celeriac remoulade

celeriac remoulade, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

 

Maybe a little old-fashioned, dowdy or too root vegetable-y for some, celeriac remoulade is a wonderful salad and is easily relieved of the usual mayonnaise overload. I actually prefer this lighter version with yoghurt and just a little sour cream & mayo. You could even substitute these meagre 2 tablespoons if you are freaking out worried but you might need to rename this French classic. Celeriac (the celery root) has a savoury taste, it is milder than celery and even slightly sweet and the mayonnaise of the classic recipe complements its smooth- and sweetness. I like the contrast of the fresh and sharp mustard & yoghurt dressing which makes this salad a perfect side dish to almost anything though I particularly like it with game-birds.

We had this incarnation (forgive the pun) of celeriac remoulade with hot smoked duck breast & a rather fabulous lentil salad for a party in December and I thought the combination was a true winner though initially I was a little worried about the lack of glamour. Anyway, to glam up the colour scheme a little crimson was added by a bowl of Preisselbeersauce (a tart, earthy & fruity sauce made from Preisselbeeren = lingonberries, in Germany traditionally served with game and baked Camembert or in Sweden company to the famous Köttbullar) and there was really no need to worry, the fresh savouryness of the celeriac salad brought it all together.

Celeriac remoulade – Célérie rémoulade (just a little bit more légèr)
for six to eight

One medium celeriac (Sellerieknolle)
juice of 1 lemon
2 heaped tablespoons of coarse Dijon mustard
2 heaped tablespoons of regular Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons of homemade or organic mayonnaise (substitute crème fraîche if you want even more légèreté)
2 tablespoons sour cream
1½-2 cups of yoghurt (1.5% or 3%, whatever you have got)
salt & pepper
2 handfuls of flat leaf parsley, chopped

Peel the outer skin of the celeriac and cut the white bulb into fine (but not too thin)  matchsticks. I use a food processor or a japanese mandoline for this, if you like the precision workout hone your knife skills. Mix the shredded celeriac immediately with lemon juice to preserve the wonderful ivory colour. Make a dressing from the other ingredients but save a little parsley for decoration. Check the seasoning and leave to rest for an hour. Finally sprinkle with the remaining parsley before you serve it.

 

Auf deutsch:

Selleriesalat
für 6-8 Personen als Beilage

1 mittelgroße Sellerieknolle
Saft einer Zitrone
2 gehäufte EL Dijonsenf
2 gehäufte EL grober Dijonsenf
2 EL gute Mayonnaise, hausgemacht oder Bio (durch Crème fraîche oder Sauerrahm ersetzen wenn man auf Mayonnaise ganz verzichten möchte)
2 EL saure Sahne
1½ – 2 Tassen (ca. 500g) Joghurt (1,5% oder 3%)
Salz & Pfeffer
2 Handvoll glatte Petersilie, gehackt bzw. gewiegt

Vom Sellerie die äußere Haut abschälen und die Knolle in nicht zu dünne Stifte schneiden (entweder mit der Küchenmaschine oder einer japanischen Mandoline oder klassisch mit dem Messer). Sie sollten ungefähr so dick und lang sein wie Streichhölzer. Sofort mit Zitronensaft übergießen um die schöne weiße Farbe zu erhalten. Aus den anderen Zutaten ein Dressing herstellen, dabei etwas gehackte Petersilie zurückbehalten. Mit Salz und Pfeffer abschmecken und den Selleriesalat am besten eine Stunde durchziehen lassen. Vor dem Servieren mit Petersilie bestreuen.

 

Cornbread

cornbread, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

 

In some parts of America, cornbread is the other half of chilli & chilli con carne. It is a loftier relative to firm baked polenta from the bread part of the family and ideally comes with a really nice crispy crust. A lot of times it is even more akin to cake than bread, which was way to sweet for me and I thought, what a shame, not my thing.

