Paella with Chorizo and Chicken

As I have mentioned previously, The New York Times 60-MInute Gourmet was my go-to cookbook for years. In my recently rediscovered copy, on a heavily stained page 170, is a recipe for paella, a dish I had never tasted before trying to make it myself. I cooked that recipe a lot early on, then gave up on it because it never seemed to turn out the way I expected. The Cook’s Illustrated recipe I tried much later delivered on flavor but failed completely on texture: mushy rice, dry chicken, overcooked vegetables. It eventually dawned on me that a utensil called a paella pan existed for a particular reason: it was specifically designed to cook paella. (The rice needs to cook quickly, and a wide shallow pan promotes evaporation.) I found an inexpensive aluminum nonstick version at IKEA, which improved the dish significantly.

I thought I made a decent paella by this time, a delusion that was shattered during my visit to London’s Borough Market. I walked by stalls that had huge steaming pans of paella, like this one:

... and a similary sized pan of chicken paella.

After one taste of this version I knew I still had work to do. Some of the rice was crispy, called socarrat, a result of charring at the bottom of the pan. I knew that my non-stick pan would never let me produce that result, so I found a local source of real carbon-steel pans, which also provided me with the other missing component: Valencian bomba medium-grain rice. With the correct pan and rice, I was soon making paella I wanted to eat.

What better recipe could I come up with to showcase my newly-made cold-smoked chorizo?  I had learned a lot about this dish after years of trial and error, and had one more variation to try. I assembled a minimal set of ingredients: four chicken thighs split across the bone, two cups of bomba rice, four cups of homemade chicken stock, a medium onion and a larger tomato (both grated on the large holes of a box grater), two tablespoons of chopped garlic, a half cup of white wine, a healthy pinch of saffron, and two links of chorizo cut on the bias into thick slices.

I heated the stock and let the saffron steep in it until needed. I browned the chicken in olive oil over meduim high heat, removed it from the pan, added the chorizo, and cooked until brown and the oil had acquired a lovely orange tint.

After removing the chorizo, I prepares a sofrito by adding the onion, garlic, tomato, a teaspoon of tomato paste, and a pinch of salt, and cooking until the mixture darkened and thickened.

I deglazed the pan with the wine, then added the rice and stirred to coat, about two minutes.

I stirred the saffron-infused stock, into the rice, returned the chorizo and chicken to the pan, brought it to a simmer, and then set it in a 450°F oven.

Cooking in the oven instead of on the stovetop was the new variation. No matter how large the stove burner may be (I have a very large 15,000 BTU burner, but it’s nowhere near the size of the gas rings I saw the pans siting on in the market), it won’t cover the entire bottom of a 16-inch pan. A hot oven, however, will heat the pan evenly. After fifteen minutes, the rice was almost completely cooked, so I shut off the heat and let the pan sit in the oven for another ten minutes before moving it back to the stovetop. I rotated the pan over a burner set on high, crisping the rice on the bottom and sides. I topped the pan with some chopped parsley and roasted red peppers.

This was a paella to be proud of: I could taste each ingredient, the saffron wasn’t drowned out, there was crisp socarrat, and the chorizo was smoky and spicy. He Who Will Not Be Ignored summed it up best: “Dad, I need more sausage.”

What about the shrimp, peas, green beans, and other components? I didn’t want to drown out my sausage. You can add them if you want, but then you no longer have true paella, you have arroz con cosas: “rice with things.”

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Charcutepalooza Challenge 5: Cold-Smoked Chorizo

If the Sixth Annual Birthday Dinner (the reporting on which will continue this week) wasn’t enough to keep me busy in the kitchen, I had the May Charcutepalooza challenge to complete as well. I had already figured out meat grinding during the hilarity that made up my first attempt at sausage making, so it seemed logical to improve my skills by not only making the chorizo required by the challenge, but also stuffing it into casings. Charcuterie has a recipe for cold-smoked Spanish style chorizo in casings; it would take a few days longer to prepare than plain Italian sausage, but I thought it was worth a try.

The day after the birthday dinner, still achy from a solid day’s worth of meal prep, I assembled my ingredients for the chorizo: pure pork fat cut into one-inch cubes, pink salt (sodium nitrate), white pepper, nonfat dry milk powder, ground cumin, ancho chile powder (which I ground after toasting whole anchos in the oven), and lean pork butt trimmed of gristle and silverskin. I made the mistake of ordering the final weight of pork that was required by the recipe without considering how much I’d lose from trimming, so I adjusted the proportions of the remaining ingredients accordingly.

