Chicken Salad with Pickled Grapes and Walnuts

When you stock the pantry like I do, it’s important to keep track of the contents and use them within a reasonable timeframe. With ingredients like pickled cherries and grapes, citrus aigre doux, preserved lemons, pickled kumquats, lots of improvisation is possible. The pickled grapes came from a wonderful small volume called Fine Preserving, written by Catherine Plagemann and annotated by M.F.K. Fisher. I’ve gradually been cooking my way through this cookbook, adding another layer of annotations, a project that has been a blast.    

This particular chicken salad came about because I had cooked lunch for a crowd last week and had a couple of cooked chicken breasts left over. I know a good trick to preparing chicken for traditional chicken salad: poach it in the oven bathed in crème fraiche or heavy cream. This method keeps the chicken tender and the resulting juices can be added to the dressing. (Slather the chicken breasts, preferably cut lengthwise if very thick, in cream and bake them at 350 degrees until cooked through, 20-35 minutes depending on the thickness. Shred the while still warm and store with the pan juices poured over them.)

For the dressing, I typically use a combination of mayonnaise and sour cream in equal proportions, flavored heavily with tarragon vinegar and either fresh or pickled tarragon leaves. This time, I used the pickling liquid from the grapes, along with chopped grapes, walnuts, celery and celery leaves.  I know pickled grapes sound like an odd condiment, but they have an alluring flavor — piquant with a hint of spice from the cinnamon stick that goes into the jar.  They were great in the salad, especially with the occasional surprise bite of grapes and the crunch provided by the celery and walnuts.

We served this in typical his and hers mode: his on mini whole wheat pitas with bacon, mine on a crunchy green salad dressed with the grape pickling liquid and walnut oil. 

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Fanny’s Peach Jam

Another in a series in which I comment on M.F.K. Fisher’s 1986 annotations of Catherine Plagemann’s 1967 Fine Preserving, layering past and present, research, experimentation and outright opinion. This project is a blast.

 “Peach jam is always good…unless there is our family jar of Emily’s marmalade to hand,” writes M.F.K. Fisher in the margins of a Catherine Plagemann recipe called “Fanny’s Peach Jam.” There’s something charmingly nostalgic about naming jams after the people who make them over and over. They conjure up stories, true or not.  You could say Fisher’s wry remark was a bit of one-upmanship but maybe it was simply an association with a world of caring housekeepers. Of course, I’m making a leap to say that Edith was a housekeeper only because Plagemann tells us a little about Fanny Gerlach, who had worked with her cousin’s family in Lancaster, Pennsylvania for 48 years, taking care of scores of people over several generations. “There are some people who are so remarkable that the world wouldn’t spin the same if they weren’t right where they are, and Fanny is one of them,” writes Plagemann.

 Plagemann explains that Fanny made the jams and jellies that were best liked by the family, and declares that, “This is one of these recipes – one of the few peach preserves that has any character.” And it does have character, contributed by the chopped navel oranges and lemon that are suspended within a light, peachy base. I used cara cara oranges because of their color and gentle flavor, pretty and not overwhelming for the peaches. Since the citrus would have enough pectin to set the jam, I took the liberty to reduce the sugar from 100% to 75% of the volume of fruit. It could go even lower with the addition of more lemon juice and a packet of citrus seeds inserted in the fruit and sugar mixture while it macerates overnight. A cross between marmalade and jam, it could also use a little oomph from the addition of lemon juice, or even the use of a whole lemon instead of a half. Nonetheless, this recipe’s a keeper.

Fanny’s Peach Jam, adapted from Catherine Plagemann’s Fine Preserving

6 yellow peaches, peeled, halved and pitted

2 navel oranges, quartered but not peeled

½ lemon, halved but not peeled

Sugar

Coarsely chop the orange and lemon in a food processor and add the peaches, chopping the entire mixture into a medium grind. Measure the fruit and add sugar equal to 75% of the volume of fruit (e.g., for 6 cups of fruit, add 4 cups of sugar, which is the volume I achieved.) Stir well, cover and refrigerate overnight. The next morning, boil the fruit until it sets a gel tested on a saucer placed in the freezer, about 12 minutes, or cook it longer, up to 20 minutes as Plagemann did, to achieve a dark jam. Take care to stir it constantly as peaches have a tendency to burn.

