Carnival, Germany 1989

Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Carnival. Shrove Tuesday. Pancake Day.

All over the world – in various customs and traditions, the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday has come to mean celebration. A time of great revelry in order to ‘get it out of one’s system’ in preparation for the long, solemn season of Lent. In America, we generally associate this day with Mardi Gras and our friends in the Bayou State where Louisianans laissez les bons temps rouler for one of the most notable celebrations in the world.

My first Fat Tuesday celebration was in 1989. I was living in Strasbourg, France my junior year in college and my host family took us on a day trip to Germany to partake in Carnival. Carnival comes from the Latin words carne vale, meaning “farewell to flesh.”  Since Roman times, Carnival has been celebrated in European and Latin American countries as a brief season of feasting spanning the time between Epiphany and Lent. The Christian church year is divided into two distinct seasons: Advent/Christmas/Epiphany and Lent/Easter/Pentecost. Between Epiphany and Lent there is a brief period of Ordinary Time. There is also a season of Ordinary Time between Pentecost and Advent.

Church Year Cycle

Of course, I knew none of this when I was living abroad in France. I just went along for the ride, understanding only vaguely that my Carnival experience was richly steeped in centuries-old Christian tradition. I’ve lived in France during two Carnival seasons, and there is really nothing quite like it. Experiencing these ancient religious practices helped shed some light on some of the customs we see today. For example the King Cake. Chances are if you’ve walked in a grocery store in the past week, you’ve seen festive King Cakes lavishly displayed. Do you know the history behind the King Cake? We tend to associate the cake with Mardi Gras celebrations, but historically the cakes were prepared for Epiphany on January 6th. Epiphany is the 12th day after Christmas and celebrated as the day the Magi – or Kings, arrived bearing gifts for the Christ child.

Another tradition we are fond of at The Schell Cafe is Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day. Dating from the Middle Ages, Shrove Tuesday is the English way of celebrating the Tuesday before Lent. Historically, after weeks of celebrating, feasting and eating delicious King Cake, kitchens throughout Europe were well stocked with butter, eggs, sugar, and fats. Think about your own kitchen pantry after Christmas. I know I still have extra ingredients (ahem, chocolate chips and Karo!) left over from the season of baking. In the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia and Canada, Shrove Tuesday is known as Pancake Day because all the remaining rich ingredients were used up to make pancakes on the night before the fasting season of Lent began. Shrove is derived from the word shrive which means to confess and receive absolution. Practically speaking, the best food in the house was used up in a feast before the fast.

The Littles love Shrove Tuesday. They’ve dubbed in Two Breakfast Tuesday because we eat breakfast twice today. You can read about our past Shrove Tuesday celebrations where I share more history on the tradition and my mother-in-law’s Griddle Cake recipe. Tonight we’ll be making up a huge batch of delicious pancakes using my new favorite recipe for Yogurt Pancakes. Don’t worry if you are missing some of the ingredients in this list (like Coconut Oil or Flaxseed). The point is to use up what you’ve got and make a sweet feast as we prepare our hearts for the coming season of Lent.

Yogurt Pancakes
(for Shrove Tuesday or a festive Pancake Supper)

2 eggs
2 cups plain, organic Stonyfield yogurt (French Vanilla is good too!)
2 TBS canola oil
2 TBS Coconut Oil
1 TBS honey
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
2 TBS flaxseed

In a blender, combine the eggs, yogurt, canola, coconut oil and honey.

In a large bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and flaxseed. Gently pour the yogurt mixture into the dry ingredients and stir until just combined.

Cook the pancakes on a pre-heated, hot griddle until golden brown and fluffy.

Top with warm maple syrup, fresh berries, crème fraiche, or whatever your heart (and taste buds!) desires.

Do you celebrate Mardi Gras, Carnival or Shrove Tuesday? What traditions do you have to share with us?

Love,

I’m pretty sure the world does not need another smoothie recipe. But, I’m in a smoothie-state-of-mind and thought I would share the love. I’m just back from a brutal stint at the gym where my trainer and I discussed smoothies in between breaths – mine, naturally, not hers. I offered numerous times to actually stop what we were doing (lunges and such) so I could make her a fabulously healthy smoothie. I can be quite generous like that. She towed the party line and insisted that we keep on lunging. And lifting. And lunging.

