Classic Chocolate Mousse

This coming week I will be teaching a class that includes some of what I consider to be the most classic of all French Bistro dishes.  Because they are “classic,” recipes for them can be found everywhere and I didn’t think I would ever be posting any of them here.  But after working on the recipes a bit, I have found that I like the versions I am teaching so much that I will probably…eventually…share them all.  Since I usually think about dessert first, I thought I would start with the chocolate mousse.

What could be more classic than Bittersweet Chocolate Mousse?  If a random sample of people were asked to name a few classic French desserts, chocolate mousse would probably be on every list.  Most of my French cookbooks include recipes for it—and all of the books that focus on French “bistro-style” food include a recipe.

And the recipes are all fairly similar.  Classic French chocolate mousse always begins by melting dark chocolate with butter (some recipes add water and/or strong coffee at this point too).  Egg yolks (sometimes with sugar whipped in) are added to the tepid chocolate mixture.  And finally, the chocolate-yolk base is given its loft (or “mousse-y” quality) with whipped egg whites.  Frequently whipped cream is folded in as well. 

Some recipes use loads of butter.  Julia Child’s recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking uses as much butter as chocolate.  Joel Robuchon’s recipe recorded by Patricia Wells in Simply French only uses a very small amount.  Most recipes are somewhere in the middle of these two.

Similarly, the amount of whipping cream can vary quite a bit.  Some (Julia’s, for example) use no whipped cream—getting all of the loft from eggs.  And some use a fair amount.  (Thomas Keller’s recipe in Bouchon and Deb Perleman’s are good examples of this.)

Besides the chocolate, the main thing that is consistent from recipe to recipe is the eggs.  There are probably fluffy chocolate dessert recipes out there…some even calling themselves “mousse”…that don’t include any eggs, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that if a recipe doesn’t include eggs, it isn’t really chocolate mousse.  

Furthermore, classically the eggs are used (and eventually served) raw.  In our era of an egg supply that has become contaminated with salmonella bacteria, using eggs in this way may seem shocking, dangerous and even gross (although, I find that people aren’t nearly as bothered by the thought of eating raw eggs if the vehicle is cookie dough…).  I understand the fear—and as a food professional I am particularly careful about serving foods that include raw eggs.  For myself, when consuming raw eggs I make sure that I am using not only best quality farm fresh eggs, but eggs that are from a supplier that I know or have met (or that someone I trust has met).  You must feel confident that your eggs have come from a clean, well-run, well-maintained farm/operation.   And even if the eggs meet all these criteria…I would never serve them raw to someone who is very young, very old, pregnant or immune compromised. 

To get around serving raw eggs, you can use pasteurized eggs.  Pasteurized eggs have been heat treated so that they are completely safe.  Unfortunately, I find them difficult to use.  The heating of the eggs for pasteurization initiates the denaturing process that occurs as eggs cook.  This makes the yolks and whites much more difficult to separate—and you must separate them completely (no yolks can remain with the whites) in order to whip the whites.  Furthermore, both the yolks and whites of pasteurized eggs take much longer to whip.  The images on this post were taken when I made the mousse with pasteurized eggs (you might notice the pasteurization stamp on a couple of the eggs) and if I hadn’t known from reading about them that the whites of pasteurized eggs would indeed eventually whip, I would have quit, thrown everything out and started over with farm fresh eggs.

Some modern recipes for mousse get around the raw egg issue by “cooking” the egg yolks and/or egg whites with a hot sugar syrup. When applied to the yolks, the resulting egg yolk-sugar syrup foam is called a pâte à bombe. When applied to the whites, you have an Italian meringue. Some recipes use both a pâte à bombe and an Italian meringue…others use just the pâte à bombe in the base of the mousse and get the final loft from whipped cream alone. If you are interested in the pâte à bombe technique, I used it in a Bing cherry semifreddo a few years ago and Joe Pastry has a good explanation of it on his site (and he also has a chocolate mousse that uses it). I think though that most home cooks will find the process cumbersome. Pâte à bombe is difficult to make in small quantities (when I made it for my semifreddo, I called for almost twice as many yolks as you need for the mousse recipe).

