Holidays Reveal America’s Melting Pot

My abilities as a seasoned food and beverage photographer are deeply embedded with my history of exploring cuisines from a varied international amalgam.

I hope this monthly food column will encourage you to savor the flavors I have enjoyed sharing all my life. I am a devoted foodie! And as an entertaining tale always adds rich depth to a sauce, I hope you will always be smellin’ what I’m tellin’.

I am a firstborn American with Latvian-German roots. My immigrant parents came over on a troop carrier with a few suitcases, surviving through the displaced persons camps of WWII. They were sponsored by a family from Kellogg, Michigan, but according to family lore, our “Uncle Willy” kept the clan in New York for better opportunities to become Americans. And so did they become part of the melting pot, as they brought with them my grandfather’s watercolor and oil paintings, clothing, documents, photographs, and some pots and pans to cook food on the carrier. Old-school European stories, experiences, lessons and recipes are my heritage, “kochtopf” included. My parents were so eager to become Americans, they named us kids after personalities they watched on their black-and-white TV learning English: Perry, Sidney and Debby. (Now you have to guess the names of the stars.)

The kochtopf, or cooking pot, is a treasure I inherited from my mom, along with the stories behind its travels. Imagine carrying your life with you in a few suitcases, after surviving a war of unspeakable horror and visions of your destroyed world. That thick-walled cast aluminum pot has been through it all – good times and sad – yet it has always delivered a lifeline to me and my family of immigrants. There is an inherent spice that continually infuses the sauerkraut made within. The only other use for the kochtopf is for my mom’s recipe for world-class oxtails; those are for another issue to come.

When Bruno and Kaethe settled in Port Washington, New York (in a multifamily home with Italian immigrants downstairs), they were eager to become a part of the community to learn the ways of America. My father quickly befriended a special Irish couple, Tom and Lilly Breslin, who owned a bar close by and were avid drinkers, to my father’s delight. Tom was a robustly rotund tavern owner, his spouse, “Aunt Lil,” was fond of my mom and gave her cooking lessons. I still remember her “eau de Gin,” fondness for cashews (we couldn’t afford them at home) and the recipe she shared with my mom: “Aunt Lil’s Irish Stuffing.” God bless America!

All my life, Lil’s stuffing has accompanied Christmas turkey with our traditional Latvian sauerkraut, “kapusta.” Just the thought of these two sides means holiday comfort food. I have served Lil’s stuffing and mom’s sauerkraut for more than 40 years, and have blown the minds of friends from all parts of this planet. The stuffing is so fine that I always have to make a second tray. There is no fowl that can be stuffed sufficiently to hold a proper amount for hungry guests. In fact, when younger, my brother and I would almost resort to fisticuffs over the burnt end of stuffing crust popping out of a hot resting turkey – that “stuffing patch” is the best part ever! What also ranked highly were the giblets, especially the turkey neck that my dad often hid somewhere.

Stuffing first. Commitment and devotion are parts inherent to cooking holiday meals. Aunt Lil taught my mom to make the croutons from scratch – it’s most important not to cheat and use store-bought. Mom would cube up loaves of white bread two days before, and our house filled with the aroma of “fresh” Wonder Bread getting nice and stale. As kids, we knew we had something great being concocted for the table.

When my mom made the stuffing the day before, cramming the bird for the holiday meal, we would compulsively try to sneak a handful out of the fridge. I think it was the amount of thyme and butter that made it taste so special. The simplest ingredients: chopped celery and onion (sound familiar, like the Cajun holy trinity?), several sticks of butter and a big dash of dried thyme, slowly sautéed, cooled and added to the cubes of dried bread. I know that Aunt Lil’s simple secret weapon could bring the Protestants and Catholics, Israelis and Palestinians, Shiites and Sunnis, and even the Hatfields and McCoys together over a meal to heal. Maybe I should make some for the Senate and House of Representatives?

