Tuesday, August 26, 2003

No work on Monday.  I find I love more than almost anything not working, or rather not commuting, not going to an office.  I love hauling the laundry to the Laundromat.  I love going to the butcher.  I love puttering about the house.  I love going to Astor Wine when I hear that I have been given a $50 gift certificate by that fair shop (Morrell’s wine shop also sent me a bottle, though the one they sent was corked, not the fault of Morrell’s so much as it is of our wonky mail situation, whereby the box was delivered downstairs to the diner, and sat atop a refrigerator for two of the hottest days of the year before coming to us.  My life is getting really surreal these days) and getting advice from the girl there about what sort of wine to drink with kidneys in red wine sauce with beef marrow.  I love that though I told her I was ready to blow the entire wad on one really great bottle, she basically refused to sell me anything for over twenty bucks.  And I love that the wine she did wind up selling me is described as “feral.”  Like me. If I only had broadband, and could answer emails at a rate of something more than one per hour, I would be utterly content. Monday night was the last night.  Rognons de Veau a la Bordelaise.  Green Beans.  Sauteed Potatoes on a plate decorated with Mayonnaise Collee.  For dessert, Reine de Saba, Attempt #2. Even here at the bitter end I have an unerring instinct for making things difficult for myself.  So I procrastinated on my final meal.  I answered my emails, slowly.  I even, god help me, played a little Civilfixation.  But put off though I might, dinner time came, and I began.  I cleaned the kidneys much more thoroughly than I had in the past – my new boning knife made going after all the bits of white fat, and the white tubes buried in among them, much easier.  I made the Reine de Saba.  This took a much longer time than it should have, because I kept getting distracted.  But I managed to get the chocolate melted with the coffee, and sift the cake flour, cream the sugar with the butter, separate the eggs.  I mixed everything up as directed, stuck it in the oven.  I made the Mayonnaise Collee.  Now, this is just mayonnaise with a mixture of vinegar and wine and stock and softened gelatin mixed into it, so it gets solid and can be squooshed through a pastry bag to make designs.  Mayonnaise florets.  Mayonnaise curlicues.  In 1961, this was a different country, no doubt about it.    I am learning, or I guess I should say relearning, right up to the end.  For some reason, when approaching mayonnaise, I always think “I’ll use the blender.  Beating it by hand is just too Martha, and I’ll fuck it up.  The blender is easier.” But the thing is, I always fuck up the mayonnaise when I use the blender.  Always.  Tonight was not exception.  I dumped all the stuff into the blender, blended it up, blended in the oil, using the mayonnaise-making cup from the food processor with the pin hole in the bottom of it.  And wound up with liquid.  I heroically did not scream FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT at the top of my lungs, but rather started again.  This time I would do it by hand.  I did not have high hopes.  But I beat together the egg yolks, and the mustard and salt, and then I had Eric hold the mayonnaise-making cup with the oil in it while I beat, and damned if it didn’t work like a fucking charm.  Julie, if you learn nothing else, learn this – You CAN Make Mayonnaise By Hand.  Then I stirred in the gelatin that I’d softened in the wine and vinegar and stock, and set it in the fridge to set.  Next, Rognons de Veau a la Bordelaise.  Simple.  Saute the kidneys in butter for ten minutes, turning every minute.  Set them on a warm plate in the oven.  Add shallots to the cooking juices, sauté for a minute, pour in half a cup of feral red wine, and a pinch each of thyme, pepper and crumbled bay leaf, and boil down to half.  Pour in some Beef Better Than Bouillon (one last plug here, one last opportunity for them to send me a lifetime supply) that you’ve mixed with cornstarch.  Let that simmer until thick.  Slice the kidneys thinly, and fold them, and their juices into the sauce.  If you’ve forgotten to deal with the beef marrow until this point, do it now. The key to dealing with beef marrow is this: have the butcher slice the bone in half for you.  If the bone is frozen, it will thaw slowly in the fridge, so that by the time you remember you need it, the marrow is nice and soft, and you can cut it out in one strip, then dice it and let is soak in hot water a couple of minutes to soften it further.  Then you can drain it and toss it in with the kidneys.  Let it warm over very low heat for a couple of minutes.  Meanwhile, you’ve been sautéing potatoes all this time, and steaming green beans.  The Mayonnaise Collee is set, and you use a jimmied pastry bag made out of a Ziploc bag to make some mayonnaise curlicues on the plate for the potatoes.  Only Mayonnaise Collee, as it turns out, is really better used for cold plates.  The fancy mayonnaise curlicues quickly melt into thick mayonnaise globs.  They still taste yummy with the potatoes, though. The Rognons de Veau a la Bordelaise do not, most importantly, taste like piss.  This is because you cleaned them well, and because they were very fresh.  Also, any remaining pissiness is counteracted by the two-pronged attack of the beef marrow, the ultimate fat, smooth, velvet, rich, and the parsley sprinkled on top, sharp, fresh.  The dish is very good, and a good match with feral wine, which is cloudy and red and tastes a little like blood.  For dessert, some creamy smooth Reine de Saba and Season One, Episode Two Buffy.  Eric and I, eating together, at the end as we were at the beginning, alone with three cats and a television. This is the end. It is a strange thing to write, and a stranger place to be in. The final kidneys have been cooked, and eaten.  I even made the gelatin mayonnaise.  And though the kidneys did not taste like piss, my piss, I notice this morning, does smell like kidneys. I do not know where to go from here.  I do know that I have doorways to choose from that I would never have seen a year ago.  I know now that sometimes the most irrational, nay insane, path is the one that will bring you around to the other side.  I know how to make béchamel.  And I know, or at least am beginning to know, what it is that Julia’s been trying to teach me all this time. So, the Project has come to a close.  There will a postscript or two.  (Sunday, for instance, after a Saturday pilgrimage.)  I’m going to need some time to get my head together.  I’m going to need to get a gym membership.  I’m going to be treating some great ingredients respectfully.  I do not know what this blog will become.  I imagine it will become something – things evolve.  I know I have. So thanks everybody.  I’ll be in touch. -- Julie P.S.  Go Juliedudes, sign up – so I can let you know what the fuck is up!  7:56:12 AM    comment []