This is a fairly basic salt cod stew from Simon and Inés Ortega’s wonderful 1080 Recipes. If you haven’t seen this book and are curious about what Spaniards eat at home (as opposed to in tapas bars), you’ve got to check it out.  Part of what I love about it is that the translation to English is pretty much limited to language and measurements—I can think of few things less likely to appear in an American cookbook than “Lambs’ feet fritters” or “Pickled Partridges.” Other recipes, though, are eminently doable and made for improvisation. I was very, very happy with this recipe. The stew turned out sort of like a Spanish bouillabaisse, or maybe a thin Manhattan chowder, and the cooked salt cod ends up with a texture not unlike lobster.

Salt cod may be a bit hard to come by in certain parts of the country, but I’ve had good luck finding it in ethnic groceries, urban supermarkets, and Philadelphia’s Italian Market. Unless you’ve made your own salt cod, no points here for seasonal or local, but the rest of the ingredients are more virtuous.

Salt Cod Stew (paraphrased and lightly adapted from 1080 Recipes)

1 lb or package of boneless salt cod
2 T olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 pint home-canned tomatoes or roasted tomatoes
springs of bouquet garni herbs: lavender, thyme, parsley, and a bay leaf
2 lbs potatoes, in thick slices
6 c. fish stock (optional)
pinch of saffron
handful chopped parsley

1) The night before you make the stew, start soaking the salt cod in a tray or dish. Change the water at least four times—the more you change the water, the less salty it will be.

2) Cook the onions in the oil in a soup pot for about five minutes, until translucent. Add the garlic and stir 30 seconds more. Add the tomatoes and their juices and cook another 5 minutes. Add about 6 cups of water or fish stock, the herbs (except the saffron), and the potatoes. Bring to a boil, turn the heat down, and start simmering.

3) Meanwhile, crush the saffron in a small bowl, then dissolve it in a bit of the hot stock. Add the mixture to the pot and simmer about 20 minutes.

4) Cut the salt cod in about 1″ pieces, removing any stray bones. Transfer to the soup pot and cook another 10 minutes. Taste for seasoning—it most likely won’t need salt, but a little pepper is nice. Throw in some chopped parsley for garnish.

I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t be able to make this in the crock pot, except that it might get too salty if you didn’t soak the salt cod properly. If anyone has tried that successfully, please let me know!

My problem, it turns out, is that I added turnip greens at the beginning, right along with the split peas, the potatoes, etc. Although we don’t think of them as such, it turns out that turnip greens are quite high in acid. The acid, in turn, makes it difficult for the split peas to absorb water. How difficult? Well. Let me tell you. These split peas—pre-soaked, mind you!—were still hard as rocks after 8 hours in the crockpot, at which point I turned it to low and we went out for pizza at our local brew pub instead. I let it cook overnight. The peas were still mostly hard the next morning, but by now the mixture had started to turn an alarming color. Determined not to waste food, I decided to pressure cook the whole thing. Five minutes at 15 pounds pressure did virtually nothing to the peas. After another 10 minutes, they were starting to soften, but still not done. Finally, after another 10 minutes at 15 pounds of pressure, they were finally soft enough to eat. They were also not very pretty.

The end product was edible, sort of, if you smother a bowl of the stuff with yogurt and chutney. But it is not something I will repeat.

The lesson? Only add acidic things (tomatoes, greens, lemon juice, etc.) to legumes after they’re cooked. This is the logic that explains, among other things, why recipes for baked beans usually either have you start with cooked beans or include a cooking time of several hours. Great mysteries revealed!

Now, to be honest, I’ve often had trouble getting beans soft in the crockpot, which is one of oh-so-many reasons I usually prefer the pressure cooker instead. How does this work, exactly? What tricks do you use?

At this point it’s a little late to be pulling leftover turkey out of the fridge (I made a backup turkey on Sunday, so I’m still in the clear), but this recipe will work perfectly well with frozen cooked turkey. My version jumps off from a Rick Bayless version published in Reader’s Digest (I know! I know! But it’s still Rick Bayless), but adds a jar of homemade tomatillo sauce, since I’ve got a whole bunch of them just sitting in my basement waiting to be eaten. Depending on how many people you’re cooking for, it might make leftovers. I haven’t tried it, but I suspect pipian sauce would make a *spectacular* version of chilaquiles.

Turkey in Pipian Sauce

1 c. unsalted pumpkin seeds
1/2 onion
2 cloves garlic
12 sprigs cilantro
1 half-pint jar homemade salsa verde/tomatillo sauce
1 T olive oil or canola oil
3 c. turkey or chicken broth
4 c. cooked turkey, cut into pieces or shredded

1) Toast the pumpkin seeds in a heavy skillet (see picture). Let them toast for quite awhile, until they’re quite brown and popping.

2) Combine the pumpkin seeds, the onion, the garlic, the cilantro, and the jar of tomatillo sauce in a blender. Puree.

3) Heat the oil in a large skillet or pan (say, the one you just roasted the pumpkin seeds in). Add the sauce and 1 c. of stock. Bring to a boil and cook until it’s reduced by about a third (this will depend on the size your pan). Add the remaining 2 c. of stock and cook another 10 minutes.

