Recipe box: Le Grand Aioli
Jul. 30th, 2005 05:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katallisonSome people know aioli as a sauce--"garlic mayonnaise, right?", they'll say. And yes, it is that. But Le Grand Aoili is in fact a meal, a celebration -- and, in my annual trip through cycle of the seasons, the ultimate festival of high midsummer. It is, to my knowledge, the only holiday feast that is defined not by some sort of big-meat entree, but by a mere ("mere," heh) sauce.
I first got to know Le Grand Aoili through the Minneapolis Bastille Day festival of the same name, formerly put on by the New French Cafe (and which I wrote about several years ago, in my old blog). When the New French closed and the celebration went by the boards, I decided to continue the feast, at least, and have prepared it every year somewhere in mid/late July.
And this year, filled with some sort of culinary grandiosity, I decided to try making the sauce the authentic Provencal way...
...which involves mortar and pestle, and lots of elbow grease. (There is an easier blender/food processer method, outlined below.)
You need, for 2-4 people (increase quantities for crowds):
--mortar and pestle; big, heavy-duty marble mortar, big wooden pestle.
--a head of garlic, as fresh as you can get.
--an egg, room temperature, and please make it a pasteurized egg. (I know, eeuww, but salmonella is far more eeuuuww, and sadly possible these days with raw eggs. You can get pasteurized eggs at most big grocery stores.)
--a cup of olive oil, the best obtainable. Break the bank for the greenish fruity extra-virgin stuff.
--a few drops of lemon juice
--salt (coarse-ground preferable, but any kind will work).
--and if you are fundamentally lazy like me, a Zyliss Susi garlic press. (I specify brand here because the Zyliss Susi is the best damn garlic press on the planet, amen. You don't even need to peel the cloves to achieve perfect and total smushage.)
Procedure for the aioli:
1. First, assess your fundamental appetite/passion for garlic. For one cup of olive oil, I used almost all of a small head, but if you're feeling a bit timid you can scale back. However many cloves you use, separate them, and either remove husks and mince very finely, or put them through the Susi. Whichever way, put them into the mortar, add a pinch of salt, and bash them around with the pestle until you have a fine-textured slurry.
2. Separate the egg, and add the yolk to the mortar. Stir with vigor until the yolk has lightened a bit in color, and the garlic is wholly incorporated into it.
3. Then, very slowly and gradually, a few drops at a time, start adding the olive oil. Keep stirring continuously with the pestle. As the mixture starts to thicken up and come together, you can slightly increase the rate at which you add the oil, but keep it always slow and steady, and cease not from the stirring; make sure all oil is fully incorporated into the emulsion before you add more. Your arm will get tired, assuming you are not a brawny Provencal housewife but rather a pallid computer-jockey like me. Take a break every so often if needed, but in general keep the rhythm of slowly adding oil/stirring and stirring going steadily.
4. When most of the oil is in, and the mixture has gotten very thick and glossy, add maybe a teaspoon of room-temperature water and a few drops of lemon juice. This will loosen it a bit, and make the addition of the last of the oil a little easier. Give it a taste somewhere in here, and assess whether your estimate of garlic-capacity was on target. The advantage of using the Susi is that if things seem a little bland, you can smush a few more cloves into a small bowl and whap them into a paste with a bit of salt, and add to the mix. If you're like "Aaarrgggh! Death by garlic!" you can always add another quarter- to half-cup of oil to calm things down a bit.
5. When the oil is all added, you should have a thick, glossy, pale-yellow sauce that holds together strongly. Put it in the fridge, covered, immediately.
(6. For the blender/food processor version, buzz the garlic first, then add the egg yolk, and then the oil in a thin stream. Keep a careful eye on it and do not over-process. This is quicker and much easier on the arm, but you don't get that fine glow of Provencal mortar-and-pestle authenticity.)
Procedure for everything else:
There are a million versions of What Makes Up The True Grand Aoili. Basically, what you're looking to do is prepare a spread of meats and vegetables to serve as partners for the aioli you've so lovingly prepared, and there's a good deal of latitude here. Some possibilities:
Of the meaty sort:
--Fish. Salt cod is traditional-Provencal, but you could use any kind of firm white fish, poached or grilled. Or shrimp.
--Steak. This is my favorite--grilled and thinly sliced.
--Chicken, grilled or rotisserie'd.
Of the vegetative sort:
--blanched green beans, carrots, cauliflower
--artichokes, boiled until tender
--little new potatoes, boiled in their skins
--ripe tomatoes, quartered
--zucchini (yellow if possible) and peppers (red if possible), grilled and sliced
Ideally, all meats and vegetables should be room-temperatureish, rather than hot.
To serve: Traditionally, the aioli sits in a great bowl of its own, or its mortar-of-creation, in the middle of the table, and the meats and vegetables are spread around it. I like to give every diner a little bowl of their own, however, which is very American and individualistic of me.
Serve with the best loaf of crusty Italian or French bread obtainable, and an ice-cold Pinot Grigio or Chablis or somesuch dry white wine. Or, heck, champagne would be good. Or beer is also excellent. Put a vase of sunflowers on the table. Play some Georges Brassens, or balalaika music, or whatever makes you happy.
If you consume this with true enthusiasm and passion, the next day you will be able raise your arm to your face, take a sniff, and smell the essence-of-garlic gently wafting from your pores.
I first got to know Le Grand Aoili through the Minneapolis Bastille Day festival of the same name, formerly put on by the New French Cafe (and which I wrote about several years ago, in my old blog). When the New French closed and the celebration went by the boards, I decided to continue the feast, at least, and have prepared it every year somewhere in mid/late July.
And this year, filled with some sort of culinary grandiosity, I decided to try making the sauce the authentic Provencal way...
...which involves mortar and pestle, and lots of elbow grease. (There is an easier blender/food processer method, outlined below.)
You need, for 2-4 people (increase quantities for crowds):
--mortar and pestle; big, heavy-duty marble mortar, big wooden pestle.
--a head of garlic, as fresh as you can get.
--an egg, room temperature, and please make it a pasteurized egg. (I know, eeuww, but salmonella is far more eeuuuww, and sadly possible these days with raw eggs. You can get pasteurized eggs at most big grocery stores.)
--a cup of olive oil, the best obtainable. Break the bank for the greenish fruity extra-virgin stuff.
--a few drops of lemon juice
--salt (coarse-ground preferable, but any kind will work).
--and if you are fundamentally lazy like me, a Zyliss Susi garlic press. (I specify brand here because the Zyliss Susi is the best damn garlic press on the planet, amen. You don't even need to peel the cloves to achieve perfect and total smushage.)
Procedure for the aioli:
1. First, assess your fundamental appetite/passion for garlic. For one cup of olive oil, I used almost all of a small head, but if you're feeling a bit timid you can scale back. However many cloves you use, separate them, and either remove husks and mince very finely, or put them through the Susi. Whichever way, put them into the mortar, add a pinch of salt, and bash them around with the pestle until you have a fine-textured slurry.
2. Separate the egg, and add the yolk to the mortar. Stir with vigor until the yolk has lightened a bit in color, and the garlic is wholly incorporated into it.
3. Then, very slowly and gradually, a few drops at a time, start adding the olive oil. Keep stirring continuously with the pestle. As the mixture starts to thicken up and come together, you can slightly increase the rate at which you add the oil, but keep it always slow and steady, and cease not from the stirring; make sure all oil is fully incorporated into the emulsion before you add more. Your arm will get tired, assuming you are not a brawny Provencal housewife but rather a pallid computer-jockey like me. Take a break every so often if needed, but in general keep the rhythm of slowly adding oil/stirring and stirring going steadily.
