Omelette aux broccolis et chèvre frais

Posted on October 3, 2014 by Meg

omelet broccoli2It’s nearly lunchtime, the phone rings, a friend is dropping by. What is to be done? Whip up an omelet. It’s easy, it’s quick and you can pair the eggs with just about anything. I’ll never forget the time when one of the women who cooked with me at the Café Dewitt in Ithaca had me over for lunch and served me … a spaghetti omelet. And delicious it was. This omelet pairs broccoli with tender goat cheese, a lovely mix of colors and flavors.

Omelette aux broccolis et chèvre frais / Omelet with broccoli and goat cheese

One of the tricks to making a great omelet is to use the very freshest free-range eggs you can find. It makes a huge difference in terms of flavor and texture. Another trick is to use a well-seasoned omelet pan, as explained in the recipe. And here’s an astuce (a tip) I learned at the Café Dewitt: always add a little water to the eggs when you whip them. It lightens the omelet, ensuring it will be fluffy and tender.

Meantime, I’d like to announce that I’m having a new autumn subscription drive. Anyone who adds a new subscriber to the site will receive a personal recipe that has not yet appeared on The Everyday French Chef. The recipe can be in the category of your choice. Just be sure to let me know that you’ve signed somebody up. Add two subscribers and I’ll send you two recipes. Et cetera. The more the merrier, and …

Happy cooking!

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Fricassée de poulet aux figues

Posted on September 26, 2014 by Meg

chicken figs1Figs, apples and pomegranates have been much on my mind lately — partly because they are at their ripest and most delicious in the autumn, and partly for other (historical, anecdotal) reasons. One consequence is the creation in my kitchen this week of a chicken fricassée enhanced with the flavors of saffron, cinnamon and cumin and sweetened with honey and fresh figs.

Fricassée de poulet aux figues / Chicken with fresh figs

Now then, about the fruit. When I was a child growing up in Wisconsin, the only figs we ever saw were the dried variety, prettily wrapped in cellophane and delivered to our home as gifts from relatives for the December holidays. It wasn’t until I reached the southern French city of Avignon at the age of 19 that I encountered a fresh fig, its sensual purple skin hiding a lush, red interior. When I bit into it, I felt like I was committing original sin.

And why not? The fig, after all, goes all the way back to Adam and Eve, who used fig leaves in the Garden of Eden to cover their nakedness after tasting the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. And what was that fruit? It is typically represented as an apple — the fruit that Jews around the world are dipping in honey this week to mark the start of the new year — but I suspect it may actually have been a pomegranate. Why? For one thing, the pomegranate is native to Persia and the Holy Land, where the earliest civilizations thrived, while the apple is believed to be native to Turkey, which was settled by early humans later. For another, the apple (pomme in French) and the pomegranate have etymological ties. Both words derive from the Latin pomum. One can easily imagine that there may have been linguistic slippage at some point along the way among the first drafters of the Bible…

Or was it a fig? My deeper interest at the moment, tied to my new book project, is in human prehistory — and here’s an interesting factlet. Archaeologists believe that cultivation of figs goes back at least 11,000 years. They have dated fossils of sterile varieties of the fruit that were found in the Jordan Valley north of Jericho. That makes the fig one of the oldest foods ever produced by the world’s first farmers as humanity segued from millennia as roaming hunter-gatherers into settled communities of cultivators.

All I have to say to those early ancestors is, ‘Thank you.’

And to you, dear readers, ‘Happy cooking!’

Posted in 6. Poultry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Tagliatelles aux girolles

Posted on September 19, 2014 by Meg

girolles2With the autumn mushroom season bursting forth in all its glorious bounty, there’s only one thing to do: go hunting. In my case, given the dearth of forests in Paris, this means heading down to the local street market. What I found this week was an irresistible haul of girolles — chanterelles. Richly golden, thickly succulent, they make a perfect match for pasta. Snip in some herbs, add a little cream and voilà! Dinner is ready.

Tagliatelles aux girolles / Tagliatelle with chanterelles

girolles1Now then, about chanterelles. They come in different shapes and sizes and, to be honest, I prefer the beautifully large and fleshy, yellow-orange variety (shown at right). According to Le Petit Robert, my favorite French dictionary, the word girolles dates back to the 16th century. It derives from girer, to turn, and indeed the little ridges beneath the caps appear to rotate slightly.

girolles at marketChanterelles sometimes come in a thinner shape, but the flavor can be just as fine. At French markets these thinner mushrooms (shown at left) are, curiously, known as chanterelles, and not girolles. They have the advantage of being less expensive. But whenever possible I’d prefer to pay more and get the heftier, golden-orange variety — with an important caveat. If you live in Europe, it’s best to ask about the provenance of the chanterelles before making a purchase. I avoid those from countries that were exposed to heavy doses of radiation from Chernobyl, even though the accident there took place 28 years ago.

