By Ann | May 27, 2015
With summer off to a roaring start, I thought I’d share some favorite new books of the season. They’re a mix of fiction and nonfiction, some are written by friends, and many are about food. Any of them would be the perfect companion for a lazy afternoon :)
The Precious One by Marisa de los Santos
This is a novel about half sisters, family secrets, broken hearts, and second chances. It’s about 16-year-old Willow—beautiful, brilliant and sheltered—her much-older half-sister Taisy, who hasn’t been home for 17 years, and their brilliant, imperious jerk of a father, Wilson, who might be nursing a tender hope for a second (or third) chance. I love Marisa’s quirky, lovable characters—and I was completely charmed by this witty, intelligent book, which features (oddly enough) Middlemarch as an apt metaphor!
Mademoiselle Chanel by C.W. Gortner
I was completely hooked by this novel, which portrays the rags-to-riches tale of designer Gabrielle Chanel, a woman who rose to astonishing heights despite her impoverished childhood, gender, and (often) acrid personality. Christopher’s insights into Coco’s psychology helped me understand some of her decisions, even as I sometimes shook my head in disappointment. Coco made hard choices and they weren’t always right or moral. I think this book would provoke a wonderful book club discussion.
The World on a Plate by Mina Holland
I usually travel to eat, but author Mina Holland does the opposite—she eats to travel. In this collection of essays, she examines global cuisine, swooping across five continents, and including anecdotes, trivia, and recipes. Here are a couple of fun facts I learned from the book:
“Darjeeling black tea is known as the ‘Champagne of teas’ for its fine grapy flavors, which enhance the taste of more or less any given food.”
“Suet has a high melting point, which means that, over the course of a long, slow steaming period, it imparts moistness without making the pudding too dense.”
In a French Kitchen by Susan Herrmann Loomis (on sale June 16)
This is a memoir and cookbook all rolled into one, complete with practical tips, delicious recipes, and real stories from real people. Susan’s anecdotes are funny and charming and she offers a wonderful guide for producing honest, simple, and chic meals, à la française. I especially liked her easy-to-digest lists, which are a mixture of sensible tricks and folklore. For example, here are a few of “Mamie’s Rules for Life”:
“Have a fever? Drink thyme tisane and go to bed.”
“Make dessert first.”
“Add butter to vegetables right before you serve them; then you can really taste it.”
That’s Not English by Erin Moore
“A lifelong Anglophile, Erin Moore was born and raised in Florida, where the sun shines and all the tea is iced.” And so begins the tale of my friend Erin, who moved to London and learned an entirely new language. Her hilarious examination of the seemingly superficial differences between British and American vocabulary opens a can of worms wriggling with historic and cultural differences.
Re Jane by Patricia Park
In this retelling of Jane Eyre, the narrator is a young Korean-American woman finding her way in New York City and Seoul. Funny, moving, and—more than anything—a love letter to Queens, I read it in a gulp and laughed out loud several times.
1,000 Foods to Eat Before You Die by Mimi Sheraton
“This book is my autobiography, or at least a very big part of it,” says Mimi Sheraton. After 60 years of writing about food, she has assembled this collection of dishes from around the globe: must-eat mouthfuls to seek and/or dream about. With encyclopedic knowledge, recipes, and helpful addresses, this is an excellent book to inspire (or inform) your next vacation.
Have you discovered any good books lately? I’m currently reading All the Light We Cannot See.
(Top image from Jackie Clark Mancuso.)
By Ann | May 19, 2015
Artist and author Jackie Clark Mancuso doesn’t fool around in the kitchen. Her recipe for pasta with cherry tomatoes came together so quickly that I actually sat on the couch and read my book before dinner! Today, I’m thrilled to share her delicious, lightening-quick recipe and favorite fast meal ideas.
Jackie is the author and illustrator of two darling children’s books. Paris-Chien tells the tale of her adorable Norwich terrier, Hudson, as he adjusts to life as an “expat dog” in France. She continues his adventures in Hudson in Provence (just released!), which sees the young pup summering in the south of France and inspired by the beauty. Though Jackie currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband and Hudson, the books were inspired by her Paris sabbatical. Jackie’s drawings are absolutely charming and Hudson is a winning narrator. (Lucy is a HUGE fan!) Today I’m delighted to welcome Jackie and share her quick cooking tips!
