The Hobbs Digest

Creamy Cabbage Soup

Cabbage is wonderful for the indecisive cook, because you can buy a head, shove it in the crisper, and let it chill out until you decide how to prepare it. I came across a recipe, "Paul Steindler's Cabbage Soup" in The Essential New York Times Cookbook, which I enjoy cooking from almost as much as browsing through. This particular recipe had a tempting mix of flavors, but it seemed a bit too fastidious and timid, so I tailored it to my taste. Aware of that beautiful, tight head of cabbage in the fridge, and that today would be the first snowfall of the new year, I grabbed a few things at the supermarket last night and looked forward to making a gemütlich pot of soup.

• One small head of green cabbage, weighing about one pound
• 3 medium carrots
• 2 fist-sized waxy potatoes
• One decent-sized onion
• One small or 1/2 large bulb fennel (optional--I had some begging to be used)
• A slab of bacon, about 1/2 pound*
• 1/4 cup flour
• One quart (4 cups) chicken broth
• 2 T apple cider vinegar
• 1 t sugar
• 1 t caraway seeds, crushed**
• A healthy glug of aquavit (optional)
• 1 c heavy cream
• Chopped dill

Fill a casserole or heavy pot (about 5-6 quarts) halfway with water and bring to boil. Meanwhile, remove the shaggy outer layers of the cabbage, cut in quarters through the core and cut away the core. Slice the cabbage thinly and set aside. Dice the carrots, potatoes, onion, and bacon (remove the rind) as finely and evenly as you have the patience for. When the water is boiling rapidly, throw in the cabbage and allow to return to the boil. Cook for just one minute, and drain. Return the casserole to the stove over medium heat and toss in the diced bacon once the pot is dry. Cook until most of the fat has rendered--we're not aiming for crispy bits here--and add the onions. Cook until the onion is soft, then add the flour. Stir, scraping the bottom of the pot, for about one minute. Add the broth, whisking to prevent lumps. Stir often until the liquid simmers. Add the cabbage, carrots, potatoes, fennel, caraway seeds, vinegar, aquavit, sugar, and salt and pepper to taste. Return to the simmer, cover, and cook over medium-low heat for about 25 minutes, stirring thoroughly every time you remember to, until the vegetables are soft but not mushy. A chunk of potato will be a good barometer here. Stir in the cream and simmer a few minutes. Correct the seasoning, and serve with a healthy sprinkling of pepper and dill on top of each serving.

*You can used pre-sliced bacon, but the chunky meatiness of lardons is very preferable here.

**I could have sworn there was caraway in the pantry, but I searched until giving up. I did find kala jeera, though, since we seem to have every other spice under the sun. It was a fine, rather intriguing substitute, but I timidly used about 1/2 tsp since I didn't want this unique--"spooky" was the first word to come to mind when I tasted it--flavor to overtake the soup. The aquavit provided the lacking caraway flavor, as well as a herbal, velvety note.

I enjoyed a hefty bowl of this with buttered multi-grain bread, a long link of kabanos--an excellent Polish sausage, kind of what a Slim Jim should be--and a tall, frosty glass of pilsner.

 

Un embarras de richesses

Check out this bounty of delicacies I received today from my dear friend Laurent, who lives in a little corner of paradise in Haute-Savoie, a French département that borders Switzerland and Italy.  This will make one hell of an indoor picnic!

 

Txakolina

This delicious wine from the Basque region of Spain was perfect with a late-August meal of baingan bharta and daal. It's light, refreshing, slightly fizzy, and low in alcohol (when it's hot out, this is a good thing). 7-Up for grown-ups!

Heart-stopping Banality

"Don't tell your cardiologist," "heart attack on a plate," you can feel your arteries tightening," ad anginum...

