A Midsummer Nightmare
And a mussels sauce poulette recipe to calm frayed nerves
I had a dream last night I was serving Nigella Lawson at the restaurant where I worked during journalism school. She was sitting side by side with my contractor, who, in this dream, was also her husband.
They both ordered tea – he Earl Grey and she English Breakfast. Desperate to impress the Domestic Goddess, I ran to the kitchen to get it. The teapots kept behind the constantly swinging door, I was repeatedly pushed out of the way, significantly stalling my progress. Then I couldn’t find the lids or the cups or the spoons. Time kept ticking. I searched for the tea, but it wasn’t sensibly labelled what it was, instead the leaves were code-named titles like Mystic Canadian Waters and Deep Forest Lilly – all very Cheshire Cat poetic, but not at all helpful. The kitchen staff scolded me for not knowing my tea names and I felt deep shame, but also panic at how long it was taking to get Nigella her tea.
I’ve had dreams like this many times. When I was a broadcast reporter, I repeatedly dreamt of having a mouth full of gum which kept me from speaking. Or, arriving to work with plenty of time to spare, only to look to the clock and realize I needed to be on the air. Not having anything prepared, I elect to read from the newspaper. Opening it up, I discover all the stories have been cut out.
These workmares as I called them, were nearly constant when I worked in the high-stress environments of newsrooms and restaurants, but since striking out on my own, I haven’t had them for some time.
Curious I had one last night.
I think it’s because, with all eyes on Paris right now, I wanted to talk about my visit to the city.
Today’s issue of Quaintrelle was originally titled, The Time When I Was Nearly Arrested in Paris. And, true to the headline, I described, in some detail, my own debaucherous rendez-vous with the City of Light.
I wrote a few versions up until the very final moment (I normally have these weekly issues fait accompli at least a day before sending) but I couldn’t do it. The writing wasn’t hitting the right notes: neither comedy nor suspense, it fell flat, uninteresting, and pointless. I read and re-read, edited and edited some more, then ultimately decided to spike it.
Because I hate coy click bate, here’s the book-jacket synopsis: a misunderstanding in the Paris metro leads to draconian transit “officials"demanding 180 Euros cash (no cards!) as a fine for an honest confusion. Ultimately, my two fellow travellers and I merged into the swarming crowds of the Bir-Hakeim station and left without paying the ridiculous penalty; in the end nothing came of our escape (no guard dogs unleashed to sniff us out!), and the rest of the trip was lovely.
This is a terrific story to recount at cocktail hour. It’s usually interrupted with shrieks of laughter, as life really is stranger than fiction, but for now it’s not translating to writing. I’ll keep sharpening my quill and maybe bring it to the page one day.
Do you ever get through project, maybe even have it signed, sealed, and about to deliver, then pull the plug in the 11th hour? I’d love to know if you’ve pushed on through or bailed.
Speaking of travel, if you’re in Toronto on Thursday, October 3, I’d love for you to join us for a Tasting Tour of Argentina.
This walk around tasting features 16 world-class wines all paired to classic and modern Argentinian food.
Early bird tickets are on sale now, get more information and tickets here.
Despite my little run in with the Paris metro po-po , my love for France remains cemented in my heart.
I came home form that trip utterly inspired and quickly enrolled in a French cooking course at the school where I teach wine. My instructor, Jean-Jacques, or JJ as he is known in these here parts, is a chef from Normandy.
Amazingly tall, roguishly handsome, and an absolute champion of a smoker, JJ is nothing like you would imagine a French chef to be (except maybe the smoking part.) Wonderfully good natured (to read about his explanation of a tartiflette as a handy booze suck-aire, scroll to the bottom for this post) JJ was generous in his instruction – not just how to cook a recipe, but why.
I have made many of JJ’s recipes since that cooking course. Moules Sauce Poulette is a pumped-up version on the more common marinère, adding cream and egg yolks to thicken and enrich the wine sauce. We really enjoy it in the summer, when languishing seafood dinners, eaten with your fingers, outside on a steamy evening is the only way to go. (Maybe with risqué tales of scandal in the Paris metro.)
