Apparently I have trust issues.
and maybe control issues.
I don't care. All the girls in my swing class apparently have the same issues. This apparently has to be corrected.
A movie came out in the last few years, whose name escapes me, in which a dance teacher is teaching a group of students how to dance. Two of the students are having problems learning how to waltz, so the teacher blindfolds the girl, tells her she has to learn to trust and tells the boy to take her on a walk, the scene fades to black as they slowly waltz around the gym. It's all terribly romantic and symbolic.
However, when the instructor says in an exasperated voice, "No, you're not following my lead. You have to stop anticipating what's coming next," wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead and takes a deep breath, and goes, "Close your eyes," it's nothing but terrifying.
First of all, when you're waltzing, as far as I can tell, you are always touching at some point, so the unlucky party with her eyes closed has some indication of where she is headed. In Lindy Hop, you get to do freestyling, you get to do things by yourself, which means you have to let go of your partner. So here I am, with my eyes closed, murmuring, "One, two, three AND four, five six, seven AND eight," to myself for dear life, while trying to remember to dance in a straight line so that I don't hit my partner; any other couple; or the post that was to my left when I closed my eyes but which may have moved in the meantime. It's a large post. It's a weight bearing post. It's has sharp corners. I am doing mulitiple pass-throughs and bys which entails a lot of spinning. I distinctly remember as a child that you got dizzier faster when you had your eyes shut. It still holds when you are an adult.
At last, I was able to open my eyes. Everything had moved and I was disoriented beyond belief. However, my dancing was now 'smoother'. I had 'improved'. I was just relieved. I was intact. I hadn't lost track of my steps. I hadn't hit anyone.
We hope the guys improve their ability to lead very quickly. Us girls don't want to dance with our eyes shut again. We were all terrified by the experience and it's affecting our ability to trust, which is just aggravating our apparent control issues.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Boiling Sugar
I picked the pot off the stove, took a deep breath, and dumped the contents on my kitchen counter. I had just poured a sugar mixture at a temperature of 235F onto my kitchen counter. I was nervous and questioning my sanity. Someone was going to get hurt. I was the only one around. The probablity of that someone being me was looking pretty high.
I had a cake that needed to be iced. The recipe called for it to be covered in jam and then iced with a fondant icing. Covering the cake with jam was relatively simple. You heated the jam up and then using a spoon, you scooped it onto the cake and started spreading it around.
The fondant seemed simple enough. You put in sugar and boiling water, brought it up to temperature without stirring and then dumped it on a marble slab. You worked it with a spatula until it cooled and then you kneaded it smooth. It was easy until you reached the dumping stage. I was missing the necessary marble or enamel slab. My mother assured me I could use the normal kitchen counter.
I scrubbed and cleaned off my counter. My knowledge of sugar mixtures is that they tend to pick things up. I bleached the counter. Then I realised that I was dumping food on top of it. I really didn't want bleach in my fondant. Luckily I have two counters. I cleaned the other one.
If you do not stir a sugar mixture, it stays clear. Sugar is fascinating. Just the way you handle it will totally change your final product. The way you stir or do not stir it, the temperature you bring it too and the way you treat it as it cools. Everything will affect the final product.
For the fondant, you put two cups of sugar in a pot, added a cup of boiling water, brought it up to 234F (clever readers will note that I let my mixture go above temperature. This is because I walked away when I should have been monitoring the temperature), and then poured it onto a surface.
At this point, you start playing with it. My main goal was to keep it in a central puddle so that I would have a smaller mess to clean up afterwards and I wasn't going to have boiling sugar all over my cupboard doors. As the mixture cools, it turns white and becomes creamy. You are told to work quickly which is silly as I'm not sure how you can get the mixture to cool down faster. You will see it crystallizing and losing its elasticity. At this point, you hope you have baker's hands and can pick the mixture up. You start kneading it and working it like dough. My thoughts were that it was homemade play-doh - but from sugar instead of the normal salt. I broke it into smaller pieces and worked it in my hands which seemed to be easier. Then as I had more smaller smooth sections, I worked them into a larger ball.
