Traditional French Leek and Potato Soup for Two

ROOTS & RACINES

Bouillabaisse is only good because cooked by the French, who, if they cared to try, could produce an excellent and nutritious substitute out of cigar stumps and empty matchboxes. 

- Norman Douglas, British novelist (1868-1952) 

I have always considered my mother-in-law a typical French ménagère, housewife, mother, woman of the house. She worked fulltime alongside her husband in their corner mom-and-pop shop, she raised four children, seeing to their needs daily, and had a hot meal on the table every day at noon and a light repast on the table at the end of each very long working day. I have always considered my mother-in-law's cooking typical and illustrative of French cooking, her dishes emblematic of French cuisine. And my husband picked up where she left off, her traditions continued and sustained in our own kitchen.


Before arriving in France, my ideas of French cuisine were based on a classic French high school textbook and a slew of elegant, sophisticated and expensive French restaurants in cities like Philadelphia and New York. French cuisine was luxurious, refined and too pricey for the likes of me. It was white tablecloths, hours in the kitchen and impossibly costly ingredients. Even the simplest of foods: a chocolate fondue, a roasted chicken, steak frites or an omelet was raised up to some dizzying height of sumptuousness as the magical veil of "French" was thrown over it. By the time I stepped off of the plane and onto rue Mouffetard in Paris, the mystique of French cuisine was gospel.

Until I married into a French family. A humble, working class French family. I finally began to see the truth about French culture and cuisine, finally understanding that, in fact, this was a truly frugal, humble cuisine in which time was as sacred and as valued as the cost of the ingredients, requiring dishes be simple and quick to execute, even if left on the stove to simmer long hours while one returned to work. So many meals that I as an American saw as fussy, complicated and expensive were actually thrown together quickly and simply from cheap cuts of meat and the hardiest, most common of vegetables and legumes, available all year round: potatoes, carrots, cabbage, onions, lentils and beans.

Over the years, moving from city to city, I also understood that French cuisine was incredibly local; each city and region had their signature dishes, breads and baked goods, traditional to the core. And these local dishes rarely, if ever, traveled. These dishes, like the ingredients, the weather and local history, were varied and diverse yet extremely personal, some heavier and more rustic, others lighter and more elegant, very unlike those more universal, standard classic dishes on which the reputation and repertoire of French cuisine are based.

Our own preconceived notions, those myths perpetuated and listened to, refer to more than the cuisine, they reflect on the culture, the history, the people behind the cuisine. Once I understood French cuisine, a door was flung wide open on the culture itself.

I recently participated in a live Google+ hangout So You Think You Know Food? Jenni Field and I hosted a fascinating discussion on the myths versus the realities of three cuisines: I presented French cuisine, Domenica Marchetti presented Italian cuisine and David Leite Portuguese cuisine in which we, time oblige, presented and busted a few myths about these three wonderful cuisines. If you did not have the chance to watch it, here is the video. (Thanks to Chef Dennis Littely for the tech support and input)




Feel free to add to the discussion, share your thoughts or ask questions on the Google+ Event Page.

My own French husband is constantly busting those myths in our very own kitchen. "How about a boeuf bourguignon for lunch?" he'll ask as we peruse the offerings at the market mid-morning. "Wow, but how can you make that in time for lunch?" naïve me will ask, mouth hanging open in astonishment. "It is such an easy dish to throw together," will be his reply. And as I watch him, I realize that it is.

This week, he announced, "I am going to make you a real leek and potato soup!" And as he placed a soup plate in front of me a short time later, I realized that once again something so beautiful, something so flavorful, something seen from the outside as the height of elegant and sophisticated dining, emblematic of French cuisine, was inexpensive, nay, frugal and utterly simple and quick to make. Vive la France!

JP'S TRADITIONAL FRENCH LEEK AND POTATO SOUP

Serve 2 for a meal, 4 for a small starter. Increase ingredients for more guests as needed.

3 leeks, whites only + 1 extra small leek for topping
2 medium potatoes (about 300 g)
1 small red onion
2 cloves garlic
50 g smoked lardons or bacon in small cubes
1 small cube vegetable bouillon (or 1/2 large cube) or enough homemade to cover vegetables (soup for 2 bowls)
Olive oil or equal parts olive oil & margarine
Salt and pepper

Prepare the vegetables by chopping the white parts of 3 leeks, the onion and 1 clove garlic. Peel the potatoes and cut into small cubes. Simply crush the second clove of garlic, leaving in one piece.

Add 2 or 3 tablespoons of olive oil or half oil, half margarine into a soup pot. Heat and add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, for a minute or two; add the chopped leeks and bacon and a couple grindings of pepper, stir and cook “until it smells good” as the cook told me… just a couple of minutes until the onion is transparent. Add the potatoes and just cover with water, adding the bouillon cube, or bouillon.

Bring to the boil, lower the heat and allow to simmer gently for 15 – 20 minutes just until the potatoes are tender. Taste, add salt and pepper to taste. Remove the soup from the heat, cover and allow to sit until dinner time (he made this about half an hour or so before dinner).

When ready to serve, heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a clean skillet or pot; add a tablespoon or two each of cubes of bacon or lardons and very thinly sliced white leek; cook, stirring, until crisp. Reheat the soup and serve topped with the crisp bacons and leek strips.

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Fish Tagine with Preserved Lemon, Olives, Grapefruit and Saffron

Rainy Winter Weather, Rubber Boots and Tagine

Like the rain I have fallen for you and I know just why you liked the rain. 

Always calling for you I'm falling for you now, just like the rain. 

