215. White Butter Sauce with Cream (Beurre Nantais) (p. 882)

While rummaging through our freezer a while ago, I came across a stash of lobster and shrimp ravioli. How could we possibly have left these little frozen gems in cold storage for months and months without eating them? Well, we just couldn't figure out what kind of sauce to serve with them. A tomato-based sauce didn't seem like a good match. That's where this recipe came in.

The Book says that this sauce is traditionally served with fish, so it seemed like it would be a good match for the seafood ravioli.

To make this sauce, I brought some white wine, white wine vinegar and finely chopped shallot to a simmer and reduced it quite a bit. Then I added some cream and simmered it some more to thicken it. Then I added a stick of cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, a bit at time. Once the butter was all melted, I poured the sauce through a fine mesh sieve to remove the shallot solids. Finally, I finished the sauce with a little bit of lemon juice, salt and pepper.

The Book describes this sauce as "velvetized," and the term is apt (even if it isn't really a word). It doesn't get much smoother, richer or more sumptuous than this sauce, all without being heavy like an alfredo sauce. And this was the perfect match for the seafood ravioli. A little bit went a long way, but it did leave us wanting more. When the ravioli was all gone, we couldn't keep ourselves from sopping up whatever sauce was left with some bread.

I'll definitely make this sauce again. The Book says that, in addition to fish, it also works well with vegetables or a steak.

Date Cooked: April 2, 2010
Degree of Difficulty: Easy
Rating: A-

181. Scallops Provencale (p. 319)

There are meals that rock your world, like Julia Child's first taste of Sole Meuniere. There are meals that are just absolutely awful. And then there are meals that, while not life-changing, are exactly what you wanted at that particular moment in time. This recipe was one of those meals.

I was looking for something for something fresh, satisfying and quick. This dish fit the bill perfectly.

First, I seared some sea scallops in a little olive oil, and transferred them to a platter and kept them warm in a 200-degree oven. Next I sauteed some thinly sliced garlic just until it started to turn golden. Then I added some diced, seeded tomatoes, and fresh thyme. I cooked it for just a few minutes and added some salt and pepper. I spooned the sauce over the scallops and sprinkled a liberal amount of chopped fresh basil on top.

It really was that easy. The Book says that this recipe has a start-to-finish time of 30 minutes, but I think that it took half that in reality.

As I said, this was a simple dish that isn't going to change your life, but it made my night just the same. The scallops were excellent. Sweet and tender with some nice caramelization from the searing. The sauce was fresh and bright. There's no reason not to try this recipe ... like tonight.


Date Cooked: July 11, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: A-

111. Chocolate Souffle (p. 840)

The seeds of this Project were sown a year ago when I decided to make the Chocolate Souffle recipe in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking for a homemade Valentine's Day dinner with my wife. So, I thought that it was only fitting that I should make this recipe from The Book for this year's Valentine's dinner.

Souffles always fill people with dread and fear. The recipe itself isn't very hard, though. All you do is melt some chocolate and then stir some egg yolks into it, then fold in some beaten, sweetened egg whites and bake. The hard part is dealing with the anxiety. Will it rise? Or even worse, will if fall? Resisting the urge to open the oven door for a peek takes a level of willpower that most of us don't possess. (Seriously, if you want to make 24 minutes feel like an eternity, put a souffle in the oven and try not to check to see if it's collapsed.)

Well, the good news is that my souffle didn't fall. That's probably because it wouldn't have had too far to go since it didn't rise all that much. I'm not quite sure what happened. Maybe I beat the egg whites too much? Not enough? As The Book says, "the trick is to know when to stop beating" the egg whites. No matter, it was still airy, rich and delicious. Maybe I'll just have to make this an annual tradition and keep at it until I get it right.

Date Cooked: February 14, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: B+

109. Fish en Papillote with Tomatoes and Olives (p. 302)

I decided to make a romantic dinner for my wife for Valentine's Day ... No small feat with a seven-week-old baby, but I decided to give it a try anyway.

I picked this recipe* because it looked elegant but relatively easy. Basically, all you do is put the ingredients on a piece of parchment, wrap it up, cook, and enjoy.

The recipe calls for red snapper, but Whole Foods didn't have any. No worries, since The Book says that you can substitute tilefish, halibut, cod, haddock, salmon, striped bass, white sea bass or mahimahi. I decided to go with the halibut, and it worked out just great.

I seasoned each of the halibut steaks with a little salt and pepper and topped each with some sliced tomato, sliced kalamata olives, a little red pepper flakes, some thinly sliced orange zest, a couple of sprigs of parsley and a little bit of butter. I folded the edges of the parchment to make a nice, tightly-sealed envelope. Into a very hot oven for just a few minutes (I pre-heated the baking sheet before putting the fish in the oven).

After they cooked, the parchment had browned a bit. I carefully took them off the baking sheet and put them on a couple of plates. I slit the paper open, and a whoosh of orange-scented steam came out. Inside the little package was a perfectly-cooked halibut steak swimming in a flavorful, buttry sauce.

This was a very delicious dish. The fish was excellent: sweet and firm with a nice flavor. The sauce was nice, too. The olives gave it a nice briny-ness, the orange zest gave it a nice citrus zip, but not the pedestrian lemon flavor that you'd always be expecting. The red pepper gave it some bite ... maybe a little bit too much heat, though. I'll probably use just a little less next time. The other thing that I'd do differently would be to seed and chop the tomatoes rather than slice them. The sliced tomatoes were pretty, but they didn't cook enough and they gave off too much liquid.

Even though we didn't get to sit down and eat together (we had to take turns tending to the baby), it was still a romantic dinner in its own way. Parenthood brings with it a whole host of challenges, not the least of which is trying to find some time for mom and dad. But, romance comes in all different shapes and sizes, and I wouldn't have wanted to spend my Valentine's day any other way.

Date Cooked: February 14, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: A-

*This recipe isn't online.

103. Sauteed Dessert Crêpes (p. 791)

It was Candlemas the other day. What's that, you say? In the Christian tradition, it's the celebration of the presentation of the baby Jesus at the temple forty days after Christmas. In other traditions, it's observed as the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox (a.k.a. Groundhog Day). In France, people eat crêpes on Candlemas. Tradition says that if the cook can flip a crêpe while holding a coin in the other hand, the family is assured of prosperity throughout the coming year.

I've never made crêpes before, so I thought that I'd give them a try. I didn't try the coin trick, because this way my first time, and I figured that I'd need both hands, but just the same, I think it's a pretty auspicious sign for a prosperous new year that the crêpes came out all right.

The batter was pretty easy to make. It's just a couple of eggs, some flour, milk, a little bit of Cognac, and a pinch of salt. The Book says to put about 1 1/2 tablespoons of the batter in a hot crêpe pan or skillet. Because I didn't read the recipe carefully enough, I used a 10" skillet instead of the 7-8" skillet The Book says to use. As a result, it took about 3 to 4 tablespoons of batter to coat the bottom of the pan. It only took a couple of seconds to cook each of the crêpes, and they slid right out of the pan with the help of a rubber spatula. I was pretty impressed.

As each of the crêpes cooked, I folded it in quarters and put them on a plate. When they were all done, I melted some butter in the skillet and arranged the crapes in the pan and sauteed them for a little while until they were nice and golden on the bottom. I served them, as The Book suggested, sprinkled with some sugar and topped with some sliced fresh strawberries.

These crêpes were pretty good. They were light and tender and buttery. The sprinkling of sugar gave them a little bit of sweetness, and the sliced fresh strawberries were a necessary touch (although The Book says that they're optional).

Now, this recipe* is in The Book's Pies, Tarts and Pastries chapter, but I made it for breakfast last Sunday. Dessert for breakfast? Well, first of all what are crêpes but thin pancakes? And what are pancakes but a breakfast food? And anyway, I'm a grown-up, and if I want to eat dessert for breakfast, I can. So there! But, if I had made this for dessert, I would have been pretty dissapointed. These were a bit too light and not sweet enough for a dessert. Also, the fresh strawberries were nice, but if this is really going to be a dessert, they need some kind of sauce. Finally, I'm not sure what the purpose of adding the Congnac is, but if you ask me, Grand Marnier would hav been a better choice because it would have given the crêpes a nice orange flavor.

Date Cooked: February 1, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Easier than I thought it would be!
Rating: C+

*This recipe isn't on epicurious.com.

78. Maple Pumpkin Pots de Creme (p. 832)

The Book calls this recipe "an elegant alternative to pumpkin pie." That's an understatement. This dessert elevates that steady workhorse of the Thanksgiving dessert spread to a fitting finish to the fanciest fall feast (how's that for some clever alliteration?).