Then comes the day when your husband starts using your food blog as an online ordering menu and pokes you to have one of his favourites again & again dropping not so subtle hints “These meatballs are a great Friday (or insert respective day here) food, aren’t they?” You might want to retain a little bit of the autocratic reign you have had over dinner choices for a long time and determine there needs to be at least a new side dish, so what about cornbread? Not sweet but savoury and I have been dying to use these pretty moulds for a long time, see, I have a tiny kitchen stuff-shopping habit, only useful things, naturally, I do not fall for everything & I logged them back from the States & they needed to be used & aren’t they really nice? They do have the advantage to maximise the crispy crust and finally, we like cornbread. Psst, I have seen them in England & Germany, too (in US & Mexican online shops, Camping or Outdoor shops, Amazon). Moulds = Molds.

I experimented with two sources, settled for Liza Fain’s version but shortened an already short recipe which means that I added egg & buttermilk directly to the flours without premixing, extended the baking time & lowered the temperature to get an even bake and do not burn the small ears. If you are using a cast-iron skillet, you should follow Liza (The Homesick Texan) and up the temp to 230°C or 450° F.

Yehaaw!

 

Cornbread
makes 18 ears or 1 skillet, slightly adapted from the Homesick Texan’s cornbread

2 cups of cornmeal (Maismehl)
½ cup plain flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg
2 cups buttermilk
2 tablespoons oil, heated
butter to grease the moulds / molds

2 cast-iron cornbread moulds / molds (mine are Lodge, for 9 ears) or a cast-iron skillet (10 inches)

 

Preheat the oven to 200°C (400° F) or 180°C fan oven. Place the empty cast-iron moulds into the oven for a few minutes to heat them.

In a bowl, mix the flours with baking powder and salt. Add the egg and buttermilk, whisk, add the hot oil and whisk again to a thick batter. Take the moulds out of the oven, brush each indentation with a little butter and spoon in the batter. Bake for about 30-35 minutes until the crust is lightly browned and crisp, turning & switching them around halfway through the baking time.

 

perfect Bloody Mary

perfect Bloody Mary, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

A perfect Bloody Mary for Burns Night, celebrating the birthday of the Scottish poet Robert Burns (the one who wrote the poem “Auld Lang Syne”) on January, the 25^th with all the paraphernalia: speeches, toasts, bag pipes, Haggis & Whisky. No Haggis in sight here and I have not yet tried one, our plan was a nice cocktail and I thought about a nice Manhattan, well, how Scottish is American rye whiskey? Bloody Mary it is…

…Don’t you think I already had one too many, Bloody Mary, of course, refers to Queen Mary I. of England, executed by her sibling & fellow redhead Elizabeth I. of England and not the other Mary in the whole mix-up, Mary, Queen of Scots. Noohooo, my reference to Scotland is that we learned how to make the perfect Bloody Mary from a (now) quite famous recipe from the Canny Mans pub in Edinburgh shown on Rick Stein’s Food Heroes. Long winded explanation but they added dry sherry and a really generous helping of Worcestershiresauce (say: Wooster sauce) to the rest of the ingredients and this is it, the perfect Bloody Mary.

By the way, Michael Ruhlmann has a quite interesting Bloody Mary with Fish sauce, lime juice & horseradish in his (highly addictive) Friday Cocktail section. A subtle hint of fresh horseradish (frischer Meerrettich) adds a nice kick, I think, a little bit too much though always reminds me of a rather strange cocktail sauce for Dungeness crab eaten at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. But that’s just me. Tourist tip:  If you are already at Pier 39,  you must visit the whimsical & quirky Musée Mécanique on Pier 45 for a few hours of childhood away from the beaten path. Bring change.

Just in case you’ll need some lyrics, here’s the original Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne*?

CHORUS:

For auld lang syne, my jo,

for auld lang syne,

we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!

and surely I’ll be mine!

And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae run about the braes,

and pu’d the gowans fine;

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,

sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,

frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roar’d

sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!

and gie’s a hand o’ thine!

And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,

for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

(from wikipedia, where one can find todays version, too)

Bloody Mary
for two or make double the quantities in a pitcher and invite some friends

120ml proper tomato juice
40ml vodka (we had Absolut)
20ml dry sherry (I used Tio Pepe Palomino Fino)
a spritz of lemon juice and a twist of lemon peel
several generous dashes of Worcestershire sauce
red Tabasco
a good Celery salt
black pepper or cayenne pepper (as used in the Canny Man Pub)
a celery stalk (or more for your guests)

Place some ice cubes in a pitcher, add all the tomato juice, vodka, sherry and season with the other ingredients to your taste, garnish with lemon peel. Stir with the celery stalk and pour. Start singing now.

