My oven and I are becoming one. It is a beautiful experience. One soul. One mind. One stomach.
My oven and I did not get off to a great start. My cakes sank. Things were burnt. Things were still cooking at 11 o’clock at night. I hated that I had to let my jaw hang open like a drooling dog whenever I changed the position of the rack otherwise my teeth would grind horribly at the noise. I had to Google oven symbols because they are different in France, who knew?
But, now, Oven and I are firm friends. When everyone leaves Bonneville, when it’s cold and rainy outside and when I have already watched every episode of Glee I possibly can, I know Oven will always be there. Strong and dependable. Maybe ovens are a bit like maps, you just have to learn how to read them. (A vague idea of where you are headed helps too.)
Last night, Oven, you truly out did yourself.
Determined not to spend this week alone with only a kitchen appliance for conversation, I decided that every day I must venture out into Bonneville and partake in actual human interaction. So, yesterday I dusted off 2000 Recettes de la Cuisine Française and chose a simple recipe for a turkey fillet roasted with potatoes, onions and apples.
I think I may have found true balance in my life: shopping at the organic food store for tofu and almonds, swinging by the boulangerie for a pain aux céréales and then directly to the Maison de Fromage for a rather sizeable chunk of the best creamy goat’s cheese I have ever tasted and a turkey fillet. The one thing that will not be in balance soon will be my bank account…
With the simplest of seasonings, olive oil, salt and pepper, I roasted my turkey fillet in a bed of cubed potatoes and onions, later adding slices of apple. The turkey came out cooked to perfection: lightly crispy on top, tender and succulent inside.
I had a minor faux pas with the bottle of Beaujolais I had bought… After a week or so where luxuries like wine and cheese were very much out of reach, I had forgotten that I was currently not in possession of a bottle opener. Reminiscing of picnics in the park and being 16 all over again, the only thing to do when faced with a challenge of this sort is to push the cork into bottle… Next thing I know my kitchen walls are dripping a delicate shade of red.
And much later, after having thoroughly enjoyed my dinner, cleaned my kitchen walls and had a private wine tasting in front of a Glee re-run, I realised that I had spent all evening looking like this:
Thankfully, Oven doesn’t judge…