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Quote by Annabel Abbs

“My mind veers back to roasted pigeon. And from pigeon, I travel effortlessly, unrestrainedly back to France...the pots of rillettes fragrant with garlic, the boned forelegs of ham yellowed with bread crumbs, the blood puddings curled up like snakes, the terrines and pâtés, the sausages from Lyon and Arles, the jowls of salmon cooked à la génoise, the hundreds of cheeses resplendent beneath their glass bells, the perfumed melons and honeyed apricots”

Quote by Annabel Abbs

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Miss Eliza's English Kitchen

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Annabel Abbs

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“Monsieur Fernand...took them to a large busy restaurant where they sat at a table outside on the pavement and ordered a meal. 'Snails for the children!' cried Fernand. 'They've never tried them.' Max stared at his portion in horror and could not bring himself to touch them. But Anna, encouraged by Francine, tried one and found that it tasted like a very delicious mushroom.”

“It was a revelation to learn how many delicious things a person could make from a handful of humble commodity ingredients, using only basic technique and proper seasoning. Onions, flour, potatoes, leeks, eggs, milk, salt, pepper, a metric fuck-ton of butter, and sometimes stocks, or heavy cream, cheese, or sugar: these were the building blocks for such new (to me) wonders as pâte à choux, pommes Anna, pommes boulangère, gratin dauphinois, crème anglaise, potage parmentier, and soupe à l' oignon gratinée.”

“We'll start with a '95 Kistler-Dutton Ranch." She poured one for herself and tasted it. Ah, yes, she thought. Intense and lively with layers of pear, spice, vanilla, and nutmeg. And a hint of honey, if she wasn't mistaken. She smacked her lips. Her foray entered into, she was relaxing and beginning to enjoy herself. She grinned with glee as she wrapped herself into her oversize apron. "As I am a culinary orphan, I have chosen dishes from a wide range of influences. We're starting with classical French. In France, to begin, they often offer you what they call 'amuse bouches.' Amusements for the mouth. Here are yours." She set before him a platter filled with baby profiteroles, little puffs of pastry sliced in the middle and filled with a surprise. Troy reached out and brought one to his lips. His face flushed with pleasure as he bit into the creamy filling. "Yes," she said. "Finely chopped cooked lobster mixed with finely chopped cooked mushrooms sautéed in lobster butter. All bound with hot béchamel sauce.”

“A sole cooked in a rich sauce of cream and mushrooms must be followed by a dry dish of entirely different aspect such as a roast partridge or a grilled tournedos, cold ham, jellied beef or a terrine of duck. It must not be preceded by a creamy mushroom soup, nor followed by chicken cooked in a cream sauce. Have some regard for the digestions of others even if your own resembles that of the ostrich.”

“Come on, let's get you an apron." There probably wasn't any real point in making him wear something over his fur and ragged clothes. Still, she tied a tablecloth up and around his neck, trying not to make him look ridiculous. Actually, if the thick white cloth had leather straps, he could easily be Hephaestus or one of his titan helpers working the forge on Olympus. But they were going to make ratatouille, not swords for heroes. "...And buckwheat crepes, and an onion tart, and coq au... um... Riesling, in a skillet," she added thoughtfully, looking at the time. The clock in the kitchen didn't talk, thankfully. "We don't have time for a true coq au vin or cassoulet. Oooh, and a tarte tatin for dessert!”

“Laid out before him were dishes detailed in gold inscription: Tourte de Faisan aux Truffes, Blanquette de Veau, Barbue aux Huîtres, Tripes à la mode de Caen. Simon explained the preparation of each dish so lovingly that it would have suited Zod to not eat at all and simply listen to this man as he translated the truffled pheasant in pastry, the creamy veal stew with pearl onions and mushrooms, the poached brill with oysters in brown butter, the baked tripe with calvados, and the wine they must order to accompany it,”

“A couple of salmon steaks I'd bought for a shocking amount of money at the Turkish grocery near my office sat on the counter, waiting to be broiled and napped in Sauce à la Moutarde, which is a sort of fake (Julia calls it "mock," but let's call a spade a spade, shall we?) hollandaise sauce, with some mustard stirred in for interest. Slumped beside the fish was a bag of slightly wilted Belgian endive, which I was just going to be braising in butter. Not exactly a demanding menu. Not exactly Foies de Volaille en Aspic, just to cite one example of how I could be living my life more aggressively and bravely and generally being a better person.”

“Separate pots of simmering French and Italian soup stocks... Bowls of various Chinese spice blends... Trimmed and marinating lamb shanks, a common ingredient in Turkish cooking... And the foundation of all Indian cuisine- toasting the starter spices!”

“I recalled the time he tricked me into eating a live snail, explaining that snails were a delicacy in France, and if I were to develop a true palate, I had to eat one. It wasn't until later that I learned they were, indeed, delicious, but one didn't just pick up a snail from the garden and put a dash of salt on it. Snails we're eaten after a long curing process and served after they were baked in loads of butter, garlic, and parsley- les escargots de Bourgogne.”

“Food engages sight and sound and texture, not just scent and taste. And food is the most elementary expression of human connection; love without complications. Traveling with my mother has taught me the value of perspective. A simple dish can become ridiculously elevated by an elegant turn of phrase. Bread with a square of chocolate inside becomes a pâtissier's chocolatine; two dozen snails from a woodpile become escargots en persillade.”