
Chef Ally
Bagna Cauda with Market Vegetables
A warm Piedmontese bath of melted garlic, butter, and anchovies for dipping whatever the market offers today. Communal, primal, and impossible to stop eating.
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A pungent, silky Provençal dip of pounded anchovies and garlic, surrounded by whatever crisp vegetables the market offered that morning. Simple food that rewards good sourcing.
Salt-packed anchovies are the starting point. Not the oil-packed fillets in a tin, though those will do in a pinch. The salt-packed fish have a meatiness and depth that transformed this dish for me the first time I made it properly. You rinse them, fillet them yourself, and pound them in a mortar with garlic until you have something almost alive with flavor.
Anchoïade belongs to Provence, to the hills above the Mediterranean where olive trees grow old and fennel springs wild from the roadsides. It is the kind of food that exists because fishermen needed to preserve their catch and farmers needed something to do with their vegetables. Every meal is a meaningful choice, and this one connects you to centuries of people doing exactly what you are doing: pounding, tasting, gathering friends.
The vegetables matter as much as the paste. Go to your market. See what looks alive. Radishes with their greens still perky. Fennel with tight bulbs and feathery fronds. Carrots that smell like earth. The anchoïade is bold enough to stand up to anything, but it sings when the vegetables are truly fresh. Let things taste of what they are.
Quantity
8 whole (about 16 fillets after cleaning)
Quantity
3 cloves
peeled
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1/2 cup, plus more for drizzling
Quantity
to taste
freshly ground
Quantity
1 bunch
halved if large
Quantity
1 small
cut into wedges, fronds reserved
Quantity
4
scrubbed and halved lengthwise
Quantity
1 bunch
Quantity
1 small head
leaves separated
Quantity
6 small
cut into spears
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| salt-packed anchovies | 8 whole (about 16 fillets after cleaning) |
| garlicpeeled | 3 cloves |
| red wine vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| extra-virgin olive oil | 1/2 cup, plus more for drizzling |
| black pepperfreshly ground | to taste |
| radishes with topshalved if large | 1 bunch |
| fennel bulbcut into wedges, fronds reserved | 1 small |
| small carrotsscrubbed and halved lengthwise | 4 |
| breakfast radishes or French radishes | 1 bunch |
| endiveleaves separated | 1 small head |
| Persian cucumberscut into spears | 6 small |
| cherry tomatoes on the vine (optional) | 1 cup |
| crusty bread | for serving |
Place salt-packed anchovies in a bowl of cool water and let them soak for five minutes. This removes excess salt while preserving their deep, briny character. Gently separate each fish into two fillets, running your thumb along the spine to release the bone. Pat dry with a clean towel.
Drop the garlic cloves into a mortar with a pinch of coarse salt. Pound and grind until you have a smooth paste. The salt acts as an abrasive, breaking down the fibers. This is the foundation. Take your time here.
Add the anchovy fillets to the mortar a few at a time, pounding and grinding after each addition. Work the fish into the garlic paste until you have a rough, fragrant puree. The texture should be slightly rustic, not perfectly smooth. This is peasant food, and it should look like it.
Add the vinegar and stir to combine. Now drizzle in the olive oil slowly, stirring constantly with the pestle in a circular motion. The paste will loosen and become glossy, holding together like a loose mayonnaise. Taste. Add pepper. The anchovies provide salt, so you likely need none.
Wash your vegetables just before serving. Leave radishes whole if they are small and beautiful, halve larger ones. Cut fennel into wedges thin enough to scoop but thick enough to hold. Scrub carrots rather than peel them. The skin holds flavor. Separate endive leaves. Slice cucumbers into spears. Arrange everything on a wooden board or large platter, letting the colors and shapes speak for themselves.
Transfer the anchoïade to a small bowl and nestle it among the vegetables. Drizzle a thread of olive oil over the top and scatter a few reserved fennel fronds. Set out torn pieces of crusty bread. This is a dish for lingering, for conversation, for reaching and dipping while the wine is poured.
1 serving (about 235g)
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