christmas, dessert, food history, german cuisine, recipes, winter

Marzipan Two Ways: Lubeck and Konigsberg Style (with recipe)

Kongisberg-style marzipan — Lubeck-Style

For many people, the days leading up to Christmas are cookie-baking season, and they finish eating them around New Year’s. Crunchy butter cookies are especially great. Not only are the delicious, but they can be kept longer than most cookies without getting stale. This enables a cook with sufficient willpower to make a variety over the course of a few weeks to a month. When I worked at a bakery for a year right after graduating college, we made and assembled the boxes of assorted butter cookies before Thanksgiving, and they held up fine. This year, I decided to make my own selection to give as gifts.

Marzipan is another popular Christmas treat, especially in Europe. At its simplest, it’s just a mixture of blanched almonds, sugar, and enough water to form a paste. Many homemade versions add egg white as a binder. Historically, a few bitter almonds were used to add the distinctive aromatic almond flavor, since the more common sweet almonds have a pleasant but very mild taste, but it was hard to get the ratio right. Bitter almonds contain a small amount of cyanide, dangerous in the hands of an inept or unscrupulous cook, so almond extract is typically used today. Rosewater is a traditional flavoring, though perhaps not as common today.

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Almonds, sugar, and rosewater were elite, prestigious ingredients in the Middle Ages, especially in Northern Europe where there were more middlemen between the source and final destination. Exactly when and where marzipan came from is unclear, though the Middle East is a likely candidate. Sweet dishes with nuts and rosewater can be found from Morocco to India. Through a combination of trade and warfare, Europeans discovered and adapted these specialties.

In Sicily, shops sell stunningly realistic-looking marzipan fruit. English Christmas cake and Swedish princess torte are covered with a layer of rolled marzipan. All over Europe, marzipan is covered in chocolate, stuffed into festive breads and cakes, and made into figurines, including the pigs that are supposedly good luck for the New Year. Germans seem to be particularly fond of it, and specialize in two main kinds, both originating in trading ports on the Baltic Sea. Lubeck-style is soft and typically lower in sugar, while Konigsberg-style is browned under a broiler for a caramelized flavor. (For more information, see 1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, pg. 304)

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Homemade marzipan is easier to make than you might expect, and has a much better flavor than most store-bought varieties. The only somewhat tricky part is blanching the almonds, but it’s more time-consuming than difficult. Just put the almonds in a bowl, cover with boiling water and stir, let stand a minute, pour off most of the boiling water, and add cool water until you reach a comfortable working temperature. The skins slip right off when squeezed, especially if the almonds are kept in the warm water until ready. Individually squeezing each almond takes a while, but it’s a satisfying process, especially with something to listen to. If you can rope in your spouse, child, guest, or any combination, it will go even faster.

There’s one thing to note before beginning. Rosewater is a common flavoring in marzipan and goes very well with almond, but be careful with it. Depending on the brand and how fresh it is, rosewater varies in strength. Generally, brands with an alcohol base are stronger and keep their flavor better after being opened than those distilled with just water, but this is far from an absolute rule. Add it slowly, a teaspoon at a time, tasting as you go, until desired flavor is reached. You want a light floral taste, not edible perfume.

Ingredients:

1 pound almonds, blanched
1 cup powdered sugar
1 – 2 teaspoons almond extract (use more if not also using rosewater)
1 teaspoon or more rosewater
2 – 4 tablespoons water
Sugar for rolling out dough
Parchment paper (essential for getting baked marzipan off cookie sheet)

Directions:

Coarsely grind almonds in a food processor, add sugar and flavorings, and grind again to reach a sandy texture.
Add 2 tablespoons water, process again, and taste for rosewater. Add more if you think it needs it.
Pinch some of the mix together to see if it comes together as a sticky dough. If not, add more water, a tablespoon at a time, until it does. The texture won’t be as fine as store-bought marzipan.
For Lubeck-style marzipan, the mixture is ready to form into shapes, coat in chocolate, mold around whole almonds, and so on.
For Konigsberg-style marzipan, lightly sugar a flat surface, pat the marzipan into a disk, sugar the top, roll out about a quarter-inch thick, and cut out shapes with cookie cutters. Since the dough has no flour, it can be rerolled without toughening.
Bake on parchment paper-lined baking sheets at 350 for 12 – 15 minutes, just until set.
To brown the marzipan, place each cookie sheet under the broiler for two minutes, with the oven door cracked (which keeps the broiler from overheating). Then, watching constantly, broil for another minute or two, until the tops are golden brown.

