Red Bicyclette Rosé

It is hot in Texas. Over 100 degrees all week and, let me tell you, grocery shopping today was a chore. When I finally got home and took a cool shower, I was ready to face my Saturday night Grand Dinner, with a little help. I decided to see if rum was an acceptable substitute for vodka in a pomegranite martini . . . and it is. A little too sweet, so I might add lime juice the next time, but it was cheerful and refreshing and had the desired effect of making me think I could clean and cook a tenderloin roast after running around in the heat. Tonight's entrée was Filet de Boeuf En Croute, which is a fancy name for a tenderloin roast smeared with pate, wrapped in puff pastry and baked. It's really good and pretty easy. Just season and brown the roast on all sides (I'll bet you could use a pork tenderloin instead of beef), bake it for 10 minutes in a 400 degree oven, spread pate all over it (I use the liver paté from World Market that's about $3.50 a can), wrap it in puff pastry and bake for 30 minutes at 425 degrees. I served it with mashed red potatoes, asparagus, sauteed mushrooms, and homemade focaccia.

And Red Bicyclette Rosé. I picked up a bottle when I was at Super Target -- it was under $8 and a nice blend of syrah and grenache, from the Languedoc region of southern France, which makes for a good rosé. I liked it. It was crisp and dry, as promised, and not too sweet. Probably a little light for tenderloin, but it was too damned hot to get out anything else.

I also bought a Chardonnay from that label and will give it a try tomorrow. A friend of mine wants a review of Chardonnays, which are not my favorite whites, but I'll give it a shot and see how it goes.

I love French wines and I have thought that my ideal retirement would be a quiet village in Provence. I avidly read Peter Mayle's books on the region and was charmed until I read his description of a "mistral," a weather phenomenon common to Provence. The word seems to invoke something subtle and not particularly foreboding but, as I read Mr. Mayle's description, I realized that Provence and Texas share a commonality: what they call mistrals, we call blue northers.

A blue norther, for those of you who don't live in Texas or Oklahoma, is a weather event in which the temperature of the day can drop up to 40 degrees in an hour, brought on by a blast of artic air that sweeps from Canada straight down all those flat states (both Dakotas, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas) with speed and vigor. There are certain times of the year that it really pays to listen to the weather forecast; otherwise, you could cheerfully leave home with a sweater in the morning and by noon be wishing for an overcoat. You just have to see (and feel) it to believe it. I wouldn't mind one right now!

Pinot Noir and . . . Drumsticks

No, I don't mean a chicken drumstick, I mean an ice cream drumstick (vanilla, no nuts, the way Jackson likes it). I started munching down on it and then realized there was a little bit of pinot noir left in my glass, so took a swallow and . . . well, that taste sensation will never make it into Wine Spectator magazine.

However, a nice chunk of semi-sweet or less dark DARK chocolate and a glass of red wine is something that everyone who likes red wine should try at least once. It's been popular among wine aficianados for a while, but I am here to agree that it is a lovely, sophisticated ending to a meal. Just as a shot of chilled vodka changes the taste composition of caviar, chocolate and red wine create a wonderfully satisfying savory/sweet flavor.

So here I am on this Friday night standing at the kitchen counter typing on my laptop because I put a kink in my neck from overuse of the computer yesterday. I'm waiting for the time when I can take another muscle relaxer and watching Oliver Stone's "JFK." (Yes, I know it's not historically accurate, but I still find it very entertaining and well done, and Gary Oldman perfectly channels Lee Harvey Oswald.) And, to get my mind off my throbbing neck and shoulder muscles, I am thinking back to the best steak I've ever eaten combined with the first time I ever had a glass of syrah.

Tenderloin in all of its incarnations is probably the main reason why I, a tender-hearted animal lover, can never be truly committed to being a vegetarian. It's just too damned good.

