Artichokes Mandeville

Creamy crabmeat and artichoke salad served in an artichoke pirogue beached upon a light tossed salad, as cool and refreshing as the champagne on ice beside it.

When you feel like getting carried away, a pirogue is the perfect means of transportation.

Here’s what you’ll need:

3 artichokes, of the pointy variety

3 lemons

1/2 lb lump crabmeat

1 stalk of celery, minced

1 scallion, finely sliced, with a lot of green

1/2 C mayonnaise

1/4 C sour cream

1 t minced tarragon

hot sauce

black pepper

peppercorns

bay leaves

olive oil

The Pirogues

Put a stock pot filled with enough water to cover the artichokes over high heat. Stir into the water about a 1/4 cup of good olive oil; a handful of peppercorns; a couple of garlic cloves sliced in half; the juice and carcasses of two lemons; and a bay leaf.

Of the three artichokes, take the two most boat like, and trim them: with a pair of scissors, starting at the bottom, clip the thorny tip of each leaf until you work you way up to the point. Do not touch the leaves that comprise the point of the artichoke. It is the bow of your boat, and should be left intact. These two artichokes will be cooked, then sliced in half - forming four pirogues. But that’s later.

The third artichoke has a different purpose, so don’t worry about trimming it.

When the water is boiling, throw in all three artichokes, cover, and, on low-medium heat, cook 30 minutes. When they are done, remove, drain and allow to cool.

With a sharp knife, remove the stems, and set aside.

Take the untrimmed artichoke, and slice off the point - about 2-3 inches down from the tip. Now remove all the leaves. Since it is cooked, you can do much of this with your fingers. Nestled in the center of things, you will see the choke, prickly and disagreeable. With a paring knife, or a grapefruit spoon, or both, carefully scoop out the choke, leaving something like a basin. Whittle away the rough hide around it, and you will have something resembling a hockey puck with a dip in the top. Something you would put under a table leg to protect the floor.

In the canned goods world, this is what is called an “artichoke bottom.” But it is really the artichoke heart - that is, the heart of the honest-to-God-artichoke. I have to be careful here, because in the canned goods world, what is called an “artichoke heart” is not that at all. It is basically a “baby artichoke,” but do not suppose that to be an infant artichoke. Oh, no, it is a  fully matured artichoke whose growth was stunted because denied the sun by the h-t-G artichoke above it on the stalk. Having no choke, it is wholly edible, and should therefore be forgiven for all the confusion it causes. Whew.

There is a parable in all that, somewhere. One day we will find it in a country song.

Now the two remaining artichokes are ready to become pirogues. With a large, sharp knife carefully slice them in half lengthwise. With a smaller sharp knife, trace a line - giving yourself an outside margin of at least 1/8 inch - around the choke, then cut along that line more and more deeply until you can remove the choke with your fingers. Remove the inner leaves, which are inedible - if you are unsure, take a bite and decide for yourself. But you want enough room for about a half cup of crab salad. More detail about all this, along with some photographs, can be found at Artichoke Pirogues With Crawfish Cardinale 

Now peel the stems, cutting away all but the tender (comparatively, anyway) flesh. Throw them in with the heart and dice it all up, quarter inch. This will assist in turning what would otherwise be  Crabmeat Mandeville into Artichoke Mandeville.

The Crabmeat Salad

In a mixing bowl, blend the celery, green onion, mayonnaise, sour cream, tarragon, a few dashes of your favorite hot sauce, and black pepper to taste. Cut the remaining lemon in half lengthwise. Set one half aside and zest the other. Squeeze the juice of the zested lemon into the crab mixture, and stir in the zest. Fold in the crabmeat, not in any heavy handed way, along with the diced artichoke meat.

Thinly slice the remaining half lemon into so many half moons. Pick the nicest four for garnish.

Now you have four pirogues. Fill them with the crabmeat salad, dividing it evenly. Lend a becoming blush with a sprinkle of cayenne or paprika. Garnish with the lemon slices.

