Sardine Rillettes

Meh.

The Sis Boom dictionary defines "rillettes" as lovely bits of pork chopped and slowly cooked in its fat for up to several hours.  Mmm. Pork Fat.  Duck fat is good too so duck rilletes are too.   The bits are then shredded and suspended in that very fat before being cooled and spread (like pate) on a cracker or a piece of bread.  Or, like I have been known to do, eaten with a spoon.   Did I say pork fat?   Or was that duck fat?

I had to expand my definition a bit when Salmon Rillettes were first  revealed to me over at David's blog.  I had never heard of them before but since he made them sound so good I had to try them immediately.   Yes, the salmon is  cooked for 10 minutes as opposed to the hours its beloved pork cousin can require.  And yes, the salmon is 'preserved' in butter as opposed to fish fat.  (Thank god!)   But, if David calls the dish rillettes because the bits are surrounded by a fat then that is what they are going to be  called -- I will just have to adjust my personal definitions in order to accommodate.
N'est-ce pas?

I'm sure the salmon variation wasn't his idea anyway, right?  Perhaps David just goes with the flow too?

I love salmon so not surprisingly, I loved salmon rillettes!   I have made the dish many times since featuring them here, and each time I serve them to appreciative guests I never fail to refer to them as "rillettes" when they invariably ask me what they are eating. I do enjoy observing their puzzled faces while they try to figure out what I had just said. So there is that collateral benefit of momentarily sounding superior to everyone else in the room.    I have very smart friends so I have to take these moments when the come.

I can't hear them saying it out loud, but in their heads I know they are asking, "why didn't he just call it salmon spread? Isn't this salmon spread?  What's a "ree yette" anyway?  

I would have called "spred" but I don't make up the rules for this stuff.   The people of France have this one and since they went to the trouble of making up these fancy sounding names for spreads the very least we can do is indulge them. N'est-ce pas?

So just as I am finally getting used to the idea of salmon rillettes I'm being asked to ponder "sardine rillettes".  All I can think to say about them is, "meh".

Do you think that perhaps we (meaning The French) are taking this 'rillette' business too far?   Is putting something in lots of fat so you can smear it on bread worthy of such a fancy sounding French tag?   After all, if you mix Lipton Onion Soup mix with sour cream have you just made Onion Soup Rillettes?  I think not.   Or maybe you have?  Lets ask a Frenchman about that since its their game.

Oh, and I should tell you something lest you think I'm letting any bias into this discussion.  I don't question the appropriateness of sardine rillettes because I don't like sardines! The truth is, I love them.   L.O.V.E. them.

I will make them into sandwiches.  I enjoy them with olive oil or when they are packed in tomato sauce or mustard.  In fact, I will eat them right out of the can with my fingers.     I even buy them in foreign food shops as souveniers when I am lucky enough to travel to countries where sardines are appreciated.

I would eat them in a boat.
And I would eat them with a goat.

I will eat them in the rain.
And in the dark. And on a train.
And in a car. And in a tree.
They are so good, so good, you see!

I will eat them here or there.
I will eat them everywhere.

You get the idea.

So unlike many out there, I am not squeamish about sardines at all. Confession time: I even keep a stash of them in my desk drawer at work for when I need a high protein, high omega 3 fatty acid snack.

Perhaps its my love of "pure" sardines that has left me feeling a bit indifferent about sardine rillettes treatment  featured in Dorie Greenspan's "Around My French Table"?   I know scores of Doristas  approached this particular French Fridays with Dorie project with some trepidation.  Sardinophobia.   Lets face it, sardines suffer from lack of a good PR campaign.  They carry a lot of reputational baggage and most of it unearned if you ask me.  Is it becomes sometimes you can see their faces.    "Oh, they remind me of bait!"   And this from people I know for a fact have never even fished a day in their lives.

