So I made it.
And it was good.
But like the other kind of porn (or so I'd like to think, not being into that), reality didn't quite live up to the dream. Flavor? Oh man yes, it was all there. The sweetness of the shallots, lightly seasoned with but salt, pepper and fresh thyme, was magical, and it deserves pride of place among caramlized onion-products especially when paired with hot rare beef products.
But the recipe itself was rather incomplete. That is, following it exactly will not get you the results in the picture. Oh no, not even close. Which suggests that even the uncompromising Thomas Keller, Mr. Laborious Technique, can be compromised, will dumb down his recipes for the sake of selling a book to someone with the attention span of Rachel Ray's flea.
Crap.
This is the first recipe from the book I've done, and it does not bode well for the rest.
Here are the two hearts of my complaint:
The shallots. In order to get to the desirable state shown in the picture (and no doubt cooked that way in his restaurant), the shallots must plod away slowly on your cooktop for at least an hour. The 20 or so minutes implied by the recipe will merely yield softness vs. the hardness that went into the pan. But limp and caramelized are not the same thing. Fortunately, I'm a good cook and knew what it took to get the result I wanted, and so the shallots had all the time in the world to get to the desired frenzy-inducing state, and dinner was not held up. But a lesser cook would have been tricked into stopping well short, and as a result would not have achieved shallot-nirvana and most likely been left scratching her head and wondering what the f-word that was all about, and
The skirt steak. Here's where he got me: the instructions recommended a quick stove top sear followed by a quick trip to the oven to finish the steak to medium rare. I took that at face value, fascinated (perhaps wrongly) by the thought of pan-searing and serving whole like a steak a meat I had only considered suitable for grilling and thin slicing, in which state I (who likes chewy, fatty beef) adore it. I had the perfect size piece of skirt, about ten inches wide, which cut nicely into two portions before going into the frying pan. Well, I'm here to tell you that there's a good reason why 'stove top' and 'serve whole' are not phrases that immediately come to mind when cooking skirt steak. It's just too tough a cut. Though cooked to a perfect medium rare, which really is the perfect doneness for this cut and what we go for when we grill it, sawing away at it with a good sharp steak knife is more work than most of us want to go to. Don't try it if you have arthritis in your cutting arm, and be sure not to use your best plates if you ignore my advice and do this anyway. You'll scar them for life, seasawing away to get your next bite while the surface of the plate screams in resistance. So clearly what happens in the Keller kitchen is that they run the steaks through a tenderizer or they'd be impossible for white table cloth service no matter how casual.
But does he mention anything about tenderizing in the book? Oh no. He just waxes poetic about the flavor in these "lesser" cuts, knowing that any mention of special devices sends most home cooks running into the hills.
And so a hero falls. Thomas Keller is imperfect. Commercial. A sell-out. Boo hoo, boo hoo. What's next, a game show on the Food Network?
