Entries Tagged as 'Pork'

Festa di Salumi: Finocchiona

0

23.12.12

This post is part of the Festa di Salumi from Punk Domestics. It is the last of three projects from Salumi by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn.

A unifying theme of all salami-making guides is, “you need to be meticulous, you need to pay attention.” Well, that’s just not me. I have zero interest in building a drying chamber from an old wine fridge. I finally broke down and bought a rack for my milk crate basket after I had done a million bike rides carrying groceries in my backpack. I won’t get the gear until I’ve earned it.

Making salami was similar to making any sausages– I flavored the meat with spices (fennel seed, black pepper, etc.), ground it up, and stuffed it into casings. Except this time sodium nitrite and nitrate were added along with a bacterial culture. I didn’t feel like ordering a bacterial culture, so I took an idea from Peter from Cookblog and added a few tablespoons of brine from my lactofermented sauerkraut.

Then I hung my sausages to dry. From the ceiling fan, no less. I scoffed at the special mold culture you can spray on your aging sausages and felt quite smug when powdery white mold appeared– “baller” mold if you will. “People pay for this mold!” I thought, “but I’m such a great salumier already that it’s just appearing out of thin air!” Then I ignored my salamis for a few days.

The next time I looked at them, the dreaded blue mold had appeared. I had to give my salamis a good scrubbing with white vinegar, but it was a little late. The mold had penetrated two of them. It wasn’t deadly (this time), but I highly recommend against eating messed-up salami. It tasted most unpleasant. Still, two of the salamis turned out quite good.

So things didn’t go exactly as planned. Here are some pro tips I didn’t read in any of the books:

Hang your salamis so there is plenty of air circulation around them. Don’t let the salamis touch each other even if it makes hanging more convenient. The evaporating moisture seems to encourage blue mold growth.
Yes, your salami is safe to eat after it’s lost 30% of its starting weight, but the texture improves after its lost 40%. My salami still had an unappealingly soft texture at 30%.
Freeze all the meat grinder parts and stainless steel bowl for containing the meat. You can also place the meat itself in the freezer for about 30 minutes. It’s always important to keep everything cold during sausage making, but it’s doubly important for salami. It’s the only way to achieve those lovely chunks of white fat that dot a good salami.

Now I have great respect for legit salami-makers. I’ll need to step up my detail-oriented game for homemade salami to be worthwhile.

Festa di Salumi: Bucatini all’Amatriciana with Guanciale

2

30.10.12

This post is part of the Festa di Salumi from Punk Domestics.

As a pasta taskmaster, I’m gonna go out on a limb here. According to legendary Italian cookbook writer Marcella Hazan, All’amatriciana and bucatini are “as indivisible as Romeo and Juliet. But other couplings of the sauce…can be nearly as successful.” I utterly disagree! Those hollow rope-like bucatini tubes are the only noodles that stand-up to this extraordinary sauce.

Not that making this dish is any trouble– most of the cooking is hands-off. Rendered pork fat amplifies the bright tomatoes and red pepper flakes to create a vibrant synergy. It feels crude adding a dollop of butter to the bubbling tomatoes rich with pork fat and olive oil, but just do it. It adds creaminess and pleasantly coats your mouth.

Use home cured guanciale if you can. Pancetta is an acceptable substitute but lacks the nutty depth of dried pig jowl. For the love of god, DON’T USE BACON. The smokiness muddies the delicate harmony. The sauce is done after it has simmered for over an hour and pools of oil collect on the surface. Slather the cooked noodles in the sauce, and garnish with crispy guanciale and grated cheese.

My bucatini all’amatriciana recipe will make you swear off stodgy Prego slop on gluey spaghetti forever. Just please take care while making it.

