Pig Crazy

There is something about this holiday season that has made me go pig crazy. Not that I don't ordinarily revel in every imaginable piggy part, but I seem to be eating pig in some form at every meal lately. There was the beautiful shoulder ham I smoked for Christmas, which was sliced, fried and deglazed with rootbeer as leftovers. Not to mention the salamis for breakfast. Or the can of boudin noir I brought back from Paris. Oh, or the great pork chop I had for dinner last night.

Well, the other day Vanessa Barrington, author of DIY Delicious (a cookbook that is in most respects very much like my own; a truly kindred spirit), came over to play in the kitchen. We tried some smoked and pickled vegetables, which I'm still letting mature, but it was mostly a pig day. She brought this pickled Portuguese pork for me to taste, which was unbelievable. And we just wacked up a ton of pig for some pates, guianciale, bacon. And FINALLY, some liverwurst, which you see here. The liver was huge and very frightening, to tell the truth. But the technique could not have been simpler. It is just pork butt, lightly poached liver, onions and spices, pounded to a paste, put in a beef middle, and smoked for about two hours over oak. I'm letting it mellow for a couple of days in the fridge. Maybe it will make it all the way to New Years, that is if I do! Have an Oinky New Year!

Eels

After a recent discussion about the pleasures and perils of eels, I decided to share some of my friends. Ceci ne'st pas un eel. Not even eels, nor even elvers. Isn't that the cutest name? No, they're basically noodles in oil, vaguely garlic and fish flavored, sold to Spanish people as baby eel surimi. Replete with a little silvery stripe down one side. Who are they kidding? Don't buy it.

And alas, we are told not to buy the endangered Anguilla anguilla, close relative of Magilla gorilla, which some people, like our friend Janet, live in mortal fear of. Along with dangling prepositions. Is it anything dangling perhaps, asks Dr. Freud? Sometimes a pipe is just an... eel.

Well, this beauty is my friend Harold. Part pet since I've had him so long and say hi every morning. Yes, there was a Maude. I ate her. Harold, is now old dried up, smoked too much. So I haven't the heart to let him go. But I do take him for walks every now and then. See the leash? In case he wants to snap at friends.

Pottage of Fat Goose with Pureed Peas

If you perchance peruse historic goose recipes, going much further back than Dickens’ roast goose served on the Cratchit’s Christmas table, you will find a panoply of intriguing techniques. There is goose baked whole in a pastry crust in 16^th century Italy, goose stuffed with oats and boiled, geese semi-roasted, slashed and finished on the grill in what was known as a carbonado in Restoration England, goose ragouts and others served in a staggering variety of sauces. But one in particular caught my attention. It hails from Le Cuisiner of Pierre de Lune, published in 1656, and involves salted cured goose, served in a “pottage” of puréed peas. Here is the recipe, translated from the original:

Potage d’oie grasse aux pois passés

If the goose is salted, do not lard it; if it is not, then lard it with bacon; then cook it in a pan with lard, and then cook through with bouillon, and a bundle (of herbs). Cook your peas separately and pass through a seive with the goose bouillon, parsley, a bit of pepper, and a morsel of green citron. Garnish with fried bread and little bits of crumbled bacon.

To help recreate this dish, here is a full description of the technique: Carefully remove each half of the breast from the goose with a sharp boning knife. Keep the skin attached. Remove the legs and thighs intact for another use, such as confit. Use the bones and giblets for a light stock, which you can freeze for use later in the recipe. (Reserve the liver for yourself, seared and served on crackers.)

Mix 2 tablespoons of fine sea salt with 1.5 tablespoons of unrefined sugar, 1/2 teaspoon of instacure #1 (or “pink salt” which can be bought on line or at specialty grocers, or celery powder cure which works fine), 1 tablespoon ground pepper and a tablespoon of crushed juniper berries. Liberally coat the breasts, put into a large gallon-size ziplock bag and store in the refrigerator for a week to ten days. Turn the bag over every day.

Remove the breasts from the fridge, rinse off and pat dry. Brown them gently in a pan with a 2 tablespoons of melted lard (or goose fat). Toss in a bouquet garnis tied with string. Pour over goose stock to cover half way and cook breasts through very gently, with the pan covered, about 15-20 minutes. The final texture and taste will be remarkably like cooked ham.

Meanwhile boil a pound of green or yellow split peas in the bouillon with some parsley, pepper and candied green citron. Pass through a seive or purée in a blender or food processor. To serve, put the peas, which should be fairly thick, in a large deep platter and lay the goose breasts, thinly sliced, on top. Scatter croutons and bits of crumbled bacon on top for garnish. Serves 4-6 people.

Goose for Christmas

One Christmas break about 30 years ago my best friend Andrew and I decided we should eat a goose. We were in high school, and typically did odd things like this - throwing formal tea parties, making wonder wine. We had absolutely no idea what we were doing - just roasted it, drained off all the pan drippings, fat and all, and made a raspberry tinged sauce. It was good, surprisingly enough.

In the intervening years, I've come to realize that goose is one of the most perfect foods on earth, but there's so much more to do with it than roast and serve. So I've been curing goose breast, smoking odds and ends, rendering fat, chopping liver, making stock - everything you can imagine.

Recently the nice people at D'Artgnan sent me a goose (and the recipe, 17th century salted goose breast on a puree of peas from Pierre de Lune, should appear on their site imminently). But I also had other bits. This is the legs and thighs, cured for 10 days then simmered slowly in the fat for about 5 hours. Stuffed into a jar and put on the shelf. It has since gone opaque. Should definitely wait for Christmas. But AH, the anticipation!!

A Surprise of Cheese

One of the nicest things about going away is, of course, coming back. And among the most intriguing are those things you forget about, refuse to throw away, however uninteresting, and toss in a corner. I DO have my own corner for experiments now.

Well, after a week of eating unfathomably good food in the Loire Valley this past week, I started cooking goose a dozen ways for D'Artagnan (to be posted anon) and I spotted a little cheese I forgot about a couple of months ago, that just didn't taste that great.

Lo and behold, it matured beautifully. Nutty, with a nice tart bite. Not unlike Parmigiano at all. Fabulous in slivers, grated I'm sure will be great. It's a local milk, raw. And disproves my theory that you can't make decent cheese in very small batches. This was just two gallons. About 3/4 of which you see in my hand. Probably cost me more than $20 a pound, but it is really fine, and utterly local. Natural bacteria, no starters, conditioners or other crap. Voila. C'est le terroir.

Smoking Bishop

Here is my contribution to the above mentioned blog-roll (like a swiss roll, without the cream filling - well, who knows, maybe).

My task was to make the "smoking bishop." Which Scrooge offers Cratchit, I think the day after Christmas, to discuss his future at the firm. So I thought, let's find a real recipe, from the 1840s and make it. No problem.

Problem is, the phrase does not seem to appear in print anywhere before 1843 when the story first appeared. And if you go on line or check the authorities on such things, every single recipe seems to copy some other prototype, that was written after 1843, because it substitutes oranges and a grapefruit for Seville oranges. Well, who actually knows what Dickens had in mind, if nothing was ever printed? (Please correct me if I'm wrong, dear friends - this is not my period!)

So, with my newly adopted casual aplomb, I thought, AH, free to make it up totally. First of all, baking oranges is a bad idea. They get acrid. Steeping them gently, so the oils permeate the liquid is the preferred, and indeed I think historically more accurate way to mull. Here I've used what I had, which are cassia buds, long pepper and slivers of nutmeg, plunged into the orange.

Most recipes say use cheap red wine and a lot of sugar. What?? And ruin good port by adding it to swill? I chose to just pour this whole bottle of port over the orange (a gorgeous "cara cara") heat and let steep for a few hours. Then muddle a bit to release some juice and more volatile oils. Reheat gently and sip.

And you know what? IT IS FABULOUS! I don't think I'll ever drink port again unless it's hot. A little spicy, aromatic, dare I even say unctuous? Perfect for a cold day. And exactly the right thing to make your mind expansive about the future. Well done DICKENS!

And let me say, the next day it is even better, especially following the exhaustion of 13.1 miles at a plodding pace. 2 hours and 24 minutes later. Enough to pick up any lagged spirits!

Venaison

Kristine showed up yesterday with a cooler full of deer. I cannot even begin to tell you how much fun it was taking him apart. Here are some salami made from the front leg. All chopped by hand. The hind quarter became jerky from the round, a stunningly gorgeous and succulent roast from the eye of the round, some stew with pomegranate syrup, bones for stock. Even rendered down the fat, though I'm not sure anyone has the guts to taste it.

I can't wait until these are cured!

Ah, and here's the roast. YUM.