Friday, June 20, 2003

So there I was, alone in my kitchen at eight o’clock at night, preparing what would prove to be a most unsuccessful rendition of Jambon Braise au Madere.  The ham I had bought, at another overpriced grocery store I’ve just found in lower Manhattan, this one inexplicably full of weirdo foodfreak shit like fructose, is inevitably going to be a disaster. I knew I was in trouble the minute I approached the pitiful meat counter.  I could feel the eyes of the guy behind the counter on me.  He was just itchin’ to sell me some meat, if you know what I’m saying.  I could tell immediately that the store didn’t have the correct thing.  I’m not sure what the correct thing is, but this place didn’t have it.  All they had were these little balls of ham like miniature Boars Head hams, wrapped in thick plastic.  “Petite Hams,” I think they were called. “What can I get you?” the guy asked, pulling me implacably into his web. “Um, give me a minute.”  I scanned the cases for something more appropriate, but there was nothing. “What do you need?”  He wouldn’t leave me alone. “A ham.” “Ham steaks?” “No.  A ham.  I’m making a ham.” “These are already cooked,” he said, pointing at the Petite Ham Balls.  He said it like We are on the cutting edge of 21st century technology here at the Jubilee Grocery.  Our hams are PRE-COOKED!!!  “That’s kind of the problem.” The label printed on the thick plastic said “boneless.”  It said “salt added.”  It said “cured.”  All these seemed to me bad signs.  But on the other hand, it was only two and a half pounds, and if I bought it I wouldn’t have to go traipsing blinding through Manhattan at seven o’clock at night searching out ham.  It was a choice between the dread certainty of a terrible dinner, and the uncertainty of any dinner at all. Hell, I need to lose weight anyway. “I’ll take it.” I have nothing more to say on the subject of the Jubilee grocery, except that why in hell don’t stores, and banks and airline desks for that matter, start a special Infirm Line?  “If you are elderly, ill, neurotic, bitchy, or otherwise likely to take for fucking ever to complete your transaction, please stand here.”  I mean, this is a good idea.  The only thing I’m unclear on is where they should train the new checkers.  I got through the actual purchase of my groceries in about half a minute, even with the green nine-year-old who hadn’t yet memorized all the coins, so maybe the checkers should go in the regular person line.  Then again – why should I have to wait? So, home to Jambon Braise au Madere.  I was sure I had carrots, but I think Eric threw them out, so that was the first mistake.  But this was obviously going to be a total disaster, so what difference would a little lack of carrots make?  I browned sliced onions in butter and oil, then stuck in the ham, which I first carefully peeled out of its plastic wrapper and nylon string bag thing.  I poured in Madeira and Better than Boullion beef broth, added parsley sprigs, bay leaf and thyme, and let it come to a simmer.  Then I covered it and stuck it in a 325° oven for, oh, half an hour or so. I trimmed some spinach and parboiled it.  Rinsed it in some changes of cold water.  Squeezed out the water.  Also diced some mushrooms and browned them with butter and oil and shallots. I took out the ham, which seemed completely unchanged by its time in the oven, strained the braising liquid, which still looked like some Madeira mixed with Better than Boullion beef broth, and boiled it down.  I blended in some cornstarch – Julia told me to use arrowroot, but I didn’t find any at the Jubilee Grocery, and what the hell, the meal’s gonna suck anyway, who cares about the “clouding the sauce?” – with some Madeira, and dumped that into the braising liquid, at which point something very strange happened.  The cornstarch mixture like hardened into these solid lumps.  It was very weird.  I don’t know that I ever got it to break back down.  But the sauce, what there was of it, did thicken, and then I stirred in the mushrooms and simmered a bit.  Stirred in some butter.  I ate one slice of ham with the sauce.  The ham tasted terrible.  Chemical-y, like it had just been suspended in nitrates for weeks.  I don’t know what nitrates are, really, but that’s what this ham tasted like.  Ick.  The sauce would have been good if it had been cooked with a decent ham, but it hadn’t been, so it wasn’t.  The spinach, which I wound up sautéed in leftover Beurre de Moutarde, was boring, and still a little gritty.  And then, after eating, there were the dishes, which naturally I didn’t do, opting to watch half of “Kissing Jessica Stein” instead.  God, I’m so depressed. 8:20:06 AM    comment []