Martha Stewart annoys me.
Any perspective that removes hope from possibility annoys me. Martha Stewart seems to enjoy the perspective that she is, in fact, the last of the dying vestiges of American Royalty, and as such, must vouchsafe to those bunkers where her kin are ensconced the fleeting solutions to so many agonizing problems good housekeepers everywhere have nearly died (DIED I TELL YOU) perfecting.
Did I mention that Martha Stewart annoys me?
Now, it's not that she's a brand. I can get past her speech patterns and phrasing. I can even be patient with the 28 steps she insists were necessary to make that darling ornament for her red-and-ravishing Christmas tree, to turn it from a drab eyesore into a trade-marked "good thing." I don't mind labor-intensive tasks (ask people, they know).
When and where did Martha Stewart give up her passion? This is the fundamental, underlying and overarching reason the woman makes my skin crawl.
Martha Stewart has an empire, vast and powerful. Ana Gastyer made much of her fame from her spoofs of Martha Stewart (loved the topless one, and Joan Allen as her Mother). Martha Stewart's own daughter enjoys saying "Whatever Martha" at any given chance.
I am passionate (again, ask people). My desire to make this world a better place, in addition to making myself a better me, drives much of what I do. How can someone who was driven to share "homespun techniques and ideas that bring elegance and charm from [her] Martha's Vineyard home of lore to the humble homes of the Midwest and beyond" become so self-involved she actually chides guest-cooks, explaining patiently how they're cooking their signature dish incorrectly? How is that reflective of an intelligent, inquisitive and knowledge-hungry host?
I'll answer for you: It isn't.
Do you see what I did, just there? I took your place. You aren't here to have this conversation with me, so I became your voice as well. This is what I'm talking about, specifically. Martha Stewart is supposed to be our ambassador, our conduit of questions and knowledge from people we have few opportunities to study in daily life. Rather than recalling her personal responsibility to the audience she cultivated in the 80's, 90's and through numerous cookbooks, Martha Stewart has become a Mogul.
Do you care how much time Wolfgang Puck spends tinkering with his menus? No. But you want to know how he gets that fish out of a pan so flaky and delicious every damn time, don't you. I know you do. You know you do. Martha Stewart knows this too, but it no longer applies to her station in life. She could care less how long it takes to perfect that wrist bend which means the difference between expertly tossed caramelized onions and a horrific mess your family is staring at while you scrub up, asking, "What made you think you could do that?" She already did that, 20 seasons ago.
Martha Stewart has, on the cover of her 2011 Halloween magazine, a picture of herself (of course; she's the Brand, kiddo) in make-up. I don't mean she has blush on and looks like she gets sun occasionally. She has butterfly wings attached to her eyelids. I'm not kidding.
Tell me, Mother of 3 from Des Moines, when was the last time your 3, 6, and 9 year old looked up at you with the time and patience of 86 year old men, saying, "You would look exquisite with dead aglossa wings glued expertly next to your bloodshot eyes?"
Even those younger women, whose lifestyles afford them more time and space to play with such frivolities as Halloween The Adult Holiday, I sincerely doubt will have the means to create the entire visage of Martha Stewart's cover. Because it takes more than just 1 or 2 things. This look requires: Money. Skill. Time. Patience. An audience unlikely to touch your face at any point. A wearer who will not freak out, get annoyed or at any point for any reason (including drinking) rip the dead butterfly off her face. Did I mention that the idea you'll get kissed in this outfit is about as realistic as the idea that you will, with $10 and a little elbow grease, look precisely like Darling Martha Stewart?
I hope, the next time you find yourself listening to what someone else has to say (whomever that person may be), you take into account the ways their narrative concerns vary from yours. Does this person ask the questions I actually want answered? Does the way this person reacts reflect the way I would? What could I have gained if I would have asked the questions myself, instead of the person asking them for me?
I may not always give you the information you wanted. I may give you more, or less, than you need. I do, however, strive to give you food I eat myself. I want to share a part of my world with you. Hopefully, this is a perspective you can use.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
bon appetit And Slapping People, and A Snack
I like bon appetit, usually. A tidy, concise, well-written article is often a cure for all my ills, and when it comes to food, I can find it in the pages of BA.
