Around My French Table (55 page)

A
FEW YEARS AGO, I HAD A DINNER
in a tiny restaurant in Tours, in the Loire Valley, and was tickled to discover that the chef had spent some time in Kentucky and that, while there, he'd developed a fondness for Coca-Cola and barbecue. Being a smart guy and a good cook, he didn't take long to figure out that he could have his Coke and eat it too if he used it to baste barbecued ribs. Coke (particularly Coca-Cola Light) is very popular in France, and meaty individual spareribs, or
travers de porc,
are a familiar French cut, often served lacquered Asian-style, braised like a stew, or grilled or oven-glazed, as these ribs are. I couldn't pry the recipe for the ribs from the chef, but I was able to come up with a version that I think he would like.

BE PREPARED:
If you've got the time, it's good to marinate the ribs for at least a few hours; if you're short on time, just rub and go.

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. (Or, if you will be using two pans—see below—and can't fit them both on the same rack, position the racks to divide the oven into thirds.)

Stir the apricot jam and orange juice together and heat them for 1 minute in a microwave oven, or warm them in a saucepan, just until the mixture simmers. Let cool a little, then stir in the lemon juice.

Mix the five-spice powder, ginger, and some salt and pepper together.

Cut the rack of ribs in half. Working your knife in between every 2 or 3 ribs, make a slash to separate them a bit. (This will help keep the ribs flat when you roast them.) Rub the ribs with the spice mix and then with the jam. (If you want to marinate the ribs, cover and refrigerate them for a few hours, or for as long as overnight.)

If you've got a roasting pan large enough to hold both pieces of pork, use it; if not, put each piece in its own baking pan. (I use Pyrex baking dishes.) Pour a few tablespoons of water around the ribs and slide them into the oven.

Bake the spareribs for 45 minutes, then baste them and add a little more water if you think the pan looks dry or if the marinade is sticking and blackening. Roast for another 45 minutes, basting occasionally.

Pour the Coca-Cola around the ribs and then baste every 5 minutes or so for 30 minutes. (The total baking time is about 2 hours.) At this point, the ribs will be cooked through, juicy and glazed. If you'd like them more well-done or the glaze darker, run the ribs under the broiler to finish them.

These are at their best warm or at room temperature, so give them a little rest after they come out of the oven, then cut the ribs apart.

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

SERVING
The French would eat these with a knife and fork and deftly get every last morsel of meat from every bone, but if you're not French, or you're among family and friends, you can eat them the good old-fashioned American way—i.e., with your fingers and a stack of paper napkins at the ready.

STORING
The ribs can be made a day ahead and kept covered in the refrigerator overnight. Reheat them in a 250-degree-F oven before serving.

M
EANT TO BE MADE WITH FRESHLY DUG
spring vegetables (that's the
printanier
part), this lamb stew
(navarin)
is a classic, a staple of the Easter season and another of those slowly braised dishes that make French cooking timelessly appealing. The lamb is browned stovetop and then simmered gently with its springtime companions: onions, small potatoes, carrots, and turnips. When the sauce is a burnished mahogany color and both the lamb and the vegetables are fork-tender, you finish the stew with a standard bearer of spring vegetables: peas. That almost everyone uses frozen peas is a truth rarely uttered but one not to be ashamed of. So many French cooks, chefs included, have told me that they can never get fresh peas as good, or as consistently good, as what they buy frozen, and I've always nodded in agreement.

This recipe came to me fourth-hand. It was my friend Betty Rosbottom, cookbook author and part-time Paris resident, who gave it to me, explaining that she'd gotten it from her friend Catherine Lafarge, who had begged the recipe from her mother, so that she could keep alive her culinary memories of a Parisian childhood.

Put a Dutch oven or other large high-sided pot over medium-high heat and pour in 2 tablespoons oil. When it's hot, add some of the lamb pieces—you want to have a single layer of lamb and you don't want to crowd the pot, so do this in batches. Brown the meat on all sides, about 5 minutes, then transfer to a plate. Continue until all the lamb has been browned, adding more oil to the pot if needed.

Pour out the oil and return the meat to the pot. Put the pot over medium-high heat again, sprinkle the meat with the flour, and season generously with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, for 2 minutes, then add 4 cups broth, the tomato paste, garlic, parsley, thyme, and bay leaf. Give everything a good stir and bring the broth to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover the pot, and simmer the navarin gently for 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, work on the vegetables: Bring a saucepan of water to a boil, drop in the onions, and cook for just a minute. Drain the onions, slice off the root and stem ends, and slip off their skins.

Set a large skillet over high heat and add the butter. When it's hot, add the onions, carrots, and turnip and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Sprinkle the sugar over the vegetables and stir for a minute or so, then reduce the heat a bit and cook, stirring often, until the vegetables are browned, about 10 minutes—they should be well colored but not soft. Set aside.