Bloody Mary (deutsch)
für zwei, oder am besten gleich die Quantitäten verdoppeln, Freunde einladen und in einer Karaffe servieren

120ml guter Tomatensaft
40ml Wodka (wir hatten Absolut)
20ml trockener Sherry (Tio Pepe Palomino Fino)
einen Spritzer Zitronensaft & eine Spirale Zitronenschale
mehrere ordentliche Schüsse Worcestershire Sauce
roter Tabasco
gutes Selleriesalz
schwarzer Pfeffer oder Cayenne (wie im Canny Man Pub)
eine Stange Bleichsellerie (oder mehr für die Gäste)

Einige Eiswürfel, den Tomatensaft, Wodka & Sherry in eine Karaffe geben und mit den anderen Zutaten abschmecken & mit Zitronenschale garnieren. Die lange Bleichselleriestange zum Umrühren benutzen und schon mal mit dem Singen anfangen.

Edamame salad

Edamame salad, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

 

Living in California spoiled us utterly, Northern California & the Bay Area are a paradise where everything grows (except gooseberries – as I was told by Frankfurt taxi driver whose family farmed artichokes, of course, for generations around Salinas and Monterey and had tried in vain to get some decent gooseberries going) and you can still your homesickness by taking a drive through the Santa Cruz Mountains which in parts remind you of the alpine landscape, the lovely Napa Valleys vineyards & food (not enough money for the French Laundry but the gorgeous Bouchon bakery, picknick from Dean & Deluca & winetasting), Esther’s Germany Bakery for a dense, dark, seedy loaf and the German butcher on San Antonio Rd in Mountain View, where you could find leaf gelatine & Persil washing powder, Trader Joe’s with some surprise European finds and and and much more. As someone said to me, it takes about six months to feel at home and on the dot we truly did.

Wherever you live, lots of things become part of your life, your routine and your traditions. Now we are homesick for California and looking at this years Mavericks pictures does not help much. It has introduced us to many new things and I am happy to find some of them in Germany now – and we are (im)patiently waiting for others to become mainstream. Thanks to online shopping and the Frankfurt area being quite well equipped with fantastic farms, vineyards, grocers, butchers & specialty shops nearly everything is possible and one of my favourite CA food discoveries can be found in my local Asian grocer: Edamame beans. I buy them frozen in their pods and stockpile them in the freezer, they might run out, you’ll never know…

This is just a nice & simple side dish for lunch or supper, add anything from sashimi to tofu, Wiener Schnitzel, pork buns or soba noodles (my lunch the other day, coming soon) for a completely wholesome and colourful feel-good meal. You do not even have to do yoga.

 

Edamame salad
for 4 persons as a side

about one handful dried shiitake mushrooms
1 small bag of frozen edamame beans in their pods (great if you could get fresh; use less if you are using shelled ones, maybe 250g or  9 oz)
1 red (bell) pepper, cut into small dice
2-3 spring onions, cut into fine rings
5 tablespoons sweetcorn kernels (fresh & cooked or roasted when in season otherwise tinned or frozen)
shichimi togarashi
juice of 1 lime
toasted sesame oil
soy sauce
white or black sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan
toasted nori, cut into mini confetti

Place the shiitake mushrooms and soak them in hot water for at least 20 minutes until soft, then drain and place in a salad bowl. Cook the edamame beans for 4 minutes if frozen (they are precooked and just need to defrost) and for about 5-6 minutes if you are using fresh. Drain & cool in ice water for a few minutes, then shell the beans and leave to cool if they are still a little bit warm. Add edamame, (bell) pepper dice, corn, spring onions to the salad bowl, season with shichimi togarashi and make a dressing from lime juice, soy sauce and toasted sesame oil. Sprinkle with nori and toasted sesame seeds.