On her weeknight routine:
“We’ll have a glass of wine and snack on carrots / olives / pistachios / pâté while we throw together a simple salad or pasta from ingredients we have on hand. We normally follow with cheese. And maybe some fruit in season.”
On food as art:
“I enjoy making a salade composée with leftovers. It might be roasted radicchio, beets, a spoon of burrata or some cubes of feta, a few anchovies, sliced tomatoes. For me it’s painting with food.”
Three quick salads:
1) Arugula with a can of sardines on top, dressed with olive oil and lemon juice.
2) Belgian endive with bleu d’auvergne, dressed with olive oil and champagne vinegar I get from Monsieur Marcel French grocery.
3) Arugula, radicchio, endive with homemade mustard vinaigrette.
On ad-libbing with pasta:
“While the water is boiling, we’ll sauté some garlic in olive oil. Add a pint of halved cherry tomatoes, capers, olives if we have them, tinned anchovies if we’re in the mood. We improvise. This also makes a terrific sauce for pan-roasted fish. Even quicker and just as delicious is cooked pasta topped with fresh breadcrumbs that have been sautéed with minced garlic or anchovies.”
Combine, roast, combine:
“Roast vegetables in the oven with olive oil and salt on a large old cookie sheet. My favorites are radicchio, Brussels sprouts, red and yellow peppers, halved roma tomatoes.”
On cooking for one:
“When I’m dining alone, I eat everything out of bowls, usually in front of the TV. A bowl of granola, a bowl of popcorn, a bowl of ice cream, a bowl of herring in sour cream, a bowl of scrambled eggs sprinkled with leftover anchovy breadcrumbs. Not all at the same meal. But sometimes more than one.”
Her foolproof time-saving cooking tip:
“Make enough to have leftovers. Most dishes taste even better the next day anyway.”
Pasta with cherry tomatoes
Adapted from a recipe by Jackie Clark Mancuso
“I first fell in love with this pasta when my friend Mari made it for us in San Francisco,” says Jackie. “Adapted from an Alice Waters recipe, it’s best with homegrown or farmer’s market tomatoes and basil. The crunch of the coarse breadcrumbs is essential. I make them quickly in a food processor then hot skillet with just a little olive oil.”
1 pint cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup good quality extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for the breadcrumbs
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 clove garlic, crushed
Salt and pepper
1 lb spaghetti
1/2 cup fresh breadcrumbs, made from a sturdy country loaf
Parmesan cheese for sprinkling (optional)
Slice the tomatoes in half. Cut the basil leaves into a chiffonade. In a large bowl, squish the halved tomatoes with your hands. Stir in the basil, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and garlic. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Allow this mixture to sit for at least 15 minutes, or up to 2 hours.
Cook the pasta using your usual method, until al dente.
While the pasta is cooking, heat 2 teaspoons of olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Toast the breadcrumbs, stirring until golden.
When the spaghetti is finished cooking, reserve 1/2 cup of the cooking water. Drain and add it to the tomato mixture, tossing together with dashes of the pasta water, if necessary. Taste and adjust seasonings. Remove the crushed garlic clove. Serve sprinkled with toasted fresh breadcrumbs and parmesan cheese, if desired.
(Non-pasta images from Jackie Clark Mancuso.)
By Ann | May 15, 2015
For someone who spends a lot of time in France, I eat an awful lot of Italian food. Even when I’m in France, I’m cooking/eating/researching/dreaming about Italian food. I’ve tried to analyze why—is it the sinuous pleasure of that final drizzle of extra virgin olive oil? Is Parmagiano Reggiano addictive?—but really who has the time for analysis when the carbonara’s calling? Sizzle up some pork fat, I’m hungry.
I never tire of eating my favorite Italian dishes, so I was thrilled to bits when I received a copy of Elizabeth Minchilli’s new book Eating Rome. I first met Elizabeth in 2011, when my Italian publisher invited me to Rome; we were fellow panelists on several book talks. She was so friendly and warm, so generous about helping to translate in a pinch—so knowledgeable about Roman food—that I immediately purchased her Eat Italy app on iTunes because I wanted to spend the rest of my visit stuffing my face at all her favorite trattorie. Now, she’s published this marvelous volume, a cookbook and guidebook rolled into one, sandwiched together with her personal anecdotes and cheerful advice. If you are planning a trip to Rome, this must-have book will lead you to Elizabeth’s favorite markets, restaurants, cafés, gelato shops, and more. If, like me, you are simply dreaming of planning a trip to Rome, this book is a must-have for her fantastic recipes.
