Buche de Noel, or how I came to despise Julia Child*

Christmas at my parents' house is really just an excuse to eat and drink - like Thanksgiving all over again, but without the required attendance of turkey and gravy and stuffing and yams and the hundreds of other sides that rotate their appearances across our table. Though the menu may be smaller, it's always more extravagant, more lush, just more. It's not always successful.

There was the year of the standing rib roast, where my sister stood mouth agape in horror as the deep-red flesh was carved and yelled out, "Oh my God, it's still BLEEDING!" (She's not a fan of meats cooked anything less than medium-well, and prefers it to be filet. She knows its a travesty, and does not need to hear ANY MORE ABOUT IT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.) A rack of lamb was a particular loser one year, as not only was there no mint jelly, but well, really, what's the purpose of the booties? They just look ridiculous. (We've gotten better at this as we've whittled down the list of who will eat what and how, and this year's dinner was particularly successful - more on that later.)

Desserts are our fail-safe, the one thing that no matter how awry the meat course went, we could all count on. My mother's training as a pastry chef always resulted in beautiful and delicious desserts. Tiramisu, profiterales, tarts, elaborate cakes, they've all had a run. This year we decided to make a Buche de Noel, a traditional Christmas dessert of thin sponge cake filled with frosting, rolled up, and then decorated with meringues and other cute ornaments to look like a fallen tree branch. It is as French as French can be, and who else would I trust to guide me on this recipe other than Ms. Julia Child?

Anyone, that's who. Let me preface the following with this caveat - the cake was delicious and beautiful and everything we could hope for. It also nearly reduced me to tears, had my mother and I screaming at each other and completely destroyed the kitchen. This recipe is a pain in the ass. The instructions call for ingredients that aren't listed in the recipe, but that you have to search 50 pages back and forward to find in a master recipe. There is not a single egg that is used whole, each is split into whites and yolks and beaten or whipped or completely ignored for apparently no reason. Ingredient amounts are not consistent and show up in random places. In short, this recipe sucks. Maybe it would make more sense if I had sat down and torn pages out and recreated the recipe start to finish in a single recipe instead of trying to cobble together 4 different master recipes. And maybe one day I will, but today is not that day. But here are some pictures. Please note the cute little mushrooms my mom made in the photo above.

The meringue that took forever to make and which had to be used IMMEDIATELY, but which was, ultimately delicious and became the filling (when mixed with chocolate and whip cream), the frosting (when just mixed with chocolate) and the adorable little mushrooms (when piped and dried out in the oven).

The sponge cake that is essentially egg yolks held together by sugar and not much else. Mom and I were ecstatic that it didn't split into hundreds of small pieces when we rolled it (then unrolled it, then filled it, then rolled it again - WHY JULIA, WHY!).

**well, really, it's whoever edited the book, not Julia herself.

Joining the CSA

I joined a CSA. Well, me and 4 friends are splitting one share of a CSA. But still, this is good stuff. This week's take: turnips and sweet potatoes, golden beets, winter squash and massive amounts of greens. There's a couple apples in there for good measure. I have too many ideas floating around, but I think I have a winning one coming up.

Soft Scrambled Eggs for One

It's raining again in Georgia. It feels like it will never end, this rain. We get lucky with a glorious day of clear skies, crisp and clean, every now and again, but for the most part its just rain, steady and heavy and wet. But it is not cold, nor even quite chilly, and so the usual fall fare which makes staying inside and avoiding the downpours almost enjoyable don't hold quite the same draw.

I've found myself craving something light, but rich, simple, but decadent, something that matches the contradictions that Mother Nature has given us. And so, today, during a particularly mundane lunch, I scrambled eggs, and plopped them on some toast, and looked out my kitchen window while I watched Henry desperately trying to play outside while avoiding getting wet.

Oh, but these eggs are not mundane. No, sir, they are elevated by one very simple ingredient: time.

There is almost nothing worse than an egg hurried along to its end by scorching heat and a too quick hand. But coddled and gently coaxed, the eggs become something else entirely. Like a thick custard, only barely holding its shape, the eggs are simply perfect as they are.

This recipe is roughly adapted from Judy Rodgers' Zuni Cafe Cookbook. I made them first years ago for Christmas breakfast, using a dozen eggs, a whole baguette, a stick of butter, and some garlic. The whole process, from start to finish took nearly half an hour, slowly, slowly, stirring a pan full of eggs over heat which would barely keep a simmer going, adding a tablespoon of butter one after the other, using a wooden spoon rubbed with half a garlic clove. And then, after what seemed like an inordinately long time for scrambled eggs, they were all of a sudden done. Finished, a huge pan of custardy eggs, rich with butter and hinting at the fragrance of garlic. Ms. Rodgers offers variations, adding caviar to some, truffles to others, but, in all, the process is as simple as slowly stirring.

A lunch of two eggs is much faster, taking no more than 7 or 8 minutes from first crack to bite, but just as fulfilling. I use just a knob of butter and no garlic, but I keep the wooden spoon moving, drawing figure eights through the cooking eggs continuously until the eggs are almost done. You don't want to cook them on the heat until they're finished; by the time you spoon them out of the pan and onto the toast they'll be overcooked. Rather, wait until they are "mostly done," but still a little wet, then kill the heat, plate your toast, give the eggs one or two last stirs, then plop them over and enjoy.

Soft-Scrambled Eggs for One
1 slice country style bread, thickly sliced
1 tbsp butter
2 eggs
Salt and pepper to taste

Toast your bread. Over low heat, start to melt the butter. Before the butter is fully melted, add your eggs and continuously stir until the butter is completely melted and the eggs have thickened to the consistency of a thick custard. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Then eat with your toast.

The Dining Experience...

Heather loves to eat, which is one of the many great reasons why we are friends, and the other night she asked for a "dining experience." With the economy what it is and not looking like it's going to get any better, it's hard to justify what it can cost to go out (especially when it's the two of us). And besides, with food like this, music on the radio, and the best table in the house, what can be a better experience than cooking a great meal at home to spend time with my friend and my puppy.


Appetizer: Sweetgrass Dairy Triple Cream and Bread


Tomatoes and Cippolini Onions and Sea Salt in Olive Oil: These just got roasted until we finished the first bottle of wine.

Heather waiting for dinner:
Chilean Sea Bass (sustainable, I SWEAR) poached in water with lemon, peppercorns and bay leaves over the roasted tomatoes and onions with spinach, white beans, and finished with lemon and basil.* Recipe for Tomatoes and Cippolini taken from Smitten Kitchen

Green Toast and Egg

I love greens. All kinds, all different preparations. Raw and crunchy or boiled and tender, put a plate of greens in front of me and I'll eat them. Which is why boiled kale with toast and eggs is one of my most favorite meals; it combines the earthy quality of kale, the richness of eggs, and the warmth of garlic into a perfectly presented winter meal. This recipe from Orangette is my go-to winter dish.

But it's hot here now, and the thought of kale, though I love it so, just doesn't do it for me. I want something a little lighter, something that doesn't have to be boiled to the point of submission, dinner that comes to fruition in under 20 minutes.

So I swapped out the kale with spinach, doubled the chili flakes and finished the whole thing with lemon zest, a little juice, and goat cheese. Light and fresh, with just a kick of heat, it was the perfect early summer dinner. It made me feel healthful and virtuous and wonderfully sated all at the same time.

Greens Toast and Egg

Serves 1, but easily doubled or more.

2 1/2 oz. spinach - or about two good size handfuls
1 tbsp olive oil
1/2 yellow onion, sliced
Salt
Pepper
2 good pinches red chili flakes
1 clove garlic, minced
1 1/2 cups chicken broth
Zest and juice of 1/2 lemon
1 oz. goat cheese, or other tangy soft cheese

To serve:
Country bread, sliced
1 clove garlic, sliced in half
1 tbsp olive oil
1 egg

Thoroughly wash and dry the spinach. Warm the olive oil in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add the onions and stir around the pan, making sure they're all coated in the oil. When the onions are translucent and soft, add the salt, pepper and chili powder. Let the spices cook for a minute, the add the garlic and give it all a stir. When you can smell the garlic, but before it starts to brown, add the spinach and chicken broth. Let it cook over medium heat about three - five minutes, or until it's pretty well wilted. Turn off heat, add lemon zest, juice and cheese. Stir once to combine.

Meanwhile, toast your bread. When it's still hot, take your garlic halves and rub the toast with them. Place the toast in a wide rimmed bowl and cover with the spinach. Wipe out your pan, pour in the olive oil and fry the egg. When it's nicely browned around the edges, place the egg on top. Finish with a pinch of sea salt and some pepper.

**Variations/additions I'm looking forward to trying:
Swap out the bread for fresh corn tortillas charred on the grill. Add toasted cumin and jalapeno. Exchange goat cheese for lime-zest tinged fresh crema.

Switch bread for griddled polenta cakes. Lose the goat cheese. Top with quickly marinated diced tomatoes, garlic, and mozzarella in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Mother's Day, in progress

i know this sounds odd
but how do you feel about
steak fries and salad

greens of watercress
dressed in creamy vinaigrette
lardons perched atop

potatoes twice fried
sweet sea salt and ketchup home
made and slightly spiced

platter of meat sliced
warm from the pan ladled with
sweet shallots and wine

then lava cakes. two.

Tin of Tomatoes, Three Ways

Oh Henry, my cooking partner

There comes a time when one simply must go to the grocery store. For me that time was this past Monday. As Henry and I peered sullenly into the refrigerator, scrounging past one sad tamale left from the Christmas bounty, a half container of salsa and some eggs, I came to the realization that I had MacGyvered through all of my food and must start anew.

But here’s the thing. I’m a single gal, with a full time job, and a full time dog, and the idea of cooking both lunch and dinner from scratch every day is just too daunting a feat, even for me. Compound this with the fact that I’m not really keen on leftovers and, well, I’m left pouting and trying to figure some way to eat for the week.

I’m always searching for meals that can be repurposed into new dishes. Rice and beans are the classic for this; cooked separately and repackaged through the week into a veritable multi-cultural feast - huevos rancheros, fried rice, soups, you name it. But after a while, you’ve run through all the iterations and you start craving something different. This week I was thinking of baked pasta, warm to ward of the late spring chill, but with a lighter sauce and delicately tangled with fresh mozzarella and basil. And so I turned to my stand by sauce - Marcella Hazan’s tomotoes with onion and butter.

For a sauce as easy to make as this, it’s rather difficult to describe. It takes a tin of tomatoes, an onion cut in half, some butter and salt, and lets loose a riot of tomato flavor; alternately sweet and acidic, rich from the butter and so full of tomatoey flavor its uncanny that it comes from a can. Though it’s nearly perfect as is, I simply cannot have tomato sauce without garlic, so I throw in some whole, peeled cloves for good measure. Ms. Hazan’s recipe calls for the sauce to be simmered over medium-low heat for 45 minutes and occassionally stirred, which in my house simply doesn’t work as my pup requires a long, long walk every evening else he destroy my house. So instead, I threw all the ingredients together, brought it to a simmer, added half a can of water for good measure, then pushed it into a 300-degree oven and left it there until we got back from our hike. It tasted just as good as the stove-top variety.

The beauty of this dish is that this sauce, because of its simplicity, and with just a bit of prep work, becomes three totally different, but equally delicious, meals. After a long and slow simmer, then a quick pass with an immersion blender (just to mash up the big chunks) half the sauce found a home in a quick pasta. Then I strained the other half and reserved the thin sauce as a light and delicious tomato soup that I ate for lunch the next day topped with a scattering of basil and goat cheese. The mash left in the strainer is full of slow braised onion and garlic and tomato pulp, a sort of intense tomato jam that’s more savory than sweet and gorgeous on a piece of toast with a fried egg or in a sandwich with mozzarella and basil.

Three meals out of one tin of tomatoes? That’s something I won’t pout over.

Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter
Adapted from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, by Marcella Hazan

2 cups whole, peeled, canned tomatoes, chopped, with their juices (about one 28-oz.can)
1 cup water* (I added this because I put it in the oven and was afraid it might evaporate more liquid than I wanted. I wouldn’t add it on the stove-top variety)
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter (I used 3 tablespoons - 5 just seems so, I don’t know, excessive)
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut in half
5 garlic cloves, crushed and peeled* (Completely discretionary, but in my mind, essential)
Salt, to taste

Preheat oven to 300-degrees. Combine the tomatoes, their juices, water, the butter, the onion halves and garlic in an oven-proof medium saucepan. Add a pinch or two of salt. Place over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Once it comes to simmer, give it a good stir, mashing any large pieces, then place in the oven. Cook for at least an hour or until the sauce has thickened and the onions are soft. Taste and salt as needed.

