There are many occasions when I am just beginning to think that I could live happily without meat when, walking through a Mexican market, I see a hunk of pork, golden and crusty, being drawn from a sizzling vat of lard. Or I pass my favorite taco stand—a table set up on a spare triangle of land at the Valle de Bravo turnoff on the Morelia road—and smell the pit-barbecued lamb as it is drawn, shiny and succulent, from its bed of maguey leaves. Or I am confronted with a steaming bowl of pungent midmorning menudo (tripe and chile soup)—then I realize that I am probably hooked for life.
Gone, however, are those postwar days when I thrilled at the sight of a standing rib roast or the haunch of an ox, tender and rare. Now I would opt for a braised breast of veal, some cochinita pi-bil (pit-barbecued pig with achiote and orange juice from the Yucatán), or an oxtail stew. We had oxtail and a lot of other stews at home. They were cheap and “nourishing,” as Mother used to say, and would keep out the cold. There was neck of lamb—scrag end to the British—cooked slowly in the oven with carrots and potatoes; the broth was the best part. There was hot pot, stewing steak layered with carrots and onions with a topping of browned potatoes, and rabbit stew—my anathema—while steamed lambs’ heads and tongues were my joy. Mother used to stuff an ox heart—as it was called—with an herbed breadcrumb stuffing. It was braised slowly in the oven and served with thick brown gravy. At least once a week in the winter months there was tripe and onions—oh, that horrible white sauce!—or boiled belly of pork (we ate all the fat) with pease pudding, a mush of dried yellow peas. A favorite of mine was steak and kidney pie with its rough-puff crust, baked for hours in the slow, stout oven of the kitchen stove. There was steak and kidney pudding, too, with its steamed suet crust. There were a host of pies, with their flaky crusts: veal or chicken and ham, bacon and egg, and giblet at Christmastime. Fried rump steak and onions was then to me the epitome of luxury.
At weekends there was either a roast chicken or, more often, a “joint” or roast: perhaps a shoulder of lamb cooked to a gray color but with a wonderfully crusty fat outside; that was served with mint sauce in spring and summer and with onion sauce in winter. A roast of pork with ridges of crisp brown crackling on the top was always served with sage and onion dressing. Lambs’ kidneys broiled with bacon were reserved for breakfast or high tea.
Now I realize it was heavy eating, but it was customary and suited to the climate and the active lives we led. Since then my wanderings have taken me far afield, and with the help of many friends who are great and inspired cooks, my palate naturally has changed . . . but just enough scraps of nostalgia remain, and some of that feeling is in these recipes.
Arroz con Pollo a la Cubana
6 servings
This recipe was given to me some years ago by one of my first friends in Mexico, the sadly missed Vida Weaver, who was born and grew up in Cuba and was married to an American journalist, Peter Weaver.
If Seville orange juice is not available, do not buy that dreadful imitation in bottles that is sold in Caribbean stores; just mix lime and orange juice in equal parts. It is not as interesting or as delicate as the real thing, but it will do. Nor do I suggest the commercial packaged bijol. This typical Cuban seasoning is nothing more complicated than ground achiote (annatto) seed with cumin. I grind my own rather than use that violently red stuff—just read the label and see what I mean! I cook the rice in a large, round Le Creuset casserole; you could also use a deep earthenware dish or stainless-steel pot.
When cooked, the rice will resemble a very moist risotto, a state that is called asopado (soupy) in Cuba. If you prefer it drier, as some Cubans do, then reduce the liquid by about 3/4 cup (180 mL).
Ají dulce is a small, light green, squat chile that is mild but has a delicious flavor (the same flavor as the chile habanero, which is used in Yucatán, Haiti, Jamaica, etc.). It is easy to obtain in Caribbean stores. Leave it out if you can’t find it; there is no real substitute.
1 large (about 4-pound [1.800 kg]) chicken, cut into small serving pieces
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
6 tablespoons Seville orange juice (see note above)
2 bay leaves
1 large white onion, finely sliced
3 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1/4 cup (65 mL) dry white wine
3 tablespoons safflower or other vegetable oil
2-1/4 pounds (1 kg) tomatoes, unpeeled and chopped
1 ají dulce (see note above), sliced
2 cups (500 mL) light chicken broth
Rounded 1/4 teaspoon bijol (see note above)
1 pound (450 g; 2 cups) long-grained, unconverted rice
1 cup (250 mL) light beer
1/2 cup (125 mL) peas
1/2 cup (125 mL) strips of red bell pepper
Place the chicken pieces in one layer in a china or glass dish. Season well with salt and pepper. Cover with the orange juice, bay leaves, onion, garlic, and wine. Leave to season for at least 8 hours, turning once during that time.
