The Song of the Fricassée
Delicious ideas emerge everywhere, like spring itself—including my variation of a vegetable fricassée that has me singing.
The birds wake me with their songs, even before the light emerges. I’m grateful for their intrusion; they give me an early start to the day.
I sip my coffee, breathing in the air from a brand new day. Looking west, sunlight scatters through the atmosphere, painting the horizon in dark blue and violet—colors soon surrendering to yellow, orange, and red. From the distant forest comes a series of barks and screams: foxes scrambling to return to their den's sanctuary.
Temperatures rise quickly outside, and I feel the heat intensify in my kitchen as the sun fires its rays directly through my window. I head across the street to check my urban garden space before the day's warmth robs moisture from fragile new plants.
This spring has been too warm. Buds and flowers explode on branches. Apricots – still small enough to take in one bite – begin showing color. The ants have been industrious, gathering at the foot of my dwarf pear tree, poised to encircle aphids and feast on their sugary excretions. I make a mental note: prepare more soapy lemon spray to deter those tiny invaders.
Satisfied the garden will survive another day, I allow myself a few minutes to read what others are writing.
The Other Gourmand enthralls me as she reflects on recent meals enjoyed in Italy. The food looks enticing...it awakens my creativity. I begin to think about food. I lose myself for ten minutes in Mark Diacono’s latest entry – his writing always captivates me. His Sprouting Broccoli, Asparagus and Spring Flower Gratin gets me thinking...and imagining. I navigate to Buono Domenica – a regular destination when seeking Italian inspiration. Of course, her Sicilian potato salad with wild oregano, capers, and olives grabs me. Memories begin to stir inside my head. I go there, giving those memories my full attention.
I pause...and allow my smiles to fully develop.
Reading on, I visit Stir the Pot, My Morning Muse (always a visual feast), and Sydney Michalski’s Nature Moments. I lose myself in Roselle’s In the Beautiful Middles of Nowhere, and I find inspiration (again) through the works of Ben Green, Wil Reidle, Will Rankin, and Will Cooper. Finally, I acknowledge there's too much to read—too many perspectives worth exploring, and I make my way to the door.
My head is filled with ideas as I walk toward the local market. A song emerges, springing to life like new shoots reaching for sunlight. Brian Wilson playfully sings in my mind, "I'm gonna be 'round my vegetables - I'm gonna chow down my vegetables." I chuckle quietly.
Booker T. and the M.G.’s suddenly pops into my head with a slowed-down version of Green Onions. I hum along, contemplating asparagus, morel mushrooms, new potatoes, peas, fava beans, and green onions.
I’m nearly at the market, and everything points in one direction...the song of the fricassée.
Fricassée
Spend enough time with French recipes, old or new, and you'll inevitably encounter Fricassée. This cooking method—combining vegetables, potatoes, and a white sauce with meat or fish—earned high regard throughout France and Europe.
According to Larousse Gastronomique, the word fricassée evolved from fricot, describing any simple, tasty, and popular dish – quite a broad definition that leaves plenty of space for individual interpretation. Precisely what I intend to explore.
Making a spring fricassée coincides with the arrival of bright yellow rapeseed flowers checkering the landscape, offering striking contrasts to greens and blues. I typically use any fresh spring vegetable available – 5 to 7 varieties is what I aim for. I include early-season Italian potatoes and, if the season is kind, a handful of fresh morel mushrooms.
I prepare each vegetable separately, taking my time. This allows for leisurely completion at the final moment, bringing everything together in a flavorsome white sauce.
Fricassée is my ideal spring dish. It represents the essence of plant-centric cooking: local, seasonal, fresh, and nourishing. It's everything I embrace from my vegan lifestyle...it’s like painting a picture of spring on my plate.
My mind feels fully engaged when I leave the market with a full bag of worth ingredients. Spring moves swiftly, and I want to preserve as much as possible. I stroll in the general direction of home, making sure to inhale wild garlic, lilac blooms, linden flowers, and freshly cut grass. In the distance, I spot a rapeseed field in full bloom. The colors saturate my eyes. I wonder...could I create that kind of visual appeal on a plate?
I contemplate what I read earlier. I visualize what I want to create in my kitchen. Suddenly, as Larousse suggested, everything in spring feels like it could be a fricassée...and out of nowhere, I find myself humming: everything is a fricassée.
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Spring Vegetable Fricassée
A vegetable-based fricassée broadly describes cooked vegetables and potatoes served with white sauce. While this interpretation suits any season, I prefer staying within spring's boundaries. I delight in barely-cooked young spring vegetables paired with early mushrooms and young steamed potatoes. Much of this preparation can happen a day or two in advance.
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Beautiful work and recipe! Love it
Ah Jack am very touched that you mentioned my blog. Thank you.
I love reading others' writing before I settle to my own. And I love your writing.
I've never tried a fricassée! But I'll remedy that as soon as I can walk again, and pick up in the market what we haven't here in the garden in the hungry-gap time (basically we have masses of herbs, some woody leeks, and a load of flowering purple sprouting...)