amusing

Amuses bouches have hit the unhip boroughs of our fine country (read: not New York).  Now, everyone is amusing their bouches with them.  Frankly, they’ve been uncool since 2002 among the hipsters, but since we don’t orbit in that galaxy, Daddy-o, we shall press on.

Trying to be hip myself (and thus always already outmoded), I’d say they are Derridean food, but it’s easier to prove and more 2008 if I just spit it out: they are tiny mouthfuls of fun that precede the appetizers in your fancy restaurant meal.  Like appetizers, but smaller and more liberated, contradictory even — more fanciful, less leaden and less predictable.  Amuses bouches are like the Beat Girl of appetizers:

(Yes, I watched this last night.  You’re seeing the best of it.  Well, maybe a café scene or two is better, especially since they use two of my husband’s favorite phrases, “you wanna fight?  Then join the army,” and “aw, nuts.”  He’ll be pleased to know the former phrase contained an even better ending: “you wanna fight?  Then join the army!  That’s what all the squares are doing.”)

But ANYWAY.  Amuses bouches come from Paris, like Gillian Hills, the star of Beat Girl.  There, they’re often called amuses gueules by the French poodles, which is too hard to say for us squares, so they became known as amuses bouches.

I translate these amusing mouthfuls most often when I have a very rich or very garlicky dish.  My cream of kabocha pumpkin soup with bacon, for example, served at Thanksgiving.  Or two or three strange flavors that might be overwhelming if they were served in larger portions, like this seared flank steak with Fraga Farm raw milk goat feta, boysenberry, and homemade blackberry-thyme vinegar.  Just one mouthful, that’s the ticket, dad, something that makes your tastebuds sing.  And sing they did:  the metallic tang of the meat, the funk of the creamy fresh cheese, the tart musk of the berry, and the echo of vinegar.

Needless to say, with les amuses bouches, one needs to use absolutely pristine ingredients.  Shell out for grass-fed local beef, Oregon Tilth (the big organic certifier around these parts) cheese, and just picked berries that you’ve rushed home from the vine.  Your guests will be wild for those kicks, even if you’re a bit behind the times, verging, dare I say it, on square.

And that’s what I’ve got for you today.  I’m gonna fade out, doll.  Zero.

 

in which summer may turn a blind eye to us, but we still bbq with abandon

We celebrated Retrogrouch’s birthday with an overcast, chilly BBQ yesterday. I lost track of how many glasses of local Riesling and Pinot Noir I drank, but it was ok, since it was local, so I knew I’d find my way home. I’m a little dazed this morning as a result, but I thought I’d present the menu. Yesterday was one of those golden cooking days, when you can’t make a mistake even if you try and deliciousness is shooting like lightning bolts from your fingers. Don’t tell me you don’t have these days, because I know you do.

Menu

Home-corned beef* with wholegrain mustard
Willamette Valley Cheese Company grape pomace gouda*
Ancient Heritage Dairy Adelle soft-washed cheese*
My dilly bean* pickles
Roasted scallops with home-preserved lemons
Country ribs marinated in citrus, cumin and oregano*
Long bean and new potato* salad with leeks*
Savoy cabbage blue cheese* hazelnut* coleslaw
Mesclun* salad with radishes*, radish sprouts*, snowpeas* and cucumbers
Sweet Cheeks Riesling*-macerated cantaloupe
Fruit tart from Eugene City Bakery
Metropol and Hideaway bakery bread
* local product

Perhaps the best dish was the Savoy cabbage coleslaw with blue cheese and hazelnuts. I don’t particularly like coleslaw, and mine always turns out badly. I have a great version that’s more carrots than cabbage, but this new variation is better — a coleslaw I’d gladly eat any day. The hazelnuts are crucial, and their freshness is paramount, so don’t substitute or skimp there.

Oregon Blue Cheese Hazelnut Coleslaw

(serves 8-10 as a side dish)

• 1 small head savoy cabbage
• 2 medium sized-shallots
• 1 large green pepper
• 3 green onions or 2 tender leek scapes
• 1 cup roasted hazelnuts
• 1 c. Hellman’s mayo
• 1/4 cider vinegar
• 1 T. spicy brown mustard (Ploughman’s)
• 1/2 t. ground pepper
• 1/2 cup high quality, not too crumbly, blue cheese, such as Oregonzola

Shred cabbage finely and add to large bowl. Chop

green onions, green pepper, and shallots rather finely. Add to cabbage.

Chop hazelnuts in a food processor by pulsing briefly 3-4 times. You want there to be large pieces, but not as big as halves. Add to cabbage.

In a small bowl, whisk together mayo, vinegar, mustard, pepper. Chop or crumble blue cheese as much as possible, then stir into dressing, trying to dissolve all lumps. Add to cabbage, mix well.

Let sit for several hours in refrigerator before serving.

 

dining with Porkchop and Meatball

My husband had two imaginary friends when he was little: Porkchop and Meatball. I decided to give them an honorary banquet yesterday. Or rather, eat them at an honorary banquet yesterday.* Inspiration is a treacherous thing. And yet, it all looks so normal, donnit? The discreet charm of the bourgeoisie.

Le Menu

Moroccan carrot purée and pita

Harissa spiced meatballs with lemon sauce

Green herbed couscous (kale, dill, parsley, scallions)

Pan-seared brined porkchops over white Russian kale with Noris butter and garlic

Retrogrouch’s salad with lemon mustard dressing

Store-bought cookies, Dagoba chocolate, and Coconut Bliss vegan ice cream

 

 

 

(Not pictured: Meatball.)

We had over a colleague from his work, and the evening was full of wine. I’m now feeling too full and lazy to post recipes, so I won’t.

And I’m so full of CSA love right now…I had never prepared Russian kale before, just regular, and it’s much more tender and pretty, with ruffly, small leaves. I used CSA dill in my couscous, their carrots in my purée and in the meatballs, their garlic and their kale, and their lettuce for the salad. Yay for local vegetables! Yay for nutritiony goodness!

The Russian kale was fantastic. I seared the pork chops, then sauteed the kale in the same pan, so it picked up the drippings. If you’re not going to simmer greens in pot likker with ham hocks, this is a method I would absolutely suggest.

*Hey, my imaginary friends were cats. It could be worse.