soupnancy

Bechamel

A mother sauce.  One of the first things you learn in school.  The foundation for so many classic dishes we remember from our childhood, and even from first forays into fine dining restaurants of a certain time..  Sauce Mornay and Sauce Soubise, Vol au vent, Coquille St-Jacques, Blanquette de veau (ok not quite bechamel but same deal, you know what I mean)..  At home, there was Mac n’ cheese, lasagne, moussaka..

Officially dating back to the 1600’s when it got its name in honour of Louis de Béchameil, marquis and domo to Louis XIV, it was certainly made in various versions for many years before.  In fact, others jealously claimed propriety afterwards, frustrated that Bechamel became the name for this staple in a cook’s repertory.

Regardless of its storied history, in the eighties and nineties, this poor sauce was condemned to the category of ‘old school’ and out of style, a dinosaur from the backwards cooking of the pre Nouvelle Cuisine era.  So it was snubbed by a generation or two of cooks - for most of my cooking life it turns out.  Shortly out of school, I learnt that flour didn’t belong in modern sauces; reduction was the key, monté au beurre, a little cornstarch slurry to correct the consistency if need be.  This is how everybody made sauces in the new, cool world once you left cooking school. 

I happily followed suit, loving the juices and essences of the likes of Girardet and Jean Georges Vongrichton for instance, who was so avant garde here at the time.  But I always questioned the proposition that this new method widely used across the board in all chefs’ hands was really all that healthier or even cleaner in taste.  So much reduction and butter to compensate for thickener adds another kind of richness that isn’t starch based maybe, but equally heavy, as in deceptively fatty.  Besides, sometimes, too much reduction can mar a taste.  A certain amount intensifies flavours but after a certain point, aromas are lost.  Anyway.  What did I know.  I quickly learnt to trust my taste buds; I would reduce to the desired yumminess, and for what was missing in body, arrowroot or cornstarch or potato starch (depending on the kitchen) would do the trick.  Some butter at the end does really make a sauce, adding that shimmer and mouth feel and balance, but too much is too much.  Maybe it’s the girl in me, but I just can’t swirl 10 nobs of butter into a sauce, like so many of my male colleagues over the years seemed to have no problem doing.

I do like a pure jus too, which is more fashionable, but it has to be kick ass, and coat the spoon or the garnish, usually meat.  And it depends on the dish.  With certain braises and meaty stews, I just feel like they call out for an old fashioned roux.  With other quick pan roasts or delicate meats, a lighter reduction seems more appropriate.  Even with a lean fish dish and a blandish side of rice and asparagus say, a blond roux based sauce (Bechamel), pumped up with some herbs makes for a major comfort meal.  See that’s another thing, the sides make a huge difference.  If a rich gratin or starchy side like couscous or polenta is on the menu to soak up some jus, than I say more of a thinner natural broth like sauce is called for.  And lots of it.  Although an artistic line of measured sauce might look pretty next to a piece of choice protein, a less picture-perfect ladle of sauce on top of the meat always tastes better, whatever the sauce.

I worked in a Cajun restaurant back in the day when I was a waitress and I remember being intrigued by the batches of dark roux slowly roasting in the oven.  Not because I was so interested in cooking at the time, but I’ve always been a sauce girl, and Christophe’s sauces were amazing.  I wondered if this brown muck was the key.  I forgot about it, and my subsequent training all but removed it from my memory.  But like the powerfully seductive scent of freshly baked bread, toasted wheat flour and a good sauce can lodge in one’s taste memory forever.  I suspect roux is something unconsciously delicious and satisfying to most of us; why ever did we cut it out?

In the last few years, for old times sake (maybe it was for mac n’cheese or chicken pot pie, turkey leftovers, or some such ‘pedestrian’ fare), I got to making a béchamel with the onion studded with the bay leaf and clove, the grated nutmeg - and wow, I thought it was so delicious.  From that point on, I have pulled it out on occasion.  No longer is béchamel an off switch in my brain, nor a bad or ‘uncool’ word.  I’m in.  However, I usually go more the route of a velouté, with duck broth instead of milk, for a ‘lighter’, tastier, more complex version, along the lines of that other trusty mother sauce.  

I’m just saying, don’t forget about Bechamel or any of the mother sauces - or for that matter, tradition and history in general.  In forging ahead with new technology and taste sensations, there is always just as much inspiration and simple goodness to be found in dusty old recipes.



