Saturday, February 20, 2016.
Busy Day For A Little Boy. Or A Big One.
Suzanne and Jude own a couple of small yapping dogs that run amok in the house most of the time. Awake at around five a.m. (it's seven Central time, my normal wake-up time) I hear the dogs barking I decide to do a good turn by getting out of bed and feeding the animals. This quiets them down for awhile, and I hear no sounds of awakening from the man, woman,and baby of the house. But then I hear the dogs again. I herd them out of the laundry room where I fed them to the to door to the back yard, where they will probably relieve themselves. But when I open the door a burglar alarm I didn't know about fires off. So much for letting the little family sleep late.
Mother, father, baby and grandfather (that's me) convene at the island in the newly-renovated kitchen. Suzanne and Jude have done a fine job of it, with a six-burner professional-style oven, a hot water dispenser (extraordinarily useful for warming formula for Jackson) and a water spigot that can hover over any of the six burners, like you see in Chinese kitchens.
Jude has been talking about his "famous" omelettes. He uses a technique that makes eminent sense, but one I've never seen before. He beats the eggs until smooth (but not foamy). He melts some butter in an omelette pan over low heat, tilting the pan this way and that. With a rubber spatula, he lifts the setting layer of the eggs away from the pan, so the still-unset eggs can run underneath. Finally, he spreads any remaining liquid eggs across the top, where they finally congeal. He now has an omelette with a marvelous texture and no hint of browning. He folds this over a final layer of pepper boursin cheese, and he chops some chives as a garnish. The finished project is marvelous in flavor, texture, and appearance. My boy is getting to be a good cook! I think I will convert to his recipe for omelettes.
Suzanne takes the first of what I hope will be a long-running series of photographs: Three Generations Of Fitzmorris Men. Jackson, Jude, and me. My mind brings forth a memory of my father and his father, beyond whom I have no personal recollections. Still, being able to vouch for the existence of five of us is novel. As is this beginning of a new era.
The four of us head downtown for some reverse shopping. Jude bought two baby carriages and is returning one of them to Nordstrom's. Then we wander around the many large stores in the neighborhood and the Americana theme development (it has its own streetcar!). We think about lunch but we don't stop. Jackson sleeps through most of this, but when he awakens there is no doubt about it.
Dinner tonight is at L'Assiette, a French steak-and-frites bistro. Jude likes the concept, universal throughout the French-speaking world even though it sounds much more American. (Steak and fries?) The deal is that you get a steak of unknown cut with fresh-cut fries for $27, and that when you finish the first batch the waiter returns with more steak and more fries. This latter business is surely the engine of L'Asiette's substantial popularity.
I try to pry out of the waitress what kind of steak this is, and learn nothing. Her sketchy descriptions bring to mind the culotte from a ribeye or perhaps a top sirloin.
I begin with the soup of the day, one I have not had in many a year. Sorrel qualifies both as a leafy vegetable and an herb. The green soup that comes of it is a standard of country French cooking.
For the main course I get the Rossini-style version of L'Asiette's steak. It's the same beef with foie gras and a red wine-and-truffle sauce. It's not only named for but actually created by gourmet opera composer Gioachino Rossini. The waitress is impressed that I don't have to hear an explanation for the dish, a major classic of French beef cookery. I'm sure she would not want to hear my thoughts about what she serves me, however. The foie gras component is cold, which says that the dish wasn't cooked as a unit, but as a mix-and-match. It didn't ruin the dish, but it could have been better. And no, I will not have the seconds of the regular steak and fries when they come by.
I keep this imperfection to myself as we have an enjoyable evening in the company of Brian and Joey, two of Jude's best friends and frequent dining companions. (I feel the need to note that Joey is a girl.) I know them from two dinners in the days before Jude and Suzanne's wedding, when we went to Commander's Palace and the Pelican Club.
Meanwhile, Jackson has the courtesy of sleeping all the way through the dinner, despite the ordeal of finding a place for his carriage and the general noise of the restaurant. He seems to keep his cool as we cross the mountain on winding Canyon Road. For all the running around he did with us today, it's amazing that Jackson is neither asleep nor cranky when we get home.
L'Assiette. Los Angeles: 7166 Melrose Ave. 323-274-2319.
For the main course I get the Rossini-style version of L'Asiette's steak. It's the same beef with foie gras and a red wine-and-truffle sauce. It's not only named for but actually created by gourmet opera composer Gioachino Rossini. The waitress is impressed that I don't have to hear an explanation for the dish, a major classic of French beef cookery. I'm sure she would not want to hear my thoughts about what she serves me, however. The foie gras component is cold, which says that the dish wasn't cooked as a unit, but as a mix-and-match. It didn't ruin the dish, but it could have been better. And no, I will not have the seconds of the regular steak and fries when they come by.
I keep this imperfection to myself as we have an enjoyable evening in the company of Brian and Joey, two of Jude's best friends and frequent dining companions. (I feel the need to note that Joey is a girl.) I know them from two dinners in the days before Jude and Suzanne's wedding, when we went to Commander's Palace and the Pelican Club.
Meanwhile, Jackson has the courtesy of sleeping all the way through the dinner, despite the ordeal of finding a place for his carriage and the general noise of the restaurant. He seems to keep his cool as we cross the mountain on winding Canyon Road. For all the running around he did with us today, it's amazing that Jackson is neither asleep nor cranky when we get home.