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“Every woman swoons over a man walking out of a lake in a white shirt. It's a universal truth.”
― Jane of Austin
― Jane of Austin
“We were also in Chicago at the same time, and we agreed about our future. (This is back before we were married. The constant agreeing ends, like three minutes after the ceremony. Two if you're both Italian.)”
― Reservations for Two
― Reservations for Two
“~ FRENCH APPLE CAKE WITH ALMONDS ~
I like a mix of apples, some firm and tangy, others soft and sweeter for a bit of variety. Whatever you do, do not spice the cake! Cinnamon and nutmeg do not belong in a French cake.
Serve with crème fraîche to be French, but freshly whipped cream or homemade ice cream won't taste bad either.”
― A Table by the Window
I like a mix of apples, some firm and tangy, others soft and sweeter for a bit of variety. Whatever you do, do not spice the cake! Cinnamon and nutmeg do not belong in a French cake.
Serve with crème fraîche to be French, but freshly whipped cream or homemade ice cream won't taste bad either.”
― A Table by the Window
“Bread, milk and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world.
----LEIGH HUNT”
― Reservations for Two
----LEIGH HUNT”
― Reservations for Two
“Why didn't I feel like this when we were actually together?"
"Maybe... maybe your mango wasn't ripe."
I squinted at Cat. "I'm not following. You're going to have to take me there."
"There's a part in You've Got Mail when Kathleen and Joe have been hanging out together. Joe knows their online identities, but she doesn't. And they go to the farmers' market, and before parting ways she says, 'I hope your mango's ripe,' and he gives her this considering look and tells her that he thinks it is."
"That is a very obscure reference."
"The point is, the mango was a metaphor for their relationship. He'd waited until she'd grown and softened under the sunlight, and once she'd gotten there, he made his move---both before and after revealing his identity.”
― Together at the Table
"Maybe... maybe your mango wasn't ripe."
I squinted at Cat. "I'm not following. You're going to have to take me there."
"There's a part in You've Got Mail when Kathleen and Joe have been hanging out together. Joe knows their online identities, but she doesn't. And they go to the farmers' market, and before parting ways she says, 'I hope your mango's ripe,' and he gives her this considering look and tells her that he thinks it is."
"That is a very obscure reference."
"The point is, the mango was a metaphor for their relationship. He'd waited until she'd grown and softened under the sunlight, and once she'd gotten there, he made his move---both before and after revealing his identity.”
― Together at the Table
“Without being fully aware of what I was doing, I flipped the lights on in my kitchen and began to measure out chicken stock and arborio rice.
The butternut squash in my pantry found itself quartered and set to roast in the oven. I plucked a few leaves of sage from my kitchen herb garden and minced them fine. Butter, shallots, rice, and herbs. Roasted squash and parmesan. The risotto took shape, its savory scent filling my apartment.”
― A Table by the Window
The butternut squash in my pantry found itself quartered and set to roast in the oven. I plucked a few leaves of sage from my kitchen herb garden and minced them fine. Butter, shallots, rice, and herbs. Roasted squash and parmesan. The risotto took shape, its savory scent filling my apartment.”
― A Table by the Window
“All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.
---CHARLES M. SCHULZ”
― A Table by the Window
---CHARLES M. SCHULZ”
― A Table by the Window
“Over the next two hours, we sampled from cheese plates, charcuterie platters, salads, roasted vegetables, tarts, and two risottos.
I knew we were nowhere near done, but I was glad I'd worn a stretchy, forgiving dress.
Next came the pastas, spring vegetables tossed with prawns and cavatappi, a beautiful macaroni and cheese, and a lasagna with duck ragù.
It didn't end there---Chloé began to bring out the meats---a beautiful pork loin in a hazelnut cream sauce, a charming piece of bone-in chicken breast coated in cornflakes, a peppery filet mignon, and a generous slice of meat loaf with a tangy glaze. My favorite was the duck in marionberry sauce---the skin had been rubbed with an intoxicating blend of spices, the meat finished with a sweet, tangy sauce. It tasted like summer and Oregon all at once. We planned to open in mid-August, so the duck with fresh berries would be a perfect item for the opening menu.
While I took measured bites from most of the plates, I kept the duck near and continued to enjoy the complex flavors offered by the spices and berry.
Next came the desserts, which Clementine brought out herself.
