While I don’t normally think the worst of the first day of the work week, sometimes they just don’t get off to a good start. It had been one of those days.

By the time I was grabbing my second cup of coffee, I was getting agitated with various and sundry “things.” A walk to city hall and then the bank to take care of a couple of errands chilled me a little but upon returning home found the aggravation level going up again due to some computer “issues.”

The question came up about dinner and was solved with grabbing a couple of boneless, skinless chicken breasts out of the freezer. Sort of.

The way the day had started I thought it might be advisable to come up with something more pleasing than some dry old sautéed chicken breasts accompanied by some yellow rice or a baked potato.

I started taking a mental inventory of what we had on hand in the pantry and a plan began to take shape. Something warm and comforting. And out of the ordinary.

Chicken paprikas came to mind. While I had eaten paprikas (veal or chicken) dozens of times, I had never made it. Well, once, I just sort of dusted some cut up chicken breasts with paprika, browned them off and made a quick pan gravy with some stock and a little butter/flour roux. I knew there was more to the dish so I did a quick Google and looked at the first entry that came up.

It was a link to this entry on Food.com. I had just about everything I needed, except sour cream. But there was a half of a half pint of light cream in the fridge. I bet I could make this work.

So, using the recipe provided by the late BoxO’Wine on Food.com, I put together what I referred to as my “half a**sed chicken paprikas” for the two of us. It passed the test. It might not be 100% authentic but I gotta tell ya it was quite tasty.

There can be no denying, the key is good paprika and I was fortunate to have not one but three tins of Spanish smoked paprika purchased through La Tienda. This assortment of La Chinata paprika includes one, 2.5 ounce tin each of sweet, bittersweet and hot paprikas. And I put all three to work.

The paprikas smelled great while it was cooking (and that was no small feat because I was also braising the brisket for the next night’s Hanukkah dinner and IT smelled pretty good too). I wished I had a bottle of “Bulls Blood” on hand to go with the dish. A California Merlot would have to do.

It was a pretty good ending for what had started off as a less than spectacular day. Not bad for a half-a**ed attempt at a classic.

Half A**ed Chicken Paprikas (for two)

• 2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts cut into pieces approximately 1/4 inch thick
• 1/2 cup flour
• 2 tablespoons Spanish smoked paprika, 1 each sweet and bittersweet
• fresh ground black pepper to taste
• salt to taste
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1 or 2 tablespoons of butter
• 1 small onion, sliced thinly lengthwise
• 1 tablespoon Spanish sweet, smoked paprika
• 1/8 teaspoon Spanish hot, smoked paprika (can use cayenne pepper in a pinch)
• 1 can (14.5 oz) chicken broth
• 1/2 cup sour cream (or, in a pinch light cream)

Mix flour, paprikas, salt and black pepper in a plastic bag large enough to hold all the chicken slices.  Add the chicken, seal the bag and toss to coat evenly.  Remove the chicken and reserve the seasoned flour.

Add oil to Dutch oven or large skillet and heat over medium high flame until shimmering. Place chicken in pan and brown on each side.

Remove the chicken pieces from the pan and set aside. Add butter and a little more oil to the pan. Once butter has melted, toss in onions sweet and hot paprika (or cayenne) and a pinch of salt. Sauté until the onions have softened, 2 or 3 minutes.

Add chicken back to the pan along with the can of chicken stock.

Bring to a boil, and then reduce heat to simmer.  Cover and cook for 15 to 20 minutes.

Remove from heat and let paprikas cool down.

Whisk the reserved flour into the light or sour cream until well blended and smooth.

Add small amount of liquid from pot into flour/cream mixture and stir until mixed thoroughly. This tempers the dairy product so it won’t break when you add it, stirring constantly, back into the pot.

Simmer 5 minutes. Ladle over egg noodles.  Pour some nice, but not expensive red wine and accompany with a tossed salad.

Serves 2 (with a little left over for lunch the next day).

Take for instance, liver and onions.

When we were kids, we knew when we would be served one of our occasional meals of liver and onions.  The aroma of bacon frying followed immediately by the smell of cooking onions would tip us off to a dinner of dry, mealy, strong flavored liver.

Dad liked it. None of the rest of us did, but if that was what Mom cooked that night, that was what we ate.

