Around the World in 80 Dishes: Ireland

 "Laughter is brightest in the place where the food is."

-- Irish proverb

This proverb recognizes that food, especially good food, can create community, bringing together people in an environment of hospitality and inclusion, which leads to happiness and joy. While that recognition is a truism, the proverb originated in a country, Ireland, whose history is marked with roughly seven centuries of colonization, deprivation, and famine. That history hardly produces circumstances where food, let alone laughter, abounds.

Yet, the history of the Irish people and their cuisine goes back much further than British colonialism. Indeed, Irish cuisine spans some 8,000 years and that history has been well documented. As chef, restauranteur and writer J.P. McMahon once observed, "[f]ood has always lived in the background of Irish poetry and folklore, simmering quietly, never quite at its centre, yet essential to its scent and materiality." Indeed, one needs only look to Irish literature to get some insight into the ingredients, dishes and meals that have been served across the Emerald Isle over time. And, As Mairtin Mac Con Iomaire and Eamon Maher wrote in Tickling the Palate (2014), "Irish literature is replete with descriptions of food." 

Take, for example, The Hermit's Song or Marban to Guaire. It is a poem written in the 8th century C.E. The poem reads:

To what meals the woods invite me

All about! 

There are water, herbs and cresses,

Salmon, trout.

A clutch of eggs, sweet mast and honey

Are my meat,

Heathberries and whortleberries for a sweet.

Round me grows,

There are hips and haws and strawberries,

Nuts and sloes.

And when summer spreads its mantle

What a sight! 

Marjoram and leaks and pignuts,

Juicy, bright.

All of those wonderful ingredients and not one of them was a potato. (Potatoes are a relatively new ingredient, having been introduced in Ireland about 400 years ago.)

This wealth of ingredients and dishes fell out of reach for most Irish over time, and the literature describing Irish cuisine became more barren. Much of this occurred during the period of English and British colonization, which began in 1169 but brought the entire island under colonial rule during the 17th century. The colonialist policies, along with British landownership, forced much of the population into poverty.  And, by 1840, nearly 75% of the Irish were poor. Their cuisine became one that is often described as the food of the poor. The Irish survived by raising and eating what they had on hand, whether it was sheep or root vegetables -- like the potato -- that they could cultivate in their own gardens.  Indeed, the potato was vital to survival. As Dr. Mac Con Iomaire observed, the Irish found that they could grow "enough potatoes on one acre of poor or marginal land to feed a family of ten, with very little work." But, when the potato blight hit Ireland, the loss of this critical foodstuff led to the Great Famine and Great Hunger, with at least one million dying and another million leaving Ireland. 

As one would expect, Irish literature reflected the more difficult times. The ballad, "The Praties They Grow Small" is a work that starkly evokes the hunger of the Irish people: 

Oh, the praties they grow small,

Over here, over here

Oh, the praties they grow small

And we dig them in the fall.

And we eat them skins and all, 

Over here, over here.

Oh, I wish that we were geese,

Night and morn, night and morn,

Oh, I wish that we were geese,

For they fly and take their ease

And they live and die in peace,

Eating corn, eating corn.

The long periods of deprivation took their toll in so many ways. And, as writer J.P. McMahon explored in their work, that deprivation continued to present itself in Irish art and literature, long after the end of colonialization.

Since its independence, Ireland -- along with its people and their cuisine -- have indeed recovered what they have lost with a return to the wealth of ingredients from both the land and the sea. For one thing, the Irish are known for their cheeses, whether it is the Dunbarra, a brie style cheese from County Cork; the Durrus, a washed rind cheese from West Cork; or the Drumlin, a raw cow's milk cheese from County Cavan. (Not all Irish cheese begin with the letter "D" but I chose these three to show the range of cheeses from north to south of the isle). Then there is also the seafood, whether it is mussels in cream, served along the shores of the Galway Bay, or the Dublin Bay prawns. And, of course, the there are beef, lamb and mutton dishes, such as Irish Stew, corned beef, and spiced beef.  

MAIN COURSE

Irish stew has always been prepared with what farmers and their families had on hand. Prior to the late 16th century, the stew consisted basically of mutton (or goat), onions and water. After the potato was introduced to Ireland in the late 1500s, farmers and cooks began adding slices of the tuber to help thicken the stew. 

One of the earliest written recipes for Irish Stew, which reflects the combination of mutton, onions, potatoes and water, comes from the O'Brien family, who lived in southern Ireland during the 1600s. The Countess of Thomond wrote down the recipe: 

To make an Irish stew of mutton Season the bones of a neck of mutton with pepper and salt, put it down with a layer of onions, put them in a covered stewpan, to keep in the steam & as much water as will cover it. The chops must be very tender, but as they are all put down together, the potatoes must be taken out first, as they burst. 

Over time, as more ingredients became available, cooks would add them to the stew, such as substituting lamb for mutton. And, that is what I am doing here, as the preparation of Irish Stew will satisfy this personal culinary challenge for my Around the World in 80 Dishes. 

STOBHACH GAELACH (IRISH STEW)

Recipe from New York Times

Serves 6 to 8

Ingredients:

• 3 pounds lamb shoulder, cut into 2 inch chunks
• Salt
• Pepper
• 4 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 pounds onions (about 6 medium), cut into wedges
• 1 pound of carrots (about 6 medium), cut into 3-inch lengths
• 4 cups chicken, veal or beef broth
• 1 large sprig thyme
• 3 pounds russet potatoes (about 12 small), peeled and halved in 2-inch thick slices

Directions:

1. Brown the lamb. Pat lamb dry and season well with salt and pepper. Put oil in a heavy-bottomed soup pot over medium high heat. Brown meat on all sides, working in batches. 

2. Cook vegetables. Set meat aside and add onions and carrots to the pot. Season with salt and pepper. Cook vegetables, stirring, until lightly browed, about 3 minutes. Heat oven to 350 degrees. 

3. Continue the stew. Return meat to pot, add broth and bring to a simmer. Put in thyme sprig and arrange potatoes on top (it's fine if potatoes are not completely submerged. Season potatoes, cover pot and transfer to oven). 

4. Continue the stew. Bake for about 1 hour, until lamb is quite tender when probed with a skewer or pairing knife. Remove fat from the top of broth. Ladle stew into shallow bowls and serve. 

SIDE DISH

Colcannon is a uniquely Irish dish that features mashed potatoes mixed with kale or cabbage. As Dr. Mairtin Mac Con Iomaire once described it, colcannon brings together the ancient and the modern of Irish cuisine. The ancient is represented in the cabbage or kale, which has been grown by the Irish on farms or in gardens for centuries. The modern is, as you may have guessed by now, the potato. The combination of the two ingredients creates a filling dish that could sustain a working person, whether in the fields or in factories, for a long time. 

