Into the Archives: Patrice Fortier, permaculture hero & seed evangelist

fig. a: Patrice Fortier in his element

It’s hard to believe, but it’s now been OVER 20 YEARS since we first made the acquaintance of Patrice Fortier and his incomparable la Société des Plantes, one of the world’s great purveyors of rare and heirloom seeds, and, therefore, significant figures in the push for biodiversity and sustainability. Its name might conjure visions of vast fields and orchards, huge arrays of greenhouses, and large teams of botanists, but la Société des Plantes is a modest operation, owned and operated by Patrice and his small team of associates and based on a small farm in Kamouraska, in the Bas-Saint-Laurent region of Eastern Quebec. In any case, in retrospect, it seems as though we actually met Patrice before we started “…an endless banquet,” in the fall of 2004, but that our second encounter with Patrice occurred right in the thick of the first month of AEB’s existence—November 2004—a period of excitement and high enthusiasm that resulted in a torrent of posts (21 in all, although many of them amounted to little more than “micro-blogging,” avant la lettre).

Patrice quickly became not only an inspiration for this couple of novice food bloggers, he became a good friend. And back in the day, he used to regularly show up in Montreal with his fantastic (and fantastical) assortments of vegetables and hold these largely impromptu farm stand sales that were very much true to the DIY roots of la Société des Plantes (and very much in line with the DIY philosophy of AEB), so he also became a recurring character in the pages of AEB. Not surprisingly, a number of our favourite posts feature Patrice quite prominently.

The photo up top—the one with the full angelica headdress—is my favourite photo of Patrice. In 2012 we finally went to visit Patrice in Kamouraska, and when we did we discovered that a documentary film was being made about him: Julie Perron’s Le Semeur (2014). We arrived just in time to behold the shooting of an elaborate fertility ritual that Patrice had created for the film. My photograph is a behind-the-scenes view of the action that captures some of the chaotic energy that was in the air on that August afternoon. If you’re interested in tracking down the finished version of Le Semeur (The Sower), you can do so here.

And if you’d like to read all about that magical first visit to la Société des Plantes, you can do so right here. In addition to details of our visit to Patrice’s farm, you’ll find tales of bakeries, charcuterie producers, smokehouses, restaurants, and eel appreciation centres, as well as a preview for a stunning “Hommage à Kamouraska” menu that Michelle had created for Foodlab (a.k.a., Labo Culinaire), featuring vegetables from la Société des Plantes.

fig. b: Patrice’s squashes, Mile End, 2005

The AEB Archives also contain a number of posts about Patrice’s numerous DIY farm stand sales, especially in the years 2004-2010. Some of these literally took place on street corners. Others took place in an odd assortment of businesses, all of them run by members of Montreal’s secretive Vegetable Underground, like bike shops and wine importation houses.

Examples of these posts include our very first piece on Patrice and la Société des Plantes in November 2004, as well as the following items:

• November 2005: a sale at Villeneuve Bicycle (now C & L Cycle)

• October 2006: a sale “in the parking lot at 5550 Casgrain”

• November 2010: a sale at the wine importers la QV’s headquarters on Beaubien

fig. c: Michelle & her Société des Plantes cardoon, 2006

Finally, this is one of my favourite photos of Michelle from AEB. It’s a photo of her holding a prized la Société des Plantes cardoon in 2005.

We had the pleasure of seeing Patrice again yesterday when he held a sale of his seeds (sorry, no vegetables this time!) at Librarie Gourmande at Marché Jean-Talon. It was such a treat to see him again—it had been a while. And one of the reminiscences that came up was the vision of Michelle and her cardoon at one of those early streetside sales. Patrice mentioned that AEB had been among the first to draw attention to la Société des Plantes in Montreal. That may have been true, but our interest in Patrice and la Société des Plantes had everything to do with his phenomenal assortments of vegetables and his magnetic personality. He was the one who was doing something extraordinary. He still is.

Once again, if you’d like to learn more about la Société des Plantes, you can check out their website HERE. If you’re a gardener, or you have gardeners in your life, seeds from la Société des Plantes make a wonderful gift.

aj

p.s. 1: One of our earliest recipes was one inspired by our second visit to one of Patrice’s sales, where we picked up “white carrots and white beets, tomatillos, chervil, homemade plum preserve, homemade herbes salées, and fresh horseradish.” The fresh horseradish found its way into a recipe for Horseradish Mashed Potatoes that we’d gleaned from Amanda Hesser’s 1999 book The Cook and the Gardener (seems appropriate), just a few years before Hesser founded Food52. Without any further ado:

Horseradish Mashed Potatoes

1 1/2 pounds potatoes, washed
salt
1/3 c. freshly grated horseradish
juice of 1 lemon
1/4 c. heavy cream
3 tbsp. butter
black pepper

Boil the potatoes in water and salt until tender. Drain.
Grate horseradish, keeping eyes as far away from the grater as possible, and add lemon juice right away.
Crush potatoes with a masher, add horseradish, cream, 2 tbsp. butter, salt and pepper to taste. Mash until desired consistency is reached.
Heat remaining tbsp. of butter in a medium pot, add potatoes, cover, place over medium heat, and stir until they are served.

Serves 6 as a side dish.

(This recipe comes from The Cook and the Gardener by Amanda Hesser)

p.s. 2: Did we pick up some seeds for ourselves? Yes, of course, we picked up some seeds for ourselves!

fig. d: La Société des Plantes seeds, ready to be broadcast

Bohèmienne Rhapsody

fig. a: height of season

Speaking of tomatoes…

If you’re looking for another way to make use of the abundance of peak tomatoes available at the moment, look no further.

This is a show-stopper of a recipe that has been a house staple ever since we first encountered it in Richard Olney’s A Provençal Table: The Exuberant Food and Wine from the Domaine Tempier Vineyard (a.k.a., Lulu’s Provençal Table: The Exuberant Food and Wine from Domaine Tempier’s Vineyard). In fact, in many ways, it was this very dish that began what could safely be labelled a long-term Richard Olney obsession.

As Olney makes clear, this dish is essentially a spread, one made with the finest tomatoes and the most perfect eggplant you can find, it’s versatile—you can serve it hot, warm, tepid, or cold—and it’s a classic part of the Provençal apéro repertoire. It’s a simple dish, but one whose poetic name—Bohèmienne—captures its mysterious transcendental properties.

Olney clearly thought very highly of the Bohèmienne, and it’s a dish whose magic and whose associations with Bandol’s Domaine Tempier vineyard is crucial to an understanding of that Berkeley-Provence connection that brought together the talents and the vision of Olney, Alice Waters, Kermit Lynch, and others.

fig. b: a fine specimen of an eggplant

Just as the tomatoes began to hit their peak this year, we received a letter from our dear friend OM, who recalled encountering this fabled eggplant-tomato dish at a dinner party we threw years and years ago in Montreal, during one of our first attempts to recreate the grandeur of a true Grand Aïoli—one that Olney himself would have been proud of. I’m sure these early stabs at Provençal cuisine in the grand tradition must have been hilarious—they were definitely high on enthusiasm, even if we were mere novices at the time—but apparently the Bohèmienne left an impression. “I remember it being deeply satisfying, salty and pungent, with that lovely creaminess of eggplant at its peak,” was the way OM recalled it, and with a surplus of tomatoes and eggplants on her hands, she asked if we could provide her with the recipe. We were all too happy to help out.

The dish’s pungency—and some of its salt—comes from the addition of salt anchovies. If you don’t have salt anchovies on hand, you should try to find anchovies packed in olive oil. And if you’d prefer a vegetarian version (vegan, even) of the Bohèmienne, you can just omit them—you’ll have to finesse the dish with some extra salt (and maybe a little extra love), but it’s quite possible to make a luscious version that’s entirely anchovy-free. But I really, really recommend the anchovies if you’re not a strict vegetarian. They’re the “secret ingredient” that really makes this dish sing.

And while I’ve placed an emphasis on the eggplant and the tomatoes—with good reason—the third most important component of a Bohèmienne is the garlic, of course. Use the freshest, juiciest hard-neck garlic you can find (preferably local and organic). Your tomatoes and eggplant are bursting with flavour—why shouldn’t your garlic be as well?

fig. c: garlic in august

Otherwise, making a great Bohèmienne is all about the method. As usual, is Olney is nothing if not precise when it comes to his instructions. Avoid cutting corners and this Bohèmienne will pay you back handsomely.

