christmas

The easiest Christmas thing to make right now: macerated dried fruits in liquor

maki — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 18:24:10 +0100

I am suddenly behind on everything - work, holiday tasks, shopping, etc. etc. I was planning to do a lot of Christmas food related thing - you know, make a stollen or six, maybe a Christmas pudding (should have been made a month ago), cookies, etc. I may still have time for the cookies, the rest I’m not sure.

There is one thing that I have done that took me maybe 10 minutes max, and part of that time was spend let’s say, sampling the wares.

To give it a fancy name, it would be Macerated Mixed Dried Fruits. What it is is a bunch of dried raisins, currants, apricots, and so on put in a non-reactive container (like a big glass jar), covered with liquor, and left in a dark place to do its thing. The fruit becomes softened and infused by the liquor, and the liquor takes on the flavors of the fruit.

It’s best if it’s been left for at least a week, but you can start using it the day after.

You can get fancy with the dried fruit selection, the liquors, or both. Just make sure the dried fruit you are using does not have added sugar. I stuck to the basics with the fruits (dark and golden raisins, currants) but splurged on the liquors: a mix of Williams pear schnapps, kirsch (cherry schnapps), and orange-scented Cointreau. You could use brandy, rum, Scotch, Bourbon, vodka…just as long as it’s something with a pretty high alcohol content.

What can you do with this? A lot.

Put it into small, pretty jars to give away as presents.
Stir a spoonful or two into vanilla ice cream.
Pour a spoonful or two mixed with syrup over pancakes for a boozy fruity breakfast.
Mix the drained fruit into a basic poundcake batter.
Mix the drained fruit into a muffin batter.
Add some of the liquor to Glühwein (mulled wine).
Flame the liquor over a storebought Christmas pudding (or indeed, flame it over anything. To flame, warm up the liquor first in a small pan, then set a match to it and pour over the object of your choice.)
Pour the liquor over rocks for a sweet, fruity nerve calming agent just before the dinner guests arrive.
…and whatever else strikes your fancy.

Christmas in Japan, Switzerland, elsewhere

maki — Wed, 05 Dec 2007 20:11:49 +0100

A reader emailed me asking, how people celebrate Christmas in Japan.

My answer to that would honestly be… “Not very well.”

It really has to do with the fact that there is a lack of tradition. Japan is not a Christian country, and the number of people who identify themselves as Christian is miniscule.

And even if you grow up in a Christian household, the traditions are just not there. My father’s family was unique in that they were indeed Christian (both my grandparents were Salvation Army officers, though they both worked at a Salvation Army hospital rather than…religious activities.) But did they celebrate Christmas in fancy ways? Nope.

Christmas in Japan is mostly, or maybe even all, about the decorations and the lights and the special things to eat. By which I mean mainly the ubiquitous Christmas Cake, which is just a regular decorated cake with Christmas-y flourishes. Most Christmas cakes sold at shops have strawberries on them, for the cheery red color. Strawberries in December! Not good. There’s a reason for fruit cake…in December, you mostly get dried and sugared fruits.

Above all though, Christmas in Japan means commercialism. You feel mildly or overtly pressured to buy gifts, even though you’re probably not a Christian and neither is your recipient. The Christmas gift thing gets a bit jumbled up by the tradition year-end gift called oseibo, which is sent to people you want to say thanks to, or suck up to, or generally want to be on the good side of. (In-laws, bosses, clients, and the like.)

So, in my humble opinion, Christmas in Japan sucks. The really magical part of this time of the year is just a week later, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

It was only when my family moved out into the world to live in England and America, then later on when I went wandering around Europe on my own, that I experienced what Christmas could be. In my biased view, Christmas in Europe is where it’s at. (I’m not even accounting for the truly religious parts of that much, such as attending mass.) Christmas in the U.S. is indeed very colorful and cheerful and festive, but it’s also awfully commercial. You have all the Instant Traditions (doing something two years in a row is not a tradition, imho), the rash of special Xmas CDs from various hip-hop artists filling the air, the blindingly colorful holiday sweaters adorning overly ample bodies, and the commercials. Oy vay the commercials.

That is not to say of course that commercialism has not taken over in Europe too. Oh boy has it ever. But still, there are the long-running traditions that keep things grounded. Decorations tend to be a bit more restrained. The food and drink is rooted in old customs. The cold air seems to always smell faintly of spices.

