HOMEY CHUNKY BEST CHICKEN SALAD & MINI CHOCOLATE BUNDT CAKES

AMERICANA

Chicken salad has a certain glamour about it. 

Like the little black dress, 

it is chic and adaptable anywhere. 

- Laurie Colwin, Home Cooking, 1988

Chicken Salad. Simple, homey, banal old chicken salad. White bread, or toast if you are feeling audacious, a smear of mayo, a slice of tomato, one single lettuce leaf and a scoop of chicken salad. Nothing more American than chicken salad for lunch. Or tuna salad, come to think of it, but tuna is particular in its bold, distinctive, fishy flavor, often hard to please. There are only so many ways that tuna salad can be prepared, only so many ingredients that marry well with the assertive fishiness. But something about chicken is universal; its very blandness is the perfect backdrop, a tabula rasa for anything. As Laurie Colwin stated, it is so adaptable.

One can say that chicken salad’s very essence is American. Start with the chicken itself, poached or roasted, simple and tender, a blank page; chop it, mince it, shred it, precise, clean and elegant, or rough, frayed, ever so scraggy and casual. A spoonful or three of mayonnaise, of course, cool, velvety, rich and then, really, it can take on any personality at all. Slivers of sun-dried tomatoes, the sharp tang of mustard or vinegar, the salty pull of olives, the smoky masculinity of bacon or ham, the bite of your favorite pickle. Give it the hot, spicy kick of Tabasco or the gentle sweetness of grapes or pears, the crunch of apples or walnuts. Or bring in your own cultural touch, your very own personal taste: toss in curry, garam masala, chickpeas and coriander for an Indian twist; chunks of feta, cubes of ripe tomatoes, onions and dark, glistening, slippery, tangy olives for something reminiscent of the Greek Isles; Chinese, Italian, Russian, Irish, pull up something from your favorite cuisine or your own family roots, chicken salad is the Melting Pot of food.

My father baked. Choux, delicate and ethereal, filled with thick, creamy pudding; larger-than-life sheet cakes, perfectly marbled chocolate and vanilla; mile-high pies then topped with mounds of sweet, snowy whipped topping. My father loved to spend time in the kitchen, concentrating on stirring, pouring, simmering, his eyes absolutely twinkling with delight. Weekends would find him whipping up a batch of pancake batter, always for dinner, never for breakfast; by the time we kids straggled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, dad would already be out in the yard mowing the scrappy patches of hard, tough Florida lawn clinging mightily to the Florida sand, digging up his poor little plot of a garden or have his head deep under the hood of a car. I often wax nostalgic about the hours I would spend, mesmerized, watching my father whip up a baked good or blend handfuls of dried fruits to create an ambrosial, sweet, shimmering compote. I inherited many qualities from him, and the passion for baking must be one of them.

But he did so much more than bake. He loved being in the kitchen. Weekends he would toss steaks or burgers on the grill when he wasn’t flipping pancakes on the griddle. And his hoagies! How we loved his hoagies! He would bake loaves of frozen, buttery garlic bread, split each one open, spread on the mayonnaise, and with the precision, exactitude and fastidiousness of the engineer that he was, he would layer and mound paper thin slices of cold cuts, salamis and cheeses, top with a row of tomato slices, lettuce leaves and, his secret ingredient, his final touch, a drizzle of Italian salad dressing. Ah, hoagie night.

And he made all of the salads. He was the king of salads. Tuna and chicken salads, chopped liver, whatever you please. His chicken salad was thick and creamy, dotted with bits of carrots and celery for color and crunch, maybe an onion finely minced, salted and peppered and it needed nothing more than that to be turned into a perfect sandwich. We were plain, simple folk with a taste for something that simply said American comfort food, a meal that simply said home.

(An) an American can eat anything on the face of this earth 

as long as he has two pieces of bread. 

– Bill Cosby 

Now I am all grown up and have so many worlds, cultures and cuisines at my fingertips. That bowl of cooked, chopped chicken takes on many forms, so many different personalities depending upon the season, the weather and my mood. Often, I will fill my shopping cart or market basket with an array of condiments, flavors and textures that will bring a new chicken salad to life, to be packed for a picnic, served up for lunch or eaten at a buffet. But as we delve deeper and deeper into apartment renovations, as my time is sucked into a black hole…. No, no. As my time is taken up by painting and polishing parquet and making design decisions, I have less and less time to devote to cooking. Shopping is done on the run, cooking is now a thrown together affair, a “let’s dig through the cupboard and fridge” kind of smorgasbord event as we collapse in front of the television for the evening. Yet as I dashed to the market yesterday to pick up cheeses and baguette and fruit, whatever to make a quick, impromptu meal or two, chicken salad crossed my mind. I haven’t thought of chicken salad in years. I bought tomatoes, an avocado and a tiny bouquet of pearl onions and ran home. And I was on my way.

