Around My French Table (61 page)

In a large Dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed casserole, warm the oil or melt the butter over low heat. Toss in the onion, shallots (if you're using them), and garlic and turn them until they're glistening. Season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes, just to soften the onion. Pour in the wine, increase the heat to medium, add the bouillon cube (if you're using it), the herbs, and the (optional) zest, and simmer for 3 minutes.

Add the mussels and stir them around in the liquid as best you can (if you can't, that's okay). Increase the heat to high and bring to a boil, then cover the pot, adjust the heat so the liquid simmers steadily, and cook for 3 minutes. (If the pot is large enough, I sometimes give the mussels one stir during this time, or I shake the pot to mix the mussels, but it's not really necessary)

Turn the heat off, keep the lid on the pot, and let the mussels rest for another minute (or more, if need be) so they finish opening. Once they're opened, they should be served immediately.

MAKES 4 MAIN-COURSE SERVINGS OR 6 STARTER SERVINGS

SERVING
Don't wait even a second to get this to the table—the hotter the mussels, the better. I like to serve them straight from the pot, making sure that everyone's bowl has a pile of mussels, which should be eaten with fingers, and some sauce, which can be eaten with a spoon or just sopped up with bread. Have a bowl for the empty shells on the table.

STORING
If there are mussels left over, remove them from their shells, wrap them well, and keep them covered in the refrigerator to be used in a salad the following day. Mussels are a classic addition to a salad of leftover rice mixed with herbs, vinaigrette, and, often, peas.

I
T TOOK A LACK OF IMAGINATION
and a serious lack of energy to discover Horse's Tavern, a place that's been in Paris for years and one I'd passed hundreds of times without ever having the least interest in going in. It's at the Carrefour de l'Odèon, steps from a clutch of cinemas, and catercorner from one of my favorite bistros, Le Comptoir, and it's built on a jut of street that gives it a wraparound terrace (worth more than gold in Paris) and great light. Despite its advantages, it never called to me. And then one night, a day or so after we'd moved into our new apartment, my husband, son, and I found ourselves still unpacking cartons at 11:00 p.m. and starving. With no kitchen to speak of and not enough oomph to have pulled together a dinner even if the cupboards had been stocked, we trudged out into the night in search of a simple meal. All of a sudden the Tavern, just up the street from our new place, looked very appealing. It was still open, they were still serving, and there was a table on the terrace. A quick look around told us that
moules-frites,
or mussels and fries, was both the house specialty and the crowd's choice, so we joined the crowd.

At Horse's Tavern, the fries are served with mayonnaise and the mussels are served with a bucket that's hooked onto the side of the table. While it's meant to hold your empties, it's large enough to hold a magnum of Champagne. Everything is oversized there, but that first night, and on nights after, I managed to finish the casserole of mussels and fill up the bucket. It was easy—munch a mussel, eat a fry, sip some wine, chat, repeat, and some time later, you become a member of the clean-plate club.

Like so many places around town that serve
moules-frites,
Horse's Tavern offers basic moules marinière (see
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for my version) and a variation or two, including the one that's become my regular: curried mussels. At first blush, the idea of curry might seem foreign to French food, but the spice blend has a home in the cooking of Brittany, a historic port region, a spice-route stop, and an area that treasures mussels. In fact, one of the defining dishes of Brittany is
mouclade,
which features mussels in a thick curried egg-yolk-and-cream-enriched sauce. This dish is lighter than
mouclade,
a little richer than moules marinière, and a winner served with either fries or bread, the usual accompaniment at our house.

In a large Dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed casserole, melt the butter over low heat. Toss in the onion and shallots and turn them until they're glistening with butter. Sprinkle over the curry powder, add the chile pepper or pepper flakes, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring, for about 3 minutes, just to soften the onion and toast the curry powder. Pour in the wine, increase the heat to medium, add the thyme, parsley, and bay, and simmer for 3 minutes more.

Add the mussels to the pot and stir them around in the liquid as best you can (if you can't, that's okay). Increase the heat to high, bring the liquid to a boil, cover the pot, and cook for 3 minutes. (If the pot is large enough, I sometimes give the mussels one stir during this time, or I shake the pot to mix the mussels, but it's not really necessary.) Turn the heat off, keep the lid on the pot, and let the mussels rest for another minute (or more, if need be) so they finish opening.