I think I am lucky though: I get to enjoy Christmas, and still follow up with a Japanese style New Year’s. My build-up cynicism melts away, and I think, what a wonderful time of the year it is. It’s also a bitter-sweet time because I am so far away from most of my family. If you can spend Christmas and New Year’s with your family, wherever that might be, that is the best of all.

In no particular order, some of my favorite Christmas things (what are yours?):

Christmas dinner in England. Christmas pudding, mince pies, turkey or goose with bread sauce…
Stollen from Germany, especially Dresden
Real pannetone from Italy, especially from Milan. Once you have tasted a really good, buttery pannetone you can’t go back.
Christmas nougat in Provence, rich with honey
Glühwein, mulled wine, to warm you from head to toe as you totter around a Christmas market
In Switzerland: Wienachtsguetzli, little Christmas nibbles such as Mailander cookies, butter-sugar cookies, and Grittibänz, figure shaped breads…especially the ones from Sprüngli
Lebkuchen, spiced filled gingerbread, from Germany
Handmade Christmas stockings hanging from a mantelpiece, even if they’re empty
The way one of our local bakeries decorates their facade to look like a gingerbread house:

My favorite Christkindlmärkts: in Salzburg, Strasbourg, and Aix-en-Provence. (But if you have to do just one representative market, the crowded and rather overwhelming one in Nurenberg is the one…)
My favorite Christmas decorations: handmade balls made with lavendar and ribbons, from Provence

The best Christmas in New York, my old stomping grounds: the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.

Recipe: Glühwein, mulled wine for Christmas and wintertime

maki — Thu, 21 Dec 2006 03:39:09 +0100

(Mulled wine (Glühwein) recipe from the archives. Merry Christmas!)

I have rather mixed feelings about Christmas markets (called Christkindlmarkt in German and Marché de Noel in French), which abound in this part of the world at this time of year. On one hand, they are colorful and seasonal and everything. But unlike flea markets, which I'm addicted to, and crafts/artisan's markets, I don't find the merchandise to be that impressive. There's an awful lot of touristy junk being sold. They can also be horribly crowded - try going to the Nürnberg (Nurenberg) market on a weekend after 7pm and coming out alive!

What makes Christmas markets tolerable is Glühwein, which is a mulled wine. Hot, a bit sweet, and spiced, it warms you up nicely as you brace yourself for another round of stall-gazing with more enthusiastic friends and family members pulling you along.

I like to make a potful of Glühwein sometimes at home too. It's a great drink to have after a bracing walk or yet another shopping trip. But the main reason I make it is that it makes the house smell so wonderfully festive.

The base for Glühwein varies - it can be white wine, cider (the alcoholic European kind of cider, not the apple juice of that name sold in North America), or even Jagermeister. I think that a robust red wine works the best though. If you want to up the alcoholic content and fun quotient, add a shot of liqueur like kirsch or pflaumen to each mug. (Don't add the shots to the hot pot or you will get a faceful of knock-out fumes.) No need to stop making it after Christmas either - it's such a warming, fragrant drink that it's served at many ski resorts.

Incidentally, my favorite big Christmas markets are the ones at Salzburg, Austria and Strasbourg, France. If you love Christmas ornaments and things Nurenberg is worth at least one visit, though you can buy the same stuff in the stores in town without the awful crowds at any time of the year anyway. The ones here in Zürich are a bit lacking if you are looking for Christmas kitsch, though there's a lot of merchandise to browse through. The Glühwein with raclette combo is mighty tasty though. (The best Swiss Christmas markets I think are the one-day or one-weekend ones in the smaller towns.)

Glühwein, mulled wine

A 750ml bottle of inexpensive dry red wine (no need to splash out on something expensive, but it should be drinkable. I usually just use whatever red wine is on sale at the supermarket.)
2/3 cup of raw cane sugar or white sugar, or non-artificial sweetener of your choice
Juice and peel of one small lemon
2 cardamon pods
4 cloves
2 bay leaves
2 cinnamon sticks

Put everything in a heavy bottomed pan. Stir to melt the sugar. Heat the mixture over low heat, and leave for about an hour - it should never boil, just sort of seethe.

Serve in small mugs (straining out the peel and spices), with optional shot of brandy, kirsch or other liqueur.

Notes: Increase the amount proportionately to serve more people. Vary the sweetener to change the taste - honey is interesting, as is dark brown sugar or molasses.

