Bakin-n-Bacon

Chacutepalooza Challenge 4: Smokin'

Hot smoking, that is...

This month's Charcutepalooza challenge is hot smoking. Here in Minnesota, it's been a challenge to do anything like using a grill outside for oh, say, the last SIX MONTHS. In fact, when this challenge was posted, our smoker was still hibernating in two feet of snow next to the garage. However, I was determined to finish the challenge even if I had to stand outside in the snow, shivering while I chucked hardwood charcoal into the firebox (and when I say "I", I mean my husband - thanks sweetie!).

Pictured above is extremely tasty smoked Canadian bacon. Homemade Canadian bacon is so superior to the plastic-packaged, plastic-tasting grocery store offering that I now refuse to eat the store bought version. I've been forever spoiled for the sweet, smoky flavor of homemade Canadian bacon. And it's easy - one of the easiest charcuterie items I've made.

Of course, we are using a recipe from Charcuterie by Ruhlman and Polcyn. (Can I just mention that I am super excited about the follow up version of this tome that is set to hit the stores later this year? I can't wait!) This is where I have to show off. (Remember Show and Tell from elementary school? this is like that, only for once I have something worth showing, unlike in grade school. Kids can be brutal, especially to others who don't have the resources to get the "good stuff." Not that I'm carrying a grudge or anything.) Anyhoo, I've had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Ruhlman on a few occasions where he demonstrated various cooking techniques and also signed books. He signed a couple of books for me including this one:

But enough about me. Let's talk about Canadian bacon. My love of American bacon knows no bounds, but choosing between it and Canadian bacon would be difficult. Cured, smoked pork belly can only possibly be matched by cured, smoked pork loin. It is denser, leaner, and the counterplay between the smoke and the natural sweetness of the pork is phenomenal.

To make Canadian bacon, you brine pork loin in a solution that contains pink salt, kosher salt and aromatics including thyme and sage. (No parsley or rosemary, though.) After a couple of days, the loin is removed and air dried for a day or two, then hot smoked to an internal temperature of 150 degrees.

I used a pork sirloin instead of the center cut pork because a) it was on sale, and b) it was on sale. What can I say, I'm a cheapskate at heart. What I didn't use was any "enhanced" meat - this was au naturel, high quality locally-raised pork. Pretty much everyone who lives in Minnesota or Iowa eats locally raised pork since it's a huge industry in the area.

I must digress but for a moment. My uncle used to raise pigs, and we would butcher a couple every fall. It's amazing to witness an old-time butchering, where in truth they use "everything but the squeal." The intestines were turned inside out, washed, and turned back to use for sausage casings, the blood was collected (and continually stirred to avoid clotting) to be used in blood sausage, the head was boiled and used in head cheese (natch), and on and on. My only regret is that I was too young to have input on the use of certain pig parts like the jowl. I would love to have had some guanciale from those pigs!

Back to the bacon. Smoking the pork loin isn't as fussy as one would think. My husband built a fire out of lump hardwood charcoal in the firebox and maintained a pretty steady 225 degrees in the big chamber. The same results could be obtained in a kettle style grill by putting the coals to one side and setting the pork on the other. Our preference for a smoking wood is good old-fashioned hickory. It provides a pronounced smokiness that we prefer to some of the more delicate woods like apple or cherry. And of course we don't like regular charcoal because of all the nasty additives which, in addition to probably being quite unhealthy, add an off flavor to the meat. The smoking only took about 3 1/2 hours.

While the "go to" recipe using Canadian bacon is the venerable Eggs Benedict, my husband doesn't like hollandaise sauce (you'll have to forgive me - I married him before I knew that fact), so I decided to make a pizza and use the Canadian bacon as a topping. I used a simple, quick pizza dough because I cannot seem to plan ahead for a more complex (and probably tastier) overnight-ferment dough. I topped the pizza with a homemade tomato sauce heavy on the fennel, Canadian bacon, and thinly-sliced fresh pineapple.

To all the pizza purists crying out in anger, despair and utter frustration, I make no apologies and stand by my decision to add pineapple to pizza. This is considered heresy by many, but darn it, it tastes so good! To paraphrase an old tune, "if loving this is wrong, I don't wanna be right."

My husband is taking the first piece of the pie below (I'm so considerate...actually, it's only because he got to it before I had a chance to take a photo of myself grabbing a piece.)

Quick Pizza Dough

12 ounces (2 1/2 cups) all purpose flour
4 ounces (1 cup) cake flour
1 1/3 cups warm water (about 105 degrees)
2 1/2 teaspoons instant or active dry yeast
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon olive oil

Preheat oven with baking stone to 450 degrees F.

Put both flours and salt in the bowl of a food processor. Pulse to combine. In a small bowl, stir together the water and yeast and, if using active dry yeast, let sit until bubby (you don't have to let the instant yeast sit).

