Toast

Dinner Party Chicken

When I went away to college, and lived in my first apartment, I was just dying to start cooking. My mother, a fantastic, creative cook, had set a high standard. She was a total control freak in the kitchen, and could not bear "help" of any kind, but she did permit spectators, and I was generally there, hovering, and carrying her delicious food to the table. I think this may be the best method ever for the psychological conditioning of future generations of enthusiastic home cooks. I learned a lot from watching, and as I was not allowed to participate, cooking seemed a privilege, rather than a duty.

It still does. And, after all, it is a privilege, to have the wherewithal to bring home baskets of lovely local produce, to afford some meat and poultry, to buy the nicest imported coffees, and to never run out of King Arthur's unbleached all purpose flour, when there are many, many people going hungry, and many more with no stove to cook on.

In any case, a couple of the many things I learned watching my mothers fine hand at work, were the importance of timing, and the benefits of keeping a hot summer kitchen from roasting the cook. The latter was especially important pre-air conditioning, but is still relevant for those of us who like to feel cool enough to be hungry for supper.

Quite a few of my more impressive early kitchen tricks were copied directly from my mother. The cacciatore /fricasee of chicken was a cornerstone of her dinner party cooking repetoire, embodying both principles, and allowing for all sorts of great variations. I got a lot of mileage out of these concoctions, which could be both homey and fancy. You browned the chicken in butter or olive oil, removed it briefly, sauteed some good combination of vegetables in a bit of the exuded fat combo, and deglazed the pan with wine, broth, tomato sauce or some combination thereof. The chicken and some herbs went back in the pan, to be covered and braised. These dishes could be done in the morning, without lighting the oven and reheated, with no last minute flurry- except perhaps the adding of a bit of cream sometimes, and sauce reduction.

There were all sorts of classic variants, or you could make up your own. I was especially fond of one done with mushrooms, artichoke hearts, tarragon, garlic and white wine. A friend used to make a recipe from a supermarket women's magazine, where the braising liquid was canned cream of mushroom soup with a little white wine, and there was grated gruyere in at the end. It was, frankly, delicious, and in those days, we were far less suspicious of and /or embarrassed by prepared foods with mysterious chemical additives.

If there were no potatoes in the veg mix, you could make some plain noodles or rice, and put some pan juices on top. A green salad, crusty bread for moping up, and you were good to go. Pretty much everyone liked this sort of food- so what happened? Why did I stop making this sort of chicken? It was really a perfect solution for jazzing up fairly tasteless supermarket chicken, was it not?

I am not entirely sure, but I think that supermarket chicken has deteriorated in quality, even since the 1980s. They were already less tasty than the best free-range hens our ancestors presumably had, if they were lucky enough to afford chicken, but there was still some decent texture. It may be my imagination, but I think mass produced chickens are getting mushier and flaccid? Is this craziness on my part? In any event, that's what it seemed like to me. So, I sort of began making only the sort of chicken dishes that firmed up- roasted, grilled, sauteed, and abandoned the tenderizing cacciatore type dishes.

I've noticed that the 2 free range chickens which I get each month from the neighbor of my CSA farmer, delivered one week each month with my vegs, have, in addition to excellent flavor, a welcome toothsomeness. So I thought I try a scratch version of the gruyere topped stuff, and I'm here to tell you, it was great. And it is also very easy, as long as you have a proper organically raised free range chicken. You will definitely want some crusty bread for mopping up the pan juices here. I won't pretend it's diet food- but it is special occasion worthy, IMHO.

Cut up your chicken and dredge it with flour which you have seasoned with salt, sweet paprika and pepper. Brown it very thoroughly in butter in a heavy skillet or saute pan which has a cover and can go, coverless, into the oven. Make sure it is quite thoroughly browned, as the longer, damp cooking will make it pale, otherwise. Remove the chicken from the pan, and deglaze with 3/4 of a cup of dry white wine.

Reduce the wine by half. Put the chicken back in the pan with chunks of carrots and a fair number of peeled shallots, a branch each of fresh tarragon, thyme and parsley. Add 1/2 cup of broth. Partly cover, and cook very slowly until quite tender, adding a bit of broth or water if the liquid gets too low. I cannot tell you how long this will take, it really depends on your chicken. It is easy to overcook supermarket chicken; my farm chicken takes longer. so you will need to poke at it a bit to be sure.

