Tag Archives: food history

food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 59 (Pgs. 189 – 192): Abruzzi Polenta Dinner

Region: Umbria/Marches

Menu: Spicy Polenta with Cheese, Broccoli Rabe, and Sausages, Fennel Salad with Parsley, Pineapple Sorbet

Recommended Wine: San Giorgio (full-bodied Lungarotti red, made in Torgiano [Note: I don’t actually know much about wine. This is just what the author recommends, but I haven’t actually tried it.])

            In a previous post, I wondered why corn-based polenta caught on widely in northern Italy, but not the south. Almost by accident, I came across the answer while watching a video on US geography. While discussing the tactical advantage provided by vast stretches of Midwest farmland, the narrator brought up an interesting point. Corn is more often grown in the eastern part of the region, around the Great Lakes, because this area has higher rainfall and corn needs more water. Wheat, with lower water requirements and greater drought tolerance, thrives on the drier Great Plains. Since southern Italy is drier than the north, I think I may have found the answer.

            Since ancient times, people across Italy have made polenta with a variety of grains, especially millet. Once corn was introduced from the Americas, it quickly became dominant due to its high yields. On the one hand, this was great, because it meant more available calories, but there was a problem. Much of the protein and niacin in corn is chemically “locked up,” unavailable to the body unless the grain is processed in an alkaline solution. This process, called nixtamalization, was widely used in the Americas, but didn’t find its way across the Atlantic. In places where the poor came to rely on corn, such as northern Italy, many people developed niacin deficiencies. This resulted in the disease pellagra. Those higher on the social scale may have eaten corn-based polenta, but consumed enough other foods to avoid getting sick.

            Here the polenta is chilled, sliced, and layered with other ingredients, almost like a lasagna. There are slices of hot Italian sausage, pork-infused tomato sauce, mustard greens for broccoli rabe, and grated provolone and pecorino cheeses. Scamorza cheese is popular in Abruzzi, a mountainous region along the Adriatic coast, but it was unavailable near me. Since provolone is similar, I used that, with good results. Personally, I still prefer pasta in lasagna, but the sliced polenta was an interesting change of pace.

            The fennel salad provided a fresh contrast to the strongly-flavored polenta, as did the sorbet. Interestingly, in addition to the pineapple juice, lemon juice, and sugar, this sorbet recipe had gelatin. It took a lot longer to solidify in the ice cream maker, but the texture was extra smooth and almost creamy. The sorbet also melted much more slowly than most. I omitted the strawberry sauce, but even plain, the pale-yellow sorbet looked beautiful in the coupe glasses. It tasted just as good.

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food history

Pomegranates: The Actual Forbidden Fruit?

1000 Foods (pgs. 510 – 511)

            In art and drama, the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden is an apple. In reality, the Book of Genesis doesn’t specify what kind of fruit it was. It certainly could have been an apple, since apples were introduced early to the garden’s likely location in Mesopotamia, but there are other possibilities. Apricots, quinces, and dates all grew in the area, and because there were fig leaves in the garden, there must have been fig trees. Another possibility is the pomegranate.

            Pomegranates have long been associated with fertility. Delicious and beautiful, they are packed with vitamins and antioxidants. When superfoods were all the rage 10 or 15 years ago, pomegranates were given that label along with the likes of blueberries, kale, quinoa, and acai berries. Even if pomegranates aren’t the miracle food they were claimed to be, they are still a healthy treat that conveniently comes into season during the winter.

            They are also a pain to clean. Inside the fruit are a bunch of tiny red arils, which contain the seeds. To get to these, the membrane surrounding them must be removed. There are a number of ways to do this. One of the easiest ways is to put sections of the fruit in a bowl of water to loosen the membrane, which floats as it’s worked free. This method also prevents juice from any broken arils from spraying, another major benefit since pomegranate juice leaves bright red, hard-to-remove stains.

            The flavor makes all the trouble worth it. Pomegranate seeds are delicious sprinkled over yogurt, ice cream, other fruits, pudding, or trifle. In some middle eastern dishes, they are even used with meat or vegetables. But sometimes, it’s worth eating them on their own. As you bite into each aril, the sweet-tart, flavorful juice sprays onto the tongue, while the seeds provide a nice bit of texture. Thankfully, these delightful fruits are no longer forbidden, if they ever were.

