Category: Cuisine

  • Croque-monsieur

    Croque-monsieur

    And croque-madame

    I don’t know about you, but there was a time when I’d skip the béchamel. My parents didn’t quite see it that way. It was everywhere – spooned over endives au four until they slumped and browned at the edges, tucked between sheets of lasagnes à la bolognaise, and, of course, slathered thickly over croques-monsieur, bubbling and golden from the oven.

    Dad liked his béchamel thick, creamy, and freckled with more nutmeg than seemed sensible. And croque-madame? I think it might have been one of his favourites – a lacy-edged œuf au plat perched on top, with a crisp salad glistening in vinaigrette on the side.

    Yesterday, standing in front of the fridge, wondering what to make for lunch, I found myself craving that same creamy croque-madame. Dijon mustard spread just so, a generous handful of Comté, melting into golden puddles. I wished for the herbed jambon blanc from the charcuterie window of my childhood – marbled with fat and rolled in herbes de Provence – but settled instead for thin slices of peppery smoked ham. It worked.

    The béchamel? I made it the way I like it now – smooth, with a proper grating of nutmeg and plenty of freshly milled black pepper. Funny how things change.

    Some flavours, it seems, creep up on you with age. The ones you once dismissed as too rich, too boozy, too bitter – they slip back in, softer, gentler, until you start to crave them.

    Things I used to avoid but now can’t quite resist:
    – béchamel, nutmeg-heavy, like my dad’s
    – rum raisin ice cream
    – cognac sabayon, silky and sweet
    – panettone, toasted and buttered until golden
    – orange marmalade on crisp toast
    – a glass of dry sherry, ice-cold from the fridge
    – endives, crisp and bitter, in a salad

    What about you? Are there flavours you once pushed aside that now feel like old friends?

    PRINT

    Croque-monsieur

    A golden, bubbling croque-monsieur – sandwich bread slathered with creamy béchamel, layered with soft jambon blanc [ham] and a generous handful of nutty Comté, then gratinéed until the edges crisp and the cheese melts into every corner. Pair a simple salad: crisp lettuce and slender ribbons of endive, tossed in a sharp mustard vinaigrette that bites just enough!
    And if you’re after something a little more indulgent, just slip a fried egg on top – the yolk soft and golden – and you’ve got yourself a croque-madame.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time20 minutes
    Cook Time20 minutes
    Makes 4

    Ingredients

    For the croque-monsieur

    • 4-16 slices jambon blanc [ham] depending on the size of the slices
    • 8 slices sandwich bread
    • 4 tsp Dijon mustard
    • Béchamel sauce see below
    • 200 g Comté cheese grated
    • Salt
    • Black pepper

    For the béchamel sauce

    • 5 dl milk
    • 50 g salted butter
    • 50 g plain flour
    • Salt
    • Black-pepper
    • A touch of freshly grated nutmeg

    For the salad

    • 1 head crisp lettuce
    • 2 endives

    For the vinaigrette

    • 1 tbsp Dijon mustard
    • 1 shallot finely chopped
    • 1 garlic clove finely grated
    • 3 tbsp red wine vinegar
    • 1 dl rapeseed oil
    • 0.5 dl olive oil
    • Salt

    Instructions

    Make the béchamel:

    • Preheat the oven to 225°C / fan 200°C. Melt the butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the flour and cook for a minute until smooth. Remove from the heat and whisk in the milk until fully combined. Return the pan to the stove and cook until the sauce thickens, whisking constantly. Season with salt, freshly ground black pepper, and a touch of grated nutmeg. Set aside.
    • Assemble the croque-monsieur:
    • Spread a thin layer of Dijon mustard over half the bread slices. Spoon béchamel on top, spreading it all the way to the edges. Add 1–4 slices of jambon blanc [ham] to each sandwich, depending on the size of the slices. Season lightly with salt and pepper, then top with grated Comté, saving some for later.
    • Spread a little béchamel on the remaining bread slices and place them on top, béchamel-side down, to form sandwiches.

    Gratinate:

    • Place the sandwiches on a baking tray lined with parchment paper. Spread with the remaining béchamel over the tops, and sprinkle generously with the grated Comté.
    • Bake for 10-15 minutes, or until golden and bubbling.

    Prepare the salad and vinaigrette:

    • In the meantime, combine the chopped shallot and grated garlic with red wine vinegar and a pinch of salt. Let sit for 5 minutes to mellow. Whisk in the Dijon mustard, then gradually add the rapeseed and olive oils, starting with rapeseed. Thin with a splash of water if the vinaigrette feels too thick.
    • Thinly slice the endives and tear the crisp lettuce into pieces. Toss the greens with the vinaigrette just before serving.

    To serve:

    • Plate the croque-monsieur hot from the oven with a generous side of salad. Top with a fried egg for a croque-madame.
  • Crêpes complètes

    Crêpes complètes

    And my classical pâte à crêpes [crêpe batter] recipe!

    I’m often asked about the difference between French crêpes and Swedish plättar. It’s a fair question – they share, after all, the same simple pantry ingredients: milk, eggs, flour, salt, sugar and butter. But where crêpes spread thin across a wide pan, plättar are poured into a special cast-iron griddle, forming small, perfectly round pancakes.

    In my world, crêpes are meant to be folded, rolled, filled; while plättar are stacked, eaten by the dozen – best with a spoonful of jam and a cloud of loosely whipped cream.

