The Petit Four

Well, thank goodness that’s over.

I could explain my prolonged absence, but I’ll save you the trouble. I think it’s quite obvious by now that I’m not the best planner when it comes to organization and making time for things when I have a gazillion responsibilities on my plate.

But now it’s February. And my schedule is looking blissfully less insane. You could even say open. I will have time for things like traveling (Barcelona, here I come!), hosting dinner parties, and getting back into my kitchen. I haven’t used my kitchen at all since Thanksgiving, save for the necessary coffee-making and reheating of the occasional pizza. I’ve mainly been subsisting on applesauce, yogurt and All-Bran for the past month. How I haven’t gotten scurvy yet, I don’t know. So February (yeah, I’m talking to YOU), let’s make a deal. Can you make nice with me this year and just…not suck? That would be a great change of pace for you. One that I’d totally dig. K, thanks.

But since it is February and for most everyone, the skies are gray and winter is still going on, here are a couple of things that I have been really into lately that make me happy.

Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - Home
This song puts a smile on my face every time I listen to it.  It’s so happy and catchy, exactly what I’ve been needing to get me through these dark, wet Belgian days.

The xx - VCR
Everything about this is perfect - the song, the music video.  All around gorgeousness.

Also, today is Bill Murray day!  Or, in other more conventional circles, Groundhog Day.  Except here in Belgium, it’s La Chandeleur, a day to commemorate when Jesus was officially presented to the temple in Jerusalem.  But hey, since most people here are incredibly secular, they don’t really celebrate that so much.  Instead, February 2 is Pancake Day.  What.a.great.holiday.

The heart of Pancake Day is similar to Groundhog Day.  Because pancakes, or crêpes, are large and circular like the sun, you eat pancakes all day to try and coax the warm sun back into the hemisphere.  Pancakes and the potential of warmth? Sign me up!

Because everyone has their favorite go-to pancake (my personal fave would be my dad’s rendition) and I personally am still trying to recover from a particularly sweetened holiday season, I decided to go down the savory route.  And ooh boy. These things are delicious.

I nabbed this recipe off Bon Appetit and not only are they cheap and a cinch to make, but they are reminiscent of all my favorite types of street food.  Slightly salty, slightly cheesy, slightly buttery.  They’re also easy to fold so turning them into an edible shelf for toppings is easy-peasy.  I recommend topping them with a bit of harissa, a few leaves of spinach, and a dollop of hummus.  And they go well with beer, so really, what more could you want?

Sour Cream and Onion Pancakes*
Adapted from Bon Appetit

1/3 cup chopped onion
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Worcestershire sauce, to taste
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 1/2 cups sour cream (or cottage cheese)
3 large eggs
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Cook onion, 1/8 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper in 2 tablespoons butter and Worcestershire sauce in a small heavy skillet over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until golden brown, about 12 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, then add sour cream, eggs, flour, 1/4 cup butter, remaining 1/8 teaspoon salt, and remaining 1/8 teaspoon pepper and whisk until combined.

Brush a 12-inch nonstick skillet with some of remaining butter and heat over moderate heat until hot but not smoking. Working in batches of 5, scoop 1/8-cup measures of batter into skillet and cook until undersides are golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes. Flip and cook until undersides are golden brown and pancakes are cooked through, 1 to 2 minutes more. Transfer to a baking sheet and keep warm in oven. Brush skillet with butter between batches if necessary.

*Original recipe calls for cottage cheese.  My grocery store didn’t have any so I grabbed what I thought was cottage cheese, but was, in fact, sour cream.  Turns out it didn’t matter because I followed the recipe to a T after that and it worked beautifully.

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.

 

 

Waiting isn’t really my specialty. Call me a true-blood American or blame it on the baby-in-the-family syndrome, but when I want something, I mean, really want something, it needs to happen - now. My entire focus is on the thing that I want and when it can be mine. And when that thing is an email, my gmail has never felt so much love and attention.

So I inevitably need distractions. And in times like these, with the wanting and waiting and the distractedness, cooking something that requires a lot of concentration isn’t something I can handle. I need ease. I need taste. I need speed so I can hurry up and fixate. Or things that don’t really involve knives.

This variation on a recipe from Joy the Baker fits the bill. Sharp things are kept to a minimum and it only requires two dishes to make. Plus, it’s nutritious to get you through those all those anxious nail-biting sessions you need to get in.

The low-down: basically, all you need is polenta, whatever type of bean you fancy, cheese, and a splash and a dash of your favorite spice(s).

2 tablespoons butter
1 onion
2 chopped carrots
3 cloves garlic
Worcestershire Sauce, to taste
Malt Vinegar, to taste
Salt and Pepper, to taste
15 oz. canned or cooked beans, rinsed

1 cup dried polenta (fine or coarse grain)
2 cups milk
3 cups water

Whatever type of cheese you need and to taste. I used a chunk of mozzarella.

Place 1 cup polenta in a bowl and top with 1 cup water. Set aside.

Melt the butter in a saucepan before sautéing the onion, garlic, and carrots for about five minutes. Add Worcestershire sauce, malt vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. Saute until the carrots are tender. Add beans right before removing from heat and stir to incorporate/heat. Add butter or olive oil as necessary.

Meanwhile, bring 2 cups milk and 2 cups water to a boil in a pot. Once it reaches boiling, add some salt. Pour the soaking polenta in the pot and stir slowly until it thickens. Once desired thickness is reached, take off flame.

Pour polenta into a bowl and top with beans and sautéed vegetables. Top with cheese.