Clare Fare

Who’d a thunk we’d finally have a snow day around here?  Best of all, it’s President’s Day so lots of folks have the day off and don’t have to drive around in it.   They can actually go out and play while it lasts, which, from a quick peak at Mr. Washington’s trusty thermometer outside my living room window, won’t be too long.

The General Assembly soldiers on regardless of things like holidays and snow, so from my perspective, sitting here alone–well Briggs and Eudora Richardson are here with me of course (my black and white furry companions)– I’ve really lucked out with perhaps the quintessential snow day lunch for one.

Saturday was spent busily preparing a meal for special guests who’d purchased dinner at Chez Schapiro at the Cystic Fibrosis benefit.  I was eager that it be something really special, so, along with good old tried and true recipes, I decided to try something new that had been speaking to me during recent restaurant visits all over town.  I first had a very good red pepper and crab soup at Portico, followed by a superlative one at Bacchus on Main.  It  kept reverberating through my days, and I couldn’t look at a red pepper in the grocery, let alone see that ravishing orangey red color, even on a pillow, without thinking about the soup.

Determined to reproduce it, I had lots of will, but not too much time, as I was already on the hook to make all of the other time-consuming courses.  I scurried around looking for a recipe that might achieve the goal without too much fussing and found one, sans crabmeat, by Giada De Laurentiis that used jarred red peppers and meant that I could forego the roasting/paper bag performance which, while not remotely difficult, is a tad bit fussy.

I grabbed some stupendous jumbo lump crabmeat at Bon Air Seafood and had this whipped up in no time for its premiere on Saturday night.  We had it again during the snow storm last night and I managed to eek out one last bowl, and two of the cheese “batons”, as my friend Carroll dubbed them, for my lunch today. 

 With the Richardsons napping nearby on the window seat,  I plan to happily enjoy the solitude of my snow day lunch.  When I look at Briggs nestled up against that pillow, it’s nice to know that the next time I get that craving,  I can whip up the soup of my dreams  in no time.

Cream of Red Pepper Soup with Crab

serves 8

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 onions, finely chopped

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

3 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped

2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme leaves

6 cups chicken broth

2 (15 ounce) jars roasted sweet red bell peppers preserved in water, drained

1 russet potato, peeled and coarsely chopped

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 tablespoon sugar

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 cup heavy cream

1 pound jumbo lump crabmeat

creme fraiche for garnish (optional)

Heat olive oil in a heavy large pot over medium-high heat.  Add the onions, carrots, garlic, and thyme and saute until the onions are translucent, about 5 minutes.  Add the broth, bell peppers, potato, wine, and sugar.  Bring to a simmer over high heat.  Decrease the heat to medium-low.  Partially cover and simmer until the potatoes are very tender, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.  Cool the soup slightly.

Using an immersion blender, puree the soup until it is smooth.  Season the soup, to taste, with salt and pepper.  Add cream and crab meat and, stirring, warm through, until hot without boiling, and serve immediately garnished with creme fraiche.

–Adapted from Giada De Laurentiis

When they decide to start a new television series dubbed Cookbook Hoarders I just know my phone will ring and I’ll be invited to appear in the premiere. 

Yes, dear readers, I have a problem.  It seems to me, however, that there are a lot worse maladies than compulsively buying cookery books.  At least as long as the walls of our house don’t implode, I suppose. 

On the plus side, I really do read them.  In fact, I do more than read them.  I pour over them, I consult them, I come back and reread them  and somehow,  what I’ve read in the past is constantly percolating through what I’m reading in the present.

All of this helps me to do what I most like to do, which is read everything I can around a subject and then close the books and create my own take on whatever it is.  That’s what happened with this delectable dish which was rolled out over the Christmas holidays and which I just realized I never shared with you, though I promised to.

There’s almost nothing more desirable in terms of comfort food to me than lasagna.  When I realized I was having a special dinner for some beloved vegetarians, the handy search engine that is my brain steered me towards a couple of recipes for mushroom lasagna that I’d recently read.