    I’ve shared my plättar recipe in the past, and it’s still an everyday favourite, happening in our kitchen on an almost-weekly basis. Sometimes, I will even make savoury plättar, although I must admit I’m fond of the slightly chewier, sturdier texture of crêpes for this.
    However, since moving to Sweden, I’ve adapted my crêpe recipe: adding more salt and always using my trusted cast-iron pannkakspanna.

    Let’s have a look at the different ratios between crêpes and plättar. While both share the same base ingredients – milk, eggs, flour, butter, and salt – their proportions create distinct textures.

    Crêpes vs plättar

    CrêpesBakers %PlättarBakers %
    Milk500 ml200%500 ml277.8%
    Eggs480%255.6%
    Flour250 g100%180 g100%
    Butter50 g20%30 g16.7%
    Flaky sea salt2.5 g1%2.5 g1.4%

    Crêpes have a higher proportion of eggs and flour to liquid, giving them structure and elasticity. This makes them sturdy enough to be folded, rolled, or wrapped around both sweet and savoury fillings. The added chewiness also means they hold up well.

    Plättar, on the other hand, have more milk relative to flour and fewer eggs, resulting in a looser, more fluid batter. This makes them feel more custardy than crêpes, with a soft, tender texture. They are also cooked in a larger amount of salted butter, which pools around each pancake, creating lacy, crisp, golden edges with a hint of saltiness.

    Bonne chandeleur!

    PRINT

    Crêpes complètes

    A thin, golden crêpe, crisp at the edges, soft in the center. The kind you fold around ham, cheese, and a runny egg for a classic crêpe complète or stack with butter and sugar, and a drizzle of lemon juice, for something simple and sweet.
    When making crêpes complètes, one has to stand by the stove, making and serving the crêpes one by one. With the leftover batter, I always make a stack of crêpes, later eaten with jam, crème de marron and chantilly (a favourite), or simply sugar and lemon juice.
    More often than not, I use my basic recipe for both savoury and sweet crêpes. However, if you wanted to make only sweet ones – for a goûter – you’ll find what I usually add to the batter in the notes below.

    Notes

    – For a sweet pâte à crêpes, add 2 tbsp sugar, 1 tbsp vanilla extract, and 2 tbsp dark rum or orange blossom water to the batter.
    – If the batter thickens too much after resting, whisk in a little water to reach a thin, pourable consistency.
    – To grease the pan, my mémé, grand-mère, and my mum always used a halved potato dipped in melted butter or oil. I still do, and often wonder if this is just something we do, or if more people know about it. It works beautifully – coating the pan evenly without excess fat and keeping the crêpes from sticking.
    – This cast-iron pan by Swedish Skeppshult is my ride-or-die whenever making pancakes and crêpes!
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time10 minutes
    Cook Time30 minutes
    Makes 12 22cm crêpes

    Ingredients

    For the batter

    • 250 g plain flour
    • 4 eggs
    • 500 ml milk
    • 50 g melted butter
    • 1 tsp flaky sea salt

    For cooking

    • Butter for the pan

    For a classic crêpe complète (per crêpe)

    • 40 g grated Emmental or cheese of choice
    • 1 slice of ham
    • 1 egg pan-fried sunny-side up

    Instructions

    • In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, flour and salt into a lumpy batter. Blend using a hand blender, until just smooth. Adjust the batter consistency with a dash of water if needed.
    • Add the melted butter, and blend until incorporated.
    • Cover and let the batter rest for 30 minutes.
    • Heat a knob of butter in a pan over medium heat. Pour in a ladleful of batter, swirling to coat the base. Cook until the surface looks set and no wet patches remain.
    • Sprinkle the cheese evenly over the crêpe, then place a slice of ham and a pan-fried egg in the center.
    • Fold in the edges of the crêpe to create a triangle or a square, leaving the yolk visible in the center. Cook for another minute, then serve immediately.

  • Buckwheat blini

    Buckwheat blini

    & all the trimmings!

    On the 16th of December, with the almost-polar night wrapped around us, the kitchen called. Buckwheat blini felt like the right kind of quiet project – batter rising under a tea towel, thinly sliced shallots steeping in vinegar and sugar.

    One by one, I spooned the mixture into the pan, watching the edges turn golden. We skipped the mustard this time, but there were avocados on the kitchen bench – perfectly ripe and just asking to be part of it all. A dollop of smetana, a slice of smoked salmon, tangy pickled shallots, and a generous squeeze of lemon brought it all together.

    PRINT

    Buckwheat blini

    Fluffy, nutty buckwheat blini with tangy pickled shallots, creamy smetana, and silky smoked salmon – a dish that feels both indulgent and comforting. Perfect for special occasions, an elegant fika, or even a relaxed weekday dinner. On school nights, I like to serve it buffet-style: a platter of blini, a jar of smetana, and smoked salmon arranged on my favourite plate. Everything in the centre of the table, ready for the three of us to assemble their own.

