Le jaune d´oeuf

artichoke & mushroom tart

2017-03-29T02:51:00.000-07:00

Late March days, the Charles Dickens kind, "when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade” *; March days like that are just perfect for leisurely strolls through the city. I love Paris in every season, but never is she more beautiful than right now, when nature awakens, and the magnolia trees stand in bloom. My favorite ones are in jardin du Palais Royal in the 1st arrondissement, studded with the prettiest purple flowers you might imagine. Those shades of pale pink, combined with brown and taupe from wood and facades, it´s a combination so beautiful, so timelessly elegant no one can escape its charm: not the grown-ups ceaselessly taking photos with iPhones and cameras, not those who came for a picnic around the fountain or underneath the trees, not the kids who make friends sitting on the ground, picking up fallen leaves from the dust. On days like these, dancing on the edge of shadow and light, a mood of anticipation fills the air I wish would linger on forever.

Another - yet edible - spring fling of mine are those small purple artichokes called poivrades. Sold in bunches of four or five, they remind of a flower bouquet rather than a vegetable, and again, shades of purple, this time combined with green - almost too pretty to eat. But just almost. Here, they go into a slightly parmesan-y tart shell, along with champignon mushrooms (named chamignons roses in French), crème fraîche, and some shavings of endives. Purple ones, bien sûr ;-).

Late March days, the Charles Dickens kind - I imagine them to taste something like this.

* quote from the novel "Great expectations" by Charles Dickens

Artichoke tart with mushrooms & parmesan

makes 1 20 cm/8 inch tart

If you prefer a more pronounced parmesan flavor - and a richer tart -, use more (up to 80 or 100 g) of the grated cheese in the crust and cut down the amount of flour accordingly.

Pâte sablée:

170 g flour

30 g finely grated parmesan

1 egg yolk

100 g cubed butter

3 tbsp cold water, as needed

pinch of salt

Filling and garnish:

5-6 (1 bunch) purple artichokes, trimmed, choke removed, quartered

8-10 medium brown champignons, sliced (champignons roses)

1 purple endive, finely sliced (alternatively, radicchio)

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped or minced

4-5 tbsp crème fraîche

1 egg yolk

2 handfuls of flat leaf parsley, finely chopped

parmesan shavings

1 lemon, halved

salt and pepper

ground nutmeg

olive oil for frying

For the crust, combine all ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Combine well until you obtain a homogenous, slightly crumbly crust. Shape a disc, wrap in cling film and refrigerate for 1 hour or longer.

Cut the stem off the artichokes and pluck 4 or 5 layers of the thick outer leaves - when in doubt, remove more. Cut about 2/3 of the remaining leaves. Slice artichoke lengthwise, and spoon out any fuzzy choke, if there is any, with the help of a teaspoon. Slice each artichoke halve again to end up with quarters. Rub artichokes with lemon immediately (alternatively, place them in a bowl filled with cold water + juice of 1 lemon) to avoid them from getting brownish.

Mince the garlic. Slice endives or radicchio. Gently clean the mushrooms, and pat dry with kitchen paper. Slice mushrooms in 2-3mm thick slices.

Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F.

Line a buttered tart pan (preferrably one with a removable base) with the tart pastry. Refrigerate again.

In a large pan, heat a few tbsp olive oil and fry mushrooms at high heat for 2-3 min. Season with salt. Add artichokes, a splash of lemon juice and continue to cook until artichokes are almost done, 5-7 minutes or so. Add half the garlic, half the sliced endive (or radicchio), give it a good stir (30 sec) and remove from heat.

Once the oven is hot, blind bake the crust for 12-15 minutes, until slightly golden around the edges. To do so, frick pastry with a fork multiple times, cover with a sheet of parchment paper and weigh down with oven proof weights or a second tart pan slightly smaller than the first one.

In a small bowl,mix the remaining garlic with crème fraîche, and egg yolk, half the parsley. Season with salt, a dash of pepper, and ground nutmeg.

After 12-15 minutes, take crust out of the oven, spread garlic cream all over. Arrange artichoke-mushroom mixture, and bake for another 25-30 minutes, until cream is set.