Tonight’s version of chicken salad is made up of what I had on had: mayonnaise, mustard and red wine vinegar for a creamy dressing with a slight bite and a slight tang. Slivered spring or pearl salad onions, chunks of avocado as well as a couple of minced hardboiled eggs and a cupful of cooked white beans for both added nutritional value and consistency. From there, toss in a handful of fresh coriander, chunks of feta, slivers of sundried tomatoes or sliced pickles. Or a handful of olives. I make mine rather plain and serve the extras on the side so each diner can create his own perfect flavor combination. And dad’s spirit hung over us, glided in and out of the kitchen and livingroom as we dined on the perfect American buffet, comfort food to soother body and soul after a long day of renovations. Serve with fresh bread, tossed salad, a cheese platter, a bowl of fruit and a bottle of light, fruity white wine. Yes, please.

I have decided to add to my menu chocolate cake. I have taken Abby Dodge’s fabulous Emergency Blender Chocolate Cupcakes from The Weekend Baker (a cookbook that I highly recommend to beginner and experienced bakers alike) and turned them into tiny Bundt cakes to serve simply (what else?) dusted with powdered sugar. Feel free to serve them with a scoop of your favourite ice cream, whipped cream or my Chocolate Whipped Cream or Coffee Whipped Cream.

This Chicken Salad and individual Chocolate Bund Cakes is for this month’s Monthly Mingle (a blogging even created by Meeta), hosted by my friend and fellow American expat Jenn of Jenn Cuisine. Her Monthly Mingle theme is Americana. And what is more American than Chicken Salad? And chocolate cake!

NOTA BENE: A home baker can never have enough easy, quick, one-bowl cake recipes. Why use a boxed mix when you can have a homemade, from-scratch cake with barely more time, energy or trouble? Here are a few of my own personal favorites:

Chocolate Espresso Layer Cake





 

Special Chocolate Cake

Eggless "Lickety Split" Chocolate Cake

Best Chocolate Chip Banana Bread





CHICKEN SALAD

This is the basic version, then add to it what you will. This serves about 4 people, American, French or whoever happens to be in your home and hungry, as part of a luncheon or light dinner spread.


2 large chicken breasts
2 – 4 cups chicken or vegetable broth or stock, enough to cover the breasts
3.5 oz (100 g) smoked lardons cubes (I use Matchstick) or bacon
2 – 4 large eggs
5 or more Tbs mayonnaise, homemade or excellent quality jarred
1 – 2 Tbs mustard, to taste
1 – 2 tsps red wine vinegar, to taste
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 can cooked white beans, rinsed
1 ripe avocado, peeled and cubed
Spring or pearl salad onions, trimmed of the green and the white part thinly sliced
1 small or medium-sized carrot, trimmed and cleaned (peeled or scraped)
1 – 2 cups cherry tomatoes, rinsed and halved, optional

Pat the chicken breasts with paper towelling and trim off any excess pockets of fat. Place the breasts in a pot of simmering chicken or vegetable stock or broth (homemade, canned or from a stock cube is fine) and allow to simmer until cooked through (the center went sliced open should no longer be pink). This takes about 10 minutes, more or less depending upon the thickness of the breasts. Remove from the stock and allow to cool.

Hardboil 2 to 4 eggs, allow to cool, peel and rinse. Fry the lardons or bacon in a dry skillet until crispy. If use bacon, crumble or cut into matchsticks. Allow to cool.

When cooled, chop or mince. When the chicken has cooled, chop, cube, mince, shred or slice the cooked chicken and place in a medium or large mixing bowl. Grate the carrot into the bowl – I use the largest holes of the grater. Add the lardons or bacon, the thinly sliced onion and the minced hardboiled eggs. Whisk the 5 tablespoons of the mayonnaise with 1 tablespoon of the mustard and taste. Add more mayonnaise or mustard to taste. Whisk in 1 teaspoon of the red wine vinegar. Fold into the chicken salad. Salt and pepper.

Gently fold the rinsed and drained white beans and the avocado chunks. Add the cherry tomatoes and anything else you choose to add (pickle slices, slivers of sundried tomatoes, pitted olives, fresh herbs, seedless grapes, pear or apple chunks, coarsely chopped pecans or walnuts, etc.) and fold together.

Now taste to adjust seasonings: add more mustard, half a tablespoon at a time, or more vinegar, 1 teaspoon at a time, salt and pepper until desired taste is attained.

Serve immediately at room temperature or keep covered with plastic wrap and chilled in the refrigerator until ready to serve and eat.

ABBY’S ONE-BOWL CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES
Or mini Bundts

Abby uses a blender to prepare this batter – whizzing all of the dry ingredients together and then adding the wet ingredients and whizzing to combine. I do it the old fashioned way, with a whisk. I only change I made was adding ground cinnamon. All dry ingredients should be lightly spooned into the measuring cup and leveled with a knife blade.

