by Suvir Saran
Rafi Taherian, the head of Yale Dining, invited me to New Haven, Connecticut, to show the staff how to add some masala to their meals for students, faculty, and employees, and since then, I have been back to visit often. On one occasion, I dined in the Presidents’ Room and was served a beautiful feast prepared by chef David Kuzma. As soon as I tasted his sublime pheasant and the beautiful squash and cranberry gratin served alongside it, I knew they were dishes that I had to re-create at the farm.
Eating pheasant is not an everyday experience. You either need to be connected to local farmers, hunters, and purveyors or very well endowed with the resources to order anything from anywhere. Well, I most definitely belong to the former club. All I need to do is reach out to the many people in my community who raise pheasants for meat, and they’re often happy to share a few birds.
This dish is at once refined and rustic, as only pheasant can be. The meat is intensely aromatic from a quartet of fresh herbs and pungent garlic and gets a sweetness from maple syrup and a touch of balsamic vinegar. Instead of a traditional meat gravy, I use pomegranate molasses to conjure a rich sauce that is spiced with cinnamon and cardamom. The aroma of pheasant in my kitchen always grounds me in this season of hunting; game; and big, bold flavors.
Ask a butcher to debone and fillet the breasts (but don’t leave the shop without the removed bones, so you can make the sauce; ask the butcher for the caul fat, too). Be sure to ask that the wing joint be left on so that it can be frenched like a lamb chop. It makes an absolutely exquisite presentation. And if you cannot find pheasant, rest assured, this is delicious made instead with boneless chicken thighs.
Serves 6
FOR THE STOCK
Reserved pheasant wings and bones
2 large carrots, peeled and thickly sliced
2 celery ribs, thickly sliced
1 large yellow onion, thickly sliced
3 qt/2.8 L water
2 cups/480 ml dry red wine
6 sprigs fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 whole black cardamom pods
1 cinnamon stick
1 tsp whole black peppercorns
1 tsp kosher salt
½ cup/120 ml extra-virgin olive oil
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh basil
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh rosemary
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh thyme
2 tsp finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 garlic cloves, very finely chopped
2 tsp finely ground black pepper
3 tbsp maple syrup (preferably grade B dark amber)
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp kosher salt
10 frenched pheasant breasts, or 5 whole pheasants (breasts boned and filleted, wing tips removed, and wing joints frenched)
10 oz/280 g caul fat or 10 strips thin-cut bacon
½ cup/120 ml pomegranate molasses
2 tbsp unsalted butter
Kosher salt for finishing
Make the pheasant stock: Heat the oven to 450°F/230°C/gas 8. Place the reserved pheasant bones on a rimmed baking sheet or in a roasting pan and roast them until golden brown, 30 to 40 minutes. Transfer the bones to a large stockpot. Add the carrots, celery, onion, 2½ qt/2.5 L of the water, the red wine, thyme, bay leaves, parsley, cardamom, cinnamon, peppercorns, and salt. Bring the mixture to a boil, skim the foam off the top, and reduce the heat to medium. Bring the remaining 2 cups/480 ml water to a boil in a small saucepan and use it to deglaze the roasting pan. Pour the water and browned bits from the pan into the stockpot. Simmer the pheasant broth for 3 to 4 hours (4 hours for a more concentrated stock). Turn off the heat and let cool slightly before straining the broth into a clean pot. Discard the bones and vegetables and refrigerate the broth until you’re ready to make the sauce.
Heat the olive oil with the basil, rosemary, thyme, parsley, garlic, and ½ tsp of the pepper in a medium frying pan over medium heat until the garlic is fragrant, 2 to 3 minutes. Immediately scrape the mixture into a bowl large enough to hold the pheasant, and stir in the maple syrup, vinegar, and salt. Set aside to cool, then add the pheasant breasts, turn to coat in the mixture, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight.
