Child-friendly, this sausage and bacon stew is truly a fusion dish. Usually made with meat, it's easily adapted to be 100% vegan. It draws on the culinary traditions of the Southern USA, Southern Africa and the South Atlantic island of St Helena. Think "BIG South"...
Yee-hah! Cowboy chow
This is a true fusion recipe. It dates from when I was a reasonably young adult, cooking regularly for kids with all their intrinsic likes, dislikes and parental preferences and demands. So, while it's often a dish containing meat, it's very easily adapted for vegetarians and vegans (see below) to contain none at all. But, is also great for mixed groups of diners.
Faced with the daunting task of feeding shouting, crying, demanding nippers, I retreated to what I knew—and probably subconsciously drew on the model of my father who was so great at cooking for hordes of hungry kids, often involving them in the process.
You'll find influences from the kitchen of the southern USA or the Irish tradition of Dublin Coddle, beloved of my Da', taught to me as a kid. You'll equally find a love of "franks 'n beans" cooked by my grandfather—who'd a particular love of Cowboy culture since youth—over a fire when he took my brother and I camping in places so remote and devoid of light pollution that at night it felt like the sky was so full of stars they might actually crush your skull. Yes, there's even a couple of touches that are a nod to his Germanic ancestry.
But, most of all, this is a recipe inspired by Tabitha. Known to us as "Mrs T" (yeah, you all get the pun if you're old enough to know the TV series), she hailed from St Helena in the South Atlantic. As a young woman she got on the old mail ship to Cape Town in search of the descendants on her father's side.
As she cooked for us, I'd sit cross-legged on the kitchen floor and listen—Health & Safety be buggered. On her mother's side, she was descended from the African slaves freed by the British governor of St Helena in the late 18th century. On her father's side, she was descended from one of the prisoners of war dispatched by the British to the prison camps on St Helena during the Anglo-Boer War.
Her arrival in South Africa was a mixed blessing: some of her distant relatives in Cape Town were delighted to meet her, but her arduous journey to Houtkraal—where her great-grandfather was born—was not met with equal enthusiasm. She returned to the Cape, where she worked in hotels and as a housekeeper in homes of distinction. Later she married a dude who was somehow involved in the catering at the Shongweni Club; nearer the other coast. That's where she incidentally met my parents when we were one one of our days out—mater happy, pater not—and the obvious point of connection was that they had all actually been to St Helena. Not long after the death of her husband, she entered our lives.
Both my father and grandfather, his father-in-law, took a shine to her, unusual because they seldom shared an opinion. My father issued his usual instructions to be followed in his absence: only speak to them in the language they've yet to learn (in this case Afrikaans). But, I'm pretty certain my grandfather pulled her aside and had a word in her ear because, the biggest influence on this recipe, a dish Mrs T called "Cowboy kos", was straight out of his campfire kitchen. And we loved it, even if I insisted on being "a red Indian", complete with outfit to match. At heart, I think she took all the info my grandfather had fed her about "franks 'n beans", filtered through her own cooking repertoire, reinvented for kids and my parents' insistence on baseline nutrition.
My recipe is not Mrs T's. It couldn't possibly include the complexity of what she cooked from memory after all these years. For example, I'm pretty certain hers included figs in some way—not included here but a feature in the cooking of St Helena—and it also included potatoes, though I've opted for swede instead. But, it most certainly includes that "cowboy" classic of baked beans.
What goes around comes around
When faced with my own challenge to not have kids running from the dinner table in abject horror whilst dishing up, I mostly channelled her. But, yes, it's utter "fusion".
In this version, I'm using the slightly more time-consuming method of par-cooking the carrots and swede together—with a few extra slices of cabbage thrown in for extra depth of flavour—mainly because I find this a good way to not end up with undercooked vegetables if the sauce reduces quickly, which it often does, and not to end up with overcooked vegetables if it doesn't. But, it's entirely optional. If you're a whizz at your veggie timings, you can simply add them to the pot at the appropriate point in the cooking.
Similarly, when it comes to the sausage, it's a moveable feast. My childhood memories are of it being cooked with those fat Frankfurters you'd love in the ho'dogs at some hoe down (can we even use that term anymore?), Wiener sausages or pre-cooked bratwurst; the stuff that makes little kids in many cultures happy. But, you can pretty much use what works for you, if including sausage at all.
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Most often Mrs T would serve this with oven-cooked rice similar to a pilau—but with spices that were more African than Indian, such as pink peppercorns—or what we called "wheat hearts" as kids, a kind of organic durum wheat kernel that could be cooked in a similar way to rice and probably most similar to bulgar wheat in the Northern Hemisphere.
But, I always liked it most with rustic wholemeal bread, particularly when toasted, and that's how I'm doing it here, with the salsa verde riff I perfected in Edinburgh in lieu of butter. An observational trick I learned was that small kids who spit out raw garlic will generally countenance sushi ginger for some reason. I cannae explain it. Like I said, I was always good at getting kids to eat chlorophyl by stealth. Some of them have even made it to adulthood.
Despite the plethora of spices, this dish is neither hot nor challenging, but rather "scented". Remember, it's a dish I worked on to keep small children satisfied. Could there be any more demanding culinary audience?
This recipe serves 3 to 4 (adult) diners, but obviously goes a lot further if you're mainly feeding wee kiddies. You do the maths in scaling up.
