Meal 48: Denmark

Danish cuisine doesn't exactly have a high reputation, among gastronomes nor dietitians, so I had pretty low expectations for the meal. While Denmark famously produces a whole lot of dairy and pork, it has a historical reputation for sending the best stuff abroad and keeping the remainder to feed the populace. Well, I am happy to report that so long as bold, rich flavors are welcome, Danish food is actually pretty good! For this meal I tried to evoke the spirit, if not the reality, of the smørrebrød — literally, butter-bread, the open-faced sandwiches on rye that are the most distinctive and lovely part of the cuisine. While a really good host might have made them for the guests, we set bread, butter, and toppings on the table, and let folks just have at it.

We were pleased to welcome a whole bunch of first-time Noshers! Raven's the only one who'd been before; we were thrilled to welcome Jeremy, Lars (a real half-Dane!), Dada, Julie, Bijou (another half-Dane!), Jess, and Allison (a fellow countries-of-the-world food-schticker at 26dishes!).

Rugbrød | Sourdough whole rye bread | Recipe

My initial research a few weeks back made it clear that a fresh, dense-but-moist, whole-grain sourdough rye is a core component of Danish cuisine. I found several recipes in searching, but none really struck the intersection of seeming like something someone in Denmark would actually make, and speaking the sort of baking language I understand.

So what luck when I did the search again — specifying "rye chops" because I had the cut grains on hand — and found this marvelous recipe that just happened to be posted a day or two prior! If you already have a sourdough starter, it's no big deal, you just have to plan several days in advance so you can take part of your starter and feed it with rye, and then spend the required day and a half of rising and refrigerating, 2.5 hour bake, and another 24 hour rest before slicing.

The bread is just great. Rich, malty flavor with a very strong backbone of that hearty rye flavor, but what's most wonderful is the surprisingly light crumb and moistness you just don't expect from 100% rye. The only recommendation I can add to the recipe is to remove the bread from the pans before it cools too much; I made the mistake of cooling in the pan, and of the three loaves I made, only the one with corrugated sides released. The other two taste great but are no good for slicing.

Akvavit | Spiced spirits

Akvavit, from the Latin aqua vitae or "water of life," is an infusion of spices into vodka. I guess I could have bought some at the store, but what's the fun in that? Cobbling together indications from several sites, and ignoring suggestions to start with just a few spices, I threw in about a dozen, including cinnamon, coriander, caraway seeds, cardamom, cloves, anise, star anise, and dried lemon peel. I should have left it for a few weeks but only started a few days before the meal, so to give things a head start I toasted the herbs to release the oils, and also gave the bottle a shake every time I walked by the kitchen.

Nobody claimed to love it, and to be fair it was a pretty heady combination of flavors, but I was pleased for what I think passes as a Scandinavian complement from Lars: "Well, this is better than many commercial versions!"

Frikadeller | Fried meatballs | Recipe

 
Denmark creates a lot of dairy, but dairy cows aren't the best for eating. So what to do? Well, grind up the beef and fry it in butter! The recipe's evolved, and now you'll often see pork and/or veal either in place of or mixed in with the beef. The recipe that Allison provided calls for pork but I messed up and bought beef instead (probably remembering the history more than the recipe!) while at the Meat Hook. I then got pork, so it was a blend. And such a tasty one! As Allison says, "If pork is king in Denmark, butter is king." So, a royal dish indeed. And thanks to Jeremy for frying them all up!

Leverpostej | Liver pate | Recipe

Corinna, a colleague of mine, cautioned against setting up for sandwiches — not only would it take "a lot of preparation," but "you would have to make leverpostej." Tradition demands it! And since I don't pass up a good opportunity to bake with rye, well, I had to make this liver-based pâté.

Now, I can find palmnut sauce, green plantains, and homemade lard easily in New York. But who knew, in a city that loves its bacon and many other parts of the pig, that it would be so hard to find something as elemental as pork liver? After increasingly frantic calls on Friday to some of Manhattan and Brooklyn's best-regarded butchers, all of whom said "I could get it for you in a few days," I finally found a winner in the Meat Hook in Williamsburg, which also kindly ground both the liver and the fat for me. So note, if for some reason you want to make this dish, please call ahead to your butcher and make sure they're ready.