To serve, sprinkle with remaining finely sliced endive and parmesan shavings.

honey cake - gâteau au miel

2017-03-18T07:59:00.001-07:00

"Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory." Gustave Flaubert

With those early strawberries, it´s an affair of the heart, not the palate - there´s no other way to explain why I bought a whole 4 pounds of them last weekend. It was a purchase against better knowledge; we´re obviously far from strawberry season, and other than that, they were imported (from Spain I guess), leaving me with two good reasons to wait a while and keep my hands off. But somehow those strawberries were too tempting to ignore, winning me over not with sweetness, not with scent or flavor, but, beating everything, with a promise. It was the promise of something I´ve been missing for the longest time, and I have no better words to describe it than as a vague foretaste of summer that´s hidden in each of those pretty little redheads, even the palest one.

At home, we happily found that covered by a snowstorm of confectioner´s sugar, they weren´t so bad after all. When expectations are low, chances are you´ll be pleasantly surprised. Still a somewhat sad imitation of the ones that were and the ones that will be, our untimely strawberries no less made us dream about the summer to come, and indulge in memories of summers past. Last year, we had the most succulent gariguettes (a variety of strawberries known to be particularly delicious) in Périgord in the Southwest of France. We keep talking about those days all the time, especially since we received an unexpected present last Christmas, leading me to today´s recipe. Let me explain.

On December 23th, quite early in the morning, but that doesn´t matter, the postman delivered a small white parcel. On the outside, it said nothing about the sender, but when we opened it, we found a selection of seasonal Périgord honeys, offered to us by the lovely family we rented our summer house from. It felt like being gifted with holiday memories all over again, yet in edible form. Miel de printemps, miel de fleurs d´été, miel de fôret. Until lately I kept the jars untouched, like a secret supply is stored until the moment of need. Say when it´s not spring yet, but you desperately want it to be. Indeed, they were perfect to make one of my favorite springtime cakes, le gâteau au miel (honey cake), a cake as unpretentious as it is delicious. Actually it´s not even a seasonal cake, but for some reason, perhaps because it was spring when I first made it, I always associate it with this time of the year. It´s great to have a soft and tender slice of it in the morning with a cup of coffee, or later in the day with crème fraîche and strawberries. Dressed up like that, it would also be the perfect treat to bring to an opulent picnic, if I were invited to one, the kind pictured in an impressionist painting, with people wearing hats and fancy sunday clothes . I´m looking forward to eating this cake, topped with strawberries of course, over and over again, finding each batch better tasting than the last one, until one day, summer will finally be here.

Honey cake

The flavor of this cake strongly depends on the kind of honey you use - less pronounced for milder honeys like, say, wildflower, more intense honey flavor with chestnut or buckwheat honey. As you please.

3 eggs
50 g brown Cassonade sugar
150 g flour
10 g baking powder
90 g butter
100 g honey + more to drizzle (4-6 tbsp) - I used a mix of acacia and chestnut honey
50 g ricotta or 4 tbsp milk
2 tbsp orange flower water, optional

to serve: strawberries, crème fraîche, or ricotta

baking: 180°C/350 °F approx 50 min in a 5 inch tin

Sift flour into a small bowl and mix with baking powder. Melt butter over low heat and allow to cool.

In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, whisk eggs with sugar at high speed until bright and frothy, 3-5 minutes.

Add butter, ricotta (or milk) and honey, reducing speed to low. Add flour/baking powder mix.

Pour batter into a greased baking dish and bake until a wooden skewer comes out clean. Cover cake with aluminum foil during the last minutes should it brown too much.

Leave to cool slightly, unmould and allow to cool completely on a wire rack.

To serve, gently warm 4-6 tbsp honey until it´s easily spreadable. Pour honey onto cake and use a pastry brush to glaze the cake all over. Serve as it is, or with crème fraîche/sweetened ricotta/greek yoghurt and strawberries.

pistachio blood orange tartlets

2017-03-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

As soon as the month of March is in sight, I´m among those who will eagerly notice the slightest signs of spring: a green leaf here, a new blossom there, the sun rising a little earlier than last week, the choir of birds singing a little more enthusiastically in the morning. Actually, I wouldn´t mind skipping winter altogether, proceeding from golden October to bright spring days in the blink of an eye. I wouldn´t miss a thing. Or would I? Metereological adversities aside, admittedly there´s quite a few things I like about the cold season: say candles, cookies, Christmas - and citrus. J´adore les agrumes! Oranges and blood oranges, tangerines and clementines, lemons, limes & grapefruit - over the past months, the entire citrus clan subsequently moved into my kitchen, and helped me through the cold and grey: each sip and bite a little boost of sunshine.

