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kaberettWhat I cook for other people, and what I cook for myself, are generally two very different beasts: a lot of "my" food is recipes I feel gently embarrassed about offering up to guests, because it's too stodgy, or it's not showy enough, or it's too much like comfort food.
Or because it's too Austrian. Too much like peasant food; not something Brits will like; not something I can explain in English when I'm asked what I'm making.
(I say I'm third-gen, and that this is a part of my identity that matters to me for all I'm a Lib-Dem-voting Guardianista, and this is what I mean: that Peterselie is a more familiar word than "parsley"; that it's Erdapfel not Kartoffel, Palatschinken not Pfannkuchen; that I make Knoedelteig by touch rather than by recipe, and my Strudelteig is always a disaster, and I still clean my shoes for Heiliger Nikolaus even though I'm atheist, and I tease Austrian children about der Grampus; that Sprichwoerter are easier to come by auf Deutsch than auf Englisch; that being in Kaernten stills me and grounds me, that there is nothing better than Tiroler Grauvieh and Haflinger and the church bells ringing you down from the alms and the swallows migrating over the passes and all around you the mountains. And that it hurts that my mother tongue (the tongue of all my mothers) and first language was ground out of me and that I had to relearn it and I falter and stumble and I always will.)
All of which is an extremely roundabout way of saying that I am always very, very surprised when I realise that mushroom stroganoff is something that's "allowed" to be on my "to cook for guests" list, because it's Austrian, obviously it's Austrian, and the fact that you can buy imitation ready-meals from M&S doesn't even begin to change the fact that it is unshakably and unmistakably from home.
Recipe
Slice one medium onion (ask me, sometime, and I'll show you the way I prefer to do it for this dish, which is not how I do it for anything else) finely.
Slice two double handfuls (about 250g) of mushrooms, medium-thick.
Slice a pepper (or two, depending on how you're feeling), red or orange, very finely, into strips.
Heat oil and butter in a large, shallow pan on high: half and half, butter for flavour, oil to keep it from burning.
Add the onion and cook it rapidly, until it is just beginning to brown along its edges.
Before it begins to soften significantly, reduce the heat and add the mushrooms. When they begin to take on colour, add paprika, black pepper (and lots of it), thyme, and the juice of half a lemon.
Add the pepper.
As the pepper is just beginning to soften, remove the pan from the heat and add about four tablespoons of yoghurt (or, if you feel like it, you can use soured cream). Add more black pepper.
Serve over rice: if white long-grain, add a pair of cloves to the cooking water.
These approximate quantities served three people, and took me half an hour from getting in the door.
Or because it's too Austrian. Too much like peasant food; not something Brits will like; not something I can explain in English when I'm asked what I'm making.
(I say I'm third-gen, and that this is a part of my identity that matters to me for all I'm a Lib-Dem-voting Guardianista, and this is what I mean: that Peterselie is a more familiar word than "parsley"; that it's Erdapfel not Kartoffel, Palatschinken not Pfannkuchen; that I make Knoedelteig by touch rather than by recipe, and my Strudelteig is always a disaster, and I still clean my shoes for Heiliger Nikolaus even though I'm atheist, and I tease Austrian children about der Grampus; that Sprichwoerter are easier to come by auf Deutsch than auf Englisch; that being in Kaernten stills me and grounds me, that there is nothing better than Tiroler Grauvieh and Haflinger and the church bells ringing you down from the alms and the swallows migrating over the passes and all around you the mountains. And that it hurts that my mother tongue (the tongue of all my mothers) and first language was ground out of me and that I had to relearn it and I falter and stumble and I always will.)
All of which is an extremely roundabout way of saying that I am always very, very surprised when I realise that mushroom stroganoff is something that's "allowed" to be on my "to cook for guests" list, because it's Austrian, obviously it's Austrian, and the fact that you can buy imitation ready-meals from M&S doesn't even begin to change the fact that it is unshakably and unmistakably from home.
Recipe
Slice one medium onion (ask me, sometime, and I'll show you the way I prefer to do it for this dish, which is not how I do it for anything else) finely.
Slice two double handfuls (about 250g) of mushrooms, medium-thick.
Slice a pepper (or two, depending on how you're feeling), red or orange, very finely, into strips.
Heat oil and butter in a large, shallow pan on high: half and half, butter for flavour, oil to keep it from burning.
Add the onion and cook it rapidly, until it is just beginning to brown along its edges.
Before it begins to soften significantly, reduce the heat and add the mushrooms. When they begin to take on colour, add paprika, black pepper (and lots of it), thyme, and the juice of half a lemon.
Add the pepper.
As the pepper is just beginning to soften, remove the pan from the heat and add about four tablespoons of yoghurt (or, if you feel like it, you can use soured cream). Add more black pepper.
Serve over rice: if white long-grain, add a pair of cloves to the cooking water.
These approximate quantities served three people, and took me half an hour from getting in the door.