Sunday, March 23, 2003

On Friday a break from the Project was afforded by that essential New Yorker’s outing of the season, the Matisse/Picasso exhibit at MoMA QNS with Eric and Emily.  Pretty embarrassing to get off the seven train at that stop, in the middle of that grungy district, and know that you are being immediately labeled as one of those, the rich white folks from Manhattan slumming it in the far boroughs for some cul-chah.  I wanted to wear a big sandwich board that read “I LIVE here!!!”, but had to make do with just standing outside with Emily in the rain, smoking Camel lights and looking on at the crowds disdainfully. After the exhibit, which was indeed great, and was also a cattle run, and at which we saw an actor that it’s just driving us crazy we can’t remember his name or what he’s been in, we went to the closest chowhound-recommended joint, a Turkish place called Hemsin, which was entirely filled with rich white folks come from MoMA QNS.  Embarrassing again.  But the food was good.  And we had fried beef liver, which is what the one Turkish couple in the place had, so that was enough to make us feel superior.  So.  Saturday.  Early in the day we went in search of tax forms, but could find them nowhere.  That was irritating.  It was a beautiful day, which was nice, but we saw dogs, which made me resentful and sad, which was irritating.  Then we delved farther into Queens for shopping, found great produce stores and butchers and a Key Food with aisles as wide as those in Texas, which was nice.  Also a wine store with rose wine from Navarre for five bucks.  Also nice.  Then we went home, and I don’t remember much after that.  Mostly just hysterical sobbing.  I’d like to say it was an emotional reaction to this wrongheaded war we find ourselves in, but if it was, I’d buried pretty deeply under livid anger over my handmixer that seemed to have spontaneously broken, my filthy kitchen floor, and my pointless and pathetic life.  I made some Charlotte Chantilly, Aux Fraises, Strawberry Cream.  The last of the charlottes, and I can’t say I’m sad to see them go.  The first decision I made was not to bother with ladyfingers – I’d just put the stuff in coffee mugs and serve it plain.  This decision was made because I didn’t have enough eggs, which was irritating.  I mushed the strawberries – which we got for just $2.50, which was nice – through a sieve, to make a puree.  I stuck that in the fridge, then beat 8 egg yolks with 2/3 cup of superfine sugar until “pale yellow and… forming a slowly dissolving ribbon.”  This I had to do with my wire beater, because of the aforementioned broken handmixer.  Irritating.  The spiraled wire that forms the handle of the beater slipped, revealing some NASTY black greasy stuff that has been gradually packed in there, unreachable, for who knows how long, and now was smudging all over my (very sore) hand.  Something more than irritating.  In fact, it resulted in a considerable amount of bitter tears and just a bit of beating my head against the doorframe.  When the egg yolk-sugar mixture was thick enough, maybe, I set the bowl over some almost-simmering water and beat it some more.  I was supposed to beat it until it “thickened into a cream and [became] uncomfortably hot for [my] finger.”  Well I didn’t know how what I had could thicken into a cream, so I relied on the uncomfortably hot bit.  Which took a long time, and was messy, what with me always dipping my finger into the stuff, and trying to keep that finger from then getting infested with the NASTY FUCKING black stuff seeping out from under the handle of the beater.  When it was finally, sort of, uncomfortably hot, I beat it yet some more over a bowl of icy water, supposedly until it was again doing that ribbon thing.  Whatever.  Until it had cooled down.  Then I stuck that in the fridge too.  While those things were chilling, cleaned the kitchen floor with some 409 and a toothbrush.  That’s right.  I got down.  On my hands and knees.  And brushed.  My kitchen floor.  With a toothbrush.  And occasionally beat my head against the floor.  And sobbed dryly.  I made the Sauce Ragout for the Sauce Perigueux (Brown Madeira Sauce with Truffles) I would be serving over ham.  To make the Sauce Ragout, I browned some beef neck bones and diced onions and carrots in lard, then took all the vegetables and bones out and put in some flour.  When that had browned – I let it get browner than I usually do, figuring with brown sauce, browner’s gotta be better, a la Paul “Scary Roux” Prudhomme.  Then I poured in some boiling Better than Boullion© broth, vermouth, a couple of tablespoons of tomato paste, a bay leaf, parsley and dried thyme, and from then on, there was nothing to do but let it simmer. I had two hours to kill.  We watched “Lilo & Stitch.”  Which, in my opinion, is the most heartrending film since “Sophie’s Choice.”  I sobbed pretty much straight through the movie, and for a good few minutes after it was over.  My husband thought I’d gone completely around the bend.  He just doesn’t share my acute sensitivity. When the sauce was done I strained it and set it aside.  I also set out some Green Giant green beans to thaw.  One of the recipes I got to get out of the way was just Julia’s way of dealing with frozen green beans.  (Nice.)  Simmer some water with minced shallots, butter and salt.  Throw in the green beans, partially thawed and boil, covered for about five minutes.  Then uncover and boil off the remaining water.  I was afraid they’d be too overdone, so I poured some of the water off.  Then toss with butter.  Not having much experience with green beans, I’ve no idea if Julia’s way is better or worse than just following the directions on the back of the package.  They tasted good.  Like the ones we ate as kids, when I hated all green beans, and Jordan didn’t like his ‘reen beans ‘runchy.  Ham (I had one of those massive ham steaks, about half an inch thick) I sautéed in butter.  Easy enough. For the sauce, I poured a fourth cup of Madeira, and the liquid leftover from the jarred truffle that’s been sitting in my refrigerator for the last month and a half, in a pan and let it boil down to syrup.  Then I added the Sauce Ragout.  Let it simmer a bit, added a slash more Madeira.  Added the last truffle, diced, let it simmer.  Put it over the ham.  Whatever.  It was fine.  Frozen green beans with butter, ham with sauce.  The sauce actually was very good, better than the Sauce Madere I’d made a few days ago.  But I think that was not to do with the truffles, which were tasteless, as far as I could tell.  I think I just did better with browning the roux.  Now it is today.  I have shelled some peas.  We’ll be having them with a duck casserole roasted with turnips.  Or I will.  Eric may not be joining -- he is having one of his episodes, wrapped up in the dark in bed.  I can see it now – 40 years from now, our kid will be sitting on the pyschiatrist’s couch, saying, “It was always ‘Don’t bother your father, he has a headache.’  And don’t get me started on my mother… you know she used to bang her head on the floor.”  My God, they’re doomed before they’re even born.   6:36:46 PM    comment []