Goulash—or slumgullion

Goulash! Even the very name sounds like stew or mish-mash of some sort. I’m sure I’ve eaten it, but I don’t remember when. I do remember one attempt to cook it that I thought was unsuccessful. But recently I came across a mention that rekindled my interest, and I set out to find a suitable recipe. Of course, I fiddled with the recipe I did find, but it turned out to be a keeper. With Fall coming on, it’s a good dish to keep in mind for chilly evenings.

Goulash is traditionally thought of as a Hungarian dish characterized by the use of a lot of paprika and caraway seeds—and that sort of sums it up. I might say it’s stroganoff on paprika. It is, however, eaten in many Central European countries, often with a distinguishing spice or addition. In the American South or Midwest it is sometimes called slumgullion and bears scant resemblance to the Hungarian version. Slumgullion often has pasta, tomato (sauce, paste, or canned), onions, garlic, and ground beef. I think what I did is sort of a mix of Hungarian and American traditions.

The basic recipe I ultimately settled on comes from the New York Times and calls for a pound of beef stew meat. I have a problem with stew meat—when I ask the butcher to cut it into one-inch pieces, I get these huge, untrimmed hunks with lots of fat, and I spend too long trimming the meat. Besides I started this late in the day and didn’t have time for stew meat to stew and get tender. So I used hamburger.

Goulash

2 Tbsp. butter

1 medium onion, chopped fine (you can slice onion, but I dice out of kindness to some in the family who really don’t like onion)

2 Tbsp. good, sweet Hungarian paprika (I got it from the spice bins at Central Market—so much fresher and cheaper)

1 tsp. caraway seeds (I omitted because I don’t particularly like them and didn’t miss them in the finished dish, but they are traditional)

1 lb. ground beef

½ cup flour

2 c. beef broth (or as needed)

1-1/2 tsp. salt

½ tsp. pepper

1 Tbsp. fresh lemon juice

Wide egg noodles

Sour cream

Melt the butter and sauté the onions until soft and translucent. Add paprika and caraway and cook briefly. Add ground hamburger and sauté until there is no pink. Sprinkle with flour and stir to incorporate thoroughly.

Add the beef broth a bit at a time, cooking after each addition. Check consistency as you add. I used about 1-3/4 cups; the full two cups would have made it to runny.

Just before serving, stir in salt, pepper and lemon juice.

Serve over wide egg noodles and top each serving with a good-sized dollop of sour cream.

This is one of those dishes that tastes better the next day, if you have time to plan—and cook—ahead.

Baking Brownies—or a near kitchen misadventure.

I blogged a bit about this a few days ago, but in case you missed it, here’s the backstory to this recipe. My neighbor and good friend Mary Dulle posts on the Facebook NYTimes Community Cookbook page, as do I, and the other day she posted that she had made the brownies she remembered from her childhood, and they were dry. She needed help but confessed she had substituted whole wheat flour for white and added flaxseed. No brainer! No wonder they weren’t right. Online I advised her to just go back to the original recipe. Over wine a couple of nights later, she was resistant (putting it mildly) to that idea. Okay, I could go with the flour change but not the flaxseed. I decided there was nothing for it, but I would have to make the original recipe.

My first hurdle was that Central Market online listed pages of chocolate but no semi-sweet chocolate bits. A phone call solved that—the online shopper would be glad to add them. So instead of the Nestle’s, which the recipe called for, I went all gourmet with Ghirardelli bits. They were only available in a 12 oz. package, but I only needed 6 oz. So now I have 6 oz.in my pantry drawer (yes, my pantry is in a deep drawer).

Please realize that I don’t bake much in my tiny kitchen. I could bake a pie in my toaster oven--a friend does it all the time—but I was never good at pies. And lots of baking dishes don’t fit in the toaster oven. Limited storage means I only keep dishes and pans that I use regularly. So when it came to brownies, I didn’t have a pan. Jordan was out of town, so I asked Christian for a square, 8-inch pan. I was sure there were several in their kitchen, because I’d left them there, including the one Colin, as a toddler, poked holes in (it would still hold a thick brownie batter).

He dutifully brought one to me, but an instinct I should have listened to told me it was a 9-inch. But I proceeded. Still suspicious, I vowed to take it out of the oven early, but twenty minutes goes by quickly. Long story short, I overbaked the batter and ended up with cake, not brownies. Good flavor but a dry texture. Nice if you wash it down with a bit of wine, but not the brownie I had dreamed of.

When I got the ingredients all mixed, when I realized I don’t keep baking powder either. I called Christian again, sure that he would beg me not to cook because it’s too much work for him. But he sent Jacob out—with baking soda, which I had and did not want. Jacob trudged back, got the powder from his dad, and handed it to me without a word.

