Brussels Sprouts Redux

Today at the Farmers Market in the nearby town to Darlington I was pleased to find that fresh Brussels sprouts were still available, even though there is now a dusting of snow on the ground in the Hudson River Valley.  As I've written before, Dear Reader, Brussels sprouts are one of my favorite vegetables.

It was only as an adult that I learned that the little darlings grow on a stalk.  As a child I knew them only from the frozen packages that MD bought at our local supermarket.  By the time I entered college I learned they were also available in an unfrozen state, usually packaged in little paper buckets sealed with cellophane.

Today I prefer whenever possible to buy Brussels sprouts on the stalk, as I know they will be the freshest of all.  Fortunately one can find them that way at our local Farmers Market in late autumn, when they are in peak season.

We like to roast or sautée Brussels sprouts at Darlington, preferring these methods of cooking to steaming them or, as MD did, boiling them in water.  As I've written before, MD was an uninspired cook, and her Brussels sprouts (along with most of the vegetables she cooked) were a soggy, sodden affair.

I'm sure that MD would approve of the way we cook Brussels sprouts today at Darlington, which is to toss them with olive oil, liberally season them with ground pepper and salt, and (often) combine them with other winter vegetables (I'm showing them here with shallots).  Roasted in a hot oven until caramelized and tender, they are positively ambrosial.

Heaven!

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Salted Butter, Please!

Yes, Dear Reader, I use salted butter.  Because I like it.

When I was growing up we didn't use unsalted butter in the Darling household.  It would have never occurred to MD to use anything but salted butter.

Then Julia Child came on the scene and woke up the American upper middle classes to the joys of French cooking, and people started to replace salted butter with unsalted.  If you needed salt to flavor food—either when preparing it or eating it—the thought was that you could always add it.  Besides, unsalted butter was so European, so it had to be better!

Well, that's fine, but that's not where it stopped . . .

Because in some culinary circles people lost sight of the fact that there are times when the use of salted butter is actually preferable to unsalted butter.  And it became verboten to even consider using salted butter. For anything!  Only cretins used salted butter!

Reggie, being a gullible chap, and with an admitted tendency to snobbery—whether it be social or culinary—got swept up in the anti-salted-butter hysteria, and he stopped buying or using salted butter at home.  That's because he thought he wasn't supposed to like salted butter.

But he never could quite understand why it was that the toast he buttered in the morning just wasn't as yummy as he remembered it as being when he was a boy.  Nor could he understand why the contents of the bread baskets that arrived in (most of) the restaurants he frequented tasted so delicious when he liberally spread said bread with the butter that accompanied it.  He assumed it was because he was a bad, willpowerless person who couldn't stop eating bread (also vilified in certain circles these days—but that's a story for another day).  Why was it so good, he wondered?

Because, Dear Reader, he has finally figured it out that it is far preferable to butter one's bread with salted butter—which is what most restaurants serve with bread (with the exception of Italian ones, which provide olive oil).  If you haven't done so, Dear Reader, I suggest you try this little butter taste test:  Buy a package of salted butter and one of unsalted butter, and see which tastes better on your morning toast, or English muffin, or whatever bread you choose to spread it on.

Not only is Reggie convinced that you will find the salted-buttered bread tastes better, but he believes you'll be surprised that the unsalted-buttered bread, in comparison, tastes as if it is has been coated with a mildly sweet, practically tasteless shortening spread.

Salted butter tastes better!

Now, I have a confession to make.  Dear old Reggie didn't figure this out all on his very own.  He owes a debt of gratitude to Mr. Alex Hitz, who debunks the salted-versus-unsalted-butter myth in his highly entertaining, chock-full-of-mouth-watering-recipes cookbook My Beverly Hills Kitchen.  Reading what Mr. Hitz writes on the matter was a Eureka! moment for Reggie:

"Always use salted butter . . . sneering purists will have you believe that if you use salted butter you might, perhaps, better control the salt in a dish by putting it in yourself.  The result inevitably ends up tasteless.  I have never yet tasted a dish whose salty taste came from salted butter."

And that applies to when one butters one's bread, too!

I now exclusively use salted butter when I butter my morning toast, or when buttering other breakfast treats such as pancakes, french toast, or waffles (which I eat only very rarely).  I do, though, still (mostly) use unsalted butter when I'm cooking.  I may come around to Mr. Hitz's admonition on that score, but I'm not there . . . yet.

