Monday not Sunday
Writing a report no one cares about.
I woke up this morning. I may not always like the process but I love the fact that it happens. Pretty simple concept, that. I woke up this morning and thought to myself, “It’s Sunday, you can go back to sleep.” Then the alarm on my phone went off, quickly disabusing me of such a happy thought. The funny thing is that I rarely wake up not knowing what day it is.
I blame two things. The first of which was that I slept, uninterrupted through the night, which is a pretty rare thing. The second thing is that I have been potato happy lately. I have been making Pommes Maxim, a buttery layered, potato dish that is very good. Mine isn’t perfect yet, but good enough that I would feel confident making it for a dinner party. Maxim involves layers of thinly sliced potatoes that are arranged in a sunflower pattern in a pan. They are brushed with clarified butter and liberally coated with spices. Then add another sunflower layer of potatoes on tops of the first and repeat until out of potatoes. The result is a crispy round of potatoes with a starchy, creamy, buttery center. It’s pretty good, and for Sunday brunch with scrambled eggs and freshly brewed dark roast…it’s kind of sublime. I imagine it wouldn’t suffer for a side of bacon or breakfast sausage links.
Maybe that’s why when I woke up I thought it was Sunday. Perhaps, I’ve gotten so potato happy that I wanted another morning, another brunch of Pommes Maxim. Writers tend to be obsessive. Why not obsess about awesome potato dishes? Dishes that require a lot of shaving of potatoes. Creating super thin slices that could be turned into potato chips but instead will end up being layer and cooked. That’s obsession.
I am confident in my Pommes Maxim to skip the obvious next step Pommes Anna. Think of a more seasoned Maxim but taller and baked. That sounds cool but that’s too simple. I want something more challenging. Something that will need two days to make. Something that will need a lot of prep work. Something that has to be cooked twice. If only the French culinary Illuminati had conceived of such a dish.
Apparently there is. It’s called Pommes Plave or more commonly 1,000 layer potatoes. The end result is hard to describe. I want to call it potato lasagna but it doesn’t necessarily have sauce and there’s no cheese. But it’s also deep fried or shallow pan fried. The end result of which is something that looks like a much, much better version of a hashbrown that you’d get from the McDonald’s breakfast menu. I’ve never made one before and I have to decide if heavy cream or clarified butter will be involved. Choices, choices.
My plan is for it to be the major component of breakfast on Thanksgiving morning. Maybe with scrambled eggs. In my case possibly with Lox and sour cream. LSW doesn’t care for fish or meat. Our marriage is an interfaith one. She’s a vegetarian and I am an omnivore. No matter how it plays out, I will write about here. Maybe even a picture or two.