R.B. & Jamie. A Blog Bromance Brewing.

July 10, 2010

I put down the clicker when it landed halfway into Julie & Julia the other night.  I’d seen it but had to see Meryl’s Julia some more.  Just that day I’d watched Julia make tarte tatin on the Cooking channel.  “…And let the utensils fall where they may!”  I love her and I swear that as a young woman Julia Child is a dead ringer for Bill Clinton’s sister.  To my surprise no one but me seems to get this.  Check out black & white eps of The French Chef and see for yourself.

The movie’s fun of forgetting it’s not really Julia is unfortunately interrupted by Julie.  If she’d enjoyed her Judith Jones-less Bourguignon in the boeuf the distraction might have been forgivable.

And so to the problem of the moment:  do I blog about my little attempt at “oven roasted sausage ragu” inspired by Jamie at Home in his episode on tomatoes?  Too Julie Powell?

What the hell.  You can always click off, right?  Anyway the guy is awesome.  He’s clever, doesn’t muck things up American-style, has a great accent and loves what he’s doing.  I mean he’s having a ball up there, wazzing everything up.  He reminds me of my teen acting phase, the little shadow-scared INFP, and the hours trying to copy the Artful Dodger and Eliza Doolitle’s father from dad’s soundtrack LPs.

Jamie on the set link best I can do.

Just watching him in his videos cross-legged in front of a fire pit and the grate loaded with meats and fish in an English spring with cameras rolling.  Kindling, dry wood, bushes, wha’evah, tee-pee-style wood and coal fire.  He’s a Balding Eagle Scout — with the hair.

We’d be great pals, I know it, if only.  We’d be up all night him and I a coupla chum bums, one crazy experiment then another an’ another and of course some bottle rockets aimed straight away at ol’ Roger’s house just for ‘esses and ‘gees until it’s daylight finally and then to some coffee on the coals.  Steaming hot dark black.  With fresh English cream.  And grilled bread toast and bacon and quick griddle eggs.  Wash it all down with a nice pale ale.  Proper campfire breakfast.  I can see us now.  Here’s me without ol’ Jamie.

As close to an action shot as I get. Got your own tree stump seat right here for ya, James.

Min would call it a full-blown bromance and she’d be right.  Maybe my pal Tom Parker Bowles can get me a proper intro.  I need to check in with him anyway.  Man, that would make the decade totally complete, now wouldn’t it?  See, I was afraid of this, rabbitin’ on and on about ol Jamie.  Here I go morphing into the R.B. version of smitten Julie.  If only my hair might shoot forward like his, then I’d really be living the dream with that one, wouldn’t I?

Back to the damn dish and knock off the dreaming.  The tomato sausage bake was brilliant, the sausages, blimey, all cooking up into the fresh roasted tow-mah-toes and big herbs, well that bit’s brilliant as well.  It’s really lovely this dish.  An’ it’s whot O’ym really oll a’bout. ‘Ome cuuking.  Brilliant.

Read the recipe post at JamieOliver.com here.

A bit contrived, sure, but it's a food blog. We're all contriving in some way or another. It's how we try to get others to pay us attention. Enough of this "one hand clapping" business. Time for a TV show!

In sum, Jamie cooks some pawn-che-tuh in olive oil on a half sheet in a wood-fired pizza oven, adds to that an array of tomatoes stem-side down with cores removed, rosemary, thyme, oregano, bay leaves, and roasts until the skins peel off.  Into the mix go the sausage links drizzled in more oil, some unpeeled garlic cloves and back into the oven.  He served his over ripped up crusty bread.

Bacon is swell for ratings, apparently, as he skips this step in the actual recipe. No matter. And when in god's name will anyone but us say out loud that it's the liquid smoke that makes bacon so damn good? With good olive oil and sausage drippings, skip the bacon. Drop in a spoonful of bacon fat if you feel the need. Or a T of liquid smoke.

Once cooked I should have pulled the bacon and left the fat in the tray.  The cooked pieces just flapped around in the final dish, their flavoring purpose having already been served.

Tennessee tomatoes are the best part of Tennessee. One, anyway. Them and eating a cheeseburger at Brown's Diner a couple booths from Marty Stewart. The Bud on tap is extra cold and good.

Jamie says the tomato skins should blister and pull off in about five minutes.  After nearly 30 minutes in a 350°F oven, mine were still fighting back and causing me to crush the tomatoes more than was recommended.  (“I’m not making a tow-mah-toe soauce, that’s jest not intrissting”).  His wood oven must have been hotter than my 350.  Anyway, the smells of the roasting tomatoes, the fresh herbs, oil, and bacon fat were really amazing.  And dropping in the hot Italian sausage truly lit the house up.  Usually I’m smelling up the backyard so this was a really big deal for me.

After 45 or 50 minutes the sausages were cooked and the thing really came together. See how the bacon looks out of place.

In the end, I needed a pasta base rather than Jamie’s crusty bread, good as his looked.  A fancy bag of fusillo gigante Min scored at T.J. Maxx for cheap did the trick.  So, thanks, Jamie.  You’re freakin’ brilliant.

Wait, one last thing.  The blackberries at the farm stand where I got the tomatoes were top stuff.  Absolutely top stuff.  Had to have a go at them.  Peaches a bit firm, but still delicious.  Lovely.

Posted in Food, Meat, Pasta