Thanks to the grey fox Eric Ripert (and let me tell you, I'm shocked. Shocked! to learn he is only 44 years old. He's practically the same age as me! Sorry, Eric, but you look much older -- and I am totally fine with that. You will always be the grey fox to me.) today at the farmers' market I bought beets. I've been insisting for decades that I don't like them, but when Eric spoke of fresh beets the other day on Top Chef, I thought: I must be missing something.
I had no idea how to make them, so I did a quick web search. Most recipes call for roasting them, but I wanted them raw -- to understand their flavor. So I came across a beet salad recipe on Epicurious that has you grate them, mix in some sherry vinegar, Dijon mustard and oil. Um... well, yeah, you say: add all that stuff and you won't be able to taste the damn beets. But now I see why. Beets are bland! I'm sure they're good for you. And I'll probably have them again. But it was a bit of let-down. At least I got the stripey Chiogga beets -- they're so pretty!
Anyway, to continue the red theme, I ate cherries while making my official dessert -- rhubarb and strawberry crumble. I'd never made rhubarb before. What a simple thing to do! Mix it up with sugar, butter, cinnamon, oats, flour and a dash of nutmeg, and wow -- it's awesome! This crumble is so easy to make that I'm going to rethink ever having it at a restaurant again.
That said, it was the crumble that almost burned. I popped it in the oven and went outside to bring the laundry off the line and give my plants a quick watering in case it doesn't rain tonight. Unfortunately, I absent-mindedly closed the door behind me. Of course you know: it was locked. I went to our front door, started ringing the bell for Richard. Nothing. Pounded on the door. Rang the bell. Pounded on the door. Thinking maybe the bell wasn't working, I ran to the back door and pressed that bell ten times then ran back to the front door so Richard could see me. Nothing. I'm thinking: maybe he's in the bathroom and can't come out just now. So, I pottered in the yard for a few minutes, pulling up weeds. Came back to the door, started ringing and knocking. Nothing. I can see the clock from the window & time is up on my crumble. So in a panic I start hitting the door as hard as I can with my fist. Richard comes downstairs, opens the door, looks at me like I'm freakin' nuts and says "What's going on?" I run over to the oven and pull the crumble out as I'm explaining.
I feel like an old crazy lady losing her mind. Richard keeps apologizing: he thought I was pounding meat on the counter and the bell isn't working.
But as you know, the crumble was/is fine. We're all fine.