For being a pretty straightforward meat/milked-bread/egg/etc. recipe, the veal patties came out nicely light. I was a little uncertain how the tarragon/wine/cream sauce would pair up with them; I needn’t have worried. Served on lettuce from the CSA (she recommends a bed of sauteéd spinach, but somehow I didn’t read the sauteéd part) with the base scalloped potatoes recipe, this was a really nice summer supper–rich but neither overwhemling nor too warming.

One note about the potatoes; it’s been my experience that low-and-slow works better in my oven so they were in for an hour at 350° instead of 20-30 minutes at 425°.

Gratin de Quenelles de Poisson, p. 185 – 188
Fish Quenelles
Quenelles Gratinéd in White Wine Sauce
Fish Mousse

Oh, dear, the backlog. I made this all at the end of July…
The poached eggs are delicious and easy. The Quenelles, need a little more practice. The great thing, though, is that the base can be made into all kinds of different things. The little fish dumplings were very good on their own, but somehow a little overwhelming. Maybe more fishy than our palate is accustomed to? When the quenelles stopped working in my pot, losing their shape, the better recipe was found by, as recommended, pureéing what’s left. I spooned that into little dished, added some cheese on top, threw them under the broiler–et voila!–a delicious mousse.

I thought this seemed too simple to be really great — it’s just onions, peppers, tomatoes and a little garlic sautéed with eggs and ham — but served with a crisp white wine and a baguette, it was a gorgeous little supper.

The word “casserole” has been severely devalued — say it, and the first thing I think of is either that narsty canned green-beans-and-soup thing that gets dragged out to holiday tables, or tuna hot dish; to me, it pretty much means bland, over-salted, icky gunk, probably with a layer of broken potato chips on the top. Call this recipe a casserole, call it shit-on-a-shingle; if you’re serving this, just don’t call me late for dinner!

Mr. Dynagirl usually gets a Thanksgiving turkey from work. Seeing as how we usually aren’t hosting the holidays yet, our moms pick out their own turkeys, and if I were to get a turkey to roast I’d go find an heirloom breed (or at least a Diestel), the poor thing languishes in the downstairs freezer for lack of a better idea of what to do with it. I finally figured I’d better do something with it, if only because I was going to be needing the freezer space for the cassoulet.

I’m not sure if this is originally a French thing, or if she just worked this up in the familiar idiom. When the turkey finally thawed, I cut it up into pieces (reserving the breast to the freezer for smoking later) and simmered it with the usual stock accoutrements. Mushrooms and onions are worked up on their own. (I think! I’ll look it up and edit this later.) Once the meat is cooked, the remaining stock is cooked down with wine and cream, and the casserole is topped with grated Swiss cheese. Even without the breast meat, this twelve-pound turkey yielded two pie plates and three bread pans of the most delicious, most luscious, most fucking awesome “casserole” you’ve ever had.

It would be devilish fun to make this for that kind of potluck event where everyone trots out their same nasty hotdishes; they’d get to this one, and they’d be p0wn3d! But I’m not competitive like that. No siree, Bob… hrm.

This year, instead of roasting a duck and making sausages, I used duck legs confit and Saucisse deToulouse. (Hooray, Amazon!) I also split it up into several pans — all the better to have more crust, and not be trying to manage a giant, 30-pound (? whatever, really heavy), overflowing roasting pan. It filled three eight-cup soufflé pans and a very large roaster. I had a little trouble with the very full oven and it’s really craptastic uneven heating, so next year I’ll probably do the baking in two rounds.

This was as great as ever, and I’d probably have to say the best so far. There’s about $140 of groceries in this, which is always startling up front, but that’s also about 28 servings of OMG TEH DELICIOUS in my freezer.

Foie de Veau Sauté, p. 405
Sautéed Calf’s Liver

Sauce Creème à la Moutarde, p. 406
Cream and Mustard Sauce

Although I’ve whole-heartedly embraced poultry liver… this was quite a bit scarier, as liver was one of threetwo items that my parents would let slide from their “this is not a restaurant” rule: only when Mom served lobster (HA! so they could eat it all) or liver would she cook something else for us.*

Well. Liver’s definitely an accquired taste.

I bought the organ from my favorite people at the Saturday Farmers’ Market. It was funny; as soon as I mentioned to anyone over fifty that I was going to make liver, they immediately told me how to make the standard liver and onions we all grew up avoiding. I think I know why we all hated it — the cheaper beef liver is stronger in flavor than calf’s, and most everyone recommended five minutes per side, far longer than it needs.

