Esto no es una mole

There was no chocolate, and it’s pretty clearly a European formula.

The headline read, “Wine-Braised Goat Shanks with Tomatoes and Oregano“, so it just screamed holiday dinner.

It was December 25.

The recipe was new to me. I found it on a Seattle-based locavore food site, ‘Edible Seattle‘, where it was credited to an area goat farmer. It may not have been the fanciest pedigree, but it was absolutely delicious, made a great presentation, and it was almost entirely stressless (nearly all the work was done hours before it was served).

• two tablespoons of olive oil heated over a medium flame inside a large antique (possibly 200 years old) French newly-[re]tinned copper daubière, and two perfect 16-ounce goat shanks from LynnHaven Goat Farm in the Union Square Greenmarket, patted dry, placed inside and browned on all sides, turning several times, for about 15 minutes altogether, transferred to a plate resting on the flat unencumbered top of my 1936 Magic Chef oven that had already been  heated to 325º, then a mixture of one medium red onion, 3 chopped medium orange carrots from The Grandpa farm, [there should also ,have been some chopped celery in this list, but I didn’t have any, so I substituted, for no particular reason other than that I had it, one peeled and chopped golden beet from Norwich Meadows Farm], 2 cloves of peeled rocambole garlic from Keith’s Farm, and one small chopped aji dulce yellow seasoning pepper from Eckerton Hill Farm (me tweaking the recipe) added to the pot, the vegetables seasoned with salt and pepper and cook for 10 minutes, stirring often, until soft, and a heaping tablespoon of chopped fresh oregano from Stokes Farm, 3 small fresh bay leaves from Chelsea’s West Side Market, and 8 ounces from a can of excellent Mutti peeled Italian (Parma) plum tomatoes, crushed, one and half cups of red wine (Stefano di Blasi Toscana 2018), and one cup of a very good chicken stock, made with Better Than Bullion, added, the liquid brought to a simmer, the seared goat shanks returned, a buttered piece of parchment cut to the beautiful rounded rectangle shape of the pot placed on the top of the goat and vegetables (to reduce evaporation, making for a richer daube), the pot covered and placed inside the oven to cook, turning the shanks once, for 2 to 3 hours, or until the meat was very tender, the meat then placed on a platter, or inside an au gratin and placed in the now merely warm oven (or on top of the oven, tented with aluminum foil, and the rich liquids remaining strained, discarding the solids (but retained for use in another meal, in a very substantial soup), the braising juices returned to the pot, where they were brought to a strong simmer over high heat and cooked, stirring occasionally, until reduced almost to the consistency of maple syrup, which might be about 20 minutes, the shanks then returned to the daubière, one at a time, rolled in the sauce to coat, then arranged on warm plates and served  drizzled with the remaining sauce
• one cup of coarsely-ground Iroquois White Corn Project white corn flour from the Greenmarket Regional Grains Project stall in the Greenmarket) poured slowly, while whisking constantly, into 3 cups of water and one of whole milk, with one teaspoon of sea salt added, that had been heated to a simmer inside an enameled cast iron Michael Lax Copco dutch oven I’e had for half a century, the heat reduced once all had been added, and the mixture simmered, stirring, eventually using a wooden spoon, until it had thickened and the meal tasted cooked, probably 20 minutes altogether, the heat turned off and 3 tablespoons of rich butter, 1/3 cup of heavy cream, and 2 ounces of a gorgonzola dolce from Buon Italia, added and stirred until the cheese had melted, seasoned with salt and pepper to taste, served alongside the shanks  [Note: polenta can be prepared ahead of time, kept warm in a double boiler over low heat for maybe 2 hours, then stirring in a little additional boiling water and stirring just before serving]
• a small bunch of sweet baby December collards tender collards from Windfall Farms, leaves and stems roughly cut, washed several times and drained, transferred to a smaller bowl very quickly in order to retain as much of the water clinging to them as possible, braised inside a heavy medium size antique tin-lined copper pot in which 2 halved cloves of garlic had first been allowed to sweat in some olive oil, finished with sea salt and freshly ground pepper, drizzled with a bit of olive oil
• the wine was a great Italian (Campania/Montevetrano) red, Colli di Salerno 2013 (cabernet sauvignon, aglianico, merlot), from Bottlerocket

There was a dessert, also stressless, since it only had to be assembled.

