Aioli Love

The sauce that binds us

Issue 31: From Sara Kate

Last week I wrote about hot nights and cold dinners and gave you our recipe for caesar salad. The truth is it was in the high seventies in Brooklyn when I wrote that. Yes, the AC had been on during the day, but the night was pleasant. It’s called artistic license; I knew it was blazing hot somewhere. 

This weekend I was in my hometown of Los Angeles visiting my family and it was legit HOT: mid-90s every single day. One evening for dinner my mom made a brilliant spread of steamed and grilled things and a big heap of aioli. That’s it. Somehow the colorful spread of vegetables and proteins on their own might not have seemed like dinner; they would need something to bring them all together. The aioli--mayo made by hand with garlic--was the ticket. 

Most of the spread was steamed: green beans, delicately skinned carrots (including some purple carrots that aggressively stained the wood board and neighboring white carrots!), baby potatoes, asparagus, eggs (steaming makes them easier to peel!) and shrimp. She also grilled artichokes. That was the whole dinner. Totally acceptable! (In France they call it Le Grande Aioli and it’s a summer thing. By contrast, our spread was modest as compared to some of the mega-grande LGA’s I’ve seen, but the purpose was still served: a fresh, easy-going, light meal.)

While the elements for this particular meal were made from scratch, I often lean on aioli as the perfect way to bind together a meal of leftovers, when it’s too hot to heat anything up or when you need to clear the fridge. Leftover cooked meats? Cut into strips and make a little pile. Grilled vegetables? Put them out cold. If you have some leafy greens (we didn’t) you can add that to the spread and make your meal an aioli-inspired salad bar. 

Something pretty sweet happened while we dipped and dragged our way through this batch of aioli. We had a funny who’s-on-first Abbott-and-Costello-style conversation with my dad about what Aioli is and how it’s made. If you know how to make mayonnaise, you know how to make Aioli: just mash garlic with salt into a paste in the bowl before you make (or as Julia Child does here, just adds pre-made) the mayo. I realized that some of my favorite dinner conversations are the ones where we dig deep into what we’re eating.

As a culinary educator of children I often think of this exchange as something that happens from adult to child, but it can of course happen between adults when they, like my dad, are not afraid to say they don’t know what they’re eating, or how it's made. I always feel more connected after I teach something, or learn from another.

I’d love to hear your strategies for cooking--or not cooking--in the high heat. And while you’re at it, tell me about something you shared or learned about food in a dinner conversation.

Aioli
Makes about 1 cup

1-2 large garlic cloves
Pinch kosher salt, plus more to taste
2 large egg yolks, at room temperature 
2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Mince the garlic, then sprinkle with a pinch of salt and, using the flat side of a chef’s knife, mash it into a smooth paste. Place it in a large bowl. Alternatively, mash it into a paste with a pinch of salt with a mortar and pestle, or simply a pestle in the bottom of a wooden bowl. 

Add the egg yolks, lemon juice and mustard until combined. Gradually whisk the oils into the egg mixture, whisking constantly, until the mixture thickens and emulsifies. 

Season to taste with salt. Serve immediately or transfer to an airtight container and store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.