Tag Archives: food history

dessert, lebanese cuisine, middle eastern cuisine

Dessert from the Desert: Dates in Clove Syrup (Murabba El Balah)

Not bad dates, if you’ll pardon the Indiana Jones reference.

1000 Foods (pg. 514) for information, recipe is my own creation

            For a unique dessert, we have dates in clove syrup. Date palms are more tolerant of heat and drought than most other plants, making them essential in the hot deserts of the Middle East and North Africa. The fruit is sweet, high in nutrients, and calorie-dense, a useful feature in the past. Before sugar, dates were the main sweetener in the region, added to a variety of breads, porridges, and sweet cakes in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Usually, they were preserved by drying in the hot sun, a method still widely used.

            People have been stuffing dates for at least two thousand years, and probably for even longer. Once the pit is removed, the fruit has a hollow center. Dates were a popular luxury in the Roman Empire. Since the trees don’t produce fruit in Italy, they had to be imported from the Middle East and North Africa. Almonds, which fit into the centers almost perfectly, were a favorite filling, either on their own or in a more complex mixture. Murabba El Balah, a Lebanese specialty, also uses almonds for a nice contrast in flavor and texture.

            Normally the dish uses fresh dates. Since those are extremely hard to find, I developed a recipe using the dried variety. After soaking in hot water the dates can be peeled, and the pits removed with a nut pick or knitting needle. I put two almonds in each date, toasted for extra flavor. After steeping for several days, the fruit is chewy and extremely sweet. To avoid being overwhelming, I’ve included a recipe for lightly sweetened rice pudding. The syrupy dates are a popular garnish for puddings of all sorts.

            They have a great flavor and nice crunch, but are a bit of a sugar bomb, for lack of a better term. Dates are already very sweet, and a sugar syrup only increases it. Because of this, they go even better with pancakes, oatmeal, cream of wheat, and the like, which aren’t usually pre-sweetened. Plain yogurt would be another excellent choice.

            Note that the dates need to soak in the clove syrup for at least four days, so plan ahead. The rice pudding is very thick, because that’s the way I prefer it, but you can thin it with a bit more milk once it’s cooled. No vanilla or cinnamon is included because the clove syrup would overpower it, but if you want to add some, by all means go ahead.

            Ingredients:

  • 20 – 24 dates (about 1 pound dried with pits, less if pitted)
  • 40 – 48 toasted unsalted almonds (2 per date)
  • 24 whole cloves
  • 1 ½ cups sugar

For rice pudding (if desired)

  • 4 cups (1 quart) whole or 2% milk
  • 6 tablespoons white rice, long or short grain (short grain makes a thicker pudding)
  • 1 tablespoon sugar

            Directions:

  1. Place dates in a medium saucepan with just enough water to cover, about 2 cups. Bring water to a boil, shaking pan occasionally. Remove from heat, cover, and let stand for at least an hour, or until cool.
  2. Peel dates, starting from areas where the peel has bubbled up. Remove pits with nut pick or knitting needle if necessary. Set fruit aside, discarding peels and pits. Strain cooking liquid and return to pan.
  3. Add the cloves to the cooking liquid and bring it back to a boil. When boiling, add the 1 ½ cups sugar and boil, stirring, for two or three minutes, or until the sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat.
  4. While the syrup partially cools, stuff two whole almonds into each date. Pour the warm syrup over the stuffed dates and gently stir. Let cool to room temperature, then marinate in the refrigerator for at least four days. Due to the sugar content, these will stay good for a few weeks.
  5. Remove the cloves and serve with rice pudding, ice cream, or yogurt.
  6. For the pudding, heat the milk, rice, and tablespoon sugar in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring frequently, until mixture simmers. Turn down heat to medium low, then cook for about 15 minutes until thickened, stirring frequently to prevent scorching. Chill before serving if desired.

            Don’t worry if you accidentally eat a clove. It might dull your sense of taste a for a few minutes, but that’s as far as side effects go. As usual, make sure to subscribe to get free posts and recipes sent right to your inbox. If you’re feeling extra generous and want to donate a few bucks to support my work, you can do that too.