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food history, jamaican cuisine, recipes

Jamaican “Sorrel” Punch: Ruby Red for the January Blues

1000 Foods (pgs. 693 – 694)

            Let’s face it: January can be depressing. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s are over, Valentine’s Day is six weeks off, and in much of the northern hemisphere, it’s cold and the landscape is barren. In some places, such as Venice and New Orleans, this is Carnival season, but in others, people are going on a diet to lose those Christmas pounds. Something cheery is needed.

            Hibiscus flowers are lovely. Native to India, British sailors and botanists introduced them to the other tropical and subtropical parts of their empire in the 18th and 19th Centuries. Once the flowers reached Jamaica, locals appreciated them for more than just their beauty. Hibiscus blossoms are also edible. For some reason, they are called “sorrel” in Jamaica, India, and the Middle East when they are eaten. Most likely, this is due to the herb sorrel and hibiscus flowers both having a sour flavor. Hibiscus is also fruity, and, when steeped in hot water, produces a lovely red infusion.

            In Jamaica, dried hibiscus blossoms are used to make a popular Christmas punch. In the US, many Latin American groceries carry them. Once the mixture is brewed, often with ginger and/or other spices, it is sweetened and sometimes spiked with rum. Even though Christmas is over, sorrel punch seems like a good new year’s or anytime beverage. And honestly, the bright color and flavor would be a great antidote for the “January blues” and a nice contrast with typically heavy winter dishes. Plus, hibiscus is rich in vitamin C, helpful after the germs you’ve probably been exposed to over the holidays. It’s also rich in iron, which the vitamin C helps the body absorb.

            For sorrel punch, I began with Jillian Atkinson’s recipe on Serious Eats (https://www.seriouseats.com/jamaican-sorrel-hibiscus-drink), but modified it to quantities and ingredients I had available. I used one quart (4 cups) of water, 2oz of dried hibiscus flowers, about 2.5oz sliced candied ginger, 3 whole cloves, and three small pinches of ground allspice. After boiling for 8 minutes, the mixture cools on the stove, then is chilled overnight to finish infusing. To prevent any metal flavor from leaching into the punch, I transferred it to a plastic container.

            After infusing overnight, the punch is strained and sweetened to taste. The recipe uses a simple syrup of sugar and water, but I just stirred four tablespoons of sugar into the mix, which seems to be about the right balance. It takes a bit longer to dissolve, but that quantity will dissolve eventually. The punch was best when diluted with about 1 part water to 2 parts hibiscus infusion, but that can be adjusted to taste. It’s often spiked with Jamaican rum, but is perfectly good without it, making sorrel punch a great festive drink for those who wish to abstain from alcohol.

Looks like red wine, probably stains like it

            Hibiscus has an interesting flavor, slightly floral, but distinctly fruity, almost like cranberry. The infusion is pretty sour on its own, so adding a bit of sugar balances it out. The ginger and cloves gave it a pleasant flavor like mulled cranberry cider, but a bit different. It’s hard to describe. The best way to find out more is to try it.

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american cuisine, food history, recipes

Divine Citrus Refreshment: Ambrosia

1000 Foods (pgs. 519 – 520)

            According to Greek mythology, ambrosia was what the gods ate on Mt. Olympus. In the US, particularly the Southeast, it came to mean a mixture of oranges and grated coconut. It’s especially popular at Christmastime, peak season for oranges. In the past, difficulties with transportation made oranges and other citrus fruits relatively expensive in areas where they couldn’t be grown. As transportation improved in the late 19th Century and prices dropped, cooks in the US Southeast developed a layered dessert with sliced oranges and shredded coconut. A bit of powdered sugar helps the orange slices release some of their juices.

