Mindfulness.

1st
Sep. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz

In my last post, about omelettes, I ribbed on myself for cutting my teeth on easily kosher-ized recipes.

But something I’ve been percolating on lately is what kashrut is really all about, and I think that I obliquely touched on a piece of it in that last post.

To make a kosher meat omelette, one needs to sub out the butter for a vegetable fat or oil. This seems like a simple replacement, but what it really means is that you can’t start the butter heating and throw anything into the pan that strikes you. Because of this broad stroke of kashrut (milk and meat separation is certainly not a complicated issue as long as you’re starting with a kashered pan) even the simplest dish requires some forethought and mindfulness.

Mindfulness. Something built into Jewish law and Jewish life, and something that certainly has become another broad stroke in our “raising awareness” culture.  Mindfulness is something I’ve found to be central to my experience of Judaism from early in the period of study that led to my conversion.

I found that in my attempts to fulfill mitzvot (commandments), I couldn’t help but take a fresh look at the things that surround me.  If you flip through a siddur (prayerbook), you’ll find that there is a blessing for almost anything you can experience: the first fruit of a season, a beautiful sunset, any special occasion, etc.  Early on, before I knew any blessings at all, I found myself being more engaged in the things I did, saw, heard, tasted, smelled and touched.  “There must be a blessing for this,” I said to myself ALL THE TIME.

But the crux of the matter was not that I knew or didn’t know the words, but more that because oft he commandment to say these blessings, I felt more joy and wonderment at the things so integral to my daily life that I had otherwise stopped even noticing them at all.  And I started noticing far more details.

It’s been helpful for me, in the experience of trying to keep kosher, to try to see the “value added” in my life as a result of my efforts.  (Kashrut can be a little bit crazymaking; it’s a difficult thing to do correctly, especially when it was never part of one’s family background, and even moreso when one is attempting to do so in an environment with others who don’t wish to do so.)  My life is, despite the challenges, better for the experience of it.

Posted in Dairy, Meat, Personal Thoughts | 1 Comment

L’omelette Brouillée first try: The ugliest thing ever to be called an “omelette.”

27th
Aug. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz

Scrambled Omelette 1Last night I was in the market for a simple, filling dinner. What ho! In skimming through Mastering, I was seized by Julia’s mention that omelettes take “less than half a minute to make,” making them “ideal for a quick meal.”

I don’t know how a book from 50 years ago read my mind, but there you go.

I used the first of two omelette recipes, L’omelette Brouillée (Scrambled Omelette.)  The recipe calls for heating butter in a pan until it is very hot – hot enough that the ubiquitous melted-butter foam subsides but before the butter has begun to brown – and then pouring in eggs  for a very quick and dextrous cooking moment.

What could go wrong with an exercise that should take less than a minute?  Haha, this practically requires military precision, so a better question might be, what could go right?

I made a few mistakes. I didn’t chop the cheese up before the butter was in the pan starting to melt, and so I couldn’t get the eggs in the pan before the butter started to brown.  I didn’t chop it fine enough, so the cheese didn’t melt on contact but sort of wadded up and slowed down the egg cooking.  And I don’t think I got the jerking-pan motion described in the recipe quite right, because while the eggs did not stick to the pan, they didn’t really move or roll the way the recipe predicted they would.  (That last isn’t so much a mistake as it is room for improvement.)

Despite the mistakes, I did enough right that the product was edible.  The eggs were cooked.  The outside was brown and slightly crispy.  The cheese was, for the most part, melted.  It didn’t fall apart like most of my efforts at omelettes, pre-Mastering.

I expected that the egg mixture would contain dairy of some sort, as I’d always been taught to do that.  I assumed that French tradition was the source of the conventional wisdom, but I was wrong.  (The scrambled eggs, a separate recipe, did include milk or cream, added at the end to halt the cooking process.)  Which means that while I chose to throw cheese into my omelette, this dish could just as easily be made with meat ingredients, as long as the cooking fat wasn’t butter.

I tested this theory by actually making a chicken omelette for lunch today.  I made a few changes, starting with using canola oil in place of butter.  Canola oil burns and smokes much hotter than butter does, so in this case I estimated that waiting about 5 minutes for the oil to get that wavy, rivery look would be about right.

This time I also had my filling chopped AND pre-heated by microwaving – I took 2 ounces of the leftover Poulet Rôti, roughly chopped it and put it in a small dish with a teaspoon of that special sauce, and nuked it for two minutes, until it was steaming, popping hot.

Hot pan, hot oil, hot filling.  The eggs were beaten and seasoned.  I had one try at the lightning mechanics under my belt, so I felt a little better prepared for my second attempt.

It went like this (a synopsis of what the recipe instructs):

-pour two beaten eggs into superhot oiled pan, stirring relentlessly
-when eggs are apparently half-cooked, pour on hot chicken
-give it a few seconds, then engage patented MtAoFC pan-jerking method until scrambled omelette sort of folds itself into a lump on the far side of the pan
-give it ten more seconds to brown on the underside, then slide it off onto a warmed plate

Scrambled Omelette 2It all took under a minute, from the time the eggs hit the pan until the omelette skidded onto the plate.  And it looked much better than my first offering, which just goes to show that I learned something!

I found the oil easier to cook with than the butter – possibly because I underestimated the impact of cooking in butter that had already started to brown.  The motion required to move the omelette as the book directs is part intuition and part brute force, but ultimately with practice one can get a feel for it.  This recipe is, like all the recipes I’ve tried so far, something of a cop-out from the kashrut standpoint, but things will get much harder down the road (have you read the Boeuf Bourguignon recipe?) so I am appreciating every bone this book throws my way, for the time being.

And learning to be the master of egg preparations large and small is no insignificant feat, that’s for sure.

Posted in Dairy, Meat | Leave a comment

Poulet Rôti – Roast chicken, now with special sauce!

24th
Aug. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz

If I used subtitles, this one would read, “The hardest damned chicken I’ve ever roasted.”

But then, it was also the most delicious, and probably the most fattening, so there you go.

One of the first things this recipe calls for me to do is slather the salted inside of my chicken with a Tbsp of butter, and truss it up.  This sort of set the tone for how I had to approach the recipe – this was a battle, and I needed to be atop my game at all times in order not to be tricked into doing something to defile the beautiful, potentially kosher deliciousness of this chicken.

With my wits about me, I “buttered” my bread chicken with Philly olive oil instead.  Not a particularly neutral oil, but the richest one I had on hand.  Since I don’t think there’s a comparable substitute for the flavor and texture of butter, I figured I’d just go for the luxe.

I placed the chicken in a slightly-larger-than-the-chicken-sized baking pan, strew about some sliced carrot and onion, and slid the whole she-bang into my preheated 425-degree oven.  (The first 15 minutes were the biggest pain in my chicken-roasting life, because the recipe required that I brown the top and each side of the chicken for five minutes before reducing the heat to 350.  Thomas Keller, whose recipe I previously used as my general guideline, does not require this very hot acrobatic feat.)

In prepping the chicken, I trimmed off some of the enormous wads of fat that surrounded the opening of the cavity.  I assumed I’d render this later and fry something awesome in it (schmaltz, or chicken fat, is the flavor equivalent of golden indulgence.)  Little did I know what lay ahead of me.

That’s a lie, though, because as Julia Child recommends in the foreword to MtAoFC, we must read recipes in their entirety before proceeding, in order not to be blindsided by an unexpected ingredient or unfamiliar technique.   So I did know that I’d be instructed to prepare basting liquid using 2 tbsp of butter and 1 tbsp of cooking oil in a small saucepan.  What I hadn’t realized was that I would render the schmaltz in the saucepan with the olive oil and use it as my basting liquid – there, we have something that truly does give butter a run for its money.

Rendering schmaltz is honestly one of the great joys of my life.  I usually do this in my cast-iron grill pan (designated for meat meals, of course.)  Not only is it convenient to pour out the hot liquid fat through the pan’s groove, but the process sustains the seasoning of my pan.  Most satisfying of all is watching an enormous whitish fat globule melt down until it’s just a crispy flake of skin or meat surrounded by boiling, popping chickeny fatty essence.

But I digress.  Needless to say, this is the first chicken (or any item, really) that I’ve ever basted.  In fact, for something roasted, which typically connotes a fast and easy process of popping something in a preheated oven and maybe adjusting the temperature a little ways down the road, this was a lot of work!  After those first 15 minutes of frequent flipping action, the heat turned down to 350 and the bird was lying on its right side.  I basted it every 8-10 minutes, first with the liquid I discussed above, and with the pan juices after the stovetop preparation ran out.  Halfway through the remaining roasting time, I salted the up-side and flipped it over onto its left side, and 15 minutes from the anticipated end of roasting, I salted the up-side and returned it to the breast-up position.

I felt a little dubious at this point because while the sides were nicely browned and crisped, the breast side was kind of pale (though cooked) and un-crispy looking.  Not to worry, however, because in the last 15 minutes of roasting it came together nicely.  I wish I’d taken a picture when I took the bird out – it was without reservation the most beautiful poultry I’ve personally ever prepared.