One was in the first class vegetarian cookbook which I received as a wonderful present from Charlotte and Sarah before Thanksgiving.  I heartily recommend it, by the way.  It’s called Plenty and is by the renowned London chef Yotam Ottolenghi.  Shortly after I read it, I remembered stumbling upon Sam Sifton’s article in the Sunday Magazine of the New York Times which had a different take on it, based on  Brooklyn chef Monica Byrne’s recipe.

 I amalgamated the two recipes, taking the best ideas from both and simplified them to create this, if you ask me,  perfect meal for a “mixed” crowd.  By mixed I mean that vegetarians will be thrilled and cossited by your efforts on their behalf,and even the most dedicated carnivores will find satisfaction as they work their way through the gravitas of the meaty mushrooms and the smokey cheese. One warning however this is one rich dish.  Really extravagant in terms of the sheer amount of cheese and exotic mushrooms.  Of course, I carefully paid no attention to what it cost to produce, though I think it was not inconsequential. 

On the positive side, however, is that it was so rich, we could only each eat a tiny bit so I think the one pan really fed 8 -10 which is amazing when you consider that those 8 – 1o servings included 4 servings –two each–to Felix and Jeff who, bless their hearts–can normally really decimate the best part of a whole lasagna all by themselves.

It’s going to be cold around here this weekend, so why don’t you make a mushroom lasagna?  You can always click-through the channels while it’s in the oven and see if the season premiere of Cookbook Hoarders is on.  Probably not very action packed, except to me.

Mushroom Lasagna

serves 8 -10

1/2 cup olive oil

6 large shallots, peeled and minced

1  3/4 pounds mixed fresh exotic mushrooms, best available (oyster, shiitake, cremini etc.)

2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves

4 tablespoons fresh parsley leaves, finely chopped

1 cup dry white wine

1 medium head of radicchio, halved, cored and cut into 1/2-inch slices

salt and pepper

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 large cloves of garlic, peeled and minced

4 tablespoons all purpose flour

3 cups whole milk

1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg

2 cups Gruyère cheese, grated

1 cup Fontina cheese, grated

5 ounces, Feta cheese, crumbled

2 tablespoons truffle oil (optional)

1 9-ounce box of no-boil lasagna sheets

1 lb. smoked mozzarella, sliced

 1 cup fresh Parmesan, grated

Preheat the oven to 350.  Place a large saute pan over medium high heat.  Ad 1/4 cup of olive oil.  When the oil is hot, add half of the shallots and cook, stirring until translucent.  Add the mushrooms and toss to coat then cook until they begin to color but are still plump, about 12 minutes.  Add thyme  and parsley and then add white wine to deglaze the pan and allow to reduce to form a syrup.  about  5 minutes.   Put mushrooms into a large bowl and set aside.

In another bowl, toss the radicchio with 1/4 cup of olive oil, salt and pepper.  Place on a cookie sheet and roast until the strips are lightly browned around the edges, about 15 minutes.  Combine radicchio with the mushrooms.

Place a saucepan over medium heat and melt the butter.  When it foams, add the rest of the shallots and cook until they are translucent.  Add the garlic and stir to combine and then cook for 1 minute.  Sprinkle flour over the mixture and cook gently for about 2 minutes.  Add the milt to the mixture stirring until the sauce is thick and creamy.  Add the nutmeg and 1/4 cup each of the grated Gruyère and grated Fontina and stir to combine.

Reserve a cup of this sauce and pour the rest over the mushroom and radicchio mixture and stir to combine.  Add the truffle oil if using.

To assemble the lasagna, spread the plain bechamel across the bottom of a 9 – 13-inch baking pan.  Place a layer of lasagna sheets across the sauce not overlapping them.  Spread a half of the mushroom mixture on top and follow with half of the remaining Fontina and Gruyère and Feta.  Put another layer of pasta above the cheese, and top with half of the smoked mozzarella.  Repeat the layers, ending with a layer of the grated parmesan.

Cover the lasagna with a buttered sheet of aluminum foil and place in the oven for 45 minutes.  Remove foil and cook until the top is golden and bubbling, about another 15 minutes.

Let cool for 5 minutes and then serve immediately.

