Frenchie and the Vegetarian Scallops

14 May

Je suis désolé.

I feel this new post and recipe are long overdue and I thank you for your tweets and emails asking me when Frenchie and the Yankee would be back and if I was taking a break.

The truth is I have been involved in a new project taking pictures for a client who hired my services to update their website.

A first for me! And an exciting first I should add.

I can’t let you know quite yet what it is for and who it is, but once the pictures are visible online, you will be the first to know.

For now, I can only show you a bit of the fun I’ve been involved with for the past couple of weeks with this collage below.

These are some of the pictures from the project – products hidden, of course.

At the same time, I have been furiously planning a vacation coming up which will take me from the Napa and San Francisco area to the Costa Blanca of Spain from Alicante to Barcelona.

It’s wedding season and these are 2 weddings I am very much looking forward to attend.

While I know San Francisco very well, it will be my first trip to Napa as well as Spain – I’m not counting the one day spent in Figueres when I was 12.

So if you have any tips, tricks, addresses and unknown places from the majority of tourists to share with me, please feel free to include something in the comments section.

I am all ears and welcome any suggestions.

When my friends “A. and B.” asked me to stop by so I could see how their new twins have grown since the last time I visited, I did not expect for them to introduce me to trumpet mushrooms.

Cooking and eating them was that much fun.

And with several vegetarian out-of-town guests coming my way, I knew the next recipe must be a vegetarian recipe.

Trumpet mushrooms are also known as King Trumpet or French Horn.

En français, des pleurotes.

And what better way to serve them to vegetarians as “fake scallops” with a lemon caper cream.

The aromatic bitter hints from the ajwain seeds (also known as carom seeds) mixed with the gomasio and nutmeg add an extra layer of flavor to the dish.

A bit crunchy and eye-catching with the black spots on top.

And since one of my favorite thing to do is to pan-sear scallops with vanilla, it only made sense to include nutmeg in this recipe pairing deliciously with the mushrooms.

It took me a while to be happy with the cream sauce.

Too much of, too little of etc.

The final result is a perfect combination of shallots and capers with a seasoned lemony and creamy finish.

A new favorite.

And the texture… just like scallops!

I promise a full report on California and Spain with pictures and new food inspirations.

A bientôt !

Pan-Seared Trumpet Mushroom with Mace Brown Butter Lemon Caper Cream

1 teaspoon of ajwain seeds (replace with dry parsley or thyme if necessary)

1 teaspoon of black gomasio (as in black sesame seeds and sea salt)

1/2 teaspoon of freshly ground nutmeg

3 Tbsp (42.5 g) of butter

1 Tbsp of whole mace

1 big shallot – finely chopped

2 Tbsp lemon juice

1/4 cup (50 ml) of dry white wine

1 Tbsp of capers – roughly chopped

2 Tbsp of Greek yogurt

1 teaspoon of Szechuan peppercorns (replace with black peppercorns if necessary) – crushed with a pestle and mortar

1/2 teaspoon of sea salt

3-4 Tbsp of olive oil

3-4 medium trumpet mushroom – cut 3/4 in. (1.9 cm) thick

Optional: 1/4 teaspoon of lime zest

First, start by making the topping. In a medium pan, dry roast the ajwain seeds on high heat for 2 minutes.

In a small bowl, mix the gomasio, ground nutmeg and the roasted ajwain seeds. Set aside.

Prepare the brown butter ahead as well.

Melt 2 Tbsp (28 g) of the butter – set aside the remaining 1 Tbsp (14.5 g) for now – in a small sauce pan. When the butter is almost melted, add the mace and continue to melt the butter until it turns light brown and the mace starts to make a bit of noise as it gets softer.

Pour the mace brown butter in a small bowl and set aside. Let the mace release its flavor for at least 30 minutes in the brown butter.

In the same medium pan used to roast the ajwain seeds, melt the remaining 1 Tbsp (14.5 g) of butter.

Add the chopped shallot and cook for 2 minutes.

Add the lemon juice and the wine. Continue cooking for 4 minutes while gently mixing the sauce in the pan.

Add the capers and keep cooking for another 1 minute. Keep stirring.

When the sauce is done, set aside in a medium bowl.

To finish preparing the mace brown butter lemon caper cream, pour the mace brown butter through a strainer in the medium bowl with the lemon caper sauce to remove the mace pieces. Mix well.

Add the Greek yogurt, the ground Szechuan peppers as well as the sea salt and stir.

Pour the olive oil over the mushroom in a big bowl and mix well with your hands. They need to be well coated and absorb the oil.

Warm a big pan on high heat. When smoke comes out of the pan and when it’s really hot, set the mushroom discs in the pan. Allow to sear for 2 minutes.

Flip the discs and continue searing for another 2 minutes.

When ready, serve the “vegetarian scallops” aka trumpet mushrooms on top of a dollop of the sauce, or next to the sauce.

Sprinkle the slices of mushroom with the gomasio mix and a bit of lime zest.

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Frenchie and a Taste for Seafood

23 Apr

Living by the ocean has changed my life forever.

And since I am not a sunny summer nor beach person, this can only mean one thing… oui ! Fruits de mer !

“Fruits of the sea”. Seafood. “Sea fruits”.

Call it however you prefer, but living on the East Coast has allowed me – and all my visitors throughout the years – to fruitfully enjoy a cheap and wide variety of deliciously tasty shellfish.

