As seen in a Paris café…
Kudos to Gideon for having the fortitude to try it.
Recently the proliferation of heirloom tomatoes at greenmarkets harkens back to the days of yore, when tomatoes were beautiful and irregular and presumably so full of flavor that after one bite you could boast about how good it was for the remainder of your life and try to make everyone feel like you know something that they don’t know and how much richer your life is than theirs because you’ve had this amazing tomato experience and they haven’t.
Nowadays the marketers and growers have gotten smart. It’s fairly easy to come across tomatoes sold ‘on-the-vine’ that look old-fashioned. But when you get them home and slice them open, they taste negligibly better than any of the other tomatoes at the supermarket…and cost twice as much. They just have a redder color and come with their stems attached.
Here’s an excellent recipe for encouraging flavor and sweetness from any tomatoes, even ones that are less-than-ideal, using a technique called making a confit. The slow roasting with olive oil concentrates and sweetens flavors, making ordinary tomatoes boast-worthy.
Confit of Tomatoes
Adapted from The Sweet Life in Paris
1. Buy some tomatoes, just about any variety will do. 2 pounds (1 kg) is a nice amount.
2. Wash and dry them, then slice them in half. Pour enough decent-quality olive oil in a baking dish so that it just covers the bottom of the dish, somewhere between 1/4 cup (60 ml) and 1/3 cup (80 ml) should do.
3. Sprinkle in coarse salt and freshly-ground black pepper, add a few branches of fresh thyme and/or a few sprigs of rosemary. Then line the bottom of the baking dish with the tomatoes, sliced-side down. Don’t be bashful; it’s okay to really pack them in.
4. Peel and slice 3 or 4 garlic cloves, slice them in half lengthwise and tuck them in the gaps between the tomatoes. Sprinkle the tomatoes with a bit more salt and a small sprinkling of sugar (less than 1 teaspoon) and add a few bay leaves.
5. Bake the tomatoes in a 350 F (180 C) oven until they are soft and cooked throughout (a paring knife should pierce them easily), which should take at least 45 minutes.
6. Once they’re soft, remove them from the oven and let stand until room temperature. You can scrape the tomatoes and juices and herbs into a container and refrigerate them for up to 4 to 5 days or use them right away. They will actually improve as they sit.
Use them to toss into pasta, slightly chopped, or warm them and spoon them whole onto hot garlic toasts, perhaps with a few filets of good anchovies, and shower them with lots of fresh herbs. They’re also nice served alongside a summer salad with some goat cheese, all drizzled with a bit of the tasty olive oil and juices.
Related Links and Posts
Canning Tomatoes (NCHFP)
Just an hour or so from Paris is the medieval market at Le Neubourg where each wednesday locals crowd the market, choosing their fresh fruits and vegetable, regional raw-milk cheeses and just-churned golden-yellow crocks of butter, along with meats and hand-stuffed sausages from the jovial local bouchers, doling out crispy morsels of sautéed charcuterie.
It’s the kind of market where if you ask the poultry person for a quail, they’ll stick their hands in a box, there’ll be a flurry of activity within, the unsettling sound of ruffling feathers and squawking…then calm. A few seconds later, your dinner will emerge. The medieval market at Le Neubourg is the real thing and has existed for hundreds of years and some of the wares are not for the squeemish.
Nowadays you’ll find vendors selling crisp frites sprinkled liberally with crystals of sel de Guérande, cheery Arabic vendors hawking fragrant olive oil soaps, and rubber-booted fishermen presiding over piles of glistening mussels from nearby Brittany.
Being a baker, I think (and hope), has good karma. No animals have been harmed in the making of any of my desserts. So aside from the live birds and furry bunnies for sale, what wowed me of course was the abundance of berries on display. Judging from the sweet perfume of the raspberries and the plumpness of the currants (as well as the stained fingers of the farmers) they’d obviously just been picked.
