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rushthatspeaksToday's book is an exemplar of the dangers of reading while ill. I am, in fact, quite sick, and unaccountably we do not have in the house a copy of Pat the Bunny (sheer oversight on my part), so for some reason I decided it was reasonable to sit down with this extremely giant cookbook by Julia Child. Possibly because it has a lot of illustrations. Note to self: lots of illustrations do not, in fact, make the book any shorter. Really. So this was my first misstep.
So, after several hours of reading, napping, feeling too ill to read, feeling too ill to nap, napping while, technically, reading and reading while, technically, napping, my housemates came home, and I felt the urge to discuss the things I do not understand about the book, a list much longer than I expect it usually would be under healthy circumstances but which centers around one item: aspic.
You see, The Way to Cook is not actually a French cookbook. It is supposedly American food. What this means in practice is that it contains three kinds of recipe: a) solid, beautiful French food of the sort that Julia is justly famous for; b) Great American Classics such as baked beans and chowder, in what appear to be perfectly workmanlike versions; and c) American Cocktail Food c. 1957. This book, published in 1989, may be the last gasp in this country of the now-make-a-bechamel-sauce-with-pimento school of culinary terror. There's not much of it, but it is there. And, since Julia is going back to her French roots as often as possible, that means that the combination of classical French and bad American equals man, there are a lot of aspic recipes in this book, aren't there. (Okay, there are five. That's a lot.)
The thing I do not understand about aspic can be summarized easily. What I do not understand is: why? Why make a perfectly reasonable chicken stew, for example, and then jelly it and serve it chilled? Why would you do that to yourself? To the food? To your friends?
So I was going on and on about this, in my feverish way, and ranting about the various aspic recipes and how each is more ludicrous than the next, and showing the housemates the handy colorful photos, and asking my eternal question. And Thrud said, well, you know, if you really don't know why, there is only one way to find out.
When the dust settled and we finished listing what ingredients we keep in the house at each other, I discovered that I had, somehow or other, promised to make poached eggs in port wine aspic for my family just as soon as I feel better, because, God help us, we have all the ingredients, and I can for my sins poach a reasonable egg.
This is why it is dangerous to read new books when you are very ill. I'll let you know how it all turns out.
Other than that it is a pretty good cookbook, well written, full of useful little tips and tricks and insanely useful on the subjects of pastry and sponge-cake and choux paste. If you can keep your head and veer from the bechamel side of things, and remember that in these enlightened days one should about quintuple the amount of hot sauce and that turmeric, cumin, cilantro, epazote etc. are real things that exist and can be added, it could stand you in a very good stead. Who knows. Maybe we will all like aspic.
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comments over there.
So, after several hours of reading, napping, feeling too ill to read, feeling too ill to nap, napping while, technically, reading and reading while, technically, napping, my housemates came home, and I felt the urge to discuss the things I do not understand about the book, a list much longer than I expect it usually would be under healthy circumstances but which centers around one item: aspic.
You see, The Way to Cook is not actually a French cookbook. It is supposedly American food. What this means in practice is that it contains three kinds of recipe: a) solid, beautiful French food of the sort that Julia is justly famous for; b) Great American Classics such as baked beans and chowder, in what appear to be perfectly workmanlike versions; and c) American Cocktail Food c. 1957. This book, published in 1989, may be the last gasp in this country of the now-make-a-bechamel-sauce-with-pimento school of culinary terror. There's not much of it, but it is there. And, since Julia is going back to her French roots as often as possible, that means that the combination of classical French and bad American equals man, there are a lot of aspic recipes in this book, aren't there. (Okay, there are five. That's a lot.)
The thing I do not understand about aspic can be summarized easily. What I do not understand is: why? Why make a perfectly reasonable chicken stew, for example, and then jelly it and serve it chilled? Why would you do that to yourself? To the food? To your friends?
So I was going on and on about this, in my feverish way, and ranting about the various aspic recipes and how each is more ludicrous than the next, and showing the housemates the handy colorful photos, and asking my eternal question. And Thrud said, well, you know, if you really don't know why, there is only one way to find out.
When the dust settled and we finished listing what ingredients we keep in the house at each other, I discovered that I had, somehow or other, promised to make poached eggs in port wine aspic for my family just as soon as I feel better, because, God help us, we have all the ingredients, and I can for my sins poach a reasonable egg.
This is why it is dangerous to read new books when you are very ill. I'll let you know how it all turns out.
Other than that it is a pretty good cookbook, well written, full of useful little tips and tricks and insanely useful on the subjects of pastry and sponge-cake and choux paste. If you can keep your head and veer from the bechamel side of things, and remember that in these enlightened days one should about quintuple the amount of hot sauce and that turmeric, cumin, cilantro, epazote etc. are real things that exist and can be added, it could stand you in a very good stead. Who knows. Maybe we will all like aspic.
You can comment here or at the Dreamwidth crosspost. There are
