Casino Royale by Ian Fleming

I am a diehard Bond Girl. I’ve seen all the films, read all the books and of course, have my own opinions about who has been the best Bond of all. Having a major crush on Timothy Dalton, I am biased in his favor, but there is also something to be said for the talents (not to mention eye candy quality) of Sean Connery and Daniel Craig. All three are are quite handsome in a rough-hewn, craggy kind of way. Pierce Brosnan, though also quite a gorgeous specimen of the male gender, was a bit too polished and smooth for my taste. Roger Moore and George Lazenby were the weakest Bonds, in my book (haha!).

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In rereading Casino Royale, I came to the conclusion that the reason these rough-around-the-edges cinematic 007s are more to my taste is because they are closer to his book character, which is why I like them. A man who is elegant and polished, yet still has that roughness, that “throw down,” is incredibly sexy to me.

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James Bond is not a very likable character, for all his perspicacity as a spy. He’s witty, urbane, but with that dark edge that allows him to use people and not care about his effect in their lives. It’s not just with women, although they do tend to be rather interchangeable and disposable. As an agent provocateur, it is probably a matter of life or death to be able to sharply and coldly cut someone out of one’s life, and this aspect of Bond’s character is much more apparent in the books, as his thought process and internal meanderings are well described. In Casino Royale, you get the origin of his coldness toward women, when he meets and falls hard for Vesper Lynd, a fellow secret agent who initially is not very impressed with Bond…..which, of course, intrigues him It’s such a typically male response to a woman that it made me laugh.

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Vesper and Bond share a luxurious dinner at the Casino Royale, while they wait for the high-stakes gambler Le Chiffre, whom they have been sent to watch and infiltrate his empire. Bond tells Vesper to order expensively and do honor to her fabulous evening gown. She takes him at his word and they order their meals.

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“I’d like to start with caviar and then have a plain grilled rognon de veau with pommes souffles. And then I’d like to have fraises de bois with a lot of cream. Is it very shameless to be to certain and so expensive?” She smiled at him knowingly…………”While Mademoiselle is enjoying the strawberries, I will have half an avocado pear with a little French dressing.”

Fraises de bois are wild strawberries, and difficult to find in New Mexico. However, seeing as strawberries and cream are one of my desert island meals, with the tartness of strawberries contrasting so nicely with a lightly sweetened cream, I couldn’t not make it to go with the centerpiece meal. An avocado pear, which is a half-avocado stuffed with whatever you like, is delish! Lobster and avocado have a natural affinity for each other and I love them together, the jade green of the avocado and the deep pink of the cooked lobster creating a beautiful food palette that’s almost too gorgeous to eat. Almost. And you can’t beat lobster for sheer luxury. I got mine at Nantucket Shoals, and I highly recommend you visit there, either in person or via their website.

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This is the method that worked for me for the stuffed avocado pear, taken from the great Emeril Lagasse, but with a few tweaks by me. Enjoy!

INGREDIENTS

For the avocado pear:
2 large avocadoes
2 cups lobster meat, cooked and finely cubed
1 tablespoon homemade mayonnaise (see method below)
1 teaspoon of truffle oil

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Juice of one medium lemon
Fresh chives, finely chopped

METHOD
Mix together the lobster meat, the mayonnaise and the truffle oil. Let the flavors mingle in the refrigerator for about 30 minutes.

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Add the lemon juice and taste for seasoning. Sprinkle in some sea salt if you think it needs it, but the homemade mayo has plenty of flavor and saltiness, so you may not.

Halve the avocadoes and carefully scoop out the meat, retaining their shape so that they form green cups. Squeeze over a bit of lemon juice to keep the avocadoes from blackening.

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Put a large spoonful of the lobster mixture into each avocado half, so you have four tasty little green cups full of seafood heaven! Garnish with the chives and admire the beautiful pink and green deliciousness before chowing down. 007 would most certainly approve of this avocado pear!

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The homemade mayo was simply one egg yolk (organic and free range), 1 teaspoon of Dijon mustard, one teaspoon of white wine vinegar, one teaspoon of lemon juice, a half-teaspoon of sea salt, and incorporated very slowly and whisked in drop by drop, a 3/4 cup of regular olive oil – all at room temperature. Don’t use a blender or it will be runny. I hand-whisked for 20 minutes and although it is quite an arm workout, the end result is so worth it.

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The strawberries, I simply marinated in Amaretto and lemon juice for about an hour, while I whipped some heavy cream with sugar and a dash or two of Campari liqueur. The Campari makes the cream a gorgeous, pale pink, like the inside of a seashell. It creates such a beautiful accent for the glistening, red strawberries. You pile it into a fancy glass and eat. Or, if James Bond were to drop by, you could have him feed it to you, berry by berry. (sigh)  A girl can dream!

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I would be a terrible Bond girl if I didn’t include this classic paragraph:

“A dry martini,” Bond said. “In a deep champagne goblet. Three measures of Gordons, one of Vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice cold, then add a thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?”

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Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

Thanks to TB for the photography.

Do you know what it’s like to read a book and have it haunt you, like a whisper or the faint hint of perfume in an empty room? I’ve always been possessed by the gorgeous Gothic-ness of Rebecca, which has mystery, ghosts, passionate love and a big, haunted house. And then of course, the most intriguing opening line………”Last night, I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

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I admit, rather shamefacedly, to having reread this on Audible, listening as I  cooked. It’s hard sometimes to put everything down and read a book with pages, as pleasurable as that is. In fact, I recently had a conversation with a very dear friend called Richard, about what constitutes pleasure in life. We both agreed that food, sex, wine, and music are all true pleasures, but I added two more – turning the pages of a wonderful book, and coming to really fantastic part in a book. You can’t beat any of those, but as with everything in life, you have to find the time, or a way to combine them. Hence, cooking with Audible.

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Anyway, the gist of this book is thus: a young woman meets the handsome, debonair and rather gloomy Max de Winter in the south of France, falls in love with him, and he whisks her off to a very quick marriage and honeymoon, before taking her home to his gothic mansion by the sea, called Manderley. Can you see why I fell in love with this book?

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Max’s first wife, Rebecca, had drowned a few years earlier, and the house is ghostly with her presence. Her initials are on everything, her clothes are still in the house, her perfume hangs in the air, and perhaps worst of all, her spirit still seems to haunt the living, particularly Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper who adored Rebecca.

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I was fortunate enough to cook this week’s recipe at my wonderful friend Elizabeth’s house, when I was house- and dog-sitting for her.

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Her kitchen is absolutely stunning, full of light and gorgeous appliances, and the perfect place to both cook a marvelous meal and to also sip wine and listen to the the ongoing adventures of our heroine, Max de Winter, the evil Mrs. Danvers, and imagine myself within the marble walls of Manderley.

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The unnamed heroine – no, she is never named – meets Max when she is working as a companion to the hideous and vulgar Mrs. Van Hopper and they are staying at a fancy hotel in the south of France. The heroine loathes her employer, and this dislike comes through clearly in this passage, which inspired me.

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…..compared to Mrs. Van Hopper, her fat, bejeweled fingers questing a plate heaped high with ravioli, her eyes darting suspiciously from her plate to mine for fear I should have made the better choice.

I love a good ravioli, stuffed with cheese or anything else. Though I don’t yet have the Kitchen Aid attachments for rolling and cutting homemade pasta, that’s on my list. In the meantime, I used premade ravioli from the marvelous Italian deli Tully’s, and my own tomato cream sauce with sausage and chicken. This is my own method, devised after too many pots of tomato sauce to mention.

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INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 white onion
5 cloves of garlic
2 14-oz cans of San Marzano tomatoes
1 tablespoon fresh basil
1 tablespoon fresh oregano
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary
1 cup red wine
1 tablespoon chicken bouillon paste
Salt and pepper to taste
2 heaping tablespoons Parmesan cheese
1 cup half-and-half
2 bags of premade ravioli
4 cups spinach
8 oz Italian sausage
6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs

METHOD
Heat the olive oil and butter in a pot. Finely chop the onion and garlic. Add to the oil and butter and saute for about 10 minutes.

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Mince the oregano, basil, and rosemary. Wonderful smells! Add to the onion and garlic, and stir together to cook, another 10 minutes.

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Pour in the tomatoes and stir again. Crimson heaven!

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Add the red wine and the chicken bouillon paste, stir to mix, then cover and simmer for an hour.

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In another skillet, cook the sausage for about 5 minutes, then add to the tomato sauce. Cook another hour on a low simmer.

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Cube and cook the chicken in a pan until it’s pink and cooked through. Add to the tomato sauce to finish cooking.

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Finely blend the sauce in a blender. Pour back in the pan to stay hot.

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Toss in the spinach to wilt in the hot sauce. Stir, cover, and let render down.

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Add the half-and-half here, to make a lovely pinkish-red emulsion.

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In another pot, boil the ravioli in salted water for 3 minutes, then finish cooking them in the hot tomato sauce.

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Plate up by putting some of the luscious sauce onto a platter, topping with some ravioli, and dolloping another large spoonful on top. Then, simply enjoy with a sigh of pleasure.

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The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen

Thanks to AL for the photography.

Being a sucker for fairy tales, The Snow Queen is a particular favorite. I remember reading it as a little girl and being fascinated by the oh-so-foreign Northern European world of Gerda and Kay, the two children in this tale, though I’d forgotten there are several small backstories that lead up to the actual tale in which Gerda rescues Kay from the icy heart and clutches of the Snow Queen.

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What’s cool about the Snow Queen is that she’s not actually evil, in the way of similar archetypal figures in The Brothers Grimm. She is simply ice-cold, and has a coldly calm and logical outlook on life. I appreciated that she wasn’t a cardboard evil queen and there was actually some psychology in Andersen’s description of her.

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I was quite interested to find out that this classic Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale inspired both the irritating Disney movie Frozen, and the wonderful Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, which are among my most favorite children’s books. I can definitely recognize The White Witch from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe here.

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This story starts with a naughty hobgoblin who creates a looking-glass that reflects purely negative things, either things that exist in the world or in the perceptions of human beings. The glass breaks, and is scattered all over the world, into the hearts and eyes of humans across the world, making them unable to see or feel anything good or happy or positive in the world. Kay, the young boy who gets splinters in both his eye and heart, and is taken prisoner by the Snow Queen. Gerda, Kay’s best friend who loves him dearly, sets off on a quest to bring him back, and along the way, has some unusual adventures. My favorite was when she meets the Little Robber Girl, a wild child in the company of a band of thieves who kidnap Gerda. The Little Robber Girl is a rather brutal creature, though she does save Gerda’s life and offer her freedom to continue on her quest. When the thieves capture Gerda and bring her to their camp in the care of the Little Robber Girl, Gerda, who is starving, notices “there was no chimney; so the smoke went up to the ceiling, and found a way out for itself. Soup was boiling in a large cauldron, and hares and rabbits were roasting on the spit.”