You can stop now, and cool and refrigerate until just before serving. If you do that, bring it to a simmer before you go on. Stir in 2/3 cup of heavy cream, blending with the pan juices, and sprinkle the top with a generous handful of coarsely grated gruyere, or other swiss type good cheese. Run under the broiler until the top is brown and bubbly, and serve, with the aforementioned crusty bread and some salad.

Sorry about the terrible photo.

Devil May Care

I was surprised, after some rummaging among past posts, to find that I have never before written about deviled eggs, as there is very nearly nothing I like more. I was even more surprised to find that I had a bit to learn on the subject, since I thought the case was, for me, closed.

I knew that there were various French variations on stuffed eggs, which included asparagus, or shrimp, and the like. That was fine with me, and these were mostly very nice, but could not hold a candle to the classic: Hard-boiled egg white halves, stuffed with a mixture of mashed yolk, English mustard, mayo, salt and pepper, and, finally, sprinkled with some paprika, smoked Spanish or regular, or maybe, if I was feeling a little extra was called for, ground chipotle. No pickle juice here. End of story.

I was therefore disconcerted to discover, in the Sunday NYTimes Men's Fashion Supplement*, a recipe for stuffed eggs Caeser salad style, which is a worthy alternate. I was also surprised to learn, courtesy of Jacques Pepin, that a few minutes upside down in a frying pan can have an amazing, and praise-worthy effect on a deviled egg . A caveat: the new egg recipe is not for anchovy haters- nor is the Caeser salad itself, for that matter. And, a happy happenstance: the Caeser eggs are particularly suited to the Pepin effect.

Even if you are as stuck on the classic as I have been, you may want to try these both ways. Nearly as simple as the original, and that is a plus, in my book. The cold ones are great with whiskey or gin drinks, and the warm ones make a nice sit-down first course, or a lunch.

This is how you make the basic Caeser egg, as amended by me (I don't like the idea of coming upon a bit of chopped raw garlic while nibbling my egg.):

12 hard-boiled eggs
2 Tbsps Olive oil
2 tsps lemon juice
1 tsp anchovy paste
dash Worchestershire
salt and pepper
paprika
garlic clove, split

Rub the garlic clove over the interior of a small to medium bowl. Cut eggs in half, and add the yolks and all the other ingredients, except paprika, into the bowl. Mash thoroughly, and stuff halved whites. Sprinkle with paprika and display cunningly on your depression glass dish or in Tupperware...they will all be eaten, either way.

Now, with your regular deviled eggs, or your Caeser eggs, you can make a sort of deconstructed Caeser salad. Dress some romaine with a little bit of garlicy vinagrette and set it on a serving dish, or several smaller plates, with a few homemade croutons, if you are so inclined. Film the bottom of a heavy frying pan with olive oil, and heat it up. Set the eggs in the pan in a single layer, carefully, yolk side down. Cook them at a medium-low heat until the yolk is nicely caramelized and brown. Mine took 5 minutes.

Set them atop your salad, arranged prettily, and consume. They are nice without the lettuce, too, but you should still have them with a knife and fork, on a plate...unlike the cold version, which are perfect for eating out of hand , at picnics. Also, if you put two cold ones yolk to yolk, and wrap them up, they are the best ever little treat in a packed lunch.

*A strange item, no? I always read the Times style items with interest, and they are so often a source of amusement. I fear my amusement may be a symptom of my own depravity, though. How can I chuckle over a spread featuring chic modern models portraying starving depression era hobos, in mock-rags of cashmere with thousand dollar price tags? This display appeared not too long ago in a similar NYTimes style magazine.

Who was this for, and why? Has Marie Antoinette been playing milkmaid games again? Maybe someone there should take a moment to remember how she ended up.

In any event, apparently deviled eggs have become fashionable, much in the manner of upscale mac and cheese. Oh well.

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.

Spaghetti for a Summer Day

There's some rule-breaking involved, but I think you might approve . I'm not certain how I know this, but I'm almost sure that it is a firm rule of traditional Italian cookery that cheese and fish do not belong together. It is not even the thing to grate a little parm over your linguini with clam sauce. In this case, though, it's all for the best- I promise. What we have here is a more summery version of pasta with tomato sauce and "meatballs", wherein the meatballs are made from fresh tuna. And there is a little bit of parm in there. Unlike the sturdy, traditional winter version of spaghetti and meatballs, which it closely resembles, it is suitable for making, and eating, when it is 90F. I speak from experience; it's been damn hot.