While all these chicken-roasting antics were going on, I was also preparing a brown stock.  (I’ve never heard of brown stock before reading MtAoFC.  As far as I can cobble together, brown stock is a stock prepared by browning chicken parts and onions and carrots, then cooking them in pre-prepared stock to make a richer, well, stock.  I detest using a word in its own definition, but near as I can tell, brown stock is made using a pre-existing stock.  So I do the best I can.)  I attempted to cut up giblets of a chicken, but my meat cleaver made barely a dent in the neck and the gizzard.  I gave up and browned them whole, boiled them in the stock whole, and discarded them afterward, you guessed it, whole.  It smelled and tasted extra super chickeny, which is the ultimate goal of this entire exercise, according to Julia Child.

When the chicken came out to rest before carving, I cooked minced shallots in 2 tbsp of the pan juices, then added a cup of the newly made, and strained brown stock.  This was 1+ cup of liquid, reduced down to 1/2 cup, then seasoned with salt and pepper.  The recipe wanted me to enrich it with butter at the last second before serving, but instead I added a tablespoon of the fat skimmed from the strained stock.  I would hardly say that the sauce lacked for richness.  One spoonful over the top of the golden-crisp chicken, the rest in a Pyrex vessel (I have no gravy boat, sadly.)

I called it “the hardest damned chicken” but that doesn’t really convey what I mean.  No part of this process was difficult, by any stretch.  It did require an active engagement with the chicken with which I am generally unaccustomed.  I worked hard to follow the instructions on this chicken, and it was worth it.

The Roast Chicken Experience called to mind what I consider to be a central theme of Julie and Julia, which is the distinction between that which is simple and that which is easy.  This chicken was simple – instructions straightforward, tasks so basic that anyone can do them – but it wasn’t easy.  You can’t sit back and put your feet up and read a good chunk of novel while waiting for the end of the roasting time.

If pressed to make a larger point, I might add that keeping kosher is simple – simply follow rules! – but it isn’t easy.  But this is a post for another time.  Right now I’m remembering my delicious chicken and sauce prepared 100% dairy-free, appreciating the hard-won simplicity and the bonus of rich flavor and superior texture that were the return on my investment.

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R&D Phase.

22nd
Aug. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz
Julia Child: My Life in France

Julia Child: My Life in France

By now it’s probably pretty obvious that my head isn’t 100% in the cooking yet.

(I’ve baked a few loaves of French bread since my last post, but I wasn’t faithful to any Julia Child recipe, nor was it any challenge to make it a pareve product – there’s neither dairy nor meat involved in bread.)

I’m reading My Life in France, Julia’s memoir of her amazing time living in Europe, collaborating on Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and becoming the Julia Child we all fondly remember.

It truly is an amazing story for so many reasons, that the Childs wound up in France, that Julia fell in love with French food at a time when she had the flexibility to attend Le Cordon Bleu, that she met Louisette Bertholle and Simone Beck at the time they were conceiving of a French cookbook for American markets, and that the book neared completion at a moment when American interests were almost ready to consider an approach to cooking that involved more than dumping ingredients out of cans.

For me, personally, it is an amazing story because of how deeply I’m able to identify with it; not simply as an armchair foodie exploring the world through flavors and trying to acquire and expand my culinary chops.  It may sound like the apex of hubris, but in reality it is due to precisely the opposite that I see strong parallels between Julia’s life and mine.

To summarize:

A graduate of a prestigious women’s college  (Smith, Vassar) moves to New York City in hopes of making it big (as an author, in the film/tv world) but meets the reality of being a twentysomething with no particular direction.  She moves home, dithers in areas of general humanitarian interest (Red Cross/United States foreign service, elections/politics),  meets her husband and moves a long way to live with him (France/San Diego.)  Not knowing what to do with her life, she falls in love with eating, cooking and thinking about food.  (Only one of us so far has gnoe to culinary school, but this is on my list of things to consider for the next few years.)

Some of her descriptions of self-doubt and self-consciousness also rang true for me.  I identify strongly with young Julia not because I consider myself enormously great (which she absolutely was) but because I think that I tend to undermine myself in the same ways that she describes in her book.  I aspire to one day discover the path that will lead me to overcome myself as Julia was able to overcome her own self-doubts and perceived awkwardness.

Of course, when I read Julie and Julia I also identified with Julie Powell.  Being a twentysomething floating around aimlessly in New York trying to figure out what my purpose was, and getting tripped up in the practicalities (day job) that stop people from pursuing and realizing what may be a completely impractical (or totally practical, but not immediately accessible) dream.

I’m not going into this expecting to find myself (with a fat book deal!) the way Julie Powell did, or a world-changing pioneer the way Julia Child did.  This isn’t so much about a destination as it is a disciplinary lens through which to examine myself, food, and the world.

I’ve finished reading My Life in France and am on to a cover-to-cover reading of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (starting with Volume I.)  I promise the actual cooking is about to start.

Posted in Personal Thoughts | 3 Comments

Terms

14th
Aug. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz

As you may have guessed, the idea of this blog is to cook as many as possible of the recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking without violating Jewish dietary laws of Kashrut.

