Eggs Hussarde for Mother's Day...a journey to the famous Brennan's restaurant

When the April 2013 issue of Saveur magazine arrived in my mail, I noticed the feature article was on "New Orleans".  I tucked the magazine away so I could slip it out as a treat at the end of the day.  I was curious to see how Saveur was going to tackle the endless supply of culinary chatter that fills this city with waves of immigrant stories, multiple redefining tragedies, and layers of multi-ethnic  cuisines.

Before stashing the magazine for later, I flipped through the pages to the article and quickly glanced at the photographs of the highlighted dishes.  I whistled quietly to myself and thought, "Oh boy, this is going to be a good article that I want to read  slowly from beginning to end."

My morning sunrise 

I had a hard time delving into the writing because my eyes couldn't resist roving again over the excellent photography .  Many of the dishes highlighted were dishes I grew up eating, cooked by  Rose, with my brothers and I sitting around the kitchen table in my grandparent's house.  

My grandfather took one hour off at midday each day from his patients at his small doctor's office right up the road.  He was a WWII vet who settled quietly as a small town southern doctor, making "calls" with his black leather medical case, in a little backwoods cajun town buried deep within the crawfish and boudin eating region of Louisiana. 

As my eyes roamed from one recipe to another, I was pleased that Saveur focused on the tried and true traditional cajun and creole dishes that I grew up eating.  I worked my way one dish at a time through this excellent article written by southerner Lolis Eric Elie.  By the end of the article, I couldn't resist moving into the kitchen to recreate for myself some of these favorite dishes highlighted in the magazine.

A few articles ago here on 'thyme',  I could be found buried in the kitchen slowly stirring together a delicious creamy pan of spicy crawfish étouffée for our Sunday supper.  The next weekend, I came home from the market with a bulging bag  of crawfish and we had our own petite crawfish boil indulgence with spicy corn-on-the-cob and soft hot potatoes.

For Mother's Day weekend, I decided I would virtually travel to the famed Brennan's restaurant in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  I've never been to the family run restaurant in real life, but realized I could still indulge in their menu right in my own home.  For my selection, I had one dish in mind that stood out from all the rest...

...Eggs Hussarde

After having difficulty moving my eyes off of the gorgeous photo of the Eggs Hussarde in the magazine, I swished a few pages over to read the recipe and scribbled down the ingredients.

From the photo of that perfectly prepped fried oyster po-boy sandwich to those mouth watering Oysters Rockefeller, and the gorgeous shot of the gumbo ya-ya, the article nailed the range of cajun and creole dishes of not only New Orleans, but of Louisiana and of my youth.

Heirloom tomatoes from the weekend market

After reading about the author of the article, Lolis Eric Elie, I learned that he was raised in New Orleans, left the city as a young adult for years, and then returned ready to revisit those tried and true classics.  I sensed a kindred spirit there and in my own kitchen I journeyed along with him.

Eggs Hussarde, as the article describes it "one-ups Benedict with the addition of red wine sauce laden with ham and mushrooms." 

Yes. Yes it does.

Scribbled list in hand, market basket in tow, I was off to the farmer's market, ready to gather the supplies for this sumptuous Mother's Day indulgence.

Back in the kitchen, Patrick was on hand by my side, fretting that I was tackling my own Mother's Day dish.  My eyes, however, were mesmerized by that marigold hued hollandaise sauce wrapped around the delicately poached egg on Saveur's page 52.  As long as someone was washing the dishes, I was happy to have garlic, smoked ham, and diced onions to chop, dice, and occupy my time.

So we chopped the garlic and scallions.  We chopped the onions, ham, and mushrooms.  As they sautéed in the olive oil, the seducing aromas spread throughout the house.

But, it was when the rich beef stock, bold red wine, tangy Worcestershire, and clippings of fresh thyme were added, that the aromas became uniquely defined.

It took the two of us, indeed, to master the rich creamy hollandaise sauce.  I knew enough to make sure that back up eggs were on hand, as the first attempt separated and had to be tossed.

