Finest Stew

Presently, preoccupations abound, and for the past week the kitchen has been used sparely. I think I saw some dust gathering the other day.

It might have been pepper.

Autumn arrived yesterday night. As I got to sleep a wind blew through the trees and shook them and whistled against the house. This was a serious wind, one to remind a person there is an outside beyond his walls, and in it there are foreign things that pop out there in the night, in the dark.

Similarly, as days cool and the sun sets sooner, we're reminded of meats and sauces, the substantial foods that burn in our bellies all night to keep us warm under the covers...or so it seems. Appropriately, two nights ago I had the pleasure of enjoying a hefty portion Juila Child's recipe for Boeuff Bourguignon, which had been prepared in a dutch oven purchased expressly for this meal--on this and future occasions, I hope.

Photo Credit: Sylvia

The recipe is a traditional one using a wine from the French region of Burgundy, whose dialect and cuisine are Burgundian, or bourguignon in French. I have never made it, but a quick look at the recipe's length mirrors the time consuming duration of its preparation. As I understand it, this excellent stew established itself as de rigeur at American dinner parties, for which, expectedly, popular cookbooks cultivated more convenient methods. In some cases it became simply "Beef Burgundy," which called for marinating the meat in wine overnight and then browning it, simmering it and serving it with canned vegetables. In her book Can She Bake a Cherry Pie?, Mary Drake McFeely reports that

Worse was in store. Another recipe turned up in community cookbooks of the seventies and eighties, a heresy with only five ingredients: beef, a can of cream of mushroom soup, a miserly half cup of red wine, an envelope of Lipton Onion Soup, and a four-ounce can of mushrooms! "Mix soup, onion soup mix, mushrooms and wine and stir well," advised one good neighbor in Dover, New Hampshire. "Add to meat and coat all pieces well. Put in covered casserole and bake in 300 degree oven for 3 hours. DO NOT PEEK!" Presumably it's not best to look until this gummy-sounding mixture has coagulated beyond recognition.

Thankfully, those who prepared Boeuf Bourguignon for us favored authenticity over convenience. After hours of heat between the stove and oven, thick chunks of stweing beef broke easily under the fork -- the grains of the soft meat swollen with juice -- and layers of little onion globes slid apart. Served over pasta and with bread to soak up the wine-rich juices, it was delicious. When I have four hours to spare, which is apparently how long this stuff takes, I intend to make it for myself. (And for others.) Perhaps complemented with steamed asparagus, too.

Yum.

Fabled Soup

What is it that has made me feel
My iron muscles, and my nerves of steel,
Stiffen'd my sinews, made me stout and brawny?
"It has no name,
As yet to claim,
But seeing 'tis my own invention,
If you approve, 'tis my intention
To call it Mulligatawny!"
The Origin of Mulligatawny By Tuck, the Prior, in The Blue Friars: Their Saying and Doings, London, 1889.

While this poem involving Hercules and cross dressing is interesting, I'm unsure of the merit of its claim. Despite this, the passage does not lie. Mulligatawny, a corruption -- a British corruption; tea wasn't the only Indian serving for which the country developed a tongue -- of the Tamil word milakutanni, meaning "peppered water." Though you'd be hard-pressed to find a standard recipe, most versions of the soup involve the kick of a spice combination, known as a curry, and restrained by the smoothness of coconut. And while a stewy, meat-based version of mulligatawny provides the saltiness and richness you've come to expect from soup, the smooth vegetable version I'll provide here develops a more versatile and much milder, albeit more appreciable flavor served hot or chilled.


Mild Vegetable Mulligatawny

Ingredients:

14 Oz lentils, soaked in cold water for 2 hours then drained
3-4 dried red chiles
1 teaspoon whole black peppercorns
2 tablespoons whole coriander seeds
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
1 1/2 teaspoon whole fennel seeds
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
4 to 5 cups vegetable stock
2 small potatoes, peeled and diced
2 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
2 small turnips, peeled and diced
12 fresh curry leaves or 8 fresh basil leaves
2 garlic cloves, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons ginger, peeled and finely chopped
1 (14-ounce) can coconut milk
1 1/4 teaspoons salt, or to taste
1 lime cut into wedges
1 bunch fresh cilantro

Method:

Place peppercorns, coriander seeds, cumin seeds, and fennel seeds in a small frying pan set over medium-high heat. Stir and roast spices 3 minutes, stirring vigorously and avoiding burning, or until spices begin releasing aromas. Empty onto plate to cool, then grind into fine powder. Grind chiles, then add chiles, turmeric and cayenne to the spice mixture.

