Two Beets

We got two deliveries of early beets this summer, Red Ace and Chiogga, aka Candy Stripe. It was so hot for most of July that my agenda for using both of them was, “How can I eat these without having to turn on the oven?” A cold soup seemed appropriate both times.
The first was a gazpacho from Patricia Wells. Steamed beets, peeled and blended up with onion, garlic, mustard, and vinegar. Wells describes the flavor as “liquified pickled beets.”

The result was beautiful, but too intense for a large serving. I only had a half a pound of beets, and therefore only made what she considers a single serving, yet I couldn’t finish it. I should have tried lightening it with a little creme fraiche, or having much smaller servings. I can imagine it working very well in shot glasses as a passed hors d’oeuvre.

So when the second delivery of beets arrived, I decided to make David Tanis’s cold borscht recipe, which I made once several summers ago. Borscht is a funny word, and slightly unappealing sounding to my ears. It was not something I grew up eating, and in fact I was subtly trained to dislike it without even knowing much about it. The result is that I haven’t a clue if this version is in line with any authentic Russian recipes, but I absolutely love it, and I can’t imagine why I haven’t made it since that first time. My suspicion was that C. would like it just as much as I did, and so borscht became the plan for dinner, with the greens blanched and sauteed on the side.

First, peel the beets, and cut them into thin slices. You can use any color beets you like. Red ones will produce a much more vibrantly pink soup, but yellow beets or these candy stripe ones are much less likely to leave beet-blood spatters all over your kitchen.

Put them in a pot with garlic, sliced shallot, a bay leaf, coriander seeds, cloves, a bit of cayenne, sugar, red wine vinegar, olive oil, and salt. Cover everything with water and bring to a simmer. Cook it until the beets are tender, 15 minutes or so. Check the seasoning, and then blend everything up–cloves, bay leaf and all.

Strain the soup through a fine sieve, and chill it until it’s refrigerator cold, or until you are too hungry to wait longer. Whisk in some plain yogurt (full fat, ideally), and top with chopped dill and scallions or chives.

It’s sweet, tangy, a little spicy, and utterly delicious. It makes an excellent light summer dinner alongside the greens and some good toasted bread. Glass of wine optional.

Soup You Can Eat With a Fork

Here is the internal monologue that created this recipe:

“Look! There are ramps at the greenmarket! I should buy a lot of them!”

“What goes with ramps? Well, I made that potato-ramp gratin once that was really good. I’m not in the mood for a gratin, but I like potatoes. A pound or so should be enough, right?”

“Mmm, that chorizo they’re grilling at Flying Pigs smells awesome. Ooh, I wonder what Russian sausage is? Let’s find out.”

“And you know what I haven’t had in a while? Oyster mushrooms.”

(Cut to kitchen, several hours later.)

“I have some cranberry beans lying around don’t I? And look, there’s a can of tomatoes, too. This is starting to sound kind of like cassoulet. Only not, because I don’t have any duck. But I have duck fat in the freezer! Oh, I see where this is going.”

(Cut to a couple more hours later.)

Is it a soup? Is it a stew? Were the mushrooms a step too far? 

On the mushrooms, the answer was probably yes, so I’m leaving them out of the recipe below. Alternately, if you want to veggify this, use mushrooms instead of the sausage, and olive oil instead of duck fat.

Also, I didn’t get quite as carried away as I might have with the ramps, so I supplemented with half a yellow onion. It worked great, but so would a third bunch of ramps.

And for the sausage, use whatever kind you like. The Russian variety I found had a sweet spiciness to it, and that worked pretty well with the sort of smokiness of the ramps, but almost anything would be good. (I would not recommend chorizo.)

Cassoulet-Inspired Stew

serves 6-8

1 lb. sausage

2 Tbsp. duck fat

1 lb. Yukon Gold potatoes, cut into bite-sized pieces

3 small bunches ramps, bulbs & leaves separated, all cut into pieces

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1 lb. pinto beans, soaked & rinsed (unless they are relatively fresh, like from Cayuga or Rancho Gordo as opposed to the bulk food aisle)

1 14-oz. can chopped tomatoes

salt

Cut up the sausages into thick slices. Heat up a soup pot over medium heat and cook the slices for a minute or two on each side, until they are browned and mostly cooked through. Remove to a plate.