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food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 15 (Pgs. 62 – 66): Menu for 8, La Foce

Region: Tuscany

Menu: Cantaloupe with Prosciutto, Lasagnette with Meat Sauce, Fennel and Watercress Salad, Orange Ring Cake

Recommended Wine: Vino Nobile de Montepulciano (like Chianti, but with some white grapes mixed in with the red)

            Believe it or not, at one time, doctors thought melons were unhealthy and even dangerous. During the Middle Ages and Renaissance, raw produce in general was mistrusted. In the 15th and 16th Centuries, when salads and beautifully-arranged platters of fresh fruit became fashionable, doctors freaked out, thinking the trend would make their patients sick. People did sometimes get sick after eating fresh, raw fruit, but the problem wasn’t the fruit itself. Most likely, the water used to wash it was contaminated, or cooks didn’t adequately clean their work surfaces.

            Melons were even implicated in the death of a 15th Century pope. The story goes that in July 1471, Pope Paul II ate two large melons, and died shortly thereafter. Sources don’t say what kind of melons they were, what was meant by large (most fruits and vegetables were smaller at the time), or the timeframe they were eaten over. Since Rome gets really hot in July and this was before air conditioning, His Holiness probably found them refreshing, and may not have had much appetite for other food. If that was the case, eating two melons the size of small modern cantaloupes over the course of a hot day sort of makes sense.

Delicious treat, or heartless killer?

            Supposedly, cantaloupes originated in either Persia (modern Iran) or Armenia before being brought to the Mediterranean. Regardless of what doctors thought, people living there, especially Italians, went crazy for them. During the hot summer months, when melons were at their peak, people found them irresistible. Supposedly, eating them with a bit of salty ham or some wine reduced the risk, which is where melon and prosciutto came from. Personally, I think prosciutto is stringy and overpriced, so had the melon plain. It was good as always, but was definitely different as an appetizer.

            The name “lasagnette” suggests a miniature lasagna, but this recipe filled a full pan. Like the Bologna-style lasagna, this one used a ragu with a high proportion of meat to tomato, bechamel sauce, and parmesan cheese. I think there must have been a typo in the bechamel recipe. It calls for one cup flour to three of milk. At that ratio, a sticky dough-like substance forms, not a sauce. It was salvageable with extra milk, whisking, and straining the lumps out, but it probably would have been easier to restart with a different bechamel recipe. Everything else with the lasagna went smoothly, and it was quite tasty, but I still prefer the mozzarella and ricotta version. Maybe if I made my own pasta dough instead of purchasing it, I would feel differently.

Instrument of fraud

            The fennel and watercress made for a fascinating combination. Supposedly, Medieval Florentine wine merchants would give potential buyers fennel to snack on, hoping it would overwhelm their taste buds and make wine faults less noticeable. Here the sweet, licorice-like flavor served no such nefarious purpose. The watercress was distinctly peppery, much like arugula, which was a nice contrast with the fennel.

As the author says, the secret is the syrup. And the whipped cream.

            Everything was good, but the orange ring cake was incredible. The cake itself is flavored with grated orange peel, which seems to be popular in Italian recipes. The juice, meanwhile, goes into a syrup with lemon juice, which gets drizzled on the hot cake after baking. It was delicious, and would probably be even better if holes were poked in the cake first to let the syrup soak in more. Whipped cream was a delightful contrast to the sweet and tart flavor, in a fascinating change of pace from regular chocolate and yellow cakes. Not that there’s anything wrong with those, especially with fluffy homemade chocolate frosting, but the orange cake was delicious and pretty.

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american cuisine, food history, recipes

Kentucky Derby Treat: Benedictine Dip/Spread

Benedictine sandwiches to enjoy during the Kentucky Derby

            The Saturday before last, a lot of people who don’t normally follow horse racing tuned into the Kentucky Derby. Personally, I like to see all the brightly-colored suits and over-the-top hats that aren’t worn anywhere else. And of course, the segments on the food, both at Churchill Downs and elsewhere. Hot brown sandwiches, strawberries and cream, chocolate walnut pie, and most of all mint juleps are associated with the first leg of the Triple Crown.

            So is benedictine, which has evolved a bit over the decades. At first, it was cream cheese flavored with onion and cucumber juice, maybe colored with green food coloring, served between white bread triangles as tea sandwiches. Supposedly, the name comes from the green color, which was similar to an herbal liqueur made by Benedictine monks in France. Modern recipes tend to skip the food coloring and use grated cucumbers and onions, not just the juice, and serve the benedictine as a dip.