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I started thinking about how to combine these two food references, and pondered making rabbit stew. But because I can’t bring myself to eat cute, furry bunnies, I reconsidered. The soup could be any type of soup, and being in a caramelizing mood, I decided French onion soup with Welsh rarebit croutons on top, in place of the traditional baguette and melted Gruyere, would be fun and tasty. Welsh rarebit is actually called Welsh rabbit in some areas, which was partly my inspiration.

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This is the method that worked for me, based on Tyler Florence’s French Onion Soup recipe, and the hilariously funny and smart Alton Brown’s recipe for Welsh rarebit. The requisite flavor tweaks by me were, of course included.

For the French onion soup:
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
6 red onions, sliced
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4 garlic cloves, chopped
5-6 fresh thyme sprigs
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2 bay leaves
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup red wine, about 1/2 bottle
2 quarts beef broth
2 beef bouillon cubes
1 tomato bouillon cube
For the Welsh rarebit sauce:
1 large slice of sourdough bread
2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

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2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 large tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper to taste
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup shredded sharp Cheddar
1/2 cup Gruyere

METHOD
Heat the olive oil and butter in a large pan. Add the onion, garlic and thyme, and some salt and pepper to taste. Stir together on low heat.

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Add about a half-cup of good red wine to the caramelizing onions, and continue to stir. This is leisure cooking, so be prepared to cook low and slow. I personally find caramelizing onions to be incredibly therapeutic, like making risotto. You just stir and stir and stir, adding a bit of this or a bit of that to enhance the flavors.

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This is what you want your onions to look like. Depending on how low or high your heat, this may take 30 minutes or 2 hours.2016-12-11-17-26-25_resized

Add in your homemade beef broth to the onions, and toss in the bay leaves. If you’re lucky enough to have a friend who loves to make stock, ask her to provide you some. Otherwise, use boxed beef broth but get a good, organic brand. The taste is just better.

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Simmer the broth and onions low and slow again for about an hour. Add the rest of the red wine, and the two bouillon cubes, and continue to cook very low, covered. The longer you cook this soup, the more the flavors will mingle so this is a perfect Sunday afternoon dish.

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While the soup is slowly simmering and filling your kitchen with the warm scent of beef and onions, make the rarebit sauce. Melt the butter in a smaller saucepan, and whisk in the flour gradually but thoroughly so as not to have that floury taste.

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Add the Worchestershire sauce, and the Dijon mustard, salt and pepper, and whisk together. Taste for seasoning at this point.

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Add the heavy cream and the milk here, and stir together. You’ll see it thickening and browning slightly as you continue to whisk. This is good. You want it to brown somewhat, as that will add to the flavor.

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Now it’s time to add the grated cheddar and Gruyere. Whisk in these two cheeses until they melt thoroughly. Don’t let them form a lump, as that will not be attractive.

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Turn down the heat, add a bit more milk, and then toast the bread.

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Ladle the soup into a bowl, add a bread slice on top, and then add a dollop of the rich, creamy rarebit sauce. The Dijon adds such a note of savory that it goes perfectly with the sweetness of the onions and beef.

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Eat with happiness in your heart, instead of the ice splinter that pierced Kay and caused him to drag Gerda all over the ice-covered world. However, like all good fairy tales, they lived happily ever after. As will you once you eat this soul-warming soup. Yum!

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Grimm Tales by Phillip Pullman

Thanks to TB for the photography – and the duck tureen!

I think I’ve mentioned this previously, but I’m a sucker for fairy tales. I still have the picture books from my childhood that transported me to magical kingdoms of princesses who dance their slippers to pieces every night, poisoned apples that send one to sleep for 100 years, enchanted forests that hide wolves in granny’s clothes, beasts that are transformed into handsome princes, and glass slippers that lead the way to true love.

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I’ve read and re-read Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Hans Christian Andersen, Charles Perrault, and more recently, Angela Carter, Jack Zipes and Phillip Pullman’s retelling of Grimm Tales.

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A photographer friend had the idea of recreating fairy tales in photos a few years back, and guess who got to be Snow White and eat the poisoned apple! Yours truly. Photo credit: Karen Michelle Quisling

Most of us probably know that the Disney versions of fairy tales are heavily bowdlerized, made pretty for children and to incorporate modern sensibilities. The original tales are much darker, bloodier and if you stop to think about it, highly depressing. Parents abandoning their children, or in the case of the story The Juniper Tree, actually murdering them. Stepmothers hating their stepchildren so much they plot their deaths. Gruesome acts of self-mutilation or dismemberment……all to be put right at the end when the hero or heroine either complete a task, or prove their honor and loyalty.

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What’s ultimately the thing to remember about fairy tales is that they not only reflect the times in which they were originally written and conceived, they also still reflect some realities in this day and age. Sadly, parents still to mistreat their children in terrible ways, and we as a species still seek to escape from horrible truths by retreating into fantasy worlds such as fairy tales, where wishes often do come true.

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Food in fairy tales always has interesting symbolic meaning, usually representing either starvation or plenty. Magical pots abound, providing nourishing and luxurious meals when wished upon. Families abandon children because there is no food. Enchanted cottages are made of gingerbread and chocolate. Cakes and wine are taken to grandmothers. Rapunzel leaves are coveted and traded for a child. Breadcrumbs are used to find the way back home, and enchanted speaking animals such as goats, fish and ducks, are wished upon then eaten. The concept of meals being created out of thin air from simple wishes is particularly fascinating me, as a cook.

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Pullman’s retelling of the classic tale “One Eye, Two Eyes and Three Eyes” was both funny and sad, with the two deformed sisters constantly torturing their sister with two eyes – the normal one. It has the classic fairy tale devices of making wishes, with Two Eyes attempting to make her life better by wishing for nourishing meals from her magical goat, after singing her sister to sleep.

