“Goose fat.”
“Sorry, goose fat.”
“You can use oil if you like—”
“What kind?” asked my now-curious mother, having crept fully back into the room, presuming the coast was clear.
“Vegetable. But goose fat is best. It just gives them a richer flavor. And to answer your question, dear,” she said pointedly to me, “yes, this is the amount of oil they used. These will be delicious, I promise.”
“Well, I hope so, because you almost burned the house down,” I quipped.
There was a second of silence.
Felicity glared at me. As did my parents.
Instantly, like dueling Judas Iscariots, the two people who brought me into this world sided with my lover and turned on me, saying things like, “She knows what she’s doing! It’s fine! It’s just a little smoke! Leave her alone…，” etc.
At that moment the oven began to erupt once again. Upon seeing the fatty fumes, my parents immediately retreated to the open doorways for safety but continued to take up cudgels on Felicity’s behalf.
“Whoops!” said Felicity with a laugh, grabbing a mitt and a fork. Opening the oven door, she eased out the pan, turned the potatoes gently with a fork, slid them back in again, and closed the door.
“There we are!” she said through more oily plumes. “Not much longer now!”
I was in love. And so were my parents. And then we ate her potatoes and fell in love again.
Felicity’s “Rule, Britannia!” Roast Potatoes
— SERVES 4 —
2 pounds russet potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch pieces
Kosher salt
2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil or goose fat
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
Place the potatoes in a large saucepan with a pinch of salt and add enough water to cover. Bring the water to a boil and parboil the potatoes for about 10 minutes. （Do not overcook them—otherwise you will end up with mush at the next step. The outside needs to be just soft enough to be scored with a fork.） Drain the potatoes and return them to the pan. Put a lid on the pan and shake the hell out of it, breaking up and fluffing the outside of the potato pieces. Set aside.
Pour the oil or fat into a metal or enamel roasting pan and place it in the oven until it’s really hot. Remove the pan from the oven and place it on the stovetop over low heat. Put the potatoes in the oil and turn them in it several times to coat. Then roast them in the oven for a good hour, turning them twice during the cooking time.
Joan and Stan’s （Safely） Roasted Potatoes
— SERVES 4 —
10 large Yukon gold or baking potatoes, peeled and quartered, or red potatoes, unpeeled and quartered
4 garlic cloves, halved
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary leaves
2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano leaves, or ? teaspoon dried
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
? cup olive oil
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Place the potatoes in a large baking dish or casserole. Add the garlic, rosemary, and oregano and season with salt and pepper. Drizzle the olive oil over the potatoes and toss to coat evenly. Bake, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are browned and cooked through, about 1 ? hours. Serve immediately.
17
During one of the first trips Felicity made to visit us in Westchester before we married, she suggested that we throw a party. In fact she suggested we throw a party and cook a suckling pig. I immediately agreed, as I love suckling pig and so do the children. Our invites completed, Felicity and I called the butcher in the next town about acquiring said piglet, and he assured us he’d be able to get one before the weekend. But I must digress here for a moment to discuss something that is slipping away—and it’s not one of my discs.
When I was younger, and certainly before I was born, butcher shops and fishmongers were fairly common, until giant supermarkets overwhelmed the suburbs, and now sadly our cities, making them redundant. Those few that still exist today are usually quite good, but for the most part, their selections are not very adventurous and their prices are very dear. This, however, is one of the things I love most about living in England. Although I know individually owned butcher shops and fishmongers are disappearing in the UK as well, there are still a fair number of them compared to the US. I am very lucky to have one of each, both of very high quality, within walking distance of my home, and I visit one or the other every few days. But even when I am out and about running errands or in between meetings in different neighborhoods of London, I can’t help but walk into any butcher shop or fishmonger I come across to simply peruse. I visit them in the same way I visit an art gallery. I’m not necessarily there to buy; I just want to see the exhibit. I love that many butchers in London still wear banded straw hats as in days of olde, and that besides the usual cuts of meat and sausages, all different kinds of offal are on offer, again something rarely seen these days in the States. I know that bloody trays containing severed parts of various animals put many people off, but I am fascinated by them and the myriad ways they can be turned into something delicious.