a 2 qt bowl — do not mash — and refrigerate overnight. Drain accumulated liquid.

Melt butter in a 2 qt sauce pan over medium low heat and then sweat leeks until translucent. Add 1/2 cup of butter milk, 1/2 cup of chicken stock, and all remaining ingredients. Bring to a simmer and heat thoroughly.

Puree squash mixture and return to sauce pan. Soup should be thick, but still then enough to require a bowl and spoon to eat. Add additional buttermilk and chicken stock to achieve desired consistency. Taste and adjust seasonings — in particular you may need a bit more maple syrup depending on how sweet the squash was.

Note: This is much better if soup is allowed to meld overnight in the refrigerator.

Try this Squash Soup with...
Rum- & Cider-Brined Pork Roast
Chicken with 40 cloves of Garlic
Braised Lamb Shanks

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | squash

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SG Archive: Gazpacho

Liquid Summer



I don't recall the first time I tasted gazpacho. My mother has been making it since I was a kid in the 60s — and perhaps longer than that. Neither do I have any idea how many versions of it I've had, but it's almost always at least good whatever the recipe. I've also had a cold tomato soup that, although delicious, was definitely not gazpacho. I'm still unsure what it was that made the cold tomato soup so distinctly different from gazpacho.

I had gazpacho twice when I was in Spain and the two versions couldn't have been more different — although both were good. The origin of the soup does seem to have some general agreement. The original soup was a common base for many modern dishes found throughout Europe. It likely consisted of stale bread, mixed with oil, vinegar, and vegetables. Gazpacho, though, seems somewhat unusual in its evolution because it's uncooked and it's a soup instead of a salad.

The best gazpachos are made of vegetables picked and used at the height of the season.

The best gazpachos are made of vegetables picked and used at the height of the season. And, served immediately, they are very good. But I think the best gazpachos, although made with absolutely fresh ingredients, are even better when allowed to age for at least 24 hours to enable those incredibly fresh flavors to meld and to take on some of the flavor of the bread. With good bread the soup has a hint of yeastiness adding depth and complexity to the flavor. That yeastiness requires some age to develop.

Many recipes call for stock, but (and this is regarded by many as my worst offense) I like using V8 Juice as the base liquid.

One last comment: please use a Spanish olive oil. It really makes a difference.

Gazpacho
Serves 8.

6 ea fresh tomatoes — peeled, seeded, & diced
1 ea green pepper — diced
1 bunch green onions — cut into 1/2" lengths, white and 1/2 greens
2 cloves garlic — crushed
1 ea medium cucumber — peeled, seeded, & diced
1 ea lemon — juiced
8 ea large basil leaves — chopped
1/4 c olive oil
1/4 c red wine vinegar
6 c V-8
1 c fresh breadcrumbs
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp anchovy paste
2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1/2 tsp ground white pepper
salt to taste

Place half the veggies, half the crackers, half the olive oil, and one and a half cups of V8 juice in the bowl of a food processor and process until smooth. Pour into a large bowl. Repeat for remaining veggies.

Add all remaining ingredients and chill for at least six hours. Adjust the seasonings.

Try Gazpacho with...
Country Ham Panini
Ultimate Grilled Cheese
Schawarma

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | tomatoes

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Garlic/Tomato Soup

So Much Food, So Little Time



I eat approximately 730 meals a year, 365 lunches and 365 dinners (breakfast is usually just yogurt and a banana). On the face of it this is 730 opportunities to cook, but it isn't really. I seldom cook lunch, which generally consists of either a sandwich or leftovers or fruit and cheese, so that cuts the opportunities approximately in half.

Then there's the fact that much of what I cook does produce leftovers - you can't really make beef daube for one from scratch, nor would you want to because meals like beef daube are always better on the second or third day. I figure I have leftovers for supper about four nights a week and if I factor in the times I pick up a steak-in-a-sack at the local deli, order out for pizza, or have dinner with friends or family then I'm preparing only about 130 meals to prepare from scratch each year.

Given my various cooking obligations I really do need to make an effort to try out about 100 new dishes a year.

Of those, I'd estimate around 30 are old favorites that I eat about once a year: mac-n-cheese, corned beef and cabbage, spaghetti marinara, and so on. So now I'm down to an opportunity to cook about 100 new dishes a year - and given my obligations I really do need to make an effort to try out about 100 new dishes a year, which makes repeating something I liked unusual.

