Forty...

There seems to be some sort of magic around the number forty.  There were the forty days and forty nights of the Great Flood. And Ali Baba and the forty thieves. American Top Forty. Forty acres and a mule. The Darb el-Arbein: the forty days road across Sudan from Darfur to Lower Egypt.

Forty is the only integer whose name in English has its letters in alphabetical order. It is the number of hours in a western workweek. Forty is the highest number ever counted to on Sesame Street. It is the number of winks that make up a proper nap. It is when life is said to begin.

It is also the number of cloves of garlic in this recipe. Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic. It’s a classic French recipe around which there are stories and legends and even a little controversy. I think every prominent cook, cookbook, cooking website, and blog has a version of this recipe. And so do we. I’ve adapted this recipe from Marian Burros’s adaptation of Jane and Michael Stern’s, and stolen a bit from James Beard, too.

In case you're wondering what forty cloves of garlic looks like....

Here’s what you need:

Eight pieces of chicken (I used thighs but thighs and legs seem to be the standard)

Six parsley sprigs

Four celery ribs, cut in half and then sliced into long ribs

Two medium onions chopped

½ cup olive oil

½ cup of dry vermouth

2  ½  teaspoons salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

forty cloves of garlic, unpeeled

dash of nutmeg

a baguette

Garlic bulbs and parsley sprigs direct from MS. F's garden. 

Heat your oven to 375.

Place the celery, onions, and parsley sprigs in the bottom of a large, heavy casserole. Coat the chicken in olive oil (Burros, Beard, and the Sterns all say to use more oil than this (2/3 cup), and to place it in a bowl then dip the chicken in it. But I think this is plenty.) then place the pieces in the casserole atop the vegetables. Pour the vermouth over all of this, then add the salt and pepper. Now stuff the forty cloves of garlic all around the chicken. You’ll probably have to lift the chicken pieces and drop some of the garlic under some of them. Sprinkle the dash of nutmeg over the chicken pieces. Now put aluminum foil over the casserole, then place the lid on top of that.

Ready to go into the oven

Put this into the over, shut the door, and go away for ninety minutes. You could be making a green vegetable or salad, and you should be slicing bread. A good crusty baguette is an absolute necessity. Don't be nosy, let the food cook in the pot without opening it for ninety minutes. 

After those ninety minutes have passed, you can serve. Be sure to give each of your guests numerous pieces of the garlic. Once it has cooled a bit, they can use their fingers to squeeze the garlic out of its skins and onto the bread—it the bread is slightly toasted, so much the better.

Just out of the oven. 

We served this with some haricots verts prepared with shallots and slivered almonds. It went very well with a Pinot Noir. If you have leftovers, you could also put this over some rice quite easily. You might cook the rice with some celery and onion and a bit of chicken stock replacing some of the water to add flavor

It's Always Summer Somewhere: Making a Proper Pimm's Cup

It’s been a brutally hot summer on the East Coast. In DC we had 57 days (so far) of temps at 90F or above. The long-ish range predictions for next week show that we may have more. So, even though meteorological summer has passed and astrological summer ends in a few days, and the temp at our house in the Catskills today never crested 70F, it doesn’t yet feel autumnal. Which means we can still make Pimm’s Cups! If you’re unfamiliar with this treat, prepare to jolly up your summer. For you old hands, mix up your own batch and settle in.

Pimm’s is technically what is known as a fruit cup, meaning that it is a mix of fruit and herbs with alcohol. Historically, the liquor mix might have been gin (Pimm’s No 1), scotch (No 2), brandy (No 3), rum (No 4), rye (No 5), or vodka (No 6). Today, Pimm’s No 1 is about all you can find, and it’s all you’ll need. The distillation is said (on the Pimm’s website) to be, “lots of lovely gin with herbal botanicals, caramelised orange and delicate spices.” I frankly stink at picking out distinct flavors in drinks or food, so I’ll have to leave it at that. The bottled mix is 25% gin.

So now let's make a Pimm’s Cup. There are a few hundred different recipes for these drinks and everyone swears theirs is the best, me included. The "official" recipe on the Pimm's website calls for mint, orange, and strawberries--plus cucumber as a garnish. Victoria Moore, wine critic at The Telegraph in London says you only need cucumber, orange, and mint for flavors (beyond the lemonade or ginger ale). Some people add apple and lemon and other things. But let's keep it simple at first, so here’s what you need:

Pimm’s

An orange

A cucumber

Some ice

Some mint

Quality ginger ale or in the UK high quality lemonade

A pitcher

  

Mint from Ms. F's garden, mind. 

So, let’s go:

We’ll start with knife work: Slice the orange into thin slices. Slice the cuke using a mandolin if you have one into thin strips or lengthwise with your best knife into eight wedges if you don’t. Tear the mint or at least roll it in your hands to break open the leaves for more flavor.

Now, with the dangerous work behind us: Pour a couple of cups of Pimm’s into the pitcher, add the orange slices and mint. Put this into the fridge for 15 minutes.

Take two cucumber wedges and stand them in each of four glasses (if you’ve done the mandolin slice, fold a couple of slices into each glass with the ice). Add half a glass worth of ice cubes.

Get your Pimm’s mix pitcher out of the fridge and add ginger ale or UK lemonade. Again, there are differences of opinion on the ratio. The official recipe calls for three parts ginger ale to one part Pimm's. That seems parsimonious to me and leads to a somewhat too sweet drink. I use a 50-50 ratio. I heartily recommend you try the different versions repeatedly among close friends until you've found your proper ratio. Anyway decide the proper (for you) ratio, add the ginger ale to the pitcher and stir once or twice.

Pour this mix over the ice in the glasses, distribute the fruit among the glasses, and serve.

