When winter is at its most bleak and chill, we look for food to warm us from within and bring us comfort. Carbonnades de boeuf is a beef stew, unusual in that it’s made with beer. The dish is Belgian in origin but is a part of the standard repertoire of cooks in the northeast of France—the Ardennes, Champagne, Picardie, Artois—since culinary boundaries tend to be fuzzier than political ones. Traditionally made with equal weights of beef and onions, it simmers in the oven, and while it does, so does the first course of this dinner, braised endives.
Endive is a winter vegetable grown and loved in Belgium—thus the common appellation in the United States, “Belgian endive.” (This also serves to distinguish it from the curly-leaved bitter green that is sometimes called endive here but is more properly known as chicory.) Endive would be a green except for one thing: it’s blanched during the growing process, either by being grown indoors in the dark or by having soil hilled up around it as it grows so that light never touches it. Therefore the fat spears are a creamy white, and not green.
In fact, if you see heads of endive tinged with green, avoid them, since they’ll be unpleasantly bitter. Endive is congenitally pleasantly bitter, but cooking tempers that bitterness with a sweetness from the concentration of the vegetable’s natural sugars. I give you two options for the braising liquid in the recipe below, one richer, one leaner, but both good. Keep in mind, though, that endive can be braised in just about any liquid—you might try wine or dry cider or beer or orange juice, in combination with broth or cream or not. Dessert—bananas sautéed with rum and brown sugar—is easy as sin to make and pleasing to almost everyone, even the pickiest eater. Bananas are certainly not a French fruit, but they’ve been part of the French diet for ages, supplied by France’s old tropical colonies.
In this recipe, they draw on another colonial import, the rum of Martinique. If you have a Martiniquaise rum, use it; if not, any good dark rum will work admirably.
Endives Braisées
If you make the cream and broth version of this, rather than the water and lemon one, omit the butter, except for that used to butter the baking dish.
8 heads endiveButterSalt and pepper to taste1 cup heavy cream and 1 cup broth (beef or chicken), or 1 1/4 cups water and the juice of 1 lemon2-3 tablespoons butter Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Trim the stems of the endive and halve them lengthwise. Butter a shallow baking dish just large enough to hold the endive in a single layer and lay them cut sides down, touching one another. Season with salt and pepper. Combine the cream and broth, or the water and lemon juice, and pour the liquid evenly over the endive. If you’re not using cream, dot with the butter. Bake the endive, basting with the pan juices every 10 minutes, until the endive is very tender and the braising liquid is thickened, in the case of the cream mixture, or almost gone, in the case of the lemon one—this should take 30-40 minutes. Serves 4 as a first course (or 8 as a side dish).
Carbonnades de Boeuf à la Flamande
Having suggested above that this and the first-course endives can braise in the oven simultaneously, I feel compelled to point out that any stew is better made a day in advance and allowed to mellow in the fridge. I admit to not knowing what the chemistry of this process is; what I do know is that your carbonnades will benefit from it. If, however, you don’t plan ahead, pas de problème—just make it and eat it and enjoy it. Then feast on any leftovers the next day, or freeze them for another time. Serve the carbonnades with either buttered noodles or boiled potatoes, and with steamed green beans.
Oil (use a neutral one like canola or peanut, not olive oil)3 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes3 pounds onions, sliced thin2 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour1 clove garlic, minced2 cups light beer1/2 cup beef brothSalt and pepper to taste1 bay leaf1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves, or scant 1/2 teaspoon dried Place a large skillet over medium-high heat and add enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Brown the beef cubes well on all sides, working in batches if necessary (the cubes mustn’t touch, or they won’t brown), and adding more oil as necessary. Set the browned cubes aside in an ovenproof casserole and pour out all but a thin layer of the fat that’s accumulated in the skillet. Add the onions to the skillet and reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft and golden, about 30 minutes, again adding more oil if necessary. While the onions cook, turn the oven to 375 degrees and let it preheat. When the onions are golden-brown, sprinkle them with the flour, raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring constantly, until the flour starts to brown. Then add the garlic and cook, stirring, just until you can smell its fragrance. Scrape the contents of the skillet into the casserole with the beef. Pour about half the beer into the skillet and cook, scraping up all the browned bits, to deglaze the skillet. Add to the casserole, along with the remaining ingredients, and stir to combine.
Place the uncovered casserole in the oven and bake until the liquid is reduced and thickened and the beef is very tender, 2-2 1/2 hours. Serves 6-8.
Bananes Martiniquaises
This is one of those recipes for which I never measure quantities. A little more brown sugar, a little less rum—it doesn’t really matter. It’ll be good no matter what you do. Melt some unsalted butter in…
When winter is at its most bleak and chill, we look for food to warm us from within and bring us comfort. Carbonnades de boeuf is a beef stew, unusual in that it’s made with beer. The dish is Belgian in origin but is a part of the standard repertoire of cooks in the northeast of France—the Ardennes, Champagne, Picardie, Artois—since culinary boundaries tend to be fuzzier than political ones. Traditionally made with equal weights of beef and onions, it simmers in the oven, and while it does, so does the first course of this dinner, braised endives.
