An Old Fashioned Valentine

For our St. Valentine’s Day celebration we had a private celebration of our love and a little more French cooking.  It was a cooking collaboration, but I think my darling husband had the more difficult portion. We made sauté veal with a mushroom cream sauce, risotto and blanched broccoli.  It was so rich we could hardly finish it and we chased it with chocolate covered strawberries.  It was a pricey home-made meal, but it still cost less than half of what we spent at a ritzy restaurant last year (although I do miss the wine pairing). 

Andrew began his cooking endeavor with an Old Fashioned.  He touted it as his best Old Fashioned yet and therefore, he took a picture to commemorate it (he also insisted I post his picture).

Then he prepped his ingredients and he was pretty proud of those results too, therefore he took another picture.  I think he was really starting to get into it.

It was the first time I had ever made risotto.  It tasted like pretty darn good risotto to me.  I do not recall having had a better risotto.

 

Bon Appétit!

Smothered

I think that is one of the most exciting, comforting, loving, overwhelming words in  the English language.  When what is being smothered is food with cheese, there is no greater form of love—cheese dripping over and loving every crevice of edible morsel.

Around 4:00 p.m. Friday, I received a phone  call from my husband, “What are you doing with these scallops I see defrosting?”

“I don’t know. I was going to figure that out when I got home.”

“Don’t you want to do something out of ‘THE’ cook book?”

“I don’t know? Why?”

“There’s a recipe here. I am going to go ahead and make it.”

“Okay, go for it.”

What I arrived home to was 100% pure love broiling in the oven. Andrew is very good at following directions, and there were many; sauté,  sauté, chop, sauté, flour, sauté, reduce, cover in cheese, broil; results: perfection! Soft, sweet mollusks oozing with melted cheese. Heaven—pure heaven—procured for consumption by my loving husband. Amen.

Glory to God – In the Form of Turkey

You may think that taking one of God’s creatures in all it’s glory and mutilating it into a shapeless mess is not doing it justice. But the beauty of humans is our ability to create and invent. I feel that after we were done with preparing this fowl for consumption we had infused it with the Good.

This thanksgiving day turkey was an adventure of another kind. We, my mother and I, de-boned our turkey following moderately humorous, instructions in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Then we stuffed it with my mom’s classic homemade stuffing. Why did we do this you ask? A couple of reasons—inspiration from the movie Julie and Julia; we thought that it would be extra moist and tasty; we had visions of slicing our turkey in rings; for fun.

The day did not start well. We woke up a little late. I was the first up and I went to pull the turkey out of the refrigerator. It was frozen! Tuesday night the turkey was soft. Today, it was rock solid and frosty. “Don’t panic.” I thought. “Great, dinner will be late.” I put the turkey in the sink with water and salt. Then, I went and glumly woke my mom. She said not to worry and I should add some warm water to the sink. It thawed in an hour and we were in business.

At first, Julia said, “the first time you try to de-bone poultry it may take 45 minutes due to fright.” It did take a long time. I did not clock it exactly, but about what was suggested. It was interesting—almost intellectual. We stuffed it and sewed it up. Then we cooked it. It was a twelve pound turkey and it took 2 hours to cook.  It came out moist, tender and delicious.  But the best part was how the flavors permeated the stuffing.  We all agreed that it was the best stuffing ever, which is a high compliment in my house because my mom is a gourmand.

We also made the traditional Clayton sides: sweet potato casserole, peas and asparagus casserole, riced potatoes, and cranberry relish. We all thought a boneless turkey might need to become tradition.

In the end, we gave proper glory to God in this meal. If they serve turkey in heaven, it tastes like this. There is much we give thanks for—too numerous to mention—as infinite as the Lord’s love.

Mousse-tastrophe Redeemed

Amidst the chaos of this day, I decided to make chocolate mousse with a recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Let me begin with the chaos. I awoke at 5:00 a.m. to a screaming baby. She is the sweetest doll of a child, but if the littlest thing is not right, she screams her adorable little head off in a not so adorable, inconsolable, obnoxious way. I attempted to comfort her as she writhed in my arms. We laid down in my bed and finally after an hour or so later she relented and feel asleep, only after she relieved her bowels. The whole event  was particularly grating, because Andrew and I had been up late entertaining friends.  

I awoke hours later to a ruckus in the next room. Alexander had diarrhea in his bed and he was covered head to toe. My husband was beginning to clean him up. The odor made me want to vomit. I was dizzy and confused. I never sleep this late. It was almost 9:00 a.m. Oh yes, and the baby still had a full stinky diaper. What a morning!

We spent considerable time cleaning and bathing the boy. We thought this event was due to Alexander taking lots of asthma medicine for an episode this week. After we had breakfast, we all went to the store. When we came home, Alexander threw-up. This time he was self-aware enough to not throw-up all over the house, but to do it in a bucket. (We have all had some form of this virus this week. It seems mild.)