And, as you also may have guessed, colcannon has its place in Irish art and literature. The first reference to the dish comes from a diary entry written in 1735 by William Bulkely. Mr. Bulkely was traveling from Wales and found himself in Dublin on Halloween night. As he recalled, "Dined at Cos. Wm. Parry, and also supped there upon a shoulder of mutton roasted and what they call there Coel Callen, which is cabbage boiled, potatoes, and parsnips, all this mixed together. They eat well enough, and is a Dish always ahd in this Kingdom on this night." 

There is also a children's song, "The Auld Skillet Pot," that provides a rather vivid description of the dish. The lyrics include: 

Well, did you ever make colcannon made with lovely picked cream

With the greens and scallions mingled like a picture in a dream

Did you ever make a hole on top to hold the 'melting' flake

Of the creamy flavored butter that our mothers used to make

Oh you did, so you did, so did he and so did I

And the more I think about it, sure the nearer I'm to cry

Oh weren't them the happy days when troubles we knew not

And our mother made colcannon in the little skillet pot.

Guided, and perhaps inspired, by this history and art, I decided to make colcannon. (I have to admit that I needed that inspiration because neither cabbage nor kale rank very high on the list of my favorite ingredients to cook with or eat.) And, while I will not be composing songs or writing poems about this dish, I have to admit that it was very good ... and filling.  

COLCANNON

Recipe from The Spruce Eats

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 3 large (about 2 pounds) Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and quartered
• 2 teaspoons fine salt, more to taste
• 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature, divided
• 3 cups coarsely chopped kale or other seasonal greens (leaves only, tough ribs discarded)
• 4 medium green onions, thinly sliced, white and green parts divided
• 1 dried or fresh bay leaf
• 1 1/4 cups milk
• 1 teaspoon dry mustard powder
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Directions:

1. Boil the potatoes. Put the potatoes into a large (4-quart) saucepan. Add 2 teaspoons fine salt and enough cold water to cover the potatoes by 2 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat. Cook until the largest potatoes are tender (they will yield easily when pierced with a fork and break apart), about 12 minutes. Drain in a colander set in a sink while you prepare the greens. Set the saucepan aside; you will use it again. 

2. Prepare the greens. Melt 2 tablespoons of unsalted butter in a medium skillet over medium, heat. Add the kale (or other seasonal greens), white parts of the scallions, and the bay leaf and cook, stirring occasionally until the kale is tender, about 5 minutes. 

3. Add the milk. Add the milk and dry mustard. Once the milk simmers, reduce the heat to low and keep warm. 

4. Finish the dish. Return the drained potatoes to the reserved saucepan. Add the remaining 4 tablespoons of unsalted butter and the green parts of the scallions. Mash with a potato masher until nearly smooth. Add the kale-milk mixture to the saucepan, discarding the bay leaf. Stir to combine. The mixture may initially appear too liquidy, but it will thicken as the potato starch absorbs the mosture. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper to taste and serve. 

*     *     *

This challenge was a success, especially given that I ate the Colcannon despite my aversion to kale. The Irish stew was also delicious and, although I was a little worried about the size of the lamb chunks and other chunks, they cooked nicely. (Tip: maybe cook stuff a little longer, maybe 15 minutes more.) There is so much more that I could write about, both with respect to Irish cuisine and its reflection in art and literature. There is also so much more I need to make, whether it is Mussels and Cream from the south of the Island or Greencastle Chowder from the north of the Island. There will definitely be additional posts about Ireland and its cuisine. Until then ...

PEACE.

Around the World in 80 Dishes: Estonia

"Kuna eestlased pole suured arvult, siis peavad nad selleks saama vaimult." 

(Since Estonians are not large in numbers, they must become so in spirit.")

-- Jakob Hurt (Estonian forklorist)

The Baltic countries have always fascinated me. Three little countries -- Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia -- each with a fierce sense of independence and solid understanding of their own identity. Those identities were born out of a shared history over the past two hundred years. As the first challenge of my Around the World in 80 Dishes in the Baltic region, I get to explore the northernmost of the three countries ... Estonia. This challenge also provides me with an opportunity to explore the Estonian culture and cuisine, which itself gives rise to a story of how an identity can awaken in the darkness of occupation, as well as survive the trip through the peaks and valleys of history. 

While the first peoples to settle in the region arrived nearly 13,000 years ago, this post will focus only on the past 250 years. Back in the mid-1800s, the Russian Empire occupied all of what constitutes present-day Estonia. Yet, the Tsarist government allowed a certain degree of localized government in the Baltic region. This autonomy primarily benefited the Germanic nobility, which had previously dominated the government and economic strutures. It also provided enough room for independent thought amongst the maarahvas (country folk) and others whose heritage was closer to Finland than Prussia or Germany. That thought coalesced around an eestlane identity. It grew around the Estonian language, with the first Estonian newspaper being published John Voldemarr Jannsen in 1857. Soon, more literary works began to emerge, including the poetry of Lydia Koidula, as well as Estonian theater. As a passage from one of Koidula's most noteworthy poems illustrates, there was a strong current of developing nationalism: 

My country is my love,

To whom I've given my heart

To you I sing, my greatest happiness,

My flowering Estonia!

Your pain boils in my heart,

Your pride and joy makes my happy,

My country, my country!

At its simplist, nationalism involves an effort to separate oneself. For the eestlane, they sought to separate themselves not just from the Germanic nobility, but also the larger Russian empire. As one could expect, the Tsarist empire was not pleased with such independent thought; and, in the 1890s, it began a russification campaign intended to bring the occupied closer in line with the occupier. For example, the Russian language replaced Estonian and German in schools and in newspapers. Yet, the Estonian identity did not die or even fade. Estonians continued to pursue their culture and develop their identity, just away from the eyes of the government. In the process, Estonians achieved the second highest literacy rate within the Russian empire. 

Russification fiurther led to an evolution in the Estonian identity, expanding it into the political sphere, as Estonians worked their way into government positions. By the time of the Russian Revolutions (of 1905 and 1917), there were Estonian political parties. With the parties came demands, including freedom of the press and freedom of speech, as well as greater autonomy and even independence. They achieved that independence between the two great wars (from 1917 until 1939), but it would take the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Soviet Union before Estonia would achieve lasting independence, which began on August 20, 1991, and continues to this day.