Heat the oil in a heavy pan, drain the chicken pieces, reserving the marinade, and sauté until lightly browned all over. Remove the chicken pieces. To the same oil add the marinade, tomatoes, and ají, and cook over fairly high heat for 10 minutes. Add the chicken pieces to the pan and cook for 5 minutes more. In a separate pan, heat the broth, stir in the bijol, and keep stirring until it has dissolved and the broth is a good red color. Add to the pan, bring the mixture to a boil, and stir in the rice. Cover the pot and cook over medium heat until the liquid has all been absorbed, about 35 to 40 minutes. Stir in the beer, peas, and red pepper; adjust the seasoning and cook, uncovered, until the liquid has almost all been absorbed and the rice is perfectly tender, about 15 minutes.
Stuffed, Braised Chicken
5 to 6 servings
For almost two years after moving into my place in San Pancho I had no oven, no refrigerator, and only one small burner to cook on—and no car to go for last-minute necessities. When I had company, and it wasn’t going to be Mexican food, I came up with this one-pot meal: a chicken stuffed with brown and wild rice (or bulgur) and cooked very slowly on top of the stove. Of course, you could also cook it in a very slow oven at about 325°F (165°C). Try to find a very large chicken that won’t cook in 40 minutes and then start falling off the bone. It is good either hot or cold. You can vary the stuffing, the vegetables, or any of the seasonings, using what you have around.
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
3 small cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Grated rind and juice of 1/2 lemon
1 large chicken (about 4 pounds [1 kg]), ready for the oven
STUFFING
2 tablespoons chicken fat (see page 26) or unsalted butter
2 tablespoons finely chopped shallots or scallions
3/4 cup (180 mL) roughly chopped celery
1/3 cup (85 mL) dried mushrooms, soaked in 3/4 cup (180 mL) water (see page 27)
1/3 cup (85 mL) diced ham, preferably serrano or prosciutto
1 tablespoon each chopped fresh marjoram, thyme, and basil; or 1/4 teaspoon dried marjoram and 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme only
1 large egg, lightly beaten
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) cooked brown rice or, better still, brown and wild rice (see pages 80 and 69)
VEGETABLES
3 tablespoons chicken fat (see page 26) and 1 tablespoon safflower oil
3 medium carrots, roughly chopped
3 ribs celery, roughly chopped
4 shallots or 2 small onions, roughly chopped
4 sprigs fresh thyme or 1/4 teaspoon dried
3 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh marjoram or 1/4 teaspoon dried
8 fresh basil leaves, only if available—do not use dried
1/2 cup (125 mL) dry vermouth, white wine, or white wine vinegar
About 2 cups (500 mL) chicken broth, well seasoned
Freshly ground pepper
Extra vegetables to taste: 8 small waxy potatoes; 8 medium carrots, scraped; 1 cup peas; 2 zucchini, cut into strips
Mash the butter with the garlic, salt and pepper, add lemon juice and grated rind, and smear into the cavity of the bird. Set aside to season while you prepare the stuffing.
Heat the chicken fat or butter in a medium-sized skillet and fry the shallots for 1 minute. Add the celery, mushrooms, ham, and herbs and fry over medium heat for about 4 minutes. Add this mixture, the beaten egg, and salt and pepper to taste to the rice. Stuff the cavity of the chicken with the mixture and truss securely so that the stuffing does not fall out.
If cooking in the oven, heat to 325°F (165°C).
Heat the chicken fat and oil in a heavy casserole or Dutch oven into which the chicken will just fit snugly. Brown the chicken well all over. Remove and set aside. Remove all but 2 tablespoons of the fat from the pan and any spare grains of rice, which tend to burn. Add the chopped vegetables and herbs and fry, stirring from time to time, until the color just changes, about 8 minutes. Return the chicken to the pan, add the vermouth, tip the pan to one side, and reduce the vermouth over high heat for about 3 minutes. Add 1-1/2 cups (375 mL) of the chicken broth—no need to add salt if it’s well seasoned—and a lot of freshly ground pepper. Cover the pan with a tightly fitting lid and bake in the center of the oven or cook over low heat on a large burner for about 1 hour. Turn the chicken over. At this point you could add vegetables like potatoes or carrots, while peas and zucchini should come later, the zucchini 30 minutes and the peas 5 minutes before the end of the cooking time. Cook for a further 1 hour, or until the chicken is well cooked and the pan juices are a good dark brown.
