Beard on Beard Recipe 4: Potato Pavè
“After our shifts have ended, I wait at the bar while D wraps silverware in the back. The chefs send me charity scraps of food they are about to discard. If there’s any left, the bartender pours me the last of that night’s good wine. In front of me, they remind D how nice I am, as if it’s a fact they know him to have forgotten.
I wonder why, just like I wonder why they keep giving me food, though I’ll take it gladly: hammered copper gratins of hours-old potato pavè. Ridge Petite Syrah (which will remain my favorite wine). The thickened dregs of tomato-tarragon soup, its layer of wrinkled soup skin still visible. You wouldn’t serve the skin to customers, but I’m not here to buy anything, and I am as grateful for the taste of skin as anything else.
Yes, there is a thing in me unafraid to slice its fingers—insatiable, elbow deep in a blender, digging for basil and oil with a fistful of bread. The rest of me fears what my fingers can’t. But every time a crisp, nearly-burnt edge of stacked, translucent potato touches my tongue, the fear abates.”
Me, Beard: A Memoir (forthcoming, Eerdmans)
This particular scene comes from what is currently the middle of the book. My ex-husband and I worked at competing restaurants. His was always busier and more popular (it’s still open—Bravo in Jackson’s Highland Village—whereas the restaurant where I worked closed years ago), so they stayed open later (related: if you live in Jackson and don’t immediately go to Bravo after reading this, then I’ve failed at influencing, because Bravo is perfect, and I would be there right now if I didn’t live in Minnesota).
I don’t want to give too much away, but suffice it to say that in this scene the restaurant staff knew things about my life I didn’t know yet. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a benevolent sommelier or a half-stoned line cook serve as your own personal Greek chorus, but it’s an interesting ride.
On to the recipe: I feel it’s important to note here that the most popular iteration of this dish, currently enjoying a second life as a viral sensation on the socials, comes from Thomas Keller of French Laundry fame, arguably the most daunting chef in these contiguous United States to emulate.
As context: I am a good to very good home cook. I’m not incompetent. I’m occasionally inventive. If you’ve got a fridge full of leftovers, I’m confident I could whip up something interesting and tasty for you, and chances are, you wouldn’t spit it out. I am not, however, a trained chef, and in its purest form, this is a really cheffy-chef, French technique kind of recipe.
The version of this recipe I liked best comes from Martha Stewart’s adaptation of Keller’s potato pavè. By the way, pavè literally means pavement, and when these are stacked on their sides, you can see why. You use the finest mandolin setting you can (I took off the guard just for pictures, but I am a giant fraidy cat and a safety-first girlie these days, so that’s deceptive). Drop them into cream. Layer. Bake. Compress. Chill. Slice. Fry (or, in my case, air fry), and they aren’t bad. Full disclosure, I didn’t have enough potatoes for the recipe (my daughter’s favorite food is baked potato, and we use them as fast as we get them). The pavè I describe from Bravo of yore was thick and looked like this.
As you can see below, mine did not, but having said that, it immediately got scarfed down by my family, and I want to keep learning how to make it well, so we can eat it again.
Potato Pavè Ingredients:
1 cup heavy cream
Salt (you know I’m a faithful Diamond Crystal girl) and pepper
3 pounds russet potatoes (I actually only had about 2.5 lbs)
5 tbsp butter, 1 tbsp softened, 4 tsp cut into small cubes (I like Vermont Creamery)
Grapeseed (or any neutral) oil
4 sprigs fresh thyme
3 cloves garlic, paper removed, thickly sliced
Herbs for topping (I’ve seen people do crème fraiche, caviar, dill—which looks amazing—other people just finely chop chives or parsley—honestly, I was so tired while making this that I just tossed some Maldon salt on top and called it a day—I do think something acidic like a balsamic glaze or gremolata or chimichurri could be nice as it would cut the heaviness and brighten it up).
Preheat oven to 350. Peel potatoes.
2. Fill the basin or receptacle under your mandoline slicer with cream. Martha says to season the cream. I just seasoned as I layered. It was delicious, so quite literally…poTAYto, poTAHto.
3. Trim potatoes into rectangles (basically, just slice off all edges so you have a rectangular shape—I saved the potato scraps and baked them in the leftover cream with some thyme, and it was heavenly).
4. Slice potatoes into the basin of a mandoline slicer (or a bowl if you have a freestanding mandoline) using the thinnest setting. Take a picture without a hand-guard and then use one while actually slicing.
5. Rub softened butter over the inside of a loaf pan.
6. Make a parchment paper sling and use softened butter both inside and out to help it adhere.
7. Begin stacking your slices of potatoes.
8. Once you get two layers of potatoes, add salt and pepper as well as a bit of the diced butter. Continue doing this every two layers until you run out of potatoes and butter.
9. Close the parchment sling so that it covers the potatoes, and then punch that down to compress the stack.
10. Cover in foil.
11. Bake for an hour and a half to an hour and fifty minutes (depending on the depth of your potatoes). They should be pretty soft if you prick with a fork or knife. Let cool for at least 20 min.
12. Use another loaf pan (that can fit inside the one you just used) or a cardboard/foil barrier and then use cans to weigh down the pavè until it cools to room temp.
13. Put cans away, and refrigerate pave for at least six hours (ideally overnight).
14. Remove parchment and foil wrapping after lifting the chilled potato pavè out of the loaf pan. Then slice the chilled pavè into whatever shapes you want. I went for mismatched, bite-sized cubes. Follow your heart.
15. Fill the bottom of a pan with a thin layer of oil. Add thyme and garlic (remove garlic if it begins to burn). Cook pavè in the infused oil (then decide to just baste the second batch with the infused oil and cook it in the air fryer instead because you are as afraid of hot oil as you are of unprotected mandoline slicers—see above: NOT a chef) until crispy on all sides.
16. Spoon browned pavè onto a plate. Sprinkle with herbs or whatever toppings you choose (I just used flaked Maldon salt here). Enjoy!
17. Bonus round for the insecure: Compare yours to Martha Stewart’s and go, “You know? Not too shabby for a first try!”