 

 

Indian spiced chickpeas with mint & coriander yoghurt dressing

indian spiced chickpea salad, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

Do you know, when you are using this upbeat voice & add ‘we liked it so much last time’ to sell dinner, everyone is forewarned: “Hey, we are having this lovely aubergine, red pepper & pea curry for supper that we liked so much last time! And it comes with this new chickpea salad!” Well, we had to use up some vegetables and there was a great void in the creative department – all on holiday away from the lead-grey sky (and we really did like that curry last time, honest). Maybe we did not shower it with Michelin stars and “Greatest supper ever”-nominations but it was nice and after some tweaking it was still nice and boring.

What saved the day was the wild card, this little salad that was supposed to be a starter and thrown in at the last moment because I just stumbled over the recipe in Food & Wine and some of the ingredients where on the to-be-used list as well. This tangy, herby dressed salad perfectly balances intense and crunchy spices, lemony sourness and onion-y sharpness against the creamy chickpeas and its success should have not come unexpected since it was on a best-of staff-picks list. I have made a few adjustments: I used crème fraîche  and yoghurt (1.5%) instead of whole-milk yoghurt since that was in the fridge and simplified the spice-frying (tossed all into the oil at the same time instead of delaying some due to slap-dash reading). Those might very well be the reason for the creamyness and lovely crunch and I was quite happy about those particular traits.

Just for the record, yesterday’s vegetarian supper was Bombay potatoes with a fried egg on top (yummy, coming soon) and the wild card side dish fell through. What a shame, it looked so nice.

Indian spiced chickpeas with lemon, mint & coriander yoghurt dressing
serves 6 as a side dish, adapted from Jerry Traunfeld’s (Poppy, Seattle) recipe in Food & Wine

1 tin (800g/28oz; 450g/15oz drained) chickpeas, rinsed
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1 tablespoon mustard seeds (I used brown mustard seeds)
¾ teaspoon cumin seeds
¾ teaspoon fennel seeds
½ cup yoghurt
¼ cup crème fraîche (or use another ¼ cup whole-milk yoghurt)
1-2 tablespoons lemon juice, to taste
2 spring onions (scallions), thinly sliced
¼ cup (or more) chopped mint
¼ cup (or more) chopped coriander
¼ – ½ teaspoon Piment d’Espelette
salt & pepper

Pour the rinsed chickpeas into a bowl, they should be drained in a strainer to get rid of too much excess water but no need to worry about a few drops of water. Heat the peanut oil in a small skillet until it is warm and shimmers. You are supposed to add the mustard seeds first and cook them with a partially closed lid for about a minute until they stop popping, after which the cumin and fennel seeds are supposed to be added and fried for 30 seconds. Or, do as I did and add the whole lot to the shimmering oil with one swooshing motion and fry for about 1-2 minutes until fragrant. Pour the hot spice oil over the chickpeas and mix with the yoghurt, crème fraîche, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, spring onion, mint, coriander and season with Piment d’Espelette, salt & pepper. Stir and check the seasoning and add more lemon juice if needed and serve at room temperature.

Minestrone della nonna

Minestrone della nonna, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

Best in January (and February and March): warming & comforting, healthy & hearty, with a bite & soft, topped with guaranteed luck and wealth*. More stew than soup, made from a colourful mixture of pulses: green, brown & red lentils, borlotti, cannellini, kidney & soy beans, black-eyed peas, green split peas, orzo (barley) & pearl barley which is sold in Italian groceries (I used this one from Marabotto) and cooks to an interestingly textured thick soup of softer lentils & peas while the various beans and the occasional barley pearl retain a little bite. I am quite sure other shops might stock it, too. If not, they definitely should. Otherwise, I think this provides a great opportunity to use up all the rests in your larders & cupboards: the tiny rest in the box of puy lentils, just not enough split peas for a large pot but handy here, the few last beans in the bag & other odds and ends and I am quite sure that is how this dish came about. So, pick & mix and make your own mixture with greater quantities of the smaller pulses and only a few beans in between.

I have bought this box a while ago (pretty food things in a nice package, the promise of approval by an Italian Grandmother really works for me) and it has been patiently waiting for the right day: It cannot get any greyer or more miserable outside than it is right here at the moment, so this was a real winner a few days (I might have told anybody who showed a slight interest in conversation how good it was and how much I liked it. Sorry about that, but it is good, really, really good).

