My Absolute Favorite Tofu Dish and Faith

I know, I know, this is not a terrine. Be patient!

Summer nights in Beijing, we'd stroll through the heat to brightly lit white tiled dining halls and order some cold tofu with chives to start the meal. This is one of those simple dishes you don't see on the menus, but just order. When I place it on the table and we begin to dig into this delicious cold cake of goodness, my heart fills with the warmth of my friendships at that time of my life. I recently got back in touch with an old friend from that era. Her name is Faith. She lives in Hong Kong now, after a few years in Shanghai. We can go on for hours talking about all of the trouble we used to get into.

For Faith and I, our time in Beijing was marked by the fact that there was a certain respectable hour to be seen in public, anytime before 11:00 PM was for losers. So it was nearing midnight, and we had carefully dressed and artfully applied just the right amount of makeup to ensure that we did not look like we were trying too hard (this took several hours) and made the calls to get everyone to congregate for a drink at one of our most cherished expat hangouts. Faith taught me the virtues of Bobbi Brown lipstick and had a Coach purse. She had gotten her masters degree in Chinese Literature before coming to China, and spoke absolutely incredible Chinese. She adopted the name of a Chinese film star. She was destined for greatness and I knew her way back when.

We entered the bar and instantly made friends with a young man (hogging a table alone) who was only in Beijing for two days, pathetically crying into his beer. We descended upon his table and got to talking. He told us he was leaving China the next morning and lamented and whined that his visit was such a short one, and that he'd never get to see the Great Wall. It was a pitiful story.

Faith and I were sage and pondered upon the issue. This young man was NOT going to leave China without seeing the Great Wall. We dispatched one of our group to haggle for a taxi to take us the 2 hour ride and back, sent another off to buy tons of beer, went and got the young man, pushed him into the cab, and piled in, passing the bottles of beer around. We laughed and talked and joked him out of his pity party the entire way as this cab driver barreled into the black of night across the Chinese countryside. When we arrived, we were stopped by a guard and talked our way somehow into him letting us go up on the wall. The poor boy got his wish before he even knew what hit him.

My Ayi used to fix this up for me and my friends whenever they came over, and she was the one to show me how to make it just right. To me this dish just oozes the simple easy joy that good friends bring. I have included a step by step how to to make sure you get this complex technique just right! Watch carefully, full of action!



You start with a nice cold block of tofu. Use a knife to cut into strips, stopping just before cutting through the bottom to keep it from falling apart. Mince some chives and onions (the onions are optional), and sprinkle them over the tofu.

Verrrry delicate operation, the addition of salt, then oil.

Add salt. Add a teaspoon or two of sesame oil, letting it drizzle into the cracks and carry some salt with it.

Watch carefully...

Add some Chinese coriander if you wish. Dust with Sichuan pepper (must not forget that). Cover the dish and let the flavors mingle chilled for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds, and bring it out to the table. Delicious!



P.S. Still working on the terrines, they take awhile... They will not disappoint!

The Terrines of Summer

In my mind, summer has to be the best time ever for terrines. I first got into terrine making because I realized that they are perfect for parties. You prepare them well in advance, then when the time comes, a really impressive, delicious and simple first course is taken care of already. All you have to do is slice and present it. I have put a lot of thought over the years into how to get not only the most flavorful but the prettiest terrines I could, and often found myself planning terrines even when I didn't have any parties to get ready for. I realized that during the hot days of summer, a nice slice of an informal picnic kind of terrine makes a neat sandwich, or served over salad it just hits the spot. So shall we venture into some of my favorite recipes for terrines? There are so many kinds and so many to choose from. I am trying to think where to begin.

Camp Fire Stew, Grown Up

I was a Camp Fire Girl. This is a little bit like the Girl Scouts. We wore outfits and had meetings and went to camp. The Camp Fire Girls focused on good deeds, community service, and self knowledge. I remember that my sister Serena had a ceremony where she was decked out in her full length Indian Princess gown covered from head to toe with beads representing all of the good deeds and helpful projects she orchestrated. We all called out a special word and made a hand signal. Then we sang a beautiful spiritual song to get us in the mood to be good. Serena was the picture of splendorous beauty in her princess gown, and she seemed surrounded in a halo of light that night. The ceremony was just for her. All these accomplishments in the form of beads, artfully applied in patterns and shapes. Me, I had a vest with a handful of beads which we'd sewn into simple shapes. I didn't really have enough for patterns and spirals. I was particularly proud of my blue bead, hard to earn.