We didn't end up with any photos of the dish, which is just as well because it's roundly unattractive. But for those who enjoy pâté-like dishes, it's a treat to have one that's freshly made. One suggestion is to ignore the recipe's idea to serve warm; apparently it's most often served cold, which also makes it easier to slice.

Syltede rødbeder | Pickled beets | Recipe

I almost didn't make this, because the beets at the Fairway were shockingly soft. You want beets soft after cooking, not before. But while I was at the Meat Hook, the little produce area in the Brooklyn Kitchen half had these beautiful, local beets that I just couldn't ignore.

Now, a cooking secret for you. I don't know a reliable way to avoid getting stains when cooking. Even when I wear an apron, stuff seems to find its way onto my shirt. So when I'm working intensively with beets or pomegranate or the like, I just take my shirt off. Maybe it increases the risk of a burn on my stomach, but I know I won't stain the clothes! Anyway, so I boiled the beets, cooled them in an ice bath, slipped off the skins, and sliced them while still warm. I threw together a homemade pickling spice with bay leaves, mustard and coriander seeds, cloves, broken cinnamon stick, and probably a few other odds-and-ends I forget, and left it just overnight. Well, the flavors definitely melded, and the beets were very popular, both as a smørrebrød topping and also on their own.

Smør, Marinerede sild, Danablu | Butter, pickled herring, blue cheese

Much as I try to make things myself, sometimes you just gotta buy it. No way I was going to churn my own butter (though I've heard you can) or make my own blue cheese, and even though I tried to find fresh herring to pickle my own, I totally struck out and got some from Shelsky's down the road. Anyway, all of these were excellent smeared on the rye bread for some smørrebrød action.

Kold kartoffelsalat | Cold potato salad | Recipe

Be sure to use the freshest potatoes you can find, because there's not much seasoning in this salad so the potatoes are meant to shine. However, there is heavy cream and mayonnaise. Yum! I think I was more of a fan of the more vinegar-and-bacon direction of an Austrian potato salad, but I definitely see the value of this creamier kind.

Grønkal | Creamed kale | Recipe

Despite the name and appearance, there's no cream here, just a butter-flour-milk roux with boiled and chopped kale thrown in. I think there was too much sauce for the amount of greens.

Is | Ice cream

Turns out the Danes are the #1 per-capita consumers of ice cream in the world. I too the opportunity to clean out a bunch of ice creams I'd made over the summer: vanilla, mint, saffron-cardamom-pistachio-rosewater, and peach sorbet.

 

We had a great time, as Lars, Bijou and Allison regaled us with stories of Danish life and culture, and the soundtrack played local pop and other sounds.

Next week we head to a place that also has sourdough-based bread, and plenty of meat and butter — and that's where the similarities end, 'cause it's the little East African nation of Djibouti.

Photos by Laura Hadden, who finally found a rye bread she likes.

Meal 47: Democratic Republic of the Congo

What a special night! 75 guests, most of whom had never been to a Nosh before, gathered in the beautiful ballroom at Hostelling International on the Upper West Side, for a meal of classic Congolese dishes.

The idea came from Ari, the community engagement manager at the hostel, who saw our email on The Listserve and reached out to see if we might want to do a Nosh with them. With a big venue and kitchen, we decided to align it with World Food Day and make it a big fundraising opportunity...and at the end of the evening, that made for $1,400, or 5,600 meals to people in need! According to the WFP, the Democratic Republic of the Congo — the former Zaire — ranks lowest in the world for human development and hunger, and 70% have inadequate food. Needless to say, a rich and tasty meal like ours, with plenty of meats, vegetables, and oil, is far beyond the reach of most Congolese.

It turns out it would have been hard to find a more convenient neighborhood for cooking the meal. Less than a mile away is a wonderful little African market that had the palmnut sauce, cassava powder, and other specialty goods I needed, sold by a very friendly and enthusiastic proprietor. The manager at the nearby Gristedes let me borrow a shopping cart to haul back all the meat, and the cart proved very handy for hauling back a huge load of greens, plantains, and other produce.