Nota Bene: What I particularly love about chocolate cakes like this is that one can add a hint of any favorite flavoring one desires: add a tablespoon of Grand Marnier, Cointreau or Amaretto; add 2 teaspoons of dry, powdered espresso powder or replace some of the hot water with strong prepared coffee; add the grated zest of an orange or a lemon or a splash of orange or another fruit juice, measuring the liquid as part of the ¾ cup hot water. Add a pinch of another spice that pairs well with chocolate, such as a gingerbread, pumpkin or apple pie spice. Just for a few suggestions.

1 cup (130 g) flour
½ cup (45 g) unsweetened cocoa powder
1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar
½ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon, optional
¾ cup (175 ml) hot water
½ cup (120 ml) vegetable oil
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C) – I set my very unpredictable and overly hot oven to 185°C. Line 12 regular-size muffin cups with paper liners or butter and flour 12 individual mini Bundt cups (the easiest way to butter mini Bundt cups is with softened or just-melted butter and a soft pastry brush. Dust with flour and turn over the sink and shake/tap out all excess flour)

Combine the flour, cocoa powder (I sift the cocoa powder into the bowl), sugar, baking soda, salt and ground cinnamon into a large mixing bowl. Whisk in the water, then the oil, egg and vanilla until smooth and blended.

Pour into the prepared muffin or mini Bundt cups – I scrape the liquid batter into a large measuring cup with a lip/spout which makes the job of pouring into muffin tins easier and cleaner. Divide the batter evenly among the cups.

Bake until a tester inserted in the center of one of the cupcakes or Bundlets comes out clean; the top of one cake should spring back when lightly pressed and the edges of the Bundlets should be starting to pull away from the tin. Remive the pan from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to cool for about 10 minutes before carefully popping out the cupcakes or mini Bundts. Allow to cool completely before serving.

Read more »

VANILLA CUSTARD BERRY TART

BLEU BLANC & ROUGE RED WHITE & BLUE

I have no consistency, except in politics;
and that probably arises from my indifference to the subject altogether.
- Lord Byron

The excitement mounts! An electric current zips through the apartment as the date approaches. We sit, night after night, glued to the television set, listening, observing, trading viewpoints and arguing opinions. The four of us gather every evening at 8 sharp for the news, following each candidate’s every word, every step. We compare the campaigns waging on both side of the Atlantic, the stream of candidates, from their policies to their faux pas, dissecting their political histories, analyzing their records, arguing their strengths, their weaknesses and whether or not we each consider their program, well, realistic.

To tell the honest truth, we also spend just as much time making fun of each candidate, each campaign move. As the evening news rolls to a close, the stream of back-to-back spots runs in glorious red white and blue, or rather bleu blanc rouge, and we love this part of the French presidential campaign. For one minute or two, this candidate or that one’s head looms large against the backdrop of searing red, crisp white or pale blue the color of sky, campaign motto splashed across the screen, La France Forte, Le Changement C’est Maintenant, Un Pays Uni Rien Ne Lui Resiste, Oui La France. Talking heads growling, barking, bellowing or mellow yet urgent, explaining as a teacher addressing a class of naughty children who refuse to follow the lesson. One son chuckles in self-satisfaction as he imitates this voice or that, following the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen, husband remarking on the insignificant, tiny mistakes made in editing while the younger son explains what is wrong with this policy or that. We sadly watch as the night’s series of campaign spots comes to an end, yet the discussion is far from over.

Everything is changing. People are taking their comedians seriously
and the politicians as a joke.
- Will Rogers

Our sons are well versed in politics. We raised them on television and radio news programs, often eating lunch or dinner in front of a panel of political pundits, never missing the evening infos, reading newspapers and debating, dissecting, explaining and, as they grew up, arguing, thrashing out, discoursing on everything French, American, Italian, European. We each have our own strong opinions and ideas of what works and what doesn’t, who is right and who is not and often lock horns. So this year, with presidential elections in both of our “home” countries, it is particularly exciting! The atmosphere is charged; we are geared up for a long year of exuberant, exhilarating, stimulating, often frustrating but definitely animated discussion.

And the fun has already begun with posters of our “favorite” candidates taped to each of our bedroom doors, faux campaign headquarters (although who put them there I have yet to learn), Our imitations are refined and in order, our clocks and watches synchronized so as not to miss even one well-regulated campaign announcement or candidate interview. Everything down to the second is timed and regulated in this beautifully over-regulated country, but how much better than the wild free-for-all in that vast cultural and political landscape (madhouse, some would argue) across the ocean. Words are measured, accusations tempered, and, as we are taught, everything is easier in moderation.


