How to cure a ham

A recent trip to the store presented me with a beautiful selection of hams, recently brought in by a local pig farmer. As I picked out the one I wanted, the butcher said, “You realize that these hams have not been cured.” No, I did not. I asked for him to explain.

He told me that most of the hams that you buy have already been both cured and cooked—so they’re ready to eat. But he was selling leg joints—the part of the pig from where we get our hams—which had not been cured, let alone cooked. And in order for them to get that classic salty, sweet taste of ham, they would have to be cured first before baking.

My grandparents have told me stories about the hams their parents used to slow cure in the smokehouse. This ham, which after being coated in salt, sugar and black pepper, was hung and left to develop for almost a year. And the result was a delicate, supple meat similar to prosciutto. This is what’s known as country ham.



But the hams that we more often see at the grocery store have been cured in a wet brine for only a few days and then cooked, which leaves it with a more juicy yet chewy texture. This is what’s known as city ham. I don’t have a smokehouse nor do I have a cold basement to cure a country ham, so I decided to make a city ham instead. And you know what? It’s pretty darn easy!

My butcher pointed me towards Michael Ruhlman’s recipe, which calls for simply water, brown sugar and salt. You also use a bit of Insta Cure No. 1 (also known as Prague powder or pink salt, though do not confuse it with Himalayan salt), which is a mixture of regular salt and sodium nitrates, along with added pink coloring so you won’t mistake it for table salt. Be careful with Insta Cure, however, as it can be poisonous in large quantities, (and my butcher would only give me some if I promised not to kill anyone). But in small amounts it helps the ham keep its pink color and prevents botulism from forming.

Once I had my ham, the second challenge was finding a food-grade plastic receptacle large enough to hold the meat as it brined. You can’t use a metal container because the salt can break down its surface, causing your meat to become toxic (while ruining your pot as well). Many people use ice chests; I ended up buying a plastic food container that could hold over a gallon of water yet was narrow enough to fit in my refrigerator.



Making the brine was simple, though I changed the basic recipe by adding some cloves and molasses and substituting turbinado sugar for the brown. I stuck my ham into the liquid, sealed the container, stuck it in the fridge and then waited.

Common wisdom states that a ham should be wet cured for one day per every two pounds. After this period I also soaked it for one more day in clean water to remove some of the excess saltiness.

I baked it for a few hours until the internal temperature was 150 degrees, then I pulled the ham out of the oven. It certainly looked like ham with its rich rosy color. And it certainly smelled like ham as well. I cut off a slice and took a bite.

The texture was tender and juicy, with a flavor both salty and sweet nicely punctuated by the spicy depths of the cloves. I cut off another slice and another. I couldn’t stop eating my ham—it was that good. It was definitely one of the best city hams I’d ever eaten, so wonderful, in fact, that it didn’t even need a glaze—it was ready to be sliced and served as it was.



I highly recommend you give wet-curing a try. Seriously, you’ll never buy a canned ham again. And just think how impressed everyone will be when you serve a slice and say, I made this!

Do you have a favorite glaze? And what what do you like to do with leftover ham? Me? Ham salad.

How to cure a ham (Adapted from Michael Ruhlman’s Charcuterie)
Ingredients:
An uncured, uncooked ham
Turbinado sugar
Molasses
Salt
Insta Cure No. 1
Ground cloves
A plastic container large enough to contain the ham but small enough to still fit into your refrigerator


Method:
Place your ham in the plastic container that you’ll be using to cure it and fill it with water until the ham is covered. Remove the ham and then measure how much water is left in the container—this is how much water you’ll need for your brine.

Based on how much water you have, use this ratio of salts and sugars to water.

2 litres of water (a little more than 2 quarts)
3/4 cups of kosher salt
1 cup of turbinado sugar
1/4 cup of molasses
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
3 teaspoons Insta Cure No. 1 (Ruhlman’s recipe calls for more, but my butcher insists that this is all you need.)

Stir into your plastic container water the salts, sugars and pink salt, and place your ham into the brine. If any parts of the ham bob above the surface of the brine, place a ceramic plate on top to weigh it down.

Place the container in the fridge, and keep it there for a span that equals one day per every two pounds. Halfway through the brining process, turn the ham over so all parts of it will be submerged.

After the brining is done, rinse the ham and let it soak refrigerated in clean water for 24 hours.

To cook the ham, bake it in a foil-lined roasting pan at 325 degrees for 30 minutes per pound or until the internal temperature is 150 degrees. (I recommend not doing it on a rack as I did because it leaves strange impressions on the meat.)