Process for 10 minutes using a water bath canning method. This recipe made 7 eight-ounce jars.

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Preserved Spiced Cherries

Another in a series in which I comment on M.F.K. Fisher’s 1986 annotations of Catherine Plagemann’s 1967 Fine Preserving, layering past and present, research, experimentation and outright opinion. This project is a blast.

This was last year’s prize sweet cherry discovery and I’m surprised that M.F.K. Fisher didn’t pick up on it when she annotated Ms. Plagemann’s delightful volume. Taking the author’s advice, I waited several months before cracking open a jar, so of course it would be a whole year before I could make it again and would want to write about it. Every time I serve the cherries, my husband comments on how exceptionally good they are. And he’s right. 

 Strong and syrupy, the cherries have a lingering taste from the addition of cider vinegar and the spices – cinnamon, allspice and cloves. The most interesting characteristic is the plumpness of the whole cherries after they’re canned.  It’s partly because I used large sweet cherries and partly because the ridiculous amount of sugar, coupled with the cherry juice and vinegar, produces a gel in 5-10 minutes, if that.  Therefore they don’t get overcooked. 

Plagemann thought of this as jam, but it’s a little loose for that. We spooned it over ice cream and sorbet and served it with crepes and pancakes. I bet the cherries would make a swell topping for a custard tartlet. I’ll let you know next year.

Spiced Cherries adapted from Catherine Plagemann, Fine Preserving

2 lbs sweet dark red cherries (5-6 c pitted)

4 c granulated cane sugar

1 c cider vinegar

½ tsp ground cinnamon

¼ tsp ground allspice

¼ tsp ground cloves

Prepare 6-7 eight-ounce jars for canning.  Place a saucer in the freezer for testing the gel.

Wash and pit the cherries, leaving them as whole as possible.

Place the remaining ingredients in a large wide saucepan and bring just to a boil over medium-high heat. Add the cherries and stir. Cook the cherries at a medium boil until the liquid tests for gel, about 5-7 minutes.

Divide the cherries among the prepared canning jars and pour in the liquid. (I made 2 jars of just syrup.) Carefully insert a spoon handle or similar object in the jars to release any air bubbles without breaking the cherries. Process the jars in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water comes to a boil. Turn off the heat, remove the canner lid and let sit for 5 minutes before removing to a counter to cool undisturbed.

Makes approximately 5-6 eight-ounce jars.

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Preserving the Cherry Harvest: Pickling Cherries Two Ways

Continuing a series of recipes for stocking your pantry full of cherries at the peak of the season…

Sour cherries are a fleeting treat. Short in season, these fragile fruits are truly of the moment. I always feel so unprepared, although I save up ways to use them throughout the year. A couple of years ago, I bookmarked a David Lebovitz post for pickled cherries, which I resuscitated to face off against a pickled cherry recipe from the version of Catherine Plagemann’s Fine Preserving that was annotated by M.F.K. Fisher.  As I’ve mentioned before, I thought it would be so amusing to annotate an annotation that I’ve decided to cook my way through the book. (To make this more fun, the volume I purchased was from a well-known bookseller from the west coast who bought it from a second hand bookstore in Boston.) Great stuff.

Back to the cherries. Both of these cherry recipes require weeks of curing. We ate most of our crop at Christmas, paired with duck rillettes and later duck breast, but we still have a few. They were a little crisper earlier of course but are still both delicious. The Plagemann cherries, without the pits, appear plump but are quite soft, and are good eaten as it or chopped as an ingredient in, say, a lentil or whole grain dish. The Lebovitz version puckered a bit but the cherries, with little stems left on for picking them up, were more firm in texture and more definitive in taste. I will make both again, as well as some herb versions with tarragon.

David Lebovitz went straight to a traditional raw pack pickle technique using whole (non-pitted) cherries, a heated solution of white vinegar, water and sugar, and flavorings of bay leaf and black peppercorns, both of which were very nice and alluring. The bay in particular imparts a flavor that’s hard to place; when combined with cherries, one might mistake it for cinnamon!  Plagemann marinated pitted cherries in cider vinegar for a few days before adding sugar in proportion to the fruit and a cinnamon stick. Her version was not heated, which probably accounts for the softer texture.