The Littles love smoothies. I love sneaking all kinds of goodness into our smoothies — like flax seed and broccoli. Over the years, we’ve made hundreds of smoothies with all kinds of delicious variations. You can do a quick search of The Schell Cafe (top right corner) and pull up several of our tried and true recipes. Lately we’ve had three special smoothies giving the Vitamix a workout. In fact, I’m sipping The Green Monster as we speak. How’s that for real-time blogging?

Schell Café Favorite Smoothies

The Green Monster 

1 cup Almond Coconut Milk Blend (Blue Diamond)
2 cups spinach
2 tbs flax seed
1 tbs virgin coconut oil
1 tbs almond butter
1 banana, frozen

Green Goodness It’s Good!

2 medium oranges, peeled and quartered
8-10 frozen strawberries
1 banana, peeled
1 small apple, cored and quartered
2 cups spinach
2 cups ice cubes

One-A-Day Yogurt Smoothie

1 cup orange juice
1 cup Stonyfield French Vanilla Yogurt
10-12 frozen strawberries

PRINT RECIPE

Blend up these concoctions and enjoy! And, tell me, what’s in your blender? I’d love to know your favorite smoothie recipes, too.

Love,

Aside from raising four Littles, the most humbling, if not down right humiliating, thing I’ve done in a very long time is participate in French Conversation class at the Alliance Francaise. I’m one month in to these weekly gatherings and let’s just say things are going painfully slow. The good news is I understand everything being said in the class – religion, politics, casual banter. I’m quite impressed with my ability to hang with the conversations. Inevitably, however, the moment occurs when it’s my turn to speak. Oh la la! In my mind I have the perfect French accent and words flow effortlessly in thoughtfully constructed sentences. I really hear them in my brain this way, but something dreadful happens en route from my brain to my mouth. It’s as if my perfectly acquired French gets blended with Pig Latin and comes out heavy on the pork. Really. It’s that bad. So bad, in fact, I’ve concluded that the only true remedy for my ailing French is to immerse myself completely in the language and culture. Preferably in a charming pastoral cottage overflowing with peonies, chickens, and olive trees. So far, my French edification plan has fallen on Husband’s deaf ears.

My kitchen has reflected an eclectic offering of French favorites lately.  Apparently the non-stop Learn French podcasts I pipe through the house have not only gone to my head but my stomach as well. Luckily the family views my culinary meanderings a bonus. Especially, oeufs cocotte. These simple eggs baked in individual ramekins will spice up any dulled breakfast routine. We adore eggs at The Schell Cafe. Husband and I eat egg whites almost daily, adding to them left over cooked veggies or something savory from our CSA basket. We also get farm-fresh, organic eggs delivered in our Johnson Backyard Garden CSA basket.

Baked eggs are deliciously cozy and equally perfect as a lazy Saturday brunch or a quick weekday breakfast. Since they require no time at the stove, these eggs have become a welcome addition to our early morning routine. And for a brief moment, while savoring the blended flavors of crunchy toast dipped in warm cheese, eggs and ham, my mind tricks me into believing I’m happily ensconced at a farmhouse kitchen table in Provence. Speaking perfect French, bien sûr.

Oeufs Cocotte (Baked Eggs)

eggs, 1 per person

ham, 1 slice per person

1 TBS Gruyere or Parmesan cheese

1 green onion, chopped

salt & pepper

butter

Butter ramekins. Line each ramekin with a thin slice of ham. Crack egg into ramekin being extra careful not to break the yolk. Sprinkle each ramekin with one tablespoon of freshly grated cheese and green onion slices. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Place ramekins on a baking sheet and bake at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes. Egg whites will be set, but yolks still runny.

Remove eggs from oven and serve immediately with toast or warm bread.

PRINT RECIPE

À Votre Santé!

Love,

This is the first post in the new series Cooking con Chelita. If you missed the announcement, 

be sure to read about the exciting things happening

at The Schell Cafe. I’m grateful you are at the table!

Forty-five years ago, two young love birds flew the coup and headed to South America to serve in the Peace Corps. Happily married in Caracas, Venezuela the husband and wife learned they were in the family way and decided to make plans to return to the States to give birth to their first born. Impressed by her South American surroundings, the wife was smitten with the name Chela and hoped, should their baby be a girl, to bestow this name upon her. In the end, the young parents decided that perhaps they should name their baby something less elegant and exotic. So they named their daughter Kristin. But the story of how her name was almost Chela stuck.

