Judion beans, ricotta mustia and I am maybe reading too much MFK Fisher

Judion beans with sun-dried tomatoes, rosemary and ricotta mustia



Start with some plump, cooked judion beans and with a light hand anoint them with your best olive oil. Dip your fingers into a pot of crunchy sel de guérande and take but a pinch! Then watch as the grains tumble recklessly over the ivory beans. Take the pepper mill in hand and let the aggressive crack of the peppercorns ring in your ears. It will take all your willpower to resist the urge to eat the beans right then and there.
But if you do, you will be forgiven.

If you've made it this far, it will serve you well to add a flourish of chopped, marinated, sun-dried tomatoes. And I beg you not to stop until the earthy green of fresh rosemary decorates the bowl. And in the final act, before the curtain is drawn, add a bit of the softest, freshest cheese you can find so that each bite melts into your mouth and does not distract you from the soft, lush beans. Might I humbly suggest ricotta? And if you can find it, I promise you your tastebuds will ignite under the smoky warmth of ricotta mustia.

And I know it may be too much to ask, but if you can resist temptation for just another minute or two, consider how perfect this whole affair would be alongside a fresh arugula salad and a wedge torn from a doughy loaf of bread to mop up every last bit of oil and salt from the bottom of your bowl.

In closing dear friends I must forewarn you that this salad is most certainly the sum of its parts. If the bean on its own does not inspire you, if the sun-dried tomato makes you wince or heaven forbid the olive oil does not make you close your eyes and drift away into your daydreams, well then, might I suggest perhaps a bowl of soup for dinner instead?


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The players

*Ricotta mustia = smoked ricotta. I had never heard of this before I saw it at Whole Foods last week. And wow, it is some kind of smoky! It has a fantastic flavour. It runs the risk of overpowering anything you put it with so I think it must be used carefully.

Judion beans--a Spanish butter bean. You may be surprised to learn that I bought mine in a jar. These jars are easily found in the UK at Sainsbury's and Waitrose and the Borough Market, as they are imported from Spain by Brindisa. They are big white beans and probably a bit softer than they should be because they are sitting in brine, but I LOVE THEM. If you want to cook your own from dried, be my guest. Additionally, I think any canned white bean would be ok as a substitute. The main thing is that they taste good just on their own --if you're not starting out with a good bean then this "non-recipe" won't taste like much.

I am in love with Waitrose brand chargrilled sundried tomatoes. G and I throw them on everything --from pizza to chickpeas to arugula salads. Everytime we move it takes me a while before I find a brand of marinated sundried tomatoes that doesn't leave me disappointed. The first time I tried this brand I was hooked.

Olive oil- if there's one thing I have learned not to skimp on, it's good olive oil.


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Post disclaimer: No, I haven't lost my mind. I'm just in the middle of reading this.

Paris in August

My Frankenstein tomato: Expertly stitched by Mother Nature herself.

Sunday mornings are my favourite day of the week, and I like to move slowly. I usually get up early but there's something I like about puttering around the house without an agenda on Sundays while G sleeps in. If it's raining, so much the better. For whatever reason, this Sunday, I left G dozing in bed and headed to the Raspail market in the 6th. It's organic on Sundays and because it was after 9am, I was expecting it to be bustling. But then I remembered: it's August, and nothing is bustling in Paris right now. The city is, comparatively at least, a ghost town.

My concierge informed me that every apartment in my building but 2 is currently empty. It seems everyone in France has a summer house and they high tail it out of here as soon as they can.

Needless to say, it has been very, very quiet.

It is a great time to be in the city-- to watch it sleep, so to speak, and to experience it in this rare sense of calm. There are tourists, but not many. Many of the shops are closed and you may have to find a new bakery to keep you stocked with baguettes until yours reopens at the end of the month. Sometimes you find yourself cursing at the inconvenience, but then you quickly realize that this temporary silence is well worth it.

I took a long walk after I'd filled my bags with strange tomatoes at the market. I stopped at a health food store to replenish my bulghur supply, headed for the best baguette in Paris only to find that the bakery was closed, and then headed to Alléosse to gaze at their world of cheeses and marvel still at how at this time of year I can walk in there and find the store empty of customers. I said hello and took my sweet, sweet time.


Cheese from Alléosse
front: Cabris Gors (goat cheese)
middle: Manchego
back: Cheddar fermier

I finally had to call it quits when I could feel a blister forming on the bottom of my foot and my watch told me that I had been walking for over 2 hours. I came home, kicked off my shoes and promptly took a nap. It was not even 11:30am, and I still had the whole quiet day to kill.
Without a doubt, Paris in August is so much better than Paris in July..