Pickled Sour Cherries adapted from David Lebovitz

½ lb sour cherries, rinsed

½ c white vinegar

1/3 c water

½ c sugar

About 20 peppercorns

1-2 bay leaves

Trim the stem on each cherry to ½-inch length, prick the cherry with a cake tester or turkey trusser and drop it into a clean jar.

Bring the vinegar, water and sugar to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Add the peppercorns and bay leaves to the jar with the cherries. Pour the hot liquid on top. When the liquid is cool, cap the jar and let sit for a least a week before using. After a week, refrigerate it.

Makes about 1 pint.

“Kippered” Sour Cherries adapted from Catherine Plagemann’s Fine Preserving

½ lb sour cherries, rinsed and pitted

Cider vinegar

Sugar (I used extra fine)

1 stick cinnamon

Place the cherries in a jar or crock with a tight lid. Cover with cider vinegar, secure the top and let stand for three days. Strain and reserve the vinegar.  Measure the cherries. Add to the reserved vinegar one cup of sugar for each cup of fruit, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Return all ingredients to the jar, add the cinnamon stick, and let the mixture stand for three days, shaking or stirring from time to time to make sure that the sugar has dissolved. Let the cherries cure for several weeks before using.

Makes about 1 pint.

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Lentils with Sour Cherries, Bacon and Blue Cheese

Bursting with sweet, sour, smoky and salty flavors, this salad is a riff on a delicious-sounding recipe from Yotam Ottolenghi (The Cookbook), I used my home-pickled sour cherries instead of his dried cherries, vinegar and sugar. A new crop of cherries is still months away, but I’m already plotting what to make with them based on the contents of my pantry.  The cherries are wonderful by themselves, served alongside a pate or rillettes, as I did with duck around the holidays.

 But what to do with the juice? It is too good to throw away. You can combine it with seltzer water, making a “shrub” to drink, which is probably what will happen after the cherries are consumed. Here it’s used as the basis for a salad dressing that infuses warm lentils with great flavor before they are combined with local smoky organic bacon and some local blue cheese that I bought last weekend at a Slow Food winter farmers’ market. Tossed with baby spinach, this could be a complete meal, although I garnished ours with a cube of pan-roasted wild salmon.

 The dressing starts with cooking chopped shallots in olive oil until light brown. To that, I added pickled sour cherry juice and chopped cherries and cooked it down a bit.  I thought it would be a little too sweet so I added a splash of red wine vinegar.  Ottolenghi’s version used dried sour cherries, red wine vinegar and sugar.  He also used a much greater proportion of bacon and cheese than I did.

Lentils with Sour Cherries, Bacon and Blue Cheese adapted from Ottolenghi

¾ c organic French lentils (such as Puy)

1½ tbsp olive oil

1 shallot, peeled and finely chopped

¼ c juice from pickled sour cherries (or 2 tbsp red wine vinegar and 2 tbsp water)

2 tbsp chopped pickled sour cherries (or chopped dried sour cherries and 1 tsp sugar)

Salt

Red wine vinegar

1-2 pieces of smoked bacon, cooked and drained

2 tbsp creamy blue cheese

Freshly ground black pepper

Handful of spinach leaves

Rinse the lentils and place them in a pot, covered with twice the depth of water. Simmer for about 20 minutes until tender but not falling apart. Drain the lentils and toss with the warm dressing and set aside to cool.

Make the dressing while the lentils are cooking. Slowly cook the chopped shallots in olive oil until light brown. Add the pickled cherries and juice (or red wine vinegar, water and dried cherries) and cook slowly until slightly reduced.

When ready to serve, taste the lentils and adjust the seasonings with a little salt (remember that the bacon and cheese will add salt) and a splash of red wine vinegar. Cut the bacon and cheese into pieces and add to the lentils, along with freshly ground black pepper. Add a handful of spinach and toss. If too dry, add a little oil and vinegar or cherry juice.

Serves 2 as a meal or 4 as a side dish.

