It's not always about looks

A smoked ham hock is one of those items off a hog that will never win any beauty contests. It comes to you still wearing its skin, now dark and leathery from the smoker. Sometimes, a few wiry hairs still jut out from the skin, a reminder of its provenance. A thick bone protrudes from its centre, making it obvious that there isn't much to it but bone. I was more than a little intimidated the first time I freed one of these from its butchers' paper. I just wasn't sure that I wanted it in my pot, especially with that hair. Did this thing really belong in a cooking pot? (The one pictured above is a much nicer-looking specimen than my first hock. Hair-free too.)

But I quickly came to appreciate a smoked hock for what it was. It isn't always about looks, you know. See, a smoked ham hock is an ingenious thing. The hock is the cut from a hog's hind leg between the foot and the ham proper. Unlike the ham, there isn't much meat to the hock. It's mostly bone, skin, and tough connective tissue. And what meat there is is pretty lean. For these reasons, it's not a much sought-after cut. It takes a little work to get to a hock's goodness--a long, low, simmer. So the smoking is one way to make it worthwhile. As a smoked hock breaks down in its cooking liquid, it gives off a lot of flavour--smoky, porky, woodsy flavour. Like I said, ingenious.

Now, maybe early January isn't the best time to be extolling the virtues of pig parts. But one of things I like most about a smoked pork hock is that a little goes a long way. Drop just one meaty hock (remember, it's mostly bone) into a pot with some onion and water and set it to simmer, and you're on your way to something special. That's the idea, anyway, behind Kemp Minifie's hoppin' John collard stew. You let your hock simmer away the afternoon, returning just to add some black-eyed peas to the pot after an hour and some collard greens an hour after that. It's my favourite kind of winter cooking. You can leave things to bubble merrily on their own and wander off to daydream, read, or do a load of laundry. And when the day's light has faded, you just return to fish out the hock, separate the meat from skin, fat, and bone, return the meat to the pot, and then ladle some of that stew over a plate of rice.

Pork and beans and greens might not exactly be your idea of how to start off the new year. But the smoked ham hock and the culinary tradition behind it--the resourcefulness of it, the ingeniousness of it--really appeal to me right now. These are ideas I can get behind, ideas I want to carry with me the  whole year through. And, if nothing else, who doesn't like a pile of silky collards, smoky meat, and creamy beans floating in porky broth on a cold winter's night? Just don't forget to bring your favourite hot sauce to the table too. Happy new year, everyone. 

Hoppin' John Collard Stew
From Kemp Minifie via Gourmet

1 medium onion, chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 tsp hot red-pepper flakes
1 meaty smoked ham hock, about 1 lb in weight
10 cups water
1/2 lb / 1 1/4 cups dried black-eyed peas, picked over and rinsed (don’t soak)
1 lb collard greens, center ribs discarded and leaves chopped
Hot sauce to serve

Cook onion in oil with 1/2 tsp salt in a deep heavy medium pot over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned, about 8 minutes. Add red-pepper flakes and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add ham hock and water and simmer, partially covered, 1 hour. 

Add black-eyed peas and simmer, partially covered, 1 hour. 

Stir in collards (add water if necessary for a soupy consistency) and simmer, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until greens are very tender, 45 minutes to 1 hour. 

Remove ham hock and chop meat, discarding skin, fat, and bone. Stir into stew and thin with water, if necessary, then season with salt.

Serve over rice and with hot sauce at the table. The acidity of the hot sauce helps to cut through the rich smokiness of the stew.

Serves six.

A heady affair

I complain a lot during these dreary months. Nearly everything is drab, grey, and dead. It wears on me. A girl can only eat so many plates of root vegetables, can only drag herself through so many sunless days in a season. But even so, I'd hardly say that I dislike winter. There's something to be said for bright and biting winter mornings, taking in the cold, clean air, and, better yet, for being chased inside by the wind to blankets and tea and warm things bubbling in the oven. Yes, that's what this season is really about for me: keeping the oven glowing.
Though I've gone back to eating meat, there are still few things I welcome more than an earnest pot of beans on a dark, wintery day. I like the simplicity of beans. With the day still before you, you can stir together a few handfuls with some water and salt and keep them bubbling modestly in the oven hours. You can forget them for a while, let the day unfold, and then come back to find yourself with something truly sumptuous. It's surprising sometimes just how sumptuous and satisfying a pot of beans can be. Beans in the cupboard can look so spare.