Discard the onion (I like to put this on toast too, or save and cook with scrambled eggs), run an immersion blender through the sauce to break up the biggest pieces (or you can use a masher for this). Use half the sauce for dressing pasta or risotto, then strain and reserve the remaining liquid. Scrape the mash left in the strainer and reserve for toast.

Yield: Enough sauce for about 1/2 pound of pasta, or 2 servings; 2 cups of soup; and enough tomato jam for 2 servings.

**I’ve been listening to alot of Gonzales recently, thanks to the fact that my computer crashed and my ipod died within moments of each other and this was the only music I had transferred over to my iPhone. That being said, it’s pretty amazing stuff here, and though I didn’t use Oregano in this dish, it was a great standby.

Roasted Pork and Apples

For all my love of sliced ham layered sweet and savory between slices of cheddar and buttered toasts, I’ve never felt the pull to cook my own ham. Which leaves me at Easter with the option of buying one from a commercial ham-baker or negotiating with my family over the doneness level of lamb. That is a dangerous endeavor, with wildly differing, but no less stongly held opinions. People cry, voices are raised, forks are brandished. And in the end, this year, we retreated to our bunkers and decided, to hell with it, we’ll cook a pork loin.

In the doldrums of winter, loins are seared and braised, pulled from the oven burnished with a sticky glaze of carmelized vegetebales. Such a heavy hand is too much for our weather right now. April is alternately thunderstorms and hail or slightly chilled sunshine and calls for a dish that bridges that divide, warming and comforting, but light and bright enough to harken on the coming spring.

Slathered in mustard and chopped herbs, this pork loin is the easiest of easy roasts. Left to chill over night, the pork soaks up the flavor and stays moist enough to cut with a fork. And though apples are not a spring fruit, when mashed into pan sauces with white wine and lemon, they take on a sweet brightness that enlivens the dish. It’s a fine way to bid adieu to winter.

Along for the ride on this one was the “new” Jimi Hendrix cd my mom bought. Not necessarily the most Easter-y of music, but we’re not terribly religious people either.

Roast Pork with Apples - serves 6

1 3-pound boneless pork tenderloin, tied
1/2 cup dijon mustard
1/4 cup olive oil
6 sprigs thyme, chopped
1 tablespoon parsley, chopped
3 sprigs sage, chopped
3 sprigs rosemary, chopped
Kosher salt
Freshly cracked black pepper
3 golden delicious apples, peeled and chopped into large pieces
1/2 cup chicken stock
1 cup white wine
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons Calvados Brandy (optional)
zest and juice of one lemon

1) Tie the pork at one inch intervals. Whisk together the mustard, olive oil, chopped herbs, and salt and pepper in the bottom of a shallow dish large enough to hold the pork loin. Place the pork loin, coating liberally with the marinade. Cover and chill at least 3 hours, but preferably overnight.

2) At least an hour before cooking, let the pork loin come to room temperature. Recoat the pork loin with the marinade.

3) Preheat the oven to 375. Place the pork into a large roasting pan (make sure you have a couple inches on each side of the pork) and roast for an hour, or until the center reaches 130 degrees.

4) After 30 minutes in the oven, add the chopped apples, chicken stock and 1/2 cup white wine. Give the apples a good stir, and continue cooking.

5) About 5 minutes before the pork is done, and when the apples have softened, but still have their shape, take the apples out and turn the oven to broil. Broil the pork until the top is crusty and dark, then remove to a cutting board and tent for 10 minutes.

6) Put the roasting pan on the stovetop over high heat. Add the remaining white wine and brandy, stirring to pick up the brown bit. Add half of the roasted apples and any reserved liquid to the pan, mashing with a potato masher or fork. Add lemon zest and lemon juice. Slowly whisk in butter pieces, adding more butter if the sauce is too tart. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Strain through a fine meshed sieve into a serving bowl.

7) Slice the pork into 1/2 inch pieces and serve on a large platter with the remaining apples and sauce on the side.

Onion Soup and Cheese Toast

When there’s something that I absolutely, most definitely have to get accomplished, I watch the Travel Channel on the couch. Today, we have France. Lovely, beautiful France, with its cafes and vineyards and rolling hillsides and nobody anywhere working or studying for finals. Okay, they work, but it’s tasting cheese or making wine or something else more awesome than law school.

