soupnancy

Have you ever tasted a fresh chick pea?

François brought me a pound of the first Nordic shrimp of the season back from the market today, and since this is my “dada” (weakness), I hardly noticed the bag of green things idling on the counter. When I saw them, I became excited again – what, green almonds?? This was almost too much for one night. When he told me they were chickpeas, I was taken aback.

It is not every day that I am faced with a complete stranger in the kitchen, although I love the feeling – the childlike discovery, engaging all the senses in trying to figure out what to do with a foreign specimen. I slid one little green jewel out of its perfect oval pod. It was so loose in its skin like it wanted out, I popped into my mouth; it tasted fresh and herbaceous in the raw state, crunchy like a regular fresh pea. Very nice, but I couldn’t help but think it might be even better. I wanted to cook the lot.

But I had a few guests sitting in the dining room, and I knew that if I got to shucking these babies, dinner would be served hours later. Besides, I already had the meal planned and on the go. I didn’t want to make my dinner party wait. However, as a chef, I could hardly push such a specialty item aside out of inconvenience; I would feel soo guilty knowing that these delicacies were at their freshest only to be sitting in my fridge, their sweetness turning to starch as we ate our fish.

No, now was the time to serve them. So, I decided to throw them into boiling water for a minute or two, then sprinkled them with some salt and chilli oil, thinking how good edamame are that way. Like with whole peanuts, let the noshers do the work. The “kids” could pick on that, sucking the nuggets from their skins themselves, while I fixed dinner. They turned out great - everyone was surprised!

I now know I love fresh chick peas, but chances are I will never shuck another. For most recipes, I will remain with the naked, dried variety. But in season, the fresh peas make for a sublime snack, especially when you leave the work to your guests, which makes them only taste better and go further anyway.

Kitchen Haikus, and why not?

http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/blogs/editor/2008/11/kitchen-haiku.html?mbid=rss_epilog

Here are mine:

Happy meal

Visit a farmer,

Go out foraging the woods,

Make a ‘happy meal’

The seasons

Take in the seasons,

Hop on the roller coaster,

Feel, see, and breathe God

Ratatouille

Eggplant, tomatoes,

Squash, garlic and TLC,

Alas, Ratatouille

The best things in life

Good food and fine wine,

Best friends and a blazing fire,

Ain’t nothing better

The kitchen dance

Feel the heat, chop-chop,

Cook your best, dance, sink or swim,

Cheers with beers, laugh, cry

Thanksgiving

A roasted turkey,

Mashed potatoes and stuffing,

Thanksgiving, comfort.

Mother Nature is a riot

Sunshine and flowers,

Storms, magic mushrooms and bugs,

Marvellous nature

Our senses tell us all we need to know

Salty, Sweet, Tart, Bitter,

Savoury, Spicy, Filling,

Necessary, Food is life.

Good bye winter food

This weekend, I’m in spring cleaning mode. After my maple menu which was heavy on roots, duck, ham, beans and maple of course, I’m ready to move to lighter fare, even if spring isn’t fully here yet (it’s snowing outside). Nonetheless, there is reason for optimism. The river ice broke last weekend to a loud thundering boom, causing customers to run out and witness icebergs crashing down, alongside the resto amidst the river swell. It looks like the worst is over and we might avoid major flooding after all. François has already picked a few flowers and sprouts (just to show off) despite the huge snow banks on the property. He’s convinced that spring will happen quickly, and that it will be a good one because the ground never froze completely with all the insulating snow, and the slow seep meant the earth stayed gorged with water. He is especially excited about what that promises mushroom wise. To prove his point, he showed me a handful of plants that stayed green all winter, as well as day lily bulbs that are already 6 inches long and white as endive beneath the snow.

The snow is slowly but steadily melting, but in the meantime, I will have one last go at the winter stuff. I’ve cleaned out my freezers and walk-in, removing the last of our stored roots, as well as any winter left-overs. I have 6 grey bins of sous-vide bags and various containers of soup, sauce and ice cream to unload. It’s all good stuff, but I need to move on. Solution: time to throw a party. On an off night when there is no hockey game, of course. It will be a ‘Spring Cleaning Buffet’ for staff and close friends of les Jardins Sauvages. Free food, BYOB, a campfire – a winning recipe for a good time, and a therapeutic, formal good bye to winter food for me. Friends will be happy and my fridge will be ready for the arrival of spring things. I will joyfully cook and eat cassoulet, tourtiere and the like for the last time this year, providing a symbolic shift to spring and summer cooking for me.. Ça va faire du bien.