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Quince, the Quintessential Marmalade

Another in a series in which I comment on M.F.K. Fisher’s 1986 annotations of Catherine Plagemann’s 1967 Fine Preserving, layering past and present, research, experimentation and outright opinion. This project is a blast.

Did you know that the word “marmalade” is derived from “marmelo,” the Portuguese word for quince? Apparently, the confection was originally made from quince but, like many things, has metamorphosed across centuries and places to have different meanings.

I finally got around to cooking a several apple quinces that I had intended to preserve before the holidays. Last year, I followed a recipe of David Lebovitz’s that he borrowed from Helen Witty. They grated the tough-fleshed quince, discarding the cores and skin, which I resisted as simply too wasteful. I used the cores and skin to make a big batch of quince jelly, since they are great sources of pectin.

 This year, I followed the advice of Catherine Plagemann and made “quince water” by cooking the cores and skin in water to cover until soft.  This method is preferred by the French queen of jam, Christine Ferber, who refers to it as “quince juice.” She uses whole quince, which for me ends up wasting the pulp unless you can see your way through making a compote. The quince water is used to cook the cut-up fruit (which by the way had been been sitting in cold water acidulated with lemon juice to avoid browning). Plagemann offered a second approach to the quince water, which was to parboil the quince. I tried that with one piece of fruit but decided I preferred the first method since I would still end up with un-used cores.

When ready to make the marmalade, I took half the quince pieces and grated them, as I’d done last year, and cut the other half in small pieces as Plagemann suggested.  Add them to the quince water in the preserving pan and add fresh water if needed so that the fruit is barely covered.  Bring to a boil and cook for 20 minutes to start to break down the fruit.  I added sugar –1½ cup per 4 cups of chopped quince – which is less than I would otherwise use, since the quince has such high levels of pectin. I also added the juice of half and orange. The mixture is then cooked slowly for about an hour until the color changes from drab yellow to a beautiful crimson and the flesh is tender. Plagemann mashes her pieces as they cook. I honestly preferred the grated version, since the color and texture were better and the marmalade reached the gel point more quickly. 

I added more water to the quince cores and skin since they weren’t fully cooked (and I was also adding some trimmings and the skin and core of the parboiled quince), and cooked it down, producing a couple of jars of quince jelly, which I regarded as a bonus.

Fisher, commenting on Plagemann’s recipe says, “I never made this marmalade, but, honestly, I don’t know what anyone ever bothers with quinces.” Unlike some of her sidebars that are one or two sentences long, this one fills up three full pages! Fisher equates quinces to rhubarb, “a ghastly thing too” that makes her teeth ache to think of the sugar. She recounts a way-too-long experience making her grandmother’s “quince honey” which she gave away since she thought it was awful. The recipient thought it was “the most delicious thing he ever tasted,” and she was relieved that the poor guy died before she felt obliged to make it again. This weird little fruit certainly brought out her pique.

 

Quince Marmalade liberally adapted from Catherine Plagemann

3 apple quinces

Water

1 lemon, juiced, hulls reserved

Approximately 1½ c sugar

Juice of ½ orange

Peel and quarter the quince, cutting out the core and seeds. Place the quince pieces in a bowl of cold water (enough to cover them) to which the lemon juice and hulls have been added and set aside.

Place the quince skins, cores and seeds in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil, lower the heat and cook, covered, until the pulp is soft. Strain the “quince water” into the preserving pan you will use to cook the marmalade.

Grate the reserved pieces of quince, measure them, and add them to the quince water. (I got 4 cups of grated quince). Add additional fresh water if needed so that the fruit pieces are not quite submerged in liquid. Bring to a boil, and cook for about 10 minutes. Add 1½ cup of sugar for each 4 cups of grated quince. Add the orange juice. Bring back to a boil, stirring to dissolve the sugar, and cook slowly for about an hour, or until the color has changed to light red and the quince is cooked. Test for gel by dropping a little onto a cold plate.

While the marmalade is cooking, prepare jars for water bath canning. When it is done, spoon the hot marmalade into hot jars and seal. Process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil.  Turn off the heat, remove the lid and let sit for 5 minutes until removing the jars to sit undisturbed until cool.

Makes 5-6 four-ounce jars.

