Messing about with crêpes

The first time I made crêpes, after I got the hang of it, I found them to be remarkably easy to make and store and versatile enough to go with most any ingredients you'd want to pair them with. And so, of course, I went nearly a year without making them again. Don't read that sarcastically; I'm serious. The blog demands kitchen drama and crêpes just don't deliver.

It was only this weekend, when I said screw the blog and cooked a bunch of basics to stock up the freezer, that I came back to them. I'm talking about them now so, obviously, I found something of interest, but you've seen the last few posts--it's not much.

That first time I made crêpes I used the Good Eats recipe: mix 2 large eggs, 3/4 cup milk, 1/2 cup water, 1 cup flour and 3 tablespoons melted butter, blend for 10 seconds, add salt and herbs or sugar and liqueur, let hydrate for an hour and then cook.

The blending at least is clearly non-traditional so I did a little research to see if there were other versions distinct enough for a post of their own. I didn't find much--a crêpe's a crêpe all across Europe.
Vietnamese crêpes are interesting, and pretty tasty too, but it's too soon to go shopping again and I haven't got the necessary bean sprouts on hand. They're on the to-do list, though, so you'll be seeing a banh xeo post at some point.

I did find something interesting in a guest post on the Bitten blog, though. Edward Schneider suggested mixing the flour and eggs together and then adding milk until getting to the right texture. He says that this magically eliminates lumps from the batter, which is a nice plus, and I like the idea of being able to judge the amount of milk to compensate for how packed and/or humid your flour is. There was something else of interest in the comments. It seems that the necessity of letting the batter sit for an hour was a point of contention between Julia Child and Jacque Pépin. She said to do it; he said it was unnecessary. When experts disagree, it's best to see for yourself.

So I gave it a shot. Here's the mixed eggs and flour: 1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour and 1/2 cup all purpose.

Once the flour was fully incorporated, I added a cup of milk, whipping away to break up that doughball, and then switched to another quarter cup or so of water. (I don't use a lot of milk so I buy those 1 cup shelf-stabilized boxes and didn't want to open another one.) Lump-free it wasn't, but they were doughy lumps, not floury lumps. I could imagine them falling apart if I had let the batter hydrate. But I didn't so they didn't.

Oh, one other suggestion from that post, melt the butter for the batter in the frying pan to save cleaning one more bowl and to get the pan nicely coated for the first crêpe. If nothing else, that's a trick worth keeping.

Here's the first, lumpy crêpe.



No good obviously (although it tasted fine), so I blended the batter and the crêpes turned out nicely thin, light and tender after that. They're a little on the eggy side, though, since I'm using extra-large eggs instead of the called for large. I should add a little extra of the other ingredients to compensate next time. I'm not getting the crisped browned edges I want, but with a non-stick pan, that's difficult to achieve. It's a trade-off.

For the filling, I fried up some cabbage, scallions, ham and added a little chicken stock to moisten and melted in some Havarti cheese for a binder.


Notice how the crêpes are paper thin, but rolled up easily without any tearing. I filled some more with apricot preserves for dessert. It looked about the same except a little lumpier. Both were pretty good. The crêpes themselves were pretty neutral, but that was my choice. I wanted to leave them open to possibilities so I didn't mix any of the accoutrements I mentioned up top into the batter. If I were making them for some specific dish, I would certainly do so.

As for the hour's rest issue, I let the second half of the batch sit while I ate dinner before making the extra crêpes for storage. I can't say I noticed any difference before and after so I'm going to say the rest isn't necessary. Myth busted!

I'm getting a bit tired of all this basic cooking. I should have something more substantive to post about soon.

A meatloaf experiment

I did a good bit of cooking this weekend, but nothing much worth posting about. I made a pot of chicken stock, a mess of beans, a batch of scallion buns (I took out the bacon and chives that messed up the last batch and instead just added a little cabbage. That worked very nicely.) and, as you can see from the post title, a meatloaf.

I hadn't planned on the meatloaf being particularly interesting either, but I had a thought that brings it just barely into range. If you read my last post you know that's a pretty low bar, but the results promise possibilities to come.

So, meatloaf. In my last post about meatloaf included a schema that I stole from somewhere for a generic meatloaf. Here's a bit more detailed version:
2 pounds ground meat
1 1/2 cups finely chopped starch (but not too finely. Breadcrumbs, not flour)
1 cup somewhat more coarsely chopped vegetables
2-3 eggs
1/4 - 1/2 cup dairy of some sort
copious seasonings

mix everything, pack it into a loaf pan and decant it into a baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for around an hour until the inside reaches between 140 and 160 degrees depending on who you ask. If you're going to glaze, wait until the last 10 minutes.