Chill.

Serve atop a green salad, tossed with a light dressing, the simpler perhaps the better, the remaining lemon slices thrown in.

Alabama Hot Slaw

The day I first experienced the St. Florean Memorial Day Barbeque in Florence, Alabama, was the day I discovered Alabama Hot Slaw. It was heaped upon a worthy sandwich of pulled pork, and was just hot enough to get away with the name - though not by much. But it was delicious - and really brought an already terrific sandwich up a couple of notches. Like a perfectly matched wine can take an already perfect dish to a new height. 

Slaw is great on a BBQ sandwich. That is established. It’s been going on in the piedmont of North Carolina for a long time - the red slaw on the coarse-chopped shoulder, and a sandwich that will steal your heart. But as wonderful as that is, this can be even better - because this slaw is better.

1/2 head cabbage, shredded (or a 1 lb bag from your grocer)

2 stalks celery, finely chopped

1 bell pepper, finely chopped

1 onion, finely chopped

1/2 C white vinegar

1/2 C sugar

10 oz. catsup - 10 oz wt is about 1 C

1/2 T tabasco

1/2 t cayenne

1/2 t black pepper

1/2 t salt

1/4 C finely chopped sweet pickle

(Ok, when I have them, I use candied jalapenos instead)

Chill.

Then Chill.

Braciole

In my younger days I lived in Boston - on Hancock Street, just a a few steps off 'Dot' Ave - and played the role of the impoverished student. But it wasn't bad enough to rate the term, really. I had my GI Bill, and a part time job, and rent in a condemned building is awfully cheap. With a little prioritizing, one could live pretty well. Volume could be the key consideration. As my similarly situated friends (there were several habitable apartments in Hancock House, as we called it) quickly learned, on a diet  predominantly of Jell-O and popcorn, we need never stoop to drinking domestic. I hear even now the stately toast - 'Gentlemen, I give you - starvation!' Those were the days.

And when splurging was an option, there was spaghetti. At Purity Supreme, the grocery around the corner, a pound of it went for just 55 cents. The ingredients for a respectable sauce - even with meat - could be had for a few bucks more. There were other delicacies within our means. Like these super thin cuts of round steak - not so cheap by the pound, but sliced so thin that a little went a very long way. They were labled braciole - which I assumed was pronounced like broccoli with an Italian accent - and were terrific done up in a skillet for a breakfast of steak and eggs. 

Then along comes a friend who not only knew how to pronounce braciole (brah-'zhol), but actually had a recipe, and showed us what it was all about. Stuffed with Italian sausage and braised with tomatoes, it was absolutely fantastic with spaghetti. 

I have since learned that braciole is typically made with a stuffing of breadcrumbs, parsley, cheese and pine-nuts - but at best, that's only so-so with spaghetti.  

Down South, odds are you won’t find the already thin sliced braciole cuts on the butcher’s shelf; so you have to butterfly it yourself.

Which brings us to flank steak. It’s not only a great cut of beef - its dimensions are made to order. It's also fairly easy to butterfly.

FOR THE BRAISING SAUCE:

1 medium onion chopped;

5 carrots, julienned;

1 small fennel bulb, thin sliced in 2 inch lengths (save the fronds);

6 garlic cloves, minced;

1 24 oz can tomato puree;

1/2 C chicken broth;

1/2 C dry vermouth;

1/4 C olive oil;

Salt and pepper

  

FOR THE BRACIOLE:

1 flank steak, 1 1/2 pounds or so, butterflied - pounded to about 1/4 inch thickness;

1 pound hot Italian sausage (removed from casing if using actual sausages);

2 C freshly made, and not too fine bread crumbs (if using store-bought, make it 1 1/2 C Panko);

1/2 C parsley, finely chopped;

1/2 C selected fronds from fennel bulb, finely chopped;

Parmesan cheese for sprinkling

TO MAKE IT:

1. PREHEAT OVEN TO 350 DEGREES

2. Butterfly the steak. You’ll need a long, sharp knife. A boning or carving knife is ideal. Lay the steak on the cutting board before you, with the grain (which is easily seen on a flank steak) running up and down. Imagine the steak is a book, and you wish to open it at the middle-most page - but the pages are glued together, so you will have operate. The steak will probably be about an inch thick. You want to cut that thickness in half.  Hold the knife as flatly as possible and cut along the middle of the right edge (or if you are left handed, the left edge) and saw a little, working your way up and down the length of that edge. 