Adapted from Plenty  by Yotam Ottolenghi and  from Monica Byrne of Home/Made Brooklyn 

I often think that a simple fruit desert is my very favorite, and this rustic apple tart is high on that list.  I’m not sure that this photograph really does it justice, however, since the whole point is that it’s homemade, this certainly looks the part.  Oh, if you could just smell it, you’d know that this is a scrumptuous treat that will end any meal on a splendidly high note.

Perhaps part of the reason I like it so much, is the anticipation.  I have to plan to make it, for at least a couple of days, because it is made with creme fraiche, for which I am way too cheap to pay the exorbitant asking price in the local gourmet market.  You see, not normally known to economize when it comes to ingredients, I made the mistake of discovering just how easy creme fraiche is to make,  and therefore can’t bring myself to buy it anymore.  Instead, when I get the wild hare to make this tart, I buy some preferably whole milk buttermilk and some whipping cream.  When I get home, I put a couple of tablespoons of the buttermilk into a glass bowl with a couple of cups of cream in it, stir it gently and pop it into my oven set to “proof”.  Like alchemy, 24 hours later I have a great big bowl of creme frache, which, let me just say, is a pretty magical and empowering thing to know you can do.

But I digress.  This tart is well worth the wait, plus, you’ll have lots of extra creme fraiche at the end of it to dollop all over the place.   And you know what’s wrong with that?  Nothing.

Tarte aux Pommes a la Creme

serves 8

first make:

Pate Sucree

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour

7 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled and cut into pieces

2 teaspoons sugar

1/8 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons ice water

Place 1 cup of flour, the butter, sugar and salt in a food processor.  Process just until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs, about 10 seconds.  Add the ice water and pulse just until the pastry begins to hold together, about 6 to 8 times.  Do not let it form a ball.  Transfer the pastry to waxed paper; flatten the dough into a disk.  Wrap the pastry in waxed paper and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to a 12-inch circle.  Transfer the dough to a 10 1/2-inch loose bottomed tart pan.  With your fingertips, carefully press the pastry into the pan and up the side, trying not to stretch it.  Trim the overhang, leaving about a 1-inch edge.  Tuck this overhand inside the pan, pressing gently against the side to create a sturdy, double-sided shell.  If you build the pastry a bit highter than the height of the pan, you will have less problem with shrinkage.  Prick the bottom of the shell.  Chill for at least 20 minutes .

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.  Line the shell loosely with heavy-duty foil, pressing well into the edges so the pastry doesn’t shrink while baking.  Fill with baking weights making sure you get all the way into the edges, to prevent shrinkage.

Bake just until the pastry begins to brown around the edges and seems firm enough to stand up by itself, about 20 minutes.  Remove the weights and foil and continue baking until lightly browned all over, about 10 miore minutes.  Cool for at least 10 minutes before filling.

To make the tart:

3 large egg yolks

3/4 cup creme fraiche

5 tablespoons sugar

4 apples, like Granny Smith or Pink Lady (about 1 1/2 pounds)

Preheat oven to 375 unless it is still on from making the crust, in which case, just keep it on.

Place the egg yolks in a big bowl and beat with a fork.  Add the  creme fraiche and 3 tablespoons of the sugar.  Mix until well blended and set aside.

Peel and core the apples, cut them in half.  Cut each half into quartes.  Starting just inside the edge of hte pastry shell, neatly layer the apple slices–slightly overlapping them–in 2 or 3 concentric circles, working toward the center.  Pour the cream mixture over the apples.  Sprinkle on the remaining 2 tablespoons of sugar.

Bake the tart in the center of the cream filling is set and the apples are very brown, even slightly blackened at the edges, about 45 minutes.  Remove to a rack to cool.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

–Adapted from Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells

Time for some Kismet cooking.  As you doubtless know by now, there’s almost nothing I like so much as ingredients coming my way through seeming coincidence.  In figuring out what to do with them,  I know I’m on the right track when I having a niggling feeling of vaguely remembering something.  That’s where my colossal book of clipped recipes comes in.  It drives Jeff bonkers,  because it’s such an enormous overstuffed notebook that inevitably seems to be perched right in his way.  By now he’s surely learned that any criticism of my notebook, boldly entitled “Clare” on its spine,  is rife with peril. I guess its title shows that I view it as an extension of myself, and dishing it is akin to answering “yes” when I ask him if I look fat in my new red dress.  In other words, its someplace he doesn’t want to go.