            Sometimes other fruits or a bit of liquor is added, but the oranges and coconut are always central. Presumably, this is the type of ambrosia featured in To Kill a Mockingbird, set in Alabama in the 1930s. Along with the ambrosia, Aunt Alexandra fixed three kinds of meat and two cakes. Presumably there was also bread, rolls, biscuits, or cornbread, and some sort of vegetables. In the 1950s, with the explosion in available convenience food, a mix of canned fruit, coconut, sometimes pecans and/or marshmallows, cool whip, and occasionally mayonnaise was developed. Without the mayonnaise, that actually sounds pretty good, but here we have the original, basic version.

Doesn’t that look divine?

            It’s super simple to make. All you need are oranges, shredded coconut, and powdered sugar. I used five oranges and about a cup of coconut, soaked in hot water for about fifteen minutes to soften. The oranges are peeled, quartered, sliced, and layered in a glass serving dish. The slices are sprinkled with a bit of powdered sugar, then a layer of coconut, repeated until the oranges are used up. On the last layer of oranges is just the powdered sugar. The ambrosia is so pretty, and tastes just as good.

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food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 12 (Pgs. 48 – 52): Restaurant-Style Dinner in Pisa

Region: Tuscany

Menu: Yellow Pepper Soup, Chicken with Ricotta and Tarragon Under the Skin, Green Beans with Pancetta and Savory, Tiramisu with Amaretto

Recommended Wine: Young Chianti (Tuscan red) or Lacrima d’Arno (local white)

            The world-famous Leaning Tower of Pisa was originally designed to be a bell tower. In the Middle Ages, Pisa was one of Europe’s leading naval powers, rivaling Genoa and Venice. Pisan fleets battled Arab emirs in Sicily and Sardinia, eventually gaining control over much of the latter. During the 11th and 12th centuries, Pisa was flourishing from trade and ready to show off. To do so, they built a fabulous cathedral complex. As was common at the time, the baptistry and bell tower were built separate from the main cathedral. The bell tower was built on soft soil and soon began to tilt, hence the nickname.

            The main cathedral is a prime example of Romanesque architecture, characterized by heavy construction, rounded arches, and relatively small windows. It was built in the late 11th and early 12th Century, around the same time as St. Mark’s in Venice. I haven’t been to Pisa, but based on pictures, the interiors are similar. Byzantine-style mosaics and gold leaf decoration are reminders of just how important both trade and the Ancient Roman influence were on Medieval architecture. In the 13th Century, Gothic architecture, with soaring ceilings, pointed arches, flying buttresses, and dazzling stained glass windows, came to dominate Europe, but many Romanesque elements made a comeback in the Renaissance. In the 19th Century, there was a neo-Gothic trend. Who knows what the future might bring?

            As far as food is concerned, Pisa seems to have a lot in common with the rest of Tuscany, with more seafood included. This is hardly surprising, since unlike Florence, Siena, and Lucca, Pisa is close to the coast, where the Arno River flows into the sea. By controlling this strategic port, the city was the gateway between western Mediterranean merchants and Tuscany’s hill towns. Here the protein is chicken, specifically Cornish hens, served with green beans, preceded by yellow pepper soup, and followed by tiramisu.

            Only the chicken dish could date back to Pisa’s Medieval glory days. The Ancient Romans had chicken, ricotta cheese, and a variety of herbs, as did later Tuscans. The wealthy, who were most likely to eat chicken or other poultry, often preferred spices or fruit with it, but may have eaten it with these less prestigious flavorings when they weren’t trying to impress someone. I replaced the halved Cornish hens with chicken thigh/leg quarters, since they’re easier to eat. The tarragon didn’t necessarily have a distinctive flavor, but the dish as a whole was enjoyable.

            The yellow peppers in the soup, plus the potatoes used to thicken it, came from the Americas, but the topping is Medieval in character. Half of each serving is topped with grated parmesan, half with crushed amaretti. This combination of sweet and savory is less common than it once was, at least in western cuisines, but it worked well here. The soup tasted good, though I would have preferred a bit more texture.

            Pancetta is much like unsmoked bacon, and green beans with bacon are hard to mess up. I used bacon pieces that I already had rather than buy pancetta. The marjoram/savory didn’t affect the flavor much, but the dish wasn’t lacking in it. New world green beans and old world cured pork work perfectly with each other.

Tasted better than it looked

            The coffee in tiramisu originally came from East Africa, then spread to the Middle East. Coffee seems to have reached Europe in the late 16th Century via Venetian trade with the Ottoman Empire. Tiramisu came later, in the 20th Century. Supposedly, the layered dessert of ladyfinger biscuits, coffee, mascarpone custard, and grated chocolate or cocoa powder was invented in the Veneto region around the middle of the century. Its name means “pick-me-up,” which the coffee, sugar, and chocolate achieve. Presumably, the common variation where liquor or fortified wine is added with the coffee is less effective in this regard. Since I didn’t have amaretto and didn’t want to buy a whole bottle for one recipe, I added a few drops of almond extract to the coffee instead.

Ladyfingers, swimming in a custard lake

            The flavor was great, but the custard was runny. That was my fault. Rather than mix the egg yolks/sugar/mascarpone first, clean the mixer bowl, then whip the egg whites separately before folding them in, I mixed everything together and assumed some extra mixing time would whip in enough air. It didn’t work as hoped. The custard was runny, becoming a lake under the ladyfingers, instead of a blanket over them. I guess that’s what I get for cutting corners. It was still delicious.

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Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 51 (Pgs. 166 – 168): Lasagna, Bologna-Style

Menu 51 (Pgs. 166 – 168): Lasagna, Bologna-Style

Region: Emilia-Romagna

Menu: Lasagna Baked with Meat Sauce, Bologna-Style (also mentioned in 1000 Foods)

            Let’s revisit ragu. In a previous menu, I discussed the Neapolitan/southern style, where tomatoes play a central role. In Bolognese/northern style ragu, the meat predominates, while the tomatoes are just a flavoring. The meat is ground, rather than in big pieces, and is eaten in the sauce with the pasta, rather than as a separate course. Bologna-style ragu is frequently eaten with tagliatelle (but not spaghetti), as well as in lasagna.

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            Different types of lasagna are eaten all across Italy and have spread around the world. The type most familiar in the US features dried pasta, tomato sauce, ricotta and mozzarella cheeses, and usually ground beef or sausage. In the Naples region, recipes sometimes include slices of meatballs and hard-boiled eggs. In Bologna, fresh pasta, tinted green with spinach, Bolognese ragu, and bechamel sauce are used. Grated parmesan is the only cheese.

Side view, showing the layers

            I didn’t have fresh spinach pasta or the time to make it, so I used store-bought fresh pasta sheets, pre-cooked before layering in the dish. Since the pasta and both sauces are already cooked, the lasagna only needs to be baked until it’s heated through and the parmesan is browned. With more meat, less tomato, and bechamel in place of most of the cheese, it was a tasty change of pace from my usual “Midwest potluck” recipe.

            That said, I still prefer the Italian-American “red sauce” version. The pasta has more of an “al dente” texture, and having two cheeses is better than having just one. It does take at least an hour to bake, but this isn’t active time. But that’s just my personal preference, and the Bologna variation was good. And like all varieties of lasagna, it reheats well. The leftovers provided several enjoyable lunches.

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food history, mexican cuisine, recipes

The Americas’ Original Hot Beverage: Mexican Hot Chocolate (Updated with Recipe)

Hot chocolate, nice and foamy

1000 Foods (pgs. 652 – 653)

            Most people enjoy hot chocolate, especially when it’s cold outside. Today, good quality mix is affordable and widely available, but when they were first invented, chocolate drinks were a luxury. Chocolate was first discovered in Central America. The Maya loved it, and the Aztecs traded for cocoa beans, which didn’t grow in their homeland near modern Mexico City. Cocoa beans were even used as currency. Counterfeit beans made of clay were frequently a problem, which demonstrates just how valuable chocolate was. Because it was labor-intensive to grow and process, Mesoamerican chocolate was a drink for the rich.

            The chocolate that Pre-Columbian kings and nobles drank was very different from chocolate today. Typically, it was cold and bitter. Mesoamericans often flavored the chocolate with flowers, vanilla, or even chilies, but rarely sweetened it. They didn’t have sugar, but why they didn’t utilize other sweeteners is a mystery. Maybe it was just a matter of taste. What they did do was pour the chocolate between two cups before serving, to create a nice foam.

