Petit Riz

guest post by Kristen Franke

For my 25th birthday, my father sends me a styrofoam cooler. It shows up on my doorstep covered in layers of tape and post office stickers—souvenirs from its long travels. Once opened, the cooler releases a fog of dry ice, revealing a simple, one-page pamphlet atop what seems like years worth of cellophane-wrapped treats. My father had sent me every single ingredient needed to prepare a Cassoulet D’Artagnan.

The actual preparation feels very primal: lots of tearing and slicing and pulling of meat. My cutting board looks like a crime scene. Having soaked overnight, the French Tarbais beans are plump and glowing white as I pour them into a broth of pork belly, clove-studded onion, carrot, thyme and garlic. They cook slowly; the aroma in my little Florida house is intoxicating.

My cast-iron Dutch oven greased and prepped, I then begin the layering: beans, duck fat, three kinds of meat, duck fat, more beans, more duck fat. Throughout the two and a half hour baking time, I add duck demi-glace periodically to keep the stew moist. I then take off the cover and let a crust form for 45 minutes more.

It comes out of the oven golden and bubbling. The top layer of beans has become almost flaky; the color resembles that of a perfectly toasted marshmallow. I taste a bean off the top and the flavors are on point: garlic, thyme, onion, pig fat.

I break open the crust to find a creamy, fatty stew. Hunks of sausage (both garlic and duck), cubes of pork belly and whole duck legs swim in a thick broth. The Tarbais beans on the bottom have become a gooey, delicious paste.

It is piping hot. I serve it in round, colorful bowls with torn-off pieces of crusty baguette.

The first bite is incredibly flavorful. The fats from the meat have melded together to create something very delicate, yet complex and hearty. You taste the thyme in the beans, the saltiness of the demi-glace, the garlic, the carrot, a tiny hint of black pepper. The duck meat falls off the bone and the pork belly melts on my tongue. It is perfectly seasoned; the meats do all of the work. The confit is my favorite.

I sop up the rich remnants with bread and wash it all down with a gulp of Cote du Rhone. I feel full and somewhat regal after eating it.

Leftovers are plentiful; it is even better the next day. Happy birthday to me.

You can find the recipe here.