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Eat Your Heart Out

For me, February and hearts go hand in hand: conversation hearts, cardboard heart-shaped boxes filled with cloying mystery chocolates, and teddy bears cradling crushed-velvet hearts. But then my mind turns to actual hearts: the thumping, life-giving kind. Oh, dear. Is this going where I think it’s going?

This month’s recipe might be a little off-putting if you weren’t raised eating animal organs. Not that I was—no I was raised on Hamburger Helper and broiled skinless chicken breasts. But I’m adventurous in the kitchen, eschewing bungee jumping and rock climbing for lard rendering and food preserving.

The time came to challenge my­self to consider the waste involved in my omnivorous eating habits. Offal, which according the Oxford Companion to Food, literally means “off fall”—the pieces that fall from a carcass when it’s butchered—has be­come the dregs of the meat industry or fodder for shocking television pro­grams. Why are roasts acceptable fare, but not hearts? Didn’t our ancestors make use of the entire animal? When did we get squeamish enough to shun edible parts of the beast that gave its life to become our food?

I ran into a roadblock not long after embarking on this culinary adventure. I procured beef heart at the OSU-OKC farmers’ market, but I wasn’t entire­ly sure what to do with it. I wanted to give this heart the best possible chance to be delicious, but unlike other food items, there weren’t any user-friendly cookbooks or websites offering much-needed hand-holding guidance on preparing offal. Luckily, I found a gold mine in the 1975 edi­tion of the Doubleday Cookbook that my mom had given me. The book contained evidence of our society’s forgotten “nose to tail” eating habits.

To prepare the heart for stuffing, author Jean Anderson instructed me to rinse it, trim away fat and veins and marinate the muscle if it seems par­ticularly tough. Trimming requires an extremely sharp knife and a fair amount of detachment. Unlike the anatomical ambiguity of flank steak or loin chops, heart resembles…well, heart. And perhaps detachment wouldn’t be as necessary with other types of offal, given that we assign emotions to hearts.

Trimming the heart took longer than I expected, which led me to the theory that perhaps offal fell out of favor not just because Americans got squeamish but because offal was a casualty of our fast-food culture. A quick rub and sear won’t do—it takes time to make offal appealing.

I had some good-spirited friends over to try the spread: stuffed heart with gra­vy, creamed carrots and onions, ched­dar-garlic biscuits and salad. Emotions ranged from hesitation and doubt to enthusiasm. My husband joked about ordering pizza if the dish turned out to be a miserable failure. But guess what? It wasn’t a failure.

A common fear is that beef heart will be too tough, since it’s such a hard-work­ing muscle. But a three-hour braise ren­dered the meat tender and flavorful, and the pan juices made a rich, deep-brown gravy. My friends and I were relieved and pleasantly surprised that the heart was decidedly edible, if not quite tasty. At a typical dinner party, surprise and relief might not be the goal, but in this case, I considered it success.

If you are interested in trying offal, you might first have a difficult time acquiring it. If you are lucky enough to have a butcher in your community, check there or at an ethnic grocery. It would also be helpful to get acquainted with a local rancher at your farmers’ market or visit the food co-op to see a wide variety of offal.

Since there’s little demand for offal, it is usually an inexpensive alternative to prime cuts of meat. Please send an email to editor@ok-living.com if you have family recipes you would like to share.

Braised Stuffed Heart
Slightly adapted from The Doubleday Cookbook, Volume 1, 1975 edition.

:: 1 (4–5 lb.) beef heart
:: 1 t salt
:: 1/4 t pepper
:: 2 T butter
:: 2 cups beef broth
:: 2 T flour, blended with 2 T cold water

Stuffing
:: 1 cup yellow onion, minced
:: 1/3 cup carrot, minced
:: 2 T celery, minced
:: 2 T butter
:: 1 1/2 cup rice mix, cooked
:: 2 T parsley, minced

