You've Come a Long Way, Baby

My husband is learning to cook and much to my amazement, he isn't half bad.  The fact that he has discovered the crock pot helps.  Cooking is a breeze when all you have to do is throw a bunch of stuff in one pot, turn it on, and walk away.  Still, he deserves credit for making progress. When he was single, his entire repetoire pretty much consisted entirely of oatmeal, minute rice with canned tuna, and for variety, he'd make a Lean Cuisines.   He could  also microwave a potato.  Garlic was  "ethnic."

The refrigerator of his bachelor days sported a bottle of French's mustard, a six-pack of Guinness, and lefover pizza.  Frankly, that refrigerator was the only way I knew he wasn't gay (not that there's anything wrong with that).  In my defense, he dressed really well, and collected antiques.  What can I say?  My prior boyfriend had thumb-tacked a Patriots bath towel to his window for a curtain, so the fact that my husband had insulated drapes that matched a Queen Anne wing-back armchair gave me pause.  I think I let out an audible sigh of relief when I opened that refrigerator door.   The poor guy didn't know how to make a sandwich, but thank the good Lord, he was straight!!

For the past 16 years, we've had a fairly egalitarian marriage:  I do all the cooking and he does everything else.  Unfortunately, with that crock pot he has recently caught on that cooking isn't as difficult as he feared.  He has discovered the joy of cranking up the tunes while you stir, chop, and saute--particularly if it means that someone else has to do the dishes, the laundry, the yard work,  pay the bills, and take the kids to soccer.  Damn.  I should take a hammer to that crock pot.  I've had it GOOD.

Slow Cooked Lamb & Beans
Courtesy of Wegman's  (Actually, I'm inferring such courtesy by the fact that they publish a quarterly recipe magazine ).

1.  Dust 4 lamb shanks with flour, salt, and pepper.  Wegman's features a pre-made "pan searing flour" that's really quite handy.  ( Oh come on, if I'm going to plagiarize Wegman's whole-cloth, the least I can do is make a few cheap plugs for some of their merchandise).

2.  Sear the lamb in a sauce pan coated with about 2 Tbsp of olive oil, heated over medium-high heat.  Brown on all sides--about 8-10 minutes.  Transfer the lamb to a crock pot.

3.  Add 8 oz of Wegman's cleaned and cut mirepoix to the pan--OR--save yourself about $4.00 and chop into a small dice: 2 carrots, 2 celery stalks, and one small onion.  ( The pre-cut mirepoix is outrageously expensive; I do have some ethical standards.  Of course, new cooks like my husband get intimidated when they see an ingredient in French, and Wegman's knows how to exploit such naivety.  Cunning buggers, those Wegman's folks.)  Saute until the vegetables are tender.

4.  Add one bay leaf and one cup of dry white wine.  Reduce until the mixture is a little thick.

6.  Add 6 Tbsp of flour.

7.  Transfer mixture to the crock pot with the lamb.  Add:  the zest of one lemon, the juice of one lemon, 3 cans (15.5 oz each) of cannelli beans, 1 28 oz can of roma tomatoes with basil, and 32 oz of chicken stock. 

8.  Cook on HIGH for 5-6 hours, or on LOW for 8-10 hours.  (A dish that only requires one temperature setting appeals to novice cooks.)

9.  Stir in 1 tsp rosemary and 2 tsp thyme just before serving.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Ooh and aah over your husband's efforts.  Tell the little lad how fetching he looks barefoot and in the kitchen.

Deck the Halls

I spent most of Sunday putting up the Christmas lights on the house.  Every year I practically kill myself in December trying to get ready for Christmas.  December is simply too short, so I've stretched the madness into November.  I'm not proud of it, but I've joined the retailers who start putting up their decorations right after Halloween.  It seems, however, that the Christmas spirits are not amused, and all I know is that no cooking got done.

Recipe for Take-out

1.  Wake up and remember that you stored the Christmas lights someplace other than the place that you have stored them for the last 10 years.  Smile smugly and silently congratulate yourself on your excellent memory.   Now wipe that grin off your face when you realize that you don't remember where that other place is.

2.  Two hours later discover the Christmas lights below the stairs where you have always stored them because you told yourself last year not to be an idiot and think that you would remember a new location next year.

3.  Dutifully take an inventory and plug in every single strand of lights to make sure they work.  Notice that one strand only lights up half way, and spend the next half hour looking for replacement bulbs.

4.  Spend another 30 minutes risking electrocution as you reinsert and rearrange bulbs on the recalcitrant strand to get it lit.  Give up and admit that you have to go to Walmart.

5.  Spend 30 minutes looking for your car keys.

6.  Enter Walmart committed to only buying replacement lights.  Walk out with several pointsettas, a couple of picture frames, peppermint candy canes, and a bag of Tostitos because you already sense some stress eating in your future.

