All Caution Thrown To The Wind

It has suddenly warmed up here in LA. Of course it's probably because Awards Season is upon us once again. Don't start thinking it's all part of the climate change thing, as we know full well here in Vanity City it's the heat from the rest of the world's gazing eyes toasting up the atmosphere in our little bubble. Living in greater Hollywood makes residents adept at avoiding traffic snarls that result from road closures for the events, but I did get caught in the Critic's Choice Awards mess around The Palladium last night since that one was not on my radar. In fact, I realize I am generally out of touch with that kind of buzz since I hardly watch broadcast TV and don't subscribe to cable. I do, however, watch movies and TV series of interest through Netflix. I get my industry news from friends, the newspapers online, and NPR. I do drive by The Kodak Theater and all along Hollywood Boulevard almost daily to make sure everything is ticking over nicely.

So the Awards Season is signal for me to "hunker down" and hide away, which I like to do anyway. I've cozied up to my own weekend Merchant Ivory DVD season (mixed in with Mad Men 2 and Reilly). I ran out and got a large tube of Winsor&Newton's Cadmium Red oil paint at Blick's sale, and, throwing all caution to the wind, a boneless leg of lamb which you see above all ready to season and pop in the oven.

Here it is again, studded with a head of garlic, rosemary sprigs from my own plant, crushed juniper berries and allspice, with pepper ground from my new Perfex grinder (a Christmas gift), and all laden in an oval roasting dish (also a Christmas gift). It's currently in the oven at 400f with potatoes, parsnips and carrots all cozying up to each other. I will let you know how it all turns out. Time to prep the shallots and stock for the gravy!

UPDATE:
Sadly I was so eating the results that I failed to capture a pic of it, but, I will tell you that it all came out well and there is plenty left over for a lamb curry. For the gravy I lightly browned finely chopped shallots and added a little clarified turkey stock to soften. Added a cup of medium flavored Douro and brought it to the boil. I poured off the oil from the baking pan after removing the roast to leave the thick black caramelized roasting juices.  I then added the boiled stock with wine and popped it back in the oven to liquefy the pan juices. Ten minutes later I brought the pan back out of the oven and strained it all through a simple sieve. Added micro-planed lemon peel into it and thickened it with a very little cornstarch. Coarsely chopped parsley followed. It made the richest most delicious black sauce drizzled over the meat and soaked over the hard crusted potatoes. The Yukon potatoes were roasted in their own dish, having been parboiled and then scored, and then halved and open face down in canola oil. The parsnips and carrots were roasted whole without oil in their own dish - what intense flavor! some fresh peas added to the veggies on serving.

Tiny Kitchens

A superb, jaw-dropping exhibition at LACMA which originated at The National Gallery in D.C. called Pompeii and the Roman Villa: Art and Culture around the Bay of Naples is to die for and prompted my purchase at a local bookstore of Mary Beard's superb book, related only in subject.

My Ancient Greek feeble, and my Latin pathetic, I nevertheless call myself a keen antiquarian and much of my reading originates there. To see these artifacts of the wealthiest inhabitants, and surely, this is not how everyone lived, is wonderful. It is also a reminder of the social diisparities of our own time. In a glossy, clinical museum setting it is sometimes difficult to keep in mind that Roman society was as varied and fragmented as our own, and more likely openly cruelly so. I am personally interested in nuances and customs from our western fore bearers that shine a light on our own era. A sense of history is ultimately important in understanding where we are now.

So, knock me down with a feather, Mary Beard states the fact that even in the biggest villas the kitchens were comparatively tiny. And I mean small at their grandest size . Pompeii and Herculaneum would be the Santa Barbaras and Venturas of their time, and, for sure, many of the largest villas were in the surrounding country (think Ojai and so forth ). Some historians suggest that food was brought in to the tricliniums (small but grand dining rooms) of large houses from the many restaurants in town and also that people may have essentially barbecued in the courtyards of various gardens and waterways for their daily pleasure. This doesn't surprise me at all for the rich in this town at least seem to cater even the smallest events.

However, I feel so much better. If Apicius had to cook in such close quarters I am amazed that he got the results he did but I am sure he never cooked a thing and the documents we have are more to do with his hired cooks' efforts even if he was a real person, perhaps the Homer of antique cuisine? I have a tiny kitchen and I cook some good stuff I think, but, lets face it those Romans of the first century could get a whole lot out of their kitchens too. Hmm that might be a Julie and Julia challenge - though I have read that book and really disliked it. Perhaps Meryl Streep's acting will redeem the story. That is also a story about cooking in a small kitchen that has spawned a bundle of similar efforts using The French Laundry Cookbook or Larousse as yeast.

By the way the roasted organic golden beets marinating in balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with Maldon sea salt in the picture above are sitting pretty next to my curing salts freshly arrived from parts afar. I clarified a half gallon of rich chicken stock today and froze it in packets. It is a real thrill seeing the egg whites take out the dross and leave the gold in the clarification process. If alchemy were ever anything real in the past, it is cooks that own it in our own time.

Feasting Aplenty

In recent weeks I've cooked many a feast and partaken of a couple, too. Before I get all medieval like, I should say that two of those I cooked were no-brainers: A huge rib roast where timing, temperature and the look of the roast toward the end were the most important factors, and a pork loin with prunes, likewise a dish I cook with little mental effort as the creaminess of the wine soaked reconstituted prunes braised with the meat and its rich juices provide so much of the action to those who taste it for the first time. These two dishes were made for Christmas Day and were accompanied by Erin's delicious Roast Turkey up in Old Bakersfield.

I was given a great book for Christmas, Charcuterie by Michael Ruhlman who co-authors all of Thomas Keller's (French Laundry, Bouchon, Per Se) cookbooks. It will become a favorite of mine because it is complete and thorough and highly lucid, with recipes both simple and complex and every section yields a goldmine of tricks. It includes a good source guide for those hard to find curing salts and more exotic ingredients. Charcuterie is the preservation of meats and offal, mainly from pork and fowl, which the French particularly have elevated to high art. Way beyond sausage and salami, bacon or rilettes, there are a myriad of very elaborate and complex delicacies that simultaneously appear to hide and reveal the character of the host meats. Like all art, charcuterie aims to distil the essence of its subject's parts into something new and then reminding us continually of the original. The Romans probably invented charcuterie, pork being their most prized meat and its production and sale was governed under law. This book travels the world with such favorites as lemon confit from North Africa, and duck prosciutto from who knows where? At the same time, rather punningly, I received the new huge Bacon book (Francis, that is) , which I had been jonesing for, and which contains plenty of flesh including a hog or two. It accompanied the Palazzo Reale retrospective recently which will hit New York's Metropolitan Museum pretty soon on its way from London. Anyone want to fly me out? 

One last bookish comment: I also received Molecular Gastronomy, by Hervé This which approaches cooking from a mainly scientific viewpoint and contains fascinating illuminations on the whys and wherefores of how a dish works. I am also amazed at the economy with which Monsieur This writes, since every essay seems to be the same short length, like so many molecules making up a burst of flavor.