A safe bet
November 11, 2013 § Leave a comment
One day last week when T. and I were across the lake, we had sandwiches for lunch at a spot I had read some raves about. They were great, hulking things, wrapped in double layers of wax paper, which might have helped contain them a little had we given eating them any strategic thought. With each bite, contents gushed—onto fingers, face, paper. These were very good sandwiches, made onto very good baguettes and slathered, without any sense of restraint, a creamy aioli so garlicky I’m sure it had me in a cloud for hours afterward. But I realized, halfway through mine, sitting on a bench up the street for lack of a free table inside, that I was relieved we were sitting out of direct view of anyone else. After five minutes I quit wiping the aioli off my face, but it’s a trick to be comfortable with charred onion slices hanging out of your mouth in public, even on a sidewalk bench. I mean, what if someone driving by who might not ever see you again—but might!—saw you in such an undignified state? So, I told T., damn good sandwich be damned, I’m not sure I would go back for a second—unless I could secret the thing away to a secluded spot and practice scarfing one down with the paper keeping the whole thing tight.
And I describe this little outing because I want to point out that eating alone is highly underrated, for many reasons, but one being for maintaining pretensions of grace when messy foodstuffs are on hand. I sometimes say that one great obstacle of serving some of my favorite things to eat to company is their unwieldiness on the plate, on the fork, into the mouth. Worse than severe discomfort while eating publicly? Making other people uncomfortable eating something you served and prepared yourself. I could, I imagine, make a few little serving adjustments, plate things a little more neatly, pile things a little less relentlessly high, and it would make a good bit of difference in the bigness of the spectacle of the eating. But, you know, when it comes to piling things on top of things meant to be eaten with the hands, like toast (and about 60 percent of the things I really like to eat involve stuff on toast/grilled bread what have you), I really like a lot of stuff. Stuff piled high and spilling over the sides so that the bread to stuff ratio is quite what I like. And sometimes a knife and a fork just makes things messier—or at least fussier to eat, and who needs that?
So, wow, ramble city today. What I really mean to say is that leeks vinaigrette on toast with some nicely semi-soft boiled eggs is really really nice, and it’s a good thing to make for yourself when you’re on your own for a meal (or with someone who won’t mind the sloppiness of it all).
Leeks on toast are always a safe bet (these two are both brilliant), but I love this version especially because it doesn’t demand much in the way of timing. You can boil your eggs and let them be for a bit, sauté your leeks, and while they’re cooking and cooling, make the vinaigrette, slice toast. And nothing will suffer if your egg shells are a royal pain and take you 15 minutes to clean up. I like taking the leeks just up to tender, so that they’re sweet and succulent, but not meltingly soft. The colors stay vibrant and they hold up to the vinaigrette better, which kicks their sweetness into relief with a little punch of dijon and vinegar. The eggs aren’t exactly necessary here, so you could, theoretically, leave them out. It’s just… these things are always nicer with eggs.
Leeks Vinaigrette on Toast with Semi-soft—boiled eggs
2-3 slender-ish leeks, cut in half on the vertical, rinsed, and sliced thinly (about 1/4 inch thick)
1 T. plus 2 t. extra-virgin olive oil
few sprigs parsley
1 T. salted capers, rinsed
1-2 pieces of toast, about 1 .5 ounces each (or whatever you like)
1 t. Champagne or white wine vinegar
1/2 t. Dijon mustard
sea salt, coarse-ground black pepper
2 medium-sized eggs
Prep the eggs first: Have a bowl of ice water ready. In a small saucepan, cover the eggs with water. Bring them to a boil over medium-high heat. As soon as they come to a boil, take them off the heat, cover, and let stand for 5-7 minutes, depending on the size of your eggs. Six is good for large eggs; mine were on the slight side, so I drained them after five. Transfer to the bowl of ice water to cool for 10 minutes. Drain, gently crack, and peel.
In a small Dutch oven or a medium-sized saucepan, heat 2 teaspoons of the oil over medium-low heat. Add the leeks, a pinch of salt, and a teeny dribble of water, and stir. Cover and cook, removing the lid to stir every couple of minutes, until their color is bright and they’re just tender, 5-7 minutes or so. If they seem nearly done and the liquid is evaporated, remove from heat and let them steam with the lid on for a couple of minutes more—they should finish cooking more gently that way. When you have the leeks right where you want them, scrape them into a bowl and let them cool to room temp.
While the leeks are cooking and cooling, snip the parsley from the stems and chop them fine. Rinse the capers and chop them, too. Transfer both to a small bowl. Make the vinaigrette: Using a small fork, whisk the mustard with the vinegar until smooth, then whisk in the olive oil until emulsified. Taste for salt, and add a few grinds of coarse black pepper.
Depending on the volume of your leeks, you may not need to use all the vinaigrette. Start by adding about 2/3 of the vinaigrette to the cooled leeks in the bowl, along with the parsley and capers, and combining well. If you’d like the leeks glossier or richer or punchier, add the rest of the vinaigrette.
Assembly: Toast the bread—either in a toaster, which I have taken to lately in laziness, or by brushing it with more oil first and toasting it in the oven, which is decidedly finer. When it’s golden, a bit crisp on the outside, but still chewy and tender, pile on the leeks, then a bit of chopped egg. I find 1 egg is usually enough for garnish, so the second one is mostly for eating in halves, sprinkled with a little salt and pepper and any last drops of vinaigrette. I find this toast tastiest when eaten with the hands.
*A note on capers: I call for salted capers here because they taste like capers, not vinegar, which I find is the case with capers packed in brine. They can be a little more expensive and difficult to find, but if you can find them in bulk or in large (kg +) bags, snatch them up. They are marvelous and will last for a looooong time.