Simple cooking in a complicated world

Posts from the ‘Vegetables’ category

Čušpajz (Cabbage Soup)

Do you like funny words?  Well if you do, here’s a doozy for you – čušpajz (choosh-piezz).  Yes, choosh-piezz is an actual world and it’s really quite fun to say; go ahead, give it a try, choosh-piezz!  See what I mean, it’s fun isn’t it!  Čušpajz has always been a word that I love saying.  The combination of the “ch”, “sh”, “y”, and “zzz” sounds all jammed into one little word is quite unique and its up there amongst some of my other favourite Croatian words like kikiriki (key-key-ree-key) which are peanuts (yes, go figure), šišmiš (sheesh-meesh) a bat, the kind that flies and čevapčići (che-vap-chi-chi) the Balkan specialty many non-Croatians know as chevaps.

Now, you might be asking yourself, what is čušpajz?  If you’ve seen the picture, which you probably have, you have probably made the assumption that it’s some kind of soup or stew, and you’re right it is.  But čušpajz, is a bit different from your average soup, čušpajz is a thickened soup; thickened with a roux, called zafrig (za-freeg) that is cooked in a separate pot (at least that’s how my mom always did it) and added to the soup near the end.  The end result, is a thick, silky, hearty and utterly satisfying bowl of pure goodness.

I have to admit, I didn’t always think of čušpajz in such an affectionate manner.  In fact, as a kid, I loathed this dish; I absolutely hated it!  In the fall and winter my mom made a cabbage čušpajz, like the one I am showing you today and in the summer, a version with Romano beans, mahune (ma-hoo-ne).  I despised both!  On days when I saw the big pot of cabbage and vegetables simmering away on the stove, I begged, pleaded, implored my mother to make something else for me and my siblings (they didn’t like the stuff as much as I did), but back then, well in my parent’s house at least, you ate what was prepared for you and if you didn’t like it you starved!  Usually, we would fight over the chunks of potatoes and fill our bowls with broth to dip countless pieces of bread in, because it was either that or nothing.  Today, this type of parenting would be classified as child neglect, but I still consider it smart parenting!  If you’re hungry you’ll eat, and if you don’t like it you will grow to like it and you know what, it worked!  I always ended up eating čušpajz, regardless of how much I disliked it, because I knew I wouldn’t get anything else and I eventually grew to like it.  Now, it’s one of my favourite comfort food dishes.

There are probably a million ways to prepare čušpajz and like many Croatian recipes, every family has their own way of doing it.  Some may not even call it čušpajz, but varivo (va-ree-vo) the “literary” term for stew, or the proper, non-dialect word.  Sound confusing?  It is.  Try being married to someone whose family speaks a totally different dialect, even though they’re from the same region!  There have been times when my husband’s Baba says something to me and I just nod and smile, without the slightest idea of what she’s saying.  Just to show you how different one dialect can be from another, here’s an example using two ingredients in čušpajz - cabbage and carrots.  Most people who don’t speak kajkavski (the name of the dialect both my husband and my family speaks, found in and around northern and central Croatia) know that zelje (zel-ye) is cabbage, where the rest of the country calls it kupus (koo-poos) but I bet you didn’t you know that merlin (mehr-leen) are carrots, where everywhere else it’s mrkve (merk-veh)?  It’s no wonder there are so many different ways of preparing one dish, when there’s so many different ways in saying it!    Whether you call this čušpajz, varivo or cabbage soup, or make it with beans, spinach or kale, know that it is a simple bowl of sustenance, that fed many poor but hard working people for generations.  It’s far from fussy, full of goodness and according to my dad, a dish that falls under the most important type of meal there is – the kind you eat with a spoon.

Čušpajz

I use chicken stock for my liquid, where traditionally only water would be used.  Remember, this is a peasant dish so adding chicken stock to a stew that would be flavoured from the vegetables would be a waste.  Plus, chicken stock is traditionally consumed as domača juha (a simple broth with noodles, the corner-stone of any Croatian Sunday or celebratory meal) so I have to admit, it would be unheard of to add chicken stock when making čušpajz.  While I like to keep with tradition, I also recognize when something just tastes better and adding chicken stock, well, it just tastes better.

