Bone Marrow
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways... I had the chance to eat some tiny bits of lamb marrow (yes, chef, I can hear your comments from here, at least it did not have a curry accompaniment) dug out of shoulder bones roasted after meat was removed for brochette. Brought back many memories of eating it in the past, and, even more strongly, remembering the feeling that such edibles were too gross to consider. But the memories...
First reading about it in the master's bible of all things offal- The Whole Beast by Fergus Henderson. The experience of soaking marrow filled bones in cold water to release the blood, then pushing it out in one solid piece to be used to mount Bordelaise. Then getting my hands on the bits oozing out of the veal shanks for roasted stock in Bob's class; thanks for indulging me. Next it was with my NYC canyon friend (the one who taught us how to finish Bordelaise) at a new joint in Brooklyn. The first time I got the whole treatment. Bones elegantly perched on white plate, simple salad of parsley, red onion and capers, narrow spoon, toasted baguette and, glory of glories- fleur de sel. Heaven. Next it was an attempt to relive that moment at Blue Ribbon on Sullivan St. They were out and I settled for tartare. It did not fill the marrow longing; it introduced me to yet another way to appreciate eggs so it was not for nothing. Then the crappy day in Canada when I kicked out my class and was preparing to deal with running the show solo.
The moment I realized that I was actually capable of teaching, or at least faking it enough to get by. Several groups of students appeared to assist; even refused to leave when I pretended to have it under control. Turned into one of my best days there. The marrow intended for class exploration instead became palate education. I roasted, toasted, petite saladed and there it was. One of the best things I have ever eaten.
Now the air is shifting, it is overtly evident seasonal change is on the way, I begin to think about the cravings I have with the crisp edge and am longing to get my hands on these ingredients again. I can hear them coming.
First reading about it in the master's bible of all things offal- The Whole Beast by Fergus Henderson. The experience of soaking marrow filled bones in cold water to release the blood, then pushing it out in one solid piece to be used to mount Bordelaise. Then getting my hands on the bits oozing out of the veal shanks for roasted stock in Bob's class; thanks for indulging me. Next it was with my NYC canyon friend (the one who taught us how to finish Bordelaise) at a new joint in Brooklyn. The first time I got the whole treatment. Bones elegantly perched on white plate, simple salad of parsley, red onion and capers, narrow spoon, toasted baguette and, glory of glories- fleur de sel. Heaven. Next it was an attempt to relive that moment at Blue Ribbon on Sullivan St. They were out and I settled for tartare. It did not fill the marrow longing; it introduced me to yet another way to appreciate eggs so it was not for nothing. Then the crappy day in Canada when I kicked out my class and was preparing to deal with running the show solo.
The moment I realized that I was actually capable of teaching, or at least faking it enough to get by. Several groups of students appeared to assist; even refused to leave when I pretended to have it under control. Turned into one of my best days there. The marrow intended for class exploration instead became palate education. I roasted, toasted, petite saladed and there it was. One of the best things I have ever eaten.
Now the air is shifting, it is overtly evident seasonal change is on the way, I begin to think about the cravings I have with the crisp edge and am longing to get my hands on these ingredients again. I can hear them coming.
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