Goat

Part of the reason I love going to the Farmer's Market so much is because of the things I find there that are unheard of elsewhere--truffles, purslane, sea beans, mangalitsa, to name a few. But I'm beginning to feel a bit guilty (and carnivorous!) when I realize that nearly all of my new finds in recent expeditions have been meat. After all, isn't it kind of ironic to be buying big hunks of meat at a traditional mecca of vegetarians? Well, whatever. I am loading up on lots of veggies (mostly lettuce and kale this time of year), but the products that have really stood out lately are meat. This time it was goat.For some reason, goat has never caught on here in the U.S. I've enjoyed it in Mexico in the form of the soul-warming stew birria and at a local Caribbean restaurant as a spice-laden curry. But have you ever seen it at your local grocery store or on the menu at a non-ethnic restaurant? I can't think of a time when I have, but after my experience with the goat meat I bought from the owners of Toboton Gourmet Goat Meat, I'm beginning to wonder what's wrong with U.S. consumers. The leg roast that I bought was excellent; succulent, tender, and very juicy. It was somewhat similar to pork (just trying to compare it to something familiar), but with a much firmer texture and less fat throughout. It is also remarkably good for you. The information leaflet that came with my purchase boasts that goat is the healthiest of all meats, even besting chicken in the low fat and cholesterol race. All the more reason not to feel guilty, right?

Unlike my mangalitsa experience, this purveyor provided me with lots of great ideas on how to cook the goat meat. I followed her suggestion to coat the outside with a spice rub (some chile powder, cumin, sugar, salt and pepper) and wrap the entire roast in foil as a way to lock in the moisture. I placed the roast in a 275 degree oven and let is roast for about two and a half hours. Trying to go with the sort of Southwest theme from the spice rub, I served the thinly sliced meat atop these corn "cakes" that I tried to make-up. They were totally uninspiring (much drier than I had hoped for), but the meat was delicious. And by using the remainder of the roast in sandwiches or burritos for lunches the rest of the week, the $20 I spent on the roast seems like quite a deal.

Even Brauts Like to be Grass-Fed

Who doesn't love a brautwurst every now and again? When I saw that my favorite grass-fed beef guy of Olsen Farms was selling them, I knew I must have some. They came already frozen which is great since I can race through all of the other perishables first and then pull them out of the freezer when the larder is empty. And that is exactly what I did the other night. But you can't have brauts without kraut, right? So first I picked up a lovely jar of very Jewish and very Brooklyn sauerkraut to go along with it. It felt a bit counterintuitive to accompany such a local ingredient with something made 3000 miles away, but hey, what the hell? It all made for a simple but delicious Monday night dinner.

Having previously praised both the philosophy and the flavor of grass-fed beef, I was eager to try how it tasted once it had been turned into something else altogether. Besides the selfish reasons of flavor and an easy dinner, I also felt like I was kind of doing my part. You know, for the team--for the environment. After all, if they didn't turn all of those beef scraps into sausage, what else would they do with them? Isn't this the original recycling? Anyway, my environmental conscience aside, the brauts were great. I seared them first and immediately noticed that they were missing any of the normal fat and grease oozing from within. The pan was completely dry and lacking any juices whatsoever. Was this a good thing? I wasn't sure. After I got sick of them smoking so much in the pan, I dumped in the strained sauerkraut and a touch of water, then covered the whole mess and let it cook until we were ready.

The missing juices didn't seem to have any negative affect on the flavor. I'm assuming then, that we were eating a much healthier braut than your average grocery store variety. It makes sense that the leaner grass-fed beef would produce a leaner, more healthy brautwurst. So that's good and all, but it actually tasted great as well. Full of flavor and spices with a firm but tender texture. Further proof that happy cows make happy food.
Another word on the kraut. Upon further reflection, I think that I have been incorrectly using the term "sauerkraut". The jar of Ba-Tampte brand that I bought at my local market is actually called "new kraut" and this enigmatic product seems to be a kosher mystery. Even the web-site is ridiculously vague, with nothing but images of their products! All we can figure is that "new kraut" is well, newer and has been aged less than traditional sauerkraut. Therefore, it is less sour and is more mild. We instinctively knew this when we were eating it, and we both commented on how it tasted a bit sweet and had less bite than normal. The texture was also more firm, with a more pronounced raw cabbage consistency. It wasn't until I looked at the jar later that I realized that these differences were on actually on purpose!

