Beef Wellington Christmas 2010

After reading an article in Fine Cooking and after much debate with my mom we were inspired to try it out. Now I had not made Beef Wellington since being at The Culinary Institute of America 10 years ago, and my mom had not since the 80's. After some research on the internet and looking through a few books we came up with our game plan.

We decided not to do the labor intensive process of traditional puff pastry and instead we used Nick Malgieri Instant Puff Pastry, from his book Modern Baker. Now this does not puff as much as the traditional puff, but for Wellington it works great.

Next we knew from previous experience we needed to protect the pastry from getting soggy from the cooking and resting process. To solve this problem we did three things. Pan seared the whole tenderloin and let it cool completely. Then we wrapped the duxelles coated tenderloin in prosciutto and then a crepe with dry savory. The result was super crispy pastry.

All in all I would do this again.

Cutting for Stone

Author: Abraham Verghese

Again, I've let so much time pass before posting my reads so this is the only one I'm actually going to say anything about.

This book was suggested to me by my dad's physician. I then suggested it for book club since I was going to read it anyway. It was a pretty unanimously enjoyed read. I thought this book was an absolutely incredible story - so well-written.

Read it. For real. Read it.

The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers

Author: Thomas Mullen

I'm afraid this review may be a little biased. For book club several months ago we read Tom's first book, The Last Town on Earth. Then, the very week after our little group discussed it, we had a new member join - Tom's wife.

I'll admit that I've been pretty star-struck by the nearness of celebrity even though they seem like the most normal down to earth people. Ok, she does - I haven't met him. But I felt that I urgently needed to read his second book because what excuse could I have for not?

I was fairly distracted in the beginning of the book thinking about how I almost knew him and was trying to compare it to his first book, even though they are miles apart as far as story. But eventually the hysteria in my brain calmed down enough for me to actually enjoy the book.

Afterwards I was still trying to resolve which one I liked better, perhaps thinking at some point if I ever met him maybe he would ask. I don't know - it doesn't seem likely (the asking, not the meeting, well maybe both) that he would be that self-centered as to want to talk about his books or assume anyone else did. Either way I'm sure the diplomatic reply of liking them both the same would seem like I didn't read either so the jury's still out.

Truthfully, though, the book was good. The ending left a little room for interpretation which I enjoyed. It's nice to still be thinking of a book for a few days or a week after you've closed the cover.

Re-Elect

On our way back from South Bend, IN last month, we stop for a break at a gas station in Bowling Green, KY and saw this. Oh it was paid by Steve Snodgrass. WOW!!!

Freedom

Author: Jonathan Franzen

In 2001 I read The Corrections, which introduced Franzen to most literate people. It was one of those books that I remember really loving but right now couldn't tell you a thing about it.

After nine years he's finally published another novel, Freedom. He came to Decatur as the keynote speaking for the Decatur Book Festival over Labor Day weekend. My fabulous friend, Marilyn, hooked me up with a ticket to see him speak and he read from his book to us.

This was a new experience for me - I don't recall ever going to hear an author read his work before. In a way it was nice, later on when I read the book, to know how intended certain characters to speak, their inflection, and cadence.

After the reading I stood in this incredibly enormous line to get him to sign my copy of Freedom, which thankfully I didn't purchase for my iPad the day before as I had been contemplating. The line took so long because everyone wanted to have their moment of conversation with him. I almost gave up twice. But I was determined not to say a word to him when I finally reached the table so as not to earn the scorn of the hundred or so people behind me still waiting. I know I'm not important to him so I don't need him to pretend for me.

A clever little trick they do is write your name on a sticky note and put it on the page he's going to sign so he doesn't spell your name wrong. I thought this was brilliant because no one spells my name right after I say it. Finally at the table, he opened my book, looked at my sticky note, and said, "To Gina?" To which I of course responded with the correct pronunciation of my name. Normally people at this point apologize and get on with their business. But Mr. Franzen just stared at me for a beat, like I was the one who was wrong.

