Learning to grin and bear it

30 Thursday May 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Food Away From Home, Sweet Tooth, The Basics, Vegetarian

“One of the secrets, and pleasures, of cooking is to learn to correct something if it goes awry; and one of the lessons is to grin and bear it if it cannot be fixed.” – Julia Child

A couple of weeks back, I took a short viennoiserie class with the lovely people at La Cuisine Paris, where pastry chef Guillemette guided half a dozen of us through the different techniques and steps required to make croissants, amandines and chocolatines. It was a bit of a surreal experience (pastry class, in Paris, in the springtime – pinch me), and despite not really being in my element, I ploughed away and left the class with a palpable sense of accomplishment. However minimal that accomplishment may actually be in grand scheme of things…still…I MADE CROISSANT. High five.

Arriving back in Montreal, I knew that if the information was left to hang out in the dusty recesses of my brain, I was sure to forget the details and subtleties that Guillemette had imparted to us. Not wanting to waste the potential of the experience, I stocked up on supplies and found the first available weekend to make a go of it. To my surprise, I also had volunteers willing to roll up their sleeves and do it with me – which was perfect, because not only would I have additional man-power, but I’d also have (other) inexperienced people to blame if it all went to hell.

Just kidding ♥

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The start was promising – I had my yeast from the baker, my electronic scale, my mise en place. The whole set-up was disturbingly perfect. Even the starter dough, the thing I was most worried about, seemed to look and feel like it should when I tucked it into the fridge to rest overnight. I began to feel a little like Maria in that scene from the Sound of Music.

But soon, I was brought back to the reality of my amateurism. And things got ugly. Fast.

On the second turn (folding) of my puff pastry dough, the underside was showing signs of tearing. At first, it was just one tear, which I quickly (sloppily) patched up. But then the more I rolled, the more the dough started to look like it was suffering from third degree burns. The butter began to ooze out from air pockets that had formed during rolling, resulting in a pot-marked dough that looked nothing like the one I had made in class. Family was in the room, so I restrained from swearing aloud, but in my head there was a foul-mouthed sailor blaspheming on repeat.

Distracted by my ugly, ugly dough, I forgot to add a slick of egg wash to the first batch of croissants, which may explain why they turned out more like overcooked dinner rolls. My ~~guinea pigs~~ taste-testers assured me they were good, but I’m pretty sure I heard someone compare them to the kind that come in the blue tube – you know, the one with that freakishly upbeat, miniature weirdo made of dough. With that as the barometer, I can’t say the croissants came close to the real deal. But while you wouldn’t pay good money for them, you’d probably eat them if they were hanging out on your aunt’s brunch table…and you were bored.

Then came the amandines, which looked promising before going into the oven, but then for some reason, decided to get their freak on: as they baked, the almond paste flowed liberally off the pastry, causing these pretty little “baskets” and “pinwheels” to morph into nondescript blobs, some of them binding together and making Siamese twins (I blame this not on the recipe, but rather my decision to make the almond flour from scratch. Bad move…).

The saving grace in this whole process were the chocolatines. They (miraculously) turned out flaky and delicious and even looked normal. Not perfect, not the best…but good. The taste-testers even took seconds, which is usually a good sign. Right at the moment when my faith in this experiment was sinking, the chocolatines bolstered my confidence and gave me hope that it is possible to make good croissant at home.

Phew.

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I suppose the bigger lesson in all this is that sometimes our expectations in the kitchen are shot down; sometimes the bread hasn’t risen or the cake has stuck to the tin or, in the words of Ms.Child, “the cat has fallen into the stew”. C’est la vie, mes amis. What would be more tragic is if these kinds of experiences turned us off from ever trying these things in the first place…

…ultimately causing us to miss out on moments like these:

Because, let’s be honest – an afternoon in the company of apron-clad men is time well spent.

On that note, I whole-heartedly encourage you to try making your own croissant. Here are a few things I learned (the hard way) and that you might want to keep in mind:

1) Give yourself plenty of time. No matter what recipe you end up using, all of them will require you to rest the starter dough (minimum 6 hours for mine) and the rolled dough between “turns” (folds).

2) If the dough seems warm or sticky or springs back a lot when rolling, put it back in the fridge. Along the lines of the point above, you’re better to err on the side of caution and rest your dough, even if it’s for a longer period of time than the recipe suggests.

3) When rolling the dough, be firm but gentle. The final result you’re aiming for is a light, flaky croissant that has several airy layers. It won’t reach it’s potential if you start getting rough with it – you’ll end up tearing the dough and making holes in the layers. NO BUENO.

4) Chill out. You are not a pastry chef, nor trying to be one. If things start to look scary, step away for a minute and take a deep breath. The Earth will not stop turning if your croissants aren’t perfect. Even if they’re inedible, you get a gajillion food-nerd points just for trying.

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One last thing: Guillemette has kindly allowed me to share her almond cream recipe with you (merci Guillemette!). It’s traditionally used as a filling for almond croissant (amandines), but it’s also wicked in coffee cake and probably most places you would normally use marzipan.

Almond Cream (makes about 2 cups) – from La Cuisine Paris

55g sugar
55g softened butter
1 egg (also about 55g)
55g almond flour
15 g all-purpose flour
almond extract or rhum (to taste)

Combine butter and sugar in mixing bowl and mixwith a wooden spoon until creamy. Add egg and mix until completely combined. Add the almond flour and all-purpose flour and mix well. Add flavoring and stir to combine. Cover and place in fridge 10-15 minutes before adding to amandines (can be kept in the fridge for up to 4 days or frozen and defrosted in the fridge).

Finding warmth in the 3rd

20 Monday May 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Food Away From Home, Lunch & Dinner

≈ 5 Comments

Arriving in Paris on a Wednesday afternoon after a sleepless, overnight flight and a long bus ride from Charles-de-Gaulle, I haul my luggage half-way around town, up and down metro stairs and along narrow side-walks until finding the apartment I rented on a small street in the 20th. Once inside, it’s difficult not to be seduced by the comfort of the bed, an open invitation to a (frankly, well-earned) nap. But I quickly remember the brevity of my stay and instead opt for a quick shower and change of shoes so that I can step out and start exploring.

I walk a bit. Quite a bit, actually – along the street that runs parallel to the high walls of Père-Lachaise cemetery and down the long rue du Chemin Vert, both of which are nearly deserted. As I quickly discover, today is a holiday in France. Nearly everything is closed, save a couple of supermarkets and tabacs. Shops are armored in anti-theft grates. The sidewalks feel barren; a solitude sets in as the sky becomes grey and the wind picks up. It starts to drizzle and I cling to my street-map, hesitant to admit that, even with all the pretty around me, I feel adrift and a little lonesome.

At some point between the 11th and 3rd arrondissement, Chemin Vert meets boulevard Beaumarchais, a wide, four-lane drag peppered with shops and restaurants and bars. Regardless of the holiday, patrons spill out of cafés and onto the sidewalk – smoking, talking. They may not know it, but to me and my crumpled little street map, they are welcomed signs of life.

A short way up Beaumarchais, I come across a boxy structure with long, industrial windows sticking out from the base of a traditional 19th century apartment. Despite it’s unassuming silhouette – sleek, monochrome, rectilinear – it’s an eye-catching extension of the building, crowned with a clean string of marquee bulbs. As I get closer, I recognize the furnishings of a restaurant. It’s packed with the hum of a dozen conversations that can be heard through the glass.

I step in and ask for a seat at the bar. In an instant, I’m led to the the far end, right next to the kitchen and its large stone pizza oven. Unlike the weather outside, the whole place bathes in a warm glow – a mixture of candlelight, soft incandescent and the phosphorescent embers of the oven. I order the house Negroni, which comes in an old-fashioned champagne coupe and is infused with walnut. This is my introduction to Grazie. And it’s a lovely one.

The place bustles like mad. A little bit of Italian hollering bounces between kitchen and waitstaff, but none of it feels frazzled. The back-and-forth is harmonious and focused. There’s also enough playful banter in the mix to remind you that they are still camarades, joshing eachother until the first one cracks a smile.

Ethiopian jazz plays; the bartenders swing from one end of the bar to the other. Everything seems to work with effortless synergy. The bottles of booze on display sit on an arrangement of wooden crates, back-lit with a few twinkle lights. A regal-looking stuffed peacock is perched at the very top, surveying the patrons below.

It’s easy to get woozy fast at Grazie – a combination of the Campari and the heat off the oven’s stones. There’s more yelling from the kitchen. The energy is intoxicating. You sweat. You sip your Negroni. You feel a warmth head to toe. Life is good.

The pizza arrives, splendid and bubbling – anchovy, escarole, grape tomato and a few shavings of parmesan on a beautifully blistered crust. The crunch of the escarole with the smoky anchovy and sweet tomato is an impeccable mix, all of it anchored by the crispy chew of the crust. It’s not complicated food, or fancy food. But it’s the kind that makes you happy to be alive.

