A Sonnet for Moleskine

Oh Moleskine, Moleskine. My soft-covered friend:

page upon page of a life gluten-free.

Thou hast been with me to year's bitter end,

filled 'til you burst with the scribblings of me.

Instructions for sponges and other cakes

culled and downloaded from internet sites -

notes about shopping and mixes and bakes,

an exhaustive record of wheatless bites.

New kinds of flour tested my cooking skill

with xanthan gum pinches both large and small.

King Arthur, the Nut Shop, and Bob's Red Mill ...

my ups and my downs, you recorded them all.

Will Bravo's Top Chef be fun without you?

I'll watch Tom and Pads with Moleskine (Mark II).

Happy New Year to all!

In Praise of Pots and Pans: Second Canto

Yesterday, I composed a hymn to all the cooking vessels and accoutrements that have made my gluten freedom possible. Today, I am celebrating the bakeware that has enabled my wheatless dessert fabrication - a much more difficult and fraught task, to which they have risen (get it?) with aplomb.

The list below is by no means complete. My kitchen scales, for example, have been lauded elsewhere. My piping bag, ever modest and shy, has asked not to be included in any public display of thanks. The large 18" x 12" baking sheets on which I produce profiteroles and gougeres were having a bad hair day and also begged to be excused.

These are the instruments without which very little of my confectionery success would be possible:

My gigantic stainless steel mixing bowl with very deep sides and small footprint.

Ideal for whipping up egg whites for macarons and mousses, cake batters,

sponge mixtures, and buttercream.

My trusty electric handmixer, for use with above.

Although I possess a KitchenAid standmixer, I prefer my wee pal

for almost every job imaginable - the only exceptions being madeleines

(which take so long to mix I can walk away from them)

and frangipane (the batter for which is pretty thick).

My handmixer is also useful for whipping up

potatoes for mash, once they have been through the ricer.

I am not a great believer in having too much specialist equipment about the place,

but my madeleine tins are always easily accessible on my Metro shelving.

I can make 24 at a time, and often do.

My mini-muffin tins are worth their weight in gold.

I produce all manner of petites gateaux but financiers

are hands down the family's favorite.

My views on the ridiculousness of cupcakes are well-known,

but a full-size muffin tin is necessary for Yorkshire puds.

Almost all my cake-baking is carried out in this standard nine-inch round tin.

It is versatile and awesome - in a pinch, I can roast potatoes in it.

My silicon parchment rolls make all baking possible.

I use them rather than Silpats for just about any application you might care to name

and they have never let me down.

Next up: a sonnet for Moleskine, who will be retiring on December 31 after fifteen weeks of sterling service

In Praise of Pots and Pans: First Canto

As the year draws to a close, I find myself contemplating my first three-and-a-half months of gluten freedom and the many cooking and eating adventures thereof. Whether triumph or disaster, success or failure, my favorite pots and pans have stood by me and been my constant companions through thick and thin. Some rather neglected items have experienced new-found life as my gluten-free methods evolve whilst others have been daily companions for years. Over the past fifteen weeks all have proved their worth repeatedly and unwaveringly through countless culinary exploits.

The time has come to pay tribute to the dependable tools without which many experiments would not have been possible, much less pleasurable. Without further ado, I present my hall of fame.

Copper saute pan

• Characteristics. Thirteen inches wide and three inches deep with a lid and rounded base (copper cladding over stainless steel).
• Origin. Purchased several years ago at Crate and Barrel with funds from my copper pot account, seeded as a Christmas present by DMR.
• Uses. My favorite pan for things that need slow cooking over low heat, including fruit compote, risotto, curries (when I make them myself), and braises. This is the pan I use almost every day.

Straight-sided frying pan

• Characteristics. Twelve inches wide and three inches deep with lid (copper core sandwiched in aluminum and stainless steel).
• Origin. Given to me almost twenty-five years ago as part of my first cookware set. Probably purchased at Macy's.
• Uses. Excellent for proteins started on the stovetop and finished in the oven. Can comfortably hold a sirloin steak that will feed four hungry people; three pounds of fish fillets; or a good-sized pork loin. Only my copper saute pan is used more often.

Chef's Pan

• Characteristics. Three-quart saucier (stainless steel) with rounded bottom and glass lid.
• Origin. Purchased shortly after our first return from Japan fifteen years ago, following several unsuccessful electric rice-cooker tests in Colorado (where I blamed the altitude for my utter inability to prepare edible rice).
• Uses. The only pan in which I ever, ever cook rice but also handy for choux pastry and other things one doesn't want scorching in corners.

Steamer

• Characteristics. Huge colander/steamer over a five-quart stewing pot (anodized aluminum) with glass lid.
• Origin. Came as a freebie with my Calphalon pot rack, which was purchased during the kitchen renovations four years ago to provide hanging capability when we tore out the (otherwise useless) island previously employed for cookware storage.
• Uses. I'm steaming a lot these days - both fiber-rich vegetables like broccoli and cauliflower and exotic grains like quinoa. The colander is useful for draining potatoes, parsnips, and stocks.