    Notes

    I’m partial to my plättlägg when making blini. It’s a Swedish pancake pan with shallow indentations, perfect for creating evenly sized, golden rounds that hold their shape beautifully. It’s traditionally used for plättar – small Swedish pancakes – but works wonderfully for blini, too. If you don’t have one, a non-stick frying pan will do just fine.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time30 minutes
    Cook Time20 minutes
    Total Time1 hour 30 minutes
    Makes 30 blini

    Ingredients

    For the blini

    • 25 g fresh yeast
    • 3 dl whole milk
    • 75 g buckwheat flour
    • 120 g plain flour
    • 2 eggs separated
    • a pinch of flaky sea salt
    • 50 g salted butter melted

    For the pickled shallots

    • 2 shallots peeled and thinly sliced
    • 50 ml distilled vinegar [12%]
    • 90 g caster sugar
    • 150 ml water

    Toppings

    • smetana
    • wholegrain mustard
    • smoked salmon sliced
    • fresh dill to garnish
    • avocado
    • lemon sliced into wedges

    Instructions

    Pickled shallots:

    • Combine the vinegar, sugar, and water in a small saucepan. Bring to the boil, then set aside to cool.
    • Add the sliced shallots to the cooled liquid and leave to pickle while you prepare the blini batter.

    Blini:

    • Crumble the yeast into a large mixing bowl. Warm the milk to 30°C and pour it over the yeast, stirring until dissolved.
    • Gradually whisk in the buckwheat flour and plain flour until the batter is smooth.
    • Separate the eggs, reserving the whites. Beat the yolks and salt into the batter. Cover with a clean tea towel and leave to rise for 30-40 minutes.
    • Melt the butter and whisk the egg whites to stiff peaks. Stir the melted butter into the batter, then gently fold in the whisked egg whites.
    • Heat a blini or non-stick frying pan over a medium heat and add a little butter. Spoon small amounts of batter into the pan to form individual blini. Cook until golden on both sides.

    To serve

    • Place a dollop of smetana on each blini, followed by a slice of smoked salmon and a few rings of pickled shallots. Garnish with fresh dill and lemon juice. Some freshly crushed black pepper or grated horseradish is a favourite too!
    • Serve immediately.

  • Västerbottensostpaj med spenat

    Västerbottensostpaj med spenat

    [Spinach and Västerbotten cheese quiche]

    Spinach Västerbottenpaj, a Swedish quiche

    Quiche crust made with 3:2:1 pie dough

    Spinach Västerbottenpaj, a Swedish quiche

    Spinach Västerbottenpaj, a Swedish quiche

    PRINT

    Spinach and Västerbotten cheese quiche

    Indulge in a Swedish classic with this Västerbotten cheese quiche, which I almost always make using my favourite: Svedjan cheese, a local artisan cheese made by the ever wonderful Pär And Johanna in Storkågeträsk.
    A buttery crust, creamy spinach filling, and distinctively tangy cheese, this quiche is amazing as part of a lunch buffet or served in wedges with a dollop of crème fraiche and some smoked salmon.

    Notes

    I like to bake my quiches in a 25cm tart tin; it makes for a slightly thicker quiche, although you could bake it in any tart tin 25 to 30cm wide. Just keep in mind that a deeper quiche will take longer to bake, so you might have to reduce the temperature slightly if your quiche gets brown too quickly.
    As mentionned above, I like to use Svedjan hard cheese, although you could easily replace it with Comté, Emmental or another had cheese of your choice. Follow Svedjanost’s instagram: @svedjanost.
    You’ll find my recipe for 3:2:1 pie dough here: https://fannyzanotti.com/321-pie-dough/.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time25 minutes
    Cook Time35 minutes
    Total Time1 hour
    Makes 1 25-30cm quiche, serving 6-8 people

    Ingredients

    • 1 25-30cm quiche crust of your choice, I like both pâte brisée and 3:2:1 pie dough

    For the filling

    • 200 g fresh baby spinach
    • 2 tsp neutral oil
    • 3 eggs
    • 300 g whipping cream
    • 120 g grated Svedjan hårdost replace with Comté, Emmental or the hard cheese of your choice
    • salt and pepper to taste

    Instructions

    • Pre-heat your oven to 200°C/fan 180°C.
    • Blind-bake your 25-30cm crust using your favoruite method, at home, I'm partial to baking paper and rice, for 15 minutes. Remove the rice and paper and bake for a further 10 minutes, or until matte and light golden brown.
    • In the meantime, make the filling. Sauté the spinach in a hot frying-pan with a teaspoon of oil until it wilts. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and squeeze through a sieve to get rid of excess moisture. Cut into smaller pieces if you wish.
    • In a bowl, combine the eggs, cream and half the cheese, Mix using an immersion blender and season to taste.
    • When the crust is ready, reduce the oven temperature to 200°C/fan 180°C.
    • Arrange the spinach at the bottom of the crust, top with the remaining cheese and place in the oven. Carefully pour the egg mixture on top.
    • Bake the quiche for approximately 25-30 minutes until the filling is set and golden brown. Allow to cool slightly before slicing into wedges.
  • 3:2:1 pie dough

    3:2:1 pie dough

    pie dough in a form

    I recently stumbled upon a new-to-me pie dough recipe thanks to the talented American baker, Cecilia Tolone, who has made Stockholm her new culinary playground.

    Cecilia, who previously worked as head pastry chef at the 3-Michelin-starred restaurant Frantzén, has since embarked on her own culinary adventures, which she chronicles in short vlogs. For one of her latest dinner parties, she made charming Västerbotten cheese quiches, baked in mazarin tartlet pans. The dough? A 3:2:1 pie dough that she calls “a classic ratio that every baker should know”. Of course, I can only agree.

    What struck me about this dough is its remarkable simplicity. The 3:2:1 ratio – with three parts flour, two parts fat, and one part water – creates a dough that is easy to work with and makes for a flaky pastry crust. It is also immensely versatile – add a couple of tablespoons of golden caster sugar when making a sweet tart, or maybe some finely chopped herbs and a handful of grated cheese for a quiche.
    Oh yes, the possibilities are endless!

    Of course, I couldn’t help but draw a comparison with a French classic, and perhaps the very first recipe my grand-mère ever taught me: pâte brisée.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, pâte brisée will always have its unreachable first-love status, with its indulgent, buttery flavor and delicate texture. But this 3:2:1 pie dough offers a simplicity that can’t get matched – and no eggs to separate!

    IngredientsPâte Brisée3:2:1 Pie Dough
    Plain Flour100%100%
    Salt1-2%1-2%
    Butter50%67%
    Egg Yolks8%0%
    Water25%33%

    This pie dough felt slightly flakier compared to pâte brisée. Let’s have a look at a few points:

    – fat content: the higher fat content in the 3:2:1 pie dough (67% fat) compared to pâte brisée (50% fat) contributes to a flakier texture. The fat creates pockets of air when it melts during baking, resulting in more layers.

    – water content: pâte brisée (25% water+8% egg yolks – for reference, egg yolk contain 45-50% water) has a slightly lower water content than 3:2:1 pie dough (33% water). This could explain why pâte brisée feels shorter and crumblier, as gluten development is reduced.

    – mixing technique: the mixing technique used for the 3:2:1 pie dough, which involves letting the butter in larger pieces, is one I will apply to pâte brisée in the future. Often, I will give the dough a single turn – when it isn’t quite a dough yet, more like a lumpy, floury mess -, as I find that it helps the dough come together and creates the flakiest pastry.

    PRINT

    3:2:1 pie dough

    Adapted from Cecilia Tolone.
    This recipe is a wonderful base for all your tarts and pies. It makes for a great dough that's easy to work with, and a crisp and flaky pastry crust that is very versatile. Perfect for both sweet and savoury fillings!

    Notes

    As mentioned above, I almost always give the dough a single turn – when it isn’t quite a dough yet, more like a lumpy, floury mess -, as I find that it helps the dough come together and creates the flakiest pastry, not unlike a rough puff pastry. 
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time25 minutes
    Total Time4 hours 25 minutes
    Makes 1.2 kg dough, enough for 3x25cm pies

    Ingredients

    • 600 g plain flour
    • 400 g cold salted butter
    • 1/2 tsp sea salt
    • 200 g ice-cold water
    • butter extra to butter your tart pan

    Instructions

    • Start by grating the butter onto a piece of baking paper. it is easier to do so if the butter is really cold. Set aside in the fridge – or better yet, in the freezer – while you get on with the rest.
    • In a large bowl, mix the flour and salt together.
    • Add the grated butter to the flour mixture, and quickly mix it together using your hands. The mixture should be very coarse.
    • Add in the water, and mix until the dough just comes together. It should feel dry and lumpy.
    • Form the dough into a ball – sometimes, I will give the dough a single turn before it even comes together, read note above.
      And wrap in clingfilm. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour, or even better, overnight.
    • Once the dough is cold, generously butter your tart/pie pan and set aside. Lightly flour your work bench, and roll the dough out to the desired thickness. Line your prepared pan.
    • Chill in the freezer while you pre-heat your oven. This dough bakes beautifully at 200°C/fan 180°C.
  • Hovmästarsås

    Hovmästarsås

    [Swedish mustard sauce for gravlax cured salmon]

    PRINT

    Hovmästarsås

    Hovmästarsås is a sweet and tangy mustard sauce served with cured salmon. I like to use a combination of three different mustards: Dijon, Swedish sweet and strong, and a coarse mustard from Skåne; however you could easily just use 100g of Dijon mustard if that’s all that’s available to you. You might need to add a touch more sugar to balance it out.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time10 minutes
    Total Time10 minutes

    Ingredients

    • 40 g Dijon mustard
    • 30 g sweet mustard
    • 30 g coarse mustard
    • 40 g dark brown sugar
    • 40 mL white wine vinegar
    • 200 mL neutral oil
    • salt
    • black pepper freshly ground
    • 30 g dill thinly chopped

    Instructions

    • Place all of the ingredients, except for the dill, in a jug.
    • Mix using smooth and emulsified using a hand-blender.
    • Add more salt, pepper, sugar or vinegar to taste.
    • Add the chopped dill.
    • This sauce will keep in the fridge for up to a month.
  • Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    One of my dearest food memories is the time I had my first taste of gravlax. It was a warm and sunny day in the late nineties. We’d gathered around a table placed in the middle of our street. Paper tablecloth, and rosé bottles in an ice bucket. On the table sat many beautiful dishes. Petits farcis and courgette flower beignets, polenta squares and Nice olives. But really, one stood out with a radiance that was hard to ignore. A whole side of salmon that had been cured to perfection by a dear family friend from Sweden. Its coral-hued flesh glistened in the sun and was adorned with plenty of chopped dill; fennel seeds too!

    The gravlax was served with slices of rye bread, garnished with delicate dill flowers, and accompanied by a sweet and tangy mustard sauce that was unlike any other. And its name? Hovmätarsås, a mouthful in more ways than one.

    Years have passed since that magical day, but the memory of that perfectly cured salmon has lingered in my mind ever since. And it almost feels natural that I would find myself now living in the north of Sweden. Here, gravlax is called gravad lax – literally, buried salmon. During the Middle Ages, fishermen would indeed salt and bury their catch in the cold ground to preserve it and make it inaccessible to animals.

