Borscht!
Having a kid makes you stop and think about your diet and encourages you to do weird things like try to make borscht (it should also encourage you to eat less chocolate, but so far that hasn't worked out for us). Beets, I have always felt, taste like dirt. But they're so bright and purple, they must be good for you. So I've been gradually changing my mind. First, there was Aileen's beet marmalade, and then awhile back I got the idea of making borscht in my head. I think the first time I even prepared an alternate meal, just in case it wasn't tasty. But to both of our surprise, it was delicious. Say....I like green eggs and ham. I do! I like them, Sam-I-am! We're now officially a beet loving family.
You do not like them. So you say. Try them! Try them! And you may. Try them and you may, I say.
P.S. This is for you Aileen...when I think of beets and cabbage and root veggies and bacon all combined in a warm tasty soup, I conjure up the happy image of your little tundra hovel on stilts. I think you should make it while it's still winter out there. Maybe caribou borscht?
And it's also for Lori, who I thought must be crazy, when she ordered borscht at a restaurant once. She must have learned something over in Russia afterall!
Boodah's Borscht (adapted from 1-2-3 Cook for Me by Karin Knight (Vegetarian borscht) and allrecipes.com (Meaty borscht)
2 tablespoons olive oil
4-5 beets, washed and peeled
2 carrots, washed and sliced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
2-3 slices celery, washed and sliced
1/2 head red cabbage, chopped
1 onion, chopped
2 leeks (if you can stomach the price, which I couldn't)
2 small potatoes, washed, peeled and chopped
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1/8-1/4 tsp cayenne
6-8 cups water or chicken broth
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 package of stew meat
a few slices of bacon (or more if you had some lying around)
2 teaspoons marjoram
2 teaspoons dill (mine's a dill mix which has some tarragon and maybe a few other things)
a little basil
some parsley
1 teaspoon sugar, to help the medicine go down
(of course fresh dill and fresh parsley if you have them which I don't)
My method, which probably isn't the most convenient way was to start the bacon frying, and then throw in the meat until nicely browned. In another pan, pour the olive oil and then add the onion, garlic, beets, carrots, celery, potatoes, and cabbage. Saute for a bit, then add the vinegar, cayenne and spices. Throw this whole mixture in with the meat, add the chicken broth and a little water and let it simmer while covered on low a couple of hours until the meat is tender. Here's the inconvenient part----then let it cool a bit, pick the meat out, puree the soup in batches, and put the meat back in and cook on low a bit more. I'm sure someone could figure out a better way, but hey it works!
Serve it with homemade brown bread and some Mountain high plain yogurt (or sour cream) and you're in for a treat. For best results, eat naked. It is quite purple after all.
2 comments:
Oh, I can promise that there will soon be a castiron pot of caribou borsht simmering in the tundra hovel on stilts! I mean, I was sold the instant you mentioned borsht. But then you started talking about root vegetables, and cabbage, and beets, and bacon, and I found myself tipping into a full blown cartwheel of glee. I probably could have procrastinated a bit with those cartwheels. But then those pictures of PaxRev, well - it put me right back on track. Who could procrastinate on a project that can produce such a smile! So, soon, oh so soon, there should be a castiron pot of caribou borsht simmering in the tundra hovel on stilts!
p.s. I just got back from Oregon. Oh, it was green. With daffodils. And I had midday pints in public places filled with the company of strangers. And jukeboxes. And farmers. We even spent an evening in the small town where my parents went to college, with pints and banter, watching farmer karaoke. Yes. It was a slice of my own personal utopia. It was, like a good borsht - a definite surfeit of glee.
The first time I made borscht I remember thinking, "this tastes like dirt," and I wondered whether I cleaned the beets enough.
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