She presented miniatures of her pastry offerings---a two-bite strawberry shortcake with rose liqueur-spiked whipped cream, a peach-and-brown-sugar bread pudding served on the end of a spoon, a dark chocolate torte with a hint of cinnamon, and a trio of melon ball-sized scoops of gelato.”
― A Table by the Window
I knew we were nowhere near done, but I was glad I'd worn a stretchy, forgiving dress.
Next came the pastas, spring vegetables tossed with prawns and cavatappi, a beautiful macaroni and cheese, and a lasagna with duck ragù.
It didn't end there---Chloé began to bring out the meats---a beautiful pork loin in a hazelnut cream sauce, a charming piece of bone-in chicken breast coated in cornflakes, a peppery filet mignon, and a generous slice of meat loaf with a tangy glaze. My favorite was the duck in marionberry sauce---the skin had been rubbed with an intoxicating blend of spices, the meat finished with a sweet, tangy sauce. It tasted like summer and Oregon all at once. We planned to open in mid-August, so the duck with fresh berries would be a perfect item for the opening menu.
While I took measured bites from most of the plates, I kept the duck near and continued to enjoy the complex flavors offered by the spices and berry.
Next came the desserts, which Clementine brought out herself.
She presented miniatures of her pastry offerings---a two-bite strawberry shortcake with rose liqueur-spiked whipped cream, a peach-and-brown-sugar bread pudding served on the end of a spoon, a dark chocolate torte with a hint of cinnamon, and a trio of melon ball-sized scoops of gelato.”
― A Table by the Window
“The secret of French food," I told Neil between bites, "is that nothing goes to waste. After so many wars, the French learned how to cook everything. Which," I noted, loading my fork with sole, "is usually in a large quantity of butter."
He chuckled. "Everything is better with butter."
"Well, to be technical, there are four mother sauces. But butter goes in most of them. Anyway, the dandelion greens---leave it to a Frenchwoman to decide they make for good eating."
"It was a woman who decided that?"
"Would a man get adventurous with weeds?"
"Good point.”
― Reservations for Two
He chuckled. "Everything is better with butter."
"Well, to be technical, there are four mother sauces. But butter goes in most of them. Anyway, the dandelion greens---leave it to a Frenchwoman to decide they make for good eating."
"It was a woman who decided that?"
"Would a man get adventurous with weeds?"
"Good point.”
― Reservations for Two
“Only love lets us see normal things in an extraordinary way.”
― A Table by the Window
― A Table by the Window
“I sautéed the onions in butter, relishing the smell. Once they were nice and translucent, I added the potatoes and let them brown, and then placed the lid over the top to steam them soft. Fat, heat, and root vegetables---I loved the smells they released, the shade of gold they turned, the universality of their appeal.”
― Reservations for Two
― Reservations for Two
“Most people haven't been to Paris at all."
"Not unless you're counting Paris, Texas."
"Or Paris, Illinois."
"Paris, Maine," Neil countered.
"Paris, Idaho," I added with a nod. "And Paris, Arkansas."
"There's a Paris, Arkansas?" Neil asked, eyebrows high.
"Yup. Kentucky, too. And a couple others..."
"How do you know this?"
"A potent blend of Where in America Is Carmen Sandiego?, curiosity, and the Internet."
"Who said technology never offered anything useful?"
"I'm guessing victims of e-mail scams.”
― Reservations for Two
"Not unless you're counting Paris, Texas."
"Or Paris, Illinois."
"Paris, Maine," Neil countered.
"Paris, Idaho," I added with a nod. "And Paris, Arkansas."
"There's a Paris, Arkansas?" Neil asked, eyebrows high.
"Yup. Kentucky, too. And a couple others..."
"How do you know this?"
"A potent blend of Where in America Is Carmen Sandiego?, curiosity, and the Internet."
"Who said technology never offered anything useful?"
"I'm guessing victims of e-mail scams.”
― Reservations for Two
“Maman ordered the pork meatball bánh mì, and I ordered the lemongrass chicken bánh mì, with an order of shrimp salad rolls to share.
"People forget about the French and the Vietnamese, sometimes," she told me as we waited. "The French brought their baguettes, and the Vietnamese used them to make bánh mì sandwiches. And then the French came home with a love for Vietnamese chicken soup deep in their souls."
"There are perks to imperialism," I noted.”
― A Table by the Window
"People forget about the French and the Vietnamese, sometimes," she told me as we waited. "The French brought their baguettes, and the Vietnamese used them to make bánh mì sandwiches. And then the French came home with a love for Vietnamese chicken soup deep in their souls."
