June 23, 2004
Gâteau au Chocolat Aérien, Glacé Ganache
[Aerial Chocolate Cake, Ganache Glaze]
This cake recipe comes from Trish Deseine's book "Je Veux du Chocolat!" -- much-liked and oft-mentioned around here, as I'm sure you've noticed. I am not spontaneously drawn to that kind of light-textured chocolate cake, having chosen instead to walk the path of dense, fudgy, melt-in-your-mouth cakes, but sometimes the occasion calls for a cake just like this.
A couple of months ago, I was contacted by a girl named Camille, a senior student at the Camondo school of design and architecture in Paris. She was working on her graduation project, for which she had designed a new kind of lunch box for three, to be bought and shared, picnic-style, with your friends or coworkers. She had the box all designed, with nifty ideas and a clever stacking of containers, but the point was, after all, to serve food. And this is where she requested my help : could I create six chromatic menus to fill the containers -- green, yellow, pink, orange, white and black, in pure Pink Buffet style?
I was charmed by the idea, and felt an instant connection to the delightfully sweet and friendly Camille (not completely irrelevant I think, is the fact that I have a thing with names and Camille happens to be my middle name). I eagerly agreed to help, and got to work. The challenge was to create a set of menus that made culinary sense, while following the color rule (I added a "no artificial coloring" rule) and also factoring in the box's structure : it contained a fixed number of containers of different shapes, all linked together, that were to be unfolded and unstacked, from top to bottom, as the meal progressed.
Over the course of the last two months, in preparation for the grand jury, Camille and I worked on making these menus real, so she could take pictures for her project presentation : some dishes she made on her own from recipes I provided, some items were store-bought to save time, some dishes we made together. And among the latter (are you getting the where-in-the-world-is-she-going-with-this syndrome yet? come on, be honest) was this chocolate cake you see here, to be included as the dessert in the black menu.
I wanted a chocolate cake that would rise high enough to fill the cubic dessert containers prettily, and I wanted to glaze the servings with a dark chocolate ganache, to make them black and shiny. This recipe fit the bill perfectly, and was absolutely scrumptious : the cake part is fluffy and moist, and the ganache glaze -- well, what can you expect of a ganache glaze but sheer sublimity?
Incidently, this is what Camille chose to serve the jury members, to illustrate her point. Point well illustrated apparently, as the results just came out, and I am most proud and happy to annouce that she graduated, and with honors, no less. Toutes mes félicitations Camille!
"Gâteau au Chocolat Aérien, Glacé Ganache" continues »
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June 22, 2004
Le Sandwich Corse de Clotilde, vu chez Cojean
[Clotilde's Corsican Sandwich, as seen at Cojean's]
I cannot begin to tell you how gratifying Chocolate & Zucchini has been, since the very early days. But this, having a sandwich named after me at one of my absolute favorite lunch places, is a benefit I clearly hadn't foreseen. You must forgive my candor, but : how unbelievably cool is that, I ask you?
Okay, a little explanation is in order. Cojean is a sandwich and salad restaurant, founded by someone named Alain Cojean. Being a great fan of that place, I wrote a review for Bonjour Paris, and mentioned on C&Z; that one of their sandwiches had been the inspiration for my Salade Figue et Poire à la Bresaola. This caught the attention of Fred Maquair, Alain Cojean's associate, who liked C&Z; and got in touch with me, to express his thanks.
I was delighted of course, but not half as much as a few days ago, when he sent me an email to let me know that a new menu was coming out, featuring a sandwich inspired in turn by my Tartine Corse, which was thus to be named, quite simply, "le sandwich corse de clotilde".
"Aflutter with joy" is an understated description of yours truly, upon hearing the news.
Of course, I took a trip to Cojean's as soon as I could, digital camera in hand, to immortalize the moment. I stepped in, right in the middle of the lunch rush, and quickly located my spiritual baby. "Nouveau", said a little yellow label. "Le sandwich corse de clotilde", said another, baby blue label. "Oh my", thought I. I asked a waitress for permission to take a picture : "I'd love to take a picture of the sandwich corse de clotilde", I said, "because um... you see, I am Clotilde."