Raspail Market
Boulevard Raspail between rue du Cherche-Midi and rue de Rennes
Metro: Rennes
Tuesday and Friday, 7 am to 2.30 pm
Sunday mornings--organic.

I heart cheese and swanky olive oil

Coeur Cendré

You think I'm going to talk about cheese don't you. Well I would if I hadn't been so cocky as to walk out of the fromagerie knowing the name of the above cheese and nothing else. I thought the internet would help me out but it seems to be on the fritz. Someone forgot to index that wealth of information on Coeur Cendré cheese. Or perhaps I was just lazy and didn't look hard enough. But it looks pretty and it tasted nice. It was drier and crumblier than I expected but it had a nice flavour. If that doesn't send you running to your nearest cheese shop, well then, I perfectly understand.
Oh, and please note the free piece of hay that came with it.
Free stuff. That's right.
Thus ends the story of my new cheese. Sort of.

And so I move on to the olive oil.
This part of the story is motivated by my rather sad relationship with salads over the past few months. I shamefully admit that not one has graced my table in an embarrassingly long time. (Never fear mom, I'm still eating my veggies!)
Now let me just say that I, for the most part, do not spend lavishly when it comes to olive oil and balsamic vinegar. So I'm not telling you to spend lots of money, I'm just saying, well.. that I did.

Check out my brand new 20euro bottle of olive oil. A.O.C, cold pressed, made in Nyons, France. Accompanying this purchase was an equally expensive 12 year aged balsamic vinegar from Italy. I felt a bit naughty for having done so. But good naughty. I was going to spend a romantic evening with a salad and damn it, it was going to be great if I had anything to say about it.
Cue the Barry White.



I washed the greens, drizzled some of that swanky olive oil and balsamic vinegar on it, and added a sprinkle of fleur de sel (which sounds pretentious, but that's what its called so why fight it).
And then the cheese made its debut after a brief stint in a hot oven. I must say, that I gobbled that salad up faster than you can say a really long word.



Salad, it's just you and me baby. I'm back. And I'm never going to let you go again.

P. S. That's a dollop of fig jam at the side because nothin' says lovin' like fig jam and goat cheese.
P.P.S. The money I spent on that olive oil and vinegar was totally worth it.



Tags
Olive Oil France
Balsamic Vinegar
Coeur Cendré
Salad Ideas

More fruit and melty cheese...

Beurre Hardy Pear (French butter pear)

That time of year is arriving that reminds me most of home. My niece and nephews are back in school, and the busy apple season is getting into full gear at my brother's orchard. I remember long days spent helping out in their bakery, when I would return home, exhausted, with the sweet smell of sugar and vanilla oozing out of every pore of my body.
Now, far away from home, I can't help but notice the bounty of apples and pears that are making their arrival at the markets. What I would give to wake up just one early morning and find myself at the orchard, walking across the dewy grass to pick a few apples, with the dogs running about, the chickens clucking, and my niece and nephews getting into mischief as usual.
Since the orchard came into our lives, I have a new appreciation for the simple beauty of an apple or a pear. Crisp, and sweet, dangling from the trees, there isn't a more beautiful offering.

With my feet moving at a slow and homesick pace at the market, the desire for comfort food motivated my every purchase.

But then again, I'm in Paris.
So it had to have a little bit of oomph.



Behold the Pear and Brie Croque Monsieur.
A cure for homesickness? Well maybe not. But it sure took my mind off of my troubles for a bit. Part of the fun was in finding a new pear at the market that I had never heard of before. It is called a Beurre Hardy, which is an heirloom pear that is otherwise known as a French Butter Pear. Even though at first glance its skin seems rather dull with its mossy-green colour, it is quite pretty, and the ones I purchased had a close to perfect robust pear shape. Ok, maybe I'm being a bit of a geek about it but remember, I'm homesick. In any case, it was delicious. Juicy and sweet, I gobbled one up as soon as I got home.
As for the brie? Well, just look at that picture at the bottom, where it is just bulging out from under its rind. Enough said.

