Thursday, April 17, 2003

All evening, Eric has been dancing around the house to the Rolling Stones with his lower lip pooched out, and messing with me while I’m wielding big knives, and playing Moby on the stereo.  (Moby.  I ask you….)  I don’t know whether to attribute this giddiness to the weather, or his revelation that we don’t have to pay $800 in taxes, or the fact that we’re on our third night of “Iron Monkey.”  I also couldn’t say why it’s taken us three nights to get through this movie, which is a perfectly nice little movie, with some pretty damned cool kung fu shit in it – it’s I suppose some combination of the late cooking, several cocktails on Tuesday, and the fact that there’s just only so much kung fu one can watch in one night. For dinner, I had originally planned to use leftover lamb to make moussaka.  Then I looked at the moussaka recipe in more detail.  Turns out moussaka is a pain in the fucking ass.  There was a time when I would have jumped right in – started cooking moussaka at nine o’clock at night, sleep be damned.  I’m getting old, I guess, I know my limits.  It’s a little sad. Anyway, instead of moussaka, I had decided on Epinards a la Basquaise, a Gratin of Spinach and Slice Potatoes with Anchovies.  I served it with some London Broil that I fried up in a pan with butter and oil rather than broiling, because I had to bake the spinach, and I didn’t want to get into that whole oven/broiler conundrum. Epinards a la Basquaise is not terribly hard, but it does take a bit of time.  Mostly the spinach takes time, even though I got lazy enough this time to trust the “pre-washed” label on the bag.  I tore all the stems off and picked out the nasty shit, and threw it into a pot of boiling water for five minutes.  Then I drained it and let it sit in cold water for another five minutes.  I peeled a pound of potatoes – Eric had bought his from the Long Island City grocery, and it looked like someone back in Iowa or wherever they were from had gone after them with a switchblade, there were all this slashes in them that had started getting moldy, it was kind of gross – but I managed to get enough good ones for a pound.  I thinly sliced them – my mandolin would have done it quicker, but then we’d have had to wash a mandoline, and I’ve almost come to the conclusion that New York City rental kitchens simply aren’t large enough to handle mandolins.  Anyway, sliced the potatoes, boiled the spinach.  Drained the spinach, squeezed out the water, chopped it up, sautéed it with butter.  Threw in some flour, let it cook a couple of minutes, then I was to add some beef boullion. I open up the fridge, looking for my Better Than Boullion©, which ought to be paying me a commission, by the way.  Where’s the Better Than Boullion©?  Hey.  I can’t find it.  Where the hell is it?  I knew it was here…  Damn.  Goddammit!  Where the fuck is my Better Than Boullion©??!!!! Ah.  Yes.  There you are. You know it’s time to clean the fridge when simply opening it provokes an instant hissy fit.  I add two thirds of a cup of water with Better Than Boullion© stirred into it to the spinach, cover it, and let it cook for ten minutes or so.  I’ve put some water to boil for the potatoes, and I let them boil for five minutes.  I also grate some Swiss cheese.  Eric bought the Swiss cheese – a block of the stuff bigger than my head.  Apparently the guy at the deli asked him, “How many pounds do you want?” and Eric, I guess not wanting to become known as the Swiss Cheese Wimp by asking for a quarter of a pound, breezily replied, “Oh, just the one for now.”  Oh, and I mashed up two tablespoons of anchovies with four tablespoons of softened butter.  When I inadvertently licked my fingers, I got worried.  Anchovies taste bad.  I stirred a third of a cup of cheese into the finished spinach. Okay, so to put together the Epinards a la Basquaise – place half the potato slices in the bottom of a buttered dish, spread half the anchovy butter over them, and half the spinach with cheese.  Repeat.  Sprinkle cheese mixed with breadcrumbs over the top, and melted butter.  Stick in a 375° oven for half an hour until brown and warmed through. The first bite worried me.  That anchovy flavor really made me cringe.  Eric, not aware of the anchovy element, said, “Julie, this is really good.  It tastes fishy, somehow.” But you know, eating something with anchovies is like bleeding yourself after being hit with the “Buddha’s palm.”  If you just relax it’ll go much easier.  Once I let my mouth kind of let go, stop resisting the puckery taste, the anchovy blended in with the taste of the spinach and the soft safe smoothness of the potatoes, and became part of a flavor that was good.  I like Epinards a la Basquaise.  I like it a lot. Tonight, a new journey begins.  Eric, discontented with the lack of challenges in the freestyle format of Eric’s Spicy Thursday, has himself decided upon a regimen:  Eric Spicy Fried Chicken Night.  He’s going to cook his way through “Fried Chicken” by Damon Lee Fowler.  While not the classic tome that MtAoFC is, there is certainly something Quixotic and dangerous about cooking nothing but fried chicken.  Besides, I was needing a little extra something to keep my weight up.  I’m wasting away here. Tonight, chicken Florentine….   7:58:03 AM    comment []