Lamb Curry – Sautée de Mouton au Curry

SAYING GOODBYE, COMING HOME

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning 

and out of the heart of darkness comes the light. 

- Jean Giraudoux 

Husband flew down to the south of France last Monday. He joined his sisters to say a final goodbye to his mother, Madeleine. Her last wish, this simple, homey, old-fashioned woman, was to be cremated, her ashes blended with those of her husband and her brother and the ashes strewn into the wind. She was a woman who asked very little of others, who gave much, gave what she could, and her passing, though expected, was sad indeed.

I was in the kitchen with my mother-in-law shortly after JP and I had announced that we would be getting married, helping her with the dishes after a Sunday lunch and she leaned towards me and confided “We knew it was serious when he brought you home to join us for Christmas dinner; just the very act of him bringing you here to meet us and we knew. He never brings girls home!” And we bonded just like that. Of course, there was the ritual pulling out of black and white photographs of American soldiers, the army men who liberated their northern French city at the end of the war, who brought them chocolate and cigarettes and made them feel proud, happy and secure once again. The tiny photos with the signature and a personal note written across the back was an object of pride and memory for these good, grateful people and it was shown to me excitedly as they recounted tales of meeting those Americans, the only Americans they had ever met before me some forty or so years later. They were tickled pink.

And I gave them their first grandson, a gift indeed.

Baking with grandmère

Snuggles with grandmère and grandpère

They accepted me with all of my oddities, my stumbling, imperfect French, my American ways and my Jewish religion, accepted me as a welcome part of their family. Over the years, I spent innumerable weekends and vacations in their home, innumerable Sunday lunches at their table eating blanquette, poulet roti frites, pot au feu or roast beef. Innumerable summer afternoons up in the branches of the big cherry tree in their yard or my arm stuck deep into the raspberry bushes tenderly pulling off each bright red berry, playing boules, petanque with the kids, bare feet in the soft grass. Innumerable Christmases watching the boys hang decorations and tinsel on the tree, set up the tiny crèche (that my little Jewish son explained as “Marie, le bonhomme, le bébé et les animaux”…), exchanging gifts.

Life was simple and cozy chez grandmère et grandpère

What a treat for the little boys to spend holidays and vacations with grandmère and grandpère out at the house on the hill, in the lost little village of barely 300 souls surrounded by green and cows and countryside. They were spoiled as only indulgent grandparents can spoil. We were living in Italy and as soon as Clem was old enough to fly unaccompanied, at the grand old age of 4, we began sending him north. Two years later he was joined by his baby brother, the fragile one, the persnickety one. I warned Madeleine that he was a tough one to deal with, especially in all matters food. I sent her a list of his likes and dislikes and she laughed and told me not to worry, she had years of experience dealing with children. A week or so later, I called to check in, and check up on the boys. “How is Simon doing?” I asked, worried out of my mind. “Is he eating?” “Oh!”, she assured me, “I have absolutely no problem with Simon! He eats everything I give him…clean plate at every meal!” “Oh, what are you feeding him?” I asked, wondering what I had been doing wrong for all these years. “White rice! I ask him before every meal what he would like, he answers ‘rice’ and I make him rice and he cleans his plate!” she said, without a hint of irony in her voice, proud as a peacock.

In grandpère's vegetable garden with Tonton Claude

Games in the garden under the cherry tree

She and I were as different as night and day, our backgrounds, our upbringing, our ideology and outlook on life, but we got along like a house on fire. She was kind and gentle, as smart as she was simple and straightforward and offered advice when I asked for it. We may have disagreed on how to raise children, feed and clothe them, but she loved the boys and they loved her and their relationship was perfect. She sat them at the kitchen table and let them help her cook, peel vegetables and press pâte sablée into the pie dish. She and my father-in-law taught them card games and board games with the patience of saints, racking up hours upon hours of rummy and scrabble, boggle and belotte, treating the boys as intellectual equals. Mornings spent in the vegetable garden with grandpère, afternoons in the tiny plastic swimming pool or sitting under the cherry tree looking at comic books, always rewarded with an ice cream. Over the years, my boys learned so much from their grandparents, mostly the joy of spending time with another generation.