As an added bonus, eggless marzipan such as this is gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan, pareve, and Passover-friendly. Assuming the parchment paper is clean, that is, and not previously used for several batches of butter-and-flour-based cookies.

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breakfast/brunch, fall, french cuisine, summer, vegetarian

Using Up Herb Plants: Omelette aux Fines Herbes (with basic recipe)

Every fall, I bring my potted herb plants in from outside to enjoy using them for a bit longer. It works well enough for a while, but eventually they start to suffer from the limited sunshine. Since most of them are annuals, the time comes to use up what I can before starting again when summer returns. Everything except the rosemary is either done or fading. To use up as much as possible, I made a French classic, omelette aux fines herbes.

Fines herbes is a mix of parsley, chives, tarragon, and chervil, common in French cuisine. The first three are widely available in the US, but chervil might require a specialty spice store or the internet. Supposedly it tastes like a milder parsley with a bit of a licorice undertone, but I couldn’t taste much difference. To compensate for all the herbs except parsley being dried, I also added some minced scallions to brighten things up.

For many French chefs, making a perfect omelet is one of the primary tests of skill. After following the basic directions on pages 107 – 108 of 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, mine turned out pretty well. The flavor is distinctly understated, but the freshness from the herbs was nice as fall turns to winter. The slight licorice flavor from either the tarragon or chervil is definitely there. Perhaps it just needs a little heat to release its flavor. Chefs disagree on how much browning, if any, is ideal. Personally, I like more browning, both for flavor and the fact that it helps the egg unstick itself from the pan.

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For each omelet, I used three eggs, beaten together with salt, pepper, and a tablespoon of milk. The herb mix contained three large parsley sprigs, minced, one minced scallion, and a teaspoon each dried chives, tarragon, and chervil. Half of the herb mixture gets added into the eggs before cooking. After melting about a tablespoon butter in a skillet over medium heat, the egg mixture is added to cook.

To make sure that none of the eggs end up runny, I like to tilt the pan and lift up the edges of the cooked portion, letting the uncooked egg flow underneath. After this, sprinkle the remaining herb mixture over the surface. When the top is almost set, fold the right and left thirds of the omelet over onto the center. If this doesn’t work and you end up with a half-moon shaped omelet, don’t worry about it, it will still taste good. Let the omelet cook for another minute, covering the pan if desired to help it set, then slide it onto a plate.

To make this simple mix of eggs and herbs sound extra fancy, serve with pommes de terre frits, compote de pomme, fruits frais, café au lait, or any combination thereof. In English, these are fried potatoes, applesauce, fresh fruit, and coffee with milk. To make anything sound fancy, say it in French, even if you have to use a translation app.

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appetizers, fall, recipes, salad

Guess the Color: Pumpkin Seed Oil (dressing recipe for potato or kale salad)

pumpkin seed kurbiskernol vinaigrette — *Looks more appetizing on the kale*

Over the course of my culinary exploration, I’ve been amazed by just how many different types of oil there are. Some are pretty standard and widespread. Canola and vegetable (often soybean) oils are neutrally flavored, easy-to-find, affordable, and widely used in baking and frying. Some cooks prefer corn or peanut oil for deep frying. For sautéing and salad dressings, olive oil is a favorite. In a well-stocked grocery store, you often find sunflower, sesame, flaxseed, grapeseed, avocado, and coconut oils.

Certain oils are largely restricted to particular cuisines or uses. Sunflower is popular in Eastern Europe due to Orthodox fasting rules and the inability to grow olives. Toasted sesame oil is common in East Asia, especially China, while Middle Easterners prefer untoasted. Nut oils like almond or walnut are sometimes used in European salad dressings. And bright reddish-orange palm oil gives many West African dishes their distinctive flavor.

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In Austria, a local specialty is pumpkin seed oil, called kurbiskernol, made from the appropriately-named oilseed pumpkin. It’s typically used in salad dressings and as a dip for bread. Due to its low smoke point, it’s not suitable for cooking, which damages its distinctive flavor. But here’s a question for you. If the stereotypical pumpkin is orange and inner seed kernels (pepitas) are green, what color is pumpkin seed oil?

Answer: It’s a lovely deep purple, with yellow-green undertones.

