Blech. Yeah I know ages since I posted anything. Long story short, work is kicking my ass and both the cooking and posting have slowed to a crawl these days. I'm looking to pick up a bit more again in about a month so please stay patient!
You guys, I am such a bonehead! In the whirl of getting ready to head to the suburbs to Mom's to cook easter dinner, I remembered my dutch oven... I remembered my scalloped tart pan... I remembered my ovenproof gratin dish... and forgot my CAMERA. Can you believe it? Of course I couldn't just not cook easter dinner due to lack of camera, but I feel pretty terrible about leaving you guys with no pix.
Anyway, the plan for dinner was gigot a la sept heurs, that is, seven-hour leg of lamb. I love lamb for easter, and never got it as a kid, because my mom always hated lamb. (Anyone sensing a pattern here of me making up for things I wanted as a kid but never got? Oh my life was soooo hard...) Usually we get a ham, but since we had a non-pork-eater joining us for dinner, mom agreed to let me cook the lamb... and the whole rest of the dinner, too. This was my first holiday meal flying solo, you guys! After much deliberation on the appropriate sides and dessert, I decided on the following:
1. Gigot a la sept heurs, from the Les Halles Cookbook
2. Gratin Dauphinois, from the Les Halles Cookbook (I know this is a repeat but the fam didn't want mashed, and I couldn't help but think how wonderful this dish would be with leg of lamb as I wiped the puddles of drool off my cookbook)
3. Nantes carrot stew, from Ad Hoc at Home
4. Asparagus coins, from Ad Hoc at Home
5. The most extraordinary lemon tart, from Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From My Home to Yours
Pretty ambitious, wouldn't you say? Well, let's see how it goes...
Prep for the meal got started the week before (I know, I know, I'm crazy) when I started with the lemon cream for the tart. The lemon cream (based on a Pierre Herme, recipe, by the way) is different from the usual lemon cream used in tarts, and different from the lemon tart I made a few weeks back, in that the butter is added in a blender after the rest of the cream is put together. This keeps the butter from melting into a curd-like structure, but emulsifies the butter to make a very fluffy, light cream. I've had trouble emulsifying before (see my aoli fail) but this lemon cream came together perfectly. I'm definitely going to try another aoli or mayonnaise endeavor using my hot new blender, instead of my old-ass food processor, to see if it will work better. The lemon cream recipe is around the internet, but I do recommend getting the Dorie Greenspan book, as it has a lot of great recipes and is a wonderful baking resource.
With the lemon cream freezing away nicely, I undertook two parts of the asparagus recipe from Ad Hoc at Home: chive oil and parsley water. The cookbook explains that asparagus flavor generally leaches out into the water in which the asparagus is cooked, so for the Ad Hoc recipe, it is cooked with parsley water to retain its flavor, and to add the herbal parsley flavor as well. I won't go into too much detail on these (more detail to be had when I make basil oil or parsley oil from the Les Halles Cookbook in the not-too-distant fugure), but suffice to say they were super easy and took next to no time at all.
On Saturday, after a fun morning negotiating a DC metro system that was OVERRUN with tourists going to the cherry blossoms, I chucked my cooking supplies (sans camera) into a suitcase and headed to the suburbs for Easter with my mother, grandmother, and sister.
I woke up at the crack of dawn on Easter Sunday morning to get the lamb in the oven. Mom had gotten a lovely big leg of lamb from the local Whole Foods, and I set to work trimming it of fat and silverskin before putting it into the dutch oven. Only when I attempted to do so... of course... my dutch oven was too small to fit a full lamb leg with its bone in. I knew it would be, of course, but I only had the one dutch oven, with no time to buy a new one, so what's a girl to do? After some hilarious, and aborted attempts to trim the bone with a handsaw, I ended up seaming the leg, carving off the meat, and stuffing the meat into the dutch oven with some herbs, white wine, and a ton of garlic shoved into the lamb folds. With that in the dutch oven, and the lid on, I mixed some flour and water together to form a seal where the oven lid meets the pot. This mucking around with floury goop got some arch comments from my mother and grandmother, but I soldiered on, and shoved the entire mess (perched on a baking sheet) into a 300 degree oven.
Following this, I made Dorie Greenspan's sweet tart crust, a process not unlike the tart crust I made for a plum tart earlier in this project. The main difference is that it was meant to be pressed into the tart pan, rather than rolled out, so in a way it was an intentional Frankencrust. This went into a freezer for the rest of the day until it was ready to be baked.
That was all of the big prep to be done for the day, so I spent most of the rest of the afternoon relaxing with my family, eating copious amounts of licorice, and making pysanky (Easter eggs dyed and then painted with wax, then dyed again for colorful pictures).
When it was almost time for dinner, I first made the potatoes gratin (featured from my holiday recap post), and then made carrot stew. I sauteed the carrots in a knob of butter until they began to release their juices, then added some sweet white wine (in place of sherry), and then some carrot juice, curry powder and coriander. After a few minutes, I removed the carrots, and cooked the liquid down to a glaze, which became intensely sweet and fragrant. This got the nice addition of a knob of butter whisked in, and then I put the carrots back into the pan over low heat to keep warm.
Next, I made the asparagus coins by slicing asparagus into thin rounds, and sauteing it in the chive oil. When the coins were barely cooked, I added the parsley water and simmered the mess until the coins were done.
By this time, it was time to take the lamb out of the oven, which I did with a little trepidation. The entire house was by this time smelling of delicious, savory lamb, garlic and herbs, and everyone who came in the house commented on the wonderful aromas. I had Husband J haul the dutch oven on its baking sheet out of the oven--the amount of meat plus the heavy enamel-iron pot made for an incredibly weighty. Then, I tried peeling the now browned flour and water slurry off of the dutch oven... but it was stuck on tight. Husband J to the rescue again, he grabbed mom's heaviest kitchen implements and used them as a hammer and chisel to chip the mix off. This was pretty arduous, but eventually it all came off, and we lifted the lid. The meat had broken down and looked like tender bits of brisket, and we spooned it out of the pot and onto a serving platter.
All in all, dinner was a huge hit. The meat could have been a bit more tender--I think it was a little overdone, since we had to cut the bone out, but it was very tasty with all that garlic and herb flavor. We included some organic mint jelly at my grandmother's insistence, and it tasted wonderful with the lamb. Of the sides, the potatoes gratin was the biggest hit (obviously, I mean who doesn't love potatoes gratin?), but the carrot stew and asparagus coins were devoured just as quickly.
The lemon tart was... well, all right. After baking the crust I cooled it, then spread it with the thawed lemon cream. It tasted nice, though the cream melted on the still warm crust and glorped all over the place. Add to this that over dessert, my sister insisted that we watch her new favorite movie The Cove, so by the time I had finished, all I could think about was dolphin massacres, and that doesn't go so well with lemon tart. Next time at least I'd put the tart into the fridge to solidify the cream, and definitely wouldn't watch animal slaughter movies while eating it.
But, aside from that dessert debacle, the meal went wonderfully, and received great acclaim from the family, so I was happy about that! My first holiday meal, a success.
Lessons learned: Don't forget your freaking camera. Get a bigger dutch oven to cook big old legs of lamb. Don't watch dolphin slaughters with your dessert.
Next Week: Roti de Porc au Lait
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Daube Provençale
It's getting on spring and the weather is just teetering on nice, which for me is very exciting. I love springtime and summer, though in terms of food, those seasons tend to get me eating less than in winter. I think this is a pretty universal condition, craving less, fresher food in the summer and more warm and fatty food in the winter.
This is a little bit of an issue with the Cooking Les Halles project, since so much of it is "wintery" food: braises, stews, fatty cuts of meat, and all that. So, during the first weekend of March, which was (though I didn't know it then) one of the last cold weekends of the season, I decided to make the ultimate winter food: a big old lamb stew, or daube provençale.