This quick discussion of the Estonian identity, although grounded in history, also provides the background for Estonian cuisine. While the cuisine is as eestlane as the people, history has left its mark. The influences of the Swedish, Germans, Russians and even the Finnish can be seen in the various dishes that find their way to the Estonian table. 

As for that table, Estonia has four general, regional cuisines. First, there is the northern Estonian and Tallin region, where one could find traditional dishes like verivorst (blood sausage) and a range of seafood dishes. Second, along the western shores and islands, seafood also reigns in the cuisine, with herring dishes and a black bread known as leib. Third, there is the southern Estonian region, where the dishes focus more on the land than the sea. Finally, there is the eastern Estonian region, where Russian influences can be more readily seen. The common theme that ties together all of thes regions is a simplicity in terms of ingredients and processes, reflecting the peasant origins of many of the dishes. 

APPETIZER

The start of this challenge begins with the Russian influence. It is a dish brought to Estonian by the Soviets. Shashlik are the kebabs of Central Asia, but it is the Soviets that introduced them throughout their union.  In Estonia, the skewers are made usually with pork, which is cut up, combined with onions, garlic and vinegar, and then left to marinate overnight. Once they are ready for the grill, they are skewered and grilled over charcoal (although a gas grill works just as well). 

In researching this dish, I came across an interesting description of a recent event -- Midsummer's Eve, "When the Village Folk Come Together -- at the Estonian Open Air Museum: 

Kolkhoz apartment building. It is the year 1988, and the idea of independence of Estonia has found its way to Sookuru collective farm. There was a meeting in Hirvepark in Tallinn a year earlier, the concept of self-managing Estonia is in the air, and five national patriotic songs by Alo Mattiisen are becoming more and more popular. All of it happened so fast and is hard to believe! The dwellers of the building have hung out the Estonian tricolour flag; they are singing new and old songs about the homeland and planning to organize a support group for the Popular Front of Estonia. Shashlik will be served.

While the Soviets may be gone, the skewers -- and Estonian independence -- remain.  

ESTONIAN SHASHLIK

Recipe from Nami-Nami

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 1 kg (2.2 pounds) of pork shoulder
• 4 large onions
• 2-3 garlic cloves, crushed
• 2 tablespoons vinegar (30% proof)
• 2 teaspoons finely ground salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon caster sugar

Directions:

1. Prepare the pork. Cut the pork into thick slices (about 1.5 to 2 centimeters, or 3/4 to 1 inch), then small chunks (4 centimeters by 4 centimeters, or 1.5 inch by 1.5 inch). Place in a large bowl. Peel the onions and cut into thin slices. Add to the bowl with the crushed garlic, salt, pepper and sugar. Sprinkle the vinegar on top. Wearing a pair of kitchen globes, massage the meat and onions for about 10-15 minutes, so the onion juices are released and the seasonings are firmly massaged into the meat chunks. Instead of dark red, the meat should be paler. Cover the bowl and marinate in the refrigerator for 24 hours.

2. Prepare the shashlik. Remove the meat from the refrigerator and let the meat come to room temperature, about 1 hour. If using wood skewers, soak the skewers for about 1 hour. Piece the meat chunks onto skewers.

3. Grill the shashlik. Prepare a charcoal fire or heat a gas grill to medium-high heat. Place the shashlik on the grill grate. Grill the shashlik for about 3-4 minutes, and turn. Repeat this process until each side is grilled and the temperature reaches 145 degrees Fahrenheit (62.8 degrees Celsius).

MAIN COURSE

The main course -- and the challenge for my Around the World in 80 Dishes -- is Frikadellisupp, which has been described as "the kind of soup that makes a meal." As Jennifer Eremeeva writes for the Moscow Times, "[e]fforts to pin down a 'classic' recipe for Frikadellisupp are frustrating, since the soup is nothing if not a thrifty 'sweep the fridge' improvised recipe for stretching meat into a meal, by combining it with bread, and anything else that might reach its sell-by date." 

I decided to prepare the meatballs in a slightly different manner than the recipe suggests. Instead of cooking them in the soup, I separately baked the meatballs and then added them to the soup. I did this in part because the preparation of the meatballs was a little different than other meatballs that I made. There is no filler (for example, breadcrumbs) and I feared that the meatballs would break up in the soup. By baking them first, I ensured that the meatballs would stay together in the soup. (I baked them in the oven at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes, times will vary depending upon the size of the meatballs.)

Apart from that, I could not find much describing the history of this dish. It may very well be something that has always been there, especially when times were difficult (and, for Estonia and Estonians, there were many difficult times since they achieved their independence and reclaimed it again). 

FRIKADELLISUPP

Recipe from Cook, Eat Share

Serves 4

Ingredients (for the soup):

• 3 carrots
• 1 turnip
• 1 leek
• 1 parsnip
• 2 celery sticks
• 2 medium potatoes
• 1 cup chicken stock
• 2-3 tablespoons of oil
• Fresh or dried dill

Ingredients (for the meatballs):

• 1 egg
• 1 onion
• 200 grams minced meat (pork or beef)
• Salt
• Black pepper

Directions:

1.  Prepare the vegetables. Wash, peel, and chop carrots, turnip, leek, parsnip and celery into bite sized pieces. Heat an oil in a large pot over medium heat and add the chopped vegetables. Fry slightly for about 5 minutes. 

2. Prepare the soup. Add about 2 liters of water. If you would like a thicker soup, add less water and more vegetables. Bring to a boil and add the chicken stock cube or chicken broth. Reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

3. Prepare the meatballs. Place the minced meat in a bowl. Finely chop the onion and add to the bowl. Add the egg, salt, black pepper and mix well (use hand or wooden spoon). Using your hands, form small balls out of the mix and place them onto a plate for later.

4. Continue to prepare the soup.  After the 30 minutes, add peeled and chopped potatoes. Simmer for a further 10 minutes and then bring the soup to a boil. Add the meatballs and boil until they surface. Right before turning off the heat, add the fresh or dried dill. 

5. Finish the dish. Once the meatballs are cooked and the vegetables are soft, the soup is ready. Serve with a slice of bread or toast. 

*     *    *

For my first foray into Baltic cuisine (and, for that matter, northern European cuisine) as part of my Around the World in 80 Dishes challenge, I think that this challenge went well.  I particularly liked the soup, and this recipe made me think abouut additional soups that I will be doing in future challenges. Until then...

PEACE.

