I’ve just come back from residential school where most of my kilojoule intake comes in the form of a variety of ‘value meals’ from McDonalds. Not that there’s a lack of good food in New England. But it is the one time of the year that I can indulge my taste for high-fat, sugary, low-nutrient food administered and consumed without the inconvenience of leaving the driver’s seat or even having to undo one’s seatbelt or park (in the case of driving an automatic Corolla). I can savour the combination of sweet and salty taste sensations, adding French fries between mouthfuls of deep-fried apple pie or the sour and umami delight of biting through the one pickle slice of a simple cheeseburger, away from the scrutinising eyes of my health-conscious partner, anti-multinational friends, vegetarian girlfriends and the general disgust of Sydney ‘foodies’.
It’s Tuesday night back in the kitchen and waiting for my sweetie to come home, with 2 New York steaks waiting patiently at room temperature to get evenly seared at 5 minutes on each side, turned once only (this multiple meat flipping practice considered to be an atrocity of good taste and sound culinary practice according to the charmingly gregarious Marrickville butcher), I have decided to labour over a home-made Bernaise sauce. With my laptop and glass of Rioja vying for space next to the stove top, I’ve fastidiously followed Neil Perry’s recipe of his signature dish at Rockpool Bar and Grill (more on that topic later).
I’ve made the sauce reduction with a splash of the Vino Cotto vinegar from Fratelli Fresh with an Alkoomi Chardonnay, I chopped 4 French shallots that I warmed and softened in olive oil and butter, before dicing finely. I went out to the garden and picked tarragon, majoran, a pinch of thyme (without the caterpillar- although, ugh, I touched it!) and garlic chives. I threw in 10 fragrant peppercorns from India. I reduced it all down to half its volume after which I strained it with a fine sieve. I separated the deep orange yolks from 3 organic eggs and whisked the reduction as slowly as I could over the egg yolks. I put them in a thick ceramic bowl over the top of a pot of simmering water, adding a bit of cream and softened butter. I watched the sauce thicken and increase in volume. I stuck my finger in the thick, unctuous liquid and licked it (imagine it with the semi-erotic enthusiasm of Nigella with a chocolate dipped strawberry if you must).
It tastes and smells EXACTLY like the sauce on a Big Mac!
Who knows, maybe the next time I cook a roast chicken I’ll chance upon the Colonel’s secret recipe of eleven herbs and spices.
Leave a Reply