With a sign on the door saying fully booked till Christmas--I knew that I was in for a treat. Café Sorgenfri's (http://www.cafesorgenfri.dk/) red and white checked tablecloths lent a festive air to dark panelled walls all decked up in pine garland and Christmas ornaments. The place had the air of a 100 year old bar, not unlike New York's McSorleys, met with an old country bistro in a dark cozy basement for a clandestine rendezvous.
To me, a budding foodie American, smørrebrød (otherwise known as smorgasbord) was--ahem--just a tray full of open-faced sandwiches (apologies to my Danish friends). Little did I know that there's a quite a tradition of Danish smorgasbord and items should be eaten in a particular order and on the correct type of bread: brown or white. Also, the size of the platter dictated the length of time needed to book the table. Now this sounded more like smorgasbord to me. At Christmastime restaurants often serve a special holiday smørrebrød spread set out for office parties and family gatherings.
After ordering some jule beer (Christmas beer-pronounced yule-uh-beer) tucked in to an incredible smorgasbord consisting of: sweet pickled herring & brown bread, small shrimp on white bread with mayonnaise, pâté of pork liver on white with cold pickled beetroot and warm red pickled cabbage, chicken salad with bacon & mayonnaise on white, Frikadeller pork meatballs with pickled cabbage, pork with the skin on that had turned into pork cracklings, topped off with brie sweet 'n smooth as butter.
The herring wasn't fishy at all, but slightly sweet and vinegary with a velvety texture (my husband who generally won't go within 10 feet of something smelling slightly fishy, ate an entire sandwich! Seriously.). The pork pâté brought back childhood memories of liverwurst dumping soup and the condiments were perfectly paired for each dish--the sweet acidity of the red cabbage making a nice contrast with the rich Frikadeller and pork cracklings. The Frikadeller were crispy on the outside, just as any excellent meatballs should be, and the pork cracklings attached to the pork roast like that were exceptional. Though, by meal's end I was dying for a salad for dinner. For the next week.
Notes:
After writing this, I looked up some descriptions of the restaurant and evidently, the restaurant used to be a sailor's tavern and the house dates to 1796. Go figure.
Café Sorgenfri does a special Christmas smorgasbord platter with even more courses than the one we plodded away at for 2 hours and didn't manage to finish.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Monday, July 04, 2011
Festival São João, Porto, Portugal
We went to Porto, Portugal for the annual St. Jean (or São João, in Portugese) festival, which is notable for its tradition of banging members of the opposite sex on the head with a squeaky plastic hammer. It was pretty damn funny at first, but as the blood alcohol level increased with the rising moon, the whacks got a bit more vindictive—sometimes devolving into a chasing match in order to bring down the gavel in retribution. The squeaks of the plastic hammers lasted well into the wee hours.
As was explained to me, at its core, the origin of the head-hammer-banging tradition was actually a form of flirtation. This was accomplished by sneaking up on a (presumably cute) member of the opposite sex, and then tickling their nose with a flower from a garlic plant. These flowers can still be found in Porto on the day of the festival, and I can tell you that when I saw one coming towards me, I put my hammer in front of my nose. I can only assume that dabbing garlic juice on someone’s nose so they smell garlic for the rest of the night was a good conversation starter. That kernel of the tradition—making friends with strangers—is what gives its spark to the São João Festival. In the spirit of all spring pagan festival (the good ones, anyway) the flower ritual is accompanied by feasting and consumption of generous amounts of alcohol. I can only imagine that being rather wine-sodden helps preserve the other important element of spring festivals—fertility.
During the festival it’s traditional to eat goat (I must admit that vivid images of sacrificial rituals jumped into my head when I heard this was the traditional meal) and sardines, which are sold at riverside tents complete with picnic benches draped in Super Bock-themed tablecloths and ice-cold bottles of beer of the same name. It’s the first time that I’ve had goat and I was surprised at how much it didn’t taste like chicken, though grilled, it has a similar texture. Grilled sardines and green peppers are the other traditional dish served during the festival and their odor emanates from not only riverside food carts, but also from little half-barrel style charcoal grills set up in the street outside of ramshackle bodegas throughout the city. We smell the vapors wafting in on the afternoon northern sea breeze throughout São João day.