- Clint Black

The week has been spent searching for boots. Not just any boots; no, that would be too easy. We have been looking high and low for two pairs of rubber boots, our own rubber boots that have mysteriously disappeared from our home.


The winter in Nantes has been a particularly rainy one. The weather mild, bearable, but capricious and none too pleasant. One day slides into the next, a long, tranquil river, as the French say. Rain to sun to fog to fine mist. And back to sun. Shut up in the house for days on end, as soon as the sun makes its appearance all we want to do is pack a snack, leash up the dog and head outside the city for a romp in the vineyards or the forest. But because of all of the rain, the rubber boots are a must. Slogging through muddy fields in city shoes takes the joy out of the outing. We both could have sworn that we have used the boots since our move into the new apartment last October, but in that case you would think that finding two pairs of rubber boots in bright lemon yellow, flashy red, forest green or marine blue in a mere 100 square meters would be easy.

Stuck in the house as we are, the search for those damn boots has become somewhat of an obsession, leading us upstairs to our cold, damp attic to comb through dusty sacks and bags and old laundry baskets filled with the dregs of an apartment renovation. And down in the packed basement with boxes piled up to the ceiling. Three, four, ten times we have been up and down searching, opening up every suitcase, peering in all the bags, sticking our hands inside the big boxes stuffed with baby clothes, books and old videocassettes. To no avail. This has been a head scratcher.

Meanwhile, the rain is back and this crazy godforsaken weather has us cooking more often, stews and tagines rather than simply throwing together salads or baguette, cheese and fruit. Wet, misty, chilly weather oblige, we have certainly needed richer, warming, more comforting dishes to curl up with of an evening. As husband has been doing more and more of the cooking, we have been eating North African tagines frequently. I sit perched on a stool and watch him throw things into the big pot leaving a trail of carrot and potato peelings, garlic skins and bits of chopped herbs strewn across the back counter under the window; he, unlike his wife, has never been a “clean as you go guy” but I don’t ever complain or I know he’ll refuse to cook. His two years in Morocco before we met has greatly influenced his cooking, and what better than a tagine to ward away the winter blues, brighten up a dreary, foggy day?

Wandering through our local covered market early in the day, he had decided that he was going to replace the usual chicken or lamb for fish. Two thick filets of codfish joined dazzling preserved lemons, fat, slick, dark salty olives, fresh coriander and tiny sweet sultanas in our basket. He decided to add a bit of winter brightness and a mild tang by adding the sections of half a pink grapefruit. Any great basic tagine recipe can usually be made with either lamb, chicken or fish interchangeably, and preserved lemons and olives often find their way into husband’s Moroccan dishes no matter the main ingredients. The grapefruit and the saffron were new additions, but equally at home in the culture and the cuisine; the darkness in the apartment required some sunshine in the kitchen.

As the tagine was simmering, our older son dropped by with a curious request. “I’m going to another costume party,” he began, avoiding direct eye contact hoping that I wouldn’t ask questions. “Do you have any feathers left over from your hatmaking days that I can have?” So I slipped on sneakers and a sweater and followed him down to the basement where all of my millinery supplies are stored. We dragged the bikes out of the way and he climbed up on the ladder and started shifting the top boxes around to get to the cartons labeled “chapeaux”. All of a sudden he said “hey, mom… could this be the rubber boots you guys have been looking for?” as he pointed to a box on which the words RUBBER BOOTS were written in big, black magic marker letters.

With four pairs of rubber boots lined up in front of the floor-to-ceiling kitchen cabinets behind the bar stools and the rain slithering down the window, a watery sunlight filtering through the white net curtains, husband ladles fish tagine onto golden mounds of couscous grains, setting half a preserved lemon and a jumble of olives close to the cod. Sitting cozily side by side at the bar in our warm kitchen, still chuckling about the damn boots as we wait for another break in the temperamental weather, we savor the blend of flavors, the tender but firm white fish, the delicate yet flavorful sauce bright with saffron and a hint of lemon, the salty bite of the olives, the tangy nip of coriander and I realize how such a complex, exotic yet thoroughly comforting dish is as good as stomping through the mud and puddles in the sunshine after the rain. 

FISH TAGINE WITH PRESERVED LEMON, OLIVES, GRAPEFRUIT & SAFFRON
Serves 2 people

As with most tagines and most of my husband’s cooking, amounts of each ingredient vary depending upon your individual taste, so quantities are estimations.

2 thick codfish filets or other dense white fish
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
1 small yellow onion, peeled and chopped
½ a round zucchini, peeled and cut into small cubes
1 or 2 potatoes, peeled and cut into small cubes
½ green pepper, trimmed, seeds and white ribs removed, pepper chopped
½ or more pink grapefruit supremes (only the segments, none of the membranes; see here)
1 preserved lemon (citron confit), halved or quartered
2 Tbs tiny dried sultanas
1 cup olives, preferably purple olives
Ras al Hanout for coating the fish filets
Curcuma or saffron, a pinch or so
Red Adobo Chili powder, to taste
Salt and Pepper
Fresh coriander 

Rub the fish filets with ras al hanout and a bit of the adobo chili powder on both sides.

Heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil or equal parts olive oil and margarine in a large pot over medium heat. Once hot, add the chopped onions and garlic, stir to coat, then place the fish skin side down to sear quickly; flip and sear quickly on the other side; you want the outside of the fish to color and shrink slightly but not cook through.

