Home cooking

by Laurie Colwin

y. Into a large bread bowl put unbleached white flour, stone-ground whole-wheat flour and coarse ground whole-wheat flour (if you can't find coarse ground, simply add regular wholewheat flour). Add salt and wheat or corn germ.

  2. Mix yeast with JV2 cups liquid^^A cup milk, •% cup water, or more water than milk — whatever you have to hand. (If you are going to leave it overnight, use V4 rather than V2 teaspoon yeast.)

  3. Pour the liquid into the flour and stir it up. The dough should be neither dry nor sticky but should tend more toward the sticky than the dry. If too sticky, knead in a little more flour.

  4. Knead the dough well, roll it in flour, put it in a warm bowl (although I have put it in a regular old bowl right off the shelf). Leave it in a cool, draft-free place and go about your business.

  5. Whenever you happen to get home, punch down the dough, knead it well, roll it in flour and forget about it until convenient.

  6. Sometime later (with a long first rise, a short second rise is fine, but a long one is fine, too), punch the dough down, give it a final kneading, shape into a baguette, slash the top with four diagonal cuts, brush with water and let proof for a few minutes (and if you haven't the time, it can go straight into the oven).

  HOME COOKING

  7. You can preheat the oven or put it in a cold oven, it matters not a bit. Bake at 450° for half an hour. Turn the oven to 425° and bake for another twenty minutes.

  Bread like this will astonish your friends. It makes a perfect house present. Even if the crust splits during baking, it is still a wonderful-looking loaf. The actual man work, so to speak, is under half an hour. The yeast does the rest for you. You, of course, get all the credit.

  FRIDAY NIGHT SUPPER

  We live in a decade that worships speed: fast food, one-minute managers, sixty-minute gourmets, three- 1 minute miles. We lace up our running shoes and dash

  off to get on the fast track.

  These days we are surrounded by overabundance but admire the minimal: cuisine minceur, high-tech design, thinness. We are far too busy to linger over a long, languid meal. Instead, we bolt a pint of yogurt and suit up for a five-mile run or a corporate takeover.

  Food is now glamorous. Glossy magazines display tiny specks of underdone duck breast lying on oversized plates with the same reverence once lavished on models wearing Balenciaga dresses. This is the age of high-fashion food. Half a braised quail, a thimble of polenta and a sprig of cilantro are supposed to make you feel not satisfied but superior. A quick meal in a sleek white restaurant in which the portions are hummingbird-sized and the noise is deafening leaves plenty of time for a good forty-five minutes on the exercise bicycle whilst reading the Wall Street Journal.

  But when all is said and done, man cannot live on charred monkfish and grilled baby vegetables alone. Every now and again even the fastest of the fast trackers must rest.

  The old days were slower. People buttered their bread without guilt and sat down to dinner en famille. After a hard week of work, people welcomed the Sabbath and ushered it in with a big meal that took a long time to eat and longer to digest.

  For those who have let it lapse, Friday night supper is a tradition worth reviving. It is a night when the heart of even the most assimilated Jew cries out for something more substantial than one skinless chicken breast. The traditional Friday night fare—pot roast and potato pancakes—is not something you would want to make a steady diet of, nor would you be comfortable serving it to your cardiologist. But it is truly heartwarming.

  Many people, of course, have less than pleasant memories of Friday night dinners during which they were offered plates of weathered roof shingles accompanied by fried shoe heels. I myself had such a dinner at the home of a college friend in 1962 and I often wonder how her mother got her pot roast to that dire combination of overcooked and rubbery at the same time. I am still digesting that meal.

  The trick is to make really good pot roast and potato pancakes. The pot roast must be tender enough to mash with a fork but should not, on the other hand, have the texture of shredded rope. The gravy must be thick and savory, without a speck of flour. As for the potato pancakes, they should have the texture of Florentine cookies—lacy and crisp. They ought, as a beau of mine once said, to go straight from the plate to your bloodstream. A side dish of applesauce is traditional and is a snap to make as it actually cooks itself.

  And now, into the kitchen.

