French Lentil Soup...and the power of taste memory...

Someone recently pointed out that I didn’t have any recipes on my blog that use lentils. This had surprised them. I guess it surprised me too. I have nothing against lentils. I love them when someone serves them to me. But I didn’t grow up eating them…and the truth is I never got into the habit of cooking with them. For some reason I just don’t think of them. Since I enjoy them anytime I do eat them, I will need to make an effort to add them to my rotation. 

There is one recipe that I make occasionally that uses French lentils (Lentils du Puy—prized for their firmer texture and peppery, mineral-y flavor). It is a classic French dish from The Balthazar Cookbook by Keith McNally, Riad Nasr & Lee Hanson): Mustard Crusted Salmon with Lentils. I love this dish. Like so many of the recipes I love, it is a study in deceptive simplicity. If you have good ingredients…and use good technique…the result is greater than the sum of its parts. 

I like this recipe so much that when I decided I wanted to make a lentil soup during our recent early dip into the deep freeze, I used their flavorings in that recipe as my inspiration. In the end, I’m sure it’s not too different from many French lentil soup recipes…bacon, the mirepoix triad of carrot, celery and onion, lots of garlic, fresh thyme and tomatoes. It was warming…hearty, yet a bit refined…and delicious. 

It is great with just a sprinkling of parsley…and maybe a drizzle of olive oil.  But I discovered that some crumbled goat cheese was a nice garnish too—definitely worth adding if you happen to have some on hand. 

There were no tomatoes in the Balthazar recipe from which I took most of my inspiration. I had had a delicious soup recently at the table of a friend that included lentils and tomatoes, so that may have been what put the thought of the tomatoes in mind. There is also the fact that tomatoes are often paired with lentils.  And I'm sure that all of this played a part in my final recipe.  But there is another possibility. 

As I was enjoying my soup I had a flash of a food memory from my childhood: the very first (and possibly only) time I had lentils. My entire family had been invited to dinner at the home of one of my father’s business colleagues. My siblings and I had never been included in an invitation like this before, so my memory of it is fairly clear.  Our hostess served a simple meal of lentil stew, crusty bread and a fruit salad. I remember the stew because it was totally outside of my normal eating habits. Being the picky child that I was, if my mother had served it, I would have begrudgingly limited myself to the one bite we were required to take of something we thought we didn’t like. But since we were out, I was on my best behavior.  And I remember truly enjoying that lentil stew…probably asked my mother to get the recipe (although, I don’t remember her ever making it). I’m certain it was just a simple brown lentil soup…but I remember it included the tang of tomatoes. So now that I think about it, I can’t rule out the possibility that my addition of the tomatoes to my Balthazar inspired soup was a subliminal nod to that long ago first taste. 

French Lentil Soup

3 or 4 slices thick bacon (100g), diced small (this is most easily done if the bacon is frozen) 

3 T. unsalted butter 

1 large or 2 medium onions (12 oz.), diced small (2 c.) 

2 medium carrots (1/3 lb), peeled and diced small (1 c.) 

2 celery stalks (4 oz), trimmed and diced small (3/4 c.) 

3 to 4 cloves garlic, minced 

2 or 3 well-branched sprigs of thyme 

Salt & freshly ground pepper 

1 lb. peeled & chopped tomatoes or a 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes (see notes) 

1 1/4 c. (250g) French green lentils (Le Puy lentils—see notes), rinsed and drained 

1 quart chicken stock or low-salt broth 

Minced flat leaf parsley, optional 

Olive oil for drizzling, optional 

Goat cheese crumbles, optional 

Place the bacon in a large soup pot set over medium heat. When some of the fat has rendered from the bacon, after about 5 minutes, 

add the butter. When the butter has melted, add the onion, carrot, celery, garlic and thyme along with a good pinch of salt. 

Cover and sweat over low heat until the vegetables are just tender—about 10 to 15 minutes.

Add the tomatoes, lentils and stock and bring to a simmer. 

Partially cover the pan and cook, maintaining a gentle simmer until the lentils are tender and cooked to your liking—anywhere from 30 to 45 minutes.

Transfer 1 1/2 to 2 cups of the soup (mostly solids) to a blender (or the cup of an immersion blender). Purée until smooth and return to the soup. If the soup is too thick add water or stock in small increments to achieve a texture and thickness that you like. Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and freshly ground pepper. Serve hot with a sprinkle of parsley and drizzle of olive oil, if you like. 

Makes about 1 3/4 quarts of soup, serving 5 to 6.

Note:

• I used tomatoes that I froze last summer. If you have never frozen whole summer tomatoes to use during the winter months you should give it a try. I describe the process in this post.
• Any green French lentil will work in this recipe. I use the Le Puy lentils because this is what I keep on hand for the salmon dish. These will hold their texture better and take a bit longer to cook than other green French lentils, so if you don’t use lentils labeled “Le Puy” then begin checking on the tenderness of the lentils after about 20 minutes.

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The Pleasure of the Annual Tomato Glut...and a Recipe for Tomato Fondue

It happens every year about this time.   Whether you shop at a Farmers' market or have your own garden, beautiful, ripe tomatoes start piling up on the kitchen counter faster than you can consume them.  I always eat as many of them as I can raw...sprinkled with salt, drizzled with olive oil...sometimes enhanced with a bit of vinegar.  But inevitably there are just too many to eat.  Even though I regularly cook with them too, I almost always have so many that they decay faster than I am able to use them up.  

When it reaches this point of overabundance I begin to consider ways to preserve the harvest.  I almost always try to make tomato sauce for the freezer (in fact, I often purchase extra tomatoes for just this purpose...summer tomato sauce is a wonderful thing to have on hand during the fall and winter months).  And some years I make slow-roasted tomatoes (which turns them into concentrated flavor bombs for pastas, pizzas, pilafs, etc.).

Last week as I was considering the mountain of tomatoes on my counter, I remembered something we used to make way back in the early days of my cooking career at The American Restaurant: a delicious preparation called "Tomato Fondue."  



Contrary to what you might think, there is no cheese involved in this fondue.  This fondue is all about the tomatoes...tomatoes that have been cooked in an abundance of olive oil until the juices and pulp have melted (hence the term "fondue") into a jam-like substance of tangy tomato deliciousness.   There is also a bit of onion and garlic...  and a sprinkling of fresh herbs (thyme, oregano, and/or winter savory).  But not too much of any of these things.  Tomato fondue should be all about the tangy and sweet flavor of summer tomatoes.

Tomato fondue has a myriad of uses.  It can of course be used to finish a soup (stirred in, or served as a drizzle or dolloped garnish)...or to enhance a pasta sauce.  But my favorite way to use it is as a condiment—dolloped onto a piece of baked or sautéed fish

As a topping for pan-seared halibut..with a bulgur pilaf with corn and zucchini....

...mixed with a little more olive oil and drizzled over a grain bowl

The leftover pilaf from the previous photo...topped with an egg...

...extended with stock or water (and/or more oil) and used to dress vegetables.  

Romano beans...dressed with tomato fondue, kalamata olives, toasted pine nuts and parsley....

You could also use it for oeufs en cocotte (just use a small spoonful of the tomato fondue in place of the cooked leeks).  It would also make a delicious instant appetizer—on a crostini smeared with fresh cheese or bean purée, or spooned over a round of baked goat cheese and served with crackers or crisp toasts.  





And it could be used to enhance a spread/dressing of some kind (like mayonnaise, for example).  Once you make it (and taste it!)...and have it on hand...I'm certain it will catch your eye every time you open the refrigerator to gather inspiration for what to make for dinner. It is amazingly versatile.

Since I mentioned preserving the harvest at the beginning of this post, I hope it goes without saying that tomato fondue can be frozen.  The flavor is so concentrated that you can freeze it in small portions (rather than the larger quantities that you might opt for when freezing a less concentrated tomato sauce).  I think ice cube trays would probably be perfect.  Either line the trays with plastic wrap...or purchase trays designated for your tomatoes (the oil in the fondue will color and imbue every plastic surface it touches with its orange-y gold color).