We went on a camping expedition and were charged with cooking Camp Fire Stew to earn a bead. This was delicious to kids, a mix of ground beef, tomato sauce, and vegetables. Scraped into a hot slurry in a pan over an open fire, it was simply a marvel and I was astounded when I tasted the result of my handiwork.

Some summer evenings are meant for Camp Fire Stew. I think of that first time with those big grey stones around the fire pit, and the old beat up pot they brought out. We all knelt around the carefully built fire and under the guidance of one of the mothers. The burning wood smelled lovely, we had built the fire ourselves, and the warmth and light of our fire posed a contrast to the cool breeze coming off the lake and the dark forest beyond. Our sleeping bags were all rolled out in a cabin, waiting for ghost stories, flashlights, mosquito netting, and games. We added the ingredients one by one, and we each got a chance to stir.

These days I always have olive oil, because Brigitte gave us a gallon of the really good stuff. Always, garlic. Always shallots, sometimes onions. This is where I begin. Camp Fire Stew should always be made with whatever you have lying about, but begin with the bulbs. I take a moment to sharpen my knife with a few strokes. No more than a half dozen are necessary. It does the spirit good to cut with a sharp knife. My clean cutting boards are down.

I heat some oil up a larger sized pan. While the oil heats, I mince the garlic and shallots and toss them in. Then I look to my vegetable basket and place whatever kinds of vegetables I have in a colander.

This time of year you might have eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, onions, squash of various kinds, green beans, mushrooms, etc. Add one or two or a handful of everything you've got.

The garlic and shallots have begun to release their aroma and it floats through the house. You can add meat if you have some. Any kind will do. Slice the meat, cutting against the grain for beef and pork and sliver along the grain for chicken or other poultry to keep things tender and juicy. Think about how by cutting it up small it will cook faster. Add the meat, spreading it in a layer over the garlic and shallots. Give it a toss. Let it brown on one side. Toss it again.

While the meat's browning, rinse and chop up your vegetables. Nice big chunks. A few swift strokes are all that's necessary. Add them. Look carefully. Sprinkle with a little salt. Reach up and pluck a bay leaf and a few sprigs of aromatic herbs you've got drying here and there, and tuck them in between the vegetables. Toss it. Take in the aroma. Give it a stir. In a few minutes, the vegetables will begin to release their juices. Tomatoes give a lot of juice, as do mushrooms and courgettes. Does something seem to be taking form?

Like magic, you'll have a nice pile of summer goodness steaming and simmering there in their own juices, with a little bit of that optional meat, and the herbs. Use a wood spatula or spoon to make sure that whatever browning from the meat is on the bottom gets mixed into the juice. If there doesn't seem to be enough juice, open the refigerator door. Ah. A bottle of white wine. Some leftover tomato sauce from the other night. Drizzle the lot with the wine or a little sauce. Toss again. Bring the heat up until it bubbles happily. Lower the heat to a simmer, cover the lot, and set your timer for 20 minutes.

The last and most important step is to present this cobbled stew. Give it a taste and season it if necessary. If the larder is especially meager and you haven't used much meat, a topping of poached eggs adds is a nice way to fortify it. Things like fresh minced herbs, chives, or something like mushrooms or small bits of leftovers can make great finishing touches to the presentation.

Even if this dish didn't take much planning or effort, you don't want to haul the pot to the table. You have cooked something worthy of a serving dish. Bring out a wide and shallow serving platter with a proper spoon, or even a narrow and high one, made of ceramic, with a ladle. Set the table. The world will not come to an end if the tablecloths and napkins are wrinkled. Sitting at the table, using even wrinkled hung dried linens and old mismatched plates, a small goblet of vin de pays, your spirit will pay homage to this humble supper of Camp Fire Stew, grown up.

A Yearning Lover Kind of Craving

"They probably think we're on vacation."

This was what my husband said at the dinner table last night, a nice little eggplant, tomato, pepper and garlic stew topped with melted cheese and poached eggs. Just a little mix of whatever we had left in the basket. "And who would that be?" I asked, picking up the cold fresh mint tea I'd made that afternoon, by just a simple infusion of mint leaves in hot water. It is really the best thing to do with the bunches and bunches of mint being handed in two fisted bundles over the market tables these days.

"The boulanger." Our boulanger. The one who thinks we're on vacation since we haven't been to buy bread in over a month. This is because I have cut wheat out of our diet for the time being.