This recipe is easy to make, and it can be prepared well in advance. First, I simmered some cream, milk, canned pumpkin and pure Vermont maple syrup. Then I whisked together egg yolks, nutmeg, cinnamon and salt in a bowl. Next, I whisked the hot pumpkin mixture into the yolk mixture in a very slow stream to prevent the yolks from scrambling. Then I poured the custard mixture through a fine mesh sieve. I think that this step is key to the silky, smooth and airy texture of the finished dessert because it removes any little lumps that might have formed. I poured the custard mixture into ramekins, placed them into a roasting pan, added hot water about half-way to the top of the ramekins, covered the whole thing in foil, and put it in the oven for the time listed in the recipe.

When Teena made these, she was less than satisfied with the results. She suspected that it was because the cooking time in the recipe was too long. I think that my experience with this recipe confirms her theory. The Book calls for making ten individual pots de creme in two- to three-ounce ramekins. My ramekins are pretty big (eight ounce capacity if filled to the brim), so I divided the custard among four ramekins. Even though they were more than twice the size they were supposed to be, my pots de creme were completely done in the cooking time called for in the recipe. I had expected to check them at the end of the time listed in the recipe and see how close to done they were. I was surprised to see that they were completely done.

I made these the morning that my friends were coming over for dinner and I put them in the refrigerator to chill all day. I served them with fresh, sweetend whipped cream. We all really liked this dessert. It was rich and light at the same time. The pumpkin, cinnamon and nutmeg recalled the classic Thanksgiving pumpkin pie, but the maple syrup, which provides all of the sweetness for this dessert, is a great change and gave the dessert a wonderful and somewhat unexpected flavor. In the end, I was glad that I made this dessert in the larger-sized ramekins. If I had made them in two- or three- ounce ramekins as called for in The Book, I would have been dissapointed to get only a couple of spoonfuls of dessert. I'd be forced to eat a second one, and then feel guilty about having eaten two (or maybe even three!) desserts. This way, no shame. As much as I liked this dessert, and I would make it again, I'm still not trading in my traditional Thanksgiving pumpkin pie made from the recipe on the back of the can. (Nor am I giving up my tradition of eating pumpkin pie for breakfast on the day after Thanksgiving. Don't judge me.)

Because I was having such a great time catching up with my dinner guests, I somehow forgot to take a picture of the finished product. The photo at the top of this post comes from Teena's blog.

Date Cooked: November 16, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Easy
Rating: A

77. Ratatouille (p. 586)

I made this recipe as a vegetarian alternative to the beef bourguignon that I made when some friends came over for dinner a few weeks ago.



Cute, cartoon rodents notwithstanding, ratatouille, or ratatouille niçoise, as it is more properly called, is a traditional Provençal dish that, like beef bourguignon and coq au vin, has made the transition from peasant comfort food to haute cuisine.

There are numerous variations of the recipe for ratatouille. Some recipes omit the eggplant. Some recipes, like Julia Child's, calls for layering and and baking the vegetables. Other recipes call for cooking the vegetables all together. The Book's recipe is pretty fussy in that it calls for cooking each of the vegetable elements separately.

First, I peeled four large tomatoes. I actually don't mind peeling tomatoes as long as I'm not too pressed for time. I think it's pretty cool that you can plop a tomato into boiling water for a minute or two, then plunge it into ice water, and just slip the skins right off. Then I coarsley chopped the tomatoes and simmered them in a pot with some garlic, parsley, basil, and olive oil to make a basic tomato sauce.

While the sauce was simmering, I cut a large eggplant into one-inch cubes. The Book says to toss the cubes with salt and let them sit in a colander for 30 minutes. I don't know if this step is really necessary. I didn't have any room in my sink to set down the colander, so I put it on a tray on my kitchen table. When the half-hour had passed, only a very small amount of liquid had drained from the eggplant. So, I didn't really see the benefit to this step.

Here's where the recipe gets really fussy, and for no clear reason. First The Book says to cook the onions in three tablespoons of olive oil for ten minutes, remove from the pan and set aside. This step is repeated with the peppers, zucchini, and eggplant. Cook with three tablespoons of olive oil for about ten minutes. I'm not quite sure why the vegetables need to be cooked separatly, other than the fact that there are a whole lot of them, and it would be difficult to cook such a big quantity of vegetables all at once. I can't see any other reason for doing it that way, especially since once they've all been given their 10 minutes in the saute pan, all of the vegetables are combined with the tomato sauce and stewed together for an hour. And it's not just me, Teena thought that this recipe was curiously fussy, too.