My trusty notebook sent out a virtual vibration recently when my sweet next-door neighbor appeared bearing the last butternut squash from her garden.  In looking around at my stash, nestled amongst my usual hoard,  was a loaf of sourdough bread that had somehow been left behind in its rotation and was surely past its prime.  I also had an abundance of Fontina left over from my stellar mushroom lasagna (more on that later).  That was enough to cause that familiar niggling sensation and send me straight to “Clare”.  What was that recipe?  Well, it was for panade and I found two–one from the New York Times, and a more recent one from the Wall Street Journal. 

 That’s really my favorite  circumstance actually, because, instead of just having one recipe and allowing myself to slavishly follow it, I’m spurred to meld the two into something that’s inspired by both, forming a  confluence that is ultimately my own.

Panade closely resembles a rustic, vegetable laden stuffing, but stuffing without that annoying feeling that you can’t sit down and eat the whole thing,  and that you’re duty bound to properly engage with the bird that’s really the excuse to have made the stuffing  in the first place.  As if that isn’t thrilling enough, a panade is enriched with cream and egg yolks which bind it all together. As you can imagine, I was enraptured.

As you’ll see from the picture, I also found some delectable lamb sausage redolent with rosemary and garlic lurking in the fridge, which was definitely gilding the lily.   The panade would have made a scrumptious feast all on its own, but, to be perfectly honest,  I figured that Jeff and Felix might get sidetracked by the sausage and leave more panade for me.  Let me just say, that theory worked out beautifully.

The recipes I found for panade called for putting it in individual ramekins.  I knew right off that I wasn’t having any of that, but it did inspire me to put it in my souffle dish which seemed just right.  In the end, it was easy, quick and a great success.  I mean, it was basically a cheesy stuffing fest.  What’s not to love?   Just do remember to make the sausages too, to get your loved ones off the track.

  Long may panade thrive in my kitchen, thanks in no small part to my beloved notebook.  I must remember, however, not to ask Jeff how I look in that dress should eating panade become a habit.

Butternut Squash Panade

serves 4

1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 large onions, thinly sliced

3 cloves of garlic, peeled and minced

1 medium butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces

salt and pepper

1 loaf sourdough bread, very stale and cut into 1-inch pieces

1/2 cup Italian parsley, roughly chopped

2 teaspoons sage leaves, chopped

2 teaspoons thyme leaves, chopped

6 ounces Fontina cheese, chopped into 1/2 cube

1 cup chicken or vegetable stock

1/4 cup heavy cream

2 egg yolks

2 ounces Parmesan Reggiano, grated

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.  Grease a large souffle dish and a piece of foil that will go over it  with 1/2 tablespoon butter.

 Put olive oil and remaining butter in a saute pan.  Put onions in the pan, cover and place over medium heat until the onions are translucent, about 3 minutes.   Add the squash, garlic and some salt and pepper and cover and allow to cook for about 4 minutes.  Uncover and cook until the onions are lightly colored and the squash is tender, about 4 more minutes.

While that is happening, in a large mixing bowl, toss the bread with the parsley, sage, thyme and Fontina cheese.  Stir in the butternut squash mixture.

Without cleaning it, return the saute pan to medium heat, and add the stock stirring to remove any brown bits from the side of the pan.  Add the cream and stir for about a minute until it is warmed through but not boiling.  Remove from the heat and add the egg yolks stirring constantly so they don’t scramble.   Pour the liquid over the bread mixture and allow it to sit for a few minutes so that it can be absorbed.

Put the mixture into the souffle dish, packing it down,  and cover with the grated cheese.  Cover the dish with the foil, butter-side down,  and bake in the oven until the panade is semi-firm at its center, about 25 minutes.  Remove the foil and bake for another 10 minutes until the panade is lightly brown on tip.

Serve immediately accompanied by sausages and/or salad.

