This Little Piggie Cried Wee Wee Wee All The Way To Rosie's Table.

I know the question everyone is asking: Whatever happened to Celine? Well, Imonna tell ya.

I did videos of every step and I'm quite proud of the way this turned out. In fact, if I can get a pig head next Labor Day picnic, I will make this again.

First, the Sauce Gribiche: Olive oil Grey Poupon Dijon Sherry Shallots Cornichons Parsley Chives Tarragon Hard boiled egg I didn't have any cornichons in my pantry, so I called a market that was on Mr. Hawthorne's way home. Yes, they had one jar left. I asked them to hold it for Mr. Hawthorne in case there was a run on cornichons, and the gentleman asked for Mr. Hawthorne's name. I told him he would be the man asking for the jar of Cornish hens. Mince ingredients.

And mix all together.

Just watch and enjoy the videos.

This pig head was exquisite. I love it when I work on something a little outside, well, a lot outside, of my comfort zone and it turns out to be worth every bit of the effort and then some. The different textures and flavors all wrapped up in a beautiful package, tied with a lovely ribbon of Sauce Gribiche, were exceptional. And the sauce is another one I'll keep in my repertoire. I love it when I can make something like this that I'd never be able to get anywhere else except here, in my own kitchen. I felt a real sense of gratification and accomplishment after attempting this small feat.

I enjoyed this pig head so much I ended up driving 300 miles to Maxine's

just to share with her. (OK. I had other reasons for going to Danville.) Here's last night's dinner.

The sliced medallions, Dijon mustard, and panko breadcrumbs.

Just look at this medallion. You can see all the different textures and meats.

Slather with mustard.

Cover with panko.

Lightly saute in oil and butter.

Maxine made the flavorful rice in broth, with lime zest.

Maxine really liked this, but she kept telling me to not tell her what she was eating.

Bon appetit, Maxine!

Celine. Day Two. Rosie Makes The Pig Roulade.

I must say that the French Laundry instructions for Braised Stuffed Pig Head with Sauce Gribiche were sketchy at best. Two paragraphs of instructions about the preparation and cutting of the head, a one-sentence paragraph telling me to braise the tongue and referring me to another page for braised veal tongue, one short paragraph about rolling the roulade in cheesecloth, another one-sentence paragraph telling me to suspend the cheesecloth-wrapped roulade overnight in the fridge, one paragraph for the assembly, and the recipe for Sauce Gribiche.

And, no pictures. What kind of whack job would even attempt something like this? Oh yeah. Me.

This is Day 2 of my little project and I'm all set to get my pig meat out, wrap it up, roll it up, and braise it. First the aromatics for my braising liquid: celery, carrots, leek, parsley, thyme. I coarse chopped the veggies and left the parsley and thyme whole.

First, I must deal with the ears.

I didn't get all the hairs off by shaving, so I did a quick sear.

The French Laundry said to just dice the pig ear. It didn't say to do what I'm doing here, which is scraping the skin off the cartilage. I didn't see how it would be edible with the cartilage on so I made the executive decision to remove it.

Then I diced the pig ear.

I got out my different cuts of head meat. Those are the butterflied cheeks on top of a "porkier" looking slice of meat.

Some diced pig ear.

To quote from The French Laundry: "Arrange batons of cooked tongue, sweetbreads, and diced pig's ear."

Crap. I put the tongue on whole. And this is also ambiguous. Is the "cooked" a general "cook" and modifies the sweetbreads and the ear? I like to think it only refers to the tongue. One would hope the writer of the recipe meant that since nowhere did it say to cook other parts. I'm sure sweetbreads were in there, but I think I could only identify one and that was iffy. Now. Isn't everybody thinking about another head part? Go ahead. You can say it. B.R.A.I.N. Let me go on record as saying I never saw any brain. I never even thought about brain until Good Neighbor Bobby called last night and asked about pork brains. Well, the pork brains were still inside the skull when I boiled the head and skin for my stock, which, by the way, was a heady, porkish/bacony/layered, deep broth. I can't wait to make a nice bean soup on a cold winter night. Fireplace going. Snow gusting and drifting. And that was a fantasy. That doesn't happen here. But it did one night, make that 2-3 days of snow, about 20 years ago. It was Christmas Eve and I was delivering my cookies and it started snowing. And then it started snowing a whole lot. And it was sticking. I got home and the snow was being blown horizontally. It didn't come down. It came across. I couldn't see the houses across the canal from me. It was glorious. On Christmas Eve, Mr. Hawthorne went out to buy batteries for all the Santa gifts. He got turned back three miles up the road where the airstrip is. The drifts were huge and impenetrable. He was turned back by police and we were batteryless on Christmas day. I had my very first White Christmas. Daughter Hawthorne was 4 and Middle Hawthorne was 2. And they couldn't even play in the snow. On the day after Christmas, I took both to the doctor. Pneumonia.

Here's the roulade tied up in cheese cloth ready for the aromatics.

Chicken stock went in to cover.

I also added the aromatics from the braising liquid of the tongue.

A little white wine never hurts.

More chicken stock.

And we're ready for 6 hours in a 300 degree oven.

While the roulade was braising, I pulled the pork stock out of the fridge and scraped the top layer of fat off. I reheated the stock, skimming the impurities off the top.

Then I poured the stock through multiple layers of cheesecloth.

I ended up with a quart of stock.

I had a few sips and it was very, very good. Rich, complex, porky, slightly bacony, layered flavors.

Nothing went to waste.

These are the ear cartilages which I baked along with the roulade for several hours.

The doggies are going to love these.

Back to the roulade.

Here it is after 6 hours of braising.

