Spiced tomato soup

16 February 2011

Traditionally for Valentine’s we invite friends over for dinner. This year I decided to make a monochrome meal. It’s frivolous – precisely. And since I was in a kitsch mood, the meal might as well be red. So on Monday I made a red meal for Valentine’s day: tomato soup, steak tartare, roasted red potatoes with pimentón, radicchio salad, mimolette and Red Leicester Sparkenhoe (orange being the closest thing we found to red cheese), and blood orange sorbet with blood orange slices.

(I first made a chromatic meal 10 years ago, a memorably fun black and white dinner that started with Sophie Calle and ended in the early morning hours with a drive out to see the sunrise on Fire Island. But that’s another story.)

Back to the soup. It was my first tomato soup. And I thought it turned out quite well. I hadn’t made tomato soup before because I don’t buy tomatoes in winter. I checked my most trusted cookbooks but all required the use of the “best, ripest” tomatoes. So I had to improvise, and find a way to make the most of the canned variety – i.e. use lots of other good flavors.

I was quite happy with the result. Thomas – less so. “The flavor of the broth is too strong.” Hmmm, this might be the opportune moment to mention that, in addition to being, in my opinion, quite good, this soup requires no broth. Granted it may have been the celery, or the cumin; Thomas wanted a tomato soup that tastes like tomatoes. For that he will have to wait until next summer.

***

Serves 6

2 x 28 oz. (1 lb) cans good whole peeled tomatoes

2 large onions

Olive oil

3 stalks celery

3 cloves garlic

1/2 tsp ground cumin

1/4 tsp ground coriander

1/4 tsp ground turmeric

2 bay leaves

Maldon sea salt

Cayenne pepper to taste

Crème fraîche or sour cream (optional)

***

Drain the tomatoes (reserve the juice), cut them lengthwise into strips, and set aside.

Peel, cut in half, and thinly slice the onions. Heat enough olive oil to cover the base of a large heavy saucepan. Brown onions in the oil, stirring regularly.

Thinly slice the celery stalks. Add to the onions when they start to turn golden. Continue browning, stirring regularly.

Thinly slice the garlic. When the onions and celery are deep golden (after about 10-15 minutes), add the garlic, cumin, coriander, turmeric, bay leaves, and stir well. Add the tomatoes. Cook for a few minutes over high heat. Add the tomato juice, reduce the heat, and cook at a low simmer for about 35-40 minutes. Remove bay leaves, season to taste with salt and cayenne pepper, and blend until very smooth.

Serve with a spoonful of crème fraîche or sour cream.

Banana cake

10 February 2011

I have had this recipe since I was 7 or 8 years old. I must have been in second or third grade; a friend in my class brought a banana cake to school to celebrate his birthday and offered photocopies of the recipe. I kept the photocopy, and it appears that I have collected recipes ever since. Not obsessively or excessively, but, every once in a while, I wrote down a recipe I liked.

Some years ago I copied these recipes into an orange, cloth-bound dummy book (a sample with blank pages) on the architect R.M. Schindler that I was editing at the time. The recipes compiled in the “Schindler book” (as I now very personally refer to it) are not anonymous, they are not newspaper clippings I fell across and found enticing – they are all linked to memories, and people.

This banana cake reminds me of my first school in France, of Jacob (my school friend) and his family with whom we have not completely lost touch; it evokes their music and a lemon tree in their San Francisco garden that I have seen only in photographs.

Also, it is a very good banana cake. I resisted tweaking the recipe except for the walnuts, as I seem unable to refrain from putting nuts in a cake.

***

10 Tbsps (125 g) butter

3/4 cup (150 g) brown sugar

3 eggs

3 very ripe bananas

1 lemon or orange

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 3/4 cups (200 g) flour (half whole wheat)

2 tsps baking powder

1 tsp sea salt

1 cup (100 g) shelled walnuts (optional)

***

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C).

In a large bowl, beat the butter until creamy. Add the sugar and beat until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating with a wire whisk to incorporate until smooth.

Mash the bananas well with a fork and add to the butter/sugar/egg mixture.

Grate the zest and juice the lemon (or orange) and add to the batter with the vanilla extract. Mix well.

In a smaller bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, and salt and add to batter. Stir just enough to blend everything together. Gently stir in the walnuts, if using.

Line a baking pan with parchment paper, butter the paper, and pour in the batter.

Slide into the oven for 45 to 55 minutes, until a knife inserted in the middle of the cake comes out dry. (If, like me, you like the cake to be very moist, take it out of the oven a little sooner, when the tip of the knife is still wet.)

Finger food | Carrots

8 February 2011

Before I knew it, Louise started refusing food; she seals her lips and turns her head to the side. I know this happens to children, they evolve from being adorable unfussy eaters to about 18 months, when you start wondering whether you should send your toddler to bed without dinner.

But Louise is not even 1; it’s much too early for her to become picky. Until I realized it’s not the taste she is rejecting, it’s the delivery. So I let her pick at her own dinner and make a giant mess – and it works. She eats with her fingers meals she’s shunned from a spoon.

These carrots passed the finger-food test brilliantly.

***

6-8 carrots

1/2 untreated orange

Fresh thyme

***

Bring a small amount of water to the boil.

Peel and slice the carrots fairly thinly at an angle to create larger slices.

Cook the carrots in boiling water (covered) for about 10-12 minutes, until soft. Drain water and return the carrots to the pan. Grate orange zest and squeeze the juice over the carrots. Cook for another minute or so until the carrots have absorbed the juice. Sprinkle with fresh thyme.

Serve in slices, coarsely mashed up with a fork, or puréed in a food processor.

