So, I might have a crush on Michael Pollan.
(Perhaps, to the point of absurdity.)
Case in point: once, when I was telling someone for at least the billionth time how oh-so-insightful and oh-so-provocative this or that thing that MP had said was, and that someone sort of yawned and then dared to suggest that MP's argument was not quite as compelling as I had come to believe, I found myself screaming into my cell phone at 1:30 in the morning,
"You do too have an omnivore's dilemma!!!"
Hm. We don't talk about Michael Pollan anymore.
One of the things Pollan suggests might help us nutty Americans overcome all our hand-wringing over food (conscious and otherwise) is to learn to rethink of food in terms of pleasure instead of primarily in terms of health (for an extremely eloquent look at this, see the last few paragraphs of Polan's NYTimes Magazine article, "Our National Eating Disorder"). And, he suggests, by eating for pleasure we begin to allay our perpetual anxiety about the heathfulness or unhealthfulness of any given meal, and we thus might actually become healthier. This makes a lot of sense to me - although maybe it's just because it seems like a good excuse to eat all the really perfect things I desire? - and I'm working to incorporate this healthful attitude of pleasure into how I eat and cook.
But oh Michael Pollan, I am still wracked with dillemma! One of the foods that absolutely gives me pleasure above all other foods is the Raw Kale Salad that Natalie taught me how to make (we made it with queso fresco and preserved lemons the first time around). But every time I pull out that beautiful, leafy boquet, I freeze, I panic, because, Michael Pollan, which raw kale salad should I make today?
Today I have ginger, so I'll go for an asian twist with some grilled tofu. But what about tomorrow, when I have beets on hand? Or the next day when I have fresh feta? And what about the frightful day when I have all three?
Oh Michael Pollan, what should I do?
Three Raw Kale Salads
These three salads all begin with the same premise: de-ribbed, very finely sliced kale leaves, tossed with a simple dressing. The thing that is most remarkable about this salad is that it can rest for days without getting slimy and limp. That sturdy kale is more than a match for any dressing, which means you can snack with pleasure and leisure on this salad for about three days.
Ingredients:
One large bunch of kale, tough center ribs removed and leaves very, very thinly sliced
For each salad below, toss the salad ingredients together in a large bowl. Wisk together dressing ingredients, then toss with salad. Allow salad to marinate at room temperature for 5-10 minutes.
Variation One: Raw Kale, Beet and Carrot Salad
For the salad:
1 medium sized beet, peeled and coarsely grated
2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely grated
1/2 cup mixed olives, very thinly sliced
1 cup crumbled feta
1/2 cup flat leaf parsley, coarsely chopped
a generous sprinkling of black sesame seeds
For the dressing:
5 tbs. olive oil
2 tbs. white wine vinegar
1 clove of garlic, minced
salt and pepper to taste
Variation Two: The 1990s California Raw Kale Salad
(because, I don't know, don't sunflower seeds and raisins make you think of California in the early 90s?)
For the salad:
2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely grated
1 cup of raisins
1/2 cup sunflower seeds, toasted
1 cup crumbled nice cheese, like feta or a maytag blue
For the dressing:
5 tbs. olive oil
2 tbs. fresh lemon juice
1 tbs. minced shallot
salt and pepper to taste
Optional garnish:
Avocado slices
Variation Three: The Mexican Raw Kale Salad
For the salad:
2 medium carrots, peeled and coarsely shredded
1 cup queso fresco, crumbled
1 cup cilantro, coarsley chopped
1 small red onion, finely diced
1/2 cup pumpkin seeds, toasted
For the dressing:
5 tbs. olive oil
3 tbs. fresh lime juice
1/2 tsp. ground corriander
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
a dash of cayenne pepper
salt to taste
4.04.2007
Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée: When it Becomes Impossible to Discern Either Cheese or Onion
"The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." (From ''Gastronomie Pratique,'' by Ali-Bab, 1907)
As a rule, I try to focus primarily on my own recipes; it helps me to be more adventurous and thoughtful in my cooking. But quite frankly, the soup - or rather soupe - I made on Sunday was so absolutely perfect that it would be a selfish, selfish thing for me not to share the recipe for Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée with the world.
At some tragic point in every bowl of French Onion Soup, the diner realizes that she has somehow managed to eat all the "good stuff" and is left with only a lonely bowl of buttery broth.* While indeed the broth that is left is as pristine in form as any broth could aspire to be, the very memory of crusty bread, melting onions and salty cheese is enough to make the diner shed tears of remorse into her broth, making it far too salty to finish.
The magic of this Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée is that by the time you're done caramelizing, simmering, baking and browning, the broth has transformed itself into a perfect, silky, mushy bready delight. Really, it's the very best part of French Onion Soup, without the morose slosh of unwanted broth.
Grossly, Guy kept exclaiming, "I wish I could take a bath in this!" While all guests were duly repulsed, by the end of the meal we were willing to concede that he may be onto something.
Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée
Originally published in Ali Bab's Gastronomie Pratique; republished in the New York Times in 1974, and then again this past February. The method carries my reflection on the process.
Ingredients
1 baguette, cut into 30 1/2 inch slices
9 tbs. butter, softened
9 oz gruyere, grated (the original calls for emmantal, but I'm a sucker for gruyere); 1/2 cup reserved
8 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced (about 12 cups)
1 tbs kosher slat, plus more to taste
1 cup tomato puree (I used canned diced tomatoes)
Method
Prepare the ingredients: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange baguette slices on one or two baking sheets and toast for about 10 minutes. Flip and continue toasting for 10 minutes more. Remove from oven to cool.