Javaher Polow (Persian Jeweled Rice)

Few dishes leave me in awe, and Javaher Polow or Persian Jeweled Rice is one of them. My awe manifests itself in a couple of different ways. On the one hand, I marvel at the visual impact of seeing the dish. Studded with fruits and nuts, it truly looks as if jewels are embedded throughout the dish. On the other hand, I am struck by the complexity of preparing the dish: to create this be-jeweled masterpiece requires time, skill and patience. Many times I feel like I lack all three, and, hence, the dish has been an aspiration of mine for quite some time. 

Yet, the dish has been around much longer than any aspiration. Javaher Polow, also known as Morasa Polow, dates back -- at least -- to the 16th or 17th century, when it graced the royal tables at Qazvin, the capital where the Safavid dynasty ruled an empire stretching from the Caucasus mountains to the Persian gulf, and from Hoveyzeh to Qandahar (which is in modern day Afghanistan). The Safavid empire was one of the longest lasting Persian empires, from 1501 C.E. to 1736 C.E.

Many consider the Safavid empire to be the period of time when Persian cuisine truly developed. It may also be due to the fact that much of the history of Persian cuisine traces back to the Safavids, with sources become more scarce prior to that time. Nevertheless, it is beyond dispute that the Safavid court gave rise to many dining traditions and many dishes that remain a fundamental part of Persian cuisine to this day. Maybe someday I will have the time to truly explore that history, which can be found in manuscripts from the chefs of the royal kitchens, like the Matatolhayat, which recounts the lived experience and recipes of Nurollah, the chef to Shah Abbas I. 

Back to Javaher Polow, this dish involves a process that, depending upon the recipe, can take a lot of time and skill. Fortunately, I found a simplified version of the recipe on Milk Street, which is the website for Christopher Kimball's Milk Street cooking school and magazine. This simplified recipe provided a way for me to try to tackle this recipe without having to master the layering of rice, avoiding the over-cooking or under-cooking of the rice, and to focus on the basics. The simplified recipe enabled me to produce a delicious rice dish that probably ranks in the top 5 of most beautiful dishes that I have ever prepared. 

Having prepared a "simplified" version of Javaher Polow, I have begun to build up the confidence to try recipes from Persian chefs. The goal is to produce an authentic version. While I have more of the skill, and while I work on my patience, I still need to find the time.

JAVAHER POLOW (PERSIAN JEWELED RICE)

Recipe adapted from Milk Street

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 1 teaspoon saffron threads
• 4 tablespoons salted butter
• 2 medium yellow onions, halved and thinly sliced
• Kosher salt
• Freshly ground black pepper
• 2 cups basmati rice, rinsed and drained
• 2 teaspoons ground cumin
• 1 3/4 teaspoons ground cardamom
• 2 medium carrots, peeled and shredded on the large holes of a box grater (about 1 cup)
• 1 cup dried cranberries
• 1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest
• 1/2 cup shelled pistachios, chopped, divided

Directions:

1. Prepare the saffron water. In a small microwave bowl, combine the saffron with 3 2/3 cups of water. Microwave on high until the water has taken on a yellow hue, about 1 minute. Set aside. 

2. Prepare the rice. In a 12-inch skillet over medium, melt the butter. Add the onions and 1 teaspoons salt, then cook, stirring occasionally until softened and light golden brown, about 10 to 12 minutes. Stir in thr rice, cumin, cardamom 1/2 teaspoons salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Cook, stirring frequently until the grains are light browned and no longer transluscent, about 4 to 7 minutes. Stir in the saffron water, the carrots and cranberries. Bring to a boil over medium high, then cover, reduce to low and cook until the rice has absorbed the liquid and the carrots are tender, 25 to 30 minutes. 

3. Finish the dish. Fluff the rice with a fork, then stir in the orange zest and 1/4 cup of pistachios. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Transfer to a shallow bowl and sprinkle with the remaining 1/4 cup pistachios. 

PEACE.

On Count Rostov's Plate: Latvian Stew

December 1922.  Count Alexander Rostov sat, by himself, in the middle of the restaurant referred to by the Count as the "Piazza."  Alexander was not alone, for there was a couple sitting at a nearby table. The male counterpart of this couple was talking about a conference to unify the Soviet republics. This encounter took place in December 1922. It would have been Christmas season, but, in that year, it was the birth of the Soviet Union. The female counterpart turned to a technical conversation about the "Transcaucasian question." (I am curious as to which one, as there were -- and still are -- many Transcaucasian questions.) Before the man could answer, a nearby accordion player began playing a number with a Spanish flair. The music was from The Nutcracker. (Emil Towles, The Gentleman of Moscow, pages 95-96.)

That provides the setting for what happened next, and, by extension the recipe that is the subject of this part of my On Count Rostov's Plate series. It is perhaps, from a culinary view, one of the most interesting aspects of the story. What happens next provides a window into life as a nascent Soviet Union came to terms with new economic, social and ideological principles. 

The waiter -- referred to as "the Bishop" by Count Rostov because of his appearance -- is standing over the couple ready to take their order. As Towles recounts: 

But for a hopeful young man trying to impress a serious young woman, the menu of the Piazza was as perilous as the Straights of Messina. On the left was a Scylla of lower-priced dishes that could suggest a penny-pinching lack of flair; and on the right was a Charybdis of delicacies that could empty one's pockets while painting one pretentious. the young man's gaze drifted back and forth between these opposing hazards. But in a stroke of genius, he ordered the Latvian stew. (Id. at 96.)

Latvian stew -- a dish of pork, onions and apricots -- that was both exotic and a call to "the world of grandmothers and holidays...." 

In writing his book, and, in particular this part of the story, author Amor Towles recounted his own encounter with the Scylla and Charybdis. While he chose to use the Latvian stew, Towles had his own questions about the dish. He had a recipe for the dish from Saveur, but the ingredients did not include any wine, spices or stock. But, that was the point, as Count Rostov recalls (because he also ordered the dish): "The onions thoroughly caramelized, the pork slowly braised, and the apricots briefly stewed, the three ingredients come together in a sweet and smoky medley that simultaneously suggest the comfort of a snowed-in tavern and the jangle of a tambourine." That is quite the review.

LATVIAN STEW

Recipe from Book Club Cookbook, written by Amor Towles

Serves 6-8

Ingredients:

• 3 pounds boneless pork shoulder, trimmed and cut in to 1-inch pieces
• Salt
• Freshly ground black pepper
• 6 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 6 carrots, peeled trimmed and sliced cross-wise
• 4 tablespoons tomato paste
• 5 cups of water
• 1 cup dried apricots
• 1 pound white boiling onions, peeled, each cut into 6 wedges
• 1 cup pitted prunes

Directions:

1.  Begin the stew. Season the pork with salt and pepper. Heat 3 tablespoons of the oil in a large heavy bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add the pork and cook, stirring occasionally, until the meat releases all of its juices and is no longer pink all over, about 5 minutes. Add the carrots and cook until slightly tender, about 10 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and water, then add apricots. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and gently simmer, uncovered, for 45 minutes.

