…And wine, and also possibly, world peace.
Wow, title’s quite a mouthful, in every sense of the word ‘mouthful’, as we were pretty stuffed to our eyeballs that weekend. But that wasn’t all.
I finally had a good dose of social life on a beautiful Saturday afternoon at G & Sim’s place, together with E & A.
The complete list (somewhat in that order), we had:
Angus tenderloin [2 inch thick steaks (!!)]
Roasted bell peppers
World Peace Cookies
Black Forest Cake
I want to kick myself for not taking photos of the steak and pumpkin soup. Whatever patience I have in my food photography goes out the window when it comes to food prepared by friends. I only had one thing in mind: Tuck in. Tout de suite!!
I would also like a round of applause for having finished the entire steak on my plate. The 2″ thickness, as dictated by G, was insane in a very good way. I was full before I was even halfway done, but too good to not go on. And we paired the steak with yet another insanity of a buttered mash potatoes prepared in the morn by yours truly , a recipe by Joël Robuchon with proportion of butter to potatoes 1:2.
Now, one-is-to-two doesn’t seem like a big deal on paper nor does it sound ridiculous when you recite it off the recipe.
One-is-to-two. You could almost do a little dance movement if you repeat that phrase 20 times with an upbeat tempo.
By the time I was 3/4 through the butter, I…hesitated.
‘Am I making mash potatoes or butter emulsion?? The mash is turning into butter mush. Should I, umm, stop here? ‘
Then, I sighed.
For why did I even bother to falter in the first place. I am finally
resigned illuminated to the fact that there wasn’t really a point in being a wuss if we are going the butter route. If Joël says one-is-to-two, I will do it one-is-to-two. No biggie, we’ll save our regrets for the next day, and most possibly for the rest of the month, and then deny everything that happened should our cardiologists interrogate.
That is why I also replaced milk with heavy cream.
And generously truffle-salted it.
To complicate matters, I also scraped in some vanilla. And I guess after all the modification, apart from the technique and butter proportion, the end product was strictly speaking more Jess’s than Joël’s.
But it was not all sin and rich food. We had healthy vegetables too; Sim prepared pumpkin soup and also roasted some lovely bell peppers. Delish. And red wine, well I reasoned to them, is technically liquid grapes and so full of antioxidants, it’s almost like a salad.
We were too full for desserts until later, where we had The Black Forest Cake.
Well, the cake was alright, except it wasn’t…epic enough for me. I felt the cherries needed a little more punch and a little more time to soften in the kirsch.
And the cake was probably a little on the dry side (brush on more kirsch next time, maybe?). And allow me to curse my poor frosting job and the #$%^$# satanic whipping cream that refused to stay firm in this hell of a weather. I am self-conscious and insecure when it comes to my frosting disabilities.
Side note to self: Invest in a cherry pitter. I don’t care that it goes against my general refusal to buy single function kitchen gadgets; I’m pretty sure a cherry pitter would change my life forever. Yes.
Despite my internal grousing, my BFC is still a BFC. Epic or not, it was something to celebrate. I forgot how many years I went through without blowing candles on a proper cake.
So this year I resolved to bake a proper cake for myself and blow some proper candles. And I had this idea to celebrate all our birthdays together, since G’s birthday was in June and everyone elses’ are upcoming. So why not? I’m a good sharer, though I suspect I’m likely to bake another birthday cake should we do another meet up in those months to come. No reason not to, right?
E & A approved the World Peace Cookies, by the way. I used red and pink salt for these little fiends. Personally, I’d chase them down with very cold milk. Or a white russian–not too far off from the milk-bit, if you ask me.
And I approved the whiskies, of course, compliments of G. By the time I was done with three types of whiskeys, I was rendered all too happy and giggly. And I thought alcohol was supposed to be a depressant.
Ah…6.30pm came a little soon for me. I love those laughters and conversations that I have been missing of.
I really love July, this is a month of my happiness. I suspect it’s got to do with July being an ice cream month in the US. I don’t live there but that’s hardly the point, heh.