So what was it that tempted me to order Fegato alla Veneziana on our first night in Venice?

We had wandered around trying to get oriented and it was time to settle down and have dinner. The restaurant we chose had a three-course prix fix meal option, so we took our seats at a table in the little garden in the rear and perused our menu choices.

Nero di seppie (cuttlefish in squid ink sauce with pasta),  was my starter.  Liver and onions was my second course.  I knew that this was considered a regional specialty and it came served with polenta so just how bad could it be.

I was not disappointed.

The dish came out, thin slices of slightly pink liver, golden brown, aromatic onions and a nice serving of soft polenta.  I couldn’t wait to dig in and was rewarded with nothing like my mother’s liver and onions (no offense, Mom).  The liver was moist and tender; not at all like I was used to growing up. The sweet, soft onions smoothed out the flavor (liver and onions have a natural affinity…think about a liverwurst sandwich with a thick slice of raw onion).  The polenta provided its own creamy, sweet corn taste to the dish. Excellent!

I’m not going to say I will be serving or eating fried liver regularly, but I can definitely say this is a simple and easy way to prepare what is actually a nourishing dish.

Fegato alla Venenziana

Liver and onions Venetian style

• ½-pound fresh calf’s liver, trimmed of all skin, membrane and veins. Sliced ¼ inch thick and no more than two inches long.
• 2 cups onion thinly sliced
• 3 tbs of olive oil
• 2 tbs of sweet butter, divided
• 1 cup of polenta (corn meal)
• 4 cups of water
• Salt
• Fresh ground black pepper
• Grated Pecorino Romano cheese

In a large skillet over medium low flame, melt two tablespoons of the butter into the olive oil. Add the onion, sprinkle with salt and cook, stirring as needed until soft and medium brown; about 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, bring water to boil in saucepan. Salt the water and slowly add the corn meal while whisking it in to avoid lumps. When all the corn meal has been added, continue to stir until the porridge is bubbling. Turn down heat so that it is at an active simmer but not a boil. Cover. After 10 minutes, stir vigorously for two minutes. Cover and keep an eye on it. Polenta is done when it pulls from the sides of the pan.

When the onions have browned and softened, remove from pan with a slotted spoon. Raise the heat and add the liver pieces, making sure NOT to crowd the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Sear and flip over.  Turn the heat down and add back the onions. Cut the heat under the pan and stir to mix the liver and onions.  The liver should be cooked through, but still a little pink (not gray).

If your timing is right, the polenta should just be done. Stir in the remaining tablespoon of butter and some grated pecorino Romano. Season with some fresh ground black pepper.

To plate, spoon some polenta onto a warm plate, add half of the liver and half of the onions. Repeat with a second plate, the remaining liver and the rest of the onions.

Serves 2

Try it, you might like it!

I was out all day with a tour group and didn’t get home until just in time to walk the dogs. The wife is under the weather and a little stressed about the new job. It’s Thursday night…which is pasta night around here. What to have that is satisfying but not just everyday sauce.

Then the aha! moment.

I’d acquired two smallish eggplants as payment for a favor.  Why not an eggplant/tomato sauce for the pasta?

A couple of years ago we had discovered an imported, jarred sauce that included eggplant. It was just different enough from the everyday, familiar sauces and we were fond of it.

Using that thought for inspiration, here’s what I did:

Sugo alle melanzane (Eggpant Sauce)

• 1 medium or 2 small eggplant
• 3 or 4 generous tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
• 4 or 5 cloves of garlic (to taste)
• 1 can of italian tomatoes (San Marzano would be perfect)
• salt
• pepper
• red pepper flakes
• 10 fresh basil leaves
• 1 pound penne pasta

I washed the eggplants and then cut them into a rough dice (I was rushed. A little more time and a nice quarter inch dice would be perfect).  NOTE: I did not peel the eggplant; nor did I salt them and leave them to “weep”.  They were smallish and young and not bitter at all.

In a large skillet, I heated up some extra virgin olive oil over medium heat. When it started to shimmer, I threw in the cut-up eggplant and tossed it around.  I gave the eggplant a generous sprinkle of salt and cracked pepper.

