French

Gâteau de Savoie is one of the earliest French cakes to use whipped egg whites as a leavener. Savoie is the mountainous area between Italy and France, long used as a travel route, and home to many Jews from the twelfth century on. The area was first integrated into France in 1792. The similarity between the gâteau de Savoie, pan d’España, and Italian ladyfingers (also known as savoiardi) leads me to believe that the recipe may have traveled throughout the Mediterranean with Sephardic Jews and other travelers. This sponge cake tends to dry out after only a day, but it can also absorb a large amount of liquid. Serving it with a homemade fruit syrup, or just fresh strawberries with a little sugar, will keep it moist.

One of the cooks highlighted in a day celebrating Jewish food history and the presence of the Jews in France was Huguette Uhry. I first noticed her intriguing recipe for frou-frou chalet on the Web site www.LeJudaïsmeAlsacien.com. Similar to a light, caramelized apple tarte Tatin, it is traditionally served at the dinner prior to the fast of Yom Kippur. When I called Madame Uhry, she walked me through the recipe and told me that frou-frou means “the rustling of silk” or “to make a fuss,” and a charlotte—or, as she spells it, chalet—means a kind of apple cake. You can substitute Passover cake meal for the flour.

This recipe for chocolate-almond cake is four hundred years old, and was passed down orally in one Bayonne family from mother to daughter in Spanish, Ladino, and then French. The accent of rum was probably introduced in the seventeenth century. My guess is that at first the eggs would have been whole, and later separated, the whites whipped to give it more height, probably in the eighteenth century. This cake can be made with matzo cake meal for Passover.

Recently, a number of stylish kosher restaurants have opened in Paris. One is the superchic Osmose, which calls itself a fusion and health-food restaurant. When I dined there, it was packed with well-dressed young French couples who could clearly afford the steep prices. The food, prepared by French-born Jewish Tunisian chef Yoni Saada, is delicious and sophisticated. Our meal began with a long, narrow plate filled with cumin-roasted almonds, fava beans, and tiny olives, and a tasty carrot-and-mango soup served in a champagne glass. And for dessert: an extravagant plate with that now classic molten chocolate cake and little marshmallow lollipops. Molten chocolate cake began as a simple French birthday cake that everyone’s grandmother made until the Alsatian chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten accidentally undercooked one. To his surprise, the guests loved it. An instant classic was born, now found just about everywhere, even at this chic kosher restaurant in Paris. The beauty of this cake is that the batter can be made ahead, poured into a cake pan or muffin tins, refrigerated, and baked 10 minutes before serving.

This is one of the recipes that show how Jews have adapted a local French dish to conform to their dietary laws. Though often sautéed with lardons, braised endives are also frequently served without the bacon in Jewish homes in France, as a first course or as a vegetable side dish.

This sophisticated Algerian-Parisian carrot dish, another from Jacqueline Meyer-Benichou, goes perfectly with fish or roast chicken. The sweetness of the carrots marries well with the preserved lemon.

This is one of those simple French vegetable combinations that just taste really good, especially for Friday night dinner, next to a well-roasted chicken. Although it has become popular to cook green beans for a short time, I still prefer them when they are meltingly tender!

The first time I ate asparagus the correct way was as a student in Paris in the 1960s. Whenever I had lunch with Renée and her husband, Camille Dreyfus, a doctor who was the physician to Charles de Gaulle, I was confronted with the complexities of elegant French dining. Luckily, their butler, probably having pity on me, helped me navigate the many knives and forks, finger bowls, doilies, etc. Because a huge flower arrangement usually sat at the center of their round table, I couldn’t see how the Dreyfuses ate . . . and, fortunately for me, they couldn’t see how I ate. Once, during the asparagus season, the butler served me white-asparagus spears, which I ate with my fork, cutting them as daintily as I could. To my surprise, Dr. and Madame Dreyfus, the most proper people I knew in Paris, gingerly ate the spears, one by one, with their fingers. They then washed their hands in the finger bowls. Years later, I ate dinner in Strasbourg at the home of Pierre and Martine Bloch at the start of the local asparagus season. The minute I entered their apartment, I could smell the asparagus being steamed in the kitchen. Then Martine shared her trick for cooking white asparagus: put a little sugar in the water, to bring out the flavor.

With my first bite of potatoes sarladaises, I fell in love with the dish. Originating in the town of Sarlat, it is served everywhere in the Dordogne. Cooks sometimes include lardons (a kind of bacon) or giblets, and sometimes, depending on the season, truffles or porcini mushrooms. I was delighted when Anne-Juliette Belicha (see page 47) offered to give me a potatoes-sarladaises lesson at her home in Montignac. I guarantee that this dish will be a crowd pleaser.

The earliest known French potato dish is pommes de terre dauphinoises, which originated in Switzerland in 1600. I tasted this divine dish of scalloped potato, cheese, and milk, a specialty of the region near Annecy, at the home of Ruth Moos (see page 3), who made it as an evening dairy meal served with a salad and vegetables. Instead of covering the potatoes and the cheese with the traditional beef bouillon or broth, Ruth makes it kosher style using only cream or milk.

Old cookbooks of Jewish families from Provence and descendants of the Juifs du Pape contain a famous dish combining spinach and morue (salt cod; see page 290). Morue is also blended with mashed potatoes to make brandade, a typical dish of the south of France. The preserved fish is rehydrated in milk or water, and then grilled, fried, or baked. Fritters were particularly common, and are still prevalent throughout Spain and Portugal. This recipe, a modern interpretation of a traditional salt-cod-and-potato brandade, was created by Chef Daniel Rose (see page 68). He uses fresh cod, salting it briefly to remove the excess moisture, seasons it with thyme and garlic, and then cooks it in milk and olive oil. Mixed with mashed potatoes and fried, the result yields a sort of latke that can be served as an appetizer, a side dish, or a main course, with the fennel-and-citrus salad on page 110.

Although potato pancakes (or latkes) go by many names in France—palets de pommes de terre, pommes dauphines, the Alsatian grumbeerkischle, and matafans, a mashed-potato latke typical of Savoie—a latke by any other name is still a latke. In Poland, these egg-free latkes are made with older potatoes, whose increased starch helps bind them together. You can just dress the traditional latke with a dollop of applesauce, or you can try a variation made with apples and sugar.

Winter in France means chestnuts, particularly roasted in a long-handled frying pan in the coals. Ever since my mother introduced me to the nuts as a child, they have had a special place in my heart. This winter melding of chestnuts, onions, and prunes is a common Alsatian dish. You can add celeriac to the delicious mix, or, if you like it a little sour, increase the vinegar or lemon juice.

This is one of my favorite winter Alsatian vegetable combinations, and a common winter vegetable dish of French Jews. It is best made a day in advance and left to meld the flavors. Serve as an accompaniment to roast goose, chicken, or duck.

Like Michel Goldberg, Natan Holchaker was a little boy during the Nazi occupation. When the war started, his father moved to a small village in the Dordogne with a little garden and a well. One day his father told him to “disappear,” and he and his brother left to live with peasants in the countryside. Two days later, the Germans attacked. Throughout the war, he and his brother lived on farms, helping to pick crops and learning how to find porcini mushrooms, which they gathered for the farmers. This delicious recipe comes from Natan and his wife, Josiane Torrès-Holchaker. Josiane’s ancestors came to Bordeaux from Portugal in the sixteenth century. Although they lived outwardly as Marranos, or New Christians, the Torrès-Vedras family continued to live as Jews at home. In 1790, the National Assembly decreed that all the Portuguese and Spanish Jews in France would enjoy the rights of active citizens. As we were driving with Natan and Josiane toward the Médoc wine country in Bordeaux, they suddenly stopped the car, jumped out, and looked at the cèpes (porcini mushrooms) that were being sold by the road. They were so excited, as only the French can be, in anticipation of cooking the mushrooms. “See how fresh these are,” said Josiane. “They are shiny and white, the cap is closed, and they aren’t green inside, a sign of their being too old.” She told me that sometimes she just serves the mushrooms raw, dicing and marinating them first in lemon juice. Then she described the way her mother prepared porcini.

Visiting the marketplace of Carpentras, near Avignon, we almost missed the synagogue, the oldest still-functioning one in France, dating back to 1367 and renovated in the eighteenth century. The façade, like that of all synagogues in France, was nondescript, whereas inside it was a jewel box of eighteenth-century Greek Corinthian columns, and all around, the interior was decorated in rose, green, blue, and yellow. As in the synagogue in nearby Cavaillon, the rabbi’s pulpit was perched upstairs, above the congregants. “In 1358, the provincial town of Carpentras was known as La Petite Jérusalem,” Jennie Lévy told us during a tour. “A yellow cloth on their coats and on the women’s bonnets indicated that they were Jewish.” Today about eighty Jewish families live in Carpentras and the surrounding area, most of them emigrants from Morocco. Madame Lévy, who came from Safi, Morocco, in 1964, showed me the basement, which has a mikveh (ritual bath), fed by a natural spring, and an oven used for baking Sabbath bread, as well as another for matzo. As I listened to Madame Lévy’s eloquent history of this French synagogue, I was aware again of how Sephardic Jews are rekindling Jewish life in France. Since it was on Friday when we visited, Madame Lévy was anxious to go home to prepare her Sabbath dinner of vegetable soup, meatballs, and sautéed red peppers and haricots verts, the thin French green beans that are so absolutely delicious.

When I was in the southwest of France in mid-October, the farmers’ markets had an abundance of large dried white beans. These lima beans, which came to Spain from the New World, have now become an integral part of the Old World’s cuisine. Before the discovery of the Americas, only fava beans, chickpeas, and lentils were to be had. My cousin Richard Moos’s wife, Hélène, cooked her white beans with carrots in goose fat rather than lard. The day before, I had eaten the same combination in a soup at a farm nearby. Either way, this is a great fall dish.

The French are crazy about seasonal vegetables, and particularly, I am happy to say, about fennel. A flavoring that is mentioned in the Mishnah around 200 C.E., fennel is used in both sweet and savory preparations. This particular dish was served as an accompaniment to fish with beurre-blanc sauce at a Bat Mitzvah that I attended in Geneva. I especially like its intense, sharp flavor.

In the movie Ratatouille, the rat made a tian of eggplant and other vegetables, set vertically in a baking dish. A similar dish came down in the family of Gérard Monteux, whose ancestors have made this dish since tomatoes came to Provence. The keys to the recipe are to make sure that the tomatoes and onions are of the same diameter as the eggplant, and to use a square or rectangular baking dish. I have made it in a French tian, but you can use any pan about 9 inches square. Good any time of year, it is spectacular in the summer, when tomatoes are at their best.

I tasted this simple bleeding of two green vegetables at Irene Weil’s home in Nice (see page 170). Always a big hit, it is colorful, delicious, and a perfect vegetable dish, particularly for Passover. “You can make this dish with fresh peas, green asparagus tips, fava beans—the list is endless,” said Irene.