I made dinner for my fabulous friend Marcie (who, in addition to being really smart and funny and an amazing teacher and friend) cooks amazing meals for me when I am in Seattle. Really fucking delicious dishes– surprising things like truffled grits and salmon with preserved lemon.
So tonight I wanted to return the favor.
I made chicken breasts sautéed with peaches, of all things, and barbecued corn spiked with lots of butter and fresh marjoram from Marcie’s garden– and carrots with (more) butter and lemon and sugar.
I know what you are thinking: sautéed chicken. Fine. Sliced shallots softened in butter to deglaze the pan– well and good. A quarter cup of basalmic vinegar, reduced until it is syrupy. Yes. And a quarter cup of wine and perform the same reduction. Then a quarter cup of cream and let it simmer until it coats the back of a spoon. You’re speaking (writing?) my language . . . Singing my song . . .
But then to add fresh peaches? And fresh thyme (also from Marcie’s garden?)
All I can say is yes, yes, yes, oh yes– chicken and fresh peaches is an inspired combination.
As are carrots, prepared “with a spritz.” The recipe is from The Junior League of Seattle cookbook, Simply Classic, which is a Whetham family classic (and the closest I will ever get to The Junior League.) Carrots, parboiled, then tossed with butter, lemon zest, fresh lemon juice, and sugar– then allowed to caramelize and brown a bit in that heavenly mixture while you make sure the corn barbecues evenly on the grill.
Fresh marjoram, incidentally, is a revelation. Especially when you slice said barbecued corn from the cob and toss it with said marjoram and Plugra.
As was the popcorn Marcie popped while I was cooking, which she tossed with truffle salt. She paired it with a Graham Beck rose that we both adore (heck, if it’s good enough for the Obamas on Inauguration Day . . .) and we drank champagne and exclaimed over the deliciousness of surprises and talked about our novels.
And Marcie made the dessert: spotted dick (heated in the microwave) and cream. That was her joke, because of course I have been living in London off and on the past year.
So we ate our portions of spotted dick covered in cream for dessert and watched the episode of Louie CK where he goes to Afghanistan. It was, like all Louie episodes, fucking brilliant.
The dessert was not bad either, although spotted dick, dick that gets soft when heated, is not really my thing.