Absent proper glassware at the cottage, we're forced to drink from pint glasses. 

If you’re watching the polo, you’re all set. If you’re not, you’re still all set. Get out your croquet or boules, and have a go.

Uniform of the Day: Book Tour

More book tour stuff. I've been wearing some version of this uniform during the more formal events: readings at the Pritzker Military Library in Chicago, at the Marines Memorial in San Francisco, and an appearance on PBS's The Tavis Smiley Show. I don't know why, but I've been drawn to very simple: grey suit, white shirt, solid tie in yellow or orange mostly. My best guess is that, subconsciously, I'm trying to make sure the take away is more of the verbal message and less the visual message.

Book Tour Hard Launch

There is a video of the first major event for the book tour. It took place on May 12th in New York at The Half King, Sebastian Junger's bar. I met Sebastian in Chad a few years ago and I've appeared in some of his articles anonymously -- because I was still serving at the time. He offered me a chance to read as part of the bar's regular reading series and we chose to do it as our hard launch. CSPAN Book TV was kind enough to come out and shoot this video. The uniform of the day was jeans, a pink OCBD with a green Sid Mashburne grenadine, and my most comfortable Burberry blue blazer. I'm not sure the open collar thing works. Here's a screen cap: the video was shot in a bar, so it's pretty dark.

Potato, Leek, and Tomato Soup

Winter's been dragging on this year, so we're still making thick and hearty soups. This one is really simple and really good.

What you'll need:

A couple of potatoes: two or three mid-sized spuds.
About half a pound of tomatoes.
Two leeks.
Half a cup of heavy cream.
Some chicken stock or water.
Parsley.
Butter.
Salt and Pepper.

Just getting started. The leeks are in the pan.

Slice up the leeks, only use the white and very light green parts. Put them in a pan (or use a soup pot) with some butter. Cook until they've sweated and are soft. While they're cooking, chop the tomatoes. Add them to the mix and cook until they've rendered their juices.

Leeks and tomatoes in the soup pot. (I'm using pictures from two different tests of this recipe.)

Skin and dice the potatoes, add them to the pot and stir to mix; leave these on the heat for a few minutes and then cover with the stock or water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, cover and let simmer for about 25 minutes. Cut off the heat and let the soup cool. Blend the soup and then stir in 4 ounces of heavy cream. The consistency of the soup should be about equal to that of the cream when you're done. If it's thicker, OK, but if you want it thinner you can add some milk or water. Season with salt and pepper, sprinkle some chopped parsley over the soup and serve with crusty bread and a salad. 

This goes well with a light red like a Cotes du Rhone.  

Uniform of the Day: Writers' Conference, Seattle.

So, I'm off to Seattle this week for the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) 2014 conference. This is our (the Veterans Writing Project's) biggest event of the year in terms of exposure: about 12-15K people show up. We'll have a table display, sell some books and journals, and talk, talk, talk. Networking, they call it. I'm also sitting on a panel discussion with two colleagues discussing the work we do in creating a best practices regimen for working with veterans in the writing classroom.

The zeitgeist at the conferences is slightly Bohemian--these are writers after all--and slightly Burning Man. People dress; there is the occasional costume. My packing list will not reach the edges of the continuum.

Since it's Seattle, footwear and outerwear will be critical choices. I'll carry the Allen Edmonds Jefferson full brogues and the AE Amok chukkas. I'll likely wear the AE Ashbury Chelsea boots on the plane. I'll wear the Barbour Beaufort with a Burberry scarf as I'm heading out of DC -- still winter here folks. (I'll have the Barbour pile liner in the bag in case it's really cold when I get back.)

Here's the pile before packing: Two sport jackets, some jeans and cords, shirts, sweaters, shoes, ties, a liner for the Barbour, and a ball cap... just in case it rains. Add toiletries, a flask of Laphroiag, socks and underwear, and the bag is full.

Likely day one uniform is a pair of tan cords, RL Polo chambray shirt, Drakes wool Donegal tie, a black vest and a J. Press Harris Tweed sport coat and the Jefferson brogues. I'll be reading that evening from my new book at Kell's Irish Pub in Post Alley, near Pike Place Market.

Day two is a bit more laid back, so I'll probably wear this Brooks Bros yellow Oxford stripe OBCD under a wool crewneck and jeans with the Amok boots.

Day three features a panel discussion along side two university writing program directors. Olive jeans, a pink OCBD with a Sid Mashburn blue grenadine tie and the grey Harris Tweed with the Jeffersons--add a blue crewneck for the walk over to the site in the chilly morning. 

AWP is always a crap-shoot. Success muchly depends on how many people walk past your booth, so choosing a location is a critical skill. Last year in Boston, we sold enough books to pay for the table fee. Fingers crossed this year. 

Uniform of the Day: Teaching Weekend, Williamsburg.

I'm off for a two-day teaching weekend at the College of William & Mary. It's my second trip down to Billsburg to teach and there is a welcome break in the weather with predicted temps of 65F both Saturday and Sunday. So packing will be easier. And, I'll be driving the convertible.

Travel shoes will certainly be Top-Siders, but I'll likely wear the Allen Edmonds Black Hills oxfords in class -- they offer some welcome support that the Sperry's don't since I'll be standing on poured concrete floors for seven or eight hours a day. Classes are casual, so jeans, cords and OCBDs are in order. I'll carry a crew neck sweater, a cotton sweatshirt, and a Harrington jacket in case it's cool at night. Given the line of thunderstorms that are predicted to roll across the entire eastern part of the U.S. this afternoon, I'll have an umbrella to hand. And, of course, I'll pack a J. Press Harris Tweed blazer; well, just because. I'll likely wear the Submariner 5513, but the 1950 Waltham A-17 will be in the bag, too.