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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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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VEGETABLE RISOTTO & CHOCOLATE SPONGE CAKE

OFF TO MARKET WE GO


Our final day in Lyon. We woke up to sunshine pouring in between the cracks in the curtains and rolled out of bed and down to the dining room for breakfast. Over coffee, orange juice and our newspapers, we discussed the only one must-do-today on our list before heading off to Annecy: the market. And not just any market. Les Halles de Lyon Paul Bocuse, the nec plus ultra of this city’s markets, the Mecca for gourmets and gourmands alike. We had seen the rest of the city, the archeology museum and the old Roman ruins, the bourgeois luxury of Centreville, we had eaten in the bouchons and wandered in and out of traboules, we basked in the atmosphere of this old, glorious city and now we had a full morning for discovering Les Halles.


You see, we are market fiends. Wherever we travel, whether small town, country village or cosmopolitan metropolis, we search out the market: sprawling across a paved parking lot, tiny booths gathered in the town square or multi-storied covered complex, we are drawn as moths to a flame. We collect markets as others collect stamps or coins, with the same glee as teens collect autographs, the same satisfaction with which vamps collect broken hearts. While other tourists are sitting in sidewalk cafes or searching out the famous monuments, we, camera in hand, are heading towards the market.

Budapest, Bilbao or Brest, we adore meandering the alleyways, discovering the unusual ingredients, the local specialties. Most of our summer in the tiny, picturesque port town of Le Conquet on the Brittany coast was spent wandering in and out of the noisy market stalls, buying scoops of bigorneaux, bulots, huge, plump crabs right out of the ocean. Throwing in a sweet kouign amann or slices of dense, prune-studded far we had for the perfect meal. The vast three-story Central Market in Budapest, vibrant and full of fabulous treasures, was as exciting an attractions as the gorgeous, jewel box of an Opera House where we heard Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte, entranced, or the Old World Tea Salons with their velvet chairs, gilded fixtures, carpeted floors, the rich, thick slices of Dobos Torte and cherry tart eaten amid the ghosts of aristocrats past. Our final day in Bilbao, that glorious city of Basque cuisine and contemporary art, was spent at the Ensanche Market in the old part of town, staring at slices of blood red cured meats, chains of sausages, delicate powdered sugar cookies inviting us from behind their glass windows. Markets. We simply can never get enough.

So is it any wonder that our last, our final morning in the glorious, gastronomic city of Lyon was spent at the Les Halles Paul Bocuse, the wonderful enclosed marketplace? Nothing is left of the original mid-19th century Les Halles des Cordeliers, the covered market built to regroup many of the cities fast-disappearing markets. The modern glass building now the home of just under 60 commerçants and restaurants was finished in the early 70s and has evolved into the haut lieu of la gastronomie lyonnaise, rather surprising when one steps into the glass and cement building. If one doesn’t take too close a look at the stalls, if one only glances around at the basic lines, walls, floors, ceilings, bathrooms, one could easily imagine that one is standing in an average American high school gymnasium!

But begin your voyage… wander up and down the alleys, the multitude of alleys, it seems to go on forever, take that first, quick glance at the elegant glass cases filled with perfect rounds of every imaginable type of cheese sitting in picture-perfect straw baskets, the rows upon rows of marinated vegetables, olives, salads, perfectly aligned sardines glistening in their tiny individual containers, the urchins, shrimps, clams, crabs, the garnet red meats, raw, cured and smoked, stacked up or spread out in mouthwatering temptation, the huge bunches of sausages dangling from shiny aluminum racks like so many ballgowned debutantes waiting for the next dance. And the pastries, luscious, amazingly intricate, graciously decorated pastries sitting proudly, flaunting their beauty, trying to outshine the perfect little chocolates nestled in rows beside them.


I want one of everything! JP pulls me over after our first run through and sits me down on a bar stool and orders us coffees. It is too early for lunch and a snack he won’t hear of! He has his heart set on escargots and he is loathe to ruin his appetite, and as guardian of mine, he will not let me fill up on anything before that plate of steaming, fragrant snails is set before me, the better to savor every single mouthful.