That said, there are a few premises that need to be accepted.  First, I won’t mention the process of kashering all cookware, utensils and dishes, but is a basic step toward complete observance of Kashrut.  Therefore, in the interest of verbal economy, we will assume that all tools involved are properly kashered (made appropriate for use according to Jewish law).

Second is that all ingredients are kosher.  This presumes that packages have been examined for the stamps of the various oversight organizations (Circle-K, Star-K, OU, etc.)  Generally, domestic cheeses in USA are considered kosher for all but the absolutely most stringent Jews, but even cheeses are supervised and to be safe labels on these can also be checked.  Produce also is generally considered kosher as long as you don’t find any critters freeloading when the produce is inspected and washed.  Meats from kosher animals (cows, chickens, sheep as opposed to pigs, for example) must be slaughtered according to Jewish law, so for the purposes of this project we’ll assume all meats, unless specifically discussed, are kosher.

Wikipedia has a good article that covers several viewpoints on many of the dietary laws.

Third, we’ll assume that everything is done at a time when it is allowed to be done.  For example, we’ll assume that no flames were lit nor electricity used on Shabbat or on any of the holidays that prohibit such activities.  (As a general rule, I won’t perform those functions, nor blog about them, on any day when it would be halakhically (by Jewish law) prohibited to do so.)

I think that about covers general basic assumptions upon which the project will rest.  Obviously there are topics I’ve just presented that will merit further discussion over time, but seeing as it’s been over a week since my first entry, and I’ve spent a lot of time running over guidelines in my head, I thought I’d take another step forward.

As always, to be continued.

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Crépes Florentine; Gotta start somewhere.

5th
Aug. × ’09
By Cheryl Katz

I’ve been working through ideas for this project in my head for a week now, but it’s time to take the plunge and start writing.

So, here goes!

Inspired by Julie and Julia, the memoir by Julie Powell and new film featuring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams; as well as by an enduring love of food, cooking, and doing it myself (whatever “it” is); and now as always fueled by unlimited admiration for Julia Child and her impact on the life of the home cook in America; I’m undertaking this blogging adventure to see what the limits are for engaging in and learning from Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking while also adhering to Jewish dietary observance.

This is a pretty tall order.  Last night I made Gateau de crépes a la Florentine – and to summarize it is comprised of some flour, butter, milk, spinach and mushrooms; no meat – and yet the recipe did call to prime the hot pan by rubbing it with some good old pork fat instead of or in addition to using oil.

Naturally, I used oil and omitted the lard, but I think this is instructive of the nature of my project.  French cooking and Jewish cooking are at complete odds with each other; French seemingly hedonistic in its call and response to food simply for the flavor, texture and pleasure of the experience.  Jewish cooking seeks the flavor, texture and pleasure but with the additional project of attaining them without mixing meat and dairy, to name just the most basic of limitations.  French: complete indulgence and satisfaction.  Jewish: calculated and hard-won delicacy.

So the crépes Florentine.  I pre-made the crepe batter combining milk, water, eggs, salt and butter in the food processor and letting it sit refrigerated for the afternoon.  The harder work was more immediate in anticipation of dinner; think three hours sweating over a hot stove top in my un-air-conditioned brick oven of a house and you’ll have a good picture.  From 4-7 pm last night is now a blur to me of flipping crepes (successfully made in my well-seasoned cast iron pans without any sticking casualties!) blanching spinach, sauté-ing mushrooms and onion, and of course building a cheese sauce from the basic butter-flour roux on up.

I stacked crepes with alternating layers of the spinach and mushroom fillings and buried it all in cheese sauce (sauce Mornay, to be precise) topped it with shredded Swiss cheese, and browned it in a hot oven for 25 minutes.

I’m not sure how to give you a sense of this creation – except to say that the recipe called this 6 servings, but I ate less than a tenth of it and was completely satisfied by the richness of it all. (Use that much butter, cream and oil and you better get some satisfaction out of the experience.)  To give you a better sense, let me say this: my lactose intolerant husband, who hates spinach and generally lobbies for meat in every meal, thinks it was the best thing I’ve ever made.  This is saying a lot not only because it was vegetarian and enough dairy to cramp his stride for weeks, but since he raves and brags about my roast chicken, which is admittedly also very good.

The real trick will be to find a way to make crépes that in themselves are pareve (neither milk nor meat, therefore able to be served with both.)  The dairy-only recipe was kind of a freebie, since realistically I would have skipped the pork fat whether for this project or otherwise.  I haven’t projected a timeline for this undertaking because of this problem: recipes can be made kosher in two ways: eliminating meat or eliminating dairy.  The fun will be experimenting and deciding what variations taste best; the struggle will be someday actually finishing it, since it has the potential to take a very, very long time.

But this was an auspicious first stab.

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