There's a great thread at Marginal Revolution going on right now. The premise:
I wanted to ask for survival tips in case I am unexpectedly transported to a random location in Europe (say for instance current France/Benelux/Germany) in the year 1000 AD (plus or minus 200 years). I assume that such transportation would leave me with what I am wearing, what I know, and nothing else. Any advice would help.
As I note in the comments, I'd head for the nearest kitchen. Modern kitchen technique, even dumbed down due to lack of equipment, is so superior to what was available in 1000 AD that you could possibly get yourself installed as a sort of mascot in some noble's courtly apparatus.
Some people are assuming that because a modern professor (which is what the original questioner is) is more intelligent and highly educated than even a medieval intellectual, he'd be able to make his way into the church. The problem from an immediate survival perspective is that the modern marketing professor isn't more educated at the only things that matter from the church's perspective - Latin and religion. Unless you're supremely handy with tools, I don't think you'll be able to make anything modern to sell either. I think being a sort of travelling doctor might work, since you at least know about germs, but I think this sort of underestimates the problem of being a person with no place in a feudal world which is governed by a hierarchy in which everyone has their place.
Frankly, I think you'd do very well to end up as a serf, and would most likely die very soon. A great thought experiment, though.
UPDATE: Obviously, all bets are off if you happen to be a modern expert in, say, metallurgy. Medievals weren't dumb. If some guy showed up with steel, it wouldn't take long for someone to notice them.
6/06/2008
Avec Eric
The mighty Eric Ripert, of Le Bernardin, has a blog. One gets the sense of Ripert that he is a fundamentally decent fellow, and oh, what a cook. My only beef with the great man is that it can sometimes feel as if plans on performing surgery with his food, so antiseptic is his approach, but his food remains delicious for all that.
His entries so far consist of a video recipe for broiling red snapper in a toaster oven. Looks delicious, but if you're wondering about what I mean by antiseptic, watch the video.
His entries so far consist of a video recipe for broiling red snapper in a toaster oven. Looks delicious, but if you're wondering about what I mean by antiseptic, watch the video.
More on Blue Hill
I have a moment now to speak a little more freely on Blue Hill, so some further tasting notes.
I'm not sure one can approach Blue Hill without conceding the centrality of its location. Of course, the farm is the source of much (though clearly not all) of the food you're going to eat. But there is something special, to my mind, in driving to a place with the sole intention of eating, and luxuriating in the experience. Perhaps a stroll before the meal, perhaps a melancholy wander afterwards, as you realize the meal is over. When I lived in Scotland, I had the same fundamental feeling about the Peat Inn, a similar countryside oasis, though I doubt I had pinpointed what exactly I found so alluring. Even were Blue Hill to serve middling food, the fact that it is on a farm, with geese, and butter, and eggs, and nature would make it worth a quick trip.
Thankfully, however, Blue Hill's food is hard to describe as middling. Lacking a lot of the technological sizzle of a WD-50 (although Dan Barber, Blue Hill's chef, is said to admire Ferran Adria), or the pork sodden, sometimes flailing, virtuosity of Momofuku Ko, this is Chez Panisse for the east coast, food coaxed gently from the landscape. It is rhubarb season here, and hence, a rhubarb jus surrounding a light, delicate island of Maine Crab. Asparagus is fresh, and it is that fresh asparagus that is nestled next to the delightfully runny egg, breaded and deep fried to a crusty, golden, crunch. It's spring, and there's spring lamb, cooked to a boggling tenderness, sitting delicately atop literally nothing but the freshest possible carrots wading in their own clever "butter". One detects only a few notes of dissonance - the (nonetheless delicious) chocolate bread pudding rather than something fruity, while wonderful looking strawberry layer cakes streamed by to some other tables (why chocolate at all? The season demands clafouti). The fact that our table was graced with the beet burger amuse bouche (masterful), but not, oddly, the light herby spritzer others received in addition. And, above all, the dainty portions, which are perfect for my taste, but probably stand right on the precipice of seeming like a bit of a mockery to others (we thought, laughing, of what exactly our respective parents would say, or do, with the plates of food we were presented).
But these are quibbles. The meal was well priced. It was delicious. The settings were a relaxing escape from the concrete canyon of New York city. Blue Hill should continue to be a success.
I'm not sure one can approach Blue Hill without conceding the centrality of its location. Of course, the farm is the source of much (though clearly not all) of the food you're going to eat. But there is something special, to my mind, in driving to a place with the sole intention of eating, and luxuriating in the experience. Perhaps a stroll before the meal, perhaps a melancholy wander afterwards, as you realize the meal is over. When I lived in Scotland, I had the same fundamental feeling about the Peat Inn, a similar countryside oasis, though I doubt I had pinpointed what exactly I found so alluring. Even were Blue Hill to serve middling food, the fact that it is on a farm, with geese, and butter, and eggs, and nature would make it worth a quick trip.
Thankfully, however, Blue Hill's food is hard to describe as middling. Lacking a lot of the technological sizzle of a WD-50 (although Dan Barber, Blue Hill's chef, is said to admire Ferran Adria), or the pork sodden, sometimes flailing, virtuosity of Momofuku Ko, this is Chez Panisse for the east coast, food coaxed gently from the landscape. It is rhubarb season here, and hence, a rhubarb jus surrounding a light, delicate island of Maine Crab. Asparagus is fresh, and it is that fresh asparagus that is nestled next to the delightfully runny egg, breaded and deep fried to a crusty, golden, crunch. It's spring, and there's spring lamb, cooked to a boggling tenderness, sitting delicately atop literally nothing but the freshest possible carrots wading in their own clever "butter". One detects only a few notes of dissonance - the (nonetheless delicious) chocolate bread pudding rather than something fruity, while wonderful looking strawberry layer cakes streamed by to some other tables (why chocolate at all? The season demands clafouti). The fact that our table was graced with the beet burger amuse bouche (masterful), but not, oddly, the light herby spritzer others received in addition. And, above all, the dainty portions, which are perfect for my taste, but probably stand right on the precipice of seeming like a bit of a mockery to others (we thought, laughing, of what exactly our respective parents would say, or do, with the plates of food we were presented).
But these are quibbles. The meal was well priced. It was delicious. The settings were a relaxing escape from the concrete canyon of New York city. Blue Hill should continue to be a success.
6/05/2008
Blue Hill at Stone Barns
Much has been said about Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a farm driven restaurant situated in working agricultural park. Ruhlman, for example, recently called Dan Barber (Blue Hill's chef) "one of the most important voices in the chef world".
I think I'll have more to say about our excellent lunch at Blue Hill last Saturday later, when my work allows me. For now, let me reproduce our lunch, which was served sans menu based on a quick chat with our server at the beginning of the meal:
Maine crab with a rhubarb jus and tapioca pearls
soft boiled farm fresh egg, bread crumbed and fried, served with spring vegetables (it looked like the egg in the link)
Grass fed, pastured, lamb (almost certainly cooked sous vide) with carrots and carrot butter
Chocolate bread pudding with caramel ice cream
6/03/2008
Milos
I had a pleasant lunch today with some of our summer interns at Milos Estiatorio, a high end greek restaurant in New York. Delicious octopus, and a well grilled dorade with plump, juicy, capers.
I also got the opportunity to eat the single most overpriced course I have ever seen or heard of in any restaurant anywhere on the planet in my life.
Milos Special - Paper-thin zucchini, eggplant and saganaki cheese, lightly fried. $27.75
Is it a giant tub of vegetables? Or a huge, table sized plate? Ooh no. It's a single, little pile of vegetables with about two tablespoons of yogurt sauce in the middle, flanked by three miniscule saganaki rolls. $28. Seriously. On my own dime, I would beat a path to the similarly good Agnanti every time, for a quarter of the price.
I also got the opportunity to eat the single most overpriced course I have ever seen or heard of in any restaurant anywhere on the planet in my life.
Milos Special - Paper-thin zucchini, eggplant and saganaki cheese, lightly fried. $27.75
Is it a giant tub of vegetables? Or a huge, table sized plate? Ooh no. It's a single, little pile of vegetables with about two tablespoons of yogurt sauce in the middle, flanked by three miniscule saganaki rolls. $28. Seriously. On my own dime, I would beat a path to the similarly good Agnanti every time, for a quarter of the price.
