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Three Courses in One Pot? You Must be Cocido-ing Me…

Amy and Jonny — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 17:04:20 +0000

Many of European countries have a one-pot dish into which odds and ends of the beast and various cheap vegetables are thrown, and cooked until all components sit fall-apart tender in a rich broth. Examples include Lancashire hot-pot in the UK, the famed French pot-au-feu, and the various cocidos of Spain.

Depending on where you’re eating one of these stews, you may find it all served together – the pot placed in the middle of the table for diners to dip a ladle into and fish for the tastiest morsels – or in a series of courses beginning with a soup course of the broth (caldo), followed by a vegetable course, and finally the meat.

With the long-awaited advent of spring, we realized that our opportunities for making such a dish were melting away with the last rimes of dirty snow. So, armed with a foot of fresh morcilla found at the (ultimately rather disappointing) Essex Street Market, a pound of dried chickpeas, and several large slabs of pork belly (courtesy of the very magnificent Mitsuwa Japanese supermarket in Edgewater, NJ), we decided it was now or not until the fall.

Everything we’d read suggested making cocido took both a long time and wasn’t easy. Happily, neither of these proved to be entirely true, and if you’ve got a couple of hours to spare one weekend, you can, with minimal preparation, make yourself a wonderfully flavorful three-course meal for 6 people without even breaking a sweat.

Though research suggests it doesn’t conform exactly to a typical Cocido Madrileño, this preparation closely resembles the cocido we ate in Madrid last year, and, ingredient-wise, is very similar to an Asturian-style Cocido Montañes with the exception of using chickpeas (garbanzos) instead of white beans.

For us, in spite all the porky deliciousness of the meats, the broth was the best part of this dish. It was incredibly delicious and was so infused with the flavors of all the ingredients that it was impossible, even in taking a small bit of each meat and vegetable in a mouthful, to get the same flavor.

Ultimately, the best thing about this cocido was not just the great satisfaction derived from a simple, peasant dish, but that it made us feel oddly wistful about the departure of winter. A feeling we did not anticipate at all.

Cocido Madrileño/Montañes (serves 4-6)
Ingredients

2 pints (1liter) good chicken stock
2 pints (1liter)cold water
1lb (1/2kilo) pork belly, cut into 4 large pieces
2 pigs feet (trotters) cut into pieces
1lb dry chickpeas
2 large chorizo
8inches (20cm) or 2 large links morcilla (blood sausage)
4oz (250g) smoked bacon
1 large onion, studded liberally with cloves
1 head garlic, sliced in half
2 large carrots, peeled and cut into 2inch lumps
1/2 head of savoy cabbage
2 potatoes, peeled and cut into quarters
5 large sprigs flat leaf parsley bound with twine
3 bay leaves
8 black peppercorns
1/2lb vermicelli (fideos)

Recipe

Soak chickpeas (garbanzos) in plenty of cold water for at least 8 hours, preferably overnight
Drain and reserve
Brown meat on all sides, using a tbsp of olive oil if necessary
Remove chorizo to a plate and add stock, water, bay, peppercorns, bacon, parsley, onion & garlic to other meats in a pot large enough to accommodate all your ingredients
Bring to a boil and then simmer, covered, for 1 1/2 hours.
Wrap chickpeas in cheesecloth, secure with kitchen twine and add to pot.
Introduce chorizo to pot at this time, bring back to a boil, and simmer for another hour.
Add potatoes, carrots and cabbage to pot and simmer for another 1/2 hour.
Cocido is basically done at this point. Check for seasoning and correct if necessary.
With a slotted spoon, remove everything from pot and place in a dish in a warm oven.
Skim fat off broth before bringing it to a boil
Break vermicelli into 1-2inch (2-4cm) pieces and add to broth.
Boil for 4-6 minutes or until al dente
Serve noodle broth as first course.
Plate other components (after removing chickpeas from cheesecloth bag) and enjoy with a large glass of spicy Ribero del Duero.
Rub extended belly and take well-earned nap (optional).

Farinata: Crispy, Nutty Canvas for Your Creations

Amy and Jonny — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 18:17:54 +0000

The Italian region of Liguria is famous for its dramatic landscape of mountains plunging into crystal clear waters, and narrow terraced fields leading down to tiny, colorful villages precipitously perched on the edges of cliffs of which the Cinque Terre (five lands) of Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore in La Spezia province are the most famous. It’s a region of hot, dry summers and cool, wet winters, though the rugged terrain creates many tiny sub-regional micro-climates, and driving through it, you can go from dry scrub oak and wild thyme to olive groves to chestnut forests and back again in half an hours’ journey.

