Toast

Election Night Curry

I'm taking a vacation day on Wednesday so that I don't have to wake up for work, since I suspect any effort to go to sleep at a reasonable hour Tuesday night would be doomed. I am so anxious about the election that I can work up a sweat reading the paper, and I have begun to address audible comments to televised news and punditry, with only the cats to hear me.

I in no way presume that anyone is interested in my position on this contest, but lest you think me evasive or coy- I'm happy to tell you that I (enthusiastically) support Barack Obama. I'm not going to talk about the issues here. It isn't that I think it would be somehow wrong to do so, but rather that I am already way too keyed up, and I'm pretty sure the only possible effect of airing my views in any detail would be further angst on my part, and maybe boredom on yours. Apparently there are still a substantial number of undecided voters. The mind boggles. I can't imagine what they want to hear, or what they are waiting for.

In any event, if you are, as I am, planning a Tuesday evening, after voting, wrapped in an afghan in front of the tube, clutching a bowl of some sort of comfort food, and a spoon (or chopsticks), you may have been, as I was, intrigued by the recipe in the Times Magazine last weekend. The article discussed Katsu Curry, a specialty of Go Go Curry restaurants. This Japanese (! curry?) chain now has a few outposts in New York, which are proving popular.

Katsu curry is, "a comfort food, an energy food, a power food, a guilty pleasure," says Miyamori, the proprietor of Go Go.. It is "British Indian food as imagined by excited Japenese and cooked in the United States a hundred years later," per Sam Sifton, who wrote the article. As he commends it for televised football viewing and as it can be served layered in individual, personal bowls, it sounded just the thing to me. And really, the bowl arrangement is best. I've got it spread out a bit here, so you can see all the parts- but layered is nicest- and most efficient for living room consumption
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The dish consists of rice, topped with a fruity pork curry, and further topped with strips of fried, panko encrusted pork chops, a handful of shredded cabbage, and a dribble of Tonkansu "fruit and vegetable" sauce.* Sound yummy? I picked up the S&B Japanese curry powder* and the Tonkatsu sauce* at the Asian grocery in the Strip at lunchtime on Thursday, and I was pretty sure this was going to be the meal in question. I was so certain that I dragged an eclectic bag of groceries to and home from post-work theater-going (August Wilson's last play, "Radio Golf"- and a terrific performance it was, too), just so I could try it out this weekend.

To avoid disappointment, (I do NOT want to suffer from disappointments of any kind, if at all avoidable, on Tuesday) I thought I'd have a dry run ahead of time, so here you are. A little research revealed that there are also chicken versions of this curry, which was good, because I had ground chicken, and no ground pork. Also, I oven- fried the pork chops, rather than deep frying them, partly out of nutrition guilt, but mostly because I didn't fancy dealing with smoky fat..laziness, more than anything. Also- sue me- I used basmanti rice rather than short-grain Japanese rice, because I like it better- especially with curry. Anyhow, the curry keeps, and I will reheat it and cook it up for election night, making another pork chop to slice up then.

This is really just the thing for the purpose- invigorating to the fingertips, strong and sustaining..it suits me fine- and no doubt would also work for the football viewer. Here are the instructions- as minimally altered by Yrs Truly -based mostly on availability of ingredients:

3 Tbsps butter
1 lb. ground pork, turkey or chicken
s and p
3 Tbsps flour
3 Tbsps S&B Japanese curry powder
peeled onion, quartered
3 cloves garlic, peeled
peeled sliced carrot
2" fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
mango, peeled and coarsly chopped, or a peeled banana and 2 Tbsps sweet mango chutney- such as Major Gray
a green apple, peeled, cored and quartered
2 Tbsps tomato paste
1 Tbsp worchestershire sauce
1 cup chicken broth
6 thin boneless pork chops, pounded
2 beaten eggs
1 cup of Panko breadcrumbs
cooked rice
shredded cabbage
tonkatsu sauce

Curry Sauce: Melt the butter and add the meat. Brown the meat thoroughly, add S and P, then stir in the flour and curry powder. In the meantime, combine everything else, up to, and including the Worcestershire sauce in a food processor, and combine thoroughly. Add to the meat, and cook, stirring for five minutes or so, until sludgy. Add the chicken broth, stir and cook down over a very low heat, for about an hour. You can do this ahead, and reheat it, if you like.