Coffee cup drained, I leave JP to his newspaper purloined from the barman and stroll back and forth between the merchants, snapping pictures, pressing my nose against the panes of glass as I oooh and ahhhh over each luscious delicacy, each perfect pastry, breath in the heady, briny odor of seafood, the pungency of the cheeses, the spicy scent of the sausages. He finally joins me and pulls me away from my overzealous admiration and informs me that we must choose the best place to eat lunch. We walk back and forth between the tiny restaurants hidden behind bars and seafood displays, read menu after menu as he tries to remember what he has read about each spot. We find ourselves in front of La Maison Rousseau, all wood paneling, brass railings and an air of the sea, le marin, about it. It looks promising but it is still too early, no diners with plates piled high with seafood or sipping bowls of steaming bouillabaisse to inform us. But he believes he has heard great things of this restaurant from friends so in we go.


Giggling and excited like kids expecting a surprise, we order our escargots and a glass of chilled white wine apiece. The much-awaited plates are finally placed before us and the heavenly, divine, fragrant garlic-infused steam rises and coils up around our heads making us giddy. Each plump, chewy snail is tucked inside his own golden swirl of a shell, bathing in the rich buttery jus, le beurre d’escargots, the garlicky, parsley green butter created for these babies, a perfect marriage. We delicately scoop out each thick snail careful to avoid being spit on by boiling butter, and slide it onto our tongue. Soft pieces of freshly baked bread are used to soak up more of the golden green liquid and are popped into our mouth. The chilled, slightly pungent bite of the wine is cool respite from the zesty, rich, sinful flavor of the snails. This is truly our idea of decadence!


And what more perfect way to end our wonderful few days in this magical city?

Here are two wonderful recipes, true comfort food in my home, a way to cleanse the system after indulging in richer, heavier more decadent fare. The perfect, flavorful risotto made with a seasonal selection of vegetables, some steamed, some roasted, some sautéed. And finished off with a handful of freshly grated, tangy, salty Parmesan cheese. And follow it with a slice of one of my favorite cakes, a light, tender chocolate sponge cake, the perfect backdrop for a dollop of freshly whipped cream, one perfect scoop of your favorite ice cream or sorbet or simply served with a tumble of berries. Or plain, just as it is, with coffee for breakfast the next day.


VEGETABLE RISOTTO

9 oz (250 g) round rice for risotto, Arborio, Vialone Nano or Carnaroli
@ 5 cups (1 ½ l) warm chicken or vegetable stock
2 shallots, finely diced
1 small to medium-sized carrot, trimmed, peeled and finely diced
1 red pepper
1 zucchini
½ bunch thin green asparagus
½ cup of oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained and patted with a paper towel then sliced into strips
½ tsp chopped dried thyme leaves and 1/4 tsp chopped dried rosemary
2 Tbs freshly chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Butter or margarine and olive oil
½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese or more to taste + to serve

Trim the asparagus and cook in salted boiling water for 3 – 5 minutes until tender but not mushy. They can be slightly crunchy if you prefer. Drain and rinse under cold water then pat dry. Slice into 1-inch long (2 cm) chunks and set aside.

Trim and seed the red pepper and cut into 6 or 8 chunks and roast in the oven under the grill until charred and tender. Remove from the oven and slip the roasted slices of pepper into a small plastic sandwich bag and leave for just a few minutes: the heat will condense and the moisture will get under the skin and make slipping off the skin easier. Remove from the sandwich bag and, using a sharp paring knife, slip off the skin. Cut the tender pepper “meat” into largish bite- sized pieces. Put aside.

Trim and cut the zucchini into large dice. Place a tablespoon of olive oil and a knob of margarine in a large skillet. When the oil is hot, add the zucchini dice and, tossing often, sauté until browned. Remove from the pan and add about 2 tablespoons butter or margarine and an equal amount of olive oil. When the butter is melted, add the diced shallots and carrot and, tossing and stirring, cook until softened.

Add the rice and stir so all of the rice is coated with oil. Cook for a few minutes, stirring constantly, until the rice is translucent. Add the strips of sun-dried tomatoes. Now begin adding the warm stock, 2 ladles at a time, stirring the rice up from the bottom. As soon as the rice has absorbed almost all of the stock, add another 2 ladles and continue cooking, stirring constantly.

