2013-05-23T01:25:25-04:00 Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=kerry-saretsky Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Kerry Saretsky Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1207483 2012-01-17T12:39:35-05:00 2012-08-31T10:48:31-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

I can't believe I didn't actually discover raclette in France. It was in London (don't tell!). And being the cheese lover that I am, I'm shocked that it took me until my late twenties to make such an epic discovery. The guys at the Kappacasein cheese stall at Borough Market secure huge wheels of the semi-soft, pungent cheese under special-made broilers, that heat, melt, bubble and char the top layer of cheese exposed to the heat. That cheese is then scraped off the wheel -- and right onto a plate of fluffy potatoes, with some cornichons on the side to add some bite to cut through the fat. Raclette, if you haven't had it, has the exceptional meltiness of a Fontina or Mozzarella or even, almost, a brie. But it has that sharpness and nuttiness or something between a Gruyère and something a bit riper, like a Camembert. It's just something that everyone should put in his or her mouth every once in a while. It's primaly, undeniably, resolution-floutingly delicious.

But I don't have a special raclette grill at home, and I don't eat it often enough to warrant buying one. Nor do I always feel like trekking down to Borough Market. So I came up with this ultimate grilled cheese as the antidote to a raclette-less life. The key to this simple sandwich is to use the best ingredients you can find: the best bread (Poilâne if you can swing it), raclette (you'll need to find a terrific cheesemonger), mayonnaise (excellent imported French mayo, which has a mustardy, vinegary edge that adds a lot to the sandwich) and sea salt (fleur de sel or Maldon preferred, for salinity as well as crunch). This may seem nitpicky, but I'll explain.

The best thing about raclette is that it can actually toast. Much like a Gruyère on top of an onion soup, it can brown and crisp and char, adding a different texture and flavor to the oozy, gooey bits of cheese under the toasted crown. By using an airy pain au levain with a great crust, you create tiny little holes through which the raclette can melt as you toast the sandwich. So, the inside cheese is gooey and runny, like a pungent mozzarella, and the crust of the sandwich is a crispy combination of toasted sourdough, sea salt, a swipe of sharp French mayonnaise and little rivulets of toasted cheese. So you get the experience of a real raclette grill with just a stove and a skillet. A little American ingenuity and a lot of great French flavor. This is my ultimate grilled cheese. Bon app!

Raclette Grilled Cheese
per sandwich

INGREDIENTS

2 6¼- x ½-inch slices of pain au levain, preferably Poilâne if you can get it
1 teaspoon good French mayonnaise
Good flaked sea salt, like Maldon
3 ounces sliced raclette cheese

PROCEDURE

Preheat a small nonstick skillet (or a large nonstick skillet, if doing two sandwiches at once) on medium heat. Use a butter knife to spread the mayonnaise all over the outside of the two slices of bread, and crumble the sea salt onto the mayo-ed bread and press it gently into the bread so it sticks. Fill the inside of the sandwich (the mayonnaise will face OUT) with the raclette.

Put the sandwich together, cheese on the inside, mayo on the outside and place in the preheated skillet. Place another small skillet or a round cake pan on top of the sandwich, and put a heavy can or brick inside to weight the sandwich down. Grill for three minutes, until the bread is golden brown and the cheese is softened.

Flip the sandwich over with a thin spatula, and raise the heat to medium-high. Replace the weight on top of the sandwich. Grill for another two to three minutes, until the bread is golden and crisp and the cheese is completely melted. The cheese will start oozing out from between the bread and crisping in the pan. You don't want to loose this -- it's what raclette is all about. Use a silicone spatula to scoot the cheese up next to the crust of the sandwich on all sides, then use the thin metal spatula to lift it out of the pan to a plate. Cut in half and eat immediately, with cornichons on the side. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1027181 2011-11-07T14:41:37-05:00 2012-08-31T10:48:31-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

I like doing things that don't exactly break with tradition, but are just ever so slightly different. And therefore, special. Just a little bit of thought can change the same ol' same ol' to a showstopper.

Enter potato salad. I love nothing more than to head to the deli counter and buy the traditional stuff full of mayo and onion and gherkins. But French potato salad is a bit different. It's mustard- and vinaigrette-based, rather than built on mayo, and usually involves a little bacon. How can that be bad?

So, when I saw a bag of purple potatoes for sale at the supermarket for a buck fifty, I thought, now is the time to make showstopper potato salad. It starts with crispy pancetta, and a vinaigrette made from the pancetta drippings, olive oil, white wine vinegar and spicy Dijon mustard. Added to that is the sharp zing of fresh shallot, and the earthy, grassy flavors of fresh thyme and parsley.

