Fran Vick is the retired founding director of the University of North Texas Press. Gayla Christiansen is the still-working-overtime sales manager and director of rights and permissioins at Texas A&M University Press. And I am the retired director of TCU Press. We call ourselves the Three Ladies of Publishing, and we periodically hold summit meetings, usually at my house where I am expected to provide a gourmet meal--and joyfully do so. Since today the semi-annual sales meeting for the A&M consortium was held at TCU, we were all in Fort Worth, so tonight we had a summit meeting. Part publishing discussion, a bit of gossip, a lot of catching up on families and friends, and a lot of laughter and sharing.
I think my gourmet meal satisfied. When the ladies hit the door about 4 p.m. and asked for wine, I gave them an amuse bouche of tiny rolls filled with anchovy butter. Then they gathered in the kitchen to watch me cook, and I gave them an appetizer of finger sandwiches--cocktail rye topped with cream cheese and diill, smoked trout, a dab of sour cream, and a couple of capers. Dinner was a roulade, with layers of pork, chicken, and prosciutto interspersed with a sauce of olive oil, basil, anchovies, garlic and parsley, and served with a sauce of cream and chicken broth and bacon. Plus asparagus and a salad of beets and orange slices with vinaigrette and feta. No dessert. We sat around the fire and talked far later than I'm used to, and I'm writing this late at night.
We were wondering tonight when we first started these summit meetings and decided it was quite a few years ago. For my 70th birthday, they gave me a proclamation, now framed in my office, that reads "Leader and Chef of the Front Porch Wine Drinking World Problem Solving Three Ladies in Publishing."
Reminds me of last night's post on the value of friendship, but once again it is so true. It is really a delight for me to cook for these two, and I try to outdo myself each time. I have to uphold my reputation. And it's wonderful to sit around and share publishing news and personal news with a sense that these are two women that really care about me and I care a lot about them. Another blessing in my life.
Showing posts with label gourmet food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gourmet food. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
A dining adventure
Betty and I had a real adventure tonight. We went to Dallas to the Hotel St. Germain. I had included the chef, a young man named Chad Martin, in my recently released book, Great Texas Chefs, and he invited me to come for dinner with a guest when the book was published. So tonight I took him two books and was rewarded with an amazing meal. Betty and I had looked at the menu online and decided we'd either have an appetizer and dessert, or split an entree. Chad had a different plan: when he came out to greet us he explained it was a menu fixe with five courses. Could we split, I asked? He shrugged and said they're small portions, so there we went for the whole thing.
First came an amuse bouche--a tiny square of smoked salmon on a small cornmeal like pancake and topped with caviar; then butternut squash soup with cinnamon apple and ancho creme fraiche (sorry, I don't know how to do accents on blogger). I'm not much of a soup eater and would have declined this in other circumstances, but it was wonderful--thick and buttery, with the chopped apples adding the perfect contrast and crunchiness. A taste of fall. Then came an appetizer of foie gras ravioli with smoked duck in truffle jus (I was beginning to be full by this time). I didn't get as much taste of the foie gras as I expected, but the delicately smoked duck was tantalizing--and I'd tell you I don't eat much duck. The maitre d' inquired how we wanted our tenderloins cooked--they were served on parsley beet puree with parmesan asparagus, a shallot compote, and red wine glace--the rich glace was a perfect compliment for the really good piece of meat. Dessert was an apple tart tatin with white chocolate praline mousse. I confess I didn't make it all the way through the tenderloin or the dessert. And the maitre d' kept filling our wine glasses so we had to be very careful. But the combinations of flavors, the imaginative mixing of foods, the attention to detail--it was all perfection and wonderful. Chad is a young chef, and I can see him going great places. The maitre d' wore white gloves and presented each course with a description, efficiently took away plates when we finished, and spoke with just enough of an old world accent that Betty sometimes had to repeat for me. There were only two other tables occupied, and the room was quiet, the mood subdued. After all the noisy restaurants we eat in, it was a real treat.
The hotel is European style in what once was someone's grand old house in Dallas' Oak Lawn area. It has seven "luxury" suites--we were curous about the cost but didn't ask--and the furnishings are old-world Victorian--heavy drapes, distressed woodwork, huge mirror in the entry hall, furniture that reminded me of the Victorian couch my mom had when I was a child.
Of course, we got lost trying to get out of Dallas, but we made it.
And tomorrow the dentist--what a letdown.
First came an amuse bouche--a tiny square of smoked salmon on a small cornmeal like pancake and topped with caviar; then butternut squash soup with cinnamon apple and ancho creme fraiche (sorry, I don't know how to do accents on blogger). I'm not much of a soup eater and would have declined this in other circumstances, but it was wonderful--thick and buttery, with the chopped apples adding the perfect contrast and crunchiness. A taste of fall. Then came an appetizer of foie gras ravioli with smoked duck in truffle jus (I was beginning to be full by this time). I didn't get as much taste of the foie gras as I expected, but the delicately smoked duck was tantalizing--and I'd tell you I don't eat much duck. The maitre d' inquired how we wanted our tenderloins cooked--they were served on parsley beet puree with parmesan asparagus, a shallot compote, and red wine glace--the rich glace was a perfect compliment for the really good piece of meat. Dessert was an apple tart tatin with white chocolate praline mousse. I confess I didn't make it all the way through the tenderloin or the dessert. And the maitre d' kept filling our wine glasses so we had to be very careful. But the combinations of flavors, the imaginative mixing of foods, the attention to detail--it was all perfection and wonderful. Chad is a young chef, and I can see him going great places. The maitre d' wore white gloves and presented each course with a description, efficiently took away plates when we finished, and spoke with just enough of an old world accent that Betty sometimes had to repeat for me. There were only two other tables occupied, and the room was quiet, the mood subdued. After all the noisy restaurants we eat in, it was a real treat.
The hotel is European style in what once was someone's grand old house in Dallas' Oak Lawn area. It has seven "luxury" suites--we were curous about the cost but didn't ask--and the furnishings are old-world Victorian--heavy drapes, distressed woodwork, huge mirror in the entry hall, furniture that reminded me of the Victorian couch my mom had when I was a child.
Of course, we got lost trying to get out of Dallas, but we made it.
And tomorrow the dentist--what a letdown.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Why I'm Not a Gourmet (or a Gourmand)
Jacob and I had a pleasant evening last night. Sometimes I think he stays glued to his DVD too much, but then again it's nice he's that comfortable here. Periodically, he'll get up, say "'Mon, Juju" and beckon for me to follow him somewhere. He really wants to ride the concrete lions in my neighbor's yard but they are right by the street, and Jacob is still too quick to dart and slow to listen to "No." Neither Jordan nor I will take him. As usual he asked, "Where Mama go?" and I replied, "To the ball game" and burst into song--"Take Me Out to the Ballgame." He stared at me and said, "No, Juju."
But this morning, that child who usually sleeps till 7:30, woke up singing at 6 a.m. I lay in bed and listened but he didn't seem in distress--maybe he'd go back to sleep. Then he turned quiet, and I thought maybe he'd gone back to sleep, so I peeked. Big mistake! There he was standing looking at me and holding out his arms to be picked up. The problem, it soon appeared, was that his pajamas were soaking wet. We were up by 6:30. By nine we had had breakfast, played and were both rubbing our eyes. I predict early naps all around.
While Jacob was playing with his doll house last night, I thumbed through the latest issue of Gourmet. For me, the day Bon Appetit arrives is always special, and I devote part of the evening to leafing through it the first of many times. But I haven't taken Gourmet in years. Perhaps it was the combination of Ruth Reichel as editor--I love her books--and a special bargain, but I subscribed recently. This issue is about Paris and frankly, it's over the top for me, even Reichel's essay. Lots of foie gras served in odd ways, like pots de creme, and a restaurant specializing in offal dishes. I grew up on kidneys, probably still like them but never see them in the market, and I'd sure have to eat alone that night; I regularly eat tongue sandwiches, to the dismay of some lunch companions, and I used to cook liver for the children. I loved it; they hated it. Again, I haven't had it in years, and now we know it's not as good for you as we were told as kids.
