[aka crispy pork knuckles, potato dumplings, red cabbage]

 

Somewhere, while doing research for this meal, I came across a reference to a Bavarian proverb intended to reassure a cook worried about how large a knuckle to use: ‘‘S is ned, wia grous’ s is, aba wia guad’ s is.‘, it goes, at least as I translated it from the English into Boarisch, with some online help. I think the English went something like, ‘It’s not how big it is, but how good it is’.

Barry and I both had numerous occasions to vouch for the goodness of Schweinhaxe, and we’ve never had one that was too small – or too large – and they’ve all been very good.

The difference between Eisbein and Schweinshaxe may not always be hard and fast (puns intended), but basically Eisbein, often associated with Berlin, is a cured or smoked (gepökelt oder geräuchertes) knuckle, and Schweinshaxe, very big in Bavaria, is fresh pork. They are both deceptively and incredibly delicious.

I’ve cooked pork knuckles before, in that case, 2 years ago, it was smoked Eisbein (beziehungsweise, geräucherte Schweinshaxe); last night I tried my hand at ‘Schweinshaxn‘ (the Bavarian spelling).

I combed my books, paper files, and the internet in order to assemble a working model of a recipe. I ended up using most of that included in the large compendium, ‘Culinaria Germany‘.

We were both delighted with the result, but I should leave the cook (me, and whoever) with a lesson and a suggestion:

1.  At the last minute I realized that the only beer I had on hand wasn’t a dark brew,   which would be preferred in Bayern, but our nor’easter persuaded me not to go fetch another, so I went with the Pavoni, which may have been waiting for its star turn.
2. I was very concerned ahead of time with getting the skin crispy, but only succeeded partially; with hindsight, I believe that finishing the knuckles on a grill pan might have produced the ideal result.

I’ve included images of the vegetables in the pan after the meat had been browned, and another which shows the hocks returned to the pan, before being placed in the oven.

• two 24-ounce pork knuckles from Flying Pigs Farm, left sitting upright inside the refrigerator overnight, their sides left bare, tops covered with plastic wrap, removed the next day, rinsed, patted dry, the skin scored to the extent possible (it’s very tough, especially after drying out some), to increase the chances of it becoming crispy, rubbed on all surfaces with the open side of a large clove of garlic from Tamarack Hollow Farm and a mixture of sea salt and freshly-ground pepper, toothpicks inserted to help keep the skin and meat lined up together, seared thoroughly in veal lard (rendered months ago from fat purchased from Consider Bardwell Farm and then frozen), inside a very heavy enameled cast iron dutch oven, removed, and diced soup vegetables (onion from Tamarack Hollow Farm, celery from Foragers, ‘Purple Haze’ carrots from Norwich Meadows Farm, young leeks from Lucky Dog Organic Farm), some Lucky Dog celery greens, sprigs of Italian parsley from Eataly, 2 Sicilian bay leaves from Buon Italia, and half a dozen bruised juniper berries were added to the pan, stirred and sautéed briefly, followed by one cup of fresh water, the pot covered with its self-basting lid, placed inside a preheated (325º F) oven, for about 2 1/4 hours, basting every half hour with at least half a bottle of beer (ideally any dark beer, but I only had a light Pavoni), the pot removed from the oven, which was turned up to 450º, the Haxen removed to a smaller, low-sided, oval enameled cast iron pan and returned to the oven, and later the broiler, to become crispy (watching carefully all along), while the remainder of the beer was added to the large Dutch oven in which the pork had been braising with the vegetables, the uncovered pot boiled over a high flame until the liquid had reduced somewhat, when it was seasoned with salt and pepper, strained through a sieve into a warm sauceboat (the vegetables put aside and retained for use in another meal), the knuckles arranged on plates and coated with some of the sauce, the remainder placed on the table

If you think you’d like a tasty savory carbohydrate with the texture of mom’s sponge cake, you’ll love Kartoffelklöße (also Kartoffelknödel) as much as we do. They may also be one of the easiest side dishes ever, as long as you have access to a great market like Schaller & Weber.

• four frozen Kartoffelklöße (potato dumplings) from Schaller & Weber, defrosted the day before, boiled for about 12 minutes in salted water, drained and arranged on the plates, some of the Schweinshaxn sauce ladled on top

Here I’ve used the image of cabbage in the greenmarket that appeared on this blog once before, but then it was to illustrate a post about a meal which incorporated only a leaf or two. In fact I had bought this head almost a full month ago (winter vegetables, while limited in their variety, are often very forgiving about home storage issues), so the picture probably deserved a revisit.

