For example, when Moulton prepares the filling for a stuffed
chicken breast (a filling that contains raw chicken), she advises that
you make a “spicy meatball” so that you can taste it for seasoning
without eating raw chicken. She heats a small pan, adds a splash of
grapeseed oil (her favorite neutral oil), rolls the filling into a ball,
places it in the pan, and flattens it like a pancake. Sixty seconds
later, we’re tasting and determining whether the filling needs more
salt. “Just a pinch,” she concludes.
Her practicality spills over into all areas: she grows her own
herbs on the windowsill (rosemary, thyme, sage); she doesn’t
believe in prepping too much before you cook; she advises packing
smelly food remains into the refrigerator until garbage day (“so
they don’t smell up your house”); and when she gives me a turn at
chopping an onion, she instructs me to “keep it attached at the
root end so it doesn’t all fall apart.”
She also maintains genuine enthusiasm for learning new
practical tricks. “I took a class at King Arthur Flour,” she tells me,
“and everyone in the class measured out flour the way we
normally do and then we weighed it, and the difference between
each of ours was between ten and sixteen ounces.” The best way
to measure flour, she shows me, is to rest the measuring cup on a
piece of aluminum foil and shake flour from a spoon into it. “You
never stop learning,” she tells me cheerfully.
By the time we’re finished, we’ve stuffed a chicken liver
mousse we’ve made into prunes soaked in Armagnac, roasted
those stuffed chicken breasts until they’re golden brown, and