Things I Love: Peanut Oil

When you think of peanut oil, you think Asia, right?  Turns out that's wrong.  Peanut oil is a red, white and blue product - and a legacy of World War II.

Dairy products were scarce during the war, and patriotic people replaced butter with margarine. But making margarine the traditional way proved problematic. The classic oil for margarine had been coconut oil, which came from the Philippines. With the war raging in that part of the Pacific, manufacturers seeking a replacement came up with the notion of using peanut oil in its place.  A plus: peanuts were a domestic product that were both abundant and inexpensive. The Planters people, noting its high burning point, began promoting the oil as a ration-friendly replacement for other fats.  (Lulu, the heroine of Delicious!, surely would have used it in her cooking.)

The heyday of peanut oil proved short-lived. Once trade routes between the US and the Philippines re-opened in 1945, coconut oil re-flooded the market, and peanut oil production waned. Undaunted, the peanut people began promoting another product: next time you celebrate National Peanut Butter day (January 24th), remember that peanut butter was not a ubiquitous American food until coconut oil returned to our shores, and food manufacturers needed to find another way to market peanuts. 

But the great interest in Asian cooking has been a boon to peanut oil.  It not only has a high burning point, but its fragrance adds new notes to stir fries.  You could make fried rice with other oils, but I can't think why you'd want to.

 

 

Easy Spicy Chinese Noodles with Pork

There are some days - and this is one of them - when I need a bit of dirty spice to get me going. Something with meat and heat, something that will slither into my mouth, something that will leave a glow and remind me that tomorrow - or the next day - the sun is bound to come up. 

Most people would consider this supper, but few things make me happier in the morning. After all, why not?

Spicy Chinese Noodles

Cook a pound of Chinese noodles, dried egg noodles or spaghetti until al dente, drain, toss with a tablespoon of peanut oil and set aside.

Mince fresh, peeled ginger until you have a quarter cup (it should be about a 3 inch long piece). 

Chop 4 scallions.

Mix 2 teaspoons of sugar into 5 tablespoons of Chinese hot bean paste with garlic (or Korean Kochujang sauce) and set aside.

Heat a wok until a drop of water skitters across the surface.  Add two tablespoons of peanut oil, toss in the ginger and stir fry for about half a minute, until the fragrance is hovering over the wok.

Add a pound of ground pork and stir fry until all traces of pink have disappeared.  Add the bean sauce mixture and cook and stir for about 2 minutes. 

Stir in the scallions and noodles, and quickly toss.  Add a drop of sesame oil and turn out onto a platter.

Serves 4

My Dinner with Nathan: 25 Women, 35 Courses

When Nathan Myrhvold invites you to dinner, you'd be a fool to refuse.  Even if it means flying across the country for the evening.  I've been wanting to experience a dinner cooked by the wizard of modernist cuisine for years, and when an invitation arrived saying he was honoring women chefs at his Seattle lab, it was absolutely irresistible. 

I'll admit there were a few moments during the 35-course six-hour marathon when I wondered what the hell I was doing there. Most of the time, however,  I was too busy paying attention to what was on the plate - and in my mouth - to think about anything else.

Dinner began with this little cocktail:

Basil of astonishing intensity, Everclear, olive oil. A pure whoosh of flavor, dancing across the palate ... and quickly gone. 

Elote: something cold, something new, much is borrowed.... nothing blue. One little bite that fizzles into the mouth and vanishes.

 Gazpacho reimagined as an icy cucumber sorbet in a sweetly tart puddle of berries. 

Chicharron reconsidered.  A  little cloud of gluten that's been microwaved until it puffs itself up into a fluff of pure texture. On top, icecream. Underneath, a deep dark dab of mole.  This was completely charming, utterly delicious.

The stunning texture of this tofu stopped me cold; it was so smooth, so... well, creamy.  I kept taking another bite, thinking "is there cream in here?"  Turns out there was.  A lot.  Fantastic idea; the fat and sweetness of the cream tempers the slightly plastic taste of tofu. 

Totally loved this "Thai squid salad." A smooth orange pillow of sea urchin custard hides a salad of something that look like bits of squid.  And yet the flavor of the translucent white bits says.... coconut. Still, this salad of young coconut does have an emphatic flavor of squid. See those little tendrils on the top? They're strings of  spicy squid jerky scattered beneath the cilantro.

Looks like a piece of binchotan, the enormously expensive Japanese charcoal that burns super-hot. But it's actually......

foie gras. 

The Modernist's take on steak frites. A single fat french fry, starch-infused until it makes a deep growling crunch when you take a bite. Paired with a little bit of steak pudding. 

Give Peas a Chance. Peas (Green Giant, we're assured),  centrifuged until they've separated into a smooth, sweet pea puree and....

this wonderful clear green liquid.  They call it "pistou" and it sings a song of spring. (In the photo at the top Nathan's holding the centrifuged peas.) 

 Green and white asparagus.

"Baked potato."  This is made in some fashion that involves torturing the potato skins until they turn into an entirely new substance, then recombining them with various ingredients so that they taste like baked potatoes with sour cream and feel like nothing so much as a cloud. Eating this I have a little moment of rebellion: baked potatoes, all by themselves, are among the world's most satisfying foods. This, on the other hand, is extremely interesting.

These are the sweetest carrots you will ever taste.  I love the coconut cream in there, and the crisp little curry leaf. 

Nathan's notion of cappuccino: a porcini broth so potent that one sip lingers in the mouth, resonating, a musical chord that's reluctant  to die. The foam on top is dusted with dried porcini.  And yet, as you sip this elixir, marveling at the flavor, the strong scent of coffee suddenly hits you, flooding all the senses, causing utter confusion. "It's a drop of coffee butter," Nathan exults.  For me,  it's the most memorable moment of the meal.

Brassicas in various states of crunch and crumble.

 Lobster.  One intense little bubble of liquid bisque.

 "Spaghetti alle vongole." No spaghetti. No vongole.  Totally great.

Geoduck neck cut into pasta, with the minced belly below. Afterward Nathan walks around the table holding out a geoduck, seeming slightly disappointed that most of the chefs are completely familiar with the strange, enormous mollusks with their laughably phallic necks.  

 The most traditional course: salmon, with its own puffed skin (see chicharron, above), broccoli stems and little lemon pearls.

 

France in a bowl.  Frog's legs. Snails. Garlic. Ramps. Wait... aren't ramps an American vegetable?  I am just about to mention this when I have a swift memory of eating at Pierre Gagnaire 20 years or so ago, and asking him about a flavor that was new to me.  "C'est l'ail des ours, Madame," he said.  I'd never heard of the garlic of the bears, but I looked it up.  Definition: wild leeks, ie. ramps. France in a bowl indeed.

Quail egg in a nest.  Except there's no quail, no egg. Inside that shell is a stunning replica of an egg that was constructed out of passionfruit. 

Polenta

Nathan calls this "omelet," and I've had it before. I've never understood the urge to make food that's more decorative than delicious.

 

Beef stew.

Basically a consomme made with beef and blood which has been flashed with carbon monoxide to set the color. "So cool!" said Ashley Christensen, who was sitting next to me.  Add beef marrow. Enoki mushrooms. Vegetables.  Result: pure flavor. Loved this

All through dinner we'd been looking at four fat chickens, hanging there, obviously waiting rto go back into the oven.  We stared at them, eager to see what the Modernist Cooks were going to do to the chicken.

Suddenly the chickens were in the oven.  And then they were being carved with great ceremony. The skin was crisped to the crackling point. The flesh was soft as velvet.  

The process: the skin had been pulled away from the skin, as if it was a Peking Duck. Then the bird was injected with brine, chilled for days, roasted upside down in a slow oven - and finally finished in a flourish of intense heat. 

It's great chicken. But is it worth all the trouble? 

Rye pasta. Butter. So good.

 

Pastrami on rye. The pastrami is brined, smoked, cooked sous-vide.  It's pretty amazing.

My phone ran out of juice at this point, so I missed photographing the end of the meal. We had a wine course, which involved adding salt to red wine.  Didn't work for me.  There was a posset of tea, which tickled me: ending the meal on such an old fashioned note.  

But then there was this: Nathan calls it "Breaking Bad," and it was so interesting I cajoled another guest into sending me a photograph.  

 A very cool alcohol delivery system....

I'm trying to wrap my head around this meal, but it's not like anything I've encountered before. The food lab isn't a restaurant.  They're not offering you a performance, or an all-encompassing experience, as restaurateurs like Ferran Adria, Grant Achatz, or Wylie Dufresne do. This is food in a different mood, food in the service of science. Much of it is about let's do it because we can, rather than let's do it because it's good.  (The omelet, for me, falls firmly in that category.)

