Hedonia

More fun with tagine

So we've made three tagines now, all within a week or so. I know I promised a recipe, but in working with this I've come to realize that tagine is not so much a recipe as a technique. I file it under the same kind of dish as paella or risotto: Dishes that have an equation of ingredients and a more or less set process. If you stick to the equation, and follow the process, you are free to play around with the ingredients. There's no reason why you couldn't make a tagine that has overtly Italian, Indian or Thai notes just by swapping in the appropriate spices and ingredients. The net result will be as satisfying.

Basically, tagine is simply a hybrid between a braise and a stew, comprised of meats (which are in fact optional), aromatic and/or sturdy vegetables (also optional, if you want to make an all-meat version), fruits (optional, but very nice), spices/herbs (decidedly not optional) and liquid (fundamentally necessary). And heat.

The real challenge is liquid management. You'll need less than you think. As the dish cooks, the ingredients will give off some of their own liquids; as the steam builds under the cone, pressure will force the liquid down, which in turn pushes it out around the periphery of the lid. Less is more.

All tagines -- the cooking vessels themselves -- are different. I can only speak for the Le Creuset version. Traditional ceramic ones may be more shallow; the All-Clad version appears deeper. But in our experience so far, the tagine equation is as follows:

Tagine

One of the more extravagant gifts DPaul received for his birthday last month was this fabulous Le Creuset tagine (in red, of course). Of course, that occurred smack in the middle of all our travels, so we hadn't really had an opportunity to christen the thing until just the other day.

We've never made tagine before, at least not in an actual tagine. But a little cursory research indicated a few common threads among recipes. Basically, it's a braise of browned meats slow-cooked in a small amount of spiced liquid; the cone shape of the lid creates a convection system, causing the steam to condense and drip back down. There are many kinds of tagine, with different ingredients ranging from sweet to savory. For our inaugural run, we decided to do a tagine of chicken with lemon and olives. Conveniently enough, my conserved lemons are ready to go!

For a first pass, it was pretty good. The chicken was moist and flavorful, lightly yet exotically spiced, and the salted lemons lent a pleasantly subtle and fruity flavor, not as intensely salty or tart as I had expected. The only thing that needed serious adjustment was the amount of liquid -- less is more. Our tagine was bubbling out all over the place, and required frequent mopping up with a paper towel.

As this was a first attempt, I don't have a concrete recipe to share at this point. We'll do a couple more runs and nail it down. I will however include a quick and easy recipe for cous cous that makes a lovely complement.

Conserved lemons, cont'd

You know what? I'm not going to be one of those bloggers that states the obvious, noting that I haven't gotten around to blogging for the past few days. Nor am I going to be apologetic or contrite about it. Nope, not me.

Anyway, I haven't had much to report, certainly culinarily, and I've been damn busy it seems. Sunday's tour went very well, even with the throngs of people in the park. (Bravi Azzurri!) In fact, it added a nice element to the tour. I felt like I was being cheered on by the masses. Go Sean!

Meanwhile, the conserved lemons have slowly deflated due to the combined power of salt and periodic pressure. Today was day six, the point at which you cover with oil. And now we wait. For a month. Time to start planning a Moroccan feast in mid-August!

No matter. They smell fantastical, sweet and lemon-tangerine-y, like Froot Loops. Really salty Froot Loops. I can hardly wait for the final product.

When life gives you lemons...

Conserve them!

My friend Greg, his girlfriend and his brother recently purchased a home one scant block from my place. In their backyard is a glorious, well-established Meyer lemon tree, positively exploding with lemons. For weeks, I procrastinated dropping by to raid it, but finally had the occasion last week. I brought home a healthy bag full of petite and extremely fragrant yellow fruit.

A few went straightaway into an infusion. Knowing from past experience that the pith makes for a very unpalatable infusion, I just barely zested a couple of the lemons into a container, then set about supreming the fruit. As these are seriously tiny things, and the segments are quite thin indeed, it took nearly surgical precision to extract a few fleshy slices of pulp. But the deed is done, and there will hopefully be a small burst of lemony liquor in my near future. (No pic of the infusion -- it's not exacly photogenic right now.)

But the other thing I've been wanting to do with lemons is conserve them. I do like to make Moroccan/North African dishes from time to time, and it is the one ingredient I am always without. You can substitute fresh, but it just doesn't have the same zing. Besides, I think it will make a fabulous addition to nearly any recipe, regardless its provenance.

Pretty much all the research I've done on making conserved lemons says the same thing, but I did find one handy resource that came with photos here. And, so, that is pretty much the recipe I'm going to stick to. This is not instant-gratification food, though; I've got a month ahead of me, and several steps along the way, before I'll get to enjoy these babies. Luckily, I am a patient man.