Yesterday was a bad day. It was full of dumb problems -- middle class and trite, to be sure, but still problems, and they were still mine. Problems like, What if the French transit system goes on strike the day we're flying to Paris? and, Where did my motivation escape to, and can I join it? and, My pants are too big and right now, I have no money to buy new ones, and so I'll just hold them up with one hand while I walk down the hallway, and what are you looking at, anyway?
They were just that, so insignificant and eminently solvable that I'm embarrassed to share them with you. But the point of this is, I found a panacea for all of them, and it was in a jar in my fridge. To me, that's nothing short of a small miracle.
By the time I got home -- and my house was so dark and cold; we'd left the windows open and the fog had rolled in, grazing everything with a creepy dampness -- I couldn't bring myself to turn the stove on. It was too bad, I thought, because our fridge is bursting with tasty things that just need a little heat and salt. I'm truly grateful to have a full cupboard. But all I wanted was a drink and someone to feed me straight from a plate.
So with a quick survey of our options, we decided to just eat this and that, and maybe a couple of macaroons. I pulled out the leftover spaghetti from our local cheap Italian place and gave it a baleful stare. It wasn't doing anything wrong, per se; but cold noodles with a paltry bit of sauce are a terribly discouraging meal. And then I remembered the jar on the door in the fridge. Suddenly, those noodles looked more like a waiting canvas than a pathetic impromptu dinner.
Last weekend while my horrid chocolate cake was baking, I made garlic confit for the first time. I wasn't sure what I should expect; will the cloves be golden brown or brown brown, and should the oil be tossed or saved? I followed the most basic of instructions, which were to take a few full heads of garlic, peel them, and simmer them into some olive oil. Half an hour later, I saw exactly what I had hoped for -- golden garlic twitching and bubbling away, the cloves enveloped in an oily sweetness that I could almost taste. I drained the cloves out of the oil and threw them in an empty cornichon jar, and put the garlicky oil in the fridge. And then, because my cake was a flat failure, I completely forgot about both.
So last night, I reached into the fridge for some Parmesan, and my exhausted eyes fell upon the confit. Eureka! Instead of leftover spaghetti, I had a Thomas Keller-inspired pasta dish, with a mash of fragrant, gentle confit swimming in the noodles and a drizzle of garlic-infused olive oil over it all. A few grinds of black pepper and a toss of salt, and I had a meal at least worth crossing the street for. It was sunshine on a plate, warm and sweetly savory, and exactly what I didn't know I wanted.
Thus, I am recommending it to you. Not the lamentable noodles that you pull out of the fridge -- be smart, unlike me, and just cook some fresh pasta -- but the garlic confit. As a "building block" for your pantry, I can't overstate its importance and incredible ease. It doesn't even really need a recipe, although I should tell you this: apparently (and if I'm wrong on this, please, someone set me straight) botulism spores can hang out on garlic and, placed in a warm, oily, anaerobic environment, can create a fine mess indeed. So don't let this stuff sit in your fridge too long. It tastes so good, though, that there's probably no danger of that.
Easy garlic confit
adapted from Marian Burros, The New York Times
4 heads of garlic, separated into cloves or peeled
1 generous cup olive oil
ground black pepper as needed
In a very small saucepan (you want the cloves to crowd together and the oil to cover them all) pour the olive oil over the cloves. Simmer at the lowest temperature possible for about an hour, until the cloves are completely golden. Drain the cloves from the oil and store both separately in jars in the fridge. Will keep about a week. Use the oil for quick salad dressings (toss with white wine vinegar, fresh herbs, a shallot and some good Dijon mustard) or stir into freshly cooked beans or vegetables. I dumped a little into some Puy lentils the other night, and they were transcendent.
