So, your foodie friends are forming a monthly dinner club to share meals and newfound recipes. The fun couple brings the dessert. The couple paying off that La Cornue rotisserie gets the main dish. The guy with the wine frig chooses the wine. That means you bring the… oh, come on… salad.
Crockery crowned with a blistered dome of cheese and bread arrives straight from the broiler. The best French onion soup is never ladled from a pot; it’s crafted into a layered experience. Excavating through the Gruyère, the first spoonful of still-too-hot onion slivers are unveiled. The steam’s herbal notes emerge, along with a hint of the wine that is sweetening the slurp-worthy bone broth.
Eyeing the choices arrayed under glass at cheesemongers’ shops is our favorite kind of virtual travelogue. The trail leads through whole nations of dairy art from French Epoisses and Italian Gorgonzola to Spanish Manchego and California’s Redhawk Triple Crème from Cowgirl Creamery. We may eye British Cheddar, but cheeses imported from neighboring Mexico? Not so much. Continue reading →
I have this vivid childhood memory of seeing a man eating pie with cheese at a restaurant. I remember thinking: Why would anyone choose to crown their apple pie with stinky old cheese when they could have a scoop of ice cream melting on top?
My primitive taste buds thankfully evolved and over time I became a food critic and cheerleader for handmade pie in America.
“Soup is cuisine’s kindest course. It breathes reassurance; it steams consolation; after a weary day it promotes sociability, as the five o’clock cup of tea or the cocktail hour.” — From “The Soup Book” (1949) by Louis P. De Gouy
Many folks enjoy recipes. Being able to duplicate a dish correctly makes them happy.
I am not one of those cooks.