Continue, deepening and smoothing, until you can  peel back the top half of the book, and keep peeling and cutting until it is in fact like an open book - but do not go so far as to cut it in two. Then flatten it with the heel of your hand, cover it with plastic wrap, and pound it with a meat mallet - front and back - as uniformly as possible, until you have a general thickness of about a quarter inch.

Now that you’ve read all this, it may have occurred to you to JUST FIND A VIDEO DEMONSTRATION on line.

If by chance the steak comes apart on you, no worries. It does not have to be all in one piece. You can make more than one braciole. It will all be sliced into so many roundels anyway.

3. Blend sausage with bread crumbs until spreadable, and mold sausage over the steak, covering each piece, maintaining a margin of about an inch; cover it evenly with parsley and fennel fronds; sprinkle with Parmesan cheese.

4. Starting with a wide end - with the grain, as you face it, running left and right, east and west - carefully, tightly roll the steak, just as you would a jelly-roll. The grain should be running with the length of the cylinder you are forming - that way, when the roll is sliced into roundels, you will be cutting against the grain - which makes for better eating.

Then, with 10 inch pieces of string, at 2 1/2 - 3 inch intervals, tie the roll securely. Generously salt and pepper. Cut the roll in half, for better maneuverability. Now you are ready to sear it.

5. In a Dutch oven, over medium high heat, bring the oil to shimmering. Add meat rolls, and, turning with tongs, brown thoroughly. Remove and drain.

6. Reduce heat to medium, add carrots, onions and garlic;  sauté, stirring occasionally. When vegetables have wilted, add broth and wine, scraping the bottom to loosen any tasty residue from the saute. Blend in the tomato puree, and bring to bubbling.

7. Place steak rolls back in Dutch oven, turning them in the sauce. Transfer the Dutch oven to the preheated oven and cook COVERED 1 hour, giving the meat another turn about half way through. Then, turn the rolls again, and cook UNCOVERED 30 minutes.

8. Remove the rolls, allow to cool, and slice into 3/8 - 1/2 inch roundels.

9. Serve atop pasta, covered in sauce and grated cheese. 

Creole Fricassee of Chicken a la Jardiniere

This isn't a new twist on an old standby. It's an old twist on an old standby.

Chicken fricassee holds a special place in Creole cuisine - front and center. It is so fundamental, so basic that to an old Creole it must have seemed quite ordinary. But thumbing through archived recipes of a century ago (in The Times Picayune Creole Cookbook), one can see that it did not have to be ordinary. It could be transformed into something stupendous. Fricassee a la Jardiniere is an outright celebration, a showcase of the best of the garden.

You begin with the chicken fricassee - a sauté of chicken, braised in sauce with aromatics, swimming in gravy, laced with green onion - but then you get extravagant. There are already vegetables in the fricassee. That was just part of the foreplay.

Now for the showcase vegetables - they are our second line. And it can be everything a second line should be. Arrange them on top of the fricassee, in and out of the gravy, nestled among drumstick, thigh and breast. Then finish it all in a hot oven.

FIRST LINE FRICASSEE

 

1 C (in all) olive oil

1 1/2 C (in all) flour

1 chicken, cut into 8 pieces

salt and pepper

2 carrots diced

1 1/2 C diced onion

1 C diced fennel bulb

3/4 C diced bell pepper

3/4 C diced celery

3 T finely chopped garlic

1 C green onions, sliced, with a good bit of green - Note: the green onions are not to be added until the braise is finished.