I sort of tentatively gummed the first bite or two… but… it was actually kind of good. Mr Dynagirl also approved (possibly more heartily than I). The sauce worked really nicely; the deep bass of the liver needed the high note of the mustard. Simple sautéed potatoes mellowed things out, spreading the intense flavor around.

Things I learned for next time: get calf’s liver, not beef; if beef is the only option, try soaking it in milk for an hour; a little goes a loooong way.

* she came from a family of ridiculously picky eaters (omg, no onions**?!) and, understandably, wasn’t about to see a repeat of that.

** True story: about five years ago my mom took her father down to Milwaukee so he could buy shoes. We met for lunch (at Coquette, swoon) and I actually saw the man ORDER FRENCH ONION SOUP — and then proceed to pull out all of the onions, bitching the whole time.

Instead, I think I’ll enjoy this 1973 ad for Betty Crocker Frosting in a Can, starring Joan Van Ark, via Scrubbles.

Veau Prince Orloff, pp. 355-357
Veal Gratinéed with Onions and Mushrooms

Épinards au Jambon, p. 470
Spinach with Ham

Between the classic Mary Tyler Moore dinner party episode, and what’s written about it on the intarweb, Veal Prince Orloff seems to be a very misunderstood dish. Let’s debunk!

1. “Mary, do you know what happens if you overcook a Veal Prince Orloff? He dies!”
   Not hardly! This is a chafing-dish champion if there ever was one. First of all, I was outside enjoying a well-deserved glass* of YT on the deck when the oven timer dinged, and by the time I got back into the kitchen to rescue the Prince, he was at a shocking ten degrees past done. Still quite lovely and pink inside, though; and since this is something that once assembled is reheated in the oven and has enough fat to make a goose blush, it can hold for quite a while in a warm oven.
2. “Mr. Grant, you took half!
   Mary’s dinner party was for six, they ended up with seven people when Rhoda showed up with a date. Lou Grant took “half,” which meant three slices, since she had just enough for the six original guests. That must have been one hell of a small roast. The five-pounder I started with wasn’t even half finished by seven people, each of whom had at least one slice of veal. A closer look at my photos shows that there were twenty slices to that five pounds, or four slices per pound. A veal roast that would give you a mere six slices would weigh one and a half pounds; in other words, really tiny. I know meat was super expensive in the 70s, and money was tight, but come on!
3. “…takes an entire day to assemble… …incredibly labor intensive… …took two days to make… …six pages of instructions…”
   These people are exaggerating wimps who don’t belong in the kitchen, lying –lying about Julia!–to make themselves into pitiable martyrs, and I hate them for it. Granted, this wasn’t shoving a Lean Cuisine into the microwave, but it certainly wasn’t cassoulet, either.

Let’s talk about what it is: a tad ridiculous, and totally delicious.
Start by roasting the veal in the standard way — brown all the sides, throw in some bacon, onions, carrots and an herb bouquet; put in oven, baste it now and then. [Ah, me! So difficult...] While that’s in the oven, par-boil a little rice, then throw that together with a sliced onion and more butter; put in oven. Squeeze the water out of minced mushrooms, sauté with butter and then some minced shallots; correct seasoning and set aside [do you need to sit down now? feeling faint?]. Pureé now cooked rice and onions with a little cream, mix with mushrooms; set aside. Roast is done; set aside. Remove vegetables from roasting pan, add milk until you have three cups of liquid, beat into a buerre manie (butter and flour); set aside. Slice now-cooled roast into an oven-proof dish. Lay a slice, add a little salt and pepper, smear some of your mushroom mixture on it, lay down another slice; repeat until done.
Bring that sauce to a simmer, add some Swiss cheese and maybe some cream, pour on reconstituted roast. [This was the point I started giggling insanely...] Grate some more cheese on top and a little melted butter, pop back in oven about forty-five minutes before you want to eat. TA FUCKING DA.
I started at two-thirty on Saturday afternoon, and by five, everything was done save the final assembly — including the dishes. That’s two-and-a-half hours, INCLUDING THE DISHES.
Sunday morning, I sliced the roast, stuffed it, and bathed it in cheese sauce — and was in the shower thirty minutes after I started. So: that’s three hours of hands-on time, total. Not too shabby, given how obnoxious it seems, and given the drama of the results. Certainly not two days, and nowhere near the high end of the KitchInsanity Scale™.

