Killed by Cassoulet

Killed by Cassoulet

It was cassoulet-o-rama last night here in Livingston — our friends are home from LA for their spring break, and we all gathered over there last night to eat  Paula Wolfert’s Toulouse-Style Cassoulet from The Cooking of Southwest France. This contains pork, pork skin, duck legs confit, pancetta, proscuitto, sausage — oh, yeah, and beans. This has been a three-day cooking event involving Nina and Elwood and my MH and last night the gang of us all got together — it was so much fun, and the oeneophiles brought so many bottles of Bordeaux that after a while all I could taste was purple tannins, and we ate cheese and drank wine and ate cassoulet and drank wine and ate cake and drank wine and I had to come home at nine because I was suddenly overcome by the amount of sheer fat I’d just eaten. I had to come home and lie on the couch with the dogs, drinking Pellegrino and watching those gorgeous young men from Florida storm their way to victory, and then I had to go directly to bed.

It was glorious. We all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and the little girls put on quite a performance of small-child-modern-dance afterwards, but all day I’ve had that slight feeling of having been poisoned. That too-much-fat-and-red-wine feeling. But duck confit. I love duck confit. The MH wooed me with duck confit.

However, tonight it’s a little chicken soup and some toast as I recover.

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