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.

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.

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.

There’s just something about the first day of spring. The feeling of reassurance that you’ve made it through another long, dark Midwestern winter, that drinking beers on porches and croquet games will soon be underway. It’s the day where we can all shimmy out of our puffy jackets and cast our winter hats to the side because today, today you play.

I have this funny feeling about things. There’s this strange sense of hope that’s been brewing inside for awhile and now I feel like I’m practically bursting with it. New plans are afoot. I don’t know what it is, but something big is about to happen. Maybe it has something to do with the sunny skies and the first day of spring, but everything feels light. Everything feels like a bright, poppy car commercial. That despite the dreary winter, with the never-ending face-burning cold, the grim economic climate, the encroaching gray on President Obama’s head, everything is going to be ok.

When I was a kid, I wanted to get out of the Midwest - badly. I hated the rundown farms, the urban sprawl, and the plain jane-ness of it all. And winter was the worst. Every where I looked, everything was gray and wet. Then I went away for a little bit and then I grew up a little bit. Now, I understand the quiet, subtle beauty of those firm and faded farms, where the fields dip and roll along the stretches of roads and highway, how those small, ranch houses bubble up into small towns and big towns and rusty cities. It’s home to me and now I get it, I get the beauty and the quietness of everything. And I know my fifteen-year-old self is going to hate my twenty-three-year-old self for saying this, but I like it.

Yet there are times when you just need to escape. It’s always around February and March, when the gray skies and wet ground no longer hold any charming winter quality and you end up looking to the sky, begging and pleading for sun and warmth and dear God, some green.

Which is why the first day of Spring is so important. It’s the first day of promise and hope and a little bit of redemption. I, the modern day pioneer woman, made it through the wilderness of urban concrete and steel to reach the end of the season, surviving my cosmopolitan cabin fever and inner-city imprisonment.

So last weekend, with the sun streaming through the windows, I dug into Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours, to unofficially take part in Tuesdays with Dorie and more importantly, entice the ever approaching gods of spring and celebrate that we made it through another winter.

French Yogurt Cake with Marmalade Glaze from Dorie Greenspan

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 ground almonds (or if you don’t like or don’t want to use almonds, just add another 1/2 cup flour)

2 tsps. baking powder

pinch o’ salt

1 cup sugar

Grated zest of 1 lemon

1/2 cup plain yogurt

3 large eggs

1/4 tsp. pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup oil

Preheat the oven to 350F and butter up a loaf pan.

Put the sugar and zest into a bowl and rub the zest into the sugar with your fingers until the sugar is moist and aromatic. Inhale deeply. Add the yogurt, eggs and vanilla and whisk until the mixture is well blended. Still whisking, add the flour, almonds if you’re using them, baking powder and salt. Once the dry ingredients are fully incorporated, fold in the oil. The batter will be very smooth, taste delicious, and have a slight sheen. Pour into loaf pan and bake for 50 to 55 minutes.

The cake’s edges should begin to come away from the sides of the pan and be golden brown. Let cool for a few minutes in the pan before transferring over to cool on a rack.

To make the glaze, put 1/2 cup marmalade in a small saucepan or a microwave save bowl, stir in 1 tsp. of water and heat until the jelly is hot and liquefied. Gently brush the cake with the glaze.

There are things you just need sometimes.  Like showers and hugs.  And dinner parties.  I firmly believe that one cannot have too many dinner parties in their lifetime.  I also believe that your dinner party quota should grow exponentially when other things in your life are driving you crazy, such as a large fundraising event that you are entirely in charge of.  In fact, it should be a requirement to have several dinner parties when you’re in the middle of aforementioned project.  Consider it a form of training, a workshop if you will, to prep you for the night of the event.

And I have been doing a horrible job at filling my quota.  Something needed to be rectified.  So I made the necessary phone calls and found myself walking up to Christine and Ryan’s apartment on Saturday with a Mon Gateau au Chocalat in one  hand, cream ready to be whipped and devoured in the other.  On the other side of the door was the most decadent spread of cheese, crackers, and steak that I’ve encountered in a long time.  And impending food comas for all to be had.

By the time we had polished off the bottle of Molly Dooker cabernet and made the smallest of dints on our steaks, we were on the verge of admitting defeat and succumbing to our growing food babies.  But we couldn’t stop. There was cake to be had.  So, to fend off the impending and dangerously close food coma, the boys went off to play Boston and Rush on Rock Band while I got down to work.

Pulling the bowl and whisk our of the refrigerator, now chilled, I whipped up a batch of homemade whipped cream, sweetened with just a sprinkling of mint chocolate hot cocoa mix.

I dished out the thick, fudge-like chocolate cake with a dollop of whipped cream to everyone.  I foolishly began to ask how it tasted, only to be admonished by Ryan as he closed his eyes and experienced the first bite.  “This cake is gonna-make-me-prone-to-obesity good,” he said a few moments later.

And well, a girl just can’t ask for a better compliment to her cake.  Plus, this recipe only gets better a day later.

Mon Gateau au Chocolat from Bistro Cooking
12 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2/3 cup unsalted butter
3/4 cup granulated sugar
5 large eggs, separated
1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp. confectioner’s sugar for decoration (optional)

Preheat oven to 350F and butter a 9 1/2 inch springform pan or deep, nonstick cake pan.

Melt the chocolate, butter, and granulated sugar in a double boiler placed over simmering water.  Melt until the mixture is smooth and everything is thoroughly blended.  Set aside to cool.

Separate the egg yolks and the egg whites into separate bowls.  Whisk the egg whites until they form firm peaks but don’t overbeat.

Whisk the egg yolks and flour into the chocolate mixture.  This will be a lumpy but will begin to look like cake batter.  Then, add one-third of the egg whites into the chocolate batter and mix.  Gently fold in the remaining whites slowly and thoroughly, until no streaks of egg white remain.

Pour the batter into the butter pan and bake until the cake is firm and springy, about 35 - 45 minutes.  Cool for several hours before trying to remove the cake from the pan.  The cake is rich and delicious enough that you don’t need frosting, but you can dust it with confectioners’ sugar for aesthetic reasons.  I recommend eating it with just a touch of homemade whipped cream.