Waste Not Want Not: Cheese Rinds and a Celery Soup

The garden’s getting drenched with rain today, thankfully, so I stayed inside and made soup. Lovely celery and leek soup feels spring-like, light and nourishing just like the rain. Local leeks were back in this morning’s farmers’ market so I wanted to build a soup around them. I also had an abundance of organic celery with lots of leaves, a perfect pairing with the leeks, united by homemade chicken stock from last weekend’s roast. And then there was the secret ingredient: a hunk of rind from Parmesan cheese. When the cheese is mostly grated off and the rinds start to harden, I just tuck them away in a plastic bag in the refrigerator and add them to soup. They impart a rich flavor to the soup base and I know I’ve wrung the most flavor from a fairly expensive ingredient.

Celery Rice Soup

6-7 stalks of celery, preferably inner stalks, diced (about 3 cups), leaves reserved

1 leek, white and light green parts, cleaned, halves lengthwise and sliced

2 tsp butter

4 c homemade chicken stock

1 piece (1×2 inches or so) Parmesan cheese rind

1/3 c raw rice (or 1 c cooked)

Salt

Optional: grated Parmesan cheese

Optional: Parmesan cheese croutons

Slowly saute the celery and leek in butter until the leek start to soften. Add the chicken stock and cheese rind and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for about 10 minutes. Add the raw rice and cook for another 15-20 minutes until the rice is tender, adding additional liquid (water or stock) if the soup gets too thick. Adjust for salt and add chopped celery leaves, reserving a few for the final garnish. Serve hot, sprinkled with Parmesan cheese and additional chopped celery leaves. Parmesan cheese toasts are a nice accompaniment.

Serves 4.

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Meyer Lemon Marmalade with Tarragon

This marmalade bridges winter and spring by combining the last citrus with the first fresh herbs.  Meyer lemons are sweeter and more delicate than standard lemons and therefore lend themselves to a lighter touch. And licorice-like tarragon imparts a grassy freshness that counteracts the sugar. My basic recipe for lemon marmalade is one of the most consulted recipes on this blog, yielding thousands of hits since I posted it in January 2010. In late fall and early winter, I favored the addition of ginger and/or rosemary. Here I am pleased to celebrate the arrival of spring.

Meyer Lemon Marmalade with Tarragon

6 Meyer lemons (to make 3 cups sliced: see prep steps below)

Approximately 1¾ c water

Approximately 2¼  cups sugar

A few sprigs of fresh tarragon, a few large leaves reserved

Prepare the lemons. Wash them and split them in half lengthwise. Slice a V-groove to remove the center core, and set aside the seeds. Slice each half lengthwise and then crosswise into thin (1/16 – 1/8”) pieces. Chip the end rind into 3/8” pieces. This yielded 3 cups of sliced lemon. Wrap the reserved seeds in cheesecloth tied with a string and set aside.

In a deep pot, combine the lemons and water barely to cover (approximately 1¾ cups of water), and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Cook for about 5 minutes, cool, cover and set aside overnight in the refrigerator. (You can add the tarragon at this point to infuse the mixture or add it when cooking as I did.)

Return to the stove and simmer until the rind is cooked but not mushy, around 7 minutes. Place a saucer in the freezer for testing the gel. Prepare jars for water bath canning.

Measure the lemon mixture and add sugar in a ratio of 3:4, meaning ¾ cup sugar to 1 cup of fruit. Pour lemon mixture back into the pot, add the pouch of seeds and a large sprig or two of tarragon, and cook at a medium boil for about 25 minutes, stirring frequently to prevent a scorched bottom. Remove the seed pouch before the marmalade finishes, so that it doesn’t get too sticky, and discard. The marmalade is done when a droplet added to the frozen plate doesn’t run. I sometimes use a candy thermometer, which shows a gel point at 221 degrees Fahrenheit, but I find that cooking the marmalade that long makes it denser than I like. In any case, watch the pot carefully and stir the mix as progress accelerates toward the end.

Remove the tarragon and the pouch of seeds. Spoon the marmalade into hot sterilized jars through a canning funnel. Add a fresh tarragon leaf to each jar, pushing it down into the marmalade. Clean the jar rims, top with new flat lids that have been dunked in just-boiled water, screw on the lids and process the jars in boiling water in your canner for 10 minutes. Turn off the stove, remove the lid and let sit for 5 minutes; then remove to the counter to cool, undisturbed, for a few hours.

