Italian Market Menu (plus Sacripantina for the Pajama Queen)

So the Pajama Queen is forced, this summer, to spend three months slaving away in Rome. Yes, Rome. It's a tough life, but someone's got to live it. The only question is, why couldn't that someone be me?

But seriously, folks.

She has an apartment and the all important kitchen, so we thought it only fitting to make a meal that uses all the things she might find there, knowing that in a vacation rental, you're likely to have dishes and a few pots and pans, maybe a Bialetti, but probably no oven, and perhaps only one pair of wooden chopsticks with which to stir.

So we arrived on the doorstep of the PQ and Mr. Tarte Tatin with baskets of produce, favas, asparagus, peas, oranges, sage, mushrooms, etc. that you might find in one of those great Italian markets such as, say, the Campo de Fiore. And hopefully all things that could be easily cooked on a stovetop. Mme. PQ supplied some pantry staples such as the Parmagiano-Reggiano, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and truffle oil.

Our appetizers were, in my humble opinion, one of the best parts of the meal. Besides the olives and cheeses, we had a couple of super-simple starters to stave off the hunger pangs. This little item--which Ceri at Biondivino told us about--was absolutely addictive. Meyer lemons sliced super-thin and then wrapped around good quality Italian anchovies (oil-packed).

This was also quite delicious: Slices of focaccia, brushed with olive oil and topped with dollops of ripe, stinky Taleggio and some sauteed mushrooms. It goes under the broiler, or in the toaster to brown for a few minutes, and then drizzle it with white truffle oil. (The truffle oil is KEY.)

For our cheese pleasure, the PQ bought a plateful of Italian cheeses including this fantastic Robiola and Pecorino and Montasio. Robiola is usually made with either two or three types of milk, and this one is wonderfully moist and with no rind. Left to warm on the table, it became incredibly goopy around the ripe edges, while remaining nice and sharp in the heart.

For the main course we chose Saltimbocca alla Romana. American veal-raising practices still give me the willies, but Prather Ranch offers vitellone, or slightly-older-than-veal, so we set Ms. Food Snoot--in town preparing her move back to the land of food-obsessed--the task of ordering the meat. The calves are pasture-raised, though still fed on mother's milk. It's certainly a darker meat, but not as strong a flavor as beef and rather tender.

We also perfected our sage frying technique. In the past I've always flat-out burned the sage leaves, but this time, we kept the olive oil at a medium heat (not smoking at all) and dusted the sage in flour, all of which worked beautifully.

The PQ made our porcini risotto, which is one of my favorite dishes--both on the night of, and the next day, when you can make delicious risotto cakes.




A piselli of asparagus, favas and English peas with some sauteed shallots. Between the favas and peas I felt like I had started with six pounds of vegetables and ended up with 2 ounces. But still, the favas were, damn them, worth the trouble. And they're so much trouble.

And to drink with this lovely meal? The Coenobium (mentioned in a previous post) and a nice DOCG Chianti.

It was, coincidentally, close to the PQ's birthday as well, and so Mr. Tarte Tatin made a foray into the wilds of North Beach to Stella's Pastries to get their world-famous Sacripantina.

Actually, we had one of those great "only in the Bay Area" conversations about that Sacripantina. Whilst in the Ferry Building, on the hunt for Taleggio, we stopped for lunch at Mijita, Traci des Jardins' taco stand. The line there is always endlessly long, and so while we waited, I ran down our proposed menu for the Italian Market meal one more time. When I got to "Sacripantina," the woman in front of us turned around and said, "Ooooh, Sacripantina? I heard you say 'Sacripantina' Where are you getting it?"

"Stella's in North Beach, of course," we replied.

"Oh, that's the only place," she exclaimed. "What else are you making?"

As we inched forward, it turned into a nice long conversation about cooking and menus, adventures in food.

I love this city.

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Camembert: Closer than you might imagine....

Recognize this? Yep, it's a Camembert.

We live a deprived existence here in the States. Having tasted the forbidden fruit of raw milk cheese in France, we are forever doomed to drown in a sea of bad camembert-like substances back home.

But my Omnivore spotted this little round at the Potrero Hill Whole Foods and snatched it up. It is, after all, affined by Herve Mons and it is, in fact, the last one.

Could it really be only $10? He asks a passing cheesemonger, who says she doesn't know but she'll find out. She takes the cheese and strolls off, and my Omnivore goes charging after her. It is after all, the last one, and who knows what's going to happen --she might give it away to the next person she sees. He nabs her a few feet away and gets the cheese back.

