Monday, December 19, 2016

Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew

The selection of produce at the farmers market drastically scales back as we plunge into the onset of winter, like a “last vegetable standing” survivalist showdown. What remains are the the gnarly subterranean dwellers; parsnips, turnips, beets, daikon, potatoes, onions to name a few. With their knobby torsos and listless dirt-covered exteriors, these vegetables look like the aftermath of a catastrophe—a paltry display huddled under a few lonely tents, their dismalness echoed by the fleeting bundled passerbys hurrying through the cold and wind towards their final destinations. Note how we don’t pick up a parsnip, caressing it lovingly with our hands like we might an heirloom tomato or summer peach. No, we spend a split second weighing the necessity of the parsnip versus the consequence of taking off our gloves, and if the former triumphs, plunder it into our bags before sprinting back off into the frigidness.

But how appearances do deceive, because these below ground tuberous, taproots and bulbs are truly the pearls of produce come wintertime. A quick scrub to remove that matted dirt, maybe a peel? and 40 minutes later—diced, roasted, with nothing more than a dash of olive oil, salt and pepper—these vegetables become regal.  Warm jewel tones of gold, bronze, and deep eggplant simply glow, vibrant with their brown caramelized corners. And the taste! I marvel at the complexity of these vegetables, sweet as sugar with an earthiness—a heartiness—that keeps them in check. They have substance, thanks to the cooked-through starch embodying an almost burly, toothsome quality. I could eat this preparation for days on end, constantly enthralled by the luxuriousness of such trivial ingredients, before ever finding it tiresome.
And to think that what I described is the root vegetable’s most basic preparation, the lowest recipe on the totem pole. Imagine the possibilities with a little spice, a little herb. Imagine the opposite of the first scene I described, and instead, the kitchen that all those bundled people were running to, the warm glow of the heat, the light, the coziness of being inside on a freezing day. Imagine on their dinner table, a heaping bowl of Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew.
One of the most gnarled of all the root vegetables, the rutabaga is round and squat with an ombre exterior that fades from purple to cream. Its preparation is identical to that of a turnip, but upon cooking, it tastes much sweeter, like an extremely rich yellow potato. That being said, if you cannot find rutabaga, turnips are a perfectly acceptable alternative for this recipe. I actually used both.  This recipe confines its taproots to carrots and rutabaga, but feel free to add other types such as kohlrabi, celeriac root, and parsnips, too.
In my book, the hallmark of a successful stew recipe is one that fulfills its duty of being hearty, robust, and satisfying without also being excessively fatty or rich. To garner flavor, this stew relies on a plethora of Middle Eastern spices and other basic pantry items, like tomato paste and red wine, for acidity. I substituted vegetable broth for the beef broth, which also contributed to the lighter feel.
Initially, I felt like the stew was missing some acidity, and tried to compensate with extra tomato paste and wine. By the next day though, I realized the flavors just need some time to sit, and a simple swirl of red wine vinegar before serving would do the trick. (If you like tomato-based stews though, I do suggest doubling the paste).  Taste-testing is key to this recipe, depending on your preferences regarding salt, acidity, and herbs (I added dried thyme, too, which I highly recommend). If you can, make this stew a day ahead for optimal flavor fusing. 

I served this stew over a bed of barley, and it hit the spot completely, getting better every single day as the flavors continued to meld. Now, instead of mourning the end of the harvest season, rendering obsolete some of Fall’s greatest hits, I relish the thought of exploring the culinary offerings of these versatile roots in the upcoming months.

Hearty Beef and Rutabaga Stew (slightly tweaked from Dishing up the Dirt)
 Serves 4

1 lb sirloin or strip steak, trimmed and cut into 1-inch cubes (preferably grass-fed)
½ tsp salt, divided
½ tsp ground pepper
2 Tbsp olive oil, divided
1 lb rutabaga, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
3-4 medium sized carrots, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves of garlic, chopped
2 -4 Tbsp tomato paste (use the higher quantity if you prefer an overt tomato flavor)
1 tsp paprika
¾ tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp ground turmeric
½ tsp ground coriander
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
¾ tsp fresh thyme (optional)
2 Tbsp all-purpose flour
½ cup red wine
3 cups low-sodium beef or vegetable broth
minced parsley for serving
dash of red wine vinegar for serving
Pearled barley, farro, or crusty thick bread to accompany

1. Sprinkle steak with ¼ tsp salt and pepper. Heat 1 Tbsp oil in a large dutch oven or saucepan over medium heat. Add the steak and cook, stirring frequently, until no longer pink on the outside, about 4 minutes. Transfer the steak to a plate.
2. Add the remaining 1 Tbsp oil to the pan over medium heat. Add rutabaga,
carrots, onion, garlic, tomato paste, paprika, cinnamon, turmeric, coriander, cayenne, thyme,
and remaining ¼ tsp salt. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion begins to soften and the mixture is fragrant, about 5 minutes.
3. Add the flour and cook, stirring, for 1 minute more. Add the red wine and continue to cook, stirring to break up any bits that have stuck to the bottom of the pan. Add the broth and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rutabaga and carrots are
tender, 10-12 minutes.
4. Add the steak and any accumulated juices to the pan. Reduce the heat to medium
and cook the steak through, about 2 minutes longer.

5. Before serving, taste soup and adjust seasonings to taste. Divide the stew between bowls (over barley/farro, or with bread) and top with a swirl of red wine vinegar and plenty of chopped parsley.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Best Ever Chicken Noodle Soup

Despite having a blog with a yiddish appellation, it took this Jew two months shy of 29 years to accomplish two cooking staples of the chosen people. First, make chicken stock from scratch, and second, use schmaltz to form matzo balls. Sacrilege! You and my grandmothers cry. The truth is, I was scared of the process. The rudimentary details seemed daunting to me. Buying a whole chicken. Dissembling that whole chicken. Separating the chicken fat. Utilizing the chicken fat.  As the daughter of a nutritionist and sister of a lifelong vegetarian, I can't say I have a lot of meat-handling under my belt. As far as cooking fats go, mine usually pours smoothly out of glass bottle with the words "extra virgin" etched in front.

The funny thing is, its those very details that make stock-making so darn easy. First and foremost, your butcher (that includes guys behind the meat counter at Whole Foods) can chop up that chicken for you.  Mine even separated the edible parts from the stock-only parts, and wrapped up the liver (shudder), isolated from everything else. That being said, I did find the process of using (almost) the whole animal primitively satisfying; and the whole no-part-goes-to-waste concept is undoubtedly sustainable. Price-wise too, you get such better bang for your buck with the full bird.

If the idea of chopping onions, carrots, celery, and herbs to flavor your stock—and then repeating the process all over again for an actual soup—sounds like too much work, here's a newsflash: The first part doesn't exist. When you make stock, you throw in everything whole. Onions in the skin? Yes. Carrots unpeeled? Si señor.

Also, there is no work! You throw all this stuff in a pot and let it simmer for two hours. Only two! Then, at the end, you have a fantastic, from scratch, aromatic broth—along with the most tender, moist, fall-off-the-bone chicken you could ever imagine. It's a total win win situation. I have already become a total broth-from-scratch convert. And, like a good Jewish girl, stored my schmaltz in the freezer for next occasion's matzo ball making. Now, Grandmas are proud.

So what's the secret to why this chicken noodle soup is the "best ever"? It's not a secret, but rather a formula; one of those foods where the homemade, from-scratch version is truly better. If your stock/broth is not from a box, it too can be the best chicken soup ever. Also, this recipe is from Joan Nathan, rebbe of Jewish cooking.  She pairs her stock with a kick-ass matzo ball recipe, but for the purposes of this post, let's stick to classic chicken noodle soup.  It's cold, pitch black out by 4:30pm, 80% of the people you know have a cold—all things begging for a batch of body and soul warming via bowl.

Best Ever Chicken Noodle Soup (from Joan Nathan via Food52)
Serves 6

1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds)
3 large onions (2 for stock, 1 for soup)
6 parsnips (4 for stock, 2 for soup)
5 stalks celery (2 for stock, 3 for soup)
10 carrots (6 for stock, 4 for soup)
6 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley (optional, I didn’t use)
6 Tbsp snipped dill, divided
6 oz spaghetti or fusilli
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp coarse ground black pepper
2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil (EVOO)
Thick, crusty bread for serving; like sourdough

1. Put the chicken and enough water to cover by two inches (about 4 quarts) in a large pot and bring the water to a boil. Skim off the froth as it rises to the top.

2. Add 2 onions (whole and unpeeled), 4 parsnips (unpeeled), 2 stalks celery, 6 carrots (unpeeled), parsley (if using), 4 tablespoons of the dill, and the salt and pepper. Half-cover and simmer for at least an hour and up to 2 hours, adjusting the seasoning to taste.

3. Refrigerate for 2 to 3 hours or overnight so the liquid solidifies. When the fat rises to the top, skim it off (reserve if making matzo balls).

4. Strain the soup. Set aside the chicken and discard the vegetables.  Remove skin from chicken and shred meat into pieces with your hands (because the chicken is so soft, this should be really easy). Discard the bones and any pieces too gizzardy to eat.

5. Transfer stock to another pot or bowl. In your now-empty pot, heat EVOO over medium heat. Peel and dice the remaining onion, add it to pot along with the garlic. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until garlic is fragrant and onions start to become translucent.

6. Peel and chop remaining carrots and parsnips. Chop celery. Add to the pot. Sprinkle with ample salt and pepper. Cook for 7 more minutes, stirring frequently, until vegetables soften.