Since receiving the book two weeks ago, I have already made Elizabeth’s carbonara (fantastic), minestrone (fantastic), pasta al forno (fantastic), and cacio e pepe (once I figured out the secret—sublime). “We’ve been eating a lot of rigatoni,” said my husband. “Honey, it’s Elizabeth’s favorite pasta,” I said. I mean, Elizabeth has become my new idol. Guess what? She also hates making fresh pasta. She also loves artichokes—so much that she devotes an entire chapter to them, with recipes. She also struggled with feeding her kids—if, by kid, you actually mean “dog.” Elizabeth has two daughters who eat everything. Her pup’s actually the picky eater of the family.
Because my life’s passion is poking my nose into home kitchens and asking relentless questions about family recipes, I quickly gravitated towards the chapter entitled “Cooking like Mama.” The mama in question is Elizabeth’s mother-in-law, a fantastic cook who lives in Puglia (which sounds like food-lover’s paradise). Like the Italian granny of my dreams, Nonna Minchilli has her own recipe for meatballs, and after reading about her secret ingredient, I had to try them. What can I say? Like everything other recipe in this book, they were spectacular.
Elizabeth Minchilli’s Italian mother-in-law’s meatballs
Adapted from Eating Rome by Elizabeth Minchilli
*Note: Olive oil plays a bigger role in Italian cuisine than I originally suspected. “It’s not just a vehicle for softening the garlic or onion in a dish,” says Elizabeth. “But is one of the main ingredients that give body and texture, not to mention taste.” Here, it’s the secret ingredient that emulsifies the savory mixture.
1/2 lb ground pork
1/2 lb ground beef
1/2 lb ground turkey
1/2 cup grated onion (I just grated half an onion for as long as I could stand it, before it disintegrated and I felt like I needed a chemical burn eye flush)
1/2 cup bread crumbs
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 garlic cloves, minched
1/2 teaspoon salt
Pepper, to taste
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil (plus more for frying the meatballs)
1 28-oz can whole, peeled tomatoes
In a large bowl, combine the pork, beef, turkey, onion, bread crumbs, cheese, parsley, garlic, salt, pepper, egg and 1/4 cup olive oil. Form the mixture into meatballs, about the size of unshelled walnuts.
In a large skillet with high sides, heat 2 teaspoons olive oil over medium heat. Add the meatballs to the skillet, about 8 at a time—don’t overcrowd them. Brown them, using a spoon or chef’s tongs to turn the meatballs until they are golden all over. Remove from the pan, and repeat with the rest of the meatballs, adding more oil if necessary.
Add the tomatoes to the skillet and scrape up any bits of browned meat. Bring the sauce to a simmer and return the meatballs (and any juices) to the skillet. Cover with the lid halfway and simmer until the tomatoes have softened and broken up and the liquid has slightly reduced, about 30 minutes.
By Ann | May 4, 2015
I first met Elizabeth Bard in Paris, when we shared a plate of duck tongues and swapped book publishing experiences. She had just published a food memoir, Lunch in Paris, and given birth to a baby boy, and I remember feeling quite awestruck by her unflappable calm. A few months after our lunch, Elizabeth and her husband, Gwendal, moved to a small village in Provence. I followed their news on Facebook as they opened an artisanal ice cream parlor, but I was curious to learn more about their adjustment to country life, and adventures raising a Franco-American son. Happily, Elizabeth has gifted all who loved her first, romantic book with a second volume. Picnic in Provence is a heartfelt ode to her new home, as well as an honest portrayal of motherhood. I loved it.
I was lucky enough to read an early galley of the book for a blurb. Here is what I said: “I was entranced by Picnic in Provence from Elizabeth Bard’s very first encounter with spring asparagus in the French countryside. Her tale of delicious adventure left me drooling—and her sensitive thoughts on marriage and motherhood were like a heartfelt conversation with a true friend. A delightful book, filled with humor, heart, and the heady scent of lavender.”
One of things I loved most about the book is the romantic way Elizabeth and Gwendal discover their new home. While on a pre-baby vacation, they decide to trace the footsteps of one of Gwendal’s heroes, the WWII resistance leader and poet René Char. After bit of delicate (yet dogged) investigation, they discover that Char’s home is actually for sale—and that his heirs hope a young family will buy it and settle in the village. This bit of kismet provides just the impetus Gwendal and Elizabeth need to make a GIGANTIC leap from Parisians to Provençals. They celebrate in the best way: with a picnic! Each chapter ends with a flurry of enticing recipes, including this simple, light and lemony tahini dip, which Elizabeth pairs with the first spring asparagus. It’s a fitting start to her tale of new motherhood, new professional passions (including entrepreneurship!), and new kitchen adventures (many of which involve frozen desserts :) If you love stories about France and food, you’ll love Elizabeth’s new book.
Asparagus with tahini sauce
Adapted from Picnic in Provence by Elizabeth Bard
*Note: Elizabeth says this sauce is “an alternative to hollandaise,” and she pairs it with steamed asparagus and poached salmon. I roasted my asparagus and doctored the sauce so that it’s a bit more fluid. If you prefer a thicker sauce, replace the plain yogurt with the Greek variety and omit the olive oil.
1 1/2 lbs asparagus (look for thin stems)
2 tablespoons tahini
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup Greek yogurt (whole milk is best)
1/2 cup plain low-fat yogurt
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil, divided
Salt and pepper
Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Wash the asparagus and snap off the tough ends. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Arrange the asparagus stalks in a single layer, drizzle with 1 tablespoon of olive oil, salt, and pepper. Toss gently to combine. Roast for 10 minutes, or until stalks are bright green and tender.
Prepare the sauce. In a medium, non-reactive bowl whisk together the tahini and lemon juice. Whisk in both kinds of yogurt and 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Taste and season with salt and pepper.
Serve the asparagus warm, or at room temperature, with a generous dollop of sauce.
By Ann | April 28, 2015
First, let’s review the facts:
– I really like to cook.
– But after a full day of work and baby wrangling, I don’t have a lot of energy left.
– I try to create a weekly meal plan and do all the grocery shopping in one fell swoop.
– Creating a weekly meal plan and doing all the grocery shopping in one fell swoop makes me feel like a cranky old fuddy-duddy. Like a MOM.
– Lately I’ve been stuck in a cooking rut, plodding along on well-worn path of chili, soup, pasta with broccoli, and other similar wholesome dishes that I am completely sick of.
After seeing rave reviews on social media, I decided to shake up my kitchen routine by trying out Blue Apron. This is a weekly meal delivery service that sends a refrigerated box containing pre-portioned ingredients, as well as illustrated recipe cards that tell you how to cook everything. My box contained three meals for two people, for $59.99. Please note, this is not a sponsored post—thanks to a friend’s reference, I got the first box free, but I wanted to give the service a fair shot, so I paid for the second week myself.
The first box arrived on Friday night. The ingredients for each meal were precisely measured and wrapped, but the produce was unwashed. I loved the healthy infusion of leafy vegetables, but lordy, there is nothing I hate more than washing and drying sandy greens. For five of the six meals, I faced the tedious task of rinsing and patting spinach, kale, or Bibb lettuce. (Yes, I considered skipping this step—I often buy pre-washed spinach or kale to save time—but an email from Blue Apron instructed me to “wash all fruits and vegetables before cooking.”)
Here’s what I made:
–Chile-blackened cod with epazote, avocado, and red rice salad (stated cooking time: 25-35 minutes; me: 50 minutes).
–Pan-seared chicken verjus with pearled barley and mushrooms à la Grècque (stated cooking time: 35-45 minutes; me: 1 hour, 20 minutes).
–Roasted Japanese sweet potatoes with miso-dressed spinach and candied cashews (pictured above) (stated cooking time: 25-35 minutes; me: 45 minutes).
–Lemon and black pepper shrimp with fresh linguine, and fava leaves (stated cooking time: 15-25 minutes; me: 45 minutes).
–Spiced turkey meatball pitas with sugar snap peas and Bibb lettuce salad (stated cooking time 25-35 minutes; me: 1 hour).
–Pan seared steaks with green peppercorn sauce, creamed spinach, and roasted fingerling potatoes (stated cooking time 25-35 minutes; me: 35 minutes — and only because I didn’t wash the spinach).
