My friend KBell makes socks for a living. But it’s what comes out of her kitchen that’ll really knock your socks off – the world’s most perfect brisket.
That’s a boast, I know, that is bound to generate some heat. But what you have to know about Kbell’s brisket is two things: She’s ridiculously generous about sharing her recipe, which actually hails from her mother Selma Bell of Gloucester, Mass. And, for all I know, from Selma Bell’s mother, too. The Bells from Gloucester are like that, a tight-knit (so to speak) family. But the second and probably more important aspect of KBell’s brisket is that it’s pretty much fool-proof.
Thanksgiving is my favorite national holiday. It is not focused around the obligatory(bad) gift, it’s secular, and the abundance of flavors, color, and creativity in the food and recipes cannot be beat.
Before moving to Paris, we sold our house in New Jersey, and I gave away most of my kitchenwares. No more unnecessary objects, I told myself, putting cookbooks detailing how to make rice in fifty-five ways in a box for Good Will. Wedding presents that never made it to the table – the egg steamer, the fish plate, an orange sugar bowl – went into the box as well. I pictured my post-Paris kitchen as holding nothing but my old, beloved Le Cruesets: friendly, large and utilitarian.
in a shiny burnt-crimson color. There’s no end to the gorgeous food that can be made in my cocottes. For a dinner party on Friday I used the very best chocolate – after much investigation, my current favorite is Michel Cluizel’s – with generous splashes of Grand Marnier and a box of eggs, to make fierce little chocolate cakes. Under the giddy influence of a Parisian December, I gave each cake a generous dab of crème fraiche thinned with Grand Marnier and topped with a translucent star made from pure spun sugar.
All I want for Christmas is my caviar pie. Which is a jolly good thing, since it's the only dish I take joy in creating.