Even if it was fussy, there is no denying that this dish was delicious. It was hearty, comforting and flavorful. The tomato, garlic and basil in the sauce was a great base for the slowly stewed vegetables. The Book says that it can be served warm or at room temperature. I actually preferred it hot, but to each his own.The recipe calls for a lot of olive oil, and while I didn't find the dish to be overly oily, the amount of oil could have been cut significantly without harming the dish too much. The Book says that this recipe serves 8 to 10. That must mean 8 to 10 very hungry people. This recipe filled my big stock pot, and we enjoyed this for lunch for the entire week after I made it.

Date Cooked: November 16, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Not hard, but a lot of steps
Rating: A-

75. Beef Bourguignon (p. 440)

There are two dishes that changed Julia Child's life, and by extension, American cooking, forever.

The first, sole meunière, was Julia's first meal upon arriving in France with her husband, Paul. Julia described this elegantly simple dish as a revelation, and as "an opening up of the soul and spirit for me."

This introduction sparked Julia's interest in la cuisine Française, inspired her to take classes at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and led her to write a manuscript, with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle, for a cookbook aimed at making French food approachable for the American home cook.

That's where the second dish, beef bourguignon, comes in. Julia's manuscript found its way into the hands of Judith Jones, a general book editor at Alfred A. Knopf, who was on the lookout for a new French cookbook for the American market. And as she described in a 2004 New York Times piece, Judith took the manuscript home with her one night and made Julia's recipe for beef bourguignon. The result was "a masterpiece," and Judith determined to get Mastering the Art of French Cooking published. The book launched Julia's television career and inspired thousands of Americans to start cooking. None of that would have been possible without these two dishes.

This story even touches on cook-through blogging in a "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" sort of way. When Julie Powell was working on her Julie/Julia Project, the original cook-through blog, in which she set out to cook and blog about every recipe in MtAoFC, Judith Jones accepted an invitation to have Julie Powell cook for her, and Julie planned to cook (what else?) beef bourguignon. But, in a very "Big Night" turn, Judith never showed up, and Julie and her husband Eric, ended up eating alone.

So, it was against this backdrop that I cooked this recipe* a few Sundays ago when a couple of my good friends from grad school came over for dinner. I have been looking forward to making this dish for some time now, and I wasn't disappointed.

My friends were coming over for dinner at 6 (it was a "school night," so we planned on eating early), and so, at about 3, I was in the midst of congratulating myself on getting an early start on cooking, when I re-read the part of the recipe that says "simmer gently ... 3 1/2 to 4 hours." Not an auspicious start, but I didn't let it rattle me. We'd just have more time to catch up over glasses of wine while we waited for dinner to be done. I did kick myself a little bit for not making this on Saturday since the Cook's Note says that the dish can be made a day in advance "and in fact it tastes even better made ahead, because this gives the flavors time to develop."

This is a pretty time-consuming recipe with lots of steps. First I cut a couple of slices of thick-sliced bacon into one-inch pieces. I boiled the bacon pieces in water for a few minutes. I assume that the purpose of this step is to get rid of some of the salt and to mellow out the strong bacon flavor. I drained the bacon and set it a side.

Next, the beef. Since my wife is "semi-veg," I rarely cook beef, and I'm not very knowledgeable about my cuts of meat. The Book calls for three pounds of boneless beef chuck cut into two-inch chunks. I went to my local butcher, and as usual, I stared blankly at the array of meats on display. I told the butcher what I wanted and what I was going to do with it. He reached into the case and selected a nice, big chuck roast, and he even offered to cut it up for me. I thought that was great. The butcher went down a bit in my estimation, however, when I saw him drop a chunk of the beef on the floor and actually shoot a look in my direction to see whether I saw what happened. I wonder if I hadn't been watching, if the five-second rule would have been invoked. Anyway, I divided my not-dropped-on-the-floor beef (which I had patted dry and seasoned with salt and pepper) into two zip top bags with a bit of flour, and shook to coat the meat. (I'm not sure why The Book insists on having you use two bags? Couldn't you just do it in two batches in the same bag? Then, I browned the flour-coated beef in my Dutch oven in a few batches, and set it aside while I deglazed the pan (which had developed a nice fond) with some brandy.

The next step is a little bit odd. The Book says to make a bouquet garni from a celery stalk studded with a couple of whole cloves, parsley, thyme, and bay leaves. I've got no problem with that. The weird part is that this instruction is smack dab in the middle of the recipe, and then The Book doesn't tell you what to do with the bouquet garni until about five steps later.