I am, currently, annoyed and disappointed. "Always use non-boil noodles" for lasagna? Seriously? First of all, gross. Secondly, and probably more to the point, why are the revolting things non-boil in the first place? Doesn't that bother you? That is some seriously repugnant advice. Third, and finally on this point before I move on to something of actual value, I really see no value in this advice because I'm smart enough to figure out the following progression:
1. Lasagna was conceived and eventually made, for many many many years, using boiled lasagna noodles.
2. These boiled noodles added to the flavor and water-content of the dish, thereby directly contributing to flavor and texture.
3. Recipes were adjusted, better noodles were developed, and boiling continued.
4. (this is the key step) Someone thought it was tasty.
5. Survival of a recipe a majority of Americans (to say nothing of our Italian audience - Ciao) associate with family.
Nowhere in that progression does a non-boil revolution necessitate itself. I find absolutely no value in the idea that "noodles that aren't boiled will absorb more" of anything. If you can't make a delicious, boiled noodle lasagna, perhaps you have no business cooking it, and should leave your lasagna nights to the talents of Marie Calendar, or the fine people in Stouffer's kitchen. I have to say, after writing all that out, the idea makes its way across my cortex: "Do the writers/ editors at bon appetit think we don't read anymore?"
***
I need a snack. Don't you?
Puppy Chow
9 cups Chex cereal (doesn't matter what kind)
1 cup chocolate chips (mini ones work too)
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
Non-Food Items You'll Probably Need For This
1 Large Bowl
1 Gallon ziplock Bag
1 Large Spoon
1. Measure Chex cereal. Set aside in large bowl.
2. Into a microwave-safe bowl: chocolate chips, butter, peanut butter. Microwave on high 1 minute. Stir. Microwave again for 30 seconds. Mixture should blend together smoothly when removed from microwave.
3. Add vanilla.
4. Mix with Chex cereal. Stir until all cereal is coated.
5. Place confectioner's sugar in gallon-size ziplock bag.
6. Add coated cereal.
7. Shake, shimmy and just generally agitate bag until all the yummy pieces of cereal are finely coated in sugar.
8. Eat.
Yes, it takes less than 10 minutes to make. Yes, it's delicious, and named a million other things depending on region and intent. Now, I'm going to take my yummy snack and enjoy this beautiful fall day. Try not to get addicted; this particular snack made many appearances during my college days. Now my husband can't stop eating it. I'm just saying - sometimes the best possible thing is the simple, delightful, full-of-memory taste that speaks to soul as well as stomach.
I am, currently, annoyed and disappointed. "Always use non-boil noodles" for lasagna? Seriously? First of all, gross. Secondly, and probably more to the point, why are the revolting things non-boil in the first place? Doesn't that bother you? That is some seriously repugnant advice. Third, and finally on this point before I move on to something of actual value, I really see no value in this advice because I'm smart enough to figure out the following progression:
1. Lasagna was conceived and eventually made, for many many many years, using boiled lasagna noodles.
2. These boiled noodles added to the flavor and water-content of the dish, thereby directly contributing to flavor and texture.
3. Recipes were adjusted, better noodles were developed, and boiling continued.
4. (this is the key step) Someone thought it was tasty.
5. Survival of a recipe a majority of Americans (to say nothing of our Italian audience - Ciao) associate with family.
Nowhere in that progression does a non-boil revolution necessitate itself. I find absolutely no value in the idea that "noodles that aren't boiled will absorb more" of anything. If you can't make a delicious, boiled noodle lasagna, perhaps you have no business cooking it, and should leave your lasagna nights to the talents of Marie Calendar, or the fine people in Stouffer's kitchen. I have to say, after writing all that out, the idea makes its way across my cortex: "Do the writers/ editors at bon appetit think we don't read anymore?"
***
I need a snack. Don't you?
Puppy Chow
9 cups Chex cereal (doesn't matter what kind)
1 cup chocolate chips (mini ones work too)
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
Non-Food Items You'll Probably Need For This
1 Large Bowl
1 Gallon ziplock Bag
1 Large Spoon
1. Measure Chex cereal. Set aside in large bowl.
2. Into a microwave-safe bowl: chocolate chips, butter, peanut butter. Microwave on high 1 minute. Stir. Microwave again for 30 seconds. Mixture should blend together smoothly when removed from microwave.