After about two minutes, I added the garlic which I had chopped.  I also tossed in a healthy pinch of dried red pepper flakes.

A quick stir or two and then I added the tomatoes. (When using canned whole plum tomatoes, crush them with your hands first so they are broken up). Stir.  Keep a watch, stir or toss frequently to keep at a low simmer.

In the pot of boiling, salted water toss in a pound of pasta (we used penne). Cook until just al dente.  About half way through the cooking time for the pasta, add half of the fresh basil, minced to the sauce. When the pasta is done, mix a ladle or two of the pasta cooking water into the skillet with the sauce.  Drain the pasta. Toss with the sauce. Add the remainder of the basil.

Serves 4 – 6

One of the “distractions” of the past few months was our recent trip to Venice, the Cinque Terre and Milan. Obviously, we ate.  We ate well.  There will be reports about that later.

Tonight, I noticed a number of notes on Facebook from friends describing their various Sunday night dinners.  Although varied, they had in common a turn towards cool weather foods.

Our own meal this evening was what I would consider “transitional” between the summer and fall seasons.

Tonight, we had homemade fettucine in a burro oro e salvia (butter and sage) sauce, chicken breasts with fresh herbs and salad and pecan pie for dessert.

The cool weather inspired Ann to make the pasta.  With an abundance of herbs in the garden, why not use them in the sauce.  Butter and sage, while good anytime of year are rich and savory and comforting enough on a damp, chilly night.  The Rosemary and oregano were begging to be used as well, and what better way to flavor the chicken breasts.

We chopped the herbs and mixed them with salt, black pepper and olive oil.  The mix was then placed into a plastic bag with the boneless,  chicken breasts and left to marinate for an hour or so before being cooked over medium heat in a frying pan and a little more olive oil.

For the burro oro e salvia, I took about 5 tablespoons of sweet butter and melted it in a small pan over medium heat.  When the butter was completely melted and the foaming subsided, let it go a couple of minutes until it picks up a golden color. Toss in 6 to 8 leaves of fresh sage and remove from heat.

At about the time we put sage in the butter, we placed our fresh pasta in a pot of boiling, salted water.  The pasta  should be done shortly after the water has returned to a boil and the fettucine has risen to the top.  Drain, toss with the sage butter and serve.

Sunday, season bridging dinner. Homemade, part home-grown; comforting; quick.

Years ago…before there was The Food Network; before “reality TV” took over the networks, broadcast and cable, there was real life.

Years ago, I found myself home alone on a Saturday night. The wife was away for the weekend visiting with her parents at their then full-time residence in Pennsylvania‘s Poconos (Note: “the Poconos” are often referred to as mountains but, in truth, they are just a time-worn and eroded plateau.  Or so my geologic-oriented friends tell me). As dinner time came, I started rummaging around in the kitchen and pantry to find something to prepare for my evening meal.  The result of my in-house foraging was a smoked oyster risotto.  But that is a story for another day.

Today’s installment is about a similar situation but with just a little more planning and that includes using what was on hand with one quick trip to the market.

My in laws have long since relocated to the far reaches of Montgomery County, PA.  It’s about an hour’s drive from our home in Trenton.  They’ve been dealing with some health issues and my wife went out today to stay with them for about a week.  Thinking about dinner tonight, I decided to grab some sort of seafood…a lovely 3/4 pound tuna steak.

After yesterday’s trip to the local farmers’ market I had on hand at the house some Jersey peaches, moderately hot banana peppers, tomatoes and a very interesting spanish spice mix called “pinchito” seasoning.  There was also a handful of locally grown romano beans.

This put me in mind of a meal I had on one of our trips to the Florida Keys…a kingfish steak with a mango/habanero salsa.

I fired up the grill and took one of the peaches, cut it in half and removed the pit. I washed off one of the banana peppers. Once the grill was hot, I put the peach halves…flesh side down, and the chile on the grill.

In the meantime, I rinsed the tuna steak and dried it then dusted it with some pinchitos seasoning that I bought from La Tienda.  Both sides.

When I could smell the peach caramelizing, I flipped it over.  I also turned the pepper so it would char all over. While they roasted, I diced up a tomato and tossed it into a bowl.

Once the skin of the peach was charred and the pepper roasted, I took them off the grill and put my cast iron skillet on to heat.

