The Gouda Life

What a beautiful few weeks it’s been. 

In the aftermath of a hectic month that’s included a whirlwind trip out East, baking for a wedding of 130, followed by sisters stunning wedding last weekend, came many nights of nothing. Nothing. We’re talking buns on couch, wine in hand, sweater wrapped snug around my midsection and toes locked in by moccasin slippers. There might have been some reading. There might have been some movies. But for the most part, my movement has been minimal, at best. 

In the slothful days that passed while I was on the couch, something beautiful happened. The air got cooler, gently urging for knitted sweaters and stored blankets to come out of storage, the windows whined to be closed each evening and the unmistakable, intoxicating smell of evening fires and slow roasted dinners made their way into my nose and filled me with feelings of nostalgia. Of course, this can only mean one thing. And that one thing is what I look forward to 365 days a year. Fall. My time.



I have a fairy-tale romance with fall. When I think of it, I get butterflies in my stomach. It’s all I can do to stifle the heavy sighs that escape me when I get a whiff of someone starting a fire, or cooking, what I like to imagine, is roasted chicken, homemade bread and braised vegetables.Can I really sniff out what random people are cooking for dinner every night during the fall? No. But do I imagine everyone, every single one of you, is sitting around a grand table, with friends and family alike, feasting on a spread of roasted, braised, mashed, creamy, rich concoctions? Abso-frigging-lutely. 

It’s always a challenge for me to adjust healthily to cooking for the change in season. My stomach urges me to grab for the nearest bag of pasta and block of cheese and eat ooey gooey cheesy pasta every night. Probably not the best decision if I plan on.. you know, making it through fall/winter without exploding. 



On a particularly brisk night last week, I decided I would opt out of the pasta and instead reach for the bag of cornmeal. Polenta is comforting in ways pasta can’t quite grasp. It’s smooth and creamy, rich without being heavy. It’s, quite simply, perfect. This time around, I added some crunchy green beans and mushrooms sauteed with thyme and vermouth. It’s a simple dish that’s comforting and perfect for a fall evening. 



Polenta with Green Beans and Vermouth Sauteed Mushrooms with Thyme

I use Marcella Hazan’s recipe for No-Stir Polenta. It’s simple and yeilds perfect results every time. If you have your own method you prefer, go with that. 
 
4 cups water
1 tsp salt
1 cup polenta or yellow cornmeal
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2-1 cup Parmesan cheese plus more for serving
2 handfuls green beans, trimmed
olive oil
3 cups cremini mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
1/4 cup vermouth 
2 tbsp fresh thyme
salt and fresh ground pepper

In a large heavy pot, bring water and salt to a boil. Once boiling, add the polenta in a thin stream while whisking. Turn heat down to medium-low and stir constantly for 2 minutes until it thickens slightly. Turn heat to low and cover pot, stirring with a large spoon for 1 minutes after every 10 minutes of cooking. It will take about 45 minutes to cook through completely. 



While polenta is cooking, bring a pot of water to a boil. Once boiling, add the green beans and cook until bright green but still crunchy, about 1-2 minutes. Dunk beans into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process. Let sit for a few minutes. Strain and set aside. 



Add enough oil to coat the bottom of a heavy pan and place over medium-high heat. Once oil is shiny, add mushrooms and cook, stirring every couple minutes, until deep brown and soft. Add the vermouth and thyme and cook until the liquid is absorbed. 



Once polenta has cooked through, add the butter and cheese and stir to combine. Season with salt to taste. 

Spoon into bowls and top each bowl with the mushrooms and beans. Serve with extra cheese, olive oil and pepper. 

 

 Despite my sometimes bitter, sometimes-sort-of-anti-social behaviour, I really do enjoy a good visit with certain people. I also enjoy cooking for those chosen few when they come over. But I am notoriously bad at doing both of those things at the same time.

There is nothing worse than being in the middle of a very serious, very emotional conversation, and having to say “Oh! Hold that thought, I have to go check the roast” …or stir the stew, or put the potatoes in…! I dread saying it, but it’s the difference between serving your good old pals a tasty dinner, or a slab of drywall. Which is more offensive?

That aside, I also seem to have a hard time remembering to add ingredients to dishes when I’m trying to talk and cook at the same time. I’m often seen rushing into the kitchen, 20 minutes after having put a dish in the oven, to add spices, garlic, herbs etc that had slipped my mind while talking about the newest restaurant or what shoes I want to buy for spring.

Luckily, in the case of company, I have a few one-pot dishes in my repitoire that make it easy to prep, pop in the oven and pour a glass of wine before my guests’ buns even hit the sofa. The only issue with these is they get a little lack-lustre and when you’ve made them some 50 times. And whenever I feel tired of the usual suspects or need a little inspiration, I go back to the basics and try to start over.

I don’t tend to cook many classically french dishes, which is disappointing considering I love French food, and the dishes themselves are usually quite basic. Seems I’ll have to start. And there is no time like the present, is there?



Poulet Provencal [roasted chicken with olives and tomatoes], a notoriously classic French dish, is new to my kitchen. I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the ingredients of Provence, a region in southeast France most know for culinary specialties like bouillabaisse, ratatouille, pissaladiere, and the herb mix, herbes de Provence. It borders on the Mediterranean sea, and is influenced by Spanish, Mediterranean, and Italian flavors featuring a predominant use of olive oil, herbs, and tomatoes. The scents and flavours that these ingredients burst with are unforgettable and I can’t wait to explore the dishes of this region a little more. 

While I strayed slightly from the authentic, as usual, I tried to stay true to the flavours of Provence in my twist on this classic chicken dish. It’s incredibly versatile and begs to be played with. That is, according to me. Don’t go talking to your good friend François about it. He probably won’t like that.



Poulet Provencal

I added a little vermouth to the roasting pan which really paired well with the olives and fennel seeds and gave off an aroma I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all day today. You sexy, Vermouth, you! It’s not required to make this dish delicious, but I do think you should try it at some point.

3-4 chicken legs
3-4 medium tomatoes, cut into wedges
1 large onion, cut into wedges, leaving root ends intact
1 large zuchini, cut into large slices
1/2 cup brined green olives, whole
4 large garlic cloves, sliced
3 tbsp vermouth (optional)
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided 
1 tbsp herbes de Provence, divided 
1 tbsp fennel seeds
Parsley for garnish (optional)
Citrus slices (optional, but are a nice balance with the rich salty sauce)

Preheat oven to 375.

Drizzle 1 tbsp olive oil in a large heavy pan over medium-high heat. Once hot, add the chicken legs, skin side down and cook until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Flip and repeat.

In a large roasting pan, add the remaining ingredients, reserving 1 tsp of both fennel seeds and herbs de Provence, and toss to distribute oil, vermouth and herbs. Nestle browned chicken into the vegetable mixture. Sprinkle remaining tsp of fennel and herbs onto the chicken.



Bake until chicken is cooked through and vegetables are starting to brown.

Serve with crusty bread to sop up the most delicious juices. EVER.