Switzerland: Capretto alla Locarnese (Potroasted Kid or Lamb in Herbs, Cream and Wine)

In those central European countries where people raise goats for dairy purposes, spring is the time when a lot of tender young milk-fed kid starts turning up in the local butcher shops. This is because about half the kids born each spring are male, and no dairy herd really needs more than one billy goat to keep things ticking along.
The southern Swiss canton of Ticino, where Locarno is situated, has as many herds of dairy goats as anyplace else in the country. Possibly there are even more, as the milder climate on the southern side of the Alps means the mountain herds will find more good grazing at the higher altitudes than they might elsewhere in Switzerland (and earlier in the year, too). This recipe was very likely devised as a local response to the yearly problem of how to deal with the springtime surplus of kid. And for times of the year when kid isn't in the local butcher -- or for those who don't care for the idea of kid whether they can find any or not -- this recipe is perfectly delicious with good lamb.
The technique of long slow simmering in wine and herbs is one that turns up in other Ticinese dishes, especially some involving rabbit. The addition of the cream at the end of the recipe produces a beautifully rich sauce, fragrant with sage and (a little unusually) mint and cinnamon, possibly speaking of some passing influence from further south and east in the Mediterranean regions. As for the rum, it may have been an ingredient from the beginning, or may have slipped into the recipe as a substitution for grappa in the days before that unique spirit was easy to obtain outside of Switzerland.
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The Tyrol: Schüttelbrot (Alpine-spiced Rye Flatbread)

Schüttelbrot is a favorite crispbread of the Tyrolese regions, one that typically appears on the table at mountain ski huts and in cafés and casual restaurants at mountain resorts, in company with the local Alpine smoked hams and cheeses. The source of its name is a cause for mild controversy, as no one's entirely sure where it comes from. Though in modern German the verb forms of schüttel can mean to shake or shiver, there's nothing particularly shaky about this bread. It seems more likely that the name goes back to a dialect word for a drawer in a wall-mounted kitchen cupboard -- the kind of place where you might logically store a hard-baked thin bread like this one for long periods.
Possibly the most unusual thing about schüttelbrot is its spicing. The seeds of fennel, a herb that doesn't mind heights and grows well in the chilly alpine weather, normally make an appearance in schüttelbrot. So does caraway seed, one of fennel's relatives and an equally hardy herb. But a slightly more surprising ingredient is bockshornklee, "goat's-horn clover" -- or, in English, fenugreek (Trigonella foenum-graecum). Normally these days fenugreek is more commonly associated with Indian food. But the herb shares its relatives' ability to grow successfully on barren ground like mountain scree-slopes, and it also turns up in some alpine cheeses (a close relative is the herb used in schabzeiger) as well as in this bread.
The seeds of these herbs are all pounded in a mortar, or otherwise chopped and crushed, and kneaded into the bread. After rising, the bread is rolled flat before one last pre-baking rise. (Some recipes suggest you use a pasta machine for this, but EuroCuisineLady thinks this may be going to a little too much trouble: a rolling pin seems to work fine.)
The essentially rural nature of schüttelbrot means that, in its normal habitat, there'll be a lot of variation in how it looks and tastes, depending on the local baker's preferences. Those who're trying for a very traditional look and feel will incorporate whole rye groats or kernels (roggenschrot): these are optional. (If you go for this approach, do not forget to pre-soak the rye kernels in warm water for a couple of hours before adding to the dough! Otherwise somebody's going to break a tooth.) Other bakers will coarsely chop, pound or grind down the same kernels before adding them to the dough in the early stages. Still other bakers prefer to leave the rye kernels out entirely, instead depending on the rye flour to carry that portion of the flavor, and pointing it up with varying amounts of caraway, dill, fennel or fenugreek, according to local preferences. What everybody seems to agree on is that regardless of its thickness -- which, depending on who's making it, can vary from paper-thin to about a quarter-inch when baked -- schüttelbrot has to be crunchy to best set off the sliced meats and cheeses it accompanies.
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Norway: Mandelkaker (Almond Refrigerator Cookies)

Sometimes you just want cookies.
This Norwegian recipe might or might not have started out life as a refrigerator cooky, but it works perfectly as one. A substantial dose of ground almonds recalls the flavor of some of the lighter, flourless cookies of Scandinavia (often raised with hartshorn / ammonium bicarbonate), but these come out with a less crisp, more straightforwardly cooky-ish texture, similar to that of a sugar cookie. Vanilla is added to these for flavoring purposes, but you could substitute other flavor extracts if you liked, as the almonds aren't all that assertive a flavor in the mix. (Or add almond extract to make that flavor more assertive: just as you wish.)
Making the cookie dough in a mixer or food processor takes about ten or fifteen minutes: then you leave it in the fridge at least overnight. After that, it's cookies on demand, whenever you feel like it until you run out of dough. This recipe makes about 48 / four dozen.
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Belgium: Côtelettes de porc a la Flamande (Flanders-style Pork Chops with Apple and Cider)

It's interesting how firmly an adjective can get attached to a recipe. Say "a la Flamande" to most cooks, and almost all of those who've ever heard the phrase before will instantly add the word "Carbonnade" to the front of it, citing the famous recipe for beef in Belgian beer.
Yet they do drink other things in Belgium, and cook with other things. There is, for example, some good hard cider around. (We specify "hard" here for the sake of our North American readers: in Europe, cider is always alcoholic, and everything else is just apple juice.) Stassen is probably the best-known of the Belgian ciders. But other ones would certainly have made their way across the border from France (when the local farmers weren't already brewing their own cider out back). It was only a matter of time before some good dry cider found itself into a pork dish like this, displacing the ubiquitous beer. (Though EuroCuisineGuy, a Belgian beer fan to the last, points out that this recipe would also work nicely with one of the sharp dry fruit beers like Kriek or framboise.)
The spicing in this dish is interesting. The presence of the juniper berries and the rosemary suggests that the people who first came up with the recipe saw an advantage in flavoring it as if it was something gamier -- specifically wild boar. Whatever, the juniper certainly enhances the flavor of the pork, pointing up the fruity quality of the apples as well.
Plated up with the côtelette in the image is shredded baby cabbage baked in cream.
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