I think this is a tasty combination- nice and unusual, not strange or off-putting. I've messed around with the underlying ideas to the point that I believe I have may have actually made something novel. Which I haven't done all that often, ever. Probably someone has already made it elsewhere- there's not all that much new under the sun food-wise and pasta sauce is a big area for fooling around. But I think it is pretty good, and that's the important thing, no? It's got that make-ahead feature, too- you can reheat the sauce when you are boiling the pasta. And even the leftovers were nice.

The "meatballs" would be good in a plainer homemade tomato sauce too. As you can see, the resemblance is-well I can hardly call it uncanny, since they are both spheres in a red sauce- but, well, close.You should probably tell any guests that it's tuna, so they won't be weirded out, expecting a meat taste, when the mouth says, "fish."

Here's how you make it:

Spaghetti with Tuna Meatballs in Fennel-scented Tomato Sauce with Chard and Raisins

First, you make the "Meatballs". You need:

1/2 lb fresh tuna
an egg
3/4 cup panko or homemade dried breadcrumbs
1/4 cup freshly grated parm
salt, pepper
chopped fresh fennel fronds, parsley and mint, about 2 Tbsps all together
pinch fennel pollen (optional, but very good)

Put everything in a food processor and pulse until very finely chopped, but not pasty. Make into as many meatballs as you like, and place them on a parchentlined tray or pan. This will make enough to serve three. If you are two, you can make 2/3 of the mixture into meat balls, and one into a patty, to saute or bake, and have on a bun. This is an extra-nice lunch for a cook making dinner for two. Chill in fridge until sauce is ready, at least an hour, to be sure they are firm.

Then you make the sauce:

olive oil
3/4 cup chopped fennel bulb
a chopped garlic scape (they were in my farmbox) or a large clove of garlic, chopped
1/2 to 3/4 cup onion, leek, shallot, or combo thereof
salt
pepper
1/2 tsp fennel seed
pinch fennel pollen (optional)
28 oz or so of chopped canned tomatoes (I like Muir Glen fire-roasted organic tomatoes, which I buy by the case these days)
1/2 dry red or white wine
few leaves fresh oregano if available
handful of raisins
1 Tbsp sugar

1/2 bunch spinach, black kale, or swiss chard, cut into ribbons
juice of a lemon

Cook the fennel, garlic and oniony items until soft, in a bit of olive oil. Add everything else, except the chard, lemon and meatballs, bring to a boil, turn to simmer, and cook about an hour, until the sauce begins to darken. add the chard, and stir until it wilts. Add the meatballs gently, and poach until done through, about ten minutes, sirring in the lemon juice after about 5 minutes. Adjust seasoning, and serve with plenty of spaghetti. You can cook the spaghetti while you finish the sauce, or cool the sauce, refrigerate it, and gently reheat it.

I haven't tried freezing it yet, but I'm going to soon. when you serve it, you can set the meatballs on a plate, or on the outside of individual pasta bowls, toss the sauce with the cooked spaghetti to coat, and then put the spaghetti in the middle of the plates, nudging the "meatballs" on top. It looks pretty sprinkled with fresh fennel fronds. IMHO. Once I added some capers, and that was nice, too.

Food 2.0

Recently, I received several "Advanced Reader's" copies of food books, which is a delightful side benefit of writing a blog, a not-for-profit enterprise- in my case, anyhow. It makes me feel puffed up and important, giant geek that I am. But even better, I get to see lots of interesting new stuff and add to the strain on the inadequate shelf space in my apartment. Life is good.

When invited to preview, I tell publishers' representatives that while I promise to read their book, I cannot promise to review it. I don't review books often, and may well find I have nothing much to say about a new cookbook. If a book is wonderful, or fun, or incredibly awful, I will talk about it, or just let you know it's out there-in case you didn't. Know, that is.

