p1: Soup a L’Oignon (French Onion Soup)

The Dish

For such a relatively simple and rustic-style dish, the obsession over French Onion Soup is quite palpable; in mentioning it to just a few people, the enthusiasm over me doing THIS recipe was notably high. Truly it proves that this must be one of France’s categorical foodson line with Poutine, Apple Pie, and other soul foods. I mean, it IS just a pile of cooked onion, bread, and broth covered in thick cheese.

For such an all-encompassing, highly simple-minded dish (I mean it’s basically onion broth and cheese, how does one record the official ‘creation’ of this?), I didn’t really expect to read any proper origin story. But to my little surprise I actually found a couple interesting things. First up being a ‘story’ of King Louis the XV (sooooooo probably fake, but amusing) and his hunting party looking for food in their cabin, only to find onions, butter, and champagne. Then in the 19^th century people started actually seasoning with salt n pepper, using flour to thicken slightly, and topping with cheese (and also likely when the bread, normally served on the side, was moved under the cheese).

Apparently the real origin likely lies in the Lyonregion, this dish’s proper name being Soup A L’Oignan A La Lyonnaise. There’s a good chance this originated with the ‘canuts,’ the backbone workers of Lyon’s silk industry, working 18 hrs a day weaving and screening. Forced to make dishes that will sustain them for the long day, but with very little actual resources to work with, they had to be creative. At this time, and really every one thereafter, onions were a very cheap and readily-acquired, easy-to-grow food source. Combine that with the ease and soul-restoring properties of making soup, and it’s no difficult feat to see these workers taking mounds of these guys, cooking it hard for extra flavor, and stewing it over long hours before consuming in big bowls.

However it started, and evolved from the humble onion-soup origins centuries past, having since elevated to one of the cultural favorites featured in high-class, traditional French restaurants alongside the rustic taverns and cafes. I can’t wait to get into crafting this caramelly-sweet masterpiece.

A Word On…

Caramelizing Onions: I do love caramelized onions, though truth be told I don’t think I’ve ever made some that I’ve been fully satisfying with. I mean how often have I seen them make it on tv, doing practically nothing (once saw Paula Dean just slice them thick and put them in a covered pot for most of an hour) and come out perfect deep golden throughout? So for this one I decided to officially research for some more tips, and here’s some nice things to know, for this dish or any.

Don’t cut TOO thin, having a bit of width helps to stick and sear/caramelize on the bottom of the pan.

Go for general Nonstick pans or Cast Iron to help the most with controlling and moving the onions about as they caramelize well, creating SOME pan fond but not too much.

Speaking of too much fond (crusty stuff on the pan), I’ve always run into the issue, as you go later on, of the pan bottom getting dangerously crusty. I always worry about it actually burning. Then I ran across this tip to add a few tablespoons of water at that point. It doesn’t sound proper, but hey it actually works; the bottom clears out, the water evaporates and you can go back to cooking, and best of all (two things actually) the fond gets distributed among the onions, making them more caramelly, and it allows us to cook them at higher temperatures. A very risky thing to do without burning, but the water helps to relegate this, so you can caramelize it more and cook it faster.

If you don’t know by now, you need a LOT of onions for this. They do shrink down quite a bit after cooking, and I plan on making a big pot. Soooo, the question then becomes… is there an official volume and weight for ‘shitload’ of onions like this?

Finally, as for the soup, what onions to use? Do you do one for capitalize on a single trait, or a blend of different for rounding purposes? I say first stick with one, since that’s generally how it’s done… and I doubt the original laborers had the luxury of choice. Then, do you choose the typically assumed Sweet Onion varieties (like Vidalia) or Yellow? One would think the first, but apparently there are people online saying otherwise… mainly based on flavor. The sweet onions ARE sweeter, but though the yellow are more pungent (at first), after cooking apparently they develop more of these deeper flavors to enjoy. I myself am still going for the Sweet, because I want to ensure those sugars and caramelly qualities this time, but I would certainly try the yellow at some point in the future.

Broth: it is certainly true one can use chicken broth or –shudders- ‘water’ to make this, but beef broth has been the readily accepted stock for decades, so that’s what I’ll use. Though I’ve read plenty of complaints about the store-bought beef broths, so why not just make my own? So I just grab some beef neck bones (and a cow foot… yes a cow foot. I wanted to see what it tasted like afterwards okay?), roasted them with big chunks of onion, carrot, and celery, and into the pot it went.

Let simmer all day and all night, and that’s a lovely pot of beef-flavored water. Oh you should see it after it’s strained, skimmed (this puppy generates a LOT of fat on top that needs removal), and put in the fridge; it turns into JELLY. Now that’s the sign of a good stock.