The mousse recipe that I ended up with for my class is an adaptation of Joel Robuchon’s recipe.  It appeals to me for all kinds of reasons.  For one, it is deeply chocolate-y...and not too sweet or too rich.  But mostly, I love the final texture of this mousse.  Some chocolate mousses can be quite firm and almost sticky when they are cold (and this isn’t a bad thing—some people love that stiff and sticky texture).  When cold, this particular mousse is still quite soft…yet still holds a beautiful shape.  (I assume the soft texture is due to the lower quantity of butter when compared to other recipes.)

Chocolate mousse has a reputation for being difficult to make…and I can’t quite figure out why this might be.  Other than the fact that you have to be prepared to use several bowls, it is a very straightforward thing to make…and uses ingredients that many people will already have on hand.  Perhaps the perceived difficulty is the whipping of the egg whites (and cream) and the final folding process.




If these are the things that make you pause, I can assure you that they aren’t difficult to do.  If  you err on the side of slightly under whipping your whites and cream (rather than over whipping) you will be in good shape.  (If you are totally new to whipping whites and folding them into another mixture, I explained both techniques in detail on my angel food cake post.)

I love to serve this mousse in little pot de crème cups…or pretty cut glass sherbets…  But if you want to serve this to your family and friends the way you would most likely enjoy it in a traditional French Bistro, pile the mousse into a serving bowl and pass it at the table accompanied by a big spoon so that everyone can help themselves to as much as they want.  And while you could  serve it with a dollop of whipped cream…or a little vanilla custard sauce…I find that these things interfere with the pure chocolate experience of the mousse (which is what chocolate mousse is all about when you come right down to it...).  A few chocolate shavings scattered over the surface is the perfect finishing touch…. with maybe a few crisp shortbread cookies on the side for a little contrasting crunch… 

Bittersweet Chocolate Mousse

Mousse au Chocolat Amer

5 oz. bittersweet (60 to 64%) chocolate, chopped

2 T. butter, cut into pieces

2 T. espresso or hot water

1/4 c. heavy whipping cream, chilled

4 large eggs (best quality farm fresh or pasteurized—see notes), separated

4 T. vanilla sugar, divided (see notes)

Place the chocolate, butter and espresso in a large heat proof bowl and set the bowl over barely simmering water.  Stir frequently until the chocolate and butter are mostly melted.  Remove from heat, continuing to stir occasionally until completely smooth.  Let cool until the chocolate is just slightly warmer than body temperature.

While the chocolate cools, place the cream in a small bowl and whip until softly mounding.  Chill until ready to finish the mousse.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, whisk the egg yolks with a tablespoon of the sugar until thick and lightened in color (the mixture should be pale yellow). 

Whisk this mixture into the tepid chocolate.

Fold the whipped cream into the chocolate mixture and set aside while you whip the whites. 

Whip the whites in a stand mixer with the whisk attachment (or by hand with a wire whisk) until they begin to hold a shape.  Sprinkle in the remaining sugar and continue to whisk/whip until the whites form soft peaks.  

Whisk a third of the whites into the chocolate mixture.   

Gently fold the remaining whites into the lightened chocolate mixture until no white streaks remain. 

Spoon or pipe the mousse into a one quart serving bowl or individual dessert dishes.  

Refrigerate for at least an hour…four or more hours is optimal (the mousse may be safely stored for 24 hours)…before serving.  Garnish with shaved chocolate.  Serves 6 to 8. 