In the warm vinaigrette bath I plunge my hot purple potatoes. I toss them and let them sit and toss them again, until they have drunk up all the pancetta and vinaigrette and mustard into themselves. Serve them room temperature and you will never, for better or worse, be tempted by the deli counter again. It is the best potato salad I've ever had. Suddenly, the humble potato has reached its fully Versailles potential Plus, no mayo to go off at a picnic. The French think of everything ...

Bon app.



French Purple Potato Salad
serves 4 to 6

INGREDIENTS

2-¾ pounds purple potatoes, halved or quartered
Salt
¼ pound cubed pancetta
10 tablespoons olive oil
4 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon fresh thyme
2 tablespoons flat leaf parsley
Freshly ground black pepper

PROCEDURE

Put the potatoes in a big stockpot and cover with water by at least two inches. Season with salt, cover, and cook over high heat until just tender, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the vinaigrette. In a wide sauté pan, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil over high heat. When it shimmers, add the pancetta, and cook for 3 minutes. Set the pot aside, and the pancetta will continue to crisp while it cools.

Once the pancetta is cooled, add the remaining olive oil, vinegar, mustard, shallots, thyme, parsley, salt and pepper. Whisk until emulsified.

Drain the potatoes, and put back in their big hot stockpot. Pour the vinaigrette over the hot potatoes, and gently toss to coat. Allow to sit, tossing every now and again, until completely room temperature. The potatoes will suck up the dressing. Serve at room temperature.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1066172 2011-10-30T13:58:56-04:00 2012-08-31T10:48:31-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

Some people celebrate birthdays and weddings and anniversaries and graduations.

I celebrate celeriac season.

I'm not kidding. Seeing those straight-from-outer-space bulbs in the produce section sends me in a fit of rapture, and I usually clap my hands together, gasp, and do a little jump before I realize that I have to keep it together in public. Celeriac, which has a texture between a potato and jicama and a flavor akin to celery but much gentler and more delicate, is best served raw in a slaw.

If you love cole slaw, but are ready for an upgrade, try this slightly American take on the classic French celeriac rémoulade. I grate celeriac and Granny Smith apples, and toss them in a sauce of good French mayonnaise, apple cider vinegar, Dijon mustard and lemon juice. Tons of parsley and cracked black pepper finish it off. The result is something different and fresh and crisp, slightly sweet, very savory. It's perfect as a slaw, as a topping on greens, even served on an improvised Reuben sandwich.

Next time I see one of these babies in the produce aisle, I may not hide my hysterics. We should all celebrate celeriac. And adding a new vegetable to your repertoire is always a good thing. It's like buying a new book. Whether you read it once or a hundred times, it's always nice to see it on the shelf and know you can pick it up whenever you want to.

Celeriac and Apple Slaw
serves 6

INGREDIENTS

10 tablespoons mayonnaise
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon lemon juice
¼ cup chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt
Freshly cracked black pepper
2 pounds celeriac, peeled
2 Granny Smith apples
1 tablespoon reserved apple juice

PROCEDURE

In a large bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, vinegar, mustard, lemon juice, parsley, salt and pepper.

Shred the celery root in a food processor, and add it to the large bowl with the rémoulade sauce. Next, cut the cheeks off the apples and shred them in the food processor. Squeeze the excess juice out of the apple before adding it to the celery root, and reserve the juice. Add 1 tablespoon of the reserved apple juice to the mixture and toss everything together. This tastes best if it sits covered in the fridge overnight, but you can serve it right away.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1013669 2011-10-17T17:15:09-04:00 2011-12-17T05:12:01-05:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/
Enter the leek.

The unsung hero of French food. Any stock, any soup, any sauce, should have a sign graffitied across the plate, "leeks were here." Their leaves are used in bouquet garni, tied and bound, then thrown away. They are braised in sauces, then strained out. And thrown away. They are simmered in stocks, with bones and peppercorns. And then thrown away. For every 10 times you've tasted a leek, maybe they've actually crossed your lips once. It's a crying shame.

Every once in a very long while, when leeks are the star of the show and get their day in the sun, they are in that single, solitary moment highbrow, exotic and very French. Leeks have the mild onion flavor of a shallot, but less sweet and a bit more vegetal, with a hint of celery. Hearty in constitution, but delicate in flavor. I love to shred them superfine and toss them in flour, and then fry them until they're frizzled, and pile them high on top of seared steaks or crisp fishes.

This version is a step up from that, thick strands of leeks soaked in buttermilk and coated in an onion-ring breading of flour and cornmeal. I fry them until they are crisp, and season them with salt, and maybe a pinch of piment d'Espelette. I like them as an appetizer, with a wedge of lemon. Or on the side of a light grilled steak. They soften and caramelize; and are crisp and soft and sweet and salty at once. To be blunt, they are delicious. A treasure, buried at the bottom of your stockpot or garbage can.