Makes 2 ½ cups (two 8-oz jars and one 4-oz jar)

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How to Eat Your Lawn: A Salad of Bittercress and Violets

I don’t weed my lawn. I eat it. One of the earliest food crops in my yard is bittercress, a member of the Cruciferae family of green plants (think mustard). It’s a pretty invasive plant that enjoys cold and wet conditions such as those we typically experience at this time of year. Reviled as a weed or served as a lightly spicy precursor to watercress and arugula, bittercress is useful as a garnish when parsley and other herbs are fast asleep. It keeps well so I harvest a bunch before the plants go to seed and keep it in the refrigerator for a couple of weeks.

Then there are dandelion leaves to harvest, before the plants get large and flower. If you’re trying to eliminate them from your lawn, this is a good time to dig them up since the roots are still shallow. The leaves are edible (as are the flowers) and make a good salad ingredient.  Later, when they’re larger, I’ll wilt them in a bacon and vinegar dressing, but right now they’re very tender so I leave them as is. And now, violets are just beginning to show their flowers. When the violet flowers first come out, the tiny leaves are tender and delicious so I harvest them for my foraged salad along with a few pretty blossoms. I also added a few kale trimmings from my awakening garden. Dressed lightly in oil and vinegar, this small-portion salad packs a lot of flavor and signals that spring is really here. 

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Braised Pork Loin with Sweet Peppers

I am a lousy meat cook. First of all, I’m not much of a meat-eater so it’s hard to get enthusiastic about the topic. Second, I think that Americans have been eating too much meat for generations. My preference is to use meat as a condiment and its stock as a base, stretching good quality ingredients while maintaining nutrition and flavor. No surprise then that most of my successful meat dishes are slow-cooked. That said, however, I have discovered a few quick ways of cooking meat, in this case pork (or alternatively, chicken).  This particular dish is simple but (potentially) elegant, quick (under 30 minutes) and nearly foolproof (if you don’t overcook it). It uses pork loin, not the least expensive cut by any means, but I feed four amply with ¾ pound, which amounts to under $5.00 for the meat at full price. Not bad for elegant.

The more costly ingredients are the organic bell peppers, that is, if you pay full price. Our local all-organic produce market places slightly marred peppers in the markdown bin, so at 69 cents per pound, they can be a (relative) bargain. When I get a haul of great peppers, this is one of the dishes I like to make.

The pork is sprinkled with paprika and slightly seared to seal in the juices. In goes a little white wine to deglaze the pan and then a little chicken stock. Sliced peppers and onions and a little thyme (fresh or dried) are mounded on top and allowed to simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes until the vegetables are crisp tender and the pork cooked through but slightly pink. The pork is removed to a warm platter to rest while a little sour cream or yogurt is added to the vegetables and cooked for a couple of minutes into a beautiful sauce. That’s it. Simplicity.  You can serve this on noodles or potatoes. I don’t know where I got the idea for this dish since I’ve been making it for so long, but I suspect it was from Pierre Franey’s New York Times series on quick meals.

Braised Pork Loin with Sweet Peppers

1 pork loin, ¾-1¼ lb

Sweet paprika

Salt

Vegetable oil

¼ c white wine

½ c chicken stock

1 medium onion, sliced vertically into crescent shapes

1 clove garlic, slivered

½ red pepper, slivered

½ yellow pepper, slivered

½ green pepper, slivered

½ tsp dried thyme or several sprigs of fresh thyme

2 tbsp sour cream or whole milk yogurt

Dry the pork loin. Cut it in half if necessary to fit the pan. Coat it with sweet paprika and a sprinkling of salt. Saute it slowly in vegetable oil to sear all sides. Add the white wine to deglaze the pan, and then the chicken stock. Pile the vegetables and thyme on top, bring the liquid to a simmer, cover the pan, and cook over low heat for about 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are crisp-tender and the meat is cooked but still slightly pink (it will continue to cook after being removed from the pan). Remove the pork to a plate and keep warm. Bring the liquid to a near boil, and add in the sour cream. (You can warm the sour cream with a little liquid before adding it to the pan to avoid curdling; this is more important when using yogurt than with sour cream.) Carve the pork into thin slices and top with the vegetables and cooking liquid. Spoon over noodles or potatoes. Serves 4.

