Steamed Leeks

Reminiscing about my French teacher

I’m gearing up for a visit to France to watch my daughter, Olivia, compete in the summer Olympics. We are all going as a family, including my sister-in-law, brother and their children plus good friends. It promises to be an amazing trip. 

My French teacher

No better time than to think about French food. I love all things French. I think this comes from a couple of factors. My mother is an amazing cook and lived in France when she was younger. Mostly, it was the influence of my high school French teacher. He was my French teacher for most of my high school years. His name was MacMillin. That wasn’t his only name, his first name was Guy, but for some reason, it was what we, my girlfriend Betsy and I, it’s what we called him.  

MacMillin came from a small town in New Hampshire. He looked very French with jet black hair that he was always swooping away from his forehead, black wire rim glasses and he always wore white shirts with the sleeves folded up. He just had that “je ne sais pas” look about him. He had a great deep laugh and certain French mannerisms, he explained everything with his hands. But he wasn’t French. 

I only knew him as a teacher and as someone that also loved all things French too. He was passionate about many things, Elvis, comics, news, rock and roll. That is another story. I know a bit of his early life, he went to Dartmouth, he went to France and married a French woman. Then he ended up at my high school and he taught us not only the language but also the culture. I read the biography of Edith Piaf and was hooked. We used to listen to music in class, we listened to Charles Aznavour, Yves Montand, Jacques Brel of course, Edith. French class was like being transported to another world and it was the best part of mine and Betsy’s day. 

Journey to Paris

After high school Betsy and I went to Paris and MacMillin left and became an award winning journalist. We didn’t doubt his talents, he could do nearly anything. In Paris, we felt like we belonged there after our classes with him. We had learned so much about everything. But really, we knew nothing. We immersed ourselves in the world of cafés, took some French classes on the side, went to free concerts at Notre Dame, frequented book stores, and markets.

It was a beautiful time and we channeled our French teacher the entire time we were there. When we returned home and began our lives at University, I was desperate to go to a place where people spoke French. I chose to go to Montreal and loved it so much, I never left Canada. My first room at school overlooked a busy intersection, Rue Sherbrooke and University - my room had a small bench in the window and I often found myself drinking red wine or Cinzano pretending I was a famous French artist and like a sponge, soaking up the atmosphere of this busy city. If I could have, I would have stayed in Montreal but not being a fluent French speaker, required in the 1980’s, I moved on to Ontario. 

Love and Leeks

I met a man at school who introduced me to his Grandmère. A lovely woman who made simple, delicious French meals. One of them that I remember well were steamed leeks with a vinaigrette sauce. My mother used leeks in her cooking quite often so at least at 21, I knew what they were and what family they belonged to. 

I had never thought to have them prepared in this way. Leeks have a lovely mild flavour when they are cooked. I often use leeks instead of onions making soups. The trick in using leeks is to wash them well as bits of sand stick in between the layers, cut them and allow them to sauté in the fat you are using for at least 15-20 minutes before adding other vegetables. In order to make sure they do not burn in this process, I keep the heat on low and cover the pot allowing them to cook gently and slightly steam in the oil or butter. It is a delicious way to add a deep flavour to root vegetable soups like potato or parsnip, carrots or squash.