French in a Flash: Bouillabaisse Pasta

RECIPE: Bouillabaisse Pasta
Bouillabaisse Pasta

Shellfish Bouillabaisse over Tagliatelle

My Papiers Provence (see link to the right) posts were some of my most popular ever, and my trip to the South continues to inform almost everything I create. I started off my French in a Flash column with Chilean sea bass, seared, and nestled among rock shrimp and mussels in a bouillabaisse broth. But one bouillabaisse dish is hardly enough! I love the richesse of it: the seafood (I almost always do an all-shellfish bouillabaisse), the heady marigold saffron. And the essences of Provence: the fennel and wine and sometimes Pernod. It’s a peasant dish gone for gold. So complicated, comprised of nothing but highs and lows–as Mr. English often claims I am! Maybe that’s why I love bouillabaisse so much. A kindred spirit.

So for my column this week, I reinvented bouillabaisse yet again. This time, I simmer a broth of white wine, fish fumet, cherry tomatoes, fennel, shallots, garlic, and, of course, saffron. Then I add the shrimp, mussles, and poularde clams, and the finally the crabmeat which gives it that thick texture of bouillabaisse broth. Next, I toss it with wide ribbons of hearty papardelle that I’ve undercooked, and then allow to bubble away in the steaming bath of bouillbaisse. The pasty goes marigold colored as well, and it’s just a really easy and creative way to reinvent the classic. And the sauce takes less time to make than the pasta, with hardly any work besides slicing a fennel and throwing some stuff in a pot. You could add a shot of Pernod, or some fennel fronds or parsley or chervil at the end. But this is the simple fix.

Bouillabaisse Pasta Cooking

Cherry tomatoes and fennel in bouillabaisse broth

For the whole story and recipe from French in a Flash on Serious Eats, click here. Bon app!

Bouillabaisse Pasta
serves 4

Bouillabaisse PastaIngredients

  • 500 grams tagliatelle

  • 1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil

  • 3 cloves garlic, chopped

  • 1 large shallot, finely diced

  • 1/2 small fennel, thinly sliced

  • 1 400-gram can of cherry tomatoes, drained (substitute with 1 can petite-diced tomatoes, drained)

  • 350 grams Poularde clams, or other small clams

  • 500 grams mussels

  • 300 grams large shrimp, peeled and deveined

  • 75 grams crab meat

  • 3/4 cup dry white wine

  • 3/4 fish stock

  • 2 pinches (.3 grams) saffron threads

  • 1 tablespoon butter, cold


  1. Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water just until al dente.  It will cook more in the bouillabaisse broth, so you want to be sure not to overcook it.  Drain.

  2. While the pasta cooks, make the bouillabaisse sauce.  In a high-sided sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat.  Add the garlic, shallots, and fennel, and reduce the heat to medium-low.  Season with salt and pepper, and sweat for 7 minutes until the vegetables are translucent, but uncolored.

  3. Add the drained cherry tomatoes and the wine.  Raise the heat to medium, and simmer the wine until it reduces slightly, about 3 to 4 minutes.

  4. Add the fish stock and the saffron threads.  Bring to a simmer.  Then add the clams, mussels, and shrimp.  Season with salt and pepper, cover, and allow to steam until the clams and mussels open—about 5 minutes.

  5. Shake the cold butter into the hot sauce.  Add in the drained pasta.  Raise the heat to medium-high, and cook so that the pasta absorbs some of the broth, and finishes cooking—about 2 minutes.  Serve immediately.

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Categories: 30 Minutes, Eat, Fish, French in a Flash, Main Courses, Recipes, Series, Sides, Starches

The Secret Ingredient (Liquid Smoke) Part III: Smoky Hogfish and Pepper Escabeche

RECIPE: Smoky Hogfish and Pepper Escabeche
Hog Fish and Pepper Escabeche

Hogfish and Pepper Escabeche

Get the whole story at Serious Eats.

My inspiration for experimenting with liquid smoke came from a dish I had in a restaurant once, which is where I get many of my ideas for home cooking. We were traveling in the South of France where many meals involved trout. It’s horrible to admit that I got bored of trout, yet I did.

But along came a dish at the bistro in Cap d’Antibes which sounded simple enough: Trout Escabeche. When it arrived at the table, it was two filets of crispy-seared trout, covered in this delicate pepper and fennel escabeche with a smoky foam and a tomato skin crisp as a cracklin’. I awoke from the trout lull, licking the foam from the fork, wondering, “what is that flavor!?”


The original dish at Le Jardin in Cap d'Antibes.