  The crucial issue with pot roast is what cut to use. My mother favors front-cut brisket, but she grew up when one could buy prime meat and fancy cuts without dipping into capital. By the time I got around to serious cooking, a substantial meat purchase seemed as daunting as buying an ermine stole. Therefore

  I settled on the cheaper chuck steak, cut thick, and I stand by it. It is fattier than brisket and therefore more lip-smacking. Five pounds will do for four people with a little left over, if you are feeding ravenous beasts or contemplate a weekend of cold pot roast sandwiches on rye, order more.

  The following pot roast is a variation on the traditional but it is every bit as good.

  FRIDAY NIGHT POT ROAST

  serves 4-6

  7 5-pound chuck steak

  paprika

  olive oil (preferably dark and fruity)

  3 ripe red peppers

  2 medium yellow onions

  1 large carrot

  1 fresh hot pepper (optional)

  6 large cloves garlic

  1 glass red wine

  1 6 oz. can tomato sauce

  black pepper

  /. Take the chuck steak, tie a string around its middle and roll it on all sides in paprika.

  2. Heat some olive oil in a skillet and sear the meat on both sides. Transfer it to a Dutch oven slightly larger than the meat.

  3. Cut red peppers into strips and saute them in the skillet. Add them to the meat along with the onions cut in quarters, the carrot sliced into chunks and, if you love hot food, a fresh hot pepper. Since there is never enough garlic, I use six big cloves but this can be adjusted to taste.

  4. Into the skillet pour the wine and tomato sauce and cook

  down to thicken a bit. Pour over the meat, grind on some black pepper and cover. Cook in a slow oven (300°) until tender. That will take somewhere between three and five hours, so relax.

  5. When the meat is done, remove the vegetables with a slotted spoon and push them through a sieve or run them through a food mill. A blender will not do. The idea is to create a puree free of fibers, onion and pepper skins, and the twiggy bits of the hot pepper

  6. Put the puree in a saucepan, add the meat juice and cook, over a moderate flame, until you have a thick gravy.

  7. Slice the pot roast at the last minute and spoon the gravy over it, saving some for the gravy boat.

  People often eat this in total silence in which case you may assume that you are not going to have any leftovers.

  Now on to potato pancakes with a digression about vegetables.

  Real potato pancakes must be fried in chicken fat, but if you clutch your breast at the thought of all that saturation, a combination of chicken fat and vegetable oil works perfectly. You can also kid yourself that while the chicken fat is coating your arteries, the polyunsaturates in the vegetable oil are cleaning them out. Some supermarkets have chicken fat in the dairy case, but it is usually filled with preservatives. It is cheaper to make it at home, as follows:

  HOW TO RENDER CHICKEN FAT

  /. Take the fat from one large chicken, dice it up and put it in a cold skillet.

  2. Gently warm the skillet on a low fire. Meanwhile, dice one small yellow onion.

  3. As soon as the fat begins to let down, turn the fire up slightly and add the onions.

  4. Turning the flame up again (you want a medium flame), cook until the onions are brown fnot burnt) and the fat has been completely rendered and the cracklings are crisp. What you now have, in addition to onion-flavored chicken fat, are called Grieben— German for crackling. These must be terrible for you becau
se they are so extremely delicious. Remove them with a slotted spoon from the fat, and if you can restrain yourself from eating them all as you stand there in the kitchen, use them to flavor the brussels sprouts:

  1. Trim the brussels sprouts (two one-pint boxes will feed four amply) and steam for ten minutes. Some people put a cross-hatch on the bottom but I consider this a frill, like skinning tomatoes. The idea here is to blanch, not cook.

  2. Put the sprouts in an earthenware pan, cover with the Grieben and shake until each sprout has had intimate contact with the cracklings. Add salt and pepper to taste and bake for two hours, shaking the pan from time to time. (You can put them on the rack under the pot roast.) You want sprouts that are golden brown on the outside and mushy on the inside. Even brussels sprout haters have been known to love these.

