Bistrot Paul Bert Pepper Steak

As you might imagine, I have an orientation toward flaming foods. Nothing reads 'fabulous' at the dinner table more than the sight of actual flames dancing across an entree or desert (or in this case, sauce.) I first caught the flambe bug while first learning to cook. I couldn't resist the showy (show off!) nature of the technique. And this was waaay before I even figured out that I was fabulous so is it any wonder I tend to think fablulousness is more nature than nurture?

The directions for this week's French Friday's with Dorie recipe gave the option to either flame the cognac or boil it to break down the alcohol in this traditional type filet pan sauce. Uh huh. As if there is any option here! Hello!? While I am sure the boiling-it-down method works well, I will tell you right now that I will never find out for sure. I'm a flamer through and through. I was born this way.

These steaks were lovingly prepared for my brother and sister-in-law who have been spending the last few weeks getting to know their new daughter, born two weeks ago. Its too soon to know in which ways she was born but I can't wait to find out. Children are born with so many ways, aren't they? Her parents have wisely decreed that no visitors are allowed unless they bring food (smart, huh?) so I killed two birds with one stone, packed up my supplies (including dishes and cutlery) and made them this week's Dorie victims...er....guests.

While we dined on filet I got my niece fix but before I could become a nuisance I had everything packed up and was out the door. Guerrilla bistro!

Despite the highfalutin name this is the same basic filet with a pan sauce I've written about before detailing my lackluster feelings for the beef cut itself. These feelings have always been mitigated by the creativity that gets expressed with the simple, quick, and flavorful sauces made in the pan while the meat 'rests'. While anything goes with these sauces, one that adds flame to the mix will get that much more of my appreciation. I can't help it

I hope the other Doristas took a walk on the wild side and set fire to the pan for this one. Its really not very hard and its a sure way to get your dinner remembered. I can't wait to read how they did! Follow this link for a listing of other Dorista's post on this dish. (Once again I present the recipe here as Dorie herself has already distributed this one all over the internet.)

Bistrot Paul Bert Pepper Steak

• About 1 tablespoon black peppercorns, preferably Sarawak pepper (that's what's used at Paul Bert), or a mix of peppercorns
• 4 filets mignons, 1 to 1½ inches thick, at room temperature
• 1 tablespoon mild oil (such as grapeseed or canola)
• ½ tablespoon unsalted butter
• ¼ cup Cognac, or other brandy (plus a splash more if desired)
• ½ cup heavy cream
• Salt

The peppercorns need to be coarsely cracked, a job that's done quickly and easily with a mortar and pestle. Lacking that, put the peppercorns in a kitchen towel so they don't go flying about, and give them a couple of bashes with the bottom of a heavy skillet or the heel or back of a knife. Sprinkle some peppercorns on both sides of each steak, and use the palm of your hand to press them into the meat.

Put a heavy-bottomed skillet over high heat - I use a cast-iron pan - and add the oil and butter. When the butter has melted, slip in the steaks and cook them for 2 to 3 minutes for rare steaks, or a minute or so longer if you like your beef more well-done. Flip them over and give them another 2 to 3 minutes in the pan, then transfer them to a warm plate and cover them loosely with a foil tent.

Pour off all of the fat in the pan, but leave any bits of steak that have stuck to the bottom; let the pan cool for a minute or so. Now you've got a decision to make: to flame the Cognac or to just let it boil down. If you decide to flame it, pour it into the pan, stand back, and set a match to the Cognac. When the flames have subsided, stir to scrape up whatever bits of meat are in the pan. If you just want to boil the Cognac, put the pan over medium heat, pour in the Cognac, and let cook until it's almost evaporated; scrape up whatever bits of steak have stuck to the pan.

When you've reduced the Cognac, lower the heat and add the cream. Swirl the pan and let the cream bubble gently for 2 to 3 minutes. Salt with care. Spoon the sauce over the steaks and serve immediately.

Mustard Batons

Who wouldn't love showing up to a cocktail party and being hit up by a savory mustard baton? That would certainly set the mood for cocktails and chatter, n'cest pas?

I mourn the loss of the all-but-lost-art of the proper cocktail party. They were a huge part of my early childhood and I miss them. I remember fondly the my fly-on-the-wall observations of the adults in their natural habitat. Arriving to loud hellos, the sincere and not so sincere outfit compliments, fun cocktails with garnishes, mingling and catching up on neighborhood gossip. All observed easily from my perch at the top of the stairs. And they were over as quickly as they began.

These parties were not intended to take the place of dinner but rather meant only precede it. I don't know if they were just a sign of those times or just a sign of my parents being too old to enjoy the all night blowouts of their college years. My mother had not yet gained the confidence to throw what would eventually become her signature dinner party extravaganzas so the easier but the just-as-showy cocktail party fit the bill nicely. Much cheaper too!