Put the fresh or thawed beef heart in the freezer for about 20 minutes. Firm meat will make the trimming process a little easier. Prepare the heart for cooking (by rinsing and trimming away the fat, veins and silver skin) and pat dry. Pat the meat dry with a paper towel, then rub it inside and out with salt and pepper. Let it stand while you prepare the stuffing.
Stir-fry onion, carrot and celery in butter in a heavy skillet over moderate heat for 8–10 minutes until golden; mix with the cooked rice and parsley. I opted to use beef-flavored rice mix for extra flavor. Spoon loosely into the heart cav­ity and close the opening with poultry pins and string or bind it with cooking twine.
Brown heart in 2 tablespoons of but­ter in a heavy kettle or dutch oven over moderate heat. Use tongs to carefully rotate the heart, to ensure all surfaces get a good sear. Add broth, cover and simmer slowly about 3 hours until ten­der, turning 1–2 times during cooking. Check the pot occasionally and add a little water if necessary.
Lift heart to a heated platter, remove pins or string and keep warm. Stir flour paste into kettle and heat, stirring con­stantly, until thickened and smooth. Add salt and pepper according to taste. To serve: slice the heart crosswise, not too thin, and pass around the gravy.

This essay and recipe also appeared in the February 2010 issue of Oklahoma Living.

Chip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah

In early December we bought tortillas from Jose’s Tortilleria. We got a mighty stack of white corn tortillas—still warm—for a few bucks. What a deal! We did our best to use them up with some mole-inspired roasted pork, but didn’t come close. We used a few for breakfast burritos. We even tried them as a vehicle for baba ghanoush. Then I got the idea to try making some tortilla chips as a stand-in for Frito’s in chili pie. I’ve baked tortilla chips before with good results, but I wanted to put my lard to use! It was super easy and quite a treat to make these substantial, irresistible tortilla chips right in our own kitchen. Come summertime, I’ll make another batch and enjoy them on the porch with some salsa and beer, while watching the grass veggies grow.

home fried tortilla chips
I used kitchen shears to cut up the tortillas while I heated the lard in the dutch oven. It was helpful to fry a trial chip to make sure the fat was hot enough. You want it to sizzle right away so it doesn’t just sit there and sop up the fat. Ew.
home fried tortilla chips
They sizzled in the fat for about five minutes while I flipped them a couple times. Once they were crispy and golden, I placed them on a paper bag and promptly sprinkled them with cumin and freshly ground sea salt. You can’t eat just one! I had a difficult time saving them for the chili they were meant to accompany.
home fried tortilla chips

Some Reading

Here are some food-related articles I’ve recently read. Are there some good ones I’ve missed?

It takes a community to sustain a small farm
“I used to think there were four distinct pieces to a local food system: production, processing, distribution, and retail. Now I realize there is a fifth: community. Without an involved community of customers who believe in what the local farmer, miller, distributor, and grocer is doing, none of them will last very long.”

It’s getting tougher to bring home the bacon
“The government is concerned that bacteria from a smuggled piece of meat will spread through the ecosystem, infecting livestock and hurting agricultural production…”

Why you should go see Fantastic Mr. Fox
I had no idea.

Cultivating Failure
A ferocious critique of edible schoolyards.
“It’s the state’s Department of Education that is to blame for allowing these gardens to hijack the curricula of so many schools. But although garden-based curricula are advanced as a means of redressing a wide spectrum of poverty’s ills, the animating spirit behind them is impossible to separate from the haute-bourgeois predilections of the Alice Waters fan club…”

And a delightful, smart, animated response to “Cultivating Failure.”

Sustainable OKC is hosting a workshop to install a raised bed garden in my yard!

It will be Saturday, February 27, at 10 a.m. Register here.

Ron Ferrell and Randy Marks will be leading the project. The idea is to nurture a garden community, where eventually we can reach out to this group and say—”Hey! I want to build a raised bed this weekend. Who can help me out?”—much like people come together to raise a barn or build straw-bale homes.

If you’re a frequent reader, you know we moved in August and left behind our raised bed. Our new yard is basically a blank canvas, which is both a little intimidating and exciting. It’s been a test of my patience, but like with most projects, finances and time are the limiting factors. And we’ve had more pressing issues, like leaky plumbing, flickering lights, near non-existent insulation, and sewage back-up to distract me. But because of this upcoming workshop, I will have a spring garden and hopefully others will be inspired to do the same. The long-term plan will be to transform this area into a lush, beautiful kitchen garden. Soon I’ll be sketching up the plans. They’ll be posted here, along with the progress from the workshop and other projects.

garden space before

Happy New Year!

