A Traditional Aïoli – Garlic Mayonnaise

There was a time, when I was much, much younger, that mayonnaise was on my relatively short list of reviled foods. How things have changed! Like an arachnophobic who gets over a fear of spiders through repeated exposure, the more I dabbled in mayonnaise, the more I grew to like it. My conversion was complete upon trying my own hand at the homemade stuff, when I realized most of mayo you buy in jars is but a poor imitation. ( If you missed the story the first time around, you can read it here.)

Soon a sandwich was nothing without mayo. It replaced ketchup for my fries, and I discovered the limitless dips one can make with a bit of mayo and sour cream. All was well, and then I made another discovery that rocked my world.

Aioli.

Garlic mayonnaise.

And I’m not talking about the kind in the squeeze tube, found on supermarket shelves, another poor substitute for the real thing. I mean a veritable , traditional garlic aioli, made with a mortar and pestle and some elbow grease. It is a garlic mayonnaise that transforms the dullest fish, is heavenly next to a bucket of frites, and de rigeur in certain French dishes like Bouillabaisse or the fish stew called Bourride.

Le Grand Aioli is the name of a dish composed of salt cod, hard boiled eggs, and squid cooked with a variety of vegetables such as carrots, potatoes, and green beans accompanied, of course, by aioli.

To develop the fullest, most pungent flavor, the garlic should be pounded in the mortar with the egg yolks before beating the oil a few drops at a time, as you would when making a regular mayonnaise.

This recipe if from Anne Willan’s wonderful book The Country Cooking of France.

Aioli – Garlic Mayonnaise

Ingredients

Makes 1 1/2 cups/ 375 ml - Serves 6-8

2 egg yolks

2 garlic cloves, finely chopped (or more to taste)

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice (more to taste)

salt & white pepper

1 1/2 cups/375 ml olive oil

Directions

1) Put the egg yolks, garlic, lemon juice, salt and pepper in a mortar. * Pound with a pestle until the mixture becomes lightly thick–about 1 minute.

2) Beat in the oil gradually, a few drops at a time, until the mixture begins to emulsify and thicken considerably.

3) Transfer to a small bowl and continue to add the remaining oil in a thin, steady stream while stirring constantly with a whisk. Do not add it too quickly or the mixture will separate.

4) Taste and adjust the seasonings if required.

The mayonnaise should be thick enough to hold a spoon upright. It can be covered and kept in the fridge for up to twelve hours, but should be brought to room temperature before serving or it may separate.

*If you do not have a mortar and pestle, whisk the mixture in the bowl to start and use freshly pressed garlic.

Stuffed Grape Leaves, Serbian Style

Dolma, dolmadakia, dolmasi, in whatever language, add something different and delicious to the table. We know them as stuffed grape leaves, but dolma–”stuffed thing” from the Turkish–is basically a stuffed vegetable dish that can be found in the countries that belonged to the Ottoman Empire and surrounding regions, including many Arab countries, Iran and the Caucasus, as well as Central and South Asia. It is common to stuff eggplant, zucchini, tomato and pepper in these countries, but it is the grape leaf that most English-speaking people recognize as the dolma.

The filling consists of rice and sometimes meat, depending on the region, and is flavored with onion and a variety of herbs and spices. Which herbs and spices? Again, that depends on the region.

Serbian-style dolma are called sarmice, which always confused me because the word sounds like a diminutive of sarma, the cabbage roll that is ubiquitous in Eastern Eauropean cuisines. However, both dishes involve minced meat and rice encased in an edible wrapper. Cabbage rolls are cooked in a sauce spiced with sweet paprika, and in Serbia stuffed grape leaves can be too, although bechamel is also a common adornment. I like them plain, with a dollop of strained yogurt doctored with a bit of lemon.

The filling is cooked beforehand, and it takes a bit of time to fill the leaves, but these sarmice are easy to make and are a great as an appetizer or a complete meal. I usually make a big pot and then freeze any leftovers in individual containers for a quick lunch.