The Prince is quite rich, and so I served him with simple asparagus and a family holiday favorite, endive salad**. It was a big hit and the Augey Bordeaux white (2004, $7.99 @ Woodman’s) complimented it nicely. I served the spinach with ham the next evening with the leftovers, and it was very good and came together quite quickly. Be forewarned that you will need one bag of fresh spinach per person, as it quickly cooks down into nothing.

Equipment note: JC indicates that you will need a fireproof dish in which to assemble the veal. I took this as meaning something that could withstand direct flame –as there are numerous dishes that must go from stovetop to oven to broiler in the same pan– and used my LeCreuset enameled iron baker. This never went on the stove, and if there is a next time, I will just use Pyrex.

*having also cleaned the house and run several errands before even starting
**which didn’t have endive in it this year, on account of the grocery stores sucking

*hardy, no-maintenance, wild and lush and smelly and bordering on invasive roses; not the huge fucking pain in the ass, must be painstakingly cultivated and pruned and covered and sprayed and coddled roses that barely bloom, and when they do they have no fragrance roses, so preferred by other people I know, who though they may be blood relations are not spoken to or about.

Foies de Volaille en Aspic, p. 548
Chicken Livers in Aspic

Since a frequent theme here is that one may as well be hung for a wolf as a sheep, if I am going to make aspic (uuuurgh), I’m going to do it the hard way. That was my goal, at least; finding two calves’ hooves is a lot harder than it used to be. I called several shops and pretty much struck out — the closest I got was Stoddard’s, who could get a sixty-pound box, if I took it all. (If I had two friends who were interested in splitting it with me… anyone?) The double bummer of not finding the feet is that I used commercial stock; no time now to bother, and the good stuff I had made was hiding in the freezer to be used for liver-dumpling soup at an upcoming German dinner party.

I did, however, learn a nice trick. From page 111, the Clarification du Bouillon! Often jealous of the perfectly clear chicken broth that comes with the matzo from Benji’s or Ella’s or Kroll’s, I’d never realized it comes from an extra clarifying step that’s a little futzy but well worth the trouble. Egg whites are beaten into some hot stock that is then whisked into the rest of the hot stock, stirred until the simmer, then simmered slowly for twenty minutes. When you’re done, the egg whites will have picked up all the particulate matter in the stock. Gently strain it through five layers of cheesecloth, and Voilà! Gorgeously transparent.

The rest of this was really simple – Sauté the livers in butter, add some shallots, seasoning and liquor, and let chill in the cooking juices. Since I wasn’t doing this the hard way, I added some gelatin envelopes to the stock, and poured about an eighth of an inch of it into the bottom of some small copper molds. When those had set and the livers had chilled, I just plonked down the livers in the mold (with no directions otherwise, I included a bit of the shallot), covered them with the rest of the aspic, shoved them back in the refrigerator–and then hid in a corner, rocking.

We put off eating dinner until we were ravenous. Remembering that everything goes better with fried bread, I whipped up some canapés quick-like, and turned out two molds. We held hands and closed our eyes… and it was OK. Really, what’s to hate about this? Chicken livers, yum; shallots sautéed in butter and madiera, yum; beef broth, yum; –it’s just the gelatin part that gets it a little weird. The canapés helped, as did the lettuce underneath. This was really a bit much to eat a whole one. It was rich enough that we didn’t eat anything else, which led to waking up really hungry. This isn’t something I’d put into regular rotation, but it might be something to pull out when you need an unusual but tasty hors d’oeuvres. I plopped one out onto the cheese tray for Easter Equinox Dinner, and it was made short work of. One down, lots more scary aspics to go!

Oeufs à la Bourguignonne, pp. 121
Eggs Poached in Red Wine

Poach in eggs in 2 cups of wine and 2 cups of beef stock; add some herbs and garlic and shallots, reduce poaching liquid by half and beat in a buerre manié,* serve over canapés. Whaddya get? PURPLE EGGS. Oh–but the best tasting purple eggs you’ve ever had. This looks so weird, but it was absolutely lush, and *mwah!* suprême! Very subltle, and very… sensual. I dunno if the wine poach actually adds any flavor to the egg, or it’s a matter of a) why have two pots on the boil when you can have one? and b) startling the guests.