The addition of meat is also optional, but does lend a lot of flavour, especially if you’re using smoked meat, so it shouldn’t be overlooked.  I use my dad’s homemade smoked and dried bacon, špek (sh-pek).  Look for slab, double smoked bacon if possible, if you can’t find anything like that, then regular bacon is fine too.

Serves 6 to 8

125 g double smoked, slab bacon, cubed

1 large onion, diced

2 medium carrots, peeled and sliced in rounds

2 medium stalks of celery, diced

3 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed

1/2 head of cabbage, sliced and then cut the slices in squares

1 1/2 cups canned, whole tomatoes, crushed

8 cups chicken stock

Salt, pepper and Vegeta to taste

Roux (zafrig)

4 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

4 tablespoons flour

1 teaspoon paprika

In a large, heavy bottom pot render the bacon until crisp over medium heat, about 5 minutes.  Add the onion and cook until translucent, 2 minutes, then follow with the carrots and celery.  Stir to combine and cook for 5 minutes.  Add the potatoes, cabbage, tomatoes, stock a large pinch of salt and some freshly ground pepper, stir and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat and allow to simmer for 30 to 40 minutes or until all of the vegetables are tender.

In a separate saucepan, heat oil over medium heat.  When hot, add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.  Sprinkle in the flour and paprika and cook for 1 minute to toast the paprika and lightly brown the flour.  With a ladle, scoop out some two ladlefuls of broth into the pot and with a whisk quickly.  The mixture will thicken quickly and bubble quite a bit.  Add another two ladlefuls of stock and whisk until smooth.  Let the roux come to a boil, then add it to the large pot of vegetables.  Stir to combine.  You will notice the soup take on a thicker, creamier texture.  Season with 1 to 2 teaspoons of Vegeta and/or salt and freshly ground pepper.  Serve while hot with crusty bread and a teaspoonful of vinegar to each bowl – if you like.

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Butternut Squash Galette with Swiss Chard and Chorizo

Finding the perfect pastry recipe can be as elusive as searching for the other great enigmas in the world, i.e. Sasquash, the Loch Ness Monster, Carmen Sandiego and the like.  To put it simply, it is not an easy task.  Cookbooks, the internet, cooking shows, etc. are bombarded with countless versions of the “perfect” pastry or the “flakiest” pie crust or the most “tender” tart shells – which for you information, all of these desserts can be made with the same pastry recipe and does not require a new one, as most recipes often suggest.  Not only that, but there is so much pressure to create pastry with these qualifiers – at least there is for me.  I am always on the hunt for the ultimate and most authentic recipes, especially for time-honoured classics like pastry, which is used in so many dishes and desserts.  And I hate to break it to you, but a lot of people, not just me take their pies, tarts and quiches very seriously and if you can’t pull off a “perfect”, “flaky” and “tender” crust then I’ll show you.  Well the other Anna, the one who spells her name with two ‘n’s, instead of one, will.

Lately, I’ve been a big fan of Anna Olson from Bake with Anna Olson.  I can’t say I was always a fan; in fact I thought she was rather bland to watch in the beginning when she filmed Sugar.  She then followed that show up with Fresh with Anna Olson, which featured, you guessed it, recipes inspired by fresh ingredients and an Anna that seemed a bit more comfortable in front of the camera.  And since she’s based in the Niagara region, she has been a bit of a local celebrity and often featured segments with visits to vineyards, orchards and mom and pop shops in the area.  Currently, Bake with Anna Olson is being aired on Food Network Canada and this show is by far my favourite of Anna’s.  On Bake, Anna ffocuses on her forte, baking.  As a professionally trained pastry chef, she offers a world of experience and knowledge in her craft.  Her new show takes classics such as French meringue and pastry cream and simplifies them starting with the most basic recipe, and then working her way through three or four variations up to the most complex.  For example, on a recent episode she highlighted choux paste, the foundation of profiteroles and éclairs.  She started with the basic choux paste recipe, then moved to crullers, extended that to profiteroles and éclairs, made quite an impressive cake called Gateau St. Honoré and finally, topped it all of with a Croquembouche.  Looking at the final recipe, the daunting tower of cream puffs, I think anyone would feel a little intimidated and inadequate to say the least.  But by breaking the process and techniques down the way Anna does, it makes even the unimaginable a little more attainable for the everyday home baker.

