This week, a letter detailing a luxurious lunch and a tender story about chicken. In Simmering, Rebecca revisits the places and people that influenced her love of food and the role food plays in her love — for others and for herself. Fisher, waiting for an ancient bottle of Marc to drink with her trout almondine.
We started with oysters Rockefeller —allegedly containing over 20 ingredients between the aromatics, the binder, the absinthe, and the thick, fat gulf oyster that serves as its bedrock. Today, they charred them extra hard, so the usually verdant green tops were pitch black, and the just-barely-cooked oyster underneath was steaming hot, bursting with brine, and mingled with the butter and herbs perched atop it uncommonly well. But then Evangelista did exactly what the fuck a tuxedoed waiter is meant to do and blew up our plans.
The compulsory Tabasco sauce on the table was the period at the end of that particular sentence. They shook hands with every single waiter.
Have you ever been down bad for some fast food? Last week I was blindsided by a hunger for Popeyes. Before indulging in whatever mess Lena Dunham and Co. Presently, the closest Popeyes is forty minutes away. So I did the next best thing - hauled ass to Price Chopper and procured the ingredients for Cajun chicken strips.
I handed them off to chef my wonderful partner Doug along with an air-fryer tender recipe from the questionably named Fries were swapped for mashed potatoes, and asparagus was called in as a dubious substitute for the biscuit. For attempting a dupe on the fly, the results were shockingly good. Jerry, Sam, and I watched every episode of Girls together, except for the finale.
