Next came_ Poireaux __à la Mornay, Gratin__és, _which is much like the previous recipe but with leeks. It calls for lots of butter, more grated cheese, and two leeks per person. That’s a lot of leeks, especially when they’re topped with a lot of cheese. The braised leeks minus the cheese tasted delightfully old-fashioned, soft, sweet, and comforting, the braising coaxing out complex, secondary flavors. I know from friends who knew Julia that she loved vegetables this way. With the added cheese, the flavors were reminiscent of a cheesy leek soup. Your kids might like it.
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I requested the assistance of Cathy Loup, director of special projects for the Myriad Restaurant Group. She’s an even more accomplished home cook than my other kitchen pal, having spent time at the vegetable station of the restaurant Jean-Georges.
I wanted her to have a go at the infamous _Carottes _à la Concierge, which is a casserole of creamed carrots, and also to assist in making _Timbale D’Asperges, _an asparagus custard too tricky for me. It took Loup and my usual kitchen accomplice three hours to make the two dishes. I’m talking work time, not cooking time. Cooking was extra. Now you know why French chefs tend to retire early, worn out by their labors.
Beforehand, Loup said to me, “This is going to be fun.”
Halfway through the carrot recipe, she remarked, “God, it’s endless. Screw it. Can’t we just eat the carrots?” And both of the cooks used “damn” a lot, as in, “What else is in the damn sauce?”
At the end, Loup looked over the scorched and encrusted pots, pans, and kitchen implements strewn about and said, “My kitchen looks the way it does after Thanksgiving.” Consider that a forewarning. You’re in for an uncommonly torturous cleanup if you add Julia’s recipes to your usual Thanksgiving repertoire.
Here’s another problem with cooking Julia’s vegetables. Many of the recipes are far more difficult than they appear at first glance, because they require looking back at other recipes. In other words, there are recipes within recipes, sometimes recipes within recipes within recipes. It’s the culinary equivalent of Dante’s Divine Comedy. You will find yourself lost, despairing, assailed, pleading for salvation. There is none. Dante was luckier than you. His nine circles of Hell did not include a kitchen.
The _Carottes _à la Concierge was once again goo. Although better-tasting than my original version, it was still nursery school food.
The asparagus timbale was gorgeous and soufflé-like, with browned peaks and green bits of asparagus. However, it wouldn’t unmold. What finally emerged was hideous, like a broken custard. At best, it was asparagus surrounded by stuff that doesn’t belong with asparagus. Said Loup, “Would you know this was asparagus if you were blindfolded?”
She started wondering if Child had inadvertently gone off course and was preparing ceremonial dishes instead of dishes for the home. She took another Child recipe book, The Way to Cook, from her shelf and found a comment from Child regarding timbale recipes similar to the one we had prepared. She wrote that they were “very much home cooking.”
Dining and Cooking