"To Master The Art . . .

I was assisting two friends of mine in hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for about thirty people here in Chicago when I met one of the guests named David. By the time I was introduced to him, he knew that I was a Julia Child cook and blogger, so they asked if I'd been to "the Julia Child play."

"The what?" I queried.

The play about Julia Child. "I think it's called 'Mastering the Art' or something like that",  he said. It was a play about Julia Child and her husband when they lived in postwar France and her discovery of cooking.  "But it's been sold out for a long time," said another one of the Davids. 

"To Master the Art"

He said that the theatre might be adding a couple of performances and that I should call the Timeline Theatre the very next day. Maybe I could get a ticket. . . .

I called the theatre the next day, the very minute the box office opened. All performances were sold out, But! . . alas! .They had added one more performance on December 15th and had only two tickets left. . .
"Did I want them?"

"Yes . . . innocently . . . Implicitly. . . .

My bestie foodie friend, Liane, accompanied me on a blisteringly cold night to a performance of "To Master the Art".  Within the first thirty seconds of this performance, I had tears streaming down my face. The performance was that stunning. Liane was, hopefully, not embarrassed by my reaction; I doubt that she was surprised by it. (After all, that's why I brought my bestie foodie friend to accompany me to the world premier of this performance.)

Needless to say, the performances were brilliant throughout. Whenever there was a scene in a restaurant, a kitchen, or the Cordon Bleu, the audience was permeated with exquisite different aromas: roasted chicken in tarragon, and, (I swear) the smell of beurre blanc blasted the audience.

The theatre was small and intimate, perhaps six rows seated in-the-round, so we could really enjoy every facial expression. (I'm dying to see what some chef-musician wanna-be will do to Julia's vocal line when this is crucified into an off-Broadway musical -- and don't think for a moment that I won't be the one to take a stab at doing it!)

Please know that "To Master the Art" the stage performance was written BEFORE the movie "Julia and Julia" - - that abominable, trite thing. 

I'm truly sad that I saw the last performance of "To Master the Art."  During the next two-and-a-half hours of the performance, I laughed, was surprised, cried some more and continued to be overwhelmed  - - - at how much joy can be obtained from food. . . . Such joy from food! 

But, you know, . . . . the same thing happens whenever I prepare any one of Julia's recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Whenever I follow Julia's precise instructions, pure unalloyed joy -- and some euphoria - - are always the results. How many endeavors such as that can one claim?

"To Master the Art" conveyed precisely what I've felt about Julia's work all along. That's why I wept within the first thirty seconds.

"To Master the Art" will be a huge hit, mark my words.
My only frustration is this - -

- - that everyone I truly love didn't get to see it with me.

Kofta Balls in Tomato Sauce

Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,

Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare . . .

Did you know that devotees of Krishna have a cuisine all their own? Go to any restaurant owned by Krishna devotees and the food items will be readily identifiable.

For about ten years, I lived in Dallas Texas which has a large, vibrant Krishna community. Every year on World Food Day, they would provide free meals all day long and I volunteered my services in the kitchen of their gorgeous restaurant, Kalachandji's. So, that’s how I became familiar with their cuisine.

First of all, one will notice a vegetarian vein. Being strict believers in the principle of karma and reincarnation, nothing is served that involves the killing of animals. "Every meal gives the gift of life," is one of their beliefs.  Dairy products are used but eggs are not.

Being that the Krishna movement is a form of Hinduism, most food items will have an Indian flavor to them with one notable difference. In addition to meat and ova, Krishna devotees (along with Jains,) strictly refrain from eating onions or garlic. It has something to do with them being offensive to God or that they arouse sexual desires. Maybe both. But whatever the reason, one will find Krishna (Vedantic) and Jainist cuisine without garlic or onions.

I think Julia would have looked upon their food beliefs with suspicion, especially the non-use of garlic or onions. She had a disdain for anyone who "feared food" in any shape or form. (Conversely, did not she "fear" vegetarian or vegan cuisine?) However, the means by which our Vedantic friends did utilize and enjoy their cuisine would have, I believe, eventually brought her around. 

In the place of garlic and onions, you’ll find the ever-present and very unique spice called asafetida. It is the powered, dried gum resin of a herbaceous plant and, in its raw state, has a very strong odor reminiscent of . . . well . . . cat urine.

Believe me, if you spill it or leave it uncovered, your dwelling will smell like a tom-cat has left his mark. However, once cooked, it does impart a musky, evocative flavor reminiscent of onions and "that" flavor is the truly the mark of Krishna cuisine.

One of my favorite dishes is their Kofta Balls in Tomato Sauce. We served many cafeteria trays of it every year on World Food Day in Dallas and it was always a staple in the countless daily meals that the Krishna community provided to the homeless and shut-ins. A more tasty, appealing, nutritious, and inexpensive entree would be really hard to find.

It’s a first cousin to spaghetti and meatballs but with a Vedantic twist. Garbanzo bean flour (besan) is mixed with spices, including the ever-present asafetida, grated cauliflower, grated cabbage, rolled into balls and deep fried. These are served with a flavorful tomato sauce (yes, with asafetida) over pasta.

Oh, and another quality about asafetida is that it prevents flatulence. We've got cauliflower, cabbage and bean flour going on here, but nary a toot follows the meal. Maybe that's the non-offensive part.

The result is meat-less meatballs that are surprisingly juicy. Very juicy in fact. I frequently prepared this dish when I was a Franciscan friar and, even though one funny friar referred to my kofta balls as "coughed-up balls", they all enjoyed them. Especially the funny friar.

Start with 1 ½ cups of besan (garbanzo bean flour), Soy flour could probably be substituted.
1 Tbs garam masala (an Indian spice mixture usually containing cloves, cinnamon, cumin, fenugreek and coriander)
1 ½ tsp salt
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
½  tsp turmeric
½ tsp asafetida
½ tsp cayenne

Mix in:

2 cups grated cauliflower (which is really 1 whole cauliflower)
2 cups grated cabbage

Mix it all together with your hands and really squoosh it together. (I like to don latex gloves for hand-mixing and squooshing) The grated cauliflower and cabbage exude just enough juice to bring it all together. You’ll have a moist paste which can be formed into 1-inch balls.

Tomato Sauce:

1 28 oz can of crushed tomatoes
1 cup water
¼ cup olive oil
1 medium carrot cut into 6 pieces
½ tsp asafetida
2 tsp dried basil
1 tsp salt
¼ tsp black pepper
2 bay leaves

Fry the spices in the oil and butter, add the tomatoes, carrot, and water. Simmer for 30 minutes. The carrot draws out a lot of acidity. Discard the carrot when the sauce is finished. Taste one and you'll be surprised how sour it is. Italian grandmas have done the same with their tomato gravy for generations.

Fry the kofta balls in hot oil for at least 12 minutes, 6 minutes on each side, until dark golden brown. (You really want to avoid undercooked insides, so don't make the balls any more than an inch in diameter.)

Incidentally, Krishna cooks use clarified butter called "ghee" for deep-frying. Although deep-frying in ghee is incredibly rich and appealing, it can be hugely expensive for a one-shot deal. Trust me, Julia would have swooned had she seen a Krishna deep-fryer filled with clarified butter.

Place them in the tomato sauce for 10 minutes and serve over pasta.

Devotees offer a prayer over each food item and set aside one serving of each recipe as an offering to Krishna. However, I never saw what they mysteriously did with it afterward.

If there's a Krishna temple in your city, check it out and see if they have a restaurant --  many of them do. I’ve always appreciated their unique cuisine. The smell of jasmine incense is usually wafting in from the adjoining temple giving the restaurant its own other-worldly ambiance.

Aside from its very identifiable flavor, thanks to the asafetida, there’s just something very appealing and special about consuming “spiritualized” food, regardless of the faith from whence it comes.

Hare Krishna . . .

British Cuisine

About three thousand years ago, a young shepherd in France named Jacques-Francois was tending his sheep when one of the lambs wandered from the flock and into a cave. Not wanting to lose the lost lamb, Jacques-Francois followed the lamb into the cave and promptly got lost.

All he had with him was a leather satchel full of sheep's milk. After some effort, he was finally able to make his way out of the cave but left the satchel full of sheep's milk in the cave. About two months later, he returned to find the satchel filled with a tangy, wonderfully marbled Roquefort cheese.

It was delicious and French cuisine was born.

Meanwhile, a shepherd in England named Clive was tending his sheep among the green, misty hills of Cambridgeshire when one of them wandered into a cave as well. (The only difference was that Clive's leather satchel was filled with cow's milk.) About two months later, Clive returned to find the satchel filled with a delectable, tangy, beautifully marbled Stilton cheese.

He threw the cheese out, boiled the leather satchel for three hours and ate it.

British cuisine was born. 

Dixie Dressing

Probably no other holiday invokes family food traditions more than Thanksgiving Day. Having been raised in The South, I can certainly attest that we had ours. One of the most unique and appealing recipes came from my paternal grandmother in Texas who would make a cornbread dressing chocked with jalapeños, ground sausage, extra spices and lots of green onions -- definitely the epitome of a Texan food item.

Here's a photo of my grandmother with her brood: (I'm on the right.)

For years, I thought this recipe came from my Aunt Dixie since we would often have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. It was only a few years ago that I learned that it was actually my grandmother's recipe. I've often referred to it as "Dixie Dressing" and since it hails from The South, I see little need to change the name.

