By Steve VandeGriek; Photos by Jan Behmer  ©2017

The city of Puebla lies roughly one hundred miles southeast of Mexico City. On the fifth of May in 1862 it was the scene of a battle early in the French-Mexican War. Six thousand French soldiers assaulted the city from the north. An improvised army of about two thousand Mexicans resisted the attack for an entire day. Five hundred French troops were lost and fewer than one hundred Mexicans. Although not a major strategic victory, it was a moral one just six months into the six year long war. Mexican resolve toughened throughout the country. Puebla de Los Angeles, as it had been known, was renamed Puebla de Zaragoza in honor of the general who commanded the Mexican forces in the battle. The anniversary of the Battle of Puebla is a national holiday in Mexico – Cinco de Mayo – a quieter occasion than the party event it has become in the U.S. Much like St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland versus what it is here.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Middle Eastern immigrants settled in sizeable numbers the in the Puebla and neighboring Veracruz regions.

Nota Bene: Salma Hayek was born in this area to a Mexican mother and a Lebanese father. Thank you both.

But I digress. We’re concerned with another product of this immigration – Tacos Arabes. Originally slices of lamb carved from a vertical roasting spit and served in a pita with yogurt sauce, they have some time ago become Mexicanized and are a favorite in the state of Puebla. Obviously, numerous versions exist. This is one.

Tacos de Arabes

Ingredients:

1 t. each of cumin, oregano, cinnamon, Kosher salt, black pepper, coriander

3 cloves garlic, crushed                          3 slices bacon, diced

8 T. lime juice                                           4 T. apple cider vinegar

2 lbs. boneless pork (shoulder roast, chops, sirloin, whatever you have on hand – it’s a taco)

8 or so thick 6” flour tortillas

Put the pork in the freezer for 30-45 minutes to firm it for easier slicing.

In a large zipper plastic bag, place the spices, garlic, lime juice and vinegar. Shake well.

Using a sharp knife, slice the pork as thin as you can. If you wish, pound it thinner between sheets of plastic wrap. Alternatively, you can cut the meat into strips about 1/2 in. square, like cheese sticks.

Place the pork in the plastic bag and shake it to coat all the meat. Marinate in the refrigerator for at least a couple hours. Squish it around and turn it a few times.

Put a large cast iron or nonstick skillet over medium high heat. When it is hot, spray it lightly with nonstick spray. Working in batches, place the pork slices in the pan in a single layer. Cook a few minutes on each side, until the meat crisps and browns. Remove to a platter and ten with foil to keep it warm while you do another batch, etc.

Warm the tortillas briefly if you like, don don’t let them get stiff.

Wrap a tortilla around a few slices of pork and serve with your favorite salsa and some yogurt sauce.

Yogurt Sauce

Mix a cup of plain Greek style yogurt with the juice of a lime, two cloves of minced garlic, 2 t. of cilantro, 2 T. grated cucumber and salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle over the pork or serve on the side.

An even more traditional –dating from the colonial period – fare of the Puebla region is Mole, pronounced mo-lay. There are dozens of basic styles of this sauce, most of them complicated, time consuming and using as many as forty ingredients – nuts, spices, herbs, fruits, vegetables, often chocolate, several different kinds of chilis – everything roasted separately before being cooked together. Mole means “mix” in an ancient dialect. Traditionally, whole families could spend a couple days making a cauldron of mole sauce for a special occasion.

The different styles come in a variety of colors, depending on the ingredients used – yellow, green, red, brown, black – and are served over chicken, duck, turkey, shellfish, enchiladas, pork or even vegetables and fruits. In Puebla, a common presentation is chicken baked in the finished sauce.

The recipe offered here is a greatly simplified version of a mild dark mole. While this adaptation lacks the complexity of the days-long preparation, it provides a credible mole experience with a fraction of the effort. It uses only the ancho chili, mild but with lots of earthy depth. You could add a piece of a chipotle if you want to up the heat factor.

Simple Mole Poblano

3 ancho chili peppers                                         1 14 ½ oz. can diced chopped tomatoes

½ chipotle pepper (optional)                            ¼ C. dried apricots or raisins

3 T. vegetable oil or lard                                    ¼ C. blanched almonds or ¼ C. almond butter

1 medium onion, chopped                                 2 T. sesame seeds

½ t. cinnamon                                                       1 ½ T. breadcrumbs

1/8 t ground cloves                                              ½ t. sugar

½ t. black pepper                                                  ½ t. salt

1 T. oregano

3 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped, or roasted            2 oz. chocolate, chopped (Mexican is best, but

1 ½ C. chicken stock                                                                   semi-sweet baking chocolate works fine)

Place a large nonstick skillet over medium high heat. Cut the stems off the ancho chilis and the chipotle, if using. Tear open and remove all seeds. When the skillet is hot, throw in the chilis. Press them down with a spatula and toast for a few minutes until they just begin to smoke. Remove them to a bowl and cover with water and a plate to keep them submerged. Lower the heat to medium.

