I can report a major pressure cooker success, thanks to smoked paprika. But let me back up.

On Monday night we had a rice noodle stir-fry from that same issue of Fine Cooking. I soaked some rice sticks and cooked them with fish sauce, garlic, chiles, chicken, tofu, and mushrooms. Iris did not approve, or as she likes to say, “Iris *don’t* like it.” (Sometimes Iris will fling a book aside and say, “Iris *don’t* like that book,” and then I will find her reading the same book five minutes later.) This despite the fact that she usually loves spicy tofu (aka “tofood”). She requested stew instead.

Iris has been making a lot of pretend stew in her new kitchen. She’ll put some chiles and toy vegetables into a little wooden pot and put it in the oven. Then she’ll turn one of the knobs on the stovetop, point to the other one, and say, “That one’s Dada’s.” I give it a turn, and she says, “Ding! It’s ready!” and opens the oven. The other day Laurie asked what she was making, and Iris said, “Chipotle-mushroom stew,” which sounds excellent.

So it didn’t take much to convince me that we should make some stew on Tuesday. Iris was happy about the prospect of stew, but even more excited because I said I’d be serving it with polenta. She loves polenta like a pellagra-ravaged Italian peasant. We went down to Pike Place Market and stopped in at Delaurenti for some pancetta. They sell pancetta at the QFC on Broadway, but we want to stop off at the Crumpet Shop for a crumpet with butter and honey. Anyway, while the woman at Delaurenti was slicing the pancetta, she asked what I was making. “It’s going to be something like a Northern Italian goulash,” I replied, “with pancetta and beef, red wine and tomatoes, and lots of onions. And I’m going to use smoked paprika, because we have some kicking around.”

“What are you going to serve with it? Potatoes?” she asked.

At this point Iris piped up, “Polenta! Polentapolentapolenta!”

The stew was inspired by a recipe in _Italian Slow and Savory_. I sauteed the onions, garlic, pancetta, and paprika but didn’t bother to brown the meat. Everything went into the pressure cooker with canned tomatoes and red wine (not too much of either, because I’ve learned my lesson about putting too much liquid in the PC). It cooked a total of 28 minutes at high pressure, although I had to open and check it a couple of times, which made it take longer. While the stew cooked, I had the polenta in the oven.

When the stew was done, I strained out the solids and defatted the very red broth in the gravy separator. I’m always reading recipes that advise you to spoon fat off the top of a sauce, either with a “wide, flat spoon,” whatever that is, or by putting the pan halfway off the burner, or tilting it, or something. I’ve never had the slightest success with any of these techniques, so I’m really glad someone invented the gravy separator. The best way to defat your stew is to leave it overnight in the fridge and remove the solid fat the next day, but that involves a degree of postponed gratification that I can’t countenance.

Iris was predictably impatient for the polenta to cool, and as soon as it was less than tongue-charringly hot, she started spooning it off her plate and saying, “Polenta! Not hot, just tasty.” We were all very pleased with the spicy stew. Apparently, and probably everyone knew this but me, smoked paprika is one of those ingredients, like fish sauce or parmesan cheese, that makes anything taste better. It made the stew beautifully red and smoky, and not in a fake-tasting liquid smoke sort of way, more like I had browned the meat over a glowing pile of hickory embers, which is doubly impressive since I didn’t brown the meat at all.

The strong flavor of smoked paprika makes it especially suited for the PC, which can crush strong flavors like play-doh. I threw in a couple of whole rosemary sprigs, and you couldn’t taste that at all.

The moral of the story is: Don’t buy a half-cup jar of smoked paprika. A half-gallon is more like it.

I used up all our pancetta, but after Iris’s bedtime, my dad came by with a late Christmas present: a whole slab of Salumi’s guanciale (cured pork jowl). When it comes to Italian pork products, I am Even Steven.