Fit for a King
Of Cabbages & Kings
The Content of Tables: Cooking Lesson #3
Several years ago, King Juan Carlos of Spain lunched at a famous and exclusive restaurant in New York City. The proprietor had gone to great lengths to research Spanish cuisine and served a variation on a traditional Spanish roast suckling pig. According to urban legend — although the person who told me worked at the restaurant in question and swore that she heard the story from somebody who was present — when the dish was brought to table, His Majesty asked what it was. "This is our version of your traditional national dish," he was told. "I am a king," Juan Carlos is said to have replied, "I don't eat pig." And that was that.
What one eats and how one eats it is a powerful indicator of social class, as powerful as how one pronounces particular words or how one furnishes one's home. In the Hindu caste system, a Brahmin could lose caste for coming into contact with — let alone eating — food prepared by an untouchable. Coriolanus — Shakespeare's very English portrait of snobbery raised to the tragic plane — shudders at the thought of having to appeal to the "garlic eating rabble" for their votes. In 1825, Brillat-Saverin, the first modern food writer proclaimed "tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are." It is worth considering that he did not say, "tell me what you cook." At the time, anybody who might be reading his book would rarely see the inside of a kitchen, and would never dream of working in one. Brillat (a lawyer by profession) certainly never did, and it is still the case in much of the world that the only people who do their own cooking are those who cannot afford cooks.
Not on only has the social status of the cook changed, so have attitudes toward particular foods. It was not very long ago that anyone who could afford white bread would not allow whole wheat, rye, or black bread on their tables because these were considered coarse and beneath the dignity of the house. White flour, in addition to being more expensive, yielded a smoother softer product — a fact of some importance at a time when few people had their own teeth — and bread was made even more genteel by the removal of the crust. It was the desire to create a more refined product (in both senses of the word) for the masses that led to the development of Wonderbread. It is ironic that this flavorless, textureless, crustless abomination in the name of bread, created in imitation of a highbrow ideal, is now a powerful symbol of everything that is low-brow in America.
At the same time that crusty bread was banished from the respectable table, the diet of the privileged was a deliberately bland affair. Once again the more tender and easier to chew was preferred over the more flavorful and more nutritious. In yet another inversion of traditional class distinctions, kindeys and other offal that were once the diet of those who could not afford the more luxurious cuts, are now considered exotic and are only available in the smartest shops and restaurants. Exuberance in seasoning, as in almost anything, was, until recently, considered an unseemly characteristic of the ill-bred and the ethnic It is telling that the classic English tea, a meal that was invented as an afternoon diversion for those who had nothing else to do in the afternoon, often consists of the most flavorless of food – cucumber sandwiches on crustless white bread, and other such dishes – served in tiny amounts.
But if the privileged and sophisticated middle class are now choosing to eat coarse bread and organ meats, and soft white bread and more choice cuts of meat have become affordable to all, new class divisions are appearing with regard to food. The upper echelons of our society are seeking out organic vegetables, grass fed beef, free-range poultry and steroid free dairy, while the poor eat beef raised on chicken excrement and other foods produced by unsustainable and questionable methods. The gap between rich and poor is not just one of money and education, but also of health.
The culinary "class act" is not the meal in which the rarest and most expensive dishes are served, though such a meal can be fun if everybody enjoys the game. It is the one where everything is as good as it can possibly be. I have no strong objection to Champagne (as Cunigonde says in Leonard Berstein's Candide) but there are times when I'd rather have a beer. Foie gras, truffles and Caviar are fine things but if you go that route, go all the way; there is nothing tackier than running out of an extravagance. My own feeling is there are certain foods and preparations that — if they are worth eating at all — are worth paying someone else to prepare. The trouble of making such dishes at home — and serving them and washing up, undermines the sense of luxury they evoke. The class act is to find out what your company like (or at least what they don't like or can't eat) and make sure they will feel comfortable at your table. To be oneself is classy, to do otherwise is pretentious.
Which brings me back to the King of Spain. I may be very middle class, but I don't think Juan Carlos displayed the manners of a gentleman. Perhaps a king doesn't have to. Although I'd be surprised if the Queen of England scorned bacon at breakfast, pork is not generally considered an elegant food. Larousse Gastronomique — the bible of old fashioned French cooking — considers it only appropriate for bourgeois family dinners; in other words for people like you and me who cook for ourselves. That makes it perfect for the present purpose; to demonstrate how the lowliest ingredients — pork and cabbage – can acquire class.