Pork: Preheat the oven to 450. Line a cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Beat the eggs, and put the eggs and panko each in a wide shallow bowl. Heat a large saute or frying pan with two tablespoons of peanut oil until almost smoking. Dip each chop into the egg, then coat thoroughly with panko, and, for a good crust, repeat. Set in the hot oil. Brown each chop on both sides, then set on the lined cookie sheet, and place in the preheated oven. Finish cooking in the oven, until cooked through and beautifully browned. Slice chops on the diagonal.

Assemble: Put a nice scoop of rice in each bowl, ladle on some curry sauce, and top with slices of pork and a handful of shredded cabbage. Squirt on some tonkatsu sauce, tasting it first, to make sure you like it. (I do. It kind of tastes like V-8 juice with the color and texture of oyster sauce. In a good way. Really.) Consume, holding the bowl in one hand, and chopsticks, or a spoon in the other. And hope for the best.

* I have pictured these ingredients in an effort to make it easier for you to find them; it always takes me forever to locate a listed ingredient in an Asian shop...though they are labeled in English, it just helps to know what they look like.

Simply Delicious: Beautiful Invalid Food

Not everyone would agree that this ordinary plate of skinless chicken and steamed vegetables in broth is beautiful. But sometimes a not-so-nice situation can make for a renewed recognition of everyday boons. Recently, I have been appreciating the simple flavors of fresh, well-raised, seasonal food in its more or less unadorned excellence. And this is the fanciest meal I've eaten in some time.

I am being very, very careful about what I'm eating as I slowly regain my appetite after a recent bit of gastric unpleasantness. I managed to get some sort of food poisoning or viral infection which pretty much took the fun out of food and everything else for a while there. With a real dread of starting something up again, I followed the bland recommendations of the hospital discharge summary for longer even than they recommended.

Before it began, I had roasted and chilled, but not yet eaten, a beautiful free range organic chicken . So when I came home from the ER, before falling into bed, I removed all the meat from the bones, bagged and froze it, and put the carcass in a big pot to simmer for broth. I woke up in time to strain the broth and refrigerate it, and went back to sleep. After a night in the fridge and removal of the fat on top, this broth became the basis of all nourishment for a couple of days. This plan comported well with my energy level at the time.

Once I moved past the broth and ginger ale stage, I added to the menu. First, I tried some rice/congee cooked with a nub of ginger root, as recommended by my daughter, and reader/friend Lynn D. They were right on target with this one. I don't know if it is just because I'm not still 100%, but I think this is something I'd be quite happy to eat when entirely normal. It really tastes like food and smells lovely, yet is entirely, uh, non-challenging.Also nice is just plain basmanti rice, cooked with a chunk of ginger and a garlic clove, which you fish out before eating. For the congee, you just cook a bit of rice in lots and lots of salted water, very slowly, until it falls apart, and grows ever so slightly gelatinous. I think some rice cookers have a special setting for this homey comfortable porridge.

Also good was some super-plain applesauce. I hadn't been shopping, but I still had most of the contents of my weekly CSA farmbox, which included a bunch of organic apples, and some homemade cider, as well as a cauliflower, green beans, carrots, cilantro, potatoes and turnips, and a little round orange winter squash which is a small version of the hubbard ,according to our weekly bulletin.

The clean, clear tastes of the vegetables, broth and chicken in my most recent dinner in a bowl was a real pleasure, reminding me how lucky I am to have access to this range of local organic vegetables and free range chickens. Of everything in the bowl, only the parsnip was from the supermarket. (I love the sweetness of parsnip in any sort of broth or boiled dinner.) Maybe it's a matter of abstinence making the heart grow fonder, but it seems as if I am somehow better able to appreciate each individual flavor. I feel that I'm pampering myself with great and subtle delicacies.