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Spiced Seckel Pears

Another in a series in which I comment on M.F.K. Fisher’s 1986 annotations of Catherine Plagemann’s 1967 Fine Preserving, layering past and present, research, experimentation and outright opinion. This project is a blast.

 

Slightly tipsy table talk over the holidays made a few tongue twisters of our pickled Seckels. You can just imagine. I put these up in mid-fall when local Seckel pears were still available and served them in sweet and savory combinations. Plagemann describes the results as “rich, spicy and good, and an attractive brown color.” Contrarian Fisher says “they are little dry warped things …(with) strong hard little bits in them like grains of sand.” But she is forgiving since her mother “loved them, so all was well.”

I agree with the mixed results, but I think they were my doing, not a flaw in the idea or the process. Plagemann peeled her pears and I didn’t, resulting in a shriveled appearance and a slightly dense coating. This was actually more of a cosmetic problem than a flavor problem but it did affect the texture. The pears are poached in a combination of white wine vinegar and brown sugar with cloves and cinnamon sticks. The poached pears are ladled into hot jars and the hot pickling liquid is reduced and poured on top. I let them sit for a couple of months, with the result that the liquid permeated the fruit and all of the graininess that Fisher feared was gone. Plagemann was right about that. 

I will make these again, but need to work on the type and amount of vinegar and sugar, the preparation of the pears and maybe some alternative spices. I served them semi-successfully with ice cream and cookies (too vinegary) and very successfully in a salad of winter-friendly bitter greens topped with the pears, toasted walnuts and blue cheese. Plagemann says to save the liquid for a basting sauce. She suggests ham. Hmmm. Not this generation.

Spiced Seckel Pears from Catherine Plagemann

12 Seckel pears

1½ c white wine vinegar

2 c dark brown sugar

1 tsp whole cloves from which the heads are removed (so as not to cloud the syrup)

1 two-inch stick cinnamon, broken into pieces

Peel enough pears to pack a quart jar. Bring the vinegar, sugar and spices to a boil and add the pears. Lower the heat and poach the pears gently until easily pierced by a cake tester. Do not overcook.

Meanwhile, prepare the jar by washing it, filling it with boiling water and draining it.

Place the pears in the prepared jar. Bring the pickling syrup to a boil and pour over the pears , shaking the jar gently to remove air pockets. Seal the jar and set aside for about a month before using.

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Cinnamon Pickled Grapes and a Refreshing Grape Shrub

Getting ready for the year-end holidays, I decided to pickle a new batch of grapes with a cinnamon stick and simple syrup made of sugar and vinegar. Brilliantly easy, provocatively mysterious yet delicious, the grapes can be served with pâté, meats and poultry, and probably with a root vegetable terrine of some sort. They’re addictive, so make lots. They can be ready in a matter or days or kept in a tightly sealed jar in a dark place for months. The cured batch illustrated here hailed from last spring, and while the skins are a little tough, the flavor is extraordinary. And so is the liquid as the base for a type of vinegar-based drink called a “shrub.”  A double treat. 

The source of the recipe cracks me up. In 1986, the famous food writer M.F.K. Fisher annotated a 1967 edition of Catherine Plagemann’s cookbook Fine Preserving, and the marginalia are as charming as the original recipes and their stories. This one in particular is a real period piece. First, Fisher declares that this is one of her favorite recipes in the book and then goes on in her slightly feisty way to take it apart and reconstruct it, leaving out the onion saying, “I don’t think it adds anything.”  She uncharacteristically doesn’t pick up on an amusing mistake Plagemann makes about Moroccan food (which I’ll write about sometime), and describes the hot syrup as “really a kind of bar-mix, called ‘simple syrup,’ I think.” I love it. 

Using Fisher’s take on the recipe, this couldn’t be simpler to make. Place washed and thoroughly dried grapes in a container with a tight lid. Insert a cinnamon stick. Simmer sugar and white vinegar (or white wine vinegar) for five minutes, pour the hot liquid over the grapes, seal the jar and set aside in a dark cupboard for a week to several months.  Plagemann claims the grapes are ready in a day, but they’re just barely coated by then. Fisher says to use them after a month, and I agree, since by then they’re well infused with the spiced syrup and the skins of the grapes haven’t hardened too much. They’ll be perfect by Christmas.