About the same time, in a Spanish speaking country not too far away, another little girl was born. Nestled on their apple orchard in the Northwest Central Plains of Mexico, a rancher and his wife welcomed a daughter to their growing family. Although the nickname the father bestowed upon the little girl isn’t her given — or preferred name for that matter, Chelita stuck. Chelita, of course, means Little Chela.

Fast forward to a very modern and current day. Like two weeks ago. Imagine jaws dropped completely on the floor when these two women discovered they shared a common, very uncommon, name – Chela.

There you have it. Dos Chelas. Chelita and me. Two women brought together by fate more than circumstance and whose similarities outshine any differences. More than anything, Chelita and I share share a passion for creating meals and memories for our families.

We cook together often. It’s really something – these days of cooking together. Two cultures marinating, spiced with histories and preferences. Infused with a heavy portion of humor given the fact that half the time neither one of us is entirely sure what the other is saying. (But, I suppose that can be said of any relationship!) Somehow between the sautéing, pureeing, and dicing, Chelita and I manage to understand each other perfectly. That said, I have never in my life taken a word of Spanish. If, in the course of this cooking journey, you find that I confuse mantequilla with mantelería, please be sure to cook with the butter and set the table with the linens.

One of the first dishes Chelita shared with me is a delicious Salsa con Crema. The Littles love the creamy salsa so much I’m sure they would eat it with nothing but a spoon. Delicious on grilled chicken, topped on shrimp tostadas or even straight out of the bowl as a dip with chips, we can’t get enough of salsa con crema.  Depending on your heat tolerance, feel free to cut back or increase the amount of jalapeños you add to your salsa.

Salsa con Crema 
(from Chelita)

3 tomatillos, peeled and quartered

2 garlic cloves, minced

2 jalapeños, seeded and chopped

1/2 cup cilantro, rough chopped

1/2 cup sour cream

1/2 cup milk

2 avocados, peeled and sliced

salt & pepper

In a blender place tomatillos, garlic, jalapeños, cilantro, sour cream and milk. Blend until smooth. Add avocados, pulse until smooth. Season with salt and pepper to taste. You can add a squeeze of fresh lime to boost the flavors and to prevent discoloration. Salsa con crema will last in a covered dish in the refrigerator for up to three days. But, you won’t have it that long!

PRINT RECIPE

Besos y abrazos,

Welcome 2012!

We are still in holiday-celebrate-rest-do-less-and-enjoy mode. Husband and I celebrated 14 years of marriage on New Year’s Eve, the Littles – still riding the Christmas high – have a couple days before heading back to school, and we are treasuring the time.

I’m so eager to share plans for 2012 with you, I couldn’t wait until next week. How ’bout a sneak peek into 2012 at The Schell Cafe? I have three announcements to share – ideas which have taken their own sweet time to evolve and are finally here.

Come to the Table. In this series, we’ll explore the Biblical feasts of the Old Testament and cook through the celebrations and seasons of the Christian calendar. Our journey will be rich in Jewish tradition — aided by the rabbinical expertise of a couple dear friends, and practices initiated by the early Christian church, but long forgotten by our modern culture. Celebrating the feasts are not meant to be legalistic, but to show hospitality and goodwill — the shalom that exists between family and friends. After all, a cheerful heart has a continual feast.

Cooking con Chelita. Oh friends you are in for a treat! Although not her real name, Chelita is very much real — a real friend and helpmate who also happens to be a talented and resourceful cook. I have had the good fortune of cooking with Chelita, learning the art of true Mexican cuisine. Using Chelita’s recipes and my translations, side-by-side we’ll bring you simple, authentic meals with easy to find ingredients so you, too, can bring traditional, home-cooked meals of Mexico to your table.

Finally, I will be announcing a special partnership with a well-respected, national brand known for pioneering responsible and sustainable food practices. A true steward in the food industry, I’m proud to begin 2012 with a relationship with this company.

If you haven’t already subscribed to receive The Schell Cafe, be sure click the subscription button in the top, left corner of this page. I also regularly share tips, musings, and behind-the-scenes glimpses of life at the cafe on twitter, Facebook and instagram as @theschellcafe. Come join the conversations there, too!

I look forward to gathering ’round the table with you this year. As always, I’m grateful you are here and look forward to our adventures together this coming year.

Happy New Year, friends!

Love,

Now here’s something you won’t catch me saying very often.

“GET THEE TO A LIQUOR STORE!”

Probably should explain myself, huh?