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            Exactly why the Maya, Aztecs, and other native groups went crazy for unsweetened chocolate is unclear, but maybe they appreciated its fat content enough to overcome the bitter taste. Maybe they liked the caffeine content and eventually got used to the flavor. Or maybe it was chocolate’s reputation as an aphrodisiac. Regardless, the Aztecs were importing and collecting massive quantities of cocoa beans as tribute when the Spanish showed up.

            At first, the Spanish couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Many thought it was dangerous, that it caused leprosy, or that it would make their beards fall out. Soon some of them decided to risk it, probably because of its alleged aphrodisiac qualities. Eventually, they began adding sugar and milk, removing the chili peppers, adding spices like cinnamon, and serving it hot. Once the recipe was adjusted, chocolate was brought from Mexico to Spain, then the rest of Europe. Until the 19th Century, there was no chocolate candy. It was always a drink.

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            Mexican hot chocolate can be thought of as an example of “fusion cuisine,” from long before the term was coined. Cocoa beans and the vanilla often used to as a flavoring are native to Mesoamerica. Europeans introduced sugar and dairy cattle to the Americas. They also brought cinnamon, the other main flavoring, which originated in Asia.

            One of the best-known Mexican hot chocolate brands is Ibarra. I was able to find it at a local Mexican grocery. Each container has multiple solid tablets, which each make four servings. They are sort of like baking chocolate, but grittier from sugar crystals spread through the mix. It’s super easy to make. Just add the tablet and some milk in a saucepan, and heat until the chocolate is melted and the mixture steams. Constant whisking helps prevent scorching and makes it frothy. Using an immersion blender after cooking adds extra froth.

            Using chocolate tablets instead of cocoa powder gave the hot chocolate a smooth, creamy texture, but it was a little on the sweet side. This is easy enough to remedy by adding an extra cup of milk and adding a square of bittersweet baking chocolate. The cinnamon flavor wasn’t very strong, but that might be due to the type of cinnamon in question. In the US and Canada, cassia cinnamon is the default, but in Latin America, it’s Ceylon or “soft stick” cinnamon. Since I was looking for the stronger flavor of cassia cinnamon, I might have missed it. Regardless, it was an excellent winter drink.

To make it, here’s what you need:

  • 5 cups milk (I used 2%)
  • 1 Ibarra hot chocolate tablet
  • 1 square (1/2 oz) bittersweet baking chocolate

And here’s what you do:

  1. Heat the milk and chocolates in a saucepan on medium heat, whisking constantly to fully blend the ingredients and prevent scorching.
  2. When the mixture steams, remove from heat and either whisk vigorously or use an immersion blender to make it foamy.
  3. Ladle the mixture into cups and serve, making sure each cup has some foam.
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Friuli’s Twist on Risotto: Orzotto

Friuli’s Twist on Risotto: Orzotto

1000 Foods (pgs. 211 – 212)

            Risotto comes in many varieties. I’ve already made four of them as part of menus in A Cook’s Tour of Italy, and there are several more in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die. This particular version comes from the Friuli region near Venice. Close to the borders with Austria and Slovenia, Friuli was even controlled by Austria for much of the 18th and 19th Centuries. During this time, and from large-scale trade before and after, a number of Germanic dishes worked their way into the cuisine of northeastern Italy. Sauerkraut is found across the region, and in Trentino-Alto-Adige, apple strudel is a local specialty. The transfer went in the other direction, too, with Italian influences reaching Vienna and beyond.

            Instead of using rice, a risotto-type dish is made in Friuli with barley, or orzo, hence the name. Exactly why barley replaces rice is unclear, but it seemed like an interesting variation. Since store-bought pancetta is somewhat pricey, I made my own with side pork and kosher salt, curing in the fridge for two days. Bacon is a decent substitute, but its smoked flavor is noticeably different. After sautéing the chopped pancetta with butter and shallots, the barley is added. Like with risotto rice, it soaks up the broth, which is added bit by bit. Constant stirring rubs starch off the barley grains and mixes it into the broth, creating a creamy texture. Vegetables can also be added. I used carrots, dried mushrooms, and frozen peas, all of which are consistently good over the winter. Other options might include asparagus in spring or zucchini in summer. A bit of local parmesan cheese, grated in at the last minute, finished everything perfectly.

