Whenever we want a break from the city sounds and traffic we all get on our bicycles and race through town and out rue François Camus into the countryside. Within five minutes we’re bicycling through wheat and rape fields, past farms and gardens. I often think, as I glide along the road, how lucky we are. Michael and I have lived in Paris, Seattle, and New York, and we love the movement and hum of the city. But right now we couldn’t be happier than we are in Louviers, where everything we need is at our fingertips or, at most, an hour’s train ride away. And where, when the notion takes us, we can get on a bicycle and leave the world behind.
MARIA’S CHICKPEA SOUP
LA SOUPE AUX POIS CHICHES
Maria Fichot, who, with her husband, Philippe, is the proprietor of Le Progrès, the bustling café across the street from us, loves to cook. Whenever I bump into her or go to the café for stamps or the occasional cup of café exprès (espresso) we talk food, and her recipes always sound delicious. She mentioned this soup as a family favorite, and it turns out to be one we love, too, for it is simple yet richly flavored. Try a simple Côtes du Rhône with this soup.
1 pound/500g chickpeas, rinsed
1 large onion, cut in quarters
4 whole cloves
5 tablespoons/75ml extra-virgin olive oil, plus additional for garnish, optional
3 to 4 quarts/3 to 4 liters filtered water, heated just to the boiling point
1 bouquet garni
(4 dried, imported bay leaves, 3 sprigs parsley, several sprigs thyme, and 2 green leek leaves, if you have them, all tied together with kitchen string)
Fine sea salt
1 head butter lettuce
Freshly ground black pepper
1. Place the chickpeas in a large, heavy-bottomed pan and cover them by 2 inches (5cm) with water. Bring to a boil, remove from the heat, cover, and let sit for 1 hour. Drain, discarding the soaking water.
2. Reserve one quarter of the onion and pierce it with the cloves. Mince the remaining onion and place it, with 1 tablespoon of the oil, in a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is translucent, about 15 minutes. Add the chickpeas and stir so they are coated with the oil, then cook them for 1 minute. Add 3 quarts (3 liters) of the water, the bouquet garni, and the onion quarter pierced with cloves, stir, cover, and bring to a simmer. Simmer the chickpeas for 1 hour, stirring them occasionally. Season them lightly with salt and continue cooking them until they are tender, for about another hour, adding additional water if necessary to keep them moist.
3. While the chickpeas are cooking remove the outer green leaves from the butter lettuce, leaving just the heart intact. Reserve the heart for another use, such as drizzled with vinaigrette and eaten as salad. Rinse and pat dry the outer leaves and tear them gently into large, bite-size pieces.
4. When the chickpeas are tender, remove and discard the bouquet garni and pass them through a food mill to remove the skins and reduce them to a rough purée. Return the purée to the saucepan and bring it to a simmer over low heat. Whisk in the remaining 4 tablespoons (60ml–1/4 cup) olive oil with salt and pepper and season to taste. Just before serving, add the lettuce leaves to the soup, stirring as they wilt, which should take a minute or two—no longer as the ribs of the leaves should still retain a crunch. Serve the soup immediately, with additional olive oil for those who wish to add it to the soup.
6 SERVINGS
BRAISED CHICKEN IN WHITE WINE AND MUSTARD
POULET BRAISÉ AU VIN BLANC ET À LA MOUTARDE
Monsieur Richard, my butcher in Louviers, is nimble with his knife and cleaver, a joy to observe. He dispenses advice and his wife dispenses recipes.
In this recipe the chicken emerges from the oven perfectly crisp on the outside and moist inside; the mustard and wine give it a rich tang, and the onions balance with their sweetness.
The Richards make this dish at home on Sunday nights, and they assure me it is one of their family’s favorites. It has become one of ours as well, the ideal kind of dish that is quick to assemble yet emerges tasting as though hours of work went into its preparation.
Serve this with a luscious red Burgundy.
1 cup/250ml light, perfumed white wine such as a Sauvignon Blanc
3 tablespoons/45ml Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
One 31/2- to 4-pound/1.5- to 2-kg chicken with giblets, cut in serving pieces
2 medium onions, cut in paper-thin slices
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Flat-leaf parsley, for garnish
1. Preheat the oven to 475° F/245° C/gas 9.
2. In a small bowl, whisk together the wine and the mustard. Reserve.
3. Heat the olive oil in a large, flameproof baking pan or skillet over medium heat and brown the chicken on all sides, 6 to 8 minutes. Remove each piece of chicken from the pan as it browns. Add the onions to the pan, stir, and cook until they are tender and turning slightly golden at the edges, 4 to 5 minutes. Return the chicken to the pan along with the giblets, and season it and the onions with salt and pepper.
4. Pour the wine mixture over the chicken and place the pan in the center of the oven. Bake until the chicken is golden on top, about 25 minutes, turn each piece, then continue baking until the chicken is baked through, an additional 20 to 25 minutes.
5. Transfer the chicken to a serving platter. Place the pan over low heat, and, using a wooden spatula, stir the cooking juices in the pan, scraping up any browned bits that have stuck to the bottom. Taste the sauce for seasoning, then pour it evenly over the chicken. Garnish the platter with the parsley and serve.
6 SERVINGS
DUCK BREAST WITH CIDER
MAGRET DE CANARD AU CIDRE
I buy fattened duck breasts at the market quite often and prepare them in a variety of ways. This recipe, suggested to me by the young woman who raises and sells duck at the Louviers market, is one of my favorite ways to prepare it. The hard cider adds both a tang and a sweetness to the duck, which emerges so tender you can almost cut it with your fork.
If you can’t get fattened duck breast try this with regular duck breast, or with your favorite cut of steak. (If using steak, moisten the pan with about 2 teaspoons unsalted butter before placing the steak in the pan, and judge the cooking time by the way you like your steak. Steak will cook more quickly than the duck breasts.) Serve this with asparagus and steamed new potatoes, or with young greens dressed in olive oil and lemon juice.
A full-bodied red, such as a St-Joseph from the Côtes du Rhône, is the perfect accompaniment.
NOTE: Duck breast toughens if overcooked, so do not cook it beyond rare.
Two 13-ounce/390-g fattened duck breasts
Fleur de sel or fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup/250ml hard cider
1. Heat a heavy skillet over medium heat. When it is hot but not smoking, place the duck breasts in it, skin-side down. Cover and cook them until the skins are deep golden, about 8 minutes. Turn the duck breasts and cook them for 2 to 3 minutes on the flesh side, then remove them from the pan. Drain off all of the fat and return the duck breasts to the pan, skin-side down. Continue cooking them, covered, just until the meat is done on the outside, but is still very rare inside, 5 to 6 additional minutes. Remove the duck breasts from the pan and season them with fleur de sel and pepper. Add the cider to the pan, scrape up any browned bits from the bottom, and reduce the cider by about half, until it is slightly syrupy, 4 to 5 minutes.
2. To serve the duck breasts, cut them crosswise on the bias into thin slices and arrange these either on a warmed platter or four warmed plates. Drizzle the slices with the cider sauce and serve immediately.
4 SERVINGS
TINY BAKED POTATOES WITH CREAM
POMMES DE TERRE EN ROBES DE CHAMPS
It was a chilly, post-Christmas morning at the Louviers market, and I was in the mood for potatoes. Standing at Jean-Claude and Monique Martin’s stand
I surveyed the varieties they offered. When I saw the small charlottes (similar to Yukon Gold) that were about the size of a fat thumb I knew they would be my choice.
Jean-Claude carefully chose a kilo all about the same size when I told him I planned to bake them. A woman waiting in line next to me made an appreciative sound at my idea and offered me a recipe. “I precook the potatoes, then open and stuff them with crème fraîche and chives,” she said.
I decided to leave out the precooking step. I simply scrubbed the potatoes and baked them in a hot oven until their skins were golden and they were tender, then followed her instructions. Now I prepare these fabulous morsels at the same time I am baking Braised Chicken in White Wine and Mustard (page 140). I place the chicken in the oven and after 15 minutes I place the potatoes on the floor of the oven and bake them right along with the chicken. The timing is usually just perfect, but if the potatoes take a bit longer than the chicken it doesn’t matter—the chicken simply needs to be kept warm as they finish.
NOTE: You can make a slightly lighter version of these with butter and parsley.
11/2 pounds/750g small (about 2 ounces/60g each) baking potatoes, such as Yukon Gold or Yellow Finns, scrubbed
1 bunch chives (about 10g) or a mixture of herbs such as fennel fronds, garlic chives, chives, and chervil
Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup/60ml crème fraîche
1. Preheat the oven to 475° F/245° C/gas 9.
2. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet leaving room between them, and bake them in the center of the oven until their skins are golden and they are completely tender through, 45 minutes to an hour (the baking time will depend on the freshness and variety of the potatoes).
3. Just before removing the potatoes from the oven, mince the herbs (you should have about 1/3 cup minced herbs).
4. Remove the potatoes from the oven and transfer them to a warmed serving platter. Quickly cut a deep slit down the length of each. Working as quickly as possible, squeeze the ends of each potato toward the center, to open it up. Season the potatoes lightly with salt and pepper, then place a generous teaspoon of crème fraîche in each potato. Sprinkle the potatoes with the herbs. Serve immediately.
6 TO 8 SERVINGS
GOAT CHEESE WITH RASPBERRY VINEGAR AND LAVENDER HONEY
FROMAGE DE CHÈVRE AU VINAIGRE DE
FRAMBOISES ET AU MIEL DE LAVANDE
Jean-Lou Dewaele, a friend whose wife, Babette, owns a popular herb and organic food boutique in Louviers, created this lovely combination of flavors using goat cheese from the market in Louviers and his homemade raspberry vinegar. He served it to us one night as part of the cheese course. I often follow his lead now, for it is a fresh surprise on a cheese platter. It is so tasty that sometimes, when it is just family, I serve it as dessert. We all love it.
2 medium-size fresh goat cheeses (about 11 ounces/330g total)
21/2 teaspoons raspberry vinegar
1 tablespoon/15ml lavender honey
1. Place the goat cheese in a medium-size bowl and, using a fork or a sturdy whisk, mix in the raspberry vinegar. Pack the cheese into molds that have been rinsed in water first (so the cheese is easily removed from the mold), or simply into a small dish, and refrigerate for several hours or overnight.
2. At least 30 minutes before serving, remove the cheese from the refrigerator and remove it from the mold if you have used one. Just before serving, heat the honey just enough so that it liquefies (if it has solidified), and pour it over the goat cheese. Alternatively, you may want to make quenelles of the goat cheese by forming it into ovals using 2 soup spoons, arranging 2 to 3 ovals on each of 6 serving plates, then drizzling each serving with an equal amount of honey.
6 SMALL SERVINGS
SEVEN
Chez Clet
IT NEVER FAILS that as I get ready to cook in the evening I discover I’m missing an essential ingredient. It shouldn’t really matter—improvisation is the mother of fabulous dishes. But I’m usually testing recipes and adhering to a schedule, and I need what I need right away. Luckily I can solve the problem by walking out the courtyard, turning the corner, and walking in the door of Chez Clet.
Chez Clet is the neighborhood épicerie, or grocery store, one of the two in the center of town. It opens early and stays open until 8 P.M., perfect for emergencies. The glass-fronted façade opens up, and crates of fruits and vegetables are stacked on the sidewalk and sometimes in the street when there is a particular abundance, providing a tempting and aromatic panorama of fruits and vegetables.
Monsieur Clet, the owner, often finds a bumper crop of something at the wholesale market when he goes there on Tuesday mornings and it will then become part of the seasonal displays. It might be rosy-hued, furry-skinned apricots in the summer, intended for jam. In winter it might be pot au feu vegetables—fat bunches of leeks, purple-tinged turnips, crates of yellow onions, occasionally even rutabagas, a rarity here.
Protocol is strict at Chez Clet in the old style. It is understood that the customer looks but doesn’t touch, and the salespeople are carefully trained to provide the customer with the best there is. To that end, service is relatively slow as each item is carefully examined before being put in a small brown paper sack, weighed, then set carefully in a wooden crate or whatever receptacle is preferred by the customer. I don’t mind waiting. I enjoy watching whomever is helping me carefully inspect each peach, push back lettuce leaves to be sure the center of the head is white and fresh, squeeze a cucumber to be sure it is firm. It is a pleasure to know that when I get home and open my bag I’ll find only the best.
François Clet, the owner of Chez Clet, is a moody, energetic young man who rushes about the store, a pencil in his ear and a furrow on his brow. His assistant, Alain, a short man with puffy, curly hair, is the store’s jokester, often saying things to himself that are funny and which often earn him a laugh from the customers. The glint of a gold side tooth adds an extra sparkle to his smile and he has an infectious laugh.
Another manager, Isabelle, is an attractive woman with a tough style. She answers curtly and goes about her work with the look of a drill sergeant—which in a sense she is. For the rest of the staff at Chez Clet is made up of stagiaires, or apprentices, who work there for a period of time—generally from one to three years—as part of their education at a local technical school, and it falls mostly to Isabelle to ride herd on them. And no one, but no one, messes with Isabelle. I have the inside scoop on her, though, because our sons are playmates and I know her to be kind.
The stagiaires are one of the best things about Chez Clet. All young women, they are always eager, perfectly dressed, and shyly polite at first. As the year progresses and they become familiar with the store, the customers, and the humors of Monsieur Clet they relax. I often go into the shop in mid-afternoon, a slow time, and find them shouting jokes or playful insults to each other across the store. When they see me they instantly sober up and become the picture of professionalism. “Oui, madame, qu’est-ce que vous voulez, madame?”
Quarters in the store, which is very long and narrow and sandwiched between two other businesses, are very close. Monsieur Clet and Alain tend to bump into each other while they work, with arms and repartee flying. Isabelle and the rest of the staff try to stay out of their way. The situation is complicated by the fact that the stagiaires aren’t allowed to ring up purchases when they first begin working at Chez Clet. They can only serve, then a customer must wait until one of the permanent staff, or one of the more senior stagiaires, is available to handle the checkout. This creates a logjam at the registers as a stagiaire hangs back with her carefully chosen produce, waiting for just the right moment to grab someone who can ring it up for her. The minute she hands over that responsibility she’s back into the fray with a new customer, fielding questions, gently prodding fruit and vegetables, fetching liters of milk, pounds of butter, weighing out chunks of cheese, or ladling thick fresh cream into containers. When the goods are
rung up the stagiaire has to stop what she is doing and return, hand over the produce to the customer, help the person out of the store if necessary, and politely and at great length say good-bye. During all of this time, the customer who was being assisted by the stagiaire waits. Most of the customers are regulars and accept the elaborate dance that is shopping at Chez Clet. Only once have I seen a customer react negatively. He must have been from out of town—I had never seen him before. Handsome and well dressed, he had a clutch of items in his hand as he waited for someone to help him. Everyone at Chez Clet was deeply into their usual routine of stepping forward, then stepping back, waiting, joking, laughing, and teasing when finally the man boomed, “You all may have all day but I’d like to get waited on.”
A silence fell over the store. Without looking at the man, Alain said out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Well, some people certainly are impatient.”
The man replied, without looking at Alain, “That’s right I’m impatient and I want to buy some mushrooms.”
“Well, some people just don’t know how to wait,” replied Alain, to no one in particular.
“I don’t have time to wait, and you shouldn’t be making me wait,” the man replied, to no one in particular.
This went on for several more minutes, with each man addressing the air. Finally, a trembling stagiaire stepped in, helped the man, and got his things rung up. He fumed out the door, head down.
“These Parisians shouldn’t even come here,” Alain said. “They don’t any of them know anything about how to live.”
On Rue Tatin Page 13