Spaghetti Pots

• Characteristics. The large one holds ten quarts, the small one eight.
• Origin. The large one was purchased at my local restaurant supply store, while the small one came with the above-mentioned Macy's cookware set.
• Uses. In olden times, these pots were used for pasta (and hopefully will be again, one day) but they are also invaluable when making stock and caramels.

Cheesecloth

• Characteristics. Roughly 36 x 36 inches.
• Origin. I have had this piece of cheesecloth since time immemorial. I have to be careful when using it, as it is somewhat frayed at the edges and developing holes in places
• Uses. Fantastic for lining the colander and straining anything that might otherwise go through, like stock or poaching fat. Also useful for steaming tiny little grains (ditto).

And last but not least, my beautiful Wolf cooker, without which none of this would be possible.

Thank you all for your steadfast help and support during these difficult times. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.

Next up: I pay homage to my favorite baking paraphernalia

Boxing Day

The day after Christmas is sacrosanct in our family: we generally refuse to leave the house for any functional reason, preferring to hunker down with movies, leftovers, and perhaps the odd healthy walk. It is a tradition dating back to our time in Jolly Old, where Boxing Day (as December 26th is known) is seen as an antidote to all the holiday brouhaha - a time for a bit of quiet, reflection, and much-needed digesting.

Having cooked more or less non-stop for the last few days, I consider the Boxing Day moniker to be an especially appropriate one, since I steadfastly refuse to prepare meals for the duration and Sir and the Kid Squid must scavenge through the fridge on their own (a pastime they quite enjoy, it must be said). I spend happy hours (when not out on the aforementioned walks - or shovelling snow, which looks increasingly likely today) in front of the tube or curled up on a chair with my Kindle, boxes of my favorite sweets conveniently at hand. Get it? Boxing Day? Boxes of candy?  It can't be a mere coincidence.

My stash (which this year includes chocolate-dipped apricots, cordial cherries, pecan turtles, beautiful marzipan fruits, and something called Figaro fudge) is the result of taking out a second mortgage on the house for the annual trip to our local family-owned candy business, an Allentown outfit that has been doling out a wide range of traditional chocolate and fruit-filled confectionery delights for, like, forever. You know the cut-glass candy-dishes nice old ladies used to put on their coffee tables, filled with nonpareils, fruit slices, Dutch mints, and vanilla caramels? Chances are, said matriarch bought them somewhere just like this place, staffed entirely by sweet elderly women with blue hair and frequented mostly by grandmas buying foil-covered Santas and Christmas trees. There is no cinnamon, cayenne, lavender, or any other newfangled bon-bon component to be found anywhere on the premises. The Squid, a hulking teenager with otherwise sophisticated tastes, would be outraged if his Yule-tide stocking failed to contain at least two bouquets of their gaily-wrapped milk-chocolate lollipops, which he has been receiving regularly since he was four years old. Such is the power of traditional holiday sweets.

For me, the annual pilgrimage must include the acquisition of a fourteen-ounce tub of Jordan almonds enrobed in festive seasonal colors. Inside each crispy outer shell may be found one perfect whole almond, sweet and delicious, tooth-shatteringly crunchy at first but with a satisfying, sugary nougat-like yielding at the finish.  My passion for these confections is amplified greatly by the fact that I ration myself to one purchase per calendar year, to which I look forward in the same way one anticipates the first strawberries in June or the commencement of soft-shell crab season.

They are heaven. And since I am the only one in the family that actually likes these treats, they are all mine!

Until now. You would think that at this point, over three months into my gluten-free career, I would read labels as a matter of course. In fact, I'm pretty sure I did read all the labels at the shop as insurance against unwanted cereal-consumption over the hols. Somehow, however, the almonds got by me and it wasn't until yesterday (maybe the day before - it's all a blur) that in my casual perusal of the packaging the words 'wheat flour' leaped out at me, the fourth item on the ingredients list. I'd already eaten quite a few of the tainted nuts, so this probably counts as the worst infraction yet (more serious by far than September's spaghetti-tasting episode and possibly even direr than the Twizzler incident at Halloween). All the guilt that accompanies the over-indulgence of the season is compounded by this disastrous turn of events - and multiplied by its repetition over several days.

Normally, I would be depressed and demoralized by such a state of affairs and, in penance, eat nothing but brown rice and broccoli for twenty-four hours. Not today! There are two factors contributing to my ataraxy in the face of this latest mischance. The first is the joy and good feeling that inevitably accompany the holidays and my utter inability to be downhearted at this time of year. The second is a most thoughtful Christmas present from Sir - a wonderful and thoroughly practical how-to reference entitled Problogger: Secrets for Blogging Your Way to a Six-Figure Income, which has given me a whole new outlook on my inevitable future financial triumph. 

A girl has to think ahead. After all, without a little bit of gluten enlivening my daily life and supplying angst-ridden blogging fodder, how will I ever be able to afford my yacht on the Riviera?

Mad About Madeleines: Troisieme Partie

The collision of several stars resulted in my baking madeleines today.