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One Eye’s single eyelid drooped and sank lower and lower and finally she started snoring. Once Two Eyes was sure her sister was fast asleep, she said: “Little goat, bleat, bring me good things to eat.” And at once the magic table appeared, and on it there was leek soup, roast chicken, and strawberries and cream.

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A combination of leek soup and chicken seemed in order, on this gloomy Sunday, so I decided to make a cream of chicken and leek soup. This is the method that worked for me, based on a recipe I remember my grandmother making many times – potato and bacon soup – combined with my own tried and true cream of chicken a la king soup recipe.

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INGREDIENTS
1 tablespoon olive oil
6 slices thick-cut bacon
1 tablespoon butter
4 cloves of garlic, finely diced
2 leeks, sliced into circles
1 red bell pepper, diced

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2 ribs celery, finely diced
3 tablespoons chicken bouillon paste
1 tomato bouillon cube
1 carton sliced mushrooms
3 tablespoons flour
3 cups chicken stock
1 cup white wine
5 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
4 red potatoes, cubed

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1 cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste

METHOD
Snip the bacon into small pieces. Put them into the oil in a hot pan. Cook for about 7-8 minutes, until the bacon starts to crisp. Make sure the bacon is well cooked before moving to the step below, otherwise you’ll have soggy bacon. Eeeeeewwwwww.

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Remove the crisp, cooked bacon to a paper towel to drain. Add the butter to the oil in the pan. Add the sliced leeks, garlic, celery and red pepper. Stir around until they begin to soften, between 10-15 minutes.

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Add the chicken bouillon paste and tomato bouillon cube, and whisk in well. Lower the heat. Then add the mushrooms and stir again so that everything is well coated with the oil and butter.

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In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour with a half-cup of the chicken broth and a splash of the white wine, mixing together to make a smooth paste. Stir into the pot of vegetables and cook another few minutes until a somewhat thick, creamy sauce forms.

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Add the rest of the chicken broth and the wine. Add the potatoes, the chicken, and the crumbled-up bacon, and season the concoction with salt and pepper.

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Bring to a boil, lower the heat and allow to simmer, covered, for up to 45 minutes, to ensure the potatoes cook through. The longer you cook this delicious soup, the more the flavors will mingle. Plus, the great thing about using chicken thighs is that they actually do better when cooked long, low and slow. So take that, all you breast people out there!

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Stir in the cream and cook another couple of minutes, but keep an eye on it so the cream doesn’t curdle. Remove from heat and decant into a large, duck-shaped, soup tureen. Because there is always room for kitsch in the kitchen. Or you can just do what I did and pretend it’s an Enchanted Duck that made the soup appear from thin air. Quack quack.

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The soup is delicious! Velvety texture, creamy and chickeny, with the savory vegetable flavors mingling with the starchiness of the potato and the salty bacon. Hell, you can’t get any better than that!

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The Shining by Stephen King

Thanks to CHC for the photography.

I don’t think Stephen King has ever been accused of being a foodie, though he is most certainly the most visceral writer I’ve ever encountered. I’ve been reading his books since my early teens, starting with The Shining, as well as many others. But the story of the Torrance family remains my absolute favorite of all of his books. I have a thing for books that make the setting, the place, the hotel or house, as much a character as the people. Shirley Jackson did it with great style in The Haunting of Hill House, which I blogged about a few months back if you want to give it a whirl. Edgar Allan Poe did it with The Fall of the House of Usher. And then there’s the Overlook Hotel.

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Jack Torrance is one of the more interesting characters in literature. He is, for the most part, in tune with his own worst instincts……except for when he drinks. His intelligence makes him arrogant, yet he does truly care for his family. But it only takes a small chink in one’s armor for the enemy to pierce us, and this is what the spirit of the hotel does to him. It gets into Jack’s soul, tempts and taints him with liquor and with his violent, shadow side, and all goes to hell. His son, Danny, is the polar opposite. He is already in touch with his own shadow side, in the form of Tony, his “imaginary friend,” who is the actual, psychic side of Danny’s mind. In a sense, though their conflict takes violent place very much in the physical realm, the conflict is also mental, as both Jack’s and Danny’s emotionally tortured psyches also do battle.2016-10-09-19-39-45_resized

If you’ve read this book (or seen the Kubrick film), you know the story trajectory and I won’t bore you with a lengthy description. In a nutshell, the Torrance family is on their financial last legs and Jack Torrance accepts a job to be the winter caretaker at the Overlook Hotel, just he, his wife Wendy and their son, Danny, who is psychic and whose power is referred to as “the shining.”

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I will say, however, that Kubrick’s notoriously misogynistic tendencies turned the film character of Wendy into a shrieking, nagging, needy harridan whom you almost wanted to see get chopped to bits. In the book, she’s tough, resourceful and sharp, still a bit on the weak side as she herself acknowledges. But it’s she who mostly saves the day in the book. Her transformation at Kubrick’s hands in the film makes her nearly unrecognizable, and which is annoying, because it’s certainly possible to have feelings of weakness and inadequacy and still find your inner strength and kick ass. Which Wendy does.

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Rereading this book in the here and now was fascinating. It was published nearly 30 years ago, and there are some seriously dated references that are hugely entertaining to read about. For example, when Halloran, the seasonal cook, is showing the family around the kitchen and letting them see the bounty of food he’s left them to get through the winter, he mentions something called a “Table Talk pie.” According to Google, it’s a prepackaged miniature fruit pie that was sold along the east coast. Another scene, kind of the calm before the storm, is when Wendy goes downstairs to make Danny some lunch after he’s seen the woman in Room 217 and Jack has started his spiral into menacing madness. She prepares canned tomato soup and a cheese omelette in a state of of nerves and terror.

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“She opened the can and dropped the slightly jellied contents into a saucepan. PLOP. She went to the refrigerator and got milk and eggs for the omelet. Then to the walk-in freezer for cheese. All these actions, so common and so much a part of her life before the Overlook, had been a part of her life, helped to calm her. She melted butter in the frying pan, diluted the soup with milk, then poured the beaten eggs into the pan. A sudden feeling that someone was standing behind her, reaching for her throat.”

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It reminded me of when I was a little girl and my paternal grandmother, Nana Baca, would make me canned soup and bologna and cheese sandwiches on white bread, cut into triangles. Good stuff! I don’t buy canned soup these days, just because I prefer the taste of homemade (and it’s healthier, too). But I decided a reworking of the classic canned tomato soup and cheese omelette was in order here.

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Nothing goes quite so well with tomatoes as basil, and a creamy tomato basil bisque fit the bill perfectly, along with a cheese and broccoli egg frittata, which is like an omelette for kitchen idiots like me who can’t do the omelette flip without dropping the eggs on the floor. Basically, you mix the egg with the steamed broccoli, cooked ham, milk, sharp cheddar cheese, salt and pepper, put into a skillet and heat until the bottom has set, then put into the oven under broiler until the entire concoction sets. Super easy and you don’t have to worry about doing the damn omelette fold.

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Here is the soup method that worked for me, based on my own trial and error of making this soup for over 10 years. I think I’ve got it down pat, but feedback is always appreciated.

INGREDIENTS
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 can San Marzano-style crushed tomatoes

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4-5 ripe Campari tomatoes
1 medium white onion, finely diced

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4 baby carrots, very finely diced
1 small can tomato juice
1 cup sherry
1 and 1/2 cups heavy cream

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2 tablespoons chicken bouillon paste
1 tomato bouillon cube
1 tablespoon dried parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
Handful of fresh basil leaves

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METHOD
In a skillet, saute the onion and carrot together in the butter and olive oil. The reason for adding carrot is because oftentimes, tomatoes can be overly acidic and adding sugar eliminates that acid. However, it’s much healthier and tastier to add carrot, which has natural sugar and offsets the acidity just as well.

Roughly chop the Campari tomatoes, and add them, along with the the canned San Marzano tomatoes, to the onion and carrot. Stir to combine.

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Add the chicken bouillon paste and the tomato bouillon cube. Taste again. Add in the can of tomato juice here.

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Add in the sherry at this point, taste yet again for seasoning, toss in some of the fresh basil, and add salt and pepper if needed. It may or may not need it, depending on your taste palate.

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Let everything simmer together for a good 40 minutes. Then bust out the stick blender and go to town! Blitz it all until you have a soup the color and consistency of red velvet. Yum!

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At this point, add the heavy cream, swirling in gently and stirring. Turn off the heat, cover and let the flavors mix.

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Taste for seasoning, though it probably won’t need anything. Decant into small bowls, garnished with the rest of the fresh basil, and serve alongside the frittata. Eat with happiness. Be happy you’re not trapped in a blizzard in the Overlook Hotel with a madman and ……..horror of horrors………CANNED SOUP!

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Chocolat by Joanne Harris

The problem with Chocolat is that it is filled to bursting with delicious and delectable food descriptions, as you’d expect. Meringues, chocolate ice cream, any and all type of chocolate candies, a bavarois chocolate cake with caramel icing, crystallized violet candies……….but there are also savory delights to be read about! Fruits du mer, vol au vents, lobster with mayonnaise and lemon, cheeses with a tomato salad and black olives, walnut bread, French champagne! It’s almost overwhelming, the sheer amount of deliciousness in this book. How the hell does one choose only one thing to recreate?

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This is a book about the power of food as medicine, the power of life over death, the power of pleasure over abstinence, the power of women and their magic – not the power of women over men but rather, what they can accomplish when they meet as equals – and most pleasurably, the sheer joy and sweetness of life, epitomized by that lush, luxurious, dark, divine, delicious chocolate. I have never agreed with the adage that life is meant for suffering and that the reward will come after we die. Call me a radical, an agnostic, a disbeliever, a bad Catholic………..that’s fine. I wholeheartedly believe that life is meant to be savored, enjoyed, tasted, kissed, embraced, made love to………which is why I love this book so much, because it believes it, too.

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The premise of the book is simple. A woman, Vianne, and her young daughter Anouk, come to the small French town of Lansquenet. They open an artisanal chocolate shop, and slowly begin to win over the hearts – and tastebuds – of the residents, most of whom are under the thrall of the town mayor, Reynaud. The town and its residents are staid, respectable, do not question authority, and generally do what is expected of them. When Vianne and her mouth-watering chocolates come to town, it turns everything upside down.

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It’s good to have things turned upside down in life once in awhile. If you don’t take those unexpected opportunities that come your way, if you don’t stop and enjoy the smoothness of a good red wine or taste the sweetness of a luscious meal or savor the passion that another person unexpectedly invokes in you……..you’re not living life to the fullest.

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“The dessert is a chocolate fondue. Make it on a clear day – cloudy weather dims the gloss on the melted chocolate – with seventy percent dark chocolate, butter, a little almond oil, double cream added at the very last minute, heated gently over a burner. Skewer pieces of cake or fruit and dip into the chocolate mixture.”