I didn’t meet all of my foodie-related goals for 2009, but it’s the pursuit that counts, right? Regardless, it was a great year for oklavorism. I’m pleased and grateful for all the great food and experiences. I organized my recipes, installed a garden (and then promptly moved before enjoying its bounty), and distilled data showing Oklahoma is the leader in direct-farm sales growth. I encountered a piglet (and learned they are quite loud and disinterested in cuddling), volunteered at a co-op delivery day, spent a glorious birthday at The Living Kitchen, worked at a CSA, visited the Cherry Street Farmers’ Market in Tulsa, made marshmallows, attended a bread-baking class, and canned pickles, strawberry jam, and apple preserves. I also learned some lessons: I shirked my due diligence and now have a freezer full of chicken reminding me that if something is too good to be true, it usually is.

This year I’d really like to make the tomato paste happen and I want to read Omnivore’s Dilemma and Salatin’s Everything I Want To Do Is Illegal. I can’t wait to get a garden and fruit trees planted at our new house in the city.

I feel especially optimistic about 2010—sort of like I’m emerging from a fog. Things seem clearer and full of promise, more so than new years past. I hope to have less chaos in my life and head so that I can be a better listener and more mindful in my daily round.

How do you feel about your 2009 goals? Anything in particular you’re focusing on for 2010? Please share.

A couple years ago I zealously ordered 5 pounds of turnips through the food co-op. I avoided them so long they eventually became expensive compost fodder. A couple weeks ago, on some unfounded confidence, I decided to make a turnip side dish for our dinner party. Why not experiment at our first-ever dinner party? And, heck, why not do it with the turnip—the underdog of the root vegetables?

These spicy creamed turnips were delicious and unique. I think they were a hit among the dinner guests, or they just lied to make me feel good.

turnips
spicy creamed turnips

Spicy Creamed Turnips
from Cooking with Bon Appétit
:: 1 1/2 to 2 pounds turnips, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch cubes
:: 1/2 medium onion, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
:: 3 c water
:: 1/2 c (1 stick) butter
:: 1/2 c all-purpose flour
:: 2 c milk
:: 2 T white wine
:: 1 T Dijon mustard
:: 1/2 t Worcestershire sauce
:: 1/2 t salt
:: 1/8 t hot pepper sauce (I used a 1/2 t of Vietnamese rooster sauce)
:: 3/4 to 1 c shredded sharp cheddar cheese (optional)

Combine turnip and onion in large saucepan. Add water and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to medium low and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 10 minutes. Drain well, reserving 1 cup liquid.
Melt butter in large saucepan over low heat. Add flour and cook, stirring constantly 3 to 4 minutes (do not brown). Add reserved cooking liquid, milk, and wine. Increase heat to medium high, bring mixture to boil and simmer, stirring 3 to 4 minutes. Stir in mustard, Worcestershire, salt, pepper sauce, and vegetables. Serve immediately or transfer to a 9-inch square baking dish, sprinkle with cheese and bake at 350˚ until cheese is melted, about 15 minutes.
Can be prepared ahead without cheese, transferred to 9-inch square baking dish, covered, and refrigerated for 1 to 2 days. Bake in 350˚ oven for 45 minutes. If desired, stir after 45 minutes, sprinkle with cheese and return baking dish to oven for another 15 minutes.

My notes: Next time I make this I won’t peel the turnips. Why not take a shortcut and add nutrition at the same time?
Since I rarely have white wine on hand, I always use crappy cooking wine when recipes call for white wine.
I am shocked to say that I don’t think the cheddar cheese is necessary in this recipe. I’ll leave it off next time.

Shredding Potatoes

Quick idea:
If, after dehydrating your potatoes, you still have more you need to use up, make hash browns! Grate the potatoes with a cheese grater, spread them out on a cookie sheet or plastic cutting board, freeze until solid, then transfer the potatoes to a freezer bag. (The potatoes stuck somthin’ fierce to my nonstick cookie sheet, so next time I’ll probably line it with parchment paper.)
When you’re ready to make hash browns, melt butter in a hot skillet, break up the potatoes in the bag first, then pour them in the skillet. Season with salt, pepper, garlic, cayenne, etc. Do not stir the potatoes; just smash them down with a metal spatula and patiently wait for them to brown. Then flip and brown the other side. And voila! Ore-Ida, Oklavore style.

Note: If you don’t want to freeze them—if you want hash browns right now, dang it!—just blot the grated potatoes with tea towels or give them a ride in a salad spinner. Otherwise, they’ll be too wet for pan frying.
shredded potatoes

Do you any other ideas for preserving potatoes? Have you had luck freezing potato soup? Once I froze shepherd’s pie, which—once thawed—rendered it a disgusting, inedible mess. So, I’m hesitant to freeze cooked potatoes. Also, do you put ketchup on your hash browns? I’ll pass on the ketchup, but I love to place a slightly runny fried egg atop my crispy hash browns. I know what I’m having for breakfast tomorrow!

