Cous Cous Salad

So far, all of the recipes in this blog come from past meals. This one, however, I have just finished making and it is going to be served tonight when we have four guests coming to dinner. It is  baking hot in Fredericksburg (but not the soggy, oppressive heat I remember from my native Louisiana…when people in Virginia complain about the summer heat and humidity, I always think; “If they only knew!”) So we are having a cold buffet.

The Cous Cous salad is going to be one dish of a meal that will also include chicken salad and shrimp salad, served with a Sauvignon Blanc, and followed by a chocolate mousse from our cherished Wegmans. I couldn’t make a better one.

Ingredients:

20 ounces  of plain Cous Cous

1 tablespoon of olive oil

1 teaspoon of salt

4 cups of water

Put water, oil, and salt in a large pot and bring to a boil

Add Cous Cous, turn off heat and cover.

Let sit for five minutes then uncover and gently fluff with a fork, breaking up all lumps

 Empty into a very large bowl.

Then add and mix in:

 1 medium zucchini, chopped and blanched in boiling salted water for one minute

6 Campari tomatoes, quartered and seeded (or cherry tomatoes, halved)

½ small  jalapeno, finely diced

½ cup of finely chopped fresh herbs: chives, parsley, tarragon, basil and mint

1 can of whole water chestnuts, drained and halved

¼ cup of pine nuts

¼ cup peeled and salted pistachio nuts

¼ cup roughly chopped roasted, salted almonds

Chopped green onion tops

One small sweet red pepper, seeded and minced

Juice of one lemon

¼ teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper

Add extra olive oil if the salad seems too dry

Let chill in fridge for at least four hours.

Serves six as a side dish (I hope)

                             The finished Cous Cous Salad

Taking a Brief Break

I will not be making a posting this Saturday. I have temporarily run out of recipes and stories. And I am trying to meet the deadline for the translation I am doing of the French text for the book on Alix Aymé that Somogy is publishing early next year. At the moment I have time for little else.  But I hope to start posting again on the first weekend in July.  I hope you will visit the blog then!

For more information about Alix Aymé and the upcoming exhibition at the Evergreen Museum and Library at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, visit our web site:  http://www.fc-fineart.com/

My Omelet

I knew two young Brazilian artists when I lived in Paris in the late 1960s, both named after famous composers: Mozart Pela and Rossini Perez. Of the two, Rossini was the more serious and productive artist. He lived in a remarkable maze of a studio that he had constructed in a dilapidated building at Place de la Bastille where the new Paris Opéra now stands. He gave seductive, long-lasting, very laid-back parties with delicious food, wine, sambas, bossa novas, and beautiful people of several different sexes. I suspect the food was heavily laced with hashish because his guests were always extremely relaxed and happy. We sat around on comfortable sofas and low chairs, ate, drank, and sank into a mood of joyful calm.  However, Rossini was also a hard-working artist, a painter and print-maker, whose works are in important collections, including the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. He was given a major commission by the Brazilian government and many of his pieces adorn buildings in the capital city of Brasilia.

Mozart, on the other hand, was something of a slacker who seemed to live in a permanent state of near-exhaustion. A mutual friend who knew him well told me that he only produced about one painting a year and devoted most of his energy to his real passion: scouring flea markets for cheap ceramic vases from the 1940s, of which he had amassed an enormous collection.

I had first heard of him when I was living in Florence and my close friend, Carl Selph, who was planning a vacation in Austria, was asked by a cranky American art historian named Robert Wolf if he could possibly give Mozart a ride to Salzburg. Unfortunately, this did not fit into Carl’s plan, and I heard no more about the Brazilian Mozart until I met him a few years later through a mutual friend in Paris.

Mozart once invited me to dinner at his apartment in a public housing project (HLM) in a distant and dodgy arrondissement, and on the appointed evening, at the appointed hour, I showed up at the door of the sinister looking building at the same time as the other invited guest: Lotte Eisner, a great authority on German Expressionist Cinema, whom I knew by sight from the Paris Cinémathèque.

The first year I worked in Paris, I lived almost opposite the Palais de Chaillot where the Cinémathèque was then located, and spent many pleasant hours there. It provided cheap and interesting entertainment, and I was somewhat starved for movies because I had been living in Florence which was then a kind of cinematic backwater and where all American movies were dubbed into Italian, often hilariously so. Among the films I had seen there were Chi Ha Paura di Virginia Woolf? and Che Fine Ha Fatto Baby Jane? And  I loved the re-release of Gone With Wind - Via Col Vento - with a scene in which Mammy had to say “Avanti, avanti, Signorina Rossella!.” instead of “Hurry, hurry Miss Scarlett!” I don’t know how she managed to get it all out, and with a southern accent to boot.