J - 2 (or as the French say it gee moins deux), two days until le premier tour, the first round of voting when the field will shrink from ten to two. Ah, yes, we will miss the odd candidates, and we may be sorely disappointed in the results. We may even be driven totally crazy by the madness of the final two weeks when things may get completely out of hand, wound up two notches or five, but we revel in everything political, no matter how insane.

And soon, France will have a new President and things will certainly return to the old humdrum, the same old same old, le retour à la normale, the status quo. And then the next one Over There will just be getting started.

From politics, it was an easy step to silence.
- Jane Austen

Bleu blanc rouge. Red white & blue: a little tribute to the fun and games that these mad, interminable, delirious, frenetic elections allow us but every four or five years. A luscious red, white and blue tart, worthy of our finest French pastry shop, worthy of our finest French election period, that brings together my little family of political animals as no election can. Or, well, at least not in quite the same spirit. A sweet pastry crust holds a voluptuously smooth, creamy, cool vanilla custard topped with a choice of berries: red raspberries, blue blueberries and wild blackberries. I prefer using frozen berries for tarts. Why? I find that frozen berries offer a much more intense flavor, sweeter, tarter, fruitier than fresh berries which gives wonderful results when baking. But use fresh berries when you can get full-flavored fruit all summer long.

Once baked and cooled, this tart offers sensational, winning, victorious results: tangy berries, sweet, creamy custard and just the right bite from the perfect crust. No analogies here, just a sublime dessert everyone will love. No matter their political bent or favorite candidate.


I will be adding this to my own April in Paris Monthly Mingle.


BAKED VANILLA CUSTARD BERRY TART

For the Pie Crust:
Or use your own favorite sweet pastry crust.

1 ¾ cups (250 g) flour
1/3 cup (40 g) powdered/icing sugar
8 Tbs (115 g) unsalted butter, slightly softened, cubed
1 large egg yolk
Scant ¼ cup (50 ml) milk, slightly more if needed

Sift or whisk together the flour and powdered sugar in a large mixing bowl. Drop in the cubes of butter and, using the tips of your fingers and thumb, rub the butter and flour together quickly until all of the butter is blended in and there are no more lumps; it should be the consistency of slightly damp sand. Add the egg yolk and the milk and, using a fork, blend vigorously until all of the flour/sugar/butter mixture is moistened and starts to pull together into a dough. If needed, add more milk a tablespoon at a time, blending vigorously after each addition, until the all of the dry ingredients are moistened.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface and using the heel of one hand smear the dough inch by inch away from you in short, hard, quick movements; this will completely blend the butter in. Scrape up the smeared dough and, working very quickly, gently knead into a smooth, homogeneous ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 to 30 minutes if the dough is too soft to roll out immediately.

Lightly grease with butter the sides and bottom of a 13 ½ x 4-inch (35 x 10-cm) rectangular baking tin, preferably with removable bottom.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and unwrap. Working on a floured surface and with the top of the dough kept lightly floured to keep it from sticking to the rolling pin, roll out the dough into a large rectangle and line the tin by gently lifting in and pressing down the dough. Roll the dough fairly thinly – you can see that mine is just a bit too thick. For a baking tin this size you will have dough left over. Trim the edges. Cover the lined tin with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes. This can also be done ahead of time.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Remove the baking tin from the refrigerator and discard the plastic wrap. Prick the pastry shell with a fork (not too hard or deep as you don’t want holes going all the way through the dough) and place a large piece of parchment paper over the shell and weigh down the parchment with pastry weights or dried beans, pushing the beans into the corners and up against the sides. Bake for 15 minutes. Remove from the oven, carefully lift out the parchment paper and beans, pressing the bottom of the shell down with your fingertips if puffed up, and prepare the Custard Filling.

For the Vanilla Custard Cream Filling:

3 large egg yolks*
¼ cup + 2 Tbs (75 g) sugar
2 Tbs cornstarch or corn flour
1 cup (250 ml) milk (I used 2% low fat)
¾ cup (200 ml) heavy cream
2 tsp vanilla
1/8 tsp ground nutmeg
1 – 2 Tbs slivered blanched almonds
Powdered/confectioner’s sugar for dusting

* Reserve the whites in a clean jar for Macarons!

Gently whisk the egg yolks with the sugar, cornstarch and the milk in a medium-sized saucepan until blended and smooth. Cook gently over very low heat, whisking constantly, for 5 minutes until thick like custard or pastry cream. Remove from the heat, quickly stir in the cream, the vanilla and the nutmeg; whisk until smooth. Transfer the cream to a bowl or glass/Pyrex measuring cup, cover with plastic wrap, pushing the plastic down to touch the surface, and allow to come to room temperature.

The Berries:

About 1 to 1 ½ cups fresh or frozen berries; I like a combination of blueberries, wild blackberries and raspberries. If using frozen, place the berries in a colander and run very, very quickly under running water to defrost then spread out on paper towels.

