Pennsylvania Dutch cooking often misunderstood
Pennsylvania Dutch cooking does not seem to capture the food lover's imagination the way barbecue, Southern, Cajun/Creole, Pacific Northwest or other American cooking styles do. Ask most people what they know of it, and they are likely to mention the tourist smorgasbords of Lancaster County or — gasp! — scrapple.
As a native son of the cuisine, I've always wondered why. While you might not hanker for crispy fried slices of scrapple the way I do, there's much appealing comfort food to be found. And, while it is overlooked and often misunderstood, it is more widespread than you think; as food historian William Woys Weaver says, “You can get Pennsylvania Dutch cooking in Ontario.”
Why hasn't it become more famous, then? Weaver says it's because there are two very different cookeries involved: the real thing (home cooking) and the tourist fare that developed in the 1930s.
“The great myth is that Pennsylvania Dutch means Amish, when, in fact, the Amish represent only about 5 percent of the total Pennsylvania Dutch population,” says Weaver, director of the Keystone Center for the Study of Regional Foods and Food Tourism in Devon, Pa. “They are good farmers, but culinary art is not what they are about.”
In fact, America's best-known Pennsylvania Dutch restaurant was not in the Keystone State at all, but on the site where the Kennedy Center now overlooks the Potomac in Washington. Marjory Hendricks owned and operated the Water Gate Inn from 1942 to 1966. She was born in Seattle but loved the Pennsylvania Dutch culture so much that she re-created its decor and dishes.
Another misunderstanding is that “Dutch” is connected to Holland. In fact, the heritage is German. In his “Sauerkraut Yankees: Pennsylvania Dutch Foods and Foodways” (Stackpole Books, 2002), Weaver explains the people as being a mix of the “plain,” such as the Amish — descendants of 18th- and 19th-century Anabaptist German immigrants — and the “fancy” — descendants of Reformed and Lutheran German immigrants. Local-food culture is central to both.
It gets even more intricate. About 25 counties make up “Dutch country,” says Weaver, and microclimates mean there's “a wide range of local ingredients, from saffron cookery in Lebanon County to the maple-sugar belt in Somerset County.”
Like other regional fare, Pennsylvania Dutch foods come with their unique lingo: Lebanon bologna, schnitz and knepp, whoopee pies. A proper Pennsylvania Dutch meal supposedly consists of seven sweets and seven sours. I never stopped to count them, but I do know that we never ended a meal feeling hungry.
The obsession with food is handed down from generation to generation; it is how we relate to our community. The flavors and the cooking implements evolve, but the connection with food remains.
I moved from Pennsylvania to Virginia nearly 30 years ago, but I've kept the food traditions alive. My great-grandmother cooked in a wood-fired oven, where she measured the temperature by sticking her arm in. In turn, my friends chipped in and bought me a wood-fired backyard pizza oven that I use not just for pizza but also for roasts, breads, even Thanksgiving dinner.
Whenever I return to my parents' home in Lancaster, I find it remarkable how refined each dish is after generations of perfecting ingredients and processes.
Food historian Weaver, who sees a renaissance in traditional (and new-wave) Pennsylvania Dutch cookery, reminded me that many foods we consider to be true specialties were really so-called tourist fare. Moreover, some of them didn't originate in Pennsylvania, or even Germany. Whoopee pies were born in Massachusetts in 1928 but were co-opted by the Amish, Weaver says. Chicken potpie was adapted by the Dutch to change the traditional crust to noodles. Chowchow is Asian — and even shoofly pie's local origins are suspect.
Perhaps it doesn't matter. Whether those dishes and others started as tourist fare or not, my own family's food was — and remains — authentic for one simple reason: We make it ourselves. That is what qualifies it as Pennsylvania Dutch, through and through.
Tim Artz is a contributing writer for The Washington Post.
Mrs. Witmeyer's Shoofly Pie
This pie is so good that, as a child, Pennsylvania native Tim Artz used to request it instead of a birthday cake. The recipe came from Mrs. Witmeyer, a neighbor.
Use your favorite flaky pie crust recipe or store-bought pie shell.
The pie can be stored at room temperature for up to 3 days, but, as Artz says, “I have never seen a crumb of one last 24 hours. If a piece manages to survive until morning, it will be eaten with the first cup of coffee.”
Ole Barrel Syrup is available through KauffmansFruitFarm.com.
Homemade or store-bought single crust for one 9-inch pie
1 cup flour
3⁄4 cup firmly packed light-brown sugar
Generous 2 tablespoons salted butter, at a cool room temperature
1 cup Ole Barrel Syrup (may substitute 1:1 ratio of molasses and corn syrup; see headnote)
1 large egg, beaten
1 cup very hot water, divided
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking soda
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Line a 9-inch glass or ceramic pie plate with the unbaked pie dough.
Use two forks or your clean fingers to combine the flour, brown sugar and butter in a mixing bowl, forming a crumbly mix. Reserve 1⁄2 cup of this mixture in a separate small bowl.
Whisk together the syrup, egg, 3⁄4 cup of the hot water and the vanilla extract in a medium bowl until well blended, then add that mixture to the crumbly mix in the mixing bowl.
Stir the baking soda into the remaining 1⁄4 cup of hot water until it has dissolved, then quickly stir that mixture into the bowl to form a rich filling. Pour the filling into the pie shell.
Scatter the reserved crumbly mix evenly over the surface. Bake for 5 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 375 degrees. Bake for 40 minutes, or until the pie is just set.
Cool almost completely before serving.
Makes 8 to 10 servings (one 9-inch pie).
