fortification fridays - PÖRKÖLT (Hungarian paprika beef stew)

I went to Hungary last year for a conference, and even though it was in the middle of the summer and I was stuffed after a few days, I couldn't stop eating dish after dish of pörkölt with little flour dumplings called galuska. I wanted to try every version in every restaurant, cantina, bistro, cafeteria I visited, and then I wanted more. The recipe is simple: beef, onions, paprika, salt and pepper, and a bit of optional green pepper and/or tomato. Hungarian food is nothing short of a miracle; it's heavy as can be, but, with a few good ingredients, wonderful winter eating.

When I came back, carrying bags of paprika in my luggage, I embarked upon a mission to find a good Hungarian cookbook. Luckily, the best one in English came out in a new edition at the end of 2006. Part of the Konemann Culinaria cookbook series, it is called Culinaria Hungary and is available through amazon.com. My recipe is an adaptation from that cookbook.


A note on paprika: don't buy non-imported paprika. You will be using 2-3 tablespoons at a time, so you really want the good stuff. Plus, it is brighter and sweeter when used as a garnish. I have purchased even the best domestic types available, including the stuff at Penzey's, but it absolutely pales in comparison to imported fresh Hungarian paprika from Kalocsa. If you go to Hungary, skip the tourist markets (such as the one pictured here, the biggest open market in Budapest) and buy your paprika at a grocery store. Much cheaper and probably fresher, too. If you can't go to Hungary, I'll forgive you. Find a Eastern European grocery and/or deli in your area and ask them. There are at least two places in central Oregon that carry the brand pictured here called "Kalocsai", Novak's Hungarian Restaurant in Albany, and Zolotoy Petushok, a Russian deli and market in Eugene, so I am sure you can find one in your area. The types of paprika are baffling -- I bought a "sweet" one that had the word "csemege" in it, and I find the following incomprehensible descriptions online:


Delicate (Csípmentes Csemege): Ranging from light to dark red, a mild paprika with a rich flavor.
Exquisite Delicate (Csemegepaprika): Similar to Delicate, but more pungent.
Pungent Exquisite Delicate (Csípös Csemege, Pikant): A yet more pungent Delicate.

"Pungent delicate" sounds like an oxymoron to me, so I'll leave it at that and say it is just plain delicious.



So enough already. Here's the recipe.

Pörkölt - Hungarian paprika beef stew

Kitchen needs: Something to saute the onions and an oven or slow cooker
Serves: 6

I suppose this would be called "goulash" in America, but it is nothing like the thin paprika soup they call goulyas in Hungary, and nothing like the sour-cream enriched, hamburger mushroom casserole that passes as goulash. My recipe uses a bit more water than usual because I like a bit more liquid in my stews to soak into the dumplings/noodles/potatoes, and although purists wouldn't use the tomato or pepper, I don't have a problem with either. If you like caraway seed, you could add some, but that's not considered "traditional" either.

2 lbs. beef chuck or stew beef, cubed in 1-2 inch pieces
2 medium yellow onions, chopped
2-3 T. imported paprika (sweet)
1 t. imported paprika (hot), optional
one perfect garden tomato, medium, halved, or 1T. tomato paste
1 dense-fleshed green pepper, such as an anaheim or poblano, or a small bell pepper, chopped
cooking fat: lard, bacon drippings, or vegetable oil (preferences in that order)
salt and pepper

Saute onions in 1 T. of cooking fat until soft and light brown. Remove from heat, then combine with beef and paprika (no need to brown beef) to your pot or slow cooker and mix thoroughly. Mix in salt and pepper to taste, the tomato/tomato paste, and green pepper. Add a cup of water or wine if you want it saucy. Cover and cook on 300 for about 2 hours in the oven or 4-5 hours on low in a slow cooker (if the latter, you will probably want to add some wine or water or stock to increase the liquid). The beef should be fork-tender when done. This recipe improves greatly when allowed to sit for several hours or overnight. Serve with dumplings, egg noodles, pasta, or boiled potatoes.

