Germanic Salad in Buttermilk Dressing

I've traveled in the German-speaking world many times, often enjoying the food there more than I expected to. I expected the great brown breads, the good beer, wursts and schnitzel. But I loved being caught off guard by things like a sublime venison stew in Switzerland, outrageously good pork in Germany and the best pumpkin soup of my life in Austria. (Great wine in Austria as well). Of all the great things I've eaten in the German-speaking world, one that ended up in my own kitchen was one of the simplest: a composed salad with a dairy-based dressing (joghurt salatsauce). Variations of this salad can be found throughout Scandinavia as well. Easy to understand its popularity.

I first had this salad on tour with folksinger Rod Macdonald somewhere in Germany. Our bass player was a vegetarian, so large salads showed up at our table along with the meat dishes Rod and I ordered. They were often layered: cooked root veggies on the bottom (beets, potatoes), salad greens, then more veggies on top (cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes, sprouts, corn, celery - whatever was good and in season). The dressing was a vinaigrette, beefed up with a pinch of sugar, some yogurt, chopped capers and fresh herbs (usually dill). That's pretty easy, adaptable and substantial. In my kitchen it's the perfect accompaniment to the classic northern meal of buttered brown bread topped with cheese, cold cuts or smoked/pickled fish, with maybe a side of pickles. I'm married to a woman who makes that bread, and the weather in NYC is right for that kind of eating now. So I've been making this salad pretty often.

My version leans toward Austria, with pumpkin seed oil in the dressing and toasted pumpkin seeds as a garnish. I also use whole buttermilk in lieu of yogurt, because I'm more likely to have it on hand. (My wife uses it for baking). I'll sometimes leave the fresh dill out if I'm not feeling it. I did so in the above photo. Also, since summer veggies are out of season here in NYC I used a winter vegetable to top the salad - a beautiful mantanghong radish, which is sweet, mild and nutty tasting. They're worth seeking out.

(This recipe serves two)

For the salad:

1 potato, peeled and cubed
1 large beet, peeled and cubed
2 carrots, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 handfuls salad greens
vegetables to top salad (anything in season), cut into bite sized pieces
2 Tbs toasted pumpkin seeds (optional, to garnish)

For the dressing:

generous Tbs olive or toasted pumpkin seed oil
generous tsp white wine or sherry vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tsp capers, chopped
small clove garlic, chopped
1 Tbs fresh dill, chopped (optional)
1/2 tsp sugar
pinch white pepper (or more to taste)
2-3 Tbs plain yogurt or whole buttermilk

Stir dressing ingredients together in a small bowl. Set aside. Boil potato in a small pot. Boil carrot and beet in separate pot. When root vegetables are cooked drain, then fill pots with cold water to stop veggies from cooking further, bringing them to room temperature. After a few minutes drain again. Repeat if they're still hot. Arrange between two plates. Top plated root veggies with a handful of salad greens, then the seasonal veggies you're using. Spoon dressing over each salad, and sprinkle with pumpkin seeds.

Serve as a light meal with bread and butter, or as a starter course to a more elaborate meal.

Grandmom Pries' Turkey Noodle Soup

After Thanksgiving many families use the carcass from the turkey to make soup. There's no rocket science to this. A ten year old with a few minutes of training in knife skills could do it. It's not about technique; it's about feeding everybody still helping to clean the wreckage from the family get together on the day after.

I know my mother (seated just behind the poodle in the photo above) has a pot of this soup on her stove as I type this. But our family recipe has a twist that I have not seen in others: a large can of tomatoes added to the soup, which is then seasoned at the table with Worcestershire sauce. Just how this addition came to be is lost. When I asked my mother her reply was, "That's just the way my mother always made it." Her mother, Marie Pries (née McDaniel) is sadly long gone from us, and no one asked this woman who spent part of her young teen years working in Philadelphia's notorious mills just where the tomatoes in the turkey soup came from. Was it the depression-era ingenuity of a Irish mother of six stretching that carcass as far as she could to feed her family (also friends, neighbors and a spinster Irish immigrant they'd taken in)? Or had she picked up the idea from someone she knew? We'll never know. Are there others in the Philly area who do the same? I don't know anybody outside of my family who makes their turkey noodle soup this way.

But it's brilliant. It's absolutely brilliant. The slight acidic tang from the tomatoes against the earthiness of the turkey, set off by a few salty drops of familiar/exotic Worcestershire sauce? It's the best damned turkey soup I've ever had.

I'm now home from Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' place. Mom dutifully sent me away with a drumstick and part of a wing so I can make my own pot of soup. I will follow my grandmother's recipe, which is no recipe whatsoever - a few of these, a few of those, a pinch of this, a dash of that - exactly how I cook. And I like to think the spirit of the woman who spoiled a much younger me in the way only an indulgent grandmother can will be in my kitchen, savoring the smell of holiday leftovers transformed into a meal as worthy as the holiday meal itself. (I'm guessing she'd approve of my adding a sprig of fresh rosemary - Mom doesn't do it, but I can't resist).

