Ómós Digest: #2 Demystifying the Pickle
Borș not Borscht. Plus, a recipe for lacto fermented vegetables.
Welcome to the Ómós Digest. This newsletter will hopefully bring you on that journey about the food you were looking for, or perhaps never knew existed. It is our quest to expand on what we don’t know and to share with those who care. If you haven’t read Newsletter #1 yet, it can be found here.
This week, we have unfinished business in Romania. This newsletter is brought to you by Cúán Greene, Founder of Ómós.
I have fermented quite a bit. It’s fair to say that my last 6 years have been spent in restaurants, preserving and fermenting. The obsession has spread domestically - my house is filled with Kilner jars and my freezer jammed to the brim. My partner, at first slightly unnerved by the number of questionable projects taking over our tiny, Dublin 8 home, is now completely hooked and finds a place for some kind of preserve in every meal. We, for lack of a better term, live in a pickle. Ignoring the few minor disasters along the way, for the most part, fermentation has brought me down the most remarkable of rabbit holes that I never want to climb out of. While you may be thinking ‘oh no, this newsletter is going to be full of intricate science I don’t understand’, I can assure you, it won’t be.*
*If it is the science stuff you are after, shoot me an email. I would be glad to assist you to the best of my knowledge or point you in the direction of someone who can.
On that note, let us begin in Bucharest.
Borș, not Borscht.
On a brisk February morning, we are picked up outside by one of Romania’s most celebrated chefs. When you mention Alex Petricean's name to any Romanian cook in Ireland (and there are many), they instantly know who you are talking about. I had the pleasure of working with Alex during my time in restaurants Geranium and Noma in Copenhagen. He is gentle, charismatic, and deeply proud of his heritage, but put him in the driving seat of a Mercedes-Benz hatchback in central Bucharest, and the thoughtful cook is transformed into Bullitt’s Steve McQueen. He uses the car to great effect as he hurtles down boulevards, expertly navigating his way through congested streets. There doesn’t appear to be any system to the traffic in Romania’s capital. Cars are parked in lanes, narrowing streets so tightly that I can see Irish Potter Stephen O’Connell in the passenger seat, bracing himself to each of Alex’s manoeuvres.
While the traffic is horrendous, there is something mystical about the Franco-Prussian city centre of Bucharest. Beautiful but worn Parisian architecture stands in memory of a bygone era. The onion domes of the regal Russian Orthodox Churches sparkle in the morning sunlight, contrasting with the stark dominance of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s communist high-rise blocks, which cast eternal shadows. Then there were the food markets of Bucharest, which are what captivated me most.
Obor Market, located in the North East of Bucharest, is a mammoth food market, bustling and vibrant, with a myriad of seasonal produce. Unlike other European markets that portray that ‘joie de vivre’ sentiment, Obor is a place of purpose. There are hundreds of stalls, each loaded with an abundance of fresh produce, stacked like pyramids. Ununiformed cucumbers, onions with their long green stalks cascading from tables, plaited garlic, narrow leeks curling like snakes, and ancient varieties of apples. A plethora of fresh herbs pile high around their vendor, filling our nostrils with fragrant aromas, while their summer counterparts hang like dried aromatic bouquets across our eyeline. Women sit cross-legged, sorting through mountains of nettles. It’s early spring, and the young nettles have just come into season. I think to myself if an Irish person sold nettles at a stall they’d be classed as a chancer, but Alex tells me that (like Ireland) they are a traditional ingredient in Romanian cooking and (unlike Ireland), each spring is celebrated by their arrival. As with the nettles, there is sea buckthorn aplenty. It is sold both fresh and preserved - some even suspended in honey!! Next to them sit reused plastic bottles filled with an opaque liquid, that I later find out is called Borș.
Prior to our visit, when talking to Alex over the phone, I kept asking him if he had ‘‘this ferment’’ or ‘‘that particular vinegar’’, (I like dishes that have high acidity), and most often his response was ‘‘no, but we have Borș’’. I didn’t really understand why he thought beetroot soup was the solution to all forms of acid, but I didn’t question it at the time. Borș is a lacto-fermented liquid made from grains. It is deeply acidic, with layers of umami. Romanians use it for seasoning, or as Alex says ‘‘sour up’’’ what seems like every dish. I can now confirm that it has no connection to the chilled beetroot soup commonly known as Borscht that is served in the Balkans.
Alex visits Obor Market daily, picking up his quota of produce for the restaurant and fresh flowers for the dining room, while exchanging courtesies with the vendors he seems to know so well. He never purchases more than he needs. After a quick coffee and a bite of mititei (grilled Romanian sausage) with mustard, he is on his way. While I am mesmerised by the quantity and diversity of Obor, a hint of sadness prevails, as I reflect upon the impact that capitalism has had on Ireland. I long for a market like this in Dublin.
Lacto Fermentation.
On our second day, we ventured towards the Muntii Baiului mountains to collect some rainbow trout and visit a sheep farm. A hunter had been arranged to accompany us to the farm, which was perched high up on the mountain. By all accounts, the Carpathian Mountains are home to every known predator in Europe and later we found out that the farm we were set to see had been ‘visited’ by brown bears the night before. Given the language barrier, Stephen and I understood none of this and proceeded by smiling and grinning graciously but inappropriately at the hunter.
