Jenise wrote:Brussels sprouts would be great. As for knife and fork, depends on their size,and I tend to cut them if they're larger anyway. Trying hashing them--just slice cross-wise in a chiffonade. Consider finishing them in a Chinese saute: put a little oil in a pan, lightly cook a couple bruised (to release flavor) coins of ginger in the oil and cook for a few minutes, then add a few pinchews each salt and sugar at a 2:1 ratio to season the sprouts, the brussel sprouts quartered or chiffonaded, toss well, then douse with some chicken broth or water. The steam from the evaporating liquid flash-cooks the vegetables. You'll have really tasty brussels sprouts with most of the nutrients intact.
This brussels sprouts recipe sounds very interesting. We will try it. Lynn didn't want to try it this time with the duck, because Asian influences might be too much fusion for the rib-sticking dish. Maybe she just got tired of the preparation.
Anyway, we had the duck last night at home, not at camp. We had packed everything up and arrived at camp at noon, just to find our pipes frozen. It had apparently dropped to 20 below zero f. earlier in the week without any snow cover for insulation. What a drag.
There were a lot of drippings from roasting the duck. Lynn put them in the refrigerator, and when jelled, removed the fat. We used this base to slightly reduce the demi-glace. The sauce was a bit too kick-butt for our home, but very flavorful. Lynn broiled the boned halfs, with wings removed, just before serving, instead of quickly re-roasting the parts with water, again, as the cook had recommended. Lynn had been shown the broiling method in a French cooking course she had taken. It crisped the skin a little better than the roasting would have. Probably preferable. [End of cooking discussion]
Jenise, you might get a kick out of this: After coming back home, we were kind of sitting around counting our teeth. When you get up for the wild and end up back in suburbia, it is hard to re-acclimate immediately. Lynn suggested we go to a CD shop and get some new jazz music.
The store is noted for its classical music specialization. There's an old guy there who is more pompous than the worst wine store clerk. He knows everything about classical music and immediately shows his impatience with anybody who doesn't share his tastes and knowledge.
I know little about classical music, much like most wine drinkers know almost nothing about wine. While Lynn was browsing, I asked the clerk to make a few relatively obscure classical selections for me, as I had listened to many of the standards over and over again, and would like to hear something new. When he recommended Schubert's songs, I said I didn't like voice. He placed his hands behind his back and turned it on me without further comment.
I said, changing the theme, if I could ever find André Watts' rendition of Chopin's Funeral March (3rd Movement of his Second Sonata), it would be a bit of a Holy Grail for me, but I had never even seen a Watts CD.
My father plays classical piano and sends me tapes of his playing. A few years ago, he sent me a tape of Chopin's Marche funèbre, which I tossed on my early '70s quad Klipsch speakers, including two Cornwalls. I had never heard the piece played with so much power and emotion. I got goose bumps realizing just how great a pianist my father was...er, until I found out that he had taped André Watts, without so stating on the tape. He wasn't trying to fool me; he just wanted to share the tape.
André is a black man, and while this will sound racist, I see him in my minds eye as a guy whose glove wouldn't fit. (Somehow I remember my father telling me it was the opposite situation, but be that as it may.) Anyway, I always wanted to get a production-grade recording of André playing the Funeral March. I've looked for it a dozen times.
The clerk said he didn't have it, and agreed that André Watts is not widely available in CD. Then he walked away. I glanced through Chopin's tray, anyway, and there it was!: André Watts's recording of the Funeral March. The old guy had somehow disappeared, so I missed my opportunity for schadenfreude. But the day ended on a nice (even if melancholy - albeit the piece ends with transformative wind over the grave) note, after listening to all that jazz.