For fourteen December-thirty-firsts, Husband and I have celebrated the gift of marriage. New Year’s Eve is a spectacular evening on which to be married. Unless you are the wedding planner and Mia who had to work doubly hard to find venues, bands, caterers, etc. to joyfully provide their services on the big night. For us, the bride & groom, the evening – and all anniversaries since – was dreamy.

While subsequent New Year’s Eves have been celebrated with far less fanfare, our anniversaries are nonetheless still dreamy. Mostly because of a simple drink that has become our traditional toast.

I’ve posted this recipe for the last four years. In fact, two years ago I solicited names for our signature anniversary drink. It deserves a grand title!

Guilty of redundancy, you need to be reminded of this dreamy dessert. So ‘get thee to a liquor store,’ purchase a small bottle of Tuaca, and tell me if you don’t lick your lips and eschew all social graces by continuing to lick the highball glass Cascade-clean.

Just so we are clear, Tuaca (an Italian liqueur that dates back to the Renaissance) is purposefully blended into a pint of Haagen Daz Dulce de Leche ice cream. That’s it. Except for the drinking, savoring and lip-licking.

In keeping with the dreaminess of this dessert and to honor the celebration for which it will undoubtedly become world renowned, I’m dubbing our anniversary drink Rêves Doux, which means Sweet Dreams.

Rêves Doux (pour deux)

1 pint Haagen-Daz Dulce de Leche ice cream

Tuaca, to taste

Remove Dulce de Leche ice cream from freezer and allow to soften slightly. Add ice cream and Tuaca (one or two shots, or…) to blender and whirl to creamy, dreamy perfection. Pour into your fanciest, or most lick-able, glasses.

PRINT RECIPE

Happy New Year!

And to my love, Happy Anniversary. Life with you, Husband, is certainly a sweet dream.

Love,

Did you know Bethlehem means “house of bread” in Hebrew?

It’s true. Stop by The Kitchen Mission for my musings on this astonishing news.

Advent, the season of waiting and preparing, is fading making way for the joyous crescendo of Christmas. Despite the usual hustle and bustle of pageants and parties for each of the four Littles, we’ve enjoyed a relatively quiet season this year. Partially because of the things I took off my unruly list. We didn’t send cards, or host an extravagant party, or even finish decorating the tree. It’s been wonderful! And the pockets of unplanned or pre-purposed time have brought opportunities we might have otherwise missed.

Like making Bethlehem Bread.

As soon as I recovered from the fact that I must have slept through the Church 101 class where everyone learns Bethlehem means “house of bread,” I immediately assumed people all over the world were making delicious loaves of freshly baked Bethlehem Bread. Luckily, for pride’s sake, my assumptions were wrong. Google Bethlehem Bread and you’ll find, as did I, that there’s not a sea of recipes. In fact, the only reliable source I could find in my five minutes of research is a recipe from the First Baptist Church in Burnet, Texas.

Now if you ain’t from these here parts of the Village, you are probably wondering where on earth is Burnet, Texas. Burnet is a hop, skip and a jump from the ATX and draws folks to the area known for the beautiful Highland Lakes. Mia and Popa have a lake house on Inks Lake and for thirty-some-odd years, our family has called this little slice of heaven home away from home. Burnet, by the way, is pronounced, “Burnet, durn-it. Learn-it!”

Can you imagine that the one and only recipe I found for Bethlehem Bread is from Burnet? Talk about a coinkydink. So the Littles and I decided to celebrate the good news that Bethlehem means to us by baking bread courtesy of the First Baptist Church in Burnet. I’ve made some revisions to the recipe, opting for more savory than sweet rolls with a sprinkling of sea salt in lieu of  sugar. We laughed as we tried to form “figure eights” out of the dough. Don’t be discouraged if yours come un-tucked as the dough rises. The results will still be pretty and, more importantly, delicious.

Merry Christmas, friends!

Love,

On the heels of professing my deepest desire to return to all thing French, I will share a haphazard story of how our family came to celebrate an Italian saint, honored in Sweden, with a Jewish rugelach. Rugelach, which means “little twists” in Yiddish, are rolled cookies that resemble croissants. They are delicious and I pick them up from time to time in the Kosher section of our local HEB grocery. While certainly tasty, I doubt there is a single instance in the entire world of a family celebrating St. Lucia Day with rugelach. Until now. The irony of this morning’s celebration of St. Lucia Day was too good not to share with my dear friend, Honk. We laughed so hard, I thought I’d share the love, er lore.

