Have you ever had one of those days when, while cooking dinner, you manage to make the silkiest, smoothest, most utterly perfect roux, only to realize that all you're making is a quick chicken in lemon sauce? It almost feels like a waste to take such a completely paragon base for a sauce and combine it with hardly anything. It was so perfect looking that I actually called Krikor over to look at it. (Philistine - his idea of cooking remains a jar of Newman's pasta sauce over spaghetti, despite my efforts to enlighten him.) I wonder if top chefs ever feel regret. Do they feel a tinge of sadness, after making a perfect meal, that someone else gets to eat it? Someone who has no idea of the true artfulness of the meal that has been prepared for him.
Lovely roux, you deserved more than chicken stock and lemon juice - not even freshly squeezed! Rest assured, despite that, you were still delicious.
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