I am proud to report that I did not burn myself, although it wasn't from a lack of trying.
I had a cake that needed to be iced. The recipe called for it to be covered in jam and then iced with a fondant icing. Covering the cake with jam was relatively simple. You heated the jam up and then using a spoon, you scooped it onto the cake and started spreading it around.
The fondant seemed simple enough. You put in sugar and boiling water, brought it up to temperature without stirring and then dumped it on a marble slab. You worked it with a spatula until it cooled and then you kneaded it smooth. It was easy until you reached the dumping stage. I was missing the necessary marble or enamel slab. My mother assured me I could use the normal kitchen counter.
I scrubbed and cleaned off my counter. My knowledge of sugar mixtures is that they tend to pick things up. I bleached the counter. Then I realised that I was dumping food on top of it. I really didn't want bleach in my fondant. Luckily I have two counters. I cleaned the other one.
If you do not stir a sugar mixture, it stays clear. Sugar is fascinating. Just the way you handle it will totally change your final product. The way you stir or do not stir it, the temperature you bring it too and the way you treat it as it cools. Everything will affect the final product.
For the fondant, you put two cups of sugar in a pot, added a cup of boiling water, brought it up to 234F (clever readers will note that I let my mixture go above temperature. This is because I walked away when I should have been monitoring the temperature), and then poured it onto a surface.
At this point, you start playing with it. My main goal was to keep it in a central puddle so that I would have a smaller mess to clean up afterwards and I wasn't going to have boiling sugar all over my cupboard doors. As the mixture cools, it turns white and becomes creamy. You are told to work quickly which is silly as I'm not sure how you can get the mixture to cool down faster. You will see it crystallizing and losing its elasticity. At this point, you hope you have baker's hands and can pick the mixture up. You start kneading it and working it like dough. My thoughts were that it was homemade play-doh - but from sugar instead of the normal salt. I broke it into smaller pieces and worked it in my hands which seemed to be easier. Then as I had more smaller smooth sections, I worked them into a larger ball.
I am proud to report that I did not burn myself, although it wasn't from a lack of trying.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Feline Tastes
I did not grow up with a cat, but I was taught that vegetables and fruit were essential for your corporal health. Thus, when I acquired my cat, I had no preconceived notions of what constituted normal cat behaviour. I did have the idea that vegetation would be good for it. I also thought that introducing it to green stuff should be done as soon as possible.
My method was to take a tiny piece of whatever vegetable I was having and offer it to my kitten. Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, peas, she tried them all. The day she ate multiple lima beans, I was ecstatic! I dislike lima beans and I had inadvertently bought the bag of frozen vegetables with lima beans. I had found a way of disposing of them without wasting them.
Then my mother found out. Despite having forced me to eat numerous sorts of vegetables and assuring me it was for my own good, she adamantly told me to stop. "Cats don't eat vegetables!" As she was currently looking after my cat at the time, I was powerless to stop the narrowing of my cat's diet.
My cat now does not remember that she prefers broccoli to cauliflower, that she thinks she likes peas, but doesn't. She does however, most emphatically, remember apples and is convinced that they are wonderful.
Biting into an apple will bring her from her current hiding spot to your side. She will wind herself around your legs if you are walking and follow you around until you reach the core. If you are sitting, she will try and help herself to the apple, one paw held out in a gentle appeal. She monitors the progression of the apple eating, watching the shrinking core. When the core stage is reached and the core is held out to her, she tilts her head, and starts on the business of eating the apple. The edges of the core are scrapped of with her teeth, while the rest is slowly rasped away by her tongue. Sometimes she puts a paw up to assist, but the entire attitude is one of sheer bliss.
I hear frequently in relation to my cat, "I've never seen a cat do that before." Which I take to mean, the person hasn't met someone previously who had tried it.
My cat may not be a normal cat, but she and I don't know any different. We're convinced she's a perfectly normal feline.