Carefully remove the fish from the pot, lift out and place on a plate. Add the potato and zucchini cubes, the green pepper, the preserved lemon, the sultanas and the grapefruit supremes to the pot; cover with water, salt and pepper then add a pinch of saffron, a bit more of the ras al hanout and adobo chili powder and allow to simmer until the potatoes are tender; add water as needed, you do not want the water to boil away. Once all of the vegetables are very soft, return the fish to the pot with the olives and a couple of tablespoons of chopped fresh coriander, allow to simmer just until the fish are cooked through, adding more water if needed. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasonings.

Serve over hot couscous grains, garnished with a bit more coriander.

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JP’S MOROCCAN PRESERVED LEMON & OLIVE CHICKEN TAGINE

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS ET OLIVES

Life is either a great adventure or nothing. 

– Helen Keller 

Some children are just born for adventure, have it in their blood, jump into new undertakings with both feet, laughing out loud. Clem was this child, courageous and curious. Happily dipping into a ditch, river or lake with both hands, a net or a fishing rod, buckets of snails or tadpoles or frogs found their way back home. Ever fearless, he tromped through woods, fields, beaches looking for animals, treasures, mushrooms, waltzed through museums and monuments, up dizzying tower staircases, boarded airplanes all alone which would take him flying off to far-away lands when he was all but a tiny four-year-old surrounded by strangers. And at ten, he and his father giddily prepared their backpacks for their newest adventure, a trekking holiday through the Moroccan desert.

I was knee-deep in researching my genealogy and vacationed in New York every chance I could get, spending my days at the archives and evenings meeting relatives newly discovered and quizzing them about family. The particular summer in question found me boarding a plane to the States, Simon’s small 8-year-old fist firmly in my hand and JP and Clem heading south to Morocco. While I was skimming birth records, naturalization certificates and keeping a small boy calm with an endless supply of superhero figurines and slices of pizza, JP was showing Clem the Old Country, the place he fell in love with all those many years ago.

 Photo courtesy of JP

They spent a glorious week in hiking boots, kicking up sand, days under the burning sun, nights tucked up in sleeping bags under the inky star-lit sky. Huge communal tents were set up for lunches and dinners, two gentlemen preparing tagines and couscous, salads and fruits, fresh breads to see them through the days. Clem was in his element, buoyant and excited, rolling down hills, sliding down mountains on the seat of his pants, running instead of walking, always twenty five paces ahead of his father. Nothing tired him out, nothing slowed him down. Food was gulped down, tents were put up, our little boy could have extended his adventure for an added week and he would not have flinched. While the only other child in the group – the same age as ours – whined and complained, cursed and caused trouble, Clem enjoyed himself thoroughly. Clem lived every single moment to the fullest in great pleasure and delight.

 Photo courtesy of JP

But two days or three were spent alone with his father in Marrakech. Clem and JP stayed in tiny hostels, a place to stash their luggage and lay their heads at night. Days were spent exploring the city, the markets, the sites, sounds, odors and flavors of Morocco. JP was back in his old stomping grounds, a place he knows so well, a culture he loves. And nothing thrilled him more than sharing this with his son, imparting the joy, the pleasure and the knowledge of this magical city, this fascinating country. And the food! For their very first meal in Morocco together, Clem ordered a Chicken Tagine with preserved lemons and olives. A big, bold order for such a young man, a meal bursting with flavors, salty, tangy, exciting! But Clem had always been a great eater, a bold eater and he was afraid of nothing. Driven by his passion for eating and his adventurous spirit, his curiosity and the excitement of being in a strange new country all alone, man to man, with his dad, he ordered this new dish. And fell in love with it. And for those several days, both before and after the hike, every mealtime found him ordering the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives.

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries 

every day with new experience and character. 

– Henry David Thoreau 

And once back home in the bosom of his family, our occasional jaunt to a Moroccan restaurant would find him perpetuating his far-away experience, titillating both taste buds and memories with the same dish, Tagine de Poulet aux Citrons Confits et Olives – Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemons and Olives. And JP and I would smile at each other, understanding that that particular dish was not only infused with the bright flavors of olives, saffron and lemon, but with happy memories and that special father-son connection they shared in the sand.

And now, whenever JP decides to make this dish, we make sure Clem is there at the table with us and we smile… he may have forgotten that long ago trip to Morocco, that time spent exploring and dining out with his father, but we see that same ten year old, excited, talkative, adventurous, again and again, every time we serve this dish to him. Like magic.

JP makes this dish regularly with either chicken or fish. He cooks, as he says, au pif, by instinct, and any Tagine – any dish he makes – is adjusted as he goes along so the amount of liquid added, the cooking time, the amount of herbs or spices is all dependent upon taste and the immediate. The homey one-pot dishes he cooks usually are best prepared in advance, allowing the dish the time to sit, the sauce to thicken, the flavors to blend and meld and infuse the meat. Play around…. taste as you go. I have attempted to pin him down to specific amounts and cooking times, but do not be afraid to adjust as needed, to increase amounts to serve more people, to feel your way along the process. The basic directions are more than simple, and can be applied to almost any stew or tagine.

Find the inner child in you, kick up the adventure and enjoy.

TAGINE DE POULET AUX CITRONS CONFITS
Serves 4

Prepare the Tagine ahead of time to allow the chicken, once cooked, to sit for at least 20 minutes before reheating and serving.

1 chicken cut in pieces or 2 breast filets + 2 leg/thigh sections
½ preserved lemon (citron confit)
½ ladleful (a dozen or so) large purple olives
2 small onions, peeled, trimmed and finely chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled, trimmed and minced
Small potatoes, as many as desired for four people, peeled and cut into large cubes
1 small bouillon cube (stock cube)
½ tsp saffron powder, turmeric *
Salt and pepper

* One can also purchase yellow “saffron” powder in tiny sachets of individual portions; in France it is sold for making couscous, in Italy for making Risotto Milanese. Use one sachet or tiny packet for this Tagine.