I’m no stranger to seafood or fish.

Yearly summer vacations on the coasts of Brittany and Corsica as a kid developed my strong liking for anything and everything coming directly from the ocean.

Rolled up pants. Scratched feet climbing on rocks. Sharp-eyed kids searching for small crabs, winkles and other sea creatures and treasures.

Full red beach bucket on the way home, proud of the daily catch.

A heaping plate of langoustines with crusty bread and a home-made mayo for dinner.

Or crispy lemon cod fritters (fritelle di baccàla) and grilled trouts with garlic and vinegar (trùita a l’àgliu e a l’acètu).

I can still smell the parsley slowly grilling with the trouts and garlic.

As I am preparing a trip to Spain for next month, reading more about the many wonderful things I am about to see and visit, looking at food pictures of the flavors of the Costa Blanca and Catalonia, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to post my recipe that combines both my love for tapas and seafood.

Blanca from FriendsEat already got out of me  in the interview she conducted back in November that one of my favorite restaurant is the tapas bar downstairs from my house.

C’est vrai, j’adore les tapas.

And there is no better way to plan a trip to Spain than with grilled calamari and a glass of Cava rosé.

Have you ever tried stuffing squid bodies with fresh bay leaves?

It makes a world of difference as they will soak up the strong flavors of the leaves.

Combined with lemon and mustard, it’s one dish that looks and tastes like a sunny-day-spent-on-the-coast all at once.

So here’s to Spain, abounding tapas and upcoming vacations!

Grilled Lemon Mustard Calamari Stuffed with Bay Leaves

for 10 squid bodies

even if you don’t have an outside grill, a tiny electric Foreman grill like I have will do the trick

10 squid bodies

2 lemons – juiced

2 teaspoons of mustard powder

1 teaspoon of Herbes de Provence

1/2 teaspoon of sea salt + more to taste

a shake of ground pepper

1 teaspoon of cane sugar

1 teaspoon of mustard – the hotter the mustard, the hotter the squids. Use a mild mustard or reduce to 1/2 teaspoon if you are sensitive

1 teaspoon of olive oil

13 fresh bay leaves

Start by boiling water in a big pot with 3 fresh bay leaves.

Stuff each squid body with a fresh bay leaf. Depending on the size of the bodies, you might want to stuff 2 leaves if they are big.

Remove the boiling water from the heat and plunge the squids in the water for 45 seconds. This will allow them not to shrink during the grilling process and it will make them tender in the end.

Pour the water and squids in a colander after 45 seconds and let them cool. Some bay leaves may have gotten loose in the water. Stuff them back in the squids if needed.

While the squids cool down, whisk the following ingredients in a medium bowl: lemon juice, mustard powder, Herbes de Provence, sea salt, pepper, sugar, mustard and olive oil.

When ready, fold the squids in the marinade, make sure they are well coated, cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge for at least 2 hours.

Heat up the grill and grill the marinated squids 15 to 30 seconds per side until they get a golden charred color.

Sprinkle with sea salt before serving. And do not forget to remove the leaves before eating the squid!

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Frenchie and the Gluten-Free Easter Teacakes

4 Apr

With Easter fast approaching, I remembered that I used to spend Easter brunches with my friends “E. and D.” back in the Midwest until I moved to the East Coast.

Isn’t it always the same feeling? When punctual yearly Holidays come right around the corner and remind you of joyous past times spent with friends and family.

A gesture, a smell, a sight and the memories rush back.

A group of friends you hear heartily laughing as you walk by. The warm smell of baking a cake early on Sunday morning for breakfast. Or the brisk breeze coming through the window left ajar as you set the Easter table for a brunch with friends.

It works every time for me.

I have been obsessed with the unusual marriage of dried sour cherries and tarragon since last summer when a friend served them in a colorful salad on a hot bright evening thus creating a new combination of flavors for me, which left me thinking…

Why haven’t I thought of that before? And most importantly, how can I turn this strange marriage into a sweet treat?

I tried many variations from tarts, loaves, cakes. Nothing was satisfying.

And then I forgot.

So when my Midwestern Easter brunch friend “E.” recently told me he has been missing and craving my baked goods, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to experiment again with that subtle and peculiar blend.

“E.” taught me everything there is to know about celiac disease – maladie cœliaque ou intolérance au gluten, en français – as well as gluten-free diets, traps to watch for, pitfalls to avoid etc. when he was diagnosed with it.

At the time, I used to joke that my house would most likely be a treacherous and dangerous landmine for him because, let’s be frank – French cooking or baking is all about white flour.

So it’s only fitting that my Easter post would feature a gluten-free recipe.

Nutritiously delicious, these teacakes are everything I’ve been wanting for Easter: different, moist, unusual, simple and, yes, addictive!

I eat them as snacks. As desserts. As breakfast.

In the street too – they fit nicely in my pocket.

Round or square, they’re just that cute.

The teacakes even made it to Wellesley, MA on a beautiful spring weekend to admire the blooming colorful trees and cherry blossoms.

A long day spent outside rewarded with more teacakes once back home.

And I certainly took it upon myself to try as many batches as possible to find that perfect magic formula.

Yes, only the best for my friend!

Adding milk in the recipe when needed so they are not too dry. Dropping chocolate chunks for extra texture. I tried it all!

In the end, with tea or coffee, dunked in milk or plain – the eating combinations are endless.

And with every Easter spent in the U.S. comes my favorite hunt of the year – like the Hunt for Red October with a tiny sprinkle of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I make it my Easter mission to find a chocolate hen.

For those who are already familiar with my Easter menagerie post, it will come as no surprise that my dedication to the chocolate hen hunt is intense and, well… obsessive!

This is when random acts of kindness can turn your whole world around. When a friend drops off an unexpected present at my door one night.

A beautiful, plump, deliciously appetizing chocolate hen.

And the best part? It’s home-made!

Une beauté !

I now know what will be proudly displayed on my table Sunday.

And there might just be more teacakes too, who knows?

Both will make Easter than much more special as they represent friendship, old and new.

Happy Easter! Joyeuses Pâques !

Gluten-Free Coconut, Chocolate, and Dried Cherry Teacakes with Tarragon

5 Tbsp (60 g) of cane sugar

2/3 cup (75 g) of hazelnut meal/flour

3 Tbsp (21 g) of coconut flour

1/3 cup (52 g) of sweet white rice flour

a pinch of sea salt

2 Tbsp packed of finely chopped tarragon

1/8 teaspoon (0.7 g) of baking powder

1 egg

1/3 cup (78 ml) of whole milk

1/2 stick (56 g) of melted butter

6 Tbsp (45 g) of dried sour cherries, roughly chopped

2 Tbsp (40 g) of semi-sweet chocolate chips or use coarsely chopped chocolate (60 to 70%)

Optional

2 Tbsp of unsweetened shredded coconut

1/2 teaspoon of powdered sugar

1/2 teaspoon packed of finely chopped tarragon

Preheat the oven to 400 °F (200 °C). Make sure to read until the end – the oven temperature will need to get lowered during the baking process.

Butter a mini-muffin pan. This recipe will make 12 teacakes the size of mini-muffins.

If you are using square tins like on the pictures, the cooking time will differ a little – see below.

In a big bowl, sift the sugar, flours, salt, and baking powder together. Add the tarragon and mix well.

Melt the butter and let it cool at room temperature.

In a small bowl, whisk the egg and the milk. Fold in the flour bowl until you get a coarse sandy paste.

Pour the butter slowly over the sandy dough and mix well until completely absorbed. You should end up with a smooth, sticky batter.

Fold in the dried cherries and chocolate. Mix well.

Using 2 big spoons, fill the mini-muffin pan. I find it easier to use 2 spoons because the dough is sticky. Flatten the surface of each cakes with the back of a spoon.

Bake in the oven at 400 °F (200 °C) for 10 minutes.

Lower the temperature to 300 °F (150 °C) and bake for an additional 20 minutes if you are using a mini-muffin pan.

If you are using thinner tins (square or round) to bake the teacakes in, only bake them for an additional 15 minutes instead of 20.

Remove from the oven and unmold right away. Let the teacakes cool on a cooling rack or a cutting board.

These teacakes stay moist for at least 2 days as long as you keep them in an air tight container in the fridge. They are best eaten at room temperature.

Optional: mix the shredded coconut, powdered sugar and tarragon in a bowl and sprinkle on top of the teacakes before serving for stronger coconut/tarragon flavors.

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Frenchie and the Beginning of Spring

23 Mar

Voilà le printemps ! I said at the beginning of the week while opening three bedroom windows to let the cool and crisp morning breeze air out a sleepy room and unmade bed.

Soon it will be green everywhere. Different shades of green.

That’s how I know spring has arrived. Green.

But for now, I will just have to content myself with the unusual warm “summer” temperature drastically contrasting with trees still wrapped in their winter gloom.

Green, green, green.

Lawn green – when the bright grass shines in your eyes and make you squint.

Forest green – the first trees showing leaves while taking a walk on a warm Sunday afternoon.

Mint green – and the first buds with leaves sprouting in the garden.

Lime green – when it feels refreshing to squeeze a slice in a big tall glass of cool water and letting it drop at the bottom.

Spring green – coloring up the city all over in patches for a more springlike urban outfit.

And since I’m impatient, I won’t wait for green to come into my life.

Green pears and pistachios will do the trick in the kitchen. A new tart maybe?

And green towels too for additional shades.

On pourrait presque manger dehors ! – We could almost eat outside!

And what better adventure than to celebrate spring on the Massachusetts coast in Marblehead, climbing rocks to find a cozy spot for a late afternoon goûter with green tinted tartlets?

It’s the kind of afternoon when clothes transition between winter and spring, between light jacket and scarf, between shade and hot sun and when the breeze might make you shiver but the strong light will kindly warm up your muscles.

It’s the kind of afternoon when your body remains calm listening to the last sounds of winter disappearing away behind the cloudless blue sky.

Marblehead provided everything needed to enjoy the beginning of a new season and celebrate in style.

Vibrant craggy coast.

Historic old town.

Fascinating quaint streets.

And colorful friendly mood.

An escape from the city to daydream and bask in a lovelier light.

And how were the tartlets you probably wonder?

The first batch was good. Especially in front of the ocean, sitting on warm rocks next to bright purple flowers.

The second batch was even better. Improved and gone in seconds.