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Categories: Recipes, Series, The Secret Ingredient

French in a Flash: Summer Berry Rissoles

RECIPE: Summer Berry Rissoles
Summer Berry Rissoles

Summer Berry Rissoles

If you like my Sorrel Shrimp Rissoles, then I know you’ll like the original, my Summer Berry Rissoles. Rissoler means to brown, and the way we learned rissoles in culinary school was to stuff balls of puff pastry with sweet syrup-poached pear. Delicious, but once again, you had to spend a lot of time and effort on your little donut hole reward.
 These are easy. Start with frozen puff pastry, and some beautiful berries, and then proceed as if making fresh ravioli. Fry them up, toss them with sugar, and you’re done. The outside is like a crusty doughnut with a million layers, but soft, and sweet, as well, and the inside is like a starburst of sweettart berries that are just turning from fresh fruit to pie filling as they explode in your mouth.

If you never thought you’d ever eat fried puff pastry, don’t mock it till you’ve tried it. These are your own homemade French Pop’ems. Bon app!

Summer Berries

Summer Berries

For the full story and recipe from my French in a Flash column at Serious Eats, click here.

Summer Berry Rissoles
makes 16 rissoles

Summer Berry RissolesIngredients

  • 2 sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed

  • 1/2 cup raspberries

  • 1/2 cup blueberries

  • 2 teaspoons flour

  • 2 teaspoons sugar

  • 1 egg, beaten

  • Vegetable oil for frying

  • Powdered sugar


  1. Fill a pot halfway with vegetable oil, and begin heating it to 350 degrees F.

  2. Using some bench flour, roll the cold but thawed puff pastry out into a square that is about 12 inches on each side.  Cut 4 equal strips across the pastry.

  3. Toss the berries with the flour and the sugar.

  4. Making the rissoles is just like making ravioli.  One strip of dough will be the base, on which you place your filling.  Another strip of dough will blanket over the filling, and then you will stamp out the ravioli.  So, begin with 2 strips of dough.  Brush each lightly with beaten egg, to help the top and bottom pastries stick together.  In your mind, divide the base strip of dough into 4 squares.  Alternating, place either 2 raspberries or 3 blueberries in the center of each of those squares.  Place the top layer of dough, egg wash side down, over the dough dotted with berries.  Use your fingers to create little pockets, and press the dough lightly all around and between the filling, so any air gets out, and so the dough sticks firmly together.  Flour a 2 ½-inch ravioli stamp, and stamp out the little round, fluted rissoles.

  5. When the oil reaches 350 degrees F, fry the rissoles in 2 batches for about 5 to 6 minutes, until golden and flakey.  Drain on paper town, and dust generously with powdered sugar, like Tinkerbell scattering fairy dust.  Eat them when they’re still too hot.

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Categories: Desserts, Eat, French in a Flash, Fruit, Pastry, Recipes, Series, Vegetarian

French in a Flash: Sorrel Shrimp Rissoles with Artichoke Aïoli

RECIPE: Sorrel Shrimp Rissoles with Artichoke Aïoli
Sorrel Shrimp Beignets

Sorrel Shrimp Beignets

I know, I’ve been frying things a lot in my column lately. The squirrels who tumble around Central Park this time of year like fat ladies in fur coats inspire me to eat myself into winter. The good thing about these shrimp rissoles is that if you have tremendous willpower, you can eat just one. I dare you.

These are an unorthodox take on rissoles. I take jumbo shrimp, and coat them with one leaf of citrusy, grassy sorrel. Then I wrap them in sheets of filo dough coated in olive oil, and fry them, or rissoler them, until they are golden and crisp. I make an easy artichoke heart and garlic aioli to wipe them in. The result is a scattering of golden shards of crisp filo when you bite into the rissole, and then the tart tang of the sorrel, and this super-juicy just-cooked shrimp. Then, the pungent garlic and the chunky artichoke. It’s so good all together. And the good thing is, it can be made almost entirely from the pantry: shrimp, artichoke hearts, and filo dough from the freezer, mayonnaise, garlic, and olive oil from the fridge and pantry. Make them, and squirrel them away before anyone else can get their bright eyes and bushy tail near them!

Artichoke Aïoli

Artichoke Aïoli

You can find the full story and recipe from my column French in a Flash on Serious Eats. Bon app!