Washington White Truffles

Last November was the first time I had ventured into the world of Washington truffles. The results, if you remember my story (see Washington Truffles), were not so enjoyable. The little black nuggets were anything but inspiring, unless of course you are a worm and enjoy that dirt flavor thing. Anyway, despite my misgivings I was lured into trying another variety of Washington truffles from the market, the white ones this time. I tried to politely ask if they were more similar to the European kind (therefore implying that they were less like the dirt kind) which he assured me they were. They certainly weren't much to look at, with the largest one being about the size of my thumbnail, but still worth a try, right?

Shortly after returning home with my score I knew that they were indeed different from the aforementioned black truffles because my entire refrigerator suddenly smelled like truffles. It was amazing. Going with the simple is best theory again, I made home-made pasta which I adorned with nothing more than good olive oil, garlic, parmesan, salt and pepper. I heated the olive oil in a small pan into which I threw the thinly shaved pieces of truffles and let them fry for a few minutes before removing them. I then did the same with some thinly shaved garlic pieces and tossed it all together with the pasta. The truffles, as I had hoped, infused the oil with some of their unique flavor and the pasta turned out fantastic. The white truffles were a winner! So I guess I don't have to go to Europe for good fungus after all.

Mangalitsa

After nearly two months of a "winter break" from the market, I returned this past week with dubious expectations. Too cold for anything to grow, and certainly too cold for the poor vendors to stand outside for four hours, what would there be besides some squash and a few crazies? Turns out that the market is surprisingly full of life in January, or at least it was on this day. The main difference I noted from the fall market was the lack of produce stands (no big surprise there) which seem to have been replaced by meat. From my grass-fed beef guy to Loki salmon to the pig people on Vashon Island, I'd guess that nearly half of the stalls were selling some kind of meat. However, the biggest delight of all, and the longest line I might add, came from a stand claiming to sell Mangalitsa.

I know, I know, what the hell is Mangalitsa? Previously unheard of by you, me, and most of the Western world, Mangalitsa is a breed of pork more common in Europe. A new company from Eastern Washington called Wooly Pigs imported the breed from Austria, and they claim that they are the first purveyor of Mangalitsa in the New World. "MANGALITSA DEBUT!" proclaimed the sandwich board out front of their stand. Too overcome by curiosity to pass it up, I had to have some of my own to try. The owner (I assume) was incredibly exuberant about his new product. He implored every passer-by to try his product. "PLEASE, try the Mangalitsa! Yes, please! Try the Mangalitsa!"as he cooked up samples of his ground pork. Of the choices (bacon, pork loin, etc.) I decided to go with the pork shoulder, thinking that that particular cut might offer us the most unadulterated taste of its purported unique flavor.

How to cook this expensive cut of pork was my next decision. "Cook Mangalitsa slow and low! Brining, slow roasting and braising work well. Grilling is risky!" read the flyer that came with my purchase. After further research at home, I found even more information on how dry and tough the meat can become if cooked like "normal" pork. It turns out that Mangalitsa, while having plenty of lovely, marbley fat throughout, has a different type of fat than the more modern breed of pig. The Mangalitsa fat is higher in unsaturated fats which, while of course being better for us, might also contribute to a dryer, tougher texture if not cooked properly. I finally decided that braising was my best bet for the "slow and low" approach to my hunk of pork shoulder (see more info on braising in My Quest for the Perfect Beef Short-Ribs). The cut I got had some bones, but not too many, so I just cut it into four manageable hunks, browned it, then partially submerged it in wine, stock, and veggies and cooked it at 225 degrees for several hours. The next night, I reheated it gently and then pulled the meat out of the pan and reduced the juices a bit. In an effort to keep it simple so as to allow the meat to shine, I served it with some Red Russian Kale, my favorite "spud nuts" (mini potatoes), and white beans.

