In the eyes of an Irish man

Ahoy Foodies!

Let me start out this missive by saying that I am not a fan of navel-gazing. You don't read this blog to get a sense of the size, shape and relative lint of the author's navel. You're here because you like/love food. Me too.

That said, I'd like to tell you that I am dedicating this post to my father, who died on December 17th. I am inexpressibly sad to have lost him. I promise I won't bum you out, though. There's a recipe and a joke tied to this post. If there's one thing I learned from my dad it's "start with a joke, end with a joke."

In fact, my dad's greatest attribute was his ability to tell a story and make people laugh. He was a raconteur at the dinner table, at his pub, and on his travels around the globe. The following story was one my father's most recent favorites. On our trip to Ireland this summer, he shared it with bartenders, doctors, shepherds, bell hops, and anybody else in the Emerald Isle who would lend him an ear. Many people did, and they were glad for it.

Murphy the Sweet Tooth
~as told by Tom Manning

"Picture a humble farmhouse. In the bedroom lies Murphy the cobbler on his death bed. Father O'Malley has given the good man his last rites and the room is quiet as he slips in and out of consciousness. Then, a wonderful aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafts up beneath Murphy's nostrils and enlivens him. The smell of Mrs. Murphy's scones baking is so tempting, it makes the dying man sit upright in bed.

With all of his remaining strength, Murphy pulls himself across the house into the kitchen and there, piled high on the table are mounds and mounds of perfect golden brown scones, hot out of the oven. Murphy inhales deeply, a beatific smile spreads across his face. With his last ounce of strength he approaches the table and with a shaking hand reaches for one of the scones...


'WHAP!', a wooden spoon comes down hard across his hand.

"Fuck off! Those are for the funeral!" shouts Mrs. Murphy.



Irish Scones
Makes 6 to 8 scones

1/4 cup currants
2 tablespoons Irish whisky or brandy
10 ounces all purpose flour (about 2 cups plus 1 tablespoon)

2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1/4 cup toasted hazelnuts, peeled and roughly chopped
1 large egg
1/2 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon milk
3 tablespoons coarse (demerara) sugar

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Combine the currants and booze in a small bowl and allow the fruit to plump for 30 minutes. Discard (or drink) the booze, pat the currants dry with a paper towel, and set them aside.

Put the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse to combine. Add the butter and pulse on and off to the refrain of "Jingle Bells" (jjjingle-bells-jjjingle-bells-jjjingle-all-the-waaaayyyyy), so that the butter is in small bits no larger than a brown lentil.

Transfer the flour-butter mixture to a large bowl and fold in the nuts and plumped currants. Whisk the egg into the buttermilk and add all but a few tablespoons of the wet mixture to the flour-butter mixture. Stir until the dough with a rubber spatula until it just comes together, adding more of the buttermilk mixture if the dough is too dry to come together. Turn the dough out onto a very lightly floured surface and knead until the dough is just smooth, a few turns should be enough.

Pat the dough into a 1-inch thick disc and brush it with the milk. Sprinkle the sugar over the top and cut the disc into 6 or 8-equal sized wedges with a chef's knife. Transfer the scones to a baking sheet and bake until the edges are golden brown, 15-20 minutes.

Rest in peace, Papa. I'm sure you've got them rolling with laughter in that big pub in the sky. You are missed down here.
-Ive

Beef Bourguignonne, By Request

Ahoy Foodies!

I made a wicked good batch of Beef Bourguignonne recently, adapted from a recipe in Lisa Schroeder and Danielle Centoni's beautiful new book, Mother's Best (Taunton, 2009). My guests loved it, I liked it (in fact I had it for breakfast just moments ago), and my buddies on Facebook have been clamouring for the recipe. As did my brother in Wisconsin. Seems everyone in the country is in this deep chill and needs a beefy stew like thing to warm them. In fact, I recommend their book to anyone who likes homey comfort food from around the world.

My testing of the recipe wound up being a bit too thin in the sauce department, which likely has to do with the high-sided stock pot I had to use because I am not lucky enough to own a massive 10-quart Dutch oven the recipe calls for. (Take note loyal readers who want to get me a Christmas gift.)