Booze: It’s not an onion soup without at least a little bit of alcohol. The first requirement is the hard stuff; if there’s anything that seems to make its way into almost every recipe, it’s some kind of Brandy. Cognac is one of the ideals, but being well-focused along the Parisian, Loire, and Normandy area, where apples grow abundant in the cool climate, Apple Brandy has been used just as traditionally. And it’s delicious. Regular brandy works too, but if you really want the experience it’s always fun to go to a proper Cognac (still stick with the cheaper stuff, you are cooking afterall) or Calvados. Being unable to choose myself, I used a combination of some rather high quality Cognac and aged Calvados… don’t ask me how I got it, I can’t answer that question publicly.

Wine becomes debatable, though when used it’s in notably higher quantities than the spirit. Also one can use Red or White, I think the latter may be more traditional (having now looked up the King Louis story with champagne), but the ultimate decision is likely depended upon whether one is going for a deeper, darker onion soup or something lighter (not so intensely caramelized and with chicken stock).

Cheese: Gruyere, pure and simple. Now how it goes on may have debate… there are those that like having the bread and cheese basically plugging the top, even just using a thick slice of the fromage over the bowl so that it forms a fully melted seal, goes messily over the side and all that. Then there are those that stick with shredding and using a small bread piece so that more of the cheese melts INTO the soup while broiling. I’ve even seen a recipe that puts a layer of bread and cheese in the middle before ladling more soup and then a final cover on top to fully integrate it. I wanna try shredding, but seeing if I can get a decent amount on top for a full seal (can’t say I’ll be successful in my ideals), as I still want the soup mostly separated from it initially.

Cooking Vessel: I’m sure many of us are familiar with the classic ‘French onion soup bowl,’ we’ve seen this brown and white oven proof miniature chamber pot on plenty of tv shows, in recipes/pictures, and possibly in person. Whether or not we have bowls that are of this same design is dependent upon what’s shoved in the back of our pantry, but I don’t imagine most people do. Though I will say I actually happen to have a similar dish that used to belong to my grandmother (only it’s very notably bright teal color… you’ll see). But no worries, any oven-proof ceramic-type bowl or large ramekin will work. If all else fails, one could even broil off the soup en-masse in a casserole dish, top covered in bread and slices of cheese. That’s what I did (well I only had the ONE bowl, and the others were quite ornery about wanting food…), spooned them each some of the topping and soup beneath, and it worked out rather well.

Soupe a L’Oignon (a la Lyonnaise… sorta)
2 Tb Butter
2½ – 3lbs Sweet Onions
2-3 Bay Leaves
2 Tb Flour
¾ cup Red (or white if preferred) Wine
3/8 cup quality Brandy of choice (Cognac, Calvados, and/or other)
6-8 cups Beef Broth
6 Thyme Sprigs
Salt and Pepper
Baguette
½ lb Gruyere, shredded

Directions

1. Halve, peel, and slice Onions about 1/8” thick on the vertical
2. Heat up a wide, large, ideally cast-iron pot on just over medium heat
3. Throw in Butter and onions, stirring to coat
4. Cook, stirring occasionally, as the onions slowly caramelize. As they sweat and reduce in size, stir more often, scraping them up and around as the bottom of the pile browns over and over again.
5. Add bay leaves when it’s mostly golden, now most likely stirring constantly. If and whenever the pan bottom gets really crusty from the fond, add 3-4 Tb of Water to pan, deglazing and stirring the brown bits evenly among the onions. Repeat whenever it gets crusty.
6. After about 45 minutes of total cook time, onions should be an even caramelly dark brown. Stir in Flour, keep stirring for about a minute (should smell very lightly nutty)
7. Add in Wine and half of the Brandy, briefly deglazing and letting bubble.
8. Pour in Beef Stock and Thyme, bringing to a boil and cooking about 15 minutes for flavors to come together.
9. Add remaining Brandy, season Salt and Pepper, and turn down heat to low, keeping warm for service.
10. Turn oven to 400F or Toasting setting and prepare Baguette. Slice into thick segments, butter if desired, and bake in the oven until top is brown and crusty.
11. Adjusting oven to Broil setting and start transferring soup (bay leaves and thyme removed) to deep oven-proof bowls or casserole pots, stopping 1 inch under the lip.
12. Top with baguette slices to take up most of the space and generously pile with Gruyere to make a thick, even layer.
13. Broil for a few minutes, until the cheese is melted, bubbly, and potentially lightly golden.
14. Carefully remove, transfer to plate, and dig in.

