Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

In recent years there has been a proliferation of cookery books that focus on the general geographic region of the Middle East and Turkey. Fortunately, these texts have proven to the interested cook (and chef, I should imagine) that there is more to the cuisines of these cultures than kebobs, Circassian chicken, moussaka, and baklava - not that these aren't wonderful when perfectly prepared, but their ubiquity undermines the culinary variety of these interesting and vast territories.

My personal enjoyment for Turkish food began over ten years ago when my friends and I, fresh out of high school, went to the Turkish Cafe in Ponsonby (one of Auckland's restaurant rows) on a whim and hungry for something "different." Exotic to us, then, was Turkish food - and belly-dancers, but they do not an authentic Turkish meal make. Anyway, like most initiates, I tried hummus and doner kebabs for the first time, followed by baklava and syrupy Turkish coffee. Everything felt velvety on my tongue. Though simply presented, it was the luxury provided by the textural qualities of the food that won me over. I became obsessed with the restaurant for a couple of years.

If we are to talk about Turkish food in the over-arching, umbrella-sense of the culinary ideal, it is useful to know that it draws from many regional influences. The Osmanlis (Ottomans), the greatest of all Turkish dynasties, adapted Persian and Arab dishes in addition to those of the region Bolu, where the Osmanlis used to hunt, and from where the greatest cooks of the Ottoman Court were sought. Aspects of what became Ottoman and consequently a national cuisine left their mark wherever the Ottomans reigned, which speaks to the myriad versions of hummus and baklava throughout North Africa, Southern Europe and the Middle East. Historical information pertaining to cultural and sociological insights form the narrative depth from which spring the recipes of Claudia Roden's grand cookery text The New Book of Middle Eastern Food, which celebrated its 40th year in publication last year (first published by Penguin in 1968 as The Book of Middle Eastern Food).

(Please note that the concept Middle Eastern herein refers not to a specific region but to an extensive community of various cultures that have traded and shared with each other, sometimes by force or lack of choice (territory wars, dispersed populations, etc.)

In order to cook anything from The New Book of Middle Eastern Food, one should become acquainted with the various ingredients that are predominant. After an engaging introduction on the genesis and scope of her text, Ms. Roden provides the reader with information on the necessary flavourings, aromatics and condiments of Middle Eastern cookery, most of which are relatively easy to source in any large metropolitan centre, in any area where there is a distinct Arab, Iranian or Muslim community, or online, if all else fails. Such examples are: dibbs, a date syrup that is used as a natural sweetener in Iraq; orange-blossom water; pomegranate syrup (or pomegranate molasses), a dark, tart flavouring that I cannot do without; ras-el-hanout ("top of the shelf"), a spice mixture that can contain anything between 12 and 100 ingredients; and argan oil, from a nut native to Morocco.

Recipes are presented in chapters devised according to: Appetizers (Entrées for those outside of the US), Salads, and Cold Vegetables; Yogurt; Savoury Pies; Soups; Egg Dishes; Fish and Seafood; Poultry; Meat Dishes; Vegetables; Rice; Bulgur, Couscous, and Pasta; Breads; Desserts, Pastries, and Sweetmeats; Pickles and Preserves; and Drinks and Sherbets. I will touch on some of these chapters in this review.

The first food chapter, Appetizers, Salads, and Cold Vegetables, presents "an art of living," which most of us love: mezze. The perfect mezze plate comprises small bites of varying textures and temperatures. Those which inundate supposed-Occidental images of Middle Eastern mezze are well-represented here: hummus, dukkah, taramosalata, and baba ghanouj. My proclivity is towards those with Syrian accents, as indicated by the presence of pomegranate molasses in muhammara (a condiment also made with walnuts, garlic and coriander) and Betingan bel Dibs Rumman (in which pomegranate molasses plays a principal role in the marinade for baby aubergines). Common ingredients across the board are: chickpeas, aubergines, tahini (a paste made of ground sesame seeds), walnuts, and peppers. Parsley seems to be the primary herb used, and popular spices include sumac, cumin, and turmeric.

For the uninitiated, soup is a good entry into any cuisine, for the comfort of a soup bowl is seemingly universal. This may help overcome the reluctance to try something different - or at least it works when I try to get those of shy palates to challenge their tastebuds. Many a Middle Eastern soup is tangy (due to the reliance on good, sharp lemon juice), such as the Egyptian hamod and Greek avgolemono, and most rely on lentils or vegetables (particularly pumpkin and spinach) to create density in the soups. Another popular ingredient is yogurt, which is generally added after the simmering period; it adds depth and creaminess while rounding out intense flavours in a healthful way. Of all the yogurt soups, I particularly like Eshkeneh Shirazi, a specialty from the Iranian city of Shiraz (a city of gardens and fruit trees in which the oldest sample of wine has been found) to which chicken stock is added to a roux, then it is seasoned and brought to the boil before adding chopped walnuts and dried fenugreek. After a simmering period, a large quantity of yogurt is added, then the soup is quickly served. Some soups are national dishes, and their presence provides great insight into the various cultures explored in The New Book of Middle Eastern Food.

I cannot count how many times I have flipped through the Poultry chapter in the years that I have owned The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. Poultry is the stand-out star for special occasions, particularly festivals. As Claudia Roden presents each recipe simply, one can serve a dish that is ordinarily grand in an accessible, mid-week way. For example, Hamam Mahshi bil Burghul is a way of expressing one's love for someone else, but it is essentially roasted and stuffed small poultry (usually poussins or chickens). We all know how to do this, and I use this particular recipe on a regular basis - the poultry marinates in an aromatic oil of cardamom, cinnamon and allspice and is stuffed with sweetly spicy and nutty bulgar wheat that is plumped up in chicken stock. Of course, I suppose, nothing says "I love you" better than a well-prepared, roasted chicken. Combining poultry with sweet ingredients (particularly cinnamon and fruit) is fairly commonplace throughout the Middle East. Fast approaches include Tabaka Piliç (Georgian chicken with plums) and Djaj bel Loz (Moroccan chicken with almonds and honey).

Meat Dishes picks up on the lavishness of the Poultry chapter, for meat was largely associated with aristocracy, and is to this day used sparingly and for special occasions in some parts of the Middle East. There are many recipes for stuffed meat, ground meat, tagines (Moroccan stews), and offal. As a lover of lamb (no surprise, I suppose, given that I am from New Zealand), this chapter is a particular favourite. Great and interesting examples of lamb dishes include: Shish Kebab (marinated, grilled meat on skewers), Kuzu Kapama (a Turkish dish for leg of lamb with scallions and herbs), and the Turkish lamb stew with creamy aubergine sauce (Hünkâr Beğendi). For those who love meatballs, there are 8 recipes in this chapter. Meatballs with spinach and hummas (Kofta bel Sabanekh wal Hummus) is popular throughout the Middle East, and I like to serve it an Iranian sauce made with orange juice (khoresh sak) - a photograph is provided at the opening of the post; the taste outshines and belies its simple appearance.

As meat is used judiciously, there is a reliance on Vegetables, Rice, and Bulgar, Couscous, and Pasta, which make up three detailed chapters in The New Book of Middle Eastern Food. If ever you want to glamourise and vaunt a side dish of vegetables, or if you are looking for vegetables presented as a main course, look no further. In the Middle East, vegetables are grilled, stuffed, preserved and gently cooked in myriad ways. In Egypt, leeks (korrat) are added to fried garlic and caramelised sugar, sprinkled with lemon juice and salt, then stewed. One then chooses to serve them cold as an appetizer/entrée or warm as a side-dish. In Iran, spinach is given a jolt by being added to soft mixture of fried onions, turmeric, cinnamon, prunes and black-eyed peas (Aloo Sfenaj). Personally, I get giddy at the sight of all the aubergine recipes. There are directions on how to fry, broil, grill and roast them, and there are many base recipes given with regional variations. I love the Palestinian dish Ma'loubet el Betingan, in which aubergines are sliced and broiled before being presented in a layered dish. Place sweetly spiced lamb on the bottom of a frying pan, cover it with slices of broiled aubergine, which in turn is covered with rice. Repeat the process, then fill the pan with water, which is gently brought to the boil then turned down to a simmer until the rice is tender. Easy to prepare and a savoury delight, Ma'loubet el Betingan is then set off with toasted pine nuts.

