Monday, December 8, 2014

No Knead To Thank Me (You're Welcome)

I've written previously about my utter incapacity to make decent bread -- somehow I don't have the touch, or I have too much touch. I would make dough and it would rise beautifully and then the minute I'd put it in the oven... plouff, it would collapse into a dense mass.

But the thing is, while I can get all sorts of beautiful produce and meat and dairy here -- straight from the farm, as fresh and pure as one could want -- it's really hard to find great bread within reasonable driving distance from my house.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014


I spent Thanksgiving weekend with some of my favorite people, including my pal Elaine Tin-Nyo. Elaine is an artist whose work has a lot to do with food, and she's constantly dreaming up unlikely dishes based on her really solid knowledge of cooking fundamentals. A couple of weekends before her visit here, she threw a dinner party where she "glove-boned" a duck -- which means she boned it from the inside, so the exterior remained perfectly intact -- and stuffed the critter with the meat from another duck, turned into a sort of sausage mixture. We called this feat of culinary madness a "duckducken," or "duck in duck suit," by turns.

When we talked about what the menu for Thanksgiving would be, Elaine looked at me with all seriousness and explained that she would like to sew a suit for the turkey out of duck skin, and so the turkey would roast, basted in duck fat. I blanched and started stammering, and Elaine burst out laughing at the expression of pure terror on my face.