French Laundry at Home

Thank you.

2008-10-23T15:00:00.002-04:00

Picture it: Mount Wolf, PA. December 25, 2000. It's Christmas morning, and I'm sitting in front of the Christmas tree in my parents' living room. My parents, my brother, his wife, and I each have a stack of gifts to open, but there's one present that is serving as quite the distraction (to me anyway). It's a book. A big book. The French Laundry Cookbook. I opened all the other gifts first -- socks, clothing, a Cuisinart, a few CDs and DVDs, but I saved this special one 'til the end of the gift-opening extravaganza, because I'd been pining for it for over a year and knew that once I opened it, I wouldn't really pay much attention to anything else. Why?

In the weeks and months after The French Laundry Cookbook was released, I'd go to Borders and Barnes & Noble, take the only non-shrinkwrapped copy off the shelf, gently open the cover, and slowly turn the pages as I tried to imagine the lucky, lucky people who actually got to own this book. The lucky people who actually got to cook this food. The lucky people who actually got to eat this food.

See, it was 1999 and then 2000, and I was working in the technology sector right smack dab in the middle of the dot-com bust. I was working 16-hour days and although I was making a good salary, I'd just bought my first house, and had to stick to a tight budget because, like most of us working in the tech sector that year, I didn't know if my job would be there the next day. There was no extra money for splurges... and The French Laundry Cookbook was, begrudgingly, a splurge.

So, on that Christmas morning after we'd all opened the rest of our presents, I tore the wrapping paper off the book, curled up in a chair next to the fireplace, removed the plastic shrink wrap, inhaled the new-book smell of my brand new, very own copy of The French Laundry Cookbook, ignored everyone else (that's the Christmas spirit!), and began to read. I don't remember much else about that day. Couldn't tell you what we had for lunch. Don't remember if it snowed. Can't recall which relatives I saw that night. All I can remember is absorbing every word, and wishing I could eat every page. I swear I could smell the Creamy Maine Lobster Broth from just the photo alone.

When I went back home a few days later, I put the book on my coffee table in my cozy, little living room, and it warmed me all winter long. I'd come home from my job, beaten down from handling media calls, trying to reassure a nervous board of directors, and watching our stock price go into the toilet, and just imagine what eating dinner at The French Laundry must be like.

Those nights reading The French Laundry Cookbook and the full-on sensory engagement that ensued oddly enough transported me back to the many afternoons I spent sitting in the hall in second grade. Because I never could quite figure out that I should raise my hand to get called on instead of just shouting out the answer and being sarcastic about how awesome I was with all my knowledge, my teacher, Mrs. Hohenshilt, "punished" me by making me sit in the hall with a book. I almost always chose What's For Lunch, Charley? because there was a section in the book I loved to read over and over again. The book is about an elementary school-aged kid and the crush he has on the new girl, Rosabelle Ruggles. He watches her eat lunch every day, but one day, Rosabelle's lunch stands out in particular -- a thermos of tomato soup, a drumstick of fried chicken, a small jar of fruit salad, and a piece of chocolate layer cake... all spread out on a clean white cloth napkin.

When Charley forgot his lunchbox one day, he decided to slip out of school undetected and eat lunch at the very fancy King Charles Hotel. Charley walked by the hotel and its street-facing dining room every day, and he always wondered what it would be like to eat there. So, he did.

He could ask for a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, a cookie, and some milk. But that didn't seem like the right thing for lunch at the King Charles. Charley drew a breath and said, "Tomato soup, chicken leg, fruit salad, and chocolate cake." Then he added, "Please." He looked up at the waitress, wondering if he had ordered the right things. She nodded and scribbled something on her order pad. Then she winked at Charley and went away.

The book goes on to describe the crisp, white tablecloth, the place setting, his seat by the window, the cold, wet weather outside... and then the food begins to arrive, one course at a time. The tomato soup was piping hot, the chicken crisp and juicy, and I remember smiling and holding my throat when reading the part about how Charley could only eat one bite of the fruit salad until he was "full to the chin." So full, the waitress had to wrap his piece of chocolate cake in foil for him to take home.

When I read that book over and over again in the hallway of Mount Wolf Elementary School in 1975, I could taste the hot, sweet and salty tomato soup on my tongue. I could feel the heavy hotel silverware in my hands. I could imagine eating the crispy, seasoned fried chicken with my fingers and wondering if it was okay to do that in a fancy restaurant. I could taste the cool fruit salad, and I could smell the chocolate cake and feel the crinkled foil around it as I imagined carrying it in my hands.

I don't know if I ever thanked Mrs. Hohenshilt for her awesome form of punishment, but it opened my eyes to so many stories and dreams and ideas. And, best of all, just like we all have distinct food memories from our past, I feel so lucky to have a really significant food literature memory in What's For Lunch, Charley?, and had no idea how prominent and permanent it was until that Christmas morning in 2000 when I sat in my parents' living room, reading The French Laundry Cookbook. As I write this, both books are now sitting side-by-side (a few books down from Michael Ruhlman's Soul of a Chef) on the bookshelf in my office here at home. Seems fitting somehow.

So, fast-forward to today, at the end of what has been a most amazing ride. There's so much to say, much of which I've already said in private to those I've needed to say it to. But there are some things I think I want to say out loud.

While anyone who has ever read this blog knows I'm not exactly the most earnest and mushy of food writers (oh, for the bliss and the cheese and my soul and our love, and YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME WITH THAT), I fully appreciate the role great love letters have played in our literary and social history. Declarations of adoration written by hand, preserved on paper, shared, held, saved, remembered. When I was growing up, these kinds of notes were written with a blue Bic pen (with teeth marks on the cap) on blue-lined white notebook paper with the reddish-pink margin lines, sometimes with drawings in the margins, folded five or six times into a rectangle, and then slid through the vents of a locker in the school hallway. I imagine nearly everyone has or has had a secret stash. Some are tear-stained and looked at every few years. Others are shoved in a box in an attic. Others burned or thrown away when things went wrong. But the one thing they all had in common was that someone took the time to say some things they needed to say in as permanent a way as they knew how.

I appreciate love letters, I really do. But I've never really written one before. Well, maybe in high school, but I'm not sure "Holy crap, trigonometry is so boring and I have marching band practice tonight [nerd!] and I cannot WAIT to go to the prom with you!" is quite the same as what I want to say here, and now, in this very public place.

There's no paper, no ink, no drawings in the margins, no folding... just my fingers typing, and these words appearing for everyone to see. And, it's more of a thank-you note, I suppose, than a love letter, but the need to say it comes from the heart.

First, to Chef Keller:

Thank you for this book, and for your grace and kindness throughout this project.

Thank you for your leadership and your inspiration.

Thank you for your sense of humor, and for letting me express mine.

Thank you for providing a smart, focused, hard-driving example to those of us who want more out of life, and who want to better ourselves, push ourselves, in whatever way we can.

You didn't know you were doing this when you and your team at The French Laundry along with Michael Ruhlman and Susie Heller, and the wonderful people at Workman/Artisan developed, wrote, and released this book, but you published something I clicked with on a level I still find hard to describe. The stories, the order, the instruction, the complexities, the techniques, and the challenges were all things I felt in my bones every time I turned a page to start yet another dish. It was almost as if cooking finally made sense. You provided something that nearly ten years later enabled me to experience the most incredible, and often indescribable, sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. And after all these years of writing for other people, you allowed me a platform from which to speak in my own voice.

Thank you.

To all of you:

I started this blog because I was bored and unchallenged, a little annoyed, and maybe just a tad crazy. I honestly wasn't sure when I started it that I was going to stick with it, but I was hooked from the get-go and felt this strange yet familiar surge of adrenaline kick in when faced with something a little voice tells you you probably can't do.

Sure, there were more than a few bumps along the way, but I am so incredibly proud of what I was able to accomplish. I had no idea I could do this, and I'm so thankful for everyone who, when I met or corresponded with you over these past two years, were so supportive and gracious and kind and funny. It makes me hopeful to know that there are so many of you out there who appreciate good food and are willing to make the effort to try something outside your comfort zone every now and then.

I've been incredibly lucky these past two years. I've been able to meet some people I've admired from afar, and I've been given some amazing opportunities that continue to open doors I never could've imagined.

In addition to all that, what I honestly and truly love are the emails I get every day from people who write to say, "I called in sick to work because I wanted to make veal stock -- am I nuts?" [no] or "I didn't think I could do anything from this book, but I just tried the duck and it's amazing!" [I KNOW] or "You know what? I think I'm gonna try the salmon cornets!" [enjoy!] or "Hey, did you hear Bloomberg is going after a third term?!?" [swoony swoon swoon]

It makes me happy to know there are so many busy, hardworking people out there -- home cooks just like me -- who want to stretch their wings and spend all day cooking something special, and who don't want their food dumbed down. I love that we've been able to connect through this and other blogs. I also love that when you hear news about Michael Bloomberg, I'm the first person you think of. That's awesome.

While I am sad that this specific blog has come to an end, I am surprised at how good it feels to be able to say, "I cooked every dish in The French Laundry Cookbook."

So, thank you. All of you.

For everything.

All my best,
Carol

p.s. Here's my forwarding address. I'm moving in next week.

Music to Say "Thank You" To: Sly and the Family Stone, of course.

French Laundry at Home: Lists and Menu Suggestions

2008-10-17T15:00:00.009-04:00

Now that I've cooked every dish in The French Laundry Cookbook, I think it's appropriate to do a bit of a retrospective, don't you think? I've had some time now to think back on the good and the bad... the surprise successes and the dismal failures... the things I loved and continue to make today, and the things I'll never make again.

So let's get all listy.

* * * * *

I hear from a lot of people who say they have The French Laundry Cookbook or want to buy The French Laundry Cookbook, but wouldn't even know where to begin when they think about cooking from it. To them, I say, "Been there." Without going into a big arm-flailing rant about the current state of mainstream consumer food media, I will say that it has done a terrible disservice to the home cook with its proliferation of emphasizing all things quick, easy, and simple. Why? Because one thing that approach does is instill fear and self-doubt in home cooks when it comes to cooking anything above and beyond the standard fare. "Oh, I could never cook out of The French Laundry Cookbook... it's too hard."

Bullshit.

I don't and wouldn't cook from this book every day for every meal. And, most of the food I make for myself on a regular basis is quite basic, yet tasty. However, if there's any big life lesson from this blog, it's that if I, of all people... the queen of Kraft Mac-n-Cheese throughout her 20s and 30s... can cook from The French Laundry Cookbook, ANYONE can. All it takes is the willingness to try. Chances are, you'll end up feeling really proud of what you've done.

So, if you've never cooked from The French Laundry Cookbook, but you're ready to give it a go even though you might still feel a wee bit intimidated, here's what I recommend as Great First Steps:

Gazpacho: It's pretty easy to see why this was the first dish I did, even though I started the blog in January, which is not exactly peak tomato and pepper season here in the mid-Atlantic region. It seemed easy to do, although I remember looking at the balsamic glaze instructions and thinking, "Wow.... balsamic glaze. That might be kind of hard to do." Now, I say, "Pffft. How about a pig head glaze? Want me to do that? Oh yeah, BRING. IT."

Gruyère Cheese Gougères: Easy, and perfect any time of year, although I always associate them with a lovely snowfall, because that's when I first made them.

Citrus-Marinated Salmon with a Confit of Navel Oranges, Beluga Caviar and Pea Shoot Coulis: When you click on that link, try not to cringe that the final plating of this dish. I'm so sorry. It's just bad. But, this is not a difficult dish to do, and I think the flavor profile can't be beat. I really don't like salmon, but I freakin' LOVE this dish.

Black Sea Bass with Sweet Parsnips, Arrowleaf Spinach, and Saffron-Vanilla Sauce: This was one of the simplest dishes to do, and it's really, really good.

Eric's Staff Lasagna: Alright, fine... so, it's technically not something served to guests at The French Laundry, but it's in the book, so it counts. Why? You know how sometimes when you eat lasagna, it's good but so heavy that you feel full in maybe a not-so-good way? This lasagna is delicious, easy to prepare, fresh, and light. It fills you up, but you don't get that hesitant-to-burp-for-fear-you'll-puke feeling. I know Eric Ziebold is going to love that kind of review when he sees this in his Google Alert (Hi, Eric! Love CityZen!).

Sally Schmitt's Cranberry and Apple Kuchen with Hot Cream Sauce: Bring on the umlauts! Again, not something served at The French Laundry, but it's in the book, and it's lovely, straightforward, easy to do, and perfect for fall.

Lemon Sabayon-Pine Nut Tart with Honeyed Mascarpone Cream: Gorgeous. Easy. Delicious. A real crowd-pleaser.

* * * * *

As 2007 moved into 2008, I did a little reflection on some of my French Laundry favorites and other recommendations. When I look back on that list of my Top Ten Favorites, it's interesting now to see what stayed on the list, and what has been replaced by things I've made since then.

Top Ten Favorites

Roulade of Pekin Duck Breast with Creamed Sweet White Corn and Morel Mushroom Sauce: Phenomenal.

Black Sea Bass with Sweet Parsnips, Arrowleaf Spinach, and Saffron-Vanilla Sauce: Oh, wow.

Cream of Walnut Soup: It made me close my eyes, smile, and bounce around in my seat with glee.

"Head to Toe" -- Pig's Head: Three exhausting days. One life-changing experience.

Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate: I think this might be the best dessert I've ever made.

Oysters and Pearls: This is the dish that got me to love oysters. No small feat.

Sweet Potato Agnolotti with Sage Cream, Brown Butter, and Prosciutto: Perfection.

Tasting of Potatoes with Black Truffle: I want this on my Thanksgiving table, and then, I want Thanksgiving to be every day. Or twice a day.

"Peas and Carrots" -- Maine Lobster Pancakes with Pea Shoot Salad and Ginger-Carrot Emulsion: This dish makes me want to hug myself.

Braised Breast of Veal with Yellow Corn Polenta Cakes, Glazed Vegetables, and Sweet Garlic: My new favorite comfort food.

* * * * *

So, did I just cook every dish in The French Laundry Cookbook and then stow the book away for safekeeping? Hellz no. Here are the dishes I've Added to the Permanent Repertoire because I think they're worth making regularly (by which I mean a few times a year):

Creamy Maine Lobster Broth

Gruyère Cheese Gougères

Sweet Potato Agnolotti with Sage Cream, Brown Butter, and Prosciutto

Whole Roasted Moulard Duck Foie Gras with Apples and Black Truffles

Black Sea Bass with Sweet Parsnips, Arrowleaf Spinach, and Saffron-Vanilla Sauce

"Pineapple Chop" -- Oven-Roasted Maui Pineapple with Fried Pastry Cream and Whipped Crème Fraîche

I also now use The French Laundry Cookbook's bordelaise sauce recipe and veal stock recipe as the standard in my kitchen.

* * * * *

Now, you know it hasn't been all sunshine, lollipops and unicorns up in here these past two years, and I have had some colossal failures, as well as things that just didn't turn out the way I'd hoped. Some of them I'll never make again. Others, I should probably try again at some point in my life so that I can master whatever skill is was I didn't have before. Or at least try to not suck as badly as the first go-round.

Here are the Things I Feel Bad About Screwing Up and someday will try again so that I can redeem myself in the eyes of those who can cook:

"Chips and Dip" -- Potato Chips with Truffle Dip

"Surf and Turf" -- Sautéed Monkfish Tail with Braised Oxtails, Salsify and Cèpes

"Head to Toe" -- Pig's Feet

"Candied Apple" -- Crème de Farine with Poached Apples and Ice Cream

And, because you know there are some, here are the Dishes I Will Never, Ever Make Again, Not Even if Michael Bloomberg Asked Me To:

Chesapeake Bay Soft-shell Crab "Sandwich": The quotes around "sandwich" aren't mine. It's in the book that way. I think the quotes are there because it wasn't appropriate to call this what it really is: Chesapeake Bay Soft-shell Big Fat Plate of Trauma.

Tripe: No. Just, no.

Lobster Consommé en Gelée: Unless I need a torture device to use on neighborhood children with already-burned hands, or an easy path to bankruptcy, this won't make an appearance in my kitchen again.

* * * * *

Ever since I started this blog, people have asked, "if you had to put together a 4- or 5-course menu for a dinner party, using dishes from The French Laundry Cookbook, what would you recommend?"

Early on, I'm sure I proposed the most preposertous and unattainable combinations, because, HELLO, I hadn't made all of these dishes yet, so what the hell did I know?

So, now that I've cooked everything, here's what I think I'd put together as a menu as something I, personally, would enjoy and would be capable of pulling off. With these recommendations, I'm factoring in prep time, cooking and storage space, and being able to actually spend time with dinner guests instead of having to stay in the kitchen the whole time and not enjoy the food at the table with them.

Menu #1 (Spring)

Gruyère Cheese Gougères

Black Sea Bass with Sweet Parsnips, Arrowleaf Spinach, and Saffron-Vanilla Sauce

Roasted Sweetbreads with Applewood-smoked Bacon, Braised Belgian Endive and Black Truffle Sauce

Roulade of Pekin Duck Breast with Creamed Sweet White Corn and Morel Mushroom Sauce

Peanut Butter Truffles (and maybe the jellies if I'm in the mood)

Menu #2 (Summer)

"Peas and Carrots" -- Maine Lobster Pancakes with Pea Shoot Salad and Ginger-Carrot Emulsion

"Clam Chowder" -- Saut é ed Cod with Cod Cakes and Parsley Oil

Double-rib Lamb Chops with Cassoulet of Summer Beans and Rosemary

Strawberry and Champagne Terrine

Menu #3 (Fall)

"Cornets" -- Salmon Tartare with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche

Fricassée of Escargots with a Purée of Sweet Carrots, Roasted Shallots, and Herb Salad

Braised Breast of Veal with Yellow Corn Polenta Cakes, Glazed Vegetables, and Sweet Garlic

Sally Schmitt's Cranberry and Apple Kuchen with Hot Cream Sauce

Menu #4 (Winter)

Cream of Walnut Soup

Whole Roasted Moulard Duck Foie Gras with Apples and Black Truffles

Sweet Potato Agnolotti with Sage Cream, Brown Butter, and Prosciutto

Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate

* * * * *

Note: I know I said in my previous post that this post would contain what I think is a cool giveaway. While I'm happy to report that the giveaway is still quite cool, I'm sad to say the timing on it still isn't confirmed.... so stay tuned. I'm hoping all the details are ironed out by my next (and final) post next week. If not, then I'll just have to pimp it on Alinea at Home. So stay tuned.

Up Next: I'm Staying "At Home"

Music To Write Lists By: Rooney; Rooney. I listen to Rooney when I need music that's more than background music, but won't make me stop what I'm doing just to listen to it.

Read My Previous Post: "Cornets" -- Salmon Tartare with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche

"Cornets" -- Salmon Tartare with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche

2008-10-10T00:34:00.008-04:00

Wow.

You guys, this is a really hard post to write.

I keep typing, then deleting... then typing more slowly... and stopping to just watch the cursor on the screen blink on and off after each word I type.

I don't even want to think about, when I'm done writing this, how long I'm going to stare at the "Publish Post" button at the bottom of the screen when all the writing is done and let the little hand-shaped cursor linger over that.

Make fun all you want of little miss sarcastic here getting all sappy and goopy, but having to actually sit down and write this post is weird and strange and much more difficult than I ever could have imagined.

I spent almost an hour this morning staring at pages 316 and 317 of my copy of The French Laundry Cookbook... gliding my finger left to right under each line as I read and re-read the title and corresponding page number of each dish....seeing my checkmarks (some in black pen, some in blue pen) indicating which dishes I'd already done, hoping that maybe, possibly, (please oh please oh please) I'd see a small blank space and find that I'd missed one. But I didn't. With this dish, I'd done them all. Cooked all 100 dishes in this book, and a few extras to boot.

I closed the book, laid it on the wooden butcher block you've seen in so many of my photos, stood there with my hands pressed down on the cover of it, and just cried.

It wasn't a big weepy, ugly cry... it was a quieter "wow" and a "whew" kind of cry. And after about 15 seconds, I saw my reflection in the kitchen window and had to laugh at myself because it's been the most amazing ride, hasn't it? I knew I'd been heavily invested in this project for quite some time, but instead of bursting into tears, I really thought I'd feel joyful, jubilant, celebratory, accomplished and victorious. And I do. I just have a dorky way of showing it.

I've known for a long time that I wanted this dish to be the last one I cooked and the last one I posted, since it's one of the first things (along with the gougères) you're served at The French Laundry and Per Se when you sit down to eat.

In fact, now that I think about it, it's almost a year to the day that I ate at Per Se for the very first time, and got to hold one of these cornets in my hand... unwrapping the perfect little, white napkin from the cone, and making sure I got the salmon tartare, red onion crème fraîche, and the top centimeter of the cone into my mouth in the first bite. I remember saying to myself, "Stop. Think. Taste. Remember. Because you're going to make these one day, and they need to be great. This is one dish you cannot and must not screw up."

I had the cornets again the second time I went to Per Se for dinner, and then again the third time, when I went there for the Under Pressure book preview luncheon. That time, as I stood in the front lobby-lounge area at Per Se, meeting journalists, writers, publishers, and others I'd long admired, one of the servers brought around a beautiful tray with white napkin-wrapped salmon tartare cornets nestled inside. With a glass of champagne in my left hand, I picked up a cornet in my right hand and just stared at it for a few seconds. I thought about whose job it was to perfectly fold and then perfectly wrap all those little napkins around the cones. I thought about how many of those tiny savory cones must get made every week, and if any ever break, or are they all perfect every single time. And I thought about how lucky I was to be in this place, seeing Thomas Keller just a few feet away talking to his publisher, Ann Bramson, before the sous vide demonstration was to begin... and I thought, how in the hell did I get to be this lucky?

I took a bite of that cornet, unwrapped the napkin from the rest and finished it in the second bite, and magically, someone appeared by my side to take the napkin from my hands. That was, without a doubt, my favorite cornet of all... until I made my own. Granted, I also had them in August when I ate at The French Laundry and Per Se, and they were lovely. But there's something about having eaten something so perfect and playful in the most amazing context surrounded by people who wow and amaze you, and then being able to replicate it in the most perfect way I am capable of that really made me feel like I'd accomplished something pretty freakin' amazing. Because it wasn't about just making these cornets and having them be phenomenal, it was also about having them serve as the perfect ending to what really has been one of the most challenging and rewarding experiences of my life.

* * * * *

In the past few years, I've seen a number of online and literary accounts of people trying to make these cornets, and read all about the burned fingertips and cracked or burned cones, the alternate methods of serving the tartare on a flat tuille instead, the frustration others experienced in plating and serving them, and figured it would be one, big, colossal FAIL when it came time for me to make them.

I was so happy to be proven wrong.

The first thing I did was make the stencil for the cornets. I needed a 4" diameter ring, and a deli container lid with the center cut out worked perfectly. I lined it up on a plastic binder divider tab thingamabob, traced a circle, and cut out a stencil on that.

Next, I made the batter for the cornets. Big disclaimer here: I did not follow the exact instructions in the book, because I'd heard from a number of very experienced people (and saw a video of Thomas using the Cuisinart for this step; link below) that you can make this batter in a food processor and it works out nicely. So, I decided to give it a whirl and see how I fared. I put the butter into the food processor and zapped it around until it was smooth and almost like mayonnaise in texture, then added the flour, sugar, salt, and egg whites, and pulsed it until everything was combined and smooth, and there were no chunks or lumps.

I placed the stencil onto a Silpat and spread the batter using an offset spatula. Note, you will see a little glob of butter in one of the rounds below.... so I guess I kind of lied about my zapping it around the food processor until there were no lumps. Ooopsie.

I sprinkled some poppyseeds onto the rounds (couldn't find black sesame seeds anywhere)...

... and put them in a 400-degree oven for 4 minutes. At the four-minute mark, I opened the oven, pulled out the baking sheet and put it on the open oven door so I could keep the rounds warm while I used an offset spatula to lift the edge and then flip each one WITH MY BARE HANDS HELLO HOT BUTTER, and then rolled them around the cornet molds (also called cream horn molds or cornucopia molds). The book's explanation of how to do this step is pretty straightforward, but this video of Thomas making the original tuna tartare cornets on the Jewish Television Network might help if you're stuck. It's a really great demo of how you roll these suckers, and you get to see the master at work, which is always a treat. [Thanks to all of you who also emailed me that link over the past 8 or 9 months. You're right; it IS helpful to see.]

You'll see above that one of them has a hole in the cone -- that's where that lump of butter was. So, when you're doing these at home (and you really should do these at home), make sure you don't have any lumps, bumps, or clumps of butter, or else it will melt and leave you with a hole in your cornet. And that would be bad. Very bad.

I put the cornets back in the oven so they could finish baking -- another three and a half minutes -- took them out, let them rest for about 45 seconds, then removed them from the baking sheet WITH MY BARE HANDS HOT CONES BURNY FINGERTIPS AAAAUUUGGGGHHH, and put them on a paper towel to cool to room temperature.

After just 30 seconds on the paper towels, I removed the molds from the finished cornets and used them on the next batch already in the oven. Make no mistake, and in case you missed my not-so-subtle clues, these things are hotty hot hot when you handle them, especially when you have to flip and roll the rounds around the molds. Using gloves is not an option, because you need to be able to work directly with them to get them to wrap and roll tight against the mold. In my experience, the best tool for doing this step expeditiously, yet carefully, is to repeat a lot of swear words in a mantra as you're doing it. Turn those swear words into a song. Or a chant. Or a haiku. Whatever works for you. But for me? I needed to let a few expletives fly to get the job done. Sorry, Mom, but it's true.

When all the cornets had cooled to room temperature, I stored them in an airtight container until I was ready to serve them.

The next thing I did was prepare the salmon tartare.

I minced that lovely 6-ounce piece of salmon belly and put it in a bowl with some olive oil, lemon oil, minced chives, minced shallots and a pinch or two of salt, then mixed it together before covering it with foil and refrigerating it for about an hour.

The last thing I needed to make was the red onion crème fraîche. I put some crème fraîche in a mixing bowl and whisked it by hand until it had soft peaks.

Then, I rinsed the minced red onion under cold water for a few seconds, dried them on paper towels, and gently folded them into the crème fraîche.

I added a pinch or two of salt and white pepper to this mixture as well. I made a little more than the book instructed because I knew I wanted to use some as an omelet filling the next morning for breakfast, along with the leftover salmon I knew I'd have because I upped the quantities a smidge on that part, as well.

I called my friends... my loyal neighbors who are my most trusted tasters, and who have eaten nearly every single dish you've read about on this blog... and gave them the two-minute warning to come on over.

During that time, I used a ziploc bag to pipe red onion crème fraîche into each cone, topped it with a little scoop of salmon tartare which I then topped with a chive tip.

I had 22 in all (one cone had a hole in it, and I dropped one on the floor), and served them in a test-tube rack I found online at some bizarro homeschool supply web site (which I now just realized totally explains all the bizaro fundamentalist catalogs and literature offers I'm getting in the mail):

Here's a close up of the very first one I made:

Not too shabby, huh?

I went back and re-read one of my old posts about when I had these at Per Se and found this:

Salmon Tartare Cornets: I really wish there were words to describe how good these are. Note to self: Ummm, you'd better figure out what those words are by the time you make these.

And you know what? I finally did find the words to describe how good these are:

Perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

You gotta make 'em yourself to know what I mean, and to know what they taste like. It's worth it, I promise.

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Lists and Menu Suggestions (and what I think will be a very cool giveaway opportunity)

Resources:
King Arthur flour
Domino sugar
David's kosher salt
365 organic butter
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
Poppyseeds, chives, shallot, red onion, white pepper from the TPSS Co-op
Salmon from BlackSalt
Monini olive oil
O lemon oil
Vermont Butter and Cheese Co. crème fraîche

Music to Cook By: Earth Wind & Fire; Essential Earth Wind & Fire. There's just something so happy and wonderful about a giant, groovy 70s band with a full horn section and an overall sound I just love. When I was in elementary school, my friend, Molly, and I used to play her parents' Earth Wind & Fire records full blast on the record player as we jumped on the sofa and danced around the living room (but not jumping so hard we'd make the record skip), pretending we were on American Bandstand and Soul Train, with our Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers (root beer!) hanging around our necks. I don't know how you could listen to "Got To Get You Into My Life" and not want to dance around your own kitchen, you know?