The added bonus: there is hardly any work involved and everything could be prepared in the morning to be cooked when you come home. The pulses need to be soaked for a few hours (4 hours maybe and they do that on their own), then I started with a soffritto of the usual soup vegetables instead of the recommended onion, sweated them lightly in olive oil, thrown in the soaked lentils & Co. and added about ¾ litre of homemade chicken stock. Vegetable stock would be good, too, the chicken stock was a last minute decision (operation “Empty-the-freezer”) instead of the advised water, which is why mine went in as a solid block, no time to defrost. Cover with a lid and let it cook for 1 hour. Ready. How hard was that? Anyway, I am quite sure no grandmother would scold you for using bought stock or a cube or water (I can’t guarantee for my own actions though).

* I’d like to believe that the luck-thing will definitely work if you eat it on any day in the New Year, just in case you have missed out on your lucky lentil dish on New Year’s Day (Italians eat a lentil dish on New Year’s Day to secure luck and wealth for the coming year, same goes for black-eyed peas at Rosh Hashana and in the American South – double ka-ching). Other folklore assures financial luck if you keep a lentil or a scale of the Christmas carp (carp is a traditional Christmas dish in European countries like Germany, Austria, Poland, the Czech Republic etc.) in your wallet, wait, while I add a Puy to the Euros.

Minestrone ‘della nonna’
this amount was good for 3 portions, double quantities for 6

250g (8.8 oz) Minestrone ‘della nonna’ or the same amount of any mixed pulses (see above for recommended mix & sizes)
2 carrots
1 leek
1-2 stems of celery
1 onion
olive oil
0.75 litre (25.4 fl.oz; 3 cups) good (homemade) chicken or vegetable stock
salt & pepper
parmigiano reggiano, coarsely grated

Soak the Minestrone mix in water for a few hours, I left them for 4 hours but I do not think more or less will do any harm. Chop the carrots, leek and celery stalks into pea-sized chunks, dice the onion for a soffritto. Heat a splash of olive oil in a cast-iron pot, add the chopped vegetables and fry them lightly until fragrant. Add the drained pulses and stock, stir and cover with a lid. Cook on low to medium heat for 1 hour, stirring from time to time. Season with salt & pepper if needed and serve in bowls topped with a sprinkling of coarsely grated Parmesan and if you like: a drizzle of olive oil. Grazie nonna, buon appetito!

Meyer lemon squares

Meyer lemon squares, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

 

This is a lovely cake for a Sunday coffee (we Germans love our Sonntagskaffee) or a grey day when there is a desperate need for a burst of sunshine.

For me Meyer lemons are synonymous with California and their perfume that fills the room when you rub the skin conjures up a lot of memories of our live there in the Santa Clara Valley. Before it became the Silicon Valley, the sheltered and sunny area between the San Francisco Bay and the Santa Cruz Mountains used to be covered by fruit orchards and in-between all the Apples & Co there are still small producing gardens, little fruit farms like one tiny apricot orchard in Mountain View that I just happen to come across when I was house hunting. Not long after our arrival I had bought a Meyer lemon and a Robertson orange tree for our terrace, both of them supplying us with amazing amounts of fruit and regular visits of the most amazing hummingbirds (although I think they came primarily for the Hibiscus but serviced all things in its vicinity).

Meyer lemons, a cross between a true lemon & a mandarin (or orange), were brought from China to America by Frank Nicholas Meyer at the turn of the 20^th century and – after being rediscovered by the Californian cuisine and chefs – made quite a splash nearly a century later. Sadly they are not widely available in Germany – to be honest I have never seen one at even the most specialized grocers in the paradise that is the Frankfurt Kleinmarkthalle. Maybe soon, we’ll see some more of them but since our return we have come up with quite a good way to simulate the taste of a Meyer lemon to heal the longing by adding a bit of mandarin juice to lemon juice to tone down the sharp sourness and adding the necessary mandarin note. Luckily last year I found Meyer lemon tree in a plant nursery and this year, we are inundated by quite a crop – hurray!