Put the duck fat in the pot, and when it’s melted, add the potatoes. Stir occasionally for 5 minutes or so, and when they start to brown, add the bulb ends of the ramps and cook another few minutes. Add the chopped garlic, and stir.

When the garlic is fragrant, add the beans, tomatoes, ramp leaves, some salt, and enough water to cover everything by a couple of inches. Bring to a simmer and let cook over very low heat until the beans and potatoes are tender (probably about 45-60 minutes, depending on your beans). Taste for salt. 

No More Midtown Lunches

I spent 5 years of my adult life working in Rockefeller Center, home to one of Dean & Deluca‘s cafés, which in turn is home to the best lentil soup I’ve ever had. I do not lament that my current commute does not involve pushing through hordes of tourists taking pictures of themselves outside the Today Show studio, or massing together in a claustrophobic crush to look at the ever popular Christmas tree. But there are days–damp, grey, dreary February days–where, boy, do I really miss that soup. 

It was with that in mind that I set about making this un-photogenic dinner. I had bought a bag of masoor lentils at Kalustyan’s recently, which I figured was reason enough to attempt my recreation. Admittedly, it has been a few years since I last had D&D’s particular version, but I assumed that, having eaten it, by my estimate, once a week for five years, I ought to be an expert. Right?

Start, as all good recipes do, with butter and olive oil in a pot. 

When the butter is melted, add thinly sliced carrots and onions (and celery, if you (a) like that sort of thing and (b) have any in the fridge, which I (a) sometimes do and (b) did not this night). Stir them up to coat in the butter & oil, then stick a lid on the pot while you get everything else ready.

After a few minutes, the veggies should be soft but not browned. At this point, stir in some tomato paste, minced garlic, and a bay leaf. 

Cook this for a minute, and then add a cup of rinsed lentils, dried summer savory (the Greatest Herb Ever), coriander, and water or stock. Brown or green lentils would probably be best for this. Don’t use red lentils, because they fall apart too quickly, or Puy lentils, because they don’t fall apart at all.

Bring it to a simmer, and then cook for about 45 minutes, or as long as it takes for the lentils to get thoroughly soft.

Then puree them with your trusty stick blender–or run some of it through a regular blender. You don’t want it to be completely smooth, just thickened. Some of the lentils and carrots should be whole to give the soup a good texture. I like mine very thick–sort of sludgy, for lack of a more appetizing word. Taste for salt, and finish it off with a splash of sherry vinegar.

So no, not the prettiest soup you’ll ever eat (though truthfully, soup is rarely pretty). And not, in the end, a replica of the D&D variety. But a pretty damn good dinner, if I do say so myself. And even better with a piece of good bread on the side.

Lentil Soup
makes 5+ cups

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp butter
2 carrots
1 large or 2 small yellow onions
1 Tbsp tomato paste
2 garlic cloves
1 bay leaf
1/2 Tbsp dried summer savory (or 1 tsp dried thyme)
1/4 tsp ground coriander
1 cup lentils
5 cups water/stock/broth
1-2 Tbsp sherry vinegar
salt to taste

Trim & peel the carrots and onions, then thinly slice them. 
Put a soup pot over medium-low heat. Add the butter and olive oil. When the butter has melted, toss in the onions and carrots. Stir to coat all the vegetables, then put a lid on the pot. 
While the carrots & onions are cooking, mince the garlic cloves, get the other seasonings ready, and measure out and rinse the lentils.
Remove the lid–the vegetables should be soft and going a little translucent, but not browned. Add the tomato paste, garlic, and bay leaf. Stir, and let cook for another minute. 
Add the lentils, summer savory, coriander, and water. Raise the heat, bring the soup to a boil, and then lower again. Let the soup simmer uncovered for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are very soft. 
Remove the bay leaf and roughly puree with a stick blender until you reach the desired consistency. Alternately, puree batches in a regular blender. Season with salt to taste, and stir in the vinegar. 