The Verdict

I swear, visually at least (didn’t taste them at the time), this is the best batch of caramelized onions I’ve done so far. I really think the combo of their size, cast iron pot, and the water trick really did the trick. So for that at least I am VERY glad and grateful that I went through this recipe. Oh, and for the chance to make my own beef stock (haven’t done that since college).

Overall, the final result was most deeply satisfying, especially to my dinner guests. Rather deep, tender caramelly onions, and with that awesome gooey swiss cheese aspect. Bread was a bit annoying to spoon through, I either should have cut them thinner or had a not so tight/dense product. Some sort of country loaf maybe? In regards of the flavor, though, I did find there to be this notable bitter aspect that I couldn’t shake… at least in the soup on its own, eaten with everything else it actually wasn’t so bad, and almost worked alright. Though I don’t blame that on the recipe, probably something to do with my treatement of the onions, the brandy, or maybe an effect of our pot (it IS old and I know for a fact that it wasn’t seasoned properly once or twice, did NOT smell so good… but we fixed that a while back).

If I ever do this again, I really wanna try using a whole slice of cheese over the soup instead of grated, go for that thick, draping-layer cheese effect. Maybe see what happens with that lighter caramelized onions (see pic with the bay leaves) with white wine for a different style. I’d also like to try the basic yellow onion base instead, see if they actually create more, and a better, flavor. But that’s for the future.

Primary Pairing – Dark Belgian Beer

First off let me say; not a Stout, or Porter, or similar black styles. I’m thinking more of those nice dark brown, rich, almost tavern beers, but better. As much as this recipe can be made as a finessed, high-end dish, I still feel it really connects more with a rustic bowl of comforting soul food. Definitely the kind that at times makes me want a nice satisfying pint of beer to chug down alongside it. Especially something with similar dark, malty flavors to compliment the caramelly onions and broth and a rich body.

With a quality Belgian, we shouldn’t have to worry about large levels of hops to interfere with things, not to mention we can bring in special flavors and complexity to the overall experience. A dear lesson I learned when dealing with ‘special food and wine’ pairings; where it’s clear to see that the better quality food one has, one should try to match with a similar quality drink. But the COMPLEXITY depends on the dish, and not in the way one might think; put simply, if the food is simple but nice, say a really good filet mignon with potatoes, one can have a deeply complex wine to enjoy, and vice versa. Simple and simple works well too, but complex food and complex wine is a definite NO, as the flavors can so easily get all mixed up and muddled; it’s possible to find ones that pair perfectly, but insanely difficult. Better to let one of them shine in its developed and special flavors while the other acts as a supporting base, allowing you to fully enjoy each part. And with a very simple, rustic, but really good quality French onion soup, a beer with extra aspects is definitely acceptable; and I like the idea of Belgians.

Oh, and I also didn’t have any wine prepared to go with this, so I just used a beer I had in the basement instead, so yeah.

My Bottle: St Stefanus Biere d’Abbaye Belge Grand Cru Dubel (or Tripel? Can’t remember)

Certainly a classic Belgian multi-grain abbey ale, St Stefanus delivers a smooth, delectable and refreshing malty craft beer. A golden draft of medium-bodied, frothy creation leads to light notes of fruit, barrel, and some other yummy things. Truly an enjoyable, quality beverage that I would love to sit back and enjoy on a sunny deck day afternoon.

But, here’s the thing: it didn’t go well with the soup. I admit it, I made a mistake and didn’t create a proper pairing between these two. I did end up creating this awesome feeling of being in an old, run down pub/tavern, hot and bready onion-cheese soup and what tasted like rough, malty beer next to it that was reminiscent of something drunk out of a wooden tankard. But the soup completely overshadowed all those delicious delicate flavors and aspects I just mentioned, the beer wasn’t as heavy, dark, and deep as it should have been to stand a chance. It’s an unacceptable result in my book, and I hope it doesn’t repeat anytime soon.

Secondary Pairing – Loire/Coteaux du Layon Blanc (White Table Wine level)

There’s no actual meat or anything with proper chew or texture here, all soft, so there is no need or desire (in fact, you’ll ideally want to avoid) for any red wine. If absolutely desiring, maybe something from Beaujolais, a super light red of Cab Franc and/or Gamay in the Loire, or a Rose. But whites are desired here, especially to help cut through the fatty cheese. Loire whites being often Chenin Blanc based, which brings a solid acidity for this, a richer medium-ish body and thicker mouthfeel to match the soup’s own, and often even a bit of sweetness which could go nicely with that of the onions (and help with the cheese). Sometimes they’ll even have a bit of toasty barrel, or something reminiscent of malo-lactic buttery effects, all things which could make a tasty pair alongside our soup.

p1: Coquilles St-Jacques

The Dish

As fun and interesting it is to delve into realms of history and legend that so many of these classic French preparations have seemed to garner, it’s almost ever more intriguing to find one that has little to say for itself. Thus is my experience with the preparation of Coquille St. Jacques, a term which has been says translates to “Saint James’s Scallops,” deriving an interesting little tale to the origin. The story goes that the holy Saint James, in his travels, saved a night who had fallen into the river; upon emerging, the night was covered in scallop shells (there is also a story of a knight’s horse that fell in and emerged with scallops). As such, Saint James’ emblem became that of the scallop shell, which on its own is a true fact, and thus lending itself to the name of the dish.