Now that today feels like spring for the first time, the bowl that held piles of oranges and clementines will slowly empty over the next week or so. Next time I buy fruit, I´ll probably chose pears over tangerines, dump the blood oranges for the rhubarb, and the first strawberries are always a temptation on their own, one I can never resist to, even if it will take tons of powdered sugar to bring out their real selves. The allure of the new will make me unfaithful, I know, my beloved oranges will end up being left behind - but before that happens, let´s celebrate together one more time. Let´s have tartlets. Orange, or blood orange and pistachio tartlets. Or lemon, or grapefruit, or tangerine. Anything goes with that scrumptious pistachio tart crust (actually, it´s all about the crust, but don´t tell!). It´s so simple and good. And then, let´s move on to spring!

Blood orange & pistachio tartlets (yields 6 tartlets):

pistachio tart crust:

175 g flour
50 g ground pistachios, from salted pistachios
60 g confectioner´s sugar
3 egg yolks
110 g unsalted butter
pinch of salt (only if using unsalted pistachios)
2-3 tbsp cold water

blood orange curd:
180 ml blood orange juice
juice from 1 lemon (25 ml)
2 eggs + 2 yolks
80 g butter
120 g sugar
blood orange zest if using untreated oranges

decoration:
handful of chopped pistachios
1-2 blood orange, quartered, then very finely sliced
confectioner´s sugar

Make the crust: In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or by hand), working at low to medium speed, mix all the ingredients except water until you obtain a fine crumble, 3-5 min. Then add water 1 tbsp at a time, until the dough comes together. At the end, there should be no more visible butter flakes. Shape a ball, wrap in cling film and refrigerate for 1 hour or longer.

For the curd, squeeze out enough blood oranges to obtain 180 ml juice, plus one lemon. If you have organic fruit, zest 3 of the oranges prior to juicing them. Combine all ingredients for the curd except eggs in a saucepan, set over moderate heat, and allow butter to melt. As soon as the butter has melted, add eggs and yolks, stirring constantly for 7-10 minutes, until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon. Set aside to cool (continue to stir for 30 sec to 1 more minute once the heat is off to avoid curdling).

Preheat your oven to 180°C/350 °F. Grease 6 tartlets tins with butter and line them with the rolled out pastry. Make sure to work on a well floured surface, and using a well floured rolling pin etc as the dough is quite delicate.

Prick tartlets multiple times with a fork, cover each one with a circle of parchment and add some ovenproof weights. Blind bake tartlets for a couple of minutes (about 7 min should do).

Remove parchment and weights, pour cooled curd into pastry shells. Bake for another 12-15 minutes approx. Leave to cool on a wire rack, unmould once cooled.

To serve, quarter 1 or 2 blood oranges and slice them very finely. On a parchment paper lined baking tray, dust orange slices with confectioner´s or brown sugar. Brown oranges under oven broiler under constant sight. Sprinkle tartlets with a few chopped pistachios and a couple of "burnt" orange slices.

Scallops & creamy leeks

2017-03-10T08:47:00.000-08:00

Paris is only one and a half hours away from the shores of Normandy, so the seafood you buy here is abundant, it´s plentiful, it´s fresh, and so very tasty. It´s been almost two years now that I´ve lived here, still I´m in awe each and every time I go to the market. It always takes me an extra minute or two to admire all the beautiful soles, daurades, mussels, lobsters, clams, cods and St. Pierres before I make my choice - the `harvest` from the sea seems infinite (though I´m well aware it´s not), and mostly my eyes are much larger than my stomach, especially when it come seafood (and cheese, and poultry, and...). Quite often I have crush on a certain recipe that I make all the time for a couple of weeks, and this time of year, it´s impossible to ignore the scallops.