Rice is given royal treatment in Iran. When served plain (chelow), it is used to fill out dishes or to accent ingredients contained in the main meal. It is elevated to a polow when combined with other ingredients in an artful manner (often with nuts and sweet, dried fruit). Many a special pilaf (rice dish) come from Iran and Turkey. One such example is Balkabagi Pilav, for which cubed pumpkin simmers in chicken stock with rice and lightly friend onion, heady cardamom and cinnamon until the rice has absorbed the chicken stock and the pumpkin is tender. Sauces are often employed to make a meal out of rice alone. These sauces (or khoresht-ha in Persian) are dramatic, for their puncutate fluffy, buttery rice with an edge of bitterness and sourness. Khoresht-e Ghormeh Sabzi is a herb sauce made with dried limes, fenugreek, and an abundance of herbs (namely, dill, parsley, cilantrao). Khoresht-e Rivas is a sauce made with tart rhubarb, softened with allspice and cinnamon, and paird with mint and parsley. Short-grain rice is used for rice puddings and stuffing vegetables.

Bulgar, Couscous, and Pasta showcases the versatility of these Middle Eastern staples, most of which are common to many households outside the Middle East due to easily making them tasty in a short space of time. Bulgar is cracked wheat, which is to say wheat kernels that have been boiled, dried, then ground. It adds a nutty flavour to dishes and comes in three types of grind: coarse, medium and fine. It is used to make extraordinary pilafs and salads. In the days of the Ottoman Empire it was soaked in chicken stock and was combined with toasted pine nuts and raisins. Like this, bulgar could be used as a side dish or as a stuffing - I like to stuff aubergines and bell peppers with it for a quick, summery lunch. Couscous is a staple of North Africa, and it is made by grinding semolina in a coarse manner, then coating it in flour. It is usually steamed in the dishes made from it, which are often also called couscous. Used as a bed for flashy ingredients (such as almonds and squab, perfumed with onions, gingner, saffron and ginger) or as an integral ingredient for a savoury stew (such as the Moroccan dish Kesksou Bidaoui bel Khodra, in which lamb stews with seven vegetables and chickpeas), couscous is a delight. The predominant pasta used in the Middle East is orzo, known in Arabic as "birds' tongues." Like bulgar, it is best flavoured by soaking up stock.

The majority of desserts (whether they be preparations of fruit, pastries or sherbets) from the Middle East are very sweet, but they are consumed in small doses. I adore them because they are always beautifully coloured and exquisitely perfumed. If you want a show-stopper, Claudia Roden has been thorough in providing the reader with many options to deliver. If you are in the mood for fruit, a fruit salad is enlivened with rose water, orange slices are lifted with a touch of orange-blossom water, and apricots are simmered in a perfumed rose water and sugar syrup before being filled with cream and adorned with chopped pistachios (the Turkish dessert Kaymakli Kayisi Tatlisi). If you prefer ice cream, try ones made with pistachios or almonds, or even the traditional sahlab offering from Turkey, Lebanon, Syria and Egypt (made with mastic and orange-blossom water, sahlab is the ground root tuber of the orchid family that creates a chewy ice cream). There are gorgeous pastry desserts, such as baklava (layers of filo pastry interspersed with perfumed and buttered ground nuts, usually pistachios or walnuts, M'hencha (a Moroccan dessert of ground, sweetly-spiced almonds, rolled up in filo, which is then spiralled into the shape of a snake before it is baked), and Ma'amoul (date-filled pastries - in Syria and Lebanon the pastry is made with semolina instead of flour). You will now have an idea of the ingredients preferred in desserts: fruit, sweetened and spiced nuts, and rose and orange-blossom waters. Ataïf are Arab pancakes, made with yeast and coated with a fragrant sugar syrup. These pancakes can also be filled with nuts and lightly fried before being dipped into the syrup (known as Ataïf bi Loz, as photographed in this paragraph).

And this is just a sampling of what The New Book of Middle Eastern Food contains. There are breads, preserves, and fish courses, too. Giving a textural quality to the recipes is a rich backdrop of history, cultural observations, riddles, and anecdotes. For the kitchen or armchair traveller, this is an ideal text. I feel like I have been to the Middle East every time I cook from or read this seminal cookery book. The cooking methods have been adapted for modern kitchens and technology, the recipes have been tested for success (though, of course, there is always room for personal interpretation and tastes), and the tone of Claudia Roden's writing is never intimidating - it is as welcoming and friendly as the lavish dishes provided in this, one of my "desert island books": The New Book of Middle Eastern Food.

(When I first began blogging, I participated in a blog event in which we were to cook from a cookery book, and I chose this one. You can read about and the chosen recipes here.)

Labels: Book Review, Claudia Roden, Middle Eastern, Turkish

The final installment of That Cookbook Thing II, a community review of various recipes in Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's Mastering The Art of French Cooking, Volume One, brings us to desserts. The French are perhaps the most renowned for their desserts, particularly those involving pastry. Our final group sampling comes from the essential chapter Desserts and Cakes, in which one is introduced to fundamental baking techniques as well as what goes into making quintessentially French tarts.

Central to the art of baking are the various binding requirements of eggs, sugar and cream or milk required for pastries and pastry cream. The latter is more intricate for all it takes is a difference of temperature, quantity or inclusion of one or two different ingredients to go from a creme anglaise to a frangipane pastry cream. While short on theory, Child et al. provide enough information in order for you to succeed in baking heavenly tarts. The idea is to get you into the kitchen, not to weigh you down to the point of inertia.

Dessert tarts typically comprise of three elements: pastry shell, pastry cream and fruit. Of course, there are various pastries and creams from which to choose in order highlight one's chosen fruit(s), and this is where the French truly transcend the expectations of a simple dessert.

The tart that we were supposed to make is a flambeed cherry tart. While the cherry season has just begun in New Zealand, I was not able to find any. So, I decided on dried figs, which were still plump and responded well to reconstituting in red wine. Besides, figs are just as much a part of French life as cherries. The tart, finally, took a detour, ending up with more of southern flavour than a south-western one. Never mind. It is still a fruit tart, and you know I love tarts (Samantha Jones of Sex and the City included).

In making the tart, Child et al. suggest two possible tart shells and pastry creams. There is no discussion on which works best; therefore, the reader is empowered to create an instant repertoire - keep your fruit the same, and just change out the shell and cream. The pastry shell options are sweet short crust and sugar crust. I opted for the sugar crust, as it provides a firmer finish (depending on the amount of sugar used). As for the pastry cream, the options are a custard filling or an almond custart. I have an absolute adoration of almond custard (aka frangipane), so there was no debate. In combination with the figs, I was salivating from the first beating of the whisk - this is fruit tart ne plus ultra.

The tart fits a 25cm/10" tart pan. Overall, I used considerably less sugar than recommended.

Tarte aux Figues
(Largely based on Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck's first volume of Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

For the sugar crust pastry shell:

1 3/4 cups flour
4 tablespoons sugar
1/8 teaspoon baking powder
7 tablespoons butter, diced
1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon of water
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1) Mix together flour, sugar and baking powder in a medium bowl.
2) Rub butter into the flour mixture with the tips of your fingertips until sand-like granules are formed. Touch as lightly and deftly as possible. (Believe me, you will get that hang of it if you make pastry tarts enough times.)
3) Mix in the beaten egg and vanilla and bring entire mixture together.
4) On a lightly floured surface, knead the mixture into a ball.
5) To fully blend the mixture, use the heel of your hand to press small sections of pastry in a quick smear of approximately 15cm/6"(this process is known as fraisage).
6) Form into a disc and wrap in clingfilm for approximately 30 mintues.
7) Preheat oven to 190 C/375 F.
8) Roll out disc on a lightly-floured surface.
9) Place pastry into a prepared (lightly filmed with butter and flour) tart mold. Cover with foil and baking beans, then bake for 6 minutes.
10) Remove foil and baking beans, prick base of the tart base, bake for a further 8-10 minutes. Keep an eye on the rim of the shell, for it might blacken (due to sugar content). It is wise to place foil around the rim, as I have done in the past but neglected to do on this occasion.
11) Remove from oven and from mold, and let cool on a rack, during which time it will also harden.