I've made this creation for folks near and wide, from New York to Chicago to Toronto (where, incidentally, Thanksgiving is observed on the third Monday in October) and everyone really seems to love it.

Like a lot of cooks, I've never really followed a recipe for this. I doubt that my grandmother ever had one written down either. A couple of friends recently asked for a recipe, so as I was making it last night I immortalized my grandmother's creation.

This recipe will probably yield about twenty servings:

Cornbread:

I like this recipe for cornbread as it doesn't contain any flour, yielding a really "corny" tasting cornbread. Make it the day before if you like.

4 cups yellow cornmeal
4 cups buttermilk
2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp salt
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil

Mix all ingredients together, pour into a greased cast iron skillet and bake at 425 for 25-30 minutes. 

Dressing:

1 recipe of cornbread, crumbled
8 slices white bread, cut into 1/2 inch cubes, toasted
2 lbs Jimmy Dean ground sausage (use the hot variety if you really want an extra kick.)
4 cups chopped green onions, (including all the green part)
2 cups chopped celery
1 cup chopped parsley
1/2 stick butter

Brown the sausage, add it to the cornbread and bread. Saute the vegetables (except the parsley) in butter and add all the vegetables to the mixture.

Then add:

3 Tbs ground sage
1 Tbs dried thyme
1 tsp ground bay leaves
(or: 4 Tbs poultry seasoning)

5-6 cups low-sodium chicken stock

1 1/2 cups (12 oz jar) diced pickled jalapeños

Mix everything together in the large pan that you'll bake it in. (I like to don latex gloves and really get in there with my hands.) You should end up with a pretty moist mixture.

Note: You might want to add only 1 cup of diced jalapeños at first, taste it and add more if you want more of a punch. Keep in mind that the heat of the jalapeños and the taste of the spices will increase when you bake it. If you're making it for Texans, tump in the whole jar.
For New Yorkers, try half the amount. You don't want to hear any kvetching.
For Canadians, it really doesn't matter; they're too polite to express an opinion either way. 

Cover with foil, bake at 375 for 30 minutes, uncover and bake for another 30 minutes.

This year, I was asked to make it gluten-free. Since the cornbread doesn't contain any flour, all I had to do was use gluten-free bread. I found some bread made with brown rice flour. It worked fine.

This dressing is really rich and tasty. Don't be alarmed if it appears a little, well -- greasy.
We like it that way in the Land of Dixie.

Green Smoothies

While recipes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking might not be the healthiest things to eat on a consistent basis, here's a healthy way to balance it all out.

Green Smoothies. It's the newest thing on the food scene. Just google it and you'll see what I mean.

They say we're supposed to be eating a lot more fresh fruits and veggies these days. We used to have to eat five servings per day, but that's been bumped up to seven-to-nine now. Our modern, mass-produced, hormone-inflated, genetically modified produce basically has the nutritional value of sawdust compared to fifty years ago.

So, green smoothies are a great way to get your green veggies and fruit into you. Trust me. They're great.

Start with some tart, fleshy fruit. I keep frozen mango on hand, but pineapple, oranges, peaches, bananas or a combination of them all will also do.

I don't like apples or pears in smoothies for they seem to produce mealy, pulpy smoothies.

Now add your greens. Here, we've got fresh spinach, collard greens and parsley.

I know that sounds strange, but trust me, the tart fleshy fruit takes away any "greenness" of the raw greens, even the bitter ones. No matter what greens I use, I always add fresh parsley, stems and all. They really make for a tasty smoothie. Believe it or not, cilantro & grapefruit is also one of my favorites.

I also add a knob of ginger and some lemon juice to give it a "ping".

Add some water (or fruit juice) and blend it up.

If you're blender isn't a heavy-duty, powerful monster like mine, be sure to blend it a good long time. The longer you blend it, the smoother it will be.

There you go. You'll be surprised how good it tastes.

Drink two of these a day and you'll be way ahead of the fruit and vegetable requirement. Not to mention that you'll feel a lot better and it'll curb your appetite throughout the day.

And when it comes time for Boeuf Bourguignon, you can enjoy it guilt free.

Butter and Budgie

"Food should be cooked with lots of love and lots of butter."

My grandmother, "Budgie", had those words hanging in black wrought-iron on the wall of her kitchen for as long as I remember.

From age 10 to 18, I was raised by my mom and Budgie. 

A more loving, extroverted, exceedingly happy woman would be hard to find. She was a frantic, joyous, Edith Bunker-Hazel-Ellen Degeneres being all rolled in one spastic whirlwind of exuberant overwhelming LOVE whenever you met her.

Budgie was THE most appealing person you'd have ever met.

Needless to say, such a lover of everyone could hardly spend any time in the kitchen. As a wee lad, I can still see her plopping a pot on the stove and then scurrying out to enjoy any guests; to revel in anyone who might happen by.

