Dear You,
The title of this piece probably should be "Medium Rare." It's the end of the year, and for me it means beef Wellingtons -- plural. I really enjoy cooking, and in December I have more chances than usual. Different combinations of guests arrive on different occasions, but the meal is always a beef Wellington.
This is an all-day deal for me. In the morning I season the tenderloin and put it into a 450 degree oven until it's well browned but very rare. Then it sits on the rack on top of the stove the rest of the day, tempting me to shave a bit here and there as I pass by.
About an hour before dinner, I mix a paste, starting with a liver pate as the base, adding whatever else that's handy -- chopped basil? Chopped pecans? Why not? This gets troweled onto the meat. Long ago I gave up making my own dough, opting for puff pastry from the frozen foods area. This has softened, and I roll it out to wrap the meat. Back into the oven, while I make a wine sauce reduction and heat the gravy for the potatoes.
No need to discuss what else is for dinner -- when I roll this baby out to the table for carving, everything else on the table is just part of the scenery. Wine, anyone?
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Promises, promises
Dear You,
If I were to make such claims, I would be embarrassed. The wrapper for my sandwich said in part: " . . . roasted turkey and lean Black Forest ham that tastes like a slice of heaven" and "bread, freshly-baked right in the restaurant for a deliciously soft center and incredible, crusty top." (the hyphen was there -- I would not have used it)
The sandwich, of course, was not just ordinary; without that wrapper I would have dismissed it entirely. An unmet expectation is always what lingers, don't you think? Certainly I did not stop at that Wendy's restaurant along the highway because I was looking for a heavenly repast. I was hoping for something to stave off the pangs of hunger at that hour, as well as somewhere to relieve my bladder.
That's another chapter -- a sign in the restroom held spaces for the attendent to note when he cleaned; the expectation, judging from the chart, was hourly. It was otherwise unmarked. And nearby was posted a notice, something to the effect of notifying management if the room was less than clean. I would describe it here, but who am I to suppress your appetite? I made the room, like the sandwich before it, serve its purpose.
Wisdom suggests here that I am not the one to broadcast aspersion. Should I be foolish enough to hold up a mirror at this point, certainly I would see unmet expectations and broken promises crowding the view.
If I were to make such claims, I would be embarrassed. The wrapper for my sandwich said in part: " . . . roasted turkey and lean Black Forest ham that tastes like a slice of heaven" and "bread, freshly-baked right in the restaurant for a deliciously soft center and incredible, crusty top." (the hyphen was there -- I would not have used it)
The sandwich, of course, was not just ordinary; without that wrapper I would have dismissed it entirely. An unmet expectation is always what lingers, don't you think? Certainly I did not stop at that Wendy's restaurant along the highway because I was looking for a heavenly repast. I was hoping for something to stave off the pangs of hunger at that hour, as well as somewhere to relieve my bladder.
That's another chapter -- a sign in the restroom held spaces for the attendent to note when he cleaned; the expectation, judging from the chart, was hourly. It was otherwise unmarked. And nearby was posted a notice, something to the effect of notifying management if the room was less than clean. I would describe it here, but who am I to suppress your appetite? I made the room, like the sandwich before it, serve its purpose.
Wisdom suggests here that I am not the one to broadcast aspersion. Should I be foolish enough to hold up a mirror at this point, certainly I would see unmet expectations and broken promises crowding the view.
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