For the red cabbage I began with a recipe published by Martha Stewart because I didn’t have enough time for the more authentic Mimi Sheraton German version, however I found myself sweetening it near the end (to relate better to the Bavarian elements in the rest of the meal)

• a little veal and duck fat from earlier dinners, heated to medium-high heat in an enameled cast iron pan, then one 24-ounce red cabbage from Hoeffner Farms, finely-sliced, and several small roughly-chopped shallots from Norwich Meadows Farm (and one small ‘red wing’ onion from Keith’s Farm) added and cooked, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage had softened slightly (about 15 minutes), after that some salt, lemon juice, local apple cider vinegar from Face Farm were added, plus a sprinkling of freshly-ground black pepper, the heat reduced and the mixture cooked about 10 minutes more, or until the cabbage was wilted and the shallots softened, a little turbinado sugar added and stirred in, followed by a few tablespoons of a mix of raisins, and some red current jelly, all stirred into the pan

 

• the wine was a German (Baden) red, Blauer Spätburgunder Tschuppen 2013
• the music was Anton Bruckner’s Symphony No. 8, Daniel Barenboim conducting the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra

We love the innovative pastas, often with locally-sourced-ingredients, produced by Brooklyn’s Sfoglini Pasta Shop, and this beet fusilli was no exception, but, and it’s entirely to their credit, I’ve come to the conclusion that the ‘flavored’ products especially can best be appreciated with a minimum of additions. This also makes them ideal as a quickly-prepared and impactful primo.

Also, butter would probably be good. Yeah, butter.

• eight ounces of Sfoglini beet fusilli with a sauce composed of sliced segments of celery from Foragers and spring onions from Norwich Meadows Farm, a pinch of home-dried golden Habanada chili purchased fresh from Norwich Meadows Farm last year, a very small amount of dried peperoncino Calabresi secchi from Buon Italia, all the ingredients heated in a little olive oil inside a high-sided tin-lined copper pan until softened or they had become aromatic, the pasta then slipped into the pan, stirred with some reserved pasta water until the sauce had emulsified, divided into two shallow bowls, sprinkled with toasted home-made breadcrumbs, scattered with micro arugula from Windfall Farms, a bit more olive oil drizzled inside the bowls around the edges of the pasta
• the wine was a California (Clarksburg) white, Karen Birmingham 2015 Pinot Grigio
• the music was Mozart’s ‘Die Zauberflöte’, in a performance by La Petite Bande, conducted by Sigiswald Kuijken, with soloists Isolde Siebert, Suzie LeBlanc, Christoph Genz, Cornelius Hauptmann, Stephan Genz, Marie Kuijken, Philip Defrancq, and Stephan Schreckenberger

We had planned to go out to dinner with visiting relatives this night, but after the exertions of the Women’s March they had begged off, pleading fatigue. There was no time to pick up the ingredients for a substitute, but fortunately I had a package of very good pasta in the freezer, which I try to always have on hand for just such ’emergencies’.

• a 10-ounce package of frozen Rana portobello-mushroom-and-ricotta-filled ravioli from Eataly, boiled in a large pot of water for two minutes, drained and slipped into a high-sided tin-lined pan, in which a little sliced celery from Foragers, an equal amount of sliced baby leek from Lucky Dog Organic Farm, a large pinch of golden home-dried Habanada pepper, also from Norwich meadows (acquired fresh last season), had been heated for a few minutes, little more than sweating the vegetables, everything stirred together over a low flame with some of the reserved pasta water, seasoned with freshly-ground Tellicherry pepper, sprinkled with a little scissored chives from Two Guys form Woodbridge and chopped parsley and mint form Eataly, the pasta and sauce placed in shallow bowls and scattered with toasted pine nuts from Whole Foods Market, and topped with micro arugula from Windfall Farms
• the wine was an Italian (Tuscany) red, Ciacci Piccolomini d’Aragona Toscana Rosso 2013
• the music was Vivaldi’s ‘Teuzzone’, performed by Jordi Savall’s Le Concert des Nations 

I don’t often cook a whole fish. I’m very comfortable with cooking these wonderful creatures, but a whole fish still seems a little scary. Actually, after the experience of this meal, I realize that it’s the process of filleting that may be the most frightening part.

