Weeknight Meals

When I visited my cousins in Annecy, they served me this unusual salad. Its variety of colors and textures is stunning. As with many other cooked salads, it tastes even better the next day, making it a great dish for dinner parties or picnics. The kosher dill pickles came from shopping trips to Geneva and were a big treat.

The seeds of cultivated fennel, like eggplant, are said to have been brought to France by Jews and other merchants. Of course, wild fennel grows everywhere in the south of France. I have tasted this salad in many North African French homes. It is very simple, and a lovely counterpoint to all the more elaborate salads of the North African tradition. Once the fennel and celery have begun to wilt a bit, the flavors all come together. If pomegranates are not in season, substitute dried cranberries or cherries.

This classic french potato salad is very simple. A non-Jewish version might include lardons (a type of bacon) and shallots, but instead I use a tart mayonnaise. For a North African touch, you can add sliced hard-boiled eggs and cured black olives. I often add julienned basil with the parsley, or other compatible herbs.

Little Tunis and the multicultural and bustling Belleville market in Paris are populated with French farmers and merchants from North Africa. In the restaurants and stores bordering the market, you feel as if you are in North Africa, as Tunisians and others congregate at kosher and halal restaurants, bars, and bakeries. You also feel the influence of the Italian tenure in Tunisia: Italian bread, beignets shaped like the Italian manicotti, and canned tuna in olive oil. An everyday snack that Jews and Muslims make from the ingredients found in this market is a large brik filled with parsley, tuna, and a raw egg, then quickly deep-fried and served with a salad called mechouia. The word mechouia, which means “grilled” in Arabic, can be applied to grilling an entire lamb or just the vegetables that go with it. Some sprinkle salt on the grill to keep away the evil eye. The trick to making a good mechouia is grilling more tomatoes than peppers. To retain the flavor of both vegetables, sprinkle them with salt after they are grilled and peeled, and let them drain overnight, to help the water seep out. In the market, Tunisians use corne-de-boeuf peppers, the ones they grew up with in Tunisia, but you can substitute Anaheim peppers, which are very similar, or others.

Artichokes, one of my favorite vegetable, are edible thistles that were prized by the ancient Romans as food of the nobility. They have been a springtime food in the Mediterranean for thousands of years and particularly loved by Jews. Usually the French serve artichokes as a cold salad appetizer with a vinaigrette. Although I have seen this recipe in many Jewish cookbooks from North Africa, I hadn’t tasted it until Paula Wolfert cooked it for me on my PBS show, Jewish Cooking in America. It was a merveille, as my French friends would say. In the years since, I have eaten many different versions of this salad. Céline Bénitah, who lives in Annecy but came from Berkane, on the Algerian border of Morocco, said that all North African Jews who grew up in this orange- growing region have their own versions of this recipe. Hers includes saffron. Of course, this salad tastes best when fresh artichokes are used, but frozen artichoke hearts or bottoms work as well.

When I embark on a cookbook, it’s like going on a scavenger hunt. One clue leads to another. Sometimes they lead to unexpected findings, such as this wonderful cooked salad of Jewish origins. Someone in Washington had told me that Élisabeth Bourgeois, the chef and owner of Le Mas Tourteron, a restaurant just outside of Gordes, in the Lubéron, was Jewish. One Sunday afternoon, a friend and I drove two hours from Saint-Rémy-de-Provence to the charming stone house with old wooden beams and antique furniture that is her restaurant. Although I had no idea what mas tourteron meant, an atmosphere of bonhomie filled this farmhouse (mas) of lovebirds (tourterons) as soon as Élisabeth and her husband greeted us. When I explained my quest to Élisabeth, asking her if she was Jewish, she replied, “Pas du tout” (“Not at all”). I thought our journey would be for naught, but since we arrived at lunchtime, we sat down to eat. And what a meal we had! Our first course was a trio of tiny late-summer vegetables served in individual cups on a long glass platter: a cucumber salad with crème fraîche and lots of chives and mint; a cold zucchini cream soup; and a luscious ratatouille-like tomato salad, the third member of the trio. When I asked Élisabeth for the recipe for this last dish, she said without hesitation, “Ça, c’est la salade juive!” (“That is the Jewish salad!”) She explained that the recipe came from a Moroccan Jewish woman who had worked in her kitchen for about thirty years. Now it is part of her summer cooking repertoire and mine. This recipe calls for coriandre, a word that the French use for both the fresh leaves and the seeds of the coriander or cilantro plant. This dish uses both. I serve it either as a salad or as a cold pasta sauce, and make it during every season, even with canned tomatoes in winter. It is always a hit.

Chef Daniel Rose starts his day in the kitchen at 7:30 a.m. He begins with the chicken broth, first browning chicken wings, then adding a wine reduction, and then water, leeks, and other aromatics, but never carrots. “This isn’t the way my grandmother would have done it,” Daniel told me. “But we don’t want so much sweetness in our soup.” He doesn’t bother with a bouquet garni: “I just stick the herbs in the pot.” Freeze any broth that you don’t use right away.

Dried fava bean, a North African staple, taste very different from their fresh counterparts, which are only available for a short time in the spring. After they cook for a few hours with garlic, cumin, and harissa, they become creamy and take on an earthy heat that is especially comforting on colder days. When served with a hunk of baguette, this soup could very well make an entire weeknight meal.

Thanks to emigrants from North Africa, Passover is once again being celebrated in the town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, which had a flourishing Jewish community until the fourteenth century. Now Jews reunite for the holidays, and at a recent Passover in one house, several couples got together for a traditional meal. Jocelyne Akoun, the hostess of this event, told me about a springtime soup filled with fresh vegetables and fava beans. Because I always have vegetarians at my own Seder, I have taken to making this refreshing and colorful soup as an alternative to my traditional matzo-ball chicken soup. If making the vegetarian version, sauté the onion in the oil in a large soup pot, then add 8 cups water, the bay leaf, cloves, peppercorns, and 1 teaspoon salt, and cook for about an hour. Then put through a sieve and continue as you would with the beef broth. Fresh fava beans are a sign of spring for Moroccan Jews, because the Jews supposedly ate fava beans, poor man’s meat, when they were slaves in Egypt.

Sorrel (Eastern European tchav) has been made a little more soigné in the hands of the French, by adding herbs and cream. Whereas Jews often substituted spinach and rhubarb to achieve the tangy flavor when they couldn’t get sorrel, and ate the soup cold, the French, until recently, ate sorrel soup hot. Austin de Croze, in his 1931 cookbook, What to Eat and Drink in France, thought that sorrel soup had come to France with emigrants from eastern Europe. This particular recipe comes from Gastronomie Juive: Cuisine et Patisserie de Russie, d’Alsace, de Roumanie et d’Orient, by Suzanne Roukhomovsky, a book I found years ago while browsing in the Librairie Gourmande, a cookbook store I love to frequent on the Left Bank of Paris. Published by the distinguished house of Flammarion in 1929, it was the first comprehensive cookbook on the Jews of France. Madame Roukhomovsky, also a novelist and poet, called French Jewish cooking cuisine maternelle. This recipe surely has its roots in her own Russian background. If you can’t find sorrel, substitute 1 pound of spinach or kale with 1/2 cup rhubarb to attain that tart flavor, as Jews from Russia did.

In the Charming Town of Cagnes-sur-Mer, whose Jewish population of four hundred comes mostly from Morocco, I tasted a delicious fish soup. This particular recipe is one that painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who lived in the town, would have relished.

On a late-june evening, I entered a courtyard in the Fifth Arrondissement, right near the picturesque Rue Mouffetard, one of my favorite streets in Paris when I was a student there so many years ago. Beyond the courtyard, I found myself in a large garden in front of an apartment building. After climbing two flights of stairs, I arrived at the home of Irving Petlin, an American artist, and his beautiful wife, Sarah. The two expats have lived here on and off since 1959. Sarah frequents the local markets, going to the Place Monge for her onions and garlic, making sure she visits her potato man from North Africa. Having chosen peonies for the table, she arranged them in a vase next to a big bowl of ripe cherries, making her table, with the Panthéon in the background, as beautiful as a perfectly orchestrated still life. At the meal, I especially liked the soup, which calls for lettuce leaves—a good way, I thought, of using up the tougher outer leaves that most of us discard, but which still have a lot of flavor. The French have a long tradition of herb- and- salad soup, something Americans should be increasingly interested in, given all the new wonderful greens we’re growing in our backyards and finding at farmers’ markets. I often replace the zucchini with eggplant and substitute other herbs that are available in my summer garden. This soup is also delicious served warm in the winter.

Yves Alexander, who was born and raised in Paris, now lives in Strasbourg, where his family’s roots go back to 1760. When he is not on the road for his job as a traveling salesman, he does most of the cooking at home. A virtual oral dictionary of gastronomy and French Jewish history, Yves kindly shepherded me around Alsace, where he showed me extraordinary vestiges of a very long past, which went back in some instances to the Roman legions’ trip over the Alps and through Lugano, perhaps during the Battle of Bibracte, in the winter of 59–58 B.C.E. It was here that Caesar’s army defeated the Helvetii, who were trying to migrate from Switzerland to Aquitaine, in the southwest of France. Like every Frenchman, Yves cooks by the seasons. This autumn dish, which he prepares when cèpes (generally known in the United States by their Italian name, porcini) are in season, can be made any time of the year using whatever mushrooms are available. Serve it as an appetizer, or as a main course over pasta with a salad. You can also use dried morels or dried porcini, soaking them first in warm water for about 30 minutes. Yves warns not to throw away the liquid. “Just filter the liquid, and reduce it to enhance the taste,” he told me. When fresh porcini are hard to find, Yves likes using a mix of St. George’s mushrooms (fairy-ring mushrooms) and young pied-de-mouton mushrooms, a native species that he buys at farmers’ markets or gathers in the forests.

Once, while visiting Le Monde des Épices (see page 26), I asked the owner which Jewish cookbook in his large selection he especially liked. His favorite one at the time was 150 Recettes et Mille et Un Souvenirs d’une Juive d’Algérie (150 Recipes and 1,001 Memories of an Algerian Jewish Woman) by Léone Jaffin, one of the steady stream of North African Jewish cookbooks since the 1970s. This book includes such unusual recipes as these Swiss-chard bestels, traditionally eaten on Rosh Hashanah. North African Jews frequently use the bright-green leaves of beets or Swiss chard, called blette. A prayer is recited over the vegetable, called salek in Hebrew, meaning to remove or throw out, with the hope that in the coming year enemies will be removed from the community’s midst. I have added curry powder, pine nuts, and currants to this tasty turnover, which I sometimes serve with salad as a first course.

The Parsi community of India is of Persian descent. When the Parsis fled Iran in the tenth century, they settled on India’s west coast, where they managed to preserve not only their religious traditions—they are Zoroastrians—but many of their culinary traditions as well. This delicately sweet-and-sour dish of chicken cooked with dried apricots is part of that tradition. I have a Parsi friend who puts in a healthy glug of Madeira toward the end of the cooking. Parsis picked up many customs not only from their Gujarati neighbors but also from their neighbors and masters in nineteenth-century Bombay, the British. This dish is generally served with a mountain of very fine, crisp potato straws—you can just buy a large packet of them—but may also be served with rice.

This is best made when good fresh mangoes are in season. When they are not, very good-quality canned pulp from India’s excellent Alphonso mangoes may be used instead. Most Indian grocers sell this.

Yogurt relishes are eaten with meals throughout India. They are nearly always savory, though in western states like Gujarat a little sugar is added as well as the salt to give a sweet-sour-salty flavor.

This delightful chutney is served with all manner of savory steamed rice cakes and pancakes. I love it with the Semolina Pilaf on page 222, but it may be served with most Indian meals. Store in the refrigerator 2–3 days or freeze leftovers.

A refreshing rice dish that may be served with vegetables, bean and split-pea dishes, and chutneys. Sometimes, I just eat it all by itself with a large green salad.