Meatless Monday: Summer Salade Composee

Salade composee translates into English as “Composed Salad,” which makes vegetables sound like musical notes or something; Translations aside, what it really means is that you make or compose a salad out of many different ingredients, some cooked, some raw, which showcase different flavors, colors and textures. All of the ingredients are cut in shapes which enhance their flavors, and each ingredient is tossed in the vinaigrette dressing separately, allowing the cook to marinate each ingredient for as long or as short a time period as needed to create the flavor and texture profile desired by the cook.

Summer is the perfect time to make a salade composee, but truly, you can make one in the spring, fall or winter as well. You just need to collect an array of seasonal vegetables, fruits, nuts and salad greens, and if you like, cheese and meat, and prepare them as you wish in order to get the flavors and textures you wish to present to your guests. Then, make a vinaigrette that will enhance the flavors of the different components of the salad, and toss each ingredient separately in it, then, right before serving, place the ingredients on the plate or in the bowl in an artful, pleasing fashion that shows the different colors and shapes of the ingredients to the greatest advantage.

A salade composee can be a first course, as this one was, or it can be an entire meal. It can be light or hearty, all depending on what ingredients you choose to combine.

This salad is made of tender mixed leaf lettuces, a sweet, yet tangy Rose de Berne tomato, finely julienned purple and orange carrots, dear, tender little haricot vert (thin French green beans) blanched in broth and garlic, sugar-glazed English walnuts, and fresh chevre. I tossed everything separately with a honey-Dijon tarragon vinaigrette, some ingredients just before serving, and some an hour before dinner.

You could use plain old orange carrots in this salad, but the purple ones look so pretty when cut into thin julienne bits–orange sticks with burgundy-purple tips. Carrots are sweet and very crunchy, so I cut them very thin and very small in order to make them more delicate in flavor, as well as to show off the coloration to greatest effect. You see, in this variety of purple carrots, the purple is only apparent in the skin and in the flesh just below it, so when you peel the carrots, do so very gently and lightly, so as to remove only the skin, without taking a large layer of flesh beneath it, thus preserving the purple coloration. Then, in order to do a very fine julienne, cut the carrot into thin, diagonal slices, then stack two to four slices up, and cut those into thin sticks.

You could blanch the carrots if you wanted them to have a more softened, velvety texture, but I wanted them to retain their crisp nature. I tossed the carrots with the dressing right before serving the salad so the carrot flavor shone through.

On the other hand, the haricot vert needed to be blanched. In order to give them a bit of a flavor boost, I simmered garlic in about a cup and a half of vegetable stock until it softened and then tossed in the beans which had been topped and tailed (they have very little in the way of strings, so you just need to slice or pluck the stem end and the string end off of the beans) and left at their original length. After the beans simmered for about three minutes, they had softened to a slight velvety texture on the skin while retaining crunch on the interior. They also had a light garlic flavor. Then, I cooled them quickly in a bowl of ice, and then tossed them in the vinaigrette as soon as they were cool, so they could soak up plenty of the dressing’s tang which enhanced the very green flavor inherent to the beans themselves.

The tomatoes I cut into lotus blossoms. This looks complicated, but it really isn’t. I didn’t have anyone in the kitchen to photograph the process, so hopefully I can describe it adequately. You take a whole, clean, dry tomato, and if you wish, you can core it first. Rose de Berne tomatoes have small cores, so I didn’t bother with it. Then, with a very sharp, pointed paring knife, you plunge the point into the tomato at an angle (it should look like this: / ) along the equator of the fruit. The knife should sink to about the center of the tomato–and no farther. Pull it out and then make another cut against the first cut, also at an angle, and at the same depth, but like this, instead: \ . The two should meet in the middle and make an upside down “V” shape. You continue in this way, connecting all of the cuts all around the middle of the tomato until you have made a series of cuts that look like this: WWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Then, you grasp the tomato at the top and bottom and gently pull it apart twisting it slightly to the left or right as you go.

And voila–you have two lovely lotus blossoms. (I guess I should do a post in the future showing this with photographs, huh?)

You can do it with any size or shape of tomato–cherry tomatoes done this way make a beautiful garnish for any dish.

I marinated the tomatoes for about a half hour in the vinaigrette so they would take on plenty of its delicious flavor.