On our return, trout in hand, we stopped in a small mountainous village called Valea Doftanei where time itself had ceased. We met an old friend of Alex’s named Doamna Nutica, or Lady Nutica. She was a wonderful lady who lived in the village all her life and she had that great gift of warm hospitality. After dancing with joy at the sight of Alex, Lady Nutica ushered us through the back garden, where (I promise the following is 100% accurate) her husband, Mr Nutica is chopping wood for the fire from a tree he had chopped down an hour before. Families in these parts are almost completely self-sufficient, each with their own livestock, a vegetable patch and upright smoker the size of my bathroom. All forms of proteins, but mainly river fish and pork, are smoked and preserved over the season, using whole animals from the farm. A quick look over the neighbour’s fence (I am Irish after all) and I identify that each garden is a replica of the next. These yards have been cultivated for centuries, their soil rich with fertility, their community steeped in process and tradition.
We are welcomed into the house and handed sweet coffee laced with Pálinka (we’ll call it brandy for now). There is a wood-burning stove with something bubbling on top. The smell of roasting smoked meat makes the stomach growl. As Lady Nutica potters around in her kitchen, she disappears into what seems like another room. It was in fact a stairway leading down to her cool cellar, where the garden's preserved offerings are stored for the winter. She comes back bearing a huge jar of what appears to be pickled vegetables, swimming in a cloudy liquid. Whole green tomatoes, cauliflower florets, pieces of translucent cabbage, and chunks of sweet, briny carrot in herbs. As I write this, I can savour the flavour. Simple fare, but never have I tasted such deliciously aromatic fermented vegetables. The carrot of all carrots. The cabbage, sweet, juicy, perfectly seasoned, and rich with umami - better than any piece of buttered cabbage you would find on a fancy-schmancy restaurant menu! These vegetables had been subject to sorcery. As we sat sipping sweet coffee and munching on the best pickles, without a word of Romanian between us, I could sense that I was not alone in thinking that this was one of those truly remarkable experiences - and that was before the smoked pork and Mămăligă.
But you said no science...
When the season is changing and the sun’s energy is no longer sufficient to ripen produce (like the last tomatoes), growers around the world are left with an abundance of unripe produce that is unpalatable in its raw state. However, if you immerse it in a simple solution of salt and water, seal, sterilise and place in a cool, dark place, you can create your own magnificent food experiences at home.
Lactobacillus converts natural sugars found in food into lactic acid, which is responsible for the fermented foods we love: cheese, charcuterie, yoghurt, soy sauce, and fermented vegetables, to name a few. When salt is added in the right proportions, fruit and vegetables produce lactic acid. I generally stick to a ratio of 2% non-iodised salt to the total weight of my recipe. Anything under that and you are at risk of developing unwanted bacteria. Anything over that and the ferment is in danger of becoming too salty.
These preserves last up to a year if correctly stored. Once opened though, refrigerate and consume in a matter of weeks.
Product (fruit, vegetables etc) + Salt + Time = Lactic Acid = Preserved Product .
…Oh, we get it now!
What’s great about the recipe below is how accessible it is. Using the equation above, all you need now is good produce. That’s the secret. You can make these preserves using generic supermarket vegetables, but I urge you to shop local. It just tastes better! If you are in Dublin, try the Fumbally market, they have converted their cafe into the most amazing grocer, with 100% fresh organic produce and so much delicious stuff coming from local farms. You can mix and match the vegetables for the recipe below but be mindful of keeping to 2% salt.
ROMANIAN LACTO-FERMENTED VEGETABLES
Makes 2kg of preserve
1 kg unripe green tomatoes (you can omit these if they are out of season and increase the other vegetables, just a tad)
300 g carrots
200 g celeriac (if you manage to source celeriac with the leaves, wash them and add a couple to the recipe, they carry great flavour)
300 g white cabbage
200 g cauliflower (the leaves are all too often thrown out, I prefer to keep them and blanch before dressing like a salad)
3 whole garlic cloves
3 bay leaves (fresh if possible - rob them from a bush)
2 stalks of lovage per jar (optional)
1 tbsp whole peppercorns (you can add some pink peppercorns if you like)
1 tbsp dill seeds
1 tbsp yellow mustard seeds
3 L water
100 g non-iodised salt (that’s about 2% of the total recipe)
Method:
Begin by sterilising your jars. The method can be found in Newsletter #1.
Wash the green tomatoes and set them aside.
Wash and peel your vegetables. Cut the carrots and celeriac into chunks, and cut the cauliflower into bite-sized florets.
Peel the garlic cloves. Slice the cabbage in half, remove the inner stalk, and slice into large oversized chunks.
Add the vegetables to the sterilised jars, applying them in layers, followed by the spices and herbs. The vegetables should be wedged into the jars. You don’t want the vegetables floating as that will cause spoilage.
Bring the water and salt to a boil in a medium saucepan. Let it boil for 3-4 minutes. Allow to cool slightly but no longer than 3-4 minutes. If it gets too cool, reheat it.
Pour the hot solution over the vegetables in the jars and allow to rest for 1 minute. Don’t worry if you don’t use all the liquid.
Top up the jars with more of the hot water solution* until the vegetables are submerged. If the vegetables are floating just wedge them back in place using a sterilised utensil.
Seal firmly with a lid and proceed to the canning process below (don’t skip this step).
*Note: If you need more solution to top up the jars, ensure you weigh the water and salt proportions correctly. You require 2% salt as previously mentioned. Example: for every 100ml of water, you require 2g of salt.
Canning Process in Food Preservation
*This step is super important.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Carefully lower the jars inside and ensure they are completely covered with water. This jar lifter is a great tool for this step.
Allow the jars to boil in the water for 15 minutes, adjusting for altitude (it’s really important that the jars are submerged).
Remove the jars from the water. Dry and keep in a cool, dark place.
Leave the pickles for at least 4 weeks before you start eating them. They become better with time and will last up to 1 year. Once you open a jar, store it in the fridge.
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