Kitchen corpses (Empanadas de carne)
Kitchen corpses. If you love to cook, you’ll be likely to have a few (too many) of them. You know, those utterly useless machines clogging cabinets and those ‘handy’ utensils always jamming drawers. After every birthday party, you can add a few more precious items to the museum of kitchen futilities. Egg slicers, chocolate fountains, apple corers, pop art toasters or those cutesy corn-shaped skewers for eating the real thing on the cob….basta!
For one of these gadgets I’ll happily make an exception: my empanada maker. To make empanadas, the popular Southern-American pastries, you don’t even need this plastic tool. Latin ladies crank out perfectly shaped half-moons in a flash. And a bit of a rustic look is actually a pro for the home cook. But the thing is, if I don’t grant this empanada maker some precious storage space, I’ll forget to make them. Every time it comes tumbling out of the cabinet when I reach for something else, my friends are in for a treat!
Empanadas de carne
Makes about 8 large empanadas
These empanadas are my take on the traditional Argentinean/Chilean pastries. The dough is supple, not too flaky. It’s a tad bit sweet, which contrasts nicely with the spicy-sweet stuffing. A hearty winter snack!
For the dough:
- 1 egg yolk
- ½ cup water
- 3 tablespoons butter
- 3 tablespoons vegetable shortening (or okay, margarine)
- 2.5 cups of flour (300 grams)
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon sugar
For the filling:
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 onion, finely chopped
- 1 carrot, finely diced
- 2 small dried chillies (no seeds, finely chopped)
- ½ teaspoon cinnamon
- ¼ teaspoon cumin
- ¼ teaspoon mild paprika powder
- pinch of ground cloves
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 400 grams ground meat (I asked my butcher for a 50% pork, 50% beef mix)
- 3 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons raisins
- splash of white wine vinegar (no more than 1 teaspoon)
Mix the egg yolk and water with a fork until blended.
With your hands (because you don’t own a hand mixer with dough hooks!) work the butter and vegetable shortening into the (sifted) flour, into which you’ve added the salt and sugar.
Add a little bit of the egg mixture and start kneading. Keep adding small amounts of the mixture and keep kneading until you have a supple, smooth dough. If it’s too sticky, add some flour. Shape the dough into a ball, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.
For the filling, heat the oil and sauté the onion for a few minutes over medium heat until transparent. Add the carrots and sauté for another 2-3 minutes. Add the spices, keep stirring, and add the meat. Stir! When the meat is done, add the tomato paste, raisins and vinegar, mix everything, lower the heat and let simmer for another 10 minutes. If the mixture is too dry, add a spoon of water.
Preheat the oven to 200 °C (375 °F).
Use a rolling pin to roll out the dough until about 3 mm thick (0.12 inches). Cut out circles a bit bigger than the tool’s surface when open. Place the dough on the surface, add a few spoons of the meat mix onto one half (not too much!), close and press well. Scrape off excess dough with a knife, open the form and gently place pastry on a parchment paper-lined baking dish. With a fork, prick a few holes in them. Brush the top with a bit of egg yolk and bake the empanadas about 20 minutes until golden. Let them cool on a rack and serve warm or at room temperature.
Another few beautiful pictures by Luis Herrera!
Entranced at Cuckoo’s (Handi gosht)
When my friend Katie Parla asked me about my best bite of 2011 I had to think hard. There were so many! Kaymak in Istanbul, momo’s in Kathmandu, gnocchi all’amatriciana in Rome, my mom’s hare stew in Rotterdam. But, there was only one restaurant experience that really stood out: Cuckoo’s Den in Lahore, Pakistan.
Pakistan is not your average tourist destination, I know. Unless you have a reason to visit (I went for Children of Tomorrow, the education organization I volunteer for), western governments discourage visiting the country at this point in time. That’s unfortunate, because from what I’ve seen during two visits the landscapes are unique, the people most hospitable and the food just a-ma-zing. Pakistanis are true masters of barbecue and grill entire slabs of meat to sheer perfection.
The beautiful old city Lahore is known as the food capital of Pakistan, ever since the era of the Mughals. Here, all discussions sooner or later arrive at: ‘What are we eating? And when? ‘Food is the only real entertainment we have these days’, my host told me. He and his wife took me to Cuckoo’s Den. This famous restaurant is in the red light district of old Lahore (yes, Lahore has a red light district, Heera Mandi. Read more on it here). The owner is an artist, whose mother was a prostitute. Painted portraits of local women line the walls at the entrance. As you climb up three flights of steep marble stairs, encountering more objets d’art, dark carved wood and old tiles, the smell of grilled meat intensifies.