When JP arrived back home, I had prepared a hot meal for him, a cross between his simple lamb curry sautée and his Sweet and Savory Lamb Stew with Raisins. A hot meal, a warming, soulful, filling meal to welcome him home and comfort his weary body and his sore heart. Dessert was my Ricotta Tart with Pears (this week’s Plated Stories’ recipe). Clem joined us and we dined as a family to the shimmering glow of the Hanukkah candles.

LAMB CURRY – SAUTÉE DE MOUTON AU CURRY

Stewing lamb (shoulder, neck, chops, etc) for 4 – about 800 g to 1 kg – in large chunks
Margarine + olive oil for sautéing
About 2 Tbs flour
1 large yellow or white onion, peeled, trimmed and coarsely chopped
½ red or green pepper, cleaned, trimmed, seeded and coarsely chopped
1/3 to ½ green chili (mild or hot, as you like), trimmed, seeds removed and finely chopped
1 clove garlic, peeled and crushed but left whole
1 Tbs tomato paste
2 tsps good curry powder
1 bay leaf
Salt and pepper
1 medium long or round zucchini, peeled and cubed
2 Tbs golden raisins

Heat about a tablespoon each of margarine and olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven until hot and steaming. Add the chunks of lamb and brown on all sides. Remove the lamb from the pot onto a plate when browned.

Put more margarine and olive oil in the hot pot and add the chopped onion, red or green pepper, hot chili and the garlic clove and sautée, stirring often, until the onion is tender, transparent and beginning to color around the edges. Remove and discard the clove of garlic. Add the flour and, stirring continuously, cook for another 2 – 3 minutes until it no longer smells like flour. Deglaze with a bit of water (melt and scrape up the brown bits on the bottom of the pot) and then stir in the tomato paste, the curry powder, the bay leaf, salt and pepper. Add the lamb back to the post and add water just to cover. Bring to the boil then lower the heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes.

At the end of 30 minutes, add the cubed zucchini and the raisins, cover the pot again and cook for another 45 minutes to an hour or until the meat is fork tender.

When the lamb is tender, check the sauce: taste and adjust the seasonings, adding more salt or pepper as needed; if the sauce is too watery, simply allow to simmer uncovered for a bit until it thickens.

Serve hot over rice or couscous grains.

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Stewed Veal with Chard, Zucchini and Potato Gratin

A RECIPE OR TWO

Whenever I found out anything remarkable, 

I have thought it my duty to put down my discovery on paper, 

so that all ingenious people might be informed thereof. 

- Antonie van Leeuwenhoek 

I simply wanted to share these recipes with you. No fanfare, no trumpets, no stories as I gather you together round me in front of a roaring fire. No tales told in the dead of night to the watery glow of a flashlight as we sit shivering in a tent too small to hold us all comfortably. No comedy to have you doubled up in laughter, no dramatic tragedies, you hanging on my every word with bated breath, as I recount some death-defying adventure. My stories will have to wait, but these recipes will not.

I am in the middle of so many projects: articles and submissions to be written, compiled and sent; next year’s workshops and events to organize, proposals to be put together and my series on Writing to work on so this week is dedicated to these. And as I work, husband cooks, only calling me into the kitchen so as to make my béchamel for his gratin. Happy am I to have a man who not only loves to cook, but is so good at it.

This was lunch, rather frugal, very seasonal and much too delicious and satisfying not to share. As neither son was around to dine with us, we enjoyed Veal and Gratin three meals in a row, the second and third even better than the first, if that is at all possible.

Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act 

that should not be indulged in lightly. 

