The Ironic Mullet :: Lee Ann Westover

The most beautiful thing in the world: Pâte à Choux.

 A week ago, I was in Winston-Salem, NC. After drinking away a fair part of the afternoon at Swaim's, I wobbled off to the bathroom. As I emptied the tanks, my camera fell out of my pocket onto the pretty tile floor. This happened three times, I think. crash.crash.clatter.

As a result, the shutter button popped off and rolled under something, ne'er to be seen again. My camera is unusable, so you may notice that I have had to start holding things up to my Mac's camera to get a shot. Let's call it arte de circumstance. The other shots are Blackberry. Let's hope the bf pities me and gets me a nice picture-taker for my B-day! hint hint

Yesterday, I bought RATIO by Michael Ruhlman. I read The Soul of a Chef last week & loved it, so I felt secure ponying up $27.99 for this one (worth it!). Ruhlman loves good food and the process of making it as much as my girl Ruthie. He's also a bit of a populist, as he relishes in sharing the secrets of the professional kitchen with us amateurs.

Watch and love: http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m3G89VVK53YPXK

On the subway last night, I read about Pâte à Choux. I have a longstanding love of profiteroles and Beard Papa, but I never thought I could make a puff on my own.

Ruhlman corrected me in the first paragraph of Part One, Section One, Chapter Six:

Pâte à Choux is one of the coolest flour-and-water preparations in the kitchen. It is easy to make, delicious all by itself, can be a pedestal for any number of sweet or savory ingredients, can be cooked in the oven, in water, in oil (with each type of heat creating different and wonderful effects), and can be featured at virtually any part of the meal. In spite of these features, it's not typically a part of the home cook's repertoire. Why? I have no idea, and I hope it changes.

Such encouraging words, no? I had all the ingredients on hand, so I took a stab at Gougères this morning. (CHEESEY POUFS!!)

I brought 1 cup of water to a boil with 1/2 tsp salt and 1 stick of buttah...all in a lil' enameled Dutch oven. Once boiled, I lowered the heat to a simmer, added 1 cup of flour, and stirred. Wonder of wonder! before my eyes a thick shiny batter formed. I took a taste...so smooth and rich!

I turned off the heat and let the pot sit for a minute while I prepped my cookie sheet. I am not fancy enough to keep parchment paper on hand, so I just gave it a lil' spray with Pam (olive oil). I also preheated the oven to 425 Fahrenheit.

I turned back to the pot, and added 4 eggs that I had previously cracked and beaten slightly...a little bit at a time...constantly stirring. WONDER OF WONDER! The eggs cooked in the hot batter, making it even shinier and richer than before! The texture became positively silky, sensuous and sexy. I shit you not. I was also gently overwhelmed that I could create something so gorgeous and took a moment to wipe away a solitary tear.

To make the dough into Gougères, I added 1/2 cup of grated Parmesan cheese (as we Americans like to spell it) and about a tablespoon of badass herbes de provence the a friend of ours had brought for me from France itself.

A quick stir and I was ready to go.

I plopped lil' golf balls of batter on the cookie sheet, smoothed down peaks with wet fingers, as my boy Ruhlman instructs.

12 fit on my sheet...

I baked them for 10 minutes at 425, then turned the heat down to 350 for another 15.

And the end result? I would let you taste but they are all gone.

Just kidding! Take one!!!!
<--see my tiny-ass kitchen in the background?

I think next I'll tackle veal consommé! 

Go buy the book and start experimenting...my boy Michael Ruhlman would get mad at me if I typed all the ratios out here. We cant have that. He would never invite me for pizza.

Holla Mike! I am free Sunday!

Xenophobia, Ahoy!

There's this place in New York that I am absolutely fascinated by. It's called a "Lye-bar-y" or "Rye-bri-ar-y" or...wait..."LIBRARY!" That's it. Library.