The quality or quantity of food seldom mattered as far as Budgie was concerned. If there was company, there was enough to feed them. It was the company that mattered; not the stuff in the kitchen.  Anyway, everyone loved her and any experience to "be with Budgie" was in-and-of-itself what any meal at her house was all about.

I never recall any meal being served in dishes on Budgie's table and passed around.
No. Never.

Whether there were two or two-dozen guests, everyone filled their plates from pots and pans from the stove. Never, EVER was a meal served from anything than the kitchen stove, from the pot or pan from it was prepared. We'd never have a Sunday dinner without several guests, but everyone would have to file into the kitchen, scoop out the pot roast, potatoes and carrots from that speckled navy-blue roasting pan on the stove and then scoop out some mac-n-cheese and then some gravy from the pot laying beside it to spoon over white bread.

Every Sunday before church, I'd hear her searing a big chuck roast. She'd have it in the oven, surrounded by potatoes, carrots and onions, and whisk us all off to Sunday School (She had been the Sunday School teacher at the local Baptist church since 1945 - - none of her children or grandchildren had ever NOT attended Budgie's Sunday School classes!)

Back then, a Baptist preacher gave a good-ol' 45-minute sermon. I remember when we got a new, young preacher who liked to give shorter sermons. This was back in 1972 or so. Budgie invited him and his family over for Sunday dinner. She told him, "Now, Brother Thornton, I have my roast timed for your sermon. If you preach too long, you're gonna get a burnt offering. If you don't preach long enough, there might be a blood sacrifice!"

Then she just laughed and gave him a big hug.

To this day, I prefer to serve a meal buffet style or to plate everything up in the kitchen. To place an entree and sides in serving dishes to be passed around -- well -- that just seems to be so inefficient.

I still recall all the Thanksgiving meals and of every Sunday dinner with everyone traipsing through the kitchen past the aqua Formica counter tops and serving themselves from the stove.

It never mattered to anyone, I guess.

And I never knew what butter was until I was 25 years old. 

Budgie was always there, chirping, laughing, hugging and making everyone feel like they were the most loved person on this earth. She really had that innate ability to instantly make you feel as though you were the most appreciated and loved being in the whole wide world. Her love toward you was always genuine; the moment you'd walk in her door, she'd let out a little shriek of delight, run up and hug you, "Oh, Baeebeee!"

She had lots of "sayings". One of her favorites was, "If you ain't lovin', you ain't livin'!"
And then she'd laugh and say, "Now, that's from the 1st Book of Budgie!"

To this day, just about everyone in my home town will probably give you a first-hand account about how much Budgie loved them.

Budgie passed away, quietly, at the age of 91 in 2002.

I was SO extremely fortunate to have her as a primary caregiver since the age of ten. Budgie was always my best friend; she was my soul mate. She and I loved writing letters to each other ever since I was a child. We continued this practice well into my adulthood and into her old age. I've saved all her letters and she, apparently, save quite a few of mine.

I have 865 of her letters dating to 1981.
They're an incredible treasure of wit, love, and wisdom.

Oh, and I was 25 years old when I first tasted butter. I do not once remember Budgie ever using butter. Not once. "Oleo" was much less expensive. Margarine could serve more people and that what was important.

I never obtained any "grandmothery" recipes from Budgie. The woman spent as little time in the kitchen as possible. The minute she'd put something on the stove, she'd scurry out to the front door to greet a guest or to grab the phone for a 2-hour chat with one of her best friends (Louise, Bess, Clint, or Claire) There was the occasional root-beer float and then she'd whisk my brother and me away to wade in a creek or pick wild blackberries.

Recipes handed down from my Budgie?
Never.None at all.
Same goes for her two daughters, my mom and aunt.

She had that wrought-iron plaque in her kitchen saying  
"Food should be cooked with lots of love and lots of butter."

Budgie never, ever used butter that I can recall.

She made up for it with lots and lots of pure, unfettered love.

More than you can imagine,.
An over-abundance.

Balut

Yes, I have actually tried "balut" -- that infamous, popular food item in the Philippines in which a halfway developed duck egg is cooked and eaten.

I've always been very interested in trying all kinds of strange food items. So, one day I was presented with a balut egg and actually took the opportunity to try it.

Here is the cooked, peeled balut egg.

Strangely enough, it smells a lot like freshly boiled crab.

Here, you can see the yolk and the white:

After separating the yolk part from the white, one comes across some of the "meaty" part of the egg.

And then, there's the partially-formed baby duck thing.

And yes, I tried a bite of it. Actually, it's not as horrible as you'd think. It tastes like a very rich egg mixed with chicken liver.

I don't particularly care for chicken livers at all, so I only ate one little nibble of it. However, I can see how this would be a very nutritious food item.

I wonder if Julia Child ever tried it? Balut a l'Orange?

I don't think so. . .