Sunday, November 17, 2002

Friday night was Fricassee de Poulet au Paprika, which is pretty much like what you would think, chicken fricasseed with paprika and cream.  It just like the last chicken recipe I made, except with paprika powder instead of curry.  I had remembered this dish as one my mother made a lot when I was growing up, but having made it, I realize that it isn’t exactly the same.  First of all, mom would never have had the temerity to serve us a dish with quartered mushrooms and whole onions in it.  Secondly, she would not have had the patience to slowly beaqt hot cooking juices into egg yolks beaten with cream.  And thirdly, I remember the dish as being bright pink, a color at once fascinating and obscurely eerie to my childish imagination, and this isn’t pink, exactly – rather a very appetizing terra cotta color. Sure is yummy.  I did almost screw it up again.  The problem is that the way the book is organized, there’s a master recipe and then variations, and you have to flip back and forth, and it gets easy to skip steps.  Every thing turned out for the best though.  Yet again, though, I didn’t make rice the Julia way.  This time I had the cheesecloth – thanks to Joann for that – but not enough pots.  By this point in the evening I had the chicken in one pot, stock boiling in another.  I’d braised whole onions in a third, and mushrooms were waiting in another.  Yet another pot was sitting in the fridge with possible future aspic in it.  The rice recipe calls for “a large kettle containing 7 to 8 quarts of rapidly boiling water.”  I mean for Christ’s sake.  That’s a big goddamned pot for rice.  So, one more time, I said, “screw it,” and went with the regular old.  This resistance to certain recipes is happening on several fronts.  I can’t tell you how many perfectly rational reasons I’ve come up with to put of making the eggs in aspic.  It will get done, though, I promise you that.  I owe eggs in aspic, at the very least, to my faithful readers. Saturday we went out for Venezuelan with Helen, who is on allergy-leave from our feline-infested abode.  I did, however, at last make the Bavarois Praliné in the morning.  The Bavarians, like the fricassee, is becoming fairly fool-proof with practice, though there are still many steps, and that same flipping-back-and-forth issue.  The diciest moment, every time, is when you’ve put the custard in the fridge to cool.  You have to mix in some whipped cream once the custard is “cool and almost set.”  I myself tend to forget about it.  But I managed to get the cream in just in time, this time stirring in leftover crumbled almond praline with it.  We intend to eat it tonight. On Saturday also we ate fried grits for breakfast.  There is not much in this world with a more advantageous effort-to-satisfaction ratio than fried grits.  Love the stuff. Tonight we eat the Bavarian.  Also Boeuf a la Mode, Beef Braised in Red Wine, which is, as I write, soaking in a marinade of red wine, onions, celery, carrots, brandy and olive oil.  The perfect meal, I am hoping, for this miserable rainy Sunday. One last aside in defense of Pam©: I noticed that Lisa, the other day, described Pam as “anachronistic.”  And it’s true that there is a certain campy aspect to the product, as well as a creepy suggestion of unnaturalness.  But I insist that Pam has its place.  It is no-mess and simple to use, and I maintain that it does a better job with the whole non-stick issue than butter or oil alone.  I sometimes prepare a pan with a quick spray of Pam before melting butter in it.  Besides, if there was no Pam, there would be no stories like this one… (thanks to Jarrett for passing it on….) 3:07:42 PM    comment []