But carpaccio of pig's foot? Cow's udders? Salad of shredded pig ears, that was "a textbook on the nature of crispness"? No, thanks. Some of the recipes were a bit strange too. Nobody I know wants Celery Root and Potato Puree with Chervil, and there were those beef cheeks again, this time braised in red wine with orange zest. There were some recipes that intrigued me, especially Moucha Mousse with Sichuan Peppercorns, described as a variation of the Mexican culinary wedding of chocolate and chile. But, all in all, I think gourmets live in a different world than I do. One of the critics of my yet-to-be published cookbook labeled me a "faux gourmet," (mostly because I'm not above using canned soup in casseroles, whereas this critic wrote she always made her own white sauce for King Ranch Chicken--no, no, it's Campbell's Mushroom Soup). Anyway I wanted to call my cookbook The Faux Gourmet, but it will be Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books in the Kitchen.
I'm not feeling like a fancy cook at all today. I think I'll have that leftover chicken salad for lunch and then a long nap. Cocktail hour? I'll put some crab and chili sauce on a block of cream cheese and serve tiny toasts with it. Easy! I promise I'll make the chili sauce from scratch.
But this morning, that child who usually sleeps till 7:30, woke up singing at 6 a.m. I lay in bed and listened but he didn't seem in distress--maybe he'd go back to sleep. Then he turned quiet, and I thought maybe he'd gone back to sleep, so I peeked. Big mistake! There he was standing looking at me and holding out his arms to be picked up. The problem, it soon appeared, was that his pajamas were soaking wet. We were up by 6:30. By nine we had had breakfast, played and were both rubbing our eyes. I predict early naps all around.
While Jacob was playing with his doll house last night, I thumbed through the latest issue of Gourmet. For me, the day Bon Appetit arrives is always special, and I devote part of the evening to leafing through it the first of many times. But I haven't taken Gourmet in years. Perhaps it was the combination of Ruth Reichel as editor--I love her books--and a special bargain, but I subscribed recently. This issue is about Paris and frankly, it's over the top for me, even Reichel's essay. Lots of foie gras served in odd ways, like pots de creme, and a restaurant specializing in offal dishes. I grew up on kidneys, probably still like them but never see them in the market, and I'd sure have to eat alone that night; I regularly eat tongue sandwiches, to the dismay of some lunch companions, and I used to cook liver for the children. I loved it; they hated it. Again, I haven't had it in years, and now we know it's not as good for you as we were told as kids.
But carpaccio of pig's foot? Cow's udders? Salad of shredded pig ears, that was "a textbook on the nature of crispness"? No, thanks. Some of the recipes were a bit strange too. Nobody I know wants Celery Root and Potato Puree with Chervil, and there were those beef cheeks again, this time braised in red wine with orange zest. There were some recipes that intrigued me, especially Moucha Mousse with Sichuan Peppercorns, described as a variation of the Mexican culinary wedding of chocolate and chile. But, all in all, I think gourmets live in a different world than I do. One of the critics of my yet-to-be published cookbook labeled me a "faux gourmet," (mostly because I'm not above using canned soup in casseroles, whereas this critic wrote she always made her own white sauce for King Ranch Chicken--no, no, it's Campbell's Mushroom Soup). Anyway I wanted to call my cookbook The Faux Gourmet, but it will be Cooking My Way through Life with Kids and Books in the Kitchen.
I'm not feeling like a fancy cook at all today. I think I'll have that leftover chicken salad for lunch and then a long nap. Cocktail hour? I'll put some crab and chili sauce on a block of cream cheese and serve tiny toasts with it. Easy! I promise I'll make the chili sauce from scratch.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
A Lost Day, but with a dash of fun
A lost day. Yesterday I had what Jordan calls "stomach issues" all day but went on about my business. This morning I woke with a long list of errands but was dismayed to find the "issues" still there. By the time I read the paper, took care of the dog and cat, and got ready to leave, all I wanted to do was go back to bed. I slogged through the morning--library, hardware, grocery, optician, and Barnes & Noble. At that point I gave up, telling myself if I felt better in the late afternoon I'd do my Central Market run then. It didn't happen--I couldn't stay out of bed and have taken probably four naps today. My brother-the-doctor mentioned possibly an intestinal virus, and I realized that's how I feel--draggy and lethargic like you do with a virus.
