Tuesday, August 27, 2002

Day Two.  The Menu: Quiche Lorraine.  Harticorts Verts a la Anglaise As you can probably tell by reading this blog, I do not have the hands for pastry.  And yet here I am, kneading pate brisee on an August evening in an un-air-conditioned apartment in Brooklyn.  I'm doing it as quickly and adeptly as I can.  We'll see. **** I am making Quiche Lorraine.  This is something I have heard of before, and so I'm feeling cocky.  Julia has suggested boiling the bacon for the quiche for five minutes.  This sounds to me suspiciously like an  activity that would prevent bacon from tasting like bacon.  But who am I to question.  I'll boil the frickin bacon. **** It's just been one of those evenings.  This is not a meal that should be taxing my skills.  But I am simultaneously calling my landlord to negotiate a somewhat hinky real estate deal and feeding my snake.  (How's that for a story you don't need to hear, especially in conjunction with a piece on French cookery?)  My husband is playing free-cell, badly.  I am feeling a tad exploited. *** I got yer quiche here.  It's pretty goddamned good.  Sort of an odd texture -- I think I didn't let it cook quite long enough.  It's like a savory creme brulee.  Odd.  Yummy.  The green beans taste like green beans, only with butter.  Holy shit.  I'm going to gain 50 pounds this year, aren't I? You know, I have alway considered Paul Prudhomme a martyr to the culinary arts.  Can I ask any less of myself? 10:46:39 PM    comment []