When done, slice and serve. When figuring what size to buy, I’d say about a pound per person, though that is still a lot of ham!

Notes: Your butcher may have Insta Cure No. 1 and may sell you some. You can also order it online at Sausage Maker.

Keep reading...

Green chile chowder

“We know people will buy the book for this recipe alone,” was noted on an entry for a green-chile chowder in Seasoned with Sun, the El Paso Junior League’s cookbook. Despite such high praise, this green chowder recipe—Maxon’s green chile chowder, to be exact—was not the reason why I had bought the book. Nope, I had purchased this cookbook to satisfy a burgeoning obsession with Junior League cookbooks, which began when I was home at Christmas.

My mom had put me on kitchen duty, but in between chopping onions and rolling out biscuits, I sat at her table and thumbed through her out-of-print copy of The Star of Texas Cookbook, put out by the Houston Junior League in the early 1980’s. After I finished that book, I moved on to her copy of a Colorado Junior League cookbook and one from Savannah as well. “I’ve never seen you read so much,” said Mom. And while that was probably her polite way of insisting I finish making dinner, I wasn’t deterred in my community-cookbook enthusiasm.



When I returned to New York, a trip to a Bonnie Slotnick’s magical used bookstore in the Village rewarded me with a copy of Fiesta, produced by the Junior League of Corpus Christi. Flavors, the Junior League cookbook of San Antonio came next. I was running out of money, so I had to temporarily pass on cookbooks from Dallas, Wichita Falls and Abilene, but a friend told me about Seasoned with Sun, the Junior League cookbook from El Paso, and so I ignored my impending poverty and groaning bookshelves and made the purchase.

Besides being fascinated with Junior League cookbooks, I’m also enthralled with El Paso. I admit that I don’t know that much about the town but I what I do know is fantastic. The food is outstanding, it has big sky and there are cowboy boot outlets. What more could you ask for?

I love community cookbooks because they tell the story of a place through recipes. Sure, most Junior League cookbooks are chock full of what my grandma calls ladies' food. But you’ll also find local flavor and history as well. Seasoned With Sun did not disappoint as there were plenty of Tex-Mex favorites sprinkled amidst Junior League classics such as avocado cocktail, asparagus vinaigrette, chicken breasts piquant and tuna puffs.

So what about this renowned green chile chowder? It seemed to straddle both the border and the Junior League with its tame potato base livened up with jalapenos and green chiles. The first time I made the soup, it was good, but I felt a recipe coming out of that part of the state deserved a bit more punch. The next time I made it I increased the numbers of chiles, threw in some cumin, cilantro, garlic and lime juice, and lightened it up by omitting a butter and flour roux. And while my changes might upset the El Paso Junior League, I was pleased with the results.



March is a confusing month, as nasty winter insists on sticking around even though milder spring has announced its presence. I find, however, that this soup works well in both situations. Served warm with cheese melted on top, it staves off the cold. And served chilled with a squirt of lime and some tortilla chips, it’s light and refreshing.

While you're enjoying this soup, perhaps you can help me. I’m looking to add to my collection—what are your favorite community or Junior League cookbooks?

Green chile chowder
Ingredients:
2 jalapenos
4 poblano peppers
1 tablespoon of butter
1 onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 cup of cilantro
2 pounds of potatoes, peeled and diced
4 cups of chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1 1/2 cups of milk
1 cup of half and half
Juice from one lime
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
Cook the poblanos and jalapenos under the broiler for about five minutes on each side or until thoroughly blackened. (The jalapenos will probably cook faster so remove them first) Place poblanos in a paper bag, close it and let them steam for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, remove stems from jalapenos and dice.

After 15 minutes, take the poblanos out of the bag and rub off the skin. Remove seeds and stem and then dice the chiles.

In a large pot, heat on medium the butter until it’s melted. Add the onions and cook them for 10 minutes or just until they’re about to brown. Throw in the garlic and cook for another minute.

Add to the pot the chiles, the potatoes, the chicken broth, the cilantro, the cumin, salt and black pepper. Bring to a boil and then simmer for 20 minutes or until the potatoes are tender.

Scoop out 2 cups of the soup and set aside. Puree the rest of the soup until smooth and then mix the smooth with the chunky. Add the milk and half and half to the soup and cook until warm. Squeeze in the lime juice and serve either warm or chilled, with cheese, tortilla chips and extra cilantro.

Makes 8 servings.

Keep reading...