My method was to take a tiny piece of whatever vegetable I was having and offer it to my kitten. Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, peas, she tried them all. The day she ate multiple lima beans, I was ecstatic! I dislike lima beans and I had inadvertently bought the bag of frozen vegetables with lima beans. I had found a way of disposing of them without wasting them.
Then my mother found out. Despite having forced me to eat numerous sorts of vegetables and assuring me it was for my own good, she adamantly told me to stop. "Cats don't eat vegetables!" As she was currently looking after my cat at the time, I was powerless to stop the narrowing of my cat's diet.
My cat now does not remember that she prefers broccoli to cauliflower, that she thinks she likes peas, but doesn't. She does however, most emphatically, remember apples and is convinced that they are wonderful.
Biting into an apple will bring her from her current hiding spot to your side. She will wind herself around your legs if you are walking and follow you around until you reach the core. If you are sitting, she will try and help herself to the apple, one paw held out in a gentle appeal. She monitors the progression of the apple eating, watching the shrinking core. When the core stage is reached and the core is held out to her, she tilts her head, and starts on the business of eating the apple. The edges of the core are scrapped of with her teeth, while the rest is slowly rasped away by her tongue. Sometimes she puts a paw up to assist, but the entire attitude is one of sheer bliss.
I hear frequently in relation to my cat, "I've never seen a cat do that before." Which I take to mean, the person hasn't met someone previously who had tried it.
My cat may not be a normal cat, but she and I don't know any different. We're convinced she's a perfectly normal feline.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Wake Up!
This morning I was complaining to my brother about how my cat had woken me up. She leap frogs off my stomach onto me bedside table which she then proceeds to clear. She's very adroit with pushing things off with her paw. This morning she did her routine at 3am. By 7am, we weren't on speaking terms.
My brother had one sole question, "Did you check your e-mail? GO Check it." I did. I wasn't as impressed with the coincidence as he was. But then it's funnier when it's not happening to you.
My brother had one sole question, "Did you check your e-mail? GO Check it." I did. I wasn't as impressed with the coincidence as he was. But then it's funnier when it's not happening to you.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Old Vienna III
It's amazing how desensitized you become very quickly. Take eggs for example. Up until now, a good standard cake recipe took two or three eggs. A souffle took more but that was to be expected and you didn't serve it everyday.
I'm having guests on Saturday. They opted to come for dessert. They don't know about my new cook book so I'm a wondering why they didn't want to come for the full fledged meal. They've been before. They survived. They said they enjoyed it. No matter, I had an occasion to use my new cook book. I could spring it on them.
I spent several evening going through the cake section of the book. I was trying to decide whether I should cook a layer cake - using 6 separate cake pans - or one where you had to cut it into three even sized layers. I mused over the different flavour combinations and the different construction techniques. And I noticed my tolerance level for the number of eggs used increasing, 5 eggs, 7 eggs, 8 eggs, 9 eggs and counting. When I finally settled on a recipe, I had reached the 10 egg level. Not that the fact that I needed 10 eggs bothered me, I was annoyed by the fact that I needed 8 egg yolks and 10 egg whites. What type of recipe, other than meringue, doesn't use up the yolks and whites in equal proportions?
I had decided to embark on a Sachertorte. A quick google search revealed it to be a famous recipe from a hotel of which the original is a heavily guarded secret. None of the knock-offs I could find were as rich as mine. Then again, the author of my book seems to think that everyone had their own personal hen coop. The cinching factor was that my book said the original Sachertorte was not cut in half. I decided to ignore the fact that every other recipe had two halves. Squinting at the picture on the hotel's website also revealed it had filling in the middle of the slice. Bah! They don't know what they're talking about!
So last night I went and bought eggs.
Tonight I separated 10 eggs. I managed to drop the shell halves in the yolk and a yolk in the whites. I got it out whole and started breathing again. I had choosen my bowl for the whites carefully. Egg whites get big when beaten stiff and I imagined 10 egg whites would be huge. They were.
