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A tall woman and a French man were preparing a chicken for roasting, while conversing amiably. She wiggled her hand into the space between the bird's skin and the flesh, something I had never seen anybody do before. I could not quite figure out to what extent the two in the kitchen were serious.
My mother-in-law was watching this on her television when we arrived for a visit and we watched it with her for a while. It was my introduction to Julia Child and Jacques Pépin and also the last time I saw them, since watching television wasn't and still isn't a part of our life.
Hence, my connection, so to speak, with Jacques Pépin is tenuous at best. His autobiography The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen, the current selection of our Cook the Books club, is quite a pleasant read, seasoned with a nice dose of recipes.
Although I have not followed closely Pépin's career, I have always admired his gentlemanlike attitude, of which I have seen signs in the book and, most recently, in an article he penned for the Daily Meal, which created a stir in the world of food shows — a kind of extragalactical planet, as far as I am concerned.
After reading Russ Parsons' report on the LA Times, I read the original and here's an excerpt I particularly agree with:
A main ingredient of those preparations is the love with which they are prepared.
In Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez, the book’s main protagonist, Dr. Urbino, doesn’t know anything about cooking, but when he eats and entertains in his home, he equates the goodness of the food with how much love was put into the dish. He would reject a dish, saying, “this food was cooked without love.” It is a criticism that is closer to the truth than most people realize.
Julia Child used to say that you have to be happy when you cook for the food to be good, and you also have to be happy in the eating and sharing of the food with family and friends. Otherwise the gastric juices will not do their job and you won’t digest the food properly. I agree with her assessment. It is impossible to enjoy food when you're angry and tense.
Interesting for me is the fact that only a couple of days before learning about Pépin's article, I had described to friends the negative effects the little I have been reading in recent years about restaurants has had on my attitude towards eating out. As it was to be expected, the article's echo reached far and Pépin felt the need to add a clarifying note.
I can reassure Jacques Pépin that there is plenty of love in my kitchen, and in my garden too, where at least some plants, like my orange mint (Mentha x piperita citrata, menta arancio), thrive notwithstanding my inconsistent care. A few sprigs of it contributes to the recipe I made to honor M. Pépin's life and career.
The recipe does not come from the book, but from the March 2013 issue of Food & Wine that included a tribute to Pépin. It's a tapenade, "a Provençal paste or dip, made from black olives, capers, and anchovies." I made the recipe a few times and it has replaced my previous preferred tapenade recipe. Pépin's version has two unusual ingredients: dried figs (fichi secchi) and mint leaves (foglioline di menta). When blended with the traditional components of tapenade, the two newcomers create a multi-layered flavor in which the sweetness of figs, the saltiness of preserved olives, the tanginess of capers and anchovies, the fresh aroma of mint (with a light citrusy note in my case) and the richness of olives and olive oil create a combination that surprises at every bite.
The original recipe by Pépin makes a lot of tapenade, so I decreased the amount of olives and adjusted the amount of figs accordingly. Other changes include the use of anchovy paste (pasta d'acciughe) rather than anchovies dictated by convenience (i.e., I had some at home), the use of my own pickled nasturtium seedpods (called "poor man's capers") instead of true capers (capperi) and the addition of a small amount of balsamic vinegar to spike the tapenade (a tribute to my old recipe). I also decreased the amount of mint, as my freshly harvested orange mint has quite a distinct flavor that I need to keep in balance with that of the rest of the ingredient. Finally, I used less olive oil.
With the help of a food processor, making this tapenade takes little time, once all the ingredients are lined up. The trick, if there is one, is in the balance of flavors: you may need to adjust one or another of the ingredients to achieve that. And to celebrate such chorus of bold flavors, I slice and lightly toast some of my bread, like walnut raisin sourdough bread, upon which the tapenade spreads nicely.
Ingredients:
- 1/2 cup / 70 g pitted Kalamata olives, brine-cured
- 1/2 cup / 80 g oil-cured olives (weighed with pits) [both kinds of olives are black]
- 4 small dried figs, chopped; I use Black mission figs, which are small
- 1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon / 20 ml pickled nasturtium seedpods ("poor man's capers") OR capers
- 1 garlic clove, crushed and peeled
- 1 teaspoon / 5 ml anchovy paste
- 2 tablespoons / 30 ml fresh orange mint leaves (adjust as needed, depending on the intensity of flavor of the mint you use)
- 1/2 tablespoon / 7.5 ml balsamic vinegar
- 1 1/2 tablespoon / 22.5 ml EV olive oil of good quality
- 1/16 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
The lack of salt in the list above is not an accidental omission: the ingredients I use contain enough salt.
Rinse Kalamata olives and capers and drain. Pit oil-cured olives.
Place the first 7 ingredients in a food processor and pulse a few times. Add the balsamic vinegar and pulse some more.
With the processor running, slowly pour the olive oil through the feeding tube. The tapenade remains somewhat chunky, but it is spreadable.
Season with pepper and pulse a few times to incorporate.
Transfer the tapenade to a bowl, cover and refrigerate until chilled.
Take the tapenade out of the fridge ahead of serving it.
I suggest you don't leave your bowl of tapenade unattended: you may find it depleted by the time dinner time comes around.
This is my contribution to the current edition of Cook the Books hosted by Deb of Kahakai Kitchen. (You can find the guidelines for participating in the event on this page.)
The fruity and herby tapenade is a perfect contribution to edition #443 of Weekend Herb Blogging, an event started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen, now organized by Haalo of Cook (almost) Anything at Least Once and Brii of briggishome and hosted this week by Brii herself.
Click on the button to hear me pronounce the Italian words mentioned in the post:
pâté di olive con fichi e menta
or launch the pâté di olive con fichi e menta audio file [mp3].
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tapenade, olives, mint, figs, French cuisine
pâté di olive con fichi e menta
Jacques Pépin è noto al pubblico americano grazie alla sua collaborazione con Julia Child. La sua autobiografia The Apprentice: My Life in the Kitchen è la selezione dell'edizione corrente del club Cook the Books. È un libro piacevole da leggere e contiene un certo numero di ricette.
Invece di scegliere una delle ricette del libro, per celebrare Jacques Pépin ho scelto una sua ricetta dal numero di Marzo 2013 della rivista Food & Wine. È un pâté di olive, piatto chiamato tapenade nella cucina provenzale, contenente nella versione di Pépin due ingredienti inusuali: fichi secchi e foglioline di menta, che quando vengono mescolati agli ingredienti traditionali creano una sinfonia gustosissima che sorprende ad ogni boccone.
La ricetta originale produce tanto pâté e quindi ho diminuito la quantità di olive e fichi (in proporzione). Ho fatto anche altri cambiamenti, come l'uso di pasta d'acciughe che avevo in casa e dei miei frutti di nasturzio sott'aceto invece dei capperi e l'aggiunta di un po' di aceto balsamico per ravvivare i sapori. Ho anche diminuito la quantità di menta, dal momento che la mia menta arancio raccolta fresca ha un sapore intenso. Infine, ho usato meno olio d'oliva.
Con l'aiuto del robot, preparare il pâté richiede poco tempo, una volta che gli ingredienti sono allineati pronti per l'utilizzo. Il trucco, se ce n'è uno, è nell'equilibrio dei sapori. Per raggiungerlo potreste dover aggiustare un ingrediente o l'altro. E per celebrare questo glorioso pâté di sapori mediterranei preparo fettine del mio pane fatto in casa leggermente tostato, come pane al lievito naturale con uvetta e noci, sul quale il pâté si spalma deliziosamente.
Ingredienti:
- 70 g olive Kalamata denocciolate in salamoia
- 80 g olive conservate sott'olio (pesate con i noccioli) [entrambi i tipi di olive sono neri]
- 4 piccoli fichi secchi tagliati a pezzetti I used Black mission figs, which are small
- 1 cucchiaio + 1 cucchiaino / 20 ml frutti di nasturzio sott'aceto (chiamati: capperi dei poveri) scolati, oppure capperi
- 1 spicchio d'aglio, schiacciato e pelato
- 1 cucchiaino / 5 ml pasta d'acciughe
- 2 cucchiai / 30 ml foglioline fresche di menta arancio (Mentha x piperita citrata; aggiustare, se necessario, a seconda dell'intensità di sapore della menta che usate)
- 1/2 cucchiaio / 7,5 ml aceto balsamico
- 1 1/2 cucchiaio / 22,5 ml olio EV oliva
- Un pizzico di pepe nero appena macinato
Manca il sale nella lista in alto e non per dimenticanza: gli ingredienti che uso ne contengono abbastanza.
Sciacquare olive Kalamata e capperi e scolare. Denocciolare le olive sott'olio.
Mettere in un robot da cucina i primi 7 ingredienti e pulsare alcune volte. Versare l'aceto balsamico e pulsare ancora un poco.
Col robot in funzione continua, versare lentamente l'olio fino. Il pâté è spalmabile, ma non è una crema del tutto omogenea.
Condire col pepe e pulsare ancora poche volte per distribuirlo.
Trasferire il pâté in una ciotola, coprire e mettere in frigorifero fino a quando si sia raffreddato.
Tirare fuori dal frigorifero il pâté un po' prima di servirlo.
Consiglio di non perdere d'occhio la ciotola con il pâté: all'ora di cena potreste scoprire che è meno piena di quanto pensavate.
Questo post è il mio contributo all'edizione numero 443 di Weekend Herb Blogging, un evento creato da Kalyn di Kalyn's Kitchen, organizzato ora da Haalo di Cook (almost) Anything at Least Once e Brii di briggishome, e ospitata questa settimana da Brii stessa.