Whether these tales are true, or if they really has any forbearance on the dish’s name, is up to debate. What we can say is that Saint Jacques has become the accepted name for a certain French scallop, and that the term “coquille” is culinary used for a number of recipes that are baked or broiled inside a scallop shell, which when cleaned has made a very durable and trusty cooking utensil for hundreds of years (there’s an interesting anecdote to begging poor or monks who would travel with one tied around their neck and use to scoop food). These dishes are oft composed of the main ingredient chopped up and covered in a creamy wine sauce, thickened much like gravy, and then broiled with cheese as-is or on top of a bed of other ingredients. Methods for coquille st-jacques has found the scallops cooked alone or on top of duxelle (a blend of shallots, garlic, and mushroom sautéed into a paste), diced or whole, until golden and bubbly.

A Word On…

Scallops: Here is the question on how one puts this dish together; do we do the classic, rustic coquille which consists of a mass of goeey cheese sauce mixed with chopped up shellfish meat, or do we leave large rounded disks with an elegant garnish to display in a more refined manner, thus highlighting the meaty seafood? If one goes for the former, tiny Bay Scallops are likely your game, much sweeter and more flavor without having to worry about the structure. However, after my few months away from the blog game, I feel like I want to present the more sophisticated style of my first dish in a while; not to mention, if I’m going to cook with a good quality scallop, I want it to be able to shine properly, so bigger Sea Scallops it is.

I buy them fresh from a good distributor, not frozen and definitely not the ‘wet packed’ scallops that many people warn about. To make sure it doesn’t have any of that extra moisture that could ruin its structure when cooking, I pat and let them sit on some paper towels before the poaching. The results… well let’s see.

Of course, die hard recipe reproducers would look to get true St. Jacques Scallops from France; of which I have no clue how to do in the States besides shipping in frozen, so I’ll stick to some decent fresh ones instead.

Mushrooms: though their inclusion is fully optional, every recipe I’ve found that uses them points almost exclusively to white buttons, which I was want to follow. Giving myself a few extra seconds at the store, in front of the bins, I could not help but think that if this was made in the French countryside, around the Loire, from ingredients on hand, would it have been a ‘white button’ or some available brown-topped, perhaps wild mushroom? Some version of the latter feels more sincere, so at the very least I decided to buy some Criminis to get more flavor in.

Sauce: The sauce used for this is somewhat intriguing compared to other ones I’ve worked with in the past. It’s a roux-thickened recipe, much like with three of the classic mother sauces and gravy, but it uses no stock, no milk as its base, some cream yes but that’s more for fortification at the end (like butter); the liquid component is entirely based on wine that the scallops are poached in before baking. Flavor wise it ends up similar to a classic beurre blanc, but oh what a different texture.

That ramble out of the way, the poaching liquid itself offers another choice to us, as I’ve seen in my searchings: Wine or Vermouth. Many have used either or, or combinations of the two, thus leading us to debate; my own curiosity has me wondering what the vermouth would taste like, and why it’s included, however contrary to that I don’t think I’d want to create an all-vermouth sauce and poaching liquid unless I had some good quality alcohol, as opposed to the terrible mass-produced crap that’s usually in my bar simply be destined for thinning out in cocktails. Thus I settled for an almost equal portioned blend of the two, so that I could add just that little bit of complexity, botanical depth, and richness vermouth contributes. Though, I would suggest that, unlike me, you use a proper WHITE vermouth in your own experiments (sadly we ran out, so red it is).

Cheese: Not too much of a commonality in recipes, I’ve seen people use Swiss, Parmesan, Gruyere, mixes, you name it. Some sprinkle just on top, some melt into the sauce, if not both; which is where I start, as I feel like the sauce should stay a simple gravy of the thickened cooking liquid, only using cream to bolster the texture. Cheese is made to be gratineed over the top, and though there seems to not be anything SPECIFICALLY required, gruyere just seems to fit the bill best, both in its melting properties and the common use in French cuisine where cheese is concerned.