Image of paprika package courtesy of someone's Hungary food products site.

all praise the sun gods

There's a redbreasted sapsucker (sphyrapicus ruber) living in my elm tree. I finally got a photo of it. My elm tree gives me an immense amount of pleasure; it's one of the best things about this house. I would just sit and look up into it all day if I could. Kant wrote that the sublime fills you with fear, contracts your brain, and then leaves you awash in pleasure. That's what I feel when I look up into my elm tree. That is, if I'm not watching the bird/squirrel showdown.

I've been engaged the very first stages of landscaping as I've been pruning trees over the past few days. We've had a couple of days that were about 65 degrees and sunny, and boy, did I need that. I've done everything but prune the grapes and the plum tree in back, both of which need pruning desperately. I got a small pile of wood from the birch tree, which I'm drying behind the shed, and enough long sticks to make nice stakes from the plum tree. A friend has promised to give me more roses, so I have to figure out what to do with them, and I learned that I own a bunch of dahlias that are planted between my house and my neighbor's. Yum.

I think I'm going to build raised beds over a retaining wall in the middle of the yard for my veggies, lime the heck out of the soil near the house and put in my herbs there, and build a bean frame in the back corner and hope the blueberry comes back (chopped down by the PO -- thanks). I guess I could put in squash there, too. Next year I'll do cold frames for seedlings and build a deck.

in which I become a logger

When in Rome, right? I'm currently engaged in chopping down trees. It seems that's all I'm about lately. Pretty soon, the Eugene green mafia will be picketing at my door.

I discovered that the wild plum tree that had grown up inside my quince bush was not one but several trees, as thick as my wrist and about 10 feet high. Someone had already cut out some of them and they grew back, so I'm going to have to stay vigilant and pull out the suckers that will continue to grow. I can't kill the stumps because they are too entrenched in the quince. What made the job particularly fun was the thorns that grow on quince branches. Who knew?

Because the pile of brush on my lawn wasn't large enough, I decided to chop large branches off my European white birch tree. The tree is really messy, and it branches over the driveway next to my front door has led to months of tracking in debris and bird crap on the cars. It lost its little leaves in the fall, then promptly formed thousands of catakins, which fly in the wind like confetti (you can see some in the recycling bin in the first picture). I could tolerate the debris if it were just for a few weeks, but the tree has been making a mess since October, before we moved in, and the catakin confetti doesn't want to leave the driveway, even if we sweep up mounds of it. It gets wet and sticks to the pavement like mud.

So I decided to remove some of the branches, or rather, have my people (read: Mr. Reluctant, the best husband ever) remove the branches. It's not really a good idea to prune a birch in the spring, since it drips sap and attracts borers, but I saw that some of the branches had wounds and others (like the one that crosses the middle of the two trunks in the second image), had cracks in them that weakened the limbs already. And I'm tired of finding birch confetti in my hair and dishwasher.

Now it's just a matter of getting rid of the wood. I saved some straight branches for garden use, but I'm not sure what to do with the bigger logs. I guess I could dry them and burn them, but would the moss/lichens growing on them affect us? I don't want a bunch of black smoke in my living room. Maybe I could use them as campfire wood.

peas

Well, it sure doesn't look like much, but I chopped back some of the neighbor's vegetation and planted a stand of peas ("Sandy," which features lots of pea tendrils, and "Oregon Giant," a good performer with big snow peas) next to the back fence yesterday. I figured they'd be out of the way there. The soil wasn't as bad as I feared it might be. I think it's been used as a garden before, or at least backfilled at some point. The yard is going to be so much work, though.

I also fertilized the apple and plum trees, and did some research on pruning grapes. Unsurprisingly, the grapes are planted incorrectly. I'm not quite sure what to do. They did fruit well last year, so they aren't unhealthy (yet) but they do need some attention.

fortification fridays - winter watercress salad with pears, hazelnuts and gorgonzola

First, I have to mention how much I love my husband for going across town and schlepping the table back here in the rain when I couldn't fit it into the car myself. He was tired and wet when he biked home from work, and he still did it. Then he made dinner. And did the dishes. I'm not sure where he got the phenomenal burst of energy, but I'm amazed and grateful and happy he's my husband.

But back to business.