When we reached the rooftop, it left me speechless. Dimly lit by only a few bulbs that give the wafts of smoke a mystical air, the rooftop is a museum of curiosities. Roman busts mixed with carved elephants, mixed with buddha’s and ornaments. And, from any one of the wobbly tables you have a view on the majestic Badshahi Mosque.
The funny thing is, I don’t even remember the food all that well. I know it was good, very good indeed, especially the handi gosht (mutton stew). But in this ambiance, sitting outside in the sweltering Lahore air, you could’ve served me anything. I was under Cuckoo’s spell.
Handi Gosht (Pakistani mutton stew)
Handi gosht is a spicy mutton stew named after the type of cooking vessel, a handi. I didn’t have one, but used a Dutch oven instead. This recipe is adapted from Fazia’s Pakistan.
- 3 small dried chilies (seeds removed)
- 1 teaspoon fresh ginger
- 1 teaspoon fresh garlic
- ½ teaspoon cinnamon
- ¼ teaspoon cloves (or 1 whole)
- 3 black peppercorns
- 1 big black cardamom pod
- 4 tablespoons cooking oil
- 1 onion (chopped)
- 1 kilo or 2.5 pounds mutton (big chunks)
- 100 grams plain yoghurt (preferably Greek)
- 1 tablespoon of flour mixed with 2 spoons of water
With a mortar and pestle or in a food processor, grind chilies, ginger, garlic, cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns, cardamom and a pinch of salt to a spice paste. Add a little oil to smoothen.
In a Dutch oven, heat cooking oil. Fry the onions until transparent. Add the spice mix and fry for 5-7 minutes. Add a little water if the spices stick to the pan.
Add the mutton chunks and fry for a few minutes, until meat is coated. Add yoghurt and mix well. Add a cup of water, bring to a boil, then cover and let simmer until the meat is tender (an hour or so).
Add the flour/water mixture, stir and let simmer for another 15-20 minutes.
Serve with garnishes of garlic, fresh chilies and cilantro.
Delicious superstitions (Speck-wrapped salmon in pomegranate sauce)
A few years ago I’d easily walk under ladders, didn’t freak out when I accidentally crossed glasses when toasting and when I spilled some salt well, I just cleaned it up. But here in Italy, where superstitions run rife, I’ve noticed some changes in my behavior.
Not that I suddenly started to believe in supernatural causation after I do or don’t do something. I find myths and old wives’ tales highly amusing, but my no-nonsense nature prevents me from finding any consolation in them. However, I hate to step on toes, especially since I’m a minority. I decided to learn about the most common superstitions when my umbrella almost (by accident!) opened in a bar and I got yelled at. Rome blogger Eleonora Baldwin gave a great introduction a while ago, but I keep hearing new things every day. Who knew hearing a cat sneeze brings good luck!
Actually, if something is supposed to bring good luck, I’m all for it now, especially food-wise. If it doesn’t help, it doesn’t hurt and at least I ate well! Last week at the market an elderly signora told me pomegranates are supposed to be on the holiday table as they bring good luck. I knew they were considered lucky in Turkish culture (the seeds represent prosperity and money), but in Italian too? After a quick search I discovered this ancient fruit symbolizes long life, eternal youth, fertility, offspring and luck in love.
Wow, good thing I love to cook with pomegranates. They will be on the new year’s table together with the mandatory lenticchie con cotechino (lentils with traditional pork sausage) bringing money and good fortune, so we got everything covered for the new year ahead. Happy 2012 everyone!
Speck-wrapped salmon in pomegranate sauce
I meant to use bacon or thinly sliced smoked pancetta for this recipe, but when I couldn’t find that I decided to go for the nothern Italian speck. It’s nice and smoky, and has enough saltiness to balance out the sweetness of the sauce.
- 1 decent-size salmon slice per person
- 2-3 thin slices of speck, pancetta or bacon per salmon slice
For the sauce:
- 4-5 tablespoons pomegranate molasses (look for Turkish ‘nar ekşisi’ or Iranian ‘Rob-e Anar’)
- Seeds of 1 pomegranate
- Pinch of chilli pepper
- Salt to taste
Preheat the oven to 180 °C (350 °F).
Lightly wrap every piece of salmon in 2-3 slices of speck. Heat olive oil and sauté every slice carefully over high heat for 4-5 minutes on each side. Place in a baking pan, cover with tin foil and bake in the oven for 10-15 minutes.
Add the pomegranate molasses to the sauté pan. Stir over high heat, add a couple of spoons of water, a pinch of chilli pepper and salt and about half of the pomegranate seeds. Let it reduce to a velvety sauce. Reduce heat, add the rest of the pomegranate seeds (keep a few on the side), add the salmon and warm for another 2-3 minutes. Serve on heated plates and sprinkle with remaining seeds.
