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Monday, August 17th, 2015

Summertime White Peach and Vanilla Bean Tarte Tatin

RECIPE: White Peach and Vanilla Bean Tarte Tatin

Mr. English and I spent sixteen perfect days in France this summer. It was my first vacation in a year, and I counted each perfect, sun-soaked, olive oil-drenched day one by one until finally the last, devastatingly, arrived.

The first week, we discovered the Alpilles, up high in Provence. Rocky like the moon, relaxed — but chic, and brimming with rosé. We stayed at a stunning hotel called Le Mas de la Rose, and as ever, we regaled ourselves at breakfast. We like nothing so much as a really good hotel breakfast.

I love breakfast in France – cheese, baguette, yogurt, fruit so ripe it weeps. They did a great seared brioche coated in sugar – better, I think, than French toast. I’ll try to figure out that recipe. Verbena tea. Prunes. Delightful!

And they had these fabulous jams in cool flavors that they procured at the market in Eygalières. Strawberry mint. Blueberry thyme. And my favorite, peach vanilla. I had never thought of peach and vanilla before, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since!

Someone at work recently turned me on to New Jersey peaches — nearly as good as the Provençal ones. I found gorgeous white ones, although, of course, you could use the yellow. I have traditionally found tarte tatin to be quite exacting and hard to get right, but I realize, it is so much easier to make with soft, ripe peaches than with apples, because you don’t need to precook the fruit. Just swirl around sugar, water, and vanilla bean seeds in a pan until golden, add in some cool unsalted butter, and arrange your peach slices on top. I add a pinch of Maldon sea salt too, because what’s caramel without salt? Then I just top with puff pastry out of the fridge, and throw the whole thing in the oven.

The caramel is bitter-salty-sweet, has that deep vanilla perfume, and it mixes with all the peachy juices. When you flip it over, the caramel juices form a deluge, rushing to the edge of the platter (use one with a rim!), so that the tarte looks like the ark awash in a peachy sweet sea after forty days and forty nights. The puff pastry soaks it up but keeps its own sense of self at the same time. It is so good! Throw some crème fraîche on the side. It is a summer showstopper. I had this grand plan to invite people over to devour it, but Mr. English and I just keep sneaking off to the fridge for “slivers”. I’m putting this one on repeat until peach season is up!

Bon app!

White Peach and Vanilla Bean Tarte Tatin

serves 4 to 6

INGREDIENTS

½ cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons water
1/8 teaspoon Maldon sea salt
The seeds from 1 vanilla bean
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 ripe white peaches, pitted and quartered
1 sheet thawed frozen puff pastry

METHOD

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a 10-inch sautépan, meat the sugar, water, salt, and vanilla over medium heats until golden brown, swirling the pan occasionally to ensure even caramelization – about 9 minutes. Take the pan off the heat and swirl in the butter. As soon as the butter is melted, arrange the peach quarters neatly in the caramel (I use tongs so I don’t burn my fingers). Then, quickly roll out the puff pastry just a little bit, so it covers the pan, and using the tongs, tuck it into the edges of the pan. Using a paring knife, cut two little steam vent slits in the pastry. Bake until golden brown, about 25 minutes. Then, let rest on the counter for 10 minutes. Then carefully turn out onto a plate, and serve with crème fraîche!print this recipe

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Desserts, Eat, Fruit, Provence, Recipes, Vegetarian, Voyages

Sunday, August 2nd, 2015

Summertime French Country Deviled Eggs with Maille Cornichons, Capers, and Herbs

RECIPE: Deviled Eggs à La Campagne

In the elevator, rocketing up from the sizzling sidewalks, I hope my apartment, so high in the sky, will offer some relief. It turns out I’m just twenty-odd stories closer to the sun. It is still hotter than hot. I know what hell is like – I have known for as long as I can remember. It is New York City in August.

I am just back from two weeks in the South of France, where it was even hotter than hotter than hot. But the heat was dry, the mistral was blowing – and, we must not forget, there were pools…and fountains, and a sea. Still, even with the respites available, I was surprised to see the locals eating pappardelle à la crème; courgette lasagna; brandade parmentier. Of course, I am no fool. When in France, do as the French do – and I did. But as a rule, in the summer heat, I prefer lighter things. These are the only months when I want no cream, little cheese, and definitely no mayo.

Egg salad à la campagne is a tartine I have made for a long time. While I am a born New Yorker, I have never understood traditional New York egg salad, bursting with mayonnaise, squirting out over the edges of an over-stuffed bagel. Ick. But my improvisational French country version, full of hard-boiled eggs smashed together with peppery sea glass-green olive oil; fresh, grassy herbs like chervil, chives, and parsley; capers; cornichons; and sometimes shallots is so much lighter AND at the same time, much more flavorful with so many different bright flavors punching through the richness of the eggs. Plus, I don’t fear that it will loose its cool in this heat, as mayo has no part in it.

