the pickle project

I may be behind by about 6 months as I write this, but I think pickles are the next big thing. That came out wrong. I think pickling is the next ancient craft to be “rediscovered” by my generation. It’s like knitting ten years ago, just before Stitch ‘N Bitch came out. Someday there will be a funky little book with a title like, Can It! Homemade pickles are everywhere, including the tables of hip, urban eateries across the nation. Even my local fancy-pants sandwich shop offers a homemade selection of delicious “house sweet pickles” on the appetizer section of the menu (which, to me, is simply un-American; pickles should be free).

Starting in late September, I began tackling my own pickle project. The idea of canning has appealed to me for a long time. As a kid, we’d make strawberry jam every summer, but that was the extent of my experience with preserving. A few years ago, I purchased the Ball Blue Book along with some supplies, but I was so intimidated by the technical side of it all. And the thought of having 8 quarts of a tomato sauce I might not even like paralyzed me with fear. Then, for my birthday this year, my sister got be a copy of the Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook, which includes several recipes for small batch pickles and relishes that are stored in the refrigerator, and don’t need to be “processed” to be shelf-stable. Thus began a several week long project involving pickle research, mass procurement of vinegar and stinking up my whole house with the smell of brine on a regular basis.

By Thanksgiving last week, I had produced four varieties of pickles for a pre-dinner pickle plate: spiced peaches, pickled Jerusalem artichokes, red onion pickles and zucchini pickles. The spiced whole peaches are barely a pickle — the whole fruit suspended in a sweet syrup, studded with candied ginger, the vinegar providing a subtle heat. The pickled Jerusalem artichokes are crunchy and bright. The red onion pickles are so heart-breakingly lovely, crisp and spicy that I immediately forgot about the tedious process of repeatedly blanching cold onions in hot brine required to produce them. But judging by the quantity consumed, the zucchini pickles were the winner (although, I love both the red onion pickles and the spiced whole peaches). They are tender but substantial; assertive from the mustard seed, but with an underlying sweetness that mellows them out. These pickles are very simple to make, but they require the use of a mandoline to produce thin, long ribbons of zucchini.

Zucchini Pickles, Adapted from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers

1 lb zucchini

1 small yellow onion

2 tablespoons salt

2 cups cider vinegar

1 cup sugar

1 1/2 teaspoons dry mustard

1 1/2 teaspoons crushed yellow or brown mustard seeds

scant 1 teaspoon tumeric

Wash and trim the zucchini and, with a mandoline, slice into 1/16″ thick ribbons. Slice the onion very thinly and combine with the zucchini in a large, shallow bowl. Add the salt and toss the vegetables. Cover the zucchini and onions with cold water and a few ice cubes and stir to dissolve the salt. Let the vegetables sit for 1 hour.

Drain the vegetables and dry completely, either using a salad spinner or clean kitchen towels. Rinse and dry the bowl and replace the now dry vegetables. In a saucepan, combine the remaining ingredients for the brine and bring to a simmer. Cook for 3 minutes. Set the brine aside until it is just warm to the touch (if it’s too hot, it will cook the zucchini and you’ll end up with a soggy pickle).

Cover the vegetables with the cooled brine and stir to dissolve the spices. Transfer the vegetables and brine to clean pickle jars (either one quart-sized jar or two pint-sized jars). Cover and refrigerate at least two days before serving. The pickles will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator.

thanksgiving leftovers, deep-fried

If you think you can’t possibly contemplate another bite of leftover turkey, consider this: deep fried, crumb-coated turkey.

 

I think I fell in love with turkey croquettes on a family road trip when I was about 5 or 6. We stopped at a restaurant that (I think) was called the Pennsylvania Dutch something – it was like Cracker Barrel, Lancaster County style. I ordered turkey croquettes, probably because the name alone is so charming. Out came a plate of pear-shaped, fried lovelies sitting in a pool of turkey gravy with a side of mashed potatoes. I was in heaven

 

Turkey croquettes became a staple of my family’s post-Thanksgiving leftovers repertoire, and they were always served with mashed potatoes and gravy. I’m pretty sure the recipe came from a very battered old copy of the Fanny Farmer Cookbook. All the awkward bits of the bird that couldn’t be neatly stacked in a sandwich were finely chopped, seasoned and bound together with a cream sauce. Once this mixture chilled, we would shape it into Clementine-sized footballs, coat the croquettes in flour, egg and bread crumbs, and deep-fry them.

 

As an adult, I’ve never made turkey croquettes … until today. Despite my love for croquettes, I couldn’t bring myself to serve deep-fried turkey (held together by cream sauce, no less) with more gravy and potatoes whipped up with a stick of butter. But then I had a revelation – croquettes served on a salad with sliced pears and dried cherries. The sweetness of the fruit is a perfect compliment to the rich, savory croquettes and the plate of leafy greens helps you get past the fact that you are eating deep-fried leftovers.

 

Even my sister, who was very skeptical and insisted that I serve her croquettes with potatoes and gravy (and salad on the side), agreed that the combination was perfect and that these were the best croquettes she could remember eating.

 

Turkey Croquettes

Adapted from Craig Claiborne’s The New York Times Cookbook

 

3 ½ cups finely chopped, cooked turkey (about ¼” pieces)

2 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons finely minced onion

1 clove of garlic, pressed

3 tablespoons flour

1 ½ cups fresh or canned turkey broth, hot

salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

pinch of nutmeg

¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper

3 egg yolks

2 small ribs celery, finely diced

1 teaspoon minced tarragon

about 1 cup flour (for dredging)

1 egg plus 1 egg yolk beaten, with water

1 ½ cups panko bread crumbs

canola oil for frying

 

In a bowl, combine the chopped turkey, celery and tarragon and set aside.

 

In a saucepan, melt butter over medium heat until foaming subsides. Add onion and sauté until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and sauté about 1 minute more. Stir in flour and whisk for 2-3 minutes to form a thick roux. Slowly add the hot turkey stock, whisking constantly. Remove from the heat and add the yolks, whisking vigorously. Return the pan to the heat and cook briefly, stirring constantly. Add salt, pepper, nutmeg and cayenne pepper and taste for seasoning. Pour cooked sauce into bowl with chopped turkey and stir to combine. Place a sheet of plastic wrap directly over the mixture and chill at least 4 hours, preferably overnight.

 

In a large pot or Dutch oven, heat about 2” canola oil to 350º. Remove turkey mixture from refrigerator. Using an ice cream scoop with ¼ cup capacity (or a greased ¼ cup measuring cup), scoop out croquette mixture and, with your hands, mold into a squat cylinder. You should have about 14 croquettes. Dredge each croquette in flour, then egg wash, then panko. Deep fry croquettes, about 4 at a time depending on the size of your pot, until golden brown and crispy on all sides, about 5 minutes per batch. Place finished croquettes on a rack set over a baking sheet. Finished croquettes can be kept warm in a 200º oven until ready to serve.

 

For the salad:

Combine 2 tablespoons lemon juice, 2-3 tablespoons olive oil, 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, salt and pepper and a large bowl. Whisk to emulsify. Add about 1 lb mesculun greens, 2 pears (peeled and sliced) and ¼ cup dried cherries. Toss.

 

Serve croquettes on a plate atop salad.