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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PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED TOMATOES AND PARMESAN SCONES

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY...


Fall rain is somehow different from summer rain. June and July were unusually chilly, the days of bright sun alternating with dreary gray, intermittent with rain. We stayed crouched in front of the television, waiting impatiently to begin living the walks and outings, the promises of summer, as we usually do this time of year. And then, as quickly as it disappeared, the sun would make a return appearance and we would enjoy a few more days of lovely weather, as if the rain simply rushed through to cleanse and refresh. Then off I flew to the States where I was greeted by the scorching heat, heat seeping under my skin, clothing pressing to my body like unwanted hands holding tight, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps each time I stepped over the threshold. The heat in Oman was heavier on the skin, pressing, harassing, choking, all the more so for the long sleeves we wore. Short bursts outside followed necessarily by cooling breaks indoors or in the Gulf breeze, icy lemon mint drink in hand.

Gorgeous, welcoming days of autumn fluttered around me upon my return to France. Comforting, cajoling with the promise of long strolls followed by picnics, moods refreshed. Yet since this weekend we sit shivering in the damp chill of the apartment, Marty pacing back and forth between hallway and living room searching desperately for a much-needed and expected ray of sunlight splashing across the carpet, his usual spot for a snooze. To no avail. We scooch on an extra layer of sweaters, sauté onions to be slipped into simmering broth sweetened by warm, plump golden raisins and ladle the liquid gold over steaming couscous, cupping our hands around the toasty bowl as we breathe in the fragrant wisps of comfort. The rain of autumn is unrelenting in its harshness, its all-encompassing moodiness envelops us in dark thoughts, our limbs heavy, our brains soft. No glimmer of hope in a fall drizzle, no hint of sun waiting patiently in the wings. We stare out the window and think that it will never, ever end.


Today, as I glance out at the pewter sky, rooftops hazy in the thick, heavy gloom, I try and conjure up autumns past. Our trip to Italy looms on the horizon, and I am sorely praying for a truly Tuscan autumn. Leaves turning to gold and burnished red, flaming orange pumpkins, porcini and chestnuts in hues of chocolate snuggled side by side with deep purple figs in a festive embrace. Autumn’s colors are romantically deep and moody, the rustle of leaves and the breeze tickling our senses with mystery. Oh, we had rain in Italy, torrential rain, but I choose to remember the beauty that surrounded me on those special days of cool sunshine, impeccably dressed men and women hurrying down Corso Vercelli or heaps upon heaps of artichokes green, jade, violet threatening to tumble from market stalls; the heady scent of Parmesan in tremendous wheels, smoked scamorza and taleggio as Franco and Vittorio shout Buon Giorno! Come Stai? from the brightly lit area behind the chilly cases; as the tortellini and ravioli turn to pumpkin and mushroom and deep purple grapes hang in elegant bunches from the dark foliage spread across our terrace. Yes, the furs and quilted jackets come out, the sun is brilliant and the smell of chestnuts haunts us from every street corner. That is my autumn.

But as the weather turns unexpectedly in its precipitation, I wonder at the urgency, the need to skip entirely over gentle summer, an entire season. I long not for the searing, seething heat of New Orleans, Florida or Oman, but the quiet warmth of the ideal summer, of long days with windows flung open, feet up, our moods as relaxed and calm as the weather. I dream not of a torrid, aggressive, sweltering canicule as we have know so well in another life, but a temperate, peaceful turning towards autumn. Suitcases emptied of beachwear and shorts; sandals flung into the closet as sunglasses are tucked into etuis, I have been digging out thicker knits, shrugging on fleece and trying to squeeze into trousers not worn for a year. Happily, we drive down to Italy so I can stuff my biggest suitcase with a wide selection of summery, fall and cold weather outfits, shoes and coats galore, whatever I might possibly need. But I pray for a cold, crisp, bright autumn. And the food that goes with it.


But for now, until them, I hold onto summer in the kitchen. The bright reds, greens and brilliant white of the clean, fresh foods of a hot weather season bring cheer to the gloom, warmth to the icy bleakness and visions of Mediterranean islands. Slow roasted cherry tomatoes are fruity and smoky, peas sweet and tender, aromatic mint a breath of outdoors, feta adding saltiness and zing to salads, pizzas and pasta. I bring the three together in a dish to warm us up on a chilly day in a damp apartment and it works wonders! Risotto is soothing and comforting and I pop the traditional Risi e Bisi (Rice and Kisses), Pea Risotto, by adding lots of chopped fresh mint and crumbled feta to the mix instead of parsley and Parmesan and serve it with sweet, tangy roasted cherry tomatoes, an extra flavor boost. Served with fluffy scones rich with Parmesan cheese and a bottle of red wine and the meal is complete. And we sit back, warmed and satisfied and dream of Italy.