• we needed a treat to leave on the hearth for Santa, since none of us fancied coal in our stockings this year
• Christmas Eve is always an auspicious time for baking 
• I had earlier this week stumbled upon an intriguing new recipe using chestnut flour 
• I have had chestnut flour on hand for some time and chestnuts are nothing if not seasonal
• I was full of holiday cheer thanks to Sandra and the lovely folks at Dowd & Rogers, who have promised to send a Christmas present of one of their flour blends for me to try

Readers already know that madeleines are a favorite treat any time of the year chez Fractured Amy and the production of gluten-free specimens (with and without xanthan gum) was the subject of some fraught experimentation back in October.

Readers are also aware that I have recently become a big fan of Dowd & Rogers, whose lemon cake mix is the best I have tried and which I would recommend to anybody, be they adherers to the gluten-free imperative or not. I was anxious to see whether their chestnut madeleines would appeal equally to wheatavores, since I'm fairly sure Santa does not mind a bit of gluten in his baked goods. I picked up the chestnut flour during my Whole Foods trip: tragically, it is (to my knowledge, anyway) unavailable within 45 miles of my humble abode.

I set to work, first examining the chestnut flour itself. It was a lovely dark tawny color, very fine, and a bit sampled from my finger proved sweet and complex-tasting: dark, slightly caramelized, with a slightly bitter top note. It was difficult to imagine what the final cakes would be like and I whipped up the batter with great anticipation. I used the recipe thoughtfully provided by D & R, but applied my own madeleine fabrication method (not that different from theirs, truth be told, although I don't generally rest the batter for such a length of time before baking). I am unashamedly reproducing the recipe below (with a few additional notes), to avoid all that tedious hyperlink business.

The final cakes were delicious. They had a very fine texture, nice crisp edges and a tender crumb. The flavor was elusive, until Sir - in an inspired moment - identified molasses behind the subtle nuttiness. I was so pleased with the result that I hurried several still-warm specimens over to the 'Rents for a second opinion. Unfortunately, the bitter cold winds we are currently experiencing sapped the cakes' residual heat - but the happy tasters nonetheless concurred that the madeleines were top drawer and would be enjoyed by anyone.

In future I think I will bake them in mini-muffin tins rather than madeleine molds to avoid comparison with the Proustian cake, which (though splendid) they do not really resemble. They are perfect to give as a gift to Santa and for enjoying with egg nog after walks in the snow and Christmas church services.

Happy holidays to all!

Gluten-Free Chestnut Madeleines

• 1 cup plus 4 tblsp D&R Italian chestnut flour
• 1 stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled (I added some extra and used that to butter my madeleine molds)
• one-half cup plus 1 tblsp sugar
• 3 eggs
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 tblsp honey (I used orange blossom honey, which I thought would go nicely with the chestnut flavor - and it did)

Brush some of the melted butter into the madeleine molds and set aside. You can also use mini-muffin tins, if you are so inclined.

Sift the flour together with the baking powder. Beat the eggs in your standmixer until very light and frothy. Add the sugar and honey and continue beating until light and fluffy and increased in volume. It should do the ribbon thing. Fold in the flour/baking powder in several batches, then gently stir in the butter.

Cover the bowl and let the mixture rest in the fridge for two hours.

Preheat the oven to 420 deg F.

Fill the buttered tins about 3/4 of the way to the top and bake for six minutes. Reduce the heat to 350 deg F and continue to bake for another 5 minutes or so. They are done when they spring back upon gentle poking.

Let them cool briefly then turn them out onto a backing rack. I  made 23 madeleines.

Next chestnut project: in the belief that the molasses notes of the chestnut flour will be a perfect complement to chocolate, I will be returning to the recipes at Dowd & Rogers to produce a batch of their chocolate chestnut brownies. They will probably be served as dessert to The Cycling Scientist and His Lovely Wife when they come to dinner next week.

Yorkshire Pud

Another crucial element in a traditional English roast dinner - and the only really problematic one from the gluten-freedom fighter's point of view - is the Yorkshire Pudding. Extensive profiterole experimentation some while back emboldened me to try baking YorkPuds on a number of previous occasions with happily successful results (no xanthan gum required!). My main challenge had been to find a flour blend that provided sufficiently crisp outsides and tender insides with no hint of a metallic aftertaste. I tried several brands of all-purpose gluten-free baking flours and found I needed to add white rice flour (in varying proportions) to each in order to ensure a satisfactory outcome - until, that is, King Arthur Gluten Free Multi-Purpose Flour came into my life and changed it forever. I found that a one-to-one substitution of KAGFMPF for all-purpose wheat flour worked admirably in my trusty YorkPud recipe (its origins lost to the ages, I'm afraid), removing the last obstacle to a bountiful and time-honored Christmas custom.

We love YorkPuds the whole year round (though I tend not to cook them during the summer). I don't just serve them with roasts, since they add a certain flair to just about any dark protein you care to think of. Similar to popovers, they are a nice change from the usual carbs, although at this time of year they are served as a conspicuous addition to, rather than substitution for, the other stodge on the plate.

