Meatloaf by a different name
Dinner last night was an omelet with potatoes in it. With the cupboard pretty bare and the car too encased in ice to drive to the store, I rummaged around in the kitchen and found enough to throw something together. The potatoes came from a can. It was a plate of brown, bland food.
Meanwhile, over on Facebook, someone was showing off the Pain de viande he’d made for dinner. He posted a photo, just to rub it in, of a hot glistening mound of something or other that looked to be topped with bacon. I could not discern what this was: pudding? Turkey? A frosted cake? (The bacon would suggest savory rather than sweet, but then again, how does one explain the confusion of mincemeat pie?)
Many lauded this cook’s efforts, replying to the post with likes and thumbs up and, most intimidatingly, comments that boasted they, too, have made the dish. What, is Pain de viande night a thing in other people’s homes, like Tuesday was spaghetti night for us?
The post was on a Jaques Pepin fan club page. I found my way there by way of the chef’s daily videos, in which he stands at a little counter and tosses things into a skillet with such gentle ease and finesse that even I, a bad cook, am often inspired to try it. That’s where the omelet idea came from, except Jacques’ version had onions, chives, cheese and fresh tomatoes on top.
Few things can make me feel as bad about myself as scrolling down the Jacques Pepin fan page. It’s the culinary version of leafing through a fashion or beauty magazine.
The same day the Pain de viande was posted, there were these humble morsels: seared Parma ham-wrapped scallops with crispy garlic and bacon crumbs; seared duck breasts with sweet cherry sauce; asparagus soup with croutons and goat cheese; beef filet with caramelized toast and pomegranate. So, caramelizing toast is a thing.
Can you imagine the shopping this requires?
Those who are cooking and posting photos of the dishes appear not to be professional chefs, but nice, everyday people with other jobs and families. This leads me to the deflating conclusion that, while I’m here making the usual for dinner (roast chicken thighs, baked potato and Brussels sprouts), some family across the way is about to sit down to, get this, seared salmon over a bed of chive-creamed parsnips, bacon-onion braised fresh collards and tomato pine nut feta orzo.
I can follow a recipe, so what’s keeping me from elevating my game? I don’t like to shop, for one thing, and then there’s the whole instinctive part of cooking. I don’t have the palate nor the finesse required to get the flame under the skillet just right. And I’m not sure those things are so much learned as born with.
My children remind me that when they were growing up, I cooked only three meals: turkey chili, tuna noodle casserole, and chicken breasts with brown rice and broccoli.
“We had that one three times a week,” my son said. I reminded him that’s why he and his sister grew up to be strong and healthy. He was not impressed.
That omelette would have been better if I’d topped it with the chives and tomatoes per Jacques, but I didn’t have any. Maybe I’ll put those items on my shopping list for next time.
In the meantime, I looked up Pain de viande. Turns out it’s something I don’t cook, but certainly could.
It’s meatloaf.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.