Tagged: cooking

Bounty

silly mushrooms

a silly mushroom doodle

 

The glorious, pert toadstools sat in their wooden crate with irresistible allure. Spots of soil coyly speckled their feet, and the caps, taut and proud, gleamed up at me. I had to have them. Cepes, baby brown portobello, shiitake, white button. Delicate, seasonal delights that deserve the utmost care in preparation.

A bunched-up square of kitchen paper swipes off grit. The caps are sliced generously and set aside to meet their buttery fate. The stems, roughly chopped and reserved for tomorrow’s mushroom velouté soup.

I turn my attention to the sidekick: my first attempt at potato gnocchi. 2 boiled potatoes worm their way through my food mill. Tines of a fork distribute a pinch of salt, snowdrifts of parmesan, one beaten egg, and just enough flour to bring the dough together. Pillowy soft and satiny, texture of the dough feels gorgeous under my fingertips. I set a large pot to boil generously salted water.

Next door, butter hisses, and in goes minced garlic to start the symphony of aroma. The sliced caps tumble in with a gentle sprinkling of salt. Their meaty juices release into the pan, the smell is glorious; a steam treatment, good for the pores. Once the liquid dissipates and a rich brown fond develops at the bottom of the pan, stir in a bit of broth. When it simmers, I add a generous glog of cream, a damn good scrape of fresh nutmeg, ground black pepper and coriander seed: the warm earthiness of the spices will make the dish even more savory. Finish with a generous sprinkling of parmesan and stir in baby spinach, set aside to receive my gnocchi.

I roll out my tube of dough, cut into tiny pillows, and run them over the back of a fork. My gnocchi resemble irregular projectiles, but no matter. Dropped into the water, they swim aimlessly for just under a minute, until they puff slightly and bob to the surface. About 15 seconds after each ladleful rises, they are spooned straight into the creamy mushroom sauce. More finely grated parmesan to finish.

At first bite, F and I are in bliss. Soft, tender gnocchi are enrobed in the unctuous, rich sauce. Umami, brown and savory. The earthy warm fragrance of my dish marries with the crisp evening air and musky odor of leaves once again underfoot.

This is the glorious bounty of autumn.

Indulge

A wild strawberry plucked from a vine in the garden, savored as I pass through on my way to work.

A finger of amber rum in the afternoon out on my terrace, with my feet up on the table.

A midnight homemade kebab and fries, a decadent treat. We sing “cheers” as we toast our meaty, saucy sandwiches together, and dip crisp fresh fries into mayonnaise and ketchup. Sinfully, deviously improper. The naughtiness of a midnight pig-out session, once in a blue moon. Not good for the heart, but good for the soul.

The pleasure on our friends’ faces as they taste my cooking; it was well worth adding that extra pat of butter, for a luxurious creamy texture.

A warm bowl of my butternut squash soup on a brisk morning, dusted with a pinch of cumin, fleur de sel, snipped fresh chives. Finishing with a dollop of cream gives an unctuous touch to a hearty lunch, creating an appetizing presentation.

The finishing touch: a gesture for pure pleasure, a reward for being human. Celebrating the artful, deliberate stimulation of our innate sensory pleasures. Indulgence that makes life deliciously beautiful.

As for the resulting light padding that these transgressions produce in the thigh-booty-stomach tri-zone area: I’ll walk it off later.

Cook

Tonight, I’m back in the kitchen.  Today’s mission:  risotto from leftovers.  I’ve got a half-package of lardons (unsmoked matchsticks of bacon), one slightly manky onion, a couple handfuls of salad greens, and a few lonely frozen asparagus spears, languishing in the freezer.

First, fill up my stock pot with some fresh water.  Throw in a couple stock cubes; it’s not as good as stock from scratch, but they ain’t bad.  (Hey, I’m a working woman.  Who’s got time to simmer stock during the week?)  To give a more homemade flavor, I toss in 5 whole peppercorns, a crushed clove of garlic, and the ends of the onion and shallot I’ve just chopped.  Let it steep while I get to my risotto.

In a pan, I start by browning my lardons, rendering out that delicious pork fat.  Once they look tantalizing enough to eat, I remove them from the pan.  On the way, one of those little guys may have accidentally fallen into my mouth.  Oops.  Add a touch of olive oil.  In go one small minced red onion and a few garlic cloves, and a pinch of salt.  Sizzle until fragrant, then in with my rice.  Keep that pan moving, stir that rice around until those grains start to gleam.  Now comes my favorite part:  deglaze with the last glugs in a bottle of white wine.  The whoosh is satisfying, and while the pan is simmering, I’m scraping up the brown bits at the bottom of the pan.  Oh, what lovely flavor!

Now comes the process of lovingly ladling my stock into the rice, then stirring.  One ladleful after another, I’m imbuing this mixture with flavor, and feeding those grains of rice until they puff up.  Partway through, I add my secret ingredient:  a damn good scrape of nutmeg.

Add my chopped asparagus spears and lardons, finish the rice.

The finale:  a tablespoon of crème fraîche for that unctuous mouth feel, and two generous handfuls of peppery rocket.  If I had chives, I’d snip some of those bad boys over the top.

I serve up two heaping bowlfuls; F is wide-eyed like a little boy in anticipation; the aromas from the kitchen have gotten him salivating.  To add heat, we sprinkle Espelette pepper over the top, and dig in.

A lovely moment of kitchen alchemy, a moment to myself during the week.