Daube provençale takes a bone-in cut from a lamb's neck. I was worried about being able to find such a cut around, but as luck would have it the local Whole Foods does indeed carry locally raised, bone-in lamb neck cuts in 1.5 lb packages. I have to say, with all the crap that Whole Foods gets, it is a great place to find what you need, when you need it. Anyway, I picked up the neck and a few needed veggies, and headed home to stew.
Cuts of lamb neck
First, I browned the lamb in a dutch oven, using a mix of olive oil and butter.
After the lamb was browned, I set it aside and replaced it with half a pound of bacon.
It is pretty weird to be sauteing bacon in oil and butter... doesn't it have enough grease?
Once the bacon got crispy, I poured most of the liquid bacon grease, oil and butter mix into a bowl to discard later (never pour bacon grease down the drain!) and sauteed an onion, some celery and two chopped garlic cloves in the remaining fat. Once caramelized, I added some tomato paste, a little flour and some wine to scrape up the fond. This got taken to a boil, and reduced by half. Next, I added a cup of my reserved veal stock ('memba that?) and some demi to the pot. Finally, the rest of the ingredients--lamb, carrot, bouquet garni, some orange zest, and the bacon--went into the pot.
I simmered the stew for 90 minutes while I peeled potatoes. The recipe says that you should peel and "turn" the potatoes, which means cutting them into small football shapes. Or, just cube them. Uh, yeah, football shapes? I cubed them. After the 90 minutes, and plopped the potatoes into the pot to stew for 15 minutes. Then I served the stew in big old bowls.
This was nothing mind blowing, but it was a very tasty winter stew, with great hearty potato and meat flavors. It was especially satisfying to gnaw the lamb meat off of the neck bones, and poke out the tiny bit of softened marrow that was in there. It was a great way to say good bye to winter, and I'm looking forward to making more dishes in the spring.
Lessons Learned: Not too many, though this did reinforce the fact that meat on the bone is best for wintery stews. Tony calls those who prefer boneless "poor deluded bastards," and I'm inclined to agree.
Next Week: It's Easter! And I have cooking duty for Easter dinner. Wait and see what I have in store... main dish by Tony Bourdain, sides by Thomas Keller, and dessert by Dorie Greenspan. Let's hope it's as delicious as I think it's going to be.
This is a little bit of an issue with the Cooking Les Halles project, since so much of it is "wintery" food: braises, stews, fatty cuts of meat, and all that. So, during the first weekend of March, which was (though I didn't know it then) one of the last cold weekends of the season, I decided to make the ultimate winter food: a big old lamb stew, or daube provençale.
Daube provençale takes a bone-in cut from a lamb's neck. I was worried about being able to find such a cut around, but as luck would have it the local Whole Foods does indeed carry locally raised, bone-in lamb neck cuts in 1.5 lb packages. I have to say, with all the crap that Whole Foods gets, it is a great place to find what you need, when you need it. Anyway, I picked up the neck and a few needed veggies, and headed home to stew.
Cuts of lamb neck
First, I browned the lamb in a dutch oven, using a mix of olive oil and butter.
After the lamb was browned, I set it aside and replaced it with half a pound of bacon.
It is pretty weird to be sauteing bacon in oil and butter... doesn't it have enough grease?
Once the bacon got crispy, I poured most of the liquid bacon grease, oil and butter mix into a bowl to discard later (never pour bacon grease down the drain!) and sauteed an onion, some celery and two chopped garlic cloves in the remaining fat. Once caramelized, I added some tomato paste, a little flour and some wine to scrape up the fond. This got taken to a boil, and reduced by half. Next, I added a cup of my reserved veal stock ('memba that?) and some demi to the pot. Finally, the rest of the ingredients--lamb, carrot, bouquet garni, some orange zest, and the bacon--went into the pot.
I simmered the stew for 90 minutes while I peeled potatoes. The recipe says that you should peel and "turn" the potatoes, which means cutting them into small football shapes. Or, just cube them. Uh, yeah, football shapes? I cubed them. After the 90 minutes, and plopped the potatoes into the pot to stew for 15 minutes. Then I served the stew in big old bowls.
This was nothing mind blowing, but it was a very tasty winter stew, with great hearty potato and meat flavors. It was especially satisfying to gnaw the lamb meat off of the neck bones, and poke out the tiny bit of softened marrow that was in there. It was a great way to say good bye to winter, and I'm looking forward to making more dishes in the spring.
Lessons Learned: Not too many, though this did reinforce the fact that meat on the bone is best for wintery stews. Tony calls those who prefer boneless "poor deluded bastards," and I'm inclined to agree.
Next Week: It's Easter! And I have cooking duty for Easter dinner. Wait and see what I have in store... main dish by Tony Bourdain, sides by Thomas Keller, and dessert by Dorie Greenspan. Let's hope it's as delicious as I think it's going to be.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Moules à la Portugaise
Yup, I've been slacking off again, I know. Work is busy, I've been feeling run down, blah blah. This hasn't stopped me from cooking, but I have been slacking in the posting department, considering that whenever I've been in front of a computer, I've been doing work instead of writing about food. Anyway, I'm playing catch-up and will post about the dish I made last week... next week. But first, let's talk about moules à la Portugaise.
Now, there are a lot of DC Metro area food blogs that boast about the excellent fresh ingredients that can be found in this fair city. This is great, for some, but not so much for me. Why is that? Simple--I don't own a car. So the good ethnic shops in particular (and any non-metro accessible shops generally) are out of reach without some serious advanced planning.
This weekend we decided to do some of said advanced planning in order to make some purchases that needed to be transported by car. Husband J arranged to rent a zipcar for the morning, and asked me whether I'd like to visit BlackSalt, a fish market and restaurant in the Palisades (near Georgetown, another desolate and metro-less region, in my opinion). BlackSalt is known as THE place to get good, fresh seafood in the District, so of course I jumped at the chance to actually visit. In preparation, I decided to give them a call to see if they had any of the seafood I needed for some of my Les Halles Cookbook recipes. But when I called, asking what they might have in stock over the next couple of days, I got a terse "call tomorrow; I buy my fish daily" from the head fishmonger, in a tone that told me this conversation was OVER.
Uh RUDE MUCH? No asking what I had in mind, or discussion of what might be available at this time generally? So much for asking whether pike or monkfish might be available (or if they have a season at all). I was a bit miffed, but those of you who know me know that I'm not quick to write off stores or people after one bad experience, everyone has off days. So I decided to go the next day to see what was available and get a feel for the place.
So, like I said, BlackSalt is a restaurant and fish market. The two shops are not separated, but combined, with the market in the front of the shop, and tables ranging from the front to the back, which looks like a more traditional restaurant. We went early on Saturday morning, so the restaurant was empty, but there were already a lot of customers looking over the fish counter. The counter held a lot of beautiful, gleaming seafood, including cuts, heads, whole fish, and other tasty creatures. Unfortunately, no monkfish tails, pike, crawfish, or any of the other fish called for in my recipes. I was considering whether to go for some tender-looking monkfish cheeks when I spotted some Prince Edward Island mussels for $3.99 a pound. Another mussel dish would be perfect for the warm, rainy weather, so I decided to go for those. I bought three pounds, and a small jar of salmon roe as a treat.
On the way back, I asked Husband J which mussel dish he would like among the four left in the book, and he decided on moules à la Portugaise, which features DELICIOUS CHORIZO in the sauce. I told him that his duty, then, would be to find some chorizo. He accomplished this easily by checking out a new charcouterie market that recently opened in our neighborhood, and happens to stock house-made chorizo. Brilliant! The chorizo he found was dry, but still the red, fresh chorizo that Tony prefers in his recipe, rather than the drier, white-mold covered dark chorizo favored by more traditional Portuguese cooks. I'd like to try the darker chorizo, but I'm not going to turn my nose up at local house-made chorizo, for sure.