Read My Previous Post: Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate with Cinnamon Stick Ice Cream

Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate with Cinnamon Stick Ice Cream

2008-10-05T22:30:00.003-04:00

It's no coincidence that I saved this as the next-to-last dish to make. Why? Because I'm incredibly bittersweet about this project coming to its inevitable conclusion, so this dish seemed fitting to hold until near the end. And, I also have to confess that it's taken me ages to write this post, because as excited as I am about starting on the Alinea Cookbook, I'm more than a little melancholy about this particular project coming to an end... so I've been procrastinating on putting this up.

My apologies to those of you who've emailed over the past few days with, "Um, Carol? Are you, like, dead or something?" No, I am not injured, dead, or ignoring you. I'm just spending more and more time with every last dish and every last post, because this has been such an incredible project, and I want to savor every last bit of it. And because, let's be honest, procrastination is in my freakin' DNA.

Alright, alright, I'll save all the mushiness for a future post. Let's get our velouté on.

In the intro to this dish, The French Laundry Cookbook reads: "Here, a seductive disk of molten chocolate sits atop a frozen platform of cinnamon ice cream -- for that hot-cold surprise -- in a pool of chocolate sauce."

If I had written the intro, it would've gone something like this: "Holy $(%#$(%, people; you will NOT want this dessert to end. Mother$(%*#$(%&$."

See why Michael Ruhlman is the writer, and not yours truly?

Thought so.

I did this dish over two days, and I think for the best results, you've got to do it that way. Or else, start reeeeealllllyyyy early in the morning to serve it that night. I reeeeealllllyyyy hate early mornings, so I spaced it out over two days. It worked perfectly. The first thing I did was make the chocolate velouté. Here's the mise en place:

I made the meringue by putting the egg whites and some of the sugar into a mixing bowl over a pan of simmering water. I whisked it until the sugar had dissolved and it had gotten a little foamy, then set the mixing bowl on my mixer stand. I whipped it with my trusty Kitchen Aid mixer (man, I love that thing) for a little over 5 minutes -- by then, the meringue had cooled, had soft peaks, and was light and fluffy.

During the five minutes it took to whip, I prepared the chocolate part of the equation. I poured the milk into a saucepan, then sifted in sugar, cocoa powder, flour, and salt and whisked it to combine everything. Then, I whisked in the egg yolks. Over medium heat, I kept whisking it until it had gotten to the consistency of pudding or custard. Then, I kept cooking it and whisking it, until it had gotten a nice sheen to it and had thickened even more.

I'd had a gelatin sheet soaking in water, so I squeezed out the water and dropped the gelatin into the mixture -- still whisking -- then removed the pan from the heat. Then, I stirred in the chopped bittersweet chocolate and stirred it until it melted completely.

I transferred this mixture to a mixing bowl, where I whisked in one spoonful of the meringue.

When that had combined, I folded in the rest of it.

I put this chocolatey goodness into a ziploc bag, cut off the tip, then filled the ring molds with the mixture:

I covered the tray of ring molds with aluminum foil and put it in the freezer overnight.

Before going to bed, I also made the custard for the cinnamon ice cream, because that needed to cool overnight.

I combined cream, milk, and a cinnamon stick in a sauce pan, brought it to a simmer, then covered it and turned off the flame so it could steep for 30 minutes.

I removed the cinnamon stick and added some sugar, then brought it back up to a simmer, stirring to dissolve the sugar.

In a separate bowl, I whisked the rest of the sugar with the egg yolks:

Then, as with any ice cream custard, I tempered the eggs with some of the warm cinnamon-milk-cream mixture, then poured the tempered yolks into the saucepan and continued heating and stirring until the custard thickened and coated the wooden spoon I'd been stirring it with.

I poured the custard into a bowl, set that bowl in a bowl of ice, and stirred it every now and then until it had cooled to room temperature. I strained the cooled custard into a separate bowl which I put in the fridge overnight to cool completely.

I woke up early the next morning, because I wanted to get the ice cream moving along so it would be done in enough time to serve this dessert later that afternoon. It was the weekend, and what better time to serve dessert before dinner, right?

I removed the bowl of custard from the refrigerator and put it in my ice cream maker for about 35 minutes. Then, I slathered the nearly frozen ice cream onto a plastic wrap-lined sheet pan and spread it into a 3/4" layer. I covered it with foil and put it in the freezer for a few hours to harden.

When the ice cream had hardened, I cut out six disks (2" in diameter) and returned those to the freezer until I was ready to plate:

Next up? The cookies. They don't get any billing in the dish's title, but they were instrumental in pulling this dish together and were actually quite tasty.

In a bowl, I whisked together regular all-purpose and pastry flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt.

In my mixing bowl (using the paddle attachment), I beat together butter, sugar, brown sugar, and honey.

When they had combined, I slowly added in the dry ingredients and kept mixing it until everything was incorporated.

Then, I put the cookie dough onto a Silpat. The dough was kind of crumbly, so I smushed it together as best I could.

I covered it with a piece of parchment paper and rolled the dough into a 1/8" thick layer.

I put the Silpat -- with the dough still on it -- onto a baking sheet and put that in the freezer for an hour. After the hour was up (during which time I got a TON of work done... and by work, I mean Twittering, natch), I took the dough out of the freezer, removed the parchment, and placed the mat o' dough onto a baking sheet and baked it at 350 degrees for 8 minutes.

At the 8-minute mark, I used a 2" round cutter to cut out disks...

... then returned the pan to the oven to bake another 3 minutes. When they were done, they looked like this:

I let the cookies cool for a few minutes, lifted them off the mat with an offset spatula, and stored them in a container until it was time to plate.

The last thing I had to do before finishing the dish and plating it was to make the chocolate sauce. Witness, my bittersweet chocolate:

I chopped it:

Then, poured some warm cream over it:

Then, after a minute or two, stirred it:

I don't know why the hell anyone would buy that nasty-ass ready-made chocolate sauce at the grocery store when you can make something this good so easily.

Just before my friends were due to arrive (okay, walk 30 feet from their front door to mine), I baked les veloutés. I put the cookies on a baking sheet, then gently pressed out the frozen chocolate veloutés from their ring molds, placed one atop each cookie, and baked them in a 400-degree oven for 12 minutes.

In the final plating shot, you'll see what they looked like when they were done baking.

To plate, I poured a small pool of the chocolate sauce into the dish, then centered an ice cream disk, which I topped with a baked velouté... and dusted the whole shebang with some powdered sugar:

Doesn't that look like if someone served it to you, you might actually say, "Holy $(%#$(%, people; I do NOT want this dessert to end. Mother$(%*#$(%&$."?????? Thought so.

So, how did it taste?

Let's refer to the photographic evidence:

That's my neighbor kid, "C," who finished this dish in record time.

He loved it. I loved it. We all loved it. And, I wish I had made more. It was rich and creamy, and we all could've had seconds and then fallen asleep from the massive sugar rush that would've ensued.

The velouté was hot and creamy inside... the ice cream was cold and the cinnamon with the chocolate was so fantastic... and the chocolate sauce? Alone, it's worth the cost of buying this book. I mean it.

The hot-cold combo is especially fantastic when the ingredients are this good. I remember, as a kid, going to Bob's Big Boy after a band concert or other elementary school parental torture device, and ordering the hot fudge cake with the ice cream layer inside, drenched in chocolate sauce. When I was nine years old, I used to dream about that cake (and mashed potatoes with succotash mixed in, but that's a story for another blog) -- the warm chocolate cake, the cold vanilla ice cream, the hot fudge sauce oozing down the sides of the dessert... and now, I've figured out how to not only bring back that glorious dessert memory, but make it a kabillion times better.

And you know what? It's not hard to make. AT ALL. Nothing was troubling, puzzling, or made me feel like I was about to experience a big, fat, colossal FAIL. It was incredibly straightforward, and without a doubt, one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth.

But there were five other people at the table. Did they all love it as much as I did?

Well, imagine this, times six.

I think you have your answer.

Up Next: "Cornets" -- Salmon Tartare with Sweet Red Onion Crème Fraîche

Resources:
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
Domino sugar, confectioners' sugar, and brown sugar
Organic Valley milk and cream
Ghirardelli cocoa
King Arthur flour and gelatin sheet
Noi Sirius bittersweet chocolate
Cinnamon from TPSS Co-op
Savannah Bee Company sourwood honey

Music to Cook By: Heart; Greatest Hits. Because I needed to sing "Magic Man" and "Barracuda" at the top of my lungs. It was just one of those weeks.

Read My Previous Post: Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 2)

Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 2)

2008-09-26T00:00:00.005-04:00

If you're just joining us, you may want to read my last post to get caught up.

To quickly recap, over three and a half hours on a Monday morning, we went from this:

.... to this:

.... and we broke for lunch.

After our lunch of burgers, fries, and shakes, we piled back into my car, drove back to Sheppard Mansion, headed back into the kitchen, donned our aprons (and jackets for the men) and got to work. At the same time, a small construction crew showed up just outside the kitchen window to dig out and lay the concrete foundation for a new wheelchair ramp into the inn. One of the guys on the crew -- the guy who was driving the cement truck, actually -- had a beard that made him look like the long-lost member of ZZ Top, so that meant the entire afternoon was all about trying to out-do one another with ZZ Top song poisoning, which then led to discussions about other bands from our high school days, and we fixated on Kix -- a local band that made it big for about fourteen seconds in the 1980s, and I ended up song poisoning myself with "Cool Kids." Aaaaaand, now that I just found that clip to link to, I've re-song-poisoned myself. Somebody stop me.

Back to the food.

Andy checked on the lamb breast braising in the oven, and it still had some time to go. So, in the meantime, we prepped the legs. Scott had already deboned and butterflied them, so we slathered them with a mixture of minced garlic, extra virgin olive oil, Dijon mustard, chopped thyme, and grey salt. After rubbing them with that lovely mixture, we tied them up nice and tight (I tied the one already on the tray below -- Andy's tying the second one:

In the background of that photo, you can see Scott working with the tenderloin. That part is coming soon. He also frenched the bones for the rack, tied them, and seasoned them. I don't have photos of him doing that because I was trying to spend as much hands-on time as I could with the lamb, and not too much behind the lens.

Overall (and Michael Ruhlman raised this in the comments section of the previous post), this was not a difficult animal to work with in terms of trimming and cleaning it up. In an older animal, there's more connective tissue, called elastin. When it cooks, it seizes up and makes the meat tougher. Younger animals haven't developed the elastin, and instead have more collagen, which when they're cooked, allows the collagen to melt (I think that's an apt way to describe it -- you experts out there, please feel free to correct my terminology if need be), and allows for a much more tender, almost creamy texture to the meat. I'll talk more about that when we get to the end because it definitely had an impact on how this tasted.

Next, we made a farce, or stuffing, with the lamb trimmings. This may have been one of my favorite parts of the process because I love watching chunks of meat get shoved into a meat grinder and swlurge and blop out the other end:

We mixed in some salt, pepper, mustard, brunoise, thyme, minced kalamata olives, and parsley to complete the stuffing:

Andy spread the farce onto the sirloin, placed the tenderloin on top of it (which made me think of the song Tenderoni), then wrapped it three times in caul fat to keep its shape:

Andy did the first one, then made Rich do the second one and heckled him the entire time. I swear, at one point I was ready to just whip out a ruler. First the heckling over the carrots for the brunoise, and now this.

Rich did a great job (even when I needlessly added to the heckling, because sometimes, yes, I am a joiner). Both were awesome. See?

By now, the lamb breast was done braising in the oven. Andy pulled the bones out of one breast, and I handled the other:

We went back to the book at this point to make sure we were still on track -- and I had to take a picture of how well worn Andy's copy of TFLC is:

Now, that's a book that's gotten some serious use in the kitchen.

I don't have photos of this next part -- probably because I was the one doing it and therefore couldn't also simultaneously take photos -- but we prepared the breast meat just like I did with the veal breast when I made it last year -- pressed and weighted them between two baking sheets and put it in the cooler to refrigerate it overnight before cutting it into two-inch rounds.... which you'll see in a later photo.

I deboned and rough-chopped the meat from the neck, shanks and shoulders (which also had been braising right alongside the breast meat, and which I did not take photos of, because I was the one doing it and I'm kind of a picky, annoying control freak about other people using my camera), and Andy tossed the meat with butter, olive oil, brunoise, and some salt and pepper. We also had reduced some of the lamb braising liquid to a glaze, and added that, as well.

Now comes my favorite part. We rolled that hodgepodge (lodge!) into a log. Andy did his:

Then, Rich did one (and was ONCE AGAIN heckled because we are, clearly, in sixth grade), and I did the third one (and was not heckled because I think they are secretly very, very afraid of me, and I was sort of pretending to heckle myself anyway, just to be a good sport about it). You'll see all three in a photo to come. Sort of a meat roll call, if you will.

But making these meat logs -- which would set overnight and the next day be sliced into rillettes and sautéed -- was our final step of Day One. WOOOO-HOOOOO!!!!!!!

We cleaned up the kitchen, got out of there around 4:30, and I took a little 30-minute disco nap before showering and heading over to dinner at Andy and Karen's house, just a few blocks from the inn.

Rich and Scott joined us for dinner, and all five of us sat outside and watched the sun set over the trees as we enjoyed the bounty of summer -- grilled steak, bread, corn, salad, fresh tomatoes, a bottle of Joseph Phelps Insignia along with some other amazing wines, fresh fruit with freshly whipped cream for dessert, and had a really lovely evening. The weather was beautiful, the company outstanding, the music perfect, my hosts most welcoming, and it was the perfect way to wind down what had been an exhausting and totally exhilarating day.

* * * * *

With lots of wine at dinner comes the inevitable throb of a headache the next morning, but some strong coffee and a few Pop Tarts took care of that right away. Andy and the guys ran errands all morning for the restaurant, and as much as I wanted to join them going farm to farm and producer to producer, I very reluctantly had to spend a few hours doing some client work. We agreed to reconvene in the kitchen just after lunchtime so we could finish all the prep and be ready to serve dinner at 6. My parents and some of their friends were coming over to enjoy this dinner, and I was looking forward to getting back in the kitchen and getting everything done.

Andy took the lamb breast out of the cooler where it had been pressed between two baking sheets, cut out 2" rounds, and we did a meat roll call to make sure everything was ready to go:

All lamb parts, present and accounted for, SIR!

The lamb brain had been soaking overnight in milk, but when Andy took it out of the milk to add it to the tray of lamb delight, he noticed there was some dark discoloration and a strange balance of blood still in there, so he decided not to cook it for me because he didn't think it looked right.

Whew. Crisis averted.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing little odds and ends, but eventually, I got kicked out of the kitchen because Andy wanted to prepare a few surprises for me and our dinner guests. I was really worried one of those surprises was going to be a tripe-cilantro casserole with fermented lamb brain croutons, but I was later relieved to find out I was wrong.

I was able to sneak in a few shots of the lamb breast all mustarded and pankoed, and the leg was just beginning to cook before my butt was given das boot:

At 6 o'clock, I met my parents and their friends in the dining room; Andy's partner Karen (she runs front of house) joined us, poured some wine, and we started in on Andy's famous soft pretzel rolls (hey, you can't be from Pennsylvania and not know how to make and/or appreciate soft pretzels in every incarnation -- I even make soft pretzel bread pudding, which will knock your socks off) and corn fritters made from fresh corn using an old family recipe (again, I don't know anyone from my neck of the woods who doesn't drool over a hot, fresh corn fritter). Next, he sent out demitasse cups of Creamy Maine Lobster Broth, which he followed with a Rettland Farms milk-fed poularde served over butter-braised cabbage, fingerling potatoes and corn jus. All of it delicious and quite unexpected. I love surprise feasts, don't you?

Then, I was "allowed" to come back in the kitchen and help finish and plate the lamb. As I turned the corner into the kitchen, I was ka-powed with the most amazing smells.

I stopped for just a moment to watch the guys at work as they pulled hot pans off the stove, working in synchronicity with one another and getting the lamb rested and prepared for plating. Karen joined me in the kitchen, and we all worked on the plating together -- exactly as it should be:

So, let's talk about each element of this dish one-by-one, then talk about it as a whole.

Lamb stock reduced to a glaze, with thyme oil Andy made the day before, and on top of that -- each piece of the lamb: leg, breast, saddle/loin, rack, rillettes (shank, shoulder, neck). Oh, and also the kidney. Almost forgot about that.

Let's start with the sauce. Wow. Working with a really young animal, again, means there's more collagen than elastin in the muscle tissue, so not only does that help make the meat so incredibly tender and almost butter-like in its texture when it cooks, it makes the stock and then the reduced sauce more viscous and velvety smooth. The thyme oil and thyme leaves were perfect, too. I never understood why people like lamb with rosemary -- I think thyme is so much more complementary to lamb.

The leg of lamb, which had been slathered in a mustard sauce, pan-seared, then roasted was hearty, yet not heavy. Flawless. The breast meat, which had been braised, then cut into disks, pankoed then sauteed was so creamy, I had to really remind myself I was eating lamb. The loin with the kalamata olive stuffing? Fer the love of Larry Dallas, I think it was (maybe) my favorite of all of them. It was so flavorful and rich, I wanted more. The rack, straightforward and roasted on the bone was exactly as I hoped it would be, and was so fresh and delicious. I'd never tasted lamb like this before, and my dad (who really doesn't like lamb -- actually, he kind of hates it, but came to dinner anyway) was blown away. This was unlike any lamb any of us had ever had, and we were over the moon. The rillettes were really, really good and I was happy to have had some of them leftover to chop up with potatoes the next morning and make a breakfast hash that I still think about.

Every singular element of this dish was phenomenal on its own. It's when I started taking little bites of the breast meat along with some of the tenderloin together... and then the rillette with the rack, that it sent me over the edge. It seemed as though the combinations were limitless, and every single one of them was as good as the next.

The lamb was so good that I could barely focus on the braised cipollini onions, although they were quite good as well, and little bits of those added to the lamb were a treat, for sure.

You know, when I was thinking back to other lamb dishes I've had to try and compare and contrast, I couldn't. Young baby lamb is like nothing else. Prior to eating this, I expected it to taste like lamb (which I already loved), but better. It was a completely different taste altogether. It reminded me of when I made the pig's head, because prior to eating that I figured, "oh, it'll just taste pork-ish." And it was so different (and better) than my expectations. That's how this lamb played on my palate. It was unlike any other lamb I'd had before, and raised the bar, for sure. It was soft and creamy, but not wimpy or lame in any way. It had some heft to it, but it wasn't lamb-y. Cooked lamb has a distinct smell. This did not have that smell. It was much more fragrant and not as meat-y smelling as lamb often is. It was f-ing fantastic.

In fact, I really think I'll have a hard time ordering lamb in a restaurant, knowing how good it can be when you make it yourself with people who crack you up, and then eat it with people who think you're slightly nutty for doing it, but love you just the same. My parents and their friends had a great time, and I think we all felt a little bit spoiled by the experience. This was a great plate of food.

We ended the night with some fresh fruit and freshly whipped cream for dessert, and my parents and their friends headed back home. It was great to have them experience this dish, because it was something I'd never done before, and I think they thoroughly enjoyed the whole night. They don't live close enough to be able to taste all these dishes, so after spending all this time reading this blog from afar, it was nice for me to have them actually there to eat something that was such a big learning moment for me... and that tasted so freakin' good. I think I would have been written out of the will, had I had them drive two hours to my house to eat tripe, pig's feet, or lobster jelly.

I stayed behind to help with clean up, and once the kitchen was shiny and put back together and the few leftovers we had all packed up, I said my goodbyes, dragged my ass to the car, and drove two hours home, giddy and exhausted, but with the greastest sense of accomplishment that I've felt in a really long time.

So, would I ever do this dish again? Hell yes.

But probably not on my own, because I honestly think it's just too much for one person to do (in a short period of time, to ensure the meat stays fresh), unless they've got the experience, tools, and space to do it. That said, if I were ever thrown into a situation where I was forced to break down and cook a whole baby lamb all by myself with a good saw, a good knife, but no help from no one, no how? Let's just say that now, having done this, there's far less risk of failure... or at least I could fail with dignity.

So, thank you, again, to Andy, Scott, Rich, Karen, and Kathy for opening the Sheppard Mansion's kitchen and allowing me to make it my home for a few days.

One last thing: if you ever get a chance to do this -- visit a farm, see a lamb, buy a lamb, connect with a chef, work with and learn from that chef, understand and work with an entire animal, and be able to feast upon your labors when all is said and done, you will be one of the luckiest people on earth.

I swear.

Resources:
Lamb from Whitmore Farm
All produce from Hanover, PA-area farms and gardens

Music to Cook By: It was an iTunes-free kitchen, but in the spirit of our banter and heckling, go ahead and download yourselves some ZZ Top and Kix and feel the south central PA love.

Up Next: Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate with Cinnamon Stick Ice Cream

Read My Previous Post: Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

Baby Lamb: Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

2008-09-21T23:00:00.003-04:00

I think it's safe to say -- and I hope you'll agree with me -- that in the past 20 months, I've grown by leaps and bounds as a home cook. I've learned so much (through failure as equally as success) and I've conquered some serious kitchen phobias. I've changed the way I cook on a day-to-day basis, and I've become even more fearless when it comes to trying new things. I've cut the faces off softshell crabs and lived to tell about it. I made a braised, stuffed pig's head. And more recently, I learned how to break down an animal, cook its various parts, and pull together a dish that I'm incredibly proud of. But, this time, I didn't do it alone.

If I may, I'd like to share some text from the instructions for making Baby Lamb dish -- on page 198 of The French Laundry Cookbook:

"I value this dish as a chef because it's a learning experience for my staff. It gives them an understanding of how to break down an entire four-legged animal and where the individual parts come from. These things are important for any chef to know." -- Thomas Keller

I couldn't agree more, but I'm not a chef. I'm a home cook who has had no formal or informal training, and who has never broken down an animal on her own (let alone with anyone else, and the frog in 7th-grade biology class doesn't count). So, I knew I was ill-prepared to do this dish on my own. And, for being what I think is the most complicated dish in the book for a home cook, the instructions are the most vague. Actually, vague isn't the right word because I don't mean that the instructions were unclear. They're not. They're quite clear. All the steps are there, the terminology is pretty self-explanatory, and the steps on how to prepare each part of the lamb are pretty straightforward.

I think it was more that I felt lost reading those instructions because this is such an elemental, fundamental thing any chef or cook should know how to, or at least understand, and I didn't. I had some leads on sourcing the lamb -- that wasn't the issue. And, when I was in Morocco nine years ago, I watched friends roast a whole lamb. So again, I didn't feel intimidated by having to cook an entire animal. It was in the mechanics of it all.

Bringing home a 25-pound lamb, hauling it out of the back of my car into the house, having the right tools and saws to work with, and expecting to know how to break it down, debone it, prep each section, and prepare each element of the dish in my little home kitchen was something I knew I needed help with to be able to do properly, and to be able to show the animal the respect it deserved.

So, I turned to my friend, Andy Little, at The Sheppard Mansion. Andy helms the kitchen at an historic inn not far from where I grew up, and even though our hometowns are minutes away from one another and we're close to the same age, we've gotten to know one another only over the past few months. You can read more about Andy on his blog and you can learn more about what he's cooking in the restaurant here. I asked if he wanted to help with this dish, and he so very graciously said he would. I couldn't have been more thrilled, and it made the whole thing so much less intimidating on the whole.

Andy invited me to come to Hanover, PA to work in his kitchen -- where there was lots of space, plenty of supplies and tools, and most importantly, an abundance of expertise. I immediately said, "YES!!!" and spent two days at the inn while we cooked and ate, and I got an intensive crash course on butchering and cooking like I'd never done before. The Sheppard Mansion's restaurant is only open Wednesday - Saturday, so we'd have all day Monday and Tuesday in the kitchen, then serve it for dinner to family and friends Tuesday night.

Before we get to the cooking, I want to spend a little bit of time on the lamb, because it's important to me that you know where it came from.

The baby lamb came from Whitmore Farm in Emmitsburg, Maryland, and I spent a Saturday morning at the farm not too long ago to meet owners Will Morrow and Kent Ozkum and see their operations. It's a really gorgeous property, but beyond that, it was really important for me to see how they raise their animals and learn more about what they do.

Let's do a quick tour of the farm. Here's the main house and barn:

Here are some of their chickens:

And turkeys:

Baby bunnies (!!!):

Kent (L) and Will (R) doing a morning feeding:

And, while I went to the farm the weekend after we'd already cooked the lamb, Will said the lamb we ate was just about the same size as this little brown guy giving me the stink eye:

They have an incredibly beautiful and well-maintained farm that produces the best-tasting lamb I've ever had. Will and Kent are so devoted to what they do, and they're fun to spend time with, to boot. If you live in the DC-Baltimore-Frederick-southern PA area, please check these guys out. You won't be disappointed. I spent the whole drive home that day running numbers and timetables in my head to figure out when and if I ever might be able to do what they're doing. It's remarkable, enviable, and I want to be them when I grow up.

* * * * *

So, now that you know where the lamb came from, it's time to talk about this dish. I'm going to split it into two separate posts (this one, and one to come in a few days) because I think if I put it all in one post your eyes might bleed from the length of it and I am not a fan of bleeding eyes, so YOU'RE WELCOME.

By the way, if you have questions as I go through this, please feel free to post them in the comments. I'll answer them, or I'll ask Andy to chime in if they're more up his alley.

Okay.... here we go!

* * * * *

I was visiting my parents, and brother and sis-in-law (and their new baby) for the weekend, and made my way over to Hanover that Sunday evening so that I could get a good night's sleep and be ready to start cooking first thing in the morning. Andy, his partner Karen (who runs front of house), and their boss (Sheppard Mansion owner, Kathy Sheppard Hoar) were gracious enough to let me stay at the inn while we made this dish, and it was so great to be able to wake up and just go downstairs to work in the kitchen that morning -- a revised, slightly more upscale and hospitable version of my "At Home" mission for the blog.

Monday morning, I woke up with a healthy amount of nervous energy. After a long shower and some time watching the news, I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and said hello to Andy. He then introduced me to his sous chef, Scott Robinson (who came in on his day off), and his friend, Rich Matosky, who played hooky from work and drove in from the Philly suburbs to lend a hand. Will delivered the lamb the day before, so after the round of handshakes and nice-to-meet-you pleasantries, I downed the last of my coffee and walked into the kitchen to find this waiting for me:

I will confess that I was surprised to see its head still attached, but I didn't vomit, nor did I flinch, nor reach for vodka. There may have been a wince. I may have said, "Oh... little guy" in my head. Or out loud. I'm not sure which.

There was very little chitchat at this point, and we got right down to business. Andy had already made a list of the exact cuts we needed, so he and Scott went to work breaking down the lamb while Rich and I watched and learned (and I took photos) as he explained each step of the process.

First, he cut off the head:

Then the legs:

Hello, kidneys:

Next, Andy and Scott (the one wearing the cap) began splitting the lamb down the middle:

See the clock above the sink and how it's only 9:25 a.m.? We started our morning at 9 a.m., and in less than 25 minutes, the lamb's head and legs were removed, and it had been split down the middle.

Do you know how this would've played out in my kitchen at home, had I started at 9 a.m.? By 9:25, I would have downed my second shot of bourbon as I peeked for the fourth time around the corner from my dining room into the kitchen and said, "Shit. That lamb is STILL THERE and he's dead but somehow STILL STARING AT ME and I don't know what to dooooooo" and lit my hair on fire and jumped off the roof of my house while singing the Barber of Seville.

Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating. But still.

Next, Andy removed the silverskin from the loin and tenderloin:

Andy and Scott split the rack:

Then, they got to work deboning and butterflying the legs, trimming and cleaning up the breast, and generally preparing all the rest of the lamb parts:

While Andy and Scott were working on all this, Rich and I were on carrot, leek and onion duty for the braises and brunoise, and Andy had also gotten started on browning bones and making stock (although he was MORE than happy to take a break from that to school Rich on his carrot-peeling technique and the size of his carrot cuts for the brunoise, which then became the running joke for the next two days... oh, who'm I kidding -- we're STILL busting Rich's chops about it and probably will for a long, long time.):

I was happy to be on vegetable duty, because it's easy, I got it done quickly (faster than Rich with the world's slowest peeling of the carrots) and it allowed me to more closely watch Andy and Scott break down the lamb, clean and trim all the parts, and talk about what they were doing as they went along.... while still feeling like I was doing something to contribute to the process.