Stir olive oil into the water/yeast mixture and, while the processor is running, pour all but 2 tablespoons of it over the flour. Process until the dough comes together in a ball, adding reserved water or flour if necessary to get a cohesive, tacky but not sticky dough. Let dough sit in the food processor bowl for about 10 minutes.

Divide dough in half and cover one half with a damp kitchen towel. Roll out the other half onto a piece of baking parchment until it's about 15 inches in diameter and quite thin (go as thin as you like). Using a fork, prick the dough all over.

Slide dough, parchment and all, onto baking stone and par-bake the dough for about 8 minutes or until it just begins to turn brown in a few spots. Poke any large holes that arise with a skewer.

Carefully remove the crust (it should be fairly stiff) and cover with sauce, toppings and cheese. Don't go overboad with the toppings. Return to oven and bake until cheese is bubbly.

Chacutepalooza Challenge 3: Brine

or, "You Must First Create the Universe"

This month's Chacutepalooza Challenge is brining, and more specifically, corned beef brisket.

Brining is an effective tool for imparting flavor, preserving foods, and changing the texture of meats and vegetables. I chose not only to make corned beef, but also to make homemade sauerkraut. Once I decided that, it was a quick leap to a made-from-scratch Reuben. I made the corned beef, the sauerkraut, and the rye bread. I even made the Thousand Island dressing from scratch!

But alas, I did not make the pickle, or the chips, and I didn't make the cheese either. When you want to make something "from scratch" you have to decide how far to carry the "scratch" part. If I really wanted to make the sauerkraut from scratch, I should have raised the cabbage myself. I could have made the mayonnaise used in the dressing, and to take it a step further, I could have raised chickens for the egg used in the mayonnaise. I could have ground the rye and wheat for the bread or even raised it myself. There is no end to the from scratch cycle, and in the words of someone much wiser than I:

“If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe.”

Dr. Carl Sagan

That's overkill even for me, so I had to content myself with making most of the components from scratch.

So, on to the brining! You don't need any special equipment for brining, just vessels large enough to hold the meat or veggies in the brining liquid. I started with the sauerkraut since it takes two weeks - it is not an impromptu affair. That's why I'm somewhat surprised I pulled it off, because planning is not my greatest strength. But, perhaps due to my German heritage, the kraut gods smiled upon me and I had excellent kraut mojo.

The  sauerkraut brine is as simple as brine can be: salt and water. This simplicity is both the beauty and magic of brining. Salt's transformative powers combine with water's ability to penetrate and bring about change that is nothing short of amazing. I started with a small head of cabbage, finely sliced. After submerging the cabbage in the brine, which took some doing because it wanted to float, I set the bowl upstairs in what I now call the "curing room" (where curious cats are not allowed). Then I turned to the corned beef.

A tisket, a tasket, a brisket in my basket

There are many articles about the origin of corned beef so I'll leave the history lesson to others. Since there was no brisket on the shelf at the local market, I ordered a whole brisket. (This, like most of the beef I buy, is from a farm that has won several environmental stewardship awards.) The butcher must have thought I didn't know what I was doing because he asked me twice if I was sure I wanted the whole thing. But I knew that buying an entire brisket would allow me to choose just which part of the brisket to use for the corned beef, and I would also have excellent pot roast and ground beef with the leftovers. After trimming, I had 5.5 pounds of well-marbled meat. The brisket went into a brine that is more complex than the sauerkraut brine, containing pickling spice along with salt and pink salt. It is remarkable how well the flavors from the pickling spice (which I also made) come through in the finished meat. A five-day marinade allows the water to carry all of the flavors through the meat. The photo shows the brisket post-brine, being simmered with additional pickling spice, which is the final step to corned beef nirvana. 

Now that I had two components complete, it was on to the rye bread. Rye bread can be a bitch because the dough is incredibly sticky, but I used a recipe from the Cookaholics bulletin board that contains a higher percentage of bread flour for a more manageable dough. I allowed the sponge (or pre-ferment) for the dough to sit for 3 days, giving an extra zing to the loaves.

The final "from scratch" piece was the Thousand Island dressing. Since both the sauerkraut and corned beef recipes are from Charcuterie by Brian Polcyn and Michael Ruhlman, I'm not at liberty to print them here, but I've provided my recipe for the Thousand Island dressing below.

The components of the reuben pre-toasting are shown below. You saw the final, tasty result at the top of this post. What I found most interesting was the flavor of the sauerkraut. It was less acidic than commercial versions, had a great crunchy texture, and was beautifully translucent. It was a bit salty, but I believe that is because I kind of, well, lost track of time and it was in the brine a couple days longer than was ideal. But it was fantastic nonetheless, and I shall now be forever ruined for store-bought sauerkraut. This happens to me frequently as I learn new cooking or curing techniques: I am no longer satisfied with the inferior commercial versions. This is great, but also frustrating, since I hardly have time enough for all of my "normal" projects without continually adding new ones! 