Using a large slotted spoon, transfer the mussels to a heatproof bowl. Cover well and keep in a warm place while you finish the sauce. If you'd like a more refined sauce, strain the broth, discarding the solids, rinse out and dry the Dutch oven, and return the sauce to the pot—but I always go for the chunky, unrefined sauce.

Bring the sauce to a boil over high heat and cook for 2 minutes. Pour in the cream and boil for another 3 minutes. Taste for salt and pepper, return the mussels to the pot, and stir them around. Discard the chile pepper, if you used one. Transfer the mussels and sauce to a warm serving bowl, or bring the pot to the table and serve from it.

MAKES 4 MAIN-COURSE SERVINGS OR 6 STARTER SERVINGS

SERVING
Mussels must be hot, and they must be eaten with your fingers. As far as I know, finger-licking is both expected and appreciated. And dunking, normally unacceptable public behavior, is not just tolerated, it's relished, so make sure there's plenty of bread on the table, along with a bowl for the shells.

STORING
You can't keep this dish, but if there are mussels left over, remove them from their shells, wrap them well, and keep them covered in the refrigerator to be used in a salad the following day.

C
HORIZO HAS ITS OWN PLACE
in the lineup of French sausages and its own fan club of knowing French gourmets, who love its heat and smokiness, both of which are front and center in this somewhat Basquaise mussel dish. It's terrific served over pasta or just with hunks of bread for sauce dunking. Either way, it's a pretty messy affair, but one worth the game. If you're topping pasta with the mussels and finger licking isn't your favorite sport, you can pluck the mussels from their shells as soon as they're cooked and give them a quick toss in the tomato sauce before serving.

Warm the olive oil over medium heat in a large Dutch oven or casserole that will hold all the ingredients. Add the bell pepper, onion, garlic, thyme, 1 teaspoon salt, and some pepper and cook, stirring, until the vegetables are soft, about 5 minutes. Mix in the tomatoes and chorizo and cook and stir for another 5 minutes, or until they are warmed through.

Turn the mussels into the pot, pour in the wine, increase the heat to high, and give the pot a good stir. Cover and cook for 3 minutes more. (You can stir the mussels once during this time or shake the pot, but it's not really necessary.) Turn off the heat, keep the lid on the pot, and let the mussels rest for another minute (or more, if need be) so they finish opening.

Once they are open, the mussels should be served immediately with, if you'd like, hot fettuccine or lots of bread.

MAKES 6 SERVINGS WITH PASTA OR 4 WITHOUT

SERVING
If you're serving the mussels with the pasta, put the hot fettuccine in a warm bowl and top with the mussels and their sauce. Sans pasta, keep the mussels in the pot or transfer them to a big bowl, and have plenty of bread on hand. In either case, have a bowl on the table for the empty shells.

STORING
If you've got leftovers, remove the mussels from their shells and use them in a salad the next day. Leftover sauce can be reheated gently and spooned over pasta, with or without the shelled mussels.

I
WAS INSPIRED TO CREATE THIS DISH
after having two sweet-savory dishes at two fancy restaurants in Paris: the first dish was a soft-boiled egg sauced with maple syrup, served at Alain Passard's Arpège, and the other was a foie gras crème brûlée dreamed up by Jean-Georges Vongerichten at Market.

Those dishes were completely surprising, and so is this one. In fact, everything about this recipe is unexpected, including the fact that I made it. A savory sauce based on caramel and paired with seafood sounded a little fussy for my style. But it turned out to be so good—and it takes less time to make than a hamburger.

The scallops are cooked quickly in a little oil over high heat with nothing more than salt and pepper. They're sweet, firm on the outside, and velvety within—perfect. But they're not really the main event—the drama is in the sauce, which is slightly syrupy, slightly sweet-sour (or sour-sweet,
aigre-doux,
as the French say), and derived from a preparation called a
gastrique,
essentially a reduction of caramelized sugar and vinegar. In my version, the sauce (which takes only 10 minutes) can be made a day ahead, and the vinegar, which would supply the acidity for a
gastrique,
is replaced by white wine and fresh orange juice.