Fit for a king
Simon Courtauld
Madame du Barry was not as famous a maitresse en titre of Louis XV as her predecessor, Madame de Pompadour (the subject of two current exhibitions in London), but she left a greater culinary legacy. She has a recipe for woodcock named after her, a company (Comtesse Dubarry) selling foie gras in the Gers, and she is for ever associated with cauliflower soup. But I have no idea how Creme Dubany came to be so called. Did she spoon the creamy liquid into the mouth of the dying king? Or was there perhaps some association between cauliflower heads and the powdered wigs of the period?
In her French Provincial Cooking, Elizabeth David recounts, from an old French recipe book, how a friend of Chateaubriand and of the fashionable political and literary hostess of early 19th-century Paris, Madame Recamier, would always serve them cauliflower soup when they came to dine, and they would complain if they were offered anything else as a starter.
The soup is usually made by cooking a sliced onion or leek in butter, adding cauliflower sprigs (let's try to avoid calling them florets), then milk and water and seasoning. After simmering for 25 minutes and liquidising, the soup may be thickened with a bechamel sauce and served with chopped chervil.
Cauliflower supposedly came originally from the Middle East, and may not have appeared in Britain and France until the 17th century. It was certainly fashionable fare at the court of Louis XV, and remained so after the Revolution, at least as a soup if not as a vegetable eaten with meat. I was rather shocked to read that Elizabeth David, perhaps taking her cue from the French, had no time for cauliflower unless made into a creamed soup, commenting on its 'normal coarse flavour and soggy texture'. She must have been thinking of the bad old days of boiling cauliflower to a watery mush, and of the description of the vegetable on menu cards at Victorian dining tables as chou-fleur a react,
But I am surprised she did not appreciate cauliflower cooked al dente, with a white sauce and a sprinkling of parsley, one of the best accompaniments, in my view, to roast beef. Though cauliflowers are now continuously available in the shops, the traditional spring-sown varieties are at their best in autumn, and at this time of year are perhaps the best of the brassicas. On a bright morning, with dew on the leaves, the white or sometimes Jersey cream-coloured head is a delectable sight.
Mark Twain damned the cauliflower as 'nothing but cabbage with a college education' — a peculiarly stupid and meaningless remark. It is definitely superior to green broccoli or calabrese, which has been dealt with in a previous column (10 March 2001), and so much more adaptable, lending itself to various treatments to enhance its flavour. I have come across cooked cauliflower dotted with toasted almonds, or paprika, or coriander, or covered with a tomato or mushroom sauce. And it is very acceptable eaten cold, whether raw or cooked, with a sour-cream dip or with vinaigrette and hard-boiled eggs. In Spain a sauce made from crushed garlic, parsley, olive-oil, wine vinegar and paprika is poured over the boiled cauliflower sprigs.
I am not particularly interested in debating whether a whole cauliflower should be cooked with its head down or its stalk at the base of the pan. We find the best method is to cut the vegetable into quarters before steaming it; and it will come to no harm if a sauce is then added and the dish left until the next day to be reheated under a grill. Fried breadcrumbs, chopped hardboiled egg and butter are added for cauliflower a la polonaise, and in Indian cooking there are several delicious ways with this vegetable, best known of all the aloo gobi (cauliflower and potato) found in every Indian restaurant in this country.
I have left the best until last, which is of course cauliflower cheese. This is thought of as quintessentially English, and it is one of the very few vegetable dishes to stand on its own. The cheese sauce is usually made with Cheddar, and — vital ingredient — a little mustard powder should be added before putting cauliflower and sauce in a hot oven with grated cheese and breadcrumbs sprinkled on top.
It was a surprise to learn that this dish is also known in Italy, alla milanese, presumably made with something like Parmesan, and in France where the cooked cauliflower sprigs are covered with a Mornay sauce and the combination is called — what else could it be? — a Ia Dubarry. Lucy Vickery
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