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I’m not much for sweets, as anyone in my family or circle of friends can tell you. My taste buds crave salty and savory flavors, like cheese and crackers, bread and butter, potato chips, and nuts. But I do have a great fondness for dark chocolate, and besides it’s good for you too, so we’re all happy! Reading this book also gave me great happiness, speaking as it does to all five senses, so I chose to recreate the chocolate fondue that Vianne makes for Armande’s birthday feast. I served it with a meal of salmon farfalle with asparagus in a delicious cream sauce for my sister, one of the strongest women I am privileged to know.

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This is the method – a very simple one! – that worked for me. Minimal effort for maximum pleasure, as the beautiful Nigella Lawson would say! And how can that be a bad thing?

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INGREDIENTS
2 bars of dark Ghirardelli chocolate, 70% cocoa solids or more
1/2 cup of heavy cream
1/2 cup of amaretto
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon of almond extract
Cashew nuts, lightly salted

For dipping:
Strawberries
Grapes
Pineapple
Raspberries

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METHOD

Add the cream to a metal saucepan over very low heat. Watch it closely. When you see tiny bubbles starting to form around the edge, turn off the burner.

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Break up your chocolate into small chunks. Add them to the hot cream, whisk gently to mix, cover with a lid and leave for 15 minutes. Add the cashew nuts and stir again so they are mixed well into the chocolate. Cover and leave another 5 minutes.

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Remove the lid, stir again and you’ll see the alchemy of cooking. It has turned into a rich, beautiful, luscious, unctuous dark chocolate creamy sauce.

Add the amaretto and the vanilla, and the Cointreau if you’re using.

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Heat your fondue pot Sterno, and put the fondue pot over it.

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Pour your chocolate mixture into the fondue pot and stir it around again. Spear your goodies with the fondue forks, dip into the chocolate fondue, and apply to your face. Repeat as needed.

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The Pit and the Pendulum by Edgar Allan Poe

Poe was always my literary boyfriend, even from a young age. I remember reading Edgar Allan Poe’s Complete Tales and Poems as a little girl and being simultaneously freaked out and enchanted. He scared the living daylights out of me, but I still read his stories.

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I remember being terrified of black cats after coming to the end of that particular short story. His writings have always fascinated me, and in fact, I wrote one of my best undergrad essays on the architecture in his stories and how they reflected the inner chaos and turmoil of his twisted protagonists.

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My father, about whom I’ve written previously, and who would celebrate his 69th birthday today, loved to read also and had a collection of leather-bound classic books, in one of which the short stories of Poe were collected. I inherited these when he died, and started re-reading them earlier this month, in conjunction with finding Lore Podcast, a web-based podcast about dark, creepy history. It was the combination of rereading Poe and listening to this genuinely eerie podcast, that inspired me to create a dish for the blog. But, if you’re into scary stories, or simply enjoy the darker side of history, check out Lore.

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Back to Edgar’s tales. Poe has always had a special place in my heart. His dark, dramatic, romantic, Gothic style always spoke to my dark side. His over-the-top declamatory way of writing, particularly in poems such as “Annabel Lee” or, of course “The Raven,” and in two of my absolute favorite stories in the world, “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Pit and the Pendulum” seemed to always be pointing to that shadow world beyond the veil separating us in this one. And then of course, how could anyone forget those classic Vincent Price movie versions of Poe’s works?

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“The Pit and the Pendulum” was always the most horrifying to me, in the sense of actually seeing what the dreadful fate of the story narrator is. I mean, can it get any worse than to be trapped by the Inquisition in a pit, in near darkness, to be tortured with no food and then teased with meat and drink before coming across this instrument of torture designed not only to slice you in half but to also make sure you can watch it descending upon you, inch by terrifying inch? It’s this ability to make you squirm with unease and fright, such as in my other favorite tale, “The Cask of Amontillado” that makes him a genius of the dark side.

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With the Spanish references in both “The Pit and the Pendulum” and “The Cask of Amontillado,” I decided to recreate the passage in the first tale, in which the narrator finds a table of meat, and leads him to a more terrifying discovery, and led me to deciding to make Spanish-spiced pork tenderloin medallions in a mushroom-cream and – you guessed it – Amontillado sherry sauce!

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“I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher had been removed. I say to my horror, for I was consumed with intolerable thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the design of my persecutors to stimulate; for the food in the dish was meat pungently seasoned.”

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This is the method that worked for me, based on this lovely recipe from finecooking.com, but as usual, with a few of my own tweaks.

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INGREDIENTS
1 1-lb pork tenderloin, cut into 1-inch thick medallions
2 tablespoons of cornstarch, divided
1 tablespoon of olive oil
1 tablespoon of butter
2 cups sliced mushrooms, any variety
1 shallot, finely diced
2 cloves of garlic, minced with a Microplane grater
1 teaspoon each of dried sage, dried parsley and dried thyme
Tablespoon of Spanish smoked paprika, or pimenton
1/2 cup Amontillado sherry
1/2 cup of chicken or beef stock
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1/2 cup heavy cream

METHOD
Flatten your medallions a little bit with the flat side of the knife. Lightly dredge each medallion in 1 tablespoon of cornstarch, on either side, and shake off any excess.

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Heat the olive oil and butter together slowly in a large pan. Gently fry 4-5 medallions at a time, about 3 minutes a side. Being somewhat thin, they will cook quickly so watch them and turn when looking brown. Set aside on a platter.

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In the pan juices, cook the shallot and garlic. Honestly, what would we do without these kitchen staples, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s a savory dish I’ve ever cooked that didn’t have one or both of these flavorsome ingredients. Truly gifts from God,they are.

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Add the sliced mushrooms, your three dried herbs, the smoked paprika/pimenton and a splosh of the amontillado, just a splosh to keep it moist. Stir together and cook another 5 minutes.

