One of my family’s stories from
“the old days” surrounds a great, great uncle who, along with being the town’s
long-serving postmaster, had also operated the village store. Known for his
generosity and big heart, he cared deeply about the welfare of citizens
suffering through the depths of the Great Depression, and kept a list of those
he knew were struggling to feed their children. Before closing his shop on
Saturday nights, he would have my Dad back his Model T up to the rear door,
where there would be several boxes filled with soup bones and vegetables – the
makings of the kind of hearty soups he believed would help the most. My older
brothers were instructed to leave those boxes on the porches of the intended
recipients after dark, and to depart quickly after ringing the door bell to
insure that the gifts would remain anonymous.
Since Uncle Reuben lived with us, we
too knew the marvel’s which simmered on our family’s own stove on a regular
basis, with marrow-filled beef bones and a marriage of seasonal vegetables
among the celestial ingredients. Especially high on my personal list of
soup-pot magic was the incomparable richness of my mother’s Oxtail soup with
its glistening layer of mouth-watering goodness riding on the bubbling surface.
While nearly every ethnic group lays
claim to some variation of this classic soup or stew dish, it has played a
special role in England’s long kitchen traditions. In my cherished facsimile copy of Amelia Simmons’ 1796 “American Cookery” - our country’s very
first cookbook – the author tells us how to make a “Foot Pie” using scalded “neets feet”, an old-world term for beef
(or Ox) tails, one of the most flavorful parts of the bovine species. Since
female animals were valued for their milk, a surplus of male critters – the Ox
– most often found a pathway to the butcher’s block.
Nowadays, ox tails have become
something of a “gourmet” item in our markets, and they not only command a
higher price, but can be hard to find. For two diners, I like to buy at least
one-and-a-half pounds of pre-cut ox tails, from which I trim as much fat as I
can with a sharp boning knife. To prepare them a day ahead of time for the soup
for which they are destined, I place them in an enamel-clad Dutch oven with
enough braising liquid to cover them – either beef stock or better yet a
half-and-half mixture of stock and a good dark Porter or Stout such as “Guinness”.
I then slow-cook them covered in a 275 degree oven, with an onion sliced over
them and a split carrot and celery stalk for company for about 4 hours.
When adequately cooled, I strip the
meat from the bones and set it aside in the refrigerator while straining the
braising liquid into a separate container which gets covered with plastic wrap
and refrigerated overnight. On soup-making day it is easy to skim the hardened
fat from the surface of the broth mixture which, re-enforced with additional
liquid, becomes the base for the chopped onions, carrots, celery and cubed
potatoes (and any other vegetables of choice.)
I like to add 2 or 3 bay leaves, some sprigs of fresh thyme and 3 garlic
cloves minced fine to the simmering soup pot. When the vegetables are tender but not quite
done, shred the waiting ox tail meat into the mix, salt and pepper to taste and
serve hot together with a loaf of crusty bread.
: The appeal of a home-made bowl of Ox Tail
soup involves kitchen chemistry and family love.
Soup
and photo by Al Cooper
There are a number of ways to remain
in touch with those of our forbears from whose roots we draw more than a mere
resemblance, and the daily fare which we set upon our dinner tables is one of
them. My great, great uncle Reuben Coyte left this earth 70 years ago, but he
sits beside me still when I dip a ladle into a pot of oxtail soup.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment