We walked into the dark foyer of III Forks (three forks) from our sunny Austin afternoon stroll, and were temporarily blind as we waited for our pupils to adjust to the dim new surroundings. Even after a few minutes, we were still having some trouble, but gingerly made our way over to the happy hour festivities. Details unfolded as our eyes caught up with the dark room. Light paint and dark wood adorned the walls. Antler chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A big piano anchored one wall of the bar area. And a table full of appetizers and wine held center stage.
Can you think of a more intense situation? Preparing a potluck dish for a bunch of food bloggers, writers, and photographers? I was questioning the wisdom of even having suggested it. But eventually, I worked out in my head that this was the crowd on which to try out something that my regular crew may not really go for, something I may not be willing to make otherwise. And then, after a friend suggested I make pate, I remembered a recipe for Country Pate that I had been saving for the right opportunity.
It’s hard to go wrong with bacon. Even the mass-produced stuff made from the bellies of horribly treated pigs in factory farms is pretty tasty. But I’m here to tell you, there’s a better way. And it’s so incredibly delicious, I may never buy bacon from the supermarket again. For the past 8-10 days, I’ve been in the process of curing pork belly using recipes and techniques from Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing.
Since departing from my reasonably lucrative engineering career, Sean and I have been on a budget. One of the things that’s sadly taken a hit has been our ability to try out swanky new places to eat. Fortunately, for a few days in early March, we were able to take advantage of Austin Restaurant Week. During this period, various fine dining establishments around town are offering fixed-price multi-course meals for either $25 or $35. While we tried a couple of places, our favorite was Jeffrey’s.
The Story of Sushi: An Unlikely Saga of Raw Fish and Rice (P.S.), by Trevor Corson is one of the most well-researched food books I’ve read. The author clearly knows his subject well and delivers ridiculous amount of information in such a natural progression that I couldn’t help but tear though the book in large doses, scarfing down difficult-to-come-by knowledge like book-starved lunatic.
After a brief cold snap, the weather has returned to its early-spring-in-central-Texas glory. The sun is warm, but not yet blistering, and we still have the pleasure of a breeze stirring the air. The weather is back to being perfect, in fact, for hanging out on a restaurant patio nibbling on a pleasant array of tapas-style dishes and sipping some very intriguingly flavored cocktails. And that’s just what we did recently (before the cold snap) at FINO, a restaurant that is described (since it’s on the second story and occupies a corner) as having “a charming tree house feel.”
Anyone who’s read this blog already knows how I feel about duck. And if you aren’t one of those people, know this - I’m kind of infatuated with it. That wonderfully flavorful dark meat surrounded by a thick layer of fat that, when properly prepared, becomes a crisp layer of duck crackin’ over a thin and lusciously smooth layer of interior fat is enough to make me order it anytime I see it on a restaurant menu. In the past I’ve seared it and cured it. This week, I decided to confit it.
I’m trying to find my voice – my writing voice, that is. I think it’s hiding in there, under years of engineering training and technical communication. But I don’t know how to dig it out. Even my husband has warned me that I “write like an engineer”. I know this has very little to do with food, but it’s been on my mind for the past couple weeks. Since I haven’t come up with a method for exposing the “voice”, I’ll cook instead. Twice this week, I’ve had the great pleasure of making Chocolate Chile Bread Pudding.
Lately, I’ve been really into beans. I know what you’re thinking. I don’t write for more than a week and when I finally do, I prattle on about the super sexy subject of beans. But hear me out! They’re extremely nutritious, filling in a way that few vegetables are, and really cost-effective.
With their crunchy exterior and chewy center, the 36-hour chocolate chip cookies (featured in NYTimes last summer) are tough to beat. Something happens during the prepared dough’s lengthy rest time that transforms to cookie from merely delicious to something transcendent, resplendent, glorious. I’m not saying that they’ve been beaten, but we did decide to experiment with additions other than the much-famed chocolate chips.
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, by Trevor Corson is one of the most well-researched food books I’ve read. The author clearly knows his subject well and delivers ridiculous amount of information in such a natural progression that I couldn’t help but tear though the book in large doses, scarfing down difficult-to-come-by knowledge like book-starved lunatic.