Tuesday, August 05, 2003

I would like to interrupt this program for a long-overdue firebombing of the New York City subway system, but of course I can’t because then I’d go to jail and I couldn’t finish the Project.  But holy fucking christ.  I was on the subway yesterday evening for an hour and a half – congestion due to a malfunctioning signal on the 5/6, some police investigation on the N/R, followed by just general fuck-up-ed-ness.  So they say, but I know better, I know the MTA possesses the “Julie Clock,” and can detect when a delayed train can completely break my spirit and drive me to suicide.  And the trains were totally screwed again this morning.  There is nothing much sadder than arriving fifteen minutes late to a job you hate, not only thirty and fat with a monstrous zit on your face when every woman around you has trendy new outfits and an ass you can grab with one hand, but also drenched in sweat like you just ran the fucking marathon because of your half-hour wait on a crowded subway platform in Queens.  And then, you know, I complain about how the daily commute makes me soul sick and I hate hate HATE living in New York, and I sometimes wish someone would just bomb the fucker back to the stone age, and people look at me with this polite blankness like they can’t fathom why I’m so upset and I want to KILL THEM.  I develop churning hatreds for people on the subway because they wear headphones annoyingly, or use too much hair gel, or wear their watches with the faces in so I can’t read them when I’m late for work.  I must get out of here. Okay.  Back to food.  Last night I had big plans.  This was before the subway fiasco, which I really am going to avoid going into again.  I was going to do both Clafouti and Clafouti a la Liqueur – cherry flans, one with the cherries soaked in kirsh and sugar for an hour, one not.  I was going to do Julia’s remedy for canned mushrooms, which is sort of silly since it’s actually rather difficult to find canned mushrooms these days, but we’re going by the book here.  And I was going to revisit Supremes de Volaille a Brun, Chicken Breasts Sauteed in Butter, which I remember as being a particularly good method, dredging the chicken in flour and frying them very quickly over high heat in clarified butter.  Well, with the train fiasco, which I really just am not going to even think about, but which resulted in my being not only late but a bit, shall we say, fragile, I had to retrench a bit, making only the Clafouti a la Liqueur and the Supremes de Volaille a Brun, along with some red peppers sautéed with garlic in olive oil and rice.  It was okay.  I think I overcooked the chicken – how stupid that I got freaked about underdone chicken when I’m clearly doomed to die of Mad Cow Disease – and the fact that you have to clarify the butter before you fry up the chicken detracts from the easy-as-pie aspect.  Also, I seemed to remember from last time that it got more of a crust on it.  Also, I’ve never gotten over the problem that when you stir the parsley into the butter sauce in the end, after you’ve let it cook over pretty high heat until it gets a nice golden brown color, if frizzle the parsley into crispy little bits, which is fun to do but not particularly tasty.  I must try again.  The Clafouti a la Liqueur I made by throwing some milk and the kirsch drained off the cherries and eggs and flour and vanilla and salt into a blender.  I poured a bit of this batter into a metal baking pan and let it cook a bit on a burner, just until it started to form a film on the bottom.  Then I put in the cherries and poured over the rest of the batter, and let it bake in a 350-degree oven for an hour. While it was baking I dozed off.  I am very tired, these days. In fact, at work this morning I’m having one of those days where the concept of filing and making hotel arrangements and scheduling and doing all the rest of the secretarial bag just makes me want to break down and cry right here in my cubicle.  I’m so fucking depressed. Anyway.  Sorry.  So I baked the clafouti, and then I took it out.  It was poofy and brown and pretty.  It tasted pretty good too.  I think.  I was, I may have mentioned, awfully tired. I am going to name my greyhound Clafoutis.  Except, what do you call it for short?  1:56:37 PM    comment []

So I had this great idea: since I'm exhausted all the time and I want to sleep, why don't I start writng my posts during the day, at work?  Jump start government funding of cult-ah.  Brilliant.  So that's what I'm going to do -- will post my culinary adventures this evening... see you then.   7:27:20 AM    comment []