Tuesday, May 12, 2009

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.

Monday, May 11, 2009

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].

Thursday, May 7, 2009

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].

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

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.

Friday, May 1, 2009

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.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

No, there is no way in hell I’m kidding.

Between our ever deepening New Great Depression and minute-by-minute updates about the Emerging Pandemic, there has never been a better time to revisit this childhood classic.

It has to be the cheapest supper out there [except, of course, for fried bologna, and I have no doubt it shall, at some point, come to that]. It can be endlessly retrofitted. It will fill anyone up, and it will transport one back to those mythical days of innocence and ease.

Let’s start with the Sturdy Original, direct from Campbells’ own website:

Mid-Century Tuna Noodle Casserole

1 can (10 3/4 oz.) Campbell's® Condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup
1/2 cup milk
1 cup cooked peas
2 tbsp. chopped pimentos
2 cans (about 6 oz. each) tuna, drained and flaked
2 cups hot cooked medium egg noodles 2 tbsp. dry bread crumbs 1 tablespoon butter OR margarine, melted

PREHEAT oven to 400°F.
MIX soup, milk, peas, pimiento, tuna and noodles in 1 1/2-qt. baking dish.
BAKE for 20 min.
STIR . Mix bread crumbs with butter. Sprinkle on top. Bake 5 min. or until hot.

Have some fun if you will:

Save some of the pimientos for mixing up your own sandwich spread [grated processed cheese food, mayo and chopped pimientos].
Add some diced onion.
And Real Men and Women eschew the bread crumbs and add a topping of crushed potato chips or…tinned French fried onion rings.

Before you know it, you really will believe you’re sitting at a turquoise formica kitchen table, crickets are merrily chirping outside and dad’s in the den with his Pabst.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Spare a Dime, Spoil a Child


Continuing merrily along with our New Depression routine of not working [though I was today, and yes!, at Third World rates], not checking bank balances, pretending there is NOT a lizard in my flat and contemplating mid-century ethnic and not so much cuisines…

Lentil soup. Old school. But I will provide the obvious tips for retrofitting it to almost any regional culture. And sorry about the pic, but the only thing lentil soup is not…is pretty.

Nothing soothes, fortifies, charms, fills one up as much as this. And, as we require, it is seriously dirt cheap. Not to mention, simple as hell to prepare.

Lentil Soup – Platonic Ideal Version
1 meaty ham bone or 1 large ham hock
6 cups water
1 1/2 cups dried lentils
2 cups sliced carrots, about 3 to 4 medium carrots
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped onion
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 bay leaf
Preparation:
In a stock pot or large kettle, combine ham bone, water, lentils, carrots, celery, onion, salt, sugar, pepper and bay leaf. Cover and bring to a boil; reduce heat and simmer for about 1 hour, or until lentils are tender.
Take out ham bone or hock and remove meat. Chop meat and return to lentil soup. Remove bay leaf. Lentil soup serves 6.

Caveats: Yes, you can sauté the veggies in butter for a bit, and that does deepen the flavor. One might puree a third of it and add it back [or just cook it another half hour if you happen to be appliance-free]. You can add fresh or canned tomatoes, sliced kielbasa, even kale. Thyme or tarragon for the French version; cumin for Middle Eastern Vague; diced potatoes, marjoram and paprika for Central Europa.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

More Peasant Food for the New Depression

So, now that I’ve slashed my rates to Third World levels, I wait, breath not baited, to see what comes to pass.

But back to Comfort Food, the least we should be doing here. Or the best.

One of my favourites from my impoverished university days was Stuffed Cabbage Rolls. Not the fancy ones, though they do lend themselves to infinite variations of ingredient and flavor. They also involve real cooking, several steps and much time spent in the kitchen. Just the thing for avoiding the pointless sending out of 200 more letters to translation agencies or the equally pointless obsessive checking of one’s bank balance.

Stuffed Cabbage Rolls

1 medium cabbage
1 ½ cups cooked rice
1 large onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp. butter [or oil]
1 lb. ground beef [the cheaper and fattier the better]
1 Egg
Salt and Pepper to taste
Herbs and spices as desired [some suggestions: thyme, marjoram, savory, allspice]
1 Garlic clove; minced
1 can (15-oz) tomato sauce
Sour cream

Remove core from cabbage.
Place in a large pot of boiling water to cover and blanch for 5 to 10 minutes until outer leaves are slightly wilted.
Drain, cool and separate leaves, cutting a V-shaped notch in each, removing the thick stems.
Sauté minced onion in 1 tablespoon butter.
Combine the meat, rice, onion, egg, salt, pepper, garlic and spices.
Mix thoroughly.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Place about 3 heaping tablespoons of meat and rice filling on each leaf.
Roll the leaf, tucking sides either inside or under.
Repeat with remaining leaves.
Place the cabbage rolls close together, seam side down, in a baking dish or Dutch oven.
Pour the tomato sauce, diluted with ½ cup water [or chicken broth], over the rolls.
Cover and bake in the oven for 1 1/2 hours. You can uncover for the last 10 or 15 minutes or so in order to help the sauce thicken up, but keep an eye on it so it doesn’t burn.

When serving, top each roll with a large dollop of sour cream.

Best served with large quantities of mashed potatoes of the smooth and creamy [NOT “smashed” or lumpy] sort.

Variations: a mixture of pork and beef can be used; a bit of brown sugar, Worcestershire sauce and/or lemon can be added to sauce for a sweet-sour tang

Saturday, April 18, 2009



As much as one might be tempted to ask where all the work has gone, we know the question would be merely rhetorical.

As someone who has mostly worked in the “soft” fields – general business, marketing, tourism, academia and such – mine have gone the way of the global economy in general. I suppose those who smugly sneer that their business has been just fine are those who are smugly working in legal, IT and financial. The ever durable Unholy Trinity that would prosper even in the worst of times.

In my case, I am rather certain that some of the jobs I had been doing are now being done by members of a small agency that used to keep me busy. Translating into English, not their native language. Bad form, of course, and clearly bad results, but everyone has to put food on the table.

Beyond that, there has been a marked uptick in agencies from China, Russia and such swooping in with obviously European end clients offering jobs at, oh, one or two cents a word. And I’m quite sure they are happily awarding said jobs to non-native English speakers or non-translators.

Whatever. Having come up with no other alternative, I’ve decided to simply join them. To embrace the New Depression and behave like a simple outlier, slashing prices and bending over until all those other low-balling “translators” start screaming at me for “demeaning the profession.”

In the meantime, I think I might entertain myself by posting some of my favorite Depression recipes. Changing my POV, fully embracing my inner peasant. Irish stew would be an appropriate start.

Here is a most traditional variation, made with mutton [CHEAP!] instead of lamb. Feel free to play with the ingredients, tarting it up with marjoram or thyme, parsnips and parsley.

Irish Stew

2 ½ lbs. boned mutton
4 large potatoes
2 large onions
3 or 4 medium carrots
2 cups watersalt and pepper

Cut the meat into fair size chunks. Peel the vegetables and slice thickly. Use a pot with a well-fitting lid and put in the ingredients in layers, starting and finishing with potatoes. Pour in the water and season to taste. Cover and put on a very low heat for about 2 ½ hours until the meat is tender and the potatoes have thickened the liquid. If you’re feeling flush and can afford lamb, cut the cooking time back to 1 ½ hours.