So get out your eight-inch pan (and a ruler if you’re not sure). And put away your whole wheat flour and flaxseed! This is the way you remember baking brownies when you were a kid.

Mary’s Brownies

Melt: 6 oz. chocolate bits and 1/3 c. butter. Let cool a bit, so you don’t cook the eggs in the next step.

Beat until pale lemon in color: two eggs and 1/3 c. sugar

Separately mix: 1/2 c. flour, 1 tsp. baking powder, and 1/3 tsp. salt.

Combine chocolate and egg mixtures; slowly stir in flour mix. stir in 1 tsp. vanilla extract

Pour into greased 8-inch pan. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes (or a minute or two less, never longer).

There’s a lesson here of course and one we tend to overlook: the size of the pan does matter. Now all I need is an 8-inch pan—I’ve still got that other 6 oz. of chocolate bits!

Kitchen Oops! And a keeper chicken recipe

Kitchen fails! We all have them, and I’ve had a couple of doozies lately. I tried a New York Times (sorry, Sam Sifton) recipe for zucchini with garlicky bread crumbs, following it as best I could while reducing it to one zucchini instead of two. The recipe didn’t say to scrape out the seeds—or I overlooked that—and what I got was too much bland zucchini. I usually love it, but this was a mouthful, and the bread crumbs didn’t cut it. I discarded the other half, regretting the waste.

I’ve had a recipe for some time for salmon with a soy/molasses glaze—looked and sounded wonderful, so I tried it. For some unfathomable reason, I followed the directions to the letter—and grossly overcooked the fish, which was dry and without flavor. Couldn’t even taste that glaze. This time I at least made lemonade out of lemons—I cooked some spinach fettucine and let it sit in hot water. Sautéed garlic and a bit of onion in half butter, half olive oil. Added about a half cup of chicken broth and a bunch of frozen green peas and let it cook until the peas were defrosted. Stirred in the salmon and gave it all a good squeeze of lemon. By then, the broth had reduced nicely. Using tongs, I fished the pasta out of the water and added it to the salmon—it’s my new pasta technique since with the hot plate I can’t cook two things at once or I’ll trip a circuit breaker (I still call it blowing a fuse).

I stirred the salmon and pasta mix over medium heat until it was warm through and then added a generous dollop—maybe more—of sour cream. Really good—got a meal and a half out of that leftover and prided myself on having saved the salmon to some extent. I may be off salmon for a while though.

Fortunately my failures have been balanced by at least one outstanding success. My family loved the green chili chicken bake I did the other night. I don’t know where I got the recipe, but I doctored it because I have an intense dislike for dry chicken. This project required I borrow a large baking dish, that wouldn’t fit in my toaster oven, from Jordan and then send the dish into the house to be baked—one of the advantages of a tiny kitchen attached to a house with a full kitchen. But I forgot to “borrow” my metal meat tenderizer, which they have in their kitchen—Christian is loving pounding out chicken. I tried tenderizing with the edge of a small plate—minimal success, and I resigned myself to thick chicken pieces but with lots of sauce.

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

1 8  oz. package of cream cheese, softened

½ tsp. garlic salt

¼ tsp. cumin

¼ tsp. fine ground black pepper

1 4 oz. can green chilies

1 can cream of chicken soup, undiluted

1 cup Monterrey Jack cheese, grated

Pound the chicken flat and lay pieces in a greased 9x13 baking dish. Combine next four ingredients thoroughly; then stir in the chilies. Make sure it is well blended. Add chicken soup—you could use cream of mushroom if you prefer or you might want to dilute just a bit with broth. The way I did it made a thick sauce—delicious but pretty rich. Spread the mixture evenly over the chicken and bake 30 minutes at 350. Top with Jack cheese and bake another ten minutes, or until cheese is melted and begins to brown.

Serve with lime wedges—the juice cuts the richness a bit. We accompanied the dish with wild rice, but you could use noodles or, to be authentic, beans. This is a keeper recipe, according to my family.

Fried mush, johnny cakes, and polenta

I grew up in Chicago. I stress that because I used to wonder in retrospect how my mom, from a German family in a small, central-Illinois city, came to make mush, which I think of as southern. But she did. I don’t remember the process, but I remember the result: slices of mush, probably fried in margarine (war time, you know), and served with maple syrup. Mush is simply cooked cornmeal, either white or yellow, allowed to sit, usually in a loaf pan, until it is firm. It turns out it is common on the eastern seaboard and in the Southeast. Even the Amish eat it.

Lately I’ve been fixing fried mush occasionally for my breakfast. I fry it in butter, never margarine, until it is crispy on the outside and soft inside. With pure maple syrup, it’s a real treat. I mentioned it to a friend who came by one morning, and he made a face. But when he talked, he said, “We call that a johnny cake.” Also known as hoecake in the South, johnny cake is often more a fried gruel than the solidified mush. Today it is common in New England, and some say it originated in Rhode Island. Truth is, it probably came from South Carolina.

