Monday, March 10, 2003

I will not do it.  It’s an inane and overused trope, and I won’t submit.  I won’t say “lamb-apalooza,” I won’t, I won’t…. Shit. Yes, indeed, much lamb going on.  Much cooking in general, actually.  I started cooking on Sunday at about 11am, and more or less didn’t stop.  I did not step outside, no more than briefly cracked open a book not MtAoFC, didn’t watch TV or play a lick of Civ III.  Eric even did the traditional Julie chore of cleaning the bathrooms.  For me, it was all kitchen, all the time. Started by attempt number three of ladyfingers.  The putting together went alright – I had all the ingredients measured out before, and had buttered and floured the cookie sheets.  I quickly beat the eggs yolks with the sugar, then beat the egg whites until stiff, then gently folded the flour and whites, a fourth at a time, into the yolks.  The dough or batter or whatever you call it stayed puffy and somewhat stiff, and though I of course made a bit of a mess with the pastry bag, the forming of the ladyfingers went relatively smoothly.  (Though I think next time I’ll take Rayne’s advice and just plop the stuff down on the sheet with a spoon.)  I powdered them with sugar, and when I turned the cookie sheets upside down to shake off the excess, the ladyfingers stayed in place, which I think was a good sign, even though not much of the excess sugar came off.  I stuck the first sheet in the oven for ten minutes or so, while I was squeezing out ladyfingers on the second.  (“Squeezing out ladyfingers,” now there’s a phrase that out to make it into common usage….)  When I took them out, they were pretty and golden and not burned at all.  I set the first pan aside while I sprinkled the second with sugar, put it in the oven, and set up some cooling racks. Then I went to take the ladyfingers off the first cookie sheet.  Only they.  Wouldn’t.  Come.  Up.  Every cookie I tried to pry off shattered.  Dammit!  I look again at the recipe, and notice that JC says take them up “as soon as they are done.”  And sure enough, when I take out the second sheet, and remove the cookies immediately, it’s easier going – though still no picnic.  So yet again I’ve managed to fuck up the fucking ladyfingers.  I do manage to get them all off, whole or in pieces. No time to pat myself on the back or anything, though, because next up is the Sauce Brune au Cari I’ll be serving with the leftover lamb in the fridge for lunch.  For Sauce Brune au Cari I first mince ¾ of a cup of onions, and cook them slowly in butter until soft and lightly browned.  Then I stir in a couple of tablespoons of curry powder and cook.  Then mashed garlic.  Then a cup of the brown sauce I made yesterday out of the lamb bones, which has gone to gelatin in the fridge under a disc of golden fat, which is fun to take off.  That simmers for ten minutes or so.  I’m supposed to add a bit of lemon juice, but I don’t have lemons, so I very carefully add just a few drops of white wine vinegar, and that seems to freshen the taste up.  I stir in some butter, and there we have it.  The lamb I’ve heated up in a pan with a bit of olive oil.  The lamb with the sauce is very nice, but one gets the feeling that the curry sauce is the kind of thing that would make anything taste nice, i.e., very much like curry sauce.  Eric says he’s going to make migas with curry sauce and ground pork for breakfast on Monday.  Which is to my mind rather stretching the term “migas,” but whatever. Okay, alright.  Now the Charlotte Basque.  You know, it strikes me as imminently unfair that this kind of cooking doesn’t make me lose weight.  Because it certainly feels like I’m doing the triathlon For Charlotte Basque start by making a chocolate-flavored Crème Anglaise: beat together sugar and egg yolks, beat in a bit of cornstarch, and then, slowly, 1 ¾ cup boiling milk into which you’ve melted three ounces of semisweet chocolate.  Pour the stuff back into the pot you were boiling the milk in and stir over low heat until the sauce thickens, but doesn’t simmer.  Julia wants me to use a candy thermometer for this, but a candy thermometer is one of those things I seem incapable of owning, so I muddle through without.  When it’s thick, strain it through a sieve, presumably to get rid of any bit of yolk that might have cooked.  Beat in some vanilla.  Stick in the fridge until it’s cool, stirring every now and again. I took this time to throw out old and nasty leftovers – a picked-over duck carcass with seamy-looking peaches, some unidentifiable sauces, three-year-old tarragon.  I also dip my slightly sad ladyfingers in grand marnier diluted with water, and let them drain on racks, and then they’re done draining, I line my pyrex 1-quart measuring cup with them.  I’m using my pyrex 1-quart measuring cup because, you may remember, I broke my soufflé mold on a sidewalk in lower Manhattan, and besides I’ve decided to make a half recipe of the dessert, because minimizing the desserts around here can only be a good thing.  The lining goes pretty well, actually.  It looks not totally unlike JC’s illustration. Once the custard, I guess it is, is cool – it takes longer than you’d think – cream together a stick of butter and some almonds I’ve pulverized in my coffee grinder.  Beat in the custard, and some grand marnier, and spoon it into the pyrex 1-quart, ladyfinger-lined, measuring cup, layering with some more ladyfingers.  Stick it in the fridge until set, or until you remember it’s in there. At this point, I had roughly one hour when I didn’t have to be cooking.  And I’m not going to tell you how I passed that hour, because I’m entitled to a little privacy, ain’t I? Dinner.  Lamb stuffed with Farce Duxelles, potatoes, and Chou-fleur avec Sauce a la Crème.  The stuffing was just minced onions sautéed in butter, minced mushrooms sautéed in butter, minced ham, minced pork fat (trimmed off some pork belly again), salt, pepper and rosemary.  Mixed that all together, then took out the big-honking piece of lamb and cut it in half.  Thirty dollars for lamb, I should get two meals out of it, don’t you think?  I untied the piece I was going to use and spread the stuffing on the inside.  Okay, now for the tying back up.  I had some new twine, thin cheap stuff that kept breaking on me.  I will confess to a brief but intense breakdown over the initial knot.  But the site Victoria sent me in comments, and James’ knot lessons, were invaluable, and once I’d got the first knot, it was almost what you might call a piece of cake.  I got it all wrapped up nice and pretty, and the stuffing didn’t even leak out all over creation.  So yea!  I stuck it in a 450-degree oven, for fifteen minutes, turning to brown all over, then turned the heat down to 350. Okay.  Potatoes, peeled and chopped up small and dried, and thrown into a pan with hot olive oil and butter.  We’ll leave ‘em alone and see what happens. Cauliflower.  The sauce is, ridiculously enough, just cream simmered until reduced by half, and seasoned with salt and pepper and, since I don’t have lemons, the barest little bit of white wine vinegar.  The cauliflower I steam.  The cream doesn’t really reduce as much as I’d like, though there’s less of it in the pot after it boils over all over my stovetop, but whatever.  I turn potatoes and they’re getting good and brown without sticking, which is exciting, because historically I have trouble with browning potatoes. I take the lamb out after another half-hour or so and set it on a plate while I make some sauce with the cooking juices and the rest of the lamb Sauce Brune I’d made yesterday.  Only when Eric starts carving the lamb, it’s not quite done in the middle, so we have to stick it back in the oven for another 5 or 10 minutes, on the plate since I’m using the roasting pan for the sauce.  I hope the plate won’t break, and it doesn’t. Everything is lovely, though I could see getting tired of lamb one of these days.  Actually, the potatoes are kind of the best part.  The lamb is good, though – nice and pink and with ham and stuff inside.  The cauliflower is cauliflower with cream.  Maybe if I had blue plates I’d like it better.  Continuing a trend, we never get around to the Charlotte Basque – being too busy watching the prime minister’s questions and drinking too many vodka tonics. Leave me alone, I deserve it. 7:50:52 AM    comment []