{"id":1472,"date":"2007-05-22T06:58:00","date_gmt":"2007-05-22T06:58:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2007\/05\/22\/spring-clean"},"modified":"2007-05-22T06:58:00","modified_gmt":"2007-05-22T06:58:00","slug":"spring-clean","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2007\/05\/spring-clean\/","title":{"rendered":"Spring clean"},"content":{"rendered":"
You know, it\u2019s been entirely too long since I thanked you, friends, for the comments you leave here. There have been so many of them lately, and I\u2019m always floored by the sweet, smart things you say. I like to think that this site is a conversation of sorts, a place where we come to swap recipes and dinner plates, a kind of trading post where cakes and chickpeas are perfectly valid currency. In another era, we would have sat around a big table, I\u2019m sure, with aprons and iced tea, shelling peas and gabbing. Instead we leave comments on the computer. It\u2019s a little different \u2013 we\u2019re missing out on that fresh, green peapod smell, for one \u2013 but really, it\u2019s just as good.<\/p>\n
For the past few days, I\u2019ve been thinking in particular about a comment from my recent post about Lyon<\/a>. Left by a reader named Rosemarie, late of Illinois, it read, \u201cYum. I\u2019m trying to move back towards simpler foods and seeing that plate of charcuterie, lentils, and salad really hit the spot. I wish we in the U.S. could embrace this fare.\u201d It was only a few sentences, but it got me thinking all weekend about the way I choose to eat, and why. Quite often, I am asked about the type of food I cook, and the type of recipes that will be in my book. I always stumble through my reply, mumbling about country French cooking, and seasonal foods, and the Pacific Northwest, and vegetables, and oh wow<\/span>, I love<\/span> banana bread and meatballs, and cabbage and radishes and graham crackers, and seriously, there\u2019s nothing<\/span> like a good brownie, and, have you ever made a souffl\u00e9, because really, I\u2019m telling you, it\u2019s a snap<\/span> to make. In short, I\u2019m a disaster. For someone who devotes the better part of her brainpower to food, I can hardly eek out a coherent sentence about why I eat the way I do. I just do<\/span>. It\u2019s what feels good, and what sounds good, and what, somewhere along the way, someone showed me how to do. Come to think of it, my approach to cooking and eating is like my approach to most things in life: I put one foot in front of the other, and lo and behold, it takes me somewhere. Then, if I look around enough, I can usually figure out where that somewhere is, and what I can do there. Or, in this case, what I can eat there. None of which adds up to a nice, pithy description for the back of a cookbook, but eh, it works most days. It\u2019s a work in progress.<\/p>\n Lately, I feel a lot like Rosemarie. Brandon and I always eat fairly simply \u2013 a bowl of chickpea salad<\/a> here, some slivered fennel<\/a> there \u2013 but in recent days, especially, I want things with as little fuss as possible. I think of it as a kind of spring cleaning. I\u2019m sweeping away all the clutter and fiddle, making room at the table for summer. I\u2019ve been thinking a lot lately, actually, about the baguette sandwiches<\/a> I ate in Paris. They were so lovely, so spare and artfully spread, with just enough butter and cheese and salty ham to stretch from tip to tip. They were utterly graceful<\/span>, if one can say such things about a sandwich. I want our table to be laid that way, with that sort of beauty and simplicity and care. It isn\u2019t always a breeze, but sometimes, it\u2019s so easy that it takes me by surprise.<\/p>\n Take last Saturday night, for example. There wasn\u2019t much in the fridge, and we weren\u2019t particularly hungry. It was especially pretty, still sunny at six thirty, so we decided to walk up to our neighborhood alehouse<\/a> for a beer. We sat outside and, an hour or so later, were scarily tipsy on one beer each \u2013 they were<\/span> serious Belgian brews, but also, we<\/span>\u2019re awful lightweights \u2013 so we tottered home to make dinner. (And just so you get the full mental image, you should also know that we stopped at Goodwill, which, for the record, should never<\/span> be done under the influence. We came out with a set of frilly flowered plates and twenty wide-mouth Mason jars, which we loaded into a shopping cart and rolled, rattling and thumping and giggling, all the way home.) We weren\u2019t up for much cooking \u2013 much less wielding sharp knives \u2013 so we banged some lima beans<\/a> into a pot with a little water, olive oil, garlic, and parsley. While the beans simmered, we washed some frisee and tossed it with vinaigrette and a chopped egg, and I dug from the fridge the last of a misshapen slab of bleu d\u2019Auvergne<\/a>. We sat down fifteen minutes later to what felt like a small victory: a bowl of lima beans scented with garlic, a tangle of pale greens flecked with yolk, a sweetly pungent cheese to smear on hunks of yeasty bread. We slurped and chewed and scraped, and when we looked up from our plates a little while later, our wits once more intact, we agreed that it was one of our loveliest meals. It could have been the beer, of course, but I think it was something else. It was spare and simple, and just enough.<\/p>\n It was a particularly good weekend. In fact, I felt so inspired by our tipsy feast that on Sunday, I decided to continue the trend. (Food-wise, mind you, not drink-wise. Ahem<\/span>.) With Rosemarie\u2019s comment in mind, I decided to make a simple lunch Lyonnaise<\/span>, a lunch of charcuterie and lentils.<\/p>\n<\/a>
This is the kind of thing I could eat every day and still never get enough. In fact, when it was served to me and Mom at Caf\u00e9 des F\u00e9d\u00e9rations, we had a terrible time not licking every last nub and sliver from the serving dishes. We could<\/span> have, of course, but then there would have been no room for the four courses to come. So instead, I filed away a mental note to make a batch of lentil salad when I got back to Seattle, and to shell out for some fancy salami from Fra\u2019Mani<\/a>. (It\u2019s not a saucisse de Lyon<\/span><\/a>, but it works in a pinch.) And on Sunday afternoon, that\u2019s exactly what I did. I dug out a lentil salad recipe that I\u2019d made once before, a warm one speckled with carrots, celery, onion, and thyme and dressed just smartly enough to make a second spoonful an absolute must. Served alongside cornichons and salami and leftover soup and washed down with a wedge of watermelon, it was, I think, my new standard lunch. It was simple, spring and clean. Rosemarie, this one\u2019s for you, and for me.<\/p>\n