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            The barley gave the orzotto a fascinating texture and flavor. It was chewier than rice and had a bit more flavor, but wasn’t overpowering. All the flavors were in balance except for the salt, which was, as in the caldo Gallego, a bit strong. Interestingly enough, I made the two recipes on the same day, ready for the next week’s lunches and weeknight dinners. Unlike the soup, I do know where the extra salt in the orzotto came from – the homemade pancetta. Not realizing how much salt the pork strips had absorbed, I didn’t even think to wipe the extra off the outside. With low-sodium broth and no added salt, I thought the balance would be right. It was still very good, and I have everything to make another batch except shallots.

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Northern Spain’s Winter Stew: Caldo Gallego (Updated with Recipe)

1000 Foods (pg. 255)

            When people think of Spanish cuisine, chances are they think of paella, gazpacho, and tapas. Deeper thought might recall acorn-fed ham, chorizo, olla podrida, and bitter “Seville” oranges, or other typically “Mediterranean” foods. But these dishes are not the whole story. Like France and Italy (and the US, China, and probably any other decent-sized country), Spain has its own regional climates and cuisines. Galicia, in the northwest corner, is one such region. Like neighboring Asturias to the east, Galicia has a cooler climate and more rain than the rest of the country. Like Normandy in some ways, the land is favorable for cattle raising and apple trees, there is enough rain to successfully grow corn, and seafood is widely available. An excellent description of Spanish regional cuisine can be found in Claudia Roden’s The Food of Spain.

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            Galicia and Asturias were populated with Celtic-speaking peoples at some point in the last few centuries BC. It’s unclear what language the previous inhabitants spoke, and how much they intermarried and assimilated with the newcomers, but the region retained its Celtic character for centuries. Greek and Phoenician trading colonies were mainly in the south and east, and when Hannibal’s father and brother conquered much of the country in the late 3rd Century BC, they too focused on these areas. The Romans conquered the Carthaginian holdings in Spain soon after, but wasn’t until the 1st Century AD, almost 300 years later, that they fully controlled Galicia. As the Western Roman Empire fell apart, the Visigoths came to control the old Roman province. In the early 8th Century, Muslim armies from North Africa captured most of Iberia, but most of Asturias remained independent, and Galicia was reconquered quickly. The Reconquista originated in these regions, and they retained their unique culture.

            Hilly, mountainous terrain made these regions harder to conquer, but could also make life harder for the average resident. Historically, most of the population was required by economic necessity to eat a largely vegetarian diet. Except for feast days and other special occasions, meat was usually a flavoring as much as a source of protein. Across Spain, there are a variety of slow-cooked soups and stews, where cured pork products flavor vegetables and beans. In caldo Gallego, which translates as “Galician soup/stew,” chorizo and salty smoked pork are the meats, while beans add more protein and onions more flavor. The vegetables are potatoes and a kale-type cabbage. In other words, a good choice for eating healthy in the winter.

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            To make it, I first simmered some smoked ham shanks to tenderize and extract some of their flavor. After removing the meat and putting it back in the pot, I added the beans, onions, and chorizo nuggets. When the beans were almost done, I added the potatoes, then, at the last minute, kale and turnip greens. Everything was cooked properly, nothing was overdone, and the flavors blended together well. The only thing I couldn’t understand was the level of salt. Neither the ham nor the chorizo was that salty, and I didn’t add any extra. Was pre-soaking the beans in salted water to blame? Maybe I added more salt to the soaking water than I thought, or was supposed to rinse the beans. The stew was still good, and historically most winter dishes would have been salty from using preserved ingredients, but next time, I’ll be more careful and remember to rinse the beans.

If you wish to make this yourself, here is the recipe I developed. You’ll need:

  • 1 package smoked ham shanks (2 pieces)
  • 8 oz dry Spanish-style chorizo, sliced
  • 8 oz dried white beans (navy or great northern), soaked overnight in water to cover with 1 tsp salt and drained
  • 2 yellow onions, coarsely chopped
  • 2 medium potatoes (I used russets, but other varieties will work)
  • 1 bunch kale, coarsely chopped
  • 1 bunch turnip greens, coarsely chopped

And here is how to make it. The stew takes a few hours to cook, but most of that isn’t active time.

