sauce and the addition of bacon and
button onions, or slice them very thinly and sauté them
quickly with wild mushrooms and a trickle of white wine.
The only abiding premise is that the kidneys must be
lightly cooked, as they quickly become tough and rubbery.
Incidentally, it is gratifying that this dish sold quite
well in Hong Kong, too.
64
VEAL KIDNEYS IN MUSTARD SAUCE
A very smooth and elegant mashed potato is the ideal
accompaniment.
Serves two.
1 veal kidney, weighing
400–450g (14–16oz)
oil, for cooking
10g (1⁄4oz) butter
1 shallot, peeled and very
finely chopped
1 sprig of thyme
100ml (3½fl oz) dry white
wine
75ml (2½fl oz) double cream
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon Moutarde de
Meaux or similar grain
mustard
salt and black pepper
Remove any membrane covering the kidney and cut down
the length between the lobes to separate it into two parts.
Turning each part over, cut down either side of the white
fat and connective tissue and remove it completely. Now
cut the kidneys into their lobes, which are each the size of
a modest strawberry.
Heat a heavy sauté pan until quite hot. Add a film of
oil, then add the unseasoned kidneys (salting them before
cooking creates an unattractive beading on the surface)
and sauté them over a very high heat, turning them from
time to time until they are seared all over. Tip the kidneys
out of the pan into a colander or sieve to drain. They are
definitely best when kept quite pink.
Without cleaning the pan, melt half the butter in it and
add the shallot and thyme. Stew gently for 2 minutes until
soft, then add the wine and cook for 3–4 minutes until it
has reduced by two-thirds. Add the cream and bring to
the boil. Turn the heat down and simmer gently for a few
moments until it reaches a good sauce consistency. Whisk
in both mustards before adding the drained kidneys,
seasoning them well and reheating them without letting
the sauce boil. Swirl in the remaining butter and serve.
WINE: A rich velvety dish, so the bright fruit and fresh
acidity of a young Pinot Noir without too much tannin
would be perfect.
66
The Lighthouse
Daube de Boeuf
Virginia Woolf may have been a gourmet but she was no
cook. The famous passage in To the Lighthouse describing
the daube of beef is, quite simply, full of howlers.
‘Everything depended upon things being served up to
the precise moment they were ready. The beef, the bay
leaf, and the wine – all must be done to a turn. To keep it
waiting was out of the question,’ she asserted. How a bay
leaf can be ‘done to a turn’ is a conundrum at best: it is
there to give its aroma and to be eventually discarded. The
beef, and the wine for that matter, are cooked for a very
long time and the notion that any precision is required is
somewhat erroneous. One of the many good things about
a daube of beef is that it will wait around for a long time
without coming to any harm whatsoever.
Of course, Mrs Woolf did not pretend to be a cook, any
more than did Mrs Ramsay in the novel. In those days, the
cook did the cooking and the hostess took the credit. ‘It is
a French recipe of my grandmother’s,’ she declares, as
though possession of the recipe were grounds enough for
the garnering of praise. The actual cook was Marte, Mrs
Ramsay’s maid, and it is probable that the mysteries of
the daube were very much her family heirloom rather
than that of her mistress. The curious thing is that these
mysteries have largely been forgotten today. What we call
a daube is rarely anything of the sort.
When investigating the daube, I resolved to make it
exactly as most old recipes prescribe but as cooks never
now do. Although To the Lighthouse is vague on the
subject, the suggestion that Marte spent three days
making the dish suggests a modern style of daube.
Briefly put, this means that the meat was marinated with
vegetables