There is a ubiquitous, annoying tic in food writing. Perhaps it's a stale holdover from earlier, anti-fat times, but it seems that every mention of butter, cream, fatty meat or such sins must be referred to apologetically, with mild astonishment that these substances are actually being consumed. The implication is clear: we certainly know better in our enlightened times, and we must offer a mea culpa to excuse our momentary lapse of judgment by actually eating bone marrow butter. To make things equitable, why isn't any mention of alcohol soft-pedalled with "Make sure your sponsor isn't looking!" or "Beg for your liver's forgiveness!"?

I am disgusted by the Puritanical reaction to pleasure in the United States, and it must be eradicated in all forms. Let us please start by not treating food as medicine, and by not reflexively giggling about eating what received wisdom tells us is Bad.

Excess is Bad. Monotony is Bad. Enjoying the occasional smear of foie gras, or a frothy cup of egg nog, or a glistening chunk of roast pork is Good! Yeah, if you eat like a feral sow all the time, your life will be nasty, brutish, and short, but please have some perspective about luxurious food. It is special, and there is no quicker way to run something's specialness than overexposure. Treats are not an everyday thing, and should be savored.

May we all eat well in 2010!

Door County Fish Boil

I visited Door County, Wisconsin, a couple weekends ago for a lovely family reunion. I had to take premature exit to attend to other family matters back home in NYC, but was able, during my whirlwind, 30-hour stay in one of the nation's friendliest states, to visit Washington Island and enjoy a most unique dinner at Pelletier's in Fish Creek. There is a tradition/tourist attraction in these parts of an impressively theatrical "fish boil," which marries a local delicacy, whitefish, and the universal attraction of big fire. There are several restaurants in Door County--a lovely vacation destination of families throughout the upper Midwest--that specialize in this "ya-gotta-see-it-to-believe-it" ritual.

There are several explanations attempting to pinpoint the origin of this dazzling technique of whitefish preparation, but the modern fish boil presents to its hungry audience the process of submerging fish, potatoes, and onion in salty water, all boiling vigorously over a wood flame in a witch's cauldron. At a certain point, kerosene is thrown on the flame licking up the sides of the pot in which dinner boils away.

Suddenly, an enormous flame engulfs the vessel, and the impurities and scum atop the boiling dinner spill over and are scraped away, turning to steam in the violent bonfire beneath. The process is chaotic, and cynical souls may question the utility of such pyrotechnic showbiz, but I can honestly declare that the result of all this production is impressive. I am such a cynical soul, and, quite frankly, the prospect of boiled fish and potatoes roused my palate not a whit, but--and the liberal accompaniment of butter and salt must be taken into account--the entire meal, this resolutely pale trio of boiled whitefish, potatoes and onions, was delicious. The waitstaff at Pelletier's was more than happy to help with bone removal. (Advice: if you choke on a fish bone, just eat a piece of spongy white bread, and the whole she-bang will slip down your throat, end of story.) The dessert of all-American cherry pie was completely satisfying. (À la mode is extra, hon.)

Pelletier's Restaurant and Fish Boil

Fusion cuisine in the shadow of the Port Authority!

Arrosto di maiale al latte

This simple yet luxurious dish would certainly repulse any vegan or observer of religious dietary restrictions. For us heathen hog-gobblers, however, this Italian delicacy of pork roast braised in milk is pure bliss. The garlic-studded pork simmers until gratifyingly tender in rosemary-laced milk, which cooks down to a nut-colored, exquisitely creamy sauce. Although this dish, plenty for four to six people, warms the belly and soul on chilly nights, I would happily serve this for a summer lunch, as an alternative to vitello tonnato or a chicken fricassee, as it boasts all the succulence of a winter stew yet sidesteps wearying heaviness.

One or two days before you serve the dish, make around 15-20 incisions spaced evenly all over a boneless pork rib roast, about 2 ½ to 3 pounds, and insert slivers of garlic sliced lengthwise. Place the meat into a dish just large enough to hold the roast and add enough dry white vermouth to come about halfway up the meat. Cover, refrigerate, and turn the roast halfway through the marination time so that each half spends an equal amount of time in contact with the booze bath.

