The Petit Four

I love the way October makes me feel. I like the warm, sleepy feeling I get when I slip into sweatpants or the way my toes happily curl into themselves when I don them with socks. I’m also just happy that we’ve reached the point in the year where I no longer sweat at the drop of a hat. I hate sweating.*

And now I’ve found one more reason to love October - leeks.

It’s hard to avoid leeks, or poireaux, in northern France and Belgium in the fall. They spill out of stands at every farmers market in the region and work their way into all sorts of soups, tarts and flamiche. And now that my leek-radar has been piqued, I’m shocked to see how often the vegetable is used since my only prior exposure has been a soup from this book.

Belgium’s love of leeks extends beyond the cultural regions of northern francophone countries and all the way across the Channel. The leek is one of Wales’ national emblems and all good Welsh boys wear a leek necklace on St. David’s Day to honor, well, St. David and his battle against the Saxons. And I have it on very good authority from a Welsh friend (who sadly doesn’t know Christian Bale)  that it’s near-impossible to avoid leek-based meals in any sort of formal setting.

I think Europe is on to something. Leeks, in the onion family but more subtle and sweet, create silkily textured dishes with a robust flavor profile. They work particularly well in flamiche, a frenchified Flemish word for cake but is actually closer to a tart or pie. A flamiche is traditionally made with bread dough instead of pastry, can have a top crust or go without, and has a quiche-y base composed of cheese and eggs.** The ultimate savory pie.

This flamiche with leek confit takes some time to make but is a great introduction to Belgian food and leeks. The chopped leeks spool out and look like silky pasta, making your pot of confit one of the prettiest bowls of food you’ll ever see. I found myself mesmerized by the buttery pot of cooking vegetables, standing over the stove and watching as the butter melted and slipped in between the leeks. The crust used in the recipe veers away from the traditional bread dough, but it’s a firm piecrust with shoulders to stand up and support the robust flavor of the leek and cheese without become soft and gooey. Instead, it protects the buttery, flaky pockets inside so each forkful of the flamiche melts in your mouth. It gives me the same sleepy, happy feeling I get whenever I sink into my couch, fully suited up in sweat pants. The way October is meant to be spent.

* One of my good friends is currently in the middle of her Peace Corps stint in Southern Senegal.  One of her recent updates was “I am so jealous of babies here. They get fanned all the time, get to play in giant buckets full of water when it’s a million degrees outside and they don’t have to wear pants, EVER.” Reasons why I am glad I live in Belgium - I stop sweating and I can wear pants. Hooray pants!

**It’s also customary to serve Burgundy wine with a flamiche.

Belgian Style Leek Flamiche
Adapted very slightly from Molly Wizenberg in Bon Appetit October 2008

Leek Confit
You can make this ahead of time - up to a week beforehand.  Keep refrigerated in an airtight container until needed for the filling.

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
4 large leeks (white and pale green parts only), halved lengthwise, cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-thick slices (about 5 cups)
2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon salt

Melt butter in large pot over medium-low heat. Add the leeks and stir to coat. Add the water and salt. Cover and reduce heat to low. Cook until the leeks are tender, stirring often, about 25 minutes. Uncover and cook until the excess water evaporates.  Keep warm until ready to use in the filling, or keep in an airtight container until ready to use.

Flamiche Crust
4 tablespoons ice water
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) plus 1 tablespoon chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

Custard Filling
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup crumbled cheese - goat cheese, feta, boursin, etc. work well.
Leek Confit from above

To make the crust:

Preheat oven to 375F.

Combine ice water and cider vinegar in small bowl. Blend flour and salt in processor. Add butter and blend until the mixture resembles coarse meal. With the machine running, slowly add the water-vinegar mixture, processing until moist clumps form. If dough seems dry, add additional ice water by teaspoonfuls. Gather dough into ball and flatten into a disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least 2 hours. Allow dough to soften slightly at room temperature before rolling out.