Usually, I serve egg salad à la campagne as a tartine on pain au levain, a wheat sourdough. But I thought, for a picnic, it might work well as a riff on deviled eggs. I mash the yolks with parsley (chervil is best if you can get it) and chives, lots of olive oil, and tangy capers. Lots of salt and coarse black pepper. Then, I add my favorite part: the cornichons. I adore Maille cornichons (I’ve been known to eat a jar in a day), and they are getting easier and easier to find in the States. They are super-crisp and not at all sweet – vital to the supreme cornichon. Plus, each jar is fitted with an ingenious cornichon basket that lifts out, so you don’t need to fish around in the brine with your fingers. I also chop up a few of pickled pearl onions that come in each jar, and added, of course, a spoonful of Maille mustard. Then I nested the mixture back in the waiting hard-set egg whites.

Maille Cornichons and Pearl Onions

To me, while they are decidedly old-world, these deviled eggs are at the same time very modern. Fresh, bright, light, and full of flavor instead of fat. Pack them for a picnic this summer, serve them at a shower. They dress up or down and go anywhere. Bon app – and stay cool!

Merci à Maille pour les cornichons!

Deviled Eggs à La Campagne

serves 4 to 8

INGREDIENTS

8 eggs, hardboiled and peeled
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons Maille Dijon mustard
6 Maille cornichons, finely chopped
2 Maille pickled pearl onions (from the cornichon jar), finely chopped
2 tablespoons finely chopped capers
1 tablespoon finely chopped chives
1 tablespoon finely chopped chervil or parsley
Salt and pepper

METHOD

Slice the hardboiled eggs in half vertically and scoop out the yolks into a large bowl. Arrange the whites on a serving tray. Add the olive oil, mustard, and salt and pepper to the yolks, and mash until smooth. Add the remaining ingredients, and stir to combine. Pipe or spoon the yolk mixture into the hollows of the egg whites. Drizzle very lightly with olive oil and garnish with extra herbs.print this recipe

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Categories: 15 Minutes, Appetizers & Hors D’Oeuvres, Breakfast & Brunch, Cheap, Easy, Eat, Eggs, For a Crowd, Recipes, Vegetarian

Monday, June 22nd, 2015

How and why you should celebrate Bastille Day!

RECIPE: Sloshed Red Berries in Rosé Wine with Thyme

Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong era because one of my favorite things to do is “entertain at home”. Does that sound so Mitford? I’ll be honest: I don’t do it as often as I would like. The excuses are endless: I work, and I live in Manhattan where dinner out can cost as little as $7.00 and my “dining room” is the size of a postage stamp, and everyone’s schedule is a mile a New York minute. But in serene moments, I fantasize about having everyone over, having the time and space to put out a feast, and just sitting all night talking and laughing and refilling wine glasses until the early morning. I like that it’s about the company, which feels precious. I like that it can last. Shoes come off. No one is waiting for your table. And you make memories.

Consequently, I’m always looking for an occasion for a party. And one that I am religious about is Bastille Day. I’m half French, but most of my friends aren’t, so it’s always the perfect excuse to throw an “extra” celebration on the calendar. Every year it changes. One year, the famous Bastille Day can-can show at the now defunct but fabulous Florent in the Meatpacking District of New York City; another year, pétanque in Madison Square Park. Sometimes, it’s just a bottle of rosé and sandwiches on the roof, or if we’re out of the city, a barbecue on the beach or in a backyard. One lucky year, it was a rainbow of pastel fireworks from a bridge spanning the Seine, followed by a nightcap in a café spilling onto the sidewalk a stone’s throw from Notre Dame (that was while I was at Le Cordon Bleu, and I’ll never forget it).

As the multitude of French lifestyle books over the last few years will attest, you don’t need to be French to, well, be French! And you know what? I’m okay with that. I have always been evangelical about French flavors and joie de vivre. So this year, join me in throwing a fourteenth of July fête! You don’t even need to tell people it’s Bastille Day – just use it as an excuse to have people over, to celebrate summer, to rejoice, and to say chin-chin. Or, do as I do, and go all-out:

The Food

Crustless quiche stuffed with tangy chèvre and fines herbes

It’s summer, so I always think picnic food, things that can be picked and nicked at will throughout a long, hot night. A reader favorite has always been my Petite Crustless Quiches with Fines Herbes and Chèvre, which you could also bake as one large quiche and serve in wedges or squares. I love Bon Appetit’s recipe for chicken roasted with garlic and herbes de Provence, which I serve at room temperature. Another favorite is Elizabeth Bard’s oven-roasted ribs with honey and rosemary, from Lunch in Paris. But my “franglais” choice for this year is the lowly merguez baguette, street food in France: spicy North African lamb merguez sausage, charred on the grilled, and stuffed unceremoniously in a crusty baguette. I would add half sour or new pickles and cilantro for a banh mi feel, or, instead, goat cheese and drizzle of honey, or a wonderful American red pepper preserve, or a broccoli pesto. It’s casual, but it’s not expected.