There were so many moving parts -- many of which needed to take place simultaneously -- and it was fun to be in a kitchen with people who knew their stuff, had a sense of humor about it, and could teach while also taking the piss out of one another. My kind of kitchen, indeed.

By this point, it was about 11:30 a.m. The lamb had been butchered into its respective parts, bones were browned and stock begun, sauces on the stove, brunoise done. Now it was time to figure out what had to happen next so that we could take a quick lunch break and come back and finish out the afternoon. The kitchen full of MEN decided they should work on the BREAST (shocker, I know... 12) before we took a break.

The French Laundry Cookbook instructs that the lamb breast is to be cooked like the veal breast in the Braised Breast of Veal with Yellow Corn Polenta Cakes, Glazed Vegetables, and Sweet Garlic.

Easy-peasy. That I can handle. So, I seasoned both pieces of lamb breast with salt and pepper, seared it on both sides, removed the meat, and drained the fat from the pan. Then, I added leeks, carrots, onions, garlic, bay leaf, thyme and parsley to the pots (the breast was in two pieces, so we did all this times two but at the same time [yay for multiple burners!]), caramelized them, returned the meat to the pan, added chicken and veal stock, covered with a parchment lid, brought the liquid to a simmer, then put them both in the oven for what ended up being a little over three hours.

While I worked on that, Andy decided he'd TRY and one-up my pig's head prowess by sawing the lamb's head in half to get the brain and eyes out -- he had some sort of cockamamie plan to get me to eat the brains in a ravioli or a doughnut or something, and he seriously thought maybe someone would want to eat the eyeballs. Fortunately, he ruptured one and abandoned that idea pretty quickly.

But here he is, sawing that lamb's head in half -- which, by the way, took him FOREVER to do. I mean, really. It shouldn't have been that hard, and if I can do a pig's head, why was he struggling with that lamb's head for so long?

Feel free to sing the Jeopardy theme song....

And now, key change into Verse Two of the Jeopardy theme song...

Look at the sweat on his brow. Psshttt. Amateur.

KIDDING.

Andy, put down the saw. Seriously, dude. I was kidding.

He put the brain in milk to soak overnight, because he really thought I was going to eat it, despite the fact that I told him to put down the crack pipe. He kept insisting that it tasted "just like oatmeal, only more like, oh I dunno, a meat-flavored oatmeal" at which point I just said, "FINE. If it will shut you up, I'll eat the damned brain tomorrow night at dinner!" (knowing full well I would hide it in my napkin and then dump it in one of the potted plants in the lobby, duh)

Dude. I would rather listen to the same Celine Dion song for 24 hours than eat that. Except for that song from Titanic. Now that's where the lamb brains just might have a fighting chance.

With the two pots of braising lamb breast in the oven, we put all the other meat into the cooler, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed out to "The Trop" for lunch. Short for Tropical Treat, The Trop is a local burger and shake shack we all love and went to as kids, so we headed on over there to sit outside in the shade, down some burgers, fries, and shakes, and swap stories. It wasn't until I actually sat down at the picnic table that I realized how badly I needed to sit. I wasn't necessarily tired.... just ready to not be standing for a little while.

Besides, I knew when we got back, not only were we going to work on the lamb for a few more hours, I also needed the strength to steel myself against the inevitable torture that would arise from Andy butchering and cleaning the turtles he'd caught that weekend:

I like turtle soup as much as the next guy, but ew. Thanks for the dry heaves, Andy. Thanks a lot.

And, it's at this point that I'm going to take a break. I'll be back later this week with the rest of the story. Stay tuned.

To be continued......

Read My Previous Post: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

French Laundry at Home Extra: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

2008-09-15T05:00:00.005-04:00

First, let me thank so many of you for your very sweet comments and emails after my last post. Not a day goes by where I don't think about how lucky I am to have such fantastically awesome and funny people following along and enjoying this blog. You all make this so much more worthwhile than perhaps you'll ever know. So, thank you.

Second, yes I know I'm slightly insane, but I'm also equally excited about the Alinea at Home project. I'll answer all questions related to that blog in a few weeks when I get everything up and running. For now, we're going to stay focused on French Laundry at Home, because....

Third, quite a few people emailed me last week with things like, "I'm so sad it's over" and "Wow, I can't believe you're done with the blog" to which I say, "HEY! WAKE UP, SISTER! I'm not DONE YET. There are still a few more dishes to write about and post about and for you to drool over, not the least of which is when I single-handedly (okay, that's a big, fat lie, but I'm on a roll, people, so work with me here) butchered, dressed, prepared, cooked and ate a whole baby lamb so DON'T YOU WANT TO SEE THAT? OR, SHOULD I JUST QUIT RIGHT NOW? HUH!?!?!?"

So, um yeah. It's not over yet, people. There are a few more dishes to write about, and a few other posts I have in the works, so stick with me. I'll let you know when we're done, and thus, when it's time for you to bookmark my new blogs. Yes, that's blogs with an "s." You already know about one of them. But the other one, you don't. You will, though, soon enough. I promise. Pinky swear.

* * * * *

Picking up where my previous post left off, I flew home from California on Wednesday, August 20th, got in very late at night, slept for about six hours, then drove to the southern Jersey shore where I spent Thursday and Friday with friends. On Saturday morning, I drove up to New York to continue the birthday festivities. The sky was blue ("and all the leaves are green"-- ten points to whomever knows that lyric) and the city skyline teased and beckoned every cotton-pickin' minute I sat waiting in what turned out to be an unnecessary goat rope leading to the Holland Tunnel. Why cars have to slow down to a near-stop to watch construction taking place on a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ROAD, like, nine miles away, I'll never know.

I couldn't WAIT to get into the city... not just because I really love New York and feel energized every time I'm there, but also because joining me for dinner that night at Per Se were Linda, Sean, and Holly, my friends who also happen to be neighbors who have eaten nearly every one of the dishes made for this blog, as well as my friends, Andrea and Todd. I was so happy to be just hours away from sitting down at a table with friends I knew were going to love this experience.

That evening, Holly met Linda, Sean, and me at the hotel, and we walked the half-block from there to the Time Warner Center. It was all I could do not to skip across the street in absolute glee. I probably could have -- 58th Street was a ghost town -- but my shoes were sooo not conducive to that kind of activity. As we went up the escalators in the Time Warner Center, it was, again, all I could do to not leap up the metal escalator steps three at a time to get there even sooner. But I am not a lady who leaps (at least not in those shoes), so I maintained some semblance of patience and decorum.

Upon reaching the fourth floor, we stopped for a moment in the garden, the glass door slid open, we stepped into Per Se, and were greeted with a smile and a lovely "welcome" that set the tone for the evening. Andrea and Todd had gotten there a few moments earlier and were enjoying a cocktail in the bar area, so after saying hello to them and introducing everyone to one another, our service captain, Mike Minnillo, took us to the private dining room where we settled in for what I thought was certain was going to be a really great night. I mean, I'd checked out the tasting menu on the way in so I thought I had a pretty good idea of what might be in store, but when Mike said, "We'll have printed menus for you at the end, but I wanted to let you know that Jonathan is going to cook for you, okay?" I nearly wept. "Jonathan is going to cook for you, okay?" Oh my. It was more than okay. Because when "Jonathan is going to cook for you," I know that means there are going to be some wonderful surprises along the way.

When I sat down, there was a lovely note from Jaclyn, who, along with Célia, had helped coordinate the evening, as well as a note from Chef Keller, which was so unexpected and so cherished.

Mason, our sommelier, helped us make our wine selection for the evening:

* Peter Michael, "La Carrière" 2006
* Shafer, "Red Shoulder Ranch," 2006
* Turley, "Dusi Vineyard," Paso Robles 2006

... after which he brought out some champagne (Schramsberg Reserve, 1999, if I'm remembering correctly; and, sparkling wine, if I want to be technically correct since it's from California not France); we toasted one another, and then the fun began.

I didn't take photos, because I just can't bring myself to do that in restaurants, and I hope I can do the menu justice with my descriptions of each dish. Are you ready to go along for the ride? I hope so, because this was such a special night, and I'm so excited to be writing about it. Here we go:

* As is tradition at The French Laundry and Per Se, we started the evening with Gougères, which were followed by Salmon Tartare Cornets with Red Onion Crème Fraîche. Perfect.

* Chilled Hass Avocado Soup; Honeydew Melon and Garden Mint with Espelette Pepper Mousse. Cool, creamy, fresh, light, clean, aromatic, crisp, sharp, gorgeous, flavorful, and elicited the first of what would become a multitude of moans, sighs, and giddy smiles.

* Basil Sorbet; Picholine Olive Tapenade and Thyme Tuile. Fresh, fragrant, solid, smooth, pointed, well rounded, made me want to lick the plate, and the basil sorbet reminded me of my dinner at Alinea, which was an unexpected pleasant surprise.

* "Oysters and Pearls;" "Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters and Sterling White Sturgeon Caviar. I feel so incredibly spoiled and luxurious when I eat this. It may just be one of my favorite things in the whole world. Creamy, warm, salty, poppy, bursting with flavor, didn't want it to end.

* Atlantic Fluke; Ginger Gelée and Citrus Vinaigrette. Beautifully plated and the flavors and textures complemented one another so perfectly, it made me want more. I never make fluke at home, but now I have to... and if I only get it a mere 0.000003% close to being this good, I'll have succeeded. I'm often hesitant to order anything in a restaurant that has ginger listed as an ingredient, because far too often it overpowers the dish. This ginger gelée was so subtle, and yet it brought the dish to life so beautifully. A total homerun, and one I didn't expect.

* Mediterranean Sardine; Confit Eggplant and Spanish Caper Emulsion. When I was in elementary school, there was this kid who brought a tin of sardines for lunch every Friday, and they (and that kid) totally grossed me out. Since then, I've come to appreciate sardines when I'm cooking and using them in their various preparations, but I honestly don't think I've ever eaten or enjoyed a small fillet (if that's even an accurate term) of sardine, let alone with eggplant and caper to complement it so perfectly. This is a flavor combination I'm going to experiment with here at home because it was divine.

* White Truffle Oil-Infused Custard; "Ragoût of Black Winter Truffles." This was the fourth time I'd eaten this canapé, and as always, I could have eaten twenty of them. Makes me want to spend a few hours (okay, weeks) in my kitchen perfecting my chive-potato chip so that I can make and serve them with dignity, unlike the first time I made them.

* "Smoke;" All-Day Braised Hobbs Shore's Pork Belly, Heirloom Beets, and Burgundy Mustard. I knew what type of preparation was coming when I saw the crystal spheres being so gently and carefully carried into the room, but I had no idea I was in for the single best piece of pork belly I've eaten in my life. This dish, if you'll indulge me in a rather nerdy confession, almost made me cry, it was so good. The reveal that takes place when the top of the sphere is removed and the smoke rises up and into and onto your palate is such a wonderful tease, and to be able to feast on even that small morsel of pork belly that has spent a day braising to absolute perfection (along with beets and mustard that more than held their own) is nirvana.

Upon taking that final bite of what was sheer bliss and having had our plates cleared, we began to look at one another and whisper, "Wait... how many things have we eaten? What course are we on? Was the fluke our fish course?" A few minutes later, Mike came in to check on us, have our water and wine needs attended to, and said, "Your first course is next."

Your. First. Course. Is. Next.

::: cue the nervous giggling because we thought we were already on our fifth course, at least :::

So, yeah. Now that I have a menu to refer to... Nine canapes, then those magical, magical words.

Your. First. Course. Is. Next.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

* "Salad of Big Island Hearts of Palm;" Compressed Summer Melons, Salted Pine Nuts, and Red Ribbon Sorrel with Lemon Verbena "Aigre-Doux." So, here's the point in the evening when I totally geeked out and regaled my friends (complete with really bad sound effects and some sort of interpretive hand gestures that, looking back, made absolutely no sense) with the process of how you compress melon in the Cryovac machine (as I'd seen Chef Keller and Rory Herrmann do earlier that summer, so of course, now I'm, like a TOTAL expert on the subject; and my friends were kind enough to indulge my demonstration which is why I love them), and how it intensifies the flavor, and how it is just oh-so-awesome, and if they really loved me they'd just buy me a Cryovac and I'd make them compressed melon every day. Astoundingly, a red-ribboned Cryovac has not shown up yet on my doorstep, but I'm still holding out hope. This "salad" was absolutely delicious -- thin slices of heart of palm, the sweet melon, the salty pine nuts... all so beautifully composed texture- and taste-wise, and I really could have slathered myself in the lemon verbena aigre-doux and been quite a happy camper.

* "Peach Melba;" Terrine of Hudson Valley Moulard Duck Foie Gras, Frog Hollow Farm's Peaches, Peach Jelly, Pickled Red Onion, Cilantro Shoots (mine came sans), "Melba Toast," and Puffed Carolina Rice. This foie course was accompanied by six different kinds of salt, and was one of my favorite dishes of the night. I haven't made foie gras in what feels like a really long time, and I didn't realize how much I missed it until I had this dish. I know that might, to some, sound like an incredibly snotty thing to say, but deveining a foie gras was one of my biggest fears when I started the blog (I obviously was in denial about the pig's head and the whole baby lamb), and knowing that it's something that's actually pretty easy to do, now, feels good, so this dish gave me a little surprise boost of pride for what I've been able to learn.

* "Pavé" of Kindai Bluefin Tuna "À La Plancha;" "Haricots Verts," Globe Artichokes, Niçoise Olive Petals with Greenmarket Radishes and "Barigoule" Emulsion. In addition to this being one of the most spectacular things I've ever eaten, I was so excited to have my very first (and probably only) taste of kindai, because it's so rare. It was perfectly cooked and everything in this dish was so flavorful, you couldn't help but smile with every bite.

* Butter-Poached Nova Scotia Lobster; Long Island Gold Corn Kernels with Chanterelle Mushrooms and Fig-Chocolate Sauce. Lobster + Corn = duh, of course THAT was gonna be good. Add the chanterelles? Sure. Even better. A sauce composed of chocolate and figs to go along with it? Really? Huh. Well, I don't kn.... ::: taste ::: ::: stunned silence ::: For the next few minutes, I pretty much muttered to myself like a crazy bag lady about the sauce and how great it was and what the ratio of chocolate to fig might be and who knew it would be this good, let alone with the core elements of this dish, and I could've been hit by a bus right then and died incredibly happy, sated, and content.

At this point in the evening, we took a break to stretch our legs, take a stroll, and generally let those 13 dishes settle in before we started up again. The private dining room at Per Se is all windows on two sides -- one on the restaurant side (with a privacy curtain if we needed it), and the other overlooking Columbus Circle and the southwest corner of Central Park. The moon was full and bright in the sky, the skyline flecked with light on a weekend when many had fled the city for a final jaunt upstate or at the beach. We spent some time talking to Mike, who I'd met before and just think the world of. And, we enjoyed our wine as we talked about everything under the sun -- politics, high school antics, who could pull up IMDB fastest on their iPhone to settle a bet on a character's name in Carrie, work, our dogs, whether or not Swoosie Kurtz was still working and who could name all the female lead cast members of Sisters (which naturally led to speculation about the actual dollar value of Julianne Phillips' divorce settlement), and the merits of seeing Prince live on tour (which we all highly recommend, FYI).

After some time had gone by, we sat down, ready to find out what was coming our way next. As we settled into our chairs, fresh napkins on our laps, I looked around the table and felt so incredibly lucky to be surrounded for the second Saturday night in a row by amazing friends and people I care about so much. My friend, Todd, is my oldest friend -- we've known one another since we were four years old and used to rig up those little green, plastic army men with homemade parachutes made out of baggies and rubber bands... and he was my guest the first time I ate at Per Se, so it was really special to have him there with me that night. My friend, Andrea, and I met fifteen years ago when we worked together at MCI. She lives in southern California, and had to be at a family wedding the weekend prior so she wasn't able to go to The French Laundry. Lucky for me, she planned a business trip to New York that week so she could be at Per Se, and I'm so glad she was there. And, having Linda, Sean and Holly at the table with me was incredibly important, because they not only have tasted nearly every dish I've made as part of this blog, they've become like family to me in the eleven years we've lived next to and across from one another. This was the first time many of them were meeting one another, and everyone clicked so easily, it made for a warm and laughter-filled evening.

The service team came in with our next course, upon which they heaped the most incredible summer truffles... so, here we go:

* Buckwheat Rigatini with Shaved Summer Truffles. Who knew something so simple and as, dare I say, rustic, could simultaneously melt the heart and pique the palate quite like this dish did?

* Four Story Hills Farm's "Suprême de Poularde;" "Farcie à la Mousse de Truffe d'Été," Wilted Butter Lettuce and Cauliflower Florettes with Sauce Périgourdine. Chicken. Truffles. Lettuce. Cauliflower. Sauce. Magic. Pure magic.

* Snake River Farm's "Calotte de Boeuf Grillée;" Poached Bone Marrow, "Rissolée" of New Crop Potatoes, Black Trumpet Mushrooms and Arrowleaf Spinach Purée with "Sauce Bordelaise." Just before this dish was brought out, I was starting to feel full. Like maybe I'd reached my limit and would only be able to do a bite or two of everything else that was to come. Like that was f-in g possible, what with the way this dish smelled as it was placed before me. Wow. Just wow.

* DiBruno Brothers' "Burrata;" Heirloom Tomatoes, Petite Basil, and Tomato "Raisins" with "Croûtons de Pain de Campagne." Three cheers for DiBruno Brothers, a Pennsylvania (my people!) business I know and love. And a kazillion cheers for this perfect take on a caprese salad, which for some people is nooner-inducing. Ahem. This is the second innovative execution around these flavors I've had this summer -- the first one being at Alinea -- and this one was equally amazing and just made me smile and think about why I love the end of summer so much.

* Plum Sorbet; Santa Rosa Plums, Ginger Pudding, Plum Consommé and Gingerbread Crisp. Cold. Fresh. Sweet. Smooth. With ginger-y warmth, if that makes sense. This was absolutely delightful and was leading up to the thing I was pretty sure we were having next, because when asked a month prior what I might want as a special birthday dessert, I was pretty quick to respond by pleading for...

* "Coffee and Doughnuts;" Cinnamon-Sugared Doughnuts with Cappucino Semifreddo. If I had the skillz, I'd write a song about this dessert. Instead, I'll do a haiku:

Yay!, in cup, on plate
O, Per Se pastry team, go
On witcha bad self!

I savored every bite of the doughnuts and every last cold, velvety spoonful of the semifreddo and thought to myself, "this night is just so perfect."

The servers cleared our plates and we had just placed our coffee orders in preparation for the mignardises and other candy treats when the lights in the room dimmed to near-total darkness, the door opened, and in came Mike and the service team with the most elegant cake, candles aglow, and my friends, very quietly, sang "happy birthday" in hushed reverence because this was a most unexpected surprise, and the room was so beautiful in the candlelight, it almost took your breath away. I made a wish, blew out the candles, and grinned from ear to ear. Just when I thought the night was perfect, they went and made it even more perfect.

The final course on the menu read:

* "Birthday Cake;" Bitter Chocolate Mousse with Chocolate and Pear Financier with Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream. I think many of you know I've never really been a fan of fruit and chocolate together. But with age comes wisdom, I suppose, and just like "Oysters and Pearls" changed my mind about oysters, this cake changed my mind about fruit and chocolate. I was beyond blown away... not only by the incredible generosity of this most indulgent dessert, but also because it was just so delicious and comforting and celebratory and unexpected, yet most pleasantly and flavorfully harmonious.

After we'd eaten the cake and continued to nurse our coffee, they brought us each a teeny-tiny crème brûlée, a tray of mignardises (the dark chocolate/mocha ones were stunning), and a bowl of caramels -- a few, okay SIX, of which found their way into my clutch so that I could enjoy them a few nights later as I sat on my favorite beach watching the surfers take the waves. Who knew Per Se caramels and the salty evening air would go so well together? Oh yeah, I did. Which is why I snuck a few to go. Hee!

My friends and I sat around the table for a little while longer, just generally enjoying one another's company in a restaurant that has always been special to me, and was now even moreso. Before we left, Mike took us back into the kitchen so that we could see everyone and everything that went into making this night so remarkable. If I could, I would have scooped them all up in the biggest, squeezingest hug imaginable and kissed them all over the face for days on end. But because I was not raised by wolves, I settled on a handshake, an incredibly heartfelt and hopefully-not-too-obviously-choking-back-tears "thank you" to Jonathan Benno, and a big thank you to everyone who was still in the kitchen finishing up service.

We collected our menus, along with little packages of Florentine cookies, gave hugs goodbye, and set out into the warm New York night. It was well past 1 a.m. -- we'd started around 7 -- and the city was strangely quiet for a Saturday night. Todd walked Andrea back to her hotel before getting himself home, Holly made her way back to where she was staying, and the rest of us walked back to the hotel. I changed into something more casual, washed my face, and went back out for a walk. I wasn't ready to go to sleep, and I really wanted some time to think and savor the night for as long as I could. When I finally crawled into bed, I dozed off knowing that I'd had the most wonderful birthday, if not one of the most wonderful nights, of my life.

I'm not usually this gushy or smooshy, but there's just something so very special about Per Se. Not only was it my first Keller restaurant experience as well as the place where I first met Chef Keller, there's also something just so welcoming that's boosted and enhanced by the energy of being in New York. Every touch of service is comfortable, inviting, and welcoming -- from the initial phone call to book the room, to the follow-up notes I received once I got home -- and the graciousness with which our evening was handled was truly outstanding. For instance, one of my friends has a wheat and gluten intolerance, and they made accommodations every step of the way -- from swapping out the foie gras terrine to a hot preparation because it didn't involve the melba toast and serving risotto instead of pasta, to offering gluten-free bread while the rest of us ate the multitude of bread choices (along with what I know to be the best butter in the country) throughout the evening. Another friend had an aversion to foie of any sort, so instead, they served her a little confit byaldi, or, ratatouille. It's touches like these that make Per Se an even more special place to me, because they didn't just take care of me and the things I am allergic to, they also took care of my friends. Every single one of us at that table was treated with respect and great care, and in such a friendly, yet professional manner... it's really like stepping into another dimension altogether.

For that and so many reasons, Per Se is a restaurant I hope to return to time and time again (yay for being a short train ride away), and I could not be more grateful for everyone who contributed to this amazing night, including my clients who provided those little extra projects here and there so I could afford it all. Talk about labor of love.... every time I got frustrated with work this year, I just kept thinking about how those billable hours were the means to a very delicious end.

So many moving parts still in the works, so many changes, so many good things, so many great people, so many dear friends, such a loving family (including a new baby nephew this summer!).... this past year has been incredible, and chock full of so many unexpected pleasures I never could have imagined or known I'd wanted or needed. But here it all is... and to be able to celebrate a milestone birthday with family and great friends at both The French Laundry and Per Se was an absolute joy. They truly are the most special places.

* * * * *

Up Next: Baby Lamb -- Five Cuts Served with Provençal Vegetables, Braised Cipollini Onions, and Thyme Oil (Part 1)

Read My Previous Post: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Eating my way through Yountville, CA

French Laundry at Home Extra: Eating my way through Yountville, CA

2008-09-08T06:00:00.010-04:00

Oh, hi there.

Do you know where I am?

I'm here.

Or, at least I was.

And, oh, what a night we had.

On Saturday, August 16th, I turned the page of another incredible chapter in this journey of mine. But let's begin at the beginning, because this trip was so much more than the amazing, incredible, and wonderful food at The French Laundry. It was about the whole package: being with friends and family, celebrating what has been a pretty fantastic year, immersing oneself in the entire Thomas Keller experience, having the most glorious weather, drinking really good wine, and spending some time in a town that felt remarkably like home.

I flew into San Francisco on Friday the 15th. My flight was late, but I was still on time to meet Shuna at Tartine where we ate and gabbed and laughed until it was time for her to meet a friend and time for me to try and beat the rush-hour traffic out of the city and head up north to Napa County.

I drove north, then west, then north again... the radio blaring, my car windows down, and the dorkiest grin on my face as I sang along at the top of my lungs to every song on the radio. I stopped at a Starbucks to get a cup of iced coffee then continued up Route 29 in stop-and-go traffic as I inched my way toward Yountville.

I turned off 29 onto Madison Street, took a right onto Jefferson, and pulled into the driveway of the house my friends, Marisa, Ron, and Jon, and I rented for our time there. I was the last to arrive, and when I got there, they'd already been cranking the tunes while unpacking and dropped everything to give big hugs hello. My parents had arrived the day before and were staying in their own rental house a few miles away. We brought in my luggage, and after just a few moments of ridding myself of the smell of the airplane and the drive, we hit the town.

Walking four abreast down Jefferson Street (and somehow lined up by height as if we were posing for the poster from The Usual Suspects or the cast of Oceans Eleven -- only hotter... um, heh), we made our way to the market where we stocked up on provisions for dinner -- sausages, fresh corn, spinach, goat cheese, peas, the makings for a vinaigrette, and a few bottles of wine. We walked back to the house, and instead of veering back down Jefferson, we stayed on Washington, and got a little quiet as we neared 6640 Washington Street. We were on the garden side of the street, and we stopped for a moment to take in what was just a few yards away on either side -- an acre or so of garden to our left, and The French Laundry to our right. We stood there for a moment to take it all in, smiled at one another, turned right onto Creek Street, then left on Jefferson, and headed back to the house to fire up the grill. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face the whole rest of the walk home. None of us could.

We made ourselves a wonderful dinner on the grill that night -- so simple, and so perfect for a group of friends who have known one another since 1986, have seen each other through our very best and very worst moments, and can always pick right up where we left off -- even though we are only able to get together once a year, at best.

Jet-lagged and having been awake for nearly 21 hours, I dragged myself off to bed. I wanted to be rested for the big day, for dinner at The French Laundry was the following evening.

I love being an east coaster traveling on the west coast, because I love waking up at 4 or 5 in the morning, and getting to see the place where I am when it's still so very quiet, and only beginning to stir. I woke up that morning around 4:30, and stretched as I laid there in bed, breathing in the fresh, cool air blowing through the window. I tiptoed across the cold bamboo floor into the bathroom across the hall to brush my teeth and freshen up a bit before heading out for a walk. Marisa's husband, Ron, was up early as well, and was heading out for a run. Jon was still asleep, and Marisa had just gotten awake. While the others got ready, I took a little walk through town. It was so great to be in such a small town in which everything is walkable, the architecture and landscaping so lovely, and the gardens and trees so fragrant. It reminded me of my favorite beach town, and a little bit like where I live now. Lots of bungalows, gorgeous gardens, and a general sense of neatness and order, interspersed with at least one house on every block that has, shall we say, "character."

Around 7 o'clock, I circled back to the house, picked up Marisa and Jon, and we walked to Bouchon Bakery for breakfast. A sampling of the pastries was in order, but as soon as I saw a cup filled with thick, creamy yogurt and some apricot purée, I was sold. That, a piece of leek quiche (which, HOLY CREAMINESS, was that good) and a large, steaming cup of coffee, and I knew I was gonna love this town. We sat outside the bakery and enjoyed our treats while we got caught up on one another's lives, eavesdropped on a few conversations, and enjoyed the general feeling of connection many of the regulars there seem to have. It felt so good to be on vacation, and to be sharing it with such great friends.

We began every morning of our trip with a walk to Bouchon Bakery for breakfast and some coffee, and it was such a nice ritual. I miss it, not just for the food, but mostly because I wish Ron and Marisa lived closer so that we could do this kind of morning walk thing more often.

After breakfast on Saturday, we decided to walk home via The French Laundry so we could spend some time nosing around the garden a bit and see the restaurant in the early morning light. I'd already learned how to pace myself, food-wise, in preparation of a chef's tasting menu when I ate at Per Se, so I knew I was just going to be snacking on some almonds and eating a salad or other light lunch and that was it. We walked through the garden (it was just barely 8 o'clock and still nice and cool outside), and marveled at the wide variety of vegetables growing there, and wondered what was going to be on our plate that night.

