Cheese and Choux

In an interview that I read a while ago, a reporter asked (my chef crush) Anthony Bourdain if he ever cooked at home.  His response?  Not much.  He said that cooking at home was a distinct experience from his restaurant's kitchen, where everything had a place and an easy reference point.  He said that when he cooked at home, he was apt to lose things and become frustrated too quickly.  He didn't say, but I imagine (having become a worshipful fan of his unscrupulous travel/culinary show, the only of its kind to have ever made me laugh out loud) that much cursing followed.  And then, he said that the meal - following the frustration - just didn't turn out right.  He said that food could smell fear.  I get it.

I had a very civic week.  Now, you might be thinking what I'm thinking - that after studying for the bar exam for a number of months, sitting for it, and thereafter flushing my brain of all things law-related - you might think that I have had sufficient contact with the legal system for a while.  I thought so, too.  But I was summoned.  That's right, friends, a week after the bar exam, I found myself still sleepy and slightly irritable and sequestered in jury duty.  At first, when they read the charges of each defendant aloud, I was momentarily interested (because the definitions all echoed my exam flash cards).  Ultimately however, I realized what voir dire in the criminal division in Pennsylvania really means: sitting knee-to-knee at a tiny table with a defendant who happened to be charged with criminal homicide.  All over again, I ruled out ever becoming a district attorney. 

So, my week was just one of those weeks and I sincerely hope that yours was better.  The heels that I wore were too high.  The line in the social security office (to change my name, which I finally got around to doing) was too long.  The Ides of March gave us that foggy rain that feels exactly like the clouds have begun to spit.  On Wednesday night, I tried to redeem three days of a week that already felt like five.  Jordan was out to dinner.  I had the house to myself.  I put some music on as I cooked.  I grooved a little - as much as someone can groove while rocking out with her wooden spoon.  I attempted a simple curry with tofu and cilantro, over brown rice.  I anticipated a Thursday blog.  I failed miserably.  Our home certainly smelled like street-eating in India, and the sticky mess of it looked amazing in the pan.  Pretty even, in its golden gloppy way.  It made me nostalgic, because as a college student in London, curry was often the only thing that I could afford.  But then I took a bite.  I literally spat, as a baby would.  Now friends, I understand that failure is a part of life.  I understand that the attempt is necessary for growth - to actually learn something.  On an intellectual and detached plane, I understand this.  However, at nine o'clock in the evening on hump day, my curry felt like the very worst sort of failure.  Particularly when my belly rumbled.  Aloud.  I think I ended the evening with something truly delectable, like peanut butter on whole grain toast.  I had conceded defeat.

So, on Thursday, I approached my stove and its accoutrements warily.  On Thursday, I was in no mood to experiment.  I didn't want to be relegated to crackers, you see.  I had made this swanky, showy, too-cool-for-school version of mac n' cheese for family over a summer vacation.  They had loved it, and my grandmother had looked at me with new eyes.  She is sweetness personified, and spends most holidays tucked away in the kitchen, but I do believe that she enjoyed this new passive position of being served.  My grandmother is of the "roast beef for Christmas" "turkey for Thanksgiving" generation.  She does not eat fish.  This became a quick standby, then, as I smacked together crab cakes for the others. 

The best part of this fancy schmancy mac n' cheese is the sauce.  I've come to think of the sauce - and do forgive me any lingering corniness as I admit this on the internet - as a little black dress.  Honestly, it can accommodate whatever you happen to have stocked in the fridge.  Though the recipe calls for chicken and broccoli, you can just as easily dice up some firm tofu or throw in some cannelloni beans.  In the summer, it would work wonders with zucchini and yellow squash.  In the spring, it would surely compliment asparagus.  Thus, to tie off my metaphor with a neat little bow, you can accessorize the sauce with whatever you have on hand.  Like any good sauce, it's a blank canvas.  But most significantly, for my purposes this past Thursday, it always turns out.  And on an evening when you're just not in the mood for surprises (with your feet raw and red from a too-high, too-narrow, too-pinchy pair of heels), nothing tastes quite like that. 

Mac and Cheese with Chicken and Broccoli, pilfered from Bon Appetit, September 2006

Ingredients

1 pound skinless boneless chicken breasts

2 heads broccoli, cut into florets

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter

2 tablespoons all purpose flour (*wheat flour as another layer of depth here)

4 cups whipping cream (*note that, depending on the thickness that you prefer, you can simply use milk)

1 cup Fontina cheese (about 4 oz.)

1 cup grated Cheddar cheese (about 4 oz.)

1 pound pasta shells, freshly cooked

1/2 bunch fresh chives, chopped

Instructions

Prepare barbecue (medium heat).  Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper.  Brush both sides with olive oil.  Grill until cooked through, about 6 minutes per side.  Dice chicken and set aside.  Cook broccoli in medium pot of boiling salted water until crisp-tender, about 3 minutes.  Set aside.

Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium heat.  Add flour and cook 2 minutes, stirring constantly.  Gradually mix in cream.  Bring to boil, reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes, stirring frequently.  Add both cheeses and stir until sauce is smooth.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  Add pasta, chicken, and broccoli to sauce; mix well.  Garnish with chives and serve.