What I liked:
I enjoyed using new ingredients like white miso paste, red rice, epazote (a strong herb), fresh fava leaves, pickled green peppercorns, and the greatest flavor boost of all time, chicken or beef demi-glace (where can I buy this stuff, I want to mainline it).
I learned a few new techniques, like quick-candying cashews to add sweet crunch to salad. I also learned that two teaspoons of olive oil is enough to sauté almost anything.
I appreciated the partial break from meal planning and grocery shopping. I say “partial” because I try to cook at least five dinners a week, so I still had two nights to fill.
What I didn’t like:
The meals took way too much time to cook—especially for only two portions. I missed having leftovers for lunch the next day.
Sometimes the portions were too small. For example, the shrimp linguine meal offered only 3 oz of fresh pasta per person—we had to supplement with bread. After the turkey meatballs, my husband woke up hungry in middle of the night.
Though ingredients came pre-measured, I still had to wash the veg, peel and mince garlic and/or ginger, pluck herbs—e.g. all my least favorite kitchen tasks
Because the meals are designed for “quick” preparation, they’re limited to certain techniques. While the flavors and cuisines varied, every meal seemed to feature similar basic building blocks of sautéed fish or meat, boiled grain, roasted or sautéed veg. Also, the recipe instructions specify an awful lot of washing and reusing of the same sauté pan. I’m not sure if Blue Apron thinks its customers only own one pan? But if speed is the goal, it’s certainly faster to cook several items simultaneously.
To cancel the service, you have to send an email request and wait. Once I received Blue Apron’s response, the instructions were easy to follow, but the process could (should?) be more straightforward and easier to find on the website.
Would I sign up again?
Honestly, no. The meals took too long to prepare and produced too little food for the amount of time and money invested. This could be a good service for people who really don’t like (or know how) to cook, but for me it missed the mark. I may dislike meal planning, but it turns out I like my kitchen independence.
By Ann | April 13, 2015
Two sweet things happened this weekend. First, I made baked these blueberry banana muffins—my third batch since the new year. I’m not sure why I’ve been keeping these muffins a secret because they’re lovely, lightly sweet with a crumb that manages to be tender and nutty at the same time. They’re not health muffins—the recipe contains butter, eggs, sugar, and gluten—but they use these ingredients in moderation. Let’s be honest, muffins are cake, but these taste wholesome.
The nutty bite comes from whole wheat flour and a scoop of that wheat germ that’s been hanging out in my cupboard since this post. The rest of the recipe is pretty typically cake/muffin-like: beaten butter, sugar, eggs, milk, mashed bananas, and a cup of frozen blueberries to keep things moist. By the way, if your brown sugar dries to an impenetrable rock like mine does, here’s a kitchen tip: store it in the freezer! It defrosts in a minute to a perfectly moist, packable texture.
I like to keep these muffins in the freezer, and pull them out on mornings that seem otherwise grim. Thirty seconds in the microwave softens both their crumb and my mood—every day starts better with a muffin! And aside from the fact that they are like a cakey Prozac equivalent, my other favorite part about these muffins is that they come together so quickly. An hour of baking left me plenty of time for the second sweet event of the weekend: A trip to Brooklyn with the baby to visit some of my best friends and their babies.
There were swings, bouncy bridges, a long interlude moving sticks and pebbles around a hollow tree, and a little girl who couldn’t get enough of the big, twisty slide. “Again! Again!”
Blueberry banana muffins
Adapted from Martha Stewart
Note: Overripe bananas and my desire to make muffins never seem to coincide. So, when a banana turns black, I peel it and pop it in the freezer. It defrosts and mashes beautifully.
Makes 16 muffins
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup wheat germ
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened to room temperature
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
1/3 cup milk
2 ripe bananas
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup frozen blueberries
Preheat oven to 375ºF. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners. In a bowl, combine the flours, wheat germ, baking soda, and salt.
In a large bowl, beat together the butter and sugars until fluffy. Add in the eggs, one at a time, beating until incorporated. In a separate bowl, use a potato masher to crush the bananas. Stir in the milk and vanilla.
Using a wooden spoon, alternately add the flour mixture and banana mixture to the butter mixture. Fold in the frozen blueberries.