We were so moved by OM’s letter—and transcribing the recipe for her made me so ravenous for Bohèmienne—that we promptly made a batch a couple of days later. The next day, we brought part of our batch to a small (socially distanced) dinner party, and though the table was loaded with goodies of all kinds, in many ways, it was this rustic eggplant-tomato spread that stole the show. Nobody had had a concoction like it ever before, and everything about the dish spoke SUMMER loud and clear.

Bohémienne

6 tbsp olive oil

1 large onion, halved and finely sliced

3 cloves garlic, crushed and peeled

2 pounds eggplant, peeled, sliced into rounds, salted on both sides for 30 minutes and pressed dry between paper towels

2 pounds tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and coarsely chopped

3 salt anchovies (or 6 anchovy fillets)

salt and pepper

Warm 4 tbsp of the olive oil in a large, heavy pot [Olney recommends a “wide-surfaced cooking vessel,” one whose surface area will aid with “evaporation and reduction”].  Add the onion and cook over low heat, stirring regularly with a wooden spoon, until softened but not coloured.  Add the garlic and eggplant; cook until softened, stirring regularly.  Add the tomatoes, turn up the heat, and stir until they begin to disintegrate and the mixture begins to boil.  Lower the heat to maintain a simmer, uncovered, for an hour or more.  Stir regularly, crushing the contents with the wooden spoon and, after about 45 minutes, crush regularly with a fork to create a coarse purée from which all liquid has evaporated.  Toward the end, it should be stirred almost constantly to prevent sticking and the heat should be progressively lowered.

Pour remaining 2 tbsp olive oil into a small pan, lay out the anchovy fillets in the bottom, and hold over very low heat until they begin to disintegrate when touched or when the pan is shaken.  Remove the eggplant-tomato purée from the heat and stir in the anchovies and their oil.  Taste for salt and grind over pepper.  If prepared in advance, transfer the bohémienne to a bowl and leave, uncovered, to cool completely before covering and refrigerating.

serves 8

Serve with crusty bread and a cold, crisp glass of rosé—a beautiful Bandol like Domaine Tempier’s rosé would be wonderful, of course, but the price on these have crept up steadily over the years, and any one of a number of French or Italian rosés or rosatos would also make for an excellent accompaniment. At the moment, we’re particularly fond of an especially ethereal Corsican wine from Domaine de Marquiliani known as “Rosé de Pauline”. On the night we brought the Bohèmienne to that recent dinner party, it was paired with Swick’s lusty “Only Zuul.”

Though we typically serve our Bohèmienne warm, or at room temperature, Olney notes that the dish is sometimes served hot, as a gratin. Just "spread it into a shallow oven dish, sprinkle it with dried bread crumbs and olive oil,” and bake it in the oven.

aj

Make Mine a B.L.T. (or even "just" an L.T.), or In Praise of the B.L.T. (and the L.T.)

fig. a: Can you see where this is going?

We love sandwiches of all kinds, of course—lobster rolls, hoagies, smoked meat, club, po’ boys, muffulettas, chopped rib, falafel, burgers, even the lowly P.B. & J.—but there’s one sandwich that stands above them all at this time of year, when tomatoes are plentiful and at the peak of perfection, and that’s the B.L.T.

All the constituent elements of the B.L.T. serve their purpose and hold importance—including the bread, mayonnaise, bacon, and lettuce—but as far as we’re concerned the very most crucial ingredient is the tomato. If you don’t have a perfect tomato to start with, really, what’s the point? You could make the most beautiful mayonnaise from scratch, fry up the smokiest, most delicious artisanal bacon, source the sweetest, most tender-crunchy lettuce leaves, and even bake the most perfect sandwich bread imaginable (or find it at your local artisanal bakery), but if the tomato was unripe and tasteless, the whole contraption would fall apart.

Lucky for us, we’ve been able to score loads of beautiful, juicy, ripe local tomatoes recently, we have access to our favourite Northeastern bacon (North Country Smokehouse, out of Claremont, New Hampshire), and we’ve even been able to find local, organic iceberg lettuce—in other words, the B.L.T. trifecta. We’re a little less obsessive when it comes to the bread and mayonnaise. We bake plenty of our own bread and make our own mayonnaise with regularity, but we’re perfectly fine with using supermarket brands when it comes to these two elements. Recently, we’ve been fond of using Hellmann’s mayo and Pepperidge Farm’s Butter Bread or Honey White.