If you have small kids, it would be fun to serve this for Easter breakfast, and tell them that special purple eggs come from Easter eggs.

I only poached four of the eight eggs in the recipe, so I have a bunch of sauce left. I’ll definitely be eating this again this week!

*two tablespoons flour mixed into one-and-a-half tablespoons softened butter

Gigot à la Moutarde, pp. 335
Herb-Mustard Coated Roast Lamb
Crêpes de Pomme de Terre, pp. 521-22
Grated Potato Pancakes
Choux de Bruxelles Étuveés à la Crème, pp. 452
Creamed Brussells Sprouts

This lamb is super-simple, given it’s lush complexity of flavor. Whisk up some Dijon mustard, soy sauce, garlic and olive oil, slather it on the leg and shove it in the oven. That’s it. Well, ok, while the roast is resting you throw a cup of stock into the roasting pan, deglaze and boil it down a bit, and maybe throw in some butter to finish the sauce. TA-DA. It was wonderful, and the easiness made up for the potato pancakes. Those were a little more complex, with grated potatoes that have been squeezed dry, mixed with cheese and cream (and maybe cream cheese?) and sauteéd mushrooms and, er… some spices. I made them last week, so details are a little hazy. Sauté them up one-by-one in gobs and gobs of oil and butter. These were totally worth it, though, as this absolutely transforms the idea of a potato pancake — and wonderful to use as a bed for an egg dish, or like I did here, with slabs of delicious lamb.

Once again, I have to feel sorry for the Brussells sprout: the most misunderstood vegetable of the plant world. People really have to stop overcooking the poor things–you’d taste like a stale fart, too, if you’d been that mistreated! These were lightly blanched, then braised ten minutes in a little two tablespoons of butter, at which point a cup of boiling cream was added to the braise and cooked for an additional ten minutes. I was really sad that I hadn’t bought more sprouts, and we only got four each.

Pâté de Canard en Crôute, pp. 571-76
Boned Stuffed Duck in a Pastry Crust
Farce pour Pâtés, Terrines, et Galantines, pp 565-66
Pork and Veal Stuffing

[This dates from December; I served it at my parents' New Year's Eve party and just got the photos finally.]

I’ve been itching to make this ever since stumbling upon the illustrations when thumbing through the book:

That just looks so wierd and crazy that it can’t be resisted, right? To start out, you very carefully flay a duck, doing your level best to get the skin off in one piece. This is not as hard as it sounds, but you have to be careful–always blade towards the bone, and watch where you’re poking. I had a little additional sewing work to do when I was done, but I’m sure that next time I can get it cleanly. Take the duck meat off the carcass you’ve liberated from the skin, then mince it coarsely, seasoning with salt and pepper and a pinch of allspice. If you’re adding truffles–and why not?!–they go in now. Let the meat rest with the skin in a bit of brandy and port.

While that’s hanging out in the fridge, make the pork and veal stuffing from tenderloin, fat, brandy, and some salt and pepper. There’s some onions, eggs, and brandy in there, too. Lay out the duck skin (sewing up any knife mishaps) and layer in the middle the duck stuffing, then truffles, then the pork and veal stuffing. Sew up the skin, then truss it into a vague football shape… …and you’ve got Frankenduck:

If you can’t find a meat needle at your local market (HAHAHAHA), I found that a yarn needle did the trick. I half-plied the twine, so it wouldn’t be too harsh on the more delicate duck skin. Brown the duck football on all sides in peanut oil.

At this point, after my duck cooled, I let it rest in the fridge for a day or two to let the flavors meld and mellow, then froze it until the day of the party. Roll out your basic pastry dough, with enough to sort of bowl around the pâté and make a lid. You’re going to want to pinch the lid together with the base, but softly — that lid will need to come off, so you can de-string before serving. Create a little hole in the center top, stick a meat thermometer in it, and bake this gently for about an hour. I brushed it with an egg a few times during baking.

After it’s fully cooled –refrigerate it for a bit, so that it sets up, which will make it easier to deal with– gently break it open along the bottom edge of the seam. Remove the duck and remove all of its strings, et voilà!

