Pour le Goût

Sweet, Crunchy Lettuce!

 

Alice Waters, of Chez Panisse fame, made salad cool.  Stories about her tend these days to legend, and one of my favorite is an image of her along a roadside in Berkeley foraging for greens.  I have no idea where I read that, or if it's even true, but what is clear is that she has had a huge impact on one of the elements central to California cuisine: the green salad.   Later, the blogger David Lebovitz wrote that his 13-year stint at Chez Panisse hinged on his reply that salad was his favorite meal.

They are following in a long line of green salad appreciators.  Salad has been cultivated for at least 7000 years.  The cultivation neatly follows the arc of a high school Western civilization class:  First grown in Persia where it spread both east and west (though there were native cultivars in China as well).  Through the west across the mediterranean basin and in Columbus's ship to be spread in the Americas.  What is it about salad?

First, it's easy to grow.  Second, people like it.  Strangely though, it's one of the few crops that resist processing or preservation.  Only darker greens like kale, chard, cabbage and spinach hold up to freezing, canning or pickling.  Salad greens just can't take it.  Though the food processing industry have found a way to use more plastic and create ready-to-eat greens in bags.  Of course, large-scale agriculture has recently had trouble keeping out food-born illnesses.  Don't get me wrong; these problems can also occur on small, organic farms who are also held fast to food safety rules.  The advantage: their reach is limited.  Large-scale, long-distance food processors touch millions of people and the impact can be scary.  Small farms are better able to quality control and when there is a problem it doesn't spread.

Food politics aside, salad is just good.  Unlike my influences above, I don't remember having a Eureka moment.  As a child we ate iceberg with "italian dressing."  I think I liked it fine.  In 80s California, I remember being crazy about sprouts. We grew them on the kitchen counter.  I have only a vague memory of salads. We had a wooden salad bowl that sometimes doubled a chip bowl for gatherings.  Later, in the 90s, I along with everybody else discovered mesculn (Thanks, Alice).  I went to school at UC Davis (english major) and was heavily influenced by the Farmer's market and the co-op. At the millennium I started making my own vinaigrette and mayonnaise - and haven't turned back.  Single, I started cooking for parties and co-workers and most nights eating food I made instead of eating out.  Some eat ice cream straight from the box (I've done it) but during this period I watched my "must see tv" with the salad bowl in my lap.

After I moved to France, for the first time, I ate fresh-picked salad.  first, from my father-in-law's vegetable garden.  Later, on a regular basis, from the CSA 4 miles from my house.  In both cases, I noticed something - the salad had flavor, not just texture and crunch.  The earth was there, distilled and transformed in my mouth. 

Growing Salad:

This year, I decided to give a go for myself and planted 6.  Mostly salad is planted here in the fall, when temperatures drop and there is more rain and less sun.  Lamely, I was seduced by the idea when buying my herbs and bought a box of 12, giving away half to a friend.  So far I've been lucky - there has been a lot of rain this spring.  I just hope they make it to growth and don't turn to seed too quickly.  If my experiment fails I'll definitely try again in the fall.

The main trick with salads greens is that they thrive in mild temperate weather with plenty of both water and sunshine.  Salads have been bred to fight off pests in some regions; you can check at your local garden center or seed supplier.

Salads also grow well in containers.  A friend of mine had no garden space whatsoever and planted them in holes punched directly in a bag of potting soil; they were great. 

A couple of vinaigrettes I use all the time:

A note on emulsification.  You can certainly make vinaigrette by hand. I find that individual style varies.  My vinaigrette is always thicker than my husband's.  We just do things different ways.  They are both fine.  For mayonnaise (and this would work with vinaigrette as well) I use the whisk attachment of my stick blender.  It's awesome.

Mustard-Balsamic Vinaigrette

This one is an all-purpose, go-with-everything vinaigrette. If you eat in any of the local restaurants and there is a side of salad greens, this is most likely the dressing.

This is enough for a salad for 4. 

• 1 tsp. dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. balsamic vinegar
• 1/4 c olive oil
• optional: chopped herbs (such as thyme/sage/marjoram or tarragon/chive)

Blend the mustard and vinegar until uniform.

