F is for Fridge

There is only so much I can take. First, the White House white tie dinner with QE II and Philip. The handwritten invitation, the menu, the music. I can’t believe they invited a jockey and they overlooked me. Everyone knows (the whole world read Seabiscuit) that a jockey “rids” himself of food as soon as it is down the hatch. I shudder to think the fresh pea soup with lavender, fish, lamb, and sugar flowers did not nourish this chosen one. Though Itzhak Perlman is a master, my joy would have been full had Yo-Yo Ma been listed on the playbill. I would have framed the invite and the menu. I would have worn a sparkly red raspberry confection and golden sandals à la Grecque.

Second, I have been reading M.F.K. Fisher on and off today. I love this woman for more reasons than there are meals in her writings. I have focused on An Alphabet for Gourmets. Having skimmed, I am at O is the Ostentation. I was most taken with D is for Dining Out. One can only read so many references to aspic and consommé before the same voices, “what is in my fridge?”

And, here is the root of this tree. I became quite merry thinking of just a few occupants in the ice box.

First, a plastic container of vodka sauce.

I don’t use alcohol in my cooking (I’m sure it would be an improvement), but I seem to have little qualm eating other people’s spiked delicacies. This began when we dined with my maternal grandparents. My grandmother enjoyed a more elevated menu than we did at home, her champagne mustard being a specialty. As I grew to be interested in her menus, I would ask and without fail each dish boasted either a hard liquor or liqueur. Spirits. My brother and I would address this after and play the role of the punch drunk. This is my second dose of vodka sauce prepared by Gloria. It is the color of Thousand Island dressing. Add warm linguine, parmesan, sliced basil.

Until ten minutes ago, I had another plastic container. This one of pot roast and mashed potatoes and carrots. I supped with the Bunkers last Sunday. I felt it was a house warming as they moved into larger digs and embrace the prospect of a garden and full sun. We enjoyed a very appropriate green salad (I served myself numerous times) and chilled cantaloupe. She slyly slipped a container of the dinner into my square Tupperware that conveyed these brownies to the festivities.

Supernatural Brownies
15 large or 24 small brownies

2 sticks (16 T) butter, plus more for pan
8 ounces good-quality bittersweet chocolate, such as Valrhona or Callebaut
4 eggs
1/2 t salt
1 C dark brown sugar (muscovado)
1 C granulated sugar
2 t vanilla extract
1 C flour
1/2 C chopped walnuts or 3/4 C whole walnuts, optional

Butter a 13-by-9-inch baking pan and line with buttered parchment paper. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In top of a double boiler set over barely simmering water, or on low-power in a microwave, melt butter and chocolate together. Cool slightly. In a large bowl, whisk eggs. Whisk in salt, sugars, and vanilla.

Whisk in chocolate mixture. Fold in flour just until combined. If using chopped walnuts, stir them in. Pour batter into prepared pan. If using whole walnuts, arrange on top of batter. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until shiny and beginning to crack on top. Cool in pan on rack.

For best flavor, bake one day before serving, let cool and store tightly wrapped.

Adapted from “Chocolate: From Simple Cookies to Extravagant Showstoppers” by Nick Malgieri.

Yes, I did buy Dark Muscovado sugar from Mauritius at Whole Foods for $3.99/lb. I used the bittersweet bar from Trader Joe’s that is inexpensive and fine but not the quality of the French or Belgian.

Back to the fridge. One bottle of Izze Clementine sparkling juice. 3 mangoes, a few broccoli heads, grapefruit, lemons and oranges (from Cami’s parents’ trees), blueberries, goat cheese, 1/2 a red onion, a quart + of 1 percent milk, whole wheat tortillas and sharp white Cheddar, a few eggs, leftover cold salads that need to go soon, jars of olives and cornichons (I am addicted to picholine olives also from TJs), All the fruit is on the far side of ripe. I am only one person and need a few more mouths to feed.

What’s happening in your fridge?