Heat equal parts margarine and olive oil, not more than a tablespoon of each, in a large heavy-bottom pot or Dutch oven. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, until tender and golden. Add the chicken pieces and toss/turn to coat with the oil; cook until golden on all sides. Add the potatoes and toss to coat.

Add the saffron powder or turmeric and the salt and pepper, toss the chicken and potatoes until everything is uniformly yellow; add the stock cube, the olives, the half preserved lemon cut in two pieces and 1 bowl of water (about a cup to a cup and a half), cover the pot and allow to simmer for at least 20 minutes or until the chicken and potatoes are cooked through and tender. Toss the chicken and potatoes occasionally during the cooking and add a little bit of water if and when necessary, if the level of water gets too low.

Once cooked, turn off the pot and, leaving it covered, allow to sit and cool a bit, at least 20 minutes – this is a dish that can easily be prepared ahead of time. Before serving, place the Tagine back on a low heat and slowly bring to a simmer; allow to simmer for 10 to 20 minutes to allow the sauce to thicken while the chicken and potatoes heat through. If the sauce is too thick or has evaporated, add more water before simmering; if the sauce is too watery, simply allow it to cook down on a very low simmer until desired consistency.

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CLASSIC FRENCH BEEF AND CARROTS à la mode

BOEUF À LA MODE* AUX CAROTTES FOR THE CHANGES IN OUR LIVES


The call came Friday afternoon as things were winding down for the day, heading towards dinnertime, melting into the weekend. We had truly put it as far out of our minds as it was humanly possible to forget something one loves, missing something one has never possessed as we did. I was in the bedroom, French doors flung open to the cool breeze, sunshine washing over me, making the bed, smoothing down crisp, fresh sheets when I heard the telephone ring. JP answered as he usually does now that the phone is his work tool. My heart jumped when I heard the lilting cheer sweep through his words, normally so businesslike and efficient, heard him mention “my wife and I just spoke about it yesterday”! My heart skipped a beat as I listened to his cheerful half of a conversation, pulling me into his enthusiasm. There was only one thing he could be talking about, one person with whom he could be having this particular conversation.

So much activity, so much excitement has kept me from my kitchen these past few weeks. My insatiable appetite for adventure has surely been sated by now, or so one would think. An explosive week in New York proved to be both exhausting and inspiring. New connections and relationships leading to new projects have my nose stuck firmly to the grindstone. The flurry of a son applying to university, putting together a portfolio, learning to draw, growing up in leaps and bounds before our very eyes. And now this… in the course of our hurried, frantic search for a new home, we had both fallen in love with an apartment…correction: we had both fallen in love with a set of law offices, seeing in every room the makings of a cozy home, the perfect love nest. We had sent in a bid the very same day of our unique visit only to learn that someone else had done the same but earlier. Our hopes dashed, we hung our heads, tried not to think of what we had loved and lost without ever having possessed it, and continued on our search.


Yet, here was the call we had been praying for. That deal fell through and we could, with just one simple word, be the proud owners of this new, our future home. “Yes!”

We analyze the price of real estate past, present and future, our hopes rising and falling with the numbers across the charts, calculating our purchase price against provisions for a future sale. We walk briskly into town, slowing down as we arrive at the foot of the building in which our possible future home nestles behind pale walls. We look up, up, craning our necks as we count the number of windows up and over, scrutinizing the brightness of the sunlight as it hits the apartment, listening to the noise as the tram rumbles past. We nod in the direction of our former boulanger, boucher, traiteur of years past and whisper “welcome back, us!” as we prepare to return to our old neighborhood.

We excitedly list all that needs to be done in the months to come, the phone, the gas, the parking garage, as we flip through catalogues, choosing a new kitchen, bathroom, colors of paint which will grace and brighten the walls of a future livingroom and bedroom. We’ve surely been through much, much worse! Our first apartment in Nantes was twice as large, twice as deteriorated, had been twice as costly to renovate. Yes, that one had a bathroom albeit an ancient relic from the early 1950’s, and a kitchen sink, although not much else, whereas this apartment has neither, but little facts like this never dissuaded us before. We love ourselves a little adventure!


And so, as the excitement mounts, as we prepare for this new phase of our life, it is ever so appropriate that JP made Boeuf aux Carottes. I often laud my husband’s cooking, extol his talent in the kitchen, his genius in taking whatever is huddled in the back of the refrigerator threatening to die a lonely, smelly death or his expertise in purchasing only the most seasonal at the market and with a few flicks of his wrist, a wave of his hand, a flourish and a mere embellishment or two, creating a sensational meal. But his Boeuf aux Carottes, Beef with Carrots, may have been the best thing he has ever cooked for me. The last time he made this, I had just arrived home from the airport, weary, exhausted and feeling terribly despondent. I had just returned from New York and my last visit with my brother. And when JP ushered me through our front door after that interminable flight and a sleepless night, as he set down my luggage in the livingroom and guided me into the kitchen, he placed a plate of Boeuf aux Carottes in front of me. Fragrant steam rose and curled around my head, satisfying and luscious, at once lifting up my spirits and awakening an appetite long gone. Although rarely in the mood to eat after a long voyage and even less inclined now after such a sad trip, his Beef with Carrots soothed my soul, each mouthful of meltingly tender beef and sweet carrots in a rich wine sauce simply made me feel loved, safe and home.


