Southern Fried French

City Swallows, and How to Make a French Nest

(DOUBLE-DIP today: go to www.thedailybasics.com where Southern Fried French is doing a Guest Blog today. We tell all on how to put together a wonderful CHEESE TRAY, the French way, for your next dinner party)!

The sociable swallows like to nest near humans, in barns, on porches, above doors. Pierre has cut a small corner out of the enormous barn door of the château, une petite porte so they can make their home there, as they have every year. A neighbor has cut out a little heart in the middle of his barn door as well. It seems they can fly full speed through these pint-sized portes.

Y'all come on in: A hole-y door is an open invitation to swallows

We go in the barn periodically to check on our chatty matriarch’s progress. The nest is up high in the rafters, so we listen eagerly for the soft peep of the babies. Soon they are flapping around the barn, testing their wings. Maman keeps them close for a while; they don’t leave the barn until they can pass their flying exam. They get used to us, when we are in the barn fixing one thing or another. They watch us attentively then practice swooping down to greet us with noisy hellos. Then one day, like the tulips, they are gone.

Once in the busy little medieval town of Cluny, we saw an astonishing sight: A tiny nest, right on the main street. It was on the deep stone sill of a window, so close to the narrow sidewalk that it risked being jostled by an elbow. But amazingly, the babies, tiny versions of their mom and nearly ready for prime time, were chirping away in the nest. Someone had taped a little note beside the nest that said: Ne touchez pas! Please don’t touch the nest or the babies. Mama is not through with them yet!

While we’re on the subject of nests, time to whip up some of those famous French meringues. Formed into nests then filled with fruit jazzed up with a little liqueur, they make the perfect light (and lowfat) dessert, sweet and crunchy and fresh. There are many ways to make them, but this method has worked for me.

Recipe: MERINGUE NESTS WITH FRESH BERRIES AND CASSIS

Serves 4

4 egg whites
1 cup confectioners sugar, or superfine sugar
¼ t. cream of tartar
½ t. vanilla
Fresh berries, cut up if large
A fruity liqueur such as Cassis (or Triple sec, Gran Marnier, Amaretto…)
Fresh mint for garnish

With an electric mixer, whip the eggs and cream of tartar in a metal bowl over a pan of water that is barely simmering, until they are good and foamy. Gradually add the sugar, beating until you have soft peaks. Remove from heat and add vanilla. Continue beating until thick and shiny, peaks are nearly stiff, and eggs have cooled--several minutes.

Spoon mixture into a pastry bag or—-for lazy cooks like me—-into a plastic sandwich bag, then cut the tip off of one end. Put a Silpat on your cookie sheet (you do have a Silpat don’t you? If you ever make cookies, you will love it). Or, line it with parchment paper.

Pipe mixture into nest shapes, starting with high sides, lower in the middle. Use a spoon to flatten out the middle and re-shape as needed. They can be rustic, they’re nests after all.

Bake at 300 degrees for 15-25 minutes, until crisp. Turn off oven, open door a bit, and let cool completely in oven.

Mix some of your favorite berries with the liqueur and spoon into shells. Garnish with mint. The sight of them will make you want to sing!

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The Château in Spring: Les Hirondelles arrivent!!

Photo: The potager at Château de Balleure

It’s spring in La Bourgogne, and around the château we are thrilled at the usual signs: the glowing gold forsythia, the fruit trees showing off their colorful spring party dresses, and the mélange of tulips in pure primary colors that the French adore. But one thing in particular says spring to me here: the return of les hirondelles, the barn swallows. One day there are none, and the next day we see them everywhere, flitting around with their little forked tails. You may know them well, but as these world travelers have yet to discover Charleston, they are a novelty to us here in France.

I wander down to the potager outside the drawbridge arch, where I find Pierre with rubber boots and work clothes and his ever present pipe, contemplating the planting of his vegetables. There will be potatoes, and rhubarb and herbs, and lots of tomatoes. Lavendar iris form a colorful frame around his blank, square canvas of terre.

Pierre talks to me about the migration of the swallows. They leave their winter home in the tropics, he tells me, as far away as South Africa. They sometimes fly 200 miles a day, many dying from starvation or exhaustion.

When the swallows arrive, suddenly the air is filled with the music of their songs. They careen around the castle at full speed, all swirls and loops. They seem not to mind humans at all. One day, when we were in our salon with the windows wide open at both ends, they got a game going, or perhaps on the 4th floor we were just in their flight path. One swallow would come zooming in the window and across the room, leaving us ducking on the sofa. He (she? I doubt any female of the species would be so foolish) would then zip out the other window, following the round curve of the tower, then buzz us all over again. A friend joined him until they tired of the game.

And in the markets, the first signs of spring are those lovely bundles of asparagus, in two color choices: spring green or blossom white. Choose your color and enjoy this quick, light supper that will leave you time to linger in the garden, and be serenaded by the birds.