Notes: 

• If you don’t have vanilla sugar, plain granulated will be fine.  Add a half teaspoon of vanilla to the yolks.  You can make your own vanilla sugar.  Whenever you use a vanilla bean, rinse it well and then allow it to dry (it will become hard and crunchy).  Place the dried vanilla pod(s) in the food processor with some sugar and cover the machine with a damp towel.  Process until the bean is finely ground.  Let the sugar “dust” settle for a moment before removing the towel and the lid.  You will have superfine vanilla sugar when done.  Sift the finished vanilla sugar and discard any large bits of vanilla pod remaining in the sifter.  I have never measured the sugar when I do this…but I probably use about a quarter to a third cup of sugar for each used vanilla bean.
• If you are serving this to someone very young, very old, pregnant or immune compromised, you may use pasteurized eggs.  I have made the recipe with both farm fresh and pasteurized eggs and I vastly prefer the mousse with farm fresh.  Pasteurized eggs are difficult to separate without breaking the yolks and because the pasteurization is accomplished by raising the eggs to a safe temperature, they have been lightly cooked. This makes them resistant to whipping.  The yolks will eventually become “thick and lightened in color” and the whites will eventually “form soft peaks”—of a sort—but neither will achieve the loft and shape of fresh eggs.  And be warned…it takes a long time to get them to whip (much longer than fresh eggs)…you will definitely need an electric mixer if you use pasteurized eggs.
• If you only have one set of beaters or one whisk attachment for your mixer, make sure that you wash it and dry it thoroughly between each step.  The whites in particular will not whip if there is any fat from the cream or eggs that gets into the bowl with the whites. 

(Recipe adapted from Simply French by Patricia Wells)

Printable Version

Creamy Parsnip Soup with Walnut-Sage Pesto

I don’t think I tasted a parsnip until I was well into adulthood.  This is not to say I would have tasted them (or liked them) had I been served some when I was a child (as I have mentioned many times, I was an extremely picky eater).  For some reason they just never crossed my path.  I think that many Americans would tell a similar story…and that almost as many American adults would say they had still not tasted them.   

Even if I didn’t know of this lack of exposure from my cooking classes, the sad, wax-covered (an attempt to preserve moisture for an overly long stay in the produce aisle) parsnips available in many grocery stores would tell the tale.  But, if the reaction of the people who have attended my classes is any indication, most people will like them when given the chance.   If you have never sampled a parsnip…or if you have only had the old, tired, waxed ones...the parsnip soup I am posting today would be a great starting place to experience just how delicious a parsnip can be.

It is a surprise to me that parsnips aren’t more widely served on American tables.  One of the unfortunate things about our national palate is that Americans gravitate towards sweet flavors…even in savory dishes.  This proclivity should work in the favor of parsnips…they are quite sweet.  So sweet in fact that I find they need a bit of tempering from complimentary flavors.  They go beautifully with pungent turnips and rutabagas (roasted together…baked in a gratin…folded into a purée…).  And they are fantastic with the slightly bitter and musty flavor of the walnut and sage garnish for this soup.

The recipe for this soup is from Alice Waters’ book The Art of Simple Food II.  As is almost always the case, the balance of flavors in her recipe is just about perfect.  I have changed it in only one respect:  Waters serves it as a chunky vegetable soup.  I like to purée it (suggested as a variation in the original recipe).  Parsnips purée into an incredibly velvety soup—and the drizzle of the coarse walnut-sage pesto is beautiful against the off white color of the soup. 

Furthermore, because parsnips aren’t the most popular vegetables on the produce aisle, sometimes the ones I have access to (even though they haven’t been waxed) have hard cores that resist cooking—even after the exterior has been completely broken down by the cooking process.  Puréeing the soup…and then quickly straining it…is a great way to deal with any unyielding, fibrous bits. 

To get good parsnips, go to a grocery store that has a reputation for carrying local produce…or one that sells an abundant variety.  Whole Foods, for example, almost always has them during the cooler months.  If you have a winter farmers' market in your area, one of the growers will probably have them.  As with most fresh vegetables, choose specimens that are heavy for their size (this means they will still be full of moisture) and as unblemished as possible.  And, if it isn’t already clear from my comments, avoid the ones in the grocery story that have been waxed.  You will be disappointed and possibly even disinclined to give them a second chance…which would be a shame. 