Shopping list
for the sausage and bacon stew
1 medium swede, peeled and cut into large rustic pieces
3 or 4 large carrots; scrubbed or peeled and cut into fairly thick slices
Approx. 300g large closed cup mushrooms, cut into thick slices
1 large red onion (or brown), halved and sliced
4 or 5 rashers of smoked bacon, fat-on, sliced horizontally into pieces
4 to 6 smoked sausages, dependent on size— roughly sliced
4 cloves garlic, finely cubed
A few thick slices of cabbage (optional)
A generous clutch of parsley, chopped
Approx. 500ml chicken stock; fresh or diluted from a cube or pot
6 tbspns sunflower oil
3 tbspns plain flour, sifted
1 x 400g baked beans in tomato sauce (or bbq beans)
1 bay leaf—dried or fresh
1 tbspn mild smoked paprika
1 tspn cumin
2 tspns dried oregano
1 tspn allspice
1 tspn ground dried parsley
1 tspn ground dried coriander
½ tspn ground cloves
½ tspn ground yellow mustard seeds
a little grated nutmeg
1 tspn dried chilli flakes
1 tspn caraway seeds
boiling water
salt and pepper to taste
for the salsa verde (with bread or toast)
a bunch of spring onions, washed and peeled
a generous clutch of rocket (arugula)
a generous chunk of cucumber
a clutch of flat leaf parsley
a clutch of sushi ginger (gari); I'm using the pink kind
1 tbspn balsamic vinegar (or ½ tbspn cider vinegar)
1 tspn sesame oil
juice of ½ a fresh lime (or lemon)
3 tspns virgin olive oil
1 green chilli (optional)
salt and pepper to preference
bread of choice
Cooking Method
the sausage and bacon stew
If par-boiling the swede and carrots, do so with the cabbage (optional) in salted water with a bay leaf. When they are roughly half-cooked, remove from the heat and drain. You can do this up to a day before, storing in the fridge
Mix all of the dry spices together except for the caraway seeds. Add a little of the oil to the pan and sauté the mushrooms, adding a little of the garlic and a restrained sprinkle of the dry spice mix during the cooking. Season with salt and pepper. If necessary, add a little water. Once the mushrooms are cooked, but still "meaty", add, together with all the juices, to the par-boiled carrots and swede
To the same unwashed pan, add more of the oil and gently cook the onions on a low heat, adding the remainder of the garlic once the onions begin to soften. Add the sliced bacon and stir in, sprinkling the caraway seeds into the pan when the bacon is roughly half-cooked. When the bacon is nearly cooked, add the sliced smoked sausages and stir in. As soon as the sausages are sealed, remove from the heat
In a large pot or deep pan with a lid, make your roux by gently heating 4 tbspns of oil and stirring in 3 tbspns of sifted plain flour, stirring into a thick paste. Before it burns, add half of the chicken stock and half of the dry spices mix, stirring vigorously, until any "lumps" disappear. Keep stirring as you add the swede and carrots back into the pot. Allow to simmer and bubble for a minute or so. Then, add the remainder of the stock, gently folding in the ingredients. If this fails to cover the ingredients, add boiling water liberally until covered. Stir thoroughly
Add the remaining ingredients—the pre-cooked mushrooms, onions, bacon and sausages—with all juice and remaining dry spices and stir in. Bring to a hearty simmer for at least 5mins. Add the chopped parsley and stir this in. Re-cover and simmer for at least a further 5mins
Add the tin of baked beans and all of its sauce and gently fold in. Cover and simmer for another 4 or 5mins
Remove from the heat, cover and rest for a few mins before plating/taking to table
the salsa verde (with bread or toast)
Cut all your green ingredients roughly. Place into a mini-chopper or food processor. Chop into a tapenade-like paste, working in the vinegar and oil, little by little
When you reach the desired consistency, decant to be spread on bread or lovely, lovely toast
Alternatives
Despite the name, this is readily turned into a vegan or vegetarian dish. If doing so, simply leave out the bacon and sausage, or, add tempeh bacon and Quorn sausages (no, not other plant-based sausages that crumble) treated exactly the same as in the recipe above. This is a rare situation where I can attest that they behave as like-for-like. And, use vegetable stock instead of chicken stock, obviously.
I have done various pescatarian versions. My favourite was using fish stock instead of chicken stock, sliced smoked salmon in lieu of the bacon (not pre-fried) and meaty de-shelled mussels instead of sausage. Slight embarrassment when one of the charming wee kiddies spat them out shouting, "It tastes like dogs' titties!". As they say in Flanders: nae ma circus, nae ma bairns!
If you want to get all clever and do a single meal that accommodates all, use vegetable stock and simply make sure you cook the sausages and bacon separately from the onions et al. Only introduce them into the pot once you've removed the portions for the veggies. Sure, purists may argue it has a negative flavour impact, but I developed this dish for kids who were too young to be writing reviews in the national broadsheets...
Pairings
Historically, this has been a deeply sober dish for me given it grew out of cooking for kids entrusted into my care for dinner. So, an apfelschorle, mineral water with a bit of basil or a ginger beer was as racy as it got—all of which worked perfectly, by the way.
When kids, Mrs T was having none of "that fizzy drink nonsense" when we ate "cowboy kos". Much as its sweetness would now horrify me, we'd drink guava juice with it.
And, cooking it again now, I can think of at least six or seven wines that would work with it so well—mostly white or rosé. But, I'm going to leave that all up to you with this one. I'm staying with the spirit of a dish (sort of) served to me as a kid I've been fortunate enough to share with new generations of kids. Here's looking at you, Mrs T!
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