Around My French Table (65 page)

Well, the vegetable lady may have been selling corn that no corn-loving American would buy, but she certainly knew how to cook it. Here's her recipe.

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Place the unhusked ears of corn on the oven rack and roast the corn for 40 minutes, turning it at the 20-minute mark. Working over a trash bin and wearing good oven mitts, shuck the corn and pull away and discard the silk.

Serve on the cob or cut the kernels off the cob and put them in a bowl. On or off the cob, serve the corn hot with butter, salt, and pepper.

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

SERVING
While I find it impossible to imagine most French people picking up an ear of corn and munching on it—the mere mention of this to my French friends produced such looks of alarm that I've never served them corn on the cob—that's the best way to eat it, as Americans know so well. Slather the corn with butter, salt and pepper it amply, and enjoy. If you insist on eating it the French way, cut the kernels from the cob and serve them in a bowl.

STORING
Fresh corn is meant to be eaten freshly cooked.

W
HILE WE'RE APT TO DISMISS CANNED CORN,
the French use it happily and unapologetically most commonly in salads, but also sometimes incorporating it into dishes like these small savory pancakes, which make me wonder why they weren't invented stateside.

I first had them at a French country inn a few decades ago, and because they were made with the canned stuff, I figured I wasn't going to see the dish again anytime soon back in America, a hunch that proved true. It took years until I had them here, and when I did, they were prepared by a French chef, the now world-famous Jean-Georges Vongerichten, who made them soon after he arrived on our shores. When I told him how delighted I was to have them (he paired the cakes with crème fraìche and caviar), he looked puzzled. With an offhand shrug, he told me, "They're something my mother made all the time." Lucky kid.

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with a silicone baking mat or foil, and line a plate with paper towels.

Put the corn, eggs, flour, and salt in a blender or a food processor and whir until everything's well mixed and fairly smooth. The mixture won't be completely smooth, and that's just fine.

Put a large heavy-bottomed skillet, preferably nonstick, over medium heat and pour in about 3 tablespoons oil. When the oil is hot, drop in the batter by tablespoonfuls, pressing gently to round the pancakes. Cook for about 2 minutes, until the undersides are golden, then flip them over and cook the other side for a minute or so more, until it too is golden. Transfer the pancakes to the paper-towel-lined plate, cover with more towels, and pat off the excess oil. Transfer them to the baking sheet, cover loosely with foil, and keep them warm in the oven while you continue to make pancakes, adding more oil to the pan as needed.

MAKES 6 SERVINGS

SERVING
These make a terrific accompaniment, instead of potatoes, rice, or noodles, to roast chicken or beef or even the Thanksgiving turkey. Or do as Jean-Georges did and serve the pancakes as an hors d'oeuvre with crème fraîche and caviar, salmon roe, or smoked salmon.

STORING
You can make the pancakes a few hours ahead, keep them covered at room temperature, and reheat them before serving (in a conventional or microwave oven). Or you can pack them airtight (separate the pancakes with small squares of parchment or wax paper) and freeze them for up to 2 months, then reheat them as needed.

I
F YOU'VE NEVER PUT COOKED ENDIVE
at the top of your favorites list, or if you've never even cooked endive, it's probably because you didn't have this recipe to turn to. It came from Alain Passard, the Michelin three-star chef who has a magical garden outside Paris. Passard, obsessed with vegetables, turned the Parisian haute cuisine establishment on its head when he announced that he would serve only vegetables grown on his farm and that he would serve them simply. When Passard said simply, he truly meant it: dishes might be as basic as one potato (a perfect one, to be sure) baked in a salt crust and served, sauceless and unaccompanied, the instant it emerged from the oven. Prices for these little treasures might be as high as those for truffles and foie gras. Such boldness bordered on scandal, but soon Passard's passion for vegetables and his sure hand with his harvest became the standard by which vegetable cooking was judged.

This recipe, recommended to me by my friend Meg Zimbeck, could not be simpler or more sublime. The fruits and endive are cooked slowly in salted butter—you turn them just once—until they are soft and caramelized. That's it, except for scraping up the cooking sugars, and you need nothing more. The endive, known for its bitterness, keeps its hallmark flavor, but the apples and grapes become even sweeter under heat, so that sometimes you bounce between bitter and sweet and sometimes the flavors meld. It's a remarkable dish.

This is the kind of recipe you'll be able to play with, but I urge you to hold on to the grapes—they're completely unexpected and so good that they just about steal the show.

Cut the endives lengthwise in half. Cut the apple into quarters and remove the core. Peel off a thin strip of skin down the center of each quarter.