To everything there is a season. And I believe the leeks shall inherit the earth.

Onion-Ring Leeks
serves 2 to 4

Ingredients

1 leek, white and light green parts cut into thick strips
⅓ cup buttermilk
½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons cornmeal
¾ teaspoon salt
Canola oil for frying

Procedure

Leave the leeks to soak for 15 minutes in the buttermilk. Meanwhile, mix together the flour, cornmeal and salt. Fill a cast iron skillet with one inch of canola oil, and heat it to 375°F.

Allow the excess buttermilk to drip away, and dredge the leeks, individually, in the flour mixture. Fry in small batches until crisp and golden brown, from 1 to 3 minutes. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with extra salt.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1001741 2011-10-11T09:29:35-04:00 2011-12-11T05:12:01-05:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

You know in the cartoons, when Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck has some genius idea, and a light bulb goes off in the corner of the screen? I may not have a tail or whiskers or feathers or be drawn in marker, but I swear that exact thing happened to me when I thought about mixing melted Camembert and pasta.

The method behind this easier-than-easy mac 'n' cheese comes from fondue. Sometimes, for a lazy fondue, I buy a small round wheel of brie. Wheels of brie come in little wooden boxes, and if you wrap those wooden boxes tightly in foil, nestle the brie in, and bake it for an hour, you have a seriously good fondue with no effort. Just cut away a little hole in the rind, and dip in your bread and apples like a man going ice fishing.

For this recipe, I shove some garlic and herbs down into a wheel of pungent Camembert and let the whole thing melt together in the little foil box. Then, I scoop out the inside of the cheese and put it in the blender with some starchy cooking water from the fusilli. The result is a perfectly creamy sauce, that tastes of roasted garlic, thyme, and that pungent Camembert flavor that gets stuck in the twists and turns of the al dente corkscrew pasta. It is so different, and addictive, and works as a big vegetarian bowl or as a side to a hearty meatloaf or roast chicken. It's familiar, but that extra kick of the Camembert makes it different and special and really, really good.

It may not be reinventing the wheel. But it's making damn good use of one.

Easy-Baked Camembert Corkscrews
serves 4

INGREDIENTS

8 ounces Camembert (the round one in the wooden box)
2 cloves garlic, halved
The leaves from 4 stems thyme
Salt and pepper
1 pound fusilli pasta

PROCEDURE

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Take the camembert out of the box, and cut the very top white rind off only the top of the cheese (leave the sides and bottom intact). Wrap the box the cheese came in completely and tightly in foil. Place the cheese cut side up back in its box. Season with salt and pepper. Top with the garlic and thyme. Close the box, place it on a small rimmed baking sheet, and bake for 1 hour.

Boil the pasta until al dente is salted water. Drain, reserving ½ cup cooking liquid. Add ¼ cup pasta cooking water to the blender, and scoop the melted cheese, leaving the white rind behind, into the blender as well. Purée until smooth, and return to the pasta pot.

Add the pasta back in, and toss to coat. Use the remaining pasta water to thin out the sauce if necessary. Serve right away.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.992692 2011-10-03T17:12:14-04:00 2011-12-03T05:12:02-05:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/


I'm about to board a plane for London, where I currently live, thinking about things that go together in unlikely circumstances. My mother always says that when two things find each other that go together well, they should never be apart. True to her command, I live in London because that is where my heart is, but it is a VERY unlikely circumstance.

My mother would similarly advise that brie and avocado shouldn't be apart. Whatever it takes, they must be together. Mild in flavor, richer than Richie Rich, they are two sides of the same buttery coin. Together they form this simple gooey mess that manages to feel light and fresh. Deceiving, but delicious, and I'll take it.

Wrapping brie and avocado together in an eggroll blanket, and deep frying them, may appear to be an unlikely circumstance, but once you see the way the brie and the avocado melt into each other in the hot oil, in contrast to that crisp, crackling, salty eggroll shell, you'll know I'm on to something. A touch of freshness comes from the lemon and parsley. The inside is steaming and hot and oozing and bright, and satisfying in a way that only a grilled cheese meeting guacamole can be. My mom was so right. Things that go together this well should never, ever be apart.

Brie and Avocado Eggrolls
makes 8

INGREDIENTS

Canola oil, for frying
1 Hass avocado, sliced
7 ounces of brie, sliced
⅓ cup flat leaf parsley, chopped
8 eggroll wrappers
Lemon
Salt

PROCEDURE

Fill a cast iron skillet with 1 inch of oil, and heat it to 360°F.

While the oil comes up to temperature, assemble the eggrolls. Divide the avocado, brie, and parsley among the 8 eggroll wrappers. Spritz the contents with fresh lemon juice and season with salt. Dip your finger in water, and dampen the eggs of the eggroll wrapper. Roll up the eggrolls, pinching to seal the edges.

Fry the eggrolls for 2 minutes, turning once. Drain on a paper towel, and season with salt. Eat hot.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.948498 2011-09-06T10:26:53-04:00 2011-11-06T05:12:02-05:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/
I scanned the menu for something different. I didn't come all the way to France to eat the same ol' chicken nuggets I've been eating since I was five. I spied something on the menu: Boursin balls, crispy fried little nuggets of creamy cheese. Like a mozzarella stick, but round, and instead of stringy, mild cheese, Boursin is creamy and fiery with garlic and herbs. Of course, they were dangerously addictive. The Boursin was so full of flavor, I needed a toothbrush for my flight. The outside crust of breadcrumbs was crisp, and like an eggshell, it cracked to let the warm, soft cheese ooze out into my mouth. Hungry and Grumpy were banished back to wherever they came from, not to be seen or heard from again. Until I touched down in Toulouse, and spotted the cassoulet.

When I was a little girl in school, when the other little girls would copy each other, and one would shout, "Copycat!", the other would turn very calm and mature and recite, "Copying is the most sincere form of flattery." So, I am flattering Quick. This is my version of Crispy Fried Boursin Cheese Balls, a smash up of Garlic and Fines Herbes Boursin, that you buy at the supermarket, shredded mozzarella, for gooeyness, and cream cheese, to bind everything together in creamy deliciousness. I roll the balls in egg white and fine bread crumbs, and fry them for just a minute. They are crisp, soft, and so flavorful from that Boursin. I made 15, and it took far fewer than 15 minutes for them to get devoured. These are perfect for cocktails, or for watching a game, or for a grown-up "after school" snack. Bon app.





CRISPY FRIED BOURSIN CHEESE BALLS
makes 15

INGREDIENTS

1 5.2-ounce box of Boursin cheese, garlic and herbs flavor, room temperature
½ cup grated part-skim mozzarella
1 ounce cream cheese, room temperature
¼ cup flour
1 egg white, beaten with 1 tablespoon cold water
⅓ cup breadcrumbs
Canola oil, for frying
Kosher salt, for seasoning

PROCEDURE

In a medium bowl, smash together the Boursin, mozzarella, and cream cheese. Use a 1 ¼-inch ice cream scoop to shape out little rounds of the cheese mixture, and place them on a small rimmed baking sheet lined with wax paper. Freeze for 45 minutes to an hour.

Fill a small pot with at least 3 inches of canola oil, and heat the oil to 360°F. While the oil is heating, bread the cheese balls. Place the flour, egg white and water mixture, and crumbs in three separate small bowls. Dredge each cheese ball lightly in flour, lightly in eggwash, and finally lightly in bread crumbs. Set aside.

Once the oil has reached 360°F, fry the cheese balls, 3 at a time, for about 1 minutes, until the outside crumbs are golden brown and crisp, and the cheese is just starting to melt and break through. Drain on a paper towel. Repeat with the remaining cheese balls. Sprinkle the whole lot lightly with salt, and serve piping hot and oozing.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.935065 2011-08-29T16:15:26-04:00 2011-10-29T05:12:02-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/



I love burgers. But I hate myself afterwards. What feels good in the act always leaves me feeling sick, full, and out of control. So I consider my love of fish sandwiches, fish burgers, I call them, to be a badge of maturity. They are semi-responsible, quasi-high brow fast food. And I love them. I love the crispy edges of the fish. And the way the salty mayonnaise from the tartare sauce melts and pools in the ravines of the flaky fish flesh. I love the soft bun. And the way it inevitably gets soggy and falls apart. Why do I always think I need bad boy burgers? This is my love letter to fish sandwiches. Because, after all, fish sandwiches are kind of like choosing to have a one-night stand with the right person. Maturity that leads to love, rolled into one perfectly wax paper-wrapped package.

