Cultural Stereotypes Will Out

Yes, this is supposed to be my translation blog, but, as one can see in a far below post [just past the recipes], it has been meandering a bit.

Rather than whinging incessantly about the New Depression, the lack of work and the general sorry state of the industry, I am instead offering rather personal recipes meant to reference my own past and, most importantly, to be exceedingly cheap. Feeding soul, body and purse strings.

Colcannon, in its infinite variations, is the most basic of Irish foodstuffs that has allowed generations of Irishpersons to survive in all their endlessly cyclical dire straits. There are decades of my own life which have been similarly survived by way of this dish. Literally.
It could be side [but not of late], entrée, breakfast, salad. And, often, all of those through the course of one single day.

Paul Rankin’s Colcannon

750g Rooster Potatoes, peeled and cut into 5cm dice
75g Butter
150 ml water,
1/3 Savoy Cabbage, finely chopped [or the traditional green cabbage or kale]
3-4 Spring onions, finely chopped
salt and freshly ground white pepper,

Cook the potatoes in boiling salted water for 6-7 minutes, or until tender, then drain and set aside.
Melt 50g of the butter with the water in a medium sized pan, and add the cabbage. Cook over a high heat until the cabbage is just cooked, and the water has almost evaporated.
Add the spring onions and cook until the mixture is just starting to fry.
Tip the cabbage into a bowl with the potatoes. Mash together with the remaining butter and season with salt and white pepper.

Rankin is a brilliant cook, and his substitution of Savoy cabbage is cunning alchemy, transforming the cabbage/kale dilemma in one deft swoop. His use of spring onions references Champ, another hardy standby [mashed potatoes, spring onions, milk…], which can be served hot or cold.

Variations:
Fry up a couple of rashers of bacon with the cabbage and onions, chop and add at the end.
Using chilled leftovers, form patties and sauté in butter till browned.
Flatten a portion and top with fried egg.

Mid-Century Mother's Day

A serious homage to my mid-century mother and one of her favorite party dishes.

She made this with tinned crab back in that day, and she made it relentlessly, as if it were the only party dish she could ever know. I never understood this, because, day in and out, she was an excellent cook. Nonetheless, there is nothing that resonates more than her Salmon Newburg being carefully carried out in its Pyrex casserole dish, enjoying pride of place on her hand-embroidered table cloth.

I will be making the obvious New Depression alterations. But the truth is, without the crab, this is already a rather frugal dish, and I do believe that it had to do with her own early childhood years living through the Classic Depression. It was always difficult for her to spend money, even when she was more than comfortable, especially on expensive foodstuffs. But she did, always, keep a large pantry, filled to excess with every inexpensive food staple imaginable.

How well I now understand, and envy, her way and her wherewithal.

Salmon Newburg

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
dash of pepper
1 cup milk
1/2 cup half-and-half
1 can (16 ounces) salmon, undrained [yes, one can, and has, used tuna]
2 egg yolks
1 tablespoon dry sherry [she always kept this at hand, as did I, when I was solvent and fancy-free]
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese [I am quite certain she did not use fresh]
rice, toast, split biscuits, or patty shells

Preparation:

In medium saucepan, melt butter over medium low heat; stir in flour to make a smooth paste. Stir in seasonings and gradually add milk and cream. Continue cooking and stirring until thickened; stir in salmon liquid. Stir about 1/2 cup of the hot mixture into the lightly beaten egg yolks, stirring quickly. Return liquid with egg yolks to the sauce mixture in the saucepan. Cook for about 2 minutes, stirring. Stir in sherry, Parmesan cheese, and flaked salmon. Heat and serve over rice, toast, biscuits, or in patty shells.

The obligatory variations: Add diced pimientos at the end [she did]. A small bit of tomato paste can also be included. If you wish to give it a bit of a faux Creole panache, add minced celery, green pepper and/or appropriate seasonings [yes, Old Bay, of course, but not too much as it quickly overwhelms].

The Prince of Paupers

As much as I’ve been enjoying this detour into the world of Comfort Foods in the Time of Chaos, I thought I should at least make a nod to the “mission” of this site.

Yes, that’s what still having an Annual Report in one’s head can wreak.

While IT, legal and financial translation jobs are still to be had in abundance, the absence of most other fields continues. What surprises me the most is the dearth of Marketing work. It seems to me that in this economy, companies would be doing all they could to attract a wider customer base. Going global, as it were. At the very least, having their websites translated. I’m forever amazed at how many European websites, in whatever field, are only in their native language.

Enough seriousness?

Perhaps it’s time for my Consummate Comfort Sweet:

Very Old School Bread Pudding

2 cups whole milk (or 2 cups half & half)
1/4 cup butter
2/3 cup sugar (white or brown, depending on taste preference)
3 eggs
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 cups bread, torn into small pieces [french bread and challah are great for this]
1/2 cup raisins (optional)

In medium saucepan, over medium heat, heat milk (or half & half) just until film forms over top. Combine butter and milk, stirring until butter is melted. Cool to lukewarm.
Combine sugar, eggs, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla. Beat with an electric mixer at medium speed for 1 minute. Slowly add milk mixture.
Place bread in a lightly greased 1 1/2 quart casserole.
Sprinkle with raisins if desired. Pour batter on top of bread.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 45 to 50 minutes or until set. Serve warm.

