Just Three: Polenta, Eggs, Mushrooms

Which came first, the bottle or the plate? Chicken/egg, TV/commercial, food/wine, show-me-yours/I'll-show-you-mine. In our house, such questions carry weight, a seriousness you might consider more properly reserved for electrocardiograms, or matters of national security. The thing of it is, in wine country, at least in the fractional hectare of the 707 area code delineated by my family's split-rail fence line, the debate over the hierarchical structure of food vis-a-vis wine matters, not least because you'll be neither fed nor drunk until we've settled the matter. And I seriously doubt that I'm alone in building menus around bottles at least as often as choosing wines to match food.

Context, perhaps, is warranted: My wife is on what I can like to call a Chard bender, and the wine racks where we keep our whites look a bit like the maples of her youth (she's a transplanted Right Coaster) come the first snows of November: You know they were full, you can quite clearly remember seeing them shot through with color and promise (although you can't quite place the date), but all that stands in front of you today is dry wood and the lonely spaces between. This is, to be clear, an issue of frequency, not of quantity, because my wife doesn't really drink all that much. However,  and here again I count my blessings, she is happy enough to drink small quantities frequently, thereby encouraging both my regular raids on the family cellar and my predilection for pigging, but also - when the Chard bender is in full effect - leading to Saharan absences of the one white varietal that will acceptably whet her cute little whistle.

Naughty and Nice: Salty Vodka Whipped Cream

Vodka Whipped Cream: Naughty & Delicious

Last Saturday night was date-night-at-home for us. In and of itself, this was not an uncommon occurrence - our preference for what passes, in our house, for a big Saturday evening oscillates between getting a sitter and going out like real grown-ups, and spending the evening raiding the wine cellar and figuring out what do with whatever we picked up earlier at the farmer's market - but it was a particularly special one, because we were celebrating the opening of my wife's new business. If you've ever watched anyone open their own business (much less done it yourself), I think you'll agree that there aren't many better reasons to celebrate; and if you like to eat (much less cook it  yourself), surely you'll agree that big celebrations and great meals flatter one another like familiar lovers, both habitual and new, relaxed and exciting, and loads and loads of fun.

Armed with such an excuse, I'll often feel inspired to spend half the day prepping and to concoct some relatively elaborate dish; but at least as often, either I won't have the time or inclination to spend in the kitchen, or perhaps I just won't be in the mood to do something complicated. Indeed, increasingly I find my tastes, both in the eating and in the cooking, running to the simple rather than the complex - finding a few really good ingredients and trying not to screw them up being a sort of Proximal Kitchen mantra. In any case, the choice was made for me yesterday, because between my wife's open house and the munchkins, I simply didn't have the time. So I took the kids to the market with a loose sketch for dinner: Something based around whatever we found at the market; something suited to my wife's palate; something relatively quick and easy; and something very adult, even a little naughty even - this was, after all, to be a date night. Oh, and in an ideal world, something suited to Champagne.

The market was really rocking, with lots of stuff - tomatoes and peppers in particular, having waited through our abnormally cool summer - the best it has been all year. But in keeping with my tactical objectives, I grabbed a dozen eggs from the good folks Wyeth Acres, purveyors of good vegetables and even better meats, thinking that breakfast-for-dinner might be just the ticket: Eggs and Champagne are a classic combination, not too much prep, and a house favorite. Next stop, a loaf of Full Circle sourdough for toast and some just-dug Yukon Golds from Foggy River Farms. Other than the wine and a bit of color for the plate, I figured I was just about done. But, as good as I know it would be, it wasn't quite enough. After all, this was a celebration, and a date night. In short, I wanted to dress my country breakfast in a suave dinner jacket.

Luckily, I remembered one of my favorite recipes to steal from: Louis Outhier's fabulous Caviar Eggs, popularized (and I believe still served) by Jean-Georges Vongerichten at his eponymous NYC restaurant. However, I didn't want to deal with the egg shells, and I wanted to use the potatoes, so I figured I'd make potato gallettes, top them with creamy scrambled eggs, and garnish it all with Outhier's outrageously decadent Salty Vodka Whipped Cream. A dollop of caviar on top - with its shot of dark color, bright, salty tang, and ability to shine with Champagne - but, alas, for all the cosmopolitan development of our little wine country town, nobody had caviar. The horror! I should have thought of using some smoked salmon instead, for the same reasons, and serving it with a pink Champagne, but I wasn't thinking; in the event, it wasn't half-bad without the fish - but, to be clear, it would have been better. I'll get around to posting the full recipe (scrambled eggs are a chapter unto themselves - so simple, so good when done properly, and yet so frequently butchered in the kitchen), but for now, here's my adaptation of Outhier's topping. It is outrageously good and could just as easily be used on top of fresh berries for dessert as with eggs or caviar.

Salty Vodka Whipped Cream (adapted from L Outhier)

1. Whip a half cup of heavy cream until stiff
2. Whisk in a tablespoon of good Vodka and a large pinch of salt - maybe as much as half a teaspoon. It should taste savory, not sweet.
3. Optional, and depending what you're serving it over (e.g., impeccable with caviar, but skip the cayenne for berries), whisk in 1-2 teaspoons of freshly squeezed lemon juice (Meyers, if possible), a pinch of cayenne, and - if you want a little color - some very finely minced lemon zest.

Naughty and nice. Trust me.