With a few modifications to the Hollandaise recipe (less butter than the recipe required), the second whisking came out smooth and velvety.  I would love to know what variety of eggs were used for the magazine photograph. Their sauce is so deeply golden hued compared to mine, which came out paler but, nonetheless, tasted delicious.

One by one, we dropped the eggs into the fast boiling water only to scoop them out tenderly minutes later.  Assembling the dish involved layering  richly flavored ingredients - whole grain English muffins lightly toasted, thick sliced Canadian bacon, a spoon of the richly flavored red wine sauce, the delicate poached egg, and a generous pouring of the rich Hollandaise to finish off the dish.

Eggs Hussarde is certainly not a "light" breakfast dish.  It makes for an elegant brunch option when desiring something  rich and savory.  

I sliced those beautiful heirloom tomatoes, sprinkled them generously with parmesan cheese and broiled them in the oven until crispy on top.

With bellies full of this decadent brunch, a plateful of fruit and wine was all that was nibbled on throughout the rest of the day. 

A virtual journey from the pages of a magazine, to a famed New Orlean's restaurant to a plate of sumptuousness enjoyed right at my dining room table.  Bravo, Saveur.  You made this southern mother happy.

A Sunday swim to show off some Mama pride

My Birthday...cooking through emotions both savory and sweet

We had a birthday weekend in our family. It was mine.  I'm pleased to say that my fourth decade on this earth is one of the happiest and most fulfilling of all.

The weather here was near perfect over the weekend, cool, windy, and sunny... and for that, I am so grateful.  

To be honest, my birthday is a day that leaves me melancholy and quiet.  For years, I worked fervently to keep these dismal feelings at bay. I would act festive and jovial throughout the day as if life was brimming with memories of birthday bliss.  However, I knew that behavior was merely my attempt to slip on a mask in order to hide a truer pain that sweeps over me on this day each year.

Basket of freshness from the farmer's market

I wrestle with the annual desire to wallow in self pity and to delve mournfully into  what has been lost in my life...or perhaps what was never truly had.

On my children's birthday, I wrap my arms around them, tell them how much I love them, bake delicious cakes and meals for them...because I do love them very much and cannot imagine acting any other way.  It is how I envision all parents should feel towards their children.

But, sometimes I wonder if the giving, the baking, the loving...is an attempt to provide self-love on some other parallel plane.  If it is, then I welcome the relief and the solace of creating a meal filled with beauty and sentiment.

Clementines, fennel, and thyme - unexpected flavors that work together beautifully

Going through all the stages of parenting and watching my children grow, gives me such profound insight into my own stages as a child and the experiences that accompanied it.

The way I am as a mother, the way my husband is as a father, and the way my children are all interweave together to sew the many colors, textures, and patterns of our unique patched family quilt.

Each stage of triumphs and failures of my own family offers  glimpses into the decisions made in similar circumstances by the people who surrounded me growing up.  It gives me much to dwell on, to ruminate, and to deliberate.

And, yes, this day often leaves me fighting great waves of melancholy as I realize through each stage of my upbringing, the decisions that were made by others...were so unlike those that I have strived so terribly hard to make.

Pernod, a luscious french liqueur with strong notes of licorice

So, we all move through our separate lives carrying our many baggages filled with savory experiences as well as sweet ones.  We all realize we have choices to make or that were made and learn from then on that they have everlasting consequences.  

And as we move through our adult lives, now as parents, the parallels are joyfully, as well as painfully, reflective and revealing of those choices made so long ago...but often feel like were freshly made just yesterday.

For those of us with artistic inclinations, we write, we draw, we photograph, we dance, or in my case, I cook in order to work through, discover, and demonstrate my feelings and emotions.  I think my time in the kitchen has meanings far deeper than my attempt at simply following directions or merely gathering ingredients.

So I spent a quiet weekend doing quiet activities.  I kept off my happy mask and gave myself permission to apply a balm of gentle soothing to everything around me.   I was off to the farmer's market early to enjoy the cool weather and quiet air that would accompany me.  I prefer the early hours of the market as everyone is softly bustling about and getting ready for the robust crowds that will soon follow.  I slowly began to fill my basket with delicious choices that either caught my eye or intrigued my senses.  

