Sunday, March 09, 2003

Remember that movie “The Rescuers?”  I myself don’t remember much about it – there were two mice that talked like Bob Newhart and Zsa Zsa Gabor, and a dragonfly named Evinrude.  And there was this redheaded girl that every day was lowered into this nasty dark grotto by her stepmother or somebody, and had to dig for some treasure or something.  And it was cold, and everything was drippy, and eventually the grotto would fill up with seawater.  That movie terrified me.  Now it’s just my life, except instead of digging, I’m roasting lamb, and instead of water rising, our bank account is shrinking.  Many thanks to all you kind folks who’ve donated to the Julie/Julia Project cause – it’s been keeping us afloat.  Nevertheless, there was again some retrenchment necessary this weekend, while we await the next paycheck.  So, for instance, Friday was just chicken sausages, salad, and Navets Persilles. My mother called up as I was putting dinner together, and asked what we were having.  “Well, chicken sausage….” I said. “Uh huh.” “And salad.” “Mm hm.” “And turnips.  With parsley.” “Huh.  Well, honey, that all sounds good.  All but the turnips.” I just don’t think this view of my mother’s is fair.  It’s like some contrary resistance to our Southern roots – she hates turnip greens, too.  It’s true that boiling turnips smell a bit like a hallway in an apartment complex in Bucharest.  But these turnips, I have to tell you, were just great.  I started by peeling and quartering them, and blanching them for a few minutes in salted boiling water.  I drained them and put them in a pot with some Better Than Boullion©, which I will never again be able to do without, a few tablespoons of butter, enough water to cover, and some salt and pepper.  Then I just boiled slowly for half an hour, covered.  At the end of that time there was still liquid in the pot, so I took the cover off and boiled the liquid off.  Then I tossed with some parsley, butter and lemon juice.  The sausage I’d just cooked in a pan with some olive oil, and Eric had made a little green salad.  And while it certainly wasn’t one of my most challenging Julie/Julia nights, the turnips really were a small sort of revelation.  I mean, I already knew I liked turnips.  But these were so simple and yet so satisfying, meltingly tender, just the smallest bitter bite cut by the butter and lemon juice.  This is something I will serve to my children, should I ever have them. Aside: I just read today that children who are raised with two or more pets in the house during their first year of life are 77% less likely to develop allergies.  Maybe the same thing goes for food.  If I do this right, I will have three-year-olds eating foie gras and calves’ brains with relish.  How hard could it be? Saturday, we went ahead and bought our lamb – thirty bucks for six pounds.  But the nice Greek butcher cut it off the bone right in front of me, and tied it up.  I was watching like an eagle, I think I picked up some tips.  Between that and the sites you guys have kindly brought to my attention, I should be able to do this no problem.  He even cut up the bone for me to use for stock.  He didn’t have any lamb kidneys, which I need for one of the fillings, but he says he’ll have them next week.  I love going to a good butcher, it’s such an experience – authentique, Helen would say.  Maybe I ought to be a butcher.  In New Mexico.  Well, thank goodness that’s decided -- nothing like having a life plan. Dinner on Saturday, however, was not lamb – it was sautéed chicken with Sauce Brune aux Fines Herbes, rice, and Choux de Bruxelles a la Mornay, Gratines.  I started, feeling very authentique, by making not one but two brown sauces – one with the lamb bones and one with chicken parts.  Clarified two sticks of butter.  I wonder if that fancy-dan French $10 a pound butter produces as much of that nasty milky white precipitate as Hotel Bar?  Ah well.  I put six tablespoons in each of two big pots and turned the heat on under them to moderately high.  Dumped half a cup each of chopped onions and carrots in each pot, and then put the lamb bones in one and some chicken wings and gizzards in another.  These I browned – as best I could, there was a little too much chicken stuff in the one to brown very effectively – then took out, setting into bowls.  On the back burner I had begun boiling a scarily large amount of Better than Boullion© and water in a frighteningly small pot.  Aside: thanks to my husband and a little metal skewer, we have four working burners again!  It sounds like a Final Destination episode waiting to happen, but all turned out well…. I sprinkled four tablespoons of flour into each pot and browned the resulting roux over low heat for several minutes.  I am at this point feeling very satisfyingly like a line cook.  When the boullion is boiling, I dump six cups into each pot, and beat.  I add 2/3 cup of vermouth, thyme, bay leaves and parsley to each pot, and the lamb bones/chicken parts.  I let them simmer away for a good couple of hours. The lamb sauce, at the end of all this, I strained and put away in the refrigerator, still feeling just so very industrious.  The chicken brown sauce I also strained.  Two cups of it I would be using for the Sauce Brune aux Fines Herbes.  I had trimmed the brussels sprouts and put the little Xes in their stems.  I boiled them for a few minutes in salted water, drained them, and placed them in a pot with some melted butter and salt and pepper.  I covered them with wax paper and stuck them in the oven for twenty minutes.  When they were done, I put them in a casserole dish, (Eric is beginning to get that hunted “too-- many-- dishes” look on his face now.)  I made up some Mornay sauce – a bit of roux, boiling milk, salt and pepper, cheese, and dumped it on top of the brussels sprouts.  Eric was in charge of the rice, I had nothing to do with it. I started the Sauce Brune aux Fines Herbes by boiling down vermouth with minced green onions and some dried herbs (because my Astoria grocery didn’t have fresh – I did use my fancy-dan Penzey’s spices though, so it could have been worse) -- parsley, basil, rosemary and tarragon.  When it had boiled down to just a few tablespoons, Julia said it was herb essence.  I drained it and set aside. I sautéed up some chicken thighs and legs in a pan.  (The dishes are now frightening me, too.)  I think here I made a misjudgment, by not dumping out enough of the cooking fat resulting from the chicken.  I dumped in 2 cups of the brown sauce and the herb essence and simmered for a bit, then took off heat and stirred in some butter and fresh parsley.  Meanwhile, I had stuck the brussels sprouts with mornay sauce under the broiler for a couple of minutes. A nice Saturday night dinner.  The brussels sprouts were great, of course, which is really a no-brainer.  The only problem was the Sauce Brune aux Fines Herbes wound up really thin, and not sufficiently herbal-tasting.  I mean it was fine, it was sautéed chicken with sauce, but it didn’t have the depth I would expect from a sauce I’d simmered for two hours.  Again, I think it was because I didn’t really get the cooking juices out of the pan before I added the sauce. So now it’s Sunday, and I’m in the doghouse with Eric because until yesterday I didn’t know who Robert Blake is.  Is that so wrong?  Eric says to me, “Meanwhile you know all these obscure actors who –“ “Who what?  Acted in something, rather than blowing their spouse’s brains out?” His only response that was to tell me that if I googled “White OJ” I would find Robert Blake.  And it turns out he’s right.  So I stand corrected.  I guess.  I will make it up to him by trying – again – to make ladyfingers for Charlotte Basque.  Maybe then he’ll forgive me for my woeful ignorance of tacky celebrity murder cases.   11:55:28 AM    comment []