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Dark Days 19: Waterzooi of Chicken

A continuing series on weekly meals that use sustainable, organic, local and ethical food during the challenging winter months. For more information, go here to the DDC section of Not Dabbling in Normal’s website: Dark Days Challenge.

In which I make a classic Belgian stew with all-local ingredients at the beginning of spring and the end of the dark days…

Everyone eats well in Belgium. So they say. There’s even a cookbook by that name. Having been there numerous times, I can attest to the quality of the food. Belgium is really two countries in one: Flanders (speaking Flemish) in the north and Wallonia (speaking French) in the south. Brussels bridges them. While geographically part of Flanders, Brussels is predominately French-speaking in my experience although it claims to be bilingual. I am most familiar with the northern country, around the medieval city of Antwerp and branching out to Ghent and Bruges.

Waterzooi is one of the characteristic dishes of the region.  It’s a cross between a soup and a stew, poaching ingredients slowly in liquid (“water” means water – no surprise — and “zooien” is synonymous with boiling). The traditional dish can be made with fish or chicken. I’ve had both in Belgium but this time, I decided on chicken. The typical vegetables are onions, leeks, carrots, celery and potatoes. For the dark days, I chose a small celery root.

The most common cooking method that I know is to poach the chicken in stock with the vegetables, remove the skin and shred the meat, finishing the dish with an egg yolk beaten with a little cream, as you would do for a blanquette de veau in French cuisine. My preference is to poach the chicken separately, remove it from the stock and chill both. This yields more meat and stock than I would use for four. Just increase the vegetables and chicken to serve more. After de-fatting the stock the next day, I poach the vegetables in it until tender, add shredded chicken, and finish with the egg and cream. You can make this in advance and it improves in flavor, so it’s good for parties. Just make sure not to boil the liquid after the egg-cream mixture is added to avoid curdling. 

This feels very spring-like and would be great with fresh peas and tarragon.

Waterzooi of Chicken

1 3-4 lb chicken

1 qt homemade chicken stock plus water as needed

Optional: trimmings of carrots and leeks or onions

1 onion, chopped

1-2 tsp butter or ghee

2 leeks, white and light green parts only, cut into ¼-inch slices, separated into rings

2 carrots, peeled and cut into ¼-inch slices

½ small celeriac (celery root), diced

2 medium red potatoes, peeled and diced

Salt

1 egg yolk

¼ c heavy cream

Parsley, minced

The day before you plan to serve the waterzooi, cut the chicken into pieces and place in a deep stockpot. Add chicken stock and water to cover. Bring to a simmer and cook slowly for about 40 minutes or until the chicken meat is tender and barely cooked through. Remove the chicken to a platter. When cool, remove and reserve the meat and return the bones to the stockpot, adding the optional vegetable trimmings. Bring the mixture to a simmer and cook for about 40 minutes. Remove the bones and vegetables if using, and let the stock cool. Refrigerate it overnight. Remove the layer of fat that rises to the top.

When ready to make the waterzooi, sauté the chopped onion slowly in the butter or ghee. Add the leeks, carrots and celeriac and stir to coat. Ladle in 4 cups of chicken stock and simmer the vegetables for about 15 minutes. Add the potatoes and cook for another 15 minutes or so until the potatoes are tender. Season with salt. Add about 1 cup of shredded chicken meat (more to taste) to heat through.

With a fork, mix the egg yolk and cream thoroughly. Add a little of the warm stock to the mixture and then combine with the ingredients in the pot. Simmer, but do not let the mixture boil (it will curdle).

Serve hot in bowls sprinkled with minced parsley.

Serves 4.

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Waste Not Want Not: Yellow Split Pea Soup with Corned Beef Stock

The spicy and aromatic stock left over from cooking homemade corned beef brisket was simply too good to pour down the drain. Slightly salty from the brined and cured meat and redolent of coriander, ginger, cinnamon, mustard seed, peppercorns and cloves, among other ingredients, it was a welcome base for split pea soup. I chose yellow peas over green because of the spices; the yellow peas seem less grassy in flavor than their counterparts and thus more accepting of the alluring flavors.