Now, for the walnuts. Sugaring nuts is a great way to give them added texture, flavor and color, but it is a bit tricky.

Start with about a cup of untoasted walnut pieces, and place them in a heavy-bottomed non-stick frying pan. Heat them up on medium heat, shaking them until they begin to toast–they will start darkening on the edges and the scent of walnut will start wafting through the air.

Sprinkle about 2/3 cup of white sugar over the walnuts and shake the pan to get the sugar to sift down evenly over the nuts to the bottom of the pan. Using a spatula or spoon that are safe for a non-stick pan and stir the nuts and sugar together. The sugar will start to melt and darken–and can start burning easily. Regulate the heat by picking up the pan and pulling it away from the heat–if the sugar starts to darken too much, take it off the heat, shake and stir vigorously to cool everything down a bit. Then, put t back on the heat a bit to get the sugar melting again. Cook, stirring, shaking and moving on and off the heat, until the nuts are coated with a shiny coat of caramelized sugar. (You can use more sugar if you want, but no less than 2/3 cup–less than that and the coating won’t be as regular.

Scrape the nuts out of the pan onto a silpat lined counter, baking pan or plate, or if you have no silpats, use a sheet of parchment paper. Allow the nuts to cool briefly, until you can touch them with your fingertips, and separate them so they aren’t stuck together in clumps. (Or, you can use two forks to pull them apart and save your fingertips from burns.) The nuts are great in salads, but they also make great snacks, coatings for cheese spreads or canapes, and fillings for dates or sweetmeats.

I tossed the nuts in the dressing just before serving so that the crisp sugar coating stayed crispy.

The lettuce leaves were tossed just before service, too–I didn’t want them to wilt.

And the cheese was tossed about ten minutes before serving so that it got some of the taste of the dressing, but not an overwhelming amount–I still wanted the tangy natural flavor of the cheese to stand out.

And then, I put it all together as you can see in the photograph above.

Use whatever you like in your salade composee–raw pears, roasted beets and toasted almonds would be great together with bleu cheese and lightly bitter greens like endive mixed with some sweeter lettuces. Sauteed summer squashes mixed with raw tomatoes, halved kalamata olives and raw sweet red peppers would also be delicious, especially with some crisp romaine and some shredded Parmesan cheese and maybe some toasted pine nuts.

The possibilities are endless.

Here is the recipe I used for my Honey-Dijon Vinaigrette with Tarragon–it would go well with the first alternate combination I mentioned above. For the second one with the summer squashes, I would use a balsamic vinaigrette with basil–substitute balsamic for the cider vinegar, use about a quarter teaspoon of anchovy paste instead of the mustard–or, leave them both out, add a tiny quarter teaspoon of tomato paste, and about three tablespoons of fresh, minced basil leaves. You could add a tiny bit of minced fresh garlic to it as well.

Honey-Dijon Vinaigrette With Tarragon
Ingredients:

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar (I used some homemade cider vinegar from a farmer here in Athens–it was light and delicious–better than the usual stuff from the grocery store!)
3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons honey
2 tablespoons minced fresh tarragon leaves
salt and pepper to taste

Method:

I’m lazy. I don’t whisk my vinaigrette. I put everything except the salt and pepper into a clean jar that will hold it all, and screw the lid on and then shake vigorously. It’s easier on my wrists this way. Then, I open the jar, taste the dressing and add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste and then close it up, give it another good shake and voila! Vinaigrette!

It will keep nicely in the fridge for about a week if you have any left over.

Toyota Farm To Table Tour Comes To Athens Farmer’s Market

Next Saturday, from 9:30am to 1:30pm at the Athens Farmer’s Market, Toyota will be hosting a Farm To Table event where up to twelve of our very talented local chefs, in partnership with one or more local farmers, will be presenting samples of delicious dishes with ingredients sourced right here in Athens County. Guests will have a chance to not only sample the delicious foods presented by our chefs, but they can also take in the sights and sounds of the Athens Farmers Market as well as take a ride in Toyota’s 3rd generation hybrid Prius cars.

I’m thrilled to be a part of this event, but I am even more pleased that out of all of the farmer’s markets in the US, Toyota is choosing twelve to feature on this tour, and Athens is one of them. That just goes to show what I have been saying all along–that the local food scene here in this little corner of Appalachian Ohio really is something special that we should be proud of.

