#olivier salad

[fattributes]

Olivier Salad

[morethansalad]

Vegan Olivier Salad (Russian Potato Salad)

[soviet-space-ace]

Imagine my disappointment when I found out that the British equivalent of the Tony Awards is called the Olivier Awards, but the winners do not get olivier salad dumped on them like the slime on Nickelodeon.

[nata-natfan]

Landau siblings' New Year's Eve preps (Sampo’s been welcomed). Landaus are naughty enough not to celebrate with their parents.

Because of the freeze, Belobog is severely impoverished gastronomically, but the 700 year old recipes have survived! For Sampo Koski, it's absolutely not a big deal to steal an old olivier salad recipe from the archives. Even if it is impossible to get all the ingredients for the salad on Jarilo-VI, somewhere in the universe there are bound to be grouse, eggs and all the necessary sauces!

They are cooking something between a modern olivier salad and the original recipe.

(Olivier is a traditional New Year's dish in many post-Soviet states, known as Russian salad in Europe and some other countries) Have a happy new year's celebration! <3

[silverovaskitchen]

MADE: 17 JUL 2022

A reblog from my main blog, cause I'm still pretty damn proud of what I did there. Actual recipe and pictures under the cut, if you have no time for the opening blurb.

Салат « Янус » (The Janus Salad)

(Or: a Russian Englishman’s twist on the Romanov-era Olivier Salad)

007 Fest 2022, Scavenger Hunt item no. 52: “Design a meal or dish of food representing a Bond character. Explain your logic.”

In the days when Janus used to travel all around Russia in his personal armoured train, the question of food always was a critical one. Of course, the on-board kitchen was well-stocked with quality tins, but one did not simply live on a diet of tinned food—especially when one was the immensely rich Janus.

Therefore, some of the Janus Syndicate’s enforcers were specially assigned to catering. They ordered dishes to the greatest chefs in all of Saint Petersburg and brought them back to base (not unlike a private Uber Eats…); they did the grocery shopping at the historical Gostiniy Dvor department store; they even procured rare and/or exotic ingredients from abroad. None of them complained—as long as they weren’t caught red-handed nabbing some of this exceptional food, the job certainly had its advantages.

Janus, as for him, didn’t complain either. As much as he despised his old friend James in those days, he had very much adopted the latter’s love for good, expensive cuisine for himself. While the local restaurateurs never saw him in person, he paid them so generously they came to look forward to the tough-looking henchman’s next visit. There were worse arrangements, especially in 1990s Russia.

What Janus also loved was history—above all else, Romanov history. In another life, he would have certainly been the dashing Count Vronskiy in Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Or, at the very least, a young, ambitious Don Cossack officer, relentlessly gaining power in the tsar’s court through intrigue and connections. But alas, he was born a century too late for that to ever happen. His consolation was to devour all the books he could find on the subject… and infiltrating the young Russian Federation’s politics to steer them away from Communism as much as he could.

It was while reading one of his history books that one day, Janus stumbled upon the story of Belgian chef Lucien Olivier and of his most famous creation—Olivier salad. Like every Russian, Janus knew the Soviet, cheapened-down variation of it, also known as Russian potato salad. He was very surprised to find out that the original was, in fact, very posh. Depending on the versions, it could include such ingredients as hazel grouse, crayfish tails, or even black caviar.

Intrigued, Janus kept searching about this historical salad. Chef Olivier had clung jealously to his recipe all the way to the grave, but fortunately some of his contemporaries had noted down their best approximations. The oldest possible source Janus could find was an 1894 article from the long-defunct magazine ‘Our Food’. For what he had in mind, it was a very good base.

So, one day, he summoned one of his caterers and asked for the recipe to be recreated, albeit with a few alterations of his own. The original recipe was forever lost after all, so no need for complete authenticity. Instead of hazel grouse, he wanted partridge—a very acceptable replacement, according to the 1894 article. If he did live the Cossack life, he’d probably have hunted it himself… but the truth was, partridge had been his favourite game meat ever since James made him try some.