Sharp changes in our lives are mellowed by good food, the bumps and doubts softened by a wonderful homecooked meal. JP’s Boeuf aux Carottes is one of those dishes that will ever be associated with those times in my own life when changes have disrupted a daily routine or threatened to turn everything ordinary on its head; a wonderful dish infused with the goodness of so many generations of loving mamans yet ennobled with the old JP magic, elevated to extraordinary by his own wonderful, modern twist on something homey and comforting. His Boeuf aux Carottes lies somewhere between a Boeuf Bourguingon and Boeuf Mode yet capturing his recipe to write down in black and white and transmit it to you is difficult. This is a recipe best made au pif, by instinct, by feel, to taste. But so worth the effort! Here is a simple guideline to follow to adjust as you see fit: adjust the quantities of meat, wine, carrots and seasoning, serve over pasta or add potatoes into the stew alongside the carrots, cooking until tender.


This classic French dish will be shared as part of my Monthly Mingle (an event created by my friend Meeta) April in Paris. Please join me by cooking or baking something French or French-inspired – please follow the rules on my April in Paris Monthly Mingle post… Bon Appétit!


* Pot Roast

BEEF AND CARROTS
JP’s Boeuf à la Mode aux Carottes* for 4 people


28 oz (800 g) beef for stew, cut into 5 or 6 large pieces
2 medium yellow onions, peeled, cut in quarters and sliced
3 or 4 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed or coarsely chopped
3 to 4 Tbs (45 to 60 g) margarine
Handful – or about 1 heaping Tbs (30 g) – flour
1 bottle dry red wine (about 2 cups/500 ml for cooking and the rest for drinking with the meal)
Scant cup (200 ml) tomato coulis or purée
Bouquet garni or loose dried herbs (thyme and bay leaf)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
One bouquet or bunch baby carrots or about 1 ½ lbs (750 g), peeled and sliced into coins

1 lb (500 g) fresh or dried pasta, preferably something thick or shaped to help scoop up the sauce

-or- about 1 – 1 1/5 lbs (500 to 750 g) fingerling potatoes

In a large heavy pot or Dutch oven, melt the margarine. Add the chunks of meat and brown on all sides. Add the onions, the garlic and the handful of flour and continue cooking, stirring and tossing until the onions are tender and the floured meat golden.

Add about 2 cups of red wine or until the liquid covers the meat not more than about halfway. Heat just to the boil. Add the tomato coulis or purée, the thyme and bay leaf, salt and pepper and then add enough water just to cover the meat. Bring to a boil then lower the heat to a simmer, cover and cook for 1 hour 30 minutes.

At the end of the first 1 hour 30 minutes, add the carrot coins and continue to cook for another 45 minutes to an hour, adding water only as needed. The meat and the carrots should be beautifully tender and the wine, water and juices should have formed a nice thick sauce. Add more water to thin out if desired. Taste and adjust the seasonings.

We make the Boeuf aux Carottes early in the morning for lunch (or even for dinner), counting on finishing the cooking about an hour before lunch is served, then removing it from the heat and allowing it to rest and the flavors to develop. When you put your water for the pasta, turn the heat under the Beef and Carrots to low or medium low to gently and slowly heat up and heat through.

If reheating any leftovers just add water to keep the sauce and meat from burning and to make sure there is plenty of sauce.

Serve over pasta.

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TENDER COOKED BEEF AND CARROT CANNELLONI

FROID, BRULÉ, PAS CUIT… *

Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

- Harriet Van Horne

With all the baking that goes on in my house, with all of the baked goods that appear on my blog, one would think that we never eat a meal here. Cake for breakfast, cake for lunch, panna cotta and fruit tarts for dinner and so on and so forth.


My husband and I form the ideal couple: he cooks and I bake. You see, he is as comfortable in front of the butcher’s counter and at the greengrocer, as happy in front of a cutting board, knife in hand, and in front of the stove as I am with my hands deep inside a soft mound of bread dough or whizzing up egg whites and melting chocolate. He learned to cook when he was a boy, all of those long years ago, preparing blanquette and boeuf au carottes while his mother worked, as I was watching, mesmerized, on the other side of the Atlantic, my father marble chocolate and vanilla cake batters and prepare choux pastry. Over our many years together, he has educated me on the ins and outs of savory cooking, teaching me to make couscous and tagine, potée and moules marinières. Yes, I did the cooking when he was at work and enjoyed it immensely (once the unbearable angst of having to make a decision on what to cook had been conquered), but come weekend or vacation time, he would once again tie on an apron and take over the kitchen. And happy was I to leave him the way.

Now that he is working from home, he cooks and I bake. Mostly. The urge comes upon one or the other swiftly, without warning, the desire for something savory, a warming plate of tender, long-simmered meat, vibrant tomatoes made sweet and meltingly luscious by slow cooking, a casserole gooey with cheese or sweetened with plump raisins or prunes. If it is early enough in the day, we shrug on coats and slip into shoes and, basket in hand, make our way to the neighborhood market. Fruits and vegetables, his preferred butcher or mine, maybe the Italian stand for fresh pasta, Bresaola and Scamorza Affumicata, or the Alsatian stand for choucroute, saucisses de Strasbourg or boudin blanc. Olives, a loaf of fresh bread, a bottle of wine snuggle deep amongst the crinkly brown paper sacks of oranges, endives and tomatoes and we hurry back home, sharing the weight of the basket brimming with fresh ingredients between the two of us. Once home, kitchen duties are divvied up and another savory meal is prepared.