Now, this is perfect, goes well with a broken heart, tornado watch, foreclosure notice and such, but there are an infinite number of diverting additions and variations to complement other moods and slings and arrows:

Substitute diced apples or peaches, blueberries or almost any fruit for the raisins.
Especially helpful is the addition of a splash or two of Bourbon, Jameson or something similar [yes, some day, even Cognac].
Top with whipped cream or custard sauce [yes, the packet version, if in euroland, is just fine].

Hard Choices

I suppose it was bound to happen.

As times grow increasingly bleak, there is a tendency to revert to stereotype, and to the most profound, bone-deep, sources of consolation.

And so it was that this note caught my eye:

“Irish consumers are more likely to do without hair conditioner, washing-up liquid and disposable nappies during a recession than their morning fry. Sausages, butter, bread, milk and tea are highly recession proof, according to Nielsen, but hair conditioner and washing-up liquid are particularly vulnerable.”

Which makes all the sense in the world, both the foresworn and the never-to-be-forsaken. And, if one might wonder as to how endless fry-ups can be made compatible with a lack of washing-up liquid, perhaps a thoroughly non-PC reference might be made to the essential difference between shanty and lace curtain irishpersons. Feel free to back-channel me if you aren’t familiar with the slur.

Shanty Fry-up

Eggs
Streaky bacon
Sausages
Tomatoes
Black and/or white pudding
Tinned beans
White toast

Fry. In this order: sausages, bacon, eggs, puddings, tomatoes, preferably all in one large pan. Heat beans.

Lace Curtain Fry-up

All the above.
Mushrooms
Substitute fried soda bread for lowbrow toast
Potatoes: mashed, hashed browns, chips or boxty
Fry.

As we say about Guinness, fry-ups are not just for breakfast. Or for hangovers. Any meal, any time of day or state of mind is immeasurably enhanced by this platonic ideal of consolation.
Whether you take the low road or the high.

Cassoulet of a Sort

For anyone who has been wandering in here of late and perhaps thought they had missed the signposts…

Given current economic, market and emotional conditions, we are indeed taking a detour and comforting ourselves with New Depression-appropriate recipes. Feeding the soul if not the bank account.

Today, being especially trying, I’ve decided to dream of cassoulet. My always favorite dish, my obvious choice for Last Meal before being marched off to the guillotine. Wishing it could, in fact, transport me back to Biarritz and that stall at the end of Les Halles.

Now, in France this could easily be considered Depression food, but not so much elsewhere. In order to make it approachable in straitened circumstances, liberties will have to be taken. In this as in so much else.

Also think of it as a sort of apologia for the last post, as well as a homage to the current Porcine Pandemic.

Cassoulet

2 duck legs [hah!! chicken legs, or even thighs, will suffice]
4 sausages, preferably Toulouse [preferably the cheapest on offer, add garlic if necessary]
1 3 1/2-pound boneless pork shoulder, trimmed of excess fat, cut into 1- to 1 1/2-inch pieces
6 rashers smoked streaky bacon, cut into half-inch long pieces
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 sticks celery, finely chopped
2 carrots, finely chopped
4 large cloves garlic, finely chopped or crushed
1 generous tbsp tomato purée
1/2 bottle dry white wine
2 330ml cans canellini beans
1 330ml can flageolet beans
2 330ml cans haricot beans [seriously, any sort of white beans in sufficient quantity is just fine, and, by all means, feel free to soak dried beans overnight if so inspired]
500ml good vegetable or chicken stock
about 6 springs fresh thyme
parsley, finely chopped (optional)
olive oil, for frying

Add some olive oil to a large hob-proof casserole or other large pot. Put on a high heat until very hot.
Brown the duck legs, sausages and lamb shanks in the hot pan. Once brown on all sides, remove all the meat and reserve.
Turn down the heat slightly and add the bacon, onions, celery and carrots.
Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently, until the bacon is cooked and the vegetables softened.
Add the tomato purée, mix well and cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly.
Turn up the heat, add the wine and deglaze the pot well, scraping any brownings from the bottom with a wooden spoon - reduce the liquid by about two thirds.
Reduce the heat to low, add the beans, stock and thyme. Return the browned meats to the pan and then cover.
Cook for an hour and a half, stirring occasionally.
Remove the lid and cook for a further hour or until only a little liquid remains.
Before serving, remove the duck legs and take the meat off the bone in little chunks. It should be very tender. Return to the pan to warm through. Check the seasoning, add the parsley if desired and serve.

Many recipes call for a breadcrumb topping, swaddled with butter and browned in the oven: precious, but optional.