One last winter feast, my spring cleaning menu

Mixed charcuterie: Duck rillettes, Foie gras torchon, smoked duck, veal tongue

Mixed pickles, preserves and mustards

Sausage, olives and spiced nuts

Cured fish platter: cured brochet, char gravelax, smoked cod

Smoked salmon mousse on toast

Tomato crinkleroot bruschetta

Mixed greens with house vinaigrette

Asian style vermicelli salad with asparagus and egg

Gnudi with sea spinach, parmesan and rosé sauce

Game tourtiere

Cassoulet with my homemade sausage and ham

Venison ragout

Crepinettes of duck confit, gizzard and liver stuffing

Roasted root vegetables with gremolata sauvage

Root vegetable and wild greens gratin

Chocolate elderberry mousse cake

Pecan maple tarts

Buche

Various wild flavoured ice creams and sorbets

I had to throw a few tomatoes and greens in just to balance this meat-heavy stick- to- your- ribs menu ; I hardly want anyone to get killed in this rite of passage from winter to spring. Loosen the belt buckle, crack open the wine, and let’s go. One last winter binge and I’ll be officially ready for spring.

While in spring cleaning mode, I'll unload the last of my winter pictures too..

a wild deer spots me

Moments before the ice broke

François making tire for the kids

creamy pea and nettle soup

pea and nettle soup with smoked ham and maple sap foam

char, cured and smoked with root veg remoulade and pickled buds

Quail, wild ginger maple sauce, sesame soba noodles and quail egg (poached in maple sap)

Balsamic-Maple glazed duck, mini cassoulet

just about the last of the root veg

A pretty winter soup: beet, cabbage and foie gras ravioli

cooking ham

rabbit two ways, root veg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

venison, wheatberry mushroom risotto

melting the snow

Looking ahead to spring:

My menu this week (April 19th) shows a lighter touch, a whiff of spring in the air.  I am planning a full fledged spring festival menu for the two first weeks of May.  You can also view that here; I will be announcing it this week.

http://soupnancy.squarespace.com/display/ShowFiles?moduleId=1746648&directoryId=244758&SSScrollPosition=0

Jon gave me this apron for my birthday in January and I have been wearing it every game night in the kitchen eversince.  I am a Habs fan, but so early in the season and way before the current madness, I was more taken with all the pockets and comfort of the thing.  Then I saw that customers loved it and that my team seemed to be on a winning streak, so of course the food only tasted better.  So now, it's become as important in the kitchen as my Mac or microplane.  For the season anyway.  Go Habs go!

Habs fever all over the place!!

On the street

At the bank

Tricolore cake at the bank

At the Tavern

Favourite Tastes and Smells: Making my list and checking it twice..

The other day, much to my delight, someone asked me what my favourite foods were. I got thinking.. so many things came to mind, it was overwhelming. I focused more carefully, tasting in my head, categorizing, prioritizing, and continuously revising my list. Days after I had answered that straightforward question, I was still in the process, hanging on to the pure pleasure of it. Although it is obvious that food is perpetually on my mind, the truth is I don’t indulge in so much food porn these days, my official list hadn’t been updated in my while. In real life, the simple question of what your favourites are is something that only really comes up when you’re getting to know a new boyfriend or maybe a new friend who is a foodie.. In any case, it’s a great conversation to have, even if it’s only with yourself. As the famous saying goes, ‘an unexamined life isn’t worth living’, right? Reminding yourself of the things you love underlines that love, and the good life in general.  It's good karma to be grateful. 

So go for it. Think happy thoughts. What are your favourites?

