Almost everybody except for maybe the over ninety set who are perfectly happy with hearing aids that don’t work so well know, that heavy cream and butter is not the answer to our problems. No amount of butter is going to get the boyfriend back. You can ladle out heavy cream until the cows can tie their shoe laces, and it’s not going to pay the mortgage.
In my book certain situations, including November 26th to January 2nd require a different set of rules allowing but not restricted to, butter and cream on tap.
Last night was our Christmas party at the Hess Stirling house. On the menu: coq au vin, seared chicken breast up close and cozy with a saute of bacon, onion and a bouquet garni, finished with a solid pour of red wine from the Loire and a back up singer of chicken stock, simmered until the minute when the flesh of the chicken is so tender it makes you ache just a little to taste it. Braised brussel sprouts (simmering water, salt, butter, peppercorn, bouqet garni) finished with butter, slivered carrots simmered in braise of water, butter, vinegar, sugar, salt, peppercorn, bay leaf, shallot and parsley sprig. Finished with butter. Beets the same with the addition of a whole clove. Finished with butter. String beans simmered straight up and finished with: butter. Roasted potatoes with olive oil only and potato gratin laughing all the way to the fat bank; slivered yukon golds stacked with paper thing slices of garlic, a sprinkle of fresh thyme leaves, a sprinkle of salt and a pour of cream between each layer. We forgot about the salad and went right to bread and stilton. For dessert: creme brulee that had no time to chill with hot caramel poured on top. The kids lined up for more before they finished their firsts.