I used to wish my birthday away...hoping it would sweep by without having to tackle the wave of emotions that would ensue.  For me, the beauty of being in my 40's is the release from looking outward for the unconditional love that everyone needs and craves.  Realizing that I am often my own best friend, my best champion, and my most nurturing companion is a mid-life gift that I  whole heartedly accept and appreciate.

Whereas my husband loves to get in the kitchen and prepare something special for me, I had a recipe in mind that I couldn't resist pulling together for this birthday weekend. I needed to be in the kitchen.

It is a recipe from the cookbook "Jerusalem: A Cookbook" by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi.  I never quite know what will strike my fancy so when my eyes passed over Sue's photo of this dish, "Roasted Chicken with Clementines"  from her wonderful blog "A View from the Great Island", I knew it was meant for this weekend.

I rarely buy cookbooks.  I know, a food blogger who rarely buys cookbooks.  I don't even own this "Jerusalem" cookbook, but it might just be one that I will have to seek out and flip through the pages.

This dish pairs chicken with clementines, fennel, pernot (a french liqueur), and thyme.  It is baked in the oven until the skin is caramelized and crispy.  The sauce is poured over until it is shimmery, sweet, aromatic, and complex.

I enjoyed every bite of this sumptuous roasted chicken dish.  I am definitely curious about delving deeper into the two authors and their experiences growing up on either side of Jerusalem.  Ottolenghi and his friend Tamimi explore the vibrant cuisine of their home city--with its diverse Muslim, Jewish, Arab, Christian, and Armenian communities. 

And then there is the sweetness in life that soothes not only the heart but the palate too.  This "Gateau Basque" recipe has become a favorite choice for its simplicity.

Gateau Basque is a pretty cake with a simple look but lovely taste.  The smooth creamy layer of cream filling is rich but punctuated by sweet blackberry jam that gives just the right touch of sweetness to the cake.

At the market, I was chatting with one of the vendors who sells me my creamed honey.  He mentioned that he also had some fresh eggs.  Fresh eggs were on my list but I wasn't ready for the lovely pale green shade of eggs that he put in front of me.  He had a  wide grin on his face because  he knew I would be impressed and appreciate his lovely eggs.  

The type of chicken that lays this pale green shaded egg is called an Ameracauna.  I bought a dozen of these interesting eggs, tucked them in my market bag and looked forward to admiring them at home.

Thank goodness birthdays only come once a year.  For all sorts of reasons, I'm sure many might agree.  I move through mine as if under a pool of blurry water.  Each year I search for understanding, holding my breath and focusing on the surface so that I can come up and gasp a breath of air.   

Everyone copes with trials and tribulations. We all try to snuff out the burning and the stinging that prevails.  I think it is great comfort to  know that in each person's pile of baggage, there can be found a mixture of balms and salves that heal those wounds and give relief to pains.

So for this birthday, this meal was a gift on so many levels. I celebrate the deliciousness of new dishes discovered, birthdays that come and can then be let go, and the welcome gift of self-love and appreciation and that my being on this earth is very much mine to celebrate.

Les Madeleines cakes...for the final "final" finals of the year!

When you have a daughter named Madeleine...  And, one of her favorite little cakes is "les madeleines", well that makes life a bit of a match when it comes to baking treats.

So, here we are.  It seems it was in the wink of an eye. The last "college care package" of the year is being assembled...that is... the last of the historic freshman year!

What an enormous "life learning curve" occurs during the famed freshman year of college.  The world suddenly opens up to all sorts of unexpected avenues, to the meeting of new friends, and to the good and occasionally not-so-good that life sometimes brings with it. 

Certainly, her father and I have had fun amusing ourselves with shared recollections of what our early college years were like...shared some belly laughs, but oh my, cringed at  others.

So the final, final week of "finals" is almost here.  I sifted, stirred, and baked a batch of les madeleines to deliver to the post office tomorrow...a little something to nibble during those dreaded study sessions that seem to be never-ending.

Patrick and I met while we were in college...um-teen years ago.  We were actually planning our wedding during our senior year of college.  When we think back, we can't believe we married so young.  We snicker at how ridiculously young we both looked in our wedding photos.

Our senior year of college was spent living apart between  New York and St. Louis...planning a wedding that would be  in southern Missouri, finishing up degrees in marketing and engineering, and accepting job offers that meant we would be moving way up to Michigan...a mere week after the honeymoon! 

Where was our honeymoon, one might ask?  Well, it was where all mature married couples dream of going

...Disneyworld!  Of course.

...and indeed, we had a fabulous time.

We were young, naive, and hopelessly in love.  We had a whirlwind of a year finishing our college degrees and setting up house in Michigan within months...too young to know how impossibly young we were to be making such adult decisions.

So with all of that history behind us, we are relieved, as parents of today, to see that our daughter is a happy and normal freshman...completely uninterested in "setting up house" for years to come.

So we've been chatting back and forth about finalizing semester classes, studying for finals, packing up dorm rooms...but most importantly, planning out summer fun until it's time for what will be a more calmer and relaxed sophomore year of hopefully more "knowns" than "unknowns".  

Maps have been unfolded, travel tickets arranged for here and there, and the crazy plans for summer can't come soon enough.

We have weddings, camps, classes, travel, family visits, and perhaps just a little bit more of that travel element thrown in this summer, just for good measure.

It's funny to peek into my daughter's room.  She moved into this house mid high school.  At that time, we decided to create a "young lady" room that was mature and elegant.  She squeals with delight when she gets home now that the reality of "dorm living" has worn off...the luxury of thick carpet under her feet, a bed she won't roll off of, but most of all, she points out...no dang cursed elevator door dinging all throughout the day and night!

Bistecca Con Salsa delle Erbe ... perfect meal for our global table

Caporales San Simon Dancers from Bolivia

What a sight for sore eyes and hearts it was this weekend to revel in the celebration of the multitudes of international cultures that come together to live, work, and play in Houston.  After a week of being glued to the news in the aftermath of the Boston bombing, the process of soul searching and deeper understanding of the troubles affecting our world are clearly necessary.  

After a tough week of wondering why the fabric of our country seems to be fraying at its edges...comes the... 

International Festival of Houston, Texas...this year celebrating the food and highlighting the culture of...BRAZIL!

Brazilian Carnivale Dancer from Austin Samba: Banh Mi Vietnamese Sandwich: Festival onlooker; Ari-rang Korean Folk Dancers

Every year in the cool breezes of April, Houston brings together and assembles a multitude of nationalities into the hub of its cosmopolitan city to gather, celebrate, dance, sing, and taste the flavors of its multi-ethnic residents.

This is an event that has, over the past 3 years, never failed to renew my belief  that humanity is at its heart, genuinely "good".  And with the entire country mourning, reflecting, and realizing that we need to look deep into our  hearts in order to understand the troubles of not only our country but issues of the world  that are influencing the direction of our country.

When I look deep into the eyes of so many faces of diversity all sharing, caring, and enjoying the fruits of this country at an event like the International Festival... my heart swells with happiness  as well as hope for this world of ours.

To celebrate the Brazilian love of beef, a big bold beef recipe that calls for a medley of fresh herbs makes this simple steak dish an easy dinner option for relaxed weekend grilling.  

I have my rosemary pot doing well...tarragon, thyme, and oregano made it through the Texas winter too.  Chopping the fresh herbs and mixing them with olive oil is a sensory experience that is so lovely.  The aromas are fresh and a clear indication that spring is definitely here to stay.

So here where I live, the city comes together for two weekends in Houston, holds hands, and shows that humanity is not lost.  No, not lost at all... but can always be re-inforced, reinvigorated, and renewed through shared music, food, and time together.

As the Brazilian Carnivale Parade wound its way through the festival grounds this weekend, Brazilian dancers shimmied, twisted, and sashayed while drums beat out festive sounds and tambourines jiggled with jocular rhythms.

One by one people of all ethnicities joined in, twisted their hips and clapped their hands, and encouraged each other to celebrate...

...to move to the music of life renewing itself after a weary week of worry.

Festival Mask of Caporales San Simon (Bolivia)

The dancing and celebrating at the festival, however, was different than the dancing and celebrating on the streets of Boston this weekend.  After the suspected bomber from the marathon was captured, it made me very sad to see footage of celebrations in the street and chants of "we won".  I love Boston.  It is a fabulous city and I think what we are seeing could be the embodiment of a flood of relief from fear and gratitude towards the law enforcement of the city.

While I cannot imagine what being sequestered inside my home is like for fear there may be a bomber on the loose who desires to kill as many Americans as possible, I cringed when I saw people chanting, "USA, USA, USA!"

I'm sure that we, as a country, would love to believe that we are invincible, number one, and the leader of the world, but I suspect that it is that emboldened attitude that may only foster more ill will in many parts of the world.

I don't see this as an "us against them" situation.
I don't see this is as an event that we "won".
I don't see this as a situation that calls for "celebrating" in the streets of our country.

Relief was felt and warranted, to be sure...and safely tucked away in my home I cannot relate to what was going through the homes of so many Bostonians, who were afraid to go out to walk their dogs,  for a bite to eat, or a jog to the park.

Oriental Arts Dance Group of Houston

As I walked through the crowds at this festival, saw the twinkling eyes of so many cultures, eating, laughing, singing, and enjoying their revelry together...my mind runs through the history of each country's relationship to the other.  

As I sampled the bold and hearty foods from Brazil...I tasted the flavors of influence from their colonization by Portugal, tasted the spices brought by slaves to work the land, and tasted the indigenous ingredients grown long before when the country was untouched by outside influences.

Could it be so hard to realize or acknowledge that we all eventually dine at the same table with one another? 

The more I assemble one recipe after another, read one list of ingredients from one country and compare it to another, the revelation to me is always the same...we  enjoy variations of the same flavors and ingredients that are consistent from one country to another, one culture to another...regardless of who we pray to, or what color is on our skin, or what constitutes the relationships that define the word "love".

So if there isn't necessarily an "us versus them"  or a "good versus evil" at the heart of our human nature, then why are there evil events that take place in this world and what can we do to stop them?

Austin Samba Dancer dancing in the Brazilian Parade

I wandered around the festival wondering how many people might have that question on their minds too.  Dedications could be heard to the victims of the bombing in Boston.  Pleas for increased humanity and understanding sounded in between each group of performers.

Bottom Left: Picanho à Brazileira, stewed beans, and Pork Sausage from Tradicao Restaurant in Houston, TX

In my mind, the answer seems to stem from the need for "resources".  What resources  I have beneath my soil may be different from that found under your soil.  It may be better or worse...it may be plentiful or scarce, it may be easily retrieved or buried deeply within the earth.   

The color of skin, the religious history, the cultural differences we perceive as obstacles to peace are actually of no profound importance but become excuses used in order to level the playing field in this world for the constant need for resources.

Bottom Left: Fried Catfish, Hushpuppies and French Fries Cajun Dinner

I am certainly no politician, sociologist, or psychologist.  But, it seems that the age-old adage, "with age comes wisdom" might have some value to it.  With each new turning of generations, how many lessons that should have been learned from history...are not passed down to the next?  

As we theorize the reasons for the events of Boston this past week it will inevitably lead us to journey to unknown parts of Eastern Europe.  We'll try to unravel the angst, turmoil, and confusion that resulted after the devastation of WWII, the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ensuing Cold War with the U.S., and the many ethnic and religious groups overlapping in that part of the world.

Roasted Fennel and Artichoke Hearts in Olive Oil

Whereas, my outlook may seem a simplistic one, I am realizing as I get older, that even though the events of history may be complicated and are filled with names, dates, battles, boundary lines, trade agreements, incidences after incidences recorded in history that make the multitudes of problems seem unsolvable, the core heart of the issue could be far more simplistic than the work it took to unravel the facts.

The years of intertwining struggle between groups of people whose ethnic names we can barely pronounce, seems so remotely related to us, to our iconic marathon, or a city like Boston, that embodies the soul of America. What does this have to do with our country?  How are their struggles related to the U.S?

But, we must not cast the reasons for their anger aside and adopt an "us versus them" mentality.  We must not chant to each other "we will win" or "go U.S.A.".  

These chants may make us feel safe and secure for the moment but they will only secure and encourage a more imminent danger to us in the long run.

Dancers from Mixteco Ballet Folklorica

So, what are we to do?  What can each and every seemingly insignificant one of us do?  Do we, as individuals, have the power to change the greater world?

We must, first of all, understand our own history.  We realize and accept that we have made historical mistakes that have left waves of discontent that have been embedded in others' outlook towards us.  

We must know the histories of other parts of the world in relation to our own.  We must understand that resources, or lack thereof,  shape the historical events of our grandparents and will shape future events of our future grandchildren.

The histories of most other countries are much longer and deeply rooted, uprooted, and planted over again and again than in the U.S.

During the 1800 and 1900's, we were geographically separated from the consequences of WWI and WWII.  We were able and capable of prospering and benefiting  economically.  

Dancers from Oriental Arts group in Houston, Texas

The fragile structure of the world's economy is inextricably linked in today's world and from now on...what happens "over there" will affect us "over here".  

I don't have any answers.  I'm just an average daughter, an average mom, an average mother, sister, and aunt.

But, what I do know, is when I bring a freshly made loaf of bread to a neighbor, it makes them smile.  When I wave to a group of walkers in the neighborhood, it softens their face.  When I stop to pick up something someone has dropped, their eyes begin to twinkle.

Owners of Farafinya: Beads and African Crafts

And little by little by little...a community has the potential to come together.  Someone who is unhappy in this country may have a moment of pause.  Someone who is confused about the world, may see a sliver of hope.  Someone who is angry at our culture, may have a glimmer of understanding.

It is very easy to come to this country but still grow up very divided from the culture that is considered "American".  I see it every day.  On my block, alone, there must be 10 to 15 different nationalities all living one house apart from one another.

On one hand, families want to hold on to their histories, their cultures, their ways.  They want to pass on their traditions, festivities, and stories down to the next gum-chewing, sneaker-wearing, skateboard-pushing generation that is melting into the great pot of America.

Hardly any of our forefathers decided to pick up and come to America because they just needed a change of scenery.

And this is all good.  It is as it should be.  Out of strife and adversity come better understanding than if we all remained separate.

Top Right: Brazilian Beef, Pasteis, and Potato Fritters

But, when so many people are walking side by side at the International Festival, out in the open, sharing and caring about one another, the scene, the laughter, the food, and the sounds are so transforming. 

It is very easy to not reach across the street and offer that loaf of bread.  It is very easy to live within the confines of a home, that provide electronic entertainment far surpassing anything a bike, park, or playground might deliver.

Most of us  just call ourselves common folk.  We are moms, or accountants, or teachers and we don't have the knowledge or power or ability to negotiate a safer future for our country in the grand scheme of things.

We do, however, have the ability to understand the history of our country as it relates to the histories and experiences of others.  And we must.

We do have the ability to smile at a stranger and make their day just that teeny weeny bit brighter.

We do have the ability to wave to a neighbor and ask if they are alright, query how was their day, point out their flowers out front look pretty. 

We do have the ability to bring over a freshly baked loaf of bread without much hassle.

We do this because the past has shown us that through overlapping quests for resources, overlapping ideals and goals, intermixing of alliances as well as barriers, we all sit down around the same table eventually.

We all can trace ingredients in almost every dish that we make that can touch its origins from multiple ethnic groups of people.  

It is what gives food flavor, makes dishes become traditional, and brings people together even if they don't realize that the table around which they are gathering...

...is a global table.

A weekend's close...a sweet treat...key lime cupcakes from our bakery