This recipe is a testament that good habits can be far more fun than the bad ones. I noticed last week that French McDonald's offers not one, but two, incarnations of the famed Filet-O-Fish. And, I thought, I can make this better. A burger alternative that I can feel good eating, and feel good about afterwards. This is my Frenchified version of a classic fish sandwich. It's simple. I dust a good, flat fish lightly in flour and a mixture of dried fines herbes: chervil, parsley, chives, and tarragon. The almost sweet, licorice quality of these particular herbs pair beautifully and delicately with the almost sweet, barely salty aspect of the fish. It's lovely. I shallow fry the fish until the edges are crisp as fries, and the fish is golden all over. Then, I pile the fish with leaves of romaine on toasted baguette, and slather it with a homemade tartare sauce that uses fresh fines herbes to the same sweet, delicate effect, and French cornichon pickles for salt and crunch. It has all the familiar aspects, the mayonnaise and pickles from the tartare sauce, the bread, the fish. But I like this delicate version. Without breading, you can really taste the beautiful fish, and the tarragon and chervil add such a simple, but different, aroma and flavor. The baguette is crusty, and hearty, in contrast to the almost lacy flavors from the rest of the sandwich. McDo, take note. Chances are one bite just might turn this one-dinner stand into a long, loving, and monogamous relationship.



MY FRENCH FILET-O-FISH
serves 2

INGREDIENTS
Vegetable oil for frying
2 7 to 8-ounce fillets of thin white fish, like plaice, boneless and skinless
½ tablespoon dried fines herbes (a mix of dried parsley, chervil, tarragon, and chives)
Kosher salt
Freshly cracked black pepper
½ cup all-purpose flour
½ a baguette
⅓ cup good French mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons finely diced cornichons
1 tablespoon roughly chopped flat leaf parsley
1 tablespoon roughly chopped chervil (if you can't find chervil, use parsley)
1 tablespoon roughly chopped tarragon
1 tablespoon roughly snipped chives
4 leaves of Romaine lettuce

PROCEDURE
Preheat the broiler. Heat 1 inch of vegetable oil in a nonstick sauté pan over medium-high heat.

Season the fish with salt, pepper, and the dried fines herbes. Dredge the fish in flour, and shake off the excess. Dip a wooden spoon in the hot oil; if bubbles form around the wood, the oil is hot enough to fry. Fry the fish 5 to 6 minutes on the first side, then turn over with a fish spatula, and fry another 2 to 3 minutes. The fish should be crispy and golden on both sides. Drain on paper towel.

Cut the half baguette in half horizontally, and then in half vertically. Place the cut bread pieces, cut side up, on a baking sheet, and toast under the broiler until golden. Set aside. In a medium bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, mustard, cornichons, and fresh herbs, and season with salt and pepper. Smear all the pieces of bread with the tartare sauce. Stack the sandwich with lettuce and crispy fish. Serve right away.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.928314 2011-08-16T12:50:09-04:00 2011-10-16T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/


There are times for frilly, doily-edged tarts. For desserts that come after a meal and before you stop eating. That is not what I want right now.

Now, I feel like something so naughty, I will grin about it and blush afterwards. I want to throw caution to the wind, exchanging an extra pound for ten minutes of sweet, conscientiously and deliciously deliberate sweet tooth pleasure. I don't want to sit down with a fork and a tiny prim plate. I want to stand in front of the fridge, not with a spoon, but with a ladle, and INDULGE. Not because it's after dinner. Not because I'm hungry. But because it's too damn good to put down.

So I start with Eton Mess, than English dessert made from strawberries, cream, and crusted meringue. And then I knock it around a little, turning it from strawberries and cream to the blue-purple-black of a bruise. Blackberries and blueberries, instead of strawberries. Crumbled meringues (for the requisite sweetness, crunch, and body). And then whipped cream punched up with crème de cassis, black currant liqueur. The juices of the berries start to run. There is that little bite from the liquor. The cream is fluffy and the meringues are fluffy. You can make just this amount, and eat the whole thing, or quadruple it, and smash it into a trifle bowl. The result is mayhem. Whipped cream on your nose. Berry juice on your clothes. Bacchanalian diet disaster.

It's so good.

BRUISED BERRY MERINGUE MASH
serves 2

INGREDIENTS
½ cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1 tablespoon crème de cassis
¾ cup roughly crumbled meringue (about 1 crumbled meringue nest)
½ cup blackberries
½ cup blueberries

PROCEDURE
Use a hand mixer to beat the cream to soft peaks. Add the sugar and crème de cassis, and beat until just stiff enough to be called whipped cream.

Use a silicone spatula to fold the meringue and berries into the cream. Use the tip of the spatula to smash a few berries. Spoon the mixture into two glass dessert cups or ramekins. Serve!]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.919416 2011-08-05T14:50:35-04:00 2011-10-05T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

This recipe is a hardcover. Which sounds a little bit strange without explanation.

A few months ago, I bought a Kindle. And I buy Kindle books avidly. But only the ones I want to read once. The ones I don't want to see cluttering the sagging shelves in my little apartment. The ones that are all plot, all blood, all sex, all intrigue--and once the end is neatly tied in a bow, I will sigh, and maybe think a little while longer about it, and then never read it again.