Skin and All

The silver lining I’m forcing myself to see about Hurricane Irene is that it forced me to do the annual re-learning how to shop for produce during peak harvest season. Normally, by the time my farm stops delivering, all that’s at the greenmarket is potatoes and apples, which means I go back to spending my entire paycheck at the Italian market up the street, where I have my pick of all kinds of non-seasonal and exotic fruits & veggies. But this year, I have spent a lot of time (and money) at the Union Square Greenmarket, opening up my kitchen to a much wider variety of local, seasonal things to cook with. Not that Stoneledge’s harvest is a monoculture by any means, but we typically get one variety of potato, 2 alternating kinds of Swiss chard, a few tomatoes, maybe some funky heirloom eggplants in addition to the more usual Italian. And it is all wonderful. But they don’t grow yellow carrots*, or purple potatoes, or red kuri squash, the key ingredient in a very tempting soup from Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table: More Than 300 Recipes from My Home to Yours.

Red kuri is a funny beast. It is a variety of winter squash that can grow quite large. It can be lumpy and kind of intimidating, but it has a couple of secrets, revealed to me by Dorie. One, it tastes a like chestnuts. And two, the skin is edible.

I abandoned the French Fridays with Dorie project after about 6 months, because that was about as much time as I was willing to have other people guide my choice of what to make for dinner (even just two or three nights a month). Also, I felt I had gotten a pretty good idea of the book we were cooking from, and I was just as happy to keep exploring it at my own pace, and at my own direction. Or to retread some ground. (I made her poached spiced pears for dessert just last night, I’ve done several varieties of the savory cheese quick bread, and I really enjoyed the tomato variation on the mustard tart.)

So I don’t know if the group has done this recipe yet, and it’s not Friday, but even so, this soup is worth some attention. There are very few ingredients, usually a good sign to my mind, so do try to find the highest quality available to you if you decide to make this for dinner. The squash needs to be washed thoroughly–dirt can very easily sneak into the funny crevices, and you’ll be eating the beautiful red-orange skin, so really give it a scrub. Then cut it in half:

and scoop out the seeds & membranes. Kuri seeds are awfully hard & thick, so they are not really the best for toasting, but give it a try if you want (I did not). Then cut it all up into big chunks. The color contrast between the skin and the flesh is much more striking in person than on a computer screen.

Wash and cut up a couple of leeks, too (though possibly not in that order, depending on your preferred leek-washing method). Also big chunks.

Toss the veggies in a big pot with equal parts milk & water, and a good bit of salt.

It’ll need to simmer for about a half an hour, until the squash is soft enough to mash up. But instead of mashing it up, run it through a food mill, or puree it in a blender, or with the brand new emersion blender your mom got you as a birthday gift (thanks, mom!). I recommend not blending it TOO much, though, because it’s so lovely to be able to see the flecks of dark skin mixed into the lighter base of the soup.

Dorie’s suggestion for serving is to add diced apple, toasted walnuts, and a little creme fraiche, and as with so many of her suggestions, it is excellent and flexible. Asian pear would probably be great, or try some other varieties of nuts. And as always in my kitchen, sour cream is a good creme fraiche alternative for this kind of thing. Some other suggested variations are on Dorie’s own post about this (along with the complete recipe).

A bit of good bread, toasted and spread thinly with some blue cheese, is also quite nice.

*When I was up at the farm to help with a garlic planting this fall, the farm explained to us that some heirloom varieties just don’t grow as well for them, and require a lot more attention–especially the weird colored veggies.

Sahl-mo-RAY-ho

If you are planning on making salmorejo, first you must look at a calendar, and at a map. If it is earlier in the year than July, or later than September (early October if you’re very lucky), and you live in the northeastern section of the United States, then I’m very sorry but you will be eating something else for dinner.

But if you are still in that glorious season known as “peak tomato,” wherever you are, then this is what you need to do:

Acquire a pile of tomatoes. They don’t need to be pretty, but they need to be properly ripe and juicy. Probably 3-4 pounds of them, if you want to make any significant quantity.

