The French Menu Cookbook: The Food and Wine of France - Season by Delicious Season. Richard Olney

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СКАЧАТЬ flavor of a good rice. Different rices are capable of absorbing slightly different quantities of water and may require a few minutes more or less of cooking time, but this is no problem, for a rice that is slightly undercooked or overcooked is not bad as long as it is dry and the grains remain separate; after a couple of tries your timing and liquid measure will adjust themselves to your rice. Acceptable results may be produced in a thin aluminum pot with a plate for a cover, but a pilaf is perfect only if prepared in a heavy saucepan, preferably copper, with a tight-fitting lid. Count one cup of rice for four people.

       Rice Pilaf

      1 tablespoon (½ ounce) butter

      1 cup dry, unwashed rice

       salt

      2 cups boiling water

      4 tablespoons (2 ounces) butter

      Melt the tablespoon of butter in the saucepan over a low flame, add the rice, sprinkle with salt, and allow it to cook gently in the butter, stirring regularly with a wooden spoon, for a couple of minutes, or until the grains lose their slightly translucent quality and become milky and opaque. Add the boiling water, stir once to be certain no grains are sticking (done correctly, no grains will be browned and none will stick), and cover tightly. Leave to cook, undisturbed, for about 25 minutes, either on top of the stove or in a preheated slow oven. If left on top of the stove, it may be necessary to use an asbestos mat undeneath the pot to help regulate the heat—the liquid should present only the slightest suggestion of a surface movement. The rice is done when the water has been completely absorbed. Mix in the remaining butter, cut into small pieces, manipulating the rice delicately with the prongs of a fork so as not to break or crush the grains, and turn it out immediately into a warmed serving dish (or, if it is prepared some time in advance, into another saucepan which will then be kept, covered, in a warm, but not hot, place).

      CRÊPE BATTER

      Crêpes are unleavened, paper-thin pancakes. Depending on the use to which they are put, they may be called “crêpes” or pannequets. They form the “shirts” in en chemise preparations and the crisp surfaces of some cromesquis when stuffing enveloped in a crêpe is fried in deep fat. Under certain circumstances, they may replace the sheet of paste used to enrobe cannelloni.

      The following recipe will serve for all the preparations in this book. For unsweetened dishes, the sugar should be eliminated. One may count on 18 to 20 small crêpes or 10 to 12 large with these proportions.

      It is not terribly important to remain loyal to precise ingredients or measurements. Crêpes are good made with milk or beer, with or without the addition of cognac or liqueur, and perfectly acceptable made with water. The batter may be enriched by the addition of cream, may contain more or fewer eggs, and olive oil may replace the butter. Finely chopped fines herbes added to an hors d’oeuvre or main-course crêpe batter is an attractive refinement.

      The batter should be thin—the consistency of very fresh cream. The pan should be in impeccable condition. If a large number of crêpes must be made, one may save a great deal of time by working with 2 or 3 pans over different burners. Crêpes may be made in advance, in which case they must be stacked on a plate neatly, one on top of the other, and covered with a towel, to avoid their drying out.

       Crêpes

      2 heaping tablespoons flour

      1 heaping tablespoon sugar (include only in dessert crêpes)

       small pinch salt

      3 eggs

      1 cup milk

      1 tablespoon cognac

      3 tablespoons (1½ ounce) melted butter

      Sift the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl, make a well in the center, and break in the eggs. Stir, keeping to the center, until all the flour is gradually absorbed into the eggs, then slowly add approximately 2/3 cup of milk, stirring all the while. Stir in the cognac and melted butter and thin the batter with milk until it is no thicker than fresh cream. I do not find it essential to let the batter stand before cooking, but this may of course be done.

      A small ladle of a capacity of about 3 tablespoons is practical for pouring. For large crêpes (approximately 7 inches in diameter at the bottom of the pan), count about 3 tablespoons of batter, for small (5 inches), about 2 tablespoons. If the batter refuses to cover the bottom of the pan, it is too thick, and more milk should be added.

      Heat the pan, lightly buttered (it need be buttered only once, assuming the batter to be sufficiently lubricated), over a low to medium flame (after the first 2 or 3 crêpes, adjust the heat if necessary). If the pan does not sizzle at contact with the batter, it is not hot enough. Lift the pan from the flame and, holding it with one hand, pour in the batter with the other. At the same time, give the pan a rolling motion, turning it rapidly in all directions, so that the batter spreads immediately over the entire surface. Return it to the flame, and after 30 seconds or so, delicately lift an edge of the pancake with the rounded tip of a table knife to check its progress (after one or two times, you will have the feeling and everything will go automatically). Ease the knife blade all the way under and flip the crêpe over. Toss it if you prefer—it is a pretty piece of theater, but requires a certain amount of practice, and the result is the same. After about 15 seconds, remove the pan from the flame, lift the crêpe out with the knife and begin the operation all over again. It is essential to remove the pan from the flame for several seconds each time, for, with the flame at the correct intensity for cooking the crêpes, the pan heats progressively and rapidly becomes too hot. The batter should be stirred each time just before being poured, as the flour has a tendency to settle to the bottom and the butter to rise to the top. If, partway through, the batter is noticeably thicker, more liquid may be added.

      HERBS

      For my own purposes, I have settled, finally, on the following herbs. Among those to be used fresh: parsley, chives, tarragon, chervil (the traditional fines herbes, alone or in combination), basil, dill, wild fennel, and savory.

      Those to be used dried: thyme, bay leaf, rosemary, oregano (wild marjoram), savory and wild fennel.

      Others are in my garden, but usually remain untouched. Hyssop I occasionally use—sparingly—when receiving erudite curiosity seekers. Borage, sage, and mint find their place mostly in bouquets (not garnis), and coriander (whose seeds are essential in many brine and vinegar conserves) I planted only once (its tender green leaves, known in French as persil chinois, and in the United States as Chinese parsley, are much used in Arab and Oriental cooking); I found the odor so intensely repellent that I could never bring myself to try it. The only two that I regret not having are cultivated marjoram, neither the seeds nor plants of which I have been able to find in France, and serpolet, a variety of wild thyme, the perfume of which resembles savory more than thyme but is more fragile and delicate than either. In the past, the mountainsides of Provence were covered with it, but for a reason that none can explain it is rapidly disappearing.

      A bouquet garni is a bundle of herbs tied together in order to simplify their removal from a dish at the end of its cooking process.

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