Julia Child's Daube de Boeuf (On a Student's Budget)

 It's not often that I'm compelled to post a recipe that's non-baking-related. Partly because this is primarily a baking blog, and partly because unlike baking, when I'm cooking, I don't measure or write things down.

Some people say that's how to be a "real" cook: do everything by taste, smell, appearance. I don't know what I think about that. I mean, where would we be without recipes? I'm not just talking about cookbooks. My mother keeps a small wooden notecard box on top of the kitchen shelf, filled with recipes jotted on tattered slips of paper and clipped from newspapers decades ago. I would imagine many of you have something similar.

And then there are the "recipes" that are really more like an outline. A set of ingredients, in assorted subjective proportions, yet still recognisable as, for instance, chili - despite whatever variations upon the theme may occur. You can make it hot or mild, with or without beans, with beef, with turkey; you have dozens of combinations of spices to choose from, but as long as a certain framework is there, it's unmistakably recognisable as chili.                                    

Despite the resilience of these food frameworks, we still have recipes documenting countless permutations of a given dish. This needs no reason beyond the fact that someone liked it that exact way. But I don't need to tell you that, I suppose.

I've given this recipe much more of a grandiose introduction than I'd intended - especially considering that it is such unpretentious food. There is nothing out-of-the-ordinary about it. The changes I made have, if anything, made it even more modest than the one Julia Child described as a simple country dish. This mostly entailed trimming the expense of ingredients by decreasing the quantity of meat and using canned rather than fresh tomatoes, though I also took a few shortcuts for simplicity's sake. For instance, the original recipe calls for beef stock - I substituted water and it turned out just fine. So, without further ado:

Daube de Boeuf

Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking


1 pound/455 grams pastured, grass-fed beef, cut into cubes - look for lean cut for stew
1 can diced tomatoes
2 large carrots, sliced thinly
1/2 large onion and/or shallots, sliced
1 1/4 cups white and/or brown mushrooms, sliced
2 or more slices bacon (I used just 2, from Applegate Farms)
1 cup/235 mL red wine
approx. 1/4 cup/30 g gluten-free flour - I used white rice flour & potato starch
1-2 T olive oil

Black pepper
Thyme
Bay leaves

Method:
Begin by cutting the bacon into pieces about 2 inches/5 cm in length. Bring a small pan of water to a simmer, and put the bacon in it for about 10 minutes. (According to Julia Child, this step is because American bacon is so smoky compared to French, and if you skip this step the whole daube will taste strongly of bacon.) After simmering, dry the bacon with paper towels.

The original recipe recommends
boiled potatoes, risotto,
or noodles to accompany.

- Preheat oven to 163 C/ 325 F.

Meanwhile, dry the pieces of beef with paper towels, then roll them in the flour until evenly coated. Heat the oil in an enamelled Dutch oven, and brown the beef (if it sticks, splash in a little wine). Once this is done, remove the beef or push it off to one side so you can make a layer of vegetables on the bottom. Distribute the beef evenly back over it. Add another layer of vegetables, then tomatoes - continue this pattern until all the vegetables are in.

Distribute the bacon and herbs over top of it, then pour over wine, juice from tomatoes, and enough water to nearly (but not quite) cover the vegetables.

Cover with lid, place in oven, allow to cook for about 3 hours.

Serve with boiled potatoes or crusty bread.

Now, "Bon appetit!"

Austrian Bread Dumplings

 

The things you see in this picture are definitely comfort food (translation: composed of butter and carbohydrates). But wait, they have vegetables with them! 
...That makes it okay, right??


Oh well. I never said this blog was diet-friendly. 


Anyway, as the name implies, these dumplings are made from leftover bread. This can be dry bread or, in this case, bread that was just kind of lackluster in its original form. Considering how quickly GF bread can dry out, it's always good to know that there are other things you can do with it besides french toast!

(As an aside, there's a reason I've ended up with lots of extra bread. I won't say just yet what I've been working on, but I can tell you that soon I will have a very exciting recipe to share!)


Recipes seem to vary widely, but this one seemed most the dumpling meal I'd had in Austria - although there I had it with mushroom gravy. It was very good. However, gravy takes a little more time, and...um...I get impatient when I'm hungry. If you have more patience than me (or are better at planning ahead), I do recommend trying these with some gravy.


In Austria these are called semmel knoedeln, by the way. However, I shall continue to refer to them as dumplings. Because it's easier to say. (I never did get the hang of German.) 


So here's what you do:

1) Find some dry bread. Recipes I've found call for something along the lines of a baguette - the bread I used was denser, but I wouldn't recommend using anything really hearty or with lots of seeds in.

2) Chop dry bread into small cubes until you have a total of somewhere around 2 cups (volume is more important than weight in this case). If you'd rather use a food processor, take care not to turn it into crumbs - you want the dumplings to keep some texture.