2 C chicken broth

1 can condensed beef broth

3/4 C white wine

2 t paprika

1/2 t cayenne

1/2 t black pepper

1/2 t white pepper

4-5 springs of fresh thyme
Sour cream (optional) 

1. Generously salt and pepper the chicken pieces. Scatter 1 C flour on a plate, and dredge chicken in flour, thoroughly coating each piece.

2. In Dutch oven, over medium high heat, bring 1/2 C oil to shimmering, then brown the chicken, in two batches so as not to over-crowd, 3 or 4 minutes a side, till golden brown all over; set aside.

3. Discard oil, wipe pan - but do not disturb any brown crust left on the bottom - do remove any burnt spots - and add 1/2 C fresh oil.

4. PREHEAT OVEN to 375

5. Blend in 1/2 C flour, stir until smooth, and cook over medium heat, still stirring occasionally, till you have a golden brown roux.

6. Stir in all the vegetables except the green onions, and stir, stir - till vegetables are wilting. Then add paprika, cayenne, black and white pepper - still stirring.

7. Slowly add the chicken broth, stirring until well incorporated. As it thickens, add the consume, a little at a time, and then the wine - still stirring -

8. Place the chicken back in the pot, cover. Lower heat and simmer 45 minutes.

9. Stir in the green onions. You might wish to stir in some sour cream, too.

And the fricassee is basically done. Now to make it a la jardiniere.

SECOND LINE VEGETABLES

10. Add your second line vegetables to the fricassee after it has been braised for 45 minutes. Keep them on the surface - at least don’t fully submerge them. But do make sure everything is at least moistened in the sauce. With tongs lift exposed pieces of chicken enough to allow some crisping of skin.

11. Then place Dutch oven in oven, uncovered, on an upper rack, and cook 15 minutes.

Artichoke. This recipe should feed to bursting four people. So an artichoke, quartered, will provide each an interesting diversion. If you have more than four people, you might wish to cut it into eighths. Or use two artichokes. Bring to a boil enough water to cover the artichoke, add the juice of a lemon, the lemon itself, a bay leaf, a couple of garlic cloves, a teaspoon of peppercorns and some olive oil - don't forget the artichoke. Cook for 30 minutes. Remove,  and drain. Cut off the stem, peel it and slice it. Cut the artichoke in half, length wise. Carefully remove the spiny choke and the tough inner leaves; then - with cut side facing down - carefully slice the halves in two.

Cauliflower. Cut it in half, lengthwise. Half a cauliflower should be plenty (save the other half for a salad). Cut florets from the stalk, and halve the larger ones if it will make the general size more uniform. Over high heat, bring about a quart of water to a boil. In a large bowl, prepare an ice water bath. Drop the florets into the boiling water, give it a few seconds to get back up to a boil, and cook 3 minutes. Remove the florets and drop into the ice water bath. When cool, remove.

Corn. Boil an ear or two for 10 minutes. Remove, and cut into 1/2 inch roundels.

Green peas. 1/C fresh, blanched for three minutes; or thawed frozen - no precooking necessary.

Cherry tomatoes. Especially if you can find a variety of sizes and colors. 1 C should suffice.  

Serve over rice - or dirty rice. Get casual. Use your hands - with the artichoke and the corn, you’ll have to.

There are of course a lot of other options for the second line vegetables: spring onions, roasted in foil; wedges of fennel bulb, roasted without the foil; roasted garlic, patty pan squash, red chilis; blanched asparagus or broccoli florets - and on and on.

Cornish Hen Paradis

Madeira demi glace spiked with current jelly and truffles, and adorned with fresh green grapes – an old haute Creole concoction – Sauce Paradis was once upon a time served with the squab at Antoine’s. But it is great on anything – veal scallops browned in butter sure comes to mind – though it especially shines with roasted fowl.