To remedy the sauce, I simmered it uncovered on the stove for the last 30 minutes to thicken the sauce a bit. Otherwise, it was lovely. Be warned, though: this recipe is true classic French cooking: It takes LOTS of time puttering in the kitchen. If you need dinner on the table in like, 30 minutes, this ain't the recipe for you. If, however, you're snowed in, as my brother was, or feel like getting into the kitchen and channeling your inner Julia Child, the rewards for your time are great. It doesn't hurt to have a glass of red wine to keep you company.

I served the beef stew (because that is really what it is) with celery root mashed potatoes; I've included my recipe for them from my book, The Farm to Table Cookbook: The Art of Eating Locally, which incidentally, would be a nice Christmas gift for all your friends and family who ought to eat more vegetables. I also poured a bottle of the most excellent Resonance Pinot Noir , which you must go seek out immediately. It's like drinking silk. More than this, you know there's nothing, to quote Brian Ferry.

And what about Mr. Tofu, you ask? I made him some seared scallops, because he will eat those if forced to, and they went nicely with the mashers.


Boeuf Bourguignonne
Adapted from Mother's Best, by Lisa Schroeder with Danielle Centoni

5 pound beef chuck roast, cut into 1 1/2 inch chunks
1 1/2 teaspooons kosher salt (divided)
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
8 ounces pepper bacon (I like Niman ranch), cut crosswise into 1/2 inch pieces
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large leek, white and light green parts only, thinly sliced
2 cups finely chopped onions
2 1/2 cups finely chopped carrots
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic
1/4 cup brandy
1/3 cup all purpose flour
1 nice bottle of dry red wine, such as a French Burgundy from Drouhin
4 cups hot water mixed with 1 package More Than Gourmet Demi Glace, or low sodium canned beef stock
1 bouquet garni (1 bay leaf, 2 sprigs thyme, 3 parsley stems tied together)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter (divided)
4 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch thick sliced on the bias
1 pound cremini mushrooms, quartered
2 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley

1. Heat oven to 350 F. Season beef cubes with 1 teaspoon of salt and 1 teaspoon of pepper. Cook the bacon in a large Dutch oven (8-10 qt.) until crisp, remove from pan and place of a paper-towel lined plate. Leave bacon fat in pan.
2. Increase heat to high and brown the beef in batches (about 5 batches). Remove all beef from pot, reduce heat to medium-high and add olive oil, if needed. Cook the leeks, onions, and finely chopped carrots and saute until tender, 10 minutes. Add garlic and saute 2 minutes, stirring frequently.
3. Add the brandy and cook for 4 minutes. Reduce heat to medium and stir in the flour, cook 3 minutes. Stir in the wine in small additions, scraping up browned bits. Add the meat and enough stock to just cover the meat, about 3 to 3 3/4 cups. Bring to a boil, cover and transfer to oven.
4. Bake until a large piece of meat can be cut in half easily with a fork, about 2 hours. Remove from oven an simmer uncovered, if necessary, to thicken the sauce.
5. While the stew is simmering on the stove, make the glazed veggies. (The original recipe called for 10 ounces of pearl onions, but I hate them, so I replaced them with sliced carrots.) Place a medium saute pan over medium-high heat. Add a tablespoon of butter and the carrots. Season with salt and pepper and saute until they are lightly browned. Add 1/4 cup stock, cover, and cook until tender and glazed, 15 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.
6. Add remaining butter to the same saute pan, add mushrooms and a bit of salt and pepper, and cook until browned, 10 minutes. Pour into bowl with carrots. Microwave the bacon briefly to reheat it.
7. Season the stew with salt and pepper, if needed. Ladle over mashed potatoes, top with sauteed vegetables, bacon and parsley. Serves 10-12

Celery Root Mashed Potatoes

From The Farm to Table Cookbook, by Ivy Manning (Sasquatch Books, 2008)

6 to 8 servings

6 large Yukon gold potatoes (about 3 pounds), peeled and cut into 2-inch chunks

1 to 1 1/2 pounds celery root

3 medium garlic cloves, peeled

1 tablespoon kosher salt

1 1/2 cups whole milk, plus additional

1 bay leaf

4 black peppercorns

3 tablespoons butter, at room temperature

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

2 pinches cayenne

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1. Put the potatoes in a large pot with enough cold water to cover. Slice off the top stalks (if present) and bottom roots from the celery root and peel the skin and hairy roots away with a sharp vegetable peeler and/or paring knife. Cut the celery root into 1/2-inch slabs, then into 2-inch sticks; add to the pot. Add the garlic, salt, and enough cold water to cover the vegetables by 2 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat and cook until a paring knife slices easily through the largest piece of potato, about 40 minutes.