4. When most of the oil is in, and the mixture has gotten very thick and glossy, add maybe a teaspoon of room-temperature water and a few drops of lemon juice. This will loosen it a bit, and make the addition of the last of the oil a little easier. Give it a taste somewhere in here, and assess whether your estimate of garlic-capacity was on target. The advantage of using the Susi is that if things seem a little bland, you can smush a few more cloves into a small bowl and whap them into a paste with a bit of salt, and add to the mix. If you're like "Aaarrgggh! Death by garlic!" you can always add another quarter- to half-cup of oil to calm things down a bit.
5. When the oil is all added, you should have a thick, glossy, pale-yellow sauce that holds together strongly. Put it in the fridge, covered, immediately.
(6. For the blender/food processor version, buzz the garlic first, then add the egg yolk, and then the oil in a thin stream. Keep a careful eye on it and do not over-process. This is quicker and much easier on the arm, but you don't get that fine glow of Provencal mortar-and-pestle authenticity.)
Procedure for everything else:
There are a million versions of What Makes Up The True Grand Aoili. Basically, what you're looking to do is prepare a spread of meats and vegetables to serve as partners for the aioli you've so lovingly prepared, and there's a good deal of latitude here. Some possibilities:
Of the meaty sort:
--Fish. Salt cod is traditional-Provencal, but you could use any kind of firm white fish, poached or grilled. Or shrimp.
--Steak. This is my favorite--grilled and thinly sliced.
--Chicken, grilled or rotisserie'd.
Of the vegetative sort:
--blanched green beans, carrots, cauliflower
--artichokes, boiled until tender
--little new potatoes, boiled in their skins
--ripe tomatoes, quartered
--zucchini (yellow if possible) and peppers (red if possible), grilled and sliced
Ideally, all meats and vegetables should be room-temperatureish, rather than hot.
To serve: Traditionally, the aioli sits in a great bowl of its own, or its mortar-of-creation, in the middle of the table, and the meats and vegetables are spread around it. I like to give every diner a little bowl of their own, however, which is very American and individualistic of me.
Serve with the best loaf of crusty Italian or French bread obtainable, and an ice-cold Pinot Grigio or Chablis or somesuch dry white wine. Or, heck, champagne would be good. Or beer is also excellent. Put a vase of sunflowers on the table. Play some Georges Brassens, or balalaika music, or whatever makes you happy.
If you consume this with true enthusiasm and passion, the next day you will be able raise your arm to your face, take a sniff, and smell the essence-of-garlic gently wafting from your pores.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:18 pm (UTC)I like the taste of raw fennel with this (sliced from the bulb).
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:26 pm (UTC)You will be absolutely safe from vampires (but maybe not the Minnesota police) for at least 48 hours.
namaste SF Nancy
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:31 pm (UTC)They always did one special dish each evening that was different from the main menu, and of course this was usually no good to me - roast duck, roast pork, roast lamb, etc.
But one evening as I came in I saw that the dish of the day was Aioli, and I practically whimpered with delight. I have made aioli - Elizabeth David provides a very followable recipe - but it's a lot of work. I knew from background reading (and I could see on other people's tables) that they would supply both fish and vegetables to be eaten with aioli, so I asked (my French is terrible) for aioli sans poissons, juste légumes.
The waiter asked twice did I mean "juste légumes" and I assured him I did, and that's what I got: just the vegetables. No aioli. When I protested, I got a little tiny bowl. When I finished that (it was heaven) in five minutes, I got a proper-sized bowl. I think they thought I liked boring food: but the aioli was so good I couldn't bear to leave a drop.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 10:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-30 11:37 pm (UTC)you're my Aioli hero!
Date: 2005-07-31 01:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-31 01:24 pm (UTC)I even ate the escargot, in interest of authenicity. *g* They tasted like garlic.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-31 05:07 pm (UTC)Which is not to say I don't love you. (: