Fruit

This is one of the salads that I make frequently. For some reason, although people always ask me how I make it, I have never put the recipe in any of my cookbooks. Grilling the peppers softens the pulp and brings out the natural sweetness. Sometimes the peppers are mixed with eggplants and tomatoes in North African salads, such as the salade juive (recipe follows) or the tchoukchouka (see page 94). Sometimes they are served alone. For Rosh Hashanah and dinner parties, I love to serve the colorful combination of red peppers, carrot salad (see page 112), and roasted beet salad (see page 108).

I once knew a very distinguished French ambassador to the United States who felt that soup was the only way to start a dinner. For Jewish people in France, the broth of a stew is often the prelude to holiday and weekday meals, whether it is an Alsatian pot-au-feu or a North African dafina. A way to give new life to leftover meat and vegetables, soup has always been the food of sustenance for poor people. When I first tasted this extraordinary soup at a dinner at the French embassy in Washington, I thought that it must have been made with good chicken broth and heavy cream, but to my surprise, it wasn’t. Francis Layrle, the ambassador’s former chef, made it with fresh vegetable broth, something he used very often for guests at the embassy who kept kosher or were vegetarians. This elegant and light soup has become one of my favorites, with its wonderful vegetarian broth that can be used as a basis for so many other soups. Those who do not keep kosher may, of course, substitute chicken broth. I have separated the ingredients for broth and soup, to facilitate making the vegetarian broth as a separate recipe for other occasions.

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.

I have always thought that the best part of fish soup is the rouille, a peppery, garlicky sauce that is slathered on toasted rounds of baguette and floated on the surface of the soup. I also like to stir some rouille into the broth. Similar to the Provençal aioli, a garlic-flavored mayonnaise, rouille is flavored with hot pepper and saffron, which give it its signature rust color. (Rouille literally means “rust” in French.) Today I have noticed that North African Jews often spice up their rouille even more, by adding a little harissa (see page 33) to it. Traditionally, a mortar and pestle are used to pound the garlic, pepper, and egg yolk, gradually incorporating the oil to make a mayonnaise. Today it is easy to put everything in a food processor and slowly add the oil, drop by drop. Leftover sauce is good on sandwiches or as a dip.

Maurice and Anne-Juliette Belicha, together with their two young daughters, lead a Jewish life, bringing their kosher meat from Paris and only using bio (organic) products, in the Dordogne. While Maurice is producing kosher foie gras (see page 47), Anne-Juliette is trying to realize her dream of opening a kosher bed-and-breakfast in the Dordogne. She makes this delicious mango chutney, which marries well with both her husband’s foie gras and with chopped liver.

This haroset recipe originated in Toledo, Spain, before the Inquisition, and found its way to Tétouan, near Tangier, in northern Morocco, and then to Paris, where it is served today. Dates, the predominant fruit in most Moroccan haroset, are mixed with apples before being rolled into little balls. Sylviane Lévy (see page 65), whose mother gave her the recipe, says to roll them in cinnamon, then serve them in little paper cups. These balls look like chocolate truffles and taste like Passover petits fours!

Hélène Sancy’s Haroset recipe goes back to her family’s residence in Portugal before the Inquisition. It is probably one of the oldest existing haroset recipes in France today, if not the oldest. Her husband’s job is to grind the fruits and nuts with the brass mortar and pestle, which they inherited, handed down through the generations. Although the Sancys do not roll their haroset into balls as is called for in other old recipes from Spain and Portugal (recipe follows), they have another fascinating Passover custom. First they say a blessing over the bitter herbs (maror)—in their case, romaine lettuce—as a reminder of slavery in Egypt. Then they wrap the romaine around parsley that has been dipped in salt water, a little chopped celery, and about a teaspoon of haroset. The Ashkenazi way, in contrast, is to sandwich bitter herbs and haroset between two pieces of matzo. Curiously, the Sancys’ recipe for haroset, in this land of vineyards in the southwest of France, includes no raisins.

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.

At Le Monde Des Épices, I delight in seeing how simple olives can be turned into a colorful appetizer by melding different kinds and colors of cured olives and doctoring them up with garlic, preserved lemons, oregano, and basil, and serving them in a large, clear bowl. Although the majority of the olives in the shop are grown in Spain and North Africa, many, like the tiny Picholines from Provence, come from the south of France. When I first visited, the olives were simply cured and kept in barrels. Now the many different- flavored varieties are displayed in attractive bowls to tempt the customers. When doctoring up olives you buy, just make sure to include some red peppers, orange kumquats, or bright- green herbs. I love to serve a variety of sizes and kinds in a clear glass or earthenware bowl. Remember to have a tiny bowl nearby for the pits.

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 made in the same way as in the last recipe, only it has a layer of sliced bananas at the top.

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.

Nose-tingling and refreshing, this Sri Lankan relish goes well with all curry meals. You could also serve it at Western meals with roast pork or pork chops.

Something between a relish and a curry, this may be served with most Indian meals.

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.

This is Sri Lanka’s everyday coconut sambol. Known as pol sambol, it would be called a chutney in India. It may be served with any meal.

A fresh chutney to serve with all Indian meals, it has a shelf life of 2–3 days if stored in the refrigerator. What is not used up may be easily frozen for another day.

At Bengali banquets, this chutney, along with deep-fried, puffed white-flour breads (loochis) and pappadoms, is served as the penultimate course, just before the dessert. Here in the Western world, I tend to serve it with the main meal: I layer it thickly on hamburgers, serve dollops with fried chicken and roast lamb, use it as a spread for cheese sandwiches, and, at Indian meals, offer it as a relish with my kebabs and curries.

There were many salad-like dishes made with seasonal fruit that my mother served with our lunches. If guavas were in season, they were pressed into service; it could also be star fruit, bananas, peaches, green mangoes, whatever was available in abundance. The seasonings in these salads did not vary much—salt, pepper, ground roasted cumin, Indian chili powders, made from red chilies and sometimes yellow chilies as well, sugar as needed, and lime juice. My mother made the salads herself, not in the kitchen but in the pantry and at the very last minute, just as we sat down to eat, so the fruit would not start “weeping” and get all watery. The seasoning amounts given in this recipe are approximate, since the taste of fruit can vary so much. Keep tasting as you go, adding more or less of the seasonings, as desired.