"There are perks to imperialism," I noted.”
― A Table by the Window
“Tea! That’s all I needed. A good cup of tea. A superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin. Just the thing for heating the synapses. —RUSSELL T. DAVIES”
― Jane of Austin: A Novel of Sweet Tea and Sensibility
― Jane of Austin: A Novel of Sweet Tea and Sensibility
“Trying to decide---I can't say if you should wait in line at Salt & Straw or Voodoo Doughnuts. Do you have a preference?"
"Not waiting in line? Portlanders are surprisingly willing to wait for their food."
"They're willing to wait when the food is worth their time. I think Salt & Straw. And really, they've got a smart setup to keep your wait as short as possible, and they give out samples while you're in line. At least, they did when I was there."
"And this is... artisanal salt? And straw?"
"It's ice cream," I said with a laugh. "Really good ice cream, with fun, inventive flavors. And even if you don't want inventive, the basics are worth the wait."
"Well, if you're sending me to ice cream, then you have to get Cat to take you to Black Dog Gelato. Once you're back in Chicago, at least.”
― Together at the Table
"Not waiting in line? Portlanders are surprisingly willing to wait for their food."
"They're willing to wait when the food is worth their time. I think Salt & Straw. And really, they've got a smart setup to keep your wait as short as possible, and they give out samples while you're in line. At least, they did when I was there."
"And this is... artisanal salt? And straw?"
"It's ice cream," I said with a laugh. "Really good ice cream, with fun, inventive flavors. And even if you don't want inventive, the basics are worth the wait."
"Well, if you're sending me to ice cream, then you have to get Cat to take you to Black Dog Gelato. Once you're back in Chicago, at least.”
― Together at the Table
“I brightened when I found Rainier cherries in the fridge, with their sunset-colored skin. Nearby sat a tub of mascarpone, and I knew then I could make simple crostini. I washed and pitted the cherries, and then sliced a stray baguette on the bias. While the slices toasted, I mixed the mascarpone with a bit of honey for sweetness and lemon zest for acidity. Once the slices were hot and crisp, I spooned the mascarpone mixture over the top, added a few leaves of lemon thyme, and topped each one with a heaping spoonful of sliced cherries.
A single bite tasted of summer.”
― Reservations for Two
A single bite tasted of summer.”
― Reservations for Two
“I came up with a variation on the molten-chocolate cake that doesn't make me crazy with how brainless it is. You said the theme was date restaurant, man accessible, right?"
"Right."
"So I added the Black Butte Porter---the one from Deschutes Brewery---to the chocolate cake. It makes the flavor a little darker, a little more complex. I wanted to do five or six desserts, with at least three of them seasonal. For the standards, I thought the chocolate cake and an Italian-style cream puff." She nodded toward the cream puffs on the table. "Try one and tell me what you think."
I wasn't awake enough for silverware, so I picked up the cream puff and bit straight into it, forming a small cloud of powdered sugar. "That's so good," I said.
Clementine continued to watch me.
I dove in for a second bite. And then I found it---cherries. Ripe, real cherries in a fruity filling hidden at the center. "Oh my goodness," I said, my mouth full. "That is amazing."
"Glad you think so. I thought it was a clever play on Saint Joseph's Day zeppole---cherries, but not those awful maraschino cherries."
I nodded. "Maraschino cherries are the worst." Another bite. "This cream puff almost tastes like a grown-up doughnut. And I mean that in the best way.”
― A Table by the Window
"Right."
"So I added the Black Butte Porter---the one from Deschutes Brewery---to the chocolate cake. It makes the flavor a little darker, a little more complex. I wanted to do five or six desserts, with at least three of them seasonal. For the standards, I thought the chocolate cake and an Italian-style cream puff." She nodded toward the cream puffs on the table. "Try one and tell me what you think."
I wasn't awake enough for silverware, so I picked up the cream puff and bit straight into it, forming a small cloud of powdered sugar. "That's so good," I said.
Clementine continued to watch me.
I dove in for a second bite. And then I found it---cherries. Ripe, real cherries in a fruity filling hidden at the center. "Oh my goodness," I said, my mouth full. "That is amazing."
"Glad you think so. I thought it was a clever play on Saint Joseph's Day zeppole---cherries, but not those awful maraschino cherries."
