Garlic Embargo (and a Recipe for Ragù Bolognese)

At the risk of shocking my readers, I'd like to see a month-long garlic embargo. Of course that will never happen, given its widespread popularity. Garlic, it appears, seems to permeate almost every savory dish we eat - it is ubiquitous. The problem with garlic is that it is often used with a heavy hand. All that you taste is the garlic. Our palates have been trained to confuse what is common for what is good. Then there's the widespread use of processed garlic in the form of powder, flakes and garlic salt - all of which are acrid and bitter - a poor substitute for fresh. Dining out can be a challenge too, as many menu items are loaded with garlic. You order Tilapia and it's bathed in garlic butter. You choose the Lobster Bisque and it's garnished with artfully placed swirls of garlic oil. Uh, no, thanks - where's the lobster? The chefs just assume that we want all that garlic. Not! You know there's a problem when you get home and your bra smells like garlic! (If you're a guy and your bra smells like garlic, then you have an issue which I'm not prepared to address). There is no question that garlic can be a flavorful, if not essential ingredient in many dishes: Bagna Cauda, Caesar Salad, Spaghetti alla Puttanesca, Coq au Vin, Shrimp Scampi, Skordalia ... and my braised lamb shanks or pot roast without garlic would be like an opera season without Puccini - acceptable but not preferable.

In her book, “Essentials of Italian Cooking, Marcella Hazan said, “To equate Italian food with garlic is not quite correct, but it isn’t totally wrong, either. It may strain belief, but there are some Italians who shun garlic and many dishes at home and in restaurants are prepared without it... on occasion, a more emphatic garlic accent may be appropriate, but never, in good Italian cooking, should it become harshly pungent or bitter." In "Trattora Cooking", cookbook author Biba Gaggiano said, "A heavy hand with garlic doesn't make a dish 'Italian'. The basic principle that guides all Italian cooking also applies to the use of garlic - just enough to flavor a dish, but not too much to overpower it. Never use the dried-up garlic flakes or powder sold in supermarkets. The taste will kill a dish, not enhance it."

One of the things that sets authentic Bolognese Meat Sauce apart is the absence of garlic. Neither Hazan’s nor Gaggiano's sauces contain it. The flavors of this classic dish are derived instead from the trio of onion, carrot and celery, white wine, and the meat itself. Gaggiano's recipe adds two ounces of finely chopped pancetta.

Among my hundreds of cookbooks, I probably have 50 recipes for Ragù Bolognese, some of them using as many as eight cloves of garlic! Some also employ Italian sausage, mushrooms, red wine, bay leaves (too strong for this dish), bell pepper or crushed red pepper. I can promise you that green bell pepper will ruin this recipe, at which point you might as well add the garlic and a can of beans and call it "chili con carne". My friend Marcy, who was born in Rome, says, "there are as many recipes for Bolognese in Italy as there are cooks." Over time, I have developed my own recipe for Ragù Bolognese. You may add garlic if you wish, but the designed delicacy of the dish will be overshadowed.

Ragù Bolognese

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 slices thick-cut bacon, finely diced or 3 ounces pancetta, finely diced
2/3 cup finely chopped onion
2/3 cup finely chopped celery
2/3 cup finely chopped carrot
1-1/2 pounds ground beef chuck
1/2 pound ground pork
1 cup dry white wine
1/2 cup beef stock or broth, as needed (preferably homemade)
3 tablespoons tomato paste
1 28-ounce can whole tomatoes, with their juice
1 parmigiano-reggiano cheese rind (optional)*
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (preferably freshly grated)
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried thyme or 1 tablespoon fresh thyme
1-1/2 teaspoons fine sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 cup whole milk
1 pound high-quality imported dried fettuccini, linguini, or spaghetti*
Freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano cheese

In a 5-quart dutch oven, with the burner on medium, heat the butter and oil. Add the bacon and sauté until brown, about 5 minutes. Add the onion, celery, carrot, oregano, thyme, salt, and pepper and sauté 5-6 minutes. Add the beef and pork, stirring with a wooden spoon to break up the meat and cook until it loses its raw color, about 5 minutes. While the meat is simmering, place the tomatoes in a blender and pulse until the tomatoes are chopped into small pieces. Add the wine to the dutch oven and cook another five minutes, so that the wine is reduced. Add the tomato paste, tomatoes and optional cheese rind and cook another 5 minutes. Add the milk and nutmeg. Simmer with the burner on low for 1 hour, stirring 3 or 4 times and adding the stock if the sauce seems too thick. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning with salt and/or pepper if necessary. Serve with desired pasta and freshly grated cheese. Serves 4-6.

* Cheese rinds can add a wonderful depth of flavor to sauces, soups, stews, and braises. They are ridiculously inexpensive and easily found at most cheese shops.

