Category Archives: fancy

D.I.Y. GRAND AIOLI

Our friends Radwan and Raia weren’t able to make it to my Kinfolk dinner, so we replicated the grand aioli feast for them right in their home! Afterward, I wrote another column for Offerings honoring this tremendous, life-affirming dish. My last Offerings piece focused on Provencal mussels, so I guess I’m on a bit of a southern France kick! Read on:

Of all of the sacred Provençal traditions, the fierce, garlicky aïoli is one of the region’s most beloved, mystical and legendary rituals. Frédéric Mistral, the lyrical 19th century Provençal poet, wrote that “aioli intoxicates gently, fills the body with warmth, and the soul with enthusiasm. In its essence it concentrates the strength, the gaiety, of the Provençal sunshine.” (He even had a Provencal journal dubbed L’Aioli, so enamored was he of the dish).

In the summer, Provençal villages gather outside for a festival celebrating their local saints and crops of garlic. This culinary orgy is called the aïoli monstre, or The Grand Aïoli, and the feast constitutes a spectacular entanglement of fresh vegetables, seafood, and garlic. This beauteous meal — surely the most sumptuous, color-soaked way to celebrate summer and local harvest — includes a bevy of seasonal ingredients, like beets, carrots, green beans, artichokes, radishes, potatoes, snails, clams, octopus, and salt cod. The only rule is to use the freshest and best ingredients available.

Of all of Provence’s iconic party dishes (bouillabaisse, couscous, and bagna cauda being other notable Les Plats de Festin), aïoli is my very favorite. In Mireille Johnston’s essential tome The Cuisine of the Sun, she writes that these “superdishes” require “exuberance in the planning, many guests to enjoy them, a certain solemnity at the table, and a long siesta to recover from them.” Aïoli pairs up perfectly with my love of parties.

But perhaps a rounded platter heaped high with of boiled fish, raw vegetables, and globs of garlic mayonnaise does not inspire lust in you, so trust me when I say that this will be one of the most lavish, sensual and extraordinary feasts you will prepare all year. It’s a living rainbow on a plate. (In Simple French Food, cookbook writer Richard Olney says that the thought of aïoli “transports a solid block of the meridional French population to heights of ecstasy”). And in the hot summer months when you are loath to turn on your stove, you’ll be relieved to have on hand such a simple, straightforward recipe.

A proper aïoli comprises three main ingredients: egg yolk, garlic, and olive oil. Each must be of impeccable quality, or else there is really no point. Most importantly, look for garlic that is firm, crisp, and sticky. Once it gets a lengthy turn in a mortar and pestle, the garlic will be transformed into a smooth and creamy paste. (Toss any bulbs that are sprouting or feel limp, as you really want the best and brightest specimens). Be creative and loose with the sauce accompaniments, but think variety of color (saturated fuchsias, grassy greens, marigold yellow, shocking orange) and preparation (raw, boiled, steamed, roasted, grilled). If your guests are worried about their pungent breath — and their breath will be pungent — offer sprigs of parsley or mint at the conclusion of the feast. But we’re all in this together, you know?

Recipe notes: I rarely use a recipe when making aïoli, but a good rule of thumb is two cloves of garlic per person and 1 egg yolk for every four people. For those who have never made an aïoli before, I have a sneaky shortcut: a teaspoon of good Dijon mustard, whisked into the yolk-garlic paste, will help stabilize your mayonnaise as you whisk the oil in. You’ll never have a broken aïoli again.

Le Grand Aïoli

Serves 8 people

For the aïoli:

16 garlic cloves, peeled (the “Music” variety, found in most Ontario and Quebec markets, is a delicious Canadian option)

2 egg yolks, at room temperature

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

2 cups extra virgin olive oil

Juice of 1 lemon

Handful parsley and chives, to garnish

Salt, to taste

 

—Using a sharp knife, roughly chop garlic into big chunks.

—Move to mortar and pestle, and pound steadily using broad sweeps with your wrist. Add a liberal amount of salt, and the garlic should begin to break down after several minutes into a smooth, thick paste.  (If you don’t have a mortar and pestle, a food processor is an acceptable substitute).