I nodded. "Maraschino cherries are the worst." Another bite. "This cream puff almost tastes like a grown-up doughnut. And I mean that in the best way.”
― A Table by the Window
“If the dining-room tables hadn't been so stable, they would have sagged from the weight of the food. There were antipasti platters, a butternut-squash strata with sage, and a casserole dish of baked ziti. On the sweet side there were pear tartlets, an apple cake, fresh figs with mascarpone and honey. At the end waited a towering croquembouche---a pyramid of cream-filled choux puffs encased in a glamorous tangle of spun sugar.”
― Together at the Table
― Together at the Table
“I reached inside the bag. It was a small jar of grayish-red crystals. "Is this..."
"I had a friend pick it up for me in New York."
"Come in. I want to take a closer look at this stuff."
I made a beeline for the kitchen, and Nico followed behind. Under the bright kitchen lights, I examined the contents of the jar. Inside there was Amethyst Bamboo Salt, one of the rarest, most expensive salts in the world. The crystals were shaped irregularly and smelled both sweet and smoky, like a campfire for s'mores.”
― A Table by the Window
"I had a friend pick it up for me in New York."
"Come in. I want to take a closer look at this stuff."
I made a beeline for the kitchen, and Nico followed behind. Under the bright kitchen lights, I examined the contents of the jar. Inside there was Amethyst Bamboo Salt, one of the rarest, most expensive salts in the world. The crystals were shaped irregularly and smelled both sweet and smoky, like a campfire for s'mores.”
― A Table by the Window
“For the meeting, I'd laid out a wide variety of fillings and sauces on the table, with the sauces in my antique chafing dishes to stay warm. And it was true---there was a lot of food. I'd provided prosciutto, roasted red peppers, toasted walnuts, fig preserves, and a cheese sauce made with fontina. The savory ingredients were intended for the brown-butter buckwheat crepes.
For dessert, I'd provided sweet crepes made with my grandmother's recipe. Antique china bowls containing Nutella, sweetened mascarpone, lemon curd, and sliced fresh fruit fought for space on the table.
The crepe I was most proud of, though, was my stracciatella crepe. In a nod to the gelato flavor, I'd attacked the chocolate bar with my trusty Microplane zester and incorporated it as a last ingredient in my chilled crepe batter.”
― A Table by the Window
For dessert, I'd provided sweet crepes made with my grandmother's recipe. Antique china bowls containing Nutella, sweetened mascarpone, lemon curd, and sliced fresh fruit fought for space on the table.
The crepe I was most proud of, though, was my stracciatella crepe. In a nod to the gelato flavor, I'd attacked the chocolate bar with my trusty Microplane zester and incorporated it as a last ingredient in my chilled crepe batter.”
― A Table by the Window
“I clicked the obituary, my heart pounding.
" 'Alice Roussard passed away on February 8, 2008. She was 87,' " I read.
Caterina tapped her fingers against the desk. "Bingo."
" 'Alice is survived by her husband Benjamin and three daughters,' " I continued. " 'Lisette Greenfeld of Kansas City, KS; Vi Lipniki of Poughkeepsie, NY; and Rosaline Warner of Saint Louis, MO.' "
"Ha! No wonder you were having trouble getting anywhere with Roussard. Benjamin had three daughters, all of whom changed their names."
"Well, now we've got them."
"Saint Louis is within driving distance, Etta. If we found a number or e-mail for Rosaline..."
"It's certainly worth a try," I said, clicking to a new browser window. I typed in Rosaline Warner's name and hit Enter.
"Would you look at that," Cat said when we reviewed the results.
I couldn't help but chuckle as well. Link after link featured Rosaline Warner, the James Beard Award-winning pastry chef and proprietress of the Feisty Baguette. "Genetics," I said. "They'll getcha every time.”
― Together at the Table
" 'Alice Roussard passed away on February 8, 2008. She was 87,' " I read.
Caterina tapped her fingers against the desk. "Bingo."
" 'Alice is survived by her husband Benjamin and three daughters,' " I continued. " 'Lisette Greenfeld of Kansas City, KS; Vi Lipniki of Poughkeepsie, NY; and Rosaline Warner of Saint Louis, MO.' "
"Ha! No wonder you were having trouble getting anywhere with Roussard. Benjamin had three daughters, all of whom changed their names."
"Well, now we've got them."
"Saint Louis is within driving distance, Etta. If we found a number or e-mail for Rosaline..."