Coquille: Very likely, you probably don’t have a scallop shell you can use for cooking at home. Ramekins work well, though, or any other similar small baking dish that can be stuck in a super-hot oven and broiled with.

Coquilles St-Jacques
4 Tb Butter
3 Shallots, Chopped
4 cloves Garlic, Chopped
1 cup Chopped White Button or Crimini Mushrooms
¼ bunch Parsley
12 Sea Scallops
¾ cup Dry White Wine (French preferred)
½ – ¾ cup Dry White Vermouth
2 Tb Flour
3 Tb Cream
¼ cup Grated Gruyere
Salt and Pepper

Directions

1. Heat a sauté pan to medium/med-high, tossing in 2 Tb of Butter and 2 of the Shallots.
2. Cook 1-2 minutes until it begins to soften, adding in the Garlic and chopped Mushrooms.
3. Heat, stirring often, until browned nicely throughout and broken down. Season with salt, pepper, and most of the Parsley Leaves, minced. Reserve.
4. Gently prepare your Scallops, slicing carefully in half to produce two thin disks.
5. In a separate, wide pan, combine the Wine, Vermouth, Parsley Stems, and the rest of the Shallots, heating until just barely at a simmer.
6. Arrange the scallops in the pan so that the liquid only just covers them (or gets close to the top), letting them sit in the warm but not boiling poaching liquid 2-3 minutes. You may need to flip them halfway through to ensure even cooking.
7. Remove scallops, reserve on the side, and strain the resulting wine and scallop Stock.
8. In the pan one cooked mushrooms in, add the rest of the butter with the heat on medium. Once melted, whisk in the Flour.
9. Let sit on hit, whisking often, until it lightens slightly in color, 1-3 minutes. Slowly pour in the still-warm wine stock, mixing constantly to incorporate.
10. Let heat for a minute or two until thickened slightly; if notable too thick, add in more wine to thin into a proper sauce. Season salt and pepper, finish with the Cream.
11. Heat oven to 475F.
12. Start arranging your ingredients on the Coquille or other ramekin-like serving vessel, starting with a mound of the sautéed mushroom duxelle and some of the sauce.
13. Carefully layer the poached scallop coins on top in a pleasing array, spooning the rest of the sauce overhead. Garnish with Gruyere and move to the oven.
14. Roast until the sauce is melty and the top has bruleed to a beautiful golden edge, about 5-15 minutes depending on cooking vessel and other factors.
15. Remove, garnish with freshly chopped parsley, and serve alongside toasted baguette.

The Verdict

There’s a very intriguing ‘rule’ in French and Italian cooking that states one should never plate seafood with cheese; there are of course exceptions to every rule, but it’s usually seen with subtle manipulations, here most often using only the lightest hints of parmesan to bolster a bit of richness in a white fish or scallop dip. Which is why, when eating, I found this particular dish so intriguing, in light of not only this rule but of what I know of France’s culinary distinctions. Here we’re taking a scallop, an ingredient that needs gentle treatment and is most commonly partnered with delicate flavors so as to highlight its veil of sweetness and easy-to-dismiss flavors of the sea, and completely smothering it in garlicky mushrooms, a thick and tart cream sauce, and the strong European cheddar that is Gruyere.

And the damn thing works. For despite this rich, gut warming bowl of goodness, the scallop’s flavors are never fully covered, and the portions leave its meat in the strong point, allowing us to enjoy its well-cooked texture, the sweetness coming to underlay against the creamy cheese and sauce, with mushrooms dancing in behind to say hello and make our taste buds happy. Though they might not be a requirement, I am happy I went for the version with the duxelle, as well as keeping big pieces of scallop vs chopped, though I’m sure that would have been its own scrumchy delight. It does need to be eaten with bread or something else though, for a complete course, too bad I forgot to get a baguette (had some English muffins though, so it worked out!).

 

Primary Pairing – Gingo Sake

It’s not hard to reason that sake goes very well with fish and seafood, considering the well famed Japanese cuisine. Though one might not think it, considering most sake’s very earth-bound flavors of woods, fungus, and earth mixed with the rice’s sweetness. But when we get into the more aromatic and refined styles of Gingo and Daigingo, where the rice grain has more of its heavier outer layers polished down, we find notably lighter-bodied ‘wines’ with those characteristic flavors of the sea mixed with fruit and floral yeasts. If we were to choose a bottle that was only halfway up this sake totem pole of refinement, mainly Gingos, then we would still hold onto some of those earthy flavors, which in my opinion make it quite the appealing pair to enjoy alongside this medium-lightweight, mushroomy seafood dish.