So it is that Ligurian food, like all Italian regional cuisine, reflects the landscape from which it comes, and because of this much of the local food has traditionally come from the few plants that are able to withstand the poor, dry soil, the salty air at low altitudes, and the cold at higher elevations, supplemented by seafood and, occasionally, game and poultry.

**Sorry for interrupting your reading, but I had to find a place to put this picture in. No lie, we passed this goat going about 45 mph in the Ligurian countryside and I thought I was hallucinating. I made Jonny reverse about 1/4 of a mile down a very winding, thin road to find out if I really was on drugs. This Gandolf-looking creature was smiling from behind a very primitive and small barn about 5 inches off the side of the road. I fell in love at that moment. He looked mythical!

In her recent paean to the Liguria of her ancestors, The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken, author Laura Schenone recalls that while things have changed in modern times, for millenia the fortunes of most of the region’s inhabitants have been directly related to the availability of chestnuts from which many staples were made — including the ubiquitous gnocchi and pasta.

Another plant that grows very successfully in Liguria’s poor soils, as they do a few hundred miles west in the rocky garrigues of Provence where they remain the principle diet of many peasant farmers and, indeed, their livestock, is the chick pea (ceci/garbanzo), and like the chestnut, Ligurians pound the dried cecis into a flour which they use to make a kind of flat bread found nowhere else in Italy save certain parts of Sicily (which is deep fried chickpea dough often used in between bread or as a snack called Panelle – we hope to make this version soon), farinata. The French have their own version of this called Socca, but today we will focus on farinata. Farinata is a kind of street food found in Liguria and can often be treated like pizza as it is often cut into wedges and can come with various toppings like onions.

While we were in Genoa last summer, we saw farinata in bakeries all over the city but, curiously, found that it wasn’t offered in restaurants, though it was probably because of the glut of delicious seafood and various pesto preparations we gorged ourselves on rather than this reason, that we missed out on trying farinata in the region of its origin. Not to be denied though, we sought out some chick pea flour (yes, I know, if weren’t such post-modern bourgeois slacker-tourists we would have pounded our own from dried beans…) at a wonderful gourmet grocers in Park Slope and proceeded to use the wonderful invention that is Babelfish to translate any number of recipes on Italian websites to find out how to make it authentically. If you can not find chickpea flour in your local grocery store, check out some health food shops, Indian and/or Middle Eastern specialty stores. Chickpea flour is a key ingredient to many Indian and Middle Eastern foods.

Regular readers will know that we strive to find and make the most authentic preparations we can, but you will also know that this kind of research often leads to the unfortunate conclusion that there is rarely only one “authentic” version. Referring again to Laura Schenone, who describes farinata as almost like a chick pea flour focaccia – crispy on top and soft and chewy underneath and baked in a wide, shallow pan in a brick pizza oven, we found that this conflicted with our recollections and other recipes we had come across for thinner, almost completely crispy flatbreads. In fact, what we discovered was that the longer the cooking time and the less batter you add to your skillet, the crisper the farinata. Like, duh, right? For a more baked polenta-like consistency underneath with a crisp top, I would recommend pouring enough batter so that it is 1/2-deep and cooking our recipe for 1/2 the time, possibly finishing it off under the broiler for a few minutes. The recipe below will be for a crispy version of farinata – one that almost can crack like a cracker.

**Window shopping in Genoa – check out the farinata being served in the upper right-hand corner

We would like to try the softer version so we can decide which we prefer. Regardless, we thoroughly enjoyed the crispy, thinner and darker bread with its nutty, salty flavor that we made and are enthused to attempt the latter as soon as possible.

Typically, farinata is eaten either alone or dipped in good Ligurian olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt, whereas we decided to use it almost as a canvas for a rather overly decorative carpaccio of zucchini (courgette) with pine nuts, shaved pecorino, and lemon juice. We encourage you to make yourself a farinata or two (preferably not in the hot months as we did, unless you have a good AC!) and eat it anyway you like, reminding yourself, yet again, that peasant food made from humble ingredients is almost always good, and because that’s often all there was/is to eat, it has to be.