"It's certainly worth a try," I said, clicking to a new browser window. I typed in Rosaline Warner's name and hit Enter.
"Would you look at that," Cat said when we reviewed the results.
I couldn't help but chuckle as well. Link after link featured Rosaline Warner, the James Beard Award-winning pastry chef and proprietress of the Feisty Baguette. "Genetics," I said. "They'll getcha every time.”
― Together at the Table
“Kenny. You've got the Moroccan carrot salad done, but where are we with the brussels sprouts?"
"Everything is prepped. We just need the sprouts."
"Good. Go ahead and start caramelizing the onions for the goat-cheese toasts, and then get the bacon going---just be sure to undercook the bacon. It'll cook the rest of the way in the oven."
"Yes, chef."
"Clementine, can you take over the grilled crudités? We need to get them chilled by five."
She nodded. "Yes, chef."
"Excellent. I'll start prepping the butternut-squash fritters," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "And then the mozzarella poppers. Let's get to work."
I was elbows deep in fried mozzarella and crispy-edged butternut-squash fritters when my brother and boyfriend finally arrived, wet and bedraggled, at the kitchen door.
"I have dates," Nico said, holding the crate aloft. "Dates and brussels sprouts."
"It's about time," I shot back. "You've been single far too long."
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "and then I can relieve you."
"Take your time," I replied honestly. "I've got everything under control."
And I did. The fritters were done and in the warming oven with a cake pan full of water in the rack below to keep them from drying out. I'd made up the mozzarella poppers by breading the rounds of buffalo-milk mozzarella with batter and panko crumbs before deep-frying them in batches.
It had felt good to work with my hands again, good to do something other than managerial work. I cast a longing eye at Clementine's pavlovas, the baked egg whites topped with quartered figs. There was something soothing about working with egg whites, the frothy pure-white shade they became when whisked.”
― Together at the Table
"Everything is prepped. We just need the sprouts."
"Good. Go ahead and start caramelizing the onions for the goat-cheese toasts, and then get the bacon going---just be sure to undercook the bacon. It'll cook the rest of the way in the oven."
"Yes, chef."
"Clementine, can you take over the grilled crudités? We need to get them chilled by five."
She nodded. "Yes, chef."
"Excellent. I'll start prepping the butternut-squash fritters," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "And then the mozzarella poppers. Let's get to work."
I was elbows deep in fried mozzarella and crispy-edged butternut-squash fritters when my brother and boyfriend finally arrived, wet and bedraggled, at the kitchen door.
"I have dates," Nico said, holding the crate aloft. "Dates and brussels sprouts."
"It's about time," I shot back. "You've been single far too long."
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "and then I can relieve you."
"Take your time," I replied honestly. "I've got everything under control."
And I did. The fritters were done and in the warming oven with a cake pan full of water in the rack below to keep them from drying out. I'd made up the mozzarella poppers by breading the rounds of buffalo-milk mozzarella with batter and panko crumbs before deep-frying them in batches.
It had felt good to work with my hands again, good to do something other than managerial work. I cast a longing eye at Clementine's pavlovas, the baked egg whites topped with quartered figs. There was something soothing about working with egg whites, the frothy pure-white shade they became when whisked.”
― Together at the Table
“Caterina's townhouse sat a couple of blocks from a well-stocked grocery store. At about ten each morning, I bundled up, walked down, and purchased whatever ingredients amused me. Back in Caterina's kitchen, I baked chocolate babkas with quinoa flour, tartlets with cream and lychee fruit, roasted vegetables with poached eggs on top.”
― Together at the Table
― Together at the Table
“A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.
---AESOP”
― Reservations for Two
---AESOP”
― Reservations for Two
“Well, I brought a book. When I was young, there was one week when my parents were away on vacation in the Bahamas, and Roy and Betsy were watching us. I fell ill with the chicken pox, and when Roy was off work, he’d read to me while I rested.” I smiled up at him. “That’s a wonderful story.” “I felt better, and I think the book did the trick. So I brought it with me.” He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a beaten paperback. Peering at it, at an angle, I just managed to read the title. The Princess Bride, it read. I”
― Jane of Austin: A Novel of Sweet Tea and Sensibility
― Jane of Austin: A Novel of Sweet Tea and Sensibility
“Saturday, I slipped out to the farmers' market. Waiting for me were crates of pears in shades of green, gold, and rose. I fell in love.