My Bottle: Sho Chiku Bai’s Junmai Gingo Sake

I’ll admit a noted disappointment on first sip, as I had hoped for it to reveal more flavors of fleshy fruit, or perhaps some zesty aromatics, but nonetheless it shone itself as a proper, standard Junmai Gingo. The ‘weight’ of the drink was a noted step down from regular Junmai sake (which is an interesting thing to taste one next to the other; unlike other drinks, where shifts in style happen more smoothly and gradually, one can very easily feel a drop in aromatic strength and body weight between the different sake styles), and contained the smooth flavors of barley and mushrooms to play with the palette without overpowering the light scallops. The flavors and weights ended up meshing quite nicely, with just a bit of that creamy rice flavor that blended into the creamy white scallop. Overall, much like my last sake pairing with the duck, a surprisingly successful match after opening.

Secondary Pairing – Vouvray

Sticking to the NW region, along the river Loire and close to the sea, I so much want to use a Sancerre or Muscadet, but the body’s just too light and flavors too crisp for my liking in this case. A Vouvray, however, based on the Chenin Blanc, brings a bit more weight to combat the slightly heavier sauce and mushrooms, a bit more of a richer background, while still holding notable acid (as Chenin and Rieslings are like to do) to cut through the cream and brighten the seafood. Not to mention many Vouvray (note I’m sticking with the generic as opposed to choosing a specific style, regional or otherwise) contain a bit of sweetness which I think would combat the saltiness of the cheese and scallops beautifully, if done right of course.

p1: Cheese Souffle

Part Two of my Soufflé adventures, this one taken place for a morning B-day Brunch.

The Dish

It’s sometimes said that, in truth, the very first soufflés were a variation of an omelet. There is in fact a recipe of “Omelette Soufflé,” involving a VERY well beaten mixture of eggs and milk which is cooked mostly in the oven. Some accounts have it that after this followed an even more intensive recipe whereby the yolks and whites were separated, the latter being whipped to a voluminous nature, and folded back in to make what has to be the simplest and most basic soufflé ever. Cooked in a heavy skillet pan of course.

Whether there’s truth to this or not, I find the recipe idea fascinating; the term “soufflé” itself translating purely as “to blow/puff up.” As a descriptor, there are probably many kinds of recipes it could have applied to before being known as what it is today; heck, I doubt that original omelet really rose that much (not the one that was separated, that woulda been huge, I’ve seen videos…) and yet there it is. Was there an evolution to it, a slowly winding path of eggs and pastry finally culminating in Careme’s use of newly ventilated ovens? Or was it just a random stumbling and popping up of various clumsy dishes until one finally made something epic?

Whatever the case, soufflé has been discovered and is here to stay, in all its wonderful forms. And though our initial thoughts always land on the rich chocolate or velvety vanilla dessert, there is always that other intriguingly delicious side of the coin, the “savory soufflé.” Basing the main flavors out of things like Ham, Fish, Seafood, Spinach, and so many others, the discovery of this whole aspect of soufflé cookery truly shows the immense versatility of the dish.

And the absolute King of all these is the Cheese Souffle. I have no clue exactly when or who first made it, probably Careme he’s made everything, but the results have spoken for itself. That amongst all the savory soufflés that can be made, it is one focusing purely on regional Gruyere that has implemented itself as THE Classic and Traditional savory version of this dish that Represents the rest.

Which is all I really have to say on the matter, let’s start getting into this food!

A Word On…

Soufflé: I’ve already talked a lot about soufflé construction in my Dessert article, and I’m too lazy to write it again, so read some more stuff there.

Cheese: Though I could definitely see a not-too-untasty version of this with Cheddar, the true king of this French classic has and always shall be Gruyere. It melts very well, super flavorful, and goes good with eggs.

When trying to stay classic, one thus has to ensure they get FRENCH gruyere, as most of what we see regularly is from Switzerland. Swiss style makes an almost perfect substitute of course, and I do not fault the use of it for any reason, but for my purposes the French is best. And for those also trying to follow suit, that means you want to look for “Comte” Gruyere, one of the main two regions to actually make the cheese (I forgot the other one, but I couldn’t find it myself anyway so let’s just focus on comte). You may, as I did, find a couple kinds, regular and “doux,” a double aged version. Just stick with the younger, simpler one, which thus melts easier and carries a little more straightforward flavors.

Cheese Integration: A very interesting thing I found. After expecting practically every recipe to call for melting the cheese into the Bechamel (a white, milk-based gravy which most savory soufflé bases are made from), it was a shock to see quite a few did something different. Instead of adding it to the hot sauce, the shredded gruyere was folded into the cooled down mixture at the same time as the whipped egg whites. This actually seems to be somewhat more of the classic method, especially since Julia Child did it as well, so I thought I would try my hand at it. If you want to too, I would just suggest that you make sure the cheese is shred FINE; don’t want big pieces around when also handling the delicate egg whites.