CRISPY FARINATA (LIGURIAN CHICKPEA FLATBREAD) WITH ZUCCHINI CARPACCIO SALAD – (makes about 1 12-inch farinata)

Ingredients for farinata:

1 1/4 cup of chick pea flour
1 1/2 cups of water (maybe a bit more to get the consistency somewhere between whole milk and lite cream)
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil (or enough to cover your pan)
plenty of freshly ground black pepper
6 sage leaves, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon of chopped rosemary (optional)

Ingredients for zucchini salad:

1 large zucchini, sliced into paper-thin slices using a mandoline
1 ripe roma tomato, sliced into small dice
2 tablespoons pignoli nuts (pine nuts)
1 scallion (spring onion), sliced into thin rings
3 tablespoons good extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon whole grain mustard
1 salted anchovy filet
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
pinch of salt and black pepper

What to do:

Sift your chickpea flour in a bowl and add your salt, pepper, sage and rosemary. Stir generously.
Slowly add your water, whisking the whole time allowing everything to be incorporated (again, you want the batter to be about the consistency of whole milk/light cream).
Allow your batter to rest for at least 1 hour or as long as overnight.
When you are ready to cook, preheat your oven to 425 degrees. If any foam has surfaced on your chickpea batter, remove with a spoon.
Pour olive oil into your 12-inch baking pan – preferably a cast iron skillet. You want the olive oil to generously coat the bottom and sides of your skillet. Add your batter until it is about 1/4 of an inch if you want it super crispy or 1/2 inch deep if you want it thicker and possibly softer.
For a crispier farinata, bake for about 30 minutes. Check on it, though, as ovens differ and you do not want the batter to burn! If you want it a bit softer, I would recommend baking for about 15-17 minutes and then finishing it under the broiler for a minute. Allow to cool before cutting!
Slice zucchini into very thin, long slivers using a mandolin or a very sharp chef’s knife and thinly slice/dice your other veggies. Arrange everything on top of your farinata and sprinkle with pine nuts.
Using a mortar and pestle, pound the anchovy and the mustard together and squeeze in the lemon juice and then mix well. Immediately before serving, whisk in the olive oil to make the vinaigrette. Season with salt and pepper and drizzle all over the zucchini carpaccio and farinata.

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The REAL Cocido

Amy — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 20:50:06 +0000

I know, guys… yet again, another Ray-Ray complaint. I just can NOT stop. I try, kids… I REALLY freaking try. I put her show on and within 30 seconds, I put her on mute. Within a minute, the channel is changed. I can’t do it. I try over and over again, and over and over again the result is the same – shivers, throwing things at the TV, tearing bits of my hair out. After seeing this mild bastardization of the delicious, and AUTHENTICALLY SPANISH dish of Cocido, I could not stay silent again.

In Ray-Ray’s defense, I immediately thought her recipe looked wrong and jumped at the chance to rip her apart. I thought to myself, minced meat?? Chicken “tenders”!? Adding nutmeg and cinnamon??!! Blasphemy! But, after much research, I have found that sometimes cocido can contain meatballs made of minced beef. The chicken tenders are pointless because you want the flavor of the chicken skins and bones. Nutmeg and cinnamon? Ya got me there, Rach. Maybe my trusty Spaniard friend, Nuria could weigh in on this? Regardless, I’m here to spread some knowledge on one of my favorite things to eat while in Madrid.

Cocido is one of the national dishes of Spain, has many regional variations (cocido madrileno from Madrid, cocido montanes from Cantabria and cocido maragato from Castile-Leon) and is often eaten midday. It should take a long time to cook (simmering away all night or all day) and, most importantly, contains various types of cured and smoked pork products and meat, bones, trotters, etc. On holy days or when meat should not be eaten, cocido can be made with bacalao (salted cod) or congrio (salted congereel). Long and slow cooking of the cocido along with it’s other elements; chickpeas, carrots, potatoes and cabbage (among other veggies), creates an amazingly flavorful and rich caldo (broth/stock). It is believed that cocido was introduced to Spain by the Sephardic Jews (Jews that chose to convert to Catholicism) who added pork and sausage to the stew creating the dish we know today. Work is not allowed on the Sabbath so, before it began, they would throw all the ingredients in a pot in order to cook slowly all day, only to be eaten at sundown.

Cocido will usually, and traditionally, be served in at least two courses, often three. The first course is always the strained caldo – pure, golden and rich, maybe with some rice or noodles. The second course could be all the vegetables alone or the veggies plus the meat (as we had it in Madrid – see pics). This would include morcilla (Spanish black sausage), chorizo, pieces of the meats (pork, chicken, pork belly etc.), potatoes, chickpeas, cabbage, carrots, leeks, etc. It is a very filling meal, but extremely tasty and satisfying. It took us about 2 hours to eat ours while we were in Madrid, and we rolled out of the restaurant with the top button of our pants undone and a big smile on our faces.