Guests would show up at 5:30 or 6. Some would come dressed in their tennis whites having just left a game. Others would be wearing the nice dress they just bought and were eager to show off. A specialty cocktail would be waiting for them(or a beer or wine) followed by a snack consisting of the few light appetizers my mother would offer, some chit chat and mingling with the crowd of about 20 people expertly chosen guests and then leave around 7 or 7:30 to pursue their own dinner plans.

No lingering allowed past that awkward dinner hour was allowed. Mom made it clear that while tasty appetizers and witty conversation were on the menu, dinner was not. I think it was the expectation that these parties were short and the closing time enforced that gave them their life.

Don't these parties seem perfectly poised for a comeback in these more economically frugal times?

My mother's 1953 edition of The Joy of Cooking begins with these words about cocktails: "The chief virtue of cocktails is their informal quality. They loosen tongues and unbutton the reserves of the socially diffident." The same can be said for the chic snacks that accompany them. As much as I love the idea of just opening a bag of chips and calling it a party, the perfect cocktail snack will help set a mood which kicks off the night's conversation and revelry.

These Mustard Batons are certainly up to the task. As everyone who cooks should know by now, a box of puff pastry in the freezer is just as required in inventory as a sauce pan. And who doesn't have mustard on hand? There you go.

If you don't have mustard on hand use tapenade, pesto, chutney, or just some grated cheese and herbs. While you are at it, make a ton of these and freeze them on the sheet pan and store them in a ziplock. They bake up from frozen at a moments notice or when the urge to invite a few friends over for a drink before dinner strikes your fancy.

Mustard Batons

• All-purpose flour, for rolling
• 2 sheets frozen puff pastry (each about 8½ ounces), thawed
• ½ cup Dijon mustard
• 1 large egg
• Poppy seeds, for topping (optional)

Position the racks to divide the oven into thirds and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Line two baking sheets with silicone baking mats or parchment paper. Have a ruler and a pizza cutter (or sharp knife) at hand.

Working with 1 sheet of pastry at a time, roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface until you have a rectangle that’s about 12 x 16 inches. If necessary, turn the dough so that a short side of the rectangle is closest to you. Measure the length so that you can find the middle, and spread ¼ cup of the mustard over the lower half of the dough, stopping about 1/8 inch from the side and bottom edges. Fold the top portion of the dough over the bottom and, using the pizza cutter (or knife), with your ruler as a guide, cut the pastry from top to bottom into strips about 1 inch wide (I actually use the width of the ruler itself as my guide), then cut the strips crosswise in half. (If you prefer, you can leave the strips long.)

Carefully transfer the batons to one of the baking sheets and chill or freeze them while you work on the second batch. (You can make all the strips to this point and freeze them on the baking sheets, then pack them airtight and keep them frozen for up to 2 months.)

Lightly beat the egg with a splash of cold water and brush just the tops of the strips with this glaze. If you’d like, sprinkle them with poppy seeds.

Bake the batons for 8 minutes. Rotate the sheets from front to back and top to bottom and bake for another 7 or 8 minutes, or until the strips are puffed and golden brown. Remove the baking sheets from the oven and let the batons rest for a couple of minutes before serving.

Céleri Rémoulade

How rude of me! It seems as if last week I neglected to even acknowledge that fine specimen sitting to the right of my endearing Cuban. I do suppose, however, that when you stand next to something so tasty and mouthwatering as a that particular Cuban you do run the risk of not being noticed. Several of you did notice so I am hoping to excuse my terrible manners (and neglect) by featuring this wonderful salad in a post right now. Monsieur Céleri Rémoulade, will you forgive me my trespass?

I experienced my first celeriac salad nearly 20 years ago at the hands of Francois, the young 'old friend' of my then boyfriend. Francois was good looking in a way that that only a European can pull off. I know you know what I mean … if he weren’t French you would not only not give him the time of day but you would wonder how anyone could be serious about those pants. He *was* French and so he read twice as attractive as he would have been otherwise. His pants, much to my chagrin, would be all the rage in the US in about 3 years.

In Paris he worked as an assistant chef in his father's family owned cafe. My boyfriend had met him during a past vacation taken many years before I came on the scene – surprisingly the BF failed to ever mention him to me before despite the many *many* times The Paris Vacation continued to come up in his everyday conversations.

Francois showed up at our door unannounced one summer evening and surprised us by asking for a place to stay that week. Just like that and without any prior notice. Sometime later that evening he would surprise me again by making a blatant play for my boyfriend right in front of me (and and after just one glass of wine!) Still later I was to discover that our visitor was equally surprised to hear that my boyfriend had a boyfriend himself! Apparently I had not come up in any of the many conversations they had shared unbeknownst to me since The Paris Vacation. Uh huh. Before he left our home Francois also confirmed for me that his arrival was actually not a surprise at all – except to me – since his arrival had been planned long before he showed up. Surprise!

