Someone's in the kitchen

This book confused me. Not too many pages in, and I didn’t know what to do. Turn on the light as evening fell, skip dinner and keep on reading? Go to the kitchen, roll up my sleeves, pull out the pans and start cooking (oh! that garlic sauce on page 126)? Or head for the computer to order Mastering the Art of French Cooking, maybe with overnight delivery?

            I read.

            But the next day, I cooked and ordered. Glad I am that I did all three.

            On first glance the book seems like a simple enough approach—a compilation of letters between two friends as their individual and interesting lives unfold an ocean apart. But, the two friends are Julia Child and Avis Devoto, both gifted writers. The letters alone zing off the page as they offer not only reports of their personal lives, but a study of a growing, rich and deep friendship, commentaries on the confusing world of the 1950s, the even more confusing world of book publishing, and, naturally, cooking, eating, parties, planning, more cooking, cooking , cooking. I ate it all up.

            In 1951, a young American living in Paris read Bernard DeVoto’s column in Harper’s. He lamented being unable to find a kitchen knife that an American housewife “can cut something with.” The American, Julia Child, knew about knives and where to get exactly what he sought. Off she went, bought a knife, put it in the mail.

            DeVoto, a busy man and popular author didn’t respond. His equally busy and talented wife Avis did with a more-or-less routine thank you note. Julia answered Avis. Avis wrote back to Julia. Years of writing and friendship began.

            Here’s an aside concerning the DeVoto family. It’s a familiar name to me. My dad about whom I’m blogging (http://toucthepast.blogspot.com/ more about that another time—another time soon) was a journalist-historian of Texas and the Southwest. He greatly admired Bernard DeVoto and owned many of his books. I grew up with The Year of Decision, 1846 and Across the Wide Missouri. I never, until now knew or even wondered much about the author—just another famous writer. And I never thought to wonder about his wife although I knew my dad would never have enjoyed the career he had as a writer without the support, help (writing and otherwise), hard work of my mom. This was the case in the DeVoto household. Avis was a writer/reviewer in her own right; plus, she acted as the business manager, the personal secretary, the proof-reader, and, I suspect, sometimes co-author. I have a new heroine.

            More than a half-century after they wrote the letters I’m grateful that both women were not only fine writers and dependable correspondents, but that they both kept things. I recently came into possession of box full of my father’s letters to my mom. She kept things. Apparently he didn’t. Now I ache for her letters to him. Three cheers for Avis and Julia.

            As their friendship grew, so did the range of the letters. Of course, there was lots of cooking, and entertaining. Together they wrestled around with a perennial hostess problem—how to throw an elegant dinner party without help and without the hostess being held hostage in the kitchen by the demands of a “serve immediately” menu.  They’ve got some dandy solution—some show up in Mastering the Art. Politics took up lots of space coming to a peak during the outrageous and outraging McCarthy hearings. And, naturally, they spend lots of time discussing the perennial “what happens next in my life?” The friends are candid and engaging. Avis knew the ins and outs, the snarls and the pitfalls of publishing. She gave Julia more than just advice on writing and managing unruly co-authors, she shepherded Master the Art of French Cooking across the decade, yes, I said the decade, until its triumphant publication in 1962.

            The friendship was not always in letters. Exchanging over 100 letters, the nw fast and best friends met. The friendship deepened and became not only between the women, but between the families. It continued as long as both lived.

Lamb with garlic sauce. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

            A great story, a great friendship, a great book, two great lives, and lots and lots of good times and food. My two word review: Read it.

Local cooking, city style

Winter in Houston doesn’t mean piles of snow, trees full of ice, frozen roads. It means panic in the face of below 30 degrees F. and deep mourning over frostbitten plants. I’m no exception, but, hey!, every cloud has a silver or, at least, a yummy lining.

Last summer, was so proud of turning a parking lot front yard of a leased house into if not a bower at least a colorful, flowery place. No longer.

One day last week, I dragged my super-cold infected body to the front porch. Oh! Pain! And not from the cold. Into my clothes and out the door. I had to save my poor ornamental sweet potatoes. Harvest those tubers and root them for next year’s even better bower.

What a crop! I can’t root that many, and they look just like the potatoes at the market. Hmmm. Never heard that merely because they are called ‘ornamental’ they can’t be eaten too.

I’ve lived to tell the tasty tale. I concocted a fine kettle of soup using my city lot crop of sweet potato and rosemary, mixed with some beef, broth and noodles and served, appropriately enough in our winter snowman soup cups.

Local cooking, city style!

PS Help! How do I move pictures around in my text?

OH! That cake!

The cake was a hit! Not much left although it joined three tasty pies—cherry, pecan, and pumpkin. Think about it, there were only five of us. We did major damage.

Enough, two, folks have asked for the Tres Leche Flan Chocolate Cake recipe that here goes.

First, the easy way. Go buy the wonderful book I found it in. The Tex-Mex Cookbook: A History in Recipes and Photos, by Robb Walsh. The recipes are all as yummy as the cake and the pictures and stories are enchanting. My daughter, who is an occasional cook and then not Tex-Mex, has about worn out her copy just reading it and dreaming! Great give for Tex-Mex lovers, Texans (former, present, and wannabe). The recipe for the cake is on page 151.

Robb calls for a 7 quart Bundt pan.

I’ve never even seen Bundt pan that big. I either cook two (doesn’t hurt either the cake or the flan to wait bit) or several individual Bundts—my little ones hold about a cup.

First get ready. See if your story had goat’s milk Cajeta, of course, my Fiesta market is loaded. If you can’t find the cajeta or if you want to have some fun, make your own dulce de leche. Robb has the recipe, but I’ve done it for years. It’s fun and sort of an adventure waiting to see if the can explodes. It doesn’t.

Take the label from one can of sweetened condensed milk. Sink it into a pot of boiling water. Make sure it’s completely covered. You may need to add more boiling water later to keep it this way. Reduce the heat and keep it barely boiling for 3 hours. Remove with tongs and let it cool before opening. Maybe you should do two because it’s so good you’ll be tempted to gobble up the first one.

Cajeta Flan Cake

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put a large baking pan in the oven and water to come up about 2 inches on a Bundt pan. Make a chocolate cake from a good mix following the package directions.

Make the flan by combining one 14 or so ounce sweetened condensed milk, 1 14 or so can evaporated milk, a scant cup of whole milk, 8 ounces of cream cheese (not low fat—go all the way) 1 teaspoon real vanilla and 8 large eggs. Combine well with a mixer or food processor. Don’t think about calories.

Grease and flour a Bundt (about 2+ quarts) pan (you could use an angel food pan, but I haven’t tried it—let me know). Pour about half a cup of cajeta or dulce de leche into the pan cover as much of the surface as possible. Pour in half the cake mix, and then pour the flan mixtures slowly around the top of the cake. Cover the pan with foil and put into the pan of water in the oven. Start testing with a toothpick after 45 minutes. Mine took about 55 minutes. My individual cakes were done in about 20 minutes. If you go for one BIG one, give it more like 2 hours, but test often.

When the cake is done, let it cool in the pan for about an hour (individuals less long). Put a plate on top of the pan and turn over.

IT’S MAGIC!

The flan has moved from the top of the pan to the top of the cake—without picking up even a cake crumb. Wonderful.

Refrigerate until ready to serve.

Oh! M’gosh it’s good.

For Christmas I’m going to make it with a spice cake instead of chocolate, but with extra ginger. Or maybe, I’m brave—Gingerbread! I’ll let you know.

The pie recipes are easier: Go to Three Brothers Bakery on Braeswood (or your favorite) and get in line. You can't make 'em like this at home. Especially the cherry. The crust, oh! the crust!