Whichever variety you choose, you will find your kitchen enveloped in a delicious woodsy-fruity odor when you begin to cook your chanterelles. A perfect prelude to a fine meal. This is the third recipe with girolles on this site (after pan-seared scallops and a wild mushroom first course), and I expect it won’t be the last. Happy cooking!

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Pêches caramélisées aux figues et pignons de pin

Posted on September 12, 2014 by Meg

caramelized peaches2Peaches and fresh figs are piled irresistibly on market stands at this time of year. So I didn’t resist … and combined them to create a late summer dessert. What makes it special is that the peaches are caramelized before being mixed with the figs and nestled on a mound of creamy fromage blanc (or Greek yogurt). Pine nuts and mint add a Mediterranean touch. It’s light, it’s bright — perfect for savoring the last warm days before autumn sets in.

Pêches caramélisées aux figues et pignons de pin / Caramelized peaches with fresh figs and pine nuts

The inspiration for this recipe came in part from my recent trip to California. While visiting the ranch of my brother’s friends Tom and Gayle — a magnificent place in the rolling foothills of the Sierra Nevada — I decided to make a tart, and used the fruit that happened to be on hand. Peaches and figs. The result turned out to be a crowd-pleaser. If you’d like to try that, go to the Plum Tart recipe on this site and, instead of plums, arrange peach slices in a outer ring and place quartered figs in the middle.

Meg 1980sNow then. This week marks the start of Year Three of The Everyday French Chef. And not only that, it marks the 40th anniversary of my arrival in France. Ah oui, mes amis. I arrived here in 1974, when Paris was less crowded and far less globalized. It was a different kind of place, with romance in the air, and of course I was much younger. What can I say? Thanks for the delicious memories. It’s been a great ride.

Because it is an anniversary week, I was particularly touched to discover that a new food blogger, Allison Stubbings of Classic Taste, picked up an Everyday French Chef recipe a few days ago for her first food post. She chose Mussel and Saffron Soup, which went up on this site in March 2013. Her idea is to record a year of learning to cook great French dishes by consulting a range of cookbooks and blogs. It was fun to read about her struggles with the mussels, and her ultimate success with the dish. So — welcome, Allison.

And happy cooking!

Posted in Desserts | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Salade souterraine

Posted on September 5, 2014 by Meg

underground salad1There’s nothing subversive about this ‘underground salad’. It’s simply made of veggies that grow beneath the earth. Carrots, finocchio, turnips, parsnips, celeriac, beets, radishes — it’s up to you to choose. Add a few leaves of arugula or another tender green, and you have a dish that’s lovely to behold as well as crunchily pleasant to eat. I owe the inspiration for this salad to my Parisian friend Jocelyne, an aspiring vegan, and to the menu of a cool Italian restaurant where I dined in San Diego, La Buona Forchetta.

Salade souterraine / Underground salad

Yes, that’s San Diego, California. It was the last stop on our summer road trip and, as promised in July, I’ll now write a few words about California cuisine. Fresh, inventive and modern, with accents from both France and Mexico, it was a revelation for both me and my teenage daughter, although her highlights would be different from mine (see below).

Mint margheritaSome of my favorites (with recipes to follow in the weeks ahead): my brother’s gazpacho; a fig, caramelized onion and goat cheese pizza to die for at Greens in San Francisco; Tom’s mint margueritas at his ranch in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada; the world’s best barbecued ribs at Everett & Jones in Oakland; melt-in-your-mouth skirt steak gorditas (like mini tacos) at The Cliffs north of Pismo Beach; incredible sushi (served warm) at Sugarfish in Santa Monica; and the amazing fish tacos at Duke’s in Malibu. I should mention that many of these meals were enjoyed at places overlooking the Pacific, which added a little je-ne-sais-quoi to the flavors. Just delightful.

wheyOf course, we also encountered unusual (from a French point of view) food items, which I immortalized in a series of photos. Among them: organic peanut butter balls, packaged protein smoothies and a lot of whey (whatever that is). My daughter’s favorite was a crepe called S’Mores — topped with toasted marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate kisses at a place called Crepevine in Berkeley. (I took a pass on that.)

MalibuWould we love to go back? Absolutely, although not in the immediate future. My pocketbook needs time to recover first. But I will be experimenting through the gray Paris winter with ideas gleaned along the sunny Pacific Rim. And I may just make myself a mint marguerita. Happy cooking!