Red, greasy and delicious.
Though the recipe calls for 6 lbs of mussels, and I bought 3 lbs (to feed 2 instead of 4), I decided to make the full recipe for the sauce, since that is after all the most delicious part.
First, I heated some olive oil in a large pot, and sauteed half an onion, six cloves of garlic, and two ounces of the chorizo. (The recipe calls for 1 oz, but I decided to double it, since Husband J bought an 8 oz link. That's a lot of leftover chorizo, and I am looking forward to some chorizo scrambled eggs in my immediate future.)
While those were cooking, I scrubbed and inspected the mussels, one at a time. Unlike the Whole Foods mussels, most of the BlackSalt mussels were tightly closed, or closed when I tapped the shell, signifying that they were alive. I tossed less than 1/5 of the mussels, making these a much better value.
Once the chorizo released its red, spicy scented grease, I added some white wine, salt, and pepper. Then I dumped in the mussels to steam under lid until they opened up.
A quick, blurry photo of mussels starting to steam.
After the mussels opened, I threw in a handful of chopped parsley and cilantro, shook the whole pot, and served it up with slices of french bread (again house-made from the charcuterie shop).
Well, one thing is for sure, I will never buy mussels from Whole Foods again. These mussels put the old ones to shame. These were very tender and meaty with a great subtle seafood flavor. The sauce was brilliant, filled with chorizo grease, and was very delicious when mopped up with the bread. Of course the slices of chorizo were probably the best part.
All in all, this was a great and easy meal for a rainy weekend afternoon.
Lessons Learned: Most importantly, that a good cook needs to know how to find great ingredients, whether it's from a shop that's usually out of reach or a new neighborhood joint with some delicious surprises. But next time I'll probably be more aggressive about finding out whether the fish I need is in the shop before going to the trouble of renting a car and traveling out to the shops.
Next Week: I'll write about the lamb stew I made last week.
Now, there are a lot of DC Metro area food blogs that boast about the excellent fresh ingredients that can be found in this fair city. This is great, for some, but not so much for me. Why is that? Simple--I don't own a car. So the good ethnic shops in particular (and any non-metro accessible shops generally) are out of reach without some serious advanced planning.
This weekend we decided to do some of said advanced planning in order to make some purchases that needed to be transported by car. Husband J arranged to rent a zipcar for the morning, and asked me whether I'd like to visit BlackSalt, a fish market and restaurant in the Palisades (near Georgetown, another desolate and metro-less region, in my opinion). BlackSalt is known as THE place to get good, fresh seafood in the District, so of course I jumped at the chance to actually visit. In preparation, I decided to give them a call to see if they had any of the seafood I needed for some of my Les Halles Cookbook recipes. But when I called, asking what they might have in stock over the next couple of days, I got a terse "call tomorrow; I buy my fish daily" from the head fishmonger, in a tone that told me this conversation was OVER.
Uh RUDE MUCH? No asking what I had in mind, or discussion of what might be available at this time generally? So much for asking whether pike or monkfish might be available (or if they have a season at all). I was a bit miffed, but those of you who know me know that I'm not quick to write off stores or people after one bad experience, everyone has off days. So I decided to go the next day to see what was available and get a feel for the place.
So, like I said, BlackSalt is a restaurant and fish market. The two shops are not separated, but combined, with the market in the front of the shop, and tables ranging from the front to the back, which looks like a more traditional restaurant. We went early on Saturday morning, so the restaurant was empty, but there were already a lot of customers looking over the fish counter. The counter held a lot of beautiful, gleaming seafood, including cuts, heads, whole fish, and other tasty creatures. Unfortunately, no monkfish tails, pike, crawfish, or any of the other fish called for in my recipes. I was considering whether to go for some tender-looking monkfish cheeks when I spotted some Prince Edward Island mussels for $3.99 a pound. Another mussel dish would be perfect for the warm, rainy weather, so I decided to go for those. I bought three pounds, and a small jar of salmon roe as a treat.
On the way back, I asked Husband J which mussel dish he would like among the four left in the book, and he decided on moules à la Portugaise, which features DELICIOUS CHORIZO in the sauce. I told him that his duty, then, would be to find some chorizo. He accomplished this easily by checking out a new charcouterie market that recently opened in our neighborhood, and happens to stock house-made chorizo. Brilliant! The chorizo he found was dry, but still the red, fresh chorizo that Tony prefers in his recipe, rather than the drier, white-mold covered dark chorizo favored by more traditional Portuguese cooks. I'd like to try the darker chorizo, but I'm not going to turn my nose up at local house-made chorizo, for sure.
Red, greasy and delicious.
Though the recipe calls for 6 lbs of mussels, and I bought 3 lbs (to feed 2 instead of 4), I decided to make the full recipe for the sauce, since that is after all the most delicious part.
First, I heated some olive oil in a large pot, and sauteed half an onion, six cloves of garlic, and two ounces of the chorizo. (The recipe calls for 1 oz, but I decided to double it, since Husband J bought an 8 oz link. That's a lot of leftover chorizo, and I am looking forward to some chorizo scrambled eggs in my immediate future.)
While those were cooking, I scrubbed and inspected the mussels, one at a time. Unlike the Whole Foods mussels, most of the BlackSalt mussels were tightly closed, or closed when I tapped the shell, signifying that they were alive. I tossed less than 1/5 of the mussels, making these a much better value.
Once the chorizo released its red, spicy scented grease, I added some white wine, salt, and pepper. Then I dumped in the mussels to steam under lid until they opened up.
A quick, blurry photo of mussels starting to steam.
After the mussels opened, I threw in a handful of chopped parsley and cilantro, shook the whole pot, and served it up with slices of french bread (again house-made from the charcuterie shop).
Well, one thing is for sure, I will never buy mussels from Whole Foods again. These mussels put the old ones to shame. These were very tender and meaty with a great subtle seafood flavor. The sauce was brilliant, filled with chorizo grease, and was very delicious when mopped up with the bread. Of course the slices of chorizo were probably the best part.
All in all, this was a great and easy meal for a rainy weekend afternoon.
Lessons Learned: Most importantly, that a good cook needs to know how to find great ingredients, whether it's from a shop that's usually out of reach or a new neighborhood joint with some delicious surprises. But next time I'll probably be more aggressive about finding out whether the fish I need is in the shop before going to the trouble of renting a car and traveling out to the shops.
Next Week: I'll write about the lamb stew I made last week.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Lemon Tart (Basic Pie Crust take 2)
It's been a lazy weekend in our household, which in my opinion is just grand. However, it does mean that my energy and desire to go shopping is about nil. Add to that, Husband J and Neighbor C concocted a scheme to have a double showing of Black Dynomite and Tool Academy 3 (This Time There's Girls!) and decided that they wanted takeout for dinner while we watched. So I decided to make a dessert that used what we had in the house.
I figured a lemon tart would be great, as we have a bunch of lemons to use up, and also because I wanted another shot at the pie crust that I butchered so horribly last year. This time, I wanted to try making it with my hands, in a bowl, as opposed to in the food processor, as I can control the moisture better when making it by hand. I also decided to pay a bit more attention, rather than slapping it together like last time. I did run into some problems, which I'll discuss in their turn.