The soup was simply cooked with the big three aromatics – onions, celery and carrots – and plenty of liquid, a combination of the corned beef stock and water. You probably need three times the volume of water to peas, but start with less and continue to add liquid as it becomes absorbed. I simmered the soup for about an hour and a half, but, as with the liquid, the cooking time will depend on the peas. Always buy split peas in bulk from a store with high turnover since they will be fresher and better tasting than their counterparts in plastic bags with a long shelf life. Obviously, you can cook this soup with water alone but I loved the depth of flavor that the stock imparted. An alternative is ham stock or the addition of a smoked ham hock to the liquid. I added diced corned beef at the end and garnished the soup with tiny purple kale leaves and bitter cress from my spring garden.

Yellow Split Pea Soup with Corned Beef Stock

1½ lb yellow split peas, preferably organic

1 onion, finely chopped

1 large or 2 small carrots, diced

1 stalk celery, diced

Vegetable oil

1 qt corned beef stock

2-3 qts water

Salt and pepper to taste (I didn’t need this because the stock was very flavorful)

Diced corned beef (optional)

Thoroughly rinse the peas and check for small stones. In a medium-large stockpot, slowly cook the onion, carrots and celery in vegetable oil until the onion is translucent. Add the peas to the pot along with 2 quarts of liquid (1 quart of stock and 1 quart of water). Bring to a simmer and cook, covered, over low heat for about an hour and a half, or until the peas are thoroughly cooked through and soft. Check frequently and add more liquid as needed. Just before serving, add the diced meat if using.

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Dark Days 18: Oxtail Stock and Borscht

A continuing series on weekly meals that use sustainable, organic, local and ethical food during the challenging winter months. For more information, go here to the DDC section of Not Dabbling in Normal’s website: Dark Days Challenge.

In which I discover a new meat stock, which promises to be as versatile as it is delicious…

I don’t know what got into me when I bought oxtails from a local organic dairy farm. I bought only a pound, three slices of varied sizes. It takes a while to make this stock, though it’s mostly untended, but in order to get enough meat for a meal, you probably need about 4 pounds. That’s what most recipes call for if you’re serving about four adults. I went back to the farm for more but they had sold out for the season. As it turned out, it didn’t matter, since I parlayed my three little pieces into 2+ quarts of delicious stock using only local organic raw ingredients, local wine and homemade chicken stock. And the meat that I harvested was plenty for my purpose: delicious beet and beef borscht.

My approach to this traditional stew is not authentic, I’m sure, but I really don’t know what is authentic since dishes like this are generic and personal at the same time. Since the oxtail stock was incredibly flavorful, I wanted it to shine through. So I cooked grated beets in the stock and prepared the other ingredients separately, combining them and the shredded oxtail meat at the end. This approach gave a freshness to the dish that’s appropriate to the warming season.  During the dark days, green garnishes are hard to come by, except for the beginning of spring when we can forage bittercress from the lawn and garden. So that’s what I sprinkled on top. We ate this for a few days in a row and it got better and better.

Borscht

3 medium-large beets

1 medium onion, chopped

Vegetable oil

1 clove garlic, minced

6 c liquid, combination of 4 c meat stock and 2 c water (see below for oxtail stock)

2 waxy potatoes

2 carrots, peeled and sliced

2 c sliced cabbage

Meat from oxtails (amount variable)

Optional herb garnish

Grate the beets and set aside. Slowly cook the chopped onion in vegetable oil until soft. Add the garlic and cook until the garlic becomes aromatic. Add the grated beets to the pot and stir to combine. Add the liquid, bring to a boil and simmer for about 25 minutes or until the beets are tender.

Meanwhile, place the potatoes in a pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and lightly boil the potatoes until tender, about 20 minutes. Remove the potatoes to cool and add the carrots, cooking them until crisp-tender. Drain and reserve the carrots. Cube the cooked potatoes.

Saute the cabbage in a little vegetable oil, browning it lightly. Add a little liquid from the beet mixture, cover the pan and let the cabbage cook until crisp tender.

Just before serving, combine all of the ingredients and cook for about 5 minutes to combine flavors. Serve garnished with optional herbs.

Oxtail Stock (for 2 quarts)

1 lb oxtails

2 carrots, cut into 3” pieces

1/2 c peeled celeriac cubes

1/3 c white wine

1 onion, quartered

4 c chicken stock

Water (about 3 cups)

1 tsp salt

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Slice some of the outer fat from the oxtail. Render the fat in a small, heavy Dutch oven (e.g., Le Creuset enameled cast iron covered pot) over medium low heat. Add the oxtails to the pot in one layer and sear them over medium to medium-high heat, to brown them on all sides. Turn down the heat if the fat starts to burn. The browning process will take about 20 minutes in total. About halfway through, add the carrots and celeriac to the pot and brown them also.