Time acting as life’s rear view mirror has a way of throwing light on the things that should not have surprised us at the time. Hindsight being 20/20 and all that. Looking back I think the biggest surprise that week should have been the realization that I actually loved the flavor of that gnarled up root ball. (I'm talking about the celeriac now.) Francois brought one home from the grocery store one afternoon and while I had seen them in the produce aisle I suppose I thought they were just for effect and not for eating. So, while the BF and I sorted out our farce of a life together, that week Francois would introduced me to all sorts of new flavors and tricks. I ate very well that week. It was the least he could do, considering.

Celeriac is the root ball structure of the celery plant and its distinctive flavor in this salad is quite popular in France. Rémoulade is actually the word given to the mayonnaise-like sauce that accompanies it. Together they are a classic French side dish. Around here its not so easy to find celeriac of a decent size but when I find one at the farmer’s market I buy it to make this salad.

This particular version of this easy-to-prepare-side-salad with a certain international je ne sais quoi comes compliments of the très beau Laura Calder. She hosts the French Food at Home program from her chic beautiful Nova Scotia home. (Actually I don't think it is her real home even though that is the intended setup. J'accuse!) Ms. Calder makes her own mayo for this recipe which is actually quite easy to do and takes very little time but in the spirit of my leftover-makeover day convenience prevailed and I used the mayo in the fridge -- something David Lebovitz has confirmed for me most French do anyway.

Classic versions of this dish don’t have have the bits of apple or fennel seed in the mix but seeing Ms. Calder’s inclusion of them was just the extra touch needed to renew my interest. I could now enjoy celeriac again without fearing the once familiar taste of Francois in my mouth.

The measurements below are estimates. When you make this please do so au pif so that you end up with the flavor balances you prefer. Traditionally the root is grated very course or cut into small matchsticks so that it doesn’t get too soggy or mushy when served. My mandolin was acting out so I sliced up small sticks with a knife.

Céleri Rémoulade

• 1 pound celeriac
• 1 Granny Smith apple
• 1/2 cup mayo
• 1/2 teaspoon white wine vinegar
• 1/2 tablespoon grainy Dijon mustard
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• Lemon juice, to taste
• 2 teaspoons crushed fennel seed

Remove the skin from the celeriac, halve the bulb(s), and slice into very thin julienne slices. Julienne the apple, and toss both in a bowl. In a smaller bowl whisk the mayo with the vinegar and mustard. Season with salt, pepper, and lemon juice, to taste. Stir in the fennel seed, and toss just enough with the celeriac to coat. Cover and refrigerate until serving. Cook's Note: Several hours is fine: some would even argue it's de rigueur.

Cuban “Mojo” Chicken (and Sandwiches!)

The orientation toward eating yesterday's dinner today does not have to be thought of as an abomination. Perhaps earlier societies would look upon it that way but then things were different then. People were more ignorant of the world around them and perhaps more fearful of the things it it which they did not understand. Queen Victoria did not eat leftovers. (Do you think Queen Elizabeth II eats leftovers? What about Nigella? She must. She eats everything.)

If asked about my lifestyle choice I would freely admit it is directed toward leftovers. I was born this way. As I see it you can choose to deny your attractions for leftovers or you can accept your inclination and embrace them as the diverse part of who you are. Celebrate it or, as one very wise woman once said, "just say love". (Or maybe that was Rupaul?)

After this bit of self revelation I know what you must be thinking:

"Aren't you an internationally renowned food blogger beloved by tens of people? One would think that given the steady stream of artful epicurean fare you prepare you of all people should have no need for the common leftover!"

Don't be silly.

Among those with a predilection for leftovers I am something of a fetishist for the more uncommon kind. Those kind that transcend their original form factor and become something completely different. Metamorphosis.

Sippity has the wherewithal to feast on asparagus risotto one night and then transform its remains into Italian fried rice balls (arancini). I could fall in love with that inclination. I am not as creative so I usually take the more common path of leftover transformation: the sandwich or quesadilla.

In the case of this sandwich I would be sorely tempted next time to skip the first meal altogether and skip to the second. It was that good.

Cuban "Mojo" Chicken (adapted from The Baking Barrister)

• 20 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. black pepper
• 1/2 cup orange juice
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 1/4 cup lime juice
• 1 cup onion, minced
• 1 small onion, thinly sliced
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 2 lbs chicken breast

Juice the oranges, lemons & limes. Pour designated quantities into a medium-sized bowl. Any mixture is good to get one cup. I like it on the sour side. Mince the garlic or run it through a garlic press. Add salt and pepper, and mash into a paste. Mix the garlic paste, onions and juice in the bowl and let marinate for 30 minutes.