 2. Sauté the onions. Meanwhile, heat remaining oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onions and cook, stirring often, until deep golden brown, about 15 minutes.

3. Finish the dish. Add the onions and prunes to the stew and continue to simmer over medium-low het until the pork is tender and the sauce has thickened, about 30 minutes more. Adjust seasonings. Serve with boiled potatoes, buttered and garnished with chopped parsley.

PEACE.

Postscript: If you are looking for a wine to pair with this dish, Count Rostov would strongly recommend a Mukuzani, a Georgia red wine produced from the Saperavi grape. In the Count's words, "the Georgians practically grow their grapes in the hopes that one day they will accompany such a stew." (Amor Towles, A Gentleman in Moscow, pg. 98.) The author, Amor Towles, hints that any good red table wine will suffice. 

Around the World in 80 Dishes: Colombia

"In Colombian cuisine, every dish tells a story."

-- Harry Sasson (Colombian chef)

This part of my journey around the world in eighty (80) dishes takes me to the South American country of Colombia. The above quote from one of the most famous Colombian chefs, Harry Sasson, represents my starting point. It is an acknowledgement that, in Colombia, cuisine represents more than just food on a plate. Instead, to borrow someone else's words, it is "a narrative of tradition, culture and love passed down the generations." I can't believe a better way to start a culinary adventure.

This personal culinary challenge presents an opportunity to learn about some of those stories. The thing is, there are a lot of them to tell. Colombia is in many ways a "melting pot," in which many cultures -- both indigenous and non-indigenous -- have flourished in a range of environments, from the coastlines of the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean to the heights of the Andes Mountains and back down into the marshlands of the Orinoquia region or the forests of the Amazon. This wide range of people and places gives rise to an equally diverse set of cuisines.

For some background, Colombia is generally divided into six regions. Those regions are Caribe, Pacifico, Andres, Orinoquia, Amazonia, and Insular. The map to the right shows each of those regions. 

At first, I wanted to tell the stories of the indigenous people of Colombia, such as the Guambiano and Muisca peoples. That would take me to the Andes region of Colombia. Thoughts of stories about corn, potatoes, quinoa and beans started running through my mind. I have to admit that I encountered some difficulty in finding indigenous recipes that I could use to prepare the dishes. 

Given this difficulty, I decided to shift my focus from inland to the coastal regions. I decided to research and learn about both of Colombia's coastal regions: Caribe and Pacifico. (Perhaps also the Insular region, which happens to consist of islands in both the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean.) So, basically, this post will try to tell Colombian stories around seafood. 

APPETIZER

I decided to start with perhaps one of the lesser told stories of Colombia. It's neighbors, Ecuador and Peru, are well known for their tuna fisheries. Indeed, one city in Ecuador -- Manta -- boasts of the name, Tuna Capital of the World, because it has some of the highest tuna landings of any port on the Pacific Ocean. Much of the catch is yellowfin or skipjack tuna, with some bluefin tuna. Yet, Ecuador shares the Pacific coastline with Colombia. The thing is that Colombia's fishery is far less developed than its neighbors. For one thing, there are far less ports, and even less ports of substantial size, along the Pacific Coastline in Colombia. 

Yet, the waters boast of one of the more notable fish migrations: millions of sardines make a journey down the Pacific coastline from Panama south along Colombia.  As one would expect, that sizeable migration would attract the attention of others, namely predators. One of those predators happens to be the yellowfin tuna. The yellowfin provide a sustainable fishery for Colombians. As Matt Harris described the experience, being on the waters off of Colombia looking to fish yellowfin tuna: 

We scanned the water expectantly, rods at the ready and line stripped on the deck. Just as Jose predicted, we didn't have to wait long. Suddenly they were all around. Yellowfin. Everywhere. The feeding activity was astonishing. Everywhere we looked there were myriad busts as if dozens of hand-grenades were being thrown around the boat. The water was literally churning with activity, as hundreds of tuna fizzed through the waves like supercharged torpedoes, slicing through the bait-ball in a frenetic blizzard of mayhem and slaughter.

I strongly recommend reading the entire article, which was published in the magazine In the Loop, and which was very interesting. 

This story provides the opening to my first dish, an appetizer that features yellowfin tuna. The method of preparation is not so much Colombian, but it definitely draws its inspiration from the cuisine. The dish is Tomates Rellenos de Atun, or Stuffed Tomatoes with Tuna. 

TOMATES RELLENOS DE ATUN

Recipe from My Colombian Recipes

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 1-2 cans (6 ounces of tuna)
• 1/8 cup chopped onion (red or yellow)
• 1/8 cup chopped red bell pepper
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1/2 tablespoon lime juice
• 1/4 cup mayonnaise
• 1/2 cup mixed corn, diced carrots, peas
• 1 tablespoon chopped parsley, plus more for garnish
• 4 medium sized tomatoes, cored and seeded
• Lettuce leaves, for serving (optional)

Directions:

1. Prepare the filling. In a medium bowl, combine all of the ingredients, except the tomatoes and lettuce. Cover and chill for 1 hour.

2. Finish the dish. To serve, line a large plate with lettuce leaves, spoon tuna salad into tomatoes and garnish with chopped parsley. Arrange the tomatoes on top of the lettuce leaves and serve. 

MAIN COURSE

While I could have stayed along the Pacifico region of Colombia for my culinary challenge, I decided to "travel" to the other coastline, along the Caribbean Sea. This coastline is dotted with port cities like Cartagena, Barranquilla, and Santa Marta. The challenge requires me to prepare Cazuela de Mariscos, a dish with perhaps a few stories. One of them would take me across the ocean to Spain, where seafood stews abound in a country with 3,084 miles (4,964 kilometers) or coastline. By contrast, Colombia has only 1,800 miles (2,900 kilometers). 

However, I want to stay in Colombia, so I look for stories in places like Cartagena or Santa Marta. In the latter city, there is a place where people talk about some of the best seafood stews or casseroles around.  It is Plaza San Francisco. Vendors sell the stews in pots. But, the story actually begins early in the morning, when they gather the ingredients together at their homes, prepare the dish, and cook it over a wood fire. When the stew or casserole is ready, then they head to the plaza to sell their food to locals and tourists alike. 

