Stew

Katniss's favorite food from the Capitol is the delicious lamb stew with dried plums. It's no coincidence that this is her favorite dish. Soups and stews are common foods in the Seam, and this healthy and filling dish likely reminded her of the home and family she desperately missed. (The Hunger Games, Chapter 9)

For many years Tandy Ellis, the Kentucky wit and raconteur, ran a daily column in the Louisville Courier-Journal. It was considered quite an honor to be invited to his sanctum (Rambeau Flats) at his home in Ghent, Kentucky. Once, when I published a recipe for burgoo which called for cabbage, he took exception and sent me his own version of this distinctive Kentucky dish. He wrote: "I have been asked many times for my recipe for burgoo, especially for home use. I learned to make burgoo from Gus Jaubert of Lexington, and from several of the other old-time makers of Kentucky burgoo. I trailed with Gus Jaubert on one occasion when he went to Ohio and served 10,000 people. He had one kettle that held 600 gallons. I have made burgoo for several meetings. My recipe to serve at the home for about 8 people* follows":

"There is no point in cooking country ham and burgoo to serve just six," Charles Patteson advises the Derby Day host in Charles Patteson's Kentucky Cooking (1988). "Start with the mandatory mint juleps," he continues. "Burgoo, which is midway between a hearty soup and a stew, succeeds the juleps in the guests' cups as a first course." I hadn't known that. Nor had I known that it's traditional for burgoo to be scooped into silver mint julep cups at the annual Kentucky Colonels' Barbecue the day after the Derby. In Kentucky's Best (1998), Linda Allison-Lewis writes that burgoo must "simmer for twenty-four hours prior to being served," then confides that burgoo chefs used to listen for the splatter of the "mysterious ingredient"—the ingredient that fused all flavors—being added "sometime in the dark of night." Legend has it that that ingredient was a black snake that fell out of a tree into the first batch of burgoo. Historians doubt that but most do agree that burgoo was created during the Civil War by Gus Jaubert, a French chef serving Confederate general John Hunt Morgan. At war's end, Jaubert settled in Lexington, Kentucky, began making burgoo on a massive scale, and soon gained fame as "the burgoo king." On his death, according to Ronni Lundi, author of Shuck Beans, Stack Cakes, and Honest Fried Chicken (1991), Lexington cook J. T. Looney "inherited both Jaubert's pot and his title." While traveling about the Bluegrass State some years ago to research my Grass Roots Cookbook, I ate burgoo every chance I got. I also learned more about this Kentucky classic. Jaubert's original recipe apparently contained blackbirds. Unable to say "blackbird stew" not only because French was his first language but also because he had a hairlip, Jaubert pronounced it "burgoo." Or so I was told. Elsewhere I learned that those early burgoos contained mostly squirrels plus whatever vegetables came to hand. I daresay that there are hundreds of different recipes for Kentucky burgoo today. This downsized version of the burgoo served for years at the Pete Light Springs Restaurant in Cadiz, Kentucky, was given to me by Lois Watkins, whom I profiled in my book. "This burgoo is the best in the world," she said as she handed me the scribbled recipe. I won't quarrel with that.

"If gumbo is the national stew of Cajun country, burgoo is the stew of Kentucky," Ronni Lundy asserts in her book Shuck Beans, Stack Cakes, and Honest Fried Chicken. Because the stew is made in many different ways with a variety of ingredients, the "Burgoo Song" by Robert Myles claims, "You can toss in almost anything that ever walked or flew." Many early recipes for burgoo include squirrel in addition to chicken, beef, and pork. In Kentucky, Anderson County, which hosts its Burgoo Festival every September, is known as the burgoo capital of the world. Arenzville, Illinois, makes a similar claim. But the French lay claim to the basic concept of burgoo, and it's conceivable that the word burgoo arose somehow from the French ragout (pronounced ra-goo), also a term describing a stew. Burgoo makers agree • Burgoo should be made in stages: cook the meat first, and then add the vegetables.
• No less than 4—6 hours should be devoted to making burgoo. Some recipes call for a 24-hour cooking period.
• Burgoo should contain more than one meat.
• Burgoo should be prepared outdoors over an open fire.

