Read Around My French Table Online
Authors: Dorie Greenspan
There's a wonderful French custom that's fun when you're sharing a hearty soup at home. It's called
fatre chabrot (fatre
means to make and
chabrot
is the act of mixing two liquids), and it's a delicious way of enjoying both the last of your wine and the last of your soup. When you've got just a few spoonfuls of soup left in your bowl and only a few sips left in your glass, pour your wine into your soup, swirl it around, and finish it off. This is a very old custom and one that's definitely country, not city—so country that the authentic way to drink the
faire chabrot
is to slurp it directly from the bowl.
T
HERE'S NOTHING AUTHENTICALLY FRENCH OR INDIAN
about this soup, but it's one that I started making in Paris after I'd bought a few little sachets of mixed spices in the city's small Indian neighborhood. Without the fresh ginger, turmeric, and garam masala (a mix of cardamom, cinnamon, mace, nutmeg, and other somewhat sweet spices), it would be a delicious but fairly conventional root vegetable and barley soup. With the spices, it's a surprising, satisfying, and very warming soup, one that's welcome on a cold winter's night.
| 1 | tablespoon olive oil, plus (optional) extra for drizzling |
| 2-3 | onions, chopped |
| 3 | big carrots, trimmed, peeled, and chopped |
| 1 | parsnip, peeled, trimmed (cut out the core if it's woody), and chopped |
| 3 | garlic cloves, split, germ removed, and chopped |
| 1 | 1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and chopped |
| Salt and freshly ground pepper | |
| Turmeric to taste (start with about ½ teaspoon) | |
| Garam masala (see Sources [>] ) to taste (start with about ¾ teaspoon) | |
| Red pepper flakes to taste (optional) | |
| 6 | cups chicken broth, vegetable broth, or water |
| ½ | cup pearl barley, rinsed |
Warm the oil in a Dutch oven or soup pot. Add the onions, carrots, parsnip, garlic, and ginger and turn them around in the pot until they glisten with oil. Season with salt and pepper, cover, and cook for about 5 minutes over low heat. Stir in the turmeric, garam masala, and red pepper, if you're using it, cover, and continue to cook very gently, stirring often, until the vegetables are soft but not colored, about 15 minutes.
Add the broth or water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then stir in the barley. Reduce the heat—you want the broth to just simmer—cover, and cook until the barley is tender and considerably puffed (the kernels will blossom and open a little). Depending on the type of barley you have, this can take from 15 to 40 minutes. Taste and add more salt, pepper, and/or spices, as needed.
Ladle the soup into bowls and finish with a drizzle of olive oil, if you like.
MAKES 6 SERVINGS
SERVING
If you'd like, you can drizzle a little olive oil over each serving.
STORING
You can keep the soup covered in the refrigerator overnight, though the barley will drink up liquid as it sits and you'll have a very thick soup the next day. Just thin it with broth or water before you reheat it, and pay attention to the seasonings—adding more liquid may mean you'll need a little more spice.
L
ENTIL SOUP SEEMS TO HAVE A LOCK
on French hearts, particularly the hearts of Gallic men, who, when asked about their favorite foods, usually immediately flash on their mothers' soups. And even though the best lentils in France come from Puy, in the center of the country, the love of lentil soup knows no regional boundaries. Lentil soup was the first recipe Jean-Georges Vongerichten, a native of Alsace, told me about when we talked about childhood favorites, just as it was top pick for a friend of mine from Gascony, clear across the country. Not that everyone's soup was the same—some had bacon, some had goose fat; some had a hunk of ham tossed in, some were completely vegetarian; and some were chunky, while others were smooth. Knowing that there were so many variations and that each had a happy following, I set to work making my own house lentil soup. (And, yes, I did secretly hope that, when asked, our son would one day name the soup among the favorites his
maman
cooked for him.)
Lentil soup chez Greenspan does or does not have bacon and it's best pureed. It's made with lentils du Puy, which I hope you'll search out (see Sources
[>]
), and it's got a couple of surprises: a touch of ginger and, more prominently, the fragrance and taste of orange.
The orange is a more recent addition to my recipe, and like so many good things, it came about by chance. I had all the ingredients for the soup bubbling away in the pot when I walked into the kitchen to snack on a clementine. Just as I was about to toss the peel in the trash, I backed up and dropped it into the soup pot. I've been flavoring the soup with orange, tangerine, clementine, or mandarin peel ever since. It brightens and enlivens the mix and adds a bit of freshness to a winter soup you rely on when freshness is hard to come by. Serve the soup with a spoonful of yogurt, and you'll get an extra bit of tang, a nice go-along with the orange.
| 2 | tablespoons olive oil or unsalted butter |
| 2 | yellow onions or 1 Spanish onion, thinly sliced |
| 2 | celery stalks, trimmed (save the leaves from 1 stalk) and thinly sliced |
| 1 | large carrot, trimmed, peeled, and thinly sliced |
| 6 | cups chicken broth or vegetable broth |
| 1 | cup lentils du Puy (French green lentils), rinsed and picked over |
| 1 | strip orange or tangerine peel, about 1 × 2 inches, white pith removed and cut into 3 pieces |
| 6 | black peppercorns |
| 3 | coriander seeds |
| 1 | clove |
| 1 | 1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and coarsely chopped, or ½ teaspoon ground ginger |
| Salt and freshly ground pepper | |
| Yogurt, for topping | |
| Lardons (see box) or crumbled or chopped cooked bacon, for topping (optional) |
Warm the oil or melt the butter in a large Dutch oven or soup pot over low heat. Toss in the onions, celery (including leaves), and carrot and stir the vegetables around until they glisten, then cover the pot and cook, stirring often, until they soften but don't color, about 10 minutes.