As for me, I will be spending lots of time this week preparing for the event; I am going to be partnered with Rich Blaizer of Harmony Hollow Farms and will be presenting his amazingly delicious rabbit and bacon in my dish: Marsala Braised Rabbit with Wild Mushrooms served over Garlic Mashed Potatoes with Caramelized Tomato Confit. This means that I may blog less this coming week, but for those of you who cannot come to the event, have no fear–I’ll be posting a short video featuring my dish as well as other exciting footage from the market.

And yeah, after the event, I will post the recipes!

For those who are interested in attending, I will be in Tent 4 from 11 am to noon.

Wish us all luck!

Test-Driving Lodge Enameled Cast Iron

I have a small collection of Le Creuset cast iron: a grill pan and a round French oven that were gifted to me by Zak’s grandmother when she became too frail to lift them anymore, a tiny skillet I got free for registering for Le Creuset back when Zak and I got married (fifteen years ago or so) a large braiser and a skillet that were given to me by Karl and Tessa for my birthday last year.

And I LOVE, absolutely love these pieces and I use them all the time.

I wanted to get a few more pieces of enameled cast iron, considering my new fascination with French cookery and braising, so I looked at the oval French ovens and tried hard not to flinch at the price. I say tried–because I failed. I still flinched.

Now, I could have gone on eBay, and gotten either Staub or Le Creuset cast iron at pretty great prices, but I remembered somewhere in the back of my mind that Lodge, the makers of the old American standard cast iron skillets (both traditional and pre-seasoned, both of which are fantastic) beloved by chefs and grandmas everywhere, had taken up making enameled cast iron cookware.

Hrm.

I looked on Amazon and found that not only is Lodge making colorful enamel-coated cast iron, so were a bunch of other manufacturers, most of them in China, and many of them sold under the names of famous chefs and cooks, such as Paula Deen and Mario Batali.

Mind you, the Lodge enameled pots are made in China as well, but I read that they had the same number of layers of enamel coating, fired between each coating, as the Le Creuset models, and I read that they have been reviewed favorably by Fine Cooking Magazine.

I trust Fine Cooking, so I decided to get a smaller, round casserole dish (3 quarts) to replace the buffet casserole that I gave to Morganna when she moved out (another gift from Zak’s grandmother) and a Dutch oven that is larger than the French oven I have–it is a four quart model, and I bought Lodge’s six quart oven.

I bought them from Amazon.com with free shipping, and paid easily two hundred dollars less for the larger pot and one hundred dollars less for the smaller one than I would have paid for the French cookware.

They are very pretty, as you can see. The three quart brown one has graduated color that is absolutely lovely, and the green is very similar the old style green that you can only get in Le Creuset these days from Williams Sonoma. They look great in my kitchen, which is all greens, browns, and blacks.

They are also just as hefty as their French counterparts (actually, they are a bit heavier as the walls a tiny bit thicker)–it takes a significant strength to hoist these babies up and down, around and through. That’s fine–I have strong arms!

How do they cook?

The truth is, I can detect no difference between these pieces and the French ones. They all cook like a dream. Food sticks if anything, a bit less in the Lodge cookware, perhaps because of the thicker walls, though in truth, few foods stick to either the Le Creuset or Lodge enameled surfaces. They both heat evenly and hold heat perfectly, allowing the cook to use less energy to cook braises, stews and roasts than they would in pots made from other materials.

Alas, however, Lodge doesn’t make oval ovens that you can use to roast or braise a whole chicken, so I will have to look into other possibilities.

I am thinking Staub for my next enameled cast iron purchase, though I might try out one of the cheaper Chinese manufactured ones -if- I can stand to buy something with Paula Deen’s face on it. (That said, I’d be more likely to get one from Mario Batali, just because I like the persimmon color a lot and the folks on Chowhound seem to like them!)

Does anyone else have a favored brand of enameled cast iron cookware?

Poulet Roti

I realized last night when I was thinking about French cuisine, that I remembered only one actual recipe, probably because I made it more than once, and that was Boeuf Bourguignon. Now, I am not counting the recipes for sauces: bechamel, veloute, brun, demi-glace, tomato, and hollandaise along with many of their derivatives, are indelibly imprinted on my memory. I am talking about recipes for specific dishes. (Wait, wait–I have another actual recipe committed to memory, again, from making it multiple times–Creme Brulee, though in truth, it is debatable over whether or not this dessert is of British or French origin.)