OMG, Turducken

maki — Wed, 28 Dec 2005 16:17:09 +0100

I am not sure what came over us. We were planning a quiet, simple Christmas dinner - maybe roast a goose, or a nice chicken or two, or something. But then someone blurted out the infamous words.

"Hey, why don't we try a Turducken?"

In case you are not familiar with turducken, it is basically a Tur(key) stuffed with a duck(en) stuffed with a (chick)en. It supposedly originated in Louisiana, and has been popularized by famed New Orleans chef Paul Prudhomme.

Turducken has intrigued me for some time because of the sheer American-ness of the thing. America is many things, but one of the images it does have is that of abundance and excess. Recently retired ABC news presenter Ted Koppel once told the story of when his family immigrated to the U.S. from post-war England. On the radio, he heard the commercial for an antacid remedy, where the jingle went "Eat too much, Drink too much, take XYZ". The young Ted burst into tears, horrified that people could actually eat so much that they had to take medicine to cure it. I had a rather similar reaction to his when my family moved from England (where we'd spent 5 years), to White Plains, a suburb of New York. At the time England was still not that Americanized as it is now. We were absolutely stunned by the abundance, and color, and noise, of this new country. Zillions of TV channels! (This was the early days of cable TV). The huge portions at the diner where our mother took us for lunch. The chef's salad for one at Swensons that was the size of a bathtub. The too-big-even-with-two-hands sandwiches where the fillings were three times thicker than the slice bread around it.

So when I first saw Chef Prudhomme presenting a Turducken on CNN some time ago, I was struck by the outrageous abundance of it. Three whole birds! Three kinds of stuffing! But I never really had the urge, let alone the chance, to actually attempt to make it. The recipe on Chef Paul's site suggests that one Turducken serves 24 to 30 people. I don't know about you, but I've never made food for a party that big, excepting nibble/cocktail things where you basically put out lots of hand-to-mouth-able food. A Turducken is clearly for a sit-down dinner.

But anyway, this Christmas there was the opportunity to make a Turducken once and for all, and since I was the Resident American (yes I am a U.S. citizen), it was put on my shoulders to orchestrate the making of our Swiss Turducken.

I more or less followed Chef Paul's recipe, with adjustments. The gory tale follows.

Warning: some of the photos are rather gruesome.

Phase One: The Planning

Frankly, I didn't plan well enough. For anyone who thinks of attempting a Turducken, here is the first word of warning:

It's going to take at least 14 hours.

The Turducken takes about 8 hours to cook, plus it needs to rest for an hour, as per Chef Paul's instructions. And the preparation takes a long, long time.

Also:

You can't do it without an assistant.

Normally I tend to discourage help in the kitchen - it hampers my movements - unless the helpers are doing menial tasks such as washing vegetables, or washing the pots and bowls that get tossed in the sink vicinity. But Turducken cannot be conquered by a single warrior.

You need a food processor, and sharp boning knives, one per worker.

Phase Two: The Purchasing and the adjustments

Turkey is not a traditional holiday food here in Switzerland. For Christmas, normally a roast goose or something is prepared. However, due perhaps to the fact that Zürich is actually quite a cosmopolitan city, it was quite easy to procure a fresh, unfrozen, and disconcertingly large turkey. LIkewise, a tiny little chicken weighing in at around 800g was available (an Aargauer Güggeli, for those in Switzerland). The duck turned out to be a bit of a problem, in that none was available in any form. (Due to the amazing pre-planning capabilities of the parties involved, the shopping was done on the afternoon of the 24th.) A frozen goose was hastily purchased, but we told him sternly that he was a duck and to shut up. The frozen part turned out to be good after all, since we dumped the three birds into a cooler overnight. The goose duckie kept its big and little brothers cool and safe whilst it defrosted.

The recipe I followed more or less called for Cornbread Stuffing, Andouille Sausage Stuffing, and Shrimp Stuffing. I couldn't even contemplate adding even more meat to this whole mess, and shrimp is expensive here in this landlocked country, so we went for a cornbread stuffing, a generic sage-and-onion stuffing using breadcrumbs and a 2 cut-up bratwurst for flavor, and a mashed squash - chestnut - sweet potato stuffing.