I have to admit though, that I haven't frozen any yet this year.  Part of the beauty of tomato fondue is that it reduces a mountain of tomatoes down to a very manageable...and consumable...amount.  I have made two 1 pound batches so far and have managed to eat it all.  I'm so glad that it popped into my mind after all these years. After having it around for a couple of weeks and finding so many ways to use it, it is on its way to becoming a summer staple in my pantry. 

Tomato Fondue

1 lb. Vine Ripened Tomatoes
1/2 c. finely diced summer onions
1 t. (heaped, if you like) minced garlic
3 to 4 T. olive oil
1 bay leaf
Several sprigs of fresh thyme, oregano and/or winter savory—leaves picked and minced
salt

Halve the tomatoes horizontally (vertically if using Romas).  Holding the tomato halves over a sieve set over a bowl, scoop out the seeds (using your fingers).  Set the de-seeded tomato halves aside for a second while you stir and press the seedy juice around in the sieve (with a rubber spatula) until all the juices have gone through the sieve.  Discard the seeds.  Using a large-holed grater set on a plate or pie pan, grate the tomatoes by holding the cut side of the tomatoes against the grater and grating until just the skin remains in your palm.  Add the grated tomato pulp to the tomato juices.  (See note.)

Warm the oil in a medium sized sauté pan or shallow sauce pan set over moderately low heat and add the onions, along with a pinch of salt.  Cook gently until the onions are soft—about 10 minutes for juicy, summer onions.  Add the garlic and cook another 3 or 4 minutes.  

Add the tomatoes and herbs to the pan 

and bring to a gentle simmer.  Cook, stirring occasionally and regularly (carefully scraping down the edges of the pan as the fondue reduces) until the mixture is thick.  If you draw a spatula through the fondue, a path will remain (see picture at top of post).  You will also be able to mound the fondue on a spoon.  

(This will take about 20 minutes or so.). Taste and season with salt to bring out the brightest tangy flavor.

You will have 2/3 to 3/4 of a cup of tomato fondue.  Store in a Tupperware or covered jar in the refrigerator.

Notes:

• The original recipe called for the tomatoes to be peeled, seeded and cut into a fine dice.  Since the tomato flesh breaks down as it cooks, it seems easiest to me to simply grate the flesh as I have done.  You may of course peel, seed and dice if you like.
• We made the fondue in very large quantities at the restaurant—a batch made with four pounds of tomatoes would have been typical.  You may multiply this into any sized batch you like, just remember to use a wide (as opposed to deep) pan.  A large surface area will encourage the tomatoes to reduce and concentrate more quickly.  Large batches will still take longer, but the fondue will cook better in a wide pan.  When I make this in large batches, I multiply everything but the bay leaf. I find bay to be quite strong and even if I were making a four pound batch would still use just one leaf.

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Eggplant Caponata

One of my great regrets from the years that I spent working in a professional kitchen is that I didn't very often take the time to write down exact recipes. Most of the "recipes" from my line cook days are nothing more than a list of ingredients (often with no amounts).  If I'm lucky, I will discover that I wrote down a few cursory words to indicate method and order.  I just never thought I would ever forget how to make so many things.  I made them over and over...day after day...until I could make them in my sleep.  How could I forget?  Such is the optimism of youth.

Occasionally I will get a bee in my bonnet to reproduce something I remember making.  I will spend a little time rooting through my files (to see what I actually wrote down)....and I will poke around on line...and thumb through my cookbooks.  I almost never manage to replicate a dish exactly.  But I almost always end up with something delicious...as well as a renewed appreciation for a particular preparation. 

Caponata is one of these things.  I made it regularly for a while when I was the sauté cook (I think it accompanied Swordfish...but I'm really not sure at this point).  If you are not familiar with Caponata, it is a Sicilian eggplant preparation.  I remembered the one we made at the restaurant as being very simple, containing nothing more than eggplant, onions, celery, capers and olives (and olive oil for sautéing).  I love Mediterranean eggplant dishes...and the salty and tangy aspect of this one appealed to me very much. 

In the years since, every time I have run across caponata, I have noted that it contains tomato.  This seemed "wrong" to me, but I didn't think too much about it because with all the wonderful eggplant dishes out there, I never had a particular reason to stop and sort out if my memory was faulty...or if there were 'authentic' versions of caponata that did not include tomato.

