Carol and gnarly roots

I have a pretty good memory of when I first met my friends, or at least a story or two about early meetings. It's not as good as my friend Tom, who can tell you who was there, what they were wearing, who's fly was open (well, I can usually do that), what they ate, and what cologne everyone was wearing as well, but it's pretty good. I don't always remember it though, but there is NO WAY I will ever forget my first meeting with Carol.

It was at our annual New Year's Day party. Our friend August, together with his partner Robert, who have brought so many wonderful new people into our lives (Eric and Charles come to mind immediately), brought Carol with them. When they came in, I was in the kitchen. I was busy. In fact, as they say in the restaurant business , I was "in the weeds." I looked up, and there was this woman standing there, in the most beautiful midnight blue silk blouse you could imagine. "Hi, I'm Carol. Thanks for inviting me, you need help. What can I do?" That was our first greeting. What followed was a little macho restaurant preening as I smiled and said "nice to meet you, but that's ok, I have it under control. Why don't you join the guests and have a drink and I'll come out in a minute?" Carol's expression never changed, and she just said "no, you don't have it under control and you're going to hurt yourself. Now give me a dishtowel and I'll at least get the sink cleared out and then we'll both go have a drink." Her sleeves went up, the dishes got dried, we chatted, and I essentially fell in love with a truly remarkable woman.

See, as my partner Guy puts it "Carol gets IT." The caps there are deliberate. It doesn't really matter what "IT" is (if that comment reminds you of Bill Clinton's wobbling, it reminded me, too), Carol "gets IT." She knows what to do, she knows what to say, and she gets it done. One other story about the amazing Carol. She lives in France for part of the year, and so, on the occasion of my first cassoulet, I invited Carol over, together with Robert, August, and some other people. Now, I wasn't nervous. These are friends, and even if the meal was terrible, they were not going to say anything. And I also had worked hard researching the dish, and had it pretty much under control. At the end, Carol said to me "That cassoulet was better than most I've had." She reads me PERFECTLY. If she had said it was the best one, she'd be lying, and I'd know it. And she never, never NEVER said "if you did.... it would be better," or anything like that. And she never would. Not unless I asked. I will always remember her in that midnight blue blouse, and I think of her as the sapphire in my "tiara of friends."

So what is the connection between Carol, and gnarly roots? Ok, like I said, I meander, but I get there. The roots in question are celery roots. These are truly a winter vegetable, and they ARE gnarly. They are dirty, misshapen, and WORK to prepare. You don't really see them in American cuisine at all, but Europeans, especially French and the Flemish, know what to do. And they're good. Yes, you do have to work them, but they have a taste that is not like anything else: sort of like the "deep essence" of celery, perhaps, but even then, I'm not giving them credit. There are any number of ways of preparing them. You can boil them and puree them with other vegetables, like potatoes to make a soup, and I've just read of a preparation where they're pureed with chestnuts. Hmmmm. They also work in gratins, and also as a vegetable onto themselves, or covered with a buttery white or hollandaise sauce (a preparation I learned from my friend Lucienne, mother of my friend and wine god, Frank. There's a story there that I'll never tell :) Frank and Crystal know what I'm talking about).

But my favorite way of eating these gnarly roots is in Celery remoulade, and there's where I think of Carol. If you're going to make celery remoulade, you HAVE to make your own mayonniase. And Carol is one of the few people I know who will read that and think "of course. What's the problem?" Carol makes her own mayonnaise. I bet it's better than mine, and I bet she's done it the traditional way, rather than the way I do it, in the food processor. If you don't do your own mayonnaise, don't make remoulade. It is JUST NOT WORTH IT.

After you make the mayonnaise, add a few tablespoons of a sharp mustard to it. Carol and I both like tastes a little sharp, so we would probably put in more mustard than most, so flavor your mayonnaise to your taste.

Now, to the roots! Like I said, these are ugly, and they take work. Cut a horizontal slice from the top and bottom of each root. I would say you need a pound of uncleaned roots to a cup of mayonnaise. Then , make long slices to take the outside of the root off, until you have what are basically clean, large, white cylinders in front of you.

To prepare a remoulade, I cut the roots lengthwise, then into long strips, which I then cut again, and again, into matchsticks. This produces a very non-uniform final product, which is fine to me. If you want something more even, then you should figure out how to use the blades on your food processor (which I've never done), or take way more time making the slices than I do. Toss the veggie with some lemon, because celery root darkens quickly. (if you don't have a lemon, SHAME ON YOU, but use vinegar instead). Then, just gently fold the vegetable and your mayonnaise together.

I like to let this sit in the fridge for about an hour before I serve it. It seems to let the celery root pick up the flavor a bit. There are people who will quick boil the match sticks for about thirty seconds and then combine them with the mayonnaise. I've done that, and the loss of texture is something I don't care for. I've also had it shredded into thinner flatter slices instead of the matchsticks, and I don't really like that either, but it IS an option.

Like I said in an earlier blog, I like serving this as part of a plate of other winter vegetable salads, like beets and carrots in different forms, but I have also put it under crab cakes and watched every drop of it disappear, and in one of my cross cultural moments, I piled some of it on a hamburger once, and had one of the best burgers I have ever had in my life.

Carol probably has at least another dozen ways to deal with this vegetable. If you're lucky, maybe she'll share them with you. For now, try this one. It's always good to have another winter "staple" at your command, and this one really isn't that hard to do.