Just like Mémé taught me.

Moroccan Mint Tea

INGREDIENTS

• 4 cups boiling water
• 60 leaves of fresh mint (about 12 stems or 1 bunch), washed
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar

PROCEDURE

Crumbly, Mustardly Salmon

There are three kinds of recipes.  The first are the kind that totally, for lack of a better word, suck.  Fool me once; I never make those again.  The second are the kind that are terrific, but they just feel like a one-off.  An occasion recipe, maybe, for novelty.  And the third are the most rare, and the most wonderful.  The ones that you make, and then make, and then make, and then make again.  For me, this crumbly, mustardly salmon is by far and away the third kind of recipe, so much so that, since my parents are in town, I am making it for them along with my Roasted Ratatouille Lasagna Napoleons from French in a Flash a few weeks ago.

The concept is simple: salmon and mustard go well together.  I simply lightly butter the bottom of two store-bought fresh salmon fillets (my store makes sure they are skinless and boneless), and sit them in a skillet.  While they get crispy on the bottom, I make a kind of savory crumble of breadcrumbs, two mustards, thyme, and butter.  I pile it on top of the salmon while it’s still in the pan, and transfer the whole thing to the oven.  The salmon finishes cooking, and the crumbs gets crispy and nutty and tangy and spicy from the mustard.  It’s kind of like an easier, lighter, more elegant way of getting crispy fried fish, with a little French flavor and flair.

I serve it on a bed of blanched fine green beans, or next to a salad.  What’s next to it is not important.  It’s just about the salmon, so buttery, so tender, so good, and perfect, and earthy and wholesome, that I just can’t stop making it!  I made it for me and Mr. English, but he was late in getting home, so I took the opportunity to pack it up for lunch the next day, and served him some leftover pasta.  Shh!  I know, it was mean.  But the best food makes me very, very greedy, and very, very selfish.

I’m happy to report it’s just as good cold!

Easy Crumbly, Mustardly Salmon

INGREDIENTS

• 2 fillets of salmon, boneless and skinless
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• 1/2 cup fresh breadcrumbs
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened, plus extra for the salmon
• 1/2 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 teaspoon whole grain mustard
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

PROCEDURE

BBQ Coq au Vin

Some people get their kicks running marathons, or knitting, or surfing YouTube for hours a day.  I get mine reinventing classic French recipes.  This one is the fruit of last weekend’s experimentation with turning classic, wintry coq au vin into a summertime barbecue hero.

The flavors of classic coq au vin start with red wine.  Soaking the chicken in the wine all night is the French equivalent to a southern buttermilk bath: it tenderizes the meat, while staining it a gorgeous garnet.  Then, the chicken is seared in bacon fat, with mushrooms and pearl onions, and stewed in wine.  It’s stewy, with everything falling off the bone, and lots of red wine sauce for mixing into your mashed potatoes.  It’s delicious, and completely inappropriate for warm weather.

For this version, I still soak the chicken in wine, but then I create a barbecue sauce from pancetta, dried wild mushrooms, shallots, thyme, and red wine.  I slather the thick, earthy, completely inimitable barbecue sauce all over the chicken, and grill it until its crisp and charred and luscious.

I think I’ve finally met the star of this Bastille Day’s French barbecue cookout.

Excerpted from my weekly column French in a Flash on Serious Eats.

BBQ Coq au Vin

INGREDIENTS

• 2 bone-in, skin-on whole chicken legs
• 2 skin-on chicken breasts
• 2 cups red Burgundy wine
• 1 3/4 ounces cubed pancetta
• 1 very large shallot, finely diced
• 3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
• 1/8 ounce dried wild mushrooms
• 1/4 cup ketchup
• 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
• 3 tablespoons light brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
• 1 tablespoon fresh thyme
• 1 bay leaf
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper

PROCEDURE

Crispy Broiled Scallops and Chorizo

I have a serious food crush on seafood with pork.  Here in London, a restaurant called J. Sheekey’s Oyster Bar makes squid and wild boar cassoulet.  My heart stops.  It is literally all I live for.

And while I can’t exactly make cassoulet any ol’ night of the week, much less with wild boar, I can still get that combination of down-home deliciousness and elegance that the combination offers.  Enter, my Crispy Broiled Scallops and Chorizo.

To me, cooking for two means limiting not just my time spent, but also my ingredients.  I don’t want to go out and spend a fortune stocking my cupboard with things I’m only going to use once, and in such a small quantity.  And when cooking with just a few ingredients, it’s important to make each one count, so that the food is exciting and tempting, not boring.