Squab is a young pigeon, right? Getting your hands on a pigeon can be complicated. It can involve more embarrassment than one would expect. When you live in a small town, you can’t count on anonymity. So I gave up on Pigeonneaux Sauce Paradis; I need a bird I can get in the grocery store. A Cornish hen will do. And each guest can still have a picture perfect fine-figure-of-a-fowl on his or her very own plate.

  

My wife says this dish is perfect for Easter, because it has the fresh look of Spring, and there is absolutely nothing ordinary about it. It is, she says, Holiday special. (She really talks like that).

It might be a good idea to serve a light salad as a first course, and then end with the bird - and just the bird. Lots of garlic bread nearby for the sauce.

The last time we made this, we finished by passing the roasting pan around the table for mopping up with the last of the bread.

That’s how everybody knew it was time for dessert.

For each Cornish Hen:

With a pair of Kitchen shears remove the backbone, and save it to make a broth with later on. Spread out the hen, breast up, on a work surface. Press down on the breast until you hear the pop, and flatten the bird. Rub it down with olive oil, and generously salt and pepper.

On a half sheetpan, in a 400 degree oven, roast the birds for 40 to 45 minutes. You want them done enough to come easily off the bone, with some crisp in the skin to stand up to the sauce.

SAUCE PARADIS

1 stick butter

1/4 C flour

2 C condensed beef consomme

1/2 C Madeira

3 T current jelly

1/8 t white pepper

3 C sliced white grapes

black truffle - at least 1 whole truffle, sliced 

In a 2 quart sauce pan, on low heat, melt a stick of butter, then add a quarter cup of flour, and start whisking. You are making a roux. A blondish roux, not a dark one; the darker the roux the less thickening power. Five or ten minutes on low heat should be enough to cook the flour taste out of it, but not so much you’ll wind up with soup instead of sauce.

Then - still whisking - blend in 2 Cups of condensed beef consomme.

Don’t worry, this is not one of those condensed soup recipes from A Man, a Can, and a Plan (which, by the way, is a great little book). The original prescription is for a rich beef broth - so why not condensed beef consomme? Beats looking for a bunch of bones and an extra couple of days’ work. Or reducing four cups of regular beef broth to make it double strength. But a 10.5 ounce can contains only 1 1/4 Cups, so you will need two cans. (The dog is entitled to the remainder mixed in with his dry food).

Back to the sauce – whisking, whisking – Blend in 1/2 Cup Madeira. This makes it old world Southern. Use Rainwater Madeira, and it makes it even more so. There are some good stories about Rainwater Madeira and old Savannah - which I should save for a Savannah recipe.

Add the 1/8 t white pepper and 3 T’s currant jelly. Keep stirring. It will begin to thicken.

Keep cooking and stirring. You don’t want to add the truffles until you are pretty much done with the stirring. No sense in breaking them up any more than you have to.

Once you have the sauce the way you want it, add the truffles and any remaining truffle liquid.

Then add the grapes and turn off the heat. 

Shortly before the birds are ready to take out of the oven, start reheating the sauce.

When the birds are done, sauce them, arranging the grapes and truffle slices for best effect.

Put them back in the oven for five or ten minutes, to glaze the sauce and get them piping hot before serving.

This same recipe works just fine with any manner of roast fowl. Butterfly a chicken, roast it, reheat it with sauce and then cut it up. Think about thinly sliced turkey breast - which is screaming for sauce. What about duck? You like Veal Marsala? You’ll like Veal Madeira. You’ll die for Veal Paradis. Ever notice that any veal dish makes a great pork dish? It goes on and on.

This sauce is special.

Cajun Roast Pork

This is a lean cut roast in the style of Prudhomme, with the abundant gravy that was the hallmark of the fatter cut recipes. But it is not cooked as Chef Paul would have prescribed, for he was bound by the rules of the day - when, just to be sure it was safe, pork had to be cooked to a temperature of 160 degrees. The fact that pork loin’s optimal temperature for eating is more like 145 - 150 degrees didn’t carry much weight.