Anyhoo, they let anyone go in, pick out any books that they want and take them home! Isn't that just the silliest thing you've ever heard? I went yesterday and took some for myself. I keep waiting for someone to call and say "Oh pitiful minion! I am the great rich bastard in the sky! I do not profit from this arrangement! Return mine books so I can sell them to you!"

Among my random finds (I just grabbed anything that looked interesting) I picked up this little gem:

The Clumsiest People in Europe or: Mrs. Mortimer's Bad-Tempered Guide to the Victorian World
Edited by Todd Pruzan, Pulled from the writings of Mrs. Favell Lee Mortimer

According to the lengthy and entertaining introduction, Mr. Todd was browsing through the stacks of a dusty bookstore when he happened upon a few of Mrs. Mortimer's Travel Guides from the mid 1800s. He picked them up, read a few lines, started to chuckle and bought them all.

Upon bringing them home, he read the books to friends, and everyone shared a hearty laugh at passages like:

There are very few people as harmless and quiet as the Icelanders. They are dull and slow, but they are honest and true. They are fond of working and reading, and are not fond of riot and folly.
    They are never idle when they can help it. It is a pity they do not spend a little of their time in keeping their houses and themselves sweet and clean. (ED: OMG!)

or

    ...if you could see what crowds of miserable beggars here are in Italy. It is quite unpleasant to see the poor creatures in troops, clothed in filthy rags, many of them with bad sores, others with broken backs or legs. They follow strangers about from place to place. When money is given to these poor creatures, they are not as thankful as the Irish beggars are. (ED: Nice touch at the end there Mrs. Mortimer...OMFG!!!!)

As Mr. Todd kept reading these passages to his pals, the humor of it faded and was replaced by a heavy heart. Mr's Mortimer was, in her day, a successful writer, whose books were disseminated throughout the British Empire. This was, all-in-all, a very common point of view in the "civilized" world.

It's a nasty thing to read a few of these chapters and realize we are living through another very Xenophobic period, only this time not so much propagated by such wide-reaching ignorance, but by wide-reaching fear. I hope that if in 2150 should someone happen upon a guide to the world's cultures written in 2008, they can share a good chuckle over the various keep-em-out walls and interrogation camps our governments employ today.  After all, life is always sunny in the future! ("Imagine! They hadn't even managed to have anyone but a white dude as president! Remember 'blogs?' Those silly little people from the past!")

I'll leave you with a quote for the ages that we would all do well to remember as we go towards a fresh presidency and the magnanimous, borderless societies of 2150:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.”
- Mark Twain*

Cuz that's why I go on vacation. Not for me...oh no.

It's for you! The People! For our greater good!

PS: Don't say I won't give props where props is due. Mrs. Mortimer gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling for a moment when I read her opinion of New York City:

    New York is the chief city [of the United States of America]. It contains about a quarter as many people as London. It is much more beautiful, for it has neither smoke nor fog, but enjoys a clear and brilliant sunshine. In warmth it is like Spain or Italy.
    There is in New York a very broad street, called Broadway, planted with trees; it is two miles long. It is thronged with splendid carriages, and people elegantly dressed.

The Nasty Bits

Watching: Ronin

I am a drooling fan of chef Anthony Bourdain's TV show, No Reservations. The man in my life doesn't get it at all. I don't think he can get past the parts in which Bourdain eats far eastern entrails sautéed in chili sauce, or drinks whisky used to marinate an entire chicken. I love to see the places he goes, I love to watch him get drunk and be forced to dance, I love the friends he seems to have all over the world, I love that so much of the show is shot at night. (Hangover?) All the nasty bits on the show are just part and parcel of the whole mood which ...yes...I love.

I just came off reading Heat by Bill Buford, so I am on a bit of a food jag with my reading material. Buford is such a marvelous writer that the book immediately insinuated itself into my daily life. For at least a week, all I could think about in idle moments was the feeling one must get whilst sliding one's index finger between the muscles of a butchered cow. I am sorry, that was gross, but that is what Buford did to me! He made it sound romantic! Sooooooo, when I picked up The Nasty Bits, I thought I might get more of the same. Perhaps Bourdain would share such joyful stories of entrail eating that I might come away with a desire to do the same ridiculous thing.