Instead of crayfish, he wanted the sweeter, softer scampi. How English of him, one might say. Instead of meat jelly, he wanted the most buttery, decadent beluga caviar—hopefully not from Valentin Zukovsky's Azerbaijani farm, though. He wanted quail eggs, too. And for a slightly dark, smoked edge, he wanted French duck magret. Again, James’ influence on him might be stronger than he’d ever admit…

Lastly, there was the question of the most mysterious ingredient of them all—what the article called ‘Kabul’ sauce. Back in the day, it was a condiment made by the British firm Crosse & Blackwell, but it unsurprisingly had been discontinued eons prior. The replacement, Janus decided, would be a mixture of good old Worcestershire sauce and soy sauce. Russia had borders with China, Korea and Japan after all. Slightly spicy, with a umami kick to it… that resembled enough the descriptions he read.

The henchman finished noting this down, nodded, and went. Shortly before dinner time, he came back to the train with the customary bliny with sour cream and caviar… as well as this.

‘Delicious’, Janus thought at the first bite. ‘Well worthy of a tsar… I could call it the Janus salad.’

INGREDIENTS

(DISCLAIMER: the author broke the piggy bank for some of these ingredients because she made this dish for her 26th birthday. Do not feel obliged to do the same—that being said, scouring places such as Petrossian or La Grande Épicerie de Paris (a French equivalent to Harrod’s) was very fun.)

Salad (makes 3-4 servings):

2 roasted partridges (can be replaced with roasted chicken)

8 (+1, see decoration) quail eggs (can be replaced with chicken eggs)

5-6 waxy new potatoes (if you’re Janus, you’ll probably want Jersey Royals. If you’re a French frog like the author, Noirmoutiers are an excellent replacement.)

70g smoked duck magret (omit if you don’t have access to it)

Half an English cucumber

1 tbsp capers

10 black olives

Meat from the scampi claws

Scampi broth (if raw scampi are used):

Parsley

Tarragon

Dill

2 bay leaves

1 onion, quartered

1 carrot, chopped

Jamaican pepper (Bond would approve)

Coarse salt

Provençal sauce:

1 egg yolk

1 tsp Dijon mustard

2 tsp vinegar

olive oil (or olive oil + a neutral tasting oil—olive oil has a strong taste)

black pepper

garlic powder

2 tsp Worcestershire sauce

2-3 tsp soy sauce

For the decoration of 1 serving:

2 scampi (aka. langoustines)

1 lettuce leaf

The spare quail egg, halved

Chives

Black caviar (if you’ve got Janus’ unlimited funds, beluga is a must—since the author hasn’t, she used osetra instead. A good, much cheaper replacement with a similar taste would be trout roe... except it isn't as dark as Alec's soul 😆)

DIRECTIONS

Roast the partridge (or chicken) and let it cool down

Boil the potatoes and let them cool down

Boil the quail eggs for 3 minutes and let them cool down (8 minutes for chicken eggs)

Make the scampi broth. When it boils, add the raw scampi and cook for 8 minutes starting  from when the broth boils again. Remove the pot from the stove and put it in a cold water bath. Leave the pot to cool down, so that the scampi are infused with the broth.

Remove the bones from the partridge/chicken, then chop it up into small pieces along with the potatoes, cucumber, magret, eggs and meat from the scampi claws. Add capers and sliced olives

Make the Provençal sauce. Mix the egg yolk and mustard then slowly add oil while whisking, until texture is firm (an electric hand mixer helps). Add the other ingredients and mix well.

Add two generous tablespoons of Provençal sauce to the salad, then gently mix it all up.

To serve, ideally use a ring mold. Decorate the molded salad with the scampi, egg, lettuce leaf, caviar and chives.

Serve very cold. The 1894 recipe says that it should be ideally done in ‘a crystal vase, like fruit macédoine’.

Приятного аппетита! (Bon appétit!)

SOURCES:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Olivier_salad (good overview)

https://liveuser.livejournal.com/77282.html (the 1894 recipe, in Russian)

https://stale.ru/en/different/olive-s-rakovymi-sheikami-gotovim-originalnye-salaty-olive-s/ (different variations of the original recipe with more complete instructions, Google (?) translated from Russian)

BONUS PICTURES:

Mmm roasted partridge

A good view on that caviar (I certainly am not going to get more any time soon, so gotta show off 😁). Also, six bliny of course.

Little birthday dessert in the same spirit:

Georgian black tea with lemon

Chocolate, lemon, raspberry and mango macarons

‘Cigarettes russes’ (Russian cigarettes), which are Belgian rolled biscuits

Raisin and lemon Scottish shortbread

Apple and honey ‘tulskiy pryanik’, a sort of gingerbread from Tula, Russia

PS: did you spot the three Sean Bean non-Alec Easter eggs in the opening blurb? 👀

[amystarrstuff]

it's always really interesting to think about all the color fixers when they were just low-grade rats. especially because all of them (that we know of) were backstreets residents (or worse) who just did shit to survive.

like, young kali before she had her inhuman strength or had ever met carmen, struggling to survive but still showing kindness to others. and that terrible night where her own neighbors took advantage of that.

a young vergilius who didn't have his own strength or prowess to rely on yet. maybe taking any job that came his way just to eat. maybe being worried he wouldn't come home.

a low-grade iori, maybe just caring for her son, having to kill people who may well have also been mothers and fathers to her own children.

grade 9 argalia and angelica, with no background to rely on except each other, wondering where they'd get their next meal.

and roland and xiao and yujin and olivier and all the other non-colors who certainly went through the same shit.

like, something that still sticks with me through early ruina and now limbus company is how incredibly desperate things are at the bottom. canto v showing how ishmael and her crew would be willing to do ANYTHING, and having tight bonds with one another (much like we see in low-grade offices like streeglight office in ruina, with mars and lulu for example) DESPITE the fact that, at every turn, every project moon game will tell you "dont get attached" "dont get attached" "dont get attached." all these untouchable, above-it-all fixers are still human and still went through all of that. thinking about how the stone-cold vergilius may have cried over his comrades, how the unbeatable kali probably lost many fights, how the intangible argalia and angelica may have cannibalized other outskirts residents just to live another day.

it adds another layer to them yknow. how much of that humanity do they still have? how much did they give up to get to the top?

[suddenly-frankenstein]

Armand as the archangel Gabriel from «The Annunciation of San Martino alla Scala» by Sandro Botticelli.

(original artwork is under the cut)

god, i wanna eat all these orange shades

[mishkakagehishka]

Francuska salata save me.... francuska salata...... save me francuska salata...........

[niftyrecipe]

(via Russian Salad with Cod Liver)

[quietparanoiac]

Оливье и роботы | Olivier and Robots (2023)

[tart-miano]

happy new year!! thanks for all your support in 2022✨🌟✨

[milf-louis]

.

[lemonhemlock]

For the specific ask game: 5. favorite form of potato? 🥔

this is a bit of a paradox bc i don't like homemade fries, the reason being (i think) bc we don't deep fry them, as owning a deep fryer is not really a thing here. but i like fast-food and restaurant fries just fries (i'm sure all the salt they chuck in there is a major factor 😅). i'm a really enthusiastic enjoyer of loaded fries - what a simple yet annoyingly satisfying concept.

i also like oven-baked wedges, pre-frozen and pre-seasoned. they are addictive with the right sauces!

i'm kind of pretentious with potatoes, as i can easily find them boring. like, i'll eat them, but won't be v appreciative about it. :)) mashed potatoes are fine, a v popular dish here, but easily overdone so much so that i almost always pick something else, if i can. baked potatoes are SO dull as well, but the magic is in the toppings, i suppose. you could theoretically make them interesting, but you really have to use your imagination and add some extra food groups there, otherwise a hard pass from me.

boiled potatoes are literally the devil. flavourless and bland. the kind of soulless food they give you in the hospital so as to not provoke any bad reactions while you're recovering from illness. the only dish they're remotely acceptable in is borschts and EVEN THEN they're on thin ice.

[cardinalvalentino]

it has been a long day of brunoising and small dicing a wide array of vegetables #christmasprep

[thedeadkings]

Olivie Russian Potato Salad Potatoes, carrots, peas, eggs, and pickles are the main ingredients in olivie, a Russian potato salad.

[withahappyrefrain]

For the ship ask game!

48. …out of habit + a bob of your choice!

This prompt screams secret relationship, and what better Bob to do that with than Cobalt Eyes & Sweet Smiles Bob?

Bob knew he shouldn't be jealous. You weren't paying Jake any attention as he bragged about the latest air maneuver he mastered. Your eyes were focused on putting together a burger.

Soon enough, one of your fathers' old Top Gun classmates would whisk you away, no doubt to marvel at how much you had grown up, reminiscing on how you used to toddle around at this yearly cookout.

The worst part was Bob couldn't even be mad at Jake. Because he told Jake that all that happened after you two met was that he walked you to your car.

Which was partly true. Bob did walk you to your car. And then exchanged numbers after making out in said car. Which led to going on a date, which led to Bob secretly dating you.

Turns out, dating the daughter of your bosses is complicated.

Once the current mission was over, it would be easier to come forward. And decidedly less weird to think about.

Though Bob was still worried that once the secret was out in the open, he'd wake up the next day to find he's been deployed to Australia.

So all Bob could do was sip on his diet Coke as he tried not watch Jake fail at hitting on his girlfriend.

"I'm going to go...." Your eyes lingered on Bob. God, he looked so good in that blue shirt, it was unfair. But wouldn't that be too obvious?

"Somewhere that isn't here," you finished, walking away before Jake could even speak. The temptation to tell the blonde pilot you were dating Bob grew stronger everyday.

But Jake also had a big mouth and seemed like the kind of dick to mention something to one of your dads, if not both.

Technically, you weren't breaking their rule. They said no pilots and Bob wasn't a pilot. He was a WSO.

But it certainly made things awkward as Bob was working with Dad. And Pa was his boss.

Well, wanting to get away from Jake Seresin wouldn't raise anyone's suspicions.

Bob tried to hide his excitement when you stood next to him. He tried to act casual, but nothing could hide that smile of his.

Not that you mind. In fact, his sweet expression sent warmth throughout your body.

"Got tired of hearing how much better he is than everyone else?" Bob joked, causing you to nearly choke on your burger.

"The best don't brag, they let their work speak for themselves," you explained, a sly smile on your face. It was so hard not to make eye contact with him. Truly unfair how he had eyes bluer than the ocean, deeper than the sky-

"Is it too much if I asked you to accompany me to the Hot Dog station? Figured it would be nice to have someone who understands all the toppings." With that lopsided smile, how could you say no?

"It is an intimidating amount of choices," you chuckled as you led him over to the station.

"Alright, so I know it sounds weird, but the Olivier-Russian potato salad- that Pa makes is actually pretty good. The chili Slider makes is good, but unless you have a stomach of steel only take a little. Oh, and Hollywood says the candied jalapeños are mostly sweet but that's a lie. It's mostly spicy."

Bob couldn't help but be memorized as you rattled off facts about the various condiments. Whether it was about work, a personal belief, or yes, even hot dog toppings, you always spoke with such passion.

He loved it. He loved you, but that conversation is still a few steps away.

For now, Bob was happy to settle for counting down the days until he could hold your hand in a gathering like today's. Even if it terrified him.

Yes, technically, he wasn't a pilot. But considering who your dads were, a technicality didn't bring Bob much hope.

According to Bradley, the idea of you dating someone in the military, much less a naval pilot, had been vocally met with disdain.

But today Bob wouldn't focus on that. Instead, he focused on your bright smile and how cute you looked in that sundress.

"What's your go-to?" He asked, ready to take the valuable information to heart.

"Chili with some of the candied jalapenos and a dash of ketchup."