4) Here’s the judgment part. Figure out how much turkey you want to add and how much sauce you want for that turkey. For 4 c. turkey, you only need about half of the sauce. Put the other half in a jar and store in the refrigerator for later use. Add the turkey to the remaining sauce and cook gently until heated through. About 15 minutes should do it.

OR

5) Toss your turkey with the sauce into a crockpot and cook on low for 4–6 hours. Theoretically, you could use raw turkey, in which case you’d want it on low for 10–12 hours.

Serve with warm tortillas.

My potluck guests scarfed it down before I could get a picture, so you’ll have to use your imagination.

Crockpot Chili with Sweet Pepper Salsa

2 c. dried kidney beans or 4 cups cooked
1 medium onion, chopped
2 T mild chili powder
4 cloves garlic, pressed
1 jar of homemade pepper salsa
a few dried peppers (your choice)
1 small handful of dehydrated tomatoes
1/4 c. bulgar

1. If using dried beans, cook them in the pressure cooker. I find you need about 9 minutes at 15 lbs. pressure for unsoaked beans, but 5 minutes should be plenty if you plan ahead and soak them.

2. Combine everything in the crockpot. Stir well.

3. Cook on low for 6–10 hours, adding water occasionally if necessary.

I love my chili with mac and cheese, but the folks on Twitter tell me this is weird. What do you put on yours?

This is less a “recipe” than a conglomeration of internet advice, including surprisingly good cooking instructions from Wikipedia. Is there anything Wikipedia can’t answer?

Crockpot Bigos

1 head cabbage, shredded
1 large onion, chopped
1 carrot (or more, if you have them), chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 pound bacon, cut into small pieces
1 lb pork steaks, cut into chunks
1 lb hot sausage or kielbasa, cut into 1-2 inch pieces
1 bay leaf
Salt and pepper, as you see fit

1) Fry the bacon for a few minutes. Don’t cook it until it’s done; you just want to release enough fat to saute the onions. Then saute the onions and garlic just until the onions are translucent. Transfer to a crockpot.

2) Add the following, in order, to the crockpot: carrot, cabbage, remaining meat and cabbage. Tuck the bay leaf in there somewhere.

3) Cook on high 6-8 hours. You’ll need to stir it a few times to work the cabbage down.

Serve with potatoes (gluten free!) or egg noodles (not gluten free).

Lessons Learned…

It’s not entirely clear that it was appropriate to put this much food in the crockpot. That’s a whole lot of raw meat up there, just sitting there while the slow cooker heats up. This is why I used high: I got scared. But then, because I didn’t trust it, I opened the lid several times to try to stir in the meats, which sort of defeats the purpose of the crockpot. If you’re working with a similarly sized crockpot and cabbage, you might want to saute the cabbage a bit, just so that it fits more easily into the crockpot. In the end, no one got food poisoning and it tasted fantastic, but if I were to make this again I’d probably dump it all in my giant pressure cooker, add a couple of cups of water, and cook it at pressure 12 minutes or so. I bet it’s just as delicious, and certainly not as worrisome.

The other lesson is more reassuring. Note that I did not brown the sausage or the pork shoulder, and it still tasted great. Save yourself the trouble and just toss it in.

No more!

My reluctance to engage the crock-pot had been based out of skepticism and fear that once used, I might find myself using other things I associate with such a device: elastic pants, “Home Sweet Home” plaques, doilies. Having stumbled upon the humble unit while snooping around our harvest room one afternoon, I thought, well, why not? If I wear elastic pants out here, I’ll just blend in anyway.

I had been sort-of craving polenta but felt too lazy to baby sit it, seeing as I have a real baby that is more fun and doesn’t spit boiling lava at me. Yet. Also, I had always felt there was something wrong with my cornmeal porridge: I always felt like I could feel it expanding in my stomach afterward. Perhaps a long bath in a womb-like atmosphere would provide the proper polenta process, and redeem the crock-pot in my eyes.

Here’s what I did:

Dump some amount of course-ground polenta in the crock-pot. (Doris, you’ll be pleased to know it came from a mill in Odon, IN.) Maybe like a cup. Add four times the amount of water, a generous heave of salt and turn on to low. Or high. I did both, and returned to find the crock-pot frothing at the lid. I turned it down to low, and it seemed happier. Add more water if you tend to forget about such things or if it seems dry.

I think I stirred it one point. Most cookbooks will inform you that you must hover around, stirring gently and soothingly to your porridge. I have never been able to do this without being spat upon by boiling spurts of polenta. So I don’t stir and things get lumpy. Cooking authorities have also informed me that I should be making a slurry of the cornmeal and some amount of water before adding the rest of the liquid to prevent lumps. I have been lump free up to this point and see no reason to change. Advice, anyone?

If you feel fancy, you can use milk, stock, or cream instead of water.  I like to scoop it up and pour milk, butter and a little sprinkle of turbinado sugar when I need to eat goopy bowl things. We usually eat this under stews that are tomato based.

You can pour leftovers into a greased pan or plate and fry it up the next morning with sausage and maple syrup. Yes, yes.