We made a quick trip to Trader Joe's in Napa for a few provisions, and spent the day hanging around the house listening to music, relaxing in the hot tub, reading magazines on the deck, and taking long walks throughout the town -- exploring neighborhoods, getting ideas for future landscaping projects, and checking out the new construction. One of the sites for a new inn and spa had surrounding it a Portrait Project, which had just gone up a few days before we got there; it was fun to look at the photos on the wall and try and figure out who was who and what their story was.

Early afternoon turned into late afternoon, and we began the getting-ready-for-dinner part of the day. Remember how I said getting ready for dinner at Per Se the first time I went there felt like getting ready for a first date? Well, getting ready to eat at The French Laundry was a little like getting ready for a second date -- you already know you like the person well enough to see him or her again, and there's a slight sense of familiarity, but there's still a little nervous energy going into it because you want to make a good impression.

My parents met us at our house, and we all went over to the restaurant together. We took some pictures of ourselves across the street in the garden, and then walked back across the street, under the arbor and through the blue door into the restaurant. We were whisked upstairs to the private dining room, which, when you look at the front of The French Laundry, is in the front, right-hand corner -- and met our service captain, Zion Curiel.

Zion took great care of us all evening -- he was an absolute joy to meet, and made sure our dinner service ran smoothly. Our sommelier, Anani Lawson, was also great fun, and helped with some outstanding wine pairings throughout the evening.

Now, let's get to the menu. I didn't take photos of the food because I just don't feel comfortable doing that. I'm sure if you Google these dishes by name, you can find photos posted elsewhere by other diners who ate there around the same time we did. Alright, here we go:

*We started the night with a Pierre-Gimonnet champagne and with that had the Gougères and the Salmon Cornets. Perfection in pâte à choux, and decadence in a cone.

* "Oysters and Pearls"-- "Sabayon" of Pearl Tapioca with Island Creek Oysters and White Sturgeon Caviar. As I think most of you know, I was a bigtime oyster hater before starting this blog. Couldn't stand 'em. This is the dish that turned me around. Of course, I really won't eat oysters any other way, so perhaps I'm spoiled, but this dish is the epitome of ocean and cream and salt and smooth. I'd had it before at Per Se, but no one else at the table had, so I just sat there smiling, as I watched everyone take their first bite and realize just how amazing this food was going to be.

* Truffle Custard. Suffice to say, theirs was beautiful. When I made it, not so much.

* Salad of French Laundry Garden Turnips -- Sugar Snap Peas, Red Radishes and Ginger "Aigre-Doux." Imagine beautifully turned, teeny, tiny, baby turnips, blanched perfectly, and arranged most beautifully on the plate with the most delicate sugar snap pea pods and thinly sliced radishes. The "dressing" or "aigre-doux" (French for "sweet-sour") was delicious and really pulled everything together. It's important to note that this dish was plated on a somewhat oblong plate that had an acutely angular base so that the plate tipped forward a bit to better present the dish. Beautiful. With this course, we had a 2005 Prager "Hollerin" Riesling.

* Sweet-Butter Poached Maine Lobster Tail -- Belgian Endive, Watercress and Apricot-Riesling Emulsion. This dish was extraordinary. The lobster tail was done sous vide (as so much of the food there and at Per Se is done), and was so incredibly solid, yet succulent. The endive was gorgeous, and I loved having a bit of apricot on the plate, because it made me think about my favorite breakfast discovery at Bouchon Bakery and made me quite happy. With this course, we had a 2006 Domaine de Pegau "Cuvée Réservée" Chateauneuf de Pape from the Rhone Valley.

* Snake River Farms "Calotte de Boeuf Grillée" -- Potato Confit, Baby Corn, Chanterelle Mushrooms and "Béarnaise" Reduction. This is one of those dishes for which I had no words. I think Marisa summed it up best when she took her second bite, turned to me, and asked, "Would it be bad form to weep right about now?" This was the best dish of the night. We were all pretty speechless at this point and the meat was so tender, it was almost like slicing butter. I also loved the wine we had with this course -- the Shafer One Point Five Cabernet Sauvignon (2005). So smooth, so soft, and so perfect.

We took a short break at this point to walk around the restaurant's courtyard/garden area and get some fresh air. It was a lovely, breezy night, and it felt good to step outside onto our little balcony and walk down to the garden and peek into the windows of the kitchen for a few minutes.

* "Sao Jorge" -- Grilled Globe Artichokes, Carrot Ribbons, Cilantro Shoots, and Caraway Dressing. Thankfully, mine came without cilantro shoots, but this cheese, this Sao Jorge, was really phenomenal. It's boisterous and sharp, but not overpowering or too tangy. My friend, Ron, grew up in the Azores and said this was the standard cheese they'd eat in sandwiches and for snacks, so for him, this course was an unexpected trip down memory lane. With this course, we had a bottle of Turley "Ueberroth" Zinfandel.

* Pudwill Farm's Blueberry Sorbet -- Andante Dairy Yogurt and Puffed Quinoa. Perfect palate cleanser. Cool, crisp, and a great textural pop... but it made me a little sad, because I knew we were nearing the end of our night.

* "Délice Au Chocolat et à la Menthe" -- with Amedei Chuao Chocolate-Mint "Parfait" and Mint Syrup. Okay, I have to link to someone else's photo of this dish, because it was a really interesting presentation. It was really very good (and I love dark chocolate, so I was a happy camper), and was followed by the standard post-dessert service of Mignardises (filled chocolates -- I OD'd on the peanut butter ones) and salted caramels. Anani poured a 20-year Dow's Tawny Port with, and although I'm not usually fan of Port, this was outstanding. Really warm and smooth and complemented the chocolate and mint quite beautifully.

We ended the night with a quick visit to the kitchen so we could thank Corey and the team for preparing a most lovely dinner for us. It was late, and they had already begun breaking everything down to clean up, but it was so nice to meet him and be able to get a little glimpse into that beautiful kitchen that has earned itself a special place in the history books.

They sent us home with a few packages of shortbread, and invited us to linger in the courtyard/garden for a little while with a glass of wine since it was such a beautiful night. My parents left (they had plans the next morning, and it was late), and the four of us just sat at a little table and enjoyed the rest of the night. We called a few friends to gloat about where we were calling them from, and watched as the remaining diners spilled out of the restaurant, had their picture taken in front of the door, and made their way home.

Although it was hard to tear ourselves away from that magical place, we got up from the table, once again thanked our service team who was closing up shop for the night, and made our way home under a clear sky loaded with stars and a bright full moon that lit up the night sky.

* * * * *

The next day, we lolled around like listless manatees hung over from the overindulgence of food and wine the night before. We managed to shuffle through the day, taking naps and reading, and rallied for dinner at Bouchon that night.

I needed to go easy on my digestive system, so I stuck with the familiar -- French onion soup and gnocchi with lightly sautéed vegetables and brown butter. My dad had the Poulet Roti (and loved it), and I'm drawing a blank on what everyone else ordered because once Marisa eyed the small side dish of sweet corn on a neighboring table and decided to order that, SWEET MOTHER OF LAVERNE AND SHIRLEY it was so good it stopped us dead in our tracks. I only got one bite of it, but it was life-changing. Turns out, it was done sous vide in a packet with butter and thyme, then sautéed with a bit of Pernod, and then some crème fraîche whisked in. I am not exaggerating (and I'm sure Marisa will chime in with a comment) that this may have been one of the best things I have eaten in my entire life. It was so good, in fact, that I went back to Bouchon twice before leaving town to eat it again.

So, dinner at Bouchon Sunday night was followed by a brisk walk home and a good night's sleep.

I woke up early Monday morning, took a walk through town, and had another apricot yogurt parfait at Bouchon Bakery for breakfast. I went back to the house and got ready for a very much anticipated lunch meeting in St. Helena at the Culinary Institute of America. Who was my meeting with? Why, the infamous Stephen Durfee, of course. He took me on a tour of the CIA's classroom and kitchen facilities and we had a very nice lunch together. It was so nice to meet him, and to spend time in such a beautiful building. In fact, it was so great to meet him that I'm kind of feeling the need to re-do a certain dessert which caused me great agita (and for which I have blamed him because he was credited with inventing it) -- and do it in a more honorable way. Thanks, Stephen, for a great afternoon. I really appreciate it.

I had the rest of the afternoon to myself (my parents and my friend, Jon, left that morning, and Ron and Marisa were visiting our college friend, Richard, who owns Sonoma Organics) so I did a little shopping in St. Helena, drove the Silverado Trail for a bit, then plopped my butt on a stool at the bar at Bouchon and had a glass of wine and a dish of that phenomenal corn for my afternoon snack.

I went back to the house and took a nap while I waited for Ron and Marisa to get home. We had dinner reservations at Ad Hoc that night, and while I was a little sad to have missed Fried Chicken Night (the Monday night before), I knew the food would be good nonetheless.

As soon as we walked through the door at Ad Hoc, I immediately felt at home. The restaurant's manager Nick Dedier, greeted us and led us to our table. If anyone from the Thomas Keller Restaurant Group is reading this, let me take a moment right now to beg, plead, persuade, cajole, and offer whatever certain, ahem *favors* may sway you to PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF JOHN C. REILLY open an Ad Hoc in Washington, DC, for this was one of the best, most comfortable, most lovely and most perfect evenings I've ever had.

We started with a glass of champagne (we'd had to wait a minute or two for our table because the previous diners had made a mess of the space, so Nick saw to it that we had some bubbly, which was a very nice and unexpected touch), and gave us our menus so we could see what we were going to have. I also ordered a glass of Etude Pinot Noir rosé because both Russ Parsons and David Lebovitz had written recently about rosé in the LA Times and I wanted to give it a whirl (and now I'm a convert -- thanks, guys!).

Here's what we had to eat:

Jacobsen Orchards Stone Fruit Salad
-- fresh plums and nectarines on chopped romaine, general lee cucumbers, candied pecans with citrus mint dressing

Mishima Beef Sirloin Tip
-- with sautéed summer squash, rosa bianca eggplant, juliet tomatoes; tfl garden fingerling potatoes and chive butter

Carr Valley Cheese Benedictine
-- with marshall’s farm wildflower honey with k & j orchards gala apples

Warm Chocolate Brownie
-- with vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce

This was not even a home run; it was a freakin' grand slam and the World Cup and the NBA finals and the Oscars and a drum lesson with Stewart Copeland and a first kiss and the lottery and new lipstick and finding a $20 bill in the back pocket of your jeans and WOO-HOOOO!!! all rolled into one. Every single bite was fresh and extraordinarily good. The ambience was fantastic, and the music was so great -- it felt like someone had plugged in my iPod and played it throughout the restaurant all night. The staff was really great, and I'd go back there in a heartbeat. And, if Ad Hoc were to open in the DC area, I'd eat there at least once a week, because for $48 a person, it was a STEAL. We had a really great night, and yet another nice walk home in the cool night air.

I woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of my cellphone going badonkadonk. It was my birthday, and some of my friends forgot I was on the west coast and started calling at 7 a.m. east coast time, which is... well, you know... VERY EARLY in California. But I didn't care, because it was fun to get those messages. Especially when people sang to me. Ahem. You know who you are.

We sauntered down to Bouchon Bakery for our standard morning repast, and then scooted across the Yountville Cross Road and down the Silverado Trail until we got to the Stag's Leap Wine Cellars. The lovely Leah McNally invited us for a tour and tasting a few weeks prior to my coming out there, and we were so honored to spend our morning there seeing the vineyard, touring the facilities, and tasting the wines. Thank you, Leah, and Ben, who was a great host, as well.

We didn't know it beforehand, but we happened to be there on the day the Chardonnay grapes arrived for pressing and production, so they had a special "blessing of the wines" ceremony at which a priest did his thing and blessed the grapes, the workers, the owners, and the buyers. It was really neat to see, and we enjoyed meeting so many people whose hands and hearts go into some really wonderful wine.

After our wine tasting, we headed over to Taylor's Refresher on Route 29 where we shared a bleu cheese bacon burger, heirloom tomato sandwich, sweet potato fries, chocolate shake and myriad other foodstuffs to fill us up for the wine tastings to come. Sooooo delicious.....

After lunch, we did a tasting at Joseph Phelps (oh, that Insignia!) where we tasted some really great wine and saw the most beautiful little hummingbirds flitting from plant to plant, then drove down the Silverado Trail to get back home. We went back to the house and read and hung out listening to music for the rest of the afternoon before our last dinner together. We decided to go back to Bouchon one last time -- not just for the corn, but also to sit outside and watch the sunset and just enjoy the people watching and a relaxing dinner outside. Our server was really engaging and we had a great dinner. I had the Boudin, as well as a side of macaroni and cheese and a side of the CORN!

Here's the cute All-Clad dish the boudin came in. Must get me some of these:

Sorry I don't have a photo of the boudin -- it looked so good and I was so hungry, there was no time for photography. After our lovely dinner, we headed back to the house for laundry and packing, since we were leaving the following morning.

On Wednesday morning, Ron and Marisa left first for their 10-hour drive back up to Portland. I left shortly thereafter and got to SFO in record time -- enough so that I could hop on an earlier flight, which meant I got back home at 11 p.m. instead of the originally planned 1:30 a.m.

I had many, many hours on the plane to reflect on my time in Yountville and the Napa Valley. It was so wonderful to be able to have my first time at The French Laundry include my parents and my close friends. Because of the private dining room's space constrictions and some travel schedules, I couldn't have everyone there I wanted (hence the booking of a dinner at Per Se the following weekend for the rest of my besties... and I'll write about that next).

I can't wait to go back to Yountville. I'm the kind of person that when she vacations just likes to settle into a place. I'm not a big sightseer. Never have been. I don't consult magazines or make a list of the 25 things I MUST do or see in a certain locale. I just kind of hang. It's the most relaxing thing for me, and it helps me get a feel for a place. Even when I was a kid, all I wanted to do on vacations was hang out by the pool with my cheese and peanut butter crackers and read or people-watch -- even at freakin' Disney World. I'm just not activity girl, so being in a place like Napa is perfect, because I can come and go as I please and just revel in the experience of seeing people, eating great food, walking around, and enjoying the everyday.

So, Carol... you must be asking yourself... after all this time, what was it like to finally have dinner at The French Laundry?

It was incredible. And, almost indescribable.

I have spent nearly two years cooking my way through The French Laundry Cookbook -- getting to know the food, the process, the technique, the order, the methods, the stories, the people, and the nuances that help shape the experience. And, it's had a profound impact on me. I've met Michael Ruhlman. I've met Susie Heller. I've eaten at Per Se. I've met Chef Keller. I've been able to live this most amazing dream, and have my brain and my palate and my fingertips on the keyboard take me places I never even knew I wanted to go. Eating at The French Laundry for the first time was yet another step in that journey. It's not the apex. It's not the zenith. It's not the final chapter. It's not the end. It's an incredibly significant milepost in what has become something so very personal for me, it's really difficult to put into words and do it justice.

You'll see that I italicized the words "for the first time" above, because I do plan to go back again. I don't know when, but I will. There's so much more for me to learn from and experience at The French Laundry, and I look forward to the day when I can turn off Route 29 onto Madison Street again -- my hair a mess from the open car windows, my voice hoarse from singing along with the radio, my lips dry from all the dorktastic and anticipatory grinning, and know that I'm hungry for more, in every sense of the word.

* * * * *

Before I go, MAJOR BIGTIME THANKS to my lovely and dearest friend, Marisa, who documented everything visually, while I tried to focus on the "wow, how the hell am I gonna write about all is?" Many of these photos are hers.

And, speaking of photos.... something pretty special arrived at my house while I was traveling. Wanna see what it is?

Yep. That's the Alinea cookbook. Believe it.

Stay tuned, kids. It's gonna get even more fun up in here.

Up Next: Continuing the birthday celebration at Per Se...

Read My Previous Post: Q&A with Carol, Part 3

Q&A with Carol, Part Three

2008-08-30T08:00:00.006-04:00

A few, quick administrative notes:

1) A big ole THANK YOU to everyone who emailed, called, IMed, or in some way sent me birthday wishes last week -- that was so incredibly kind and very sweet, and I'm hoping that I've gotten back to everyone individually. I've been traveling with limited access to email and Internet (which, admittedly, has been some kind of wonderful), and between my Blackberry and my not-always-perfect webmail server thingamabob, I may have lost a few emails here and there. Ooopsie.

2) I changed the text in my banner at the top of the page. It used to read "Can't get a rezzie at Thomas Keller's The French Laundry? Yeah, neither can I. Instead, I bought his cookbook and I'm making the menu at home." I figured since I have now eaten at The French Laundry, I needed to change the header to "keep it real," as the kids today like to say. I, however, like to say, "GET OFF MY LAWN!"

3) My actual birthday day was sandwiched in between two amazing dinners -- one at The French Laundry on Saturday the 16th and one at Per Se on Saturday the 23rd. I decided to turn 40 with great culinary gusto, and there was nowhere else I wanted to be. Making the pilgrimage to Yountville was an incredible experience that I'm still trying to find the words to describe, and the energy of New York as the backdrop to my dinner at Per Se made for an amazing evening and, collectively, the two dinners were the opening and closing chapters of the most memorable, and most personally fulfilling, birthday of my life. I surrounded myself with my family and closest friends, and celebrated what has been a pretty freakin' amazing year. I can't wait to tell you about it, and those posts are taking a long time to write because there's just so much to say.

4) That said, posting may be a little slower than normal over the next two weeks. Call me a tease, but them's the facts. Some renovations I was having done on my house while I was traveling didn't exactly happen on-schedule (do they ever?), so I can't get back into my house for another week or so, which means things will be a little whackadoodle schedule-wise for me. However, I know you'll want to come back to this very post time and time again if only to see this glorious, gossip-inducing photo that my friend, Heather, sent me in the hopes that I might someday soon have some engagement news to share with the world:

Ah, my Bloomie. Not a VP pick on either ticket, but still the president of my heart.

Did I just hear you throw up? Oh wait... that was me. Nevermind.

Alrighty then, let's get going with today's post. Doing this Q&A with you all has been so much fun for me. I hope you've enjoyed it, too. So without further ado, here's the final installment:

Q. If you could make a last meal what would it be?

A. It depends on the time of the year, because in the summer I would want it to be a bowl of fresh blackberries, a hunk of good and stinky cheese, grilled steak, corn on the cob with tarragon butter, a bottle of really great wine (Stag's Leap Wine Cellars' Cask 23 Cabernet Sauvignon comes to mind), and a few squares of dark chocolate for dessert. In the wintertime, I think I'd go for something like roasted marrow, shepherd's pie or cassoulet, mashed potatoes with garlic, homemade chocolate ice cream, and a really nice bottle of scotch (Macallan 30 single malt would do nicely, I believe).

Q. Going on the last-meal question which band would you have play?

A. I'd put together an all-star supergroup featuring Prince, Neil Peart, George Michael, Paul Hewson, Daniel Lanois, the guy who sang "Der Komissar," Aimee Mann, Michael Penn, Stewart Copeland, Air Supply, Eminem, Carly Simon, Janet Jackson, REO Speedwagon, Busta Rhymes, Boston, Steve Perry, Christina Aguilera, Don Henley, the Doobie Brothers, Chuck Brown, Lyle Lovett, Billy Idol, Al Green, Herbie Hancock, Jennifer Holliday, Jeffrey Osborne, Jenny Lewis, James Brown's band, Claudine Longet, Alison Moyet, Elvis Costello, Fiona Apple, whoever's still alive in Foreigner, Joaquin Phoenix filling in for Johnny Cash, Carole King, Grandmaster Flash, Madonna, Annie Lennox, Joe Cocker, Julie Andrews, Kate Pierson, Bananarama, Sheila E, Neko Case, Tone Loc, Manilow, Donny Osmond, Greg Kihn, Axl Rose, Marshall Crenshaw, Ted Nugent, Sebastian Bach, Robbie Williams, David Lee Roth, Eddie Van Halen, Seal, Ed Kowalczyk, LL Cool J, Darryl Hall, and I suppose John Oates, too, Ann and Nancy Wilson, Richard Marx, Jack Wagner, Rick Springfield, Pat Benatar, Justin Timberlake, Dennis DeYoung (and the rest of the boys from Styx, with the promise that they'll all get along), the Beastie Boys, Cyndi Lauper, Chaka Khan, David Bowie, Dianne Reeves, Dionne Warwick, the ghost of Karen Carpenter, Peter Gabriel, Donna Summer, Mel C, Phil Collins, Toni Tennille, Roger Daltrey, Trey Parker, Matt Stone, Curt Smith, Roland Orzibal, Thomas Dolby, a few of those DeBarge fellows, Tom Waits, The Pogues, whoever's still alive from Yes, ZZ Top .... and I'd make them write a song about me, perform and record it that night (while also shooting an awesome "Do They Know It's Christmas"/"Live Aid"-type video) then sell millions of copies to benefit a hunger relief organization. And, I'd also have it in Sebastian Bach's contract that he had to make out with me.

Q. Who would you invite to dine with you?

A. My family, my closest friends, and my dog. We'd eat in a grand house with glass walls overlooking the water in my favorite beach town.

Q. What was your biggest fear throughout this whole project?

A. When I first started doing this blog, I never wrote to anyone at The French Laundry to ask permission; I just did it. Then, one day (about 6 weeks into it), I got an email from Michael Ruhlman with the subject line "Your blog" and I almost passed out. I thought, for sure, it was some sort of cease and desist order or perhaps just an email from him along the lines of, "you are a crap cook and you should never write anything because you suck at writing, and also did I mention the crap cook bit? How about the sucky writing? Did I mention that? DID I?" I was afraid to open the email (I literally closed my laptop and hid it in another room for a few hours), but when I finally got up the courage to read the email, I was pleasantly surprised to find a very nice note from him which paved the way for me to be able to not just meet one of my literary heroes, but also honestly and gratefully being able now to call him my friend.

So, getting that particular email from Ruhlman that early in the blog's life showed me that my biggest fear was two-fold: I was afraid I wouldn't be able to honor this food and this book in the way it deserved and would thus be told to knock it off; and, I was also a little afraid to write in my own voice because I'd never really done it before and hoped I wouldn't suck too badly. When you do what I do for a living, you're always writing in someone else's voice about someone else's business or issue. I didn't know what it was like to write like me about my own stuff. A few weeks ago, I got an email from a friend with whom I worked nearly 20 years ago. We haven't seen or spoken to one another in at least fifteen years, if not longer. She'd Googled me, found this site, and said in her email to me that when she read through the entries it was like could hear me talking as if I were sitting right next to her in our old offices and it was 1991 all over again. Coming from an accomplished writer (and someone who knew me in my professional formative years), that tells me I'm doing something right -- and I think at the core of it all, that's all any of us wants to hear: that what we put out there is true to who we are.

I don't know how other writers feel about this, but I think it's hard to put yourself out there in writing, in this relatively new medium, in a really transparent way and be who you are, and not a cariacature of who you think you might be/want to be/are supposed to be/wish you were. But honestly, having the amazing support, feedback and participation from all of you (and some of you from the very first weeks) has alleviated any fear I might've had along the way. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to do this, and also to have such amazing, smart and funny folks join me along the way. This blog wouldn't exist if you all weren't reading it. Otherwise, I'd have folded it up and gone away ages ago.

Q. The earnest, respectful and thoughtful comments of your readers speak volumes about your blog. Seriously, do you even get trolls?

A. I love that someone asked this question (and thanks for the compliment leading up to it, because it's so true -- you guys are the best!). Do I ever get trolls? Nope. And I'm amazed by it. In the entire lifespan of this blog, I've only ever had to reject/delete four comments. Two were entirely inappropriate because they attacked other commenters for no reason. Another one was really disrespectful (and a tad threatening) toward me because I didn't have a positive experience making tripe. And, the last one had to be deleted/rejected because it went a little something like this: "lol i luv blogs of fud and h00rs and r u kute srsly?" It was after I got the "I know where you live you tripe-hating bitch" comment that I posted my Comments Policy because I think there's a certain social compact we all have with one another in life that doesn't always carry over online, and it should. I will be the first to admit that I've been guilty of being an anonymous bitch toward others from time to time online in the past, and you know what? It's not right, and I've knocked it off. If I'm gonna say something or comment about something, then I need to stand behind what I'm saying. So, I figured I need to walk the walk and be sure that what I say online is something I could honestly defend or say to a person's face if I were speaking to them directly.

Q. What part of this project did you love the most, and hate the most?

A. What I loved the most is being given the opportunity to cook amazing food, write about my adventures in the kitchen, and meet some pretty amazing people. I love being able to write about something I love that is mine and not a client's. I have loved being able to entertain in my home nearly every weekend for the past year and a half, and to have learned so much about food and cooking. I also loved that doing this blog and cooking every dish in The French Laundry Cookbook has changed my life in ways I'm not yet able to articulate, but that I see in random little moments when I least expect it. I love that doing this blog has made me aware of how different and much fuller my life is as a result of taking new kinds of risks.

What did I hate? Softshell crabs. I loved writing about the crabs, but, damnit, I hated making those stupid things. I'll never do that again. Never. Not even if Mike Bloomberg begged me to. That's how much I hated it.

Q. If someone offered you the chance to make a fabulous living cooking or writing, which one would you choose?

A. Writing. But, writing about cooking. I never wanted to cook professionally, as in work the line in a restaurant, but if I could find a way to incorporate writing and cooking, I'd be a pretty happy camper.

Q. Who or what are your biggest influences in your writing?

A. I'm largely influenced by reading great writing -- whether it's a book, newspaper or magazine piece, or an essay or blog post online. I also count among my influences the proximity to really great stories. I think because of what I do for a living, I can tend to be quite cynical and jaded about a lot of things -- and it's my job, quite frankly, to poke holes in things to make sure my clients have every i dotted and every t crossed, and that they're buttoned up and ready for action. So, I have a decent crap detector and a pretty solid nose for news, and I enjoy being able to ferret out what makes a good story and what doesn't. I consider myself fortunate to be one of those people who is surrounded by great stories every day, and great storytellers. It definitely has an influence on my writing.

But reading really strong writing has an influence on me because it motivates me to be better at what I do. I have a small stack of eleven books on the bookshelf next to my desk that serves as a constant reminder of the kind of writing I like -- whether it's the author's tone, style, sense of humor, or the way they tell a story. And they're not the great classics, or anything like that. They're simply books that have stuck with me for one reason or another, but largely because the writing made it memorable.

Q. Are you an avid reader of things non-food-related?

A. I like to think I am, although I've been spending quite a bit more of my free time in the kitchen these past 20 months than I used to, so I haven't been able to read as much as I'd like. I also feel like there isn't a lot of good fiction out there right now... or at least fiction that appeals to me and my interests. I just get tired of non-fiction every now and then, and I want something a little different. I'd welcome any fiction recommendations you guys have -- with the caveat that I really don't like sci-fi/fantasy, chick lit, abuse memoirs, anything that starts out "It was 1913 and while the rain was coming down hard on the streets of Berlin, a young boy in Chile was haunted by the ghost of his great-grandfather's mailman who carried with him envelopes of doom," or anything with the Oprah logo on it.

Books aside, I read four newspapers (the print editions) cover-to-cover each day, as well as more magazines than is probably healthy for any one person to admit they read. I do read food books and food-related literature from time to time, but I like a healthy balance of subjects/stories to read about.

Q. Any tips or advice for those of us who like to write but want to get better at it?

A. Write every day. Read Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird. And, find a good editor or a mentor who will be honest about your work, and who will pick it apart and edit to help it evolve to where it needs to go. I think you learn by doing, so really, write every day. Every day. The adage "practice makes perfect" exists for a reason.

Q. What made you pick The French Laundry Cookbook out of all the other tomes out there?

A. It's all in the timing, I suppose. You can read the story of how this whole blog started here. But I suppose the reason I was attracted to this book is because I thought it was impossible to cook from. And, I think you guys probably know me well enough by now to know that I'm the kind of person that if someone tells me I can't do something (even if the "someone" is just one of my other personalities), I'm stubborn enough to want to prove them wrong. And in this case, I felt like it was not just me doubting myself and/or suffering from general malaise in the kitchen, but also the mainstream consumer food media telling me through their programming and articles that real cooking is hard work and shouldn't be attempted because I'm clearly not smart enough. Apparently, processed foods and shortcuts are the way to go. In all honesty, it was either bitching about the state of dumbed-down food media to my friends (which I'd already done, and they were sick of hearing about it) or actually doing something about it. So, I decided to do something about it, and this is what clicked at that exact moment.

The French Laundry Cookbook, at first approach, is incredibly difficult, intimidating, a tad frightening and completely perfect, and made me feel like I had no clue what I was doing... until I got over myself and actually COOKED FROM IT. And the big secret of it all? None of these dishes are impossible for a home cook. It's true. It's all in the patience, organization, and willingness to take risk and try doing something you haven't before... and, the dedication to not half-assing it, and really trying to do it right, because there are reasons these dishes are done the way they are -- and I'm a far better cook (and a far better person, honestly) for having worked my way culinaryily and mentally through this book. It's not for everybody, but it was right for me.

Q. How has cooking from The French Laundry Cookbook changed your approach to cooking, and, aside from learning new techniques, how has it made you a better cook?

A. If anything, it's taught me that being a neat freak and a compulsive, list-making, hyper-organized planning maniac has its benefits! Doing this project has been illuminating in so many ways; let me see if I can capture them all...

It's made me a better cook because I've always wanted to be able to go to the market and be able to see an eggplant and instinctively know sixteen different ways I could do eggplant and be able to pick up all those ingredients while I was there, as well, without relying on a specific recipe from a magazine or book.

It's made me a better cook because I've really slowed down and thrown off the cloak of laziness and learned to love my kitchen all over again. It can be really hard sometimes to get excited about food and nourishment when you work all day, and for those who have kids, manage a job and your family and still be able to make something delicious when you come home at night. However, I think sometimes we can all fall into a trap of thinking that making good food is difficult, and it's really not. I applaud people (especially all those parents out there) who can get great food into themselves and their families without any stupid gimmicks or processed crap. It's not always easy for us single folk either, because so many of us are busy with a multitude of things and sometimes it's just easier to take the path of least resistance. But I've found great reward in reprioritizing some things in my life, and food is one of them. I don't eat in front of the TV anymore -- I set a place at the table (even if it's just me), and I pay attention to what I'm eating. Sometimes I read; sometimes I listen to music; but mostly, I have made it a priority to make time to cook well and eat well, and it's really made a difference in my overall health and happiness.

During the week, it might not be possible for any of us to cook the kinds of adventurous, more complex foods we want to try. But if this project has taught me anything, it's shown me that there is great reward in setting aside an entire Saturday to cook and have people over for dinner that night, and feel really good about what I put on the table.

Q. What's your ONE best piece of advice to anyone looking to cook on The French Laundry Cookbook level?

A. Yeah, right. Like I'm only gonna be able to narrow it down to ONE thing. You'll be lucky if I can even stay on topi...... hey, look, a bunny! I would say: have fun, and be willing to learn and make mistakes. The earth won't stop turning if you screw up lobster jelly. I'm living proof of that. Are some mistakes or mishaps more costly than others? Absolutely. But that's just one possible outcome of taking risks, I suppose. Laugh at your mistakes, learn from them, and try it again or move on to something else. OH! And this applies to any kind of cooking projects or endeavors: always, always, always start with a clean sink, an empty dishwasher and an empty trashcan. You're welcome.

Q. Some recipes have earned a place in your permanent repertoire. What techniques from The French Laundry Cookbook are now indispensable for you?

A. I talked about this a little bit in my last Q&A, but I do think, upon reflection, that now I tend to strain things more than I used to. I also steep my lobsters instead of just tossing them in a pot of boiling water. The recipes for stock in The French Laundry Cookbook are the best I've ever made, so I'm sticking with those from now on. And, even though it might not be detectable in my photos, my knife skills have gotten so much better, so that's an added bonus.

Q. Do you think you'll ever cook any of the recipes from The French Laundry Cookbook again once the project is over? Which ones?

A. Absofreakinlutley. Creamy Maine Lobster Broth, Gougères, Cream of Walnut Soup, and the Foie Gras with Pickled Cherries, because in my mind they're all pretty easy to do and in their simplicity are quite stunning and impressive while being really good and not fear-inducing for non-adventurous eater friends of mine. I'll also probably do the Maine Lobster Pancakes again when pea shoots are back in season because they are really easy, too. It's probably easier to list the things I wouldn't make again (softshell crabs, tripe).

Q. Are you going to give watermelon lipstick, etc. a shot when Keller's new book comes out?

A. You bet. Now, who wants to buy me a Cryovac machine?!?!?! Anyone? Anyone? But in all seriousness, I hope Thomas Keller's new book Under Pressure will have an important impact on the home kitchen. It may not happen right away, but I think it will, at the very least, get people thinking about cooking sous vide. The equipment involved in making something restaurant-quality sous vide is cost-prohibitive for many, and Chef Keller was the first to say that at an embargoed press event for the book back in June. Cryovac machines are not cheap, and a new immersion circulator can run anywhere from $1,200-2,500. However, there are ways a home cook can cook sous vide. In fact, I've already cooked sous vide in this very blog -- before I really connected the dots in knowing I was using this technique.

Chef Keller was also very clear in saying that you can't use a FoodSaver to vacuum-pack your food to prep it to cook sous vide because in addition to sucking out all the air, it also sucks out moisture. So, the trick is to learn how to wrap food tightly in Saran Wrap and be patient with keeping the proper temperature of the water or whatever liquid it is you're cooking in.

I'll write more about and cook from Under Pressure as part of the new blog/website/etc. that I'll roll out this fall, so stay tuned. I think it's exciting stuff, and having recently eaten some surprising food (corn!) done sous vide, I can say it yields the most incredible flavor. It really is a phenomenal technique/process and I'm excited about trying it.

Q. Would you ever consider a similar undertaking like this again? Cooking your way through an El Bulli volume, perhaps? (Although you'd need a lab, not a kitchen, for that)

A. Without giving too much away, yes, I would consider a similar undertaking.... only, I've got to up the ante, now don't I? So, while I may not cook my way through an entire El Bulli volume, I am going to continue to push past my comfort zone to see what I'm capable of in some new arenas. I'll tell you more about it in the fall.... and yes, it is KILLING ME not to be able to talk about it in great detail right now. There are just some pieces that need to fall into place before that happens, so it's good I improved my patience in the kitchen while cooking my way through this book or else I'd be a basket case by now with the anticipay-ay-tion. You already know it's going to involve this and this... the rest you'll just have to wait for.

Q. What's the latest on the TV deal?

A. The latest is that we're "having conversations" with a few media entities, and that's all I can say right now.

Q. Are you working on a book deal?

A. I'm "having conversations" with a few media entities, and that's all I can say right now.

Q. When you're done, how long will the blog stay online, or are you planning to take it down?

A. I have no plans whatsoever to take down the blog. I doubt once I'm done that I'll update it (unless, of course, a new, revised edition of the book comes out with new recipes, then all bets are off and this puppy will be up and running again full-force). But I'll certainly keep it up and running for reference purposes as long as the internet will allow... which is maybe forever.

* * * * *

Quite a few of you asked about my top 5 favorite dishes, or what I would recommend someone start out with to get their feet wet. I'm going to do a post in a few weeks (once I'm done cooking every dish) that will outline all these things -- I'll tell you my favorites, my least favorites, which ones are good for those ready to jump in and try something, and I'll also put together a few suggested multiple-course menus for you, since some folks asked about that.

* * * * *

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Extra: Eating my way through Yountville, CA

Read My Previous Post: Chocolate Fondant with Coffee Cream and Chocolate Dentelles

Chocolate Fondant with Coffee Cream and Chocolate Dentelles

2008-08-21T06:00:00.000-04:00

I have been putting off doing this dessert for quite a long time because I'd heard rumors that it was difficult. That it was incredibly temperature sensitive. That even though, on the surface, it appeared to be easy to do, it really was one of the most challenging desserts in the book. And I believed those rumors because they came from well-placed sources.

So, before starting this dish, I did some research, contacted some experts, cracked my knuckles for effect, and just did it... hoping and pleading for success because I couldn't face another Great Toilet Paper Wad-Looking Cinnamon Cookies of 2007 fiasco. I just couldn't. I knew that if I failed at this dish, Stephen Durfee and perhaps the entire pastry team from the early TFL days would've booked me a first-class ticket to Whoop-Ass Town. I did not want to disappoint. I've come this far. I've proven that I can master some mighty fine desserts. This one had to work. It HAD TO.

And it did.

This will be a long post, so pour yourself some Courvoisier, crank the Al Green, and let's get goin'...

I did this over two days so that everything had time to chill and set and do what it needed to do. Day One started with making the chocolate fondant -- similar to a mousse, but not exactly. I melted the chocolate in a bowl over a saucepan of hot water, keeping it warm once it had melted:

You'll see the melty part in a bit, I promise.

While the water was heating up to melt the chocolate, I made the meringue by whipping the hell out of a single egg white and adding sugar as I went:

While this was whisking away, I brewed a small pot of coffee, of which two tablespoons later went into the fondant... the rest of which I drank out of my favorite coffee mug:

Last, but not least, I whipped the butter (by hand) for a few seconds to make it cream-a-licious (it was already very softened at room temp, so that was easy), and whipped some cream (it was really cold and just out of the fridge) so it got to soft peaks:

Now, it was time to combine everything to make the fondant, which would get piped into acetate-lined ring molds and chilled. If you're playing along with the book, you'll see that there are two ingredients in the list of items for the fondant that I excluded: dried currants and finely chopped almonds. I have it on good authority that these two things were not in the original version of this dessert when it was conceived, and I hate fruit and chocolate together (I also hate chocolate with nuts in it), so I decided to deep-six this part of the recipe.

First I added the coffee to the melted chocolate (it was a little warmer than room temperature):

Then, I let the bowl sit on the counter for a minute or so to cool just a tad. Then, I whisked in two room-temperature egg yolks and the already-whisked butter:

Then, I folded in the meringue, then the whipped cream:

I piped this lovely brown loveliness (the texture of which was like a soft, sort of airy pudding, but creamier) into six acetate-lined 2x2" ring molds. The French Laundry Cookbook gives you the option of lining the molds with acetate (which I did, thanks to my already having the acetate on hand -- thanks, Alex!), OR, the home cook could USE A BLOWTORCH to release the fondant from the molds when it's time to plate. As much as that option really, really appealed to me, I opted for the acetate.... because me + fire ÷ πR squared = not exactly the kind of hilarity I needed this week. But that math sure was some hilarity, now wasn't it? See, it just goes to show you young whippersnappers out there that you really will find a use for πR squared as an adult.

So, I lined the ring molds, then piped in the chocolate fondant, and put them in the fridge to cool and set overnight:

Aaaaand, I bet you think that's all I did on Day One, but NO, IT IS NOT! I had batters and doughs and all sorts of other concoctions to whip up. Okay, well maybe not concoctions, but I just love that word and thought I'd throw it in there.

By this time, the coffee I'd been drinking out of my awesome-so-cool-you-wish-you-had-one-don't-you mug had started to kick in, so I flew through these steps with the élan and flair of a culinary Baryshnikof on crack. P.S., the caffeine didn't start to wear off until about 4 a.m., which... good times.

I did the mixture for the chocolate dentelles -- a lace-like cookie -- first. I pulsed some blanched, sliced almonds and unsweetened cocoa powder in the food processor until, as the book suggests, it was gravel-like:

I melted some butter, and added in the corn syrup and sugar, bringing it to a boil and heating it to 220 degrees, after which I turned off the heat and stirred in the nuts and cocoa powder:

I poured half the mixture onto a sheet of parchment paper, covered it with another, and rolled it out as flat as I could. I placed it on a baking sheet and put it in the freezer until the next day.

And this, my bay city rollers, is the end of Day One.

I fell asleep around 4 a.m. (thanks, caffeine), and woke up at 7 (wheeeeee!!!!!!!!) and decided to get started on the dough for the sablé cookies. I only needed a portion of the dough for this particular dish, so the rest of the dough is in the freezer waiting for me to use it.

In my mixer bowl, I creamed 14 TABLESPOONS of butter and the sugar. Yes. "14" and "TABLESPOONS" were not typos. That alone should be a pretty great indicator of how awesome these cookies were going to be. The only thing that might have improved them? Bacon. But I digress...

So, the creaming of the butter and sugar, followed by the addition of an egg yolk, then the flour:

I pulled out about a quarter of the dough, formed it into a ball, plonked it onto a sheet of parchment paper, covered it with another sheet, rolled it out to about 1/16" of an inch thick, then put it on a baking sheet and into the freezer to harden:

While that dough was hardening, I made the chocolate ganache with which to glaze the fondants. I chopped some bittersweet chocolate, heated some cream, poured it over the chocolate, let it sit so it could melt the chocolate, then stirred it to incorporate everything:

I took the fondants out of the refrigerator and spooned on a bit of the ganache atop each one before putting them back in to set:

Next, I made crème anglaise. If you want to see the specific steps of making this, you can use the search function in the top left corner of this blog because it's on here somewhere, I swear. Here's what it looked like just before I added the coffee extract:

The only thing left to do was bake the cookies and the dentelles, which I knew I was going to do an hour before plating, so I went about the rest of my day... working, procrastinating, working, procrastinating some more, and then still more procrastinating. Welcome to my life.

I baked the sablé cookies first. I took the sheet of dough out of the freezer, cut out a dozen or so two-inch rounds, and baked them on a parchment-lined cookie sheet:

Next up -- the dentelles. I removed the top layer of parchment, but kept it on the baking sheet and bottom layer of parchment. After it had baked for about 11 minutes, I removed it from the oven and cut out 2" rounds:

While the baked goods were cooling off, I added the coffee extract to the crème anglaise. The book calls for "1 1/2 teaspoons coffee extract (see page 263), or to taste" -- to which I say, "To taste!?!?!?!?!?! Oh, bring it on! FOURTEEN TABLESPOONS OF COFFEE EXTRACT, PLEASE!!!" But, of course, I settled for 2 teaspoons. Livin' on the edge, man.

To plate, I spooned a bit of the coffee-laden crème anglaise into each plate. I picked up each of the fondants, one-by-one, and placed a sablé cookie on the bottom before gently sliding off the ring mold, then unpeeling the acetate. I placed each one in the center of the dish, and gently placed a dentelle alongside it. Wanna see?

Here's a close-up, so you can really see the small indentation from my thumb as I removed the acetate:

I didn't even notice it until I uploaded the photos to my laptop -- otherwise I would've placed the dentelle there so you wouldn't have seen it. Doy.

Thumbprints aside, sweet children of the corn, it worked!!! And, even better? It was so incredibly good, the table was silent after the first bite... followed by a "whoaaaaa....." and a furious digging of spoon into bowl by all. There were six desserts and nine tasters, and I though a riot was going to break out.

It was creamy and sweet, and just all around one of the best desserts I've ever made in my life. I would totally make this again, and can whole-heartedly suggest that you give it a go. It's not as difficult as I thought it would be. As long as you pay attention to the temperatures of your ingredients for the fondant, you'll be fine.

Think Durfee will be proud? I sure hope so.

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Extra: Q&A with Carol, Part Three

Resources:
Noi Sirius bittersweet chocolate (56%)
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
Domino sugar
Organic Valley heavy cream and milk
Coffee beans from King's Road Cafe in Los Angeles, CA
Almonds from Whole Foods
Ghirardelli unsweetened cocoa powder
Karo corn syrup
365 organic butter
King Arthur unbleached all-purpose flour
Vanilla bean from the TPSS Co-op
Neilsen-Massey coffee extract

Music to Cook By: Gomez; How We Operate and Phil Collins; Hello, I Must Be Going. "Oh, Carol," I hear you saying with a sigh and a catch in your voice. "Phil Collins... really?" Yes. But did you not also see the Gomez link? Because I'm not totally stuck in the 80s, people. I like new music, too. And I love Gomez, especially their title track to this album. It's really, really good. As for my buddy, Mr. Collins, I just happened to have a particular need to reminisce with one of my oldest friends recently about how in high school listening to Phil Collins at night alone in your room was eveyone's dirty little secret. And really, if you can get through "Don't Let Him Steal Your Heart Away" without choking up, what are you, a freakin' robot?

Read My Previous Post: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Meet Forrest Pritchard of Smith Meadows Farm

French Laundry at Home Extra: Meet Forrest Pritchard of Smith Meadows Farm

2008-08-14T08:00:00.000-04:00

It's no secret that I live in Takoma Park, Maryland (hi, stalkers!), and one of the things that makes our town equally as wonderful as it does annoying is our dedication to locally produced food and materials. Wonderful, because it means we have access to and support great quality stuff. Annoying because it gives the hippies in town (hi, hippies!) one more thing to blather on and on about as they douse themselves in patchouli because they apparently think it goes really, really well with the b.o. -- I'm sorry, natural -- smell they've already got goin' on. [Why yes, Eric Cartman is indeed guest-writing today.]

Every Sunday from 10 - 2, our town hosts a farmers' market in the one-block "Old Town" section of our fair city. People come from all over the DC area, and it can become quite the mob scene. I like to get in and out as soon as the market opens in the morning, otherwise I end up with bruised ankles from all the stroller pushers (hi, stroller pushers!). Plus, getting there early to scope out the good stuff means you can make a plan for getting in and out and back home to eat it all the more quickly.... like the pint of blackberries I downed in about 3.8 seconds in the car on the way home the other week. Mmmmmm......

My favorite farmers' market vendor and pig head procurer is Forrest Pritchard of Smith Meadows Farm. I buy eggs from him every week, as well as meats, sausages, and the fresh pasta and sauces his wife, Nancy, makes. I had the chance not too long ago to spend some time out at Smith Meadows to see how everything works, and to learn a little bit more about what challenges a small family-run farm faces. I also had the chance to interview Forrest about what he does and why he does it.

I hope you enjoy our little chat ...

* * * * *

Carol: Smith Meadows farm is an 8th-generation family farm, correct? If you'd wanted to be an astronaut, would that have been okay with your parents, or did you always know this is what you wanted to do?

Forrest: Yes, my son and nephew will constitute what will (hopefully) be an 8th-generation family farm. I've been told the secret to keeping kids on the farm in contemporary times is to provide a 'desirable' situation... this could be a productive, sustainable, sensible operation already in business, or a farm with lots of potential. When I was growing up, ours was very much the latter... wonderful soils, great location, but not much direction, particularly a profitable, economically sustainable direction. My parents would have been okay with whatever path I chose, I think, but this combination of potential, heritage and production flexibility was good enough for me to give it a try.

Carol: How many family members are involved in the operations, and what do they do?

Forrest: My wife, Nancy, runs a commercial kitchen that takes local and organic ingredients and processes them into all sorts of things -- pasta, pestos, sauces, for example. She's also in charge of most of the bookkeeping, which might as well be a full-time job. My sister, Betsy, manages our flock of sheep (roughly 200 head), and manages 2 of our farmers markets, as well as picks up our stuff from the butcher each week. My mom runs our bed & breakfast, which is full mostly on the weekends, but requires 7 days of gardening, cleaning, etc. She also handles lots of on-farm sales. Sadly, my dad passed away about 6 years ago rather suddenly, but he had plans to retire from his off-farm job and help me on the farm in his retirement.

Carol: Can you talk a little bit about your educational background? College? Graduate degree? Ongoing education?

Forrest: Yeesh, school. Okay, I graduated from the College of William and Mary with bachelors degrees in English and Geology. I attended my ten-year reunion a few years ago, which was fun. Other than that, I like being on my farm instead of in school!!!

Carol: What's a typical day like for you on the farm?

Forrest: A few years ago, this would have been impossible to even attempt to reply to, as we had so many simultaneous projects going on, I was never quite sure what I was going to do even at the beginning of the day. We now have two apprentices each year (they work a 12-month apprenticeship), and a full-time farm hand, so things have become a LITTLE more predictable. Okay, a day starts around 6:45 a.m. when we move the chickens to fresh pasture. At the height of the season (May through Decemeber) we have as many as 6 flocks to care for... two sets of laying hens (400 birds per flock), 3 different ages of meat-chicks (broilers), and our turkeys. Then, it's off to check the cattle for pasture quality, health issues or broken fences, then the pigs, then the sheep.

We usually get back together around 9 am, and work on some sort of project, such as putting in buried water line for livestock troughs, new cross fencing, building repairs or modifications, etc. We knock off for one hour at lunch. Right after lunch, we take care of all the birds again, gather the eggs for the second time (we gather them around 10:45 am, as well), then either finish up our morning project, or do something different, depending on the season (mow hay, spread manure, run our bush hog over overly-shaggy pastures, cut up wind-felled trees, etc.). We stop at five pm. Of course, every other Monday we haul pigs and lambs, and every other Wednesday we haul cattle, and in season, every other Thursday we butcher chickens. Soooo... all this scheduling gets molded and squeezed and ends up fitting together the best we can!

Carol: Is it difficult to do business the way you do: free-range, no hormones, no chemicals? Is it an economic challenge?

Forrest: Every type of farming has its specific challenges. The positive thing about organic livestock production is that I, as a modern farmer, am the recipient of hundreds, if not thousands, of years of selective breeding. Modern animals have been selected and culled over the years for traits like disposition, maternal instincts, fertility, muscle mass, and resistance to disease. The list goes on. Of course, much of this selective breeding occurred well before the use or even development of antibiotics, chemical hormones and conventional chemicals such as petro-fertilizers and herbicides to treat/'enhance' pastures. These animals were raised to perform on pasture (in the case of cows and sheep), or at least have pasture/natural forage/natural scavenging be a very significant part of their feed intake (hogs and poultry).

Keep in mind, not only were these commercial chemicals not available, but grain in general was very costly and challenging to raise... far more likely to end up in 'people food' than administered in significant quantities to livestock. Hence, these animals were 'born' to live on pasture... to convert species such as grasses, clovers and select weeds into delicious, nutritious protein. I guess that's the good news about organic livestock farming, as with ANYTHING in life, it's certainly easy to screw it up if improperly managed. The biggest X factor in my operation has to be rainfall, as we are utterly dependent on good, average rainfall (say, 3 inches per month, year-round) to produce high-quality pasture for my animals to eat. Other than that, we are constrained by our acreage. We can only have "so many" cattle and sheep grazing our 500 acres before the necessary rest period between pasture rotations will no longer accommodate the grazing pressure. Poultry and pigs impact this to a lesser degree, but it's not far from my mind. In short, I can only grow as much as my farm can 'carry', and only as long as the rain falls and the sun shines!

Carol: What kind of regulatory challenges do you face that we may not know about or think about its impact?

Forrest: To answer this obliquely, I'd say the biggest surprise I've discovered since I began this business has been the nearly insurmountable amount of capital, liscensing and daily paperwork required to start and maintain a traditional slaughterhouse, where animals are slaughtered and processed. When I was a kid, we had several (say, 4 or so) small, often family-run abatoirs in my immediate rural area (all within 20 miles)... now, there are only 3 within 70 miles of me, and only two have the inspection credentials for me to offer my products to the general public. With all the frequent, alarmingly massive meat recalls that seem to happen about once a month (keep in mind, these are only the ones that we're "allowed" to hear about!!), the case for lower barrier-to-entry small-scale butcher shops is very compelling.

Carol: You sell your goods at quite a few farmers' markets in the DC area. Are farmers' markets doing well in this area, in general, or are there things they can do better to attract more business?

Forrest: I'm constantly grateful for the countless years that "risk takers" have stood out on a street corner, selling their fresh produce. By "countless years" I mean, of course, our shared human history of open air markets -- so ancient in their origins, it wouldn't surprise me to discover they are part of our collective social resonance ("Hey, honey, stop the car! There's a farmers market over there, just like grandma used to talk about!!!"). By "risk takers" I mean, of course, farmers... those who optimistically hope that the rain will fall gently on their fields, and the sun shine warmly on their crops.

I suppose the best way I can answer this question (I know, I know, I'm beating around the bush!!) is to say I'm honored to be part of what I consider a very ancient part of our human history: the food market. Somehow, from about 1950 to 1990 or so, American society (and perhaps parts of the rest of the world as well, but certainly not all of it), rather 'hiccuped': we stopped buying our food from neighboring farms, or open-air markets, or growing it ourselves (perish the thought!), and instead drove our big fat family trucksters (I'm seeing a wood-panelled 1962 station wagon here) to the vast asphalt receiving grounds of the neighborhood grocery store.

When I was growing up, in the late 70s, this required not only driving almost 15 miles in one direction, but also driving past probably 25 different farms to get there. Today, in 2008, I'd say maybe 3 of those farms are still in business, and much of the land is now in subdivisions. The supermarkets still do spanking business. Hooray for Food Puma! Or Food Panther, or whatever your local Food Cat is called.

Carol: Will your son take over the farm for you one day?

Forrest: Ummm... well, I'll try to pass on my sense of stewardship, love of the land, and the gratitude that I get when my customers express their gratitude to me. Short of having him grow up on the farm, seeing my sucesses and challenges and disappointments, seeing the seasonality of the business and the specific suite of education it takes to manage a diversified livestock enterprise, I don't know how otherwise to give him a meaningful glimpse into what it takes to run a farm. And if he decides he'd rather go elsewhere, I'll just tie him to a tractor.

Carol: Do you cook?

Forrest: I'm the world's finest bacon, eggs (any way you'd like 'em), toast and coffee maker you'll ever find. Short of that, I'm okay around a grill, but don't ask me to cook a roast or make soup or anything like that. When it gets down to weights, temperatures, and times, my head starts to spin. Just let me grow the stuff, and have your own fun in the kitchen! [NOTE: He's being completely modest here, because Forrest makes a killer BLT, minus the lettuce, but with fresh pesto instead. Best sandwich I've had in a long, long time.]

Carol: What's your favorite thing to eat for dinner?

Forrest: Gosh, that depends. Probably brick-oven pizza with fresh mozzarella and some of our crispy rosemary sausage and with some balsamic lightly drizzled over it. And an ice-cold Sam Adams. Or, 3-4 plump lamb chops with some sort of savory chutney as a sauce, a side of some potatoes and leeks, a spring-greens salad and some tiramisu or zabaglione or chocolate mousse for desert. Oh, and another pint of Sam Adams, please.

Carol: Did your wife grow up on a farm? If not, how has she adjusted to this kind of lifestyle?

Forrest: That's a subject for a blog unto itself...!

Carol: How has farming changed from what your parents and grandparents did, to how the farm is run now?

Forrest: The biggest change between my grandparents (the last generation to actively farm; my parents both had off-farm jobs, and ran the farm vicariously through managers for about 15 years) and my generation is that commodity prices have remained flat while inflation has soared. Why does that matter? Because, for my grandparents, they could produce food however thet wanted: organic, conventional, small scale, large scale... whatever they did, as long as they got it to market, they could be assured that they would get a decent price for their food, relative to the effort they put into it. I'd say, in fact, that my grandparents had many, many organic practices that are just as sage and sound today as they were back then.

Gradually, however, cost of living/production caught up to the prices they were able to garner, and finally exceeded the actual price they were able to receive for their products. This was a nationwide phenonomenon, and destroyed the fiscal sustainability of American farms from sea to shining sea all through the '70s, '80s and '90s. When Willie Nelson and Mellencamp talk about these farms (Farm Aid, etc.), these are the real family farms which were simply forced out of business because they had no other alternative than to sell their hogs for 25 cents a pound, while the actual cost of production might just happen to be 26 cents a pound. Rest assured, though, that when the supermarket runs a 'special' on pork chops for 99 cents a pound, that each and every middleman along the way is getting his or her share of that 99 cents. It was the family farmer who needed those extra pennies to keep doing what they loved, and doing it well, thoughtfully and caringly. Commodity pricing, largely influenced by speculators at the Chicago Board of Exchange, among other places, assured that profits would be miniscule, if profits existed at all.

I must set my own prices, and not depend on third-party speculators to determine my prices for me. I must raise the best possible meat and eggs I know how in order to differentiate my products from conventional offerings. I must represent my farm personally, face-to-face, at farmers markets, so customers will have a genuine producer experience, and have the opportunity to be educated about their food, and interact with me. That's what I must do differently than my grandparents in order to "make it." I hope that our similarity will lie in the optimism of fair pay for fair work.

