Le Polidor — Dans Sa Loge


Il n'est pas encore 19 heures, lorsque je remonte la rue Monsieur Le
Prince.  Je me trouve arrivée devant Le Polidor sans l'avoir remarqué
car l'enseigne indique une ancienne crèmerie.  Je pousse la porte du
bistrot.  La salle est vide, pleine d'absence.  Mais en regardant de
plus près, je réalise que je me trouve dans l'intimité de sa loge.  Je
m'assieds sans bruit aucun, me fondant dans le décor.

Me dirigeant vers la sortie du Polidor, je sers précieusement tout
contre moi, la richesse du trésor qui désormais, m'anime.  Plus que
quelques mètre de carrelage et je suis dans la rue.  Tirant doucement
la porte derrière moi d'un geste assuré, j'efface ma traversée des
lieux.  Afin de marquer ce vécu du sceau de la spatialité, je me rends
attentive au seuil qui me sépare de l'autre réalité.  Ce dernier acte
se livre comme une sacralisation de ce qui m'a éprouvée.


Je prends deux ou trois clichés 'du dehors'.  La pénombre a l'épaisseur
du rêve.

[All photographs © 2009 Coralie Chappat.]

You will need:
 
6 slice of bacon — must be nice fat marbled bacon, nothing lean.  Oscar Mayer works well.

3 pounds stewing beef

Olive oil

4 cups burgundy or other dry red: I usually buy a minimum of 2 bottles of the same vintage for cooking, and if I have been tony that week and am flush I try to use a better wine so I can serve the same with the meal.  This is not necessary, as a basic $8 bottle of burgundy or Cabernet Sauvignon from a reputable vintner works well when reduced by cooking

2 cups beef stock (commercial brands like Swansons A-OK)

2 tablespoons tomato paste (a pain and a waste if you open a small can and have no other use for the remaining paste; to be frugal you can do without, but I think it adds a bit to the body.  If you elect to do without it, add about 1/4 cup of ketchup to approximate the tomato flavor)

3 crushed garlic cloves (only use fresh)

1/2 teaspoon thyme

1 bay leaf

Salt

1 pounds mushrooms, browned in butter (I am a pig on mushrooms, and have been known to sometimes increase this by 50% to 100%)

2 large yellow onions (chopped & browned in butter)

Roux: 1/2 cup white flour browned in 1/2 cup melted salted butter

Be sure to wear a good apron that covers shirt to thighs as this can be messy.  [Editor's Note: The risk-taking scientific chefs worked in casual clothes without protection.]
 
Peel and dice your onions and place aside in bowl.  Clean and slice your mushrooms and place aside in bowl.
 
Get a nice large stove-top stew pot.  Fill it with the wine, beef stock, thyme, bay leaf, garlic, tomato paste, salt to taste (I use a teaspoon but shouldn't — your mileage may vary, based on the blood pressure needs of you and those you love).  Put on low flame on the burner.
 
Fry the bacon gently until nice light golden brown, with all fatty parts crisped.  Save the fat in the pan, put the bacon aside and either nibble on it as you cook (if you are a pig like me) or, thoughtfully, keep it aside to crumble later on a tossed green salad.

[Editor's note: The mardecortesbaja chefs nibbled on the bacon, eventually consuming it all.]

 
In a new pan, brown up the onions in butter until they are transparent and golden brown, keep on the side. Brown up the sliced mushrooms in same sauté pan.  Add the mushrooms to the onions, keeping all of the extruded water juice.  Place to the side.
 
Add about 3 tablespoons of the olive oil to the bacon fat, get it to a medium-high heat before slowly adding the beef to the pan.  If you add it too fast, the meat cools the hot fat and doesn't sear the face quickly.  Brown the meat quickly on all sides, raising the heat as needed but being careful not to burn it (the fat & olive oil have low smoking points).  Watch out for splatter; a splatter screen is helpful if you have one to reduce spitting as you will otherwise get hot spots on your forearms as well as a greasy stove top.  Add beef to the pot when browned.  I usually need 2 or 3 batches to complete all browning.
 
Use some of the red wine to de-glaze your pan with a wooden spoon and add the residue to the pot.
 
Cover the stew pot with a lid, leaving it just slightly ajar for minimum venting to prevent steam build-up.  Place the flame on low.  Let it cook for 3 hours.
 
This is a good time to make your roux.  You know how — melt butter, drizzle in flour slowly to the hot butter and stir with wooden spoon, letting it get a nice golden brown in color.  When all the flour is browned & integrated (no lumps), put aside in a bowl.

 
Within 30 minutes your house will take on the most intoxicating aroma which you might not notice immediately as it gathers — but someone walking in at this point will begin to salivate and make loud remarks about it.  [Editor's Note: No visitors entered the mardecortesbaja test kitchen during the preparation of this dish, but the experts at work there became semi-intoxicated by the aroma.]
 
At the 3-hour mark, stir again and put the onions & mushrooms into the pot, stirring thoroughly.  The mix should now have a nice lumpy stew-like consistency, but still be viscous. If there is no fluid (i. e., if it has boiled away because you had your heat too high), carefully add 1/2 to 1 cup of water until the stew is free flowing (but you shouldn't have to do this.)
 
Let it cook for another half hour, then slowly add the roux, stirring with a wooden spoon to distribute it evenly.  It should have the consistency of a thick, viscous stew.

 
[Editor's Note: Above, the first roux ever made in the mardecortesbaja test kitchen, a stunning success, is added to the pot.]

I always serve this over egg noodles, with a tossed green salad (only a light vinaigrette, or preferably oil & vinegar dressing, so as not to fight the flavors), a good burgundy or Sauvignon comme boisson, and — essential — fresh crusty French bread with whipped sweet butter.

[Editor's Note: The scientific chefs had secured the makings of a salad but were too excited about eating the main dish to bother with it.  They also forgot the bread but didn't care — the Beef Burgundy engaged all their senses with its subtle blend of flavors, each somehow distinct after all the simmering.]
 
If you find that you like this, it is a perfect dish to make in a double batch and freeze.  It reheats beautifully in minutes in a microwave (though I prefer to do it on the stove top) and makes for fragrant, elegant cooking on a time budget.

 
TIPS:
 
I actually like it better day 2, when it has 24 hours to marinate after cooking.  It is more tender and aromatic.  Each time I reheat it for re-serving, I put a few shots of red wine into it to “freshen” the wine flavor.

[Editor's Note: What he said.]

Cheers!

Coralie describes the experience of dining there today as “'si raffiné'!  C'est un pur moment esthétique.“

When I first went to La Coupole in the 1980s, the service could be brusque if your accent wasn't quite right, but once I had dinner there alone and all that changed.  French waiters have a tender regard for solitary diners, and treat them with an almost affectionate solicitude.  Dining alone can be socially awkward for some, and French waiters understand this, so they work hard to make the solitary diner feel as though he or she is the most important client in the room.  It is one of the many subtle graces that make French society so civilized, especially when food is involved.

                                                                                                              [Photo © 2009 Tristan Forward]

Cheers!

When you're ready to eat the fish, pour off the marinade, but save it.  Toss the tomatoes and the onions in with the fish.  Add a bit more salt to taste.  If you're going to be eating the ceviche with taco chips (highly recommended) you won't need much more salt.  At this point you can also sprinkle a little freshly-chopped cilantro over the ceviche for color.

Eat the ceviche with some cold cervezas.  For leftovers the next day, if any, dress them lightly with the marinade you've saved.

This dish is incredibly easy to make and unbelievably good.  You can find ceviche just about anywhere along the shores of the Mar de Cortes, where it's almost always sublime — and now, you can have it right in your own home, wherever you are.

Now the long days of turkey sandwiches begin — and however many sandwiches are consumed during those days, I'll be sorry to see them come to an end.

My
curry is improvised from an old Joy of Cooking rule for stew and
various hints thrown out by my brother-in-law Simon, who makes a fine
curry, refined during his years in Kenya. (His goat curry, served at a
picnic by a river on the edge of the Nairobi Game Park, was my first
meal in East Africa, sometime in the last century.)


The
only real secret to simple, reliable curry, however, is Patak's Curry
Paste, available at many local supermarkets, worth tracking down at a
specialty store if not.  (It can be had via Amazon as well.)  You need a jar of mild and a jar of hot, so you
can mix to taste.


Start
with some vegetable stock. This used to be collected from the run-off
of boiled vegetables of every kind, but since we now steam our
vegetables, the liquor from soaked and boiled dried beans is a good
substitute, especially for curry. Pour enough of it into a stew pot to
comfortably cover the meat and vegetables you will be adding — lean
chunks of lamb, or goat (I like to use chunks cut off of thick lamb
chops, with all the fat removed, but there are cheaper ways to go), an
equal volume of pearl onions, an equal volume of carrots cut into
pieces about the size of pearl onions, an equal volume of potatoes, cut
into chunks of a similar size, and three or four tablespoons of peeled
and chopped ginger root.


Begin
to warm the vegetable stock and stir in table-spoonfuls of curry paste.
I like a 2 to 1 hot to mild ratio, for a very — very — spicy but not
searing flavor, but do it to taste. About six table-spoonfuls at least
will be required. You can tell by tasting when you've got enough.


Bring
this mixture to a boil, then throw in the ginger and the carrots, cover
tightly and reduce heat to produce a steady but not furious bubbling.
After ten minutes, put in the lamb. After another ten minutes, put in
the onions and the potatoes. After another twenty minutes, cut off the
heat, let the pot cool, and then put it in the refrigerator overnight.
(This must be made the day before it is eaten.)


This
is a dish to fiddle with — placing the lamb in later if you like it
rarer, the carrots in later if you like them crisper, the onions and
potatoes in earlier if you like them mushier, more or less ginger and
curry paste.


The
next day, put what you want to eat into a smaller pot (you can freeze
what's left, if any) and heat it up, thickening it with some dollops of
sour cream if you like. Serve it over basmati rice, and no other kind,
with, on the side, some mango chutney and raita — plain yoghurt and
peeled, thinly sliced cucumbers, chilled — and some kind of plain
bread (real Indian bread, like poori, is best but too hard to make.)
Drink beer with it.

I've shared with you a recipe for creamy queso añejo dressing from Rick Bayless's superb book Mexican Everyday.  I've been testing other salad dressings from the book, without any great finds — until I stumbled upon this one . . . roasted garlic dressing with green chile.  It's incredibly tasty, incredibly easy — and hot.  Not for the faint of heart.

Bayless, by the way, is well-known in food circles for his encyclopedic knowledge of Mexican cuisine and his imaginative takes thereon, and familiar to TV viewers from his cooking show on PBS.  He's gained an added measure of fame recently because his restaurant in Chicago, Topolobampo, is a favorite spot of Barack and Michelle Obama, when they're dining à deux.  One more reason to admire the good judgment of America's new first couple.

. . . and cheers!