Lobster Thermidor

Blind dates used to be a sticky situation. The time I’m talking about was over 35 years ago, before the age of cyberstalking, when a blind date was just that—you met somebody without knowing what they really looked like, apart from a brief description that they or maybe the friend that set you up in the first place told you. And we all know people are big fat liars. Maybe the friend had shown you a photograph? But there was no checking on facebook or other social media to get a preview of the person you were meeting blindly.

I don’t know if blind dates can even exist anymore.

Anyway, let’s go back a hundred years ago to nineteen-aught-ninety (or 1990, if you’d rather). My good friend set me up on a blind date. She said he was cute, a hairdresser (no stereotype comments from the peanut gallery, please), and had a lot of money. That’s all I knew. Maybe I spoke to him first? Not sure, but it was arranged we would meet for sushi somewhere in Portsmouth, NH. I was fresh out of college and still living with my parents at the time. Naturally, since sushi is not very filling, I ate first. My mom had made spaghetti and I was pretty stuffed by the time I met they guy—Paul? Let’s call him Paul. I got ready to go—I still remember the Madras plaid shorts and white sweater I wore.

Paul and I were walking around Prescott Park (he was cute, in a Woodstock sort of way—you know, Snoopy’s yellow bird friend, as I remember) and he asked if I wanted to get stoned. Duh. So, we lit one up and it was the paranoid kind of weed. He told me we weren’t going to sushi after all. Instead, he’d made reservations at this really fancy, intimate place on Ceres Street that I’d heard about but had never met anyone who’d dared to enter. This was about the time when the paranoia started in.

The restaurant was beautiful, everything on the menu was terribly expensive, and I felt very underdressed and stupid in my shorts and probably my flip flops (again, this was in a galaxy far, far away, when dressing for dinner used to matter). I was also really stoned but I wasn’t hungry at all, thanks to the platter of spaghetti I’d had at home. I didn’t even have the munchies. I couldn’t decide on anything to order and think I said I just wanted a salad or something, but Paul kept pushing me to eat—we were out at dinner, after all. 

Then a different level of paranoia kicked in—did he think I was shy about ordering anything because I couldn’t afford it? I couldn’t, of course, having just been released from college, but apart from that, I really didn’t have room for another bite. The waiter came back a few times while I decided and finally, I relented. “I’ll just have the Lobster Thermidor,” I said, choosing the most expensive and arguably one of the bigger dishes on the menu.

I managed to finish it; all but licked the plate, in fact. It was delicious.

We may have had dessert, but honestly, I don’t know if we even had a little kiss before saying goodnight. (Maybe…?) He was a really nice guy though and we had a good time, but I at least just didn’t feel any real click. I did see him in passing once again, we had a great chat a few months later at a party thrown by the mutual friend who’d set us up.

He did pay for dinner, by the way, of course—he was a gentleman and as the restaurant was his choice, he took care of the check.

I don’t know why I never came clean and just told him how stoned I was and how I’d eaten a full dinner beforehand. I still have the shorts and sweater, although I never wore them again and have no idea why I’ve kept them after all these years.

But—I do know I still love lobster. And here’s how to make your own Lobster Thermidor. I recommend sorting and preparing your ingredients beforehand, according to the steps.

HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY!

Lobster Thermidor
Ingredients
STEP 1
3 cups dry white wine
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1 medium carrot, thinly sliced
1 stalk celery, thinly sliced
6 sprigs fresh parsley
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon thyme
6 peppercorns
1 tablespoon dried tarragon
3 (2 lb) live lobsters

STEP 2
1/2 lb sliced fresh mushrooms
1 tablespoon butter
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon salt

STEP 3 - the sauce
5 tablespoons butter
6 tablespoons flour
1 tablespoon cream

STEP 4
4-6 tablespoons additional whipping cream

STEP 5
4 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup cognac

STEP 6
1/2 cup grated parmesean
2 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces

Instructions
STEP 1) 

In a large enameled or stainless steel pot, simmer the white wine, onion, carrot, celery, parsley, bay leaf, thyme, peppercorn, and tarragon for 15 minutes. (wait to add the lobsters!)
Bring to a rolling boil and then add the live lobsters. Once the lobsters are cooked (you can tell when they are done once they turn bright red and the long head-feelers can be pulled out pretty easily), remove them from the pot.

STEP 2) 

While the lobsters are steaming, stew the mushrooms over low to medium low heat in a covered saucepan with butter, lemon juice, and salt for 10 minutes.
Pour the mushroom juices into the lobster-juices pot (not the mushrooms! set aside for end of recipe) and boil down rapidly until it is reduced to about 2 1/4 cups liquid.
Strain the lobster-mushroom liquid into a large saucepan and bring to a simmer.

STEP 3) 

In another saucepan, cook the butter and flour together slowly. Be sure not to brown it!
Remove from heat, and beat in the lobster-mushroom liquid.
Boil combined liquid, stirring constantly for 1 minute. Drizzle the 1 tablespoon cream on top of the sauce. Remove from heat.
Split the lobsters in half, lengthwise, making sure to keep the shell halves intact. Discard 'sand sacks' in the heads and intestines.

STEP 4) 

Thin out the sauce with additional whipping cream (by now the sauce should be thick enough to coat a spoon pretty heavily).
Set aside, top filmed with a spoonful of cream.
Remove the meat from the lobster tails and claws, cut into 3/8 inch cubes.

STEP 5) 

Set another skillet with 4 tablespoons butter over medium heat.
When butter foam begins to dissipate, stir in the lobster meat and saute, stirring slowly, for 5 minutes, until the meat has turned a rosy color.
Pour the cognac in and boil for a minute or two, shaking the skillet, until the liquid has been reduced by half.