For the figs:

1 cup red wine
2 tablespoons lemon juice
4 tablespoons sugar
3 cups dried figs, halved if large

1) Boil red wine, lemon juice and sugar.
2) Add the figs.
3) Simmer for 5-6 minutes, then off the heat and let figs steep in liquid for approximately twenty minutes.
4) Drain figs (no need to reserve liquid).

For the frangipane (almond custard):

1 egg and 1 egg yolk
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup boiling milk
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup almond flour (pulverised almonds)
2 tablespoons cognac (or kirsch or brandy)

1) In a bowl, beat egg and egg yolk, gradually adding sugar.
2) When the mixture is pale yellow and forms ribbons, beat in the flour.
3) Add milk in a very thin stream.
4) Over medium heat, pour contents back into pot in which milk heated (to save on dishes, you understand), stir slowly, whipping all the time.
5) When the mixture becomes lumpy, beat vigorously until a paste is formed, all the while over the heat to cook the flour. Be careful not to burn the mixture on the bottom of the pot.
6) Off the heat, add butter, vanilla and almond extracts, almond flour and cognac. If you are not using it immediately, clean the sides and dot top with butter to prevent a film from forming over the frangipane.

To assemble the tart:

1) Fold drained figs into the frangipane.
2) Spread figs into sugar crust tart shell.
3) Preheat broiler/grill in oven.
4) Sprinke 1 tablespoon sugar over surface.
5) Place under broiler for 2-3 minutes to caramelise the sugar.
6) Optional: Throw 1/4 cup cognac, kirsh or brandy over surface of tart, alight and present to table.

This truly is a heady and wonderful combination, a complete success. The tart shell is sturdy and sweet, the figs heady and plump, the almond custard and booze rounding our the flavours of the tart with interest. While there are a few steps to building this tart, not one of them is difficult - and only the last optional step is potentially dangerous. I found that this tasted just as good the next day with a perfectly hot cup of strong black coffee, but I have a love of sweet goods late in the afternoon (I must be Central European at heart).

That Cookbook Thing II has been a wonderful experience for me to get to know a classic cookery text. Whilst I have not proceeded to engage in it to the nth degree as Julie Powell of the famous Julie/Julia Project, I have made a connection to Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's masterful text. This is a great text for the home cook, for its sole purpose is to really train the reader to produce quality meals at home. The tips are insightful and the organisation of the great selection of recipes is practically unparallelled. This is a user-friendly guide for those of us who love French cooking.

Labels: Book Review, Fig Tart, Figs, French, Fruit tart, Julia Child, That Cookbook Thing II

I don't know about you, but I cannot keep all the various cuts of meat straight. It has been most confusing keeping track of what one calls a particular cut in New Zealand and what one calls the same thing in the US. It is even more confusing when translating the same cut from another language - I need to check a few references (first, the one in the language/country from which I have found the recipe source) before finding a synonymous cut in New Zealand. It really does my head in. Perhaps this is because I'm easy when it comes to meat - no pun intended. If I see oxtail, I think of braising; if I see sirloin, I think of frying (in all its sanguineous glory, please). I have neither an allegiance to a selection of meat nor to a method of cooking. Today's choice selection, tournedos, ensured that I checked a few references before embarking on a the recipe selected for That Cookbook Thing II.

And so the research question: What is tournedos? Because today's post reflects a selection of meat recipes from Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck's first volume of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, it is best to see how Child et al. describe it. Better than verbal description alone, the ladies provide a cross-section diagram of a whole filet of beef. Tournedos is located in the T-bone steak section, which is towards the lower back, as opposed to the shoulder/rump. The T-bone is divided into two sections: tournedos (next to the filet steak of the porterhouse cut) and filet mignon (at the extremity of the rib end of the steak). This is clear enough, but another source, Martha Stewart, says that filet mignon and tournedos are the same thing in America. This conflicts with Julia Child's lesson, which is directed to an American audience. New Zealand Beef tells you that one side of the T-bone flesh is the tenderloin, agreeing with Child et al., one part of this is the tournedos. My head hurts already, but I think we're there...

The commonality of all these descriptions is the rib end of the beef steak (but not its extremity, which is the filet mignon), no matter whom you listen to. Armed with this basic understanding of steak, I trotted off to my butcher par excellence, the wonderful guys at Seaview Meats, and ordered: "Tournedos, or whatever one is calling it today. I would like six healthy portions of it, and all I know is that it is not the filet mignon but the the other bit of the T-bone's tenderloin." Exhibit A, this post's opening photograph, is what I got.

As you can see, it is not as marbeled as the filet steak (cut from the mid-section - aka Porterhouse), but it is indeed tender. The lack of marbling is an excuse to fry the steak with strips of pork fat.

The following recipe serves 6.

Tournedos Sautés Chasseur
(from Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck's first volume of Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

6 rounds of bread, thinly sliced, crust removed (I used one of spelt and flax seed)
4 tablespoons clarified butter
250g/ 1/2lb fresh mushrooms, whole or quartered if big
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided use
2 tablespoons oil, divided use
2 tablespoons minced shallots
salt
pepper
6 tournedos, each bundled in a strip of gorgeous fat
1/2 cup beef stock
1 tablespoon tomato paste
1/4 cup brandy (or Madeira), mixed with 1 tablespoon cornstarch (or arrowroot)
1 1/2 tablespoons parsley, minced

1) Sauté the rounds of bread in the clarified butter, lightly browned on each side. Re-heat at 180 C/350 F immediately before serving.
2) Sauté mushrooms in 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon oil.
3) Stir in shallots and cook over medium-low heat for two minutes. Season with salt and pepper, then set aside.
4) Heat up 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil in sauté pan over medium-high heat. When butter foams, sauté the tournedos to your preference, then immediately remove from heat. Season the tournedos and plate each one on a separate piece of browned bread. Keep warm while the following sauce is prepared.
5) Remove fat from the sauté pan in which your prepared the steaks, add stock and tomato paste. Boil fiercely, scraping up the browned bits (the fond) and cooking juices.
6) When the liquid is reduced to but 2-3 tablespoons, add brandy and starch mixture. Boil until alcohol has evaporated and sauce has thickened.
7) Add sautéed mushrooms, simmer to blend the flavours and taste for seasoning.
8) Spread mushrooms over the steaks.
9) Sprinkle parsley over the dish.

Ms. Child recommends that the dish is served with whole-roasted tomatoes, artichoke hearts prepared in butter, or potato balls sautéed in butter. I roasted tomatoes with olive oil, salt, pepper and thyme. I also served the dish with sautéed bok choy, which is not French at all, but I like to serve red meat with greens. You, of course, will do as you please.

Even though the dish serves 6, I had two tournedos. I was feeling very greedy but regretted it soon after. One really is enough if one wants dessert afterwards (besides, one supposedly shouldn't consume more meat than the size of one's palm). In terms of repeatability, the tournedos, truthfully, are very simply prepared. I will marinate them next time. The mushrooms work well in the sauce, but it is too tomato heavy, really. Less tomato paste and perhaps some herbs will liven it up next time. As seems to be the case with all the recipes attempted for That Cookbook Thing II, Mastering the Art of French Cooking provides the willing cook with wonderful foundational material from which one can spring forth with personal additions and twists.

Please visit the posts of my friends in the blogging community who have also tried this dish as part of That Cookbook Thing II: Mike at Mel's Diner, Sara at I Like to Cook, Ruth at Once Upon A Feast, and Deborah at What's In My Kitchen?.

Labels: Book Review, French, Julia Child, Steak, That Cookbook Thing II, Tournedos

When I first read through the recipe sequence for That Cookbook Thing II, I had not thought of making the highlighted chicken dish, Poulet au Porto (chicken in port), the centrepiece of a casual dinner with great friends. I had imagined it as an easy Sunday dinner for one, not only because I have no great affection for fungi but also because I derive a lot of satisfaction from making roast chicken. Yet I am also a man of occasional drama. Knowing of the delight that the intellectually-ferocious and generous Anita and quick-witted and cool Craig would get from a bit of flambée action, it was clear that the otherwise simple recipe of roast chicken and mushrooms would lend a touch of the unexpected to a dynamic evening.