Bucatini all’Amatriciana

2 tablespoons olive oil
3 ounces guanciale, sliced into thin lardons
1 1/2 teaspoons red pepper flakes
1 large onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 28-ounce can tomatoes
1 tablespoon butter
1 pound bucatini
2 tablespoons Parmigiano-Regianno

1. In a skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. When the oil is hot, add the guanciale. Turn the heat up to medium high, and let the guanciale cook for 2 to 3 minutes to get it going, and then turn the heat down to low and let it cook for about 15 minutes or until crispy.

2. Turn the heat down to medium low. Using a slotted spoon, remove 2/3 of the guanciale to a paper towel.

3. Add the diced onion and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes.

4. Turn the heat up to medium. Add the minced garlic and cook, stirring frequently, for about 2 to 3 minutes.

5.Carefully add the tomatoes to the skillet. Cook on low for 15 minutes.

6. Stir the butter into the simmering tomatoes and mash them with a wooden spoon. Cook on low for another 45 minutes or until pools of oil collect on the surface of the sauce. Serve over cooked bucatini noodles garnished with the crispy guanciale and the cheese.

Festa di Salumi: Guanciale Is Not Pig Jowl Bacon

7

25.10.12

This post is part of the Festa di Salumi from Punk Domestics. It is the first of three projects from Salumi by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn.

My mom recently said, “I haven’t seen any pig jowls at the Stop & Shop recently.” It jolted me back to reality– it’s OK that most people don’t regularly eat guanciale.

Cured pig jowl and I actually only met recently when I lived in New York. Dustin and I had ventured to Bushwick after reading in Edible Brooklyn about a rag-tag gang of hipsters casually throwing together a pizza joint. Roberta’s exuded intimidating coolness: local micro brews, drinks served in Ball jars, locally sourced chickens, rooftop gardens, and piggy bank centerpieces begging for donations to the Brooklyn Grange. It was all so novel at the time.

Another novelty was guanciale listed under the pizza topping options. I timidly asked the server, “um, could you tell me what this is?” pointing to the word on the menu (I didn’t know how to pronounce it). He described it as pig jowl bacon. I wondered, “Doesn’t that come from the face/head area?!” while picturing myself as an Andrew Zimmern-esque nose-to-tail character ordering pizza topped with guanciale and roasted red peppers. It was exhilarating.

Three years later I confronted a raw pig jowl in my own kitchen. It was surprisingly large– similar to any other hunk of pork (I’m no Andrew Zimmern after all). Following the directions in Michael Ruhlmn and Brian Polcyn’s new Salumi book, I rubbed the pork with tons of salt and black pepper, placed it in a Ziploc bag, and left it in the fridge for a few days. Then I rinsed it, patted it dry, and hung it from the ceiling fan in the extra bedroom.

Curing meat requires suspension of disbelief. Leaving the flesh of others unrefrigerated for over three weeks feels vaguely shameful. We underestimate salt’s powers to purge meat of moisture and create an environment inhospitable to bacterial growth.

Thinking back to that dinner at Roberta’s, I’d say that bacon comparison was misleading. Yes, guanciale has those familiar white streaks of fat, but it tastes delicately sweet instead of harshly smoky. The application of heat releases the silky fat and echoes the complex flavors of a good Spanish ham.

But the Roberta’s memory did inspire me to recreate that pizza. I’ll try to remember to get off my high horse whenever I eat it.

Pizza with Guanciale and Roasted Eggplant and Summer Squash

1 recipe pizza dough
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 ounces guanciale, thinly sliced
1 small eggplant, thinly sliced sliced
1 small summer squash or zucchini, thinly sliced
1/4 medium red onion, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup canned tomatoes
1 or 2 balls fresh mozzarella, sliced

1. Heat the oven to 425°F. Place the olive oil in a skillet and heat over medium high heat. Add the guanciale and stir frequently for several minutes. Then turn down the heat and allow the guanciale to cook for 10 minutes on low. Remove the guanciale pieces to a plate lined with a paper towel. Remove the skillet from heat.

