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Hey y’all. It’s shrimp scampi day. Scampi, in north American parlance is a butter/wine/garlic sauce, usually served over shrimp (in the UK “scampi” is a type of lobster!). Tonight I made some truly stellar salt roasted jumbo shrimp with a scampi sauce...the shrimp where roasted in their shells for extra shrimpy goodness, and then just dipped in a thick scampi sauce. Lip smackingly good. I think this is one of the very best dishes I have made for this blog thus far, and dead easy. This would be great dinner party dish. The scampi sauce starts out with a nice lemon kick, and then finishes with smooooth butter.
Tonight, I’m lacking words, but feeling visual. I hope you’ll accept the maxim that a photo is worth a thousand words, and enjoy this little slideshow instead of a play-by-play…
~Dea
Coq au vin… The name conjures romantic images of checked tablecloths and candles flickering in wine bottles, arrogant waiters, and accordion music playing softly just around cobblestoned corners. The French have a way of turning rustic ingredients into glorious food that makes everyday life deliciously glamorous.
Coq au vin is no exception, especially when eaten for lunch at a long table outside in the Normandy countryside as I had the luck to do a few years ago, crickets chirping and the warm air redolent with sage and lavender.
A lovely alchemy created by simmering chicken in red wine with bacon, onions and mushrooms, coq au vin guest stars in “Kafka’s Soup: A Complete History of World Literature in 14 Recipes” by Mark Crick, who presents recipes in the voices of famous novelists. The recipes, which include Lamb with Dill Sauce à la Raymond Chandler; Tarragon Eggs à la Jane Austen; Tiramisu à la Marcel Proust; Cheese on Toast à la Harold Pinter; and Onion Tart à la Geoffrey Chaucer, present today’s dish as a Columbian, rather than French, favourite.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, in the person of Father Antonio del Sacrament de Altar Castaneda, prepares coq au vin for a condemned prisoner, Fidel Agosto Santiago: “Santiago would eat his last supper the following night, and since the condemned man refused to accept food from his wife, the priest had taken on the responsibility.”
The ancient Romans may have been partial to this homely yet courtly dish, thanks to their traditional rivalry with Asterix and co. Legend has it that Julius Caesar’s cook created the first coq au vin recipe after the Gauls gave Caesar a tough old rooster as tribute for his conquering them; Caesar’s cook made the bird into a meal to serve back to the Gauls. Perhaps revenge is a dish best served hot after all…
But it’s more likely that coq au vin simply evolved as a local recipe in France. In 1864, a similar recipe – poulet au vin blanc – appeared in Cookery for English Households, by A French Lady. In one of the earliest printed recipes, published in 1913, the text claimed the recipe dated to the 16th century.
Delicious, glamorous, rustic, simple, historic, evocative, classic – a literary star; a historical gesture – on top of all of these attributes, the best thing about coq au vin may be that it’s easy to make, and the leftovers just get better in the fridge.
Bon appetit!
~Deb
Ingredients
1 x 5 lb (2.25 kg) chicken, cut into 8 joints (I used chicken breasts)
1¼ pints (725 ml) red wine
1 oz (25 g) butter
1 rounded tablespoon softened butter and 1 level tablespoon plain flour, combined to make a paste
1 tablespoon oil
8 oz (225 g) unsmoked streaky bacon, preferably in one piece
16 button onions
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 bay leaves
8 oz (225 g) small dark-gilled mushrooms
Salt and freshly milled black pepper
Method
Melt the butter with the oil in a frying pan, and fry the chicken joints, skin side down, until they are nicely golden; then turn them and colour the other side. You may have to do this in three or four batches – don’t overcrowd the pan. Remove the joints from the pan with a draining spoon, and place them in the cooking pot. This should be large enough for the joints to be arranged in one layer yet deep enough so that they can be completely covered with liquid later.
Now de-rind and cut the bacon into fairly small cubes, brown them also in the frying pan and add them to the chicken, then finally brown the onions a little and add them too. Next place the crushed cloves of garlic and the sprigs of thyme among the chicken pieces, season with freshly milled pepper and just a little salt, and pop in a couple of bay leaves. Pour in the wine, put a lid on the pot and simmer gently for 45-60 minutes or until the chicken is tender. During the last 15 minutes of the cooking, add the mushrooms and stir them into the liquid.