Transfer the chicken and whole vegetables to a warmed platter. If the pan juices and vegetables have dried up and are sticking a little to the bottom of the casserole, add the remaining broth (hot) and scrape the pan well. Reduce for about 2 minutes over high heat. Then you have a choice: I serve the cut-up vegetables, almost reduced to a mush, around the chicken with bay leaves, herb stalks, and all, but you may wish to remove the bay leaves, discard the stalks, and put the vegetables through a food mill, thus making a thick sauce to serve with the chicken.
Bread Sauce*
4 to 5 servings
In the early 1980s, I was doing some test cooking for this book in Jerrie Strom’s spectacular Rancho Santa Fe kitchen. I had just finished making this bread sauce and we stuck our fingers into it to taste. As we continued working, we kept passing the pan, for “just one more try.” At last Jerrie said, “My mother used to make something almost the same as this on our farm in Minnesota. . . . You know,” she said after yet another taste, “this is pure soul food.”
A roast chicken was an occasional Sunday treat when we were growing up and the food budget was very limited. It was stuffed with a forcemeat or, for special occasions, ground pork stuffing, and was accompanied by roast potatoes (see page 64), overcooked brussels sprouts, and bread sauce.
Bread sauce is very easy to make, and the first step can be done ahead—but the bread itself should be added just before serving. Don’t let it sit for more than 15 minutes, or, as one British cookbook warns, “it will resemble nothing more than a bread poultice.”
Crumbs from a good chewy French bread should be used for the bread crumbs, since most other white bread is too soft and sweet. I have also made the sauce successfully with homemade whole wheat bread.
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) whole milk (not low-fat)
1 cup (250 mL) water
3 small boiling onions, peeled and cut into quarters
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
2 cups (500 mL) dried bread crumbs (see note page 25)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/8 teaspoon ground mace or nutmeg
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons thick cream (optional)
Put the milk and water in a heavy saucepan. Stick the cloves into three of the onion quarters and add them with the rest of the onion quarters and the salt to the pan. Half cover and cook over a gentle heat until the onions are not only soft but falling apart, about 35 to 40 minutes, depending on their size. Remove from the heat, and stir in the bread crumbs, softened butter, mace, and pepper; adjust the salt, cover, and set aside for about 10 minutes. When ready to serve, stir over a gentle heat for about 3 minutes, add the cream, stir again, and serve immediately.
Lemon Chicken
3 to 4 servings
I imagine everyone on a cooking tour gets as heartily sick as I do of the average hotel or restaurant meal. Since one spends most of the day around food—either shopping, preparing, or giving a class—one longs for something fresh on the palate and very simple to prepare. This lemon chicken recipe was given to me by an Italian American family, and while it’s not as elegant as the more traditional lemon chicken recipes, you can put it in the oven and almost forget about it. When cooked, it has a nice lemony sauce, and it is good eaten either hot or cold. It is important to have a good, fat chicken—no skinny ones for this recipe.
1 large (3-pound [1.360 kg]), fat chicken, split in half through the breastbone
Sea salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon oregano (optional)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons butter, softened
1/4 cup (65 mL) lemon juice
Finely grated rind of 1/2 lemon
1 cup (250 mL) water
3 cloves garlic, peeled
Finely chopped parsley (for garnish)
Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
Season the chicken halves with the salt and pepper and oregano (if using) and place skin side down in a baking dish into which they will just fit in one layer. Put the oil, butter, lemon juice, rind, water, and garlic into the blender jar and blend thoroughly. Pour this sauce over the chicken. Bake on the top shelf of the oven, turning once halfway through the cooking time and basting frequently until the skin is crisp and the meat tender, about 40 minutes. Garnish with the parsley, if you are using.
Pierre Franey’s Ragoût Toulousaine
6 servings
I have to include this recipe because it is so delicate and delicious. It is the ultimate in understatement, but do not serve it to friends or lovers who are either ravenous or are meat-and-potato people. Don’t be put off by the complexities of the recipe; it’s much easier than it seems.