As I said, Sunday coffee is a big thing in Germany, so is the British teatime and combining both in our house creates a fantastic hybrid when we have people over and serve cake, a tarte or a proper Torte & Kuchen bonanza and a spread of savoury sandwiches (egg & cress, cucumber are my favourites, making me feel sometimes even more British than my husband). Last year we added the whole lemon bars from the Deb Perelman’s cookbook to our coffee table and loved them immediately. They are like the love child of a Tarte au citron and the fabulous orange cake that used a whole boiled orange (now I mention it, I really should make that one again soon) and are just quintessentially lemony. This years Meyer lemon crop needs to be dealt with and therefore today’s version are Meyer lemon squares. If you use an ordinary (organic) lemon you might want to increase the sugar by 1/3 cup (65g) as Deb’s recipe suggests to balance the sourness, I did not really find it necessary. Add mandarin juice and close your eyes to bathe in the smell & taste of Bay Area sunshine.

A word about the American cup measurements: of course it is better to weigh things to get an accurate result every time. But I really would not worry about it too much, there are many more factors that determine the dough and different flours on different days with different weather & humidity need different amounts of liquid to form a dough. For example here: one cup of plain flour could amount to something from 125g to 170g or even more depending on how you scoop. So, I happily use cup measurements for some cakes and am giving you today’s weight-exchange rate. It is a bit as the petrol price – it changes nearly every minute.

 

Meyer lemon squares
makes 9-16 pieces, adapted from Deb Perelman’s Smitten Kitchen Cookbook who uses one regular lemon, more sugar and no vanilla extract

150g (1 cup) flour
65g (1/3 cup) sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ tablespoon vanilla extract (please use extract and no artificial vanilla aroma)
114g (1 stick) cold butter, cut into cubes
2 medium organic Meyer lemons or 1 organic lemon + juice of 1 mandarin
200g (1 cup) sugar (use another 65g or 1/3 cup of sugar if you prefer a sweeter cake)
114g (1stick) butter
4 eggs
2 tablespoons cornstarch (Maisstärke, Mondamin)
¼ teaspoon salt
powdered sugar (confectioners sugar, Puderzucker)
Preheat the oven to 175°C (350° F) or 150°C for a fan oven and line a 20cm x 20cm (8 x 8 inches) baking tin with baking parchment. Leave a little overhang on each side that will act as handles when you lift the cake out of the tin.
Blitz the flour, sugar, salt, vanilla essence and butter for the shortcrust pastry (german: Mürbeteig) in a food processor to a sandy crumble, decant it into the tin and press down lightly with your fingers for an even and firm base. Prick with a fork to prevent a rise and bake until lightly browned (for about 20 minutes).
While the pastry is baking make the lemon layer: Cut your Meyer lemons or lemon into thin half moon slices and remove any pips. If your regular lemon has quite thick white pith, then follow Deb’s advice and remove it completely from one half of your lemon to avoid exceeding bitterness. Purée the lemon slices with the sugar in the food processor, incorporate the butter, then add the eggs, cornstarch and salt and pulse to combine. Spread the lemon cream onto your base, return to the oven and bake for another 30-40 minutes until the lemon top is set and just lightly tanned. Leave in the tin to cool completely, then lift the cake out using your parchment handles. Cut into 9 medium or 16 smaller squares and dust with a little powdered sugar. Tuck in.

 

preserved lemons

preserved lemons, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

 

Seems like citrus week here, well it is the season and there are plenty around at the moment.

Lemons can be preserved in lots of different ways: in salt and lemon juice, pickled in brine, boiled in brine first & conserved in olive oil, just consult any book on Moroccan and Middle Eastern cuisine. Preserving them in salt is the easiest method, not the fastest, but the one I prefer since the lemons basically pickle themselves in sea salt and its own juices and over time gather an intense taste of the Mediterranean Sea with a hint of Morocco (I nearly said the wafting scented air and atmosphere of a Bazaar in Fez but thought it might be a bit too much).

You might be able to buy preserved lemons, I have not found them here so far or have never bothered to look any further after my first batch turned out really great a few years ago and they are so easy and quick to produce. Preserving these gives you the instant feeling of achievement and having something exotic in stock to look forward to experiment with after the month of maturing is finally over. So, while they work on their own, there is plenty of time to think about the plethora of things you can add them to. The formerly described method for impatient or time-restricted people which reduces the wait to five days, here.

