The Petit Four

I consider myself to be an adventurous eater. There are very few things in the world I will snub and discard before trying them at least once. I was the girl whose mantra for an entire year of her life in small-town China was “If it’s delicious, I’m not going to ask what type of meat it is.” It served my stomach and my conscience well. I liked my dog too much for me to ever really want to know.

But of course there are a few exceptions. I don’t dig blueberries or most things lemon-related. And I also don’t do traditional spaghetti noodles or watery soups. If I’m ever handed a bowl of steaming soup, I’m tearing apart the nearest chunk of bread, or crumbling up a bag of individual oyster crackers so I can sop up some of that liquid. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a soup-texture phobe.

Which explains why I’m in love with European-style soups and potages. They are the happy marriage between American stews and soups – creamy and vegetable based, but thick enough to offer up a textural body so you feel like you’re consuming substance, not just flavored water. What a happy discovery to make during one of the coldest, snowiest winters Europe’s ever had.

So I was pleased to discover a recipe featuring some of my new obsessions – my new found love for leeks and a potage recipe that puts them in the starring role.

This potage recipe has been my saving grace for the past month. It’s so simple that I kind of forget I’m making it. The end result is so flavorful and comforting I find myself craving it at the most bizarre hours. And it uses up a lot of the staples I have in my kitchen, so it’s perfect for when it’s 10 pm, I’ve realized I haven’t eaten anything but applesauce all day and I’m suddenly ravenously hungry.

Leek and Potato Potage
From The Complete Robuchon

2 tablespoons butter
3 medium leeks, carefully washed and sliced into rounds
Salt
4 cups water
¾ pound potatoes, quartered lengthwise
1/3 cup heavy cream or crème fraîche
1 teaspoon chervil leaves

Melt 1 ½ tablespoons butter in a saucepan over very low heat. Add the leeks and cook for 3 minutes, stirring occasionally. They should begin to turn translucent but should not brown. Add the water and 2 teaspoons salt and bring to a simmer. Let the leeks simmer gently for 10 minutes.

Carefully lower the potoates into the hot water-leek mixture. Bring the pot back to a simmer and cover partially to keep it from boiling over. Simmer gently for 30 minutes.

Remove the pot from the heat and blend with a handheld mixer, blender or food processor. Bring the puréed potage back to a simmer and then turn off the heat and whisk in the cream. Taste for salt. Just before serving, stir in the rest of the butter and sprinkle with chervil.

Brussels is hot.

Oh, I realize that I’m not living in New York with its near Biblical amounts of summer rain. Or that I’m not sweating and suffocating away under Chicago’s oppressive heat and humidity. But in my defense a part of my apartment is a converted sauna. And on top of that, deodorant doesn’t have a strong foothold in Europe. And un-air conditioned public transportation is used by everyone – extensively.

I’m just going to let that stew in your minds for a little bit like it has stewed in my nose for the past week.

So. I’ve been craving things that are cool, easy and on the cheap since my last financial disaster. Plus, it’s a few days away from the Fourth of July and while it may be illegal to barbecue out in public in dear, ol’ Belgium (it’s true! Daniel and I spent a week trying to figure this out.) I’m trying to keep the spirit alive.

I’ve already rocked out the potato salad, one of your quintessential picnic sides. But then there’s the ‘slaw.

Here’s the thing. I don’t really like coleslaw. The only version I’ve ever tried and didn’t dislike, but in fact, adored, is from Smoque in Chicago – a barbecue place that changed my opinion on barbecue and consequently, life, for the better. Their ‘slaw is made with a vinegar base, which enhances the crunchy awesome sweetness of the red onions and the pop of the mustard seeds mixed in with the cabbage. I adore this coleslaw so much that I like to swipe my friends’ coleslaw bowls and put them in my leftover box for later.

So after an experience like Smoque, I’m a little wary of trying to make my own coleslaw – a staple of all Fourth of July picnics and bbqs. Even if I succeeded, it wouldn’t be the same, especially if I didn’t have an equally tasty barbecue to get messy with. Then in walks Dorie Greenspan, with her French take on coleslaw using not cabbage, but carrots, and incorporating the two things I like most about Smoque’s coleslaw – the vinegar and the mustard. It’s cheap and simple. The tang from the Dijon brings the carrot’s natural sweetness away from the harvesty taste of autumn and winter and into a respectable summer side dish. I wish I could tell you that I was having more for lunch than a bowl of this, but I can’t. It’s too hot out.

