4. While the chicken is cooking, stack the sorrel leaves on top of one another and cut them crosswise into very, very thin strips (chiffonade).
5. Remove the chicken from the skillet, place it on a serving platter, cover it loosely with aluminum foil, and keep it warm in a low oven. Stir the crème fraîche into the cooking juices, raise the heat to medium-high and bring to a simmer. Add the sorrel, stirring as it melts down into the sauce. Reduce the heat if necessary so the liquid remains at a lively simmer and cook until the sorrel has wilted and turned an olive green, and the sauce has reduced by about one third, 5 to 7 minutes. Taste for seasoning.
6. Remove the chicken from the oven, and pour the sauce over it. Serve immediately.
4 to 6 servings
BELGIAN ENDIVE WITH LEMON AND GARLIC VINAIGRETTE
Endives a la Vinaigrette Citronnée
This is a fresh, winter salad that chases away the chill! I often add cured black olives to this salad, for a wonderful counterpoint in flavour and texture.
For the vinaigrette:
1/2 tsp minced lemon zest
2 tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 medium shallot, halved, peeled, cut in paper thin slices
1 small clove garlic, green germ removed, minced
6 tbs (90ml) extra-virgin olive oil
6 large Belgian endive, trimmed
1. In a large salad bowl, place the zest then whisk together the lemon juice with the salt, pepper, shallot, and garlic. Slowly whisk in the olive oil until the vinaigrette is emulsified.
2. Cut the endive into crosswise slices. Add it to the vinaigrette and toss until it is thoroughly coated. Season to taste sand serve.
6 servings
ROASTED COCKLES WITH SAFFRON AND LEMON
Coques au Four à la Sauce Safrane
Try this recipe with tiny manila clams as well. There is no salt in the dipping sauce, and none is generally needed.
The zest from 1/4 lemon, minced
1 scant tbs freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 tsp saffron threads
3 lb (1.5 kg) small clams, degorged*
1/4 cup (60 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
1. At least one hour and up to four hours before serving, place the lemon zest and the juice in a small dish and crumble the saffron into it. Stir so the saffron is completely moistened and reserve.
2. Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
3. Place the clams in one layer in a large baking pan. Roast them in the centre of the oven until they open, 8 to 10 minutes.
4. While the clams are roasting, transfer the lemon juice and the saffron to a small bowl and whisk in the olive oil. Evenly divide the mixture among six tiny ramekins, and place the ramekins in the centre of six warmed plates.
5. Remove the clams from the oven, discarding any that haven’t opened. Evenly divide the clams among the six small plates, carefully arranging them around the ramekins. Serve immediately.
6. Appetizer servings
* To degorge the clams, place them in a large container of heavily salted water. Stir in 1 tablespoon of semolina or fine cornmeal, and refrigerate them for at least 4 hours and up to 8 hours, changing the water at least 3 times, adding semolina or cornmeal each time.
An Ode to the Market in Louviers
I love waking up on Saturday morning; even from inside my bedroom I can feel the lilt in the air because it’s my favourite day of the week, market day.
I like to get to the market by 8.30 a.m. If I go any earlier the vendors won’t have their stands fully set up; much later and the crowds who at that hour are still at home taking their last sips of coffee and wiping the crumbs of baguette from the corners of their mouths, will descend to block the passages, chat with the vendors and stand in long queues in front of the most coveted produce. By getting there before them I can do all of these things at a leisurely pace, and still be home in time to put in a good, full day of cooking.
I have a prescribed order to my marketing, which rarely varies. I walk out of our courtyard and head right down the main street of town to the bank’s cash machine. I am already in heaven as I watch the street wake up: the florists are putting out the last plants and buckets of flowers on the pavement; Brigitte, the owner of Laure Boutique is arranging the precarious stacks of baskets and postcard racks that announce her store; and one of the women who works at the charcuterie is carefully spelling out the daily specials on a sandwich board outside the shop. I always, every time, admire her slightly Victorian handwriting and the way she manages to produce a perfectly straight, perfectly justified list.
Brigitte looks up as I pass, takes off her glasses and we kiss twice on each cheek, then I go on. When I turn the corner from the main street I can hear the hum of the market, which will build to more of a crescendo as it swings into its full, mid-morning rhythm.
When I turn again, into the market, I get the same feeling as when I set foot on the dance floor: the rhythm takes over and I pick up my pace, straighten my back and hold my head a bit higher as I meet the sounds and colours.
I refer to this street as ‘goat cheese alley’ because the goat’s cheese producer is here with his soft, creamy fresh cheeses. I don’t dare buy any now because they’re so fragile they need special handling or they’ll turn to mush, but I smile and nod to the producer, who is usually sharing a rillettes sandwich with his neighbour, the produits de luxe, or luxury products man across the way. I’ll buy cheese from him just before I leave the market to return home.
I smile at the produits de luxe man, too. He has the most exquisite smoked herring, fat, luscious fillets of salt cod, dried and peppered mackerel fillets, gorgeous smoked salmon and trout. I buy the herring and the salt cod most often – the first to serve with boiled potatoes and fresh onions, the latter to serve in dozens of different ways, though my favourite preparation is a silken, garlicky puree called brandade.
Next to him is the plant man who, each year, has the most beautiful pansies and petunias. I always buy royal blue pansies for the autumn and winter window boxes, which I like to mix with white, or white and salmon. Come spring and I plant pots with his deep purple petunias, which fill our courtyard with their vanilla aroma. Along with the fuchsia and white and mauve petunias in the window boxes, they make a riotous display of
