Saturday Night Meal

One of my great fascinations in life is cooking.

I lack, however, the smoldering, constant, genius of those great chefs who do nothing but think about food all day.

Rather, my cooking is dictated by the weather, by what I am reading, by what I am drinking.  I think I nearly killed me and Jen after reading Elizabeth David’s “French Provincial Cooking,” via a mainline injection of non-soluble dairy fats.  Certain meals, about once a month, will involve a day or two of cooking and prep (witness the yearly flirtation with Cassoulet), they often involve long-searches for things like rack of Elk, or shoulder of wild boar.  These gustatory adventures invariably end with a great meal with friends, some excellent wines (albeit probably too much of it), and quite a few dishes the to clean in in the morning haze.

Every once in a while though a provident interplay of events occurs and a meal of surprising satisfaction eminates from limited means and limited time.  In this case, the events were this:

1:  Jen and I are slowly moving into our new apartment in Sonoma from San Francisco, a happy consequence of her choosing to attend UC Davis for law school.  This means that there are limited pots and pans for cooking– much less tableware.  However, we have a dishwasher for the first time in two years (oh sweet Jesus! it’s nice).

2:  I had been perusing an article on our good friend Daniel Patterson, the chef at Coi, talking about his discovery of making butter.  And how easy it is.

3:  One of the two cookbooks I brought to the condo was Richard Olney and Lulu Peyraud’s “Lulu’s Provencal Table,”– as you might guess given the name of Bedrock Wine Co.’s rose’ (Ode to Lulu), I have healthy and satisfying obsession with Bandol and Provencal food more generally.  That Richard Olney’s quixotic, tempermental, and wonderful writing just makes me sweat desire for garlic, olive oil, fish fumet, and the sweet smell of braised fennel only makes matter better.

4:  We were already tired from moving boxes around, but were also quite hungry, and thus were getting a touch snippy with each other– even the dog was being a moody lil rotten turnip.

5:  Mama was coming over for dinner.

   So, having perused Lulu and Richard’s bible, I made my way to Sonoma Market with little idea, really, of what I was going to make.  Two hours later we had a five course meal that was painfully easy to make.

Meal a la Impromptu

Homemade Butter from Strauss Cream, with Baby Radishes and Pain Integrale

Grilled Asparagus with Rock-shrimp Meunier

Squid with Persillade

Bourride of Red Snapper, Orange Roughy, and Rock Cod

Fresh Strawberries and Buttermilk

For the butter, get two quarts of the best cream you can find, in this case I used the wonderful stuff from local Strauss Creamery, and use an electric beater to whip it until it separates into butter and buttermilk, about twenty minutes.  If you would like, put a little creme fraiche or sour cream into the cream the night before to make cultured butter.  Serving the butter virgin, or unsalted, and then giving folks the choice of several types of sea salt would be tasty and visually enticing.

The rock-fish is actually a take on a dish by the great Frank Stitt served at his Highland’s Restaurant in Birmingham, AL.  I substituted local rock-shrimp for the crayfish that he uses.  Pretty simple to make– sauteed shallots, some fresh butter, a quarter cup or so of aromatic white wine (I used the Pouilly Fume we were drinking) in which to quickly cook the shrimp, and some diced parsley and meyer lemon squeezes to perk things up.  The asparagus were grilled over a hot fire for a minute or so on each side.

The squid is a classic Lulu and Olney creation– or really a provencal creation.  Bring a pan with the chopped, cleaned, squid and some good olive oil up to heat.  Wait until the squid start sizzling a bit and release their liquids– about 3 minutes.  Immediately remove the squid (if you overcook them they will get tough), but leave the liquid in the pan. Add a couple tablespoons of white wine and reduce to about half the original amount of liquid.  Add the squid back to the pan along with a couple fistfuls of persillade (garlic and parsley chopped to bits).  Serve.

Bourride is a bit more of a process but is simplified by making the liason element (a less garlicky take on aioli) in the blender (since it is used as a thickener rather than a side it works fine).  The key here is to make a killer fish fumet since it is the poaching liquid for the fish and the base of the thickened broth.  Though Salmon would be too strong for the fish element, the heads, bones, and tails of it work nicely to quickly tincture the broth.  Along with the fish trimmings (acquired from the excellent Sonoma Market), add finely sliced leek, a couple sweet carrots also finely sliced, some chopped onion, a couple crushed heads of garlic, some bits of pepper and salt to taste (some recommend adding celery to complete the classic mirapoix, but I find most grocery celery to be either tasteless or adding an unsatisfactory bitter component), along with fennel leaves (easily acquired wild from the roadside as long as you know not to mistake it with the deadly Socrates killer, Hemlock).  After boiling for 45 minutes or so, drain the broth from the fixin’s, and cool.  When ready, layer the cuts of fish on the bottom of a 8-10 quart pan (a mix of local, sustainable, firm-fleshed, sea fish is best!), and pour the broth over.  Gradually bring to a near boil over medium heat.  When the fish is cooked to doneness (this is a personal decision based on freshness and individual taste), remove it.  Slowly add a bit of the hot broth to the liason mixture, whisking firmly and continuously so as to prevent the hot broth from cooking the egg yolks.  Once the entire amount of broth has been added gradually bring the pot to a NEAR-boil, stirring all the while to prevent cooking at the bottom of the pan (boiling will curdle the egg yolk and cause it to form unsightly and texturally unpleasant lumps).  When near boiling and the broth has thickened a bit turn the heat off. Traditionally, the bourride is served as such:  a slice or two of slightly stale or dried out bread is placed on the bottom of a wide plate and succulent morsels of the fish are placed on top.  The broth, thickened with egg yolk and garlic and perfumed by fennel, onion, carrots, et al, is served separately and ladled over the fish by the individual.

For the liason.  Six, fresh as can be, egg yolks are placed in the blender bowl along with 2-4 cloves of garlic (dependent on size, strength of garlic, and personal taste) and mixed until relatively well integrated.  With the blender running at its lowest speed, gradually trickly, drop-by-drop, one cup of good olive oil.  (True, chest-hair nurturing, aioli is typically a more garlic rich concoction of 1 clove of garlic per egg-yolk, and is absolutely delicious on all foods except for human nipples where rashes might form).

Bourride, which may be the least interesting dish of the night in terms of color, is imbued with the richest and broadest flavor.  Perhaps a bit of paprika or cayenne might have been used to add some more visual interest.