Wednesday, November 27, 2002

My husband, bless his heart, has been going through a rough period, dish washing-wise.  I fear the endlessness of soiled crockery the Project produces has left him a tad touched.  So lately what he’s been doing is not doing them, at least not the same night.  Which, since I have chosen to no longer enter or even look at the kitchen after dinner is served, has led occasionally.  For instance – and I hesitate even to tell you this, dear readers, for fear that you will a) lose all respect for the great good sense I have evinced up to now, and b) fear for my life – last night, for the second night in a row, we left the chicken I was simmering for stock unattended on the stove all night.  What happened was this.  On Monday night I simmered a whole chicken for twenty minutes or so, figuring I would eat it, with Sauce aux Câpres, the next night.  Then I left it to cool.  Then I drank some vodka tonics, served dinner, and fled the kitchen.  And since Eric didn’t wash the dishes with all the acuity he was once known for, he didn’t notice the chicken in the pot on the stove, didn’t ask, “hey honey, what’s with the chicken on the stove?”, thus not reminding me there was a chicken on the stove, with predictable results.  When I shot out of bed a 5:30 the next morning, it was there, just as I feared.  I figured, aw, what the hell, it’s got a layer of fat on top protecting it, right?  So I stuck it in the refrigerator.  Then last night I took it out again, heated it back up, cut the meat off the bones, and put the bones back in, letting them simmer away for awhile.  We ate the chicken, and no one died.  I turned the heat off under the stock sometime before bed to cool, and lo and behold, exactly the same thing happened.  And I know, I know, cool chicken stock is a breeding ground for bacteria and various microscopic vermin, we could all die of the botulism, I know.  But you know, I’ve never died of botulism yet.  So I stuck it back in the fridge this morning.  I plan to use it for the dressing.  We’re only having one or two people over for dinner, and they’re hardy souls.  I’m sure they won’t mind. So, last night, we had the aforementioned chicken meat with the aforementioned Sauce aux Câpres.  Sauce aux Câpres is Sauce Batarde, which JC calls “mock hollandaise”, with capers in it.  Making the sauce, it really does feel “mock” – like cheating, or a cheap magic trick.  You just mash up 2 tablespoons of softened butter into a paste with 3 tablespoons of flour, then pour two cups of boiling stock or water over it, all at once.  You beat to blend, and it thickens right up.  Then you blend it slowly with an egg yolk beaten with a tablespoon of cream, put it back in the saucepan and boil for five seconds.  Season with salt, pepper, and lemon juice, stir in a couple of tablespoons of capers, and stir in 5 tablespoons or so of softened butter.  That’s it – a perfectly nice creamy white sauce in about five minutes.  It takes longer to soften the butter, at least when you don’t have a microwave.  JC says to serve it with “boiled fish or boiled leg of lamb, but ick.  I served it over the chicken and rice, and it was very good.  I do love capers.  Back before the Project, lo these many eons ago, I used to make a really great chicken piccata with the capers and the lemons and the chicken breasts.  Got the recipe out of a hijacked Cook’s Illustrated.  Mmmmm…. Food that isn’t French…. Enough.  Tomorrow it’s a very French Thanksgiving.  Today I get to trudge around an extremely wet downtown Manhattan picking up goose and other goodies.  I’m looking for “very good liver paste” to replace the foie gras for the goose stuffing, because I am just too butt-poor for foie gras.  Anyone with ideas, let me know by three o’clock today…. 7:45:27 AM    comment []