I’ve always loved beef stroganoff. When I was a kid, my mom would make large pots of the stuff and I would happily eat leftovers for days. As an Italian kid, it was exciting to eat a dish whose name ended with an "f" instead of an "i." Stroganoff! Plus there was my mad obsession wondering what happened to the Russian Grand Duchess Anastasia. I was convinced, in a way that only young girls can be, that she had eluded execution and was living an undercover life somewhere. Taking small bites of beef mixed with egg noodles and sour cream, I would daydream about the life I imagined she had after escaping the terrible fate of her Tsar father and family, murdered by Bolsheviks. Did she marry a farmer and everyone but her husband was ignorant to her true royal identity? Was she living in Paris under an assumed name? The list of possibilities was endless and oh so very romantic to a young girl wishing to escape her own reality of a stucco house in North County San Diego.

But the beef stroganoff of my youth was vastly different than anything they served in Russia when Anastasia was alive. After all, my Neapolitan mother who had been raised in the Bronx hadn't even heard of the dish before she was at least 30. Like many Americans, the recipe for my first taste of this dish came from the back of a Campbell's soup can. Mixed with button mushrooms, sliced onions and sour cream, the mix of savory beef flavors and the velvety texture of the sauce both tingled and soothed my taste buds. Say what you will about Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, I loved every bite.

After awhile I forgot about this dish. I didn't eat a lot of beef in my adult years until I became pregnant (at which point I craved it constantly). But when my daughters were young, I remembered how much I loved this stew when I was a girl and so wanted to share it with them. Using Campbell's soup was out of the question, however. As much as I loved that dish as a kid, I knew there had to be a more authentic way to make it that also contained less sodium. I read somewhere along the way that a traditional stroganoff uses mustard. Although they probably used mustard seed back in pre-Soviet Russia, I started adding a teaspoon of Dijon to my dish instead, and was happy with the nice little kick it gave to the sauce. I then opted to use both dried and fresh mushrooms in place of the cream of mushroom soup. Dried porcinis are my favorite, but any dried mushroom steeped in water will infuse the dish with a deep and subtle earthy complexity needed to round out the flavors. And, although some recipes use heavy cream for the sauce, I've stuck with sour cream because I love the tangy flavor in the rich gravy.

Beef stroganoff has become one of my daughters' favorite stews -- like mother like daughters, I suppose. Last week, both my girls devoured every morsel in front of them and one even licked the plate clean -- I'm not exaggerating. As I watched them eat, I began to wonder if they knew of Anastasia's story or if they'd even care about it as much as I did when I was their age. But how could they not? The fated end of the Russian Tsar and his family combined with a hearty beef stew is an irresistible match and bound to capture their imagination. Maybe next time I'll have to share a little Russian history over dinner.

Beef Stroganoff

Makes: Enough for 6-8 people

Ingredients:
2 1/2 lbs beef chuck or tenderloin cut into strips or 1-inch chunks
1/4 cup flour
2 large white or yellow onions roughly sliced
1 cup dried porcini mushrooms
2 cups sliced mushrooms (I used a mix of brown and shitake, but you can use whatever you’d like)
1 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1/4 cup Cognac or sweet wine (like Madeira)
1 tsp Dijon mustard
3-4 cups beef broth
2 tsp dried thyme or 1 Tbsp fresh thyme
1 tsp paprika
Salt and Pepper to taste
3 Tbsp vegetable oil
1 cup sour cream
Freshly chopped parsley for garnish
Cooked wide egg noodles

Preparation:
1. Place dried mushrooms in a bowl and cover with boiling water (enough to just cover the mushrooms). Let sit for at least 10 minutes.

2. Sprinkle salt, pepper and 1 tsp thyme on uncooked meat. Sprinkle with flour to lightly and evenly coat each piece.

3. In a large dutch oven, heat 1 Tbsp oil on medium high. When oil is hot, place half the meat in the bottom of the pan, being sure not to crowd the bottom (crowding will make the beef steam instead of sear, and you want each piece to brown to seal in the juices).

4. Sear meat on all sides without cooking through and then remove from the pan. Add another 1 Tbsp vegetable oil and repeat with the remainder of the meat.

5. Remove all the meat from the dutch oven and add in the last tablespoon of oil. Sauté the onions for five minutes.

6. Roughly chop the now hydrated porcini mushrooms and add to the onions. Reserve the mushroom water. Add the cognac or Madeira wine, Dijon mustard, paprika, the remaining 1 tsp thyme, Worcestershire sauce and a bit of the mushroom water if needed. Sauté for another five minutes.

7. Add the meat to the onion and mushroom mixture and then mix in the remainder of the mushroom water, 3 cups of beef stock and some freshly ground pepper. Be sure to scrape the bottom of the pan to deglaze the caramelized goodness.

8. Bring the pot to a slow boil and then reduce heat to simmer. Cover pot and simmer for one hour.

9. After an hour, check stew and add the last cup of beef stock if the stew seems too dry. Add in the fresh mushrooms.

10. Simmer for another 30-60 minutes (the longer the better).

11. Cook noodles in salted water according to package directions.

12. Mix about 2 Tbsp flour with enough water to make a slurry and add to the stew. Simmer to thicken the sauce to make a glossy gravy.

13. Remove some of the gravy from the pot and add it to a bowl along with the sour cream. Whisk together and then add it to the larger pot and mix in.

14. Set noodles on plates and then ladle on the stew. Serve with chopped parsley.

As a member of a recently formed meat club, one that divides up monthly deliveries from Marin Sun Farms, I have been revisiting some of my favorite beef, lamb and goat recipes. After a few years of rarely cooking big pieces of meat in my kitchen (the meat lover in my heart is always duking it out with the vegetarian of my brain), I had a large roast in the freezer that required some attention.

