I like good food.
If you’ve met me it’s not a stretch to recognise this. My philosophy has been that life should be enjoyed in big bites. As the man said, ‘moderation is for monks’. However, as I progress into my sixth decade, I’ve learned to turn the volume back down from 11 occasionally. Rather than a 48 ounce Porterhouse (I wish I was kidding when I say I ate the whole thing) I now enjoy a 12-ounce Flatiron, or some sliced flank–or even a nice vegetarian meal (I know, I know, eating vegetables is bad for the environment, but they’re so delicious!)
But when it’s time for something rich and tasty, you should never skimp: have one great Martini instead of three crappy ones. Eat a small bar of really good chocolate rather than a bunch of gritty cheap stuff. You get the drift–less is more, if it’s better.
Today I was in the mood for something really, really rich. I was in my butcher, the same hilariously squeamish chap who brings me in various animal parts while wincing (seriously, you’d think he never saw anyone have a conversation with a severed pig’s head before!). The display case held precisely two small, perfect objects.
Marrow bones, a section of the leg bone of a calf. I knew right then that they must be mine. I took them home, seasoned them liberally with Sel Gris and cracked pepper and popped them in a 450 degree convection oven for 20 minutes.
While they roasted, filling the house with a heavenly smell, I sauteed a few brown mushrooms in good Irish butter and a wee bit of garlic and prepared a nice piece of Tuscan bread toast.
The middle of the bones is hot, rich and delicious. Dragged out with a spoon and smeared onto the toast, it was the perfect rich-but-not-overwhelming accompaniment to a glass of Pinot Noir.
Now, what’s for dinner?