Caraway-Sage Chicken-Pork Sausages with Braised Cabbage in Individual Boules
* * *
Serves 8
INGREDIENTS FOR THE INDIVIDUAL BOULES
2 tablespoons sugar
2 quarter-ounce packets fresh fast-acting yeast
8 cups all-purpose flour, plus some extra to knead the dough
2 tablespoons salt
½ cup melted butter plus some to grease the crocks
1 pound sliced provolone cheese
SPECIAL EQUIPMENT FOR THE BOULES
8 individual ovenproof crocks, such as 8-ounce onion-soup bowls
INGREDIENTS FOR THE SKINLESS SAUSAGES
¼ cup canola oil (1 tablespoon to sauté the vegetables and 3 tablespoons as needed to sauté the sausages)
1 red bell pepper, stem and seeds removed and cut small brunoise
4 fresh sage leaves, minced
3 shallot cloves, minced
1 large apple, a firm variety such as Cortland or Brae-burn, skin left on but cored and cut small brunoise
1 pound ground chicken, chopped in a food processor until smooth
1 pound ground pork, chopped in a food processor until smooth
2 teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
2 teaspoons caraway seeds,
1 teaspoon left whole and
1 teaspoon ground to a powder with a spice mill or a mortar and pestle
½ cup sorghum or millet flour
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
INGREDIENTS FOR THE BRAISED CABBAGE
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 tablespoon butter
3 large cloves garlic, lightly crushed and minced
16 fingerling potatoes (about ¾ to 1 pound), scrubbed
1 large head green cabbage, cored and cut into ¾-inch-thick wedges
3 large carrots, peeled and cut small brunoise
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 teaspoon salt
⅛ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
⅜ cup minced fresh dill
METHOD FOR THE BOULES
Dissolve the sugar and the yeast in 3 cups of warm water between 100°F to 115°F, as measured with a candy thermometer (any hotter than this will kill the yeast; any cooler than this will prevent the yeast from being activated). Allow the yeast to proof. If it is viable, in about 15 minutes it will develop a foam that looks like the head of a beer. If it doesn’t proof after 30 minutes, the yeast is dead and should be discarded and replaced with a fresh batch. Place the flour in a food processor fitted with a dough blade and add the salt. (This may have to be done in two batches depending on the capacity of the food processor.) Through the feed tube with the food processor running, slowly pour the proofed yeast mixture in a thin, constant stream, until the dough comes together and is a cohesive mass. Transfer the dough to a large bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow the dough to rise, so that it roughly doubles in volume. (This will take about 30 minutes to an hour. The dough has risen enough if you can make an indentation with your finger and it does not spring back.)
(Meanwhile, begin the sausages.)
Punch the dough down and allow it to rise again. (Allowing the dough to rise a second time gives it a finer texture. Note that it will not rise as much the second time.)
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Grease a crock for each loaf. Divide the dough into 8 even portions, and transfer each portion in turn to a lightly floured board while keeping the balance covered. Shape each dough portion into a circle by pulling from the side and pushing the dough under and up from the bottom to form a dome, rotating to make it circular, and transfer the dough balls to their respective crocks. Repeat for each section of dough. Brush the loaves with melted butter and bake until the crust is golden brown and crispy and until the bread sounds hollow when tapped, approximately 30 to 35 minutes. Remove the loaves from oven and let cool 5 to 10 minutes (in the crocks).
While the bread is still warm, slice the tops off the boules and remove a sufficient amount of the interior bread to make a large enough cavity to hold some braised cabbage, potatoes, and sausages. (Reserve this interior bread for use as bread crumbs in another recipe.)
Line the inside of the boules with several slices of provolone cheese. This cheese will be melted to provide a tasty barrier between the bread and the braising juice so that the bread does not get completely saturated.
METHOD FOR THE SKINLESS SAUSAGES
Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Sauté the bell pepper, sage, shallots, and apple until the peppers are tender and the shallots turn translucent, stirring frequently to prevent burning, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and let cool.
(Begin the braised cabbage.)
Add the ground chicken, pork, salt, pepper, and whole caraway seeds (reserving the ground caraway) to the cooled bell-pepper mixture and mix well.
Combine the sorghum flour thoroughly with the ground caraway and cayenne and spread onto a flat surface.
Form the meat into 1-inch spheres or patties or 2-inch-long, uniformly sized 1-inch diameter cylinders and coat these sausages with the flour mixture.
Heat the remaining oil over medium heat in a large skillet, and when it begins to shimmer, sauté the coated sausages on all sides, leaving each side undisturbed for a minute or so to allow the flour and seasonings to integrate into the surface of the meat. As the sausages finish searing, use a slotted spoon to transfer them to the pot of braising cabbage.
METHOD FOR THE BRAISED CABBAGE AND FINGERLING POTATOES
In a 6-quart sauté pan with a lid, heat the oil over medium heat and melt the butter in it. Add the garlic and cook until it becomes tender, stirring frequently to prevent burning, about 2 or 3 minutes. Stir in the fingerling potatoes to coat with the butter/garlic mixture. Add the cabbage, carrots, and 4 cups water. Season with crushed red pepper, salt, and pepper. Reduce heat to low and let slowly come to a simmer.
(Return to the sausages.)
Cook covered over medium-low heat until the potatoes and cabbage are tender and the sausages are cooked through, about 45 minutes to one hour.
PRESENTATION
Place each crock containing a cheese-lined boule onto a dinner plate. Ladle some braised cabbage, 1 or 2 potatoes, and 1 or 2 sausages into each boule. Sprinkle with minced fresh dill and place the top piece of bread back on each like a “lid.” Arrange any additional sausages and finger-lings around the perimeter of the dinner plate. Serve the rest of the sausages, potatoes, and cabbage in the broth in a large soup tureen.
* * *
Every few years, March went out like a lion and dumped an avalanche of snow on the city. With its narrow streets and rows of houses so close together, South Philly was typically brought to a standstill after a blizzard, but this year’s snowfall was bigger and deeper than anybody could remember having witnessed in twenty years. It started drifting down around noon, continued into the evening hours, took a couple of hours off until the next front came in about midnight, then fell in shovelfuls until the sun came up.
Angelina had been awake all night. She’d again been bothered by irregular contractions practically from the time her head hit the pillow at one o’clock. She’d spent an hour in a warm bath from four to five, trickling in hot water all the while, which gave her some relief and helped relax her enough to barely manage a catnap around six. By the time she arose at seven o’clock, the entire surrounding area was socked in. She looked out of the second-story window and the drifts were up to the roofs of most of the parked cars buried in the street. The stoops of practically every house looked more like lumpy, marshmallow easy chairs than concrete steps.
She cranked the heat up, got dressed, and breakfasted on a couple of soft-boiled eggs and toast. She had planned to work on the baby’s room all day, and Guy had kindly offered to stop by to lend her a hand.
Angelina was converting her workroom into a nursery. She’d painted one wall and had even assembled the
crib the day before, which was now pushed against the lone dry, finished wall. She’d put down a drop cloth, retrieved the step-ladder from the upstairs closet, and had the remains of the first can of paint open at her feet.
The room was noisy because she had a fan going full blast to direct the fumes of paint out the partially open top sash of the window. Angelina was bundled in layers, two T-shirts and a thermal, topped by one of Frank’s heaviest old sweatshirts to keep warm. She heard a thumping as the front door opened and closed. She had told Guy not to stand on ceremony and to come right in, to save her the trip down steps.
“Hello!” he called. “Anybody home?” She could hear his feet clomping the snow off his boots in the entryway.
“I’m up in the baby’s bedroom!”
Guy came into the room, dressed in a heavy ski sweater, his face still red from the cold. “Holy cow. I just came from across the street and I lost two dogs from my sled team.”