For right now, les St. Jacques sell like hot cakes at the fishmongers´ and seafood stalls. In France, fishing scallops is only permitted between October and May, so this is the best time to enjoy these beautiful creatures of the sea. Whenever I have the opportunity, I love to buy them en coquille, in their shell - not only is it incredibly pretty to look at and a sign of freshness; it´s also a special moment of pleasure to open it up and find that glistening ivory colored "noix" inside (noix actually means walnut, but here it also means the scallop muscle).

And then, once the hoard is recovered, you have the time to imagine what to do with your edible treasures. My answer is, not too much. Scallops pair beautifully with something (bitter)sweet and hearty, making them the perfect match for this season´s silent stars from the vegetable stands: leeks, or if you don´t like them, braised endives. A little bit of white wine, a few dollops of cream, some crunchy bits of fried raw ham, et voilà, une petite gourmandise de la mer (a little delight from the sea)!

Scallops with leeks (serves 2 as a light meal or starter):

6-8 scallops with or without corail
2 large leeks, white and very bright green parts only (350 g)
40 g butter
50 ml cream
50 ml white wine
3 slices of raw ham, like ham from Bayonne or Parrma
salt and pepper
a dash of piment d´Espelette
small handful of chopped parsley

To prepare the leeks, cut root and thick green parts (liberally) from the stalks, ending up with roughly 350 g/3/4 pound of `blancs de poireaux`. Slice into 0.5 cm/0.2 inch rondelles and set aside.

In a large non-stick pan over medium to high heat, fry scallops in half the butter for 30 seconds to 1 min on each side. It´s ok when the butter browns slightly, but not too much. Reserve scallops on a plate.

Reduce heat to medium. Fry leeks, stirring frequently until soft but not browned, 10-12 minutes, gradually adding remaining butter. Season with salt and a dash of black pepper. Deglaze with the white wine, increase heat to high and reduce until liquid is almost fully absorbed, 2-3 minutes. Reduce heat to low, add cream, cover and allow to simmer for 5 min or until leeks are fully cooked, and slightly sweet. Add scallops to the pan for the last minute or so.

Meanwhile, in another pan, fry ham (finely sliced) until fat is completely rendered and the ham is very crispy. Add a dash of olive oil if necessary.

To serve, arrange leeks and scallops on a plate, sprinkle with bits of ham, parsley and season with a dash of piment d´Espelette if desired (spice from the Basque region of France, alternatively, use mild ground chili).

Green tomato jam - la confiture aux tomates vertes

2017-03-02T05:52:00.000-08:00

Whenever I see green tomatoes, I can´t help but picture Whistle Stop Café from the film "Fried green tomatoes". How I loved this movie when I was in my teens and early twenties. In very short terms, should you not know it, an old lady named Ninny Threadgoode meets sad middle aged Evelyn who is for a visit at Ninny´s retirement home. The two befriend, and over time Ninny tells Evelyn the story of the friendship between Ruth and Idgie, two women running a small café in Alabama during the 1930ies. The` Whistle Stop Café` is known for good coffee, good barbecue, and fried green tomatoes (and also the occasional murder of Ruth´s violent husband), but above all it´s a place where joy and laughter, love and family are celebrated against the odds of violence, racism and strokes of fate. It´s a place to eat, and a safe haven - everything I grew up to believe a kitchen should be. On top of it all, the story of Ruth and Idgie sparks off Evelyn´s attempts to emancipation and self-determination. Now that´s food for a young girl´s mind.

Every time I watched the movie, I told myself to give those notorious fried green tomatoes a try. So far, I didn´t get beyond the intention. Instead, I made green tomato jam a few days ago. I´ve never been a busy bee when it comes to making marmalade, but from time to time, especially when it´s cold outside, I fall for the idea of having something sweet and fragrant bubbling away on the stovetop. Looking for a flavor I couldn´t easily grap at my local épicerie, I dreamt about winter melons, a specialty in the South of France, but couldn´t get them. Next I´ve waited for the rhubarb, but so far he stood me up. Then I saw the green tomatoes at the greengrocer´s, and that was it. With a hint of vanilla, lemon and ginger, la confiture de tomates vertes is my actual favorite, so light and fresh and flavorful. While it was simmering, it was a touch of Whistle Stop breezing through my kitchen.

