A hot fresh soup made effortlessly that is tonic and healthy.
Peel 6 to 8 carrots, chop one garlic clove, one tomato, a quarter of an onion and two phalanges of ginger root. Toss the ingredients with olive oil in a baking tray.
Roast in the oven at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Transfer into a pot with lid add two quart of water and bring to a boil for three minutes. Reduce heat, season with salt and pepper and simmer for half an hour. Pulverize into a liquid puree.
Add a pinch of chopped parsley or a dollop of butter and serve with a few slices of bread on the side.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Inadequate
The upland game hunting season drew to a close yesterday in Massachusetts with no yield for me to brag about.
Yet, not bagging a bird or two, has its merit.
It forced me to get out in the brushes, marshes and woods and discover new wild corners, hidden refuges and log a few miles on rubber boots.
A slow descent into nature.
Cultivating the Indian in me.
And share with friends my inadequacies and listen to their exploits, relatively speaking.
Yet, not bagging a bird or two, has its merit.
It forced me to get out in the brushes, marshes and woods and discover new wild corners, hidden refuges and log a few miles on rubber boots.
A slow descent into nature.
Cultivating the Indian in me.
And share with friends my inadequacies and listen to their exploits, relatively speaking.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Madeleines and tartines
It's Thanksgiving and we have planned a cozy family day at home, a long promise that we are now keeping. It's still night outside but I can't help it getting out of bed, conditioned by the regular schedule of getting the kids ready for school and myself to work. I am reading and it's not long till my two little fairy girls tiptoe down in their nighties demanding breakfast.
I keep rebuffing them immersed in my reading. When they have just reached their threshold limit of explosion and my brain is screaming for a cappucino, I go to the kitchen and start the morning routine of empting the dishwasher, rinsing the mocha of the leftover coffee, filling up its container with fresh water, spooning in fresh ground espresso, warming up the milk in the frother and scavengering what might be left for bread to accompany the eggs I am about to fry in butter.
The bread is chewy and I opt to use the pan where the butter is melting awaiting for the eggs. Slightly blackened by the high heat and soaked with the butter, I suddenly remember how I first encountered in Little Italy, 25 years ago, this crude and delicious way to prepare toast. I or Kate would go down to the corner wood-oven bakery (Mulberry and Spring) and would get a heavy and warm beige color loaf, stuffed in brown paper bag, return to the railroad tenement and butter coarsely thick slices before feeding them on the broiler tray on the ancient stove.
Minutes later, we would slide the tray out and retrieve the hot blackened chunks and spread jam. It was as closed to a tartine as I had all my life but it tasted so different. And through the small back window you could smell the bread and smoke from the bakery and hear the scream of the kids from the nearby catholic school. It isn't quite the madeleine of Proust but the moment is still there. And a la tienne, Marcel!
I keep rebuffing them immersed in my reading. When they have just reached their threshold limit of explosion and my brain is screaming for a cappucino, I go to the kitchen and start the morning routine of empting the dishwasher, rinsing the mocha of the leftover coffee, filling up its container with fresh water, spooning in fresh ground espresso, warming up the milk in the frother and scavengering what might be left for bread to accompany the eggs I am about to fry in butter.
The bread is chewy and I opt to use the pan where the butter is melting awaiting for the eggs. Slightly blackened by the high heat and soaked with the butter, I suddenly remember how I first encountered in Little Italy, 25 years ago, this crude and delicious way to prepare toast. I or Kate would go down to the corner wood-oven bakery (Mulberry and Spring) and would get a heavy and warm beige color loaf, stuffed in brown paper bag, return to the railroad tenement and butter coarsely thick slices before feeding them on the broiler tray on the ancient stove.
Minutes later, we would slide the tray out and retrieve the hot blackened chunks and spread jam. It was as closed to a tartine as I had all my life but it tasted so different. And through the small back window you could smell the bread and smoke from the bakery and hear the scream of the kids from the nearby catholic school. It isn't quite the madeleine of Proust but the moment is still there. And a la tienne, Marcel!
Cassoulet
There is a great deal of excitement nowadays around cassoulet. The dish that originated in the southwest of France has made it big on this side of the Altantic and for good reasons: it is delicious, hardy and unequivocally French.
The dish's name derives from Cassole, an earthenware pot that came from Castelnaudary. Under siege, the fortified town population gathered what was on hand an collectively created this unique stew.
The polemic that prevails today is about the type of beans to use : fabolles, nounjette, tarbais or new world beans. And there is more to debate about : in Toulouse breast of mutton and saucisse de Toulouse is de rigueur. In Carcassonne you better have the pork chops and in Castelnaudary only duck or goose confit is acceptable with some garlic sausage. In Corbieres without the tails and ears of the pigs there is no cassoulet. And you know how uncompromising is a Gallic no.
So clearly there is no exact way. Anybody who cooks the dish regularly will have an opinion on what they think is best. I like a recipe that I came across in Taste of France by Robert Freson. I have given numerous copies to friends and customers. I have made the cassoulet from that recipe a number of time, most successfully with tarbais beans which cost a fortune because the area where it is grown is an Appellation d'Origine Controlee and the Cooperative that market it, is very very smart. Luckily, a French friend of mine who live in nearby Mill River grow them a few miles away.