But it’s the tomato we’re most particular about. And right now, my favourite B.L.T. tomato is an heirloom variety known as the Paul Robeson.

fig. b: Paul Robeson puts on quite a show

The Paul Robeson is a variety of Russian origin that was named in honour of the African-American singer, actor, and activist—”a sandwich tomato with a tang, an extraordinary tomato for an extraordinary man,” as the folks at Fedco Seeds put it.

You don’t have to use an heirloom variety, of course, but for a true B.L.T., it’s imperative to use a big, juicy, supremely tasty slicing tomato. Delicious cherry tomatoes will do in a pinch, but for the full effect, it really has to be a slicer that’s just bursting with juicy goodness. All the greatest sandwiches are messy affairs—or at least they should be—and the B.L.T. is no exception. Your plate should be a glorious mess when you’re done. Napkins and paper towels should be an absolute necessity. Possibly even a shower.

Lastly, the bread must be properly toasted. It should be slathered with mayonnaise. (I’m a strong proponent of mayonnaise being slathered on both slices of toast.). And it’s absolutely obligatory that the tomatoes be salted in advance of sandwich construction. Okay, maybe it’s not “obligatory,” especially if you’re using a salty bacon, but, personally, I think the salt really helps release the tomato’s full range of flavours.

Now, as much as I love a true B.L.T. made with excellent bacon, we don’t always have bacon around. In fact, most of the time we don’t. Mostly it’s reserved for “special occasions.” But that’s okay, because if the tomatoes are exceptional, I get nearly as excited about an L.T. sandwich as I do about a B.L.T. And that’s actually the sandwich we have with the greatest frequency during peak tomato season. (If you’re really missing the salt & smoke of those crispy bacon slices, you could always sprinkle a little smoked salt on your tomatoes in place of your usual sea salt or kosher salt. You won’t get quite the same texture, and you won’t have the intoxicating presence of bacon fat adding to the alchemy, but at least you’ll get some of that smoky saltiness.)

And while I’m a big fan of mayonnaise, and I realize it’s almost heretical to say so, I’m also perfectly fine with a mayo-less L.T. sandwich made with a vinaigrette—as long as the tomatoes are excellent.

But the version I love the most is that classic version—the one with the perfect tomatoes, the choice bacon, and the proper lettuce, bread, and mayonnaise combo. Especially if it’s served sliced on the bias.

fig. c: B.L.T. lunch

Preferably with a cold beverage and some potato chips.

One friend who joined us for a socially distanced B.L.T. lunch earlier this summer called the A.E.B. version “the Platonic ideal of the B.L.T.” The last time Michelle finished one, she just said (in typical Michelle fashion), “Man, that was really, really good.”

All I know is that this is the meal that I crave the absolute most right now. I’ve been having at least four B.L.T. and/or L..T. sandwiches per week for the last several weeks now (usually L.T.s, actually), and each and every one has been just as satisfying as the last. Usually more so.

aj

Out of the Archives 4: Eat Your Greens, pt. 2

Here's another must-read/must-see/must-try from the archives.  It first appeared 5 years ago to the day, on November 13, 2010.  As was the case in 2010, now's the time--there are plenty of green tomatoes around, and you can often get them for a song.

fig. a:  time to fry

There are still some real green tomatoes kicking around. In fact, depending on where you live, there might still be loads of them. And, along with making your own chowchow, frying them is a pretty great way to make use of the last of the tomato harvest. But even if you find that the green tomatoes in your area have already disappeared, all is not lost. As the Lee Bros. point out, your standard supermarket tomato is effectively a green tomato--it certainly was picked green (generally, very green). So you may need to add a bit of lemon juice and some salt to your sliced supermarket tomatoes to coax out a little flavor and approximate the wonderful, citrusy tartness of a true green tomato, but fried green tomatoes are a classic Southern side that you can make pretty much all year long. If you want to make the real deal, however, and I strongly advise giving them a try, local green tomatoes were still available here in Montreal this week. And their bright, tangy flavor this late in the year made it feel like we were cheating the approach of winter somehow. If only for a moment.

Note: you also need some decent cornmeal to make these fried green tomatoes, and good cornmeal can be hard to find in the Montreal region. The best brand we've been able to locate around here is Indian Head Stone Ground Yellow from Maryland, available at Aubut. 

fig. b:  B Bros.

Even better is Beattie Bros., which is owned by the same parent company, but produced in North Carolina. Though, as far as we know, you can only get Beattie Bros. in the States.