Don’t miss my latest article on Huffington Post Food in which I analyze The Disappearing Pause Déjeuner, a veritable family tradition in France.

And if you haven’t yet voted, there is still time. Life’s a Feast is up for a Blogger’s Choice Award in the category Best Food Blog. Every vote counts and I would greatly appreciate yours!


Last but certainly not least, visit our new From Plate to Page website. Keep up to date on our workshops and don’t miss one single guest post from our illustrious and talented guests, each a professional food writer, stylist or photographer, who have come to Plate to Page to generously share their story, experiences and views on the evolution of their profession.


PEA, MINT & FETA RISOTTO WITH ROASTED CHERRY TOMATOES


1 small onion, finely diced
3 Tbs (45 g) unsalted butter
1 Tbs olive oil
1 ½ - 2 cups young, tiny sweet peas, fresh or frozen
@ 5 cups (1 ½ litres) chicken or vegetable stock, warm
9 oz (250 g) round rice for risotto, Arborio, Vialone Nano or Carnaroli
Handful of chopped fresh mint
3.5 – 5 oz (100 – 150 g) chopped or crumbled Greek feta
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Firm cherry tomatoes, about 4 or 5 per person
2 Tbs olive oil
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
3 peeled and crushed (not chopped) garlic cloves
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Begin by roasting the cherry tomatoes:

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place the individual quiche tins on a baking sheet.

Stir together 2 tablespoons olive oil with 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar in a glass baking dish or pie plate. Season with a little salt and pepper and add 2 peeled and crushed garlic cloves. Toss the cherry tomatoes into the flavored oil and roast for about 20 minutes or until the skins are split and shriveled and the tomatoes start to show signs of roasting (a bit golden). If you like, turn on the overhead grill for the last couple of minutes to color. Remove from the oven and allow to cool while preparing the rest.

Prepare the Risotto:

Heat half the butter and the olive oil in a large skillet. Add the chopped onion and, stirring, cook for a couple of minutes until softened and just starting to turn golden. Add the peas and a few tablespoons of the warm stock and cook for a few minutes to defrost the frozen peas or up to 10 minutes for fresh peas until tender.

Add the rice and toss with the shallots and peas until all the grains are coated in oil. Cook for a minute or two until the grains of rice become more translucent. Pour on two ladlefuls of broth and cook, stirring continuously and gently, until the liquid is almost completely absorbed. Continue cooking the risotto over medium heat, adding 2 ladlefuls of broth at a time, stirring constantly and allowing each addition of liquid to be almost absorbed before adding more broth. This should take between 20 and 25 minutes total cooking time from the moment the rice is added to the peas.

A few minutes before the rice is done, stir in a large handful of chopped fresh mint and the chopped or crumbled feta, more or less as you please. Taste and add a bit of salt only as needed – the stock and the feta are both salty so taste to see if any additional salt is necessary. Add pepper.

When the risotto is finished, the rice should be meltingly tender, the risotto creamy and smooth. Remove from the heat and stir in the remaining butter. Serve with the warm roasted cherry tomatoes and the Parmesan Scones.


PARMESAN SCONES
Adapted from the Sept-Oct 2011 French Saveurs magazine


10 ½ oz (300 g) flour
1 sachet (0.4 oz/11 g) baking powder
1 tsp salt
7/8 cup (200 ml) heavy cream
3 ½ oz (100 g) grated Parmesan
2 Tbs milk for brushing the tops of the scones

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Blend the flour, baking powder, salt and grated Parmesan cheese together in a mixing bowl and make a well in the center. Pour the cream into the well and, using a fork, stir together rapidly until the dry ingredients are moistened and the dough begins pulling together. Scrape out onto a floured surface and knead quickly until the dough is smooth and homogenous.

Roll out the dough to a thickness of about ¾ - 1 inch but no more (about 1 ½ - 2 cm) and use a biscuit cutter to cut rounds about 2 inches wide (about 5 cm). Place the rounds of dough on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, gather the rest of the dough together, roll out again, and finish cutting into rounds.