STEP 6)

Preheat oven to 425°F.
Fold cooked mushrooms and 2/3 of the sauce into the skillet with the lobster meat.
Arrange the split lobster shells on a shallow roasting pan. Heap the lobster mixture into the shells, and cover with the remaining sauce.
Sprinkle with cheese and dot with butter (you can refrigerate it at this point to finish up later on).
Place in upper 1/3 of the oven for 10-15 minutes, until lobster is bubbling and sauce is a nice brown. 

Serve immediately!

The recipe posted on Food was adapted from Julia Child. 

Spring Chicken!

I like the seasons to dictate my menus, using fruits and vegetables when at their peak. And rhubarb (from the latter category) is rarin’ to go right now. This recipe tempers the bitterness of rhubarb with a few tablespoons of honey. The resulting vibrant dish is super flavorful, and as easy as it is quick, leaving you more time to leave the kitchen and enjoy the spring!

If you like it sweet, think about adding some hulled, sliced strawberries to the mix in Step 4, when you toss the rhubarb and onions once about halfway through. And although either cilantro or mint is suggested as a garnish, I am team mint all the way. Lots of it.

Rhubarb Chicken with Rhubarb & Red Onion
Adapted from Melissa Clark, NYT Cooking

Serves 3-4

Ingredients
1¾ pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs and drumsticks (see Tip)
1teaspoon ground coriander
1teaspoon kosher salt (such as Diamond Crystal), plus more as needed
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more as needed
1large red onion, cut into ½-inch-thick wedges
5 thyme sprigs
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
8 ounces rhubarb stalks, sliced into ½-inch pieces (about 2 cups)
3 tablespoons honey, plus more to taste
½ cup cilantro or mint leaves and tender stems, torn 

Preparation
Step 1
Heat oven to 425 degrees and line sheet pan with parchment paper. Pat chicken dry with paper towels and season all over with coriander, 1 teaspoon salt and ¼ teaspoon pepper.

Step 2
Place onion wedges on the prepared sheet pan and lightly season with more salt and pepper. Add chicken and thyme sprigs to the pan and drizzle 3 tablespoons oil over everything. Toss until well coated, then spread chicken and onions in a single layer. Roast for 10 minutes.

Step 3
While the chicken is in the oven, combine rhubarb and 3 tablespoons honey in a medium bowl. Lightly drizzle with oil, add a pinch of salt and pepper, and toss until rhubarb is well coated.

Step 4
Remove chicken from oven and carefully spoon rhubarb onto the hot pan around the onions and chicken. Continue roasting until the chicken is cooked through, and the rhubarb and onion are tender and caramelized, 25 to 35 minutes longer, tossing the rhubarb and onions (not the chicken) once about halfway through.

Step 5
Stir the rhubarb and onions very well, making sure to incorporate all the browned bits and chicken juices from the bottom of the pan (this is the tastiest part). Then sample a piece of rhubarb. If it’s very tart, drizzle with a little more honey, tossing well. Serve chicken with rhubarb-onion mixture garnished with herbs.

Tip
You can substitute bone-in, skin on-breasts for the thighs and drumsticks. Just start checking 10 minutes earlier since white meat takes less time to cook than dark meat.

“I loved rhubarb... Not everyone was a fan, especially of the bitter, mushy, overcooked version. Yet sometimes a little bitterness could bring out the best in other flavors. Bitter rhubarb made sunny-day strawberry face the realities of life―and taste all the better for it.” ― Judith Fertig, The Memory of Lemon

Photo Credit: David Malosh for The New York Times

BOOK/A TABLE - A Very Literary Cocktail

I list the American Bar at The Savoy and Rules (both in London) among my favorite places in the world that I know. Napoleon House in New Orleans is another. So I was thrilled to come across a mention of The Savoy in Anthony Horowitz’s Marble Hall Murders, brought to life by his depiction of it: 

“The revolving doors spun me into another world that began with the entrance hall and its black-and-white tiled floor, the black-and-white columns and the brilliant flower displays on black marble tables. I asked for Leyla Crace at the concierge desk and was directed to the American Bar...”

Marble Hall Murders is the third installment in the Atticus Pünd series—the PBS adaptations of the first two books are also marvelous. In the scene at The Savoy, Horowitz’s heroine, editor Susan Ryeland orders a drink: “The waiter arrived with my cocktail. By now, I needed it...The Jabberwock Sour was ice-cold, very dry, golden-coloured, with a twist of lemon.”

I was immediately intrigued because I had never heard of The Jabberwock Sour, had missed seeing it even in my own copy of The Savoy Cocktail Book, where it is more humbly tagged as a Jabberwock Cocktail. Suffice to say, my test kitchen (aka my husband) found it utterly delightful, as did I, concocting the non-alcoholic version, which still feels like a real drink. 

Here is an image from Lewis Carroll’s vision of the original Jabberwock from Through the Looking Glass, which also resembles a wicked hangover:

And here’s an extraordinarily fun image from the cocktail book itself; I love the sloe-eyed flapper slinking around a overflowing casket of jewels that may or may not belong to her!

Jabberwock Cocktail*
2 Dashes Orange Bitters.
1/3 Dry Gin.
1/3 Dry Sherry.
1/3 Caperitif.

Stir well and strain into cocktail glass. Squeeze lemon peel on top.

*This will make you gyre and gimble in the wabe until brillig all right, all right.

For the non-alcoholic version, look to Tanqueray 0.0 to replace the gin, Lyre Aperitif Rosso for the sherry, and dashes of Roots Divino and Pentire Coastal Spritz to step in for the suggested Caperitif.