Eventually he came out of his trance and apologized, to which I said that it was okay, nobody ever got it right. Then he signed my book and I was on my way. So, I guess I had a few more words with him than I was intending.

Partway into his book I realized the reason for his perplexed and staring pause creating our awkward moment: Jenna is in Freedom. I wonder if he thinks now he should have spelled it my way.

Long anecdote for the shortest of reviews: READ IT. You won't be sorry.

the crack that is television

As the end of the television season comes to a close before summer I look forward to it more than Christmas. I can practically taste the moment when I will be set free from its chains so that I can be some semblance of the literate person that I actually am. The stack of books waits as impatiently as I do. The day the DVR is clear is the pinnacle of relief.

All summer I cram as many books into my brain as possible, to the point of anxiety because I know I will read a third of my ambitions. But for those three months or so I feel like the nerd I am and love.

And now. The encroaching tv season is slithering its way back into my life, cleverly presenting me with only three premiers this week - just enough to solidify the illusion that I don't have a problem. I hate that I love television so much.

And so it gloriously (and simultaneously shamefully) begins - the weeks of endless DVRing, "catching up", and fast-forwarding through commercials. The not-so-tiny hard drive will bring me much happiness but with it comes oppression as well, until next summer when I'll be free for a little while again and can prove to myself that all of my intelligence hasn't evaporated.

The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner

Author: Stephanie Meyer

This is a novella from a single character's perspective who is briefly touched on in the Eclipse novel. For the most part it was childishly entertaining but the last 30 pages or so brought forth some interesting revelations. I either wasn't paying attention when I read Eclipse or it was so long ago that some details have evaporated from my brain.

Either way, the finish was good and it was altogether a pretty small investment of my time.

The Pillars of the Earth

Author: Ken Follett

Epic. Architecturally fascinating. Masterfully assembled.

I have resisted this book for quite some time. It's really long and so popular that I immediately shrugged it off. I sometimes have difficulty reading things I feel I must. Nonetheless, I read this, not quite at my usual pace, but with a constant hunger.

My immediate interest was in the architecture but I quickly realized how truly perfectly this novel was sewn together. It was a puzzle of enormous proportions and I kept thinking how brilliant Follett was to set up each part of the story hundreds of pages before, without the slightest hint of his intention. Even seemingly insignificant roles would float to the surface much later and make my stomach lurch in anticipation and dread.

But my admiration for him goes further.

Follett took an actual event in history (the sinking of the White Ship) and created a fictional history around this single event. The ability to weave such an epic tale, while maintaining some sense of historical accuracy, is astounding to me. Think of the massive amount of research he must have done to get it right.

The other thing I am impressed with is the power of Oprah. Follett wrote this book in 1989. Twenty-one years ago. In 2007 it was selected for Oprah's book club and I suspect it has enjoyed vastly more success since then than when it was originally published. Her influence is terrifying.

Normally I'm drawn to certain books because I become emotionally invested in the characters but not so much this time. Don't get me wrong - of course I was interested in them and wanted to follow their paths, but as I continued to read I was more impressed by the blueprint of the story and Follett's ability to build it flawlessly. I don't think I can recall another book where the structural integrity of the novel is so absolutely unwaveringly solid. No detail was overlooked and every sentence has a distinct purpose. Completely efficient in its enormity. Brilliant.

Ellen's Okra

We spent our night canning okra from Ellen's house in Statesboro, GA. She brought us SO MUCH beautiful okra so we pickled 12 jars and I'm planning on making some tomato and okra soup. W is planning on making some gumbo. After all that I still think we'll have enough okra to do it all over again.

Bistro 217...and Elvis

New factoid: it's illegal to wear a thong in South Carolina. Any kind of thong, either sex.

On one of our last nights of vacation we opted to go out to dinner and were trying to choose between Chive Blossom, a highly recommended place, and Bistro 217, a place mom heard about from the woman who did her hair last week.

We ended up at Bistro 217. Despite the sweltering weather, we ate outside on the cutest patio under a tent (it turned out it wasn't much cooler inside anyway), with lots of fans and misting water.