But I still buy hardcovers: books by authors I love, new printings of books I cannot live without. They are why my shelves are sagging. Because every reading brings some new pleasure, like meeting an old friend after a time apart, and finding out another totally fantastic thing about them.

Carrot and celeriac slaw is a hardcover. It's a cross between the very traditional French céleri rémoulade, and an American cole slaw. Céleri rémoulade is shredded celery root, or celeriac, tossed in a mayonnaise-based sauce, usually flavored with a little bit of mustard and acid, like lemon juice or vinegar. Similar to our American cole slaw, but without the sweetness of carrots or sugar or other sweet things that often find their ways in. Plus, no need for the traditional celery salt--celeriac has that perfect faint, earthy, celery flavor, and crispy white flesh that doesn't wilt like cabbage. I whisk together a simple dressing of good French mayonnaise, spicy Dijon mustard, and cider vinegar. I toss in the shredded carrot, for that touch of American sweetness, and celery root, for that phenomenal why-don't-we-eat-more-of-this-in-the-States flavor, and let it wilt, until the vegetables bends a touch, but are still crunchy as a chip.

I've been writing these posts from France the last couple of weeks, and I have made this slaw every other day, using the gorgeous pre-shredded carrots and celery root from Carrefour (I'm telling you--they're really good!), good French mayonnaise, and a Dijon mustard slightly spicier than our usual. I eat it with lunch and dinner, and leftovers are even better the next day. Every time I take it off my nearly-sagging refrigerator shelf, I look at it like an old friend, and discover I love it even more than I did yesterday. Bon app.

Carrot and Celeriac Slaw
serves 4 to 6

INGREDIENTS
5 tablespoons good mayonnaise
4 teaspoons cider vinegar
2 to 3 teaspoons Dijon mustard
Salt to taste
Pepper, freshly ground, to taste
1/2 pound finely shredded carrot
1/2 pound finely shredded celery root

PROCEDURE
In a large bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, vinegar, mustard, salt, and pepper, until emulsified. Toss with the carrots and celery root, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least 1 hour, up to overnight. Serve slightly cold, anywhere that you would serve cabbage or cole slaw--with a sandwich or burger, on top of a salad, even in a fish taco.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.908616 2011-07-26T17:00:59-04:00 2011-09-25T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

When I was in second grade, we had to make elevation-accurate plaster of Paris molds of our favorite continents. I built, surprise, surprise, Europe, talking particular care of the Gallic region. Sometime when I was attempting the Alps, this girl in my class, Christina, dipped a spoon into the plaster of Paris, and stuck the spoon in her mouth. The teacher was apoplectic--nurses and poison control were called. But when I asked Christina about it later, she just said to me, "What? It was just like tuna salad."

I love those moments where you go from thinking something is totally and completely inedible, to realizing that it is another delicious thing you can stick in your mouth.

I've had a few of these revelations. Stinky cheese rinds (I used to think they were indigestible) to escargots (self-explanatory). But none made me happier than the first time I ate zucchini blossoms. They are like pale marigolds in color, like lilies in shape. They sprout out like giant and wildly inappropriate headdresses on the end of young zucchini. They're not easy to come by in the States, but in Europe, where I am right now, they sell bunches of ten for a Euro. They can't get rid of them fast enough. And I'm happy to oblige.

I'm recreating a Niçoise classic: zucchini flower beignets. Every time I go to my favorite zucchini flower beignet vendor (yes, I have one) in Nice, they are sold out. But the blossoms themselves are everywhere, and necessity is the mother of invention. I whisked up a quick batter of water, egg, baking soda, and flour, and fried the flower fritters in olive oil, for Provençal flavor. They puff up, and turn crisp on the outside, and slightly doughy within. Traditionally, they are served with wedges of lemon, and salt. Which is how I serve mine--and how you should consider serving yours. The flowers add surprising meatiness, and a mellow almost-background flavor that tastes like nothing else. Not like zucchini, and not like flowers. Not like plaster of Paris or tuna salad either. But rather like a fresh bite of a summer garden. Hard to put into words, but not hard to put into your mouth. They're delicious.



Zucchini Flower Fritters
makes 12, serves 4

INGREDIENTS

Olive oil for frying
1 egg
1 cup flour
1 cup water
1 tablespoon baking soda
Salt
12 large zucchini flowers (see Note #1)
Lemon

PROCEDURE

Heat about 2 inches of oil in a saucepot over medium-high heat. The oil will be hot enough when you dip the end of a wooden spoon in the oil, and bubbles rise up.

