Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

I think it's an American consensus that any dish covered with cheese is better. Steamed broccoli drowned in bright yellow processed cheese comes to mind. But what dinner table in America is without scalloped or gratinéed potatoes? Too bad we Americans can't claim the idea as our own invention. The French came up with gratiné, the method of topping ingredients with breadcrumbs, butter, and cheese and baking under a broiler. Potatoes are the most popular cooked in this method, but other vegetables also deserve this special treatment. Cucumbers, a vegetable that really never gets cooked, make the perfect gratiné.

Why cucumbers? In Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Julia Child offers up her recipe for baked cucumbers and in Julie & Julia, Julie Powell discovers the deliciousness of Julia's baked cucumbers. While reading these books in anticipation of the movie, I couldn't keep cucumbers out of my mind. I just was unable to fathom cooked or baked cucumbers. Then on an episode of Julia and Jacques on PBS, I saw Jacques Pépin sauté cucumbers to serve alongside fish. So I had to try preparing something with cucumbers for myself.

From the NY Times

The 1940s were a good time for drinking; eating, however, could be a dicey affair. Grapefruit fluff, published in The Times in 1941, was like a shining beacon in the sea of dull food. When looking for recipe inspiration in the paper’s archives, I moved right on by the date icebox pudding made with evaporated milk and the fruit turnovers that called for canned fruit. (A footnote, which only further proves my point: the original recipe had the uninspiring name “Grapefruit Dessert.” I changed this to fluff, for reasons you’ll understand when you make it.)

This fluff, the love child of broiled grapefruit and baked Alaska, is as joyful as it is unexpected. After assembly, you set the grapefruits in a pan filled with a bed of ice, then send them under the broiler for a quick singeing before the ice and everything else melts. To eat it, you pierce through a crisp, sugary snowcap to discover first a layer of warm, floppy meringue, then a pocket of vanilla ice cream and finally a well of tart and boozy slivers of grapefruit macerating in the grapefruit shell. It’s the perfect impromptu treat: you may already have all the ingredients in your pantry and fridge.

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I make soup every Sunday. Along with my pre-made grains, a legume, some roasted chicken(or sauteed sausages), cleaned and prepped veggies, soup is always simmering on Sunday mornings. I meal plan. Shopping lists are written on Fridays, shopping is done on Saturday, thus the organization begins. Simply, it makes weeknight meals easier, quicker, and nutritious.

Soups are the best way to use up those veggies that get somewhat neglected or pushed aside in your vegetable drawer. Soup is one of those versatile meals, served with a salad one has the perfect meal. Barley soup is made with homemade chicken stock,prosciutto, leeks, potatoes, carrots, and celery. Before serving, I add some sauteed chicken sausage and chopped chard. Lentil soup is a staple and corn chowder is household favorite.

But, it’s my tortilla soup that is number one on the soup list. This soup was conceived over 20 years ago while spending weekends on a friends estate in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. In the winter months, I would occasionally ski, but it was nesting in their cozy home that I embraced most. Summers were spent on the lake, hiking, horseback riding, and eating; lots and lots of eating. It was one of those lazy days, reading and napping. Dinner was approaching so I accessed the provisions. Onions, garlic, tomatoes, chicken, stock, spices, tortillas, and an avocado. I started chopping, roasting, mincing and my tortilla soup was born.

As with many good things, a cherished recipe resulted from an accident.

My wife wanted an omelet for breakfast and we had only one egg in the refrigerator. That egg was an especially good, farmers' market egg, but it did not have a companion and my wife was used to having a two-egg omelet.

Many solutions came to mind.

Go to the market to buy more. That seemed like too much trouble with a cup of coffee already brewed and waiting on the dining room table next to the Sunday New York Times. Use a lot of milk as "filler." But the resulting omelet would have been more like a custard than what my wife likes, a very firm cooked egg.

So, I did the only thing any guy would do in the circumstances. I punted.

If I was short an egg, well, I'd compensate with a lot more filling, hoping my wife would be distracted by all the goodies so she wouldn't notice the paucity of "egg."