New tastes may come along all the time, but it takes a while and many hits before one can make the top ten, so for most of us, the foods we identify with the most lean towards old-time comfort foods. As I discussed in my Falling in and out of love piece not too long ago, I’m less easily seduced by the new, fancy and trendy these days, and so mine are mostly on the humble side too : Arroche de mer (sea spinach) with garlic, tomatoes with olive oil and fresh ricotta on black bread, any good bread and butter, old fashioned ham, grilled cheese, BLT, sausage sandwich with choucroute or any good sandwich in fact (even cucumber sandwiches on white bread), green olives, pickles, caponata, scrambled eggs, rice pilaf, fried rice or steamed rice with egg and garnishes, Peking duck, duck confit, consommé, tonkinese soup, nordic shrimp, garlic and chilli pasta with smoked duck, poutine, eggplant curry, buckwheat crepes, caviar, blueberries, almond croissants, black licorice, coffee..

Seeing that I was having so much fun with this, after deciding on my favourite tastes, it only seemed natural to progress to my favourite smells. Memorable tastes are unique, complex things, all built on multiple sensory and mental inputs, and inseparable from our life experience. Smell is something slightly more elemental, although just as closely associated with life experience, and complex in itself (every identifiable scent comprising hundreds of chemical compounds). But still, taste is smell and then some. One’s favourite smells should be an even more personal thing then, closer to our true identity. I wanted to dig deeper.  And I enjoy making lists, can you tell?

I really only got going later on that night.  You see, lately I have been haunted by phantom smells when in an otherwise odour free zone, often when suffering from insomnia. When my mind is being its hyperactive self, it seems that my nose neurons have decided to join the party. One night, lying in bed, I could smell roast chicken like I had one coming out of the oven next to my bed. Weird, I know, especially that I don’t even particularly love chicken (but I had walked through a chicken cloud that day). Sometimes, odours stick with me. In any case, here, instead of counting sheep to coax myself towards sleep, I decided to try to make myself conjure up my favourite scents to forget about the chicken, which got me back to my favourites list making.

The scents I was after: Fresh coriander. Fresh wild ginger (think Thrills gum). Fresh air (ie. Laundry off the clothesline or the smell of your kids when they come in from playing outside). Wait, these are all in the revitalizing category (which I didn’t necessarily need to bring up at this point), but to be fair, they are my tops.. Then there’s Woodsmoke. Forest floor. Lavender. Vanilla (but only a real pod infusing in cream). Fennel braising. Sweet peppers roasting. A ripe melon, a ripe peach. Citrus peel. Black peppercorn. Green tomato plant smell. Porcini, most boletus in dried form. Bacon in the skillet and coffee brewing. A young wine, a good Beaujolais or Burgundy.  Green tea incense (my only fake smell). Ok maybe not, there’s magic markers and just about every men’s cologne on the market.

I could go on forever with the smells I love, I am just so touched by my sense of smell. Of course, that means I can’t ignore the many smells I hate, although this imagery can’t be good for my sleep either: rotten potato, valerian, veal stock, sour vegetables, sumac, seal meat or seal boots, manure, frying oil (McDonalds and co.), the corner of Decarie and Sherbrooke (which combines that old fryer oil smell and that of gas), mothballs, mildew, patchouli, bleach, new car interior..

Ok enough. I’m beginning to feel a little indulgent and childish with this endless exercise. Fun stuff though, (lower) brain candy for a foodie. Not necessarily a successful sleep aid, but a good daydream and break from the more challenging, heavier thoughts of real life as a grown up.. I better get back to that upper brain stuff for now.

Falling in and out of love with foods..

Amy Sherman’s post about a fellow blogger Breaking up with Butternut made me chuckle. http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/blogs/editor/2008/02/breaking-up-wit.html?mbid=rss_epilog It’s nice to know that other cooks and foodies go through the same thing as me.. I too left the butternut for a short time when I met all his super exciting cousins, but I came back.

I fall in and out of love with vegetables all the time. I just have too many loves to pay due respect to all of them regularly. I have my annual affairs with seasonal veg like sea asparagus and corn, and during the growing season, I switch lovers every other day. Then there are the new discoveries regularly coming into the picture to vie for my attention, while the humble steady friends inevitably get brushed aside or even dumped.