3. Add vanilla.
4. Mix with Chex cereal. Stir until all cereal is coated.
5. Place confectioner's sugar in gallon-size ziplock bag.
6. Add coated cereal.
7. Shake, shimmy and just generally agitate bag until all the yummy pieces of cereal are finely coated in sugar.
8. Eat.
Yes, it takes less than 10 minutes to make. Yes, it's delicious, and named a million other things depending on region and intent. Now, I'm going to take my yummy snack and enjoy this beautiful fall day. Try not to get addicted; this particular snack made many appearances during my college days. Now my husband can't stop eating it. I'm just saying - sometimes the best possible thing is the simple, delightful, full-of-memory taste that speaks to soul as well as stomach.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Fear of Cooking
Food has become intimidating.
When did that happen?
Don't get me wrong; I love my classics. A simple homemade marinara over angel hair is as culinarily exciting to me as crackling hot ortolan. What can I say? Food should be something that speaks to every inch of your experience. Sight, touch, sound, taste, memory, laughter, encouragement.
And now, achieving the new has become something altogether difficult. So much has been done, it's no longer easy to say, "Why don't we try this?" and have the dish be alien to everyone.
I suppose much can be said for a digital age where sharing any old recipe is easy. I've placed several up here. But why would I do that? The recipes are not new, the ideas nothing wildly inventive. I didn't take a peasant stew, deconstruct it and create an entirely different interpretation of the flavors.
Cooking isn't just about being the coolest kid in the kitchen. It's about lifestyle. (Oooooo!!! Blog Name Tye-In and it's not even NOON! I am *SO* getting Fantasy Food Fight points for this!)
Your food reflects your lifestyle. It truly does. If you choose to make time in your life for specific tasks and not others, you have made a choice that reflects some part of who you are and what you value. I love being busy. I am generally a very busy person. One of the things I will always make time for is a somewhat complicated and time consuming preparation for beef stroganoff. Why? Because this dish is my husband's favorite, and he likes it this way. I chose to make this difficult task a part of my life because I love my husband, and I love the way it turns out.
My food usually reflects my love of the intricate and complex. "What's Jess bringing to the party?" "She said brownies." And I unevitably turn up 20 minutes late with extremely fresh Bailey's brownies with Bailey's icing. Couldn't just make plain old brownies. That would, quite literally, be too easy.
Why am I telling you all this? What on Earth does this have to do with you, now that my rant has ended up here? It's all quite simple, really.
Stop. Being. Afraid. Of. Food.
Yes. I said to stop fearing your food. I mean that it's okay to love simple dishes. It's wonderful to strive for delicious, no matter how humble the ingredients or your skills. Start small. Remember: Sometimes, the most important food you'll ever have was the easiest in the world to make, and the hardest to forget.
Marinara
4 6-oz cans of tomato sauce
1 4-oz can of tomato paste
4 bay leaves
1/4 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp sugar (I know it's weird, I will explain)
1/4 tsp rosemary
1. Open your tomato sauces. I prefer to use a skillet to get all this going, mostly because if I put meat in my marinara, I like to get the drippings in the pan into the sauce for that infusion of flavor. This technique cuts down on the actually amount of meat you need to use, and also increases the feeling thta there's meat in every bite. I learned to fake my father out at a very young age. Pots also work well. Since that's the more common preparation method, we'll go with the pot today.
2. Into a sauce pot (with lid) on the low side of medium heat, add your cans of tomato sauce. Stir as you add your tomato paste. The paste thickens the sauce, and adds enough texture to avoid the dreaded "This tastes like tomato water" critique. NOTE: You can make your own "paste" by blending fresh tomatoes and reducing the resulting yumminess until the tomato puree has become thick. This takes quite a while, some determination, and frankly, is not the kind of work in which I invest myself. I prefer to focus on other, less tomato-y projects. Like eating pasta.
3. Let the sauce begin to simmer. The lid comes in handy here, to avoid turning your cooking surface a bright red. Just to get the contents jiving together, about 2 minutes.
4. Add your bay leaves and other spices. Yes, including the sugar. No, I'm not kidding.
Now, you're looking at me with the sugar in your hand asking why on Earth I would suggest such a thing. Why add sugar to a tomato dish? Because tomatoes are acidic. In order to cut the natural acidity of a fresh, ripe, ready-to-be-rubbed-in-sea-salt-and-eaten-like-an-apple tomato, some kind of sweet is needed to balance it out. I've seen cinnamon used, even lavendar. I prefer just plain old sugar. Yes, I do this all the time, and yes, if you see my husband and I out at a mexican restaurant, there's a 75% chance you'll see me adding packaged sugar to the salsa. I like balance, and if you don't pay attention to what you're making, you'll create tasty salsa that leaves acid burns inside my mouth (aka canker sores). No way am I walking around in discomfort because someone in the kitchen couldn't be bothered to check their salsa verde balance.
5. Lower the temperature to "low", or if you prefer the clock method of setting as my mother did, it would be 5 minutes 'til. Let the sauce reduce.
Kind of a useless statement, isn't it? When I say reduce here, I mean that there is an over-abundance of water still in the ingredients we've combined. The flavors we've chosen to encorporate in this dish (particularly if you used the dried variety) need a chance to get frisky in the entire pot. Dropping dried oregano into tomato sauce with tomato paste does not a marinara make; the spices are suddenly experiencing the hydration for which they've been waiting in your cabinet. They're returning to their hydrated state. This takes time. Some cooks/ chefs call this "developing the flavors." I call it "time I usually make mistakes." You can't rush good food. I don't care who you are. Food takes time. This suace is simple, and scrumptious, but you have to be willing to stop touching it. You, hovering over it with a wooden spoon and a look of bizarre/ intense determination will only frighten your guests. You cannot intimidate food into deliciousness. Believe me, I've tried.
Okay, so how do you know when it's reduced enough? The smartass answer here is "When it's thick enough." A more reliable and reproducable way of telling when enough water is gone is to taste the sauce occasionally. I usually let my sauce simmer on low for about 2-4 hours. Yes, that's a long time. You could probably keep the heat on low-medium and get similar results in about 35 minutes. I like to do other things, though... and I know it'll be okay for 2 hours in a covered pot if I stir it at least 2 times in that 2-4 hour period.
6. Elaborate if so desired. Meaning: if you want to add bell peppers, mushrooms, any other kind of vegetable you enjoy in pasta sauce, now would be the time. Trust me: now is when you add the veggies you want to stay tasty and vibrant. A floppy mushroom you could swallow without chewing because it's so mushy? I have no idea why you'd want to do that to a mushroom, but it's your thing. I prefer my produce flavored, not killed. Stir occasionally, letting simmer for another 10 minutes.
7. Remove bay leaves. It is gross to bite into a whole bay leaf (thanks, Mom, but the aftertaste is still getting to me). To avoid watching a guest crunch through the woody unpleasantness of an otherwise delightful spice, fish them out of the sauce. Shouldn't be difficult if you left them whole. Please believe me when I say, it's better for everyone if you don't leave them in.
8. Add to pasta. Your choice. I like a good angel hair, but penne can be exquisite with a simple sauce and some parmesan cheese.
Why was today's recipe so incredibly simple? Because that's the point. Start with something very basic. Once you get comfortable, get more elaborate. Add some parmesan to the sauce before you reduce it. Add red pepper flakes and hot italian sausage if that's what makes your palate sing. You can customize this sauce in so many ways! It's about starting small, and walking your way into a delicious dish. That way, when you get a call at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning from a friend stuck in meetings until 10 pm who says, "Jess, I have no food. I have no options. Can you please bring me something tasty for dinner?" you have a recipe in your back pocket you know will be delicious, easy to make, and travels to hungry tummies very well.
Food is about your lifestyle. ;)
When did that happen?
Don't get me wrong; I love my classics. A simple homemade marinara over angel hair is as culinarily exciting to me as crackling hot ortolan. What can I say? Food should be something that speaks to every inch of your experience. Sight, touch, sound, taste, memory, laughter, encouragement.
And now, achieving the new has become something altogether difficult. So much has been done, it's no longer easy to say, "Why don't we try this?" and have the dish be alien to everyone.
I suppose much can be said for a digital age where sharing any old recipe is easy. I've placed several up here. But why would I do that? The recipes are not new, the ideas nothing wildly inventive. I didn't take a peasant stew, deconstruct it and create an entirely different interpretation of the flavors.
Cooking isn't just about being the coolest kid in the kitchen. It's about lifestyle. (Oooooo!!! Blog Name Tye-In and it's not even NOON! I am *SO* getting Fantasy Food Fight points for this!)
Your food reflects your lifestyle. It truly does. If you choose to make time in your life for specific tasks and not others, you have made a choice that reflects some part of who you are and what you value. I love being busy. I am generally a very busy person. One of the things I will always make time for is a somewhat complicated and time consuming preparation for beef stroganoff. Why? Because this dish is my husband's favorite, and he likes it this way. I chose to make this difficult task a part of my life because I love my husband, and I love the way it turns out.
My food usually reflects my love of the intricate and complex. "What's Jess bringing to the party?" "She said brownies." And I unevitably turn up 20 minutes late with extremely fresh Bailey's brownies with Bailey's icing. Couldn't just make plain old brownies. That would, quite literally, be too easy.
Why am I telling you all this? What on Earth does this have to do with you, now that my rant has ended up here? It's all quite simple, really.
Stop. Being. Afraid. Of. Food.
Yes. I said to stop fearing your food. I mean that it's okay to love simple dishes. It's wonderful to strive for delicious, no matter how humble the ingredients or your skills. Start small. Remember: Sometimes, the most important food you'll ever have was the easiest in the world to make, and the hardest to forget.
Marinara
4 6-oz cans of tomato sauce
1 4-oz can of tomato paste
4 bay leaves
1/4 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp sugar (I know it's weird, I will explain)
1/4 tsp rosemary
1. Open your tomato sauces. I prefer to use a skillet to get all this going, mostly because if I put meat in my marinara, I like to get the drippings in the pan into the sauce for that infusion of flavor. This technique cuts down on the actually amount of meat you need to use, and also increases the feeling thta there's meat in every bite. I learned to fake my father out at a very young age. Pots also work well. Since that's the more common preparation method, we'll go with the pot today.
2. Into a sauce pot (with lid) on the low side of medium heat, add your cans of tomato sauce. Stir as you add your tomato paste. The paste thickens the sauce, and adds enough texture to avoid the dreaded "This tastes like tomato water" critique. NOTE: You can make your own "paste" by blending fresh tomatoes and reducing the resulting yumminess until the tomato puree has become thick. This takes quite a while, some determination, and frankly, is not the kind of work in which I invest myself. I prefer to focus on other, less tomato-y projects. Like eating pasta.
3. Let the sauce begin to simmer. The lid comes in handy here, to avoid turning your cooking surface a bright red. Just to get the contents jiving together, about 2 minutes.
4. Add your bay leaves and other spices. Yes, including the sugar. No, I'm not kidding.
Now, you're looking at me with the sugar in your hand asking why on Earth I would suggest such a thing. Why add sugar to a tomato dish? Because tomatoes are acidic. In order to cut the natural acidity of a fresh, ripe, ready-to-be-rubbed-in-sea-salt-and-eaten-like-an-apple tomato, some kind of sweet is needed to balance it out. I've seen cinnamon used, even lavendar. I prefer just plain old sugar. Yes, I do this all the time, and yes, if you see my husband and I out at a mexican restaurant, there's a 75% chance you'll see me adding packaged sugar to the salsa. I like balance, and if you don't pay attention to what you're making, you'll create tasty salsa that leaves acid burns inside my mouth (aka canker sores). No way am I walking around in discomfort because someone in the kitchen couldn't be bothered to check their salsa verde balance.
5. Lower the temperature to "low", or if you prefer the clock method of setting as my mother did, it would be 5 minutes 'til. Let the sauce reduce.
Kind of a useless statement, isn't it? When I say reduce here, I mean that there is an over-abundance of water still in the ingredients we've combined. The flavors we've chosen to encorporate in this dish (particularly if you used the dried variety) need a chance to get frisky in the entire pot. Dropping dried oregano into tomato sauce with tomato paste does not a marinara make; the spices are suddenly experiencing the hydration for which they've been waiting in your cabinet. They're returning to their hydrated state. This takes time. Some cooks/ chefs call this "developing the flavors." I call it "time I usually make mistakes." You can't rush good food. I don't care who you are. Food takes time. This suace is simple, and scrumptious, but you have to be willing to stop touching it. You, hovering over it with a wooden spoon and a look of bizarre/ intense determination will only frighten your guests. You cannot intimidate food into deliciousness. Believe me, I've tried.
Okay, so how do you know when it's reduced enough? The smartass answer here is "When it's thick enough." A more reliable and reproducable way of telling when enough water is gone is to taste the sauce occasionally. I usually let my sauce simmer on low for about 2-4 hours. Yes, that's a long time. You could probably keep the heat on low-medium and get similar results in about 35 minutes. I like to do other things, though... and I know it'll be okay for 2 hours in a covered pot if I stir it at least 2 times in that 2-4 hour period.
6. Elaborate if so desired. Meaning: if you want to add bell peppers, mushrooms, any other kind of vegetable you enjoy in pasta sauce, now would be the time. Trust me: now is when you add the veggies you want to stay tasty and vibrant. A floppy mushroom you could swallow without chewing because it's so mushy? I have no idea why you'd want to do that to a mushroom, but it's your thing. I prefer my produce flavored, not killed. Stir occasionally, letting simmer for another 10 minutes.
7. Remove bay leaves. It is gross to bite into a whole bay leaf (thanks, Mom, but the aftertaste is still getting to me). To avoid watching a guest crunch through the woody unpleasantness of an otherwise delightful spice, fish them out of the sauce. Shouldn't be difficult if you left them whole. Please believe me when I say, it's better for everyone if you don't leave them in.
8. Add to pasta. Your choice. I like a good angel hair, but penne can be exquisite with a simple sauce and some parmesan cheese.
Why was today's recipe so incredibly simple? Because that's the point. Start with something very basic. Once you get comfortable, get more elaborate. Add some parmesan to the sauce before you reduce it. Add red pepper flakes and hot italian sausage if that's what makes your palate sing. You can customize this sauce in so many ways! It's about starting small, and walking your way into a delicious dish. That way, when you get a call at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning from a friend stuck in meetings until 10 pm who says, "Jess, I have no food. I have no options. Can you please bring me something tasty for dinner?" you have a recipe in your back pocket you know will be delicious, easy to make, and travels to hungry tummies very well.
Food is about your lifestyle. ;)
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thomas Keller
I'm an intellectual, in everything that I do. I can be complex and annoying. I know this.
I also know that when I got Ad Hoc At Home by Thomas Keller, I fell in love. Thomas Keller, the amazing chef behind The French Laundry, Per Se, and the man who invented the deconstruction of Ratatouille seen in the movie of the same name, is an inspiration. In a profession defined by selfishness, by self-serving hubris, Keller stands as a man who believes cooking is a collaboration.
Isn't that exactly the essence of so much in the world of food? A collaboration of flavors, textures, moisture and dryness, cold and heat. The depth of human experience may never find expression in food. There may never be before you a meal that both speaks to your soul, and helps redefine a part of it.
To this I can only say that the experiences with which we end this life are the experiences we allow ourselves to have. If you are not brave enough to allow one person an avenue to your heart through the tastes, the palate he or she has worked so hard to put before you, can you imagine the depth you will miss your entire life?
What is your cooking perspective? How will you express yourself in your food? The next time you make a sandwich, take a moment to think about exactly you want to put in your mouth. And imagine how much love, how much thought must go into a chef like Thomas Keller preparing 15-32 courses that are all designed for you personally.
I'm going to go make chicken casserole for my husband, with his tastes and experiences in mind. Have a wonderful weekend!
I also know that when I got Ad Hoc At Home by Thomas Keller, I fell in love. Thomas Keller, the amazing chef behind The French Laundry, Per Se, and the man who invented the deconstruction of Ratatouille seen in the movie of the same name, is an inspiration. In a profession defined by selfishness, by self-serving hubris, Keller stands as a man who believes cooking is a collaboration.
Isn't that exactly the essence of so much in the world of food? A collaboration of flavors, textures, moisture and dryness, cold and heat. The depth of human experience may never find expression in food. There may never be before you a meal that both speaks to your soul, and helps redefine a part of it.
To this I can only say that the experiences with which we end this life are the experiences we allow ourselves to have. If you are not brave enough to allow one person an avenue to your heart through the tastes, the palate he or she has worked so hard to put before you, can you imagine the depth you will miss your entire life?
What is your cooking perspective? How will you express yourself in your food? The next time you make a sandwich, take a moment to think about exactly you want to put in your mouth. And imagine how much love, how much thought must go into a chef like Thomas Keller preparing 15-32 courses that are all designed for you personally.
I'm going to go make chicken casserole for my husband, with his tastes and experiences in mind. Have a wonderful weekend!
Friday, August 26, 2011
David Chang, Momofuku Milk Bar and A Break-down
David Chang is a jerk. I didn't say; people he's friends with have said it. From what I've read, he is unstable, self-evisceration at every opportunity, and brilliant food. His Milk Bar stores (2 of them) have funky, strange menus that fly in their surroundings.
I dare you to try to sell cereal-infused milk in the MidWest. Seriously. You'd have to market it specifically to young ones. 35+ is going to laugh at you and say, "I can drink that after I eat my cereal. Thanks." And then you get 3 hours of sharing cholesterol scores.
David Chang has employed a rockstar at pastry. Christina Tosi came up with Crack Pie, and it is evil. And I love her.
Let me explain.
I made Crack Pie. Top to bottom, specifically using exactly the ingredients I was told to use. No substitutions, no switchouts. I did what I was told. I started at 10 pm the night before, getting ingredients. It took 4 trips and 6 hours just to make the crust.
Was that my fault? Probably. Does that make me hate this pie any less? Not so much. I had to wait a day for it. Seriously, it had to chill for at least 12 hours, and I wasn't going to serve it unless I could relish the damn taste of it. Turning it half-way through both phases of the cooking process was a tiny pain in the ass, but at least the thing baked evenly.
More than once I screamed. I really would have liked to strangle the pie, were it strangleable. I think I very nearly threw the whole thing away when I realized I'd run out of salt. I was an hour away from the chilling phase, and I would have detroyed it. Then I remembered - it's salt. It'll be okay. End of story.
It's amazing. I would describe it as "pecan pie without pecans," maybe a bit creme brulee on top of a gooey butter cake/ oatmeal cookie crust. Be careful, you can overdose. There are ingredients involved that are similar to chess pie, but this is NOT chess pie. Having had both, I can safely say the textural and ingredient differences are enough to put a bit of a wall between these pies. I love the soft deliciousness, the way the cold crust still reminds you of a warm, welcoming cookie. You MUST serve it cold.
The recipe is complicated and huge. I'll post the recipe if needed, but it's large. The time constraint is impressive - 12 hours to set. But the taste is so very worth it.
I dare you to try to sell cereal-infused milk in the MidWest. Seriously. You'd have to market it specifically to young ones. 35+ is going to laugh at you and say, "I can drink that after I eat my cereal. Thanks." And then you get 3 hours of sharing cholesterol scores.
David Chang has employed a rockstar at pastry. Christina Tosi came up with Crack Pie, and it is evil. And I love her.
Let me explain.
I made Crack Pie. Top to bottom, specifically using exactly the ingredients I was told to use. No substitutions, no switchouts. I did what I was told. I started at 10 pm the night before, getting ingredients. It took 4 trips and 6 hours just to make the crust.
Was that my fault? Probably. Does that make me hate this pie any less? Not so much. I had to wait a day for it. Seriously, it had to chill for at least 12 hours, and I wasn't going to serve it unless I could relish the damn taste of it. Turning it half-way through both phases of the cooking process was a tiny pain in the ass, but at least the thing baked evenly.
More than once I screamed. I really would have liked to strangle the pie, were it strangleable. I think I very nearly threw the whole thing away when I realized I'd run out of salt. I was an hour away from the chilling phase, and I would have detroyed it. Then I remembered - it's salt. It'll be okay. End of story.
It's amazing. I would describe it as "pecan pie without pecans," maybe a bit creme brulee on top of a gooey butter cake/ oatmeal cookie crust. Be careful, you can overdose. There are ingredients involved that are similar to chess pie, but this is NOT chess pie. Having had both, I can safely say the textural and ingredient differences are enough to put a bit of a wall between these pies. I love the soft deliciousness, the way the cold crust still reminds you of a warm, welcoming cookie. You MUST serve it cold.
The recipe is complicated and huge. I'll post the recipe if needed, but it's large. The time constraint is impressive - 12 hours to set. But the taste is so very worth it.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Menu of Favorites
While looking over my new web toy, wherethelocalseat.com, I realized that a menu of my all-time favorite meals I've had would look a tiny bit befuddling. Check it out! It really reads weirdly. I included some things that probably shouldn't be there, but when I talk about food I find amazing, I get carried away.