Angelina was on the second step of a short stepladder with a roller in her hand. “Thanks for coming over. I could really use the help. I have to get this room done or the baby’s going to be sleeping in my dresser drawer.”
“I’m glad you called me.” Guy stood for a moment flexing his fingers. “Let me get some feeling back in these things and I’ll grab a paintbrush.”
Angelina climbed down and handed him the roller. “I’ll make some tea.”
“No, you stay off the stairs. I’ll make it and bring it up.”
He carefully dropped the roller in the paint tray on the floor and left. Angelina pressed her hands on her rear and stretched backward, momentarily taking the strain off her lower back, which was hurting her. She called after Guy, “Bring the cookie jar, too.”
The kettle on the stove whistled brightly a few minutes later, and Guy was about to pour the hot water when he heard a crash and a thump on the second floor. He dashed out of the kitchen and bolted up the stairs to the nursery. The nearly empty can of paint had been tipped over by the fallen stepladder and was oozing onto the drop cloth. Angelina was on the floor with one hand on the bars of the crib, trying unsuccessfully to get to her feet.
Guy rushed to help her. “What happened?”
Angelina seemed unhurt, but kneeling beside her, Guy could see that her hands were trembling.
“I knocked over the ladder,” she said. Instinctively, she ran her hands over her belly, and she shivered. Her palms came to rest on her thighs, and Angelina realized that she was partially soaked.
“Oh, my God, my water broke. I think the baby’s coming.”
Guy definitely did not like the sound of that. “No, it isn’t time. The baby isn’t supposed to come for a couple of weeks, is it?”
She winced with a shock of pain that took her breath away. “I’ve been having contractions all night. I thought it was another false labor, but it looks like it’s the real thing.”
“Okay. Okay, let’s get you up and get you to the hospital.”
Angelina looked at him and a feeling of perfect dread came over her, which started in her nostrils and was propelled down into her chest with her next terrified breath, like the wicked, scary feeling of walking down a dark alley in the wrong part of town.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “We’re in trouble.”
“What’s the matter?”
“You haven’t lived in this neighborhood your whole life,” said Angelina, struggling to keep her voice level and calm. “With snow like this, no taxi is going to be able to even get close to the house until they plow the streets.”
Guy felt the cold touch of panic rising now. “What if I call an ambulance?”
“Unless it’s a flying ambulance, we’re stuck here until the street gets plowed.” Angelina rocked herself into a sitting position and held out her hand.
“Can you make it to your bed?”
“Yeah, help me up.”
They made it to the side of Angelina’s bed before the next contraction hit. It was so strong, Angelina crumpled like a candy bar wrapper and grabbed hold of Guy hard to keep from falling.
Guy’s knees bent from the sudden weight of her and her fierce grip on his arms. He didn’t know what to do, whether to help her straighten up or lie down on the bed or to let her sink to the floor. He was shocked by how strong she was. He felt a spasm travel through her.
When she looked up at him, her face was flushed red and tears were flowing freely. “Guy, I’m scared,” she said, though so softly he could barely hear the words.
Guy’s response was instantaneous and nakedly honest: “So am I.”
The way he said it almost made Angelina laugh. He really looked scared. She suddenly couldn’t help feeling brave by comparison. She sagged against him and put her head on his shoulder. He felt her warm tears seep into his shirt.
“I can’t breathe. I need a tissue,” said Angelina.
Guy leaned over and snagged six tissues in fast succession out of the pop-up box by her bedside like a blackjack dealer. She swabbed her nose and he helped her to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I know what I’ll do,” said Guy. “I’ll boil water and get some newspapers.”
In an effort to encourage him and make him feel better, Angelina joked, “Oh, good, the baby can read the funnies and have a cup of tea.”
She had gone a sickly shade of pale while they had been talking, as if somebody had pulled a plug and drained all of the blood out of her face. Guy now stood frozen, helpless to leave without the word from her, awaiting instructions like a runner on first looking for the sign to steal.
