Food for Political Discussions and Tight Budgets: Tunisian Tuna Frittata

I'm going to confess. I'm rather smitten. Although the state of being actively smitten has done nothing to arrest the amount of cooking in my kitchen - in fact, it has increased it - I find my blog has suffered a serious lack of attention. I considered this abdication from diligent writing and the cause thereof. The cause is known to my friends as Ck. A man who can interrupt Luscious Domestic blogging activity surely merits that mention before I launch into a telling of the Tunisian Tuna Frittata.

This fritatta seems especially timely given the significant upheaval happening in Tunisia in the last few weeks. Unlike the complexity of the political happenings there, this tuna frittata is not only brilliantly simple, it's divinely tasty and a clever way to make an economical one dish meal on a hectic weeknight. I had found this recipe in the New York Times some time ago and had been waiting to make it for some time.

I decided to make this dish for a very beloved friend and old acquaintance one wintry night not so long ago. Nathan is the sort of friend who possesses an unusual thoughtfulness and perception, which is an excellent asset in a friend on a regular basis, but is especially valuable when you require a minister of war. He also has fantastic taste in music and is a fairly adventurous sort. I was feeling rather tired after a day of driving my mouse, working for the fine people of British Columbia. Tunisian Tuna Frittata it had to be. 

Now don't get fussed when you see the ingredients below for things like harissa and caraway seeds. Harissa is a chili paste that's generally made from Piri Piri chili peppers or whatever chili pepper is on hand, blended with olive oil. It comes in wee little tins and is a standard element of North African cooking (places like Algeria and Tunisia but not so much in Morocco). It's not expensive at all and it's not particularly spicy. It's not nearly as hot as sambal olek but it is distinctive tasting. I would not recommend trying to replace it with whatever chili sauce you have on hand. I doubled the amount of harrisa specified in the recipe and found it quite pleasant.

Caraway is also quite distinctive in its flavour and shouldn't be replaced either. Caraway is also known as Persian cumin. Its seeds are decidedly black and lend a lovely anise-like flavour to foods. It's a key element in rye bread, it's found in a number of European foods (Akvavit and Havarti cheese are the most notable), and it's also used in this frittata. You can find caraway seeds and harrisa at Middle Eastern food shops. I found both these items at the Blair Mart on Pandora Street in Victoria.

I highly recommend grinding whole caraway seeds for this recipe. I'd also strongly suggest using tuna that's packed in light olive oil, not water. The tuna that's packed in water tends to dry out and its flavour is significantly diminished. Lastly, don't be shy about the salt and use good eggs. Good eggs make a significant difference in the final product. If you can get your hands on local farm eggs, do so!

We demolished a good part of the frittata before we abandoned it to nibble on the persimmon cake I whipped up prior to the business of frittata making. I'll definitely share the recipe for that cake with you in the next post. The leftovers - if there are any to be had - are very portable and make a great lunch. I tried eating it cold, and it suited me just fine. But then again, I like cold frittata. Do try this recipe. It's wonderful comfort food on a cold mid-winter night and a happy addition to your lunch box.

Ingredients

1/2 pound boiling potatoes, peeled and cut in small dice (about 1/2 inch)

3/4 pound carrots, peeled and cut in small dice (about 1/2 inch)

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 large garlic cloves, mashed with a pinch of salt in a mortar and pestle or finely chopped

2 teaspoons caraway seeds, ground

Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

2 tablespoons harissa dissolved in 2 tablespoons water, or 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon cayenne (to taste)

1 6-ounce can of olive oil-packed light tuna (not albacore), drained and broken up with a fork

                                                                                      1/4 cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

                                                                                      8 large eggs

Method

 

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Steam the potatoes and carrots above 1 inch of boiling water until tender, about 10 minutes.

2. Place the oil in a 2-quart baking dish or a 9-inch cast iron skillet. Rub the oil over the sides of the pan, and place in the oven. Meanwhile, whisk the eggs in a large bowl. Whisk in garlic, caraway, salt (about 1/2 teaspoon) and pepper to taste and harissa. Stir in the potatoes, carrots, tuna and parsley. Remove the baking dish from the oven, scrape the egg mixture into the hot baking dish and place in the oven.

3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes until lightly colored on the top and set. Allow to cool for 10 minutes or longer before serving. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Yield: Serves six to eight.

Parisien Leek Soup for James

There's a lot of history behind this recipe. At the request of an old acquaintance, James, whose memory of this soup remained intact twenty years after I first made it, I unearthed this recipe from a small box of childhood keepsakes.

The soup was made for an elementary school French class potluck. My classmate,  James, sampled it and dropped a leek soup reference many years later when he saw my food blog. Gary, my first crush, was  also one of the people who sampled it. He ate three bowls of the soup and told me how much he loved it.  I made this soup with my class partner who was also my best friend. Ten years later, my soup-making partner-friend seduced the man (a little reductionist here) I was madly in love with for most of my twenties. But what do you know about these things or the future when you're a kid. You're not wise enough then to see visions of the future and other portents in the making of soup. 

Really, there's a lot to making serious soup. And this recipe, baby, it's got history. Love food with a twist.

When I examined the recipe, scrawled in my childish hand, I marvelled at its simplicity. There is no pureeing of the soup to create an easy to photograph, perfectly groomed soup that one adorns with walnuts or ash-cured chevre or artistic drizzles of olive oil. Inspired by James' request, I went to the market and bought some leeks, lovely with their groomed tips.

The soup is simple enough to make. I say this because the night I made it, all I had to do was chop up the leeks and potatoes, essentially chuck it all into the soup pot, and then get on with the making of the all important Xmas cake. My mother recently parted with some of the family secrets and bestowed upon me the family recipe for rice flour dark Xmas cake. In our family universe, it's like getting knighted or something.

Here's the historically dramatic, but drama free original leek soup recipe:

Parisien Leek Soup

3 - 4 leeks
3 potatoes (I used red because I didn't have russet and they worked fine)
4 cups of water (I used the leavings of some broccoli water from my experiment with Gordon Ramsey's broccoli soup. Paired this with chicken broth)
1/3 cup of uncooked rice
1 tablespoon of butter
1 tablespoon of olive oil
1 teaspoon of salt
2 - 3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

Method 

1. Trim the leeks, halve them and then slice thinly. Whichever way you decide to chop, just chop evenly. The original recipe says to throw the green bits away, but I always disobey and include them.

2. Heat your soup pot up and melt the butter over a low heat. Add the olive oil to minimize butter burn.

3. Cube the potatoes thinly. Don't do instant hashbrown thin. Chuck the leeks in the warmed up soup pot and saute them. When I made this twenty years ago, Viviane and I riffed on the original recipe and browned about half a pound of lean ground beef before we began to saute the leeks.

4. After the leeks have softened and look a bit transparent, add the potatoes and let them have a conversation with the leeks for 2 - 3 minutes. 

5. End the leek-potato conversation by adding the water/broth, salt and rice. Bring it up to a boil, then turn the heat down and let it gently bubble on your stove for about 25 - 30 minutes. The key to this is that you shouldn't let your potatoes fall apart. I found the stated requirement for liquid isn't quite enough. I added more liquid as it pleased me - mostly to maintain a state of soup liquidity that worked for me.

6. Near the end of cooking, add the parsley. If you don't have parsley, add tarragon. Just don't go too crazy. Test the soup for salt and doctor as needed. Serve it with French bread and milk. This soup is very simple but very tasty.