since brevity is the soul of wit, i will be brief

I love Grade 9 homeschooling. We get to cover cool topics, and A has just finished her unit on Shakespeare's Hamlet. As her final work on it, I had her choose a speech and rewrite it in modern language. This was to be done in two stages. The first, a line-by-line translation, came out as follows:

O that this too too sullied flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew, Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter. O God, God, How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on’t, ah, fie, ‘tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this, But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother That he might now beteem the winds of heaven Visit her faced too roughly. Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet within a month – Let me on think on’t ; frailty, thy name is woman – A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor father’s body Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she – O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer – married with my uncle, My father’s brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. Within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galléd eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good. But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

Oh, if only my body could melt away, And just disappear. Or that God had not set His laws against suicide – Oh, God How useless, worn out and boring The world seems to me. Dammit! It’s like an unweeded garden That’s left there, and choking, ugly things Grow in it. That it’s come down to this: My father has barely been dead two months. He was a great king! Compared to my uncle, Like a sun god to a grungy animal. He cared for her So much, he wouldn’t even let the wind Be too rough on her face. Oh my God, Must I remember? She would follow him As if her love for him swelled From his presence, not his absence, but within one month – I can’t stop thinking about it; my mother is such a hypocrite – The clothes she wore aren’t even old, From when she attended my father’s funeral, Constantly crying, she was constantly crying and yet - Oh God, a creature without any sense of reason Would have mourned longer – married to my uncle, Who, although my father’s brother, is no more like my father Than I am like a demigod. Only one month, Before the sting of false tears, Had left her eyes, She married. The speed was wicked, to go So quickly into incestuous marriage. This has not and will not do us any good. But alas, nothing I say can change it now.

We'd had to do some research on the references (like Niobe), but I was pleased with her understanding. The second stage had me laughing, when I said to boil it all down and give me a very modern version of it. It was as follows:

I HATE MY LIFE!

MY DAD’S DEAD,

AND MY MOM’S AND IDIOT

AND MY UNCLE’S AN UGLY JERK! AND

NOBODY’S LISTENING TO ME! OMG!

Shakespeare, meet the Twitter version...

moonlight

I know I can't capture it. Yet i will try.

We walked home tonight, from a party at the winery for friends and family. Music, wine, and food. Chatting with neighbors who we finally met, 'neighbors' in the country meaning your chances of bumping into them on the road are much more slim. Laughing together, enjoying the evening. Then we decided to head home.

It was magical. 

The moon was full, the mist rising on the fields.

We five walked, and talked, and laughed. We heard the distant sound of the band starting up their final set. The fading laughter. The sound of the crickets took precedence and the crunch of gravel under our feet was a steady beat to accompany us.

The girls darted ahead. Watching them flitting back and forth across the laneway, half-hidden in shadow and then a flash in the moonlight, one might well believe the faeries had come out, their laughter trilling across the fields. 

I slowed my pace, drinking it in. Willing the moment to freeze, to be something I could replay in my mind. To remember that sometimes, in this technical, cynical, cold world, there is still a bit of magic. 

miscellany: return to soufflés

I overcame my fear of soufflés with a Daring Kitchen challenge, but had wanted to try some other varieties. Okay, 'fear' is a bit extreme, but I certainly never felt equal to it until I tried. So there's a lesson to take away - so many of these intimidating foods can be made. Just read up and try it. Yes, really.

This week, I've found myself cooking some recipes I short-listed from France: a Journey for Food Lovers that I recently picked up at, of all places, Costco. I picked it up partly on the basis of every recipe being photographed, and also in the fact that it covered several duck dishes, venison, seemed accurate in French recipes that I knew, and had a 'basics' section a the back with various pastries and mother sauces. And so far, it has not disappointed (three recipes on Saturday alone. Yes, that was a bit of overkill. But the petits farcis and tarte au citron will be made again. So good!). Tonight was no different as I made the crab soufflés.

Butter. Shallot. Not a bad start, really.

Soufflé is, I've learned, basically two parts: egg whites, whipped (no oil! at all! no no no!) and the other part with the oil and fat - the yolks, the sauce made with butter and flour, the seasoning and flavour. Milk was heated with onion, peppercorns, cloves, and thyme (standing in for bay leaves. How on earth did I run out of those? I always seem to have a veritable tree-full) and left to steep, infusing the milk with taste before it was strained to be added to a roux of butter, flour, and shallot. Egg yolks were beaten in, crab meat added, and all was yummy.

I'm smiling because my muscles are screaming at me.

The whites of the eggs were, in turn, whipped to soft peaks. Normally I'd haul out the trusty KitchenAid mixer, but decided from sheer bravado (read:stupidity) to whip them by hand. Good bicep workout, I can safely say. I did also justify it on the basis of less effort in the dishwashing department, but I think my arms regretted that logic.