Heat olive oil in a large sauce pan to smoking point. Add onion/juice marinade mixture to pan. Off heat and let cool. Note: there will be oil splatter and sizzle, so be careful.

Layer the thinly sliced onion on the bottom of the pan. Poke a bunch of holes in your chicken breasts and place in one layer in an oven-safe casserole dish. Pour the marinade over the chicken and onions, cover, and let sit in the fridge for at least 2 hours. Preheat your oven to 350F. Place dish, uncovered, straight into the oven. Bake for 15-20 minutes, depending on how thick your chicken is.

Serve over rice, avocados or plantains and, of course, black beans.

OR, shred and use in Chicken "Mojo" Sandwiches! Duh!

Cuban "Mojo" Chicken Sandwich (inspired by Taste of Cuba)

• Shredded Mojo Chicken
• Baked marinated onions
• pickles, thinkly sliced lengthwise (Sandwich Stackers work great!)
• sliced tavern ham (low salt variety)
• baby swiss cheese (mild)
• Bread. French Loaf or ciabatta work well. Use your favorite.
  

Lightly butter the bread on what will be the outside of the sandwich. Lay down pickles, ham, chicken, onions, cheese in that order. Press sandwich in a hot paninni press or warm up a hot griddle, lay down sandwich and press down hard with a either a bacon press or a heavy brick wrapped in foil to flatten sandwich. These are best when compressed to 1/2 or 1/3 their original size. Flip after 2-3 minutes or when cheese is melted and outside of sandwich is golden brown.

Quinoa Fruit and Nut Salad

You don't have to twist my arm to fool around in the kitchen with quinoa. Quinoa and I have been flirting around with each other for over a year now even though so far its nothing too serious. We were first introduced by a mutual friend and while it wasn’t all electricity and sparks it was the beginning of a good Friendship with Benefits. This weeks French Fridays with Dorie experience has me thinking that perhaps I should seek more of a commitment. Quinoa is a keeper.

Quinoa (pronounced “KEEN-wa”) and I first met a year or so ago when my friend Leslie , the chef presiding at Barrister Bites, introduced us via her frequent blog posts covering its delights sometime last year. Ms. Barrister taught me that the popular quinoa is actually not a grain or cereal at all but rather a seed from plants that resemble beets and spinach (the Amarathaceae family) as opposed grasses that produce more carb heavy grains. Quinoa as a food staple originated in South America and was domesticated nearly 4000 years ago back when the Incas loved it so much they considered it a sacred crop. Its association with non-Christian ceremonies eventually provoked the conquistadors to prohibit its cultivation in favor of western wheat crops. Religious zealots can be such kill-joys.

(Ms. Barrister didn't actually teach me all of that. I looked it all up just now on Wikipedia. Bloggers do that a lot by the way.)

Her Barristership did enlighten me to the fact that quinoa, with up to 14 grams per serving, is a more complete protein than any grain or rice. It is a great source of vitamins and minerals such as iron, magnesium, Vitamin E, potassium, amino acids, and fiber. All Friends With Benefits should have such benefits! Certainly the conquistadors would have changed their mind had they only known how South Beach Diet friendly this food can be.

Quinoa is as simple to cook as rice. Like rice it takes well to any flavor you want to throw at it. These are all great qualities to have in a friend I should think. Ms. Barrister being a fan of ethic foods shared her choices for using it with savory flavors such as Summer Veggies with Cajun Shrimp and my personal favorite, Quinoa with Chicken and Pesto.



Dorie’s non-recipe version gives a nod to quinoa’s inherent flexibility and Zelig-like character by suggesting we mix it with any combination of dried fruit, nuts, and herbs of our choice. Somehow this makes it “French”? (And by the way, is there nothing that Dorie won’t stuff with dried fruits and nuts?)

I took inspiration from Ms. Barrister’s Quinoa Tex Mex Tacos and served Dorie’s salad as an appetizer wrapped in Butter Lettuce leaves reveaing even more versatility. I had pistachios left over from my last Dorie variation on a theme. Chopped parsley and mint worked perfectly with the ginger dressing and yogurt with mint seemed a natural mix.  I did add a little salt and pepper to the dressing as salting the boiling water wasn't enough to get the flavors to do their thing.   The final palette ended up being  quite Persian-esque for a supposedly Parisian dish but then again some of my favorite Persians really do live in Paris with French tables of their own.

This Friend With Benefits is a keeper, destined to show up as my date this summer served with grilled meats or as my contribution to a summer picnic potluck.

Be sure to check out the other Dorista's experiences with this dish. Its been dating around while it still can.

Quinoa Fruit and Nut Salad