I think many doristas had hoped that by drenching the feared sardine in cream cheese, shallots, and herbs you could make it at least palatable,  if not fully enjoyable.  I, on the other hand, worried that by the time the flavorful creatures were doused with cream cheese, onions, and herbs the net effect would be a dumbing down of these Mediterranean jewels into a glorified tuna salad.

Sadly, this is just what happens.  I won't call it a disaster because, well,  I like tuna salad and so I don't mind spreading it on a piece of bread or cracker.  

Also, I don't think I could tell any guests of mine that that what they were eating was called 'rillettes' with a straight face while serving it to them.     Dorie suggests with a straight face that serving this with a "cornichon sorbet" as a way of upping the ante.  Bwah ha ha ha.  Sorry, I couldn't keep a straight face with that one either.

You can afford to experiment here as sardines are cheap but for my money I will next make David's sardine pate the next time I wish to get fancy with sardines.  Still, I will call it "sardine spread" or "sardine mashed stuff."

I know will still prefer them right out of the can, however.   Eaten this way I have never felt that they are  "meh".

Sardine Rillettes
adapted from Dorie Greenspan "Around My French Table" 

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream

I don't often have buttermilk in the refrigerator.

When I do have it on hand, however, the quart sized carton will always be at least three quarters full.  (Why don't they sell smaller sizes?)  It will also have worked itself to a position of near invisibility by being out of sight and out of reach near the back of the shelf.  There it will go unnoticed for days or weeks until it is well past its already frighteningly generous expiration date.   Only then will my husband finally "discover" it and pour its clumpy contents down the drain.  He will act completely disgusted at the thought of something so old being allowed to remain in the one place reserved for keeping things fresh and ready for our eventual (and safe) consumption.

He will then give me a mild scolding for being so wasteful,  to which I will attempt to explain myself by reminding him that I wasn't being wasteful at all!  I was merely trying to invent a miracle medicine that will cure infections.  

This scenario, one that has punctuated our lives together like clockwork every two weeks after I bake anything that calls for buttermilk, will never happen again now that I have discovered the joys of buttermilk based ice cream.

Going forward I am quite sure we will no longer have any buttermilk to spare for culturing into penicillin --  all of it will now be dedicated to feeding my newfound insatiable appetite for this ice cream variety.     Truthfully, I can now see myself skipping over the muffin making distraction altogether and going directly to the business of making (and enjoying) this ice cream.  

Summer berries and fruit - I'm ready for you.

While I have always liked the taste of buttermilk in baked goods (oh, and mashed potatoes) it is as an ice cream base that this rich, acidic elixir finds it true reason for being.   (Do they sell half gallon sizes?)  

Why didn't I know of this ice cream earlier?   How did I function without ever having tasted buttermilk ice cream?  

My mind is racing with thoughts of the many variants I will soon be concocting:  strawberry buttermilk ice cream, peach buttermilk ice cream, banana buttermilk ice cream...  Wait a minute!  Dark chocolate buttermilk ice cream!    

Who has time for making muffins anyway? 

Lemon Buttermilk Ice Cream

Blood Orange Sidecar

We a lucky enough to be gifted annually with a box of blood oranges from our good friend, Mahin.   Mahin knows of my long standing blood orange passion so when her tree overfloweth with them each year she graciously parts with its offerings in our direction causing much celebration.

 This has made exploring ways to infect various recipes with their electric beauty and vibrant, tangy flavor an annual challenge.

And while I cannot argue that the blood orange brings a certain panache to sweet treats (such as last year's Blood Orange Cardamom Cake and Candied Blood Orange Peel, (both of which were born of Mahin's generosity), lets just be honest with one another and admit that the true joy of having blood oranges on hand is experienced when you take your place behind the bar to mix a cocktail.

Any drink that relies on citrus can get a colorful refresh with very little effort when a blood orange is on hand.   Screwdrivers, mimosas, margaritas.... you get the idea?

I certainly can't lay claim to being the first to dream up using blood oranges in a classic Sidecar cocktail but I offer up my makeshift recipe here as after a week of trials and fine tuning it turned out with a nice balance of flavors and balance is what a good cocktail is about.

Well, that and the chance to toast to a good friend, like Mahin Joon.   Salamati!


Blood Orange Sidecar

• 1 oz. Blood Orange Juice
• 1 1/2 oz Hennessy Cognac
• 1 oz Cointreau
• 1 dash orange bitters
• slice of blood orange for garnish

Add all ingredients except the garnish to a cocktail shaker filled with ice and shake until thoroughly chilled.  Strain into an up cocktail glass whose rim has been sugared...or not.   (Leaving off the sugar rim is a great way to cut back on carbs, don't you think?  I do love a sensible cocktail.)

(Note: Yes, that is an Instragram photo.  Is that allowed?  I wouldn't usually do that but it is all I could muster during this bleak time of severe writer's block.  I'm having photo block too.  But I did like the way it unnecessarily enhanced the color of this fine drink. )

File This Under: My Food Writer Destiny...

My first letter home from summer camp in 1970.

The meals were "horrible" so I felt compelled to write about it.     Some things never change -- like my spelling.

I have to run now.

Whole Roasted Curried Cauliflower

If it weren't for the fact that I detest food blog posts that kick off with an apology for a lack of recent posting I would be apologizing right now as, well,  I haven't written for awhile.   So, I'm sorry for not apologizing because, you know,  I detest that sort of thing.    

Its not that I haven't been creating wonderful food, consuming gastro-edibles crafted by others' talented hands or even my own less talented ones.   Also, its not that I haven't been thinking of you either, my gentle readers.  But, um,  I haven't.     

What I'm trying to tell you right now might not  make a lot of sense to you but that is OK too.  These things are what they are.  I will just have to allow that this might make as much sense as I will be able to make of it for you.   

I trust you will let it go and pretend to to understand me even if you don't.  Or not.  Why should today special?  And if you don't understand, why not?  I did say that I  was sorry didn't I?   I'll say it again, my bad.   (Aren't those the words people use to magically wipe away guilt and responsibility for personal infractions?)   I should warn you though that I probably didn't mean it even if I did apologize for not writing recently because, well,  I detest that sort of thing -- so that would be the sort of thing I wouldn't mean.    

Seriously though. Its been a nice break for me and an equally nice break for the food in my life.   

By taking some time off I have discovered (or perhaps rediscovered) how nice it is when food can just be.   I know the food agrees.  You have to be willing to take some time to shut up and listen to the food if you are going to understand this simple need it sometime has.  .     

Good food should be allowed to kick back, relax and enjoy itself while it is perched for our enjoyment at a dining table.  At least now and then it should be allowed, wouldn't you agree?   I know it sounds surprising but given a choice food might actually prefer not to suffer the distractions of blogging or journalistic scrutiny.  I have found that there are actually times when my food doesn't even want to be described much left photographed!   Even though they must know they enjoy much of their appeal and reputation due to the attention of the paparazzi this shouldn't  mean they just live with the constant whirrrr and flash of the camera 24/7, does it?  Even Angelina Jolie gets a week or two off now and then.

Why should our food have to be forced to constantly pay attention to such ultimately unimportant qualities as "staging" and "color balance" when these things have no real bearing as to its ultimate value for us as nourishment for our stomachs or our souls?   (And God forbid food is seen out in public with a blemish or a bad outfit!)      

All of this puts a lot of undue pressure on food!   No wonder it needs a break now and then.  I did. 

The past couple of weeks the food in my life didn't even want to be fondly remembered.  It didn't want to be  responsible for dredging up long forgotten food memories from my past.   It didn't want to inspire poetry.  It just wanted to be.     And it was nice to oblige it, not write myself  but read what everybody else was saying about it for a change.

I would apologize but I detest that sort of thing.  I'm sorry but its true! 

This particular cauliflower told me that it just wanted to sit there and look good so I obliged by not even cutting it up.  And yes,  I asked it nicely if I could take its picture to share with you and it kindly obliged.        

Whole Roasted Curried Cauliflower