    Although it is eaten throughout the year, it is a compulsory addition to the Swedish Christmas and Easter tables, and I’m more than happy to oblige.

    PRINT

    Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    This gravlax recipe still transports me to that sunny al fresco lunch in the street down our house in the village of Valbonne. And yet, I'm hoping it will give you a hindsight into what we're eating for Easter, almost thirty years later in the north of Sweden.
    The salmon – and I like to use sahimi-grade fish for this recipe – is cured with salt and sugar. I like to add pink peppercorns, coriander and fennel seeds too, but you could use any spice you'd like.
    After curing, I like to drizzle my gravlax with a dash of aquavit – cognac and gin are an equally excellent choice but just as optional – before dressing it with a thick layer of finely chopped dill, plenty of crushed pink peppercorns, and a sprinkle of fennel and coriander seeds.
    The gravlax is usually served with a sweet and tangy mustard sauce – hovmästarsås -, crisp tunnbröd – a very thin flat bread – or thin slices of rye bread, a generous amount of soft salted butter, and sometimes, boiled new potatoes.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time15 minutes
    Total Time2 days 15 minutes
    Makes 1 kg cured salmon, serving 8-10.

    Ingredients

    For the curing mix

    • 80 g caster sugar
    • 80 g fine sea salt
    • 1 tbsp pink peppercorns slightly crushed
    • 1/2 tbsp fennel seeds
    • 1 tsp coriander seeds

    For the gravlax

    • 1 kg sashimi-grade salmon trimmed and boned, with skin on
    • all of the curing mix above

    To garnish

    • dill finely chopped
    • zest from 1 lemon and 1 lime
    • pink peppercorns crushed
    • fennel seeds
    • coriander seeds
    • cognac, gin or aquavit optional

    Instructions

    • Make the curing mix by mixing all the ingredients together.
    • Place two large pieces of clingfilm on top of each other on your work bench, press down using a clean kitchen towel to “seal” them together. Repeat with one more double piece, slightly overlapping with the first one to create a large rectangle, big enough for your salmon side to sit on top of.
    • Sprinkle a little less than half the curing mixture on top of your prepared clingfilm, on a surface as big as your salmon side.
    • Place your salmon on the curing mix, skin side down, and top with remaining curing mixture.
    • Lift into a large tray and leave uncovered.
    • Refrigerate for 36-48 hours, turning your gravlax over a couple of times and removing the liquid that builds up.
    • When ready, rinse the gravlax briefly under cold water. Pat dry using kitchen paper or a clean kitchen towel, place on a clean tray and return to the fridge, uncovered for 3-6 hours for the surface to dry further.
    • If using any, drizzle with cognac, gin or aquavit. Then top with freshly chopped dill, crushed pink peppercorns, fennel and coriander seeds.
    • When ready to serve, slice thinly at an angle, detaching the slices from the skin. Serve with boiled new potatoes, soft salted butter, crisp tunnbröd [Swedish flatbread] or rye bread, and hovmästarsås – the sweet and tangy mustard sauce – recipe to follow!
  • Daube provençale à la Chavot

    Daube provençale à la Chavot

    Daube provençale à la Eric Chavot

    I don’t know if I ever told you but a few months before we set off for Sweden, I spent a week-turned-half-a-year giving a hand in the kitchen at Brasserie Chavot; partly because they needed someone, mostly because I firmly intended to close my London chapter by working with chefs who had become my closest friends throughout the years, from the Capital Hotel to Brasserie Chavot: as we say in French, “La boucle est bouclée.” [to come full circle]. [quote_right] La boucle est bouclée.[/quote_right]To this day, I still cannot match the camaraderie that stems from the mixture of passion, exhaustion, restlessness that kitchens offer.

    So of course, I knew this very kitchen inside-out. We’d opened the restaurant a couple of years earlier and I had worked on the pastry section for well over a year.
    But that time, it meant for me to work with meat and fish. Vegetables and stocks.
    And to be honest, some of my fondest memories come from this time. Our mornings in the prep kitchen, where all the elements the rest of the team would use throughout the day would get made. Our evenings standing by the pass, taking out plates from the hot cupboard, plating dishes. Service please!

    The fish delivery man wore a white lab coat that had a large octopus drawn on its back with what I guess was a marker pen. Brine. Season. Heavy rolls of beef rib eye would get tied and vacpacked. Tie. Cut. Slice. Pork belly roasted overnight. Poussins [baby chicken] would be boned and flattened, then sewn. 1, 2, 3. Onions and carrots, peeled and chopped bag after bag. Italian meat balls rolled into 10g pellets that would be served with braised escargots Bourguignon [snails Bourguignon] and a mash potato foam. Chavot, his grey t-shirts, and his smile. Yes, I could go on forever, but really, there is not one moment I do not miss.

    The restaurant closed its doors after one last service on New years Eve 2015; and with it, what was the best place to eat beautifully made French food in London disappeared*.
    One of my favourite dishes was the daube de boeuf provençale, the summer version of the otherwise delicious, daube de boeuf Grand-mère.

    [quote_left]Beef braised in red and white wine, with fragrant onions, carrots, smoked pork belly, a touch of spices and citrus.[/quote_left] Beef braised in red and white wine, with fragrant onions, carrots, smoked pork belly, a touch of spices and citrus; served with creamy mashed potatoes and garnished with grilled artichokes, oven-dried tomatoes, and Niçoise olives.

    The recipe is well documented on the Caterer, and in the short video below where you can see Chavot putting the dish together.

    Daube de boeuf provençale à la Chavot

    While the dish itself is not complicated, it does involve many steps that I see as essential. However, it is possible to simplify the recipe to some extent, and that’s what I’ve done here.

    Let’s break down the daube provençale first:
    – beef chuck, sometimes called feather blade or paleron
    – caramelised mirepoix
    – braising liquid, with spices and citrus
    – veal stock
    – garnish: Niçoise olives, sundried tomatoes, grilled baby artichokes, button onions, fresh herbs

    I like to peel and chop all the vegetables, prepare the spices and measure the wines before I start.
    As always, you can prepare the daube a few days in advance, and then reheat it slowly, in an oven set on 140°C or on the stove, over low heat.

    The leftover meat can be used in many ways that we love very dearly, which is the reason why I almost certainly make a double batch of daube.
    A few favourites include: daube raviolis, hachis parmentier [cottage pie], and daube fritters, which I make by combining the shredded daube with mashed potatoes and an egg or two, forming patties then coating them in flour and pan-frying them until golden brown.

    Daube de boeuf provençale à la Chavot

    Serves 6.

    The mirepoix

    50 g virgin olive oil
    50 g duck fat
    50 g unsalted butter
    2 large carrots    , peeled and chopped
    3 medium onions, roughly chopped
    300 g smoked pork belly, sliced into 2cm cubes

    6 cloves garlic, peeled and roughly chopped
    1 sprig rosemary
    1 bay leaf
    2 sprigs thyme
    1/2 bunch parsley, chopped
    1 tsp black peppercorns
    2 cloves
    zest from 1/2 lemon
    zest from 1/4 orange

    The cooking liquids
    1 bottle red wine
    1/2 bottle white wine
    1 400g-ish can of crushed tomatoes

    The meat
    100 g plain flour
    salt and pepper
    1 large piece of beef chuck    , approx. 1kg

    The sauce
    500 mL good quality veal stock

    The garnish
    A handful each of: Niçoise olives, sundried tomatoes, baby artichokes, button onions
    1/2 bunch of parsley    , sliced

    Make the mirepoix

    Place the butter, olive oil and duck fat into a large pan; I use a favourite in our house, a Le Creuset cocotte. Add the carrots, and cook over medium heat until they start to caramelise. Then add the sliced onions and cook for a further 20 minutes or until they are soft and brown around the edges. Add the garlic, herbs, spices and zests, and cook, stiring every now and then, for another 5-10 minutes.

    Strain the mirepoix, keeping the fat that will then be used to sear the beef; set both aside until needed.

    Deglaze the pan with a glass of red wine to loosen any caramelised bit that might be stuck to the bottom of the pan. Then set aside and wipe the pan clean.

    Caramelise the beef

    Place the reserved fat from the mirepoix in the cleaned pan and set over medium-high heat.

    Mix the flour with salt and pepper, and coat the piece of meat in a thin layer of seasoned flour, tapping away the excess.

    When the fat starts foaming, sear the meat on all sides until dark brown.

    Set the meat aside and deglaze the pan with the remaining wine, including the glass we deglazed the mirepoix with.
    If you’re feeling fancy, carefully flambé the wine over low heat to remove the alcohol. I almost always skip this step at home.

    Marinate the meat

    Take the pan off the heat. Add the crushed tomatoes and the mirepoix, along with the herbs, spices, citrus, and pork belly bits, stir well. Then carefully add the seared meat.

    Cover with a lid and allow to marinate in the fridge for at least 4 hours, or up to two days. The longer you live it the better the flavours; although I’ve been more than happy with daube that had only marinated for a couple of hours.

    Cook the daube

    Set the oven to 130°C/fan 110°C.
    Place the pan with the lid on, in the oven and bake for 6 to 8 hours, until the meat feels very tender.

    Make the sauce

    Very gently remove the meat from the cooking liquid using a large slotted spoon and place on a plate. Refrigerate until fully set.

    Pass the cooking liquid through a fine-mesh sieve, quickly clean the pan, then return the cooking liquid to the pan and add the veal stock.
    Bring to the boil and reduce by half.

    Take off the heat and reserve in the fridge for up to 2 days.

    On the day

    Divide the meat into 6 portions, and if you want, pan fry them in butter until caramelised on all sides.

    Place the meat, along with the sauce and garnish into a cast iron pan, and reheat over low heat or in a 140°C oven for around 1 hour, or until warmed through.
    Baste the meat every now and then to keep it from drying.

    When ready, serve immediately with mashed potatoes or fresh pasta, and sprinkle with sliced parsley.

    Links

    – Find this same recipe on Foodism and on the Caterer.

    – A more traditional daube de boeuf, by Chavot.

    * I was extremely happy to hear that Chavot has now taken over the kitchens of Bob Bob Ricard, which I will definitely visit o our next London trip, whenever it may come. You can find a lovely interview here.

    – Chef Chavot’s Instagram

  • Romtårta

    Romtårta

    [Trout roe cheesecake]

    One morning, we left for Byske as soon as K. got home; with, for only reason, the two horses that he’d seen and wanted to show me.

    In the distance, a farm broke through the wall of björkar [birches] that lines the road. As we approached, it became clear that the horses had been moved.