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In a mixing cup, whisk together the other tablespoon of cornstarch, the remainder of the sherry, the chicken stock, and the Dijon mustard. Add to the veg in the pan, and simmer for about 5 minutes more.

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Add the pork medallions, then slowly pour in the heavy cream, stir to combine, cover and simmer gently for 20-25 minutes. Check a few times to make sure the cream doesn’t curdle or burn. Oh that heavenly scent!

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While that’s cooking, you can prepare any side dish you want. I love green beans, and I remember the “habichuelas” that my Nana Jean used to cook, with bacon and onion and, oh they were so good! When I lived in Spain for that marvelous semester, I housed with a wonderful woman named Maria Carmen who was a professional cook at a private girl’s school in Pamplona, and one of her specialities was “judias con tomates.” In both their honors, I combined their methods and made a Spanish-style dish of green beans, slowly cooked with onions, garlic, tomatoes, salt, Spanish olive oil, a squeeze of anchovy paste, and flaked almonds, to go with the Spanish-spiced pork medallions. Delicious and, to me anyway, redolent of Spain.

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But of course, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George

The premise of this novel, The Little Paris Bookshop, is that books are medicine for the heart and the soul. I love that idea and believe it’s true.

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Books have been my constant companion since childhood, my comfort when sad, and my solace when all hope seemed lost. I remember my grandmother, Nana Jean, reading to me when I was perhaps three or four years old, and she skipped a few sentences and I immediately told her “Nana, that’s not how it goes!” My mother, in the rare instances that I was disciplined for being bad, had no other alternative but to ground me from reading. I didn’t care about anything else, just my books. And how little has changed.

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The main character, Jean Perdu, has spent years of his life mourning the loss of his married lover, Manon, who wrote him a letter when she left him. He only opens it 20 years later, and its contents spur him into an adventure along the country waterways of France in the large houseboat that is also his book apothecary. It’s a beautiful book that pays homage to grief and letting go of a love long since gone, another theme that has been strong in my life. I spent years loving a man who wasn’t able to love me back in the way that I needed, and though it was the hardest thing I ever did, letting him go and moving forward with my life has reaped many rewards and joys. This book gives us hope that we can still love someone, and yet be able to move on and find new life, new love and new happiness. Reading this book was indeed like medicine for my soul, and reminded me that we can be healed spiritually by the simple joys like delicious food and wonderful books.

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The impetus for Jean’s opening of the letter is when he meets Catherine, a similarly grieving woman, for whom he develops a deep friendship that becomes love. They get to know one another while cooking a simple, yet lovely meal of fish poached in cream and white wine, served with new potatoes roasted in garlic and rosemary, pears and cheese, and some beautiful French wine, a combination so quintessentially French that I was inspired.

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“Catherine had inspected his red mullets, the fresh herbs and the cream from broad-beamed Normandy cows, then held up her small new potatoes and cheese, and gestured to the fragrant pears and to the wine. ‘Can we do something with this lot?’ ‘Yes. But one after the other, not together,’ he said…………Soon the windowpanes had misted up; the gas flames were hissing under the pots and pans; the white wine, shallot and cream sauce was simmering; and in a heavy pan the olive oil was browning potatoes sprinkled with rosemary and salt.”

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Red mullet is nearly impossible to find in landlocked New Mexico, so my friendly fishmonger Ryan at Nantucket Shoals recommended tilapia. So I did. This is the method that worked for me, based on this lovely recipe from Ben O’Donogue of the BBC Saturday Kitchen, with some tasty little twists of my own.

INGREDIENTS

1 finely diced shallot
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Drizzle of olive oil (drizzle being the technical term)
6-7 tilapia fillets
1 cup of good, drinkable white wine. I used Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc.
1 cup of heavy cream
3-4 fresh bay leaves
About a handful of finely chopped flat-leaf parsley – my flavoring twist
Sea salt and ground black pepper
1 tablespoon of capers – another added twist
Finely chopped almonds
6-7 new or little red potatoes, sliced thinly
1-2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
4-5 cloves of garlic, finely chopped (I got to bust out the mezzaluna for this one!)
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, finely minced

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METHOD

In a large cast-iron or other metal pan, add the drizzle of olive oil and saute the shallots, adding a sprinkle of sea salt to release their moisture and keep them from burning. Saute for about five minutes, until translucent, then add the white wine and the heavy cream. Season with salt and pepper, then add the parsley and bay leaves.

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Stir to mix and let come to a gentle simmer, but keep stirring it so it doesn’t curdle. Lower in the tilapia fillets and cook for about five-10 minutes, or until the fish turns opaque.  You want to make certain the liquid completely covers the fish fillet. Keep an eye on it so it doesn’t overcook or undercook. Because, you know, who wants raw fish? This ain’t a sushi blog!

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In a large bowl, add the remaining olive oil, the potato slices, the minced garlic, the rosemary bits, and some sea salt. Mix together with your hands so that everything is nicely coated and harmoniously glistening with oil. Get out a skillet and toss the rosemary-garlic-flecked potatoes into it. Cook over medium-low heat, letting the potatoes dry out and brown, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes darken and crisp, and you can smell the wonderful, starchy scent mingling with the garlic and rosemary. It’s a perfume I would dab behind my ears if I could.

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Transfer the tilapia fillets to a plate with the potatoes, turn up the heat under the pan with the cream and wine, and bring it to a boil. Add a large tablespoon of capers to the liquid. Keep stirring it so that it reduces and thickens into a luscious, unctuously thick sauce. Like this!