Recently, however, I needed to prepare caponata for a client, so I began to look into it.  I discovered I actually had a recipe of sorts in my files from my restaurant days.  It did not include any tomato.  And as luck would have it, it was one of those bare bones recipes I alluded to above.  So I at least had a starting point.

It was written down as follows:

Small diced onion (2 c.)

Small diced celery (1 c.)

Small diced eggplant (6 c.)

Chopped black olives (niçoise/provençal)

Capers

Sweat onion and celery 'til just translucent.  Add eggplant and cook 'til it just cooked through.  Pull off heat and toss in olives and capers.  Season to taste with Salt & pepper.  Do not overcook.

Hmmm... 

As always, I began to look around at other recipes.  And, as I did, I found that one of the essentials in caponata does happen to be tomato.  Furthermore, one of the hallmarks of the dish is its sweet/sour counterpoint (agrodolce)...which the recipe of my notes definitely lacks.  I can only assume that the remainder of the dish I made at the restaurant included the other essential elements, and that the 'caponata' I was making at the time had been deconstructed on the plate in some way.

The caponata I finally made for my clients did draw heavily on my old notes in the sense that I kept the ratios of eggplant to onion to celery.  I also included both capers and olives...not all recipes do this (most include one or the other).  Some recipes add raisins and pine nuts.  I didn't add either of these...but think they would be delicious. 

Besides my old restaurant 'recipe', I relied on David Lebovitz's version, as well as an excellent caponata basics post at Food 52.  The comments in the Food 52 post are particularly helpful when it comes to finishing the dish and getting the balance just right. The author says that the caponata should taste "very savory" and be "slightly acidic and subtly sweet."  To achieve this result, add salt, vinegar and/or honey as necessary.

I served the caponata to my clients on ricotta smeared crostini as a passed appetizer.  I loved the caponata I made so much that I made some for myself the very next day.  We enjoyed it for dinner with some sweet corn polenta and a sautéed chicken breast.  I had some of the leftovers the same way my clients did...and then the last of the leftovers on the leftover polenta (now firm...and fried until crisp).  It was delicious every way I served it....and as others have noted, the flavor improves upon sitting and as good as it is the day it is made, it is even better on the second and third days.

Eggplant Caponata

1 1/2 to 1 3/4 lbs. Eggplant, trimmed and cut in a 1/2-inch dice (about 6 to 7 cups)

2 c. diced (1/4-inch) red onion (300 g.)

1 c. diced (1/4-inch) celery (125 g.)

6 T. (plus more as needed) olive oil

15 oz. vine ripened tomatoes, peeled, seeded and juices reserved

2 fat cloves garlic, peeled and minced

1/4 t. hot pepper flakes

3 T. (30 g.) capers, rinsed

3/4 c. (85 g.) Sicilian green olives, coarsely chopped

1 T. red wine vinegar (more as needed)

1 1/2 to 2 t. honey

Salt & pepper to taste

Chopped Italian Parsley, Mint or Basil to serve

Place the eggplant in a large bowl, season with salt & pepper and drizzle with 3 T. olive oil.  Toss to coat well, adding more oil if necessary.  Spread on a rimmed baking sheet (half sheet pan) that has been sprayed with pan spray.  Make sure the eggplant is in a snug single layer.  Place in a 450° to 475° oven and roast until tender and golden—about 25 to 30 minutes.  Turn the eggplant over—using a pancake turner or other wide spatula—after it has been in the oven about 20 minutes.  Set aside.

Meanwhile, warm the remaining 3 T. of olive oil in a wide sauté pan set over moderate heat.  Add the onion and celery along with a good pinch of salt and cook until tender (the celery will still have texture, but it shouldn't be crunchy) and beginning to caramelize—about 20 to 25 minutes. 

While the vegetables cook, purée the tomatoes (along with their juices) until smooth.   

When the onion and celery are tender and caramelized, add the garlic and pepper flakes and cook until fragrant.  Add the tomato purée, increase the heat, and simmer until the tomato sauce is very thick (it should not be soupy).   Add the olives, capers, vinegar and honey and bring back to a simmer.  

