Food by email – a new Dukan for 2012?

 

On the first day of Christmas,
My step-mum sent to me,
A food postcard* from Mi-a-mi…

*from the 10-course tasting menu she and my dad were treated to on Christmas Eve.

It looked seriously good so I thought I would post it up here. Believe it or not, it was not produced by a restaurant, but by a very talented and consummate host with a demanding day job (which, surprisingly, is not working as a top chef). A Montreal-born Sicilian, it is his family tradition to eat late into the night on Christmas Eve. Those are the only details you’re getting – and don’t even think of asking for his address.

Think of it as a Christmas present: a feast for the eyes, without the calories. (This is the only time you will ever read anything about diets or calories on here, promise.)Their night started young and gradually got older and rounder, finally dropping off its perch at around 3.30am so please forgive them if the order looks awry. I also blame indigestion - theirs not mine.

Even the menu was edible; a cube sandwich of liver pate and fig compote covered with edible paper. WOW.

 

A starter dish of a Caprese salad based on an iceberg melting

 

Snails stuffed with nuts…

Foie gras crepe milkshake with mascarpone Cointreau cream and blueberry port reduction

Stone crab and lobster Martini (bisque)

Meatball cupcake with Pecorino cream

Nigiri in a hickory-smoke-filled snowglobe…

 

(That’s a very pretty hand towel. I don’t think they ate it...)

Frozen Asian pear and Stilton with black truffle

Smokin’ Cubano pulled pork ‘cigar’. Always think twice about licking the ashtray…(unless like here they are sesame seeds)

Individual Beef Wellingtons…in honour of the English guests

Tiramisu with chocolate mousse in handmade chocolate cups

Mincemeat and Apple Crumble

It’s ridiculously easy at this time of year to come by a perfectly decent shop-bought mince pie. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to make them at home each year. Is it the warm fuzzy feeling that festive baking bestows upon me, the sensation that I am making something to be shared lovingly with friends and family by the light of the Christmas tree?

Bah, humbug! More like an excuse to eat mincemeat straight from the jar with a spoon…

In an effort to become more transparent in my motives towards this Yuletide ingredient, I have legitimised it in the guise of a crumble, thereby freeing it of its shortcrust shackles. It makes a blinder of a seasonal pudding, with ice-cream, clotted cream or even a brandy-laced custard.

Mincemeat and apple crumble

Serves 4

900g cooking apples

1 x 411g jar mincemeat

55g light brown sugar

110g unsalted butter

170g plain flour

A handful of crushed amaretti biscuits or oats

Preheat the oven to 180^oC. Grease a baking dish.

Peel, core and chop the apples into dice of roughly 3 x 3 cm. Place these in a pan with a tablespoonful of water and the same of caster sugar. Cover and cook on a medium heat until they are yielding but not yet mush. Stir in the mincemeat and heat through, and remove the pan from the heat. Tip the fruit mixture into the greased dish.

Meanwhile, mix the flour, sugar, butter and crushed amaretti/oats with the fingers until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Scatter evenly over the fruit and bake in the oven for about 40 minutes until golden on top gently bubbling at the sides.

Midnight in Paris…

Marcel Proust was partial to dipping one into his cuppa; the French in general appear to have a penchant for them at most times of day, but it was a surprise when a plate of madeleines was proffered late last Friday night, their scalloped edges just the golden side of crisp. I did wonder how they’d slip down with my vin rouge. They were hard to resist, even after such a meal; they were warm and fragrant and just seconds out of the oven.

The BSG and I took in the City of Light under high azure skies after what had been a painfully prolonged absence. Amidst varied excursions to the Eiffel Tower, Monet’s gargantuan lilyscapes at l‘Orangerie and a boat trip under the many bridges of the Seine there were some truly memorable fuel-stops (in truth, the excursions were really the punctuation marks in this two-day gastronomic tour).

At the planning stage, we’d heavily researched the food aspect of our tripette and decided we’d try to get a table at Spring, the eatery du jour. The operative word being try….The phone rang – and rang. If Spring’s PR mantra is ‘treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen’, then they’ve got it, spot on. Though I’m not sure I do.

And so we put Spring behind us and the lovely Kate took over. Kate is chic, knowledgeable and has discerning taste in most things, especially when it comes to food, so we knew we were in safe hands – after all, it was she who was responsible for our last great Paris discovery, Chez l’Ami Jean, a secret we have proudly shared ever since with friends who are visiting the city. After meeting first for a drink and an hour watching the beautiful people at Hotel Costes, we took the scenic route through Place Vendome to Bistrot Volnay.

The emphasis here was on quality produce: various seasonal mushrooms appeared throughout the evening’s menu; alongside razor clams or St Jacques to start; pan fried with sweetbreads and foie gras to follow; stirred through the darkest, glossiest osso bucco. I had the pheasant tourte: a type of savoury pasty filled with meat, bacon, foie gras and chanterelles, with grapes and spices lending an autumn sweetness. It was very elegant and very simply done, a description that could be applied to the Volnay itself. Whilst it’s clearly a Paris bistro - complete with plaque-studded counter-bar commemorating lifelong regulars - the restrained and quietly chic palette is redolent of Manhattan; it has the feel of a neighbourhood restaurant. The staff were chatty and helpful, and we felt welcome from the off.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to those madeleines…

Eyes bigger than stomachs, three of the four of us just had to order riz-au-lait, which came with extra cream and a dark salty caramel sauce. Kate’s husband Emmanuel finished his with aplomb - like any self-respecting foodie, but all I could do was stare at the remainder on my plate and wish it a good home somewhere else - it was enormous. Therefore, when wafts of the freshly-baked-cake variety started to circulate, it took the brain a little while to recover itself and ape some kind of hunger pang. It was nothing other than gratuitous, but everyone else in the place was tucking in to those dainty sponge shells so surely it would have been rude not to….wouldn’t it?