people so far who could have done something productive with your time, but instead have squandered it visiting this bastion of verbosity.
Above: Tarte Tatin a la Tomate. Recipe (with caveats) available in the Comments section for this post.
Gourmets et Gourmettes,
I held off as long as I could (not wanting to make it a habit what with rising prices and the falling dollar), but a morning anxiety attack that made it extremely difficult to turn off a voice in my head that kept screaming, "What the fuck were you thinking, moving to France?!" had me running around the corner to Les Philosophes to have a slice of their tarte tatin à la tomate to calm myself down.
And it worked, or it did for as long as it took to savor the tart and finish off the small carafe of vin rouge I had ordered to keep the voice occupied. I figured that if it was well fed and perhaps a little drunk it would fall asleep, or at least slur its words a bit so its message to me would be as hard for me to understand as French; I could then just shrug my shoulders and tell it "Je ne comprends pas," or a new phrase I have been practicing, "Si vous me parlez comme si je fusse un imbécile, très clair et lentement, peut-être que je vous comprendrais mieux." I don't even know if that's really how one asks to be spoken to as an idiot, but my hope (in this case at least) was that the voice would become as impatient with me as a Parisian shopkeeper and turn its attentions to another customer with better communication skills.
Everyone I know in the States has heard me go on at length about Les Philosophes' tomato tart. It's the first thing I ever ate in France, years ago, and it remains one of the great food sensations on earth. Many of you have visited Paris and on my recommendation have gone to Les Philosophes and ordered it and agreed with my assessment of it, and some of you with pitifully little self control have returned more than once during short Parisian vacations to eat more than your human share of it. (I will not name you on such public pages; you know who you are.)
I don't know if sensations of pleasure are dealt with by the same parts of the brain as pain, but sort of like a mother who when birthing her second baby may comment that had she remembered her first labor little Bobby would be an only child, I honestly didn't remember how good this tart was. If I had, I would have had it many more times than I have, and when I arrived last Tuesday I would have had the taxi drop me right in front of a curbside table and shouted out my order to the waiter before I'd even pulled my bags from the car.
I have tried to make the tart at home with little success, even after getting the recipe from Les Philosophes' Web site. It's an incredibly time-consuming and idiotic procedure that involves blanching, peeling, and seeding an absurd number of tomatoes, endangering anyone who comes into your kitchen by searing them (the tomatoes) with a caramel of hot oil and sugar, and then draining the result for longer than it takes to drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles and back.
The recipe had disappeared from the site shortly after I discovered it there (I assumed following advice from counsel), but this morning when I went online to see if I needed to sell any of my plasma to afford to lunch there, I noticed that Les Philosophes' Web site is completely redesigned and that the recipe has been re-posted. The price is higher yet affordable (9€ for a generous slice, including some nice greens in a simple vinaigrette), but more interesting to me is that L.P.'s food is not the first thing they've posted amongst their Web site's offerings. In a higher-priority position is a link to "Les Toilettes" and an invitation to "Come visit the philosophers' toilets!" with a photo-gallery tour of their spiffy restroom. (One is almost tempted to recommend it to Republican congressmen as a venue for practicing their toe-tapping techniques, save for the fact that it would be a shame to get the place dirty.)
Also before the food is mentioned, the site offers a roster of the people who work there. After spending hours blanching tomatoes in an attempt to replicate just one of their tarts, I often wondered how on earth Les Philosophes could offer a house specialty that to prepare would require 20 or 30 times the number of tomatoes to be plunged daily into scalding water, and today I noticed in their staff listing that three people there hold the title of plongeur. Before I looked up the word to find that a plongeur is actually a dishwasher, I was thinking I had solved the tomato-blanching mystery. The "philosophers' toilets" are way too swank to make one think they'd require so many of the other possible type of plongeur. Now that my French vocabulary has increased by one more word, I am back to Square One, with no idea how the tarts are produced.
When my French improves and I no longer need to be spoken to as if I were an idiot, I am determined to get to the bottom of this.
Bon appétit...
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NOTE: Here is the link to Les Philosophes. The link offers Web pages for a number of restaurants. L.P.'s is accessed through the logo fftp:// at the top of the page.
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Smarty,
I still don't have much of an idea of what this tarte IS. At least take a discreet photo, s'il vous plait.
-p.
You mean I should go back there with a camera and order it again?
Oh, all right, since you insist.
Yes, pictures please. Also a copy of the recipe. We have had tons of tomatoes and Van has been blanching away to peel the skins and make various salsas. Though tomatoe season is almost done, another recipe would be great. I can't seem to find it on the link that you provided. Enjoy!
Kerry
I like how the recipe starts, with a touch of resignation: Faites bouillir une grande quantite d'eau...
I will post the recipe and its translation, but ONLY with with the agreement that you will send me an affadvit within 24 hours of your reading this, and before any preheating of any ovens or fairing of any eau to bouille, worded as follows:
"I, the undersigned, understand that if I undertake to attempt this feat at home I do so at my own risk and the risk of any hapless tomatoes unfortunate enough to have fallen into my shopping cart and hence sacrificed in the process.
Lu et apprové, X_____________________________
That agreed, you need to know that a) I have tried this three times without success, and b) even knowing what this looks and tastes like the recipe makes no sense, especially the thing about the sauce at the end. If I were a paranoid person, I'd dare to say the whole recipe is a cruel joke by a disturbed and secretive chef.
That said, allons-y:
20 tomates fraîches
1/2 botte de sauge
1/2 botte de basilic
1/2 botte de romarin
500g de sucre
1/4 litre de huile d'olive
pâte brisée
Faites bouillir une grande quantité d'eau. En même temps effectuez une incision sur le sommet des tomates et ôtez-y les opercules.
Ebouillantez les tomates et rafraîchissez-les afin de les monder(enlever la peau). Coupez-les en deux et laissez-les égoutter.
Réalisez un caramel avec le sucre et l'huile d'olive, ensuite incorporez-y les tomates et les herbes ciselées.
Laissez réduire au four à 180° pendant 30 minutes, puis mettez le tout dans un endroit frais et réservez 12h pour un égouttage complet.
Tassez les tomates dans un moule à génoise beurré et couvrir le tout avec la pâte brisée piquée à la sauge.
Mettez au four pendant 20 minutes à 180°. Laissez refroidir puis démoulez en retournant.
Servez avec le jus d'égouttage comme sauce d'accompagnement.
TRANSLATION (and I'm sure some French-talking Smartypantalon will be quick to correct my errors):
20 fresh tomatoes
1/2 a bunch of sage
1/2 a bunch of basil
1/2 a bunch of rosemary
500g of sugar
1/4 liter of olive oil
Pie pastry dough
Bring a large quantity of water to a boil. Meanwhile make an incision on the top of the tomatoes and remove the stem caps.
Blanch the tomatoes in the boiling water, then cold water, and remove the skins. Cut them in half and let them drain.
Create a caramel with the sugar and olive oil, then add to it the tomatoes and chopped herbs.
Let the mixture reduce in a 350° oven for 30 minutes, then put it the whole thing in a cool place and let drain completely for 12 hours.
Pack the tomatoes into a buttered cake pan and cover with the pastry dough pricked with sage.
Bake for 20 minutes at 350°. Let cool, and then invert the pan to unmold it.
Serve with the drained juice as a sauce to accompany it.
Oh Joel, how I love to read what you write and I even hear it in your voice!! You always make me laugh.
Lisa and I will attempt the tart and get back to you.
Love
Jenn
Voilà! A photo has been added to the blog entry, as requested.
Drool!!!