On Rue Tatin (14 page)

One 31/2- to 4-pound/1.5- to 2-kg chicken with giblets, cut in serving pieces

2 medium onions, cut in paper-thin slices

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

Flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

1. Preheat the oven to 475° F/245° C/gas 9.

2. In a small bowl, whisk together the wine and the mustard. Reserve.

3. Heat the olive oil in a large, flameproof baking pan or skillet over medium heat and brown the chicken on all sides, 6 to 8 minutes. Remove each piece of chicken from the pan as it browns. Add the onions to the pan, stir, and cook until they are tender and turning slightly golden at the edges, 4 to 5 minutes. Return the chicken to the pan along with the giblets, and season it and the onions with salt and pepper.

4. Pour the wine mixture over the chicken and place the pan in the center of the oven. Bake until the chicken is golden on top, about 25 minutes, turn each piece, then continue baking until the chicken is baked through, an additional 20 to 25 minutes.

5. Transfer the chicken to a serving platter. Place the pan over low heat, and, using a wooden spatula, stir the cooking juices in the pan, scraping up any browned bits that have stuck to the bottom. Taste the sauce for seasoning, then pour it evenly over the chicken. Garnish the platter with the parsley and serve.

6
SERVINGS

DUCK BREAST WITH CIDER
MAGRET DE CANARD AU CIDRE

I buy fattened duck breasts at the market quite often and prepare them in a variety of ways. This recipe, suggested to me by the young woman who raises and sells duck at the Louviers market, is one of my favorite ways to prepare it. The hard cider adds both a tang and a sweetness to the duck, which emerges so tender you can almost cut it with your fork.

If you can’t get fattened duck breast try this with regular duck breast, or with your favorite cut of steak. (If using steak, moisten the pan with about 2 teaspoons unsalted butter before placing the steak in the pan, and judge the cooking time by the way you like your steak. Steak will cook more quickly than the duck breasts.) Serve this with asparagus and steamed new potatoes, or with young greens dressed in olive oil and lemon juice.

A full-bodied red, such as a St-Joseph from the Côtes du Rhône, is the perfect accompaniment.

NOTE
: Duck breast toughens if overcooked, so do not cook it beyond rare.

Two 13-ounce/390-g fattened duck breasts

Fleur de sel or fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 cup/250ml hard cider

1. Heat a heavy skillet over medium heat. When it is hot but not smoking, place the duck breasts in it, skin-side down. Cover and cook them until the skins are deep golden, about 8 minutes. Turn the duck breasts and cook them for 2 to 3 minutes on the flesh side, then remove them from the pan. Drain off all of the fat and return the duck breasts to the pan, skin-side down. Continue cooking them, covered, just until the meat is done on the outside, but is still very rare inside, 5 to 6 additional minutes. Remove the duck breasts from the pan and season them with fleur de sel and pepper. Add the cider to the pan, scrape up any browned bits from the bottom, and reduce the cider by about half, until it is slightly syrupy, 4 to 5 minutes.

2. To serve the duck breasts, cut them crosswise on the bias into thin slices and arrange these either on a warmed platter or four warmed plates. Drizzle the slices with the cider sauce and serve immediately.

4
SERVINGS

TINY BAKED POTATOES WITH CREAM
POMMES DE TERRE EN ROBES DE CHAMPS

It was a chilly, post-Christmas morning at the Louviers market, and I was in the mood for potatoes. Standing at Jean-Claude and Monique Martin’s stand I surveyed the varieties they offered. When I saw the small charlottes (similar to Yukon Gold) that were about the size of a fat thumb I knew they would be my choice.

Jean-Claude carefully chose a kilo all about the same size when I told him I planned to bake them. A woman waiting in line next to me made an appreciative sound at my idea and offered me a recipe. “I precook the potatoes, then open and stuff them with
crème fraîche
and chives,” she said.

I decided to leave out the precooking step. I simply scrubbed the potatoes and baked them in a hot oven until their skins were golden and they were tender, then followed her instructions. Now I prepare these fabulous morsels at the same time I am baking Braised Chicken in White Wine and Mustard (page 140). I place the chicken in the oven and after 15 minutes I place the potatoes on the floor of the oven and bake them right along with the chicken. The timing is usually just perfect, but if the potatoes take a bit longer than the chicken it doesn’t matter—the chicken simply needs to be kept warm as they finish.

NOTE
: You can make a slightly lighter version of these with butter and parsley.

11/2 pounds/750g small (about 2 ounces/60g each) baking potatoes, such as Yukon Gold or Yellow Finns, scrubbed

1 bunch chives (about 10g) or a mixture of herbs
such as fennel fronds, garlic chives, chives, and chervil

Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/4 cup/60ml
crème fraîche

1. Preheat the oven to 475° F/245° C/gas 9.

2. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet leaving room between them, and bake them in the center of the oven until their skins are golden and they are completely tender through, 45 minutes to an hour (the baking time will depend on the freshness and variety of the potatoes).