Just before baking the tart, place the berries (less any juice that has run off) in a small bowl and toss with 1/8 cup sugar (or slightly more to taste) and a dash of ground cinnamon.

Assemble and Bake the Vanilla Custard Berry Tart:


Once the pastry shell is partially prebaked and cooled and the vanilla custard is prepared and cooled, simply spoon the custard into the shell, spread to smooth and spoon the berries onto the custard. Bake in the 350°F (180°C) hot oven for about 40 to 45 minutes.


Remove from the oven to a cooling rack or wooden board and allow to cool to room temperature. Serve at room temperature or, better still, chilled, dusted with powdered sugar.

Read more »

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.

Read more »

APRIL IN PARIS – MONTHLY MINGLE GOES TO FRANCE!

Every time I look down on this timeless town
whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
more and more do I realize:

I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.
- Cole Porter

Wind-tossed skies, leaves skitter across sidewalks and vast stretches of abandoned parks; colourful buds peep up boldly from the winter-kissed ground and droop from trees anxious to dress for the new season. Chairs and tables for two seem to sprout from sidewalks at the now numerous cafés which have miraculously appeared as from nowhere, rebirth after hibernation, faded green metal or rustic wood, clutters of coffee cups amid dustings of crumbs like so many harbingers of spring.

April in Paris. Streets crowded with chattering, laughing locals as they take their time, no longer the need nor the desire to hurry from one place to the next, slowing down to enjoy the warmth and sunshine as if surprised at its sudden reappearance after the long, cold, dreary slog through winter. Or clustered along the street’s edge, perched on tiny chairs, legs stretched out, faces turned heavenward like so many sunflowers, sipping cool drinks or fingers clutched around tiny white cups of steaming liquid, the Parisian’s elixir, edges stained in creamy foam. Lovers stroll along the grand boulevards or underneath the Eiffel Tower; crowds spill out of museums and gather in Les Tuileries or the Le Jardin du Luxembourg to enjoy a picnic, a bottle of wine nestled into a basket alongside the jambon-beurre. School children skip through the gardens, licking ice cream cones or biting into fresh, warm pain au chocolat. Cameras click click click across this beautiful city, capturing moments of this city at once so ancient and so modern, a city, this city, Paris, infused with mystery, charged with energy, a magical city that has captured the world’s imagination.

I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles.
- Cole Porter

This April the Monthly Mingle sweeps you away to Paris, the city of romance, the city of lights. From croissants to Coq au Vin, from steak frites to tiny, delicate macarons, cuisine traditionnelle and nouvelle cuisine, Paris is not only synonymous with love and passion, but with great food. Like fine French art, Monet and Seurat, Fragonard, Rousseau or Ingres, like her wines, both red and white, voluptuous, fruity and earthy at once, French cuisine is known the world over for its masterly beauty and culture, food as a universal language. A Monthly Mingle strolling through the mythical streets of Paris, breathing in the luxurious scents floating out of pastry shops and bistros, the heavenly sweet mingling with the savory, will bring France to your table, masterly and memorable, creating emotions that only deepen the sensations.


So join me in this convivial Monthly Mingle April in Paris by bringing to the table a favourite French dish or pastry, savory or sweet. Here is how you mingle:

1. Create a dish or a recipe based on French cuisine, whether traditional or innovative, savory or sweet, simple or complicated, serious or downright fun! Think patisserie, boulangerie, bistro, brasserie or even reach for the Michelin stars!

2. Post about it on your blog from now through the 30 April 2012 (entries must be in English, please).

3. Your creation must be prepared exclusively for the current Monthly Mingle April in Paris theme and cannot be submitted to any other blog event.

4. You must provide a link to this post and to the Monthly Mingle page. Monthly Mingle is the creation of my zesty sister Meeta of What's For Lunch, Honey?

Once you have posted your dish or recipe, please email me at jamieannschler@gmail.com with Monthly Mingle in the subject line. Your email must include the following information,

-Your name
-Your blog name
-A link to the post where the dish appears
-The name of your dish
-A picture no wider than 300 pixels

Bon Appétit!

Find the recipe for Choux here.
To create the chouquette, generously sprinkle the top of each mound of choux pastry dough with sucre en grains or large-grained pearl sugar.

Find the recipe for crème pâtissière or pastry cream to fill éclairs here.

Find the recipe for Chocolate Icing for the éclairs here.

Read more »

CLASSIC CHOCOLATE CHIP PECAN BLONDIES

ANOTHER TRIP

Summer journeys to Niag'ra
and to other places aggra-
vate all our cares.
We'll save our fares!

I've a cozy little flat in
what is known as old Manhattan
we'll settle down
right here in town!

And tell me what street
compares with Mott Street
in July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gli-ding by.

