Monday, March 03, 2003

Due to some unaccustomed carousing on Friday – having an actual dinner and going to actual bars with some actual, bona fide, out-of-town friends – Saturday was rather a slow kind of day.  I spent the morning making, first, some hash out of the remaining lamb and potatoes with tomatoes and anchovies, which we ate with grits at a brunch-ish sort of time, and then the long-avoided Charlotte Malakoff au Chocolat.  Started by soaking the ladyfingers I made a week ago in diluted orange liqueur and letting them drain on a rack.  Then I made the au Chocolat part – melted four ounces of semi-sweet chocolate in a double boiler with a fourth cup of coffee – instant espresso, actually, we were out of coffee.  I made an almond cream – creamed some softened butter with sugar, beat in the chocolate stuff, then some more orange liqueur and some almond extract.  Between the desserts and the Caneton a l’Orange and the desserts, I’m tearing through this orange liqueur at an alarming rate – and this stuff tweren’t cheap. I also lined my Charlotte mold with my soaked ladyfingers.  JC warns – there’s actually a little paragraph titled “Warning,” which I have not seen elsewhere in the book – “Inferior ladyfingers, unfortunately the only kind usually available in bakeries, will debase an otherwise remarkable dessert.”  Debase.  Jesus.  Mine aren’t store bought, but they sure as hell ain’t premium quality, either.  When I start to line the sides of the mold, I see that the ladyfingers have gotten extremely soft and limp.  I press them up against the sides, trying to make them stay up, but no dice.  They sort of sag down until they’re bent over at the waist like sad little swooning ladies.  Ah well.  What’s a girl to do?  I set it aside and hope for the best. I whip some cream – this organic cream I’ve been using, I’ve got to tell you once again, is very impressive stuff, almost sinisterly thick.  I fold it into the chocolate-almond cream mixture, and fold a third of it into the mold, trying only somewhat successfully to keep the ladyfingers upright.  I layer in some ladyfingers – the broken bits, mostly, then add another layer of the cream.  More ladyfingers, the rest of the cream.  I put four nicely shaped little lady fingers in a pretty pattern at the top before I realize that I’m going to be unmolding it onto a plate and no one will see the top, which will be the bottom.  I cover the top with a round of waxed paper.  Julia says to set a saucer over the waxed paper, with “pieces of a meat grinder” on top.  For instance.  I use a tin of dry mustard and a jar of sage.  Stick it in the refrigerator and done. The rest of the day was sort of slow and lazy.  We had this vague idea that we had dinner plans, but inertia and agoraphobia prevented us from actually ferreting out with whom, where or when.  Suddenly it was five o’clock and us with nothing for dinner.  “Chinese Food” screamed across my brain, but no, we went out and got groceries –  the makings of pork chops with a Marinade Seche and Sauce Piquante, and Poireaux Gratines au Fromage. I got to work on the Sauce Piquante Eric pulled together the Marinade Seche, just a mixture of salt, pepper, thyme, bay leaf, allspice and mashed garlic, mixed together and spread over the pork chops.  The Sauce Piquante started with a Sauce Brune – diced carrots, celery and onions (or not onions, if you happened to forget to buy some at the store) sautéed with butter and blanched, diced bacon (or not blanched, if you got lazy), then blended with flour and cooked until golden, then beat in with beef broth, some tomato paste and herbs, and simmered for two hours.  While that was doing I trimmed and cleaned six leeks, and placed them in a braising pan with some water, butter and salt.  Those I let simmer, partially covered, for half an hour.  I then laid them in a baking dish, poured some of the cooking juiced over them, and let them cook, covered, in the oven for another twenty minutes.  I sprinkled them with cheese and melted butter and let them sit to the side until the end. The pork chops I browned in a pan and then baked in the oven for a bit.  When done I set them aside and sautéed some green onions in the pan.  Added vermouth and cooked that down.  I poured in two cups of the strained Sauce Brune, and seasoned with black and cayenne peppers.  I stirred in some minced pickles and capers, then swirled in some softened butter.  While this sauce was making I ran the leeks under the broiler for a bit.  Oh, and I made rice at some point. So once again, we wound up eating at not quite the crack of dawn, but near enough.  Leeks are always lovely, and these were no exception.  The pork chops were maybe a little dry, but the sauce.  The sauce was interesting.  I’d been a tad dubious about the pickles, I’ll admit, but this was quite, quite nice – sharp and vinegary on top of a bit of heat on top of long-cooked beefiness.  It was great, actually. Sunday we saw our old, dear friend Paul, Paul who went to high school with us and is now, sweetly, a regular reader of these pages.  Paul seems to think I complain too much.  Paul works thirty hours a week at some job I don’t understand, making boocoos of money.  Paul owns his own house in Austin, and travels “somewhere interesting” every month.  This month was New York; next month is Paris.  He’s spent Christmases in Macedonia and Cambodia, and god knows where else. Fuck you Paul. But he has a point. So I will not complain about the fact that after a day walking around in the pouring fucking rain and saying our goodbyes to Paul, I set off on my own to Whole Foods to buy groceries, only to realize, halfway there, that I had no ATM card, and therefore no funds.  I won’t complain because, A) it’s my own damned fault, and B) I wound up having enough money (just) for the duck.  And I won’t complain about not being able to get in touch with Eric to see if he could get the rest of the supplies for Caneton Montmorency (Duck with Cherries) because if we had cell phones like normal people this wouldn’t have happened.  And I won’t complain about trudging home through the rain back home, getting Eric’s ATM card, going back out to the Astoria groceries, where no cherries to be found, so I wound up getting peaches to make Caneton aux Peches instead, because, really, what’s the point.  Emily was at our house when I got back, having been defeated by Manhattan-bound trains, or the lack thereof.  So that was nice.  “Pizza” screamed through my brain, and I very nearly succumbed.  I took the duck out of the refrigerator and then put it back in.  We watched a Hal Hartley movie cheerfully, all because I was convinced I’d be ordering pizza at the end of it.  But then, alas, a twisted sense of responsibility kicked in, and I made the goddamned Caneton aux Peches.  I was so depressed I can’t even remember how I did it.  Maybe Emily could tell you.  Basically, it was the same as Caneton a l’Orange, only with peaches in the sauce at the end.  I roasted some cut-up potatoes tossed with olive oil and rosemary, and Eric made some salad.  The duck was pretty good, though.  I never cease to be amazed, me being a fruit hater from way back, how good these fruit things are going with the duck.  I mean I know it’s classic and everything, but still…. It wasn’t until Emily had left that Eric and I remembered we had the Charlotte Malakoff in the fridge.  While Eric washed dishes I unmolded it.  And you know, it didn’t look that bad.  Sort of like an as-is discounted Baskin Robbins cake.  I cut it into slices, it was nice and firm.  We ate it without the suggested whipped cream, and it was good.  Perhaps it was debased by the crappy ladyfingers, I wouldn’t know being rather the debased sort myself.  But it was chocolatey and sweet and creamy and cold and a great, simple comfort. Then I woke up.  Woke up, in fact to the news on the radio that one of the two trains running out of my subway station is not going into Manhattan due to track damage.  Staff meeting at nine o’clock.  Just close your eyes and think of Malakoff. 7:52:04 AM    comment []