In southern European style, the festivities commence at midnight, and in our case, following a gut-busting three-hour-long meal including 2 dessert courses. A mother next to us caught her three-year-old daughter as he slid off of daddy's shoulders, sound asleep, midway through the fireworks. I did manage to stay conscious for the lovely and lengthy display, including some fireworks cascading off of the bridge and flowing into the Porto river below, reminiscent of Tinkerbell’s magic pixie dust.
As the effects of the late hour, full stomach, and generous pouring of vinho verde and red Duoro wine set in, we crossed the bridge from the Gaia side of the river to reach Porto. On the other side, after turning along the little cobblestone street lining the river, we came upon the most unruly seething throng that I've encountered outside of Pamplona's running of the bulls. We tried to fight our way through, only to run up against a line of bodies snaking towards food, music and Super Bock stands dotted randomly along the borders of the packed street. Thankfully, there was an escape route available by heading one street away from the river and cutting through a vehicle tunnel containing only a scattered handful of pedestrians, thereby providing some breathing space.
As the crowds slept off their hangovers the next morning, the city was in a sort of blissful repose that one imagine happens to a city after only after a natural disaster. Impressively, the city hall plaza that had a line ten-deep waiting for churros (much to my dissapointment, I was too tired to wait my turn) just a handful of hours before, was now empty, completely devoid of garbage, and smelled fresh cleaned cobblestones—what efficiency!
Porto’s riverbank is lined with charming historical buildings, now filled with shops selling Portugese ceramics and tourist items. We wound our way up from the river banks through little cobblestone streets and crossed ancient but well-conserved tile-faced apartments, often with businesses on the ground floor. On the Gaia side of the banks, it’s a sleeker, more modern version than Porto. We sit down to enjoy a view of the river and see a fleet of boats taking tourists on week-long journeys up the river to the Duoro wine region—a UNESCO world heritage site and the first appellation controlee for Port wine.
We also did a quick driving tour of the Duro wine region, avoiding the interstate to wind around the roads leading up to the high plateaus where the famous grapes grow on the banks of the Duoro river. It was hot—I can’t believe that grapes can grow in the heat that we basked in while overlooking the rolling valley below.
I was also impressed by the beach-sand and nettle-studded dunes along the Gaia beach, which are often whipped by the strong north wind, rising from the Atlantic in the afternoon. Luckily, we experienced only a very light breeze while enjoying ice-cold Super Bock in a chic beachside spot, lounging on ultra-modern bean bag chairs that looked like they came straight from the pages of a Habitat catalog. The waves lapping at mt feet felt surprisingly cold after sitting on the intense sun, but I didn’t think much of it until I started losing sensation in my toes and fingertips 15 seconds after plunging into the drink to cool off. Bathers beware! That Atlantic breeze keeps the ocean near Porto quite chilly, even at the end of June.
All in all, it was a memorable and extremely tasty visit. I know that I wasn’t the only one infected by the spirit of São João, as I caught tourists in the airport taking their plastic hammer “trophies” back home as souvenirs.
As was explained to me, at its core, the origin of the head-hammer-banging tradition was actually a form of flirtation. This was accomplished by sneaking up on a (presumably cute) member of the opposite sex, and then tickling their nose with a flower from a garlic plant. These flowers can still be found in Porto on the day of the festival, and I can tell you that when I saw one coming towards me, I put my hammer in front of my nose. I can only assume that dabbing garlic juice on someone’s nose so they smell garlic for the rest of the night was a good conversation starter. That kernel of the tradition—making friends with strangers—is what gives its spark to the São João Festival. In the spirit of all spring pagan festival (the good ones, anyway) the flower ritual is accompanied by feasting and consumption of generous amounts of alcohol. I can only imagine that being rather wine-sodden helps preserve the other important element of spring festivals—fertility.