• water buffalo milk ice cream, with fig pieces, from the remarkable people of Riverine Ranch in the Greenmarket, each portion served with a heavily-whole wheat flour Campiello Digestive from Buon Italia

 

• the music throughout the meal – and beyond, was Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, with John Eliot Gardiner and the English Baroque Soloists

“squid | skwid |

noun (plural same or squids)

an elongated, fast-swimming cephalopod mollusk with ten arms (technically, eight arms and two long tentacles), typically able to change color.

But that’s always only a part of the story.

• exactly one pound of fresh squid, mostly bodies, because someone else had just bought all the tentacles, from American Seafood Company, rinsed and very carefully dried, quickly arranged inside a large rectangular enameled cast iron pan that had been heated on top of the stove until quite hot and its the cooking surface brushed with a little olive oil once it had, sprinkled with a heaping teaspoon of super-pungent dried Sicilian oregano from Buon Italia, local Long Island waters sea salt from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, freshly-ground black pepper, and 4 or 5 quite small chopped aji dulce seasoning peppers from Eckerton Hill Farm, followed by a full 3 tablespoons of juice from an organic Chelsea Whole Foods California lemon and a splash of olive oil, the pan placed inside a 400º oven and the squid roasted for just 5 minutes, by which time their bodies had ballooned somewhat, removed and arranged on 2 plates and ladled with the cooking juices that had been transferred from the pan to a sauce boat
• 10 ounces of small Masquerade potatoes from Norwich Meadows Farm, scrubbed, boiled unpeeled in generously-salted water until barely cooked through, drained, halved, dried in the still-warm large vintage Corning Pyrex Flameware blue-glass pot in which they had cooked, tossed with a little olive oil, seasoned with salt and pepper, and tossed with micro ruby red chard from Windfall Farms
• tender collards from Tamarack Hollow Farm, leaves and stems roughly cut, washed several times and drained, transferred to a smaller bowl very quickly in order to retain as much of the water clinging to them as possible, braised inside a large, heavy antique tin-lined copper pot in which 2 halved cloves of rocambole garlic from Keith’s Farm had first been allowed to sweat in some olive oil, finished with salt and pepper and a drizzle of olive oil
• the wine was an Italian (Lombardy) white, Lugana, Ca’ Lojera 2018, from Astor Wines
• the music was Lully’s 1677 tragédie en musique, ‘Isis’, performed by Christophe Rousset and his Talens Lyriques

German creole cookery? Yes, and of course it was all good.

Otherwise all I can think to say otherwise is how quickly Barry and I have become comfortable with the idea of traditional German cuisine melded with that of the deep south hundreds of years ago. I wrote a little about it in the post describing our first exposure to the story of Louisiana’s German coast (Deutsche Küste/Côte des Allemands).

• four links of Louisiana German Coast-style spicy Andouille sausage 12 ounces) from Schaller & Weber’s Yorkville store placed inside a large Pyrex Flameware pot, filled with just enough cold water to cover, heated over a medium-high flame until the water had reached a gentle simmer, by which time, now fully cooked, they were removed, drained, and dried on a paper towel before being placed inside one of my prized ancient perfectly seasoned Wagner Ware cast iron pans over high heat (after its surface had been brushed with a very small amount of Mac Nut oil), seared, turning frequently until colored on all sides, then arranged on the plates with that brilliant condiment creation, Inglehoffer  cranberry mustard

• one pound of so of Peter Wilcox potatoes (purple skin, golden flesh) from Windfall Farms, scrubbed, skins left on, halved, tossed with a little olive oil, sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, rosemary leaves from Phillips Farms, a bit of crushed dried Italian myrtle (It. Mirto) leaves from Buon Italia, and the same amount of dry crushed golden habanada pepper, the potatoes arranged, cut side down, on a large Pampered Chef unglazed ceramic pan, roasted at about 350º-375º for about 30 minutes, garnished with Micro red vein sorrel from Two Guys from Woodbridge

• one bunch of tender collards from Keith’s Farm, stripped of most of their stems and fairly roughly cut, washed several times and drained, transferred to a smaller bowl very quickly, in order to retain as much of the water clinging to them as possible, braised inside a large, heavy antique tin-lined copper pot in which 2 halved cloves of ‘Chesnok Red’ garlic from Alewife Farm had first been allowed to sweat in some olive oil, finished with salt and pepper, finished with a drizzle of olive oil
• the wine was a California (North Coast/Mendocino) red, Ondine Chattan Mendocino Memento 2018, from Naked Wines
• the music was an album of music by the Dutch composer Richard Rijnvos, ‘Le rideau se baisse lentement durant toute la musique suivante’, performed  by the Ives Ensemble

We do eat meat occasionally, but we don’t eat like this very often, and I definitely don’t cook like this very often.

