Read Around My French Table Online

Authors: Dorie Greenspan

Around My French Table (36 page)

 

piquillo peppers

If piquillo peppers existed only because it's fun to say their name—"peek-ee-oh"—that would be fine with me. But, in fact, saying their name can get you not just the amusement of alliteration, but the pleasure of enjoying a pepper that's slightly smoky, pleasantly sweet, and a beautiful scarlet color.

The peppers, which are used abundantly in Basque cuisine as well as in the kitchens of knowing cooks all over France, are not French natives, but come from Navarre, just over the border in Spain. What makes them so special is that they're fire-roasted, peeled, and packed in bottles (sometimes in cans)—they aren't a vegetable that you buy fresh at the market. They are about 2 inches from their rounded tips to their broad tops, their flesh is firm, and they are capacious enough to hold a plump tablespoon of stuffing. And, in fact, stuffing the peppers is a great way to showcase them, as is adding them to a salad.

Look for piquillos that have the D.O. (Denomination of Origin), symbol, attesting to the fact that they were grown and grilled in Navarre. The peppers are not inexpensive, but they are distinctive—and very delicious too.

Winter Ceviche

W
HEN PARIS-BASED BLOGGER MEG ZIMBECK
brought this Scallop ceviche to a potluck dinner, I was impressed by the way she had managed to take an essentially Latin-American dish known for its heat and acidity and mold it to match the tamer French palate. Where a south-of-the-border ceviche might have chiles, Meg used shallots; where there might have been crunchy vegetables, she added grapes; where cilantro might have joined the mix, Meg chose tarragon, a quintessentially French herb; and where tartness would have reigned, a tangy sweetness (citrus mellowed by mango nectar) held sway. It was a brilliant mix, but in typical Meg fashion, when she sent me the recipe, she called it Strange, Made-Up Winter Ceviche, a witty name that shortchanged both the recipe and her culinary imagination.

This dish is easily multiplied, so it's great for parties, especially during the holidays.

BE PREPARED:
The scallops should marinate for at least 1 hour.

½
shallot, thinly sliced, rinsed, and patted dry
½
teaspoon sherry vinegar
Fleur de sel or other sea salt and freshly ground pepper
Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lime
½
cup mango nectar
1
tablespoon brown sugar
12
bay scallops, tough side muscle removed (or 4 sea scallops, side muscle removed and quartered)
1
cup fresh tarragon leaves
2
teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
12
seedless grapes, halved (or quartered, if they're very large)

Put the shallot in a small bowl with the vinegar, a teensy pinch of sea salt, and a little pepper and stir to moisten. Cover the bowl and leave at room temperature.

Whisk together the lemon and lime zest and juice, mango nectar, brown sugar, and a dash of salt and pepper in a bowl. Add the scallops, turn them around in the marinade, cover, and refrigerate for at least I hour, or for up to 4 hours.

When you're ready to serve, put the tarragon leaves in a small bowl, drizzle with the olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Divide the leaves among four small bowls.

Remove the scallops from the marinade, divide them among the bowls, and, if they need it, season them with salt and pepper. Quickly dip the grapes into the marinade and scatter them evenly around the scallops. Finish the dish with the shallot. You can serve the dish just as it is, or you can spoon a little marinade into each bowl—I spoon in more than a little marinade, because I'm addicted to it.

 

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

 

SERVING
As soon as you've arranged the plates, serve—you don't want the tarragon to lose its punch.

 

STORING
While the scallops must marinate for at least 1 hour, storing is not a possibility.

Tuna and Mango Ceviche

I
NSPIRED BY THE CUISINE OF SENEGAL,
the West African nation that was once a French colony, this dish is built on two of Senegal's important exports, mangoes and avocados. It's flavored with rum, a drink the French became attached to in the Antilles and brought with them to Africa, and is a takeoff on an entrée that originally included grilled
gambas
(shrimp). In this version, tuna replaces the shrimp and the ingredients are tossed together and marinated. If you want to, you can make the dish with shrimp (smallish shrimp are the best), or you can sear the tuna (or shrimp) and arrange it on top of the rum-dressed mango and avocado, ingredients so similar in texture that it's surprising they're not used together more often (see Bonne Idée).

The French aren't particularly fond of hot and spicy food—heat and spice are not wine-friendly—but the foods of Africa (and the Antilles, for that matter) have some heat, and hot pepper or Tabasco sauce is not a stranger in those kitchens, so feel free to hot-up the dish to taste. Depending on my audience, I toss a minced hot pepper or an extra splash of Tabasco into the mix. Turning up the heat seems also to turn up the mango's sweetness, the avocado's smoothness, and the tuna's richness.

BE PREPARED:
The ceviche should marinate for 1 hour.

2
limes
1
large mango, peeled, pitted, and cut into ½-inch cubes
1
large avocado, peeled, pitted, and cut into ½-inch cubes
1
small red onion, halved, thinly sliced, rinsed, and patted dry
2
quarter-sized slices fresh ginger, peeled and minced
1
small red chile pepper, minced (optional)
½
pound sushi-grade tuna, cut into ½-inch cubes
4
teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1
tablespoon white rum
Tabasco to taste
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Fresh cilantro leaves, for garnish

Finely grate the zest of both limes into a medium bowl. Cut one of the limes crosswise in half and cut out sections of fruit from the membranes from one half. Cut the segments into very small cubes. Toss the fruit into the bowl and squeeze the juice from the other half of the lime into the bowl. Add the mango, avocado, onion, ginger, chile (if you're using it), and tuna and stir everything together very gently with a rubber spatula.

Squeeze the juice from the remaining lime into a small bowl and whisk in the olive oil and rum. Season with Tabasco, salt, and pepper and pour the vinaigrette over the tuna mixture, again stirring very lightly so you don't crush the avocado. Taste for seasoning—you'll have another opportunity to season the ceviche, so don't overdo it now—then cover the bowl tightly and chill for I hour.

At serving time, adjust the salt, pepper, and Tabasco if you think it's necessary, and give the ceviche another stir. Serve immediately, garnished with a few cilantro leaves.

 

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

 

SERVING
I like to serve the ceviche in martini glasses or brandy snifters, but it's also nice spooned into small bowls.

 

STORING
The ceviche is at its peak 1 hour after you mix it. You can keep it chilled for another hour, but if you wait too long, the lime juice will "cook" away the texture of the fish, mango, and avocado.

 

BONNE IDÉE
Seared Tuna or Shrimp with Mango and Avocado.
I serve this as a main course, and I make it with 2 mangoes and 2 avocados. If tuna's going to star, I use 1 pound tuna; if shrimp is taking the lead, I use jumbo shrimp and figure on 5 to a person. Cut the tuna into 1- to 2-inch cubes, or peel the shrimp, leaving on the tail shell, if you'd like, and devein. Make the lime vinaigrette, using the juice of 1 lime; set aside. Slice the mangoes and avocados into thin slices or strips and arrange them in overlapping circles on a platter. Scatter over the onion, ginger, and chile pepper (if using). Toss the tuna or shrimp with salt, pepper, and, if you'd like, some red pepper flakes. Heat 1 tablespoon mild oil (such as grapeseed or canola) in a large skillet (nonstick is best here) or wok, and when it's almost shimmering, toss in the seafood. (You may need to do this in batches.) Cook the tuna for about 1 minute on a side until seared on the outside and rare within, the shrimp about 2 minutes, until just cooked through. Spoon the seafood into the center of the platter, dress the mango and avocado with the lime vinaigrette, giving the tuna or shrimp a splash, and serve immediately, garnished with cilantro leaves. If you've got a little leftover vinaigrette, pass it at the table.

Salmon Tartare

F
OR ALL THE YEARS THAT I'VE
been cooking, I still get excited when I can make a dish that not only tastes like something I've had in a restaurant, but looks like it too. And if it's easy and quick to get it perfect, as it is with this triple-layer tartare, then so much the better. Salmon tartares of many varieties, all based on well-seasoned chopped or cubed raw salmon, turn up regularly on the menus of both fancy restaurants and cozy bistros. Sometimes the salmon appears solo, like a classic beef tartare; sometimes there's a little puff of micro greens or herbs to keep it company; and sometimes the salmon is teamed with other colorful ingredients, so that every forkful brings a lively mix of flavors, colors, and textures. This tartare, which includes avocado, tomatoes, lime, mint, and chives, is one of the lively ones and one of the most beautiful. I build the layers—avocado, then salmon, then sliced grape tomatoes—in a 4-inch round pancake ring, but you can do it in ramekins or bowls, or in martini or Cognac glasses, which make a gorgeous presentation.

While you can cut the salmon and tomatoes a little ahead of time and mix them with most of the seasonings, you shouldn't add the lime juice, lime segments, or salt until the very last minute, because the acid in the lime "cooks" the salmon, whitening its color and tightening its texture. If you add the juice ahead of time, it will not only diminish the fresh look and taste of the tartare but turn your tartare into a ceviche—not a terrible thing, but not what this dish is about.

One last thing: the size of the portions. I use a quarter pound of salmon per person, which makes a generous starter or a perfect main course for a lunch that includes salad, cheese, and great bread. Because this is a DIY construction project, you can easily adjust the serving size to fit your meal.

2
limes
1
pound salmon fillet, cut from the thick center portion, skin removed
2
scallions, white and light green parts only, quartered lengthwise and thinly sliced
2
tablespoons finely snipped fresh chives
1
tablespoon minced fresh mint
4
teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Tabasco
20
grape tomatoes
2
Hass avocados
Pistachio oil (see Sources
[>]
; optional)

Have at hand a 4-inch-diameter pancake ring (or tart or flan ring)—or use four rings, if you've got them—or four 1-cup ramekins or bowls lined with plastic wrap or four martini or Cognac glasses.

Grate the zest from 1 of the limes onto a sheet of wax paper. Using a sharp knife, peel the lime, removing all the white pith. Working over a bowl to catch the juice, very carefully cut out the sections of fruit, separating them from the membranes. Squeeze the juice from the membranes into the bowl; set aside. Cut the segments crosswise in half.

Cut the salmon into ½-inch cubes and toss into a bowl. Add the scallions, half of the grated lime zest, 2 teaspoons of the chives, 1 teaspoon of the mint, and 2 teaspoons of the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and give the mix a splash of Tabasco. Stir the ingredients together gently and cover the bowl.
(You can prepare the salmon to this point 2 hours ahead; refrigerate until needed.)

Slice each grape tomato crosswise into thirds and toss into a bowl. Add 2 teaspoons of the chives, 1 teaspoon of the mint, and the remaining 2 teaspoons olive oil and stir to mix. If you're going to assemble the tartare now, season with salt and pepper; if you're going to wait, add only pepper. (You can prepare the tomatoes to this point an hour or so before you're ready to serve; keep covered at room temperature)

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