Tarte aux pommes classique

I have been in a bit of a French funk since the weekend. These happen every so often, where I seem unable to distance myself from my french memories. I remember going to the markets and the market sellers pulling off a plastic bag, maybe wiping their hands on their apron and then saying in a deep, rolling voice, “Dites-moi, mademoiselle!” I remember learning to ski and mountainside chalets and vin chaud. I remember all the horrific mistakes I made while speaking French: the bumbling, awkward conversations where the other person folded their arms and quizzically repeated my butchered French. But then, I most dearly remember the conversations I had with people, who rather than rolling their eyes and sighing, “Les anglaises…” they said, “Ahhh, vous avez un accent…?” like they weren’t quite sure, like I could be from anywhere. I liked those moments the best. I remember wandering the streets of Bordeaux in the early spring heat with no money and no food and no one to share it with but as happy as I ever thought I could be.

I worked at a wedding on the weekend and the groom was french. It was a beautiful wedding and many of the guests were so excited and relieved that I could communicate with them. They were a lively lot, who smoked and drank and danced all night. They ate with enthusiasm, New Zealand lamb or groper, sampled our wines and cheese. And there was never any question over which was the red or the white wine glass, or whose side plate was whose, because eating is what they do so well. It made me miss France and all the wonderful people I met there.

So Tuesday afternoon, I pulled my tome of french cuisine from its shelf and thought une tarte aux pommes would ease my french blues. I put on my faux-french apron and made pâte brisée. The pastry was soft and smooth, enough to make you swoon, really. I peeled and finely sliced apples, arranging them in haphazard rows. Then covered the apples in a liberal dousing of sugar.

Upon cooking, the apples on the bottom stew and release their juices, while the apples on top became golden and slightly firm to the tooth. The texture changes as you bite through the apples and there are beautiful sing-song lifts of tart and sweet. But let’s not forget what holds this dessert together – the pastry. This pastry softly shatters beneath your teeth, but in a good way, like a buttery crumble. It adds another flavour dimension to this dessert; a little bit savoury, a little bit mealy.

Ideally I would be eating a slice of this with un café at the local salon du thé. But, then again, being able to share this tarte aux pommes with the people I care about here, in New Zealand, is just as wonderful, if not more so.

Tarte aux pommes classique

For the pastry:
200grams standard flour
100grams of butter (let the butter come to room temperature for an hour or so before using it)
2 1/2 tablespoons of water

Place the flour in a bowl. Cut the butter into cubes and using your fingertips rub the butter into the flour until it resembles fine bread crumbs. Add the water and quickly work the dough together into a ball. It doesn’t have to be totally smooth, just as long as it is not very wet and mushy. If it is add a sprinkle more flour. Let the dough to rest at room temperature for at least a half hour. Roll the pastry on a floured work surface until it is about 4-5mm thick. Grease the tart pan, preferably round, unlike mine, and lay the pastry in the bottom.

For the apples:
5-6 apples suitable for cooking
100 grams sugar
2 tablespoons apricot jam

Pre-heat the oven to 180°. Peel the apples, remove the core and cut into quarters. Slice each quarter finely to create crescent-ish shapes. Lay the slices in rows, one on top of the other. Sprinkle with sugar. Place the tart in the oven and cook until golden brown and the juices bubble ever so slightly at the edges.

Mix the apricot jam with a dash of warm water and brush lightly over the apples once removed from the oven.

Serve warm with crème fraiche or thick yoghurt or vanilla ice cream.

To celebrate and to eat

For a rather special birthday, my family dined at Arbitrageur Restaurant and Wine room last night.

The atmosphere was casual but still quiet and refined; other diners, men watching the rugby and couples drinking Champagne at the bar. We were seated at a large wooden table, though almost too large for a party of four. I liked the outdoor feel of the table while sinking into high backed, rounded leather loungers.

The menu is not long, featuring only a few dishes for each course. But each dish sounds so delicious it is hard to choose. For the entree I had la poitrine de cochon, a succulent and tender piece of pork belly with a fennel and apple compote. Sprinkled on top, like a pale, crunchy, salty candyfloss, was finely grated, fried potato. We drank Spanish bubbly and toasted my twenty-first birthday.

For Les Mains I ordered the Pork Butcher’s Wife, a roast pork loin with cherry tomatoes, dark wilted spinach, lardons and baby cornichons. This was utterly sublime. Strong flavours but a pleasant contrast between the acidity of the tomatoes and cornichons and the salt of the pork. The meal was homely with the elegance and sophistication of a wonderful restaurant meal.

Pork Butcher's Wife

A simple salad as a shared side.

Dessert I often find the most difficult of menu decisions. There is a lot of pressure on a dessert to balance or compliment the previous course(s). My sister and I both chose the saffron panna cotta with pineapple and orange. Saffron is a tricky flavour to describe, but it makes for a lovely panna cotta regardless. The speckled and dusted red, velvety dessert was light and refreshing on the palate.