– M.F.K. Fisher 

I will mention the wine. We have been on a voyage of discovery these last several years, discovering and learning about the wines of our region. We visit local wine fairs and tastings, we drive out into Muscadet, Anjou and Saumur to visit domaines, taste, learn and buy. As I get to know the winemakers in my region, I also connect with them on Facebook so as to get to know the people behind the wines a little better, thus understanding the dynamic between the vigneron and the terroir which produces these wines. A few months ago, husband and son went out to walk Marty in the vineyards outside of Nantes and decided to visit le Fay d'Homme near Monnières. They returned home with a case of “La Part du Colibri” Côt, a wine we were served at that first memorable meal at one of our favorite local restaurants Lulu Rouget. A wine, a grape that for a long time was a table wine reserved for the winemakers themselves, considered (somewhat like Muscadet, in fact) not good enough to sell or serve to clients. Caillé decided that the fruity wine, rich and spicy with cherry, plums, hints of pepper and anise would be appreciated by those who love wine and decided to commercialize it as Côt.

Vincent Caillé, a fifth generation wine grower, is one of the few of this region to produce organic Muscadet and is stoutly committed to tradition in his farming and his winemaking, both of which are completely natural. He is an active member of Les Vignes de Nantes, an association whose aim is to familiarize the nantais with the fabulous wines coming from their own region through events, tastings and fairs as well as bringing their wines into the local restaurants, wine bars and wine shops that for much too long were ignoring what treasures were being produced in their own region.

One bottle of Côt from the selection La Part du Calibri from le Fay d'Homme domaine was hidden in the back of a cupboard and when JP found it realized how perfect it would be with his meal.

The veal is cooked blanquette style yet without the final step of stirring in cream and egg, the cooking liquid from the vegetables adding and heightening the flavor, leaving the veal fork tender and delicious. Paired with the creamy vegetables, this is the perfect seasonal meal. It may not look fancy, but it is definitely worth the effort, comforting, rich and flavorful.

CHARD, ZUCCHINI AND POTATO GRATIN with STEWED VEAL

The veal and the gratin are so perfect together and balance each other out so well that I have given instructions for both together in steps as JP prepared the entire meal. The veal, once pre-boiled and drained, is then placed in the vegetable liquid that the chard and zucchini were cooked in which infuses the meat with wonderful flavor. If you only want to make the gratin, read through the recipe carefully and eliminate anything to do with preparing the veal.

1 lb (500 g) small or fingerling potatoes – or any firm potato, cleaned, peeled and cubed into bite-sized chunks
4 small zucchini, trimmed, peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
One bunch Swiss chard, white stems only, trimmed, cleaned and cut into more or less 1-inch pieces
1 small yellow onion, trimmed, peeled and chopped
2 cloves garlic, trimmed, peeled and chopped
water + 1 vegetable bouillon cube or vegetable broth to cover
Béchamel (recipe follows)
2 cups finely grated Parmesan cheese

Butter a large (9 x 13-inch approximately) baking dish.

Prepare the vegetables:

Place the cubes of potatoes in a large pot with a large pinch salt and cover with water. Bring to the boil, turn down to a simmer and cook until the potatoes are fork tender, about 20 minutes or as needed. Drain.

Sautée the onion in a large frying or sautée pan in about 2 tablespoons olive oil until tender and just beginning to turn golden around the edges. Add the chopped garlic and continue cooking for about two minutes until the garlic is tender. Add the small cubes of zucchini and the small pieces of white chard stems and cook, stirring for a few minutes until starting to soften. Barely cover with broth or water (adding a small bouillon cube to the water) and simmer until the stems and the zucchini are very tender, almost melting in the mouth. Remove from the heat and stir in the cooked cubes of potatoes.

Using a slotted spoon, scoop the zucchini, chard stems and potatoes into the baking dish, leaving the vegetable liquid broth in the pan for the veal.

Prepare the veal:

28 oz (800 g) veal shoulder or about 21 oz (600 g) + 7 oz (200 g) veal tendron or tendon with the bone in, cut into large chunks (2 – 3-inch chunks)
1 small onion with 1 or 2 cloves stuck in it
1 glass dry white wine, optional
Fresh chives

The veal will be cooked like a classic blanquette before the usual addition of cream and egg to the sauce. Prepare the vegetables above and then make the veal once the cooked vegetables are in the baking dish awaiting the béchamel.

Place the chunks of veal in a large pot and just cover with cold water. Bring to the boil, remove from the heat and drain. Scrape or rinse off any scum or impurities.