“Call Dr. Fitzpatrick,” said Angelina. “The number’s on the phone stand at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Good idea. You stay here.”
Angelina slipped off her sneakers. Really? Where else would I go?
Without another word, Guy disappeared into the hallway, leaving Angelina alone in the room with the inescapable knowledge that she was about to give birth in the same bed where she had conceived. For a moment, she felt dizzy and disoriented, as if this must all be happening to someone else. She shook her head angrily and tried to focus.
This is it, Angelina, she told herself harshly, this is as real as it gets.
“Okay, baby,” she said aloud. “It’s you and me. Let’s not screw this up.”
She felt the baby move at the sound of her voice, and the fear snapped back at her like a rattlesnake. If things went wrong, this would be the terrible moment just before it happened that she would remember for the rest of her life.
A sheen of sweat broke out at her hairline and she felt it trickle down the nape of her neck, under her shirt, and down her back. Then, another terrifying thought struck her: Guy was going to see her without her pants on.
She gritted her teeth. Too bad, there was no way around it. The only way to get to the other side of anything is to go through it, she thought. And she wasn’t going to do it flat on her back. Angelina stripped off her sweatshirt and suddenly felt a stabbing pain in her lower back that doubled her over. She slid down and knelt on the floor hoping to take the pressure off her spine. It didn’t work.
Since she was on the floor anyway, Angelina got down on all fours next to the bed and rocked her pelvis forward with her arms stretched out like a cat’s and her butt in the air—a technique she learned in Lamaze. She breathed out hard through her nose, then weathered another contraction that way, and it gave her at least some sense of control.
Guy seemed as if he had been gone for ages, but he finally returned carrying a basin filled with steaming-hot water, yesterday’s Inquirer under his arm, a roll of gauze, and a collection of items, scissors and the like, that he’d grabbed from the medicine chest.
“Angelina!” he cried when he saw her on the floor. Guy placed the basin on the chest at the foot of the bed and piled the supplies next to it in a jumbled heap. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Please … don’t ask questions,” she gasped.
“Are you all right?”
“No
!” She opened her mouth and heard herself make a sound, a loud, long animal sound of anguish. The pain was blinding, crippling. She felt as if her insides were being pried open with a crowbar. “Help me,” she gasped. “I need help.”
She tried to think. It was all about breathing now, wasn’t it? That’s all they ever talked about, the breathing, but she couldn’t catch her breath. The pain was so bad.
It sliced through her again. When it finally stopped, after lasting forever, she felt something warm and wet on her chin. Guy was wiping blood off her mouth with a damp washcloth where she’d bitten her lip.
Guy peeled back the covers and helped her up onto the bed. She curled up and laid her sweaty head on the pillows. “Get clean towels … from the closet … in the hall.”
At the end of the next contraction, Angelina slipped off her sweatpants under the covers before Guy returned with the stack of towels.
“Did you get the doctor?” she asked.
“No. I mean, yes. I had Dr. Fitzpatrick paged, but I got through to Dr. Vitale. His wife gave me his number at the hospital. He called 911 and he’s going to try and get here as soon as he can. I told him about the contractions you had last night; he said it sounds like you’re fully effaced and it’s almost time to push. Don’t worry, he told me what to do.”
“Oh, God …” Angelina tensed reflexively, grimly anticipating the next spasm.
Guy bent over and looked her straight in the eye. “The doctor told me to try and feel where the baby is. That’s what I’m doing, okay?”
She nodded. Guy pulled back the covers and put his hand on her belly. His touch felt warm and confident. She didn’t feel a shred of embarrassment. They were in this together.
“Know what?” said Guy.
“What?” She started panting vigorously, in and out, in and out.
“Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I know—”
The “know” turned into a “noooo!” and the worst contraction yet. When it passed, Angelina looked ay Guy desperately as she choked out vicious, staccato breaths. “I’m not going to make it!” she cried.
Angelina's Bachelors Page 20