3. Just before removing the potatoes from the oven,
mince the herbs (you should have about 1/3 cup minced
herbs).

4. Remove the potatoes from the oven and transfer them to a warmed serving platter. Quickly cut a deep slit down the length of each. Working as quickly as possible, squeeze the ends of each potato toward the center, to open it up. Season the potatoes lightly with salt and pepper, then place a generous teaspoon of
crème fraîche
in each potato. Sprinkle the potatoes with the herbs. Serve immediately.

6
TO
8
SERVINGS

GOAT CHEESE WITH RASPBERRY VINEGAR
AND LAVENDER HONEY
FROMAGE DE CHÈVRE AU VINAIGRE DE
FRAMBOISES ET AU MIEL DE LAVANDE

Jean-Lou Dewaele, a friend whose wife, Babette, owns a popular herb and organic food boutique in Louviers, created this lovely combination of flavors using goat cheese from the market in Louviers and his homemade raspberry vinegar. He served it to us one night as part of the cheese course. I often follow his lead now, for it is a fresh surprise on a cheese platter. It is so tasty that sometimes, when it is just family, I serve it as dessert. We all love it.

2 medium-size fresh goat cheeses (about 11 ounces/330g total)

21/2 teaspoons raspberry vinegar

1 tablespoon/15ml lavender honey

1. Place the goat cheese in a medium-size bowl and,
using a fork or a sturdy whisk, mix in the raspberry vinegar. Pack the cheese into molds that have been rinsed in
water first (so the cheese is easily removed from the mold), or simply into a small dish, and refrigerate for several hours or overnight.

2. At least 30 minutes before serving, remove the cheese from the refrigerator and remove it from the mold if you have used one. Just before serving, heat the honey just enough so that it liquefies (if it has solidified), and pour it over the goat cheese. Alternatively, you may want to make quenelles of the goat cheese by forming it into ovals using 2 soup spoons, arranging
2 to 3 ovals on each of 6 serving plates, then drizzling each
serving with an equal amount of honey.

6
SMALL SERVINGS

SEVEN
               

Chez Clet

IT NEVER FAILS that as I get ready to cook in the evening I discover I’m missing an essential ingredient. It shouldn’t really matter—improvisation is the mother of fabulous dishes. But I’m usually testing recipes and adhering to a schedule, and I need what I need right away. Luckily I can solve the problem by walking out the courtyard, turning the corner, and walking in the door of Chez Clet.

Chez Clet is the neighborhood
épicerie
, or grocery store, one of the two in the center of town. It opens early and stays open until 8
P
.
M
., perfect for emergencies. The glass-fronted façade opens up, and crates of fruits and vegetables are stacked on the sidewalk and sometimes in the street when there is a particular abundance, providing a tempting and aromatic panorama of fruits and vegetables.

Monsieur Clet, the owner, often finds a bumper crop of something at the wholesale market when he goes there on Tuesday mornings and it will then become part of the seasonal displays. It might be rosy-hued, furry-skinned apricots in the summer, intended for jam. In winter it might be
pot au feu
vegetables—fat bunches of leeks, purple-tinged turnips, crates of yellow onions, occasionally even rutabagas, a rarity here.

Protocol is strict at Chez Clet in the old style. It is understood that the customer looks but doesn’t touch, and the salespeople are carefully trained to provide the customer with the best there is. To that end, service is relatively slow as each item is carefully examined before being put in a small brown paper sack, weighed, then set carefully in a wooden crate or whatever receptacle is preferred by the customer. I don’t mind waiting. I enjoy watching whomever is helping me carefully inspect each peach, push back lettuce leaves to be sure the center of the head is white and fresh, squeeze a cucumber to be sure it is firm. It is a pleasure to know that when I get home and open my bag I’ll find only the best.

François Clet, the owner of Chez Clet, is a moody, energetic young man who rushes about the store, a pencil in his ear and a furrow on his brow. His assistant, Alain, a short man with puffy, curly hair, is the store’s jokester, often saying things to himself that are funny and which often earn him a laugh from the customers. The glint of a gold side tooth adds an extra sparkle to his smile and he has an infectious laugh.

Another manager, Isabelle, is an attractive woman with a tough style. She answers curtly and goes about her work with the look of a drill sergeant—which in a sense she is. For the rest of the staff at Chez Clet is made up of
stagiaires
, or apprentices, who work there for a period of time—generally from one to three years—as part of their education at a local technical school, and it falls mostly to Isabelle to ride herd on them. And no one, but no one, messes with Isabelle. I have the inside scoop on her, though, because our sons are playmates and I know her to be kind.