So as luck would have it, one evening I caught the episode where Anna made pie crust.  As I said earlier, this has always been a weak point in my baking repertoire because up to this point, I hadn’t found the mother of pie crust recipes.  As I watched I became intrigued by the simple techniques and ingredients.  Her use of a stand mixer instead of a food processor when making pastry and pastry flour rather than all-purpose flour, not only produced wonderous results, but made the preparation a breeze.  Up to this point, I always used a food processor to cut the cold butter into the dough.  This made the task of combining cold butter and flour a lot easier than the old school method of using a pastry blender or worse yet, two knives!  The problem is, even once the water is added, the food processor does not combine the dough – well it would if you left it whirling away, but again you would then be stuck with a chewy pie instead of a flaky one, so you have to stop it before it’s all comes together.   Stopping it before it comes all together gives you a pile of buttery flour crumbs, which then you must turn out onto a flat surface to smush together and lightly knead into one mass – not the neatest of jobs.  So when I saw Anna using a stand mixer I was a bit skeptical but intrigued.  Skeptical because I thought the paddle attachment would overwork the dough and result in every pie makers worst nightmare.  Yet I was also intrigued, because I was willing to find an alternative to the messy food processor method.  So reservations aside, I made the dough and it was a huge success!  I don’t know whether it’s the pastry flour, the vinegar or my new-found mixing method, but whatever it is I am grateful I came across this recipe because it produces the most “perfect”, “flaky” and “tender” crust I have ever made.

This is what you’re left with after you have cooked a pound of swiss chard!

With this recipe I could have showcased “The” pie of all pies – apple, but I thought that would be too obvious.  Plus, I wanted to highlight one of my favourite fall ingredients, squash!  I love squash!  It’s so hearty, versatile, tasty and autumn-y.  It just makes you feel like fall when you eat it.  I love the fact that it can be used as a savoury ingredient or a sweet one and can be featured in anything from soups to salads to casseroles to cupcakes.  This recipe takes a dessert element so common in fall sweets, pastry, and transforms it into a savoury galette chock full of those dark leafy greens we can’t get enough of these days, spicy morsels of chorizo and chunks of sweet butternut squash.  Topped with a generous shaving of pungent Asiago, this galette is epitome of hearty, healthy and autumn-y, all wrapped up in the perfect pie crust that will make you feel like you have finally conquered one your Mount Everest’s in the kitchen.

Butternut Squash Galette with Swiss Chard and Chorizo

Anna prefaces this pie crust recipe by saying that it is for two crusts (top and bottom).  If you need a single crust, it can be halved.  I used the original recipe to make a galette that makes 6 very generous wedges.  

Since I was making a savoury tart, I omitted the sugar and increased the salt.  When making a pie crust for a sweet pie add 2 tablespoons of sugar and decrease the salt from 1 teaspoon to 3/4 teaspoon.

A few important things to remember when making pie crust is to ensure that the butter is cold, straight out of the fridge and the water is ice-cold as well.  I usually take a small bowl of water and throw in a few ice cubes and spoon in the water from that bowl.  Also, when combining the ingredients in the mixer, stop as soon as the dough comes together.  You’ll then need to briefly need it into a disk – the key word here is briefly – and chill for at least one hour.  The dough can also be frozen for 3 months and thawed in the fridge before rolling.

