Growing up, Sundays around our house had a fairly predictable and comfortable routine. We weren’t church folk…the combined result of a very mixed religious background and my father’s work schedule.
Dad worked Monday through Saturday…including many evenings. Sundays truly were his “day of rest.” As long as you could count visiting with family and catching up on house and garden chores “rest.”
We’d get up and go through the Sunday papers…even as a kid, I would read at least the comics; get dressed and then head intoTrenton to visit my grandmother.
We’d pick her up and run around to Palat’s Dairy on the corner of Cooper and Market Streets.
“And for you,” Mrs. Palat would ask, peering over the counter that was taller than she was.
Our order was pretty standard: ¼ pound of lox and a ¼ pound of nova (less salty); some creamed herring and a nice, plump, golden scaled, smoked whitefish. The quantities might increase depending on whom and how many were expected to be at table that morning.
Palat’s was a wonder to me. The aroma when you walked through the door was like nothing else on earth. I would love to have the opportunity to breathe deeply of that salty, dusty, garlic air once more.
From there, we’d walk down the street to Kohn’s bakery and then on to Kunis’ to gather the fixings for breakfast. Bagels, “half moons” and some onion rolls from one bakery; maybe a nice loaf of pumpernickel too; then some fruit or cheese Danish and some sticky buns from the next.
I love lox anyway and how I can get them. But lox and eggs and a bagel on a Sunday morning; sitting at the table with extended family and friends. Now that’s heaven on earth.
¼ pound smoked salmon chopped fine
Melt the butter in a large frying pan and add the onion. Cook over medium heat until the onion is soft and translucent. Add the salmon and stir. Immediately pour the eggs into the pan, stirring to mix everything and evenly. Reduce heat if necessary and continue to move the eggs around the pan until they are just cooked through but still moist. Serve family style with good bagels, sweet butter and/or cream cheese. Serves 4
Responding to the sound of pounding coming from the kitchen, I wandered from what ever it was I had been doing to see what all the noise was about.
At the kitchen table sat my father. In front of him was a sheet of waxed paper upon which rested a thin slice of red meat. I watched as he laid another sheet of waxed paper over the meat and proceeded to seemingly indiscriminately flail at it the rubber mallet he used when recovering chairs (a sometimes hobby of his).
I was fascinated and sat down to watch what he was doing. He placed the nearly translucent piece of what I came to find out was beef on a plate with some others he’d already done and set up to attack a couple more. I asked what he was doing.
“Making braciole,” was the answer.
Now I can’t remember what the occasion was, but it must have been some kind of special dinner or we were expecting special guests. Something.
Braciole was not a common accompaniment to our meals and certainly I didn’t remember being around when Dad made them. Hence my curiosity at the process.
I continued to study my father’s moves. After pounding out the meat, he seasoned the pieces and then covered each with a filling he’d made up of cooked, crumbled bacon, hard-boiled egg, and breadcrumbs. Then each piece was rolled up and painstakingly tied with heavy cotton thread. After browning them in frying pan, the rolls of stuffed meat were plopped into the pot of sauce Mom had going on the stove; left to simmer away until dinner time.
Braciole, for those who don’t know, is the Italian version of rouladen. Although there are many variations, the basic form is a piece of thinly sliced meat, pounded even thinner, rolled and tied around a savory filling and cooked. I think the most common…and certainly the norm for the Carluccis…was top round steak. This would be served along with or in place of the meatballs and sausage that accompanied ravioli or lasagna at a “company” or celebratory meal.
I don’t know if someone showed Dad how to make braciole or if he just figured it out from the experience of eating it. That afternoon watching him was the only lesson I ever had in making them. It was years after that I first gave it a try and I haven’t looked back. It’s still something I reserve for special meals and one of my favorites is to make them to serve with polenta. I kind of like the “fancy” nature of the braciole as a contrast to the humble presentation of polenta eaten right off of the board.
It’s not a particularly difficult process, just a little time-consuming but it adds a really nice touch to an Italian inspired meal. The recipe below is based upon what I saw Dad do all those years ago but has evolved a little bit to reflect the ready availability of things like pancetta, pignoli and such. Enjoy.
Brown off pancetta in a large skillet over medium heat. Remove meat,reserving rendered fat. You can set the pancetta on a piece of paper towel to absorb extra grease or just place in a mixing bowl.
In the reserved pork fat, cook the mushrooms over medium heat until tender and they’ve released all of their moisture. Remove mushrooms from pan, leaving the fat, and add to the mixing bowl.
Toast the pignoli in a clean, dry skillet over medium high heat. Watch them closely and keep shaking the pan so the nuts don’t burn. When you can smell the fragrance of the toasting nuts, remove from heat and add to mixture in bowl.
