A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus

There are those cookbooks we read about that are just signed to a contract, so we wait and wait and finally find them on a wish list, with the author's name and just a tentative title, then one day a cover photo appears, and then you pre-order, and finally that pub date comes around and a week or so later, there it is, the cookbook you have been waiting for.

That was the story of Renee Erickson's A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus.  When it finally arrived, it just sat on the table, because we wanted to savor the moment.  Then we got all excited because we wanted to write about it.  And then...

So today, I picked up A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus and began flipping through it like I had just gotten my copy.  So I checked to see what I had written about it.  Like this happens all too often, there was no "there"  there.  How in the world did we never write about this book.  We hang our head in shame.

First, Renee Erickson just looks like she would so much fun, we really don't care if she can cook a lick.  We are also fond of the idea that she went to school to be a painter.  The world needs more cooks who are painters.  She opened her first restaurant when she was young and enlisted her entire family to help her out.  She cooked because she wanted to cook, to offer up a small, fun place for people to break bread.

She learned to cook reading Julia Child and our fave, Elizabeth David, she loves France and her favorite Birthday dinner is steak!  Who doesn't love her?

The book features stories about various providers for her restaurants, stories about the dishes, helpful notes, and the occasional shopping tip. The recipes in the book are seasonal, and organized in menu's.  One can cook a menu or an individual dish.   One of my favorites is Mussels in Cider.

Mussels in Cider

In Blainville-sur-Mer, a tiny town on Normandy’s Cotentin Peninsula, there’s a quirky little restaurant called La Cale, whose official street address is “La Plage,” or, simply, “the beach.” It overlooks the tidal flats that stretch five kilometers into the sea—an area that accounts for more than 10 percent of France’s oyster production—but at high tide, when all traces of aquaculture disappear, it’s simply a beachfront bistro with a few legs of lamb on an open hearth. It’s homey, complete with picnic tables and a “serve yourself ” rule that explains why patrons cut their own bread, fetch their own water, and choose their own wine from a shelf next to the bar. The rule does not explain why the room is adorned in giant needlepoints of various nudes, both male and female, but the artworks add a je ne sais quoi that I’d miss if I returned to find them replaced with something more modest.
When you order mussels there, they come in the pot they were cooked in, steamed in cider and topped with a generous dollop of creme fraiche, which whoever has thought to grab a ladle gets to stir into them just before serving. This recipe is similar. And as you do at La Cale, you should eat a small mussel first, then use its shell as a utensil to pry the mussels out of the remaining shells.

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 large shallots, thinly sliced (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
3 cups dry hard cider
3 pounds mussels, cleaned and debearded
Freshly squeezed lemon juice, for seasoning
Kosher salt
3/4 cup creme fraiche
1/2 cup loosely packed whole tarragon leaves (no stems)
Crusty bread, for serving

In a large, high-sided saucepan or soup pot, melt the butter over medium-low heat. When the butter has melted, add the shallots and cook, stirring, until the shallots are soft, about 5 minutes. Whisk in the mustard, add the cider, then increase the heat to medium-high. Add the mussels and cook, covered, until they begin to open, about 5 minutes. Remove the lid and begin transferring the mussels that have cooked to a large bowl, stirring and prodding until all the mussels have opened and have been transferred to the bowl. (Discard any mussels that do not open.) Increase the heat to high and simmer the cider for 3 minutes, or until it has reduced by about a third. Season the liquid to taste with lemon juice and salt, then reduce the heat to low. Return the mussels to the pot, add the creme fraiche and tarragon, and stir gently until the mussels are warmed through and coated with the cream. Serve immediately, with the bread.

Now if only Renee were here to enjoy them with us.

Prune

We really wanted a cookbook from Gabrielle Hamilton, so when she signed a book deal, we were ecstatic.  But then she published Blood, Bones, and Butter.  Now that was a great book, but it was a memoir -- without recipes.  So needless to say, we were bummed.  When we found out her second book would, indeed, be a cookbook, Prune,  it made our wish list, immediately.  

When it arrived, it came out of the box pristine, encased in shrink wrap.  That was a problem.  you see, we couldn't bear to open it.  It was so lovely, and new, and wrapped in shrink wrap.  So it sat on the table for weeks until we could stand it no more and tore into it.

Since pink is our signature color, we loved it right away and we do love any book with that elastic band on the side to keep it closed.  (Full disclosure, as much as we love those things, they almost always break, come loose, rip, or stretch out of shape, so really we should have kept the whole thing shrink wrapped!)

The book has all of Hamilton's "don't screw with me" style.  The book is printed to look like it has been bounced around a kitchen for years.  The pages are smudged, their are written notations, and portion conversion on what are supposed to look like torn post-its.  