A couple of summers ago I made a Tomato/Garlic soup for a class on soups and really liked the way it turned out. Lately I've had a strong urge to eat it again. It's best with fresh tomatoes in season, but this time I used canned tomatoes. The garlic is added in two lots here to get two different flavor intensities. The first amount is sautéed with other vegetables at the beginning of the recipe in good Italian or Spanish fashion. The second goes in near the end to provide more bite. The tomatoes provide most of the liquid.

Garlic/Tomato Soup
Serves 4 - 6.
Adapted from a recipe by Barbara Kafka’s Soup: A Way of Life.

1 28-oz. can diced tomatoes
10 - 12 cloves garlic — smashed, peeled, and coarsely chopped
1 med red bell pepper — seeded and diced
1/2 c olive oil
2 tbsp fresh thyme leaves
3 tbsp basil — finely chopped plus additional basil, chiffonade, for garnish
2 tsp coarse salt, or to taste
2 c chicken stock freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Drain the tomatoes (reserving liquid).

Sauté the bell pepper and 2/3 of the garlic in the olive oil over medium heat for 5 minutes. Add drained tomatoes, increase heat to medium-high and cook five minutes longer. Add sautéed vegetables, herbs, and remaining garlic to a food processor along with reserved tomato juice. Pulse several time until slightly coarse.

Return tomato mix to a sauce pan, add chicken stock, salt, and pepper and simmer for 10 minutes.

Place a round of lightly toasted coarse bread in the bottom of a bowl, ladle soup into bowl, and top with basil chiffonade.

Try this Tomato/Garlic soup with...
Cheese Quick Bread
Mortadella Sandwich (Sao Paulo)
Tuna & Chicken Salad Sandwiches

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | tomatoes

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Paisano: Pasta e Fagiole

Liquid Italian Art



My father is a good driver. He's competent, confident, and careful. As a rule one wouldn't think twice about riding in a car with him — unless you're in Italy. Put him behind the wheel of a Fiat in Italy and his white hair turns glossy black, his beard shrinks into a mustache, the second button on his shirt opens exposing a crucifix on a chain. He drives with the gas pedal flat to the floor (thank God it's only a Fiat), he passes on the right and on curves — he scared the bejeezus out of me.

Several years ago my father attended several conferences in Europe, taking my mother along, and they asked me if I wanted to join them for a week in Tuscany visiting some of the less tourist-encrusted sites such as the Etruscan tombs and Hadrian's Villa. So I flew over and we had a marvelous week together — except in the car.

At least he wasn't waving gaily to the North-African prostitutes one sees at the most lonely, out-of-way spots along the road.

Fortunately, because of the nature of the sites we were visiting, we were mostly driving on well-maintained, two-lane highways where his suddenly Italian driving form wasn't outrageously risky (although my mother did develop severe cramps in her brake leg). And at least he wasn't waving gaily to the North-African prostitutes one sees at the most lonely, out-of-way spots along the road. Apparently in Italy they have highway-walkers as well as street-walkers.

At any rate, as I was making this Pasta e Fagiole the other night I hung my head over the pot to take a sniff and the odor immediately reminded me of our week in Italy. Fair warning, this is my recipe and not some age-old Italian version. I stole a bit here and a bit there from other recipes in putting it together, nevertheless, my nose told me I had something that would pass for authentic. And, like all such traditional recipes, authenticity is what the cook decides is authentic.

Pasta e Fagiole
Serves 6.

1/2 lb. short pasta (macaroni, penne, fusilli...)
4 qt. chicken broth or stock (I used homemade stock)
1 15 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 15 oz. can cannelloni beans
1/2 lb. Italian sausage (2 links) — cut into 1/4" rounds
1/2 lg. yellow onion — small dice
2 lg. garlic cloves — coarsely chopped
1 1/2 tbsp. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. dried basil
1/2 tsp. dried sage
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 tsp. anchovy paste

Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a medium skillet. Add sausage and brown on both sides — 8 to 10 minutes — then drain on a paper towel. Add the onion to the skillet and cook until beginning to brown (4 -5 minutes), add garlic, and cook a minute longer. Scoop onto plate with sausage.

Drain and completely rinse beans. Process half to a puree in a food processor

Bring the chicken stock to a boil, add pasta, and cook for 8 - 9 minutes. (The pasta should be slightly underdone.) Reduce heat to a simmer. Add all ingredients to pot and simmer for 10 minutes. Taste, adjust seasonings, and serve.

Note: I added a couple of old Parmigiano Regianno cheese rinds to the soup (I keep them for just that purpose), which added a bit more savor.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | main dish | pasta | beans | italian

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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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