If the weather is lousy, rain spattering against the windowpanes and the sky an unwelcoming leaden and dull, or if it is too close to mealtime, our morning or afternoon having slipped by unnoticed while we work, or if we are simply too lazy to trek out into the wilds of Nantes, cupboards are riffled through, cans and boxes shifted left and right, the refrigerator ransacked, emptied, leftovers, jars and Tupperware containers scrutinized, peered into, poked at and separated into old and fuzzy or perfectly good. A leftover lasagna or Parmentier is reheated or JP turns on the magic and the charm, takes everything that hasn’t withered and died of old age and somehow, wondrously concocts a delicious, flavorful meal.

I have traveled quite a long way from that small American town in the shadow of NASA’s rockets where fresh seafood straight from the ocean and citrus plucked directly from the tree alternated with frozen dinners, Hamburger Helper and pancake dinners. The most exotic, culturally significant meals in our home involved Borscht, chicken soup with matzo balls and Challah. Moving to France may have opened my eyes to an entirely new culture and cuisine, but it is thanks to my husband that I have discovered all the details and more: he has walked me through the repertoire of classic French home cooking, hearty, traditional and warming, enriching each dish with a tale from his childhood or a colorful episode in France’s history; he has introduced me to foods local and regional as well as the cuisines of Morocco and Vietnam, now part of the French national food culture, dishes rich in tradition and, again, history, recounting stories of his time spent in Morocco eating and learning to cook or comedic episodes of his time at university, hours spent eating bowls of Bo Bun in a familiar and much-visited Vietnamese restaurant near the school. Together we have wandered high and low, through France and Italy, spent time in Basque country, discovering food in Budapest or in Florida and New England. We have snapped pictures and tasted local foods and dishes, strolled through markets as if on an educational field trip. We have savored the new and the formerly unknown at the homes of both friends and strangers, asking questions and taking notes, and built up our personal encyclopedia of information, cooking methods, stories and foods. And with his advice, guidance and inspiration, I have learned to cook.


But learning how to make the perfect, traditional Blanquette de Veau, Couscous or Poulet Yassa aside, my living in France and my marriage to a food-passionate man curious about cultures and cuisines and a history buff to boot has been the means of my discovering special ingredients and obscure specialties from preserved lemons to supions and encornets, from salsify to celeriac, turmeric, coriander and cumin, cotechino, harira, stinco, not to forget a dictionary's worth of cheeses. And boeuf cuit. Boeuf Cuit is quite simply cooked beef, but it is not as simple as it sounds. Chunks of tender cooked beef, the same cuts usually selected for a bourguignon, having long simmered in a savory broth are compressed together into a type of terrine with tiny cubes of carrots and bound with aspic or jellied broth and sold in thick slices at the butcher’s counter. JP introduced me to this unusual ingredient early in our marriage when he would bring it home, cut it into cubes or crumble it into shreds and toss it together with slices of tender cooked potatoes, plenty of chopped violet shallots and a tangy vinaigrette. Delicious! Wonderful for a light weekend lunch, a casual dinner or packed and tucked inside a basket for a perfect picnic meal.

Our latest issue of French Saveurs magazine had him back at the butcher’s counter ordering a pound or so of Boeuf Cuit. He has been on a Cannelloni streak lately; boxes of cannelloni pasta accumulate joyously in our pantry and he purchased the perfect little stainless steal baking pan just the width of a cannelloni shell and large enough for one meal for a family of four. So, of course, the recipe for Cannellonis au Boeuf Fondant et aux Carottes, cannelloni of meltingly tender beef and carrots, jumped out of the glossy pages of the magazine and into his eager, waiting hands. He followed the recipe as well as someone who cooks au pif, by instinct or feel, can do, adding more carrots, using a tad less beef, flavoring it to his own exquisite taste, and served us this luscious, wonderful, hearty meal. As we only stuffed enough pasta shells to fill our tiny baking pan in one layer, there was enough filling left over to use as the base of a ragout, blended and heated with more homemade tomato sauce, to serve over fresh pasta.

The only real stumbling block is fear of failure.
In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude.
- Julia Child

* The title of my post? Froid, Brulé, Pas Cuit? It means Cold, Burned, Undercooked; i.e. a culinary disaster. As we are all inclined to expect the worst of everything and anything we cook or bake, JP pulled out this old phrase, coined during his university days by a friend, dusted it off and introduced it into our home. This phrase has become a joke in our kitchen, a way to mock the other when doubts of our cooking or baking prowess take over or our confidence in the results of an all-out culinary effort begin to waver, a way to lighten the mood and make the other laugh. Although I, the Nervous Nellie who doubts myself from beginning to end, am constantly finding fault with my own recipes, JP’s method of cooking leaves little room for disaster as he adjusts and corrects along the way.

Don't forget JP's other recipes:




Cauliflower and Potato Gratin









Lasagna Two Ways: Smoked Salmon and Spinach or Veal and Vegetable



On a final note, it is that time of year for Saveur’s Best Food Blog Awards and it would be tremendous to be considered for an award from this prestigious magazine. If you enjoy Life’s a Feast, if my stories touch you in some way, if you are interested in nominating my blog for one of the categories that you feel is the best fit, I would certainly appreciate your support and the time that it takes to put in the nomination. Just link over to their website. Thank you! It does mean the world to me!

And speaking of From Plate to Page, due to an unexpected cancellation, there are now a couple of spaces open for our exciting Somerset workshop in May. If you are looking for an intimate, hands-on, practical workshop providing you with the tools, instruction and inspiration to define and hone your food writing, styling and photography skills and kick start your creativity all in a convivial, fun- and food-filled weekend then Plate to Page is for you! For details about the workshop, the four instructors (I teach food writing) and registration, please visit out our website! But hurry, spaces are limited to 12 and they are going fast! Questions? Visit our new FAQ page!