There’s also the thing about how I ended up cooking it: While I admit that I probably should have broiled this excellent porgy, and my reason for not doing so may have been irrational, I just didn’t feel comfortable about leaving it that far out of sight during what I still regard as a very sensitive period in the cooking process.

In the end the fish was totally wonderful, even if the presentation, thanks to my inexperience, was something less than I had hoped for.

 

I’ve included this less-than-exciting picture of the red kale here mostly as testimonial to the remarkable husbandry our local farmers: We are now in January and I’m still able to bring home at least a limited variety of fresh green vegetables. This member of the noble and enormous family Brassicaceae was purchased January 13, and it may be at least as remarkable for having stayed in shape in our refrigerator for a full week after that.

• one cleaned whole 25-ounce porgy (sparidae, pogy, pagrus, mishcup, sea bream, sheepshead, scup, orata, Seebrassen, dorade, besugo, or havsruda, among other appellations) from Pure Vida Seafood, washed and dried, tail and fins removed, head left on, the cavity stuffed with thin slices of lemon and parsley sprigs, the body coated with olive oil, lemon juice, sea salt and freshly-ground pepper, pan grilled in a long cast iron pan over medium-high flame[s], turning once, fora bout 17 minutes, removed and filleted, each section arranged on a plate, sprinkled with chopped mint and parsley from Eataly and scissored chive from Two Guys from Woodbridge, drizzled with olive oil and a little more lemon juice
• red kale from Norwich Meadows Farm, sautéed in olive oil in which 2 bruised and halved garlic cloves from Tamarack Hollow Farm had first been allowed to sweat and barely begin to brown, the greens seasoned with salt, pepper, and a little more olive oil
• the wine was a Portuguese (Dão) white, Quinta dos Roques Encruzado, Dão 2014, from Astor Wines
• the music was Alfred Schnittke’s ‘Concerto Grosso for Cello No. 2, with Torleif Thedéen, cello, Lev Markiz conducting the Malmö Symphony Orchestra 

It was a very German meal, for no particular reason. Thinking about it retroactively however, I could say there was the relationship between the date (the eve of an installation of a proto-fascist regime in Washington) and the historical memory which recalls the food culture of the nation which was the last one to pass over that line.

It was also real comfort food, a meal would be very familiar to most Germans: nothing fancy. I think it gave us both a little comfort, if only for the evening.

• a section of Sülze [we ended up eating twice the amount shown, it was so good] from Schaller & Weber, served with a little sliced red onion from Norwich Meadows Farm; 4 Backyard Farms Maine ‘cocktail tomatoes’ from Whole Foods; and some micro arugula from Windfall Farms, drizzled with good olive oil
• slices of a ‘corn rye’ boule (‘unbromated wheat flour’, rye flour, caraway, rolled in cornmeal, and all grains local) from Hot Bread Kitchen, along with some wonderful, rich Kerrygold Pure Irish Butter (with12 grams of total fat per tablespoon [virtually all other brands of butter available in this country have only 11, and it does make a major difference])

The second course was built around leftovers, specifically a mix of leftover cooked vegetables which might normally have been tossed after they had served their first grand purpose in flavoring the meal for which they had first been assembled. I hadn’t tossed them, knowing they could flourish again.

• a combination of chicken and beef broth reconstituted from jars of Better Than Bullion, a very small amount of the juices which remained from the squid we had enjoyed on Wednesday, and the finely-chopped cooked vegetables I had retrieved from the braising liquid that had remained from Sunday’s goat shoulder, all heated together then served in low bowls, garnished with fresh chopped parsley from Eataly
• there was more of the bread, to ensure that all of the soup could be appreciated

• the wine throughout was a French (Alsatian) white, Domaine Joseph Cattin Pinot Blanc Alsace 2015, from Chelsea Wine Vault
• the music throughout was Alfred Schnittke’s ‘Concerto Grosso No. 2’, with Torleif Thedéen (Cello) and Oleh Krysa (Violin), Lev Markiz conducting the Malmö Symphony Orchestra

It was like they’d known each other all their lives; the cephalopods and the pak choy got along famously last night, after only a few minutes of acquaintance, er, ..prep.

Anything fresh and green is hugely appreciated at farmers’ markets in January, so this beautiful vegetable must have gone fast. It was almost mid-afternoon when I arrived at one of my favorite vegetable stalls in Union Square. Unable to be choosey, I ended up with a complete range of sizes; regardless, they all pretty much cook the same.