  1. Place the ham shanks in a large pot, with just enough water to cover. Bring water to a boil, then simmer for about 1 hour, until the meat is falling off the bones.
  2. Remove the ham shanks from the broth. When cool enough to handle, pull off and coarsely chop the meat, returning it to the pot. Discard the bones, but if you can extract the marrow, add that to the stew as well.
  3. Add the chorizo, beans, and onions to the pot and cook for about an hour, until the beans are almost soft, stirring occasionally.
  4. Cut the potatoes into roughly 1/2 inch cubes and add to the stew, cooking for 20 to 30 minutes, until tender. If they break down a bit, that’s fine, since this thickens the stew.
  5. About 10 minutes before serving, add the kale and turnip greens. Once they’ve wilted and cooked down, the stew is ready.
  6. Ladle the stew into bowls and serve with bread, if desired.

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Sugarplums
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Visions of sugarplums – which are what, exactly?

Portuguese, Byzantine, and English Sugarplums

1000 Foods (pgs. 271 – 272)

            Visions of sugarplums dance in children’s heads in The Night Before Christmas. The Sugarplum Fairy is one of the most, if not the most, famous character in The Nutcracker ballet. But many people don’t know what a sugarplum is, yet alone eaten one. To make things complicated, the word means different things in different countries. And to make things confusing, not all varieties contain plums. Some don’t even contain fruit.

            Plums are sometimes candied in a sugar syrup, and they are beautiful to look at. Crystallized fruits seem to be especially popular in Italy and southern France, where anything from cherries and pears to melons, pineapple, and even pumpkin form lovely, jewel-like displays. Sugar has been used as a preservative for hundreds of years, allowing fruit to be kept for months after its usual season ends. This process works by pulling some of the water out of the fruit. Since bacteria need water to survive, candying (or salting, for that matter) can dramatically slow the rate of spoilage. Plus, humans are naturally inclined to enjoy sweet flavors. A few months back, I attempted to candy some plums from the local apple orchard, but they had softened too much after several days in the fridge and fell apart in the hot sugar syrup. Maybe next year.

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            On the other end of the spectrum, in British English, sugarplums were usually nuts or spices, covered in layer after layer of a hard sugar coating, often brightly colored. The price of the core ingredients, plus the time it took to build up all those layers, made these sugarplums an occasional treat, suitable for Christmas and other special occasions. The best modern example, although they are no longer called sugarplums, are Jordan almonds. Besides almonds, candied fennel, caraway, or coriander seeds were popular. As for why they were called sugarplums, supposedly it was because they were roughly the size of many dried fruits. All dried fruits were called plums at one time, even if they were actually figs or apricots. To make things even more confusing, sometimes sugarplums were a mix of chopped dried fruit and nuts, spiced and rolled in sugar.

            Portuguese sugarplums, or bombos de figo, are made with dried figs or prunes, which are dried plums. I used a mix of two thirds figs, one third prunes. The fruit is steamed to soften, ground up, and seasoned with cinnamon and cloves. A ball of this mixture is formed around a toasted almond, which takes the place of a pit. They are then rolled in sugar. According to the text, Byzantine sugarplums don’t contain plums. Usually, they have figs, dates, and raisins, chopped rather than ground. Walnuts and pistachios add more texture, and they are flavored with cinnamon and cloves, plus candied ginger and orange zest. These are rolled in powdered sugar for a snowball-like appearance.

Portuguese sugarplums
Byzantine sugarplums

            I made both varieties, and enjoyed them both. The dried fruit was nice and sweet without too much added sugar, and the spices made things interesting. The extra flavor from the ginger and orange zest, plus the chunky and chewy texture, gave the Byzantine variety a bit of an edge, but the toasted almond “pit” in the Portuguese variety was a nice touch. How much sugarplums were originally associated with Christmas is unclear. They may have been just a special-occasion treat in general. Regardless, the warm spices are perfect for this time of year.

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