"You know, forget it. I don't care how much it is!"

So is it good?

You know what? It is. It's not perfect, but it's the closest thing we've ever had Stateside (that wasn't smuggled in a friend's suitcase.)



Even the kitties approve, after extensive quality control inspections.


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A little weekend roundup:

About a week ago we finally walked into BionDivino, a little wine shop near Polk on Green Street. It was late at night, 10:45 pm to be exact, but the place is open til 11, so we thought we could at least take a peek. Ceri Smith, the owner, seemed more than happy to chat with us and we actually stayed til well past 11:30 talking about Italian wines. After telling her we were planning an Italian Market menu for a party, with a piselli of asparagus and peas and some braised radicchio, she recommended a FABULOUS little white wine called Coenobium, made by Cistercian nuns in the Lazio region. Went absolutely brilliantly with vegetables and cheeses and is fast becoming one of our fave Italian whites.

Behold our newest toy, the Liss Soda Siphon. Guilt-ridden over the immense number of plastic bottles that it our recycling area, but strangely addicted to fizzy water, we researched options for making our own fizzy water -- after all, San Francisco has the best tap water in the country... There was a bit of a learning curve--we were overfilling the bottle, measure out the liter for your first few goes at this--but now we get satisfying bubbly water, and it makes a great noise as it fills.

We went to Cookin' on Divisadero and also picked up a glass dome, the better to keep my cheese on the girolle...

Eggs, wonderful eggs...real eggs. Yes, from a guy my Omnivore actually knows personally. A guy with chickens. We got a few eggs a couple of weeks ago and my Omnivore expressed delight with them and could we get a dozen?

"I'll talk to the ladies..." replied our supplier.

Kitties considering: chicken? Or egg?"

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Traversing the Bermuda Triangle

She's the Devil, that Mary Keehn of Cypress Grove. Making those tempting little goat cheeses that ooze their way into our hearts-- that flirt with a dry witty heart, whilst offering a fulsome, silky soft tease over the tongue.

My Omnivore recently brought home a goodly-sized chunk of her Bermuda Triangle, a tangy example of the soft-ripened goat cheeses that Cypress Grove does so well. It's shaped like a triangular log in the style of P. Jacquin's Le Grand Caprin, which is also an ash-dusted goat.

An hour or so under glass on our table, and the Triangle opens right up and starts running on ahead of us. Since we're oh-so-unlikely to see M. Jacquin et fils' Caprin here, I can only bow with gratitude to our local goat cheesers, who help foster my addiction. Read more about it at the Cowgirl's Library o' Cheese.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch... We're planning a little summer break, maybe up in the Russian River. Wineries, restaurant recommendations all start pouring forth.

"But, but, what about ....cheese?" I advance timidly. "Maybe we could visit some cheese places...?"

Seriously, folks. Got a great place in Healdsburg you know of? Tell us about it!

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Star-crossed Croissants

Couch potato day.

It's gorgeous outside, but I'm feeling under the weather again, so since I've done my portion of work for the day, I'm giving myself a break and sitting on a couch watching "America's Next Top Model" and eating "America's Ugliest, Fattiest Croissants."

Not that I normally watch this show, I must hasten to add. I'm just curious after hearing so much talk about the Latina model who won Cycle 2,786. ANYway. I'm merely struck by the fact that I'm scarfing down double butter croissants while watching stick thin women looking terrified by whatever-the-heck that pie crust thing is around J. Alexanders' neck.

Since we went to bushi-tei and had those adorable little brioches and croissants, I've had a croissant obsession. We made some cute croissants with scraps of leftover commercial puff pastry. Flush with that success, I decided to attempt actual real croissant dough.

Pull up a chair and pour yourself a lemonade. This is going to take a while. In my procrastinating and remarkably disorganized sort of way, I lengthened the already lengthy process turning what normally takes a couple of days into a week-long project.

To begin with, I went and measured out the flour, sugar and salt. Then realized I had no yeast. So I covered the bowl and the flour sat there for several days until I finally got it together to pick up some yeast. And butter: pound of Plugra, just for good measure.

I left the butter out to soften and then realized it needed to actually be in a block for the croissant rolling, and it needed to be chilled. More time for chilling.

Oh, and now I have yeast. Mix the dough and knead it a bit. And now the dough has to rest and chill. Or is it rest, rise and then chill? More time. How long to chill? Overnight.