Tell me, Dear Reader, what kind of butter do you use?

Please note: While the photogenic packages of butter that illustrate this post do appear regularly in our kitchen at Darlington House, you would not be surprised also to find packages of Land O'Lakes butter in our refrigerator, should you chance to peek inside it.

All photographs by Boy Fenwick

The Downs and Ups of Mummy's Cooking

My mother, MD, was not a good cook.  She was able to get food on the table when she had to, Dear Reader, but her cooking was, well, uninspired at best.  Born into a world where the lady of the house was expected to supervise those who did the cooking, rather than do it herself, MD was an indifferent and reluctant mistress of the kitchen.  She much preferred to leave the culinary arts to others, whenever possible.

One of MD's "go-to" cookbooks
Image courtesy of Misprinted Pages

Until I was twelve or so, my parents employed a revolving door of domestics whose primary responsibility was to prepare and serve our family's meals.  MD would supervise them, plan the menus, and do much of the shopping, but she gladly surrendered to them what she considered to be the drudgery of their occupation.

"Mmm-mmm good!"
Photograph courtesy of TV Guide

I remember the excitement and anticipation I felt when a new cook would join our household, as the prospect of learning her specialties was appealing: Who knew what tasty dishes we would come to enjoy?  Would there be cakes and cookies, too?

"Nothin' says lovin' like somethin' in the oven . . ."
Photograph courtesy of LIFE Images

When the cook was from England, as we once had, we dined on a steady diet of roasts, puddings, and pies.  When she was from South America, such as the nefarious Marta (the subject of a previous series of mine), we encountered strange vegetables and indeterminate meat dishes (that is, until my father put his foot down, demanding that he be served "real food").  And if she was African-American (as several of them were), we happily tucked into fried chicken, corn bread, and other Southern staples.  MD generally gave the women who cooked for us a fairly free rein, so long as the meals they prepared and served were balanced across the primary food groups.

The cover of the 1964 edition of Joy of Cooking,
MD's default cookbook

But there were times when we didn't have someone cooking for us, and my mother would resignedly pick up such responsibilities.  That invariably meant our meals would take a turn for the worse.  If it didn't come in a can or jar or carton or box or frozen package, it was unlikely to make an appearance on our dining room table when MD manned the stove in the 1960s.  She did pride herself in buying only best-quality meats, which she invariably broiled, but fish was a rarely served.  We would sometimes get fresh vegetables instead of frozen ones.

Is there any other kind?
Image courtesy of Sunburst Kisses Rowena

MD's idea of a salad started and ended with iceberg lettuce tossed with Good Seasons carafe-made dressing.  She was not a baker.  I don't remember her ever making a cake when I was growing up, although I do have a dim memory of baking Christmas sugar cookies with her and my sisters.  Once.

This is not a childhood memory that resonates with me
Image courtesy of Pintarest

The only baking I recall that MD did with any regularity was of potatoes or squash, and chicken.  She loved butter and half & half, and she used them both liberally.

MD's well-used copy of Joy of Cooking
owned by my dear sister Camilla
Photograph courtesy of same

When it came to seasonings, a dash of ginger powder or nutmeg was about as adventuresome as MD would get.  Thoroughly rinsed spaghetti with pressure-cooker made tomato sauce and Kraft Parmesan Cheese was considered ethnic in the Darling household, and was—not surprisingly—served infrequently (and only when my father was out for the evening, as he considered it nursery food).

This was not MD's idea of "fun"
Photograph courtesy of the Daily Green

But that all started to change in the late 1960s.  Two things happened.  First, my mother took over, once and for all, the cooking in our house.  By then it was just me and my sister Hermione left at home (Camilla had by then graduated from college, and Frecky was away at boarding school), and we no longer needed the level of domestic support our once-larger family had required.  Second, the food revolution had begun in this country, and people were realizing that there was more to be had than the packaged and processed food that filled supermarkets' shelves.

The interior of a Giant supermarket in Rockville, Maryland, in the 1960s.
MD shopped in a similar Giant on Wisconsin Avenue
in the Cleveland Park neighborhood of Washington, D.C.
Photograph courtesy of LIFE Images

Slowly and gradually, MD's cooking became more imaginative, or at least experimental.  She tried a recipe for stew that a friend brought back from a diplomatic stint in Africa (not a success), and she enrolled in classes to learn Japanese and Chinese cooking techniques (both of them successes, but quickly abandoned due to the amount of effort required).  Brie and yogurt appeared.  And once, I think, she may have even cooked with fresh garlic.

MD owned a copy of this cookbook.
I think she may have used it . . . once or twice
Photograph courtesy of Etsy

But MD never became an accomplished or inventive cook, as she might have under different circumstances, because shortly thereafter my parents' marriage sputtered to an exhausted end, as did what had once been family dinners.  Within a year or two I left for Saint Grottlesex, and that was pretty much the end of my sharing home-cooked meals with MD, at least with any regularity.  Shortly after I graduated from college MD moved into a life-care retirement center, where she—much to her relief—gave up cooking, once and for all.

Proust may have had his Madeleines,
but nothing evokes memories of
Reggie's childhood like frozen peas . . .
Image courtesy of Vintage American Advertisements

Even though MD was, in retrospect, an indifferent cook at best, when I was a little boy I enjoyed the meals she prepared for my family.  I loved the frozen peas, canned corned beef hash, and Betty Crocker® Au Gratin potatoes that were in her regular rotation.

A Darling household favorite!
Image courtesy of General Mills

It was only after I left home for boarding school and then college that I came to appreciate that one's cooking (and eating) horizons could stretch far beyond the extremely basic meals that MD had fed us.  MD was very much the product of her class and times, and I bear her no ill will for her limited cooking skills.  I certainly appreciate that getting meals on the table for one's family, day in and day out, isn't necessarily everyone's idea of creative heaven.

But I have to say, Dear Reader, that I am most grateful we have upped our food game in the intervening years here in America.  I attribute that to the back-to-the-earth/locavore food movement explosion, the incredible advances made in food distribution, and the broad acceptance and availability today of food, spices, and cooking practices brought to these shores from distant lands and cultures that were but the subject of stories in National Geographic to most Americans when I was a child.

And I think this would have suited MD just fine.

Tell me, was (or is) your mother a good cook?  Do you cook differently from the way she did when you were growing up?

Brussels Sprouts

When Reggie was a little boy, he didn't care for Brussels sprouts or lima beans all that much.

At least he didn't think he ought to, since the ones he was familiar with as a lad came in frozen packages from the supermarket.

But Reggie has since learned that Brussels sprouts and lima beans are rather marvelous vegetables, now that he has become accustomed to eating them fresh from the earth.

This weekend saw the reappearance of Brussels sprouts at the farmers market in the nearby town to Darlington House.  We bought a stalk of them, where each sprout was no larger than the size of a quarter, if that.

Cooked in a searing hot wok with pancetta, the sprouts made a most marvelous accompaniment to leftover roast chicken and buttery browned fingerling potatoes.

I do so adore the bounty of the seasons, don't you, Dear Reader?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick and Reggie Darling

The Salts of Darlington

The subject of today's essay is the vessels we use to hold salt.  As I wrote in last week's post, we do not shake our salt at Darlington House, but rather we pinch it and sprinkle it with our fingers.

A Regency-era cut-glass salt cellar

Although we have a collection of small silver spoons to scoop up salt from our cellars, we gave up using them years ago.  Too fussy and "genteel," in my view.  Besides, I like using my fingers to pick up the perfect amount of salt to season what I'm eating or cooking.

A jumble of unused silver salt spoons

At table in our dining room at Darlington we mostly use cut-glass salt cellars.  Some of them are from the Regency period, and some of them are later, in the Regency style.

We have them in various shapes and sizes.

We have other salt cellars, too, some of which are made of Sheffield silver . . .

. . . and some of which are made of mercury glass.

Boy found this tall mercury glass footed salt that we sometimes remember to use.

At our kitchen table we use heavy glass cellars for "every day."

We also use an antique horn pepper and salt cellar, from time to time.

I found this little milk glass chicken-in-a-basket salt cellar in one of the cabinets at Darlington House after we bought it.  It was left behind by the previous owners, the Procters.  I like to use it at breakfast.

For cooking we have glazed earthenware containers to hold different types of salt.

We fill our cellars with a variety of salts, including fleur de sel, kosher salt, and assorted flavored salts.

Tell me, Dear Reader, do you pinch or do you shake?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Bring Me the Rubirosa!

