Nut Free

One morning, Penny Brogden, my longtime friend and coworker at Pig-by-the Tail, came dancing into the kitchen, exclaiming, “I did the Polish sausages for dinner last night the best way ever! I glazed them with honey and baked them.” We tried the same preparation on the spot, and she was right. It was a fabulous way to give the ordinary a new polish. We advised customers who purchased Polish sausage to make the dish, too, and it was included in American Charcuterie, my book of recipes from Pig-by-the-Tail. If you are not set up for stuffing the sausage into hog casing, form it into links, wrap the links in cheesecloth, and refrigerate overnight (see page 154).

In the 1970s, when everyone and their sisters and brothers became enchanted with French cooking, with Julia Child leading the way, quiche became the savory custard pie. The classic, quiche Lorraine, made with bacon and Gruyère cheese to enrich the custard, enjoyed star status as an elegant staple for brunch or for a first course in a multitiered dinner à la français. Variations in great numbers soon followed, and quiche in one or another guise turned into a favorite on buffet tables and appetizer menus. Here, with Toulouse sausage and a green splotch of spinach, the lovable custard-in-a-crust reinvents itself into an uncomplicated light dinner. Even though it is easier to purchase a prepared pastry crust, to settle for that is to miss the flaky, unctuous mouth delight of a homemade one. A food processor provides a quick, simple, and almost hands-free way to make an exceptional crust. A removable-bottom tart pan, such as the type the French would use for quiche and sweet dessert tarts, makes it easy to present the pie standing alone rather than in a dish, which is more awkward to serve from.

Why Pittsburgh? Because James Potenziani, known to all as “Chooch,” is Italian American and grew up in Pittsburgh. He was the master behind the sausage machine at Pig-by-the-Tail. He is also a football person (he always roots for the Steelers), and he devised the Pittsburgh sausage sandwich to celebrate on Super Bowl day. It became a year-round favorite at Pig-by-the-Tail.

On my brief sojourn in the Toulouse area, I traveled to many local villages and towns acclaimed for their charcuterie. Among them was Castelnaudary, a small village built of stone, close by the fairy-tale-like medieval castle of Carcassonne. The castle was a thrill; even more so was the cassoulet I enjoyed in Castelnaudary, known as the cradle of cassoulet. I mustered the nerve to ask the chef what his secret was. He graciously shared his version of “the cassoulet secret”: The kind of beans you use is crucial. They should be lingot beans, also called white kidney beans or cannellini beans, or coco beans, which resemble slightly elongated navy beans. Both are sweetly buttery and cook up soft and tender enough to soak up juices, but still hold their shape. Then, the beans must be allowed to cool completely in their cooking liquid before assembling the cassoulet. Overnight is best. Stuffed whole duck legs (drumstick and thigh combination) make a delectable sausage star for a faux cassoulet. To sidestep the lengthy process of curing the duck overnight then braising it in duck fat to make confit, the whole legs are sprinkled with a salt and herb seasoning and refrigerated for a few hours to allow the seasonings to imbue. The sausage is then stuffed under the thigh skin, making a single package of sausage and duck meat.

The fennel-spiked sausage that turns up in such favorite Italian American preparations as pizza, meatball sandwiches (page 38), custardy casseroles, and savory pies has so captured the heart of American cooking that it can be found in supermarkets and deli cases from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Northwest and everywhere in between. Not only is it one of the tastiest and most popular sausages, but it is also one of the easiest to make at home because it doesn’t require a casing. In fact, most recipes call for taking it out of its casing. If you want to serve the sausage as links, stuff it into hog casing. The recipe yields a larger amount than the other recipes in the book because this sausage is so versatile that I like to have some on hand in the freezer.

I opened Pig-by-the-Tail because I wanted to bring to the American marketplace the charcuterie I had fallen in love with on sojourns to France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Austria. Two years after its debut, I decided it was time to put some “bones” onto that passion. I traveled to France to learn from M. Roger Gleize, the charcutier in the small town of Revel in the Haute-Garonne just outside of Toulouse. It was an eye-opening experience to watch him use a hand grinder to grind pounds and pounds of perfectly succulent pork, not too lean, not too fat, for the region’s specialty Toulouse sausage. He seasoned the meat with salt, peppers, and a dash each of nutmeg and sugar, and then added a soupçon of water to moisten the mixture for easier stuffing. He fitted the same manual machine with a sausage-stuffing funnel and proceeded to turn out a seemingly endless supply of fresh Toulouse sausages. Everything he made was quickly purchased by local households to use for their daily meals and by local restaurants to include in the renowned cassoulet of the region. From that sojourn, I carried home a deep admiration for simply, yet perfectly done ways with food, and Toulouse sausage became one of my go-to household sausages. For this book, I have modified the recipe to call for bulk sausage, rather than links. But, if you would like to follow tradition, use hog casing.