SADLY FOR ME, Bourdain doesn't really go there that much. It seems like most of the essays (prepared for various publications and collected here) outline in detail why being a hard-living booze-swilling kitchen professional makes one a super badass punk-rocker in the noblest profession. On the relationship between pleasure and food:

...next time you find yourself out late and spy a chef, after work, drunkenly and maniacally bobbing to an old AC/DC tune, well on the way to being seen in flagrante delicto with the hostess from your previous dinner. The chef isn't fooling around, or letting off steam, or even behaving inappropriately. The chef is just fulfilling a responsibility to fully understand the subject: doing research.

Let me be clear: Bourdain is a really effective writer. This is his 7th book. His language is florid and creative, and his pacing is pretty golden. He's clearly takes pleasure in it. I just keep getting the feeling that he's still a teenager somewhere in there, and that being bad is still the same thing as being happy or being cool. I must be square, because I don't buy it anymore. Believe you me, I eat the rich foods, go out to see music and guzzle wine when I have the chance, but I think I have moved on from a punk-rock rebel mindset, so reading this book is a little bit like trying to talk politics with a passionate 17 year old. There is a lot to think about and explore, but it's buried a bit by the passion. Geez, that makes me sound so lame.

I am sad there will be no more Harry Potter

...but also relieved! I mean, how many young adult fantasy series have started out strong, only to wither and get annoying after volume 20? (Xanth, anyone?)

I think JK was right to do what she did for the record. Kill off the story, but let our beloved Harry live. Nuts to those who would rather see our friend dead and bloodied.

(Listening to: Wilco, "Sky Blue Sky")

Whilst nurturing my burgeoning Facebook addiction, a friend messaged me that he had seen my "books i like" list and noted that I enjoy Harry Potter. He then went on to recommend Diana Wynne Jones' "The Dark Lord of Derkholm" to me. YAY to him. What a fun book!

I just wrote a lengthly theater review, so I am not in the mood to synopsize. (Forgive!)

Publishers Weekly writes:

On a par with Jones's best (Charmed Life; Fire and Hemlock), this expansive novel manages to be both an affectionate send-up of the sword-and-sorcery genre and a thrilling fantasy adventure in its own right. Something is decidedly rotten in the enchantment-laden world in which teenage fledgling wizard Blade has grown up. Each year, the country's magical agrarian economy is disrupted by the Pilgrim Parties?tourists from a world much like ours, come in search of Tolkienesque adventure. Organized by the sinister and implacably bureaucratic Mr. Chesney ("A Dark Lord's citadel must always be a black castle with a labyrinthine interior lit by baleful fire?you will find our specifications in the guide Mr. Addis will give you"), the Pilgrim Parties are in fact highly choreographed package tours. The local population is bullied, cajoled and paid hard cash to participate, all because of a deal struck with a demon some 40 years ago. This year's appointee to the onerous post of Dark Lord (who must act as chief villain and tour-coordinator) is Blade's mild-mannered father, Derk, who would far rather spend his time creating marvelous new animals (he already has flying pigs, talking horses and clever geese). When an encounter with a dragon puts Derk out of commission, Blade's entire family including his five griffin siblings must help. As elaborate charades are staged for the tours, a deeper magic also emerges which (in combination with some hilariously banal legalities) offers the hope of release from Mr. Chesney's domination. Thought-provoking and utterly engaging, this tour-de-force succeeds on numerous levels. The marvelously characterized griffins are a particularly noteworthy pleasure.

Who thinks of a plot like that? DWJ that's who.

I also love that it's long. Took me a week! I read too fast for short books. That said, I am off to start "Howl's Moving Castle," a shorter Diana Wynne Jones Book. It is from this book that Hayao Miyazaki made his animated film of the same title. Haven't seen it? See it!

Off to the library, stalkers! See you there!