Feeling Burgundian? I am as often as possible! And when I indulge in a rustic jambon persillé what makes a most delicious partner? Mustard mousse. Oh yeah. All you need is heavy cream, moutarde de Dijon, and the will to whip it! An easier, more elegant accompaniment you couldn’t imagine, this week on DRTV.
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The Salami Family
I am not generally thrilled by Italian-style salami in America. But it is the most famous type of salumi we have; it’s even a name that has passed into our vocabulary, even when we’re not talking about Italian products. “Salami” is actually the plural of “salame,” and the better producers of Italian-style meats in the U.S. usually use the word “salame.” No definition is needed, really; everyone knows what salami/salame is. But in the interests of completeness, a few things are worth pointing out.
South Africa is not all soul-rattling African food, simmering collisions of historical immigrant food, nor flaming braai (the South African word for grilling). Oh, those things are enough to keep ME interested, as I told you last week. But South Africa’s growing collaboration with the rest of the world (since the cessation of apartheid in 1994), her booming class of international financial folks, and, above all, her dramatic presence on the global map of fine consumption (due to a first-rate wine industry that’s only getting better year by year)–well, put it all together, and you’ve got great modern restaurants on the rise.
Well this is a rare week…I’m spending it at home! It’s a good time to slow the breathless pace (“gotta write Sunday’s story on my laptop at the airport at 2:30 AM Monday in Senegal,” for example!) The coffee machine is now just over my shoulder and…miracle of miracles…the papers are spread out on my desk. But though my body’s in the U.S…my heart and mind are still in South Africa, a land of prodigious, ever-fascinating paradox. Before I shake it, I have to spend one more session with you discussing the world-class dining you’ll find there, in some of the most spine-tinglingly beautiful locations known to man, woman or digital photographer.
Well, let’s put it right at the top: I am a barbecue fan-addict!
But I’d never even tasted the real stuff until about 25 years ago. I grew up in New York City, where my wonderful Dad used to periodically declare “let’s have a barbecue!” Unfortunately, he was using vintage Northeast terminology–the Northeast being one of the many parts of the country where “barbecue” used to mean “let’s throw some hot dogs and hamburgers on the Weber over the Kingsford briquettes jump-started with smelly kerosene!”