On weekends, I would frequently go to the two p.m. feature at the Cinémathèque, then the four p.m. feature, go home to have a bite of dinner, and then return for the eight p.m. feature, and when there was something really good on, stay for the ten p.m. feature. Between showings, while waiting in the lobby, I often saw the Holy Trinity of the Cinémathèque chatting together in the middle of a blue cloud of Gauloise smoke: Henri Langlois, its founder, a passionate cinephile who saved thousands and thousands of films; his portly mistress, Mary Meerson, and tiny, gnarled Lotte Eisner, absorbed in conversation.

Lotte, in addition to being a critic and historian, was also the Chief Archivist of the Cinémathèque, the one who brought order to Langlois’s creative disorder. Everyone knew these three personages and I had seen Lotte many, many times, but had never spoken to her until we found ourselves on the doorstep of Mozart Pela’s building, waiting for our host to appear.  We rang the bell and waited and waited and waited. We sat down on the stoop and began to chat. Lotte theorized that Mozart was probably in the flat, but felt too fatigued to entertain, so was ignoring the bell. Finally we gave up and decided to leave. I asked Lotte if I might treat her to a meal if we could find an eating place somewhere nearby and she said that sounded like a good idea. We made our way out of the project toward a lighted street and found an unpromising looking brasserie.  By that time we were both famished. And that is probably why the omelet I ordered seemed the best I had ever eaten. It was fluffy and light, golden brown on the outside and smooth and creamy on the inside.  We had a delightful evening. And when I accompanied Lotte back to the Métro, she invited me to come for tea at her flat in Neuilly the following Sunday, an invitation I was happy to accept.

On Sunday, when I left my flat in the Marais, a bustling neighborhood with many shops, I almost stopped at a florist to buy some flowers for Lotte, but then decided that I would probably be able to find a bouquet once the Métro had taken me to Neuilly. As soon as I got to her neighborhood, I realized I had made a mistake. This part of Neuilly was strictly residential, there was not a shop to be found, and the streets were deserted. I felt as if I had entered a de Chirico painting as I walked  in the bright sunshine along walls with shut windows and closed doors and not a soul in sight until I noticed a young couple ahead of me, walking in the same direction. I saw them stop, look in a window, then disappear into a door. It was a fruit vendor’s shop, the only thing open on the entire street, and in the window was an attractive display of pineapples. “Good,” I thought, “I’ll buy Lotte a pineapple instead of flowers.” I stood behind the young couple and saw that they also were buying a pineapple. They paid and left with their purchase, and then I did the same.  I was about a dozen paces behind them as we bore our pineapples through the void of a silent Sunday afternoon in Neuilly. Things were getting a little surreal.  They stopped and rang a bell.  As I approached I realized that they had stopped at the same address I was going to. The door buzzed and we entered together.” “Are you going to see Lotte?” the man asked in a German accent. “Yes,” I said. “I hope she‘s fond of pineapples.” Then Werner Herzog introduced himself and his wife.

The talk over tea that afternoon was, of course, all about movies, and I mostly just listened. It was 1968 or 69 and Herzog was at the beginning of his career. Later I learned what a great influence Lotte had on his filmmaking and how devoted he was to her. In 1974, when she was dangerously ill, he walked from Munich to Paris to show his faith that she would recover, which she did. He published a diary of the trip, On Walking in Ice  is the title of the English translation. Lotte is also the voice from the whirlwind in his 1974 masterpiece Aguirre – The Wrath of God.

Over the years, I have perfected my omelet making technique and on the mornings when I get it right, I think my omelet is probably just as good as the one I devoured with Lotte in that louche corner of Paris so many years ago.

I start with an eight-inch non-stick skillet and about a teaspoon of olive oil (which I have come to prefer to butter) over medium-high heat. I break into a bowl two organic eggs (that, courtesy of our butcher, we get from local hens),  add a splash of tap water, a large pinch of salt, a bit of freshly ground pepper, and beat vigorously with a fork. . When the eggs are thoroughly mixed and well-aerated and the oil is hot, I dump them in the skillet and turn down the heat to low. I toss in some fresh chopped chives, parsley, and tarragon from our garden, sprinkle a heaping tablespoon of shredded gruyère on top and wait until I see that the underside of the omelet has begun to turn a light golden color. Then with a very wide spatula I gently fold it over, and over once again, until it actually looks like an omelet. Another couple of minutes and it is ready to serve.