A cazuela de mariscos is prepared with seafood that is local to the area, although that typically includes clams, shrimp and white fish. The recipe typically calls for the use of coconut milk and, in some cases, heavy cream. I decided to skip on the heavy cream for health reasons, but I saw that other recipes incorporated seafood stock and/or water. So, I used some of the stock from steaming the clams, along with some water. 

CAZUELA DE MARISCOS

Recipe adapated from My Colombian Recipes and Travel Food Atlas

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 cup chopped green pepper
• 1/2 cup chopped red bell pepper
• 1 cup chopped onion
• 2 fresh garlic cloves minced
• 1 cup grated carrot
• 1/2 teaspoon paprika
• 1 can (13.5 ounces) coconut milk
• 1/2 cup white wine
• 4 cups heavy cream (I substituted clam stock and water)
• 2 pounds of jumbo shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 12 littleneck clams, scrubbed
• 2 pounds white fish, cut into 1 inch pieces
• 1 tablespoon fresh parsley or cilantro
• 1 tablespoon tomato paste

Directions:

1. Sauté the vegetables. In a large saucepan over medium heat, warm the olive oil and butter. Add the garlic, red pepper, garlic, green pepper and carrots and sauté, until tender and translucent, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add salt and pepper

2. Continue to prepare the stew. Add the cream and coconut milk. Bring to a boil. Add the seafood and cover, reduce the heat and cook about 2 minutes until the clams open. Remove from the heat, discard any open shells. 

3. Finish the dish. Add the wine and tomato paste, simmer for about 20 minutes. Garnish with fresh cilantro or parsley. 

*    *    *

It has definitely been a while since I did my last personal culinary challenge (which was The Gambia). This particular challenge went well; but more importantly, as much as I enjoyed preparing this meal, I also enjoyed researching the cuisine of Colombia. I think that I will be paying future "visits" to this country, so that I can try to prepare foods from other regions, like the Andes and the Amazon. Until then ...

PEACE.

Goi Ga (Vietnamese Chicken Salad)

 Ăn uống hài hoà 

(Eat and drink harmoniously)

Balance is important in every aspect of one's life, including what one cooks and eats. As I continue to explore the cuisines of cultures around the world, I have noticed a current that runs through the recipes and dishes of many cultures, including, by way of example, Vietnamese, Chinese, Thai, Indian and even Native American. It is balance. This balance may take many forms, such as a balance of ingredients or a balance of cooking methods. Nevertheless, it is still there. 

More recently, I found this balance in Goia Ga, a chicken salad that is commonly prepared in Vietnam. From what I could find, the salad originated in the north of the country. However, it is dish that is popular throughout Vietnam. Goi Ga is often served at home for family gatherings; but, people can also find the salad being served at festivals and even as street food. When one peruses the ingredient list, they will find a recipe for a light salad that incorporates chicken, fresh vegetables, fresh herbs and a dressing that features one of my favorite ingredients, fish sauce. 

Yet, there is something more fundamental about Goi Ga. It represents balance, or as the Vietnamese would describe it ngu hanh or ngu vi. I have previously explored the multiple levels of balance in Vietnamese cuisine. For example, there is the balance among the five tastes: spice, sour, bitter, salty and sweet. There is also a balance in texture: crispy crunchy, chewing, soft and silky. There are even further levels of balance, such as in cooking methods. 

Balancing ngu hanh or ngu vi on multiple levels can seem somewhat like a culinary game of 3-D chess. Goi Ga achieves that balance. The ingredient list illustrates the balance across all five tastes: peppers (spice), lime juice and vinegar (bitter), sugar (sweet), and fish sauce (sour and salty). It similarly shows a balance with respect to texture, with crispy elements (fried shallots), crunchy (peanuts), silky (olive oil), soft and chewy (chicken). 

Each bite of the Goi Ga brings with it a sense of harmony, and, along with that, a sense of happiness. This recipe is a call to be mindful of ingredients and how they interact. It is a mindfulness that I lack and have struggled to develop, especially given the lack of balance elsewhere in life, such as the work-life balance.  Still, If I can make this dish every once in a while, it will serve as a necessary reminder to take a moment and think more about what I prepare, eat and serve to others.

This may be the reason why I subconsciously keep coming back to dishes from Vietnam or elsewhere, such as China's Sichuan province. It is my own little nudge to find my some balance, even if it is only of the culinary kind. 

GOI GA (VIETNAMESE CHICKEN SALAD)

Recipe from Food & Wine

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon fish sauce
• 1.5 tablespoons fresh lime juice, plus lime wedges for serving
• 1.5 tablespoons distilled white vinegar
• 1 tablespoon water
• 1 serrano chile with seeds, minced
• 1 small garlic clove, minced
• 1 cup vegetable oil for frying
• 2 large shallots, thinly sliced
• Kosher salt
• 4 cups green cabbage (from 1/2 small head), finely shredded
• 2 carrots, finely shredded 
• 1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
• 1/4 cup coarsely chopped cilantro
• 1/4 cup coarsely chopped mint
• 3 cups chicken (from 1/2 chicken), shredded
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 3 tablespoons coarsely chopped unsalted roasted peanuts

Directions:

1. Prepare the dressing. In a small bowl, combine the sugar, fish sauce, lime juice, vinegar, water, chile and garlic. Stir until the sugar is dissolved. Let the dressing stand for 5 minutes.

2. Fry the Shallots. In a small saucepan, heat the vegetable oil until shimmering. Add the shallots and cook over heat heat, stirring constantly, until golden, 3 to 4 minutes. Drain the shallots on paper towels. Reserve the oil for another use. Sprinkle the shallots with salt and let cool.

3. Finish the dish. In a large bowl, toss the cabbage, carrots, red onion, cilantro, mint and shredded chicken. Add the olive oil and the dressing and toss. Sprinkle with the peanuts and fried shallots and serve the chicken salad with lime wedges.

PEACE.

Dai Carrot Salad

The name "Dai" refers to several groups of the Tai people, including the Tai Lu and Tai Koen. These groups live principally in the southern southwestern regions of China's Yunnan province.  These groups also live in neighboring countries, such as Myanmar, Thailand and Laos. They are one of the many cultures within China that are profiled by cookbook authors Jeremy Alford and Naomi Duguid in their book, Beyond the Great Wall.

Given where they live, it comes as little surprise that the cuisine of the Dai bears some resemblances to the food and dishes of those neighboring countries. Alford/Daguid at 13.  For example, Dai cuisine often features a lot of fresh herbs and vegetables, creating a colorful vibrancy to many of the dishes. Indeed, as one Dai chef - Mi Wei - observed, "without herbs there is no Dai Food." That quote comes from an interesting article on Not Quite Nigella, which explores Dai cuisine further than I can do with this post.

