"The boss" sauce.

Asparagus with "the boss" sauce (chèvre-lemon béchamel). © Ryan Schierling

No disrespect to the mother sauces intended. Really. I just didn't know what to call this one. It started out – honest and innocent – as a simple béchamel but from there it became a bit ambiguous as to where it belonged on the family tree of classic sauces. I searched the interwebs – for a couple of minutes at least – and couldn't find this one anywhere.

The mother sauces, being mothers, birth offspring by the addition of particular ingredients to them, and these new sauces assume different names. Béchamel, one of the five classic French Mother Sauces, is essentially a white sauce made with a light roux of equal parts flour and butter where the liquid component is milk. When cheese is added, it becomes a mornay sauce. That is if you are prone to oversimplification. While you may find any of a number of interpretations of mornay at your local fancy-schmancy eating establishment, mornay is classically made with parmesan and gruyere – these are traditional, specific, and hard/grate-able cheeses.

My cheese of choice, chèvre, did not exactly fit this profile. It is a fresh soft cheese. And, for an added complication, this sauce is finished with freshly-squeezed lemon juice. Oh, conundrums!

The Maximilian Affair.

The Tricolore - blue, white and red tacos. © Ryan Schierling

When I asked a friend – one who happens to be an awesomely talented creative-type currently living in Paris, France – to write me a story about her fair city in exchange for a story from Austin about tacos, I suppose I shouldn't have been so floored to receive a tale so lovely… 

----- 

Ok, you wanted a Paris story in exchange for a scintillating tale of tacos. Ahem… 

Emerging from the Metro, bright orange lipstick matching my new napalm red/orange heels, I hold the hand of my lover – his cap askew at a roguish angle. Within steps from the gaping Metro's mouth, we feel on our light t-shirts a few drop of rain. Our mission will not be thwarted by a few small pips of precipitation! Ha! We laugh at the Parisians unfurling their umbrellas; no self-respecting Seattleite would bother with such a hindrance! 

Now we start for our destination, down a cobblestone road in the direction of our hearts desire. With rare rapidity the drops gain size and number. Soon a true deluge is upon us, and by upon us I mean down the backs of our shirts, dampening our pants till each leg weighs ten pounds. My hair, which started off in luminous bouncing curls has flashed back in time and is actually wetter than when I stepped forth from the shower earlier that same day. 

We will not be stopped. 

Jay, with a heroic gait, whisks me into an alcove while he runs hither and yon to find the correct boulevard we must traverse. In moments he comes back, soaked from hat to high-tops but with a grin that says, "I am a MAN! I will rescue this situation!" 

Now he leads me, in a slippery stride – no, more a puddle-leaping gallop down streets hell-bent on finding what it is we set out for. We know that once we locate this Paris gem, rain, cold, and wrecked heels will no longer matter. 

Finally we come to the street, the block. It should be there...where is it? And then, like a brave beacon, a signal flare of rescue, a glimmer of good fortune we see her. Ah yes. The Taqueria. 

No sign, save the small writing on the door, tells us despite all the worst the weather had to throw at us, true taco lovers will always prevail. As we stand dripping on the welcome mat, the sparse few patrons turn and gaze at what must look like the two most miserable souls on this earth. 

Except for our hope-filled gaze. 

Is that a Dos Equis we see someone drinking? Truly can that be Valentina sauce on the small wooden table? And does that chalkboard daily menu really say they are serving al pastor and rajas con queso? 

Paris - the city of light, romance and mystery. A city where if you can sweep your ruined curls up in a braid and reapply your lipstick, just to wink and smile at the man who brought you here, will reward you with one of Paris's most treasured landmarks only 10 days after it has opened... the Candelaria Taqueria. 

Permissions, and adaptations.

Asparagus onion soup with Gruyere cheese. © Ryan Schierling

Asparagus, Gruyere, and an idea.

Make what you want to taste... compose with the flavors you crave... go with the impulse that brought you into the kitchen with these ingredients in the first place. You really do know what you want to eat. Make it.

It's a good mantra. A statement of faith in your own gustatory cravings and a rebuke of any recipe that might dare to stand between you and the food you truly desire.

If you're anything like me, however, sometimes you need a little outside support – a baseline, a secure framework from which to create – perhaps even (gasp!) a proper recipe...

Since my first introduction to the simple – but oh-so-divine – combination of asparagus spears with melted Gruyere cheese, I have not found an asparagus pairing that nears its equal. Little wonder, then, that I eventually began daydreaming this duo into entirely new dishes. The idea that persisted in tugging at me was a vision of French Onion-style soup, heavy on the asparagus, with Gruyere cheese toasted on top.

Now, I have never attempted to make French Onion Soup. The idea of it has always intrigued me, but on those occasions I've dared order it when dining out, I was the unfortunate recipient of a bowl of heavy beef broth with an unwieldy glop of gooey cheese atop. So, this idea just sat and percolated for the longest while... waiting for a satisfactory framework.

It seems fitting that my baseline would show up as a recipe by Jamie Oliver from his beautiful book (and I mean beautiful! ...the old school love just resonates off the hardback), Jamie at Home: Cook your way to the Good Life. Even more fitting that the recipe would be his own adaptation of onion soup as an "English onion soup with sage and Cheddar." Why? Because no one writes a cookbook or introduces a recipe with more freedom to the reader than Jamie Oliver.

In order to give the next cook a guide for precisely replicating a dish, most recipes are written as exacting formulas. Jamie, on the other hand, writes recipes the way he cooks... a good knob of butter... a big handful of fresh herbs... or simply "the ingredient" – no quantity listed at all. It's as if he is loathe to measure and wants only to impart an understanding of the dish to the reader. He wants you to taste the food and confidently expects you to use good judgement, seasoning it to your own taste. His recipes always turn out delicious, but it is for this quality – this great freedom and permission to stay loose when cooking – I love him most.

So I began... my take on a classic, based on someone else's take on a classic. Did I do my due diligence and research "French Onion Soup" online? Nope, this was never an intellectual pursuit; it's as if this book found my fancy first and we just danced. Ironically, it was the day after making the soup that I went online. Having SO enjoyed the way the Gruyere complimented the vegetables and the broth, I was curious to find out what cheese was considered the real classic for French onion soup. 

You guessed it – Gruyere.

Sometimes your palate has a wisdom beyond its years – an innate knowledge beyond its training. Trust it.


Asparagus onion soup with Gruyere

Olive oil & butter 1-2 tablespoons each
5 cloves garlic, peeled & smashed
2 medium white onions, peeled and sliced
1 large sweet onion, peeled and sliced
1 very large shallot, peeled and sliced
        
Saute the above on low for about 1-2 hours, until golden and caramelized.

1-1/2 bunches of fresh asparagus, cut 1"-2" pieces
1-1/2 to 2 quarts good quality beef stock (or equivalent savory stock)
Salt & pepper 
        
Add to onion mixture and simmer until asparagus is tender. Correct/season broth.

Rustic bread, sliced 1/2" to 3/4" thick and toasted lightly
Gruyere cheese, freshly grated
        
Assemble: Ladle soup into serving bowls, cover with pieces of toasted bread, top generously with Gruyere (and perhaps a drizzle of Worcestershire sauce) and place under a broiler until the cheese is melty and golden. Serve this bubbly goodness at once.