The terrible irony of all of it is, that a dish born out of crisis management has now reached stratospheric price levels and glamour.
The dish's name derives from Cassole, an earthenware pot that came from Castelnaudary. Under siege, the fortified town population gathered what was on hand an collectively created this unique stew.
The polemic that prevails today is about the type of beans to use : fabolles, nounjette, tarbais or new world beans. And there is more to debate about : in Toulouse breast of mutton and saucisse de Toulouse is de rigueur. In Carcassonne you better have the pork chops and in Castelnaudary only duck or goose confit is acceptable with some garlic sausage. In Corbieres without the tails and ears of the pigs there is no cassoulet. And you know how uncompromising is a Gallic no.
So clearly there is no exact way. Anybody who cooks the dish regularly will have an opinion on what they think is best. I like a recipe that I came across in Taste of France by Robert Freson. I have given numerous copies to friends and customers. I have made the cassoulet from that recipe a number of time, most successfully with tarbais beans which cost a fortune because the area where it is grown is an Appellation d'Origine Controlee and the Cooperative that market it, is very very smart. Luckily, a French friend of mine who live in nearby Mill River grow them a few miles away.
The terrible irony of all of it is, that a dish born out of crisis management has now reached stratospheric price levels and glamour.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Dinner des Gastronomes
A couple of weeks ago, our friend Jean-Michel Kaiser died of a massive heart attack. His ailing health never impaired his joy of life. He truly was a bon-vivant. Good wine and great food kept him rallying friends and inventing new occasions or venues to share his appreciation of the culture of eating. He came when we first opened and happily discovered pork rillettes in our charcuterie case.
A year ago, he approached us to stage dinners with french classic dishes that he could no longer find anywhere else. He spent a few weeks discussing with me the minute details of the first dinner including wine and flowers and tableware. He gathered his long-time friends, some of them he had known all his life such as Bruno Quinson with whom he went to the Lycee Francais in New York. Yo Yo Ma was there and many others.... a table of epicureans that I later named le Dinner des Gastronomes.
We prepared and served boudin noir, rognons a la moutarde (kidneys) with chanterelles grises, Epoisses and Jean-Michel the all time grunted with pleasure interjecting with brio from one conversation to the next.
In some ways the blessing of this refined crowd, their loud laughs and screams of excitement became our ceremonial beginning, our official coming-of-age nearly five years after we had opened our doors. And Jean-Michel will be missed.
A year ago, he approached us to stage dinners with french classic dishes that he could no longer find anywhere else. He spent a few weeks discussing with me the minute details of the first dinner including wine and flowers and tableware. He gathered his long-time friends, some of them he had known all his life such as Bruno Quinson with whom he went to the Lycee Francais in New York. Yo Yo Ma was there and many others.... a table of epicureans that I later named le Dinner des Gastronomes.
We prepared and served boudin noir, rognons a la moutarde (kidneys) with chanterelles grises, Epoisses and Jean-Michel the all time grunted with pleasure interjecting with brio from one conversation to the next.
In some ways the blessing of this refined crowd, their loud laughs and screams of excitement became our ceremonial beginning, our official coming-of-age nearly five years after we had opened our doors. And Jean-Michel will be missed.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Operation
40 to 50 seats and only two servers on the floor. Inconceivable in the U.S, routinely seen in France.Staff allocation per guest is drastically different between the two countries. Perhaps, it could be explained that most small restaurants in France are operated by the owner and its immediate family. That a waiter is a well respected professional with a decent salary and benefits and just the right amount of work hours per week. Employees laws prevents larger staff with punishing social charges. Guests are trained to wait, converse within themselves, sip on an aperitif, linger with dessert and cafe. Any sign of impatience is scorned as a regretful deficiency in manners.
And as a result, the pace is slower and the beat more samba than jazz-rock.
And as a result, the pace is slower and the beat more samba than jazz-rock.
Food Columnist
Never mind that the highly decorated food writer with whom I once shared a boss particularly enjoys taking jabs at anything Gallic, I still like him. Alan Richman is one of the best writer on the planet, and I suspect possibly a talented one at thrillers. He is the private investigator clad in a trench coat and armed with a fork, scrutinizing every eating spots on the planet.
Rowley Leigh, food columnist of the Financial Times and chef at the Cafe Anglais is another delightful writer. He appears as someone slightly phlegmatic, whose skills and vision comes with ease. Somewhat of an artist with pragmatism.
www.gq.com
www.ft.com
Rowley Leigh, food columnist of the Financial Times and chef at the Cafe Anglais is another delightful writer. He appears as someone slightly phlegmatic, whose skills and vision comes with ease. Somewhat of an artist with pragmatism.
www.gq.com
www.ft.com
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Through Cape Cod
Back from a quick visit up and down Cape Cod eating through every fish shack.
