Friday, April 16, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Seeing as how this whole darn Duck deal has landed in my lap, it occurred to me that I better do that orderly asymetrical three-on-a-plate thing. Went to the market, and there were the usual absurdly cheap "canard manchions." Duck drumsticks, basically. And the reason they're so absurdly cheap is because they're so absurdly tough. Because ducks are made for swimming, and that's just what they do. They're muscle-y, tendon-y little bastards, those canards enchainé, and you've got to cook them slowly. You can make confit from them, if you have the patience, but I decided to see if I could swim against the current, and paneé them, poelle' them. Ever so slowly. We shall see.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Only just a mere six or seven million years ago, I dined with Malcolm McLaren. There were others in attendance as well, like James Truman and Roger Trilling and so forth. It was a good deal like a Hollywood version of The Drones Club. I had nothing to do, I hasten to assure you, with the choice of location, with the food, with the mise en anytheeng. Of this you may be sure, because it was a Chinese restaurant in Beverly Hills, which you can be double-damn-dead-certain I would never have suggested, thank you very much (and as Malc was famous for never even considering picking up the check, I don't know that we can blame him either) and I damn sure wasn't going to have us eating at a hoi-toi Chinese place in Beverly for God's sake Hills, when with a merest jaunt East on the freeway we could have been in Monterey Park, the largest assemblage of astonishing Chinese food on the North American continent. No doubt over the course of the meal I ingraciously mentioned this. I probably couldn't help myself.