After about 15 minutes, add the zucchini and the herbs and continue cooking. After an additional 5 minutes gently stir in the red pepper and the asparagus pieces. Continue to cook until the rice is very tender and creamy, adding more stock as needed until the rice is perfect risotto consistency: creamy not al dente.

Remove the risotto from the heat and stir in about ½ cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese or more or less to taste. If you like your risotto creamier and richer, simply stir in 2 tablespoons of butter or margarine until melted and well blended.

Serve hot with a bowl of extra grated Parmesan on the side.


This is a year-round dish and you can use any seasonal vegetables. Either pre-roast, sauté or steam your vegetables or add at the beginning of the recipe so they can cook at the same time as the rice.

PERFECT CHOCOLATE SPONGE CAKE


1 1/4 cups flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 eggs, separated, preferably at room temperature
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup cold water
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 325°F (160°C).

In a small bowl, blend the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and salt.

Separate the eggs. Place the whites in a mixing bowl (plastic is better than glass for beating whites) with either 3/4 teaspoon cream of tartar or, as I do, a few grains of salt and 1 or 2 drops of lemon juice. Either will stabilize your whites. Set aside.

Put the yolks in a very large mixing bowl. Beat them with an electric beater on high speed for a few minutes until very thick and pale yellow. Add the sugar gradually and continue beating for another couple of minutes. It should be pale and very thick.

Add the dry ingredients to the yolk/sugar mixture, alternating with the cold water and vanilla (dry-wet-dry-wet-dry), beating after each addition until blended, scraping down the sides as necessary.

Beat the whites until stiff peaks hold (you can reserve a couple of tablespoons of the sugar and add them gradually to the whites towards the end, after soft peaks start forming. This will really stiffen the whites).

Delicately fold the whites into the cake batter: begin by folding in about a third of the whites in order to lighten the heavy batter so as not to “break” the whites (knock out the air). Then fold in another third, then the final third. Don’t overdo it or, again, you will knock out too much air.

Pour into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan (preferably with removable bottom). Bake in the preheated oven for 55 - 60 minutes until set. If you think it is done, if the cake is risen high and seems baked through simply press the top very lightly. If you hear a foamy sound – don’t worry, if your hear or feel that foamy sensation you will know it – simply let the cake bake for another couple of minutes. If the cake is not perfectly baked through it risks falling as it cools. Cool inverted before carefully lifting the center ring out of the pan then loosening and lifting the cake (with help!) off of the bottom and placing on a serving plate.

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QUINOA RISOTTI WITH ASPARAGUS and Parmesan Tuiles

DAY 1: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE…

Quinoa Risotto with Asparagus and Parmesan Tuiles

He’ll do whatever it takes, pay any price, to be able to savor the sight of me lacing up hiking boots, sliding into my padded, taupe-colored coat and have me tromp along beside him out in the country, in the fresh air, wind whipping my hair, bringing color to my cheeks. He has sacrificed many pleasures at the alter of his love for me, abandoned days at the beach, splashing through the waves, hikes up mountainsides in the chill summer air, camping along rivers’ edges, an ice cold dip in the sparkling waters before starting his day. This city boy born and bred who fell in love with Mother Nature, who revels in her wild beauty, has given up his first love to one raised a mere stone’s throw from the beach, one whose childhood was spent running barefoot in the hot, hot sun under clear blue skies untarnished by the glare of city buildings, a view all the way to the ocean from her back windows yet one who prefers city to country, bustling streets to tranquil Edens, one who loathes camping and water, one who failed miserably as a Girl Scout.

L'Auberge des Montagnes, Pailherols, France

So he’ll promise me romantic country inns, elegantly rustic, woo me with gourmet meals, meals set out on pristine white tablecloths, candlelight flickering in crystal wine glasses. He’ll hint of luxurious desserts, sumptuous chocolate treats under a froth of Chantilly or the satin shimmer of the perfect crème brulée hidden under her crispy, fragile, pale gold wrapping. He’ll whisper of quiet strolls over meadows hand in hand, picnics rustled up in village markets, delicious spreads of local delicacies eaten among the flowers. He’ll find the perfect spot and lure me with glossy photos and romance in his eyes. And I’m taken in.

Leaving the impersonal barrenness of the highway, we wind our way up through towns once busy, passing now-crumbling hotels and boarded up bistros once offering the pre-autoroute traveler respite from the long, snowy journey, our road growing ever narrower, spotting cows here and there whenever the shady coolness and wild beauty open up to clear green pastures, cows chewing contentedly in the sunshine and warmth, and we find ourselves in a picture-postcard village boasting artisan cheeses and promising a luxurious, peaceful haven. Our hotel offers us a quiet welcome, all warm chocolate browns and cozy country atmosphere right out of the pages of a women’s magazine, “charming” and “quaint” fluttering through my brain. We settle into a room of rough-hewn wood and blood red calico, heart-shaped throw pillows edged in lace soon tossed off the bed, abandoned. The window is flung open and we breathe in the lusty mountain air.


We wake each morning to bright sunshine and clear skies and, after breakfast, lace up those hiking boots, slide into the padded coats, grab camera and notebook and step outside. Step outside to the sun on our upturned faces, soft blue skies and that heady, sour smell of cows. Breathe in and welcome it though it may bite, sting just a bit, but don’t you know that those cows produce the wonderful Salers and Cantal cheeses of the region, and when you look out over the paysage, the countryside, over the rocky terrain and the grass in muted shades of browns and greens you see how the sharp, nutty, wild taste of these cheeses is born of this, the flavors reflecting both the scents and the wildness of what you are staring at and you understand how nature works. And up we walk, pausing occasionally to take in the beauty or wander under barbed wire to visit one or another ancient, rickety buron, the sheds built in the middle of cow pastures, shelters for both cows and farmers during the cold, snowy winters of this mountainous region, a place where the cows could be milked and that milk turned into cheese. All are empty in this beautiful spring season and some seem abandoned, all rotting wood and crumbling stone. The lush grass and the dirt paths are dotted with the first signs of the coming summer, tiny crocuses in white and mauve pushing their heads up through the ground drawn to the sun and warmth and we try to tiptoe around them, fearful of crushing even one. And we walk up and up, nearly to the snow, the last spots of snow loathe to let go of winter.


And down again. Mr. Nature leads me weaving through fields and pastures, over hills and tiny rivulets running clear and cold, as he rambles on, telling tales of his time working in this region, recounting the history of the region, and we chatter on about life and travels, politics and family. We peep through cracks in the old wooden doors of the burons, stop whenever we hear a bird, and, now tired and hungry we try and wend our way back. And notice that we’ve wandered a bit off course as we shade our eyes and peer off into the distance to villages on some distant horizon. We soon stumble upon a small group of houses and see a man and a woman rebuilding a stone wall edging their property. “What’s the quickest way to get back to the village?” “Oh circle around behind the farmhouse and just walk straight across the fields. It’s all right! Go ahead! Tout droit!” So we do. Down, down, down and then we come face to face with barbed wire, a line of trees and brambles and a river. No friendly, quaint little rivulet but a river. Ok, maybe just a few yards wide but a river nonetheless. Once, twice, three times we try. Under barbed wire, over barbed wire, pushing aside brambles and breaking off branches and hopping from stone to stone yet realizing too late each time that this path will get us nowhere. Once, twice, three times and Jamie is getting hungrier and grouchier and grumbling rude remarks under her breath as she tries to put on a brave face and remain calm. Finally after one, two, three failed expeditions to cross the river, she finally blows her top, gathers herself together and decides that it is time to take charge. Her inner Girl Scouts kicks in and she, shoes sticky with mud and cow pie, she stomps back through the field and along the river, husband trailing after her, until she finds what looks to her the best solution. Pushing the barbed wire out of her way, tossing her backpack across the water ahead of her, grabbing a branch, she hurtles herself over the water and onto the other side. Sliding under another barbed fence she calls “Here! Over here! And don’t argue just follow me, dammit!” And we are over! Only one more field, one barb-wired-edged stone wall to face and we are homeward bound. Calm again, as calm as the breeze.


A quick stop at the local bar for sandwiches of thick slices of local Cantal nestling in a soft, chewy baguette, we are back at the hotel and pulling off boots and sliding into bed for an afternoon nap.

