Words and images Fiona Hugues
There’s a persistent myth, helped along by starched tablecloths and intimidating menus, that French food is elaborate, fussy and best left to pompous professionals with intolerable attitudes wearing Yves Saint Laurant shoes. After being maritally immersed in the culture for over twenty-five years, I can testify that it isn’t actually that flash, it just cleverly comes down to good seasonal ingredients and a healthy respect for flavourful fat and luscious butter. The fashion element is definitely a deceptive bonus, but I can whisper to you, dear reader, not all the French I’ve come to know and love got the style memo. Dowdy outfits aside, it must be almost impossible to dismiss such a long-standing tradition of fine food, elegance and indulgence and quite frankly why would one want to? A splash of wine, a knob of butter, confident seasoning and a touch of chocolate to finish, are all simple sneaky French steps that make dishes look and taste impressive. So let’s not be dazzled by the divine designer shoes. Many of the classic dishes aren’t that fancy, they’re just simple recipes done bloody well. This petit collection are a few of my stupidly simple French favourites, so easy you will be wondering what the fuss is all about.
BONE’S BONES
This dish is deliciously decadent and bloody great therapy on any day with a glass of wine, so just make it. Please don’t be icked, this is one of those ridiculously simple, divine French dishes I was talking about – rich subtle flavour that is well worth a crack – you’ll love it, I promise.
4–6 marrow bones (get the butcher to split them lengthwise)
sliced toasted sourdough or handmade baguette, toasted (toasted triangles of Vogels bread is also a very good time)
sea salt + black pepper
1–2 shallots, thinly sliced
3 tbsp red wine vinegar
pinch of sugar
pinch of salt
small handful of flat-leaf parsley, chopped
2 tbsp small capers, roughly chopped
zest of lemon + a squeeze of juice
First pickle your shallots: Chuck sliced shallots in a small bowl. Add vinegar, sugar and salt.
Toss and give them one minute in the microwave. Set aside to cool.
When cool, drain and toss them through the chopped parsley, capers, lemon juice and zest. Taste and season if needed.
Prep the bones: If you can be bothered, soak them in cold salted water for a few hours. This makes them look cleaner if you’re serving them to newbies, but not absolutly necessary.
Pre-heat oven to 200°C fanbake. Place bones cut-side up on a tray and lightly sprinkle with salt. Roast for 15–20 minutes until bubbling and soft. You want wobbly and glossy marrow for spreading, cook too long and it will render and vanish into nothing.
Serve on a platter with teaspoons for scooping the warm marrow out onto toast. Top with the shallot parsley mixture or serve on the side. This is your important acid hit to minimise the richness of the marrow. Enjoy with a fresh glass of acidy wine – I recommend something white as to not disguise the delicious delicate flavour.
THE PIG THAT DUG UP MY PADDOCK RILETTES
If you’ve followed me on Instagram you’ll know for the last year or two I’ve been tormented by a posse of marauding feral pigs visiting from the neighbouring forest. They arrive in the darkness of night, uproot and turn lush areas of paddock over with their devilish snouts, creating huge unsightly trenches and ruined pasture. So every few months I call a lovely chap called Barry who rollicks around with his band of eager dogs to flush out and dispatch my destructive porkers. Victorious Bazza then returns a few weeks later with plastic bags filled with bits of butchered said wild beasties for my freezer. To be honest, wild pig is a gutsy flavour best suited to slow cooks, but it does make ripping rillettes. Pronounced ‘ree-ett’ you’ll find this concoction in most charcuterie shops across France. It’s again a French dish that’s deliciously decdent but mindblowingly simple.
1–1.2 kg pork shoulder (cut into chunks, get a piece with thick fat on it, the fattier the better as this is the joyful flavour moment)
250 g (give or take) pork fat or a piece of pork belly
3 garlic cloves
1 bay leaf
few sprigs fresh thyme
1 tbsp salt (don’t be scared, you need to be generous here)
ground black pepper
300 ml dry white wine
2 tbsp brandy or cognac
1 tbsp juniper berries (this flavour is key)
tiny pinch of allspice or ground clove (don’t overdo it)
a decent grate of fresh nutmeg (I use about half a nut)
1 tsp Dijon mustard
Place everything into a heavy pot: pork, fat, booze, garlic, herbs, spices, mustard, salt and pepper
Add the wine. This isn’t a stew – it’s a slow melt. Cook in a low and slow oven at 150–160°C for 3–4 hours. You want it silky and collapsing meat, sitting in its own fat, no browning.
When she’s soft and melted, remove herbs and bones and shred the pork finely with forks to something soft and spreadable. Press into a loaf tin lined in cling film and refrigerate until firm. It will keep for a couple of weeks.
To serve, bring to room temperature. Eat with a proper baguette or grilled sourdough, cornichons, sharp mustard and pickles.
COUNTRY CHOOK LIVER PÂTÉ
The pâté has a reputation in my neighbourhood. I’ve made various versions of it for well over a decade and it ‘apparently’ cures a number of ailments – gluttony possibly not being one of them! She’s my fast, no-fuss version of a good pâté that’s easy to make without all the hoo-ha associated with poncy wobbly mousse-like liver parfaits. She’s gutsy and rustic but packed with great flavour, smashing on toast with lashings of caramelised onion chutney for a very good time.
350 g chicken livers
1 medium onion, sliced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
3 tbsp butter
2-3 tbsp olive oil
60 ml brandy
½ cup red wine
1 slice sourdough, crusts removed
100 ml cream and maybe a another decent knob of butter
salt & pepper
clarified butter (optional)
Trim veins and discoloured bits from livers. Over medium heat pour in the olive oil and 1 tbsp of the butter. Add the onions and garlic and cook for 5 minutes or until the onions have softened.
Increase the heat slightly; add the livers, season with salt and pepper and sauté until they are beginning to brown. Turn over livers and continue to cook on the other side until they have completely changed colour. Reduce heat, pour in the brandy and wine and simmer a further 5 minutes to reduce liquid. Remove from heat.
Blitz the slice of white bread in a food processor until it becomes course bread crumbs. Add the hot cooked livers, cream and butter. Process until smooth.
Check seasoning, you will most probably need more salt and a bit more butter won’t go amiss, then pour pâté into your jar or ceramic container. Top with a thin layer of melted clarified butter to seal the surface if preferred with a wee sprig of thyme to, you know, make it fancy.
Refrigerate until firm. Serve pâté on sourdough with healthy dollops of balsamicy caramelised onions