Sunday, November 8, 2009

Learning to Love Lentils

Even as a kid I was not a picky eater. You can count on one hand the foods I just WILL NOT eat -- brussels sprouts, stewed okra with tomatoes, split peas and lentils (I get the last two confused).

My mother thought she had hit the jackpot. Until my sister came along. Kim subsisted solely off hot dogs and chocolate milk during her first decade of life.

When my father was a member of the Mississippi Restaurant Association, my parents went to Jackson for a meeting/banquet. My sister and I stayed with our grandparents.

As our Chevy Impala pulled away from the curb, Mama yelled back at Nona "Don't cook anything special. Kim only eats hot dogs and Cathy eats almost anything... ." She really should have filled in those ellipses.

That night Nona, Grandpa, Kim and I sat down to big steaming bowls of lentil soup.

I spent 15 minutes dripping olive drab legume-y sludge from my spoon to the bowl, raising the spoon to my lips only often enough for manners. At least there would be chocolate ice cream for dessert. And my favorite new television show, Batman, on TV. Of course, it wouldn't be in color like on our brand new Zenith at home, but I would still get to indulge in my schoolgirl crush on Robin.

As the first strains of the "Dada dada dada dada, Dada dada dada dada BAT-man" theme song wafted from the living room, I slipped from my chair and away from the dreadful -- and still half-full -- bowl of soup. My grandfather stopped me dead in my tracks, pointing sternly to the soup, "Not until you finish your dinner, Catarina."

What?! Look, Kim's not eating it.

Except she was.

Willingly, even eagerly, the little fraud spooned the last drops of that nasty, and it bears repeating, sludge-y, olive drab soup into her picky little mouth, held out her bowl and asked for more. Had the world gone mad?

That night, my sister -- my mother's culinary despair -- got to eat chocolate ice cream and watch Batman (at least until the Joker came on and scared her), while I, the source of all my mother's playground boasting, sat at the kitchen table -- dessert-less and Batman-less- - and choked down the last of those by now cold, congealed disgusting lentils. Oh, the unfairness of it all!

I vowed I would never, NEVER eat lentils (or split peas or whatever) again. And I didn't for a really long time.

Flash-foward 40 years to a cool October evening in Paris. I am at L'Abassade d'Auvergne restaurant looking forward to eating my weight in roasted duck and the house speciality, aligot.

The adorable dimpled server places the first course in front of me -- a HUGE earthenware bowl filled with lentil salad.

I eye it warily. "EET ees good, Madame," Dimples assures me. OK. But only because you're so damn cute.

I taste it. It's not sludge-y. The lentils are al dente, but cooked through. And they are bathed in a deliciously aggressive vinaigrette redolent of onion, Dijon mustard and ... are those crispy bits of bacon? "Lardons," Dimples murmurs silkily, ladling, God help me, another scoop onto my plate.

And I eat. And eat. And eat. With all the repressed longing of 40 + years.

When it is all over, I am full. Very full. Because this time, I did get my dessert, not chocolate ice cream, but the most amazing chocolate mousse ever. In 2008, I don't need Batman (or Robin) to make my evening complete. I have Paris.

When I return home to Hattiesburg, I flip through my piled up mail including my Bon Appetit magazine. There, in black and white, is the recipe for L'Abassade d'Auvergne's famous lentil salad.

From Heaven I could feel Nona and Grandpa beaming down on me. And laughing a little.

Maybe I'll give that lentil (or split pea) soup another chance.

LENTIL SOUP

1 lb. lentils

1 small onion, chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped fine

2-3 cloves of garlic, chopped fine

1/2 lb picnic ham, chopped in small pieces

salt and pepper to taste

Cover with water and simmer in a covered, medium pot for 1 hour or until tender.

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