7.  Get home and brag to your husband about your fiscal restraint because you passed on the 3-foot lighted candy canes that were only $2.97 each.

8.  Eat lunch-er, the bag of Tostitos--because by this time you have frittered away the entire morning.

The female/male connection

9.  Start arranging the basket lights on the bushes, and encourage your children to join you.   Realize how much they've grown when they start to snicker at your directions to properly line up the "male/female" connections.  Understand that they are still children when despite your directions they still wind up at the end with  female/female connections and have to flip the lights around--and then flip them yet again.

10.  Two hours later begin stringing the icicle lights from the porch.  Start cursing loudly when you discover that the plugs on the lights you just purchased don't connect with the lights you purchased 4 years ago.

11.  Take a deep breath.  Determine that if you move all of the new lights to right side of the porch, and all of the old lights to the left side, all the connections will marry up.  Spend 45 minutes rearranging the lights.  Laugh out loud when it all works, then bemoan the fact you got cocky when you discover that your extension cord is two inches too short.

12.  Spend 30 minutes looking for the right extension cord.  When you can't find it, give a fleeting thought to driving back to Walmart.  But because it ain't over until it's over, try one more time to rearrange the lights and the existing spaghetti bowl of extension cords.  Pump the air with your fist when you get it to work.

13.  Plug it all in to revel in the glow of the holidays.  But first look up with dismay to realize that one strand  of lights across the top of the porch is only half-way lit.  Repeat step 4 and shake your head in defeat on the drive back to Walmart.

14.  Walk out this time with enough electronic hardware to rebuild Apollo 13.  Run into an old colleague who doesn't recognize you at first either because you haven't showered or because you have a maniacal glint in your eye--probably both. 

15.  Get home and restring the last freaking strand of lights just as the sun is setting. 

16.  Plug it in.  The lights look absolutely, positively beautiful.  Start thinking that the whole day was oh-so-worth-it just as your husband asks you if you intend to leave the lights turned on because, hell, it isn't even Thanksgiving yet.--and by the way, "what's for dinner?"

17.  Shoot him a dirty look and let him know that oh yeah, he's buying take-out.  Fa la F'ing la.

Champagne Brie Soup

Cheese and crackers are the bane of my existence.  Nothing is guaranteed to sabotage my diet like those chunks of pure fat placed on crunchy disks of pure carbs.  Nuts and chips and chocolate all present a certain temptation, but it's one I can usually avoid.  When it's cheese and crackers, however, I'm a goner.  I think I'm an addict.  I was at a party on Saturday night and devoured not only the cheese tray, but when dessert came, I discovered that creamy Gorgonzola on shortbread is as decadent as it is delicious.  I gained three pounds in one freaking day.  Nor am I a snob for the higher end cheeses and crackers.  When I really need a fix, I've been know to snarf down saltines and plastic-wrapped American cheese slices.  It isn't pretty.

I suppose you think that right about here I'm going to wow you with some delicious new substitute for cheese and crackers that I learned in some 12-step program.  You are expecting that I scoured the world web of recipes and have discovered the Holy Grail--an hors d'oeuvres that pairs beautifully with wine, tastes amazing, and has negative calories.  OK, two out of three isn't bad.  Today I offer champagne brie soup.  On a cold night, this soup, which blends butter, heavy cream and a full pound of melted brie is a religious experience.  What can I say? The beauty of this dish is that it is so absolutely, positively laden with fat and calories that by comparison, cheese and crackers is downright healthy.  I have to justify my addiction somehow.  Just like methadone is better than heroin, cheese and crackers is better than champagne brie soup.  Hey--whatever it takes to support my habit.

Champagne Brie Soup

1.  Melt 2 sticks of butter over low heat.

2.   Add 1/2 cup flour and beat with a whisk.   This is called a roux.  It is very very fattening.

3.  Add 1 cup chopped onion and 1/2 cup chopped celery and saute until the onions are translucent and the celery is tender; about 3-5 minutes.

4.  Add 1/2 tsp white pepper and 1/2 tsp. red pepper.   Actually measure these out.  I don't know why, but each time I've guesstimated the soup has turned out too spicy or too bland, and when I measure, it's perfect.  Weird; it's not like this is baking.

5.  Add 4 cups of chicken broth and turn to high heat.  Don't let the chicken broth fool you.  There is nothing remotely healthy about this soup.

Remove the rind.  It tastes like chalk.

6.  Remove the rind from a one-pound wheel of brie.  Cut the brie into small cubes and stir constantly until melted.  Yeah baby. 