There's no way we could have done this meal without the help of our many volunteers, who helped set up, cook, and clean up. The huge kitchen area comprising four ranges, two sinks, and dozens of pots and frying pans was buzzing with chopping, frying, stirring, and only one having to find the maintenance staff to crank up the ventilation hoods. Huge thanks to everyone who pitched in! And we owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Ari and the rest of the staff at the hostel who were incredibly friendly and accommodating.

Arachides rôties | Roasted peanuts

These freshly shelled peanuts came in little hand-tied baggies, a dollar a piece. So simple to throw them in a hot, dry frying pan, shake 'em around for a few minutes until they start to darken, then toss in a bowl with a little salt. Great as a snack or a topping.

Poulet mwamba | Chicken in palmnut sauce | Recipe

Not only did we cook forty pounds of dark-meat chicken, but to get it to cook faster (and to follow the recipe), we had to cut it into bite-sized pieces. Turns out I learned the hard, and potentially stupid, way that a glass cutting board isn't meant for cleaver-whacking:

Fifteen minutes later and Laura was back with a cutting board, I kept whacking away at chicken limbs, and Jason set to work browning the hundreds of chunks in five frying pans of red palm oil across two stovetops, his camera slung across his shoulder like a bandolier.

Ari, our incredibly gracious host at Hostelling International, smiled wistfully as he entered the kitchen. "It's so comforting that you're making the hostel smell like palm oil!" Once you know that rich smell, something kind of at the intersection of thick lotion, paprika and mineral oil but in a good way, it's hard to forget. Turns out, we used not just the oil, but also the thick pulp rendered from crushing palm nuts. Thinned a bit with some water, and livened up with salt and chilies plus onions and garlic sauteed in the pans after browning the chicken, it all cooked up into two big pots worth of thick and very rich stew, a very stick-to-your-ribs endeavor. We also made a vegetarian version, with eggplant and zucchini and an extra dose of onions, which was arguably tastier than the chicken version.

Boeuf sauce arachide | Beef in peanut sauce | Recipe

"Goober," the folksy nickname for the peanut, comes from the Kikongo name for the groundnut, nguba. You can make a tasty peanut sauce with just about any meat, and in fact I'd intended to make it with goat but I couldn't find that in my short shopping time, so beef it was. As you can see, the list of ingredients is very simple, but the result is really satisfying and complete. I picked up some surprisingly flavorful chili powder from Mali, maybe that did the trick. Whatever the reason, there was certainly none left!

Bitekuteku | Callaloo greens | Recipe

I did a whole lot of research around this one. I wasn't relishing making yet another dish from frozen cassava greens, so I was happy to see this dish for a different type of green. But I wasn't confident I'd be able to find it fresh. I was all prepared to substitute collards or chard, but lo and behold, the produce shop across the corner from the hostel had it! It's yet another of those foods that crossed the Atlantic in the slave trade, and somehow it ended up with the name "callaloo." Anyway, I cleared them out of all 16 bunches.

Who knew how much labor callaloo requires? The stems are pretty tough, but the leaves are haphazardly arranged, so removing them takes a whole lot of labor, for which Alex and her support crew deserve particular praise. Then you have to blanch them in boiling water with baking soda, and even with two pots going at a time, that took a while. We got a head start on the timing by sauteeing the green onions and eggplant ahead of time and dropping in the greens. Happily, it was really tasty, and the big crowd made fast work of it.

Fufu | "Stiff porridge"

Practice is starting to make perfect! I'm finally starting to get the hang of it, I think. This time we used a blend of corn and cassava flours, used the big-ass paddle I bought a few months ago, and I recruited Sarah's strong arms and energy to mix it up. She stirred a small amount into the big pot of just-boiled water, then added more of alternating flours until it got kinda thick, then stirring like mad until it got really thick. (Jessica also helpfully suggested that one person hold the pot steady while another grips the paddle with both hands and uses upward motion against the side of the pot to smooth out lumps.) The fufu turned out thick enough to grab with your hands, and tasted like mostly nothing...so, success! Also, it just ran out at the end of the evening, so maybe it's dumb luck but I'm glad we made the right amount.

Pili pili | Hot sauce | Recipe

This one's even simpler than the hot sauce for Comoros. Seeded hot peppers, onion, garlic, and a bit of oil. Simmer for an hour. Done. Quite spicy, richly flavorful, crowd pleaser. I thought I was being responsible by washing my hands like 20 times after cutting all the scotch bonnets, and I'm glad I did. However, I only gave the pot a standard cleaning — and the next morning's oatmeal turned out spicy! Lesson learned. Wash everything a lot after making hot sauce.

