Catching up, Fanny Ardant and Devil's Thighs

Poor c.  I'm still around, I'm still breathing for the 4 or 5 of you who continue to come around.  I am cross posting this here, because I know that some of you don't come over to my other place to read.  I promise, it isn't always just about the food.  This little post just might tell you how good my world is these days.
Come visit.

Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

All my life I just wanted a job I loved. I wanted to be that elusive person who couldn't wait to get up in the morning, I wanted to not resent overtime, or better yet, never consider time spent at my job to be overtime. I wanted to be my own boss, make my own decisions, I wanted my ideas to come to fruition. These days I have all that and more. Three and some years ago I answered a Craigslist ad to teach cooking at a kids cooking school. I was just finishing culinary school, I had been laid off from a high pressure decade long job in IT where I was out of my element and struggling to keep pace. I had a severence package and no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. In that old job I was on call 24/7 for 2 weeks to 1 month at a time and when they called it meant that the system had failed in its overnight processing and potentially billions of dollars were not going to end up where they should in the harsh morning light. There could be dozens of people on the conference call in the middle of the night waiting for you to figure out what happened and make it better...NOW. Sometimes the sound of someone;s pager or the phone ringing in the middle of the night can make my stomach sink.  I hated my job.  I was miserable. When I tell you that the lay off and my subsequent choice to switch careers was one of the best things that could have EVER happened to me, I mean it, with all my heart. The money isn't even close to what it was, but my sanity and my happiness have increased beyond measure. It doesn't matter how many hours I work, or how long I am there it is all good, ALL good.

I placed an ad this week on Craigslist for two part time jobs, one a part time weekend manager and one a part time adult cooking party instructor, I don't think I am exaggerating when I tell you that the response was like an avalanche, a tsunami and a direct indication of the current economic crisis. I am currently pouring through applications and trying to assess everyone's abilities and desires and how they can fit into our business. It's a daunting task and it is made more poignant considering how I found myself in my current position. I had interviews on Friday at 11,12,1,2,3 and 4. I can tell you that I have a new appreciation of the tasks of an HR manager. I have literally NEVER talked so much in one span and I can honestly say that I met some really interesting people. I loved hearing everyone's story and some had some incredible resumes to boot.  Alaskan fisherman-fireman-boat captain-heavy equipment driver-cook, Harvard grad, CIA grad, NECI grad, and on and on. Lesson learned?  Never, ever judge a book by its cover.

Anyway, all of this introductory diatribe is really just me leading up to saying that I have happily spent his rainy Sunday not speaking to anyone other that the puppy and my husband, who spent much of his day downstairs working on his solid modeling software on his ultra secret work project which has some tight upcoming deadlines.  I, on the other hand, spent much of the day in my kitchen watching subtitled films through the pass through and dipping into a multi stage Suzanne Goin recipe from Sunday Suppers at Lucques.

We shopped on Saturday and I forgot to pick up a nice bread to make fresh breadcrumbs so I started the day with my Zojirushi and made a loaf of bread.  Don''t judge me folks.  I make bread from scratch as well, but today I had little time to make and proof and rest and shape and bake, so my lovely maker did the work while I fired off some laundry.  Once the bread was done I let it cool and then sliced it thickly to let it start to dry out.  Husband snuck upstairs and absconded with one of the 'heels' his favourite part and descended back to the depths to continue his work.  I later finished drying the bread out in a 200F oven while watching Paris, Je t'aime, isn't Fanny Ardant the best? I love her more than Deneuve. I marinated the chicken thighs in a sliced onion, 2 sliced serrano chilies, a load of thyme sprigs and 1/4 cup of vermouth in the fridge for several hours giving it a squash around in the bag every few hours between laundry loads.

While I made breakfast I sliced my leeks and floated them in a big bowl of cold water, swishing it around every time I passed to let the sand fall to the bottom of the bowl.  After breakfast with the Globe and the Times digested I lifted them off of the water and blotted them on a towel.  I sprinkled them with kosher salt and pepper and then in a big skillet with hot oil I seared them and got some nice brown color on both sides.  Brown=good.  When they were done I tossed in 1 cup of sliced shallots that made me weep when I sliced them, a few tablespoons of thyme leaves and stirred them around until the shallots were translucent.  I splashed in 1/4 cup of Vermouth and let it reduce and then  poured in some chicken stock.  All of this was poured over the leeks in a baking dish.  On went a crumpled up piece of parchment paper and a sheet of foil tightly sealed the dish.  While it hung out in the 400 degree oven, I cooked husbands chicken breasts for his sandwiches, or butties, as he calls them, for the week.

Later the thighs were removed from the marinade and dried.  Into that same heavy saute pan they went with some oil and I browned them. Then the saute pan was deglazed with some chicken stock.  The thighs were squished around in a mixture of sautéed shallots that were cooked with some thyme and vermouth and added to a goodly amount of dijon and 1 egg.  They were arranged on that bed of braised leeks, I poured over the chicken stock from the pan and then covered everything in the fresh breadcrumbs that had been tossed with some buerre noir or brown butter for you non francophiles.  This whole assembly baked in a 375F oven for about 35 minutes and came out all brown and lovely.

On the side we had some smashed potatoes with chive and a very peppery olive oil.

The verdict?  He hated it.  I thought it was okay, but certainly not worth spending a Sunday on.  Certainly not photo worthy, hence the lovely picture of Fanny Ardant instead. You win some, you lose some.  But the lesson learned?  Sometimes you just have to try something new, you'll never know if you don't try.