Then find some bread. Good bread, but not bread that would be too interesting on its own. Something like ciabatta is great, or a plain baguette, or anything called “peasant” or “country.” Not whole- or multi-grain, and not sourdough. If it happens to be the end of a loaf you didn’t quite finish with last night’s dinner, even better. 

Take the tomatoes and cut them into chunks. Since you want all the juice from them, I find it easiest to hold the tomato in one hand over a bowl and cut pieces off with a paring knife, dropping them in the bowl as you go. 

Now you need to get your hands a little dirty. Squeeze the tomato chunks pretty tightly, dripping as much liquid as you can into the bowl and tossing the damp pieces of tomato into your food processor (or into another large bowl, if you’re using a stick blender). Add a couple of cloves of garlic, peeled and with the middle green bit taken out.

Cut up your bread into cubes and toss them with the tomato juice. Drizzle in some good olive oil, some red wine or sherry vinegar, and a sprinkling of salt. Now squeeze the bread cubes, too, so they really soak up the flavors and get nice and soggy.

Add them to the food processor with the tomatoes and puree it all until it’s smooth. If you need to, do this in two batches. My Cuisinart only holds 10 cups, I think, and I frequently wind up with tomato-y bread spattered on my backsplash and countertops. This can be mitigated by a tea towel held on top of the machine while it’s running, or by having a better sense of what 10 cups looks like. 

Pour the soup into a bowl and stick in the fridge until you’re ready to eat. It doesn’t have to be ice cold, but chilled is better than room temperature. While it’s cooling, hard boil an egg. When it’s dinner time, chop up the egg and cut up some prosciutto (or if you are less budget-conscious, jamon ibérico). Put a spoonful of each on the bowl of soup, and drizzle in a little more olive oil.

Salmorejo

Note: the quantities are difficult here (read: totally made up). I’ve been making this soup for 10 years, since my host-mom from my semester abroad in Seville taught me how, and I have never once measured anything. Sometimes I have to add more bread after pureeing; more often I add more tomatoes. Everything is pretty much “to taste.” This is peasant food, the answer to the question, “We have some stale bread and a pile of tomatoes. What can we make for dinner?” So don’t worry about it too much.

3-4 lbs tomatoes

2 cloves garlic

3-4 thick slices of country bread

1/4 c extra virgin olive oil

2-3 Tbsp sherry or red wine vinegar

1 tsp salt

1 egg

4 slices prosciutto

Cut up the tomatoes over a bowl. Squeeze them in big fistfuls, letting the juices run back into the bowl, and dropping the chunks into a food processor. Peel the garlic cloves and add them to the food processor. 

Cut the bread into cubes and add to the bowl of tomato juice, along with the olive oil, vinegar, and salt. Toss/squeeze the bread until it’s all thoroughly soaked with the liquid. Add it to the food processor. Puree everything together until it’s smooth. Taste for seasoning and balance of ingredients, adding more of anything as needed.

Pour the soup into a bowl and store in the fridge until you’re ready to serve. Hard boil the egg. When it’s time to eat, peel and chop up the egg, and cut the prosciutto into little pieces. Allow each person to put a spoonful of egg and ham on top of the soup, along with another drizzle of olive oil.

Soup Out of Season

Yes, I made this sweetcorn soup with chipotle and lime a while ago. It’s been a busy couple of months, and the CSA Files has taken a back seat. I’ve made a lot of great meals that won’t be featured on this blog anytime soon, unless I make them again and manage to take some pictures. Which I just might, because that polenta with sauteed mushrooms and tomatillo sauce was really kind of amazing (especially garnished with some pickled jalapenos and onions, courtesy of M. and S.). And there was a rhubarb crisp that C. and I made, mostly sweetened with honey, and flavored with coriander, that was quite good–and even better with some Greek yogurt on top. And there was a really lovely, simple frittata that resulted from my inability to resist ramps, asparagus, and green garlic at the little farmer’s market near my apartment.