There was a time, not so long ago, when certain louche men of café society rather naughtily referred to a pepper mill as a "Rubirosa."  I'm not going to explain exactly why, Dear Reader, but if you're curious to know the reason, it's easy enough to find out why by doing only a modest amount of Internet searching . . .

But that's not the subject of today's post.  No, today's post is about the pepper and salt containers that we use at Darlington House.  Not quite so thrilling a subject, perhaps, but certainly a more appropriate one for this blog and for its readership.

When we first bought Darlington House and began to entertain in earnest, we used at table the silver pepper shakers that I grew up with, a wedding gift to my mother, MD.  They are in the shape of miniature eighteenth-century silver sugar casters, and they hold finely pre-ground pepper.  I paired them with an early set of Sheffield salts that I found on eBay.

Over time, though, I traded MD's silver pepper shakers for silver-banded ebony pepper grinders that I found at Scully & Scully on Park Avenue.   We pair them with unmatched Regency cut-glass salts.  This is what we use at table today at Darlington House.

In our kitchen, though, we use more humble vessels for salt and pepper.  When cooking, we use a latch-grinding pepper mill, and we have several earthenware salt containers to dig in to for pinches.

We keep white pepper in this white metal grinder:

At our kitchen table we use the Peugeot grinder shown at the outset of this post, along with a heavy glass salt cellar.  They are both very satisfying to use.

Interestingly, we haven't a single salt shaker at Darlington House.  We only use salt cellars, the subject of a subsequent post, Dear Reader.

Tell me, do you administer your pepper from a grinder or a shaker?

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

Reggie Out & About: Cooking With Gail Monaghan

Boy and I have been taking cooking classes for the last several years from Gail Monaghan, a delightful person, cook, and cookbook author who teaches classes in her modern art-filled loft in Manhattan.  In addition to teaching and writing, Gail also organizes cooking-themed travel programs to Europe and Asia, and soon to India.

Gail Monaghan in her Manhattan loft kitchen

I first learned about Gail and her cooking classes on New York Social Diary, a daily read of mine, where she was profiled three years ago, and I signed us up for a class with her shortly thereafter.  I had been casting about, looking for something to do after work on "school nights" other than simply heading home or out to a restaurant (yet again), and I thought that taking a class with Gail Monaghan might be just the ticket.  A cooking class was appealing to me on several accounts, since when one takes such a class one learns something, one does something, and one gets to eat a lovely meal at the end of it.  And someone else does the dishes, too.  It's hard to beat that!

Gail is a bit of a media darling.  She has written numerous articles for--and been the subject of pieces in--magazines and other periodicals, and she regularly appears on television and the radio.  She is the subject of an extensive story in this month's issue of Quest Magazine, with lots of glossy and glamorous photos of her, and which also features photographs and a recipe or two from her just-released cookbook The Entrees: Remembered Favorites From the Past (more on that later).

Gail's classes are held around a large square island

Gail's classes are lots of fun and attract a diverse crowd of regulars, including groups of friends and occasional visitors from out of town.  A typical class may include a fashion designer or two, a magazine writer, an architect, a decorator, one or two investment bankers, someone in the arts, and a smattering of swells.  The classes are on the small side, usually around a dozen people, give or take a few.

The classes are "one off" (as opposed to a series), focusing on a particular theme or cuisine.  The subject could be anything from a menu for the holidays to the "perfect" summer buffet, or it could be the food of a specific country, such as Italy or China.

The counter set with glasses for wine and
those incredible chips!

The classes are held in Gail's loft's kitchen area where everyone sits on stools around a large square island.  She encourages her students to bring a bottle of wine to drink during the meal's preparation (hopefully some will still be left for when it comes time to eat), and she sets out bowls filled with hearty, seasoned potato chips that are maddeningly difficult not to overeat before the dinner is ready.

Everyone gets down to work, chopping and dicing

Over the course of several hours, Gail both demonstrates and has her students join her in preparing a three- (or more) course meal.  These are hands-on classes in which Gail parcels out various tasks to her students, such as dicing onions, shelling peas, and the like, all the while keeping up a pleasant discourse (more of a conversation, really) on what is being prepared.  She discusses the sources of her recipes, which may be her own or her variations on others', and demonstrates how they are made, asking for assistance from time to time in stirring bubbling pots and getting pans in and out of the ovens.  The classes culminate in everyone tucking in to the communally prepared, delicious meal that is always topped off with a spectacular dessert.

How many hands does it take to stir a pot?

