Pip, Pip, Pip Hooray! How to Make Piperade

My introduction to Piperade, a Basque dish bearing a slight resemblance to an American western omelette, was an olfactory one as Madame Ms kitchen is close to our patio.  Whenever I catch a heady whiff from the direction of her kitchen, it is fairly soon I make either that dish or one which at least contains some of its fragrant ingredients.

Bell peppers' productivity along with their small size makes them right at home in small gardens and on balconies.  The sole, red bell pepper plant which made its way out of my late spring nursery produced six lovely peppers which I harvested still green because the weather is cooling down at night.  Any coloured bell pepper can be used in Piperade, though the green ones complement the red tomatoes nicely.  The ripe, full taste of red bell peppers is my preference, but I did find the green ones mellowing out after being stewed.

The preparation for Piperade starts with a vegetable stew containing tomatoes, onions,  bell peppers, herbs, and olive oil, but minus the watery eggplant and zucchini of Ratatouille making it a less moist mixture.  Additionally, Espelette peppers are included.  Those are the long, mildly hot, red AOC peppers seen hanging on walls and balconies in the Basque region.  Since the supply Monsieur M had generously given us is long gone, I substituted a few flakes of the much hotter cayenne pepper.  

It is not actually the seeds which contribute to the heat of a pepper, but the inner membranes which are attached to them.  In regulating the heat of a dish, keep this point in mind.  Always wash your hands well after handling peppers--especially if you have pets--as you can carelessly touch your eyes or theirs, causing acute discomfort.

Realising the Romas, green peppers, onions, garlic, thyme, and bay leaf used in this recipe are all from our garden gives me an enormous satisfaction connecting me to the web of life in, well, a very delicious way!

Piperade
Serves four

• Tomatoes, 6 medium
• Bell Peppers, 6 medium
• Onions, 6 medium
• Thyme, one large sprig
• Bay leaf
• Olive Oil, extra virgin, 9 tbsps
• Garlic, 3 fat cloves
• Eggs, 8 large
• Red pepper flakes or one Espelette pepper
• Salt and freshly ground pepper
• butter as needed 

Wash the vegetables.  Peel and slice the onions thinly.  Remove the seeds and white ribs from the peppers and slice thinly.  Lightly smash the garlic cloves without peeling them.  Chop the tomatoes coarsely.

Sauté gently the onions and green and hot peppers in the olive oil for ten minutes along with the garlic cloves, thyme, bay leaf.

Add the tomatoes and simmer, covered, for twenty minutes.  Remove the garlic, bay leaf, and thyme sprig.  You can pick out any detached tomato skins.  Season with salt and freshly ground pepper and keep warm.

A colourful melange with a bit of heat

Scramble the eggs in butter and mix them with the vegetables.  To increase the pleasing contrast between the rich, fluffy eggs and the zing of the veggies, a tablespoon or so of cream can be beaten into the eggs before scrambling.

A slice or two of Bayonne ham, briefly pan fried, is a traditional topping.  Piperade is a cheerfully spicy dish, hearty and satisfying.  I freeze portions of the veggie stew for later mixing with freshly made scrambled eggs.

In the potager, planting for the late autumn, winter, and early spring harvests is on-going.  The remnants of the summer crops are being dug up and put on the compost pile.  Beds are being prepared for overwintering crops like lettuce and garlic in addition to cool-weather lovers like peas, spinach, turnips, and escarole.

Though Dayo certainly enjoys bathing himself on newly spaded and raked dirt, he also provides an important function, that is, tamping down the beds which helps the soil to settle down.  I consider him as a furry, welcome mat for new plants which appreciate firm soil.

Fashionista Dayo spiffing up his winter coat

The broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and leeks are coming along nicely.

 
The radishes planted about three weeks ago to mark rows of slower growing carrots are ready to harvest.

The small feathery plants are carrots

The variety I grow is a mild, elongated, red and white radish called French breakfast.  The French really don't eat radishes at breakfast as they prefer a sweet petit déjeuner.  But they do eat buttered bread topped with thinly sliced radishes at other times.

The bread is home-made pain de campagne

The French excel at appreciating les petits bonheurs, and the combination of their excellent butter--best in the world as far as I am concerned--with pungent radishes on country rye bread is one of the better little happinesses.

À la prochaine!

