{"id":1234,"date":"2008-05-13T05:26:00","date_gmt":"2008-05-13T05:26:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2008\/05\/13\/entirely-unmannerly"},"modified":"2008-05-13T05:26:00","modified_gmt":"2008-05-13T05:26:00","slug":"entirely-unmannerly","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2008\/05\/entirely-unmannerly\/","title":{"rendered":"Entirely unmannerly"},"content":{"rendered":"
Well. I know it\u2019s May, and mid-May at that, and technically spring and all, so I probably shouldn\u2019t be writing about something so wintry as braised onions. But today it was a cool 56 degrees outside, and anyway, Braised onions. With butter. And Madeira<\/span>. On pasta.<\/span> It\u2019s never the wrong season for that, is it? I hope not.<\/p>\n Plus, I hear<\/a> the weather has been iffy on the East Coast too, and heck, in the Southern Hemisphere, it\u2019s autumn, so it must be chilly. Right? Right. I feel entirely justified.<\/p>\n But the best part, and the reason why I<\/span> am yapping so long and late about all this, is that one day, after wandering the neighborhood, Ben came home with a gift for us: a first-edition copy of James Beard<\/a>\u2019s Beard on Pasta<\/span><\/a>. He\u2019s a great fan of Beard, he confessed, and he had noticed that we only had one of his books, an old, beaten-up copy of The Complete Book of Outdoor Cookery<\/span> that lives on the shelf above our sink. Obviously, it was time that we got another. And, he noted, the braised onion sauce in Beard on Pasta<\/span> happens to be very good; we really ought to try it.<\/p>\n We Americans have been intimidated for far too long by other people\u2019s opinions of what we should eat. We\u2019ve been even more intimidated, I think, in the area of table manners and propriety. Pasta is not a mannerly food to eat. And I remember when hostesses in this country were so insecure and etiquette-conscious that they would break up noodles into inch-long pieces before they cooked them, and would choose elbow macaroni over spaghetti so that their guests wouldn\u2019t risk the crime of slurping at the table. I think we\u2019ve gotten over that kind of tearoom niceness, but now there is another worry people have about eating pasta, which is of not doing things in the proper Italian way. They worry about whether the Italians use bowls or plates, and whether it\u2019s proper to serve a soup spoon along with the fork as a help in picking up the strands, and how to avoid slurping up the last inches of long noodles. To which I say that it\u2019s time to stop worrying and start enjoying<\/span>. (Pages xii-xiii)<\/p>\n To which I say: James Beard, you died <\/span>entirely <\/span>too soon. <\/span>If you were still around, we\u2019d like it very much if you would join us for lunch tomorrow, when we will dig, entirely unmannerly, into the leftovers of some pasta with your braised onion sauce. Which, for the record, is very, very good.<\/p>\n James Beard\u2019s braised onion sauce is essentially that: braised onions. But as you might expect, these onions are special. First, they have a lot of butter. We\u2019re talking about Beard here, people, and the man did not skimp. For two large onions, he calls for two(!) sticks(!) – that\u2019s eight ounces, or HALF A POUND – of butter. Heaven help us all. Ben confided, however, that he had made the sauce with half that amount, and that it had turned out beautifully – and still very buttery. So I took his advice and used only one stick. It coated the onions amply, enough that they could cook slowly and sweetly without the least bit of scorching, and when they were golden and melty, so soft that they slumped into lazy heaps, I stirred in a good splash of Madeira, which simmered with their juices and made a sort of chunky, rustic sauce.<\/p>\n Tossed with hot pasta and topped with salt and Parmesan cheese, it tasted rich and winy, dark and deep, delicious<\/span>. Delicious enough, even, to make 56 degrees in mid-May feel entirely excusable – until the leftovers are gone, at least.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Last week we had a house guest. His name is Ben, and he is an opera director, and his wife is one of Brandon\u2019s old friends from college. The two of them are moving to Seattle this summer, so he came to scout an apartment, and we put him up in our guest room in the basement, which is really more like a storage room for papers and files and mix tapes from an ex-boyfriend of mine, and more than a little scary, as you can imagine. But he didn\u2019t complain. He was very brave. We barely knew each other, but we had a great week. We sneaked a bottle of bourbon and some chocolate into my purse and went to the opera. We played card games and listened to old Ray Charles, and on his last night in town, Ben cooked steak and mushrooms and opened a bottle of red wine, and we yapped so long and late that Brandon and I had to take a nap the next afternoon. He also found a house to rent only 10 or so blocks from ours, and needless to say, I feel a very fine summer coming on.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Now, I don\u2019t know about you, but I find it almost impossible to resist a book whose introduction begins with this sort of humble, hopeful, utterly disarming statement: \u201cThis is a book about good times to have with pasta.\u201d Especially when it has a swirly, old fashioned illustrated cover<\/a>. And even more so when it goes on to say such things as this:<\/p>\n