Barigoule is typically a stew of artichokes. This version blends vegetables in a bit of vanilla-scented sauce.

This aromatic mixture of split peas and vegetables is a staple in the South Indian diet. It always accompanies favorite snacks such as dosas (lentil crêpes) and idlis (lentil dumplings). A traditional Sadhya feast wouldn't be complete without this flavorful source of protein. Asafetida (a garlicky resin from the sap of a fennel-like plant; it's often used in lentil dishes) and fenugreek provide its pleasantly pungent aroma. This recipe is part of our menu for Sadhya, a South Indian feast.

I really prefer the texture of fresh pappardelle with the savory lamb stew; it just seems to absorb the flavors better. If you can’t find fresh pappardelle, though, the dried kind is perfectly acceptable, and it’s good to have on hand to toss with any leftover braised meats and their braising liquid for a quick, warming meal.

This aromatic stew can be made with other types of fish, including haddock or regular cod, but sablefish delivers higher amounts of omega-3 fatty acids. A whole-wheat baguette is good for sopping up the broth.

For milder chili, reduce the green chiles by half. You can also replace the canned beans with 4 cups cooked dried beans (page 202); replace half the chicken broth with bean cooking liquid.

Mondongo is usually a thick, spicy stew made with beef tripe and lots of locally grown vegetables, probably Spanish in origin. You can find many versions of it throughout Latin America and the Caribbean. The one I am most familiar with was prepared by our wonderful Mexican chef Daniel Alvarez, who cooked at the Coyote Cantina for over twenty years. His version used pork butt instead of tripe, lots of green chiles, sometimes posole or corn, and other green vegetables. He made this dish often for the staff meal and sometimes as a special at the Cantina. It always sold out quickly.

Pot-au-feu (literally “pot on the fire”) is sometimes described as the national dish of France. It certainly embodies one of that country’s primary tenets of cooking: taking inexpensive and widely available ingredients and, with a bit of careful tending-to and extended cooking, turning them into a dish fit for a king. Calling it a one-pot dish, however, is a bit of a misnomer; sure, most everything is cooked in the same pot, just not at the same time (the potatoes are always cooked separately). What you end up with is a multifaceted meal that retains the taste of each of its components. If you want to follow tradition, serve the broth as a separate course, then present the sliced meat and vegetables on a platter. Choose among mandatory accompaniments—fresh horseradish, assorted mustards, cornichons (or gherkins), and sea salt—and be sure to offer toasted bread for spreading with the marrow scooped from the bones.

This North African stew is named for the traditional dish it is cooked in. A tagine is a clay pot that consists of a shallow round base and a cone-shaped lid designed to allow all the moisture to flow back down into the base during cooking. The stews known as tagines are often thickened (and flavored) with dried fruits; the recipe here contains dried apricots, but prunes, raisins, and dates are also common. In France, tagines are often accompanied by couscous; while flatbread is more typical in Morocco. This is a nonbrowned stew, similar to the veal stew on page 205, though far simpler to prepare.

This “white” stew borrows a nonbrowning method commonly used in making blanquette de veau, one of the canons of French cuisine. In that dish, a stew of veal, onions, and mushrooms is blanketed in a creamy sauce. The meat is never browned (hence the term “white stew”); the stock is thickened with a roux and, traditionally, a secondary thickener called a liaison, made with egg and cream, making it exceptionally rich. This recipe, however, opts for springtime produce over the usual vegetables and makes the liaison optional (you can omit the egg and just stir in the cream, without tempering). To make a classic blanquette de veau, see the variation that follows.

Although it may seem like a complicated restaurant dish, bouillabaisse has simple origins in the French seaport city of Marseille, where there is an abundance of freshly caught seafood (and an aversion to waste). Julia Child defined it as a “fisherman’s soup, made from the day’s catch,” or from its leftovers. What it actually consists of depends on whom you ask. A pot will typically have at least four types of fish (some insist on no fewer than seven) and a roster of regional ingredients, notably fennel, garlic, saffron, tomatoes, orange zest, and olive oil. Purists would insist on using fish only from the local (Marseille) waters and absolutely no shellfish, while others take a more liberal approach, improvising here and there but basically sticking to the same formula. Most everyone agrees on the required accompaniments: rouille and croutons made from a crusty baguette. The process for making the stock, which is similar to a classic fish fumet (page 55) but with Mediterranean flavors, takes little time; since it gives the finished dish its rich flavor, don’t skimp on this step. Rouille is a variation of mayonnaise (page 95), with spices, garlic, and fish stock for added flavors as well as bread for a rustic texture. It has a tawny color from the addition of saffron (hence its name, which means “rust” in French).

This stew is a variation on the well-known French favorite, boeuf bourguignon, also made with mushrooms and onions; here, stout replaces the red wine, but you could make the stew with either. There are a few steps that help enrich the flavor of this dish, all of which are classic in making some stews. First, lardons are cooked to render their fat for use in subsequent steps (they are added to the stew at the end, too). Next, the beef is browned and the pan deglazed to incorporate all of the tasty bits. Then, a bit of Dijon mustard is stirred into the aromatics. For even richer flavor, you can add about a half cup of glace de Viande (page 52) along with the stock. The stew is thickened with a small amount of flour and by simple reduction; that’s why the lid is kept partially askew while the stew simmers, to allow some moisture to escape. Buttery noodles make a perfect accompaniment, as they soak up some of the flavorful broth, while julienned carrots and freshly grated horseradish add fresh flavors—and a little textural contrast—to the otherwise rich dish.

This type of quick braising is similar to shallow poaching (page 210): An aromatic liquid is first simmered to allow the flavors to deepen, then simmered with fish, which takes on some of its character. Also, as with some poaching methods, the braising liquid becomes the sauce. Match the fish and aromatics wisely so as not to overwhelm one or the other. A fish such as salmon is easy to partner; its pronounced taste won’t be flagged by aggressive flavors, such as rosemary or curry powder. Milder-tasting fish, such as grouper, halibut, sea bass, and striped bass, require more subtle companions, like the fennel, tomatoes, and lemon in this recipe. All of these fish are moist and firm-fleshed, ideal for braising.

This is an example of a shorter braise, but the result is much the same as for longer-braised dishes—tender, succulent meat that falls off the bone. Although rabbit is very popular in France and elsewhere, it is not as familiar in the United States, so feel free to substitute chicken legs or thighs (or a combination); breast meat is too lean for braising. Olives, orange, and rosemary lend this dish assertive flavors; it is best served over creamy Perfect Soft Polenta (page 419), and accompanied by a simple watercress (or other bitter green) salad.

A specialty of the southwest of France, cassoulet—named for cassole, the oval earthenware dish in which it was made—is a rich, slow-cooked bean stew made with white beans, meats (most often pork and sausages), and duck or goose confit. The dish is time consuming—it can take an entire day from start to finish—but is manageable when you break it into three tasks, which can be spaced out over a few days. The first step is to prepare Duck Confit (see page 232). Next the beans (which have to be soaked overnight) are cooked on the stove. Then the confit and beans are layered in a pot, along with pork and sausage, and baked for about three hours.

In the last few years, it seems like there have been two requirements to opening a successful restaurant in Los Angeles. You have to offer a selection of decent wines by the glass, and you have to offer braised short ribs. You see short ribs served on the bone and off the bone; cooked with Indian spices, Asian spices, and Latin American spices; and served over mashed potatoes, polenta, and who knows what else. I don’t roll my eyes when I see them on a menu because I know how good they can be. Once they’re cooked, they’re good for a few days, so they’re convenient for the home cook. Braise them today; reheat them tomorrow. In the Italian spirit of not wasting any bit of food, shred the leftover meat to make Francobolli di Brasato al Pomodoro (page 177).

Ratatouille is very versatile. It works equally well as a main course or side dish, and can be served hot, cold, or at room temperature. You can refrigerate it, covered, up to 3 days.