Chopped herbs from the garden

   Tools and ingredients

                                    The mixture in the skillet

                                                     The first fold-over

Ready to be eaten

   

Chicken Salad for Bad Southern Belles

“Good Southern belles never put dark meat in their chicken salad…”  wrote Marilyn Schwartz in her classic guide to manners below the Mason/Dixon Line: The Southern Belle Primer, or Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be a Kappa Kappa Gamma.

Southern belles who follow this archaic rule (that smacks of racism) don’t know what they are missing. I think the best chicken salads are made with dark meat. Here is my recipe for chicken salad that also contains several other ingredients that once might have kept a Southern belle from receiving an invitation to join the Junior League.

The day before, or at least an hour before:

Put in a medium saucepan:

1 package of skinless, boneless chicken thighs

1 large carrot, roughly chopped

1 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped

1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon salt

Enough chicken stock to cover all

Poach over a medium-low heat until the chicken breasts are cooked (about 20 minutes).

Reserve liquid for later use and put chicken thighs in a covered bowl in the refrigerator to chill.


1 small red onion

Peel and chop into small pieces and then put in a jar and cover with balsamic vinegar. Put into refrigerator to marinate.


Next day, or at least an hour later:

The chicken thighs, cut into bite-sized pieces

1 stalk of celery, chopped

¾ cup of chopped fennel bulb

½ cup chopped fresh parsley

1 tablespoon of fresh chopped tarragon

1 tablespoon of fresh chopped dill

1 small jalapeno pepper, seeded and minced

1 can of whole water chestnuts

½ cup of roasted, lightly salted almonds

½ cup of shelled pistachio nuts

2 tablespoons of the marinated chopped red onions

Five or six bread & butter pickles, chopped

Five or six cornichons, chopped

½ teaspoon of red curry powder

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon of ground black pepper

2 tablespoons of mayonnaise, preferably Hellman’s (under no circumstances substitute Miracle Whip. For such a gaucherie you would be given a stern rebuke by Ms. Schwartz)

Thoroughly combine all the above ingredients in a large bowl. The salad is better if it is put in the fridge for an hour or so to allow the flavors “to marry.” If you don’t have time for this, stall for as long as you can before serving to let the flavors at least co-habit for a while.

I like to serve the salad on a bed of arugula lightly dressed with a vinaigrette.

Serves 3 or 4

My Secret Recipe for a Wicked Leek Soup

A friend who has tried this says that the recipe is actually much better than the pun that inspired it.

Ingredients:



2 medium leeks, thoroughly washed and chopped, both white and green parts

½ fennel bulb, chopped

1 stalk of celery, chopped

1 medium white potato, peeled, thinly sliced and diced

4 cloves of garlic, peeled and minced

1 cup of Italian parsley, chopped

1 medium jalapeño pepper, -seeded and minced

1 stick of unsalted butter

2 tablespoons of flour

1 teaspoon of sea salt

½ teaspoon of ground black pepper

1 teaspoon of red curry powder

32 fluid ounces of chicken stock



Gently melt the butter in a large saucepan.

Add the flour and stir over a low flame until it begins to bubble and lightly color.

Add the other ingredients and stir until the vegetables have softened.

Add chicken stock and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes or until all the vegetables are very tender.

Let cool.

Remove a little more than half the soup and liquefy it in a blender.

Pour back into the rest of the soup, stir over low heat and bring to a simmer. Serve.


About 4 generous servings

Definitely Not Peggy Guggenheim’s Hungarian Goulash

When I lived in Florence in the 1960s, I heard colorful stories about the art collector Peggy Guggenheim, but I never met her. Most of the stories were told me by my friend Count Francesco Guicciardini who knew Peggy well and on his trips to Venice sometimes stayed with her at the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni on the Grand Canal.

It was common knowledge that Ms. Guggenheim collected lovers as passionately as she collected art. According to one of her biographers, Peggy and her younger sister, Hazel, competed to see who could sleep with the most men. When Peggy got to one thousand they stopped counting and she was declared the winner. Hazel is said to have commented that the only reason she lost was that Peggy was a few years older and therefore had a head start.

One of the stories that Francesco told me about his friend is perhaps apocryphal, but it seems to have had Peggy’s blessing. She owned a life-sized bronze statue by Marino Marini of a horse and nude rider that could be seen from the Grand Canal. Allegedly, the sculpture came with several detachable erect male members of varying sizes. Francesco said that whenever Peggy heard that the Archbishop of Venice was going to be passing in his barge in front of her Palazzo, she always attached the largest one.

In the late 1960s, while on a trip to Venice, I was able to visit her collection which by that time was open to the public. On the second floor of the palazzo, a dumpy looking woman dressed like a maid in a shapeless blue dress was sitting at a table selling catalogues. When I stopped to buy one, she put down a card on which she had been scribbling something. I glanced down and saw that it was a recipe for Hungarian Goulash. While she was giving me my change, I suddenly realized that it was Peggy herself looking like anything but a glamorous seductress. Sensing that it might not be wise to acknowledge that I had recognized her, I took my change and the catalogue and went to look at the impressive art.

More than a decade later, in the New Orleans Museum of Art’s Arts Quarterly, I read an amusing article about life in Peggy’s palazzo written by one of her former curators. He mentioned that once when the Hungarian Ambassador was invited to dinner, Peggy made a Hungarian Goulash that was almost inedible and made everyone ill. Was it from the recipe I had a glimpse of? Probably.

A few days ago I attempted my first goulash, the recipe an amalgam of several I found on the Internet. It was simple to make and turned out very well. At the very least, it was tasty and did not make either John or me ill.

Here it is:

Ingredients:

1 pound of beef chunks for stew

Flour for coating beef

Enough Canola oil to coat the bottom of a large pot

1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced

2 large cloves of garlic, peeled and minced

1 small Jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced

About 1 ½ cups of low sodium chicken broth

1 teaspoon of good paprika

1 tablespoon of Worcestershire sauce

1 quarter cup of catsup

1 tablespoon of raw sugar

¼ teaspoon of dry mustard

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

¼ cup chopped parsley for garnish

8 ounces of sour cream



For dumplings:

6 tablespoons of flour

1 well beaten egg

1/8 teaspoon of salt

Coat beef with flour and brown in a large pot over a medium high frame, tossing frequently to keep the meat from burning.

When well browned, remove meat and set aside.

Toss sliced onions, garlic and Jalapeño pepper in the pot until the onions begin to turn golden. Add more oil if needed.

Return beef to the pot and add paprika, Worcestershire sauce, catsup, raw sugar, dry mustard, bay leaf, salt and pepper.

Let simmer for 1 ½ to 2 hours, until beef is very tender, adding more stock if necessary.

Before the stew has finished cooking, combine in a bowl the beaten egg, flour and salt. Let the mixture sit for at least half an hour.

Add the dumpling mixture to the stew one spoonful at a time and let simmer for about five minutes.

Ladle the stew and dumplings into two bowls, garnish with parsley, add a generous dollop of sour cream and serve.

Serves two.

John and Barbara Suval’s Grilled Lamb

John Suval, a third-generation dealer in rare porcelain and a celebrated carnivore, and his wife Barbara, a charming and generous hostess and excellent cook, live in one of the most beautiful and historic 18th century houses in Fredericksburg. Wellford House on Caroline Street was built in 1785 by Dr. Robert Wellford, a close friend of George Washington. Were General Washington to stop by today, he would probably feel very much at home in a house that is beautifully furnished with period antiques and a gorgeous selection of Chinese and China Trade porcelain and early British and European ceramics.

We are fortunate that because of our close friendship with John and Barbara, Wellford House is the place we dine most often after our own home. To say that we have never had a bad meal there is an understatement. This is their recipe for grilled lamb that we have often enjoyed. It is a collaborative effort: Barbara buys and prepares the lamb; John grills it.

1  five-pound leg of lamb

4 tablespoons of lemon or lime juice

3 tablespoons of Extra Virgin Olive Oil

3 tablespoons of soy sauce

3 tablespoons of Dijon style or other fine mustard

3 or 4 cloves of garlic, finely minced

2 tablespoons of brown sugar

A dash of Tabasco sauce


Ask the butcher to de-bone and butterfly the lamb.

Combine and whisk together the other ingredients in a bowl until they are well blended.

Using paper towels, pat the lamb until it is dry, and then brush the sauce generously over it.

Place the lamb in a large bowl or a zip-lock bag and let marinate in the refrigerator for up to two days.

The lamb is best prepared over coals on an outdoor grill.

When the coals are hot, place the lamb on the grill and let cook for about 40 minutes, turning it occasionally and basting with what is left of the sauce.

When lamb is done, remove it from the grill to a large platter and let it rest for five or ten minutes. Carve on the slant and serve.

Serves four