My favourite pot of beans this winter has been one with a tangle of greens, leeks, and chopped tomatoes. These beans aren't much to look at, admittedly, but they will surprise you. With a plate of them, you're in for spoonful after spoonful of some pretty serious umami. Prepare yourself for a heady affair.
For the first issue of Lucky Peach, Harold McGee wrote a great piece on umami and MSG. The short of it was: MSG, which occurs naturally in lots of foods, is umami and nothing that we should shy away from. In fact, it's the reason, for those of us who love tomatoes, why we love them. When I first read this last summer, I wasn't quite sure what to think. Tomatoes just didn't really scream umami to me. But with these beans, I think I finally get what McGee means. Give tomatoes, beans, and collard greens a few good hours together in the oven, and you'll see. You'll have something to savour.

Smothered Beans

Adapted from Peter Berley's The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen

Note: Greens. Collards, I know, are not as popular as Swiss chard or kale, but trust me, collards are what you want with these beans. They have a certain savour to them. Anything else will be disappointing. Beans. If, like me, you sometimes like to splurge on dried heirloom beans, this is the dish for them. Much of its final flavour depends on the beans' pot liquor, and quality beans always make for a better one. Leeks. Leeks are often rather gritty. I think the easiest way to clean them is to slit them vertically and then run them under the tap, spreading out their layers with your thumb. Cooking time. I haven't been in the habit of pre-soaking my beans lately and baked these beans for closer to three hours than one-and-a-half. The collards held up splendidly, and the flavours, I'm sure, only got better. Next time, I might let the beans soak at least a couple of hours at room temperature to give them a head start. They could have baked for longer and gotten more tender, but I was getting hungry.

1 cup dried white beans (I like Rancho Gordo's alubia blanca), sorted, soaked, and rinsed
1/4 cup dried pinto beans, sorted soaked and rinsed
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 leeks, white and tender green parts, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse sea salt
1 bunch collard greens, trimmed of tough stems and sliced into 1/2-inch-wide strips
1 14-oz can of chopped tomatoes
Freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 275 degrees F.

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine the beans with 4 cups of water and bring to a boil. Skim the foam, reduce the heat, and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes.

While the beans cook, warm the oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the leeks, garlic, oregano, and 1 teaspoon of the salt. Sauté for 5 minutes, until the leeks begin to soften. Cover the Dutch oven, reduce the heat to low, and simmer gently for 10 minutes.

Place the collard greens in a large bowl, add the cooked leeks, and stir to combine.

Place a strainer or colander over a bowl and pour in the beans. Measure out the cooking liquid and, if needed, add enough fresh water to equal 2 cups.

Place half of the greens mixture in the bottom of the Dutch oven. Add the strained beans. Spread the remaining greens over the beans and top with the tomatoes. Sprinkle the remaining 1/2 teaspoon of salt over the tomatoes and add a few grinds of pepper. Without disturbing the layers, gently pour enough of the bean water down the side of the Dutch oven to barely cover the tomatoes.

Place the Dutch oven over high heat and bring to a boil. Remove from the stovetop, cover, and bake for 1 hour. Remove the cover and check the Dutch oven, adding a little more water if it is drying out. The casserole should be just slightly juicy when pressed gently with the back of a wooden spoon. Replace the cover and continue to braise for 20 to 30 more minutes, until the beans are tender and the greens and leeks have melted.

Serves 6.

Brick Roux Magic

Save this one for a cold, drizzly day. I think that we've seen the last of those for a while here in Chicago. And even so, that won't be enough keep me from what remains of this gumbo. Have you ever had something made with a brick roux? It's what makes this gumbo. Like any roux, it's just fat and flour--the magic of it is in the extended spell it spends in the oven, getting dark and smoky, with a savour unlike anything else I've ever tasted. It permeates the gumbo and lingers on tongue, leaving you a little wide-eyed, a little desperate for more. Brick roux is a serious and heady affair.

But that doesn't make it difficult. Just lug out your trusty cast-iron dutch oven (or another heavy-bottomed, oven-proof vessel of your choosing), whisk together equal amounts of flour and oil, and let things work their magic in the oven. In about an hour and a half, you'll have a rich, dark red paste--the real soul of your gumbo. The rest is a matter of sautéing and simmering, as you might expect--a mirepoix of onion, celery, and green pepper (the Cajun trinity), creamy beans, some collards, if you like. Irresistible on a cold, dark day, (though I might not wait even that long to make this again--I have a friend who strongly hinted that he'd welcome some more soon, despite the heat).

A final note about brick roux and gumbo. Unlike the sort of roux you're likely familiar with--pale and prized for its thickening power in béchamel and the like--brick roux is all flavour and won't do any work when it comes to thickening your gumbo. For this, turn to filé powder, the ground leaves of the sassafras plant, which, I'm told, is the traditional ingredient for thickening gumbo. The powder also adds a slight lemony note to the gumbo and complements the savour of the roux. If you can't find filé, a handful of chopped okra is a good second. I actually prefer okra, even if it flouts tradition. Decide for yourself the next time you're in need of something to warm you.

Vegetarian Gumbo

Adapted from  Alton Brown and Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

Note: a few things--first, the beans. If you can find yourself a bag of Camellia Brand red kidney beans from Louisiana, good on you. According to Cook's Illustrated, anyway, they're the preferred bean of New Orleans cooks--thin-skinned and very creamy. Otherwise, you might try the more widely available Mexican Red bean. Personally, I like the Brown Tepary bean, which you can find at Rancho Gordo. It has a nice grassy sweetness that complements the smokiness of the gumbo (the beans pictured above are butter beans--also good but not particularly noteworthy). Second, I like to give my roux an extra 10 minutes in the oven. The one time I didn't, it didn't quite have its usual smoky intensity. Don't get too daring with it, though--you want brick roux not blackened roux. Also, please use care when handling your roux--it is, after all, very hot fat and flour. Finally, filé powder, the ground leaves of the sassafras plant, is the traditional thickener in gumbo, and you can find with the other spices at a well-stocked grocery store or at a place that specialises in Cajun food. Otherwise, okra is a fine substitute and will thicken your gumbo just the same.

8 oz dried beans, sorted and soaked (see note above)
1/2 teaspoon sea salt

4 oz vegetable oil
4 oz all-purpose flour

4 cups good-quality vegetable broth
1 medium onion, diced
1 small green bell pepper, diced (about a 1/2 cup)
2 stalks of celery, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup peeled, seeded, and chopped tomato
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, chopped
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 bay leaves
2-3 cups collard greens, chopped
1 tablespoon filé powder or 2 oz okra, trimmed and chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
Salt to taste

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Place the oil and flour in a 5- to 6-quart cast-iron dutch oven and whisk into a smooth paste. Place the dutch oven on the middle shelf of the oven and bake, uncovered, for 1 1/2 hours--give or take 15 minutes--whisking two to three times throughout the cooking process.

Meanwhile, place the beans in a 2-quart saucepan with enough water to cover them by an inch. Add the salt. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Leave them cooking at a hard boil for 5 minutes, skimming off any foam that rises to the surface. Reduce heat to low and gently simmer, covered, until beans are tender. Cooking times vary widely between bean varietals.

When the roux is done, carefully remove it from the oven and set it over medium-high heat. Gently add onions, green pepper, celery, and garlic and cook, stirring constantly for 7 to 8 minutes or until the onions are translucent.

Add the tomatoes, black pepper, cayenne, thyme, and bay leaves and stir to combine. Gradually add the vegetable broth while stirring continuously. Reduce the heat to low and cook, covered, for 20 minutes. Then add the collards and beans and cook for 20 minutes more--if using okra, add 10 minutes in. Salt to taste (with the vegetable broth I use, I find that salt isn't necessary).

Turn off the heat. Add filé while stirring constantly. Cover and let sit for 10 minutes. Serve over rice.

Serves 6-8

Weathering the storm

As you may have heard, a massive snowstorm hit the Midwest a few days ago. It got pretty wild in Chicago--people had to abandon their cars all along Lake Shore Drive, thousands lost power,  and parts of the city got buried in over two feet of snow. Fortunately, all that the storm meant for me was that classes were cancelled. Snow Day(s)!

Being a grad student, I really shouldn't have had too much to be excited about. Sure, I have classes, but I spend most of my time at home anyway, preparing for class--reading articles, making margin notes, pulling at my hair in frustration--and so, I really should have gone on just doing those things. Of course, I didn't quite manage that. The first of my two consecutive snow days, at  least, involved the couch, a lot of stove-top popcorn, and The Sopranos. I also made some soup/stew.

This was something I dreamed up sometime over the holidays when my boyfriend and I were visiting each of our families together. Neither family has a very broad conception of what to feed us vegetarian kids, and there was an endless succession of cakes and pies (we'd polish off my mom's apple pie, and then my grandmother would be ready with a pie of her own). As a result, I started thinking about how nice it would be to be back at home with a simple soup--maybe something loaded with ribbons of kale, creamy beans, and chunks of potato--just something wintry, hearty, and nutritious.