It is a good thing that I am not a reviewer of food books by trade. While I read cookbooks like novels, and have bought far too many of them myself, I am wordless after a preview of most. If you see a book featured here, there is probably a fair amount of enthusiastic babbling or, well, the opposite. I do favor the former, and generally only go after a bad book if I believe the author both influential and egregiously lazy. This is an unusual case, though, because I think something good is in danger of going under.

Warning: In a few minutes I am going to be ungracious.

Food 2.0 presents food by Charlie Ayers, the original, and former long-time head chef guy at Google. Google, in its role as employer, is famous for the wonderful food served to its high tech workers, so good that it keeps them hanging around working, instead of, say, going home.

The book is published by DK publishing, heretofore associated in my mind with cleverly designed, modern travel books, loaded with attractive and helpful illustrations. Food 2.0 is, however, excessively and ineffectually tarted up design-wise. As a result, one might well fail to notice the really excellent recipes, which are delicious, healthy, and mostly very simple to prepare. This guy is clearly a terrific cook- one of those people with a major flair for combining flavor and texture in sometimes new, but not bizarre ways- original, but not weird. His recipes do not require odd ingredients, and can all be made, without excessive fuss, at home.

Ayers has a distinct, neat personality and some very good ideas to impart, but they are not organized in an accessible way for a person who is used to, say, reading books. Perhaps this is an attempt to convey some sort of techie, info-in-bytes kind of feeling, but it is distracting and unattractive, and also, it doesn't work. This is a book, for crying out loud- you can't click on a word for more information. And what is more, there is no index. Even a food magazine, if decent, has an index.

The type-faces and cover photo (of what looks like an dull, ordinary burger-though it is not)- just plain, well, suck. I have no problem with the all-black-and-white interior concept as an idea-it could have been good. But these are boring photos; they are badly composed, as is the type and layout. They make the book look junky, and this guy is not junky- his food is great. It's really too bad. [note: Farmgirl Susan has pointed out (she got an advance copy too) that the final edition will have full color photos. There's a note on the back to that effect, which I didn't notice. I hope that will improve the look of the thing, and maybe that there are some design changes in the offing, too. Couldn't hurt.]

I hope there will be sufficient mass media reviewer interest in the quality of the food, so that it doesn't get lost in the shuffle. This is emphatically not a book I would have picked off the rack to have a look at. I may be a bit of a nut about type design, layout, and the book as a physical object, but I think it is not eccentric to call this one plain ol' ugly.

I am a little surprised at how much I apparently care about this sort of thing. I mean, for example, I am very fond of a number of cookbooks of the spiral-bound, standard production variety, and am not at all offended by their design. They are what they are, and likeable for it. But this one- it's pretentious, in its own casual way, and the design detracts from the text. End of cranky rant.

Anyhow, I'm glad to have the book for the interesting ideas and recipes, and here is one I made for a simple stir fry. I used my last frozen duck breast on this , but chicken breast is specified, and of course, would be good, too. This recipe serves one.

1 tsp veg oil
1 cup mixed vegs (diced onion, green beans or sliced sugar snap peas, and carrots in small pieces)
1/2 tsp finely chopped lemongrass
duck breast or chicken breast , cut in thin strips
1 cup raw peeled shrimp
1/2 tsp minced garlic
3 tbsps dark soy sauce
2 tsps rice vinegar
1 tsp light brown or palm sugar
1/2 tsp. asian style dark sesame oil
freshly ground black pepper
2 handsful shredded lettuce

In a wok, heat the oil and stir fry the veg for a couple of minutes. Add the lemongrass and duck, and stir fry until the duck has lost almost all pinkness. Add the shrimp, and fry until pink. Add everything else- except the lettuce, cook for a minute or two, and pour over lettuce. Eat this right away! If you want a heartier meal, add a cup of cooked rice noodles along with the soy and flavorings.

I love the lemongrass flavor. I had some cute yellow carrots- so I used both the yellow and orange for prettiness. This is an especially good casual stir fry, though I'm not sure why it works so well. Clever fellow.

One Frozen Duck Part III : Hot and Sour

If I were doing soup from a duck stock in November, it would probably include root veg, barley or wild rice, and maybe cabbage. Or some white beans. Which combos I do love. In my view, soup, hot and cold, is an all season treat.

But with summer just around the corner, I thought I'd go easy on those vegetables I associate with winter storage. This week a friend at work brought me asparagus from her garden, and now I can't wait for the CSA deliveries, which start in June.