While the toasts cool, prepare the onions: melt 4 tbs. butter in a very large saucepan (because have you stopped to think about the sheer volume of 12 cups of sliced onions?). Add the onions, season generously with salt and saute until very soft and golden, at least 15 minutes. Meanwhile, butter each toast generously on one side; in a small pot, bring 1 1/2 quarts of water and the tbs. salt to a boil.
Assemble the soupe: in the bottom of a large casserole or pot (I was originally planning to use my 5qt enameled cast iron, but made the very wise decision of upgrading to my large 10qt stainless steel pot. I made 1 1/2 times the recipe, however; the recipe as written calls for a 5qt pot), arrange a layer of 1/3 of the toasts. Top with 1/3 of the non-reserved cheese, and 1/3 of the onions. Spread with 1/3 of the tomato puree. Continue in the same fashion for two more layers, topping with the reserved 1/2 cup of cheese (I found that I needed more).
Add the broth: using a large ladle, slowly pour the hot water down the sides of the pot. You may need more or less water depending on the size of your pot, but the goal is to fill the pot with broth just up until the final layer of cheese. My soupe took surprisingly little water at first, so I made little tunnels with the handle of a wooden spoon around the edge of the pot to help make space for a little more water. I also shook the pot a bit, gave it some to settle and think about whether or not it was moist enough. Eventually, I decided the soupe was content with its broth/bread/onion/cheese/butter/tomato ratio, and simmered it on the stove over medium heat for 30 minutes. After this, bake the soupe in the 350 degree oven for an entire hour. Remember, "The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." Each serving should include a bit of crust and a bit of the gooey unctuousness.
*Unless of course you are a master French Onion Soup Eater. Which I am, thanks to the many New Year's Eves of the Meyer family specialty. I have absolutely crafted the art of F.O.S. consumption, such that every bowl I eat ends not with broth, but with a perfectly balanced bite of bread, broth, onion.
As a rule, I try to focus primarily on my own recipes; it helps me to be more adventurous and thoughtful in my cooking. But quite frankly, the soup - or rather soupe - I made on Sunday was so absolutely perfect that it would be a selfish, selfish thing for me not to share the recipe for Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée with the world.
At some tragic point in every bowl of French Onion Soup, the diner realizes that she has somehow managed to eat all the "good stuff" and is left with only a lonely bowl of buttery broth.* While indeed the broth that is left is as pristine in form as any broth could aspire to be, the very memory of crusty bread, melting onions and salty cheese is enough to make the diner shed tears of remorse into her broth, making it far too salty to finish.
The magic of this Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée is that by the time you're done caramelizing, simmering, baking and browning, the broth has transformed itself into a perfect, silky, mushy bready delight. Really, it's the very best part of French Onion Soup, without the morose slosh of unwanted broth.
Grossly, Guy kept exclaiming, "I wish I could take a bath in this!" While all guests were duly repulsed, by the end of the meal we were willing to concede that he may be onto something.
Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée
Originally published in Ali Bab's Gastronomie Pratique; republished in the New York Times in 1974, and then again this past February. The method carries my reflection on the process.
Ingredients
1 baguette, cut into 30 1/2 inch slices
9 tbs. butter, softened
9 oz gruyere, grated (the original calls for emmantal, but I'm a sucker for gruyere); 1/2 cup reserved
8 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced (about 12 cups)
1 tbs kosher slat, plus more to taste
1 cup tomato puree (I used canned diced tomatoes)
Method
Prepare the ingredients: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange baguette slices on one or two baking sheets and toast for about 10 minutes. Flip and continue toasting for 10 minutes more. Remove from oven to cool.
While the toasts cool, prepare the onions: melt 4 tbs. butter in a very large saucepan (because have you stopped to think about the sheer volume of 12 cups of sliced onions?). Add the onions, season generously with salt and saute until very soft and golden, at least 15 minutes. Meanwhile, butter each toast generously on one side; in a small pot, bring 1 1/2 quarts of water and the tbs. salt to a boil.
Assemble the soupe: in the bottom of a large casserole or pot (I was originally planning to use my 5qt enameled cast iron, but made the very wise decision of upgrading to my large 10qt stainless steel pot. I made 1 1/2 times the recipe, however; the recipe as written calls for a 5qt pot), arrange a layer of 1/3 of the toasts. Top with 1/3 of the non-reserved cheese, and 1/3 of the onions. Spread with 1/3 of the tomato puree. Continue in the same fashion for two more layers, topping with the reserved 1/2 cup of cheese (I found that I needed more).
Add the broth: using a large ladle, slowly pour the hot water down the sides of the pot. You may need more or less water depending on the size of your pot, but the goal is to fill the pot with broth just up until the final layer of cheese. My soupe took surprisingly little water at first, so I made little tunnels with the handle of a wooden spoon around the edge of the pot to help make space for a little more water. I also shook the pot a bit, gave it some to settle and think about whether or not it was moist enough. Eventually, I decided the soupe was content with its broth/bread/onion/cheese/butter/tomato ratio, and simmered it on the stove over medium heat for 30 minutes. After this, bake the soupe in the 350 degree oven for an entire hour. Remember, "The soup is ready when the surface looks like a crusty, golden cake and the inside is unctuous and so well blended that it is impossible to discern either cheese or onion..." Each serving should include a bit of crust and a bit of the gooey unctuousness.
*Unless of course you are a master French Onion Soup Eater. Which I am, thanks to the many New Year's Eves of the Meyer family specialty. I have absolutely crafted the art of F.O.S. consumption, such that every bowl I eat ends not with broth, but with a perfectly balanced bite of bread, broth, onion.
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