Merguez baguette charred off the grill

To start, I recommend my riff on guacamole: avocado’s mashed with goat cheese and served with artisanal potato chips (try with sweet potato chips!) and crudités.

And for dessert, you have to try my new Sloshed Berries in Rosé. It couldn’t be easier, and it is so good (I have just been eating it very fashionably out of a Ball jar from the fridge). For four people, pour a cup of rosé wine (I used côtes de Provence) into a small saucepan along with three tablespoons of sugar. Heat the two together just until the sugar dissolves; then turn off the heat, throw in one or two sprigs of fresh thyme, and let the syrup infuse until it comes to room temperature. One of the best combinations I picked up in France is strawberry and thyme; the herb cuts through the sweetness and adds a woodsiness that you can’t quite place. It feels grown up. Just toss the cooled rosé wine syrup with an assortment of berries, and you have the most light, refreshing, surprising, (and intoxicating) dessert.

Berry paparazzi shots from French markets last summer

The Drinks

You can’t go wrong with very cold bottles of rosé. Another option is La Piscine, a drink I discovered in Juan-les-Pins, near Cap d’Antibes. As fancy as it sounds, it’s just champagne on the rocks, and I like how irreverent it is. And a panaché is always refreshing: equal parts beer cut with good French limonade.

La Piscine in Juan-les-Pins, and artisanal limonade in Forcalquier

The Activities

If you are outside, it must be pétanque. Mr. English and I have already determined that in our retirement, we will be a fiercely competitive husband-and-wife pétanque duo. Look out Provence!

If you’re at a table, play French Consequences. Write a sentence in English, and pass it to your left. The person there attempts to translate it to French, and then folds it so that only the French shows. Then, the next person translates it to English, folds, and passes it along. And so on. By the time it gets to the end of the table, it’s pretty funny. This works best if everyone has taken a little bit of French and forgotten it, and / or you’ve had a few of the drinks I recommend above.

A picturesque pétanque court at Le Couvent des Minimes; playing pétanque in a New York City park

The Music

For something fun, search “French” in Songza; they have a handful of lively playlists, my favorite of which is French hip-hop. Who can resist?

Or, for something classic, create an Edith Piaf station on Pandora. Timeless.

Bistro lights strung up at our wedding

The Décor

Bistro lights, strung from trees, from balcony railings, or even from bookcases always make me feel like I am eating on the sidewalk to the tune of a wonderfully wheezing accordion. Blue, white, and pink hydrangeas on the table remind me of those wonderful pastel tricolore Parisian fireworks that July five years ago. For me, a truly French touch is always plain white china that allows the food to speak without being interrupted. And I love Duralex Picardie glasses: inexpensive but authentic, stackable, and perfect for water and wine.

Pink, blue, and white hydrangeas evoke le bleu, blanc, et rouge (at also the red, white, and blue of the Fourth)

White china reminds me of French bistro; here, a plate we shared with a Parisian sparrow

The Invitations

I have long been a devotée of Paperless Post, which provides virtual iterations of beautiful stationary – the paper weight, the embossing, the foil magically jump of the screen, but retain the ease, timeliness, traceability of email. I love it so much that the save-the-date to our wedding in France was created using Paperless Post. If you search for “France” and “Paris”, you’ll get some great themed options!

So, bonne chance, mes amis, with your summer entertaining! Bastille Day is such a fun occasion; and besides, I happen to think the world should celebrate things like equality, brotherhood, and freedom more often. Bon app!