Of course, lentils can make for hearty winter fare, too. Somehow, though, when combined with vaguely Indian flavors, to me they conjure warm weather, rather than cold. A friend of mine (you know who you are) once said, long ago, that lentil soup "tastes like dirt." She was not entirely wrong on that. It does sort of taste of the soil.... in a good way....really. And it grows on you. I am very fond of it.

I made this simple soup from the duck stock in the fridge. A rich homemade stock- preferably turkey or duck- does wonders for lentil soup, or any legumes, really. It's a bit gelatinous and feels fortifying without being heavy. Which is why a cool aspic can be so heavenly when it's very hot out.

I found part of a box of pretty puy lentils- just enough, and a bit of arugula that was approaching its last legs. So, here you have it- it's not authentically anything, but it is nice. If I'd taken the time to toast some individual spices, instead of the curry powder, it might have been better. Maybe you will do that.

1 1/2 quarts rich stock
3/4 cup puy lentils
2 tbsps canola oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 tbsps grated fresh ginger
3 tsps madras curry powder, recently purchased and non musty
2 cups arugula, or as much as you have if it's not that much-spinach works, too
pinch aleppo pepper
handful chopped scallions
a sliced lime
handful chopped cilantro

In a large-ish heavy pot, cook the onion slowly until it is soft and just beginning to color.Add the ginger and garlic, stir for a minute. Then add the curry powder and aleppo pepper, and stir until everything is colored. Pour the stock over all, and stir it up. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook until the lentils are soft. Remove from heat, and stir in the arugula until it is wilted. Salt and pepper to taste. Ladle into bowls.

A squirt of lime juice and some cilantro and scallions in each bowl tie it in with my drink of choice- limeade. Homemade limeade with spicy legumes is a natural combo. Very good for lunch at work and other times where you might want to eschew the beer (another friendly drink), in light of the need to say, do stuff after, instead of napping.

I love limeade, and freeze the homemade concentrate in ice cube trays sometimes. It's kind of an extravagant use of limes, but...

To make limeade you will need to first make a concentrated lime syrup. In a small heavy pan, bring a cup of water to the boil, add a cup of sugar, and continue to cook, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Cool. Meanwhile, squeeze and strain about 8 medium limes into a lipped container, like one of those extra large pyrex thingies. When the syrup is cooled, mix it into the lime juice. This is your concentrate. You can freeze it, in cubes or otherwise, store it covered in the fridge, or make some limeade right now.

The proportions are 1 to 3, concentrate to water. It tastes of summer, and is excellent with spicy food, and also pretty amazing with sugar cookies. A mint sprig floating atop a tall frosty glass would not be amiss.

You probably already know that the photo at the table is the Marx Bros. in "Duck Soup". Sometimes things happen when you don't take the limeade option. Though I don't think these guys needed any fuel to engage in their antics.

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.

After St. Patrick's Day: an Opportunity to Bubble and Squeak

While I was in England, I browsed my cousin's copy of Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries, which is terrific. I'd been childishly avoiding checking out his work, ever since I found out that he wrote an autobiography called Toast, which I ought to have known about, but didn't, when I started and named my blog. More fool me. As you may have noticed, I have a collection of cookbooks which, seen in the best possible light, can only be called "excessive".Nonetheless, I was enjoying reading this one so much that I bought my own copy.

This is not the Bubble and Squeak of my childhood, but it is sufficiently like to invoke the nostalgia factor. My mother made her Bubble and Squeak with left-over boiled potatoes and cabbage, chopped coarsely, and sauteed in butter. (It is called B and S, as if you couldn't guess, because it bubbles and squeaks as it fries.) His is made with left over mashed potatoes and boiled cabbage or sprouts. Both are handy if you made or are making a traditional St. Patrick's Day corned beef and cabbage meal.* Just save some for the next day.

I like Nigel's even better than my mother's version, because of his heretical addition of cheese. Wonderful. You can, of course, radically change the whole nature of the thing, based on which cheese you choose.Oh, and his are formed into patties- so they are a little dressier. I caution you, as does he, that the cabbage or sprouts you use should not be too tired or overcooked. Maybe make extra of each thing next time you cook cabbage and potatoes, and take them out and drain (and save) them a little early?