I mixed the pork and al the dry ingredients together, let them chill, then ran the pork through the large die of my grinder into a chilled bowl set in ice.

I ground the fat next through the small die, combined it with the pork, added ice water and scallions, then gave everything a mix with the paddle attachment until the meat was smooth and sticky.

As I mentioned in the sausage post, She Who Must Be Obeyed allowed me to buy a real sausage stuffer:

I had the main cylinder siting in the freezer while I did the grinding and mixing. After another embarrassing half hour spent threading hog casing onto the spout and assembling the stuffer, I summoned She Who to lend a hand. As before, I turned the crank and she guided the sausage as it was formed. We learned that the stuffer could overfill the casings if cranked too quickly, but we eventually figured out the correct rate of crankage to stuffage and churned out the entire batch in less than twenty minutes. If you look carefully at the three o’click position on the coil, you can see where the casing burst due to overfill.

I twisted the casings into links,

and isolated the burst section for quality control, using it to make chorizo and scallion scrambled eggs.

After sitting overnight uncovered in the fridge, I cold-smoked the links for four hours.

I hung the smoked links in my drying cabinet (a scientific equipment shipping trunk with vent holes drilled in the sides and a timed circulating fan bolted to the outside) and let them dry for four days. The digital hygrometer shows a near-perfect drying environment of 60°F and 68% humidity.

After four days I had the dryer, firmer chorizo you see at the top of this post. I wrapped and froze half of the batch, set aside the short link from the reaming half, and wrapped the rest for storage in the fridge.

I removed the casing from the short link (about three ounces) and made chorizo-lime buter.

I stuffed it under the skin of a four-pound chicken,

roasted it, and served the chicken with olive oil mashed potatoes.

Having successfully incorporated chorizo into two dishes, it was time to feature it as a main ingredient. But that’s the subject of the next post.

Cold-Smoked Chorizo on Punk Domestics
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Sixth Annual Birthday Dinner: Braised Short Rib with Crispy Beef and Shallot Salad with Sweet, Sour, and Savory Glaze

I knew that I wanted the main course for this dinner to be short rib, which I haven’t served since the first annual dinner’s “pot au feu” from the French Laundry Cookbook, but I hadn’t expected to tackle a recipe from Modernist Cuisine quite so soon after receiving it. I kept looking for other recipes, but this one just looked like it would taste amazing, so after a careful review of the steps and techniques involved I figured it was within the realm of possibility. It would take planning – a whole week’s worth of work – but no one day would be too overwhelming. Which was a good thing, since I had five other courses to make during that same week.

If you can publish a six-volume state-of-the-art genre-defining cookbook, you probably have access to ingredients unavailable to us mere mortals. In this case, the platonic ideal ingredient was a four-bone plate of short ribs of uniform thickness, with a minimal fat cap and perfect marbling throughout. My butcher had three-bone plates that tapered significantly at one end, so I doubled up and bought eight ribs worth, knowing that I’d be able to get at least one meaty chunk from each bone.

I vacuum sealed the ribs along with some very gelatinous beef stock and let them soak in my sous vide cooker for 72 hours at 60°C, checking on them twice a day to make sure nothing was leaking and that the water level remained constant.

Crispy Beef Strands

This was the most labor-intensive component of the dish, requiring me to make beef jerky before shredding and frying it. I started with a pound of well-trimmed flank steak, which I cut into long strips along the grain, some salt, sugar, soy sauce, and fish sauce.

I combined the sauces, salt, and sugar to make a marinade, added the beef, then vacuum sealed the container, which marinated in the fridge for 48 hours.

After two days, I drained off the marinade, patted the beef dry, laid out strips on a plate, and microwaved them until they were dry and jerky-like. I had to do this in small batches, otherwise the steam released wound up boiling the meat. After a bit of messing around with times and power settings, I ended up with beef jerky. Once it was cooled, I shredded it by tearing off thin strips along the grain.

To completely dry out the beef and make it crispy, I fried the strands in 350°F oil until the water had boiled off and the bubbling stopped.