Heat the oven to 450°F/230°C/gas 8. If using caul fat, rinse it in a large bowl in several changes of cold water until the water runs clean. Lay the caul fat (or bacon) flat on a cutting board (if using bacon, overlap the strips slightly). Remove a pheasant breast from the marinade and place it, skin-side down, onto the fat and wrap the fat around it to completely enclose the breast. If there is extra caul fat, trim it away. Place the wrapped breasts, seam-side down, in a roasting pan and cook until the exterior begins to crisp and an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 150°F/65°C, 18 to 20 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven and loosely tent the pheasants with a sheet of aluminum foil until its internal temperature reaches 165°F/75°C, 15 to 20 minutes.
While the pheasant rests, bring half of the pheasant stock to a simmer over medium-high heat (freeze the remaining stock for another time). Decrease the heat to medium and simmer until it is reduced to about 2 cups/480 ml. Reduce the heat to medium-low and stir in the molasses. Whisk in the butter until it is just melted, taste, and season with salt if necessary. Place the breasts on a cutting board and carve them into thin slices. Turn off the heat and serve the sauce alongside the carved pheasant breasts.
Braised Kid Shanks and Lentils
Having grown up in India, I’ve never found it a stretch for me to cook goat meat. But cooking kid meat (that from young goats) that comes from our own herd, well, that was not easy, especially at first. I’ve had to make peace with eating an animal that I watched grow and frolic, that I fed and cared for. With help from Angela Miller, my good friend, neighbor, and literary agent, I rationalized that, because we provide for the goats and raise them humanely and with love, we should feel okay with completing their circle of life. Selling goat meat helps sustain the farm and the other animals that are a part of our farm’s family. So with the exception of the few boys that we use as studs, we are now at peace with knowing that the other boys born every spring will be raised for meat. We thank them for coming into the world and for providing us with nourishment.
Unlike mutton and the meat from older goats, kid meat has a neutral taste and takes on other flavors beautifully. This recipe is not too far off from dalcha meat stews eaten by Indian Muslims. The key is to brown the shanks on all sides for a deep and rich-tasting sear. I like using small black beluga lentils, though French green lentils or sabut masoor (reddishbrown whole Indian lentils) also work nicely. Indians cook lentils until they are very soft and almost saucy (like a dal), and that is how the lentils in this dish are prepared, making it lovely served alongside fluffy rice, creamy mashed potatoes, or couscous.
Serves 6 to 8
½ cup/80 ml extra-virgin olive oil
Eight 12-oz/340-g goat shanks
2 sprigs fresh rosemary
1 tbsp kosher salt
2 tsp freshly ground black pepper
3 bay leaves
2 dried red chiles
2-in/5-cm cinnamon stick
6 garlic cloves, smashed with the flat side of a chef’s knife
4 medium red onions, halved and thinly sliced
2 shallots, halved and thinly sliced
1 tsp Herbes de Hebron or herbes de Provence
One 750-ml bottle dry red wine
1½ lb/680 g black beluga lentils
6 cups/1.4 L water, plus more if needed
Heat the oven to 250°F/120°C/gas ½.
Heat the olive oil in a large Dutch oven or other heavy ovenproof pot over medium-high heat for 2 minutes. Add the shanks, rosemary, salt, and pepper and brown the shanks on all sides, 15 to 20 minutes total (depending on the size of the shanks and your pan, you may need to brown them in two batches). Use tongs to transfer the shanks from the pot to a large plate and set aside.
Ad
d the bay leaves, chiles, and cinnamon stick to the pot and cook until the chiles begin to brown, about 1 minute. Reduce heat to low, add the garlic, and cook, stirring often, until it becomes crispy, 2 to 3 minutes. Increase the heat to medium-high; stir in the onions, shallots, and Herbes de Hebron; and cook, stirring often, until the onions are dark brown and crisp, 15 to 20 minutes. If the onions begin to stick or become too dark, splash them with a bit of water and stir and scrape them up from the bottom of the pan to keep them from burning.
Once the onions are deeply caramelized and browned, pour in the wine and cook until the onions are plump and jammy again, about 5 minutes. Stir in the lentils and cook until they begin to stick to the pan, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the shanks back to the pan and stir them around. Pour in the water. If the shanks aren’t covered, add more water until they are just submerged. Bring the water to a boil and then turn off the heat. Cover, place the pot in the oven, and cook until the meat easily pulls off the bone, about 2½ hours.