Now you could fuss about making sure your choice of vegetable matches nicely with your choice of meat and starch, or you can throw together whatever you've got and count on the seasoning to smooth things out. I went the latter route this time around.

The actual experiment was how far I pushed the definition of "starch". Usually, that means bread crumbs or sometimes oatmeal or crushed croutons. Instead I, while looking at the remnants of the chicken stock cooking process, wondered if mashed carrots and turnips might do. (I also had a good bit of well-boiled chicken. I put that in the beans.) I thought I'd have the full cup and half, but after sqeezing the soup out of the vegetables, they had compressed down to only half a cup, and that's including the bits of onion I left in the there. On the plus side, it had the texture of squished white bread which a lot of meatloaf recipes use. I filled out the rest of the volume with half panko bread crumbs and half oatmeal. (My homemade breadcrumbs went grotty with all the humidity recently so I had to toss them out and make due with what I had left in the house.) I ground those together with the carrot/turnip mush and ended up with this promisingly mealy-looking stuff:


For the meat, I used a pound of ground beef, half a pound of pork and a few Argentinean-style chorizos. I usually buy the Venezuelan-style ones, but I thought I'd try Argentinean this week. I dunno, though. They smell like cheap hot dogs and they're full of fat and gristle.


For the vegetables, I used cabbage, red and yellow sweet peppers, some past-their-prime cremini mushrooms and carrot tops. I fried them up to add a bit of flavor from browning and to drive out some moisture so they can absorb meat juices later.

For the dairy, I used about a third of a cup of well-crumbled goat cheese and the whey it came packed in.

And for the seasoning, adobo con sazon, Pickapeppa sauce and Crystal hot sauce.

Here it is all mixed and molded.




And here it is afterward. I did a simple glaze of ketchup, brown sugar, hot sauce and white vinegar.





It holds together nicely without being tough or crumbly. I should have chopped the vegetables more finely and there's some sinewy bits from the sausage, but otherwise, the texture's very nice.



The flavor is a bit more carroty than perhaps one might wish and I went light on the salt, but otherwise, the random assortment of ingredients I threw together work well enough. It's not great, but random assortments rarely are. [It's tomorrow now and I can report that the flavors work rather better cold and I've decided that I quite like the textural interest of the vegetable chunks. So I'm happier with the results than I was yesterday.] The interesting bit is that the soup vegetables have vanished entirely into the meat mix and I do think they had a beneficial effect on both texture and, subtly, on the flavor.

I wonder how other vegetables with a similar texture might work. Mashed potato or yam should be comparable. I'd be surprised if there aren't recipes out there that already use them, but it's tough to search for them as they're often mentioned as side dishes where they're not ingredients. Going further afield, might an avocado, with much of the moisture squeezed out, work? Or a roasted canistel? Canistels firm up to a yam-like texture when roasted. Now I'm thinking about roasted avocados. There are a bunch of recipes out there, but they're really just warming the avocados through and melting cheese on top. What does happen to avocados when you roast them long enough to affect the texture? Have any of you tried?

Avocado deviled eggs

I just searched on Google and found that I was about the billionth person to come up with this idea, but I swear it just occurred to me on its own. Most of the recipes I found kind of miss the point by just adding the avocado to a standard deviled egg formula when it can easily replace the mayonnaise entirely. Maybe this is the one case where watery Florida avocados are actually superior and Hasses can't sub in so well? It might be interesting to compare and contrast.

I should probably back up here and defend the idea of deviled eggs in general. I've got to admit that I'd be skeptical too if I, at the prompting at a post on TheKitchn and, yes, a desire to try the steamer function on my new rice cooker, had my first homemade deviled egg last week. I was amazed at how different it was from the buffet table atrocities I've encountered before.

The key, I think, is in properly cooking the egg. I used my steamer this time, but I usually coddle them--poaching in the shell, really--by carefully adjusting the temperature so water stays just under a boil. That keeps the whites tender. The second important aspect is pulling the eggs from the heat a few minutes early to get them at the mollet stage with the whites just firm and the yolks moist and maybe a little wet in the center. Eggs done this way are great as is, but work really well in deviled eggs too.