This summer, we've also had, via our CSA farmer, local cheeses available from two other farms, one of which does raw cows' milk cheeses, the other, goat cheese. My favorites thus far have been the cows' milk cheddar and a plain goat cheese. I think I may be ready for some cheddar soon. The first of the aged camenbert arrived this week. I think I'm going to have to age that one just a little longer. I plan to braise a lamb shank today, until it falls apart, de-fat it with a vengence, and have it with some mashed potatoes- so I'm getting there. But no rush.

Just a Note

I do realize that it has been quite a while since I've posted. Basically, I'm was having a bit of a break. Then, a few tummy problems happened- causing not-so-surprising lack of interest in food. (Anyone want a recipe for boiled white rice and mashed bananas?) Feeling quite a bit better, but looking to catch up in other areas, too. See you soon.

Toast Mascot

When I saw this little item in Nupur's lovely blog, I knew I had to have one. I emailed her to ask her if she made it, which she did. And then, she gave it to me! Am I lucky, or what?.
Though it is a purse in this, its original incarnation, clearly it could also be a potholder. If you would like to make one too, you can find the pattern, by Hannah of Bittersweet, here.

Thank you, Nupur- you are indeed a generous soul.

Zucchini Revelation

Could be that the solution is all about the pectin.* It came to me while I was making this zucchini and lemon tart, a Madeleine Kamman recipe from the delightful When French Women Cook. And I will provide you with that very recipe after I have secured your attention for my zucchini idea. Which is entirely untested by me, except in the case of this lone tart. But a big advantage of blog writing (for the writer, not the reader) is that you don't need credentials, or a reliable sample of any kind to hold forth.

The season of zucchini overdose is upon us, whether we suffer from lopsided CSA boxes or gardening neighbors bearing gifts of giant, horsey squashes they cannot bring themselves to consume. Everywhere we read recipes for zucchini breads and zucchini pancakes, zucchini carpaccio-desperate to use it up.

My position on zucchini is not that I don't like it, but more that I could happily live without it, if I weren't so averse to waste.. (Except for those paper-thin, breaded, fried ribbons served with lemon wedges in neighborhood Italian-American restaurants- which I love without reserve, even if some are not so wafer thin, utterly crispy and boiling hot as one might wish..) Mostly, to my mind, zucchini is just kind of boring, and that is IMHO, because it tastes like green water. It's squash nature is diluted by its water content and it exudes slush like crazy when you cook it, so you have to use various techniques- like grating it and squeezing it, or combining it with say, eggplant, which absorbs a lot of water, or sticking it in a bread or cake, where it tastes like something else entirely..

This problem has been discussed quite a bit, and now that I think on it, perhaps the following thought has been booted about too. But I haven't seen it (except in MK's little recipe note), so I'm going to tell you about it from my own viewpoint, here in the kitchen, looking at my tart. Which is basically a dessert. Delicious, but not what a person wants to do with all of her zucchini lode. Or load. What I intend to do, is to try the method with a savory application or two, to see if it will work. I will keep you posted.

So the deal, in this recipe, and according to MK, is that you cook the sliced zucchini with lemon juice and caraway seeds and a little sugar, which ingredients she says, "bring out the pectin" in the zucchini, so that the exuded water magically thickens and concentrates into a syrup. Which it does. The syrup tastes intensely of the squash, and, thanks to the lemon juice- is not really all that disturbingly sweet. And it is no way excessively damp or soggy. In this recipe, though,it is then baked into quite a sweet lemon custard tart- clearly a dessert.

But here's my idea: First, the caraway is a diversion, not involved in the chemistry of the thing, I'm sure. Lemon has its own high pectin content, sugar promotes syryp-ness, jelling, etc. So the solution to the tasteless, watery zucchini problem may be to cook the lemon and zukes with just enough sugar to make this happen, without turning the whole thing into some kind of fruit preserve. It is my belief that the answer to this is carmelized onions and/or garlic,
both of which taste great with summer squash, as does lemon. And with that in mind, I intend to work on a savory zucchini tart and/or pizza thing, which I hope will be extra flavorful, savory rather than sweet, and not the least bit soggy. Stay tuned, if you are interested.I promise to reveal all, even if it turns out to be awful.

