At first, Hubby was reluctant to try the foie gras. We were in the restaurant at Chatêau Sully, where we were staying while visiting Normandy. I eat foie gras like a fiend when I'm in France. It's readily available, superbly made and being a culinary patrimony, isn't widely regarded as evil. Sometimes, I feel guilty ordering it stateside. Whatever: I was there and I had a glistening round of foie gras and brioche in front of me with Calvados jelly.
I proffered a bite. He looked at it unhappily, noting in low tones that he didn't like paté.
"It's not paté," I told him. "It's foie gras."
He took the morsel and bit down. He looked surprised. I understood: he was expecting the taste and texture of liverwurst (or worse). Instead, what he ate was a creamy, firm and seasoned bit of heaven. Washed down with sweet Sauternes, he was converted.
I have a lobe of foie gras in my fridge and it is mocking me. I have no idea what to do with it. When Jamie offered it to me yesterday, I jumped at the chance thinking, I can sear it, I can make something. But the fact is, I think my ICDT problem just reared its ugly little head again.
I leave tomorrow to go to Napa with Kellie. Whatever I do today is going to have to be quick. If I had time, ideally I'd love to try and make a torchon as described in The French Laundry Cookbook, but this is a four day process. For the last three years, I've read and re-read this chapter, hoping some day that I can muster up enough courage to try and make a torchon per Thomas Keller's instructions. Though Jamie gave me the lobe at his cost, it's still a good chunk of change. Unlike other kitchen adventures where disposal can be done somewhat easily, the idea of trashing any portion of the foie seems unnatural. I don't think I have the chops to pull this off.
One of my favorite restaurants in Atlanta is The Food Studio. I've eaten there since it opened. I've mentioned before that I'm a huge fan of pastry chef Gary Scarborough's Lemon Basil Bombe. Their new American cuisine isn't "groundbreaking," per se, but it was in this restaurant that I first discovered cioppino; drank my first Viognier; and ate truffles for the first time. I used to eat there so frequently (ah the single life) that I became good friends with the staff, including the then chef de cuisine, David S. David has since departed, and I wish he hadn't, because during one of our conversations, David promised to teach me how to make a torchon. I no longer have a phone number to call to wail, "David! What do I do with the foie?"
Jamie's preferred method of eating foie is to sear it. While I'm not opposed to eating foie this way, I'm much more partial to a torchon. The amazing Jocelyn at Kuidaore wrote about making foie à la Keller's recipe recently. When I say amazing, I mean it: she makes high end cooking look exquisite and deceptively simple. But we know it's not.
So here I am with a beautiful lobe of foie and I haven't the foggiest what to do with it. I'm seriously intimidated here.
What the hell am I going to do?