Posted in 3. Salads | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Foie gras

Posted on August 29, 2014 by Meg

Let’s face it — foie gras is controversial. Beloved in France, where it is served as a special treat on festive occasions, it is shunned elsewhere by people who object to the force-feeding of geese or ducks to fatten their livers. Two years ago, the state of California actually banned foie gras, and this summer India followed suit. Other countries, among them England, have sought to find alternative methods of fattening the fowl. And yet this controversial food is not only considered one of the finest products of French gastronomy, it has ancient roots. Foie gras was enjoyed by early Egyptians, Greeks and Romans, and by East European Jews for whom the fat could replace butter. Its use spread from Hungary to the Urals before it made its way to France via Alsace a few hundred years ago.

Foie gras / Foie gras

Since then it has been joyously consumed by the French, the world champions in foie gras production. They serve it as an elegant canapé at cocktail hour, with Champagne or a chilled sweet white; on a salad of tender leaves and green beans (known here as salade folle, or crazy salad); or in large slices as a first course on Christmas or New Year’s Eve.

There is an art to serving foie gras that may appear obscure to the uninitiated but is actually quite simple: it has such star power that it needs no embellishing. Foie gras, as a canapé, should be served on its own. I was asked recently whether it could be accompanied by cheese and crackers. The answer, most emphatically, was ‘No!’ If you need to serve an assortment of canapés, choose something with equal star power, and serve it on a separate platter — red salmon caviar on buttered rounds of toast, for example.

Apart from Champagne, which adds a festive air to any occasion, the best wines to serve with foie gras are those from the region of southwest France where the duck and geese are raised. At cocktail hour, choose a chilled Monbazillac or Sauternes, sweet wines with a sublime flavor imbued by the use of grapes affected by ‘noble rot’, which increases the concentration of the grapes’ natural sweetness. If foie gras is served at the table, it marries well with sturdy reds like Bordeaux — or Monbazillac, or Champagne.

However you choose to serve it, foie gras will add an unmatchable gourmet touch to your occasion. And any occasion can be a fine one. It’s the end of summer? Vacation’s over, the kids are heading back to school, you’re back to reality? Perfect. Get out the foie gras.

I have included three ways of preparing foie gras on the recipe page that accompanies this post. Happy cooking!

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Soupe froide de tomates

Posted on August 1, 2014 by Meg

cold tomato soup1We’ve had a can of Campbell’s tomato soup sitting around the house for several months now. It was brought by a friend to my teenage daughter in Paris as an icon of life in the United States. She has never wanted to taste the soup since she treasures the object — which, by the way, she used in her final 9th grade art project (on Andy Warhol). I, too, enjoy seeing this reminder of girlhood lunches of hot tomato soup on a cold winter’s day. But that was yesteryear. These days I prefer a more sophisticated version of this classic soup.

Soupe froide de tomates / Chilled tomato soup

Fresh ripe tomatoes, lovingly simmered, retain a bit of interesting texture in this recipe. The flavor of the soup is intensified by a touch of balsamic vinegar and some fresh herbs. It makes a delightful start to a cool supper on a hot summer evening. Or you can serve it as the main course at lunch. As a bonus, it’s quick and easy to prepare, for a simple reason — you don’t need to peel the tomatoes.

And with this, dear readers, I leave you for a month. We are California bound and looking forward to discovering new tastes during our three weeks on the Pacific rim. Hopefully I’ll be able to incorporate some of that California culinary genius into the recipes on offer here in the fall. In the meantime, I leave you with this heartfelt thought:

Enjoy the summer, and happy cooking!

Posted in 2. Soups | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Rascasse à la tapenade

Posted on July 25, 2014 by Meg

rascasse tapenade1The fish known as rascasse in French is called scorpion fish or rock fish in English. Apparently the name derives from the Provençal word rascous, meaning ‘rough’ or ‘ornery’. It’s a rather ugly creature and some varieties are even venomous — but, thankfully, not on the plate. The rascasse is plentiful in the Mediterranean, and marries well with Provençal flavors like black olives, garlic and thyme, especially when blended together.

Rascasse à la tapenade / Mediterranean fish with black olive sauce

Because the rascasse is a firm-fleshed fish that holds together pretty well during cooking, it is often used in southern French dishes like bouillabaisse. The good news for cooks who don’t have access to rascasse is that this recipe may be made with any firm-fleshed saltwater fish — cod, porgy, striped bass, etc. Served with a tapenade olive sauce, and some tomatoes and basil for garnish, it makes a delightful summer meal.

