South of Broad-Way

When I moved back to New York in 1986, there was a bookstore, unfortunately long gone, across the street from our apartment. The first time I wandered in, I found they had their own little lending library; they rented current bestsellers out for a week for $2.00. As I was picking up a book by an author I was unfamiliar with - The Prince of Tides - I heard a soft voice say "Hello. I'm here to pick up the books I ordered."

I turned around to find myself face-t0-face with a smiling Jackie Onassis, who it turned out lived exactly one block away from me. She lived on the fifteenth floor of 1040 Fifth Avenue; I lived on the fifteenth floor of 35 East 85th Street.

But I digress.

My friend Stephanie, who now lives in the north Georgia mountains, was born and bred in Atlanta. A gen-u -ine Cherokee Country Club deb-u-tante.

She was a golden girl, and the most beautiful bride I ever saw. When she stepped into the aisle of St. Philip's Cathedral on her daddy's arm, she took everyone's breath away.

She is on the short list of funniest people I know, and if for some reason I had to go fishing, she is the person I would choose to go with. We share a love of Pat Conroy's books, which for me started on that day in the bookstore on Madison Avenue, and when she told me how much she loved his newest book, South of Broad, I put it next in my queue of books to read.

I loved it too.

Conroy is an immensely gifted stylist, and there are passages in the novel that are lush and beautiful and precise. No one can describe a tide or a sunset with his lyricism and exactitude. My sense is that the millions of readers who cherish Conroy's work won't be at all disappointed -- and nor will anyone who owns stock in Kleenex.

Chris Bohjalian
The Washington Post
August 11, 2009

So in my search for side dishes that go well with Thomas Keller's fabulous fried chicken for a project I am working on, my thoughts naturally went to biscuits and cornbread. Southern cornbread.

In my book, Rule Number 1 is Don't Be a "Jerk" (with jerk being a different word). But it turns out, if you're from The South, Rule Number 1 is

Don't Put Sugar in the Cornbread

Southerners might drink their tea sweet, but they take their cornbread straight. So since this left out my (delicious) Tiny Corn Muffins, I decided to check out what Hoppin' John has to say about the subject.

Hoppin' John Martin Taylor is from Charleston, where he used to own a cookbook store. He has written a number of special cookbooks himself, is well-known in the food community, and has a website that is worth checking out for interesting articles and great recipes. If you happen to live in New York City, keep your eyes peeled; he is planning to open a restaurant here.

His cornbread recipe calls for stone-ground grits made into a batter, and cooked in an unwashed black iron skillet coated with bacon fat. My can of bacon fat is in the country where I can usually be found on Sunday mornings cooking bacon and eggs. Since I'm in the city this weekend nursing myself through the flu thank you very much, I didn't have bacon fat handy and wasn't up to cooking any, so I made the cornbread in a 9-inch springform pan coated with olive oil. Don't arrest me; I observed Rule Number 1 - no sugar.





Cornbread
Adapted from Hoppin' John Martin Taylor
Serves 6

Because you want to serve this hot, time it so it's done just before you want to serve it. Leftovers can be reheated in the oven.

Small amount of fat to grease the pan
1 large egg, at room temperature or heated in a bowl of warm (not hot) water for 2 minutes
2 cups buttermilk, either at room temperature or the chill taken off in the microwave
1-3/4 cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal
1 scant teaspoon salt
1 scant teaspoon baking powder
1 scant teaspoon baking soda

Grease the pan; I used a 9-inch springform pan. Hoppin' John recommends an unwashed 9 or 10- inch cast iron skillet. Put pan into a cold oven and heat to 450 degrees.

Put the buttermilk in a bowl large enough to hold all the batter. Beat in the egg. Then add the cornmeal and blend. When the oven has reached the 450 degrees, stir the salt, baking powder, and baking soda into the batter. Remove the hot pan from the oven, and pour the batter in right away. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, until the top starts to brown. Serve hot with butter.

Turns out, Hoppin' John's recipe is the real deal. It was delicious with dinner,






and maybe even better heated in the toaster oven and slathered with butter this morning. With Thanksgiving so close, I'm starting to think about cornbread stuffing. If you're looking for an authentic recipe for cornbread, this is it.

Next time I'll make it in the black iron skillet. (Stephanie agrees it's the only way to go.)

