Dinner Chez Moi

Secret #1

A decent bottle of olive oil: Not a single day goes by that I don't reach for my bottle of olive oil—for salad dressing, roasting vegetables, making pasta sauce, browning meat, even baking. A tablespoon of olive oil is the single best way I've found to get friendly with green vegetables—it elevates them from merely virtuous to outright delicious. I know good olive oil can be expensive in the States. In Provence, we are spoiled; it's basically the same price as bottled water. Although olive oil tends to be associated with Italy, the Spanish section of your local supermarket is also a good place to look.

Secret #2

Coarse sea salt: Salt is a culinary enlivener—it makes other ingredients taste just a bit more like themselves. But salt requires control, something I've never achieved with a grinder or shaker. I keep my salt in a covered container handy to the stove, so I can take a pinch whenever I need it. If coarse sea salt seems an unnecessary extravagance, think again. The French would tell you that little things make a big difference. And why buy something that is more refined than necessary? Highly processed table salts with iodine and anticaking agents fulfill a function but have no taste. Sea-salt crystals have a very specific terroir, as individual as the mineral content of the body of water they come from. They are also beautiful—like topping your food with a scattering of tiny diamonds. Attention! You will notice that almost all the recipes in this book (even the baked goods) specify coarse sea salt. You can use kosher salt in a pinch, but please do not substitute the same amount of regular table salt (or fine sea salt). Because of the fine grain, one teaspoon of table salt actually contains more salt than a whole tablespoon of coarse sea salt!

Secret #3

A bottle of sherry vinegar or red wine vinegar: I considered calling this book French Women Don't Buy Salad Dressing. The way the French make salad dressing says a lot about their culinary philosophy in general: fine ingredients, simply combined.

All you really need to make perfect salad dressing are your first three pantry ingredients: olive oil, sea salt, and vinegar. Most French people I know mix them right in the bottom of the salad bowl and gently toss the leaves on top. This method has lots of advantages. When you mix from the bottom, you rarely drown your greens. Just toss until the salad is very lightly coated; any extra will remain at the bottom, so you might get one soggy leaf but not a whole soggy bowl. You can add a dab of Dijon or whole-grain mustard and a clove of crushed garlic if you like, but stay away from honey and other sweet ingredients—the French don't want to eat dessert on their salad.

I prefer sherry vinegar to plain red wine vinegar; it's just a bit more robust. I do have balsamic vinegar in my cabinet, but I find it too sweet and heavy for traditional French vinaigrette; I keep it around for tomatoes with mozzarella in the summer. In addition to dressing salads, vinegar will help you make a great pan sauce with fruit (duck with blackberries, anyone?), give zing to grilled sardines, and add a sweet-sour kick to honey-braised cabbage.

"Pardon me. Would you have any Grey Poupon?" the ad used to say. Why, yes, I certainly do. Dijon mustard is the only condiment you will see regularly on a French bistro table. Ketchup is for tourists. Dab Dijon on steak and sausage, add it sparingly to your now-perfect French vinaigrette, or mix a little with crème fraîche for braised leeks. My mother-in-law taught me to smear a little on the bottom of the tart crust when making a quiche.

I won't pretend this is a recipe, but if you want a wonderful side dish for chicken: Cut 3 leeks (white and light green parts only) into ½-inch rounds. Boil for 1 minute; drain. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the leeks, a sprinkle of salt, and a good grind of black pepper and sauté for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Just before serving, add a teaspoon of Dijon mustard and a tablespoon of crème fraîche or sour cream. Yum.

Secret #4

Wine: With the amount of wine in my cooking, I should be drunk off the fumes. I'm a cheap date; I probably use more wine in my recipes every week than I drink in a month. Red, white, rosé—wine is plentiful and cheap in France, so it shows up at pretty much every meal. It is my base liquid for stews and braises, makes wonderful syrup for poached pears, and completes a quick pasta sauce with garlic and tomatoes. In the summertime, there always seems to be a bottle open from some early-evening apéro (wine that's a few days old and a bit off for drinking is fine for cooking). In the winter I often buy cheap boxes of white and red wine, the kind with the spigot that lasts for weeks. Handy for poaching plums, making pot roast, and oven-roasting fish.