Bad Bread

We walked into the Montauk Bake Shop last weekend, looking for some bread to eat for breakfast. They had a pumpernickel loaf that looked suspiciously identical to the white loaf, just brown, but I bought it anyway. At least it's made by a bakery, I thought.

It turned out to be a truly wretched loaf. Tough, flavorless, and unappetizing. So much so that we bought an industrial rye bread the next day, and resolved to think about what to do with the pumpernickel later. I am trying to find a way to use it. The rye bread wasn't any good, of course, but it was a perfectly acceptable vehicle for apricot jam.

The whole episode made me think about one of the truths underlying the current power of our large food conglomerates. Simply put, on average they provide tastier food for lower prices than single proprietors. Am I saying that your local bakery isn't as good as Wonder Bread? No, of course not. Many local bakeries are much better, and some transcendent. But what people sometimes forget is that for a long time, local meant unpredictable, unhygienic, and just plain old bad. Ben & Jerry's isn't better than Grom, but it is better than the bad "artisan gelato" we had in Montauk. IHOP, sad to say, beats up on many local diners. McDonald's, yes McDonald's, does what it does better than some local burger joints. The alternative, in other words, to industrial food from some heartless factory is often terrible food from a local scoundrel.

Of course, here in New York we're insulated from that to a large extent by what has become an extraordinarily ruthless food market. But that wasn't always the case, and one need not think back too far to remember a New York where Starbucks was a dramatic, world changing improvement to the coffee scene. Yes, yes, local, local local. But let's remember what our industrial friends have bought us.

Molecular Gastronomy

Combining Michael Ruhlman's post on the meaning of molecular gastronomy with Jeremy's post about miracle fruit brings me to an interesting problem. How can we be living in a moment where both haute barnyard (earthy, back to the farm, fresh, local) and "molecular gastronomy" (chemical, forward looking, industrial) are the two dominant food paradigms? A world where one can get reservations to neither WD-50 (Wylie Dufresne's molecular gastronomy mecca) or Blue Hill at Stone Barns (Dan Barber's fanatically farm driven simplicity)? To me, they are nemesis, and yet people talk about both phenomena as if they are part of the same world.

I don't discount Adria, Dufresne, Achatz, and the rest of the molecular gastronomers, by the way. Assuredly, many of their methods will fade away, because they are flawed. But to the extent what they are doing is using modern cooking methods on traditional foods, like all innovators, other novelties are going to stand the test of time. I don't doubt that there is a place in this world for agar as a stabilizer, especially in dessert, for example. But I am willing to put my money on haute barnyard as the more lasting trend, because, fundamentally, it's not a trend. It's how everyone used to eat, and hopefully will eat once more.

Gum Arabic

A few years ago in college, the ice cream maker of the wonderful Jannetta's ice cream in St. Andrews, Scotland, came to give a talk to the university's wine and cheese club. I stood up, and asked a question about the gooey, oozy, ice cream I used to eat in Syria, which we called booza. Since I loved it, I proudly asked the man how they did it, expecting to hear some kind of exotic, interesting ingredient.

He wrinkled his nose, and told me that it was gum arabic, and that its job was to be a filler and to keep ice cream from melting as quickly. Since then, I've been quick to pick it out.

So as soon as we got our "artisan gelato" at 668 , I knew what was up. It oozed like a Twix in the commercials, or like Bubble Yum pulled by a kid out of his mouths. The dull, un-fresh flavors were no more promising, and for $4 a scoop, we were really disappointed. We left yearning for Ben & Jerry's (which leads me into another topic, which is the technical superiority of industrial food over most food, which I'll get to), and wondering why no one else is doing something better in a town that is almost exclusively a sea-side resort. Puzzled, we stumbled on to dinner, unsatisfied.

Montauk

We spent the long weekend in Montauk, New York, a sea side community at the very tip of Long Island. To get to Montauk, you have to pass the heart of what people call the Hamptons. I had not appreciated quite how ritzy those places were until I saw the Tiffany & Co. in the middle of what was clearly otherwise just a series of small fishing villages. Why, precisely, anyone needs a Tiffany's in a fishing village is unclear to me, but there it is.

I'm going to post a number of more specific observations and notes, but I'll first reprise generally for reference. We arrived on Friday, settled in at the perfectly adequate Sun N' Sound hotel, and then headed to the Montauk Harbor area in search of food. My research (i.e, trolling Chowhound for 15 minutes before I left) had told me that Gosman's Dock was a good place to start, so we hit the main restaurant for an excellent lobster roll and lobster salad, served overlooking the sea. We then went off to explore the area, stopping at an Edy's for a nostalgic (but bad) mint ice cream, and on the way (due to my urging) hit up Gosman's fish market for supplies for the evening. A while later, and with a bottle of local Long Island Reisling, we headed back to the hotel, and I cooked up a skillet dinner of pan roasted potatoes, Long Island wild blackfish, and baby carrots with a local mesclun salad (picture forthcoming). The next day, breakfast was organic eggs with some perfectly bad pumpernickel bread from the Montauk Bake Shop (more on this later) and coffee. We visited the Montauk Point Lighthouse Park for some delightful wandering (except for rude employees at the snack bar, and some party pooping visiters who mocked the lighthouse) and ended up on Duryea's Lobster Deck for some mussels (delicious) and another lobster roll (also delicious). Were it not for the swarms of odd, throughly disgusting flies plaguing the sea air, it would have been a truly wonderful meal. Then it was off to Nick's beach for some further wanderin', and diverted ourselved to Gig 668 for what they claimed was "artisan gelato". Chewing through the gummy, flavorless roasted pistachio and coffee flavors, we decided it was neither. Why there isn't anyone making ice cream at a sea side resort town is beyond me. Later we bought another bottle of wine from the good people at Finest Kind Wine shop, which we took back home with some snacks to nibble before heading out for dinner.

That set the stage for the great wine debacle of 2008, about which more later. All I'll say now is that it involved buying another corkscrew, coffee filters, lots of pulling, and a much delayed meal.

When we did eventually eat, it was at Gosman's again, but this time we tackled the pure lobster itself. Delicious, except that we much preferred the boiled to the broiled article. As wonderful as the seafood was, we spent the next twenty minutes stewing jokingly that the waitress stole my girlfriend's coleslaw from under her nose. I realize you want to go home. But it was good. Why take it?

We headed home the next morning, sated and a little more tan, except for a minor detour about which I WILL NOT talk about. As I say, more detailed thoughts and pictures will follow.