Exotic Biscotti

Perhaps it is the captivating tales of "1001 Arabian Nights", or the enchantment of Omar Khayyam's poetry, or just the idea of riding on a magic carpet, but Persia has always held a certain fascination for me. Persia (Iran) has as rich a culture and civilization as can be found on the planet. The art, literature and architecture are as mesmerizing as that of Egypt or China and the food is remarkably fragrant and exotic - and supported by a long culinary history. I am only beginning to delve into Persian cuisine, with the help of Najmieh Batmanglij, whose cookbooks ("A Taste of Persia" and "From Persia to Napa: Wine at the Persian Table") are the ideal way to begin.

In "A Taste of Persia", Batmanglij talks about "the Iranian attitudes toward food" and takes us on our own brief magic carpet ride through this ancient cuisine. "Hospitality ... is central to Persian life. Hospitality must be generous: In traditional Persia, a host would remain standing, serving his guests and eating nothing himself. Customs change but the attitude remains. Hospitality is like gift giving, the saying goes: One should do it handsomely or not at all. Next, one should cook according to what is best in season, so that food is fresh and of as good quality as may be." There's a commitment to the Slow Food movement!

The ingredients in many Persian dishes provide layers of flavor that not only taste wonderful but smell delightful. Pistaschios (which are native to Iran), pomegranates, dates, saffron, rose water, sour cherries, and cardamom abound. It is interesting to note that saffron and especially cardamom are also used extensively in Scandinavian baking (I grew up smelling cardamom before cinnamon!).

Being a neophite with regard to Persian sweets, I wanted to create something that would incorporate the flavors and fragrance of Persia with something familiar - something to be shared with friends and family who have not yet experienced the seductive pull of Persian cuisine. I like these biscotti with a cup of Earl Grey or Darjeeling tea while listening to Rimsky-Korsakov's "Scheherazade".

PERSIAN BISCOTTI

1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon non-iodized salt
2 teaspoons rose water*
2 teaspoons ground cardamom (Penzey's preferred)
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar, preferably superfine
2 large eggs
1-1/2 cups unsalted shelled pistachios

In a medium bowl, stir the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and cardamom together with a wire whisk and set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, combine the butter, sugar, and rose water and beat on medium speed until light and fluffy. Drop in the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Reduce the speed to low and add the pistachios. Mix until the nuts are just incorporated. Place the dough on a sheet of plastic wrap and wrap well all around. Chill for 1-24 hours.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a large baking sheet (16"x12") with either parchment paper or Reynolds Release foil. Divide the dough in half and using lightly floured hands, shape each half into a log about 1-1/2 inches in diameter. Place the logs on the baking sheet spacing them about five inches apart. The logs will spread significantly during baking. Bake the biscotti until light brown, about 27 minutes. Remove them from the oven (but leave the oven on) and cool for about 10-15 minutes. Using a large spatula, transfer the biscotti to a large cutting board and using a serrated knife, slice the biscotti on the diagonal at 3/4" intervals. Place the slices, cut side down, on the baking sheet and return to the oven for about 10-12 minutes, turning them over after five minutes (be careful not to burn your hands). Transfer the biscotti to wire racks to cool (biscotti will continue to firm up as they cool). Place the biscotti in a cookie tin or another airtight container. Cookies may be stored for about two weeks. Yield: about 36 biscotti.

Note: Rose water may be found at Whole Foods, Sur La Table, and Middle Eastern groceries. Rose water has a pronounced flavor and fragrance and must be used judiciously. Some may prefer as much as a tablespoon or as little as a teaspoon. Orange flower water may be substituted for a different, but equally exotic taste. Slivered almonds may be substituted for the pistachios. The dough in this biscotti recipe handles very nicely as it is not as sticky as many other biscotti recipes.

Wild Strawberries

Fast forward: The summer of 1959, my parents sent me off to Ironwood, Michigan to spend the entire season with my mother's first cousin. There was a bit of a crisis regarding my aging grandfather which rendered my parents "otherwise occupied". I was not a happy camper with regard to this arrangement. I was a city kid and like most kids, wanted to be with my family and friends during the summer months. Being a country mouse just wasn't my thing (no Marshall Field's!). Mom's cousin, affectionately known as "Beka" was bit on the strict side, to say the least. My mother wasn't much of a disciplinarian and didn't get rattled easily. Life at home was basically, "be home before dark". My father worried - a lot - about this looseness - but mom was in charge and appeared to know what she was doing. Now I was under the thumb of a formidible woman who demanded to know my whereabouts at any given time. I really missed my parents and wanted to go home - and I hated the water, which was rusty all the time. Chicago has really great tap water! Nevertheless, I was in safe and excellent hands - which was the point of the whole engagement. There was one saving grace - the food. As much as I longed for my mom's cooking and baking, Beka was no slouch in the kitchen. While the groceries weren't exotic or cosmopolitan (no Oysters Rockefeller or Crepes Suzette), they were delicious and plentiful.