Capirotada, Mexican bread pudding traditional for lent

I did not grow up eating capirotada. Truth be told, I had never even heard of it until a few years ago when I was at a Mexican restaurant on a Lenten Friday. “Hay capirotada,” was written on a chalkboard and curious what it was, I ordered some. The waitress brought me a small plate with a dessert made of toasted bread slices drenched in a sweet and spicy syrup. It was soft and sticky, but there were crunchy almonds, chewy raisins and a creamy tang to keep it from becoming cloying. Capirotada? I was in love!

Newly smitten, I decided to do some research. I learned that capirotada is Mexican bread pudding, with the addition of savory cheese being one of its signatures. It’s traditionally eaten during Lent as some say because the cheese provides extra protein to Lenten observers abstaining from meat on Fridays. My friend Penny, however, informed that it’s a welcome dessert at any festive occasion on the calendar, not just during those periods of abstinence.

Despite its popularity with those in the know, I’ve found that it’s still somewhat of an esoteric dessert, despite it being in existence in some form since the 1400’s. And sure, you’ll see it on menus and it’s even been written about in the Texas press since the 1930’s, but for some reason it never caught on with eaters as much as other Mexican delicacies such as tres leches cake or flan.



I think I know why.

First, there’s the cheese factor. I bet that for some people the thought of savory cheese in such a sweet dessert seems odd. Sure, even I at first found it strange. But once you taste it you realize that it’s not bizarre at all and actually, it works. Think about it—cheese is a classic pairing with sweets, such as goat cheese and dried apricots, blue cheese with candied pecans or that Northeast autumn stalwart of cheddar cheese with apple pie. And if you’re from Texas, surely you grew up with cheddar cheese sprinkled on your canned pineapple and peaches.

Then there’s the classic Mexican way of making capirotada, which calls for an onion, a tomato and even cilantro to be added to the syrup. OK, even I haven’t been brave enough to try that, but I’m sure it’s not completely bizarre as both tomatoes and onions have a natural sweetness to them when cooked.

But I think the main reason why it hasn’t met with popular approval is that there’s no definitive way to make it. There’s the classic recipe that calls for peanuts and raisins to be sprinkled throughout the pudding (with an occasional tomato or onion to be found). But you may see methods where beyond the syrup, a custard made with eggs and milk is added for binding. There’s also the temperature factor as some serve it warm and some serve it cold. And what kind of cheese to use? You’ll find some bake it with white Mexican soft melting cheeses such as Chihuahua, while others will use Mexican hard cheeses such as cotija, and in Texas you’ll often find it made with orange Longhorn cheddar. All these variables are enough to confuse anyone!

But you know what? I think this is what makes capirotada such a fascinating dessert. As the only preconceived notion you have is that it’s Mexican bread pudding made with cheese and syrup, you’re free to do with the details as you wish. Me? I like to make mine with raisins, pecans and Monterrey Jack. But I am not adverse to dried apricots, pecans and Longhorn cheddar. Or if you’re feeling really wild, why not dried figs, soft goat cheese and pecans? Apples and cheddar? Sure? Bananas and peanuts—but of course! Your only barrier to a captivating capirotada is the limits of your imagination.



So here is my way of making capirotada. But by all means tinker with it as you wish as that’s the joy in making this dessert. And if you grew up eating it, how did your family serve it? Or was it different every time?

Capirotada
1 24-inch loaf of French bread, cubed and toasted (about six cups)
2 cups of brown sugar or 16 oz. of piloncillo
2 cups of water
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup of shredded Monterey Jack cheese
1 cup of pecans, toasted and chopped
1/2 cup of raisins
½ cup of dried apricots, chopped
1/4 cup of butter, melted

Method:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Make a syrup by boiling the sugar, water, cinnamon and cloves together for 10 minutes or until it’s slightly thickened and reduced.

In a greased large cast-iron skillet or an 8x8 cake pan, place half the bread and pour over it half the melted butter. Toss to coat. Drizzle about ¼ cup of the syrup over the bread and toss to coat. Layer on top of the bread the cheese, pecans, raisins and dried apricots. Place the rest of the bread on top, drizzle over the remaining butter and then pour over the rest of the syrup. Make sure that each piece of bread is properly coated in syrup.

Cover with foil and bake for 20 minutes. Remove foil and bake for fifteen more minutes. I like to eat it warm.

Serves 8.

Keep reading...