In the interim, you might like to try this recipe from the French Alps, as marginally adapted by, well, me. I think it is really cool, and I like the caraway. It's one of those slightly odd provincial French recipes that kind of grows on you-like that pie from Provence with the chard and raisins? It seems a tad funky at first, but then you just kind of want to keep eating more, and could possibly become addicted. The custard may look like it's curdling before it's cooked, but it will be okay after baking.

You need:
A 9 inch pan (preferably a white porcelain quiche type pan), lined with a butter based pie dough of your choice
3 small or one large zucchini
1 Tbsp butter (I actually used a local seasonal "pasture" butter which is lightly salted, and skipped the salt. Because this butter is delicious, and only available in the summer.)
2 Tbsps sugar
pinch salt
1/3 tsp caraway seeds
juice 1/2 lemon
tsp grated lemon peel
lemon custard mixture

Preheat oven to 375F. Melt the butter, and slice the zucchini thinly. If using the large kind, cut it into quarters first. Add the zucchini to the melted butter,. Add the rest of the ingredients, and stir, cooking until the zucchini is not so green, and begins to look slightly transparent, and the liquid in the pan is thick and syrupy. Cool completely, then line the bottom of the tart with the cooked zucchini, and tuck it in the oven for 20 minutes. Meanwhile, make the lemon custard.

Lemon custard:
Cream 6 Tbsps butter and 2/3 cup of sugar until light. Add the juice of 2 lemons, 2 eggs, 2 yolks, a pinch of salt and a glug of rum. Mix well, then fold in 2 Tbsps of flour and the finely grated zest of one of the lemons. Even mixed well, it looks funny, but never mind.

Once the partially filled tart has cooked for 20 minutes, carefully pour in the custard and cook for about 25 minutes more, or until the custard has set, with some lovely brown spots.

Serve warm or room temperature, or even chilled, in very thin slices as it is very rich, like an eccentric lemon curd.

*It could also be that I'm a bit obsessive about pectin and sugar, having just spent a fair amount of time learning about jams and jellies in a 3 day class. Or both.

Class holiday: Chapter Three, the last

Heaven on Seven, a farmers market, and the Jam Class Buffet

By Thursday morning, I had concluded that there was no denying my unexpectedly ravenous morning appetite. I guess I'm not usually particularly hungry for breakfast, because my real job is sedentary, and I don't generally work until nine at night, either. So I took my hungry self to Heaven on Seven, described by the Slow Food Chicago guide as "New Orleans North, " where I had the above-pictured breakfast of poached eggs and andalouille sausage on cheese grits.

I'm afraid that I chuckled when I saw the plated breakfast, which looks like the Fisher Price play clock we used to teach my daughter to tell time, in the analog days of yore. The waiter seemed a mite offended, though I meant only to show my appreciation. I made sure to tell him how delicious it was, and I think I was forgiven. It really was wonderful, everything cooked perfectly, and the chopped green onions on top were just the right touch.

Heaven on Seven is located on the seventh floor (hence the name) of the Garland building at 111 N. Wabash, across from Macy's- formerly Marshall Field.* The ambiance is Early Tabasco, and they serve a variety of wonderful looking gumbos and estoufees and other cajun specialties. It was seriously crowded for lunch, by the time I left, but easy to be seated for a late breakfast.

After breakfast, I headed on over to the Daley Plaza Farmers' Market, one of many downtown and neighborhood markets sponsored by the Mayor's Office of Special Events. This one is open on Thursdays. Beautiful flowers and fruits, vegetables, baked goods, surrounded by umbrella tables, and there was a cooling fountain, too. There is a rule that all food must be identified by point of origin, which is pretty cool-pretty much everything I looked at was grown by the people selling it, and was from Illinois or Michigan.

As a traveler, I was kind of frustrated, I would have bought loads if I was at home. But I did have a fridge in my room, so I got me some homemade cheddar and a mini ciabatti for sandwiches, as well as a small box of apricots. I was really pleased with everything, especially the apricots. I had just about given up on fresh apricots- though I love the dried ones.