Of course, it also helps that it is expressly stated in Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's first volume of Mastering the Art of French Cooking that Poulet au Porto is the perfect dish to make in the company of close friends. After all, the chicken can roast whilst host and guests imbibe the first of the evening's glasses of wine along with home-made pâté and charklis pkhali. After the first drinks have warmed the back of the throat and lightened the load in one's head, it is easier to rope friends into participating in the kitchen. Speaking of drinks, booze features rather prominently in this menu, for the home-made pâté (an on-going receipe development, becoming more nuanced with each attempt) is rich with brandy, the mushrooms for the poulet au porto are reduced with both brandy and port, the poulet itself is set alight after a splash of brandy, and the evening's dessert, Prune Tart, is made with brandy-sozzled prunes d'Agen.

Perhaps the aid of wine-happy friends is not what Ms. Child had in mind when suggesting that Poulet au Porto be made for the company of friends, but one cannot be too sure given how many cocktails housewives and cookie-cutter husbands knocked back in their square homes in the `60s (all in the name of sophistication, of course). And maybe it was the drink speaking, but the chapter on Poultry is quite hilarious, easily one of the most evocative of the period at the time the cookery book was originally released (1961). I don't know anyone with a trussing needle nor do I know anyone who "averts" his or her face when engaging in flambée - in fact, it would be a dangerous decision not to keep an eye on the development of the flames. The notion of stitching up a chicken or avoiding a flame in so prissy a manner comes to a head in these rushed, contemporary times when kitchen string does the trick (faster) and purposefully-created flames over food whoosh and wheeze before one has had time to think about looking the other way.

The French, in any period, are particularly revered for their poultry dishes. Whether the chicken be stewed in red wine, poached in an aromatic liquor, or bronzed to Biarritz perfection, the common chicken gets a real make-over when prepared á la française. Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's Poulet au Porto also got a make-over by democratic decision-making.

Poulet au Porto
(Adapted from Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's first volume of Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

The essential components of Poulet au Porto are: 1) roast chicken; 2) mushroom sauce.

By now you probably know me as someone who greatly respects tried and true methods by cooks and chefs, but even I have a preferred method for roasting chicken. I have no patience nor derive any enjoyment from spreading butter over the skin or between the skin and flesh of a chicken. I personally think it best if you roast a chicken in the way that pleases you most; otherwise, see Mike's version of Julia Child's method at Mel's Diner.

For the roast chicken:

1 whole chicken, to serve four people (or three greedy ones, like us)
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
fleur de sel
black pepper, freshly-ground
to fill the cavity: a citrus fruit of your choice (usually one orange or lemon, halved; if the fruit is small, use more and slice in half), and a bunch of fresh herbs. (I generally throw in a few whole cloves of garlic, but the quick-witted and cool Craig is allergic to members of the allium family.)

1) Pre-heat oven to 200C/400F.
2) Coat the chicken in the olive oil.
3) Sprinkle the chicken all over and inside the cavity with fleur de sel (or kosher salt) and pepper.
4) Fill the cavity with the citrus, herbs and garlic, if using.
5) Close the legs of the chicken with kitchen string and tuck the wings tips under the "neck" of the chicken to prevent early burning during the roasting period.
6) Put chicken in the oven, breast side up.
7) Baste every twenty minutes, turning the roasting tray every time until the chicken is done, approximately 80 minutes.
8) There are a couple of tests to do to ensure that the chicken is done. To my mind, the fastest method is to cut the inner thigh close to the bone. If the liquid runs clear yellow, the chicken is done. If it is rosy, then you need to roast the chicken longer. Check every 5 minutes.
9) Remove chicken from the oven and cover with aluminium foil for 10-15 minutes.

While the chicken is resting, prepare the mushrooms and sauce. The ferociously-intelligent and generous Anita, quick-witted and cool Craig and I dispensed with the notion of "boiling" the mushrooms by using but a couple of tablespoons of water to create steam.

For the mushrooms and sauce:

300g/10.5oz mushrooms (we used innocuous button mushrooms), trimmed and sliced thinly
1/4 tablespoon butter
spritz of lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup (heavy) cream
1/4 tablespoon cornstarch
salt, pepper, if necessary
1/5 cup port

1) Toss mushrooms, butter, lemon juice (a quick squeeze) and salt in a saucepan. Cover. Shake saucepan every now and then until mushrooms have softened, about 5 mintues.
2) Slicken with heavy cream.
3) Add cornstarch to one tablespoon of water and stir until combined.
4) Stir cornstarch into mushrooms. Check for seasoning - add salt and pepper, if required.
5) Stir in port. Leave uncovered until liquid has reduced somewhat and strongest notes of alcohol have evaporated.

To assemble the Poulet au Porto:

Roasted chicken, as above, jointed or carved into slices
Mushrooms in port, as above
salt
1/2 tablespoon butter
1/4 cup brandy

1) Smear a casserole dish with butter.
2) Arrange chicken pieces in casserole dish and dust lightly with salt.
3) Put casserole dish over a moderate heat.
4) When the butter begins to bubble and the chicken begins to sizzle, pour cognac over the chicken and set cognac alight.
5) Gently shake casserole dish until flames have abated.
6) Pour in the mushrooms in port, coating the chicken.

Perfect with an earthy red wine or an aromatic white wine alike, this silken dish is the essence of comfort cooking. The dish's lack of pretense is relaxing; therefore, it is conducive to good discussion around the table, underscoring Julia Child's recommendation of preparing it in the company of very good friends. We simply paired the poulet au porto with wilted down spinach, sautéed in olive oil and lightly seasoned. It is a perfect side dish to a modest main. Julia Child suggests potatoes sautéed in butter or a simple risotto as vegetable suggestions that do not interfere with the deep flavours of the Poulet au Porto.

After a cheese platter of gouda, English stilton, camembert, membrillo and cherry tomatoes, we yearned for a sweet note on which to end our fabulous evening. Sticking with the "cooking with booze" theme of the evening, I turned to a tart that I had not had since I lived in France more than ten years ago: Prune and Armagnac Tart. I reached for brandy instead, but it is practically the same as armagnac if one bears in mind that armagnac has vintages - good for remembering the best years - whereas more common brandy can be of varying quality. Use your preferred booze. (Stephanie Alexander recommends against telling the French of the south-west that cognac and armagnac are the same thing.)

The following recipe suits a 26cm/10.5" fluted tart pan, and the tart pastry is slightly boozy, too!

Prune and Brandy Tart
(from Prune and Armagnac Tart in Stephanie Alexander's Cooking and Travelling in South-West France)

For the pastry:

1 1/4 cups flour, sifted
tiny pinch of kosher salt
113g/4oz unsalted butter, diced
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon orange blossom water
1/2 teaspoon brandy

1) In a medium-sized bowl, mix flour and salt together.
2) With the tips of your fingers, rub the butter into the flour until sand-like granules are formed. This is your dry mixture.
3) In a separate bowl, gently whisk together egg, orange blossom water and brandy. This is your liquid mixture.
4) Stir the liquid mixture into the dry mixture until a ball is formed. You might not need all of the liquid for this.
5) Knead lightly and quickly with the goal of encouraging cohesion. Lightly flatten out to a disc, wrap dough in cling-film and refrigerate for thirty minutes.

