dud of a preacher man and orange pudding
I'm on the last leg of a three-hour layover at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport. I paid three bucks for a huge cone of what isn't ice cream at the DQ to settle my stomach, which views flying with fear and suspicion. I've already played my two favorite airport games, Find The Concourse With The Cleanest Bathrooms and How Badly Do I Want Coffee? (played in front of the Starbucks kiosk), and read the one thing in my messenger bag I feel like reading (the second issue of MAKE magazine, which shows you how to mod an old Atari 2600 into a PC), so I paid the seven bucks for wifi access to keep myself entertained. I also have my earphones in and iTunes cranked up pretty high so I don't have to deal with the obnoxious horde of middle-aged to elderly men in pullover knit shirts, pleated slacks, deck shoes and liters of cologne that're infesting my gate.
Mom's boyfriend was a dud, pretty much a carbon copy of the last guy: elaborate manners but zero personality and completely self-absorbed. I spent two and a half hours listening to this guy talk about himself and not once did he ask Mom anything or let her talk. He did ask me about school and I wrenched a half hour's conversation out of that. He said, "Let me tell you about my adventure at Perkins today!" and then took forty minutes to get across that his service was slow. He's a freelance part-time preacher (not a great sign of job security, something I reasonably expect for my mother at her age) and seems utterly clueless. And I hated the transformation Mom went through when he came over. The night before, we went out to dinner with her friends and she was animated and interactive and happy. This guy comes over and she starts pitching her voice higher and acting more childlike and doesn't say a word except in reaction to what he says, things like "my goodness!" and "gracious!" and "that sounds lovely!" Total Glass Menagerie stuff. She even sat differently, and completely forgot that I was there. I started falling asleep on the couch and neither of them took any mind, so I borrowed her car and went and saw MARCH OF THE PENGUINS. Much better than sitting through two hours of preaching anecdotes. It was like having my skin peeled off, and way too reminiscent of being about eight and having to sit quietly on the couch for visiting church people. My skin still hurts.
As promised some time ago to chef2b and because I know everyone misses my epic recipe posts, from son-of-a-bitch Gordon Ramsay's dessert book:
1 1/4 cups fresh squeezed orange juice
grated zest and juice of 1 lemon (strain out pulp and seeds)
3 tbsp. Grand Marnier or other brandy (optional)
4 tbsp butter, soft, plus extra for greasing the dish(es)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
4 extra large eggs, separated
7 tbsp self-rising flour (or bread flour if you've got it)
1/2 tsp baking powder
2/3 cup milk
confectioner's sugar for sprinkling (optional)
1) Put the orange and lemon juices in a saucepan and boil, then bring to a simmer and reduce it (reduce=heat a liquid until it cooks down to a concentrate). Reduce to about half. Let cool then add the booze (NEVER add booze while you're heating something. It will spontaneously flame and you'll have to smother it or wait til it burns out, and the flames jump up nice and high. And for God's sake, don't just pour the burning stuff down the sink, I guarantee you'll burn yourself and scorch your pipes).
2) Preheat your oven to 350. Butter the dish or dishes you'll be using. This formula will yield either a 1 quart/1 liter souffle dish or four large ramekins (little individual dishes, usually ceramic). Glass dishes are great, since they show off the beautiful layers this pudding separates into, but make sure whatever you're using is bakeproof. Regular glass can shatter and melt in your oven. Sugar the dishes as well (pour sugar over them and shake off the excess). Whatever dishes you use, make sure they're clean and have straight sides, not sloped like a bowl, so the souffle can climb the sides and puff up properly.
3) Beat the butter and sugar with the lemon zest until soft, creamy and light. Beat in the eggs' yolks one at a time until well mixed. Sift the flour and baking powder together and beat in.
4) Beat the juice mixture and the milk into the butter/sugar/yolk mixture in a thin stream. It may look lumpy or separated at this point, but that's normal for a custard. Persevere.
5) Scrupulously clean another bowl and your whisk or beater and rub them down with lemon juice - this will make sure that they're free from dirt or fats that will keep your egg whites from whipping. Whip the eggs' whites until they just reach stiff peak. If you warm your whites and your bowl over a pan of boiling water first, or let the bowl and whites reach room temperature, your job will be much, much easier.
6) You're ready to fold the orange mixture into the whites. First, do a "sacrifice" - take a bit of the whites and fold them into the orange stuff. This lets the two mixtures reach a uniform temperature, a little socializing, if you will, before throwing them together. Fold gently to preserve the air you've whipped into the whites. Then fold the orange mixture into the rest of the whites. Always fold the heavier stuff into the lighter stuff; it'll save you elbow grease.
7) Set the dish(es) in a shallow pan if you have one, and pour boiling water into the pan it's sitting in to not quite halfway up the sides of the dish. This water bath will help it heat and rise evenly. Put in the oven. The original recipe calls to bake the one large dish for 1 1/4 hours. I've always used four ramekins, which bake up in about fifteen minutes. Whatever you use, keep in mind that this and other souffle-type dishes need to be served immediately, as they will gradually fall; bake them off right after dinner. You can make the orange batter up ahead of time and keep it in the fridge while you leave your egg whites out at room temperature. Speaking of falling, souffles are sturdier than kitchen urban legend has you believe; as long as you aren't slamming the oven door shut, you can occasionally check on them if need be.