The next day I had sort of forgotten about the dough quietly oozing its way out of the bowl in our fridge, until much later in the evening. Now I'm having scheduling problems, though. When do I have time for the two hours of rolling and chilling, then rolling and chilling, and then rising and then baking?

See what I mean? Disorganized and not very focussed.

At some point I managed to get it together enough to start the rolling process. I think that after all that though, I didn't knead the dough enough because after making three turns, the dough started to separate, letting the butter squirt through. I chilled it again, but I'm a little worried about my layers with butter squirting out at all ends.

Dang. The dough has to rest again. Because I have the attention span of a chipmunk on speed, I proceed to forget about my project for several hours more. Have I mentioned that sometimes I walk from one room into another to get something, and when I arrive in the new room, I can't remember what I wanted? Must be the high fructose corn syrup. Hah.

So when I finally got around to it, the rolling and the cutting wasn't difficult, but it never looked as easy as this video makes it out to be.

However, I read in one recipe that you should let the croissants rise by placing them on a baking sheet and putting the whole shebang in an unlit oven with a pan of water underneath.

I guess it was warmer than I thought in the oven because the butter melted too much and my neat rolls basically slimed themselves apart as they rose.

Plus they were supposed to rise to triple in size, why seems unduly optimistic. I don't think I could have borne the sight of them if I'd let them slime apart any further.

Here they are after baking -- not much better.







All told, the texture was pretty good and they were rather tasty, although the recipe I used was kind of excessively yeasty. I think--and I know this will come as a shock, but brace yourselves--I might use less butter next time too.

My Omnivore and I have fond memories of the perfect croissant from Grimm Bakery in Vienna. Well, after all, Viennese pastries are legendary, so maybe I'll try Wolfgang Puck's recipe.

When I get some time.

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An unfortunate ending

So the other day I went to check on those cute pigeons?

When I opened the door to the stairwell...

There was only a tiny wing left.

The trials of life. Sigh.

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Cute Pigeons

So outside of the door to the fire escape at the studio where I take class, we have a pigeon who's daringly established her nest in an old disused plant bucket.

I'm utterly fascinated by the look of the little hatchlings because in all my life, I've never seen a baby pigeon before.

In fact I remember that once, when I used to work at the Exploratorium, someone asked why one never sees little pigeon-lings. The answer was that pigeons apparently pretty much stay in the nest getting fed mom's "milk" until they're, well... the size of pigeons. Then, when mom gets tired of her 30-year old pigeon offspring still living in her basement, she kicks them out of the nest.

I believe it. When I first saw these little fuzzballs on Friday they looked kinda wormy and a lot smaller. Now, four days later, they're getting pretty fat and look well fed.

Where's that pigeon pie recipe...?





Just kidding.



Sort of.

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Cherry Blossoms and Brunch at Bushi-Tei

There's something about those extravagant pink blossoms bursting out in springtime that makes me incredibly happy.

It was quite unseasonably spring-like and warm for the weekend here in SF (fear not, things were back to the normal 40s as the fog swept in Sunday night), and for once, there were actual cherry blossoms out simultaneously with the Cherry Blossom Festival in Japantown.

So on Sunday, we followed the Pied Pipers (the Wickered Pipers?) down the street and headed off to get some brunch at Bushi-Tei, one of our favorite little neighborhood joints.

I kid. It's actually a Michelin-starred restaurant serving up an Asian-French fusion along with an absolutely FASCINATING Toto in the bathroom. We've been a few times -- to the restaurant, I mean, although, we've been to Bushi-Tei's bathroom a few times as well and if you've ever been there, you know how intriguing it is. But I digress. Point is, for some reason I've never remembered the camera.

This time, we were looking for a relaxing lovely brunch -- our last before we head into that time of year when neither my Omnivore, nor I have a Sunday morning free (a circumstance that continues from roughly now until, say, October). So, we decided to treat ourselves a bit.

At $25 prix fixe for two courses, it's a little pricier than a Grand Slam at the Denny's just around the corner, but um...way better... and a decided cut above almost every restaurant brunch I've had in San Francisco, not that I've had that many.

I take a quick glance at the menu and I realize that I pretty much want everything that's on the menu. Is there a tasting menu like that? An "I'll Take One of Everything, Thanks" Omakase? No? I have to decide and not be ridiculously greedy, you say? Ppfffft. Okay. Fine.