The Pear and Brie Croque Monsieur, inspired entirely by Williams Sonoma.
(which is really just a pear and brie grilled sandwich if you don't have the proper equipment.. but it sure sounds better the Williams-Sonoma way)

Take a pear, rinse it, slice it up. (I left the skin on).
Saute the slices in a pan in a bit of butter until slightly softened.
Spread butter on one side of 2 slices of bread.
On the un-buttered side, place the sauteed pears and some slices of brie.
Top with the second slice of bread, buttered side up.
Fry in a grill pan or fry pan until browned to your liking, and the cheese is melted.
Don't stop to take pictures, just eat it.


Brie de Meaux from La Ferme de la Brie
(at Richard Lenoir Market in the 11th)

For the love of Reblochon..

reblochon


I'm sorry. It's another post where Michele (that would be me) extols the virtues of yet another cheese. And there is no hesitation with this one. This cheese could bring me up from the depths of despair. And should I ever reach those depths, I will know that all I need to do is eat some of this cheese and the world will suddenly seem a wonderful place again. If I could have a room made of cheese, I think it might just be made of Reblochon.

When we move from Heidelberg in August I am definitely going to miss the farmer's market here. I have come to really enjoy my saturday (and wednesday) morning ritual. And you know you're a regular when you start getting free stuff from not one, but three vendors. And when one of those vendors includes the cheese man, you've got it made.

Needless to say, this morning I came home with much more produce and cheese than we needed. But I'm not complaining, because it only means that we are in for some fine eating over the days ahead. One cheese that has recently become one of my favourites is, as you may have guessed by now, Reblochon. It is an unpasteurized cow's milk cheese from the Savoie region of France. Oh how I love this cheese! It's soft, creamy and buttery, and yes, high in fat, with a minimum of 45% fat content. It's similar to Brie but softer, with a nutty bite to it, and much more full flavoured than Brie. And again, I'm always suprised to find that every cheese seems to have a story that gives it its character.

It seems that farmers of the 14th century were taxed on the amount of milk their cows produced. On the days that the tax collectors would come, they would only partially milk their cows, in order to report less production and thus be charged less tax. After the collectors had gone, the farmers would return to finish milking the cows. The second milking produced a milk that was creamier and much higher in fat. It is the farmers sneaky ways that gave us Reblochon, which is still made from the second milking. The term Reblochon actually comes from the word "reblocher" which meant "to milk for a second time".

Reblochon was the first cheese from the Savoie Region to be granted AOC certification, in 1976. It is made from mixing the milk of three breeds of cows; Abondance, Montbeliard and Tarine. It is aged in cellars or caves in the mountains and is turned every 2 days and washed with whey to speed the aging process.

One of the things I have quickly learned about Reblochon is that when it is overripe, it exudes a strong smell of ammonia. This is not, in any way, a pleasant smell. And you do not want to eat it if it does, in fact, smell like that. If you are buying it from a reputable shop or vendor, it will not likely be overripe when you purchase it. But it has happened to me (my fault for not sticking with my cheese man at the market) where I bought it only to get it home and find that it was inedible. But now, of course, I know better. And it makes you feel like an old pro asking if you can sniff the Reblochon before you buy it.

There is an old French recipe using Reblochon known as a Tartiflette that I am going to try one of these days. Although it does seem more like a hearty winter dish. But perhaps a cold wind will blow in tomorrow and I'll feel inclined to give it a try. In the meantime, we'll just enjoy it on it's own with bread and wine. Not very creative I know, but so so good.

Here's the recipe. I like the fact that the cheese is laid as is on top of the potatoes.
(Note: none of the recipes I found specified a weight for the cheese or a quantity of wine used. I guess there is room for interpretation with this recipe.)

Tartiflette (from this site)

1 reblochon (cheese)
1 kg waxy potatoes
200 g lardons (diced smoked bacon)
1 onion
butter
1 large glass white wine (from Savoie region recommended)
4 tbs cream
salt
pepper

Cook the potatoes in boiling water until a little undercooked. Reserve.
Melt the butter in a sauté pan and gently cook sliced onion and lardons, without letting them brown. Slice the potatoes thickly, add them and continue to cook gently for 10 minutes.
Add the white wine and allow to reduce. Season with salt and pepper.
To prepare the reblochon, you should just cut it in half horizontally -- connoisseurs leave the rind on. You can scrape some if it off with a sharp knife if you want.
Preheat the oven to moderately hot, butter a gratin dish, and put the potato mixture in it.
Pour over the cream (actually this is a bit excessive -- you can leave it out if you want).
Place the halves of reblochon on top, rind-side upwards, and put in the oven for 15-20 minutes, until the cheese has melted into the potatoes. Mmmm ... Serve with a green salad dressed with a walnut oil dressing.