Fold in the roasted eggplant.   Smooth the caponata out into an even layer and let simmer very gently for five minutes or so to allow the flavors to blend (if it seems very dry, drizzle some hot water in around the edges.  Taste, correct the seasoning with salt and the sweet/sour balance with honey and vinegar.

Let cool to room temperature.  Serve as a side...or a spread for crostini...sprinkled with parsley, basil or mint.

Serves 6 as a side dish and 8 to 12 as an appetizer.

Notes:  If you don't have vine ripened tomatoes...or don’t want to peel and seed any...simply whisk a 1 1/2 T. of double concentrated tomato paste into a cup of water and add as you would the tomato purée.

Printable Version

Summer Simplicity

At a lunch with friends recently I was reminded of the beauty and fragility of that oh-so-desirable quality of simplicity.  The restaurant we ate at was by and large a disappointment.  I had looked forward to our visit there with great anticipation because of the buzz surrounding it—a restaurant featuring food touted as nose-to-tail, farm-to-table simple.  Unfortunately the food we were served was for the most part poorly executed...and other items I looked at on the menu seemed a bit ill-conceived—odd combinations of ingredients, too many things on the plate, etc.  All of this reminded me of what Mario calls the elusive nature of simplicity.  His definition of simplicity* is probably the best I have ever read: "pristine ingredients, combined sensibly and cooked properly." It sounds straightforward enough...but in practice it truly is difficult to achieve and to find.  Elusive indeed.  That day, the ingredients on our plates might have been pristine...but as is often the case, the way they had been combined and prepared hid their beauty from us. 

I am happy to say that all of our food was not so disappointing.  Our shared appetizer scored on all points.  It was nothing more than a spare platter of ripe heirloom tomatoes, a scattering of shaved raw summer squash and sweet red onion, some crusty baguette and a few fluffs of microgreens.  The whole platter was seasoned judiciously with crunchy sea salt and freshly ground black pepper and drizzled generously with olive oil and balsamic.  Everything was fresh, at its seasonal peak, combined in a complimentary way, handled minimally and seasoned to advantage—a perfect example of simplicity done right.  It was so good...  I could have licked the plate. 

The good news in all of this is that in the summer, if you shop at a farmers' market or are a member of a CSA, this kind of deliciousness is available to you at home every day.  Even if you just shop at your local grocery store, so many stores are now purchasing at least some of their produce from local sources, you will find that you have access to wonderful, peak of the season ingredients, throughout the growing season in your area.   I have made my own version of that wonderful platter at least three times since for lunch... doing so is just a matter of arranging the ingredients on the plate...and seasoning them well.  For this kind of dish, you don't even need to cook if you don't want to.

Every time I made this dish, I included almost all of the ingredients the restaurant used: beautiful, vine-ripened tomatoes, fresh summer squash, red onions, toasted bread (drizzled with olive oil), coarse salt & pepper, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. For a little extra crunch I added some toasted pine nuts (but they could be left off).  A couple of times—because corn is so delicious with both summer squash and tomatoes—I added a scattering of roasted corn (but raw would be delicious too).  And since each time I was making an entrée (rather than an appetizer), I included a bit of creamy buffalo mozzarella for more substance. 

You probably noticed I didn't mention the microgreens...which I never have...  Instead, I used arugula...for which I have a good local source.  But if you don't, a scattering of torn, fresh basil leaves would be pretty fine in place of the microgreens too.  The arugula is set off to great advantage by lemon, so to finish my platter of summer vegetables, I tossed a small fluff of arugula with a squeeze of lemon and a drizzle of olive oil and placed it on top.

I mentioned it earlier, but I want make sure I emphasize the role of the salt, pepper, balsamic and olive oil in this dish.  Do not skimp on these items.  The salt and the acidity of the vinegar will make the flavors of your pristine ingredients pop.  The vegetables might seem bland and uninteresting without them (one of the failings of the other items we had at the restaurant was lack of salt).  A nice flakey salt (Maldon's...or Fleur de sel...or even a simple, moderately coarse sea salt) will add even more interest since it will add a pleasant crunch.  Coarsely ground pepper will add a bit of spice and heat...and olive oil will add fruity flavor...and needed moisture.

The interplay of the flavors (tangy, nutty, sweet, hot and salty) and the textures (crunchy, crisp, juicy and creamy) of this dish are a delight to the palate and the senses.  It is a totally satisfying...and simple!...dish.  And since our weather has turned steamy and hot this past week, I have found it to be wonderfully refreshing too....just the thing for a light dinner....or a special lunch.

Of course, the idea of this platter—an artful arrangement of a thoughtful combination of peak of the season produce—can be transferred to all kinds of other ingredients.  Today as I was working on this post, when I took my lunch break, I assembled another platter—this one featuring fruit.  With slabs of fragrant, juicy cantaloupe as my foundation, I added blueberries, toasted pecans and chunks of sheep's milk Feta.  I seasoned it with salt, pepper, a generous squeeze of lime and drizzles of honey and olive oil.  Topped with a little olive oil-dressed arugula (a scattering of fresh mint would have been nice instead), it was another delicious example of the magic of summer simplicity—a well-seasoned mix of complimentary flavors and textures that was greater than the sum of its parts. 

* From the introduction to Mario Batali Simple Italian Food: Recipes from My Two Villages

Zucchini Mousseline...with Pan-Seared Halibut and Summer Vegetables...and with Ricotta in a Summer Spread

This coming week I'm teaching a class featuring ways to use corn and zucchini.  As I was considering what recipes to include in the class, I remembered a preparation that we made when I was at The American Restaurant called Zucchini Mousseline.  Made of nothing more than zucchini and olive oil, it was a favorite of mine—used (among other things) as part of a summer vegetarian plate featuring the ingredients of ratatouille and also as a garnish for a fish entrée.  For some reason I hadn't made it—or even thought of it—in years.  I decided a class would be the perfect time to resurrect this dish. 

Of course, the desire to recreate a recipe is not always matched by the ability to do so.  Unfortunately, as the years have passed, I have found that many things I made so often that I would have been able to make them in my sleep have slipped into vague memories.  Notes that passed for recipes at the time are never as complete as I would like.  I console myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in this...I have heard other long time professional cooks complain about the same thing.

In the case of the zucchini mousseline, recreating something similar to that long ago dish was not too much of a stretch.  My notes were better than I had hoped they would be.  Also, the small number of ingredients...and simplicity of the method...were in my favor.  I can't guarantee that the zucchini mousseline that I am presenting here is identical to the one we made at the restaurant...another line cook or chef might remember it in a slightly different way...but I think it is very close.  And happily, it is just as I remember it:  light, creamy, beautifully green and intensely flavored—just the thing to go with fish...or vegetables...or anything else you think might benefit from the presence of a fluffy mousse of zucchini....

The recipe as I have it written down from my restaurant days is as follows:  Wash, top and tail some zucchini.  

Cut into roughly 4-inch lengths (making it more manageable for standing on end).  Stand the lengths on end and slice sections of the skin off, taking as little of the white flesh as possible.  

Cut these slices of into quarter inch batonnets.  

Sweat in olive oil until tender.  

Place in the blender and purée, adding a little more olive oil if it's too dry.  Season with salt and pepper.

If you are wondering, the centers of the squash were simply discarded.  The reason for doing this is twofold.  First...and most importantly...for large zucchini, the seedy core is watery and coarsely grained.  Including it would make for a watery, thin purée (more of a sauce than a "mousse") with a coarser texture and a much less intense flavor.  (There is no added water used to cook the zucchini for the same reason.)  The second reason—and this is minor, in my opinion—is that the cores are white and including them will give a less deeply colored purée. 

I don't like to waste food, so tossing the cores bothers me a bit.  They could probably be grated and added to a zucchini baked good of some kind...but I don't think I would really want to do that since one of the things I like about zucchini breads and cakes is the pretty flecks of green.

Rather than waste so much product, I have specified in my recipe to seek out small squash (less than 200 grams each, if possible).  If you have very small squash (100 grams or less), you will find that the seed cavity is small, with relatively undeveloped seeds.  At this size too, the flesh is still finely grained and dense (which in addition to having less water, makes for a more velvety purée).  Using all of the squash—including the interior—when they are this size makes good sense to me.  For squash weighing more than 100 grams I discard the cores...although for squash between 100 and 200 grams the cavity is not quite so developed and the waste will be small.  For large squash, you will just have to live with a larger amount of loss if you wish to maintain the integrity of the recipe and obtain a purée with nice body and a velvety texture. 