            My recipe uses the modern approach. The grated cucumber and minced scallions give it a bit of texture, and parsley adds extra freshness and color. Spread it over bread, eat it with crackers, and/or vegetables, or, if you’re feeling fancy, put it in a sandwich with some cucumber slices and channel your inner Downton Abbey character. It’s also a great alternative to mayonnaise or miracle whip on more substantial sandwiches. This recipe is loaded with cucumber and herbs, but if you want a higher proportion of cream cheese, feel free to use two packages, or cut the other ingredients in half.

Note: The easiest way to seed cucumbers is to cut them in half lengthwise after peeling. Then it’s easy to remove the seeds with a spoon. The fresh aroma released in the process is nice too.

Ingredients:

  • 1 8oz package cream cheese, softened
  • 1 medium cucumber, peeled, seeded, grated, and squeezed to remove extra moisture
  • 1 bunch green onions/scallions, minced
  • 1 bunch parsley (I use curly for this recipe, but flat leaf is fine too), minced
  • Pinch salt

Directions:

  1. Beat cream cheese until smooth. Mix in the grated cucumber until evenly combined.
  2. Stir in the minced scallions and parsley, mixing until evenly distributed. Add salt to taste.
  3. Refrigerate for at least an hour, preferably longer, to give flavors time to meld.

Over a few days in the fridge, a bit of extra liquid will probably form in pockets on the dip. This is just liquid from the cucumbers and is nothing to worry about. I prefer to pour it off, but if you want a thinner texture, feel free to mix it back in.

            And as always, if you subscribe for free, you’ll get notifications of new posts in your inbox. Of course, if you do want to support my work with a monetary donation, I won’t complain about that either.

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food history

Foods Not Eaten: Personal Taste Part 2 (Aspics and Miscellaneous)

Meat/Fish Aspics: Boeuf a la Mode en Gelee (beef and vegetables in aspic), Compote de Caille en Gelee (quail in aspic), Oeufs en Gelee (eggs in aspic), Sulze (pork in aspic), Carpe a la Juive/Jedisch Fisch (jellied carp), Gefilte Fish (freshwater fish dumplings in aspic), P’tcha (jellied calf’s foot)

Miscellaneous: Pasta Pagliata (with chopped calf or lamb intestines), Okroshka, Kholodynk, and Botvinia (Russian and Ukrainian cold soups), Tuna Salad Sandwich, Snoek (oily fish), Natto (fermented soybeans)

1000 Foods (pgs. 60, 68, 105 – 106, 314, 430 – 431, 436 – 437, 459 – 460, 219, 416 – 417, 633 – 634, 744, 811)

            For centuries, people have made gelatin by simmering meat and fish scraps. The time and effort necessary to strain and chill it made jellies and aspics high-status foods in the past, but times have changed. Perhaps people are still scarred by midcentury monstrosities full of hot dogs, canned fish, and mayonnaise. There are seven aspic dishes in the book, three French, one German, and three Ashkenazi Jewish. None of them sound appealing. In my mind, aspic seems like a broth or gravy that no one bothered to reheat. Cold soups have the same problem, even if they’re supposed to be cold.

            There are some dishes that, no matter how good they taste, I have trouble eating if they contain certain ingredients. This makes sense for the calf/lamb intestines in pasta pagliata (that’s where it gets its cheesy flavor), but I don’t understand why I have such a problem with ketchup, mayonnaise, and most bottled salad dressings. A dislike of mayonnaise means no tuna salad sandwiches (and the canned fish looks too much like cat food). For ketchup, the issue is so bad that I have trouble eating a dish if I think it might possibly contain ketchup (ex. sweet and sour pork at a buffet). Even watching someone else eating ketchup is difficult. I won’t say anything, but mentally I’m gagging. When I was little, I actually tried to train myself to eat it, but that went about as well as training myself to write with my left hand. That is to say, not well at all.