CANNOLLONI OF TENDER COOKED BEEF AND CARROTS
From the March 2012 issue of French Saveurs

I will give you the exact recipe as given in the magazine. JP adjusted it to use less cooked beef and more carrots and mildly adjusted the flavorings to his taste. A delicious recipe but one I would actually change the next time we make it by doubling the tomato sauce and blending half the sauce in with the meat mixture to lighten it and add more moisture. As I said above, this is a fabulous filling turned into a ragout to serve over pasta.

12 cannelloni shells
750 g (1 ½ lbs boeuf cuit or cooked beef leftover from a pot au feu, bourguignon or similar)*
200 g (7 oz) carrots, washed, peeled and trimmed **
½ an onion or more if desired
500 ml (2 cups) meat stock (from a cube is fine)
1 Tbs tomato paste
Several tablespoons olive oil, as needed
100 g (3 ½ oz) grated Parmesan cheese
15 g (1 Tbs) butter
Salt and freshly ground pepper

* We used 500 g (1 lb)
** We used 6 carrots

Shred the beef. Cut the cleaned carrots into tiny cubes and finely chop the onion.

Sauté the chopped onion in a few tablespoons olive oil for about 3 minutes or until tender. Add the carrots and the meat. Add enough of the meat stock to just cover the mixture, salt and pepper (taste the stock to verify how salty it already is so you don’t oversalt the dish) and allow to gently simmer over low heat for 20 minutes. At the end of the cooking time, allow the meat to cool to room temperature.

In a separate pan, bring the rest of the meat stock and the tomato paste to a boil; pepper and salt only if needed.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C) and butter the bottom and sides of a baking dish or pan. Stuff the cannelloni shells with the cooled meat and carrot filling and line the filled shells up snugly in the buttered baking dish in a single layer. Pour the meat stock/tomato paste over and around the shells, sprinkle generously with the grated Parmesan, cover the dish with aluminum foil and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, removing the foil about 10 minutes before the end of cooking.

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CAULIFLOWER AND POTATO GRATIN

THE MAN COOKS… AGAIN AND AGAIN!


My men are a unique bunch: they are handsome, wickedly funny, bright as all get-out, über talented and creative. But if they are anything at all, they are discreet. Not so much shy as shunning the limelight; they loathe being talked about, are uncomfortable being shown off; they are wary of my verbosity in front of my blog and social media accounts, mistrustful of how much I talk about them to my friends; they don’t appreciate being mentioned nor do they want their photos splashed across Life’s a Feast or my Facebook page; they simply do not want their private lives bared to the world. I am woman and they are man and rarely the twain shall meet, yet as I try and understand their vagaries and respect their wishes, I sometimes, well, let’s admit it, I slip up. Ooops! But how does one such as I write something as personal as a blog or even write at all without talking about the three most basic elements, the most important components of my life?


As winter rages outside…. Okay, I will admit that rages is a bit farfetched, for the temperature bounces up a few notches, then down a few, neither settling on frosty nor on balmy, less raging than hovering around some wishy-washy in between and the snow still eludes my every request – okay, let’s start again... As winter settles in gray and desolate, teasing me with much-yearned-for glacial weather and the promise of snow in her steely glance and misty afternoons, my husband and I spend most of our time huddled together in the apartment. So face to face, with him part of my every waking moment, I find it close to impossible not to talk about him. Especially when he is doing all of the cooking.

As you may know, we are Starting Over. After the long, arduous conversations, the hashing and rehashing, tossing ideas, thoughts, fears and dreams back and forth like two kids playing ball in the street on a dull summer afternoon, we came to the decision – and not for the first time in our many years together – that husband should leave his job (for a quantity of reasons) and it was time for us to recreate ourselves yet once again. Adventure awaits, the world opens before us in a multitude of possibilities. The lure of pleasure and the fulfillment of dreams enchants as a Siren’s song, seduces us with their dangerous, mesmerizing beauty. Galvanized by our various projects and simply delighted at having the time we aren’t each sitting in front of our separate computers to be together, we seem to be possessed by some reckless, crazy Utopia of an ideal world where we can get by doing just what we love doing and maybe, just maybe, have a positive effect on someone, somewhere. We may be deluding ourselves, it is true, but when have hard work and passion not come together to create something perfect? Or something close to it?


But back to the food. My husband has always loved to cook from his earliest years, and now that he is home he has been more than happy to take over the kitchen at mealtimes. Raised on hearty, wholesome, traditional French family cooking kicked up with his two years living in Morocco and enriched with the food he experienced during his travels across Europe, he has built up an incredibly rich repertoire of favorites. He saunters through the market choosing his purchases carefully, studiously, selecting only local, seasonal fruits and vegetables, planning dishes compatible with the weather and our mood. Poached whole sea bass or choucroute laden either with Alsatian sausages or seafood, a spicy couscous or exotic tagine, mussels marinière served with sizzling frites or an herbed côte de boeuf, lasagnas meaty and traditional or layered with smoked salmon, his talents are endless, his taste impeccable! Onions chopped, herbs ripped, meat sautéed, potatoes puréed, he has kept me happily fed for 25 years and he still never ceases to amaze me. Granted, his menu choices often defy my diet, but diet is a word that just isn’t in his vocabulary and any mention of that dreaded concept can work him into a fury. Raised on pot au feu, guinea fowl wrapped in tender green cabbage, creamy, cheesy potato gratin dauphinois and blanquette à l’ancienne, food is meant to comfort and soothe, fill one up and carry one through the rest of the working day. Salad is to end the meal not replace it, fruit accompanies a platter of cheese and a loaf of bread and wine is served at every meal. Yes, many a meal nowadays chez nous is made up of a large mixed salad or a healthy, light bowl of vegetable soup, but when one desires to cook a meal, well, one cooks.