I order the Jamon Serrano, which comes around a little mound of mixed greens and perfectly blanched, crisp green beans in a Champagne vinaigrette. There's a soft-cooked quail egg on top and generous dollop of sliced almonds to boot. I love jamon serrano and if I'm being perfectly honest, I think it was sliced a little too thickly. It was dressed with olive oil, which did give it a silky texture, even if it was a little hard to cut into. The salad inside though, was fantastic--light and with a satisfying mix of "crunch-types"-- a light flexible crunch from the leaves, the moist firm crunch of the green beans, and the dry, deeply-flavored crunch of the toasted almonds.

My Omnivore ordered the Salade Maison, with bacon, tomato and a soft cooked egg in the center and little splashes of creamy light aioli, described as a "BLT" salad by our server. I guess the old adage is true, that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the table, because my Omnivore really loved my salad, and I really LOVED his. The bacon was sliced extremely thin -- actually as thin as I think the jamon serrano should have been -- and fried perfectly crispy, not burnt, but flavor-packed. And if I may say, his egg was even more perfectly cooked than mine, with a just runny yolk of gorgeous orange-gold. I was jealous, and actually reached over in a very unseemly way to pathetically pick at the molecule or two of bacon left on his plate when he finished.

The breads-- a sort of cinnamon sugar palmier, some brioche style bread with chocolate chips and chocolate mini-croissants-- arrived perhaps a little late, but were homey and delicious. Gone, in probably six seconds.


For his main, my Omnivore ordered the pork cutlet, succulent and fried with a perfectly browned crust of panko perhaps, with a mustard sauce and a little cluster of beautifully dressed, complimentary greens, watercress, finely chiffonaded radicchio, and a few extremely delicate batons of Granny Smith apple, all of which contrasted well with the pork. Oh, and I would dearly love to know in what light and greaseless oil they fry their French fries.

For my second course, I ordered the Crab Cakes, served kind of eggs benedict-style. I was impressed with the dense and rich crab cakes, which went quite nicely with the herbed Hollandaise and soft cooked eggs--again, not quite runny in the center, but obviously from pastured chickens, because they were thoroughly delicious.

I think maybe one of the highlights of my dish, though, was the little plate of fresh fruit at the side. It sounds ridiculous, because you're likely to get a smattering of fruit as a garnish with practically every brunch dish you order in the City and County of San Francisco. But the berries were mouth-wateringly succulent, the strawberry smelled and tasted fantastic and the pineapple was luscious without a hint of acidity. I have no confirmation on this, but I suspect that one reason they were so good is that they have never met with a refrigerator. They came to the table at room temperature and the warmth reminded me in a weird way of picking berries on a hot summer day, with that great aroma, and the satisfying POP! of fruit juice exploding in your mouth.

I was actually moved to ask the server where they source their fruit, and she told us that though the Chef often goes to the farmer's market, he also apparently also "picks up products from the local markets."

"Really?" I say with some surprise.

My Omnivore and I are thinking the same thing -- that if he shops at the Nijiya Market, it just went up another notch in our estimation.

She said she'd find out for us, but swept away by the busy brunch crowd, she never did come back to tell us. Oh well, I suppose we have to leave the chef his secrets.

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Menu Planning

How I get my best menu ideas...

"Duck confit... you want to make duck confit... with salmon gravlax... and some bacon...."

Somehow the ideas just come to me.... I don't know where from...

"And some POUNCE! treats..."


Seriously though, here's my newest toy, courtesy of my Omnivore, who found it at Cookin' on Divisadero.

I've always wanted a food mill, really I have -- for those smooth purees and sauces...

I tested it out on a huge pile of Roma tomatoes that I was worried would go bad before I could use them.

I know it seems like all we eat are fancy things, but honestly, on any given night, I'm most likely to come home and cook myself up a little batch of pasta and just douse it with olive oil and some good tomato sauce or tomato paste.

Not complicated and fancy, but very tasty-- not exactly Babbo style, but a cut above Chef Boyardee.

"Don't Waste Those Tomatoes" Sauce

1 lb. or so of Roma tomatoes
1/2 tsp garlic powder
1-2 tsp fresh herbs such as thyme, basil or rosemary
Salt and pepper to taste

Fill a large pot halfway with water and bring it to a boil. In the mean time, cut a shallow "X" in the bottom of each tomato. Put them into the boiling water for a minute or so, and then shock them in a bowl of cold water. The skins should seem like they're starting to peel off.