Sea salt to taste
3 tablespoons butter
1 onion, sliced
1 carrot, scraped and sliced
1 rib celery, sliced
1 bay leaf, crushed
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup (125 mL) dry white wine
1-1/4 cups (315 mL) chicken broth from the poached chicken (see below)
1/2 pound (225 g) small fresh mushrooms, trimmed and cut into quarters
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) cubed breast of chicken, lightly poached (see below)
About 15 poached chicken quenelles (see below)
1 cup (250 mL) cold chicken velouté (see below)
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) heavy cream
1 canned or fresh truffle, cut into strips, or 1 large morel
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon powdered cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon Cognac
Divide the sweetbreads into their 2 natural “lobes.” Cover with iced water and set aside for 1 hour to soak. Drain and discard the water. Put the sweetbreads in a saucepan into which they will just fit in 2 layers. Cover with water, add salt to taste, and bring to a simmer. Continue simmering for 10 minutes. Drain and put into cold water immediately. Trim off the gristle and membrane.
Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
Put 2 tablespoons of the butter in a large, heavy skillet or sautoir. Cover the bottom of the pan with the onion, carrot, celery, bay leaf and thyme. Arrange the sweetbreads on the vegetables and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook over medium heat without browning for 3 minutes. Cover the pan and cook for 10 minutes more. Add the wine and 1/2 cup (125 mL) of the chicken broth, and bake for 45 minutes. Put the mushrooms into a small frying pan, barely cover with chicken broth, and simmer for 5 minutes, uncovered. Remove with a slotted spoon and add to the poached chicken cubes; set aside. Reduce the mushroom broth over high heat until it has reduced by half.
Prepare the chicken quenelles (see below), using 1 tablespoon of the velouté, and set aside. Put the remaining velouté in a small saucepan, add the reduced mushroom liquid, and beat until smooth. Stir the cream in quickly and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the truffle strips to the pan and season the sauce with the nutmeg and cayenne. Stir in by degrees and very slowly add the mushrooms and chicken. Then add the quenelles, taking care not to break them. Melt the remaining 1 tablespoon butter and stir that gently into the mixture. Just before serving, add the lemon juice and Cognac. Arrange the hot sweetbreads on a serving platter, pour the sauce over them, and serve immediately.
POACHED CHICKEN
1 large chicken breast
2-1/2 cups (625 mL) well-seasoned chicken broth
Remove the skin and bone from the chicken breast and cut in half. Add half the breast plus the skin and bone to the pan and cover with the broth. Cook over a gentle heat until tender—about 25 minutes—and cut into small cubes. Reserve the second half of the breast for the quenelles.
CHICKEN VELOUTÉ
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons flour
1 cup (250 mL) chicken broth, warmed
Melt the butter in a small saucepan and gradually stir in the flour. Add the broth little by little, stirring vigorously until the mixture is quite smooth and begins to thicken. Set aside to get quite cold in the same saucepan.
CHICKEN QUENELLES
Remaining half chicken breast (see above), cubed
1 tablespoon chicken velouté
Freshly grated nutmeg
Approximately 1/2 egg white
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/3 cup (85 mL) heavy cream
Chicken broth as necessary
Put the chicken cubes—there should be about 1/2 cup (125 mL)—in the jar of a blender. Add the velouté, nutmeg, egg white, salt, and pepper. Blend for about 30 seconds at high speed, pushing the mixture down with a rubber spatula several times. Gradually add the cream while blending, to form a mousse-like mixture.
Butter well a small enamel-coated or stainless-steel pan and place carefully on it the small quenelles, formed by pressing a little of the mixture between 2 teaspoons that have been dipped into water before forming the quenelles. When all the mixture has been used up, carefully cover the quenelles with the remaining chicken broth to barely cover. Cover the surface with buttered waxed paper and bring the chicken broth to a simmer. Shake the pan gently while simmering for a further 3 to 5 minutes, or until the quenelles are firm.
Braised Corned Beef
6 to 8 servings
My very first neighbor in Mexico City, Inge Lotwin, taught me how to corn beef. The corning is light, and the meat not such a dark red color as some commercially prepared corned beef and tongue. This light corning lends itself to braising the meat rather than the more usual boiling. Vegetables can be added during the last hour of the cooking time—whole unskinned potatoes, onions, carrots, parsnips, turnips, rutabagas, or cabbage.
