Always leave a timer on when making a stew

I started the chickpeas for tomorrow night's stew while I prepared some a light dinner for myself tonight.  They hadn't quite come to a boil when I was ready to eat, so I left them heating while I parked myself in front of the television while I ate.

Two and a half hours later, having caught up on 30 Rock, The Botany of Desire, and started an old TiVo'd recording of Cars, I smelled the marvelous scent of roasting garbanzos -- warm, rich, nutty -- accompanied an instant later by an odd, deep, burnt smell, like the edges of an old campfire without the ozone and pine scents.  Ack!  Charcoal Stew, not Chickpea Stew!

Unfortunately, the television room is at the end of the air passage in the house.  So the smoke filled and flowed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedrooms, then backed into the living and dining rooms, and finally limped into the television room.  I've been airing the curtains, bedclothes and rugs, washing what I can, and that is helping.  It has been two days now, since the incident, and the burnt smokey smell seems stronger right after the furnace kicks on -- I think the furnace has filtered the soot out, but now it is trapped in the airshaft and the smell gets pushed out and around again.

Cakes and Brownies

We have all been on diets, and are using a friend's annual July 4th party as an excuse to fall off the wagon (well, some of us are; others are being really strong and virtuous and disciplined and will be able to snort in superiority at the others of us once he's reached his target weight and we are still pasty-white and flabby, huddling in our summer anoraks for coverage).

In the photo, behind, is Rhubarb Custard Cake. This is trés simple: make a white cake (from a box, ahem), stirring in an extra teaspoon of fresh-grated nutmeg. Pour into 11 x 15 pan (bigger than normal size -- we had to buy a new pan for this recipe). Before baking, stir 1-1/2 cups sugar into 6 cups of diced rhubarb. Sprinkle/layer over the top of the cake batter in the pan. Then, "drizzle" 1 pint of whipping cream over top of the rhubarb/cake layers. Don't stir it. Bake for 35 minutes, or until it passes the toothpick test.

The pan in the foreground is Sea-Salt Caramel Brownies, a recipe pulled from memory of something we made a few months ago. I haven't tasted them yet, but I'm not concerned that they will be rejected. Make a batch (or, ahem, a box) of brownies and pour into 9 x 13 pan. Drop dollops of a thick, usually expensive, caramel sauce over top (thicker is better -- it should stay dollop-y, rather than syrupy. Caramel syrups just blend and make a different-tasting brownie). Run a knife through the dollops and the brownie batter underneath, forming swirls of caramel in the chocolate. Sprinkle a lot of coarsely flaked sea salt (such as Malden salt) over the top -- about 2 teaspoons. Bake. (I do recommend an expensive sea salt for this, because it is a critical flavor in the brownies.)

We made both of these cakes this spring (necessitating the diets this summer), and they are both tasty. Even the Chocolate Lovers among us have trouble choosing between the Rhubarb Custard Cake and the brownies, demonstrating how truly superior it is.

Toulouse-Style Cassoulet and Cream-filled Almond Cake

I made a Toulouse-Style Cassoulet on Saturday, using this recipe from Food and Wine Magazine. (Why? Because a favorite restaurant was serving it, giving us the idea. We figured it would be cheaper to cook it ourselves.) We had friend RJ over, who had the meal a year ago at this same restaurant (it is an annual event), and he believed our version tasted better than theirs. Unprovable, but we'll accept the sentiment.

By the way, the restaurant is Sympatica. It's run by a couple of -- I don't know what you call them, beyond chefs who specialize in meats. Charcuterists, perhaps? They own a couple of gourmet charcuteries around town, and this restaurant. The menu changes weekly; every Tuesday, they announce the prix fixe menu for the upcoming weekend (the restaurant is only open Friday and Saturday nights, and for weekend brunch, but the brunches are not unusual). They serve family style; our only complaint is that the setting is in a cement-walled room, and it can be so noisy you can't hear your neighbor talk.

I started preparing the dish on Thursday, for Saturday's dinner. None of the steps were particularly hard -- Cassoulet is essentially just a bean dish (flavored with every corner of a pig that you can imagine, and then some duck thrown in for good measure). But there were many steps. It starts with curing ham hocks, cubed pork shoulder and fresh pork skin (if you can find some) in salt and pepper overnight, while simultaneously soaking beans in a separate pot. The next day, you combine the two, with a bouquet garni and, curiously, a whole head of garlic, unpeeled -- and let them simmer for hours, filling the house with delicious wafts of scent.

While bubbling all that flavor into the beans, you remove the salt from some salt pork (the little pan above, in the photo).


The next day, after letting it sit overnight to allow fat to rise to the top and be skimmed off, you heat the mess up again. Puree the stewed whole head of garlic with the de-salted salt pork, and stir it in. Then pour the stew into a casserole, layering in duck confit (a form of cured duck). Bake. Finally, fry up some French Toulousian garlic sausage and nestle the sausages into the top of the casserole, top it all off with bread crumbs and bake some more.

It was really, really good. Many layers of flavor, well worth the time involved.

