The fresh kind most recipes prefer are available in good greengrocers in midsummer, but if not, Olney recommends the dried sort, even if they “never have the finesse of fresh”. Gui Gedda and Marie-Pierre Moine’s soupe au pistou has a powerfully salty, smoky flavour. The beansĪlthough Geraldene Holt’s French Country Kitchen informs me that “some 19th-century cookbooks omit them altogether”, I’m inclined to agree with Gui Gedda and Marie-Pierre Moine that beans are a must: indeed, the pair explain in their book Provence Cookery School that “this rustic soup owes its body and substance to haricot beans”. Though this is a summer dish, it’s perfectly possible to make it in winter, too: Roux suggests using “more root and seasonal vegetables, such as celeriac, jerusalem artichokes, kale etc” instead.
Whatever vegetables you go for, take a tip from chef Alex Jackson’s new book Sardine, and make sure everything, with the exception of delicate leaves, is soft before you add the liquid: “If you don’t cook the vegetables for long enough at this stage,” he writes, “the soup will lack body and the vegetables will retain an unwanted crunch.” Médecin’s courgettes and tomatoes seem a pleasingly summery combination at this time of year, the latter gifting the broth just a hint of acidity, rather than taking centre stage, while carrot adds sweetness, and runner beans a pleasantly robust texture. I conclude that all are happy additions – though the chard tops, in particular, do have a tendency to look rather unappetising after so long in the pan, so I’d stick them in with the pasta, if they’re what floats your boat. Luckily, so does my local greengrocer, along with peas, potatoes, carrots, turnips, leeks, celery, green and runner beans and swiss chard. I try squash – according to Richard Olney, the shops in Provence “carry a number of large, tough-skinned yellow, orange or red-fleshed squashes, all sold in slices or wedges for use in soap au pistou”. That said, Roux also refers to it as a minestrone au pistou – but then he is from Saône-et-Loire, which is a long way from Nice). ( Michel Roux, however, prefers peas and broad beans to haricot, for reasons best known to himself. Jacques Médecin, the colourful (to put it politely) former mayor of Nice, a convicted criminal and defender of apartheid, courts rather less controversy with the claim in his more palatable cookbook, Cuisine Niçoise, that “there are three absolute musts: tomatoes, courgettes and fresh haricot beans”. Perfect soupe au pistou à la Jacques Médecin, comes with a side of controversy thanks to the former mayor of Nice’s colourful reputation. Indeed, Root reports that his cook, who hails from Fréjus and “makes the best pistou I have ever tasted”, says that “it does not matter what vegetables you put in pistou, as long as there are plenty of them”. Unusually, perhaps, given that this is a vegetable soup, many recipes are fairly laissez-faire when it comes to what to use – provided, as Craig makes clear, “they’re harvested at their optimum sweetness”. And, frankly, I couldn’t put it better myself. In her forthcoming book Provence (Octopus), my friend Caroline Craig describes soupe au pistou, her great aunt Edmée’s department at home, as “a celebration and symphony of summer vegetables”. Properly speaking, pistou is the sauce that goes with the soup – closely related, as we shall see, to the more familiar pesto, but with its very own complement of controversies to navigate. Much like the Italian minestrone, but with its own Gallic peculiarities, it’s the perfect way to showcase the season’s freshest produce. Perhaps it was a whisker too early for the fresh beans required, perhaps the dish was just too rustic for the restaurants of the Côte d’Azur, but it made me sad, because, as the American gourmand Waverley Root observed, it’s one of the finest soups known to man. I didn’t get to eat any soupe au pistou while cycling from Marseille to Nice last spring, while researching my new book, One More Croissant For The Road, which is published next week.
0 kommentar(er)