By the end, I realised I was making a giant chocolate souffle. Except that I have to let it rest for 2 days and then I get to smother it with fondant.
Which reminds me, I have to figure out how one makes fondant.
I hope my guests like ice cream. It may be all they're getting.
I'm having guests on Saturday. They opted to come for dessert. They don't know about my new cook book so I'm a wondering why they didn't want to come for the full fledged meal. They've been before. They survived. They said they enjoyed it. No matter, I had an occasion to use my new cook book. I could spring it on them.
I spent several evening going through the cake section of the book. I was trying to decide whether I should cook a layer cake - using 6 separate cake pans - or one where you had to cut it into three even sized layers. I mused over the different flavour combinations and the different construction techniques. And I noticed my tolerance level for the number of eggs used increasing, 5 eggs, 7 eggs, 8 eggs, 9 eggs and counting. When I finally settled on a recipe, I had reached the 10 egg level. Not that the fact that I needed 10 eggs bothered me, I was annoyed by the fact that I needed 8 egg yolks and 10 egg whites. What type of recipe, other than meringue, doesn't use up the yolks and whites in equal proportions?
I had decided to embark on a Sachertorte. A quick google search revealed it to be a famous recipe from a hotel of which the original is a heavily guarded secret. None of the knock-offs I could find were as rich as mine. Then again, the author of my book seems to think that everyone had their own personal hen coop. The cinching factor was that my book said the original Sachertorte was not cut in half. I decided to ignore the fact that every other recipe had two halves. Squinting at the picture on the hotel's website also revealed it had filling in the middle of the slice. Bah! They don't know what they're talking about!
So last night I went and bought eggs.
Tonight I separated 10 eggs. I managed to drop the shell halves in the yolk and a yolk in the whites. I got it out whole and started breathing again. I had choosen my bowl for the whites carefully. Egg whites get big when beaten stiff and I imagined 10 egg whites would be huge. They were.
By the end, I realised I was making a giant chocolate souffle. Except that I have to let it rest for 2 days and then I get to smother it with fondant.
Which reminds me, I have to figure out how one makes fondant.
I hope my guests like ice cream. It may be all they're getting.
Old Vienna II
My new cookbook is fantastic, in just about all senses of the word. I'm already planning when I can spring the recipes on some unsuspecting guests.
You want a recipe for frog's legs? I have two.
You've always wondered how to cook eel, I can tell you how to cook them in beer or serve it smoked in a salad.
You're about to serve deviled eggs at a buffet or luncheon. How passe. Why you can do better than that! What about eggs stuffed with caviar, shrimp, smoked salmon, or goose liver pate? or even sardines or anchovies? or asparagus , if strikes your fancy?
I can tell you how to clarify your stocks for soup, both simply and with a bit more effort.
I know how to cook guinea hens, pheasants and quail.
I have a recipe for a Meringue to beat all Meringues. Let's just say it's constructed over a period of days and I wouldn't want to be in charge of cutting it.
I've learned that if you add some form of alcohol and light it, it makes a difference. (Case in point, broil mushrooms brushed with butter, then stick them in a pan, add brandy and flame it.) Cream is to be added to everything of which you can think and that eggs are in endless supply. These are the types of recipes you wouldn't dare use margarine instead of butter. Somehow you know that it wouldn't quite work.
I'm dying to try individual portion souffles cooked in tomatoes. I can make souffle so I think I can handle it.
Or for a simple option, Cheese Toast I - quickly dip 6 slices of 2-day old bread in white wine, place in a baking dish, cover with 1/2 cup grated Parmesan with 1 beaten egg and salt and pepper to taste, dot with butter and pop in a moderate oven (350F) until it is golden brown.
I mean, really why not? Other than lacking two key ingredients, I'd have tried it on the spot.
I now have a giant bottle of red plonk gracing my counter tops, for cooking purposes only. I've learned that a dash of wine will make the difference. I made a meat pie based on phone instructions from my Mum with a Viennese twist. I added a good slosh of red wine and used real butter. It was fabulous and I almost cried when it was gone.