Meanwhile, whisk together the egg, flour, water, and baking soda, along with a good pinch of salt. Dredge the flowers in the batter, and fry about 2 at a time (careful not to overcrowd the pan), turning once, until puffed and golden and cooked through: about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove to a plate lined with paper towel, and salt the beignet. Repeat with all the flowers, and serve immediately with cut lemon wedges.

NOTES

1. You can either dip the flowers whole in the batter, or split them up one side, open them like a book, and then dunk them, for a broader beignet.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.895393 2011-07-12T08:48:28-04:00 2011-09-11T05:12:02-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

When it comes to French food, we always think of the ivory tower. Not the gutter. Charlottes and tians and soufflés are all well and good, but give me the choice between haute cuisine and a hole in the wall off a well-trod avenue, and there's no comparison. Hole in the wall, s'il vous plait!

I am a French street-food-oholic. Actually, I eat plenty of hotdogs and pretzels off the streets of New York. So maybe it has nothing to do with provenance. But French street food is spectacular. I plan trips around the crêpe stuffed with bubbling, elastic Gruyère that I get to go from L'Avant Comptoir near Odéon in Paris. In Nice, there are zucchini flower beignets and chickpea pancakes called socca. And in the South, Pan Bagnat, giant and perfect tuna sandwiches that I take to share at the beach. Gauffres, or really Belgian waffles, under an avalanche of sugar. And of course, the omnipresent ice cream cones that parade around the country. But the one that takes Marie Antoinette's cake is possibly the world's greatest sandwich: Merguez Frites.

Hold onto your berets. It's a baguette, stuffed with hot, smoky Moroccan lamb sausages flavored with garlic, harissa, chilis, cumin, coriander, and the kitchen sink. And then stuffed into the baguette with the grill-charred sausages is a solid helping of frites. Crunchy, salty, and ridiculous. You can get the baguette slathered with garlic mayo, extra harissa, even ketchup. It is so gluttonous, and so spicy, and so good. Greasy and dirty in that too-much-lo mein way that everyone loves. It makes a New York hotdog, heretofore my yardstick of perfection (with deli mustard), look measly. It's a heart stopper, in more ways than one. And it's worth it.

I love doing cookouts for Bastille Day (this Thursday, July 14th). Instead of throwing some all American hotdogs on the grill, I give my grill a French accent. I throw some Merguez sausages, long and lean, on the grill until black and hot and smoky. I stuff them in an olive oil-seared baguette, with piquillo peppers, garlic-yogurt-mayo sauce, and a salad of cilantro. Serve with some harissa for those that like it hot, or some grill lemons. It is so different and so spectacular, you don't need to make anything else. Just buy some good French beers and call it a day. Or a fête.



Hot Merguez Baguettes
serves 4

INGREDIENTS

6 tablespoons Greek yogurt
6 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 clove garlic, grated
Kosher salt
4 8-inch baguette rolls, sliced horizontally like an open book
4 teaspoons olive oil
12 links Merguez sausage (see Note #1)
12 jarred, roasted piquillo peppers, halved
1/2 cup torn cilantro leaves
Harissa (optional)

PROCEDURE
Preheat a grill--wood burning, charcoal, or gas. In a small bowl, whisk together the yogurt, mayonnaise, garlic, and salt to taste. Set aside.

Drizzle the cut surface of the baguette rolls lightly with olive oil. Place cut side down on the grill until lightly toasted--about 1 minute. Set the rolls aside, and place the Merguez on the grill, turning occasionally until the sausages are charred and cooked through--about 6 minutes.

While the sausages are grilling, assemble the sandwiches. Slather as much of the garlic yogurt sauce on the bread as you like. If you like it hot (like really hot), squirt some harissa onto the buns. Scatter the piquillo peppers on the bread, and the leaves of cilantro. As soon as the Merguez are cooked, pile 3 into each sandwich, fold the sandwich shut, and cut in half on a diagonal. Serve immediately.

NOTES
#1 You can find Merguez at gourmet stores, Kosher markets, and Middle Easter grocers.

]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.893040 2011-07-08T17:02:51-04:00 2011-09-07T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

This is a back pocket recipe. Think of all the things that live in your back pocket. You wallet. Your iPhone. Maybe a comb, if you're the Fonz. Back pocket items are the bare bones of necessity. When you need to pay, when you need to communicate, when you need to comb your incredibly slick hair, you reach for the back pocket. This recipe is like that. When you need to eat, it's there, ready, willing and able.

If you've never had Boursin, know two things about it: you can find it any supermarket, and it tastes amazing. It's a soft, crumbly Gournay cheese, spiked most commonly with garlic and fines herbes, which are the soft herbs like chives, parsley, chervil, and tarragon. Its savoriness is its greatest quality--it is so overwhelmingly and delightfully flavorful, tempered by a slight tang, almost of a chèvre. Normally, I stuff it messily into a crusty baguette (which I highly recommend you do as well), but this week it plays an Oscar-winning role in creating the world's best smashed potatoes.