A version of our real “save the date” on Paperless Post

Sloshed Red Berries in Rosé Wine with Thyme

serves 4

INGREDIENTS

1 cup rosé wine (like côtes de Provence)
3 tablespoons sugar
1 to 2 sprigs thyme
12 large strawberries, halved
16 blackberries
24 raspberries

METHOD

In a small saucepan, heat the wine and sugar over medium heat, stirring until dissolved. Take off the heat and add the thyme. Leave to infuse and cool completely. Combine the berries and divide among four cups. Divide the cooled syrup over them, and serve right away. It's that easy, and so very good.print this recipe

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Desserts, Easy, Eat, Fruit, Recipes, Vegetarian

Sunday, June 21st, 2015

Farmhouse Flavors on Father’s Day

RECIPE: Drunken Goat Spaghetti

My dad is pretty special. I know all daughters say that, but it’s really true. He has taught me a lot over the years, not least of which was how to enjoy food. A true gourmand, he simply cannot boil water, so he educated my palate and entertained his by taking me all over Manhattan when I was young, to restaurants high and low. He is slim, but he enthusiastically and methodically and consistently finishes whatever is put before him. He taught me that eating, the meal, is the time and the place to connect with your family and to share your life, which is a lesson by which I have always lived.

The second lesson he taught me is a more recent one (see dad, I am still learning!). My dad, like me, is a creature of habit. We love adventure, but we also love to return to what is tried and true. This is a part of myself that I have always been ashamed of, that I have always fought against. Shouldn’t we leave the neighborhood, I’ll ask Mr. English, just to see what else is out there? Isn’t it boring to always order vanilla ice cream (vanilla is my favorite)? Shouldn’t I try something new?

My dad does not have these hang-ups. When he identifies something he likes, he likes it. There is no shame; there is no restlessness. For example, he loves pinot noir. Whenever he orders wine, he orders pinot noir. For years, I made fun of him. “Come on, dad,” I cajoled impatiently. “Why don’t you try something different!?”

“Because I like it.”

And that is courage of conviction; not something to be admonished, but rather to be admired.

In honor of Father’s Day and my dad, I created this Drunken Goat Pasta, thick spaghetti drowned and cooked in a bottle of pinot noir. It is incredibly farmhouse in flavor: the pasta is cooked with shallots, garlic, and thyme sautéed simply in olive oil. It slurps up both the color and the flavor of the dry, light, fruity pinot noir, which becomes the essential flavor of the dish. And it is finished with fresh parsley, a touch of butter, and creamy goat cheese, which you can either serve sliced or crumbled on top of the pasta, or melted into it.

I just feel like this dish is so my dad; it is sophisticated, but also simple and honest. My dad doesn’t eat meat, so it captures his sensibilities. But I have to say, I think it would go beautifully as the unexpected side to a roast chicken or a braised cut of beef.

Happy Father’s Day to everyone out there; tonight, I will toast my dad with a glass (and a pot!) of pinot noir.

Drunken Goat Spaghetti

serves 4

INGREDIENTS

1 pound thick spaghetti, spaghettoni, (recommended: Barilla), or regular spaghetti
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 shallot, minced
2 large cloves garlic, grated
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1 bottle Pinot Noir
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cold
¼ cup chopped parsley
2 ounces chèvre

METHOD

Bring a large bottle of salted water to a boil. Cook the pasta for half of the amount of time prescribed on the box. It should be soft enough to bend, but not yet al dente. Meanwhile, in a heavy-bottomed braising pot, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the shallots and sweat for three minutes until soft. Add the garlic and thyme, season with salt and pepper, and just heat through for one minute. Add the pinot noir, salt well, and bring to a bubble. Use a pair of tongs to transfer the pasta from the boiling water to the bubbling wine (you’ll want to keep the pasta water in case you need to loosen the sauce later). Cook the pasta, stirring occasionally, until it is al dente, and which point the wine will have been absorbed into the pasta. Add the butter and parsley, and toss through. Then, you can either add the goat cheese now, and toss through to melt, or you can serve it sliced or crumbled up on top of the pasta. Bon app!print this recipe

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Easy, Eat, Main Courses, Recipes, Sides, Starches, Vegetarian, Vegetarian

Wednesday, May 20th, 2015

Long Island’s North Fork and Springtime Sorrel Salmon

RECIPE: Springtime Sorrel Salmon for Two

When I was young I had a friend named Catherine. Our mothers were friends, and every now and again we’d take the drive out from Manhattan to their cottage in Jamesport, just by the sea. I have vivid, cinematic memories of the place because it was so extraordinarily sensory. The smoking steam of hamburgers sizzling on the barbecue. The clouds of perfume shrouding lilacs collapsing on their vines in the summer air. The pant and froth of the horses as we trotted through the heat. The pages of Narnia as they were turned in the little wooden cottage. The chestnut brown of the prehistoric horseshoe crabs nestled in their sandy beds on the gray beach.

It’s been nearly twenty-five years since those summers. For Mothers’ Day this year, Maman and I had determined that we would go away together somewhere different, like we did during what we like to call our “adventures” when I was young. She and me, contra mundo. But when I looked at flights for the May weekend, everything was over $500. So much for spontaneity! Desperately disappointed, I tried to take Mr. English’s advice: “Don’t panic,” he often admonishes me. “Problem solve.”

