Like many a better blogger, I find that I have taken an unplanned hiatus lately. Rest assured, I was up to many important and fascinating things. I even wrote a piece or two for this space. Alas, they were rather too long and in need of ruthless editing, which I have yet to do.
But I recently had a rarebit epiphany, and was thus reminded of my duty to the rarebit devotees who follow these chronicles.
A few weeks ago, Matt suggested an evening of black and white movies and rarebit, and I was only happy to agree. He got a movie ready [Laura with Dana Andrews] and I got the chafing dish out.
While I have the general outlines of a platonic form of rarebit in my mind, I find it’s a good idea to check my proportions and pick out some good seasonings before melting the cheddar. Also, I just like using my cookbooks.
I grabbed a random chafing dish cookery book from my shelf, and looked for Welsh Rarebit. The lack of an index made it a bit of a hunt. When I found it, it was one of those milquetoast versions made with milk instead of beer. Pfui! I grabbed the next chafing dish cookery book. This one had an index, but again with the milk! Oho! A few pages away was the variation “Welsh rarebit with beer.” Now we’re cooking with gas.
This one called for ¾ pounds cheddar and ¾ cup ale. Also butter, salt, pepper, dry mustard (I’d get to use the mortar and pestle! Score!) and . . . an egg?
True confession: over the years, Matt and I have chortled away many a pleasant hour, each armed with a cookbook, trying to top each other for the most ridiculous recipe. A surprising number of them were beverages involving raw egg. The Boston Sour I made last November was my only foray into eggy cocktails and I have not been tempted to repeat the excursion.
At least this one wouldn’t be exactly raw. But then again, not exactly cooked. Like spaghetti carbonara, maybe.
I had to decide whether to include or omit. Had I omitted, I would not be writing this. In it went, under the whisk.
The resulting rarebit was silky smooth— none of that grittiness that Matthew despises. It was incredibly rich and decadent. Each mouthful had sharp cheddar and porter flavor, but with a luxurious, melting texture. In a word: magnificent!
Of course, we had to make sure this was not fluke. We had it again the very next weekend. (I'd never do that with fondue: it takes nearly a week of soaking to clean the pot.) This time with To Have and Have Not. Again: magnificence on toast.
Lauren Bacall wasn’t bad either.
