Thursday, May 08, 2003

I distinctly remember thinking, last night at 12:30, as I smoked my third (at least) cigarette and drank up my third (at least) vodka tonic, as the Blanquette de Veau a l’Ancienne (Veal Stew with Onions and Mushrooms) was just embarking upon its long journey through my digestive system, “Hoo boy!  I’m going to regret this at 6:30 tomorrow morning!” My prophecy was only partially correct.  I do indeed regret.  The “Hoo boy!” part, however, never really came to pass. Elizabeth, this is not your husband Ethan’s (mine brother-in law’s) fault – he was being very good and responsible.  Nor is it Emily A-W’s, who I’m going to have to stop calling a bad influence since I basically put her in a headlock last night and dragged her to the corner store for cigarettes.  No, the fault lies entirely with me.  I’m a bad, bad person.  But you can rest easy knowing I’m paying for my sins.  Let’s just say it’s a Two-Pepsi One morning. This is what happens when you start making Blanquette de Veau a l’Ancienne and Galettes au Camembert (Camembert biscuits) at 7:45.  The stew was easy enough.  The grossest part was simmering the veal stew meat in water to get rid of the scum.  Veal stew meat produces scum like you would not believe.  Nasty.  But once you’ve simmered it in water for a couple of minutes, drained it and rinsed it real good with water, it’s fine.  I stuck the veal back in the pot, poured in some BtB© chicken stock to cover the veal, brought it to a simmer, and added two quartered carrots, three itty-bitty onions with cloves stuck in them, two celery stalks, a bay leaf, thyme, and a bunch of parsley stems.  Julia specifies that I should not use the leaves.  This baffles me, but whatever.  I do as I am told.  I brought it all to a simmer and let it sit on the stove, partially covered, for an hour or so.  I made up the dough for the Camembert biscuits – scraped the rind off the camembert, mashed it (the creamy cheese stuff, not the rind stuff) with six tablespoons of butter, mixed it together with two eggs, salt, pepper, cayenne, and two cups of butter (not sifted as Julia would have me do – this was the first step on a long downhill journey toward mediocrity.)  Rolled it up in some waxed paper and let it chill in the freezer. About halfway through the cooking time for the veal, I dumped in some big quartered onions.  This was what I did instead of separately cooking itty-bitty pearl onions, because a) Eric couldn’t find itty-bitty pearl onions at our Astoria grocery, and I couldn’t find them at the Food Emporium at Union Square, because the Food Emporium at Union Square is an evil, evil place, and I had to throw a fit in the produce section because the sight of all these people willingly spending their money there makes me want to puke; and b) I’m a lazy mother fucker.  Also somewhere in here I: -- cleaned and de-stemmed a pound and a half of mushrooms, and put them in a bowl with some lemon juice -- drained the veal, saving the stock, placing the meat and vegetables back in the casserole once I’d wiped it out -- made up a veloute with the veal broth: the whole butter y flour roux routine, beat in the broth, simmer.  Fold in the mushrooms, simmer some more -- rolled out the camembert dough, cut it up into little rounds, brushed them with beaten egg, stuck them in the oven -- heated up the oven -- went out for cigarettes -- beat together 4 ½ egg yolks with ¾ cup cream -- had Eric stir the egg yolk mixture in with the veal and veloute -- took out the camembert biscuits, which I’d forgotten in the oven This did not all necessarily happen in this order.  Also in here Eric boiled an entire five-pound bag of potatoes and made enough mashed potatoes to feed all the starving children in Afghanistan.  The camembert biscuits were okay, even overdone.  Would have been quite nice cooked correctly, though they didn’t have quite the punch of the Roquefort biscuits. The dinner was nice.  Veal in a creamy rich sauce, with mushrooms and heaping helpings of mashed potatoes.  It was really too much, though.  Eric has this way of making mashed potatoes that taste delicious but leave you feeling like you ate a bag of Kwik-Crete.  And the veal in cream sauce was no slouch in the death-by-fat department either. And no, I didn't make the vanilla souffle.  Leave.  Me.  Alone. I would eat some of the leftovers for breakfast, if only I thought it wouldn’t send me into immediate cardiac arrest.   8:07:36 AM    comment []