In winter, I settle down and have a chance to revisit with old friends. Lately, I have rekindled ties with cultivated mushrooms after being so caught up with the wild varieties for close to a decade. This year I’m back to my old roots (celery root and parsnip), not bowing down to the Jerusalem artichoke whenever he enters the room, and now that I’ve met ‘the potato guy’, I will never ever forget about potatoes again. I recently picked up again with peanuts, pine nuts and cashews (in that order) after being so devoted to the almond for years. With my fresh coco, fava and edaname put up for the winter, I had almost forgotten about dried beans, which are perfect for a winter cassoulet, accompaniment or hearty soup. I’m still in a lBasmati phase, while Jasmine and an Indonesian long grain I once loved wait in line, the short, medium, black and sticky way at the back, almost forgotten. If I didn’t make the occasional risotto for clients, my carnaroli might be history.

I go through the same routine with vinegars and oils. I fell out of love with balsamic vinegar ages ago, favouring a good sherry vinegar or cider vinegar, until I was charmed by a certain one that I began using everywhere. I was then inspired to make my own simile version with wild grapes, and I’m back to using all of my favourite vinegars equally; they each have their specific role in my life. The same goes with finishing oils, sea salts, spices and herbs, meat and fish –all foodstuffs in fact, even wines and restaurants. I dabble here and there, changing favourites in cycles, adding new ones, ditching others. There is temptation everywhere, and a little promiscuity and experimentation with new kids on the block is a necessary part of a culinary life worth living. Some infatuations fade fast, others linger on to become a part of the family. I have less room in my pantry and on my menu than in my heart, so the less versatile, less than stellar ingredients must get the boot.

Industrial chicken and beef are long gone, never to be missed. Flavoured vinegar, caper berries, avocado, pine nut and hempseed oil, as well as most exotic fruit were all once bright, shiny and enticing, but didn’t last long in my kitchen. Asparagus is only beautiful for a month or two of the year, I easily forget about it the rest of the year. But I could never break up with the tomato (only move from variety to variety or from grower to grower). I can’t imagine ever leaving the Muscovy duck for another bird, or French shallots for any other allium. Wild ginger and crinkleroot (wild horseradish) will be with me forever, but so will regular ginger root and horseradish; they are so different, I need them all. Most edible flowers no longer hold much appeal except for nasturtium and elderberry. Sea spinach, chanterelles and porcini I will always hold dear. No matter how eco I try to be, I can't imagine ever letting go of my lemons, my roasted almonds or my favourite olive oil. 

No matter how good you have it, monogamy can get boring. Because my everyday is all about cooking with wild and local ingredients, I can occasionally be easily seduced by something common and bland like Boston lettuce, or some exotic imported treat (like a Roquefort or Comté..as opposed to a Quebec cheese) for a short fling.. It’s the greedy ‘grass is always greener’ phenomenon mixed with endless curiosity and appetite.

Of course, I can’t help but be intrigued by something new I read about or taste. Ruth Reichl was talking about this mini tangerine that Alice Waters brought her that made my mouth water. Heirloom varieties of bean, apple or tomato make me dreamy, as I imagine an even better bean, apple or tomato than the ones I know. As if I need more pig love, I’m dying to try true gianciale, an Italian cured pork charcuterie that is key to Pasta Allamatriciana which I’ve unwittingly always made with bacon or pancetta. Apparently in the Middle east , India and Greece , they eat a form of salted, dried yogurt – sounds yummy; how different from feta is it I wonder? VJ Vikram makes a braised goat dish with ajwain and kalongi curry, which I’ve never heard of – now there’s something to explore.. Then there are all the ‘molecular gastronomy’ powders and techniques that I’ve barely experimented with. You see how many thoughts of new tastes have me twitching?

There are new things on the market all the time, and more foodie talk circulating than ever about ‘new this’ and ‘must try’ that. So it’s only normal that so much breaking up is going on, that old favourites are being forgotten in favour of the latest flavour. Even if I’m still a bit of a ‘gidoune’, I think I’m on an opposite path, a slightly more loyal one. I’m obviously still into travelling and evolving taste-wise, but I’m less and less interested in food gossip and slower to jump on the new food trend bandwagon than before. I haven’t even tasted Kobe beef yet if you can believe it. Part of my slowing down has to do with more time in the country and my locavore leaning, part of it is just growing up. I’ve already had many adventurous eating and cooking years and too many flings. Sea urchin, tomatillo, Meyer lemon, smoked paprika, bison, goose liver, agar agar, tonka bean and molecular gastronomy are all examples of prior relationships that although fun, turned out to be fleeting. I might be happy to meet up with them again for a brief encounter, but I can live without them, mainly because I have enough right here to explore and keep me stimulated.