But we're lucky that someone - Nathan Myrhvold - is doing this.  There's been a long history of scientists with an interest in the chemistry of cooking.  It seems particularly wonderful that at this moment, when science has made so many fascinating new discoveries, we have someone who's applying these new techniques - and enormous imagination - to food.

I left the table thinking that this was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the best meal I've ever had. But it may be the one that gives me the most hope for the future. 

The chefs:

Joanne Chang: Flour and Myers & Chang

Ashley Christensen: Poole’s Downtown Diner, Beasley’s, Chuck’s, and more

Amanda Cohen: Dirt Candy

Dominique Crenn: Atelier Crenn

Lauren DeSteno: Marea

Kerry Diamond: editorial director of Cherry Bombe

Sara Dickerman: writer for Epicurious.com

Renee Erickson: Walrus & The Carpenter, Whale Wins, and more

Elizabeth Falkner: formerly of Corvo Bianco, Krescendo, and Citizen Cake

Katie Hagan-Whelchel: ad hoc

Maria Hines: Tilth, Golden Beetle, and Agrodolce

Carolyn Jung: writer for Food Arts

Anita Lo: Annisa

Emily Luchetti: Farallon and Waterbar

Carrie Nahabedian: NAHA and Brindille

Melissa Perello: Frances

Naomi Pomeroy: BEAST

Iliana Regan: Elizabeth

Ruth Reichl: author of Delicious! and much more

Karen Shu: ABC Kitchen

Nancy Silverton: Pizzeria Mozza and Osteria Mozza

Ana Sortun: Oleana

Christina Tosi: Milk Bar

Anne Willan: founder of Ecole de Cuisine La Varenne

Claudia Wu: creative director at Cherry Bombe

 

 

A Good Flight

Flew home from LA last night on Jet Blue's new Mint - their version of first class. 

It was the sweetest service I've ever had on a plane; the stewards all seemed genuinely eager to make this a comfortable ride.  The seats were swell (although much better if you get the single pods as opposed to the double seats).

Even the food was decent!

Actually, that cold carrot ginger soup, above, with its savoury little marshmallow, was pretty silly.  A strange, sticky texture.

But this cod with white beans and fennel in a tomato caper broth was very pleasant.

And these fontina filled gnocchi, with little bits of black truffles and creamed leeks, were a fine solution to the many problems of airline cooking:

The menu, by Saxon +Parole, offers an array of little plates.  You choose three.  My final choice, a mushroom mousse, looked nice, but was extremely, unpleasantly sweet.  And it succumbed to the perrenial airline problem: refrigerated bread goes stale. 

Dessert was smart. Fruit. And Blue Marble mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Why did I try it? Just for science; I was curious how Jet Blue would handle first class food.

You wouldn't make a reservation just for the food, but I can't remember the last time I was sorry when the plane landed.

BBQ!

Sometimes I feel so lucky.  Last night was one of those times. The great BBQ Pitmaster, John Markus, invited us over for dinner.  He was smoking a slew of meat; Chad Brauze, chef at Rotisserie Georgette, was doing the rest of the food. Susan Orlean and her husband John Gillespie were coming too. Did we want to join them?

JM was standing in the kitchen when we got there, pleasant chaos all around.  Meanwhile Chad was mopping the meat with this thyme butter 

and calmly placing all the other dishes on the table. He'd worked magic with these vegetables, coaxing out elusive flavors until they were fully capable of standing up to the spectacular meat.

In addition to huge amounts of  beef and an entire cornucopia of vegetables there was this "competition chicken"

along with a few more dishes I neglected to photograph (ie. entire racks of pork ribs).

By the time we got to dessert we were eating in the dark, which is my only excuse for this truly terrible photograph. You'll have to take my word that this white-chocolate dusted strawberry shortcake, made by Chad's wife Ashley, was a transcendent version of the classic cake. Little wonder: Ashley Brauze is the pastry chef at Cafe Boulud.

Afterward, John pulled out another treat: Pinhook Bourbon. 

Smooth. Mellow. Rich. There could not have been a better ending to this spectacular feast.

 

Warm Blueberry Peach Breakfast Cobbler

 

4 large ripe peaches

1 cup blueberries

Juice of 1/2 lemon

1/4 - 1/2 cup sugar

1 tablespoon cornstarch

1 cup flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt.

