Frankie Fights Food

My mother hasn’t acclimated to the idea of me in the kitchen yet, and to be honest, I can’t blame her. I was the daughter who, not as a child but as a full grown adult, was still messing up mac ‘n cheese from a box and calling her to figure out how you broil something. I have been a culinary punch-line for my small town, south Texas family. My saving grace was being able to bake chocolate chips cookies, reasonably well, most of the time. So it’s understandable that my mother will still think she’s talking recipes with her little girl who couldn’t even get Play-doh spaghetti right, not the full grown woman who has taken up her spatula like a knight on a quest.

Working together on a recipe is further complicated by the fact that when I did learn to cook it was while I was living in France. My mom and I come from different schools of thought when it comes to dinner. She is the queen of down-home, southern cooking where hearty portions of busy mother-of-three recipes rule. I’m obsessed with making everything tiny and beautiful and smothering it all in butter-rich sauces. She suggests a side of baby new potatoes, I have to make them dijon & white wine roasted potatoes. Mom says salad, I make buttered spears of asparagus. Mom is apple pie plucked fresh from the tree. I’m tarte tatin, with almost a full cup of French butter.

And then there was the venison tenderloin and my ambition to fuse our two styles into a picture-pretty, stick to your ribs, gourmet home-cooking masterpiece. She had the great idea to pound out the tenderloin until it was paper thin, bread it and fry it, but I couldn’t stop there. Flat pieces of ultra-thin tenderloin might be delicious, but they don’t photograph very well. How do I know this? I made it and spent an hour trying to get a decent shot. My mom, ever helpful, tried to offer some advice, but eventually left me to my frustration and plate of cold tenderloins.

I was determined to get this right. There had to be some way to fuse our two styles, to make something we would both be proud of, and then it hit me: my mother’s influences are my influences, even if a dish doesn’t comes out the same. In my time overseas, I was never more fiercely proud to be from Texas. I would sit in the cafés with my friends who hailed from all over the world, explaining southern hospitality, why “y’all” is indispensable, and how we can all own guns and be really friendly at the same time. The long winters on the blustering beaches of my town left me daydreaming about those long, hot and dusty Texas summers. I was an anomaly there: I laughed too loud and smiled too much. I cooked food far too spicy for a French palette. I was wild as the west Texas wind and loved the sharp contrast I became in the calm and chilly city I lived in.

So with the last two tenderloins under my mallet and my heritage of laughter and sunlight in mind, I set to work again, late into the night. When it was finally done and I presented my mom with her plate, she squealed with glee. I explained to her that the portions were so small because it would be an amuse bouche course, a course that comes before the appetizers. It basically means “fun for your mouth”, and that’s exactly what it was. So we ate slowly, trying to make it last, and laughing together – this time not at how bad my cooking was, but still at my expense. And I realized in that moment how good it was to be home.

Venison Tenderloin Rollups

4 venison tenderloins, hammered paper-thin
2 cups breading
1 tablespoon garlic salt
1 cup buttermilk
2 shallots, minced and lightly sauteed in butter
1 onion, finely minced
1 cup brown mushrooms (or white if you prefer), chopped
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp flour
2 cups beef broth
Salt & pepper to taste.

Preheat oven to 375.

After hammering out the tenderloins, soak them in the buttermilk for 5-10 minutes. After they have soaked, we’re going to bread them in the breadcrumb and garlic salt mixture. Lay one side down into the bread crumb mixture and on the side facing up, sprinkle in a generous layer of the sauteed shallots. Roll them up inside the breading bowl, making sure the final spiral of tenderloin is completely covered. Place them seam-side down on a baking sheet. Bake for 15-25 minutes. The time will depend on how thinly you’ve hammered out the venison.

While that’s baking, start your sauce. Melt down the butter on a medium-low heat and cook the onion, mushrooms and any remaining shallots until they are soft, but not browned. Mix in the flour, stirring constantly. After the flour has been fully incorporated for a few minutes, whisk in the broth and allow the sauce to simmer for about 20 minutes, until it has reduced by half. Salt and pepper to taste.

Serve the venison with a few spears of steam asparagus over the mushroom sauce and you are ready to eat!

Bon appetit!