Ranch style beans recipe

Fifteen years ago, I was on my way to the Austin airport to catch a flight to New York City when the friend I’d be staying with called and said that we’d be attending a dance performance that evening in the East Village. Admission was free, she said, but the organizers requested a donation of two canned goods for a food pantry. So before walking out the door, I grabbed a couple of Ranch Style Beans as my offering.

Ranch Style Beans are a Texan staple and they’ve been satisfying people since 1872 with their take on classic chuck-wagon fare. It’s a distinctive flavor—the beans aren’t fiery but they do have a depth and brightness that can be very addictive. When I lived in Texas, we ate them often—either topped with cheese and rice, as a base to bean salad, alongside enchiladas or even in my mom’s King Ranch casserole.



But beyond the deliciousness and versatility of Ranch Style Beans, there’s the appeal of that iconic black can with its distinctive Western-style font and illustration of a man with his tongue sticking out stating the beans are Appetite Pleasin’. (Of course, the latter is a recent development for if you’re as old as I am, you remember when the beans were Husband Pleasin’.) I love that can and I’ve read that if Andy Warhol had been a Texan he would have painted Ranch Style Beans cans instead of Campbell’s Soup cans. I believe it.

In the 15 years since I’ve moved to New York City, I’ve seen this city become more hospitable to fellow homesick Texans. We now have a Texan-style barbecue joint selling Kreuz sausages and excellent brisket; you can find Ro-Tel tomatoes at several grocery stores; dried and canned chiles are a common staple; and Austin-based Whole Foods is now here selling decent brands of tortillas, chips and salsas. But despite the advances this city’s made, there’s still one thing missing: my beloved Ranch Style Beans.

To help with the drought, every time I go home I load up on a few cans. And my mom has even been known to put them in my Christmas stocking, which is always a very welcome gift. But when I recently came to my last can with no trip home in my immediate future, I realized that I should just figure out how to make these beans on my own.

The recipe is a closely guarded secret, so I was flummoxed on what to do. And then I read one fan’s observation that Ranch Style Beans are simply pintos swimming in a chili gravy. At last, it all made sense! I decided I’d cook a pot of pintos in a chili gravy and see what happened. When making my chile gravy, I used the ingredient list on the back of my remaining can as my guide. Sure, there were some vague terms, such as “spices” and “natural flavor,” but the basic building blocks were in the open: tomatoes, chile peppers, paprika, vinager and beef fat. And of course, pinto beans.



Even though the can didn’t specify what type of chile, I went with anchos as they’re the base of your common chili powder. I rehydrated the anchos and then blended them with some tomatoes, vinegar, cumin and paprika. And instead of beef fat, I opted to use beef broth instead.

While the beans cooked, the house smelled gorgeous and the broth tasted right. But it wasn’t until after a few hours when I ladled out a bowl that I realized that this bowl of beans far exceeded my expectations. I threw in some sour cream, warmed up a flour tortilla and had a most satisfying meal. And even though it’s been 15 years since I gave away those beans, I’ve often wondered if the New Yorker who ended up with them enjoyed them. I hope that they did.

Ranch style beans
Ingredients:
16 oz. of dried pinto beans
6 ancho chiles, stems and seeds removed
6 cloves of garlic, minced
1 onion, diced
1 15 oz. can of tomatoes (or 2 medium-sized tomatoes, peeled)
1 teaspoon brown sugar
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon paprika
1 teaspoon cumin
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1 cup of water
6 cups of beef broth
Salt and black pepper to taste

Method:
Soak the beans covered in water—either overnight or the quick soak method in which you place the beans in a pot, cover with water, bring to a boil, cover and remove from heat and let sit for one hour.

Drain the soaked beans.

In a cast-iron skillet heated up to medium high, cook the anchos on each side for a couple of minutes (or until they start to bubble and pop), turn off the heat and fill the skillet with warm water. Let them sit until soft and rehydrated, which should happen after half an hour or so.

In the pot you’ll be cooking your beans, heat up a teaspoon of canola oil and cook the onions for ten minutes on medium. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Throw the cooked onions and garlic in a blender and add the tomatoes, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, paprika, cumin, oregano, water and hydrated ancho chiles. Puree until smooth.

Add the pinto beans and beef broth to the pot and stir in the chile puree. On high, bring the pot to a boil and then cover; turn the heat down to low and simmer for two and a half hours, stirring occasionally. At this point, I check my beans for tenderness as depending on the freshness of the beans I find that the cooking time can be as short as two and a half hours and as long as four hours. When you're satisfied that the beans are done, salt and pepper to taste.