Alexander went for a long nap at 1:30 p.m. Even though I had many baskets of laundry waiting to be washed, I decided that it was time to make chocolate mousse. I thought it would be a simple recipe, alas there are no simple french recipes. In the list of ingredients it called for “instant sugar” with a note saying, “very finely granulated.” I used some very finely granulated sugar my mother-in-law had bought for her candy making. This is where my catastrophe began. 

I knew this was all wrong the instant I added the egg yoke. Instead of the yoke and sugar blending liquid it turned to a crunchy mess. After I melted the chocolate, my husband came in the kitchen to check the progress. I asked him if he thought Julia means powdered sugar. That is the only sugar that I could think would melt into egg yolk. I asked if he thought I should start over. He told me to continue. I did. It failed. Therefore, I made him go to the store for more chocolate and butter. I was not about to let this recipe conquer me so easily. I began again, with powdered sugar this time. Success!  

The rest of the recipe seemed to go off without a hitch. By the time I was putting the product into bowls for refrigeration (4 hours of almost continuous cooking with a baby on my hip. And I think that explains the intensity of my catastrophe--hours on my feet in the kitchen; did I mention Kristiana broke a casserole from one of the lower cabinets.), my sister had called. I explained to her my situation with the mousse and that it still didn't seem right. She scoffed and said, “Why do you go to the effort to make these difficult recipes out of THAT book?” I scoffed back, “They are worth it.” However, I was not looking forward to eating this one later. BUT, I am happy to report after it cooled and set in the refrigerator it came out as the perfect mousse—redeemed.

Kitchen Carnage

Beauty and the Beef

Well, here she is folks. This is my beautiful table. After writing my previous post, I took a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond, to look for table cloths. Surprise! They just happened to have a few tables cloths on clearance up front. Of course, it took a bribe of M&M's to get my children to stop misbehaving while I was in the store. Alexander took a couple laps of the store (I forgot my leash, which he did wear at the grocery store in the morning, and was fine with it. I was making excuses all over the grocery store, but mom's kept telling me, "Oh you don't have to tell me, honey. I had one for my kid."). Kristiana screamed her head off for five minutes when I got inside the store. I do not know what her problem was. I couldn't leave I needed a new trash can and cooking string too badly. But, they both sat in the cart quietly after I bribed them with containers of mini-M&M's. I am seriously going to pay for my rewarding bad behavior someday. Anyway, back to my pretty table. I bought this table cloth, which is yellow, as well as second pastel green table cloth. I do not normally use table cloths, because they always get dirty and I never seem to be able to get them clean. The cat also sits on the table and messes everything up (watchout, kittty, you're about to get squirted with water right between the eyes). Further, I only had one table cloth before this point. But, after having some sort of "Come to Jesus" moment over setting the scene for holy family meals, I am converted. Now, I will be collecting table clothes, place mats and candles suitable for liturgical, meal celebration.

See the two figures in the middle. The one in the foreground is an angel holding a pineapple. It's a welcome angel, but in my family it represents my little brother who is now praying for all of us along with the angels. He brought the lore of the pineapple to our home. The other figure has it's arms crossed across it's heart. It's called "gracious," but it reminded my husband and I of how Byzantines pray. Crossing arms across your chest represents angel wings. Praying can be "gracious."

Bifteck Hache A La Layonnaise

Julia says, "Shock is the reaction of some Americans we have encountered who learn that real French people living in France eat hamburgers. They do eat them, and when sauced with any of the suggestions in the following recipes, the French hamburger is an excellent and relatively economical main course for an informal party."

Julia recommended buying the leanest ground beef for this dish, which is so, so funny, because then it is promptly drowned in a delicious butter and vermouth sauce. We have gone through a second pound of butter. Butter has officially been added to my weekly grocery list--so long as we are mastering the art of French cooking.

Andrew is the one who decided to make this entree and he prepared it all by himself. Of course it was the best burger ever. We may never go back to American-style burgers. Sure, we will partake at your every day, run of the mill barbeque, but I am not a huge fan of buns, so this is a great revelation. Bon Apetit!

For Mature Audiences Only - Some Scenes of Food Sex

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,

“What else?”

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.

Bon Apetit!

Boeuf Bourgignon

---My first venture into Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The best description of the product is an exquisite stew.

This recipe was very labor intensive. I started by reading the recipe the night before and writing a grocery shopping list. First thing in the morning I was off to the grocery store. The damage for the ingredients was somewhere around $20 and it serves 6, which figures to about $3.33 per serving. So, it’s on the pricey end of a home cooked meal.

Later in the day when the children were down for naps I began prepping and cooking. By the time I started cooking I had read the recipe about seven times. It took that many times to simply comprehend all the tasks I had to complete. During the cooking I had to read the recipe a few more times. There were a lot of steps. After properly preparing the ingredients I had to sauté every thing in order to seal in the flavor.

Two hours later it was ready to go into the pot to simmer for four hours. Our friend of ours called to invite us for dinner. We had not seen her in a while so we accepted her gracious invitation. I turned down the temperature on the pot. Seven hours later (oops, too long), I had a somewhat overcooked, but still incredibly delicious stew. According to Julia, it will only be better tomorrow. I believe it. I tried it an hour after putting it into the refrigerator and it was fabulous.