An invitation to a Provencal-style patio party helped me decide what to do with that hunk of tri-tip. Beouf en daube, anyone?

There are as many ways of making this classic dish as there are stew pots, but one version, with big chunks of carrots, glossy shallots, and briny green olives is my own favorite. Gentle cooking in an airtight pot is the key, and purists will insist that you make it three days before serving it, reheating it along the way to meld and then re-meld all the ingredients into a rich, complex stew.

I have been known to simmer a stew for a mere two hours on the day of serving. It really does make a difference to let it mature for a couple of days, however, as the leftovers just keep getting better and better.

A few tips for making a daube so good that you will not actually have that much left in the pot after your dinner party…

Use a heavy pan with a very tight-fitting lid. When browning the meat, don't salt in advance or there will be excess moisture, which leads to steaming. Some cooks don't salt at all before browning stew meat. Likewise, avoid crowding the pan. It's worth it, for flavor, to brown in two or three batches. If all those chunks of meat are touching each other, you've put in too many. Wait until the meat releases itself from the bottom of the pan -- if it's still gripping, it's not ready to be turned yet. Aim for nice, deep brown edges in order to establish a meaty base for your stew.

If I'm feeling happy, I might flame off the meat with some cognac. If I'm in a rush, I skip this.

Remove the meat to a plate, spoon out excess fat or add extra fat as needed. (Tri-tip won't give off much at all, so I keep a jar of duck fat in my freezer for emergencies like this.) Then, continue with the vegetables.

For long-cooked stews, keep your vegetables in big pieces. For this version, I used whole shallots and some whole garlic cloves. Some people like to cook them separately and add later, perhaps stirring them in just before serving. I've never liked this because the flavors are never deep enough for me. I'm willing to sacrifice some carrot color for carrot complexity. Lots of fresh thyme, a sprinkle of herbes en Provence, a few strips of orange zest and a couple of bay leaves round out the mirepoix.

Green olives from the south of France, say picholine, would be appropriate, but those big Greek ones are fine, too. I keep meaning to try the pitted ones stuffed with almonds or garlic, but being rather conservative with comforting food like this, I have stuck with plain olives. I do think the pimento-stuffed ones would look silly.

Old recipes call for a handful. I love olives, so my own recipe calls for two big fistfuls.

If they still have their pits, spread them in a single layer on your cutting board and crush them gently with the bottom of a saucepan. Then pop out their pits. You can be a heartless, lazy host and leave in the pits. Just be sure to warn your guests!

My own not-so-secret technique for adding body, especially with flavorful but lean cuts such as tri-tip, is to pour in a full bottle of wine (minus one glass for the cook, of course) and then toss in a pig's foot. Ask the butcher to cut it in half lengthwise. And if you're wondering where the heck you find a pig's foot, head to the nearest market frequented by Asian, Latino or African-American cooks. I usually remove the foot before serving, snacking on its winey goodness by myself while standing in the kitchen.

If you prefer, you can use a thick piece of fatback, which you can find at most supermarkets.

Or, to avoid pork entirely, you can make a thick paste of equal amounts butter and flour, a.k.a beurre manier, to stir into the stew 15 minutes before serving.

Or, you can just enjoy your stew on the thinner, healthier side.

Before my pan goes into the oven, I seal it with a long, thick rope rolled out from a firm dough of just flour and water. You could try using foil beneath the lid for an extra layer of moisture barrier instead. I once thought all this merely frivolous -- until I gently cooked away all the liquid of one of my stews and had to start over with a cobbled together sauce half an hour before the guests arrived.

If you're taking the stew to a potluck, keep the lid sealed on it. If you have a heavy cast-iron pot and wrap it in a thick towel, it'll stay warm for a good hour. I like to serve daube with wide, parsley egg noodles or garlicky mashed potatoes, or lots and lots of crusty bread.

BEOUF EN DAUBE
To make a dough for sealing the lid, stir a small amount of tepid water into about 3 cups of flour to form a stiff dough. Knead briefly, then roll into a long, thick rope; cover and set aside until needed.

Makes: 12 servings

Ingredients:
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 pounds beef roast, such as tri-tip, cut into large cubes
1 large carrot, cut into thick rounds
8 shallots, peeled
8 cloves garlic, peeled
Small bunch of fresh thyme
1 teaspoons herbes de Provence
4 wide strips of orange zest
2 bay leaves
1 bottle of dry red wine
2 to 4 cups good-quality beef or chicken stock
1 1/2 to 2 cups green olives, pitted
1 pig's foot, halved lengthwise and soaked in boiling water for 5 minutes
Salt and black pepper
Chopped flat-leaf parsley

Preparation:
1. Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F, making sure the rack is in the lower third of the oven to accommodate the pan.
2. Over a high flame, heat the olive oil in a heavy, Dutch-oven pan until it glistens. Add the meat in batches and cook until well browned on all sides. Remove to a plate and set aside.
3. Add or remove oil, if needed, then combine carrots, shallots, and garlic in the still-hot pan. Saute until fragrant and golden. Stir in the thyme, herbes de Provence, orange zest and bay leaves along with the reserved beef.
4. Pour in the wine and enough of the stock to cover the meat by 1 inch. Add the olives and then tuck in the pig's foot beneath the meat and vegetables. Bring to a simmer, then remove from the heat and cover.
5. Press the dough rope over the edge of the lid to seal tightly. Make sure there are no cracks or gaps. Place the pan into the oven and cook for 3 hours. Let cool completely, then refrigerate for 1 to 3 days, stirring and reheating once a day if possible. Remove the pig's foot, season to taste with salt and pepper and sprinkle with parsley just before serving.