START FIVE DAYS AHEAD
4 pounds (1.800 kg) boneless brisket with some fat left on
1/2 teaspoon saltpeter
6 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 tablespoons sea salt (not kosher salt)
5 bay leaves
2 juniper berries, crushed
5 peppercorns, crushed
Water
1 large onion, quartered
Optional vegetables (see note above)
Pierce the meat in about 10 places with the point of a sharp knife—the knife should reach about halfway through the meat. Take a little of the saltpeter and garlic on the point of the knife and insert it into each slit. Rub the salt well into the meat. Place the meat in a deep dish into which it will just fit; add 3 of the bay leaves, the juniper berries, peppercorns, and about 1/2 cup (125 mL) water—the amount will, of course, depend on the size of the dish, but it should come up about 1 inch (2.5 cm) from the bottom. Cover the meat (not the dish) with a plate and put a heavy weight on it. Cover the whole thing so that the odors do not penetrate other foods, and place in the bottom part of the refrigerator. Leave the meat in the brine for 5 days, turning it over every day. Drain the meat.
To braise
Heat the oven to 325°F (165°C); place the rack in the center of the oven. Drain the beef, put into a heavy baking pan or casserole with a lid, add 1/2 cup (125 mL) water, the onion, and the remaining 2 bay leaves, cover, and cook until tender but not falling apart, 2-1/2 to 3 hours. See note above about additional vegetables. Slice the beef and place on a platter surrounded by the vegetables and pan juices.
To boil
Cover with cold water, add the onion and remaining 2 bay leaves, bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer the meat until tender, about 3-1/2 hours. Turn off the heat and allow the beef to cool off in the broth.
Salpicón de Res, Estilo Zitácuaro (Shredded Beef, Zitácuaro Style)
3 to 4 servings*
This recipe was given to me by the late Señora María Alejandre de Brito in Zitácuaro, where it is a favorite meat dish. It is a simple and delicious way of cooking flank or skirt steak and makes a very good filling for tacos made with soft tortillas.
MEAT
1 pound (450 g) skirt or flank steak, with some fat left on
1 small white onion, roughly chopped
2 large sprigs fresh cilantro (coriander)
2 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
Sea salt to taste
Water to cover
THE SEASONING
2 tablespoons pork lard or safflower oil
1 small white onion, finely chopped (about 1/2 cup [125 mL])
2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
1 pound (450 g) ripe tomatoes, finely chopped, unpeeled
3 or more canned chiles serranos en escabeche or to taste, left whole
2 heaped tablespoons roughly chopped fresh cilantro (coriander)
Sea salt to taste
Cut the steak—along the grain, not against it—into 2-inch (5 cm) pieces. Put the meat in a saucepan with the onion, cilantro, garlic, and salt; barely cover with water; and simmer until tender, about 25 minutes for skirt steak or 35 minutes for flank steak. Allow the meat to cool off in the broth, then strain, reserving the broth for soup. Shred the meat and set aside.
In a heavy frying pan, heat the lard or oil, add the onion and garlic, and fry gently, without browning, until translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the chopped tomatoes and continue cooking over high heat until the mixture has reduced and thickened—about 8 minutes—stirring from time to time to prevent sticking. Stir in the shredded meat, chiles, and coriander. Adjust the seasoning. Cover the pan and cook over medium heat for a further 5 minutes.
Serve alone, with hot tortillas on the side, or use as a filling for tacos.
Corned Tongue
4 to 6 servings
Corned tongue is one of my favorite meats. . . . I also like to corn veal chops, veal breast, and pork tongues. I always thought one of my more elegant meals was a corned tongue served with Madeira sauce, fleurons of puff pastry, and pureed spinach.
START FIVE DAYS AHEAD
1 (2-1/2- to 3-pound [1.125 kg–1.350 kg]) beef tongue
1/4 teaspoon saltpeter
2 small cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
1-1/2 tablespoons sea salt
2 bay leaves
4 black peppercorns, crushed
2 juniper berries, crushed
Water
Pierce the tongue in about 8 places with the point of a sharp knife. Take a little of the salt peter and garlic on the point of the knife and insert it into each slit. Rub the salt well into the tongue. Place the tongue in a deep china or glass dish into which it will just fit. Add the bay leaves, peppercorns, juniper berries, and 1/2 cup (125 mL) water. Cover the tongue (not the dish) with a plate and weigh it down. Cover the whole before putting it into the bottom of the refrigerator. Leave the tongue in the refrigerator for 5 days, turning it over in the brine every day. Drain the tongue, put it in a saucepan, cover with water, and simmer until tender, about 3 hours. Cool off the tongue in the cooking liquid. As soon as it is cool enough to handle, remove the skin, bones at the base, fat, and gristle. Be sure to cut the tongue horizontally so that you get all the different textures.