            Finally, I don’t like most strong-smelling, fermented ingredients. Mimi Sheraton compares the smell of natto, Japanese fermented soybeans, with the notoriously stinky Swedish herring surstromming. That alone is reason enough not to try it. Supposedly, a man in Germany got evicted after spilling a can of surstromming in his apartment hallway. When he took the landlord to court, the landlord won the case by opening a can in the courtroom. Whether the story is true or not, I would rather not risk eviction over fermented soybeans.

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beverages, egyptian cuisine

Accompanying the Ful Medames: Egyptian Mint Tea

1000 Foods (pg. 704) for information, recipe is my own creation

            Mint tea is popular across North Africa, with numerous regional variations. Mimi Sheraton discusses this in the text on page 704. We’ve already discussed the Moroccan variety, with lots of mint and a bit of green tea. Egyptian mint tea has less mint, more tea, and uses black tea instead of green. It’s similarly sweet, and is sometimes flavored with warm spices. I use a clove, a piece of cinnamon stick, and a pinch of cardamom for a flavor that’s present without overwhelming the mint. Note that black tea is brewed at a slightly higher temperature than green, so it can be added to the hot water right away.

            Ingredients:

  • 2 or 3 sprigs fresh mint
  • 2 teaspoons black tea leaves
  • Sugar to taste
  • 1 piece cinnamon stick, 3 to 4 inches
  • 1 whole clove
  • Small pinch ground cardamom

            Directions:

  1. Bring 2 cups of water to a boil. Remove, tear, and bruise the mint leaves. Place in a teapot or strainer cup with the tea leaves and spices.
  2. Add boiling water to the mint, tea leaves, and spices, and steep for 3 to 5 minutes.
  3. Strain into teacups, adding a pinch of sugar or more to taste.

            In Egypt, the tea is usually a lot sweeter, kind of like the sweet tea popular in the US Southeast, but served hot. Personally, I don’t like that much sugar, and prefer tea unsweetened in most cases. Flavored teas like this one are an exception, but a pinch of sugar per teacup or a few per mug is plenty.

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egyptian cuisine, food history, recipes, stew, vegetarian

Egyptian “Tacos”: Ful Medames (fava bean stew)

1000 Foods (pgs. 708 – 709) for information, recipe is my own creation

            There’s no liver or chianti with these fava beans. To be honest, neither sounds appealing. The purpose of the liver is to filter toxins from the body, and supposedly chianti is a fairly dry wine. But fava beans on their own sound much better. Historically, most people across the Mediterranean and Middle East ate a largely vegetarian diet by necessity. Beans of all sorts provided essential protein and vitamins, which brings to mind an interesting story. Supposedly, the Ancient Greek mathematician Pythagoras hated beans but advocated a vegetarian diet. Balanced nutrition would still be possible if eggs and dairy were allowed, but Pythagoras definitely made things more difficult for himself.

            Supposedly, he even thought that beans were evil. Crazy as that probably sounds, there might have been a logical (okay, semi-logical) explanation. A small percentage of people don’t produce a particular enzyme that breaks down a chemical naturally occurring in fava beans. If someone with this gene does eat them, they become ill. Since this gene is most common in people living near the Mediterranean, Pythagoras likely knew a few people who suffered from it. It’s unclear why he decided that other types of beans were also evil, but maybe it was just a phobia. At a time and place where legumes were an essential source of protein, it would have been an unfortunate one.

            Fava beans, also called broad beans, have a long history in Egypt as a staple food, especially for the poor. Sometimes, when prices were high, the government would even subsidize them to ensure they remained affordable. Ful medames, a basic fava bean “porridge,” is often eaten for breakfast with a variety of toppings. The beans can be enhanced with butter, oil, onions, boiled eggs, and/or herbs, depending on what’s available and affordable. It seems like a strange choice for breakfast, but the protein helps keep you full until lunchtime. Some bread provides carbs for balance, as well as a vehicle for soaking up the juice. Pitas are the traditional choice.

            The beans, flavored with garlic and cumin and cooked until partially broken down, come to resemble refried beans. Combined with pita bread and assorted toppings, they bear a distinct resemblance to vegetarian tacos in a way, hence the description. While it’s a bit messy and time-consuming for breakfast, ful medames make a great vegetarian lunch or dinner, filling but fresh. And it’s customizable. Each person can add the toppings they wish.