The third is a definite winner. A new recipe to keep – and share – for other spring escapades to continue to admire and gaze at the new shades of greens.

And because it is so fitting here, I will finish this post with a small text by French author Philippe Delerm from his book We Could Almost Eat Outside – An Appreciation of Life’s Small Pleasures, translated from French (La première gorgée de bière).

Happy spring everyone!

We Could Almost Eat Outside

It’s the almost that counts, and the use of the conditional. The suggestion seems absurd at first. It’s only the beginning of March and there’s been nothing but rain, wind and showers all week. And now this. Since this morning, the sun’s been shining with a sort of dull intensity, a calm persistence. Lunch is ready, and the table’s been laid. But everything seems different somehow, even inside. The window’s slightly ajar, there’s an audible hum from outside and the air feels fresh.

“We could almost eat outside.” The phrase always comes at precisely the same point in time. When it’s too late to change things because everyone’s just about to sit down, and the tablecloth’s already been spread and the first course set out. Too late? The future’s what you make of it. Perhaps you’ll all feel the mad urge to grab a sweater, rush outside, wipe down the garden table like people possessed, and direct the stunned offers of help towards shaping the general mayhem. Or perhaps you’ll collectively resign yourselves to eating inside in the warmth – after all, the chairs are too damp and the grass is so overgrown…

It doesn’t matter. What does matter is the moment in which you articulate that little phrase. We could almost… A perfect existence, the one lived in the conditional tense, like those childhood games of “What if…?” A world of make-believe pitted against life’s certainties. The freshness of something only a hand’s span away, something you almost experienced. A simple fantasy, involving the relocation of a domestic ritual. A tiny breeze of delirious wisdom which changes everything and nothing…

Sometimes you catch yourself saying: “We could almost have…” The jaded phrase of adults who’ve opened Pandora’s box to discover only nostalgia inside. But then one of those days comes along when you catch a possibility as it passes, grasp the fragile instinct behind a hesitation, without tipping the balance. One of those days when you could almost…

Clove-scented Pear and Pistachio Tart

1 recipe for pâte sucrée or sablée – I add a lemon zest to mine for this particular pear tart recipe

1 cup (120 g) of powdered sugar

1 cup (100 g) of ground pistachios

7 Tbsp (100 g) of butter – melted and at room temperature

3/4 teaspoon of ground clove + a dash for sprinkling

1 egg

1 heaping Tbsp of flour

2 lemons – juiced

3-4 organic pears (I choose Bartlett) – thinly sliced 1/8″ (3 mm)

Preheat the oven to 350 °F (180 °C).

Make sure to remove the dough from the fridge 30 minutes before you plan on rolling it.

Roll out the dough to fill a 9-inch tart pan. Line the dough with the pan, press in the corners, and trim it without any overhang.

With a fork, make small holes at the bottom and place the pan in the freezer for 30 minutes.

In the meantime, prepare the pistachio paste in a medium bowl by mixing the sugar, ground pistachios, ground clove and melted butter.

The pistachio paste should be smooth.

Add the egg and continue mixing. Lastly, add the heaping tablespoon of flour and fold it delicately until you end up with a sticky smooth paste. Set aside.

Juice the 2 lemons and pour the juice in a medium bowl.

Slice the cored pears thinly. I prefer not to peel them so the green skin slightly tints the tart and matches the green pistachio paste underneath. This is better done with organic fruits. Feel free to peel the pears if you prefer.

Drop the pear slices in the lemon juice and make sure they are well coated so as not to turn brown immediately.

When you are ready to assemble the tart, remove the pan and dough from the freezer.

Pour the sticky pistachio paste in the pan. Working delicately all around the frozen tart shell, spread the paste slowly. I find that using the back of a big spoon helps. Make sure to spread the paste all over and up to the tart edges.

Remove the pear slices from the lemon juice. I prefer not to strain them so they keep a bit of the lemon juice on them, which adds a great second flavor to the tart and match the lemon zest bite in the crust. Arrange them delicately on the tart.

Sprinkle the tart with a dash of ground clove and place at the bottom of the oven – on the last row.

Bake for 40 minutes. When done, let it stand for 15 minutes before serving warm. This tart is also excellent made the day before and served at room temperature.

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Frenchie and the American Robots

12 Mar

Americans are programmed!

Yes, they are!

Well, I’m almost certain they are.

I should add that I strongly believe they unknowingly might get programmed at birth. Or so it seems.

It appeared to me very early on when I moved here.

And my research lead me to conclude that Americans were in fact implanted with the HHRU chip.

A chip so effective and cunning only the CIA could be involved in such a coverup of “chipping” babies without parents noticing.

Parents who themselves are probably chipped anyway.

Have you not heard of the HHRU chip?

It’s not an urban legend. Oh it’s out there!

The HiHowRU chip! Yes, it’s been around for decades!

As a young Parisian moving to 123 Kind Rd, Beautiful Green Friendly Midwest, USA, it takes a while to adapt to the gallons of niceness poured over brand new transplants and foreigners.

Coated I was! Coated with sticky, gooey, sweet kindness. Almost like a peanut brittle feels on your teeth and fingers after eating too much of it – and I have eaten a lot of it!

There I was – a human peanut brittle! All nicely coated. Except for the crunchiness… although… But I shouldn’t switch the topic.