Vietnamese Pork with Orange Juice and Coriander
5 to 6 servings
The late André Claude was born in Vietnam to a Vietnamese mother and a French father. He knew everybody and turned up everywhere. He never stayed in one place very long, always seeing greener pastures elsewhere. He was a whimsical man, with an enviable carefree attitude, but a great organizer, too. He painted charming miniatures, by means of which he used to support himself, but he was completely happy as long as he had enough cash in his pockets for the next meal. Luckily, rich friends sought him out for his good company, savoir faire, and delicious and original food.
I met André Claude for the first time when he turned up as manager of the small motel not far from Quinta Diana in Michoacán. In those early days when I did not have a telephone, I would often arrive at the motel to use the telephone around ten o’clock in the morning and there he would be, sitting at the table with a broad grin on his face, beckoning me to join him in some un–San Pancho–like delicacy—one day it was an exquisite fish pâté and a good bottle of sherry. One evening at dinner he produced from some secret place a superb bottle of Blanc de Blancs to honor my guest, a visiting British ambassador. He invited me to Christmas dinner one year and served this extraordinary Vietnamese pork, with plain white rice smothered with rougail (see page 95).
2-1/2 pounds (1.125 kg) loin of pork, center cut, trimmed of most but not all the fat
20 small cloves garlic, peeled
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup (85 mL) chopped coriander stalks
1-1/2 cups (375 mL) chicken broth
4 bay leaves
4 whole allspice
SAUCE
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon fat skimmed from the pan juices
3 green onions, trimmed and finely chopped, with most of the green parts
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
Juice of 2 large oranges
1/4 cup (65 mL) finely chopped coriander stalks
Heat the oven to 350°F (180°C) and set the rack in the middle of the oven.
Make 20 incisions all over the pork with the point of a sharp knife and insert the cloves of garlic. Season the meat with salt and pepper to taste. Set the meat on a rack in a roasting pan and sprinkle the top thickly with the 1/3 cup (85 mL) chopped coriander stalks. Put the broth, bay leaves, and allspice in the roasting pan, and cover the whole tightly with foil so that no steam will escape. Cook the meat until it is very tender but not falling apart, so that you can slice it easily—about 3-1/2 to 4 hours. Set the meat aside on a warm dish for about 15 minutes. Slice the meat, cover with foil, and keep warm in the oven.
In the meantime, degrease the broth. Put the butter and 1 tablespoon of the skimmed fat in a saucepan and heat. Add the onions and 1 tablespoon of the lime juice and fry gently until soft. Add the remaining 1-1/2 tablespoons lime juice plus the skimmed pan juices (be sure to scrape the bottom of the pan well for all the scraps adhering to it), cover the pan, and cook the sauce for about 5 minutes. Add the mustard, orange juice, and the 1/4 cup (65 mL) chopped coriander stalks. Cook, uncovered, for about 4 minutes longer. Pour some of the sauce over the meat and pass the rest in a separate dish.
Roast Pork with Sage and Onion Stuffing
4 servings
In England, it was, and still is, customary to serve roast pork covered with its crisp brown “crackling” and to cook the stuffing separately. Try to get your butcher to give you a good piece of meat with the skin on and ask him to score it for you in lengthwise ridges from 1/4 (6 mm) to 1/2 inch (1.25 cm) wide. Rub a little olive oil and salt on the skin and put plenty of salt and pepper on the meat itself. Cook slowly in a 325°F (165°C) oven, basting it from time to time, allowing about 30 to 40 minutes per pound, depending on the cut, of course—shoulder tends to be tougher and takes longer. About 15 minutes before the pork will be done, set the oven temperature to 425°F (220°C), to crisp the top. Always buy pork that has some fat on it; it will be much moister and have more flavor. The roast is done when a meat thermometer registers 160°F (about 70°C).