And all this use of ground corn traces back to the indigenous people of this land.

But take a great jump across the pond to Italy, where they have the same dish and call it polenta. I was well grown before I knew a thing about polenta. In fact, I discovered it when I wanted to make a casserole that was sort of  international in flavor—a Mexican-style meat and bean sauce between layers of polenta instead of tortillas. I found I could buy ready-made polenta in the store, shaped like fat round sausages, and slice it. I’ve also cooked it in a cake pan, sometimes adding whole kernel corn, and sliced it into wedges. Wonder where that recipe is that told me how to make a mushroom ragout to put on it.

Recently I tried making soft polenta and was really pleased with the result. Italians sometimes substitute soft polenta for pasta, and I tried a new recipe for roasted meatballs (I get so frustrated trying to get an even crust on them when frying) in marinara sauce with soft polenta on the side. To make it even easier, the recipe called for ready-made “good quality” marinara and specified Rao brand, which I found in the store.

So here’s the recipe for soft polenta. Be forewarned: it takes a lot of time and a lot of stirring. But it’s even good, served warm and alone, for breakfast.

Soft Polenta

Ingredients

4 cups chicken stock, preferably low sodium

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup yellow corneal

1 tsp. kosher salt

½ tsp. black pepper

1 cup freshly grated Parmesan

½ cup crème fraiche, or substitute a bit less sour cream

2 Tbsp. butter

            Pour broth into a deep pot, because it will splash vigorously as it cooks. In fact, I also recommend wearing hot pad mitts while stirring. Add garlic and bring to a boil. Turn heat down to medium, and slowly and cautiously, stir in the cornmeal, a bit at a time. Add salt and pepper. This is when you have to stir and stir to prevent the mixture from clumping and/or scorching. Stir from the bottom of the pan, where it’s likely to form a congealed layer. It’s cooked when the mixture thickens, but this can take 10-15 minutes. You can step away from stirring periodically for a few seconds—to rest your stirring arm, if nothing else—but don’t turn your back on it for long.

I also found that vigorous boiling and spitting a hazard, so I turned the heat to low for brief spells and then back up again.

When it is sufficiently thick, take if off the burner and stir in the cheese, crème fraiche, and butter, and stir in thoroughly.

Serve hot. If serving with marinara, let the two sauces overlap in the middle of the plate.

A light summer lunch

It’s been a while since I cooked for my friend, Heather. She was once a work-study student in my office (neither of us are saying how long ago) and after graduation worked for the publisher Harcourt Brace. I thought I had steered her toward a good literary career, but then she went off track and went to culinary school. Today she’s the chef at a popular, upscale bistro/restaurant.

I can’t remember when or why we started doing lunch at the cottage, but it was after my hip surgery when I couldn’t get out to meet anyone at restaurants. We took turns—I’d cook, and then next time she’d bring lunch. For me, it’s a bit intimidating to cook for someone with her culinary skills and background, but yesterday was my turn.

I fixed tomato slices with a tonnato sauce and an avocado/cucumber salad and served baguette slices.  Tonnato is an Italian tuna sauce that once you discover it, you may be tempted to use on everything from chicken and veal to vegetables. I even had a dab on the tuna that was left over the other night.

I’ve tried several recipes for tonnato and like this one best. Unfortunately, it is not the recipe in my cookbook, Gourmet on a Hot Plate (don’t let that stop you from using the book).

Sauce Ingredients:

5 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil

3 oz. can good tuna packed in olive oil, drained

¼ c. mayonnaise

2 Tbsp. capers, drained

2 tsp. lemon juice

2 anchovy fillets

1 garlic clove, minced

2 Tbsp. fresh or 1 tsp. dried basil

Put all ingredients in food processor and process until smooth.

Use large, fresh tomatoes. Slice thickly, plate, and spoon sauce over. Pepper liberally but watch out for salt—the sauce is already a bit salty. Garnish with fresh basil (or chopped cilantro or parlsey, but basil is better). Average serving is two tomato slices, though I can usually only eat one.

Avocado/cucumber salad

1 medium cucumber, seeded and cubed

2 avocados, diced

4 Tbsp. chopped cilantro

1 clove garlic, minced

2 green onions, chopped

Salt and pepper

Juice of ¼ large lemon

Juice of 1 lime

2 Tbsp. crumbled Feta cheese

Mix it all together and chill well before serving. Serves four. Can be halved.

Heather said it was a perfect light summer lunch. Couldn’t ask for better praise.

Burgers with a twist

After several days of picking my way around red and green chili in New Mexico, I was ready for some down-home Texas food. But I was also a bit unprepared for a last-minute request for dinner for four. Burgers were the answer—but with a twist. I had that pound of ground lamb in the freezer.

