The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Sixties Cookbook (14 page)

Read The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Sixties Cookbook Online

Authors: Rick Rodgers

BOOK: The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Sixties Cookbook

8.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

MAKES 8 SERVINGS

It is possible that beef Wellington was named for the English duke who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo, this has long been one of the most eye-popping main courses a cook can present to guests. As home cooks found their inner gourmet in the Sixties, beef Wellington became “the” dish. Original recipes called for homemade dough, but that’s because frozen puff pastry wasn’t mass-marketed until 1971. In a recipe this elaborate, why fight progress? If you’re a purist and want to go for all from-scratch, make a double batch of the Perfect Pie Dough on
page 163
, and roll it out into a ⅛-inch-thick rectangle large enough to wrap the beef, reserving any trimmings for decorating the pastry.

MADEIRA SAUGE

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 tablespoons minced onion

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

2 cups canned reduced-sodium beef broth

½ cup Madeira (California Madeira is fine)

2 teaspoons tomato paste

¼ teaspoon dried thyme

½ bay leaf

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

BEEF

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 (3-pound) beef tenderloin, trimmed and tied

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

MUSHROOM DUXELLES

1½ pounds white mushrooms, finely chopped

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

½ cup chopped scallions, white parts only, or ¼ cup chopped shallots

1 garlic clove, minced

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

ASSEMBLY

All-purpose flour, for rolling out the dough

1 (17.3-ounce) package thawed frozen puff pastry sheets

4 ounces thinly sliced (but not paper-thin) prosciutto

6 ounces refrigerated or canned liver pâté or mousse, cut into ¼-inch-thick slices

1 large egg, beaten well

1.
To make the sauce, melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 3 minutes. Sprinkle with the flour and stir well. Whisk in the broth, Madeira, tomato paste, thyme, and bay leaf. Bring to a simmer, whisking often. Reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer, stirring often, until the sauce has reduced to about 2 cups, about 35 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from the heat and set aside. (The sauce can be made, cooled, covered, and refrigerated, up to 2 days ahead.)

2.
To prepare the beef, mix the thyme, salt, and pepper together in a small bowl. Rub all over the beef. Heat the oil in a very large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the beef and cook, turning occasionally, until nicely browned on all sides, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a rimmed baking sheet and let cool completely, about 1 hour.

3.
Pour off the fat from the pan. Return the pan to medium-high heat and add ½ cup water. Cook, stirring up the browned bits in the pan with a wooden spoon, and boil until reduced to a glaze, about 1 minute. Stir into the Madeira sauce, and the juices will deepen the color of the sauce. (If the sauce seems too thin, simmer it for a few minutes to reduce it.)

4.
To make the duxelles, very finely chop the mushrooms. (Or, in batches, pulse the mushrooms in a food processor fitted with the metal chopping blade until very finely chopped.) Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the mushrooms, scallions, and garlic and cook, stirring often, until the mushrooms
give off their liquid and begin to brown, about 15 minutes. The mixture should resemble a spreadable paste. Season with salt and pepper. Transfer to a bowl and let cool completely.

5.
To assemble the beef Wellington, be sure that the beef and duxelles are completely cooled. Lightly flour a work surface. Place the pastry sheets in front of you, overlapping them slightly. Dust the top of the pastry with flour and roll out into a 19-by-12-inch rectangle. Arrange half of the prosciutto, overlapping as needed, down the center of the pastry the same length and width as the beef. Top with half of the pâté, then half of the duxelles. Place the beef on top of the layered ingredients. Drape the remaining prosciutto over the top and sides of the beef. Place the remaining pâté on the beef, then press the remaining duxelles over the top and sides of the beef. It should be moist enough to stick, but if it falls off, don’t worry. Use a pizza wheel or sharp knife to trim 1 inch from the perimeter of the pastry, and refrigerate the trimmings. Fold the pastry over the beef to enclose it into a packet, and seal the seams closed with some of the beaten egg. Transfer the pastry-wrapped beef, seam side down, onto an ungreased large rimmed baking sheet. Loosely cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate, with the beaten egg, for at least 1 and up to 4 hours.

6.
Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 425°F. Cut the reserved pastry trimmings into decorative shapes. (You can use small cookie or miniature aspic cutters, or even the end of a plain round pastry tip to make rounds.) Brush the pastry-wrapped beef all over with some of the beaten egg, and decorate with the pastry shapes. Brush again lightly with the beaten egg.

7.
Bake for 10 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 375°F and continue baking until the pastry is golden brown and an instant-read thermometer inserted in the center of the beef (poke right through the crust) reads 125°F for medium-rare beef. Let stand for 10 minutes.

8.
Meanwhile, reheat the sauce in a medium saucepan over medium heat until simmering. Season with salt and pepper. Strain through a sieve into a sauceboat or serving bowl.

9.
Transfer the beef Wellington to a large oblong platter. Cut into ¾-inch-thick slices, and serve on dinner plates, with the sauce.

HUNGARIAN GOULASH GABOR

MAKES 6 SERVINGS

With the interest in European cooking dovetailing with air travel, Sixties cooks began learning how to made authentic versions of Americanized dishes. While goulash had previously been known as regular beef stew with paprika thrown in, the traditional recipe finally got its delicious due. (We couldn’t help naming this after those Hungarian treats, Eva and Zsa Zsa Gabor, who were workhorses on Sixties television.) To discourage scorching on the stove, try baking it, as the heat will surround the pot rather than just concentrating on the bottom.

4 tablespoons bacon fat or vegetable oil, as needed

3 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1½-inch cubes

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 medium yellow onions, chopped

3 medium green bell peppers, seeded and chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

¼ cup all-purpose flour

¼ cup sweet Hungarian paprika

4 cups canned reduced-sodium beef broth

Hot cooked noodles, for serving

Sour cream, for serving

1.
Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F.

2.
Melt 2 tablespoons of bacon fat in a Dutch oven or flameproof casserole over medium-high heat. Season the beef with 1½ teaspoons salt and 1 teaspoon pepper. In batches, adding more fat as needed, add the beef and cook, turning occasionally, until browned, about 6 minutes. Transfer the beef to a plate.

3.
Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons bacon fat in the Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onions, bell pepper, and garlic and cover. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 6 minutes. Add the flour and paprika and stir well. Stir in the broth. Return the beef to the Dutch oven and bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally. Cover the Dutch oven.

4.
Bake, stirring every 30 minutes, until the beef is very tender, about 1¾ hours. Season with salt and pepper. Serve hot, on the noodles, topping each serving with a dollop of sour cream.

COLD WAR BEEF STROGANOFF

MAKES 4 TO 6 SERVINGS

The American political situation with Russia didn’t stop American moms from cooking up Russian food like blini, strawberries Romanoff, and beef Stroganoff. Many households made their Stroganoff with canned mushroom soup, but just as many made it from scratch. In either case, it scored big with busy cooks because it’s ready to serve in no time. Even gourmets embraced Stroganoff, as it prominently featured mushrooms, which were about as exotic as one got (vegetable-wise) in the Cold War era.