Jump For Heart
I spent great swathes of my childhood trying to poison my elementary school classmates against the Jump for Heart program. (I remember theatrically throwing the sign up sheet on the ground). I can't say I had a reason for my intransigence based on economics, though. More likely, it was my usual antipathy for group activities into which one is guilted, or, perhaps, an effort to keep my classmates from realizing that I was very fat, and so unlikely to do much jumping for my heart or anyone else's.
6/02/2008
The Great Cork Debacle of 2008
I mentioned, in my post on Montauk, a little trouble I had with a cork. We had innocently enough bought a Long Island Viognier to sip with a little cheese and salami, and the day before, had purchased a $1 corkscrew from a Montauk town vineshop. Grabbing the wine cold out of the fridge, I inserted the corkscrew, and started pulling at it to remove the cork. A few second later, I had the plastic base of the corkscrew in my left hand, and a wine bottle including this cork in my right. A little tugging quickly convinced me that the broken metal screw wasn't about to come out of the plastic cork, or at least not without a lot of help.
I was, of course, too embarassed by all this to take up my girlfriend's idea of asking the hotel people for a pair of pliers, so I started trying a few much less logical methods that had the chief benefit of not having to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, they were mostly pretty stupid. It turns out, for example, that trying to stab through a plastic cork with a knife doesn't work. Nor, apparently, does trying to slip corn on the cob holders on the sides of the cork to try to imitate a double pronged cork remover work especially well. In fact, what it actually does is scratch the glass, leading to the hilarious possibility that you may now have glass shards in your white wine.
Finally, my girlfriend hit on the solution. Go buy a new corkscrew, and hook the new corkscrew's cork around the broken screw. Once it's attached, pull it out. Although I almost broke the new corkscrew in the process, it worked, coming out with a satisfying pop. As for what to do about the glass shards, I filtered the wine through a very fine coffee filter, after having discarded the idea of decanting the whole thing into a bowl and skimming the top (the logic being that the glass might sink) after deciding that the bowl was probably too shallow for that ploy even if the glass played along.
Given that we both feel fine a week later, I guess nothing bad happened. But the whole episode definitely delayed dinner.
I was, of course, too embarassed by all this to take up my girlfriend's idea of asking the hotel people for a pair of pliers, so I started trying a few much less logical methods that had the chief benefit of not having to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, they were mostly pretty stupid. It turns out, for example, that trying to stab through a plastic cork with a knife doesn't work. Nor, apparently, does trying to slip corn on the cob holders on the sides of the cork to try to imitate a double pronged cork remover work especially well. In fact, what it actually does is scratch the glass, leading to the hilarious possibility that you may now have glass shards in your white wine.
Finally, my girlfriend hit on the solution. Go buy a new corkscrew, and hook the new corkscrew's cork around the broken screw. Once it's attached, pull it out. Although I almost broke the new corkscrew in the process, it worked, coming out with a satisfying pop. As for what to do about the glass shards, I filtered the wine through a very fine coffee filter, after having discarded the idea of decanting the whole thing into a bowl and skimming the top (the logic being that the glass might sink) after deciding that the bowl was probably too shallow for that ploy even if the glass played along.
Given that we both feel fine a week later, I guess nothing bad happened. But the whole episode definitely delayed dinner.
6/01/2008
Grilled blackfish and potatoes
As I mentioned here, I made a dish of pan sauteed fish in Montauk last weekend. Here's the picture. As you can see, I got nice, crunchy caremelized color on the potatoes by boiling first and then pan frying, and added the fish to the skillet at the last minute. I served with mesclun salad and a Long Island Riesling.
A note on stewed fruit
I'm not sure why I hadn't discovered stewed fruit before, but apparently, any summer fruit baked at about 300 degrees with a little sugar, cinnamon, and corn starch (if it's very watery) becomes delicious, with or without an added crumble. Last night was stewed Georgia peaches, with a little mint chocolate chip ice cream.
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