The French

Last night I put together some white kidney beans in a little olive oil, sautéd them until they got kind of crispy on the outside. Then I added a little olive oil, shallots, kale and took a picture.

When it all looked good enough to eat, I put the mixture into mini one-serving soufflé dishes, sprinkled each with some bread crumbs and baked the little suckers until they became crispy, golden delights. I would show you a picture but I was so consumed with avarice that I quickly plated a lovely spinach, jicama, avocado salad with citrus dressing and dinner was served. We ate and ate. And then I remembered why the camera was sitting out.
Hélas, mes amis, je n'ai rien.

Which brings me to the French: I'm reading, The United States of Arugula by David Kamp and while I'm not thrilled with the author's style, I do appreciate the history of food. I love this part from p 31: French chef, Antonin Carême (1784-1883), in his book L'art de la cuisine française au dix-neuvième siècle, "popularized such terms as béchamel, velouté, and soufflé ensuring that ... like ballet (another art formed in seventeenth century France), cuisine would continue to speak in French."
Huh. So it does.
Bonne nuit.