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Turn off the heat, give a good last stir, and pour the sauce over the fish and spuds. Garnish with the almonds, which give wonderful crunch and look beautiful! Eat with the sounds of La Vie en Rose running through your imagination, or better yet, imagining you’re on board Jean Perdu’s floating bookshop. Heaven!

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“Books were my friends,” said Catherine……”I think I learned all my feelings from books. In them, I loved and laughed and found out more than in my whole nonreading life.”

Voyager by Diana Gabaldon (Outlander Series)

So I won’t bore you with my gushing adoration for the books of Diana Gabaldon. If you’re a book lover, a lover of history, a lover of epic love stories, a lover of time travel, or if you watch STARZ, you’ve probably heard of the Outlander series by this marvelous writer, and hopefully, you also think it’s the shizzle. I know I do.

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For those few people who might not have heard of either the books or the TV series, the premise is simple: a woman travels through time, meets the love of her life 200 years in the past, and forever alters her past, present, and future. It’s a much more detailed, ornate and intricate story, however, involving British, French and American history, the battle for Scottish independence and the devastation of the Battle of Culloden Moor, a whiff of the supernatural, a hint of sci-fi, and probably one of the most beautiful, complex and mature love stories ever written about in literature. Gabaldon clearly understands the convoluted pathways of the human heart, and expresses them in all their lovely, ugly glory in the 8-book series. The TV series, though great, falls short in details, and was extremely dark and at times, unbearable to watch. But I still watched the Season 2 premier!

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Mentions of food and drink are quite plentiful throughout the entire book series, with such wonders as a rabbit-and-pigeon pie, soused pig’s face, wild turkey with chestnuts and truffles, sangria drunk with a pot-smoking priest, a chocolate cake with walnuts (shell bits and all) for your biting pleasure, something dreadful-sounding called parritch, which is some sort of nasty porridge eaten in Scotland, and one of my favorite food scenes in any book, when Louis XV invites Jamie and Claire to an ornate luncheon at Versailles Palace and a baroque display of stuffed baby quails, roasted in their original shape, bones and all, are presented to the king, a sort of kingly four-and-twenty-blackbirds-baked-into-a-pie. Claire watches in bemused fascination as the king pops one of the little blackened birds into his mouth, chews, and swallows. She then excuses herself to vomit profusely in the gardens. Go, quail!

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I’ve started re-reading the whole series from the beginning, as much to prepare myself for the second season of TV series, as to lose myself again in this marvelous world. Reading this series is a sheer, sensual pleasure of the mind and the heart. I’m on the third book, Voyager, and in honor of the second series premier tonight, I decided to recreate the peppery, creamy oyster stew Jamie and Claire share after their first night together in a very long time, where we find Claire remembering some very seductive and erotic moments from the night before.

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My breath coming a little short, I bent my head to my oyster stew. Jamie appeared not to have noticed; he added a large pat of butter to his bowl, shaking his head as he did so. “Sawney’s what they say in the Highlands,” he informed me. ‘And in the Isles, too. Sandy’s more what ye’d hear in the Lowlands – or from an ignorant Sassenach.” He lifted one eyebrow at me, smiling, and raised a spoonful of the rich, fragrant stew to his mouth.

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This is the method that worked for me, tweaked from Buddy Sizemore’s 5-star recipe on Allrecipes.com, with of course, some added touches of my own.

INGREDIENTS

3 tablespoons butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Pinch of cayenne pepper
15-20 oysters, shucked, and the liquid they come in. You can also use canned if that’s all you can find, but save the oyster liquid either way.
2 ribs celery, finely diced

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2 shallots, finely diced or minced
4 bay leaves, fresh if possible but dried is also fine
1 cup half-and-half cream or whole milk
1/2 cup of Pernod liqueur (my touch as I had a bottle from a previous blog post)
2 little red potatoes, peeled and cubed into smallish pieces

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1 cup of chicken stock or fish stock if you have it
Chicken stock cube

METHOD

Melt the butter in a large, heavy-bottomed pot and saute the celery, shallot and garlic along with the cayenne, salt and pepper. When they have softened and are somewhat translucent, add the Pernod, the chicken stock, the chicken stock cube, and the fresh bay leaves.

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Then add the diced potato and cook until the potato chunks are very soft and easy to mash with a wooden spoon. Between 20-30 minutes cooking time should do it. When the potatoes are soft, mash them against the side of the pot so that they thicken the broth. Add the oyster liquid and the half-and-half, and taste. I warn you, the scent of the broth is heady, with the oyster liquor mingling with the butter and the anise perfume of the Pernod. It’s amazing how good it smells. Even if you’re not a fan of licorice, please try adding the Pernod if you have it. It completely transforms the stew.

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Stir together again and allow to gently simmer for 10 minutes, so the flavors mingle and combine. Lower the heat and add the oysters.

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You’re looking for the edges of the oysters to curl up, which is when they’re cooked, so approximately 5 minutes. Keep an eye on it and continue stirring, so the cream doesn’t curdle and the oysters don’t overcook.

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I have to say that this is one of the best things I’ve made yet. It’s rich, unctuous, and tastes so fresh and luscious. You may want to taste for any last-minute seasoning, though I found it didn’t need anything. It was delish! Serve in bowls with oyster crackers or some good, crusty bread and a glass of wine, or if you’re truly into Scots mode, a large dram of whisky. Slainte!

“I want him.” I had not said that to Jamie at our marriage; I had not wanted him, then. But I had said it since, three times; in two moments of choice at Craigh na Dun, and once again at Lallybroch. “I want him.” I wanted him still, and nothing whatever could stand between us.