There are a couple of service options. Often, the Pud is made in a single big roasting dish (if you layer sausages in the bottom, you get Toad in the Hole, and very delicious it is, too). I never do it this way, however, because the result is lovely fluffy crispy edges that everybody fights over and a big flat eggy pancake in the middle that nobody can get excited about. If you do as I do and make your Puds in muffin tins, each diner gets the perfect balance of inner and outer textures with none of the unseemly scuffling at the table caused by more traditional approaches. Also, roundish puds fit better than square slices on a plate already overladen with beast, potatoes, and two veg.

The real challenge with the Puds when doing a full roast dinner is timing and temperature. In many ways, they are the trickiest of the dishes - the beast can sit for quite a bit, resting, and there is a certain amount of wiggle-room with the potatoes, but the Puds must be served exactly when they choose or they will fall spitefully and cause ruination and gnashing of teeth. Fortunately, experience from many previous holidays has provided me with a detailed timing chart: I put them into the oven ten minutes after I have turned the potatoes (they can share the hotbox if you jiggle the temperature a little bit) and they all come out at the same time.

Here's how to make 'em: this recipe makes about five in a standard muffin tin.

Gluten-free Yorkshire Puddings

• 1 cup KAGFMPF (see above)
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup milk
• pinch of salt
• some sort of cooking fat (I generally use drippings drawn from the bottom of the roast beast pan, but lard, shortening, or any sort of high-temp cooking oil would work)

Preheat your oven to 450 deg F.

Whisk together all the ingredients except the fat and pour the resulting batter (it should be pretty thin, like crepe batter) into a jug with a lip on it.

Place some cooking fat in your muffin tins to cover the bottoms to a depth of about an eighth of an inch. Whether you are using solid fat or oil, place the tin in the hot oven for a good five minutes or so, until the pan is good and hot and the fat is, too.

Give your batter a final stir and thin it with water if is too thick. Remove the pan from the oven and, moving quickly so it doesn't cool off, pour in the batter so the tins are about two-thirds full each. Your pan should have been hot enough so that the batter sizzles and starts to puff immediately. If not, well, it's too late and you'll know better next time. You'll probably still get perfectly acceptable Puds.

They should be done in 15 to 20 minutes. They will be well-risen and golden brown, with a pale moist center. Their sides should come away from the tin easily - if not, leave them for another couple of minutes.

Eat them piping hot, with a bit of gravy poured into their middles.

One of Two Veg

I described previously how Christmas chez Fractured Amy means a traditional English roast dinner. Thanks to scrupulous record-keeping over many festive seasons, I can say with some self-satisfaction that I have the production of the holiday feast pretty much down to a science, resulting in my judiciously calm demeanor this year. Another reason I am not panicking overmuch is that a roast dinner is, by its very nature, almost entirely gluten-free (apart from the Yorkshire puddings, about which more will be revealed tomorrow).

One of the side dishes to the annual repast is always Pear and Parsnip Puree, which DMR, in particular, enjoys with boundless enthusiasm. It is a luscious, smooth-as-silk bowlful of cream-colored goodness with a depth of flavour that makes people sit up and take notice. The taste is secretive and subtly aromatic, with a bit of booze and exotic spice thrown in. Remarkably, I sometimes entertain guests who have never previously experienced parsnips. Can you imagine never having these wonderful roots? They are one of my favorite things - a relative of parsley, don't you know. They are very ancient and were introduced throughout northern Europe by the Romans, who discovered that they (the parsnips, that is) thrived in cold climates.

I fancy that, like Agricola and his legions, I have converted more than a few people to parsnips in my time: if any dish could do it, this is the one. I think the recipe originally came from one of the early Silver Palate cookbooks, but my version was copied out on a legal pad many years ago and filed in the holiday dossier.

It can be made a day or two ahead because, like all purees, it reheats beautifully in the microwave. One less thing to worry about on the big day! The recipe feeds about 8 people, if there is lots of other food.

Pear and Parsnip Puree

• 3 large parsnips, peeled and chopped into small-ish pieces (about 6 cups total)
• half a stick of butter
• 2 ripe pears, peeled and chopped
• 1 tablespoon of booze (brandy is good)
• one-half cup of sour cream
• a pinch of allspice
• salt and white pepper (you could use black pepper, but it would add unsightly specks to the final mixture)

Fill a large saucepan with water and bring it to a boil. Drop in the parsnips like you are cooking pasta (those were the days!). Simmer them until they are tender and poke easily with a knife, which takes about 15 minutes or so. Stir them frequently, otherwise they will stick to the bottom of the pan and turn brown. Drain them and decant them into a food processor fitted with a steel blade.

Melt the butter in a saucepan and saute the pears over a low heat. Add the brandy after five minutes or so and continue cooking the pears until they are tender. Add them to the parsnips in the food processor.

Whizz them around until they are smooth, smooth, smooth as velvet. Add the sour cream and the rest of the ingredients and whizz it some more. Taste for seasoning, but don't overdo it. I put the finished puree in a glass bowl, tightly covered with plastic wrap to prevent oxidation (if the top does discolor a little bit, whisk it up vigorously and nobody will ever know). It microwaves in no time at all and is delicious beyond belief.