Oh, by the way, any suggestions you have for side dishes with fried chicken, will be appreciated.

Print page.

Thomas Keller Meets Pat Conroy

For Steph, who's been waiting a rude amount of time for a new post

To see just the recipe, click here.

I'm a native New Yorker, but when we moved to Atlanta in 1974, it was from St. Louis. I didn't have anything against Missouri; I had lived in Kansas City, Missouri, for two years and loved it. But I never felt at home during the year we lived in St. Louis, so I was glad to head south.

Atlanta was a smaller city in those days and different from any place I had ever lived. Most of the women I met socially did not work outside of the home. They felt sorry for me that I had a job.

I felt sorry for them that they didn't.

But the people were welcoming, and where we lived in Buckhead was beautiful. One day during the first March I lived there, I pulled my bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle over to the side of the road near The Swan House just to sit still and take in the flowers and the foliage. It was breathtaking. When I moved to Old Town, Alexandria, arguably one of the loveliest places in America, seven and a half years later, I cried every spring for the five years I lived there.

We hadn't been living in Atlanta very long when I got a yearning to go to the beach, and we decided to spend a few days at Sea Island, one of the beautiful tidal and barrier islands off the coast of Georgia.

Sea Island Postcard, Circa 1992

I had never been to the ocean in Georgia before I went to Sea Island.





I had never been south of Washington, D.C., until I drove to Atlanta to look for an apartment - but I felt completely in my own skin as I drove over the causeway and spied the Marshes of Glynn and saw a live oak tree for the first time.

I believe once you've been to the lowcountry, you always have a longing to go back.

To describe our growing up in the lowcountry of South Carolina, I would have to take you to the marsh on a spring day, flush the great blue heron from its silent occupation, scatter marsh hens as we sink to our knees in mud, open you an oyster with a pocketknife and feed it to you from the shell and say, "There. That taste. That's the taste of my childhood." I would say, "Breathe deeply," and you would breathe and remember that smell for the rest of your life, the bold, fecund aroma of the tidal marsh, exquisite and sensual, the smell of the South in heat, a smell like new milk, semen, and spilled wine, all perfumed with seawater. My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of indrawn tides.

Pat Conroy, Prince of Tides

Great Blue Heron
John James Audubon
Princeton Audubon Limited

Some of my happiest memories are vacations spent at Sea Island





with Carolyn and John and all the members of their family.





I rode my bike up and down every street on that tiny island, sometimes stopping outside Casa Genotta, the house that had once been home to Eugene O'Neill and his wife Carlotta (get it - Gen-Otta), imagining him sitting inside a room, which reportedly was built to mimic a ship's cabin, writing Ah, Wilderness!, with the Atlantic ocean lapping just yards away.





I am glad that I live in New York City again. I grew up here, and to me it is as home as home can be. But I was very happy to live in Atlanta for almost eight years and missed it so much when we moved to Northern Virginia that I drove myself back five times the first year after the move.

So it isn't surprising that the first recipe I made when I received my copy of Ad Hoc at Home by Thomas Keller was his famous fried chicken.

The recipe calls for brining the chicken. I didn't do that, but I will try it the next time, not because it wasn't delicious - it was scrumptious - but because Michael Ruhlman says that's the secret of the recipe.

Instead, I did what I always to with chicken. I rubbed the chicken pieces all over with kosher salt and refrigerated them on a rack over a platter for 24 hours, turning them over once, to air dry them before I cooked them.





Thomas Keller recommends using chickens that weigh 2-1/2 to 3 pounds, which is smaller than the usual grocery store chicken, because the pieces are smaller and will cook in less time than pieces from a larger chicken. I am usually able to get D'Artagnan chicken or chicken pieces, which are small, but if you don't have access to them, your best bet for a small chicken is a farmer's market.

I used drumsticks and thighs instead of cutting up a whole chicken because I like dark meat and because that way the chicken pieces would cook in the same amount of time. (Dark meat cooks for a little longer than white meat.)