Put them into the food mill and process over a bowl. This should give you a lovely bowl of tomato puree, but leave all the stems skins and seeds in the mill. Put the tomato puree back into a pot and add in the garlic powder, herbs and salt and pepper to taste. Cook over a medium-low heat for 30 minutes or so. Allow to cool and store in a jar, or use immediately.

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Top Chef does the Elements

Hello?? Top Chef?

The Elements is your dinner theme, huh?

Who did this first? Top Chef or Eats?

And I ask you, who did this better??

Yeah, baby... you know it--Team Eats.

That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.




...Oh, and can somebody PLEASE teach these people how to scale a fish? This is, like, the third time this season that somebody's gotten it full-scale in the mouth, so to speak.

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The Alchemist's Feast

Medieval alchemy must have been easier than this...

It's been in the planning for months, in the cooking for a week, but on Saturday night we finally all assembled at Ms. Five-and-a-Half and Mr. Thirteen's home for the fabulous Alchemist's Feast.

The whole idea for this dinner started when somehow Mr. Thirteen and I had a conversation about making traditional cassoulet. But of course, we can't just make cassoulet. Far too simple-- even boring. We needed a whole theme--and this time, because the the dish is so earthy, we settled on the Elements.

The Alchemist's Feast

Aether: Gruyere Gougeres

Air: Hoch Ybrig Souffles in Phyllo Cups

Water: Soupe de Poisson with Littleneck Clams, Halibut, Kombu and Rouille Crouton

Intermezzo: Green Salad with Shallot Vinaigrette

Earth: Cassoulet of Flageolets with Duck Confit, Sausage and Lamb

Fire: Molten Chocolate Lava Cakes with Blood Orange Sorbet

Wines: Domaine Jean-Pierre et Jean-François Quenard,Chignin-Bergeron “Vielles Vignes,”
2006 Vin de Savoie, France
Sean Thackrey Pleiades XVI, Bolinas, CA

As always, the company was terrific, so much so that the evening stretched on well past the witching hour. (I was turning into a pumpkin, or at least something pumpkin-shaped by the end.) The guests for the evening were all of an artistic bent, including the extraordinarily talented La Divina and her handsome Il Divino, who came along to the last of our "Four Seasons" dinner series, the Tuscan Convivio. We're on to new inspirations and joining us this time for the food extravaganza, were Ms. Five-and-a-Half's long-time partner-in-crime The Maven and her husband Mr. Coffee, along with the gallant Prince Charmant and his lovely bride La Belle.

A few times during the evening, my Omnivore and I were asked how long it took to make all this. Honestly, we started Tuesday, with the duck, and well, it pretty much continued all week long. Wednesday it was beans, Thursday it was fish stock, Friday it was cassoulet, souffle base and blood orange sorbet. Saturday was everything else.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I sat up for the fourth time and said, "Wait, why are we doing this again? We're making cassoulet and soupe de poisson and souffles? Hello?! We're making French food ...for FRENCH people. I'm not QUALIFIED." More than once I tried to convince my Omnivore that we ought to maybe try a bit of a twist on the traditional -- just to ease the pressure a bit. Maybe a Vietnamese style fish soup, or an Asian duck confit in the cassoulet? No. I was denied.

I still managed to sneak in a few little twists, like the kombu strips in the fish stock, an admittedly Japanese trick, but one that made it taste like the sea.

Fortunately, Ms. Five-and-a-Half's table was gorgeous enough to make anyone overlook lapses in tradition.





Among the other pleasures of their house, their trees are bearing fantastic fruits, including oranges and these monster Meyer lemons, which absolutely dwarfed our store-bought lemons.








As usual, we were so busy slinging hash at this "do" that I forgot to take pictures of some of our prettiest courses.

When I did have a sec to take a photo of course, I was actually just killing time, to keep from impatiently checking the souffles every two minutes.

"You know, a watched souffle never rises," said my Omnivore casually.

"Shut up."

So our final recipe for Cassoulet -- non-traditional, but pretty darned good.