I also want to clarify something – there is traditional Spanish cocido and a Mexican version. The Mexican cocido may include corn, chayote green beans, zucchini and cilantro. They garnish with lime, salsa and/or jalapenos and Mexican rice and it can be served with tortillas. There is a HUGE difference in these dishes.

In conclusion, this is the best recipe I found for cocido on the web, although I would probably add some more cooking time to the recipe. Although my husband was inspired to make this soup after his first cocido experience during a trip to Northern Spain in 2003, it’s just not the real deal. I hope to order my morcilla and fresh chorizo from La Tienda, talk to my butcher about some pork belly and make this traditional version one day soon.

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Cure for a Rainy Day – Hearty Chorizo, Kale, Chickpea and Potato Soup

Jonathan — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 02:05:51 +0000

Several years ago, on a trip to northern Spain I found myself in the small town of Santillana del Mar in the region of Cantabria on a cold and rainy night. Outside the hotel, a herd of dismal-looking goats shivered together in the lee of a thorn bush as it got dark, and all I wanted after a miserable day of traveling was a hot dinner and a bottle of wine.

Walking into the only restaurant in town, which had only one other diner, I went swiftly to the back in a vain attempt not to be conspicuous. The room was dimly-lit, oaky and very, very warm – the stone floor was actually warm to the touch, yet the other diner sat opposite from me in a jacket, scarf and an ancient beanie.

The menu I was presented with wasn’t much of a menu at all, being a small chalkboard with items handwritten in a spidery cursive that I couldn’t decipher a word of, except the “postres” section which offered a choice between flan and fruta. In fact, that was the only choice on the menu it turned out when the thick-set hostess took my order, but at 9 euros for three courses, including drinks and bread, choice might have been too much to ask.

Unsure as to what I was about to eat, I settled in to my complimentary bottle of red wine, jug of tap water and enormous loaf of bread. Shortly after, a deep clay bowl of “cocido” (see “The Real Cocido“) was placed in front of me. Stirring it, lumps of potato, carrot, chorizo, smoked ham and chick peas rose to the surface. Twenty minutes later, I was sweating, full, and only halfway down the bowl, as the proprietress circled, eyeing my attempt at the starter(!) and, with contempt, she pointed out that I had left the greens untouched at the bottom of the bowl.

Fortunately, she spied my desperation and whisked it away, and kindly gave me ten minutes grace before delivering the main course — a large pork schnitzel with a whole roasted red pepper on top. To my credit, I did finish this course, and washing it down with rest of my wine, I was looking forward to a nice fruit salad to finish.

The dessert was a pear. It came with a plate and a knife. That’s all. A fitting end to a simple, rustic dinner.

I’ve spoken highly of this meal regularly since then, and on days like today, when the rain is coming down like crazy and I’ve had an exhausting day at the office, I still crave cocido. Unfortunately, we can not make the traditional dish quickly – typical Castillian cocidos are supposed to simmer slowly for hours over a fire. We would also need some other Spanish sausages and various pork products to make it authentic. Since I don’t have a huge black cauldron and hours to prepare it, no morcilla (Spanish blood sausage) or pork belly and we use kale instead of cabbbage, we can’t dare call this a real cocido. Instead, it is a dish inspired by that wonderful meal in Cantabria – I will call it Chorizo, Chickpea and Potato Soup. Even though I use a ready-made stock, it does turn out well in a hearty, warming way.

CHORIZO, CHICKPEA AND POTATO SOUP

Ingredients

1 onion, thinly sliced

1 carrot cut into thin half-moons

5 cloves garlic, smashed and chopped fine

2 large potatoes, cut into 1 inch cubes

1/2 lb curly kale, roughly chopped

1 24oz can of chickpeas

2 tbsp chopped parsley

2 tomatoes, diced

2-4 chorizo links (Spanish-style not Mexican) cut into half-inch cubes

2 large smoked ham hocks

3 pints hot chicken stock

salt and black pepper to taste

Recipe

Sautee onions, potatoes and carrots until soft and potatoes become slightly crispy. Add chorizo and ham hocks and allow the fat to render before adding the garlic. Add chickpeas when you can smell the garlic, and cook together for five minutes, stirring occasionally, before adding stock.

Bring to a boil and simmer gently for 30 minutes before adding the kale. Cook for a further five minutes, and skim off orangey (delicious chorizo) fat before adjusting seasoning. Serve in deep bowls, topped with diced tomatoes and parsley, and if you like, some thick slices of rough, country bread.

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