—Scrape the garlic into a medium-sized bowl and whisk in the egg yolks and mustard until smooth.

—Using a steady hand, add oil in a steady stream, at first drop by drop, and then faster, whisking constantly and furiously. The aïoli will actually thicken, not thin, with the addition of the oil emulsion. (Note: if the sauce breaks, you can whisk in another egg yolk to get it smooth again.)

—When the sauce looks thick and glossy, whisk in the lemon juice. Add salt to taste.

—If eating immediately, garnish with chopped parsley and chives. If not eating right away, cover with plastic wrap, pressing right on the surface, and refrigerate.

 

For the trimmings, mix and match the following:

Mixed seafood (2 lbs each boiled salt cod, snails, clams, and grilled baby octopus or squid)

6 beets

1 bunch carrots, trimmed and halved lengthwise

1 bunch radishes, trimmed and halved

1 head cauliflower, broken into florets

2 lbs cherry tomatoes, washed and trimmed

8 new potatoes (smaller potatoes like fingerlings would be lovely too)

2 fennel bulbs, sliced thinly on a mandoline

2 lbs green beans, trimmed

8 artichokes, trimmed, boiled and quartered

2 lbs baby squash, trimmed and cut lengthwise

2 lbs asparagus, stalks trimmed

4 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and quartered

1 bunch flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped

4 lemons, sliced

 

—Prepare the vegetables that you would like cooked. For example: roast cauliflower florets, baby squash, and asparagus spears in a 425 degree oven, or until golden and crisp. Boiled green beans in salted water for two minutes, or until tender. Roast beets for an hour, then peel and quarter. Boil new potatoes in salted water for 20 minutes, or until tender.

—Let everything cool, and set aside.

—Other vegetables, like tomatoes, carrots, and fennel, will be better raw, and just require a good washing and trimming.

—Using the largest platter you can find (and you may need two or three platters depending on number of ingredients used), and keeping each ingredient separate (don’t mix them together!), artfully arrange the various ingredients on a platter in heaping clusters.

—Spoon aïoli into a small dish and place at the center of platter.

—Serve immediately, and with a bottle of cool, crisp Provencal rosé (I love bottles from Château de Pibarnon, Domaine Tempier, and Domaine Du Gros’Noré).

HOW TO COOK MUSSELS LIKE A PRO

[An excerpt from my latest column for Offerings, on our trip to Provence and eating mussels with Alain Pascal, and making them, again, at home...]

The French have mastered what has taken me years to accept: the most wonderful food has actually been manipulated very little. (Think steamed snow crab, or a radish tartine). The ingredients are already the best they’re ever going to be, and all a smart chef does is nudge it into its final stages of bliss.

An example: My first night in Provence, I attended a dinner at the home of a winemaker living in the Bandol region. As the night went on, we were plied with more and more Mediterranean treasures: cool glasses of copper-colored rosé, half-stale baguettes smeared with almond-mint pesto and tapenade, slow-roasted tomatoes infused with parsley and garlic, grilled fluke drowning in local olive oil. It was extremely simple — country food, the winemaker would have insisted — but executed with the kind of passion and elegance I have only found in people truly in love with eating.

That evening, I ate my first Provencal mussel, plucked from a wide, shallow iron pan which rested directly on an outdoor fire.  They were the most complex, rich-tasting mussels I’ve ever had, but the ingredient list was surprisingly short: the freshly-harvested bivalves, scrubbed clean, a thick paste of garlic, a generous amount of olive oil, and a few branches of rosemary. As the mussels heated over the fire, they released their briny liquid within, flooding the pan with greyish ocean water. We lifted mussels out of the pan with our fingers, pinching out the orange flesh, and tossing the black shell onto the glowing embers of the fire as if it were our personal trash can.

Of course, you don’t need to have an outdoor fireplace to revel in a properly cooked, plump mussel. Unlike most seafood, mussels are crazy cheap and extremely plentiful when in season, so you can serve gigantic amounts of them for an impressive effect. They’re also one of the most environmentally sound types of fish or shellfish around, and they’re super easy to cook. So yeah, this cheap bivalve is pretty amazing.

