A Peaty Epiphany

Remember the scene in Ratatouille when curmudgeonly food critic Anton Ego takes a bite of the title dish and is instantly transported back to his youth? A similar thing happened to me recently with a peat-laden scotch. Well, it didn't take me back to my childhood, thankfully, but it carried me to a warm, comfy cottage perched on the edge of Galway Bay in western Ireland.

I've never been one for amber spirits. Whiskey, rye, bourbon, rum....gah! Something about them triggers my gag reflex. They always have. Even the smell is enough to roil my cookies. I'm sure that growing up in sour mash country didn't help. Irish whiskey, because it's triple distilled, is a bit easier, and I've even managed to enjoy a splash of calvados on occasion. But still, I much prefer the clean crispness and bright herbal qualities of a good gin.

Then a few days ago Himself came in with a bottle of Laphroaig, a 10-year-old single malt scotch. He poured a wee dram of the stuff, set it on the arm of the sofa and went off in search of a book, safe in the knowledge that I'd never pinch his drink. I leaned over and took a sniff. The rich peaty aroma reminded me of the fires in all those cozy living rooms and bedrooms and sitting rooms I've enjoyed on trips to Ireland and Scotland. So I ventured a sip--and my senses and memory merged to catapult me from my living room in Los Angeles and plant me next to a peat fire in the Connemara. I could see that kitchy living room in front of me, and I actually teared up from the remembering. It was as if I were breathing in the essence of the fire our dear hostess Mamie had laid for us before she headed out to a wedding, singing a sweet, "Don't wait up for me, dearies!" as she closed the door behind her.

I've never had an experience like that. Himself knows how I am about ambers, so he long ago quit offering me a sip. He walked back into the room and found me holding his glass.

"Wow! I love this!" I said, and I thought he was going to keel over. A look came across his face that said, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?!"

So what do I call this? Molecular memory? Whatever it is, I'm glad to have discovered the peaty stuff. It's like enjoying a cigar without the smoke.

I'm eager to try some of the other peaty Scotches. Himself has his favorites, of which this is one, his others being Caol Ila and Ardbeg. I look forward to trying them after we polish off this bottle. But it's not a whisky to knock back. It's to be sipped, savored and enjoyed. I can wait for the pleasure of trying the others.

The Lone March Blog

March is almost over (fewer than three hours left in the Pacific Time Zone), and I’ve been a lazy bum and written no blogs whatsoever this month. In fact, I see that my last entry was in celebration of Chinese New Year. Sheesh!

So I’ll get busy and share a few food observations from my end-of-the-month bargain bin:

► I catered an Oscar party for my friends, James and Jeff, who each year open their lovely home—and lovely home theatre—to their friends for an evening of voting, opinionizing and feasting. And I’m honored to be the supplier of the feast, which this year was inspired by Ratatouille, winner for best animated film. I even paused at the door so that as the best animated Oscar winner was announced, I could make a grand entrance carrying Jeff’s honkin’ big, honkin’ heavy but oh-so-lovely blue enamel-covered Le Creuset seven-quart cast iron pot (groan!) filled with enough ratatouille to feed all of Los Angeles County (double groan!). (That's it in the left center of the table.) That sent the guests scurrying to the buffet to find out just what ratatouille actually IS. Uber-chef Thomas Keller, who was primary adviser to the moviemakers and who created the menu, developed a splendid ratatouille recipe which I used that night and which I will use for the rest of my life. I’m convinced I’ll never find its equal elsewhere. Thank you, Chef Keller!

► I balanced an egg on its end in a tip of the hat to the spring equinox. I don’t know why, but it’s one of those irresistible holdovers from my youth, like picking buttercups and putting them in glasses of water with food coloring and watching the dots and veins of red, green and blue magically appear in those happy first flowers of spring. And then I’d take a knife and split the stems longways and put each stem half in a different glass with a different colored water, so the flowers would be a different color on each side. I remain quite easily entertained.

► And just today I admired a nice bit of baking artistry:

At first glance this looks like a t-bone steak, right? It’s actually a red velvet cake fashioned to look like a steak, complete with hunks and slices of pear situated in the appropriate places to replicate veins of fat. I love seeing what creative people do when their medium is food. The cake’s creator is a surfacing artist at DreamWorks, where my husband, Andy, also works in visual effects.

Maybe I’d best save the rest of my observations for April . . .