Beginning with choosing teams for third-grade Dodgeball to food blog memes, I’m accustomed to being the last one picked. But then I get tagged twice in one week! Along came my new gal-pal Meg, from Too Many Chefs, who snagged me for the cookbook meme that’s been going ’round.
1. Total number of cookbooks I’ve owned:
Well, er, when I moved out of San Francisco, I packed them all in boxes for storage, and there are about 18 per box. And, um, there were about 30 boxes, so that would make around 540. And that number was considerably higher before I sold a few off prior to the ‘big move’. In my petit Paris apartment, I have about 35 cookbooks.
2. Last cookbook I bought:
Fine Chocolates, Great Experience by Jean-Pierre Wybauw.
Jean-Pierre was my teacher in Belgium when I went to chocolate school at Callebaut and he’s one of the great talents in the world of chocolate. He worked deftly (and never got a drop of chocolate on him…ever) and was so patient with all his students. His book explains much about chocolate including how to make chocolates, enrobing them, and extensive information about the fabrication of chocolate. Much of it is geared towards professionals, who are distraught, since many are having a hard time finding this book in the United States.
3. Last food book I read:
On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen by Harold McGee. Harold spent 10 years updating his original book (which no one initially wanted to publish…but eventually went into 17 printings!) This book answers every question you could have about food and cooking. Every cook should have a copy of this revised edition in their library. I read it cover-to-cover.
4. Five cookbooks that mean a lot to me:
In the last meme, I mentioned food writers who I admire, so I’ll list here 5 cookbooks that I actually use for everyday cooking…
Chez Panisse Desserts by Lindsey Shere
Naturally, I’ve made more desserts from this book than any other and my kudos were echoed by Claudia Fleming, who I considered the best pastry chef in the US while she was at Grammery Tavern in New York. She told me it was her favorite dessert book of all time.
From Tapas to Meze by Joanne Weir
This is one book that I cook from often. The Feta-Cucumber Salad is the greatest recipe, in my humble opinion, although there’s lots to choose from. I love serving all the salads and vegetables and small-dishes from the regions represented: Spain, Italy, Morocco, Lebanon, and more.
French Farmhouse Cookbook by Susan Loomis
Since moving to France, this cookbook helped immensely with the transition, as I learned about French ingredients and the way food is prepared here. Interspersed are informative stories about food production across France, as well as easy-to-follow recipes from farmhouses across the countryside, where the best traditional cooking is found.
Chocolate and the Art of Low-Fat Desserts by Alice Medrich
Stop snickering. Just because the desserts are low-fat, doesn’t mean they aren’t fabulous. Nobody but Alice Medrich, the chocolate-guru, could create such amazing chocolate-rich desserts with reduced amount of butter and cream but no icky ingredients. It was here I learned when you adjust the amount of fat in desserts, you let the other flavors shine through. Everything I’ve made from this book, all these desserts, are winners, and not just the chocolate ones. The Chocolate Buttermilk Pound Cake is moist and has rich-tasting chocolate flavor and texture, and the Apricot Vermouth Cake is exceptional too. And that lofty Chocolate Souffle!
The Zuni Cookbook by Judy Rodgers
Someday I will get around to making the justly-famous Zuni Roast Chicken with Bread Salad, but I have made many other things from this book with grand success. Judy has the rare ability to explain something like it’s never been explained before, sans the fluff. Her instructions for salt-brining have changed the way I cook; I’ve learned so much about food and cooking just leafing through this book. When Judy worked at Chez Panisse, she made me the best thing I ever ate in my life. Truly.
And you gotta love a book that starts off the dessert chapter with… “Dessert has the interesting duty of teasing out the last gasps of your appetite.”
5. Which 3 people would you most like to see fill this out in their blog?
Well, considering that last 3 people who I tagged with the previous meme aren’t speaking to me anymore, I’d better hit some ‘fresh meat’…
Lisa, aka the Amateur Gourmette
Stephanie, from Adventures of Pie Queen
The fine folks at Becks & Posh who may have already been tagged, but I like corresponding with them…so there!