Saffron Panna cotta

My sister flew home from uni in Christchurch especially for my birthday, but also for a meal at Arbitrageur. As she walked out of her hostel yesterday afternoon, overnight bag in hand, one of her friends asked her where she was going. She said home; we have dinner reservations. Her friend said, “Gosh, Georgie, you do lead an extravagant life.” “Not really, we just like to celebrate and to eat.”

Isn’t that what life is for?

Thank you for the photos, Georgie.

French Pork Terrine

Last year when I was teaching English in France I was sometimes invited to the end of term apéro hour. Or three. It was here in a classroom colourful with childrens’ artwork on a snowy night in late December that I had my first taste of home-made charcuterie.

As the teachers’ cars were steadily being hidden under snow, we kept the glasses at spirited levels, no one ready to retrieve the snow shovels yet. One teacher brought out from her handbag a knobbly, white-dusted saucisson. She sliced this salami into fine chips and we gently tore off the white skin. She told us her husband made it.

The saucisson was mild and still tender, a slightly smoky, sweet taste. I told her I had never eaten home-made saucisson before. She said I had come to the right place, France. I had to agree.

A few weeks ago, to give me a little taste of France again, we made a pork terrine. On thick grainy bread with baby cornichons and a sweet chutney, it did feel like a rustic, French country lunch. We followed Jamie Oliver’s recipe in Jamie does… Spain, Italy, Sweden, Morocco, Greece, France. We thought it needed a few improvements; more seasoning, and dare I say it, a little more fat.

Last weekend, to overcome the winter blues and take a trip down French memory lane, we had a go at another terrine. We were after something light, yet warming and comforting. A simple, hearty terrine is a more interesting way to channel rustic France than a thick vegetable soup, we thought. As I perused French recipes, I wondered if I could convince Mum of my home-sickness for France enough that she would buy foie gras and a bottle of young Sauterne. Mum is easily persuaded by these things: I’ll keep you posted. Instead, we bought a pork shoulder, a pork fillet, smoky bacon lardons, chicken livers and the most beautifully fragrant thyme.

My dear elderly Nana, who always phones us during weekends and holidays, is a keen ear to Mum’s kitchen stories. Nana leads a quiet life now and our family’s francophile habits seem quite exotic to her. Nana asked what a terrine is. Mum told her it was a bit like a chunky paté: mince various cuts of meat, add herbs, seasonings, breadcrumbs and something to bind it all together then bake it in the oven. Nana said that sounded like an awful lot of hard work and wouldn’t we be better off serving our lunch guests a nice egg.

It should be said that the French have wonderful ways of preparing and serving eggs, but I don’t think they would be able to look past this hearty terrine.

French Pork Terrine
Based loosely on Jamie Oliver’s recipe.

For the very best flavours, make a few days ahead and keep refrigerated.

large knob of butter (think French proportions)
3 roughly chopped shallots
2 large cloves of garlic, minced
slosh of brandy
1.5kg of mixed pork cuts (we used a shoulder and a fillet)
100g chicken livers
200g smoked bacon lardons
1/3cup duck fat
1 handful fresh breadcrumbs
1 small bunch parsley, coarsely chopped
1 small bunch thyme, coarsely chopped
1 egg
1/4cup cream
2tbsp salt
4-5 bay leaves

Pre-heat oven to 180°C. Place butter in a frypan on medium heat. Add chopped shallots and cook until soft and transparent. Add garlic. Once shallots are cooked, add the brandy and turn off the heat.

Chop the pork meat into cubes, removing any tough pieces of fat or skin. If you have a mincer, great, if not, a food processor works fine. Mince the meat in several stages, it doesn’t have to be too fine, in fact, a coarse mince works well. Mince the chicken livers, the lardons and the duck fat.

In a small bowl whisk the egg with the cream.

Place the minced meat in a large mixing bowl. Add the cooked shallots, chopped herbs, breadcrumbs, salt and egg mixture. Mix well (with your hands is best).

(To test the seasonings this second time round we took a spoonful and cooked it in the frypan.)

Once seasonings are to your taste, lay the bay leaves in the bottom of a loaf or pie dish. Spread terrine mixture smoothly on top. Place terrine dish in a roasting pan and fill half way up with water to create a bain-marie. Bake in the oven for 90 minutes or until the juices run clear.

Once cooked, take the terrine from the oven and place a piece of tinfoil on top. Lay a few cans on top of tin foil as a weight to compress the terrine creating a denser and more easily sliced terrine. Leave the terrine with weights on top for about 4 hours, or until cold. Remove tinfoil and weights and refrigerate. Don’t discard the juices, they set to a loose jelly, which while not appealing to look at, keep the terrine moist.
Serve with crusty bread – toasted is good – cornichons, salad greens and a selection of chutneys, spicy mango and beetroot are delicious accompaniments.