Secondly, Latvian sauerkraut in the “kessel,” or boiler. When I think about it, my mom gave me that old weathered device to keep my traditions alive. What a gift; I even mentioned it during the production and filming of “MasterChef” season nine. The pot is 1/4˝ thick and holds the heat for slow cooking that’s essential to great krauts, slow and low. My mom would repeat herself for years of tutelage, reminding me that when preparing the canned sauerkraut, always rinse three times, always three rinses in the colander.

In the “old days,” peeps might make sauerkraut at home, but for the modern American hausfrau, it was best to reach for those cans of Libby’s and get to work. We all knew when to leave the kitchen, because as the cans of kraut opened, a rich waft of sulfurous-sauerkraut-kimchee-burnt eggs was combined with giggles about who farted while Mom was cooking? Hey, who pulled Dad’s finger? But seriously funny … God bless my dad, who never needed anyone to graciously pull any digit at any time. My mom would watch over the kessel on a low burner, stirring its contents so as not to burn the bottom layer. Burnt sauerkraut was a tad stronger than my dear dad’s vocalizations. After all these years of “krauting” up my friends, the comments have remained the same. “Wow Sid, I never thought sauerkraut could taste that good!” That’s because I always rinse my canned cabbage thrice. Threefold the difference makes.

Even as we all might celebrate the year’s end with different recipes of traditional origins, sharing appreciation of these different flavors is what makes the melting pot and my kessel an avenue to recreate the foods that feed and bond us all. May we remember our compassionate natures and the passion behind cooking with friends and family for these holidays to come.

Keep your kochtopfs hot and ready for the recipes we’ll share in 2021. Paldies! (Pronounced “pal-di-ess,” which is Latvian for thank you.) 

LATVIAN SAUERKRAUT À LA THE FAMILY HOELTZELL

INGREDIENTS

• 5 14.4-ounce cans sauerkraut, without caraway seeds

• 1 medium-sized green Granny Smith apple, diced

• 1 medium-sized yellow onion, diced

• 1 cup brown sugar (Do not use the processed white stuff.)

• 1 cup really good honey

• 5 dried or fresh bay leaves

• 2 tablespoons black peppercorns (To be fished out while you eat the finished dish.)

• 2 tablespoons of caraway seed (Makes the Latvian flavor profile complete.)

PREPARATION

• Dump each can of sauerkraut (hope you know how to use a can opener, as many Gen Xers can’t figure it out) into a colander and really, really rinse under cold running water three times – remember: Be nice and do it thrice!

• Mix all ingredients into your very own kochtopf or slow cooker. I have a Le Creuset Signature enameled cast iron round Dutch oven that I use for many dishes, but only the kochtopf for real kraut flavor will do.

• Slow cook on stove on low simmering heat for about 4 – 4.5 hours, stirring quite often as to not burn the bottom of the pot. And remember not to eat too many of the peppercorns. Kids hate those peppercorns, hahahaha!

AUNT LIL’S IRISH STUFFING

For really stuffing a 12-pound turkey; double this recipe to make a second tray’s worth as a side-side dish.

INGREDIENTS

• 2 loaves Wonder Bread or Martin’s Potato Bread, cut into approximately 1/2˝ cubes and left on the kitchen table for two days

• 3 good trimmed bunches of celery stalks, coarsely chopped

• 3 large white (not red or Vidalia) onions, coarsely chopped

• 3 tablespoons dried thyme (Nowadays I add 3 tablespoons of fresh thyme, finely chopped, as well.)

• 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste

• 1 teaspoon ground black pepper, or to taste

• Dash garlic salt

• 3 sticks unsalted butter (Better make it four … or more, cuz it’s Christmas time so forget about the cholesterol count.)

PREPARATION

• Dry fresh bread into croutons; save in a large bowl or bucket.

• Combine and sauté celery, onions, thyme and spices with lots of butter until celery gets bright green (do not overcook!); cool until warm to touch. Say a good Catholic prayer for Tom and Lilly Breslin while waiting for the mix to cool.

• Mix stuffing well and stuff your turkey with half; place the other half in a deep baking tray to brown in the oven during the baking of the fowl. Guard that separate bowl from all minors who are notorious stuffing thieves.

© Sid Hoeltzell – Wynwood 2020