In my recipe, I specify that the cooked squash be puréed using an immersion blender.  At the restaurant we used a traditional blender, but it was a very powerful Vitamix blender.  When I tried to use my blender at home, it was impossible to get the squash to "move" in the blender without adding several tablespoons of water.  If you have a Vitamix...or something similar...you will not have the same difficulty.  I would not use a food processor...since it is more adept at mincing than puréeing, it will not produce satisfactory results.

For my class I will be serving the mousseline as an accompaniment to corn fritters.  We sampled it that way at home...and it was delicious.  Unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures.  I did, however take pictures of a couple of the other ways that we enjoyed it. 

I mixed the leftovers of my first batch with some whole milk ricotta, garlic, lemon and thyme.  Topped with a few toasted walnuts...and a drizzle of olive oil...it made a delicious spread—which I enjoyed for lunch.  I'm confident it would also make a fine mezze or appetizer for your next summer dinner party.

Finally, remembering how delicious the mousseline was with fish at the restaurant, I served it for our dinner one evening with some pan-seared halibut and a medley of roasted corn, zucchini, olives and cherry tomatoes. And I have to say, it was very, very good.  Not only that, it was super simple to prepare.  And considering that almost everything can be prepared ahead, it is a perfect candidate for summer entertaining.  (Although I hope you won't wait for a party to make it!)

Once you have experienced zucchini mousseline, I predict you will come up with all kinds of ways to use it...  As I have in a spread...or with fish—or perhaps with lamb...or as a sauce for pasta.  It is surprisingly full flavored...nutty and rich...truly the essence of zucchini—and a delicious and elegant way to use up some of the bounty of this most prolific member of the summer vegetable garden. 

Zucchini Mousseline

1 lb. small to medium zucchini (preferably no bigger than 6 oz. each)

about 3 T. olive oil

Salt & pepper

If your zucchini are very small (weighing less than 3 1/2 oz. each), simply trim the ends, cut them in half lengthwise and slice them thinly (less than a quarter inch thick) cross-wise.  If they are larger (but hopefully, still smaller than 6 oz. each), trim the ends and cut them in half cross-wise.  Stand these segments of squash on end and slice the green and white flesh away from the seedy center.  Discard the "cores" and cut the trimmed strips thinly (less than a quarter inch thick) cross-wise. 

Slices of larger squash with cores removed next to
slices of small squash with cores intact.

In a wide sauté pan, warm a tablespoon or so of olive oil over medium heat.  Add the squash pieces along with a pinch of salt.  Toss/stir to coat the squash in the oil.  The squash should sizzle gently.  Cook (without allowing the squash to color) until it is tender...the white portion of the squash will become slightly translucent and tinged with green...about 12 to 15 minutes. 

Scrape the contents of the sauté pan into a tall narrow container just wide enough to accommodate an immersion blender.  Use your immersion blender to purée the zucchini.  If it doesn't want to purée smoothly, add  another tablespoon or two of olive oil...and maybe a tablespoon of water, but don't add a lot of water, you are creating a fluffy purée with enough body to mound on a spoon...too much water and you will create a sauce (see note).  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt & pepper.

Makes about 1 cup of mousseline

Notes:

• If you do not wish to discard the seedy cores, you may prepare your mousseline with them, just know that your purée will be thinner (the seedy cores are watery) and a much paler green color. 
• If you are planning on thinning down the mousseline to a sauce consistency, you may cook the zucchini covered (as for a classic étuvée)—simply add the squash to the pan, toss to coat in the oil, cover and reduce the heat to very low. Covering the pan will conserve the water in the squash...making it easier to purée, and resulting in a thinner, less mousse-like consistency. 
• If you wish to make the mousseline into a spread with ricotta cheese, you must cook the squash uncovered and discard the seedy cores. 
• If you have a very powerful blender (like a Vitamix) you may purée the cooked zucchini in the blender. The food processor will yield inferior results, as it will not purée the squash to a fine enough consistency to create a mousse-like texture. 

