Mes chers amis! (All the French I know comes from what I picked up from Julia Child’s autobiography.)
Today we’re going to be a wee bit fancy. I mean it–there aren’t even any yoga pants in sight around here. Just the little luxuries that are sandalwood candles, fresh laundry, an awesome soundtrack and cheesy snacks.
That last thing… It might be my very favorite thing.
Gougeres are just one of many uses of the eggy wonder that is choux pastry. It’s the same dough we use for profiteroles/cream puffs, except that instead of baking, then filling them, we add cheese and herbs right in, pipe them smaller, and let them get all puffy and wonderful. In fact, if you’ve ever wanted to give cream puffs a try, this would be a good practice run. An opportunity to test the waters. (And the butters, and the flours–hey-o!)
The end result? Bite-size puffs with a chewy, airy, eggy middle, dotted with salty, pungent (in the good way) gorgonzola cheese that oozes out onto the surface to leave those heavenly, brown, crunchy melted-and-cooled-cheese spots. The chives are there for a touch of oniony greenery. I think it’s nice.
You’d better have a good excuse, is all I’m saying.
This is probably the breakfast I’m making the next time we’re threatened with the fate of the dinosaurs. Except I would add a mountain of cheese and chase it with whiskey… But that’s not going to happen, so here we are. Let’s keep it reasonable and live for a few more decades, I s’pose.
I know, I know–I’m titling this dish backwards. Potatoes and eggs are the building blocks of breakfast. The headliners.
Potatoes and eggs are Madonna. Kale and bacon are LMFAO and MIA and all those other things “the kids” like. But it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and I have to catch someone’s attention, you know? We all know who the real deal is and who the supporting players are.
That doesn’t make sense. I won’t be attempting this analogy again.
I’ll say it: I’m (very temporarily, I’m sure) over the carbmania of the holiday season. The pancakes. The breads. The rolls. It must (very temporarily) stop. This is exactly what I want for a lazy weekend breakfast these days: savory, fairly light and delicious. Way delicious.
May I suggest this (and mimosas DUH) for New Year’s brunch?
Because I like to know where things come from (like babies–someone ENLIGHTEN ME), I will mention that it’s an adapted version of shakshouka, a dish of Middle Eastern origin.
Here’s why you might not want to invite me to parties. Reason #558,432. You see, a dear friend’s cousin recently started selling something that requires get-togethers where there are lots of ladies and hors d’oeuvres and chit chat and small talk and OH MY GOD we hate our skin and how can we fix it? There was even a form to fill out, and naturally, I was a big old disobedient weirdo about it.
“What are your skin care concerns? Check: aging, acne, PMS, currently dieting, freckles, other.”
Yours truly scribbles in, “Other: bird flu.”
“If you had a magic wand and could change just one thing about your skin, what would it be?”
“I wanna glow in the dark.”
These things are always hysterical in my head, and my head only. But, reason #1 (I’m starting the list now) you might actually want me at your party: I may bring this.
Sometimes I drag my laptop into the kitchen with me–sometimes for recipes, sometimes for some tunes. I love me some tunes. I don’t know what it is about cooking, but iTunes spits out just the most brilliant shuffle-driven playlists EVER when I’m cooking. If technology is going to have a human-murdering uprising spree… We’ll probably have a pretty good soundtrack, which means I’m like 80% okay with it. Ahem.