Herbed Aioli Step by Step, Roasted Chicken Sandwich, and New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc

Eating aioli has to be one of my favorite ways to consume luscious amounts of garlic and olive oil. Add basil, put that aioli on top of a toasted piece of whole grain bread, top it with heirloom tomatoes from your mom's garden, add some creamy avocado and a generous slice of yesterday's perfectly roasted chicken from Lola's in Berkeley , and you have a masterpiece. And an excuse to twist the cap on that New Zealand sauvie that's been looking at you every time you open the fridge.

Aioli is a traditional garlic and egg-based Provencal sauce, of the likes of a homemade garlic mayonnaise, but made by someone who bought a baguette early that morning and had a cheese course the night before.

Ranging in consistency that's similar to a creme anglaise when made the traditional way with a mortar and pestle to a smooth, thick, swarthy texture when made in a food processor or via whisk and bowl, aioli is served all over Europe and can be found in many bistro and fine dining establishments in the U.S. Where this sauce receives it's due respect is in the classic seasonal spring meal devoted entirely to it's presence in Provence, aptly named "Le Grand Aioli." At this meal, bowls of the garlic wonder are served with slightly cooked spring vegetables and boiled eggs for dipping.

I'm a lover of aioli, plain and simple, but where it really shines in my house is with chopped herbs. Toss some basil, tarragon, or chervil in the aioli at the end of the mixing, and you have what's possibly the best sauce for veggies and cushion for sandwiches around.

Why a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc with aioli?

New Zealand makes a Sauvignon Blanc known for being herbaceous, having hints of tropical fruit, and for having a mad mineral, lime streak. Choosing a New Zealand Sauvie for this dish is drawing on both wine pairing ideals of matching and contrasting.

We're matching the herbs in the aioli to the grassy, slightly herbaceous green nature of the wine, and in return, the wine thanks us by amplifying the fresh herbal flavors of the basil, tarragon, or chervil that we choose for the sauce. And if you have a fresh, young, green-tasting olive oil, the Sauvie matches wonders here too. As for contrasting, the mineral lime and the steely hint of guava in the wine cuts through the fat in the rich olive oil expertly like a squeeze of lemon in a cream sauce.

Some of my favorite New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs are those from Bird and Evans and Tate wineries. I drank the 2006 Evans and Tate Sauvignon Blanc from Margaret River with my sandwich. A great cheapie.

Add a sunny day, a sandwich to lather the aioli on and you've got a perfect seasonal meal.

Herbed Aioli Recipe: Step by Step Pictures

1 egg yolk, at room temperature
1 medium clove garlic, chopped
1 tsp dijion mustard
juice of small lemon

3/4 - 1 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/4 - 1/2 cup fresh, packed basil or your favorite herbs

Salt and pepper to taste

* Footnote for those without food processers are at the end of this recipe.

Place first three ingredients in a food processer.



Blend until throughly combined, about 5-10 seconds. Add lemon juice and blend an additional 10 seconds plus.

Now it's time for the extra virgin. I prefer a lighter, greener, less harsh extra virgin olive oil for the aioli because sometimes the more intense olive oils can overpower the garlic mayo. For those whom the flavor of only extra virgin olive oil is their aioli too strong, I'd suggest using a combination of canola and extra virgin olive oil to your taste.



To start, add the olive oil in a very thin stream, as thin or thinner of a stream than that pictured in above photo. Such a stream will ensure that the aioli won't break before finishing. After emulsification begins, you may add the oil faster. You'll know the emulsification is happening when your aioli looks like this:



If oil begins to bead or gather on aioli's surface while blending, stop pouring the oil for a moment and pulse mix until incorporated. After using 3/4 cup of olive oil, add some salt and taste the mix. Is it too tart? Add the full cup of oil. If the aoili tastes sufficently creamy to you, just add a tad more oil. Too much oil and the aioli won't set well.



Now add the chopped herbs (rough chop, packed well) and pulse until all is well combined. I used basil because it was availabe and delicious at my farmer's market, but I've also used varying combinations of tarragon and chervil, and the aioli equally rocked.

To finish, add salt and pepper to taste. I love tons of pepper in my baby.