Bananes plantains au four | Baked plantains

Fried plantains are always the tastiest. But it takes a lot of work and time and makes a royal mess, as we discovered for the Cameroonean meal. So, we got most of the fun for about 10% of the work by simply peeling the plantains, slicing them in half, and baking the off for a half hour. Thanks to the abundantly equipped kitchen, we had six trays going across three ovens! And every last plantain was gobbled up.

What made us perhaps the happiest from this meal, even beyond the beautiful space and the people who went back for thirds and the money raised, was that most people stayed far longer than they had to, making new friends around the dinner table. Having made it just about a quarter of the way through the nations of the world, it's the joy of combining adventure and community that has become so motivating!

Stay tuned for our post from Denmark!

Photos by Jason Falchook, Chrys Wu, and Laura Hadden. 

Meal 46: Cyprus

As a solitary island in the eastern Mediterranean, Cyprus has seen millenia of influence from outside nations and empires. From Venetians to Ottomans to English, the appeal of a pied-à-terre located between Asia Minor, the Nile, Palestine and Greece has held strong appeal. The geopolitics are strong as ever today, with a split between Turkish Northern Cyprus and the Greek Republic of Cyprus.

For this meal we focus on the latter, primarily because that's the entity with UN membership but also that's because our friend Iva grew up there. All the while the food demonstrates its history while maintaining distinctive aspects of its own. And while it doesn't feature in any recipe, yogurt was the thick and creamy star that held it all together.

Joining us for this pleasant, post-mosquito night on the back porch, in addition to Iva, were Rachel (who's got a great project going with Oldest Living Things in the World), François, Emma, Nathan, Martyna and Martyna's mom. We tried out a new approach where every guest asked Iva something about Cyprus, which was a great way to learn about daily life and culture.

Horiatiki | Rustic salad

If you've ever had a Greek salad, this is a pretty similar beast, with tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, olives and oregano. What makes this Cypriot is the halloumi cheese, which is moister and firmer, and a bit less salty, than feta. Also the dressing is based on lemon juice rather than the vinegar you sometimes see.

Pourgouri pilaf | Bulgur wheat | Recipe

I think I see a bit of Middle East influence in bulgur, or cracked wheat, in this dish! Though the flavor was simple, it was definitely enlivened by some thick yogurt.

Makaronia tou fournou / pastitsio | Noodle, beef and béchamel casserole | Recipe

I'd be surprised if it wasn't the Venetians who introduced the pasta used in this casserole which is well known as a Greek dish but which Iva claims is originally from Cyprus. It was certainly tasty, but what was supposed to be a thick and fluffy bechamel of flour, milk and butter was quite runny and kind of drooped down like a cobbler rather than floating on top like a meringue. I think it was my fault for adding the second half of the milk too quickly rather than slowly incorporating it patiently into the pan of milk and flour. Be that as it may this was still plenty yummy.

Louvi me lehana | Black-eyed peas with chard | Recipe

A beautifully rustic combination of legumes and greens. Interestingly, dried black eyed peas cook much more quickly than normal beans, which is good to know if you have limited time. The dish overall was nice and a bit tangy with the lemon, but honestly the leftovers were bolder and in my opinion better when I added red wine, sumac, roasted garlic, Aleppo pepper and more lemon juice.

Melomakaronia | Honey cookies with olive oil, orange, and spices | Recipe

These cookies are traditional for Christmas but I can see why they're popular year round. Densely made with olive oil, orange juice and rind, and fresh ground cinnamon and clove, and then dipped in a solution of honey, sugar, and more spice, you don't need more than one or two to feel satisfied! Iva generously brought a bottle of Commandaria, a port-like dessert wine known as the world's oldest continually produced type of wine!

And that does it for the C's! If you're around in New York on October 14 we'd love to have you for our biggest Nosh yet, honoring World Food Day with Democratic Republic of the Congo. Buy tickets!

Photos by Laura Hadden, who was grateful to have Iva back from Cyprus for this meal!