The great big city's a wonderous toy
just made for a girl and boy.
We'll turn Manhattan
into an isle of joy!
- Lorenz Hart & Richard Rodgers

I am packing for a trip to New York City. How exciting and special is this trip – the International Association of Culinary Professionals annual conference and I am attending! I’ll be hugging friends once again that I have had the great luck to have already met, meeting and spending time with others. This is a learning and working trip: meetings, appointments, introductions, and sessions. I feel like I’ve finally grown up and can join the real professionals, and that is extremely gratifying, thrilling and motivating. Yet, this will be my first trip back to New York since that visit with my brother Michael during his illness, since his death. My first time not staying with him. Daunting, to say the least. And truly bittersweet, like a thick, bitter-tinged salted butter caramel wrapped around the big juicy sweet apple.

I rush around the apartment, doing laundry, catching up on long-neglected e-mails, finishing articles and cleaning the kitchen. My suitcase lies empty and gaping, nagging me to pay it some heed. I normally begin packing several weeks before a trip, yet I can’t seem to concentrate on the task at hand. Too excited? Distracted? Feeling unorganized and unprepared? Maybe. Likely. So I do more laundry, type more e-mails, change the sheets on our bed once again and bake.


My family has not quite gotten used to my leaving for chunks of time, even as I leave more often. They get along just fine without me – shopping, marketing, cooking, laundry – everything runs smoothly with only men in the house! Yet they are sad when I leave them; my company is always in demand, whether it be for a stroll around town just to get a bit of fresh air or when errands are needed to be run. And now that we are house hunting and decisions need to be made on the spot, I leave a wide gap in that need and decisions risk being made without me. But I am more than happy to leave the three of them on their own for a week here and there, no matter how much I miss them. They do that man thing and bond – they go out for pizza, watch action films (think giant fire balls, gladiators or something military), take Marty outside of the city for a run in the great outdoors. Much time will be spent in the garage readjusting the Lambretta and taking it for a spin around the block, putting together Simon’s portfolio and sometimes I suspect that things may just run a bit more smoothly and comfortably without my female presence and point of view. And big mouth.

Start spreading the news,
I'm leaving today.
I want to be a part of it -
New York, New York.

These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
And step around the heart of it
New York, New York.

I want to wake up in a city,
That doesn't sleep,
To find I'm king of the hill,
Head of the list,
Cream of the crop
At top of the heap.
- John Kander, Fred Ebb

What will New York hold for me? Many have such high hopes for me, yet I go with rather a large blank running through my head, quite possibly the reason I find it hard to get overly excited about something so formidable and utterly exciting before I actually step into the crowded hotel lobby. Finding myself surrounded by hundreds of food writers, photographers, editors, cookbook authors and chefs is indeed daunting, yet thrilling and inspiring. As shy and uncomfortable as I am around people that I do not know – and who somehow all seem to already know each other – I rarely have problems introducing myself. I have been promised that attendees of this conference are wildly friendly and open to random self-introductions, happy to take one by the hand and show one the way. I have a list of far-away friends to meet, a schedule written down in black on white of breakfasts, lunches and dinners organized. This will be the time to share ideas, listen and discuss while being back in one of the world’s most exciting cities. Oh yeah. And as my friend Ken says, we’ll be eating our way across Manhattan!


And so I fly away across the ocean, leaving my men one more time. They’ll be perfectly fine with my short absence, yet I do not like to leave them empty handed. And so I bake. I love to leave them a sweet treat or two to see them through my time away; a coffee cake, a tin of cookies and a pan of brownies always soothes their moments empty of me! I threw together one of our favourite snacks, a pan of Classic Blondies chock full of mini chocolate chips and crunchy pecans, flavored with a hint of cinnamon and grated orange zest. Easy to make and oh so easy going down. My men are crazy about chocolate chip cookies and this is as good as if not better.


CLASSIC CHOCOLATE CHIP PECAN BLONDIES
With a kiss of cinnamon and orange – adapted from Linda Burum’s Brownies

A long-time family favourite.

1 ¼ cups (175 g) flour, lightly spooned into the measuring cup and levelled
1 ¼ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt
½ - 1 tsp ground cinnamon, depending on taste
Finely grated zest of one orange, preferably untreated, optional
2/3 cup (about 11 1/3 Tbs, 160 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
½ cup (100 g) granulated white sugar
2/3 cup (140 g) packed light or golden brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 large eggs
2 tsps milk
½ - 1 cup coarsely chopped pecans or walnuts
½ - 1 cup mini chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C) and butter a 9 x 9-inch metal cake pan.

Stir or whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, ground cinnamon and finely grated zest in a small bowl.

In a large mixing bowl using an electric mixer, beat the softened butter with the granulated sugar until blended, smooth and fluffy. Beat in the brown sugar until blended, smooth and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, adding the vanilla with the second egg, just until blended. Beat in the milk.

Using a wooden spoon or a spatula, fold in the dry ingredients just until blended; fold in the chips and the nuts until evenly distributed.