How I learned to stop worrying and love the Roquefort.

Roquefort Papillon

Ah the Roquefort. The name sounds appealing if you forget about the fact that it's a blue cheese. But when I heard that the French call it the King of Cheeses, I had to give it a try. And this was the ultimate sacrifice in the name of learning, because I'm not really a fan of blue cheese. I've always avoided it in the past without giving it even the slightest of second thoughts. But no one can deny that the French know what they are talking about when it comes to food.

I went to the farmer's market last week with a bit of trepidation. Was I sure I wanted to do this? Was it not better to leave well enough alone? No. I had to face up to the challenge. After all, I may be moving to Paris in a few months, and I feel a certain pressure to know my french cheeses before I get there.

So, my adventure began when I got home from the market with a conservatively sized wedge of Roquefort in my hands. And after taking the time to find it a nice comfy place in my fridge, I did some thorough research. Some people collect stamps for fun, I read about cheese. Well, at least now I do.

This past week I gave my best efforts to this wedge of Roquefort. The smell of it told me that this was going to be an interesting experiment. But I was determined to try it as many ways as possible before coming to any conclusions. I crumbled it on an arugula salad with pears, I mixed it with butter and spread it on a slice of baguette, and of course, I tried it plain. All on it's own. Just me and a chunk of Roquefort. I'm proud to say that the wedge has now been fully consumed, except for a sizable pat of Roquefort butter that remains in my fridge. Since none of it was thrown out, I consider this some kind of success.

And yes, I came to some important conclusions. Plain is best, with a side of sliced pears and a large glass of wine or port. Did I say large glass? Good, that's what I meant. My tastebuds revolted when I ate the baguette, which gave me one bite of Roquefort after another. The salad was good, but the cheese so overpowered the rest of the salad that it seemed to render the salad unnecessary, if a salad can, in fact, be rendered unnecessary. A bite of pear, a bite of Roquefort, a LARGE sip of wine, and it's all good. Well, actually the fun of it is in feeling like I'm giving my tastebuds some serious training, a complete overhaul as a matter of fact. I feel like I'm engaged in some sort of science experiment.

But knowing the story behind Roquefort, has made me want to like it so darn bad. I have to keep reminding myself: "Its supposed to taste like that". And then, like some kind of magic, I can for a moment, convince myself that I actually like it. So I'm going to hold on to that, and after a brief Roquefort hiatus of a week or two or three, I will go back to my farmer's market and ask for it again.
Is that dedication or what.

So here's what I discovered about Roquefort.

Legend has it that a shepherd was sitting in a cave eating a lunch of bread and cheese when he saw a beautiful maiden. He tucked his lunch into a crevice of the cave and followed her. Months later he returned to the cave and discovered his forgotten lunch. For some reason, which shall forever remain a mystery, he ate the cheese, loved it, and Roquefort was born.

I thought that was an awfully good start to a cheese story so I kept digging.

Roquefort is a raw milk, unpasteurized cheese. In 1925 it was one the of the first French cheeses to receive the AOC seal. It is believed to date back as far as 2000 years. So I have convinced myself by now that if people have liked this cheese for 2000 years I can take a few weeks to give it a second chance, right?

The Sheep
Roquefort is made from the milk of a single breed of ewe, known as the red Lacaune. They only give milk from December to July. A genuine Roquefort can be identified by a small image of a red sheep on the label.

The Name
The name Roquefort is only given to cheeses aged in the caves of the Mont Combalou in one village called Roquefort-sur-Soulzon in the Aveyron region of France.

The Mold
The mold found in Roquefort is called penicillium roqueforti which occurs naturally in caves. It used to be that the mold was collected by leaving a loaf of bread in the caves and the cheese makers would scrape it off into the milk used to make the cheese. But now the mold is reproduced in laboratories to ensure consistency and is often injected into the cheese.

Food and wine pairings
It is said that Roquefort is suited to figs and pears and full grain breads.
It is complemented by sweet wines such as Sauternes and Port.
It is recommended to leave the cheese out to come to room temperature for at least an hour before consuming.

Roquefort Producers
Currently there are only seven Roquefort producers:
Roquefort Societe, Roquefort Papillon, Carles, Fromageries Occitannes, Gabriel Coullet, Vernieres, Le Vieux Berger

Now if that information doesn't make you at least want to try it, then.. well, I guess I won't really be surprised if it doesn't. But at least you'll know a good cheese story, should the opportunity to tell one ever come up at a party or something of that sort.