Mother used to put grated lemon rind in practically all her stuffings, but it is optional. I find that dried sage gives better results than fresh in this recipe.
SAGE AND ONION STUFFING
7 small white onions, peeled and roughly chopped
Cold water
1/2 teaspoon sea salt, plus extra, to taste
1 rounded tablespoon dried sage (not powdered)
4 tablespoons (2 ounces [57 g]) unsalted butter
8 ounces (225 g; 4 cups) dried bread crumbs, loosely packed (see note page 25)
Grated rind of 1 lemon (optional)
Freshly ground black pepper
Drippings from the baking dish
Lightly grease a shallow baking dish about 1-1/2 inches (3.75 cm) deep; I use a 10-inch (25 cm) diameter Pyrex or pottery dish.
In a saucepan, cover the onions with water and cook over medium heat with 1/2 teaspoon salt until soft and falling apart, about 35 to 40 minutes. Drain, reserving the cooking liquid. Put the dried sage to soak in 1/4 cup (65 mL) of the cooking liquid for about 5 minutes. Put the onions in a bowl and stir in the butter, the sage with the water in which it was soaked, the bread crumbs, lemon rind, and beaten egg. The stuffing should have a fairly dry consistency but not be crumbling apart. Add a little more of the onion water if necessary. Test for salt and freshly ground black pepper. Spread the stuffing over the dish evenly and pour on some of the pan drippings. Bake at the top of the oven in which the pork is roasting until a golden brown, about 40 minutes.
Djuveč (Yugoslav Pork Chops)
6 to 8 servings
All my Yugoslav friends in Mexico in the early days were remarkably good cooks; one of them, Leah Mayer, gave me this recipe. It is a very hearty casserole of pork chops from Bosnia and Herzegovina with unmistakable Turkish influences—predictably, since that area of Yugoslavia was under Turkish rule for more than four hundred years, beginning in 1463. You can easily reduce the amount of meat in the dish, since the vegetables are very satisfying in themselves. I cook this in a deep casserole, 9-quart (9 L) capacity.
1 medium eggplant, about 1 pound (450 g)
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
6–8 pork chops (or I prefer 4 pounds [1.800 kg] country-style spareribs)
4 zucchini
2 pounds (900 g) green peppers
2 pounds (900 g) onions, thinly sliced
1 rounded cup (300 mL) roughly chopped parsley
1/3 cup (85 mL) vegetable oil
1 cup (250 mL) long-grained, unconverted rice
2-1/2 pounds (1.125 kg) tomatoes, thinly sliced, unpeeled
1 cup (250 mL) water
Peel the eggplant and cut into 1-inch (2.5 cm) cubes. Sprinkle with salt and set aside to drain for about 20 minutes.
Season the pork chops with salt and pepper and set aside. Trim the zucchini and cut into large cubes. Cut the tops off the peppers, remove the seeds, and cut into slices unskinned. Put the zucchini, peppers, and onions in a bowl, add the drained eggplant and the parsley, stir in the oil, and salt to taste. Set aside to drain for about 15 minutes, or until the juices run out of them. Drain, reserving the juices.
Heat the oven to 300°F (150°C).
Rinse the rice in boiling water and drain. Put half of the tomatoes over the bottom of the casserole, sprinkle over half of the rice, then half of the vegetables. Put the meat in one layer over the vegetables, cover with the rest of the vegetables, rice, and tomatoes in layers, then finally pour over the vegetable juices and the water. Cover the casserole and cook for about 4 hours, or until the vegetables and rice are thoroughly cooked through.
Alice B. Toklas’s Veal and Pork Loaf
4 to 6 servings
I am a devotee of Alice B. Toklas’s cookbook. Many of the recipes are wildly extravagant, but among my favorites are Puree of Artichoke Soup, Perpignan Lobster, Brown Braised Ribs of Beef, Veal Kidneys Cooked in Gin, Fried and Roasted Breaded Chicken, and this meat loaf, which I could happily eat twice a week. I like to cook it in a round, shallow earthenware dish that can be taken to the table, a Moroccan tagine slaouis, for instance, or a cazuela.
12 ounces (340 g) veal, very finely ground
12 ounces (340 g) pork, very finely ground
1 cup (250 mL) finely chopped mushrooms
1 egg, well beaten
1 teaspoon ground sea salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
1 clove garlic, peeled and crushed
A large pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
10 tablespoons sour cream
1/4 cup (65 mL) fresh bread crumbs
1/4 cup (65 mL) white wine
2 hard-boiled eggs
1-1/4 cups (315 mL) boiling beef consommé or strong chicken stock
Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
Put the ground meats in a mixing bowl, add the mushrooms, beaten egg, salt, pepper, garlic, nutmeg, and 4 tablespoons of the sour cream. Soak the bread crumbs in the wine, squeeze dry, and add. Mix all the ingredients together with your hands. Put 4 tablespoons of the sour cream in the bottom of the baking dish; mold the mixture around the 2 hard-boiled eggs placed tip to tip in a mound.
Pour 2 more tablespoons of the sour cream over the top of the meat loaf and smooth it out and press a crisscross pattern with the tines of a fork. Put the wine in which the bread crumbs were soaked and 4 tablespoons of the consommé in the bottom of the dish and bake, basting frequently, for about 45 to 50 minutes, or until cooked through. Pour the remaining 1 cup boiling consommé around the dish and scrape into it the little bits adhering to the sides. Serve immediately.
Iranian Broiled Lamb
4 to 6 servings
Among the Sunday repertoire of roasts at home was a shoulder of New Zealand lamb cooked until crusty brown on the outside and gray inside—but the lean meat was still juicy because of a good layer of fat underneath the skin. In winter, this was served with roast potatoes and a thick white onion sauce; in spring and summer, with new potatoes and either a mint sauce or red currant jelly. I still like lamb in England that way, for nostalgic reasons, I suppose. I use Julia Child’s wonderful recipe for a roast leg of lamb, seasoned with mustard and rosemary, cooked to medium rare, or this broiled lamb recipe from Roberta Schneiderman. Roberta, a good friend and very talented cook, prepared this for me at one of the many delicious dinners I have eaten in her home. Her Iranian friends cut the lamb into cubes and cook it on skewers, alternating the meat with small onions. Of course, this type of marinade is intended to tenderize the tough, stringy lamb that one might expect to find in Iran, or in Mexico for that matter—but whether for tender or for tough lamb, it is delicious.
3 pounds (1.350 kg) lamb, leg or shoulder, butterflied
1 cup (250 mL) plain yogurt
6 tablespoons lemon juice
1 large onion, thinly sliced (I prefer white onions)
2 teaspoons dried mint leaves (or, if preferred, 2 tablespoons roughly chopped fresh mint leaves)
1 scant teaspoon sea salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Butter or olive oil for broiling
Pierce the meat all over with the point of a sharp knife. Mix together the yogurt, lemon juice, onion, and mint leaves, season to taste with salt and pepper, and pour over the meat. Leave the meat in the refrigerator for a minimum of 24 hours and a maximum of 72. Turn the meat over each day.
Remove the lamb from the marinade and pat dry with paper towels. Discard the marinade. Dot the lamb with butter or oil and place under a heated broiler. Cook on one side for about 5 minutes, turn, dot with a little more butter or oil, and continue broiling until it is the color you like it—about 5 minutes on each side for medium rare.
Slice the meat downward across the grain and serve. I often sprinkle it with chopped coriander and serve with cooked bulgur (see page 78).
Syrian Yogurt Sauce with Cooked Meat
3 to 4 servings
Here is an interesting fresh sauce for cubes of leftover cooked meat—it’s especially good with cooked lamb or chicken. If you add more meat stock and leave out the meat, it can be served as a soup. The recipe comes from a Syrian friend and fine cook, Norma Shehadi.
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small white onion, finely chopped, about 1/2 cup (125 mL)
1 egg, very well beaten
2 cups (500 mL) plain yogurt
1/4 cup (65 mL) strong meat broth (optional)
2 heaped cups (650 mL) cubed, cooked meat
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 teaspoon dried mint
Heat the butter in a skillet, add the onion, and cook until a deep golden brown. Set aside and keep warm. Stir the beaten egg into the yogurt, put in a saucepan, and cook over medium-low heat, stirring all the time, until it begins to bubble and thicken slightly, about 5 minutes. Add the broth (optional), meat cubes, and seasoning and continue cooking until the meat is well warmed through, about 5 minutes. Put on a warmed serving dish and sprinkle with the dried mint. I often serve this with brown rice or cooked bulgur (see page 78).
Notes
*A traditional accompaniment for roast chicken or turkey in England.
*Filling for 15 small tacos.