Ferocious raised to the i?

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Maybe not quite that, but three times as potent?  Yeah, by odor.  After making it through the initial horror, however, I didn't do more than flinch and become a bit... passive?  Yes, I became a bit passive in the face of the odor.  It had been, mostly, like a gym room.  After baking for an half hour it was more like an open latrine in full summer glory.  Well, mostly.  It was frightening.  And yet, as I mentioned, I had already climbed over that horse and was well into the saddle.  I wasn't going to be dumped now.

Good?  It took a bit to figure that out.  Just, you really do have to, after climbing in that saddle and going for broke, then pull your tastebuds over the saddle with you, while trying to keep your seat.  After a few attempts, I could finally taste again, not just smell.  And, yes.  It was delicious.  The melding of spices, meats, fats, beans, cheeses, and...  Oh, yes.  This was absolutely fantastic, and more really.  I just don't have a right word for it yet.  Not off the top of my tongue anyway.  I think the odor sets you up for a fall into cuisine heaven... if you can get through it.

I had thought to offer some to the neighbor.  Beforehand.  I don't think so.  As a, at one time, very normal eater, if I entered a home, even of my best friend, and he offered me a bowl of this, I might actually be offended.  The smell.  To the regular American, this... what about open latrine in full summer glory is confusing?  Although... I am pretty sure this is very close to what I had when I visited France.  I don't think the cheese was this ferocious, though it might have been.  I was no less fearless then, about food, or women.  Probably less so then.

Even so, if I didn't know everything that was in this, that everything was clean, that I as the cook was clean, that the ingredients were fresh... I would think someone grabbed bilge water, rotten meat, and who knows what else, and was trying to poison me.  I can only guess, if it was similar that time in France, wine, and maybe a woman, helped me see through it.  I liked local, back then... food, women, whatever.  Who knew that would become a fad?  Anyway.

Stuffed.  I had a reasonable but timid portion to start.  Then I loaded up with almost more than my French soup bowl would hold.  Rude, true.  But I am at home, I have spent days on this, and it is truly delicious.

Beside the main meal, there were too many beans.  The ham was thawed, and there was extra... everything, including bean juice.  I didn't want to dig out more confit though.  So, I have bean and ham cooking, to use up most of the remnants!  There weren't that many beans, compared to the other portions, so I added three cups of lentils.  I have an extra sausage, though, just for it's own small course, and the confit, which will be used slowly over the next week or two, being replaced as I finish it.  And the soup, which, when done, and cooled, will be stowed in 32 ounce containers and frozen.  I suspect the cassoulet, Doom's version, will end up being separated into 16 ounce containers and frozen as well.  What remains of it.  I am not sure if it will freeze well.  Will find out.  I am going to keep about half of it out for my dining pleasure this next week though.  Oh yeah.

Now how is that for an effort?  I had to clear and clean most of my kitchen, to include most of my dishes, just to get in to get to that.  Ah, but... yeah.  I learned many things with that single "one dish" meal.  Including that a one dish meal can take more pots and pans than what even I have, and more utensils and the rest than I would have imagined.  I would offer you some, I just don't think you have the... stomach for it.  Still... my door is your stinky cheese casserole portal.  All I have to drink is tea, coffee, and crystal light, so if you want elsewise, byob.  *wink*