This dish is the perfect example.  I start with scallops, because scallops are sweet and rich and always feel like a treat.  But, the bay scallops are cheaper than the big fancy scallops, and they cook a lot more quickly.  And Spanish chorizo is bang for your buck.  In it, you get the salty meaty flavor of the ham, that gorgeous burnt red smoky flavor of the paprika, and tons of garlic.  And I only had to buy one thing!  Toss the chorizo and scallops together, and automatically the fat and flavor melts out of the chorizo in the oven and bathes and crisps the scallops.  Gorgeous!  I top the whole thing with panko crumbs for crunch and fresh baby greens for something light.

I serve these in individual baking dishes, and whether I serve it for just me and Mr. English, or I do the unthinkable and have people over during the week, I have this really impressive, kind of fancy, really delicious dinner in fifteen minutes and just a couple of ingredients.  If only all things in life were this easy!

From my weekly column Dinner for Two on Serious Eats.  Check it out every Friday!

Crispy Broiled Scallops and Chorizo

INGREDIENTS

• 14 ounces of bay scallops
• 2 ounces of Spanish chorizo, diced to the same size as the scallops
• 2 teaspoons, plus 1 teaspoon olive oil, plus extra for drizzling
• 3 tablespoons panko
• 1 tablespoon chopped flat leaf parsley (optional)
• A handful of microgreens, baby arugula, or cress
• Sea salt

PROCEDURE

Chargrilled Zucchini Croque Mademoiselle

There’s a place downstairs from my old apartment in Paris called the Horse’s Tavern Café.  It has an inside, but I’ve never seen it.  For me, it’s all about sitting at the tables that tumble forth out of the front door and onto the Carrefour Odéon, and ordering from their ‘Croques‘ menu: a whole list of different melted cheese sandwiches.  I love the one that comes with prosciutto instead of regular Paris ham.  But there’s also three cheese.  And a whole array of different hams.  I’m like a kid in a ham candy store.

But the vegetarian options are limited, and because I spent twelve years as a vegetarian, I wanted to create one as amazing as the traditional Croque Monsieur, and all the other croque options at the Horse’s Tavern.  This version uses chargrilled, herbes de Provence-scented zucchini, for that same smoky ham taste, and that bite of something other than cheese that adds interest to the sandwich.  I sandwich the zucchini between two piles of Emmenthaler and two slices of rustic white sandwich bread, and toast.  Then, I smother the top of the sandwich a with béchamel punched up with Dijon mustard and a fresh scrape of nutmeg, and another blanket of cheese.  Into the broiler to bubble and blister, and you have a big, fork-and-knife, Horse’s Tavern-worthy vegetarian Croque.  Just a little more delicate that the Monsieur, so I call it the Mademoiselle.

Excerpted from my weekly column French in a Flash on Serious Eats.

Chargrilled Zucchini Croque Mademoiselle

INGREDIENTS

• 1 medium zucchini, cut into 4 long planks
• 2 teaspoons olive oil
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• Pinch of herbes de Provence
• 1/2 tablespoon unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for spreading on the bread
• 1/2 tablespoon all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1/2 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
• 2 2/3-inch slices of fresh white sandwich bread
• 3/4 grated Emmenthaler, plus 1/2 cup

PROCEDURE

Hot Hot Hot Chipotle Steak Tacos

When cooking for two, and living as two, it’s important to keep the fire alive.  In other words, to keep things hot in the kitchen.

As in, taco night.  Of course.

Traditionally, for me, taco night was one of those completely impractical but absolutely unmissable bimonthly family events.  We had all kinds of incarnations: black bean tacos.  Jumbo shrimp tacos.  Spicy turkey tacos.  But they all had one thing in common: seventeen and a half components each, all made from scratch, and forty-two plates to wash afterwards.  The very thing that makes tacos so perfect for a dozen ravenous friends—the million little bowls brimming with different salsas and toppings and guacamoles—is the very same thing that makes it so fun and amazing, and also so completely and ridiculously impractical for two people.

Until now.  Just because I’ve left my mother’s house and am now living à deux doesn’t mean my love or need for tacos has diminished.  So I set myself the challenge of developing a taco night that’s practical for two.

Here’s the plan: buy an inexpensive flank steak and a can of chipotles in adobo.  Whiz up the contents of the can of chipotles in a mini food processor and instantly it creates this spicy, smoky, savory marinade that you pour all over the steak.  Grill the steak on a hot grill pan right on the stove, along with some fresh green onions (such a great taco combo).  Slice up the charred, hot, crusted steak and the green onions, and pile them into warm corn tortillas along with some simple toppings: finely preshredded cabbage (just buy it like that!), torn leaves of cilantro, a spritz of lime, and a quick mash up of sour cream and avocado to cool things down.  It all happens in one pan, but the flavors and textures are as fun and tantalizing and complex as any hi-falutin’ family taco night out there.  Maybe even a tad more sophisticated, because after all, I am now officially all grown up.

