I did something obvious and delicious last night and (co-)made boeuf bourguignon. A friend suggested we try it, and, strangely, fortuitously, my mother had asked me last week if I wanted her copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking (the answer to that being, of course, oh yes). So I had the recipe. Here is my new (old) copy, laid reverently on a mangy broiler pan:
The thing that really strikes me, holding it in my paws, are the FLEURS-DE-LIS! They loomed so large in my mind as a kid (I remember drawing them over and over). Also the beautiful creamy paper and elegant, airy type. I spent a lot of time paging through that book when I was young.
The bourguignon turned out really well. Here I am poking an inquisitive fork at the meat (we used chuck) to test for doneness:
Here is the dish in situ: served over noodles, with homemade bread on the side:
And here is fat cat Ursums completely ignoring leftover bif, as well as a pile of nearby catnip: