It Did Not Defeat Its Own Purpose

We’ve been having mercurial spring weather, pretty much alternating between gorgeous, expansive sun and drenching rain. It’s a good rhythm for the plants, which are burgeoning, but it’s making us a bit nutty. On the nice days I chafe at being in the studio, and on the rainy days the family is cranky and stir-crazy. On just such a day I went to that rarest of places- frying things, for real- and busted out a bistro-licious steak frites that had us all purring with contentment.

What you see here is a sirloin tip steak, rubbed with salt, pepper, and herbes de Provence (which positively fawn over steaks) that got vacuum-sealed and dropped in a water bath at 52˚C for an hour or so. I cut Yukon gold potatoes into sticks, and double-fried them (in canola oil) in two batches for optimal crispness. It takes a little longer, but it’s worth it, and the procedure didn’t even cover everything in the kitchen with oil due to careful attention. The oil is instead in a jar in back of the fridge for next time (probably three months from now, knowing me.) Once the fries were almost done, I gave the meat a good sear, tossed a mesclun salad, and we sat down.

I could wax all poetic about this, and about the warm, welcome reek of fecundity that assails my nostrils every time I step out the door, and the attendant pangs of longing and joy, and about how this kind of classic grub truly does hit particular spots that otherwise tend to go unhit, or about how a sturdy, stanky wine like a 2003 Jaboulet Vacqueyras can wrap its diaphanous purple wings around you and your dinner in a most transporting way. But I don’t need to, because you already know.