I’ve been to France once, as a graduation gift with my college roommate. We rode into Paris on a train over the Alps after spending several weeks in Italy, terrified we would fall into the cavernous depths below. To abate our fear we played MASH for hours, each trying to stick the other with Steve Buscemi while attempting to snag Vincent Perez and the Apartment in Paris with 2 children and a honeymoon in Crete. I still have the Moleskin with our games. When we got to Paris it was bitterly cold (who knew traveling though Europe in late February was cheap for a reason). And we were sick. And we were tired. And neither of us spoke French. So we watched movies on the Champs-Elysees and ate French fries at the most beautiful McDonald’s I’ll ever see. We were tired, but happy, Americans playing around in Paris.

But we never got out of Paris to see the countryside, and I never had French Onion Soup. Until I get a job as a host on the Travel Channel, this is as close as I’ll get. And so, today’s menu is a trip to the French countryside via rich beef broth, onions and gruyere. Our traveling companion, The Decemberists, provides lyric stories of French prostitutes and their compatriots, the French Legionnaires. Yum.

Soupe a l’Oignon – adapted from my mother, who is not French and who couldn’t remember where she took if from. Probably one of the cookbooks that got lost on the last move. Sorry mama.

6 yellow onions – about 6 cups, sliced into thin half-moons
4 Tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
¼ tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
2 Tbsp flour
2 quarts beef broth, preferably homemade, but if store-bought, get the low-sodium
¼ cup dry white vermouth
3 Tbsp sherry

In a large covered pot cook the onions with the butter and olive oil for 15 minutes over low heat. The onions will be softened, but will not have changed color yet. Uncover, turn up the heat to medium and cook for at least 30 minutes, but really, the longer it goes is fine and just deepens the flavor. Stir frequently to ensure that all the onions are carmelizing (to be honest, I don’t know if that’s a word). Meanwhile, bring the beef broth to a boil. When the onions have turned a dark brown color, stir in the flour and cook for about two minutes. Cooking the flour gets rid of that, for no other term, “floury” taste. The flour will thicken the soup. Turn off the heat (or if you’re working with electric, move off the heat) and slowly and carefully pour in the broth. Put back on the heat, turn up to medium and let simmer for at 30-45 minutes. (This is a great place to hold the soup if you’re not ready to serve it for a while. If you’re going to put in the fridge, let the soup come down to room temperature before you put it in the fridge, covered. As always, you got about 3 days in the fridge.)

Right before serving, add in the sherry (or brandy, both are yummy, just depends what you got in your pantry. My brandy tends to go into my Sidecars, so not really a lot left to cook with.)

Now, to get that fancy bread crust with ooey, gooey cheese, you require oven-safe soup ramekins. I don’t have those. And I tend to burn myself when I pull things out of ovens, so soup, which is all swishy and liquidy, and oh, yeah, boiling, is not something I’m willing to go for. Also, I have really cheap dishware that barely makes it through my dishwasher, so I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I put them in the oven. Basically, all of that was my way of saying that I don’t broil the soup with the ooey, gooey cheesy toast top. I just make cheese toast in my toaster oven and put it right on top. Cause I’m a rebel.

Cheese toasts

12 French bread rounds
½ cup Gruyere cheese, grated

Toast the bread rounds until crispy and dry. Sprinkle the cheese evenly over the dry bread rounds and broil until cheese bubbles and turns brown, about 2 minutes. Drop two bread rounds on each bowl of soup. Or more, I like more.

tiny vessels.

I move to much to be much of a pack rat, and though I’d like to think that I don’t collect things because I’m extremely organized and minimalist, the truth is that I’m terribly forgetful, clumsy, and lazy. Boxes get left on trucks that are returned to rental companies; bags are too heavy to carry up the last flight of stairs only to be carried back down in a few months; piles are tripped over and broken.

What I do collect are memories. And most of my memories center around my kitchen, rented though it may be. I may not remember to clip that recipe, (or if I do, I leave it in a notebook never to be found) but the memory of that moment remains.

The moment I thought to write a foodblog was really not that different from any other moment in my kitchen. I was making Sunday dinner and had my mise in scattered bowls and dishes on the countertop and table, getting ready to assemble it all, and I thought how pretty all those tiny vessels filled with different colors and textures looked.

So this blog is a way to remember those moments in the kitchen and, like any good meal, hopefully to share