I called Colin and Lisa and learned that two-year-old Morgan is sick, with a cold, high fever, and junky eyes. I told Lisa to tell her that Juju loves her, and Lisa said Morgan patted the chair next to her. Lisa asked if that was where she wanted Juju, and she nodded yes. Broke my heart!
I've done quite a bit of reading though today. Finished the mystery, Dead Days of Summer, one of Carolyn Hart's most riveting I thought--it had been keeping me from doing anything else. Then I read a chldren's book about Rigoberta Menchu who fought for human rights in Guatemala, had to leave for Mexico for safety, and continued to speak out. She won a Nobel Peace Prize at the age of thirty-three and is now back working and speaking in Guatemla. And then I started Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a native of Somalia who is now in exile in Europe but is an outspoken and prominent activist. I'm reading it for the women's rights book I'm doing, but it is a fascinating if grim picture of life for women in Africa's Muslim cultures and, briefly, in Saudi Arabia. Got almost a hundred pages into that, before I turned to The Texas You Expect, a history of Buffalo Gap Historic Village. I hope to write my next column tomorrow on the village, State House/McWhiney Foundation Press headquartered there, and some of their books. Then I'll go back to Infidel, but I'd really like to get all this behind me and go back to my Scotland book.
But to finish the day I picked up The Food Snob's Dictionary, An Essential Lexicon of Gastronomical Knowledge, by David Kamp and Marion Rosenfeld. I got an advance review copy, though I can't figure why, but I'll give it a brief "review" here. I recognized some of the terms and quite a few of the names, like Jacque Pepin, but did you know the truffle oil you get at the market is really overpriced vegetable oil augmented by synthetic compounds that smell like truffles? Or that Chilean sea bass is really Patagonian Toothfish, so fashionable that it was overfished and is now regulated--and sold on the black market?
Here's a test. Do you know
What a Newton Pippin is?
What an ortolan is?
What sous-vide means?
What a forager has to do with gourmet cooking?
What free range chicken really means and the USDA's attitude toward it?
Night, everyone. Time to go back to bed--again!
I called Colin and Lisa and learned that two-year-old Morgan is sick, with a cold, high fever, and junky eyes. I told Lisa to tell her that Juju loves her, and Lisa said Morgan patted the chair next to her. Lisa asked if that was where she wanted Juju, and she nodded yes. Broke my heart!
I've done quite a bit of reading though today. Finished the mystery, Dead Days of Summer, one of Carolyn Hart's most riveting I thought--it had been keeping me from doing anything else. Then I read a chldren's book about Rigoberta Menchu who fought for human rights in Guatemala, had to leave for Mexico for safety, and continued to speak out. She won a Nobel Peace Prize at the age of thirty-three and is now back working and speaking in Guatemla. And then I started Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a native of Somalia who is now in exile in Europe but is an outspoken and prominent activist. I'm reading it for the women's rights book I'm doing, but it is a fascinating if grim picture of life for women in Africa's Muslim cultures and, briefly, in Saudi Arabia. Got almost a hundred pages into that, before I turned to The Texas You Expect, a history of Buffalo Gap Historic Village. I hope to write my next column tomorrow on the village, State House/McWhiney Foundation Press headquartered there, and some of their books. Then I'll go back to Infidel, but I'd really like to get all this behind me and go back to my Scotland book.
But to finish the day I picked up The Food Snob's Dictionary, An Essential Lexicon of Gastronomical Knowledge, by David Kamp and Marion Rosenfeld. I got an advance review copy, though I can't figure why, but I'll give it a brief "review" here. I recognized some of the terms and quite a few of the names, like Jacque Pepin, but did you know the truffle oil you get at the market is really overpriced vegetable oil augmented by synthetic compounds that smell like truffles? Or that Chilean sea bass is really Patagonian Toothfish, so fashionable that it was overfished and is now regulated--and sold on the black market?
Here's a test. Do you know
What a Newton Pippin is?
What an ortolan is?
What sous-vide means?
What a forager has to do with gourmet cooking?
What free range chicken really means and the USDA's attitude toward it?
Night, everyone. Time to go back to bed--again!
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