JJ advised the class to never order mussels in restaurants, as they can be easily prepared incorrectly, and one bad mussel can make you very, very sick. Instead, he suggests to make them at home, stubbornly sticking to the below guidelines:
Mussels must have the dates of the harvest, bagging, and best-by on the label. Seven days is the maximum time between harvest and eating before the quality becomes risky.
Mussels live in salt water. Fresh water will kill them. Never buy mussels submerged in water and ice.
Unknowing fishmongers will seal them in a plastic bag. This is a very bad idea as the mussels will suffocate. Keep the bag open (the mussels will stay contained in their netting) and the mussels against ice that is sealed in a second bag.
Keep mussels in the fridge until ready to prepare and don’t clean them more than an hour before cooking.
To clean them, add a handful of sea salt to a large bowl of cold water, stirring until dissolved. Add the mussels and stir. After a few minutes most will fall to the bottom as they “drink” in the water, but don’t be alarmed if some remain floating as long as the shells close and are not broken.
Pinch open shells. If they don’t close, they are dead. Throw them away.
Mussels are sold year-round but are best from April-November. In winter the shells are nearly empty of meat, and bland and rubbery.
Moules Sauce Poulette
Serves: 2-4, depending on if this is a snack or dinner
Chef level: moderate
Ingredients:
2 lbs mussels (this is usually one netted bag)
4 Tbsp butter, divided
1 large shallot diced
1 cup chicken, fish or vegetable stock
½ cup dry white wine (such as Muscadet)
Pepper, to taste (classically the French use white, but I prefer black)
Handful chopped parsley (I also like to use chives)
2 Tbsp flour
¼ cup crème fraiche (or heavy cream)
1 lemon, juiced
1 egg yolk
Salt, to taste
How to Make It:
Clean the mussels by soaking for a few minutes in salted water and pulling off the beards. Pinch any that don’t close and if they remain open, throw them away.
In a wide, deep pot melt 2 Tbsp of butter over medium heat. Add the shallots cooking until soft and fragrant, but not coloured, about a minute.
Add the stock, wine, and pepper to the pot. Stir and add the cleaned mussels. Cover with a tight fitting lid and cook until the mussels are all open. About 5 minutes.
Check occasionally, removing the open ones to a clean bowl. (Don’t leave them in the pot to over-cook. Don’t worry, they won’t get cold, we add heat with the sauce later.)
Once all the mussels are out of the liquid, add the parsley or optional chives, stir, and raise the heat slightly to reduce the wine sauce by half.
In another pot, melt the remaining butter over medium-low heat. When melted, add in the flour, stirring constantly to form a smooth paste. Cook and stir until it smells slightly nutty. About 3 minutes.
Lower the heat and add the crème fraiche the the flour mixture, stirring to combine.
To the crème fraiche add the lemon juice and reduced mussel-wine sauce, stirring to combine.
Add in the egg yolk and stir to thicken slightly, about a minute.
Test for salt and pour the sauce over the mussels in the bowl and serve immediately with crusty bread and a side of in-season, local asparagus or simple salad.
Wine Pairing
One of the things I loved most about learning from JJ (and there were a lot of things), was all of his recipes came with a suggested wine pairing. Often, they included a step to have a glass of wine whilst waiting for something to come to a boil or reduce or roast.
JJ recommends a classic Muscadet, a briny white wine, from the Atlantic shores of Loire, and I can’t say I disagree. The natural seashell flavour of the wine matches with the mussels, while the wine’s nervy bite livens up the rich, creamy sauce.
Thank you for reading Quaintrelle.
I appreciate your time and attention.
If you are so inclined, would you help me spread the word?
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I’ll be back on Saturday with a fantastic summer list of finds, including what will likely be my favourite book of summer, and quite possibly, the year.
Hopefully I will see you in Toronto on October 3.
xo – Erin
Workmare! Help!!