Add the broth, lentils, citrus peel, peppercorns, coriander, clove, and ginger, raise the heat, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat so that the broth just simmers, put the cover on the pot, and gently simmer until the lentils are so soft you can mash them with the back of a spoon, 60 to 90 minutes (the time will depend on the age of your lentils). After the soup has simmered for about 45 minutes, season it with salt (be generous—I usually add at least 1 teaspoon) and pepper.
Working in batches, puree the soup—spices, celery leaves, orange peel, and all—in a blender or food processor until smooth; or use an immersion blender. If you use an immersion blender, the soup may be a little chunky; if you'd like a smoother soup, just push it through a strainer. Wipe out the pot, pour the soup back into it, and reheat.
Ladle the soup into plates or bowls, garnish each with a dollop of yogurt, and sprinkle with lardons or bacon, if you like.
MAKES ABOUT 6 SERVINGS
SERVING
Ladle the very hot soup into wide soup plates, add a spoonful of yogurt to each, and sprinkle over the lardons or bacon bits, if you're using them.
STORING
The soup can be kept covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days, but it will get thicker, probably thicker than you'd like it to be. If that's the case, add more broth or water to the soup as it heats—and make sure to adjust the seasoning when you do this.
If you were stuck in the middle of nowhere in France with only a gas-station convenience store to shop in, you'd probably be able to find bacon and maybe even lardons (lahr-
dahn
), short strips of bacon that are about ¼ inch thick. French cooks often buy their bacon in large slabs, so that they can cut pieces of any thickness to match the dish they're making.
At home, I mostly use sliced bacon, but I cut lardons from slab bacon. Once they're cut, I blanch the lardons for a minute in boiling water, then drain and pat them dry and sauté them. Lardons make a good topping for soups and salads and are a prime ingredient in Quiche Lorraine (see Bonne Idée,
[>]
).
T
HE FIRST TIME MICHAEL AND I
went to Cannes, the playground of the stars, it was out of season, our hotel was out of fashion, and we were almost out of money. The conditions sound a lot less than ideal, but the reality was great. With the summer crowds gone, we had the beaches to ourselves; our hotel was adorable, and the hotelier even cuter (he must have liked us too, since he sent us home with a bottle of wine from his cellar); and our frugality turned up a find: an affordable restaurant (that we returned to three nights in a row) with a view of the beach and a fish soup that I dreamed about for years.
I'm guessing that it was made from the tiny little creatures that I'd see in the market every morning. Tucked into the corner of the fishmonger's display would be an assortment of very small fish and a large metal scoop. The fish were labeled something like "fish for soup," and you bought whatever came up in the scoop, no picking out the pink ones from the gray ones or the skinny ones from the chubs. Of course, these little rockfish were part of what made the soup a regional treasure, but there was more. There was the texture: thin but with enough fish bits that you felt you were eating the soup as much as sipping it; the mysterious base flavors: saffron and pastis (a licorice-flavored liquor); and the ritual that went with enjoying it: floating a raft of grilled bread, rubbed with garlic and doused with olive oil, in the soup; topping it with rouille, a peppery rust-colored mayonnaise (
rouille
means rust; you can use aïoli; if you prefer); and figuring out how to get all three elements into every spoonful.
To make the soup in the United States, I had to give up on the idea of small fish by the scoop, but I discovered that I could get a lot of flavor from fish that were local to my fishmonger. Red snapper, a fish with Mediterranean relatives, is great for this soup, as are other lean white-fleshed fish like flounder and sole. More important are the saffron and pastis and a food mill (see below).
Here's the recipe that will get you the texture, the flavor, and the ritual—I leave it to you to add the beach view.
| 1 | whole red snapper (about 2 pounds), cleaned and scaled (head on, if possible) |
| 3-4 | tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil |
| 2 | medium onions, chopped |
| 2 | carrots (1 if it's very thick), trimmed, peeled, and chopped |
| 4 | garlic cloves, split, germ removed, and smashed |
| 1 | small fennel bulb, trimmed, tough core removed, and chopped |
| 1 | 28-ounce can plum tomatoes |
| ¼ | cup tomato paste |
| 3 | pinches of saffron threads |
| 2-4 | tablespoons pastis (I use Pernod or Ricard) |
| 1 | wide strip orange zest, any white pith removed |
| A bouquet garni: 2 parsley sprigs, 2 thyme sprigs, and 1 bay leaf, tied together or wrapped in cheesecloth | |
| Salt and freshly ground pepper | |
| Piment d'Espelette (see Sources [>] ) or cayenne | |
| | |
| FOR THE ACCOMPANIMENTS | |
| 4 | slices country bread |
| 1 | garlic clove, split and germ removed |
| Extra-virgin olive oil | |
| Rouille (see Bonne Idée, [>] ) or Aïoli ( [>] ) |
If your fishmonger is your friend (or if he's not busy), perhaps he'll chop up the snapper for you. If not, grab a heavy chef's knife or a Chinese cleaver and go to work, removing the head (save it) and then cutting the body of the fish into small pieces. The smaller the better here—2 inches on a side is ideal but difficult, so just do the best you can.
Place a large Dutch oven or stockpot over medium-low heat and pour in 3 tablespoons oil. When the oil is warm, toss in the onions, carrots, garlic, and fennel and stir everything around so that it's glistening with oil, then cover the pot and cook slowly, stirring once or twice, for 10 minutes, to soften but not color the vegetables.
Add the fish chunks and head to the pot and stir well; if the mix looks a little dry, add another tablespoon of oil. Cover and cook for 5 minutes.
While the fish is cooking, drain the liquid from the tomatoes into a large measuring cup. Keep the tomatoes in the can and, using a pair of scissors (easier) or a long knife, cut the tomatoes into chunks (don't worry about getting everything even).