During the festival it’s traditional to eat goat (I must admit that vivid images of sacrificial rituals jumped into my head when I heard this was the traditional meal) and sardines, which are sold at riverside tents complete with picnic benches draped in Super Bock-themed tablecloths and ice-cold bottles of beer of the same name. It’s the first time that I’ve had goat and I was surprised at how much it didn’t taste like chicken, though grilled, it has a similar texture. Grilled sardines and green peppers are the other traditional dish served during the festival and their odor emanates from not only riverside food carts, but also from little half-barrel style charcoal grills set up in the street outside of ramshackle bodegas throughout the city. We smell the vapors wafting in on the afternoon northern sea breeze throughout São João day.
In southern European style, the festivities commence at midnight, and in our case, following a gut-busting three-hour-long meal including 2 dessert courses. A mother next to us caught her three-year-old daughter as he slid off of daddy's shoulders, sound asleep, midway through the fireworks. I did manage to stay conscious for the lovely and lengthy display, including some fireworks cascading off of the bridge and flowing into the Porto river below, reminiscent of Tinkerbell’s magic pixie dust.
As the effects of the late hour, full stomach, and generous pouring of vinho verde and red Duoro wine set in, we crossed the bridge from the Gaia side of the river to reach Porto. On the other side, after turning along the little cobblestone street lining the river, we came upon the most unruly seething throng that I've encountered outside of Pamplona's running of the bulls. We tried to fight our way through, only to run up against a line of bodies snaking towards food, music and Super Bock stands dotted randomly along the borders of the packed street. Thankfully, there was an escape route available by heading one street away from the river and cutting through a vehicle tunnel containing only a scattered handful of pedestrians, thereby providing some breathing space.
As the crowds slept off their hangovers the next morning, the city was in a sort of blissful repose that one imagine happens to a city after only after a natural disaster. Impressively, the city hall plaza that had a line ten-deep waiting for churros (much to my dissapointment, I was too tired to wait my turn) just a handful of hours before, was now empty, completely devoid of garbage, and smelled fresh cleaned cobblestones—what efficiency!
Porto’s riverbank is lined with charming historical buildings, now filled with shops selling Portugese ceramics and tourist items. We wound our way up from the river banks through little cobblestone streets and crossed ancient but well-conserved tile-faced apartments, often with businesses on the ground floor. On the Gaia side of the banks, it’s a sleeker, more modern version than Porto. We sit down to enjoy a view of the river and see a fleet of boats taking tourists on week-long journeys up the river to the Duoro wine region—a UNESCO world heritage site and the first appellation controlee for Port wine.
We also did a quick driving tour of the Duro wine region, avoiding the interstate to wind around the roads leading up to the high plateaus where the famous grapes grow on the banks of the Duoro river. It was hot—I can’t believe that grapes can grow in the heat that we basked in while overlooking the rolling valley below.
I was also impressed by the beach-sand and nettle-studded dunes along the Gaia beach, which are often whipped by the strong north wind, rising from the Atlantic in the afternoon. Luckily, we experienced only a very light breeze while enjoying ice-cold Super Bock in a chic beachside spot, lounging on ultra-modern bean bag chairs that looked like they came straight from the pages of a Habitat catalog. The waves lapping at mt feet felt surprisingly cold after sitting on the intense sun, but I didn’t think much of it until I started losing sensation in my toes and fingertips 15 seconds after plunging into the drink to cool off. Bathers beware! That Atlantic breeze keeps the ocean near Porto quite chilly, even at the end of June.
All in all, it was a memorable and extremely tasty visit. I know that I wasn’t the only one infected by the spirit of São João, as I caught tourists in the airport taking their plastic hammer “trophies” back home as souvenirs.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Street Food--in Madeira?!
We hadn't even checked in to the hotel yet, and I roll down the window upon sighting a street-side food cart billowing charcoal smoke. Is that pork I smell? My belly starts grumbling. Yes, please! I'll have some of that immediately; even if it means negotiating a pond-sized puddle (so much for the cleaning deposit on the rental car).