In 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die (pgs. 323 – 324), Mimi Sheraton describes pumpkin seed oil as resembling liquid amethysts. If it had been available during the Middle Ages, sophisticated diners would have been all over it. They loved bright, even tacky colors, and very few foods are naturally that shade of purple. For people who created elaborate gilded dishes with egg yolks and saffron, liquid jewels sound right up their alley.

Pumpkins arrived in Europe after Columbus. Exactly when Europeans began eating them or pressing their seeds is unclear, but the oil makes a great vinaigrette base. To boost its color, I added red wine vinegar, minced shallots, a little salt, and a dash of mustard and honey to keep the dressing from separating. If you find the flavor of the pumpkin seed oil a little strong, try replacing about half of it with sunflower oil, which is typically pale, for a lighter shade of amethyst. Yellow or greenish olive oil will make it look muddy.

Thinner layers of the oil can look muddy anyway, but the taste, clearly that of roasted pumpkin seeds, is worth it. It’s a fantastic complement to potatoes, and makes salads much more satisfying. Kale is especially good, because its strong flavor is less likely to be overwhelmed. It also holds up in the fridge for a few days, even with dressing.

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To dress about six medium potatoes or one bunch of kale, just combine 6 tablespoons of pumpkin seed oil, 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, a minced shallot, and a little salt. Mix in a teaspoon each of Dijon mustard and honey and whisk until combined. Toss with cubes of hot cooked potatoes (waxy varieties like reds or Yukon golds are best, peeled or not is up to you) or chopped kale and let rest for an hour at room temperature. Store leftovers in refrigerator, bringing potato salad back to room temperature before serving. If desired, rewarm for about 30 seconds in the microwave. The kale salad is ready right out of the fridge.

Vinaigrette-based vegetable salads are perfect year-round. They stay crisp (if applicable) better than lettuce, are more interesting than a veggie tray, and provide a pleasantly light counterpoint to grilled or roasted meats, heavy sides, and desserts. With no egg or dairy, they’re safer on hot days than those with mayonnaise. And during the winter, sturdy vegetables like potatoes and kale (or even frozen vegetables like green beans) are more consistent than fresh sweet corn, tomatoes, or lettuce.

And with how popular pumpkin spice is, pumpkin seed dressing would be perfect on a fall or Halloween theme menu. Perhaps a kale or other cabbage salad with pumpkin seed vinaigrette and toasted pumpkin seeds to start, followed by pumpkin or squash ravioli with butter and sage, and concluding with a pumpkin or apple dessert. With plain coffee or tea, though. Pumpkin spice belongs in desserts, not beverages.

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appetizers, french cuisine, recipes, summer, vegetarian

French Baba Ghanoush: Aubergine en Caton

By European standards, France is a large country. As with any nation with varied terrain and climate, it has a number of regional specialties. There are the dairy-heavy cuisines of Normandy and Brittany, Germanic-inspired dishes of Alsace in the northeast, and wine-based sauces and stews from the wine-growing regions of Burgundy and Bordeaux. And in the south, along the Mediterranean, is Provence, where many dishes resemble those from neighboring Liguria in Italy.

Provence is one of the few French regions where olive trees can produce fruit. The oil is ubiquitous, including in a sauce for roasted eggplant. Other Mediterranean flavors come from lemon juice, capers, and a bit of anchovy. Before you get grossed out, it’s just a small amount of paste used as a flavor booster, not enough to make it taste “fishy.” All these other flavors, which are rather strong on their own, plus garlic and plenty of fresh parsley, balance it out.

Aubergine is the French word for eggplant. Here it is cooked and pureed just like in baba ghanoush, except in the oven instead of over a wood fire, producing a lighter color and mild, slightly sweet flavor. Rather than mixed into the puree, the sauce is served over the top, for a greater contrast.

As Mimi Sheraton suggested in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die on page 54, a simple description is sufficient to compose a recipe, at least for the sauce. It was the eggplant itself that gave me trouble. When cooking whole, which is necessary to keep the pulp a greenish color instead of browning, it takes a surprisingly long time to soften. At 400 degrees Fahrenheit (or just under 205 degrees Celsius), it took nearly an hour. Since it was a cool day that was fine, but on a hot summer day that would never be an option. Plus, using the oven for that long for one fairly small item doesn’t seem energy efficient.

I considered ways to “pre-cook” the eggplant before finishing it off in the oven. After poking holes all over (to release steam and avoid an explosion), boiling or steaming would probably introduce too much water. But what about the microwave? They work by making water molecules move faster, creating friction and raising the temperature. And since the rays pass through the food, the center warms up much faster than with other cooking methods.

For a vegetable like eggplant, which has a high water content, this worked like a charm. To avoid an explosion and mess, I poked the holes all the way through with the pointy end of a meat thermometer, giving plenty of openings for steam to escape. Just heat on a microwave safe plate, turn every two minutes, and be careful when handling. The eggplant steams inside the skin, creating the perfect silky texture with just the right amount of moisture.

As it turned out, the oven wasn’t even required, making this interesting dish perfect for a hot day. When the eggplant is cool enough to handle, just cut in half, scoop out the pulp, puree it, and serve warm or at room temperature with the sauce. Accompany with bread, crackers, or crunchy vegetables.

The sauce recipe is easy to double and can be kept in the refrigerator for several days. Don’t worry if the oil solidifies; it will turn liquid again as it warms up. This is common for vinaigrette-type dressings and sauces. Just get them out of the fridge half an hour to an hour or so before using, and they’ll be fine.

Ingredients:

1 large eggplant, about 2 pounds
3 tablespoons olive oil
Juice from ½ lemon
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons capers, minced
¼ teaspoon anchovy paste
½ bunch parsley, minced
Salt to taste

Directions:

Combine all ingredients except eggplant, parsley, and salt in a bowl and whisk to dissolve anchovy paste and combine.
Whisk in the parsley and taste for salt. The anchovy paste and capers are both salty, so you might not need it.
Set sauce aside at room temperature, or refrigerate overnight. Bring to room temperature before serving.
Poke holes all over the eggplant, all the way through. Place on a microwave-safe plate and cover with a paper towel. Microwave on high for 8 to 10 minutes, turning every 2 minutes, until a skewer slides easily into the flesh. Let rest until cool enough to handle.
Cut eggplant in half and scoop flesh into bowl of a food processor. Process until smooth.
Scoop eggplant puree onto a plate, spoon sauce over, and serve with bread, raw vegetables, and/or crackers.

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food history, italian cuisine, recipes, rice, spring, vegetarian

Risotto Verde: The Taste of Spring

Among the numerous varieties of risotto, there are a few classics, as detailed in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die on pages 233 – 234. Risotto bianco is the basic kind, made simply with rice, butter, a little onion or shallot, white wine, broth, parmesan cheese, and maybe some pancetta or bacon. Milanese is colored a bright golden yellow with saffron. Nero is colored black with squid ink. Piedmontese is enhanced with white truffles. Other varieties might include seafood, mushrooms, or vegetables.

As you can probably guess, risotto verde is meant to be green. Frequently a spring specialty, it gets its color from parsley and either sweet green peas or asparagus. It’s very fresh-tasting and, when made with frozen peas, surprisingly quick and easy to prepare. To keep everything bright and fresh, I didn’t use any pancetta for my own recipe.

Technically, you’re not “supposed” to reheat risotto, because it thickens upon standing and can become “gluey.” I’ve never had this problem, or maybe the texture upon reheating just doesn’t bother me. Just add a few drops of water before putting it in the microwave. It will still be a great accompaniment to your chicken sandwich for lunch, and it’s way healthier than chips.

Ingredients:

4 tablespoons (or ¼ cup) butter, or 2 tablespoons each butter and olive oil
1 shallot or ¼ onion, minced
1 ½ cups arborio or other short-grain rice
4 tablespoons (or ¼ cup) dry white wine (something light like pinot grigio), or replace with extra broth
4 – 5 cups chicken or vegetable broth (broth made from poaching chicken works great here)
1 10-ounce bag frozen peas
Half bunch parsley, large stems removed, minced
1 cup grated parmesan cheese

Directions:

Combine the broth and peas in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, but leave on the stove.
Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. When bubbling, add shallot or onion and sauté for about 2 minutes, until softened.
Add the rice and cook, stirring constantly, until coated and translucent, about 2 minutes.
Stir in the wine and cook, stirring constantly, until evaporated, another 2 or 3 minutes.
Add the broth and peas, a ladleful at a time, stirring constantly, waiting for each to absorb before adding the next. Stir in the parsley about halfway through, saving a little to sprinkle on top at serving time.
After adding 4 cups of broth, the risotto should be slightly liquid. If it seems too thick, add a little more broth.
Remove from the heat, stir in the parmesan, sprinkle with remaining parsley, and serve immediately.