First problem: recipe calls for pastry flour. I looked this up on the internet, and found that pastry flour is distinguished by having less protein than all purpose flour. (For those who are interested, bread flour has the most protein, then all purpose, then pastry flour, and cake flour has the least protein.) You can make a mix approximating pastry flour by combining all purpose flour and cake flour at something between a 1:1 or 2:1 ratio. I looked for cake flour at the local shop, but of course couldn't find any, so I decided to give it a shot with all purpose flour to see where it gets me. (This is of course very scientific, and will help those of you who can't find pastry or cake flour determine if the recipe is worth trying. Not because I'm lazy. No, no.)
So first I measured out nine grams of flour in my NEW HANDY KITCHEN SCALE WHICH I LOVE HOORAY!
Next, I whisked in salt and sugar for a nice dry mix.
Then, I made a well in the dry mix, and added one cold egg, and one cold stick of unsalted butter, chopped up. (Cold is very important to create a tender, flaky crust, of course.)
I started mixing the bowl with a fork, then gave up and used my hands, as it's the best way to break up the butter and mix it into the dry evenly. You want your hands to be cold, so I rinsed them in cold water from time to time, so the butter didn't melt. After mixing for a little bit, I added a tablespoon and a half of water (which I kept on ice in a bowl) as the recipe suggested. Even then, I found it was too dry, and added another tablespoon of water to the mix. At that point, the dough started coming together in a way that hadn't happened the last time I made this dough, so I could tell that I was doing something right. Once the dough came together (though there were still visible bits of butter in--but that's a good thing) I put it in the fridge for an hour.
Once the dough finished chilling, I put it on a floured mat and started rolling it out. Again, it was clear that I'd done it right this time, as the dough stayed together in one piece instead of becoming a frankencrust. I draped it into the tart pan, and pressed it into the corners.
Rolling out nicely, and...
Victory!
Here's where I ran into problem number two. The recipe for the crust ends here, but the lemon tart recipe starts with an already baked pie crust. So how are you supposed to bake the crust? The book doesn't say! So instead I turned to my baking book (and recent Christmas present) Baking: From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan. She recommends baking her crust recipe at 400 degrees for 25 minutes under foil, then uncovering and baking for 10 minutes for a fully baked crust. So that's what I tried.
The result:
I think that it browned a little too much (the center was nicely golden in patches, but the edges of the crust were a bit too crispy). So next time I might try the same time, but baking at 350 or 375 degrees instead. Anyway, I let the crust cool to room temperature.
Next, I made the filling by combining lemon juice, sugar, eggs and cream, and poured the mix into the crust to bake and set.
Husband J, juicing the lemons in the cuisinart.
Me, mixing the ingredients for the filling. The cream made nice patterns in the egg/sugar mix.
I was a little worried about whether the filling would set properly, as the last time I made a lemon meringue pie it turned into a runny mess, but after about half hour of baking, the tart came out very nice and firm.
I brought it over to Neighbor C's, and we ate it after our takeout.
The verdict... well... I'm not really sold on the tart. The guests at Neighbor Cs said they enjoyed it a lot, and Husband J ate much more than his fair share, but it tasted a little odd to me. It might have been the slightly overbaked crust or the fact that the pie crust is not very sweet when compared to the tart filling, but something about the combo just didn't taste right. It was fine, but not brilliant.
Lessons Learned: Tony, tell us how long to bake your freaking pie crust mmkay??
Next Week: Daube Provençale
I figured a lemon tart would be great, as we have a bunch of lemons to use up, and also because I wanted another shot at the pie crust that I butchered so horribly last year. This time, I wanted to try making it with my hands, in a bowl, as opposed to in the food processor, as I can control the moisture better when making it by hand. I also decided to pay a bit more attention, rather than slapping it together like last time. I did run into some problems, which I'll discuss in their turn.
First problem: recipe calls for pastry flour. I looked this up on the internet, and found that pastry flour is distinguished by having less protein than all purpose flour. (For those who are interested, bread flour has the most protein, then all purpose, then pastry flour, and cake flour has the least protein.) You can make a mix approximating pastry flour by combining all purpose flour and cake flour at something between a 1:1 or 2:1 ratio. I looked for cake flour at the local shop, but of course couldn't find any, so I decided to give it a shot with all purpose flour to see where it gets me. (This is of course very scientific, and will help those of you who can't find pastry or cake flour determine if the recipe is worth trying. Not because I'm lazy. No, no.)
So first I measured out nine grams of flour in my NEW HANDY KITCHEN SCALE WHICH I LOVE HOORAY!
Next, I whisked in salt and sugar for a nice dry mix.
Then, I made a well in the dry mix, and added one cold egg, and one cold stick of unsalted butter, chopped up. (Cold is very important to create a tender, flaky crust, of course.)
I started mixing the bowl with a fork, then gave up and used my hands, as it's the best way to break up the butter and mix it into the dry evenly. You want your hands to be cold, so I rinsed them in cold water from time to time, so the butter didn't melt. After mixing for a little bit, I added a tablespoon and a half of water (which I kept on ice in a bowl) as the recipe suggested. Even then, I found it was too dry, and added another tablespoon of water to the mix. At that point, the dough started coming together in a way that hadn't happened the last time I made this dough, so I could tell that I was doing something right. Once the dough came together (though there were still visible bits of butter in--but that's a good thing) I put it in the fridge for an hour.
Once the dough finished chilling, I put it on a floured mat and started rolling it out. Again, it was clear that I'd done it right this time, as the dough stayed together in one piece instead of becoming a frankencrust. I draped it into the tart pan, and pressed it into the corners.
Rolling out nicely, and...
Victory!
Here's where I ran into problem number two. The recipe for the crust ends here, but the lemon tart recipe starts with an already baked pie crust. So how are you supposed to bake the crust? The book doesn't say! So instead I turned to my baking book (and recent Christmas present) Baking: From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan. She recommends baking her crust recipe at 400 degrees for 25 minutes under foil, then uncovering and baking for 10 minutes for a fully baked crust. So that's what I tried.
The result:
I think that it browned a little too much (the center was nicely golden in patches, but the edges of the crust were a bit too crispy). So next time I might try the same time, but baking at 350 or 375 degrees instead. Anyway, I let the crust cool to room temperature.
Next, I made the filling by combining lemon juice, sugar, eggs and cream, and poured the mix into the crust to bake and set.
Husband J, juicing the lemons in the cuisinart.
Me, mixing the ingredients for the filling. The cream made nice patterns in the egg/sugar mix.
I was a little worried about whether the filling would set properly, as the last time I made a lemon meringue pie it turned into a runny mess, but after about half hour of baking, the tart came out very nice and firm.
I brought it over to Neighbor C's, and we ate it after our takeout.
The verdict... well... I'm not really sold on the tart. The guests at Neighbor Cs said they enjoyed it a lot, and Husband J ate much more than his fair share, but it tasted a little odd to me. It might have been the slightly overbaked crust or the fact that the pie crust is not very sweet when compared to the tart filling, but something about the combo just didn't taste right. It was fine, but not brilliant.
Lessons Learned: Tony, tell us how long to bake your freaking pie crust mmkay??
Next Week: Daube Provençale
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Moules Normandes; Aoli
Happy Valentines Day!
Okay, okay. I think you know enough of my character to know that I am NOT a huge fan of Valentine's day. It's nice and all, but who needs chalky, unpleasant heart-shaped candies, and greeting cards with canned sentiment? Not me, for sure. Valentine's Day for me usually carried the same dread as Friday the 13th--even when I wasn't single, something horrible would invariably happen and the day would go completely wrong.
Once I met Husband J, though, Valentines Day settled down, and bad things stopped happening. I learned to sit back and enjoy the day, rather than dread it, and we began a tradition of staying in, and cooking fun meals to celebrate the day. (Unusual presents, too--Husband J got me a much-coveted bottle of L'heure Bleue, while I got him a copy of Brütal Legend, a heavy metal themed video game starring Jack Black. That's love!)
For tonight's dinner, I really wanted to go all-out to make up for my slacking lately, what with the storm, the trip, and the simplistic dishes I've been making for the past few weeks. I ambitiously set my sights on Duck a l'orange, only to run into a snag--there is no duck to be had in the city. Even my faithful Eastern Market butcher doesn't stock poultry! So, stranded at the Whole Foods, Husband J requested mussels, which were in stock. I knew that there were five--count 'em, five--recipes for mussels in the Les Halles Cookbook that needed to be gotten through, so I agreed. We picked up a bag of mussels, and headed home to cook.
Now, mussels plus Tony Bourdain does not equal sweet harmony. In fact, he admits in the cookbook that he has "famously frightened away hundreds of people from eating mussels." For those who haven't read Kitchen Confidential, there's a segment in the book in which Tony explains some of the less savory kitchen practices in restaurants, and how that resolves into what he will or will not eat when dining out. While he grants that he is not bothered by recycling bread baskets from one table to another (me neither, I'll eat the bread too), he does provide some basic tips about what not to eat at restaurants. These tips include "never order fish on Monday," "no hollandaise," "don't eat in a restaurant with filthy bathrooms," "no swordfish," (three foot long parasitic worms, anyone?) "no well-done steak" and, most damning, never eat mussels in a restaurant, unless you see how they handle and store them. Mussels need to drain while being held for cooking, and be picked through carefully to ensure each mussel is healthy and alive before throwing them into the pot. But, as Tony explains, this type of handling is rare because mussels are so easy to cook and sell at a premium. Toss them in a pot, and $24.95 later, you're making a sweet profit with time left over to chiffonade your mise. The effects of eating bad mussels are dire, he explains, using such phrases as "shitting like a mink." I prefer not to spend my Valentine's evening in such a position, so I resolved to handle the mussels as carefully as possible, first storing them in a colander above a bowl in the fridge, so that they could drain properly.
The best thing to eat with mussels is, of course, fries with mayonnaise in the true Belgian style. I wasn't about to try deep frying myself some fries just yet (no Valentine grease fires please) so I whussed out with some frozen fries. But I determined to make some garlic aoli (in the "miscellaneous meez" section of the book) for dipping. The recipe calls for four garlic cloves, half a cup of olive oil, and salt, pulsed in the food processor. Once pulsed, add an egg yolk, and leave the processor running while another half cup of olive oil is trickled in.
Easy, right? Well it ended up in a runny, grainy, separated mess.
Blech. Please pay no attention to my "claw hand" there, I was trying to steady the oily mess and take a picture at the same time.
I'm no stranger to mayonnaise mishaps, having tried making it myself before, but I was pretty disappointed in the nasty mess I'd made with the aoli. Hopefully the mussels wouldn't have the same result...
I started the mussels by frying bacon, the way every dish should start, in my opinion.
Next, I melted a ton of butter in a pot, and fried chopped shallots until soft.
Then, I added sliced mushrooms and cubed apple, and sauteed them until they released their liquid and softened.
The recipe called for calvados (French apple brandy), but instead I used what we had on hand--apple whiskey from Leopold Bros. in Colorado. Then I added cream, salt and pepper, and brought the whole thing to a boil.
As the sauce simmered, it was time to go through the mussels. I hauled the colander out of the fridge, and went through the pile, mussel by mussel, checking which were tightly closed (good) and which were gaping open (bad). The open ones were thrown out, while the closed ones got tossed into the pot and cooked in the sauce until they opened up. I probably threw out about half of the mussels, which sounds wasteful until you think of the phrase "shitting like a mink" and what it signifies.
At this point I had a problem--the recipe didn't say what to do with the bacon that I had fried at the beginning of the evening. So, I dumped the bacon bits over the cooking mussels. Once all the mussels opened, I dumped them into a bowl and served them with the fries, and a loaf of homemade bread.
The verdict? Oh my god. The mussels were delicious and sweet, and I was happy that I had picked through them so carefully. But the best part was the sauce, which was creamy and smoky from the bacon and whiskey. I was actually happy when all the mussels were gone, so I could soak bits of bread in the sauce and lap it all up. Husband J and I actually ignored our fries to focus on the mussels and sauce, which was really something. Husabnd J said that this was definitely one of his favorite meals, in that it was more of a casual, "pub food" meal than most of the ones I have cooked so far. All in all, it was a great Valentines Day meal, and more than made up for my aoli fail.
Lessons Learned: Always handle and store your mussels carefully, and toss the open ones before you cook. Aoli is freaking hard. Pay attention to what's to be done with the bacon. Homemade mussels and homemade bread are much better than frozen french fries.
Next Week: Ehhh I'm not sure... I'll think on it.
Okay, okay. I think you know enough of my character to know that I am NOT a huge fan of Valentine's day. It's nice and all, but who needs chalky, unpleasant heart-shaped candies, and greeting cards with canned sentiment? Not me, for sure. Valentine's Day for me usually carried the same dread as Friday the 13th--even when I wasn't single, something horrible would invariably happen and the day would go completely wrong.
Once I met Husband J, though, Valentines Day settled down, and bad things stopped happening. I learned to sit back and enjoy the day, rather than dread it, and we began a tradition of staying in, and cooking fun meals to celebrate the day. (Unusual presents, too--Husband J got me a much-coveted bottle of L'heure Bleue, while I got him a copy of Brütal Legend, a heavy metal themed video game starring Jack Black. That's love!)
For tonight's dinner, I really wanted to go all-out to make up for my slacking lately, what with the storm, the trip, and the simplistic dishes I've been making for the past few weeks. I ambitiously set my sights on Duck a l'orange, only to run into a snag--there is no duck to be had in the city. Even my faithful Eastern Market butcher doesn't stock poultry! So, stranded at the Whole Foods, Husband J requested mussels, which were in stock. I knew that there were five--count 'em, five--recipes for mussels in the Les Halles Cookbook that needed to be gotten through, so I agreed. We picked up a bag of mussels, and headed home to cook.
Now, mussels plus Tony Bourdain does not equal sweet harmony. In fact, he admits in the cookbook that he has "famously frightened away hundreds of people from eating mussels." For those who haven't read Kitchen Confidential, there's a segment in the book in which Tony explains some of the less savory kitchen practices in restaurants, and how that resolves into what he will or will not eat when dining out. While he grants that he is not bothered by recycling bread baskets from one table to another (me neither, I'll eat the bread too), he does provide some basic tips about what not to eat at restaurants. These tips include "never order fish on Monday," "no hollandaise," "don't eat in a restaurant with filthy bathrooms," "no swordfish," (three foot long parasitic worms, anyone?) "no well-done steak" and, most damning, never eat mussels in a restaurant, unless you see how they handle and store them. Mussels need to drain while being held for cooking, and be picked through carefully to ensure each mussel is healthy and alive before throwing them into the pot. But, as Tony explains, this type of handling is rare because mussels are so easy to cook and sell at a premium. Toss them in a pot, and $24.95 later, you're making a sweet profit with time left over to chiffonade your mise. The effects of eating bad mussels are dire, he explains, using such phrases as "shitting like a mink." I prefer not to spend my Valentine's evening in such a position, so I resolved to handle the mussels as carefully as possible, first storing them in a colander above a bowl in the fridge, so that they could drain properly.
The best thing to eat with mussels is, of course, fries with mayonnaise in the true Belgian style. I wasn't about to try deep frying myself some fries just yet (no Valentine grease fires please) so I whussed out with some frozen fries. But I determined to make some garlic aoli (in the "miscellaneous meez" section of the book) for dipping. The recipe calls for four garlic cloves, half a cup of olive oil, and salt, pulsed in the food processor. Once pulsed, add an egg yolk, and leave the processor running while another half cup of olive oil is trickled in.