But with improved industry standards, things have changed. There is no longer any need to overcook pork loin. Hallelujah.

This roast is pretty to look at, and suited to an elegant presentation, sliced and sauced on a big platter. But it eats like comfort food, and should be accompanied by something that thrives on gravy - rice, mashed potatoes, cornbread dressing, cheese grits, or biscuits. The last time I made it I served it with a Creole eggplant casserole, and boy did that work well. 

Here it is:

  

Roast Pork Louisiane

3-4 pound pork loin roast (from the rib end)

1 T sugar

1 T salt

1 T black pepper

INGREDIENTS FOR STUFFING:

3 T butter

1 large onion, finely chopped

1 large red bell pepper, finely chopped

1 large green bell pepper, finely chopped

2 stalks celery, finely chopped

6 cloves garlic, minced

1 1/2 t salt

1 heaping t thyme

1 scant t cayenne

1/2 t black pepper

1/2 t white pepper

1/2 t dry mustard

INGREDIENTS FOR gravy:

4 C’s unsalted chicken broth

1 C red wine or Madeira

2 T vinegar

2 T corn starch

****************************************

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2. In a saucepan blend the 4 C’s chicken broth and 1 C wine, and over high heat reduce by half.

3. Rub sugar, salt and pepper all over the pork. With a paring knife, cutting lengthwise with the grain on the fat side of the pork, make 12 to 15 deep slits - each two to three inches long. Cut as deeply as possible without going all the way through to the bottom. With your fingers stretch and enlarge these slits to form pockets for the stuffing. These pockets should be roughly 1 1/2 inches apart, in rows down the length of the pork, staggered so that slicing anywhere against the grain would cut into two or three pockets. Also cut pockets into the ends. 

4. In a large skillet, sauté stuffing ingredients (vegetables first, then, when colors brighten, the spice) in butter over fairly high heat for five minutes, stirring frequently. Remove to a dish big enough to accommodate the pork and the vegetables - a 9 x 13 inch baking dish is probably ideal - and allow to cool.

5. Place the pork in the stuffing dish, and fill the pockets with stuffing. Press vegetables as deeply as possible into the pockets, filling them to capacity. There should be a considerable amount of stuffing left over. It will be used.

6. Wipe clean the skillet, add 3 T of oil, and get it hot. Carefully - using tongs and spatula - place pork fat side down in the hot oil, and brown for several minutes. You will lose some stuffing in the process, but searing should constrict the pocket slits enough to hold things together. Turning with tongs and spatula, brown the roast all over - including the ends. It should take about ten minutes.

7. Cut two stalks of celery in half. Arrange these pieces cross-ways like the rungs of a ladder along the bottom of a roasting pan, forming sort of a rack for the pork. Place the pork upon this rack, and press additional stuffing in all the pockets - as much as they will hold. With your hands scoop up the excess stuffing and mold it to completely cover the topside of the pork. This buttery, spicy mixture will baste the pork during roasting.

8. Add 2 T vinegar into broth mixture, and pour it all into the roasting pan.

9. Place roasting pan - covered - in the preheated oven, and roast for one hour.

10. Remove pan from oven and rake the vegetable mixture off the top of the pork, stirring it into the broth. Return the pan to the oven, uncovered, and roast 30 more minutes - watching to make sure the top does not brown too much. You are looking for a temperature of 145-150.

11. When you have a temperature of 145-150 degrees, take the pan out of the oven, remove the pork to a serving platter or cutting board, and tent with foil.

12. Put the roasting pan on the stovetop and bring the broth to a boil, then lower the heat. Ladle about 1/2 C of the broth into a bowl, and allow to cool. Blend the 2 T of corn starch into the cooled broth, and stir this mixture into the broth in the roasting pan. Simmer, stirring, till the broth thickens. Now it’s gravy. Adjust seasoning.

On a platter, slice the roast, and cover it with gravy.