Backstage with Julia Read Online Free PDF Page B

ingredients—sugar, butter, egg, almonds, dark rum, and vanilla and almond extracts—into the food processor and pulsed them into a paste.
    "This has to be well chilled before we put it into the shell to bake," she told the audience as she handed me the bowl. I, in turn, passed it to Brett Frechette, one of the teachers at my cooking school. She was one of the best, a perfectionist. When I handed her the processor bowl, she looked in and whispered to me, "It's separated." I looked down, and sure enough, liquid was seeping out of the paste. It had been mixed too quickly for the flavorings to be absorbed.
    "She can't use it like this," Brett said. I looked back to Julia to see if I could return the paste to her for fixing, but she was already on to the next recipe. And I didn't think I should I disturb her by removing the processor from the set.
    "The blender," Brett and I whispered at the same time, looking at the brand-new donated Waring blender sitting on one of the workstations. The workstations were long, folding tables that we had swathed in green checked banquet cloths that draped to the floor. Brett grabbed the blender and scooted under the table near an electrical source. I gathered the ingredients and slipped them down to Brett, who turned them into a perfect, firm almond paste to replace the unusable, oozing one. The only person who seemed aware of the quiet whirring emanating from beneath the table was Liz, who smiled at me knowingly from her perch.

    Liz on her stool, me at the ready, and Julia with her cake.
    The theme for the next night's demonstration was filling and wrapping. The first recipe was an elaborate creation of artichoke bottoms stuffed with mushroom duxelles, topped with poached eggs, napped with béarnaise sauce, and served on a platter with large, homemade croutons. Whew! Then there would be a whole three-pound fish, cleaned and scaled but with head on, cloaked in brioche dough and baked—Fish en Cloak. The grand finale—and it was grand—was to be the construction of Mlle. Charlotte Malakoff en Cage, a most elaborate rum-soaked génoise, layered and frosted with a whipped-cream chocolate-hazelnut filling, and haloed with the thoroughly tested, perfectly spun caramel dome. That recipe alone covered five pages, and at the end was Julia's simple, understated instruction to "shatter the dome and cut the cake as usual."
    As lunchtime approached, I found myself wondering if my mother's chowder was really as delicious as I thought. Too late to do anything about it. Volunteers had set up a long table with china, silver, linens, and an empty space for the large pot of soup that my mother was, at that very moment, carrying down the aisle. Rhode Island has three native chowders: a clear broth with clams and potatoes, a creamy white chowder usually called New England clam chowder, and a red one, which, since there are no carrots, celery, or herbs, is not at all like Manhattan clam chowder. Our Rhode Island version is made with salt pork, both quahogs and clams, tomatoes, and potatoes and served with a pitcher of hot milk and pilot crackers.
    Great-Grandma Feely's Rhode Island Red Clam Chowder
    1 1 ⁄ 4 quarts hard-shelled clams, combination of quahogs and cherrystones, scrubbed
    1 ⁄ 8 pound salt pork, diced
    1 large onion, finely chopped
    6 large russet potatoes, peeled, cut into 1 ⁄ 4 -inch cubes
    6 to 8 large ripe garden tomatoes, finely chopped, or one 28-ounce can Italian peeled plum tomatoes, drained and finely chopped
    Salt and ground black pepper, as needed
    For serving:
    Pitcher of warm milk
    Pilot crackers
    1. Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a deep pot. Add the quahogs, cover and cook for 5 minutes. Stir in cherrystone clams and continue to cook for 5 to 10 minutes or until the shells open. Remove all the clams with a slotted spoon and set aside. Strain the broth twice through a fine-mesh sieve or paper coffee filters. There should be about 1 quart of broth; if