When I was done I had a plate full of crispy beef strands, which I had to force myself not to snack into oblivion. I stored them in a vacuum-sealed container with some dessicant to keep them dry.

Dehydrated Garlic Chip

This garnish began with two massive cloves of elephant garlic which I sliced on a mandoline:

I warmed them up in a pot of skim milk, then let them cool.

I drained off the milk, rinsed the blanched garlic in cold water, then dried them overnight at 122°F in a dehydrator. (Had I been thinking more clearly about the prep, I would have borrowed the dehydrator a day earlier and used it to dry the beef as well.)

I stored the chips in a container with desiccant (packets are cheap on Amazon) until they were needed.

I started the ribs on a Monday, so by Thursday they were ready. I removed the bags from the water bath, chilled them quickly in ice water, then cut open the bags and slipped the bones out of the meat.

I trimmed the pieces into thick squares, sealed the squares in a new vacuum bag, and stored them in the fridge until final assembly. (I put the rest of the beef scraps to good use a few days ago by making 72-hour sous vide short rib hash.)

While the ribs chilled out, I reduced three liters of homemade beef stock down to a little more than a cup of thick glaze that coated the back of a spoon (about ten hours of cooking). I infused the glaze with cilantro, Thai basil, and star anise.

After straining out the aromatics, I added palm sugar (sweet) and tamarind concentrate (sour) to the savory glaze, adjusted the seasoning with salt, and kept it warm on the stove.

About two hours before dinner, I thinly sliced two large shallots and fried them until crispy. I also prepared the greens for the salad garnish, which was made up of Thai basil, cilantro (leaves and stems), mint, julienned lime zest, julienned scallion, and thin-sliced bird’s eye chili. Right before plating I tossed the salad with salt, lime juice, and half of the crispy beef strands.

I also tossed the fried shallots with the rest of the beef strands and dressed them with some of the glaze.

At the start of the dinner I placed the bag of ribs back in the water bath to heat up. At plating time I cut the bag open, dried off the ribs, then crisped the tops with a blowtorch until the meat had a good sear. (In addition to seeing me torch meat, you get to see me in the obligatory chef’s jacket She Who Must Be Obeyed makes me wear during birthday dinner service.)

I lacquered the beef with the glaze before plating.

I centered each rib on a plate, dressed with the beef and crispy shallots, topped with the salad, and leaned a garlic chip against the stack.

I served the beef with a 2008 Occhipinti il Frappato di Siciliana, a wine I first tasted during my second dinner at Journeyman.

I was concerned that this dish would be a lot of work that would fail to deliver on the plate. I was wrong, it was a knockout. Some of our guests thought it was the best single dish they’ve been served at a birthday dinner, and I’ve served more than 30 dishes to date.

The beef was so tender it fell apart when you poked it with a fork. It had the perfect balance of fat and lean, and just enough texture to prevent it from being too soft. The rest of the garnishes were a classic study in balanced Thai flavors: you could taste sweet, sour, salty, savory, and a bit of heat. There was crunch from the beef strands and shallots, acid from the lime, and refreshing coolness from the greens. These plates came back to the kitchen absolutely bare.

In retrospect the most difficult part of this dish was finding perfect short ribs. If I can locate a good source of thick, meaty ribs, I will definitely make this dish again. After all, what’s an entire week in the kitchen when the results are so stunning?

Sources:

Short ribs, flank steak: Savenor’s
Garlic, shallots, herbs, tamarind concentrate, palm sugar: Whole Foods
Thai basil: Russo’s
Frappato: Central Bottle

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Sixth Annual Birthday Dinner: Roasted Scallop with Celery Root Puree & Iwa Nori

I‘ve had my eye on this recipe from Momofuku for a while and figured the dinner would be a good showcase, since it is both a seafood dish and uses Asian flavors that would compliment the next course. Unfortunately, due to the a la minute nature of its preparation, I don’t have a thorough photo documentation. I also had to make two substitutions: the original recipe uses kohlrabi and chanterelles, neither of which I could locate, so I used celery root and shiitakes instead.

I was able to do some of the prep in advance. I made a batch of bacon dashi a few days ahead, then pickled baby shiitakes in water, rice vinegar, salt, and sugar, and let them sit in the fridge overnight:

I diced and boiled the celery root, mashed it, and passed it through a tamis to make a smooth purée, which I kept warm while the meal started. Lastly, I crisped some batons of miso bacon I had in the Belm Utility Research Kitchen, figuring the sweetness would compliment the scallop, and besides, who doesn’t like scallops with bacon?

