“Forget the Iron Chef or the Bocuse d’Or. There should be medals for any kitchen amateur who attempts a recipe where you measure the prep time in days, not hours, and for which just assembling the ingredients is like going for a triple lutz jump at your neighborhood ice rink,” writes Katherine Lanpher in Slate, on the preparation of cassoulet.
Lanpher’s contention: The provincial French favorite is demanding enough to actually be distracting from the ongoing economic implosion. An appealing idea, assuming you’ve got enough money socked away to afford all the various duck pieces and mutton.
Hey, I know: cassoulet-making parties, soon to be all the rage.