Picture: stock xchange (pomegranate) and Luis Herrera (salmon dish)
The non-Italian food club (Mole duranguense)
What is that trick our minds play that we always crave what we can’t have? In Rome, food lovers’ paradise, I keep finding myself on the lookout for great non-Italian food. And I’m not the only one.
A couple of months ago at a party, my friend Luis mentioned he once carried a hefty iron tortilla maker in his hand luggage, from his native Mexico to Rome. Other friends immediately jumped at him: “Can you make us burritos?” And so he did, in a 4-course dinner that blew our minds. Weeks later I was invited over at Hande’s to have German food and most recently I organized an Indonesian dinner. I jokingly dubbed these nights “The Non-Italian Food Club”.
When a cab driver recently stated that Roman food is the best in the world I couldn’t say no. Just because he wouldn’t let me. Clinging to your traditions is a fantastic thing, because a lot of people including myself reap the benefits from unbending rules. But how many times do I have to say that ‘different’ doesn’t mean better or worse?
From a young age I was exposed to a variety of cuisines. Traditional Dutch food was only remarkable in the hands of both my grandmothers. My mom cooked a mean curry one night and a bouillabaisse the next. Obviously I followed her example. And then my horizon expanded even more during my stint in New York. Having great food at your fingertips 24/7 is exhilarating!
For the large immigrant population Rome has, the city boasts surprisingly few non-Italian restaurants. I’m not saying ethnic food, cause as mentioned in this article recently, is there such a thing as ethnic food? And besides, I mean ALL non-Italian food, whether it be Dutch, Scandinavian or Pakistani. Anyway, if you’re brave enough to venture out to one of them, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment most of the time. There’s a handful of half-decent Korean places, some Indian restaurants, Middle-Eastern maybe. But most of it is kind of bland.
I’ve set myself on a mission to find the best non-Italian eats in Rome, even if it means wielding through a lot of crappy food. My brave friend Katie already found a good number of them, including favorites as Mesob or Shawarma Station. But what about great Mexican? Or outstanding French cuisine? In the mean time, I hope there’ll be many more of these unforgettable home-cooked dinners!
Mole Duranguense de la abuela Elvira
This is a tried and tested recipe of Luis’s grandmother Elvira. ‘Mole’ is the general term for ‘sauce’. The best known version is ‘poblano’, containing chili peppers, chocolate, shredded turkey and some other 100 ingredients. This family version from the Durango region ‘only’ has 9 (excluding those used for the broth).
- For the broth: 1 onion, 2 garlic cloves and a bunch of fresh green herbs such as bay leaves, marjoram, thyme and so on.
- 3 chicken breasts
- 10 red ancho chilis
- 1 green plantain (peel included)
- 10 almonds
- 4 tablespoons sesame seeds
- 3 cm cinnamon stick, ground
- 3-4 slices of toasted bread
- 1 flour tortilla (browned in a frying pan with a bit of cooking oil)
- 1 ½ tablet of Oaxaca chocolate (alternative: 150 grams of 80% cacao dark chocolate)
In a large pot, bring water to a rolling boil, add roughly chopped onion, garlic, and fresh herbs and add the chicken breasts (whole) after a few minutes. Reduce the heat, and let the chicken boil until done. (This method is pretty common in Mexico, even so that it says ‘cook the chicken the normal way’ in the recipe). Remove chicken and set aside.
Slice the ancho peppers in half, remove the seeds and soak them for 20 minutes or so in some of the warm broth.
Slice the plantain horizontally (including the peel!) and fry the slices in a bit of cooking oil until golden.
Soak the almonds and the sesame seeds in a bit of warm water. Drain and place in a food processor, together with the chilis, cinnamon, the bread (in small chunks), the tortilla, and the plantain. Process until the paste has a velvety texture.
Add this paste to a heavy-bottomed pot, and, over low heat, add the chocolate piece by piece. Keep stirring slowly until you have a thick homogeneous sauce. If it’s too thick, add a few tablespoons of broth. Add salt to taste.
Shred the chicken breasts with a fork, add the shreds to the sauce, stir for about 5 minutes. Turn off the heat and let the mole stand for 1 to 2 hours. Reheat before serving.
We served the mole with a slice of fried plantain, refried beans and saffron rice.
Picture courtesy of Gina Tringali.
Aaahhh, butter!
Butter. I’ll spread some on a slice of proper bread, sprinkle it with some sea salt and call it dinner. Or I’ll cook some fresh fish in a good puddle of the stuff and finish off with a squeeze of lemon.
I guess I shouldn’t be saying this out loud in the land of olive oil worshippers, but I really LOVE butter. My mantra: “you can never have enough of a thing that is bad for you.” At its best, butter is creamy but light, with a slightly tart, buttermilky flavor (never sour!). It is bright yellow in color, has a slight shimmer and just screams: FARM FRESH!
