les deux salades

The French have a delicious way of throwing together a couple things in a way that ends up being simultaneously effortless and amazing. They do it with their outfits, with their parties, and sometimes, even in their kitchens.

These two salads are perfect for a first course, a light lunch, a snack, a side... they're pretty much awesome any time. They require only a few key ingredients, five minutes, and an accompaniment of good, crusty bread.



Carottes Rapees
(or raped carrots, as we Boones call them)

1 pound carrots
2 shallots
1/2 tablespoon white wine vinegar
pinch of sea salt and sugar
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon sunflower oil

Shred the carrots and shallots in a food processor. Whisk together the rest of the ingredients, slowly drizzling in the oil so it emulsifies nicely. Toss with the salad and leave to stand 30 minutes before serving.



Salade des Concombres

Two cucumbers, cubed
1/2 cup plain yogurt
1 clove garlic, minced
4 mint leaves, thinly sliced
Sea salt

Toss all ingredients together and serve chilled.

the booneburger

Last night, my husband and I drove to the grocery store with empty stomachs and an evening stretched out before us. We wandered around aimlessly, trying to pinpoint what exact dish would hit the spot, and what resulted was the single greatest burger I’ve eaten in my life.

Seriously. I ate two.

Daniel mixed the hamburger meat with bits of uncooked bacon, one egg, salt and pepper, and fixed them on the grill with utter perfection. Then we sandwiched the meat between French bread smeared with Dijon, and one salty slice of Swiss cheese -- a true European amalgam.

But the true revelation came on a whim, with a pile of burgundy onion strings that added juiciness and richness and flavor in a way I never could have predicted. I’ve always wanted to try simmering onions in wine… tres simple, tres elegant… you simply MUST try them for yourself!

Burgundy Onions

Two yellow onions
1/2 cup of Merlot

Halve the onions and very thinly slice them into moon shapes. Cook the onions in olive oil over medium heat for 15 minutes. Slowly add the wine, turn down the heat, and let the onions simmer for another 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

a bit of introspection

This beautiful picture of my great-grandmother, Vae Midgley, and my Nanny has been on my mind lately.

I’m sitting on our back porch, surrounded by glorious, dripping, sopping rain, watching the greens of the grass and leaves melt into one verdant pool and writing for the first time in two months. I feel I’ve drifted away from the wonderful kitchen memories of Vae, which were the impetus for writing this blog in the first place. Something in me seems to have stopped for awhile. I haven’t been cooking or moving my fingers over the keyboard except for to weekly emails and lesson plans. Blech.

Granted, I don’t think anyone’s reading this, but it shouldn’t matter, right? This is a way for me to flex my soul’s muscles and explore my “culinary heritage” (I feel absurd even typing such a saccharine phrase…), and if my family’s the only one reading, it shouldn’t matter a whit.

So I’m back. Full of ideas and ready to start another year of writing and cooking. I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I miss my French side, how very few dishes I have that represent such a big part of my blood, and that’s going to change. I want my kitchen to be as full of the smells of rosemary, wine and bread as it is of butter and onion. Today I bought Food & France, a beautiful cookbook that divides its recipes up by region, and I’m going to make at least one dish from it a week if it kills me.

Vittles is now going to represent both sides of me — the Southern and the French, and you’ll see a few small changes in the next week or so. I want this to be a site where I can celebrate Vae and Nanny as well as Alice Madeleine Angele Moreau (that’s my French grandmother’s name… c’est magnifique, non?).

But it only seemed appropriate to return with a Texan vengeance, with a recipe that is so cherished by my dad’s side of the family it practically glows with a hallowed light. Because no one makes custard pie like the Martin-Randall women. Step aside, Paula Deen; my great-great-grandmother’s recipe is so perfect it cannot be improved upon or altered in any way. It’s one of those beautiful pages in my recipe book that is in my grandmother’s handwriting, with my mom’s notes scrawled on it.

I’ll give it to you exactly as it was written for me… but I’ll warn you, I can’t even dare to just call it plain ole “custard pie.” It’s too close to manna, too sacrosanct of a thing to be taken with anything less than reverence. I pray God’s forgiveness for leaking it outside the family even. Sigh. Amen.



Susan Anis Martin’s Custard Pie

Recipe from Vae Midgley and Susan Anis Martin (Nanny’s mother & grandmother)

1 cup sugar
1 scant cup milk
2 eggs
1 Tablespoon flour
1/2 t. nutmeg
1/2 stick oleo

Beat all together in large bowl. Pour into unbaked pie crust. Bake 10 minutes at 450, lower heat to 325, bake 25 minutes or til done. *Makes 2 pies or 1 deep-dish pie

This will be a big hit with the Doctor. (That’s my Dad!)