Honeyed Words: Recipes

Colcannon at the Change of the Season · 4 September 2007

Picture of a Plate of Colcannon

I’ve been mostly absent from the kitchen for several weeks due to the intense heat (and lack of air conditioning at home) but weather here is finally cooling down. Long after the sun had set and the warmth of the day seeped out of the walls of my house, I braved the kitchen to make Colcannon as a final look at Tipperary before moving on to the talk of the season, Carl’s R.I.P. challenge.

In the novel Tipperary, Charles wanders around Ireland and interacts with both the rich and the poor. He has quite a few gastronomic stories to share, but as always they’re couched in the terms of his constant exposition on love and Ireland.

He is considering the problem of land ownership, and trying to define the differences in the love for the land between the Anglo-Irish and the Irish when he recalls some funny stories about eating around the country.

The Anglo-Irish he claims, for all their wealth, set a very poor table, while the Irish may not have two coins to rub together, but always share the best they have and prepare their food with pride.

In selecting the second dish to prepare for this book, I chose something that would probably have been served to Charles at the table of one of the better off tenant farmers (the very poorest he describes as eating nothing but porridge and potatoes). The ingredients are simple and readily available.

I could imagine how this classic Irish recipe would be much more satisfying to Charles than the elaborate creations served to him by the great Anglo-Irish houses. It’s hearty and immensely satisfying. According to Irish Cultures and Customs, it’s also one of the traditional dishes served by the Irish on Halloween.

As Honeyed Words transitions into fall, and prepares to kick off participation in Carl’s R.I.P. Challenge which culminates on Halloween, I thought this festive recipe was doubly appropriate. I also thought it appropriate to the season that the head of kale reminded me of brains. The focus on the eerie and creepy is working its magic, and I'm starting to see the world with eyes expecting gothic symbols.

Picture of a Head of Kale

Colcannon

Adapted from Irish Customs and Cultures and The Irish Food Page.

1 ¼ lbs kale or green cabbage (I used kale)
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 ¼ pounds potatoes (I used red)
1 leek
1 cup milk
½ cup butter
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:

Scrub and clean potatoes, being careful to remove all the eyes. Cut potatoes into 2 inch pieces.

Place potatoes in a large saucepan and cover with water. Add a pinch of salt, cover pan, and bring the water to a boil.

When the potatoes are about half done, (about 15 minutes), strain off two thirds of the water. Replace lid and place on a gentle heat and allow potatoes to steam until they are cooked.

Place approximately ½ inch of salted water in a sautéing pan. Bring to a gentle boil.

Discard the dark outer leaves of the cabbage (if using cabbage). Cut the cabbage or kale into small pieces, across the grain of the head.

Place cabbage in the pan with the boiling water until soft. (I like my vegetables on the fresh side, and so I cooked these just barely to the point of softness in approximately 4 minutes. The longer you cook the cabbage or kale, the softer it will be).

Drain the cabbage or kale, then season with salt and pepper and a little of the butter.

Cut the white part of leek into small pieces. Take the pan used for the cabbage or kale and combine the leeks and the milk. Bring the mixture to a boil.

Pull the skins off the potatoes (I skipped this, I like potato skins), then beat the milk into the potatoes until they are fluffy.

Stir in the cooked cabbage and taste for seasoning.

Serve in a heated dish; make a well in the center and add the remaining butter.

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Squeezing Irish Carrot Soup from a Stone · 31 August 2007

Picture of a Bowl of Carrot Soup with Cream

When I was very young, my mother read to me a lovely book called Stone Soup. It was one of the many versions of a fable supposed to illustrate the value of sharing by showing how a woman with just a cauldron, some water, and a stone can turn out a wonderful meal for the whole village if each villager brings a little something to put into the pot.

I remember “getting” the message, but being equally impressed by the wiliness of the woman who took an empty cauldron and made dinner out of it. When I was reading Tipperary, I was reminded of this story because of the many ways in which the main character, Charles, seems to make something out of nothing, despite all expectations.

At one point in the story Charles signs on to perform an unpaid duty. It takes quite a bit of his time, and his family thinks him mad for doing it. He’s the villager I would have been laughing at as a child, freely giving up his vegetables for the scheme of an old woman with a pot. But Charles knows that he has made the right decision. His love for the task that he is performing overwhelms any sense that he is being taken advantage of.

Eventually, his family comes to realize that Charles made the right decision, unreasonable as it seems to them. He was able to see to the end of the fable, where the bubbling cauldron of soup fed the group of villagers and was far more nourishing to everyone than any one vegetable would ever have been if kept in his own hands.

In tribute, I decided to make this carrot soup, yet another great symbol from the book. There is a scene in which April Burke meets Charles’ family. He is very anxious that they make a good impression on each other. His mother, also eager to meet the girl who has captured her son’s affections, goes out of her way to be hospitable.

In his recollection of the meeting, Charles nods to the efforts of his mother, who he says outdid herself with an outstanding carrot soup. He believes that April had a lovely time, and fails to see how she couldn’t have after enjoying the warmth and hospitality of his parents’ home. His mother, whose journal also makes appearances in the book, recollected the meeting quite differently, yet still presented herself with grace and pride to her guest.

Just like the book Stone Soup, Tipperary delighted me with the myriad viewpoints presented in events both small and large. And just like the actual Stone Soup, this Carrot Soup has a lot of potential.

Carrot Soup

2 pounds carrots, peeled and sliced (Save time by buying baby peeled carrots if you’d like)
1 large onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, chopped
5 whole cloves
4 cups of chicken or vegetable stock or broth
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste
1 tsp sugar
¼ cup heavy (whipping ) cream
Fresh parsley to garnish

Method:

Recipe and method taken straight from FoodIreland.com. This is a very straightforward soup recipe, and cooks familiar with making soup from scratch will probably be able to figure it out just from the ingredient list.

Unfortunately my carrots didn’t ripen in time for the cookpot, but the soup turned out well. I think if I were to make it again, I’d make it a bit spicier. There were some interesting adaptations I found on this recipe that incorporated curries and chutnies. I found this version just a bit bland, but still tasty. I may even add a few things to the leftovers and continue the stone soup tradition.

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Pesto Perfecto · 16 August 2007

Picture of a Plate of Pesto Pasta

For over a year, Jackson has been telling me about his pesto. It has achieved legendary status. Almost every time we eat at an Italian restaurant, he orders pesto, and invariably he weighs it against his enjoyment of the pesto that he makes. His family backs him up on claims of greatness. “Jackson,” they say “makes damn good pesto.” Despite these excellent credentials, I’d yet to experience the pesto for myself and couldn’t offer an opinion.

Then I decided that I was ready to reap the fruits of my gardening labor. I’d been reading The All-True Travels and Adventures of Liddie Newton, and the book’s description of the American Dream of getting a homestead and making a living from it. Liddie didn’t make it as a pioneer farmer, and I’m sure I wouldn’t either. But after reading Liddie’s story, I appreciated the dream of farming in a way that I hadn’t before despite my growing awareness about local sustainability.

Despite being a very minor plot point the one thing that really stuck with me from this book was the bleak picture of winter and the fear of crop failure that sent many settlers packing. So it was with joy that I noticed my very own first crop could be counted a success.

Picture of a Heirloom Tomatoes

My basil plants were ready for their first plucking, and I decided to lay down the pesto gauntlet. The results are in. Jackson does indeed make damn good pesto. We paired it with some heirloom tomatoes fresh from the Farmer’s Market, topped with fresh mozzarella, purple basil, and olive oil. The fruits of my labors never tasted so good!.

No set recipe on this one, since all I did was help pick the basil, but I can give you the ingredient list.