In need of comfort after my hopes for television stardom were crushed, I turned to comfort food. I wanted something more rustic and less refined than all of the boeuf bourguignon I had been cooking as of late, but something just as satisfying. It was time to make short ribs again.

Astute long-time readers of this blog will recall that I have written about short ribs before, using an Anne Burrell recipe. That was before I read Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc At Home, where I found the recipe I used for this meal. His method duplicates techniques he outlined in the Bouchon recipe I had borrowed from for my signature dish, so I had an opportunity to try it without the competitive pressure.

I started with six meaty short ribs purchased at Costco. (Yes, I confess to not always going to my preferred butcher for cuts that will have long coking times. Besides, they were right there next to the 50-gallon drums of Clamato juice I was restocking for the family.) Keller calls for boneless chuck short ribs because they’re neater looking, but had no problem with uneven ribs and a bit of extra collagen. (That’s why I have such bitchin’ hair and nails: it’s all the collagen I ingest.)

I seasoned the ribs with salt and pepper, lightly dredged them in flour, then browned the meat in on all sides in a sauté pan filmed with oil.

While the beef browned, I started a red wine reduction by adding a cup each of sliced onions, leeks, mushrooms, and carrots to a Dutch oven. I combined the vegetables with three thyme sprigs, six parsley sprigs, two bay leaves, three smashed garlic cloves, a half teaspoon of peppercorns, and an entire bottle of cabernet sauvignon. I brought the mixture to a simmer and let it cook for an hour, until it had reduced to a glaze.

While the glaze simmered, I made a quick beef stock from the beef trimmings I had saved from bourguignons v1.0 and v2.0, an onion, a carrot, and six cups of water. I boosted the stock with some veal demi-glace I had in the pantry (you have some, don’t you?). I also diced another cup of onion, two-thirds of a cup of carrots, and a cup and a half of leek, which I added to the red wine reduction, along with two more garlic cloves, three thyme sprigs, and two bay leaves. I stirred the new vegetables until they were coated with the glaze.

I cut a piece of cheesecloth lager than the pot diameter, moistened it and wrung it dry, then layered it over the vegetables. I placed the ribs on the cheesecloth, then added the stock to just come to the top of the ribs.

I cut a parchment lid (cheesecloth, parchment – it’s a craft project as well as a meal!) and placed it over the meat.

I covered the pot, transferred it to a 350° F oven, then lowered the heat to 325° F and let the ribs cook for two hours.I had a pot of tender beef that wasn’t quite falling apart.

I slid the bones out and transferred the ribs to a new pot. I strained the braising liquid twice through a chinois, then let it sit in a fat separator until I could pour off most of the fat. I returned the strained, de-fatted liquid to the pot with the beef, and let it all sit overnight in the fridge.

To finish the dish, I moved the ribs back to a sauté pan and added about a quarter inch of the braising liquid. I brought the pan to a simmer and basted with the liquid until the ribs were moist.

I transferred the pan to a 400° F oven for fifteen minutes, basting occasionally. I turned the ribs over, basted some more, and returned them t the oven for an additional five minutes. While the ribs reheated, I reduced the rest of the braising liquid in a saucepan to create a sauce.

To plate, I sliced the ribs against the grain, stacked the slices on some mashed potatoes, added sauce, and finished with Maldon sea salt and chopped parsley. I served a side of buttered haricots verts.

I noticed during the cooking that the recipe didn’t call for any salt to be added. I understood that it might not get added until the end, because the braising and reducing processes would concentrate any salt added at the start, but none was required for the reduced sauce. The key is the salt added as a garnish. As long as you use a salt that will not melt immediately — a Maldon, sel gris, or fleur de sel — not only will the final dish be salted correctly, but you’ll get the added crunch from the crystals.

The beef was still slightly pink and had a bit of bite, a welcome change from ribs that crumble as soon as you eat them. The reduction added just a hint of depth and wine flavors to the sauce, not nearly as pronounced as a traditional bourguignon, and not in need of my usual trick of adding a brightening splash of the cooking wine at the end.

I see in Ad Hoc at Home that these ribs are the first component for beef stroganoff and Catalan beef stew. I think I know what other dishes this winter will bring…

The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

— HPL

My discovery of the forbidden knowledge began in the winter of 2009-2010 with the re-publication of the writings of, P.R., who had in previous decades achieved no small amount of notoriety for his cultural anthropological research, which he published in now discontinued magazines and journals. His observations and criticisms had gone unnoticed and unheeded to such an extent that he withdrew from the field altogether. Rumour had it that he had gone mad and had relocated to the barren southern wastelands, where he purportedly began a program of breeding carnivorous plantlike horrors.

While perusing one of the new omnibus editions of his writings, I noted a passing reference to his current whereabouts and activities. The rumours were indeed true: He had purchased a deserted compound which he proceeded to equip with laboratories and greenhouses where he could conduct his unique research. Although the local residents assiduously avoided him, they knew of his explorations of eldritch knowledge, referring to him as R’dyelh, the Mad Albino.

If not for an accidental piecing together of separate things, I would have lived the remainder of my life ignorant of what has now become an obsession. But fate inserted the two notions into my mind in such a manner that I had no choice but to journey down the path they suggested. I was examining the wares of a purveyor of exotic fruits and vegetables in an emporium on the outskirts of Dunwich when an unusual specimen caught my eye.