Carol: Do you listen to music while you work? If so, what do you listen to? C'mon, I know it's REO Speedwagon, right? Air Supply?

Forrest: Björk, while I sleep, at full volume. Good for the sinuses.

* * * * *

Thanks again to Forrest and Nancy for welcoming me to their lovely home and farm, and for being the damn cool people they are. If you live in the DC area and see Smith Meadows at your farmers' market, please stop by and say hello. If you're not in the DC area, I hope you'll take a moment or two to get to know the producers at your own local farmers' market. It's time well spent, I promise you.

Up Next: Chocolate Fondant with Coffee Cream and Chocolate Dentelles

Read My Previous Post: Béarnaise Mousseline

French Laundry at Home Extra: Béarnaise Mousseline

2008-08-07T23:30:00.001-04:00

In my nearly 40 years on this earth, I have made béarnaise sauce approximately fifty times. The first two times I made it, it did not turn out well, but I chalked that up to being a complete novice (and maybe a wee bit ferdoonkled on cheap wine). The other 48 times? Beautiful. It's kind of been my thing. I'm the girl who makes a great béarnaise.

On this, the 51st time, when I made Béarnaise Mousseline from The French Laundry Cookbook, I must say that I did quite an astounding job. I use the word astounding because the dictionary definition means to "amaze," "astonish," "bewilder," or "affect with wonder" and that is precisely what happened here.

I am amazed that I screwed up something so easy I've done a frillion times before.

I am astonished that I had to eat my juicy, most delicious steak sans béarnaise because I am such a colossal failure.

I am bewildered that I sucked at this more than others have sucked before me.

And, I am affect(ed) with wonder(ing) how I gots no skillz and feel like a complete dorknugget, because I'm having trouble figuring out how the hell I can spend THREE DAYS making the most PERFECT braised, stuffed pig's head but screwed up béarnaise. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME??? Venus must not have been aligned in Jupiter with 12 of the 17 moons rising over Uranus (*snerk*), or whatever planetary alignment lingo works for you.

I blame Al Gore. Surely it's his fault somehow.

Alrighty then, on with the shiz-ow. Here's my mise en place:

To start, I reduced some white wine vinegar with some chopped shallots, chopped fresh tarragon, and freshly cracked black pepper until the pan was nearly dry:

I added my egg yolks and half an eggshell of water per yolk (I've never added water to my béarnaise before, but that's what the book said to do, so I did it):

I whisked this mixture for a while, but it never really took shape. It's supposed to tighten up and then form ribbons, which then thicken as it cooks so that you end up with kind of a mayonnaise-y texture. Mine never got to that point, so I put it in a bowl instead and tried it over a pot of simmering water, thinking maybe, possibly, somehow, help me fancy Moses, that it would help. It didn't.

I soldiered forth and decided to just add the clarified butter, while still whisking away (which when you have carpal tunnel syndrome AND have been playing a certain videogame for a few hours *seebelow*, it ain't exactly a stroll down the Champs Elysées, know what I mean?). Then, I added the lemon juice and a little salt to taste and kept whisking and whisking, thinking that maybe if I concentrated hard enough and prayed to Sid and Marty Krofft it would thicken and become the texture I knew it needed to be. It did not. Didn't even come close.

I decided to strain it anyway, then add a fresh batch of chopped tarragon, chopped shallots, and black pepper before stirring in the whipped cream (this time, I thought 'hey, maybe if I let it sit and then whisk the crap out of it AGAIN when I add the whipped cream, it will work'):

Unlike a lovely glass of red wine, I don't think béarnaise is supposed to have legs. Or clumps. Or randomly distributed matter along the bowl.

Here's a (maybe) better shot of how soupy it ended up being:

So gross.

Sauce 101 FAIL.

But at least I got to drown my sorrows in this:

I don't really understand why this sauce didn't work. Was it the eggs? The water? Did my shallots have a bad attitude? Was it just one of those things that's as unexplainable as Paula Abdul's career? I usually make my SUCCESSFUL béarnaise the Escoffier way, which was slightly different than this, but not all that much. Harumph. I feel so stupid. This should've been easier than it was. Dangit. The way this turned out, it might've tasted terrific on my tripe.

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Meet Forrest Pritchard of Smith Meadows Farm

Resources:
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
Tarragon from my garden
Organic Valley heavy cream
Shallot and lemon from Whole Foods

Music to FAIL by: A playlist made up of all the songs on the Wii version of RockBand, because my neighbors just bought it for their kids, and I've lost count of the number of hours I've spent rocking out on the system at their house while they've been on vacation. It's completely addictive. I think I missed my true calling, and I'm really supposed to be the drummer in the Ramones or Fall Out Boy because I scored a 99% on both their songs (on medium, not easy, because I am that amazing at playing the [multicolored, plastic] drums), and really, I am not a 12-year old boy, I swear, but damn if I don't love that game and secretly drew up plans last night to add on a room to my house that will be a full-on Wii RockBand studio with a wet bar and lots of snacks and a stripper pole because when I inevitably become a famous RockBand player, people like Sebastian Bach and Ted Nugent will want to hang out at my house and I figure they'll bring their own strippers, and since I will clearly not be able to supply them with a delicious meal of steak with béarnaise sauce, I should appeal to their other, *ahem* needs, right?

Read My Previous Post: Q&A with Carol, Part Deux... and my dinner at Alinea

French Laundry at Home Extra: Q&A with Carol, Part Deux... and my dinner at Alinea

2008-07-31T09:42:00.018-04:00

Okay, so after the first Q&A, even MORE questions came in, so this will be Part Two of Three... but never fear. If you don't see your answer here, it's a-comin'!

Q. How large a complement of pots and pans do you have? The New York Times and food bloggers love to write about how few items a well functioning kitchen needs, but you often have so many pots going at once. So what ARE your cupboards filled with?

A. Great question; and, a few of you submitted similar variations on this theme, so let me try to expand on what I think about this topic in general. I thought when I started this project that I was pretty well equipped, until I realized how many times things get strained or passed from one pan or pot to another. So, because I don't have lots of large containers as many restaurants do, I doubled up on some saucepans and stock pots, as well as sauté pans, too, now that I think about it. I also bought some extra strainers and cutting boards just so I wouldn't have to stop what I was doing to clean the only ones I had. Thankfully, I live in an area of the country where we have many, many places to buy quality kitchen goods at deep discount (I'm lookin' at you, TJ Maxx, Marshalls, and Home Goods), otherwise, there's no way I could afford to have as much All-Clad as I've amassed over the past two years.

I think when food experts write about how few items a well functioning kitchen needs, they're probably talking about how you don't really need all that stupid crap that's advertised that, honestly, I think makes cooking a lot harder in the long run. It's not difficult to properly chop an onion. It just takes practice. Whacking it through one of those onion choppers damages the internal structure of the onion and you lose the taste of it and it also won't cook evenly. So, I'm pro-having enough pots and pans to make complex dishes easier to pull off, but I'm anti-gadget, because I think they're a waste of money. I really had almost everything I needed to do this project -- I just doubled up on a few things so that I could be more efficient and spend more time up to my elbows in good food, not dish soap.

Q. Do you agree with Ruhlman that veal stock is THE fundamental a home cook should implement in their kitchen? Is it really that much better than chicken stock?

A. Yes, I do agree with Michael that veal stock is a key fundamental in the home kitchen, and one that, for a long time, has been overlooked. I understand that sometimes finding veal bones can be a challenge because they're not readily available and sitting in the meat section of your local grocery store. That said, with a few phone calls, you could probably source some, and I think making veal stock is worth the effort because it can be used to create some amazing dishes. You don't have to do it The French Laundry way, and could use this simpler execution which still yields a great end result. As to the second part of this question, you're comparing apples to oranges here, because veal stock and chicken stock are two very different things and used quite differently -- so one's not "better" than another. Obviously, you can't make chicken corn soup with veal stock, just like you can't make a truly velvety bordelaise sauce with chicken stock.

Q. What do you always have in your larder?

A. I was going to take a photo to show you, but because my kitchen is so narrow and oddly shaped, I can't get a good shot of it, so let me give you the list of what I almost always have on-hand (I'm typing this answer from the butcher block in the kitchen as I do a little live inventory for ya): kosher salt, sea salt, pink salt, grey salt, a few different kinds of peppercorns, peanut butter, olive oil, canola oil, truffle oil, lemon oil, about nine different kinds of vinegars, Saltines, wheatberries, quinoa, oatmeal, Cheerios, vanilla beans, curry powder, saffron, raw sugar, regular sugar, light and dark brown sugar, five different kinds of wheat, baking soda and powder, corn starch, tapioca, corn meal, one box of Kraft Mac and Cheese for emergencies, club soda, tonic water, molasses, Karo corn syrup, Old Bay, PAM, Newman's Own spelt pretzels (aaaand, I just ate one and they're stale and chewy -- ew), and a bag of walnuts that got jammed way in the back that I'm throwing away because I think they're about 2 years old. I also have a random assortment of ground spices (cumin, cinnamon, etc.), but I rarely use them, so I think I'm going to have to toss everything (I'm seeing a bottle of dried dill that I'm pretty sure moved here with me when I bought my house 11 years ago) and start over.

It's an interesting time to ask me this question, because about three times a year, I put myself on a food-buying moratorium and force myself to use what I've already got so that I can more easily clean out the pantry and wipe down the shelves before restocking. I'm in the middle of one of these use-it-already! phases, and it's kind of fun and certainly a challenge when all you have left is quinoa, tapioca, and sherry vinegar and nothing in the fridge that goes with any of it. That's when I know it's time to hit the market.

Q. What products (not food-related, but kitchen-related -- for instance, I love Barkeeper's Friend) do you favor?

A. I use Dawn dish soap, Method hand soap, Cascade in the dishwasher, and I use Barkeeper's Friend when I need to. I am obsessed with Goo Gone, and love to get sticker residue off new purchases with it. I also have a bottle of some sort of magic lemon oil that I use on my butcher block island twice a year, and it smells so great. That's about it.

Q. By the way, how in the hell do you keep your stove so disgustingly clean?

A. Hilarious that FIVE OF YOU asked this question, or a variation of it. Here's the deal -- I have this disorder I like to call controlus freakitis, the symptoms of which are as follows: the inability to allow stains or other crap to remain on my stovetop or counters when I'm done cooking; the inability to "close up shop" for the night with dirty dishes left in the sink; and, an obsessive need to maximize the space and efficiency in my dishwasher so that it becomes an integral step in the cooking process. I start all major cooking efforts with an empty and clean sink, an empty dishwasher, and an empty trashcan, and I clean as I go -- meaning as I'm done using an item, it gets rinsed and goes right into the dishwasher. And, the counters and stovetop just get a spritz of whatever cleaning solution I have (usually 409 or Fantastik) and a good wipedown. I actually like the cleaning-up part when I'm done cooking. It's freakishly relaxing and is a pleasure to see the morning after. I'm also one of those nerds who scrubs the shelves of her refrigerator once a month.

You can rest assured I'm not an over-the-top OCD case -- my windows are filthy and I hate cleaning other rooms in my house. Ugh. I just like a clean kitchen. It makes life lovely.

Q. Pristine (minus your own notes) French Laundry Cookbook, or does it hold fond stain memories?

A. Speaking of clean.... kidding. I was so afraid to get my copy of the book all mucked up and nasty in the beginning, but now I'm happy there are blops of sauce and oil stains throughout. The cover is still in decent shape, but the binding is getting a bit ragged. It's in great shape, though. Let me show you what mine looks like:

Now, in contrast, let me show you a photo of my friend, Andy, using his. He's a chef at The Sheppard Mansion, and you can tell he has used his quite a bit for inspiration:

Q. Why no advertising on your site?

A. When Lee Gomes from The Wall Street Journal was working on his story about cook-through blogs, we had a bit of a back-and-forth on this very issue. I didn't start the blog as anything but a fun hobby, so the idea of running ads never occurred to me. As I thought about it more and was approached by some folks to run ads, philosophically, it didn't (and still doesn't) feel right to earn money (even if it would only have been 50 cents a month) replicating someone else's work. Yes, I know the writing is mine, but it just didn't feel like the right thing to do. In the past year, I've been approached by a few big advertising syndicates who wanted to run ads on my site, and apart from the ethical reasons I just listed, I couldn't do it because you can't control what ads run on your site. And really, it's just not appropriate or appetizing when you're reading this blog to see an ad for a laxative for nursing moms, an eco-toilet, or a fast-food chain. So, it's ad-free. For good. I'd rather people donate money to Share Our Strength or a charity of their choosing than have me earn money from cooking my way through this beautiful book.

Q. What are your favorite inspirations for cocktails to pair with meals? I'm always curious about the mixed drink concoctions of dedicated cooks. And/or what's the best Keller/wine pairing you've had so far?

A. I'm glad you asked this question because I definitely have an opinion on this issue. I love when I go out for dinner and there's a knowledgeable sommelier who can help me figure out what wines go best with certain foods, because this is an area I really don't know a whole lot about. However, what I don't like is when people (whether it's restaurant staff, friends, associates, or salesmen) become "that guy" about wine and go on and on and on about vintages and years and weather conditions and notes and nose and all the other terms that just make me go cross-eyed because really... I just want to enjoy what I'm eating and enjoy the wine I'm drinking. I don't need a twelve-minute lecture or explanation -- just make a suggestion, give me two VERY SHORT reasons why, and let it go. I'll ask questions when I'm ready, but chances are I've already lost interest because I really just want to taste it and see how I like it (this pet peeve also comes into play when you get stuck with a server who just feels the need to explain in great detail every item on the menu as if you can't read *cough*my waiter at Hook a few weeks ago *cough*).

Now, on to answering the question at hand. I don't pair cocktails with meals. Before dinner, along with some little things to nosh on, I usually serve wine or offer an apertif -- such as my longtime favorite of Lillet blanc with a splash of club soda and a thin slice of lime or orange. During dinner, I offer both a white and a red (because I have friends who have allergic reactions to one or the other, and would prefer a white wine with steak as opposed to, oh I dunno, ending up in the ER in anaphylactic shock). And after dinner, coffee. If I'm having a party where the focus is more on the bar with heavy hors d'oeuvres, then I have all the classics on hand to make traditional drinks: martini (gin-only), Manhattan, Side Car, etc. I can't stand this current trend of mixing a bunch of crap in a shaker and calling it a "-tini." Drives me crazy.

As for the best Keller/wine pairing I've ever had, at Per Se, we had a lovely wine with the cheese course that was just delicious... but here at home, I just serve whatever I have on-hand if anyone wants anything, because I'm not really serving these tastings in a full menu -- they're just one-offs, most of the time.

Q. When it comes to food-related books (not cook books), what are your must reads? I’ve always loved cooking but I never really read about it until I picked up Ruhlman’s first book a few years back. I read it in a few hours and it really solidified my dream to give up corporate America and do what I really love. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get to fulfill that dream but I love to read about others who do.

A. It's no secret that I am a fan of Michael and his writing. I also really love Russ Parsons' books How to Pick a Peach and How to Read a French Fry. I refer to Harold McGee quite a bit when I want to know more about the things I'm reading in some of these books, as well. Here are some of my favorites: Appetite for Life; The Apprentice; Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant (one of the best covers, ever); Like Water for Chocolate (the book is so much better than the movie); A Cook's Tour; Comfort Me With Apples; and probably the very first food-related book I ever read, What's For Lunch, Charley. I have a huge stack of other food-related books I've been skimming, and stopping and starting, but sometimes I just get fooded out and need to read about something else. When I travel, I love to take along one of Kimberly Witherspoon's great compilations because they've got great short stories by and about so many great chefs -- it allows you see another side of their lives.

I have to confess that many of the policy- and issues-related books about food and food culture sometimes get to be a little too much. They're incredibly well written, don't get me wrong, and they pack a powerful punch that gets people to sit up and take notice on the issues they may not think about day to day. It's just that I deal with policy and politics every single day of my life with work, and when I want something pleasureable to read, these kinds of books just don't top my list.

If you're interested in food books that other people love, there's a Chowhound thread about it that might be of interest.

Q. My question revolves around movies. Some food movies are great (Mostly Martha, Big Night, Dinner Rush); some, eh, not so much (Simple Irresistible with Sarah Michelle Gellar as a chef (!), No Reservations). Are there any scenes that inspired you during this magical ride as much as the music you cook to?

A. Without a doubt, a huge inspiration is the feast scene in Big Night -- the drama, the big reveal, the table of friends -- I just love the whole movie. It's a great cast, and probably in my top 5 favorite movies of all time. Mostly Martha (the original) is a great film, as well. And, I also watch Babette's Feast from time to time, as well as Bread and Tulips. Some may disagree with me, but Tampopo made me want to rip my ears off, and I found Eat, Drink, Man, Woman and Tortilla Soup just not my thing.

I actually like movies that incorporate food into the storyline and give it a symbolism that you don't really even get, or think about, until long after it's over. Rebecca Epstein has a great list on Gastronomica's web site of the roles that food has played in movies.

Q. What kind of cook were you before you tackled TFL cookbook? Did you debone, fillet, etc. before or just as part of the experience?

A. Before my grandmother died ten years ago, she used to joke with me that it's too bad women today didn't do the whole "setting up house" transition with their mothers when they left home after high school (or college) and got married, because she was convinced that the only thing I knew how to make was macaroni and cheese, with the occasional hot dog. Not long before she died, she and my grandfather came to my house for Sunday lunch, and I think she almost fell out of her chair when I actually pulled together an entire meal from scratch. So, that's a very roundabout way of saying that before starting this project, I wasn't a very technically advanced cook (I'm still not), but I also wasn't microwaving stuff or hitting the prepared foods bar at Whole Foods. I was somewhere in the middle.

I always liked to experiment in the kitchen, but it really wasn't until I started working from home seven years ago that I could set aside the time to cook when I wanted to. I had decent knife skills, I could flip an egg without a spatula, and I had a pretty good handle on the basics, but also knew I had plenty of room to grow. That's why this project has exceeded my expectations beyond anything I could have imagined -- it's really pushed me waaaaayyyy far beyond my comfort zone, and it's made my everyday cooking that much easier.

I'm not great at deboning or filleting, but that's why there are lovely people in the world called butchers and fishmongers. I like to let the experts handle the things that I would otherwise screw up, and therefore potentially ruin a lovely piece of meat/fish/what-have-you.

Q. What is the best ingredient/technique/recipe you've discovered since starting this blog?

A. Without question, the best ingredient/technique/recipe I've discovered is none of those three things, per se. The biggest takeaway or lesson has been all about patience, communication, and focus. Have I used ingredients in new ways as part of this project? Yes. Have I cooked things I've never cooked before? Yes. Has my opinion on certain foods changed? Absolutely. But it would be way too difficult to try and narrow it down to one or two things and call them the "best." It's much bigger that that, for me. I'm not at all patient in my everyday life. But in the kitchen, I've been able to be more patient, and really focus on what I'm doing so I can see how food changes color and smell and texture and taste throughout the process. And, doing this blog has really reinforced my notion that more often than not we really need to step away from the computer and enjoy the company of others when it comes to food. There are so many amazing food blogs, web sites, and forums out there -- but I so much more enjoy getting out to the markets and getting to know the folks who grow the food I use... and I really love cooking these dishes because it means that at least once a week, I have a house full of people I get to eat, drink, and laugh with, which is perhaps the most important thing of all, for me.

Q. What is it you most love about cooking?

A. Two things: solitude, and togetherness. I love to cook alone. I really do. I have many well-meaning friends who, when they come over, would love nothing more than to pick up a knife and start chopping, or stir something in a pot, but I love to be in the kitchen alone when I cook. It's just my thing. Depending on what I'm making, I do enjoy having my friends hang out in the kitchen with me, chatting away and drinking a nice glass of wine, but because of my controlus freakitis (see above), I prefer to cook alone. Now, when it comes to the whole eating thing, there's nothing better than sitting down at the table with friends as they chatter and talk and laugh and pass the food around to serve themselves, and then ............ complete silence, as they take their first bite. Sometimes, it's a nail-biter, especially if I've tried something new, but I love it when they take absolute pleasure in what I've made. It's so gratifying.

Q. With your obvious love of music, which 5-10 albums do you think French Laundry At Home fans should have on their iPods?

A. You're joking, right? This is almost impossible to answer. Let me give it a shot:

Boston; Boston
Styx; Paradise Theatre
Deee-Lite; World Clique
Green Day; Dookie
Beastie Boys; Licensed to Ill
Ella Fitzgerald; everything she ever recorded
Louis Prima and Keely Smith; everything they ever recorded
Prince; Purple Rain
Howard Jones; Dream Into Action
Janet Jackson; Rhythm Nation
Lyle Lovett; Joshua Judges Ruth
Madonna; The Immaculate Collection
Steve Miller Band; Greatest Hits
Whatever compilation has "Jam on It" by Newcleus on it

.... yeah... this isn't working, because I'm leaving so many great artists, songs, and albums off the list. That's why I think iTunes is so wonderful, because I can create playlists of whatever I want. Sorry, I tried to answer this one. I really did. It's just too hard.

Q. Did you have huge 80s permed hair and acid-washed jeans to go with your fine music selection?

A. Whoever asked this must know me well. Yes, I had a perm. Yes, my permed hair was held in place with many cans of AquaNet. I only had one pair of acid-washed jeans in my lifetime, and they were also pleated and had pink ticking. They, sadly, did not have laces up the side, or those awesome cut-out hearts.

Q. Who did you think was hotter, Andy or Paul in OMD?

A. Neither one of them floated my boat, actually, because I was too in love with Stewart Copeland (nerd alert!) and the lead singer from A-Ha.

Q. What's your culinary holy grail (besides cooking thru TFLC)? A food item, a dinner cooked by someone, a piece of equipment?

A. I was just talking about this question with a friend of mine, because I think my answer would have to be something I wouldn't have said a year or two ago. Before I started this project, I think my answer would have been "dinner at The French Laundry," but now that I know that's going to happen and now that I've had my world view of food changed pretty dramatically over the past two years, I think my culinary holy grail would be to own a few acres of land on which I would plant the most amazing garden, as well as have a few chickens for eggs and for eating. I'd love a normal-sized farmhouse, with an upgraded eat-in kitchen and a large dining room with a long table and many, many chairs so that I could throw some great dinner parties. Oh, and unlimited funds to make all this happen so that I could just plant, grow, cook and eat all the time, without that pesky thing we call work getting in the way.

Q. Not having slogged through the archives yet, have you found any techniques/combinations that you could forget about? (I'm channeling my own go at FL's eggplant caviar [with blinis and peppers] that yielded only so-so results.)

A. What do you mean you haven't slogged through the archives yet? Don't you know it's a great procrastination tool while you're at work? I know it's cliche, but I really did learn something from every single dish I've done here. Granted, some of the lessons were that I didn't like a particular ingredient, or that I was able to change my mind about something (yay, oysters!), but ultimately, there's nothing I'd dismiss or completely forget about.

Q. What will you blog about after you've finished French Laundry at Home?

A. I'll soon announce what my next project will be, but there are some other things that have to fall into place first. The Travel Channel's Andrew Zimmern wrote about me on his blog not too long ago, and wondered if anyone would be daring enough to cook his or her way through the upcoming Alinea book. Without revealing too many details too soon, I can tell you that doing just that is on my agenda as part of a bigger project I'm currently developing and plan to launch in the fall. I've known about the Alinea book for some time now and have been anxious to see the final product. And, now that I've eaten at Alinea, it's all the more exciting, and personal, and something I really look forward to doing.

So with that, I'd like to spend a little time telling you about my dinner at Alinea. As you may or may not know, Alinea's chef/owner is Grant Achatz, who once worked at The French Laundry. Grant recently won the James Beard Award for Best Chef, and The New Yorker recently ran what I thought was a really beautifully written piece on Grant's culinary background, his approach to food, and his recent battle with tongue cancer. What I love about Grant Achatz is his inventiveness, creativity, and risk-taking -- all of which are imbued with a sense of culinary familiarity, if that makes sense.

For instance, take a look at the menu my friend, Claudia, and I were served:
None of those flavors are strange, and very few were new to me... nearly everything listed on that menu was something I'd eaten before. But.... I'd never eaten these flavors in quite this manner. For instance, we've all probably had a caprese salad: slices of fresh tomato, slices of fresh mozzarella, fresh basil leaves, with a drizzle of olive oil, salt and pepper. Now imagine a plate being brought to the table, then gently placed in front of you as the server describes the frozen mozzarella foam, the tomatoes prepared seven ways, the basil ice cream... honestly, there was a part of me that wanted to roll my eyes at the frozen mozzarella foam, but I couldn't. I really couldn't. Why? It was so damn good it made my head explode and my eyes roll back into my head. It was really fun and inventive and just off-the-freakin'-charts good.

We got the chance to meet Grant that night, and it was an honor to meet the man behind such a wonderful meal. It's funny, but he looks quite serious and stern in his photos, but he has one of the most engaging smiles I've ever seen. His kitchen was humming, but in a very quiet sort of way.

In all, it was a really fun night that opened up my palate in ways I hadn't done before. My friend, Claudia, took some photos and did a more thorough write up. Me? I'm still processing it and trying to find a way to describe it without solely relying on gutteral sounds and comic book action hero noises. I can say this: I came home from Chicago the next day looking at food through yet another whole new lens.

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Bearnaise Mousseline

Read My Previous Post: Pacific Moi with Fresh Soybeans, Scallion and Radish Salad, and Soy-Temple Orange Glaze

Pacific Moi with Fresh Soybeans, Scallion and Radish Salad, and Soy-Temple Orange Glaze

2008-07-24T09:40:00.001-04:00

Oh people, I am in love. With a FISH of all things. Is that bad? I mean, I think I can find room in my heart for one more culinary luv-ah. Move over, bacon... slide a little to the right, bordelaise sauce.... Bloomberg, you stay put, honey. We'll slide that moi right there beside ya. Perfect.

I can't decide how much of my moi-love is about the fish itself, or the double-secret-probation covert ops it took to get this delectable fish out of the Hawaiian waters, onto a plane to the east coast, and into my hot little hands.

First, let's start with some background. Moi (pronounced "moy") is rare for home cooks to come by here on the east coast. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen it on a restaurant menu here, either. The only place I've seen moi on a menu was in Maui 10 years ago; I didn't order it then, and boy am I kicking myself now. Centuries ago, it was the fish of kings -- and only the wealthy and privileged were able to eat it. Today, it's sustainably farmed in Hawaiian waters and enjoyed by all Hawaiians.

So, how did I get this rare little fishy in my kitchen? Back in February, when I was buying monkfish (ugh, THAT was a disaster of a dish), I told my fishmonger, Scott, that I needed to get my hands on some fresh moi -- not Cryovac™ed and frozen, but fresh outta the water. He laughed and laughed and "there-there'd" me until I snapped his ass back into reality and said, "No. Dude. I really do need some moi. Can ya help me out?" I think right after that he said something like "Fat chance, you crack monkey" and then suggested I book us two tickets to Hawaii to go pick some up -- and believe me, I was tempted.

Over the next few weeks and months, everytime I went to BlackSalt, whether to buy fish in the market or have lunch with friends, I'd pester Scott with my need for moi. He'd say, "Yeah, yeah, I'm workin' on it" which I bought hook, line and sinker (ha!) time and time again. Finally, I said, "Dude. I'm really ready for this moi. Can we get some, or do I have to *gulp* make a substitution?" His reply was: "You're not gonna believe this, but I think I can get us some."

Aw yeah.

There was much back and forth on how we were getting it: where's it coming from // I can't tell you // Are you just gonna hack up some catfish and tell me it's moi // No, really, I know this guy // Oh really; that sounds credible // He's a customer // But is he also a reputable fish purveyor // Not exactly, but he can have some moi flown in because he, like, knows some people // Are you serious and is this legal // Um, I think so // Oh boy, you think so; so when's it coming // I can't say; it will be kind of last-minute // But I'm a control freak and I need to know every detail or else I will have to pace the floor and brush my hair for six hours until it is even more shiny and perfect // Oh, can it, sister // Beep boop boo beep // What are you doing // I'm pressing the numbers on my phone to annoy you so you'll tell me when the fish will be here // Oh fer cryin' out loud, I promise, it'll be any day now // No really, when's it coming // The red dog flies at midnight.