So I pluckily resolved to find a destination that was cool enough for our adventure and within driving distance of New York; I had been hearing so much about the vineyards on the North Fork. Seven-year-old me had no idea that Jamesport was on what is known as the “North Fork” of Long Island, so I was delighted as I was plotting our wine-tasting, farm stand-hopping trip to realize that our modern-day adventure was a frolic through one from our ancient past.

We began the weekend at Noah’s in Greenport. My father used to take my mother on treks to Long Island in their early marriage just for the duck, so naturally Maman and I ordered Long Island duck confit with bacon-flecked black lentils. We had a head of roast garlic, to smother onto grilled bread. We had a kale Caesar splintered with julienne of apples. And a fritto misto of calamari, sugar snap peas, and lemon slices.

When I announced that I wanted the rhubarb crostade for dessert, Maman looked at me and asked, deadpan, “What is roo-bart?”

With that, it had to be ordered, a wonderful handfolded pie of astringent rhubarb offset with a turban of fresh whipped cream. Maman declared it the best thing she’d ever eaten and set out on every subsequent meal in search of roo-bart.

The next morning came more firsts for my mom. At Harbes Family Farm, I introduced her to the joys of apple cider donuts. “Mmm!” was the exclamation. Unfortunately, the roo-bart had not come to harvest time yet at Harbes, but I bought two gorgeous bouquets of fresh green asparagus, and all the organic herbs for my windowsill herb garden that I’d been dreaming of through the winter.

Later, we ran into friends at the rosé-only vineyard Croteaux (apparently New York is not only a small city, but also a small state), and sampled six rosé varietals. I finally settled on one with wild fermented yeast to bring back for Mr. English. And that night we dined at the famed North Fork Table and Inn, where I experienced the North Fork harvest brought to life in fresh spring pea soup with buttered crab and stinging nettle cavatelli which may have been the most original and well executed American pasta I have ever had. Maman’s fennel and orange cheesecake was the lightest, most exquisite dessert, but no, she confirmed, it did not rival her new beloved roo-bart.

Sunday found us back at the North Fork Table and Inn, sitting at a picnic table under their leafy trees sampling their food truck. Season salad. Artisinal hotdogs. Fries. It reminded me of those cookouts so many years ago, albeit more refined. We headed out to Orient to walk the beach and collect sea glass and shells, trying ineffectually to skip rocks. Finally, heaving sighs, we decided to drive back to the city. Oh, let’s just stop here, we said at the lavender farm as we sniffed at the different sprigs. Ooh, and here! we excused ourselves as we stopped by Catapano farms to sample their homemade goat cheese and buy a pot of chervil to complete my herb collection. We were now running officially late for our city dinner at Little Owl, but when I saw a huge sign on the side of the road shouting “fresh sorrel”, I stunt-drive swerved off the road and into the little road-side stand’s parking lot.

I love sorrel. I don’t know why it’s not a bigger deal here in the States. I can often find it at Whole Foods for about $3, but the volume is so infinitesimal compared to the recipes that call for vast quantities of the astringent herb in French cookbooks. To know me is to know that I love traditional French pairings, to France what peanut butter and jelly are to America: terrine and mustard, fondue and cornichons, sausages and lentils, and my favorite, salmon with sorrel.

Sorrel, in its astringency, is almost a citrus, even though it looks like a green leafy vegetable. Traditionally, salmon is seared, and served with a lightly creamy sorrel sauce in fine restaurants, or an almost creamed spinach version in hearty homey restaurants. Inspired by the French-American fusion I saw at Noah’s, I created my own simple version of salmon with sorrel. I seared the salmon with just salt and pepper in olive oil until crisp. For the sorrel sauce, I wilt the sorrel in just seconds with a few chives and a splash of white wine. Then I whip it together with just a bit of Greek yogurt – it’s healthy, and the tang goes so well with the sorrel. You could also use crème fraiche for the same effect. Although not the healthy part. The sauce melts in tiny rivulets into the ravines of the crispy salmon. The acerbic tang of the herb cuts through the fatty richness of the salmon. It is so, so good. I serve it on top of fresh medley of green vegetables, just sautéed until tender crisp. You could, of course, use just Long Island asparagus.

At the farm stand, I grabbed a big handful of sorrel, convinced it would cost a fortune. When the till rang up $1.25, I went back to grab more. “No,” Maman exclaimed! “Mr. English is waiting! We are late!”