2. After the skillet has cooled, place the eggplant, squash, garlic, and red peppers in the skillet to coat the vegetables with the rendered fat. Season with salt, and then spread the vegetables onto a baking sheet. Place the baking sheet into the oven for 20 to 30 minutes.

3. While the vegetables are roasting, stretch the pizza dough into a circle. Spread with tomato sauce and top with the fresh mozzarella, onion slices, and cooked guanciale.

4. After 20 to 30 minutes, remove the vegetables from the oven and turn the heat up to 500°F. Top the pizza with the roasted vegetables. Place the pizza in the oven after it reaches 500°F– it needs to be screaming hot! Bake for 8 to 10 minutes. Scatter parsley over the top of the pizza after removing it from the oven and then serve.

Happiness is a Dirty Kitchen

4

10.9.12

What’s the first thing you cut out when life gets busy? Laying on the couch? Checking stuff/internet surfing? I start slacking on the blog and cleaning. Dustin recently told me, “I like it when you’re busy– you’re much happier. Even though the kitchen is much dirtier.”

And I don’t even know why it’s dirty. It’s not like I’ve done any cooking except testing sausage and bacon recipes for a magazine article. Instead I’ve been living off a steady diet of kolaches, tacos, and the other healthful things for Serious Eats, washed down with rivers of iced coffee, beer, and $3 Whole Foods wine. “How I suffer for my art.”

What else did I do this summer? (It feels like summer is just ending here in Austin BTW) Visited New Orleans for wedding planning! But really just did more eating, drinking, and socializing… then hosted said friends during Hurricane Isaac and repeated the pattern in Austin. I also biked to and from my day job everyday in the 100+ degree heat. I get props for that, right?

I also basked in the glorious Portland late summer weather and attended IFBC while completing a writing class through Cook n’ Scribble. Really, I can always find the time for something if I want to. The class and conference made me realize that this blog has grown SO tiresome. The here-is-some-cool-stuff-I-made-with-a-recipe-and-photo format feels played out.

The last couple months have been a swirl of working, writing, drinking, and schmoozing. I’m exhausted, but I’ve had a blogging breakthrough. Can’t wait to share it with you after I clean my house!

In the meantime, I’m keeping up with the format. Here’s a country pâté I made with some of the scraps from bacon and sausage making along with some venison I found in my freezer.

Paté Campagne  with Venison

1 tablespoon butter
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 small shallot, diced
1/2 of a medium onion, diced
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, minced
1/4 cup cognac
1 pound pork shoulder, cubed (or various leftovers from sausage making)
1 pound venison shoulder or stew meat, cubed
1/4 pound pancetta or slab bacon, cubed
2 bay leaves
1/8 tsp ground allspice
1/8 teaspoon ground clove
1/4 teaspoon dried ginger
1/4 teaspoon dried coriander
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 cup shelled pistachios

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
2. Toss the pork, venison, and bacon with the bay leaves, allspice, clove, ginger, coriander, and salt and pepper. Place in the refrigerator overnight.
3. Place the meat mixture in the freezer for 30 minutes.
4. In a pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the garlic, shallot, onion and thyme and cook for about five minutes, stirring frequently.
5. Deglaze the pan with the cognac, scraping up the brown bits. Reduce by half, remove the onion and shallot mixture from the heat, and let cool to room temperature.
6. Discard the bay leaves and grind the cold meat into a bowl set in ice.
7. Add the cooled onion mixture to the meat. Using a sturdy spoon, stir vigorously to combine until the meat takes on a uniform texture.
8. Fold in the pistachios, distributing them evenly.
9. Pack the mixture into a terrine. Cover in foil and bake in a water bath in the preheated oven for about 90 minutes or until a meat thermometer reads 170°F at the center of the pâté.
10. Allow to cool for 1 to 2 days in the refrigerator. Slide the pâté out the terrine and slice before serving.