Stirring quickly, add a few drops of olive oil and mix until completely incorporated

Always stirring, add oil in a thin stream (use a liquid measuring cup or olive oil bottle with the little spout) and incorporate until completely emulsified. 

Sweet/Sharp Vinaigrette

This one is great with greens that have a really strong flavor or have some bitterness.

Same method above with the following ingredients

• 1 tsp. dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. red wine vinegar
• 1/2 tsp. honey
• 1/4 c olive oil

When olive oil is nearly all incorporated taste for balance of the sharp/sweet and adjust accordingly.  Add the rest of the olive oil.

Bon appetit!

Sweet, Crunchy Lettuce!

 

Alice Waters, of Chez Panisse fame, made salad cool.  Stories about her tend these days to legend, and one of my favorite is an image of her along a roadside in Berkeley foraging for greens.  I have no idea where I read that, or if it's even true, but what is clear is that she has had a huge impact on one of the elements central to California cuisine: the green salad.   Later, the blogger David Lebovitz wrote that his 13-year stint at Chez Panisse hinged on his reply that salad was his favorite meal.

They are following in a long line of green salad appreciators.  Salad has been cultivated for at least 7000 years.  The cultivation neatly follows the arc of a high school Western civilization class:  First grown in Persia where it spread both east and west (though there were native cultivars in China as well).  Through the west across the mediterranean basin and in Columbus's ship to be spread in the Americas.  What is it about salad?

First, it's easy to grow.  Second, people like it.  Strangely though, it's one of the few crops that resist processing or preservation.  Only darker greens like kale, chard, cabbage and spinach hold up to freezing, canning or pickling.  Salad greens just can't take it.  Though the food processing industry have found a way to use more plastic and create ready-to-eat greens in bags.  Of course, large-scale agriculture has recently had trouble keeping out food-born illnesses.  Don't get me wrong; these problems can also occur on small, organic farms who are also held fast to food safety rules.  The advantage: their reach is limited.  Large-scale, long-distance food processors touch millions of people and the impact can be scary.  Small farms are better able to quality control and when there is a problem it doesn't spread.

Food politics aside, salad is just good.  Unlike my influences above, I don't remember having a Eureka moment.  As a child we ate iceberg with "italian dressing."  I think I liked it fine.  In 80s California, I remember being crazy about sprouts. We grew them on the kitchen counter.  I have only a vague memory of salads. We had a wooden salad bowl that sometimes doubled a chip bowl for gatherings.  Later, in the 90s, I along with everybody else discovered mesculn (Thanks, Alice).  I went to school at UC Davis (english major) and was heavily influenced by the Farmer's market and the co-op. At the millennium I started making my own vinaigrette and mayonnaise - and haven't turned back.  Single, I started cooking for parties and co-workers and most nights eating food I made instead of eating out.  Some eat ice cream straight from the box (I've done it) but during this period I watched my "must see tv" with the salad bowl in my lap.

After I moved to France, for the first time, I ate fresh-picked salad.  first, from my father-in-law's vegetable garden.  Later, on a regular basis, from the CSA 4 miles from my house.  In both cases, I noticed something - the salad had flavor, not just texture and crunch.  The earth was there, distilled and transformed in my mouth. 

Growing Salad:

This year, I decided to give a go for myself and planted 6.  Mostly salad is planted here in the fall, when temperatures drop and there is more rain and less sun.  Lamely, I was seduced by the idea when buying my herbs and bought a box of 12, giving away half to a friend.  So far I've been lucky - there has been a lot of rain this spring.  I just hope they make it to growth and don't turn to seed too quickly.  If my experiment fails I'll definitely try again in the fall.

The main trick with salads greens is that they thrive in mild temperate weather with plenty of both water and sunshine.  Salads have been bred to fight off pests in some regions; you can check at your local garden center or seed supplier.

Salads also grow well in containers.  A friend of mine had no garden space whatsoever and planted them in holes punched directly in a bag of potting soil; they were great. 

A couple of vinaigrettes I use all the time:

A note on emulsification.  You can certainly make vinaigrette by hand. I find that individual style varies.  My vinaigrette is always thicker than my husband's.  We just do things different ways.  They are both fine.  For mayonnaise (and this would work with vinaigrette as well) I use the whisk attachment of my stick blender.  It's awesome.