Here's the rough shopping list for the adjusted Turducken:

1 8 kg fresh turkey
1 3 kg frozen goose duck
1 800g fresh Aargauer Güggeli
1 bag of fine-ground Polenta Mehl, aka yellow cornmeal
1 huge bag of onions, about 12 total
1 big bunch of celery
1 garlic
1 large loaf of generic white bread
2 sweet potatoes
1 pack of frozen chestnuts
1 wedge of squash
3 bell peppers
More butter than I care to remember
6 eggs
1 bratwurst, about 200g

In addition, the following items we already had were used:

Paul Prudhomme's Magic Seasoning - Meat. I had purchased a bunch of these convenient mixed seasoning powders in the U.S.(they don't really exist here) - besides a couple of Magic Seasonings, I also got some Old Bay, Emeril's, and generic Poultry Seasoning and a new one for me, Montreal Steak Seasoning. I hadn't planned on making Turducken back then, but it was serendipitious to have the actual mix called for. (If I didn't have it though, I would have mixed paprika, pepper, salt, thyme, sage, and whatever other dried herbs and spices that struck my fancy to come up with something similar.)
Fresh sage, still growing bravely in the snow-covered garden
Salt, pepper, sugar
Flour, baking powder, baking soda (Sidenote: baking soda is only available in pharmacies here, as Natron. I guess there is no Arm and Hammer to promote the ten gazillion uses for baking soda. I always try to bring back a box from the U.S. when I'm there. Baking powder is widely available though.)

Phase Two: Stuffing

Note: if you ever attempt Turducken, Do this part the previous day.

We made things in the following order:

Cornbread for the cornbread stuffing. The recipe on the Chef Paul site for Cornbread is odd - 7 tsp of baking powder? That would surely taste chemical and awful. I scrounged the web for a suitable bland cornbread recipe and used this one from About.com.
A huge mound of basic Louisiana holy trinity - that is, chopped onion, celery, and bell peppers, plus some garlic (my addition), to flavor the stuffings. Actually I did the onion/garlic/celery and the bell pepper separately, since I only wanted to put the bell peppers in the cornbread stuffing. I used a whole bunch of celery, 10 onions, and about 6 cloves of garlic, plus 3 bell peppers. All were chopped in the food processor, then sauteed in butter until transparent. We ended up with about 4 cups of the onion/celery mix, plus a small mound of the bell pepper.
The sweet-potato-squash-chestnut stuffing. This was something I just came up with, to replace the shrimp stuffing in the original. I peeled and cut up the wedge of squash and the 2 sweet potatoes, and threw them into a pot of stock-cube stock with the frozen chestnuts and simmered all until tender. The stock was drained, and the whole was mashed roughly, leaving some chunks for texture. A small amount of the "holy trinity" minus the bell pepper was added, plus a lump of butter, and the whole seasoned. It's a bit sweet but very yummy even on its own.
The sage-onion-bit-of-sausage stuffing. This was basic bread-crumb stuffing. About 8 slices of bread where whirred into rough breadcrumbs in the food processor, to make about 8 cups of the stuff. A cup or so of the "holy trinity" was added, plus about 6 chopped up fresh sage leaves (about 1 tsp of dried sage). The whole was then moistened with stock-cube stock until moist but not runny. Chunked up and sauteed bratwurst was added, and the whole seasoned.
Once the cornbread was baked, we made the cornbread stuffing. It's basically the same as the sage-onion-breadcrumb stuffing except that crumbled cornbread was used of course, and the bell pepper was added along with the rest of the "holy trinity". The seasoning was salt, pepper and the Magic Seasonings. Sage was not added.

Phase Three: Poultry Surgery: The De-boning

The time had come, to confront the birds. They all had to be almost completely deboned. I have cut up my share of chickens many times before, but had never deboned a whole bird. It's a messy, slippery, exhausting business.

The instructions on Chef Paul's site are very thorough. The only thing I didn't do was use a hammer to break bones and joints - I'm morbidly afraid of bird-bone splinters getting stuck in my throat (or worse, someone else's throat due to my cooking). All the deboning was done by patient, tedious cutting away of flesh and sinew from bone. When joints were encountered, they were just slowly cut through. No violence was used. (Well, apart from the slashing.)

This made the whole deboning process extremely long - more than 3 hours. At one point I got leg cramps because I was standing in one position for too long. I also nicked my fingers with the boning knife 5 times. (My assistant, more careful, only nicked his fingers twice.)

The most difficult bird was the turkey, simply because of its size. If I were to do this again I'd start with the chicken and work myself up to the monster. As it was, we started with the monster. For the turkey, a strong-armed assistant is essential to hoist it and turn it.

Here are some pictures of the turkey, in the process of being flayed. The whole bird was completely deboned, including the legs and the upper wings. We cut the lower wings off.

