Brandon Eats

Mushroom Exotica

Run, don't walk to Fresh Market, to stock up on their comprehensive selection of fresh wild mushrooms.  I've never even seen fresh chanterelles in this town before or French Horn mushrooms (I had to look those up).  My only complaint is that the mushrooms are pre-packaged and that they don't offer a mix of mushroom varieties in a single package. They have Hen of the Woods and the basic shitake mushroom as well, at prices that are heart- and wallet-breakingly expensive ($29.99/lb. for chanterelles!).  But that's the market, baby, and they only get cheaper at places like New York's Greenmarket, where the middle man is effectively cut out.  Rationalize it this way:  you're willing to pay ten to twelve bucks for a bottle of wine, right?  Buy some beer and have a taste of exotica instead, sliced thick and sauteed in lots of butter.

Naked Sausages

I've been spending a lot of time with Jamie Oliver's Jamie's Italy and of all his books, I think it's by far the most satisfying.  Oliver cut his teeth at the River Cafe in London, and like Gray and Rodgers, offers a stripped down, Italian-inspire cuisine that relies heavily on the quality of ingredients.  His food's always been good, but Jamie's grown up from that cute boy with the ready grin to a more professional, harder, sometimes cranky television personality which, while still charming, is less given to the nonsense of the earlier years.  His earlier books could meander a bit (especially Jamie's Dinners) but his latest shows a refreshingly mature focus, with clearer instructions and sensible categorization. 

Candyland

This is where I am today.  Join me at Claire Oliver in Chelsea at 513 West 26th Street, New York this afternoon to soak in some astounding, demented joy.

Extreme Eating

How is it that a child who refuses to eat a mushroom will calmly eat a fish eye in a Chinese restaurant (and like it!)? 

Why does this same child eagerly down a plate of goose barnacles while on vacation but refuse to eat a piece of red pepper?  Or a spoonful of couscous?  Or a bite of turkey?  Or asparagus?  What kind of cruel joke is this?

Soul-Warming French Onion Soup

Can you imagine eating anything else except soup during this frigid February?  Every year I make a batch of onion soup at about this time--I only make it once because I always forget how long it takes to caramelize that enormous pile of onions, and frankly, about halfway through it I truly wonder what the hell I'm doing and if it's really worth all the work.

It must be, or I wouldn't be writing about it, now would I?  True, so very true, my careful readers, but it is a recipe that demands a food processor--I wouldn't even attempt it without one to do all the slicing (and after reading not martha, not without a pair of these either).  My mother, I remember,  did all the slicing herself, and she also made it many, many more times than just once a year, but the sixties were different, you know?  Just days of yore and lots more hard work.

So fire up the Cuisinart, strap on your goggles, and turn on your ventilation fan.  All your hard work will pay off in spades as you sip you way through the pot, bowl by bowl,and cup by cup over the next few days.  Amanda Hesser had an older, decidedly different version (circa 1907) this past Sunday in the New York Times, but personally I rely on Julia Child for essentials like this recipe.  My only change (and I only dare to make it because Julia's no longer with us) is to use both beef broth and chicken broth as my base.  Julia called for beef bouillon and water (in my mother's copy of the The French Chef Cookbook that I use) but I'm not so sure about how that translates these days, and although I do make chicken stock, beef stock hasn't made it yet into my repertoire.

Recipe after the jump . . . 

Sausage Sham

I wonder why Emilio Peiro still thinks Richmonders don't know the difference between a  chorizo and an Italian sausage?