Z - Zabaglione

Do you have eggs, sugar, Marsala wine, a pinch of salt and some fresh berries?  If so then YOU could possibly be capable of making one of THE most fantabulous desserts ever to grace the taste buds of your tongue.

Make this! Now! It's low fat...I Promise...

It's so simple. I've always been curious to know if this was one of those dishes that came from a "Panic" state. Where the chef at the time had Nothing...and a certain someone super important, say the King of France, was coming for dinner...and Crap! There's a war on! Can't just go out to the local Whole Foods and get me some Tiramisu. Ooo! But I've got some giant ass eggs, a bunch of sugar, and more Marsala wine then God. Hmmmm.  Ambrosia was Created! You do need the berries though. It's kinda too much without the berries. Oh. And Champagne. I've found real Champagne actually does taste better with this. Not the Sparkling Wine. I have no idea why.

Could be that the first time I made Zabaglione was for a very crazy, full on, no -holds- barred wedding. For 300. I tried to talk them out of it because this is a dessert that has to be made on the fly. You *Can* have it cold...but they wanted it old school. (Of course). Warm. Fresh. "The way Gramma used to do it!" And when you're shelling out over $200,000 for your big day...who was I to say no. So the crew and I made Zabaglione for 300 crazy drunken French and Italian wedding revelers. Over a mix of fresh black berries, black raspberries, red raspberries, strawberries and brunoised kiwi fruit. Kill me. It was beautiful. And Hell.  But, they served it with Real Champagne. Which they also served to the kitchen staff. (These clients were not assholes :) And I'm telling you now. If you ever get the chance...This is one of the finer things in life.

Zabaglione. Warm over fresh, seasonal berries.  With a Real Champagne Kicker.

R - Restaurant

I had it all figured out. 


I was going to call it Marrow.


It was going to be a French Bistro. You know, The kind with the beat up butcher block table tops. Heavy pewter flatware. Mismatched glassware. Menu that changes pretty much every day written on a chalk wall over the dimly lit bar. It was going to seat about 35. Any more than that and it starts to feel less intimate, too impersonal. The tables would have real pepper grinders on them. None of that powdered shit. I hadn’t decided what to do about salt. I personally prefer kosher, but about the time I left the culinary world, grinding salt was coming into vogue. Meh. Salt is salt. I like the look of a salt crock. Rather old world. 


The kitchen was going to be open concept so people could gather around  to watch the huge slabs of braised beef being rotated out of the open brick oven. Wood heat baby. Its the only way to make osso bucco. 

Not even close...but I like the wall!

It would have a slate patio where people could come and have a bowl of french onion soup, share a bottle of wine or sit back and read a book with a cooling cup coffee.
I was going to make the best braised meats this side of the Atlantic. I was going to figure out how to make a croissant without needing to import water from Paris. I was going to get people to love the idea of eating small portions, and Enjoying the flavors, tasting the layers of of the 19 hours of braising that went into that piece of beef on your plate. Savoring the days and days of reduction and balance that goes into a well made stock.

It was going to be magnificent. 

I unfortunately did not win the lottery.

Maybe not my best financial plan...