The pizzaiolo stretches new pieces of dough and glides them into the rotating belly of the oven. They refresh your drink and chit chat with you between rushes. It’s only 8pm on a Wednesday, but you get the feeling it’s going to be a late night.

Ristorante Grazie
91 Boulevard Beaumarchais, 75003 Paris, France
+33 1 42 78 11 96
http://graziegrazie.fr/

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Short-shorts, BBQs and kefta

05 Sunday May 2013

Posted by julia chews the fat in Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner

≈ 2 Comments

Five days into May and we’ve already been graced with a solid string of beautiful, hot, sunny days. I can barely remember how much of a long slog this past winter was. Now that everything’s in bloom and people have begun crawling out from their apartments, a major shift is underway in the city. Short-shorts have returned. So have post-work picnics, balcony beers and frequent visits to the ice-cream man. In the late afternoon, plumes of smoke begin billowing off of back porches and the the air takes on the deep perfume of charcoal. By 7pm, the whole city starts to smell like a Portuguese grill house.

And you know what that means.

BBQ

BACK.

To celebrate the return of outdoor grilling and backyard socialising, I’d like to share the a recipe that I discovered a few weeks back, and that I suspect will be on heavy rotation during BBQ season. It’s a version of kefta where the lamb is spiced with a mixture of cumin, sumac and thyme, and studded with bright green pistachio nuts. There’s a really nice, tangy fast-pickled onion that you lay on top, along with some fresh mint and Greek yogurt, the whole thing is craddled in a warmed flatbread. It’s one of my new favourite things, especially when it’s accompanied by a cold beer.

While I don’t actually have a barbecue (details, details), I’ve made them in a cast-iron pan on the stove-top and they were delicious. If you happen to be one of those lucky bastards with a BBQ, I’m begging you to make good use of it and grill these suckers, kebab-style, on your beautiful, smoky, hunk of machinery.

No matter what heat source you’re using to make them, the important thing is to make sure your cooking surface is nicely preheated, so be patient in that regard. Also, I think these are best pink (medium) on the inside; some people will prefer them medium-rare. This should be fine as long as you’re using good quality meat and you know your butcher. Whatever you do, please please please don’t overcook them. They will get hard and weird and gross and then you’ll blame me for the crummy recipe, and then I’ll be like, “No! You cooked them too long!” and it’ll be awful because we’ll both know that I’m right.

Enjoy, friendlies. x

Grilled lamb kefta with pistachios and pickled red onion (adapted from Jamie Oliver) – serves 3-4

250g good-quality minced lamb
1 Tbsp fresh thyme leaves
½ Tbsp ground chilli
½ Tbsp ground cumin
1 Tbsp sumac
sea salt
freshly ground black pepper
½ cup shelled pistachio nuts
½ cucumber, sliced
a handful of fresh mint, leaves picked
a handful of flat-leaf parsley, leaves picked
½ red onion, peeled and very finely sliced
½ lemon (or 2 Tbsp red wine vinegar)
4 large flatbreads or tortilla wraps
about 4 Tbsp natural yogurt

Directions

In a food processor, combine the thyme, chilli, cumin and sumac, a little salt and pepper and all the pistachios. Put the lid on and pulse until the mixture the pistachios are broken up into small pieces (but NOT ground). Add the lamb and pulse a few times until everything is combined (you may need to move the mixture around a little between each set of pulses to make sure everything mixes well).

Divide the meat into small patties (if cooking stove-top), or (if using a BBQ) separate into pieces that you will wrap and shape onto 4 metal skewers. Press little indents in the meat with your fingers as you go – the end result will have better texture.

In a small bowl, combine the sliced onion with a good pinch of salt and pepper and a squeeze of lemon juice (or a bit of red wine vinegar). Scrunch the onion in its “marinade” with your hands. Set aside.

Grill the patties (or kebabs) until nicely golden brown on all sides. When the meat is almost done, warm your flatbreads for 30 seconds on your griddle pan or under the grill, then divide between plates and top each with the and onion. When your patties (or kebabs) are cooked, slip them onto the flatbreads.

Add a few dollops of yogurt on the lamb and top with the cucumber slices, mint and parsley before rolling up and serving*.

(*in the original recipe, Jamie Oliver dresses some salad greens with some olive oil and lemon and adds it to the wrap in lieu of the cucumber. I pretty much just used what turned up in the fridge, but the addition of mixed salad would be really lovely too.)

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