Meal 45: Czech Republic

For our second nosh in the Catskills, it was also a culinary journey to the heart of Europe with a Czech meal. Between the roasting goose and the yeasted dumplings and pastries, there was a lot of on-again, off-again kitchen prep work, all the better to enjoy the spectacular weather and fresh mountain air in the very relaxing lawn out back:

It's so special cooking in the old mill in Bovina. First of all, the kitchen is completely open, with plenty of space for collaborative cooking. And check out that stove, with two ovens and so many burners that four of them remain covered to create more counter space. This was an excellent meal for this kitchen, because I needed a lot of help in the end, and there was ample space for multiple concurrent projects. Here's Lucy helping make the kolace for dessert, and thanks also to Kirsty, Mills, and everyone else who pitched in!

Even the little things, like different dishes, help shake it up. What fun to serve this hearty, rustic meal on metal plates!

The whole idea of food production comes full circle here, on Creamery Road. The dining table is placed under a hopper that used to dispense grain, and that now houses a light that highlights the serving dishes. Seated around the table, in chairs hand-built by Sarah-Doe's parents, are Lucy, Paul, Angus, Mills, Lisa, Kirsty, and Sarah-Doe herself. Note the copious wine and beer!

Okurkový salát se smetanou | Cucumber and sour cream salad | Recipe

A quick little salad to liven the appetite and get us in the mood. It was nice, but I think it would have been better with a bit of garlic and maybe some pepper. Also, unexpectedly, it made for a nice garnish and enhancer for the soup.

Bramboracka | Potato soup | Recipe

I don't know why, but it always surprises me how simple it is to make soup. At it's most basic, all you gotta do is combine water with a few ingredients, let it cook for a bit, and voilà! This one is only a bit more complicated, with a bit of sautéing at the beginning and some thickening with flour at the end, but all in all it's no big deal to throw together onions, mushrooms, and potatoes and make a hearty and rich soup.

Pečená husa | Roast goose

The true national dish of the Czech Republic is pečené vepřové s knedlíky se zelím, shortened to Vepřo-knedlo-zelo, meaning roast pork with dumplings and cabbage. But since we had pork for the previous meal, and a large crowd worthy of a bit of experimentation, I decided to swap for a goose instead. I couldn't find a fresh one, but no worries, since having such a hunk of frozen and slowly defrosting mass in the cooler helped keep all our perishables cold on the drive up.

If duck is the fattier, richer version of chicken, then goose definitely holds the same relationship to turkey. From this thirteen-pound bird, I rendered two cups of schmaltz just from the excess hunks of fat, and then the roasting released about another quart. All that fat actually makes it a really forgiving animal to cook. The only preparation, other than ensuring full defrosting, was rubbing with salt and caraway seed, and placing in a pan with a cup of water. About five hours of slow roasting at 325°, with a few flips, and the skin was so crispy and the leg just pulled apart.

I just had to make a gravy with this all. I poured out about three cups' worth of fat, added in chopped gizzards and neck, and after a bit of frying, deglazed it with some boxed wine leftover from the previous trip.

All in all, so tasty! As a dark-meat fan I was in heaven because every bite of meat was rich and flavorful. Those who like crispy skin were in luck: a goose has more surface area relative to meat than a turkey, and it crisped up so nicely.

Knedliky | Dumplings | Recipe

Czech dumplings are essentially dense boiled bread dough. However, these were really dense. This probably came from having used old yeast that was in the fridge for probably a year or two too long, so it never really rose properly. Oh well, it still was a good medium for conveying gravy to the mouth!

Dusene zeli | Braised green cabbage | Recipe

The classic Czech ensemble is best known for being accompanied by sauerkraut, but in the late summer when fresh green cabbage is abundant, this braised version just makes more sense. While I would have used the Cuisinart at home to shred three pounds, in the country we only had a decades-old box grater on hand. The abundant caraway seeds don't just provide a bit of flavor and crunch; it turns out they are a time-tested folk remedy for the gas and bloating that starchy vegetables like cabbage produce.

Kolace | Pastries | Recipe

The kolace (and its many different spellings) is the strongest culinary symbol of Czech-American identity, and is probably the Czech Republic's best-known dessert. It's a yeasted dough with a fruited filling; in this case we went with raisins and cottage cheese. It's almost like a scone in not being too sweet, and would make for a lovely breakfast pastry too.