I skinned the peach halves and rough chopped them.  The pepper I skinned and removed the top, seeds and membranes.  That also got chopped and tossed into the bowl with the peach, tomato and a splash of “juice” left over from a container of salsa from the mexican stall at the market.  Stir and let sit.

Now the pan was smoking hot.  I added a little olive oil and then,, once the oil was hot,  laid the tuna into the pan.  Two minutes a side and dinner was ready.

I plated up the tuna steak, topped it with some of the salsa and added the beans which I had prepared earlier (boiled in salted water for 4 minutes, drained tossed with salt, pepper and peperoncino and a drizzle of garlic/rosemary infused olive oil then placed in the fridge to chill).

The wine cellar is a little light on whites right now, but I had this bottle of Nissely Classic White (2008) from a wine tour of Lancaster County we had taken last year.  Dinner was served.

It filled the belly and brought some contentment even though my beloved spouse was gone on the eve of our 24th wedding anniversary.

38 ounce Porterhouse with garlic/rosemary smashed potatoes

Steak was arguably my father’s favorite food. Dad was enamored of those steakhouses that used to dot Manhattan where they charbroiled the meat to order in the front window.  The meals were relatively inexpensive and the meat pretty good.

As far back as I can remember we managed to have steak on the table at least once each week.  In the winter, my father would cook them under the broiler of the oven.  In the summer it was charcoal grill all the way.

When home gas grills first became available, Dad bought one that ran on natural gas rather than LPG and ran a line out to it. No more smoking up the kitchen, he could “grill” a steak year round.

I’m fond of steak, too, but not on a weekly basis. In fact, I can go a couple or three months between servings of “big meat” but when the craving hits, nothing else will do.

After returning from an extended trip to Italy, a friend recently noted her regret at not having tried the famed ‘bistecca alla fiorentina”: a porterhouse cut of the famously tender and flavorful Chianina beef indigenous to Tuscany.

That comment flashed me back to our experience with that wonderful steak served up from a wood fired grill in a restaurant in the little mountain village about 25 miles northwest of Florence. Four of us had put in a long hard day of being tourists and stopped at the restaurant on our way to our apartment on a nearby farm.  Two immense slabs of beef, a simple salad and, of course, some local red wine were just what we needed. 

The memory planted a seed.  I knew I’d be visiting Pat’s Market in Lincroft after a charity bicycling event at Brookdale Community College.  Pat’s is an Italian deli and honest to goodness butcher shop that serves up some mean sandwiches and hosts a meat counter full of tempting slabs of beef and pork.

I ordered my sandwich and then studied the meat case so I’d be ready for the inevitable question “Would you like something else?”

Down in the front of the case, at the head of a row of gorgeous porterhouses was a steak with a nice sized filet portion as well as the sirloin.  That and a filet mignon for Ann completed the order.

Sunday, after the Thunder game, I fired up the grill and cooked up the steaks.  Ann’s 8 ounce filet was a lovely size.  My 38 ounce monster by rights, should have fed two people (or more) but I allowed myself to indulge since I’d put in 25 miles on the bike for a charitable cause the day before. A salad, some garlic/rosemary smashed potatoes and a bottle of Brunello.  What more could anyone want?

So treat your Dad this year (and the rest of the family) and grill up a large, thick porterhouse. If he’s a real carnivore, he may be up to eating one whole steak himself.

Bistecca alla Fiorentina (Porterhouse Florence-style)

•  Porterhouse steak, dry aged if possible, a minimum of 1 to 1½ inches thick
• Salt
• Pepper
• Optional
• Olive Oil
• Fresh garlic clove, cut in two
• Lemon for squeezing

Pre-heat your grill or ignite your charcoal.  You will want a very hot area on one part of your grill and a cooler area on the other.  Bring steak to room temperature.

Lightly salt, but liberally pepper one side of the meat.  When grill is ready, place steak, seasoned side down over hottest part of grill.  After three minutes, season the top side and then flip it. Cook another three minutes.

Depending upon your preferred degree of doneness and the thickness of the steak, your meat may be ready if you like it rare.  If it is exceptionally thick or large, move it to the cooler side of the grill and cook to desired doneness, flipping once more if need be.

