The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
~T.S. Eliot

Again the cold weather is upon us, so the time has come to deceive, to create illusions of reality, in our kitchens.

Are our buns, hands, soles and toes really nestled in sandy beaches somewhere on this earth? Are we contemplating the vastness of cerulean seas and cobalt skies dotted with cirrus clouds?  Must be…right?  What a remarkably silly, selfless yet sybaritic trompe-l’oiel!  At the same time, these are food paeans to our tribal past.

Now, some find boudin noir or Créole repugnant because the process traditionally contains pork blood. Well, so do filets, porterhouses, shoulders, briskets, strips, rib eyes, loins, tenderloins, sirloins, flanks, chops, tuna, liver, rumps, chuck, blades, tri tips, shanks, et al. — many humans simply choose to ignore that bloody carnal embrace. Yes, Virginia, there is red ink, congealed or not, in them thar cuts. Their will be blood and/or myoglobin. Then again, boudin noir is not for everyone.

But, being an offal aficionado, this dark hued savory charcuterie (much like pâtés, rillettes, galantines, ballotines, confits, foie gras, jambons and friends) is revered and regaled here. If most homo sapiens are omnivorous, honor should be bestowed upon the animal that graces our tables by eating the deceased from nose to tail. Again, the “blood” in boudin noir is cooked as with many other cuts.

Consider serving this renascence next to a small splash of smashed or mashed potatoes or even fried or poached eggs and sliced sautéed chiles or a simple baguette and unsalted butter and top the sausages on a mesclun salad with a vinaigrette and some root vegetables. Better yet, choose to present shortly after dining on accras de morue (cod fritters — a post found here on February 11, 2010) and sauce chien with a glass of Viognier or Côtes de Provence rosé or une bière blonde.  As with most plates, the choices seem endless.

Often savored sautéed or grilled, boudin noir may seem quotidien, but is simply seraphic.

BOUDIN NOIR

4-5 blood sausages (from fine butchers — local + high quality)
1-2 T unsalted butter
2 T extra virgin olive oil
Sprigs of rosemary and thyme

1/3 C Calvados (apple brandy)
3/4 C heavy whipping cream
2 t Dijon mustard
2-3 Granny Smith apples, cored and sliced somewhat thin

Grating of fresh nutmeg
Cinnamon stick
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper

Preheat oven to 200 F.

Prick sausages in several spots with sharp knife or fork. Sauté over medium low heat in butter and olive oil (shimmering olive oil but the butter not browned) with rosemary and thyme, about 5-8 minutes, turning occasionally. Discard rosemary and thyme sprigs. Remove sausages from pan and place on heavy dish, tented, in very low oven while preparing sauce.

Remove and discard some of the excess fat from pan, turn heat to high and deglaze with Calvados, allowing to boil for about 30 seconds, then add apples, cooking them for a minute or so. Add the cream, mustard, nutmeg, cinnamon stick, salt and pepper. Reduce cream and mustard and friends by half and finally ladle over or under the boudin noir, removed from the oven. Discard the cinnamon stick, by the way.

 

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No object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly.
~Oscar Wilde

Celeriac (Apium graveolens rapaceum), also known as celery root, turnip-root celery or knob celery is a bulbous root vegetable related to anise, carrots, parsley and parsnips.

With a scruffy, knotted, almost warty outer surface, celeriac is surely considered by fashionistas as too unsightly and rotund to dare deign a designer grocery bag. And overly soiled for those freshly manicured fingers. Once peeled though, celery root’s creamy, firm white flesh resembles that of a turnip and has a subtle woodsy blend of celery and parsley. Too often shunned outside Europe, celeriac is eaten raw, fried, sautéed, blanched, and in gratins and soups.  When buying, the full, globular root should be firm with no brown soft spots, and the sprouting tops should be bright green.

While I adore the local marchés en plein airboulangeries, boucheries, fromageries, pâtisseries, and épiceries in a classic French market to kitchen progression, charcuteries make me weak-kneed.  Derived from chair cuite which means “cooked flesh,” charcuteries display daily gastronomic divinities such as saucissons, merguez, boudin noirs, jambons, pâtés, terrines, rillettes, confits, white asparagus, haricots verts, and so on…just an affluence of salted, smoked, cured meats and poultry. Edenic.  Never to be overlooked at any charcuterie is the ever present céleri rémoulade, an earthy, crunchy salad composed of julienned celery root dressed in a mustardy mayonnaise. It may be old school, but céleri rémoulade still really grooves.

Because the peeled and julienned celeriac tends to discolor, it is best to prepare the dressing before you cut into the root.

CELERIAC REMOULADE

2 lbs celery root (celeriac)

1 C mayonnaise, homemade* or prepared
1/4 C crème fraîche or whole milk plain yogurt
1 T Dijon mustard
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1 T freshly squeezed lemon juice or white wine vinegar
1/4 C capers, rinsed and drained (optional)

Brush excess dirt off of the roots. Cut off the bottom and top of the roots, peel and then cut into quarters. Rinse in cool water if there is any remaining dirt or debris. Slice each quarter on a mandoline or grater into thick wooden matchsticks, so they retain their crunch once dressed. You might want to julienne by hand, with a sharp knife.

Mix together the mayonnaise, mustard, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and capers. Toss the julienned celery root with the dressing and season further to your liking. If the salad is too thick, then add some more crème fraîche or yogurt.

*Mayonnaise

4 large egg yolks, room temperature
2 T dijon mustard
2 t white wine vinegar or fresh lemon juice
1 t sea salt
Tiny pinch of cayenne pepper

1 1/3 C canola or grapeseed oil

Separate egg whites from yolks. Egg yolks contain a natural emulsifier, lecithin, which helps thicken sauces and bind ingredients.

With a balloon whisk, whip together the egg yolks, mustard, wine vinegar or lemon juice, salt, and cayenne pepper in a medium glass or metal bowl. Do not use plastic.

Add a few drops of oil while whisking; then pour in the oil slowly, in a very thin stream, while whisking vigorously with the bowl tilted at an angle on a folded towel. The emulsion should become thick enough to hold its shape and appear voluptuously creamy. Be patient, because if you add the oil too rapidly the mayonnaise will break and turn soupy.