Feeds four to six.

Notes: If you can’t find dried ancho chiles, you can substitute either ancho chile powder or regular chili powder. I’d use 1/4 of a cup. These are not fiery beans, but if you want a bit more heat I'd throw in a bit of Cayenne. And I always add a pinch of baking soda to my soaking beans to help with digestion issues. You may do the same.

-----------------

Are you on Facebook? A reader recommended I set up a Homesick Texan fan page, so I did. Please stop by and feel free to share links, upload photos or just say howdy!

Homesick Texan fan page

Keep reading...

Tacos al carbon

If you were in Houston in the 1980’s, it was hard to escape the ubiquitous tacos al carbon. Ninfa Laurenzo—of the eponymous Ninfa’s—made them her signature dish and as with her green sauce, many Houston Mexican restaurants soon added these tacos to their menus as well. Tacos al carbon became a defining characteristic of Houston Tex-Mex

But what exactly are tacos al carbon?

The term al carbon is the Spanish phrase for cooking over coal, so you should expect grilled meats inside a tortilla. If you have tacos al carbon in Mexico, you will indeed find a variety of meats wrapped in either corn or flour tortillas depending on where you are geographically. But in Texas tacos al carbon came to mean one thing: cuts of grilled beef, nestled in a fluffy flour tortilla.



But wait, isn’t that a fajita? Now this is where it gets confusing.

So what's the difference between fajitas and tacos al carbon? As I understand it, very little. Fajitas, which translates to little belts, are traditionally made with the tough diaphragm cut of beef known as skirt steak, which is a long and narrow, much like a belt.

The meat is often marinated and then grilled or griddled, and it’s served with a prescribed array of condiments such as guacamole, pico de gallo, sour cream and a stack of flour tortillas, all used to roll your own tacos. And yes, you can make fajitas, the dish, out of shrimp or chicken, but since the word itself refers to the cut of beef, technically it should be called something else.

Tacos al carbon, however, can be made with any type of meat, not just the traditional skirt steak. And unlike fajitas, the tacos are already made instead of being a do-it-yourself affair. I think this is the main difference, but even for me it’s a bit of a semantic stretch.

Small differences aside, I still prefer tacos al carbon to fajitas. Sure, fajitas are a quite the spectacle, but sometimes you crave a more refined presentation. (Or perhaps I prefer tacos al carbon because I burned myself on the sizzling fajita skillet one too many times!) But no matter how you serve it, it’s hard to resist a fresh flour tortilla wrapped around succulent beef so flavorful you can eat the two together unadorned.



I live in a small apartment without any outdoor space so there’s no cooking over coal for me. But if I get my cast-iron skillet hot enough and then slide my steak under the broiler, I get a nice charred crust that’s almost as good as what I could get on a grill. So yes, technically these aren’t true tacos al carbon (they're more like tacos a la plancha, which means tacos of the griddle). But I don’t mind because after one bite I’m back in that little restaurant on Navigation where the beef is juicy, the tortillas are soft and the green sauce is plentiful.

Tacos al carbon, small-apartment style
Ingredients:
2 pounds skirt steak
Juice of 4 limes (about 1/2 cup)
4 cloves of garlic
1/4 cup cilantro
1 jalapeno
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon black pepper
1 teaspoon of canola oil or nonstick cooking spray
Four green onions (optional)

Method:
To make the marinade, in a blender mix all the ingredients except for the skirt steak, canola oil and green onions. Pour over skirt steak and let it marinate for 2 to 8 hours in the refrigerator.

Before cooking, rinse off the marinade and let the steak come to room temperature. Heat on high for 10 minutes a large cast-iron skillet or grill pan (you may have to cut the steak in half to fit). Also, turn on the broiler in your oven. When the skillet is hot (to test I throw in a drop of water and it should immediately evaporate), grease your pan with either the oil or nonstick cooking spray and add your steak. Cook on one side for two minutes then turn and cook on the other side for two minutes.

After it’s cooked on both sides, place the green onions in the skillet with the steak still in it and place the skillet under the broiler for two minutes. Remove steak from pan and let it rest for 10 minutes. If onions aren’t charred enough, slide the skillet back under the broiler. After meat has rested, slice the meat against the grain and roll in fluffy, flour tortillas with green onions on the side.

Serves 4-6.

Notes: I don’t have a grill or outdoor space, so I don’t know as much as I’d like to about the subject, but to cook the steaks truly al carbon, I’ve been told five minutes per side should do the trick.

Keep reading...