Mexican meatballs are typically made with a mix of pork and beef (or veal) and include bread crumbs or rice to plump them and egg to bind the ingredients. From there, seasoning variations abound: garlic and/or onion, or not; herbs and/or spices (usually cumin and oregano, sometimes mint); elements such as raisins and/or olives (a Peruvian variation); and so on. Zucchini, the “special ingredient” I use here, was suggested by Mexican cooking maven Diana Kennedy. It lightens and freshens the sausage in a way I find pleasing, so I use it for my basic recipe.

Omelet, frittata, egg tortilla—all are different words for essentially the same thing: eggs mixed with vegetable and/or meat bits and cooked into a cake or pancakelike round. The advantage of this version is that it follows the Spanish or Italian custom of baking the assembled dish. That means no intimidating calisthenics to flip the cake to cook the second side. I serve this informal dish in its cooking skillet, but it’s also easy to lift it out onto a platter.

In many Mexican marketplaces and town plazas, the aroma of garlic soup wafts from nearby restaurants, beckoning as you shop, promenade, or just wander and gawk. It’s an ancient soup, dating from the time the Moors introduced a brothy concoction to the Iberian Peninsula, which the locals thickened with pulverized almonds (Chicken and Almond Meatballs in White Gazpacho, page 115). In the New World, the soup was re-created to include tomatoes and dried chiles. That rendition came to be embraced by lovers of Latin fare from the coast of Spain to the zocalos of Mexican towns to the American cities of the Pacific coast. It is an ardently delicious, deep red, beautiful soup that brings with it a blessing of health to the diners, and is blessedly easy to make.

A glory of black beans, in addition to such qualities as their beauty and healthfulness, is that they don’t need to be presoaked: they easily yield to softening when boiled straightaway. Then, they are ready to accept all manner of embellishments, such as sausage, Mexican spices, and sweet-sour-hot chipotle cream.

Chorizo, at home in many cuisines, appears with multiple ethnic faces from Spain and Portugal to Mexico, South America, and the Latino-inspired cooking of the American Southwest. It can be stuffed into hog casing and used fresh, or briefly aged in the casing to dry out and intensify the flavors. Sometimes it is smoked, becoming more like a salami in texture. Often it is used fresh in bulk for dishes that benefit from a hit of red and spice. This version comes from Anzonini, a flamenco guitarist and world-class chorizo maker, who generously offered his recipe to Pig-by-the-Tail. We made tons of it, and it was always special! On chorizo-making day, the links were hung on the baking-tray rack for a few hours to dry and compact. The dangling sausages festooned the kitchen like chile-red curtains. It was a spectacle of hospitality and appreciated, judging by the number of customers who came to purchase some to take home when they were “done.”

In the early eighteenth century, Spanish colonists brought a paprika-and-cayenne-seasoned sausage to Louisiana, where they added fresh red chiles and a dash of vinegar to create what is now known as Creole sausage. It is an assertive sausage that rings out “Let the good times roll!” It dances sprightly in gumbo with shrimp and oysters (page 21) and lends vivacity to a New Orleans plate with crab cakes and Cajun rémoulade (page 128). It is also delicious formed into appetizer-size balls, sautéed, and served with rémoulade for dipping.

Sausage in a gumbo usually means smoked sausage. Sometimes Louisiana smoked ham, called tasso, is also added or is used in place of the sausage. A roux (a mixture of flour and fat) is the traditional thickener, usually augmented with filé powder (ground dried sassafras leaves) or okra. In keeping with today’s taste for lighter fare, I swap the smoked sausage and/or ham for my homemade sausage and eliminate the roux. The okra alone does the thickening, and the step of soaking the okra pods in a salt-and-vinegar bath before adding them to the pot ensures they won’t be overly viscous. It is important to use dried herbs and canned tomatoes to produce the distinguishing flavors of this dish from a cuisine built around preserved goods. Make sure the okra is fresh, however. I like to use shrimp in the shell because they enrich the broth. That does make for somewhat messy eating, however. If you want to save your guests the trouble of peeling their own shrimp, remove the shells and simmer them in 1 cup of the broth, then strain the liquid into the pot when adding the remainder of the broth. Shell-on shrimp are easy enough to devein, if it’s necessary to do so, by simply cutting through the shell along the back of each shrimp with a sharp paring knife.

Bourbon whiskey, a uniquely American spirit, can be used in cooking the same way wine often is in French recipes, as a splash that lends a subtle, aromatic presence and a bit of moisture. A whiskey sausage, with its breath of musty sage, makes a perfect grilling patty for sandwiching in a bun smeared with tomato chutney. Or, you can roll the sausage into small balls and serve them with the chutney as a dipping sauce. Two things distinguish this speedy chutney from bona fide tomato ketchup: its consistency is a little looser and less dense, and it is made in little more than half an hour. It will keep in the refrigerator for up to 2 months before its savor diminishes. Use it also to accompany pork chops or grilled chicken or game.