And so with time, and so much coming back to exes after break-ups, I have come to value my closest, dearest companion ingredients the most, and learned not to take them for granted. I have gotten to know myself, have grown more selective and am less likely to be wooed by what’s new, trendy, rare or expensive. I wouldn’t break up with home-grown boletus for truffle or morels just because the food snobs deem them superior. I wouldn’t substitute Nordic shrimp for any other more ‘noble’ crustacean, or snow crab in season for any other crab just because ‘they’ say it’s bigger and better. I am fiercely loyal to our Atlantic Malpeque style oysters, regardless of how many flashy Pacific and European stars are touted on menus about town. I don’t care to taste another kind of salt, I have my five favourites, more than enough for all purposes, and if I want to add a flavour, I will do it myself thank you. After flirting with every kind of basil or mint out there, I’m back to the classic peppermint. I don’t need another thyme besides the English one. I’ve realized that for every twenty things that come out, one might potentially have staying power.

You only find true love by really living, which means trying and tasting with an open mind. Luckily with food, many lovers are allowed, and they will always have you back after a tryst with some young hot thing. In any case, the really good things, whether old or new, stand the test of time and continue to charm for years. While some come and go, others become as essential to your well being as air, water, sleep and coffee in the morning.

October 24, 2007

Jo the stuffer

Chantale and Jo on a roll

sanglichon sausage with black trumpets and cèpe gelée

having fun with sausageI love sausage. I’ve never been a huge meat eater, but I can’t live without all the derivatives, like broth and sauce, the drippings of a roast or sauté, the enticing aromas of a braise, and of course, the nasty bits that make SAUSAGE.

There is something so sexy about charcuterie - the salting, the curing, the occasional smoke, the tactile kneading, stuffing and filling, the tease of waiting for the final result.. There’s the thrill associated with the alchemy at play in the transformation of humble scraps into something exquisite.

Apart from some basic rules you must follow, there’s a major dose of magic and mystery in the process, from finding the proper ratio of flesh to fat to seasonings, to the right temperature and humidity in order to favour the right enzymes, bacteria and molds. You can delve into the romance and history of a regional specialty and try to recreate a traditional recipe, or you can go commando and be as creative as you dare. When it works – wow. At its best, you are rewarded with beautiful firm links to hold and behold that deliver a heady, complex taste you can savour for weeks, or even months. A stash of charcuterie allows you to throw together a gourmet snack or meal in a heartbeat. There’s nothing like a bit of pancetta or chorizo to make a fad dish sing.

I would choose sausage and all its cousins over filet mignon any day. There are all the magnificent hams like Proscuitto di Parma or Serrano (that merit a love-in of their own), patés, terrines and mousses. Strictly speaking sausage, there’s chorizo, merguez, saucisson sec of all kinds (calabrese, rosette, etc.), there’s mortadella, and andouille in all its versions. Come to think of it, I have never tasted a ham or sausage I didn’t like, except for a low-fat lamb-liver concoction once.

I’ve always been drawn to store fronts where sausages dangle, to cold buffets, to antipasto plates, and to sausage books. I find perusing mouth-watering pictures of sparkling sausage and the detailed technique involved incredibly titillating.

And I’ve always wanted to be invited to a sausage party (I’ve only heard of them), but then again, the cleanliness - hygiene aspect, or lack of control thereof, with hoards of people, drinks flowing, a lack of space, and hence possible contamination (all very important considerations in the making of sausage) would probably bad buzz me..

Over the course of my life as a chef, I’ve made sausage here and there - on the job, experimenting at home, I’ve even taken a course.. So, if you don’t count the loose variety, I’ve made sausage on average once or twice a year for 10 odd years. They’ve always turned out, but I’m hardly an expert, which is probably why the urge strikes any chance I think I can make the time, when challenge is beckoning.