Place the pre-boiled veal in the pot with the vegetable liquid, add the small onion with the cloves then just cover with water. Salt and pepper. Add the glass of wine if using. Bring to the boil then lower to a simmer and cover. Simmer for one hour until the veal is very tender, skimming the surface of foamy scum or impurities as needed. At the very last minute, the water should boil away leaving just a thick jus or sauce. Remove and discard the onion and cloves.

While the veal is simmering:

Prepare the Béchamel:

Prepare the béchamel once the veal is on its way.

3 Tbs (45 g) butter
3 Tbs flour
3 cups (700 ml) whole milk (you can use lowfat but it will not thicken as much)
¼ tsp or more adobo chili powder
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Large pinch nutmeg

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium-low heat until bubbly. Add the flour all at once and stir or whisk until the flour is well blended into the butter. Cook, stirring or whisking briskly, for 2 to 3 minutes.

Begin adding the milk, a little at a time, whisking constantly, and allow the milk to thicken after each addition. As it thickens, add more milk and repeat until all the milk has been added and the sauce is fairly thick (it should at least coat a spoon). Add the chili, salt and pepper generously and allow to simmer very gently, stirring continuously, for about 10 - 15 minutes. Stir in a pinch of nutmeg. Taste and adjust the seasonings. 

Pour the hot béchamel over the prepared chard, zucchini and potatoes in the baking dish and gently stir until the sauce is evenly distributed. Sprinkle generously with the Parmesan all the way to the edge of the dish.

Bake in the hot oven for about 20 to 30 minutes or until bubbly and the cheese is golden and browned as you like.

Time the two dishes so the gratin and the veal are finished at the same time. Serve immediately topped with chopped fresh chives and enjoy! Both are great even reheated the next day.

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Oven Baked Parmesan Panko Crusted Chicken

MOMMY DEAREST

Mothers are all slightly insane. 

– J.D. Salinger 

I remember when another mother of small children – this was quite a number of years ago when my babies were small – made the statement to a roomful of like souls “I’ll bet we all give our children the white meat pieces of chicken because there are no bones.” As if the offering of the white meat to our darling and fragile children was a prodigious sacrifice of the motherly kind. As if white meat was better than dark, more flavorful and succulent, and thus the most desired, that self-denial a sign of motherly worthiness simply out of concern for our offspring. And all of the other mothers smiled angelically and nodded their haloed heads in unison. I chuckled and, smiling serenely, shook my head. “No,” I admitted boldly, no sign of shame on my face, no waver of apology in my words, “I give my children the white meat because I prefer the dark myself.”

For shame! Well, I could have knocked each and every mother over with a feather. Yet, did I spy the hint of bluster and subterfuge on more than one face in that room? Did I dare voice what others were thinking? Did the tarnish on a halo or two dull the otherwise brilliant surface and blinding glare? Naw, I often believed that I was the bad mother, the worst of them all, kind of like a female Harvey Keitel, a curmudgeonly wastrel in mom’s clothing. And nothing reflected that more than my saving the dark meat for myself.

There’s a lot more to being a woman than being a mother, 

but there’s a hell of a lot more to being a mother than most people suspect. 

– Roseanne Barr 

Was I a bad mother? Selfish and self-indulgent? Happily, my sons have always preferred white meat, so no damage was done; they did gobble it up and asked for more. Bring home a roasted bird, sizzling, golden, fragrant, from the market a Sunday morning and, plates held high, each clamors for a slice of white meat, leaving two moist, tasty thighs for mother. When purchasing poultry from my trusty Chicken Man at the market, spiffy in his formal black and red chef’s coat, his chicest of eyewear perched atop his handsome nose, I point to the Noir, the juiciest, most flavorful of what he sells, and order deux cuisses, 2 thigh/leg sections, and trois filets, breast meat for 3, thank you very much. And happy are we all.

But which came first, the chicken or the egg? The preference for white meat or the forcing upon thereof? I shrug my shoulders and say it doesn’t matter at all, for the tiny ones all grown up desire nothing more than a slice of the breast meat. Nothing Freudian in sight. One, my own little Jack Sprat, has a horror of bones and fat, so the white suits him perfectly. The other wants no trouble and is just happy that the meal is home cooked and something warm and scrumptious is on the table, nary a thing between fork and mouth. The third has simply always desired the white, a Breast Man if you will, and who am I to complain?