I brought home a flat of Comice pears and placed them on my dining room table. I pulled out a chair so that I could look at them at eye level.
Pears.
Pear cake, pear sauce, caramelized pears, baked pears.
Pear tart. Everybody liked tarts. I could flavor it with vanilla for depth, lemon zest for brightness, and cardamom as a surprise. I could make it as a galette, a free-form tart, and use a buttery puff-pastry crust.
If I wanted to get my hands into food, puff pastry was a good place to do it. The process of making the laminated dough, folding butter into already buttery dough over and over---depending on your mood, it could be hypnotically soothing or mind-numbingly tedious.
It sounded perfect.”
― Together at the Table
I brought home a flat of Comice pears and placed them on my dining room table. I pulled out a chair so that I could look at them at eye level.
Pears.
Pear cake, pear sauce, caramelized pears, baked pears.
Pear tart. Everybody liked tarts. I could flavor it with vanilla for depth, lemon zest for brightness, and cardamom as a surprise. I could make it as a galette, a free-form tart, and use a buttery puff-pastry crust.
If I wanted to get my hands into food, puff pastry was a good place to do it. The process of making the laminated dough, folding butter into already buttery dough over and over---depending on your mood, it could be hypnotically soothing or mind-numbingly tedious.
It sounded perfect.”
― Together at the Table
“Do you think you could turn the pig?"
Neil stared at her blankly. "The pig?"
"On the spit. The porchetta." Zia Annetta pointed to the back of the kitchen, where there was a large, open wood oven featuring a stuck pig at the center.
I grinned at Neil. "Welcome to Tuscany.”
― Reservations for Two
Neil stared at her blankly. "The pig?"
"On the spit. The porchetta." Zia Annetta pointed to the back of the kitchen, where there was a large, open wood oven featuring a stuck pig at the center.
I grinned at Neil. "Welcome to Tuscany.”
― Reservations for Two
“I'd left the soon-to-be-blue doors open, and Clementine had let herself in. As we entered the kitchen, I could see her putting the finishing touches on two bowls of something chocolaty.
"What is this?" I asked, taking a closer look.
Clementine finished her plating and stepped back. "Nutella mousse with hazelnut liqueur, served with chocolate-dipped hazelnut shortbread."
She was good; I had to give her that. Nico and I shared a deep, genetic affinity for the chocolate-hazelnut spread. Without hesitation, I picked up the spoon and dug in.
An intense, perfectly complex Nutella taste met my tongue. My eyes slid shut. "That is so good."
"Try it with the shortbread," Clementine instructed.
I dipped the chocolaty-end of the shortbread into the mousse. The crunch of the cookie set off the rich mousse like a dream. A chocolaty, hazelnutty, Nutella-y dream.
Dragging my attention away from dessert, I looked to Nico to see his reaction.
He stood staring at me, spoon in hand, mousse untouched.
I frowned at him. "What on earth are you waiting for? Eat!"
Nico scowled but dug his spoon into the mousse. He took a bite; his face froze.
"Seriously," I said, working two more spoonfuls, "I might lick the bowl."
Nico shrugged. "It's pretty good."
Clementine squared her shoulders. "Pretty good?"
"You want the job?"
"Yes, I do," she answered.
"I'll think about it," he told her, his expression guarded.
"Thank you," Clementine replied, unfazed.
I scooped another bite of mousse. "This shortbread? It's perfect!"
"It's the French butter. I get it from your grandmother's supplier--he gives us, I mean, me, a good deal. I bake croissants for him. He imports French butter but can't bake. Isn't that sad?"
I nodded, nibbling at the shortbread. "The butter certainly imports a richness of flavor that's quite special.”
― A Table by the Window
"What is this?" I asked, taking a closer look.
Clementine finished her plating and stepped back. "Nutella mousse with hazelnut liqueur, served with chocolate-dipped hazelnut shortbread."
She was good; I had to give her that. Nico and I shared a deep, genetic affinity for the chocolate-hazelnut spread. Without hesitation, I picked up the spoon and dug in.
An intense, perfectly complex Nutella taste met my tongue. My eyes slid shut. "That is so good."
"Try it with the shortbread," Clementine instructed.
I dipped the chocolaty-end of the shortbread into the mousse. The crunch of the cookie set off the rich mousse like a dream. A chocolaty, hazelnutty, Nutella-y dream.
Dragging my attention away from dessert, I looked to Nico to see his reaction.