They sell sorrel for pennies; I am thinking that kind of savings means I can start looking at real estate.

Springtime Sorrel Salmon for Two

serves 2

sorrel sauce

INGREDIENTS

1 tablespoon olive oil
¼ ounce chives, chopped
¾ ounce sorrel leaves, chopped
Salt and pepper
¼ cup dry white wine, like Sauvignon Blanc
¼ cup Greek yogurt

METHOD

In a small ceramic nonstick sauté pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the chives and sorrel, season with salt and pepper, and wilt for 30 seconds. Add the wine and reduce to 1 tablespoon. Add everything to a small blender, add the yogurt, and whiz until smooth. Set aside.

salmon

INGREDIENTS

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 5-ounce filets of salmon
Salt and pepper

METHOD

In the same pan as the sorrel (no need to wash it!), heat the oil over medium-high heat. Season the salmon with salt and pepper. Place the salmon flesh-side-down in the pan. Cook for 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium, flip the salmon, and cook for an additional 5 minutes for medium-well.

TO SERVE

To plate, spoon some sautéed vegetables (if you want) in a wide, shallow bowl. Place the salmon on top, and crown with sorrel sauce. Eat up!print this recipe

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Categories: 15 Minutes, Easy, Eat, Fish, Main Courses, Recipes

Sunday, April 19th, 2015

Elizabeth Bard Answers Readers’ Questions + 1001 Nuits Ice Cream!

RECIPE: 1001 Nights --Raz el-Hanout Ice Cream with Grilled Almonds

Elizabeth Bard, author and ice cream adventurer, is back to answer ALL your questions. Below, she discusses the virtue of fried dough and (my favorite ingredient!) orange flower water, hairy vegetables, sea snails, and, of course, picnicking in Provence! Plus, if you haven’t already gone out and bought Picnic in Provence (it has nearly five stars on Amazon!), here’s a sneak peak at one of my favorite recipes: 1001 Nuits Ice Cream.

Thank you all so much for sending in these questions. Because Elizabeth was so kind as to answer all of them, I’ve selected one entrant at random (I actually wrote everyone on slips of paper and picked blind from a bowl!) for the prize of a free copy of Picnic in Provence.

Readers’ Interview with Elizabeth Bard

@findingfrenchie: What is her favorite meal of all time?

Elizabeth Bard: Oh difficult, but I’d have to pick a dinner we had in Barcelona in 2013. Restaurant with no name, no sign, you have to pick the right door and walk down a florescent lit corridor. There’s no menu, it’s the chef’s choice. Out came course after course, baby squid in garlic oil, sea snails on a bed of sea salt, langoustines, and to finish – the most divine oxtail I’ve ever tasted.

@findingfrenchie: What is Elizabeth’s most used ingredient as of now?

EB: I’m obsessed with roasted cauliflower at the moment…I can never be without fresh herbs: parsley, cilantro, thyme, rosemary.

@akopald: Where should we eat in Provence?

EB: You should buy lots of tempting things at one of the local outdoor markets and find yourself a spot with a lovely view to picnic.

@ruths_collection: I’ve read Lunch in Paris and it’s one of my favorite books [and] cookbooks. Although I don’t really cook and my favorite recipe is the yogurt cake (which I make with pineapples). It seemed you were not a cook before you moved to Paris — but food brought you closer to the culture and suddenly you weren’t shy about trying. How has the Provence experience helped your cooking grow and mature — how is cooking in Provence and the market and foods availability there different from Paris?

EB: I’ve always cooked with olive oil, because I can’t stand the smell of melting butter, and Provence has really reinforced that habit. I do a lot more “naked” cooking in Provence – simple stacking, slicing and combining of great ingredients. It’s more like arts and crafts than cooking!

@lindar1: What is your favorite market in Provence?

EB: Apt on a Saturday for hustle bustle, or Reillanne on a Sunday to really do your weekly errands.

Michelle: Question for Elizabeth! What is your favorite ice cream flavor that you serve at your shop? The 1001 Nuits sounds amazing.

EB: I’m a sucker for the Fraise a la Creme (Strawberries and Cream) ice cream. I forced my husband to make it alongside the more French style strawberry sorbet.

Linda: I loved Lunch in Paris and can’t wait to read Picnic in Provence. Where will your next adventure be? Maybe the west coast, Bordeaux area?

EB: I think with a new business and a great local school, we will be staying put for a while. There’s so much more to learn and do here.

Meridith: Elizabeth, do you incorporate any American food traditions into your holiday celebrations with your family?

EB: Of course, I make my grandmother’s mandel bread for Passover and a fab corn souffle and pumpkin cheesecake for Thanksgiving.