Very finely chop lightly cooked cabbage or sprouts in an quantity equal to the amount of leftover mashed potatoes available. Mix together, and add a handful of coarsely grated cheese, and a little very finely chopped parsley. Taste for salt and pepper, and add a bit of milk or cream if the mixture appears too dry to form patties. Form palm-sized flat patties, and chill in the fridge for an hour or so. Dredge in flour, and fry in melted butter. Consume. These go very nicely with all manner of meats and other dishes. I am a bit weird, and like them on a plate with a fried egg. I dunk bits in the yolk, but suspect this is the kind of food pleasure that is somehow a bit rude to mention in public.

*My friend E. makes an annual feast of corned beef with cabbage, potatoes, and carrots, and serves it all with home-made soda bread and mustard. It happened last night, and it was , as usual, delicious.

A Gratuitous Advertisement and Some Vegetarian Party Food

I have probably mentioned this before, but Trader Joe's all-butter frozen puff pastry is the answer to a prayer. Sure, anyone can make their own delicious puff pastry, as a certain anapestic frequently reminds us. But a person is not always motivated sufficiently to cover herself and her kitchen in flour. If I only had puff pastry as often as I made it myself, I would be a thinner, but perhaps not so happy woman. And the thing is- I really can't stand the standard Pepperidge Farm frozen stuff from the freezer case at the Iggle.

I actually used to think it was fine. It was the first approximation of puff pastry I'd ever had. And puff pastry is an amazing, brilliant invention, which naturally knocks one's socks off, even in its least lovely form. After a several experiences of the good stuff, from pastry shops and restaurants, that particular ready-made kind of frozen stuff began to taste of oil and chemicals to me. Wishful thinking kept me going with it for a while. But either it's gotten worse, or I'm just pickier. And until the Trader Joe's thing, the only all butter stuff on offer in my part of the USA was incredibly expensive- out of my league- at Williams-Sonoma.

So if you live near a good bakery willing to sell you some of theirs, more power to you. I don't, and I'm therefore especially grateful to the Trader Joe group for bringing this buttery goodness my way. End of uncompensated commercial message.

With this stuff in the freezer, you can make all kinds of yummy special stuff at a moments notice, including one of my very favorite snacks- Shammi's egg puffs. What you see above is a rough approximation of a recipe I saw in an English cooking magazine called "Delicious". With a salad, it would make a nice vegetarian dinner party menu, I think. I actually just made one for me, and have been taking leftovers for lunch, cold. Very french picnic-y, I feel.

To make it you need:

one package (about 450 grams if you are making your own, and shaming me) of all butter puff pastry
a package of prepared hummous (or, you could shame me thoroughly, and make your own)
various cut up veggies for roasting- your choice (I used some very dense cremini mushrooms, eggplant, zucchini, red peppers, shallots, fennel, parboiled, peeled fingerling potatoes, and whole garlic cloves. Sliced onions are a bad idea- they made it hard to cut the pie-too bad, as the red ones taste great roasted)
an egg yolk, beaten with a little milk
chopped fresh cilantro
cumin seed or rosemary
olive oil spray or olive oil

Preheat oven to 425F. Cut the veggies into bit sized pieces- neither too tiny nor too large. You want them fairly chunky, but you also want to be able to cut the pie. Set them on a foil lined baking sheet. Coat thinly with olive oil, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and the cumin or rosemary. Meanwhile, if using frozen pastry, take it out to defrost. It should be in two equal sized parts.

Bake the veg until browned and a little crusty, and remove from the oven. (This will take varying amounts of time, depending on the vegs you chose, and your oven. You have to check. I did my whole thing in the convection toaster oven, which is very fast. It is a good idea, when using vegs of varying cooking times, to make the longer cooking kind into smaller pieces- the quicker cooking, chunkier.)

Remove foil and veg, and line the baking sheet with parchment. Set one piece of the pastry down on the parchment, and brush about 1" of the outside edge with the egg mixture. Spread the remainder of the surface with a layer of hummous. If you have some left, mix it in with the roasted vegs. Pile the roasted veg over the hummous, leaving the eggy border bare. Sprinkle chopped cilantro over the veg.