    Instead, we stopped a few hundreds of meters later, way past the runestone that I’m still very curious about (note-to-self: go there again, please). We sat on the car and ate the two apples I had brought along. K. cut some birch branches for the påskris [Easter tree] that was to happen.

    Another day, we sat in the setting sun; to the sound of a crackling fire, and geese heading north above our heads, not unlike a compass of some sort. There might have been korv and baguette, chocolate and kokkaffe. And before dusk settled behind the trees, Kalle threw his first cast into a river that had lost its winter ice.

    Tonight, we heard raindrops against the glass rooftop of our veranda. And really, I had forgotten how wonderful rain can be after months made of silent snowflakes.

    Yes, just like that, spring happened.

    Romtårta
    Adapted from Suss’ recipe in Megafonen n°3 2016.

    From what I’ve gathered, romtårta [litterally, roe cake; a savoury roe cheesecake] is a summer classic.
    It does, however, get made as soon as the sun makes its return in the north; perhaps, not unlike a rain dance.

    This recipe comes from my friend Suss, and I fell in love with it when she made in at the café for an Easter du jour special.
    The earthiness of the bread, which I highly recommend to be a sunflower seed-heavy rågbröd, meddles beautifully with the lemon and the sea-saltiness of the roe.
    Make sure to top your tårta with plenty of vegetables to add texture and freshness. I went for thinly shaved radishes and cucumber, sliced sugar snap peas, and bits of lemon segments.

    You can make it either as a large tart, which I think would look stunning on a dinner table, or like I did, smaller individual tarts.

    In any case, I truly think it will become an Easter tradition in our house. And perhaps in yours too.

    A note on the gelatin

    As you may know, I’ve been trying to write an article about gelatin for – literally – years. And every now and then, I become obsessed with it again.
    I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, as it’s an ingredient that is so tremendously different from one country to another that it makes my job as a chef and a food writer quite difficult.
    I won’t get into details about it now, but let me just tell you that in between France, the UK, and Sweden, I’ve had to adjust my recipes a lot to fit the gelatin available in each place.

    When I first made this recipe, it called for 4 gelatin leaves. The gelatin we get from the supermarkets here is extra guld [extra gold], so I’m assuming its on the higher end of the bloom spectrum for gold gelatin, perhaps 220-230 bloom.
    However, I have found that 4 leaves was slightly too much in this case, so I’ve reduced the gelatin in the recipe below to 3 leaves, bringing it to 5.1g of 220-230 bloom gelatin.

    Please, note that the gelatin here in Sweden is much stronger than the gelatin found in French or English supermarkets, so you might need more. In fact, one leaf here seems to be almost the equivalent of a professional gelatin leaf, both in strength and weight.

    If in doubt, go by weight: 5 grams; and add a couple of grams if your gelatin has a strength comprised between 160-190 bloom.
    However, remember to start with less, as a cheesecake with a creamier texture – although it might look a bit messy – will always be better than an over-set one.

    Romtårta

    Makes 8 individual tarts or one 24cm.

    For the base
    200 g rye bread, pumpernickel, or even crackers
    75 g butter, melted
    a fat pinch of salt

    For the “cheesecake”
    3 gelatin leaves (around 5g, see note above)
    300 g cream cheese
    200 g crème fraiche
    1/2 red onion, finely minced
    juice and zest from a lemon
    a pinch of salt
    freshly ground black pepper
    80 g fish roe

    To finish
    300 g cocktail prawns, shelled
    radishes, sugar snap peas, cucumber, dill, chives

    Make the base
    Prepare eight 8cm-wide rings or a large 24cm ring on a tray that fits in your fridge, and is lined with baking paper.

    Blitz the bread into crumbs, and add the melted butter and salt. Divide the mixture in between the prepared rings, and press to form a base.
    Set aside in the fridge until needed.

    Make the filling
    Soak the gelatin leaves in ice-cold water.

    In a large bowl, mix half the cream cheese with the crème fraiche, lemon juice and zest, salt and pepper.
    Heat the remaining cream cheese – either in the microwave or over a bain-marie – until around 60°C.

    Dissolve the gelatin in the warm cream cheese, and incorporate it into the crème fraiche mixture using a whisk.

    Gently fold in the roe, and divide this cream into the prepared ring.

    Refrigerate for at least an hour.

    Unmould by running a small knife around the rim of your rings and top with prawns and sliced vegetables of your choice.

  • Cornbread, comme à Caravan

    Cornbread, comme à Caravan

    [Cornbread, just like at Caravan]

    Sometimes, all I want is to put my warmest boots on, and escape to a place outside of time. I would drive there for hours. To the sound of wind and the smell of rain through the open windows.

    I would wake up too early in the morning. And have a coffee; or two. With a side of freshly-churned butter and a piece of toast. It would be cold. And foggy. Perhaps so much I wouldn’t be able to see the coast.

    I would spend my days at a small bakery. Or on a farm. And at night, I would leave the curtains open to watch the stars.

    Cake au maïs, comme à Caravan
    Adapted from Miles Kirby.

    As soon as I came home from brunch Caravan, I knew that the cornbread we’d just had was bound to happen again in my kitchen. And after a quick search, I was lucky enough to find the recipe. And a simple one too.

    In less than 10 minutes, you can have a cornbread in the oven. Which makes it even more perfect for breakfast or brunch.

    At Caravan, it was served with a chipotle butter, but I went for the easy way and just served it with a knob of butter topped with freshly-sliced red chili.
    Make sure you have a wedge of lime ready!

