Sassy Southern Cooking with a French Twist

Le Cordon Bleu

Taking Stock and Making Some, Too.

A series of conflicting emotions and thoughts have been running through my head this week. They include: joy, gratitude, panic, exhaustion, elation and the constant, silent internal scream of “help!” I’d be very, very concerned  about my sanity unless I hadn’t experienced this strange emotional series before. It was the same way I felt with the last four cookbooks I undertook writing and researching and eventually publishing. And, that’s where I gratefully am, once again.

The next book will be about sauces, classic French sauces with accompanying recipes for putting them to use in readers’ kitchens. Yesterday, I began the first round of recipe testing for the basis of many reduction and classic French sauces, stocks, or “fonds” as they’re called in French. Instantly, I was transported back to my training days in France at Le Cordon Bleu and in professional Parisian kitchens. As I was adjusting the temperature of the beef stock, Chef Renee’s voice was echoing in my ear, “Il ne faut pas troubler la sauce, Holly.”  Or, as I was skimming the fat off the top of the chicken stock, another joked (in slightly more foggy French), not to over-skim or there would be nothing left.

That’s one of the things I love most about cooking. It’s constantly transporting me to other times and places and loved ones, even as I’m completely immersed in the moment.  Naturally, with this book these memories will largely be about France, one of my most favorite places on the planet.

There, sauces are so revered you’re encouraged to sop them up with bread and drink them with wine. Oui!

Many sauces begin or end with a stock, fumet, or bouillion. Of these, there are many kinds, but the one I want to address here is a beef stock.  The essence of this stock is the flavor derived from meat, bones, vegetables, tomato, wine, and an herb bundle called a bouquet garni.  They’re quick to put together, but the best are cooked very slowly over many hours (3 to 5) to pull out the rich flavor and color. Getting good roasted color and flavor on the beef bones, beef and veggies is the most important first step. I do this by beginning the sear on the stove, and finishing with a good roasting in a hot, 500F oven. Finally, this is de-glazed with a good red wine (I used Merlot), reduced and returned to the stock pan with enough water to just cover the whole mixture.

This is brought up to a boil and reduced to an extremely gentle, uncovered simmer. The water should barely be moving on the top of the stock and there is no stirring required or even suggested. This is the part Chef Renee was talking about, not “troubling” the sauce. If it gets stirred and addled, the proteins and fats start working their way through the mixture, which can lead to a cloudy, murky stock and ultimately, sauce. The only thing you really need to do from here is set up a medium bowl with cold water and a shallow ladle near your stove top. Once the stock comes up to its initial boil (then simmer!) it will produce a lot of foam and fat skin on top. This needs to be removed with the ladle, rinsing it in the water as you go. After that, skimming is only required about every 30 minutes. This is an excellent time to grab a book and soak in the gorgeous aromas coming from your kitchen.

Sure, in today’s world we can find good quality “stocks in a box” and gourmet quality demi-glace, but nothing replaces the slow, steady, fragrant simmer of a homemade stock.

Classic Beef Stock

(Yields about 8 – 10 cups)

2 TBS olive oil

2 TBS butter

2 pounds beef marrow bones

1 1/2 pounds bone-in beef short ribs

1 large onion, peeled and quartered

2 large stalks celery, cut into 2″-lengths

1 large leek, well-cleaned and rinsed, cut into 2″-lengths

2 carrots, peeled and cut into 2″-lengths

2 TBS tomato pasted

1 cup full-bodied red (suggest a good quality Cabernet or Merlot)

14 cups cold water

3 cloves garlic, peeled

Bouquet Garni – several sprigs thyme, parsley, and 2 bay leaves tied in a bundle

5 peppercorns

Preheat oven to 500F. In a large, heavy-bottomed roasting pan, heat olive oil and butter together over medium high heat on the stove-top (Note: You may need to use two burners). When sizzling add the bones and short ribs all at once. Season very lightly with a dash of salt and freshly ground pepper (Note: This is forbidden classically, but I like to give the bones a tiny jump start on seasoning – very, very light on the salt). Allow to brown on the side-down, then stir to toss the bones and beef to brown remaining sides, about 10 minutes. Add the onion, celery, leek, carrots and saute together for about 5 minutes.

Put the roasting pan in the preheated oven and roast another 10 minutes. Once the color is starting to become a rich golden brown (like in the picture above), add the tomato paste and stir in to combine. Roast another 10 minutes or so, until the bones are a deep golden brown, but not burned.

Remove from the oven. Deglaze by pouring the wine over the hot meat and veggies, stirring to pick up any brown bits. Reduce the wine to half its quantity over high heat on the stove top. Pour all of the ingredients into an 8 quart stock pot or Dutch Oven. Add the cold water (just enough to cover), garlic, peppercorns and bouquet garni. Bring up to a boil and reduce to a very gentle simmer, following “skimming” advice provided above.

Simmer for at least 3 and up to 5 hours. Strain through a strainer, and later a finer strainer (Chinois) if any solids made it through the first pass. Stock will store well in the freezer for several months and in the refrigerator for up to one week. It’s best to store it in containers that correlate with the size batches you will need in the future on an as-need basis.