What I do remember of French cuisine, and this is the important part–is the techniques.

French cuisine, especially as it is practiced in restaurants, is all about correct, precise technique. And once these techniques–of cutting, of sauce making, of braising, roasting, of sauteing–are mastered, one can apply them to any collection of ingredients and produce a dish which may not be French in a traditional sense, but will certainly be French in character and spirit.

That is the true glory of French cuisine, at least in my eyes–the techniques that are used in its production can be used in the creation of any dish from any cuisine and you will almost always get an excellent result. (Chinese cuisines are also technique-based and as such, these techniques can be used in other cuisines to produce a superior dish as well. French and Chinese cuisines are like the Western and Eastern pillars of grand food culture in the world.)

So, now we come to the topic of the day–Poulet Roti–or as we say in English, Roast Chicken.

This is one of the most basic dishes in any sort of European-based cookery, and is one of the dishes I think that anyone, even a complete kitchen novice can learn and quickly master. (Anthony Bourdain says that if you can’t make a decent roast chicken, “you are one helpless, hopeless. sorry-ass bivalve in an apron.” I don’t think I would put it so harshly, because the fact is, very few people are taught any of the good techniques for roasting chicken in the United States. No, you don’t just stick in the oven.)

And once it is mastered, Roast Chicken is extremely versatile. You can make pan sauces for it, gravies, or you can baste it in cream and wine, then reduce that into a sauce with sauteed mushrooms. You can serve it hot or cold and you can use leftovers for panini sandwiches or salad.

Now that I have said all of that, the truth is, there is no one “right” way to roast a chicken! I have my way to do it, Bourdain has his, and Julia Child has hers. And every other good chef and cook has their method. Some folks truss the birds up like Bettie Page (as Bourdain would say), while others slit the skin of the bird and tuck the legs in the flaps as a sort of self-trussing method. Some folks lay the bird down in a roasting pan on the top of a bunch of tasty vegetables which get to roast in the flavorful chicken juices. Other folks set the chicken on a rack of some sort, and scatter vegetables around the rack. Some baste in stock, some in wine, some in butter. Some stuff their birds with elaborate dressings, while others just stick aromatics inside, while others just leave the cavity empty.

And the really cool thing about this fact is that most of those methods result in really great roast chicken.

I think that the secret to great roast chicken is two-fold: first, obtain a really good chicken that is naturally full of flavor, preferably from a local farmer, but failing that a free-range or kosher bird from the grocery store will do. Second, don’t overcook your chicken once you have expended all the time and effort to find it, obtain it and prepare it for the oven. That’s the thing, if you start with a good bird in the first place and don’t dry it out by cooking it for longer than is necessary, you are pretty well guaranteed a good dinner.

So, here is the way that I make Poulet Roti, and my method is based on Julia Child’s along with a couple of methods I learned in culinary school. The seasonings I happened to use this time are based on the flavors of the blend of herbs called Herbes de Provence, which includes fennel, basil, tarragon, thyme, lavender flowers, marjoram and rosemary. You can use other herbs if you like. The type of wine can be changed–you could use sherry or marsala instead, for example.

Poulet Roti
Ingredients:

1 3 pound roasting chicken
2 tablespoons of softened butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 tablespoons mixed fresh herbs (I used rosemary, tarragon, thyme, basil, and lavender buds), well minced
1 teaspoon finely shredded lemon zest
1 garlic clove, finely minced
1 tablespoon softened butter
1 teaspoon kosher or coarse sea salt
freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 lemon, cut in half
2 cloves garlic, sliced
1 large sprig fresh rosemary
1 large sprig fresh thyme
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 cup dry white wine, or sherry or vermouth
3 cups chicken stock or broth
2 tablespoons of the same mixed fresh herbs, this time chopped roughly

Method:

First, preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. (The general roasting time for a 3 pound chicken is about an hour and 10-20 minutes. For the last half of the roasting time, check the bird often for doneness–prick it in the fattest part of the leg and if the juice runs out clear yellow, it is done. If there is still a rosy color to the juices, it needs to roast longer.)

Then, prepare the chicken. Remove any giblet packet (mine just had the neck), and rinse well with cold water. Remove any feather bits and then pat well to dry. Trim any excessive skin and excess interior fat from the bird.