    Cornbread, comme à Caravan

    Makes one loaf cake.

    400g milk
    3 eggs
    60g butter    , melted
    250g corn kernels (from approx. 2 corn cobs)
    a bunch of spring onions, finely sliced
    170g polenta
    60g bread flour
    1 tbsp baking powder
    1 tbsp caster sugar
    1 tbsp flaky sea salt

    butter, chili peppers, limes, coriander; extra, to serve

    Preheat the oven to 180˚C and generously butter a loaf tin.
    In a bowl, mix the mix the milk, eggs, and melted butter. In another bowl, combine the polenta, flour, salt, baking powder, and sugar. Add the wet ingredients and mix until smooth. Add the corn kernels and the sliced spring onions.

    Transfer to the prepared loaf tin and bake for 20 to 30 minutes. Or until golden brown and the tip of a knife inserted in the centre comes out clean.
    Unmould and allow to cool for a few minutes before slicing into fat slices, using a serrated knife.

    Serve – toasted opr not – with butter and sliced chili. With a side of limes and perhaps a few sprigs of coriander.

  • Scallion pancakes

    Scallion pancakes

    There is something about the way flour bonds with water. Something that possibly goes back to afternoons spent sat on the kitchen counter, watching my grand-mother making pâte brisée [shortcrust pastry], which I would – of course – nibble on.

    So the prospect of mixing flour and water to a dough, then sprinkled with a generous handful of chopped spring onions – and a pinch of Maldon sea salt – felt like music to me.

    I followed this recipe. For those of you who prefer to use kitchen scales – and may the gods of pastry bless you for that – I’ve written the quantities I’ve used below.


    The resulting pancakes are chewy and yet flaky. And the drawing above should have given you a hint, but they’re rather delicious when served with a drizzle – or more – of Sriracha sauce.

    Chinese scallion pancakes

    Makes eight pancakes, or four huge ones.

    Mix 300 g of plain flour with 240 g of boiling water using a wooden spoon. After it comes together, invert onto your kitchen counter and and knead until smooth. five minutes or so. Brush with a little vegetable oil, cover with clingfilm and allow to rest for half-an-hour, or overnight in the fridge.

    Cut the dough into four. Lightly oil your work surface and roll out one of the balls of dough into a thin rectangle at least 30x35cm.

    Lightly brush the top of the dough with vegetable or sesame oil. Finely chop a bunch of spring onions and sprinkle on top of the dough along with a pinch of Maldon sea salt.

    Starting from the long end, roll the dough up tightly, then cut in two. Coil each part into a bundle. Let the snails rest under clingfilm while you repeat this process with the rest of the dough.

    And finally roll out the snails into flat disks.

    Heat a tablespoon of vegetable oil into a frying pan and cook the pancake for approximately two minutes on each side, until golden brown.

    Cut into wedges and serve with a dipping sauce. And when I say dipping sauce, I really mean Sriracha.



    Now, what’s your favourite use for Sriracha? And have you tried making your own?

  • Spinach and cheddar muffins

    Spinach and cheddar muffins

    There are things you can never ignore.
    At times, you wish you’d forgotten; crab hunting, kissing in the wind, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drinking beer by the bottle, killing flies, licking icy popsicles.

    Other times, you’re simply happy to remember; stepping into Pierre Hermé’s kitchen, signing my apprenticeship contract, taking a plane to a new life, biting into a perfectly chewy spinach and cheddar muffin.

    It was a Saturday or Sunday – the day does not matter – of an early autumn morning.
    I had just arrived to London.
    The air was crisp and the sky just turning blue after a night made of blankets and raindrops hitting the windows.

    Somehow, those pretty rustic muffins felt fitting. Right that second, I could smell vanilla frosting and feel the warmth from a just-opened oven door. And by all means, I could hear words from happy people.
    I remember how the first bite burnt my tongue. I remember the heat of pepper, the flavour of onion, spinach, cheddar and perhaps even Portobello mushrooms. And the crumb.

    And then, in between creating desserts and reading books, I forgot about this moment. You know, that everyday-kind of happiness. But as autumn sneaked on us – in a rather unexpected manner – the frosty mornings and dark evenings made our house feel like home.

    A home with soft lights, throws on the sofa, a whistling kettle, and muffins in the oven.

    Spinach and cheddar muffins
    Adapted from the Hummingbird Bakery.

    I could express my love for these muffins through an extended description of their qualities. The bold flavours, the perfect chewy crumb.
    But the fact that they are equally delicious for breakfast, lunch or dinner – preferably with a side of piping hot soup, makes them my favourite in the world.

    Spinach and cheddar muffins

    makes 12

    30g butter
    one small onion, finely sliced
    one fat clove of garlic
    one chili pepper, finely chopped
    350g plain flour
    2 1/2 tsp baking powder
    a good grind of black pepper
    200g cheddar, grated
    250g milk
    one egg
    130g spinach

    Preheat the oven to 170°C. In a pan, melt the butter over medium heat and cook the sliced onion until soft. At the end, grate the garlic and throw the chili into the pan and give a good stir to combine the flavours.
    In a bowl stir the flour, baking powder, pepper and cheddar. In another bowl, whisk the milk and egg together, then pour onto the flour mixture using a wooden spoon to fold.
    The batter will be quite thick, and I must admit I like to use my hands to incorporate the cooled onions and spinach.
    Divide into twelve muffin-cases and bake for 35 minutes. Remove the muffins from the tin and allow to cool on a rack.