Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (38 page)

Baked apples are a nice dessert with a daube. That is where I would add a splash of cognac.

(
spooned into each bowl before ladling the daube over them
)

You can also make this with potatoes (peeled) in big chunks that have been steamed or baked. Just
don’t
cook them with the daube. Sweet potatoes are nice, too. They’re fairly new to France and considered a specialty item. In Nice, a daube is sometimes served over a matching meat ravioli. For example, a lamb daube would use lamb ravioli.

2 lbs potatoes, any variety

2 T extra virgin olive oil

1 T kosher salt

2–3 sprigs of fresh rosemary, 1-1/2 tsp dried rosemary

2 T butter

1/2 to 1 cup cream or milk

1/2 to 1 cup yogurt

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat oven to 400F. (204 Celsius). Or steam or boil the potatoes.

Wash the potatoes in cold water and peel. Cut into quarters. Place in a shallow roasting pan. Drizzle olive oil over the potatoes. Toss the kosher salt over them, erring on the side of too little than too much. I pour some into my palm and sprinkle with my other hand like pixie dust until it looks like enough. You can add more when you mash.

Rinse the rosemary. Snip the leaves from the stems and sprinkle over the potatoes. Stir so it’s well mixed. Roast potatoes in the oven, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Test to see if a fork pierces a potato easily. If so, they’re done. If not, roast longer.

Transfer the potatoes into a large bowl and mash a bit. Add butter then slowly add the dairy ingredients, a little of each, until it’s the right consistency. You may not need all of it; you may need more. Mash away. Add a little salt and pepper if you think it needs it.

Jean-Luc: Never use dried rosemary. Ever. Always use fresh herbs when you cook, with the exception of oregano. It can be dried and rubbed between your palms for optimum flavor.

This dish with braised fennel was introduced toward the end of Chapter 7. I had just arrived at Jean-Luc’s and he and Isabella thought it would be
so
funny to pretend they didn’t speak English. I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible, but the aromas pulled me right out of my cottage like a little hummingbird to a red honeysuckle. Later, when I found out how easy it was to make, it became one of my favorites to whip up. My mind always goes back to those early dinners with the two of them, which leads to the infamous “twat” moment, and then I can’t stop laughing.

Ingredients for Part 1

12 sea scallops (the large ones, aka U/10 or under 10 in a pound)

Zest of 1/2 an orange

2 T fresh orange juice

1 T olive oil

1/4 t cinnamon

Flour

Fresh-ground salt and pepper

1 gallon Zip-loc bag or bowl

Ingredients for Part 2

Olive oil

Juice of 1 orange

Fresh-ground salt and pepper

Rinse scallops and pat dry. (If smaller scallops are used, they’ll cook faster.) Combine orange zest, orange juice, olive oil, and cinnamon in Ziploc bag or bowl. Add scallops and marinate 15–20 minutes. Drain. Dredge in small amount of flour seasoned with salt and pepper.

Heat empty sauté pan until hot. Add olive oil to just cover the bottom of the pan. Add scallops. Be sure not to crowd them. Sear on first side until brown, about 1–2 minutes. Turn and continue to cook for 1–2 more minutes. Add orange juice. Juice should evaporate quickly. Season with salt and pepper. Remove and serve.

Jean-Luc: I cannot improve upon perfection.

3 fennel bulbs

2 T olive oil

1/2 T butter

Fresh-ground salt and pepper

chicken stock

Fresh Parmesan, Comté or Cantal cheese, grated

Cut off the leafy fennel stalks and a thin slice from the bottom. Remove any tough or scarred outer pieces. Cut each bulb lengthwise in half. Quarter if the bulbs are large.

In a heavy sauté pan, heat olive oil and butter. Place fennel, cut side down, in pan. Season with salt and pepper. Sear until golden. Turn to sear each side. Once browned, add chicken stock to come halfway up sides of fennel. Cover and simmer until tender, about 15 minutes. While you’re doing that, turn on broiler or heat oven to 375 F/190 C.

Check for tenderness with the tip of a knife. Remove cover, increase heat to high, and reduce stock to a glaze. Remove from heat. Continue in sauté pan or transfer to ovenproof gratin dish. Top with cheese of choice. Place in oven or under broiler to melt the cheese.

