and this is what I’ve turned out of the kitchen in the past 24 hours:
My mom’s sparerib recipe and the other stuff we ate with it.
Richard Olney’s chicken liver terrine. My first terrine ever. The recipe requires you to squish the raw livers with the other ingredients (breadcrumbs, spices, sauteed onion) with your hands. And yeah, somehow the quantity didn’t end up quite right. Also, I didn’t have any normal lard around, so I sawed off some slices of my slab bacon (by far the most difficult part). Watch out for those weird stringy veins; they’re a pain in the ass to extract once you’ve already pulped the livers and are covered in chunky, oozy glop.
Made in the Le Creuset terrine I handcarried from France to Italy and then to NYC. Goddamn, it’s heavy. The terrine’s kind of a cute little guy, isn’t it?
Breakfast this morning. At the Greenmarket fishmonger, my eyes were instantly drawn to the bucket filled with creamy, faintly coral-colored lobes striped with delicate veins. It’s flounder roe, she told me. Sold. Almost as good as shad roe but with a less assertive flavor. I can’t help but think about all the millions of itty bitty little eggs (you can kind of make them out in the photo, the little white specks) that make up one of these lobes and how many potential flounder are now swimming in my belly. I pan-roasted it in butter.
Can’t have terrine without it: Jim Lahey’s wonderful no-knead bread.