Then it's simple. Part A meets part B and is folded in so as not to wreck all that nice air that the egg whites are holding.

Filling ramekins

Into the buttered ramekins it goes, and baked. And - poof! Soufflés! These with a salad courtesy of the girls (romaine, tomato, and blue cheese) made for a delightful supper.

They're not as intimidating as you'd think.

Done - light and delicious!

miscellany: pâté

I've been meaning to make 'real' pâté since I first did a veggie one for a Daring Kitchen challenge. Today was the day. I like the pâté from the grocery's deli, but wanted to try my hand at it. Here's how it went down, with sous chef A ably helping out.

Chicken livers. Not an auspicious start, really. Granted, this whole package cost about the same as the single slice of pâté, so this is already looking more cost-effective.

Cut up by A. Who I think enjoyed it far too much and was not at all grossed out. 










They then soaked in brandy for two hours. I figure we're avoiding the middleman and letting the alcohol damage the liver directly with this one.

Brandy drained off, and livers cooked with onions and garlic before the brandy returned to simmer away.

Then into the food processor. Yes that is a strip of duct tape on my food processor. DON'T JUDGE ME. And yes it looks rather unappealing. Believe me, it looks worse after it's puréed. I had to block out several images, several involving diapers, with that one. Butter and cream were added and blended in, then seasoned with salt and pepper before heading to the loaf pan to chill until it set.

I had thought of making a lovely port wine gelatin to make a decorative top, but then realized that should have gone in the pan first and besides, I'm still trying to figure out flavour. 

And here it is on a baguette at supper! It was good, though a bit more liver-y than I'd prefer. However, my teens liked it! Both A and M gobbled it up and came looking for more so I guess it was a success. The next take (yes there will be one; I'm determined to figure out one I like) will not be as smoothly puréed. I think I'd prefer a rustic, more textured version.

Verdict: back to the drawing board, but with some good ideas.

miscellany: crème fraîche

I've seen this referenced in quite a few recipes, so wanted some when I made the last tarte tatin. Because that's my one of my stringent criteria for trying new food (right up there with, 'hey, this sounds weird...'). Problem was, my little local grocery store didn't have it, and from the sounds of things it was pretty pricey anyway.

What is it? Crème fraîche is a cultured cream: cream and bacterial culture. It's tangy, but not so much as sour cream. That's really about it. Texture may vary, and the labeling is regulated in Europe and several types acknowledged in France.

Thanks to this video and several articles, I figured tackling it on my own would be no problem. It is as simple as promised. And there's something about making this that feels ancient, homestead-ish, and basically awesome, cooking-wise.

Before: It looks like ...well, cream.

One cup of heavy (whipping) cream and one tablespoon of buttermilk, stirred in a cup. While different sources altered the proportions slightly, there's not much more to it. The trick, though, is in the magic that happens over the time it sits on the counter.

That's right, this all-dairy product sat on my counter. For about two days in the summer. This was my biggest barrier: overcoming years of the "put it in the fridge or it WILL SPOIL and you will GET BOTULISM and NOT THE NICE BOTOX KIND" mentality to give the bacteria in the buttermilk a chance to warm up, hang out, and do their thing. Hooray for fermentation! 

The first day, no noticeable change and it still looked like heavy cream. Over the course of the second day, though, it had thickened into a consistency like a sour cream or Greek yogurt. Instead of spoiling or curdling, it had melded together into something new and delicious.

After: Thickened and ready to use.

To say it tastes like sour cream isn't right. Its texture reminded me of Devonshire cream, smooth and thick, but it had a gentle tang to it (hence the common substitution of sour cream that's often suggested) combined with the sweetness that comes from real, honest-to-goodness cream. I quickly stashed it in the fridge before the first spoonful turned into a second, and a third, and so on. According to my sources, it keeps in the fridge for about 10 days.

As for making subsequent batches, one site suggested using the last bit of the crème fraîche as a starter and adding new cream, to let the flavour mature much like a sourdough starter. Oh, how much I have to learn. Apparrently the taste is even better with raw milk which, until I start raising cows and milking my own, is very hard to come by around here. Thanks, Big Brother! (sarcastic? who, me?)

Now to use this stuff. So far I've seen:
- used to enrich eggs Florentine, from Gordon Ramsay's Fast Food cookbook, will be trying that one soon!
- stirred into hot pasta with herbs for a creamy sauce
- on potatoes instead of the usual sour cream
- sweetened slightly, topping fruit or a tarte tatin
- a dollop stirred into a cream soup
- used to thicken sauces, since it doesn't curdle over heat
- ... and I will have to find more. I'm thinking it will be nice on tea biscuits to nicely contrast the sweetness of jam.