Truthfully, though, I haven’t been cooking as much as I’d like to lately. My office has moved right near the greenmarket, but shopping there is so much more expensive than the (often superior) produce I get through Stoneledge, so I haven’t taken as much advantage as I’d expected. Though what I keep forgetting is that eating out isn’t really much cheaper, unless you live on falafel sandwiches and mediocre Chinese food. 

So to fill in some blanks before deliveries start again in two weeks (!), here’s something from a few months ago, back when it was cold enough that winter squash soup was a very welcome prospect. Ottolenghi is always welcome in my kitchen, but I’m going to have to dig into some of the faster cooking recipes in the coming months, if this weekend’s weather is a sign of heat & humidity to come. 

Start with some shallots, celery, garlic, and spices in a pot with olive oil. Saute over low heat until they soften.

Add pumpkin (I think I used some of the pureed butternut squash we got over the winter–it seemed to work fine, though the recipe calls for chunks), bay leaves, lime zest (an acceptable substitute for lime leaves), water, and a softened, chopped chipotle chile. Simmer a bit and then add corn kernels (frozen is fine, especially if it’s late winter). 

Cook another five minutes, and then puree the soup as much as you feel like. M. and I did not feel like it at all, so we just removed the bay leaves & lime zest and served as is. 

Serve with sour cream, fresh lime juice, and cilantro. 

Soup and Salad

The year 2010 was one big crescendo* for me. Very gradually, but steadily, the year improved, from starting in a Very Bad Place (not literally–January 1st was spent in Colorado with my nephew E. and not much can top that) to ending in a very happy one, with many small and large steps along the way to get me there. I know a lot of people were happy to see the end of this past year, and while I’m glad to be starting the new one, I look back on 2010 very fondly. November and December in particular were decadent months to say the least. There was a very quick trip to Zurich, a very grand 30th birthday party, a wonderful Thanksgiving, a series of holiday parties, friends visiting, lots of cookies, actual Christmas, and New Year’s. All of which left me with the feeling that I could really use another detox week. And not just because I have a perpetual craving for carrot-ginger dressing and miso soup.

It’s not destined to happen this week, though. I’ve had dinner at Sushi Yasuda with P., dinner at Momofuku Ssam Bar with S. (and, yes, dessert at Milk Bar), and there’s another round of cook club coming next weekend. So until I can find 7 eventless days in a row, I will be grateful that my fellow French Fridays bloggers voted to start 2011 with Dorie’s Paris Mushroom Soup. It is simple, savory, delicious, and (importantly) not overly rich.

After sauteing some onions and garlic in a small (no, really) amount of butter, add some sliced mushrooms, and then fresh herbs and chicken broth. Simmer for, oh, a while.

The tricky part is the pureeing. I have found that my food mill is not the miracle “stop spattering hot soup all over my kitchen” tool I was hoping it would be, unless you’re working with something that basically falls apart on its own, like winter squash. So I pulled out the blender, doing an eensy bit at a time, and holding down the lid with a tea towel, which makes all the difference in the world.

And then while the soup was heating back up, I assembled the “salad” portion of the meal, which conveniently goes in the same bowl. A bit more sliced mushrooms, some chopped scallions, chives, and parsley, and then pour the soup right on top. (I did not go for the optional creme fraiche, on account of I didn’t have any and I’m pretending to inch away from holiday decadence.)

The soup is delicious, if not especially pretty. It should not come as a surprise that the photo accompanying the recipe is of the ingredients, not of the finished product.

*I’ve been sneaking musical terms into my everyday speech lately. Not sure exactly why. I’ve described my rock-climbing sessions as a sforzando, though I’m hoping as my stamina improves, that’ll shift to a decrescendo.

A Bowl of Sweet Spice

This was supposed to make much more soup than three bowls full.

I started with a Monica Bhide recipe and veered immediately off course, because I had poblano peppers that needed to be used. Also, I have it in my head that vegetable soups taste better if you roast the vegetables before simmering them, rather than just browning them in the pot.