You Like Potato, I Like Pot-aaah-toe

Preparations for Christmas dinner are in full swing chez Fractured Amy. This time of year I go into a requisition mode that would be the envy of any army: lists are retrieved from their appropriate files, shopping accomplished with efficiency (if not economy); and the refrigerator and larder stocked so no supermarket visits of any kind will be required between December 23 and December 28. Quite honestly, if I'd been Napoleon's quartermaster, today they'd be speaking French and eating moules in Moscow.

The key is organization.

And, it must be said, predictability. Christmas dinner at our house means a traditional English roast dinner. Sir would not have it any other way and I am happy to oblige, since it leaves me off the hook for the rest of the year. The menu is comfortably unvarying: roast beast (which Sir insists on calling 'the joint'); proper roast potatoes; Yorkshire pudding (gluten-free this year, but more on that in a future posting), and two vegetables: one is always my famous pear and parsnip puree, although the other - generally a green veg of the family Brassicaceae - is still up for grabs.

Yesterday, I bought the potatoes. As loyal readers are aware, there has in my house been a certain amount of spud kerfuffle lately, with the result being that I am currently buying organic Russets. Skeptical at first, I am now forced to admit that we all prefer the taste and texture of these all-natural tubers. Who knew there would be such a difference between the organic and DDT-filled varieties? I have not carried out a double blind tasting, as good science would normally dictate, because the dissimilarity is so pronounced: the organic specimens are sweeter and fluffier; their skins are softer (though still crispy under the appropriate circumstances); and I have found fewer instances of weird black spots insde them. Although I am officially waiting for the outcome of my basement sprouting experiments to announce my final verdict, I must say $1.40 per pound is not an outrageous sum for seriously delicious potatoes, especially at this time of year when they are one of the stars of the show.

In my opinion, Crunchy Potatoes en Anglais (I made that up) are one of the triumphs of farmhouse cooking. I say 'farmhouse' because, without one of those huge cast iron cookers I so admire, you really need two ovens if you are going to make potatoes with a roast (excuse me, 'joint'). This is because the two dishes cook at completely different temperatures. If you try to use the beast's low oven for the spuds, the crispy, crunchy exterior (gold-hued, with charred bits here and there) so prized by connoisseurs will forever elude you. It is a fact that, in the days before my Wolf, guests for a roast dinner had to bring their own oven for the potatoes. That they were willing to do so says a lot about how fantastic they were (both the potatoes and the guests).

A few additional notes about roasted spuds. I have cooked them in beef dripping, lard, and (in a pinch) shortening, but this year  - for extra amazingness - I am going to do them in the duck fat left over from my confit project. Some effete types turn their potatoes after peeling them to make regular ovoid shapes, but I eschew this practice. First of all, it ruins the rustic appearance of the final dish. Second of all, without the well-defined angles that result from rough chopping, you don't get the crispy caramelized edges that add such depth and mystery.

Here is how I make proper golden roast potatoes, crunchy on the outside with tender, not-at-all-greasy insides. Believe me, they are aces.

Roast Potatoes

1. Fill a large pot with plenty of salted water and bring it to a boil. Preheat your oven to 425 deg F.
2. Peel sufficient potatoes for the number of people you will be feeding (I use Russets). Add a couple extra because seconds will be required. Chop them into rough chunks: I favor pieces approximately one-and-a-half to two inches in diameter.
3. Parboil the potatoes for ten minutes then drain them well. Here follows the key step, which I learned from Delia Smith. Return the potatoes to the empty but still-warm pot, put the lid on (hold it down tightly with your thumbs!), and give the whole thing a few really good shakes. I mean, give yourself a strenuous workout - the idea is to fluff up the edges of the potatoes by agitating them with some force against the sides of the pan. When you remove the lid and peek inside, the potatoes' surfaces should be all floury and soft. You can put them aside now while you get the fat ready.
4. You will need about 2 oz. of fat (see above) for every pound of potatoes. Put the fat into your sturdiest roasting pan and put the pan in the oven to get hot. When the fat is all melted, transfer the pan to your stove top over medium high heat. This will keep the fat hot and sizzling while you add the potatoes - a crucial step for ensuring grease-free crunchiness!
5. Transfer your potatoes to the hot pan. Be careful, obviously, because if there is any residual water on them they will go up like one of those deep-sea thermal vents the Discovery Channel is always on about. Stir them around to make sure they are coated with the fat.
6. Into the oven for about an hour, turning them half-way through. Pull them out when they are tender on the inside (stick 'em with a knife if you aren't sure) but golden and crunchy on the outside. I do not generally salt them, but a couple grinds of pepper are appropriate. You could garnish them with fresh herbage, I suppose, but why bother? They are gorgeous just the way they are.
7. Serve them immediately, since they will lose their crisp outer shells if left to sit too long.

They are awesome with roasts, of course, but also gussy up grilled meat and stews in a very impressive way. They are certainly easier with the latter choices, because only one oven is required. They are always a hit.

Lord, Love a Duck ... A Pictorial History of Confit Production

Here is how I made confit de canard this weekend.

To begin, I sectioned the ducks into quarters,

leaving the bones where they belonged:

I didn't forget to save the carcasses, wings,

and other bits and pieces for stock fabrication:

I retrieved the last of the thyme from the garden ...

