Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Oh when did the love affair with leeks begin? (My off-the-cuff impression of Frances Mayes.  Don’t you just hate people who not only spend most of their lives in the Tuscan countryside, but also get paid to write about how glorious it all is?) The point is, there was a time when I didn’t like leeks, didn’t really even consider their existence, and now I really, really like them, and I’m just not sure how I got from point A to point B.  I was a picky kid, so a lot of foods are like that for me.  Much of what I now love with a love most piggish and pure I once turned my nose up at – mushrooms, asparagus, beans, cream sauces.  Enchiladas, for Christ’s sake.  Chiles Rellenos. Okay, better stop.  The point is, I can’t really pinpoint when the change came.  Odd. In the interest of brevity, because if you slogged through yesterday, you guys deserve something short and sweet: Flamiche; or Quiche aux Poireaux; or Leek Quiche. A leek quiche is made by a) making the pate brisee.  For those who haven’t read any of my three thousand and two descriptions of making pate brisee, it consists of combining, with your fingers, cold butter, shortening, flour, salt, sugar and water into a dough.  You want to do it quickly so the butter doesn’t melt so it melts when it bakes so it leaves little spaces in the crust and makes your crust flakey.  Roll it in a ball and put it in the fridge when you’re done. b) cooking down the leeks.  Leeks are a pain in the ass to clean when you have to have them whole, because they’re dirty way down in their inner layers (“that’s what she said”), but if you can slice them up it’s a piece of cake.  Just chop them, put them in a strainer over a bowl, then run water through them and let them soak.  Do that a couple of times.  Then put the leeks in a saucepan with a little bit of water and some butter and salt, and let them cook, quickly until most of the water boils off, and then slow. c) rolling out and pre-baking the crust.  This is done about like you’d think.  Remember to weigh down the crust with waxed paper or foil and rice or beans or, if you’re rich and like to spend money, pie weights.  d) make the quiche filling, by beating together eggs and cream, some pepper and a tad of nutmeg, and the cooked leeks. e) pouring the filling into the crust.  (I had too much filling this time, and made a huge mess, but we’re not here to read about Julie’s little failings, are we?  Are we??) f) topping with swiss cheese and butter, and baking for 25 minutes.  At the end of the time, the quiche will be browned and puffy. This is probably the best quiche I have made so far.  The leeks have such a great flavor, sort of grassy, sort of sweet, but not sharp at all.  Don’t I sound like I’m writing labels for cheap wine?  And the quiche is smooth, custardy, yummery.  So, is it the leeks?  Or is it the practice?  It’s hard to say.  But surely I’m going to start making quiches in my sleep here.  Perhaps literally. 7:22:17 AM    comment []