“Encrusting” Cheese: Something quite peculiar I’ve found in most recipes for this is that, instead of dusting the heavily buttered pan in flour (or sugar like what’s done with dessert soufflés), other cooks sprinkle the sides with Parmesan. It was an odd substitute for flour, but I guess if it works then it boosts the whole cheesy aspect even more, even Julia Child did it. So I thought I’d look into it a bit more…

Two Problems. First, though I am of course willing to honor and try this technique, there is no way in HELL I’m using PARMESAN for a FRENCH meal. I don’t care if it’s used even in classic recipes, it is not a French cheese, so no go. Thus I set myself to find the hardest French cheese I could in search of a reasonable substitute, and even had a pretty good idea in mind…

Only to find out that some a-holes decided to ban the shipment Mimolette, which would have been THE perfect cheese. It has the EXACT same texture as parmesan, and now of all times I need it for something. But of course, they just happen to decide that the termites are too much or something or other… so I ended up with the OTHER comte, comte doux, which I guess ironically is the firmest French cheese we can now get in our market. Funny how that worked out.

Second issue. I tried it. The damn thing screwed up my soufflé. Weeelll, not really screwed up… but as you’ll see in pictures later, my little baked baby never got the chance to rise up the sides of the pan and above the lip (the center did, burst right out, but not the actual sides) like it was supposed to. And I buttered EVERYTHING damn good. It was the cheese and I know it; I love the crust it gave it, but it held my soufflé hostage from itself. The bastard.

It’s an easy fix though. Next time, I’ll just rub the cheese (which reminds me, best way to grate this is on the rougher side of the box grater; you know the section that looks like a bunch of little metal tents?) on the bottom and lower half of the pan, that way the top is completely unrestrained. Cuz I still like the flavor and texture it gave, but it needs a lot of controlling.

Wrapping: With my dessert, I wrapped the whole thing with parchment paper, but for this one I decided to try using aluminum foil instead, a technique that Julia Child and others tend to feature. I’d like to give results on which one I prefer, but as I just mentioned my soufflé was never able to raise high enough where I could tell. Either way, both are options, and the foil is MUCH easier to actually wrap around the dish.

Cooking Time/Temp: Instead of the idea to start at 425F and immediately turn down to 375F, most recipes for this call for an even 400F. Which makes sense, as it took a noticeable amount of time to actually cook… in fact, much longer than the recipes called for. A lot will say around 25-35 minutes, but even at 30 mine was painfully undercooked, as I found out after trying to serve it.

Unless you’re using a different kind of dish, or the batter turns out differently somehow, then it’ll take more like 45 minutes to cook all the way through. Really need to make sure it doesn’t move at all when shaking it.

Maybe if I tried the melted cheese method it would have worked?

Cheese Soufflé
4 Tb Butter
3 Tb Flour
1 ½ cup Milk
Tsp Fresh Grated Nutmeg
Salt and Pepper
4 Egg Yolks
5 Egg Whites
1 Tb Water
½ tsp Cream of Tartar
6 oz Comte Gruyere, finely grated
½ – 1oz Comte Doux Gruyere, roughly grated

Directions

1. Turn oven to 400F.
2. Melt Butter in a saucepan set over Medium heat.
3. Whisk in Flour to a paste-like Roux, cooking over heat for about a minute.
4. Once the roux has lightened slightly (Blanc stage, right before it starts darkening again), carefully add the warm or room-temperature Milk, whisking in to fully incorporate the two.
5. Heat the sauce, watching and stirring often so it doesn’t burn or curdle, until it thickens enough to coat a spoon (Nappé).
6. Season with Nutmeg, Salt, and Pepper before slowly pouring the hot mixture into the Egg Yolks to temper.
7. Let this rest and cool slightly on the side while you start whipping your Whites, combining them with Water and Tartar in a bowl.
8. Whip on High with a stand or hand mixer until reaching firm, stiff peaks.
9. Take this and alternatively fold 1/3 of it at a time into the still-warm Bechamel along with the finely grated Comte.
10. Quickly prepare a large, straight-sided casserole or soufflé dish if you haven’t already. Heavily and thoroughly butter the bottom, sides, and rim before sprinkling and coating the bottom and lower ½-1/3 of the sides with grated Comte Doux. Enwrap the container with a long, folded piece of aluminum foil so it sticks straight up from the rim.
11. Fill the dish with as much of the batter as you can get in, trying to get to the very top.
12. Move to oven and bake 35-45 minutes, minimum, until it has risen noticeably, developed a dark brown complexion, and set all the way through.
13. Spoon onto a plate to enjoy as-is, or served with a Poached Egg, Hollandaise, and Cheese Wedge for a delicious breakfast.

