[Lavender-crusted Duck Magret]

As promised, here is the recipe for the main course in the flower menu I created for the French edition of ELLE (issue #3154, June 12, 2006). My thanks to Catherine Roig for allowing me to reproduce the recipes here. The picture above is a shot of the magazine page: the food styling is by Valérie Lhomme, the photography by Edouard Sicot.

Where does one find lavender flowers? The important thing is to use unsprayed lavender flowers: these can be purchased from gourmet stores and spice specialists. In Paris, you will find them at Izrael (30 rue François-Miron in the 4th) or Le Comptoir Colonial (22 rue Lepic in the 18th) for instance. (Lavender also grows very well on a window sill, but you should be aware that it tends to die a horrible death if the facade of your building gets repainted.) If you can’t find lavender flowers, substitute unsprayed thyme flowers, or omit them and make the spice rub with 3 teaspoons cumin seeds and 3 teaspoons coriander seeds.

What is the difference between a duck fillet and a duck magret? Both refer to one half of a duck breast, but magrets come from a duck that’s been force-fed to make foie gras, whereas fillets come from regular ducks. Magrets are more flavorful, but fattier than fillets.

For the rest of the menu, see:
~ Zucchini poppy carpaccio,
~ Raspberry and violet tartlets.

Continue reading »

[Raspberry and Violet Tartlets]

As promised, here is the recipe for the dessert in the flower menu I created for the French edition of ELLE (issue #3154, June 12, 2006). My thanks to Catherine Roig for allowing me to reproduce the recipes here. The picture above is a shot of the magazine page: the food styling is by Valérie Lhomme, the photography by Edouard Sicot.

Where does one find violet syrup and candied violets? In France, they can be purchased at gourmet shops. In Paris, you will find the violet syrup at Izrael (30 rue François-Miron in the 4th) or Le Comptoir Colonial (22 rue Lepic in the 18th) and the candied violets at La Mère de Famille (35 rue du Faubourg-Montmartre in the 9th) for instance. Elsewhere, try your luck at gourmet and specialty food shops.

If you can’t find violet syrup, substitute another kind of quality fruit or flower syrup, or use 1 teaspoon vanilla extract plus 2 tablespoons sugar instead. As for the candied violets, you can substitute sugar sprinkles, or omit them altogether.

For the rest of the menu, see:
~ Zucchini poppy carpaccio,
~ Lavender-crusted duck magret.

Continue reading »

What do you do when your deepest desire is a little homemade pesto in your sandwich, but you discover with a sinking heart that you have but a handful of basil? Sure, you could go out and buy more, certainly, yes, that would be the sensible thing to do. But what if you can’t go out for some reason, say, because you’ve just painted your toenails, or because you’re expecting a delivery, or perhaps both?

Well, you open the fridge, and try to think out of the box: no fresh herb to speak of, no salad green either, but there, on the lower shelf, a small basket of ruby strawberries, batting their eyelashes up at you. Strawberries from Sologne, to be exact, with an oblong shape and a tingly flavor of fraises des bois.

As a few restaurant desserts have already proven, strawberries and basil are a felicitous pairing (think chilled strawberry soup infused with basil, or sliced strawberries atop a basil sorbet) so that will do.

And while you’re at it, why not replace the pine nuts with almonds? Strawberries enjoy their company so much.

And so the strawberries join their new pals for a little ride in the mixer — the mortar and pestle method would be a bit messy, you fear. You kind of hoped the resulting pesto would be at least a little pink, but it turns out the basil won’t have it that way.

Still, the pesto is baby green with teeny flecks of pink when you look really closely, and this is pleasing enough. You taste it, and rejoice at the balance of flavors: the basil continues to dominate — it is a strong-headed herb — but the strawberries add a flowery, acidulated undertone that brightens things up nicely.

The batch doesn’t make much, but since you feel this pesto won’t keep quite as long as the traditional one — more fresh ingredients, less olive oil — it’s just as well.

Two slices of levain bread receive a light toasting and a healthy spread of pesto, upon which strips of crimson jambon de montagne (dry-cured ham) and sliced tomatoes are layered.

The sandwich is assembled, sliced in two diagonally, and heartily enjoyed, just in time for the delivery guy to ring your neighbors’ door bell — however precisely you describe which door is yours, your explanations are unfailingly misinterpreted. Perhaps it would help if you actually had your name on your door, like normal people do?

Continue reading »

A little while ago I told you about the cookbooks my grandmother gave me, old, tattered, and much-loved volumes that used to belong to my great-grandmother before her. One of them is called Mes Recettes pour votre dessert, and it contains 710 recipes for sweet things, arranged in alphabetical order from Amandés de Liège to Visitandines. And on page 222, this precious book offers a recipe for petits beurres.

Le petit beurre is a crisp little thing, not too sweet and not too rich, that melts on your tongue and takes kindly to a brief dunking in a cup of hot chocolate.

Le Petit Beurre (literally “little butter”) is a small rectangular cookie that was invented in 1886 by Louis Lefèvre-Utile, founder of the LU company in Nantes: he was the first to create a cookie manufacture in France, and was very much ahead of his time in terms of marketing and advertisement too.

This cookie, also called Petit LU, quickly became a classic, and although it is now 120 years old it is as sprightly as ever, with millions of packages sold every year throughout the world. The fascinating story of the petit beurre would really warrant a whole book — I wouldn’t be surprised if one had already been written — but you can read a little more about it here (in French). [Note: the LU brand now belongs to the Danone group.]

Le petit beurre is a crisp little thing, not too sweet and not too rich, that melts on your tongue and takes very kindly to a brief dunking in a cup of hot chocolate. Its signature silhouette has scalloped edges, tiny holes on the surface as if pricked by a needle, and a small browned ear at each corner.

Some advocate that the corners are the best, and a close member of my family was once admonished for having gone through a whole package, eating exclusively les petites oreilles, and returning the rest neatly into the paper wrapper. This same family member also had an interesting experience with a tiny chestnut that fit exactly inside her left nostril, but I will keep that story for another time. [Update: The close family member tells me that she calls the corners “thumbs”, not “ears”, because they look like a baby’s toes.]

Because petits beurres are so readily available from French stores — even the tiniest ones — they don’t seem to be the type of cookie that one makes at home, and I had never seen a recipe anywhere before. To my knowledge, the special mold that gives the petit beurre its shape is not for sale, so I chose to make mine with the puzzle cookie cutter that I bought from Muji recently. Whichever shape you pick for yours, make sure it is one that has dents and corners (a star would work well too) so that you get the maximum amount of crisp angles.

The recipe was charming (I’ve copied it below for your enjoyment), very easy to follow, and the resulting cookies were wonderful: although no one would mistake them for the original petits beurres in a blind test, there was a clear similarity of flavor.

Less dry than the packaged version, my petits beurres were crisp and crumbly like good sablés should be, with just the right dose of sweetness, a clean, lingering taste of fresh butter and crème fraîche, and a delightful hint of salt. Perfect for an afternoon snack, they were also much enjoyed with sliced strawberries (especially Mara des Bois from the market) or a rhubarb compote.

Continue reading »