Phase Four: Time to sew up the patient

At this point I was almost ready to call it quits. I was covered in Bird Fat, my legs kept cramping up (yes I need to get into better shape), my assistant was showing signs of wanting to make a getaway. But the mound of bird had cost a total of about 120 CHF (US $100 or so). Besides, there were people to feed. We soldiered on.

The instructions called for putting each flayed bird on a sheet and spreading with stuffing. We did this, only to realize that the birds weren't also seasoned. We scraped off the stuffing, seasoned, and re-grouped.

The chicken was small enough to gather up in one hand and place in the duck. The duck could be handled with two hands, to place in the turkey. But then, we had to close up the turkey. We tried toothpicks (ha!) and skewers (we didnt have enough), but it was inevitable - the bird had to be sewn up.

This was accomplished with some kitchen twine, which we miraculously had (the last time I used it was for delicately bundling together a bouquet garni), and a tapestry needle. My assistant held the skin of the patient turkey while I laboriously pushed the needle through. At the end, he ended up looking like this.

Phase Five: Finally, into the oven

The assembled Turducken was very, very heavy, and it took the two of us to turn the thing over onto its back, so that it didn't look so much like a Frankenbird. It barely fit on the largest baking pan we had, with the legs tucked in.

Another problem was discovered once its breast side was facing us - the skin had split quite a bit, and had to be sewn together. This ended up making him look a bit like he had on a corset, but I was fairly sure the string would sort of 'burn off' and not look so gruesome once it was all cooked. (I was right.)

Well seasoned all over, the Turducken finally went into the oven, at about 105° C (the recipe calls for 225° F) The timer was set for 4 hours.

I went to wash up and take a nap. (The assistant had enough energy left over to dump the bones into two large pots with onion, celery, bay leaves and water to make stock.)

Four hours in, an aluminum foil tent was placed on him, and 3 hours more cooking ensued (the probe thermometer stated it was at temperature, 75° C, at that time. I think it cooked faster than in the Chef Paul recipe because we used a convection oven.). Then a 1 hours worth of resting time.

We watched movies, 3 in total, while we waited.

The result

Like a pretty girl with no bone structure, the Turducken is rather pretty in person but is not very photogenic. It sort of looks like a short overweight man lying on the beach at Ibiza.

We made some gravy from the drippings and the bone-stock. As for side dishes - we were planning some, but the sheer size of the Turducken was so overwhelming that we just made a green salad.

(Another bit of great planning: we didn't have any dishes big enough to hold the Turducken, so it was just carved and served from the baking plate.)

Post Mortem

As for the tasting: well, it was a bit disappointing, though no one complained (and an amazing amount of the big bird did disappear). I was hoping that the slow cooking would somehow make the turkey come out moister, but the breast meat was still rather dry. In addition, the Turducken has one big fundamental flaw - the skin of the duck is enclosed, so the fatty skin comes out flabby and inedible. If you have ever roasted a duck or goose you know that the crispy skin is the major attraction. Duck and goose are not cheap to buy, so I don't know if I would want to waste one in this way and not be able to enjoy the skin at all. The turkey skin comes out very crisp, but is too tough and leathery to me, though some others did enjoy it.

The stuffings were very good, and the turkey legs, stuffed full, were quite good. The inside part other than the turkey were all delicioius, as a matter of fact. This makes me think that perhaps a Ducken (duck stuffed with chicken) or Goosen might be more successful - and easier to consume - than a Turducken. I think I will try this some time.

But not for a long, long while. At the moment, the mere thought of deboning another bird make me want to turn vegan.

Postscript: the leftover turkey tasted a lot better than it did on the actual day.

Christmas oranges

maki — Wed, 24 Dec 2003 22:29:19 +0100

This isn't a recipe really, but nothing says Christmas to me as much as the smell of oranges and spices. Oranges, or clementines, remind me of the oranges that used to be in my Christmas stocking, together with the chocolates and sweets and other goodies. And the smell of cinnamon and cloves is that of mulled cider and other things that we enjoy at this time of year.

The clove "pomanders" are actually oranges or apples that are totally covered with whole cloves, then rolled in ground cinnamon. It helps to pierce the skin with a wooden skewer or toothpick first before sticking a clove in, but the clove stem should fit snugly. The pomanders dry and retain their spicy-fruity fragrance for years. (Actually they take forever to make, so you could start now for next Christmas!)

Merry Christmas!