On a final technical note, when you make this soup, use the amounts of liquid given in the recipe as a guideline.  As with all puréed soups, err on the side of too little liquid while the soup is cooking (if you have too much, the soup might be too thin after puréeing).  Add just enough liquid so that the vegetables are moving freely and a bit loosely in the stock/water.  You can always add more (and the recipe indicates that you probably will) when you actually purée the soup.  While puréeing, add just enough liquid (water or stock) to allow the soup to move freely in the blender.  After you add the cream, adjust the thickness again (with water or stock).  I mention all of this because it is impossible to give an exactly correct amount of liquid in a recipe.  I have no way of knowing how much liquid will evaporate during the cooking process (you may cook at a higher or lower level of heat…your pot may be wider or narrower than mine…etc.).  Also, we may have different ideas of what constitutes a nice texture. In my opinion, a puréed soup should be on the thin side… Sippable, with a viscosity that is just slightly thicker than heavy cream, is just about perfect.

Cream of Parsnip Soup with Sage & Walnuts

3 to 4 T. unsalted butter

4 large shallots (about 5 to 6 oz.), sliced

1 large leek—white & pale green parts only—trimmed, halved lengthwise, sliced (to obtain 1 to 1 1/4 cups) and rinsed well in several changes of water

1 sage sprig

Salt

1 1/2 lbs. parsnips, trimmed, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch half moons

4 cups chicken (or vegetable) stock

3 1/2 T. olive oil, divided—plus more as desired

12 to 15 sage leaves

1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and chopped medium fine

Salt & pepper

1 large or 2 small cloves of garlic

Water as needed (about 2 cups)

2/3 cup heavy cream

Mise en place tray for class...

In a heavy soup pot set over medium heat, melt 3 T. of the butter.  Add the shallots and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft and translucent—about 10 minutes.  Add the leeks, the sprig of sage and a good pinch of salt.  If the pan seems dry, add the remaining tablespoon of butter.  Continue to cook until the leeks begin to collapse—about 4 to 5 minutes.  Add the parsnips and cook, stirring occasionally, until the parsnips have begun to soften on the surfaces—about 5 to 7 minutes.  

Pour in the stock.  Raise the heat, bring to a boil, then immediately reduce the heat to a simmer and cook until the parsnips are tender—about 12 to 15 minutes. 

While the soup cooks, heat 1 1/2 tablespoons of olive oil in a small sauté pan.  Add the sage leaves and cook until they have crisped and turned translucent.  

Remove the pan from the heat and add the walnuts and stir to coat.  

Season with salt and pepper.  Place the garlic in a mortar and pestle and pound until smooth.  Pound in a pinch of salt.  Pour in the sage and walnut mixture, along with another 2 tablespoons of oil.  Pound lightly.  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt.  Add more olive oil to achieve a consistency that pleases you.  Set aside while you purée the soup. 

When the parsnips are tender, remove the sage sprig.  Purée the soup.  If the soup is too thick to move freely in the blender, add a bit of water.  Strain the soup into a clean pot; add the cream and heat through, adding more water if the soup is too thick.  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt.  Serve with a spoonful of the sage and walnuts drizzled and dolloped over the surface of the soup. 

Makes a scant 2 quarts soup.

(Recipe adapted from The Art of Simple Food II by Alice Waters) 

Printable Recipe

Leek & Prosciutto Risotto with Sautéed Oyster Mushrooms

In my previous risotto posts I have made a point of discussing how to achieve differences in flavor and texture by how and when you choose to add the vegetable garnish (cooked vs. raw…at the beginning, middle or end…).  But stirring a vegetable into a risotto isn’t the only way to alter the way in which the dish is perceived.  Just as you can serve risotto topped with a portion of cooked meat or fish, you can also serve a risotto with an attractive portion of a cooked vegetable—making it so that one vegetable becomes the star of the show, rather than just one of many supporting players.

I bring all of this up for a couple of reasons.  The first is that sometimes I like to eat risotto all by itself.  It makes a wonderful starchy side dish…but it is special enough on its own that sometimes that’s how I want to enjoy it: either as a first course for a formal dinner…or as the entrée for a simple and informal supper.  In each of these cases, I always do everything I can to make my bowl of risotto look like something other than a mound of hot breakfast cereal.  I adorn it with a sprig of herbs…some nicely shaved Parmesan…or some other small garnish.  And this approach is just fine, but sometimes you want something more.  Topping the finished risotto with a separately cooked—and attractively arranged—complimentary vegetable is a great way to get that ‘something more.’