Cough syrup meets dessert

When winter and flu season come around, we often brew up a batch of François’ special tisane to boost the immune system and diminish cold symptoms.  Featuring wild ginger, Labrador tea and tusselage flowers (coltsfoot), it is quite alright.  Sometimes we throw in some calendula.  Citrus and honey are natural additions, even a splash of rum - much better.

It’s hardly tried and true, but that’s because we rarely get sick - thanks to all the wild stuff surely.  Maybe also because we don’t have kids and live in the country.  This year however, that throat-chest cold that went through my circle of friends in Montreal made it to St-Roch.  So I took down the pots of dried flowers and weeds and made a batch of herbal tea.  I also did the chicken soup thing, and pumped up the garlic and chilli dosage in everything, no problem.  I never got sick - as in stay-at-home or work-less-than-50-hours sick, but the scratchy throat lingered.  There is only so much tisane a girl can drink.  Bored, and because everyone else around me was sick, my ears perked up when François got talking about the ancient remedy for cough syrup with wild ginger. 

So I made one.  A light cane sugar and water solution that I infused with a ton of wild ginger (this is expensive cough syrup).  And then I threw in some lemons for good vitamin C measure, and at the end just to steep, some Labrador tea and that awful tusselage, following the tisane trio.  Because I happened to be making wild strawberry-sweetgrass coulis at the time, I added some pulp to my syrup just to give it that familiar red colour and fruity taste.  Otherwise, elderberry would have been a good choice, with its inherent anti-viral properties.  Next time.

The final product was tasty, somewhere between medicinal and delicious like dessert.  I know that if I left out the coltsfoot and lemon rind bitterness, it would swing all the way to dessert.  In any case, this is the best cough syrup you will ever taste.

I am no sweet tooth, and have never been able to ingest cough syrup; ask my mother.  As a kid, it took several people to hold me down in order to get a tablespoon of the stuff in my mouth, as with fish pills.  But this wild, gourmet stuff, I could potentially slurp.  When my throat was acting up this week at work, I just walked into the cooler and took a swig, no fuss.  Other staff members, whether feeling under the weather or not, followed.  (Don’t worry, not directly from the mason jar).  Intrigue, delight!  We were even passing it around by the teaspoon to curious clients.  The general consensus is that it works too!  It certainly soothes the throat, but it could very well be the novelty or the yumminess - the oh so powerful placebo effect kicking in. Not that that is so different from any over the counter medication, I reckon.  So why not go the delicious route with home made cough syrup that doubles as dessert?

Come to think of it, that’s my solution to everything..  I’ll take oranges over Vitamin C pills, and fish and greens over omega 3 pills any day.  A diet big on fruits and vegetables, garlic, ginger and chilli, wild plants and mushrooms with all their phytochemicals and anti-oxidants, on top of small portions of natural protein and fats.. It’s all the doctor ever ordered, and so easy to follow.   Good shopping and cooking is all any of us really need. 

Ok, and an occasional rest.  A hit of ‘cold potion’, tisane or cough syrup made with love can only be bonus when there is a killer bug going around.

I often used to make a ‘cold potion’ in other kitchens I worked, for the cooks as soon as anyone seemed to be coming down with something.  Because the reality of kitchen life is that there is seldom question of taking the day off – you generally have to be on your death bed to acceptably bail on your team.  In any case, the idea of a ‘cold potion’ just ignited the cook in me - the inherent desire to concoct something good for others.  For staff meal, it was time to get creative with a garlicky, gingery, spicy stir-fries heavy on the veg and greens, or a hearty chicken soup.  More practical was a liquid potion, easy to down on the line (there’s not always time for a meal).  Rummaging through any restaurant walk-in, you find the necessary components for a decent remedy or two.  The starting point for any magic healing beverage, hot or cold requires pulling out the ginger, citrus and honey. Ask the bar tender for a hit of hard stuff and/or ginger ale and you’re set.  There are always other tasty, nutraceuticals (Chocolate! Nettle! Mushrooms!) one can throw in.  Now I have a full arsenal of extra wild stuff to add to the mix. 

Cold season is actually, kind of, almost fun. 