After one or two false alarms and one delivery mishap by the lovely folks at Fed Ex, my phone rang early one morning with Scott on the other end of the line saying the moi had arrived. I jumped out of bed, showered and got dressed, and hauled ass over to BlackSalt to pick it up lickety-split. It was so pretty and lovely before he filleted it for me. Sadly, I do not have a photo of that because I suck and in my haste to get there so quickly, I forgot my camera. Sorry. However, thanks to the good people at the University of Hawaii, I can show you their photo of a whole moi, ready to be cooked and eaten with love:

Gorgeous. And, let's all give Scott Weinstein a big round of applause for providing me with the right fish for this dish so that I didn't have to use monkfish, canned tuna or some shit.

::: clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap :::

Nicely done. Now, let's move on to the dish.

The first thing I did was prepare the radish salad. Using my mandoline, I julienned some green onions (not the best-looking cuts you'll ever see -- whoops), carrot and radish:

I put the julienned vegetables in a bowl of ice water to hold them until I was ready to plate.

The next step was making the orange glaze. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this somewhere on the blog before, but I have carpal tunnel syndrome. I'm afraid to have the surgery to correct it (I've heard too many awful stories about how it actually makes things worse), so instead, I make concessions in my everyday actitvities to accommodate it. One of those concessions is buying fresh-squeezed juices instead of squeezing the citrus myelf. I've had the fresh juices from Balducci's before and they're really, really good, so I bought a small bottle of their orange juice to use in this dish. The idea of squeezing enough oranges to provide two cups of juice was painful enough in thought, let alone execution. So, I started with some orange juice, which I reduced over medium heat until it had gone from 2 cups to just under a half a cup:

I removed it from the heat and set it aside while I prepared the soybeans. Now, I suppose I could've driven all the way up Georgia Avenue to the Asian supermarket to find fresh soybeans, but the chance of them having any is usually slim-to-none, and I was driving right past my favorite Japanese restaurant, Murasaki, on the way home from picking up the moi, so I decided to just get the edamame from them so I didn't have to blanch them when I got home -- they were already steamed in salt water.

I removed them from their pods and put them in a small saucepan with some tomato diamonds, brunoise, and a little bit of butter and heated the mixture over low heat until it was warmed throughout:

I reheated the orange glaze to a simmer and whisked in two tablespoons of butter as well as the soy sauce, and kept it warm over low heat:

I removed the julienned carrots, radishes, and green onions from their ice-water bath, patted them dry and tossed them in a bowl with some minced chives and some lemon olive oil:

Last, but most certainly not least, it was time to cook that lovely, lovely fish:

The French Laundry Cookbook suggests serving pieces that are 3.5"x1", but I made my pieces a bit larger than that because this fish was expensive, and I wanted to make sure I didn't waste a single bit of it. I seasoned each of the pieces with salt and pepper:

I then cooked them, skin side down first, for about 3 minutes, then flipped them over to the fleshy side for just under a minute. To plate, I started with the orange glaze, on top of which went the soybean mixture. On top of that, the moi; and, on top of the moi went the radish salad:
Ooo, ahh... just a little bit... ooo ahhh, a little bit more... ooo, ahh... just a little bit, you know what I'm lookin' for.... baby, please... you're all I neeeeed.....

Nothin' like a little Gina G. dance-mix-love-ballad for my moi.

Let me talk about how full-bodied this fish is. I know that's probably a strange term to use when you're talking about fish, but I don't care. It had heft to it, but wasn't steak-y. It was heavy, but not too fishy tasting. It had enough fat in it that it was silky smooth, but it was also light on the palate and really, really delicious. The skin was crispy and perfect, and I couldn't have been happier. I also really loved the soybeans, but do you know what the hit of the night was? The orange-soy glaze. For as much as we loved the fish (and we all really did), the glaze took it waaaay over the top and turned a grand slam into... um.... a shut-out-filled World Series win, or whatever baseball analogy suits best (I'm crap at sports, so YOU figure something out). There was just enough soy sauce to cut the orangey-ness of the orange, and the consistency of it was perfect. And, the radish salad added a nice, sharp crunchy and cool complement to the dish that, when I read the recipe I though I might not like, but it tied it all together really nicely.

I think this dish is really easy to pull off. If you have your very own Scott, then have him or her pull out all the stops to get some moi. If you don't, TOO BAD FOR YOU. Kidding. (sort of) You could make this dish and substitute some halibut, or maybe some pompano... something with a fatty, almost buttery texture and you'll be set. It is soooooo worth trying, even for the orange-soy glaze on its own. You won't regret it, I promise.

Up Next: Q&A with Carol, Part Deux... and my dinner at Alinea

Resources:
Moi from BlackSalt
Edamame from Murasaki
Produce from Balducci's
O Meyer lemon olive oil
365 organic butter and canola oil
Fresh-squeezed orange juice from Balducci's
Kimlan soy sauce (even though its name makes me think of ChemLawn - boooo)

Music to Cook By: The Little Ones; Lovers Who Uncover. Another KCRW find and a CD from Red Light Management (thanks, guys!). I love their pace and their musicality, and there's just something about these guys that makes it fun to cook to AND fun to clean up to. They recently worked with the guitarist from the Mighty Lemon Drops, which is the band I was seeing at the old 930 Club the night that paragon of virtue Marion Barry was arrested for smoking crack with Rasheeda Moore at the Vista Hotel. Good times.... good times.... anyway, they have a great sound and remind me of Echo and the Bunnymen, which is maybe why I like them so much. I think you will, too.

Read My Previous Post: Hearts of Palm with Purée of Marrow Beans and Field Greens

Hearts of Palm with Purée of Marrow Beans and Field Greens

2008-07-19T08:00:00.003-04:00

One of the greatest things about The French Laundry Cookbook is the wealth of stories throughout the book. One of my favorite stories is about John Mood, the purveyor from whom The French Laundry gets their fresh hearts of palm. Mood served in Vietnam, after which he became a commercial pilot following his military service. He then bought some acreage in Hawaii and, with a business partner and fellow grower, turned his peach palm-growing hobby into a full-time business. It's the stuff dreams are made of, and I hope someday to be able to visit his farm because not only would it be a fantastic excuse to go to Hawaii, but because his farm looks so lush and green and fragrant and peaceful.

I'm sad to say that I was unable to procure fresh hearts of palm to make this dish. I tried ordering it from a number of sources as well as through a few chefs locally here in DC, but nothing panned out. I couldn't bring myself to order 100 lbs. of it (one option, and a rather expensive one at that), or wait until October when a different purveyor would have some ready and was willing to send me just 25 pounds (again, still really expensive and not too timely). So, I had to settle for canned hearts of palm and make the best of it. The good news is, even with the canned stuff, this dish is off-the-charts good, so I can't even imagine what it'll be like when I do get my butt to Hawaii someday, take over someone's kitchen, and make this there.

As you know, the dishes in The French Laundry Cookbook are served in tasting sizes. I usually have 6 - 8 people over to try what I make as part of this project, but when I made this dish, my usual crew was on vacation, out of town on business, or tied up with their kids' sports schedules. So, I thought it was a great opportunity to turn this into an entree-sized serving and invite my friend, Kerry, to lunch. Even though we live just five blocks away from one another, we hadn't gotten together in awhile, and our timing was perfect, so we enjoyed this dish for lunch (along with a few glasses of wine) and had a lovely afternoon. If you have the opportunity to schedule a lunch for two sometime soon, you might want to try this dish. You won't be disappointed.

I soaked the marrow beans overnight the night before I made the rest of the dish. That morning, I drained and rinsed them, then put them in a pot with some cold water and brought them to a simmer:

After they'd simmered for a minute or so, I removed them from the heat, drained them and rinsed them under cold water until the water ran clear. I put the beans in a medium saucepan and covered them with cold, homemade vegetable stock along with some carrot, leek, onion, and tomato as well as a bouquet garni.

I brought this to a simmer and cooked it gently for about an hour. After they'd cooled a bit, I drained the beans (saving the liquid, but discarding the veg), and set aside 3/4 C of them for the sauce.

The remaining beans (another 3/4C or so) went back into the liquid and reheated a tad while I ground some homemade brioche into fine, fine breadcrumbs.

I removed the breadcrumbs from the food processor and in their place put the hot marrow beans (I drained them and the liquid went bye-bye), which I puréed, then added the breadcrumbs back in to purée some more:

Then, I added some mascarpone cheese and kept the purée action going:

This is a point at which I debated calling Kerry and canceling lunch because I really could've just eaten this stuff with a spoon. It smelled amazing, and was so silky smooth. But alas, it was not meant to be, because there were (canned) hearts of palm to be filled with this gorgeous stuff.

Hey, at least they're cultivated and not, um, whatever the opposite of cultivated is.

I cut these hearts of palm into pieces that were 1-2" long, then hollowed them out:

Then, because I accidentally sliced my pastry bag with a knife a few weeks ago and haven't picked up a new one yet, I had to put the marrow bean filling in a ziploc bag (shame, shame, shame) cut a hole in the tip and pipe that stuff into these hollowed-out hearts of palm:
(notice how I kept that photo underexposed because it's so embarrassing?)

I put the filled hearts of palm in the fridge to chill while I prepared the bean sauce in which these hearts of palm would eventually sit.

When I bought my black truffles in the winter, I made mushroom stock and preserved one of the small truffles because I knew I'd be making this dish when black truffles were no longer available. Just as The French Laundry Cookbook instructs on page 87, I made the stock, plonked in the truffle, then stored it in the freezer. I thawed it for this dish, and kept every finger and extremity crossed that it would still be good (read: not poisonous or gastric distress-inducing) when I needed it.

It passed the smell test, for sure, and since I've already 'fessed up to loving this dish, I can tell you it passed the taste and non-sickness-inducing test as well. Whew.

To make the sauce, I put the stock in a saucepan with some sherry vinegar and brought it to a boil and reduced it by half. Then, I added minced shallots, minced black truffle, the remaining beans, and some diced heart of palm (I used the centers I'd hollowed out) and heated it until the contents of the pan were nice and warm:

I removed it from the heat and stirred in the tomato diamonds, parsley, brunoise, chives, and a tiny bit of white truffle oil and set it aside until it was time to plate:

Time to finish the hearts of palm! I dunked and dredged each of them in flour, milk and ground up panko and fried them in some canola oil in a skillet. This was a quick process, so I don't have any action shots of it (if I had done so, they'd have burned, and that would be not a very good thing).

To plate, I put a ring of chive oil on the plate (which is barely visible in the photo, if at all), on which I put the beans in sauce. I topped it with some of the hearts of palm, and garnished with the very last pea shoots I had (my chervil looked sad and droopy, so it got das boot):

I don't think I mentioned this yet, and I should be shot for not doing so, but did you know that marrow beans on their own taste a little like bacon? They do. I'm not making it up. Extra bonus points for that because it definitely added a little sumpin'-sumpin' to the dish.

The hearts of palm smelled a little farty when they were cooking so I was suspicious about how they'd taste (wouldn't you be?), but when I sliced a little bit of the heart of palm and ate it with the bean sauce? Wow wow wow wow wow! I had set aside the extra hearts of palm on a plate in the kitchen, but brought them out to the table so we could finish them right then and there. I set aside a little bit of the bean sauce and reheated it the next morning and ate it with an egg (over-easy). This dish is going into the permanent repertoire. It was a hit in every possible way, and I think this would be a great one to make if you want to try something out of the book, but haven't yet. The book even suggests a workaround in case you don't have truffle-infused mushroom stock, so there are NO EXCUSES for you not calling a friend, inviting him or her to lunch at which you will serve this and drink wine in the middle of the day and feel like a freakin' rockstar (without the heroin bender or passel of hookers, of course, unless that's your thing, in which case, get away from me).

A+ and smiley faces all around. This one's a keeper.

Up Next: Pacific Moi with Fresh Soybeans, Scallion and Radish Salad, and Soy-Temple Orange Glaze (and no, even though Moi also comes from Hawaii and is next to impossible to find on the east coast, I did not use canned Moi -- I got the fresh stuff because my fishmonger is like the Colombian drug lord of the fish kingdom and found some for me, but without all the murdering and stuff.)

Resources:
Roland Hearts of Palm
Dried marrow beans from the TPSS Co-op
Homemade vegetable stock from my freezer
King Arthur flour
Organic Valley whole milk
Edward & Sons panko
365 canola oil
Vermont Butter & Cheese Co. mascarpone
Produce from Whole Foods
Parsley from my garden
Saveurs white truffle oil
Black truffle from D'Artagnan

Music to Cook By: A little bit of Teitur and some Katy Perry. I downloaded a bunch of their music not too long ago and just dumped all of it into one big playlist. And somehow, it works to have them lumped together -- I'm not sure why. I first fell in love with Katy Perry when I heard one of her songs on the soundtrack of "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" (shut UP!), and I found out about Teitur the last time I was in LA and listened to KCRW on my little hotel room clock radio because I got sick of watching Project Runway reruns.

Read My Previous Post: French Laundry at Home Extra: Q&A with Carol, Part One

French Laundry at Home Extra: Q&A with Carol, Part One

2008-07-11T06:00:00.000-04:00

Wow.

When I put out the call for questions, man, did you guys respond! So much so, in fact, that we're gonna break up this Q&A into two posts -- one now, and one in a few weeks. Because we're near a hundred questions (although some of them are duplicates or very similar in nature) that's still too many for one post, don'tcha think? And, by splitting it into two, it means I can stretch the life of the blog that much further, which pleases me greatly.

But before I get to the Q&A, I want to share some of the great media coverage French Laundry at Home has gotten in the past week or so. The adage "when it rains, it pours" holds true, for sure.

1) Here we are in DCist (thanks, Alyse!): "Chewing the Fat: Carol Blymire of French Laundry at Home"

2) Check out this really great story (with spoilers related to this and a future Q&A) in the Frederick News-Post (thanks, Adrienne!): Cooking with French Laundry

3) Here I am quoted in the Montgomery County Gazette (in an article by the talented Mike Meno) on my town's ridiculous decision to "add their voice to the national voice on a foie gras ban" or whatever the stupid, meaningless resolution was: "City says 'non' to foie gras"

4) And, on the same day I called my townsfolk a bunch of wackadoos in one paper (because, you know, I'm so politically savvy and whatnot), I was featured in a full-page spread in our town newspaper, the Takoma Voice (thanks, Howard and Diana!). The story isn't available online as of today, but should be someday at Takoma.com. It's a really great feature piece, and it was an honor to be interviewed by my friend and neighbor, Howard Kohn, who also happens to be an award-winning author and writer for Rolling Stone.

5) One last one -- another WTF about the whole foie gras production ban in my town (which no one raises, in case you were wondering) by Kathleen Miller at The Examiner: Takoma Park City Council Bans Foie Gras Production

* * * * *

Now, on to the Q&A.

If you're just joining us, let me link to a post in my archives that might be worth reading before diving into today's questions and answers. Hopefully, it'll get you caught up on why I'm even doing this blog in the first place, and what got it all started.

Here we go...

Q. How much of what you've been doing has Thomas Keller actually been following himself?

A. There were a lot of questions from you along the lines of "does Thomas Keller read your blog" and "they should totally give you a reservation and VIP dinner at The French Laundry -- can we organize a campaign to make that happen" and "do you think you'll ever meet Thomas Keller, and if you did, what would you say?" And now seems like a good time for me to update you on all that.

Yes, Chef Keller knows about the site. I'm pretty sure he's not hovering over his laptop every day refreshing the page to see if I've posted, but he does know about it. And, as wonderful and supportive as I know your intent was, there is no need for anyone to organize a campaign for me to get a reservation at The French Laundry. I'm actually going there in mid-August to celebrate my 40th birthday. I don't know what's in store for me, menu-wise, because I'm leaving it all up to them. I made the reservation awhile ago because I knew I wanted to book the private room for this dinner, and mere words cannot convey how excited I am about finally making the trip out there. It was fun to see the recent A Cook's Tour episode at The French Laundry because my parents and friends who will be joining me for my birthday dinner there watched the episode, too, and called during the commercial breaks to talk about all the food and the service and how excited they are about this dinner. It's something I've been looking forward to, and I think it's a wonderful way to celebrate not only this birthday milestone, but also a really amazing run with this blog.

Q. That's nice and all, but you didn't really answer the question about meeting Thomas Keller and what you would say if you ever met him.

A. Don't you love how I pretended right there that this was a live interview and I'd dodged that last bit? Oh, I slay me sometimes. Well, I don't need to worry about that hypothetical situation, because *****drum roll, please***** I had the great honor and distinct pleasure to meet Thomas Keller at an event at Per Se in New York in June. I was invited to attend a launch event for his new book, Under Pressure, which is due out this fall. [side note: I'll write more about his new book and my early attempts at sous vide cooking in the not-to-distant future.]

However, the real point of this answer is that I got to meet Chef Keller. It was a little surreal, because standing a few feet away from me was this man I've admired for nearly a decade, and all I could think about was "Oh crap, I hope he's not mad about the sweetbreads monologue, or the fake tripe banter, or my April Fool's Day prank, or any of my crimes against food; or, what if he asks me something about some really obscure cooking technique I've never heard of and I don't know the answer and this is worse than that dream you have where you show up naked at school and I THINK I'M GOING TO PASS OUT NOW." When we were introduced to one another, I had to work hard to quiet my inner monologue of "Wow, I'm about to meet Thomas Keller; Wow, I'm actually meeting Thomas Keller; Wow, he's shaking my hand, and this is really Thomas Keller; Wow, he is really tall; I cannot believe I am at this very moment meeting Thomas Keller; I hope my bra strap is not sticking out; Do I have anything stuck between my teeth; IT'S THOMAS KELLER" so that I could focus on my time with him.

It's not often in life that we really get to meet our heroes, AND have them live up to our expectations. He was lovely and really kind, and I couldn't have asked for a better day. I'm not going to share every little detail here because it was a very personal experience and I like to keep those kinds of things to myself. I will, however, say that he and his team both at the restaurants and at Workman/Artisan have been incredibly supportive of this blog, and I couldn't be more grateful. So yes, I've met Chef Keller AND I'm having dinner at The French Laundry in mid-August. Life is good and I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Q. What is the deal with Bloomberg? I'm a New Yorker, and I admit he has his charms, but I'm not quite getting the devotion.

A. Here's the deal: I like smart, self-made, powerful men who are not over-the-top, self-important egomaniacs. They're rare, and they're to be revered and adored. Michael Bloomberg not only built his own business then successfully held public office, he's also a smart thought leader who epitomizes class, intelligence, business savvy, and the importance of philanthropy -- all of which make him incredibly attractive. His gal pal is one lucky lady, as far as I'm concerned (even though I think I may be a better cook than she is, just sayin'). And, when you live in a city where you have had to suffer through decades of embarrassment from DC Mayor for Life, Marion Barry, I mean, c'mon.... do you really need any further explanation?

Q. What's your take on Bourdain and Ramsay?

A. I've met Tony Bourdain, and thought he was a straight-shooter and a really decent guy. I have not met Gordon Ramsay, but I've eaten in one of his restaurants in London and it was one of the best meals I ever had. Now, I assume your question is more about their public personas, so here's what I think about that: I think Bourdain is Bourdain is Bourdain. If you've ever heard him speak or met him at an event, you'll know what I mean. He is a stand-up guy, true to his convictions and, I believe, honestly humbled and happy with what his life has become. He's well-read and has a great sense of history of our world, which I think is one aspect of his public persona that often goes unheralded. I like the approach of his show on Travel Channel. I'm also thrilled he quit smoking because it'll be great to have him around for another few decades.

I also admire Gordon Ramsay because he's a good chef who cares about food. I prefer his BBC shows to what airs on FOX, but that's largely because the whole contrived reality show editing process here in the States is a bit exhaustive and overdone. I think American television needed a bombastic bad guy to helm Hell's Kitchen, he was a perfect fit, and I don't know anyone who would turn down that kind of money to do it. The way I see it, he's made a series of smart business decisions so that his kids will not have to have the kind of hand-to-mouth, where-are-we-gonna-live-this-week upbringing that he did. I think that's what motivates him -- giving his family the life he'd always dreamed about as a child. So, whether or not I dig how he's portrayed on television, I think he has built an empire he can be proud of. And the man knows his food. And, have you seen his abs? Because wow.

Q. Have you had any "worlds colliding" crossover between this blog and your DC career, or are all your clients/colleagues unaware of your secret culinary talents?

A. This is one of my favorite questions because it's something I've been hyper-aware of since I started the blog. You'll notice that I never really talk about work or work-related issues on this blog, and that's a separation that's important for me to keep. I love what I do for a living (even on the days I whine about it) and I am so fortunate to work with some really great clients and be part of some really important policy and business decisions that ultimately will shape the future of our country.

When I started the blog, I thought it was paramount that I keep my professional life and my food-blog life completely separate (I used to post under a pseudonym, just in case), but inevitably those worlds collided (as I figured they might) and it was good. Earlier this year, I told only a handful of my work-related colleagues about the blog because there was some local media coverage about it and I wanted them to hear it from me before they read it in the papers. From that point on, word got around as often happens in this town, and that, combined with even more media coverage, meant that keeping the two entities separate wasn't possible anymore, but I'm okay with that. By the time the Wall Street Journalstory ran, the final brick in that wall was down and I got calls from people I hadn't talked to or worked with in ages and it was a nice way to be able to reconnect. In fact, on Wednesday morning a work colleague who lives in Frederick, MD opened her morning paper and saw me on the cover of the food section and emailed me immediately, because this was the first she'd learned about this blog.

I have the utmost respect for my clients and the work I do, and because of that, I will never talk about my "day job" on this site or anywhere in public. I can tell you, though, that three of my clients in particular really love food, and now that they know about the blog our work talk often spirals into "what are you cooking this weekend" conversations, which I just love. It reminds me that we're all human and that even in this most political of towns where we tend to take ourselves too seriously from time to time or be pitted against one another on issues or legislation, good food is the one thing we can almost always agree on and it becomes the great leveler. So now, I'm all for worlds colliding because it's made work and life overall even more enjoyable.

Q. How do you find the time to do everything? Work, cook, blog? I think your writing is fantastic and would like to know how you fit everything into one 24-hour day.

A. Aw, thank you. You know, I'm incredibly lucky to own my own business and work from home because it gives me greater flexibility when it comes to spending time cooking and fitting in little prep steps in between conference calls or answering emails. I'm also a bit of a control freak when it comes to organization and time management. It's always been something I'm good at, so having that skill definitely helps get everything done. And, I'm child-free and single, so when my work is done, I get to focus on cooking and writing and seeing friends and living life, and I really feel like this is the happiest I've ever been, so none of it really seems at all like work or anything I feel like I have to "fit in" to a schedule. The one household chore that has suffered, though, as a result of this blog is that I spend far less time in the yard and garden than I used to, and there have been times I've let the grass go too long without mowing that the neighbors walk by and whistle the Sanford and Son theme song.

Q. How is it possible to rock so hard and have a blog that is still fun and amusing week after week? Are you magic?

A. Nope, just human and doing what I love. Everything else is icing. If you'd asked me two years ago if I'd be doing something like this or have all these amazing opportunities coming my way, or readers who are so faithful and wonderful and hilarious and supportive, I'd have thought you were nuts. It's all in the timing, and the willingness to just jump into something feet first and work hard to see if you're good at it, and then make great stuff happen from that point on. Believe me, there are days I don't "rock so hard" -- you just don't get to see them. And you should be thankful for that.

Q. How many marriage proposals are you up to?

A. Heh. I've lost track. Actually, I've gotten some strange email, that's for sure, but marriage proposals? There've been a few, and I appreciate the intent behind it, even though I know it's not really literal. In fact, I got a proposal this week at Whole Foods because I was sporting my "Meat is Murder: Tasty, tasty murder" t-shirt and a guy came up to me (with his wife next to him beaming quite proudly), and said, "My wife has given me permission to ask for your hand in marriage because that's the most hilarious t-shirt we've ever seen." Totally lovely people.

Q. Despite the fact the blog is about making things, you rarely use video, except to mock shellfish before their death. Maybe this was just a practical necessity of doing these dishes by yourself, but to what extent is the picture and text format something that forced you to be more creative? Or at least more expressive of your evident creativity? Do you think of stories to tell while cooking? When do you think about how you will tell the story of a dish, as it progresses or after you sit down to write it up?

A. I love this question because it really makes me think about how to tell you about the whole process of each of these posts. Regarding the video part of your question -- I've been approached a few times about doing video demonstrations on the site, and I've turned them down. I made a decision early on not to do any videos of me making these dishes for a few reasons. First, I'm not a trained chef or cook, so I would hate to be filmed doing something incorrectly and have that out there for other people to learn improper technique. Second, I'd want all the footage to be perfect and gorgeous and well-lit and well-edited and that's really expensive to do and not the point of why I started all this in the first place. And, doing the actual cooking was challenging enough, so I didn't want to complicate it and have to make each dish five times to make sure you get all the shots and close-ups. It's just not economically feasible, nor do I have the time.

I'm an average photographer, and I'm sure if I spent time learning how to actually use my camera, my photos would be incredible. I think they're good enough to help tell the story of what I'm doing here, so I'm fine with my photography skills. As for the stories and the telling and the writing, what you see here on this blog are cleaned-up first drafts. I don't type while I cook, but I am writing these posts in my head as I write my shopping list, shop for the ingredients, talk to my vendors, do the prep, and cook the dishes. Some of the food I cook triggers a memory or relates to something I've done before. Other times, it isn't until I've finished loading the dishwasher and poured myself a glass of wine, then headed upstairs to load the photos that something clicks and I know the story I want to tell. With some dishes, the stories tell themselves. With others, there are memories or moments that resonate with me, so I'm hopeful they'll also resonate with you. Other times, it really isn't until I've finshed writing the entire piece that a specific learning moment or summary thought hits me and it comes to a more thoughtful close.

But seriously, once I'm done cleaning up the kitchen, I load the photos, open Blogger and start typing. It all unfolds from there. After I write the first draft, I go back and fix typos and grammar snafus, and sometimes add better explanations that I think will help a home cook who might want to try this dish, but that's it.

I love to write, and in my day job, I'm always writing for other people -- whether to represent their business or organization, or ghostwriting a speech or column in their voice. To have the opportunity to write something in my voice is like a gift. Being able to write about and take photos of something I've made is really rewarding for me, and I hope it's been enjoyable for you. Unlike video, I feel like when you read someone else's writing, you get to add your own layer of context around it, too, and hopefully it'll mean something more.

Q. What has been the total food cost to blog the entire book? And what single ingredient/animal part made the biggest dent in your pay check?

A. I answered the second half of this question in the beginning of my most recent post about the Lobster Consommé en Gelée. As for the total cost of this project, I've never calculated it, nor would I publish it if I did. I don't think it's important, and I wouldn't want anyone to feel as though they couldn't afford to do even one dish in this book because there was a big price tag affixed to cooking the whole book. Besides, there are so many soft-cost elements to calculate (water, gas, electricity, auto fuel, time, etc.) that it's not something I'd ever have the time to do, even if I cared to do so.

Q. How long have you had your craving for peanut butter? What kind do you buy? (I share that love for peanut butter.)

A. This one obviously from someone who pays attention to the "What Else Did I Eat This Week" sidebar piece. Hee! I eat peanut butter a lot. Almost every day. Never with jelly. Sometimes with honey. Almost always on toast. And, I do a mix at Whole Foods with their honey-roasted and plain peanut butter -- freshly ground onsite in those little machines that let you self-dispense. Oh, peanut butter... how I love thee (but not as much as bacon, Mike Bloomberg and Bordelaise Sauce).

Q. How does one score an invitation to taste the fruits of your labor, and are there any requirements for this essential position?

A. Here's the thing: if I could have you all over, I would. But that's what the Internet is for. Buy the book (or borrow it from your library), come here and read about the dishes, then go make them yourself. Be the rockstar among YOUR friends and see how much fun it can be. The people who get to taste my French Laundry At Home dishes happen to be two of my closest friends and their families -- and, they happen to live across the street from me, so it's easy to just call them with a ten-minute heads up to come over and taste whatever it is I've made that day. From time to time, other friends have joined in, but for the most part it's been the same group of ten people who've gotten to eat all these amazing dishes, and it's been a really fun journey for all of us. I'm really excited that I've been able to get three younger kids -- ages 9 to 11 -- interested in it, because when I was their age I never would have been daring or confident enough to try this kind of food and be able to talk about it at the level they can. The fact that my friend's son, Grant (of the BURNED HAND lobster jelly fiasco) called me from his dad's cell phone on Christmas Eve to tell me he'd just ordered the veal cheeks at Eric Ripert's West End Bistro here in DC and couldn't wait to taste them was a really cool moment.

