All this Oscar buzz about "Julie & Julia" has reminded me of my own foray into the world of French cooking.
A few years ago, after reading the book, I was inspired. Why couldn't I cook up a little French cuisine myself? Soon, I was at a bookstore digging through the shelves for the cheapest paperback book of Julia Child's recipes that I could find. "The French Chef", which was a companion to her first public television show, fit the bill.Once home, I found a relatively easy chicken recipe and started cooking it up in my pretty little vintage turquoise Pyrex dish. It looked like this, except mine was oval. I loved it.
I was so French, cooking my Supremes de Volaille a Blanc (Chicken breasts poached in butter with wine and cream sauce)! It was fabulous! Soon the Supremes felt 'springy and resilient'. I transferred that lovely dish from the oven to a burner set on high and proceeded make the sauce. In went the *cold* wine. Can you guess what happened? Oh yeah. A huge explosion of glass and hot drippings.
My beloved dish had shattered into a trillion teeny pieces. Along with those pieces of glass went the hot butter and bits of chicken, all over me, all over the stove, all over the cabinets, the fridge, the floor. My love/hate relationship with Julie & Julia had commenced.I don't know what we ate that night after we mopped up that mess. Maybe it was just the butter covered Haricots Verts that were supposed to accompany those succulent butter and cream smothered chicken breasts. What I do know is that I love butter. And Julie and Julia are to blame for the destruction of my casserole dish. Not me...no...not me.