Walking along Lake Michigan with friends on a Midwestern summery Sunday morning, leisurely enjoying the soft sun and the sounds of the small waves crashing near by, my peace and quiet was always ultimately disturbed and spammed by unfamiliar high-pitched noises. Hi how you are today?

HIIII, good morning!

‘Morning, folks!

I have to admit something. The first time I heard those noises, I panicked. If you’re new and you don’t know the Law of the Land, you can be overwhelmingly clueless on how to properly ignore and shush those noises away.

Oh la la! I thought. Who are those pesky people demanding to be noticed and acknowledged asking me how I’m doing today. None of your business…. how rude!

And I noted to my friends You do know a lot of people! Look, they all wave and smile.

We don’t know them, we’re just friendly here.

And there I was! Labeled as “not polite”. Put back in my Parisian French box and stuck in it. Get this… I was apparently the one being rude! Moi! 

All those friendly American fingers pointing at French rude me.

The chip works pretty effectively most of the time.

I say most of the time because it can happen that – and I don’t want to sound French-rude – Americans get stuck in some sort of never-ending-friendly-loop, which tells me they need to release a new version of that HHRU chip très bientôt.

Have you ever seen someone’s chip bugging? Or with an apparent defective firewall almost needing assistance and a good Stepford-Wives-reset?

It goes something like: Hihowareyou?Goodhowareyou?Goodandyou?Good,howareyou?Goodthankyou,andyou?

It’s very hard to get out of this messy loop for some.

Like slapping the TV remote or computer when they start going crazy, it’s awkward to watch it unfold and even more difficult to handle when you are the one being looped in this whirl of we’re-too-polite-to-not-answer-madness.

It’s disturbing. But it’s hilarious when it happens.

The first time I saw it, I had to step back in case of an imminent explosion of the American device. You never know!

The second time, I understood I was safe so I played along with it. The ultimate goal wasn’t to clear the kindly sweet American device from all its cookies and cache. Nor was it to crash the hardware. But introducing a Trojan application for some fun malicious action always makes me giggle.

And here’s how that Trojan malware works. If you finish your sentences with the same interrogative and you? back at Americans, it short circuits the entire system and prolongs the excitement – or at least my excitement.

The loop continues. It just won’t end. Trust me, I’ve tried many times.

Now, you don’t want to end up with a sad Mac icon though so don’t abuse of it. But the sparkles it creates are a definite treat!

My friend “I.” recently told me of a work story, which is the best place EVER to observe these Netiquette loops of friendly American sparkles.

As he was calling someone on the phone and began a normal conversation with the typical mundane Hello?, the robot on the other side of the line had already anticipated my friend’s move and said Good and you? without any prompting question.

Dun Dun Dun!

This is a lot scarier than I had anticipated.

What this means is that HHRU robots have now evolved and are able to think independently and adapt to situations.

They don’t wait to hear for your How are you? first, they sneakily already know what you are about to ask. This is a new breed!

The Japanese must be behind this!

A new era is upon us!

Back in the days, my first reactions to these friendly rather pointed and invasive questions – and I ask, who’s rude after all? – were your typical French behavior when feeling caught and stuck in a corner.

Disbelief. Did he just ask me how I’m doing?

Hypnic jerk. What do I say now?

Recoiling at the invasion of privacy. Do I have to answer?

And then ending with one of the best French facial traits ever invented – the embarrassed non-smile.

A smile without being a smile. A little grin. A hidden-seeming-corner-smile.

Here’s how it works:

The French Program called Movement of the Lips is quickly installed internally.

The muscles are already activated. The upper lip raises a bit; spasming like a blinking cursor.

But ultimately the brain-modem takes over and with a deep internal echoed voice Why do you smile, you don’t know him cancels the entire launch of the French Smile Application.

Oh those French computer programs!

This reminds me of the first time I came face to face with a mac and cheese dish.

There too, I panicked. Again, something sticky, gooey and coated. Oh, it’s coated! Not sweet though, but dramatically orange.

There is no way I am eating an orange sauce I thought! Maybe they won’t notice if I elegantly and casually crash all of them robots on a continuous loop. I thought I’d be able to trick them and mess with the motherboard.

You like mac and cheese, dear?

Think quickly, think quickly. Mess with the system… Trojan application… Good and you?

Oh I love it, that’s why I made it for you! It’s an American classic.

It didn’t work! Reboot! Abort!

I always avoided Gouda as a child. How can an orange cheese be tasty? Must be a Dutch cheese!

What’s in it? I asked twitching.

Macaroni with a cheese sauce, made with orange cheddar.

Chez who? Chez what? I thought. Orange what?

Somehow I managed to avoid eating mac and cheese for years. I stayed far, far away.

And then I found out it also came in a box. I collapsed in the aisle of the supermarket between Rice-A-Roni and all the Kraft products.

But finally one day, I experienced homemade mac and cheese. It was… good!

I always thought it lacked a great deal of herbs and meat. Something spicier, something different. And this cheese sauce just cannot be orange! Period.

Lesson learned over the years: smile when you can, it’s not that bad. It certainly beats the frozen Parisian FNAC and BHV workers.

And when it comes to mac and cheese, well of course I had to make my own recipe. Crafted and improved over the years.

It’s a winner! And it’s not orange, évidemment. It’s actually green, which is perfect for St. Patrick’s Day coming up on Saturday.