Beyond the properly prepared egg, there's the choice of what to mix into the yolk. There are as many variations here as there are in egg salad recipes. Mostly the same variations, actually, now that I think of it. The basic version is to mix with each yolk: a Tablespoon of mayonnaise, a teaspoon of mustard, a little salt, a little pepper and a touch of something acid. Add a sprinkle of paprika on top to justify calling it deviled. This is obviously rich, but it's also just bursting with flavor if it's well seasoned and not too thinned out with mayo.



As you've probably figured out by now, my questionably innovative innovation here is to leave out the mayo and instead use a Tablespoon of avocado. How well this works depends on the moisture content of your yolks and your avocado so some adjustments may be necessary. Unless it's a particularly old avocado, it probably won't want to completely mix in with the other ingredients, but, for me, the little bits of recalcitrant avocado add some textural interest. But I like my mashed potatoes lumpy, so take that for what it's worth. Beyond that, the texture is indistinguishable from using mayonnaise, just beautifully luscious and creamy. As for the flavor, mild Florida avocado is hard to spot, but I think there's a little something there, and, of course, the greenish tinge is obvious.

I suppose there's a mild health benefit to using, but a Tablespoon of mayonnaise more or less is hardly a big deal. I suppose I'm just enthusiastic about deviled eggs right now and happy to have found another avocado recipe that Florida avocados don't screw up.

tropical fruit salad ice cream

The centerpiece of this ice cream was supposed to fruit salad fruit a.k.a. ceriman, a.k.a. Monstera deliciosa fruit. This is yet another tropical fruit grown locally and unknown in more temperate climes. I neglected to take an establishing shot of the one I got from Sawmill Farm in the summer CSA offering so here's a copyright free image I ganked from Wikipedia.

You can't really tell because of the lighting, but it's covered with hexagonal scales. That's an unripe fruit where they're all securely covering the fruit inside. As it ripens, starting at the stem end, rows of scales loosen and fall off revealing arrays of kernels of fruit looking very much like a corncob.

The kernels themselves also come loose from a central hub as they ripen. You can see the black nasty crud that comes with them in this photo. You can also probably see some variation in the fruit kernels there. There's a wave of ripeness that progresses down the fruit. The rows that came off easily were ripe, the ones in the top row you can see are nearly there and the one below isn't quite yet.

That's all pretty cool, I think. The difficulty comes in the fact that underripe ceriman, like a fair number of other non-commerialized tropical fruits we can get locally, is toxic. Even slightly underripe bits cause an hour of burning and swelling in the mouth and throat and a rather upset stomach. (A word of warning in the CSA information would have been appreciated, Margie.) And the ripe fruit, since it's exposed, goes to rot and drawing ants pretty darn quick.

No doubt that's a pretty efficient way for this fruit to propogate the species, but it's dicey for personal consumption and nothing I'm willing to risk serving anyone else. And that's a shame since it tastes really good. The flavor somewhere between pineapple and banana and, when ripe, quite sweet. (I actually liked it better slightly underripe. For the first few seconds, anyway.) You can see how it got the name 'fruit salad fruit'. How it got the name 'Swiss cheese fruit' is less obvious until you see the holes in the plant's leaves.

So that went into the trash. But I still had some leftover mamey sapote, a pile of passion fruit and some fingerling bananas so I could cobble something together. I ended up with:

1/4 mamey sapote (maybe half a cup)
2 fingerling bananas, frozen and defrosted (about as much as one medium Cavendish)
1 14 ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1 cup cream
pulp and seeds of seven passion fruits (no more than a third of a cup)
2 teaspoons vanilla paste
pinch salt
1/2 cup or so Dole piña colada juice cocktail to thin the mix out


I was torn over using the condensed milk or coconut milk. My instincts said coconut milk would work better, but you see condensed milk paired with mameys and passion fruit in a lot of recipes so I thought I'd give it a try. I know that pairing comes more from lack of refrigeration than from deep culinary thoughtfulness, but I've got a good idea how it would taste with coconut milk and I didn't have a sense how it would work with condensed milk and I wanted to find out.

Not much procedure in making the ice cream mix. The mamey and bananas went into a blender with the dairy and I mixed in the rest by hand.

I found the easiest way to harvest the passion fruit pulp was to slice a disc (not the correct geometric term but I'm having trouble finding the right one) out of the side of a fruit and then dig out the pulp with a teaspoon. Slice the fruit entirely in half and you can just scrape it out, but you may well make a mess if the pulp isn't firmly attached to the rind.