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american cuisine, lunch, sandwiches, summer

Poached Chicken Sandwich: An Interesting Change of Pace

Not all of the foods in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die are complicated. A basic chicken sandwich (description on pages 543 – 544) is quite simple and easy to make. All you need are roasted or poached chicken breast, good-quality bread, butter, and maybe some greens. It isn’t particularly exciting, but it does make a great lunch and is a nice change of pace from lunch meat and peanut butter. The only trick is making sure the chicken is tender.

At a recent cooking demonstration, I learned a new trick for poaching chicken. For a whole chicken, you just boil in enough water to cover for fifteen minutes, turn off the heat, and let the pot sit, covered, for three hours. During that time, the residual heat will cook the meat all the way through without making it tough. Chicken pieces only need to be boiled for five minutes. To be on the safe side, I did ten.

To poach about 3 pounds of chicken pieces (I did half boneless skinless breasts and half boneless skinless thighs), place them in a large pot with half a teaspoon salt. Add enough water to cover, about 6 to 8 cups. Bring to a soft boil, boil for 10 minutes, then turn off the heat and cover the pot. Let stand for 3 hours. Then the chicken is ready to enjoy, hot or cold. Save the broth for another use (like risotto).

For each sandwich, spread two slices of bakery white or whole grain bread with softened butter. Add chicken, either sliced across the grain or pulled into chunks (slicing only seems to work well for the chicken breasts). If desired, add a sprinkle of sea or kosher salt, and/or some greens. Arugula has a nice peppery flavor. Then enjoy!

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hungarian cuisine, recipes, stew

Hungary’s National Dish: Goulash

If asked to name a Hungarian dish, goulash is probably what most people would come up with first. And that isn’t a bad thing. It’s flavorful, soothing, and endlessly customizable. Plus, like most stews, it reheats extremely well. For Sunday dinner with leftovers for lunches, it’s perfect.

According to Mimi Sheraton in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, goulash was originally a cowboys’ stew. Beef is the most common meat, but pork is also widely used. Since pork is typically half the cost of beef or less, and makes excellent goulash, that is what I use in the recipe, though beef cubes will also work.

The critical ingredient is paprika, which is actually a relative newcomer to Hungarian cuisine. It is made of dried and ground peppers, which originally came from the Americas. Most likely, peppers arrived in Hungary during the reign of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, whose empire included Spain, the Low Countries, parts of Italy, Austria, Bohemia, and Hungary, though it took a few centuries for Europeans to accept them.

By the 19^th Century, paprika was a central flavor in Hungarian cuisine, and indispensable in goulash. Besides the meat (or occasionally beans) and paprika, other ingredients might include onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, or green peppers. In other words, the usual suspects in stew. Some versions include caraway seeds, sage, sauerkraut, or even grated apple.

For my version, I settled on all the usual suspects except green pepper, for the simple reason that it was the only one I didn’t have on hand, needing to be used up. That’s one of the nice things about goulash. The ingredients are affordable, easy to find, and often already in the kitchen. Caraway and sage add a nice extra flavor, and a bit of apple cider vinegar brightens everything up. If using fresh tomatoes, don’t worry about peeling or seeding them. With the long cooking time, they break down into the broth, leaving just their flavor, vitamins, and lovely red color.

Ingredients:

4 pounds pork butt, shoulder, or assorted bone-in chops
2 onions, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
8 ounces carrots, sliced
4 tablespoons (¼ cup) unsmoked sweet paprika (This is not a typo. It sounds like a lot, but goulash is supposed to be very paprika-forward, not subtle.)
1 tablespoon caraway seeds, lightly crushed
Dash cayenne pepper
2 pounds fresh chopped tomatoes (about 7 – 8 Roma tomatoes), or 1 15-ounce can crushed tomatoes and 1 can of water
6 small red or gold potatoes, unpeeled, cut into roughly ¾ inch cubes
8 sage leaves, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

Directions:

Trim the extra fat from the pork, mince it, and cook over medium heat until it’s mostly melted and rendered.
Cut as much meat from the bones as you can, cut into roughly ¾ inch cubes, and set aside the meaty bones.
Add the pork cubes and bones to the fat and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until most of the pink is gone and the remaining fat has begun to render, about 10 minutes.
Add the onions, garlic, carrots, paprika, and caraway, with salt and a dash of cayenne pepper. Cook roughly 10 more minutes, until the onions start to cook down.
Add the tomatoes (and water if using canned) and cook for another 10 minutes.
Reduce heat to simmer. Add the potatoes and sage leaves, cover the pot, and cook until everything is tender, ½ hour to an hour.
Remove the bones, pull any pork from them, and return the meat to the pot. Discard the bones.
Immediately before serving, stir in the vinegar. Serve alone or with mashed potatoes, egg noodles, dumplings, or bread.