Chicken Corn Soup
Chicken corn soup is a staple of Pennsylvania Dutch picnics and summer gatherings. The small dumplings, or rivvels, that are added during cooking elevate the soup to comfort-food, main-course status.
The recipe relies on using the sweetest, fresh corn you can find; see the note, below, for how to freeze it.
Leftover chicken can be used as long as it's not dry; good soup requires nice, moist bites of chicken.
The soup can be refrigerated for up to a week or frozen for several months.
For the rivvels:
2 large eggs
Pinch kosher salt
Flour
For the soup
6 quarts homemade or no-salt-added chicken broth
Cooked chicken meat (light and dark) from one 3-pound chicken, cut into bite-size pieces
6 cups fresh corn, blanched (may use home-frozen/defrosted corn; see note)
1 1⁄2 cups dried fine egg noodles
4 large hard-cooked eggs, diced
1⁄4 cup finely chopped flatleaf parsley
Kosher salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
To prepare the rivvels: Lightly beat the eggs in a mixing bowl. Add the salt, then use a fork to mix in enough flour to form a dough that is not sticky and pulls away from the side of the bowl.
Lightly flour a work surface. Turn out the dough onto the work surface; knead for about 5 minutes, until smooth, adding flour as needed. Cover with plastic wrap.
To prepare the soup: Heat the broth in a large pot over medium heat. When it starts to bubble at the edges, add the chicken meat. Cook for 3 or 4 minutes, until heated through, then add the corn. Cook for 3 or 4 minutes, then add the noodles. Cook just until tender.
Add the diced egg. When the soup has begun to bubble all over the surface, add pinches of the rivvel dough to the soup; it's important to make them small, because the rivvels plump quite a bit as they cook.
When they're all in, cook, uncovered, for 10 to 15 minutes.
Stir in the parsley, Taste and season with salt and pepper.
Makes 12 servings (about 8 quarts).
Note: To freeze fresh corn, wait until you find the sweetest ears of the season, then buy several dozen. Blanch the husked and silked corn in boiling water for 3 minutes, then transfer the corn to an ice-water bath. Cut the kernels from the cobs while holding the cob vertically against the bottom of a large tub or bowl; that will catch all of the sweet juice with the corn kernels. Scrape the back edge of the knife against the cob to get all of the corn and juice. Scoop the corn and juice into freezer bags, and press out any air before sealing.
Pepper Cabbage
This is a common salad on the Pennsylvania Dutch table. There are many variations, but it is, as the name suggests, cabbage and peppers.
If you use a food processor, the dish takes minutes to prep. Be sure to pulse, being careful not to over-process the cabbage.
The slaw needs 1 or 2 days refrigeration to meld the flavors. It can be refrigerated for up to 1 week.
1 head green cabbage (about 1 pound), cored and finely chopped
1 medium sweet green bell pepper, seeded and finely chopped
1⁄4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1⁄4 teaspoon celery seed
1⁄2 cup cool water
1⁄2 cup apple-cider vinegar
1⁄4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
Combine the cabbage and green bell pepper in a container with a tight-fitting lid. Add the black pepper and celery seed.
Whisk together the water, vinegar, sugar and salt in a liquid measuring cup so the sugar and salt are dissolved, then pour over the cabbage-pepper mixture. Toss gently to thoroughly combine. Cover and refrigerate for at least a few hours, and, preferably, 1 to 2 days, before serving.
Serve chilled.
Makes 8 to 10 servings (4 to 5 cups).
Pennsylvania Dutch Potpie
The potpie can be refrigerated for up to 1 week. It can be frozen, but the texture of the potatoes will suffer a bit.
If you like lots of noodles, feel free to double the recipe for them below. Square, thin, dried store-bought potpie noodles may be used to save time.
For the noodles
1 cup flour, plus more for the work surface
1⁄2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for the cooking water
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons whole milk, more if needed
For the potpie
4 quarts homemade or store-bought chicken stock
1 to 1 1⁄2 pounds boiling potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
2 carrots, scrubbed well, then cut into 1-inch pieces
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons finely chopped celery
About 1 1⁄2 pounds cooked light and dark chicken meat, cut into bite-size pieces (from one 3-pound chicken)
Small pinch saffron, optional
Kosher salt, to taste
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1⁄4 cup finely chopped flatleaf parsley
To prepare the noodles: Use a fork to mix the flour, salt and butter in a mixing bowl. Add the egg; blend to form a crumbly mixture. Stir in the milk, adding more as needed, to form a dough that gathers into a ball; it will be slightly sticky. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and let it rest while you cook the potpie ingredients.
To prepare the potpie: Heat the stock in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the potatoes, carrots, shallot, garlic and celery. Cook for 10 minutes, stirring once or twice, then add the cooked chicken meat. Add the saffron, if using; reduce the heat to medium so the mixture is bubbling at the edges. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
Lightly flour a work surface.
Separate the noodle dough into thirds; work with one-third of the dough at a time, flouring it lightly to keep it from getting sticky. Use a pasta machine (per machine directions), or place the dough between two sheets of plastic wrap and use a rolling pin to roll it out. The dough should be thin enough to be almost transparent.
Cut the dough into 1 1⁄2-inch squares. Drop them into the pot. When the surface of the pot is covered with one layer of noodles, stir them in to prevent them from sticking together.
Repeat the process so all the dough is used. Taste, and season with salt and pepper as needed. Remove from the heat; stir in the parsley.
Divide among individual wide, shallow bowls. Serve hot.
Makes 6 servings.