Green tomato jam (makes about 500 ml, 2 medium jars):

550 g green tomatoes

300 g fine sugar

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise & seeds scraped off

1 lemon, juice and zest

5 g fresh grated ginger (about a cherry sized chunk)

Wash tomatoes, remove strunks and cut into small dices. In a pot with a lid, bring to boil, covered, and simmer for 10 minutes at low heat. Add sugar, vanilla bean & seeds, lemon juice & zest, and grated ginger, continue to simmer for about 40 minutes, uncovered, or until thickened and volume reduced to somewhat less than half. Don´t overcook for the jam will become very thick and pasty once cooled.

Keep refrigerated in sterilized jars.

Canelés au Cointreau

2017-02-14T04:11:00.000-08:00

recipe: Canelés au cointreau

When the mimosas bloom, you know it´s almost spring - not here in Paris, but somewhere at least. Not too far away, in the South of France, there must have been milder days, allowing for the mimosa trees to explode with thousands upon thousands of little pompoms. If I had the time, I´d love to hop into my car and drive South, to Médoc perhaps, or even better to the Côte d´Azur, with nothing much but scissors in my bags. Aimlessly (I´m not a good scout), I´d cruise around and admire the bursts of yellow, dotting the grey landscape. Then I´d find the most overwhelming mimosa tree and cut a few branches, just for myself. No one could guess, I´d choose a really large one that wouldn´t look the slightest bit less pretty without my secret little theft. Bad consciously I´d head home. In my defense, I had nothing to say except perhaps that I so needed to see a ray of light on our mostly cloudy horizon. At home, I´d take out the largest vase I could find and honor my prey with admiring looks and fresh water every day.

But I´m not good at stealing, or doing things that aren´t really permitted. So I´ll pass by the fleuriste later in the afternoon and buy some mimosas to replace the ones on the mantelpiece, for they´ re starting to fade.

You always want what you don´t have. But dwelling on thoughts about the South of France lately called to mind one of my favorite confections: canelés from Bordeaux. The story behind these little cakes is somewhat mysterious, yet tightly entangled with region they originate from. As we´re talking Bordeaux, of course it all has to do with wine: Traditionally, vinification in Bordeaux would involve a step called collage that required egg whites to clarify the solids from the ripening wine. Left over yolks were too precious to be thrown away, so the château owners would give them to the local convents. Probably inspired by a then popular cake called canole, the sisters would invent canelés and flavor them with rum and vanilla bean - exotic ingredients at the time that arrived at the nearby port of Bordeaux. If you make canelés for the first time, you´ll see that the batter is very thin, like a crêpes batter, and has to sit for a while for a maximum of flavor. While I adore the traditional canelés, I prefer to substitute rum with Cointreau liqueur and add some orange zest - the result is at least as flavorful. Either way, the secret of a perfect canelé is the soft and custardy core, wrapped in a thick, dark (almost burnt) caramelized crust - molleux & croustillant, that´s how it´s got to be!

Canelés au Cointreau (makes 14-15):

500 ml milk
40 g butter
1 vanilla pod, split lengthwise & seeds scraped out
125 g sifted flour
200 g sugar
70 ml Cointreau (orange liqueur)
zest from 1 untreated orange

Bring milk with butter, sugar, vanilla pod and seeds to a soft boil. Remove from the heat, leave to cool for about 5 minutes, then take out vanilla pod.

Using a hand whisk, whisk in the sifted flour, avoiding lumps (If there are a few, never mind. If there are too many, simply pass mixture through a fine mashed sieve). Finally, add Cointreau and orange zest. By now the batter should be quite thin, like a crêpe or pancake batter. Leave to cool completely, then refrigerate for 24-48 hours.

When ready to bake, preheat oven 200°C. Divide batter into canelé moulds, filling them to 3/4. Bake for 55-60 minutes.