Fried Chicken

Adapted from Ad Hoc at Home by Thomas Keller

Serves 4

Chicken - a whole chicken cut up into 10 pieces (2 legs, 2 thighs, 2 wings, 2 breasts cut in half crossways for 4 pieces) or 10 pieces of your choosing (thighs, drumsticks, breasts, etc.)
Peanut oil for deep-frying
1 quart buttermilk for dipping

Coating
Mix together:
6 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup garlic powder
1/4 cup onion powder
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sweet Hungarian paprika
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon freshly ground black pepper
Maldon salt, crushed with your fingers

Mix together, and divide the mixture between two bowls.

I cut off any obvious globules of fat and trimmed a little hanging skin from the pieces of chicken. Then I dipped each piece of chicken in the seasoned flour, then in buttermilk, then in the seasoned flour again. I heated 2 inches of expeller-pressed peanut oil to 350 degrees in each of two pans, one an All-Clad 8-quart pan and one a LeCreuset 7-quart pan, and fried the chicken in the pans until it was almost mahogany brown.





Using these pans, with sides almost 6 inches high, instead of a skillet, was Thomas Keller's brilliant suggestion. The chicken fried perfectly, the oil didn't splatter all over the stove, and the pan was easy to clean up. If you try this, you must be extremely careful not to tip the pan over because the oil is very hot

Between the two pans, I actually preferred the way the chicken cooked in the All-Clad pan, and it might be worth having two of them if you want to make this often. I assume a cast-iron Dutch oven would work well too provided the sides are high enough, but I can't speak from experience.

This fried chicken was absolutely delicious - the best I ever had.





It is easy enough for a weeknight meal, especially since it doesn't make a mess all over the kitchen, and it was just as good leftover cold as it was right from the pan. I am going to make it often. It will be the star of the show next July Fourth. Dessert will be Clotilde's Orange Sponge Cake, topped with loosely whipped fresh cream.

I'm inviting Peggy. Even though she's from Charleston, I bet it will be the best fried chicken she's ever had.

Print recipe.

Fettuccine with Zucchini in a Saffron Cream Sauce

Adapted from Thirty Minute Pasta by Giuliano Hazan

Serves 4 as a side dish or starter, 2 as a main dish

My English mother

sailed from Liverpool into New York harbor as a brand new bride with my father in early September 1946. I was born the following June and grew up on Claremont Avenue in New York City – three blocks from Grant’s Tomb, where I learned to roller skate. I played in Cherry Park, which sits in front of International House. On cold mornings, I used to cut through The Julliard School of Music - now The Manhattan School of Music - as I headed to the local catholic elementary school:

In the 1940s, I attended a school still in existence: Corpus Christi in New York City. It was not a typical Catholic grammar school education. For one thing, we had boys and girls together. We did not wear uniforms. The desks were all movable. And, there were no report cards - no grades or report cards of any kind. It was a garden; it was a place that let me flower.

George Carlin

I’m an only child, and until I left home for college, we lived in the same house as Nanny, my father’s mother. Nanny was the youngest child and the first member of her family to be born in America instead of Italy.

In March of 1897 Nanny's mother gave birth to her in an apartment on Kenmare Street near Mott,

an intersection I pass every time I go to DiPalo’s, purveyor of the best Italian foods in New York.




Nanny was a dress designer, and until she retired in her 60’s, she went to work every day in the garment district.

With a British mother doing most of the cooking, we didn’t eat the way you would expect to eat at, say, Tony Soprano’s table. We had good things - roast beef and Yorkshire pudding – and bad things - beans on toast. The dessert most prized in our house was trifle. Ice cream was something we ate at the soda fountain on Broadway or from The Good Humor Man on the corner because the freezer in the top of our refrigerator was too small to keep any at home.

But every now and then I would wake up on a Saturday morning and jump right of bed because of the scents emanating from the kitchen. Tomato sauce - dark from tomato paste cooked in a little olive oil before the addition of plum tomatoes crushed by hand - would already be long simmering, and meatballs – meatballs the size of a "Spaldeen" ball - full of fresh parsley and lots of grated Parmesan cheese would be browning. And I would get one right out of the black iron skillet for breakfast.

The first year I was married I came across a paperback book called The Complete Book of Pasta by Jack Denton Scott. This book contained a revelation. Most tomato sauces in Italy do not include tomato paste. In fact, rather than being dark and heavy, a lot of them are thin and bright - as redolent of olive oil as tomatoes - with no dried oregano, and cooked in 30 minutes or less.