Mostly you need carrots. I decided that 1 1/2 lbs was the appropriate amount, which makes it all the more ridiculous that I only wound up with three (normal, not super-sized, I swear) servings.

Also thrown into the mix: 2 poblano peppers (instead of the bell peppers originally called for), a red onion (instead of leeks, I think), a piece of fresh ginger root (cut into chunks), some turmeric, a dried red chile pepper, and coriander seeds. Toss with vegetable oil and some salt, and stick in a hot oven for, oh, a while.

Once the vegetables are veering towards browned, dump them into a big pot and cover with water or the stock of your choice (I used a mix of water and homemade chicken stock). And here is where I would probably recommend A LOT of water/stock, rather than just enough to cover the vegetables (which is what I did–though in my defense, I was purposely going for a very thick soup).

Simmer for another while, until the carrots are really quite soft. Even so, when it comes time to puree the soup, you’re probably going to want a food processor rather than a food mill. Especially because of the coriander seeds, but also because carrots seem to resist being mashed fully in a food mill (or maybe I wasn’t patient enough with the simmering). Either way, puree and then pour back into the pot. Pour in maybe a 1/2 or 3/4 cup of cream, or milk, or half-and-half.

While you are bringing the soup back to a simmer, heat some vegetable oil in a small skillet and dice up some ricotta salata. (The original called for paneer, but one thing that is not easy to find on the Upper East Side is a market that stocks Indian ingredients. Goat’s milk ricotta salata was my surprisingly good substitute.) Fry the cheese cubes in the oil until they’re more or less browned on all sides, and you wind up with something like a cheese crouton. Serve the soup garnished with some of the “croutons” and some chopped fresh parsley.

Spicy Roasted Carrot Soup
Serves not as many as I’d have thought

1 1/2 lbs carrots
1 medium red onion
2 poblano peppers
1 inch fresh ginger root
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 dried red chile pepper
1 Tbsp coriander seeds
water or stock
1/2-3/4 c cream
salt
vegetable oil
ricotta salata
fresh parsley, chopped

Preheat the oven to 400F.
Peel and chop the carrots and onion into chunks. Remove the seeds and membranes from the peppers and cut them up, too. Peel the ginger root (a spoon works surprisingly well for this) and cut into a few small pieces. Toss all of these ingredients together with the turmeric, chile pepper, and coriander in a roasting pan, along with some salt and a tablespoon or two of vegetable oil. Roast for 20-25 minutes, until the carrots are starting to brown.
Transfer the contents of the roasting pan into a big pot and add water or stock to cover by a couple of inches, or more if you like a thinner soup. Bring to a simmer and cook 25-30 minutes, or until the carrots are soft. Puree in batches in a food processor (carefully) or a food mill, and return to the pot. Add the cream, taste for salt, and keep over very low heat until you’re ready to serve.
While the simmering is going on, dice the ricotta salata into crouton-sized pieces. Heat some more vegetable oil in a small skillet, over medium heat, and fry the cubes, browning on all sides (as much as that’s possible). Remove them to a plate until ready to serve.
Serve each bowl with a good spoonful of the cheese croutons and a sprinkling of chopped parsley.

Chicken Soup with Rice (Noodles)

This week’s French Fridays with Dorie recipe is for Vietnamese Spicy Chicken Noodle Soup.

It is a surprisingly simple preparation; the only difficult part is having your fridge and pantry stocked appropriately. I used my favorite chicken stock concentrate, which is one of the few convenience foods you’ll always find in my kitchen, and truthfully one of the only shortcuts I regularly take. I do have a growing stash of chicken bones in the freezer that will be turned into homemade stock as soon as they hit critical mass, but even then, I’ll just have enough for a big pot of risotto. So it’s with only a little embarassment that I reveal my dependence on “Better Than Bouillon,” as it’s called.

