I think I’ve turned into a French fry. It’s fine, being a French fry, but it means I no longer like wearing jeans, and my pores are exuding the faint smell of grease. That’s what happens after a few too many days in a row spent watching football at bars in New Orleans. French fries simply appear. And then, inevitably, I have eaten so many that I and the potato are one.
I won’t write this whole newsletter about fried food, I promise. In fact, this is the last I’ll type of it. Here, then, are a few thoughts and recollections about some barely more nutritious stuff.
… farro. It’s an underrated grain, for sure, and I’ll admit to overlooking it in my cooking since … forever. But for whatever reason, Alison Roman’s recipe for vinegar braised chicken over farro caught my eye last week when I was figuring out what to make for the one dinner I’ve actually cooked at my house in the past two weeks. (Yikes.) If you have Alison Roman’s cookbooks, look it up. If you don’t, do a bit of googling. Several people have ripped this recipe off online for free. I’m not going to go so far as linking them, but, well, they’re out there. You should still buy cookbooks.
… a good martini. On New Year’s Eve at Sylvain, an extremely charming and underrated restaurant in the French Quarter in New Orleans, I was jonesing for a good martini, and a good martini I did receive. A great one, even.
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