... and assembled the rest of my mis en place

(peppercorns, kosher salt, bay leaves):

I salted the duck pieces liberally, layered them with the herbs and spices,

and stored the lot, covered, in the fridge for 7 hours:

I isolated myself in a secret location

and wrapped Christmas presents:

When the time was up, I rinsed the duck sections, dried them carefully,

and fried them over low heat until they were nicely brown

and the fat started to render in the pan. It took about half an hour

in three pans. The aromas in the kitchen were amazing:

I decanted the pieces into my small French oven:

I poured in all the rendered fat, but didn't have enough to cover the pieces.

Luckily, my friendly FedEx man had delivered extra tubs on Friday:

In it went!

I covered the pot tightly and placed it in a 300 deg F oven for three hours.

During this time, I scrubbed all the kitchen surfaces (and the floor, too!)

of splattered duck fat:

When the duck was tender, melting, and falling off the bone,

I removed it from the oven and placed it on a clean dish. We tasted a morsel

that fell off during this process. It was rich and amazing.

With Sir's help, I strained the duck fat through my favorite piece of cheesecloth, made a thin layer in the bottom a plastic container, and piled the duck on top.

I finished with the rest of the rendered fat.

When it had cooled in the garage for a while, it looked like this:

I popped a lid on the container and placed it in the back of the fridge,

where it will mellow and marinate.

In a couple of weeks we will heat the container to liquify the fat;

excavate the duck pieces; crisp them up under the grill or in a saute pan;

and slurp them happily.

Who needs a trip to France when there's duck confit in the house? 

Lemon Zest

Campers, today we had a new gluten-free baking breakthrough!

While waiting for my lobster stock to reduce (having already sectioned the duck for tomorrow's confit project) I was casting around for something to occupy a spare hour in the kitchen and remembered the lone remaining box of gluten-free cake mix that I'd purchased on my Whole Foods expedition some while back. Loyal readers will understand why I did not have high hopes for this product, since my previous experiences with prepared g/f conveniences have left me shaken and demoralized. The Pancake Pileup, Bread of Doom, and Chocolate Panic were three episodes in my life I would prefer to forget, quite honestly. But, waste not want not - I had one more box in the pantry and I was determined to give it a try.

The rather lovely and discreet yellow packaging promised to yield one gluten-free golden lemon cake. I scanned the list of ingredients: organic evaporated cane juice, white rice flour, Italian chestnut flour, tapioca flour, buttermilk, lemon and other natural flavors, baking powder, maltodextrin, salt, xanthan gum, and baking soda. I was encouraged by several factors: the flours in the mix were the ones I have discovered work best in my own baking (I do not know why some manufacturers insist on using exotic things like chickpea and amaranth flour, as I think they lend a metallic aftertaste to the proceedings); the presence of chestnut flour, which sounded intriguing and gourmet - rather like a powdered Mont Blanc; and xanthan gum's presence way, way down at the end of the list. There were no strange added substances like vinegar or concealing flavours such as cayenne. The mix, in short, appeared to be honest and straightforward. A sample from my index finger confirmed this suspicion - a nice floury taste and texture, with a definite - but not overwhelming - citrus tang.

The method called for by the destructions was reassuringly cake-like. The box contained two envelopes: the sugar in one, and everything else in another. Good start! I creamed the sugar (sorry, evaporated cane juice) together with some butter supplied by me; beat in a couple of eggs; then added the flour mixture and water to make a thick batter. It tasted delicious straight off the spoon and I was encouraged to the point of telling the rest of the family they might expect something sweet in an hour or so. There was much rejoicing.

Sure enough, half an hour later I removed a lovely golden gateau from the oven and, a bit after that, slices were duly apportioned and dusted with powdered sugar. Tea was brewed and we sat down for a mid-morning treat.

What can I say about this cake? It was moist and delicious, lemony but not excessively so. The chestnut flour provided a natural sweetness together with a pleasing nut-flecked texture and appearance. We considered other serving options and decided some lemon curd would be a welcome addition to the powdered sugar - possibly with some candied zest and whipped cream (or even buttercream!) for special guests. 

I was amazed and gratified, after all my trials and tribulations, to have found such a superior box mix and Sir and I agreed we needed, in future, to have some on hand at all times. I went to the website of the company and found it also mills chestnut and almond flours. Eureka! I'd forgotten the chestnut flour in my pantry, which I'd bought during that same trip to Whole Foods. The manufacturer considerately provides several recipes, including (be still my heart) a procedure for chestnut-flour madeleines with no xanthan gum in sight. Now, you all know what trouble madeleines gave me in the early days of the gluten-free catastrophe - this new development is exciting beyond words. Chestnut madeleines will be on the menu as soon as humanly possible (we'll probably make some to leave on the hearth for Santa, actually) as well as almond torte, chestnut-flour polenta, and brownies - all wonderfully gluten-free and easy as one-two-three.

My delight at having a fresh line of gluten-free enquiry should not be underestimated. In gratitude, I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks and kudos to the good people at Dowd & Rogers in sunny Park City, Utah.

They just may have changed my life forever.