Easy, right? Well it ended up in a runny, grainy, separated mess.
Blech. Please pay no attention to my "claw hand" there, I was trying to steady the oily mess and take a picture at the same time.
I'm no stranger to mayonnaise mishaps, having tried making it myself before, but I was pretty disappointed in the nasty mess I'd made with the aoli. Hopefully the mussels wouldn't have the same result...
I started the mussels by frying bacon, the way every dish should start, in my opinion.
Next, I melted a ton of butter in a pot, and fried chopped shallots until soft.
Then, I added sliced mushrooms and cubed apple, and sauteed them until they released their liquid and softened.
The recipe called for calvados (French apple brandy), but instead I used what we had on hand--apple whiskey from Leopold Bros. in Colorado. Then I added cream, salt and pepper, and brought the whole thing to a boil.
As the sauce simmered, it was time to go through the mussels. I hauled the colander out of the fridge, and went through the pile, mussel by mussel, checking which were tightly closed (good) and which were gaping open (bad). The open ones were thrown out, while the closed ones got tossed into the pot and cooked in the sauce until they opened up. I probably threw out about half of the mussels, which sounds wasteful until you think of the phrase "shitting like a mink" and what it signifies.
At this point I had a problem--the recipe didn't say what to do with the bacon that I had fried at the beginning of the evening. So, I dumped the bacon bits over the cooking mussels. Once all the mussels opened, I dumped them into a bowl and served them with the fries, and a loaf of homemade bread.
The verdict? Oh my god. The mussels were delicious and sweet, and I was happy that I had picked through them so carefully. But the best part was the sauce, which was creamy and smoky from the bacon and whiskey. I was actually happy when all the mussels were gone, so I could soak bits of bread in the sauce and lap it all up. Husband J and I actually ignored our fries to focus on the mussels and sauce, which was really something. Husabnd J said that this was definitely one of his favorite meals, in that it was more of a casual, "pub food" meal than most of the ones I have cooked so far. All in all, it was a great Valentines Day meal, and more than made up for my aoli fail.
Lessons Learned: Always handle and store your mussels carefully, and toss the open ones before you cook. Aoli is freaking hard. Pay attention to what's to be done with the bacon. Homemade mussels and homemade bread are much better than frozen french fries.
Next Week: Ehhh I'm not sure... I'll think on it.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
New Orleans: recap
So, I promised to report on the food that Husband J and I sampled in New Orleans--here goes. Fair warning, I don't take pictures of meals. I really don't have anything against anyone who does this, since I've drooled over my share of El Bulli and French Laundry picture blog entries, but I have never been able to bring myself to take pictures of a meal before I dig in. So, I'm interspersing this post with random pictures from around the city.
On Thursday (1/28) we arrived after a series of airline mishaps. I immediately ran to a work function, while Husband J did some preliminary exploration around the city.
Jackson Square, with a view of Saint Louis Cathedral. This was part of my Schattenjäger tour of New Orleans, and if you get the reference, you are as nerdy as me.
While wandering around, Husband J tried the sandwiches at Mother's, a cafeteria style eatery specializing in po'boys and debris. For those of you who (like me) have no idea what debris is, it's basically chopped meat in gravy, sort of like creamed chipped beef (aka "shit on a shingle") but in a creole, spicy brown sauce instead of white, creamy, bland sauce. Husband J ordered a Debris sandwich (half size), which consisted of debris made from roast beef, mustard, and pickled cabbage on house-made French bread. Husband J reports that the sandwich was tasty, but messy, as the bread soaked up most of the sauce. "I had to eat most of it with my fork," he says.
After I got back from my work function, I was ravenous, having had nothing to eat for 12 hours. We took a stop by the Carousel bar (which looks like a carousel, and rotates) in the Hotel Monteleone, where we were staying, for a negroni (for me) and a sazarac (for him). This began Husband J's "sazarac tour of New Orleans," a quest to find the best sazarac in the city. (Sazaracs consist of rye, sugar and bitters, and are served in a glass rinsed with absinthe.) Let me tell you, sitting in a rotating bar is a fun novelty, unless you're on your first drink of the day, having not eaten in twelve hours. The entire hotel looked like a carousel to me after we finished our cocktails!
Finally I was able to satiate my hunger at K-Paul's, Paul Prudhomme's restaurant. The place was described to me as "very deep fried," which I hoped was a compliment. We started with cocktails (sazaracs) and ordered a house salad and fried green tomatoes to start. The salad came with green onion dressing, which was a creamy wonder. I wanted a straw so I could DRINK that dressing, for reals. The tomatoes came in a lovely spicy sauce with shrimp, and to top it all off we had a varied bread basket with jalapeno bread, molasses and corn muffins, and butter bread, all with creamy butter to spread on them. I would have been happy just making a meal of these, but our entrees had yet to arrive.
I went for the "pan fried rabbit" with jambalaya, and Husband J ordered a veal dish with shrimp, lobster, and a pernod sauce. When ordering the pan fried rabbit, I thought to avoid the deep-friedness of the place, but no dice, it came in a thick crust of fried goodness. It was lovely and tender, and the jambalaya was deliciously spicy. Husband J's veal was a bit blander, and he conceded that I "won" the dinner battle. However, his entree came with mashed potatoes that were essentially whipped butter with some potatoes added in. Delicious, but so, so filling. We couldn't handle dessert, and left feeling a little sick.
A random, beautifully decorated house that we walked past in our travels around the city.
The next morning we slept in, then embarked on an exploration of the French Quarter. We started out having beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe du Monde (touristy I know, but no less than five people told us we couldn't miss that particular pleasure). The beignets (basically a hunk of deep fried dough) were light, fluffy, and covered in a mountain of powdered sugar, and we loved them. We wandered for several hours, finding some lovely antiques (Husband J found a pair of tiki glasses dating from Walt Disney World's first tiki bar) and decided it was time for lunch, which meant a muffuletta at Central Grocery. A muffuletta, for those who don't know (like me, before I ate one), is a sandwich on round bread, with olive salad (comprised of pickled olive, cauliflower and carrot), capicola, salami, mortadella, emmentaler and provalone. We split a half-muffuletta, which was more than enough for the two of us, on a bench in Jackson Square.
Later, it was time for dinner, so we went to Couchon for a meal of salad and small plates (we were still feeling the indulgent dinner at K-Paul's). We ordered a cucumber-herb salad, pig cheek cakes, ribs, and rabbit livers on toast. All were wonderful, particularly for me the rabbit livers, which were deep fried and set on a biscuit-like toast with red pepper jelly. Husband J liked the ribs best, decked out as they were with spicy sauce and pickled watermelon. We abandoned decorum and gnawed the bones in our hands. We also shared a dessert of meyer lemon sherbet with a pig-shaped cookie, and several moonshine-based cocktails.
Our last day was a day to wander the Garden District. We looked through many antique shops and little boutiques, but the highlight was lunch at Commander's Palace, one of the most famous and best-reviewed restaurants in New Orleans. The restaurant was founded in 1880, and includes Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse among its alumni-chefs. We ate from the brunch menu, which was inclusive--a set price includes appetizer, entree, and dessert, though the price depends on which entree is ordered. I decided on the soup of the day, a spicy, shrimp, lobster and sausage cajun soup, with eggs "louis armstrong," basically eggs benedict on fried sweet potato cakes, and the bread pudding souffle. Husband J ate the turtle soup (a signature dish, served with sherry like crab soup in Maryland), beef in sazarac sauce with bacon mashed potatoes, and creole cheesecake. The meal was much better than we thought, considering what a "grand dame" the restaurant is. The pacing of the meal was the best we'd encountered, and the care that went into both the cooking and the service was exemplary. This was probably the best meal we had in New Orleans, and we enjoyed every bite.