Serbian-style Stuffed Grape Leaves

Ingredients:

Makes 20 stuffed grape leaves

40 grape leaves (from a jar)

1 pounds of lean ground pork

1 cup white rice

1 medium onion, minced

1 tablespoon olive oil

1/4 teaspoon ground pepper

2 teaspoons Vegeta seasoning *

1 tablespoon chopped parsley

Directions:

1) Soak the grape leaves in water for at least half an hour to get rid of the salt from the brine. In the meantime, cook the onion in the olive oil over medium heat until soft.

2) Cook the rice. In a separate pan, brown the pork until it is cooked through and no longer pink. Put the meat and rice in a large mixing bowl. Add the onions, parsley, an seasonings. Mix thoroughly.

3) As you work, pat each grape leaf on a kitchen towel to get rid of the excess water. Take two grape leaves and trim off any tough stems. Overlap the bottom of one leaf halfway over the bottom of the other. Add a tablespoon or two of the filling, depending on the size of your leaves. Fold in each side of the grape leaves, lengthwise. Then roll up from bottom to top. Place in the bottom of a 9-inch round cooking pot with the folded side down. Repeat with the rest of the grape leaves.

4) Pour water over grape leaves to cover completely. Place a plate on top of the stuffed grape leaves to keep them from floating or unraveling. Cook, covered, for about an hour, or until the water evaporates.

5) Serve with yogurt, sour cream, or bechamel sauce.

 

* Vegeta is a seasoning from Croatia that can be purchased in most European delis and supermarkets. It can be replaced with salt, to taste.

Nuba Restaurant – A Review

People often ask me what my favorite type of food is, as if there is ever an answer to such a question. When pressed, I will answer “Mediterranean food”. I think this is very clever of me, given that this can mean the cuisines of a wide variety of countries: France, Spain, Italy, Turkey, even parts of Africa and the Middle East.

I often go through food phases, where I fixate on certain dishes or the foods of a particular region. Lately, I’ve been obsessing about the Middle East in general, Lebanese food in particular–which led me to Nuba, a restaurant in the Dominion building on Hastings Street.

I had my doubts about the location, worrying that any restaurant that was located in a basement would have a dungeon-like atmosphere, but I was pleasantly surprised. The owners of Nuba have gone to considerable expense renovating the space. Their inspiration? The Beirut of the 1940s, when the city was considered the Paris of the Middle East.

To bring more light in, part of one wall was replaced with glass bricks. The lighting is soft and warm and a long beautiful bar dominates the room, with the tables placed strategically around it in an arrangement that is roomy and comfortable. No need to worry about your neighbor eavesdropping on your conversation.

Our server immediately brought us water, which I noticed had an usual aftertaste. Cucumber water, I soon realized. Even though it was a cool day, it was oddly refreshing.

My friend and I decided to split a couple of appetizers, unable to decide on what we wanted to eat most. I was in the mood to try a little bit of everything. I had heard that the portions at Nuba were on the small side, and I kept this in mind when ordering. This turned out to be a mistake. Each appetizer offered more than the two of us could comfortably put away, and by the time my meal came I was afraid to admit that I was rather full.

We started with the baba ghanooj, the eggplant dip with a deep smoky flavor, served with a stack of pita wedges. M. wanted olives, so we ordered the olives and feta. As I’m not a lover of olives,  I cannot comment on their quality, but I was impressed that the hunks of feta on the plate were of the Macedonian variety. If you are not a big fan of any cheese that requires keeping in brine, I urge you to try Macedonian feta.  Its smooth, melt-in-your-mouth texture, its salty creaminess, will transport you.

Next was the roasted cauliflower, an entry in Vancouver Magazine’s 101 Things to Taste Before You Die and a dish that put Nuba on the map. Known as Najib’s Special, it’s simply cauliflower roasted with lemon and sea salt, but it’s natural earthiness tinged with that edge of bright citrus is proof that food doesn’t have to be complicated to be extraordinary.