Recreating Paris: Potatoes Stuffed with Pig Trotters

0

04.6.12

Leave it up to the French to transform something as coarse as pig trotters into an inspiration. I’ve mentioned in passing the superb meal we enjoyed at Les Cocottes de Christian Constant. When I saw pommes de terres farcies au pied de porc (potatoes stuffed with pig feet) on the menu, I had to try it. I envisioned a hoof sticking out of a potato or maybe something like April Bloomfield’s famous pig foot dish. But my stomach wasn’t at 100% after staying out late drinking too much champagne at our friends’ wedding. I’d take a few bites, and then push it off to the side and let Dustin finish the rest.

The dish that arrived wasn’t at all what I was expecting. It appeared to be baked or boiled potatoes, stuffed with shredded pork. It was crusty and almost caramelized on the surface. The crisp meat and soft potatoes created a true harmony of textures complemented by the flavor of savory pork, sweet onions, and some underlying acidity. My mild hangover melted away— I wanted to devour all of it.

The wheels in my head started spinning. I’m the type of girl who snatches up pig trotters when she spots them at the farmers’ market. They had been languishing in the freezer amidst vague plans to make headcheese (foot cheese, really). Since I’m not a huge headcheese fan, I never got around to it. I would make these potatoes instead!

I found the recipe and a video when I returned, but they were in French. I had been naïve to think the potatoes were boiled; they were indeed fried in about six inches of duck fat. See for yourself in the video below where they whip out a four pound brick of duck fat and toss it in the skillet like it’s nothing. No wonder those potatoes tasted so good.

[vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/19391583 w=500&h=281]

I busted out the trusty old French skillz and Google Translate to decipher the recipe. It had some major gaps in the process. For instance, M. Constant expected that I already knew how to braise trotters. Also, a brick of duck fat is expensive here in the U.S., so I used a mixture of duck fat, lard, and butter. I turned the potatoes instead of completely submerging them. In the end, transforming those trotters into this exquisite dish made me feel like a true French peasant slaving away over meager ingredients to get dinner on the table for my farmer husband and scruffy kids.

Potatoes Stuffed with Pig Trotters adapted from the dish by Christian Constant

Ingredients

2 pig trotters
salt
2 bay leaves
1 teaspoon whole peppercorns
a few thin slices of onions
2 tablespoons diced cornichons
1/4 cups of capers, chopped
1 small onion, diced
10 sprigs of parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
12 Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled
1 1/2 cups of pure duck fat, or a mix of duck fat, lard, or butter
butter for baking

Procedure

1. Place the trotters in a Dutch oven with a few generous pinches of salt, the peppercorns, bay leaves, and onion slices. Slowly cook them in an oven heated to 250 degrees for about 6 hours, or until the meat is pulling away from the bone.

2. When the trotters are cool enough to handle, slice them in half. Remove the meat from the bones, including the gelatinous cartilage. There will be lots and lots of bones, and you’ll be left with about two cups of meat.

3. Finely chop the meat into tiny pieces. Remove any bones you find in the process.

4. Place the meat, parsley, diced onions, capers, cornichons, and mustard in a large bowl. Mix to distribute evenly.

5. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Using a spoon, scoop out the flesh of the potatoes to form a cradle for the pork mixture.

5. Thinly slice the bottom of the potatoes to create a flat surface.

6. Melt the fat in a skillet. Cook the potatoes on medium-low heat in the fat for about 10 to 15 minutes per side. You might need to do this in batches. Be extremely careful when flipping the potatoes because sometimes they stick. PLEASE DON’T BURN YOURSELF WITH MOLTEN ANIMAL FATS!

7. CAREFULLY remove the potatoes to a plate lined with paper towels. When the skillet has cooled, pour the fat into a container and reserve for another use.

8. Arrange the potatoes in a skillet or rimmed baking dish. Fill each one with the pork mixture. Dot the tops of each potato with butter.

9. bake for 45 minutes, or until the pork is browned on top and heated through. When ready to eat, carefully remove them from pan because they might stick. Serve while still warm.

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