[Kumquat and Pinenut Lamb Stew, Little Polenta Cake]

Last week, I had my parents and my sister over for dinner. It had occurred to me that the four of us met most often at my parents’, and that it was high time I return the invitation, lest they start to wonder why they couldn’t benefit from at least some of the good manners it had taken them years to inculcate in me.

Just a few days before that dinner, I was right in the middle of that exciting time period when I dedicate a whole section of my brain to toy with dish ideas and assemble ingredients. At that point, I knew I was in the mood to cook lamb (maybe skewers?) and that I wanted to make something polenta (maybe little cakes?), but I was still looking for the right idea to pull them together.

And then, as I was reading the November issue of the New York Times Style Magazine, which a very kind reader had sent me, a recipe jumped out of the page and right at me. The recipe was for a candied kumquat and pinenut octopus salad (yes, it was a little scary and no, no stain on the pretty shirt I was wearing, thanks for asking).

“Candied kumquats? But I have candied kumquats!”. I had bought them a few months ago in a little spice store, thinking “Wow, candied kumquats!”, but I had never gotten around to eating them or using them in anything. I pulled those little guys out from the back of the kitchen cabinet, and they did seem a little upset and bitter from the exile — but then bitterness is a desired quality in kumquats, no?

The kumquat-pinenut pairing idea evolved into this lamb stew, in which the meat is slowly simmered in an orange juice and olive oil sauce, flavored with kumquats, onions and garlic, as well as thyme — lamb’s best herby friend. The pinenuts, toasted, make their appearance at plating time, in a grand sprinkling finale.

We loved it, and I was especially happy with the result given my very limited experience with stews. The meat turned out moist and tender, beautifully complemented by the flavorful chunky sauce and its part sweet, part bitter accents. My dear little polenta cakes marched onto the scene in a proud procession, their crispy crust revealing the softness of their warm and mellow hearts, and an excellent bottle of Pomerol 1999 brought by my father rounded out the meal.

[Update: my candied kumquats were purchased at Maison Joseph, a small graineterie at 63 rue des Abbesses in the 18th, 01 46 06 33 78.]

[2006 Update: to my great sadness, the graineterie is now closed, replaced by a .]

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Perk-to-being-friends-with-a-chef #326 : he will teach you how to open scallops!

This in turn allows you to jump the line at the fish stall, because the people in front of you need to have their scallops opened and cleaned (ha!), but you ask politely if you can just buy yours and go. And you know it’s just a figment of your imagination, but you like to think that they, as the fish guy, look at you in awe and think “wow, this girl opens her own scallops!”.

And here’s how you do it: hold the scallop shell horizontally in your left hand, flat side up, round edge facing you. Insert the end of a round-tipped knife in the opening to the right of the shell, and work the knife towards you, rotating it on itself to open the two halves just enough for you to slip the meaty tip of your left thumb in the gap, and maintain it open.

This is when you start to feel how very much alive the scallop is, as it struggles with all its might to keep that trapdoor shut. Thankfully you are the mightiest of the two, this is what we call an ecosystem.

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[Artichoke and Smoked Tuna Tart]

…and here is the tart I made with Pascale’s pâte brisée!

Slices of artichoke hearts and strips of smoked tuna, on a bed of roquette leaves and a smooth layer of mascarpone cheese. The artichoke’s tender sweetness, hand in hand with the salty strength of the tuna — I cannot recommend the pairing enough.

I found the smoked tuna in the smoked salmon aisle at my grocery store (“oh wow, smoked tuna!”, she exclaimed to herself), and I used frozen artichoke hearts bought at Picard, the all-popular French frozen foods store.

And of course, if you’re not too horribly pressed for time, a homemade crust is a must (and she rhymes!).

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As surprising as it may seem, this is the very first savory crust I make from scratch in my entire life. Before that, I would hop gaily to the nearest grocery store for a ready-made, and conveniently pre-rolled dough.

In truth, savory tarts and quiches had sort of fallen out of fashion in my kitchen, because they are so ubiquitous they just didn’t excite me that much. But my recent return into the world of tartes salées, after more than a year of tragic disaffection, was met with rave reviews (I have kind friends) and converted me back.

So when Marion came for dinner last week, I thought I would make another tart. I could have used the last portion of the hazelnut-thyme dough in the freezer, but I have solemnly promised my neighbor Patricia that I would use it in a tart for her and I am a woman of my word, so that was out.

Instead, I decided to try my hand at a simple, straightforward pâte brisée, and started looking for a recipe. You’d think the world could reach a consensus at least on such a simple question, but oh no. No no no. Every new recipe was different from the previous one, my head was starting to spin, I was on the brink of discouragement (and let me tell you, I have seen more comfortable brinks), when suddenly I saw the light. And in the light, I recognized a familiar, friendly face: it was Pascale! Of course! Pascale was sure to have a reliable recipe for pâte brisée!

And indeed she did, complete with the helpful and thorough instructions she always takes the time to give. And that dough was a breeze to make, so soft and fresh it felt alive (oh my god it is alive!). It proved laughably easy to handle and roll out, and the resulting crust wowed us with its delicately flaky texture and wonderful taste. Merci Pascale!

[As for the tart that was made with the crust, read on!]

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