So with my last sausage escapade a fading memory, some sanglichon to use up, a mushroom dinner event on the horizon, and a lot of energy coursing through my veins, I felt it was time to make sausage again.

I had forgotten how fun it could be. And how stressful it could be. It didn’t help that I planned it rather poorly, putting 10kg of meat to cure the day before a chaotic schedule with 50 customers booked (big for our shoebox of a resto) ..

The following day, I had no choice, the meat was waiting, and besides, I had extra staff with a stagiare on hand - no problem.

I gathered my meat (several shoulders), some scraps and fat back, cut them up into cubes and put them to cure separately. The rule is 15-20g of kosher salt per kg, with 1-2g of nitrate salt, 5g of seasonings.. Your fat ratio should be at least 30% and you have to make sure you keep your meat is cold. 4C is the upper limit, so -4C (half frozen) is a good place to start, with an ice bath to catch your finished ground meat or at least a quick chill between steps. The remaining specifics vary according to the kind of sausage. Some absolutely require nitrite salt (if they are not cooked), some are seasoned more if served cold, some are ground once or twice or even puréed and bound with an emulsifier. Some are cured and dried, others are cured, smoked and dried, and the simplest are just made fresh and cooked. There are as many recipes for sausage as for stew.. Following a recipe is a good idea, although I can’t seem to do it. A book I recommend is Ruhlman’s recent ‘Charcuterie’ for it’s straight forward explanations and gorgeous photos; it seems to be a good overview of the sausage world using slightly more seasoning than the traditional European recipes I am used to.

Anyhow, so I started by making a reduction of shallots, garlic and red wine, added my spices and mixed them in with the salt and meat. I put the fat in the freezer, my meat in our very cold walk-in, figuring that the next day, I would have an easy time of ensuring my overall mixture would be properly chilled. On the day, I assembled my wet seasonings: more wine, mustard, my sautéed mushrooms. We put the meat through the grinder (on medium) once, added the mushrooms and put it through again. Then we beat it vigorously with the wet seasonings, chilled it some more and started casing (hog’s casings).

That’s when the real fun started – the sausage talk.. It happens naturally as a couple of people start getting their latex covered hands dirty, digging into raw meat, stuffing, receiving and twisting. It takes communication and complicity between the stuffer and catcher for success, and it’s even more fun if a few others are there on the sidelines coaching and being vocal spectators. I was directing the show in all seriousness, hopping in from time to time making sure the kids (Jo, Chantale and Sylvain) got it right, but I couldn’t help but get caught up in the silliness of it all as everyone cracked up at what I was saying, shouting out rebuttal. When you’re doing sausage, the discourse inevitably turns juvenile, at times crude; in fact it was side-splittingly funny for hours.. ‘No, slower, faster, hold it tight, loosen up, you’re too nervous, relax, pay attention, stop thinking too much, feel it, be gentle, you’re going too fast, woah that’s big and hard, wait it’s overflowing, ok now you’ve got it, go go – we’re on a roll, you’re good, we’re good, are you getting tired, don’t stop now we’re almost there..’ You can imagine the rest. In French, it’s much better. It got even juicier with the second batch late at night after service when the wine was flowing.. I couldn’t help but chuckle at customers who might be overhearing the kitchen antics not seeing what was actually going on. It certainly sounded like we were doing a lot more than just making sausage and cleaning up.

The final outcome of our tryst besides a good time: 10kg of less than perfect sausage, and very expensive sausage at that when you count the food cost and labour. The seasoning was spot on though, I couldn’t be happier with that. It was the texture that was disappointing; it was on the dry side. I should have mixed in pork instead of going with straight sanglichon, more fat surely wouldn’t have hurt. Maybe I should have used more liquid and beat it more or used an emulsifier binder, some powdered milk or something. I had always had stellar results before when I was being less meticulous (and probably less cocky too).

Oh well, it was worth it. But now, I can’t wait to go again. This time, I’ll pick a rainy day and use more fat. And I’ll definitely make a party of it, sausage calls for it.