            Ingredients:

  • 1 large can (about 30 ounces) fava beans, drained and rinsed
  • Water or broth
  • 2 cloves garlic, crushed and minced
  • ½ teaspoon cumin
  • Pinch hot pepper flakes, to taste
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • Bread for serving (especially pitas, lightly warmed in oven with olive oil and salt)

Toppings (optional):

  • Flaxseed, olive, or untoasted sesame oil, or butter
  • Chopped parsley and/or cilantro
  • Minced onions, raw or sauteed, or scallions
  • Lemon juice
  • Plain yogurt
  • Vegetables (I used radishes and cucumbers), chopped, with vinegar and lemon juice to cover and a pinch of salt, and marinated in refrigerator for a few hours
  • Chopped hard-boiled eggs (I do not like them, but they are a common accompaniment, so enjoy (?) if desired)

            Directions:

  1. Place drained beans, garlic, cumin, and hot pepper flakes in a small to medium saucepan. Add enough water or broth to cover, about 1 ½ cups.
  2. Bring to a soft boil over medium heat, then reduce heat to low and simmer, uncovered, for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally and gently breaking up the beans.
  3. When the beans have the texture of refried beans, remove from heat and serve in bowls. Pass desired toppings and plenty of bread.
  4. This recipe makes two good-sized servings, but is easy to multiply for larger groups. Make sure to have at least one pita per person.

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beverages, moroccan cuisine

Accompanying the Shakshuka: Moroccan Mint Tea

1000 Foods (pg. 704) for information, recipe is my own creation

            Moroccan cuisine is famous for its mint tea. Along with bunches of fresh mint, the tea requires green tea leaves and lots of sugar. A bit of rosewater can be added for even more flavor. Typically, the tea is served in tiny glass cups as a gesture of hospitality. The preferred serving method is to hold the teapot high while pouring, so the liquid froths as it hits the cups. Traditionally, the tea is served hot, regardless of the temperature outside. In fact, drinking hot beverages in the summer heat is common from Morocco to Italy to India. Supposedly, this encourages sweating to help cool the body, but since most people sweat anyway in the heat, I’m skeptical about its usefulness. Maybe it’s different when it’s a dry heat. Interestingly, even though iced tea seems to be uncommon in the Middle East, people there enjoy cold lemonade.

            Humans have been eating mint for thousands of years. It is mentioned in the Bible, various Ancient Greek texts, and in Apicius, the most complete cookbook to survive from Ancient Rome. Mint is a perennial and one of the easier herbs to grow. In fact, when left to its own devices, it’s notorious for taking over garden beds. Always cool and aromatic, there are two main varieties. Spearmint is the most versatile and widely used, while peppermint is a bit sweeter and spicier. At local garden centers, I’ve seen lemon, cinnamon, and chocolate mint. I’m not sure how much the flavors of these resemble their names, but they are interesting.

            When brewing green tea, it’s essential not to put the tea leaves in boiling water, which can draw out the tannins and make it bitter. Let it cool for a minute or two first. If using rosewater, add it immediately before serving to preserve its aroma.

            Ingredients:

  • Several sprigs (about ¼ ounce) fresh mint
  • 1 teaspoon green tea leaves
  • Sugar to taste
  • A few drops rosewater, if desired

            Directions:

  1. Bring two cups of water to a boil. Remove, tear, and bruise the mint leaves. Place the mint in a teapot or strainer cup.
  2. Pour the boiling water over the mint and allow to steep for five minutes.
  3. Add the tea leaves and allow to steep for another three minutes. Strain into teacups, ideally holding the spout 2 or 3 feet above the cups.
  4. Add a pinch of sugar to each cup, and a drop of rosewater, if desired.

Coming soon, I’ll have a recipe for Egyptian-style mint tea, so make sure to subscribe. Whenever there’s a new post, you’ll be notified right away.