Feel free to try this yourself, and, should you be so moved, raise a glass to the memory of a great woman, my grandmother, Marie Pries. This is her soup. And my mother's. And mine:

You'll need:

Turkey (carcass of holiday bird, or wings, or drumstick - whatever you have)
Onions, chopped (one or two for a small pot, more for a big one)
Celery ribs, chopped (same as above)
Carrots (as many as you want)
Canned tomatoes, broken by hand (big can for a big pot, small can for a small one)
Sprig fresh rosemary
Egg noodles, wide (figure about 1/4lb for every gallon of soup you make)
Salt and pepper, to taste.
Worcestershire sauce, to serve.

Let the amount of turkey determine how much soup you make. Two wings or a drumstick can make about a gallon of soup, which is a small pot. The whole carcass can make about four or five gallons (big pot). Throw all ingredients except noodles into pot. Add water to fill most of the way, cover and simmer for an hour. Use a slotted spoon to fish out all the bones (and what you can of the rosemary). Keep simmering, and add noodles. Stir every minute or two, to keep noodles from sticking until cooked, 6-10min, depending on noodles. Taste, and season with salt and pepper. Don't make it too salty, because you'll be adding a little Worcestershire sauce to the bowl when serving.

If you have some leftover meat, gravy or vegetables they can go into the pot as well. I remember my mother even using dehydrated vegetables from a little jar to beef it up some years. In the absence of a holiday bird I've made this soup with a couple turkey wings from the supermarket, and came out fine. You don't have to roast them, just throw them in the pot. This recipe is as easygoing as my grandmother was. It has been my pleasure to share it with you, Dear Reader.

(Thankfully, you can't see the state typing this has left me in - I'm practically reduced to grade school again, completely broken up over losing her).

Photo by Karen Bowersock Mahoney

Two Fish Stews

Say "fish stew" to most Americans and you're unlikely to get an enthusiastic response. Chowders and gumbos have gone mainstream, usually featuring shellfish. Francophiles drool over bouillabaisse. And that seems to be about where the love of fish stews ends in our culture, unless one is lucky enough to be of Portuguese descent and living on the New England coast. This is a shame. One need not be a fisherman to appreciate a simple fish stew - it's healthy, satisfying, and delicious, not to mention quick and easy to prepare.

My current favorites are based on a simple premise: onions and garlic sauteed in olive oil, to which you add wine and tomatoes, then finish by adding fish for a quick simmer. Here are two variations on this theme:

Italian Cod Stew

(Serves two)

3/4lb cod, cut into bite sized pieces (try to get all the bones out)
1 onion, chopped
3-5 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil
salt, pepper and chili pepper, to taste
glass of white wine
14.5 oz can whole tomatoes, broken up by hand, with liquid
handful of chopped flat-leaf parsley

Heat a heavy bottomed pot, and pour in enough olive oil to cover the bottom. Add onions, pinch of salt, chili and pepper. Saute until onions are nearly translucent. Add garlic and saute a minute or two more. Add tomatoes (with juice) and wine, and simmer gently for ten minutes. Add fish and parsley, and simmer for 2-3 minutes until fish is cooked. Serve with bread and salad (or greens sauteed in olive oil and garlic). The remainder of the bottle of wine goes with it, too, of course.


Basque Tuna Stew

As above, with the following modifications:

- Substitute tuna for cod. Since tuna is richer you might want to use less. Also, no need to blow the cash on the sushi grade stuff here. Traditionally, fishermen made this dish with the tail

- Add a chopped green bell pepper to the onions when you saute them

- Use red wine instead of white (Rioja is perfect). Don't raise an eyebrow about red wine with fish - tuna is practically meat

- Add two potatoes, peeled and cubed, when you add tomatoes and wine. Also add 1 tsp sweet paprika. Cover and simmer gently until potatoes are cooked, 15-20 min. Tuna goes in a few minutes before serving

- Leave out the parsley

(The picture is of the Basque version. You'll notice I added some carrots with the potatoes, for the hell of it. Worked fine). Photo by Cynthia Lamb

On Fussy Eaters

Just heard a bit on the Brian Lehrer Show about kids (and adults) being picky eaters. I have to admit to a character flaw when it comes to so-called picky eaters: I have absolutely zero patience for them. Eating with them actually makes me angry. I can't help but see them as killjoys.

And yes, it probably goes back to childhood...

Growing up, my sister and I happily ate anything mom put in front of us. Mom knew her way around the kitchen well enough that the family dinner was often one of the day's highlights. She was a picky eater herself, but willing to cook beyond her personal taste to please my more adventurous father. (She still cringes at the memory of the man feeding me pickled herring as I sat in the high chair). She had her limits, though: dad had to keep the Limburger cheese in the garage. The problem was my two younger siblings, who were very fussy as kids (not so as adults, and I love them both dearly). My sister and I would be scarfing down Lima beans, brussel sprouts and the like, while our younger siblings took the very existence of such foods as a personal affront. Mom, whose own dear father was what they called a "meat and potatoes" guy back in the day (what a euphemism!), bent over backwards to accommodate them.

And it drove me nuts.