What could be easier? I boil one sack of white fingerling potatoes. Drain them, and smash them with the Boursin and a touch of cream or milk. The small potatoes are sweetly tender, their skins are rustic and delicious, and all of the flavor you need is already packed into the little puck of white cheese. I can think of nothing better with a summer-grilled steak, or alongside a side of salmon, or under a roast chicken. These smashed potatoes are the kind of food that fills you up, satiates a hungry crowd, warms your cheeks and heart. It's just hearty, good food.

Plus, not to sounds like a salesman, but Boursin also comes in black pepper and shallot and chive flavors that allow you to smash these potatoes any way you want. So your back pocket turns into a Mary Poppins bag of wonder.

Boursin Smashed Potatoes
serves 4

INGREDIENTS

24 ounces white fingerling potatoes
5 ounces Boursin
¼ cup half and half
Salt and pepper

PROCEDURE

Put the potatoes in a large pot of cold water. Bring to a boil, and salt the water. Cook until fork tender. Drain, and return to the hot pot.

Add the Boursin and half and half to the pot. Smash with a potato smasher, and season with salt and pepper. Stir everything until well combined.
]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.888436 2011-07-05T09:20:04-04:00 2011-09-04T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/

This recipe is not particularly beautiful, or especially complicated. But that doesn't mean it's not one of the best. It completely debunks the myth that effort and deliciousness are proportionally related.

The success of these green beans is completely based around one simple secret method: putting raw garlic on hot vegetables. Roasted green beans are themselves delicious--slightly shriveled, distinctly sweet, tender-crisp, with charred butts. Toss them, still hot, with a paste of gold-dust-fine grated garlic, and watch the magic happen. If you roasted the garlic with the haricots verts, it would burn. If you waited too long and put the garlic on cold, or even warm, green beans, the garlic would remain raw, too spicy, too pungent. But the combination of the hot vegetables and the super-fine garlic ensures that the garlic just cooks through, with just the heat of the green beans, to make this super garlicky perfect green side.

I've never seen a more successful vegetable. Light, healthy, easy, cheap, and it's still the first thing to run out on the table, every time.

Garlic-oholic Roasted Haricots Verts
serves 4

INGREDIENTS

1 pound trimmed haricots verts
2 tablespoons olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 to 3 cloves garlic, grated

PROCEDURE

Preheat the oven to 500°F. Toss the haricots verts with the olive oil, and a good pinch of salt and pepper on a rimmed baking sheet. Spread into a single layer. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until golden around the edges. Take the green beans out of the oven, and toss the raw grated garlic onto the hot green beans, stirring until the garlic is evenly distributed. Serve immediately.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.881921 2011-06-23T16:20:59-04:00 2011-08-23T05:12:01-04:00

Kerry Saretsky http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kerry-saretsky/



I've been feeling restless. In that soul-churning kind of way, where you don't even want to stand on one foot for too long. Sitting down for a prolonged plate of pasta is out of the question. I want to eat something noncommittal, something I can pick at, something with enough magnetism to make me stop for a minute, and take a bite.

It's summer, which means it's mozzarella and tomato season. But this is better. Slices of milky burrata, nestled next to wedges of sweet, sharp white peaches. Over the top of both, a drizzle of sweet balsamic reduction, extra virgin olive oil, flaked sea salt, and cracked black pepper. I love that unusual savoriness on the peaches, and they are so much sharper than tomatoes that the burrata's mildness is even more remarkable. I served it on a wooden board, surrounded with hunks of crusty bread, to dip in the oil, and the milk that runs off the cheese.

It's just new enough, and interesting enough, to get me to stand--or even sit--still for a minute. And not weigh me down.

BURRATA WITH PEACHES
serves 2

INGREDIENTS

¼ cup balsamic vinegar
1 200-gram (7-ounce) ball of burrata, or buffalo mozzarella, sliced
2 large white peaches, pitted and cut into wedges
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
Freshly cracked black pepper
Maldon or other sea salt
Crusty bread for serving

PROCEDURE

Pour the vinegar into a small pan over medium heat, and simmer until the vinegar has thickened and reduced to 1½ tablespoons. Set aside to cool.

Arrange the sliced mozzarella and peaches on a round board or plate. Drizzle with olive oil, and season with salt and pepper. Once the balsamic reduction has cooled, it will be even thicker. Drizzle all over the peaches and cheese. Slice up some crusty bread, and tuck it around the edges of the platter. Eat up.
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