This Advent season, the eldest girl Little and I had hopes of surprising our family with a traditional morning feast honoring St. Lucia. I’ve shared the story of St. Lucia at The Kitchen Mission today so you can learn more about this honored Italian saint. Traditionally on St. Lucia Day, December 13th, the eldest daughter in the family wakes up very early, bakes Lucia Buns and makes hot chocolate and coffee. Dressed in a white gown, wearing a crown of candles, she wakes each member of her family serving them the delicious treats in bed.

My eldest girl Little (I really wish I could use their real names!) and I had planned to bake Lucia Buns and begin the tradition this morning. Only things didn’t go as planned. Husband is sick, I’m a bit looped up myself, and we are rushing to get out the door to Dallas with Littlest for a doctor appointment. Our well-intended plans went awry. In lieu of breakfast in bed, I served vanilla rugelach at the kitchen counter, and told the Littles the story of St. Lucia. Realizing the sheer craziness of serving a Jewish pastry on St. Lucia Day, I left Honk a voice message:

“Honk. Call me back. I have to tell you the story of how we came to celebrate an Italian saint, honored in Sweden, with a rugelach. You’ll love how I incorporated this Jewish treat into our Advent celebration!”

Minutes later she returned the phone call opening with, “But, Honk. Arugula isn’t Jewish.”

I’d like to claim it was my warp-speed Texas accent, rather than the fact that I blundered by putting an “a” in front of rugelach. But we died laughing over the play on words, not to mention the irony that The Schells were indeed celebrating St. Lucia Day with vanilla rugelach.

My friends, this is a tale describing how NOT to celebrate a traditional St. Lucia Day. If you are interested in knowing what a more proper St. Lucia Day celebration might look like, please read our favorite books:

Lucia, Saint of Light, by Katherine Bolger Hyde

Kirsten’s Surprise, An American Girl Story, by Janet Shaw

Celebrating the Christian Year, by Martha Zimmerman

So The Herdman Family, er Schells, will try again next year and, baring future plague and pestilence, we’ll celebrate a proper St. Lucia Day in 2012. On that day, this is the recipe for Lucia Buns the girls and I will prepare.

St. Lucia Buns

(from The Old Farmer’s Almanac)

• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 gram saffron threads, crushed
• 2 cups milk, scalded and cooled to lukewarm
• 1 package active dry yeast
• 1/4 cup warm water
• 1 egg
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 7-1/2 to 8 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/4 cup melted butter

Stir salt and saffron into 1/4 cup of the warm milk and allow saffron to steep. Dissolve yeast in water. Beat together egg and sugar. In a large mixing bowl, combine all the milk, yeast, and egg mixtures. Slowly beat in 4 cups of the flour and the cardamom, keeping the batter smooth and elastic. Stir in the butter, then add remaining flour, mixing to form a stiff dough. Turn out onto a floured board and knead until smooth. Place dough in a lightly greased bowl, turning it over to grease the top, cover, and let rise until doubled (about 1-1/2 hours). Punch down, cover, and let rise again until doubled. To shape buns, roll dough into 8-inch strands the size of a pencil, and form into crosses with curled ends. Imbed a raisin firmly in the center of each curlicue. Place buns on lightly greased baking sheet and let rise 20 minutes until puffy but not doubled. Brush with beaten egg. Bake at 375 degrees F for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden.

Happy St. Lucia Day!

Love,

Guess what I want for Christmas?

I want to be able to read my recipe, again. I say again because I should be able to understand my own writing, n’est pas? Alas, it’s been twenty or more years since I wrote the Soufflé au Roquefort recipe in my Clairefontaine cahier. Recently, I found a treasure box filled with recipes and journal entries from ma vie en France. Sadly, I need a translator to understand my own notes. Très frustrating.

How I ended up in France in the first place can be traced to my penchant for salty, crispy french fries. Filling out high school course selections before my 9th grade year, I had to choose between French and Spanish. I reasoned I liked french fries more than enchiladas and thus based my foreign language selection. Things went well enough my first year of French, but by my sophomore year, I was in over my head and I had a big fat “F” in French to prove it. Maybe I only had a “D”, but such marks were severely frowned upon at Hockaday. So when the head of the French Department suggested to my parents that it would be “greatly beneficial” for me to participate in a study-abroad program, the advice was heeded. Et voilà, I spent the summer of 1984 in Ornans, France benefiting my GPA. I remember being terrified the entire maiden voyage across the pond. I cried buckets of tears listening to Lionel Richie on my yellow Sony Walkman and could not imagine how I would survive a summer exiled in France. Oh, the injustice of it all!