I really recommend using the truffles, not that they made a huuuuge difference, but seriously–you may as well be hung for a wolf as a sheep. It’s certainly worth it, and I really didn’t want to be wondering, “wow, that was awesome, but… what if I had sprung for the truffle? If you’re going to be spending that much time and effort on a dish, rock it like a bastard!! Oh, and the response? Universally spectacular. If (when) I make one again, though, I’ll salt it a bit more – remember, you’re serving this cold, so it’s going to take more seasoning than you’d expect. Goes well with a French white wine, or champagne. Larger photos of this crazy thing here.

Sauté de Veau Marengo, pp. 360-63
Brown Veal Stew with Tomatoes and Mushrooms

The last of our veal stews. Similar to the others in basic structure, this has a more Provençal taste, relying on tomatoes instead of dairy to fill out the sauce. Sear the meat, brown the onions, deglaze with vermouth. Stir in tomatoes, herbs and garlic, and let it simmer in the oven for some time, then add the mushrooms. The stew was very nice with crunchy bread and egg noodles. While all the veal stews were very, very nice, I don’t know that they’re something that I’d really make much again: if I’ve got a taste for a stew, it’s far more likely to end up being from the all-star team–boeuf bourguignon or coq au vin. Still! Tasty.

Gigot de PréSaleé Rôti, pp. 332-333
Roast Leg of Lamb
Sauce Spéciale à l’Ail pour Gigot, pp. 334
Garlic Sauce for Roast Lamb

This is the first of many roast legs of lamb, and from here out we’re going to be hitting up Yasmin’s Halal for the meat; Jenifer Street Market evidently doesn’t have enough demand, and calls these little shank ends “leg of lamb” — and at $7.99/lb., that’s a LOT of bone. (Not to say that I don’t love JSM!)

The roast lamb here starts with the standard braise: sear the meat, then roast in the oven with roughly cut carrots and minced onions. While that’s roasting, simmer a head of garlic in some milk with some herbs; save that for deglazing, then pureé that later with the carrots and onions and juices from the roaster.* Hooooo, that lamb is so nice, and the sauce is perfect over cauliflower. I’m a little freaked out by how much lamb is coming up (eight? ten more?), but it looks like it’s going to be a delicious ride.

*I’m writing this from memory two days later and I may have missed something, I’ll fact-check later!

Oeufs à la Fondue de Fromage, pp. 118-19
Poached Eggs on Canapés with Cheese Fondue Sauce

Julia describes all of this and the other variations of ouefs sur canapés / ouefs en croustades as “a practically limitless series of little hot first courses or luncheon dishes.” They’d shine in such a fashion, but served with a nice tossed salad, they’re also an easy and charming supper after a long Saturday of cleaning and errands. We used her six-minute egg, which is recommended as alternative to poaching — after a long Saturday of cleaning and errands, shortcuts may be embraced when they present themselves! Even with the slightly putzy canapés, this is a really simple dish to whip up with pantry staples. Sauté some shallots, add a little garlic; throw in stock and wine and reduce… add a little cream, a little cornstarch, and a little Swiss cheese and correct the seasonings. Canapés + eggs + sauce + broiler, eh, with a little more cheese and butter. Ta-da, a sumptuous little dinner. We used a “rustic,” grainy French sandwich loaf for the canapés, which worked out really well – the nuttier texture was welcome against the velvet of the egg and sauce, and the slight sweetness worked well. This is so rich, though, that two eggs per person is almost a challenge – be sure to balance this with a salad and/or some fruit. I’m quite looking forward to the rest of this chapter!

Sunday was lazy and very pleasant; I got up early, made the beginnings of dinner, and sat down to knit and knit and knit during our Doctor Who marathon.

While I was busy knitting, Mr Dynagirl was busy in the kitchen making this absofuckinglutely fantabulous poppyseed cake with a custard lining and buttercream frosting.

Julia Child & Company
Fish Chowder, pp. ??
Before the cake made its debút, friends joined us for supper: one of my favorite soups, Julia’s fish chowder. It’s a snap to make if you use her suggestion of clam juice, and the only sinful thing is the croutons – though it’s heavenly and velvet. I’ve only made it once before but I think it’s going to be in a more regular winter rotation from here out.

Blanquette de Veau À l’Ancienne, p. 362
Veal Stew with Onions and Mushrooms

This was really good, but not great. (Jeepers! So spoiled!) The veal is simmered in a stock which is then made into a velouté enriched with egg yolk and cream. Between the simmered pearl onions, the velouté and the egg, it sounded a lot futzier in the book than it was in reality.