For the tart:

1 tart recipe, as above
1 egg white, lightly beaten
20-24 prunes d'Agen, steeped in brandy (reserve the brandy)
4 eggs
100g/3oz ground almonds
125ml/4.5oz (whipping) cream
1 tablespoon brandy
60g/2oz unsalted butter, melted and cooled

1) Pre-heat oven to 200C/400F.
2) Lightly dust your pastry surface (marble stone, cool benchtop, cold wooden board), rolling pin and hands with flour, then gently roll out the pastry, always from the centre. Turn the pastry clockwise after every couple of passes of the rolling pin to ensure that it does not stick to your surface (throw some flour underneath every now and then for extra security).
3) Loosely roll pastry around rolling pin, and roll dough out over a prepared (with butter and flour) tart pan. Gently ease the pastry into the pan, then use the rolling pin to cut across the edges of the pan to remove the excess pastry.
4) Prick holes in the base of the tart with the tines of a fork and blind bake for 15 minutes. To "blind bake": line pastry with foil, cover with beans and bake for 10 minutes. Remove the foil and beans, brush pastry base with egg whites, then bake for a further 5 minutes).
5) Reset oven to 180C/375F.
6) Position the boozy prunes in the tart pan.
7) Mix the eggs, ground almonds, cream and melted butter in a small bowl, then gently pour over the prunes, trying not to disturb their layout.
8) Bake until the custard is firm, about 25 minutes.
9) Before the tart is completely cool, brush it with some of the reserved brandy.

Prune and Brandy Tart is simple as far as ingredients and method go, but the depth of the sweet yet spicy prunes combined with nutty, buttery almonds is a beguiling experience. So enchanting was the first slice (or so boozed were we) that we had seconds. This is the perfect tart for almost any occasion, as it is elegant, flavourful, and can be served at room temperature. A perfect ending to a perfect meal.

Please review the other bloggers' posts on Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's Poulet au Porto - Mike at Mel's Diner, Ruth at Once Upon A Feast, and Sara at i like to cook.

Labels: Book Review, Brandy, Chicken, Cooking with booze, French, Fruit tart, Julia Child, Port, Prune Tart, Prunes, That Cookbook Thing II

French lunches are almost always simple yet fully-flavoured affairs. There is great importance placed on fresh produce and a steady reliance on eggs, the superfood.

In her many texts, Elizabeth David paints glorious pictures of lunch at provincial hotels after drives in the countryside or along the roadside with provisions from a hotel proprietor or produce bought at an impromptu moment. Always, the descriptions of lunch menus are spellbinding. An enticing pastoral lunch is David's famous preference for an omelette and a glass of wine, preceded by home-made pâté, and olives, followed by fresh salad, a ripe, creamy cheese and small, fresh fruit, such as figs or strawberries. In the first instance, this lunch menu is beyond simple; it is a masterplan that can be adapted to every season. Thinking of the buttery, eggy omelettes, rich cheese, bitter salad leaves, salty olives, gamy pâté, and honeyed figs, one sees that this is an exploration of seasonailty, temperatures and textures. This is also a celebration of depth of flavours.

The most popular lunch item that has been appropriated by many a nation is quiche Lorraine (although often bastardised with the addition of cheese). In fact, such is the simplicity and convenience of making open-faced tarts that Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck first present readers of their Mastering the Art of French Cooking) with a series of quiches in their chapter on Entrées and Luncheon Dishes, from which That Cookbook Thing II tests this month's chosen recipe: Râpée de Morvandelle.

If one is too pressed to make a pâte brisée (as shown at the introduction of this chapter, which also gives detailed preparations on making soufflées, which I recognise may not be a typical offering at lunchtime these days) for a quiche, one can turn the filling of a quiche into a gratin (named for the shallow heat-proof dish in which it cooks). Gratins also often have cheese (usually Swiss cheese), bubbling and burnished as they come out of the oven and are transferred to the lunch table. Râpée de Morvandelle is a gratin of shredded potatoes with eggs, onion, and ham.

Râpée de Morvandelle
(from Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

1/2 cup onions, finely minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
56g/4 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided use
120g/3oz cooked ham, finely diced
4 eggs
1/2 clove garlic, crushed
2 tablespoons parsley, minced
120g/3oz cheese, grated (I used Gruyere; the receipe suggests Swiss)
4 tablespoons cream
salt, pepper
300g/10oz potatoes

1) Preheat oven to 190 C/375 F.
2) Over medium-low heat, heat oil and 21g/1.5 tablespoons butter in a saute pan, then cook onions until yeilding but not coloured.
3) Turn heat up to medium, then add ham and cook for one minute.
4) In a bowl, beat together the garlic, parsley, cheese, cream, salt and pepper.
5) Add onions and ham to the beaten mixture.
6) Peel potatoes and grate them with the large holes of a box grater.
7) Squeeze water out of the grated potatoes.
8) Stir potatoes into egg miture.
9) Check for seasoning.
10) Heat 21g/1.5 tablespoons butter in a heat-proof baking dish or oven-proof saute pan/skillet. When warmed through and foaming, pour in the potato mixture.
11) Dot with the remaining 14g/1 tablespoon of butter.
12) Bake in upper-third of the oven until top has browned, approximately 35-40 minutes.
13) Serve from the baking dish or sauté pan.

True, this is simplicity itself, but it is an odd dish to pick to highlight a section of a cookery book. That said, like Elizabeth David's aforementioned lunch menu, many a technical foundation is taught in this chapter, and this gratin is appealing and adaptable. Imagine it encased in a buttery pâte brisée or swap out the onion for leeks and blitz chives into the butter that dots the gratin. This is the foundation for a lunchtime centrepiece; it is rich, fulsome, and perfect.

Feel free to check out the results of That Cookbook Thing II's other members: Sara of i like to cook, Ruth of Once Upon A Feast, Mary of The Sour Dough, Kittie of Kittens in the Kitchen , Elle of Elle's New England Kitchen, Deborah of What's In My Kitchen?, and Mary of Cooking For Five. Bon appétit.

Labels: Book Review, Eggs, French, gratin, Julia Child, That Cookbook Thing II

In January of this year, a group of food bloggers reviewed Norwegian chef Andreas Viestad's Where Flavor Was Born, and they all had different results. Sometimes the Round Table Review bloggers concurred that instructions were vague, some failed where others succeeded, and all of them found at least one new favourite recipe. While it is clear that subjectivity reigns when deciding on whether to integrate recipes into one's repertoire, I am wholly amenable to building on this dialogue where bloggers are working from a common space in order to understand the many ways we orient ourselves in the world by way of various texts on cooking. To work with Where Flavor Was Born, the bloggers' selection of recipes to test was decided by a complicated rubric - season, availability, cost, individual preferences. What the selection of recipes to test essentially offers is an education into what an author offers as the truth of its chosen subject. The varying results act as a cross-section of reviews for those who are thinking about purchasing the cookery book.

So, exhilerated by this experience, one of the members of the Round Table review group, Mike of Mel's Diner, decided to test some recipes as a way of illustrating some truths of French bourgeois cookery by way of the classic text Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck. Personally, I jumped at the chance to join the bunch because I didn't have this landmark American book - like any interested foodie, I have come across the title many times, whether it be a reference in a bibliography or an adaptation of a recipe, but I never got around to buying it. I suppose the apprehension is because I did not grow up in a household that had had the text "since forever" and valorised it for its appropriation of American cuts of meat to French techniques, but my curiosity never waned when the book was referred to. The other members of That Cookbook Thing II are: Sara of i like to cook, Ruth of Once Upon A Feast, Mary of The Sour Dough, Kittie of Kittens in the Kitchen , Elle of Elle's New England Kitchen, Deborah of What's In My Kitchen?, and Mary of Cooking For Five.

One of Mastering the Art of French Cooking's great assets is its recipe layout. The recipes are divided into two columns - on the left-hand side are the ingredients, matched in the right-hand column with the concomitant method for the ingredients. This prevents confusion, especially when ingredient lists are long, and it forces a thorough reading of the recipe before cooking, which is what one should do, but do we all do as we should in our private lives?

Based purely on a cursory exploration, I have to say that recipe layout aside, this is an odd book. There are useful tips on food preparation peppered throughout the book (and strange ones, like illustrated hints on preparing a gigot - leg of lamb - which I know is because this cut is a fave in traditional French cookery, but what about the rest?), but there is no real historical context. And this is what poses a problem for the first recipe I am testing from the book: Sauce au Cari.

Curry in French cooking?! (Double-take.)

Why it was so necessary for the authors to choose this sauce from others in the haute bourgeousie's reportoire, I do not know. Yes, I am aware that most people don't care - a sauce is a sauce - but I'd like to know why this recipe is featured and what particular curry blend Ms. Child and gang had in mind when they prepared Sauce au Cari. I know Escoffier made it, with similar lack of detail regarding his blend du jour (and this is probably how it entered Child's lexicon), but what I want to know is what she had been exposed to that made it so good - my searches online have not been able to elucidate my inquiry.