Jean-Luc: Cheese is optional.

I chained Jean-Luc to his computer to write. Also so he can’t see me make my E-Z
pissaladière
(or the spelling of “easy”).

Pissala
is a fish paste made from anchovies. I’ve left it out of this recipe. Trust me, this is plenty pungent without it. Anchovies alone are enough to cross it off a lot of people’s list, especially with shallots, garlic, and olives as well. But it’s one of the first things Jean-Luc taught me how to make (Chapter 17). I’ll always have a soft spot for it. What I love about the anchovies is the lattice-like appearance they make. You can always use them and then pick them off. You’ll get a hint of the sea.

JL hates when I add tomatoes, but in the summer, when they’re at their peak, I can practically bathe in them, they’re so good. I’ll put them on anything. They do need to be seeded and strained or they’ll be gritty and goopy. If you use onions instead of shallots, remember to put a pretzel in your mouth when slicing them so your eyes won’t tear. Rest it between your lips. If you want to do it JL’s way and make the dough yourself, be my guest. As always, use fresh, local, organic produce if you can. That’s all that really matters.

Ingredients

1 pizza dough already made but not frozen. It will look like a big beige blob wrapped in plastic at your supermarket deli or refrigerated baked goods section. You can also use phyllo dough or a pie crust you roll out.

1-1/2 to 2 lbs shallots or onions

3 T olive oil, preferably French like Puget or A l’Olivier

1–3 cloves of garlic, diced

2 T butter

Fresh-ground salt and pepper

2 bay leaves

Fresh thyme or 1 T dried

Fresh rosemary (leaves only)

A dash of cornmeal

20–25 anchovies. The best are from an international market or specialty store, like an Italian market. Look for white ones. The closer their origin to the Mediterranean, the better.

1–2 tomatoes (optional)

20–25 oil-cured black olives that you’ll slice in half. I buy them already pitted. You can guess which ones JL uses.

Rolling pin

Slice the shallots/onions. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet on a medium flame and add them and the garlic. Plop the butter in. Add salt and pepper to taste, and the thyme, rosemary, and bay leaves. Stir together. Stop to take a deep inhalation. Orgasmic, isn’t it? Your kitchen will have this aroma the next day, so you better like it.

Lower flame and heat oven to 450°F/232°C. Continue to caramelize the onions/shallots with lots of stirring. Don’t let them brown. What the heck, squirt half of a lemon in there if you have one. Meyer lemons are the best.

Gently rinse the anchovies so they’re not super salty. Dry them on a paper towel. They’re very delicate. Who gets the skin off these tiny things anyway? It can’t be a machine, can it? I’m afraid to ask JL or he’ll spend 20 minutes explaining it.

Sprinkle cornmeal on either a pizza stone or baking sheet. Roll the dough in it as you knead. Use a rolling pin to flatten it out.

DISCARD BAY LEAVES. Spoon shallot/onion mixture with a slotted spoon to drain excess liquid over the dough until it comes close to the edge. Now crisscross the anchovies and add the olives in between the crosses. Place the tomatoes by the olives if you’re using them.

Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 12–15 minutes. Let it cool a bit before digging in. Darn. You know what I forgot to add? Lavender! The culinary kind. Always have some around. Just a
soupçon
when you’re caramelizing the onions.

If you have leftovers, try it in the morning with eggs on it.
Pissaladière
has real spunk, I’ll say that. Not for dainty eaters. Gotta run. Jean-Luc just heard the timer go off and will be down in moments to inspect/avoid writing. When he sees the tomatoes, he won’t touch it. Fine. Leaves more for me.

Jean-Luc: With tomatoes and without pissala, this is unequivocally American-style pizza trying to be pissaladière. The fish paste can be anchovy paste out of a tube, though fresh pissala is divine. It’s made of anchovies seasoned with cloves, thyme, bay leaf, and black pepper and left in an earthenware jar for a month. Spread some over the dough, then add the onion mixture (I prefer onions). Make your own dough. Use a food processor if you must. Only use fresh herbs. As for adding lavender, please! Do not listen to her. It is mainly used in sweets. She acts as though she just discovered cinnamon.

For a wine accompaniment I would recommend a nice, crisp rosé or a light red, like Beaujolais (say a Morgon or Moulin-a-Vent). For the more adventurous, try a light red wine from the Jura region.