Le Circuit des Remparts or Souped-up Cars...and how to make stewed tomatoes

Our small city, Angoulême, recently hosted its annual Le Circuit des Remparts which is a three-day event showcasing vintage cars from throughout Europe.  The last day features a rally traversing a section of the Charente department, giving the drivers an opportunity to see the lovely countryside.  The start and end points of the rally are about a fifteen-minute walk from our home.  The actual race along the remparts--the ancient circular fortifications--happens in the late afternoon. 

On the day of the rally, I woke up to generalised rumbling.  Being the spur-of-the-moment, sensory-focused person that I am, I rejected an organized plan including a map and ticketed seats overlooking the course and let my feet, shod in comfortable shoes, follow the noise.  The commotion was coming from the northeast, so off I went in that general direction.

The beginning of the remparts are in the distance

After a gradual incline, the streets became steeper and the roaring louder; the asphalt under my feet was vibrating. 

The steeple, square tower and dome are all part of the massive Angoulême Cathedral

A steep, narrow, one-lane street leading up to what I hoped to be a rally vantage point was lined with shuttered, terraced houses and appeared to be deserted.  Some music and a whiff of tobacco let me know people indeed were inside.  At the top, though most of the barriers were covered with advertising, there was a ten-foot strip of visible road.  The screaming engines were deafening.  I clicked the shutter as soon as I heard revving and before I actually saw a car.  Voila!

As I started my descent back home, I wondered about the people living in the shuttered houses.  What kind of conversation were they having?  Perhaps:

Can you hear the cars? 
What, ma chérie?
Merde, THE CARS, mon petit bout de chou!
The Cars, the American rock group?
Non, Non, Non!
Speak up louder, mon coeur, I can't hear you!

Soon I arrived at a small, fenced-in park terraced into a slope.  Its gate was open, inviting me to take a breather.  I am guessing the reason why it was empty was not because people have not gotten up yet on this fine Sunday morning as the rally made sleeping late an impossibility, but because they was savouring  café and croissants.

With the noise receding somewhat in the background, I continued my way home.  I mused that this densely planted roundabout could fit nicely into a pot on the Jolly Green Giant's balcony.

Fabulous!

Back home, I found Dayo seeking refuge under the duvet and eager to talk.  I told him it will be all over in a few hours.  

In the potager, the Romas, a late-season sauce tomato, is the harvest darling at the moment.

With my focus on harvesting and preserving the Romas, I did not tend the cherry tomatoes for a few days.  A spider noticed my inactivity and got to work.

The beefsteak tomatoes and basil are finishing up, but there are still some with which to compose a Caprese salad.  Alternate sliced beefsteaks with slices of mozzarella--I prefer the drier version, but the moist one is traditional--and sprinkle with chiffonade of fresh basil, virgin olive oil, vinegar, freshly ground pepper, and fleur de sel.

A simple way of quickly preserving Romas for later sauce and paste making is washing/drying them and placing them into freezer bags.  Using a straw, I suck out as much air as possible and then pull out the straw while zipping up the last bit.  When needed for recipes, I run them under cold water, cutting a small slice off the top while cupping my fingers around the pointy end and slipping off the skins with a single, downward motion.

Peeled and chopped Romas are great for pizza toppings. They are also great for stewed tomatoes, a side dish for several of our favourite meals.  First, their skins need to be removed.  If necessary sort them according to size, as small ones will need less time in the hot-water bath. Put them in boiling water for several minutes.  Test one to see if the peel comes off easily.

Fish them out with a slotted spoon and put into a large bowl of cold water.  Swish them around.  If the water gets warm, refresh with cold water.

Choose a heavy-bottom pot and put a tablespoon or so of butter in it.  As you peel the tomatoes, place them in this pot. I first slice a tiny bit off their usually hard tops, using that cut edge to start carefully peeling off the skin.  If some are hard to peel, put those back in the hot water.  Be careful not to leave them too long, as they will become mush.

Add a tablespoon or two of sugar and some salt, and let simmer about thirty minutes.  When using home-grown tomatoes, I keep it simple and leave out onions and cloves.  Instead of adding breadcrumbs to sop up excess liquid, I remove the tomatoes to a colander placed over a bowl and reduce the juice in the pot, until thick and unbelievably yummy, adding any liquid from the draining tomatoes.  Put the strained tomatoes back into the pot.  Stewed tomatoes freeze nicely.