To say that the French don't like hot spices might be stretching it, but what we know from the representations of French cuisine that cram bookshelves is that there are not a lot of piquant flavours in French cuisine - at least not without a salty kick. So, my guess is that the types of curries that were appropriated by the French during Julia Child's time in France are those that came from France's many colonies. Following this line of thought, I turned to West Africa for a curry mix, which is exciting because the fact that I find myself doing this undoes preconceptions I had of the book - whether or not that is the intention, I do not know for sure, but cooking is an intimate process, so it almost does not matter what Les Trois Gourmandes had in mind.

Ghanian curry powders typically feature 12 or more spices, herbs and seeds. I was without some ingredients - Grains of Paradise, groundnuts, tamarind, fenugreek and mace; however, I substituted peanuts for groundnuts and black pepper for Grains of Paradise. While I had no idea of the ratio of each ingredient per cup of curry blend, I used the various ingredients according to my own taste in order to produce a curry blend that made up a nuanced blend without too much heat, which I decided is what Escoffier would have liked. The following recipe makes exactly enough for the Sauce au Cari - just over three tablespooms.

Ghanian Curry Blend

1 tablespoon cumin seeds
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
1 tablespoon shelled peanuts
1/2 cinnamon quill
1 teaspoon cardamom seeds
5 cloves
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, whole
1 teaspoon nutmeg, ground
3/4 tablespoon turmeric
1/8 teaspoon lemon zest

1) In a dry saute pan over medium heat, heat the cumin seeds, fennel seeds, peanuts, cinnamon, cardamom seeds, cloves and black pepper until fragrant, tilting the pan occassionally in order to allow oils and heat from the ingredients to intermingle. Do not allow any ingredients to burn.
2) Take off the heat and allow to cool.
3) Discard the cinnamon, and tip the rest of fragrant spices and seeds into a spice blender with the nutmeg, turmeric and lemon zest.
4) Blend until a powder is formed.

Depending on which way you want to swing, Sauce au Cari can be a riff on béchamel (milk based) or velouté (stock based), and it can be as thick or thin as you like. I think a few members of That Cookbook Thing II had an issue with the thickness of the sauce. Having made béchamel a million times with my angelheart Eric (many Sunday nights making lasagne with parmesan and asiago), I paid great attention to the writers' suggestion of cooking the sauce for 10-15 minutes after adding the liquid. Stopping in between the suggested duration, my sauce was just right, and I did not need to enrich and thin the sauce with more than 5 tablespoons of cream. Of course, the timing is dependent on the size of your saucepan (Mesdames Child, Bertholle and Beck suggest an 8-cup enameled saucepan), and I think that the volume capacity has a lot to do with the desired consistency within the suggested times to thicken and cook the sauce.

The following recipe makes 2 1/2 cups of sauce.

Sauce au Cari
(from Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's Mastering the Art of French Cooking)

1/2 minced white or yellow onion
70.5 - 84.75g/5-6 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided use
2-3 tablespoons curry powder, such as the Ghanian Curry Blend above
4 tablespoons flour
2 cups boiling milk (for a variation of a béchamel sauce)
4-6 tablespoons whipping/heavy cream
salt
pepper
lemon juice

1) Cook onions and 56.5g/4 tablespoons of butter over low heat for approximately ten minutes. This allows to the onions to soften without colouring.
2) Stir in the curry powder and continue to cook over low heat for two minutes.
3) Add the flour in one go, stir, and cook over low heat for three minutes.
4) Take curried mixture off the heat and blend in the boiling milk.
5) Return to the heat - increasing slightly to obtain a simmer, which is to be maintained for 10-15 minutes, depending on desired thickness. Stir occasionally.
6) Remove sauce from the heat, add enough of the cream to your preference, and add salt, pepper and lemon juice for preferred seasoning.
7) Enrich the sauce by stirring in 14-28.25/1-2 tablespoons, bit by bit. Feel free to add minced parsley for colour.

Whilst fragrant and delectable with sautéed skinless chicken thighs (not my usual choice, for skinless and boneless preparations reek of hypermarket disrespect for provenance, but it seems that many things are without explanation today), I still do not understand why Sauce au Cari is included in this book, unless it is the only master class curry sauce that the French acknowledge - nowadays that would be hard to believe, but perhaps not impossible to comprehend in the 1940s-60s, the time in which Julia Child lived in France, culminating in this book co-written with her Les Trois Gourmandes partners in crime.

Stay tuned for further explorations of Julia Child, Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck's tribute to La Belle France, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Labels: Bechamel, Book Review, Curry, French, Ghana, Julia Child, Sauce

In 2005 Waitrose released a list of the top ten most useful cookery books, which was compiled by a group of respected chefs and cooks, most of whom had experience with writing cookery books. They left Nigella Lawson's seminal text, How To Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food, off the list, citing that it had not yet stood the test of time. However, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's The River Cottage Meat Book is fourth on the list and was published a good six years after La Lawson's book - clearly, his single-subject focus and trendy concern for the provenance of meat enraptured the panelists. I am not complaining about his presence on the list, of course, but I don't think I am alone out there in feeling that How To Eat is not only a useful and reliable cookery book, but in the nine years it has been on the shelves, it has saved my generation from would-only-be restaurant and takeout patrons. And I speak from experience, you understand.

How To Eat was the first cookery book my angelheart Eric and I received. It was a gift from the sassy sauciere queen Lily, who was also in the habit of watching Nigella Lawson's television programme, Nigella Bites, with us in 2000. There was something very mesmerising about the manner in which this sensible, efficient, and hilarious woman went about cooking. She made me think I could do it. Me? No, really...me? At that stage in my life, I was young, cosmopolitan, and had no sense to save money. Also, having not decided where to live yet, Eric and I were with my parents, and we decided to spend most nights out - that is, at restaurants, not cooking at home. It was only on nights home alone and, certainly when we had our own home, that I actually started paying attention to cooking seriously.

You don't have to be serious about cooking to have and use How To Eat. Think of it not only as literature, for those who would rather read than cook, but as a wise (and wise-cracking) friend, for everything you need and may be curious to know is revealed, confessionally, as if over a glass of wine, within 500-odd pages. Now, there are no overly technical passages on methods, so if you want that sort of cooking assistance, you need to refer to other sources; however, La Lawson's voice is clear and present through the method of each recipe, making you feel proficient in whatever recipe you choose to follow. In fact, La Lawson does not see the hundreds of recipes as ingredients and methods, but as a "conversation" she might be having with her readers. This very subjective perspective is greatly appealing and is part of Nigella Lawson's long-standing charm amongst the public - those who tout her abilities more than those in the professional circuit. Beyond the tone of the writing, the layout of How To Eat is organized by useful chapters (Basics, Etc, Cooking in Advance, One & Two, Fast Food, Weekend Lunch, Dinner, Low Fat, and Feeding Babies & Small Children) in addition to providing weight and temperature conversion tables, a purveyors' guide, and a complete bibliography.

In the Basics, Etc chapter, you will find that La Lawson not only provides information on how to achieve the classics (such as how to make mayonnaise, various sauces - hollandaise, bearnaise, and bechamel - and stock - chicken and vegetable), but she does it her way, insisting that time-honoured traditions are only as good as one's personal tastes. She often simplifies these dishes (not dumbing them down, though) for the home cook who often has little time and many demands. You may not need to ever make all of these, but if you want to dress up a steak, for example, there is a sauce to go with, other than a standard pan sauce, for which she has recipes aplenty peppered throughout the book. This first chapter is worth the price of the book alone, arming you with the skills to make pastry and custard, through to advice on how to roast chicken, make madeleines, and produce the perfect ice cream - in fact, she calls it The World's Best Chocolate Ice-Cream, and it is a recipe of Marcella Hazan's which is made in the usual way before adding a hit of luxury and depth: a custard base without vanilla into which is folded melted chocolate (I have used 100% before, which is too bitter; 70% was met - and continues to meet - with more success), cocoa powder and caramel - the wow factor, lending complex smokiness to the ice cream. I have never tasted a chocolate ice-cream that is better, and I can't agree more with its placement in the Basics, Etc chapter. Obviously, you need to know how to make this, and she also offers sincere advice to heed regarding what to keep in your fridge, freezer, and pantry.