After all of the talk about how different and amazing this meat was, I have to say that I had pretty high expectations. Expectations unfortunately, that it didn't quite meet. Don't get me wrong, the meat was incredible. Super tender, juicy, and full of flavor. And while it did have a slightly different flavor and reminded me of the boar I so loved eating while in Italy, the difference was very subtle. My husband said that he would have assumed it was beef it he hadn't known better. So it definitely was not your average pork taste, but was it worth the $25 a pound? When the Mangalitsa makes it to a market near you, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Washington Truffles

Truffles are one of life's great mysteries. Their scent and flavor is nearly indescribable, and the fact that they grow underground (being a species of underground ascomycetes) only further adds to their enigmatic personality. I have been hooked on these tubers since my first intoxicating whiff years ago, and now I seek them out in not only their raw form (once or twice I've found whole, fresh, black truffles at Central Market in Shoreline), but also in the myriad other ways that they can be found: truffle oil, truffle cheese, and truffle honey, yes honey, among a few. It was actually when traveling in Northern Italy that I came across the truffle honey, as a matter of fact. It was in a very "medieval" restaurant in a very "medieval" town (San Gimignano) that we were served this heavenly honey with pears and pecorino for dessert. Amazing. It's fitting that my moist poignant truffle moment came when I was in Europe. For many years, it seems that Europe has claimed ownership of the truffle. In particular, the French region of Perigord is known for its black truffles while the Italian area of Piedmont boasts the best white truffles. (As a side note, it was a 1.5 kilogram specimen of these white Alba truffles that sold for $160,000 last November!)

Recently, however, I have begun to hear about stateside truffles as well. Here in the Northwest, Oregon truffles are probably the most common ones, but apparently the word is out and the hunt is on because they seem to be everywhere suddenly. The Herbfarm restaurant in Woodinville even has an entire "Truffle Treasure" dinner featuring truffles from Oregon, Washington, and B.C. So was I surprised when I saw a basket brimming with the little black fungus recently at the Farmer's Market? Not exactly, but I certainly couldn't pass them up. I saved my last $8 for one ounce of the black gold and headed home, feeling like I'd just found a treasure chest full of loot in my own backyard.

I knew the truffles would be subtle, so I wanted something very simple to complement them, not overpower them. Pasta seemed like the perfect vehicle for enjoying their unique flavor. I decided to make homemade pasta because its texture is so much lighter than the dried, store bought kind. Making pasta from scratch is amazingly simple, assuming of course, that you have a pasta roller (I tried rolling it by hand once, and that was definitely not simple!). The pasta I make consists of only three ingredients, and it results in a remarkably more flavorful and fulfilling final product. So worth the extra effort. Anyway, I doused the cooked pasta with some good olive oil, then added some lightly sauteed shallots and minced garlic to the whole mess. I shaved the truffles as thinly as I possibly could with my knife and sprinkled them on top. The pasta was great but the truffles were just okay. They just sort of left me shrugging my shoulders as if to say "not too bad, but not too great either". They didn't have any of the other worldly qualities that I've grown accustomed to with their European counterparts. They just tasted and smelled earthy, dirty, and well, like a mushroom. Sorry Washington, but for now I guess I'll have to stick with the foreign stuff.

Fresh Pasta Dough

4 ounces semolina flour
4 ounces white A.P. flour
2 eggs at room temperature

Combine both flours together into a bowl. Make a well in the middle, and crack the eggs into the well. Fill one of the half egg shells with water and add that to the eggs as well. Using a fork, whisk the eggs until they are thoroughly beat together, then gradually begin to bring in the flour "walls" from the sides. Continue to work the dough in this way until it all comes together. When it gets too stiff, use your hands to knead the dough gently until it is smooth and uniform. Shape into a disc, cover with plastic wrap and set aside. Follow pasta roller directions for how to roll out the dough.