Remove the chicken, bacon, onions and mushrooms and place them on a warmed serving dish and keep warm. (Discard the bay leaves and thyme at this stage.) Now bring the liquid to a fast boil and reduce it by about one third. Next, add the butter and flour paste to the liquid. Bring it to the boil, whisking all the time until the sauce has thickened, then serve the chicken with the sauce poured over.
C is for COOKIE, that’s good enough for me…
RAISIN!!! Oatmeal Cookies!
Today is also national “lacy” oatmeal cookie day.
C’mon.
Sort of defeats the purpose of a good, hearty oatmeal cookie, doesn’t it?
Admit it: Oatmeal is the beige second cousin to “Fruit Loops” and other colourful, exciting and sugary breakfast cereal. You know and I know that Fruit Loops is a flash in the satisfaction pan – oatmeal doused with some maple syrup and milk is creamy and delicious and stays in your stomach for waaay longer – but let’s face it. With its multi-coloured “Os”, Fruit Loops has a clear advantage in instantaneous satisfaction delivery. There’s nothing “lacy” about oatmeal.
But. I loooooove raisin oatmeal cookies. Yep, I’m that one chick at the coffee shop that foregoes the “chocolate pecan” and “double chocolate walnut chocolate decadence with chocolaty chocolate sauce” cookie. I have oatmeal every time. Frankly, I’m even disappointed when the coffee shop’s baker puts chocolate in my oatmeal cookies. What’s the point? It’s akin to putting chocolate syrup on oatmeal.
I’m just sayin’.
Jim, on the other hand, does not believe a cookie is worth his time without chocolate. When I told him I was making cookies for this blog, he was all, “cool!” (expecting, of course, a version of chocolate chip cookies). He balked, however, when I mentioned oatmeal. “Couldn’t you just make some chocolate-chip-no-oatmeal-cookies?” he asked plaintively. Nope.
I’m a good wife but not that good. I make one cookie dough. Insert raisins or chocolate chips as desired. That’s all.
Well, okay I made one cookie dough but because I love me too, I divided it in half and stirred raisins into my half, and chocolate chips (what’s the point?) into Jim’s. He was happy.
My oatmeal cookies (makes 3 doz-ish):
Preheat oven to 350°
Put 2 C raisins in a bowl (0nly 1 C if dividing dough in half for picky husband). Cover with boiling water. Stir briefly and cover with a plate. Let sit for at least half an hour. Drain thoroughly and pat dry with paper towel. (Don’t skip this step. The cookies are soooo much better if you hydrate the raisins!)
Sift:
- 2 1/2 C oats
- 1 C + 2 T unbleached flour
- 1 C whole wheat flour
- 1/4 C flax seeds (just randomly, for some added nutrition)
- 1/3 C chopped pecans (or really any nut. You could add up to a cup, actually)
- 1 T baking soda
- 1/2 tsp salt
Cream 1 1/2 C butter in large bowl (electric or stand mixer)
Add 1 1/2 C brown sugar & mix thoroughly
Add 2 eggs, 1 at a time, and blend
Add 2 tsp vanilla extract and 1 T scotch, brandy or rum. Blend thoroughly.
Stir flour mixture into butter/sugar mixture.
Stir in raisins (or divide dough in two and stir raisins into one half and chocolate chips into the other).
Form into golf-ball sized pieces (about 8 to a cookie sheet). Squish slightly.
Bake for 15 minutes, pull cookies out of oven and allow to cool on sheet for 2 minutes. Remove to a cooling rack.
Mmmm. That’s all.
~ Eva
P.S. Yes, that much butter. Despite all appearances, oatmeal raisin cookies are just as bad for you as every other kind. Don’t kid yourself.
P.P.S. Jim says I can’t bring any cookies to work. I may have to sneak them out of the house. Neither one of us needs the calories (or the butter fat)!