(P.S. Hot tip: a Parisian friend just emailed to say she’s renting out her 3 bdrm house in Les Lilas, Paris east, by week or month this August, 500 euros/week. Interested? Email her at [email protected].
AND did you catch Southern Fried French on thedailybasics.com last week? See the "Francophile Alert" post for May 13.
AND yummy reader recipes from Mary Flowers and Sue Mannings in last week's comments!)

RECIPE: Roasted Asparagus Crostini with Fresh Herbs

For 2:
1 small baguette; cut 4 thin slices at an angle
Olive oil
One bunch of asparagus
A handful of fresh herbs, finely chopped
4 eggs
Good quality parmesan, grated

Brush bread slices with olive oil, then sprinkle with sea salt and pepper and arrange on a small baking sheet.

Bend aparagus until they break and discard stems. In a baking dish, toss them with a tablespoon of olive oil, some sea salt, and pepper. Put asparagus and bread into oven, pre-heated to 375 degrees (put asparagus on the higher shelf). Cook until asparagus are just tender and bread is crispy, 8- 10 minutes (check both often, especially if the asparagus are thin). Remove both from oven and toss asparagus with a handful of fresh chopped herbs of your choice from the garden (parsley, chives, oregano, thyme…).

Meanwhile, poach the eggs by slipping them into simmering water from a cup, one at a time.

Put 2 toasts on each plate, top with asparagus and poached eggs (well-drained),and the parmesan. Set up a table in the garden. Don’t forget the vin blanc.

Next week: A story about some citified French swallows, and a lovely bird nest dessert. (You have subscribed, haven't you? Don't forget!)

Part two: A Party at the Château, continued. Where there’s Work, there’s Lunch!

Photo: It takes a big ole machine to clean out a château attic!

The attic cleaning party (with 14 worker bees) continues…

There is something y’all should know about Nicole, the keeper of the castle. She is the most generous person I know and would do anything for her friends. She is a beloved mentor to the adolescents she works with. One of her students affectionately calls her the General, and the description is pretty much right-on. I sometimes think of her as Admiral Earth Mother.

In keeping with her rank, she is a masterful organizer and delegator. So when she calls in her debts, it is time to Pay Your Dues.

Nicole’s best friend Wendy is an English widow whose husband was French. She is petite, slender, soft spoken, and has a wicked sense of humor. Wendy is a delightful hostess, but it’s no secret that she abhors cooking (though she has her fabulous specialties, as we were soon to learn). So she is not pleased when her orders come down from The General for the vide grenier party.

“Wendy, you will do the lunch” Nicole says to Wendy one morning before the big event.

“Nicole, for fourteen?!” Wendy responds, horrified.

“Yes Wendy, you’ll make your chicken curry”, Nicole says, breezily. And that is that.

Back at the vide grenier party, interest in lunch mounts as the big farm table in the summer kitchen is set for the crowd. The kitchen crew buzzes around the stove, and wonderful aromas drift and swirl around the courtyard. When the command is given—“Madame est servi!”—the crowd dusts themselves off and bustles in, jockeying for seats and filling wine glasses. Big bowls of delicious toppings for the spicy dish cover every free inch of the table and are passed round and round as the rice and steaming curry is heaped onto plates.

Photo: Lunch in the Summer Kitchen. That's Wendy in the navy sweater, between Pierre and me.

I don’t love curry but I love this dish, and it’s great for company. All the colorful bowls of toppings to pass around make it one of those fun, participatory meals; make it ahead and throw it in the freezer. Wendy, our Guest Chef du jour, learned to make this when she lived in Ghana, and has agreed to share her secrets.

P.S. In answer to the comment by the editor of The Daily Basics, (you DO subscribe to www.thedailybasics.com, don't you?). Yes there was some wonderful stuff that came out of that attic, most of which was to be sold. But pack-rat Pierre couldn’t part with a thing and it all went into the barn! I did manage come away with a set of linen napkins that Nicole’s mother had embroidered—definitely worth a hard day’s work.

RECIPE: Wendy’s West African Chicken Curry

The recipe Wendy gave me was one of those “ bit of this, bit of that” affairs. In fact you can play fast and loose with this recipe, and it always seems to come out fine. I’ve put some measurements to it for you.

Make this one or two days ahead. It serves 4 generously.

1 chicken, cut up, about 3.5 lbs.
Olive oil
For stock: quarter a carrot, onion, celery stalk; 1 bay leaf, s&p
1 cup white wine, 2 bouillion cubes
3 medium onions, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 T curry powder
½ t. cayenne pepper, or to taste
2 T peanut butter
2 T coconut
2 T tomato paste
cornstarch
Hot cooked Rice, and toppings (see below)

In large stockpot, brown chicken pieces in olive oil, in batches if necessary (you can skip this step, but it gives the stock more flavor). Return chicken to pot with stock ingredients plus wine and bouillion cubes. Bring to boil, then simmer until chicken is done, 40 minutes to an hour. Remove chicken to a plate. Cook stock and vegetables another half hour or more, then strain stock, discard vegetables, and set stock aside in a bowl.