Beka, being Swedish Lutheran, attended the Lutheran Church every Sunday. Oh yes, I missed being Catholic for the summer, too - and sometimes I was permitted to attend Mass at the local Catholic Parish. Frankly, the Lutheran Church was a better deal. The Lutheran "Ladies Aid" provided many smorgasbords in the church basement, which were extraordinary. These women were in a fierce competition with each other for the best dish and the finest baked goods. Sundays were something to look forward to - sort of an "all-you-can-eat" Swedish banquet. There were Sunday picnics, too - out at Little Girl's Point on Lake Superior - all catered by the Ladies Aid. God knows I never went hungry.

One of the joyous discoveries of my summer in Ironwood were the wild strawberries. Whether these were bona fide wild strawberries, Fragaria virginiana or the cultivated wood strawberries known in France as fraises de bois, F. vesca, I cannot say - as I have very little knowledge of botany. I imagine they were truly wild - at least I'd like to think so, as it makes the whole adventure more romantic. The taste of these tiny berries was indescribable - intense, heavily perfumed, with the perfect balance of sweetness and acidity - more the attributes of a black raspberry. They were not glamorous looking, like the bright red and often huge cultivated strawberries of California. Their flavor, however, was incomparable. Roger Williams, the founder of Providence in 1636 said of the wild strawberry, "...this berry is the wonder of all fruits growing naturally in these parts. It is of itself excellent so that one of the chieftest doctors of England was wont to say that God could have made, but never did make a better berry..."

How often have you purchased some of those California strawberries only to discover they have very little flavor. Sure, they look beautiful as a cake decoration - but they are, in my opinion, a disappointment. According to Elizabeth Riely, author of "A Feast of Fruits", strawberries are best eaten in the patch - lush, juicy, and warm from the sun. Failing a backyard bed or pick-your-own farm, try to find locally grown berries."

Today, we're spoiled. We demand out-of-season and out-of area produce twelve months out of the year. Produce is engineered to be hearty enough to withstand long trips and rough handling - but it isn't necessarily full of flavor. Spinach, berries, and all manner of fruits and vegetables are trucked or flown in from thousands of miles away - setting us up for the possibility of food poisoning. The longer the produce travels, the more time there is for the bacteria to multiply. That summer in Ironwood, I ate every day from Beka's vegetable garden. Let's support the Slow Food movement and eat locally and seasonally (although I'll admit it's hard to be a locavore in the middle of winter in the Midwest). You'll support your local farmers and growers, help reduce carbon emissions, and eat better. If you can hunt down local farmer's markets, the chances of eating organic produce is very high. In the meantime, if you're looking for a place to see the colors of Fall at its best, a trip to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan will leave you breathless and while you're there, make friends with the Lutherans.

My Swedish Mother - Or How I Started Cooking

Full disclosure - I'm only 25 percent Swedish, my maternal grandmother having been born in Sweden. My half-Swedish mother was raised in Ironwood, Michigan in the Upper Peninsula. If you look at a map, you'll notice that Michigan's "mitten" has very little to do with the UP. It's a different world up there - "God's Country" - full of pine trees, snow, Lake Superior walleye (my favorite fish) and some of the world's kindest people. My mother grew up ensconced in a Swedish-Lutheran enclave - an extended family - most of whom arrived in Boston circa 1901. My grandmother was widowed when my mother was only three years old. By the time my mother was 12, she was doing the lion's share of the cooking for the remaining family of four, as my grandmother was out trying to make a living as a nurse-midwife. These were difficult times and Ironwood was hit hard by the 1918 flu pandemic

My mother's Aunt Bertha served as her inspiration in the kitchen. Bertha was, by all accounts, an elegant cook, despite the paucity of attainable foodstuffs. If ever there was an example of turning a sow's ear into a silk purse (or a magnificent stew), it was Bertha. Ironwood, like other communities of its era and ilk, pioneered the "slow food" movement, using what was seasonably available (venison, fish, wild strawberries) and whatever grew in local gardens during the summer. Preserving and canning were essential (if not tedious) exercises if you wanted tomatoes, beans, or beets in January. Mom learned by watching, tasting and doing. While other little girls were playing with dolls, mom was wielding a wooden spoon and cleaning fish.

My mother grew up and went off to college in Marquette, Michigan. During the summer of 1931, my Chicago-born, Irish-French, Roman Catholic father took a trip to the UP and met my mother at a dance. They married shortly thereafter and took up residence in Chicago. Although it was the Depression, my father had a job with International Harvester (and continued to work for the firm until his death in 1961). The first week of their marriage, dad gave mom a whopping $10 for "housekeeping necessities". Much to my father's chagrin, she spent the entire wad on herbs and spices. Mom had made her mark and the rest, as they say, is history.