If roasting the garlic, which I recommend, put the cloves in the pan with their skins on and toast for about ten minutes, shaking the pan occasionally, until they soften and blacken a bit. Remove and let them cool, then slip the skins off.

Add the oil or lard to the pan, and the onion, and cook until the onions soften, about 5 minutes. Add the cinnamon, clove, black pepper and oregano and stir for a minute. Remove the chilis from the water and add to the pan. Reserve a half cup of the water.

Add the garlic and stir for 30 seconds or so. Add the stock and the ½ C. chili water and stir well.

Add the tomatoes and cook for a few minutes. Add the apricots or raisins, the almonds or almond butter, and the sesame seeds. Stir well. Add the bread crumbs and stir well to thicken. Add the salt and sugar. Add the chocolate and stir until it is completely melted.

Continue cooking for several minutes, stirring often, until the sauce thickens a bit, then pour into a processor or blender, and puree until very smooth. Return to the pan and simmer on low heat to thicken some more. The sauce should be the texture of ketchup, but bear no further resemblance to it.

Serve over whatever you like. If you don’t use it all, mole freezes very well.

*Note. I like to lightly toast the almonds and the sesame seeds for a couple minutes before adding them. Do them in the dry saute pan after doing the chilis and garlic. It’s not strictly necessary, but it adds some nice depth.

To bake chicken in the sauce, Puebla style, brown 4 breasts with a little oil in the saute pan. Spray a 9”x13” baking dish with nonstick spray and spread some mole over the bottom. Place the chicken in the dish and cover with the rest of the sauce. Bake uncovered at 400° for about 40 minutes, until the chicken is done and the mole develops a slight glaze. Sprinkle some sesame seeds over the top.

SPANISH SEMANA SANTA SWEETS

By Steve VandeGriek; photos by Jan Behmer   ©2017

My wife and I have a thing for Spain. We’ve been going there on occasion for more years than I care to admit having under my belt. And under my belt is the issue here. Spanish food is a rustic joy.  Any region, any time of year.  Madrid has its roast suckling pig and Valencia its paella. The cuisine of Andalucia in the sweltering summer is distinct from the fare of Galicia and Asturias in the wet and wild winter. And in the delicious Spanish spring, as the Lenten season comes to an end, every region does its own version of Semana Santa.

The Spanish do Holy Week like no other people on the planet. And as it is with so many things in Spain, tradition is key. The stunning religious processions full of floats and masked penitents flow through the streets at night in every city and hamlet.

As they say, you always remember your first time. Ours was many years ago, a few days before Easter, in a small city in Andalucia. We were in our hotel room on the second floor and just after dark we were taken by surprise. A procession was suddenly trudging down the street right below our window. I’m not a religious person, but the Medieval aura surrounding the event was commanding.

The processions in Seville are famously spectacular. Likewise in Leon. Saetas, those haunting flamenco-like sacred songs, fill the air. Some towns scatter straw dolls in the streets, which are later torn apart and burned. Home dining tables are laden with special Easter dishes, customarily meatless for practicing Catholics. And how do they compensate for the lack of meat? Dessert! Spain isn’t as staunchly Catholic as it once was, but Spaniards haven’t lost their sweet tooth. The week before Easter, bakeries all over Spain are filled with confections especially for that week. Many were created by nuns. They are traditional, and traditionally simple and sweet.

Rice pudding is prevalent around the country, in many regional variations.

Sweet dough balls are popular and come in a multitude of incarnations. Pestiños in Andalucia are of Moorish origin. They are anise flavored puffs of dough, deep fried or baked and dunked in a syrup of honey and liqueur. Buñuelos in the north are fluffy balls of yeasty dough, sometimes anise flavored, and usually stuffed with something sweet. Semana Santa balls are baked donuts flavored with Galician Orujo, a potent clear liqueur similar to Italian grappa, distilled from the dregs left after pressing the wine. Bartolillos are a type of cream puff and are a Madrid specialty.