Our Albanian waiter, Elvis, with his soft eyes and French/Eastern European melting pot of an accent, was the perfect accompaniment to the most fabulous meal we've had in the two years we've been here.

First, the food. All apologies to Mary James but the shrimp and grits were beyond perfect. Instead of a bowl of grits the seared shrimp were served over a jalapeno grit cake that stayed crispy all the way through the andouille sausage, okra, and tomato espanole sauce. So perfectly fabulous and not like I had ever had it before.

But Heidi won the app contest with her seared tuna Napoleon: three layers of seared tuna on a crispy won ton piece with an avocado salad. Holy crap, this thing was amazing. Other apps included crab bisque (clearly the weather did not affect Baguer's choice) and carpaccio (the only disappointment of the meal).

Entrees: I had Jack's favorite fish to say - humu-humu-nuka-nuka-apuaa, or triggerfish. It was pecan crusted and served over a fried crab and rice cake with a coconut cream sauce and bok choy. The bok choy was quite tedious and the crab in the cake completely unnecessary but the rest was unbelievable. Cris ordered the biggest lamb shank I've ever seen, and ate every bite of it. Baguer got the flounder which looked good, and Heidi got the special halibut over a bevvy of sauteed vegetables. Mom had the carpaccio and Dad had the Asian BBQ ribs. Everyone was happy.

Now, Elvis, our server. We took bets that he spoke 4 languages. We were wrong. Six: Albanian, Italian, French, German, English, and Spanish. And as Heidi liked to say, he had bedroom eyes. After dinner Heidi and fam stopped to get us some ice cream at Latte Litchfield, a sweet little place Heidi and I found earlier in the day when we needed an iced caffeinated beverage to quell my headache.

As Heidi was chatting up the girl who had helped us earlier in the day, she was saying how we blew off dessert at Bistro 217 to come there instead. After being asked, Heidi was describing who our waiter had been and the girl behind the counter finally said, "Oh, the gigolo with the bun-wrap." Apparently, Elvis prefers the European beachwear style. This is when Heidi found out from the state trooper in Latte Litchfield that thongs were illegal in South Carolina.

What a truly fabulous night.

Mansfield Park

Author: Jane Austen

I sincerely struggled through the first half of the story but as soon as we were past all the formalities of character development the story was so civilized. I wish I lived in Mansfield Park. Loved it. I'm not sure if I loved it more than Pride & Prejudice but I think there's no doubt that Austen has quickly become one of my favorite authors.

Pandora

Author: Anne Rice

A little bit of brain candy sprinkled in the literature is a good thing. And sometimes, the candy ends up being more than you would have hoped for.

Anne Rice proves again that she is a great storyteller - not just about vampires and witches - but in the way she weaves history into her adventures. Not to spoil anything, but I don't even think Pandora becomes a vampire until two-thirds of the way through the book. This book is so clearly not about being a vampire.

The story centers around Lydia (later to become Pandora) and her life in ancient Rome. I felt like I was watching the prematurely aborted masterpiece Rome that was on HBO. The history of the worship of Isis got a little old but was necessary I suppose.

If you like Anne Rice, this was a very pleasant return to her magical storytelling skills that have been adrift since the early days of Louis and Lestat.

The Caliph's House

Author: Tahir Shah

Book Club Selection

Written in the spirit of A Year in Provence and Under the Tuscan Sun, this tale of adventure and cultural adaptation was set in Casablanca.

I absolutely loved this book, perhaps even more than either of the two in whose footsteps it traces. For me it was the absolute stark contrasts in culture from his London upbringing that proved most entertaining.

Definitely recommended.

Gena: Day 1

After almost a year I finally got back on Helix yesterday. Shockingly, I'm not as out of shape as I thought - only a couple mphs off where I was last summer. However great that may have been, the 12% grade that is my driveway is always going to suck. And I couldn't find my gloves which also sucked.