Roasts, stews, and long slow braises however do have their satisfactions, especially in colder realms in and colder months, like, well, parts of New York, this month.

One of the other pleasures of a rich meal is in the planning, the anticipation, and the preparation (the last, especially when there have been several (2) days of preparation.

The music is also a part of the experience, and especially if the windows can be closed. On this night it was Busoni’s “Faust’.

And the serendipity! I love turnips, and on the day before I was to prepare a marinade for this goat leg, when I had not yet decided on what to accompany it with, I came across a table display of white turnips in the Union Square Greenmarket, including a number of quite small ones. They were a size I had never cooked before; I may never even have seen such small turnips before, but I had been aware of their existence for decades.  Julia Child wrote about ‘navets’ in her ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking,

“The turnip is a wonderful vegetable when given the treatment required to bring out its delicious qualities. It wants and needs to absorb butter or meat fats, which is why turnips are particularly succulent when finished off in a stew or a braised dish, or in the juices of roasting meat.”  

She was writing something like 60 years ago, mostly for American readers, so she found it necessary to explain that she wasn’t talking about the turnips with which I grew up in the Midwest in the middle of the last century,

“In France rutabagas, or yellow turnips, are practically unheard of as food for humans, but they may be used interchangeably with white turnips.”

She went on to point out that In the country which inspired her career they would be shaped into what was called tourner gousses d’ail ou olives, so of course I always cut my large turnips into little clove of garlic or olive shapes (although larger than the model she referred to).

This past Sunday I finally had the correct size of turnip in my hands, and for the first time ever I simply had to peel them. They started and ended pretty round, so more like olives than gousses d’ail this first time out. Here they are just after I added them to the braise roughly 90 minutes before it was done:

With the turnips, this past Sunday evening, we enjoyed a slowly-cooked leg of goat that had begun with a mirepoix and was braised with the help of some rare aromatic liquids, some of which had been a part of earlier meals.

I began defrosting the 2.64-pound goat leg from Lynnhaven Dairy Goat Farm in the Union Square Greenmarket inside the refrigerator early in the afternoon on Thursday, rubbed the peppercorn/garlic/lemon zest/parsley marinade into the goat leg around noon on Saturday, then returned it to the refrigerator, inside the covered pot in which it would later be braised, removing it 24 hours later, and I placed it in the oven after preparing a mirepoix for it and immersing the goat in 4 different rich liquids shortly after 3 on Sunday.

The pot then remained in the oven for 4 and a half hours.

I used a recipe for braised leg of lamb that had been languishing inside one of my recipe a folders for years; I had spent a good deal of time researching ideas for cooking what isn’t really a very conventional piece of meat. I knew from the beginning however that goat was similar enough to lamb to be readily substituted. In the end I decided to use this fairly straightforward Sam Hayward recipe for a braised leg of lamb, a clipping I had cut out of the New York Times 15 years ago, that I found in front of my nose, in my ‘lamb’ paper file.

The braising liquid was from 4 sources: a good red wine, Marc Isart La Maldicion Tinto de Valdilecha 2017; from Copake Wine Works, a previously-frozen Kassler Braten stock; a veal tongue stock; and a pretty decent low-sodium chicken stock.

Of course the rich, mahogany-colored sauce was pretty awesome.

At the very end I did add something not in the original recipe, a garnish of chopped garlic mustard from Alewife Farm

• one pound of very small white turnips from Norwich Meadows Farm, peeled, joined the goat and the liquids about 90 minutes before the pot was removed from the 250º oven

• one bunch of collard greens, also from Norwich Meadows Farm, stripped of most of their stems, torn into small sections, washed several times and drained, transferred to a smaller bowl very quickly, in order to retain as much of the water clinging to them as possible, braised inside a large, heavy antique tin-lined copper pot in which 2 halved clove of garlic from Chelsea Whole Foods Market had first been allowed to sweat in some olive oil, adding a little of the reserved water along the way as necessary, finished with salt, pepper, finished with a drizzle of olive oil
• the wine was a Greek (Eastern Macedonia and Thrace/Drama) white, En Oeno 2010 (Cabernet Sauvignon 65% / Merlot 30% / Cabernet Franc 5%), from Foragers Market Wine
• the music was a recording of Busoni’s ‘Dr. Faust’, in a performance by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Ferdinand Leitner

Four whole butterfish, enough to serve as an entrée for both of us, set me back all of $1.85 at the Union Square Greenmarket yesterday. I knew they would be cheap; they always are, but I was still shocked when I saw the amount written on the bag. I told Delores, the fisherman’s wife, preparer of the superb seafood items they sell along with the catches themselves, and their acting cashier on busy Saturdays, that there must be a mistake, that there were 4 whole fish inside. Nonplussed, but only until for a moment, she replied: “They’re butterfish, right?”

