Wednesday, April 02, 2003

Piperade redux. Due to circumstances beyond my control, which I will not go into here, I was forced to repeat a recipe – Piperade, the last of the egg dishes.  It was a good opportunity, actually, to look back and reflect. The main thing I notice, while making this really very good and quite easy dish, is that I am eating before 8 o’clock.  This experience gives me a tingly, Twilight Zone-ish thrill.  What, after all, does one do with the dishes cleared by 8:30, and an evening of American Idol and 24 spread before you like an unbroken horizon stretching before you in a desolate northern land? At six-thirty I began by slicing a half cup each of onions and green peppers and the piece of ham I had leftover from the Fonds d’Artichauts Mirepoix, mashing a half clove of garlic, and peeling and juicing and slicing three tomatoes.  How did I become the sort of person who peels tomatoes without complaint?  My mother would be so ashamed – she’d call me soft.  Aye me, what’s to be done?  (Oh, and I ate the remaining half clove of garlic, nibbling at it while I cooked, and tears rolled down my face.  How’s that for weird?) I sautéed the ham strips in olive oil until lightly browned, scraped them out of the skillet.  Sauteed the sliced peppers and onions until soft.  Added the garlic and some cayenne pepper, then laid the tomato slices on top.  Salt and peppered, covered the skillet, and cooked for five minutes.  Uncovered the skillet and cooked a bit more, on high heat, until the liquid from the tomatoes evaporated.  While this was doing, I’d beaten eight eggs with some salt and pepper.  I dumped the peppers and onions and tomatoes out of the skillet, wiped it out, and poured the eggs in.  I cooked them, stirring lightly with the flat of the fork, until they were almost set, then set the pepper/onion/tomato mixture on top.  Stirred it in a little.  Laid the little browned ham strips on top and, due to circumstance beyond my control which I won’t go into here, finished it off with some frou-frou little sprigs of parsley.  And that, my friends, was that.  Piperade is a totally simple dish, and can easily be doubled, if you have a big enough skillet, to serve a nice little crowd for brunch.  If you make it right, it’ll come out in nice little slices like a pie.  Mine was a little looser than that, maybe looked a tad messy on the plate, but boy was it good.  The peppers and onions were so refreshing, and the ham, being expensive French (and I will NOT call it “Freedom,” even in jest, I HATE how stupid my countrymen are too much to mock their idiocies…) ham, was just excellent on top.  Of course, maybe this is just what food tastes like before eleven o’clock at night. So – what does one do with the dishes cleared by 8:30, and an evening of American Idol and 24 spread out like an unbroken horizon in a desolate northern land?  I find that I, in addition to watching the supremely pointless American Idol and the embarrassingly entertaining 24, begin to make an aspic.  And I’m sure you know just how desperate I must be to do that.  The aspic I began (actually a chaud-froid, but same difference) was Crabe en Chaud-Froid, Blanche Neige.  All I did was prepare the crab.  Eric, after all, had bought the stuff for an arm and a leg, and we wouldn’t want it going bad.  So I heated up some butter in a skillet (burning it the first time around because, my God, Kiefer was endangering that poor girl who looks like Cate Blanchett!), threw in some shallots and the crabmeat, and cooked for a couple of minutes.  Stirred in some mustard and cayenne, and salt and pepper, then three tablespoons of cognac, which I let simmer until it had nearly evaporated.  And that was that, now it has to chill.  Until I get around to continuing with aspic.  As good old Pepys would say, God grant I don’t become so goddamned lazy I forget to make the motherfucking aspic. Also forgot to mention – last thing, I promise, then I’m out of here – that yesterday I began my next and final roasted, marinated lamb.  Marinated in Marinade au Laurier, an uncooked wine marinade with bay leaves.  Six cups of red wine, a cup and a half of red wine vinegar, half a cup of olive oil, 35 bay leaves, salt and peppercorns.  Stick the lamb roast in it, cover, and don’t forget to turn it now and again. This is supposed to marinate for four to five days.  That’s if I leave it at room temperature – it’ll be longer if I stick it in the fridge.  Everyone I’ve mentioned this to has stared at me as if I’ve just popped out of an alien pod, and I’ll admit it’s a bit intimidating.  But I trust Julia implicitly – she hasn’t brought me down with food poisoning yet.  Putrefied roast lamb, anyone?   7:25:32 AM    comment []