I thought about our boulanger. In the mornings, he makes his deliveries to the restaurants on a bike with a big basket, loaded with flour sacks that have the tops rolled like the cuffs of pants, and stuffed full of bread. They stack high and he pedals slowly, from one restaurant to the next. He looks all scruffy and his hair is messed up, powdered in head to toe with with a thin coating of flour, levain smeared on a pant leg. His shoes look like an afterthought, and he's never wearing socks. He looks a little bit like the Pillsbury dough boy that someone has put some clothes on, come to think of it. He jovially rides his bike along in the early morning hours with that day's first bread.

We're changing our habits, but we will always buy our bread there. Even if we don't buy as much as we used to. One man told me while we whiled away some time in line waiting for this bread that he was confident that our baker made the best bread in France. Imagine such a thought, your clients are confident that you make your product better than anywhere else in the country. I haven't had any better, that's for sure. We're lucky to live so close to this baker.

I looked at my husband. He was somewhere else. Staring off into space.

"I'm sure they'll understand." I said.

I am beginning to see some results of my time without bread. I am melting away kind of like a yearning lover. Yearning for this bread. In a few months when I go back to the baker, perhaps they'll think I am an entirely new customer. But I'll never completely give it up. Butter just isn't the same without it.

Spicy Poultry Stuffed Pattypan Squash

Hot with their broth, waiting for an herb garnish.

We did manage to get down to the market yesterday morning and the summer squash is out in abundance. After days inside focusing on one thing I felt like I was moving through a dream in which the world has exploded with life. It was strange to see the hustle and bustle of the market keep moving although it had been feeling in my heart felt like everything had come to a standstill. I gathered up the fixings for one very simple French summer staple, stuffed courgette, tomato, or patisson, pattypan squash, and got moving in the kitchen. Just simple work with the hands is what I need.

Spicy Poultry Stuffed Pattypan Squash
Serves 4

8 little summer pattypans and courgettes (any combination, any squash will do, really)
2 teaspoons butter
2 cloves of garlic
2 shallots
1/2 bunch of chives
fresh herbs of your choice (basil goes very well with poultry, or thyme for the squash, really anything that's fresh and on hand. I used wild thyme.)
1 tablespoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon crushed sichuan peppercorn
1/2 teaspoon chipotle pepper or cayenne
1 teaspoon sea salt
200 grams or 6 ounces chopped poultry, pork, veal, beef, or a mixture of meats (yesterday I used chicken and guinea hen)
1 tablespoon duck fat or butter

Wash your squash thoroughly, and slice off the caps, reserving them. Hollow them out with the aid of a melon baller or teaspoon with a sharp edge, reserving the flesh of the vegetable. Butter or oil a baking dish, and place the newly hollowed vegetables inside, top side up. Sprinkle a little bit of salt into each one and place their caps on. Set aside.

Chop the hollowed out insides of the squash into small cubes. peel and mince the garlic and shallots. Heat the butter in a saute pan until the foam subsides and add the garlic and onion. Let that sizzle for a minute or two, and before it turns brown, add the squash flesh. Toss and stir the contents, the squash will release its juice and then the juice will reduce. Keep tossing it from time to time, for 10 minutes or until the juice reduces. Mince and add the chives and herbs.

Put the paprika, sichuan peppercorn, and chipotle pepper into a small pan and let it toast over medium heat, just until it begins to release its aromas. Transfer the toasted spice mix into the squash, garlic, and shallot mixture and incorporate it fully. Remove from heat and transfer to a mixing bowl. Let the spicy mixture cool to room temperature.

Debone and chop the game hen, chicken, or other poultry into a small dice. Mix the diced meat and tablespoon of duckfat or butter into the spiced squash mixture and season with the remaining salt to taste. At that point you can also add optional bread crumbs or and egg to the mix. (I did not add either because I am watching my weight, but sometimes do, depending on the moisture level of the stuffing. Eggs or bread crumbs are both nice binders and make a stuffing more fortifying. When eggs or bread crumbs are added, the stuffing will puff when baked.)

Stuff the hollowed out squash without packing too tightly, while they are in the baking dish. Place the tops on the vegetables, and cover the whole baking dish with foil. Roast at 200C/400F for 30 to 40 minutes.

When you pull the pan out of the oven, a nice layer of broth infused with the flavors of whatever meat you have used, the herbs, and the squash will have accumulated, which can be directly spooned over the stuffed vegetables, hot, at the table. Leftover broth should be reserved and can be used in a vinaigrette for serving with leftovers.

Little cold stuffed pattypan make a nice topping for a salad the day after you prepare them.

Now Is the Appointed Time: Le Valencay AOC

Last July I wrote about the pyramid shaped cheeses that appear from local farms at the market here in Lyon every summer. This year I want to tell you about the cheese at the heart of the mystery of their intriguing shape. Whatever story you decide to believe, there's one thing you must not pass up, a nice well aged AOC Le Valencay in the month of July.

Although the history of this cheese dates back hundreds of years, the AOC was obtained in 1998. Currently there are 21 farms and 6 co-ops producing Le Valencay, and it is distributed widely in France, with a yearly distribution of 342 tons a year. Fresh raw goat's milk is curdled with animal rennet over 24 to 36 hours and then hand ladled into the truncated pyramid shaped molds, strained, and aged for 10 days before it gets a coating of a mix of salt and ashes.

When choosing Le Valencay, choose one with lots of nice puckering and a dark color to the crust, which will indicate a cheese with a nice body and well developed flavors. This cheese holds up well under various conditions, so you can get excellent cheese ranging from a very soft young cheese with a light salty flavor to the oldest hardest cheese that splinters when cut.

It's ready to eat now, friends. Have a taste and tell me if this isn't the paragon of the chevre experience.

Happy Birthday Mama!

Summer Pears - Poire William

The pear tree out back by the garage on Circle Road was not a summer pear tree. This was a twisted moss covered old lady who gave up her fruits in early autumn and her back was breaking under the weight. When the fruit got to a certain size, my mother would wrap some still green fruits in newspaper and place them in the potato drawer to ripen. A child could use her heft to pull open that drawer on a rainy afternoon and discover nice packets of clean yellow juicy fruit if she was lucky. What a windfall to find one of those packets. Oh how I loved those pears and that tree.

In Lyon right now, there's a pear local to the region that has got quite a reputation herself. When I was researching local products along the Rhone river going South not too long ago, I came across the name of a certain producer of a summer fruit, precocious and fragile, called the Poire William. This fruit has always caught my eye at the market in early summer, first because it comes from local production, and second because it packs a powerful flavor punch, with a musky come hither kind of perfume and lots of juice, even if the fruit shows every nick and scratch and won't last long in the fruit bowl.

These pears actually were cultivated and enjoyed great popularity in the region starting in the mid 1800s, mainly as table fruit, i.e. fresh fruit for eating plain, and reputed for their deliciousness. A hundred years down the line, given a relatively short shelf life and easy bruising, conditions during World War II had cut off logistical channels and tanked the economy in and around Lyon. One enterprising fruit grower by the name of Colombier in Vienne, 20 miles south of Lyon, came up with a way to get something from his leftover fruit. Over three years during the 1940s, he experimented in his atelier and perfected a new technique for distilling eau-de-vie from his summer harvest of Poire William.

Chef Fernand Point, our consummate original locavore, took a keen liking to the perfected product, and they struck up a deal on M. Colombier's eau-de-vie Poire William. Although a very small quantity of the precious nectar was distributed to the cultivator's restaurateur friends in Lyon, on the whole, his production went exclusively to La Pyramide.

M. Colombier's method remained a secret up until the late 1950s, when suddenly recipes and technique spread like wildfire through the region and eastward as well, resulting in that lovely Alpine deliciousness we sip from little glasses at red checkered tables in the Alps called Williamine, a close cousin, a God daughter for sure, and a probable direct descendent of M. Colombier's product. On the wave of an economic boom, commercial production of this product exploded. Since then, many of these operations have closed, leaving 6 producers of eau-de-vie Poire William using local fruits in the region today.

Two things about the fruit we call Poire William - the table fruits and the fruits destined for the distillery are treated quite differently even from conception. While our table fruit is ripened on a tree that's original all the way down, the fruit for juice now comes from trees that have been grafted onto the roots of another tree altogether, done to maximize flavor. For the nectar, they are also picked early, in order to capture certain flavors that tree ripened mature fruits don't transmit well through distillation.

I serve eau-de-vie Poire William at the end of the meal as a digestif, in little crystal goblets, once we've moved away from the table. Sometimes, when I have a certain supply, I add it to champagne or even mix with ice cold pear juice (double whammy of pear deliciousness) at the apero hour. You can also use it to flavor creams and pastries, flans, etc. and one local ice cream manufacturer in Lyon has mastered a sublime eau-de-vie Poire William sorbet (that would be Nardonne..).

As for the fruits themselves, we like to eat a whole fruit plain in early summer. Cool, peeled by hand with a knife at the table. I find that they don't slow cook for preserves well, but they they do bake nicely for example in my Chaource and Pear Apero Tarte, of which I have done many when the Poire William is out. This kind of pear is excellent roasted or a delice simply slow poached in a red wine syrup you can easily mix up on the spot. Very classy, poached pears.