Other than a good quantity of chicken stock, you’ll need a pretty wide assortment of spices (star anise was the one I had to buy), fish sauce, and a few fresh ingredients. One of the flavorings for the soup broth is the stems of a bunch of cilantro, which is not something I’d seen before. (Dorie says to wrap them in cheesecloth along with some coriander and other things, but I’m more likely to have teabags for loose-leaf tea than cheesecloth, and I’ve discovered that they are incredibly useful for this sort of thing. That’s what I do now for even a traditional bouquet garni.) Also, coconut milk, garlic, ginger, and onion.

Basically, though, it’s a “dump everything in a pot and simmer” recipe (my favorite kind). Once it’s simmering, add a chicken breast and poach until it’s just cooked through.

Cook up some rice noodles separately, shred the chicken, and combine everything together. Finish it off with lime juice, and the chopped leaves from the cilantro, and then garnish however you like. I added in some julienned carrots and sliced red peppers, because it seemed like a good idea, drizzled in some hoisin, and topped with some sliced basil leaves.

Judging by the amount of liquid going in, I was skeptical of the “serves 4” annotation in the book, but honestly, it’s so damn good that 4 meals is basically how long it lasted me this week.

Count ’em yourself

(The subject line of this post is just for my sister Lindsay. I hope it makes her laugh when she figures it out.)

Remember that pound of tomatillos I got a few weeks ago?

Yeah, I didn’t either. But luckily, they keep well in the fridge for longer than you’d expect. And then I was in Whole Foods the other day and saw a package of posole, aka hominy, which is corn kernels that have been treated in a weak lye solution and then dried out. It is what you grind up to get hominy grits (get it, Linds?). I’d eaten posole once out in Durango. And I vaguely remembered it as one of the recipes that popped up when I was searching for things to do with tomatillos. And I still had half a pound of spicy beef sausage in the freezer. Slowly, dinner was composing itself in my brain.  

The first thing is to husk (de-husk?) the tomatillos and wash off the vague sliminess that remains.

Except no. The actual first thing to do is, the night before (or the morning of), dump the package of hominy into a bowl, cover it with water, and let it sit. Just like soaking beans.

THEN when you are ready to cook, clean the tomatillos, put a big pot over a hot burner, and pan sear the tomatillos on as many sides as you have patience for. They should start to char a bit, then you remove them to a plate.

Drizzle a little vegetable oil in the pan, turn down the heat some, and toss in some crumbled sausage and chopped onions. Cook, stirring, until they both start to brown a little.

Then add in some chopped peppers, one sweet and one hot. (This hot pepper happened to be really more like 2, which was fine with me but I know some people who would not have liked how spicy the finished product was. Which is why some days, I just cook for myself.)

Cook another couple of minutes, and then add in the tomatillos, cut into wedges (doesn’t really matter how thin because they’re all going to break up anyway).

Rinse and drain the hominy, and then add that, too.

Pour in enough water or stock to cover by several inches (the hominy is going to soak up A LOT of water, so add more than you think you need, or else just be prepared to keep adding as it cooks).

Bring it to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, for a very long time.

Basically, you’re waiting until the corn pops. Because even treated the way it is, corn kernels will pop when they are hit with enough heat. So when that’s happened, taste for salt, toss in some chopped cilantro, squeeze in a lime, and you’re done.

Posole with Tomatillos and Sausage

1 package hominy
1 lb tomatillos
1/2 lb sausage
1 onion
1 sweet pepper
1 hot pepper
stock of your choice, or water (or a mix)
cilantro
1 lime
salt

Soak the hominy overnight, for about 8 hours. Drain and rinse when you are ready to start cooking.

Heat up a large pot over high heat. Cook the tomatillos, whole, until they are a bit blackened in spots. Remove them and let them cool.

Turn down the heat to medium and add a little vegetable oil to the pan. Add in the sausage, crumbled, and the onion, chopped, and cook, stirring occasionally, 2-3 minutes. Chop up the sweet and hot peppers and add them to the pot. Cook for a few minutes, just until the vegetables start to color. Cut up the tomatillos and add them in.

Add the rinsed hominy and enough water or stock to cover by a few inches. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 1-2 hours (or more), as long as it takes for the corn kernels to “pop.”

Taste for salt, and finish with chopped cilantro and fresh squeezed lime juice.