Christine: When you moved, did you discover new breads or pastries (!) that are “native” to Provence? If so, please tell us about your favourites!

EB: I love fried dough in any form, so I wait eagerly each year for the Mardi Gras “Bugnes” – fried puffs of dough flavored with orange flower water.

@JKDabrowska: Have you found a fruit or veg unique to France that we have yet to discover and try over here?

EB: Most people in the States have yet to experiment with the humble (and hairy) celery root. I think it makes the best mashed potatoes ever. I never tasted dandelion greens until I came to Provence, I love their bitter curly bite.

Lacey: Really looking forward to this book! Elizabeth, what is the best part about raising a child in the French countryside? Thank you!

EB: I love the fact that our son has a real relationship to nature (much more than I ever did). We did an Easter egg hunt out in fields behind a friend’s farm, and he recently adopted a baby goat.

Jennai: Have you ever eaten escargots and / or frog legs? Do you like them? Must take some getting used to.

EB: I love the chewy texture of escargot (not so different from clams) and frogs’ legs are really not that different than chicken wings, just more delicate flavor – but mostly it’s about the garlic butter they are often cooked in. There’s nothing like a sizzling platter of escargot with a piece of crusty baguette to sop up the garlic butter.

Isabel: Do you think you’ll stay in France forever or do you envision living somewhere else someday? And if so, where?

EB: “Forever” is about 18 months for us. Hard to say. There’s no 5-year plan in the world that would have gotten me where I am right now, and we are so happy in Cereste. We’ll just have to wait and see!

@findingfrenchie: What meal does her family most enjoy that she prepares?

EB: My son loves my sautéed haricot verts (green beans with or without bacon) and my carrot soup (those two recipes are in Lunch in Paris). Everyone loves the Gateau Maman – literally “Mommy Cake” – which is a pear quickbread (that recipe is in Picnic in Provence).

Christine: What is your preferred writing environment? Do you have a special spot?

EB: A café. Preferably a noisy one. I can’t concentrate alone.

Christine: In your opinion, what is your most ingenious ice cream flavour? Do your customers agree?

EB: The 1001 Nuits (our ice cream based on raz el-hanout, a North African spice blend) has been a big hit; it’s a bit like a spicier version of chai with grilled almonds mixed in. (Kerry’s note: see below!)

Merci, Elizabeth!

1001 Nuits Ice Cream

If you’ve read this blog more than once, you know that my mother was born in France, and my grandmother in Casablanca. My mother’s cooking leans more towards the French – roast duck, potatoes au gratin, ratatouille. Meme’s, decidedly more Moroccan: her mechoui and green olive stew are legendary (and my personal and much contested viewpoint: the best in the family! Shhh…). When I saw Elizabeth’s 1001 Nuits ice cream, inspired by The Arabian Nights, made with toasted almonds and ras el-hanout (a Moroccan spice blend that means “head of the shop” because each spice shopkeeper has his own secret blend), I thought, this is so us I have to try it! My mother was coming into town, and I knew she’d flip.

The ras el-hanout has the ginger and clove spice that lends a Christmas warmth, but it’s also full of pepper and rose that give it so much more exoticism. I churned it and served it with an extra crack of black pepper and a shower of almond shards over the top. With my family’s predilection for Moroccan flavors (heat in sweets; sweets in savories), combined for their French enthusiasm for ice cream, they really did, in fact, flip. She and my stepfather each had two servings. My father, New York City through and through, had three! Proving you don’t need to have Scheherazade in your blood to find this ice cream irresistible. And like Scheherazade herself, it keeps you coming back for more. Bon app!

1001 Nights --Raz el-Hanout Ice Cream with Grilled Almonds

INGREDIENTS

2 1/2 cups whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 egg yolks
1 1/2 teaspoons raz el-hanout
1/3 cup sliced almonds, toasted

METHOD

Toast the almonds in a small frying pan, until golden. Let cool fully and set aside. In a medium mixing bowl, beat egg yolks with sugar until a light lemon yellow. Set aside. Prepare an ice bath -- a large mixing bowl full of ice cubes will do it. Set aside. Find your fine mesh strainer and leave it near the ice bath. Pour the milk and cream into a medium saucepan and add the raz el-hanout. Heat over a low flame, unitl it's just about to boil. Shut the flame, then slowly add the hot milk to the egg yolk mixture, whisking quickly and continuously to combine. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan, and cook over low heat, stirring continuously, until the cream coats the back of a wooden spoon. About 5 minutes. Immediately pour the custard through a fine mesh strainer back into the mixing bowl. Cool briefly in the ice bath, whisking for a few minutes until the cream has cooled a bit. Store in an airtight container in the fridge. If possible, leave for 24 hours, so the flavor has time to develop. Freeze in your home ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. After churning, mix in the toasted almonds. Freeze in an air-tight container for an hour or two before serving. Keeps for about a week, but in terms of texture, best eaten on the day it's churned.print this recipe

print this post Posted by Kerry | Tagged Books, dessert, Elizabeth Bard, France, ice cream, Morocco | Comments Off
Categories: Desserts, Eat, Finds, Frozen, People, Recipes, Vegetarian