The object here is to have a nicely seared exterior but a juicy (and, in my case red) interior.

Remove from grill, rub each side with the cut garlic and drizzle a little very good olive oil and/or lemon juice over the meat and serve. For presentation, the meat can be cut from the bone and neatly parsed in to ¼ inch slices for easier serving.  Serves one hearty beef eater or two to three regular folks.

Dad worked Monday through Saturday…including many evenings. Sundays truly were his “day of rest.”  As long as you could count visiting with family and catching up on house and garden chores “rest.”  

We’d get up and go through the Sunday papers…even as a kid, I would read at least the comics; get dressed and then head intoTrenton to visit my grandmother. 

We’d pick her up and run around to Palat’s Dairy on the corner of Cooper and Market Streets. 

Palats Dairy Photo Courtesy Trentoniana Collection

“And for you,” Mrs. Palat would ask, peering over the counter that was taller than she was. 

Our order was pretty standard:  ¼ pound of lox and a ¼ pound of nova (less salty); some creamed herring and a nice, plump, golden scaled, smoked whitefish. The quantities might increase depending on whom and how many were expected to be at table that morning.

Palat’s was a wonder to me.  The aroma when you walked through the door was like nothing else on earth.  I would love to have the opportunity to breathe deeply of that salty, dusty, garlic air once more.

From there, we’d walk down the street to Kohn’s bakery and then on to Kunis’ to gather the fixings for breakfast. Bagels, “half moons” and some onion rolls from one bakery; maybe a nice loaf of pumpernickel too; then some fruit or cheese Danish and some sticky buns from the next. 

Kohns Bakery Photo Courtesy Trentonian Collection

Kunis Bakery Photo Courtesey of Trentoniana Collection

I love lox anyway and how I can get them.  But lox and eggs and a bagel on a Sunday morning; sitting at the table with extended family and friends.   Now that’s heaven on earth. 

Lox and eggs

¼ pound smoked salmon chopped fine
⅓ cup onion minced
4 tbs butter
8 eggs, lightly beaten

Melt the butter in a large frying pan and add the onion.  Cook over medium heat until the onion is soft and translucent.  Add the salmon and stir.  Immediately pour the eggs into the pan, stirring to mix everything and evenly.  Reduce heat if necessary and continue to move the eggs around the pan until they are just cooked through but still moist.  Serve family style with good bagels, sweet butter and/or cream cheese.  Serves 4

I didn’t think we had any onions at home so stopped at the market to pick some up.  Not sure how many I needed, I called home and asked Ann.  Unfortunately, she was busy and couldn’t put her hands on the recipe quickly enough, so I just bought a whole mess of onions and headed home.

Turned out, we did have onions on hand…nearly enough to make the soup.  Now we had a surplus and had to figure out what to do with them.

Ann suggested I make up a batch of my bourbon caramelized onions.  Why not?  They keep well (I freeze small batches) and they are great on burgers (grill season is nearly upon us) or pizza’s/focaccia.

Here’s what I do:

Thinly slice a couple of medium to large onions (any regular old onion will do: red, white, yellow).  In a large skillet over medium flame, heat enough olive oil to cover the bottom to not more than 1/4 inch depth.  Melt in two or three tablespoons of unsalted butter.  Add the sliced onions (they should sizzle but not splatter) and stir to coat evenly with the oil/butter.*

Keep an eye on the onions and stir every couple of minutes so they don’t stick.  The water will cook out of the onion slices and they will soften.  Reduce the heat when the onions start to take on some color and keep stirring occasionally.

When the onions have turned a rich color (past golden…on towards mahogany), and have become nutty and sweet tasting, remove from pan and place into a bowl.  This can take 25 minutes or so. Return the pan to the stove and carefully pour in a 1/4 cup of good bourbon (Maker’s Mark is particularly suited for this).  Stir to loosen and dissolve the goodness left in the bottom of the pan.  Continue stirring until the alcohol has burned off and the bourbon has reduced and thickened.  Pour over onions in the bowl and stir to blend.

*Some recipes suggest seasoning the onions with salt, pepper and/or sugar.  You can. I don’t.