Finally, our entrees were brought to the table by our server, who was attentive without being intrusive. I had ordered the lamb kafta, a grilled patty of halal lamb, which was served with salad, tabbouleh, hummus and pita bread.

As soon as our server set my plate down in front of me, I groaned inwardly. Had I know that my meat would come with such a variety of accompaniments, I would have skipped all of the appetizers except the crispy cauliflower. The lamb kafta portion was very small, however, less than the size of my palm. M. had ordered the chicken tawook, local chicken grilled in Middle Eastern Spices. The portion size was about a half chicken breast and although it tasted delicious, it was slightly dry for my tastes. I enjoyed my lamb, but had I not eaten so many appetizers, I might have preferred a larger portion. Still, for $11.95, I found my entree a good value. As a member of the clean-your-plate club, I generally do not like large portions in restaurants. I think it encourages overeating. I prefer to sample a variety of tastes, and to this end, Nuba delivers.

Full as we were, M. and I couldn’t resist splitting a dessert, the Turkish Coffee Tiramisu beckoning to us from the menu. I often make Tiramisu but not once has it occurred to use Turkish coffee, which ironically, is a staple in my ethnic background. It added a deep richness, a stronger coffee taste to the tiramisu than that of regular espresso. The dessert was light on the biscuit and heavy on the whip cream, which offered a nice contrast to the coffee.

I will definitely try Nuba again, this time taking it easy on the starters and perhaps leaving a little more room for a taste of their baklava.

Nuba offers many vegan and vegetarian dishes. It is open for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and sometimes features live music. There are two locations: one on Hastings, the other on Seymour Street, which goes by the moniker “Nuba Cafe”.

Nuba

207-B Hastings Street (at Cambie)

Ph: 604-688-1655

Nuba Cafe

1206 Seymour Street (at Davie)

Ph:778-371-3266

Julia Child’s Gratin Dauphinois

Whether baked or fried, roasted, or boiled, I’ve never met a potato I didn’t like. On its own, it is a humble thing, a lowly tuberous crop that can be had for mere pennies; one that has, at times, provided sustenance to the poorest of nations. But with some oil and heat, a sprinkling of salt, a healthy dollop of butter or sour cream, the potato is transformed into something ethereal. In my opinion, the supreme leader of this magical potato kingdom is the scalloped potato–officially know as the Gratin Dauphinois.

I will tell you what I love about the French. Only they have a word for the golden, crispy bits of food that get stuck around the edges of a baking dish. This word, gratin, comes from the verb gratter, which means “to scrape”. Gratinée is from the transitive verb form of the word for “crust”. It is a culinary technique in which ingredients are topped with breadcrumbs, butter, or grated cheese, then baked or broiled until a golden crust develops. As you can imagine from the name of my blog, I am a fiend for gratins.

Virtually anything edible can be made into a gratin, but potato gratinée is most common, particularly the Gratin Dauphinois. This dish is a specialty of the Dauphiné region of France. It involves layering thinly sliced potatoes with cream and sometimes egg in a buttered dish rubbed with garlic. A Gratin Savoyard, on the other hand, found in a neighboring region, is made without milk but beef broth.

A good Gratin Dauphinois should be crispy on the top and bottom and have a rich, cheesy taste, even without any cheese added. If you look closely at your gratin upon taking it out of the oven, you will notice the cream has turned into a curdled, cheese-like substance. You should not be alarmed when this happens. In fact, this is a most desirable trait in a gratin. As the potatoes absorb water from the liquid, you get a concentration of fat and protein, just as you would with fresh cheese curds.

I have made a great deal of gratins in my lifetime, following many different recipes many times over, and I can tell you that they never turn out the same. The thickness of the potato slices, the way they are layered, the depth and width of the dish you use and where you place it in the oven all influence your end result. Even the thickness of your cream can be of great influence. Starchy potatoes are a must.

There are countless recipes for Gratin Dauphinois, some of which ask you to boil the potatoes before baking them. I am not sure this method creates a superior gratin, so why bother? This recipe is from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It is fast and easy and produces the kind of gratin that will have you picking those crispy, delectable bits off the baking dish.