Cooking In Advance offers recipes for those occasions when you have guests over and making numerous dishes at the last minute is the fast track to the nearest institution for the emotionally fragile. This chapter allows you to experiment and play - and if nothing works out, no one needs to know. Of course some food benefits from being cooked in advance, allowed to rest, and then reheated, such as soups and stews, like Italian Broth and Chicken and Chick Pea Tagine. La Lawson expresses the virtures of and offers assistance on planning for all these occasions.

For Nigella Lawson, the beauty of cooking for one is not sheer indulgence, though that is not a cardinal sin, but experimentation. Of course, some of us have compliant partners on whose tastebuds we can experiment. My angelheart Eric, fortunately, is most accomodating and is usually as curious as I am. I understand not everyone is that lucky, but what I know from La Lawson is that when you have guests over, it is not best to choose to make something wildly different and out of left-field. Best to try it on your own. In One & Two, I have been meaning to try the Duck with Pomegranate forever, but those of you who are foodies know well how this refrain goes and always have sticky page-markers on hand. Of course, this chapter is not replete with risk-taking ventures; there are extensions of well-known dishes, too, that have been amped up. La Lawson's Kale with Chorizo and Poached Egg simply amps up a Salade Lyonnaise by substituting the frisee for kale (which, in itself could be considered adventurous, but when cooked as tender as possible and stripped from the thick stems, it is like spinach but with less furry residue on your tongue) and the lardons for chorizo. The poached egg remains intact and acts to temper the spicy chorizo.

In Fast Food, Nigella Lawson points out a few things to consider for fast-cooking success, such as the preparation and overall cooking time, and that one must never take short-cuts with food that needs to cook longer. Cook only with ingredients that are supposed to be or can be cooked quickly. I have to say that this chapter is a sentimental favourite, for it contains the recipes I first used for Baked Figs (though her recipe in Forever Summer is infinitely better and provided the platform for the version my angelheart Eric and I now use) and for the famous Seven-Minute Steamed Chocolate Pudding, which friends still ask me to make, though I haven't for a couple of years actually (not to say I couldn't in a snap, for the pages in the book are chocolate-smudged, each smear a reminder of the times I relied on this page). I also love this chapter for introducing me to interesting spices to which added to meat, for example the Lamb with Garlicky Tahina and Cinnamon-Hot Rack of Lamb.

Weekend Food is one of the larger chapters in the book, celebrating the downtime of urbanites. Meals are often at lunchtime, for it is the more relaxed period for socialising around food. This is not to say that lunch is an after-thought but that menus can be simpler - the focus is on sharing time with friends, not embarking on culinary perfection. Menus are provided for these relaxed and intimate affairs as they are for grander feasts, for every now and then one just wants to have a dinner party, which is further explored in the following chapter, Dinner. In this chapter, though, some dishes require advance preparation and others just need to relax and hang around a bit. Though there are many favourites, the menu that most gets me drooling is the Spring-scented Lunch, which consists of: Tarragon French Roast Chicken; Leeks, Rice, Peas and Mangetouts; and Lemon Pie. This is an elegant menu, full of clean flavours. What I also greatly appreciate in this text are not only the musings peppered throughout the book (whether it be on the classic British Sunday roast, the virtues of salsa verde, or the best method for soft and crispy duck), but the extolling of recipes from previously-published cookery books as sources of inspiration. La Lawson gives credit to her inspirational references and then explains why she has changed things and what you might be interested in experimenting with, for example, the above-mentioned Lemon Pie is adapted from Norma McMillan's In A Shaker's Kitchen. Instead of macerating slices of lemons with the pith on, La Lawson removes them, preventing people from leaving the bitter rubble on the side of their plates. She also suggests topping it with a meringue, with indications on how to do so.

Personally, I am a sucker for menus; I love the time that has been taken to consider the relationship between each of the courses. So much of my re-reading of this book has been focussed on the Weekend Food and Dinner chapters - they are well-marked (and stained). The courses in the Dinner chapter may be more intensive and slightly more formal than the ones in the preceding chapter, but they are mood-enhancing, tangible yet atmospheric, and, above all, inspirational. Try this Early-Autumn Dinner on for size: Guacamole with Paprika-Toasted Potato Skins, Cod Wrapped in Ham and served with Sage and Onion Lentils, followed by Hazelnut Cake with a Redcurrant and Peach Salad. There is a harmony of the turning deciduous colours, starting with the pine-green skins of the guacamole, ending with the browns and reds of the cake and salad, the comforting hues of Autumn.

The Low Fat chapter restocks the fridge, freezer, and pantry with, obviously, low-fat alternatives. Not all flavour is to be done away with, for La Lawson eats big portions of low fat food and small portions of higher calorific food in order to maintain interest in eating while she is dieting. This chapter is broken into segments: Templefood (food with cleansing properties, such as Aromatic Chilli Beef Noodle Soup and Salmon Marinated in Den Miso), Salad Dressings (such as Roast Garlic and Lemon Dressing, which uses a healthy amount of vermouth), The Statutory Cook-and-Freeze-Ahead Section (this encourages you to always have low-fat and satisfying dishes on hand, which will hopefully prevent unhealthy snacking, like Vegetable Curry in Vegetable Sauce), and Pudding (the key tip is to not make high calorie desserts in low fat alternatives, for depravation may set it, so instead try her various ideas on what to do with fruit, and always keep a bar of chocolate handy, for small pieces to munch on from time to time).

When I first reached the chapter for Feeding Babies & Small Children, I skipped it. Children didn't feature on my path then, and for the moment I don't have any paternalistic urges, though my angelheart Eric does - but I don't need to invite you to witness our domestic differences on this important decision. There is a little baby-weaning chart and there is a mantra in this chapter: expose your children to everything. I suppose this is so they have appreciation for all foods as they get older and may prevent over-pickiness. There are a few recipes that appeal to me - and I mean, me, not my fictional children: Courgette Frittata, Veal, Liver and Bacon Mince Pie (apparently La Lawson has not found a child that dislikes this pie even though it contains liver), and Digestive Biscuits (these are hardy wheaten cookies that I grew up with, for they are my father's favourite cookie; it's great to have a recipe for them should I ever hanker for them and not be in New Zealand or any other part of the Commonwealth). Parents who are looking for standard dishes with a twist might find this chapter quite compelling.

Perhaps this is a biased review, for we have had this book for years, and it is a sentimental favourite. I do, however, hope the above hand-holding through the contents of the book more than suggests its utility. As is typical of Nigella Lawson's diplomatic manner, there are suggestions of what pairs well together and offerings of alternatives that encourage the reader to veer from her path. Additionally, there are dishes to create and summon for every occassion. If all else fails, there is, of course, her famously comforting and inspiring prose. Her voice, omniscient and encouraging, ensured my first forays into the previously-intimidating territory of the kitchen were successful. Because her recipes are drawn from years of experience and from all over the globe, I was willingly initiated along roads which up until then were unconsidered. Because of How To Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food), I discovered Claudia Roden and Paula Wolfert, and I have been set upon a path, still being laid, towards discovering my own palate, all the while being able to entertain for my nearest and dearest. I am confident this book will inspire you, too.