I'm debating whether to take the bike to the beach or not. Pink got me to buy some fancy running shoes so it's either run or bike at the beach - I've got to do something to counteract all the calories I'm going to be drinking. Don't laugh at my stats below - I'm pretty slow.

7/16/10

10.02 miles

0:40:24

14.8 mph av

33.0 mph max

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Author: Lewis Carroll

Believe it or not I have never read this story. This was the first book I read on my new iPad, which is totally the bomb by the way. But it's strange to read a story for the first time and already know everything that happens from other book/movie references and pop culture.

Spy

Author: Ted Bell

Waste of my time. Sorry, Dad.

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

Author: Stieg Larsson

A brilliant finale to one of the best trilogies I've ever read. I am so sad my time with Blomkvist and Lisbeth is over.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles

Author: Thomas Hardy

I am so far behind on my book posts so these are all going to be short...

I don't know why but I've been into classic books lately. Maybe because they are mostly about times so far past that it's like walking through another world.

I recently read an article asking the question if "classic" books were written today would they still be considered "classics." I don't know the answer to that but I thought it was interesting.

I really enjoyed this story despite all the formalities and strange awkward behavior but I guess that's just how it was back then.

Cupcake Destroyer: Jack's 3rd Birthday

Well I know for a fact that this will be the quietest birthday Jack will every have. Just Papa and Jack chillin out. We started our day out @ Chamblee Farmers Market, we picked some fresh heirloom tomatoes, corn, fennel, and fresh butter beans. Also grabbed some pickled okra and muscandine jam. Next it was off to Toys R Us. Amazingly I found Thomas the Train named Emily, which we had been looking for months now. Lastly we stopped at Publix for a cupcake, which I think you will see that he enjoyed very much. Once he gets up from his nap, it will be off to the pool. Enjoy the video.

The great Toad in a Hole I know there are many names for this great breakfast treat but any other will not do. Jack enjoyed his very first this morning and ate every bit of it. Some of you might be wondering why so long, well I don't really have an answer to that.

The Great Gatsby

Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald

No, I never read this high school, although I'm sure I was supposed to. This book is referenced a few times in The Tender Bar so I decided it must be necessary for me to read it now.

I loved it, but I've been into the classic stuff these days anyway. There's something about how uncomplicated and simple that period of time seemed to me, at least in the context of this story. People did what they wanted without much forethought of the consequences. Carefree. Seemingly jobless yet with an endless supply of money. Nothing to do but socialize and play tennis.

Perhaps I'm just envious.

Fox cubs

So we have a fox birthing den in our backyard. I caught the cubs playing this morning just outside of the den. Enjoy

The Girl Who Played with Fire

Author: Stieg Larsson

Where the first book seemed to take about a week and a half to wrap up, the last page of this one snuck right up and slapped me in the face. Shockingly abrupt. So abrupt that when I had about two pages left I actually thought I must be physically missing some pages. I was cursing the airport in Amsterdam for selling me a bunk copy.

Wrong. Cliffhanger.

And also opposite of its predecessor, this story took off from the first page without all the getting to know you pleasantries. It's a great story with lots of new details about the main character and very well executed on the plot front. It's still hard for me to keep track of all the Swedish names and decide up front who's important to remember and who's not and I definitely don't care about the routes through Sweden which each character takes. But those are minor complaints for a pretty good payoff.

The last book in the series comes out in May so I suspect it will make my summer reading list. I'm quite sad Mr. Larsson is dead - it would have been great to see more stories about Lisbeth Salander and I think it would have been nice for him to know how popular his books have become - he never had a chance to enjoy his international success.

Real Easter Eggs

Today after months of waiting and thinking that our two new chickens were egg laying duds, we got two eggs from them. The new chickens are a breed called Araucanas and they lay blue-green eggs, or real Easter eggs. Also our other ladies were very productive as well. This is 1 1/2 days worth of eggs.

The Last Town on Earth

Author: Thomas Mullen

This is one of the best selections we've read for book club. Maybe even better than The Help. Our brave new member, Sarah, made this suggestion after reading an article in Atlanta Magazine about the author, who apparently now resides here.