When the meat and vegetables are browned, remove them to a plate and pour off excess fat. Deglaze the pan with white wine and let it cook down a minute. Return the meat and vegetables to the pot, add the onion, and pour in the stock, water and salt. Bring to a simmer on top of the stove. Cover the pot with foil and place the lid on top, taking care to seal the pot well. Place the pot in the oven for 10 minutes at 300 degrees. Turn the heat down to 225 degrees and cook for 2 hours. Check the pot occasionally to make sure that the liquid is not boiling.

Remove the pot from the oven and set it aside to cool. When cool, refrigerate the stock. Remove any fat that solidifies on top before using.

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Rosemary Pine Nut Cookies

A Table in the Tarn, written by Orlando Murrin, is the story of two guys who left London to take up residency in an old manor house in Southwest France, turning the stately building into a charming bed-and-breakfast that is apparently a gastronomic destination.  Part memoir and part how-to, the book contains numerous terrific recipes, including this one for rosemary pine nut cookies. I tweaked the recipe (and rewrote it) but the basics are all here. On another occasion, I will substitute lemon zest for the ground ginger. I will also use regular granulated sugar instead of superfine, which Murrin called for, since I thought the cookies didn’t need to be quite so sweet. What attracted me to the recipe was the possibility of developing a savory biscuit based on this, and I think it will eventually work. In the meanwhile, these are easy to make. I threw them together on a weeknight while I was preparing dinner on top of the stove to stop my husband from lamenting about the cookies that he accidentally left behind in the store.  

Rosemary Pine Nut Cookies adapted from A Table in the Tarn

2 tbsp pine buts plus extra for decorating the cookies

2 tsp chopped rosemary plus extra for decorating the cookies

1 1/3 c all-purpose flour

½ tsp baking soda

¼ tsp ground ginger or ½ tsp grated lemon rind

1/3 c soft butter

½ c sugar plus addition for sprinkling on the cookies

1 tbsp olive oil

1 egg yolk

1½ tbsp heavy cream

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment.

Slowly toast the pine nuts in a sauté pan over low heat until light brown. Remove to a food processor. Add the rosemary, and lightly chop the mixture to the texture of coarse meal. Pour into a medium bowl. Soft the flour, baking soda and ground ginger into the rosemary pine nut mixture and mix well. (If using lemon zest, add it now.)

Beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy and add the olive oil. Slowly add the flour, stirring to combine. Combine the cream and egg yolk and stir into the batter, mixing well.

Shape the dough into ¾-inch balls and place 1½ inches apart on the baking sheet (they will spread). Sprinkle with sugar.

Bake for 13 minutes or until the edges are lightly browned. Remove and decorate with pine nuts and rosemary sprigs, Makes 3 dozen.

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Fresh Horseradish

We will probably regret having planted the horseradish but in the meanwhile, we enjoying delicious homemade sauce. Well, they were just a few innocent slices of root left in ground to overwinter. Digging the soil to plant peas on Saint Patrick’s Day, we found great long runners of horseradish root rapidly making their way toward the wetter end of the planting bed, easily 3-4 feet north of the source, a few spiky gray green leaves sticking up like a cowlick from a woody head at the top of a long root. The young roots were yanked out and ground up to make fresh horseradish sauce, no peeling necessary. I think we better dig a couple of the big roots too or we’ll become overrun.

Root slices (or cubes if using a larger root) are ground in a food processor with a couple teaspoons of cold water. I let it sit for a few minutes to gain a little heat and added a splash of white vinegar and a pinch of salt to neutralize it.  If you have any left over, store it in an airtight jar in the refrigerator. 

If you are going to make a real batch, it’s best to guard yourself from the fumes and flying roots when they’re grated. Pretty noxious stuff. I’ve read recommendations for doing this entirely outdoors, wearing goggles or sunglasses, and I can see why. My little roots were pretty pungent so a big one would really pack a punch

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Homemade Corned Beef

I love invented traditions, like eating corned beef and cabbage on Saint Patrick’s Day, which I understand was conceived by Irish immigrants in America.  Rather than make a New England boiled dinner (like we used to get when in college in Massachusetts) where the beef, cabbage, potato, carrot and onion were all cooked in the same liquid, I served my corned beef and boiled potatoes on a bed of sautéed shredded cabbage.   