"No mustard?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

You had to stifle a laugh, "No mustard."

"Alright, I trust ya." His words, laced with a slight twang sent warmth throughout your body.

Without saying a word, you took the ladle from the chili bowl, serving it onto his hot dog. You gave him a sweet smile as an explanation, one that Bob took happily.

"Thanks darlin'," He leaned in to peck your lips, neither of you thinking about it.

It wasn't until he broke away to grab the ketchup that you both froze, realization washing over you.

Fuck.

"I'm gonna, um, go." You said quickly, grabbing your plate.

"Uh yeah, good idea," Bob quickly put down the ketchup, turning around to walk away from you. His face was bright red as he practically ran back to Mickey and Natasha who were currently chatting up with some of Pete and Tom's old classmates.

You looked around, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. No one standing in shock.

Alright, good. That was a good sign.

"Hey, did you see that?" You asked Bradley, who had been roped into grill duty.

"See what?" Your pseudo-brother shrugged, his eyes remaining on the grill, unaware that you were on the verge of having a panic attack.

"Bob and I kissed. It was an accident, like neither of us thought about it! It just felt natural and we forgot where we were!" You hissed.

Bradley was the only one who knew. The first time Bob spent the night at your place, the universe decided that Bradley should be the one to pick you up for family brunch. In hindsight, better he than one of your dads. Thankfully, you had enough dirt on Bradley to buy his silence.

"Oh," Bradley shrugged, as if it was nothing. Truthfully, he didn't know why you two insisted on keeping it a secret. It wasn't like you were dating Hangman (thank fucking God for that).

"I didn't notice anything," He said, which accurately reassured you.

"Although...." His words made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Although?" You gritted through your teeth.

"I mean, that would explain why Slider was running into the house. I thought he just had to piss."

God. Dammit.

"You good Bob?" Mickey asked upon seeing his fellow WSO, beet-faced and nervous.

"Huh? Oh! Me? Yeah, I'm great. Swell actually!" Bob said, unconvincingly.

Natasha knew Bob was dating you. It was obvious when you showed up to one of the beach football games. How anyone else failed to notice was beyond Nat.

But she knew not to say anything. Instead, she gave Bob a raised eyebrow. Whatever it was (concerning you), she knew it was better to ask in private.

"Lieutenant Floyd? May I speak with you in private?"

Bob's blood ran cold as he turned to face Captain Mitchell, who had his arms crossed.

"Um, I..." He could pretend to pass out. There was no current or former medic here. So he would just need to play dead as if his life depended on it, because it did. Claim it was from the heat. Yeah. Blame the sun, he was pale enough to do so.

But his knees were locked. Bob couldn't run, couldn't pretend to pass out. Fuck, it was too early to fake food poisoning.

So instead, all he could muster up was a weak nod as his legs carried him inside the Mitchell-Kazansky house.

He was fucked. Utterly fucked. He should just leave now so he can go pack up for Australia. Would he even get that far? He had been sneaking around with their daughter, death was probably the only option.

Even if your dads didn't kill him, your honorary uncles will. Fuck, was his will updated? Would you even get anything? Well, Bob did tell Bradley to give you the ring in his drawer should anything happen to him. It was his grandma's, given to him so he had a ring to propose and-

Why was the Admiral whose callsign was literally "Iceman" hugging him?

"Thank God it's you. We thought she was seeing Seresin."

Oh.

That explains a lot.

"Um, no offense sir, but you raised your daughter to have better standards than Seresin," Bob barely got out, now receiving a hug from the much shorter Captain.

"We knew she was seeing someone. We're all glad it's you."

When you ran into your childhood home, you were expecting many things. Mainly Bob's head on the floor.

Receiving hugs from your dads was not on the list, but man was it a welcoming sight.

Bradley shrugged, "I don't know why you were so worried about them knowing."

You rolled your eyes, "The same reason why you haven't told them you have a fiancé."

Wait shit, that was not supposed to be said out loud.

"You have a what?"