So I abandoned my grandmother’s recipe - which I had never been able to accurately duplicate anyway - and changed the way I made tomato sauce.

I used that copy of The Complete Book of Pasta, which I still have,

for one year until Christmas morning of 1974 when the best package under the tree for me was a book that had been published a year and a half before - Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan.

I had never heard of Marcella Hazan, but that day I was a goner – nestled on the sofa reading, reading, reading and planning, planning, planning what my first recipe would be. And so at the end of December 1974, for the first time I flattened a whole chicken, bathed it in olive oil, lemon juice, and lots of black pepper, and cooked it over charcoal on the balcony of our apartment in Atlanta. I have never stopped making Marcella's recipes and reading Marcella's books, and that book now sits on a shelf with every cookbook Marcella Hazan has ever written.

I know there are lots of other excellent Italian cookbooks. Plenty of people swear by Lidia; lots of people love Mario; I personally like the works of Nancy Harmon Jenkins. But no one measures up to Marcella.

With one exception.

Her son Giuliano.

Giuliano, who was fourteen years old when Classic Italian Cooking was published, has written four cookbooks himself, all excellent, one so good I am constantly buying used copies of it to give away since it is, unfortunately, out of print. Giuliano's books live on the same shelf in my house as his mother's, and last week I made room for the newest one, Thirty Minute Pasta, which he signed for me Thursday night at the Barnes & Noble on 86th Street.

Giuliano has a lot of talent as well as good luck. In addition to having a mother who is the doyenne of Italian cooking, "our" very favorite Wednesday Chef, Luisa Weiss, is the editor of his newest cookbook. Luisa, who like Giuliano has an Italian mother, is no slouch in the recipe department; I make four of her recipes regularly (Luisa's Chocolate Cake, Luisa's Pasta with Tomatoes and Ricotta, Luisa's Tomato Bread Soup, Molly and Luisa's Rice-Filled Tomatoes) and highly recommend them all. She is the person who turned me on to Pasta Setaro, available at Buon Italia in the Chelsea Market.

At Barnes & Noble Giuliano was interviewed by Luisa. He talked about growing up with Marcella and Victor Hazan - what it was like eating at home, what it was like when he left home for college, what inspired him to learn to cook (that was easy - Mom wasn't cooking for him anymore). He answered questions from the audience, making it very clear that artisanal pasta extruded through copper or bronze dies is worth the increased cost because it is dried so slowly that its surface is not slippery and holds sauce better than the supermarket brands. He was even sweet when someone asked him what bottled pasta sauce he would recommend (none), maintaining a straight face when the rest of the audience gasped!

During the three-hour drive upstate on Saturday morning, I perused Thirty Minute Pasta, just as I did Classic Italian Cooking nearly 35 years before, looking for the first recipe I wanted to try. Beautiful loin and rib lamb chops from Fairway were staying chilled in the cooler. I was looking for a pasta that would go well with lamb and featured a green vegetable. At my local farm stand, The Berry Patch, I found small, delicate zucchini and sweet, mild onions.

The first recipe I made from Giuliano's new book was elegant and delicious.

Fettuccine with Zucchini in a Saffron Cream Sauce

1/2 to 3/4 cup heavy cream
About 20 strands of saffron
1/2 large sweet yellow onion, chopped
1-1/4 pounds small zucchini, cut into sticks approximately 1/8-inch thick by 1 to 1-1/2 inches long
Salt
Pepper
8 ounces dried egg fettuccine
1/3 cup grated Parmigianno-Reggiano

Put the heavy cream in a small saucepan. This is a Mauviel Inducinox .9 quart saucepan. It's easy to clean because it's stainless steel on the outside and inside and sturdy because of its heavy weight due to the core of carbon steel sandwiched between the stainless for good heat conduction. It cannot, however, go in the dishwasher because of its traditional iron handle. It's my favorite small saucepan. You can get one from my friends at La Cuisine if you're interested.

Heat the cream slowly until hot but not boiling, and use the tips of your fingers to crumble the strands of saffron into the pan of cream. Stir with a wooden spoon. Cover the pan, turn off the heat, and leave on the turned-off burner to keep the cream warm while proceeding with the rest of the recipe.