• a large enameled cast iron pan heated until quite hot, its cooking surface brushed with olive oil, and, when the oil was also quite hot, about 14 ounces of rinsed and dried squid from Blue Moon Fish in the Union Square Greenmarket, bodies and a few tentacles, arranged in it very quickly, immediately sprinkled with some super-pungent dried Sicilian oregano from Buon Italia and part of a crushed dried Sicilian pepperoncino, also from Buon Italia, and a very small bit of home-dried heatless, orange Habanada pepper purchased fresh from Norwich Meadows Farm, followed by a drizzle of a few tablespoons of juice from a local lemon from Fantastic Gardens of Long Island, and some olive oil, the pan placed inside a pre-heated 400º oven and roasted for 4 or 5 minutes, removed, the squid distributed onto 2 plates and ladled with their cooking juices after they had been transferred to a sauce pitcher, with halves of another, tiny local lemon-lime served on the side
• pak choy (also called bok choy) from Norwich Meadows Farm, washed, sliced lengthwise, wilted in olive oil along with 2 garlic cloves from Lucky Dog Organic Farm which had already been browned very lightly in the oil, the greens seasoned with salt and pepper and drizzled with a little more olive oil
• the wine was an Italian (Sicily, Palermo) white, Corvo Insolia 2015 from Philippe Wine and Spirits, on West 23rd Street less than one block from our table
• the music was Mieczyslaw Weinberg ‘s Symphony No. 3, Thord Svedlund conducting the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra

I had been keeping a package of German filled vegetable pasta, ‘Maultauschen‘, in the freezer for just this opportunity.

I had purchased it from Schaller & Weber, the last German food store in old Yorkville, weeks before; it was on the day after the opening of the Second Avenue Subway (conveniently, at least now that its construction is complete, there’s an entrance just outside the store). Last night, looking around for ideas for a meal of pasta, for a break between meat and fish entrées, I remembered that I had both the Maultauschen and the perfect Brühe to serve it in: some rich broth that remained from the braised chevon (goat) shoulder which we had enjoyed on Sunday.

It was a match made in Manhattan, and in fact it might have been possible only in Manhattan. It seems the filled pasta can be found here, but Goat is not a big item in Schwaben, or in Berlin for that matter.

They were absolutely delicious.

• one 10.6-ounce (300 grams) package of frozen Melle’s Best ‘Mini Maultauschen’ – vegetarisch, from Schaller & Weber, boiled in a large amount of water for a very few minutes, drained, slipped into a high-sided tin-line heavy copper pan in which some clear rich goat broth, or Brühe, had already been warmed, the Teigwaren first allowed to get a little friendly with the liquid, both then removed to wide bowls and sprinkled with a little freshly-ground Tellicherery pepper and a little micro purple radish from Two Guys from Windfall Farms scattered over the top
• the wine was a German (Mosel) white, Urban Riesling 2011 from das Weingut St. Urbans-Hof, from Philippe Wine and Spirits on West 23rd Street
• the music was the album, ‘Orfeo Chaman‘, an opera composed and arranged by Christina Pluhar, “a retelling of the Orpheus myth drawing on Baroque music and folksongs from South America to Sicily”, with Nahuel Pennisi in the title role

[still of an ‘Orfeo Chaman’ scene, Pennisi on the left, from Warner Classics]

It was a Sunday dinner, but only remotely related to the kind Mom served in our midwestern dining room in the middle of the last century.

I’ve liked preparing and have enjoyed eating goat in the past, although it hadn’t shown up on our table in a year. Then, a couple weeks ago, on a visit to the Union Square Greenmarket I saw that Consider Bardwell Farm was advertising meat. I’ve bought veal and goat from them before, and the quality of both the meat and the butchery has been excellent. They’re really focused on the production of some very fine cheese, so the goat [chevon] and the veal is something of a special event (I once heard a farmer who only made ewe’s cheese tell a puzzled customer, explaining the appearance of goat meat at her stall, “have to do something with all the boys”).

I asked Paul, of Consider Bardwell, about goat chops, maybe a partial rack, or perhaps some ribs, but he was out of all those cuts by that time of the afternoon, so I picked up with a small roast, a boneless shoulder, to be precise; it weighed but one pound. I had never cooked a goat shoulder, but I knew it would require a long, slow braise to tenderize the meat. I hit the files, came up with this recipe, and it was more or less the process I used.