Supermarket apricots generally taste like potatoes. These little guys were not particularly soft, but they were a lovely dark orange, with speckles, and the little boy selling them explained that there might be a few worm holes, as they hadn't sprayed for 2 years. I was glad I took a chance on them, they were sweet/tart and spicy- just delicious.

I gave one to the elderly lady sitting next to me on the plane home, and she agreed that they were heavenly. I also bought 2 bunches of beautiful Michigan asparagus, and carried them home in my tote bag on the plane. I was a little worried that they might be a problem with the security folks, but they passed through the x-ray without comment, and I was able to serve them to my friends Friday night.

The third night of class was as busy and informative as the first two; we finished and bottled up our chutneys and jams, and made numerous bottles of garlic dills. I was able to wrap my jam bottles in my laundry, to bring home in my checked suitcase, but had no room for 4 quarts of dill pickles, so those were donated to a classmate driving home. The final photo is Chef Bob Hartwig , arranging a gorgeous buffet of his beautiful baked goods and our mutual jams, jellies, chutneys and pickles. We tried everything, then packed up our loot, our certificates(!), and our French Pastry School aprons. Much though I love this supply of goodies, my most valuable memento is my little notebook of recipes, annotated with my class notes. And you will be seeing the results here, as time goes on.

Addendum

Things we made:

Lemon jelly with sliced lemons
Apple jelly with vanilla
Strawberry Mint Preserve
Orange marmalade
Blueberry preserve with red onions and sherry vinegar
Chocolate raspberry jam
"Nutella" type chocolate and hazelnut spread
Hazelnut praline
Dill pickles
pickling spice
Shallot confit

Demonstrated (and eaten!):

Pastry cream
Brioche dough
sweet tart pastry
lemon pound cake
Scottish buttermilk and cream raisin scones

Class Holiday: Chapter Two

Tuesday class, Wednesday wanderings, and Russian Teatime

I arrived at the French Pastry School offices a little early, as requested, to be given a pre-class tour of the place, which wound up in Kitchen Three, where Chef Bob Hartwig and his assistants were all set up. And I mean all set up. Unlike the students in the certificate program, continuing education participants have all our ingredients pre-measured for us and set up at our workspaces each day. Talk about pampering. There were only ten in the class, some food professionals, some semi-pros, who cater a bit, or sell some product to the public seasonally, and rank amateurs, like yrs truly.

Our instructor was a very clever young fellow, a good teacher, and a pastry chef of note, who clearly loves what he does, and communicates his passion for his work in a low-key, low-ego style, which is charming- and helpful. If you are thinking of taking a class at the FPS, I'm sure you will like this guy . You can read his bio on the FPS website, but what it does not tell you is that for the last year, he and his fiancee, also a chef, have had their own bakeshop in Chicago. It is called "Lovely".I wasn't able to visit it, but perhaps you can; I think it must be terrific, judging by the baked goods we sampled in class.

As a bonus, besides the jams, jellies and pickles, which we made ourselves after his demonstrations, Chef Bob, demonstrated and baked fantastic pound cakes, brioche, and some insanely good scones. There were also tarts in an special sweet pastry, with our marmalade, vanilla pastry cream, and pretty berries on top. I watched it all, tasted everything, and brought home the recipes, so look out! A member of the class asked him who would have the nerve to make their wedding cake, and he said that they were having pie instead. Which is genius in my book.

The first day we made, or started, orange marmalade, apple jelly with vanilla, strawberry-mint jam, chocolate raspberry jam and "nutella", and Chef Bob made or started the best scones ever, a sweet pastry with almond meal, brioche, and beautiful little pound cakes. You see in the photo two of my classmates- each of us shared workspace with another student. The mirror above allowed us to watch the product in demonstrations, a very handy teaching tool. It was very cool to see the various caramelization stages and techniques as they happened. Thus we learned to make a hazelnut praline for our nutella-nifty.

There were chef jackets to borrow, aprons and funny hats to keep. My partner was a real chef, Tim, who has an extremely cool, and apparently very upscale restaurant, the Stonehorse Cafe in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was very kind and tolerant of my amateur clutziness.

I learned a whole lot of stuff, and am not going to attempt to convey much in the way of that sort of information here- I hope it will be reflected, to some extent, in future posts. However, one standout bit of info, which I somehow managed to avoid learning while making jam over the years, and was totally news to me, was the concept, and existence of the measurement of Brix. Brix (abbreviated"Bx") is a measurement of the ratio of dissolved sugar to water in a liquid. It is the ratio of sugar to total of the solution- so a 25Bx solution is 25% sugar and 75% water.

Here is the cool thing- if you didn't already know- perhaps this is general knowledge and I just missed it?- is that a solution which is going be jelled will be from 61-65 Bx. And you can measure the Bx with a little hand held Refractometer! Which we did. The deal is that it is not as magic as I thought it might be, our strawberry mint jam didn't jell properly, and made a lovely thickish sauce instead.

There are serious additional factors- eg. strawberries have a lot of water that leeches out over time. You are measuring the liquid while cooking it down, but it gets more water from the strawberries. Possible solutions include macerating the strawberries and sugar for a couple of days before cooking and including the exuding liquid in the measuring of the water. Or, as a classmate suggested; she lets her strawberry jam sit out and evaporate for a few days, then boils it up again before bottling up.

Nonetheless, the refractometer is a great tool, and I'm thinking about getting one. They are expensive- especially if you go for digital models. A handheld analog model, like the one we used in class is about $165. You have to make a lot of jam to warrant it, but still....Very easy to use- you smear a bit of your solution over a glass thingie like a lab slide, close it, and hold it up to the light to read.

Well, after class, I was really beat. 5 hours standing and/or perched on a stool after a major shopping day? Too old for this approach. So, I decided to take it easy on Wednesday. Basically, I ate too much breakfast again, goofed around, read my book, and visited an excellent poster shop, and had a lovely, if diminutive lunch at Russian Teatime. This restaurant, near the Art Institute, offers a variety of eastern european treats, and I wish I'd left myself the appetite for more. It is pleasantly dark and old-worldy looking, I'm a sucker for a gleaming samovar, and I dug it.

My lunch was small because I was still full from breakfast, alas. I had an appetizer portion of asparagus vareneky, a ukrainian dumpling- thin half moons of very thin noodle dough, filled with asparagus, red pepper, and feta cheese, boiled and served on a plate, drizzled with basil butter. I also had a glass of really lovely, properly hot russian tea, served with several kinds of pretty sugar cubes and lemon slices, as well as a complimentary loaf of some kind of oniony black bread, the remainder of which, I took away with me. All was delicious, and this time, I'd left myself enough time for a nap before class.

More about that, later.

First photo is from the FPS website; my camera photos of the process were too sad.

Collards, Deconstructed

I am a long-time fan of slow-cooked greens with smoked pork and cornbread. It is a mainstay of american home-cooking, and can be one substantial, stick to your ribs inducement to heavy labor. Or, in the alternative, it is an excellent lead-in to a big old, afghan-covered long winter's afternoon nap. Despite its southern origin, it is not really a hot weather dish at my house.

I have a personal craving for dark bitter greens which is sometimes so intense that I think it must signal a nutritional deficiency of some kind. So when the collards showed up in the CSA farmbox this week, there was no question that I was going to be eating them. All. Up. This is a dish simultaneously so utterly simple and so baroquely fusionesque that describing it as if it had "origins" is entirely ridiculous. Naturally, I can't resist. However, basically, it is a room temperature salad.

Checking epicurious in the hopes of finding a recipe for collards that seemed summery, I came upon the main recipe, which is a Brazilian method for cooking ribbon-cut collards very quickly in the fat rendered from a couple of chopped slices of bacon. In need of my cornbread to go with, I came upon the remains of some polenta with parmesan from last night, which I had spread in a cakepan and refrigerated. This got cut up into cubes, which were browned and tossed in.