Remove the pot from the oven and place it on the stovetop. Using tongs, transfer the shanks to a serving platter and loosely cover with a sheet of aluminum foil to rest. Bring the lentils in the pot to a simmer until the remaining liquid in the pot is reduced, 3 to 5 minutes (or longer if you prefer a thicker sauce). Serve the lentils over the shanks.
Farm Yarn:
Love is in the Air
Come to our farm in the fall, and you might find yourself wondering what that musky smell is around the goat barn. Well, it’s called rut, and it occurs when the fall mating season arrives; the bucks do just about everything that is too embarrassing to see, let alone write about in a cookbook! The girls and the bucks dance in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, and the adorable, downy results are born in the spring.
Timing is really everything—if the goats mate too early, then come late February and early March, poor Charlie will find himself in the barn in the middle of the night hugging a just-born and still-slick kid close to his chest, using his body heat to warm the newborn. If all goes according to plan, though, and mating begins in the late fall, the kids are born in late March and early April, when it isn’t so cold for the babies (or for Charlie). I don’t think that there is a better welcome than rolling up our gravel driveway and being greeted by the sight of baby goats chasing each other in circles on the front lawn. I just have to remind our fall visitors that enduring the strong perfume in the air is worth it!
Spicy Pulled Pork
Just south of our farm is Michael Yezzi and Jennifer Small’s Flying Pigs Farm in the Battenkill River Valley. They raise rare heritage-breed pigs, like Large Blacks, Gloucestershire Old Spots, and Tamworths, which yield incredibly moist and flavorful meat. The pigs are raised in a loving environment on grains, vegetables, and fruits. This pulled-pork recipe really benefits from full-flavored, well-marbled pork like theirs (pork butt is my first choice, but it can be hard to find; a picnic shoulder is a fine alternative). Pulled pork is a natural with cornbread, in quesadillas with pico de gallo and guacamole, rolled into a soft-shell taco with spicy chutney, or even layered with basmati rice to make a pseudo layered biryani casserole.
Serves 6 to 8
FOR THE SPICE PASTE
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp coriander seeds
10 dried red chiles
½-in/12-mm cinnamon stick
8 whole cloves
6 whole green cardamom pods
10 whole black peppercorns
½ tsp ground turmeric
6 garlic cloves, minced
2-in/5-cm piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 tbsp white vinegar
Juice of ½ lemon
½ tsp kosher salt
2 lb/910 g boneless pork butt or shoulder, well trimmed
2 very ripe medium tomatoes, quartered, or one 14.5-oz/400-g can whole peeled tomatoes, drained
2 medium red onions, quartered
3 tbsp canola or grapeseed oil
1 tsp salt, plus more if needed
6 to 8 hearty Kaiser rolls or brioche buns
Coleslaw for serving
Pickles for serving
To make the spice paste: Combine the cumin seeds, coriander seeds, chiles, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, and peppercorns in a spice grinder and grind to a coarse powder. Transfer to a 1-gl/3.8-L resealable plastic bag and add the turmeric, garlic, ginger, vinegar, lemon juice, and salt. Mash the outside of the bag to mix the ingredients. Add the pork to the paste, mix to coat, and marinate for at least 2 hours or overnight.
Meanwhile, purée the tomatoes and onions in a food processor, and set aside.
Heat the canola oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add the pork and the marinade and cook, stirring often, for 10 minutes. Stir in the tomato-onion purée and the salt and bring to a boil. Add enough water to cover the meat, return to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook, covered, until the meat is tender and shreds easily, about 2 hours for pork shoulder and about 3 hours for pork butt. Let the pork cool in the pan and then shred, taste for salt, and divide onto the buns. Top with coleslaw and serve with pickles on the side.
Shirred Eggs with Pulled Pork
Gently baked in the oven until the eggs are just set, this makes for a wonderfully elegant breakfast or brunch, especially considering it’s made from leftovers, or rather, “planned overs.” I’ll often set aside the pork that I’ll need to make this dish and freeze it in a resealable plastic bag for use on a cold, brisk morning. We serve it in ramekins straight from the oven with toast, cornbread, or Grandma Mae’s Biscuits.