I did in fact make a version of this soup the week I got home, but the both of us agreed that it was missing something. With the storm still howling outside on Wednesday morning, I decided to give it another try. This time, I started with slivers of onion slowly cooked to a rich, dark hue. In the same pot, I then simmered a half-pound of dried beans (a mix of cannellini and cranberry) in the oven, with two bulbs of garlic roasting alongside. Finally, when the beans were tender, in went the roasted garlic, some sauted kale, chunked potatoes, and the caramelized onions.

The soup was good that first day--just what we wanted as the cold set in. But two days later, served as a stew (I didn't add quite as much water and let it simmer on the stove for about 15 minutes) over a few lemon slices, it was just perfect. The onions and roasted garlic cooked together had made the broth thick and unctuous, and the beans and potatoes at that point had had a chance to soak it in. The kale was tender and had lost much of its bitter edge. And the added lemon made everything else sing.

Admittedly, there are a lot of steps to this soup/stew. But if you ever find yourself with a few spare hours, especially if you expect a storm to blow in, remember this stew as something to weather the storm and keep warm with.

White Bean and Roasted Garlic Soup with Kale and Potatoes

Note: As I said, we liked this best as a stew a couple of days later. You will have to add some water to the leftovers when you reheat them since the potatoes absorb liquid--just add a little less water and simmer for a little longer (10 minutes) to serve it as a stew. Cannellinis would be my bean of choice here, but any mild bean should do--I supplemented with some cranberry beans this time around. Finally, if you don't have an ovenproof pot, you can cook your beans over the stove. After they come to a boil, cover them, turn the heat down to low, and let them simmer gently. I used the oven since I had to roast the garlic anyway. If you're baking something at 350 or 375 degrees F the day before you make this, you can always roast the garlic then and then do your beans on the stove top. Pretty much any of the prep (beans, kale, potatoes) can be done a day in advance.

1/2 lb of dried beans (preferably cannellini), sorted and soaked overnight
2-3 medium onions, thinly sliced (from pole to pole)
olive oil
2 bulbs of garlic + 1 clove
1 large sprig of thyme
3/4 lb potatoes (preferably yellow-fleshed), peeled and chopped into 1-inch cubes
half a bunch of kale (7-10 medium leaves), stems discard and chopped into thin ribbons cross-wise
pinch of red pepper flakes
salt and pepper to taste
half a lemon, cut into thin slices

Pre-heat over to 350 degrees F. Heat olive oil (about 2 tablespoons to begin with--add more if necessary) over medium-low heat in a 4-quart, ovenproof pot. Add onions to the pot and cook, stirring occasionally, until deeply caramelized (about 30 minutes). Don't worry if bits stick to the bottom of the pan--you'll be rescuing all that flavour later.

Meanwhile, cut about 1/4 to 1/2 an inch off the tops of the bulbs of garlic, just so that most of the cloves are exposed. Set the bulbs on a square of aluminum foil, drizzle them with olive oil, and then wrap them securely in the foil.

Remove onions from pot and set aside. Drain the beans. With the pot still over the flame, add the beans and enough water to cover by 1 inch. While the water goes in, put your wooden spoon to good work and scrape any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Add the sprig of thyme to the beans. Bring the beans to a boil, cover, and pop them into the oven along with the garlic. Cooking times vary between varieties of beans, check after the first hour and then every half-hour after that. 

The garlic should done in about an hour--the exposed tips should be a deep, golden brown, similar to that of the caramelized onions. Remove the garlic from the oven and unwrap it. When cool enough to handle, carefully squeeze the roasted pulp out from the exposed tips into a small bowl and set aside.

Meanwhile, in a medium pot, cover the potatoes in water, season with salt, and bring to a boil. Cover with the lid slightly askew and simmer until tender, about 10-15 minutes. Drain the potatoes and set aside.

In the same pot, heat up a 1/2 tablespoon of olive oil over medium-low heat. Mince the remaining clove of garlic and add it to the oil along with the red pepper flakes. Saute for about a minute, turn up the flame to medium, and add the chopped kale. Wilt kale, season with salt, and continue to saute until somewhat tender, 7 to 10 minutes.

When the beans are ready, remove the thyme stem and return them to the stovetop. Combine the kale, potatoes, garlic, and onions with the beans. Add enough water to barely cover. Simmer for 10 minutes to allow flavours to meld.

Put one or two lemon slices into the bottom of each bowl and serve soup over top when ready.

Serves six.