  It is silly to pretend that potato pancakes are dietetic or that they are good for you. if you are going to enjoy them, approach them as a rare delicacy, throw caution to the wind and have a good time. The following is my mother's recipe, a classic.

  serves 4-6

  54 HOMECOOKING

  ESTELLE COLWIN SNELLENBERG'S POTATO PANCAKES

  V4 cup chicken fat (see p. 52)

  V2 cup vegetable oil

  5 medium Idaho potatoes

  1 medium yellow onion

  i egg

  1 tablespoon flour (or matzo meal)

  V4 teaspoon baking powder

  1 teaspoon cold water

  J. Put chicken fat and vegetable oil in a frying pan on a low flame.

  2. Peel potatoes and hold in cold water

  3. Peel onion.

  4. Quarter the onion and the potatoes. Feed the potatoes into the blender a few at a time, adding the onion, egg, flour (or matzo meal) and the baking powder dissolved in a teaspoon of cold water. Blend to a batter.

  5. When the fat is hot enough to fry a piece of bread, start frying. Some like big pancakes and some like small. I like about a soupspoon of batter. Work fast, as potato batter has a dismaying tendency to start changing color—from pink to green to black.

  6. Fry the pancakes until golden on both sides, drain on paper towels and keep on a hot platter in a hot oven. It is best to make them at the last minute, keeping them in the oven for the shortest time possible. They are, of course, best eaten directly from the skillet without any thought of sharing them with others.

  Applesauce is traditional, and while there are many brands available in the supermarket, homemade is so simple to make that it almost does not require a recipe, but for those who have never attempted it, here are the steps:

  HOMEMADE APPLESAUCE

  1. Peel and core any number of apples. Make as much as you like. A variety of apples—Mclntosfi, Granny Smith, Empire and so on — makes a very nice sauce. If you are using organic apples, don't bother to peel them and the result will be a lovely apple pink.

  2. Put the apples in a heavy pot over a low flame and add half a cup of apple cider Cover and cook slowly, stirring once in a while. The whole process takes under an hour.

  3. If you like lumpy applesauce, mash the apples with a fork. If smooth, run them through a food mill or push them through a sieve. Either way, it is delicious.

  After such a meal, a green salad is a must. 1 like to add a few bitter greens such as chicory or endive for balance, with a very simple oil and vinegar dressing. As for dessert, there is only one dessert to have:

  ORANGE AMBROSIA

  Orange ambrosia is often called Bride's Dessert because it is so easy—nothing more than sliced oranges prettily arranged with a little garnish. It is of southern origin and now out of fashion, but I love it. After all that red meat and chicken fat, oranges are just the thing.

  /. Peel six navel oranges. Get off as much of the white skin as

  you can and slice into very thin rounds. Arrange prettily on a

  glass plate (a glass plate is traditional).

  2. Sprinkle with bourbon or Cointreau or tangerine brandy and

  let sit in the refrigerator The idea is to get the oranges really

  cold

  HOME COOKING

  3. Half an hour before serving, sprinkle with a little shredded coconut. The traditional garnish for this is a maraschino cherry, but (for those who fear red food dye) a slice of kiwi fruit, a Bing cherry or a flower looks just as nice. I have seen orange ambrosia decorated with violets, which is very attractive if you happen to have a supply of violets on hand.

  This meal, which takes some time to prepare, must be eaten slowly. Afterwards it is best to stretch out on the sofa, balancing a cup of coffee on your stomach.

  For the next month you may vow to eat nothing but brown rice and broiled fish, but on a cold Friday night, with the candles lit and a white cloth on the table, it is good to celebrate your good fortune in living comfortably and to remember those who do not.

  In short, it is a time to count blessings, to savor life without rush and to end the work week happy, drowsy and content.

  HOW TO DISGUISE VEGETABLES

  It is amazing how many adults hate vegetables. Mothers of small children are constantly complaining that their little darlings will not touch any green or yellow thing.

  By the time children reach twenty, however, you figure they might come around, but many don't. Some ignore their vegetables, some actively loathe them and some feel that a couple of baby string beans are the price they have to pay for soft-shell crabs.