Back to Alford and Duguid, they observe that many Dai recipes are also are known for combining tart and sour tastes with hot and spicy flavors. Thus, there is a significant presence of various chiles, black peppercorns, and Sichuan peppercorns in Dai recipes. This dish - which is a rather simple recipe for a carrot salad - represents that balance. The balance comes from one ingredient: the pickled peppers. I did not have access to store bought pickled chiles, so I pickled my own. (Recipes can be easily obtained with an Internet search engine.) The vinegar and heat from the chiles features prominently in the dish, with the remaining ingredients (the soy sauce, rice vinegar and roasted sesame oil) working to round out the harshness from the pickled chiles. 

I do have a few more Dai recipes lined up in the queue, which will offer additional opportunities to explore this cuisine a little further. The use of chiles has definitely caught my attention, as well as the overlap of the Dai cuisine with the foods of Thailand and Laos.

DAI CARROT SALAD

Recipe from Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, Beyond the Great Wall, at pg. 83

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 1 pound large carrots
• About 2 tablespoons pickled red chiles or store bought pickled chiles, cut into 1/2 inch slices
• 3 scallions, mashed and sliced into 1/2 inch lengths
• 1 tablespoon soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon rice vinegar
• 1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• 2 to 3 tablespoons of coriander leaves

Directions:

1. Prepare the carrots. Peel the carrots. Using a cleaver or chef's knife, slice them very thin (1/8 inch thickness if possible) on a 45-degree angle. You should have 3 cups. in a medium saucepan, bring 4 cups of water to a boil. Toss in the carrot slices and stir to separate them. Cook just until slightly softened and no longer raw, about 3 minutes. Drain.

2. Prepare the salad. Transfer the carrots to a bowl and let cool slightly, then add the chiles and scallion ribbons and toss to mix. 

3. Prepare the dressing. Whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, and sesame oil. Pour over the salad while the carrots are still warm. Stir or toss gently to distribute the dressing, then turn the salad on to a serving plate or into a wide shallow bowl. 

4. Finish the dish. Serve the salad warm or at room temperature. just before serving, sprinkle on the salt and toss gently, then sprinkler on the coriander and toss again.

ENJOY!

Rapa Nui Ceviche

"Whether an island such as Easter Island can be considered remote is simply a matter of perspective. Those who live there, the Rapa Nui, call their homeland Te Pito Te Henua, 'the navel of the world.' Any point on the infinite globe of the Earth can become a centre."

 - Judith Schalansky, Atlas of Remote Islands

The island of Te Pito Te Henua or, as it is more commonly known, Easter Island, lies in the middle of the southern Pacific Ocean. It is a special territory of Chile, yet it lies more than 1,400 miles from the nearest Chilean island and more than 2,400 miles from the capital of Chile, Santiago.

Yet, the island remains the center of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people descended from the Polynesians who first arrived by two canoe expedition from Marae Renga (also known as the Cook Islands) between 800 C.E. and 1200 C.E. The Polynesian explorers believed the island was a good place to settle and live peacefully away from the conflicts from where they came.

The Rapa Nui eventually encountered the European explorers during the 18th century; but, the 19th century brought devastating events for the indigenous people, including slave raids from Peru in the 1860s (resulting in nearly half of the population being captured and taken away) and colonization by Chile in 1887. The indigenous people found themselves largely confined to the city of Hanga Roa, while the rest of the island was rented to the Williamson-Balfour Company, who used the land for a sheep farm. This ended by 1966 and the island was reopened again to its residents. 

Despite all of this adversity, on a remote island in the middle of the ocean, the Rapa Nui have retained their own culture, including their language, their art (for example, the Moai resting on large platforms known as ahu), and their cuisine.  Chilean control of the island has left its mark as well, with Spanish being the predominant language and with Latin influences making their way into the cuisine of the people. 

This recipe provides an example of that influence. Tuna - or kahi as it is referred to in Rapa Nui - is a traditional food of the Rapa Nui. Tuna ahi is a Rapa Nui dish that involves placing the tuna on hot volcanic rocks, allowing the fish to cook as the rocks begin to cool. This dish and its preparation represent traditional Rapa Nui preparation of the fish.

By contrast, a tuna ceviche is perhaps the most typical dish of Rapa Nui cuisine. It is also illustrative of how the Latin influences have made their way into that cuisine. The tuna is cut into small pieces or slices, and then prepared with lime juice, sugar, and ginger. The addition of coconut milk provides more of a Polynesian influence to the dish. The tuna is then mixed with the liquid, along with diced chiles, sliced onions and julienned carrots. The end result takes a traditional food of the Rapa Nui people and presents it in a manner that one could find along the Pacific coastline of South America.

RAPA NUI CEVICHE

Recipe from New World Review

Serves 4-8 

Ingredients:

• 2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1/2 cup freshly squeezed lime juice
• 14 ounces unsweetened coconut milk
• 1 1/2 pounds sashimi grade tuna, cut 1/4 inch thick
• 1/2 purple (red) onion, thinly sliced
• 2 tablespoons died red pepper (use aji rocoto for a little kick)
• 1 tablespoon finely chopped chives
• 3 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro leaves
• 3 tablespoons julienned carrots

Directions:

1. Prepare the ceviche liquid. Place the ginger, sugar, lime juice and coconut milk in a blender and puree until smooth. 

2. Combine the liquid with the tuna. Toss the mixture with the tuna and the remaining ingredients. Cover and refrigerate if not serving immediately. 

3. Finish the dish. Garnish with thick cut potato chips, coconut sticky rice, cucumber slices and/or a small bowl of coconut milk. Serve immediately.

ENJOY!

Ragu di Turchia Bolognese

The recipe, Ragu Bolognese, has graced this blog on more than one occasion.  I first made a Pappardelle with Spicy Lamb Ragu back in 2012 using a recipe from a cookbook by Josh Wesson, a renown wine expert. A few years later, in 2016, I made another recipe, Tagliatelle alla Bolognese, based on a recipe out of the Eataly cookbook. This second recipe brought me closer - in fact, very close, to the original dish. 

However, if one wants the authentic dish, then one has to travel to Bologna, a city in the Italian region of Emilia-Romagna. This region is considered the culinary capital; and, the city of Bologna is often considered the home of this pasta dish. After all, it is Ragu Bolognese. The association between the city and the dish is so strong that the Bologna Delegation of the Italian Academy of Cuisine patented the recipe with the Bologna Chamber of Commerce in 1982. 