By the way, don’t throw out the liquid from the pickled grapes. It makes a terrific drink with added seltzer water. A drink made with a fruit base that includes vinegar and sugar is called a shrub and makes a refreshing beverage.  Characteristically, I also re-used the cinnamon stick since it still was potent, adding it to a pan of oven-roasted baby garnet yams and garlic.

Cinnamon Pickled Grapes after Catherine Plagemann and M.F.K. Fisher

For each pint jar:

1½ c light red grapes, stemmed, washed and thoroughly dried

¾ c granulated sugar

½ c white wine vinegar or white vinegar (I used white vinegar)

1 3-inch stick cinnamon, in two pieces

Place the grapes in a very clean pint jar that has a tight lid. Bring the sugar and vinegar to a boil, lower the heat and simmer for 5 minutes, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Pour over the grapes and insert the cinnamon stick in the jar. Use a skewer or chopstick to release any air bubbles. Cap tightly and store in a dark cupboard for a month before using.

Variation: Plagemann added minced onion to hers and Fisher omitted it. I am going to make a batch with halved rings of red onion and white wine vinegar to see how it varies the outcome.

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Spiced Mangoes

These mango slices resemble peaches in appearance but have a denser (and less mealy) consistency. Lightly spiced with cloves, allspice, cinnamon, mace, and peppercorns, the vinegar and sugar mix creates a light but flavorful poaching liquid.

 

The recipe came from Fine Preserving by Catherine Plagemann, originally written in the 1960s and later annotated by M.F.K. Fisher and republished in the 1980s. I am enjoying layering my comments on Fisher’s on top of Plagemann’s comments on recipes handed down from earlier generations (Plagemann was born in 1905.) One thing for sure: we have less tolerance for the super sweet preserves than the past, so I took the liberty of cutting the sugar by doubling the amount of mango. Next time, I’ll also cut the ratio of sugar to liquid or add more mangoes, since I had a lot of liquid left.

 

One of the most interesting aspects of the original recipe is that it calls for whole spices that are not commonly available today, specifically blade mace and cassia buds. Blade mace is the outer hull of the nutmeg seed and is more delicate in flavor. I substituted ground mace from the bulk spice department of our local organic grocery store. Instead of the cassia bud, which was supposed to be added to the jar along with the peppercorns, I used stick cinnamon in the poaching liquid. I doubled the number of peppercorns per jar in the hope that the spice would cut the perception of sweetness.

Mangoes, like peaches, expand in the jar when being canned, so don’t overstuff the jar, or some of the liquid will siphon off and possibly wreck the seal. I am going to let this cure for a month and test the flavors.

 

Spiced Mangoes liberally adapted from Catherine Plagemann  (Makes 3 half-pints)

2 large mangoes (not too ripe), peeled, seeded and sliced into strips, to yield about 4 cups

1½ tsp whole cloves

1½ tsp whole allspice berries

1 3-inch stick cinnamon, broken into several small pieces

1½ tsp blade mace or 1 tsp ground mace

½ c white wine vinegar

½ c water

3 c granulated white sugar (in the future, diminish to 1-2 c max or increase the mango)

4 black peppercorns per jar

If you are canning the mangoes using a water bath method, prepare the jars and the canning kettle.

Prepare the mangoes by peeling them and slicing them vertically into four quarters. Pry the flesh from the pit, one quarter at a time, trying to keep as much of the flesh intact as possible. Slice them vertically into neat pieces, about 1/8-inch thick.

Tie the cloves, allspice and cinnamon in a cheesecloth bag.

Bring the vinegar, water and sugar to a boil on top of the stove, stirring to dissolve the sugar.  Add the ground mace and the spice bag, and simmer for about 3 minutes. Add the mangoes, bring to a boil and boil lightly for 5 minutes.

Remove the mango slices to prepared jars, add 4 peppercorns to each jar, and cover them with the hot liquid.  Leave a good ½-inch of head space.

Clean the jar rims, seal the jars and process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes after the water returns to a boil.  Turn off heat, remove canner lid and let sit for 5 minutes before removing to the counter to cool undisturbed.

Makes 3 half-pints.

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