2. Meanwhile, heat 1 1/2 cups of the milk, bay leaf, and peppercorns in a small saucepan over low heat.

3. Drain the potatoes and celery root. Force them through a potato ricer or food mill to make a silky-smooth purée. Stir in the butter, nutmeg, and cayenne. Remove the peppercorns and bay leaf from milk with a slotted spoon. Add enough milk to potatoes to make a loose purée. Season with the salt and pepper and serve warm.

Tyrolean Gnocchi with Cabbage and Sometimes Bacon

Ahoy Foodies!

Don't know about your neck of the woods, but it is bitterly cold here. So cold, in fact, I am reminded of a fabulous driving trip I took with Mr. Tofu to Northeastern Eatly, er, I mean Italy.
It wasn't snowy and cold yet when we were there in September, but the farther north we got, the more the villages and landscape looked like scenes from the Sound of Music and the cozier and more German-inflected the language and food got. In pine timber lined dining rooms in front of flagstone fireplaces incongruously situated in the center of the rooms, we ate cozy dishes that married the finesse of Italian cooking with the heartiness of Austrian and German cuisine.

Dishes like this rib-sticking gnocchi. The word gnocchi has German roots and roughly translated means "knot of wood, " probably because of their little round shapes. Though the word has Germanic roots, Italians all over Italy pair the potato-based dumplings with traditional pasta sauces like tomato, basil pesto and the like. But further north, you're just as likely to find the tender little pillows of dough tossed with nutty cow's milk cheese, speck (smoked bacon), caramelized onions, cream, butter, and even tender cabbage.

While I love to use Niman Ranch's stellar smoky applewood bacon in this quick weeknight dish, my vegetarian husband Mr. Tofu does not appreciate the pork. So after I point out to him what he is missing (and he ignores me), I toss half of the gnocchi with the rich sauce sans bacon. Then the remaining gnocchi and onion-cabbage sauce gets the bacon treatment for me.

On a good day, I make my own gnocchi, I really do. (Email me if you'd like the recipe.) But on busy days, I buy frozen gnocchi from Sheridan Fruit Market in Portland, Oregon. They taste of potato and have a nice light texture, plus you can boil them from the frozen state, so dinner can be ready in about 8 minutes, if you play your cards right. If you're not lucky enough to live here, try Trader Joe's gnocchi. They aren't half bad; not too gummy with a rich flavor akin to the real deal Italian gnocchi.

Gesundheit!


Tyrolean Gnocchi with Cabbage and Sometimes Bacon
Serves 2 to 3

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
1 medium clove garlic, thinly sliced
5 cups thinly sliced Savoy cabbage
1/4 teaspoon ground caraway seeds
Freshly ground pepper
1 cup mild vegetable broth (I like Imagine No-Chicken Broth)
2 strips Niman Ranch Applewood Smoked Bacon
2 tablespoons finely chopped Italian parsley
2/3 cup grated Gruyere cheese
1 pound fresh potato gnocchi

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium high heat. When the oil shimmers, add the onions and saute, stirring frequently, until they begin to brown, 5 minutes. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook until the onions are light brown, 3 minutes more. Add the garlic, cabbage,caraway, and 3 grinds of pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until the cabbage is wilted, tender and beginning to brown, 7 minutes. Add the broth, bring to a simmer, reduce heat and cook until liquid has reduced by half.

While the sauce is cooking bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and preheat broiler. Microwave the bacon until crisp, reserving some of the fat; set aside. Add the gnocchi to the boiling water and cook until they float to the surface and are tender when bitten into, about 7 minutes for frozen gnocchi. Drain the gnocchi.

Vegetarian: Toss half of them with half of the cabbage mixture and transfer to a gratin dish. Top with half of the cheese.

Toss the remaining gnocchi, sauce, and bacon with 1 tablespoon of rendered fat together in another gratin dish. Top with remaining cheese. Place both gratin dishes under the broiler and broil until cheese melts, 3 minutes.