The restaurant menu was actually:

Saturday, January 31st
Cassoulet Night

Country Pate with House Pickled Vegetables and Dijon Mustard

Blood Orange and Belgian Endive with Oil-Cured Olive Vinaigrette

Cassoulet with Duck Confit, Toulouse Sausage, Pork Belly, Phipp's Country Store Heirloom Cannelini Beans and Breadcrumbs

Cream-Filled Almond Gateau with Apple Compote

Here at home, we had instead, cheeses brought by RJ, crudites, a couple of baguettes (purchased), and a Spinach salad with orange slices. But for dessert, the Texan mixed up a very nice Almond Cake, with whipped cream and a simple Apple Compote.

It was also very, very nice.

By the way, the children had bratwursts, carrots, and cupcakes for dessert. Philistines, yes, but it left more for us adults.

Finally, to brass tacks. The restaurant price was $38 per person, not including wine and gratuity. Here at home, there was so much cassoulet that before the baking section of the production, I threw half the stew into the freezer. (If nothing else, I didn't have a big enough pan for all of it.) Taking into account the cheeses, salad, bread, and the whole cake (of which about 1/2 is still left), but not the wine, the meal cost $18 per person! And that was for almost 3 servings of cassoulet each! (No, we didn't eat all those servings in one sitting. Well, not all of us did.) The single most expensive item was the duck confit, purchased at Whole Foods (I later found some at the charcuterie for about half the price. No wonder they call the store, "Whole Paycheck").

Perhaps, however, I should factor in gasoline. We had to go to five different gourmet shops in town to gather ingredients (and phoned a sixth). Even so, we didn't find a source for fresh pork skin until after the point when I could include it in the pot, so it could be argued that this isn't even close to "real" Toulouse-Style Cassoulet. I did learn that if I had just gone to the charcuterie owned by the Sympatica chefs, I could have cut my supplies-travels in half (they do carry Toulousian sausage, proscuitto, pancetta, and fresh duck confit, but they don't customarily carry plain ordinary ham hocks or pork shoulder).

Still it was a fun project, which I will happily repeat (it will be easier next time). And anyway, we already have half a pot of cassoulet in the freezer, to be pulled out in a few weeks.

Not-French Stuffed Mushrooms

Easy Stuffed Mushrooms

Take 15 largish mushrooms and pull out the stems. Plop a tablespoon or so of Rondele Spinach-Artichoke Cheese Blend (or whatever it's called) into the gap. Sprinkle with panko or bread crumbs. Bake in 350 F oven for 15 minutes, or until breadcrumbs have browned. Serve warm.

They are very tasty. Not core and probably not something to eat everyday.

Girl-Child saw them arranged on a plate on the table (sorry, I don't have a photo).
"Are these French?" she asked.
"No," we responded. "Why do you ask?"
"Because all French food looks disgusting. So I thought these were French."

Important Fruit Clarification and Dunnett Connection

The dried currants which we buy at the store (usually from Sun-Maid) are not the dried form of the fruit "currant" (which I always associate with Grandma B.) but rather a dried grape. The "Zante Currant" is actually the name of a grape. Wikipedia explains the confusion of names. The Currant Company rather vociferously huffs and puffs about the confusion of names.

The anti-oxidant benefits of currants apply to true currants (a Ribes) and not to zante currants (Vitis vinefera). So don't go pouring them in your batter thinking they'll make your cream scones healthy -- you'll have to get some true dried ribes for that. (And perhaps cut out the cream, the refined sugar and the white flour, too.)

The Dunnett connection is too totally obvious. Zante Currants are named for the island of Zakynthos, where of course our lovely Philippa discovers peachy sweet Kuzum. The naming confusion comes from the old French "raisins de Corauntz" -- which language, of course, our Philippa spoke (had she not been a fictional character).

(Photo not mine; from a website.)

Still Life with Reindeer

I made a "Black Cake" for the holidays this year. The recipe came from the Houston Chronicle, published in early July, 2008. I was in Houston to attend my aunt's funeral, and I liked the idea of making the cake as a sort of tribute to her, even though I don't know if she ever made fruit cake. The recipe starts by calling for macerating dried fruit for several months in Manischewitz wine, which I dutifully carried out.

Mom used to make a fabulous fruit cake, which her children loved (from what I've heard, the fruit-cake-gene did not make it to the next generation). Hers is a very dark, crumbly but moist mixture of dried fruits and just enough cake to barely hold it all together, with big chunks of candied cherry punctuating the "healthy" fruit. And then it is soaked in brandy for as many months as possible (I remember the Christmas when I realized the brandy was a good flavor, and I could stop pushing the outer crust of cake to the side of the plate.) Last time I asked, she didn't have a recipe, or didn't know where it was, or something. Anyway, I'm going to put pressure on her to find it, or to make one up for me to try.

This "Black Cake" is pretty good. It is certainly moist, and if there aren't enough cherries, that's my own fault for not adding enough. It is far too light in flavor, however. The recipe called for a frosting of fondant, which I tried out of curiosity. I didn't make the fondant, but bought it in a box from a specialty store as recommended by several cookbooks. I wouldn't recommend it to others, unless you have a need for a splendid look (because even with the rips, uneven "ribbon" and smeared icing dots that I amateurishly produced, it looks quite wonderful), but the flavor was merely acceptable. (I am not a big frosting fan, however.)