Crêpes!

3 February 2011

Photo updated 2 February 2023

It feels wrong to write “crêpes” without an exclamation mark.

Because when you have grown up in France, crêpes invariably elicit a tingling sensation of irrepressible excitement. Crêpes were the rare summer treat sold in the van by the beach after a long hot hazy day. They were, on occasion, devoured at a boisterous restaurant with sticky tables and wooden benches. And, sometimes, crêpes were made at home. And, most probably, one of those times was February 2nd.

Today is La Chandeleur (Candlemas), which is technically a Christian festival that celebrates the presentation of Jesus at the Temple –piggybacked, like often, on an older mid-winter festival of light — but to most French men, women, and children, it is just “Crêpes Day” (Crêpes”!” Day). Every year we celebrate La Chandeleur, and if for me the thrill of crêpes may have abated somewhat, my children need those memories, too.

Usually February comes so fast that I end up haphazardly making a batch from a random recipe found online, or a very distant recollection of 12 eggs, 1 kilo flour, 1 liter milk, and some beer.

Until yesterday. I was asked to make a heap of crêpes for school, so I thought I would put the task to good use and test a few recipes. The best flour/egg/milk ratio I found was the Crêpes de Jeanne-Marie from La Bonne cuisine de Madame E. Saint-Ange. They are tasty enough to be eaten plain, though everyone knows that the real purpose of crêpes is the garnish: lemon and sugar, blueberry jam, walnuts and honey, banana chocolate, orange marmalade, apples and caramel, flambée with Grand Marnier…

Photo updated 2 February 2023

Recipe inspired by Les crêpes de Jeanne-Marie from La Bonne cuisine de Madame E. Saint-Ange

4 Tbsps (55 g) butter

2 cups (250 g) flour

2 Tbsp sugar

1 tsp salt

6 eggs

1 3/4  cups (400 ml) milk

1 tsp pure vanilla extract

2 Tbsps rum

Zest from 1 lemon

Butter or clarified butter = ghee* or coconut oil for cooking

***

Melt the butter and remove from the heat.

In a large bowl, mix the flour with the sugar and salt and make a well in the mixture. Add the eggs, one at a time, stirring them into the flour with circular movements. Pour in the milk little by little, whisking continuously to obtain a smooth batter. Add melted butter, vanilla, rum, lemon zest, and stir well.

Cover and place in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour and up to 2 days.

When ready to make the crêpes, remove the batter from the refrigerator. The batter should be nice and runny, and at this stage will probably require a little more liquid. Add water, a couple of tablespoons at a time, until the perfect consistency is achieved. **The best way to check the consistency is to make one crêpe and decide whether it is thin enough. Most people agree that the first crêpe never turns out perfectly anyway – the pan isn’t hot enough – so it can easily be sacrificed as a test.**

To cook the crêpes: Heat a non-stick skillet until it is piping hot (a drop of batter poured onto the pan should sizzle) then lower the heat to medium. Grease the skillet with a paper towel dabbed with butter (or clarified butter or coconut oil – there should only be a faint layer of fat in the pan). Holding the skillet in one hand, pour a ladle of batter with the other, turning the skillet quickly in a round motion to cover the base with a thin and even layer of batter (if there is too much batter, pour it back into the bowl, if there isn’t enough, quickly add a little). As soon as the surface of the crêpe is dry (barely a minute or two depending on the heat), lift it with a spatula and turn it around (or flip the crêpe by tossing it, if you feel so inclined). Barely another minute and the crêpe is ready. Repeat, stirring the batter lightly with the ladle from the bottom up between each crêpe.

The best way to keep crêpes warm is to place them on a plate over a pan of simmering water, covered with another large plate or lid. They will not dry out that way.

Garnish with the filling of choice — classic sugar and lemon, or jam, chocolate, apple sauce, etc. — then roll or fold the crêpes to eat!

*Madame E. Saint-Ange suggests using clarified butter, which is a great idea since without the milk solids, the butter doesn’t burn as quickly. To clarify butter, melt  in a small saucepan and continue to cook until the milk solids have risen to the surface and attached at the bottom. Skim off top layer and pour the clear butter without the solids into a clean bowl. Keeps well covered in the refrigerator.

Endive salad with apples, walnuts, and comté

27 January 2011

Salads are one of the reasons I look forward to winter. Endive salads in particular, because they are from my childhood, but all the other crisp, bitter, cold-weather greens, reds, and yellows: dandelion, escarole, frisée, radicchio…

In a month or so I may be looking forward to fresh peas and longing for tomatoes, but right now I am excited by the falling snow and this crunchy endive salad. It’s ready in 5 minutes and made a perfect lunch yesterday.

***

4 endives (should be tightly compact, white and pale yellow, without a hint of green)

1 red apple

1/2 lemon

About 8 walnuts

Comté (also Guyère or a hard sheep-milk cheese from the Pyrénées)

5 Tbsps good olive oil

1 1/2 Tbsps apple cider vinegar

Maldon sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

***

Cut off endive stub and remove one outer layer of leaves. Rinse quickly under running water, shake dry, and slice crosswise into 1/2 inch (1 cm) pieces. Wash apple, cut into quarters, core, and slice quarters thinly crosswise. Immediately toss the endive and apple with the juice from 1/2 a lemon, as they oxidize quickly.

Shell the walnuts and break them into pieces. Cut the cheese into strips about 1 in (2.5 cm) long and 1/3 inch (1 cm) wide. There should be about as much cheese as there are walnuts.

Mix the walnuts and cheese with the endive and apple. Season with the olive oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper and toss well.