Step 1:
Our culinary Cinderella story starts with hot dogs and sauerkraut: not the most promising beginning but I promise that this dish has made many people who think they would never eat such a thing change their minds, and the first step in turning this sow's ear into a silk purse is to change its name. Choucroute Garnie (French for "loaded sauerkraut") has been popular in the brasseries of Paris for over a century. It is one of those dishes — like Bouillabaise and Cassoulet — that are essentially home cooking raised to such mythic status that gastronomes' eyes tear up when discussing them. There is nothing like a French name to give a dish snob appeal. Paté de campagne by any other name is cold meatloaf, if not Spam.
Step 2:
You'll need quite a bit of sauerkraut, maybe a half pound per person. Sauerkraut is shredded cabbage that has been salted and allowed to ferment until it develops a wonderfully complex flavor, and, by the way, considerable nutritive value. Try to get fresh sauerkraut. If you can't get fresh, the kind that comes in plastic packages in the refrigerator section of the supermarket is also good. If you can only get the stuff in a jar or a can, make something else. The canning process involves heating the sauerkraut to a point where it becomes limp and soggy, smells like sewage and is the reason many people don't think they like sauerkraut at all. Good sauerkraut is crunchy and tastes fresh.
Step 3:
You'll need several kinds of sausages. I suggest bratwurst, kielbasa and Frankfurters, but Weiswurst, Knackwurst or any number of other kinds can be used instead of or in addition to any of these. Don't use Italian sausages because the seasoning will not work with the rest of the dish. Aim for about two sausages per person but NOT two of each. You should also get some smoked pork loin in the form of "Canadian bacon" or chops. If using chops, trim the meat from the bones (which you will use). You will also need a hunk of slab bacon, about a half inch think, cut into bite-sized chunks.
Step 4:
Rinse the sauerkraut in cold water, drain it and soak it in more cold water for about fifteen minutes. This will make it less aggressively salty but will not remove the flavor imparted by fermentation. Drain it, spread it on a clean kitchen towel and roll it up tightly to squeeze out the water.
Step 5:
In a heavy, oven-proof casserole, cook the bacon until it is crisp and brown. Remove it from the heat and add the half the sauerkraut and stir to distribute the bacon. Peel an onion, stick four cloves into it and embed that in the kraut. One sticks the cloves into the onion so that one can find them when it is time to take them out. Slice a carrot or two into thick rounds and add that as well. Although it is not traditional, I like to add a peeled and grated apple. Throw in a sprig or two of parsley a couple of bay leaves, a few sprigs of thyme, a few peeled cloves of garlic, grind a bit of pepper over it all and add just a bit of salt. Lightly crush about ten juniper berries with the flat of knife and strew them in as well. If you can't find juniper at the store, add a couple of shots of gin. And if you have bones from the smoked pork loin, add them, too. Now add the rest of the sauerkraut. Pour some white wine and some chicken stock (about equal parts) over what you have just made. You don't want to drown everything in liquid but you want things quite wet. For this dish, I would strongly advocate home made stock, the texture is much richer. Commercial stock will still do but if you use it, go easy on the salt. As for the wine, I have seen recipes that call for champagne, but I prefer an inexpensive dry Riesling. Bring the casserole to a simmer on top of the stove, cover it, and then transfer it to a low-moderate oven for about two hours. Look at it from time to time and if it seems to be drying out, add more stock and/or wine.
Step 6:
Shortly before you plan to eat, heat the sausages in barely simmering water and add the smoked port loin to the sauerkraut and return it to the over. Boil some potatoes. When the potatoes are done, take the biggest platter you can find and shovel the sauerkraut into a pile in the middle. Discard the onion, parsley, bay leaves and the garlic and bones. Slice the meats and arrange them around the cabbage. Put the potatoes wherever they will look best. Garnish it all with chopped parsley and serve with some good bread and good mustard on the side.
This is a meal that can be as elegant or earthy as you like. It can be served on the best china or on paper plates at a tailgate picnic. It goes well with good beer but Champagne will do if you are out of Bud. If you don't want bubbles, a crisp, dry but fruity white wine will go nicely, especially an Alsatian or German one.
There are many variations on this dish that you might want to try. My grandmother seasoned her sauerkraut with caraway seeds (rather than juniper) and used red wine and a little brown sugar. She didn't use stock. Others use pineapple juice or apple cider. Going farther afield, you might try braising a pheasant or other game bird with sauerkraut. Served with a good bottle of wine that would really be (how shall it say?) piss elegant.
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