Add oil to same pan and cook onions slowly until tender and translucent. Add garlic, s&p, and curry, then cook gently until it has some color, a minute or two, stirring. Add a cup of stock and stir a bit, over medium heat. Add cayenne, tomato paste, coconut and peanut butter. Stir in 2 1/2 more cups of stock. Simmer slowly 1 hour, covered. Taste to correct seasonings and add chicken to sauce.

Refrigerate for a day. To serve: heat slowly and simmer until chicken is thoroughly heated. If sauce seems too thin, mix a little cornstarch with cold water and stir it in, a bit at a time. Spoon over rice and pass any or all of the following toppings:

Roasted peanuts
Raisins
Coconut
Lightly sautéed bananas
Roasted cherry tomatoes
Chopped avocados
Chopped parsley
Chopped green onions

Enjoy, with a toast to Wendy!

Au Château, the Vide Grenier Party: Will Work for Lunch

Our first week at the château brought the first of what we would soon learn were the many “events” at Château de Balleure.

“Can you help us clean out the attic on Saturday?” Nicole asked, after teaching us a new phrase, vide grenier, for “empty attic”.

“Pourquoi pas?,” Ron and I answered, eager to help.

“Well it will be a sort of attic-cleaning party, and we’ll have lunch. Oh yes, and we will be fourteen.”

Fourteen? What kind of attic was this?

Well, for starters, the ceilings, which go off at all kinds of angles, are about 20 feet tall. All supported by large beams, more like massive tree trunks. I’ve owned houses with less floor space. Rubbing the dust off the windows as we poke about the dark interiors, I can see the cows and pastures several stories below. Every inch is packed with a lifetime of brocante: old, broken mirrors, trunks that promise treasures, mysterious wooden crates, and dusty armoires. There are dozens of wooden chairs, no two alike. Cobwebs connect one piece with the next in the shadowy space. Many of the crates, it turns out, are filled with assorted rocks and fossils, as Pierre is a collector. Everything has to go, for the enormous room is slated to become a kind of recreation/playroom, with a bar and pool table and a mezzanine for Pierre's collection. “All of this stuff is to go down a narrow, spiral, stone staircase?” Ron said uncertainly. It seemed impossible. Especially those crates of rocks. “Beh oui, we’ve got a plan”, said Nicole.

At 8 am on Saturday the work crew—all friends, lured by the possibility of lunch--start to trickle into the courtyard, children and dogs in tow. Espresso and croissants await to fortify us for the morning ahead. The plan begins to emerge: A huge basket crane arrives, with a man-lift at the top of the long arm. It will be raised to the high window of the grenier, where boxes and furniture will be loaded. The guys, happy with their giant toy, take turns riding up and down in the pail of the crane. Meanwhile in the courtyard the women get their chiffons at the ready. Dust rags in hand, we open every box, examine each family artifact, clean and sort. Everyone bavards, chats away in French that I can’t truly understand, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dogs and kids buzz around us, at their games. A darling 13-year-old boy who is a neighbor works beside me all morning, and a new friendship has budded. In the cluttered courtyard, there is a parade of mismatched chairs that marches clear across to the barn.

Photo: Henri est fatiqué. Will un café rouse him?

At 10:30 or so, the work stops, for casse croûte --literally, ‘breaking bread crusts’-- a tradition for laborers, or ouvriers. Out come the sawhorses and plywood to make a long table. Vin blanc appears, then sausages, slabs of cheese, and big crusty baguettes. The dust-covered crew all stand around the makeshift table, quizzing Pierre about his family artifacts and teasing him about his rock collection. Friend Monty decides Pierre should start collecting something new, and he has a good idea. “May I suggest feathers?”

Recipe
“Breaking Bread”: an uptown casse croûte

I’ve since put the concept of casse croûte in my recipe repertoire. It comes in handy when I want to throw together a light summer outdoor lunch, or when we have friends over for drinks, elegantly called apperos in France. Here’s my translation of casse croûte:

Assemble the following:

some sliced dry sausages and Italian hams,
such as prosciutto, coppa
Slices of gruyere and/or chunks of fresh parmesan
Crusty baguettes
Good quality mustard

Serve with any or all of these:

Olives
Cornichons
Pistachios, walnuts
radishes, with sea salt
Roasted red peppers

Arrange everything on a tray and and tuck in some fresh lemon or grape leaves. Serve with mustard, and a crisp white wine.

Don’t miss lunch! Next week, an amazing vide grenier lunch for les ouvriers.