A few notes:
1. Moulds: The classic canelés moulds are copper moulds. If you use them, you have to butter them very liberally, but in my experience not even that will prevent the canelés from sticking here and there, so it can be difficult to unmould them. On the plus side, the canelés will brown somewhat more evenly. But as I am a huge fan of easy unmoulding, I use silicone moulds, I don´t grease them, and I´m very happy with the result.
2. Resting time: 24 hours or more is ideal to make the flavors come together. However, if you don´t want to wait that long, overnight, or even a few hours of resting, is fine, too.
3. When to eat? Canelés are best a few hours after baking. Once cooled, the crust is wonderfully crisp and caramelized, like a perfect crème brûlée topping, but all around. You will still find them great the next day, but the crust will soften. You can place them in the hot oven for 1 or 2 minutes to reheat them if you prefer them warm (but be careful not to burn them).

Sauce béarnaise with steak & parsnip fries

2017-02-13T04:47:00.000-08:00

A perfectly cooked steak and un bon ballon de rouge, a good glass of red, that´s a meal I can hardly ever resist to, let alone when it comes with a buttery sauce Béarnaise. The Béarnaise truly is among the biggest stars of French bistrot cuisine, the Brigitte Bardot of sauces: golden, decadent, tantalizing. Refined and flavorful, it´s hard to imagine it wasn´t purposefully created by an ingenious chef, but as the legend goes, we owe this classic to a very trivial kitchen mishap.

The story dates back to the year 1837. In St. Germain-en-Laye, not far from where I live, a celebration is being held honoring the new railway line connecting the quiet suburb with the glamorous capital. At the restaurant Le pavillion Henri IV, tensions are high in the kitchen: Everything is supposed to be perfect on this special day - until someone screws up a shallot sauce. Dauntlessly, the chef of the kitchen, a man called Collinet, saves the preparation by adding egg yolks and herbs, then serves it as if it nothing had happened. Applauding guests ask for the name of his creation, and in the heat of the moment, he thinks of home or, perhaps more likely, sees the bust of Henri IV from the corner of his eye. And since they were both from the province of Béarn, the sauce Béarnaise was born.

Sauce béarnaise:

2 shallots, finely chopped
1/2 bouquet of each tarragon and chervil, chopped
180 g butter
3 egg yolks
25 ml white wine vinegar
40 ml white wine
salt and pepper
1tbsp water

Chop shallots and herbs finely.

Clarify butter: In a small saucepan, gently heat butter so that the solids separate from the golden fat. You will have two phases: the white foamy proteins on top, the clarified butter below. Remove from heat. Discard white foam with a spoon, pour clarified butter in a small recipient and set aside.

In another saucepan, bring shallots with vinegar, wine, salt & pepper and half of the herbs to boil. Simmer over medium heat until slightly syrupy and reduced to about a third of the initial volume.

Remove from heat. Strain reduction through a fine meshed sieve. Using a hand whisk, add water and the yolks, one by one, to the vinegar-shallot-reduction, vigorously whisking away.

Put back over low heat, whisking until the sauce starts to thicken. Remove from heat for a few seconds every 1-2 minutes or so to avoid overheating and curdling. After 7-10 minutes, the sauce will be nice and frothy. Remove from heat and whisk in the clarified butter and remaining herbs. Adjust seasoning and serve over pan seared steak (or salmon, veal filet, green asparagus - it´s always good!).

Parsnip fries (frites de panais):

At our house, there is hardly any steak without frites. For as long as parsnips are in season, I use them instead of potatoes - their sweetness pairs wonderfully with the slight acidity of the Béarnaise.

Count 1-2 medium parsnips per person. Peel parsnips and cut into fries of about 2 inch/5 cm length and desired thickness. Fry at 160 °C in neutral vegetable or peanut oil until golden. Place on kitchen paper to drain excess fat. Season with fleur de sel.

Steak:

As I love my steak à point (medium), I prefer an entrecôte, faux-filet, or filet. If you are a fan of rare cooked meat though, `bavette` (on the very right in the first photo) or `onglet` might be perfect cuts for you. Both must just kiss the sizzling hot pan for a minute or so on either side, otherwise you´ll end up with a chewy sole of a shoe on your plate - and not even the most velvety Béarnaise will be able to make up for that.

