Sunday, October 7, 2012

Geragoor



This is the third post in an ongoing series on Armenian food. I previously shared recipes for cherog, an Easter yeast bread, and for rice pilaf. Next up, a recipe for an Armenian lamb and green bean stew, or geragoor, from my paternal grandmother.


I grew up eating this dish at my grandparent’s house. Whether served alone as a weekday supper or as part of a more elaborate celebratory meal, the basic ingredients remained the same: lamb, a featured vegetable (usually green beans), onions and tomatoes. Growing up I thought this dish was exclusively Armenian; it is not. Many Mediterranean and Near Eastern countries have similar rustic lamb and vegetable stews with an onion and tomato base. Penelope Casas’s The Food & Wine of Spain [1983] has a recipe for Cordero al Chilindrón that pairs red peppers with lamb, onions and tomatoes. Richard Olney’s Provence, The Beautiful Cookbook [1993] shares a French version of this dish called Ragoût D’Agneau Aux Artichauts that contains artichokes. Paula Wolfert’s Mediterranean Grains and Greens [1998] includes a Tunisian variation that features cactus pads. Each version is a simply seasoned combination of a limited number of regional ingredients.

More often than not my grandmother made her geragoor with green beans. If she didn’t like her green grocer’s bean selection she’d opt for the vegetable that looked the best: leeks, squash or, my favorite, okra (bamia in Armenian). On a rare occasion she used potatoes in place of vegetables; when she did she seasoned the geragoor with dried purple basil.


Although the stew’s vegetables might vary, its meat does not: my grandmother used lamb shoulder. I’ve tried the dish with leg of lamb and didn’t like the results; I think the leg is too lean for this dish. Although I sometimes cut cubes from a boneless shoulder, typically I use lamb shoulder blade chops cut widthwise into thirds. This recipe serves 4.
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 2 lamb shoulder blade chops, each chop cut widthwise into thirds by your butcher, trimmed of excess fat with bones retained
  • 1 large yellow onion, halved then sliced
  • Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
  • 1 pound green beans, topped and cut in half
  • 4 medium tomatoes (approximately 1 pound), peeled and chopped reserving juice
  • Water as needed

Heat oil in a heavy 5½-quart casserole over medium-high heat. Add lamb and brown meat. Add the sliced onions, season with salt and pepper, and cook until the onions soften. Add green beans and chopped tomatoes with their juice. Add a little water as necessary, but keep in mind that the onions, beans and tomatoes will give up liquids to form a sauce. After the stew comes to a simmer, cover the casserole and reduce heat to low. Simmer the stew for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Adjust seasonings to taste.

Some notes and thoughts. If using bone-in shoulder blade chops, be mindful that small (and often sharp) pieces of bone may turn up in the finished dish. Whenever I serve this dish I emphatically warn: “Look out for bones!”

When I have the time, I’ll salt the lamb the night before (using about 2 teaspoons of medium-grained sea salt) and leave the meat uncovered on a cooling rack inside the refrigerator. This step helps the lamb to brown and deepens the meat’s flavor. Make sure to cut back on the amount of salt when seasoning the stew to account for the well-salted meat.


Don’t forgo this dish if tomatoes are not in season; good-quality canned tomatoes work nicely. The stew tastes different, but still extraordinarily good.

I began this series on Armenian food to memorialize certain family dishes that, through the passage of time, risked fading away. Ironically, often the simplest fare, like this geragoor, faces the greatest risk of being lost; past generations often fail to memorialize the simplest recipes. I can hear my grandmother now: “Why write it down, janig? It’s so simple?” Yes, it is simple. But wonderfully special in its simplicity and its ability to comfort, it’s a dish worth memorializing and saving.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Spritz



A new cookbook deserves the attention of anyone interested in Italian food. Russell Norman’s Polpo [2012] includes Venetian small-plate dishes (cichèti or cicchètti) served in the wine bars (bàcari) of Venice. Although not technically a regional cookbook—Norman subtitled his book “A Venetian Cookbook (Of Sorts)”—Polpo embraces the spirit of Venetian food.