Then, blend together the two tablespoons of softened butter with the first measure of salt, the minced herbs, the lemon zest and minced garlic.

Gently, with your fingers, loosen the skin of the chicken at the edge of the breast, and carefully stuff half of the seasoned butter under each side of the breastbone, spreading it over the flesh of the breast as evenly as possible, so that the butter is between the skin and meat. You have to be careful not to pierce the skin from underneath with your fingers, but other than that, this is a simple operation.

Rub the outside of the skin with the 1 tablespoon of butter and then sprinkle it with salt and however much freshly ground black pepper you like. Salt and pepper the inside of the chicken as well.

Now stuff the cavity with 1/2 of the lemon (when you put it in the bird, squeeze it a bit to get some juice in there), one clove’s worth of the garlic slices and the rosemary and thyme sprigs.

Now your chicken is prepared for the oven. Set it breast side up on a V-shaped roasting rack or just a plain old cooling rack inside a roasting pan which has been rubbed all over with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil (I prefer V-racks as you can see–lots of hot air gets around and in the chicken with those and you get crisp, golden brown skin all over that way) and put it into the oven.

Meanwhile, put the 1/2 of the wine, stock, the remaining clove of garlic slices and the giblets into a pot and bring to a simmer. Cook at a simmer until the liquid is reduced to about a cup. Turn the heat off and let the giblets and the garlic steep in the pot.

After the chicken has been in the oven for about ten to fifteen minutes, the skin should be fairly evenly browned. Turn the heat down to 350 degrees F. and pour the remaining half cup of wine in the bottom of the roasting pan. Baste now and again with the remaining two tablespoons of olive oil. If the chicken drippings begin to burn, turn the heat down slightly, and if the skin darkens too much, cover it lightly with a tent of foil.

Check the chicken for doneness after about a hour and five minutes of roasting: the signs that it is finished cooking are that the breast swells up slightly and will spring back when pushed with a forefinger, the aforementioned clear yellow juices when the leg or the meaty part of the thigh are pricked, the skin should be lightly puffed and crisp. If you take hold of the drumstick, it should joggle easily in its socket. For a final check, lift the chicken slightly and drain the juices from its vent–they should also be clear yellow. If they are still rosy, then roast it for another five minutes or so.

When the bird is done, remove it from the pan with its rack and set it on a carving board or serving platter to rest while you make the pan sauce.

Put the roasting pan on top of the stove and turn the burner up on medium high heat. Remove all but 1 or 2 tablespoons of fat from the pan. Strain the stock, discarding the giblets and garlic slices and pour the liquid into the pan. Stir and cook, scraping up all the browned bits (which are called fond) from the bottom of the pan, dissolving them in the stock. Reduce the liquid until it barely coats the back of a spoon and then sprinkle half of the roughly chopped herbs into the sauce, whisking them in well. (If you want, you can add a teaspoon or two of butter to the sauce to enrich it–but really, we have used plenty of butter already, so it is up to you if you want to do it.) Drizzle a spoonful of the sauce over the bird and sprinkle it with the rest of the herbs, then serve the rest of the sauce on the side.

This bird is great with roasted vegetables like baby carrots, fingerling potatoes and pearl onions.

Cooking For Others

For me, and it turns out, lots of other folks, cooking is about love.

It really is that simple.

If I didn’t have a family, or roommates or friends, and I didn’t work as a chef or line cook–in other words, if I was completely and utterly alone, I probably wouldn’t cook much that was interesting, and I certainly wouldn’t write a food blog.

Cooking for myself is bloody boring, not to mention a pain in the wazoo–why make that much of a mess just for myself? Especially since it would be myself cleaning up that mess without help or companionship in the kitchen.

So, were it just me, there would be no Beouf Bourguignon, Hillbilly Fried Rice or Panko Fried Catfish. No Chicken with Bitter Melon. No Thai Green Curry. No Bacon-Filled Waffles with Chili-Fried Apples. Nothing that really required multiple steps, lots of oil, large vegetables, hand-made curry pastes, special electric appliances or leftovers.

It isn’t as if I would never cook at all.

I would probably still make simple Indian curries, very simple stir-fried dishes, soups, dals, and easy cold noodles, and quick hot pastas, but falafel would be out of the question.