Lobster in the House

Today I went to the supermarket after work to start on the holiday shopping: ducks for the confit I plan to make on Sunday; ribs of beast for roasting on the Big Day itself; and rolls of wrapping paper in case I decide anybody has been good enough to warrant a present a this year. Walking past the fish counter, what did I spy but the first of the winter's hardshell lobsters, sullen, angry-looking, and covered in seaweed, daring me to buy them?

Well, that's the sort of bait to which I always rise, and in a trice I had four feisty fellows bagged up and in my cart. I cooked them as soon as I got home. Now, I do not do anything fancy with lobsters, preferring to dispatch them as quickly and simply as possible: I bring big spaghetti pots of water to boil (I figure two lobsters per pot); toss the crustaceans in; and leave 'em alone for five or six minutes. When a meat thermometer shows their tails have reached 130 deg F, they're done. What could be easier?

We are priorly engaged tonight, so I will de-shell them in due course, chop the tails into pieces (keeping the claws whole for garnish), and use at least half the meat for risotto tomorrow night (already having tubs and tubs of beautiful home-made stock in the freezer). Ah, risotto. The gluten-freedom fighter's answer to the pasta conundrum!

Here is how I make risotto aragosta:

I finely chop two large sweet onions (that's what I currently have in the fridge - Spanish onions and shallots work too, of course) and sweat them with a big blob of butter in my handy-dandy all-purpose copper saute pan (this is my favorite pan in the world: it's about thirteen inches wide and three inches deep with a rounded bottom and a shallow handle on each side - I cook everything in it and it's never let me down). Sweating onions takes a long time over very low heat, which gives me the opportunity to check my e-mail and bring about two quarts of lobster stock up to a gentle simmer in a separate pot (I eyeball the amount: it's about two-thirds of my favorite saucepan, which is why I say two quarts). When I judge the onions sufficiently sweet and soft, I add 10 oz of good Arborio rice - yes, this makes a mountain of risotto. I stir it all around for a bit, then add some thyme, a dash of cayenne, and a splash of Tabasco (but that's my secret ingredient, so mum's the word). Another few seconds of agitation and - splash! - I hit the mixture with a good dose of brandy, stirring while the alcohol bubbles off.

When everything has calmed down a bit, I start to add the hot stock, ladleful by ladleful, adding more as required. I stir fairly often - this can get tedious, so if nobody is keeping me company I generally read a book. I am currently trying to get through the new biography of  T.E. Lawrence, but I'll honestly admit it's hard going. Anyway, I stir and slop the stock for a good half hour or so, until the rice is just this side of al dente. I check for seasoning and usually add some salt and pepper at this point.

Time for the lobster tail pieces! I mix them in with the rice, add another blob of butter, put the lid on the pan, and turn the heat off so it can sit for its mandatory few minutes, getting all creamy and delicious. This gives me an opportunity to grate some Parmesan - don't even think about telling me I can't put cheese on seafood risotto! - which goes on after plates had been duly piled. A last grind of black pepper, the claws placed artfully on top, and I have a dish fit for, well, anyone at all, actually.

The shells, of course, will go into my next batch of stock.

Magnifico.

Top Chef All-Stars, Episode 3: Where Shall We Lunch?

In this week's exciting episode, our gallant culinary competitors were taken to four of New York's 'finest restaurants' and told to get themselves inspired, already, and come up with a dish each establishment would be proud to serve on its menu. There was the usual 'Oh, I'm so far outside my comfort zone, I think my head will explode' (Carla and Fabio) and 'I've got this challenge totally nailed, just watch me win it all' (Marcel and Stephen), with the only surprises being ... well, there weren't any surprises, really. We know these guys too well. 

This gave me Moleskine and me adequate time to play our favorite game, 'Where would we eat?' As luck would have it, I have never visited any of these dining establishments and am currently seeking out some new places to try in the Big Bad City. Four possibilities, tailor-made!

I decided to do a little research and pick my next likely candidate. I looked only at lunch menus because 1) lunch is often far less expensive than dinner and the food is generally equivalent 2) it gives one time to digest after eating so one doesn't gain any weight (that's my theory and I'm sticking by it) 3) if I time it right, I can be back on the NJ side of the Lincoln Tunnel before rush hour. Clever, eh? I stun myself, sometimes.

Points are awarded to a maximum of 5. The contenders are:

Marea, Michael White's coastal Italian joint just SE of Columbus Circle.

• Location: within easy walking distance of Port Authority and convenient for a detour to Petrossian on the way. 5 pts.
• Price: two courses (primi and secondi) for $42, dessert is extra and runs to $12 or so. On the one hand, I think that's mean since I always eat dessert. On the other hand, $55 is not outrageous for a 3-course big-city lunch by a good chef. 2 pts.
• Gluten-free possibilities: an entire section of the Secondi is given over to pasta, effectively halving a gluten-free commando's choices, although two of these dishes are offered as risotto - including one with white truffles for an $85 (!) supplement. 1 pt.
• General appeal: despite the concentration on pasta, there's an awful lot of deliciousness going on. To start I will have spot prawns with lemon and black lava salt; mackerel with butternut caponata and pinenuts; or tuna with oyster cream and crispy sunchokes. Main course will be scallops with chestnut ragu; branzino with lentils, hazelnuts, and puntarella (had to look that up - it's a kind of chicory); or turbot with tomato conserves, prosciutto brodo, hen of the woods mushrooms, and pickled crosnes (looked these up, too - they are little squiggly tubers in the mint family). Dessert: rosemary panna cotta with roasted figs and pignoli croquant. 3 pts plus 1 extra for introducing me, in a stroke, to two new ingredients.