Alyce: And when you’ve had enough wine or don’t want it at all…

4 cups of boiled water

2 bags black tea (English Breakfast is my favorite)

1 small sprig of rosemary (a little goes a long way)

2 cups of apricot nectar

Sparkling water or club soda

Let the tea bags and rosemary steep in the boiled water for 10 minutes. Remove rosemary and tea bags. Add apricot nectar. Stir. Chill. Fill a glass halfway with this mixture and the other half with sparkling water. I didn’t like it at first but it grew on me. It’s kind of smoky with a sweetness that has texture and feels like it must be detoxifying you. Adjust the amounts of the ingredients to your taste. If apricots are in season, add a few peeled slices. Delicious!

I make two batches, one with caffeine and one without so I can drink it at night, too, otherwise it’ll keep me up. It’s my drink of choice to wash down my daily vitamins after my morning coffee. Jean-Luc refuses to take vitamins. He says “Americans have the most expensive urine on the planet.” We’ll just see who’s right in the long run. Which reminds me, it’s time for me to jog. Without Jean-Luc, of course. I sure wish Raymond had taken a picture of him in those orange spandex shorts.

Jean-Luc: No Comment.

1. Do you think Alyce enjoyed herself too much or too little while on her adventure?
   
2. How do food and cooking assist in the transformation of Alyce?
   
3. How did each character’s childhood affect them as adults?
   
4. What are your thoughts on a “marriage of convenience” or an arranged marriage?
   
5. Jean-Luc eventually states that writing is “a commodity.” Do you see this a sign of positive growth or as an abandonment of artistic ideals?
   
6. For most of the story, the author uses various means to conceal Colette’s true identity. How does knowing the truth change your perception of Jean-Luc?
   
7. French is “the language of love.” How would Alyce’s experience have been different had she gone to a different country and learned another language?
   
8. Who (or what) do you think is the true antagonist of this story?
   
9. With which character do you most identify, and why?
   
10. Opposites Attack
    has a number of themes: nontraditional family, culture shock, odd-couple romance, and more. What do you think is the most important one?
    

A novel from Jo Maeder

Excerpt

The Dangling Carrot Society

I approached the gnarled wooden door of Boba 47 and remembered my ex’s formula for seduction: flash your target a look that says
I want to rip your clothes off this instant and throw you across that table.
Then split because you’re so busy.

In the case of Rick Rivers, though, seducing him to offer me a job without giving him the wrong idea would be tricky.

On my first try at this technique I wound up with Krazy Karl, my number one Loony Tune fan. I wondered how long it would take him to track me down in Manhattan. He’d succeeded in the ten other markets I’d worked in. But this was the end of the line. I was done changing my name, hair color, and address—and if WBRR didn’t work out, I was done with radio.

The restaurant’s slinky music, subdued lighting, and earthy textures easily put me in the right mood for the Hire Me Hustle. The last time I saw Rick was at an industry event in L.A. He had long, straggly hair and was wearing a stained Staind tee. I did a double take now when I saw him wave to me from the bar. He sported a buzz cut, gray suit, yellow tie. His last vestige of hipness was a goatee the size of a postage stamp.

Even in this dim light I couldn’t miss his tiny gray teeth when he checked out my miniskirt and tank top.

“Lookin’ like a rock star, Jeri!”

“Thanks, Rick. It’s Jazmyn now. You look
great!
”

He had only been at ’BRR a few months after turning around another heritage rocker in Phoenix. Like me, he hadn’t been born when most of the music was made. Rick had his ass on the biggest line of all: New York. A half a rating point can mean millions in lost or gained revenue.

“Nice tattoo,” he said as we settled in at our cozy table and he eyed my upper left arm. “Never seen anyone do half. Didya chicken out?” He snickered.

I’d only heard that line a thousand times but kept smiling. “I vowed to finish it when I made it to New York.” I didn’t mention Ree’s left arm sported the other half.

“A beautiful segue, Janice.”

“
Jazmyn.
” I spelled it for him.

“Right. You’re from Richmond, Virginia, aren’t you?”

“A long time ago.”

He’d been on a rock station there after I’d left. We talked about the city that marked where the South began. Everything to the north had Washington, D.C. flavoring it.