If it was just me, I would barely bake. Why make cheesecake just for yourself? Or Aphrodite Cakes? Or Aztec Gold Brownies? Or even my beloved sour cherry pie, for goodness sake? No one should eat an entire pie, for various reasons, and if I wasn’t going to eat the entire thing and it was just me, well, then, I would just not bake the pie in the first place.

Luckily, few cooks live in completely isolation. We almost always have someone around for whom to cook and it is a good thing too. Not just for our waistlines, but for our sanity as well.

I fully believe that most people who love to cook, and this includes line cooks and chefs, do so not only because they love food and the challenge of working alchemical arts upon it, but because they love people, and their favored way of showing that love is through feeding them.

Every great chef or cook I have ever known, even the cynical and cranky ones, even the most crusty and snide ones, all have a heart filled with love for other people, and the desire to show that love through the most intimate act of cooking them food which feeds both body and soul. Often all of that cranky, crusty and cynical demeanor is armor which protects those sweet and loving hearts from the slings and arrows that an often rough world flings in a professional kitchen.

Most home cooks I have known are the same way; they will not hesitate to cook for their loved ones, but can’t be bothered to do much more than scrambled eggs or grilled cheese sandwiches for themselves. My Gram, from whom I learned to cook fried chicken and delicious beef vegetable soup, and who taught both my mother and I how to make homemade noodles, as she got older and after Pappa died, barely cooked for herself. I would go to her house on weekends and cook for her, even though I was in the middle of a divorce and was living forty-five minutes away. I did it because I loved her, she was losing much needed body weight and she would delighted eat whatever high-calorie food I would create for her, and would dutifully heat up the leftovers over the week.

After going to see Julie & Julia with me, Heather said that the main reason she is moving into a house filled with young roomates was so she would have someone to cook for. She had already made her reputation as a cook in her office by bringing batches of Aphrodite Cakes and Aztec Gold Brownies to share, but she wants to do more. (And, as she noted on her Facebook page, she now wants to learn French food! Yeah, Julia–still inspirational after all of these years!)

When she said that, Dan, who also went to see it with us, pointed out that Neil Peart, famed drummer for Rush, has a food blog on his website. In the opening essay of the blog, Peart talks about how he learned to cook for his first wife when she was ill, and as such, has come to see cooking as a very visceral expression of love. Left to his own devices, he’d not cook–he doesn’t love it for itself. He loves cooking for the people he loves– and that is a distinction that I believe most people would understand and agree with.

My first guinea pig, I mean, cooking student, Bill, figured it all during the hours of a long evening of the two of us cooking a multi-course Chinese feast at the home of a friend who had never tasted our food before.

It was a stressful evening for Bill–me–I was in my element. When we had gone to Krogers here in Athens (we were visiting from Maryland), I had found that there was no ground pork to be had, so I had shrugged, bought pork shoulder and loin and had declared I would simply mince it by hand with two matched cleavers–mine and Bill’s. This process is loud and flashy, and before long, half of the twenty-odd diners had popped their heads into the smallish kitchen to see what the ruckus was about.

Bill worked quickly and efficiently, but had the air of a wild rabbit harried by hounds–breathless and wide-eyed.

By the time we served the first course, a hot and sour soup fragrant with lemongrass and galangal, Bill’s face had taken on the look of a whitetail deer in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler on a rainy night. He was terrified.

I whispered in his ear, “Relax. Remember, no apologies, and no fears. Ever.”

When everyone had filed through the kitchen and ladled up their soup, he and I both two small bowls, and slipped into the nearly silent living room.

I say nearly silent because while there was a lot of sipping and noisy slurping going on, no one, but no one was talking.

Everyone’s head was bowed over their bowls as they busily ate the soup in great gulps.

I smiled, sat and sipped my soup, while watching everyone else eat.

When I looked up, Bill was sitting across from me on a floor pillow. He hadn’t touched his soup, even though he hadn’t eaten all day.

He was just gazing around, smiling goofily.

“Now I understand,” he whispered, “Why you barely eat anything when you cook for people. You don’t need to.”

I grinned and rose, heading back to the kitchen after finishing my last swallow of my meager bowl of soup.

When Bill followed me, I nodded. “My food is their delight, not the food I cook.”

As he sipped his soup, I turned back to the stove.

“Let’s get back to work,” I said. “Spring rolls can’t roll and fry themselves, you know.”