Monday, April 6th, 2015

Picnic in Provence, Apple Clafoutis, New York Parking Lot Markets, and Figapalooza

Spring is finally here, but it’s been a long time coming. When I received the galley of Elizabeth’s book, I sat down to read it, all along looking for ways that it would work on French Rev. As I said in my review of the book, the pages transported me back to Provence. And for me, Provence is a synonym for markets. Mr. English and I pretty much ONLY picnic in Provence. Stopping by markets for melons and white peaches, bottles of strange liqueurs, olives, tomatoes, and even saucisson. The flavors are like prizefighters — so punchy they take up more space than they should, packing more force than they have any right to, filling the air with smells so strong you can actually taste them.

Feeling forlorn about the state of my New York produce, I saw Elizabeth’s recipe for clafoutis, and I thought, there is something that works anywhere and any time. Just swap out the cherries for whatever is in season. That is the French way! That is why clafoutis was invented! I can do that, even here! Plus, I had just found out about a little farmers’ market just two blocks away in a small parking lot on Saturdays. Not exactly Elizabeth’s Forcalquier, but something!

Clafoutis is a classic French dessert. Like a soft pancake custard, sweet, fluffy, cream, and poured over the season’s prized fruit — usually cherries. I couldn’t wait to see what my cherries would be. The Saturday before last rolls around. I am up; I am ready. I run to the elevator, and out the door. It never pays to be late to a farmers’ market.

I emerged into the snow. Great flakes pouring down around me, so ridiculous I felt like I must be standing under one of those snow machines they use in the movies. I was shocked to see that they really truly melted — real snow. I arrived at the little market, looking for signs of life. Daffodils. Asparagus. Spring!

Instead, amidst the flurries, I found rows and rows of apples. It felt nearly medieval — like these apples had been stored underground in some cellar as the only bit of freshness to tide us over until the spring that would never come. This is New York, the Big Apple, so I shouldn’t have been shocked by the multitude of apples. Apples I’d never heard of, that by the chalk signs on the crates were hybrid descendants of other apples I’d never heard of. But when New York gives you apples, I said to Mr. English, we make apple clafoutis!

I have never heard of apple clafoutis, but in true Franglais fashion, that is what we had for our Sunday breakfast. Apples, baked in the oven under a pillow of custard, biting their thumbs at the snowy drifts outside, as we tucked cozily in.

Of course, I used Elizabeth’s clafoutis recipe, simply swapping out the pound of cherries for a pound of peeled, cored, and sliced apples, and exchanging the amaretto for a spoonful of true Norman pommeau that I snuck back last spring. I asked Elizabeth about clafoutis and markets down in Provence, and this is what she has to say…

Elizabeth Talks Clafoutis

Kerry Saretsky: How did you learn to make clafoutis?

Elizabeth Bard: I played around with the custard base in Paris, but it was after we moved to Provence and our neighbor, Mr. Cappelletti, invited us to pick cherries from his tree that I had to get serious about perfecting my clafoutis. Like pancake batter, the key is not to overmix.

KS: What produce most inspires you in Provence?

EB: I’m a fig lover, every year when the fresh figs arrive I throw myself a little fig fest – Figapalooza, if you will.

KS: What is the market culture like in the South of France today?

EB: It’s still the best and cheapest way to buy seasonal ingredients. There are still a lot of small producers, people selling from their own farms or their own herds. I only go to the supermarket once every three or four months, for staples like pasta, chocolate, and cleaning products. The rest I buy at the butcher and the Sunday market in Reillanne.

KS: Do you believe in clafoutis for breakfast?

EB: I believe in clafoutis 24 hours a day!

Merci, Elizabeth! Picnic in Provence comes out in just a few short hours! Pre-order it here.

Elizabeth’s Cherry Clafoutis recipe from Picnic in Provence

print this post Posted by Kerry | Tagged apples, Books, breakfast, clafoutis, dessert, France, Provence | 2 Comments
Categories: 60 Minutes, Breakfast & Brunch, Cheap, Desserts, Easy, Eat, Eggs, Finds, Fruit, Pastries, Recipes, Sweets, Vegetarian

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