Cooking in other people’s kitchens

Sometimes, cooking is about making do in a kitchen you did not have a hand in planning or equipping. It’s about dealing with someone else’s preferences, moving into someone else’s life for a spell.

The kitchen we use in Paris belongs to people who spend very little time there and who do not cook much. They have a vast array of different types and flavours of tea and no decent bread knife. Two venerable Le Creuset casseroles and no spatula. Acres of crystal wineglasses and only two coffee mugs.

There is a history to the place. In the 1980s, it was the pied-à-terre of a New York couple who ran a high-end travel agency, sending clients to Paris on the Concorde (there is at least one piece of Concorde memorabilia in the place). It was used for entertaining, hence the cupboard full of champagne glasses. These were people who went out to eat. Did I mention it is near the Champs-Elysées?

Little has changed since the 1980s, including the pink bathroom and the tortoiseshell cabinet fronts in the kitchen. However, on our recent visit in December 2012, we were delighted to find a new oven (the old one had long since died) and a new cooktop as well.  

We always bring our own small “batterie de cuisine” with us. A sturdy bread knife and a very sharp knife for regular kitchen tasks are at the top of the list. Plus spatula, tongs, vegetable peeler, and an efficient corkscrew. My apron, two oven gloves, and some extra dishtowels. We have bought things and left them there: this time it was a cheap pair of kitchen scissors and a couple of Rubbermaid containers for leftovers (I guess nobody previously had made food that involved leftovers).

In an earlier posting on this blog, I asked what kinds of things people felt were pantry staples; here I’d like to ask what sort of equipment my fellow cooks consider indispensable. Do you absolutely have to have a whisk or can you manage with a fork? Do you long for a wooden spoon, or are you OK with a plastic one? Do you need oven gloves (I do), or will a folded dishtowel do?

And what kind of recipes can you make in an unfamiliar environment, using ingredients from a foreign supermarket or street market? Pasta and risotto are widely available and endlessly variable. Salads are always an option (and one can buy lovely prepared salads in Paris). I always make my old standby, pork chops piquant, with Dijon mustard, red wine vinegar, and cornichons. But on occasion, I will lash out and try something new. Once it was rabbit in mustard sauce. This time I had a go with magret de canard. A qualified success, but I learned a few lessons for next time.

Here, for the record, is my old standby, culled from a copy of Saveur magazine circa 2002. The article had been written by a fellow who had discovered it in a 1970s paperback French cookbook. He had lost the original book, but had recreated a version of the original that uses some of our favourite flavours. We have tweaked it a bit.  

Pork Chops Piquant

Ingredients:
5 tbsp. olive oil
2 lbs. thin-cut pork chops
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 shallots, peeled & diced
6 tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 cup white wine
8 cornichons, chopped into small pieces
2 tbsp. Dijon mustard

Method:
Heat half the olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Season chops with salt and pepper. Brown chops on each side, about 1-2 minutes per side. Transfer the chops to a plate, and cover to keep warm.

Add the rest of the oil, over medium-high heat. Sauté the chopped shallots, until they begin to brown. Add vinegar and stir for a minute or so. Add wine and cook for a few minutes, until it thickens. Stir in cornichons, mustard, and any juices from the chops. Lower the heat and stir until the mixture makes a thick sauce. Put the chops back in, warm them through, and serve.

This recipe serves 4 people. For 2 people, use less pork, but about the same quantities of the other ingredients, because the sauce is what it’s all about.

The only picture I can offer is one of Norman wearing my apron and doing the dishes in the Paris kitchen. There is a dishwasher, but since there are so few everyday dishes in the cupboards, we do most dishwashing by hand. That’s why we bring extra dishtowels.

Happy New Year to everyone who reads or contributes to Eat and 2 Veg.

Dog days fish

A few days in August are known as the dog days because the dog star Sirius appears in the heavens. Or because our neighbour's friend arrives for a visit with her enthusiastic and very vocal Bouvier by the name of Luke. One or the other.

My husband is working flat out on renovations in our basement, and I am helping my mother prepare for a move to a much smaller flat. Everyone is a bit too hot and a bit too stressed.

Tonight, in an effort to reduce stress levels, I made one of my easy-peasy, never-fail recipes. The original version came from "The Ultimate Book of Fish and Shellfish" by Kate Whiteman. I am now at the point, however, where I just glance at the recipe, think "Oh, yes," and carry on. I never follow the rules exactly.

The recipe calls for fresh fish. I use frozen.

The recipe calls for fresh parsley. I consider it optional.

The recipe calls for sunflower oil. I use any oil that's handy.

The recipe calls for "wholemeal breadcrumbs." I throw stale baguette into the grinder and use that.

But...

The recipe calls for fresh tomatoes. At this time of year, fresh local Ontario tomatoes are wonderful and we usually have a basketful on the counter.

All in all, a match made in heaven.The fish has the nice crunchiness of bread-crumbed fish without the wallpaper-paste starchiness of traditional batter.

So here we go.

Ingredients:

5 or 6 medium-sized pieces of frozen cod. Or haddock. Or some other white fish.

2 or 3 fresh tomatoes.

1 or 2 lemons, from which you have extracted the zest (grated rind) and the juice.

Breadcrumbs created from whatever has outlived its best-before date in your fridge.

Oil. Your choice.

Heat the oven to 200oC or 400oF. Check to make sure you have some white wine. Put a little oil in the bottom of a baking dish and arrange the fish in a single layer. Slice the tomatoes and layer them on top. Mix up the lemon zest/rind, lemon juice, a few tablespoons of breadcrumbs, and a teaspoon or so of oil. Spread it over the tomatoes. Put the lot into the oven for 20 or so minutes. Check to see if it is cooked through. Serve with salad or reheated frozen veggies or whatever else causes the minimum amount of stress. Pour a glass of white wine for the chef and other eaters. Relax.

As usual, I never think of food photography in time to add it to the blog. So for decoration, I have a photograph that I took of an heirloom tomato that I tasted in Charlottesville, Virginia, which had been grown in the gardens of Monticello, the house once owned and occupied by Thomas Jefferson. This is the kind of tomato that ruins you for all other tomatoes, because it has about 10 times the taste of supermarket tomatoes. It was probably the best thing I tasted in the whole time I spent in Virginia.

 Now if I had one of those and a fresh fish, just imagine what the recipe would taste like!

Ukrainian art and Danish cabbage

We had a very multicultural day last Sunday. First, we drove to Hamilton for the opening of an exhibit on William Kurelek at the Hamilton Art Gallery. Kurelek was a Canadian artist of Ukrainian heritage (we saw the show in the company of a Ukrainian friend who has long been associated with the Kurelek Gallery in Niagara Falls) and his works include not only delightful  Canadian landscapes and domestic scenes but also some frightening dystopian visions of a world gone mad. Kurelek had suffered a nervous breakdown during a stay in England, and was fortunate enough to be sent to an institution where sympathetic therapists encouraged him to express his fears in his art.

At the end of his life (he died of a heart attack when he was only 50), Kurelek was living with his family in our Toronto neighbourhood (the east end, near the lake), and his paintings include this scene of a nearby street in the snow.

We left  Hamilton and drove back to Toronto through a snowstorm (appropriately enough), in time for dinner with our neighbour and friend, May (she, too, comes from a Ukrainian family). She served stuffed pork with this wonderful side dish, which I asked her to send me afterwards. She told me, “It is a traditional Danish dish, given to my sister by a friend.” On a cold winter day, with or without snow, it is perfect.

Danish Red Cabbage

1 red cabbage
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1tbsp. margarine or butter
2 tbsp. black or red currant jelly

Cut cabbage finely (like coleslaw). Put into saucepan with vinegar, water, sugar and cloves.
Simmer for an hour on low heat, stirring occasionally. Remove from stove and drain. Stir in margarine  or butter (this gives it a shine) and jelly. Serve hot or cold. Traditionally served with pork, turkey, chicken, etc.

As for the view of the local street, we were able to identify the low white house with the chimney in the centre of the picture. Here it is on Google Street View, minus the snow. We’ll be walking up there on the weekend to see it for ourselves.

 

Roasted mushrooms

One of the few things to be said of the government-regulated monopoly that controls alcohol supplies in our province, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, is that it publishes an excellent magazine called Food & Drink. I was browsing the winter edition and found a wonderful new recipe for risotto by Leeanne Wright.

Now, normally, risotto is something I make instinctively, using whatever I have on hand. I can make it in my sleep, and it is possible that I have done so, on occasion. So it’s unusual that I would pay attention to a formal recipe.

What got my attention were the words “Roasted Mushrooms” in the heading. I’ve never considered roasting mushrooms. And the recipe further called for roasted sweet potatoes as well. I love roasted veggies, and I love risotto. Combining them seemed an inspiration.

My tweak on the recipe is that I used both sweet potatoes and yams (since I had one of each).

Risotto with Roasted Mushrooms and Sweet Potato

Olive oil

1 yam

1 sweet potato

About a dozen large cremini mushrooms (they will shrink, so the larger the better)

2 oz (60 g) pancetta, chopped up in cubes

2 shallots, diced

½ cup  (125 mL) dry white wine

3 cups (625 mL) chicken or vegetable stock

1 cup Arborio rice

Several sprigs of fresh thyme, chopped up

Parmesan cheese

Optional: toasted pine nuts

Preheat oven to 400°F (200°C).

Cover a baking sheet with aluminum foil, and spray it lightly with olive oil. Stab the yam all over with a knife and put it on the sheet. Peel the sweet potato and cut it into small cubes. Put the cubes on the sheet. Slice the mushrooms and spread them on the sheet too. Spray the sweet potato and mushrooms with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Put them all in the oven.

The recipe said they’d need 50 minutes or more, but the sweet potato and mushrooms didn’t need that long in my oven. So keep an eye on them. Remove the mushrooms when they are curly and caramelized, the sweet potatoes when the corners are browned. You will want to eat them both like candy. Resist.

Warm the stock in a saucepan or the microwave. Heat up some more olive oil in a large saucepan and throw in the pancetta to cook. Add shallots and let them go limp. Add the rice, coat with the oil and stir until it is shiny. Add the wine and stir and then slowly add the stock. If you run out of stock and the rice is still too hard, add water.

Meanwhile, the yam should be done by now. Take it out, peel it and mash it. If you want to use the pine nuts, put them in the oven briefly to toast (this happens quickly, so pay attention).

Add the mashed yam into the rice mix. Keep adding more water if need be. Stir in the thyme. Finally, when the rice is getting close to being ready, stir in the sweet potato cubes and the mushrooms (if you haven’t eaten them all by now), as well as some grated parmesan. Stir through. Serve with pine nuts on top. Try not to eat in one sitting.

We are now so fond of roast mushrooms that I’ve used them in several other dishes since, including pasta. I may put them on ice cream one day.

In praise of tinned tomatoes

Tinned tomatoes belong to that category of things that you take completely for granted. You always have at least one tin in the cupboard somewhere, don’t you? Everybody does.

Well, I thought I did. It was mid-afternoon, and I’d been working to a deadline and hadn’t really spent much time thinking about dinner. I knew I had some frozen cod fillets that represented potential protein, and turned to a cookbook standby—Off the Shelf, by Donna Hay. It’s a book about cooking with what you have on hand.

I glanced through the recipe and thought, “Perfect. I have all I need,” and set out the cod to defrost.

A couple of hours later, I came down to get started. I went to the cupboard where I keep the tins to get the tomatoes the recipe called for—and nothing. Chickpeas: yes. Lentils: check. Tuna: enough to feed an army. No tomatoes.

Fortunately, there is a 24-hour convenience store at the end of the street. Most of the merchandise is heavy-duty junk food made from edible oil by-products sold at exorbitant prices, but they have a tiny shelf of real (albeit packaged) food, hidden at the back. I threw on a coat, ran down the street, and wonder of wonders, there were two tins of real tomatoes on that shelf. Evening saved.

I’ll get to the recipe in a minute.

The experience got me thinking. What are the absolute staples that I should always have on hand, no matter what? I did an inventory, typed up the result, and I plan to tape it to the inside of my pantry cupboard door. Next  time I am heading out to a supermarket, I will check to make sure that I actually have the things on that list, and if not, I will stock up.

The list was surprisingly long, and in certain categories there are several items (you can’t get by with just one type of vinegar, for example). So…what’s on your standby list? What has to be there to make you feel that you are ready for a siege? What are the must-haves versus the nice-to-haves? In what category do you put mustard? Artichokes in a jar? Tarragon vinegar?

All contributions welcome. Here’s the recipe, modified to suit my non-exacting standards.

Tomato and basil poached fish

A puddle of olive oil

2 onions, chopped anyhow

Garlic

3-5 thinly sliced potatoes (I leave the peel on and use a mandolin to slice them)

½ cup fish stock

2 medium-sized tins whole peeled tomatoes (but diced is OK too)

2 firm white-fleshed fish fillets, enough for two people

Basil pesto, or fresh basil chopped, if you have it

Heat a deep frying pan. Add some oil, the onions and as much chopped garlic as you think is reasonable for two people. Cook the mixture until the onions wilt. Add the potatoes, stock, and tomatoes. Cover. Give it another 5 or so minutes.

Remove the cover and stir to break up the tomatoes a bit if you are using whole tomatoes. Let it reduce and thicken – this takes maybe 5 minutes. Maybe more. Put the fish on top. Give it a few minutes each side. When it starts to fall apart a bit, it’s ready.

Take out the fish, and stir the pesto through the tomato mixture. Put the tomato mixture on the plate and put the fish on top. Serves 2.

Braised celery

This is a very minor experiment, more of a variation than a truly new recipe, but here goes. A couple of nights ago, I had a nice little steak perfect to be shared between the two of us, and some fingerling potatoes. But the only available green was a rather dispirited bunch of celery. After glaring at the pale green stalks for a while, I went in search of my Nigel Slater collection (most of it courtesy of Alison over the course of several birthdays and Christmases). A bit of rummaging yielded the inspiration I needed: BRAISE THEM.

Lightbulb moment. I turned to my other trusty ally in the kitchen wars: Clothilde Dusoulier, and her quirky little Chocolate and Zucchini cookbook. I have long been making her braised fennel recipe – why not do the same thing with celery?

I replaced her lime juice with white balsamic vinegar (ever since a friend of mine went to Modena and learned about Real Balsamic Vinegar, I have become terribly snobby about this substance), and omitted the rosemary, but otherwise, this is Clothilde at her best. I leave the quantities up to you, depending on how many mouths you have to feed.

Celery stalks

Olive oil

Vegetable stock

White balsamic vinegar

Chop the stalks in half so they will fit into the pan. Heat the olive oil in a skillet and add the celery. Shuggle the skillet around from time to time so that the celery doesn’t stick, but otherwise, let the celery go limp and even brown a bit. This takes 5 to 10 minutes. Add the stock to cover and add a generous dash of the vinegar. Let the broth reduce until it is syrupy, by which time the celery are delicious.

As it happened, after putting the celery on the plate, I added the remaining liquid to the cognac-and-peppercorn reduction that I was creating after removing the steak from another skillet. Magic.