An easy way to remove the stem from swiss chard leaves is to fold the leaf in half, along the length of the stem and run your knife along the stem where it’s attached to the leaf.  Once the stem is removed, simply cop the leaves in large pieces.

The original recipe from which this one was inspired is topped with Monterey jack cheese, a very good option here as well.  You definitely want to choose a cheese that packs a flavour punch, something earthy that would complement the chard, squash and chorizo.  Manchego, Pecorino are also good options, mozzarella not so much.

Pie crust from “Pecan Butter Tarts,” Bake with Anna Olson, galette inspired by “Acorn Squash and Chorizo Tart,” William’s Sonoma:  Cooking from the Farmer’s Market

Makes 6 generous wedges

Pie Crust

2 1/4 cups cake and pastry flour

2 tablespoons sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces

6 tablespoons cold water

1 tablespoon white vinegar

Filling

1/2 butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cubed

4 tablespoons olive oil

1 large bunch of swiss chard (1 pound or so), stems removed and chopped

250g Chorizo, diced

1 small onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

Salt and pepper

1/2 cup grated Asiago cheese

1 egg, beaten with a little water (for egg wash)

Stir the flour, sugar and salt to combine in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Cut into the flour on low-speed until just small pieces of butter are visible and the mixture as a whole just begins to take on a pale yellow colour (indicating that the butter has been worked in sufficiently).

Stir the water and vinegar together and add this to the dough all at once, mixing until the dough just comes together. Shape the dough into a disc, wrap and chill for at least 1 hour before rolling.  Note:  If you have chilled your dough for 2 hours or more, remove it from the fridge 20 minutes before you intend to roll it out.  Failing to do so will make the dough very difficult to roll out.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 400 degrees farenheit.  Prepare the squash and roast on a large baking sheet, spreading out the squash in a single layer.  Drizzle with 2 tablespoons of oil and season with salt and pepper.  Roast until squash is almost tender, about 20 to 30 minutes.  Cool and set aside.

Bring a large pot of water to boil then add the swiss chard.  Boil for 10 minutes or until the volume of the leaves has decreased by half and the leaves just begin to darken.  Drain with a colander and shock by running the chard under cold water, turning the leaves to ensure you have stopped the cooking process.  Grabbing handfuls, squeeze the excess moisture out of the chard and repeat with what is left in the colander.  Take each ball of cooked chard and chop up into small pieces and set aside.

In a large pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil and brown the diced chorizo.  Add the onions and cook until translucent, toss in the garlic and sauté until fragrant.  Add in the chopped and swiss chard, season with salt and pepper and set aside.

On a floured, flat surface, ready yourself for rolling by flouring the surface of the dough and your rolling-pin.  Roll out your disc into a large circle, rotating it frequently and adding more flour when necessary to prevent it from sticking.  Transfer the dough onto a large baking sheet, covered with parchment paper, by rolling the dough around your floured rolling-pin, and unrolling it onto the baking sheet.  Spread out the chard and chorizo mixture over the dough, leaving a 1 1/2 inch border.  Top with the roasted squash and grated Asiago cheese.  Fold the edges up over the filling, forming loose pleats.  Lightly beat the egg with a teaspoon or so of water and brush the egg wash over the border.  Bake in a 400 degree farenheit over for 30 minutes, until the crust is browned.  Cut into wedges and serve.

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Jamie’s Pappardelle with Leeks, Porcini and Pangrattato

The first time I encountered Jamie Oliver’s recipe for Cheat’s Pappardelle with Slow-Braised leeks and Crispy Porcini Pangrattato I was watching an episode of Cityline.  Cityline is a Canadian talk-showesque program that features special guests, cooking, fashion, home decorating and the like.  It’s an alright show, the kind you watch when there’s nothing else on and one that is more informative than entertaining – a revelation in the talk show genre.  It features a lot of Canadian products, clothing that can be purchased from stores that are actually located in Canada, cooking segments that coincide with our seasons, and a great Canadian vibe that us Canucks can appreciate but may not be able to explain to non-Canadians.  So, needless to say I was quite excited when I saw my boyfriend Jamie Oliver on Cityline.

On this particular episode, Jamie was publicizing his new cookbook at the time, Jamie at Home and made a visit to Toronto appearing as a guest on the show.  He was his usual quirky self; acting like he had just downed ten Red Bulls, calling the host every term of endearment you can think of and exhibiting that infectious excitement he’s so famous for.  The host (Marilyn Denis, the show’s current host is Tracy Moore) was pulling the classic, I am a female host and I am going to pretend – or not pretend – I know a single thing about what this guest is showing me.  She looked sheepishly at Jamie when he asked her to stir the pan of leeks, frequently asking “Am I doing it right?”  You’re stirring a pot lady, not performing surgery!  This is one tactic that I find truly annoying about talk shows hosts.  Does every talk show host know nothing about any of the techniques their guests share?

I suppose I am being a little hard on these hosts.  It’s probably all a part of the mission of the show; the host has to pretend to not know anything because the viewer at home really does not know anything.  Then when I thought about this it annoyed me even more; these producers are making the assumption that all of us viewers are completely ignorant and our ignorance is reflected in the perceived unknowigness of the talk show host and their unintelligible bantering with the guests.  Ok, maybe I look into these things too much.  Perhaps my critical analysis skills do get the better of me more often than not and its difficult for me to take things at face value, but am I wrong to feel that these types of shows just don’t give us enough credit?

Regardless of how day-time television producers perceive their viewers, I put my annoyance aside and enjoyed every minute of Jamie’s demonstration.  Like all of his recipes, the simplicity and wholesomeness of this dish really appealed to me.  Braised leeks that are softened in butter, simmered with prosciutto, tossed with fat strands of pasta and topped with crisp and earthy bread crumbs and porcini mushrooms, just called out to me.  It begged to be recreated in my kitchen and savoured at my table and has been enjoyed seasonally for a few years now.  When I see the plump leeks standing tall in my garden I cannot wait to pluck them out and turn them into something so magically simple but comfortingly complex – the combinations that Jamie Oliver is so very famous for.  This is one is one to bookmark; to come back to and relish, time and time again.

Jamie’s Pappardelle with Leeks, Porcini and Pangrattato

Jamie Oliver’s original title from his Jamie at Home cookbook is called, “Cheat’s Pappardelle with Slow-Braised leeks and Crispy Porcini Pangrattato.”  The “cheat’s” part of the title refers to cheating in making fresh pasta, by using store-bough fresh lasagne sheets.  In the past, I always bought dried pappardelle – and you can to – because I didn’t like the selection of fresh pasta my grocery store carried.  It was a commercial brand full of additives and preservatives.  Recently, they started to carry an in-store made pasta that only contains eggs, flour and salt – just like nonna use to make! (See Sue, two “n’s”! ; ) ) Nothing beats fresh pasta, especially fresh homemade pasta, but this isn’t always available to us and many of us don’t have the time.  Dried pasta of any kind works wonderfully with this dish, but if you can, choose a long, wide noodle variety.

Serves 4 to 6

4 to 5 big leeks, white and half of the green parts only, outer leaves trimmed back and washed very carefully

3 tablespoons butter and a splash of olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

3 sprigs fresh thyme, leaves picked off their stems

1 cup white wine

Salt and pepper

2 cups chicken or vegetable stock

12 slices prosciutto

450 g (or one package) fresh lasagne sheets or dried pasta

1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano, plus extra for serving

Pangrattato

1/4 cup dried porcini mushrooms

1/2 loaf stale ciabatta bread, crusts removed and cut into chunks

1/2 cup olive oil

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 sprig of fresh rosemary

Halve the leeks lengthwise and cut into 1/2 inch slices.  Over a medium-high flame, heat a wide, shallow saucepan and add 1 tablespoon of butter and a splash of olive oil.  When you hear the butter beginning to sizzle, add the garlic thyme and leeks.  Stir the leeks to coat and pour in the white wine and season with salt and pepper.  Cook for 3 minutes before adding the stock.  Cover the leeks with the prosciutto and place a lid over the saucepan and simmer gently for 20 to 25 minutes.

For the pangrattato, pulse the porcini and bread cubes in a food processor until you get coarse crumbs.  In a medium-sized skillet, heat the olive oil with the garlic and thyme over medium heat.  Brown the garlic and thyme for a few minutes to flavour the oil.  Add the bread crumbs and toast, tossing frequently until lightly browned and crisp.  Discard the rosemary and garlic and set bread crumbs aside to cool.

Bring a big pot of water to a boil.  When it begins to bubble vigorously, season very generously with salt.  Lay the lasagne on a clean working surface, dusted lightly with flour.  Place sheets on top of each other and slice into 1/2 inch strips.  Toss through your fingers to loosen the pappardelle and cook in the boiling water for 2 minutes.  Be careful not overcook or it will become pasty.  Note:  A good tip to remember when cooking fresh pasta.  Ensure that the water is boiling vigorously before adding the pasta.  Once added, stir gently and cover the pot with a lid immediately to bring the water back to a full boil.  Start the 2 minute cooking time as soon as the water begins to boil again.  At this time, remove the lid, keep the pot at temperature to ensure a vigorous boil, and stir every now and then to prevent the pasta from sticking.

Remove the prosciutto from the saucepan, slice into thin strips and stir it back into the leeks.  Season to taste with salt and pepper, stir in the Parmigiano Reggiano and the rest of the butter.  Drain the pasta, reserving a cup or so of the cooking water and add the pasta to the leeks.  If necessary, add some of the cooking water to make a smooth and silky sauce.  Transfer to a serving bowl or platter and sprinkle with the pangrattato.  Serve immediately with extra Parmigiano Reggiano and pangrattato on the side.

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Braised Cabbage with Sausage and Spaetzle

So I realize that many of the dishes I feature here are a little labour intensive – I get that.  Sometimes you don’t feel like simmering a pot of goulash for hours on end, or flipping, stuffing, breading and frying twenty ham and cheese palačinke when you have to drive one kid to soccer, the other to dance, feed the dog, buy groceries, do a load of laundry and everything else under the sun that gets put on the shoulders of us women folk.  On days like these – ok I’ll admit I don’t have kids or a dog, but hey life can be busy for me too – I like to hit up an easy meal.  Something that takes little effort and even less thinking, because you know when you’re going a hundred kilometers an hour the last thing you want to worry about is if you remembered to marinate the chicken for dinner tonight.  One such meal I frequent, especially at this time of year when cabbage is plentiful and hearty food doesn’t feel as wrong as it does in the summer, is this one – braised cabbage with sausage and spaetzle.

Not only are the techniques in the recipe simple, the ingredients are just as straight forward.  All it takes is a little browning, braising and boiling.  Brown the sausage, braise the cabbage and boil the spaetzle – that’s all there is.  As for the ingredients, sausage, cabbage, vinegar, stock, seasoning and speatzle.  Could it be any easier?  But the lovely thing about all of this is the fact that it has the feeling of a dish that has been laboured over for hours, fussed about continuously and braised all day long – comfort food at its best.

For me, comfort food most definitely, positively, absolutely, without a doubt, must contain carbs.  Whether it’s a big bowl of pasta, an ooey-gooey plate of mac and cheese or a hunk of bread slathered with butter that accompanies a hearty soup, my comfort dream needs, no that’s not quite accurate, it begs for carbs.  Luckily, this beloved dish in our home and hopefully, a new-found love in yours as well, has just the thing to satisfy any crab addicts secret addiction – spaetzle.  This German noodle just screams comfort!  It can come in many different forms, thick, thin, skinny, fat but the one thing that it has in common is that in conjures up notions of yup you guessed it, homestyle, poor, scrap whatever you have lying around and make a noodle, peasant food.  There’s just something more satisfying when you made it yourself – ok I didn’t make the spaetzle myself this time around and you don’t have to either – but my point is that it’s the feeling that you get from enjoying a dish that has been created and recreated for centuries.  That to me is comfort food – well that and carbs.