In response to my inquiry as to the identity of this unusual fruit, the proprietor informed me that it was a “Buddha Hand Citron,” but I knew differently. I had seen this tentacled growth before in one of R’dyelh’s journals, where he had named it “Cthulufruit” for its striking resemblance to the high priest of the Old Ones:

The association having been made, I was compelled to purchase the entirety of the stock, a total of four of the xanthous excresences, which I transported to my modest home laboratory. I was compelled to determine the truth of some of the Mad Albino’s wilder claims. He contended that ingestion of the strange fruit would result in severe addiction, therefore I set myself to the task of isolating the hallucinogenic agent locked within its twisted flesh.

Experiment 1:

R’dyelh suggested that the infusion of common cane sugar into the fruit would mitigate it’s more severe effects on the brain stem, a hypothesis I investigated by following his preparation technique. I began with two of the fruit, from which I excised the narrow bulb end and then dissected along the ridges that separated the tentacular protrusions.

I should note here that during the course of my experiments the fruit exuded a not unpleasant odor. Having expected a foetid effluvium, I was surprised at the overall sweetness of the heady miasma that pervaded my laboratory. If the fruit’s odour alone could induce bouts of distraction, I could only surmise at the power of the ingested flesh.

I blanched the tentacles in simmering water (aqua regia would have been much to harsh an extraction agent) to remove some of the bitterness imparted by their white, pithy interiors.

Returning the fruit to a new cold water bath, I added an equal weight of sugar and set the vessel to a slow boil, regulating the heat as the mixture thickened to an amber syrup.

I removed the now golden slices from the syrup and placed them on a tray dusted with a special preparation of sugar infused with the fruit of  the Madagascar Vanilla planifolia vine.

After sampling a slice, I forced myself to store the remainder in a vacuum-sealed container well out of the reach of innocent passers-by. Having deduced that a quantity of the psychoactive agent had leached into the syrup, I diluted it with an equivalent volume of water, passed it through a filtration apparatus, and bottled it for long-term storage and future study.

Experiment 2:

Having cleared the laboratory of the effluence of miasmal gases that permeated the facilities, I embarked on the second experiment, one suggested by the Mad Albino in an an unpublished correspondence with a fellow adept of the eldritch arts. “To truly propitiate the Old Ones,” he wrote, “one must ingest their liquid essence.”

That liquid essence, I surmised, would take the form of an extract of the fruit into a solvent other than water, that solvent — ethanol — being the only other liquid that is amenable to human ingestion. I began as before with two of the dissected xanthous pseudopodial bulbs, and an ample quantity of the drink favored by the denizens of the frozen steppes.

I divided the dissected fruits equally between two sturdy glass vessels, then filled each with the ethanol.

I dared not sample this newly-prepared infusion, prudently choosing to store the vessels in the laboratory’s subterranean vault, there to undergo its subtle alchemical transformations for six months. Ingesting the smallest quantity of solution before then would certainly populate my already tortured dreams with unspeakable horrors.

Conclusion:

Despite his obvious debilitating madness, R’dyelh is correct in his assertions of the power of the otherworldly fruit. I sampled only the smallest taste of the preserved tentacles, yet days later I still find myself craving more. And as for the forbidden extract in the vault, it calls to be through a solid yard of the sturdiest New England field stone:

“Cthulhufruit fhtagn.”

(With apologies to H.P. Lovecraft, and thanks to Paul T. Riddell of the Texas Triffid Ranch.)

Inspiration for the evening meal can come from many sources. Last night’s dinner was inspired by a sale on U10 shrimp at Whole Foods and Mark Bittman’s most recent Minimalist column in The New York Times. How could I resist a recipe from Jean-Georges Vongerichten that would take only 30 minutes?

I started with twelve U10 shrimp (peeled and deveined, with the tail left on), four cups of leftover cooked jasmine rice, two tablespoons each of minced ginger and garlic, two cups of thinly sliced leeks (white and light green parts only), and three large eggs.

I sauteed the garlic and ginger n a quarter cup of peanut oil, until they were browned and crispy.

I removed the crispy bits to a paper towel-lined plate to drain, and sprinkled them with salt. I added another two tablespoons of oil to the pan and cooked the shrimp, two minutes per side, then set them aside.

The leeks went in next, where they cooked for ten minutes until softened but not browned.

I added the rice to the leeks and cooked to warm through, seasoning with salt.

Bittman explains that Vongerichten “molds the rice beautifully,” but opts to just dump it into a bowl. If it’s good enough for Jean-Georges, it’s good enough for me, so I molded the rice into serving bowls.

Lastly, I fried the eggs until the whites were set but the yolks were still runny.

For the final assemblage, I placed an egg atop the rice, garnished with the crispy ginger and garlic, spooned a teaspoon of soy sauce and a half teaspoon of sesame oil around the rice, then set the shrimp around the edge.

Soft rice, sweet leeks, creamy egg, and the crunchy topping all worked together to elevate what could have been an ordinary dish into something extraordinary. Surprisingly, the shrimp played more of a supporting role, adding a subtle flavor to the rice as well as another texture.

Having received a two-thumbs-up from He Who Will Not be Ignored, this one’s a keeper.