First off, the person next to you saying, "Yuck!" and pushing their plate away throws a wet blanket over the whole meal. One of the nicer family moments of the day suddenly has to be all about them in a negative way? It didn't seem like a classy move, to me, even as a child. Then there was watching mom scramble to get something in front of them that they actually would eat. We were kids, not angels, and none of us (self included) showed our parents the kind of consideration that in retrospect we've come to know they deserved. Such is life, but having mom cook something else after she'd already prepared a meal seemed a little over the top to me. (Mom didn't seem to mind so much; she understood). From where I sat it looked like taking advantage of her. Finally there was a matter of self-interest. Mom started dumbing her cooking down for my fussy siblings. Dinners at the homes of Italian family friends made this clear. When we moved to Montreal and found ourselves surrounded by flavors from around the world it came into even higher relief. And it made me resentful - not so much toward my siblings, but at what they were doing to my mother's cooking. They were screwing with MY diet!

(Fortunately my then-fussy brother, who is now an arguably better cook than I am, led to the family to discovering Cantonese food right around that time. Even the fussiest of us were - and still are - powerless to resist).

By the time I was out on my own I sought out every bold exotic flavor I could find. Thankfully I have yet to grow out of this, and am married to a woman of equally adventurous tastes.

But I'm left with this character flaw. Whenever someone starts talking about what foods they do and do not eat it's like they're painting a target on themselves. I'm not talking about people with medical, religious or ethical prohibitions. I'm talking about people who have their little lists of Stuff They Don't Like and Refuse to Eat. To each his own, but I don't want to eat with such people. I'm not sure I even want to associate with them. Simply put, they test my otherwise reasonably well-developed tolerance. Understanding this is my issue, not theirs, is no help. I can barely contain the desire to strike out as they drain the joy away from a meal or even a conversation about food.

I've always considered food phobias to be psychological. They are also cultural. Many English and Americans have trouble with cilantro. They complain it tastes like soap, yet people who grew up eating the stuff rarely have a similar complaint. A current theory about this is that the developing brain categorizes items as food and non-food. The taste of cilantro is close enough to that of soap that someone who comes across the stuff after those categories have been established has to deal with their brain recoiling in horror over what it recognizes as eating soap! Research suggests the brain can be re-trained through desensitization, but for many that's more than they're willing to face. Understandable. Childhood is the time to prepare a person for a lifetime of good eating.

Many parents will point out the impossibility of this. Some kids are just fussy, and it's wrong to turn the dinner table into a battleground. I agree... sort of. It's obvious some people are more likely to be picky than others, but I think how those around them react to that determines whether they become someone with preferences or tyrants at the table. How much tyranny is acceptable IS a matter of culture. A friend told me a story that illustrates this point.

My friend is Irish. He grew up a meat and potatoes guy, just like my grandfather. That's perfectly acceptable there - it's practically the norm. (Many Irish consider rice exotic). His wife happens to be French. So when their families got together for a celebration in France, he noticed a vivid contrast between the French and Irish children at the table. The French children happily ate everything put in front of them, including snails, stinky cheeses and all manner of vegetables. The Irish children burst into tears at the sight of the meal, baffling their French in-laws.

He also noticed a difference in the reaction of the parents. The Irish parents had great trepidation over each food presented to their children. Whenever the kids turned their noses up at something they offered them an alternative, often frozen pizza. To be blunt, they expected their kids to be picky, were visibly anxious about it, then rewarded it with pizza. Most kids would trade a plate of veggies for pizza if they had the option. Hell, I would have, and I wasn't even a fussy eater. The French parents, on the other hand, presented foods to their children as "le bon this" and "le bon that." Something good and special the children were getting the chance to try. The parental expectation was clearly that the children would understand they were being given the chance to participate in something wonderful. Turning your nose up at something was unthinkable - this is a celebration, and everything here is something fine and special. The children behaved accordingly.

Perhaps this is simply a manifestation of my own lack of tolerance, but I think there's a lesson there. Kids test limits. A kid with the propensity toward being picky will use the dining table as a chance to test limits, if it occurs to them that's a option. How food is presented to them might just determine their view of opportunities along these lines. Even kids allowed to pass on specific dishes are unlikely to reject a Thanksgiving dinner. Why? Because it's presented to them as something special, wonderful and fine. They don't notice that the turkey is dry or the gravy is lumpy. Or if they do they eat it anyway, because it's special. And it's likely they'll grow up to be sentimental about it, regardless of grandma's cooking ability.

Every meal you have with your family is special. You can see to it that every dish on the table is wonderful and fine, even the simplest things. You can shape a child's perception of a meal. The French do it. So can you. I did it with stepsons eager to find new foods to reject. I couldn't work miracles, but those boys were thrilled to sit down to a plate of cabrito guisado because they knew damned well it was something wonderful, special and fine.

I have nieces who would disagree - they know What They Won't Eat. I've told them I disapprove, and they can keep it to themselves. If they want to be that way at home they're welcome to, but I'm not having any of it. They still excitedly come to visit, and fortunately we can all agree when it comes to Cantonese food. Seems to run in the family.