He stood staring at me, spoon in hand, mousse untouched.
I frowned at him. "What on earth are you waiting for? Eat!"
Nico scowled but dug his spoon into the mousse. He took a bite; his face froze.
"Seriously," I said, working two more spoonfuls, "I might lick the bowl."
Nico shrugged. "It's pretty good."
Clementine squared her shoulders. "Pretty good?"
"You want the job?"
"Yes, I do," she answered.
"I'll think about it," he told her, his expression guarded.
"Thank you," Clementine replied, unfazed.
I scooped another bite of mousse. "This shortbread? It's perfect!"
"It's the French butter. I get it from your grandmother's supplier--he gives us, I mean, me, a good deal. I bake croissants for him. He imports French butter but can't bake. Isn't that sad?"
I nodded, nibbling at the shortbread. "The butter certainly imports a richness of flavor that's quite special.”
― A Table by the Window
“~ VANILLA BEAN CRÈME ANGLAISE ~ 4 large egg yolks 2½ tablespoons sugar 1 cup whole milk ¾ cup heavy cream 1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste Prepare an ice bath by filling a large bowl halfway with ice, then nestling a second bowl (ideally metal) inside the ice. Set a wire-mesh strainer over the second bowl. Using a mixer, beat the yolk and sugar together for about two minutes, or until pale and creamy. Combine the milk, cream, and vanilla bean paste in a medium-sized saucepan, and bring to a simmer over medium heat, stirring constantly to prevent scalding. Once the cream has just reached a simmer, remove from heat and reduce burner to medium-low. With the mixer running on low, slowly pour ⅓ cup of the hot cream into the sugared yolks. Blend until well incorporated, then pour the remaining cream into the mixing bowl. Transfer the custard to the saucepan, and return it to the stove. If it’s frothy; the air will dissipate as it cooks. Stir over medium-low heat for 5–10 minutes, or until the mixture can coat a spoon. For thicker custard, cook a few minutes longer. If the custard resists thickening, increase the heat; avoid a boil, as the egg will cook and the sauce will separate. Once the custard has thickened, remove it from the stove and pour it through the mesh strainer and into the chilled bowl. Chill the sauce in a covered container for three hours, or overnight. The custard will thicken as it cools. Makes about 2 cups.”
― Reservations for Two
― Reservations for Two
“Tonight's lesson was a breadcrumb cake, and the idea that so many Italian desserts were less about being impressive---as so many French recipes were---than about being resourceful. "After all," I said, "tiramisu is just cookies dipped in coffee and liqueur, layered with custard."
For the breadcrumb cake, I walked them through how to make the breadcrumbs. "There's no sense in buying breadcrumbs, not in that quantity."
We sliced the crusts off of the bread together, toasted the slices lightly, and ran the bread through the food processor.
Afterward, we grated the dark chocolate, peeled and sliced the pears, cracked eggs, and measured cream. The thick batter came together quickly, and we placed them into the ovens.
While the cakes baked, I walked them through the pasta fritta alla Siracusa, the angel-hair pasta twirls fried in a shallow amount of oil. We boiled up the pasta, then stirred together honey and candied orange before chopping pistachios and adding some cinnamon.
One by one, they dropped the knotted pasta into the oil and cooked them on both sides. After draining them, we drizzled the honey mixture over the top, followed by a sprinkle of the pistachios and cinnamon.
The process of frying the pasta bundles, one by one, kept everyone busy until the breadcrumb cakes finished baking.”
― Together at the Table
For the breadcrumb cake, I walked them through how to make the breadcrumbs. "There's no sense in buying breadcrumbs, not in that quantity."
We sliced the crusts off of the bread together, toasted the slices lightly, and ran the bread through the food processor.
Afterward, we grated the dark chocolate, peeled and sliced the pears, cracked eggs, and measured cream. The thick batter came together quickly, and we placed them into the ovens.
While the cakes baked, I walked them through the pasta fritta alla Siracusa, the angel-hair pasta twirls fried in a shallow amount of oil. We boiled up the pasta, then stirred together honey and candied orange before chopping pistachios and adding some cinnamon.
One by one, they dropped the knotted pasta into the oil and cooked them on both sides. After draining them, we drizzled the honey mixture over the top, followed by a sprinkle of the pistachios and cinnamon.
The process of frying the pasta bundles, one by one, kept everyone busy until the breadcrumb cakes finished baking.”
― Together at the Table
