Artic Temps = Slow Cooking

It is crazy cold in Philly.  The Schuylkill River has a layer of ice.  A LAYER OF ICE!  Ca-razy.  I look semi-homeless with all my layers.  I usually look semi-homeless.  I am so freaking cold. We have a really old house that does not retain heat well.  It was built when Lincoln was in office and the windows are horrible.  I actually went around a few weeks back with packing tape and taped the "leaks".  We are always wearing hats and scarves and Arcteryx jackets.  It is awful.  On the weekends I tend to cook all day.  The house fills with delicious smells and the kitchen is warm. We start the day and hang about the table as I chop and saute and stir and bake.  In the past two months I have made some real winners.  Duck Confit, Beef Bourguignon, Calabrese Ricotta Dumpling Soup and French Onion Soup.  REAL, 6 hour long, onion soup with crouton and comte.

Let's begin with the onion soup.  I roasted the bones and veggies and made stock.  Very good.  Then the onions.  On low low heat, stirring...stirring...stirring...6 hours later.  Pretty, no?  It was laborious.  We sat down that evening to eat.  I even have those adorable soup bowls with the lion's head.  I have made onion soup before, but not with my own beef stock.  Everyone dug in.  John declared that it was "too rich" and maybe "too herbaceous".  So fucking annoyed.  With me, not him. I think I added too much thyme to my stock.  I don't know about you, but I get super irritated when I spend this much time and effort and a tiny little detail blows the whole thing to hell.  I know, I know...  I cannot help it.  It won't stop me.  I will keep going.

Okay, now duck confit.   It takes three or more days.  I will be honest, I LOVE LOVE LOVE duck confit, but I will have to wait to repeat this effort again.  Having your house smell like duck fat for days and days is awful.  I woke up on the third day and almost cried.  The aroma hung in the air like cat hair on black wool pants, refusing to leave.  I felt like my pores were filled with duck fat and I was breathing duck fat air.  I actually thought about Village Whiskey.  They serve duck fat fries and I was sad for their chefs.  Poor souls smelling that day in and out.  Going home to their significant others smelling like that every day.  Maybe their dogs are appreciative.  Oy.  Anywho, duck confit is a day of herb-saltage (new word that means curing), a day (or overnight) of rendering fat and cooking in fat for what feels like forever.  Then at least a day submerged in fat (preferably a week or more) to age.  Then you sear the skin to crisp and warm it in the oven.  The whole house smells like duck fat again. It is too much.  I love duck confit.  Ample time must pass between confitting (pronounced "kon - feeting").  Our aging in duck fat does seem to bother my kids.  They loved it.  I packed the leftovers in their school lunch the following day.  One friend pronounced it "nasty" and not in the good way.  To each his own.

Last up was a delicate soup of chicken broth and ricotta dumplings.  Lovely and oh so temperamental.  I saved the chicken from the stock and made chicken salad for the kids lunches.  The dumplings were a challenge.  I had to add those little balls to the perfectly simmering broth.  Too lively....disintegration!  A Goldilocks dish.  It was delicious, but John announced that it was not enough to make an entire meal.  A starter.  Too bad people cause that was all I had.

So, next up on Saturday is my oxtail ragu.  Maybe I will make my own pasta.  Have not decided yet.  Spring is just around the corner.  I must get in all these all day dishes.  When the weather warms, who wants to be inside?