The
stagiaires
are one of the best things about Chez Clet. All young women, they are always eager, perfectly dressed, and shyly polite at first. As the year progresses and they become familiar with the store, the customers, and the humors of Monsieur Clet they relax. I often go into the shop in mid-afternoon, a slow time, and find them shouting jokes or playful insults to each other across the store. When they see me they instantly sober up and become the picture of professionalism.
“Oui, madame, qu’est-ce que vous voulez, madame?”

Quarters in the store, which is very long and narrow and sandwiched between two other businesses, are very close. Monsieur Clet and Alain tend to bump into each other while they work, with arms and repartee flying. Isabelle and the rest of the staff try to stay out of their way. The situation is complicated by the fact that the
stagiaires
aren’t allowed to ring up purchases when they first begin working at Chez Clet. They can only serve, then a customer must wait until one of the permanent staff, or one of the more senior
stagiaires
, is available to handle the checkout. This creates a logjam at the registers as a
stagiaire
hangs back with her carefully chosen produce, waiting for just the right moment to grab someone who can ring it up for her. The minute she hands over that responsibility she’s back into the fray with a new customer, fielding questions, gently prodding fruit and vegetables, fetching liters of milk, pounds of butter, weighing out chunks of cheese, or ladling thick fresh cream into containers. When the goods are rung up the
stagiaire
has to stop what she is doing and return, hand over the produce to the customer, help the person out of the store if necessary, and politely and at great length say good-bye. During all of this time, the customer who was being assisted by the
stagiaire
waits. Most of the customers are regulars and accept the elaborate dance that is shopping at Chez Clet. Only once have I seen a customer react negatively. He must have been from out of town—I had never seen him before. Handsome and well dressed, he had a clutch of items in his hand as he waited for someone to help him. Everyone at Chez Clet was deeply into their usual routine of stepping forward, then stepping back, waiting, joking, laughing, and teasing when finally the man boomed, “You all may have all day but I’d like to get waited on.”

A silence fell over the store. Without looking at the man, Alain said out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Well, some people certainly are impatient.”

The man replied, without looking at Alain, “That’s right I’m impatient and I want to buy some mushrooms.”

“Well, some people just don’t know how to wait,” replied Alain, to no one in particular.

“I don’t have time to wait, and you shouldn’t be making me wait,” the man replied, to no one in particular.

This went on for several more minutes, with each man addressing the air. Finally, a trembling
stagiaire
stepped in, helped the man, and got his things rung up. He fumed out the door, head down.

“These Parisians shouldn’t even come here,” Alain said. “They don’t any of them know anything about how to live.”

Whether or not the man was a Parisian I will never know, but Alain’s remark caused many indulgent smiles throughout the store.

Watching other shoppers is almost as entertaining as watching the staff. There are those without budgetary concerns who stand and point at this and that, call Monsieur Clet “François” in syrupy tones, and often have a tiny, furry dog at the end of a leash. Then there are the many men who shop at Chez Clet, a category unto themselves. I’m always curious about them—do they do the cooking? Do they simply come with lists written out by their wives? They are gourmands one and all, this I can vouch for after seven years of observing them. Listening to the men as they request ingredients is often a lesson in seasonal cooking, as they are even more punctilious than their female counterparts.

When Monsieur Clet isn’t to be found on the ground floor or in his small office upstairs, he is downstairs in the chilly, gravel-floored wine cellar, his pride and joy. He adores taking a customer there to show it off, to give his advice, to share his excitement over a new find, or a rare bottle. His shelves are heavily stocked with Bordeaux, what I call the wine of Normandy. Normandy doesn’t actually produce wine—the locally produced beverage is hard apple cider. But since Normandy was a stop on the historic trade route between Bordeaux and London, Bordeaux is the wine most Normans know and drink. Michael and I have a preference for Côtes du Rhône and Burgundy, but we welcome the chance to learn about Bordeaux, so when we are in the mood for something new and different, I go talk with Monsieur Clet.

I’m not only a regular at Chez Clet, but some days I go in there three or four times as I develop a menu. Occasionally I’ve forgotten my purse at home or don’t have quite enough change. This is not a problem. My debts are written in a leather-bound accounting book under the name
L’Américaine
, or The American Woman. It took at least three years for it to dawn on anyone at Chez Clet that I had a name. When they finally asked me what it was and I told them, I was Madame Loomis for two years after that. Finally, I became Suzanne, though for purposes of tallying debts, I remain
L’Américaine
. I always apologize for my lack of ready cash. The response is always the same. “It is no problem. If you don’t pay, we know where to find you.”

Learning shopping habits in a different culture took me some time. Milk is a good example. In America, milk is easy to find. When you want it, you go to the store and get a gallon, never thinking twice about its availability. In France, it’s another story.