3) Melt 1/2 T butter in a skillet and lightly brown the bread cubes. Meanwhile, measure out 75-80 grams / about 2/3 - 3/4 cup of a self-raising flour blend.

I used 50 g tapioca flour and 15 g each of rice flour and sorghum flour, with 1 tsp baking powder and 1/4 tsp fruit pectin.

4) Combine the toasted crumbs and the flour blend in a bowl and add 1 beaten egg and a few splashes of milk, just enough to form a (just to warn you: somewhat unappetising) soft, doughy mass. I don't give an exact measurement because that will depend on the absorbency of your bread and flour blend. Add salt, pepper, and herbs such as parsley or sage to taste, and allow the mixture to soak for 20-30 minutes.

Dough will look like this.
(It gets better, I promise!)

Meanwhile, sauté an assortment of mushrooms and a sliced shallot in 1/2 T butter (if you plan to serve the dumplings on a plate rather than in soup). You can now either make mushroom gravy to pour over the dumplings, or simply set the mixture aside to serve with the dumplings as above. Next bring a pot of water, broth, or soup to a boil. If using water, a teaspoon of cider vinegar in the water will help the dumplings hold together.

5) Dip your hands in cold water and form a ball with some of the batter. Using a ladle, lower the ball into the boiling liquid. Repeat this until all the dough is in the pot. Keep it at a boil and partly cover. Cooking time will depend on the size of the dumplings, but will be around 10-15 minutes. They will be firm when they are done.

6) If you are serving them in soup, you're done! Serve them up and enjoy!

Otherwise, remove the dumplings to a plate and heat 1 T butter (yes, more butter) in a skillet. If desired, slice the dumplings into 3 or 4 pieces; otherwise, just put the whole dumplings in the pan and fry until lightly browned. Serve with vegetables and gravy, if using.

County Galway Cottage Pie

Okay, I know this is not bread. Not even remotely. But it does go in the oven, and it is traditional, simple, and most importantly, delicious. 

It also comes with a little bit of a story.

In the more rural parts of Ireland, many roads have significant stretches that are not lit at night. At. All. Combine this with the fact that further north along the western coast, all of the road markings change to Gaelic (if the road is even marked). So you may find yourself driving in the dark, across what seems to be - as near as you can tell in the dark - a huge rolling pasture with a single narrow path paved through it. (Well, part of it is paved anyway.) All you have to guide you is the reassurance that you can't have possibly taken a wrong turn, because this was the only road on the map.

So here we were, driving blindly forward towards the tiny, dim glow ahead. After a time we came to the town. (Which, much to our relief, was in fact the town we were trying to get to. This is no small feat when you have passed no signs of civilisation for the past hour!) And as we drove through this town, my mum spotted a restaurant that - surprisingly for such a late hour - appeared to still be open.

The inside of the restaurant was not what I'd anticipated. It was very quiet - there was no traditional session music like there would be in a pub, and there were actually only two other people in the place. It also was not homey or quaint like what I would expect in a small coastal town. I was sceptical, but it was really our only option for hot food. Also it was a seafood restaurant. They had to have something good. I ordered, as the menu called it, "baked cod," or something equally ambiguous.

When it was brought to the table, though, it was not just plain fish. It was a sort of pie, with mash potato on the top. And inside was...cream sauce? With fish? I was now very sceptical. I could not think of a single example where fish plus milk seemed like a good idea. But I took a bite, and my mind was changed completely. It was rich, and warming, and completely delicious. Here in this empty, unwelcoming restaurant, I had discovered a brand new comfort food that tasted like it could have come from a cottage kitchen.

And here is the recipe for you.

Cod Pie

(Note: This recipe makes a serving for one person. Measurements are approximate. Increase recipe for the number of individual pies you wish to make.)


For each pie you will need:

One small glass or ceramic baking dish (holds about a cup of volume)
One small cod fillet
One potato, sliced up but not peeled
Milk
Cream
Butter
Thyme, parsley, salt, and pepper

Method:

Heat the oven to 218 C/ 425 F. Place the potato into a pot, cover with cold salted water, and bring to a boil on high. Boil until tender, about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, slice the cod into small pieces and lay them in the baking dish. Pour a little milk and cream over until the fish is about half-covered - enough to thoroughly moisten and flavour the fish, but make sure it won't bubble over the edge. Add some fresh thyme and parsley, and generous amounts of salt and pepper.

Mash the potato with a knob of butter, a little cream, and milk, and season with salt and pepper. Spread the mash in a layer over the fish. Bake for about 30 minutes, until the potato begins to turn golden. Garnish with freshly snipped scallions, if desired.

Enjoy!