Polenta al ragu di fagiano

I don’t know why, but I seem to have some sort of affinity (obsession?) with pheasant.  That was what lead me to use it for a version of white chicken cacciatore, substituting the game fowl for the domestic one.

My latest “brainstorm” was for a simple, slow simmered pheasant ragu served over a soft polenta (polenta al ragú di fagiano). On a recent trip to the Griggstown Quail Farm, I had picked up one of their young, cut-up pheasants to hold in the freezer until I had the opportunity to develop and test a recipe.  After stewing on the idea for a while, I was ready to give it a try.

The results, I’m pleased to say, were quite nice.  A simple, satisfying, not-your-normal comfort food. Served over the polenta and with an accompanying salad, it was just the thing for chilly Sunday night supper.

• 1/4 pound pancetta, diced
• two tablespoons good olive oil (could use butter if you wish)
• 1 medium onion chopped (about 1 cup)
• 1/2 cup chopped celery
• 1/2 cup chopped carrot
• 3 cloves garlic
• 3 -4 tablespoons tomato paste
• 1/2 cup dry red wine
• 4 tbsp flat leaf parsley, chopped
• 3 tbsp fresh oregano, chopped
• 3 or 4 fresh sage leaves, chopped (optional) 
• 1 pheasant cut in 8 pieces
• salt
• pepper
• red pepper flakes (optional)
• 3 bay leaves
• water, as needed

In a heavy, ten inch skillet with a tight-fitting lid, cook the pancetta over medium low heat until crisp.  Remove and reserve for another use.  Add the oil or butter to the pan and then toss in the onion, celery and carrots. Cook until soft and slightly browned (15 – 20 minutes).  Add the garlic about halfway through.

Once the vegetables are done, increase the heat to medium and stir in the tomato paste, bay leaves and wine. Be sure to stir up all the fond from the bottom of the pan.  Salt and pepper to taste (and add the red pepper flakes if using) Add the pieces of pheasant skin side down, reduce the heat to low, cover and simmer.  After 30 minutes, turn the pieces of pheasant over; replace cover and simmer for another half hour or so.

At the end of an hour of cooking, take the pan off heat and remove the pheasant.  Remove the meat from the bones and cut into bite size pieces.  Return the pheasant pieces to the pan and check the sauce for seasoning. Place back on low heat. Stir in half of the chopped herbs, cover and simmer for another hour or until the meat is tender and falling apart. Add a little more wine or water as needed to make sure the pan doesn’t cook dry but don’t over do it. 

What you want to end up with is a thick stew. Just before serving, stir in the rest of the chopped herbs (or just sprinkle some over each serving for garnish).

Spoon it over a bed of polenta. Pour a glass of a nice Italian red wine and enjoy.

This favored pork product was traditionally made on local farms by the Pennsylvania Germans using the trimmings and offal left over after butchering a hog.

Let me be totally honest with you.  I can count on one hand the times I’ve actually eaten this misunderstood and much maligned Mid-Atlantic Pennsylvania Dutch specialty.  Even after you add in the breakfast order of Goetta, scrapple’s Cincinnati cousin, I’d still have a digit or two left over on that hand.

While I had certainly heard of scrapple growing up, it never appeared on our breakfast or dinner table.  A co-worker introduced me to it while we were on a business trip in Wilmington, DE.  It wasn’t bad. 

In the intervening years, I have taken the opportunity to add it to a breakfast plate another one or two more times.  I am by no stretch of the imagination an expert on the subject.

When friend, neighbor and fellow food adventurer Mark spotted a listing for a workshop on scrapple and sausage making, I invited myself along.

On a bright, breezy March Saturday, we joined with 10 other participants for the two hour class held on the grounds of the Mennonite Heritage Center in Harleysville, PA.

Our instructors for the day, Jim King and his uncle, Paul Longacre , continue the generations old tradition of an annual hog butchering and the subsequent making of scrapple and sausage with family and friends.  This was the second year that they shared part of their tradition with the public via the workshop.

Taking in the scene upon arrival, the first thing I noted was the large propane burner set up with a bathtub sized cast iron cauldron over it.  Inside was some kind of meaty broth…presumably what was left after boiling the pork trimmings, organ meats, and/or whatever other “scraps” left over from butchering.*

Sitting on a bench by the meat grinder was a plastic tub of cooked meat.  This was ground and added back to pot. Seasonings (black pepper, salt, coriander, sage, etc.) were added, and then slowly, cornmeal. 