This week's recipe is a response to my lust for spring greens. I'd almost forgotten how good winter watercress can be. They sell hydroponic packs at big grocery stores that are younger and less dirty than their bunched cousins. They are also, being younger, less flavorful. Your choice. As for the hazelnuts, I live in the hazelnut capital of the world. The Willamette Valley used to have hazelnut groves and farms and factories. There are still plenty of growers, so we can get them fresh at the farmer's market in the fall and stick 'em in the freezer for a few months. If you aren't so lucky, substitute walnuts, toasted for a few minutes in the toaster oven.

Winter Watercress Salad with Pears, Hazelnuts, and Gorgonzola

Kitchen needs: Just a big bowl
Serves: 2 for dinner, 4 as side salads

1 large bunch of watercress, enough to fill your big bowl
1 cup roasted, unsalted hazelnuts, chopped
2 very ripe D'anjou or bosc pears
1/2 cup crumbled gorgonzola or other good-quality blue-veined cheese

Chop the leaves off the watercress after washing well in several changes of water, and chop up stems (if tender) in 1-2 inch lengths. Toss in the rest of the ingredients. You should have about half greens/half other ingredients. You won't need salt or dressing, since the cheese "melts" in to the salad when it comes in contact with the ripe pears. Add some black pepper or olive oil if you're feeling slick. Enjoy the green.

I'd like to table that motion

And who was it who scored a vintage formica and chrome table in exactly the colors she wanted to match with her much-maligned library chairs? And who got two leaves for the table? And who got the whole shebang for 25 bucks?


Yes, it was me, yes it was! Can you believe it?!?!?

The legs need better screws and feet, the chrome is dinged in places, and there's a bit of rust here and there, but wow. Go Craig's List. What a good end to a wet, cold, frustrating, crummy day.

favas

More snow yesterday. I shouldn't complain, it not sticking and all, but it's COLD. I've been on deadline and the only thing I've done housewise is broadcasting fava beans for green mulch in the garden. Fava beans, if they had an advertising campaign, would bill themselves as "Europe's First Bean." Look, here is an illustration from Italy in the 14th century to prove it. I shamelessly stole it from an absolutely wonderful medieval food blog, where you can read the checkered history of fava beans, how Pythagoras felt about them, plus try out a few old recipes.

As with all ancient foodstuff, the fava bean is associated with otherworldly legends. I missed the traditional day in Italy to plant them, November 2 (All Souls' Day), which gave the title "beans of the dead" to the fava, and I'm a bit too early to plant them on the other traditional day in Europe (probably the northern parts thereof since it's so late): Good Friday. I failed to plant them in the night, another superstition for good luck. Some cultures cast fava beans for divination (favomancy), and others plant them as magic beanstalks to reach up to a giant's castle.

Favas were seen as both good and evil. On the dark side of the force, they were seen as the vessels that held the souls of the dead. Other mortal danger associated with fava beans includes favism, a serious chemical intolerance of something in the bean that creates anemia in some people of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean descent, and, of course, the reputation they have as an accompaniment to human liver, with a nice Chianti. The pods are said to be toxic.

Regardless of the reputation, the Italians eat young favas with watercress and pecorino. I'm seriously jonesing for some fresh spring greens these days, so you can bet I will, too. Favas have pretty little white and black flowers, and the young beans are tender and just as green as can be. I will be planting "Sandy" peas as soon as it stops snowing/raining/freezing, a variety that features masses of pea tendrils, which I will saute in just a tiny touch of sesame oil and salt and serve on a big platter as an accompaniment to fish or maybe fresh tofu with ginger and scallions. I may throw in a few favas for texture. No liver. Likely no Chianti, either.


When my favas get to be about 3-4 feet high, I'm going to chop some of them down and mulch them into my garden as a nitrogen fixer. Now is the time to start amending your soil, if you haven't already. Home Depot has clearance sales on right now with fertilizers for roses, fruit trees, and acid-loving plants, if you're into chemicals, and I've been seeing the big garden center trucks puttering around my neighborhood, dropping off piles of rich black compost here and there. Spring can't be so very far away, can it?

Images courtesy of thorngrove's medieval food blog, life in Italy's recipe for fava bean salad and a green mulch project in process at Mastergardener.org.