And I might mention that this is my first time using vanilla paste which is vanilla extract mixed with sugar, water and a little bit of vanilla bean pulp and seeds. The flavor seems somewhat richer and I do like the visual effect of the little specks of vanilla distributed through the ice cream. But the added sugar has to be compensated for in recipes and I wouldn't want to use it in savory dishes (for which vanilla seems to be an in thing right now). I guess I ought to keep both paste and extract on hand. And some whole beans too if I can find some at a reasonable price.

Anyway, here's the ice cream coming out of the churn. I got a late start on it due to the problems with the ceriman so, since I wanted to make this a Wednesday post, I wasn't able to fully chill either the bucket or the mix and I did the churning in a kitchen hotter than ideal. So still a bit soft when I ran out of cold.

But the end result's not bad looking:


Taking it out of the churn slightly soft means a dense, but still scoopable, creamy final product that melts slowly in the bowl, but quickly on the tongue. Sometimes that's what you're going for; I'm not sure it helps in this particular case. The flavor is a base of condensed milk with the melded flavor of the fruits lightening it up and the vanilla tying them together. That's only if you think hard about it; It's all pretty well blended. It's impossible to pick out the flavors of the individual fruits unless you hit a passionfruit seed which comes coated with a thin layer of brightly flavored passion fruit pulp. That jelly-like texture and the crisp crunch of the seeds are a pleasant contrast once the rich creaminess has faded. If you don't get a seed, the condensed milk flavor outlasts the fruit for a caramelly finish.

I think coconut milk would have given me cleaner flavors, but I do like how the condensed milk's flavor complimented the fruit. Either way is worth trying.

Clay pot rice

OK, one last rice cooker post before I get bored with the thing and go back whatever it is I usually do around here.

This, like the clay pot pork I made a while back, is an adaption to the western kitchen, although, since I'm doing it in a rice cooker, perhaps it's better to say that it's an adaption to modern kitchen. One without a clay pot and a charcoal burner at any rate.

The version I made is something of a bastardization. It's got a pretty strict ingredient list traditionally--garlic, ginger and shiitake mushrooms mixed with the rice, Chinese sausage and chicken marinated in soy sauce, sesame oil and rice wine layered on top, maybe an egg or salted preserved fish, and a scallion garnish to finish.

I substituted some Chinese bacon for the chicken as the bacon was pre-marinated and I was feeling lazy. I used a different brand than last time and what I got was far leaner and more cured, almost jerky. Not quite what I wanted, but it turned out OK. The chicken would have been better, though.

I also layered on a bunch of different vegetables: water chestnuts, bamboo shoots and baby corn, diced carrot and shredded cabbage, plus sliced tofu. And I added a bit of soy sauce and chili oil to the pot too instead of using them as condiments afterward. And I mixed in some thinly sliced sweet pepper with the scallion and, since I was concerned about overcooking the egg, I added a sliced hard-boiled egg to the garnish instead of steaming one along with everything else.

The only thing left is a cup and three quarters of chicken stock mixed with a cup of rice and the garlic, ginger and reconstituted dried shiitake. That goes in the bottom of the rice cooker. Everything else, bar the garnishes, goes on top. Turn on the cooker and come back at dinner time.

There are a few things to note here. First is the extra liquid added to the rice creates extra steam to properly cook the ingredients on top. Second, the fact that they're on top is not just so they can steam, but so the fat and juices can drip down to flavor the rice. The sauces I added really weren't necessary.

Third is a matter of technique that I'll admit I didn't fully appreciate until after I cooked this. There's some tension between wanting to cook the rice slowly to ensure full and flavorful doneness and cooking it at a high temperature to form the crust that's an important aspect of this dish. In a clay pot, it seems, you can do both. In a rice cooker you can't, at least one not in one like mine that is smart enough to think it knows the right thing to do and insists on doing it even when you're trying to do something else. If you've used Microsoft Word, you know what I mean.

That crust is what makes this a respectable sibling of fried rice and sticky rice dishes. Without its added flavor and texture, the dish is fine but dull. And, as you can, see, my version has no crust.



So, how to fix this? Looking around after the fact I see some recipes calling for the rice to have an hour pre-soak. Other add the toppings ten minutes into the rice cooking. You might not have this problem if you try it. My old rice cooker, with its hot "keep warm" setting would have formed a crust on the rice by just waiting ten minutes before dishing it out. Possibly, the fast cycle on my cooker would have done the same thing. I'll have to try it later. I've been talking about rice crust a fair bit this last week and I'm starting to crave it pretty badly at this point. Plus, it'll make a fine blog post.