I have to admit though that sometimes creating a beautiful plate isn’t at the top of my list for a weeknight meal (neatly and cleanly plated is usually more than sufficient) and I am much more likely to go to this extra step for a client’s dinner.  However, sometimes at my own table find that I have a special and beautiful vegetable that I want to highlight a bit…so it doesn’t get lost in the crowd.  Examples include a few spears of fresh asparagus, just picked from a friend’s field…local fava beans (a rarity indeed in my region)…morel mushrooms that are so expensive I can only justify purchasing a few…etc.  This is a great time to make a risotto with complimentary flavors to act as a bed/background for your perfectly cooked, special item…which then gets perched right on top for all to see.

I used this approach recently to highlight the beautiful oyster mushrooms that a new purveyor has been bringing to the winter farmer’s market.  I used to consider oyster mushrooms a run-of-the-mill grocery store item.  Sadly they have disappeared from my local stores.  Since they are a favorite of mine I was excited when I found out that they would be coming to my farmers’ market…and even more excited when I saw the wide variety on display: Blue oyster, Pearl oyster, Elm oyster, etc.  This winter I have enjoyed these mushrooms in pastas…and on pizzas…and recently on top of this leek and prosciutto risotto.

I made this risotto just because I wanted to show off these wonderful mushrooms.  I could of course have just stirred them into the risotto—and it would have been delicious.  But it wouldn’t have been nearly as beautiful—or as much of a celebration of this wonderful ingredient.

If you are new to risottos…or sautéing mushrooms…before you begin check out some of my previous posts on how to make risotto (where I go into the details of the process and the goal) and on how to sauté mushrooms.  And if you don’t have access to oyster mushrooms, this dish will still be delicious with whatever mushrooms you are able to find—the sweet leeks and salty prosciutto are a wonderful backdrop for the savory mushrooms.

Finally, speaking of “topping” risotto with something special, if you have never formed some leftover risotto into a little cake, fried it in butter, 

and topped it with a softly cooked egg (poached or fried), you are missing out.  Make sure that you make some extra risotto, just so you can have this glorious concoction for lunch the next day.   After tasting it, you will probably find yourself making extra risotto on purpose..

Leek & Prosciutto Risotto with Sautéed Oyster Mushrooms

2 to 3 large leeks, white and pale green parts only

3 T. unsalted butter

1 large or 2 small shallots (about 2 to 3 oz.), finely diced

2 t. minced thyme (optional)

1 1/2 c. Arborio or Carnaroli rice

1/2 to 2/3 c. dry white wine

About 6 c. hot chicken stock

3 oz. thinly sliced prosciutto (about 6 slices), cut crosswise in 1/4-inch strips

2 T. butter

1/2  to 2/3 c. finely grated Parmesan

Salt & Pepper, to taste

8 to 10 oz. (trimmed of tough portions of the stems and weighed after trimming) oyster mushrooms, larger ones torn in half (see note)

Olive oil

2 T. butter

1 1/2 to 2 T. minced Italian flat leaf parsley

Prepare the leeks: Trim away the root and the dark green portion of the leeks.  Cut the white and pale green portion in half lengthwise.  Slice each half thinly crosswise (about 1/4-inch thick).  You should have 3 1/2 to 4 cups of leeks.  Rinse the leeks well in several changes of water to make sure that they are entirely free of soil and sand.

Heat the butter in a heavy medium saucepan (preferably one that is wider than it is deep) over medium heat.  Add the leeks along with the shallots and thyme and sweat until the leeks have wilted and the shallots are soft—about 10 to 15 minutes.  Add another tablespoon of butter if the leeks seem dry as they cook. 