It’s packed with Asian basil, gooey with béchamel, including nutritiously digestible whole wheat pasta, flavored with truffle oil, sticky and sharpened with white Irish cheddar cheese and topped with blackened chicken.

Such a kind, friendly, nice dish after all! Non?

And once you dig into your plate and let that round belly stick out because you ate too much of it – trust me, you’re gonna want to go back for seconds – you’ll be able to answer your dinning companions once they ask How are you?… Really good actually, thanks for asking!

Asian Basil Béchamel Mac and Cheese with Truffle Oil Flavors and Blackened Chicken

for the blackened chicken – will make 4 pieces:

1 teaspoon of yellow mustard seeds – crushed to end up with 1.5 teaspoon total

1.5 teaspoon of Maras peppers  - medium heat Turkish pepper

1 teaspoon Aji Panca Chile – mild-heat and fruity Peruvian pepper

1 teaspoon onion powder

1 teaspoon ground cumin

0.5 teaspoon Ancho Chile – hotter Mexican pepper

0.5 teaspoon Hungarian paprika

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 Tbsp butter

4 Tbsp of olive oil

Preheat the oven to 350 °F (180 °C). Prepare a baking sheet and butter it all over.

Remove the chicken from the fridge and let it warm up to room temperature.

With a mortar and pestle, crush the mustard seeds until ground. Add the other spices, mix and set aside.

Heat a large cast iron skillet until very hot. It should take 5 minutes on high heat.

Use 1 Tbsp of olive per piece to coat the chicken.

Rub the chicken on all sides with the spices. If you have left over, sprinkle it all over.

Delicately place the pieces of chicken in the hot skillet and cook for 2 minutes per side.

When done, place the chicken on the buttered baking sheet and place in the oven for 15-20 minutes. Depending how thick your pieces are, check every 5 minutes to see if the meat is cooked through.

Remove from the oven and let it cool.

for the pasta:

2 cups (~ 227 g) whole wheat pasta – elbows

1 Tbsp of olive oil

Boil salted water in a sauce pan with olive oil.

Cook the pasta until al dente according to the time indicated on the package.

for the béchamel:

1 small onion – finely chopped

4 Tbsp (55 g) of butter

1/4 cup (30 g) of flour

3 cups (70 cl) of whole milk

1 teaspoon of freshly grated nutmeg

3-5 drops of truffle oil

3 rosemary sprigs

1.5 cup (67-70 g) Asian basil – tightly packed

1 teaspoon of sea salt

pepper

Melt the butter in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 3 minutes.

Turn the heat to low and pour the flour delicately over the onion. Stir quickly and make what we call a roux in French.

Continuously stir for 1-2 min. Do not let the roux brown.

Add the milk gradually and whisk. Bring to a simmer over medium heat but do not let it boil.

Turn the heat to low and add the nutmeg and truffle oil. Stir continuously and simmer for 10 minutes, until it thickens a bit.

Prepare a food processor or blender with the basil and rosemary leaves in it. Transfer half of the béchamel in the blender and keep the other half in the pan.

Pulse the béchamel and herbs until combined and very smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

Return the basil sauce to the pan. Stir to blend and mix both batches of the béchamel together.

Taste for salt and pepper if necessary as well as nutmeg and truffle oil. If the sauce isn’t thick enough, continue to simmer for another 3-5 minutes.

putting it all together:

0.5 cup (~ 115 g) of shaved Parmesan cheese – tightly packed. I prefer shaved to grated.

1 cup (235 g) of sharp white Irish cheddar – grated

Add the cheeses to the pan. Do not overly mix.

Pour the cooked pasta in the pan over the Asian basil béchamel and cheeses and stir. Make sure the pasta is well-coated in the end.

If you find the sauce isn’t thick enough or that you have too much of it, use a colander to get rid of the excess sauce.

Slice the chicken thinly and serve the pasta warm with chicken on the side or on top.

Sprinkle with the spice mix used for the chicken if you have any left.

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Frenchie and a Rustic Zucchini Galette

2 Mar

When one receives a bag of chestnut flour – XL-sized mind you! – directly from Corsica, one cannot not open it immediately to let the woody roasted smell escape from the home-made bag and fill the air.

Chestnuts are the base of traditional Corsican cooking: fresh, roasted, boiled or ground. They’re everywhere.

The XL excitement was too much to contain! A gigantic bag of chestnut flour!

I imagine it would be like receiving the iPad 3 before its release!

Picture this: a rustic low-lit kitchen in a stone house in a small mountainous Corsican village.

A flaky chestnut puff pastry is being rolled for the Swiss chard onion turnovers – called bastelle.

Whipped eggs are poured over garlicky zucchinis and tangy brocciu cheese for an omelette sprinkled with a peppery mint.

It’s what I wanted to make and recreate with this bag of flour.

The savory woody taste of chestnut flour mixed in a dough with herbs.

Memories of chestnuts roasting in the communal fire pit sur la place du village surrounded by craggy mountains.

Once upon a time, polenta was made with lupin flour. Now, the chestnut pulenta - as they call it – is on the table at every meal.

Zucchini are most of the time paired with mint and cheese.

Stuffed zucchini. Zucchini omelette. Zucchini bread.

Always a lingering and stimulating cool mint after-thought when finishing the first bite.