The result is a chewy room temperature Brazilian/Italian/Pittsburgh hillbilly salad, which made a very satisfying summer lunch. This is how you make it- enough for 2 people. I made it in my wok, because it is a good pan for cooking down food of serious volume. You have plenty of room to stir it around. A big saute pan would be fine, too.

1/2 lb collard greens
2 slices bacon
polenta, spread in a pan, chilled until firm, and cut into 1/2" cubes
salt
pepper
pinch red pepper flakes
spray olive oil

Cut the bacon into small pieces, and cook in a large pan until crisp. Meanwhile, prepare the collards. Cut both sides from the tough center stem and bottom stem of each leaf. Stack the leaves in a tidy pile and cut in half cross-wise. Roll each half into as tight a roll as you can, cut into thin ribbons and put in a bowl.

Preheat your broiler, and spray the polenta cubes with olive oil spray, or toss in a little olive oil. Place them in a single layer on a foil-lined pan, and broil until crispy and browned, keeping a close eye on them. It is best to brown them quickly, so the center will not get tough...but as they are small, they could burn easily-be careful!

Once the bacon is crisp, add all the greens to the pan with a bit of salt, some pepper, and the red pepper flakes. Stir them until wilted, toss in the polenta cubes, and serve. Or, let it cool down a bit first. This is very chewy, you could cook it longer if that's totally not your thing, but I think it would lose quite a bit of its character. And I am not a person who generally goes for seriously al dente veg. Obviously, you could also cook some onions in the bacon fat, or add red wine vinegar, or raisins. but I like the plain article, and , of course, it is very, very easy.

The polenta cubes may seem like a bit of a pain- and they would be if you fixed them specially. But if you just make some nice soft polenta to go with your dinner the night before, and do a bit extra- the next day the collards thing is easy-peasy, as Jamie Oliver might say.

Update, a Winner, and News for Gardening Pittsburghers

A report from the bad blogger: So where is the roundup? Why haven't you heard from me? Where's my banner?
The shortest, truest answer is sloth, on the part of the undersigned.

In more detail: There was insufficient response on the Terrinereama front to warrant much of a roundup. I think I picked a topic which may have appeared fussier and more complicated than it actually is, putting people off. In any event, I do have a winner of the cookbook. She is Solange, of Just Baking. Her terrine can be found here, and her book will be on the way in short order.

You haven't heard from me because I'm having a lazy patch. I expect to have a new post up within the week, as I'm making something I hope will be fun. I love writing this blog, and have never viewed it as a chore. I don't intend to start treating it like work...so if I don't feel like writing it..I don't. There are an awful lot of old posts available if you feel like browsing the categories...unlike my banner, they have not mysteriously disappeared.

Typepad assures me that they are working on the mysterious disappearing banner issue. I really hope that they can restore it..I don't have it backed up anywhere, because I m a fool. I patched it together with inadequate software, no experience, and some good luck, on my old (late) computer. I was very attached to it, despite its inadequacies.

Good News: If you live in the Pittsburgh area, and have a garden that's not all planted up yet, the Urban Farm in Wilkinsburg still has a good selection of naturally grown seedlings available. This is a great boon, because it's getting really hard to find what you want at this late date. They have heirloom varieties and seem very interesting indeed- I hope to go visit them soon. You can find out more about them and proprietor Mindy Schwartz through their website.

See you soon.

Every once in a while, I suffer a setback in my ongoing battle with myself to keep from posting pictures of my cats in this inappropriate forum. It's a slippery slope, as I am totally non-objective on the issue of how delightful and fascinating they are. Once I get going, there's a major danger of overkill. This would be Archie, who is unimpressed with the excuses cited above.

Mothers' Day Digression: Ouef en Gelee (FD #2 1/2)

I admit that this little detour is on the loony side. I was all set to tell you about my duck soup, and the fancy duck breast thing I made, which turned out very well, and was particularly nice with red cabbage. And I will. And then I will get off this duck hobby-horse, I promise.