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food history

Foods Not Eaten: Personal Taste Part 1 (Blue Cheese, Boiled Eggs, and Raw Seafood)

Blue/Funky Cheeses: Stilton, Stinking Bishop, Epoisses de Bourgogne, Fourme d’Ambert, Roquefort, Gorgonzola, Cabrales, Picon Bejes-Tresviso, Kase mit Musik, Liederkranz Cheese

Boiled/Runny Eggs: Aselila (walnut egg salad), Deviled Eggs, Fried Eggs, Pidan (preserved duck egg)

Raw Seafood: The Oysters of Locmariaquer (farmed there or elsewhere in Brittany), Nieuwe Haring (new herring eaten raw), The Fine Art of Oysters (view but not eat), Sild (Scandinavian herring), Pickled Herring, North Atlantic Clams on the Half-Shell

1000 Foods (pgs. 27 – 28, 87, 91, 127 – 128, 195, 257, 298 – 299, 592 – 593, 381, 555 – 556, 571 – 572, 778 – 779, 108 – 109, 155 – 157, 342 – 344, 457 – 458, 604 – 605)

            Everyone has their own personal tastes, so we all have different opinions about what to eat at least once in our lifetimes. For the most part, I trust Mimi Sheraton’s advice on this, but there are a few things I just don’t like. Most notably, there’s strong cheese, hard-cooked egg yolks, runny eggs (usually), raw seafood (usually), meat or fish in gelatin, ketchup, mayonnaise, most bottled salad dressings, or anything with the “wrong” temperature or texture.

            If that sounds familiar, like it might be autism-related, that’s certainly possible. I am, in fact, on the autism spectrum, which might be how I’ve managed to stay obsessed with this project for so many years. It could be a sensory thing, and I do have sensory issues with loud noise and rough/itchy clothing. On the other hand, it could also be a learned behavior. My mom won’t eat most of those things either, except for bottled salad dressing.

            Let’s start with a common aversion: blue or stinky cheese. Even when it’s a type safe to eat, I find visible mold on or in cheese most unappetizing. It isn’t just the appearance. When ground into a burger, blue cheese messes up the taste. That means there’s no point trying Stilton (British), Fourme d’Ambert, Roquefort (both French), Gorgonzola (Italian), Cabrales, or Picon Bejes-Tresviso (both Spanish). Stinky cheeses are also out. No matter how good the flavor is, getting past a “mushroomy,” “barnyard,” or “putrid” (all descriptors used in the text) smell is a tall order. That eliminates four more cheeses: the British stinking bishop, French epoisses de Bourgogne, German kase mit musik, and American Liederkranz.

            For eggs, I don’t like hard-cooked yolks, which smell like sulfur and have a weird texture. Deviling the eggs doesn’t solve either issue, and even looking at egg salad grosses me out. A poached or fried egg is sometimes okay in soup or on a burger or rice bowl, as long as the yolk isn’t cooked hard (texture issue just like hard-boiled eggs), but I don’t usually like runny eggs either. Ideally, they should be scrambled and fully cooked, used in an omelet, quiche, or casserole, or mixed into baked goods. Two exceptions to this rule are Tollhouse chocolate chip cookie dough and my homemade brownie batter. Since I can’t taste the raw eggs, they are no longer gross. And no matter now good the Chinese preserved duck eggs, sometimes called century eggs, are, they look scary.

            The Dutch, Scandinavians, and New York Jewish population seem to like herring, either raw or pickled, but I do not. This might be a partially learned behavior, since my mom hates the smell of seafood (and is actually allergic). Regardless, the idea of eating whole raw herrings, bones, skin, and all, is not appealing. They have a fairly strong, “fishy” flavor, and the texture is off. Oily fish like (presumably) snoek are also too strong. Raw oysters have a slimy texture, and I can’t imagine raw clams being any better. They make a pretty still-life painting, but actually eating them is another story.

            Speaking of oysters in the French region of Brittany, here’s a story our tour director told us on the way back to Paris from Versailles. On a previous tour, most of the group decided to get (raw) oysters in the Breton former pirate city of Saint-Malo, since the area is famous for them. The tour director himself and a handful of people opted for crepes instead. You can probably guess where this is headed. The only people who didn’t get sick were the crepe group. Everyone else was miserable for the next few days. When we got to Saint-Malo a few days later, I went with the safe option. Brittany is also known for buckwheat crepes, with both sweet and savory fillings. The buckwheat crepe with ham, cheese, and egg was delicious and affordable, even in a touristy area. After eating some real food, I could enjoy a few buttery pastries and walk off the calories exploring. Bottom line: unless you really like oysters, stick with the crepes and pastries.