–Adapted from The New York Times, and The Wall Street Journal

On Friday night,  I was driving home from a very good talk by Ben Campbell at the library and listening to my radio,  when it suddenly started to send out shock waves of  Noel  into the unseasonably warm night air.  With that familiar refrain, I suddenly  realized that it was Twelfth Night.  Because, as I’ve already alluded, I’m a creature of idiosyncratic culinary habits tied to all sorts of things, certainly including but not limited to the ecclesiastical calendar, I realized with delight that I’d therefore be producing the beloved cauliflower and Stilton soup over the weekend, for around here, Twelfth Night and Stilton soup go hand in hand.

  It all goes back to my Christmas obsession with Stilton.  I grew up with a creamy round of Stilton being an integral part of the fabric of the holidays as, I imagine, it is in most English households.  Even before I was old enough to love the musty blue cheese myself, I loved all of the accoutrements that it brought with it.  The monogrammed Stilton ”shovel” used to dig the green-veined cheese from the very heart of the round, the little glasses of port that accompanied it, the table water biscuits, the walnuts and the old familiar nut cracker, etched with complicated squiggles, that added the sound of a nice resounding crunch to the festivities.

Since I’ve been a grown-up (in theory at least) I’ve taken great pains to ensure that there’s always a beautiful round of Stilton to make its first appearance here on Christmas Eve.  Year’s ago, finding it was quite a production.  I originally would have to have it shipped from England and then from New York.  About fifteen years ago I was able to get it in Richmond, as long as I “special ordered” it months in advance.  In recent years, of course, it’s been much more easily attainable, usually no more difficult than sallying forth to Whole Foods.  They are a bit alarmed when I instruct them to cut a 2-inch round off the top of the best Neal’s Yard Stilton they have, and somewhat taken aback by the astronomical price that the computer spits out for my purchase.  What they don’t know, however, is that this is my annual, over-the-top Christmas present to me, and that it’s probably my only non-negotiable Christmas purchase. 

As an aside, when I went to pay for it this year, the cashier told me that as of January 1, Whole Foods was no longer accepting checks. I was completely horrified and said, ” Oh dear, then this is the last time I’ll be shopping here.”   My sister tells me that I’m the last person in the world who doesn’t have a smart phone and who refuses to use a debit card. I may be a fairly unreconstructed Luddite–although, I have a blog for goodness sake–in that I just like to write checks.  I suppose it’s because it reminds me of my school days in England when an overdraft would get me a crisp note from my bank manager in Petersfield who’d have me in for a little talk which was a very gentle rebuke from an exceedingly long-suffering, very nice man.  All a bit Downton Abbey now that I think about it.

In any case, the Stilton is doled out around here, all through the twelve days of Christmas.  It’s trotted out, of course, as an option to round out every dinner.  It’s the star accompaniment to several meals of beef and barley soup when it’s teamed up with very good bread.  I think it snuck its way into some omelets and I’m pretty sure certain household “mice” were nibbling away at other, random times by the way in which it slowly but surely began to resemble more of a Stilton donut, rather than a Stilton hubcap.

It’s last great shinning moment is in this soup.  I don’t know where the recipe came from but I’ve always made it at this time of year.  I may have devised it myself in recognition of my previously discussed obsession with cauliflower cheese, or I may have gotten it from someone else.  Only one thing is sure.  Sometime next December, I shall be writing a rather large check somewhere or other for a large round of  the best Stilton I can find.  It just won’t be to Whole Foods.

Cauliflower and Stilton Soup

serves 12

1 very large head of cauliflower, cut into smallish florets (about 3 pounds)

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

2 medium onions, finely chopped

3 ribs of celery, finely chopped

3 leeks (carefully cleaned, white and pale green parts only)  chopped

1/2 cup flour

6 cups chicken stock

2 cups whole milk

8 ounces (or more) Stilton, rind removed and chopped into large chunks

ground white pepper, salt and smoked paprika

Melt butter in a large, heavy soup pot over medium heat.  Add onion, leeks, celery and cauliflower.  Cover and cook until onion is tender but not browned, stirring frequently, about 15 minutes.  Add flour and stir about 2 minutes.  Gradually stir in stock and milk.  Bring to a boil and reduce heat.  Cover partially and simmer until vegetables are very tender and soup thickens, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes.

