Tuesday, March 04, 2003

“A good peasant dish!” he declared it. Why, thanks. The dish he referred to thus was Artichauts Printaniers, Artichokes Braised with Carrots, Onions, Turnips and Mushrooms, and while I might argue artichokes automatically remove one from the peasant list, turnips I supposed trump the rest.  Besides, it’s the buying of artichokes on a regular basis (and lamb, and duck, and big honkin’ bottles of vermouth) that’s keeping us peasants, so there’s that interpretation. Start by cutting off the tops of the artichokes and trimming the tips off the lower leaves.  Cut them in lengthwise quarters and cut out the chokes, a task sometimes easier said and done, though I found there was a trick to it, a way of slipping the tip of the knife behind the last of the nasty sharp little purple-tipped leaves and making a smooth rotating cut down and around under the choke so all the furry stuff comes out in one stroke.  Boil them for ten minutes.  Also boil some pearl onions, just for thirty seconds, and drain and peel them.  Dice some onions and sauté them in butter, throw in some garlic, then add the artichokes, the onions, and also the carrots peeled and quartered, if you’ve remembered to bring home enough, and the turnips, also peeled and quartered.  Let them cook covered, over low heat, for ten minutes.  Add wine vinegar and vermouth, turn up the heat, and let it reduce by half.  Then throw in some beef broth, parsley, bay leaf and thyme.  Cover with a round of wax paper and put in an oven for an hour and a half.  Ten minutes before the end add some mushroom caps you’ve sautéed in butter or olive oil. It’s alright.  Actually, one reason that it seemed a peasant dish, aside from the turnips, was the artichokes.  You kept having to use your fingers and your front teeth to scrape the good stuff off the leaves.  I suppose I find artichokes essentially an odd thing to try to eat.  I certainly like artichoke hearts, but they’re a hell of a lot of work, and though the stuff I can manage to suck off the leaves is nice, I guess, I feel a little weird picking through the leavings on my plate like a monkey. You know, speaking of, we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark on TV last night, and I decided I really want a monkey. Besides the artichokes, there was rice and broiled chicken with Sauce Robert.  These brown sauces are kind of kicking my ass, they takes so goddamned long that we wind up eating at ten-thirty even when the meal is totally simple.  And this time it just wasn’t worth the trouble.  A lot of that was completely my fault.  I had the husband doing the shopping, and I put on the list “giblet/bones.”  I mean, what kind of instruction is that to give to a husband, seriously?  He came home with some perfectly nice veal neck bones, but of course I should have told him to get some chicken parts, because the sauce would be going on chicken.  Anyway, I browned the bones, and some onions and carrots in regular old cooking oil, because I’d run out of lard and I had no energy for clarifying butter.  Should have clarified the damned butter.  Then I took out the stuff and was going to make a roux, but I’d forgotten to ask Eric to pick up flour, so I wound up having to use some cake flour, and the roux never really thickened up like it ought to have.  I poured in some boiling beef broth, added vermouth, parsley, thyme and a bay leaf, and let the stuff boil for two hours or so.  (Artichoke prep happening sometime in here.)  To make this brown sauce Sauce Robert, I cooked some minced onions in another pan in butter and oil to very soft.  Added (yet more) vermouth and let it cook down over high heat until reduced to a syrup, added two cups of the long-simmering brown sauce, and simmered ten minutes.  Just before serving, I stirred in three tablespoons of Dijon mustard creamed together with three tablespoons of butter and a bit of sugar (Oops!  I just now realized I forgot the sugar.)  I also stirred in a bit of juices from the chicken pieces I’d broiled.  The sauce was not good at all.  It was thin and boring, and just tasted like I’d stirred mustard into some beef broth.  Very disappointing, and all my fault.  Bad Julie!  Bad!  Bad! You know, I’m on my second year of the Samuel Pepys diaries.  This guy wrote every single day for nine years, and about ninety percent of it is about eating a good barrel of oysters and drinking and being very merry and picking up some new books and drinking and going to work, where not much to do, and drinking.  Can be pretty stultifying on a day-to-day basis.  But it’s addictive too, because everyone once in awhile he goes to see nine men drawn and quartered, or masturbates while thinking about his friend’s daughter, or witnesses the Great Fire of London.  I like to think I’m like that. 7:55:25 AM    comment []