Roll dough out on a lightly floured surface until it’s a 12-inch round. Transfer to non-stick 9-inch-diameter tart or pie pan (removable sides or bottom preferable). Press dough onto bottom and up sides. Fold in overhang and press to extend dough 1/2 inch above sides of pan. Make ventilation holes in the pie crust by poking a fork in the crust a couple of times.  Line pan with foil and dried beans. Bake until dough looks dry and set, about 30 minutes. Remove foil and beans and continue to bake until crust is pale golden, 20 to 25 minutes longer. Remove from oven and cool while preparing filling.

To make the filling:
Whisk together milk, cream, eggs, and salt. Sprinkle half of the cheese over the bottom of the warm pie crust. Spread your leek confit over the cheese and then sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Pour milk mixture over. Bake until the filling has puffed.  It will be slightly brown in places and the center will be set, around 35 to 40 minutes. Cool slightly. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I know I sound like a broken record “Uh..I’ve been gone. I’ve been, you know, doing stuff.” Here it is, the end of August and I have barely updated or posted or anything.  Rude!

Part of it is because I haven’t stopped moving since the end of May when I unofficially moved out of Chicago and to Brussels. Its been an odd transition.  Since then I have gone, come back, and left again, lived in three apartments (via unpacked suitcases), trained for the new job, traveled the Benelux and been baptized by fire, or baptême du feu as they say in French, in job-related ways.

And oof, mon dieu, my French. I started this summer quaking in my boots, thinking about the gross American Nasal Wasteland my language skills were living in during these past few years. I knew it was going to be a rough start when the first foreign word to come out of my mouth once I hit Belgian soil was “Nihao.” And here I was, expected to shoot the shit and conduct myself in a professional manner en français? Merde. (Luckily, that word knew how to float to the surface whenever I needed it this summer.) Whenever I found myself at a lunch or dinner table full of francophones, I suddenly morphed into this demure little child, quiet as a mouse, fortifying my resolve with fortified Belgian beer. While I wouldn’t say I’ve reached the level I used to be at four years ago, I find that at least I have my sea legs to do my job and to live - animatedly participating in francophone dinners and all.

So I have been busy.  But now a few minutes of free time are coming to me here and there. Orientation is over, I’ve led anxious students on tours and even guided them on a bus and nobody is dead or emotionally wounded. Instead they come and go as they please between school, their Belgian homes and the office, happily finding their sea legs in this strange little country. Away from their parents, their friends and American laws for the first time. They are starting to let go of our hands, which makes me both happy and proud of them. 

One of the most surprising things was that as orientation ended and the first day of classes started, I realized that I never once felt like I was working during the past month. It made me feel more satisfied than I  have in a long, long time.

Now I have time to enjoy other things again like the Midi market and everything summer sends our way. Like tomatoes. And green beans. And these last lingering days of sunlight.

I was able to go to the Midi market one last time before orientation commenced (literally, a few hours before orientation started). As I asked, bargained and bought my produce (tous en français!) I felt like I was stealing. A kilo of tomatoes, nectarines, and green beans, all for a euro each? I know it’s summer and most farmers have to sell their produce faster than they can say ‘harvest,’ but I don’t think I could even get these items in Chicago for this price. Or at the farmers market in my Podunk hometown in Michigan. I think something is seriously wrong with Belgian farmers. And I looove them for it.

In honor of what is probably bountiful in your farmers market or grocery stores right now, and to atone for my sins, I present you with a series over the next few days – summer thus far.

This first recipe is something I’ve made almost nonstop since I’ve been back in Belgium.  Part of it is because I had a kilo of tomatoes to go through, but also because it’s delicious and a recipe from Alain Coumount, mastermind behind Le Pain Quotidien.  Le Pain Quotidien is now an international chain of restaurants, but started here in Brussels when Coumount, a chef for one of the city’s best restaurants, became tired with the lack of bread offered in the area.  His idea, breaking organic bread around a communal table with your neighbors and those you love, has taken off.  There’s even a Le Pain Quotidien in Qatar.  His emphasis is to be local and vegetarian, if not vegan, as much as possible and always organic.  In a recent feature in Food & Wine, he discussed his goal of having Le Pain Quotidien’s menu be 30 to 40 percent meat, egg and dairy free.