Put a large skillet (nonstick is best) over low heat and toss in the butter. When it's melted, put the endive into the pan cut side down and the apples skin side up. Add the grapes, scatter over the rosemary, and cook, undisturbed, for 20 minutes, at which point the underside of the endives will have caramelized and the apples and grapes will be soft and perhaps browned. Gently turn everything over, baste with any liquid in the pan, and cook for 20 minutes more.

Transfer the ingredients to a warm serving platter or to individual plates and, using a sturdy wooden or silicone spoon, scrape up the cooking sugars sticking to the bottom of the pan. You might want to pour a few spoonfuls of water into the pan to help you nab the sugars and make a spare amount of sauce. Season the endive with salt and pepper, spoon over the
jus,
and serve.

MAKES 4 STARTER OR SIDE-DISH SERVINGS OR 2 MAIN-COURSE SERVINGS

SERVING
You can serve this as a first course or as a side dish to chicken or fish that isn't heavily sauced; something grilled would be just right. It is also a great main course (if you want to double the recipe, make it in two skillets) followed by bread and cheese—think blue cheese.

STORING
This really should be served as soon as it's cooked. I've reheated leftovers briefly in the microwave oven, and they've been okay, but not nearly as good as they were the day before; endive has a tendency to become more bitter when it's reheated.

BONNE IDÉE
Thanksgiving Squash and Apples.
A squash or pumpkin rendition is splendid for the holidays. Here's the combination I make most often: 4 thin (1- to 1½-inch-thick) wedges pumpkin or squash (I use Red Kuri squash, which doesn't need to be peeled), 12 to 16 cooked chestnuts (I use jarred), 1 apple (or pear), 4 clusters grapes, and sprigs of rosemary, thyme, or, best of all, sage for the herb. You can drizzle warm maple syrup over this—and it's also good topped with toasted pecans, with a spoonful of a cranberry-orange relish alongside.

T
HE NEXT TIME YOU'RE GOING TO BE
eating outdoors, think about these—they can up the piquancy quotient of any picnic hamper, since they're a hotter, hunkier take on traditional thinly sliced cucumbers in vinegar. In this version, the cucumbers (I like to use the seedless kind) are halved the long way, quartered, and cut into chunks small enough to eat in polite company but hearty enough to give you a good dose of the salad's sharp mix of minced ginger, hot pepper, and, of course, vinegar—either plain, unfancy white, or, if you're feeling a bit exotic, seasoned rice vinegar.

BE PREPARED:
The pickles need to chill for at least 2 hours before serving.

If you're using a seedless cucumber, cut it into quarters the long way, then cut each quarter into chunks 1 to 1½ inches long. If you're using regular cucumbers, cut them in half the long way, scoop out the seeds with a small spoon, then cut the halves in half the long way and slice into chunks. Toss the chunks into a bowl, sprinkle with the salt, and stir to blend. Let the cucumbers stand, stirring occasionally, for about 30 minutes, then drain off the liquid.

Add the rest of the ingredients except the chopped herbs to the bowl and stir. Chill the pickles for at least 2 hours (4 to 6 hours is better), or for as long as overnight, before serving.

Just before serving, sprinkle with herbs, if desired.

MAKES 4 SERVINGS

SERVING
I think the pickles are best chilled, but they're fine at room temperature too, which is part of what makes them good picnic fare, and they're good at any temperature with the Café Salle Pleyel Hamburger (
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).

STORING
The cucumbers are at their crunchiest the day they are made, but they're still very tasty a day later. If you're going to keep them overnight, drain off most of the pickling liquid and store the cucumbers in an airtight container in the fridge.

S
TRICTLY SPEAKING, THIS IS NOT A PIPÉRADE,
the Basque specialty of soft sautéed bell peppers with a little piment d'Espelette tossed in (see
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for a real pipérade), just my invention based on most of the ingredients that go into the classic. This is essentially a stir-fry in which colorful peppers are quickly cooked and then finished, very untraditionally, with vinegar, giving them a sharp edge and making them the ideal topping or sidekick for grilled foods or for any of the foods that would normally be paired with the classic: chicken, tuna, shrimp, chorizo, or eggs, for example. Think of it as a salsa from Southwest France.

Cut the tops and bottoms off the peppers, and cut the peppers lengthwise in half. Remove the seeds, cut away the ribs, and slice the peppers into long strips about ¾ inch wide.

Put a wok or a large skillet, preferably nonstick, over high heat and add the oil. When it's hot, toss in the peppers, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring often, for 6 to 8 minutes, or until crisp-tender. Add the vinegar and cook, stirring, for another 2 to 3 minutes, until the vinegar caramelizes and coats the peppers. Transfer the peppers to a large bowl and let them come to room temperature.