While the patented recipe can be found online for anyone to enjoy, I decided to make my own twist to this famous dish. The original Ragu Bolognese calls for the use of beef (as in the patented recipe) and pork. My beautiful Angel does not eat beef or pork, but I wanted to make this dish for her. She eats turkey, so I substituted the ground turkey (a mixture of 85% meat, 15% fat) for the beef. I also dispensed with the pancetta (and, for that reason, I relied upon a ground turkey mixture with a higher fat content). Finally, the authentic (and patented) recipe calls for "a little broth." My guess is that a little broth means a little beef broth. Once again, to make this dish for my Angel, I used a little turkey stock.

These changes pushed this dish outside the scope of an authentic, traditional Ragu Bolognese. While it may not be authentic, the thing about this dish is that it has evolved as it has traveled beyond the borders of the region. Recipes in other regions of Italy have substituted pork for beef, even going so far as to use small meatballs as called for recipes in Abruzzo or Calabria. And, then there are the variations on the pasta used to make the dish. Perhaps that discussion is best left for another post at a later time. 

RAGU DI TURCHIA BOLOGNESE

Recipe adapted from Travel Emilia Romagna

Serves 4

Ingredients:

• 2/3 pound of ground turkey (preferably at least 85%/15%)
• 3/4 cup carrots, diced
• 3/4 cup celery stalk, diced
• 1/2 cup onion, diced
• 5 3/4 cups of tomato sauce or peeled tomatoes
• 1/2 glass of dry white wine
• 1/2 glass of whole milk
• A little turkey stock
  
• Extra virgin olive oil or butter
• Salt
• Pepper
• 1/2 glass of cream (optional)

Directions:

1. Begin sautéing the ingredients. First dice then chop the pancetta with a mezzaluna knife. The melt in a terracotta or aluminum thick pan of about 7 inches deep. Combine 3 tablespoons of oil or 1/4 cup of butter and the finely chopped vegetables and let them gook gently. Add the minced meet and mix well with a ladle until it is cooked and it "sizzles."

2. Continue cooking the mixture. Pour in the wine and stir gently until the alcohol is completely evaporated.  Add in the passata or peeled tomatoes, cover and simmer slowly for about 2 hours, adding broth when necessary, then add the milk at the end to counteract the acidity of the tomato. Season with salt. In the end, when the sauce is ready, according to Bolognese use, add the cream if it is to season dry pasta. For tagliatelle, use as is.

ENJOY!

Fennel Rubbed Leg of Lamb with Walnut Romesco Sauce

Julia Child once remarked, "you don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces, just good food from fresh ingredients." That is what fueled this recipe. I was looking for a way to make a really good lamb dish, but I wanted a recipe that is easy to make. 

In the end, I used two recipes. The first recipe was for lamb meatballs with a Romesco sauce. I had no intention to make lamb meatballs.  I actually had a boneless leg of lamb, but the thought of pairing that meat with a Romesco sauce seemed to be the perfect idea.

As an aside, a Romesco sauce originated in the Catalonian province of Tarragona.  It is a sauce prepared by fishermen to be eaten with fish. The basic ingredients for a Romesco sauce include tomatoes, garlic, nuts (typically almonds, pine nuts, or hazelnuts), nyora peppers (a small round red pepper) and olive oil. Beyond those ingredients, there is no standard recipe. Romesco sauces vary by region, by cook and even by ingredients. Thus, one could easily swap almonds with walnuts, or substitute a nyora pepper with a standard red bell pepper or another type of pepper. That is the beauty with a Romesco sauce. One could also add other ingredients, such as sherry vinegar and chipotle pepper, to add additional layers of flavor to the sauce.

I decided to use the walnut Romesco sauce from the lamb meatball recipe; however, I still needed a recipe for the leg of lamb itself.  I found a recipe that had the rub I wanted to use: a simple mixture of fennel and garlic, combined with black pepper and crushed red pepper. I decided to include the parts of the recipe that called for carrots and added some potatoes to the roast. The rest of it is relatively easy: preheat the oven,  put the rub on the lamb, sear the lamb, stick the lamb in the oven, roast until it reaches 135 degrees Fahrenheit, pull it out to rest, and dinner is almost ready to be served. 

FENNEL RUBBED LEG OF LAMB WITH WALNUT ROMESCO SAUCE

Recipes adapted from Epicurious

Serves 6-8

Ingredients (for the Romesco Sauce):

• 1/2 tablespoon chopped walnuts
• 1 small red bell pepper, halved, seeds removed
• 1 medium tomato, cored
• 1 garlic clove, unpeeled
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
• 1/2 teaspoon chipotle powder or chile powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoons finely chopped parsley
• 1/2 teaspoon sweet paprika
• Kosher salt

Ingredients (for the lamb):

• Kosher salt
• Ground black pepper
• 3 tablespoons fennel seeds
• 4 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes
• 4 garlic cloves, finely grated
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 1/2 pounds small or medium carrots with tops
• 1 bag of small mixed potatoes, sliced in half

Directions:

1. Make the romesco sauce. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Toast walnuts on a rimmed baking sheet until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Toss bell pepper tomato and garlic with oil on a clean rimmed baking sheet and roast until browned and softened about 20-25 minutes. Let cool.  Remove skin from bell pepper, tomato and garlic, discard.  Puree walnuts, bell pepper, tomato, garlic, oil, vinegar, chipotle chile powder, parsley and paprika in a food processor until smooth. Season with salt and ground black pepper. 

2. Prepare the rub for the lamb.  Using a mortar and pestle, coarsely grind fennel seeds and red pepper flakes. Transfer to a small bowl and mix in garlic and 3 tablespoons of oil.  Evenly rub lamb all over with spice mixture, making sure to work it into every nook and cranny.

3. Sear the lamb.  Reduce the heat of the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Heat remaining 1/4 cup of oil in a large heavy skillet over medium. As soon as oil is hot and shimmering, add lamb to skillet and cook, carefully pouring off fat as needed into a small bowl and until golden brown, about 3 to 5 minutes per side. Trim tops from carrots.  Place lamb in the center of a roasting pan, pour reserved fat over the lamb, season with salt and pepper.  Place carrots and potatoes around the lamb. 

4. Roast the lamb. Roast the lamb until an instant read thermometer registers 135 degrees for medium rare, about 75 to 90 minutes.  Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for 20 minutes.  Slice the lamb in 1/2 inch slices. 

ENJOY!