Since it is not easy to find British bangers (sausages) here, I use instead delectable les saucisses de Toulouse--made with pork, garlic, wine, and bacon--when making the British cousin to a soufflé, Toad-in-the-Hole. 

A superb, crusty-with-a-moist-centre dish studded with plump sausages, it is a perfect cold-weather dish and is traditionally served with brown gravy.  However,  garden-fresh stewed tomatoes ups the taste notch considerably.

Watch out for the recipes for both Toad-in-the-Hole and pizza!

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Toad-in-the-Hole
Pizza
Pizza Redux

How to Make Purple Plum Leather

The Isle river which passes close to Montpon, a village in the Dordogne region, has a pastoral aspect that's soft and inviting.

The Isle river near Montpon, about an hour's drive from us

We were at Montpon to prepare for the arrival of some family members at their gite.  As we had a hard time finding the place, the Calm One set up a paper-towel flag to help them find their holiday home.

This building appears to have original half-timbered walls so I am  guessing it is several hundreds of years old.  And no, that is not their gite!

Since it was blackberry season, I had an eye out for wild bushes.  My eyes lit up when I found these bushes, but the super sharp Yucca spikes guarding them made me realize despite my being a blackberry addict, no way was I going to slash my arms to get to them.  I hope any birds interested in them were careful.

We did not stay long as not to get in the way.  Also, though Monsieur and Madame M kept a careful eye on both Dayo and the garden, they were all on my mind because an unrelenting heat wave in the blasting furnace category would not let up.  Before our departure, I had moved the many pots from the marble garden table into shade.  Upon our return, I accepted how inconsiderate I was by not keeping that surface free sooner.  It was embarrassingly obvious how deprived Dayo had been. 

A calm but alert Dayo surveying all that is his

The plum d'ente tree like most of my fruit trees this season put out a much smaller harvest than usual.

As I already made plum jam with a much more ample harvest of Mirabelles, and as The Calm One likes purple plum leather, purple plum leather it will be.  Fruit leather is an effective way to preserve lots of fruit.  Wash, pit, and chop plums.

Add 1/2 water to four cups of chopped, pitted fruit.  Let it simmer gently for about 10 to 15 minutes until tender, mashing here and there.

Start with a tablespoon of sugar and a teaspoon of fresh lemon juice for each four cups of plums. Stop adding lemon juice when you can begin to detect a slight 'burn' when tasting.  Add some freshly grated nutmeg and ground cinnamon to taste.  Cook another ten minutes until thickened.

Sieve through a Foley mill.

If not convenient to use the puree soon, freeze it.  Line shallow baking pans with oven-safe plastic wrap.  Silipat or its equivalent can be used as plastic wrap tends to flap over the leather as it is drying in the oven, especially in convection ones, which causes the leather to stay moist along the edges and corners making its removal a bit tricky.  In that case, cut off the sticky bits and then pull the remaining leather away from the plastic.  Oiled parchment paper has been suggested as an another alternative.  I would test its waterproof worthiness with a small amount of puree overnight in the fridge before actual use.

For my size pans, I pour in about a quart of puree to a 1/4 thickness, using a soft spatula to spread it out evenly.

What a superb burgundy colour!

Place pans in a oven set at 50 degrees C, cracking open the oven door if necessary.  My pans took about twelve hours to dry sufficiently, most of that time was overnight.  If the puree is spread to only an 1/8 inch, it will dry faster, but I personally prefer leather that is thick enough to retain some moisture. When testing if it is ready, touch lightly the whole surface--it needs not to be wet, soft, or sticky.  Slightly tacky is OK.  Be careful not to dry the leather too much or it will become brittle.  If that does happen, it will still be edible, just not possible to roll up.  Peel plastic off and place the leather on parchment paper.

Using scissors, trim any ragged edges and cut the paper-backed leather into strips, roll up, and store in a lidded container in the fridge.  I cut it just like I do fabric, with my left hand holding down the leather while my right hand takes long, clean sweeps with the scissors.  However, leave your sewing scissors in their basket and use only kitchens shears!

All those fresh plums became one medium-sized jar of leather

My leather resembles a thinner, plebeian version of pâte de fruits--it's moist, thick enough, with intense flavour to be considered more like an informal dessert than a snack.  I like having a strip or two with coffee.  The colour is warming on a chilly autumn day also!