The moon was full that night, just like our bellies.

We're off for a few weeks, due to a trip to Alaska, and we'll resume toward the end of the month with our very final C meal, from Cyprus!

Photos by Laura Hadden, who loved eating goose, hanging out with her friends, and trying to teach Emmylou dog skills in the Catskills. 

Meal 44: Cuba

A friend who's been to Cuba suggested that "for many Cubans, food at the moment is state-issued ham sandwiches, which you could approximate with some layers of wet cardboard standing in for bread, and finely shaved erasers for the ham, all encased in a blister pack of clear cellophane." Our guest Tennessee reported that by far the most disgusting food she's had in her life was "street pizza" in Havana, during her time as a student there.

Fortunately, we were able to lean instead on the culinary traditions of families who've left Cuba. In fact, the structure of the meal was suggested by my colleague Wendy, who's from a Cuban family in South Florida. (Note the distinct lack of vegetables. Apparently this is very authentic.) Our guest Alex agreed that this food reminded him of what his Cuban mom makes.

Fortunately, we didn't have to contend with rationing, so this turned into quite the feast. The five mile bike ride back from the Food Bazaar supermarket was quite the haul, with a nine-pound pork shoulder and a three-liter jug of olive oil anchoring my saddlebags. Like I imagine many things in Cuba to be, the preparation was long and slow, folks trickled in as the smell of slowly barbecuing pork roasted through the house, and the payoff was lovely. Our guests were Sam, Beni, Nathalia, Ian, Alex, Tennessee, Kirsten, and Demián.

Cocteles | Cocktails | Recipes at bottom

Sam was eager to mix some cocktails, and Laura and I were fully in support. As a major sugar producer for centuries, Cuba also developed a substantial rum industry. Pretty much everywhere besides the US they enjoy Havana Club and other Cuban rums; even Bacardi was based in Havana before they absconded with their yeast to escape nationalization and set up shop in Puerto Rico.

We started out with mojitos, of course, with fresh mint from the patio and a simple syrup made of demerara sugar. Now, I order mojitos frequently at bars, and it's fair to say I've had dozens if not hundreds in my life. This was one of the best. Not too minty, not too limey, and rather than being pure sweet, the richness of the demerara really held it together. Check out the recipe at the end.

The other drink Sam made was also rum-based, but in a very different direction. Made with orange liqueur, (homemade) grenadine, vermouth, and aged rum, it's called El Presidente, but I think of it as a Rumhattan. The vermouth balances the sweetness, and provided it's made from quality ingredients, which this sure was, it's a really complex drink worth lingering on.

Plátanos maduros | Fried sweet plantains | Recipe

Baked plantains are definitely easier, faster for such a big crowd, healthier, and less labor intensive. But there's nothing like coins of super-ripe plantains shed of their nearly-black skin, cut on the bias, fried to within a minute of burning, and touched with a hint of salt. No matter how many of these I make, they always disappear.

Lechón asado | Roasted pork shoulder | Recipe

 

The planning for this dish started many months ago, when I wantonly suggested to a friend that I could build a pit in her backyard and roast a whole 80-pound pig in it. Among the many reasons this was a poor idea is that she's vegetarian! Anyway, I was happy to learn that you can do something similar with just part of a pig, hence the nine-pound shoulder. I hadn't once done a true charcoal this summer, and I'd be chagrined to miss this opportunity.

It started the night before with a mojo — not to be confused with mojito! — of sour orange juice, lots of olive oil, a smattering of onion, and 30(!) cloves of garlic. (Note that if you use fresh sour oranges for this recipe, it takes a lot of them! I got barely a cup from nine whole fruits, and filled the rest with lemon and lime juice.) I stabbed the shoulder with a knife a few hundred times, especially in the skin, to let the marinade in.

The next day, I built the coals, pushed them to the side, and let this beauty roast indirectly for six hours on low, slow heat. Interestingly it only took a few hours to reach safe-to-eat temperature, but two or three hours of extra cooking makes it so tender you can pull it with a fork. (One thing I'd do differently next time is to let the coals simmer down even more before putting the pork on. I think the outside seared too quickly and ended up closer to burnt than roasted.)

