This is out of order, but it does represent the end- though there’s a fair amount leftover, so it’s always possible I’ll turn that into something new- of all the brothy goodness. Phillippe and Lea had invited us for dinner the other day, but we couldn’t get a sitter so they came to us bearing cassoulet (the pics were either flashy or blurry.) It was delicious, and I made parsnips puréed with yogurt, olive oil, and a drop of vanilla, plus kale and rice and some pesto from the freezer to feel like I had some involvement. We drank a 1983 Drouhin Santenay- definitely on its way out- that did manage to lively up itself and go all delightfuly dried plum and mushroom incense on us while we began to eat. To follow, a 2000 Château Aiguilhe, which represents a pretty good bargain, hitting all the archetypal Bordeaux notes in fine style for a fraction of the price that houses in fancier neighborhoods command. Having said that, the difference between the two only further underscored why I love Burgundy and don’t buy Bordeaux any more.
They left the casserole with us, and so today I took a chicken carcass from Sunday and simmered it with the usual to make a simple stock. Into which, once strained, went the leftover shepherd’s pie, roasted roots from steak night (next post) roasted potatoes and garlic from the chicken, the parsnips, a lamb bone and the beans from the cassoulet, more carrots and celery, some of the rice, pesto, tomato paste, acini di pepe (WW pasta like couscous) and let it simmer gently for another hour or so. While it was doing its evil alchemy, I cubed a heel of stale bread and seasoned it up all crouton-like. I love fridge soup, and when the various remnants that go into it are of such high quality, the result is a transcendent bowl of deeply satisfying peasant luxe.