Rating: 9/10

For more recipes and fun facts, make sure to subscribe for free. Of course, any contributions to buy more pork chops would make me very happy.

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american cuisine, beverages, food history, recipes

Preakness Stakes Mocktail: The Black-Eyed Susan

Tomorrow is the Preakness Stakes, the second leg in the Triple Crown. The Preakness is always run on the third Saturday in May at Pimlico in Baltimore. Some trainers say the two-week turnaround time is not enough for the horses to recuperate, and sometimes the Kentucky Derby winner won’t race. Sovereignty will not race tomorrow, meaning there will not be a Triple Crown winner this year. While not as famous as the Derby, the Preakness is still an interesting event, with two associated food traditions. Since Maryland is associated with blue crab from the Chesapeake Bay, it’s no surprise that the Preakness is known for crab cakes.

The Preakness Stakes also has its own signature cocktail, called the black-eyed Susan. Most likely, it was named for the blanket of flowers draped over the winner. The Kentucky Derby has red roses, the Preakness has black-eyed Susans, and the Belmont Stakes has white carnations. Ideally, the cocktail will be about the same yellow-orange color as the flowers. Interestingly, black-eyed Susans are not yet blooming in Maryland.

Unlike the mint julep, the black-eyed Susan never seems to have had an “official” recipe. Invented in the 1970s, ingredients varied over time, even at Pimlico, and according to the drinker’s personal taste. The only constants are orange juice and vodka. Other ingredients might include pineapple juice, grapefruit juice, peach schnapps, rum, or bourbon. Frequently the drink will be finished with a blueberry or blackberry for the characteristic “black eye.” As long as there are at least two fruit flavors, pretty much anything goes.

Fruity cocktails lend themselves well to non-alcoholic variations. For my own version, I keep things simple with equal parts orange juice, pineapple juice, and tonic water with a bit of peach syrup. The tonic water is the “secret ingredient” that makes non-alcoholic cocktails more complex, and its bitter edge tastes a bit like grapefruit.

Here’s how to make it:

For each serving, combine 1/3 cup orange juice, 1/3 cup pineapple juice, and 1/3 cup tonic water with a few ice cubes. Stir in a tablespoon of peach syrup (like what’s used in Italian sodas), or more to taste. For a low-alcohol but not completely alcohol-free cocktail, the syrup can be replaced with peach schnapps. If desired, add a blueberry or blackberry. It’s that simple, unlike the system for betting on the race.

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Arter med Flask - Swedish yellow pea soup

food history, recipes, soup, swedish cuisine

Swedish Thursday Night Special: Yellow Pea Soup and Swedish Pancakes with Lingonberries (with soup recipe)

Information is found in 100 Foods to Eat Before You Die pages 366, 371 – 372, and 340 – 341, soup recipe is my own

Sometimes, it’s hard to figure out where food traditions come from. According to legend, the Swedish tradition of eating yellow pea soup on Thursday nights came about because on one Thursday night in 1577, that’s how King Eric XIV was poisoned, which raises a few questions. Is eating pea soup a way to memorialize a good king, or the assassination of a bad one? Why was a king eating pea soup anyway? In most countries that was commoner’s fare. Kings and princes, especially in northern Europe, favored piles of meat and fish. Perhaps his doctor recommended a lighter diet, which would add a layer of irony to the story. And how did pancakes become the traditional dessert?

Regardless of how it happened, yellow pea soup and pancakes are still a Swedish Thursday night tradition, even if not every week. And why not? The soup is a simple mix of dried yellow peas, water, onions, salt, dried thyme, and a little ginger, with optional pork. The recipe on the bag suggested pork ribs, Mimi Sheraton mentioned cured pork in her description on page 366 in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die, so I used a smoked ham shank. It added an incredible richness of flavor to the soup, though it would still be good without it.

Arter med Flash - Swedish yellow pea soup — *Yellow pea soup with ham*

An interesting thing about the dried peas, aside from being yellow when many Americans are more used to green, is that they aren’t hulled or split. They take a bit longer to cook, but give the soup a much better texture and appearance. The flecks of thyme and ham pieces also improve the presentation. The soup was delicious as is, though a few rye crisps certainly wouldn’t hurt.