Here’s to keeping the spice in life, and to feeling the heat.

From my weekly column Dinner for Two on Serious Eats.  Check it out every Friday!

Fiery Chipotle Soft Tacos with Charred Scallions, Cilantro, and Avocado Cream

INGREDIENTS

• 1 7-ounce can of chipotle in adobo
• 1 1 1/3-pound flank steak
• Sea salt
• Vegetable or olive oil
• 1 bunch of scallions, trimmed
• 1 avocado
• 1/4 cup sour cream
• 1 lime, quartered
• A handful or two of thinly shredded cabbage (I buy a bag of preshredded cole slaw cabbage)
• A big handful of torn cilantro leaves
• 8 5 1/2-inch corn tortillas

PROCEDURE

Zucchini Gratin

If there’s one thing I love about French home cookin’, it’s a gratin.

But, gratins are pretty hard to justify.  Especially with the onset of summer.  Gratins and beaches mix about as well as oil and water.  That is to say, not at all.

So I’ve recently gone on this ‘gratin-lite’ kick: baked dishes that have the same kind of bubbling creaminess and comforting crusty top as my favorite, say, potato Dauphinoise, but just a bit lighter.  This particular zucchini version is inspired by a zucchini crumble I had about two summers ago in Avignon at a restaurant called Le Moutardier, because it was built on the site of the old mustard maker back when the pope lived in Avignon.  There’s not a lot of mustard there now, but there is a breathtaking zucchini crumble on the menu, made with mint and cheese, that inspired this summer gratin.

It starts with lots of zucchini, tossed in a warm sauce of shallots and garlic, white wine, and a little crème fraîche.  Toss it rustically into a baking dish with tons of fresh herbs: mint, thyme, and parsley.  Top it all off with a half crumble, half gratin topping of breadcrumbs, Gruyère, Parmigiano Reggiano, and a little bit of butter.  Bake it until the lightly creamy wine sauce is bubbling up around the edges, the zucchini is tender, but substantial, and the topping is crispy and well tanned.  I serve it with some boiled baby potatoes tossed with a little olive oil, herbs, and sea salt.

It has that comforting hot sauciness and crispy cheesiness of a standard gratin, but I’ve swapped potatoes for zucchini and heavy cream for white wine.  Magnifique.

Excerpted from my weekly column French in a Flash on Serious Eats.

Fresh Zucchini Crumble

INGREDIENTS

• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, room temperature, plus 1 1/2 tablespoons
• 1 large shallot, finely diced
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1/3 cup dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc
• 1/4 cup crème fraîche
• 6 medium zucchinis, diagonally sliced 1/2-inch thick
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint
• 1 tablespoon chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
• 1 cup fresh breadcrumbs
• 1/3 cup finely chopped walnuts
• 1/2 cup grated Gruyère
• 1/2 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano
• Drizzle of extra virgin olive oil (optional)

PROCEDURE

Grilled Garlic Bread with White Bean Shrimp Scampi

Shrimp Scampi. It may have sunk to diner fare, but then again, diners are kind of where you go to eat any kind of food you REALLY want. Nothing beats those jumbo, juicy shrimp, stewed in white wine with garlic and butter. The parsley is that something green that justifies the ostrich-sized nest of linguine beneath the shrimp. So decadent, and messy, and tangled, and happy.

I love this sleek, modern twist on my beloved scampi.

Char up some thick country bread drizzled in olive oil, and rub it with garlic. Then top it with a five-minute, one-pot stew of meaty shrimp, creamy, comforting cannellini beans, even more garlic, white wine, and just a touch of butter for authenticity. I toss in a handful of parsley or arugula or both, then pour it over the charred garlic bread. The sauce soaks into the crusts, and the shrimp and beans together are so hearty and garlicky and good. Eat this with someone you love, and who loves you. (There’s a lot of garlic.)

From my weekly column Dinner for Two on Serious Eats.  Check it out every Friday!

Grilled Garlic Bread with White Bean Shrimp Scampi

INGREDIENTS

• 4 extra thick slices of excellent crusty, rustic round bread
• 2 tablespoons of olive oil plus extra for drizzling
• 10 cloves garlic, sliced or chopped, plus 1 whole clove
• Sea salt
• 1 pound thawed frozen peeled and deveined large shrimp
• A pinch of chili flakes
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• 1/2 cup dry white wine, such as Pinot Grigio
• 1 15-ounce can of cannellini beans, drained and rinsed
• 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, diced
• 1/2 cup flat leaf parsley, roughly chopped

PROCEDURE

Creamy Mussels with Sauce Roquefort

My stepfather comes from Normandy, which I secretly love for the extremely selfish reason that it means I get to go to a whole different part of France, and eat.  To go where I ordinarily wouldn’t, and to eat what I would otherwise dream of eating.  Mussels.