Once upon a time, about 10 years ago, I found myself in England visiting friends. They took me to the County of Kent, near Leeds Castle, to a pub that was old enough to remember the days of Henry VIII. On the outside, it looked like a cheerful beer garden with Tudor architecture and umbrella topped tables in the yard, but inside it was a pub straight out of the world of Harry Potter. Low, dark wooden beams, uneven stone floor showing wear from centuries of footsteps, bookshelves on the walls, a large fireplace with a roaring fire -- the ambience alone, along with a pint, would have been wonderful, but there was a meal to be consumed.

Honestly, I don't remember anything I ate that night except for the main course: a thick slice of rare tenderloin, reverently atop an equally thick slice of homemade paté nestled on a slice of French bread. This was, without a doubt, an orgasmic meal, and I savored every bite.

The tenderloin was accompanied by a bottle of syrah, and the full-bodied spicy red wine was a perfect accompaniment to the steak and paté combination. Since then, I have enjoyed syrah and shiraz (location of the grapes -- the Rhone for syrah and Australia for shiraz -- is the only difference between the two) on many occasions. I think it's well suited to a winter's evening along with a hearty meal, and I will always associate it with a memorable night in Kent.

Musings to Escape A Boring Week

Well, it hasn't been THAT boring, but it has been busy. If I was a good journalist/blogger, I'd have a few posts set aside for the days when I look at my computer screen and go completely blank (like yesterday). However, since this is a stream-of-consciousness sort of blog, though, it's hard to store up streams of consciousness for an uninspired day.

Dinners have been haphazard and not noteworthy at all the past two days, so I'm going to skip over that part. I had a wise old lady tell me once that, when she was at a loss for what to cook and her husband was walking in the door (those were the OLD days when the wife was supposed to be in a dress, dinner ready, and martini to hand to her husband as he walked in from The Office), she'd melt butter in a pan and add some chopped onion to it while she was trying to decide what to fix. That made the kitchen smell great, like real cooking was going on, and bought her some time.

That's always a good start. If you have base items you rely on (mine would be garlic, of course, and shallots or onions), then you can add to the concept with different herbs, spices, meats, and vegetables, and make kind of variations on a theme. For example, the family was kind of tired of boneless skinless chicken breasts but that's what I had to cook (and I was pretty tired of it too). To dress it up a bit, I sauteed the inevitable garlic and onions (I was out of shallots that week), browned the chicken breasts on both sides, added some white wine and spices, enough whipping cream to make a sauce, and wrapped the chicken breasts in puff pastry with the sauce inside. I baked those until the puff pastry browned on top, and there was dinner, with a side of steamed vegetables or a salad, and maybe potatoes or buttered noodles. It was the same old chicken inside but it looked different and tasted pretty good.

My mother used to take ground beef and cook it with garlic, onions, tomatoes, and whatever other vegetables she had lying around, and serve it over a baked or mashed potato. There are all sorts of ideas -- "desperation dinners," if you will -- and all you are limited by are your imagination and the contents of your kitchen.

If you treat cooking like a game, you'll not only have fun with it but will come up with unique and delicious meals. Oh, sure, sometimes they'll be more unique than delicious, but those make for great family stories!

Best Pizzas Ever

Yes, we all know about the chains, the old reliable pick-something-up-on-the-way-home-from-work type of pizzas. Most of them are filling but unremarkable. A few of them (like my vodka drinking) lead to vows of abstinence after partaking.

And no, we didn't have pizza for dinner AGAIN -- I was talking about anchovies and that led to thinking of Great Pizzas I Have Had.

Paris, France: It is an unlikely place to associate with pizza, but somehow this little restaurant off the Boulevard Hausseman managed to take the humble pizza pie and give it a new twist. The crust was traditional thin crust, obviously handmade with just the right amount of texture and chew to keep it from being as dry as a cracker, with a delicate layer of tomato sauce, just enough cheese, and . . . smoked salmon slices arranged artistically around a dollop of créme fraîche. The combination of flavors was irresistible, and I determined to try it at home.

I can't get the thin crust part right -- my bread machine makes good pizza dough, but the dough lends itself cheerfully to a thicker crust than the one I had in Paris. However, there's a pizza place in Plano that does make a decent thin crust cheese pizza so I can take that and add the smoked salmon and créme fraîche, open a bottle of French wine, and have an approximation of that night in Paris.

Believe it or not, créme fraîche isn't that hard to make. I found the recipe, along with a great Créme Fraîche Scones recipe, on www.epicurious.com, which has replaced most of my cookbooks as my go-to for dinner ideas.

Put one pint of heavy whipping cream in a bowl, whisk in 2 Tablespoons of buttermilk, cover tightly, and leave for 12 hours in a warm area. I learned the hard way not to leave it on the counter that receives the air conditioning vent draft. One time I stuck it in the oven but put post-it notes all over the kitchen so I would remember to take it out of the oven before preheating. After 12 hours, put it in the fridge. It's good for 3 weeks (if it lasts that long), and in addition to the creme fraiche scone recipe, it's wonderful in sauces, in mashed potatoes, OBVIOUSLY on pizza, on berries -- wonderful stuff.

There's a restaurant in Dallas called Fireside Pies (two locations, I think) and they also have great pizza. My favorite has truffle oil and anchovies on it. I was tempted to ask for fresh garlic on it too but since I was out with the family, I figured if I did they'd make me walk home. As it was, I had to order the anchovies on the side or be doomed to eat an entire pizza by myself, a feat I haven't attempted since I left high school. I do love anchovies. They add great flavor to pizza, provide the kick in homemade Caesar salad dressing, and taste great with egg salad or just plain on a cracker with a glass of wine.

Liquor Free Zone Tonight

First off, since you may be wondering, the vichyssoise turned out perfectly. It was the base for tonight's dinner, along with chicken-and-four-cheese ravioli topped with Emeril's Roasted Gaaahlic pasta sauce, and a side of garlic toast. The children, who turn up their noses at cold soup, had fried catfish, French fries, salad and raw carrots.

The fig tree in my backyard is heavy with fruit and this year the tree has been discovered by a family of mockingbirds. I don't mind sharing with them, though. They aren't taking bites out of all of the figs, just eating a few of them and I think they're taking care of any bugs that may also be interested in my Celestina figs. Last year I had enough of a harvest to make a few jars of fig preserves, so I'm hoping for that much this year as well, but the mockingbirds may have other plans. In the meantime, I'm enjoying fresh figs for dessert and breakfast and taking some to my friends (who respond with fresh cantaloupes and tomatoes).

By the way, speaking of that bread machine, a great use of sweet bread dough (in addition to making rolls or a loaf out of it for dinner) is to roll it out to about 1/4 inch thick, spread butter on it, heavily sprinkle a mixture of brown sugar, white sugar and cinnamon, roll it up and cut it into cinnamon buns, to be baked the next morning at 350 degrees for about 15-20 minutes. It makes the house smell wonderful, too, like a bakery. Or you can put a loaf of bread on the night before, set the timer, and awaken to the smell of fresh baked bread.

Or you can make biscuits with little or no trouble. The absolute EASIEST recipe is from the Ultimate Southern Living cookbook, but it's been making the rounds since at least the 1970's, when I lived in Australia and got the recipe from a little old lady in Sydney (who called them cream scones). Ready? Here you go:

2 cups self-rising flour
1 cup whipping cream

Mix well, pat or roll it out to 1/2 inch thickness on a floured surface, cut the biscuits with a biscuit cutter, greased glass, or cut with a knife. Bake at 450 degrees for 8-10 minutes until light brown on top.

Trust me, it doesn't get any easier than that.

Vichyssoise and Beaujolais

A long, long time ago, there was a lovely French restaurant in Dallas called Le Boul' Mich. It was located in an old frame house off McKinney Avenue, on Worthington, and was one of those wonderfully unpretentious restaurants that served the most marvelous food. It was like visiting a French home. Madame presided over the kitchen. You had one fork, one knife and one spoon with which to eat and a prix fix meal of four or five courses, depending on the market and the whims of Madame.

Her sauces were legendary, as was her vichyssoise, and when the sad day came and Madame hung up her apron and, presumably, moved back to France, she was kind enough to share her vichyssoise recipe with her Dallas fans. I didn't think the original recipe truly reflected the delicate taste, so over the span of a year or two (did I mention that I'm stubborn?) I worked on the recipe until I found a never-fail version that works for me. So here you go:

3 leeks, split down the middle and cleaned (you'd be amazed how much dirt you'll find nestled inside) -- use the white and light green parts just down to the dark green, because if you use all of the dark green you'll have very fibrous soup

1 medium onion, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 medium potato and 1 small potato, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 can chicken broth

1 can beef broth

1 Tablespoon (or thereabouts) beef bouillon powder

Water to cover or almost cover all of the veggies

Bring to a boil and then simmer, uncovered, until the liquid is reduced by at least half and everything is mushy. Pureé the mixture and chill for a few hours or overnight. To serve, ladle a portion of the puree into a soup bowl and add a tablespoon or so of heavy cream and mix it up until you have the consistency and strength you enjoy. If you want to get fancy, sprinkle chopped chives on it before serving, but that's too much trouble for me, really. After all, I cooked the damned thing! That's presentation enough.

Tonight's wine offering was a very nice Beaujolais which provoked an argument about whether one could detect the taste of cherries. I say yes, Chris said no, but he could smell lavender, and the one who usually settles the matter -- Jennie, whose palate has always been quite discerning and able to distinguish the different layers of a good wine (no, we don't let her drink but we do let her taste and value her opinion) -- merely said, "it tastes like wine." She's got her mind on her First Car right now, to the exclusion of everything else, which is understandable. Cherries or not, this is a good wine and went well with the shrimp alfredo that I made for dinner.

I TOLD you the vichyssoise has to chill overnight!

"Big Night," Scallops and Mussels

Saturday night is traditionally movie night at our house, children upstairs or out of the house, and something special for dinner. Tonight I fixed a seafood medley of scallops, mussels and small lobster tails. I get a box of frozen New Zealand mussels that are already scrubbed and on the half shell, which makes preparation very easy. Chop garlic and shallots and mix with Italian style bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese, salt, pepper, garlic and onion powders, and red pepper flakes. Put mussels in a single layer in a baking pan, sprinkle with white wine and lime juice, and cover with the bread crumb mixture. Drizzle with olive oil and bake at around 400 degrees (give or take) for around 15-20 minutes, depending on whether the mussels were frozen when you started doing this. As for the scallops and small lobster tails (we're talking scampi size here, but they were cheap), I chopped up more garlic and shallots, and ginger, and added soy sauce, olive oil, cooking sherry, paprika, and a dash of tabasco sauce, and marinated half of the scallops and itty bitty lobster tails (did I mention that these things were SMALL??) while I wrapped thin slices of bacon around the rest of the scallops because I was a little hesitant about what the marinated ones were going to taste like.

Meanwhile, I'd finished a glass of rum and passion fruit juice, made bread dough in my Zojarushi bread machine -- more on that later -- and watched Eddie Izzard's "Glorious" concert. I'm the Queen of multi-tasking.

I fired up the grill and added a small package of wood chips that are created for gas grills, to give food that wood-grilled flavor. They work. I'm going to buy stock in the company. After tripping over the basset several times, I was able to get the scallops and lobster tails on the grill, the mussles in the oven, and a glass of that really great rosé that I mentioned a few posts ago (Albertson's had it on sale for $6.59 today!).

As for the Zojirushi bread machine, during my 27 years of married life, I've literally worn out three bread machines from constant use, so the last time around I decided to get the Mercedes of bread machines: http://www.zojirushi.com/ourproducts/breadmakers/bbcc_x20.html. So far it's stood up to regular use and turned out consistently wonderful loaves of bread and batches of bread dough.

The movie, "Big Night" (1996), appropriately enough, was about cooking one great meal. I love movies that are made because someone liked the story, and not because a large committee of overpaid Hollywood executives decided that this would be a slick movie that would make lots of money. It's like a great meal: not perfect, but warm, interesting, and made with imagination and love.