So I pull up my chair to the table, tuck a napkin under my chin and dig in. The first mouthful a revelation, the second, a confirmation, the third and each after pure pleasure. I close my eyes and savor yet another marvelous dish and wonder that he can take the most humble of ingredients, toss in a handful of seemingly random this or that, sautée, simmer or bake and create such flavorful, inspiring, delectable dishes. And today’s is simple indeed: Cauliflower and Potato Gratin. This is the man who refuses to allow a cauliflower or a broccoli to cross the threshold into our home, bans each from the kitchen, forbids the cooking in any way, shape or form of such two who leave an acrid, pungent odor behind, trailing a whip of cabbage stench from livingroom to bedroom. Yet he loves the humble, elegant cauliflower, so excuses are made, reasons found for the occasional foray into cauliflower love. When he is feeling admirable, exemplary in his sense of responsibility, he will steam the flowerets and serve them in a chaud-froid style simply tossed still warm from the pot with a tart vinaigrette studded with finely minced shallots, lovely pale purple dots against the pristine white of the cauliflower, the vinaigrette giving a sparkling, clean bite to the mild vegetable. But when he is feeling decadent or when the weather is chilling us to the bone, he opts for something richer, creamier, more filling, a dish that leaves us content and replenished, protected against the harsh elements and the mad, mad world outside.


So, at the risk of making him upset or having him ask me once again to never speak of him on my blog, of being reprimanded for opening up our intimate details for all the world to ogle and dissect, I will say that I am married to an incredible cook, an incredible man. He began cooking when merely a boy in his maman’s kitchen while she worked, taking over entire meals while others of his age were going through their adolescent woes and rebellions. His passion for food has never stopped growing and lucky am I to have him cooking for me! Ah, but we were talking about a Cauliflower and Potato Gratin, weren’t we? Simply steamed potatoes and cauliflower, tossed in a luscious, thick, creamy béchamel and topped with both Parmesan and nutty Gruyère or Comté cheeses then popped in a hot oven to bubble and brown… nothing, dear reader, says Winter Comfort Food better than this.


Looking to hone your food writing or photography skills or just needing to kickstart your creativity? Feeling the blogging blues and desiring inspiration? Wanting to bridge the road between blogger and professional? Looking for an intimate, hands-on, practical workshop rather than a huge, traditional conference? If you missed our exciting, successful From Plate to Page workshop in beautiful Tuscany then you won't want to miss the next! Registrations are now open for From Plate to Page in spectacular Somerset UK in Spring 2012! Check out the program, the accommodations and reviews of P2P Tuscany and P2P Weimar... and then sign up before all the spaces are filled! I'll be there offering writing instruction, critique and ideas.


CAULIFLOWER AND POTATO GRATIN
Jamie & JP team up in the kitchen


1 head cauliflower, trimmed and broken into large flowerets *
Several potatoes that stay firm while boiling **

About 1 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
About 2 or 3 cups grated Gruyère or Comté cheese

* Flowerets broken into small, bite-sized pieces will fall apart or crumble when being blanched or steamed. Pre-cook them in larger pieces and cut into smaller bites before tossing in the béchamel.

** How many potatoes, you ask? I did not see how many JP peeled and cooked, but maybe about half to ¾ the quantity of cauliflower you use. Combined, the vegetables blended with the béchamel should fill a 13 x 9-inch baking dish or slightly bigger. Read this post about JP cooking au pif…

Béchamel
4 Tbs (60 g) butter
4 Tbs flour
3 cups (700 ml) whole milk
1 small to medium onion trimmed and finely chopped
1 bay leaf
½ tsp dried thyme or 1 tsp fresh leaves
Large pinch nutmeg
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Prepare the vegetables by simply cleaning and trimming the cauliflower and cutting into large sections and steaming or simmering in salted water until tender but not too soft or mushy; they will continue to cook in the oven, and peeling the potatoes and simmering in salted water until tender but not too soft. Drain.

Once well drained, cut into smaller pieces and toss together.

Preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C). Butter a large baking dish.

Prepare the Béchamel:

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium-low heat until bubbly. Add the chopped onion and toss to coat. Lower the heat slightly and cook, stirring, for about 3 or 4 minutes until the onion is soft and transparent and just beginning to turn golden on the edges.

Add the flour all at once and stir or whisk until the flour is well blended into the butter. Cook, stirring, for a minute 2 to 3 minutes. Then begin adding the milk, a little at a time, whisking to blend and allow each addition to thicken. As it thickens, add more milk and repeat until all the milk has been added and the sauce is beginning to thicken. Add the herbs, salt and pepper generously and allow to simmer very gently, stirring continuously, for about 10 minutes. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Remove the bay leaf.

Pour the hot béchamel over the prepared cauliflower and potatoes and gently toss until the sauce is evenly distributed. Pour into the gratin or baking dish and spread out evenly. Sprinkle the Parmesan and then the Gruyère/Comté evenly over the top of the vegetables all the way to the edge of the dish.

Bake in the hot oven for about 20 minutes or until bubbly and the cheese is a deep golden and browning as you like.


Serve as a side dish with roasted meat or chicken or with cold cuts or sausages or as a main course for lunch simply with a large mixed salad. And a glass of wine.

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