Lightly brush the tops of each scone with milk and bake for 15 minutes until puffed up and the tops are golden. Remove from the oven and allow to cool just a bit before serving. With butter, of course.

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ROASTED TOMATO, FETA AND ROCKET QUICHE

STARTING OVER – STEP 3 (the marriage)

How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.
- Oscar Wilde

July. Approaching yet another wedding anniversary and my mind wanders back over 24 years of bliss and, well, truth be told, not so bliss. I am often astonished at the comments some friends make to me about my relationship with my husband, confounded that they somehow hold up my marriage as an object of desire, a model of the ever-elusive "perfect marriage". Nothing in this world is perfect and I am bound to concede my profound belief that everything is as one makes it. I try and hover around the truth in these pages, in the stories that I weave for my readers. Maybe my truth is kissed by the fairytale and filtered through a diaphanous veil of romance, but it is undoubtedly the world in which we live. 24 years is a long time to work on anything, whether sculpture, architectural creation or novel, a long time in which to hammer and chip away, write, erase and rewrite, mold and tweak and reshape. Throw into the formula two uncontrollable sons, several odd dogs, a Bohemian lifestyle, a passion for adventure and the unusual, 3 languages, 2 religions and an innumerable number of nationalities and cultures and you have quite a job cut out for you.


Life is a bumpy road full of potholes, unexpected detours, miles of unattractive strip malls and the occasional, disagreeable risk of being pulled over by the cops. Yet there are also long, luxurious stretches flavored with a spectacular landscape enjoyed to the dulcet strains of jazz floating from the radio or, better yet, the invigorating beat of our favorite rock-n-roll station. Hands firmly on the wheel, eyeglasses perched on the end of one's nose and window rolled down just low enough to allow for the warm breeze to sweep across one's cheek, we move briskly forward, no U-turns allowed, punctuated by the intermittent, impromptu stop for a lunch or coffee break or a refreshing nap. We follow the road and we follow the rules; we glance at the road signs and at the map spread out on the passenger seat. Not always quite sure where we are going or what we will find when we get there, we simply try and achieve our goal of reaching our destination in safety and happiness. Life is a wild ride, yes indeed, and JP and I have mapped out a route, a crisscross of highway and tiny side roads, traveling through cities and country towns both, often ad libbing when the mood strikes, certainly hoping for great adventure and a picturesque, soothing atmosphere and stress-free ride.

So as I sit and ponder this thing called marriage, and ours in particular, I wonder what makes this a success. From the very beginning, we spent more than the average amount of time discussing our children: education, language, religion, our place in society. We broke it all down into tiny pieces, analyzed and argued, pontificated, scrutinized and dissected each and every idea and thought. This didn't particularly make raising our kids easier, it gave us neither perfect children, nor did it make us perfect parents, but we can say with confidence that it made us more aware and opened up the door to creativity and innovation, alleviating the worries just a tad and kept us grounded as a family, unafraid to make unconventional choices.

You don't marry someone you can live with,
you marry the person who you cannot live without.
- Anonymous

After the first few bumps on the marriage trail, we began applying this process to our relationship and, truth be told, the harder the ride, the tougher the road, the closer we became and the more we realized that talking together and opening up to the other helped pad us from the brick walls and the tears. Then came the periods of closeness, long passages in which we found ourselves alone together full time, face to face, shopping, cooking, eating, working side by side on our individual projects and taking breaks hand in hand. As many friends have confided, staying home together, spending every waking and sleeping moment together within the same walls is one dangerous situation. There is the risk of stepping on each others' toes, pushing for space and messing up the others' daily routine leading to anger, frustration and fights. Or discovering that there is little to talk about and boredom sets in. Or restlessness. So how is it possible that we have avoided the discord and discontent, the indifference and strife? Or if not avoided it completely, at least accorded it its rightful place and no more.