A small northwestern logging town decides to quarantine itself at the onset of the 1918 flu epidemic. Despite a vigilant effort to contain itself and keep insiders out, the flu gets in, among other things.

The characters were so well developed and the crippling descriptions of the flu were truly terrific. Despite being used to tie a pretty bow around the ending, I felt like the focus on the unions and labor issues were a tired attempt to impart an historical and social significance that the story didn't really need to be successful.

In the end, though, it was a good book with some good moral considerations and well written.

The Forge of God

Author: Greg Bear

At the beach this summer I passed on to my Dad The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I tried and tried and tried to convince him it was worth reading. He ignored me every time. But when someone else told him he had to read it he did. Hmm. Nonetheless, he loved it, like I said he would.

The Forge of God was his payback to me. I'm sure he gave me this book some time last year and I just stacked it away with all the rest of the science fiction I didn't have time for. Last weekend he made me promise to read it before anything else since he had finally fulfilled his end of the bargain (what bargain?). In a drunken stupor I agreed (huh?).

One week later I'm glad I read it. Not as good as his Darwin's Radio but still totally worth reading. I loved that there's no super human to come save the day when the Earth is about to be exploded by alien invaders. I love how the world ends each time for each character (or not). I love to see how they react, where they go, who they think about it. To me, the feelings and reactions were as realistic as you could expect them to be.

The Tender Bar

Author: JR Moehringer

Passed on to me by my Dad, this was a great read. Because I'm too lazy to write my own review you can read his here.

the strain

Author: Guillermo del Toro and someone else

I like reading about vampires. I'll admit it. Anne Rice created the vampire world for me (and probably most of the vampire-reading population) so in my head she represents the truest of the vampire lore. Everything else I read is compared to the world of Louis and Lestat.

Other vampire worlds that have only minor modifications to hers don't bother me as long as the core set of values remains the same and most of the same rules apply.

The Strain is like the vampire alternate universe and I don't buy it. As far as vampires go this book stinks. Being a vampire is the result of a "worm" that multiplies and circulates in the body (i.e the strain), vampires can't cross bodies of water unless assisted by a human, and they don't even bite you with teeth! They have a stinger that shoots 6 feet out of their mouth to suck your blood. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Guillermo, I love your warped brain but this is absurd. You've messed with a genre that has been messed with too much already. If you called them zombies it would have been more appropriate. You can call them what you want, but if I'm going to read the next two books in the trilogy they're not going to be vampires to me.

That being said, this book was way more entertaining than the two bombs we tried to read for book club: Tropic of Cancer (beyond torture) and the Diary of Anais Nin (beyond boring).

2010 and me

Last year I had two goals for myself: losing weight (winning the contest, really) and reading 19 books. I did both - I overachieved on the reading and wasn't quite as successful as I would have liked with the other (but I still won). So when this new year started I was trying to figure out how many books I could reasonably read and how much weight I could reasonably lose. And then I remembered something - I wanted to be a writer, once. I should concentrate on writing this year.

A couple of years ago I decided science was something I just did because I was good at it - but if I could have any career it would be that of an author. But, even after that epiphany, I just continued my status quo because I knew it would take me too long to be good at writing for a living. I am impatient and practical.

Rewind two decades plus - I was about 12. Growing up my family was very close friends with Mary Higgins Clark and her family. I used to swim in her above ground pool and fetch pennies off the bottom where you could feel the bumpy blemishes of the ground it sat on. She lived in a pretty average house on a pretty average street in New Jersey. We lived a few blocks away.

One night at a cocktail party at Mary's house I told her that I liked to write stories. I used to write all the time. And I mean all the time. I wrote stories and poems and filled fractions of different journals galore (never once filled one up all the way, though). She bent down and whispered in my ear, "Never show them to anyone!" The grin on her face made me feel like she had just told me the greatest secret in the whole world and we were the only ones who knew it. And my response was, "I know!"