About 2 ½ hours before serving, remove the roast from the marinade, which has done its job and can be poured out. Wipe the roast dry and sprinkle all over with flour.  Heat 1 tablespoon butter and 2 tablespoons oil in a 5-quart enameled dutch oven over medium-high heat. When the butter has melted completely and the pan is good and hot, brown the meat on all sides, starting with the fat side down. Remove the roast and pour the fat from the pan. Season the roast with plenty of salt and pepper and return to the pan with 2-3 sprigs rosemary, one bay leaf, a few gratings of nutmeg, and enough whole milk--full-fat milk is required here--to submerge about three-fourths of the roast. Bring to a boil and then adjust the heat to a healthy simmer. Place the lid slightly askew and simmer, turning the roast every 20 minutes or so, until the meat is tender, yielding easily to a sharp knife.

Remove the roast to a plate and tent with foil. Then reduce the rather unappealing, clumpy sauce over medium-high heat until the sauce darkens to a light caramel hue. Remove the bay leaf and use an immersion blender to puree the sauce--a seamlessly velvet, lump-free cream sauce is not the goal here, so don't work too hard on this step. Slice the roast into serving pieces and either arrange the slices on a platter over which you pour the sauce, or return the meat to the pot, gently mixing the pork and sauce, for a more rustic presentation.

January Spa Salad

 If the holiday season has left you feeling like the batteries are running low, you are probably one of the thousands of penitents who have pledged to eat more responsibly in 2009. Throughout the month of December, most of us hunch up our shoulders with a "Whaddya gonna do?" smirk and gobble up every tidbit proferred with holiday cheer. All that heavy, sugary food, topped off with the excesses of New Year's Eve can make for a very sluggish few weeks in the beginning of January.

Here's a salad you can crunch on during The Great Detox. It takes less than five minutes to prepare, and tastes virtuous without being punitive.

Cut off and discard the bottom of a head of celery, and rinse the celery stalks and leaves well in cool water. Chop all this into half-inch chunks and toss into a serving bowl. Then chop off the stalks and cut out the knobby base from a head of fennel. Slice down the middle vertically, then slice each half thinly. Toss these pieces into the bowl with the celery. Squeeze in the juice of one lemon, and add oil (olive or nut oil is best) to taste, 1T or so. Season to taste with salt and pepper, toss, and serve. You can embellish with whatever you think would work; I like thin shavings of parmigiano reggiano and hazelnuts.

Recessionary Lobster

Lobster is considered a luxurious food: what I would have ordered if I'd known you were paying, and all that. This wasn't always so. Until the early 19th century, the flesh of this rather grotesque crustacean had about as much status as Spam enjoys today. (Here's a good history.) Along with its contemporary status as fancy food, the lobster has become somewhat of a cause célèbre among animal rights activists. Eating lobster appears crueler than consumption of other animals, primarily because the creatures are usually alive, mucking around in a prominently displayed tank, minutes before arriving on a diner's plate. It is also typical that lobsters are boiled alive, which can result in a disquieting "scream," which is actually the sound of trapped air whistling through holes in the shell--think of a boiling teakettle.

Mainly due to lower demand and the resultant surplus, the price of lobster is currently low, so if you enjoy this swanky meat and can't pass up a bargain, now's the time to pick up a few of these beasts. Bigger is not necessarily better, though; chowing down on this geezer would feel like chopping down a Giant Sequoia.

Fresh Direct, we have a problem.

Oh, Fresh Direct, I do love you. You're so convenient--you come over when I command it, you take away the burden of heavy lifting, and you allow me to fulfill my desires without even having to speak.

Why, then, must you force me to question your merits when you so blatantly and inexplicably throw such waste in my face? The Manhattan consumer is trying to reduce his carbon footprint and shun the wanton, 20th-century, senseless glorification of excess packaging, and then you give me this? A single container of milk--organic though it may be--delivered to me in a cardboard box with enough spare space to host a litter or two of puppies?

There must be a better way. I like you, I really do, but I just don't know if we can keep going on like this.