What I really like about the restaurant is that even though it takes part in (one could even say that it’s one of the engine’s behind the ultra-trendy locovore/plant-based diet movement) is that it’s not obnoxious or self-righteous.  There’s no special denotation that menu items are vegan and the people who eat here don’t make you feel bad about ordering the dill-accented salmon and goat cheese sandwich.  The focus is community and sharing food with those you love (also not in a hippy-dippy self-righetous way either. win-win!).

This recipe, featured in August’s issue of Food & Wine, has been the defining meal of my summer here in Brussels.  I love the way the wrinkly roasted tomato skin gives into the meaty, cheesy insides.  The melted cheese oozes ever so slightly out of the tomato, giving it slightly crispy edges, and makes me feel like I’m eating some glorious, European adult 2-in-1 combo of grilled cheese and tomato soup.  Plus, the golden-hued tomato is juicy and crispy enough that it feels like it’s a rather elegant meal, when in fact, it’s as easy as mix stuff in bowl/put in tomato/roast/eat.

Roasted Tomato with Goat Cheese
from Alain Coumont as featured in Food & Wine

I’m giving you the halved recipe.  Feel free to further halve this as it’s probably still too large for most people.  Think about it though - originally 12 servings! Talk about communal dining.

Serves 6

6 medium tomatoes (1.5 pounds)
1 pound goat cheese
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh basil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Preheat oven to 425F.  Slice off the top 1/2 inch of each tomato and reserve the tops.  Scoop out the seeds and core of the tomatoes.  Arrange the tomatoes in a 9×13 inch baking dish.  Slice off a very thin sliver on the bottom if the tomatoes need help standing up in the dish.

In a bowl, combine the goat cheese with the egg, garlic, basil, salt, pepper and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Spoon the goat cheese mixture into the tomatoes. Cover with the tomato tops and drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil.

Bake the tomatoes for 35 minutes, until tender and browned in spots and the cheese is hot. Let stand for 15 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

 

 

There is only one thing to do when you find yourself sandwiched between tractors and surrounded by burning tires – make potato pesto salad with mushrooms.

I was at the office working on an upcoming excursion with Daniel when he noticed that there was a steady, speedy stream of tractors passing our office. We stood and watched them pass by for a few minutes before finally making our way outside to scratch our heads with other passers-by. They just kept coming, tearing down Boulevard Louis Schmidt, sporting German, Belgian and Luxembourg flags.

Eventually, the tractors seemed to peter out and normal traffic once again resumed on the busy boulevard, but we were still confused. Protests, or manifestations, are common in Europe – much more so than in the US – but tractors aren’t usually involved. Then we did some research. Numbers vary, but somewhere between 600 – 1000 tractors, mainly from Germany, were camping out in Brussels for a few days to protest the price of milk.

“They’re spending the night in Parc du Cinquantenaire,” Daniel read from Le Soir, the French Daily here in Brussels. “Montgomery is completely inaccessible right now.”

Parc du Cinquantenaire, a large Central Park-like area in Brussels, is just a few steps away from my apartment’s doorstep and Montgomery is one of the nearby Metro stops. Getting home was going to be an adventure.

When I came up from Merode, the other Metro stop that was luckily not thwarted by angry tractor drivers, I found myself in the middle of a field of tractors – watched over and maintained by farmers speaking Germanic languages and variations thereof.  They were overlooking their large, four-wheeled machines and economic interests by barbequing, drinking beer, wearing the occasional lederhosen and waving flags demanding a fair milk price for a fair product.  The field of tractors extended throughout the entire park  – racing each other around the circular fountain at the Parc’s entrance - to sitting idly in the highway’s underpass, preventing traffic leaving and entering the ring around the city, and driving over the tram tracks.