1/2 stick butter

1/3 cup buttermilk.

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Peel the peaches by putting them into boiling water for 10 seconds, then running them under cool water.  The skins should slip right off.
3. Slice the peaches into a glass or ceramic pie plate. 
4. Squeeze lemon juice over the fruit and toss with the sugar and cornstarch. Toss the berries on top.
5. Mix dry ingredients in a small bowl.
6. Cut in the butter using a pastry blender or two knives, until the butter is the size of peas.
7. Gently stir in the buttermilk. 
8. Cover the fruit, loosely, with the wet dough. Don't worry if it doesn’t completely cover; it will spread in the oven.
9. Bake for half an hour, until the top is craggy and golden.

Serve warm with a pitcher of cold cream.

 

 

Dinner Last Night

I love squid: it's delicious, sustainable, inexpensive and easy. When I first started cooking squid you had to remove the quill-like shell (it's on the inside, unlike other shellfish), take out the inksac (right behind the eyes) and the beak (inside the tentacles), clean out the interior and peel off the pretty lavender skin. But now most squid comes pre-cleaned so you don't have to bother with any of that. Modern squid is ready to cook, which means it makes an almost-instant dinner.  

Wandering past the seafood case the other day, the squid seemed to be calling out to me.  I bought a pound, took it home, and made this completely satisfying supper.  (The recipe is very loosely adapted from one in Bruce Cost's Big Bowl Cookbook.

 

Gingered Calamari with Black Beans and Chiles

1 pound cleaned squid

1/2 cup chicken stock

1/2 tablespoon sugar

2 tablespoons oyster sauce

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 - 2 tablespoons peanut or grapeseed oil

1/4 cup shredded ginger

1 bunch sliced scallions

1 tablespoon minced garlic

red pepper flakes

2 teaspoons salted Chinese black beans

2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine or dry sherry

splash sesame oil

Cut the squid bodies into 1 inch rings.  If the tentacles are large, cut them in half.  

Bring a large pot of water to a furious boil, drop squid in, bring the water back to a boil and cook for 30 seconds.  Remove and quickly run under cold water to stop the cooking.  Set aside.

Mix the chicken stock, sugar, oyster sauce and soy sauce. 

Heat a wok until a drop of water skitters across the surface.  Add the oil, then toss in ginger, scallions, garlic, red pepper flakes and black beans and toss about for 30 seconds or so until the fragrance fills the air. 

Add the chicken stock mixture, bring to a boil, and cook for about a minute.  Add squid and wine, toss about for another minute and add a splash of sesame oil.

Serve over rice.

Serves 4.

 

A Fantastic Foraged Green: Lambsquarters

Lambsquarters

A friend showed up for dinner last night with a bag of weeds she'd just removed from her garden. To farmers and gardeners, lambsquarters are a nuisance, an intractable weed. For the rest of us however, this is spinach with a college education, the most delicious green. If you're lucky enough to find some, here's a vaguely Korean way of cooking this wonderful weed.

Wash a big bunch of wild lambsquarters, removing the thick stems.  (I didn't weigh mine, but I'd estimate it was about three quarters of a pound.) Quickly blanch them in boiling salted water for about a minute, then run them under cold water to stop the cooking and set the color. 

Squeeze the leaves well to remove excess water.  Now do it again.  Put them into a bowl, and fluff them a bit, pulling the leaves apart and giving them some air. 

Thinly slice an entire scallion and mix it into the lambsquarters.

Put a couple of tablespoons of miso paste into a small bowl and mix in a small minced clove of garlic, a splash of soy sauce, a half teaspoon of chile paste and a splash of toasted sesame oil.  Mix into the lambsquarters.  If you want to really give it a Korean flair, toss in a small handful of sesame seeds. 

 

 

 

 

Lulu's Cheese Souffle

"The only thing that will make a souffle fall is if it knows you're afraid of it."

James Beard 

Lulu's Cheese Souffle

Grate 6 ounces of a cheese with strong character (Gruyere, Comte, Roquefort are all good choices) and set aside.

Scald a cup and a quarter of milk and set aside to gently cool.

Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan.  Whisk in 3 tablespoons of flour and cook for a a couple of minutes, whisking constantly. Whisk in the warm milk, season with a half teaspoon of salt, a sprinkle of pepper and a few gratings of fresh nutmeg, turn the heat to low and cook for 10 minutes or so, whisking every couple of minutes.  The sauce will get very thick.  Remove from heat and set aside to cool.

Meanwhile carefully separate 4 eggs, being careful to put the whites into a clean bowl and not get any of the yolk into the whites. 

Butter a 6-cup souffle dish and lightly dust with flour.  

Preheat the oven to 425.

Carefully whisk the cheese and egg yolks into the sauce.

Beat the egg whites with clean beaters until they hold soft peaks. Stir about a third of them into the cheese sauce, to lighten it, then carefully fold in the remaining whites.

Spoon the mixture into the prepared souffle dish and put into the oven for about 25 minutes, until set and golden.  

Serve at once. 

Serves 6.

 

 

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On D-Day: What They Were Eating on the Homefront

On the 70th anniversary of the Normandy landings, I offer another classic Recipe for Rationing, circa 1944.  

Little wonder that the heroine of Delicious!, Lulu Swan, was writing to James Beard asking for better recipes. This isn't Mexican, it wouldn't make much of a supper - and I very much doubt that the sliced stuffed olives would have helped.

MEXICAN SUPPER

1 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup Grape-Nuts Wheat-Meal
3/4 cup grated American cheese
1 egg, well beaten
Spanish Sauce
Paprika

Heat milk in saucepan. Add salt; then pour in cereal very gradually, stirring constantly. Bring to a boil and cook and stir 3 minutes. Remove from heat. Add 1/4 cup cheese and egg and blend. Pour into shallow pan. Chill. Place spoonfuls or 2-inch squares in shallow baking dish and cover with Spanish Sauce. Sprinkle with remaining cheese and paprika. Bake in hot oven (400° F.) 15 minutes, or until cheese is melted. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

Spanish Sauce. Melt 1 1/2 tablespoons fat in skillet. Add 3 tablespoons each chopped onion, green pepper, and celery. Cook slowly until onion is golden brown. Add 1 1/2 cups stewed tomatoes, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and dash of pepper. Cook slowly until sauce is thickened. If desired, add a few sliced stuffed olives to sauce.

 

 

An Amazing Meal in Philly

9:30 on a Monday night and the place is packed, people still pouring in the door. And this is Philadelphia?

A few bites in, and I understand why Fork is so popular.  This is, from the very first taste, truly exciting food. 

These look like ordinary oysters. They're not. Chef Eli Kulp has chilled them to the perfect point of iciness, then topped them with his own personal mignonette, which adds the crunch of celery to the mix. The result is a textural dream.

 A couple of amusing little bites. Dandelion greens slashed with miso and dried to crackling flakiness. The counterpoint is radishes transformed into a soft vegetable leather, a stunning surprise to the mouth: robbed of their brisk crispness, the flavor of the humble radish takes a new turn. 

Radishes, again, this time buried in a "soil" made of various seeds. "Soil" in its many incarnations, seems to be the dish of the moment. 

This was followed by a couple of amusing little twists on rolls: first clam madeleines, which would have made Proust think twice.  Then square little pretzels filled with mustard, a new take on a Philadelphia classic. And wonderful little bialys, filled with homemade (Philadelphia) cream cheese.

 

Spring served in a bowl. Rhubarb consomme with tender greens, a bit of almond and then, singing loudly in the middle, a single perfect strawberry, the flavor resonating on and on.  Stunningly delicious.  

 

A single stalk of asparagus with a granita made from the fremented roots of broccoli rabe, ricotta and bee pollan. Just a few pungent little bites, the opening act for the brilliant dish that followed, pictured at the top.

Bite into that elegant little circle of mushrooms and you find this:

filling of sweet potato and cashew cheese, with a sprinkling of citrus.  An hommage to a dish invented by Pascal Barbot of Paris' L'Astrance, it would make a vegetarian out of the most recalcitrant meat eater.

 

Another new way to look at Philadelphia cuisine. Pasta made from rye and caraway.  A sauce of pastrami and mustard. A bit of dill. Deli food has never been so elegantly reprised.

 

 

Another  Philadelphia dish - the classic pork sandwich - lovingly remade. The sweetness of this gorgous pork makes a fine contrast to fermented broccoli rabe, while its soft juiciness is teased out by those sharp little shards of dried provolone.

There were many desserts, all interesting, including elements like caraway rye ice cream and root beer tea.  I regret to confess that I'd been so completely seduced by this splendid meal that I'd forgotten all about my camera at this point in the evening.