Julia Child’s Gratin Dauphinois

Serves 6

Ingredients:

2 pounds starchy potatoes

1/2 clove unpeeled garlic

4 tablespoons butter

1 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon pepper

1 cup (4 ounces) grated Swiss cheese

1 cup boiling milk or cream

Method:

1) Preheat oven to 425F. Peel the potatoes and slice them 1/8 inch thick. Place in cold water. Drain when ready to use.

2) Rub the baking dish with cut garlic. Smear the dish with 1 tablespoon of the butter.

3) Drain the potatoes and dry them in a towel. Spread half of them in the bottom of the dish. Divide over them half the salt, pepper, cheese, and butter.

4) Arrange the remaining potatoes over the first layer and season. Spread on the rest of the cheese and divide the butter over it. Pour on the boiling milk.

5) Set the baking dish in upper third of preheated oven. Bake for 20-30 minutes, until the potatoes are tender, the milk is absorbed, and the top is a golden brown.

The Country Cooking of France

If you’re anything like me, you really don’t need another French cookbook. If you’re like me, you don’t need another cookbook, period. However, when it comes to buying cookbooks–and shopping in general–I find need is rarely part of the equation. It is precisely this attitude that has often gotten me into trouble. With shelves ready to topple over and books stacked in every corner, my apartment looks like a library exploded. I am afraid to move because I would have to move fifty boxes of books. I’ve done this before and I can tell you it’s not much fun.

As far as addictions go, my addiction to books is rather benign. It doesn’t hurt anyone. It costs me money, but a lot less money than I would spend on cigarettes if I were a smoker. And unlike smoking, reading is good for you. Like an addict, I will find ways to justify my addiction. Books are a hobby, I say, just like golf. Were I a golfer, I would spend money on golf clubs and weekly trips to the golf course.

But why not just go to the library, people say. Or frequent used book stores. Here is why; I am a writer. As a writer, I fervently believe in supporting other writers. A writer may slave away at a book for years before seeing the results of their labor. They will usually receive ten percent of the book sales. In Canada, where I live, 10,000 copies is considered a bestseller. Most books don’t become best sellers, and most writers don’t have a prayer of making a living from their writing. I know how difficult it is to put yourself on the page, to write something people will find meaningful. I know how much work goes into each sentence before it becomes good enough. I treasure each of my books as if I wrote them myself. I take good care of them and do not lend them to anyone except my closest friends, who respect books as much as I do.

I will admit, however, that the current economic situation has caused me to be much more careful with my book buying. I’m much less likely to pick up something on a whim. Recently, I realized that it had been some time since I had bought a book and I decided to allow myself one indulgence. I checked my Amazon wish list and ordered The Country Cooking of France by Anne Willan. When it came in the mail, I did a little happy dance. It felt like getting a special gift when you don’t get gifts that often.

If you haven’t heard of Anne Willan, she is an English woman who runs the famous cooking school La Varenne in Burgunday, France, which she founded with James Beard and Julia Child. She has thirty cookbooks to her credit, which have been translated into a couple dozen languages, and has won a variety of prestigious awards. She has been honored as a Grande Dame of Les Dames d’Escoffier and inducted into the World Food Media Hall of Fame.

I cook a lot from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Some might argue that these two volumes are all one will ever need on French cuisine. But the focus of Anne Willan’s book is the sort of rustic country cooking that has seen a resurgence in popularity lately–the classic fare of the French country cook, or of the roadside bistros that pepper the French countryside. What is it that makes this kind of cooking so compelling? According to Willan, the key is terroir, the essence of what makes one ingredient in one area taste different from the same ingredient grown in another area. Terroir is much more than soil and topography, however; it is also a cultural and historical link to the land, an expression of that land and the people living there. It is an emotionally charged term for the French, a word with shades of meaning, and it has no equivalent in English.