Add the rice and continue to cook for a minute or two until the rice is well coated with the butter and is sizzling a bit.  Add the wine and cook until the pan is nearly dry.  Begin to add the stock.  Add enough so that the stock is at the same level as the rice in the pan—the rice should move freely, but not be ‘swimming’ in the liquid.  Adjust the heat so that the rice cooks at a slow simmer.  Stir occasionally and regularly (this will enhance the creaminess of the final risotto.) When the pan is nearly dry, add more stock and season lightly with salt & pepper.  Continue to stir and cook the rice, adding more stock and seasoning lightly as each addition is absorbed. 

While the risotto cooks, sauté the mushrooms:  As always, when sautéing mushrooms, do not over-crowd the pan.  If necessary, sauté in batches.  Heat a non-stick sauté pan over high heat.  Add a thin film of oil to the pan.  You should see a wisp of smoke if the pan is hot enough.  Add the butter and the mushrooms. Cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the mushrooms are browned, tender and any liquid that they have given off has evaporated.  Season with salt and pepper.  If sautéing in batches, transfer the mushrooms to a plate and repeat with the next batch.  When all of the mushrooms have been sautéed, return all of the mushroom to the pan and heat through.  Add a splash of the stock to the pan (or use water or white wine if you have used all of the stock for the risotto) and allow it to reduce around the mushrooms.  Toss in the parsley.  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper.  Set aside until the risotto is done.  Reheat briefly if necessary before serving.

When the rice is al dente—about 18 to 20 minutes from the first addition of stock, stir in the prosciutto.  Remove from the heat and stir in the butter, cheese and parsley….and adding more stock as necessary to achieve a fluid consistency. 

Taste and correct the seasoning and serve immediately topped with the wild mushrooms.  Serves 4 as an entrée

Notes:  

• If you are unable to find oyster mushrooms, any favorite mushroom (crimini, white button, shiitake, chanterelles, etc.) will work.   For mushrooms other than oysters, trim and slice 1/4-inch thick before sautéing.
• Pack the left over risotto into an oiled dish, spreading about 3/4-inch thick.  Let cool and then cover with plastic wrap and store in the fridge.  Fry the cold risotto in a cast iron (or other nonstick skillet):  melt some butter over moderate heat.  Cut a portion of the cold risotto and carefully lift it out of dish with a wide spatula.  Place it in the sizzling butter with the top side down.  The top will be dryer than the bottom (which will be a bit gooey) and will be less likely to stick or fall apart.  When the first side is golden brown and crispy, carefully flip the cake and brown the second side.  Serve topped with a poached or fried egg.

Printable Version

Winter Salad of Mâche, Belgian Endive, Apple, Walnuts & Roquefort

At the first farmers’ market of the new year, one of the growers brought mâche…a beautiful and delicious lettuce that has at times and by some been considered a weed (because of its tendency to spring up in the fields where corn and other cereal crops are grown).  As with most things food, the French know better and have been eating it for a long time.  Patricia Wells tells us in her book At Home in Provence that it was shepherds who first brought it to the table—having observed their flocks nibbling on a patch with gusto and having decided to give it a try.   Two of the other names for mâche reveal these interesting bits of lore:  corn salad and lamb’s lettuce.  By whatever name you know it, if you have tasted it, you probably think it is delicious—slightly nutty, with a soft, buttery texture. 

 As I think about it, I am surprised this is the first time I have noticed it at the farmers’ market—I assume anything that could be construed as a weed would not be too difficult to grow.  It is of course possible that I have just missed it.  Mâche is a cold/cool weather crop and this is the first year that I have regularly patronized a winter market. 

When I saw it, even though I didn’t really know what I was going to do with it, I grabbed a box.   I love mâche…and this was a pristinely lovely example of it.  It is true that I occasionally see a box of Organic Girl mâche at the grocery store.  But it is not regularly available.  And while it is generally a good product, as with most things, it can’t really compare to what a local grower can provide.  Whereas the mass produced stuff can be flimsy and succumb to decay fairly rapidly, the rosettes I purchased had a substance and life that kept them in fine condition for more than a week (stored air-tight, with a barely damp paper towel)…  Plenty of time to decide how I was going to best enjoy it.

