New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power 3: Oats!

 fig. a toaster, oats

It's funny that this is the last recipe to appear in the New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power series, because in many ways this was the recipe that got me started on this train of thought.

It all started back in about the spring of 2010.  I'd been reading and re-reading issue #82 of The Art of Eating (Fall 2009) for a while, especially its cover story on new bistros and "the casualization of dining" in Paris ("New Ways to be a Restaurant in Paris," by Bénédict Beaugé and Edward Behr).  I was fascinated by its description of the new crop of bistros and micro-bistros in Paris, and the way these restaurants were redefining the dining scene there:  by making it less stuffy and more affordable, yes, but also by highlighting regional cuisines in a way that was helping to expand notions of bistro cuisine. And I studied the accompanying recipes closely.  Very closely, in fact, because there was one recipe that I just couldn't wrap my head around.

It was a recipe for Haferflockensuppe from Nicholas Scheidt of L'Office, and it was billed as an Alsatian specialty.  You see, I'd yet to Boost My Grain Power back then, and it literally took me weeks to decipher what I was reading.  I couldn't figure out why this wouldn't just result in an unusually savoury bowl of oatmeal.  Finally, after going back to that same recipe over and over and over again, it suddenly made sense to me.  I had something of a "Eureka!" moment.  It wasn't just an "oatmeal soup" (as a strict translation of the name would suggest), like every other recipe in this New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power series, the key had to do with the toasting of grains--in this case, the toasting of oats.  You see, it may very well be that mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey, and that's all fine and good, but, here, it's very important that you begin this recipe with toasted oats.

With its combination of butter, bacon, oats, cognac, sour cream, and chicken stock, this might seem like kind of a wintery soup, and it is, but it's actually pretty ideal as an early spring soup, too, especially around here, where the fluctuations in temperature can be a bit of a rollercoaster ride (a cruel one) in March and April.  You see, it's got some of the greens that you're craving, like chervil and spring onions, but it's also plenty hearty enough for an unseasonably brisk day.  (In fact, tomorrow would be an ideal day for Haferflockensuppe--it's predicted that we're going to get 10-15 cm of snow [?!!].)  And it's easy, too, once you have the necessary ingredients, including a good (homemade, preferably) chicken stock.  You just have to take the time to carefully brown your oats to toasty, golden perfection, and everything else pretty well takes care of itself.

I offer you the recipe as it originally appeared in The Art of Eating.  I've found that one can tone down the amount of butter and oil significantly, and still wind up with the desired richness of flavour.  Everything else I'd keep exactly as is, although if you happen to have pumpernickel croutons around, instead of plain old country bread croutons, all the better.

Haferflockensuppe 

75g oat flakes (3/8 cup)
100g butter (1/2 cup)
4 tsp veg oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 thick slice bacon, cut into lardons
2 bay leaves
2 tbsp cognac
1 litre chicken stock
salt and pepper
4 eggs
1 slice country bread, cut into croutons
chervil, 1 bunch, minced
spring onions, thinly sliced
4 tsp sour cream 

Brown the oat flakes in half the butter and half the oil, with the garlic, bacon and bay leaves. Deglaze with the cognac, add stock and simmer 20 min. Remove the bay leaves and season to taste. 

Pan fry the eggs (or poach them for a finer look and taste), season them, brown the croutons in the remaining oil and butter, and season. 

Slide one egg in the bottom of each soup bowl (shallow ones make for a more dramatic presentation), pour some soup around it so the yolk still emerges, sprinkle with chervil, croutons, and spring onions. Finish with a dollop of sour cream.

Is it starting to make sense?  It will when you taste it.

aj

New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power 1: Barley!

 fig. a:  icy

Some days, all you really want for dinner is a bowl of soup--preferably, with a loaf of freshly baked bread, and some butter.  Soup lovers get this feeling throughout the year, of course--even in summer--but during the winter, the pursuit of soup can take on added urgency.  You know the days:  the ones with the snow squalls, the arctic blasts of wind, the temperatures that drop like an anvil in a matter of just a few short hours, possibly even a freak thunderstorm (!).  On days like these (because that's exactly the kind of day we're having here today in Montreal), there are few things as life-affirming as the first spoonful of that steaming bowl of hearty soup.  Sample the right soup, and you'll immediately feel its restorative powers begin to kick in--the very same powers that gave the first modern restaurants their allure (and the name by which these establishments became known).

Obviously, there are many, many soups that can produce this effect, but some of the most satisfying winter soups are those that make ample use of grains, like rice, barley, or oats.  These grains provide flavour, they provide substance, and they also provide comfort.  (Think about it:  why do most variations on the proverbial chicken soup come with noodles or rice, or something similar?)  Serve them with that freshly baked bread and you'll find that your grain power will be amplified.  Serve them with that freshly baked bread and a tasty beer and your grain power will be boosted even more.

Barley soup is one of the classics of the genre, but I'd more or less given up on it until I found a recipe for Grauensuppe, a German barley soup, in an issue of Saveur way back in 2011.  The recipe showed up in a fantastic article on the soup-making traditions of Central Europe, aptly titled "The Art of Soup." This was not the stodgy beef & barley soup found throughout the Anglo-American and Anglo-Canadian worlds.  Here, the barley in question was pearl barley, which keeps its form and its texture better than other varieties; the meat was German-style sausage; the vegetables included one of the staple trios of the German soup-making tradition: carrot, celeriac, and leek; and the barley was sautéed first to toast the grains and give the soup additional flavour.  The results were fantastic--one of my favourite soups of the last couple of years.  Even better:  this soup is quick and easy to make.

 fig. b:  ja, voll!

Grauensuppe 

4 tbsp unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
1 cup pearl barley
8 cups vegetable stock, preferably homemade
1/2 cup finely chopped peeled russet potato
1/2 cup finely chopped carrot
1/2 cup finely chopped celeriac
1/2 cup finely chopped leek
1 tsp dried marjoram, preferably wild
2 German sausages, like bockwurst or bratwurst
1 2-oz piece of smoky bacon
freshly grated nutmeg
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup thinly sliced flat-leaf parsley leaves 

Heat the butter in large saucepan over medium heat.  Add the bacon, and sauté for about 1 minute.  Add the onion and cook, stirring, until soft, about 5-10 minutes.  Add the stock, potato, carrot, celery root, leek, marjoram, and sausages and cook, stirring occasionally, until the sausages are tender, about 35 minutes.   

Remove the sausages and bacon from the saucepan.  Thinly slice the sausages and discard the poor hunk of bacon.  Season the soup with nutmeg, salt and pepper, being careful not to overdue it with the nutmeg.   

Ladle the soup into 8 serving bowls, and garnish with parsley and sliced sausage.  Serve hot, with plenty of good, freshly baked bread, and butter.

 fig. c:  pumpkin seed sourdough

Serves 8. 

[based very, very closely on a recipe that appeared in Beth Kracklauer's "The Art of Soup" in the November 2011 issue of Saveur]

To your health (and your warmth)!

Note:  while the health benefits of this soup might prove to be lasting, its warming properties will likely prove to be fleeting.  Please remember to snuggle up afterwards.

 fig. d:  the art of snuggling

aj