I dried and seasoned eight large scallops, then seared and butter basted them for a few minutes.

To plate, I smeared the celery root purée across a bowl, centered the scallop, garnished with the pickled shiitakes and some julienned scallions, then carefully spooned in the hot dashi, finishing with the bacon batons and a sprinkle of iwa nori (the pre-processed seaweed used in nori wrappers).

The scallop was accompanied by a chilled dry Riesling:

The scallops were perfectly cooked (crispy sear on one side, still-soft texture), the broth was smoky and flavorful, and the garnishes all played their parts: acidity from the shiitakes, crunch and sharpness from the scallion, and a taste of the sea from the nori, which also emphasized the konbu base in the dashi. I liked the restraint of the dish, and that it was just a few satisfying bites – a trend I need to expand upon in the future.

 

Sources:

Scallops, shiitakes: Savenor’s
Celery root, iwa nori: Whole Foods
Miso bacon: Belm Utility Research Kitchen
Riesling: Belm Cellars

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Sixth Annual Birthday Dinner: Prosciutto, Melon, Basil

I got the idea for this dish when I made prosciutto ice cream, and spent some time thinking about how I would present a classic flavor combination. Instead of sitting the ice cream on top of a melon slice, which would be difficult to cut with a spoon, I compressed the melon by vacuum sealing and refrigerating it for twelve hours.

Compressed melon has a more intense flavor and color, and a firmer texture. I cut the slices into quarter-inch cubes.

I plated the ice cream over the melon cubes, added a few strips of basil chiffonade, and topped with a chip of duck prosciutto.

The dish was accompanied by a chilled, tart lambrusco:

Apart from the novelty of the savory ice cream, this starter was a playful way to begin the meal. If I make it again, I may try a different method to present the basil.

Sources:

Melon, basil: Whole Foods
Prosciutto ice cream, duck prosciutto: Belm Utility Research Kitchen
Lambrusco: Central Bottle

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Sixth Annual Birthday Dinner: Menu

It’s hard to believe that this evening we will host the sixth birthday dinner I’ve cooked for She Who Must Be Obeyed and friends. I’m up to my neck in last-minute prep, but I remembered to print out menus this year. Detailed posts will follow next week – until then, here’s what we’ll be eating tonight, barring unforseen disaster:

Prosciutto, Melon, Basil

Primevo Lambrusco di Sorbara

Scallop

Celery root, shiitakes, bacon, nori

2005 Göttelmann Kapellenberg Riesling

Short Rib

Crispy beef salad, sweet-sour-savory glaze

2008 Occhipinti il Frappato di Siciliana

Apple Pie, Cheddar Cheese

Eden Ice Cider

Orange and Beet Jellies

Chocolate, Peanut

Caramel, preserved citron

Berkshire Coffeehouse Porter

 

And now, back to the kitchen.

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The Triple Bacon Blast

When I made my 100% homemade BLT, I asserted that it was the best bacon sandwich I’d ever eaten. My English friends disagreed, telling me in no uncertain terms that a proper bacon sarnie (or bacon buttie) consisted of pork loin bacon (not the “streaky” bacon from the belly) between two slices of buttered white bread, with a healthy splash of “brown sauce.”

We may never come to an agreement about this crucial issue, in fact, I’d wager that regional differences concerning the composition of smoked pork sandwiches would result in civil and international wars if we weren’t so busy blowing up brown people.

I’ve been very busy in the Belm Utility Research Kitchen this week in preparation for the annual birthday dinner for She Who Must Be Obeyed, so I’ve been making simpler dinners with what’s available in the fridge. When I found a chunk of Canadian bacon and a few slices of homemade (i.e., streaky) bacon, I remembered last year’s triple-threat pork sandwiches and decided to upgrade the bacon sarnie by adding more bacon in the form of bacon-bourbon jam.

I toasted some country white bread, spread mayo on one slice and jam on the other, then layered Canadian bacon and crispy bacon slices.

The jam has the same flavor profile as brown sauce – not too sweet, with onion and smoky notes – minus the gloppy wetness. I’d put this sandwich up against a bacon buttie any day (except the sarnie made at St. John, which I’m meant to understand is the Platonic ideal of bacon sandwiches). I only wish I had timed this meal to coincide with a wedding of some note that I heard took place in London.

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An Angry Bir(d)thday

Left to his own devices, Who Will Not Be Ignored would play Angry Birds obsessively until he dropped from exhaustion. That doesn’t prevent him from thinking about the game when he’s not playing it, or calling our attention to this YouTube video. The less than subtle hint was that he hoped we could produce a similar cake for his birthday party. His friends have hosted skating parties, scavenger hunts, and laser  tag parties, so he figured playing a game with his cake would elevate his status among his peers. Or, more succinctly: “Mom, it would be so cool to have an Angry Birds cake for my party!”

After watching the video, She Who Must Be Obeyed determined that it wouldn’t be too difficult to assemble something similar. I made two suggestions:

  1. Make the structures easier to hit by not setting them all in a straight line.
  2. Get a cheap slingshot, and don’t attach it to the cake. This will cut down on the velocity of any cake projectiles.

She Who solved the bird construction problem quickly: dip plain Dunkin’ Munchkins in colored candy. (Dunkin’ Donut employees get confused when you request nothing but plain Munchkins, those are usually meant to be filler. They are, however, the densest and easiest to coat.) The first test was a success:

The details were constructed from Airheads taffy in various colors and flavors, pre-made sugar eyes, and food safe markers. Here’s a pig under construction:

There are many different birds available in the game, but we settled for the basic set of red, blue, and yellow. I figured out how to cut off the sides of the Munchkins to make them vaguely triangular for the yellow birds. Beaks were formed out of taffy, as were the white fronts for the red birds.

Instead of using green icing to imitate grass, I found a box of plastic “sushi grass” (called baran in Japanese) that She Who folded and cemented in place with green cupcake icing. The base is a woodgrain laminated bookshelf.

Two square layer cakes, one chocolate and one lemon, formed the foundation for the wooden arches, which were made from chocolate-covered wafers.

Candles and birds were added, and the cake was ready to meet its horrible end. The white backdrop was a last-minute addition once we realized that we would be handing cake and slingshots to a bunch of twelve-year-olds.

He Who’s guests were suitably impressed.

Much to my surprise, it took four complete sets of turns for the boys to destroy the cake. I guess slingshots are no longer included in the standard issue “Li’l Bastard” mischief kits.

They set on the birds like ravenous weasels before also requesting slices of cake. We didn’t have much left by the party’s end, which serves as a rousing endorsement of She Who’s baking skills. She won’t be entering any challenges for the Food Network (“all cake, all the time!”), but we’re staring to look into quantum teleportation for next year’s Portal 2 cake.

Afterword by She Who Must Be Obeyed:

It all started with the simple question I ask our son every year: What kind of cake should I make for your birthday? From that point on, the project took on a life of its own. The details above that David so kindly wrote up for me pale with the conclusion of this project: watching a group of twelve-year-olds use slingshots to launch the Angry Birds to take out the evil green pigs! (You know it’s a fantasy – how can a pig be evil?)

It was great fun working out the elements of the cake. Remember, if the bird is not balanced it will not fly properly. I will spare readers by not reproducing the sketch that He Who Will Not Be Ignored made for me, but will only mention that I nixed any water option. David deserves credit for the idea of using sushi grass, cutting up the Dunkin’ Munchkins® for the triangular yellow birds, and, most importantly, stopping me from using the good chocolate. He Who Will Not Be Ignored told me that it will take him some time to decide what cake he wants next year. I can’t wait.

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Stuffed Lamb’s Hearts

I rediscovered three lamb hearts in the Deep Storage Facility and figured it was finally time to do something new with them. A fourth heart had been trimmed, grilled, and served with lamb chops, so I knew that both She and He Who wouldn’t object to the taste. Of course there’s a suitable recipe in The Whole Beast, so I set to it, halving the quantities since I didn’t have the required six lamb’s hearts.

The recipe begins with a simple stuffing made from two sliced red onions, two cloves of peeled and chopped garlic, a cup of red wine, chopped sage leaves, and a quarter pound of cubed white bread with the crusts removed (I used day old French pullman slices).

I cooked the onions and garlic over medium low heat until they were softened, then added the wine and let it reduce by half.

I added the bread and cooked it until it had “an unctuous but not squidgy quality,” seasoned it with salt and pepper, let it cool, then mixed in the chopped sage. I’m not the best judge of squdginess, but I assumed the stuffing had to retain some moisture. There’s always some component of a Fergus Henderson recipe that creates the most amazing smell that lingers in the kitchen long after the meal is done; the stuffing played that part in this dish.

While the stuffing cooled I prepared the hearts by removing excess fat from the outside, blood clots from the inside, and trimming away some of the flaps from the top, wondering if the discarded valves and arterial junctions should be put on the sheep transplant registry. I also readied six slices of bacon: the recipe calls for three slices per heart, but I suspect my hearts were on the small side and estimated  that two slices each would suffice.

Getting the stuffing into the hearts proved to be much more difficult than I expected. The openings were no wider than my index finger, so I had to push in small pinches of stuffing and pack it down. Applying too much pressure resulted in stuffing popping out of one of the other open valves (curse you, four-chambered mammalian circulation!), so I had to be gentle. I had a lot of stuffing left over, lending proof to my too-small heart theory.

I inverted each heart onto a pair of crossed bacon slices, drew up the bacon ends, and tied them off with string. I set each of the bacon-wrapped hearts in a glass loaf pan, which was just the right size.

The hearts are supposed to be almost covered with chicken stock, but why use chicken when you have left over pheasant and trotter stock from a previous meal? I filled the pan, covered it with foil, and baked it at 350°F for a little over two hours. While the hearts baked I made some mashed rutabagas, the suggested accompaniment.

I drained off the stock to a saucepan and boiled it to reduce by half. To serve, I plated a heart with some rutabaga, and gave everything a hearty splash of the pan sauce.

Lamb hearts are intensely meaty; each chewy bite tastes like concentrated essence of lamb. What little stuffing there was contributed acidity and sweetness, add in the smoky bacon and each bite was packed with complimentary flavors. I held up a forkful and proclaimed “We eat the beast’s heart to gain it’s power!”, which got a laugh out of He Who Will Not Be Ignored.

This is an excellent entry-level introduction into the world of cooking with offal; I highly recommend you give it a try.  I also wound up with a bonus: two cups of pheasant/trotter/lamb/bacon stock. It’s like a bread starter, keep adding to it and using it for new meals.

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The Belm Collection of Unusual Food

It’s not soap, it’s chocolate,” my apartment mate Steve explained. Despite his claim, the small paper-wrapped rectangular slab I held in my hand looked for all the world like a very old bar of hotel soap – it even had oily stains at the corners. Steve had just returned from a trip to Trenčin, Czechoslovakia (then, Slovakia now), and brought back samples of the local chocolate. Collecting foreign chocolate was a hobby of his, but he had extra bars (of course he did, who would dare eat one?), so he gave it to me.

I unwrapped the bar just to prove to myself that it contained a chocolate-like substance. I tasted a few crumbs, and, unconvinced that I wasn’t eating chocolate-colored soap, wrapped it up and put it on a shelf in my room. I’d probably still have the bar if the apartment hadn’t been broken into a few months later. Along with obvious stereo equipment and a TV, one of the things I noticed as missing was the chocolate. Our burglar was either hungry or dirty, both being equally unlikely.

The cheap Czech chocolate (similar to P.J. O’Rourke’s “crumbling Commie concrete”) was the first in what has become a quarter of a century’s worth of strange food gifts from countries Steve has visited. I have dutifully kept all of them accessible on various kitchen shelves, but now have to make room for my ever-expanding collection of spices and chemicals. Rather than de-accession the collection, it will go into storage for future study. What follows is a catalog of The Belm Collection of Unusual Food, amassed from generous donations by Steve Strassmann. It is important to note that apart from three exceptions, none of the items in the collection have been opened and tasted.

The first item, shown above, is a can of taro and sago dessert, which seems to be a variation on tapioca pearls. The can has a pull-tab top and a small spoon folded in half and tucked into the plastic lid. This early contribution to the collection predates the explosion of Asian markets in the Boston area, so at the time it qualified as unusual.

The next three items are classified as protein sources, the earliest of which is this package of krill from Russia. Despite the fancy packaging, the box contains a can of brine shrimp packed in brine.