Recently, I was thumbing randomly through cookbooks and came across a recipe. Here was the first ingredient in one…
That’s it. No explanation.
It’s like saying…
I think those actions require perhaps a modicum of an explanation.
On the other hand, if a recipe says…
…I don’t think chopped or grated need further explanation. And indeed adding those instructions to a recipe would make it unnecessarily long and daunting. Honestly, any recipe longer than one or two pages freaks me out.
Is it worth the real estate on the page to say…
“Lift the almonds from the bag or storage container and distribute them in an even layer on a clean and dry wooden or plastic cutting surface. Be sure the surface is flat and preferably waist-high. Use your hand to grab the wooden handle of the knife, being sure to avoid the sharp blade end. Lifting from your elbows, direct the knife over the almonds on the cutting board and press downward while gently rocking the knife back and forth, moving the knife as necessary over the almonds, to cut them evenly. If some almonds fling across the counter, set down the knife and retrieve the errant almond pieces. Add them back to the mound of almonds and continue chopping.”
Now wasn’t that a mouthful?
A few years back a very talented pastry chef from New York came out with his first book. In the book was a three-page recipe for brownies, complete with full-color step-by-step photos. Holy Mother of Betty Crocker! Is there anyone in America who doesn’t know how to make brownies? It’s one thing to present a recipe, and to show how neat and fabulous they look when stacked on a lovely white Crate & Barrel plate, but do we need to see what the nuts look like when scraped into the brownie batter or an instructional photo of the bowl of melted chocolate and butter?
A writer recently went on a bender about cookbook authors that don’t list water as an ingredient. Often that’s not up to the author, but an editorial decision based on space (space=money, especially in magazines.) Believe it or not, one or two sentences can throw a whole page off-kilter. I’ve had copy editors direct me to go through a page and get rid of 7 words (in editor-speak, the “widows and orphans”.)
But Kate’s right, it is annoying to be making a recipe and find that the 2 cups of water that your supposed to divide between the chocolate cake batter and the frosting, you’ve just added to the mixture, which now looks like a muddy lagoon instead of a smooth, luscious glossy chocolate batter.
While Adam’s on vacation, Lisa’s been dubbed the Amateur Gourmette by Pim and was making a recipe for Butterscotch Pudding and it didn’t come out right.
The recipe calls for “2 cups milk”, but there in her photo is a carton of 2% milk. She is so busted. The recipe turned out to be a disaster. In her defense, the main reason the recipe didn’t taste good is it only calls for ¼ cup of brown sugar, which would add negligible butterscotch flavor. But did the recipe indicate “whole” milk or just say “milk”? Whole milk is normally critical to a pudding recipe. In that case, the recipe writer is so busted.
I decided to let her slide by on this one since she’s just the substitute and everyone likes to pick on the substitute, but I’m sure when Adam gets back, there’s gonna be hell to pay.
So here’s a concise, and photo-free, recipe for Butterscotch Pudding:
1 cup (packed) dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons butter (salted or unsalted), melted
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 1/4 cups whole milk
½ teaspoon salt
3 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons dark rum or whisky
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1. In a large bowl, make the butterscotch base by mixing the brown sugar with the melted butter (note the lack of a picture here.) Set aside.
2. Put the yolks in a small bowl and stir briefly (no photo here eith…Huh? ok, I’ll stop…it’s getting obnoxious.)
2. In a small bowl, whisk the cornstarch with a small amount of the milk until smooth. Pour the rest of the milk into a heavy saucepan and scrape in the slurry of cornstarch and the salt.
3. Cook over medium heat, stirring with a whisk constantly, until the mixture thickens and begins to boil. Whisk a small amount of the hot milk mixture into the egg yolks and then scrape the warmed egg yolk mixture back into the saucepan.
4. Keep cooking and stirring the custard until it comes to a boil again. It will become quite thick and mound up like mayonnaise. Remove it from the heat and pour it into the butterscotch base. Add the rum and vanilla and whisk until the butterscotch has dissolved into the custard. Pour into large serving bowl.
Chill (…in the refrigerator, duh!)
Note: I’ve updated the recipe since several readers thought there was too much butterscotch flavor. Feel free to use light brown sugar in place of the dark brown for a milder flavor.
When people ask me the rather perplexing question, “Why do you live in France?”, I simply direct them to the nearest fromagerie. Yes, there’s great food to be found everywhere: Spain has great ham and crisp, almond turrone, Italians have great olive oil and gelato. And when in New York who can resist the chewy bialys and bagels? But there is nothing comparable to the cheeses of France…
In the small city of Rouen, in Normandy, is one of the few remaining affineurs in France. As you may know, once milk is formed into molds, it needs to be properly ripened to become cheese. The ripening can be for just a few hours or can last up to several years for a hard grating cheese such as Parmegiano-Reggiano. There’s just handful of affineurs left in France, who ripen cheese in caves just below their shops. The last time I visited François Olivier with my friend Susan Loomis, he welcomed us into the caves. This time, he told us that as of a few months ago, European Union regulations forbid visitors. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons the French voted against the constitution.
Of course, I was immediately attracted to the butter that François salts himself. While I was there, a steady stream of customers came in for a large block of it.
But I also came for the camembert, since François carries one of the few artisanally-made camemberts left in Normandy. Although camembert is the unofficial symbol of France (there was a giant wheel of camembert balloon ‘float’ to lead off the parades at the commencements of the Tour de France recently) but there are few remaining true camemberts left. Like Brie de Meaux, true camembert is actually called Camembert de Normandie and will be labeled au lait cru (raw milk) so if you come to France, be sure to choose a cheese labeled as such, not simply “camembert.”
The French are a famously stubborn lot and are refusing to compromise the integrity of their cheeses (as well as a few other things…) But why not? They make the best cheeses in the world. And Normandy is arguably the most famous cheesemaking region here in France. At François’ fromagerie, you’ll find the elusive Maroilles, a hulking square of cheese aged for 100 days and weighing in at a hefty one-pound, with a powerful, pungent fragrance that cheese-expert Steve Jenkins describes as “…about as subtle as a bolt of lightening–get out a clothespin.” One whiff, and I agreed.
More subtle was the soft, dewy-white wheels of Delicor. When sliced open, the pleasantly chewy rind gives way to a soft, milky cheese that is sweet and slippery on the tongue. This is the one cheese that François makes entirely himself and is justly proud of it. Another famous cheese of the region is represented here, Neufchâtel (not to be confused with the low-fat cream cheese in the United States) which is often heart-shaped since the women cheesemakers would often make them for their sweethearts. You’ll find Graval, a mound of bulgingNeufchâtel, enriched with extra cream with a velvety yellow mold on the exterior. The nutty, complex Comté, aged for 2 years, was the best I’ve had. And I’ve had a lot of Comté.
Properly made raw milk cheeses have been consumed for centuries and he noted that raw milk that’s less than 1½ hour old is full of natural antibodies. He compared cheeses made with cooked milk to wine made with cooked grapes.
When reflecting on the new changes in cheese making because of EU regulations and strict US importation laws, François sadly noted that in most of the world, quality means hygienic, whereas here, quality means “good taste.”
Fromagerie François Olivier
40, rue de l’Hôpital
tel: 02 35 71 10 40
French Cheese Archives
I was tagged by Adam, the Amateur Gourmet who picked me for this food meme. (Then split for 2-3 weeks of vacation!) Here’s my responses…
What is your first memory of baking/cooking on your own?
Good Seasons salad dressing.
No wonder I became a pastry chef.
Who had the most influence on your cooking?
Lindsey Shere, who was the original pastry chef at Chez Panisse. I was so fortunate to have someone like that influence me right from the start. I learned how to really taste things from her, and how important ingredients are to good cooking. Much more so than fancy techniques.
Alice Waters also was a positive influence as well. She has a great deal of belief in what she’s doing and is truly dedicated and passionate about her ideals.
Do you have an old photo as “evidence” of an early exposure to the culinary world and would you like to share it?
Don’t have one on my hard drive. A downside of the digital age.
Mageiricophobia – do you suffer from any cooking phobia, a dish that makes your palms sweat?
Squid (or anything with tentacles.) I refuse to touch it or even look at it. Squid scare the shit out of me. Those suckers are U-G-L-Y!
My first day on the job at Chez Panisse in 1983, the chef handed me a huge bus tub of squid and told me to clean it.
Only after years of therapy was I able to overcome the trauma.
What would be your most valued or used kitchen gadgets and/or what was the biggest letdown?
Where do I begin?
Ok, I’ll choose the 3 worst offenders:
1. Those thick rubber heatproof gloves. You can’t get a grip on anything.
2. I hate silicone baking molds for cakes. Every time I teach a class, people keep asking me if I like them. So quit asking.
3. The French Press is perhaps the worst apparatus for making coffee. I don’t care what anyone says, so don’t try to tell me otherwise. The coffee comes out muddy, over-caffeinated, and gets cold fast. Plus they’re hazardous; I had one fly across my kitchen as I was pressing down, spraying my entire kitchen (and me) with coffee grounds. I hear about complex methods for brewing good coffee in them, but who wants to deal with that in the morning? I’ll stick with my espresso pot.
BONUS RANT: The Le Creuset Tagine that has no flange on the lid. The first time I used it, the hot lid slid right out of my hands and crashed (there’s no way to hold onto it.) They refused to give me a new one, although they did change the design eventually. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who complained. And since I sacrificed my lid for the good of others, they should send me a new one, don’t you think?
Name some funny or weird food combinations/dishes you really like – and probably no one else!
I like to eat dried pasta right from the box. Especially elbows.
What are the three eatables or dishes you simply don’t want to live without?
Dark Chocolate-Covered Marshmallows
Fried Chicken without gravy (so it stays crisp) but lots of salt
Caramelized Salted Peanuts (or anything caramelized, for that matter.)
Any question you missed in this meme, that you would have loved to answer? Well then, feel free to add one!
…from Nicky at Delicious Days
Your favorite ice-cream…
The chocolate and caramel ice creams at Berthillon on the I’le St. Louie in Paris, and the Gianduja gelato at Caffè San Marco in Torino.
You will probably never eat…
Anything with tentacles.
Your own signature dish…
Fresh Ginger Cake from Room For Dessert which I’ve been served in lots of restaurants and bakeries. I’ve received more emails and kudos (from home cooks as well as people who serve it in their bakeries and restaurants) for that cake than anything else.
…from the ChefDoc at A Perfect Pear
Any signs that this passion is going slightly over the edge and may need intervention?
I’m blogging when I should be cooking.
…from Clement at A La Cuisine!
Any embarrassing eating habits?
I used to eat lunch in the shower because I was so busy when I worked in the restaurant business and never had time to eat.
…from Sarah, of The Delicious Life
Who would you want to come into your kitchen to cook dinner for you?
Aside from hauling out my Ouija board and raising Julia Child from the great beyond, the warmer-blooded Elena Arzak from Arzak restaurant is an astounding contemporary cook and is mindful, yet playful, without being silly or pretentious.
…from Adam, of The Amateur Gourmet:
Who’s your favorite food writer
Hard to pick just one. It’s definitely between Roy Andries Di Groot who wrote The Auberge of the Flowering Hearth which is the best food book ever written…(and the dude was blind!), Jane Grigson’s Fruit Book is full of great recipes and superb writing, and Richard Olney, who had the amazing ability to deftly describe a technique or taste without pretentiousness. He was American, but wrote and cooked while living in France, wandering around his kitchen in skimpy briefs drinking Scotch straight from the bottle.
…from David Lebovitz at David Lebovitz.com:
What’s the best food city in the world?
San Francisco and Barcelona.
Three people to pass it on to…
Judy at Over A Tuscan Stove
Kate at French Kitchen Adventures
Pascal at C’est moi qui l’ai fait!