Gail's classes feel more like one is attending a casual party, sitting in a friend's kitchen (well, a very nice kitchen), helping prepare a meal.  And that's almost what you are doing, because the classes quickly become quite convivial and jolly, with lots of pleasant chatter and laughter among the students.  Gail keeps a bell near her that she sometimes rings when the talking gets really out of hand, which it occasionally does (Reggie is guilty as charged!).  In short, Gail's classes are a lot of fun.

The Oracle, sharing her knowledge

Don't get me wrong, these are serious classes, too, where Gail teaches her students how to prepare interesting, unusual, and--at times--complex food.  She is a great student and historian of cooking herself, and is constantly exploring new foods and ingredients, unearthing forgotten recipes, and delving into cuisines of regions in countries that are off the radar for many of us.  Gail is a font of knowledge and has lots of good tips about technique, the history of particular dishes, why certain ingredients work well together, and why others may not.  She is also a great resource when it comes to sourcing unusual tools and out-of-the-ordinary ingredients.  In short, she is a real foodie, in the best sense of the word.

Oh, good, there's still wine left to have with dinner!

Boy and I recently took a class taught by Gail that featured the food of southern India and that illustrates how interesting the classes she teaches can be.  Here's the menu:

Buffet Dinner From Southern India

• Tamarind Fish (we cooked Cod in our class, but others, including Halibut or Monkfish, will do)
• Green Bean Thoren
• Rice Pullao with Green Peas
• Tomato Pachadi
• Mint and Cilantro Chutney
• Indian Breads
• Glazed Citrus Yogurt Cake with Homemade Ice Cream

Reggie wasn't familiar with many of the spices we used in the class, and he hadn't heard of a number of the dishes we prepared.  He's not absolutely sure whether he can even pronounce them all correctly.  He signed up for the class so he could learn more about the food of India, a country that has always fascinated him.  He came away with an even greater appreciation for Indian cooking than he had before, and that's saying a lot, since Reggie adores Indian food.

For the upcoming holidays, Gail is teaching a series of classes with, well, a holiday focus.  We're signed up for one called Comfort Food Christmas in December where we'll prepare, among other things, a crown roast of pork, herbed popovers, and a sticky toffee pudding with creme Anglaise.  Eat your heart out, Bob Cratchit!

Gail's just-published cookbook
The Entrees: Remembered Favorites . . .

Gail recently came out with a new cookbook (she's written several) titled The Entrees: Remembered Favorites From the Past, Recipes From Legendary Chefs and Restaurants and published by Rizzoli.  The focus of the book is recipes for classic dishes of days gone by that in some cases have fallen out of favor in today's food culture, and in others have been forgotten altogether.  Gail has recreated the dishes for her book, sensitively updating them when appropriate to be more appealing to today's food preferences.  The cookbook is lavishly illustrated with photographs by Eric Boman and is a repository of fascinating recipes and stories. Reggie looks forward to cooking his way through the book in the kitchen at Darlington House.

Gail at her book signing at Rizzoli,
inscribing a copy for Reggie and Boy

Several weeks ago Gail invited Boy and me to the inaugural book signing for The Entrees held at the Rizzoli bookstore on West 57th Street in Manhattan.  Boy attended, but I, unfortunately, could not, as I was in South America on business that day.  Boy said the book signing was very well attended and that a lot of people were there scooping up copies, in some cases buying multiples to give as Christmas presents.  Many class regulars were there, including Chris Spitzmiller, who we met in the first class we took with Gail, several years ago.

Chris Spitzmiller, another Gail regular, looks on

Reggie recommends that you, Dear Reader, consider taking one of Gail's classes, and that you also add her cookbooks to your culinary library.  Her hands-on classes are a delightful change from going out to dinner in a restaurant, and they are a fun outing for a couple or a gaggle of friends, too.  Add a dash of learning, a mix of interesting people, and top it off with a delicious dinner, and you'll have the Gail Monaghan cooking class experience that keeps Reggie coming back for more.

You can learn more about Gail, including her class and travel schedules, on her website, www.gailmonaghan.com.  Do tell her that Reggie sent you!

Please note, Reggie has not received anything in return for this review, nor does he expect to do so.  He is posting it solely for the pleasure of introducing his readers to Gail Monaghan.


All photos of Gail's class by Reggie Darling; photos of Gail's book signing by Boy Fenwick