To cut the zucchini into sticks, Giuliano suggests starting out by slicing the zucchini the short way into 1/8-inch rounds. Then make manageable stacks of the slices, and cut them 1/8-inch thick too to finish making the zucchini sticks.

Put the butter in a cold skillet, saute pan, or saucier and heat slowly until the butter melts.

Add the chopped onion, and saute until the onion turns gold but does not brown.

Add the sticks of zucchini and salt and pepper to taste, and cook until the zucchini is lightly browned. Let the zucchini soften, making sure it does not get mushy. Add the warm cream infused with saffron, and continue to cook the sauce until it thickens a little and reduces by no more than one third.

While you are making the sauce, cook the egg fettuccine in lots of boiling salted water until just slightly underdone.

Even though it is a supermarket brand, I find that nests of DeCecco egg noodles sold in a flat box covered with cellophane - as opposed to regular fettuccine in a long, narrow rectangular box - are delicious and cook beautifully for a recipe like this.

When the sauce is finished, turn the heat off, and add the cooked fettuccine to the pan, and toss with the sauce.

Add the grated Parmigianno-Reggiano and toss again. Serve immediately.

About the Book

Thirty Minute Pasta is a beautiful book with gorgeous photographs

by Joe DeLeo, who attended the Barnes and Noble discussion with Luisa last week.

Giuliano wrote Thirty Minute Pasta with the same meticulous detail as his other books. What is different, however, is his complete reliance on fresh tomatoes in this book because he says for recipes that cook in a short amount of time, fresh tomatoes are better than canned tomatoes.

That doesn't mean you can only use this book during the period of the year when lovely tomatoes are available because there are plenty of recipes that don't call for tomatoes at all. But since there are still good tomatoes available at the farmers' markets right now, I'm checking the book out for a recipe I want to make with tomatoes before the first frost hits.

Unfortunately, they won't be my own tomatoes. This year my plants were struck with the terrible blight that hit a lot of tomato plants in the northeast. Wish me better luck next year.

To see just the recipe, click here.

French Cooks

Last weekend I had some beautiful local grass-fed beef and eggplant, so I made one of my favorite dishes, Non-Traditional Moussaka, which I adapted from Julia Child's The Way to Cook. I even remembered to take pictures – no small feat when the food is good and I’m hungry. I was planning to post the recipe this weekend. But that was before Thursday night.

I had been forewarned. Don’t go hungry; don’t even think about going hungry.

I made myself a light supper of an omelet - with artichoke hearts that had been sauteed in olive oil with minced garlic - and a tart arugula salad. I drank a glass of crisp sauvignon blanc from Domaine Massiac, and took off, walking four blocks to the closest movie theater. I settled myself in the same room where I saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince last month and waited while the room filled up completely with men as well as women.

We were all there to see Julie & Julia.

It was swell. I loved it. I loved every single minute of it. I smiled; I laughed; I even cried. And at the end, while the credits were rolling, I joined the audience's ebullient applause, clapping as hard as I could.

I have been cooking out of Julia's books since 1973. In fact, I once made Julia's Cog au Vin from a paperback copy of The French Chef for one of my husband's colleagues who worked at WGBH-TV, the station where Julia's TV show was still being filmed. A week later I received this in the mail with a thank you note.

I had been a reader of the Salon blog, The Julie/Julia Project, and had preordered the book Julie & Julia from Amazon, so I was/am a long-standing Julie Powell fan.

I like to think I straddle the generational divide between Julie and Julia.

I disagree with any review that says the movie is more interesting during the Julia parts. I found it to be equally compelling no matter which actress was on the screen, Meryl Streep or Amy Adams.

Obviously, it is mesmerizing to watch Meryl Streep actually become Julia Child right before your eyes. That she could do this didn’t surprise me. After all, I have watched her become Karen Blixen (Isak Dinesen) in Out of Africa more times that I can count. Meryl Streep captured the Julia we all wish we knew to a T.

Of course, I could spot what changes had been made in the translation from the book Julie & Julia to the movie.

Eric said: "You could start a blog."

I cut my eyes over to him in irritation, a massive white-skinned shark thrashing its tail.

"Julie. You do know what a blog is, don't you?"