The next item, a can of haggis, has been documented previously on these pages, and therefore requires no further description.

The last item in the proteins group is this container of chocolate-covered crickets, which the manufacturer takes great pains to advise us are edible. There is some discussion among the curators as to whether this item belongs with the proteins or candies.

There was a fourth item in this grouping: a can of pork and chestnut stew retrieved from Paris. While it may have been the French equivalent of a can of Dinty Moore’s, it was unusual here for both the contents and the shape of the can, which bulged out at about a third of the height from the base. We assume the shape was meant to emulate a kettle or cooking pot, but bulging cans are also inextricably associated with botulism poisoning. Not so for Mr. Strssmann’s (now ex-) wife, who, when offered homemade pasta for diner, chose instead to open the can and consume its contents. That incident marked the beginning of the end for elle qui ne doit pas s’appeler.

From proteins we move to condiments. Europeans have a very different idea of what constitutes ketchup, to the extent that one of our consulting curators once sketched a study for a memorial to “the last bottle of good ketchup in Great Britain.” The first item, Mister Ketchup, is clearly marketed to appeal to children. The vaguely anthropomorphic bottle shape may suggest the human form, but it also suggests never being able to extract ketchup from the leg-like appendages.

The second item is a bottle of curry ketchup from Germany. That taste combination is as American as french fries dipped in rich, creamy mayonnaise.

From condiments we move to digestive aids. The first entry in this category is a bottle of “botanically brewed” dandelion and burdock beverage with ginger extract. We can only imagine how this concoction tastes; our best hypothesis places it in the Moxie/Vernor’s/Jaegermeister flavor space.

Similar in purpose and possibly in taste is this box of three bottles of Underberg natural herb bitters. The box was opened in order to highlight  the trompe-l’Å“il technique used to illustrate the bottles.

Unsurprisingly, given the collection’s origins, the last and largest category is candies and sweets. Although the first item, Every Burger, is commonly available in Asian markets, it is notable in that the tiny cookies made to emulate cheeseburgers predate the current trend for macarons. Unfortunately, only the box remains, the contents eaten by the curator’s son during the cataloging process.

This can of black bullets has been opened only twice. The first time was in order to ascertain that the contents were spherical black mint-flavored hard candies and not contraband, the second time to assess the moisture damage that has caused the bottom of the can to rust. The second examination also revealed that the black coloring had aged to a medium brown and that the candies had fused together into a mass that can no longer be extracted from the container.

The next item is from a world-renowned candy maker that has achieved international fame as the inventor of gummi bears. It has been suggested that the contents of this package of Lavae are similar to candy-covered licorice, but the misplaced marketing effort leaves open the possibility that this candy could be grouped with the previously described crickets.

The last three items are grouped thematically by their method of content delivery: squeeze tubes. The first item in this group is a package of vanilla pudding, the collection’s second Parisian acquisition. This item is unique to the collection in that it is the only one stored in the refrigerator. It seems unlikely that the child portrayed on the package is demonstrating the proper consumption technique.

The penultimate item recalls the origins of the collection, in that it is another instance of chocolate from Slovakia. This tube of Pikao remains unopened, although we have been apprised that the chocolate paste is palatable and quite the rage with local children, who squeeze the contents of the tubes directly into their mouths.

Our last item, while in tube form, is technically not food, but rather a food follow-up like the previously discussed digestive aids. Email Diamant Formule Rouge, our most recent acquisition from Paris, is a popular brand of toothpaste that as been around since 1893. We opened this tube to confirm that formule rouge was in fact red in color. This formulation makes exceptional claims about its tooth-whitening abilities (email diamant translates as “diamond enamel”), but, after tasting the sample we extruded for photographic documentation, we have formed an alternate theory. It took repeated rinses with clear water to remove the pink color from our mouths, and assume that the act of brushing with this formulation is not unlike brushing-induced pyorrhea. The resulting pink-stained gums make the teeth look whiter by contrast.

Other donors have attempted to contribute to the collection, but have failed to capture the essential strangeness that Mr. Strassmann understands so intuitively. His remarkable efforts in securing items for display and study are not unlike those of Bernard Berenson in securing the world’s great masterpieces for Isabella Stewart Gardner. His tireless work for the collection is to be commended; we hope to remain the beneficiaries of his taste for years to come.

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