French Provincial Cooking (43 page)

When the sauce is ready, poach 4 eggs. While they are cooking, pour a little of the hot sauce into each of 4 little china egg ramekins. Put an egg on top; cover each completely with more sauce, to fill the ramekins. Sprinkle lightly with breadcrumbs. Put under a hot grill for about half a minute and serve immediately, bubbling hot.

Poach your eggs in the liquor saved from
moules marinière
. Put a slice of fried bread in each buttered egg dish, put the poached eggs, one or two to each dish, on the bread, cover them with hot cream, then with grated Gruyère. Cook in a hot oven for about 3 minutes, so that the cheese, which protects the yolks of the eggs from the heat, melts without the eggs hardening.

This delicious recipe is by the famous dressmaker, Paul Poiret, from his book,
En Habillant l’Époque
.

This is just one version of a dish once popular throughout France; it is made when there is some sort of rich juice or wine-flavoured sauce left from a
bœuf mode
, a
daube
or the Médocain recipe described on page 385.

Poached eggs are arranged on slices of bread fried in butter, olive oil or pork fat. The juice or gravy is simmered until it is reduced a little then poured round the eggs. It is an excellent dish and the same system can be used for
œufs sur le plat
, the juice being poured round the eggs when they have set.

Eggs
en cocotte
are a cross between a poached egg and an egg
sur le plat.
They are cooked and presented in little round or oval china ramekins or
cocottes,
each large enough to hold one egg. They may be cooked on top of the stove or in the oven. On the whole, the former is the easier way. You place your little
cocottes
in water in a heavy frying-pan or sauté pan, and put a little knob of butter in each. When the water boils and the butter is melted, you slide a very fresh egg into each
cocotte
, cover the pan and cook 3 to 4 minutes. The yolks of eggs
en cocotte
should be quite soft and the whites well set.

In a London hotel where a good deal of fuss is made about the food, I once ordered eggs
en cocotte
. When they arrived, after a long wait, they were as hard as rocks. My host called for the
maître-d’hôtel
and irritably observed that a chisel rather than a spoon would have been the right implement with which to eat them. ‘How were they cooked?’ I asked the
maître-d’hôtel
. ‘Oh, it is rather complicated,’ he replied, in imitation broken English. ‘First they are steamed and then they are baked.’ ‘I always thought
œufs en cocotte
were soft.’ ‘Oh no, madame; of course, you can order them soft, but properly they are hard.’

By such fake expertise are we poor English bedevilled into believing reams of rubbish about French cookery.

Proceed exactly as above, and when the whites of the eggs have started to set, pour a tablespoon of thick cream into each little ramekin. Cover the pan again and finish cooking. This is one of the most delicious egg dishes ever invented, but it is rare to get it properly done.

When you have a little delicious natural gravy left from a roast, a bird or a rich stew, cook your eggs as above and pour a little of this gravy on top of the eggs, taking care not to cover the yolks.

For 4 eggs prepare a sauce as follows: chop very finely indeed a little bunch of parsley, leaves only, with, if available, a few tarragon leaves and chives. There should be about 3 good tablespoons altogether when the herbs are chopped. Stir in 2 teaspoons of rather strong French mustard, a seasoning of salt and freshly milled pepper, then 4 tablespoons of thick fresh cream. Heat the sauce and pour it bubbling over the eggs which have been cooked in 4 little buttered ramekins standing in a pan of simmering water, covered, for 3 to 4 minutes. Serve quickly.

As everybody knows, there is only one infallible recipe for the perfect omelette: your own. Reasonably enough; a successful dish is often achieved by quite different methods from those advocated in the cookery books or by the professional chefs, but over this question of omelette making professional and amateur cooks alike are particularly unyielding. Argument has never been known to convert anybody to a different method, so if you have your own, stick to it and let others go their cranky ways, mistaken, stubborn and ignorant to the end.

It is therefore to anyone still in the experimental stage that I submit the few following points which T fancy are often responsible for failure when that ancient iron omelette pan, for twenty years untouched by water, is brought out of the cupboard.

First, the eggs are very often beaten too savagely. In fact, they should not really be beaten at all, but stirred, and a few firm turns with two forks do the trick. Secondly, the simplicity and freshness evoked by the delicious word ‘omelette’ will be achieved only if it is remembered that it is the
eggs
which are the essential part of the dish; the filling, being of secondary importance, should be in very small proportion to the eggs. Lying lightly in the centre of the finished omelette, rather than bursting exuberantly out of the seams, it should supply the second of two different tastes and textures; the pure egg and cooked butter taste of the outside and ends of the omelette, then the soft, slightly runny interior, with its second flavouring of cheese or ham, mushrooms or fresh herbs.

As far as the pan is concerned, I have already given a few notes about this in the chapter on kitchen equipment (page 66), so it will be sufficient to say here that a 10-inch omelette pan will make an omelette of 3 or 4 eggs. Beat them only immediately before you make the omelette, lightly as described above, with two forks, adding a light mild seasoning of salt and pepper. Allow about
oz. of butter. Warm your pan, don’t make it red hot. Then turn the burner as high as it will go. Put in the butter and when it has melted and is on the point of turning colour, pour in the eggs. Add the filling, and see that it is well embedded in the eggs. Tip the pan towards you and with a fork or spatula gather up a little of the mixture from the far side. Now tip the pan away from you so that the unset eggs run into the space you have made for them.

When a little of the unset part remains on the surface the omelette is done. Fold it in three with your fork or palette knife, hold the pan at an angle and slip the omelette out on to the waiting dish. This should be warmed, but only a little, or the omelette will go on cooking.

An omelette is nothing to make a fuss about. The chief mistakes are putting in too much of the filling and making this too elaborate. Such rich things as
foie gras
or lobster in cream sauce are inappropriate. In fact, moderation in every aspect is the best advice where omelettes are concerned. Sauces and other trimmings are superfluous, a little extra butter melted in the warm omelette dish or placed on top of the omelette as you serve it being the only addition which is not out of place.

 

As everyone knows, the Hôtel Poulard, formerly the Auberge de Saint-Michel Tête d’Or, at Mont St. Michel, became famous for the omelettes made by the proprietress. Many writers have attempted to account for the wonderful flavour of la Mère Poulard’s omelettes, explaining that her ‘secret’ lay in adding this, that, or the other ingredient. Here is a letter, dated June 6, 1922, which she wrote to M .Robert Viel, a celebrated Paris restaurateur and collector of a famous library of cookery books:

 

‘Monsieur Viel,

‘Voici la recette de l’omelette: je casse de bons œufs dans une terrine, je les bats bien, je mets un bon morceau de beurre dans la poêle, j’y jette les œufs et je remue constamment. Je suis heureuse, monsieur, si cette recette vous fait plaisir.

‘ANNETTE POULARD.’

 

Madame Poulard died in 1931, at the age of 80, but she and her husband had retired from the hotel many years before. Her menu, which before the 1914 war cost 2.50 fr., including cider, and butter on the table, was always the same. It consisted of the famous omelette, ham, a fried sole,
pré-salé
lamb cutlets with potatoes, a roast chicken and salad, and dessert.

Now, over fifty years later, there are, I believe, two restaurants at the Mont St. Michel which both claim to be the successors of the original Mère Poulard, and who are still making fortunes out of serving their customers with the one and only true ‘omelette Poulard.’ But what of the rest of the menu?

Prepare 1 tablespoon of mixed finely chopped parsley, tarragon, chives and, if possible, chervil. Mix half of this, with salt and pepper, in the bowl with the eggs, and the other half when the eggs are in the pan. If you like, put a little knob of butter on top of the omelette as it is brought to the table.

One tomato, skinned and chopped small, cooked hardly more than a minute in butter, with salt and pepper, is added to the eggs already in the pan.

Add a tablespoon of finely chopped bacon softened a minute or so in its own fat, to the eggs already in the pan; take care not to salt the eggs too much.

Add a heaped tablespoon of cooked ham, finely chopped and mixed with a little parsley, but not previously heated at all, to the eggs already in the pan. Again, take into account the saltiness of the ham when seasoning the eggs. A little extra butter melting on top of the omelette is a good addition, for there is none with the filling.

Not very complicated, you might think, but how often does one get a really good mushroom omelette? The answer is that the mushrooms should be in the form of a creamy little sauce, very well seasoned. A quarter of a pound of small white mushrooms or mushroom stalks is enough for two 3-egg omelettes. Chop the cleaned mushrooms very finely, melt them in butter in a small pan, season with salt, pepper, nutmeg or mace, stir in just a pinch of flour, then 2 tablespoons of cream. The mixture, very hot, is added to the omelette when it is already in the pan.

This delicious omelette is called after a little restaurant in Avignon where I used often to eat very cheap and simple meals. This was one of my favourite dishes there.

Beat 1 tablespoon of finely grated Parmesan with 3 eggs. When the omelette is in the pan, add 1 tablespoon of very fresh Gruyère cheese cut into minuscule dice, and 1 tablespoon of thick fresh cream. In a few seconds the Gruyère starts to melt and your omelette is ready. Fold it over, serve and eat it without delay.

(1) A tablespoon or so of Pipérade mixture (see page 198) added to a 3-egg omelette when the eggs are in the pan. Serve folded over in the ordinary way.

(2) A mixture of finely chopped shallot, garlic, raw ham or gammon, and sweet pepper with a few cubes of spiced sausage, gently cooked in butter or olive oil, added to the eggs already in the pan; oil instead of butter is used for cooking this omelette, which is made rather thick and served flat.

Three or four tablespoons of pine-nuts are very gently heated in butter in the omelette pan until they just barely begin to turn colour. Take care, because they burn in a twinkling, and they have to go on cooking after the eggs, beaten with salt and pepper, are poured into the pan and the omelette made in the usual way. This is a rather odd dish, but not without charm.

There are great stretches of pine-woods in the Landes country, and to extract the nuts the cones are warmed in the oven or near the fire, and when they open the little kernels are shaken out. Sometimes sugar instead of salt is added to the eggs, and the omelette served as a sweet.

A dish from Riom in the Auvergne.

Cut a slice of salt pork or a rather thick rasher of fat, unsmoked bacon and a large potato into small dice. Melt the bacon in an omelette pan. When the fat begins to run, put in the potato and cook gently until it is soft. Shake the pan now and again so that the potatoes do not stick and, if necessary, add a little more fat or butter.

Beat 2 or 3 eggs, season with salt and pepper, turn up the heat under the pan and add a small piece of butter; pour in the eggs; let them nearly set, as for an ordinary omelette; pour a little hot fresh cream on the top and slide the omelette out flat on to a hot plate. Sprinkle, if you like, with a little grated cheese.