It was a cool March evening in 2006, and a young bride-to-be stood inside of an airport terminal, crying as she let go of the hand she’d held for so long. For 14 months straight, her future groom had never left her side, never not been in her bed at the end of the day to kiss her good night. Yet, because of archaic rules about immigration and borders and foreigners trying to steal her jobs and home, her fiance was on his way back to England, to interview for a visa to return to her. She was frightened, her heart pounding in her chest. Their wedding was planned for June 16th — three months away. Would he return to her then? Could she survive the agonizingly long days and cold, endlessly dark nights?

Completely beside herself on the car ride home from the airport, she did the only thing she could think of to ease the pain in her heart, save drink, which would have caused a whole slew of different problems in itself. She threw herself into wedding planning. Her fiance and she were planning to elope to Las Vegas, to have a quiet but fun and quirky wedding followed by an elegant dinner, and she needed to scour every review of every restaurant within walking distance of their hotel to find the perfect place to begin their married life together.

She — by which I mean “I”, naturally — settled on Mix, the Alain Ducasse restaurant on the 64th floor of THEHotel at Mandalay Bay.

They were not disappointed.

Every year, David and I return to Mix; every year, we enjoy our anniversary dinner with the same joy and wonder as we did on that first summer evening two and a half years ago. Since then, I’ve been obsessed with all things Alain Ducasse, reading reviews of his other restaurants around the world, determined to try them all, even though we are of limited means in this household. Sadly, our finances mean we don’t travel as much as we used to — and when we do, its usually to see David’s parents in England — so we’re usually no where near a Ducasse restaurant, and when we are in New York, it’s usually a very tight budget and a very limited engagement.

So naturally, my interests were immediately piqued when the New York Times featured a new book about my favorite celebrity chef’s meals and I had to try out the recipe for myself. It’s simple enough — coat fish, fry. Blend milk and ingredients, serve over fish. Yet the result is absolutely spectacular, and the left over sauce (which actually comes from another book, but shhhh, I won’t tell if you don’t) was excellent with some white bean chili the next night — the perfect punch to go with an otherwise blah recipe.

Almond-Crusted Fillet of Sole

Adapted from Ducasse Made Simple by Sophie: 100 Recipes from the Master Chef Simplified for the Home Cook

Ingredients:

1. Cut fish lengthwise into 2-inch-wide strips, then into pieces about 6 inches long. Spread almonds on a plate. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Heat oven to 225 degrees.

2. Whisk egg yolks well and season with salt and pepper. One at a time, dip fish into egg yolks, then roll in almonds until well coated. Transfer to paper-lined pan. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

3. Melt 4 tablespoons butter in a large skillet. Working in batches, and adding butter to pan between batches, cook fish until golden brown on both sides. Transfer to ovenproof platter and place in oven.

4. Just before serving, scrape out pan to remove burned bits. Add 2 tablespoons butter to pan, melt until foamy, and drizzle over fish. Garnish with lemon and parsley. Serve with potatoes and sauce, if using.

*

Ají de Leche

Adapted from Milk: The Surprising Story of Milk Through the Ages

Combine chilies, scallions, garlic, cilantro and 1/2 cup milk in a blender. Purée to a paste, then add remaining milk and 1 teaspoon salt. Purée again and taste for salt. Pour through a fine sieve into a bowl, pressing on solids to extract flavor. (I skipped this part; it was pureed so fine, I doubt I’d have extracted anything without the aid of a cheesecloth or 3.) Serve.

I actually heated the sauce briefly on the stove just to warm it through, because I’m an incredibly picky eater and hate cold food. It works just as well that way.

If you looked at my family cookbook–not this project version, but the actual cookbook, as discussed in the Consumate Chocolate Cookie Recipe, you’d mostly find bits and pieces of packaging taped to the pages. Cardboard ripped off of boxes, bits of plastic from bags of chips and noodles, and various assorted substances can be found crammed into metal boxes and a tattered, batter-splattered, copy of the first edition Better Homes & Gardens New Cookbook, whose pages now stick together and tear apart in thin yellow strips.

This recipe was always known to me as Grandma Coy’s Tuna Cassarole. It made sense: it had tuna, it was a cassarole, it was the kind of food my paternal grandmother would have made. It was only years later, when David and I moved out of my parents house that I found out that my grandmother wasn’t the brilliant cook I thought she was. We moved to England in 2005, and I decided to share a traditional, Southern recipe with my future in-laws in England, but I had never learned how to make my favorite dish.

I emailed my father, but he could not remember his mother making it, so he asked my mother instead. That night, she called me on the phone and laughed in my face as she explained that it was not, in fact, an old Southern family recipe. Oh no, it was her grandmother’s recipe–that she got off the back of a San Giorgio box.

Well shit.

Strangely, the original recipe isn’t a tuna cassarole; it’s called “Seashells in the Sunset” — yet it features no shells to speak of. The original calls for macaroni noodles, salmon, and pimientos, but you’ll find none of those in my mother’s version of my great-grandmother’s favorite stolen recipe.

This recipe is the one I made. Good luck finding the original — much googling resulted in mostly amature photography of seashells on a beach in the sunset. Oh well.

Seashells in the Sunset / Tuna Cassarole

• 8 oz. (1/2 pkg.) large pasta shells
• 1/4 c. butter
• 1/4 c. minced onion
• 1/3 c. flour
• 3 c. milk
• 1 tsp. salt
• Dash each nutmeg and pepper
• 1 c. shredded extra sharp white cheddar cheese
• 1 c. shredded monteray jack cheese (colby jack works too)
• 1-2 small cans (depending on taste. I use one) white tuna packed in water
• 1/4 c. fresh chopped parsley
• 3 tbsp. butter
• 1/2 c. Italian bread crumbs

1. Cook macaroni in boiling salted water as package directs until tender. Drain.
2. Meanwhile melt butter in a saucepan. Add onion, saute 5 minutes. Add flour; cook, stirring constantly for a moment or two. Add milk and continue to stir until mixture comes to a slow boil and thickens. Season sauce with nutmeg and pepper. Add cheese, pimiento, salmon and parsley.
3. Turn shells into a buttered 2 quart casserole and cover with the cheese sauce. Melt remaining butter and toss with crumbs, sprinkle liberally over casserole. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 25 minutes.