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Creamy Zucchini & Ricotta Spread

1 c. zucchini mousseline

3/4 c. whole milk ricotta (drained if wet)

Zest of 1 lemon

1/2 to 1 t. lemon juice

1 small clove of garlic, smashed to a purée with a pinch of salt

1/2 t. picked thyme, chopped

Salt & pepper, to taste

Olive oil

Toasted walnuts, coarsely broken

Place the first six ingredients in a bowl and stir until well blended.  Season to taste with salt & pepper...adding more lemon juice, if necessary.

Serve mounded in a bowl, or dolloped onto individual plates, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with walnuts.  Serve crisp toasts or pita chips.

Printable Version

Pan-Seared Halibut with Zucchini Mousseline

& a Summer Medley of Corn, Zucchini, Tomatoes and Olives

1 1/3 c. diced zucchini (1/4- to 1/3-inch dice)

1 T. olive oil, plus more for drizzling and frying the halibut

1 1/3 c. roasted corn kernels (see note)—warm or at room temperature

1 c. cherry tomatoes, quartered

1/3 c. kalamata olives, pitted and halved

1 recipe zucchini mousseline

4 5 oz. portions halibut (skinless)

Salt & Pepper, to taste

1/2 to 1 T. lemon juice, plus more for drizzling

In a skillet large enough to hold the zucchini in a snug single layer, heat a tablespoon of the olive oil. Add the zucchini, a generous pinch of salt and enough water to come half way up the sides of the zucchini.  Cook over moderately high heat, stirring occasionally, until the zucchini is barely tender and the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes; add a bit more water if the zucchini starts to brown.  Transfer to a plate to cool...or, if using right away, simply set the pan aside off of the heat.

About 15 minutes before you are ready to serve, place the zucchini, corn, cherry tomatoes and olives in a large bowl.  If necessary, warm the zucchini mousseline in a small saucepan over low heat, or warm briefly in the microwave.

Heat a large—preferably non-stick (cast iron or French steel is best)—sauté pan over moderately high to high heat.  While the pan is heating, season the fish with salt and pepper.  Add enough olive oil to coat the pan.  The pan is ready when a wisp of smoke is visible rising from the oil.  Carefully add the fish to the pan, service side down (this is the side that was next to the bones..and the side that will face the diner when the fish is served), gently sliding the pan back and forth as you add each piece to make sure the fish has a film of oil underneath.  (If the fish doesn't move when you slide the pan back and forth, just leave it alone, tilting the pan occasionally to allow the oil to seep underneath the fish...as the surface seals, the fish will release itself from the pan.)  Let the fish cook undisturbed, regulating the heat to maintain and active sizzle, until it is golden brown—anywhere from 3 to 5 minutes.  Carefully flip the fish over and continue to cook on the other side until the fish is cooked to your liking.  Because halibut is a very lean fish, I like it to be a bit underdone, with a thin line of translucence in the center...but you should cook it as you prefer.  If the fish is very thick, you may need to transfer the pan to a 375° to 400° oven to allow it to finish cooking.  Total cooking time (from the time the Halibut hits the sauté pan) will be about 7 or 8 minutes per inch of thickness.  Carefully transfer the fish to a plate and drizzle with olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice.

Drizzle a half tablespoon of lemon juice over the vegetables, season with salt and pepper and toss to combine.  If necessary, drizzle with olive oil to moisten.  Taste and correct the seasoning with lemon juice, salt & pepper.

To serve, spread a small round of the mousseline in the center of each plate.   

Top with a couple of spoonfuls of the vegetables, 

then the fish 

and finally another couple of spoonfuls of the vegetables, allowing the vegetables to fall naturally around the plate.

Serve right away.  Serves 4.

Note: To roast corn, place the corn (in the husk) in a preheated 375­° oven.  Roast for 20 minutes.  Remove from the oven and remove the husks as soon as you are able to handle the corn.  Cool and cut the kernels away from the cob.  A large ear of corn will produce about 1 cup of kernels.  I like to roast several ears at a time—then I have it on hand for a quick lunch salad with tomatoes and avocado...or to add to a quick pasta for dinner.

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