It was an interesting operation, and the chevon tasted very good, but neither of us thinks the time and the effort it required would be worth repeating.

Unfortunately (or not) there was too much liquid remaining in the pot to be quickly reduced for a sauce, so I improvised and produced something more like an au jus, enriched with a little rich Kerrygold Pure Irish Butter. It was actually very good (see the mention of veal tongue stock below, in the list of ingredients).

The next time I’ll hold out for those chops, maybe a partial rack, or perhaps some ribs, and yet I know I’d still be a sucker for something different.

• the ingredients for the tiny braise included a one-pound boneless rolled goat shoulder from Consider Bardwell Farm, which I daintily bound in butcher’s twine (I should have taken a picture of the neat pattern); Pimentón de la Vera dulce, in which the roast was rubbed, along with salt and pepper, and left for an hour before the cooking began); garlic and onion from Lucky Dog Organic Farm; celery from Foragers; carrot from Norwich Meadows Farm; chicken broth made with Better Than Bullion chicken base; and, instead of veal stock, veal tongue stock remaining after this March meal and frozen at the time; and parsley from Eataly
• about a pound of parsnips from Tamarack Hollow Farm, cooked along the lines of this recipe, using local Linden blossom honey from Tremblay Apiaries; Aceto Cesare Bianco white wine vinegar from Buon Italia; and chives from Two Guys from Woodbridge
• mizuna from Norwich Meadows Farm, wilted in a little olive oil, seasoned with Maldon salt and freshly-ground Tellicherry pepper
• the wine was a California (Lodi) red, Karen Birmingham Zinfandel Lodi 2014, from Naked wines
• the music was Paul Dessau’s 1974 opera, ‘Einstein’, a 1976 recording from its premier production in East Berlin, Otmar Suitner conducting the Berlin State Opera Chorus,  Berlin Staatskapelle members; it’s a very interesting artifact, with some “bleakly expressive” [Gramophone] music; the text and the music are discussed in these three contrasting reviews: Complete Review, Gramophone, and Suppressed Music

Paul Dessau, Los Angeles 1948, photographed by Curt Bois

 

[image of Dessau from kuenste-im-exil.de]

We were later in rising than usual today, so we couldn’t disguise the event this time: breakfast-cum-lunch had simply become lunch by the time we sat down.

• eggs from truly pastured chickens, and thick bacon from Millport Dairy Farm, Backyard Farms Maine ‘cocktail tomatoes’ from Whole Foods, toast from loaves of a Balthazar sourdough rye from Schaller & Weber and a Campagne Bien Cuit from Foragers, micro sorrel from Two Guys from Woodbridge, parsley from Eataly, a small amount of a sliced baby leek from Lucky Dog Organic Farm, and a little bit of powdered form L’eKama
• the music was Hanns Eisler’s ‘Deutsche Sinfonie’, Lothar Zagrosek conducting the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra and the Ernst Senff Choir [we purchased the CD in Berlin some years ago]

I had decided to take a break between two strongly-flavored meals, so my thoughts went to a simple pasta, and one of Luca’s fresh pastas in particular, my idea being that many of his specials could be best enjoyed with the very lightest of additions.

When I arrived at the counter I saw a honey and ricotta ravioli, something I hadn’t come across before. The pasta assistant suggested a brown butter sauce would be enough. But enough is sometimes not enough, so my mind strayed to the beautiful young mizuna I had at home, and once I had begun assembling the dish, to thoughts of including some freshly-ground Tellicherry pepper and a dash of my magic dried golden Habanada as well.

It was delicious, but very rich, and, yes, it was a little sweet, so the next time I’ll prepare a smaller amount, and serve it as a primo, following it with a small grilled steak, or agnello alla scottadito.

• about 12 ounces of ravioli ricotta e miele from Luca Donofrio‘s fresh pasta shop inside Eataly, boiled briefly then slipped into a tin-lined high-sided heavy copper pan in which several tablespoons of rich Kerrygold Pure Irish Butter had been heated with a dash of home-dried heatless, orange Habanada pepper and some fresh;y-ground tellicherry pepper until brown, then stirred gently until the pasta was covered with the butter, served in shallow bowls lined with mizuna from Norwich Meadows Farm, greens and pasta drizzled with a bit of olive oil
• the wine was an Italian (Veneto) white, Il Conte Pinot Grigio 2015
• the music was Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Symphony No. 1, Thord Svedlund conducting the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra