What I'm Eating this Week
Waddling Thunder at 08:52 PM
Mark Madsen at Extended Phenotype responded to my criticism of Richard Olney's Lulu's Provencal Table by noting that I "missed something crucial" in neglecting to laud the book's "tribute to a great winemaking family and their 'extended family' of associations from Olney to Kermit Lynch to Alice Waters and her compatriots". That may well be true, but the thing is that I normally like this kind of book. But there are good tributes, and less good ones, and I just didn't sense Olney's usual sense of superior conviviality here. Tastes will differ, but I offer my penance in the form of this week's main recipe, drawn largely from the disputed book.
Highlights below the fold include a discussion of Meat me in Manhattan, and this week's recipe, pot au feu, langue de boeuf (beef tongue fire pot)
What I'm Reading About Food this Week
Meat me in Manhattan: A carnivore's Guide to New York: Mr. Cutlets
The author of this slim but amusing and useful volume describes himself as a "broad meat-like man" on the back cover. I don't know whether Mr. Cutlets really fits that description, but he has produced a good quick reference for meat, and especially in New York. For those who already have a Zagat's, Mr. Cutlets guides you to those destinations that deserve their rating, and some others that Zagat's misses - fried chicken restaurants, butchers, traditional steakhouses, the whole lot. There's some here too for those just interested in the world of meat, without access to Manhattan - a easy to follow discussion of various viands at the beginning, and little interesting bits of wisdom interspersed throughout. You won't, of course, always agree with the formidable author, but at least he tells you what he thinks. And that's better than most.
What I'm Eating this Week
Pot au Feu, Langue de Boeuf
"Tongue", says the Oxford Companion to Food, is a "fleshy muscular movable organ of the floor of the mouth which bears sensory taste buds, and has special functions in tasting and swallowing food". No kidding, I say. But it's also cheap, and packs a lot of taste.
That taste is why I'm always surprised to find that it's not favored here in America. I only found the tongue I'm planning to cook, in fact, while wandering lost in far flung Allston (across the dreaded Charles), where the supermarket had changed its offerings to accomodate a more heavily hispanic population. In fact, in my house, tongue has a festival connotation - we only eat it, cold, as an appetizer at Christmas.
Pot au feu, a stew like braise of (any) meat, plays perfectly to tongue's strengths and weaknesses. On one hand, the tongue flavours the otherwise bland ingredients, making the meal satisfying and of interest. On the other, braising, and especially three hours of it, renders the powerfully muscular organ tender, allows the inedible skin to be removed, and lets you slice the meat thinly to be eaten lukewarm. Olney recommends potatoes, carrots, and turnips as the vegetables to be added to the tongue, cold water, and white wine after the meat has cooked for two hours, but I doubt they're obligatory - one imagines that other additions would do as well. But what I think is more important is to remember to serve the broth with crusts of stale bread laid in the serving bowl. That's the authentic way most french people eat soups and light braises at home, and I think that starchy base at the bottom adds rather a lot to simple, healthy experience of eating tongue and its delicious stock.
2/23/2005
I always hate posting just after Will, because I get the feeling I'm pushing him down his own page. I feel like a house guest who sets up shop in his host's bed. Nonetheless, his post just below on frozen vegetables reminds me of a favorite, and fast meal.
Frozen Pea Soup
Roast a full head of garlic in foil for an hour. By the end, the garlic will be luxurious, soft, and extraordinarily mild - the only problem is that you'll have been forced to wait for an hour in the gentle fug of roasting garlic before you can tear a few cloves out of their cover, dip them in salt, and eat them with ilicit speed before you finish the recipe.
Then, in keeping with the frozen pea convenience motif, just put some cold water in a pan, add some cubed chicken stock, and a bag of frozen peas. Drop the roasted garlic in the pan as well, heat briefly (just till hot) and then puree the whole thing. The best way to do it, obviously, is one of those hand held blenders you can just stick in the pot, but if you don't have one any kind of food processor will do. Stir in some grated parmesan, and you're done - the soup will be bright green, smooth, and delicious. Eat with bread, and thick ham sandwiches.
N.B. - if you've got a parmesan rind, throw that into the soup while cooking. It gives a wonderful flavor
Frozen Pea Soup
Roast a full head of garlic in foil for an hour. By the end, the garlic will be luxurious, soft, and extraordinarily mild - the only problem is that you'll have been forced to wait for an hour in the gentle fug of roasting garlic before you can tear a few cloves out of their cover, dip them in salt, and eat them with ilicit speed before you finish the recipe.
Then, in keeping with the frozen pea convenience motif, just put some cold water in a pan, add some cubed chicken stock, and a bag of frozen peas. Drop the roasted garlic in the pan as well, heat briefly (just till hot) and then puree the whole thing. The best way to do it, obviously, is one of those hand held blenders you can just stick in the pot, but if you don't have one any kind of food processor will do. Stir in some grated parmesan, and you're done - the soup will be bright green, smooth, and delicious. Eat with bread, and thick ham sandwiches.
N.B. - if you've got a parmesan rind, throw that into the soup while cooking. It gives a wonderful flavor
Book #16: Camembert: A National Myth, by Pierre Boisard
Between the fact that this book was originally written in French, and that the author acknowledges the French ministry of Culture, one can imagine that American cheese makers come in for a bit of a slating in this friendly history of the great cheese. And they do - Boisard's depiction of the sophisticated American capitalists hoodwinking artisanal French cheese producers into teaching them their secrets - on the pretense of protecting their traditions- is really pretty funny. And I couldn't help chuckling at the (understandable) French reaction when American cheese makers offered to replace the the bombed statue of Camembert's patron saint Marie Harel with a figure inscribed "This statue was the gift of the Borden Ohio Camembert Factory". As if there could be a Camembert factory in Ohio - I mean, really!
But the overwhelming sense from this book isn't the failure of American cheese making, but the apparently troublesome state of the French industry. As Boisard points out, both France and Europe as a whole have started to fall prey to the pasteurization trend - the book reports that 90% of the cheese made in France is now treated. And even if you think you're buying the real article, Boisard points out , worryingly, that not all raw milk Camembert is made equal. Traditional camembert is made by spooning the curds of local milk into molds by hand. The hand ladling ensures that the curd is never cut, distinguishing Camembert from other cheeses (such as Pont L'Eveque) where this doesn't matter. As for the provenance of the milk, ideally you should be able to tell if you're eating a Camembert of Isigny or one of Auge. As the former head of a dairy mill told the author,
"Save for its origin, what is traditional about a Camembert whose milk comes from Dutch Holstein cows fed on imported cattle cakes and corn silage . . . and whose broken curd is ladle-molded by robots?".
Set in the context of our problems here in the US when it comes to cheese, a robot ladle doesn't seem so bad. But if France falters, where can we turn? I'm really not sure.
Between the fact that this book was originally written in French, and that the author acknowledges the French ministry of Culture, one can imagine that American cheese makers come in for a bit of a slating in this friendly history of the great cheese. And they do - Boisard's depiction of the sophisticated American capitalists hoodwinking artisanal French cheese producers into teaching them their secrets - on the pretense of protecting their traditions- is really pretty funny. And I couldn't help chuckling at the (understandable) French reaction when American cheese makers offered to replace the the bombed statue of Camembert's patron saint Marie Harel with a figure inscribed "This statue was the gift of the Borden Ohio Camembert Factory". As if there could be a Camembert factory in Ohio - I mean, really!
But the overwhelming sense from this book isn't the failure of American cheese making, but the apparently troublesome state of the French industry. As Boisard points out, both France and Europe as a whole have started to fall prey to the pasteurization trend - the book reports that 90% of the cheese made in France is now treated. And even if you think you're buying the real article, Boisard points out , worryingly, that not all raw milk Camembert is made equal. Traditional camembert is made by spooning the curds of local milk into molds by hand. The hand ladling ensures that the curd is never cut, distinguishing Camembert from other cheeses (such as Pont L'Eveque) where this doesn't matter. As for the provenance of the milk, ideally you should be able to tell if you're eating a Camembert of Isigny or one of Auge. As the former head of a dairy mill told the author,
"Save for its origin, what is traditional about a Camembert whose milk comes from Dutch Holstein cows fed on imported cattle cakes and corn silage . . . and whose broken curd is ladle-molded by robots?".
Set in the context of our problems here in the US when it comes to cheese, a robot ladle doesn't seem so bad. But if France falters, where can we turn? I'm really not sure.
The New York Times today has this profile of Gordon Ramsay, probably the most famous (and best) chef currently active in the United Kingdom. You can see my just-after-the-fact post about my visit to his 3 Michelin starred restaurant last summer here.
On a slightly different note, the fact that my law firm paid for that meal came as close to a breach of fiduciary duty as I saw all summer. Whether it convinces me to work there or not in the end is a more interesting question. We'll see.
On a slightly different note, the fact that my law firm paid for that meal came as close to a breach of fiduciary duty as I saw all summer. Whether it convinces me to work there or not in the end is a more interesting question. We'll see.
I obviously prefer home made food, but that doesn't mean I don't care about processed and other ready made food. This is the stuff that's feeding America, and somone ought to pay attention. Here, for example, you can see my brief thoughts about C2 cola, and here my review of the sugar free baby ruth.
The target of my eating this week has been 7-Eleven's relatively new "gourmet" sandwiches, called "Big Eats Deli". They claim to be made with artisanal bread, fresh meats, and interesting cheeses. In an area where one local bakery sells a single sandwich for $8.25, 7-Eleven has come into the market at between $2.99 and $3.49. That's the good news.
And the sandwiches aren't appalling either. The basic offerings, such as smoked turkey & Jack cheese on Wheatberry bread, are perfectly serviceable - made relatively close by in Brockton with ingredients as advertised. No, the supposed southwestern mayonnaise wasn't that exciting, and the bread had generally gone a bit gummy, but I've had worse sandwiches at places purporting to serve sandwiches. That 7-Eleven is matching even some sandwich shops is pretty impressive.
And as much as it worries me to say this, the Mediterranean Style Turkey with Pepper Supreme spread is actually decent. Like, I'd have it again. The tomato and basil bread was fresh and tasty, there was some sort of tapenade (yes, I'm serious), and the pepper sauce was an interesting mix of bell peppers and some sort of cheese. No, I wouldn't pay any more than $3.50 for it, but at that price it's a pretty good deal. If you're hungry and desperate, 7-Eleven has moved into the market with at least one relatively impressive offering. Go for it.
The target of my eating this week has been 7-Eleven's relatively new "gourmet" sandwiches, called "Big Eats Deli". They claim to be made with artisanal bread, fresh meats, and interesting cheeses. In an area where one local bakery sells a single sandwich for $8.25, 7-Eleven has come into the market at between $2.99 and $3.49. That's the good news.
And the sandwiches aren't appalling either. The basic offerings, such as smoked turkey & Jack cheese on Wheatberry bread, are perfectly serviceable - made relatively close by in Brockton with ingredients as advertised. No, the supposed southwestern mayonnaise wasn't that exciting, and the bread had generally gone a bit gummy, but I've had worse sandwiches at places purporting to serve sandwiches. That 7-Eleven is matching even some sandwich shops is pretty impressive.
And as much as it worries me to say this, the Mediterranean Style Turkey with Pepper Supreme spread is actually decent. Like, I'd have it again. The tomato and basil bread was fresh and tasty, there was some sort of tapenade (yes, I'm serious), and the pepper sauce was an interesting mix of bell peppers and some sort of cheese. No, I wouldn't pay any more than $3.50 for it, but at that price it's a pretty good deal. If you're hungry and desperate, 7-Eleven has moved into the market with at least one relatively impressive offering. Go for it.
1/24/2005
Large food corporations are responsible for a lot of our eating. As much as I like to rhapsodize about "fresh" eggs, and lashings of cream, this isn't what's happening across the country. Therefore, I like trying out the new products these companies put out occasionally. Even among processed foods, people deserve a decent product.
With that in mind, I picked up Nestle's new "Sugar Free" Baby Ruth candy bar over the weekend. Obviously, the bar is a creature of the Atkins craze - a serious point against it. But how does it taste, and does it make sense to buy?
Well, first, even though FDA has required the label to say so, I just want to reiterate that there's nothing low calorie or low fat about the bar. A normal Baby Ruth, weighing in at roughly 60 grams, provides 280 calories and 12 grams of fat. The sheer numbers on the sugar free bar are indeed smaller (140 calories, 8 grams of fat), but that's because the bar itself is smaller - a mere 36.8 grams. One wonders if Nestle (and its consumers) wouldn't be better off just making their normal bar a little smaller, and leaving it at that. I should also note that you pay a lot more for the privilege of eating Nestle's sugar free offering - I noticed a premium of about 40 cents over the larger sugar-filled Baby Ruth, but it might differ elsewhere. I suspect the price difference isn't purely marketing - the artificial sweetener Nestle uses, sucralose (brand name Splenda) is much more expensive than even good sugar.
As for taste, it tastes exactly how you would imagine sugar free chocolate might taste, but with an unexpected (label warned) threat of laxative effect - flat, insipid, slightly sickly - with a few nuts strewn within. It certainly doesn't taste of chocolate. As people who read my writing realize, I can't imagine the mentality that drives people to eat this horrible thing regularly. Eat one square of real chocolate and give the rest away - buy an apple - drop a spare few blueberries into a pot of full fat yogurt - anything but this.
I sometimes wonder whether I'm being unfair to this kind of product. The bar tastes kind of sweet, after all, and there are some nuts in there, and the brown stuff covering the filling does kind of look like chocolate, even if it doesn't taste anything like it. And anyway, the chocolate of the normal Baby Ruth doesn't taste like chocolate either. Am I just sneering at something people want to eat? Well, yes, but I think my sneer is deserved. If even one person reads this and decides to put aside the sugar free Baby Ruth and do something else instead, I'll be glad. We don't all need to suddenly become yoeman farmers - but if we can put the person who invented this candy out of a job, then we'll have done something good anyway.
With that in mind, I picked up Nestle's new "Sugar Free" Baby Ruth candy bar over the weekend. Obviously, the bar is a creature of the Atkins craze - a serious point against it. But how does it taste, and does it make sense to buy?
Well, first, even though FDA has required the label to say so, I just want to reiterate that there's nothing low calorie or low fat about the bar. A normal Baby Ruth, weighing in at roughly 60 grams, provides 280 calories and 12 grams of fat. The sheer numbers on the sugar free bar are indeed smaller (140 calories, 8 grams of fat), but that's because the bar itself is smaller - a mere 36.8 grams. One wonders if Nestle (and its consumers) wouldn't be better off just making their normal bar a little smaller, and leaving it at that. I should also note that you pay a lot more for the privilege of eating Nestle's sugar free offering - I noticed a premium of about 40 cents over the larger sugar-filled Baby Ruth, but it might differ elsewhere. I suspect the price difference isn't purely marketing - the artificial sweetener Nestle uses, sucralose (brand name Splenda) is much more expensive than even good sugar.
As for taste, it tastes exactly how you would imagine sugar free chocolate might taste, but with an unexpected (label warned) threat of laxative effect - flat, insipid, slightly sickly - with a few nuts strewn within. It certainly doesn't taste of chocolate. As people who read my writing realize, I can't imagine the mentality that drives people to eat this horrible thing regularly. Eat one square of real chocolate and give the rest away - buy an apple - drop a spare few blueberries into a pot of full fat yogurt - anything but this.
I sometimes wonder whether I'm being unfair to this kind of product. The bar tastes kind of sweet, after all, and there are some nuts in there, and the brown stuff covering the filling does kind of look like chocolate, even if it doesn't taste anything like it. And anyway, the chocolate of the normal Baby Ruth doesn't taste like chocolate either. Am I just sneering at something people want to eat? Well, yes, but I think my sneer is deserved. If even one person reads this and decides to put aside the sugar free Baby Ruth and do something else instead, I'll be glad. We don't all need to suddenly become yoeman farmers - but if we can put the person who invented this candy out of a job, then we'll have done something good anyway.
Today is Championship sunday in the NFL, and two great games bookend the afternoon. As much as it pains me to say something nice about the despised AFC, however, the class of the games today is clearly New England's visit to Pittsburgh - the two best teams in the league, both tough, and nasty, and happy to play outside on a freezing, snow filled Pennsylvania evening. This kind of game is why I'm a football fan.
And, coincidentally, the games give me a great excuse to make one of my favorite stews (chili), and accompaniments (cornbread). Read below the fold for recipes
Football Chili
I don't put beans in my chili, and I don't use ground beef. I know some people do both those things, and the chili tastes great, but I think of chili as a normal beef stew with some different spices - and for that you need good, fatty, cubes of beef. I had some wonderful chuck, but a number of other cuts would do as well. I also always try to add some bony meat for its fat content and for its gelatinous properties, which help thicken the stew. The chili I'm eating today is flavored with a great looking lamb neck bone.
I brown the beef in olive oil until crusty and caramelized, and then take them out of the pan to sautee my thinly sliced onions and crushed garlic in the mix of beef fat and the vegetable oil until soft. Then the beef gets put back into the pan, is salted and peppered, and gets spiced by 5 chopped habanero peppers. I know the conventional wisdom is to seed the peppers before cooking, but I like my food spicy. Others will disagree.
I then add a tin of good diced tomatoes to the pan, and then a bottle of decent beer - I like to use German or Eastern European lagers. If you need more liquid, some water or chicken stock will do fine. I add cumin that I've ground from the seeds, and also add some herbs tied up in a cheese cloth - I used thyme, coriander, and parsley today. From then on, the chili is easy. Let it bubble at a very low simmer for three or four hours, until quite thick. Let cool, and refrigerate for a night. Chili (and all stews) are always better slowly reheated the next day.
"Easy" Corn Bread
I found this cornbread on a bag of cornmeal, but it's remarkably good. normally, I eat much rougher cornbreads (that is to say, with higher ratios of corn to flour) with very little sugar, but I was in the mood for this one today. If you want a slightly more authentic experience, instead of pouring the batter into a prepared pan you can put the pan with oil and butter into the oven, and pour the batter into this sizzling fat before putting back into the oven.
Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Combine 1.25 cups of self raising flour with .75 cups of cornmeal (and this can be adjusted as you like). Add up to .25 cups of sugar, though I like a lot less. Finally, stir in a cup of whole milk, a beaten egg, and .25 cups of olive oil (though less will work too). Mix throughly and pour into a prepared (i.e, oiled) loaf pan. Bake for about 25 minutes until golden and done.
And, coincidentally, the games give me a great excuse to make one of my favorite stews (chili), and accompaniments (cornbread). Read below the fold for recipes
Football Chili
I don't put beans in my chili, and I don't use ground beef. I know some people do both those things, and the chili tastes great, but I think of chili as a normal beef stew with some different spices - and for that you need good, fatty, cubes of beef. I had some wonderful chuck, but a number of other cuts would do as well. I also always try to add some bony meat for its fat content and for its gelatinous properties, which help thicken the stew. The chili I'm eating today is flavored with a great looking lamb neck bone.
I brown the beef in olive oil until crusty and caramelized, and then take them out of the pan to sautee my thinly sliced onions and crushed garlic in the mix of beef fat and the vegetable oil until soft. Then the beef gets put back into the pan, is salted and peppered, and gets spiced by 5 chopped habanero peppers. I know the conventional wisdom is to seed the peppers before cooking, but I like my food spicy. Others will disagree.
I then add a tin of good diced tomatoes to the pan, and then a bottle of decent beer - I like to use German or Eastern European lagers. If you need more liquid, some water or chicken stock will do fine. I add cumin that I've ground from the seeds, and also add some herbs tied up in a cheese cloth - I used thyme, coriander, and parsley today. From then on, the chili is easy. Let it bubble at a very low simmer for three or four hours, until quite thick. Let cool, and refrigerate for a night. Chili (and all stews) are always better slowly reheated the next day.
"Easy" Corn Bread
I found this cornbread on a bag of cornmeal, but it's remarkably good. normally, I eat much rougher cornbreads (that is to say, with higher ratios of corn to flour) with very little sugar, but I was in the mood for this one today. If you want a slightly more authentic experience, instead of pouring the batter into a prepared pan you can put the pan with oil and butter into the oven, and pour the batter into this sizzling fat before putting back into the oven.
Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Combine 1.25 cups of self raising flour with .75 cups of cornmeal (and this can be adjusted as you like). Add up to .25 cups of sugar, though I like a lot less. Finally, stir in a cup of whole milk, a beaten egg, and .25 cups of olive oil (though less will work too). Mix throughly and pour into a prepared (i.e, oiled) loaf pan. Bake for about 25 minutes until golden and done.
Phoebe disagrees with my post on French Women Don't Get Fat below. She makes two points - first, that I overstate the French health advantage, and second, that "incidental walking", as I describe it, is ineffective in producing weight loss. I suspect we agree on more than not, but I do want to address these two points.
As to the magnitude of the French obesity advantage, it is broadly true that the French are slowly getting fatter. As Phoebe concedes, however, the extent to which this is true can be pretty closely tied to their increasing abandoment of the lifestyle I was lauding. No, it's not true that literally all French people are lean and trim - I overstated the case. But obesity in France in at least half of what it is in the US according to the statistics I've seen, which is astonishing for a country so singularly unobsessed with weight. I've lived with French people at universities, both men and women - I've spent a lot of time there as well. Weight loss is simply not on the agenda in the way it is here. And that's because the people are leaner - not because wine is some sort of mysterious de-fatter, but because they eat less and exercise (in a broad sense) more.
Second, incidental walking is indeed effective in burning calories and fat. The article to which Phoebe links makes no claim otherwise - it merely says there are better ways of burning calories, and that walking doesn't create muscle. Those are both true, but a constant burn of even 300 or 400 calories per day (an hour or so of brisk walking) will have powerful effects on weight. I hate pulling out personal anecdotes, but it certainly worked for me. Do I now do other sports as well? Of course - that's how you develop cardiovascular fitness and muscle tone. But walking will help, and it will help because if you design your life right, you can't avoid doing it.
As to the magnitude of the French obesity advantage, it is broadly true that the French are slowly getting fatter. As Phoebe concedes, however, the extent to which this is true can be pretty closely tied to their increasing abandoment of the lifestyle I was lauding. No, it's not true that literally all French people are lean and trim - I overstated the case. But obesity in France in at least half of what it is in the US according to the statistics I've seen, which is astonishing for a country so singularly unobsessed with weight. I've lived with French people at universities, both men and women - I've spent a lot of time there as well. Weight loss is simply not on the agenda in the way it is here. And that's because the people are leaner - not because wine is some sort of mysterious de-fatter, but because they eat less and exercise (in a broad sense) more.
Second, incidental walking is indeed effective in burning calories and fat. The article to which Phoebe links makes no claim otherwise - it merely says there are better ways of burning calories, and that walking doesn't create muscle. Those are both true, but a constant burn of even 300 or 400 calories per day (an hour or so of brisk walking) will have powerful effects on weight. I hate pulling out personal anecdotes, but it certainly worked for me. Do I now do other sports as well? Of course - that's how you develop cardiovascular fitness and muscle tone. But walking will help, and it will help because if you design your life right, you can't avoid doing it.
This week's installment involves Japanese food, the Oxford Companion to Food, any my desperate efforts to find bonito flakes in a Japanese supermarket. Great fun, from my perspective
What I'm Reading [About Food] this Week: The Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson
The English do a great job with quirky, long gestating, writing. My great favorite, the Lord of the Rings, of course, took decades to complete - and the Silmarillion was never finished. The Oxford Companion to Food, similarly, has been in the works for twenty years, groaning slowly towards completion. The finished product, however, was worth the wait. This is a terrific reference.
It's not that Davidson has produced the most comprehensive food reference possible. The entries are often incomplete in an objective sense, and as the author notes in introduction, "there were to be no recipes, and there are none". But the breadth and of Davidson's work, and the unexpected directions in which he takes entries more than make up for any shortcomings. Take, for example, his inclusion of "Noah's Ark", and his short musing on what the inhabitants might have done for food - or his description of the combat between two hotels for title to the veritable Sachertorte in the early 19th century. These aren't meant to be part an encyclopedic collection of everything about food, but things one particular man found interesting, and I think the final product is better for it.
This isn't to say that The Oxford Companion to Food isn't good for reference. The number of topics covered is impressive, and Davidson even squeezes in an entry on our favorite ortolan, noting that Alexander Dumas favored drowning them in vinegar to killing them otherwise. To tell you the truth, however, I still think the best part of the whole book is the extremely full bibliography. Ever needed to find out who wrote The Confectioner's Oracle? - I don't, but the answer is William Gunter. For information of that kind on hand at all times, ready for dipping into at random, I'm willing to pay the cover price of $49.95. And you should too.
What I'm eating this week
So, it turns out that shopping in a Japanese supermarket is harder than it looks. I thought I was doing well by looking for a fish logo when I needed bonito flakes for the basic Japanese stock (dashi), but that's less helpful when there are 8 tubs of fish logo-ed flakes of one sort or another in a row, all shouting indescipherable Japanese slogans in the same lurid purples and pinks After a quick check of the notes I had brought along, I found the ones without sesame seeds, or peppers, or strange other things i didn't know anything about. From there, it was a pretty straightforward thing to find the Aka (Red) miso, and not the Red miso with all sorts of things simmered as well, or the white miso that looks more beige than white. I'm still not sure all the ingredients I got were the right ones, but they'll have to do.
All the above makes pretty clear that my theme for the week is Japanese food, and specifically miso. I'm going to brush it on salmon, and broil it till crisp - and eat that with miso soup made of dashi and miso. I've got some firm tofu to brush with more miso and grill with mushrooms, to be eaten with short grain japanese brown rice seasoned with miso. If I need it, there will also be miso soup with udon and mushrooms and kale. Sure, that's probably too much miso for one week, but that kind of immersion is probably a good way to start. I'll report back on my experiment next week.
What I'm Reading [About Food] this Week: The Oxford Companion to Food, Alan Davidson
The English do a great job with quirky, long gestating, writing. My great favorite, the Lord of the Rings, of course, took decades to complete - and the Silmarillion was never finished. The Oxford Companion to Food, similarly, has been in the works for twenty years, groaning slowly towards completion. The finished product, however, was worth the wait. This is a terrific reference.
It's not that Davidson has produced the most comprehensive food reference possible. The entries are often incomplete in an objective sense, and as the author notes in introduction, "there were to be no recipes, and there are none". But the breadth and of Davidson's work, and the unexpected directions in which he takes entries more than make up for any shortcomings. Take, for example, his inclusion of "Noah's Ark", and his short musing on what the inhabitants might have done for food - or his description of the combat between two hotels for title to the veritable Sachertorte in the early 19th century. These aren't meant to be part an encyclopedic collection of everything about food, but things one particular man found interesting, and I think the final product is better for it.
This isn't to say that The Oxford Companion to Food isn't good for reference. The number of topics covered is impressive, and Davidson even squeezes in an entry on our favorite ortolan, noting that Alexander Dumas favored drowning them in vinegar to killing them otherwise. To tell you the truth, however, I still think the best part of the whole book is the extremely full bibliography. Ever needed to find out who wrote The Confectioner's Oracle? - I don't, but the answer is William Gunter. For information of that kind on hand at all times, ready for dipping into at random, I'm willing to pay the cover price of $49.95. And you should too.
What I'm eating this week
So, it turns out that shopping in a Japanese supermarket is harder than it looks. I thought I was doing well by looking for a fish logo when I needed bonito flakes for the basic Japanese stock (dashi), but that's less helpful when there are 8 tubs of fish logo-ed flakes of one sort or another in a row, all shouting indescipherable Japanese slogans in the same lurid purples and pinks After a quick check of the notes I had brought along, I found the ones without sesame seeds, or peppers, or strange other things i didn't know anything about. From there, it was a pretty straightforward thing to find the Aka (Red) miso, and not the Red miso with all sorts of things simmered as well, or the white miso that looks more beige than white. I'm still not sure all the ingredients I got were the right ones, but they'll have to do.
All the above makes pretty clear that my theme for the week is Japanese food, and specifically miso. I'm going to brush it on salmon, and broil it till crisp - and eat that with miso soup made of dashi and miso. I've got some firm tofu to brush with more miso and grill with mushrooms, to be eaten with short grain japanese brown rice seasoned with miso. If I need it, there will also be miso soup with udon and mushrooms and kale. Sure, that's probably too much miso for one week, but that kind of immersion is probably a good way to start. I'll report back on my experiment next week.
I'm also participating in the 50 Book Challenge. I think I'm going to do most of the blogging for it over on my own site, but I'll put up appropriate books here - and also, of course, many of my "What I'm Reading about Food this Week" entries will be involved. Anyway, you can see the first 4 books I've read this year over on my site . Here's a taste
Book #4 - French Women Don't Get Fat, Mireille Guiliano
I'm not the type of person who normally reads women's self help books. But this particular book sounded promising - I was hoping that Guiliano was able to distill my basic philosophy when it comes to food (which itself is largely French) in a way that people would like to read it. All of us want vindication sometimes.
I'll dispense with the book's weak points first. The recipes are lousy - you'd be much better off picking up a copy of any book by Richard Olney, and I'm surprised there's no such recommendation. Second, Guiliano's constant, unexplained, divergences into French are really very annoying. Yes, I know I do it sometimes too, and I know it's supposed to be cute and whimsical, but I would argue that any use of French in food writing ought to actually be necessary. Writing "moderation is the key" in French doesn't count. Third, Guiliani is personally really well off, as a big cheese in Veuve Cliquot America (incidentally, bits of the book come across as an ad for the champagne, but one ought to cut her some slack). That's obviously not a problem, but it does come through in her recommendations to eat a lot of oysters, or to adorn your potatoes with caviar. I agree that the vast majority of people can indeed afford oysters (say), in the way the French do (once a year, at Christmas). But shorn of that context, which she doesn't really provide, one is left somewhat with the impression that the lifestyle Guiliano recommends is beyond the reach of most people. That isn't true.
Having said all that, the book really does provide what it purports to provide - the secrets of why all French people, not just women, remain lean and trim. What Guiliano says largely corresponds to my experience. First, the French incorporate much more walking into their daily routines. And I don't mean the forced march of health walks that most people think of - decked out in sweats and those goofy ankle weights - but what Guiliano rightly calls incidental walking. That is, walking to work, because you live a mile or so from the office, or walking to the grocer, who happens to be down the way, because you've forgotten the cream. That's the kind of exercise that slaughters calories, and when Guiliano recommends moving to somewhere where incidental walking is unavoidable, I'm in complete agreement. Personally, I'll never live further than a mile and a half from work, or closer than half a mile or so. The health benefits of that daily treck are simply too important.
Second, Guilano's message of moderation is precisely right. The American intuition has always been to categorically eliminate one type of food or add another - fat, carbs, bran, oats, olive oil, wine. These are sometimes effective short term solutions, but they have nothing to do with long term weight loss and maintenance for the general population. I agree with Guiliano that the real solution is a matter of attitude - the belief that food is a special pleasure, and that preparing your own, delicious, meals well balanced between taste and health is necessary to a sustainable diet regime. I'm not sure she'll be successful in pushing the re-institution of multi-course meals in America (though that would be great), but the basic point is right - meals should be exciting opportunities to try something you're looking forward to eating. You owe it to yourself to make the effort.
I'm not sure if Guiliano's effort will make much difference in the obesity wars. But it's at least a symbol of how we should be approaching the problem, and perhaps a warning as to how far off track many of our efforts are. I wouldn't buy the book - it's far too short a read for long term use, but if you're interested in the modern problems of health and food at all, this is an excellent addition to the literature.
Book #4 - French Women Don't Get Fat, Mireille Guiliano
I'm not the type of person who normally reads women's self help books. But this particular book sounded promising - I was hoping that Guiliano was able to distill my basic philosophy when it comes to food (which itself is largely French) in a way that people would like to read it. All of us want vindication sometimes.
I'll dispense with the book's weak points first. The recipes are lousy - you'd be much better off picking up a copy of any book by Richard Olney, and I'm surprised there's no such recommendation. Second, Guiliano's constant, unexplained, divergences into French are really very annoying. Yes, I know I do it sometimes too, and I know it's supposed to be cute and whimsical, but I would argue that any use of French in food writing ought to actually be necessary. Writing "moderation is the key" in French doesn't count. Third, Guiliani is personally really well off, as a big cheese in Veuve Cliquot America (incidentally, bits of the book come across as an ad for the champagne, but one ought to cut her some slack). That's obviously not a problem, but it does come through in her recommendations to eat a lot of oysters, or to adorn your potatoes with caviar. I agree that the vast majority of people can indeed afford oysters (say), in the way the French do (once a year, at Christmas). But shorn of that context, which she doesn't really provide, one is left somewhat with the impression that the lifestyle Guiliano recommends is beyond the reach of most people. That isn't true.
Having said all that, the book really does provide what it purports to provide - the secrets of why all French people, not just women, remain lean and trim. What Guiliano says largely corresponds to my experience. First, the French incorporate much more walking into their daily routines. And I don't mean the forced march of health walks that most people think of - decked out in sweats and those goofy ankle weights - but what Guiliano rightly calls incidental walking. That is, walking to work, because you live a mile or so from the office, or walking to the grocer, who happens to be down the way, because you've forgotten the cream. That's the kind of exercise that slaughters calories, and when Guiliano recommends moving to somewhere where incidental walking is unavoidable, I'm in complete agreement. Personally, I'll never live further than a mile and a half from work, or closer than half a mile or so. The health benefits of that daily treck are simply too important.
Second, Guilano's message of moderation is precisely right. The American intuition has always been to categorically eliminate one type of food or add another - fat, carbs, bran, oats, olive oil, wine. These are sometimes effective short term solutions, but they have nothing to do with long term weight loss and maintenance for the general population. I agree with Guiliano that the real solution is a matter of attitude - the belief that food is a special pleasure, and that preparing your own, delicious, meals well balanced between taste and health is necessary to a sustainable diet regime. I'm not sure she'll be successful in pushing the re-institution of multi-course meals in America (though that would be great), but the basic point is right - meals should be exciting opportunities to try something you're looking forward to eating. You owe it to yourself to make the effort.
I'm not sure if Guiliano's effort will make much difference in the obesity wars. But it's at least a symbol of how we should be approaching the problem, and perhaps a warning as to how far off track many of our efforts are. I wouldn't buy the book - it's far too short a read for long term use, but if you're interested in the modern problems of health and food at all, this is an excellent addition to the literature.
I'm taking a course in food and drug law this semester, which has turned out to be a lot of fun. Reading the casebook, I came across this excerpt from a deposition. I think it speaks for itself;
Q. Mr. Konicov, does your firm still market a tape called "Astro Sounds"?
A. Yes, we do.
Q. How does it differ from the other tapes?
A. It's just a bunch of loud, squeaky noises.
Q. And what is it supposed to do?
A. I don't know.
Q. Why do you sell the tape if you don't know what it does or purports to do?
A. Why?
Q. Yes.
A. To give people a choice to buy it or not to buy it.
Q. Mr. Konicov, does your firm still market a tape called "Astro Sounds"?
A. Yes, we do.
Q. How does it differ from the other tapes?
A. It's just a bunch of loud, squeaky noises.
Q. And what is it supposed to do?
A. I don't know.
Q. Why do you sell the tape if you don't know what it does or purports to do?
A. Why?
Q. Yes.
A. To give people a choice to buy it or not to buy it.
1/15/2005
What I'm Eating this Week
So, putting aside the Booker excitement, which I think I finally understand after a lot of mucking about, it's time for this week's installment of "What I'm Eating this Week".
What I'm Reading about Food this Week: The Book of Miso:Food for Mankind, William Shurtleff & Akiko Aoyagi
I have no real problem with the kind of glossy cookbooks so much in vogue at the moment. Nigel Slater's Appetite and Real Food are two of my favorite references. But there's a special pleasure in finding something quirky and unexpected in the bottom shelves of a bookstore, or in the forgotten backwaters of ebay. The Book of Miso is a perfect example.
Sure, there's forty pages of crackpot environmentalism at the beginning. Yes, the authors have a zealot's belief in the power of miso to cure every problem from world hunger to obesity. And no, most of the recipes aren't much good. Here's a hint to those planning books on little known ingredients - if we wanted to know how to make enchiladas with miso, we would have asked.
But none of that means that the book is without charm. It's only after the environmental screed, for example, that we learn that the American author spent six months doing a miso apprenticeship with a master in Japan, and only at the end of the book, tucked behind a brilliant history of miso, do we find instructions to do the same yourself. Lost amid the dozens of ludicrous Americanized uses of miso, furthermore, are some amazing, obviously authentic recipes - dengaku, or barbecued tofu brushed with miso; a variety of traditional porridges and gruels apparently typical of Japan; a neat mini-chapter on the art of broiling the miso itself.
I don't suppose that the The Book of Miso has had much staying power since coming out in the mid-70s. But it shouldn't be ignored. Sometimes, out of the unlikeliest of places, you can find some really interesting things to delight and educate. This book is one of those rare exceptions.
What I'm Eating this Week
Rabbit (chicken) stew with green olives - With apologies for the shortened format, the centerpiece of my eating this week was a delicious stew of chicken and green olives. Actually, as the title above indicates, it's supposed to be rabbit, which itself was a replacement for the fattier duck. But my laziness predominates, and much rabbit these days isn't any more flavorful than the better types of chicken anyway.
Put in a stew moistened only by wine, and flavored by large, unpitted green olives, a diced tomato, and some finely diced onions (along with bunches of fresh thyme), chicken really does wonders. The key thing to remember, of course, is to sear the chicken skin side down before doing anything else, making sure to get the skin brown, caramelized, and crisp. I'm sure there are worse things to do to chicken than to stew it while grey and rubbery, but I can't think of them right now, and they're probably inappropriate for this blog anyway. Actually, it's in this searing that the lack of duck is most felt - chicken hardly ever renders enough fat to lend a strong flavor to the onions you saute directly afterwards. But it's a small enough loss compared to the dish as a whole. And the duck can always be saved for roast potatoes later.
So, putting aside the Booker excitement, which I think I finally understand after a lot of mucking about, it's time for this week's installment of "What I'm Eating this Week".
What I'm Reading about Food this Week: The Book of Miso:Food for Mankind, William Shurtleff & Akiko Aoyagi
I have no real problem with the kind of glossy cookbooks so much in vogue at the moment. Nigel Slater's Appetite and Real Food are two of my favorite references. But there's a special pleasure in finding something quirky and unexpected in the bottom shelves of a bookstore, or in the forgotten backwaters of ebay. The Book of Miso is a perfect example.
Sure, there's forty pages of crackpot environmentalism at the beginning. Yes, the authors have a zealot's belief in the power of miso to cure every problem from world hunger to obesity. And no, most of the recipes aren't much good. Here's a hint to those planning books on little known ingredients - if we wanted to know how to make enchiladas with miso, we would have asked.
But none of that means that the book is without charm. It's only after the environmental screed, for example, that we learn that the American author spent six months doing a miso apprenticeship with a master in Japan, and only at the end of the book, tucked behind a brilliant history of miso, do we find instructions to do the same yourself. Lost amid the dozens of ludicrous Americanized uses of miso, furthermore, are some amazing, obviously authentic recipes - dengaku, or barbecued tofu brushed with miso; a variety of traditional porridges and gruels apparently typical of Japan; a neat mini-chapter on the art of broiling the miso itself.
I don't suppose that the The Book of Miso has had much staying power since coming out in the mid-70s. But it shouldn't be ignored. Sometimes, out of the unlikeliest of places, you can find some really interesting things to delight and educate. This book is one of those rare exceptions.
What I'm Eating this Week
Rabbit (chicken) stew with green olives - With apologies for the shortened format, the centerpiece of my eating this week was a delicious stew of chicken and green olives. Actually, as the title above indicates, it's supposed to be rabbit, which itself was a replacement for the fattier duck. But my laziness predominates, and much rabbit these days isn't any more flavorful than the better types of chicken anyway.
Put in a stew moistened only by wine, and flavored by large, unpitted green olives, a diced tomato, and some finely diced onions (along with bunches of fresh thyme), chicken really does wonders. The key thing to remember, of course, is to sear the chicken skin side down before doing anything else, making sure to get the skin brown, caramelized, and crisp. I'm sure there are worse things to do to chicken than to stew it while grey and rubbery, but I can't think of them right now, and they're probably inappropriate for this blog anyway. Actually, it's in this searing that the lack of duck is most felt - chicken hardly ever renders enough fat to lend a strong flavor to the onions you saute directly afterwards. But it's a small enough loss compared to the dish as a whole. And the duck can always be saved for roast potatoes later.
The True History of the Restaurant
The other day I mentioned that I had a few writing projects keeping me busy, thus explaining my slightly shortened "What I'm Eating this Week" posts. I thought I would post a little something on one of them here for perusal, though this one is way on the back burner at the moment.
The traditional story of the restaurant's birth is tempting in its romance. Some time in the late 18th century, we're told, a maverick cook named Boulanger set up an eatery where he served not only restaurant, a refreshing soup of the period, but also a dish of sheeps' feet in white sauce. Enraged, the guild of traiteurs brought suit in the Parlement de Paris, (a sort of hybrid court/legislature) alleging that Boulanger had trespassed into their territory. Sauces, they said, were the province of the traiteurs. After a series of appeals, the guild won, and Boulanger's naescent effort was condemned by the bewigged manifestations of the royal law. The story always concludes, however, by noting that the damage was done. Boulanger, and the restaurant as universal eating destination, were here to stay.
From the first time I heard the story, I knew it stunk. It just didn't sound like something that was likely to have happened in ancien regime France. Sure enough, a quick look into the subject demonstrated that the best historian of the restaurant, Rebecca Spang, had recently concluded that "this account is, to all appearances, largely unfounded . . . [N]o evidence in the judicial, police, or corporate archives substantiates the story of Boulanger's defeat at the hands of litigious caterers". Spang, The Invention of the Restaurant (2000) at 9. Surprisingly, the reason such a silly fable has lasted so long has little to do with French chauvinistic pride at having invented the restaurant. Rather, it seems that the image of overweening guilds crushing the small entrepreneur was a keystone of French Marxist historiography - an example of how the French Revolution brought capitalism (inevitably to be toppled) to the fore. In the face of that kind of motivation, actual evidence apparently had little weight, and dozens of books have repeated the story in one form or another.
The problem this leaves us with, though, is that we haven't actually done very much to show that the episode didn't happen. In the absence of that kind of proof, I suspect that both politically motivated historians and food romantics will continue repeating this nonsense for a long time to come. Since I don't want that to happen, my idea is to use a lawyer's perspective to get a little better handle on the subject. Specifically, I'm interested to discover if the "decision" as it comes down to us was even in the jurisdictional or legal purview of the Parlement de Paris at all. If, as I suspect, this just isn't the kind of thing the Parlement was likely to have decided, then I think we've got ourselves a pretty persuasive case that the whole thing never happened. Of course, my biggest obstacle is that though I know something about the Parlement de Paris, and I know something about law, I don't know anything about the former's use of the latter. It may well be, in the end, that the Boulanger story is plausible but still almost certainly false. But it's certainly worth a look, especially since, as people note in another context, the trying is a lot of fun.
The other day I mentioned that I had a few writing projects keeping me busy, thus explaining my slightly shortened "What I'm Eating this Week" posts. I thought I would post a little something on one of them here for perusal, though this one is way on the back burner at the moment.
The traditional story of the restaurant's birth is tempting in its romance. Some time in the late 18th century, we're told, a maverick cook named Boulanger set up an eatery where he served not only restaurant, a refreshing soup of the period, but also a dish of sheeps' feet in white sauce. Enraged, the guild of traiteurs brought suit in the Parlement de Paris, (a sort of hybrid court/legislature) alleging that Boulanger had trespassed into their territory. Sauces, they said, were the province of the traiteurs. After a series of appeals, the guild won, and Boulanger's naescent effort was condemned by the bewigged manifestations of the royal law. The story always concludes, however, by noting that the damage was done. Boulanger, and the restaurant as universal eating destination, were here to stay.
From the first time I heard the story, I knew it stunk. It just didn't sound like something that was likely to have happened in ancien regime France. Sure enough, a quick look into the subject demonstrated that the best historian of the restaurant, Rebecca Spang, had recently concluded that "this account is, to all appearances, largely unfounded . . . [N]o evidence in the judicial, police, or corporate archives substantiates the story of Boulanger's defeat at the hands of litigious caterers". Spang, The Invention of the Restaurant (2000) at 9. Surprisingly, the reason such a silly fable has lasted so long has little to do with French chauvinistic pride at having invented the restaurant. Rather, it seems that the image of overweening guilds crushing the small entrepreneur was a keystone of French Marxist historiography - an example of how the French Revolution brought capitalism (inevitably to be toppled) to the fore. In the face of that kind of motivation, actual evidence apparently had little weight, and dozens of books have repeated the story in one form or another.
The problem this leaves us with, though, is that we haven't actually done very much to show that the episode didn't happen. In the absence of that kind of proof, I suspect that both politically motivated historians and food romantics will continue repeating this nonsense for a long time to come. Since I don't want that to happen, my idea is to use a lawyer's perspective to get a little better handle on the subject. Specifically, I'm interested to discover if the "decision" as it comes down to us was even in the jurisdictional or legal purview of the Parlement de Paris at all. If, as I suspect, this just isn't the kind of thing the Parlement was likely to have decided, then I think we've got ourselves a pretty persuasive case that the whole thing never happened. Of course, my biggest obstacle is that though I know something about the Parlement de Paris, and I know something about law, I don't know anything about the former's use of the latter. It may well be, in the end, that the Boulanger story is plausible but still almost certainly false. But it's certainly worth a look, especially since, as people note in another context, the trying is a lot of fun.
1/09/2005
What I ate this week
Waddling Thunder at 01:31 PM
Hey, it's a new year - and, luckily for everyone out there, a new opportunity to hear me bang on mercilessly about food. For now, the format will be much the same as last year, if a little less detailed - I'm busy with some other writing projects.
What I'm Reading about food this week:On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen
With the new edition of Harold McGee's seminal work on kitchen science just on the shelves, I went out and bought the now dated first edition. For one thing, the well preserved used copy I found is a lot cheaper than the hardback in the stores. But even more important, I like having older versions of food books around. As I've said before, my Larousse Gastronomique is from 1964, and it covers a lot of things missing from the newest version. Similarly, McGee's older work is tinged heavily with its native mid-80's. MSG, for example, the formerly ubiquitous chinese food additive, is discussed at surprising length. The American beer scene, now burgeoning in thousands of micro-breweries across the country, is lamented as "blander and more uniform than ever". I can't think of a better reminder of how far we've come.
But apart from historic interest, the book is an amazing compilation of basic kitchen science, none of which is likely to have changed in the past decades. McGee explains why people sear foods, how roasting works, the cellular make up of plants, and the reason avocados go brown when you leave them out. No, there aren't any recipes in here, but even in such detail McGee manages a lively energetic read. I've heard from Will that the new version is just as good. Whether you try to read it straight through, or keep it around as a reference when the mayonnaise insists on splitting, On Food and Cooking is a must.
What I'm Eating this Week
Like most other people, Christmas and the New Year have left me feeling bloated, over-fed, and frankly, fat. I know that a common reaction is to cut down on meats and saturated oils. But in this limited instance, I think the Atkins-zealots are right. The problem with the holidays, for me at least, is sugar rather than fat. Cakes, desserts, chocolates, hot sweet drinks, liquors, glazes ,icings - they're all part of our festive diet, and they're all stuffed with sugar. So this week I thought I would return to the roots of proper eating - butter, cream, eggs, and meat - and use them to dispel some of my post Christmas malaise.
Scrambled Eggs: I've written before about the jobs of scrambled eggs, in an early post on power breakfasts. Seeing that my local supermarket produced some good looking Mitake mushrooms, I fried them in high fat European butter, and then slowly leg my fresh eggs cook on a low, gentle heat.
Pan fried pork loin with salad - there's nothing special about pork loins. What I did want to point out, however, is how easy it is to whip up a quick pan sauce, that can often help the dryer supermarket style pork most of us commonly eat. Once you sear the pork, transfer it to the oven, let it finish cooking, and plate the meat. In the three or four minutes you should give it time to rest anyway, just deglaze the used pan with some sort of wine (I use vermouth, but anything is fine), making sure to pick up the delicious bits of caramelized pork stuck to the bottom, and then whip in butter to taste. The real upside of this method is that the pan is easier to clear. Sauce plus convenience!
Waddling Thunder at 01:31 PM
Hey, it's a new year - and, luckily for everyone out there, a new opportunity to hear me bang on mercilessly about food. For now, the format will be much the same as last year, if a little less detailed - I'm busy with some other writing projects.
What I'm Reading about food this week:On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen
With the new edition of Harold McGee's seminal work on kitchen science just on the shelves, I went out and bought the now dated first edition. For one thing, the well preserved used copy I found is a lot cheaper than the hardback in the stores. But even more important, I like having older versions of food books around. As I've said before, my Larousse Gastronomique is from 1964, and it covers a lot of things missing from the newest version. Similarly, McGee's older work is tinged heavily with its native mid-80's. MSG, for example, the formerly ubiquitous chinese food additive, is discussed at surprising length. The American beer scene, now burgeoning in thousands of micro-breweries across the country, is lamented as "blander and more uniform than ever". I can't think of a better reminder of how far we've come.
But apart from historic interest, the book is an amazing compilation of basic kitchen science, none of which is likely to have changed in the past decades. McGee explains why people sear foods, how roasting works, the cellular make up of plants, and the reason avocados go brown when you leave them out. No, there aren't any recipes in here, but even in such detail McGee manages a lively energetic read. I've heard from Will that the new version is just as good. Whether you try to read it straight through, or keep it around as a reference when the mayonnaise insists on splitting, On Food and Cooking is a must.
What I'm Eating this Week
Like most other people, Christmas and the New Year have left me feeling bloated, over-fed, and frankly, fat. I know that a common reaction is to cut down on meats and saturated oils. But in this limited instance, I think the Atkins-zealots are right. The problem with the holidays, for me at least, is sugar rather than fat. Cakes, desserts, chocolates, hot sweet drinks, liquors, glazes ,icings - they're all part of our festive diet, and they're all stuffed with sugar. So this week I thought I would return to the roots of proper eating - butter, cream, eggs, and meat - and use them to dispel some of my post Christmas malaise.
Scrambled Eggs: I've written before about the jobs of scrambled eggs, in an early post on power breakfasts. Seeing that my local supermarket produced some good looking Mitake mushrooms, I fried them in high fat European butter, and then slowly leg my fresh eggs cook on a low, gentle heat.
Pan fried pork loin with salad - there's nothing special about pork loins. What I did want to point out, however, is how easy it is to whip up a quick pan sauce, that can often help the dryer supermarket style pork most of us commonly eat. Once you sear the pork, transfer it to the oven, let it finish cooking, and plate the meat. In the three or four minutes you should give it time to rest anyway, just deglaze the used pan with some sort of wine (I use vermouth, but anything is fine), making sure to pick up the delicious bits of caramelized pork stuck to the bottom, and then whip in butter to taste. The real upside of this method is that the pan is easier to clear. Sauce plus convenience!
Charlie Trotter, Ultimate Leader
cross-posted at Crescat
I've taken to watching Charlie Trotter's food program on my local public access station - my 13 inch TV isn't hooked up to cable. Before I saw the show, I had put Trotter mentally into my list of over-hyped celebrity chefs, for no real reason. Having watched a few episodes, I have to admit that I was wrong. Charlie Trotter is obviously a master. Whether his skill extends to his restaurants is a question I can't answer without a visit.
Good as he is, however, I get the impression that Trotter is a distinctly odd man. Today, in a little spot between two recipes, Trotter was shown taking aside one of his cooks after a bad day. I expected him to administer the blistering reprimand we expect from our famously hot-headed chefs. Instead, Trotter stared soulfully into his subordinate's eyes, and said - "I want you to become your own ultimate leader. Can you do that for me?". Hey, if it works, it works.
cross-posted at Crescat
I've taken to watching Charlie Trotter's food program on my local public access station - my 13 inch TV isn't hooked up to cable. Before I saw the show, I had put Trotter mentally into my list of over-hyped celebrity chefs, for no real reason. Having watched a few episodes, I have to admit that I was wrong. Charlie Trotter is obviously a master. Whether his skill extends to his restaurants is a question I can't answer without a visit.
Good as he is, however, I get the impression that Trotter is a distinctly odd man. Today, in a little spot between two recipes, Trotter was shown taking aside one of his cooks after a bad day. I expected him to administer the blistering reprimand we expect from our famously hot-headed chefs. Instead, Trotter stared soulfully into his subordinate's eyes, and said - "I want you to become your own ultimate leader. Can you do that for me?". Hey, if it works, it works.
1/05/2005
Masa
Waddling Thunder at 09:57 PM
crossposted at Crescat
Obscured by Christmas, I missed the fact that Frank Bruni over at the New York Times has dispensed an exceptionally rare four star rating, for the Japanese restaurant Masa. What's remarkable about the review is that Bruni readily admits that one might easily spend as much as $1000 per person at the restuarant, if one lets the chef flex his muscles. So, once again, we're confronted with a perennial food-ist question. Where precisely is the line between obscenity and luxury? Would you spend even half that sum on a meal?
I think I would, but that answer deserves an explanation. There's no sense in which the pleasure I would derive from the meal itself, at that moment, would be worth anything like $500 to me. But as someone who occasionally skipped meals to save up for semesterly blow outs in college, I'd say that it's not that meal you're paying for necessarily. It's the memory of the food for months afterwards; the taste that even a year later haunts your own efforts in the kitchen. If Masa is anything like people describe it, it might well be a bargain. And yet - the number is so very high.
I've enabled comments, I think.
Waddling Thunder at 09:57 PM
crossposted at Crescat
Obscured by Christmas, I missed the fact that Frank Bruni over at the New York Times has dispensed an exceptionally rare four star rating, for the Japanese restaurant Masa. What's remarkable about the review is that Bruni readily admits that one might easily spend as much as $1000 per person at the restuarant, if one lets the chef flex his muscles. So, once again, we're confronted with a perennial food-ist question. Where precisely is the line between obscenity and luxury? Would you spend even half that sum on a meal?
I think I would, but that answer deserves an explanation. There's no sense in which the pleasure I would derive from the meal itself, at that moment, would be worth anything like $500 to me. But as someone who occasionally skipped meals to save up for semesterly blow outs in college, I'd say that it's not that meal you're paying for necessarily. It's the memory of the food for months afterwards; the taste that even a year later haunts your own efforts in the kitchen. If Masa is anything like people describe it, it might well be a bargain. And yet - the number is so very high.
I've enabled comments, I think.
12/09/2004
As I've said before, exams are no reason to eat poorly. In the middle of my own exam period, therefore, here's this week's effort.
What I'm reading [about food] this week: In a Shaker Kitchen: by Norma MacMillan
Shakerism is one of these creeds that I can't quite believe anyone ever invented. The worst part of it all, of course, was the celibacy - I have no objection to religious abstinence, and there are some good reasons why it exists, but it seems more sensible from a keeping the sect extant perspective to cabin the celibacy norm to a priestly class. Still, there's something honorable about staking the life of a whole religion on its continued ability to attact converts. And that sense of simple honor permeates the Shakers wholesome, country fare. No, I wouldn't have wanted to be a Shaker - but eating with them would have been a treat and an honor.
And Norma MacMillian's gentle treatment of these anachronistic wanderers of history only adds to the pleasure of leafing through their recipes. I hadn't previously thought of a double crusted lemon pie, for example, but there's a recipe here. There are rough quick breads, and honey soaked cakes, reminding us of the Shakers reliance on natural ingredients. The sect's flirtation with mandatory vegetarianism is celebrated with a delicious chapter awash in country cheese and cream and vegetables, while meats are treated with care - I can't wait to try chicken breasts in cider sauce with butter roasted apples, for example. As a child, I remember romantically wishing I could have sat at table with the honest country Englishmen James Harriot wrote about in his stories of veterinary practice in the farmland of middle England - to keep pace fork for fork with the kind of doughty men who Harriot describes spending an hour sitting silent as their evening entertainment. I'll never have the chance to do that, even if those people ever existed as Harriot described - but Macmillan's book at least gives us an idea of what they might have eaten. I'm a fan.
Easy Peasy Apple Tart - I was invited to a small shin-dig on Friday night. It was supposed to be more civilized than the usual HLS affair, which tend to run towards alcoholic binges most fraternities only dream of. Anyway, I made an apple tart to take with me by using a narrow sheet of puff pastry, adding 2/3 inch borders of pastry after brushing with egg, and finishing with thinly sliced apples brushed initially with olive oil and sugar. They get honeyed after baking.
Lunch:
Smoked Salmon and Avocado - The supermarkets have recently started selling fillets of smoked salmon at about 3 bucks a pop. They're good, and more substantial than the usual thinly sliced smoked salmon. I top them with a a few slices of ripe avocado for a filling sandwich. The on ly thing missing is a little crisp bacon, but I usually manage to control myself.
Dinner:
Goat Cheese parcels - I've read that a lot of recipes developed because of the cooking utensils people had on hand. If you've never heard of an oven, you're likely to have good stews. Well, my cooking is driven somewhat by the fact that my fridge (and especially) my freezer are exceptionally unreliable; to the extent that the former freezes and the latter defrosts. What that all means is that I wanted to use leftover puff pastry from the apple tart above as soon as possible. The obvious solution is crottins of goat cheese wrapped in the dough, with the cheese left open at top. Just put the cheese in the middle of a pastry square, and pull the sides up around, brush with egg, and you're ready to go.
Shaker Asparagus and Cheese pudding - Just a bread pudding of asparagus and sharp English cheddar cheese, moistened with a mix of full fat milk, cream, eggs, and mustard powder. The pudding puffs up brown and crisp, and is especially good eaten with a thick piece of ham.
What I'm reading [about food] this week: In a Shaker Kitchen: by Norma MacMillan
Shakerism is one of these creeds that I can't quite believe anyone ever invented. The worst part of it all, of course, was the celibacy - I have no objection to religious abstinence, and there are some good reasons why it exists, but it seems more sensible from a keeping the sect extant perspective to cabin the celibacy norm to a priestly class. Still, there's something honorable about staking the life of a whole religion on its continued ability to attact converts. And that sense of simple honor permeates the Shakers wholesome, country fare. No, I wouldn't have wanted to be a Shaker - but eating with them would have been a treat and an honor.
And Norma MacMillian's gentle treatment of these anachronistic wanderers of history only adds to the pleasure of leafing through their recipes. I hadn't previously thought of a double crusted lemon pie, for example, but there's a recipe here. There are rough quick breads, and honey soaked cakes, reminding us of the Shakers reliance on natural ingredients. The sect's flirtation with mandatory vegetarianism is celebrated with a delicious chapter awash in country cheese and cream and vegetables, while meats are treated with care - I can't wait to try chicken breasts in cider sauce with butter roasted apples, for example. As a child, I remember romantically wishing I could have sat at table with the honest country Englishmen James Harriot wrote about in his stories of veterinary practice in the farmland of middle England - to keep pace fork for fork with the kind of doughty men who Harriot describes spending an hour sitting silent as their evening entertainment. I'll never have the chance to do that, even if those people ever existed as Harriot described - but Macmillan's book at least gives us an idea of what they might have eaten. I'm a fan.
Easy Peasy Apple Tart - I was invited to a small shin-dig on Friday night. It was supposed to be more civilized than the usual HLS affair, which tend to run towards alcoholic binges most fraternities only dream of. Anyway, I made an apple tart to take with me by using a narrow sheet of puff pastry, adding 2/3 inch borders of pastry after brushing with egg, and finishing with thinly sliced apples brushed initially with olive oil and sugar. They get honeyed after baking.
Lunch:
Smoked Salmon and Avocado - The supermarkets have recently started selling fillets of smoked salmon at about 3 bucks a pop. They're good, and more substantial than the usual thinly sliced smoked salmon. I top them with a a few slices of ripe avocado for a filling sandwich. The on ly thing missing is a little crisp bacon, but I usually manage to control myself.
Dinner:
Goat Cheese parcels - I've read that a lot of recipes developed because of the cooking utensils people had on hand. If you've never heard of an oven, you're likely to have good stews. Well, my cooking is driven somewhat by the fact that my fridge (and especially) my freezer are exceptionally unreliable; to the extent that the former freezes and the latter defrosts. What that all means is that I wanted to use leftover puff pastry from the apple tart above as soon as possible. The obvious solution is crottins of goat cheese wrapped in the dough, with the cheese left open at top. Just put the cheese in the middle of a pastry square, and pull the sides up around, brush with egg, and you're ready to go.
Shaker Asparagus and Cheese pudding - Just a bread pudding of asparagus and sharp English cheddar cheese, moistened with a mix of full fat milk, cream, eggs, and mustard powder. The pudding puffs up brown and crisp, and is especially good eaten with a thick piece of ham.
As I've said before, exams are no reason to eat poorly. In the middle of my own exam period, therefore, here's this week's effort.
What I'm reading [about food] this week: In a Shaker Kitchen: by Norma MacMillan
Shakerism is one of these creeds that I can't quite believe anyone ever invented. The worst part of it all, of course, was the celibacy - I have no objection to religious abstinence, and there are some good reasons why it exists, but it seems more sensible from a keeping the sect extant perspective to cabin the celibacy norm to a priestly class. Still, there's something honorable about staking the life of a whole religion on its continued ability to attact converts. And that sense of simple honor permeates the Shakers wholesome, country fare. No, I wouldn't have wanted to be a Shaker - but eating with them would have been a treat and an honor.
And Norma MacMillian's gentle treatment of these anachronistic wanderers of history only adds to the pleasure of leafing through their recipes. I hadn't previously thought of a double crusted lemon pie, for example, but there's a recipe here. There are rough quick breads, and honey soaked cakes, reminding us of the Shakers reliance on natural ingredients. The sect's flirtation with mandatory vegetarianism is celebrated with a delicious chapter awash in country cheese and cream and vegetables, while meats are treated with care - I can't wait to try chicken breasts in cider sauce with butter roasted apples, for example. As a child, I remember romantically wishing I could have sat at table with the honest country Englishmen James Harriot wrote about in his stories of veterinary practice in the farmland of middle England - to keep pace fork for fork with the kind of doughty men who Harriot describes spending an hour sitting silent as their evening entertainment. I'll never have the chance to do that, even if those people ever existed as Harriot described - but Macmillan's book at least gives us an idea of what they might have eaten. I'm a fan.
Easy Peasy Apple Tart - I was invited to a small shin-dig on Friday night. It was supposed to be more civilized than the usual HLS affair, which tend to run towards alcoholic binges most fraternities only dream of. Anyway, I made an apple tart to take with me by using a narrow sheet of puff pastry, adding 2/3 inch borders of pastry after brushing with egg, and finishing with thinly sliced apples brushed initially with olive oil and sugar. They get honeyed after baking.
Lunch:
Smoked Salmon and Avocado - The supermarkets have recently started selling fillets of smoked salmon at about 3 bucks a pop. They're good, and more substantial than the usual thinly sliced smoked salmon. I top them with a a few slices of ripe avocado for a filling sandwich. The on ly thing missing is a little crisp bacon, but I usually manage to control myself.
Dinner:
Goat Cheese parcels - I've read that a lot of recipes developed because of the cooking utensils people had on hand. If you've never heard of an oven, you're likely to have good stews. Well, my cooking is driven somewhat by the fact that my fridge (and especially) my freezer are exceptionally unreliable; to the extent that the former freezes and the latter defrosts. What that all means is that I wanted to use leftover puff pastry from the apple tart above as soon as possible. The obvious solution is crottins of goat cheese wrapped in the dough, with the cheese left open at top. Just put the cheese in the middle of a pastry square, and pull the sides up around, brush with egg, and you're ready to go.
Shaker Asparagus and Cheese pudding - Just a bread pudding of asparagus and sharp English cheddar cheese, moistened with a mix of full fat milk, cream, eggs, and mustard powder. The pudding puffs up brown and crisp, and is especially good eaten with a thick piece of ham.
What I'm reading [about food] this week: In a Shaker Kitchen: by Norma MacMillan
Shakerism is one of these creeds that I can't quite believe anyone ever invented. The worst part of it all, of course, was the celibacy - I have no objection to religious abstinence, and there are some good reasons why it exists, but it seems more sensible from a keeping the sect extant perspective to cabin the celibacy norm to a priestly class. Still, there's something honorable about staking the life of a whole religion on its continued ability to attact converts. And that sense of simple honor permeates the Shakers wholesome, country fare. No, I wouldn't have wanted to be a Shaker - but eating with them would have been a treat and an honor.
And Norma MacMillian's gentle treatment of these anachronistic wanderers of history only adds to the pleasure of leafing through their recipes. I hadn't previously thought of a double crusted lemon pie, for example, but there's a recipe here. There are rough quick breads, and honey soaked cakes, reminding us of the Shakers reliance on natural ingredients. The sect's flirtation with mandatory vegetarianism is celebrated with a delicious chapter awash in country cheese and cream and vegetables, while meats are treated with care - I can't wait to try chicken breasts in cider sauce with butter roasted apples, for example. As a child, I remember romantically wishing I could have sat at table with the honest country Englishmen James Harriot wrote about in his stories of veterinary practice in the farmland of middle England - to keep pace fork for fork with the kind of doughty men who Harriot describes spending an hour sitting silent as their evening entertainment. I'll never have the chance to do that, even if those people ever existed as Harriot described - but Macmillan's book at least gives us an idea of what they might have eaten. I'm a fan.
Easy Peasy Apple Tart - I was invited to a small shin-dig on Friday night. It was supposed to be more civilized than the usual HLS affair, which tend to run towards alcoholic binges most fraternities only dream of. Anyway, I made an apple tart to take with me by using a narrow sheet of puff pastry, adding 2/3 inch borders of pastry after brushing with egg, and finishing with thinly sliced apples brushed initially with olive oil and sugar. They get honeyed after baking.
Lunch:
Smoked Salmon and Avocado - The supermarkets have recently started selling fillets of smoked salmon at about 3 bucks a pop. They're good, and more substantial than the usual thinly sliced smoked salmon. I top them with a a few slices of ripe avocado for a filling sandwich. The on ly thing missing is a little crisp bacon, but I usually manage to control myself.
Dinner:
Goat Cheese parcels - I've read that a lot of recipes developed because of the cooking utensils people had on hand. If you've never heard of an oven, you're likely to have good stews. Well, my cooking is driven somewhat by the fact that my fridge (and especially) my freezer are exceptionally unreliable; to the extent that the former freezes and the latter defrosts. What that all means is that I wanted to use leftover puff pastry from the apple tart above as soon as possible. The obvious solution is crottins of goat cheese wrapped in the dough, with the cheese left open at top. Just put the cheese in the middle of a pastry square, and pull the sides up around, brush with egg, and you're ready to go.
Shaker Asparagus and Cheese pudding - Just a bread pudding of asparagus and sharp English cheddar cheese, moistened with a mix of full fat milk, cream, eggs, and mustard powder. The pudding puffs up brown and crisp, and is especially good eaten with a thick piece of ham.
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