  I am lucky to have a child who adores almost everything. Both her parents adore their vegetables, too, but many children of vegetable-loving households live entirely on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and even shun corn, that childhood favorite. It was from my child that I rediscovered how good plain steamed vegetables are, and I will never forget the look of delighted surprise on her face at her first taste of zucchini.

  But many people are not delighted or surprised by zucchini or any other vegetables, and if you are going to serve them, you have to be crafty.

  hollandaise, mayonnaise or bearnaise—to dip the vegetables in. A person who dunks an asparagus spear into a puddle of homemade mayonnaise will end up eating the asparagus unless you have on your hands the kind of hard case who will lick the sauce off and then stick the asparagus back in for more.

  A more effective way is to turn the offending vegetable into a fritter. Most people think fried food is fun and not serious eating. A crisp little fritter slips right down (often as a mere vehicle for the catsup or tomato sauce), but never mind that it is fried: it is all for a good cause.

  Zucchini make wonderful fritter material, especially small, young ones roughly the size of a lead pencil. If necessary you can use those enormous overgrown zucchini that gardeners are always palming off on their friends in the fall.

  Shred the zucchini—use four small ones—and drain it on a towel. Separate two eggs and beat the whites until fairly stiff. Add half a cup of milk to the egg yolk, beat and add about half to three-quarters of a cup of flour—the batter should be a little thicker than pancake batter. Add the zucchini, salt, pepper and some chopped scallion. Fold in the egg whites and fry in clarified butter (or unclarified butter) or olive oil until golden on both sides. Some people like large fritters. I like mine the size of a demitasse saucer. Of course these are not fritters in the strict sense of the term. Rather they are pancakes. As to their being fried, my motto about fried vegetables is: "Fried eggplant today, ratatouille tomorrow!"

  Now to broccoli. How some people hate it! However, it turns into a sleek, rich pasta sauce. First you steam it. Then you saute it in dark green olive oil with two cloves of garlic until the garlic is soft. Then you toss it all in the blender with pepper, a pinch of salt, the juice of half a lemon, more olive oil and serve it on penne or ziti or fusilli with lots of grated cheese, and no one will suspect what is being served.

  People who are not paying close attention can be fooled by carrot pudding, a simple dish of pureed carrots, butter, one beaten egg and a pinch of nutmeg baked in a buttered pudding
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  mold. Vegetables in this unnatural state—purees and timbales— often go unnoticed but eaten since the victim is not confronted by the dread thing itself.

  Specific hatreds, however, should never be trifled with. People who will not (or say they will not) eat vegetables at all are fair game, but someone with a profound hatred, say, of beets should not be challenged. A life without beets or lima beans is a fine, full life. But to forgo leeks, collard, broccoli, string beans, escarole, and the vast profusion of beautiful green, yellow and purple vegetables stems from a prejudice that must be challenged.

  Not enough has been written on the subject of our denatured produce, although John and Karen Hess's Taste of America addresses this topic quite depressingly. Read it and weep, and then go directly to your nearest farmers' market and try to find some Delicata squash to cheer you up. I have never seen it in any market except my local green market. This oblong squash is a muted orange with green streaks. As with most vegetables (except carrots), the smaller the sweeter is the rule. This sweet, lip-smacking squash makes even the tastiest butternut seem tasteless and weak. When vegetables have such flavor, you do not have to fool anyone. You simply ask them to taste and watch their faces. In an instant, the contents of the dish disappear and you are faced with demand but scant supply. Delicata squashes are excellent baked with butter and pepper or steamed and sensed with a drip or two of olive oil. If all our vegetables were so full of flavor, drastic measures would not have to be resorted to in order to get people to eat them.

  There is, however, one drastic measure so rich that it makes a person groan. 1 myself am addicted to this recipe, which calls for shredded yams, egg, flour, hot red pepper flakes, chopped scallion and fermented black beans. This unlikely combination is sublime:

  YAM CAKES WITH HOT PEPPER AND FERMENTED BLACK BEANS

  These, like fried eggplant or zucchini, often do not reach the dining table.

  serves 4

  / large yam

  2 eggs

  4 tablespoons flour

  1 chopped scallion

  red pepper flakes to taste

  2 teaspoons fermented black beans