I think these Charcutepalooza challenges will cause me to gain about 5 pounds apiece, but it is wonderful to be pushed like this. I only wish I could share the recipes and techniques with everyone. What I can do is try to answer any questions you may have, so feel free to post a question in the comments.

Dinner tonight will be corned beef hash from scratch (well, subject to the limits described above). And I've used the sauerkraut in another application: to top a tasty Hebrew National hot dog!

Thousand Island Dressing
Makes about 1 cup

3/4 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons ketchup
2-3 tablespoons sweet pickle relish
2 teaspoons green olives, diced
1 tablespoon onion, finely diced (I used a red onion)
1 teaspoon granulated sugar, or to taste
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Dash of Worcestershire sauce

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl. Stir together until well mixed.

Charcutepalooza Challenge 1: Duck Prosciutto

or, The Tale of the Anorexic Duck

Charcutepalooza kicked off with duck prosciutto and progressed to bacon and pancetta, about which I posted on February 15. This is a catch up post on the duck prosciutto (the deadline was graciously extended to accommodate those of us who heard about the challenge late).

Since I got such a late start on the charcuterie quest, I didn't have time to order a fancy duck from D'Artagnan, so I headed to an Asian grocery. (I live in a small town where it is difficult to find duck.) The Asian market didn’t sell duck breasts, just whole ducks, and when I say whole I mean it - the heads and feet were still attached.  I’m sure you won’t find that at your local Walmart. It reminded me of the Christmas dinner scene from A Christmas Story.  

Perhaps it is a misconception, but I think many other cultures treat their food with more respect than Americans do - perhaps since it isn't always as readily available. The meats on display at this market were well trimmed, not sloppily butchered like I often see in the supermarket. The fish case did not smell fishy. The staff was willing to answer my questions about where they get their meat (local processors for the most part, with the exception of unusual ingredients that have to be imported). And, of course, they had duck.

Since I had never purchased a whole duck before I didn’t know what to expect. I grabbed the one I thought looked best and placed him (her?) in my cart. Behold, Pat*, the anorexic duck:

I say anorexic because my mother, who grew up on a farm where they raised duck, geese, and chickens, said that was the skinniest duck she had seen. The label did not indicate what breed it was, but it must have been the supermodel breed. I hoped this wouldn't ruin the prosciutto.

I did my best at dissecting the duck. I am sure Jacques Pepin would cringe, but this was my first duck dismembering, and I don't even take apart chickens that often. On the upper left are the legs and wings, which I confited (more on that later), below them the skinny breasts to be made into prosciutto, and to the right the back, neck and other parts. I roasted these parts to render additional duck fat to use in the confit. I declined to use the duck head since I'm not familiar with how to use it. And call me wasteful, but I can't get into poultry feet. I used to watch the chickens scratching in the dirt and know what their feet have been in.

Making duck prosciutto is almost absurdly easy. You layer the breasts in salt for a day, then wrap them in a layer of cheesecloth and hang them in a cool, moist place for about a week. That's it. Here are the breasts on top of the salt:

I fully covered them with another layer of kosher salt, and into the fridge they went. I'll wager that I am the only person to have used Longaberger pottery to make duck prosciutto but please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

I have cursed the inhospitable climate of Minnesota for several months now, during this long, bitterly cold and snowy winter. However, the inhumane cold has one redeeming feature: my upstairs bedroom closet is the ideal place to hang charcuterie. It hovers around 50 degrees with 55 percent relative humidity. You couldn't ask for anything better, although I would like to be able to actually use the bedroom for sleeping. Call me fussy.

I checked on the breasts every day. My husband took a nap in the bedroom (he is crazy and enjoys sleeping in the cold) one time when I came up to look in on the duck breasts. He was a bit miffed that I wasn't coming up to snuggle with him. It was too darn cold!

Salt is a natural preservative and hanging allows excess moisture in the meat to evaporate. This results in longer storage times before spoilage, in part because moisture is needed for most nasties to grow. After about a week, the ducks breasts dried sufficiently to become firm when touched (wish I could just put salt on my breasts to firm them) and I took them down. I dug out my handy-dandy Kalorik meat slicer and behold, duck prosciutto:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There's just one teeny, tiny problem. Ummmm...erm...please don't spread this around, but I don't really like it. Maybe it will grow on me as I find new ways to use it. It took me some time to appreciate cilantro, for instance, but now I can't get enough of it.  This proscuitto is quite different than anything I've made before - rich, and a bit gamey. But it's definitely interesting and I think the strong, salty flavor could be used to great effect in the right application. Perhaps it needs a sweet or acidic foil to the richness. I'll keep trying it since it's going to keep for awhile, right?

