Showing posts sorted by relevance for query alinea. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query alinea. Sort by date Show all posts

Thursday, July 31, 2008

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

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

Monday, September 15, 2008

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

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

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Velouté of Bittersweet Chocolate with Cinnamon Stick Ice Cream

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)

Thursday, August 7, 2008

French Laundry at Home Extra: Béarnaise Mousseline

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