A Short Visit to Cognac...and how to make grape jelly

We recently spent a lovely late afternoon and evening at Cognac, about an hour's drive from our home.  We arrived early for our dinner rendezvous with friends so we could explore a bit.  The Charente river with its banks lined with weeping trees and gracefully spanned with stone, arched bridges lend a relaxing, dreamy quality to that part of town.

Several French friends including Madame M who was born in Cognac, have said oh, Cognac, those people keep to themselves.  No one actually said anything unpleasant, but the repetition of that predictable sentiment made me wonder.  Once we left a busy square with its statute and restaurants, I was fascinated with what I perceived as a town imbued with a confident satisfaction.  The narrowness of the cobblestoned streets along with a stunning late-afternoon blue sky with billowing clouds encouraged me to focus my camera at the intersection between the roofs and the sky.

Cognac's early wealth first came from producing salt; it was somewhat later when the wine growers, faced with an overly abundant grape harvest, decided to distil wine into brandy.  Foreigners then moved into Cognac, especially from Ireland (Hennessy), to give their expertise on distilling.  Though Cognac is well loved by French people as a summer vacation spot, the streets were all wonderfully quiet.

In France, a half-timbered house is called une maison à Colombages.  The one below dates from the 15th century and originally was the home of  le lieutenant général de Cognac, Pierre de Lacombe.

Maison de la Lieutenance

I love to find visual vignettes when I am walking through French towns--little scenes potently complete in their beauty.  In Cognac, they were hard to find, it was as if the old quartier was one complete visual image with its cream stone houses, white shutters, ironwork, elegant house numbering, winding streets, and roofs intimately aware of the sky.  I was spellbound.

Back at the potager, I was delighted to see the starlings were not able to eat most of the grapes as was their habit in past seasons, especially the purple ones which I wanted to use for jelly making.  Dayo sporadically checked to see if the horticultural fleece I clipped onto the grape vines to protect them against the starlings was in good shape.

The Chasselas grapes are really luscious, nearly golden with bronze highlights with an intense, sparkling flavour when fully ripe.

I make jelly from our Muscat de Hambourg grapes.

They resemble blueberries!

Before making grape jelly, please read my general approach to jam making here.  I keep it as simple as I can, with a minimum of specialized equipment,  technique, and ingredients while producing a jam safe for consumption.  My jams though sweet have a depth of flavour because garden-fresh fruit is used, but they are usually a little less thick than commercial versions because I do not use additional pectin.  My jams soak a bit into the bread instead of slithering on it like some commercial products.  Grape juice and jelly is very staining, so wear old clothes.  Non-plastic utensils are best as they resist staining.  The dishwasher, better known as The Calm One, has reported that our beige plastic ladle is now a dull green.

Purple Grape Jelly
(Makes about a quart)

• Purple grapes, washed and de-stemmed, 4 lbs
• Water, 3/4 cup*
• Grape juice (extracted from the 4 lbs of de-stemmed grapes), 5 3/4 cups*
• Sugar, 3 1/2 cups*
• lemon juice, freshly squeezed from one lemon
  

 *Cups are based on the American measure, 8 oz

Place grapes and water into a non-aluminium pot big enough for the contents to take up just one-third of the pot.  Bring to a boil and then simmer for ten minutes, mashing the grapes well.

Put the contents of the pot into a Foley Mill to extract the juice.

Place the grape juice, lemon juice, and sugar into the cleaned pot.

Bring to a rolling boil for about 15 to 18 minutes.  I use the sheeting test to determine the jellying point.

Skim off the foam and pour into recycled, clean jars.  Screw on caps tightly while carefully protecting your hands with oven mitts/potholders, and turn the jars upside down until cool.  They will keep in the fridge for a year.

I ladle hot jelly into the metal gravy boat which is used to pour jelly safely into jars

The jelly can be spread on bread of course, especially a rustic loaf; it will soak well into its crevices.  However, if I feel extravagant I will take advantage of its more fluid nature when still slightly warm and use it as a thick desert sauce on yogurt which is topped with crème fraîche.  In other words, an instant parfait. Spooning through the tepid, gooey jelly to the cold, dense, rich crème fraîche to the lighter, pudding-like texture of the mild yogurt is a delight.