It's a challenge to find a spot for the car that looks as though we'll avoid being blocked in, and we ford the--er--lake heading toward the smoke and what's sure to be good food. There's not much more than a small assembly of plastic tables & chairs next to an aluminum shanty with a charcoal grill, but it's jam packed and there's a line at the take away counter. It looks even better than it smells. There's something called bolo de cacao, which kindof resembles a giant english muffin that's been cooked on a flat grill that's split in half and spread thick with garlic herb butter like is used for traditional escargots and what looks like chicken and some sort of ribs (pork? beef?).
Upon further investigation we find the covered market selling local tropical flowers, fruit and veg, but there's another surprise--a chimney in the corner for grilling meat on skewers. I found out later that espetada, beef skewers marinated in bay leaves and flavored with smoke from bay leaves that are thrown on the fire, are a local specialty. We turn another a corner and hit the motherload--2 stalls exuding the most enticing meat smells imaginable. We settle on pork ribs, bolo de cacao and some of the local alcoholic cider and dig in. Observing one of the locals beside us, it seems the traditional way of eating is to hold a piece of bread in one hand and meat in the other, and we feel very professional in mimicking his style. Bellies full to bursting, we explore the wonders of the market, which include some lovely old-school embroidery, something Madeira is known for, and then check in to the hotel to sleep off the food coma.
It's a challenge to find a spot for the car that looks as though we'll avoid being blocked in, and we ford the--er--lake heading toward the smoke and what's sure to be good food. There's not much more than a small assembly of plastic tables & chairs next to an aluminum shanty with a charcoal grill, but it's jam packed and there's a line at the take away counter. It looks even better than it smells. There's something called bolo de cacao, which kindof resembles a giant english muffin that's been cooked on a flat grill that's split in half and spread thick with garlic herb butter like is used for traditional escargots and what looks like chicken and some sort of ribs (pork? beef?).
Upon further investigation we find the covered market selling local tropical flowers, fruit and veg, but there's another surprise--a chimney in the corner for grilling meat on skewers. I found out later that espetada, beef skewers marinated in bay leaves and flavored with smoke from bay leaves that are thrown on the fire, are a local specialty. We turn another a corner and hit the motherload--2 stalls exuding the most enticing meat smells imaginable. We settle on pork ribs, bolo de cacao and some of the local alcoholic cider and dig in. Observing one of the locals beside us, it seems the traditional way of eating is to hold a piece of bread in one hand and meat in the other, and we feel very professional in mimicking his style. Bellies full to bursting, we explore the wonders of the market, which include some lovely old-school embroidery, something Madeira is known for, and then check in to the hotel to sleep off the food coma.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
an American Thanksgiving in Paris
At Thanksgiving, Americans celebrate the tradition of an "autumn harvest feast" shared by Native Americans and newly arrived colonists. Putting aside the ensuing tragic history of Americans' treatment of Native Americans... Thanksgiving was also a history of using local ingredients to prepare the feast, and it is in this tradition that I've prepared my American in Paris Thanksgiving Menu.
"Cranberry sauce" au groseilles
Lysh's special stuffing
Gratin des Patates Douces/Sweet Potato Gratin
Brioche du boulengerie locale
Pintade a l'Americaine
and... cheescake (I know, I know! --but I can only blame it on the fantastic meal we recently had at a NY-style deli/diner here in Paris)
Instead of cranberries I, tried groseilles--a small, tart, red berry that was available fresh at my local supermarket. I cooked up just like cranberry sauce! No poultry seasoning? I used bouquet garni + sage boiled for a long time together with the bouillion to 'wet' the stuffing. In my experience sweet potatoes are a bit, um...unusual to the french palate, so I transformed them into a gratin (basically scalloped sweet potatoes with cream and cheese, what's not to like?). Can't find turkey? Or in our case, will the turkey not fit in they tiny toaster oven? Then go with pintade--or even quail in a cocotte basted with wine. You can still stuff 'em even if they go in the cocotte! Finally, instead of homemade rolls, why not get some brioche from the local boulangerie (generally my job at Thanksgiving, and my roll recipe was rich with milk, butter and eggs, so brioche substitute nicely).