The recipes are written as though you are in the Prune kitchen and she is telling you how to do the dish.  So it is chatty while being "chefy," as though you are part of "in" joke -- Prune is a restaurant book for a home cook, but we are pretending that you are one of us and here with us at Prune.  Some people might not get the joke.  But if you have read a lot of precious restaurant cookbook and thought to yourself,  "What does this mean?" you will love this book. 

The best way to illustrate this is to look at this recipe.  It has been printed several places with directions that are rather straightforward and boring.  But take a look at how Hamilton explains the dish.  

Spaghetti alla Carbonara

2 1/2 ounces pancetta, in neat  1-inch cubes
4 ounces dried spaghetti, (dried weight)
1-2 egg yolks
1/4 cup grated Parmesan
1 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 
 kosher salt
 

Evenly scatter cubed raw pancetta into a cold large cast-iron skillet. Set over medium-low flame and render slowly, stirring occasionally until crisp and golden brown on all sides and sitting in significant amount of its own rendered fat, and cubes reduced in size by half.
Transfer to metal 1/6 pan, including fat, and leave in warm area of your station.

Cook spaghetti in a big stockpot of boiling salted water -- stir during cooking to be sure the strands are separated.

 

When pasta bends without snapping but is still significantly undercooked, drain immediately in a large colander and hose down thoroughly with cold water, running your hands through each strand and making sure you have stopped the cooking process. Pasta needs to be cool to the touch throughout.  Drain very well; store in your reach-in.

For the pick up:

Drop para cooked pasta into boiling water.  Move swiftly from here to finish--pasta only needs 90 seconds--2 minutes at most-- in the reheat.

In clean stainless bowl, put 2 yolks  and a hearty spoonful of  rendered pancetta and some of its fat.      

Sprinkle black pepper over egg and fatty pancetta until  light dusting obscures the yolks.

 Pull hot pasta, drain briefly over pot, turn out onto the yolk/pancetta, letting some of the cooking water drip in, too.
Stir rapidly and vigorously to cook the yolks with the residual heat of the pasta and to coat each strand with egg and fat.
Season with salt and generous/liberal sprinkle of grated parm and continue stirring to evenly distribute cheese and salt.
Make neat spiral in center of pasta bowl as best you can when plating. Plate quickly.

Don't let this sit in the pass.

Given that this is already a bastardy version of real Spaghetti alla Carbonara, pulled together to accommodate the realities of busy brunch and the confines of a sauté station, please take care not to compromise the dish any further than we've already had to make it work in the restaurant setting.

Pay attention to the toothsome was of the pasta – don't get lost in your timing and let this just boil away in the pickup until it is flabby and bloated and disgusting.

Don't "creamy up" the yolk and parm with extra hot pasta water or extra cheese or by adding the cheese early so that it melts – sometimes I have been dismayed to see it go out looking like creamy white pasta Alfredo.

Ideally, we want the strands slick with yellow, eggy egg yolk and smoky, salty, uriney pancetta fat, with all the granules of sweet, nutty, grated parm clinging to the strands. You want to see the black pepper, taste the floralness of it, and feel the warm heat of it in the dish – but don't obliterate.

 

Ask yourself what other chef you know that would describe pancetta as "uriney." We do love Hamilton.

Chez Maxim's

 "It was an accumulation of velvet, lace, ribbons, diamonds and what all else I couldn't describe. To undress one of these women is like an outing that calls for three weeks' advance notice, it's like moving house."

Jean Cocteau on the women dining at Maxim's

Rarely does a restaurant rise so high above its food as Maxim's has.  Say "Maxim's" and most people immediately know of the restaurant but rarely could they tell you a single dish on the menu.  It's no wonder, eating at Maxim's is a literary shortcut to convey wealth and worldliness.  From The Merry Widow to Fawlty Towers, from Ian Fleming to Quentin Tarantino the very mention of Maxim's fills the mind with wonder. 

Maxim's hay day may well have been the late 1950's and 1960's.  The "International Jet Set" made Maxim's their home away from home as the likes of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Maria Callas, Porfirio Rubirosa, Barbara Hutton, and Jacqueline and Aristotle Onassis were frequent guests.   It was during this era that Maxim's published their cookbook, Chez Maxim's.  It was quite a document in 1962.  The book is big and filled with recipes, stories, and photos including full page color photographs laid in. 

If there is a "famous" Maxim's recipe it may well be Potage Billy By.  According to the cookbook:

It was Louis Barthe, the former chef at Maxim's, who told me the story behind the Potage Billy By. In 1925, he was working in the kitchen at Ciro's, a restaurant in Deauville known for a special mussels dish with a particularly succulent juice. One day a very good customer, Mr. William Brand, decided to invite some American friends to Ciro's. Mussels are generally eaten with the fingers in France, using one double-shell as tongs to scoop the meat out of the others. As Mr. Brand wanted to spare his fiends this delicate operation, he requested that the juice be served without the mussels. It was such a success that during the days that followed, each of his guests returned separately to Ciro's and ordered the "Potage Billy Brand." For the sale of the discretion, it was placed on the menu as "Potage Billy B." and thus was born the "Potage Bill By" which has since become a classic of the French culinary tradition.

