Cookbooks

George Pullman was a fervent industrialist and a train man. He created the sleeping car, the hotel car, and eventually the dining car. Some say the Pullman sandwich loaf was designed after his cars. Others say it was designed to fit into the cube-shaped train shelves. Either way, this is an easy dish we would love to eat for breakfast—on the train, of course. This recipe makes one serving; use up the rest of the Pullman loaf making more boxes.

This recipe is taken from an old Canadian National Railway menu. It became an instant Joe Beef classic, which goes to show: people love train food.

The idea here is to get great pulled pork but in the shape of High Liner Captain’s fish sticks. If you don’t have a proper fryer, you can still do this recipe—just don’t attempt it drunk and/or naked. You can use a thick-bottomed pot and a deep-fat thermometer, and of course, have a fire extinguisher nearby. Try these sticks with any of the suggested dips for Cornflake Eel Nuggets (page 134), or serve on mashed potatoes with onion jus.

This dish is not surprising in taste (it’s duck, sausage, and potato—what can go wrong?), nor very feminine (in other words, it’s not pretty). We like the look a lot, because the fingerlings, duck pieces, and links are all the same size and shape. This is the best way to enjoy duck in the middle of the winter.

You can make sausage links or you can make patties, which are a lazy man’s links. If you opt for links, you will need a sausage stuffer. You may also have to special order the casings from your butcher. It is a good idea to double the recipe, too, because it is easier to work with a larger amount. These are good breakfast sausages, but they also shine with kraut, lentils, or duck. Enjoy with a nice glass of Hungarian wine, or with a nice Hungarian man, i.e., artist Peter Hoffer.

As we write this, it seems much more acceptable to spend $18 for an entire appetizer than it does to spend $180 an ounce for real caviar. What makes this setup grand is the ceremonial feel it has, like something you could get on the Orient Express. Feel free to use any kind of fish eggs: whitefish, salmon, trout, or even smoked or preserved fish. It’s also crucial that what you save on the real caviar, you spend on Champagne and on an overpriced silver serving dish from eBay. Eat it in your bed or on the bus.

We love Dover sole, or at least we used to. It’s not as sound a menu choice these days, so instead we go for local turbot from the Gulf of Saint Lawrence. The classic turbot au vin jaune is exceptional, but said vin jaune can be really difficult to locate. A crisp, dry vermouth such as Vermouth de Chambéry will do.

If Parmesan is the king of cheese, Époisses is the cultural attaché. It’s smelly in a way that makes you proud to like it. It’s also red-wine compatible and awesome on a piece of steak. A washed-rind cheese, Époisses is made from milk from Burgundian cows and washed with the local marc de Bourgogne. It is crucial that you buy a good Époisses, and, in fact, only one or two brands make it to the United States and Canada. Sniffit before buying, and avoid one with a horse urine–window cleaner smell. Remember, too, warming up the cheese only amplifies the aroma. Sometimes Gilles Jourdenais at Fromagerie Atwater gets in tiny individual Époisses, which we try to use whenever possible. This dish, which combines the cheese with shallots, used to be the classic Joe Beef drunk staff meal at 4 A.M. Eat it with toasted bread, a few rosettes of mâche, or on top of steak.

Some of our favorite customers—that is, Bobby Sontag—say that liver should always be served rare. This is (yet) another time where we disagree with him. Regarding Montreal smoked meat, we have one word: Schwartz’s. Not unlike bagels, smoked meat preferences fuel wars and countless throwdowns. In fact, the best smoked meat is the one you prefer. If you can’t get Montreal smoked beef brisket, you can substitute pastrami or even corned beef.

Nicolas Jongleux is a Montreal legend. Born and raised in Marsannay, in Burgundy, he grew up working in some of France’s most influential kitchens, including, at age twenty-six, under Alain Chapel at the Michelin-three-star La Mère Charles in Mionnay. He came to Montreal under the guise of partnering in Le Cintra, where he worked for three years. From there he ran the seminal Les Caprices de Nicolas. David says: “He had more talent than anyone I’ve ever seen. I once watched him make sixty identical croissants by hand, no recipe, no scale, and he hadn’t made croissants for more than five years. When he finished, there was not a drop of extra pastry, and each pastry was perfect.” He was also the kind of person who had such discipline all of his life, that he when he left France, he lived the experiences most of us had in our teens, in his thirties. He opened his last restaurant, Café Jongleux, in 1999, and committed suicide in the restaurant later that year. This recipe was a Nicolas classic.

We came up with this alternative to braised rabbit as a way to eat rabbit in the summer. If possible, ask the butcher to bone a rabbit for you. Be sure to distinguish between the legs and the loins (or saddle). In Canada, asking for the kidneys is no problem. In the United States, it is hit or miss. Sometimes we like to serve the skewers with Gentleman Steak Sauce (page 251) for dipping, but they are good on their own, too. Another nice option is an easy pan jus, made by deglazing the pan with a shot of sherry, then adding 1/2 cup (125 ml) chicken stock and 2 tablespoons unsalted butter.

If you’re French or a Francophile, you know what these are supposed to be: sheep tripe and pig’s trotters cooked together. We didn’t know that, but we knew the name. We just made what we thought it ought to be and it turned out well, if completely unlike the original (we think). This is braised lamb and pig’s trotter with greens and herbs, wrapped in caul fat. The sauce—a French classic with gherkins, mustard, and shallots—is also perfect with chops and liver.

Here in Canada, horse is the great divide between Anglophone and Francophone—more than politics, more than Celine Dion. Horse equals Napoleon versus Nelson, or Wolfe versus Montcalm on the Plains of Abraham. The French do two things that Anglophones find disgusting: eat frogs and eat horse. To Anglophones, horses are royalty. And it’s understandable, as they’re truly majestic. They’re also really tasty. We don’t know anyone who raises horses for meat, yet the meat exists. So, if you don’t want to eat horse that has been on growth hormones and clenbuterol, buy it from a trusted butcher. It has a high iron content and makes a delicious tenderloin or tartare.

This is the one stew you can get away with in the summer, yet crave in the winter. Veal chunks from the hind shank is the best meat for this; cheeks or shoulder is another option. All but the rear leg muscle will work. Of course, mashed potatoes or a marrow pilaf (rice baked with bone marrow instead of butter) is the perfect buddy. As a finishing touch, we like to pimp our blanquette de veau with truffles, cock’s combs, foie gras, or small slices of lobster. It lends regality to an otherwise hearty and simple stew.

This is yet another recipe that evokes that nostalgic, “Why don’t people make this anymore?” feeling, like a beautiful picture from the old Larousse, a civil-war reenactment, or sleeping on a train. There is only one good reason to make this dish: because you can! Thankfully, people like Frank, Marco, and Emma (our kitchen mainstays and true Joe Beefers) see the value in making historically relevant dishes like this, and it stays with them forever and can live on. The most difficult part of this recipe is measuring the dough to cover the pâté. Although some pâtés are served hot, the salt content in this one means it only tastes good cold. We serve it with some mustard and a glass of Morgon.

This is the kind of dish that used to be prepared tableside in Montreal chophouses. A few restaurants still do tableside crêpes Suzette, steak tartare, and specialty coffees. We get excited like kids on Halloween when we see that cart rolling toward us. It’s tough to do ourselves because of the size of Joe Beef, but we hope it comes back in a big way (and not in the “lavender and tomato essential oils being pumped over my table from a Provençal print balloon as we eat lamb and the waiter tickles our nose and ears with said lamb’s tail” way).

Fred used to offer this dish to girls at the restaurant L’Express because it was cheap and quirky. But in the end, that’s how he came across: cheap and quirky! Although it is no longer offered at L’Express, we sometimes make it at Joe Beef both for old time’s sake and because it’s just very good. You should count on two days to make this recipe, the first for filtering and chilling the consommé and the second for assembling the aspics. The classic version includes cooked ham, tarragon leaves, and egg whites cut and assembled in the shape of lilies. Now we do it with Spam, lobster, fava beans, crab, or anything we suspect will be delicious in a set consommé. You can purchase oeufs en gelée molds online, or you can use standard muffin tins made of silicone.

Mint is a classic accompaniment for lamb. And it wasn’t until Jennifer May shot this classic braised lamb recipe with its mint condiment that we really appreciated its beauty. It’s something we imagine on the Sunday table of Mayor Drapeau, who brought Expo 67 and the ’76 Olympics to Montreal (and chased away the hookers and the gangsters—albeit temporarily).

Occasionally we refer to Le Repertoire de la Cuisine, the little brown book of classic French recipes, to find inspiration for the Joe Beef menu. It’s a gold mine of forgotten culinary knowledge, including the sauce paloise, a classic variation on sauce béarnaise that uses mint instead of tarragon. You decide on the meat. If you freak on kidneys, use kidneys. We like it on a mutton chop, one chop per person.

This is one of our favorite dishes from the old classic French repertoire, essentially a big moist meatball served on a bone. According to legend, Pojarsky (or Pojarski), a favored innkeeper of Czar Nicholas, was made famous by his killer meatballs re-formed on a veal chop bone. Serve with a frond of blanched fennel.