In the end it was a salad in Patricia Wells' aforementioned book that provided my inspiration.  I was thinking about the mâche…and what I was going to make with it…one evening while I was shopping.  In my mind’s eye I saw a picture from her book.  It included mâche rosettes, along with the classic trio of Belgian endive, walnuts, and Roquefort.  I had everything but the cheese, so I grabbed a wedge.

When I finally made my salad, I decided it needed a bit of apple, so I diced up a Pink Lady and added it along with everything else.  Pink Ladies are my favorite snacking apple…and thus something I always have on hand…but Honeycrisps would be equally good.   The crisp, juicy, sweet-tart apple was the perfect touch.  Patricia Wells uses a cream based dressing for her salad, but I chose to use a tangy mustard vinaigrette that I already had on hand (you may have it too, if you have made the other apple and endive salad I posted a month ago…).

If you have never tasted mâche, I hope you will seek it out.  If you are unable to find it, I think this salad would be delicious with arugula instead.  Many people suggest substituting watercress for mâche.  But I think the nutty character of arugula is more in keeping with the flavor profile of mâche.  Watercress can be quite peppery—and I don’t find mâche to be peppery at all (slightly bitter, perhaps…but not peppery).   That said…watercress would probably be delicious in this salad…different…but delicious.  To be honest though, I hope you won’t have to find a substitute.  I hope that a grower at your market has some exceptionally beautiful mâche…so that you will have the chance to experience this delightful little green at its best.

Salad of Mâche, Belgian Endive, Apple, Walnuts & Roquefort

For the vinaigrette:
2 T. Champagne vinegar
1 small shallot, peeled and finely minced (1 1/2 to 2 T.)
1/4 t. salt, or to taste
1 t. Dijon mustard
6 T. extra-virgin olive oil

For the salad:

3 1/2 to 4 oz. mâche rosettes, washed and spun dry

1 large (7 to 8 oz.) apple—choose something juicy, crisp and sweet-tart (like a Pink Lady or Honey Crisp)

2 heads Belgian Endive (about 8 oz.)

1 c. (4 oz.) walnuts, lightly toasted and coarsely broken

4 oz. Roquefort

Make the vinaigrette:  Place the vinegar in a small bowl with the shallots and salt.  Set aside for five minutes or so to let the shallots soften a bit. Add the mustard and whisk until smooth. While whisking constantly, add the olive oil in a thin stream to form a slightly thickened, emulsified dressing.  Taste and correct the seasoning with salt.  Set aside. (You will have more vinaigrette than you need for this salad--but it keeps well and it is a nice all purpose vinaigrette.)

From top and moving clockwise:  an intact rosette....
a rosette flipped over to show the root/core....bits of the trimmed
root/core....trimmed leaves

To make the salad, trim the root ends of the mâche rosettes.  It is ok to leave the rosettes intact, as long as there is no root attached.  You may also trim them in such a way that the leaves are all separate.  I like to trim it so that the larger leaves are separate and a few small rosettes remain. 

Wash the apple. Halve lengthwise and remove the core.  Cut each half into a neat quarter inch dice. 

Remove any bruised outer leaves of the endive and discard.  Halve the endive and remove the cores (by cutting a "v" shape around the core on each half with the tip of a paring knife).  Place each half face down on a cutting board and slice 1/4-inch thick on a short diagonal. 

Place the mâche, apples, endive and walnuts in a large bowl.   Crumble in the Roquefort.  Drizzle with some of the vinaigrette and season well with salt and pepper.  Carefully toss so that all of the ingredients are thoroughly coated with the vinaigrette.  Add more vinaigrette as needed.  Taste and correct the seasoning.  If the salad seems well-seasoned and well-dressed, but still tastes a bit flat, give it a squeeze of lemon and toss again.  Mound the salad on a platter or divide among individual salad plates.  Serves 4 to 6.

Note:  The mâche and walnuts may be prepared ahead.  The apples and endive must be cut right before serving as they will both oxidize after being cut.  

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