Grated Carrot-Raisin ‘Slaw Salad
From Dorie Greenspan

1 pound carrots, peeled and trimmed
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon honey
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup canola oil
Raisins, optional
Coarsely chopped walnuts, optional
Chopped parsley, optional
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

The carrots need to be grated, a job you can do by hand using the large holes of a box grater, or by push-button using the grating blade of a food processor. Either way, if the grating has caused the carrots to weep, give them a quick press between your palms to rid them of excess liquid before you toss the pieces into a serving bowl.

If you’ve used a processor, keep it plugged in and make the dressing in it; if not, use a small jar. Put the mustard, honey, vinegar and oil in the processor or jar, season with salt and pepper, and whir or shake until blended - you’ll have a thick, smooth vinaigrette.

Toss the carrots with the currants, and nuts, if you’re using these ingredients, and then, just before serving, pour over the dressing, toss the salad well and adjust the salt and pepper, if needed. If you’re using the parsley, add it last.

Wait, more potatoes?

I’m just going to preempt you. Yes. Two posts in a row about potatoes. And no, I didn’t move to Ireland.

So here’s the thing – I’m still broke. And not because I’ve elected to live a life of poverty, but because of my own stupidity.

It all started last weekend when I was getting ready to go to a techno club. That should have been the first sign that everything was going to go downhill.

I was ready to leave my apartment when I faced the first problem – I didn’t want to take my entire purse with me. It would be obnoxious. So I elected to take only my wallet. And since I’m so smart and wanted to protect myself against possible thievery and sticky fingers, I took out my debit card and placed it on a table in my apartment. Taking only cash, I walked out the door. Easy breezy to the thumpa-thumpa.

Fast forward a few days when I remembered that I never put my debit card back into my wallet. I’ve now spent the last week thoroughly tearing apart my apartment, going as far as lifting up every piece of furniture, removing the entire contents of my fridge for further inspection, and leafing through every page of every book. I had horrible visions and flashbacks of middle school when I accidentally threw my retainer away in the cafeteria. Eech.

My debit card is a sly little devil. Ok card, you win, I lose you.

So here I am, continuing my meager existence of the last year despite being gainfully employed, waiting it out till a replacement card arrives. And since we are in these “hard, economic times,” I’m trying to stay as far away from my credit card as possible. It’s time to buckle down and eek out every ounce of nutrition and sustenance I can get from my measly transitional kitchen.

So yes, potatoes.

This is another recipe from Nigella Lawson’s Feast, but luckily it doesn’t involve any real measurement. It calls for a slow, long cook of the onions, which lets them caramelize into deliciously dangerous companions for the warm, softness of the potatoes. This combination, paired with the slight tang of the salt and paprika and the gooeyness of the egg make it a great meal to eat if you’re say….comforting yourself over losing something important. Like a debit card. Or your dignity after going to a techno club. And as always, I’m a big fan of any meal that lets me sop up the remaining bits of egg and flavor with some really good bread, like a nice slice of sourdough.

This recipe serves one person, but is easy enough to increase as necessary.

Nigella Lawson’s Potato and Onion Hash
From Feast

1 small onion, chopped
1 small clove of garlic, chopped
1 – 2 small potatoes (scrubbed, not peeled), cut into chunks
1 tablespoon olive oil
Paprika or Cayenne to taste
1 egg
Salt and Pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a frying pan over medium low heat. Add the onion and garlic. Sprinkle a little bit of salt over the onion to stop them from catching.

After a minute or two, add the potatoes and turn the heat down to low. Stir occasionally so that the onions caramelize – not turn into dark brown. Cook like this for about 30 minutes, or until the potatoes soften.

Once the potatoes soften, you can plate the hash mixture or push it to side of the frying pan to make space for frying the egg. It depends on how large your pan is. Turn the heat up and fry the egg in the open half of the frying pan. When it’s cooked to your liking (I prefer mine a little runny), spoon the hash mixture onto a plate and top with the egg.

Drink with beer.