This is definitely my favourite cook book.
You want a recipe for frog's legs? I have two.
You've always wondered how to cook eel, I can tell you how to cook them in beer or serve it smoked in a salad.
You're about to serve deviled eggs at a buffet or luncheon. How passe. Why you can do better than that! What about eggs stuffed with caviar, shrimp, smoked salmon, or goose liver pate? or even sardines or anchovies? or asparagus , if strikes your fancy?
I can tell you how to clarify your stocks for soup, both simply and with a bit more effort.
I know how to cook guinea hens, pheasants and quail.
I have a recipe for a Meringue to beat all Meringues. Let's just say it's constructed over a period of days and I wouldn't want to be in charge of cutting it.
I've learned that if you add some form of alcohol and light it, it makes a difference. (Case in point, broil mushrooms brushed with butter, then stick them in a pan, add brandy and flame it.) Cream is to be added to everything of which you can think and that eggs are in endless supply. These are the types of recipes you wouldn't dare use margarine instead of butter. Somehow you know that it wouldn't quite work.
I'm dying to try individual portion souffles cooked in tomatoes. I can make souffle so I think I can handle it.
Or for a simple option, Cheese Toast I - quickly dip 6 slices of 2-day old bread in white wine, place in a baking dish, cover with 1/2 cup grated Parmesan with 1 beaten egg and salt and pepper to taste, dot with butter and pop in a moderate oven (350F) until it is golden brown.
I mean, really why not? Other than lacking two key ingredients, I'd have tried it on the spot.
I now have a giant bottle of red plonk gracing my counter tops, for cooking purposes only. I've learned that a dash of wine will make the difference. I made a meat pie based on phone instructions from my Mum with a Viennese twist. I added a good slosh of red wine and used real butter. It was fabulous and I almost cried when it was gone.
This is definitely my favourite cook book.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Parity
I love parity.
I just put on a load of laundry. As I went to put my coins into the machine, I realised to my horror that one of them was a US quarter. I considered for a few brief seconds, taking the trek back to my place to get a proper Canadian quarter. I wasn't wasting a perfectly good US quarter on laundry.
Then it hit me.
Parity, yes sweet parity.
My US quarter was worth less than a Canadian one. By a few mili-cents, my load of laundry was going to be cheaper. Gone are the days of fishing out US coins and setting them aside, due to their superior monetary strength. The honors now go to the Canadian coins. I'm going to start passing my US change at the check-out. Think of the savings!
I love parity.
I just put on a load of laundry. As I went to put my coins into the machine, I realised to my horror that one of them was a US quarter. I considered for a few brief seconds, taking the trek back to my place to get a proper Canadian quarter. I wasn't wasting a perfectly good US quarter on laundry.
Then it hit me.
Parity, yes sweet parity.
My US quarter was worth less than a Canadian one. By a few mili-cents, my load of laundry was going to be cheaper. Gone are the days of fishing out US coins and setting them aside, due to their superior monetary strength. The honors now go to the Canadian coins. I'm going to start passing my US change at the check-out. Think of the savings!
I love parity.
Swing
I and twelve of my friends are taking swing lessons. We had some idea of learning how to dance. We thought it might be fun. Some of us had tried a bit of West Coast Swing and had convinced the others.
The lesson started out with a brief therapy session in which we had to admit to everyone present why we wanted to learn to dance. And thus started the blame session, "I'm here because so-and-so made me come." However, one girl was very brave and admitted that she was there because she could not dance, full stop. Her husband however loves to dance. "At our wedding last year, we had a sit-down dinner and no dance, because I can't dance." Her husband swung round to look at her, "That's why?!!"
After everyone had blamed their everyone else, we started on the lesson. We all quickly learned that our declarations of having two left feet were not idle boasts. Every time a new step got added, there would be a mild panic attack followed by a rebellion. At least on the girls's side of the room. The guys seemed to be handle the new information better, they just didn't take it on board. The girls overreacted.