A view of Lafayette Cemetery, in the Garden District
One last word--we had heard of the excess and wildness of Bourbon Street, but weren't prepared to experience it in person. On our last night, we decided to go see Jonathan Richman, who was playing at a club near our hotel. We started out about an hour before the show, intending to grab a drink beforehand, only to experience the full wilds of New Orleans. First, we ran across a poor girl, who was walking down the street barefoot, asking all passers by how she could get to bourbon street (which was a block to her left--it was also about 30 degrees and windy). I tried to direct her, but she wasn't listening. Next, as we tried to make our way to the club, a RANDOM PARADE broke out, right between us and the venue. After much running up and down side streets, we had to dash through the parade to make it to the venue. Finally, as we bought tickets and made our way into the club, a woman who had been weaving and spinning nearby projectile vomited into the club windows, and fell, smacking her head into the plate glass--narrowly missing my fashionable yellow coat. The Jonathan Richman show was exquisite if a little short, and a fab time was had by all.
And what about Husband J's sazarac tour--who makes the best sazaracs in New Orleans? He says it's Carousel Bar, because the drinks are so nicely balanced--not too much rye, not too much sugar.
Lessons learned: They are not exaggerating when they talk about how wild New Orleans is. But the food is awesome.
Best Phrases said to us: From a buggy driver trying to ramp up business: "C'mon, you're not that cool, get in the buggy! From a hustler outside the Hustler Club: "Nothin' says love like a lap dance--get your lady a lap dance today!" (Needless to say, we did not get a lap dance.)
Next week: Another huge snowstorm has hit the region, leaving me without the ability to shop for ingredients. I'll try again next week!
On Thursday (1/28) we arrived after a series of airline mishaps. I immediately ran to a work function, while Husband J did some preliminary exploration around the city.
Jackson Square, with a view of Saint Louis Cathedral. This was part of my Schattenjäger tour of New Orleans, and if you get the reference, you are as nerdy as me.
While wandering around, Husband J tried the sandwiches at Mother's, a cafeteria style eatery specializing in po'boys and debris. For those of you who (like me) have no idea what debris is, it's basically chopped meat in gravy, sort of like creamed chipped beef (aka "shit on a shingle") but in a creole, spicy brown sauce instead of white, creamy, bland sauce. Husband J ordered a Debris sandwich (half size), which consisted of debris made from roast beef, mustard, and pickled cabbage on house-made French bread. Husband J reports that the sandwich was tasty, but messy, as the bread soaked up most of the sauce. "I had to eat most of it with my fork," he says.
After I got back from my work function, I was ravenous, having had nothing to eat for 12 hours. We took a stop by the Carousel bar (which looks like a carousel, and rotates) in the Hotel Monteleone, where we were staying, for a negroni (for me) and a sazarac (for him). This began Husband J's "sazarac tour of New Orleans," a quest to find the best sazarac in the city. (Sazaracs consist of rye, sugar and bitters, and are served in a glass rinsed with absinthe.) Let me tell you, sitting in a rotating bar is a fun novelty, unless you're on your first drink of the day, having not eaten in twelve hours. The entire hotel looked like a carousel to me after we finished our cocktails!
Finally I was able to satiate my hunger at K-Paul's, Paul Prudhomme's restaurant. The place was described to me as "very deep fried," which I hoped was a compliment. We started with cocktails (sazaracs) and ordered a house salad and fried green tomatoes to start. The salad came with green onion dressing, which was a creamy wonder. I wanted a straw so I could DRINK that dressing, for reals. The tomatoes came in a lovely spicy sauce with shrimp, and to top it all off we had a varied bread basket with jalapeno bread, molasses and corn muffins, and butter bread, all with creamy butter to spread on them. I would have been happy just making a meal of these, but our entrees had yet to arrive.
I went for the "pan fried rabbit" with jambalaya, and Husband J ordered a veal dish with shrimp, lobster, and a pernod sauce. When ordering the pan fried rabbit, I thought to avoid the deep-friedness of the place, but no dice, it came in a thick crust of fried goodness. It was lovely and tender, and the jambalaya was deliciously spicy. Husband J's veal was a bit blander, and he conceded that I "won" the dinner battle. However, his entree came with mashed potatoes that were essentially whipped butter with some potatoes added in. Delicious, but so, so filling. We couldn't handle dessert, and left feeling a little sick.
A random, beautifully decorated house that we walked past in our travels around the city.
The next morning we slept in, then embarked on an exploration of the French Quarter. We started out having beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe du Monde (touristy I know, but no less than five people told us we couldn't miss that particular pleasure). The beignets (basically a hunk of deep fried dough) were light, fluffy, and covered in a mountain of powdered sugar, and we loved them. We wandered for several hours, finding some lovely antiques (Husband J found a pair of tiki glasses dating from Walt Disney World's first tiki bar) and decided it was time for lunch, which meant a muffuletta at Central Grocery. A muffuletta, for those who don't know (like me, before I ate one), is a sandwich on round bread, with olive salad (comprised of pickled olive, cauliflower and carrot), capicola, salami, mortadella, emmentaler and provalone. We split a half-muffuletta, which was more than enough for the two of us, on a bench in Jackson Square.
Later, it was time for dinner, so we went to Couchon for a meal of salad and small plates (we were still feeling the indulgent dinner at K-Paul's). We ordered a cucumber-herb salad, pig cheek cakes, ribs, and rabbit livers on toast. All were wonderful, particularly for me the rabbit livers, which were deep fried and set on a biscuit-like toast with red pepper jelly. Husband J liked the ribs best, decked out as they were with spicy sauce and pickled watermelon. We abandoned decorum and gnawed the bones in our hands. We also shared a dessert of meyer lemon sherbet with a pig-shaped cookie, and several moonshine-based cocktails.
Our last day was a day to wander the Garden District. We looked through many antique shops and little boutiques, but the highlight was lunch at Commander's Palace, one of the most famous and best-reviewed restaurants in New Orleans. The restaurant was founded in 1880, and includes Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse among its alumni-chefs. We ate from the brunch menu, which was inclusive--a set price includes appetizer, entree, and dessert, though the price depends on which entree is ordered. I decided on the soup of the day, a spicy, shrimp, lobster and sausage cajun soup, with eggs "louis armstrong," basically eggs benedict on fried sweet potato cakes, and the bread pudding souffle. Husband J ate the turtle soup (a signature dish, served with sherry like crab soup in Maryland), beef in sazarac sauce with bacon mashed potatoes, and creole cheesecake. The meal was much better than we thought, considering what a "grand dame" the restaurant is. The pacing of the meal was the best we'd encountered, and the care that went into both the cooking and the service was exemplary. This was probably the best meal we had in New Orleans, and we enjoyed every bite.
A view of Lafayette Cemetery, in the Garden District
One last word--we had heard of the excess and wildness of Bourbon Street, but weren't prepared to experience it in person. On our last night, we decided to go see Jonathan Richman, who was playing at a club near our hotel. We started out about an hour before the show, intending to grab a drink beforehand, only to experience the full wilds of New Orleans. First, we ran across a poor girl, who was walking down the street barefoot, asking all passers by how she could get to bourbon street (which was a block to her left--it was also about 30 degrees and windy). I tried to direct her, but she wasn't listening. Next, as we tried to make our way to the club, a RANDOM PARADE broke out, right between us and the venue. After much running up and down side streets, we had to dash through the parade to make it to the venue. Finally, as we bought tickets and made our way into the club, a woman who had been weaving and spinning nearby projectile vomited into the club windows, and fell, smacking her head into the plate glass--narrowly missing my fashionable yellow coat. The Jonathan Richman show was exquisite if a little short, and a fab time was had by all.
