On these long winter evenings
...it is important to keep ourselves amused. Hobbies are just the ticket, and, as I've said, lately mine is cooking. I've already tried one new recipe today - the vegan breakfast goodie “Fronch” Toast a la Moskowitz. It turned out very not-bad, though I think my stove has a very different idea of medium-high heat than Ms. Moskowitz' does; this is the second recipe of hers I've tried that calls for that and ended up making the food stick radically to an oiled non-stick pan. You know, the kind of thing where you end up after a few flips with a thick layer of charcoal in the pan and about 2/3 the original volume of food. Still good, though!
This afternoon I think I'll try something a bit more challenging - Vegan Filet Mignon!
Interesting that I've tilted for the day to the French-type stuff, innit1? I suppose it's unavoidable if you do much cooking, such is the influence of that nation on all matters culinary - and, indeed, international. I suppose that is why the packets of spices I buy at the Indian store are labeled in (transliterated) Hindi and French, and sometimes not in English at all. This is not a problem to the aspiring world-scene chefling, especially when the Indian recipes list the ingredients in English and (transliterated) Hindi and, when they don't, computerized resources and prior knowledge and my ability to squint at French and kind of figure it out exist to point out what the equivalences are.
The French labelings do have one curious effect on my cooking, though - with them in sight I feel compelled to pretend that I'm working in a busy top-notch restaurant in New Orleans and speak the gorgeous Cajun dialect. Which I don't, sadly, so the sort of thing I end up saying e.g. toward the end of preparing a batch o' Ghoabs and needing a measure of amchur is “Hand me a little o'poo-dray doo mong, cher,” to my imaginary chef's assistant, Remy LeBeau2. In a fashion that would cause any passing Cajuns to think I was making fun of them, though I swear it is not ridicule but poorly-executed homage.
In any case, the filet mignon-style seitan is a more complex recipe than I usually attempt, so I've got a bit of stage fright about it. I often get over this by reflecting that if I don't do the cooking, the ingredients I've lined up for the effort will just go to waste. Plus this time around it must mean something that vital wheat gluten was on sale when I went to the store to stock up, right?
Wish me bonne chance.
ETA: The result? Not great, but definitely good.
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1Although it must be acknowledged that French toast isn't actually French and, according to Wikipedia, may have been known as “German Toast” pre-WWI, changed to “French” when the Kaiser pissed everybody off. Happily, the more recent round of jingo attempting to label it “Freedom Toast” didn't dent the name.
2Not that Remy LeBeau. It's a coincidence.
This afternoon I think I'll try something a bit more challenging - Vegan Filet Mignon!
Interesting that I've tilted for the day to the French-type stuff, innit1? I suppose it's unavoidable if you do much cooking, such is the influence of that nation on all matters culinary - and, indeed, international. I suppose that is why the packets of spices I buy at the Indian store are labeled in (transliterated) Hindi and French, and sometimes not in English at all. This is not a problem to the aspiring world-scene chefling, especially when the Indian recipes list the ingredients in English and (transliterated) Hindi and, when they don't, computerized resources and prior knowledge and my ability to squint at French and kind of figure it out exist to point out what the equivalences are.
The French labelings do have one curious effect on my cooking, though - with them in sight I feel compelled to pretend that I'm working in a busy top-notch restaurant in New Orleans and speak the gorgeous Cajun dialect. Which I don't, sadly, so the sort of thing I end up saying e.g. toward the end of preparing a batch o' Ghoabs and needing a measure of amchur is “Hand me a little o'poo-dray doo mong, cher,” to my imaginary chef's assistant, Remy LeBeau2. In a fashion that would cause any passing Cajuns to think I was making fun of them, though I swear it is not ridicule but poorly-executed homage.
In any case, the filet mignon-style seitan is a more complex recipe than I usually attempt, so I've got a bit of stage fright about it. I often get over this by reflecting that if I don't do the cooking, the ingredients I've lined up for the effort will just go to waste. Plus this time around it must mean something that vital wheat gluten was on sale when I went to the store to stock up, right?
Wish me bonne chance.
ETA: The result? Not great, but definitely good.
________________________________
1Although it must be acknowledged that French toast isn't actually French and, according to Wikipedia, may have been known as “German Toast” pre-WWI, changed to “French” when the Kaiser pissed everybody off. Happily, the more recent round of jingo attempting to label it “Freedom Toast” didn't dent the name.
2Not that Remy LeBeau. It's a coincidence.