Divide batter among the muffins cups. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until a chopstick inserted in the center of the muffin comes out clean. Repeat with the remaining batter (I usually get 16 muffins from one batch).
By Ann | April 7, 2015
Turnips have their share of haters, but if I was ranking root vegetables they’d land near the top. I like their texture, dense yet juicy, and faint bitter savor. People say you should buy turnips small, snow white, and young, but the ones I picked up at the store were verging on middle aged, the size of softballs, tops stained with purple—and they were still perfectly fine, absolutely edible (though maybe I’m just seeing them as a metaphor for an upcoming big birthday—eek!).
You know what makes turnips really, really delicious? A blizzard of Parmagiano-Reggiano. Peel your turnips and slice them into sturdy strips, then shower them with cheese and spices. If you step lively, you can toss this together while your toddler is occupied with a cup of Cheerios. A blast of the oven will melt the root’s rock hard flesh tender while toasting the cheese golden brown and heat-blistered. I could have eaten the entire pan straight out of the oven, but managed to restrain myself and saved (most of) the “fries” for a quick, late-night, post-wine-class supper, paired with a mushroom-cheddar Boca burger. Later, I realized I misread the original recipe and used four times more cheese than actually called for—but, hey, that’s four times more delicious, right?
Parmesan turnip fries
Adapted from Martha Stewart
Note: The original recipe calls for 1/2 ounce of Parmesan cheese, so reduce as you prefer.
2 lbs turnips, peeled and cut into sturdy wedges
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt and pepper
2 oz Parmagiano-Reggiano, grated
Preheat the oven to 475ºF. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a large bowl, combine the turnips, cayenne pepper, nutmeg, and olive oil. Toss to combine and season generously with salt and pepper. Sprinkle the Parmesan cheese and toss gently to combine. Arrange the turnips on the baking sheet in a single layer. Roast for 12 minutes and flip the turnips. At this point, the melted cheese will appear oily and stringy. Continue roasting another 12-15 minutes, until the oil absorbs and the turnips turn golden brown.
By Ann | March 23, 2015
At the risk of public flagellation, I’m going to make a confession: We don’t eat a family dinner. I know, I know, research and lifestyle bloggers regularly tell us how important it is to gather round the table once a day. Babies eat a bigger variety of healthy foods, they connect with their parents, and obesity, drug use, teen pregnancy, etc. are all avoided. But here’s the reality: Lucy eats dinner at 5:30pm. (I sit with her and appease her demand for stories. “Boook. Boook,” she says, reaching to touch pictures of dogs with avocado-smeared fingers.) Her father gets home at 8pm (or later), and I usually eat with him. Right now, while she’s still so little, Lucy’s dinner simply exists on a separate plane from ours.
I’m sure things will change once she gets older (e.g. stays up past 7pm). But for now I tamper my guilt by preparing one family meal of the week. On Saturday mornings while Lucy and her papa are out, I whirl around the kitchen like a madwoman. When they come home at noon, we sit down to lunch, the three of us all eating the same thing. I try not to dumb down the food too much, because part of the exercise is about community and expanding the palate. On the other hand, there’s always the fear that she won’t eat anything. I try to split the difference, which is how I found myself making spinach soufflé for a toddler.
Soufflé aux épinards sounds labor intensive and it does use its fair share of pots and bowls. But really, a soufflé is just a very thick, egg-yolk enhanced béchamel sauce, mixed with whipped egg whites—a simple concept that’s also a good way to eat spinach if you don’t have many teeth. I started with the recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking and adapted it to suit my needs. This meant frozen chopped spinach squeezed dry, and enough eggs to fill an 8-cup soufflé dish X 2 — because I made an extra for the freezer, to be defrosted for weeknight baby dinners.
Soufflés need an extra whipped white or two to give them lift, which means you’ll have yolks leftover. Here’s a thrifty tip: mix them with sugar (one teaspoon per yolk) and freeze for later use in homemade ice cream.
Use a light hand when folding the béchamel sauce and egg whites together—don’t worry if they’re not completely combined. I like to leave large dollops of whipped whites streaking through the thick sauce, which I think allows for a more extravagant rise.
I timed lunch perfectly that day, everyone seated at the table, salad dressed, baby bibbed, and baguette sliced, just as the timer dinged. I felt unusually smug as I surveyed my beautiful soufflé, which puffed gently over the rim of the dish, golden with toasted cheese. Parenting can sometimes feel like a relentless slog, but then there are moments like this: sitting down with your little pack, your family, to enjoy a home-cooked meal together.