"Cranberry sauce" au groseilles
Buy fresh groseilles; measure amount of water needed to just cover them in a pan. Remove the berries from the pan and add an amount of sugar equal to the quantity of berries to the water. Add some orange or lemon zest and let the water come to a boil, dissolving everything.
Cheesecake in France--yes you can!
The Crust.
Forget graham crackers; that is unless you really want to schlep all over Paris to nearly every "epicerie Americaine" in order to find every last ingredient. Remember--this ain't your momma's T-day. It's yours-Paris style!
Buy a big pack of speculoos and toss 'em into the food processor and whiz till crummy. I think I just used a couple tablespoons of water mixed in till it formed a paste, but you could add 2 T of melted butter if you feel it necessary. Bake at ~160 deg C for 10-12 mins till golden. Let crust cool while preparing the filling.
The filling. How the heck is this gunna work without Philly cream cheese anyhow?
After extensively combing thru many many blogs of other folks living abroad and suffering from a similar lack of cream cheese, I decided that Carrefour's "fromage a tartiner" was the way to go, combined with a "New York style" cheesecake recipe, relying on some flour in the batter to stiffen it. Also, these are baked at a high initial temperature to give the outside a nice golden color.
2 1/2 pounds [actually 1.13 kg] of 'fromage a tartiner' Yes it IS alot. Don't sweat it, it's all gunna fit in there!
1/2 C heavy cream [creme fleur Normandie or high quality]
1 to 3/4 C sugar
3 T flour
SKIP the SALT! [bastard cheese is salty enough]
2 tsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. vanilla extract [I used 5 sachets of sucre vanille]
2 large egg yolks
6 large eggs
Whip the French cream cheese substitute like the bastard it is (in a land of glorious cheese such as France we can't be too uppity about the fact that we're using Monsieur fromage a tartiner, they just don't do good junk food here; 'tis true). Mix the flour in with the sugar & 'sucre vanille; mix with creamed cheese half at a time. Add lemon juice (and vanilla extract if you're using it). Make sure you scrape the sides of the bowl frequently with a rubber spatula to thoroughly mix in each ingredient. Add egg yolks and mix; now 3 whole eggs; and the final 3 eggs. Filling's done!
A word of caution. I nearly destroyed my lil' oven with this recipe. Use a pizza pan under the springform pan to catch any batter than leaks out--or gushes, in my case. Months later, it still smells like cheesecake when I preheat the oven.
Pop into the oven preheated to a searing 260 deg. C. That's max, baby! After 10 mins, reduce heat to 93 deg [(I know, I know, but we're converting from 200 F). Stupid ovens with Celcius dials] and bake for 1h 40mins. Remember, it's basically a big flan, so it won't set until it's chilled. But I seem to recall doing the giggle test. You know--giggle the pan and if the middle part sways like a drunken football fan, then it ain't done. Cool slowly over 2-3 hours. The Joy of Cooking suggests placing a bowl over the pan during cooling. The recipe I used said to run a knife along the outside of the pan to loosen the edge, but my cheesecake came out very light, airy and fluffy, I guess due to the bastard cheese being runnier than traditional Philly. She came out de-lish-ous!
"Cranberry sauce" au groseilles
Lysh's special stuffing
Gratin des Patates Douces/Sweet Potato Gratin
Brioche du boulengerie locale
Pintade a l'Americaine
and... cheescake (I know, I know! --but I can only blame it on the fantastic meal we recently had at a NY-style deli/diner here in Paris)
Instead of cranberries I, tried groseilles--a small, tart, red berry that was available fresh at my local supermarket. I cooked up just like cranberry sauce! No poultry seasoning? I used bouquet garni + sage boiled for a long time together with the bouillion to 'wet' the stuffing. In my experience sweet potatoes are a bit, um...unusual to the french palate, so I transformed them into a gratin (basically scalloped sweet potatoes with cream and cheese, what's not to like?). Can't find turkey? Or in our case, will the turkey not fit in they tiny toaster oven? Then go with pintade--or even quail in a cocotte basted with wine. You can still stuff 'em even if they go in the cocotte! Finally, instead of homemade rolls, why not get some brioche from the local boulangerie (generally my job at Thanksgiving, and my roll recipe was rich with milk, butter and eggs, so brioche substitute nicely).