(Note: Do NOT waste the flavorful beef on the short ribs. It will be fall off the bone tender. Pull it off, when cool enough. I tossed mine with a little barbecue sauce and had it with a salad for dinner. Amazing! You can share one of the bones with your dog if you like. Mine was very, very happy I did. The cat was not).

 

Good, roasted color on beef bones and veggies is essential for a good beef stock-.
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Thankful for Kitchens Past and Present

As I was tooling around in my beloved Charleston kitchen the other day preparing tarts and cranberry apple chutney for one of my best friend’s Thanksgiving feast, I couldn’t help reflecting in general on my many blessings, but also, on myriad memories and meals prepared in some of my kitchens past.

Cooking is like that for me, and probably for most people that love to cook. It’s meditative, nurturing, soothing, and frequently evokes warm, loving thoughts and poignant memories.   And cooking is what happens in the kitchen.

The space and soul of a kitchen can do much to enhance or detract from the entire cooking experience. Not unlike men, they come in all shapes and sizes and with assorted temperaments. My kitchens past, not unlike lovers past,  run the gamut.

The very first after college kitchen, was in my apartment in Chicago. The apartment, in an old brownstone mansion-turned-apartment-building, was huge and beautiful (or at least it seemed so at the time), but the kitchen was literally housed in a closet. It had a tiny, ancient oven that probably dated back to the 1950’s and absolutely didn’t understand the concept of calibration.  My work “space” was actually a cutting board placed over the sink and the refrigerator had enough room for a grocery bag full of food and not much more. Yet, like my first true love from college days, Dan Cox, I loved that kitchen with all of my heart. After a stressful day of work and travel, huddling in that kitchen and chopping with my dull, cheap knives and stewing in battered, cheap pots, was like nirvana to me. I felt loved there. I even cooked my first Thanksgiving dinner in that kitchen. Small matter that my friend Chris lost most of it within hours, saying simply, “he ate too much.”

Many more kitchens would follow, like the pink and blue puff cloud kitchen of the early days of my marriage in a Minneapolis duplex, the tiny, pie slice-shaped kitchen of my tiny country house in Chalabre, France with pastoral views that always included sleepy, fat, grazing cattle and a soulful 16th-century church. These were much, much loved, and both so different from each other, but it was the kitchen in my house in Jackson Hole, WY, that stands out the most.

My husband Greg and I moved there after he sold his business. It was a big house with gorgeous, breath-taking, wrap-around views of the Tetons and the sounds of The Snake River babbling through open windows when weather allowed. The counters were black granite with flecks of dark green and the cupboards were pine – so new you could still smell the freshness of the wood. There were two Sub-Zero’s – one fridge and one freezer – and both the size of the moose (I called them “meese” in plural form) that frequently roamed through my back yard. There was even a warming oven, two baking ovens, and, this was the biggest deal of all, a six-burner, gas burning Viking stove.

I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. Greg had selected the house himself (I was still back in Minneapolis). While exquisite on every level, it occurred to me that the reason he had selected this house, sweetly, was for me and the kitchen.  Freshly back from France and Le Cordon Bleu, he knew this would be my wonderland, and he was right. Gone were the cheap knives and pots and pans – I had the best of everything. I spent whole days and weeks in that kitchen, cooking and recipe testing. As much as I loved it and still think of it often, though, I must admit, I never felt quite at home in that kitchen. It felt just a tad too fancy, a tad too much, a tad too perfect. A little like a man I once dated who was so beautiful, I felt a little frumpy around him.

I don’t have pictures, at least not literal or digital, of all of these kitchens, but the memories are vivid on all levels – sights, sounds, scents, even meals, all firmly imbedded in my increasingly long memory trail.

I do have a picture of my favorite and most beloved kitchen of all, though.

My Charleston Kitchen - the greatest kitchen of all kitchens.

 

Here she is, in all her slightly battered, sun-kissed, and ultra-utilitarian glory. I’ve lived, worked and loved in this kitchen for seven years, and these have been some of the happiest years of my life. In this kitchen, I’ve created and tested recipes for many columns and my first three cookbooks. Almost all of that time, either my dog Tann Mann and/or my cat Chutney, have been my constant companions, watching loyally as I worked.  Silent and peaceful, cooking here and looking into my neighbors’ garden, where their happy children take turns on the long, rope swing hanging from the Live Oak, almost always with bows in their hair and laughter gurgling from their souls.

My stove is a (relatively) lowly Jenn-Air with a ventilating system that doesn’t work. I’m waiting for the whole thing to break before I buy a new one, but for now, this one works  just fine – except when grilling or high heat is involved. It can’t vent (and the fire department and immediate neighbors know this), but it sure can calibrate. My old, time-worn wooden cutting board is situated right beside the stove and right above my trash can. My knives are to my right, and seasonings to the left. Just behind and within easy reach is my General Electric refrigerator, always full of fresh, seasonal food and constant inspiration.

Not too fancy, not too “not,” my Charleston kitchen, like true love, is just right. I am thankful for this kitchen, friends, loves, health and memories, past and present.

Wishing you all a beautiful holiday season.

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