Once the pan was deglazed, I melted some butter and cooked the chopped onion, garlic and carrots with the blanched bacon. Once the onions began to turn golden, I added some tomato paste, and then the beef and a bottle of wine. The Book calls for Burgundy or Cotes du Rhone. They didn't have any Bugundy at the wine shop I went to, so I used Cotes du Rhone, and it worked well. I brought this to a simmer and let it cook, partially covered for about three hours.

While the stew simmered, I blanched some boiling onions for about a minute and ran them under cold water. This step does make peeling them a lot easier, but they're still a pain in the neck. I browned the oinons in some butter, and then added some water to the pan and simmered them until they were tender. I raised the heat and boiled them until the liquid had thickened.

After that, I browned some mushrooms in some butter and cooked them until all of the liquid evaporated.

After the stew was done simmering, I stirred in the onions and mushroom, seasoned with salt and pepper, and tasted it to make sure that it was just right.

I served the stew with buttered egg noodles. The Book suggests serving it with parsleyed boiled potatoes, but I decided at the last minute that noodles would be easier, and anyway, noodles are mentioned as an acceptable accompaniment in MtAoFC, so I had the Julia Child seal of approval.

The finished dish was great. The beef was tender and delicious. The sauce was thick and rich with an excellent layered flavor. Beef bourguignon is the perfect example of home-style comfort food being elevated to haute cuisine status. It's a classic.

Date Cooked: November 16, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: B+

*This recipe from epicurious.com is almost identical to the one in The Book, and both are very similar to Julia Child's recipe in MtAoFC.

21. Coquilles St. Jaques (p. 320)

In honor of Bastille Day, I decided to make a classic French dish. Coquilles St. Jaques (Scallops with Mushrooms in White Wine Sauce) is about as classically French as you can get.

This recipe is very fussy and time consuming. But, I wouldn't have it any other way. Sometimes you have to work hard for really great food, and this dish is worth all the effort. Even though the recipe is complicated, The Book's instructions are clear and easy to follow. I never ran into any trouble. This also wasn't a cheap dish. A pound of sea scallops costs a king's ransom at Whole Foods. And when you're making a dish like this, you can't skimp on quality, so when the recipe calls for Parmigiano-Reggiano, you've got to get the real stuff.

This dish is all about the sauce. It starts with simmering white wine, water, onion and a bay leaf. Then in with the scallops for just a few minutes (they cook pretty fast). As they cook, the scallops take on the flavor of the wine, and in exchange, they impart their uniquely sweet taste on the sauce. What a great trade. Out with the scallops, reduce the sauce, then strain out the onions and bay leaf, and set it aside. The mushrooms are sauteed in butter and set aside. And if it wasn't French enough yet, here's where it gets tres Francais. You make a roux of butter and flour (a first for me!) and then whisk in the reduced wine sauce. This then gets slowly whisked into a mixture of cream and egg yolk. The result is a rich, silky, creamy and fragrant sauce. The scallops and mushrooms are combined with the sauce, divided into scallop shells or ramekins (I used ramekins because I couldn't find any shells), topped with breadcrumbs and Parmigiano-Reggiano, and broiled for a couple of minutes to make a nice crust.

Coquilles St. Jaques is traditionally served in scallop shells in honor of St. James, one of the Twelve Apostles, whose symbol is the scallop shell. According to legend, the apostle saved a knight covered in scallop shells. Pilgrims making their way to St. James's shrine at Santiago de Compostela in Spain carried scallop shells with them. Along the way, the pilgrims stopped at houses, churches and abbeys and asked for a donation of as much food as would fit in a shell. If they got a shell-full of Coquilles St. Jaques, they'd be happy and satisfied pilgrims. Chances are, however, that Medieval pilgrims would get a scoop of oats or barley.

My photo above doesn't do this dish justice. I'm in a fight with my oven lately. It's taking too long to heat up, but once it gets going, there's no stopping it, so it sometimes gets too hot. As a result, the crust on my Coquilles got a little more browned than I wanted (OK, it burned a litte). The blackened top aside, this is probably the best thing I've made in The Project so far. The scallops were sweet and tender. The cheese and breadcrumb crust was crisp and delicious. And the sauce! The sauce was rich without being overbearing. It was velvety and smooth and the flavor was amazing. This was truly a special meal, worthy of a special occasion.

Happy Bastille Day!
Liberté, Egalité and Fraternité!

Date Cooked: July 13, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Pretty Hard
Rating: A