Turn heat off soup and blend until desired consistency with an immersion blender.  Bring soup to simmer, thinning with more milk if desired.  Gradually add Stilton stirring until melted.  Season to taste with white pepper and salt, and serve with a sprinkling of pimenton over each bowl of soup.

How in the world did that happen?  Suffice it to say, in a happy blur of family, friends and food, and oh my goodness, such food!  Even for me, I have to say, I spent rather a lot of time in the kitchen, being productive, yes; however, it seems to have rather kept me away from my trusty computer and letting you all in on the festivities.  This is a shot of my kitchen a few days before Christmas when I was thick in the throes of cookie-dom.  As you can see, it wasn’t pretty, but take it from me, it sure was fun.

Let me just say, here and now, I’m not into “resolutions.” I guess it’s the rebel in me that makes me immediately shy away from whatever it was that I had the best intentions of doing and instead, do just the opposite.  That being the case, I “intend” to blog more regularly in the coming year, and I think may circle back to some of the great things that happened in my kitchen over a prolonged Christmas cooking-fest.  The good news is that I took pictures and I most likely can figure out whatever it was that I did when I did it.

And speaking of pictures, this is a picture of our Christmas tree, which I show because I love it and because buying it (traditionally in a driving rain storm)and putting it up amid much hilarity with Felix and my friend, Tom, is one of my very favorite Christmas things.  I’m sharing it because it will calm you down from worrying that my house looked like the kitchen picture throughout Christmas.  You may breathe again on my behalf.  See, everything was tidied up in time and things fell beautifully into place.

But will she ever get back to sausage gravy and biscuits? In due time, faithful reader.   It being New Year’s Eve, I went for my traditional walk with Nancy at crack of dawn this morning,  and we had our annual recap of the past year.  I came back emboldened for the new year and keen for new challenges and more big, bold experiences.

When Felix appeared downstairs wanting to share some music with me, and ribald tales of last night’s shenanigans, I decided to have a little bold breakfast happening of my own and to whip together an impromptu feast.  While I’ve never actually made sausage gravy before, I figured it couldn’t be difficult at all, and indeed it was easy as pie. To the tunes of Dave Matthews and MGMT,  I threw together some biscuits, grabbed a jar of fabulous fig preserves that Felix very thoughtfully gave me for Christmas and the feast fell right into place.  Over breakfast we considered people we’ve been missing–Dad, Judge Williams, Gerry Bemiss–and reflected on the coups and mishaps of this year, as well as the great adventures we’re planning for 2012.

Old-Fashioned Sausage Gravy and Biscuits

serves 3

For sausage gravy:

1 pound Jimmy Dean sage bulk sausage meat

2 tablespoons fresh sage, finely chopped

3 tablespoons flour

2 cups whole milk (or right amount for the consistency you prefer)

For biscuits:

 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons Crisco

3/4 cup whole milk

For sausage gravy:

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees and place the sausage meat into a large cast-iron skillet, and cook over low heat, only breaking it up slightly into bite-sized pieces rather than into annoying little, shards.

As it’s sauteing, make the biscuits.  Place the flour, salt and baking powder into a mixing bowl and cut in the Crisco until it’s mealy.  Add the milk gradually and stir just till the dough holds together and is still sticky.  Transfer it to a lightly floured work surface, knead about eight times and form the dough with your hands into eight smooth rounds about 1-inch thick.  Arrange the rounds on a baking sheet about 1 inch apart, bake until golden brown about 15 minutes.

While they’re baking, and once the sausage is mostly cooked through, add the sage and continue cooking for 2 minutes.  Add the flour to the sausage mixture and stir while continuing to cook on low heat.  Add the milk, about a quarter of a cup at a time while stirring constantly until the sausage gravy gets to the consistency you like.  I like mine fairly thick.

When the biscuits are ready, split them in half and ladle the gravy over top.  I made scrambled eggs with good cheddar cheese to go with them too, but perhaps that was a bit over-the-top?