Cassoulet with Flageolets, Duck, Sausage & Lamb

2 carrots, cut into 2 inch chunks, plus 2 diced
2 stalks celery, cut into 2 inch chunks plus 2 stalks diced
1 yellow onions, split in half and studded with cloves, plus 1 diced
1 1⁄2 cups parsnips, peeled and diced
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 cup dry white wine or vermouth
3 cups dry white beans (Tarbais, flageolet, cannellini are good options)
6 cups low sodium chicken broth
1 bouquet garni (Parsley, thyme, peppercorns, cloves, etc)
6 tomatoes, blanched, peeled, seeded and chopped
4 tomatoes, halved and seeded, and grated into 1 1⁄2 cups of pulp
1-4 lb duck, cut into 8 pieces, or duck confit
1 1⁄2 lbs unseasoned bratwurst or sausage
1 1⁄2 lbs lamb stew meat, cut into chunks
1 cup chicken broth
10 garlic cloves
2 cups unseasoned bread crumbs or panko
1⁄2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1⁄2 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
3 more tomatoes, cut into 6 wedges
8 fresh sprigs of thyme

Gremolada
1⁄2 cup finely chopped fresh parsley
2 cloves garlic minced
zest of 1 lemon finely minced

Begin 1 day ahead with the beans. I'm not kidding.

Sort the beans on a tray, removing stones, dirt or shriveled beans. Then soak for 24 hours in a bowl of enough cold water to cover them by 2 inches. Drain and rinse, discarding the soaking water.

Heat the 2 Tbsp of olive oil in a large soup pot and add the chunks of carrot, celery and clove-studded onion. Cover and sweat for about 15 minutes. Deglaze with the white wine or vermouth and simmer 1 minute. DO NOT ADD SALT!

Assemble the bouquet garni. Add the rinsed beans and 6 cups of chicken broth so that the broth covers the beans. Bring to a boil. Add the garni to the pot and reduce heat. Cover and let simmer 1 to 1-1/2 hours until the beans become tender and edible. Drain, reserving the liquids, but picking out the veggie chunks and bouquet garni and cool the beans and broth slightly.

In a food processor, process the 10 garlic cloves until finely chopped. Add 1 cup of chicken broth and process til blended, then set aside.

To prepare the meats, heat a large sauté pan over high heat. Liberally season the duck or duck confit pieces and lamb chunks with salt and pepper. Then sear duck in batches, skin side down. Cook until golden and remove. When finished, pour off all but 2 Tbsp of fat and return the skillet to the burner.

Add sausages to the skillet and cook until browned, turning once. They need not be cooked through. Remove and set aside. In the same skillet, brown the lamb in batches. Don’t crowd the pan. Remove browned meat and sear another batch. Return all lamb to the skillet and deglaze with garlic broth mixture. Bring to a boil and simmer 1 minute, scraping up all the bits from the bottom.

Process slices of dry French bread to make crumbs and combine with salt pepper, and
chopped parsley.

Combine beans with the lamb garlic mixture in a large bowl. Add tomato pulp, and diced tomatoes, salt, pepper.

To assemble the cassoulet, spread half the beans in the cassole. Place 4 pieces of duck (if using uncooked duck) on top. Repeat layer with remaining beans and duck. Pour the reserved bean broth liquid over the cassoulet. You may need to add more broth to ensure the level is within 1⁄4 inch of the top of the dish. Sprinkle 2/3 cup of bread crumbs on top of the cassoulet. Place the dish on a baking sheet and bake at 375F for 1 hour.

Turn crust into the beans. Sprinkle with another 2/3 cup of bread crumbs. Continue baking another hour. While the cassoulet is baking, cut two more tomatoes into 6 wedges each. Pick out some sprigs of thyme for the top.

Turn the cassoulet one more time, and add the lamb and the sausages (also nestle in the duck if you're using confit) into the beans. Put the wedges of tomatoes whole on top. Add the fresh thyme sprigs and sprinkle with remaining bread crumbs.

Return to the oven and bake 1 hour more. The cassoulet is done when the top of the crust is crisp and bubbly.

Mix together gremolada ingredients and serve alongside the cassoulet.

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I might as well relate that there was some battling over the duck. I called in Il Divino, Mr. Thirteen, Mr. Coffee and my Omnivore to consult over how to split up the four pieces of duck confit among ten diners.

"Well, it just may be that everybody doesn't get a piece of duck and that will be okay," said Il Divino, quite reasonably. "But," he continued as he placed his plate down in the front of the counter where we were setting up. "I'm gettin' some duck."

Molten Chocolate Lava Cakes, made with Gran Saman and Bucare chocolate from El Rey, awaiting their turn in the oven...

We used David Lebovitz's very tangy and refreshing Blood Orange Sorbet recipe to contrast with the intensely chocolatey chocolateness of the um... chocolate.

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