So, I guess I shouldn’t even be thinking this at all in the land where every single national foodstuff is revered as a form of GOD, but: Italian butter sucks. It’s bleak and unattractive-looking, just tastes like fat and nothing else. I’m still looking for that one particular type that proves me wrong.
Butter really is one of the things the Dutch can be proud of. Especially of ‘boerenboter’ (farmer’s butter), made of the cream (yeah…butter should be around 84% fat) of fresh, non-homogenized milk. This ‘non-homogenized’ means that winter butter tastes completely different from summer butter, when the cows have been grazing in the meadows.
Pure lactic acid-producing bacteria are added to the cream after which they are left alone for about 36 hours. The cream comes out slightly soured, after which the churning can begin. Churning is basically shaking and beating the cream until it becomes so confused it transforms. Little ‘lumps’ of fat separate from the liquid – the buttermilk. Then, these lumps are rinsed with cold water and worked into a creamy mass that encapsulates the remaining traces of the liquid. The milk proteins emulsify the fat. The way this process is done determines the taste of the butter to a great extent (temperature, duration of churning, etc).
This is one of my favorite lazy recipes. Try to get your hands on some French (Bretagne, Normandie) butter or Irish butter.
Entrecôte with sage and orange butter
Serves 2
- 2 medium-sized entrecotes (rib steak)
- 3 tablespoons fresh butter, room temperature
- 1 tablespoon sage, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon orange zest, finely chopped
- 1 teaspoon garlic, finely chopped
- 1.5 tablespoons fresh orange juice
- sea salt
Take the meat out of the fridge and its wrapping at least one hour before preparation. Season lightly on both sides with salt and fresh pepper.
In a small bowl, mix butter, sage, orange zests, garlic and juice with a fork to a creamy mass. Season with a bit of fresh sea salt.
Sauté the steaks ( = rare!) in butter and let them rest for about ten minutes, wrapped in aluminum foil.
Serve on preheated plates with a royal dollop of sage butter.
Picture courtesy of Luis Herrera.
The ‘Kapsalon’: fries Rotterdam-style
Thought gravy-doused poutine clogged up your arteries just by looking at it? Think again. In my native Rotterdam, people are going wild about a concoction called ‘Kapsalon’. Basically that’s a battlefield of fries, shawarma meat, gouda cheese, lots of garlic sauce, topped with lettuce. The snack is notorious for its unsurpassed beer-absorption properties.
I was a Kapsalon virgin until recently, just because soggy fries aren’t really my thing. But a couple of months ago, I had my first taste when I went back to Holland to write ‘Het Grote Frietboek’, a comprehensive book on ‘frites’. These famous Belgian and Dutch fries are usually served with mayonnaise (remember that famous scene in Pulp Fiction?), but you’ll find lots of other creative sauce combinations.
The book is doing well, we’ve sold about 60,000 copies and working on the second edition. I’m not hooked on the Kapsalon just yet, but I love the story behind it.
‘Kapsalon’ literally means ‘Hair Salon’. The snack was born in Delfshaven, a multi-ethnic neighborhood in Rotterdam. Nathaniel Gomes, a Cape Verdean hairdresser and owner of hair salon ‘Tati’, ordered lunch from the nearby restaurants and fry shops every day. Bored with the options, he decided to mix things up a bit. He asked the owners at the next-door kebab shop ‘El Aviva’ to pair fries and shawarma meat in an aluminum container. A Turkish assistant of the salon thought it was a good idea to top it off with gouda cheese, place the whole thing under the grill and serve it with garlic sauce, hot sauce and lettuce. Clients who saw Nathaniel relish the snack wanted to have it too, but since it had no formal name, he said they should ask for a ‘kapsalon’ (‘hair salon’). It became an instant hit, and all kebab and fry shops in the city soon added it to the menu.
Go to any fry shop in Rotterdam during the wee hours and you’ll find hoards of party people lining up for their portion of ‘Kapsalon’. The snack is a cross-cultural best seller: you see people of all ages, ethnicities and social groups thankfully dive into it.
To me, this is why the ‘Kapsalon’ represents Rotterdam for me. I’m definitely going to have it again, but I’ll make sure to have some beers before I order, because I’m sure pretty sure it’ll taste fantastic then.
Kapsalon
Serves 1 starving night crawler, ideally slightly intoxicated
- 1 portion Dutch fries
- 200 gram shawarma meat
- garlic sauce
- hot sauce (optional)
- 1 slice gouda cheese
- 1 handful of iceberg lettuce
Put fries into aluminum container, add shawarma meat, drizzle with garlic sauce and hot sauce (optional). Top with gouda cheese and place under a hot grill for 2-3 minutes until cheese has melted. Finish off with a layer of iceberg lettuce and serve with a plastic fork and lots of napkins.