Speaking of comfort food, you still have a few more days to enter The Suburban Peasant Giveaway by telling me what you favourite comfort food is.  Go to the link here to take a look at the prize and read on how you can win!

Braised Cabbage with Sausage and Spaetzle

If you can’t find spaetzle at your grocery store, don’t sweat it.  Egg noodles would be just as good or any kind of small and or tubular pasta.  I probably would stay away from long pasta like spaghetti; it just wouldn’t stand up to the hearty cabbage.

2 tablespoon of vegetable oil, divided

1 pound of pork sausage (Italian, Oktoberfest, anything your heart desires)

1 large onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 chili pepper, seeded and minced

1/2 head cabbage, shredded (about 5 to 6 cups) or more if you like

3 sprigs of thyme

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

1 cup stock (chicken, beef, vegetable)

Salt and pepper to taste

1 cup of spaetzle cooked al dente

2 tablespoons butter (optional)

In a large skillet, or shallow pan, heat 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat and brown sausages on all sides.  Once browned, remove from pan and put aside while you prepare the cabbage.  Note:  you don’t have to cook the sausages through at this point, they will continue cooking once they are added back into the cabbage.

Add the additional tablespoon of oil to the pan you browned the sausages in and in that cook the onions until translucent, about 2 to 3 minutes.  Add the garlic and chili pepper and cook for another minute.  To that add the cabbage and thyme; combine thoroughly with the onions, garlic and chili.  Cook for 5 minutes.  Pour in the stock and vinegar, bring to a simmer and cover with a lid; braise for 10 minutes.  Cut the sausage into thirds and throw them in with the cabbage and cover with the lid again, this time leaving it slightly ajar and continue to braise while you cook the spaetzle.

Bring a pot of water to boil.  When it comes up to a vigorous boil season the water generously with salt and add the spaetzle.  Cook until al dente and drain.  Toss with butter and add to the cabbage and sausages.  Combine thoroughly and serve while hot.

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Sataraš (Satarash)

To many of my ethnic Croatian readers this posting is totally unnecessary.  Sataraš to a Croatian is like tomato sauce to Italians or salsa to Mexicans; it’s a staple that arrives to the table without even a glance at a recipe or reaching for a measuring cup.  Even for me, a perfectionist to the core, a lover of recipes and proponent of protecting the integrity of dishes created by others, lets loose and relaxes when it comes to making sataraš.  Ultimately, it’s really difficult to screw this up and pretty much anything goes – well sort of.

So before I continue I want to give a shout out to all of my non-Croatian readers who have perhaps tried one of the recipes from the motherland, contemplated making it or simply appreciated it for what it is, delicious, simple and heart warming food.  If you’ve ever been to a Croatian wedding and had schnitzle and sataraš, or maybe you’ve been invited to a Croatian wedding in the past and remember yourself dreading having to sit at a table with a bunch of people speaking a foreign language or listening to polka music all night long. But somewhere, deep inside of you, you look forward to it because you can’t wait to sink your teeth in to a fat schnitzle slathered with red sauce.  And then, maybe after a good meal, some shots of šljivo (plum brandy) and a bottle or two of wine, the polka starts to sound pretty good and you’re learning Croatian swear words from the groom’s father while drinking more šljivo with him at the bar. Then the next thing you know, you find yourself on the dance floor, hand in hand with a middle-aged Croatian woman on your right and a cute girl on your left laughing and shaking her head at you while she tries to teach you the basket weave shouting, “Left step, right over, left step, right back,” as you dance your first Croatian line dance to the wail of the accordian.