Mea culpa. But it was, after all, around midnight.

 

Two Terrific Meals in Vancouver

Better late than never.... I left Vancouver a week ago, but somehow I never got around to putting my meals down on paper. Which is a shame, because it's a great place to eat.

The first night we went to the very what's happening Bao Bei in Chinatown. I guess it's Vancouver's version of Mission Chinese, a hip young place with a modern menu in the heart of an old-fashioned Chinatown.  They take no reservations; the lines are long. 

The dish I remember with the most longing - I'm sitting on a train as I write this, and I would give anything to have that shao bing at the top -  was a large sesame-studded flatbread stuffed with pickled red onions, chiles, cilantro and tender, pungent, cumin-scented lamb. A truly great sandwich.

The meal began with these vegetables. Lovely little Sichuan pickles. And eggplant marinated in soy, garlic and ginger.  

 

Then there was this bowl of very intense cold noodles, topped with rare strips of beef and tossed with a pungent dressing made of chiles, Sichuan peppercorns and dried shrimp.

 

 

Shrimp dumplings.  And ethereal pork and prawn wontons in an intensely curried broth.

 

Traditional, but very delicious: pea shoots.

 

 

The next night there was dinner at Hawksworth, the city's most ambitious restaurant.  It's a pretty place with a huge, bustling kitchen.  I find it fascinating that for all its aspirations - this kitchen is aiming for the stars -  Vancouver's fanciest restaurant has a very casual vibe. 

But there is nothing casual about the food. These crisply fried oysters are served on a plank of wood with an austere dusting of  powdered malt vinegar. The contrasting polka dot is piquillo pepper paste. A fine way to begin a meal.  

 

 

An endlessly appealing play of textures, temperatures and flavors. Hamachi sashimi  in a tangle of radishes and herbs is sparked with jalapeno and  kissed with passion fruit seeds. On top, a few grains of crisped rice add crunch. Underneath, a shimmering blanket of white soy. Over it all, the icy surprise of coconut sorbet. Fantastic!

 

It's spotted prawn season. These were gorgeously cooked, lightly dressed, utterly irresistible.

 

Sturgeon, a sturdy, tasty, difficult fish, grilled with tandoori spices in a spiral of cauliflower puree. On the side, a little panisse of chickpeas. What you can't see is the piquant tamarind vinaigrette that underlined all the flavors and pulled them together.

 

I'm not big on plates composed like this - they always look so twee - but this was a perfect little chunk of duck: flesh rare, skin crackling, flavor intense.  It was crowned by a small circle of complementary flavors.

 

Love the look of this - like something washed up on the sands of a deserted isle. The flavors, however, are very much of this earth: spiced apple, hazelnut, maple.  It made a fine farewell to a great city.

Can't wait to go back.

 

 

 

Asparagus with a Good Green Sauce

Home at last. So happy to be back in my kitchen. Went right off to the market and discovered there are still local asparagus around here. I scooped them up, thrilled I hadn’t missed them. 

I like serving asparagus at room temperature when I'm having a group over to dinner. That way I can't get distracted and overcook them at the last minute.  This sauce - festive, delicious and very easy - is my favorite way to top them. 

I cook my asparagus in a large skillet of boiling water, putting the fattest ones in first for about 5 minutes, then adding the skinnier ones for just the last two or three minutes. Then I simply scoop them out of the water and put them on a towel-lined plate to cool.  

Just before serving I ladle on the fragrant, chunky sauce.

Begin the sauce by hardboiling a couple of eggs, chilling  them in ice water, and peeling them. 

Now mince a couple of shallots and put them in a small bowl. Add two tablespoons of Italian parsley, a few chopped chives and a tablespoon of minced capers.  Stir in 6 tablespoons of good olive oil and mix well.  Add a generous dollop of mustard and 2 tablespoons of red wine vinegar. 

Chop the hardboiled eggs into fairly coarse pieces, stir them in, and grind in a good bit of black pepper. Allow to mingle quietly for a half hour or so, to let the ingredients communicate with one another, then taste for seasoning and spoon over a pound and a half of cooked asparagus.

Serve at room temperature.  

 

The rest of the menu, if you're interested:

Chicken Liver Mousse

Crackers topped with Sour Cream and Salmon Roe

Grilled ribeyes

Baked Potatoes

Salad with Blue Cheese Dressing

Fresh Apricot Crumb Tart