Mustard-Balsamic Vinaigrette

This one is an all-purpose, go-with-everything vinaigrette. If you eat in any of the local restaurants and there is a side of salad greens, this is most likely the dressing.

This is enough for a salad for 4. 

• 1 tsp. dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. balsamic vinegar
• 1/4 c olive oil
• optional: chopped herbs (such as thyme/sage/marjoram or tarragon/chive)

Blend the mustard and vinegar until uniform.

Stirring quickly, add a few drops of olive oil and mix until completely incorporated

Always stirring, add oil in a thin stream (use a liquid measuring cup or olive oil bottle with the little spout) and incorporate until completely emulsified. 

Sweet/Sharp Vinaigrette

This one is great with greens that have a really strong flavor or have some bitterness.

Same method above with the following ingredients

• 1 tsp. dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. red wine vinegar
• 1/2 tsp. honey
• 1/4 c olive oil

When olive oil is nearly all incorporated taste for balance of the sharp/sweet and adjust accordingly.  Add the rest of the olive oil.

Bon appetit!

Herbes de Provence

 

Reseachers say that our sense of smell is our weakest sense.  Yet I find that it has a powerful link with memory and perhaps it's because of this weakness that scents somehow seem so ephemeral.  When I think of my childhood in northern california can imagine different scents - eucalyptus, manzanita, blooming mustard in the spring, bay leaf. 

The climate in the south of France is not so different from California. The summer air gets that same warm and dry scent.  Last summer we took our young boys on their first camping sleepover in the back country of the Alpes-Maritimes. With the apron of the Riviera spread out below us we perched on our mountain top in the setting sun. Among the moments of pitching tents and chasing after boys I sensed the mountain side began to release its heat from the day and suddenly the air was full of the sun-warm scent of lavender, rosemary and thyme all mixed magically together with sunlight: The herbes de Provence.

Maybe you have seen them in the market stalls and in all the tourist traps along the Riviera. You may even be able to buy them in the grocery store or market in your home town. Herbes de Provence – that little bit of the South of France in your pocket. But how did they get so popular? What’s in them and how and when should you use them?

According to the official growers website, Herbes de Provence are a mix of herbs consisting of

• Oregano
• Savory
• Marjoram
• Thyme
• Basil
• Fennel (green frond if fresh, seed if dry)
• Sage
• Bay leaf
• Rosemary

Most of the plants occur naturally in the region. Only basil is an Asian import but is now so much a part of the Mediterranean cuisines of France and Italy it’s easy to forget.  What's not included is parsley, coriander, tarragon or the native lavender, though often lavender is considered part of the mix.  Historically, the plants were gathered in the wild; often I see people gathering wild thyme and lavender in on the trails near my home or in the back-country.  Today, only 10-15% of spice jars and packets sold as “Herbes de Provence” in France are actually grown in Provence or anywhere else in France. Most is imported from eastern Europe and China. Local growers have organized themselves into a cooperative and are seeking AOC status to be able to market their product as such and to prevent others from using the name, similar to Champagne vs. sparkling wine.Many of the plants are grown in gardens as decorative plants or borders. 

Many locals plant herbs in their gardens or in pots on sunny terraces or window sills.  Most restaurants grow their own.  In our garden herbs are spread out - a rosemary border lines one side of our driveway, and I have recently planted herbs along a wall or in formerly abandoned planters.  While I didn't plant exclusively the native herbs (I love fresh chives and tarragon so those were added too), the garden certainly leans in that direction.  I'm only missing some lavender to make it complete.

Growing and Preserving Herbes de Provence:

Herbes de Provence are easy to grow.  They do well in either in the ground or in pots.  The will thrive with a lot of sunlight and water but many can be grown in partial sun.

The herbs are best used fresh and snipped with a pair of scissors. However, you can easily preserve herbs for use year-round and in a myriad of dishes, marinades, sauces, etc., in a couple of ways:

Dried:  If you have a large bunch of herbs you can pick the branches and dry them in a cool spot for a few days and when they are completely dry pick the leaves and store them in an airtight jar. You can make your own dried herb mix of herbes de provence or store them individually based on what you have.  Dried herbs stored correctly can last up to a year.

There are many variations on the ratios in a mix. Below is a variation from one my early provençal cooking guides, the "Senteurs Proveçales" by Armin Zogbaum (sorry, out of print).

Dried Herbes de Provence Mix

• 3 tablespoons thyme
• 3 teaspoons rosemary
• 1 tsp. basil
• 1 tsp. savory
• 1 tsp. sage
• 1 bay leaf, broken into small pieces
• 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds, crushed

Optional:  1 tbsp lavender flowers, 1/2 tsp. coriander seeds, crushed.

In Oil:  At the end of the season I often have a large bunch of basil that's at the point of use it or lose it.  I usually make a batch of pesto that can last in the fridge, covered in oil, for months.  The same is true for other mixes - chop herbs and cover them in oil and store them in a tight-seal jar.  Kept in a cool, dark place or refrigerator the herbs will last 6-12 months.

Bon appétit!

Herbes de Provence

 

Reseachers say that our sense of smell is our weakest sense.  Yet I find that it has a powerful link with memory and perhaps it's because of this weakness that scents somehow seem so ephemeral.  When I think of my childhood in northern california can imagine different scents - eucalyptus, manzanita, blooming mustard in the spring, bay leaf. 

The climate in the south of France is not so different from California. The summer air gets that same warm and dry scent.  Last summer we took our young boys on their first camping sleepover in the back country of the Alpes-Maritimes. With the apron of the Riviera spread out below us we perched on our mountain top in the setting sun. Among the moments of pitching tents and chasing after boys I sensed the mountain side began to release its heat from the day and suddenly the air was full of the sun-warm scent of lavender, rosemary and thyme all mixed magically together with sunlight: The herbes de Provence.

Maybe you have seen them in the market stalls and in all the tourist traps along the Riviera. You may even be able to buy them in the grocery store or market in your home town. Herbes de Provence – that little bit of the South of France in your pocket. But how did they get so popular? What’s in them and how and when should you use them?

According to the official growers website, Herbes de Provence are a mix of herbs consisting of

• Oregano
• Savory
• Marjoram
• Thyme
• Basil
• Fennel (green frond if fresh, seed if dry)
• Sage
• Bay leaf
• Rosemary

Most of the plants occur naturally in the region. Only basil is an Asian import but is now so much a part of the Mediterranean cuisines of France and Italy it’s easy to forget.  What's not included is parsley, coriander, tarragon or the native lavender, though often lavender is considered part of the mix.  Historically, the plants were gathered in the wild; often I see people gathering wild thyme and lavender in on the trails near my home or in the back-country.  Today, only 10-15% of spice jars and packets sold as “Herbes de Provence” in France are actually grown in Provence or anywhere else in France. Most is imported from eastern Europe and China. Local growers have organized themselves into a cooperative and are seeking AOC status to be able to market their product as such and to prevent others from using the name, similar to Champagne vs. sparkling wine.Many of the plants are grown in gardens as decorative plants or borders. 

Many locals plant herbs in their gardens or in pots on sunny terraces or window sills.  Most restaurants grow their own.  In our garden herbs are spread out - a rosemary border lines one side of our driveway, and I have recently planted herbs along a wall or in formerly abandoned planters.  While I didn't plant exclusively the native herbs (I love fresh chives and tarragon so those were added too), the garden certainly leans in that direction.  I'm only missing some lavender to make it complete.

Growing and Preserving Herbes de Provence:

Herbes de Provence are easy to grow.  They do well in either in the ground or in pots.  The will thrive with a lot of sunlight and water but many can be grown in partial sun.

The herbs are best used fresh and snipped with a pair of scissors. However, you can easily preserve herbs for use year-round and in a myriad of dishes, marinades, sauces, etc., in a couple of ways:

Dried:  If you have a large bunch of herbs you can pick the branches and dry them in a cool spot for a few days and when they are completely dry pick the leaves and store them in an airtight jar. You can make your own dried herb mix of herbes de provence or store them individually based on what you have.  Dried herbs stored correctly can last up to a year.

There are many variations on the ratios in a mix. Below is a variation from one my early provençal cooking guides, the "Senteurs Proveçales" by Armin Zogbaum (sorry, out of print).