Suffice it to say, the torture of being in France lasted about a nanosecond. I do believe my one and only letter home was to request that my study-abroad visa be extended. Hooked, I spent the next decade of my life either living in France or spinning my wheels trying to get back as fast as I could. During these ten years of on-again-off-again residing in France, I acquired a deep passion for all things French, most notably la cuisine. I spent countless hours in tiny French kitchens learning the art of a well cooked meal. On two or three occasions I enrolled in local cooking classes, but most of my knowledge was imparted by skilled and plump hands trained by the hands that preceded theirs at the stove.

Long before I knew the word organic, or the concept of a CSA, I experienced these realities. At age 15, with little comprehension, but much desire, I walked with my French maman to faire les courses, shopping the tiny local farm stands. That summer, I learned first hand what two and a half decades later would be the food trend in America — buy local, eat in season, all organic, nothing out of a box. Who knew?

In these kitchens of France — in Ornans, Strasbourg, Paris and Provence, I learned more than seasonings and sauces. The seeds of hospitality were planted in my heart. I was a stranger in each of these homes, and yet in each one I was welcomed like family. I wish I could return to each one of those kitchen tables as a forty-three year old woman and thank my generous hostesses. I wonder if they ever had an inkling how their teaching and sharing would impress a doe-eyed foreigner.

And so I want to read my recipes. Notes scribbled in a language I toiled to learn. I want to return to the roots of a gift given years ago. The gift of an “F” that stood more for “future” than “failure.” At the encouragement of my dear neighbor, I enrolled in French conversation classes beginning in January at the Alliance Française. I hope you’ll join me for this journey. I would love nothing more than to share with you at my own kitchen table the humble feasts inspired and taught by simple French cooks.

First I must re-learn la langue française so I can read those recipes.

S’il vous plaît, souhaitez-moi la bonne chance! (Please, wish me luck!)

Love,

Leave it to the French to take three basic kitchen staples and make them seem way more glamorous, not to mention complicated, than they really are. Such is the case of the mirepoix. Chances are you’ve made a mirepoix a dozen times, but perhaps you just didn’t realize how glamorous and chic you were as you chopped and diced the three humble ingredients. If you’ve ever chopped onions, celery, and carrots, added them to the same pot, then voilà mes chers amis you have made a mirepoix. Bravo!

Dating from the 18th century in France, the culinary term mirepoix refers to a combination of chopped onions, carrots and celery, generally in a ratio of 2:1:1. Traditionally sautéed in butter, the mirepoix is the aromatic base responsible for boosting flavor in stocks, sauces, soups and countless other foods. Fancy chefs are required to have a repertoire of mirepoix variations depending on the type of dish being prepared, the texture and even color of the stock base. But, we are not fancy chefs now are we? Although now might be a good time to mention that Littlest does call me ‘cheffy.’ Which really sounds more like Chevy, so I’m not all that enamored with the term of affection she’s bestowed upon me.

Here’s a little something I learned at the retreat on Food, Feasting and Fasting at Laity Lodge. A trick that will make you feel like a fancy French chef.

Voilà une Mirepoix Purée.

1 onion, large

1 carrot, peeled

1 celery stalk, ends trimmed

Place all three ingredients in a food processor and blend until smooth.

How easy is that? Now, I can hear you asking, “but what do we do with the mirepoix purée?” As we mentioned, you probably use onions, carrots, and celery in a variety of soups and sauces already. Try the mirepoix purée in lieu of your normal sauté of these aromatic veggies. I used a mirepoix purée as a base for wild rice a week or so ago and it was delicious. I simply sautéed the mirepoix in a tiny bit of butter, stirred in the wild rice and let everything get all cozy before I added the cooking liquid. Mirepoix Purée was also the base for a recent Blackbird Pie. A recipe I promise to share soon.

One final note about the French mirepoix. It should not be confused with it’s Cajun cousin, the trinity. The cooking trinity, made famous by Emeril Lagasse quoting Paul Prudhomme, is comprised of onion, bell peppers, and celery. I have no idea why the carrot got booted for the pepper. Does anyone know that story?

I’m off to play cheffy and whip up a mirepoix purée. If you follow The Schell Cafe on Facebook, Twitter or instagram, you’ll be able to see what’s cooking real-time. I’d be honored if you joined me in these other nooks on the web. Click on the links and join the fun!

Love,