No doubt Polpo will receive a fair amount of review because its design exposes the signatures and their stitching normally hidden—some might say protected—behind a book’s spine. It’s a pretty gutsy move for a trade book, let alone a cookbook destined to work (and often to get dirty) in a kitchen. But as Norman points out in a short film located on his restaurant’s website [polpo.co.uk], if you open the book to any page, the book remains flat and open.


In addition to an Introduction and Gazetteer (“a short and subjective guide to some of Venice’s wine bars and restaurants”), Polpo covers cichèti, breads, fish, meat, vegetables, desserts, and drinks. Some of these recipes are uniquely Venetian, such as Sardèle in Saór Crostini (Sweet and Sour Sardines on Toast), Baccalà Mantecato (Salt Cod Spread) and Fegato alla Veneziana (Liver Venetian-style). Many of the other recipes come from different parts of Italy or simply have an Italian spirit. However, all of the recipes share a direct approach where success depends in large part on excellent-quality ingredients. Polpo specifies ingredients that are reasonably available in Britain, the cookbook’s country of origin; United States readers shouldn’t have any significant problems finding ingredients over here.

And what of pasta? Not terribly much, I’m afraid. With its focus on bàcari fare, the book doesn’t contain many pasta dishes. In fact, Polpo has only a few. One of these is Bìgoli in Salsa. Although Polpo the restaurant makes its own whole-wheat bigoli in a torchio (here), Norman doesn’t include this fresh pasta recipe. Damn. Instead, he writes you can “simply use a dried wholegrain spaghetti like all Venetian bàcari do.” No doubt this is true.

I’ll admit being disappointed upon learning that Polpo does not contain a fresh bigoli recipe. I needed a drink to lift my spirits. Thankfully Polpo does include a good Spritz recipe. Norman writes a “Spritz is a mixture of white wine (sometimes sparkling Prosecco is used), a bitter such as Campari or Aperol and a splash of soda water. The garnish should always be a slice of lemon and sometimes an olive too.” Wait! Always a slice of lemon? (And not an orange slice!) And sometimes Prosecco?! Norman continues: “[o]f course, there are many ways to make this drink and you will always find someone with a strong opinion telling you that it must be made this way or it should only ever be made like that…Well, this is how we make ours.”

For one:
  • Ice
  • 1 large green olive, drained of brine
  • 75ml white wine—something simple from Veneto like a Garganega or a Pinot Bianco
  • 50ml either Campari or Aperol
  • Splash of soda water
  • 1 slice of lemon

Take a large tumbler and fill it with ice. Push a large green olive (not one that has been kept in oil) onto the end of a cocktail skewer and pop it in the bottom of the glass. Pour the wine. Pour the Campari or Aperol. Add a short squirt of soda water and then a slice of lemon.




A Spritz tastes like a wonderful Italian holiday and is the most delightful of drinks.  I prefer the really bitter, stronger Campari version; I think the Aperol kind tastes a tad too sweet. I often use Prosecco in place of white wine and soda, and always garnish mine with an orange slice and a huge green olive. (Whoever came up with the idea of pairing a briny green olive with an orange slice in a bright, bitter, red-orange drink deserves a medal and a pat-on-the-back.) Jacob Kenedy’s Bocca Cookbook [2011] also has a delicious Spritz recipe. And a family hero, Enrico Casarosa, has a fantastic riff on the Spritz in his charming book The Venice Chronicles [2008].

Although a British publication, a good independent bookseller can find a copy of Polpo for US readers. The book deserves a broad audience. One final thought: Jenny Zarins’s elegant photographs in this handsome book transport you into a soft, lovely Venetian landscape. She has taken some of the most beautiful photographs of Venice that I have ever seen.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Pancakes


This site's third guest Bunburyist, Madeline Sharafian, studies Character Animation at CalArts in Valencia, California. Marion Cunningham's Plain Pancake recipe from The Breakfast Book [1987] is one of Maddie's favorite things to eat. The recipe makes two dozen 4-inch pancakes.