Spread the batter evenly and smoothly in the prepared baking pan and bake for about 30 minutes until the center is just set; cover the pan loosely with a piece of aluminum foil for the last 5 minutes of baking if the Blondies are browning too quickly.


Remove the Blondies from the oven and allow to cool on a rack. Eat warm or at room temperature. And a spoonful of Salted Butter Caramel Sauce or two never hurt anyone. Mama says.

Read more »

NECTARINE JALOUSIE TART with Homemade Puff Pastry

…AND THE LIVING IS EASY

Summertime. It’s the little bundle of memories we carry with us from our childhood, year after year that makes summertime what it is. Whether stifling hot days and balmy evenings or chilly, gray dampness seeping through the cracks of tightly closed windowpanes and drawn curtains, June, July and August are infused with something intangible, special that will always remind us of the best of summer. Hand-crank ice cream machines and family barbecues in the backyard, clam bakes on the beach or splashing in the lake surrounded by tall firs and palms gently dancing in the warm breeze. Dashing barefoot across the scorching pavement, spitting watermelon seeds across the lawn as the cool, sticky sweet juices run down chins and drip off of elbows. Days of utter and complete freedom from all schoolyard constraints, free to do as we please, run and play and laugh. Family trips to grandma’s, away from Florida’s searing heat, the unexpectedly mellow temperatures echoing the lazy, mellow days.

Florida winters were punctuated by citrus. Visits to the groves on the Indian River, just a jump over the bridge, rewarded us with treasures golden, orange, sweet and tangy: brown paper grocery bags filled to bursting with navels, tangelos, tangerines and grapefruit to be lined up on dad’s workbench awaiting eager hands to dig in. Eaten one, two, three at a time, our only dilemma being whether to slice into wedges or peel off the thick skins and pull apart the luscious sections with sticky fingers. Nothing, not pears, apples or bananas distracted us from our citrus mission, tempted us with other flavors or sensations, led us astray from these wondrous Florida fruits.

But summer has always meant stone fruits. Peach upon peach, nectarines plump, ripe, juicy and ever so sweet were my mainstay, my passion. Cherries and apricots by the handful could sustain me for an entire afternoon, eaten like candy. Never pausing long enough to even consider tucking any of these precious gems into a pie or cake, they were enjoyed as is, fresh, cool, oftentimes crisp, sometimes soft and ripe. A childhood in Florida called for refreshing nourishment, soothing the temper and cooling the body. Popsicles in a rainbow of colors or sno cones slurped down greedily, fruit drinks chugged down by the gallon in my favorite turquoise plastic cup, and fresh fruit straight from the refrigerator and plenty of it fulfilling every need, every urge.


But now I am all grown up. No more burning southern heat, no more front yard full of a gaggle of gangly kids playing tag or that special spot in the branches of the tree where I could stay perched for hours, book in hand, lost in a fairytale land far away, the shade a cool respite. Our summer in Nantes has been particularly temperate bordering on chilly. We’ve had weeks entire of rain and wind, gray days when a sweater is wrapped around the shoulders for comfort and the hand itches to turn on the furnace just for one more day. There has been little need for cool refreshment, no desperate search for shade. The fruit is late arriving on the market with not even a word of excuse for her tardiness. Strolling daily past the pastry shops, cool glass cases filled with cakes and tarts each one boasting strawberries or raspberries or peaches all dressed up in French finery: tiny, delicate choux, wisps of spun sugar, swirls of heavenly whipped cream and showers of chocolate curls, I couldn’t but bring home my bounty of fruit and turn it into a gorgeous confection. Peaches or plums, nectarines, apricots, each begging to be nestled, coddled, cloaked in buttery pastry, desiring only to show off her feminine colors of pink, purple or gold, her sweetness complimented by a tender crust, her softness caressed by the crisp, flaky folds of pâte feuilletée.

Riding high on my wildly successful trip up the Canal Nantes à Brest, my confidence bolstered, I was inspired to once again tackle the ever-elusive puff pastry. Mysterious in her thousand layers of golden flakes, temperamental and fussy in her demands, toying with my affections and teasing me with the magic of her perfection always just out of reach, I desired, nay, needed to master her. She has ever flirted with my emotions, giving me hope then dashing all expectations to the ground. Butter oozing out the edges, seeping out from dough rolled a tad too thinly, adhering to hands, tabletop, rolling pin…. Cursing emanating from the kitchen, harsh and piercing; my confidence sinking into the mire of shattering hopes, faith in my own abilities cracking under the strain and disappointment. I desperately ask for help; I thrust the sticky dough into the refrigerator bewailing yet another failure. Yet my desire for puff pastry and creating the perfect, elegant tart urges me on, fold after fold, turn after turn, and I finally give up for the night, forcing myself to be satisfied with what effort I have made and the energy expended. Visions of the perfect Jalousie fill my head: juicy, luscious nectarines, their ripe summer sweetness hidden pale pink and feminine inside a delicate trellis of crispy, flaky puff pastry, slats that resemble the old jalousie blinds of our grandmother’s front windows revealing just a hint of what lies within. And I dream of pastry.

