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The cold weather, it seemed, would never come this year. Endless summer paraded through my house every time the door opened, and my internal clock cried foul when I awoke to October, November, December mornings already pushing into the 80s and 90s. The cypress trees held onto their needles as if they knew summer had set up camp with no intention of leaving.
Then we had the hurricanes and the earthquakes and the body counts. A sense of overheated helplessness set in, and I turned my thoughts away from what I could not fix to what I could. I could fix dinner. I could feed my refugee neighbors, fleeing the floods of New Orleans. I could feed the family who lost a father and a husband. I could feed the dizzy group of teenagers celebrating my son’s 18th birthday. I could coax smiles from all of them. Comfort food, I called it because it comforted me to cook it, to meet that basic need with a depth of flavor, an element of surprise. Comfort food must be made with love or it will not comfort. It will simply feed. But when the heart is at work with a longing to heal, spices meld with meats and the garden’s last gifts to create a meal that satisfies beyond mere hunger. Comfort food calls on memory. It calls on the past, on remembered meals, meals read about in books, meals longed for on longer nights. It evokes both childhood and a life we never led. It is part reality, part fantasy, part what we wish could be. It cannot be too fancy or too careful. It cannot be fussy or constrained. |
It is a deep, warm blanket against the wind, a blanket wrapped around our shoulders by someone who cares.
So I collect comfort food recipes to pull out when the people in my world need comfort. Sometimes it’s as simple as celebration of the first cold snap after a relentless summer. Sometimes it’s to ease the pain of loss or the fear of failure. Sometimes it’s just to fill a void left by headlines and unspecific angst. Winter is finally here. The basil is long gone from my garden. Fires in the grate seem integral, not afterthoughts, and long, slow cooking rounds out the afternoons and turns the corner of the evenings like burnished coals. Comfort food should produce a glow. It should comfort those who eat it and those who cook it. Try this recipe on a cold night when richness and warmth seem essential. Round it out with a crisp green salad and dense, chewy bread. Even though it’s made with beer, it pairs well with a deep red wine. I have left the measurements out on purpose. Comfort food measures itself by feel and by love. Braising is a winter sport. It requires time, slow heat and patience. The rewards are magnificent. |
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Pork Braised with Shiner Bock - Green Olives and Mushrooms Salt Pepper Garlic Powder Cumin Flour Olive Oil Diced Onion Smashed Garlic Chopped Green Olives with Pimientos (Rinse them before chopping) Thickly Sliced Mushrooms Lemon Juice Cayenne Pepper Shiner Bock Beer
Sprinkle pork with salt, pepper, garlic powder, cumin and cayenne (optional.) Dust with flour, shaking off excess, then brown in olive oil. Set aside on paper towels to blot excess oil. When all pork has been browned, reserve some of the oil and sauté the onions and garlic until soft. Set aside. Add more oil to skillet and sauté mushrooms, sprinkling them generously with lemon juice, salt, garlic powder and cayenne pepper as they cook. When mushrooms are cooked, put pork, onion mixture, mushrooms and chopped olives in a roasting pan or Dutch oven. Pour enough Shiner Bock over to almost cover the meat. Cover with lid and braise in a slow oven (275-300) for 3-4 hours or until falling apart. You can also cook on top of stove on low heat. With fork—or knife—break up pork into smaller pieces. If bones are present, remove them. This is good over toasted ciabatta bread, with potatoes, polenta or noodles. Enjoy!
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