Recipe: Green beans with a shallot vinaigrette
Plus A Controversial Love Affair {v, nf, gf}
Liver and offal are much like Marmite – you either love or hate them. I think they're simply misunderstood. I learned this firsthand during a dispute with my editor while writing my fourth cookbook, ' My Little French Kitchen’. My editor was adamant that one of my recipes shouldn't be included. It was an offal pizza inspired by Lyon's love of offal (the city is renowned for embracing all the innards). There was much to-ing and fro-ing, so intense that I nearly had to call my agent. Fortunately, the actual tasting of the recipe won my editor over, and the matter was forgotten.
As a child, I hated the stuff so much that my mum hid it in the bolognese. This all changed when I moved to Paris; my shoestring budget meant buying a steak was never an option. But on the rare occasions I visited my neighbourhood bistro, they would have calves' liver on the menu (usually as the lunch special). When cooked quickly in plenty of butter, I discovered that liver could be a marvellous thing—nothing like the metallic taste and tough texture I remembered from childhood.
My last four years in Paris were spent in Belleville, where I had the most wonderful butcher. Like a doctor prescribing medication, he advised on how to cook what you had bought. I would visit once a week to buy a slice of liver, which he would meticulously prepare. At home, I would serve it alongside whatever seasonal greens I had picked up at my weekly market shop.
I might not be at Anthony Bourdain’s level of offal loving, but my time in France certainly made me more adventurous with all things innards. From tripe (Bao in London does an excellent tripe dish) to brains, kidneys, heart (I do a very good slowly cooked moose heart sliced into slivers and served with a sort of vibrant chimichurri sauce) to sweetbreads…the only thing that is not quite my cup of tea is andouillette.
On my most recent trip to Paris, I craved a slice of liver, and visiting my old butcher was a wonderful trip down memory lane. My favourite accompaniment is crunchy green beans doused in a tangy shallot vinaigrette. It’s simply delicious with minimum effort — the meal that transports you straight to a Parisian bistro, even when cooked in your kitchen thousands of miles away.
Three Reasons You'll Thank Me Later:
This salad is even better the day after (making it perfect for entertaining or picnics)
The vinaigrette is a classic, one you can use on any salad
Minimum effort but maximum flavour
Want to know exactly how I create my secret shallot vinaigrette that brings those crunchy green beans to life? Upgrade to a paid subscription for this and many more ‘smart’ recipes for a belle vie.
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This week’s petit pleasure - Making showertime delicious (the ingredients read like a recipe for a cake).