"Cranberry sauce" au groseilles
Buy fresh groseilles; measure amount of water needed to just cover them in a pan. Remove the berries from the pan and add an amount of sugar equal to the quantity of berries to the water. Add some orange or lemon zest and let the water come to a boil, dissolving everything.
Cheesecake in France--yes you can!
The Crust.
Forget graham crackers; that is unless you really want to schlep all over Paris to nearly every "epicerie Americaine" in order to find every last ingredient. Remember--this ain't your momma's T-day. It's yours-Paris style!
Buy a big pack of speculoos and toss 'em into the food processor and whiz till crummy. I think I just used a couple tablespoons of water mixed in till it formed a paste, but you could add 2 T of melted butter if you feel it necessary. Bake at ~160 deg C for 10-12 mins till golden. Let crust cool while preparing the filling.
The filling. How the heck is this gunna work without Philly cream cheese anyhow?
After extensively combing thru many many blogs of other folks living abroad and suffering from a similar lack of cream cheese, I decided that Carrefour's "fromage a tartiner" was the way to go, combined with a "New York style" cheesecake recipe, relying on some flour in the batter to stiffen it. Also, these are baked at a high initial temperature to give the outside a nice golden color.
2 1/2 pounds [actually 1.13 kg] of 'fromage a tartiner' Yes it IS alot. Don't sweat it, it's all gunna fit in there!
1/2 C heavy cream [creme fleur Normandie or high quality]
1 to 3/4 C sugar
3 T flour
SKIP the SALT! [bastard cheese is salty enough]
2 tsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. vanilla extract [I used 5 sachets of sucre vanille]
2 large egg yolks
6 large eggs
Whip the French cream cheese substitute like the bastard it is (in a land of glorious cheese such as France we can't be too uppity about the fact that we're using Monsieur fromage a tartiner, they just don't do good junk food here; 'tis true). Mix the flour in with the sugar & 'sucre vanille; mix with creamed cheese half at a time. Add lemon juice (and vanilla extract if you're using it). Make sure you scrape the sides of the bowl frequently with a rubber spatula to thoroughly mix in each ingredient. Add egg yolks and mix; now 3 whole eggs; and the final 3 eggs. Filling's done!
A word of caution. I nearly destroyed my lil' oven with this recipe. Use a pizza pan under the springform pan to catch any batter than leaks out--or gushes, in my case. Months later, it still smells like cheesecake when I preheat the oven.
Pop into the oven preheated to a searing 260 deg. C. That's max, baby! After 10 mins, reduce heat to 93 deg [(I know, I know, but we're converting from 200 F). Stupid ovens with Celcius dials] and bake for 1h 40mins. Remember, it's basically a big flan, so it won't set until it's chilled. But I seem to recall doing the giggle test. You know--giggle the pan and if the middle part sways like a drunken football fan, then it ain't done. Cool slowly over 2-3 hours. The Joy of Cooking suggests placing a bowl over the pan during cooling. The recipe I used said to run a knife along the outside of the pan to loosen the edge, but my cheesecake came out very light, airy and fluffy, I guess due to the bastard cheese being runnier than traditional Philly. She came out de-lish-ous!
Monday, March 07, 2011
Risotto au Champignons de Cantal
Beef broth and a jar of let's call them 'artisinal' cepe mushrooms made one of the best risotto dishes I've ever eaten, let alone cooked myself! Thanks to dad-in-law for the cepes mushrooms, prepared by flash frying, then preserving in oil in a 1 cup-sized glass jar with metal enclosure (likely dating to before my birth, judging from the oxidation on the lid).