Q. Do you have a favorite cuisine?

A. That's a hard one to answer because I can only think of one regional/specific cuisine I really, really dislike and could never even consider as a favorite, and that's Ethiopian food. Absolutely can't stand it. My favorite cuisine would have to be food that actually tastes like the food it's supposed to be. I hate overly spiced food, or ingredients that are crapped up with something else so that you can't taste what it is you're supposed to be tasting. I love food that is made fresh in season, prepared simply, and served in a pleasant manner. So any cuisine, as long as it is good and fresh and not Ethiopian is my favorite. I tend to lean more toward Vietnamese, Thai, and Indian food when dining out, because I have so many great places in my neighborhood that it's an easy go-to AND it's good. I just don't ever cook it at home because I am lazy and would rather get it from someone who knows what they're doing. But, if you forced me to name just one cuisine I had to eat the rest of my life, it'd be French food (with some salads snuck in there, because the French are crap at the kind of bountiful, fresh salads I love in the spring and summer). Or it might be Spanish food. I can't decide. Don't make me decide. Please.

Q. What's your favorite culinary guilty pleasure?

A. It used to be Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, but now it's a toss-up between a chili cheese dog, fries and a chocolate shake at Ben's Chili Bowl or Thai food from my favorite carryout place in town (Thai Derm; Silver Spring, MD). I really don't eat junk food anymore because all the sugar and processed crap was whacking out my system and making me a raging insomniac. When I did eat junk food, my guilty pleasure was Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix. I will apologize in advance for any addictions that result in my connecting you to that wonderful, wonderful stuff. My current favorite culinary guilty pleasure at home is the stash of Girl Scout cookies I keep in the freezer. Oooo, and when the neighbor's kids decide to share their stash of Oreos with me. And rice krispy treats at Starbucks on the way to the radio station. Okay, there, I'm done. No wait, Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supreme the morning after I've had two too many glasses of wine. There. Now I'm really done. I lied. Chipotle burritos. I swear, that's all. For now.

Q. What is the complete list of things you can't stand to eat? (My biggest one is celery -- blech.)

A. Blech is right on the celery, but for me it's not as bad as and doesn't rank up there with cilantro, tripe, lobster jelly, milk chocolate (tastes like licking a 9-volt battery), hot peppers (because I'm allergic to them and will go into anaphylactic shock), coconut (because I'm allergic to that, too, but hated it anyway before I knew I was allergic), and animal brains. I have a friend who is a chef, and he is trying his damnedest to get me to eat lamb brains. His latest argument was, "but they taste like porridge!" Which, ew. That is not helping AT ALL. I've tried calf brain before and it's a texture thing -- totally grosses me out. I'm not ready to dive into lamb brains anytime soon, no sir, no how.

Q. What is your second-favorite pig part?

A. I'm guessing you're inferring that the pig's head is my favorite part, and you would be correct about that. My second favorite pig part would have to be the butt (even though I know it's technically the shoulder; I just enjoy typing the word "butt" whenever I can because I am 12) or the parts that deliver the best bacon -- the sides, belly and back. The feet can suck it. I'm never making that again.

Q. When recipes turn out badly, what do you do with the food? Do you have a dog?

A. I do have a dog, and he loves certain leftovers, especially if there was cheese involved. However, when a dish turns out badly or ends up being something I really didn't like, those are not usually things I'd give to the dog. I hate to waste food, so sometimes I pawn it off on the neighbors or friends if I think they'll enjoy it, and I do what I can to salvage a certain element or component of a dish, but unfortunately, some of it does get thrown away, I'm not gonna lie.

Q. What's your favorite hole-in-the-wall food establishment in the DC area?

A. My favorite hole-in-the-wall food place? Oh, that's easy. Citronelle. KIDDING. There are some Peruvian chicken joints on New York Avenue and on North Capitol Street that are really good. I don't know their names because most of the storefronts don't have signs or are called El Pollo (Something or Other) and I get them all confused. I also love Florida Avenue Grill in DC and The Woodside on Georgia Avenue in Silver Spring. I love a good greasy breakfast, so any hole-in-the-wall place that does that is a favorite of mine. I don't think Ben's Chili Bowl is technically a hole in the wall, but it's also one of my favorite very-casual dining establishments. And speaking of hot dogs, in college I used to subsist on chili-cheese dogs from this guy, Manoosh, who used to park his cart just outside Tower Records on 21st and H Street. I wonder if he's still there. Or alive. Man, those dogs hit the spot at 2:30 in the morning.

Q. What kind of camera are you using to take your food shots?

A. From January - December 2007, I used a Sony Cybershot point-and-shoot thingamajig. Starting in January 2008, I'm now using a Nikon D40 digital SLR camera and I love it. If I only had the time to figure out all the whirylgigs and swoznozzles that make it work even better I'll be a regular culinary Ansel Adams or something. I never use a tripod or light reflectors or special lenses or any of that stuff that other food bloggers seem to use -- I still just point and shoot, but I think this new camera gives me better control over light exposure and focus stuff and all those other technical things I don't really understand but probably should.

Q. Are you pro- or anti- silicone kitchen accessories? (Hot pads, baking cups, pop-out colanders, etc.)

A. The only silicone items in my kitchen are some spatulas and oven mitts, and I can't say whether I'm pro- or anti- on silicone baking implements because I've never worked with them. I have friends who swear by it and other friends who hate using them and say that it doesn't bake as evenly. I'm happy with all my metal and glass at this point, but am always open to recommendations.

Q. What kind of knives are you brandishing in the FLAH kitchen?

A. I use mostly Wüsthof knives, but I have a Henckels chef's knife I use a lot, and one from Global. It's kind of a mishmash. I have to borrow a friend's sharpening stone every now and then, but that's something I'll pick up along the way at some point.

Q. Do you make all your own stock from scratch? I live in a upscale-ingredient challenged community and I'm not sure I would be able to find bones for veal stock. It's not easy finding any kind of non-standard fare and there are very few real butchers in town. The last one I went to didn't even have chicken breasts on the bone, so finding anything like oxtails or veal shanks or bones for stock would probably result in lots of blank gazes. And if you do make all your own stocks, how do you keep them and for how long?

A. I do make my own stocks and haven't used the store-bought stuff in years. I just prefer to make my own because it's actually cheaper to do so, and they taste better. I freeze the stock in plastic containers and usually end up using all of it in six months, and it's still been really good up to six months in the freezer. Not sure how long you can freeze stocks before they start to lose their great qualities, so if anyone who reads this site wants to chime in on the comments, be my guest.

For those who live in "ingredient-challenged" communities, I hate that it's difficult for you to get what I think should be pretty basic ingredients. Have you asked your local grocer to find bones for you? Or, are there nearby farmers' markets where you could ask some of the vendors where you might be able to find bones or other non-standard ingredients? I know a lot of people love eGullet and Chowhound as a resource, but sometimes, I honestly have to dig out my Yellow Pages and start calling down the list and asking people to refer me to someone else if they don't have the answer themselves -- it's amazing what I've been able to find by doing that. Don't give up -- keep trying. If you have any sort of ethnic markets or stores in your town or community, that's always a great resource.

Q. Do you own Keller's Bouchon? Any interest in it? Not necessarily for continuing your At Home project with it, but even a simple cooking curiosity or interest?

A. I do own Bouchon and I love it. I love the roasted chicken instructions, and it's definitely a book I refer to when I'm in the mood to make something more bistro-like. Bouchon has really thorough dishes that I continue to learn from, and I think the book is worth having because it tells amazing stories and really gives great access to food that I think anyone should be able to make and enjoy, because bistro food is so wonderfully good.

As with any book of this nature, I think it's important to follow the directions as closely as possible when making these dishes the first few times because a) it almost always yields an amazing result, and 2) the techniques Keller puts you through ultimately make you a stronger cook in the long run. I get annoyed with people who email me and say, "Oh I tried to make the so-and-so out of Bouchon, but I substituted this for that, decided not to braise it, and then only pan-seared it for three minutes instead of 12, and used canned green beans instead of fresh spinach and it didn't work, so I think the book is stupid and it sucks." Seriously, then why even bother to cook from this book at all if you aren't open to learning a new way to do something and bettering your skills in the process? These are the same people who probably drone on and on about how even though they work at [insert whatever random career you can think of here], they really should've been a brain surgeon, but got a D in freshman-year chemistry and flunked out of pre-med, but really, they are smart enough to be a surgeon if only someone would just give them a chance but not make them go to medical school or do the whole internship/residency thing. I'm of the belief that you have to do the actual work to accomplish something meaningful, otherwise it's pointless to even try. I don't like to half-ass things in life, and when it comes to cooking things that one of the greatest chefs in the world is teaching me through his book to do, then I'm damn skippy gonna do it the way he says because he knows more than I do on this particular topic.

Okay, I'm completely ranting now and it's time to chill. But you know what I mean, right? Good, I knew you did.

Q. What are you favorite "go-to" cookbooks?

A. I own a lot of cookbooks, both current and vintage. I have always collected funky, off-the-beaten-pathcookbooks, and sometimes I even cook from them. Mostly, I just read them and make notes in the margins. In general, though, I rarely cook from cookbooks these days because I've finally gotten good at going to the store or the farmer's market and seeing ingredients I like, and then knowing what I want to do with them when I get home. However, there are times I get stuck in a rut and want to try something new, so over the past few years I've found myself turning to the same 6 or 7 books:

-- A Return To Cooking (not because Eric Ripert is dreamy, which he totally is, but because the food in this book is exactly the kind of food I need when I'm feeling stuck)
-- Happy in the Kitchen (Michel Richard is truly one of the greats on this earth, and this book is absolutely fantastic and gives me great ideas, plus it's just beautiful to look at)
-- 1080 Recipes (Spain's equivalent of Joy of Cooking, and a favorite of mine)
-- The Beach House Cookbook (there's nothing groundbreaking or culinarily stupendous in this book, it just reminds me of summer and makes me happy; it's also a great book to comb through right before heading out to the farmers' market in the summertime)
-- Sunday Suppers at Lucques (divine)
-- The River Cottage Cookbook (sublime)
-- The Zuni Cafe Cookbook (No one who loves food should be without this book; and, a longtime French Laundry at Home reader, Victoria, is cooking her way through this book and blogging about it in a really thoughtful, engaging way and I'm loving it)

One more recent cookbook acquistion of mine is an advance promo copy of A Platter of Figs, which is a book I've only had for a few short months and already love and go to all the time for ideas. I think this book is going to be a huge hit -- and I can't wait for you all to check it out.

I also have an embarassing number of food magazines stacked throughout the house. When I'm having a slow day, I'll sometimes pick up a magazine without looking to see what I've chosen, then open it to a random page and force myself to make whatever it is I randomly chose. Sometimes it yields an incredible surprise that I end up adding to the permanent repertoire (homemade chocolate pudding). Other times, it's a so-so outcome (chicken enchiladas), but at least I tried something new.

Alright, one last one before we wrap up this installment of Q&A with Carol...

Q. Who else's cooking do you admire? We all now admire YOURS!

A. This is a hard one to answer because I don't want to sound like a big cheeseball when I say that I admire anyone who cooks what they love, which I hope would be most every chef and cook out there who does this for a living. There are so many amazing chefs and cooks I admire, it would be impossible to name them all.

It almost goes without saying that I admire Jonathan Benno and the entire staff at Per Se's cooking, because when I've been there, it's been exquisite and delicious. I admire the guys on the grill at Ben's Chili Bowl because they make great food, crack jokes, and bust a move to the jukebox all while getting the job done. I admire whoever came up with the butterscotch budino at Mozza in LA. I admire the cooking of the guy who makes my huevos rancheros at King's Road Cafe in LA. I admire Grant Achatz, because even though I haven't eaten at Alinea yet (but will be later this month), I love his creative leaps and bounds. See, it runs the gamut -- but the common thread is that I feel like they put themselves on that plate, and that's what makes the difference for me.

More than what I eat in restaurants, though, I really admire anyone at home who takes the time to cook and pay attention to what they're doing so they can enjoy the process. For example, I admire the cooking of a longtime family friend (I'm taking about you, G.H.), who loves to spend the day in the kitchen and always turns out the most incredible dinners in a really nice, welcoming atmosphere. I admire my brother, who can turn out a mean pot of chili or an amazing salad. I admire my mom, who had a great dinner on the table every night while I was growing up and showed extreme restraint as I turned up my nose then at foods I now love.

Honestly, I admire the cooking of anyone who has taken time out of their day to prepare something for me to eat. There's no better way to show friendship, care, love or gratitude for someone than cooking for them. So, if you take the time to enjoy cooking, and you took the time to cook for me, then I admire your cooking. It's as simple as that. Even though I just took nine million paragraphs to explain it.

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If you didn't see your question(s) answered here, rest assured, it's coming in a future Q&A.

I promise.

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Up Next: Hearts of Palm with Purée of Marrow Beans and Field Greens

Read My Previous Post: Lobster Consommé en Gelée

Lobster Consommé en Gelée

2008-07-07T00:00:00.001-04:00

One of the most frequently asked questions I get about this project is, "What's the most expensive dish you've had to make?"

I hem and I haw because it's hard to know for sure. For some dishes, I already have a lot of the ingredients on hand, for others, I need to buy most of the ingredients from the outset. Some dishes require me to run the dishwasher three times a day, and others require me to power the oven and stove for hours at a time; those are costs that are hard to estimate, but they're costs nonetheless.

I think it's fair to say that anything involving foie gras tends to be on the pricey side, as would anything involving ingredients that need to be shipped overnight, or that I have to drive more than 5 miles through stop-and-go city traffic to pick up.

I am sensitive to the fact that food prices continue to rise, and I do understand what I cook for this blog may seem extravagant to some. However, I need to be honest here and tell you that I really don't spend time thinking a whole lot about what these dishes cost to make, because a) I love doing it, and 2) I don't mind spending money on food.

The way I see it, everybody has different passions and hobbies -- arts and crafts projects, decorating, working on cars, restoring furniture, buying lots of clothes and shoes, collecting novelty items, etc. It just so happens that food is a major hobby and passion of mine, so when I do my monthly budget, this blog becomes its own line item. I definitely plan ahead financially to make sure I can make these dishes with the best ingredients available. I'm also lucky in that I'm child-free and work from home, so money that might for others go to cover expenses related to raising kids and commuting, for me goes toward food instead.

Now, with all that said, I did do some back-of-the-napkin math on this dish and figured out that it probably is the most expensive one in the book, because it requires the use of 12 lobster bodies. That means, I had to buy and use 12 lobsters, then save their bodies (legs and trunk) to use in this dish. There's no lobster meat in this dish, so I had to make the lobsters, use the meat in other dishes (or eat it plain) and then save the bodies in the freezer (a seafood mafioso move, methinks) until it was time to make this dish.

When I was a few months out from making this dish, I had four lobster bodies already in the freezer. I had eight more to buy and make over the next little while until I could be ready to go with this dish. Luckily, my parents gave me a gift certificate to BlackSalt for Christmas to help defray the costs of this project -- which was such a generous thing for them to do (thanks again, Mom and Dad!). So, that helped cover the cost of some of the additional eight lobsters, but if you wanna do the math of 12 lobster bodies, each lobster weighing 1.25-1.5 pounds apiece, and whatever the going rate is per pound for fresh, live lobster, factoring in mileage to go get the lobsters.... then there you go.

So, knowing the costs involved, my mind turned to return on investment, or ROI as we businessfolk like to call it. I counsel my clients to think about ROI when they're making decisions related to marketing, advertising and PR, and so naturally, I hoped that by spending this much moolah on a dish, I would get a significant bang for the buck when it came to the end result. Would spending my hard-earned money then working for three days with 12 lobster bodies, some vegetables, and gelatin yield a near-orgasmic culinary experience? Would hilarity ensue when the neighbor's dog got ahold of the lobster bodies and dragged them to all four corners of my house? Or, would it be a huge catastrophe and require the assistance of the local fire brigade?

Let's just say: none of the above. However, because you crazy people love it when one of my dishes goes haywire or I nearly puke while eating it, I'll tell you now -- you're in for a hell of a read.

Now, where was I? Oh yes: I had four lobster bodies and needed eight more. Eight? Eight. If you've been a longtime reader of this fair blog, you know I kind of like to name my shellfish. I couldn't name all eight lobsters Celine (although I wanted to), so I had to think of a group of eight I'd be willing to sacrifice the lives of in the name of cuisine. I didn't need my lobster-naming strategy team for this one at all because, really, when you think of the number eight, you naturally think of The Bradfords!

So, meet:

David...

Mary, Joanie, and Susan...

Nancy, Elizabeth, and Tommy (aw, Tommy is karate-chopping Elizabeth over the head; oh, those crazy kids!)...

And, little Nicholas...

Eight is enough to fill our lives with love, indeed!

Now that you've met my eight new lobsters -- all of which were lovely and delicious in their various preparations -- AND we've gotten the obligatory 80s sitcom reference out of the way, let's take a look at what the 12 lobster bodies looked like at the start of this dish:

Kinda creepy-crawly, huh.

I put the lobster bodies in a large stockpot in which I'd already heated some canola oil. I forgot to quarter them, as the book suggested, but didn't realize it until I was done with the first day's work. Doy. Aaaaaaaanyway, I sautéed them for 2 - 3 minutes, then added chopped carrots, fennel, shallots and mushrooms:

I continued cooking this over medium-high heat for about 15 minutes, until the vegetables had started to soften. I then added vermouth, water, garlic, tarragon, and tomatoes, brought it to a boil, then simmered it for two hours. The smell of this pot of lobstery goodness made me incredibly happy. I kept finding reasons to go outside and come back in so I could marvel in the wonder of how amazing my house smelled while this was cooking. Mmmmmmmmmm.......

I strained the stock into a separate pot, pressing down onto the lobster shells to make sure I got as much liquid out of there as I could:

I threw away the lobster shells and the vegetables that were in the strainer. I poured the stock (about 4 quarts) through a chinois into yet another stock pot, and didn't force anything through this time so that it would remain as solid-free as possible. I let the stock cool to room temperature, then skimmed off the fat that had risen to the top.

I refrigerated the stock overnight and before I went to bed, I cooked some lobster roe so that it became lobster coral (which I needed for the clarification raft as well as the final plating) by putting it in a plastic bag, squeezing out all the air, then holding the bag in boiling water for a few seconds -- look at me, bein' all cool and doing something sort of sous vide:

I kept the coral in the bag until I needed it the next day.

So, now we're on Day Two of the Lobster Consommé en Gelée. Things had, so far, gone well and I was really looking forward to tasting what I thought was going to be a truly outstanding dish. The thought of the saltiness of lobster really concentrated in a consommé along with some whipped crème fraîche to complement the lobster... I was getting excited about how great this was going to be and what a freakin' superstar I would be among my friends and neighbors because they were going to fall all over themselves eating this and begging for me to make more. Sometimes, I can be a real idiot.

On Day Two, I prepared the clarification raft. You can't make consommé without clarifying it and removing all the impurities and other gunk, otherwise, it won't be clear, as all good consommés are. So, you make what is called a clarification raft, which, when it cooks, traps all the impurities and brings them to the top and out of your stock. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me show you the steps. First, I ground some carrot, fennel and onion in the food processor:

In a small bowl, I whisked some egg whites and lobster coral until frothy:

Then, I mixed the vegetables with the egg whites and lobster coral together in the same bowl:

I took the stock out of the refrigerator and put it on the stovetop. Before turning on the heat, I added the ground vegetables and whisked eggs to the stock, whisking it in to make sure there were no clumps. I turned the heat on low, and continued stirring with a wooden spoon until the liquid reached 128 degrees.

When the temperature reached 128 degrees, I stopped stirring and brought the stock up to a simmer. As the stock simmered, the solids rose to the top, began cooking, and formed a raft. so far, so good.

I cut a small hole on the right-hand side of the raft as a "breather hole" for the stock. The book tells you, and I know from having made consommé before, that you have to be really careful about the heat and not let the stock come to a boil, because you don't want the raft to break apart because it will cloud the consommé and not really do the job it's supposed to do. It's acceptable to have one or two spots where the stock simmers up through the raft, but no more than that. That's where I think I made a mistake in making this dish. I kept the heat so carefully moderated and watched that pot like a hawk for the hour it needed to simmer, but there was one point at which the stock got too hot and it bubbled up through and really broke the raft. You'll be able to see what I mean in the photo below, I think:
See how on the right hand side (at two o'clock on the diameter) it broke and the cooked egg white part of the raft bubbled up back onto the top of it? Grrrrr.....

After the hour-long simmer, I lined a strainer with some cheesecloth and began gently ladling the stock through it -- careful not to further break the raft, or get any big chunks of it in the ladle. I placed the strainer over a large saucepan, and ended up being able to strain a good amount of it (I had to tilt the pot on the stovetop to be able to get as much out of it as I could.

At this point, I had close to 2 quarts of consommé left. There was a little bit of fat floating on the top, so I did as The French Laundry Cookbook suggested and laid a paper towel on the surface, gently gliding it off to bring the fat with it. After three paper towels, I'd gotten it all.

I lined another strainer with fresh cheesecloth and placed it over another large saucepan, then slowly and gently poured the liquid through it to further clean it. I put the saucepan of consommé on the stovetop over medium heat and brought it to a simmer. I let it simmer for about 40 minutes, when it had reduced by half.

While reducing the liquid, I soaked some gelatin sheets in cold water:

I poured the reduced consommé into a bowl set inside a bowl of ice. I squeezed out the water from the gelatin sheets and stirred them into the hot consommé until they had fully dissolved. I let the consommé cool in the bowl set inside the bowl of ice, stirring every now and then, for about an hour. I covered the bowl with foil and put it in the fridge to set overnight so I could finish the dish the next afternoon.

We're now on Day Three of the Lobster Consommé en Gelée. Two semi-screwups: forgot to quarter the lobster bodies, and my raft broke. I fully expected to wake up, rub the sleep from my eyes, plod downstairs to make coffee and while the grinder was having its way with my coffee beans I'd check the lobster consommé and find it hadn't set. Then, I would cry, because there was no way I could start all over again. I'd end up just writing a post that said: Lobster Consommé en Gelée = STUPID and contribute a photo of it to FailBlog.

But, as you will see, the planets aligned and when I removed the consommé from the refrigerator, it was set and was full-on jelly. Lobster jelly. Just think about those two words together for a few minutes. Lobster jelly. Then, think of other kinds of jellies that you like and how you like to eat them. Then, think of lobster jelly in that way and try not to get squicked out.

The final steps before plating were really easy. I grated the rest of the lobster coral so that they would appear as tiny, individual eggs. Then, I whipped some crème fraîche by hand with my trusty whisk, and I defrosted some of the brunoise I had in the freezer and brought it to room temperature.

To plate, I put some of the lobster consommé which was now "en gelée" (pronounced zhel-AY) in a little custard dish, then topped it with the crème fraîche, the lobster coral and some brunoise. If you have The French Laundry Cookbook nearby, please turn to page 33, where you will see what this was supposed to look like.

The rest of you can suffer by seeing what my version ended up looking like:

Hmmmmm. I'm hearing crickets out there as you try to come up with something semi-positive to say. It's no use. Really. I'm fine. I'm at peace with the fact that not only is this pretty unattractive, it was also perhaps the most expensive dish I've made probably ever in my whole life in terms of ingredient costs, AND one of the most disgusting things I have ever spooned into my mouth.

The gelée was not perfectly clear (it was close, though), but the lobster taste was so concentrated it was almost overwhelming, and not in a good way. Texturally, I had huge issues with it, which should come as no surprise. Textures are always my Achilles' Heel. I don't normally have problems with gelled things, but savory jellies and I will not be found sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I... you know the rest of the song.

It absolutely kills me to type these words, but this dish was awful. I've been wracking my brains to come up with some redeeming quality about it, and the only thing I can say is that I probably would've enjoyed the lobster consommé not en gelée and still hot, like soup, before it was reduced during the final stage before becoming gelatinized. The way it smelled when it was warm and cooking was an absolute pleasure, and I think I would have been fine with a hot lobster consommé. No, I KNOW I would have been fine with that. Because I tasted it, and it was good. Cold and jellied? Not so much. Not at all, actually.

I'd planned to have my friends in the neighborhood over to taste it but after ten years of friendship, I know their likes and dislikes really, really well, and I honestly couldn't put myself through us all sitting around the dining room table trying to choke down a single bite while trying to be polite about it. I just couldn't. Talk about adding insult to injury. Wasn't gonna happen.

So instead, I made up another serving of it and took it across the street to my friend, Linda's, house because I knew her eleven-year old son, Grant, would want to at least taste it. He's really adventurous when it comes to food and is so great about trying anything once. Of course (and go figure), I walked into their house just as Grant burned the hell out of his hand on a cookie sheet while making snickerdoodles (yum!). As he ran his hand under cold, cold water and then wrapped it in an ice pack with a dish towel, I tried to be cheerful when I said, "Here's something that will take your mind off your BURNED HAND -- some lobster jelly! Woo-hoo!!!"

He grimaced but for a second, then said he'd try it. As I held the little custard dish for him BECAUSE HE HAD A BURNED HAND AND COULDN'T HOLD ANYTHING IN IT, he took a small spoonful of it along with some of the crème fraîche, squooshed it around in his mouth (since you can't really chew jelly), and spit it out into the sink. He asked me to get him a glass of water because HE HAD A BURNED HAND AND NOW MAJOR GAG-REFLEX SALIVARY ACTION GOING ON, and I did. He swished and spit and then drank the rest of the water without saying a word to me, but definitely giving me the stink eye which I more than deserved because I am such a good friend and role model that I forced a CHILD with a BURNED HAND to eat something I wouldn't take a second bite of. Does Dick Cheney know about me and my awesome torture skillz?

I called Grant the next day not only to check on his BURNED HAND but also see if, upon reflection, he had a different opinion about this particular dish and his response was "You know, this was worse than the oyster jelly because at least the oyster jelly didn't really taste like anything, but the lobster jelly taste just wouldn't go away for, like, hours and it kept reminding me how bad it was. FOR HOURS." He said the pain in his hand went away before the lobster jelly taste went away -- even after multiple teeth brushings and tongue scrapings.

If we remove the tripe from the equation (since technically it's not one of the official 100 dishes in The French Laundry Cookbook), this dish was my biggest disappointment. It really bummed me out. In fact, it's taken me a really long time to write this post, and I've been putting it off for awhile now because I was just so gobsmacked at how f-ing badly this turned out.

And now, I feel like an even bigger jerk because not only am I the ass who apparently tortures very young burn victims with my shiteous food, I've now made you sit through 33 photos and a kabillion words about my making a dish that I honestly can't recommend and suggest you not even think about wasting your money on. Unless, of course, you think you might like it, in which case, enjoy, and ew. I think I'd rather go burn my hand on a cookie sheet instead.

Up Next: French Laundry at Home Extra -- Q&A with Carol, Part One (totally gelatin-free!)

Resources:
Lobsters from BlackSalt
Sheet gelatin from King Arthur Flour's web site
365 canola oil
Produce and aromatics from Whole Foods
Tarragon from my garden
Noilly-Pratt dry vermouth
Eggs from Smith Meadows Farm
Vermont Butter and Cheese Co. crème fraîche

Music to Cook By: Styx; Paradise Theatre. Say what you will, this is a classic album. Yes, I can hear you snickering and rolling your eyes picturing me channeling my inner Dennis DeYoung while gelatinizing lobsters, but dude. Have you listened to this album lately? It doesn't suck. I know I'm maybe a little biased because I once spent a long car ride memorizing the album and can now sing the whole thing start to finish, including all the background vocals and fills, but I don't care. I love this album and you should, too. It should be mandatory for renewing your driver's license and, um, being able to vote that you master the hand claps in "Too Much (clap, clap) Time on My Hands." Right? Agree with me people, or I'm sending you my leftover lobster jelly in the mail. I mean it.

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