A little daube will tempt you

Marvelously rich and winy, redolent of orange zest and cinnamon, bay leaf and garlic and fennel, with meat made tender by hours of slow simmering and, yes, those wonderful olives, a Provencal daube is a beautiful thing.

It began in the south of France. Daube (rhymes with “globe”) grew up in the Occitan, which cuts a wide swath across the entire southern part of the country. It was in Provence that the dish attained its sunniest, most aromatic expression. That’s what makes a daube provencale so appealing.

A daube is not just a dish; it’s also a method of cooking, and it is taken so seriously in Provence that a daube wouldn’t be a daube unless it were cooked in a daubiere, that quintessential Provencal cooking vessel.

Made from the local red-gold clay, the daubiere is almost spherical in shape, with a neck just large enough to insert your hand, a flat lid and characteristic double handles to make lifting easy.

Fear not, any heavy casserole or Dutch oven does as well for a daube as it does for other stews.

The ingredients are layered inside the pot, with slow-cooking meats — usually beef or lamb — at the bottom, vegetables and aromatics on top. It’s not surprising to learn, then, that the word “daube” comes from “adobar,” which, in the Oc language of Occitan, means “to arrange” or “to accommodate.”

In Provence, those aromatics and vegetables would be onions, carrots, fennel, wild thyme, garlic, cloves, cinnamon and tomatoes in just about any combination. Wine red for beef, white for lamb or veal is essential, moistening the layers as a marinade.

It’s a long marinade: The mix should be left in the refrigerator one to three days for flavors to blend.

Cooking is long and gentle, taking three to four hours so the heat from the oven (in the old days it was an open fire) gradually penetrates the heavy pot, warming the contents to a simmer so they marry over the hours to a glorious, aromatic, fork-tender finish. Partway through, olives and maybe artichokes are added.

This is a farmhouse dish, using inexpensive ingredients drawn from the surrounding countryside. But it’s not everyday food; a daube is special enough for a celebration. The meat needn’t be a tender cut; the long, slow cooking of the stew is specifically designed to break down tough tissues and cartilage, releasing their taste.

The best cuts of beef to use are chuck, blade steak, shank, top or bottom round and eye from the leg, the muscles that work hard. I always include a chunk or two of shank in my beef daube, or some ribs in a daube of lamb. You might call it a magic charm. I think it’s key in providing layers of flavor and that glossy richness that marks a fine sauce.

Many (though not all) Provencal daubes include bacon, cut into the classic chunky strips called lardons. In France, it’s easy to find bacon in one piece, smoked or salted, complete with rind. If your butcher can provide it, go for the smoked version, slicing off the rind to line the base of the pot, then cutting the meat into lardons. Otherwise, thick-cut bacon can take the place of a single piece.

For an adventure, you might like to substitute buffalo for beef; it’s the nearest match to meat from the magnificent Provencal black bulls, which is used in daubes in the Camargue area, where they’re raised. There, at the delta of the Rhone River, they provide sport in the bullfighting arenas of the region.

The dark, musky Rhone red wines are a perfect match when marinating the meat.

Aromatic flavorings for a Provencal daube are key. Traditionally these may include pared orange zest (bitter orange is a particular treat), whole cloves, a cinnamon stick, peppercorns and a generous bunch of the classic bouquet garni trio of parsley, bay leaf and local wild thyme, dried to unusual intensity by the southern sun.

Story Continues →