Lamb can be controversial—some people dislike it, their dislike verging on hate, and some love it. I fall into the latter category, grew up eating leg of lamb dinners and savoring cold lamb sandwiches the next day. Lamb burgers sounded just right to me.

I had a recipe but not all the ingredients, so I adjusted it (who, me? Tinker with a recipe? Of course I did1).

For lamb burgers:

½ c. seasoned panko (I would have preferred plain, but this used up on leftover item in the freezer

1 large shallot, finely chopped

1 large clove garlic, finely chopped

1 tsp. dried oregano

¾ tsp. salt

½ tsp. finely ground pepper (I do not like fresh ground, because I don’t like to bite into a large piece of pepper)

1 lb. ground lamb

Mix thoroughly by hand and shape into four patties. I pan fried these instead of grilling. Since lamb is greasy, I did not add oil to the skillet. But what was important—I got the skillet hot before I added the patties. This gave them a nice crust. On my hot plate I used the medium setting and cooked until patties were medium, neither rare nor well done.

Serve with or without buns. Offer toppings of lettuce, tomato, red onion, feta, and tzatziki sauce. My cookbook, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, has a tzatziki sauce recipe, but I even simplified that.

Easy tzatziki sauce:

1 cup plain Greek yogurt

1 large garlic clove, finely chopped

Half a cucumber, peeled, seeded, and grated

1 tsp. dried dill weed

½ tsp. lemon juice

Mix it all together.

As I suspected, grandson Jacob did not like the meat—he’s not a big meat eater. I was glad I had asked him to cut his burger in half before he ate. I had the other half for lunch the next day. These burgers got a five-star rating from the adults in the family, and I have voed to keep ground lamb in my freezer all the time.

Cooking Christmas dinner in July

Bread stuffing, fresh out of the oven

The story of my turkey-and-all-the-trimmings birthday dinner is pretty much old news now, but for cooks I thought I’d detail what I  did—and the way I coped when I ended up with a lot of deli-style sliced turkey breast instead of the whole breast I thought I ordered.

At first, confronted with all that sliced turkey, I thought I’d serve it cold with hot gravy. Then I thought maybe I’d also offer a cold tonnato sauce, which I would love but others in the family might not. But then inspiration struck, and I posted my dilemma on the NYT Cooking Community page on Facebook. The suggestions—and the birthday wishes—overwhelmed me. But one stuck out: a contributor reported success wrapping turkey slices around portions of dressing.

My chance to have northern-style bread dressing! The southerners in my family always fix cornbread dressing, and I long for what my mom used to make. So that was my first hurdle. I knew how Mom did it, but I didn’t have the proportions. I wanted to use up baguette pieces that had been in the freezer long enough but how much bread? Everything online said, “A small loaf” or measured by weight—I wanted to know how many cups of turn bread pieces. I finally found a recipe that gave me some guidance and then winged it. Here’s what I did;

3 Tbsp. butter

4 stalks celery, chopped fine

1 medium onion, chopped fine

1-1/2 tsp. Kosher salt

1 tsp. finely ground black pepper

6 cups torn bread pieces (baguette slices)

2 cups chicken broth (approximate measure)

3 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh parsley 

1 Tbsp. dried thyme

(Add 1 Tbsp. fresh sage or 1 tsp. dried if you have it—I didn’t; you can also add rosemary but remember a little goes a long way.)

Sauté celery and onion in butter until translucent. Cool slightly and mix with bread pieces in a large bowl. Stir in parsley, thyme, and sage. Stir in broth a bit at a time until you get the right consistency—mixture should be moist but not soupy.

Lightly grease a jelly roll pan or rimmed cookie sheet. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Yes, you can do this in a toaster oven. The pan I use in my oven was just the right size.

Let the dressing cool until you can handle it, and then put about a good Tbsp. in the center of each turkey slice. Warning: deli-sliced turkey is fragile and tends to tear when you roll it. If you can get it sliced to order at a deli counter, ask for just a bit thicker slice.

Arrange turkey rolls (my son-in-law called them Christmas roll) in flat casserole dish, lightly greased. Cover lightly with broth—again, don’t get it mushy. You want just enough to steam the rolls but not float them. Cover casserole tightly with foil. Bake at 350 for 20-30 minutes. All you need is to heat it through.

I fixed two rolls per person, found the ladies ate one each, the men two. Served with mashed potatoes, traditional green bean casserole, and gravy, lots of gravy. Since I didn’t cook turkey and had no drippings, I used packaged dry gravy—Pioneer brand—and it was just fine. A good trick for improving packet gravy is to add a bouillon cube or a tsp. of refrigerated bouillon concentrate.

My Christmas menu was a hit and drew raves.