The Country Cooking of France covers all the classics, from soups to fish to tarts, as well as fare less common in North America, such as frog legs and escargots, for which Willan supplies a variety of recipes. She even covers important finishing touches like liqueurs and preserves and includes chapters on rustic sauces and the country baker. It is a meticulously researched and tested cookbook. Some of the recipes are involved, as French recipes sometimes are, but there are plenty of dishes, like fava beans with bacon, that can be made quite quickly and with relative ease. The pot-au-feu and cassoulet are best left for weekends or when striving to impress dinner guests.

This is a cookbook that inspires you to get into the kitchen. It is also beautifully photographed and chock full of information about every aspect of the French country meal. On days you don’t feel like cooking, it’s perfect for enjoying with a cafe au lait.

Salade de Fromage de Chèvre Mariné

Marinated Goat Cheese Salad

Serves 4

Ingredients:

6 ounces/ 170 g arugula or other salad greens, washed and dried

marinated goat cheeses (recipe follows)

8 slices whole wheat bread or French baguette

oil from marinated cheese, used for brushing

for the vinaigrette:

2 tablespoons/30 ml red wine vinegar

salt and pepper

6 tablespoons/90 ml marinating oil

Directions:

1) Slice each cheese in half horizontally. Use a round cookie cutter or a glass to stamp out a round from each piece of bread slightly larger than the rounds of cheese. Brush the bread rounds with the oil and set a round of cheese, cut side down, on top.

2) Whisk together the vinegar, salt, and pepper in a small bowl. Gradually add the oil, whisking constantly so the dressing emulsifies and thickens slightly. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

3) To finish, heat the broiler. Arrange the cheeses on a baking sheet and broil them until bubbling and browned, about 5-7 minutes. In the meantime, toss salad greens with the vinaigrette.

4) Pile the greens on 4 plates. Set two rounds of cheese on each plate and serve while still warm.

Fromage de Chèvre Mariné

Put 4 small goat cheese rounds (about 2 1/2 ounces/75g each) in a 1 quart/1 liter jar with a lid. Add 3 dried bay leaves, 2 teaspoons peppercorns, 3 sprigs fresh thyme, 3 or 4 tiny dried chiles, and 1 1/2 cups/375ml olive or walnut oil, or enough to cover the cheeses generously. Cover with the lid and leave in a cool place for at least 2 weeks before using. Keeps up to 3-4 weeks.

Makes 4 cheeses to serve 4, with salad.

Chai-Spiced Almond Cookies

I come from a cultural background where coffee–specifically Turkish coffee–is a way of life. There are many rituals around how coffee is made (over the stove in a little brass pot called a džezva) and imbibed (with neighbors and friends, usually on a weekend morning but sometimes during the week at a midday break). Couples get up extra early to partake in a cup together, before heading off to work and their daily chores. There is no question; coffee is sacred. Now tea? Tea, on the other hand, is for sick people. If you are ever offered coffee but request tea, you will invariably be asked if you are coming down with a fever.

For most of my life I shared this mentality. Except for the odd spot of chamomile when I had the flu, tea rarely passed my lips. I began drinking drip coffee when I was fourteen and graduated to espresso when I lived in Italy. I drank cappuccino and cafe lattes on a daily basis way before Starbucks began making serious inroads. I drank that Turkish coffee whenever I visited Serbia, even though I didn’t like it all that much. What I enjoyed was turning the cup upside down on my saucer when I was done and having my companion read my fortune in the coffee grounds, which always sat on the bottom like sediment.

Now I know some people who wax poetic about tea. I have a friend who will drive across the city for his favorite blends. Who has a special corner on his desk at work reserved for his tea leaves and the various accouterments of tea-making. Periodically he will implore me to take a whiff of some new discovery. As I dip my nose into the foil bag and inhale the scent of vanilla rooibos or a Mayan chocolate truffle infusion, I will concede to one thing; tea, like coffee, smells better than it tastes. With one exception–chai. The spiced milk tea from the Indian subcontinent.

