I wondered: just what exactly is in a bouquet garni? Does it really require a trip to the store, or do I already have the necessary herbs in the cupboard? Checking the index of the Escoffier cookbook yields this answer: “Bouquets Garnis, see Faggots.” This should be fun, I thought. I then had to ask what, precisely, I was being instructed to do when I turned to the Fs and saw that the first entry is “Faison.“





I have several bouquet garnis in my cupboard, and if I could email them to you I would. They appear to be a mixture of celery, thyme, bay leaf, parsley, and marjoram, tied up in cute little mesh baggies. I hardly imagine Heath Ledger using them, there in his lonely trailer.
Furthermore, the appeal of sudoku is the intricacy of logic, the creation of a seemingly infinite web of related if/then statements, which you must gradually, painstakingly unravel. There is always the chance, too, that it cannot be unravelled. As you do more puzzles, they begin to seem like landscapes; you begin to recognize familiar patterns of logical interrelatedness, and these grow in number and type, like molds or lichens of numbers and permutations. Admittedly, sudoku is exhausting to the soul, a stern puzzle mistress, but there is something magnificent in looking in her terrible eyes, finding yourself perpetually imperfect.
Faggots: British dish made from cheap parts of a pig minced up like a large meatball. Sample recipe