Ten point scale ratings:

Degree of difficulty: 8

Degree of labor intensity: 8

Degree of Kitchen Carnage: 7.5

Likelihood of making it again: It’s complicated. At first I thought it felt like I might only try this on special occasions, but now that I am more familiar with the recipe and execution I feel I am may be able to accomplish it with more ease.

My Execution of this recipe: 5 - Yes, I made some substitutions. I didn't have a casserole large enough to fit the whole recipe, so I put it in my slow cooker and cooked it there instead the oven. There were too many veggies and not enough time, so I didn't saute the mushrooms. I used regular sliced bacon instead huge chunks. I used medium onion instead of small.

Degree of deliciousness: In comparison to you average "Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book" Stew MtAoFC Stew is a 10.

Notes: For mum’s with many kids running about, I think that this recipe could be done in stages—day one: shopping, day two: cutting, day three: cooking.

Did I mention once the beef made it into the pot for hours of stewing, what followed was an accidental nap with Kristiana. I never nap, but after all that work it just happened.

Next up, Coq a Vin.

Perfect day for cooking stew--Raining

Step One: Braised Onions

Step 18: Dry Beef with paper towels. (Who knew they had paper towels in 1961)

Step 21: Saute beef in almost smoking fat. Oops, mine actually smoked.

Step 22: Add to already sauteed bacon chunks

Step 25: chop veggies

Step 45: Add sauteed veggies to braised onions

Kitchen Carnage

Boeuf Bourgignon: Bon Apetit!

Can a Cook Book Change a Person’s Life?

A couple of year’s ago my mum sent me a first edition copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Mum was really excited about it and I thought it was cool. I looked inside it and felt dizzy. The book had many intricate recipes and they were organized by genre, i.e. poultry, eggs, deserts, and so forth. “But wait! How do I make a meal of this? And why would I need to know how to bone a duck?” I fancy myself a good cook, but I am a thirty minute cook. If I cannot throw it together in that time, familial disasters occur. I also could not figure out which dishes go together.

One evening I came home and said to my husband, “I think we need more sauces in our lives. Sauces make everything taste better!” So I opened up MtAoFC, found a sauce, and proceeded to make it. I am pretty sure that I did not read all the instructions and I probably did not have all the ingredients, because that is typical Renee. I am the queen of substitutions. Even if I plan a meal, my mood will change during the week and I will have to make do with what I have (it’s a working mom thing). Needless to say, my sauce turned out mediocre and I didn’t go there again.

Flash forward to a month ago, Andrew said that he was going to start making some dinners. I had a meltdown. I should have been happy my husband wanted to cook and help out. In my head, he was saying to me that he did not like my cooking and he was tired of it. The man who is a self-professed bad cook wants to replace me! In his head, he was thinking that the children are going through an exceptionally clingy phase and I should make dinner so they can spend some time with their mother.

Andrew is not a cook. In fact, he has never made me a meal that did not come out of a box. But he said, “I want to do this right.” He knew we had MtAoFC, because I had told him that the cook book in the movie, “Ratatouille” was a play on MtAoFC and I showed it to him. He is a fan of that movie and the T.V. show, “Top Chef,” and he appreciates fine cuisine. Andrew went to the cupboard and pulled out the cook book. The next day he went to the store bought a bounty of fresh ingredients and made the finest steak with a lovely sauce and sautéed mushrooms. It was not exactly a “meal” per se, since it had no sides. But, I did not care. The steak was so delicious I could not think about anything else.

A couple of days ago, I saw the movie Julie/Julia (warning you have to be a big fan of fine food to enjoy this movie). It was such a lovely movie. The main character Julie speaks of how Julia Childs’ cook book MtAoFC saved her, and indeed it did. But could this cook book save others? It saved this woman because she gained the writing career out of it that she so desired. It saved her in other ways as well. Julie got to know herself. She showed her true colors through cooking.

Last night, I sautéed mushrooms, onions, and green bell peppers. But before I did, Andrew stopped me and said, “Read what Julia says about sautéing,” and he opened the page in the book. Initially I thought, “How dare he tell me how to sauté? I know how to sauté.” But, I figured I was not in a position to argue. He had already made a perfect gourmet meal and Julia Childs’ is an expert. I read it. I did NOT know how to sauté. I followed Julia’s instructions and it was a revelation. I made something that did not just taste good (my usual saute). It tasted beautiful. It tasted like heaven.

I feel like a new woman. Can a cook book change a person’s life? Indeed. I think Andrew and I are happier people now for having made fine French food--food that tasted like heaven bathed in butter. I think I would like to set a resolution to make one meal out of MtAoFC every week. No pressure--It's not an ultimatum. It's just a goal.

Do yourself a favor and get a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (check your local library) and make one recipe, and follow it to the letter. When you do, you will feel different about food, yourself, the world--something. You will feel triumphant. “The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.” --Henry Miller