"Le Sandwich Corse de Clotilde, vu chez Cojean" continues »
June 20, 2004
IMBB5 : Brochettes de Poissons Tropicaux à la Nectarine, Chutney Assorti
[Tropical Fish and Nectarine Skewers, Matching Chutney]
Yay, it's IMBB time again! Today is the 5th edition of Is My Blog Burning?, the collaborative food blogging event in which food bloggers all over the world unite, and cook something in line with a theme. IMBB is our dear Alberto's brain child, and this fantastic, fun and friendly event has already brought us batches and batches of soup, tartine, cake and rice recipes. This time around, hosting is provided by the adorable Wena, who chose fish as the theme.
As always when I have to cook for a special event, I threw myself in the arms of agonizing hesitations and procrastination, and couldn't possibly make up my mind about what to make. Usually I'll go back and forth between two or three ideas, pondering what the best choice is, but this time my mind was pretty much a blank. The date was getting closer, and I was starting to worry.
And you know what saved me, of all things? The TGV. TGV, or Train à Grande Vitesse, is the pride and joy of France, a technology of high-speed trains that peaks at 300 km/h (186 mph). Last week, for my job, I rode this train to Lille (a city in the North of France) in the wee hours of the morning. As an aside, why on Earth do these people start meetings at 9am when they know for a fact I come from Paris, and have to get up at 5:30am? Is this some kind of sleep deprivation technique to get more out of me? Don't they know that Clotildes get grumpy, irritable and uncompromising when lacking proper rest (or nourishment)? Maybe I should provide them with a user's guide. "Clotildes for dummies" or something.
It being quite early, I had closed my eyes in the wild hope that this would somehow re-energize me and help with the feeling of having just been grabbed and thrown out of bed -- and not cause me, instead, to arrive at my meeting crusty-eyed and sore-necked, with an optional decorative patch of drool on the shoulder of my suit vest. I had fallen into that state of half-sleep where your thoughts wander around idly, taking rational paths then sharp turns into weirdness or fantasy, morphing little things into giant, convoluted versions of themselves, twisting reality into confusing shapes, and leading you along unexpected routes.
It is in this state of mind that, after considering project planning questions for a little while, my thoughts turned to IMBB and my contribution, conjuring up the idea of a dish, which constructed itself out of nowhere behind my closed eyelids. This woke me up with a start : all was not lost! Project planning was a disaster, but at least I had a dish for the fish IMBB!
A few days later, I followed the dream's instructions, and brought these fish and nectarine skewers to life, served with herbed couscous and a nectarine chutney. They turned out to be everything I had hoped for : pretty, summery, and delicious.
Nectarines -- yellow nectarines -- are very high on my list of favorite fruits, and strongly associated with childhood summer vacations in the mountains, where we would buy crates of them, plump and sun-kissed, at the local market. This was the first time I paired them with fish (or anything savory for that matter), and they turn out to be a great match. For the fish, I used a blend of tropical fish (tuna, swordfish and escolar), which I had bought frozen at my Picard store. The chutney was initially destined to be a sauce, poured onto the skewers, but as I was making it I could see that it wasn't really sauce material, so it became a chutney instead, and I served it in my darling mini paper cups.
So I would like to solemnly thank the TGV for the inspiration, and, let's not forget, my client from Lille, who calls meetings so damn early. I'll be going quite often in the coming weeks, so let's hope every train ride is as fruitful culinary-wise!
"IMBB5 : Brochettes de Poissons Tropicaux à la Nectarine, Chutney Assorti" continues »
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June 18, 2004
Figues d'Iran
[Persian Figs]
These cute marble-size figs are called Persian figs, or Shirazi figs. They come from Iran, where they are produced on a small scale, in villages : they are picked from a type of fig-tree which grows scattered in the mountains, and they are then dried in the sun.
The path those little guys have taken to reach me is a little tortuous. My parents have a vacation house in the East of France, and when they're there, they go shopping at the open-air market in Gerardmer, a pretty lakeside town nearby. At this market, amidst the cheese, wine, meat, honey and produce stands, one is held by an energetic lady, who sells all sorts of Mediterranean products, in big wooden vats : spreads and tapenades, marinated veggies, all kinds of olives, different oils and spices... And on my parents' last visit, Madame Olive -- as she is now known in the family vernacular -- happened to also sell those unusual figs. Intrigued, my parents bought some and shared the bounty with me.
Much blonder in shade than regular dried figs, they are also very small and of a delicate shape. Some of them are split open at the bottom, revealing a light pink, speckled flesh.
I have yet to use them in my cooking, but I know that they can be added to fruit compotes (Madame Olive recommended them with rhubarb), and can also be used to complement savory dishes, as an accompaniment to braised meat, or in condiments, like a Persian fig and onion jam.
More fascinating info about Persian figs, how they're grown and consumed, and the related cultural beliefs, as well as some recipes, can be found on this Iranian website.
June 17, 2004
Roasted Green Peppers
I had been wanting to roast my own peppers for years, but never had. I'd always loved roasted peppers, be they red, green, yellow or none of the above. I had read about the different possible methods, about the tips and tricks, about the things that could go wrong and how to avoid them, about how freshly roasted peppers were astonishingly better than jarred -- I knew all that.
But for some obscure reason, I held the belief, deeply ingrained inside of me, that it just would not work, not for me. Sure, it worked for thousands of others, but somehow I could not imagine how my peppers, fresh and firm and plasticky to the touch, could really cook and soften in my oven, or that their skin could actually get charred and blistered. It was just beyond me. (In passing, I seem to hold the same kind of weird disbelief about leavening agents, which is why I never bake bread. But I'll get over it soon, I promise.)
And then the other day, we had two organic green peppers in the fridge, and I decided it was high time I test my own limits, and see whether I was indeed the X-File of pepper-roasting.
Well, good news, I'm not.
And what an incredible discovery! It is the easiest thing in the whole wide world! It works beautifully! And it isn't even a pain to remove the membranes and seeds! It's actually fun! And the result is so delightfully good and pretty -- so tasty and tender you would swear on your firstborn's left big toe that they are soaked in the most flavorful oil -- that really, I need to stop myself from thinking about all those wasted years, spent not home-roasting any peppers.
"Roasted Green Peppers" continues »
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June 16, 2004
La Table de Lucullus
This past Friday, I took Maxence out to dinner at La Table de Lucullus. The official excuse was to mark a job-related occasion, but in truth, I had wanted to take him to that restaurant for a little while, and was just waiting for an alibi. In fact, it was second on the list when I invited him to Aux Lyonnais for his birthday back in January.
La Table de Lucullus is hidden in the not-so-swanky part of the 17th arrondissement, where kebab hole-in-the-walls are aplenty, and where the existence of a gastronomical restaurant sounds unlikely, to say the least. But still, this is where Nicolas Vagnon, a chef in his late twenties, decided to open his restaurant and serve the kind of food he's passionate about : seafood in all shapes and forms.
The restaurant is rather small, with no more than seven or eight tables, and up on the wall are three gigantic blackboards on which the daily selection is written out, in Nicolas' large, loopy -- and not always entirely decipherable -- handwriting.
It is the chef himself who welcomes the guests and handles the service, announcing the menu in his booming voice (in French or in excellent English), taking the orders and bringing the different dishes ; introducing them, pointing out details and answering your questions, eager to discuss the food with you and genuinely happy -- no, ecstatic -- that you share his enthusiasm.
"La Table de Lucullus" continues »
June 15, 2004
Mushroom Salt
Just when you thought that some things, like salt, couldn't be improved upon, someone has to go out and invent mushroom salt!
This pretty grinder, which I bought at the Grande Epicerie de Paris, contains thick crystals of sea salt and chunks of dried mushrooms -- chanterelles, porcini and African caesar mushrooms -- so that the seasoning you grind out is a very pleasant blend of salted mushroom flavor. This is, as you would expect, particularly good on eggs and tomatoes, on potato-based dishes and buttered toast, but I tend to pretty much use it on any and everything, these days.
It is made by a company called The Cape Herb & Spice Company, based in South Africa, interestingly enough. They offer different kinds of spice-based products, including this line of grinders, called Elements of Spice, mixing sea salt and peppercorns with a variety of herbs, spices, seaweed or even flowers.
The blends have well-designed labels and imaginative names, which account for half the attraction, I'm sure : mine is called "Magic Mushrooms", and for my next acquisition I have my eye on "Darling Buds", a blend of sea salt, rose buds and petals, lavender and chamomile flowers. Or wait, let's see, maybe "Fruits Alfresco", with sundried tomatoes, roasted garlic, olive, bell peppers and red onion? Or maybe both?
June 14, 2004
Broccoli and Cornmeal Upside Down Cake
I love surprises, and I'm sure you'll agree that cooking surprises are among the best.
You start out to make something, unsure where you're going, assembling things, changing course as you go ; you don't really know what you're doing, half-thinking "oh dear that doesn't look right", but still, you're going with the flow, following your instincts and reasoning that, with what's in it, it can't be that bad, can it?
And then, despite your doubts -- which you'd think would undermine the dish's confidence, and cripple its ambition -- what you made turns out, not passable, not okay, but just plain excellent. You look at it and it looks really good ; you eat it and you marvel, with each bite, at the sheer magic of cooking chemistry.
This is precisely what happened with this Broccoli and Cornmeal Upside Down Cake. I prepared it the other night, coming home from work : I had cornbread on the mind and I wanted to use up a lonely head of broccoli that was feeling a bit neglected. I was going to fold the broccoli into a cornmeal-based batter, but at the very last minute decided to pour the batter on top of the broccoli instead, à la upside down cake.
But the batter seemed a little strange, I was wondering about the amount of baking powder I had used, and was generally unsure about the whole idea. Still, I put it into the oven and hoped for the best. I kept an eye on it, and saw it turn beautifully golden. When it looked ready I flipped it onto a serving plate and was ever-so-pleased to discover how pretty it looked.
I cut it in wedges, served it warm, and was delighted with the outcome, sweet and scrumptious. Cornmeal and broccoli go wonderfully well together : the cornmeal batter develops a nice crust on the outside, and feels increasingly moist, the closer it gets to the broccoli. The walnuts and raisins add great textural and flavor variety -- next time I may try walnut and bacon bits for a non-vegetarian version. The leftovers were fantastic, served cold for lunch the next day, and methinks this would be the perfect picnic item or brunch dish, made the night before and served at room temperature.
"Broccoli and Cornmeal Upside Down Cake" continues »
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June 11, 2004
Corn Muffins
Oh. My. Muffin.
These corn muffins you see here were made with the mix that Alicia sent me a little while ago, as part of her Maryland Delights food package.
I hadn't had a corn muffin since my California days, and they were as excellent as I remembered, if not even more so. This mix is made by a brand named Washington, and boasts golden sweet corn as its first ingredient -- while the Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix lists Enriched Flour, Niacin, Iron, Thiamine Mononitrate, Riboflavin and Folic Acid before cornmeal even shows up! This may very well explain the taste difference.
And um, as enthusiastic a baker as I am, there is definitely something to be said for baking mixes : you dump the mix in a bowl, add a beaten egg and a half-cup of milk (which was, quite eerily, exactly the amount left in the carton), and then stir-pour-bake. The most time-consuming thing was, possibly, lining the muffin pan with paper cups.
Nice and golden, subtly sweet with a great corn flavor, they developped the tastiest crust on top. We ate them still warm, just out of the oven. Maxence seems to be a horizontal muffin eater, but I am most definitely a vertical muffin eater, bottom-to-top : remove the paper liner, but gently, to minimize the amount of muffin that stays stuck on, for grating the paper cup with your teeth isn't acceptable in all situations, and just isn't as enjoyable as you might expect. Flip the muffin upside down and bite into the bottom of the muffin, gnawing at the moussy yellow goodness, until you are left with the top crust and just the right amount of remaining muffin flesh. Take a moment to admire your crispy flying saucer with the eyes of love, and eat it blissfully in a circular motion, crusty side down.
And now, dear and resourceful readers, my question to you is : does anyone have a from-scratch recipe that makes corn muffins as delightful as these?
June 10, 2004
Fig and Mozzarella Warm Sandwich
I have always been a huge sandwich fan, I could eat sandwiches at every meal. This is probably because I adore bread, but also because nothing beats holding your food in your hands and biting greedily into it. Elegant? No. Messy? Yes. But oh-so-satisfying!
Sandwich making, however, is an art that very few food outlets master, obviously. Cardboard bread, processed chicken, limp lettuce, mayo overdose, this is what you have to face most of the time. And it shouldn't be that difficult really : decent bread and a few good-quality ingredients, in an interesting and sound combination. Maybe my expectations are too high?
Or rather, besides the traditional jambon-beurre (a half-baguette sandwich of butter and ham), I think sandwiches are just not part of the French food culture. Most people think of sandwiches as a way to eat a cheap and fast lunch, setting aside all considerations of quality and gustatory pleasure. And of course a good sandwich, as described above, is not cheap to make, so it may just be a supply and demand thing : if people are not willing to pay for a good sandwich, well, let them eat crap.
So I very rarely buy sandwiches, unless I am in the vicinity of one of my trusted sources (Boulangépicier, Cojean and Bert's) and I will often take matters into my own hands whenever the urge strikes. This is how today's featured sandwich came to life : I came home from work, positively famished, with visions of sandwiches dancing in my head, composing themselves with the ingredients I had on hand. Little loaves of bread and figs from the freezer, buffalo mozzarella and pesto from the fridge, and basil from the window sill herb garden. Quickly assembled, quickly baked, quickly scarfed down.
A moment of pure, scrumptious enjoyment. The bread gets crispy in the oven, and the ingredient combo is simple and beautiful : sweet figs, soft mozzarella, fragrant basil and tasty pesto. This was so earth-shatteringly good that I couldn't get enough of it, and actually made it three times in five days, until I was forced to stop for lack of supplies. Otherwise there's a good chance I'd be eating one as I type.
"Fig and Mozzarella Warm Sandwich" continues »
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Previously on Chocolate & Zucchini
Cabillaud aux Fèves, Airelles et Pistaches 8 Jun 2004 [9 comments]
Duo de Pesto : Pesto de Roquette et Pesto Rouge 7 Jun 2004 [9 comments]
The Paris Potluck : Yet More Recipes! 6 Jun 2004 [4 comments]
Terrine de Légumes au Fromage de Chèvre et aux Herbes 4 Jun 2004 [7 comments]
Paillassons de Pomme de Terre 3 Jun 2004 [8 comments]
White Bean and Nut Butter Dip 2 Jun 2004 [11 comments]
The Paris Potluck 1 Jun 2004 [15 comments]
Cuisses de Grenouille aux Herbes 31 May 2004 [9 comments]
Compote Rose 29 May 2004 [11 comments]
Mini Paper Cups 28 May 2004 [19 comments]
The Pasta Salad That Rhymed With O 27 May 2004 [8 comments]
Tomates Confites 26 May 2004 [19 comments]
Pain Chocolat Orange 25 May 2004 [11 comments]
Soupe de Châtaigne au Chorizo 24 May 2004 [6 comments]