Fried Green Tomatoes

3 lbs green tomatoes
3 large eggs, beaten
3/4 cup whole milk
3-4 cups peanut oil
3 batches fry dredge (recipe follows)
kosher salt, if needed
lemon juice, if needed

Core the stem ends of the tomatoes and slice them in 1/4-inch slices. Set aside. Whisk the eggs and milk together in a broad, shallow bowl.

Pour the oil in a 12-inch or 14-inch skillet (3 cups of oil will suffice for the 12-inch skillet; 4 cups should do for the 14-inch skillet, and the 14-inch skillet will make the task of frying 3 lbs of tomatoes much, much faster--ultimately, whatever size skillet you use, you need an oil depth of about 1/3 of an inch). Heat the oil over medium-high heat until the temperature on a candy thermometer reaches 350º-365º.

Heat the oven to 225 degrees. Set a baker's rack on a cookie sheet on the top rack.

Divide the dredge between two small bowls or shallow baking pans. Taste the tomatoes. "They should have a bright tartness like citrus fruit." If they don't, sprinkle the slices with salt and lemon juice (if you're using supermarket tomatoes, this additional lemon and salt will be necessary). Press 1 tomato slice into the first bowl of dredge on each side, shaking any excess loose. Dunk in the egg mixture, then place in the second bowl of dredge, coating both sides, and shaking any excess loose, before placing the slice on a clean plate. Repeat with more slices until you've dredged enough for a batch (roughly 8-10, if you're using the 14-inch skillet). With a spatula, gently transfer the first batch of slices into the hot oil, taking care not to create splatter, and making sure your temperature continues to hover between 350º-365º.

As the first batch cooks, dredge the second batch according to the directions above, while keeping a watchful eye on the first. Once the slices have fried to a rich golden brown on one side, roughly 2 minutes, flip them carefully and fry for another 2 minutes or so, or until golden brown. Transfer the fried tomatoes to a plate lined with a double thickness of paper towels and leave them to drain for 1 minute.

Transfer the slices to the baker's rack in the oven, arranging them in a single layer, so they remain warm and crisp. Repeat with the remaining slices until all the green tomatoes have been fried. Serve hot with Buttermilk-Lime Dressing (recipe follows).

All-Purpose Dredge

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3 tbsp stone-ground cornmeal
2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, sift the flour, cornmeal, salt, and pepper together twice. Stir. Use as directed.

This is a great all-around frying dredge. The Lee Bros. use this very recipe for everything from chicken, to fish, to fried green tomatoes.

Buttermilk-Lime Dressing

3/4 cups whole or lowfat buttermilk (preferably the former)
5 tbsp freshly squeeze lime juice
2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
1 tbsp honey
1/2 cup finely minced basil
1/4 cup finely minced green onions
1/4 cup finely minced parsley
1/2 tsp salt, plus more to taste

In a small bowl, whisk the ingredients together until thoroughly combined. Cover tightly and store in the refrigerator not more than 2 days.

[these recipes are based very, very closely on ones that appeared in The Lee Bros. Southern Cookbook]

These fried tomatoes make for a fantastic side with any number of dishes, Southern or otherwise. We love 'em with seafood, but then we've been known to have them with barbecue too, and I could easily imagine having them as part of a Thanksgiving dinner. Leftover fried green tomatoes taste pretty outrageous on top of a leftover pulled pork sandwich, too. Especially if you drizzle a little of that Buttermilk-Lime Dressing on top. Just take a look:

fig. c:  deluxe pulled pork sandwich

Oh, and speaking of Thanksgiving and the Lee Bros.: if you haven't had the pleasure of reading Matt and Ted's New York Times exposé on Marilyn Monroe's stuffing recipe from 1955-6 (as it appears in Fragments, a just-published collection of previously unreleased Monroe ephemera), you really should. Not only is it a great read, but Marilyn's recipe is both mysterious (ground beef? Parmesan? City Title Insurance Co.?) and tantalizing. Just look at that picture. Just look at that recipe. 

aj

p.s. Looking for "eat your greens 1"? You can find it here.