My Quest for the Perfect Beef Short-Ribs

It was a cold, rainy, miserable day several Saturdays ago when I decided fix all the word's ills by making beef short-ribs for dinner. After all, what other food could be so completely comforting and restorative (for those of us who eat beef, that is)? With its rich, satisfying broth and tender, fall-off-the-bone meat, short ribs make me feel warm just thinking about them! So I procured a packet of ribs from my favorite grass-fed beef supplier at the market (see Happy Cows, October 9), Olsen Farms (their web-site has apparently not been updated to reflect the fact that they have branched out from their original potato-only business), and set off to make a satisfying meal.

After consulting several recipe books, I decided to loosely follow a recipe that called for braising the short-ribs on the stove-top (as opposed to in the oven). The recipe also included dried cherries which I am particularly fond of and I thought might make for a nice contrast to the rich beef. The results of this meal were entirely disappointing. The beef was tough, dry and rather chewy, and the cherries overwhelmed the nice red wine we had picked out to go along with the beef with their tartness and acidity. Disappointed, I was not deterred. Knowing what good short-ribs can be like, I returned to the market the following week determined to make another go of it.

I started first with the beef broth. I bought large marrow "soup" bones from my friends at Olsen Farms, along with another packet of short-ribs. I've made homemade beef stock in the past, but it's always tasted overwhelmingly greasy to me. This time, however, I roasted the beef bones in the oven first which served two purposes. In addition to deepening the overall flavors of the stock through the roasting of the bones, cooking the bones first also releases a ton of their natural oils. After roasting them, I poured off nearly a cup of fat! I was also able to skim off the fat from the stock pot as it simmered, as well as after the stock had been strained and chilled. So although beef bones may be extremely fatty, beef stock doesn't have to be. And while it may sound like an ordeal to make, the actual hands-on time required for making any stock is minimal. As long as you're home for nearly a whole day, little other attention is required on your part. (I've included at the bottom of this post a recipe for making beef stock from scratch. I highly encourage anyone who might be interested to try the homemade version over store-bought beef broth.)

The next thing I decided to change was the way I had braised the short-ribs. Braising refers to slowly cooking any meat in a small amount of liquid, and it can be done either in the oven or on the stove-top, provided that the heat is sufficiently low. When meat is cooked in this way, the tough connective tissues and collagens contained within the meat are broken down and the meat is magically transformed from an inedible hunk of meat into a tender, succulent, delightful dinner. Braising is a method of cooking that has been used for thousands of years, and the two keys to its success are low heat and time. I began to wonder if the stove-top method that I had tried was too hot and too fast. Even though the short-ribs had simmered for nearly two hours, if the heat had been too much for them, then they would have cooked all the way through before any of the collagen had had a chance to melt within the meat, resulting in a dry meat with tough, inedible connective tissues remaining. Sounds just like our dinner!

Armed this time with my vat of homemade beef stock and my oven set to a meager 250 degrees, this batch of short-ribs did not disappoint. Similar to the process of making beef stock, once I got the pan into the oven there was very little attention required on my part. Knowing that these types of braises or stews also do best with a day or two of sitting, I let it cook for about two hours in the oven the first night, and then two nights later when we were ready to eat it I returned it to the oven for another hour (after first bringing it to a boil on the stove-top). Not only did this help to deepen the flavors further, but it also made for an extremely good Tuesday night dinner! Yes, my experiment paid off. The beef was everything I hoped it would be; tender, juicy, and full of hearty, beefy flavor.

Braised Beef Short-Ribs

2 Tbsp. olive oil
2 pounds beef short ribs, cut into individual pieces
salt and pepper to taste
1 tsp. whole coriander, crushed or cracked coarsely
1/4 cup flour plus 2 Tbsp.
1 large sweet onion, sliced thinly into rings
4 whole garlic cloves, ends trimmed, smashed and skin on
1 tsp. red pepper flakes (optional)
1 cup dry red wine
1 14.5-oz can stewed tomatoes
4 cups beef stock (for a homemade version, see below)
2 Tbsp. butter, softened
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh thyme
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh parsley

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Heat 1 Tbsp. olive oil in a large Dutch oven or stock pot over medium high heat. Sprinkle the salt, pepper, and crushed coriander over the pieces of short ribs, pressing them into the beef with your hands. Dust the ribs with 1/4 cup of the flour, and rub them some more until the flour and spices are evenly caked onto the ribs. Once the oil in the pan is hot (it moves around very quickly on the bottom of the pan) but not smoking, add the ribs. Cook for about 10 minutes, turning once or twice until evenly browned on all sides. Remove the ribs to a clean plate and reduce the heat to medium.

Add the remaining tablespoon of oil, then add the onions, tossing to coat with the oil. Cover the pan with a lid and allow to cook for about 20 minutes, stirring once or twice. Once the onions begin to soften and turn brown on the bottom, remove the lid and increase the heat to medium high. Continue to cook, stirring more frequently now, until the onions are evenly carmelized throughout. At this point, add the whole garlic cloves and the pepper flakes, and cook, stirring continuously, until the garlic releases its fragrance, about 1-2 minutes. Add the wine and deglaze the pan, scraping the bottom and sides of the pan with the back of a wooden spoon until the wine is reduced by about half. Add the tomatoes, the beef stock, and the browned short ribs. Allow to come to a boil, then cover the pan with a lid and place in the oven. Cook for 2–3 hours.

When the ribs are done, remove the pan from the oven and use tongs to transfer the short rib pieces to a clean plate; cover with foil and set aside. Bring the juices/beef broth to a boil. Add the remaining 2 Tbsp. flour to the 2 Tbsp. softened butter. Using a fork, mash them together to make a paste. When the beef broth has come to a boil, use a whisk to add the butter/flour paste to the broth, whisking continuously until the broth thickens slightly. Reduce the heat the medium low and simmer. Add the chopped thyme and parsley. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

To serve, place desired amount of short ribs into a bowl, and ladle broth over top.

Beef Stock

2 Tbsp. canola oil
About 4 pounds beef bones
2 large sweet onions (about 2 pounds), ends trimmed off, peel left on, and quartered
2 carrots, cut into one-inch pieces
2 celery stalks, cut into one-inch pieces
1 bunch of green onions, green tops only and/or one leek, roots trimmed, split lengthwise, rinsed well, and cut into 2-inch pieces*
2 large thyme sprigs
2 large parsley spring
2 bay leaves
1/4 tsp black peppercorns (whole)
5 whole garlic cloves, ends trimmed, smashed and skin on

Preheat oven to 475 degrees. Place a large roasting pan in the oven to preheat for about 10 minutes. Add about 1 Tbsp. canola oil to the hot pan and swirl the oil around to coat. Add the beef bones and roast for about 1 hour, turning once after about 30 minutes when the bottom side has browned completely.

Remove the bones from the oven and reduce the temperature to 400 degrees. Place the bones in a colander set over a baking sheet to drain (tongs work best for moving these awkward things around). Drain the fat from the pan and add 1 cup of water. Set the pan over medium heat and scrape the bottom to release the pan juices. Continue to cook and scrape until all drippings come off of the sides and the bottom of the pan. Add this fond to a large stock pot.

Transfer the bones to the stockpot and cover with cold water (about 5 quarts). Scrape off any fat that comes to the surface, then bring to a boil, skimming off any fat or impurities that rise to the surface. Simmer for about 3 hours.

Meanwhile, add the onions, carrots, celery, and green onions or leeks to the roasting pan and toss with the remaining tablespoon of oil. Roast for about 30-40 minutes, stirring once, until the vegetables are browned and carmelized. After the stock has simmered for about 3 hours, add the carmelized vegetables, the herbs, garlic, and peppercorns and simmer for another hour. Turn off the heat and allow to rest for at least 15 minutes. Pour the stock through a fine mesh strainer into a large, heat-proof container. If possible, prepare an ice bath (in your sink?) and set the container of stock into the ice bath. Stir both the ice and the stock frequently to cool it down as quickly as possible.

When chilled completely there should be a thin layer of fat on the top that can be easily scraped off. The beef stock can then be used as is or reduced further for a very rich stock.

*This can be a good chance to clean out the veggie bins of your refrigerator. Feel free to use any extra onion tops, etc., that you may have hiding out in your veggie drawer. As long as they are clean and not completely wilted, they’ll only add more depth to the stock. Plus, you can feel good about using things rather than letting them go to waste.

Souffle

Sometimes it's the simple things in life. The crackling fire, sun in the face, a good glass of wine. For me, it was eggs this week. One of the most primitive yet elemental of foods, eggs are often over-looked because of the fact that they are so pervasive and ubiquitous. Eggs are used in things; in cakes, cookies, cornbread. Occasionally they play the starring role on a Sunday morning plate where they are scrambled or neatly arranged in an omelette. Rarely, outside of breakfast, are eggs exploited for their true, hidden talents. They are amazingly versatile, for one. They can add complexity to an Asian noodle dish as well as whip up to great heights for a luscious meringue. Eggs also add needed fat and protein to many foods. Without them, cookies would be hard as rocks and pancakes would taste like paper.

We often take these amazing egg qualities for granted, and perhaps for good reason. The normal, run-of-the-mill grocery store egg is nothing to write home about. While it does have the same general abilities and qualities previously mentioned, on its own it is nothing outstanding. Compared to a "farm" egg, these grocery store wanna-be's are often, thin, flaccid, and lacking in flavor and color. We used to have a few chickens at our house when I was growing up. One of them even laid bright, aqua-green eggs. While I can't profess to remembering the flavor of these green eggs, I do remember that the yolks were a deep, golden orange, unlike anything I had previously encountered. As an adult, the most truly authentic "farm" egg experience I have had came when visiting friends in Olalla, WA who had their own chickens. These eggs too had intensely deep colored yolks and oh, the flavor! Rather than just being a vehicle for other tastes (like butter, bacon, etc.) these eggs were rich with their own "eggness". A truly different experience from store-bought eggs.

After reading Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma (see "Happy Cows, October 9), I have come to realize that just like beef, not all eggs are created equal. Even those claiming to be "cage-free" or "free-range" might not necessarily fit into our ideal of pastured animals roaming peacefully in a field. And in fact, many of the organic, cage-free eggs that I do buy don't end up tasting all that different from traditional grocery store eggs. So I was pleasantly surprised last week when I cracked open an egg that I brought home from the market (see "The Fullness of Fall, October 23) and its yolk nearly glowed with color. Not only that, but they made the most amazing scrambled eggs the next Sunday. The eggs were from Alm Hill Gardens, a farm north of Seattle in Everson which is, apparently, just a few miles from Canada. So what else could I do but go back and buy some more this week? I scooped up the last dozen they had (after only an hour of being open, mind you), bought some local cheese from Appel Farms and headed home to make a souffle.

While souffles may sound intimidating to make, they are really quite simple and fool-proof if you follow a few basic steps. After you've made the basic mix, all you have to do is add any combination of cheese, meats, or other goodies to your liking. The extras can also be frozen, which is what we used to do with our standard chocolate souffles that were always on the menu at the Seattle Golf Club when I worked there as the pastry chef. Just spoon the raw souffle mix into its baking dish, cover, and freeze. To cook, remove the souffles from the freezer about 15 minutes before baking, then bake according to the directions, adding about 5-10 more minutes of cooking time.

Basic Cheese Souffle
Serves 4

2 Tbsp. butter, plus more for coating the ramekins
1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 Tbsp. flour
3/4 cup milk
salt and cayenne to taste
3 large eggs, separated
1 cup coarsely grated cheese (I used Cumin-Gouda)
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and lightly coat four, 1-cup ramekins with melted butter. Sprinkle about half of the parmesan along the sides of the ramekins.

Over a medium saucepan, melt the butter, then whisk in the flour and cook for about 1 minute, stirring continuously. Whisk in the milk, and continue stirring over low heat until all lumps are gone and the sauce becomes smooth and thick. Remove from the heat and add the salt and cayenne, then the yolks. Let cool slightly then add the cheese.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites at medium speed until frothy, then add the cream of tartar. Increase the speed to high and continue beating until firm peaks form. With a rubber spatula, fold the whites into the yolk mixture. Spoon the souffle mixture into the ramekins, making sure that it is centered and nothing is clinging to the sides. Sprinkle the remaining parmesan on top and bake for about 20 minutes, or until puffed and golden brown. Serve immediately as they deflate incredibly fast.