The pork turned out simply delicious; two days later we're still eating it for every meal, like a Thanksgiving turkey. It's a really cheap cut of meat (usually under $2/pound), and you can make it easily in the oven and not be fussy on the grill, so if you've got time and a crowd to feed, consider it!

Pan cubano | Cuban lard bread | Recipe

Would you guess that this bread is non-vegetarian? Well, the secret to its golden-brown hue and delightfully springy texture is none other than lard. What can I say, it's a really, really tasty loaf. The recipe is a little over the top in complaining about how long it takes; if you already make bread you'll know that two one-hour rises is pretty speedy actually. (I also have begun using diastatic malt powder in place of some of the sugar while proofing the yeast, and that speeds up the rise, improves the texture, and makes it last longer.)

I actually made two loaves; we used the second today to make a sandwich with some leftover pork. (And yes, we put pickles and other Cuban sandwich accoutrements on it.) Yum.

Moros y cristianos | Rice and beans | Recipe

Cubans prepare rice and beans several different ways. Given my fondness for interesting food names, the choice was clear. Moros y cristianos means "Moors and Christians," a reference to the pairing of two different items on the same plate, just as two peoples shared the Iberian peninsula for centuries. Beyond the fun name, it's a super-tasty dish, with a onion-bell-pepper sofrito plus cumin providing that classic Latin rice smell and flavor. (Sometimes the dish is black, I think that's from saving the bean-cooking water for cooking the rice too.)

Yuca con ajo | Manioc with garlic sauce | Recipe

The same thing as manioc and cassava, which we've encountered many times. I think this is my favorite preparation of this starchy, bland root: covered in a sauce of olive oil, citrus and garlic!

Flan | Recipe

Tres leches refers to a dessert that has evaporated, condensed, and fresh milk. We made a tres leches rice pudding for Costa Rica, and a tres leches cake is to Latin America what tiramisú is to Italy: a baked good drenched in sweet liquid. Anyway, hold onto your arteries, because this flan is cuatro leches, courtesy of cream cheese! Probably non-traditional, but really, really tasty. As with the mojitos, the sugar in the caramel is demerara, which further enhances the rich, nutty flavor. And the flan itself was just great, perfectly set, not too sweet, just darn tasty.

It shouldn't surprise you that the Cuban music was top-notch, and thanks to our guests who'd been to Havana and beyond, we heard several stories of life in a country so close yet so far, such as the tradition of pouring a little splash on the ground from a newly-opened bottle for los santos.

Next, we're heading to the hills for the Labor Day weekend, where we'll do our Czech Republic meal!

Photos by Laura Hadden, whose love for Sam's mojitos knows no bounds. 

~~~

Drinks (notes by Sam)
El Presidente:
1.5 oz. aged rum (I was using Bacardi 8)
3/4 oz. dry vermouth (I used Foro, which is Italian-produced and I don't think it's on the US market yet. Any French/dry vermouth would be good, and any blanc vermouth might be even better -- I hear Dolin blanc vermouth is fantastic in this drink)
1/4 oz. curacao (I used Clement Creole Shrubb, which is based on rhum agricole from Martinique, and has lots of vanilla and spicy notes to it. I bet the new Pierre Ferrand Dry Curacao would really work well here too.)
1/2 tsp. or dash grenadine (I used homemade grenadine, made of equal parts Pom Wonderful pomegranate juice and superfine sugar, shaken like hell till they combined.)
Stir with cracked ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with an orange twist.
Mojito:
2 oz. silver rum (we used Don Q)
1 oz. lime juice (I actually just did the juice of half a lime for each drink, and was making two drinks at a time.)
3/4 oz. simple syrup (we used demerara sugar, of course, and I think that really made the difference. I also made it "rich simple syrup", with a 2:1 sugar:water ratio.
10 or so mint leaves
Seltzer water
RumDood has an extensive discussion of technique at the above link. I tend to depart a little bit from that, and I very gently muddled the mint in the bottom of each serving glass. (Too much, and it gets chalky or bitter.) I juiced half a lime into the shaker for each serving, added the rum and simple syrup, filled with ice, and shook like hell. Then strained that into the serving glasses, topped with soda (maybe two ounces, though it was inexact), and gave it a quick stir. (His dry-shake technique looks like one I'll have to try, though.)