Au jour d’hui, filets de poisson poches au vin blanc avec béarnaise sauce et champignons sautés a la bourdelaise.
That was a mouthful (ha, ha, no pun intended). Translation – poached fish (mahi mahi) in white wine with buttery wine sauce and mushrooms sautéed with shallots, garlic and herbs. From the beginning of preparation to the end of cooking it took a total of 35 minutes. This meal would be very easy for any novice cook to tackle and would be very manageable for moms. But this meal more than anything was sex on a plate.
Tonight’s dinner was an impromptu dive into Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Alexander woke up from his nap at 4:30 p.m. and he cried almost nonstop about one thing or another until we were finally fed up enough with him to put him back to bed at 7:30 p.m. We also put Kristiana to bed. As you can imagine it was a bit mad around here until then, so we were not able to begin cooking dinner. When they were finally asleep we were ready to kick back and release. Andrew asked, “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
I thought about it and threw out, “Mahi Mahi.” It was on sale at the grocery store today. He asked,
We discussed it some more. It was a delectable meeting of the minds as we threw out ideas of dishes from MtAoFC. Finally we had come up with the meal presented above. We madly cooked. Andrew cooked the mushroom dish. I poached to fish and made the béarnaise sauce. We danced about the kitchen, chopping and mincing, seasoning and sautéing.
(I am so embarrassed to admit this...why am I posting this online.) The product of our tiny effort resulted in immediate food-gasms upon the first bite. We both let out enormous, guttural groans. The phone rang and we both looked at each other, like “Should we answer?” Andrew answered the phone, and we both looked at each other like we were doing something naughty. Each component went so well with each other. Each morsel melted into the palette.
Afterward, when we were cleaning up, I turned to Andrew and said, “I feel like I just cheated on you with another man.”
He quipped, “I feel like I just watched you cheat on me with another man.” Then Andrew turned on his heal, bounced to the door. “I am going to go smoke a cigarette and then go pick up a cappuccino.”
“Who cheated on who, Babe?” This is a bad precedence. This is becoming our Saturday night guilty pleasure. Further, we have used a pound of butter in one week. Strangely enough, we had both lost two pounds this week. And we had a lot of fun cooking together.