Dried Herbes de Provence Mix

• 3 tablespoons thyme
• 3 teaspoons rosemary
• 1 tsp. basil
• 1 tsp. savory
• 1 tsp. sage
• 1 bay leaf, broken into small pieces
• 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds, crushed

Optional:  1 tbsp lavender flowers, 1/2 tsp. coriander seeds, crushed.

In Oil:  At the end of the season I often have a large bunch of basil that's at the point of use it or lose it.  I usually make a batch of pesto that can last in the fridge, covered in oil, for months.  The same is true for other mixes - chop herbs and cover them in oil and store them in a tight-seal jar.  Kept in a cool, dark place or refrigerator the herbs will last 6-12 months.

Bon appétit!

A Little Bit of London: Borough Market

Writing this post reminds me that the amount of stuff I don't know is a lot.  And sometimes finding something new that isn't new at all makes me feel like that last to know.  However, that didn't diminish my enjoyment of the discovery of Borough Market while on a visit to a very frigid London in early February.

Growing up in California during New Wave '80s, London seemed like the best place on earth.  It also was hopelessly foreign, not a place that I could actually go to.  So it's still a bit of thrill that it's only a 2-hour flight from where I live.  I went to meet up with a Bostonian friend I hadn't seen for 4 years.  A friend from fresh-out-of-school youth - raw, not yet fully formed adults.  Now we are middle-aged, married and parents, and this visit was a fun way (for me) to reconnect to that period and to somehow make our friendship relevant now.  I wasn't disappointed - my friend spent part of his college time in London and had his favorite spots and lucky me, Borough Market was on the tour.

We headed there early Saturday morning while the rest of the city slept, recovering from the previous evening.  It as amazing to glide through the city in the sunny but frigid air, the city itself nearly silent.  The market was open, though drowsy, when we arrived.  People were blowing in their hands to warm them.  The stalls were either foods screaming local or careful imports from France and Italy.  There was a lot of cheese. 

The veggies were of the incredibly beautiful winter variety, similar to what we have been eating at home all winter - cabbages of all kinds, squash, chard, potatoes and leeks. 

I was craving a 2nd cup of coffee so my friend introduced me to the Monmouth Coffee Company which immediately reminded me of some of the coffee purveyors in San Francisco.  They clearly take the coffee very seriously (as apparently should we).  Of course it was wonderful - either single-drip or espresso drinks.  I waited at the standing bar while my friend ordered and right there in front of me was kind of manifesto - what it's all about.  I quickly learned that I was not just in some random market coffee stall, but a kind of institution.  Founded in the '70s in Covent Garden by hippie entrepreneur Nicolas Saunders, it has been run and owned by Anita Le Roy for more than 30 years.  It has maintains just three London locations and refused to proliferate despite the growth of coffee culture (i.e. Starbucks and their ilk and Nespresso).  What can I say?  My caffe latte was excellent coffee house coffee.  There is no picture because I put the camera down and drank it hot as soon as it arrived.

 

Walking through the market we were approached by a finger-glove and winter beanie wearing gentleman offering pill-cups of artisanal granola.  It was excellent, nuts, grains and coconut spiced with ginger and sweetened with guava.  I forked out the 5 pounds for a 300g bag.  Basically $7 for 2 cups of granola.  Outrageous and not for the every day.  2 weeks later I enjoyed with my homemade yogurt for breakfast while it lasted.

Then to Neal's Yard, the sister company of Monmouth Coffee.  It was founded by Saunders at the same time, and is owned by Randolph Hodgson, Ms. Le Roy's husband.  I knew immediately that I was in cheese heaven.  While France flouts their cheese and the UK is constantly having to battle their reputation as inferior cuisine, I can say that the cheese at Neal's Yard was simply awesome.  I shied away from the English-made, French style cheese - I don't need another camembert.  We were there early and it wasn't busy but it was still humming.  I'm sure later in the morning it was packed. The folks behind the counter were definitely cheese-crazy - pulling out tasting slices almost before it was asked and importing a lot of arcane information about each one.  We had an interesting discussion about the cultural dimension of taste - we discussed the difference between Chinese, American, French and Italian palates.  No doubt about it that taste is tricky but I can say there is nothing to shy away from at Neal's Yard.  Eat it all.

A thousand thanks to J for taking me on his tour.  Happy to share a 9am burger with you,anytime!