It is remarkably easy to cure a brisket to make corned beef. I like the fact that I can inspect the quality of the meat before it is cured and being able control the amount of salt and the spice mix. I followed the method from Michael Ruhlman’s Charcuterie, the same source that I used for home-cured bacon. While his recipe calls for a 10% brine (meaning 12 ounces or 1½ cup of Kosher salt per 1 gallon of water), he says that you can go as low as 5%, using 6.4 ounces of salt per gallon of water. I used 7½% or 9 ounces of salt. I recommend weighing rather than measuring the salt since the size of the crystals and thus the salt content varies by brand. The two most prevalent brands here are Diamond Crystal and Morton’s, and I find them quite different. In fact, I would have nearly doubled the amount of salt if I had used measured it versus weighing it.  Ruhlman states that the salt dissipates into the water and recommends using a 5% brine if you intend to roast the corned beef instead of braising it.

Another important point has to do with the use of sodium nitrite, in the form of so-called curing salt or “pink salt.” (It’s dyed pink so no one confuses it with regular salt or sugar.) This preservative prevents the growth of bacteria, especially those that cause botulism. It is also what gives the meat its characteristically pink color. Nitrites have been a source of great health concern, especially in mass-produced bacon. It can turn into a carcinogenic substance when the meat in charred or when there is a lot of it present. Sodium nitrite is a naturally occurring substance in many vegetables, like cabbage for instance, and it wouldn’t bother me when used correctly. Supposedly, in mass-produced cured meats, the addition of ascorbic acid (Vitamin C) counteracts the negative effects of sodium nitrite.  I will have to check out the packaging of good quality bacon the next time I’m in the grocery store.  For my corned beef, I added the pink salt to cooled brine, and later cooked the meat at a very low temperature. Michael Ruhlman says that you can leave it out, but I didn’t.

To make corned beef, you first make brine (water and salt) with a little sugar added, warming it to dissolve the crystals. (The salt crystals were once referred to as kernels or “corn,” hence “corned beef.”) Cool the liquid and add the pink salt a bunch of spices. Submerge the beef brisket in the pot, weighting it down to keep it under water, and refrigerate for 5-7 days.  Discard the brine, rinse the meat and cook it submerged in water with new pickling spices, over very low heat for 3 hours. I like to cook mine in a 225-degree oven so that the liquid barely simmers and the meat doesn’t dry out as much.

Homemade Corned Beef adapted from Michael Ruhlman

Up to 5 lbs beef brisket, trimmed of fat (mine was 2¾ lbs, trimmed)

1 gallon water

9 oz Kosher salt

½ c sugar

4 tsp pink curing salt (sodium nitrite)

2 tbsp pickling spices (see below)

Trim the beef if necessary. Bring the water, salt and sugar to a simmer, stirring to dissolve the crystals. Cool, add the pink salt and spices and refrigerate it. Submerge the beef in the liquid, putting a plate on top to keep it submerged and refrigerate it for 5 days (or a couple days more).

Pickling Spices for Corned Beef adapted from Michael Ruhlman

2 tbsp whole black peppercorns

2 tbsp whole yellow mustard seed

2 tbsp coriander seeds

2 tbsp allspice berries

2 tbsp whole cloves

2 tbsp hot red pepper flakes

1 tbsp ground ginger

1 tbsp ground mace

1-2 small cinnamon sticks, crushed

2-4 dried bay leaves, crumbled

Place the peppercorns, mustard seed and coriander seed in a pan over low heat and cook, until just aromatic. Do not burn or cook so long as to pop the mustard seeds. Remove to a shallow bowl to cool. Crush lightly. Combine with the remaining ingredients and store in an airtight jar.

Cooking Corned Beef

Rinse the corned beef well and place it in a Dutch oven that can hold it flat. Cover with water. Add I medium onion, quartered, 2 carrots and a stalk of celery, cut in 1½-inch length, and 2 tbsp pickling spices. Cover tightly and place in a cold oven.  Turn the heat to 300 degrees. In about 30 minutes, the liquid should be simmering. Turn the heat to 225 and cooks for another 2½ hours. Remove from the liquid and let rest for 10 minutes, cut into thin slices on the diagonal and against the grain of the meat.

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