The finished product has a thick, fluffy yellow souffle top that separates into a thick orange curd at the bottom. It's a great summer dessert, since it doesn't require a lot of slaving over a hot stove and is light and relatively healthy.
Mom's boyfriend was a dud, pretty much a carbon copy of the last guy: elaborate manners but zero personality and completely self-absorbed. I spent two and a half hours listening to this guy talk about himself and not once did he ask Mom anything or let her talk. He did ask me about school and I wrenched a half hour's conversation out of that. He said, "Let me tell you about my adventure at Perkins today!" and then took forty minutes to get across that his service was slow. He's a freelance part-time preacher (not a great sign of job security, something I reasonably expect for my mother at her age) and seems utterly clueless. And I hated the transformation Mom went through when he came over. The night before, we went out to dinner with her friends and she was animated and interactive and happy. This guy comes over and she starts pitching her voice higher and acting more childlike and doesn't say a word except in reaction to what he says, things like "my goodness!" and "gracious!" and "that sounds lovely!" Total Glass Menagerie stuff. She even sat differently, and completely forgot that I was there. I started falling asleep on the couch and neither of them took any mind, so I borrowed her car and went and saw MARCH OF THE PENGUINS. Much better than sitting through two hours of preaching anecdotes. It was like having my skin peeled off, and way too reminiscent of being about eight and having to sit quietly on the couch for visiting church people. My skin still hurts.
As promised some time ago to chef2b and because I know everyone misses my epic recipe posts, from son-of-a-bitch Gordon Ramsay's dessert book:
1 1/4 cups fresh squeezed orange juice
grated zest and juice of 1 lemon (strain out pulp and seeds)
3 tbsp. Grand Marnier or other brandy (optional)
4 tbsp butter, soft, plus extra for greasing the dish(es)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
4 extra large eggs, separated
7 tbsp self-rising flour (or bread flour if you've got it)
1/2 tsp baking powder
2/3 cup milk
confectioner's sugar for sprinkling (optional)
1) Put the orange and lemon juices in a saucepan and boil, then bring to a simmer and reduce it (reduce=heat a liquid until it cooks down to a concentrate). Reduce to about half. Let cool then add the booze (NEVER add booze while you're heating something. It will spontaneously flame and you'll have to smother it or wait til it burns out, and the flames jump up nice and high. And for God's sake, don't just pour the burning stuff down the sink, I guarantee you'll burn yourself and scorch your pipes).
2) Preheat your oven to 350. Butter the dish or dishes you'll be using. This formula will yield either a 1 quart/1 liter souffle dish or four large ramekins (little individual dishes, usually ceramic). Glass dishes are great, since they show off the beautiful layers this pudding separates into, but make sure whatever you're using is bakeproof. Regular glass can shatter and melt in your oven. Sugar the dishes as well (pour sugar over them and shake off the excess). Whatever dishes you use, make sure they're clean and have straight sides, not sloped like a bowl, so the souffle can climb the sides and puff up properly.
3) Beat the butter and sugar with the lemon zest until soft, creamy and light. Beat in the eggs' yolks one at a time until well mixed. Sift the flour and baking powder together and beat in.
4) Beat the juice mixture and the milk into the butter/sugar/yolk mixture in a thin stream. It may look lumpy or separated at this point, but that's normal for a custard. Persevere.
5) Scrupulously clean another bowl and your whisk or beater and rub them down with lemon juice - this will make sure that they're free from dirt or fats that will keep your egg whites from whipping. Whip the eggs' whites until they just reach stiff peak. If you warm your whites and your bowl over a pan of boiling water first, or let the bowl and whites reach room temperature, your job will be much, much easier.
6) You're ready to fold the orange mixture into the whites. First, do a "sacrifice" - take a bit of the whites and fold them into the orange stuff. This lets the two mixtures reach a uniform temperature, a little socializing, if you will, before throwing them together. Fold gently to preserve the air you've whipped into the whites. Then fold the orange mixture into the rest of the whites. Always fold the heavier stuff into the lighter stuff; it'll save you elbow grease.
7) Set the dish(es) in a shallow pan if you have one, and pour boiling water into the pan it's sitting in to not quite halfway up the sides of the dish. This water bath will help it heat and rise evenly. Put in the oven. The original recipe calls to bake the one large dish for 1 1/4 hours. I've always used four ramekins, which bake up in about fifteen minutes. Whatever you use, keep in mind that this and other souffle-type dishes need to be served immediately, as they will gradually fall; bake them off right after dinner. You can make the orange batter up ahead of time and keep it in the fridge while you leave your egg whites out at room temperature. Speaking of falling, souffles are sturdier than kitchen urban legend has you believe; as long as you aren't slamming the oven door shut, you can occasionally check on them if need be.
The finished product has a thick, fluffy yellow souffle top that separates into a thick orange curd at the bottom. It's a great summer dessert, since it doesn't require a lot of slaving over a hot stove and is light and relatively healthy.