They were butterfish, and they were, very right. The catch (no pun intended) was that they hadn’t been cleaned, so some of the value added was mine, but that operation took a very few minutes and required no skill whatsoever.

They were also very very beautiful, at every step in the process of their preparation. At the time I moved to the east coast from the Midwest (well, via Germany) over half a century back, I did not know that I would end up living at the edge of an ocean with fish designed to look as spectacular as these.

There was a first course, partly because it was a holiday: We were celebrating one of our anniversaries: We had met exactly 28 years before. We had Delores’ smoked seafood salad, or pâté, and it was every bit as delicious as I remembered.

• a composed smoked fish salad, or pâté, using local fish caught by Phil Karlin of P.E. & D.D. Seafood Company, whose wife, Dolores actually made it, consisting of more than one kind of white fish, smoked; mayonnaise; red onion; and celery (the salad was perfectly seasoned), served on slices of a rich, moist loaf of a fantastic ‘beet rye’ from Philadelphia’s Lost Bread Co. that had just been toasted over an open gas flame on our ‘Camp-A-Toaster’ seconds before

• two tiny heads of gem lettuce from Tamarack Hollow Farm, their roots snipped off and the leaves pressed down to almost resemble rosettes, dressed with a little unfiltered olive oil from the 6th Avenue Trader Joe’s, Maldon sea salt, freshly ground black pepper, and a bit juice from an organic Chelsea Whole Foods Market lemon
• the wine was a California sparkling rosé, Keith Hock California Sparkling Rose 2016, from Naked Wines

I was able to assemble and set up almost everything I needed to cook the main course before we sat down to the appetizer, and the cooking itself was brief and pretty straightforward.

• four 5-ounce whole butterfish from P.E. & D.D. Seafood, cleaned at home (the heads cut off, making it very easy, then the dorsal and ventral fins cut off with a kitchen shears), rinsed, drained, dried, 2 deep cross cuts made to each side before they were brushed with a mixture of olive oil, most of the zest and some of the juice from an organic Whole Foods Market lemon, chopped parsley from Phillips Farms, and some crushed dried red shishito pepper (with no heat) purchased from Lani’s Farm last fall, seasoned with sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper on both sides, dusted lightly with a local Greenmarket-purchased whole wheat flour from The Blew family of Oak Grove Plantation in Pittstown, N.J., placed in 3 or 4 tablespoons of a combination of olive oil and butter inside a large (13″) well-seasoned cast iron pan that had been allowed to get very hot, the heat then turned down to low and the fish sautéed for about 3 or 4 minutes each side, by which tie they had turned a crispy golden brown and been cooked through, arranged on 2 plates and sprinkled with more, (fresh) chopped parsley

• three Backyard Farms Maine ‘cocktail tomatoes’ from Chelsea Whole Foods, halved, heated in a little olive oil inside a small vintage Corning Pyrex Flameware blue-glass skillet, seasoned with salt and pepper, tossed with a pinch of dry organic wild fennel pollen from Buon Italia and arranged on the plates next to the fish

• one bunch of collard greens from Migliorelli Farm, the stems removed from the larger leaves, the larger leaves torn into smaller sections, washed 3 times, drained (some of the water retained and held aside to be added, as necessary, near the end of the time the greens were cooking), braised gently until barely softened or wilted inside a large, antique copper pot in which 2 cloves of halved garlic from Foragers Market had first been heated until they had softened, seasoned with salt and black pepper, finished with a small drizzle of olive oil
• the wine was a Portuguese (Vinho Verde) rosé, Phaunus Amphora Palhete Rosé 2016, a wine from a pretty extraordinary tradition

 

• the music throughout was another hearing of Lully’s 1676 tragédie en musique, ‘Atys’, William Christie conducting his  ensemble, Les Arts Florissants [I saw his iconic silver production at BAM in 1989]