Chicken with Morels
(from the chapter One & Two of Nigella Lawson's How To Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food)

15g/ 1/4oz dried morels
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon olive oil
4 chicken thighs
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons Marsala
1/2 stock cube (porcini or chicken)
1-2 tablespoons mascarpone

1) Place the morels in a measuring jug and pour hot (but not boiling) water over them, but no more than 200ml/6.7 fl. oz. Leave for 30 minutes.
2) Into a skillet, melt the butter and add the olive oil, then place the chicken thighs in, skin-side down. Make sure this is a skillet that has a lid, which will come into play later.
3) Remove the chicken thighs to a plate, skin-side up, when the skins are golden brown.
4) Over medium-heat and in the same skillet in which the thighs were browned, cook the onion and garlic.
5) Drain the morels, reserving the liquid, which you are to strain into a small saucepan. Heat the saucepan and keep the morel liquid hot.
6) Check the morels for any grit, then add them to the onion and garlic.
7) Put the chicken thighs back into the skillet, this time skin-side up, and add the Marsala.
8) Into the saucepan with the morel liquor, add the portion of stock cube and dissolve. Pour into the skillet with the thighs and cook until the thighs have cooked through, approximately 20-25 mintues.
9) Remove thighs to a warm plate and reduce the sauce, for which you can decide to remove the morels or keep them in the skillet. Push them to a side of the skillet away from the dominant hot spot if you keep them in the skillet, as I did.
10) Ladle out any fat before turning up the heat to high to reduce the sauce.
11) Stop when you have as much sauce as you like - generally, enough to coat the chicken thighs with a little for the merest hint of a pool. Turn off the heat.
12) Stir in the mascarpone. I only added 1 tablespoon, which provided enough creaminess for my tastes. You might like to add another. I also added a little more Marsala, following Nigella's suggestive lead.
13) Put the chicken thighs back into the skillet to cover with the sauce and then produce onto a plate, which you can fleck with finely chopped parsley.

For those who know me, this dish would evoke gasps as I usually detest mushrooms - don't ask me how many varieties I have tried. Though I am not fond of the texture of the morels - more for my angelheart Eric, then - I loved the morel poaching liquor. It was mildly sweet and without unusual earthy pungency, which I know some people happen to like. Immensely pleasurable and a cinch to make. Served wonderfully with brown rice and spinach sauted in olive oil and garlic.

Labels: Book Review, Chicken, Nigella Lawson

It is with great pleasure that I have been asked by Sara at i like to cook and Mary at The Sour Dough to review this cookery book. Now, I am hardly the sea-faring type, but I have often wondered, all romantic and wide-eyed, what is eaten aboard passenger and cargo vessels. One often hears of the buffets on the liners that hopscotch around the Caribbean islands, but what about the passenger ships and freighters of North America? Not only does Creative Characters Publishing Group's Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook satisfy this curiosity, but it also provides recipes for many notable American dishes, which make the passengers and crew members feel like they are at home no matter where they are.

The Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook is organized into chapters covering currently active tall ships, freighters, coast guard ships, passenger vessels, retired vessels, and a salute to those who have given tirelessly to the men and women who live on the waves of the Great Lakes. The biggest impression I get from this historical parade is the food trends, from contemporary takes on European cuisine, such as marinated focaccia bread sandwiches on the Denis Sullivan (nicknamed "the ship built by a thousand hands and a thousand hearts", p.3), to Americana, like baked beans served on some of the Michigan State car ferries.

What is also interesting to note, as prefaced above, is the difference between what is eaten not only across time but also across class. For example, on the M.T.S. Arcadia, a cruise liner, guests are invited to a Greek Tavern dinner that consists of all sorts of Greek delights: avgolemono (an egg and lemon soup), moussaka, and galaktoboureko (a custard-filled pastry), yet on the M.V. Canadian Miner, a freighter, the crew is served big pot meals: sausage and rice casserole, turkey noodle soup, and beef curry. This distinction clearly underlines the purposes of the people aboard the ships, and it is an interesting commentary on how both sides live - Upstairs Downstairs on the Great Lakes.

Each featured ship is given space to reveal its history, as indicated not only with succinct text but also with black and white photographs. Menus are also provided to give the reader contextual information, adding depth to the recipes selected to represent the stewards' offerings on each ship.

Most important, though, is the recipes. They cover the spectrum of all things American or foreign with crossover American appeal (i.e. that which can be produced with minimum items, minimum fuss, and maximum output to feed an army). I decided on an afternoon tea snack, the freighter ship M.V. Algosoo's coconut pound cake and dinner, lamb pot pie, which was served on the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper (now retired), and baked apple dumplings, served on the S.S. Badger, a passenger vessel. These were not only chosen because they suited my needs but also because some recipes are for very large quantities (and not all worth the effort of scaling down, so they make good suggestions for parties to which a crowd is invited) or because a yield is not given, which is intimidating to the inexperienced cook.

The recipe that I am spotlighting is the lamb pot pie - well, how could I not? I live in New Zealand, after all! The pastry is enough for two crusts, as articulated in the recipe, but one can use a prepared puff pastry from the market if one cannot be bothered making the shortening pastry. The only omission I made was the mushrooms, but I have included them in the rundown of ingredients should you wish to use them. I also have to reveal that the lamb pot pie filling was supposed to require 1/4 cup flour and an additional 1/2 cup vegetable broth or water, but as to when to add them was not indicated in the method, so I didn't add them at all, and this did not negatively impact the result (but it did make for some consternation).

Lamb Pot Pie
(as served on the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper from the Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook)

For the pastry:
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup shortening
6 to 7 tablespoons cold water

For the lamb filling:
2 pounds/approx. 1 kg stewing lamb, cut into bite-sized pieces
2 small onions, sliced
2 large potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced
1/2 pound/a bit more than 1/5 kg fresh mushrooms, thinly sliced
1 1/2 cups vegetable broth
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cilantro/coriander
1 tablespoon mustard (or 1/2 tablespoon dry mustard)

For the egg wash:
1 egg
4 tablespoons milk (or other liquid, such as water)

To prepare the pastry:
1) Stir flour and salt in a large bowl.
2) Cut in the shortening.
3) Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of cold water in pastry mixture and gently toss with a fork. Repeat this step with remaining water until entire pastry mixture is moistened.
4) Divide dough into 2 balls. Roll out 1 ball and line the bottom of a greased and floured pie plate, reserving the remaining ball for the top.

To prepare the filling:
1) Combine vegetable oil and butter in a large pot, and heat together until the butter is melted.
2) Add lamb and brown it on all sides (I did this in two batches so as not to overcrowd the pot and braise the lamb).
3) Add the remaining ingredients, and stir to combine them.
4) Simmer covered for 20 minutes.
5) Uncover and cook for a further 15 minutes, stirring occassionally.

To compile the pie:
1) Preheat oven to 375 F/190 C.
2) Pour filling over bottom crust in the pie plate.
3) Roll out the reserved ball of dough to place over the filling, and crimp the edges to seal in the ingredients and moisture.
4) Cut three small slits in the top to vent.
5) Combine egg wash ingredients together and lightly brush over the top crust.
6) Bake for 20-30 minutes until done (the nose knows!).

I do apologise for the photo, but I had to use a disposable camera (shock horror) as my angelheart Eric has custody of our digital. Aesthetics aside, I have to say that this both smelled and tasted like a pie, which is to say that I would certainly use the recipe again, but I would augment some of the flavors. Perhaps I would add a little brandy or red wine to the simmering filling instead of so much vegetable broth, and I would also include a bouquet garni, so as to enhance the Spring flavors that complement lamb so well.

To me, though, this recipe is typical of most in the book, reinforced by the results of making the coconut pound cake (a standard cake mix to which is added a teaspoon of coconut extract and one cup of dessicated coconut) and baked apple dumplings (peeled and cored apples dusted with a combination of nutmeg and cinnamon, individually wrapped in sweet shortcrust pastry and baked in a sauce of butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar), in that they are mostly traditional, practical, and no-frills in their execution enough to follow for everyday cooking. There is a great degree of honesty in the recipes, some of which are no more than a can of this, a can of that, 1 pound of this, and 2 pounds of that. Not only do such recipes leave you a bit gob-smacked by the sheer quanitity of each ingredient and the indulgence in preserved goods, they educate the reader on the lifestyle of the crew, which is really on board to work and to whom the meals are mostly for sustenance. This not to say the book has no culinary merit, for there are gems within (the Layered Mocha Cream Torte as served on the Denis Sullivan has been bookmarked!) for at home or tailgating use.

The Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook functions best as a good compendium of American recipes. Of course these recipes have to be standard - for the most part, the objective is to not only make people feel pampered (if they are passengers) but also to make people feel comforted when away from home. This invites you, the home cook and lover of American food, to add your own personal stamp, as I recommend you do.

Labels: Book Review, Cookbook Spotlight, Lamb, Pie