The soup was popularized in America by Pierre Franey.  In 1961, Craig Claiborne published Pierre Franey's recipe for "billi bi" in his New York Times Cookbook, declaring, "This may well be the most elegant and delicious soup ever created. It may be served hot or cold."

Franey's history of the soup list William B. Leeds as the soups' namesake, leading to years of conflicting stories.

"The story goes that a wealthy American named William B. Leeds lived off and on, in Paris and that his favorite restaurant was Maxim's. The menu listed a cream of mussel soup, and this was his choice on almost every visit. Leeds was a real favorite of the owner and as a result of his passion for the soup it was dubbed billi-bi, a version, of course, of Billy B."

A 1958 book about Maxim's written by Jean Mauduit states it was named for Brand.

Franey might have the namesake wrong but Claiborne may well have been right about "delicious."

Potage Billy By

1 1/2 cups Fumet de Poisson
2 qt. mussels
1 large onion
1 stalk celery
2 cups heavy whipping cream
1 cup dry white wine
2 sprigs parsley
1/2 tsp. ground peppercorns
Salt

Scrape and wash the mussels thoroughly.  Mince the onion and place it in a deep saucepan along with the celery, wine, and pepper. Add the muscles, cover the sauce pan, and boil over a high flame for 6 minutes. Shake the muscles in the pan two or three times during the cooking process so that those on top go to the bottom and vice versa. When the muscles are open remove and drain them. Pour the liquid in the sauce pan through a fine strainer, return to the saucepan, and reduced to about 1 quart of liquid. Add the Fumet de Poisson and cream and reheat over a low flame until liquid comes almost to the boiling point, stirring continually with a wooden spatula. Season to taste.

Serve very hot without the muscles. This soup can also be served cold.
 

 Pierre Cardin eventually bought Maxim's and now it is more famous as a brand than a restaurant. 

Love and Dishes

 

Sometimes restaurateurs are raconteurs.  A lot of the time.  This is true of Niccolo de Quattrociocchi.  The story goes, Nicky won $16,000 in Monte Carlo.  With that money he set sail for America, buying a stake in a restaurant, El Borracho.

El Borracho, despite its rather unfortunate name was a bastion of fine French cuisine.  With a bit of fine Italian cuisine thrown in. There was also a great bar.  Nicky brought his rakish charm with wild decorations and grand ideas.   There was the infamous "Kiss Room"  upholstered in lipstick print fabric and decorated with actual kisses from patrons.  The room was so popular it spawned a lipstick ad.

Each table at El Borracho held a bright yellow card which bore the following notice:

 "If you have enjoyed the dinner, the service, and the atmosphere of El Borracho, PLEASE DO NOT tell your friends as our seating capacity is limited. -- The Management." 

A natural born story teller, Quattrociocchi wrote of his many adventures and misadventures at El Borracho in Love and Dishes.  And what is a good story without food?  A few chapters of anecdotes is followed by over 200 recipes.  Nicky even offers up a bit of  restaurant etiquette in his Ten Commandments, that drag out to 23 commandments remaining as pertinent today as they were in the 1940's.

Tip quietly, discreetly.   The girl with you will know you don't kiss and tell.

If you feel romantic, don't neck in the restaurant.  There is a time, place, and a quiet room for things of that sort.

Also, don't be a sound effects eater. Chew with your mouth closed.

   While you are eating politely, this might just be the dish to try.

Champagne Hen

1 young hen
12 cup celery
1/2 cup mushrooms chopped
2 shallots chopped
1 cup champagne
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon tarragon
1.2 teaspoon gelatin

Stuff he hen with a dressing  made of celery, mushrooms, shallots and tarragon.  Allow the hen to stand for 12 hours, then place in an oven (325) 1 hour and baste with the champagne until tender.  Then place int he refrigerator to cool.  Reduce stock and season with paprika.  Add gelatin.  Pour mixture over hen and cool well before serving.

And lest you think Nicky was only interested in his guests, he also has a soft spot for cats and offered up this tale of his own Don Q.   It would seem that a nonunion cat sitter failed to live up to Don Q.'s  dietary standards.  The cat was so upset, Nicky was forced to take him to psychoanalyst.   Lest you worry about your cat, here is Nicky's cat menu.

Chopped, cooked chicken.
Chicken liver, raw or parboiled.
calf's liver, raw or parboiled.
Boiled shrimp.
Boiled lobster.
Any kind of fish, rainbow trout or fillet of sole preferred.
Sirloin or tenderloin of beef, very rare with a touch of garlic.
A drop or two of mineral oil every now and then.
Always mix a little chopped spinach or grated carrot with meals.

 In keeping with his theme, Niccolo de Quattrociocchi was often quoted as saying,

"A meal without wine is like love with out a kiss."