Sorrel Shrimp Rissoles with Artichoke Aïoli
serves 4

Sorrel Shrimp BeignetsIngredients for the Shrimp Rissoles

  • 12 8-12 count shrimp, peeled and deveined, tails on

  • 12 sorrel leaves

  • 12 sheets filo dough

  • Olive oil

  • Vegetable oil

  • Salt

Ingredients for the Artichoke Aïoli

  • 1 clove garlic

  • 4.5 ounces thawed frozen artichoke hearts (1/2 packet)

  • ½ cup mayonnaise

  • Zest and juice ¼ lemon

Procedure for the Shrimp Rissoles

  1. Fill a cast iron skillet halfway up with vegetable oil.  Bring to 330 degrees F.

  2. You will make 4 stacks of filo, 3 sheets thick.  Lay down 2 sheets of filo, brush thoroughly with olive oil, and place the final sheet on top.  Cut into 3 equal strips.  Then season the shrimp with salt.  Place a shrimp on the edge of 1 strip of filo dough, leaving a slight border.  Place the sorrel leaf on the shrimp, and then wrap in the dough, tucking in corners as you go.  Repeat for all 12 shrimp.

  3. Fry the shrimp in 3 batches, 3 minutes per side.  Drain on paper towel, and sprinkle with salt.

Procedure for the Artichoke Aïoli

  1. Pulse the garlic in a mini food processor until it is smashed to smithereens.  Then, add in the artichoke hearts, and pulse to rubble.  Add the mayonnaise and lemon zest and juice, and some salt.  The pulse to a chunky paste.

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Categories: Appetizers & Hors D’Oeuvres, Eat, For a Crowd, French in a Flash, Recipes, Series

The Secret Ingredient (Liquid Smoke) Part II: Smoky Bison Sandwiches

RECIPE: Smoky Bison Sandwiches
Smoky Bison Sandwich

Smoky Bison Sandwich

Get the whole story at Serious Eats.

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of liquid smoke is how it’s made. It may seem like some magic potion corked inside a bottle, since how could smoke ever become a liquid? But in fact, the process is so sensible and straightforward that I am not surprised by how inexpensive the product is, but rather by how obscure it remains.

Liquid smoke starts with wood. The two most popular varieties are mesquite and hickory, but apple and pecan woods are also used. The wood is heated to a slow smolder until smoke begins to waft from the hot wood. The smoke, and its flavor, is trapped in tiny particles of water vapor. Once cooled, the water vapor condenses back into liquid form, still containing all the flavor. Liquid smoke is then aged, and finally filtered before being bottled.

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Categories: Recipes, Series, The Secret Ingredient

French in a Flash: Lavender-Apricot Chicken Drumsticks

RECIPE: Lavender Apricot Chicken Drumsticks

**This recipe was featured in Oprah Winfrey’s O magazine!**

Lavender Apricot Chicken Drumsticks

Lavender Apricot Chicken Drumsticks

I am not the most cut and dry person. I am verbose. I like excess. These are my faults, and I hang them on the laundry line for you to peruse at your leisure. So it seems ironic that someone so partial to inefficiency should claim that French food can be made quickly, and easily. But I believe it in my gut as truly and deeply as I believe my gut when it tells me I’m hungry. Sometimes, I believe it even before it tells me! So when I come up with something truly simple and easy but fabulous, well, I have a bit of a glow around me for a few days.

Last week’s French in a Flash is just such a recipe. Cheap and cheerful chicken drumsticks, my favorite part anyway, are roasted to crisp, and then brushed like a Cezanne in apricot preserves and speckled with lavender blossoms. The glaze bubbles and crusts in a sweet-savory sticky sensation all over the chicken, and that lavender partners perfectly in a Provencal duet that is so unexpected and delicious, but requires almost no effort or expense. Sorry if my chest is more puffed out than the poor old chicken’s, but I’m happy with this one! I hope you’ll try it.


Dried, Edible Lavender

For the full story and recipe on Serious Eats, click here!

Bon app!

Lavender Apricot Chicken Drumsticks
serves 4 to 6

Lavender Apricot Chicken DrumsticksIngredients

  • 3 pounds chicken drumsticks (about 10 drumsticks)

  • 2 tablespoons olive oil

  • Salt and pepper

  • 1 cup apricot preserves

  • 1 tablespoon boiling water

  • Dried edible lavender blossoms


  1. Preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

  2. Toss the chicken with the olive oil and season with salt and pepper.  Place a Silpat over a baking sheet with a lip, and lay the chicken out on the baking sheet.  Roast for 30 minutes.

  3. After 30 minutes, the chicken should be golden.  If it needs help, broil them for a few minutes to get the skin crisp and golden.