By milk I mean fresh milk, not the thick sterilized milk that tastes like sweet cardboard and is always available here. We use only fresh milk, and we go through a fair amount of it, with
cafés crèmes
and morning cereal. Fresh milk is sold by the liter, which doesn’t go very far. We usually discover we’ve run out in the morning, before school, so either Michael or I run to Chez Clet, which usually opens at 7:30
A
.
M
., to get more, and often we find the shelf bare. One day I asked Isabelle if they would be getting more milk. She looked at me and said, shortly, “No, there won’t be any more this week,” as though my question was unreasonable. I asked her why. “Because it’s only delivered once a week, and when it’s gone it’s gone, that’s why,” she responded tersely.

Since they seemed to be out of milk often, I asked her why they didn’t order more.

“Ah, non!”
she replied vigorously, shaking her head. “
Ah, non!
We can only order it by lots of five liters. Yes, perhaps we would sell seven or eight, but then we would lose two, and this is not acceptable. We would lose too much money.
Non
. It isn’t possible to do it any other way. If you want milk, you must tell me and I will put it aside for you.”

“Ah!” I thought as I left the store, having ordered two liters for the following week. “Another key to the mystery of French culture and thrift.”

There are few American foods that we miss, but corn on the cob is one and until recently it was nearly impossible to find. Now I see it occasionally, wrapped in cellophane and never very appetizing. During our second summer here, Chez Clet had some that was displayed proudly out front. Like all the corn I see wrapped in cellophane, it already looked tough, but it was a thrill to see it nonetheless. I didn’t buy it, and no one else did either so that by about the fourth day on display it was looking pretty tired. Monsieur Clet still put it out front every day, leaving it in plain sight as it became more and more dry and wizened. By the end of the week it was embarrassing, a blot on the display. I couldn’t figure out why Monsieur Clet wasn’t throwing it away. I felt I had a duty to help.

I found Monsieur Clet and pulled him aside. “Monsieur Clet,” I said in a hushed tone. “I don’t like to say this but those ears of corn you’ve got out there are really an embarrassment.” He raised his thick dark eyebrows. “An embarrassment, why what is wrong with them?” he asked me. I tried to explain. “You see, Monsieur Clet, I wouldn’t venture to say this if I didn’t completely understand corn. When it looks like that, it is inedible.”

“Oh, it’s inedible,” he echoed. “Why do you say that? I thought it was fine.”

For a man who has spent his life among produce Monsieur Clet’s ignorance about the shelf-life of corn was surprising. On the other hand, corn on the cob is something exotic in France, where it has only recently become available at all.

I forged ahead, explaining about the kernels, the silk, the fine quality of corn when it is fresh, and the sad state it degenerates into when it isn’t. “If you want people to respect your store,” I said, “you must get rid of that corn. Anyone who knows corn and walks in here and sees that will walk right out again, I assure you.”

Monsieur Clet looked at me, frowning. I already knew enough about him to know that if he thought he could sell something, he wouldn’t take it off the shelf. I suspect he was asking himself who I thought I was to try and advise him about corn. I could tell he wasn’t convinced. So I pulled out both barrels.

“In America we live on corn in the summer,” I said. “It is a traditional food, one we all grow up eating as children. All Americans know corn intimately. I am American, and I know corn. I promise you, that corn shouldn’t be in a store as fine as yours.”

The cultural angle was persuasive. He smiled in understanding, picked up the corn, and tossed it in the trash. “I thank you, Madame,” he said and returned to his work. Monsieur Clet continues to stock cellophane-wrapped corn on the cob, though now, if it gets beyond its prime he is quick to remove it from the shelf.

BAKED EGGPLANT APPETIZER
AUBERGINES AU FOUR

Garden-fresh eggplant is a vegetable apart—sweet, tender, and succulent, unlike the bitter supermarket variety. The owner of the sporting goods store down the street from us grows them in her huge garden in Acquigny, about four miles from Louviers, and every now and then she brings me a basket full of them or I get them garden-fresh from Clet. I rush to cook them as quickly as possible for, like any delicate fruit or vegetable, the sooner they are eaten the purer their flavor.

This is one of my favorite things to do with fresh eggplant. I often serve it as a first course in summer, letting the eggplant cool to room temperature if the ambient temperature is very warm. But the contrast between hot eggplant and room-temperature tomato sauce is also appealing.

Serve additional olive oil on the side as well as a Côtes du Rhône.

NOTE
: When eggplant are very fresh it isn’t necessary to salt them before cooking as they aren’t bitter. On the other hand, the skin of under-ripe eggplant is very bitter, so use mature eggplant.

11/2 pounds/750g ripe tomatoes, peeled, cored, seeded, and cut in small dices

Fine sea salt