Sumac

Vinaigrier in French (Staghorn sumac)

(Rhus typhina), famille anacardiacées

This wild edible only came onto my radar for real last summer after a blog reader asked me why I wasn’t mentioning it among all the other wild goodies..  Good question.  Meanwhile, I had some in my kitchen that had been foraged, dried and ground by François the previous year sitting there untouched.  I had tasted sumac in many Morrocan or Middle Eastern dishes before, I had played with it some as a young cook, but it had never grabbed me, I guess.  It was one of those things that got forgotten about in the chaos of my cooking life, where there is an endless list of ever exciting ingredients to deal with, new and old, and so much to do.. 

No more!

Like with so many things, when you forage it yourself, smell and taste it fresh, go to the bother of processing it, said foodstuff gains in importance and wow potential.  This time around, it was like discovering it for the first time.  Fruity and tart, so complex.  Not just acidic and aroma-less like on that poor rendition of Za’atar bread in my taste memory from the early 90’s.  I’ve also developed a taste for tartness over the years, so maybe that helps in my new found appreciation for sumac. 

Even noble ingredients can get lost in the shuffle especially once the novelty wears off.  I typically go through stages with all ingredients, using a chosen one in every which way, only to brush it aside when something else comes along, until I wake up to it again if it is worthy.  With the wild stuff being our mission, my favourites there never get dissed, remaining on my menu year round - like wild ginger, crinkleroot, sea spinach, sweetgrass.. With others, it takes their peak season to come around, or perhaps a ‘grand ménage’ to uncover a jar on the back of the shelf or a sous-vide bag at the bottom of the freezer, inorder to reintegrate them into my cooking.  Upon review, sumac will not gather dust on my spice rack.  Here on in, it will get the special treatment; now that I know all it can be and do, it will be a staple.

That it is an indigenous shrub whose fruit can be picked in winter is another reason it is big on my mind right now.  Across the river outside my bedroom window, the deep-red velvety clusters hang from the trees, tempting me on a daily basis, inspiring me to put them to different uses, not to mention reminding me that my stash is fast diminishing with all this tinkering.  Skiing by the pretty trees a few weeks ago, François was talking about how we should really get around to a winter sumac harvest to replenish those insufficient stocks we made in fall, when we were too busy to put enough up.  Then the river ice broke, cutting us off from the treasure.  Well, happily, we ultimately were able to get to it, but with a little more work.  My François des Bois had to dawn his snowshoes, cross the bridge at the table champêtre and work his way through the woods and back, requiring a half-day, as opposed to a few minutes out our back door.

Back in the kitchen, we laid them out to dry such as to facilitate rubbing the berries off the comb, and then we dried the berries in a dehydrator for a day, or alternatively in the oven on the pilot light for several days.  The dried berries then get pulverized in the robot coup and spice grinder.  The resulting powder is what I use to cook with, but we throw the dried berries whole into our tisane for a touch of brightness and acidity.  The powder is great in many spice mixes or in a chopped salad, say with beets, celery and endive, or some take on greek style salad or fattouche salad. I’ve used it to kick up and color a coconut foam or froth to go into a Thai flavoured soup replacing the lime, and in fish soup, in berry vinaigrette and granité, in various marinades for fish or poultry, and in sauces (near the end).  It fits any time you would add lemon or balsamic vinegar for flavour and lift without necessarily the matching acidity..  I’ve also included it in my ‘wild’ gremolata along with sea parsley, crinkleroot and wild garlic that I slather on roasts and braises like osso bucco, nicely cutting through the richness.

It turns out that the punch is due to malic acid, the same acid present in apples.  So funny enough, this is a natural (much more fragrant) source for the powder I fell in love with at my hydrocolloids course in NYC last year.  This is more arduous, but definitely more locavore and less expensive than ordering from Terra Spice..  For cooks it is crucial to note that apparently, some people may be allergic, like with vinegar and  pineapple.

For the rest of us, it is one of the few non-toxic red berries out there in our landscape, and it’s hard to go wrong because of the characteristic look, although some of the other sumacs in the family (like Poison Ivy) are to avoid, but they have yellow or white berries, and the bark isn’t as smooth.  With the good sumac, the berries are a red, fuzzy bunch, and when you break off a branch, the gummy sap turns black.  It apparently has several medicinal uses too, including the bark, but that’s not my domain.  Sticking to the fruit and gastronomy, there is enough to do..  The aboriginals made a kind of lemonade with it. 

So, when a Quebec winter gives you sumac and little else, why not make lemonade! 

P.S. I am boosting up my bouillabaisse with it for Valentine’s; I’m convinced it’s an aphrodisiac, at least as much as saffron, oysters and chocolate!