The Verdict

A lot different than I thought it’d be, but ohhhhh so good. I’m not sure if I actually got it to what it’s supposed to be (in fact I think there may have been a chance of slight overcooking), but boy did I not care.

It was like that perfect expression of airy, fluffy eggbake, or omelet, or scrambled egg texture, but different; it wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either, just a warm juicy mouthfull. One which, soon as you bite into it, you get that flavor and feeling of CHEESE, heavenly heavenly gruyere cheese, that practically melts into your mouth, but you know nothing is actually melting. It’s like ideal form of a cheese omelet. Overall that’s just the best way I could describe it in my mind’s eye; I suggest you make it for yourself to fully experience.

Oh, a really fun surprise too; after taking it out of the oven (-cough- for a second time), my immediate worries were that there had been some burning; I mean you can see the picture. Actually that was one of my favorite parts of the whole thing. The older gruyere on the outside had fully melted and caramelized into a rich, heavy, sorta crusty strip of cheesy goodness reminiscent of the “burnt” bits of grilled cheese, or the last bits of congealed stuff at the bottom of a fondue pot (which any Frenchman will tell you is THE best part). Not only was it just plain awesome, it added a nice dimension next to the richly singular juicy-soft insides.

Something tells me my sister may be demanding I make this again soon…

Primary Pairing – Loire Whites

Whether it’s a sharply acidic Sancerre, lightly sweet and Riesling-esque Vouvray (or many of the other Chenin Blanc wines of the whole region), or the mildly yeasty and subtle body of a Muscadet Sevre-et-Maine, the whites in this northern area of France are all amazing to pair with food, and each shine qualities to match this interestingly light to medium bodied, fluffy cheese-centered dish. Don’t get me started on what their famous Cremants and some of the lighter dessert wines of the region could do for this… or a Savennieres! Oh, such an oddly unique, vibrantly strong character that Chenin Blanc region wine has; almost like the oxidation qualities in the previously discussed Jura.

What you choose all depends on what you’re craving to drink with the souffle. The sauvignon blanc-based whites of the Central Valley/Eastern Touraine will cut right through everything; many of the Chenin Blanc based Vouvrays and Anjou-Saumur wines provide a fullness to lift up those rich flavors; and the Muscadet-based wines actually MATCH the salty qualities, not to mention the body. Cremants and Desserts (Coteaux du Layon, special Vouvrays, etc) are great for special occasions.

My Bottle: 2012 Chateau de la Roulerie, Coteaux du Layon

A little fat in the mouth, just a bare amount of sweetness, and a solid acidity from this all Chenin Blanc wine make for a svelt, yummy pairing alongside the hot, cheesy dish. Normally I might not have a Layon as my first choice, the particular region in the Anjou area known for its almost total devotion to refreshing Dessert wines. This basic Table Wine version, however, holds those sickly qualities back with simple, not-so-ripe grapes, while still maintaining just a bit of the area’s characteristic sweetness to counterbalance the salty cheese.

The body matches, the acid is enough to stand up to the fatty egg and cheese, and it just has that perfectly simple table wine nature that just makes you want to gulp it down with the area foods, much like I did that morning.

Secondary Pairing – Fine or VS Calvados (apple brandy)

Who doesn’t love Apples and Cheese? Cider would be great too, but I do enough of that, why not get into some good hard liquor every once in a while? The region that makes it is close by, it still has a bit of that fruity sweetness (though hard to find through the alcohol, I know), not to mention those barrel-aged and distilled(heated) flavors of baking and caramelization that match with the crispy dark soufflé cooked cheese on the outside. Who cares if I’m drinking in the morning, I think it would go really well with the big, fatty breakfast version I made as well, as the high alcohol would be able to just cut through all that butter, yolk, cheese, etc.

Which is one of the things I learned in class about the stronger alcoholic beverages; they pair with foods a lot better than some may think they do, so don’t be too afraid about using them. Many brandies and whiskies have a bit of tannin to them; maybe some sweetness; they often carry a strength in certain flavors that one just can’t find anywhere else (just look at liqueurs); and the high alcohol can actually be used to contrast and cut high fats, acids, sweetness, etc. Even if one has a light bodied dish, so long as at least one component is noticeably strong, we can consider Hard Alcohol as a potential, proper drinking partner. Just have to find the right one, and for here I would just love a younger Calvados.