Of course I didn't know what a blog was. It was August of 2002. Nobody knew about blogs, except for a few guys like Eric who spend their days using company computers to pursue the zeitgeist. No issue of domestic or international policy was too big, no pop-culture backwater too obscure; from the War on Terror to Fear Factor, it was all one big beautiful sliding scale for Eric.

"You know, like a Web site sort of thing. Only it's easy. You don't have to know anything about anything."

"Sounds perfect for me."

"About computers, I mean."

"Are you going to make me that drink, or what?"

From Julie & Julia

I knew Julie Powell's language had been - more than - cleaned up.

But the changes didn't matter; Amy Adams and Chris Messina capture the essence of the Julie/Eric Powell story perfectly.

And I must mention the delightful Stanley Tucci. I don't know who I wanted to run away with – or more like it – go home to cook for – Paul Child, Eric Powell, Stanley Tucci, or (the adorable) Chris Messina.

So if you have not seen this movie, go see it as soon as you can and afterwards read this article by Russ Parsons, which will answer the question surrounding the most puzzling piece of the story. Then succumb as I did and make a recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

This was one of my favorite company dishes in the 1970's. I can't believe we really ate this way - it's rich as hell but oh, so good. In fact, this is the only dish I ever saw Walter - Mr. Discipline - go back to for third helpings.

Saute de Boeuf a La Parisienne
(Beef Saute with Cream and Mushroom Sauce)

Adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking

Serves 6

8 to 10 oz. of fresh cultivated mushrooms, sliced not too thin

2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon bland cooking oil - I use grapeseed
3 tablespoons minced shallots or scallions

A pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper, to taste

Heat the oil and butter in a 10 or 11-inch frypan,

and cook the mushrooms until lightly browned.

Add the shallots or green onions,

and cook slowly for two minutes more.

Remove the mushrooms to a plate.

2-1/2 pounds beef tenderloin, all the fat and filament removed, and cut into 2-ounce pieces.

2 (more) tablespoons of butter and 1 tablespoon bland cooking oil

Dry the meat thoroughly.

This is the tricky part. In the same skillet used for the mushrooms, heat the butter and oil over medium/high heat. When the butter and oil are hot, and the butter foam has subsided, saute the beef a few pieces at a time, lightly browning the exterior but keeping the interior red.

Season the meat lightly with salt and pepper, and set it aside on another plate.

Clean the fat from the skillet, but leave any brown particles of beef behind.

1/4 cup Madeira
3/4 cup stock - beef or strong chicken
1 cup heavy cream
2 scant teaspoons cornstarch blended with 2 tablespoons of the cream
2 tablespoons (even more) butter
Parsley sprigs for garnish (optional)

Put the wine and stock into the cleaned-out skillet, scraping to incorporate any particles of meat in the bottom of the skillet, and reduce to about one-third cup.

Whisk in the cream

followed by the cream mixed with cornstarch.

Simmer for a minute until the sauce has thickened lightly. Add the mushrooms and any mushroom juices that have accumulated on the plate.

Add the meat to the skillet with any meat juices that have accumulated on the plate. Baste the beef with the sauce and mushrooms.

Taste carefully for seasoning. Turn the heat off, and add 2 tablespoons more butter, stirring it in until it is completely incorporated. Serve immediately so the meat doesn't overcook. If you like, garnish with sprigs of parsley.

The black pan you see here is a seasoned-from-use 28 cm (11 inch) carbon steel frypan that I got from the inimitable La Cuisine. They carry the best quality carbon steel you can get.

If you have never cooked in carbon steel, I highly recommend you try it. Once seasoned, these pans are beautifully non-stick, especially if you remember to heat your cooking fat before you put the food you are going to cook in it.

This is what the experts at La Cusine have to say about it:

We get this particular style of frypan from De Buyer in France. It is our favorite version because it has a cast handle rather than a flat one. It is much more comfortable to grip than the flat handle, and in frying you will be gripping frequently!

These need to be seasoned like cast iron, but they will give you a lifetime of service. They sear beautifully and will do a low saute equally well.

It is no wonder that many good restaurants have stacks of these. The design of the pan was created for easy handling at the top of the stove.

You can place an order with LaCuisine online or by phone at 800 521-1176. One of the "Cusinettes" there will happily answer any questions you have.

To see just the recipe, click here.