Is it a secret that you are looking for? Look closely and you will see that it is no secret at all. He and I began this voyage in an odd and unusual way, unconventional from the get-go. And now we are once again on the threshold of starting over and finding ourselves here, reworking the itinerary of this grand voyage, ripping up the map and drawing our own. Home together full time. And it is the simplest of things that makes it work: enjoying each others' company; finding the funny side of everything and laughing as much as possible; sharing the same dream and dreaming big! "You are so lucky," friends tell me. No, luck has little to do with it. Destiny, fate, I am indeed a believer. But like a great recipe for a favorite dish, one must work awfully hard; select each ingredient thoughtfully; chop, blend, stir and simmer with love, care and attention; add lots of spice and pizzazz and serve it up with pride and pleasure. And, above all, enjoy every tiny bit. And don't be afraid to splatter a bit on the floor or down the front of your shirt (or his) every now and then.

"A Straw for the Thirsty" by Richard Lillis, from Private Detective Stories, 1945.

One thing that I absolutely love about having him at home full time now is that he has taken over the kitchen, cooking almost all the meals. Unless, of course, there is a particular dish I am in the mood to make. This week I prepared these delightful, luscious and utterly delicious individual quiches just for the two of us. I so wanted to use up the last of my puff pastry for something savory and fell back on our favorite flavor combination: sweet roasted cherry tomatoes, tangy feta and the sharp bite of rocket (arugula, rucola, roquette). I blended it all into a creamy quiche batter and baked them in my delicate, buttery puff pastry. Tiny, individual quiches are the perfect portion served with a cool, crisp salad followed by fresh fruit. Side by side in front of a good movie, of course.

Have you reserved your tickets for the International Food Blogger Conference in New Orleans, August 25 – 28 yet? If not, don't miss what promises to be a fabulous weekend and experience. I am proud to be speaking about a subject very close to my heart: Food & Culture.


INDIVIDUAL ROASTED CHERRY TOMATOES, FETA, ROCKET AND PINE NUT QUICHE

Follow the basic indications and my links to previously offered recipes and create your own.


One savory (unsweetened) pie crust recipe (recipe and directions here)

-OR-

¼ (for 6) to ½ (for 12) recipe puff pastry (recipe and directions here)

Basic Quiche Filling: for 12 x 4 ½-inch quiches
(make 6 then refrigerate the rest of the batter for a day or two for a new batch with different flavors)

3 large eggs *
1 cup heavy cream, light cream or part cream/part milk *
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Dash nutmeg

* for 6 quiche use 2 large eggs + ½ cup cream

Cherry tomatoes (2 or 3 per quiche)
3 ½ oz (100 g) feta cheese, coarsely crumbled or chopped (for 6 quiches)
Handful of rocket (arugula, rucola, roquette), coarsely chopped
Handful pine nuts

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place the individual quiche tins on a baking sheet.

Start by roasting the cherry tomatoes:


Stir together 2 tablespoons olive oil with 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar in a glass baking dish or pie plate. Season with a little salt and pepper and add 2 peeled and crushed garlic cloves. Toss the cherry tomatoes into the flavored oil and roast for about 20 minutes or until the skins are split and shriveled and the tomatoes start to show signs of roasting (a bit golden). Remove from the oven and allow to cool while preparing the rest.

Prepare the quiches:


Roll out the dough on a floured work surface and line the tins, gently lifting in and pressing down the dough. Trim the edges. Refrigerate the dough-lined tins until ready to fill and bake. This can also be done ahead of time.

Measure out the cream or cream/milk in a large measuring cup then whisk in the eggs until well blended. Season with salt, pepper and a dash of nutmeg. Doing this in a measuring cup or glass with a spout or pouring lip is ideal for pouring into individual or mini quiche/tartlet tins avoiding a mess.

Sprinkle a layer of chopped rocket (arugula, rucola, roquette) then chopped or crumbled feta into each of the tartlet shells. Not too much as each is an overpowering flavor. Snuggle 2 or 3 roasted cherry tomatoes into the rocket and feta in each shell. Now whisk the quiche batter so it is blended and pour carefully into the shells on top of the rocket and feta, pouring around the cherry tomatoes to keep the tops of the tomatoes batter free. Fill up each shell only about 2/3 or ¾ full as it puffs up and rises as it bakes. Sprinkle each quiche with pine nuts.

Slide the whole baking tray with the filled quiche tins into the oven and bake for about 40 minutes or until the filling is puffed up and set. The top – or at least the edges – should be a deep golden color.


Quiche are fabulous hot from the oven, warm or room temperature. Or even chilled. Perfect for dinner, lunch, picnic or brunch. I recently made 2-inch mini quiches for a cocktail party filling three ways: gorgonzola + apple, cherry tomatoes + goat cheese, bacon + gruyère.

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