Endive is a winter vegetable grown and loved in Belgium—thus the common appellation in the United States, “Belgian endive.” (This also serves to distinguish it from the curly-leaved bitter green that is sometimes called endive here but is more properly known as chicory.) Endive would be a green except for one thing: it’s blanched during the growing process, either by being grown indoors in the dark or by having soil hilled up around it as it grows so that light never touches it. Therefore the fat spears are a creamy white, and not green.
In fact, if you see heads of endive tinged with green, avoid them, since they’ll be unpleasantly bitter. Endive is congenitally pleasantly bitter, but cooking tempers that bitterness with a sweetness from the concentration of the vegetable’s natural sugars. I give you two options for the braising liquid in the recipe below, one richer, one leaner, but both good. Keep in mind, though, that endive can be braised in just about any liquid—you might try wine or dry cider or beer or orange juice, in combination with broth or cream or not. Dessert—bananas sautéed with rum and brown sugar—is easy as sin to make and pleasing to almost everyone, even the pickiest eater. Bananas are certainly not a French fruit, but they’ve been part of the French diet for ages, supplied by France’s old tropical colonies.
In this recipe, they draw on another colonial import, the rum of Martinique. If you have a Martiniquaise rum, use it; if not, any good dark rum will work admirably.
Endives Braisées
If you make the cream and broth version of this, rather than the water and lemon one, omit the butter, except for that used to butter the baking dish.
8 heads endive
Butter
Salt and pepper to taste
1 cup heavy cream and 1 cup broth (beef or chicken), or 1 1/4 cups water and the juice of 1 lemon
2-3 tablespoons butter
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Trim the stems of the endive and halve them lengthwise. Butter a shallow baking dish just large enough to hold the endive in a single layer and lay them cut sides down, touching one another. Season with salt and pepper. Combine the cream and broth, or the water and lemon juice, and pour the liquid evenly over the endive. If you’re not using cream, dot with the butter. Bake the endive, basting with the pan juices every 10 minutes, until the endive is very tender and the braising liquid is thickened, in the case of the cream mixture, or almost gone, in the case of the lemon one—this should take 30-40 minutes. Serves 4 as a first course (or 8 as a side dish).
Carbonnades de Boeuf à la Flamande
Having suggested above that this and the first-course endives can braise in the oven simultaneously, I feel compelled to point out that any stew is better made a day in advance and allowed to mellow in the fridge. I admit to not knowing what the chemistry of this process is; what I do know is that your carbonnades will benefit from it. If, however, you don’t plan ahead, pas de problème—just make it and eat it and enjoy it. Then feast on any leftovers the next day, or freeze them for another time. Serve the carbonnades with either buttered noodles or boiled potatoes, and with steamed green beans.
Oil (use a neutral one like canola or peanut, not olive oil)
3 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
3 pounds onions, sliced thin
2 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 clove garlic, minced
2 cups light beer
1/2 cup beef broth
Salt and pepper to taste
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves, or scant 1/2 teaspoon dried
Place a large skillet over medium-high heat and add enough oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Brown the beef cubes well on all sides, working in batches if necessary (the cubes mustn’t touch, or they won’t brown), and adding more oil as necessary. Set the browned cubes aside in an ovenproof casserole and pour out all but a thin layer of the fat that’s accumulated in the skillet. Add the onions to the skillet and reduce the heat to medium-low. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft and golden, about 30 minutes, again adding more oil if necessary. While the onions cook, turn the oven to 375 degrees and let it preheat. When the onions are golden-brown, sprinkle them with the flour, raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring constantly, until the flour starts to brown. Then add the garlic and cook, stirring, just until you can smell its fragrance. Scrape the contents of the skillet into the casserole with the beef. Pour about half the beer into the skillet and cook, scraping up all the browned bits, to deglaze the skillet. Add to the casserole, along with the remaining ingredients, and stir to combine.
Place the uncovered casserole in the oven and bake until the liquid is reduced and thickened and the beef is very tender, 2-2 1/2 hours. Serves 6-8.
Bananes Martiniquaises
This is one of those recipes for which I never measure quantities. A little more brown sugar, a little less rum—it doesn’t really matter. It’ll be good no matter what you do. Melt some unsalted butter in a skillet over medium heat. Cut 1 banana per person into 1-inch chunks and add to the skillet, along with a spoonful (small or large) of brown sugar (light or dark) and a small pinch of cinnamon for each banana. Sauté briefly, stirring, until the bananas are heated through and glazed, then pour in about 2-3 tablespoons dark rum per banana and cook fast until the alcohol evaporates. Serve with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, crème fraîche, or unsweetened whipped cream.