The thing is, I was side-tracked while leafing through my recently acquired copy of Roald Dahl's Cookbook. In it, there is a picture of, and recipe for a mind-boggling variation on ouefs en gelee., that simple (?) and elegant French classic which I had never, in any form, made myself. You see a big earthenware bowl of brothy-brown flecked aspic scattered with tarragon leaves. Suspended serenely within, well spaced and seemingly not bumped or lumped to one side or the other, are ten (!) perfectly peeled, gently soft-boiled eggs!

Next to the bowl, on the rustic looking table, is a generous platter of buttered toast. I found this set up madly inviting. Could anything be simultaneously simpler and more complicated? One is advised to practice before serving it to guests. I should say so! If you have not tried it yourself, I can tell you that the successful peeling of one soft-boiled egg is no mean feat, and getting it suspended nicely in an appropriate amount of proper aspic is only slightly less crazed. Hence, the far less impressive picture you see before you.

This dish can be made with softly poached eggs, too- and that is easier. Though I am a lover of poached eggs, I promise that the soft-boiled version is noticeably better in this situation- should you find yourself in this situation, which you most likely will not, as you are probably not bonkers. I must admit, the poached egg, done singly, looks fancier and is easier to unmold. Still....

I think that the 10 egg bowl version would be a totally charming Mothers' Day brunch or supper offering. At least for the sort of mother who, like myself, would be wowed by the presentation. it would be so fine, scooping out an egg and some aspic onto my plate- with a big spoon, and nibbling away, with some of that very nice buttered toast. And some strong hot tea. I think I'd have to practice for a year or two to pull that one off, without wasting a few dozen eggs, at least.

Here's where the duck comes in. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you might want to review the most recent few of this series of posts. Or not.) If you make a confit, and chill it, surrounded by the (strained) fat in which it was prepared, there will be, on the bottom of your crock, or in my case, plastic container*, a nice layer of jellied duck juice, a/k/a delicious, natural aspic. If you used a traditional stoneware vessel of some sort, the aspic is not much use- you can't get it out until you've used up your confit , when you scoop the fat out to reheat and strain it. By then, being brothy, it is not so fresh, and maybe even dubious safety-wise.

But, a plastic container is flexible. So you can wiggle the sides, and upend the block of confit-containing fat, and peel of that lovely aspic. If the confit is by this action exposed, you can stick the fat block back in the container, microwave it a little,adjust the confit so it's all encased in the fat, and re-chill for storage. And then you've got some beautiful aspic, enough to do one egg, you see, without resort to gelatin, even. Though I've unmolded this one, it looks a tad goofy. It's kind of too tall, and not so symmetrical. After I did the unmolding, I concluded that it was silly; I should have just made it in a pretty container, and served it still inside, to scoop out with a little spoon. **

Which I will do in the future. It was lovely; the egg (boiled a scant 4 minutes) still soft and runny, but not weirdly liquid, was so nice with the intensely flavored aspic, and I did have buttered toast and tea, too, and it was about as good as I'd imagined.

This is what I did: First, I made the 4 minute egg, chilled it under very cold water to stop it cooking, and peeled it very, very carefully. I made two eggs, and it was a good thing I did, because I ruined the first one peeling it. Then, I spooned a little of the chilled aspic into a small container, big enough to hold the egg, covered. I set the egg on top, then melted the rest of the aspic to liquid in the microwave. I let it cool and poured it over the egg to cover it. There were some fresh tarragon leaves added as I poured- just a few. Then I chilled it, and there you are.

I do understand that if you aren't making a confit, you are not going to go out and get a duck in order to prepare a single egg in aspic. But you can, of course, make an aspic the usual way, with broth and gelatin. You can even make 10 eggs, suspended in a big bowl. If you do, I hope you will tell me about it, email me a photo, and gloat.

If you are looking for a recipe for making aspic from stock and powdered gelatin, you can find quite a few googling around. Here is one that looks credible.

*Clearly, if you are using a plastic container for this, you want one which is heat resistant, microwave safe, and has a really good seal.

**The pretty little spoon in the picture, which says "Muriel" on it, was the proverbial silver spoon with which my mother-in-law was more or less born. In her mouth. As they say. She left me a number of pretty things of this ilk, so it would seem that she liked me. This was not always clear to me during her actual life.