Across the bridge from Le Havre, which was destroyed in World War II and was rather hastily rebuilt, resides an adorable little seaside town called Honfleur.  There, the harbor is lined with little restaurants, cafés, and bistros.  Some worth their salt.  The dish to get is mussels.  In America, we prize the giant black beasts, but in France, you get tiny, sweet, succulent little mussels that I so much prefer.  They come as a meal: a million little mussels in a great enameled iron pot, the lid of which quickly becomes the bowl for your million little shells.  On the side comes the torn baguette and side of crunchy, salty fries.  And at the bottom of your great mussel pot comes the sauce you ordered.  You can, if you’re enterprising, try about twenty sauces.  Marinière, made with white wine and onions.  Dijon, made with mustard.  Cream, which is Marinière with sweet, thick Normandy cream stirred in.  Provençal, made with garlic and tomatoes.  Garlic.  Cider.  Beer.  Pistou.  And maybe the most unique, and certainly my favorite: Roquefort.  The Cream sauce with sharp, pungent blue Roquefort cheese melted in.  Gorgeous!

This is the perfect example of how choosing some killer ingredients means you don’t have to do any work.  The whole dish takes five minutes to cook, maybe ten with prep.  Sweet shallots start the white wine and thyme broth.  The mussels leech their own briny liquor.  And then, to finish, that sharp, distinct Roquefort blue and the sweet, thick cream that makes Normandy Normandy.  It’s perfectly balanced, with attitude.  Eat it like the Normans do, with your fingers, using an empty shell to pluck fresh mussels and plop them into your mouth.  Then break the shell in half, and use one side as a spoon for all that sauce.

All you need is a bottle of that dry, cold hard Norman apple cider, and you’re in business.  Or Honfleur.  Whichever you prefer.

Excerpted from my weekly column French in a Flash on Serious Eats.

Mussels with Creamy Roquefort Sauce

INGREDIENTS

• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 2 shallots, finely diced
• 1/2 cup dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc
• 8 stems thyme
• 1 3/4 oz Roquefort, roughly crumbled
• 2 pounds mussels, cleaned and debearded
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• 1/3 c heavy cream

PROCEDURE

Niçoise Tuna Lettuce Wraps

Nothing makes me run for salad like the first sight of springtime sunshine. All I want are bright, light things that still fill me up after a day at the office. I love a classic, but a classic can be so much more fun when you have a little irreverent play with it.

Take the Niçoise salad: torn leaves topped with potatoes, egg, green beans, tomatoes, and canned tuna and anchovies. My favorite restaurant in Paris has a perennial dish on the menu called “Niçoise à Ma Façon,” or, “Niçoise Salad, My Way.” It’s a life-altering tumble of baby gem lettuce, slightly soft French green beans, new potatoes, crumbled purple potato chips, caper berries, anchovies, canned albacore, slivered pickled garlic, fried shallots, and hard boiled egg, tossed in a creamy, soft lemon dressing. A Niçoise salad is the kind of quotidian dish that you eat without consequence at a million other places, but you come back from Paris talking about Niçoise à Ma Façon.

Inspired, I took a shot a trying Niçoise à My Façon. I bag the canned fish for barely seared rare fresh tuna and good white marinated anchovies, dice them up with fresh, crisp haricots verts and baby grape tomatoes and hearty purple or golden potatoes, and then hit it with briny olives and capers, fresh basil, and bright lemon and olive oil. I spoon the mixture into delicate lettuce cups and eat them like tacos. Provençal at its best!

Seared Rare Tuna Niçoise Lettuce Wraps

INGREDIENTS

• 1/2 pound fresh tuna steak
• 1 1/2 teaspoons olive oil, plus 2 teaspoons, plus 1/4 cup
• 1 1/4 teaspoons herbes de Provence
• Sea salt
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• 1 clove of garlic, halved
• Zest and juice of 1 lemon
• The leaves from 2 stems of thyme
• 2 teaspoons French-style mayonnaise
• 1/4 teaspoon honey
• 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, cooked and cooled, cut into twelve pieces each
• 6 tablespoons blanched and cooled and chopped haricots verts
• 1/2 cup halved baby grape tomatoes
• 3 tablespoons chopped Niçoise olives
• 3 tablespoons slivered red onion
• 1 tablespoon capers
• 6 fillets of anchovies in olive oil (soak in milk for a milder flavor)
• 8 small leaves of red leaf or romaine lettuce

PROCEDURE