In many languages, including my own second language, chai is the word for regular tea; however, in North America, chai refers to masala chai, tea that is brewed with a variety of aromatic spices such as cardamom, cinnamon and cloves. Often, the water is heated with 1/4 to 1/2 parts whole milk, which gives the chai richness. Chai also tends to be sweet, with a fair amount of sugar added to bring out the flavors of the spices. Since I have always adored these warm spices, I have become a big fan of chai.

Many coffeehouses serve chai made from commercial liquid concentrates. Supermarkets also carry teabags of chai blends, which need to be steeped longer than regular tea yet still lack the strength of traditionally brewed chai. You can also find chai spice blends alongside the herbs and spices, a powdered version which can be added to black tea for that masala chai flavor. Be aware, however, that purists decry this as not really chai. If you are interested in making an authentic chai, look here.

These cookies are inspired by that deep, rich chai taste. They’re a snap to make from ingredients one usually has one hand. Just the thing to have with your next cup of chai.

Chai-Spiced Almond Cookies

Adapted from Epicurious/Bon Appetit January 2006

Makes about 22 cookies

Ingredients:

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 1/3 cup powdered sugar, divided

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 teaspoon almond extract

3/4 teaspoon ground allspice

3/4 teaspoon ground cardamom

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup all-purpose flour

3/4 cup toasted coarsely ground almonds

Method:

1) Preheat oven to 350F. Beat butter, 1/3 cup sugar, extracts, spices and salt in a medium bowl. Beat in flour, then stir in almonds.

2) Using hands, roll dough into tablespoon-size balls. Press down top slightly and place on a large baking sheet, spacing apart.

3) Bake until pale golden, 10-15 minutes, depending on your oven. Be sure not to overbake.

4) Cool cookies on the sheet for five minutes. Place remaining sugar in a large bowl. Gently coat each cookie in sugar and cool further on a wire rack. Cool completely, then roll again in sugar before serving.

Balkan Style Yogurt in Edible Vancouver

If you’re from Vancouver or happen to be in the Vancouver area, you shouldn’t miss the autumn issue of Edible Vancouver, a magazine that tells the story of local food. Copies get snapped up pretty quickly, so if you miss it you can find it online.

Be sure to check out my article on making your own homemade Balkan-style yogurt. It’s a snap, and once you try this creamy and dreamy concoction, you may very well not want to go back to the store bought stuff.

Happy Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving in Canada but our family celebrated yesterday. I don’t remember ever having had turkey dinner on the Monday–always Sunday. Another thing–it hasn’t always been turkey dinner. My mother has been known to cook a goose, a ham, or even duck as the main dish at our annual Thanksgiving feast, just to break the routine. Mind you, there are always a lot of other dishes at the table, like cabbage rolls, homemade sausage and sometimes–if my grandma is cooking–even perogies. To some, it may seem like a sacrilege to forgo turkey on Thanksgiving, but on these occasions I can’t say that I’ve ever really missed it.

Here’s the thing about being an immigrant. No matter how long you live in your country of choice, that country’s holidays never really seem yours. A holiday is something you adopt, perhaps keep forever, but you never call it your own. Coming from a farming community in Eastern Europe, my parents are no strangers to celebrating the harvest. Autumn is a time when friends and family often come together to share the bounties of the season. There are many rites and rituals associated with this special time of year, but there is no particular holiday reserved for its celebration. Here in Canada, Thanksgiving is always an excuse for the family to get together and eat a lot of food. Until recently, I gave little pause to what I was thankful for as I loaded my plate with cranberry sauce and my mother’s chestnut and apple stuffing.

But I think that there is something about getting older and hopefully wiser that has made me appreciate the importance of rituals such as holidays. They connect us with the people that are important to us. They are passages in life that make us more fully human. This year in some way was not the easiest. The economy hit a lot of people hard, me included, and it’s hard not to wonder almost constantly how long it will take to get better. Yet yesterday it was easy to focus on what I did have: my family, my health, great friends. Since last year we have had a new addition to family, my beautiful nephew. We celebrated Thanksgiving at my brother’s big new house with a feast worthy of some of those harvest days back in Europe. With all that food, eaten with the people I love, it would have been difficult not to feel thankful.