Thursday, June 05, 2003

So here I sit.  It is quite, quite close to eleven o’clock at night, and I am digesting my shrimp in Beurre Blanc and my asparagus in Sauce Moutarde, and I am being filmed by my film crew, which No I will not reveal the details, because I maintain a good healthy fear of jinxing my good fortune.  This is all a profoundly weird moment, but I have drunk enough vodka tonics to blunt the sharp absurdity of it – thanks to the good offices of Em, my ever faithful friend and compatriot.  Eric has left me for the wilds of Wyoming, but I am cooking sauces made entire of Danish butter, and so hack though I may, life is not all bad. I will not write for long, I fear, for tomorrow I must to work after what I can feel in my bones is turning to be a very rough night.  Which is too bad, because shrimp in Beurre Blanc is worth a certain amount of dwelling on.  Especially with Danish butter.  Now you all know I’m no fancy French butter girl, but Julia, in the recipe for Beurre Blanc, calls for “best-quality” butter, and since Julia is no fancy French butter girl either, when she makes such a statement, I listen.  So – eight dollar a pound imported butter.  Which, as it happens, is glorious.  For the sauce, all I did was reduce down a fourth cup each of lemon juice and white wine vinegar, mixed with a little minced shallot and salt and white pepper, and then, over very low heat, stir in oh, say, 3 STICKS of butter.  Danish butter.  A little bit at a time.  Until it’s all melted in.  Then I just tossed in some shrimp I’d briefly sautéed, and that was that.  I have come to the conclusion that everyone on earth should make Beurre Blanc for themselves and their loved ones on a regular basis.  Sure, you’ll die a little quicker, but what’s a month or two of life when you’re eating Beurre Blanc? On the side was asparagus with Sauce Moutard, which is just mustard beaten with boiling water, olive oil, salt, pepper, lemon juice and parsley.  Also good.  Very good on asparagus.  Considerably less likely to kill you than Beurre Blanc. Or SARS. Such a quick meal, so why, sick as I am, am I not getting to bed until after midnight, and this without having managed to wash a single dish?  It’s the wonder of television, I guess.   8:01:59 AM    comment []