  4. Meanwhile, in a mini food processor, wiz together the apricot preserves and the tablespoon of boiling water.

  5. After 30 minutes, if you have not already turned on your broiler, do so.  Brush the chicken with half the apricot glaze, and place under the broiler for about 5 minutes, until the glaze starts to bubble and turn golden brown.  Then, turn the chicken over, glaze the other side, and broil until that side is bubbly and golden.

  6. Remove the chicken from the oven, and pile the legs up on a platter.  Sprinkle with lavender to taste.

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Categories: 60 Minutes, Easy, Eat, French in a Flash, Main Courses, Poultry, Recipes, Series

The Godfather

Jamie's Mozzarella with Pesto

Jamie's Mozzarella with Pesto

Whenever there is something new in my life, I suddenly lose my appetite. I’ve always fed myself well, and been suspicious of those frail girls who claim “Oh, I forgot to eat!” How can one forget to eat? Or not have time to eat? But at the end of the day, when there is a new boy in my life, or I move to a new place, or I start a new job—there I am, too nervous and busy and strung out to do the most simplest human task of hunting food down on a supermarket shelf, gathering it onto my plate, and, after all is said and done, eating it.

Jamie's Salad Balsamic

Jamie's Salad Balsamic

There’s no new boy, just dear old Mr. English. And no new place. It has, after all, has been standing for a thousand years. But an MBA, that terrifying blazing bull’s eye I’d always hope my arrow might somehow meander into, that was, and continues to be, bright, shining, and new. And according to tradition, I was accidentally starving.

I have been lucky and have found myself three friends in an unlikely place. Carolina, an Argentine-American I can spot like a flare from across the room for her long, nymph-platinum hair and megawatt smile. Ola, a Nigerian-Londoner beauty, who shares my birthday. And Angie, a Roman firecracker, who seems like nothing would ever intimidate her, where I have never felt more intimidated in all my life.

Jamie's Pasta with Truffles

Jamie's Pasta with Truffles

Carolina, Ola, and I were standing around the front hall of the school, holding jelly beans. Also known as lunch in our new world. It was family done, and none of us had any family for miles and miles. Angie came trotting over with her parents. They were exactly as I expected Italians to be: he, graying and distinguished in a gray suit, and you just knew he slept in suits, woke in suits, played in suits, and worked in suits. And the she, elegant in all black, big hair worked in Roman curls, and lips stained and pouting. The little American inside me screamed: ITALIAN!

Before long, they were embracing us, and I was beginning to realize there wasn’t much difference between Brooklyn Italian and Roman Italian. Everyone was talking a mile a minute, and the next thing we new, we were invited to the family lunch.

Jamie's Spaghetti Bolognese

Jamie's Spaghetti Bolognese

We went to Jamie Oliver’s Italian restaurant cheap and cheerful corner restaurant, and before I knew what was happening, antipasti had been ordered for the table. Along with loaves of bread, hunks of focaccia and swords of bread sticks. Glugs of olive oil seemed to be spilling down from heaven. The waiter came and took our order, and Caro, Ola, and I all ordered some pasta. “Penne Arrabiata,” I requested, thinking that after something so dry as accounting, I’d need something hot and devilishly spicy. And my new godfather leaned over and whispered, “And what will you have after your pasta?”

Of course, I felt like an absolute ignoramus when I realized that to him, pasta was an appetizer, and I should have thought twice before ordering the wrong course. I think he seemed slightly alarmed at what he thought would turn out to be such an enormous order for a generally small person. “Oh, just the pasta for me, please,” I flushed. But then I bit my lip, and had to hold something in. I was homesick. I missed, pathetic as this sounds at my age, my Maman. And though this man, my new friend’s father, spoke with an urbane Italian accent and ordered his pasta as an appetizer, I recognized something in his voice—concern, care, generosity. As he asked us about boyfriends and classes, he declared, “Because your fathers are not here, I am your father! And they would want to know, so I want to know!”

I have never felt so welcome, or so revived. At the end of the meal, after the olive oil was wiped off the table and the macchiato foam had been licked off lips, the godfather turned to me and said in simple English, “I like you.” I grinned and said back, “I like you too. Thank you for lunch.”

Jamie's Italian

Jamie's Italian

But I was thankful for more than penne, and I hope he knew that. I think when I forget to eat, I also forget what eating is about: sitting at a table with people who can say at the end of the meal, “I like you.” And you can say, “I like you too.” When someone pays for your lunch, they are not buying you something you cannot buy yourself. Hopefully, even in these difficult years, pasta is not out of reach. He buys you pasta, but he gives you hospitality, and humanity, and in some very basic form, love. I hope that the busier I get, I will not let myself go hungry for any of those things again.

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Categories: Oxford, Restaurants, Voyages