Huesos de Santos (Saints’ Bones) are egg and sugar filled marzipan shells. Monas de Pasqua, chocolate eggs filled with little presents, are popular in Catalonia and Valencia. Flores de Semana Santa are crunchy fried pastries resembling opened roses. Hornazo is sometimes a pie, but usually a round flat bread stuffed with boiled eggs, chorizo sausage and other cuts of pork. It is traditionally eaten on the day AFTER Easter, due to that no meat during Holy Week rule. But there is a sweet non-meat version for the week prior. Hornazo is prized in the region to the west of Madrid, in Salamanca an Avila in particular.

Torrijas are ubiquitous throughout Spain, but a special favorite in the bakeries of Aragon. They are similar to what we think of as French toast, but they’re fried in olive oil instead of butter.

And the queen of Spanish Easter desserts has to be the Tarta de Santiago (Saint James Cake). It is found throughout the country, St. James being the patron saint of Spain, but it has pride of place in Santiago de Compostela, where its namesake’s remains are housed. The cake is thought to have originated or been brought there by a pilgrim during the Middle Ages and, due to its almond base, has an apparently Moorish pedigree, not as common in Galicia as it is in the south. Galicia was probably the region least affected by the Moorish occupation.

There are as many recipes for these last two confections as there are regions in Spain. The following are our take on the many variations.

Torrijas

1 baguette – stale                            lemon and/or orange zest

3 C milk                                                 3 or 4 eggs, beaten

2/3 C sugar                                          ground cinnamon

1 cinnamon stick                               sugar or honey

Good mild olive oil

Slice the baguette into roughly one inch thick slices.

Heat the milk in a saucepan over medium high heat. When it is almost boiling, remove from heat and add the sugar, zest, and cinnamon stick.

Return to the heat and stir until almost boiling again.

Lower the heat and continue stirring at a simmer until the milk thickens a bit.

Remove from heat and let cool a little.

Soak the bread slices in the milk on both sides for about 30 seconds each – don’t let them get so soggy they fall apart.

Beat the eggs well, and dip each slice until well coated on both sides.

Heat the oil – about an inch deep – in a skillet until it quickly browns a cube of bread. Fry the bread slices until golden on both sides.

Drain them on paper towels and sprinkle with ground cinnamon and sugar, or drizzle with a little honey.

Torrijas can be eaten warm or at room temperature.

St. James Cake

There are dozens of recipes for this cake, all with a ground almond base. Some use a little flour and some are flourless. None of them are overly complicated, but in my experience, a little flour works better.

10 oz. ground blanched (peeled) almonds

1 C flour

1 ¼ C sugar

4 eggs

8 T butter, softened

1 tsp. baking powder

½ C water

Zest of 1 lemon

Powdered sugar

Grind the almonds in a food processor or blender. You can grind them to a smooth dust, but leaving them a tiny bit coarse gives the cake a nice crunch.

Preheat oven to 350. Spray  the bottom and sides of a 9 inch springform pan with nonstick spray, or, my preference, grease it with butter.

In a large bowl, use an electric hand mixer to beat the butter and sugar, then beat in the eggs, one at a time.

Add the flour, baking powder, and water and beat well.

Add the ground almonds and the lemon zest and stir thoroughly.

Pour the batter into the pan and bake on a rack in the center of the oven for about 45 minutes, but check for doneness after 40. It’s done when a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Cool thoroughly on a wire rack. Remove from pan.

Place a piece of cardboard cut out in the shape of a cross on top of the cake. Sprinkle the top of the cake well with powdered sugar, using a sifter. Remove the cardboard carefully, leaving the impression of the cross on the cake.

By Steve VandeGriek Photos by Jan Behmer ©2020

My wife and I grew up in the north and, like many transplanted Floridians, we snicker in February at the folks we left behind. But when winter is new and the holidays approach we can feel them snickering back.

A few years ago we went to Belgium. Wintry and wonderful Brussels and Bruges. Magical medieval plazas filled with giant twinkling fir trees and Christmas markets and steaming gluwein flowing like, well, like wine. Frozen horses’ breath snorting in the chill air and sleighbells jingling behind. Decorated lanes full of local and foreign merrymakers strolling with hands full of Belgian waffles, Belgian fries, and Belgian chocolate. I know, I know, I sound like post-ghosts Scrooge. As I said, Christmas in Florida can leave me cold – no pun intended – and this really is storybook stuff. So just one more. Enormous fireplaces roaring in cozy old world establishments serving steamed mussels with fries, dozens of local sausages and hundreds of local beers that have been brewed for half a millennium.