And if you’re lucky to put your hand on a batch of peppery Corsican mint, it will not compare to any other mints you might have encountered before.

The galette is even good the day after, reheated for a couple of seconds.

I eat it for lunch or dinner or even as a snack when I cut myself a tiny sliver.

It’s a must-make in my house.

And it brings Corsica in all of its complex flavors on my plate in one dish.

Now if someone would finally import brocciu cheese… let me know if you do!

Rustic Chestnut Crust Zucchini Mint Galette:

for the crust:

1/2 cup (60 g) of whole hazelnuts – to end up with 3/4 cup (70 g) of ground hazelnuts

1/2 cup (60 g) of chestnut flour

3/4 cup (95 g) of white flour

1/2 cup (60 g) of whole wheat flour

3 oregano sprigs

1 rosemary sprig

1/4 cup (60 ml) of olive oil

1/2 cup (118 ml) of water

1/2 teaspoon of sea salt

Preheat the oven to 350 °F (180 °C). Lay the whole hazelnuts on a baking sheet and toast in the oven for 15 min.

With a towel or paper towel, rub the hazelnuts several times to remove the skins. Let cool.

In a food processor, grind the toasted hazelnuts in tiny chunks with the oregano and rosemary leaves.

Do not grind finely – you should still have tiny chunks.

If you are in a hurry and do not have time to toast the hazelnuts, by-pass this whole process and use ground hazelnut directly.

In a big bowl, sieve together the chestnut, white, whole wheat flours and salt. Add the ground hazelnuts and mix. Dig a well in the center and pour the olive oil and water.

Mix delicately with your hands until the dough forms a ball. Flatten the ball, cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge overnight or for at least 1 hour. If chilled overnight, remember to remove it from the fridge and wait 30 minutes before rolling it.

Note: if you don’t have access to chestnut flour, use another flavorful flour instead like millet or add more whole wheat flour. Chestnut flour has a very strong, earthy and woody smell and taste. You can increase or decrease the chestnut flour measurement and substitute with whole wheat flour depending on the rustic taste you’d like to achieve.

for the caramelized onion:

1 big onion

2 Tbsp of walnut oil

seal salt

1 teaspoon of sugar (optional)

Peel and cut the onion in half. Slice thinly.

In a big pan, heat the oil and cook the onion for 35-40 minutes.

10 minutes into the cooking process, sprinkle with sea salt and sugar (optional).

Cook until caramelized. Do not mix too often. You want your onion to brown and stick to the pan a little. But don’t burn it.

Place in a bowl when done and leave to cool.

for the zucchini:

2 zucchini – sliced thinly 3/16″ (4.5 mm)

2 garlic cloves – minced

1 Tbsp of chopped oregano

1 Tbsp of chopped rosemary

In the same pan, heat the oil and add the garlic. Cook for 5 minutes.

Add the zucchini and herbs. Cook for 5 minutes until tender but still crisp.

Set aside in a colander to drain to juices.

putting the galette together:

You will need the dough, caramelized onion, cooked zucchini as well as

2 oz (56 g) of fresh crumbled goat cheese

mint

Preheat the oven to 400 °F (200 °C).

Roll the dough on parchment paper to a 11-12 in. (28-30 cm) round disc.

It is ok if the edges of the disc are rough. The galette is meant to be rustic.

Place the caramelized onion in the center and spread on the disc leaving a 1.5-2 in. (4-5 cm) border all around.

Sprinkle half of the goat cheese on the onion.

Arrange the zucchini slices around the onion and work circularly to cover the cheese and the onion.

Fold the edges of the dough over the zucchini – create creases if you want to.

Holding the parchment paper on each side, lift and place the galette on a baking sheet and chill in the fridge for 20 minutes.

When done, cook in the oven for 30 minutes.

Let the galette cool for 10 minutes. Sprinkle it with the rest of the goat cheese, chopped mint leaves and a sprinkle of sea salt and pepper before serving warm.

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Frenchie and la Bretagne

21 Feb

Diving into old photos from our last trip in Bretagne (Brittany) brought warm and sunny delightful summer memories of the French northwestern peninsula where I used to spend half of my summers as a child.

Rugged, historical, windswept, mystical – the most perfect place to spend a summer.

Driving the 240 miles (390 km) between the fainted noise of the school bell announcing the beginning of the summer season and our family house in Brittany used to be torture.

I don’t recommend French summer traffic jams.

But as soon as Rennes was far behind us, the western country was finally ours for an entire month.

And with dreamy names like Carnac, Pont-Aven, Quimper, Loctudy, Bénodet, or Lesconil flashing on the road signs as we were swiftly driving by, I could already feel the ocean and the waves wash over my feet.

Brittany – Land of the Sea – Land of Legends.

The summer schedule was pretty simple and always strictly observed.

Sleep in. Play in the garden. Read Treasure Island just one more time. Maybe work on some Summer Activity/Study Book – the dear cahier de vacances. Hiding it so no one could study was also part of the schedule at times.

A trip to the fishing port before lunch to buy fish or langoustines (scampi).

Lunch in the shade outside.

Waiting to digest – yes, this was part of the schedule too. The French have this wonderful crazy rule that kids should not swim or play in the water right after lunch.

Ç’est dangereux !

A 2-hour rule is imposed on all kids and teens. Past 15, the rules could be bent. Maybe digesting in the water wasn’t dangerous for 16 year olds, or so it seemed.

