My Huckleberry Friend

I think just about anyone of a certain age and sensibility will recognize that phrase, out of "Moon River," one of the most beautiful songs ever written, in one of the best movies ever made, with one of the most beautiful women ever (Audrey). You folks remember her sitting there, on her fire escape, with her little guitar (ukelele?), singing it while George Peppard watches mesmerized as this sophisticated woman revealed her soft side? I love that song, but I have no idea what she means when she refers to "My huckleberry friend." Any ideas?

Well, I have a huckleberry friend. His name is Michael. And I WILL tell you why he's my "huckleberry friend."

You met Michael briefly in the story about Laura. Kind of appropriate that "my huckleberry friend" is connected to a lady who reminds me of Audrey Hepburn, isn't it? Well, like I said, I met Michael through our friend Tanya at Nadine's restaurant. I told him I was looking to sell an apartment, and he gave me his card. I then followed the old Buddhist precept "don't do something stand there." and did NOTHING. Meanwhile, Michael, without phone calls, without pushiness, occasionally sent me a business card. Not anything along the lines of "see what I can do for you," or anything like that. Just quiet business cards. And when I was finally ready, and scared to death, Michael said "gimme the keys, I'll take care of everything." And he did. And he got me more for the apartment than I dreamed I would get, money that is now helping the Chorus you'll read so much about.

By now, you're probably no long asking "so how is this getting to huckleberries." PAZIENZA. We'll get there. I just want you to know more about Michael, because he is the consummate southern gentleman. He's very handsome, and very polite, and also, at least in SOME crowds , very, very achingly shy. He has come to our New Year's parties, but doesn't stay long because there are too many people. At one of them, however, he was quite enchanted by a dessert I had made: profiteroles, stuffed with meyer lemon curd, with a huckleberry sauce (SEE? I TOLD you I was getting there). Huckleberries don't make it to NY very often, if at all. We see them in San Francisco, sometimes, in the fall. They are ridiculously expensive, ridiculously fragile, and ridiculously tasty. Anyone who says they're like blueberries, is lying. I understand that much of the expense comes from the fact that these are wild fruits, have to be picked by hands, through bramble, and there are restrictions on what people can pick every day. So I don't mind spending the small fortune it costs, to get flash frozen ones, once a year. Those profiteroles were being made with the last of the huckleberries I had that year.

So as we were reaching the death throes of the contract phase with my apartment, I said to Michael "how can I ever thank you." He said "huckleberry creampuffs Norman. I want 'em. "

OH SHIT. I had no huckleberries left. What am I gonna do? Well, I found a jar of huckleberry preserves from Buddha only knows when. I made the puffs, filled them with the lemoncurd, and then topped them with the preserves. And I brought them to the closing! Margaret, the queen of real estate, was my lawyer, and it was sort of like kindergarten school lunch, especially afterward. The buyer was a couple. She weighed about 4 pounds and made a fortune in investment banking. Her incredibly hunky and handsome husband taught math at a private girl's school in Connecticut. During the closing, she systematically picked apart one creampuff, piece by piece, and never ate a thing. Drove me NUTS. After the contracts were signed, Michael and I were exchanging emails. One went something like this:

Me. "God. Those freakin nails. I couldn't stand her. Pickin apart my food like it was a gdamn crab."

Michael "Speaking of hands, did you see the size of her rock?"

Me "Speaking of hands, did you see the size of HIS? Now I guess we know why they're married."

Michael confessed to laughing so hard that he fell off his chair.

So, my Huckleberry friend. This is for you. this is how you make meyer lemon huckleberry profiteroles. Anyone who took home economics (does anyone TAKE home economics anymore? THEY SHOULD), knows how to make cream puffs, but I'll repeat the recipe for you handsome southern boys who nevah had to go into a kitchen in your life. As Michael put it "southerners are taught to treat their men right." Well, how you gonna treat him right if you can't cook, blondie? Here it comes.

Profiterole shells:

You'll need

One cup of water
one stick of unsalted butter
one cup of flour
4 large eggs.
A big pot

have the flour measured beforehand. Put the butter into the water and bring it to a slow boil. When the butter has melted, take the pot off the heat, and throw in the flour ALL AT ONCE. Start stirring. You'll get a big mass of dough around your spoon. Then, and this is hard, break in the eggs, one at a time, and stir them until they're incorporated. This is going to look like a mess, and you'll think you screwed up. You didn't. Patience. IF 10 year old country girls can do it. ...

Ok, patience. You'll get this thick mass of "stuff" that you'll think is ridiculous. No, this is what the French call "pate a choux" or "cabbage paste, because it bakes up pointy, like a cabbage.

Put scoops of it onto a baking sheet lined with parchment. You can make about twelve really big ones (Michael likes big things), or a bunch of smaller ones. Bake them in an oven at 425 for fifteen minutes, and then reduce the heat to 350, for another thirty or so. Keep an eye on them. When fat bubbles disappear, they're done. Poke a small hole in each one, and let them cool in the oven.

While they're baking, make the curd and the huckleberry sauce. To make lemon curd, juice enough lemons to get a cup. Put this in a pan with four egg yolks a stick of butterand a cup of sugar (now, this is something that you have to decide on increasing or decreasing. This will make a curd that is slightly tart -sort of like Michael, and very blond - also like Michael. If you want it sweet like Laura, add more sugar. If you want it tart like me, add less. In any event, cook this stuff over a low flame, stirring constantly. When it thickens, take it off the heat immediately, and let it cool (basically, you've just made sweet hollandaise sauce).

To make the huckleberry sauce, dump a cup of frozen berries (call me if you have fresh ones), with a third of a cup of sugar and two tablespoons of water, and cook until the berries start popping. Then leave em alone. There's so much pectin in huckleberries they will thicken.

When the shells are cool - and no more than an hour before service - slice them open, stuff em with a big spoon of curd and a smaller one of huckleberries, cover them, and serve them forth.

Now, if all you have is jam, use jam. And if all you have is blueberries, it's a good combination too. Not as good, but good.

When you bite into these, you will have a mouthful of something soft, slightly yellow and creamy all about your face, which you can without shame just lick away. Just like Michael.

My huckleberry friend