And then there is reality. Don’t let this picture fool you—Lucy ate two bites of soufflé and I had to beg her to even put those in her mouth. Like most babies, she eats when she’s hungry (a novel concept!) and that afternoon she was not hungry. (She went on to scoff a huge portion at dinner the next day, so all is not lost.)
What are your favorite family meals?
Spinach soufflé / Soufflé aux épinards
Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking
Serves four (on its own) or six (with a salad)
Julia Child’s soufflé recipes use a 6-cup dish, but I increased the quantities for an 8-cup dish because I feel like if you’re going to make a soufflé, you might as well go big. Leftover soufflé is delicious, though no longer airy, I still enjoy the denser texture—and the taste remains the same, of course.
1 package frozen chopped spinach, defrosted
3 1/2 tablespoons butter
4 1/2 tablespoons flour
1 1/2 cups milk
6 egg yolks
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Salt and pepper to taste
8 egg whites
1/2 cup grated Gruyère or Comté cheese
Butter to grease dish and 1-2 tablespoons fine bread crumbs
Special equipment: 8-cup soufflé dish, electric beaters
Preheat the oven to 400ºF.
Thoroughly squeeze the liquid from the chopped spinach. Butter the soufflé dish and sprinkle with enough breadcrumbs to generously coat the interior, tapping out the excess (this prevents sticking).
In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the flour and cook until it smells slightly toasty, about 2 minutes. Add the milk, whisking continuously until the mixture forms a very thick sauce, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat.
Separate the eggs, dropping the whites into a large, clean, dry mixing bowl. (Any trace of fat will cause failed whipped whites, so make sure your bowl is scrupulously sparkling clean.)
Whisk the egg yolks, one by one, into the hot béchamel sauce, until fully incorporated. Add the chopped spinach and stir until thoroughly combined. Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg (the egg is raw, but I usually taste at this stage so I can adjust seasonings; sample at your own risk).
Add a pinch of salt to the egg whites and beat them until stiff. Stir one quarter of them into the sauce (this lightens the mixture). Add all but 1 tablespoon of the cheese. Gently fold the rest of the egg whites into the sauce and spoon the mixture into the prepared dish. Sprinkle with the remaining cheese and place on the middle rack of the preheated oven. Turn the oven down to 375ºF and bake for 30-35 minutes until the soufflé is puffed, golden, and slightly jiggly when you shake the dish. Serve immediately.
By Ann | March 7, 2015
I hesitate to start out by saying that the food at Bouillon Chartier isn’t that bad. But the truth is, no one comes here for the food. Three of us lunched at this cavernous restaurant a couple of weeks ago, and we chose the place for two bald reasons: 1) We wanted to meet near les Grands Boulevards; and 2) It’s open on a Monday. Oh, and 3) It’s historic. And 4) It’s cheap (bonus!).
The word “bouillon” in the name of Bouillon Chartier refers to a fascinating bit of Paris restaurant history. In 1860, a butcher named Monsieur Duval had the brilliant idea of opening a restaurant that served cheap bowls of beef broth to the workers at Les Halles (Paris’s former central food market). Eventually the word bouillon, or broth, became synonymous with a type of inexpensive restaurant.
(Little did Monsieur Duval know that 155 years later, East Village hipsters would rename bouillon “bone broth,” and sell it for $7 a cup.)
At the end of the 19th century, the Chartier brothers expanded upon Monsieur Duval’s concept and founded their own chain of bouillons. Though only two still exist—Bouillon Chartier and Bouillon Racine in the 6e—these establishments continue the mission of offering a “decent meal at a reasonable price” with “good service.”
From the great big door on the busy Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, you walk through a courtyard to the restaurant at the back. The line can stretch all the way to the street, but when we arrived on a rainy Monday at 12:30pm, we were seated right away.
The dining room is full of Art Nouveau charm, a vast space with high ceilings, soaring mirrors, brass rails, and carved balustrades. Along the walls are wooden armoires with small, numbered drawers where regulars once stored their couverts, or silverware and napkins. I tried to peek inside, but they’re now sealed shut. Tables are shared, which means if you’re eating alone, you can expect three strangers to be seated next to you.