And then, an entire afternoon spent on the beach.

Red buckets, green shovels, colorful beach towels and clear plastic sandals, we were on our merry way walking through the small city.

Turn left past the stone manor, on the way to the abbey, through the sandy path, next to the lighthouse – that’s the best spot.

The blue beach umbrella firmly driven into the sand.

The rocks always hid treasures under the soft green algae where tiny crabs and periwinkles – bigorneaux – were hoping kids wouldn’t find them.

Secretly laughing at all of us, the seagulls were eyeing the crêpes we had brought for a tiny goûter break while enumerating the fascinating adventures we had just witnessed on the beach pier with shiny mica flakes still stuck on our fingers.

The last bite of the crêpe always proved to be a bit sandy and crunchy.

Adults liked to tease and tell grand tales of magical forests and druidic rites, strong heroes and tempting enchanteresses, dragons and forgotten cities, and the Knights of the  Round Table.

Tales of the supernatural both fascinating and mystical.

The raging sea, turbulent wind and  blinding rain made for cautionary tales of the treacherous coastline.

But the romantic heritage of the Breton lifestyle and scenery is hypnotic like the noise of pebbles on sandless beaches skittering on the ocean.

Despite eating crêpes on the beach, one of my favorite treat was to walk to the boulangerie to buy a far breton.

A slice of far breton – a delicious custardy pastry with prunes.

Like a boat on her beam-ends at low tide, slouching and lounging on a sunny bench to devour the entire package carefully prepared and taped by the boulangère.

The tall tiny pyramid of pink paper with a sturdy square base tied up with brown ribbon to open delicately until the first sight of a prune inside the package.

And that golden-brown crust!

The recipe I am giving you here is for a spiced far breton - served in individual bowls. You can always make a bigger one in a regular baking dish to slice up.

I also like to cook them in silicone baking molds to eat them on-the-go and transport them for a picnic, for example.

My spiced version – which is non traditional – also adds raisins in the mix with cloves, cardamom, lemon and orange flavors.

Easy to make and easier to eat!

I miss spending time in Brittany.

The white and blue houses.

The orange and pink bright colorful spots of flowers.

The French sailor’s striped shirts.

The elegance of Quimper.

The historic port of Concarneau.

The sand dunes of Fouesnant.

The waterside walks of Pont-Aven.

The house in Loctudy.

And the windy granite cliffs of the Pointe du Raz, where it is fun to pretend you can fly by extending the arms as the wind blow through coats and hoods.

“La mer tourne

autour de ses noms

la baie, le cap

le sillon

la presqu’île, la ria, le marais

et forment un paysage

Saint-Michel, Fréhel

Talbert

Crozon, Etel, Guérande

qui confirment un pays

où la mer tourne autour de la terre

sous la lumière du soleil”

La terre tourne – poem by Yvon Le Men

Spiced Far Breton

2 Tbsp (30 g) butter

3.5 oz (100 g) of pitted dried plums, sliced lengthwise

0.8 oz (25 g) of raisins

zest and juice of 1 orange

1 lemon

1/2 teaspoon of ground cloves

11 cardamom pods, crushed

3/4 cup (150 g) of sugar

1 cinnamon stick

2 Tbsp spiced rum (I use the MA locally made Diabolique rum)

3 eggs

pinch of salt

2 teaspoon of vanilla extract

1 cup (25 cl) milk

4 Tbsp of spelt flour

1/2 teaspoon of guar gum

pinch of ground cinnamon

Lightly butter small individual bowls with 1 Tbsp of butter. I use bowls with a 3.5 in. (9 cm) diameter and 2 in. (5 cm) high.

You can also use silicone baking molds – pour less dough than for individual bowls.

Place them on a baking sheet and preheat the oven to 425 °F (220 °C).

Prepare the dried plums and raisins first. Make sure to let them marinate overnight. If pressed for time, at least marinate for 2 hours.

In a small sauce pan, bring to a boil the orange juice and juice of half the lemon.

Add the ground cloves, crushed cardamom pods, 1/4 cup (50 g) of the sugar, the orange and lemon zests, the cinnamon stick and the rum to the sauce pan.

Mix well and let simmer for 4 minutes.

Discard the 11 crushed cardamom pods and pour the liquid/syrup over the sliced plums and raisins in a small bowl. Make sure they are covered.

Set aside overnight.

When you are ready to make the far breton, remove the cinnamon stick and zests from the bowl with the prunes and raisins. Drain them but keep the syrup.

In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs with the rest of the sugar (1/2 cup or 100 g) until smooth.

Add the pinch of salt, vanilla extract and milk. Whisk well.

Sift the flour and guar gum over the bowl. Gently incorporate the flour to the dough.

If you prefer a spicier taste, use the marinating syrup and add 1 Tbsp to the dough. Otherwise, discard the syrup.

Place prunes and raisins at the bottom of the lightly buttered individual bowls. Pour the dough over and fill the bowls 3/4 full.

Add a pinch of ground cinnamon on top of every bowl.

Bake for 25-27 minutes (less time if you’re using smaller silicone baking molds).

Set aside and let cool at room temperature. Sprinkle each far breton with tiny pieces of butter for a more authentic taste. Divide the last Tbsp of butter among all bowls. Let the butter melt and serve.

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