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

When the lamb has simmered for 45 minutes, add the sauteed vegetables, as well as the potatoes, and simmer, still covered, for another 15 minutes.

Slide the pot into the oven and braise for 30 to 40 minutes, or until the lamb is fork-tender.

Fish out and discard the parsley and bay leaf and stir in the peas. If the peas are fresh, give them 3 to 4 minutes; if they've been frozen, give them just a minute or two. Taste the stew for salt and pepper, and if you think the sauce is too thick, thin it with a little more broth.

Ladle into soup plates and serve.

MAKES 6 SERVINGS

SERVING
An all-in-one meal, this really needs nothing more than what's in the pot. Ladle the meat, vegetables, and beautiful sauce into shallow soup plates. If you feel you must do something, dust each serving with a little minced parsley.

STORING
You can make the navarin, without the peas, up to 2 days ahead and keep it covered in the refrigerator. Reheat the navarin, covered, in a 350-degree-F oven for about 30 minutes, then add the peas and let them cook. The stew can also be packed airtight and frozen for up to 2 months.

I
F YOU'VE GOT SNOW OUTSIDE AND A POT
of this lamb stew braising inside, you're set for the perfect evening. Cardamom and curry, a mix the French would call
à l'indienne,
give this braise deep flavor and the kind of warm fragrance that pulls people to the kitchen and makes even well-behaved guests want to lift the lid on the pot and get a sneak peek of what's for dinner. It's not just the cardamom and curry that draw you in, it's the mint and honey and the figs too. The ingredients are a little Indian and a little North African; the way the dish is made is a little like a French stew and a little like a Moroccan tagine.

Tie the mint stems in a bundle with kitchen twine. Pull off the mint leaves (reserve the stems) and chop them.

Put a Dutch oven or other large heavy-bottomed casserole over low heat and pour in 2 tablespoons olive oil. When it's hot, stir in the onions, garlic, curry, cardamom powder, and pods, if you're using them. Heat, stirring, just until the onions are translucent and soft, about 10 minutes.

Toss in the lamb, turn the heat up a little, and cook, turning often, until the meat colors (if the mixture looks a little dry or if the meat is sticking to the pot, add a drizzle more olive oil). Season with salt and pepper, then pour in the water, toss in the mint bundle, and stir in half of the chopped mint, the honey (if using), figs, and raisins, if you're using them. Scatter the potatoes and apples over the meat, season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to a gentle simmer, put a piece of aluminum foil over the casserole, and cover it with the lid.

Braise for I hour and 15 to 30 minutes, or until the meat and potatoes are tender enough to be pierced easily with the tip of knife.

Taste the
jus
and add more salt and pepper, if needed. Sprinkle over the remaining chopped mint.

MAKES 6 SERVINGS

SERVING
Because the lamb curry has potatoes, it really doesn't need to be served with anything else—it can simply be ladled into shallow soup plates and served with a sliced baguette for sopping up sauce. However, I think it's nice to have something green on the table, maybe broccoli or peas, and even with the potatoes, I like to put the stew on a small bed of rice (brown or white), kasha, or egg noodles. . . . After all, it's winter, and we need hearty food to keep us warm.

STORING
Like all good stews, this one can be made ahead, cooled, and stored, covered, in the refrigerator; reheat gently the next day. The apples may get a little mushy, but that's okay—they'll make the sauce even tastier. You can also pack the stew into an airtight container and freeze it for up to 2 months.

T
HE FIRST TIME I MADE THIS TAGINE,
I made a mistake: I stayed in the kitchen while it simmered slowly in the oven, and the smell of the spices—ginger and cumin, cinnamon, dried chiles, coriander, and saffron—drove me nuts. I was so dizzy, to say nothing of hungry, by the time I pulled the pot out of the oven that I might just as well have spent the time spinning in circles.

The recipe comes from Françoise Maloberti, a gifted home cook, to whom, after you've made it, you'll be as grateful as I am. Like many Moroccan tagines, this one is
aigre-doux,
or sour-sweet, and studded with fruit—here, plumped dried apricots. Because of the toasted almonds that are cooked in the tagine for the last few minutes, and because of the hot peppers and saffron, the dish is reminiscent of couscous, which is a tagine's first cousin. It's not surprising that the best (and easiest) accompaniment you can offer is a spoonful of plain couscous, a pasta that's got texture, a mild flavor, and, most important, a remarkable capacity for soaking up good sauces.

While Françoise uses peeled, seeded, and chopped tomatoes, I often use canned diced, which put the tagine in the realm of easily doable in winter.