The truth is, that whatever is in store, it never hurts to kick it off with a good breakfast.  Happy New Year!

I love it when Kismet strikes and you know the Universe is sending you a message,  which is what happened to make this incredible dinner come together the other night.

It all started just before Thanksgiving when my beloved friends Charlotte and Sarah came from London for a festive,whirlwind weekend visit.  Stories abound, of course, but on the culinary front, I was mortified to have to admit to Sarah that there was nary a juniper berry in the house. ” How in the world,”  she inquired with only very thinly veiled  horror in her voice, “do you make venison?”

Well, I have to admit that I was a) too embarrassed to admit that I don’t make venison and b) that I raced out to get juniper berries as soon as I’d bundled them off at Dulles for their flight home.

So, with juniper berries burning a hole in my spice cabinet, it was of course, only a couple of days later when Jeff returned from a visit with Mel in Amelia county.  Wouldn’t you know it,  Mercedes mechanic extraordinaire, bon vivant and all around great guy Mel had entrusted him with two venison tenderloins as a holiday gift.

Ah, but what to do with them?  I decided that the first place to look was to another school mate of ours, Tamasin Day-Lewis, who is a great pal of Charlotte and Sarah’s too.  Needless to say, Tamasin didn’t let me down when I first turned to her wonderful cookery book, Good Tempered Food, which can always be counted on to help me find my way in matters of sublime British food.

Of course, Tamasin’s recipe called for juniper berries front and center, so I knew when I saw that,  that this was the recipe I was meant to make.

Make it I did and it was stunningly beautiful and delectable.  The beets with their smattering of balsamic hit the perfect sweet/savory note as a vehicle for the sumptuous venison and the glistening  sauce fashioned from a port and red wine reduction, enriched with the traditional red-currant jelly and sour cream.

What can I say?  Sarah, I now make venison and this is how I make it.  With huge thanks to Tamasin for the splendid recipe, to Mel for the venison, and to the Universe for making it all come together so beautifully.

Medallions of Venison with Spiced Beet, Cornichons, Tarragon, and Sour Cream 

serves 4

red wine for marinating the venison

1 1/2 pounds or so of venison medallions at least 1/2 inch thick, from two venison tenderloins

3 medium beets, scrubbed, root end still attached, wrapped in foil and baked at 350 degrees until soft, about an hour

2 shallots

butter

6 juniper berries, crushed

1 heaping tablespoon red-currant jelly

1/4 cup port

1/2 cup red wine

1 1/4 cups chicken stock

1/4 cup sour cream

5 cornichons

fresh tarragon, finely chopped

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

well-aged balsamic vinegar

Two days before you’re planning your venison feast, marinate the tenderloins in enough red wine to cover them and refrigerate.

On the day of the feast, preferably in the morning, roast your beets, peel them once they’re not too hot.  Grate them and refrigerate until just before it’s time to use them.

To make the sauce: Chop the shallots finely and sweat them in a little butter with the crushed juniper berries (use your mortar and pestle for this) until soft.  Add the red-current jelly, port and red wine and reduce them by about a half.  Add the stock and again reduce by half.

While this is happening,  remove the tenderloins from their red wine bath and slice them into medallions.  Cook them in a skillet with a little melted butter, turning them frequently and making absolutely sure you don’t overcook them.  Dried-out venison is not one of the great pleasures of life; tender, pink, stickily oozing venison is.  Check with the point of a skewer–you want a little blood, but the meat should feel soft right through, after about 3 minutes a side. Season with salt and pepper.

When the stock has reduced, finish it with a generous tablespoon of sour cream, the cornichons and a little finely chopped tarragon.  Heat the beet through in a saucepan with a bit of butter, salt and pepper and the balsamic vinegar.

Serve immediately with the medallions placed on top of the beet with the sauce ladled atop them.

–adapted from Good Tempered Food by Tamasin Day-Lewis

 I served it with new potatoes and brussels sprouts and it was a meal fit for a king. I was only sorry that Sarah, Charlotte, Tamasin and AL weren’t able to join us.  Nevermind, next time perhaps?