Issue #132: The Season of Leeks (Vinaigrette)
Back in Paris, Cherchant des Légumes, Salad vs. Salade, Another French Vegetable Recipe
So, we are back in Paris for a little shopping and celebrating before Nate transitions to his new job. Despite grey skies and rain, it has been a lovely trip. Of course, we are eating well (and too much). Our grazing has ranged from super-fancy, five-hour meals (duck à la presse at the newly renovated La Tour d’Argent) to satisfying street-food (sandwich jambon-fromage from the popular Le Petit Vendome). Also, more great pastries than I care to recall, all of the finest caliber.
Two things we haven’t had, though, are a lot of vegetables and whole grains—at least not enough to satisfy my daily requirements for fiber and phytochemicals.
This is not something new. I always remark when we are here how difficult it is to consume enough fresh produce when you are eating exclusively in restaurants. I was recently in Seoul, Korea, as you know, and there, tables groan with literally dozens of vegetable dishes at every meal. The same is true in the Middle East and China. But vegetables do not occupy much menu space or table real estate in the bistrots and brasseries of Paris.
When you do order vegetables, they often come overly manipulated and/or covered with meat and cheese. (I realize my recent recipe for Cauliflower au Gratin in Issue #130 is an example of this type of typical French treatment. I didn’t say these preparations aren’t delicious. It’s just that it would be nice to find some vegetables in a state closer to the way they come out of the garden from time to time.)
Even Nate, whom one would not categorize as a vegetable lover, has noticed the lack of fresh produce this time around. Take the “salad” (pictured above) that he ordered at the charming Ballon des Ternes brasserie in Paris’s 17th arrondissement. Sure, he knew that a classic Salade Frisée aux Lardons would have some bacon on it, lardons being the French term for thin strips of cured-and-smoked pork belly. But this bowl arrived with at least half a pound of lardons, the curly endive barely enough to serve as a garnish to the meat and poached egg. During those delightful five hours of dining at La Tour d’Argent, the only green Nate could recall was a dab of watercress foam.
The fall-winter shoulder season may be partly to blame. A stroll through the Sunday Marché Bastille was not as inspiring as it can be during summer, when France’s finest fruits and vegetables are on display. But there’s also, I think, a cultural devaluation of vegetables in fine-dining settings, where seafood and meat are thought to show off the skill of the cooks and the affluence of the diners. The same is true, in my experience, in Italy, which prides itself on its per capita consumption of vegetables, while tourists who eat out every meal are left scratching their heads as they search for a leaf. In fact, after teaching in Florence for several summers, in 2009 I co-curated a conference for NYU in Florence on the Myth of the Mediterranean Diet with my colleague, nutritionist Lisa Sasson. Our idea for the gathering of academics, chefs, farmers, and students grew out of our hunt for vegetables at the Italian table.
There are exceptions here, of course. This trip, two of our most memorable meals were at vegetable-forward restaurants, Datil and Septime. Datil is a pretty, sophisticated, but casual restaurant run by Manon Fleury, where vegetables are the focus. (I was delighted to learn it was modeled in part after Opa in Tel Aviv, a favorite of mine where Shirel Berger tantalizes with a ten-course vegan degustation menu.) We arrived at Datil just a couple of hours after we arrived in Paris. Its natural colors, soft fibers, and handmade pottery felt like a comfortable hug after our long flight. (Thank you, Nicolas, for insisting we go.) Although our dégustation menu did unexpectedly include scallops, sea urchin, mussels, and anchovies, the focus really was on the garden. Multiple amuses-bouches of pumpkin in myriad forms, onion-stuffed onions for the main—it was an elegant, creative, fiber-rich, and reasonably priced way to kick things off.
Two nights ago we returned to Septime, where five of our seven courses were comprised primarily of plants and vegetables, and the other two—scallops and veal—came with plenty more on the side. Septime has long been a foodie favorite, ground-breaking for its casual sophistication and deceptively simple cuisine that has earned it a spot on the World’s 50 Best since 2013. (The place is so laid back some have questioned its inclusion there, but I find that part of its charm.) I only made it to the restaurant for the first time this past April. And I couldn’t wait to go back. Our meal this week featured pumpkin, chard, radicchio, citrus, gem lettuce, and seaweed, to name a few. Even the chocolate dessert was topped with a dollop of sunchoke cream. It was all exquisite.
When it comes to whole grains, the French have a longer way to go. At bakeries in Scandinavia and Germany, whole-grain breads dominate. Here white flour is king, literally, as darker, whole-grain breads were historically sold to the peasants, while lighter goodies were kept for the nobility. And while I’ve managed to eat more than my share of exemplary white-flour baguettes and sourdoughs every day since I’ve been here, I wouldn’t mind a little germ and bran now and then. (My friend Bonnie always brings her own Bran Buds when she travels. I should start.)
At that same meal where Nate ordered that salade and got a bowl of bacon, I ordered Poireaux Vinaigrette Mimosa, and got a classic dish of poached leeks with Dijon vinaigrette and hard-cooked egg. Not exactly a crisp vegetable, but plant forward and totally delicious nonetheless. It is clearly a seasonal dish, as the markets are full of leeks right now. And simple to make. The biggest challenge, really, is cleaning the leeks, and cooking them in such a way that they stay intact. As for the vinaigrette, you can use the shallot and sherry vinaigrette from Via Carota I published last week. Then all you need is two hard-cooked eggs, which you can make using my favorite steaming technique. Bon appetit!
RECIPE: Leeks Vinaigrette Mimosa
(makes 4 appetizer portions)
6 to 8 medium-sized leeks
Salt
2 hard-cooked eggs (see here)
3/4 cup Shallot Sherry Vinaigrette (see here)
3 tablespoons chopped assorted fresh herbs, such as chervil, chives, parsley and/or tarragon
Fleur de sel or other finishing salt
Freshly ground black pepper
To begin, you must clean the leeks, which can have dirt and sand stuck in the darndest places. Cut off the roots and the dark green tops, reserving them for another use. (I use leek greens in stock or in a Chinese stirfry.) Depending on how long the remaining white parts are, either cut them crosswise in half or trim them down further—ideally you want 4- to 5-inch lengths. If they are less than an inch in diameter, you can leave them whole. If they are thicker, you will want to slice them lengthwise in half. Be sure to keep the layers of the halves intact. Rinse well under cold water, separating the layers to get to the dirt. Set on paper towel to dry.
Using butcher’s twine, tie the leeks together into two bundles, like logs, still keeping any split halves intact. Place the bundles in a saucepan just large enough to hold them. Cover with cold water. Add a generous pinch of salt and a tablespoon of lemon juice or vinegar. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer cover and let cook for 15 to 20 minutes, until the leeks are tender. (Test them with the point of a pairing knife.) When done, lift them out of the water and let drain on a rack while they cool to room temperature.
Meanwhile, steam and peel your eggs according to the technique in this issue. Cut the eggs in half, remove and set aside the yolks in a small, fine sieve. Finely chop the whites.
Cut the strings holding the leeks together and arrange the cooked leeks in a single layer, cut sides down, on a large serving platter or divide them among four individual serving plates. Spoon the vinaigrette generously over top and sprinkle with the chopped egg white. Using the back of a small spoon, push the yolks through the sieve while holding it over the leeks. Season with fleur de sel and freshly ground pepper. Garnish with chopped herbs.