We handled the rock step, we handled the triple step. It was around this time that we discovered that we are learning Lindy Hop, not West Coast Swing. Lindy Hop is very different from West Coast Swing. All the guys got excited. They wanted to know at what point they got to throw their partner's around. The girls all went white. None were going to volunteer to be dropped on their head.
By the end of the class, we were all ecstatic about what we had learned. We had learned the basic step and one move. Well, not that we could do the move. We were still doing it in stop-motion. However, we all felt that our marginal improvement had been great.
One day, we might be as good as Doug and Dax.
The lesson started out with a brief therapy session in which we had to admit to everyone present why we wanted to learn to dance. And thus started the blame session, "I'm here because so-and-so made me come." However, one girl was very brave and admitted that she was there because she could not dance, full stop. Her husband however loves to dance. "At our wedding last year, we had a sit-down dinner and no dance, because I can't dance." Her husband swung round to look at her, "That's why?!!"
After everyone had blamed their everyone else, we started on the lesson. We all quickly learned that our declarations of having two left feet were not idle boasts. Every time a new step got added, there would be a mild panic attack followed by a rebellion. At least on the girls's side of the room. The guys seemed to be handle the new information better, they just didn't take it on board. The girls overreacted.
We handled the rock step, we handled the triple step. It was around this time that we discovered that we are learning Lindy Hop, not West Coast Swing. Lindy Hop is very different from West Coast Swing. All the guys got excited. They wanted to know at what point they got to throw their partner's around. The girls all went white. None were going to volunteer to be dropped on their head.
By the end of the class, we were all ecstatic about what we had learned. We had learned the basic step and one move. Well, not that we could do the move. We were still doing it in stop-motion. However, we all felt that our marginal improvement had been great.
One day, we might be as good as Doug and Dax.
Old Vienna
I was in Chapter's chatting on the phone to my Mum. I was in the cookbook section and browsing through the various books. I listened with half an ear as I tried to decide if I really did need a receipe book all on brownies, "say Mum, what about this one?" As it was about the sixth book I'd asked her about, she took a deep breath, "Where exactly are you going to put all these books and when are you going to find the time to make the recipes? Get out of the section!" I sighed, the pictures were so pretty. She did have a point. I wandered out of the section.
I was recently in a used book store, a posh one, and I started browsing the cookbook section. There was a lovely thick, blue hardbacked book with gold left on the front, "Gourmet's Old Vienna Cookbook." I cracked it open and started flipping through it. Various recipes caught my eye. Interesting . . . but I did not need another cookbook. Besides, if I was to be honest with myself, I had no idea what Viennese cooking encompassed. I put it back. Then just before I left the section, I pulled it back out. I opened it again and landed on the most amazing recipe for chicken. It was called beautiful chicken. Reading the recipe, I became absorbed in the incredibly lengthy and complicated process. Yet it all sounded so easy and absolutely delicious. I read the next recipe. It too sounded amazing. The pictures were few and far between. Today's cookbooks have lots of glossy pictures because the recipes are rather boring. This book had no need for pictures. The recipe was enough. I flipped to the front cover. $20. For $20, I could dream that I would one day have the patience and the skill and more to the point, the time, to make these types of recipes. And the friends that would truly appreciate what they were eating, without bringing up their latest diet.
I present "A Beautiful Chicken" or "Schone Poularde"
Wash, dry, salt, and truss a 5- to 6- pound roasting chicken and place it in a deep kettle. Pour over it 1/2 cup warm brandy and set the spirit aflame. When the flame dies down, pour over the chicken 3 cups chicken stock, and add 1 carrot, 2 onions, and 2 stalks of celery, all cut into pieces. Simmer the chicken, covered, until it is a little more than half cooked, about 45 minutes. Remove the chicken and keep it warm.
Strain the stock and reduce it somewhat. Add 1 cup red wine and continue reducing the liquid until there is only 1 cup. Melt 2 tablespoons butter, blend in 2 tablespoons flour, and cook the roux, stirring, until it is brown. Stir in the chicken stock and wine, add 1 teaspoon tomato paste, and season the sauce to taste.