For whiskers:
If you'd rather use a bowl and whisk because you're just that kind of cook, or because no food processor is available to you (just got mine recently), here are some helpful hints. First, finely chop the garlic and herbs- everything will blend easier. Second, in areas where the recipe suggests processing or pulsing, whisk isntead. Yes! Third, in the beginning of the aioli process, add the oil in as thin as a stream as possible until your aioli begins emulsifying. This applies to those who process too, but it is even more important that you mind this, whiskers, because the aioli has more chance of breaking when whisked. After coagulation begins, you may add the oil faster. If oil begins to bead or gather on aioli's surface while whisking and pouring, stop pouring for a moment and whisk until fully incorporated. Last, be nice to yourself and do the following: moisten a dish towell, twist it, and form the twisted towell into a circle pattern on your cutting board or countertop. Tie the ends together in necessary to make circle stay on you place the aioli bowl on top. The towell will hold the bowl in place so both hands are free- one to whisk and the other to pour. Much easier.

Wine and Aioli Recipe: To Hold us Over

I hope that all will forgive me for posting photo of hens and chickens succulents bursting their first spring blooms instead of my herbed aioli, around which the post centers. My aioli is shy and does not photograph well, whilst the pretty little plants did.



March is one of those months when vendors at the farmer’s market appear so bored with their produce offering that they can’t look at the potatoes or parsnips while bagging and they post signs saying “ripe strawberries here soon, we promise.”

And I feel their pain. However, while I’m waiting for the cute little favas and delicate green beans to be released in the markets, I have something that I do every March to tide myself over. I make a delicious batch of herbed aioli (garlic mayonnaise) and feature the very dip-worthy veggies of late winter and early spring on my dinner table. Then I invite friends over and politely suggest what wine they bring (see below) to bring out the bright aioli flavors.

Quick notes: Although I thoroughly respect those who use a mortar and pestle to make their aioli, I have neither have the patience or the virtue required to partake such an arduous task. I use a food processor or have my husband whisk in the oil by hand. Also notable is that I use raw eggs in the aioli. I always do this and have not yet had a problem, but I use the absolute freshest eggs available, and buy from a reputable company.

Herbed Aioli:
Pulse one room temperature egg yolk in a food processor until yolk is broken. Add two teaspoons fresh lemon juice, ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard, two cloves crushed garlic and pulse for three seconds. Begin to add two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in a very slow stream. By the end of this recipe, you will have used a full cup of olive oil. After the first two tablespoons are thoroughly blended in the food processor mixture, continue adding the remainder of the cup of olive oil, pausing after every ounce or so to make sure that the oil is thoroughly incorporated in the mixture before adding more. After mixture is emulsified, add half a bunch each of roughly chopped fresh tarragon and chervil leaves, salt, and freshly ground pepper to taste.

What to dip: steamed artichokes, blanched asparagus and broccoli spears, fresh radish and fennel slices, hard-boiled egg slices, and even seared and sliced chicken breast (if vegetarians don’t protest). Or basically anything else you favor that won’t fall apart in the aioli.

With the fresh vegetables and lush olive oil goodness served on aioli night, a racy, high mineral wine with bright acidity is the way to go. In the realm of whites, I’m all for a lime and guava laced New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc like the 06 Blick from Marlborough. Another white that would pair nicely with aioli and veggies would be the Domaine de Peyreficade Picpoul de Pinet, whose snappy green apple, lime, and juicy stone fruit flavors of the grape keeps it as light and fresh as an aioli dinner. Then, becauseaioli is after all, a spring thing, I’d choose the 07 peach, and raspberry scented Copain Primtemps Grenache and Pinot Nor Rosé. That’s about as dark as I like it paired with a spring aioli dinner, but as I know some of you are red-centered, may I suggest the Wild Hog Pinot Noir or Scurati Nero D’Avola. They both have the perfect combination of juicy red fruits and acidity to fare well with aioli and fresh veggies.

Signing off, with three cheers in honor of garlic mayo

Who's a Gooseberry Now?

I'm not a gooseberry. Sure, I'm ocassionally known to be spunky, but I'm way too sweet to be anything like the little green sour gooseberry ball that exlodes like an unripe plum in your mouth. Did I say they taste like unripe plums? I meant unripe plum SKINS.


What is a gooseberry and why am I talking about it?
Other than being a bush-grown berry commonly found in Europe (especially Britian), Asia and ocassionally in the Eastern United States, it is a fruit that the elusive wine writers often refer to when describing the flavors of Sauvignon Blanc.
Example:
"the sauvignon blanc is crisp, grapefruit scented and bursting with gooseberry nuances."

What does a gooseberry taste and smell like?
It's good to know this so that you'll have an idea of what a wine writer means when they're describing a Sauvingon Blanc with "gooseberry characteristics" Because, lets's be honest, the wine writer probably won't tell you what they mean.
Beyond what I described above, the little green gems taste spicey. Maybe even cinnamoney and peppery, but just a touch. They smell like grapferuit and lemons and everything spunky and fresh.

Do Sauvignon Blancs really smell like gooseberries?
Some do. Most people also exude a light gooseberry smell when provoked.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gooseberry

Next post: Rockin the light Spanish wines in summer

The little cheese from Sancerre

And now for the cheese. Our Crottin de Chavignol, which seductively translates as "animal poop" or "dung," named in honor of its similarity in size and shape to French horsey droppings, first saw the light of day in the 16th century. Unlike the American dish, "shit on a shingle" that is fortunately served in even rarer instances than its distant cousin, green jello with canned fruit and mayo, the sweet little goat cheese disk had a much brighter future.

Although le Crottin was first made in Chavignol and still carries the village's name, it is now primarily made in the towns of Pitou, Berry, and Perigord that border Sancerre, in the Loire Valley. Cheesemakers take the whole milk of the famed goats in the area and ladle the smooth liquid into its tiny molds. The milk stays in the mold from twelve to twenty-four hours, where it starts to take it's "Crottin-like" shape. The wrinkled, rippled surface develops on the cheese after it's removed from the mold, salted and ripened from 10-12 days in a dry environment.

Then its sent to Parisian cheese shops, or shipped to us.

Fresh or fully mature, le Crottin de Chavignol exists in multiple forms that can soothe the dairy pains of many a particular cheese-eater. At different stages in its life, it seems to morph into entirely different types of cheese. Ranging from white and butter-colored when young to gray or off blue when older, and it's texture respectively alternating from crumbly and lush to thick and hard enough to employ as a door knocker when one's knuckles grow weary, le Crottin is a shape shifter.

With bright, herbaceous and lemony flavors, le Crottin can be enjoyed shortly after its creation as a spreadable or melting cheese . It is white or slightly yellow now, and soft and crumbly. One of the favorite ways to eat this Crottin young is warmed over toasted bread in a Chevre Chaud Salad in Parisian bistros.

Later, as it matures- sometimes as soon as a month or so after it arrives in the U.S., it develops a firmer texture that allows the cheese to be grated or sliced. This is the time to Introduce this Crottin "of a certain age" grated over gnocchi, or sliced atop artisan salumi with tarragon in a crusty baguette.

When young, le Crottin screams for a Sancerre, or other bright, fresh Sauvignon Blancs. But at this early stage it really pairs well with anything. As it ages, try it with another wine from the Loire Valley, where the cheese is made. Try it with a Cabernet Franc- the red grape of the region, or with a Chenin Blanc from Vouvray. Another good match is a Grenanche based wine. Fair warning: when young, notre petit Crottin can stand up to a Pinot Noir, but when it ages, it becomes a tad to strong for the delicate grape.

If le Crottin de Chavignol has caught your heart as it has mine, check out the site listed below. Janet Fletcher is a food writer for the SF Chronicle that is in charge of the wine and cheese pairings. A couple years prior, she wrote an awesome article on le Crottin. It'll keep you occupied as long as you can keep your seat in the chair before running to your local fromagerie

> http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2005/02/10/WIG53B7UU81.DTL&type=wine
>

French Appellationg= Simple Cheese Pairings, to come: more on the cheese

Part 2: While it can feel little nothing less than a pain in the cork for those trying to remember and match varietals with appellations, it can help us when we are trying to pair French wines and cheeses. Finally a bone is thrown our way, and we discover, as millions have known for centuries in France, that French cheese and wine gems from the same region pair perfectly. No need to consult the Wine Bible to see what cheese goes with a Sancerre. Pick a goat cheese from Loire Valley, where Sancerre is located.
Go to your trusted cheesemonger and say,
“Hello cheesemonger, I’ve just purchased a Sancerre [say just the appellation name, it’ll make you sound impressive], and would like a cheese from the same region, or from Loire Valley.”
Anything from the Loire Valley or Sancerre should fit. Why? Because people have been making cheese for a very long time in France, as they have wine, and while eating locally has been marketed as somewhat of a revolution for those of us in the U.S., its old news in France. Quite simply, people in the Loire Valley make cheese that taste good with their local wine. And that wine is Sauvignon Blanc. And that cheese is goat cheese, the perfectist of all cheeses with that grape.
Then again, why is a tough question.
The wine part is simple. That wine grows best in that area. So it is grown.
But why is goat cheese the main cheese in the Loire Valley, exactly? Where the goats in the region before the wine, or was Sauvignon Blanc in the Loire Valley before the kids? Do goats grow best in that area too? Perhaps they like mineral soils because it reminds them of the mineral-laced tin cans they used to munch on at gramma’s house. Did the people of the area try goats and cows before they settled on goats, as winemakers likely did with Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc grapes in the Loire Valley before they decided on SB? I have no idea.
But the fact remains- and yes, it is undisputed, everywhere- Sauvignon Blanc is the best white grape grown in Sancerre, in the Loire Valley. And it is absolutely the best match with some of Sancerre’s goat cheese, such as the Crottin de Chavignol featured in the lovely picture above, which I wish I took. And, everything can get more specific. If you have a chance to try a Sancerre from Chavignol with a Crottin de Chavignol, oh lord, this is the best match ever. You gotta sit down. Yet in general, if you match a wine from the Loire Valley (the red, Cabernet Franc works smashingly too), with a cheese from the general Loire Valley area, you are set. Super set!
And remember, your wine and cheese mongers are paid to help you. You pay them. If the appellation isn’t marked clearly to you on the wine, ask your wine salesperson. They should know.

Pesky French Appellations

Whenever you pick up a bottle of French wine and look for some inkling of the grape type yet find nothing but snobby French terms like "le" or "Chateaux," don't be too discouraged. Slap yourself on the hand and remind yourself, while the appellation system may be as annoying for most blue or red or white blooded Americans as Velveeta is to a French person about to tip a corn chip in a Tex-Mex Salsa-con-processed-"Queso," they can come in handy too.
When? Oh, good question. With French cheese and wine pairing.

Part 1. I love Sancerre. And Sancerre loves goat cheese.
Sancerre is a French town inside the Loire Valley appellation. It is one of the many appellations within the Loire Valley region. A wine made in Sancerre is always Sauvignon Blanc. Legally. Punishable by death.
Resulting from Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée laws enacted in 1953, French wines are always labeled in reference to the region in which the wine is grown, not the grape. The government mandates what can grow where. Likewise, if a French wine has a grape varietal, like Chardonnay, printed on the label, you’ll know that the winemaker isn’t growing the wine in the region specified by the government. If they were, they wouldn’t need to state the varietals. It would be clear to winos everywhere in Europe. The trick to knowing what type of wine is in that bottle you're holding is knowing what grape varietals the French government allows its wine producers to grow in which appellation. In Sancerre, the government specifies that only Sauvignon Blanc should be grown.
You might be thinking this is crazy. It’s certainly interesting. But it's also smart, and will later help us pair French wine with French cheese. It's smart, first of all, because after centuries of growing grapes in France, the French know what grape grows best in what area. Sauvignon Blanc likes sun, but low heat, maritime climates, and mineral-strewn soils. If Sauvignon Blanc is the best white grape to grow in the Sancerre region, in the Loire Valley, where the often naturally limestone-flecked vineyards nurture the mineral flavors in the grape, so grow it. Or grow it legally in the neighboring Loire Valley towns of Touraine or Quincy…..Bordeaux is also an excellent environment for Sauvignon Blanc. And so there it is also grown, with Sémillion, which also thrives in the region. With permission from Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée team housed in Paris.

See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_wines#The_appellation_system for more info about Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée laws.