A conversation at lunchtime

Last night Laurie and I had dinner at [Crémant](http://www.cremantseattle.com/), a new French bistro in Madrona. It was a great meal of classic bistro dishes. As one of our friends said, “I don’t want to order roasted marrow bones, but it’s nice to know they’re on the menu.”

I had grilled sardines and French onion soup. French onion soup has got to be one of the most difficult things in all of cooking to make well, judging by its tragic win/loss record, but this one was *perfect*. Laurie had a charcuterie plate that included a delicate thin-sliced blood and tongue sausage, and a *salade toulousienne* with beans, Toulouse sausage, and duck confit. We didn’t really have room for dessert, so we ordered crème brûlée, which was as archetypal as the soup.

Today we were telling Iris about our dinner, especially the dessert. “What is crème brûlée?” she asked. Laurie explained that it’s like pudding with crunchy sugar on top.

“Do I like crunchy pudding?” asked Iris.

Made with love

My mom gave me a thoughtful gift:

Good Foods Made with Lard

It’s the third edition, issued by the American Meat Institute in September 1941. It begins like this:

> The biologist states that life is built about hunger and love. This book has nothing to do directly with love.

I’m completely serious.

The pamphlet includes recipes for favorites such as Boiled Icing, Prize Winning Ice Box Cookies, Hamburger Corn Loaf, Chop Suey Surprise, and Codfish Balls. According to the signature on the front, this copy once belonged to Helen McDowall.

I wonder why she got rid of it.

Kitchen in the sky

Iris has invented this new game called Kitchen in the Sky. We’ll be playing out on the balcony, and she’ll say, “Dada, put a kitchen in the sky.” So I pretend to put a kitchen in the sky. Then a plane will go by, and she’ll say that the plane wrecked the kitchen and I should build a new one. Here’s what happened today:

> **Iris:** Dada, put *two* kitchens in the sky.

> **Me:** Okay. My kitchen has stainless steel appliances. What does your kitchen have?

> **Iris:** My kitchen has cookies!

Five-year-old breakfast

In September 2001, I was hanging around Vientiane, Laos, with Laurie and three of our friends. Despite abject poverty, an autocratic bandit government, occasional terrorist bombings, and festering wounds from being used as a punching bag by the US during the Vietnam war, Laos is the most relaxing place I’ve ever been. You can sit by the Mekong river all day yawning and drinking fruit shakes.

One day I had breakfast outside the morning market. Here’s what I wrote about it at the time:

> The market doesn’t sell food, but vendors just outside the grounds do, and a woman making tiny summer rolls caught my eye. She spread rice flour batter on a griddle, then covered it to steam the skins. Each skin was spread onto a work surface (a banana leaf, actually), topped with minced pork and herbs, and rolled up. I bought a dozen, which she placed on a china plate with some slices of tofu and began to mix a dipping sauce.

> Into a dish went fish sauce, ground peanuts, and a squeeze of lime. She asked, by pointing, whether I wanted minced chiles, and I must have nodded vigorously, because the sauce came out quite spicy. I took a pair of chopsticks and sat at a nearby table with the rest of my party, who were already engrossed in pineapple-lime fruit shakes. The summer rolls were fifty cents (which, thanks to hyperinflation, is 5000 Lao kip), and I supplemented them with a few sesame-studded doughnuts.

At the time I had no idea what this dish was called, and I’ve never seen it again. Then, I was reading Austin of RealThai’s report from Hanoi, and there it was. The Thai name is *khao kriap paak maw*, so I assume the Lao name is similar. I’ll have to remember this next time I’m in Vientiane.

corntab

On Tuesday I got a couple of ears of corn from the supermarket, but it left us wanting more and better corn. So yesterday we all went down to Pike Place Market to hit the Alvarez Farm stand and relieve it of six ears.

We had leftover chili and my favorite corn-off-the-cob recipe. It looks like this:

Cooooorn

And you make it like so. Cut the kernels off as many ears of corn as you like. If you haven’t done this before, it’s easier than you think, but you need a sharp knife and the patience to go chasing after errant niblets. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium high. Add some minced green chile (I like jalapeño best here, but poblano or anaheim would be fine, too) and scallions and cook for a minute or so. Add the corn and season with salt. Cook for about ten minutes, stirring occasionally, until the corn is getting browned. Deglaze the pan with a little water so you don’t miss the delicious stuck-on corn juice.

I still have some pureed chipotles in the fridge, so I’ll probably try a chipotle version next. Whatever you do, don’t substitute oil for the butter; I did this one when we were out of butter, and it made the Aztec corn god angry.