*Remember Pat from SNL? When in doubt, name it Pat...or Chris...

Charcutepalooza Challenge 2: the Salt Cure

The Salt Cure

 
The second Charcutepalooza challenge is the salt cure (yes, I know I haven't posted on the first challenge yet--it's coming soon). Salt (especially with the addition of sodium nitrite) changes both the flavor and texture of meat - and keeps it safe longer. I won't go into the debate about the safety of sodium nitrite, but suffice it to say I am willing to take a calculated risk to eat bacon. Perhaps bacon haiku is in order?

Nitrite health debate
Dilemma unfolds. Eschew,
or to chew bacon?

(I didn't say it was GOOD haiku...)

Get in my Belly!

For this challenge, I made pancetta and bacon, which both start with the same cut - pork belly. Pork belly products are so tasty, it's a shame pigs don't have more than just one belly.

The basic dry cure is simple: salt, pink salt, and sugar. Pink salt looks like something you would put on a cupcake - but it is tinted this lovely color to prevent it from being accidentally ingested (too much is toxic). It is 6.25% sodium nitrite. The original reason to "cure" meat was to extend the shelf life. Inspired souls added flavor by throwing in aromatics and brilliantly thinking of smoking the meat. Aromatics such as garlic, pepper, maple syrup and, in the case of pancetta, bay leaf and juniper berries, enhance the flavor of the basic cure. You can purchase pink salt online, at places like Butcher-Packer.com. I made up a batch of the basic dry cure, which keeps indefinitely, so it's very easy to whip up a batch of bacon.

Since I arrived late to Charcutepalooza, I couldn't get pork belly from my usual local source (it's special order only), who can tell you in great detail the provenance of the meat. Luckily, I found an Asian grocer who sells local meat (in Minnesota that is not difficult, and if you stay away from the big chains you are likely to get local product) and found two very small pieces of pork belly (and a duck, which you shall read about later).

Spa Treatment

Both bacon and pancetta begin life the same way. Once the dry cure (with different aromatics for each) is massaged into the pork bellies, the meat placed into a zip-closure bag and refrigerated for a week or so. Every other day the bag is flipped to assure even distribution of the cure. This spa treatment (liquid leaches into the salt cure to make it rather like a bath) changes the texture of the meat, and it becomes firmer.

After the ideal texture is reached, bacon and pancetta procedures diverge. American bacon is hot smoked (according to my husband, ideally over hickory chunks) to an internal temperature of about 150 degrees. Since it was 20 degrees below zero outside, I just roasted mine in the oven. Italian pancetta undergoes further curing - it is rolled, tied, and hung in a cool, semi-moist environment for up to 3 weeks.  Due to the marvelous winter climate in Minnesota (i.e. inhumane cold), my upstairs bedroom closet is an ideal location to cure meat. It stays about 50 degrees with about 55% relative humidity. There has to be some advantage to the extreme weather!

Leap of Faith

Once the cure is complete, the only thing left to do is slice, dice and enjoy! However, I have to admit that the first time I cured my own meat it took a leap of faith to eat it. My anticipation turned to anxiety: What if I screwed up? What if I didn't measure the pink salt correctly? I could make myself really sick! Since I once landed in the hospital with food poisoning (NOT from anything I made, mind you), I was trepidacious. However, I was very careful in all stages, I assured myself. So I ate the bacon--and it was good. Success! Now I look forward to trying some of the more complicated challenges to follow.

I used the pancetta to create the carbonara pictured at the top of the post. Carbonara makes a fine meal because it is simple yet so delicious.

Spaghetti Carbonara for 2 

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 
4 ounces pancetta, sliced thick and cut into strips
1/4 cup vermouth or dry white wine
2 large eggs
1.5 ounces Parmesan cheese, finely grated (about 2/3 cup) (add some Pecorino Romano to make it even better)
2 small cloves garlic, pressed through garlic press
1/2 pound spaghetti
a few tablespoons cup reserved pasta cooking water
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Preheat oven to 200 degrees. Place large serving bowl in oven to warm. Bring 4 quarts of water to a boil in large stockpot.

Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until shimmering. Add pancetta and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned and crisp, about 5. Add vermouth and simmer until slightly reduced. Remove from heat and cover to keep warm. Beat eggs, cheeses, and garlic together in small bowl; set aside.

When water comes to boil, add pasta and 1 tablespoon table salt; stir to separate pasta. Cook until al dente; reserve some pasta cooking water and drain pasta briefly, leaving pasta slightly wet. Transfer drained pasta to warmed serving bowl. If pasta is dry, add the reserved cooking water and toss to moisten. Immediately pour egg mixture over hot pasta and, using tongs, toss well to combine. Pour bacon mixture over pasta, season generously with black pepper, and toss well to combine. Serve immediately.