You can find the recipe for standard risotto elsewhere (on this blog, for example:) Use a basic eschalotte, white wine & beef broth recipe. BUT- put some dried mushrooms into the broth as you're heating it for some extra mushroomy-ness! In another pan, sauteé the mushrooms on medium heat till they get a bit browned--almost crunchy, in fact. About 5 minutes before the risotto is done, add the sauteéd mushrooms. Remove from heat; finish with parmesan cheese and a chunk of butter (or not--it's so rich in flavor, I didn't even use any!).
You can find the recipe for standard risotto elsewhere (on this blog, for example:) Use a basic eschalotte, white wine & beef broth recipe. BUT- put some dried mushrooms into the broth as you're heating it for some extra mushroomy-ness! In another pan, sauteé the mushrooms on medium heat till they get a bit browned--almost crunchy, in fact. About 5 minutes before the risotto is done, add the sauteéd mushrooms. Remove from heat; finish with parmesan cheese and a chunk of butter (or not--it's so rich in flavor, I didn't even use any!).
Monday, February 28, 2011
Deviled Eggs a la Spartan in france
2 eggs
few sprigs of basil (or 2 handfulls of rocquettes)
olive oil
1 big clove of garlic
6-8 walnut halves
Hard boil the eggs. If you've never done this before, here are some quick hints. Cover the eggs in cold water and turn the burner on full, just till it comes to a boil. Set your timer for 12 mins (10 min for eggs at room temp) and turn down to a good, steady simmer. When done, let cold water run into the pan, until everything cools. Refridgerate the hard-boiled eggs till ready to make the filling.
Filling: Place garlic and walnuts in the blender and whiz. Add a lug of olive oil and the basil or rocquettes, whiz again. Peel the eggs and halve; put yolks in the pesto mixture & whiz. Spoon the green mixture into the egg whites-and voila! Yummy green & white deviled eggs (just in time for MSU spartan basketball madness).
Another pesto creation if you're into wierd American appetizers--cover WASA crackers with chevre and spoon over the rocquette pesto from above (minus the egg yolks). Divine!
few sprigs of basil (or 2 handfulls of rocquettes)
olive oil
1 big clove of garlic
6-8 walnut halves
Hard boil the eggs. If you've never done this before, here are some quick hints. Cover the eggs in cold water and turn the burner on full, just till it comes to a boil. Set your timer for 12 mins (10 min for eggs at room temp) and turn down to a good, steady simmer. When done, let cold water run into the pan, until everything cools. Refridgerate the hard-boiled eggs till ready to make the filling.
Filling: Place garlic and walnuts in the blender and whiz. Add a lug of olive oil and the basil or rocquettes, whiz again. Peel the eggs and halve; put yolks in the pesto mixture & whiz. Spoon the green mixture into the egg whites-and voila! Yummy green & white deviled eggs (just in time for MSU spartan basketball madness).
Another pesto creation if you're into wierd American appetizers--cover WASA crackers with chevre and spoon over the rocquette pesto from above (minus the egg yolks). Divine!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tomato & cream Lasagne
1 eggplant
1 large onion
5 cloves garlic
1 large can peeled tomatoes in sauce
1/2 - 1 t. oregano, thyme, rosemary
fresh basil & parsley (to dice at garnish at the end--optional)
several mushrooms
Slice the eggplant into 0.5 cm thick slices and salt on both sides. Heat a heavy, tall saucepan/french cocotte on medium. Slice onion, red pepper, mushrooms ~ the same thickness. Put a lug of olive oil in saucepan, fry up eggplant till golden on one side; flip till done. Remove from pan. Do the red pepper next & turn the heat to high, cooking till just grilled on both sides. Remove from pan and finish with the onions plus crushed whole garlic cloves. Add the can of whole tomatoes when onions are translucent. Add dry spices: rosemary, thyme, oregano. Add 2 diced cloves garlic. Leave the tomato-y mixture to simmer while preparing the bechamel.
Melt 3T butter in saucepan on med-low. Add 3T flour, let cook 3-5 mins (don't brown). Add 2 C. milk, whisking vigorously 'till it comes to a boil and thickens. Put on full heat and dilute whisking/stirring continuously while adding ~2 C of milk in a slow, steady stream. Let come to a boil a 2nd time, then simmer, add 2 cloves diced garlic, 1/2 t of nutmeg, and 1 bouillon cube (chicken).