And what about Husband J's sazarac tour--who makes the best sazaracs in New Orleans? He says it's Carousel Bar, because the drinks are so nicely balanced--not too much rye, not too much sugar.
Lessons learned: They are not exaggerating when they talk about how wild New Orleans is. But the food is awesome.
Best Phrases said to us: From a buggy driver trying to ramp up business: "C'mon, you're not that cool, get in the buggy! From a hustler outside the Hustler Club: "Nothin' says love like a lap dance--get your lady a lap dance today!" (Needless to say, we did not get a lap dance.)
Next week: Another huge snowstorm has hit the region, leaving me without the ability to shop for ingredients. I'll try again next week!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Salade d'Onglet (sort of)
Mmmm steak salad! I've been looking forward to making this dish since I got the book. Steak salad is a favorite of Husband J and mine, because it strikes the perfect balance between virtuous salad and indulgent steak, and doesn't make you feel terrible for eating it (unlike the super creamy pulled pork sandwich we had for last night's dinner). Speaking of which, I have been indulging in some pretty horrible eating habits for the past few months, due to a combination of busyness and increased appetite. Busyness means lots of takeout instead of home cooked meals; increased appetite means that I can't skip meals without thinking about it like I used to. This is all combining to an increase in the pounds around my middle, and I'm not too happy about it. So a steak salad is just the thing I need to do a restart of my diet, involving more veggies, and less takeout.
The first step in salade d'onglet is to get oneself some onglet. Which I failed at, completely. First I slept through the farmer's market this morning, then sent Husband J to Whole Foods to get the onglet. Onglet, or hangar steak, is an incredibly delicious cut of meat which comes from the diaphragm of the cow, and is tough until marinated and seared at high heat, after which it becomes very tender and flavorful. Onglet is often served in French cuisine, particularly in steak salad (duh) and in steak frites which (for the unenlightened) consists of steak, and french fries, all in a shallot/red wine sauce. If anyone reading this has never eaten onglet, I encourage you to run to your nearest bistro and get one of those dishes so that you can taste this wonderful cut of meat.
Unfortunately there was no onglet to be had at the Whole Foods this day, so Husband J got the next best thing--a skirt steak. Skirt steak is a cut from the same area of the cow, and is actually a part of the full cut from which onglet is obtained. The onglet is the more tender, "inner" cut that is near to the cow's kidneys, while the skirt steak is the outer, tougher cut, and is often used for international peasant dishes that I love, including fajitas in Mexico, and Cornish pasties in England and Wales.
Well, skirt steak it is, and no complaining about it. First, we must marinate the steak for a few hours (the recipe says overnight is best, but that two to three hours will do). I made the marinade first, grating ginger, chopping garlic, and mixing the two in soy sauce.
Next, I took out the steak and chopped it up into small, bite-sized pieces.
The pieces went into the marinade to soak for two hours while I cleaned the kitchen and made cake for dessert.
After the meat had been marinating, I started chopping and measuring for the salad sauce, which requires garlic, ginger, soy sauce, parsley, and white wine.
Then I got the meat bits out of the fridge, dried them off, and sauteed them in butter for about six minutes.
In the meantime, Husband J made the vinaigrette for the salad, and set the lettuce out on a platter.
I made the sauce once the meat had cooked--by pouring wine into the pan and scraping the fond, then added the veal stock and an ice cube of demi glace. When that had reduced by half, I added ginger and garlic, and cooked the meat in the sauce for about a minute.
Finally, we served the salad with its vinaigrette, and on top we served the steak with its sauce.
Verdict: Just outstanding. The steak absorbed the soy, garlic and ginger flavors and was tender and succulent, even as skirt steak instead of the more tender hangar steak cut. The salad with red wine vinaigrette was delicious. The combination of the two was absolutely brilliant--both halves combined to a whole greater than the sum of its parts.
Husband J thought that "it was very tasty--the garlic and ginger really helped the taste of the steak come out, and it was better than just eating a hunk of bloody meat at a steak house. Eating the steak with lettuce makes me feel much better than just eating a big hunk of meat."
And we had cake!
Lessons Learned: Skirt steak can be just as tender as onglet--it's all in the marinade. Steak salad is better than a big bloody hunk of meat.
Next Week: I'm taking another break. Work is sending me to New Orleans at the end of the week, so I'm taking Husband J for what will be our first trip to the city. We have reservations to K-Paul's and Commander's Palace, and are working on getting into Cochon, too. Not to mention the muffulettas and beignets I plan to feast upon between restaurant visits! So much for the diet! We'll report back on the food we get and eat next week in lieu of cooking.
The first step in salade d'onglet is to get oneself some onglet. Which I failed at, completely. First I slept through the farmer's market this morning, then sent Husband J to Whole Foods to get the onglet. Onglet, or hangar steak, is an incredibly delicious cut of meat which comes from the diaphragm of the cow, and is tough until marinated and seared at high heat, after which it becomes very tender and flavorful. Onglet is often served in French cuisine, particularly in steak salad (duh) and in steak frites which (for the unenlightened) consists of steak, and french fries, all in a shallot/red wine sauce. If anyone reading this has never eaten onglet, I encourage you to run to your nearest bistro and get one of those dishes so that you can taste this wonderful cut of meat.
Unfortunately there was no onglet to be had at the Whole Foods this day, so Husband J got the next best thing--a skirt steak. Skirt steak is a cut from the same area of the cow, and is actually a part of the full cut from which onglet is obtained. The onglet is the more tender, "inner" cut that is near to the cow's kidneys, while the skirt steak is the outer, tougher cut, and is often used for international peasant dishes that I love, including fajitas in Mexico, and Cornish pasties in England and Wales.
Well, skirt steak it is, and no complaining about it. First, we must marinate the steak for a few hours (the recipe says overnight is best, but that two to three hours will do). I made the marinade first, grating ginger, chopping garlic, and mixing the two in soy sauce.
Next, I took out the steak and chopped it up into small, bite-sized pieces.
The pieces went into the marinade to soak for two hours while I cleaned the kitchen and made cake for dessert.
After the meat had been marinating, I started chopping and measuring for the salad sauce, which requires garlic, ginger, soy sauce, parsley, and white wine.
Then I got the meat bits out of the fridge, dried them off, and sauteed them in butter for about six minutes.
In the meantime, Husband J made the vinaigrette for the salad, and set the lettuce out on a platter.
I made the sauce once the meat had cooked--by pouring wine into the pan and scraping the fond, then added the veal stock and an ice cube of demi glace. When that had reduced by half, I added ginger and garlic, and cooked the meat in the sauce for about a minute.
Finally, we served the salad with its vinaigrette, and on top we served the steak with its sauce.
Verdict: Just outstanding. The steak absorbed the soy, garlic and ginger flavors and was tender and succulent, even as skirt steak instead of the more tender hangar steak cut. The salad with red wine vinaigrette was delicious. The combination of the two was absolutely brilliant--both halves combined to a whole greater than the sum of its parts.
Husband J thought that "it was very tasty--the garlic and ginger really helped the taste of the steak come out, and it was better than just eating a hunk of bloody meat at a steak house. Eating the steak with lettuce makes me feel much better than just eating a big hunk of meat."
And we had cake!
Lessons Learned: Skirt steak can be just as tender as onglet--it's all in the marinade. Steak salad is better than a big bloody hunk of meat.
Next Week: I'm taking another break. Work is sending me to New Orleans at the end of the week, so I'm taking Husband J for what will be our first trip to the city. We have reservations to K-Paul's and Commander's Palace, and are working on getting into Cochon, too. Not to mention the muffulettas and beignets I plan to feast upon between restaurant visits! So much for the diet! We'll report back on the food we get and eat next week in lieu of cooking.
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