7. Pour chicken stock into pot. Bring to a boil. Add shredded chicken and pasta. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook per pasta package directions, stirring pasta frequently. Just before serving, add the remaining snipped dill (I used closer to 3-4 Tbsp here because I happen to love dill). If needed, add more salt and/or pepper before serving. Accompany with a large slice of toasted bread.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

Cheese Pumpkin Salad with Chipotle-Honey Viniagrette

I must start off by immediately debunking the notion that a cheese pumpkin has anything to do with cheese. As put by Edible East End, "there is nothing cheesy about this squash except for its squat wheel-of-cheese-rind looks and its stinky reputation for sitting on front porches for Halloween." However, that porch-dwelling existence pales in comparison to the cheese pumpkin's robust culinary potential. Or, I guess should say, culinary history. Documented from the 1800s until the 1960's, this Long Island varietal was considered the acclaimed filling for every Thanksgiving pie. Said D.D. Tooker in the 1855 issue of Michigan Farmer, "the cheese pumpkin is the only true article in my opinion for making the most delicious of Yankee notions— pumpkin pie—and I am not alone in my opinions, for I have yet to see the individual who would not agree with me in this matter."

OK D.D., I believe you—everyone loved the cheese. But in the 1970's, a Long Island seed saver named Ket Ettlinger started noticing that the treasured varietal was becoming difficult to find. In a panic for the future of his autumn pies, soups, and stews, Ettlinger shared his prized seedlings with a squash seed breeder and established a regional seed bank in Long Island to conserve the heirloom.  Which, in turn, established the Long Island Cheese Pumpkin Project to "preserve, restore, and bring culinary awareness of this local variety." Long live the cheese!

Did I know the pumpkin's fascinating history and near clash with extinction when I purchased it at the Union Square Greenmarket this week? Didn't have the faintest idea.  Rather, annoyed at the toll the peeling, chopping, unseeding, and cooking of a plethora of squash varieties was taking on my manicures, I was on the hunt for a cucurbita was an easy prep. At Race Farm, adjacent to the whole squashes and pumpkins, I noticed giant, moon slivers of orange flesh and auburn rind—like a giant crescent of cantaloupe.  Roast and eat as is, I was told, which sounded like minimal nail polish-chipping territory to me.

I roasted the cheese pumpkin crescent with some peppers, carrots, and parsnips. Recalling the beginning of another squash recipe I enjoy immensely, I sautéed some onion and jalapeno in garlic and cumin while I waited for the veggies to roast. Into a giant bowl went whatever was in the fridge for the week's salad: black beans, goat cheese, spinach. I've always loved cucurbita paired with chipotles, so into the blender went my best guess for a chipotle vinaigrette: chipotles in juice, lime juice, orange juice, red wine vinegar, oregano, olive oil. I barely even thought about the salad as I packaged it up for a week of take-to-work lunches. But when I tried it the next day, I was blown away by the results. My intentions were haphazard at best, but the salad was absolutely terrific.  And what stole the show? You guessed it, D.D. The cheese pumpkin!

I ate this salad warm, and it was a belly-filling goodness: earthy, vibrant autumn vegetables; creamy goat cheese; crunchy spinach; tangy spicy chipotle vinaigrette. Definitely the most vivacious lunch salad I've had in a long time. Always a fan of the big batch salad, I can't recommend this one highly enough. Plus, you'll aid the Long Island Cheese Pumpkin Project's mission by giving some love to our local cheese pumpkin. Next stop: pumpkin pie.

Cheese Pumpkin Salad with Chipotle-Honey Vinaigrette
Serves 4


For the salad:
1 large wedge cheese pumpkin (about 1.5 lb)
2 carrots, peeled and cut into bitesized chunks
2 parsnips, peeled and cut into bitesized chunks
2 large red or yellow peppers, chopped
1 small onion, diced
1 jalapeno, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
½ tsp cumin
1 15 oz can black beans
½ c goat cheese crumbles
5 oz baby spinach

For the vinaigrette:
2 chipotles in adobo sauce
juice of 1 lime
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
1 ½ Tbsp honey
½ tsp oregano
1 to 2 Tbsp EVOO


  1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a large baking sheet with tin foil and EVOO spray (or 1 Tbsp EVOO). Add pumpkin, carrots, parsnips, and peppers, sprinkle with salt, and roast for ~30 min, flipping once, until veggies are browned around the edges.
  2. While the vegetables are roasting, heat 1 tbsp EVOO in a small skillet. Add the onion and garlic, cook for 1-2 minutes. Add the jalapeno, cumin, and a dash of salt, stirring frequently until onions are translucent and have lost their bite, 5 to 7 minutes. Set aside.
  3. Make the dressing. Combine all vinaigrette ingredients plus a generous sprinkle of salt and pepper in a blender. Adjust seasonings to taste. 
  4. To assemble the salad, chop the cheese pumpkin wedge into large chunks. Mix the veggies from the oven with the veggies from the skillet, plus the black beans. Serve over a bed of spinach, and top with 1 to 2 Tbsp of goat cheese (per serving) and a few spoonfuls of vinaigrette.