With a rolling pin, roll out the second sheet of pastry so that it is just a little bigger and thinner than the covered piece. Carefully set it on top of the veg, and press to seal the pastry edges together. Use your fingers to mold it over the veg, so there are no air pockets. If the top pastry edge overlaps the bottom one , trim the borders to make the top and bottom even. Press all around with a fork, to further seal, and cut 3 diagonal slits on top, using a very sharp knife. Brush top with remainder of egg mixture. This takes about 35 minutes to bake, but watch it. Mine (above) got a little too brown.

You can actually freeze this before baking, defrost and bake when needed. Not bad, but it's better all fresh.

Loafing

I couldn't ask more from a holiday. Two weeks visiting family/friends in Sussex in an early spring, with a two day London excursion in the middle. It was a perfect balance of visiting, relaxing, and entertaining escapades. The weather was ridiculously good-there were daffodils, and blossoming trees, and I am nonetheless even sort of glad to be home. Eventually, I will tell you all about it.

At the moment, however, I am beat. It was only a 20 hour trip, door-to-door , with no glitches or holdups beyond a not too awful delay on the A23 enroute to Gatwick, caused by a dramatically overturned crane. But it has more or less done me in. And in a way it would not have done when I was a Young Thing, I'm forced to admit. A day later, and I'm still falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

So here is what I have for you today, along with a couple of pictures of visiting friends on a houseboat, in a very attractive little community of houseboats on the river in Shoreham. This is a recipe for an surprising (to me) delicious and versatile lentil-walnut loaf, which my cousin and I made as part of a dinner party for vegetarian guests. I was surprised, because I'd never made a lentil loaf before, and thought it sounded pretty dull, and more improving, or therapeutic, than delicious. I was not encouraged by the source- a rationing era cookbook with the non-enticing title of "Beans". Shows what I know.

We had our loaf with an onion gravy (variant recipe below) and "roasties" (an assortment of roasted potatoes and root vegetables), baby yorkshire puddings (more onion gravy), and a salad. It was all pretty much devoured, but the few loaf leftovers were delicious cold, in sandwiches. I think they would also make a nice starter- served like a pate, with some crusty bread and a couple of gherkins, or some other sort of pickled things.

This is what you need to make the loaf:

6 oz. of puy lentils, soaked overnight, and cooked until soft
4 oz. walnuts, powdered in a processor
4 ox fine breadcrumbs, preferably whole wheat
1 Tbsp tomato paste
1 egg
1 onion, chopped very finely
pinch thyme
pinch aleppo pepper (that's me, can't leave well enough alone)
1 clove garlic, snashed
1 tbsp olive oil
S and P to taste

Preheat oven to 350F. Butter a loaf pan and line it with foil, lengthwise, with the foil extending past the two short ends. Butter the foil. Heat the oil and cook the onion and garlic until just beginning to change color. Combine with all the other ingredients in a big bowl. Pack into the prepared loaf pan, and fold the ends in. Butter an additional bit of foil to cover the top. cook for 1 and 1/4 hours. Remove top foil, and carefylly unfold the side foil extensions. Let it rest for a few minutes, then lift out by the foil ears, and set on serving plate. Cut into slices with a sharp, preferably serrated knife. Serve hot with onion or mushroom gravy. when the leftovers are cold, it can be sliced more easily, and more thinly.

This is not the gravy we had, as I had only one onion on hand at home, and no wish to go shopping. It is miserably cold here, and there was snow, which is definitely not what I would have ordered, if asked. Apparently I'm still jet-lagged, and this recipe is persistently jumbled and disorderly. But it is also nice, and quantities are adjustable and ad hoc. I will attempt a revision when I get my head screwed on the right way again:

Mushroom Shallot Gravy

Soak mixed dried wild mushrooms in madeira for an hour or two. Chop some shallots and a bit of red onion, and sweat them in a small, heavy pan in a little olive oil. Slice some cremini or ordinary fresh mushrooms, and chop the soaked mushrooms after wringing them out. Add the mushrooms, and saute until almost done. A little bit of thyme and a small sprig of fresh rosemary if available. Sprinkle the lot with a handfull of flour, and cook until the flour disappears and gets a little crusty. Add reserved soaking liquid, and some good quality vegetable stock (or any stock you like), and cook, stirring in the beginning, over a medium low heat until thickened to desired consistency and the flavors have blended.

And I did miss you, despite having a wonderful time.