Add the cheese, parsley, chopped egg, garlic, bread crumbs and some fresh ground black pepper. Mix thoroughly and set aside.
Working between two sheets of plastic wrap or waxed paper, take each slice of top round and pound it to a uniform thickness of approximately 1/8 of an inch. (NOTE: you can use a heavy skillet, pounding disk, or a rubber mallet as I still do. Just be sure to strike the meat and draw the mallet towards the edges in one motion). Repeat until each slice has been tenderized and stretched.
Take one of the pounded slices and lay it out on the counter or a cutting board. Make sure it is flat. Salt and pepper the top side. Spread some of the filling mixture over the steak, leaving a small border (1/2 inch or so) all around.
Starting with one of the short ends, tightly roll the steak up, tucking in the sides to enclose the filling. Using a piece of butcher string, tie the bundle snuggly. Repeat for each piece of meat.
Once you’ve got all the braciole rolled and tied, reheat the pan with the pancetta drippings in it. If needed, add a little olive oil to make sure there is enough fat and brown off the braciole on all sides (3 minutes or so a side). Don’t forget the ends! Use a pair of tongs to hold each roll on end for a couple of minutes.
Once they are completely browned off, add to a simmering pot of your favorite tomato sauce and let cook on low for three hours. Remove the strings before serving.
Yeah. Summer in Jersey, what are you going to eat?
And you don’t have to go to a whole lot of fuss with them.
Slice, season, savor.
This past Saturday was a hectic day.
I had some errands in the morning. Then we ran out to Mainland, PA for lunch with Ann’s family to celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday. Back home, take care of the dogs and then I was off to the Thunder game.
By time I got home, I was tired but a little hungry and it was heading towards 10 pm.
What to do?
Then I remembered something I’d heard on the radio earlier in the day. During a segment on NPR’s weekend edition chef/restaurateur Scott Conant said:
“A good tomato raw, with a little bit of salt and a touch of olive oil, is just one of the world’s most simple pleasures…”
(to hear Conant’s interview, click here; to read a transcript, click here.)
So that’s what I did. Sliced a perfectly ripe local tomato, sprinkled on a little sea salt and drizzled on the olive oil.
Light, refreshing and satisfying.
Martha Ruth “Tark” Devillers Smith Moss, October 20, 1919 – April 20, 2010, R.I.P.
This past Friday we buried my maternal aunt, Martha Ruth “Tark” Moss.
Aunt Tark was a huge influence on my attitude about cooking, food, and the joy of sharing both with friends and family.
Tark was what today might be called a “Foodie” but without the connotation of affectation or pretention that term might conjure. She owned a KitchenAid Mixer decades before they showed up as standard set dressing on Food TV. She was the first person I knew who belonged to a “dinner club” wherein the members of the group would gather at regular intervals to share meals and experience foods from outside of their normal cuisine.
Tark and her first husband, Aron Smith, for awhile lived on and worked a farm where they raised their own chickens, hogs and steers. Later in their lives, before Uncle Aron passed away, they acquired a small piece of land on which they planted an extensive garden and could again raise a pig and/or steer for slaughter and their own consumption. She baked; cooked down-home, family style foods and gourmet fare with equal ease and success; and preserved all manner of fruits and vegetables in season.
Decades before there was a “Slow Food” movement, Aunt Tark followed the tenets of using locally produced, seasonal items to feed family and friends. She did this not because it was popular or “cool.” Rather she was merely carrying on the tradition she had grown up with; not out of necessity, but because it was better tasting, better for us (the consumers) and the land and because it just made sense.
During a visit one summer during my childhood, Aunt Tark and Uncle Aron took us to a “trout farm” where you could (and we did) pay to catch live trout right out of the ponds. The fish were filleted and pan fried in the adjacent picnic area just minutes after being hooked. It was an experience that taught just how wonderful truly fresh fish can be. This was also the meal that introduced me to hush puppies.
Using Tark’s recipe for what some call a “beer-rita” I once won a friendly neighborhood competition for the best Margarita.
As my interest in cooking and eating grew, I always found that I could engage Tark in discussions of food items and preparation. Her appreciation for and proficiency at preparing fine food has always been an inspiration to me. I only hope that those I have cooked for and supped with over the years could know just a fraction of the joy that I have received from sharing the bounty of her table… seasoned with the preparer’s love and spiced with a sense of humor.
It is never easy to lose a loved one, especially those with whom we share a special bond. I take comfort in knowing she most assuredly will be with me whenever I am at work in the kitchen and I hope I can achieve but a small portion of the talent she demonstrated for living a good life.
Something About Hate 