At Thanksgiving I learned a trick from Matt’s mom. For the post-Thanksgiving breakfast she mixed flour and a beaten egg with the mashed potatoes and formed and pan-fried potato patties. They were really tasty! I bet you could do the same thing with the sweet potato casserole.

Regarding Lard

2.27 pounds of lard from Rowdy Stickhorse Wild Acres +
2.07 pounds of lard from Downing Family Farm =
7 cups of rendered lard

Here’s how ya do it:
lard
Fresh lard
lard
Cube the lard and add about one cup of water. Slowly melt the fat over low heat for a couple hours.*
rendered lard
Once the lard is melted, strain and reserve the cracklings, if you want to use them for cornbread, etc. Pour the lard into a bowl with two cups of water. Chill the lard/water mixture in the refrigerator until solid. Magically, the lard solidifies on top of the water and lard debris. Lard debris: meditate on that.
rendered lard
Scoop off the solid lard and discard the water and debris. Slowly reheat the lard so that you can funnel it into storage jars. Store the lard for about three months in the refrigerator or one year in the freezer.
lard
Lard is soft at room temperature. Kind of pretty, huh?
biscuits
Homemade biscuits using lard.
biscuits made with lard
Yum.
pizza dough made with lard
I used this recipe to make pizza dough with lard.
pizza crust made with lard
It turned out pretty okay, but needs some work. It was too crisp—like a saltine cracker.

Why render lard? Although there are vats of hydrogenated lard (read: trans fats) at the grocery store, freshly rendered lard has gone from being a kitchen staple to a fat for the margins—back-to-the-land types or whole-food gourmets. Little use for excess fat and the demand for lean meat, has resulted in selective breeding for lean animals. According to USDA statistics compiled in Fat by Jennifer McLagan, “in 1950 a pig yielded 33.2 pounds of fat, but in 1990 this figure had fallen to just 10.1 pounds.” Crazy! Now we use brining techniques to make pork more palatable. Like all fats, lard is a mixture of saturated, monounsaturated, and polyunsaturated fats. If you care about this sort of thing, the surprising part is that lard is mostly monounsaturated (approximately 45%). For me, the attraction to lard comes from the ability to render it myself. I can’t make olive oil or canola oil or vegetable oil. I probably can’t afford to make as much butter as I need. But I know where this pork fat comes from and I can easily render a batch twice a year. And it makes for better biscuits and pie crusts, to boot.

*I rendered two batches of lard: one on the stove, the other in the oven. I found the stove-top method to be superior because I had finer control of the heat and I could easily check on it. I like to check it a lot; I’m still paranoid from my first attempt at rendering lard.

Slant and Sausage

Do you subscribe to Meatingplace headlines and blog updates? I can’t remember how I came across the site, but I continue to read and get pissed; read, get pissed. It’s my education on inserting bias and “fast, flexible, fully automated sausage production.”

The industry blogs are even more fun, where bloggers like Yvonne Vizzier Thaxton of Poultry Perspectives argue semantics: in her view factory farms and family-owned farms are mutually exclusive. And the mere existence of factory farms is questionable. Oh, and this gem: “Poultry farmers are farmers and by nature these people love the environment otherwise, they could have a career in an office doing much less physically exhausting work.” (from “The message we need to shout,” 9/1/09; I’d link to it, but articles and blogs require a sign-in.)

Yesterday’s Meatingplace headlines were peculiar in that two stories were inconveniently interwoven.

meating place

The referenced author is Jonathan Safran Foer, whose new book is titled Eating Animals. He has an erroneously titled opinion piece here. I guess an honest, thorough title wouldn’t be as provocative. Do you think Foer’s critique of animal agriculture will be taken seriously? Is there room for another voice in this discussion?

Drying Potatoes

Here’s a little clip of me using the handy-dandy mandoline to slice a wee potato. The uniform, thin slices vastly improved drying time compared to last year.

Drying the slices takes around 1.5–2 hours at 215˚, depending on the type of cookie sheet and the oven rack placement. It took probably around six hours to turn approximately five pounds of potatoes to one gallon of dehydrated potato slices.

approximately 5 pounds of potatoes

potatoesdry potatoes
dry potatoes

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