7.  Lower the heat and add 2 cups of heavy cream and 1/2 cup of champagne.

8.  Continue to simmer until heated through and serve. 

You can make this soup up to 2 days ahead of time, but wait until just before serving to add the cream and the champagne.  This really is a lovely soup to have on hand for the holidays.  If I have a batch on hand, you are welcome to stop by for a cup.  The first one's free.

Fun with Dick and Jane

Fifty years is a long time.  1961.  John Kennedy was president and Barack Obama was an infant.  It was also the year that my in-laws, Dick and Jane (yes, really) were married.  A fiftieth anniversary is a lot of things--it's 50 years of memories and 50 years of stories, but mainly, it's a really good reason to have a party--a fancy one.  And so we did.  We gathered the clan, which after 50 years has grown to 21, and pulled out all the stops:  china, crystal, silver, and a meal that used 3 lbs of butter, 10 lbs of beef tenderloin, and at least 6 cups of heavy cream.  It's the kind of party that, candidly, you really can only have once every generation years because I'm not sure you would otherwise survive it. 

A word here on fancy dinner parties, which I recognize are a dying breed.  It's funny really.  The average bride-to-be will spend countless hours figuring out her "registry," will dutifully ooh and aah at the haul of china, crystal, and silver she gets as shower and wedding gifts, and then she will summarily stuff it all back in its original box and store it in the crawl space over the garage.  For a very long time.  If not forever.  Instead, when she and her husband entertain, they'll head to Costco for a tower of paper plates and a box of silver colored plastic utensils.  There's a belief, I suppose, that if you use your good stuff, it will break, tarnish, look "used", and will otherwise never be in the wondrous pristine condition as when you first got it.   It's not a short step from there to putting plastic runners down your hallways and covering your seat cushions with cellophane.  Don't do it.  Use your stuff. 

Be careful with it.  Baby it.  Pamper it.  Clean it with ammonia-free detergents and store it in layers of bubble wrap.  And yes, I am fully aware of how much work that it is, but for God's sake USE IT.   Expect and understand that along the way it will get chipped, scratched, and broken.  That's OK.  Puttin' on the Ritz is fun, and after 50 years, you'll be happier for the memories than with unopened boxes.  Just ask Dick and Jane.

Individual Beef Wellington--a dish served best on bone china.
1.   Pat dry with a clean paper towel eight 4 ounce cuts of beef tenderloin-trimmed of all visible fat.  Generously salt and pepper.  (OK, I made 24 of these bad boys, which took 5 hours, and on some level was simply insane, but for an 8 person dinner party, this recipe really isn't that bad.)

2.  Heat about 3 Tbs of olive oil in a large frying pan, and sear each steak until it is brown--about 3 minutes per side.  Set aside and chill.

3. In the same frying pan, because you want to scrape up all the good bits of seared meat and juice, add 2 finely chopped shallots and 2 cloves of minced garlic.  Add a little olive oil if necessary.  Soften--about 5 minutes.

4.  Add 1 cup of Madeira and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to medium and simmer for 10 minutes or until the Madeira is reduced to about 1/2 cup. 

5.  Add 1/2 cup of beef broth and simmer for another 3-4 minutes.  Remove the sauce from heat and refrigerate.

6.  In the same pan (because there are some tremendous flavors in this pan about now) add 2 Tbs  butter, one large Mayan or Vidalia onion, thinly sliced, and 2 Tbs of chopped shallots.

7.  As the onions and shallots begin to soften, add 8 large thinly sliced mushrooms.  Salt and pepper.

8.  Continue to cook on medium heat until the mushrooms are lightly browned.  Set aside to cool completely.

9.  In a small bowl, beat one egg to make an egg wash.

10.  On a lightly floured surface, roll out one puff pastry sheet and cut into 4 squares, each large enough to fully wrap one tenderloin steak, about a 6.5 inch square.

11.  Put one heaping Tbs of the onion/mushroom mixture on a puff pastry square, and then top with a tenderloin steak.  If you want to go really high-falutin', you can also add a small two inch square of pate, or one Tbs. of crumbled Gorgonzola between the mushrooms and onions and the beef.

12.  Wrap each corner of the puff pastry over the steak, and seal the seam with the egg wash.

13.  Repeat for each steak, which will require a second puff pastry sheet for the last four steaks.

14.  Arrange each Beef Wellington on a non-stick baking sheet, seam side down.

15.  Chill at least one hour and up to one day.

16.  Preheat oven to 425 degrees.  Brush the top of each Beef Wellington with the egg wash.  Bake 20-30 minutes until the puff pastry is golden brown.

17.  While the Beef Wellington is cooking, bring out the now fully chilled Madeira sauce.  Heat until hot and add 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream.   Spoon the sauce on that plate of china you agonized selecting, and top with a Beef Wellington.  Pair with mashed potatoes and a nice crisp green vegetable.