Sometime in college I remembered that moment and couldn't reconcile why she said that and why I agreed with her. And even a couple of years ago I was trying to decipher that moment again. How could I so completely understand what she meant when I was 12 but not now? Then last week happened.

I was reading an article about JD Salinger after he passed away (I will always and forever link him in my mind to an old school friend, Col, because she was the first person I knew who read Franny & Zooey and Catcher in the Rye and told me how it was a banned book. I even remember looking at Catcher in the Hillsdale library thinking I was going to get in trouble or something). At some point in history he said, "Publishing is a terrible invasion of privacy...I love to write. But I write just for myself and my own pleasure."

I had forgotten what I liked about writing - reading and re-reading what I wrote and the feeling I got from it: not having to grow up. Each piece takes me back to the moment in time when it came together and I smile. I didn't need anyone else to read those stories to get out of them what I needed. And Mary knew that a 12 year-old wasn't writing for an audience and apparently 12 year-old me knew that, too.

So I finally understand what Mary meant that night - probably my only clear memory of her: standing in the hallway with the parkay floor on my way to the den with a drink for my Dad, thinking my parents were so cool to let me come to the party because I was the youngest kid there.

Would I ever show those stories from my youth to anyone? Probably not. I would be embarrassed but mostly because no one else would get the inside jokes. Those are just for me and they still make me smile.

So the reality is that I don't want to be a publishing author (blogs don't count - these are just opinions and certainly no one is paying to read them). It's not something I want as a career. I just want those moments back where I can make myself stuck in time.

hoarders

I don't think any description I give is going to fully impress exactly how I feel, deep in my core, when/after I watch this show. This is maybe the second or third time in my life that an emotional response to something has made me physically feel sick, like a fist is lodged in the center of my chest, pushing its nubby little thumb toward my spine. It's dark in there. And I don't know why I do this to myself.

The first time I watched this show I was simply and utterly mesmerized, mostly in shock, I think, that people who lived in this fashion existed in reality. Well, at least in the reality most of us are a part of. They clearly don't have the same perception of said reality.

I've seen 4 episodes and there seems to be two types of hoarders: those who are lazy, want someone to pay attention to them, or simply don't give a shit to clean up their mess, and then those who are unequivocally mentally ill and absolutely cannot detach themselves from even the minutest of possessions. Sometimes we are even treated to the historical event that may have started the landslide. A single robust memory extricated from the mounds of plastic bottles, rotting food, and even feces, like a strand of creased tinsel.

This show makes me feel guilty for every insignificant memento I might keep. I am instantly compelled to clean something in the house, throw something away, get rid of any extraneous magazines. I actually and irrationally worry that I could sink into such an abyss.

I can see how it might start, with an odd bag of clothes you forgot to drop off at the Salvation Army so you toss it into the spare closet. Soon lots of forgotten things are added to the closet that never make it to where they are supposed to go.

But I can't see all the in-between stages where it starts to overflow from the closet to the bedroom to the hallway to the bathroom and on and on ad nauseam until you have to carve a path through the towering stacks of filth to get to the kitchen to use the microwave to heat up dinner because the stove is cluttered with dirty pans, empty glass jars, and feces.

Yes, feces. I have seen two episodes with multiple dead critters (two dead cats buried in the rubble and several crusty rats) and layers of feces (human and animal). This is usually when I start to have an anxiety attack because HONESTLY, who wouldn't notice they were missing one of their cats, let alone two? How are the red flags in these people's minds not screaming through bullhorns at this point?

So I turn off the show, tidy up the tv room, put away every single toy, and tell myself I won't watch another episode because that fist never fails to return. And then I do because I'm an idiot.

the deed is done

Here are some pictures of my first chicken slaughter. It will now become dinner tonight in the form of Coq a Vin. Only if I had a rooster.

Bleeding out

Tools of the trade

Plucked and ready to be eviscerated

Looks just like the one I brought at the supermarket not too long ago, just a few more steps to get there.

Ready for the Le Cresuset pot

Notice how much more fat is on this bird and the color of the thigh meat. I am sure that has to do with the fact it lived a little longer than a meat bird.