Some things that I love:

Dance parties featuring ’80s hair bands

Dogs
Red corduroy pants
The BBC Newshour
Afternoon naps
Beer

Sometimes, you just need a beer. Or two. Or many. At the risk of sounding like an alcoholic, it’s man’s other best friend behind your pet.

My relationship with beer has not always been a positive one. I remember opening bottles of beer for my dad and uncles when I younger, only to have some splash on my lips as I accidentally knocked some over. I would gag as I swiped my tongue across the drops of tangy fermentation that landed on my lips. When I exclaimed that it was positively gross and I would never drink that stuff, my dad knowingly said my attitude would change later as he passed out the bottles I hadn’t managed to spill.

It took awhile for the shift to happen. My freshman year of college after I had already discovered the joys (in oh so many embarrassing ways) of mixed drinks, I made a concerted effort to enjoy beer. I cringe now to think of the time Megan gave me my first Guinness and how I couldn’t control the facial twitch as I took gentle sips. I thought it would be a good idea to enjoy the beer with a sort of alcoholic training wheel - by adding sweetener. After I had finished what seemed like an overpowering glass of the tall, foamy beer, I swore I would never drink Guinness again.

It took until my junior year of college, when I studied abroad in Brussels, to really appreciate beer. Before, I would always opt for fruity mixed drinks or shots to get me through the boozy weekends of college. But in Belgium, I discovered what beer could be. The mesmerizing redness of Duchesses de Bourgogne, the tartness of Cantillon, the mystery around the tripel trappiste recipes, the perfect pairing of cheese and beer. My position turned from beerphobic to beer snob. Never again will Budweiser of Natty Light touch these lips. I prefer my beer to be dark and foamy and heavy. Much like Guinness. Not something that tastes like water left in a Nalgene for three months.

Kwak at Le Corbeau - my favorite bar in Brussels

Yet this taste for good beer (read: oftentimes expensive beer) doesn’t always put a girl in a good position when she’s living on food stamps. So sometimes, when times are tough and you’re stressed and you just need a good beer to celebrate that you made it through the day (or weekend), it might feel like you have to make a hard choice between eating well and drinking well.

Actually, you don’t. Raise your hand if you like good beer. And if you like to eat filling, homey, salty, cheesy, gooey, flavorful, spicy food when you drink beer? Ok, basically I’m asking if anyone likes nachos. Now raise your hand if your wallet is malnourished (which should be everyone)?

Then crack open a nice cold one, grab a saucepan and put in some toast because you need to make yerself some Welsh Rarebit.

The moment I first tasted Welsh Rarebit I knew I was in love. It’s just the taste you crave when maybe you’ve had one too many or you wake up the morning after a big night out and your belly is screaming, pounding against your insides all tantrum-like demanding that you put something in it now.

I wish I could show you pictures of it, but my sister and I ate it all. It’s also about as photogenic as movie theater nachos. It’s just not pretty. But it sits pretty in your stomach and on your economic sense of well-being.

And what I love about Welsh Rarebit is that it’s the sort of meal that isn’t glamorous. You’re not going to find it all trussed up and flirting on the cover of Gourmet. It’s what you make after going out and your eye makeup makes you look like a character from the Evil Dead movies or on days when all you want to do is not shower and watch movies all day. I secretly love those kind of moments and I want you to love Welsh Rarebit too.

Welsh Rarebit from Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything

2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon mustard powder, or to taste
A pinch of cayenne, or to taste
1 cup milk (or beer)
Worcestershire sauce to taste
Salt and Pepper to taste (I use garlic salt for an extra zing)
Two cups cheese
Bread

Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. When the butter starts to bubble, whisk in the flour. Continue to cook, stirring until it turns a golden brown, about three to five minutes. Slowly whisk in the milk (it helps you avoid lumps) until the mixture thickens, another minute or two. Stir in your seasonings and Worcestershire sauce.

Once the mixture is seasoned to your liking, turn heat to low and stir in cheese until it’s smooth. If you’re adding beans or anything else, add them now as well. Once the cheese has melted, remove from heat and slather on toast, enjoy and rub belly.

Other suggestions - put some bacon on the toast before adding the Welsh Rarebit, adding a poached egg, topping with cilantro and/or tomato.