And the afternoon slides lazily into evening and another meal of local specialties like Pounti aux pruneaux and Cromesqui de cantal followed by a cloud of fromage frais under a tomato coulis served with smoked salmon, perfectly cooked fish, veal or beef and a delicious dessert. A clink of wine glasses and the calm and tranquility of our day roll over us. And off we tumble to bed happy and looking forward to the following day.


QUINOA RISOTTO WITH ASPARAGUS, Parmesan Tuiles and grilled Coppa
From mai 2010 issue of Saveurs. Translated and adapted by Jamie

A recipe to lighten the load and cleanse body and soul after a wonderful, food-filled vacation. I am sending this to Ivonne of Cream Puffs in Venice for Magazine Monday.

9 oz (250 g) quinoa
2 Tbs olive oil
1 onion, diced
½ cup (125 ml) dry white wine
4 cups (1 litre) chicken stock or bouillon
7 oz (200 g) asparagus tips or @17 oz (500 g) thin green asparagus *
2 – 4 Tbs (30 – 60 g) unsalted butter
¼ - ½ cup (20 – 40 g) freshly grated Parmesan or to taste, a bit extra to serve
Salt and freshly ground black pepper


1 thin slice coppa or speck person (3 or 4)
½ cup (40 g) or more freshly grated Parmesan for Tuiles


* I cooked the 500 g of asparagus, used the tips in the risotto and added the tender stalks cut into 1-inch (2 cm) pieces to a salad the following day.

Prepare the bouillon or stock and keep it warm. Pour one wineglass of wine for the risotto and one for you to sip as you cook. Peel and dice the onion.

Trim the asparagus if you have whole stalks: break off the hard bottom inch or two then, using a paring knife or vegetable peeler very carefully just trim off the tough outer skin on the bottom of the remaining stalk. Bring a large pot filled with a few inches of water to the boil, add salt and boil the asparagus for 3 minutes. Drain and rinse with cool water.

Prepare the Parmesan Tuiles:
Heat a large non-stick pan or crêpe pan over medium/medium-high heat. While it is heating up, place piles – a tablespoon or two depending on the desired diameter of the Tuiles – of grated Parmesan cheese on the pan surface leaving space between the piles for them to spread. Using the back of a soup spoon, simply press the grated cheese out into a circle keeping the cheese a little thickly layered so it doesn’t burn. Heat for just a few minutes: the cheese will melt and bubble joyously. As soon as the edges begin to brown, turn off the heat and allow the Tuiles to sit and cool in the pan. Do not allow them to turn brown or cook too long or the cheese will become bitter. The Tuiles will firm up as they cool. Once cooled and firm, very gently lift them up with a thin metal cake spatula and remove them to a plate.


Prepare the Grilled Coppa or Speck:
Simply heat up the non-stick pan or crêpe pan (wipe it down with a paper towel if you have made the Parmesan Tuiles first) and grill the coppa or slices of speck for a few minutes on each side. They should change color and show spots of golden brown where they touch the pan. Remove to a plate (they should also firm up once left to cool).

Prepare the Quinoa Risotto:

Rinse the quinoa under cold running water until the water runs clear. Allow to drain completely.


In a large skillet, heat the olive oil then add the diced onion and sautée for 5 minutes until soft and translucent and beginning to turn golden around the edges. Add the quinoa and stir until coated with the oil and the onions are blended in. Add the glass of white wine and stir. Allow to come to a low boil and simmer until the wine has all but been absorbed.

Begin adding the chicken stock, 2 ladles at a time, stirring to keep the quinoa from sticking. Allow the quinoa to absorb the stock and then add a couple more ladles. Continue cooking and adding stock until the quinoa is cooked through, tender though with a little bite to it, and the stock is absorbed. This should take between 20 – 25 minutes. When the quinoa is just about but not quite cooked, after about 20 minutes of cooking, slip in the asparagus points pushing them gently under the surface of the risotto, add a generous grinding of black pepper and just a dash of salt (depending on how salty your stock is).

When the quinoa is cooked through, gently stir in the butter and grated Parmesan to taste (you don’t want to overpower the delicate flavor of the asparagus). Check and adjust the seasonings.

Serve the risotto hot with one Parmesan Tuile and one slice of grilled coppa per person.


This dish easily serves 2 hungry eaters as a main course or 4 as a starter or a side dish.

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