As I said earlier, sataraš is a main stay in the Croatian kitchen, like salsa is to the Latin culture, in fact it very much resembles salsa.  When my husband brought schnitzle and  sataraš leftovers to work one day he came home telling me that next time I have to make more for the guys at work who were asking if he had anymore “chicken and salsa.”  At it’s core, it contains all of the same ingredients as salsa, but while salsa is made up of uncooked vegetables, sataraš is slowly stewed until the vegetables are tender, flavours have melded and juices concentrated.  And unlike its Latin counterpart that is served cold or a room temperature, sataraš is served hot.  While my family has always had sataraš with breaded chicken, veal or pork cutlets – aka schnitzle – I know that it is also enjoyed as a vegetable stew with hearty piece of bread or as a side dish with roast pork and potatoes.

With as many ways as there are to consume sataraš there are just as many ways to prepare it.  It’s often made at the end of summer when there are an abundance of tomatoes, peppers and onions in the garden and as such, it is a great way to use up a surplus of these veg.  In theory, you can really add any kind of vegetable (I’ve seen it made with the addition of carrots and celery, which I”m not a huge fan of)  and it can be made in the winter with canned tomatoes, but in my opinion, nothing beats a big pot of sataraš with fresh summer vegetables.  So instead of making it with canned tomatoes and imported peppers, make a big batch now and can it for the winter.  Of course you don’t have to eat it with schnitzle either; it also serves as a fantastic base for other dishes.  This batch of sataraš provided a ton of leftovers which I transformed into a base for my chicken enchillada filling – ironic isn’t it!

Sataraš

I really debated about putting measurements into the ingredient list for this recipe because I don’t want you to get bogged down with specific quantities while making this dish, because you frankly don’t need to concern yourself with that.  So instead I am going to provide you with a ratio, a ratio of how many vegetables are required in relation to the others.  The largest quantity of the three vegetables required to make this dish is peppers, the second is tomatoes, then finally onions, all in a 3 to 2 to 1 ratio.  For example, if you have 3 peppers, you should have 2 tomatoes and 1 onion, or 6 peppers, 4 tomatoes and 2 onions and so on.  It’s really that simple.  But if you don’t have enough peppers for this ratio or maybe you have more tomatoes than needed but you would like to get them off your counter, then go ahead and throw it in the pot.  There really is no way to screw this up – just don’t put celery in it, please. 

Quantity varies

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 part onion, chopped

2 to 3 cloves or garlic, minced

3 parts medium to large, peppers seeded and chopped coarsely (bell, shepherds, banana, hungarian, anything goes)

1 hot pepper or chile, minced (optional)

2 parts medium to large tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped (plum, beefsteak, earl girls, you guessed it – anything goes!)

Vegeta to taste

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large pot (a wide and shallow pot is ideal as it allows the moisture to evaporate more quickly than a deep pot) over medium heat, pour in oil and sweat onions for 5 minutes until translucent.  Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute.  Place the peppers in the pan and cook until they are almost tender about 10 to 15 minutes, depending on how many peppers you are cooking.

Meanwhile,  prep your tomatoes by scoring them with an “x” and placing them in a pot, large enough to hold them all.  Cover with a lid and steam them over medium-low heat for 5 to 7 minutes.  When you notice the skin beginning to pull away from the flesh, remove from heat and allow to cool.  When cool enough to handle, peel and core the tomatoes.  Slice them in quarters and seed them by squeezing each quarter over a bowl to catch the extra liquid and seeds (you can strain this liquid from the seeds and reserve the juice incase your sataraš  becomes to thick during the cooking process).  While it may seem like an unnecessary step, seeding the tomatoes are in fact very important, as too many seeds will make the sataraš bitter.  Chop the quarters into chunks and add to the peppers and onions.  Bring to a simmer and cook uncovered until most of the liquid has evaporated and you are left with chunky stew, that resembles, well – salsa!

Season with Vegeta, salt and pepper and serve hot over schnitzle or however you choose.

I have an included an in-depth step-by-step guide to home canning from Bernardin in case this recipe inspires you to try a hand at preserving your own food.  It’s a totally worth the time and effort!

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