A mother’s job is a difficult one. It is a life of sacrifice, worry and guilt-ridden woe. We battle the growing pains and adolescent rebellion of the children, their accusations and their disdain. We experience the high of the fleeting expressions of their love, their successes big and small. We call them to the table at mealtime and place a dish before them hoping and praying that they will smile and, amid the groans of pleasure and hurrahs of delight, simply begin to fork it into their mouths hungrily. And so I make sure that there is white meat aplenty, enough to go around. No catlike choking on tiny bones to mar a beautiful meal.

The poultry, which may perhaps be considered to have formed the staple of the entertainment – for there was a turkey at the top, a pair of ducks at the bottom, and two fowls in the middle – disappeared as rapidly as if every bird had had the use of its wings, and had flown in desperation down a human throat. 

– Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit 

This is a scrumptious dish, one I have been making for a few years and have adapted over time. Chicken pieces of your choice marinated in a heady blend of buttermilk, mustard, lemon juice, herbs and spices then rolled in panko, loads of Parmesan cheese – my sons’ favorite – and a panoply of flavorings. And baked. No frying to muss my lovely new stovetop, no frying to weigh heavily on tummy or backside. Just heavenly flavor and crunch, moist, tender bird no matter the hue and a wallop of flavor. Yes, I recently wrote of my dark days, the murky shadows that live inside of me. But a day spent cooking for my family takes my mind off the worries and sadness, brightens the winter dreariness outside and makes us all happy. This dish is truly a winner.

OVEN BAKED PARMESAN PANKO CRUSTED CHICKEN

Serves 6

Chicken pieces for 6 (3 breast filets and 3 leg/thigh pieces, or as desired), skin removed, chicken trimmed and cleaned

Marinade:
1 ½ cup (375 ml) buttermilk
3 Tbs prepared Dijon mustard
2 Tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 tsp smoked paprika
½ tsp ground chipotle chili powder or cayenne pepper
Salt and black pepper

Breading/Crust:
1 ½ cups (80 g) panko crumbs
¾ cup (60 g) freshly and finely grated Parmesan or Grana Padano cheese
6 Tbs (60 g) flour
1 Tbs minced fresh thyme or 1 tsp dried thyme
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
½ tsp dried mint, optional
1 tsp smoked paprika
½ tsp ground chipotle chili powder or cayenne pepper
½ tsp or more McCormick garlic & onion medley or similar
Salt and black pepper

Prepare the marinade and marinate the chicken:

Whisk all of the marinade ingredients together in a bowl or baking dish just large enough to hold all of the chicken pieces comfortably in one layer. Push the chicken pieces into the marinade, cover the bowl or dish with plastic and refrigerate from a few hours to overnight.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C) and lightly grease (with vegetable or olive oil) or spray a baking dish or baking tray large enough to hold all of the chicken pieces in one layer – you can also place them on a rack sitting on/in a baking tray. I also tossed a pound or so of grenaille fingerling potatoes on olive oil, salt and pepper and added them to the baking tray.

Toss all of the breading/crust ingredients in a wide bowl or pan. Remove the marinated chicken from the refrigerator. Lift out one piece of chicken at a time and allow the excess marinade to run off; roll and press the chicken in the breading, coating all sides, and place on the lightly oiled baking tray. Continue with all of the chicken.

Bake the chicken (and potatoes) in the preheated oven for about 45 minutes to 1 hour or until the chicken is cooked through. Once the chicken is cooked, if you like the breading more browned, just turn on the grill setting of your oven and, watching very carefully, allow to brown just for a few minutes.

Serve immediately with potatoes and a green vegetable or salad if you can get them to eat it.

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CLASSIC FRENCH BEEF AND CARROTS à la mode

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


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

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


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

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

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


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


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


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


* Pot Roast

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serve over pasta.

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TENDER COOKED BEEF AND CARROT CANNELLONI

FROID, BRULÉ, PAS CUIT… *

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

- Harriet Van Horne

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


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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

Don't forget JP's other recipes:




Cauliflower and Potato Gratin









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



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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ENDIVE, LARDONS & CANCOILLOTTE GRATIN with a Peasant Boule

A BIRTHDAY AND A GIFT

I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it
with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Small baby swaddled in creamy caramel blankets clutched to her chest, the woman in the supermarket line in front of me rattled on happily about the birth of her newest child, wondering that six weeks had already flown by. I smiled at her and exclaimed “and before you know it, 20 years will have elapsed” as I thought of my own babies, now grown men.

Each birthday is a time of reflection: where we have been, where we are now and where we are going. Wishes made as candles are blown out, eyes tightly shut, images of health, wealth and world peace flutter through our imagination; dreams float in and out and with each passing birthday, as we get older and the weeks and months between celebrations seem to grow shorter, we tick off our accomplishments on our fingers and make lists of what there is left to do; the years that once yawned before us seem numbered, our time now urgent and we wonder again if there will be enough time to get done all that we desire.

Yet that brief encounter at a place so banal as the supermarket, seeing one young woman’s face light up as she showed off her new baby, made me think of my own and I wonder if this is not my greatest accomplishment. I remember a letter once written to my brother so long ago during a rather rough period of my life when I counted happiness in moments spent with my husband, enumerated each struggle I faced living in a new country, how my days went with two small, headstrong boys; I felt locked in and going crazy, totally out of control and, need I say, as if I was going nowhere fast. My brother, always so thoughtful, so wise, so supportive, wrote back a long missive listing my accomplishments, reminding me that an extremely shy, small-town girl had picked up and moved abroad with no money and no help, married a Frenchman and was raising two multi-cultural sons; he pointed out that I had learned two foreign languages that I juggled on a daily basis in order to survive and get even my basic needs and those of my family met; he went on and on listing my achievements and exploits, forcing me to stare hard in the mirror of my own life and admit that, after all, I wasn’t a failure and that I had indeed done some pretty impressive things with the short number of years that had at the time so far been awarded me.


And years have flown by. Things have only gotten better; my husband and I now confront our troubles and worries as a team, encouraging each other, sharing, trying to understand the other’s confusion, difficulties and joys. We have gotten more adventurous as the years have scudded by, made changes, moved countries and cities, changed jobs as we have seen fit, as the urge, need, desire has come upon us. Maybe we have grown braver in the face of my brother’s illness and death, realizing that no one can be sure of how much time is left and that each and every moment should count, each new birthday a gift. Maybe as we have grown older and smarter we began to realize that we wanted to show our growing boys all that life can and should be, teach them the lesson that we can’t be afraid to face up to our dreams and that if we work hard enough we can make anything happen.

Children are great imitators. So give them something great to imitate.
– Anonymous

Okay, so birthdays make me sentimental and just slightly maudlin, I do admit. And another birthday has rolled around as they inevitably do and here I sit and think about… my sons. As I revealed and clarified in a previous post, my men are shy of the spotlight and none too thrilled with being mentioned in my writing, yet here I must reflect once again on how they began as adorable bambini and have grown into tall, handsome, fine young men. Clem, always the happy, chortling, gregarious tot, who ran before he could walk, chattered on and on before he could form words, frivolous and adventurous, has grown into a smart, ambitious, creative young man. My little Simon, thoughtful and quiet as a baby and toddler, careful, patient, eerily capable of too many things and having a capacity to read adults like some dark angel, sensitive and moody throughout his boyhood has become an honest, intellectual, generous, searching young adult just on the brink of his life. Both are kind, funny and clever, interested in the world around them, knowledgeable and cultivated. Both have the talent to tease their mother while making sure she is happy and safe, the capacity to drive her absolutely bonkers or outright into a rage while looking out for her well-being, protecting her while running her in circles. And both have the ability, in their pranks and jokes, to make me roll on the floor with laughter.


My husband and I are both on the point of starting over, beginning new careers, daring to find our true selves and put our happiness and our own satisfaction first; we focus on ourselves yet, looking around us, are astonished to see what our sons have become, astounded that we had a hand in creating two young adults that we are truly proud of. And watching and listening to them, sitting and talking and laughing with them, we realize that life has become just a little bit more satisfying and easier.