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food history, french cuisine, italian cuisine

Foods Not Eaten: Prohibitive Cost

Poularde en Demi-Deuil (chicken with black truffles), Insalata de Ovoli e Tartufi (oval mushroom and white truffle salad), Risotto Piedmontese (with white truffles)

1000 Foods (pgs. 118, 198, 233)

            You’ll probably notice a theme here. Truffles, particularly from the Perigord region of France and Piedmont region of Italy, are really expensive. There are two reasons for this. First, they are highly sought after. Second, these varieties have resisted all attempts to farm. Truffles generally only grow among the roots of oak and chestnut trees, but not with any predictability. They must be foraged by truffle hunters with trained dogs. Based on the laws of economics, a limited supply plus high demand equals high prices. Truffles’ reputation as an aphrodisiac, whether accurate or not, only increases their allure.

            At one time, truffle hunters used pigs, which are great at sniffing out the elusive fungi, even under several inches of soil. Problem was, pigs also like to eat the truffles, so the industry switched to dogs, who are content with a treat and some petting. Since pigs also disturb the soil when rooting out the truffles, making it harder for the spores to grow new tubers, their use has since been banned in many areas.

            While actual truffles from Perigord and Piedmont are too expensive, especially for a fungus that grows in the dirt, the chocolate variety is another story. Made of chocolate and cream and rolled in cocoa powder, they only resemble the fungus in appearance. The great thing about chocolate truffles, aside from how easy they are to make, is how customizable they are. Dark chocolate orange, milk chocolate mint, white chocolate mocha, rolled in chopped almonds, the possibilities are endless.

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german cuisine, recipes, stew

Nothing to Do with Ground Beef: Hamburger Aalsuppe (Hamburg eel soup)

1000 Foods (pgs. 292 – 293) for information, recipe is my own creation, but lacks eels

            Like other places in Northern Europe, the German city of Hamburg gets quite cold and dreary during the winter months. A specialty found there is eel soup, with chicken, beef, ham, vegetables, dried fruit, vinegar, and raspberry jam. If it sounds crazy, recall that combining sweet and savory flavors like meat and fruit used to be common in European dishes and is still popular in other parts of the world. Turkey and cranberry sauce, sauerbraten, and Swedish meatballs with lingonberry jam are some modern examples of this principle.

            Since eels are hard to find where I live, I decided to make “eel” soup without them, because the flavor combination sounded interesting. For the base, there’s beef chuck, ham, chicken, onions, bay leaves, and thyme. To prevent overcooking, carrots, celery, parsnips, leeks, parsley, prunes, and dried apricots are added a bit later. At the end of cooking, the soup gets a finishing touch of vinegar and jam. You can also add mini dumplings.

            For a dish that sounds so weird, the eel-less eel soup is actually delicious. The vinegar and jam give it a sweet-tart flavor resembling sauerbraten.

            Here’s what you need to make your own eel-less eel soup:

  • 1 pound beef chuck or similar cut, cubed
  • 2 chicken breasts or 4 thighs, cubed
  • 1 pound ham, chopped
  • 1 yellow onion, chopped
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 1 teaspoon dried thyme or 3 teaspoons fresh
  • 2 carrots, washed, halved, and sliced
  • 2 ribs celery, with some leaves if possible, sliced
  • 4 parsnips, peeled and chopped
  • 12 prunes, halved
  • 12 dried apricots, halved
  • 1 leek, halved and sliced crosswise
  • 1 bunch parsley, chopped
  • ¼ cup vinegar (I particularly like apple cider vinegar)
  • 2 tablespoons raspberry jam
The meats, without eel
The vegetables and fruit

            To make it:

  1. Put the beef, chicken, and ham into a large pot and turn on the burner to medium, stirring frequently. When it starts to brown, add 1 cup of water and scrape any browned bits off the bottom of the pot.
  2. Add the onion, bay leaves, thyme, a pinch of salt, and enough water to cover. Simmer for about 45 minutes.
  3. Add the carrots, celery, parsnips, leek, prunes, apricots, and parsley. Stir and add more water to cover. Simmer for another 45 minutes.
  4. When the meat, vegetables, and fruit are tender, add the vinegar to the soup, followed by the jam, and stir to combine.

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