French cooks like to layer mussels into tarts, bake them into omelets, or cream them into soups. But when I’m cooking for a big group of friends, the easiest way to get maximum impact is to steam mussels gently into submission, and serve them alongside a no-frills starch, like garlic bread, roasted potato wedges, or pasta (either go tiny, like orzo or fregola, or go long and skinny, like spaghetti). Piled high into individual bowls, steamed mussels are spectacular main course, and cost a fraction of its pricier ocean pals.

[Recipe notes: As with most shellfish, mussels must be alive up until the moment of cooking; they become quite unpalatable once dead. Always cook them the same day you buy them. When going through the shells, discard any that are not shut tightly. And after cooking mussels, be sure to toss any mussels which haven’t opened completely during the steaming process.]

Provençal Steamed Mussels

(Serves 4)

5 pounds of mussels

2-3 tablespoons good olive oil

2-3 tablespoons salted butter

10-12 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped

2 shallots, minced finely

3-4 branches rosemary, left intact

½ cup rosé wine (only buy something as good as you would drink in a glass)

¼ cup mixed fresh herbs (use a combination of basil, tarragon, flat-leaf parsley, chives, or whatever is in season)

Salt and pepper, to taste

Lemon wedges, to serve

1-2 tablespoons Pastis, optional

—Rinse and thoroughly scrub mussels in three changes of water to remove “the beard,” barnacles, and all sand and grit. Set aside.

—In a a deep, stainless steel pot, heat olive oil and butter over medium-low heat. Once shimmering, add shallots and garlic, and turn the heat down to low. Stir until lightly golden, about five minutes. (If using Pastis, add to the aromatics and cook until reduced, about 30 seconds.)

—Add the mussels (depending on the size of your pot, you may have to do this in two batches). Add rosemary branches, a few hefty glugs of wine, and shake pot vigorously.

—Place lid tightly on pot and let mussels steam. As soon as they have opened (about five minutes), they are finished cooking.

—Finish with a few pinches of salt, a grind of pepper, and a dramatic toss of fresh herbs.

—Ladle mussels and its attendant liquid into shallow bowls. Serve immediately with crusty, fresh bread and lemon wedges.

DRESSED DOWN

One of my classiest outfits still renders me the most casually dressed person at last night’s Montreal en Lumiere dinner. Ah, Montreal. How you consistently out-fancy me.

HAPPY MATCH

Whenever we see a good deal on fresh lobsters, we buy one or two. Always. A local supermarket was offering fresh, whole lobsters for 7.99/lb, so without thinking about it too much, we bought one and made a comforting pot of risotto. Easiest, fastest way to feel super fancy.

Lobster Risotto

[Note: Some people insist that a proper risotto should have cream, butter, and cheese, but it's so easy to make a gorgeous, creamy risotto without any of these things. Now that I know how good it is without those things, I rarely add them. Why bother? So I omitted all of those ingredients and used a big spoonful of goose fat instead. Equal evils, I guess. This would also be nice with a bit of lemon juice and zest. Also, Richard Olney has a nice tip for successful risotto — bring the liquid, whether it's wine, broth, or water, to a low simmer, so you're ladling hot liquid onto hot rice.]

1 cup arborio rice
2 shallots, chopped and minced
3 cloves fresh garlic, minced (we love the ‘Music’ variety that can be found at the market for a pretty penny)
2 cups white wine
2 cups chicken stock (I always keep some frozen, the taste is so much deeper than the store-bought stuff)
1 small lobster, boiled and chopped into big pieces (keep those magnificent claws intact)
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper
fresh tarragon and parsley, torn

—In a heavy, enamel-coated cast iron pot, gently heat olive oil (and goose fat, if you’re using it!) and saute shallots until soft. Do not brown.
—Add rice and garlic and stir, 30 seconds, to coat and lightly toast. Salt generously.
—Add ladles of white wine and chicken broth, alternating, and stir. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. When the liquid has reduced by half, add another ladle of liquid.
—As the risotto thickens, the rice should be tender but have a definite bite to it. In the final moments, stir in the boiled lobster pieces.
—Top with torn tarragon, parsley, freshly cracked black pepper, lemon wedges, and a chilled bottle of white Burgundy.