Serves 6
2 tbsp unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups/565 g shredded Spicy Pulled Pork
6 large eggs
1 tsp kosher salt
½ tsp Toasted Cumin (see Farmhouse Basics) or cayenne pepper
Hot sauce for serving
Warm Grandma Mae’s Biscuits, 12 buttered toast slices, or warm cornbread for serving
Heat the oven to 450°F/230°C/gas 8. Grease six 6-oz/180-ml ramekins or shallow individual-size gratin dishes with the butter. Place 1/3 cup/90 g shredded pork in each ramekin and make a deep well in the center. Crack 1 egg into each well and sprinkle with the salt and cumin.
Place the ramekins on a rimmed baking sheet in the oven and bake until the whites are cooked and the yolk is barely set, 10 to 14 minutes (or longer if you like your yolks cooked through). Serve with hot sauce and biscuits on the side.
Rabbit Stew with Porcini and Picholines
In the country, people find themselves cooking with all types of proteins other than chicken, pork, and beef, and it’s not without a laugh that I found myself cooking rabbit at the farm. Anyone who knows me would probably never believe that I absolutely love this Southern France–inspired rabbit stew and happily make it for guests, as it has become a favorite in our kitchen. I have David Setford, the executive director of The Hyde Collection in Glens Falls, to thank for introducing me to this wonderfully hearty collection of autumnal ingredients, including robust rabbit, earthy dried porcini, and mild picholine olives. It is sublime over fusilli or rotini pasta. You can remove the pits from the olives if you like, but picholines are rather small and cumbersome to pit. We keep it rustic and serve the olives whole—just forewarn your dinner guests that the olives have pits. I like to serve this hearty stew on plates with roasted potatoes or fresh crusty bread.
Serves 6
½ cup/60 g all-purpose flour
2 tsp freshly ground mixed peppercorns or black pepper
1½ tsp kosher salt, plus more if needed
One 2½-lb/1.2-kg rabbit, cut into 6 pieces (2 drumettes, 2 thighs, 2 breasts); heart, liver, and kidneys saved for making Country Rabbit Terrine with Pistachios and Pernod or Rustic Rabbit Pâté with Juniper Berries
¼ cup/60 ml extra-virgin olive oil
4 bay leaves
2 tbsp finely chopped fresh thyme (preferably lemon thyme)
1 1b/455 g cipollini onions, peeled
8 garlic cloves, smashed
1 1b/455 g unpitted picholine olives
1 oz/30 g dried porcini mushrooms
One 750-ml bottle Pinot Blanc wine
Preheat the oven to 300°F/150°C/gas 2. Whisk together the flour, 1 tsp of the pepper, and ½ tsp of the salt in a large bowl. Pat the rabbit dry with paper towels and then dredge it through the seasoned flour. Place it on a large plate and set aside.
In a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat, heat the olive oil with the bay leaves and remaining 1 tsp pepper until it begins to smoke, about 4 minutes. Add the rabbit and brown it on both sides, about 10 minutes total (it won’t be cooked through). Transfer the rabbit to a large plate and set aside.
Add the thyme, onions, and remaining 1 tsp salt to the pot and cook, stirring often, until the onions start to soften, about 2 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until it’s fragrant, about 1 minute, and then stir in the olives, mushrooms, and wine. Bring the mixture to a boil and then return the rabbit to the pot, wedging the rabbit into the broth and covering it with the onions, olives, and broth. Return the mixture to a simmer, reduce the heat to low, cover, and braise until a fork can easily pull the meat from the bone, about 2 hours. Taste for salt and adjust if necessary, divide among plates, and serve.
Farm Yarn:
Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels
Charlie and I both romanced the country life long before we moved here. It was an Anne Willan cookbook, From My Château Kitchen, that gave us a taste for a slower-paced, food-centric life. Through her eloquent prose and decadent recipes, we pretended that we, too, lived on a beautiful country estate instead of in a financial district highrise. After a few years of dreaming, we turned our wishes into a reality and bought our beautiful farm in Washington County.