I awake the next morning refreshed and newly confident. Nectarines washed and lovingly patted dry…sliced and dusted with sugar. Puff pastry sliced and rolled, chilled to perfection and I am thrilled and excited. I cut and trim, brush and bake and watch through the oven window with the wonder of a child. And I have done it! As we were pleasantly surprised at our own courage and fortitude in the face of something so daunting as our weeklong bike trip, as astonished as we were at our own patience and resilience, thus am I enchanted and amazed and rather overwhelmed by the success and beauty of my Nectarine Jalousie. Filled so simply with sweet, ripe fruit of summer and a dash of cinnamon and sugar, this is simplicity at its best, the gorgeous pastry a showcase for the nectarines, plums, peaches, apricots, whatever summer stone fruit you wish to choose, yet so much more impressive than the humble, homely tart. So push up your sleeves and tackle the adventure along with me…

I am sharing this wonderful Nectarine Jalousie with lovely Sukaina of the gorgeous blog Sips and Spoonfuls who is hosting this month’s Monthly Mingle for Meeta. Sukaina has chosen the timely theme of Stone Fruit. Perfect!

I am so proud and excited to announce that I am to be a speaker at Foodista’s International Food Blogger Conference in New Orleans the weekend of August 26 – 28! I will be presenting Writing about Food and Culture. Please let me know if you will be attending, as I would love to meet you!



NECTARINE JALOUSIE TART with homemade puff pastry

PUFF PASTRY or PÂTE FEUILLETÉE
Yield: 2 ½ pounds (1 kilo) dough

Remember that the refrigerator is your best friend (thanks @DorieGreenspan) when it comes to buttery puff pastry. Refrigerate the dough after every 2 turns unless the weather or your kitchen is warm and the butter begins to melt, then refrigerate after each roll/fold/turn sequence for up to 30 minutes.

2-1/2 cups (12.2 oz/ 354 g) unbleached all-purpose flour (type 55)
1-1/4 cups (5.0 oz/ 142 g) cake flour (regular French flour)
1 tbsp. salt (you can cut this by half for a less salty dough or for sweet preparations)
1-1/4 cups (10 fl oz/ 300 ml) ice water
1 pound (16 oz/ 454 g) very cold unsalted butter

FOR THE RECIPE INSTRUCTIONS AND STEP-BY-STEP PHOTO ILLUSTRATIONS PLEASE LINK HERE TO MY POST ON PUFF PASTRY.

NECTARINE JALOUSIE

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C).

1/2 of your batch of puff pastry
About 4 or 5 ripe nectarines for half a batch of puff pastry
½ tsp ground cinnamon
About 2 Tbs granulated brown sugar
1 egg, lightly beaten, for egg wash

Wash and pat dry your nectarines. Slice into wedges or rounds (as I did).

Remove your puff pastry from the refrigerator where it has been chilling. With a sharp knife, slice the dough in half, wrap up one half and return to the fridge for using later for another tart whether sweet or savory. Slice the half you have kept out into two equal pieces.

On a floured work surface, Roll out one piece of dough into a square or rectangle about 1/8 inch (3 mm) or only slightly thicker. Make sure the dough is evenly flat and the same thickness. Carefully transfer the sheet of dough to a parchment-lined baking sheet. (Make sure your baking sheet is either much wider and larger than the Jalousie or has a lip all around it as there is always the risk of juice leaking out of the tart.)

Line up your nectarine slices or wedges either overlapping or close together depending on how thick they are leaving about 3/4 inch (2 cm) edge all around. Dust with cinnamon and sprinkle rather liberally with the sugar? Gently brush the edge all around lightly with water.

Roll out the second piece of puff pastry dough to the same thickness, width and length. Very carefully, fold it in two lengthwise, matching the edges, being careful not to press together so the sides stick together – you want to be able to easily open it up again. Using a very sharp knife (dipping in flour helps) cut a series of parallel slits about ½ inch wide, leaving a ¾-inch wide edge (see photo). Very carefully unfold and place on top of the nectarine-filled base dough. Match the edges all around and then press the top and bottom rims together to seal. Using a sharp knife or pizza cutter, trim the edge all around evenly (place all scraps back on top of the wrapped dough in the refrigerator) then press the edges again. You can press the tines of the fork gently into the dough edges.

Brush the surface of the dough – both the edges and the slats – with lightly beaten egg.

Bake for about 30 minutes or until the pastry is a deep golden brown and flaky, even the sides.

The juices should be bubbling through the slatted top. Serve warm with whipped cream, ice cream or simply as is.

Read more »