Maldivian amaranth and lentils

This is going to be an odd one, folks. Unless you live in the Maldives, I suppose, but with the substitutions I made maybe it's odd to them too. The Maldives, for those who don't know and haven't Googled it up yet, are a small island chain in the Indian ocean and, like most islands on trade routes, has a cuisine that takes in influences from all around. This particular dish has a lot of South Indian and Thai elements. I found this recipe on asianonlinerecipes.com where it was miscatalogued under Chinese recipes. The inclusion of Maldive fish in the ingredients was a giveaway as to its origin, but I checked maldiviancuisine.com to make sure and it looks pretty traditional. I had never made Maldivian cooking before so I was pretty excited to find such an accessible recipe.

Ingredients:
4 1/2 ounces green amaranth leaves a.k.a. callaloo
(but lots of other plants are a.k.a. callaloo so check what you've got. If you do happen to have amaranth, and that's what my CSA supplies most commonly under the name, there's plenty you can do with it outside of Caribbean cuisines.)
10 1/2 ounces (can you tell I'm translating from metric?) lentils
(the original recipe calls for red lentils but I have plain brown so I used that)
2 cups thin coconut milk
3 Tablespoons thick coconut milk
(A good trick here is to carefully open a can of good quality coconut milk without disturbing it too much. There's frequently a thick layer of coconut cream on top separated from the coconut water below. Skim off the cream for the thick and then add water to the rest to make the thin.)
1 dried red chili, stemmed and seeded and broken into pieces
(I used an ancho. I figured if the recipe calls for seeding then heat isn't the goal.)
1 teaspoon turmeric 2 teaspoons pounded Maldive fish
(Maldive fish is smoked or sun dried spiced tuna. The good bits are left in chunks. The not-so-good bits pounded to a powder. No idea what it tastes like, but my money is on funky. I substituted in 1 Tablespoon of Chinese shrimp paste and 1 Tablespoon of Thai fish sauce to get in the right neighborhood.)
1 Tablespoon cooking oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 small stick cinnamon
1 sprig curry leaves
(I could have sworn I had dried some from the last fresh batch I bought, but I must have used them up. I substituted in salam leaves which have a similar flavor.)
1 strip pandan leaf
(This is a fragrant leaf used mainly in sweet Thai dishes. I wasn't confident enough to substitute so I just left it out.)
1 stalk lemon grass, trimmed and bruised
salt to taste along the way

1. Wash and roughly chop the amaranth. Put into a dutch oven

2. Pick over, wash the lentils. Add to the dutch oven.

3. Add thin coconut milk, chili, turmeric and Maldive fish (or substitutes).

4. Turn heat to medium-high and bring to a boil, stirring well once the amaranth has wilted a bit. Reduce heat to low, cover and simmer until lentils are soft, around 30 minutes. Add a half cup of water if it seems like it needs it. I think salting might slow down the cooking here so refrain at this point.

5. Meanwhile, in a medium pan, heat the oil over medium heat and fry the curry and pandan leaves (or substitutes), onion, cinnamon and lemon grass until everything is fragrant and the onions are soft and just turned a light golden brown. Do salt here.

6. When lentils are ready, add the pan contents to the dutch oven along with the thick coconut milk. Optionally, toss in some shrimp at this point too if you want some protein beyond what's in the lentils. Simmer uncovered for 5 minutes. Adjust seasonings to taste.

Serve with rice.


Yet another dish that tastes better than it looks. Maybe it's my photography?

It's earthy, but not muddy as the flavors are clear. The amaranth and lentils go together quite well. Yeah, lentils go well with greens in general, but you can tell this is amaranth and that particular flavor works surprisingly well. Who knew? The coconut milk and funky fishy ingredients tie the two together the way bacon and chicken stock might in a more European version of the dish and give a really interesting undertone to the dish. The spices linger around the edges, rounding out the flavors without asserting themselves. Maybe the cinnamon is identifiable; the rest are just light fragrant notes freshening the flavor of the greens. A squeeze of lemon helps there too. The shrimp are a nice addition. They picked up the seasonings of the dish and matched with the other main ingredients well.

I don't think any of my explanations here are going to evoke this combination of flavors for you, but take my word that it was pretty darn good and worth trying yourself.

Slow cooker short rib beef stew

Now that I've got a proper slow cooker, first on the agenda was a pork shoulder. But Millam's was all out. On the plus side, short ribs, the other classic slow-cooker meat, was half price. And it's remarkable just how quick thoughts of local, organic and such evaporate in the face of half price.