Remove tomato mixture from heat, put 1/2 to 3/4 of the mixture aside in another bowl. Lay lasagne noodles over the remaining tomato mixture, cover with mozzerella or gruyere cheese, layer in red peppers + more sauce, then noodles, then cheese*.
*It really depends on how you prefer your lasagne. I like lots of sauce, so I only had around 3 layers of tomato sauce + noodles before switching to bechamel. I also used my round french cocotte, as I was too lazy to clean another pan. This meant that I layered whole noodles in a sort of asterix pattern, or used one whole noodle, then broke another in 2 to fill in the holes. The final result gave a nice pink mixture of tomato and bechamel, as the sauce mixed altogether due to the round cocotte. If you prefer your sauce layers to be separated--then go for a square lasagne pan, use more noodles and make sure there aren't any gaps!
Ok--when you've got the last tomato layer in place, put cheese, then switch to bechamel. Add a layer of grilled eggplant; cover with more bechamel, noodles and cheese; repeat. Finish off with a good layer of cheese so it crisps up nice in the oven.
I put the whole cocotte in the oven ~ 1.5 to 2 liters at 200 deg. C for 45 mins. The joy of using the same dish is that it's already hot so it cooks faster!
No meat in this dish, which is extremely unusual for me, but god was it GOOD!
1 eggplant
1 large onion
5 cloves garlic
1 large can peeled tomatoes in sauce
1/2 - 1 t. oregano, thyme, rosemary
fresh basil & parsley (to dice at garnish at the end--optional)
several mushrooms
Slice the eggplant into 0.5 cm thick slices and salt on both sides. Heat a heavy, tall saucepan/french cocotte on medium. Slice onion, red pepper, mushrooms ~ the same thickness. Put a lug of olive oil in saucepan, fry up eggplant till golden on one side; flip till done. Remove from pan. Do the red pepper next & turn the heat to high, cooking till just grilled on both sides. Remove from pan and finish with the onions plus crushed whole garlic cloves. Add the can of whole tomatoes when onions are translucent. Add dry spices: rosemary, thyme, oregano. Add 2 diced cloves garlic. Leave the tomato-y mixture to simmer while preparing the bechamel.
Melt 3T butter in saucepan on med-low. Add 3T flour, let cook 3-5 mins (don't brown). Add 2 C. milk, whisking vigorously 'till it comes to a boil and thickens. Put on full heat and dilute whisking/stirring continuously while adding ~2 C of milk in a slow, steady stream. Let come to a boil a 2nd time, then simmer, add 2 cloves diced garlic, 1/2 t of nutmeg, and 1 bouillon cube (chicken).
Remove tomato mixture from heat, put 1/2 to 3/4 of the mixture aside in another bowl. Lay lasagne noodles over the remaining tomato mixture, cover with mozzerella or gruyere cheese, layer in red peppers + more sauce, then noodles, then cheese*.
*It really depends on how you prefer your lasagne. I like lots of sauce, so I only had around 3 layers of tomato sauce + noodles before switching to bechamel. I also used my round french cocotte, as I was too lazy to clean another pan. This meant that I layered whole noodles in a sort of asterix pattern, or used one whole noodle, then broke another in 2 to fill in the holes. The final result gave a nice pink mixture of tomato and bechamel, as the sauce mixed altogether due to the round cocotte. If you prefer your sauce layers to be separated--then go for a square lasagne pan, use more noodles and make sure there aren't any gaps!
Ok--when you've got the last tomato layer in place, put cheese, then switch to bechamel. Add a layer of grilled eggplant; cover with more bechamel, noodles and cheese; repeat. Finish off with a good layer of cheese so it crisps up nice in the oven.
I put the whole cocotte in the oven ~ 1.5 to 2 liters at 200 deg. C for 45 mins. The joy of using the same dish is that it's already hot so it cooks faster!
No meat in this dish, which is extremely unusual for me, but god was it GOOD!
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