Top Carrot

fig. a:  carrots

This recipe--Vadouvan-spiced "Tandoori" Carrots--appeared on our radar months and months ago, courtesy of Bon Appétit, but I only got around to making it this summer.  It showed up in a winter issue as a recipe you could make with wintertime root vegetables, but it's a carrot recipe that benefits from using the freshest, prettiest carrots available--like those in the photograph above--so, really, it's ideal for the current harvest season.  It's also an incredibly versatile recipe.  You could certainly serve it as part of a South Asian menu, but I'd have no qualms serving it in a wide range of contexts, including even an upcoming Thanksgiving meal.  Most importantly, it's a remarkably flavourful and attractive recipe, one that takes roasted carrots to a higher plane.

If you've never heard of Vadouvan, it's a spice blend that's said to be a product of French colonial rule in India--one that typically is built with a base of shallots.  If you can't locate Vadouvan where you live--I wasn't able to track it down in Montreal--it's fairly easy to make, and the flavours are intoxicating, especially if you're able to score fresh curry leaves.*  You might very well find yourself making spiced potatoes, roasted cauliflower, dal, and other dishes with it, in addition to these carrots.  That's what I ended up doing, and every variation was a hit.

fig. b:  spices

Vadouvan Spice Mix

 2 pounds onions, cut into 1-inch pieces

1 pound shallots, halved

12 garlic cloves, peeled

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds

1 tablespoon thinly sliced fresh curry leaves (optional, but highly recommended)

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

1 teaspoon brown mustard seeds

3/4 teaspoon turmeric

1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon hot red-pepper flakes

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Special equipment:  this recipe calls for using parchment paper, but I highly recommend using a Silpat silicone baking mat, if you have one.

Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle.

Pulse onions in 3 batches in a food processor until very coarsely chopped (there may be a few large pieces remaining), transferring to a bowl. Repeat with shallots, then garlic.

Heat oil in a deep 12-inch heavy nonstick skillet over high heat until it shimmers, then sauté onions, shallots, and garlic (stir often) until golden and browned in spots, 25 to 30 minutes

Grind fenugreek seeds in grinder or with mortar and pestle. Add to onion mixture along with remaining ingredients, 1 tablespoon salt, and 1 teaspoon pepper and stir until combined.

Transfer to a parchment-paper-lined (or Silpat-lined) large 4-sided sheet pan and spread as thinly and evenly as possible. Bake, stirring occasionally with a skewer or spatula to separate onions, until well browned and barely moist, 1 to 1 1/4 hours.

Note:  This recipe makes a lot of Vadouvan spice mix, but it's delicious, it's versatile, and it keeps well in the refrigerator for up to 1 month.

fig. c:  spicy carrots

Now that you have your spice blend, you can actually make the "Tandoori" carrots.  Don't worry, you don't need a tandoor.  You just need a hot oven.  The "Tandoori" part comes from the fact that the technique replicates the manner in which other Tandoori dishes are made, like Tandoori chicken.

Vadouvan-spiced "Tandoori" Carrots

2 tablespoons Vadouvan

2 garlic cloves finely grated, divided

½ cup plain whole-milk Greek yogurt, divided

5 tablespoons olive oil, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 pound small carrots, tops trimmed, scrubbed or peeled

¼ teaspoon ground turmeric

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Very coarsely chopped cilantro leaves with tender stems and lemon wedges (for serving)

Preheat oven to 425°. Mix Vadouvan, half of garlic, ¼ cup yogurt, and 3 Tbsp. oil in a large bowl until smooth; season with salt and pepper. Add carrots and toss to coat. Roast on a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer, turning occasionally, until tender and lightly charred in spots, 25–30 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat turmeric and remain­ing 2 Tbsp. oil in a small skillet over medium-low, swirling skillet, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat.

Whisk lemon juice, remaining garlic, and remaining ¼ cup yogurt in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper.

Place carrots (along with the crunchy bits on the baking sheet) on a platter. Drizzle with yogurt mixture and turmeric oil and top with cilantro. Serve with lemon wedges.

The finished product is a work of beauty:  sweet, spicy, tart, and savoury, with wonderful textures and vivid colours to boot.  You might serve these carrots as a side dish, but, if you do, don't be surprised if they steal the show.  They're really that good.

aj

p.s.  If you can't find Vadouvan near you, and making your own batch seems like too much trouble, just come up with your own curried shallot blend by frying some up in a pan, and try the rest of the recipe.  Everything else about this recipe is dead easy, and the method is sound.

* I got mine at Marché Oriental, on boulevard St-Denis, and they were fresher than fresh.