Ma Peche, David Chang's French-Vietnamese boite. Chang is supposed to be the greatest thing since a sliced baguette these days and can apparently do no wrong. Let's see, shall we?

• Location: 56th St., just west of 5th Ave. A mere hop-skip-and-a-jump from Port Authority, with easy access to Saks and Kinokuniya. 5 pts.
• Price: it's a mystery. None is listed on the website, although a prix fixe lunch  menu is thoughtfully provided. 0 pts.
• Gluten-free possibilities: apart from a few strange anomalies (spaetlze, bread with the cheese plate, gnocchi), the entire menu appears to be sans cereal. 4 pts.
• General appeal: it's a maddening menu that makes it difficult to tell what one will be eating and how the prix fixe actually works in practice. Still, various things sound quite tasty to me: pork and oxtail terrine with pickled turnips and violet mustard; beef tartare with soy (I've decided shoyu is gluten-free, you may remember), scallion, and mint: crispy pig's head with lentils, pickled apple and mustard; carrots with bone marrow, chili and lime. 3 pts for general  curiosity, minus 1 pt. because there's no dessert listed, and I'm not driving all the way to Manhattan without knowing the sweet situation.

The Townhouse, David Burke's 'loony Dr. Seuss fashion show' (according to NY Magazine, anyway), not to be confused with the gentlemen's club of the same name. I am already concerned by the presence of live goldfish in Burke's cocktail glasses - surely the animal cruelty people will get wind of this and close the place down. In the mean time:

• Location: 61st between Park and 3rd. I am never on the East Side, unless I am going to a museum and then I don't have time for lunch. A pain to get to. 1 pt.
• Price: there's a choice of two ways to do a three-course prix fixe ($24.07 and $37.00). Not sure how it works, but it sounds like quite a bargain. 4 pts.
• Gluten-free possibilities: there are hardly any appetizer possibilities (it's all dumplings, ravioli, pretzel-crusted crabcakes, and blinis) and too many burgers and sandwiches amongst the mains, which is a pity because the dishes look inventive and cool. 1 pt.
• General appeal: live goldfish aside (and something silly for dessert called a Cheesecake Lollipop Tree - it's ridiculous, but in keeping with the Dr. Seuss theme, I suppose) - there are lots of intriguing items: I would love to try lobster-tomato bisque with lobster dumplings and curried pineapple; braised beef shortrib with mustard spaetzle and horseradish creme fraiche; or cavatelli with wild mushrooms - but they are, of course, verboten. I would be stuck with a chef's salad (ho  hum) or grilled chicken breast with brussels sprouts and BBQ jus (the diet plate, presumably). There are only two likely desserts: butterscotch pannacotta with curried gelee and meringue (wow!) or mixed fruit and berries sorbet (the diet plate, again). Heartbreaking. 1 pt.

WD-50, Wylie Dufresne's palace of molecular gastronomy - a place I have been longing to try for ages and ages.

• Location: Clinton St. on the Lower East Side. I could brave the Holland Tunnel, I suppose. 2 pts.
• Price: not applicable, as WD-50 does not do lunch. That is the only reason I have never been there, actually. 0 pts.
• Gluten-free possibilities: who can tell? Shrimp spaghetti may include durum wheat pasta - or it may be constructed from something totally unrelated, like jellied celery fibers or the follicles of some rare seaweed. The venison chop with freeze-dried polenta is probably safe, as is cuttlefish with cashews, rootbeer and watercress. I would dearly love to try the grapefruit curd with campari, hibiscus and sorrel, but the lemongrass mousse is accompanied by whole-wheat sorbet. Detailed negotiations with the staff would be required, something I generally like to avoid, preferring always to throw myself on the mercy of the kitchen. Having said that, if anybody knows how to use xanthan gum, it's bound to be Wylie. 3 pts.
• General appeal: who can resist aerated foie, cubed mayonnaise, buttermilk ricotta, crispy cream cheese or smoked salmon threads? No foodie in their right mind, that's who. I would put up with the Holland Tunnel, and dinner-time, and having to quiz servers at length about gluten just to try this place. One day, one day. 5 pts.

So, who wins? Let's tally up the points. In last place, thanks to its reliance on burgers and bread with everything - The Townhouse. Too bad, really, since it looks kind of funny. Next comes WD-50 - a place I am desperate to try, but docked a fatal number of points for not offering lunch. Still ahead of The Townhouse, though, make of that what you will. Squeaking into second place with 11 points is Ma Peche - and that's mostly because of the crazy website with the stupid menu: the food itself looks gluten-free and awesome.

And the winner is ... Marea with a whopping 12 points. As soon as I've built up a couple of more vacation days, I shall be booking my table.

The white truffles, however, will have to wait.