That title sounds like a code phrase for some elaborate spy thriller. “You will respond, ‘chestnut ladybug shoemaker.’”
But the title is accurate; today, I am a year older than I was yesterday.
The unspoken rules of my family dictate that on one’s birthday, one can do whatever the hell one wants. So, as you could guess, I’m cooking. And I’m cooking a steak.
Rib eye. Discussed at length elsewhere in these pages, but today I’m doing it differently. I’ve been indulging in a little light reading, in the form of Sally Fallon’s Nourishing Traditions, the bible of the Weston A. Price Foundation crowd. They have a lovely recipe for “pepper steak.” My wife is a freak for steak au poivre, but I refuse to make it again, since I’ve done it so much the French Embassy has written me une cease et desiste.
This recipe is different, though. And relatively fast, which is good, as I’ll be making this later in the evening, after the wee ones have toddled off to bed.
Alors!
Oh, this one isn’t french. Uhm. So,then…!
Marinade of peppercorns and lemon juice. Place on the counter, because I want the steaks at room temp when I cook them.
Time passes.
Woulda come in handy.
And we’re back! Mise:
How we roll.
A little olive oil in my cast iron skillet. Make said skillet hot.
shimmer shimmer
Dry steaks. Leave peppercorns in place as much as possible.
Steaks into skillet. Five minutes-ish per side. Nice mahogany crust. (Side note: Mahogany Crust is my stripper name.)
Make it rain!
Steaks onto plate and into warm oven to rest quietly.
Skillet back onto the burner. Butter in. Shallots in. Just on the heat long enough to smell a little pretty.
Wine in. A little stock, too.
Steaks on plates and sauce on steaks.
Proceed thusly.
The verdict: Good. A nice treatment of a lovely cut. Not the best we’ve ever done (salt, pepper, walk away) but a pleasant variation. Definitely try, but don’t rely upon.
The wife says: Good. Ain’t steak au poivre, but what is?
What we learned: Green peppercorns are under-ripe black peppercorns. They taste “greener,” if that makes sense. And even if it doesn’t.
Up next: There’s candy in my soup.
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