Preserved lemons are a key ingredient in a lot of Moroccan dishes such as tabbouleh (tabouli) and tagines as the wonderfully spiced Chicken with saffron, preserved lemons and green olives. Even just a tiny amount of finely chopped preserved peel added to anything like a pulse salad, vinaigrette or dip, sauce for fish, meat, poultry etc. or tomato sauce provides something of an umami quality which might not even be immediately discernable but adds another layer of flavour, depth, warmth & brightness – comparable to what anchovies do to a sauce without being fishy.

 

Preserved lemons
adapted from Claudia Roden’s Tamarind & Saffron

4 organic lemons
4-5 tablespoons coarse sea salt
juice of 4 more lemons

 

Cut 4 slits into each lemon (as if you were cutting it into wedges but do not sever the pieces), stuff salt into these openings and squeeze the lemons into a jar with a lid. Leave for 3-4 days until quite a bit of liquid has developed, then cover the lemons with more lemon juice to cover the salted fruit completely.

If you want to seal the lemons completely from any air contact, pour a thin film of olive oil on top, I never needed to do that and omit this step.

Keep in a cool, dark place for about a month when they are ready to be used. According to Claudia Roden the preserved lemons keep for about a year and are fine if any show a thin white coating, which can be just rubbed of. Most recipes determine that just the peel should be rinsed and used while the inner flesh is to be discarded; I use the whole preserved lemon.

Tip: If you have just a minimal cut on your hands, I recommend wearing gloves otherwise the salty lemon juice will sting a little…

 

 

chicken tagine with preserved lemons & green olives

chicken tagine with preserved lemons & green olives, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

There is a myriad of recipes for chicken with preserved lemons & olives, even the recipe leaflet for the Cherry red tagine dish that I got from my husband delivers one, naturally. Claudia Roden (well known to the British, Americans might be more familiar with Paula Wolfert as an authority on Moroccan cuisine) has several variations in her different books, which are wonderfully evocative just to read and imagine cooking yourself through the pages. My copies are festooned with post-its to mark future projects and this one was amongst the first things I had prepared when my friend Anke came for a visit. Alone ingredients like saffron, ginger, coriander and preserved lemons are enough to convince me to make this, especially when I get to make the salted lemons myself and have a jar of these pretty preserves stocked in my larder.I changed the recipe a little bit and cut the chicken beforehand into pieces since I find it easier to serve it this way (also: dividing a chicken that is doused in sauce at the table rarely leaves me without accidents and I hate to finish an evening by treating stains in clothes and tablecloths) and everyone can choose their own favourites. Just a little more onion thickens the sauce a tad, I find, and why not used a whole preserved lemon instead of just the peel: the preserved flesh acts as a seasoning that brings lemony saltiness to the dish (keep this in mind and watch how much salt you are adding before) and intensifies the lemon factor. Also, I hate to throw these things away.If you are planning to cook this, preserve the lemons first (see next recipe) since they need a month to mature or see if you can find them at a Middle Eastern grocer, although I think better supermarkets might even stock them nowadays. For impatient cooks, Gourmet magazine had devised an express version which boils the lemons as a short-cut to speed up the process and shrink the waiting time to just five days.For a Moroccan feast, start with a spread of mezze (or kemia as the small appetizer dishes are called in Morocco) to pick at: any freshly baked flatbread, a plate of hummus, the (Turkish) walnut & pomegranate paste muhammara, small salads and vegetable dishes (lots of recipes to come in the future), olives and and and. Serve the chicken in a tagine or pretty bowl with bread, couscous, larger bulgur wheat pearls (or rice if you prefer) and some green vegetables on the side.