Brush a griddle pan with peanut or neutral vegetable oil suitable for deep frying. When sizzling hot (test with the tip of a toothpick or wooden skewer), add meat and don´t move it until it loosens from the bottom of the pan, about 2 min. Flip over and sear for another 1.5-2 minutes, or until desired cuisson. Allow to rest on a plate for 5 minutes, covered with aluminum foil. Season with fleur de sel. (The times indicated are for medium cuisson, à point in French, for cuts of about 200 g each).

….and next time a French waiter asks you about your cuisson préférée, how you would like your steak being cooked, here´s what to say:

bleu - very rare

saignant - rare

à point - medium

bien cuit - well done

Bon appétit!

La tarte au chocolat à la réglisse

2017-02-10T09:13:00.001-08:00

Recipe: chocolat liquorice tart

When we moved to Paris some time ago, I arrived with a ragtag idea of France composed from childhood memories of holidays spent in Paris, at the coast of Brittany and in Provence. It was a perception I knew I couldn´t trust, a fragmentary postcard image of vintage looking bakeries, retro charme cars and nonchalant flaneurs with baguettes under the arm. It was obvious it wouldn´t stand the test of ordinary life, which has its flaws here as much as anywhere else. However, while in France, it´s easy to get captured by the flair of what one might think of as the good old days, radiated by so many everyday objects and items: an old fashioned Métro entrance perhaps, an elegant hôtel particulier (grand house or villa), a beautiful vintage plate - or a tiny box of licorice candy. Cachou Lajaunie, just that name. Holding the black & yellow box in my palm, I instantly picture that same box might have fallen of some school kids´s satchel fifty years ago. I´m sure it looks exactly the same today, as it did then.

Recently, in the mood for a very early spring clean, I found about a year´s supply of Cachou Lajaunie pastilles in several purses and kitchen pantries. At times, it´s good to have daily dose of nostalgia on hand wherever you go. But with reserves like that, I could easily do without a spoonful or two, and that´s how this tart saw the light of day. I love adding an unexpected flavor to desserts, especially chocolat ganaches, then make my family guess what it might be. It´s a fun game, especially if no one has a clue. But they´re really good at it! The Cachou Lajaunie bonbons add a smoky, earthy undertone from the licorice, yet also a little freshness from the mint, a combination that works wonderfully with the dark chocolat. If you don´t like licorice, just leave it out and try the tart plain, with chocolate and perhaps a dash of fleur de sel. The slightly runny filling ( it´s called mi-cuit, half-cooked ) is so silky and smooth, simply heavenly!

Tarte au chocolat à la réglisse, façon `mi-cuit`:

makes one 8 inch/20 cm tart

Salted butter almond crust:
180 g flour
50 g ground almonds
115 g cold cubed salted butter
1 egg yolk
3-4 tbsp cold water
60 g powdered sugar

Chocolate filling:
140 g dark chocolate
1 tsp licorice Lajaunie bonbons -about 15 little pastilles
120 g cream
2 fresh eggs

For the crust, combine all ingredients except water until a crumbly dough starts to form. Add water, one tablespoon at a time, until the dough will be homogenous, without any visible chunks of butter. Shape a disc , wrap in cling film and refrigerate for 30 minutes or more.

When ready to bake, roll out the dough on a floured surface. Line a buttered tart mould and cut off excess pastry from the edges (keeps in the fridge for a few days, or refrigerated for up to 3 months). Prick with a fork multiple times, refrigerate again until the oven is preheated to 180°C/350°F. Cover pastry with a circle of parchment paper, spread oven proof weights all over, and blind bake for 12-15 minutes. Switch the oven off.

While the pastry is baking, beat eggs in a small bowl. Break chocolate into small chunks.

Bring cream and licorice candy to a soft boil, stirring all the time so the candy melt entirely in the cream. Off the heat, stir in the chocolate chunks until completely melted. Using a fork, whisk in the eggs to obtain a smooth, creamy mixture.

Remove weights and parchment from the pastry shell. Pour chocolat mixture into the baked tart shell, return to the switched off oven for 8-10 minutes, until somewhat set, but still a bit wobbly.

Serve lukewarm or just cooled.