While we try to teach our children all about life,
our children teach us what life is all about.
– Anonymous

He continues to cook and I to bake. A brief interlude from the sweets for one more savory: an Endive and Cancoillotte Gratin, a recipe that jumped off of the page out of our latest issue of French Saveurs magazine. Cancoillotte is a creamy, thick yet almost liquid, sticky and rather elastic cheese from the Franche-Comté region of France with a flavor that is impossible to describe (think the best cheese fondu you have ever eaten). Warm up this flavorful treasure and it becomes liquid gold, unctuous, luxurious like the finest French silk rippling, sliding down one’s skin. Although thick and oh-so decadent, Cancoillotte is one of the least fatty of cheeses with only 2 to 8% fat. Heaven! This dairy product has a fascinating history: it was actually conceived by a cheese producer during the First World War when he had the idea to produce, sterilize and can cheese to be sent easily to the soldiers, les Poilus, on the front. 90% of the production of Cancoillotte still takes place in Franche-Comté. Not widely known, my husband introduced this treasure into our home many years ago and, I can easily say, once a spoon is dipped into the creamy cheese and lifted to the lips, once it is served melted on toast, an all-time favorite, it is impossible to stop until the last drop is licked clean from the pot.


JP twiddled a bit with the recipe and placed on the table before us this magnificent gratin, at once slightly bitter (braised endives), salty (chunks of smoked ham), garlicky and tangy with this marvelous cheese all at once, the pecans giving the gratin an earthy, satisfying bite. A decadent pleasure. I paired it with this month’s Bake Together recipe by my talented friend Abby Dodge, a peasant boule, which I jazzed up with a cup of finely grate Parmesan cheese and a handful or two of mixed seeds – pine nuts, pumpkin seeds and sunflower seeds. The Peasant Boule is this month’s Bake Together recipe: follow #baketogether on Twitter and find out how you, too, can bake together with us!


I would like to share this bread with Susan of Wild Yeast for her weekly celebration of yeast, Yeastspotting!

ENDIVE, LARDONS, PECANS & CANCOILLOTTE GRATIN
From Saveurs février 2012


6 – 9 endives, depending on quantity desired
1 small pot (250 g) cancoillotte for 6 endives (1 ½ pots for 9)
Handful cubed smoked lardoons or ham
2.3 – 2.6 oz (65 – 75 grams) coarsely chopped pecans or walnuts
Finely minced clove of garlic
1 small bouillon cube, optional
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Unsalted butter

Remove the outer leaves of the endives and trim off the end; discard. Slice each endive in two lengthwise and either steam or braise in a small amount of water with about ½ a bouillon cube (if desired), for about 10 minutes until soft.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C). Butter the bottom and sides of a baking dish (terra cotta or glass/pyrex) large enough to snugly hold all of the prepared endives in one layer. Line up the braised or steamed endives in a row in the prepared baking dish.

Briefly sauté the smoked lardons until browned. Sauté the lardons in a small amount of butter if desired.


Evenly distribute the minced garlic, the browned lardons and the chopped pecans over the endives. Salt and pepper. Pour the cancoillotte all over the endives and bake in the oven for 15 minutes. The cheese should be bubbly and beginning to brown around the edges.


Serve immediately.


ABBY’S PEASANT BOULE

1 recipe peasant boule
1 cup finely grated Parmesan or Comté cheese
½ to 1 cup mixed seeds

Follow the directions for Abby’s Bake Together peasant boule on her blog, blending the cheese and seeds in with the dry ingredients before forming into a dough.


The only changes I made were using salted butter for the bowl, the pan and the top of the bread. I brushed the surface of the dough twice: once before the second rising, as instructed, and once just before sprinkling more seeds on the top of the boule and baking.


I changed the size of the cake pan I baked the bread in; I believe this may have led to the top of the bread splitting during baking as well as that the center of the dough was underbaked. But we loved the bread even if not perfect and I will be baking this again very soon.

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