And hearty regional dishes – more than we had time to savor, though we tried. Game paté, pumpkin soups, pheasant, North Sea shellfish, duck, rabbit, lamb stews and pigs’ cheeks with spiced cookies. (The cookies are Speculos – Trader Joe’s imports them. You’re on your own for the pigs’ cheeks.) Some classic Belgian dishes are easily done at home. The three recipes here are a cross sampling from Flanders, guaranteed to warm your cockles even if icicles aren’t dangling from your eaves.

The first is a simple side from Brussels called STOEMP. It’s mashed potatoes on steroids. Serve with or without sausages. With is the wurst choice, without is the worst. Sorry. And don’t forget the ale.

This centuries old rustic gem is best made with roughly equal amounts of potatoes and any chopped vegetable mixture you choose – cabbage, leeks, garlic, scallions, which get sautéed, spinach, turnip, the obvious Brussels sprouts or the currently chic kale, which get boiled. A little fried and chopped bacon gets bonus points. For Christmas color, I like a little red bell pepper, which I sauté with the garlic and scallions I always use, and broccoli. Whatever you don’t sauté, boil until soft. Peel, cube and boil the potatoes in salted water until soft but not falling apart. Drain and combine everything in a big pot. Throw in a good amount of grated cheese – parmesan works well, gruyere is a rewarding splurge – and a few dashes of nutmeg, some salt and pepper and milk or half and half. I like to add a dollop of sour cream. Mash until smooth and creamy, sprinkle with chopped chives and serve with whatever meat – read sausage – you desire.

VOL AU VENT – roughly French for “blowin’ in the wind” – is a traditional Flemish specialty. Puff pastry shells stuffed with chicken, mushrooms, meatballs and a white sauce. You can make the puff pastry yourself if you’re into that. I buy the frozen shells and they work just fine. A side of fries is requisite.
Boil a chicken breast and a few thighs in some water and a little chicken broth. Shred the meat, minus any skin or bones. Save the broth.
Form tiny meatballs from a half pound of whatever ground meat you like. If red meat isn’t your thing you can use ground turkey. I have, but don’t tell Belgium. Boil the meatballs in the chicken broth till cooked through.
Sauté ten or twelve cleaned and quartered mushrooms in a little olive oil.
Melt half a stick of butter and stir in a half cup of flour, a little at a time, til blended. Stir in about two and a half cups of chicken broth and a cup or so of cream until incorporated. Add a half cup of shredded cheese – any kind you want – and a couple egg yolks, a couple tablespoons of lemon juice and black pepper to taste. Combine the meats and mushrooms in the sauce and keep warm over low heat. Stir it often.
Bake six pastry shells according to the package directions. Slice off the tops and stuff the shells to overflowing with the sauce. Set the tops back on at a jaunty angle and serve with fries.

FLEMISH CARBONNADE. I could do winter all year with enough of this stew. It’s a simpler variation of the French beef bourguignon, substituting brown ale for the red wine.
Marinate three pounds of cubed stewing beef in a pint of Belgian brown ale with a few crushed garlic cloves and a couple bay leaves. Leave it in the refrigerator overnight, then drain and reserve the marinade.
Season a few spoonsful of flour with salt and pepper in a large bowl. Pat the meat dry with paper towels and toss it in the flour. Shake off any excess.
Put a few tablespoons of olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium high heat. When the oil is hot, fry the beef chunks in small batches, stirring often, until they’re golden on all sides. Transfer each batch to a plate. Leave the brown fond on the bottom of the pan. Lower the heat to medium and fry a half pound of bacon, stirring occasionally, until it’s crisp. Remove the bacon, drain on a paper towel, and crumble it. Spoon out half the bacon grease. Leave everything else in the pan.
Add a couple of garlic cloves, a couple of carrots, a leek and a couple onions – all sliced – and sauté, stirring often, for ten minutes or so until they soften and start to brown. Stir in a spoonful of tomato paste and fry for a minute or two, stirring constantly.
Add the beef, the bacon and the marinade. Throw in a few mushrooms, if you like. Bring to a simmer, scraping up all the brown bits on the bottom. Add about a cup and a half of a beef broth and beer combo, some salt and pepper and whatever herbs you have on hand. It’s a stew, not a chemistry experiment. I like thyme, rosemary, cilantro, basil. Parsley and bay leaves work. Bring it all to a boil.
Cover and put it in a 350° oven for a couple hours, stirring once or twice on the way. Check the seasoning; maybe add some salt and pepper. Stir in a spoonful of Dijon mustard. Throw some chopped chives and parsley on top. Plate it with STOEMP, fries, or roasted potatoes, and a green vegetable. Serve with a robust red wine or brown ale.
From behind a big plate of this stuff I can squint and see Bruges.