Rice, plainly steamed, is an underpinning, accompaniment, or ingredient for many dishes, both in this book and in kitchens around the world. In order to avoid the confusion that can result because of the many kinds of rice available, I have come to rely on a basic method for preparing steamed rice that works whether you need cooked rice for adding to a recipe or serving as a side dish. It is easy to do, though you must pay attention to when it comes to a boil and then promptly turn down the heat before it boils over, makes a mess on the stove, and turns out mushy rather than in beautifully individual grains. For other rice recipes in the book, see South African Sausage with Collard Greens, Ethiopian Spiced Butter, and Cashew Rice (page 69), Paella with Chorizo, Shrimp, and Baby Artichokes (page 130), and Brown Rice, Walnut, and Dandelion Green Veg “Sausage” Wrapped in Cabbage Leaves with Tomato-Caper Sauce (page 151).

Breakfast sausage, in patties or links, is a staple of the great American breakfast plate. It’s an important player in the hearty, stoke-up-for-the-day meal that includes eggs, cooked anyway you’d like; toast or pancakes; and mugs of hot java. It is served on the road as early as 4 a.m. to truckers and workers off to the fields or factories. A bit later, it feeds tourists fueling up for a day’s adventure of skiing, mountain climbing, and other energetic activities. And on Sunday mornings, home-style cafes are filled with customers looking to splurge calories on a big breakfast out. But you don’t need to stop at breakfast when using this sausage. It also makes a delicious taco filling or pizza topping. As often as not, breakfast sausage is served in patties, but if you prefer links, you can stuff it into sheep casing.

The advantage of including the sausage in the pancake batter is that you don’t have to use a second pan to cook the sausage for a side. It saves thermal unit energy, making it ecofriendly, and it saves the energy of the cook because there are fewer dishes to wash. The addition of polenta, which is more coarsely ground than cornmeal, makes for a slightly nubby texture and pleasing “bite.” For an everyday breakfast, I usually make the pancakes plate size, but they make a fine stack of dollar-size pancakes, too, if you’d like to go for “more” rather than “bigger.” Use about 2 tablespoons for each dollar-size cake; you should end up with about 18 pancakes. The batter, without the added sausage, can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 4 days; just before cooking, stir in the crumbled sausage. Using grade B maple syrup accents the rustic theme. It is also the grade recommended by savvy Vermonters, who prefer its deeper, browner lushness over grade A.

Homemade broth makes a world of difference for the better in any dish that calls for chicken broth. Happily, a light and flavorful one can be made with only chicken backs and wings and water, no other elements—carrots, onions, celery, herbs—required, and briefly simmered for one unattended hour. It’s worth making a large amount to have on hand because it stores well in the refrigerator under the protective layer of fat that solidifies on the surface when it is chilled. If the fat seal is not broken, the broth will keep for 3 weeks in the refrigerator. If you break the fat to use just part of the broth, reheat the remainder until the fat melts completely, then cool and refrigerate it, checking to be sure the fat seals the entire surface again. The broth can also be frozen for up to 6 months. In this case, the fat layer prevents ice crystals from forming across the surface. For thrift, I use backs and wings for broth. But, you can also employ legs, thighs, and breasts, use them to make the broth, then remove them to serve as part of another dish.

These are dead easy to make and have endless applications in the kitchen. Use them to baste or brown ingredients and they will add pizzazz and excitement to stews and roasts. Likewise, they will jazz up a panful of onions or other vegetables for a soup or sauce and impart character to fish dishes. Herb oils come into their own when drizzled over summer or winter salads; they are also excellent used in mayonnaises and dressings. The basic principle is to choose robust flavorings and leave them for long enough to impart their mighty characters to the oil. Always use a good-quality oil as your base (see pp. 30–31). In all cases, to prevent the oil from becoming rancid, store in a cool place and use within 6 months.

Contrary to what you might think, making a fine vegetable broth is not a matter of tossing any vegetable matter into a pot and boiling it up. The vegetables you start with need not be picture perfect, but starchy vegetables, such as potatoes, should not be part of the mix or the broth will turn out murky, and brassicas, like cabbage and broccoli, are also not good to use or the broth will not be clear tasting. Then, don’t stint on the amount of vegetables for the amount of broth you would like to wind up with. One tomato and one chard leaf do not a tasty broth make. There should be enough water so that the vegetables barely float, but not any more. Cook the broth until the vegetables are very soft but not disintegrating; this helps make a clear broth. Following is a mix and method I use to make a good-size batch of vegetable broth that is rich enough to serve on its own as a bouillon or use as a base for any soup.