I’ve been reading this book called “French Women Don’t Get Fat”. I’ve been reading the parts I understand anyway. It’s a bestseller and I trust that. The author Mireille Guiliano (pronounce that if you think you’re so smart) claims leeks are magical.
Leeks.
If you’re anything like me, perhaps this will help.
They’re hidden on the produce shelf.
They’re a vegetable.
The skinny French woman has a soup called “Magical Leek Soup”. You are supposed to drink leek broth for 48 hours. Straight.
Leek Broth, doesn’t that sound yummy?
If you get hungry, you eat the leeks with a little olive oil drizzled, until the 2nd day’s supper, then you have a little fish or meat with some veggies. I’m thinking fried taters and gravy qualifies after 48 hours of leek broth.
And that my friends is why I’m reading this book.
This 48 hour cleansing is the jump start to a great lifestyle change. Kinda sounds a little like starvation if you ask me, but who am I to question the French?
Yet, there is something about magical leeks that appeal to me.
I like magic.
Birthday candle blowing magic, shooting star wishing magic, genie bottle rubbing magic.
I could use a little magic around here.
For starters, I’d like to:
Magically-lose-all-my-cellulite.
Magically-have-a-clean-house.
Magically-have-Ed-McMahan-ring-my-doorbell. Wait. Is he dead?
Magically-have-Ed-McMahan-return-from-the-dead-and-ring-my-doorbell.
There’s just no limit what these leeks might do for me.
I called the grocery store to make sure they carried them before I ventured out. They did, they were hidden but they were there. I was curious to how fresh they were. I pondered how often people buy these things.
I had to watch a video on how to prepare them.
I couldn’t help but wonder where they’ve been all my life.
But truthfully, I didn’t wonder too hard.
I really didn’t think I could handle the Leek Broth. I know my limitations. Thankfully, the skinny french woman has a recipe on her website http://www.fwdgf.com/ for Leek Mozarella with a lovely picture, so I decided why not get a jumpstart on my new year’s resolution and prepare a healthy vegetable.
I’m thinking anything covered in cheese has got to be tasty.
Anything that looks like a pasta dish from Pizza Hut surely is yum-o.
Evidently the leek is from the onion family. You only use the white part of the vegetable.
Which means all this goes in the trash. Doesn’t that seem like such a waste? I was half-way raised by my Grannie, who was half-way raised during the Depression. She would have never thrown these out. The skinny French woman says they can be saved and made into stock. But okay, we’re talking about me here. So into the trash they went.
Then you boil the white parts, after you rinse well, because there’s a lot of dirt in there. That’s because they’re a vegetable, and vegetables grow in dirt.
Kinda looks like a cross between onions and celery, with a severe case of hypothyroidism.
Here’s the recipe, if’n you’re interested.
INGREDIENTS:
2 pounds leeks, white parts only
1 cup fresh basil leaves (I didn’t have this of course. We’re talking about me here.)
8 ounces mozzarella
1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon wine or sherry vinegar
Salt (preferably freshly ground—fleur de sel works magic) and freshly ground peppe
Yield: 4 Servings
RECIPE
Preheat the broiler.
Clean the leeks thoroughly, and boil in salted water 6 to 10 minutes, until cooked but still firm, then drain.
Put the leeks in a baking dish, and cover with a layer of basil leaves. Cut the mozzarella into 1/4-inch slices, and place atop the basil layer. Put the dish under the preheated broiler, and watch carefully. In 3 to 5 minutes the cheese should start to melt and brown; at this point, remove the dish.
Mix the oil and vinegar and drizzle over the mozzarella. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Serve immediately with a slice of country bread.
So far, I’ve eaten them twice. They aren’t terrible. They ain’t taters and gravy either.
I’m still waiting for the magic.
So far, I’ve gotten better results from birthday candle blowing and shooting star wishing.
But Wait. Somebody’s at the door.