The standard recipe would be to do something sweet with a soy sauce and brown sugar glaze, but I've done that so I looked around for alternatives. I found three that looked interesting: a deviled short ribs recipe with a half cup of chili sauce, short ribs with onion gravy with 3 full cups of onions and savory braised short ribs that leaves out the sugar entirely. I'll probably go back and try the other two, but this time I settled on the third as a base.

The first modification I made was to add some vegetables. It seems kind of pointless to cook in a slow cooker and not get a whole meal out of it. I also changed the stock, boosted the flavorings and did a lot of modification after it came out of the cooker. It turned out not to be the big effort saver I was hoping for, but there were other good points to the method.

Ingredients:
3 1/2 pounds beef short ribs, cut into serving-sized pieces and trimmed of excess fat
1 Tablespoon cooking oil
1 medium-large turnip, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
several small or 2 large carrots cut into 2-inch lengths
1 cup full-bodied red wine
3/4 cup mushroom broth
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
1 small handful peppercorns
1 Tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 Tablespoon herbs de Provance
1 Tablespoon salt
--
1/4 pound cremini mushrooms, sliced
3 Tablespoons flour
1 large handful of parsley leaves, chopped
--
1/4 cup sour cream
1 Tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 1/2 Tablespoons prepared horseradish
1/8 teaspoon salt


1. Season ribs with a little salt. Heat oil in dutch oven over medium-high heat. Brown ribs in batches, 3-minutes per side, until well browned. Remove to slow-cooker pot.

2. Add vegetables to dutch oven and cooking, stirring frequently, until lightly caramelized and most of the yummy bits stuck to the bottom on the pan have been picked up. Remove to slow-cooker pot. Deglaze dutch oven with some of the wine. Pour into the slow-cooker pot.

3. Add everything else up to the salt to the pot, stir as best you can, set slow-cooker to low and cook all day.

4. When you're good and ready, open the slow cooker and fish out the vegetables to one bowl, the beef to another and strain the broth into a third. Place the first two into the refrigerator and the third into the freezer. Slice the mushrooms and mix the sour cream, mustard, horseradish and salt to make a horseradish sauce. Put that in the refrigerator too.

5. Take the meat out of the refrigerator when it's good and chilled. You'll find that the meat that was falling apart early is now fairly solid. Remove the bones from the ribs without breaking them up too much. Leave the bowl on the counter to warm up. Take out the vegetables too.

6. Take the broth out of the freezer. The fat should have solidified into a disk on top and a lot of the herbs should be trapped in it. Break up the fat and move it to a large cast iron pan. Measure out a half cup of the broth into a small container with a lid.

7. Heat the cast iron pan over medium heat until the fat is melted and sizzling. Add the mushrooms and a pinch more salt. The mushrooms should have lots of room. Cook without browning too much, stirring frequently and probably turning down the heat. Add the flour to the half cup of broth, put on the lid and shake until the flour is fully incorporated and then shake a little more. Let the flour hydrate as the mushrooms cook.

8. When you're happy with the mushrooms, add the broth, heat until warm but not hot then shake the flour mixture one more time and add to the pan. Stir well to incorporate and bring to a boil. Cook three more minutes until thickened. Add the meat, vegetables and parsley. Stir until everything is covered with the sauce and warmed through. Remove from heat.

Served topped with a small dollop of the horseradish sauce and a bit more parsley. Some sort of starch to soak up the sauce is a good idea too.



Like I said, a bit more trouble than I anticipated when I started, but definitely worth it. It's really good. The beef and vegetables retain a suprising amount of individual flavor and structural integrity despite the long cooking time. Chilling the beef before reheating it in the final preparation helped with that. I remember a Good Eats episode that explained just how that worked, but I don't recall any details.

The gravy is full of beef flavor developed during the long cooking time and a surprisingly strong mushroom flavor too considering how little is actually in there; it fragrant with herbs and has a tannin/pepper sting at the end. I was skeptical if the horseradish sauce would work with all the added flavors (although that part of the recipe is what caught my eye in the first place), but it's a great added touch with just enough bite to cut through the creaminess and heartiness of the stew, complimenting, but not drowning the main flavors (if used judiciously) and lightening up and giving a sophisticated touch to the whole.

I suppose this isn't really a very seasonable recipe. Somehow the sweet short rib recipes seem more summery. Why do you suppose that is?