Photo courtesy of Mark Stradling

 All the while the mixture was stirred with a large paddle to prevent lumps from forming and the thickening mass from scorching.

The dozen of us crowded around the huge cast iron cauldron and were given forks so we could sample the porridge and advise on the seasonings.  On the cue from Jim King we dipped our forks into the bubbling, steaming ‘pudding’ in the pot.

“Does it need anything?” King asked.

A variety of answers were uttered. 

“Salt!”

“{Black} Pepper!”

“Maybe some more sage or coriander.”

While this might have been good for instructional purposes, I’m not sure it benefited the end product.

After adjusting the seasonings, buckwheat flour was stirred in. This ingredient surprised me, but you could see how it softened and smoothed the texture of the finished scrapple as well add an earthy character to the overall flavor.

Once the mixture was cooked enough, it starts to pull away from the sides of the pot while stirred.  At that point, we formed a little assembly line to scoop the hot mixture into loaf pans that were then left to cool and set up. For the sausage part of the workshop, we began by trimming and cutting up pieces of what Paul referred to as “pork sirloin” (generally speaking, meat from the upper hip or the butt end of the loin). This was such a lean cut of meat that it really required little trimming.  In fact, I would have left the fat in place and think the resulting sausage would have been much better for it.

With the trimmed meat collected, we started taking shifts running it through the grinder.  The ground pork was collected in a tub and the seasoning began.  Salt, pepper, coriander, sage and some fennel seed were added to the meat. Paul took a small handful, made a patty and fried it off in an electric skillet.  Once again, the communal tasting took place and additional seasonings were added.  We repeated the patty test, made final adjustments to the seasonings and then moved right into the stuffing process.

Earlier, a tub of natural hog casings had been opened and run through a few changes of water before being left to soak a bit.  One of us was assigned to cut the casings into lengths about four feet long while another loaded up the hand cranked sausage stuffer.

With two people holding down either side of the board the stuffer was mounted on, a third person cranked the press while a fourth “caught” and guided the freshly filled casing as it slipped off of the stuffing horn.  Each length of sausage was then taken over to a makeshift rack…a board suspended between two limbs of a nearby tree, and draped there to set and dry slightly while we cleaned up and made ready to leave.

We divvyed up the days production and made our way home.  The next morning, I fried up a couple of pieces of scrapple and a patty I’d made out of some of the sausage mixture and served them with a couple of eggs over easy.  The scrapple was pretty good…I could see where a more planned seasoning program would improve it.  The sausage was rather dry and bland.  I certainly would add more fat to the “paste” and significantly increase the seasonings.

Still, it was a good afternoon that provided the opportunity to meet new people and try our hand at something out of the ordinary with edible results.

This is the recipe for scrapple that we were given at the workshop. (NOTE: I would only use this as a guide to the process and leave measurements, ratios, etc. up to the individual cook).

In a large kettle or farmer’s boiler, over a good fire, cook pork bones, heart, liver, and any other meat until the meat falls off the bones.  Stir often. Dip meat out onto a tray and let cool until it can be picked off the bones. Sort meat from bones; discard bones and grind meat. Dip broth from kettle and strain to remove any bones. Measure the broth. Lower the fire. Combine the following:

• ½ part ground meat
• ½ part broth
• ¹/₈ pound pepper (to taste)
• 2 – 3 tbsp salt
• Handful of coriander (ground)
• Extra hog fat if pork is lean
• 4 pounds cornmeal (added when the above is hot)

Heat to boiling and cook 15 minutes, stirring constantly. Add six pounds buckwheat flour gradually (sprinkle by hand slowly and stir so lumps do not form). Cook until boilng. Add whole wheat flour as needed to thicken. Entire contents will separate from sides of put. Quickly scoop scrapple into pans and let cool. Have hot water ready to pout into pot, so it doesn’t burn or crack. This will also help with clean-up.

*Mark and I were grinding up the last of the pork loin for the sausage and so missed the explanation of what all had gone into the scrapple pot before hand.

Photo courtesy of Mark Stradling