The menu still features bouillon, now renamed consomme, a daily brewed vegetable broth offered for 1€, which is officially the cheapest thing I’ve ever ordered in a restaurant in France. It was thin and watery, but I could taste a faint, earthy hint of vegetables in there somewhere, as if the liquid held a distant memory of carrots and leeks. The table’s other entrées of oeuf mayonnaise and carrottes rapées looked better, dressed with industrial-esque vinaigrette and mayonnaise, yes, but simple and tasty (though accompanied by perhaps the world’s saddest tomato garnish).
The list of main courses reads like a dictionary of classic bistro cuisine, including choices like roast chicken and fries, grilled andouillette, or tête de veau with tangy sauce gribiche. At a place like this, it seemed wise to keep things simple with confit de canard, pommes grenailles and I am happy to report that the confit was one of the better versions I’ve had, the fat completely rendered (whether by design or neglect, no matter) and the skin pleasingly crisp. Accompanying new potatoes were properly roasted, though without crunchy edges. My friend, Erin, described the steak as “definitely not the worst I’ve ever eaten.” Also, it arrived perfectly cooked, à point.
Old-fashioned desserts included fresh pineapple, wine-soaked prunes with ice cream, and other classics, but I splurged (calorically, at least) on the chou glace vanille chocolat chaud, a spongy profiterole puff filled with vanilla ice cream, flooded with warm chocolate sauce, and garnished with a handful of toasted almonds. Though my watery first course had left me hungry, I couldn’t finish the generous portion.
Efficient service meant that three courses AND coffee were served in less than an hour. (Noisy, casual, and fast, this is a great place to eat out with kids.) Before we even knew we wanted to leave, our waiter had bustled up and calculated the bill on the paper tablecloth—the first time I’ve ever received the check in France without asking for it. Three courses for three people plus two coffees (no wine) came to €50.70 or €17/person, when rounded up.
Ah, Bouillon Chartier, still cheap after 119 years.
7 rue du Faubourg Montmartre
01 47 70 86 29
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By Ann | March 1, 2015
Last February, I had the opportunity to visit Ravenna, Italy, a small city in the Emilia-Romagna region known for its stunning collection of Byzantine-era mosaics. You can read more about my adventures in my article for New York Times Travel, but the trip was so visually memorable, I wanted to share some of my photos. The Basilica di San Vitale, pictured above, is Ravenna’s most visited site.
Built in 525, San Vitale allegedly inspired the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.
Mosaics lavishly decorate the apse.
Basilica di Sant’Apollinare Nuovo.
The three Magi at Sant’Apollinare Nuovo wearing outfits that inspired Roberto Cavalli.
The buildings—like the Arian Baptistry—so humble from the outside, revealed glittering artistry within.
Like this water wrought in mosaic.
The Basilica di Sant’Apollinare in Classe is two miles from Ravenna.
At the Mausoleo di Galla Placidia, these leaping flames inspired Dante’s “Inferno.”
The starry sky and trompe l’oeil border date to 425. NBD.
Ravenna is a well-heeled town with a very accessible (and adorable) historic center.
After finishing his masterpiece, “The Divine Comedy,” Dante died here in exile in 1321. Locals say his unhappy spirit still wanders the streets. His tomb, pictured above, resembles a pepper pot.
A lamp burns continuously in Dante’s tomb, the oil a gift from his guilt-ridden hometown, Florence.
The Romagna region is famous for piadina, a type of griddle-coked flat bread. Here, a sandwich filled with proscuitto, arugula, and squacquerone cheese.
I also loved the handwritten menu at Osteria dei Battibecchi, a small restaurant near the Piazza del Popoplo dripping with Old World charm.
I usually don’t like eating out alone, but the food here was so good—rustic and honest—it was company in and of itself, like these handmade spinach-filled tortolloni, tossed in sage butter sauce.
I had never seen peas and meatballs together, but this plate of polpette e piselli were a meal unto themselves, no spaghetti necessary.
The Piazza del Popolo is truly the heart of the town.
It rained during nearly my entire visit, but when the sun emerged, it gleamed in bright slivers. I left Ravenna clutching a hunk of Parmagiano-Reggiano (produced in the neighboring Emilia region, but fresher than what we’ve got at home), and dreaming of ancient glass tiles.