Remove the skin from the chicken. Spread the chicken with 1/2 cup goose liver pate and sprinkle it with salt and pepper. Roll our pie dough into a sheet large enough to enclose the chicken. Spread on the dough 1/4 pound button mushrooms, chopped and sauteed in butter. Wrap the dough around the chicken and press the seam firmly. Paint the top of the dough with 1 egg yolk beaten with 1 tablespoon water. Cut a vent in the dough and bake the chicken in a buttered roasting pan in a hot oven (400F) for 30 minutes, or unti lthe crust is golden brown.
Halve 6 hard-cooked eggs and mash the yolks with 1/2 cup goose liver pate. Add salt and pepper to taste. Press the mixture into the egg whites through a pastry bag fitted with a fluted tube. Place the "beautiful chicken" on a platter. Arrange the warm stuffed eggs around it and garnish the platter with water cress. Serve the hot sauce separately.
I know. Amazing isn't it? I have a 600 page recipe book jammed with recipes designed to make you drool. You try and leave that on the shelf of the store.
I was recently in a used book store, a posh one, and I started browsing the cookbook section. There was a lovely thick, blue hardbacked book with gold left on the front, "Gourmet's Old Vienna Cookbook." I cracked it open and started flipping through it. Various recipes caught my eye. Interesting . . . but I did not need another cookbook. Besides, if I was to be honest with myself, I had no idea what Viennese cooking encompassed. I put it back. Then just before I left the section, I pulled it back out. I opened it again and landed on the most amazing recipe for chicken. It was called beautiful chicken. Reading the recipe, I became absorbed in the incredibly lengthy and complicated process. Yet it all sounded so easy and absolutely delicious. I read the next recipe. It too sounded amazing. The pictures were few and far between. Today's cookbooks have lots of glossy pictures because the recipes are rather boring. This book had no need for pictures. The recipe was enough. I flipped to the front cover. $20. For $20, I could dream that I would one day have the patience and the skill and more to the point, the time, to make these types of recipes. And the friends that would truly appreciate what they were eating, without bringing up their latest diet.
I present "A Beautiful Chicken" or "Schone Poularde"
Wash, dry, salt, and truss a 5- to 6- pound roasting chicken and place it in a deep kettle. Pour over it 1/2 cup warm brandy and set the spirit aflame. When the flame dies down, pour over the chicken 3 cups chicken stock, and add 1 carrot, 2 onions, and 2 stalks of celery, all cut into pieces. Simmer the chicken, covered, until it is a little more than half cooked, about 45 minutes. Remove the chicken and keep it warm.
Strain the stock and reduce it somewhat. Add 1 cup red wine and continue reducing the liquid until there is only 1 cup. Melt 2 tablespoons butter, blend in 2 tablespoons flour, and cook the roux, stirring, until it is brown. Stir in the chicken stock and wine, add 1 teaspoon tomato paste, and season the sauce to taste.
Remove the skin from the chicken. Spread the chicken with 1/2 cup goose liver pate and sprinkle it with salt and pepper. Roll our pie dough into a sheet large enough to enclose the chicken. Spread on the dough 1/4 pound button mushrooms, chopped and sauteed in butter. Wrap the dough around the chicken and press the seam firmly. Paint the top of the dough with 1 egg yolk beaten with 1 tablespoon water. Cut a vent in the dough and bake the chicken in a buttered roasting pan in a hot oven (400F) for 30 minutes, or unti lthe crust is golden brown.
Halve 6 hard-cooked eggs and mash the yolks with 1/2 cup goose liver pate. Add salt and pepper to taste. Press the mixture into the egg whites through a pastry bag fitted with a fluted tube. Place the "beautiful chicken" on a platter. Arrange the warm stuffed eggs around it and garnish the platter with water cress. Serve the hot sauce separately.
I know. Amazing isn't it? I have a 600 page recipe book jammed with recipes designed to make you drool. You try and leave that on the shelf of the store.