I'm letting it drain for a while before I unwrap it and rewrap it back up in more cheesecloth.

I refrigerated the braising liquid and will deal with that tomorrow. More stock.

Everything is done for now. I'll leave it hanging for at least 24 hours, then the plan is to slice the roulade into medallions and saute them. Now that part really has me worried since I don't know whether everything is just going to fall apart when I try to slice it or if it will actually slice cleanly. We shall see.

Celine. Part Deux.

Sunday, when I started on Celine, was, interestingly enough, International Bacon Day.

Click to enlarge to see how everything but the squeal is used.

I hope everyone is still with me. I'm having a deliciously wonderful time doing something I've never done before. Stay tuned for the braising of the tongue, pork stock, and the roulade.

Rosie Begins On The French Laundry's Braised Stuffed Pig Head With Sauce Gribiche.

Hello all. As you know, I have the head of Jerry Garcia, known fondly to me as Celine. I'm attempting a project and I hope you will all stay tuned with me. This pig head pretty much fell into my lap and I was ecstatic to get it. I'm going to do the Braised Stuffed Pig's Head with Sauce Gribiche from the French Laundry cookbook. And my apologies to anyone associated with The French Laundry, their extended family, and anyone remotely in their orbit. First off, it involves taking the skin and meat off the skull of the pig. That's pretty much a no-brainer for me. From start to finish is a fairly long process, so I decided to take a venture off from my usual posts and just do a bit at a time. Small steps. Video moments. I hope you enjoy and learn and go a little past your comfort zone. This is only part of what I did today. Like I said, small steps. I don't want to overwhelm. Thank you to Mr. Hawthorne for being so patient with me (NOT) and doing all the videography. More to follow.

I Have The Head Of Jerry Garcia.

Thursday night, our Good Neighbor Bobby came over to exchange pleasantries and, as an afterthought, to partake of the bottle of Canadian Mist we keep just for him. While he and Mr. Hawthorne were ajawin' and I was not paying attention and was otherwise pre-occupied, I picked up something on my peripheral radar. My ears perked up and pointed forward, my tail curled up, my pupils dilated, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled, I got chill bumps, and I may have hyperventilated. Somewhere back in my RAM, whilst not listening to and at the same time kinda hearing the two of them, I'd pulled out random words from their conversation. And those words started circling around my brain. Hovering. Circling. Aiming. Did I hear what I thought I heard? The silence of those random empty words became deafening, stabbing at my brain, until becoming a coherent whole. Frank. (Not F-t-F, but Frank-the-Good) Labor Day Pig Pickin' (annual neighborhood party hosted by F-t-G) Whole pig. (For the pig pickin'.) Gotta CUT OFF THE HEAD since it won't fit in the smoker. (I just foodgasmed.) Wha???? Did I hear correctly? Yes! Then Rosie pee'd her pants. I blurted out to Bob, "Bring me the head of Alfredo Garcia!!!!! I must have it." I demanded he call Frank-the-Good immediately and tell him I wanted the head. And he did. Fast forward to the next day. Friday morning, about 10 AM, I called Bobby to have him call Frank again and remind him about the head. Could it have been a dream???? Bob called me back and said the pig was at their "club," and Frank would bring it back later tonight. "What time," Rosie breathlessly asked. "I'll let you know," a chillin' Bobby replied. At 5 PM, I was getting really antsy. I called Bobby back. "Where's the pig, man?!?" "It's in the back of Frank's truck and he's at the Blue Crab knockin' back a few beers and he'll be home about 7. He said they were gonna wait 'til tomorrow morning to cut off the head, but I told 'em you weren't gettin' up at no stinkin' 6:00 in the morning and they better get their asses home now and cut off the head. I'll call ya." "Bless you, Bobby." I paced the floor. There was much wringing of hands. I wanted a cigarette even though I don't smoke. My tete de porc was a mere 3 miles away. Ahh. It might as well have been in "France, the city of lights." (Sandra Lee reference. And yes. She said that.) At 5:45 I got the phone call. "It's here. Come on down. The owl flies at midnight." Now, here's how excited/stupid I am: Instead of grabbing my car keys and actually driving to Frank's house, about 6 houses down (since I will be hauling back a pig's head for Crikey's Sake), I sprinted out the front door with a large white plastic garbage bag in one hand and my Nikon Cool-Pic 5100 (for its video capabilities) swinging around my neck and my Nikon D80 SLR bouncing against it. And I'm running down the street. To get to Frank's. For my pig head. And there was my pig. In the back of Frank's truck. In all it's glory. I watched as Frank and the boys lovingly lifted the pig onto the driveway, gently propped her head on a 4 x 4, and Frank deftly knifed through her neck, and his son sawed through the bone. The head was mine. MINE ... ALL MINE!!!! Mwahahahahhahah!!! I hefted the pig head and gently dropped le tete de porc into my plastic bag and hauled my treasure/trophy home. "Put it in the bag, man! Quick!" It was like a drug deal going down. Mr. Hawthorne gently placed le tete de porc in the back of his truck. We solemnly drove home and pulled over for Good Neighbor Bobby as he was mowing his lawn. I told Mr. Hawthorne to stop, as I lowered my window, to inform Bobby, atop his riding lawn mower, "I have the head of Alfredo Garcia," as he simultaneously asked me, "Where is the head of Alfredo Garcia?" Brilliant minds and all. My tete-de-porc is now in the fridge downstairs in the utility room. I'll start on it tomorrow. I treated le tete with reverence and respect. I will become intimately associated with this porcine specimen. Because of this relationship, I need to name this pig. Her name is Celine.