And then I smelt it. The acrid smell of burning rubber. Giant billowing plumes of black smoke started to leap into the blue sky from several points around the Parc – groups simultaneously started to burn large tire piles in the streets and sidewalks.

These farmers meant business. And I didn’t want them angry with me. I was going to make a dairy-free dinner to show my solidarity with the working farmers of Europe.

I found this recipe for Potato Pesto Salad from Smitten Kitchen’s website and adapted it slightly. I used store bought pesto (there’s this great Italian grocer - who’s really from Italy! – near my apartment. I used it and it was still delicious.) and swapped out the beans for white mushrooms sautéed in garlic. The vinegar and garlic give it a nice punch as well as adding a few raw sliced onions. They were crisp and crunchy and evoked the best kind of summer picnics, which is in perfect time for the legit start to the season this weekend.

You know what farmers? You keep protesting. I don’t mind never eating dairy ever again if this potato salad’s around.

Pesto Potato Salad with Mushrooms
Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

4 pounds small Yukon gold or red-skinned potatoes, quartered
1 pound white mushrooms, cut into segments
1 - 2 tablespoons olive oil
1 to 2 small garlic cloves, peeled
2 medium white onions
6 tablespoons (or more to taste) mild vinegar, such as champagne, white wine or a white balsamic
Parmesan cheese to taste
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Cook potatoes in large pot of boiling salted water until just tender, about 15 minutes.  Drain well and let cool.

Saute the garlic and one of the onions in the olive oil until they start to become fragrant.  Add the mushrooms and saute until they start to brown and become tender.  Add to potatoes and let cool.

Toss the mushrooms and potatoes with pesto. Stir in vinegar and season with salt, pepper and/or additional vinegar to taste. Finally, shave some wide flecks of parmesan over the salad with a vegetable peeler.

Serve immediately, or make this up to two hours in advance. It can be stored at room temperature.

Serves 10 (or a couple of very angry farmers.)

You know how you see those awful romantic comedies and always go “oh lord, that never happens” when one of the characters has an unbelievable airport scene, trying to chase down their separated lover before the plane departs and voila! it works out?

The scene usually involves running full tilt through the terminal as the sea of calm waiting passengers magically part to allow the person through.  This aides the character in his or her mission to see their beloved but even this isn’t enough. The clock is ticking and alas! as soon as the running tortured soul arrives at the gate, they’ve already shut the door!  But such circumstances are felled down in the movie where a kind, romantic old woman (or effeminate man)  is working at the gate, who, oh my, just happens to be on the phone with the pilot and hold that plane! we have this distressed lover here! open the door, let them on the plane!  and the scene ends with the two lovers reconciling with each other on a tiny airplane seat amid smiles and chuckles.  End scene.  Never happens, right?

Turns out, it does.  Except the lover I was parted from was my 6:10 pm plane bound to Brussels, waiting patiently for me in Newark.

My connecting flight from Detroit was supposed to arrive in Newark three hours before boarding even started, but we didn’t even land until 5:50.  I didn’t get off the plane until at the very earliest 6:00 and had to book it from Terminal A to Terminal C.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t so glamorous running through the airport.  I looked more like a pale oompaloompa running/waddling  and panting with my computer backpack on through the terminals.  And everyone probably parted to the sides just so they could avoid being hit by my flailing arms.  But I made it.  And I would like to personally kiss the gate attendant and especially the man in charge of bag operations as he miraculously retrieved my bags from Gate A26 and deposited them in the plane at Gate c6 so I had clean clothes, and most importantly, my toothbrush when I landed here in Brussels.  Consider this my endorsement for Continental Airlines.

So yes, I am here. I’m safe. I’m happy.  And all I have to give you right now are these pictures I’ve managed to snap in the whirlwind of the last few days.  I’ll post when I can, but I hope you can understand that things are a little up in the air as I get settled in the next week.