I had a slight problem with the Swedish pancakes. Because the batter is so thin, making multiple small pancakes at once wasn’t working. They just ran together, making one big crepe-like pancake. Since browning is more important, I rolled with it. The finished pancakes are served with lingonberry jam and often whipped cream.

Lingonberries are small, very tart berries native to Scandinavia. The best way to describe their flavor is about two thirds cranberry, one third sour cherry. Preserved lingonberries have a texture sort of like cranberry sauce, but the berries have softer skins. Jars of lingonberry preserves are available at most stores with an international aisle, and at some larger supermarkets next to the jam. The whole dessert, with lightly browned pancakes, reddish-purple lingonberries, and off-white whipped cream, is just beautiful.

Platter - Swedish pancakes with Lingonberries — *Whipped cream is optional, but highly recommended with Swedish pancakes and lingonberries*

Here’s how to make the soup. You will need:

1 lb (or 500g, which is fairly close) dried yellow peas, soaked overnight
1 package (2 pieces, roughly 2 lbs) smoked ham shanks (optional)
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp salt (reduce to 1 ½ tsp if using the ham shanks)
1 tsp dried thyme
Dash powdered ginger
Rye crisps or rye bread to serve, optional but recommended

Combine all ingredients in a pot with 8 cups of water and bring to a boil.
Reduce heat and simmer, with the lid tilted, until peas start to fall apart and ham shanks are tender, about 1 hour. Stir a few times toward the end of cooking.
Turn off the heat, remove the ham shanks to a cutting board, and cover the pot.
Once the ham shanks have cooled enough to handle, pull meat from the bone and cut into bite-sized pieces. Return ham chunks to pot.
Bring soup back to a simmer over low heat, stirring frequently.
Ideally serve with rye bread or crisps, even more ideally followed by Swedish pancakes.

As always, subscribe for free for recipes and trivia, sent right to your inbox. And if you want to buy me another jar of lingonberry preserves, I would be most grateful.

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Flaeskeaeggekage - Danish bacon and egg pancake

breakfast/brunch, danish cuisine, food history, recipes

Danish Bacon-Egg Pancake (Flaeskeaeggekage)

Flaeskeaeggekage - Danish bacon-egg pancake whole — *Just look at how pretty it is. And it tastes as good as it looks.*

Information found in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die (pg. 347), recipe is my own

Bacon and eggs have been combined for centuries, probably because they both cook quickly on the stove. Most likely, this is why they are often considered breakfast food. I’m not going to get up early enough to make eggs and bacon for breakfast, but some morning people might. It will taste just as good for brunch, lunch, or dinner.

There are a number of recipes for this difficult-to-pronounce Danish recipe. Variations include the amount of milk to use and whether or not to dice the bacon. I went with Mimi Sheraton’s suggestion to leave the bacon strips whole and arrange them in a star pattern. Another unique touch is to use a bit of potato starch as a binder instead of the flour used in most of the online recipes. It gives the pancake a special, subtle flavor that makes it stand out from all the other recipes involving eggs and bacon.

According to the internet, most Danish bacon is leaner than American bacon and is sold in cans. When using American bacon, it’s a good idea to pour off about half of the fat from the skillet after cooking it. The egg mixture cooks in the bacon fat, but it doesn’t need the full amount. This is particularly true if you’re cooking the whole package and not just the six slices needed for the recipe. You may as well and have some extra to munch on, since everyone nearby will be drawn to the smell.

Flaeskeaeggekage - Danish bacon-egg pancake wedge — *Can’t you just smell the bacon through the screen?*

Traditionally, the pancake is flavored with white pepper, sprinkled with chives, and served with buttered rye bread. Depending on what you have, black pepper, green onions, and regular toast with butter and jam are other good options. Such an easy, comfort food dish like this shouldn’t require an extra trip to the store.

To make it, I simply combined six eggs, a quarter cup 2% milk, a tablespoon potato starch, and a bit of salt and pepper to taste. The omelet/pancake cooks in the still-hot bacon fat over low heat until the bottom starts to brown and the top is almost set. Then add the bacon strips in a star pattern, sprinkle with chives or scallions, and cover the pan to help it set completely. Slice into wedges and serve with toast or rye bread. As a main course, each “pancake” serves two people.

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