Place lentils in a bowl. Slowly mix in 4 cups of stock.

Combine the lentils, spices, all the vegetables, the curry leaves, garlic, onion, and ginger in a large pan and bring to a boil. Cover, turn the heat down to low, and simmer for one hour or until the vegetables are tender.

Blend the soup in a blender in several batches, if necessary, and press through a coarse sieve. Return the soup to the soup pan, add the coconut milk and salt, and bring to a simmer.

Simmer gently for 2 to 3 minutes to blend the flavors; thin out with more stock, as needed. Serve hot or chilled with lime wedges & fresh cilantro.

Gordon Ramsay's Chilled Spring Pea Soup

In London last year Christa and I ate at Gordon Ramsay's restaurant in Claridge's Hotel. The meal was exquisite, and I've always remembered quite vividly the first course, a chilled, exceptionally creamy pea soup.

As a child, when my mother made split pea soup, I never enjoyed its pungent scent, a foul odor that permeated every room in the house despite my preemptive door-shuttings. (She hasn't prepared it in years, and perhaps if she did I'd find its aroma appetizing.) Consequently, when I encountered the pea soup at Gordon Ramsay's, the first thing I did was sniff it.

It smelled good.

It was very cold, but, interestingly, it smelled salty and fresh. Much like buttered peas, appropriately. Cream drizzled atop the light green soup -- the recipe in Mr. Ramsay's book includes a strip of bacon topping -- swirled slowly as I dipped in my spoon. This is what peas should taste like, I thought.

I didn't waste my time with it. I'm sure I finished it much more quickly than was proper, and, sadly, this was the only time I enjoyed it.

But, after discovering its recipe in Gordon Ramsay's book, A Chef for All Seasons, I aim to make it. Soon.

Photo: Gentil & Hyers, A Chef for All Seasons

Spring Pea Soup
A Chef for All Seasons, Gordon Ramsay

This is a light, creamy soup that has everything going for it — a tempting color, velvety smooth texture, and a wonderful fresh flavor. It’s always a harbinger of warmer weather and the opening of farmers’ markets all across the country.

Peas and bacon are a popular combination in England and in America, as the sweetness of the former plays well off the smokiness of the latter. I prefer to use Ventrech bacon from Alsace, but another lightly smoked, dry-cured bacon is fine.

Ingredients:

4 ounces lightly smoked sliced bacon
2 shallots, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 pound fresh peas in pods, shelled
2 tablespoons dry white wine
4 cups Vegetable Nage or light chicken stock
1/2 cup heavy cream, plus a little extra for serving
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method:

1. Reserve 4 slices of bacon and chop the rest. Place the chopped bacon in a saucepan with the shallots and oil. Heat until sizzling, then sweat over a low heat for about 5 minutes.

2. Add the peas and cook for a further 2 to 3 minutes. Pour in the wine and cook until it has evaporated.

3. Stir in the nage or stock and 1 cup of water, and bring to a boil. Season with salt and pepper, and simmer for 15 minutes. Blend in a food processor or blender until smooth, then pass through a fine sieve into a bowl, rubbing with the back of a ladle. Leave to cool and then refrigerate.

4. Meanwhile, broil the reserved bacon slices until crisp. (In the restaurant we bake the slices between two heavy baking sheets to keep them straight and flat, but you may prefer the crinkly look.) Drain well on a paper towel so they aren’t greasy. Keep warm.

5 When the soup is well chilled, check the seasoning and whisk in the cream. Season again. Serve in bowls with a little extra cream trickled on top and a floating bacon slice.