Chicken tagine with preserved lemon & green olives
4-6 portions, adapted from Claudia Roden’s Tamarind & Saffron

1 free-range or organic chicken, cut into 8-10 pieces (legs, thighs & halved breasts with bones)
olive oil
1-2 onions, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
¼ teaspoon saffron threads
½ teaspoon ground ginger
1½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
salt & pepper
bunch coriander (cilantro), chopped
bunch flat-leaf parsley, chopped
about 300ml (1/2 pint) water
1 whole preserved lemon (which is what I use) or the peel of 1-1½ preserved lemons cut into small pieces
75g (3oz) or more green olives (Roden soaks them 2 times in water, I don’t)

Arrange the chicken pieces along with the onion, garlic, saffron, ginger, cinnamon, salt & pepper, coriander and parsley in a tagine or a small cast-iron pan or dutch oven. Add the water to nearly cover the chicken but not entirely. Simmer with a closed lid for about 20-25 minutes, turning the chicken pieces over from time to time. Remove the cover, include the lemon and green olives in the sauce, cook for another 15-20 minutes without lid. The chicken should be tender and nearly fall of the bone and the sauce reduced to a fairly liquid herby-lemony concoction, adjust the seasoning and serve with bread, bulgur wheat, couscous or rice and a generous helping of green vegetables.

Vin d’orange

Vin d’orange, a photo by the james kitchen on Flickr.

January is the time for citrus fruit and especially Seville oranges. These small bitter oranges have quite a short season and need to be preserved either as English orange marmalade or even better as wine, the Provençal aperitif: vin d’orange.  Every family has their own recipe for this orange wine and their own traditions and twists to add but basically white or rosé wine is infused with the unbelievable fragrance & taste of these oranges, preserved with sugar and Eau de Vie then matured until summer. When it makes its appearance as a spectacular aperitif of orange sunshine with ice to a lazy lunch or evening meal, you will be grateful that you made a double batch because you will have “tasted” your Château (insert your name here) regularly – strictly for quality control purposes, of course.

Thankfully, we still have some left from last year (double batch!) when I spotted Seville oranges at the market and bought a lot (reason for: double batch!), ordered big glass jars, mashed up recipes and went alcohol shopping to start our own tradition and the first Château James. Most recipes cut the oranges in slices and macerate them for about 2 months though I found a quicker method used by the grandmother of the family, Mireille Durandeau, who ground the oranges which in my opinion allows the oranges to infuse the wine completely and much quicker. I changed it and blitzed them in a food processor a few times which makes this an even more rapid (and less messy) process and guarantees maximum flavour & a wonderful mimosa yellow-orange colour.

A not too heavy or strong tasting white wine (for example a Sauvignon blanc or Pinot grigio) or a light rosé wine from the Provence or Côte d’Azur are perfect and you need a clear and neutral spirit with at least 40° alcohol. We had Alcool special pour fruits spiritueux which is sold in every French Supermarket and is a neutral Eau de Vie for preserving fruit in alcohol, Vodka is also a fine alternative. Get a big glass jar which can hold about 4-5 litres (quarts) with a tight closing lid and no plastic, you do not want your hard work spoiled by solvents or a bouquet of poly-somethings.

Get started this week and enjoy your first glass – ahem, “taste” – by Valentines Day and buy some lovely mimosas at the same time.

 

Vin d’orange
makes about 4 litres, adapted from Lucy Vanel’s grandmother-in-law and mother-in-law

7-8 (about 1kg or 35oz) Seville oranges, organic or untreated
750g (26.5 oz) sugar
1 vanilla bean
1 cinnamon stick
0.5 litre (½ qt) French Alcool pour fruits or Eau de Vie or Vodka (a neutral spirit, 40°)
2 litres (2qt) white wine (Sauvignon blanc, Pinot grigio or else) or a light rosé wine from the Provence or Côte d’Azur

 

Wash and roughly cut the oranges, place in a food processor and blitz the fruit including peel, pips and all into small pieces. Make sure not to over-blend, you do not want to get a puree only small pieces that can be filtered out later. Fill the cut oranges with the sugar in a big glass jar with an airtight lid (I made a double batch and used a 5 litres and a 4 litres jar), add the vanilla and cinnamon and mix with the spirit. Fill up with white wine, close the lid and leave to macerate in a cool dark place for about a month. Filter the wine through a fine mesh sieve and decant into small bottles. Seal and ideally store for about 6 months until summer. We start “tasting” it pretty soon after bottling – which I recommend with one or two ice cubes in a small glass.