Site news: This is the penultimate recipe of the summer. After one more post next Friday, The Everyday French Chef will be on vacation in August, resuming the recipes in September. (Looking ahead, don’t be surprised to find some California flavors coming your way.) In the meantime, the Everyday Menus have been updated for summer and I will update the Weekend Menus over the next week.

If you have not yet explored the Menus section, you may want to take a look. As it happens, Everyday Menus is the most popular page on the site after the home page. It includes menus for omnivores, vegetarians and vegans, is arranged in seasonal fashion, and may one day form the basis of a cookbook. I’m still pondering how to proceed on that front. Maybe California dream time over the next few weeks will provide some answers.

Happy cooking!

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Confiture de prunes

Posted on July 18, 2014 by Meg

plum jam1Lightning struck my plum tree. At least that’s what I thought when I arrived in Burgundy last Friday and saw my proud, 100-year-old, fruit-laden tree split in two. Then my gardener friend Mathias arrived and said, no, it was the weight of the fruit plus the weight of the recent torrential rain that that had caused the tree to break. But there were the boughs, brought to the ground and crushing a lavender patch. What was to be done?

Confiture de prunes / Plum jam

I’ve been making jam for decades and, of all the varieties, plum is perhaps my favorite. Plums are versatile fruit — you can used them in jam, in tarts, in crumbles, and in fabulous sauces like the Georgian tkemali, which combines slightly unripe plums with cilantro, garlic, coriander seeds, cayenne pepper, lemon juice and olive oil to produce an exotic relish to serve with roast game or duck. I use Anya von Bremzen’s recipe from Please to the Table, her amazing book of recipes from the republics of the former Soviet Union. Plums come in blue, red, green and yellow and range in size from tiny to huge. I am lucky enough to have several varieties in my garden in Burgundy. All make wonderful jam.

Now for the good news: 1) It has finally stopped raining. 2) Mathias has figured out a way to save half of the tree. I am heart-broken about losing even part of my plum tree, which presided grandly over my cottage. But one of the miracle qualities of jam is to preserve not just the fruit but the memories — of the long days of summer and that sultry feeling that comes over you when a warm breeze wafts past. Just a spoonful of jam is enough, in the depths of winter, to bring on a Proustian moment. I will put aside my four jars of plum jam, with their July 2014 labels, and open them months from now to think back on the wonder of nature that created a tree so heavy with fruit in its glory days.

As plums come into season wherever you are in the world, I hope you will try this recipe. Happy cooking!

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Pâtes aux tomates fraîches, mozzarella et basilic

Posted on July 11, 2014 by Meg

tomato mozza pasta1On a very hot day in Sicily many years ago, I wandered into the kitchen and found my friend Gisella chopping tomatoes into a large bowl. I sat and watched as she smothered the tomatoes in basil, chopped in some garlic and added olive oil. ‘What are you making?’ I asked as she put a large pot of water on to boil. ‘It’s Sicilian pasta,’ she replied. ‘You don’t cook the tomatoes.’ Was it a deep longing to recreate this scene that inspired me, a few days ago, in the dark of my Burgundy kitchen, as rain poured down outside and 4 housebound teenagers clamored for lunch, to make a version of Gisella’s dish?

Pâtes aux tomates fraîches, mozzarella et basilic / Pasta with fresh tomatoes, mozzarella and basil

Here in France it is hard to find the salty, hard sheep’s cheese known as ricotta salata that Gisella used in Sicily. But I loved the recipe so much that I have been making it for years, using mozzarella as a substitute and adding plenty of salt. It makes a perfect everyday French chef sort of meal — quick to prepare and highly popular with the younger set (and grownups, too). We have quite a few vegetarian friends down in Burgundy, and this is a fine dish to serve when they visit. Even on days of rain.

Now then. Would you mind if I went on about the rain for a moment? This is the coldest, wettest July I can remember in my 40 years in France. The high yesterday was 15 degrees C. (59 F.) — equal to the average low in July. It rained so hard two nights ago that my veranda got flooded. And last night, in the middle of the night, again awakened by rain pounding on the roof, I found my daughter snuggled under a pile of quilts wearing a winter parka and big flowered scarf, my old Russian shapka (fur hat) perched on her head.

It’s still wet this morning and I’m facing a difficult drive back down to Burgundy to collect our puss, Fifi, who got left behind at a cat hotel on Wednesday because I couldn’t fit her plus 4 teens into the car. No barbecue in view this evening, no happy splashing in the village pool. Is this a perverse consequence of global warming, or what? If it continues, you may well find next year that this column has changed its name. I am dreaming of decamping to a warm Pacific island. Would you believe The Everyday Tahitian Chef?

Happy cooking.

Posted in 9. Pasta, Rice, Grains | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment