le sauce

meat-free "amatriciana"

I don't always set out to vegetarian-ize everything I used to eat. Quite frankly, it takes a lot of effort to create a respectable, comparable meat-free version of most things, and, quite frankly, most of those original versions are not so hot anyway. I mean that the number of dishes I truly miss from my meat-eating days, that were really about meaty texture, flavour or both, is relatively small. Amatriciana, a classic Italian red tomato sauced pasta that starts with guanciale (cured pig jowl), is all about the salty, richness that comes from that pork. And it's damn good. Good enough that I wanted to make something similar that I could enjoy. 

To be successful I had to replace the saltiness and richness I'd be losing when I omitted the guanciale, and I settled on cured olives and butter, and relied on onions for sweetness and smoked paprika for, well, smokiness that reminds many of cured meat, even though guanciale is not smoked. I added a second, non-smoked paprika, the darkest I had on hand, strictly to saturate the sauce with red. It was important to me to recreate that almost surreal, blood-red sauce. It totally worked and you'll end up with something that threatens to stain anything it touches and I thought it was stunning, even though it gets briefly masked with an avalanche of Parmesan dust. It's also nice to strike the dish with a flash of chili oil right before serving, making it, perhaps, the boldest meat-free pasta you've made, and hopefully, a damn good spin on Amatriciana.  

Amatriciana

2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
2 tbs unsalted butter
1 med red onion, finely chopped
1-2 large dried red chilies, broken up, to taste
1 large garlic clove, finely chopped
1 tsp smoked paprika powder
1/2 tsp dark paprika powder
3/4 tsp kosher salt, divided
3/4 c pitted, chopped Nicoise olives
1/2 c sun-dried tomatoes in oil, chopped
1 tbs tomato paste
2 c canned whole plum tomatoes and liquid (San Marzano preferred)
1 c or more finely grated Parmesan cheese

Add oil and butter to heated pan. When the butter has melted, add onion and chili, stir to separate the onion pieces and cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, both paprika powders, and 1/2 tsp of salt, and cook for a minute until the garlic has softened. Add olives, sun-dried tomatoes and cook for another minute. Add the tomatoes and their liquid and the remaining 1/4 tsp of salt and bring to a simmer for 5 minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat and purée the sauce using an immersion blender or a food processor until fairly smooth. Return the pot of sauce to a medium-low heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Add half-cooked pasta to the sauce and finish cooking the noodles in the sauce. Serve the pasta and top with lots of the grated Parmesan. Serve with chili oil if desired.

Makes 4 servings.

tomato gratinée on fried toasts with serrano mayo

I wouldn't normally mess with perfection, and who would argue that you could improve on an ripe, late-August, heirloom tomato? In fact, these are still virtually raw, and it's the flaky Panko, Parmesan and herb topping that takes the brunt of a few moments under the broiler. I was just looking for another way to celebrate this fruit. Raw, halved, sprinkled with extra-virgin olive oil and Maldon salt is another version of perfection, as is the famous butter, mayonnaise, summer tomato sandwich that's made it's way across the internet for years. This is just that sandwich...but better, because,

it starts with frying bread. 

Bread that is buttered on both sides, generously, gets golden and lightly crispy in a hot pan, then hangs around--preferably on a grated surface so it doesn't get soggy while you carry on with the two other small tasks. A serrano chili has heat but also the flavour I wanted to spike my mayonnaise with (store-bought this time, but feel free to make your own). You can use a milder chili or even a drop of chili oil for a different but, I'm sure, delicious take. And change up the herbs if you'd like too--I used parsley and chives. But the Panko and Parmesan topping is the best combo for the topping, I think. The cheese is classic and the uncrushed Panko stays light though gently crisped, which is a nice bookend to the fried toasts on the other side of this open-faced sandwich. It's new favourite for this summer. Let me know if it becomes yours too.

LS baking academy: choux pastry (pâte à choux)

Well, we're back to the pastry recipes, here at the le sauce baking academy (my kitchen), so naturally, I started to sweat again. I chose pâte à choux, the puff pastry that is used to make cheese and cream puffs, like profiteroles and éclairs. The ingredient list looks standard: eggs, butter, flour and water. But, being a French pastry recipe, it wasn't without its tortures. I mean techniques.

Ok, it wasn't that bad, but there's this part where you have to add "all the flour at once", which every recipe for choux specifies clearly. Having watched pastry chefs do this, what the recipe should really say is "turn your bowl of flour immediately upside down over your bowl of boiling water and butter, so it gets added all at once, and expect the potential for mess that may come with that especially if you hesitate or your aim sucks". Not to mention the mess that comes when you try to whisk the hell out of a glue-like dough and the wet eggs you're adding to it. It's another one of those French recipes that come complete with a upper arm workout and a test of your self-esteem.

Working with a piping bag for the first time was humbling and stressful. You can see from my less-than-perfect puffs in the first picture that I could use some practice in this area. Yet I bet if I do a YouTube search there will be a video of a 7-year-old Parisian and her petit chat piping les choux perfect apres l'ecole! Well, some of us just started, Marguarite!

But enough about the stumbles! Finalement, there were perfect, light little puffs! Success, albeit it in varying shapes and sizes! And here's the science behind choux: the pastry calls for significantly more water than puff pastry recipes do. The water within steams in the oven, causing the pastry to rise, leaving a little hollow centre ready to accept the filling of your choice.

Once the little puffs come out of the oven, it's a good idea to pierce them so that the steam escapes and doesn't make things soggy and heavy. Make your cuts at the bottom if you are piping filling into the puffs. I poked them on the sides since I was going to be slicing mine to spread a vanilla, pistachio cream into them.

I looked at many a recipe, but before we get to my favourite, a reminder that this is the third installment of the le sauce baking academy! The deal is, I bring a tried and tested recipe and whatever learning I can so that we can bake a particular treat together. But you need to chime in too. If you have tips to share, please do so in the comments here and please link to recipes or trials on your own blog too so we can all check them out. On the first Tuesday of next month (August 2), I will be back with any new choux tests based on your feedback and also, with a savoury choux recipe. I hope to hear from you before then. Thanks!

LS baking academy: short-crust pastry (pâte brisée)

It's only the second class in the le sauce baking academy and can you believe I'm on to pastry already? I'm neither as brave or as stupid as you may be concluding me to be right now. It just so happens that short crust pastry is the one dough I actually do have some (limited) experience with. My mother and my aunt make this basic butter and flour dough to make patties, and my friend Steph and I worked with it several times while we were creating our Srimaican Patties. We just made a batch last weekend and we reconfirmed that it is very, very forgiving even in very, very pathetic hands. We reconfirm that every time we go near it.

So there's no reason to be scared of this pastry, once you get over the fact that it's...largely...

...butter.

Or lard, or vegetable shortening. But in the case of the recipe here, lots o' butter. Once you've come to terms with that, the rest if a matter of understanding two things:

1. You don't want to form or work a lot of gluten in this dough, which means not a lot of liquid (water and the protein in flour create gluten) or kneading. In fact, when the dough comes together, it looks like a crumbly mess that you will have no confidence in, but stay strong and resist the urge to knead the dough into something totally cohesive and smooth. 
2. And colder butter, colder pastry overall, means a flakier dough. I like to cut the butter up into tiny cubes, then chill it again in the fridge before working it into the dough. I do work it through with my hands, but I wash or dip them in cold water first, and you can use a food processor if you'd like to take the body heat out of the equation altogether.

I've made short-crust pastry now with all-purpose flour and I've also made it with half all-purpose and half whole wheat flour. I've overworked it. I've used an egg and I've mostly gone sans-oeuf. The good news is, that even overworked, this basic recipe I'm sharing turns out just fine. Even with heavier whole wheat flour mixed in, you get a light and delicious crust. But the way to the flakiest (shortest) short crust is to use white, low protein flour (i.e. not bread flour), work quickly with cold ingredients, and an egg makes for a little bit of a lighter crust too. When making something like "hand pies" or these patties, you can take more liberties, because a bit of a stronger dough helps you to hold all of those fillings in anyway. For more delicate recipes, you might want to play by all the rules.

Oh, and I'd read that adding an egg to the batter also adds colour and that perhaps you don't need to brush the pastry with an egg wash before baking. In the photo above, the pastry in the patties on the left included an egg. The pastry on the right did not, but was brushed with a beaten egg before baking. Since I didn't notice a huge difference in the lightness of the crust, I'm sticking with my mom and aunt's egg-free dough recipe, and using an egg wash to get that appetizing gold colour.

Thus concludes the second installment of the le sauce baking academy--but you didn't think I was going to let you go without some homework did you? As with the first "class", I'm relying on you to make sure we get as much out of this as possible, myself included. If you have tips to share, please do so in the comments here and please link to recipes or trials on your own blog too so we can all check them out. If you attempt my recipe, let us know how it goes. And while I'm taking in all of your learning, I'll be rounding out this lesson by learning as much as I can about short-crust dough before the first Tuesday of next month (June 7), like how much of a difference blind-baking this crust makes, and what if any differences there are between the savory and sweet applications. I'll post my recap on the 7th so make sure you get your questions and feedback in before then!

Short-crust Pastry Dough (Pâte Brisée)

Note: My mom and aunt's original recipe called for a slightly smaller amount of butter (6 oz), which produces a good crust for hand pies. I've increased it here to reflect the typical 1:2 ratio of butter to flour in most short crust pastry recipes. You can use 6 oz as I've done in the past, and you can even cut the white flour with half whole wheat flour for a slightly healthier result. For pies and hand pies, you may be as happy as I've been with the results. However, all-purpose flour and more butter are the way to the lightest, flakiest result.)

1 lb all-purpose flour
8 oz unsalted butter, cubed and chilled
1/2 tsp kosher salt
Ice water

In a large mixing bowl, add flour, butter and salt. Work butter into flour with cold hands (chill them for seconds in ice water if necessary), or cut it in using a pastry cutter, breaking the cubes into small pieces. You could also use a food processor up to this point, then remove dough and proceed in a bowl or on a flat surface. The key is to work quickly using cold hands and ingredients to avoid the butter from melting at all. Then add ice water (the water only), 2 tbs at a time to the flour, just as much water as needed to bring the dough together roughly. When the butter and the flour is in pea-sized pieces and still crumbly, turn dough out onto a clean floured surface. Continue to work dough quickly with hands to combine--do not knead, simply pat it together. Add more spoonfuls of water if needed until just combined into ball, don't worry if the edges are somewhat crumbly. Wrap dough tightly in plastic wrap and chill in fridge for at least half an hour.

Remove pastry from fridge and discard plastic wrap. On a clean well-floured surface, roll out pastry to a 1/8” thickness, or as thick as your recipe calls for. If you are at a loss for what to do with your lovely pastry, may I suggest making these patties.

Before baking, brush exposed pastry with a simple egg wash (one beaten egg will do for this amount of dough.) Baked with a pre- or semi-cooked filling, this dough will be perfect and golden after 45 minutes in a 375 degree oven.

Makes enough for 1 10-inch tart pan or 15-18 small patties or hand pies.

buttered bread with lunu miris

This is going to be hard to sell you on. I can't imagine that convincing you to spread ground chili paste on buttered bread for a snack is going to be easy. This is a breakfast I got hooked on when I was young, stealing so many bites of my mother's slice that she eventually had to make me my own. It's so simple, I hope you try this.

First, you make quick concoction of 2 teaspoons of chili flakes, a generous 1/4 teaspoon dash of ground cayenne pepper (which, since it's powdered, helps the paste form), about 1/2 teaspoon of salt to season, and bring it all together by mixing in about 1 tablespoon of water. A squeeze of lime juice and you have a basic lunu miris, though it is sometimes made with chopped onions as well. To eat: absolutely slather a soft piece of bread with butter and then as much lunu miris as you'd like. To turn it into a luxurious treat, have a ripe banana on hand to take bites of and a hot cup of dark, black tea.

spinach, egg yolk ravioli, mushroom brown butter sauce with leek cream

It's hard to say that any one part of the meal was a stand-out, when the menu for a very special dinner we hosted recently included fresh popovers and a red velvet cake. But this was the one that the guests complimented the most--and it was definitely my favourite. One plate-sized ravioli, filled with a perfectly-cooked, soft, organic egg yolk on a bed of scallion, sautéed spinach. The mushrooms were fried in butter then tossed in more browned butter, and the lemon-spiked leek cream on the side was just tart enough to balance the richness. There is some effort involved, but I bet you will think it was worth it once the egg yolk spills out of the fresh pasta and mixes into the butter and cream. 

(above images photographed by james piper)

And the most time-consuming step of the version you see in these pictures? You can skip that...

tempered rice

On a scale of one to ten, one being easy and ten being cry-inducing frustration, having my family teach me to cook the food I grew up eating is a three, and getting at the meaning/translation of the names of dishes or ingredients comes in at about a nine. There was the "fried chickpea", "chickpea fry", "kadala" (translation: chickpeas) discussion, the fact that the name of any non-fried vegetable, say spinach, regardless of spices, technique or chop used, is unanimously titled "cooked spinach", and most recently I've tried to get to the bottom of "tempered rice". I started with the internet to try to avoid a confusing investigation over the phone, but when I struggled to get anywhere online...

Mom: Nana just called it tempered. (Referring to her mother.)

Me: Well, actually it seems that lots of Sri Lankans refer to it as tempered rice.

Mom: Oh, really?!

Me: Yes. But what is being tempered in this dish? Since tempering is a term used in cooking to refer to gradually incorporating something to avoid a drastic temperature or chemical change, I wondered if there was a related meaning here.

Mom: Well, you can just call it fried rice. You're asking for the blog right?

Me: No, it's tempered rice, I just want to be able to explain how it differs from fried rice. Or where the term "tempering" is coming from.

Mom: Well...you know...it's sort of...tempered.

Me: Ok, thanks, Mom.

Back to the internet, and from what I've gathered, the term tempering refers to the fat in this recipe being tempered with the spices and aromatics before the rice is added to it. That results in the rampe, curry leaves and onion really scenting every kernel of this rice and that fragrance is a big part of the overall flavour that hits you when you take your first bite. And if I didn't sell you with that, there is one other thing. 

This rice is fried in butter, baby.

braised leeks au gratin

you may already feel as i do, that leeks and butter lead to happiness. braised leeks, in wine? even better. simple and perfect as is, nothing else required. 

but if like me, you've had leeks gratinée, then one bite of those braised leeks would remind you of their cheese-coated cousin, and you might have a hard time not comparing the two. le sigh.

 

so you might go out and buy some cheese, something special like a comté, appropriately french and strong but not in the least offensive or overpowering. a touch sweet, to match the riesling you're using for braising, playing well with the mild licorice flavour in the tarragon. le wow!

you might make a salad while you wait for the leeks to braise already in the oven. you might have a second glass of that riesling while you wait for the broiler to do its magic. but then...

zut alors! you might accidentally let the crust burn. put down the wine and concentrate for those critical 5 minutes! the reward comes toute suite. 

 

bon appétit!
 
braised leeks au gratin

3 small or 2 large leeks, white and light green part only, trimmed
1 tbs unsalted butter
1 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
1 whole sprig fresh tarragon, plus 1tbs chopped for garnish
2 sprigs fresh thyme, plus 1 tbs leaves for garnish
1/4 c white wine, not too dry (a sweet buttery riesling works well)
1/4 c bread crumbs
1/4 c grated comté or other sharp, strong white cheese
1/4 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper

note: if you're not using an oven-safe pan and lid, have a casserole dish, or individual oval gratin dishes, and enough foil to cover them on hand.

preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

slice the leeks in half, length-wise, and wash them thoroughly. pat them dry with a clean kitchen towel and leave them there to dry completely.

meanwhile heat the oil and butter in a wide heavy-bottomed oven-safe pan or skillet, over medium-high heat. add the leeks, cut side down, making sure that each is making contact with the heat. leave them without turning for 5 minutes or longer, until the cut side starts to brown, but peak at them and ensure they don't burn. once they start to brown, turn them over and brown the other side. if using an oven-safe pan, nestle the 2 thyme sprigs and the tarragon sprig among the leeks, sprinkle the salt and pepper over them evenly, and slowly pour the wine over top. if you're using a casserole or gratin dishes instead, transfer the leeks to them first, then distribute the herbs, seasonings and wine evenly. cover the pot (or the dishes) with an oven-safe lid or with foil. bake in the oven for 20 minutes.

remove pot or dishes from oven and discard the foil and herb sprigs. turn the broiler on, sprinkle the leeks with the cheese and breadcrumbs. return to the oven and broil just until the top browns, which will take as little as 2-5 minutes depending on your oven and how far the rack is from the broiler. watch them carefully so they don't burn.

serve gratin dishes when they have cooled to the touch slightly, or serve leeks onto plates. sprinkle with the chopped tarragon and thyme leaves. the leeks can be challenging to cut, so serve with serrated knives if possible.

serves 3-4 as a starter or side, 2 as a main course.

THAT tomato sandwich

this sandwich has a mini cult following, and i could tell why just by reading the list of ingredients: it unapologetically calls for both mayo and butter. 

mayo and butter and juicy summer tomatoes. i go heavy on all three.

while it's trashy like that (and i mean that in the best way), i still think it's made even better by using awesome bread and maldon salt. i'm allowing myself to have this once a week until i can no longer get tomatoes worthy of this kind of indulgence. that's fine, right? once a week?

the problem is, i have to eat two each time. 

you won't be able to stop yourself either.

 

butter blistered new potatoes with garlic and herbs

i am not one of those people who refuse to turn on the oven in the summer. i think there are perfectly good reasons to do so, and new potatoes are one of them. sure, roasted potatoes are tempting any time of year, but the tiniest new potatoes i'm seeing at the markets right now are special...

 

their very size makes them ideal for roasting because they don't need to be cut to cook evenly. maybe one or two need to be halved, but if you can get the really teensy ones, do so for this recipe. their skins will blister and crisp up, and the insides will get cooked to creaminess in just twenty minutes. 

they almost burst in your mouth. and then there's the butter.

 

 

usually i roast potatoes with olive oil and herbs--you too? i could have used olive oil here, but i jumped on the specialness of these new potatoes as an excuse to use butter. butter and garlic, getting all nutty and sweet in the high heat of the oven. every time i make these, after the potatoes are all gone, i swipe my finger through the butter/herb/garlic sauce left behind on the foil and lick away. there's no way you will want to throw that out.

butter blistered new potatoes with garlic and herbs  

1 1/2 lbs new potatoes, washed and dried
2 tbs unsalted butter
1/4 c fresh dill fronds, plus 2 sprigs
1/8 c fresh thyme leaves, plus 2 sprigs
1 large clove garlic, peeled
1/4 tsp coarse salt
maldon salt to garnish

preheat the oven to 450 degrees.

meanwhile, set aside the sprigs of thyme and dill for garnishing, and roughly chop the leaves. mince the garlic.

set a small pan over medium heat and add the butter, chopped herbs, garlic and coarse salt. heat the butter until it's half melted. remove the pan from heat and continue to stir. the residual heat will melt the butter.

leave the tiny potatoes (one inch in size) whole, and cut any potatoes larger than that in half. add all to a large bowl. pour the seasoned, melted butter over top and mix well to coat the potatoes. line a large, 4-sided baking sheet with foil, and pour potatoes and the mixture out onto it evenly.

bake in the centre of the preheated oven for 20 minutes. the butter will start to bubble and brown. check any larger pieces with a fork and make sure they are cooked through. if not, roast for another 5 minutes.

remove the sheet from the oven carefully and mix the potatoes well in the butter and herbs. crush some of the maldon salt in your fingers and sprinkle it over top of the potatoes. strip the leaves from the herb sprigs set aside and scatter them over top. serve hot.

serves 4 as a side dish.