Granted seafood is treated only three ways wherever you go... fried, steamed and occasionally grilled, it is fresh and assumable..local. Needless to say that distinction has multiple levels like grilled steak desirability (black and blue, rare, demi-rare, medium rare, medium, medium well, done, well done, shoe sole, inedible) or cappuccino (extra dry, semi dry, dry, normal, milky).
So,fresh in all cases - you can bet your i-pod- previously frozen once or twice but thawed within a window of time - let's say four shifts.
Very fresh would be... delivered to the restaurant on ice. It most likely was frozen once but no need to investigate unless under the gun.
Off the boat, fresh out the sea...impossible unless you buy it straight from the fisherman or YOU ARE the fisherman.
Yet, there is an unmistakable charm and an undeniable quality to the food delivered in any of these popular shacks. Wind swept and with a water-front view these built-in tables and benches welcome voracious families after families in need of bonding with the accepted notion that the closer you sit to the water the better the lobster will be. And paper plates, rolls of paper towels and corn-on-the-cob--not-yet-in-season are all part of the seduction.
Suddenly, I am puzzled : why not any other alternative to cook this endless riches of the sea? How come not one Portuguese stew in view, mixing kale, pork meat and crustaceans or paellas or again bourrides or why not? fish soupes the way we make use of third class sea citizens with garlic, tomatoes, olives and olive oil in Provence? Or simply...grilled brochettes of rougets with a drizzle of lemon or again, an irresistible petite friture in lieu of these mediocre "french fries"... they exist and they are there and I saw them swimming at the beach in Brewster!!!!!!!!
Perhaps it is those last few generations of vacationers that have reduced the offering to a standardized fare. Perhaps it is the absence of inspired restaurateurs or bold shack proprietors who could elaborate slightly on these giant sea scallops I saw being unloaded two evenings ago in Wellfleet. But I am willing to bet my flippers that this new generation of sea Cape Cod food shacks is about to emerge.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Blue fish
At Larsen in Menemsha on Martha's Vineyard, there is almost always blue fish on offer. It is filleted and always look meaty and appetizing. Yet, ask anyone and they'll tell you they hate blue fish... One of those people is my friend Michael who lives on Martha's Vineyard and has the good idea to invite us every year to stay with him on the island. So, I proceeded to change his mind about a wonderful local fish that's plentiful. Granted the fish is quite oily and the taste is strong, I simply start to bathe it in freshly squeezed lemon juice "ceviche" style for a few hours. Then, I season it with salt, pepper and olive oil and lay on top a salsa made of chopped garlic, tomatoes, onion, black olives and cilentro. I pour a half glass of white wine on top and I wrap the filet into a pocket of tin foil and lay it on a preheated barbeque for 7 minutes to the pound. This method seem to preserve the flavor and yet retain the oils that gives the health benefit associated with fish.
Served on rice or couscous or small boiled potatoes with butter will convert any objectors into new disciples.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Soupe orientale
It was in the late seventies and I was in Istanbul. The bazaar, the Bosphore, Sainte Sophie, the narguiles.... it was making me dizzy. I was at the door step of the Orient and I was envisioning Arthur Rimbaud who, at a young age had left France and lived to be a nomad in Africa walking into the unknown to never return. So when a few months ago, this nice gentleman from Monterey offered to show me his way into a soup which had originated in Turkey, I welcomed this virtual return to a place still close to my heart 30 years later.
Ingredients:
red lentils /2 cups
arborio rice /2 Tspoon
chicken stock/ 2 quarts
water/6 quarts
tomota paste
flour 2 Tspoon
butter 4 Tspoon
Spearmint 3 Tspoon
Paprika 1 tspoon
tumeric 1 tspoon
croutons
onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
Chop the onion and garlic and soften in melted butter. Add water, chicken stock, arborio rice, red lentils and tomato paste and bring to a boil. Simmer down for an hour and a half or when lentils break down. Pass through a food mill. Make a roux whisking half of the melted butter and flour until it turns to a hazelnut color. Mix in into the roux the spearmint, the turmeric and paprika and add paste to the soup. Slice a baguette and make croutons in the oven. Melt two T spoon of the butter and add it to each bowl of soup when ready to serve. Croutons can be served in the soup or alongside.
Ingredients:
red lentils /2 cups
arborio rice /2 Tspoon
chicken stock/ 2 quarts
water/6 quarts
tomota paste
flour 2 Tspoon
butter 4 Tspoon
Spearmint 3 Tspoon
Paprika 1 tspoon
tumeric 1 tspoon
croutons
onion 1
garlic 2 cloves
Chop the onion and garlic and soften in melted butter. Add water, chicken stock, arborio rice, red lentils and tomato paste and bring to a boil. Simmer down for an hour and a half or when lentils break down. Pass through a food mill. Make a roux whisking half of the melted butter and flour until it turns to a hazelnut color. Mix in into the roux the spearmint, the turmeric and paprika and add paste to the soup. Slice a baguette and make croutons in the oven. Melt two T spoon of the butter and add it to each bowl of soup when ready to serve. Croutons can be served in the soup or alongside.
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