Appetizers
Mozzarella sticks - How unoriginal, right? Hush. When done right, the crisp and herbed (yeah, herbed) outside married with a complimenting marinara..... Oh, my mouth waters with the mention! So there. My comfort food is nothing I'm about to apologize for, and I'd never ask you to compromise on food you love. Besides, what's a "Nice" list without the occasional "Naughty" to really set up the perimeters?
Bison Nachos - Okay, this title is sad. Let me make up for it: adobo-spiced ground bison with black olives, black beans, yummy salsa, couple different (and unambitious) shredded cheeses, sour cream, well-made tortilla chips, a touch of cilantro for brightness. I routinely ordered this as an entree.
Breaded Calamarie w/ Sauce - Bricco (listed on my links) has the description of this dish. What they don't tell you is that the balance is amazing, delicate and complex as soon as it hits your tongue. The buttery ease of the sauce hugging each piece of calamarie. Delicious, haunting, the stuff of which dreams are made. Did I mention the portion size is perfect for 2?
Hummus - Nothing better than a traditional, full fat, left alone hummus. The flavor, the texture and the exquisite taste of balanced ingredients always makes my heart sing. If all you order is the hummus, and you're happy with just hummus for the rest of the night, I'd call it a success.
Egg Rolls - What is the point of knowing the hole-in-the-wall places if they don't drive you crazy? There's a tiny little Chinese place I know, with bright red paint and absolutely no parking, that has egg rolls of gigantic proportions. The things are served, halved, on little white appetizer plates. Given the option, I would have a rather expensive meal of 6-8 plates of these delicious, hot, well-made delights.
Not-Your-Local-Pub's-Scotch-Eggs - There is a Scottish marvel in this world I would eat at once a month given the opportunity. At this delicious restaurant, hidden in the exotictly Scotch menu, is a gem of an appetizer sampler. Scotch Eggs, Baby Bridies, Sausage Rolls and (stay with me) Haggis Fritters.
Main Course
Bo Luc Lac - Ever had one of those menus where you just point and nod, praying your waiter/waitress understands that you want what you're pointing at, not the thing underneath it? Honestly, I usually attempt the name. This was a delicious accident I stumbled upon in the midst of an impressive and somewhat intimidating menu of Vietnamese cuisine. Delicately spiced beef (usually cubed sirloin) is "shaken" in the wok as it bounces from side to side, getting seared. The sour, salty, sweet marinade of the meat, coming through in the cooking, makes the combination with fluffy rice one that I melt for every single time.
Ropa Vieja - Let's talk about Cuban food. I don't trust any other cuisine to shred a skirt steak, cook it low and slow in a tomato sauce, put it over yellow rice with black beans and pull sweet, smoky, and finally heat from the mixing flavors, textures, tastes. Sounds easy? Trust me, it's not.
Paella - If you are invited into the home of a Puerto Rican family who wants to make you paella, you say yes. Just shut up that nagging "what if I don't like it" voice and say yes. It was saffron rice, and smoky oysters, and rounds of carmelized andouille sausage, and clams, and stupidly delicious and I didn't have the lobster tails but I heard they were good. Oh, the taste of that delicious meal!
Coconut Chicken Curry - Just to clarify, we're talking Thai curry. Different from Indian curry. Yes, they're related, but not quite the same. Especially the addition of that exquisite coconut milk that thickens, coats, sweetens, harbours the flavors of the curry and the chicken, the veggies along for the ride. I lick my fingers if I get this sauce on them. In public.
Seafood a la Moi - I know this isn't on a menu, but it would be if I had the choice. Raw oysters at room temperature (one shot of tobasco and we're good), clams Rockafeller, 1 1/2 lbs of steamed King crab legs, shrimp scampi (easy on the white wine). A little salad comes before the meal. That's all you need. *passes out from protein overdose*
New York Strip - Had one of the best steaks of my life on my honeymoon. A beautiful 10 oz New York strip (which is a steak cut from the tenderloin, no bone; if bone was left in, the New York strip becomes a T-bone or Porterhouse depending on bone placement, etc) grilled until it was ready for me. Perfect score marks, delicious aroma, light and tender texture. Paired with colcannon potatoes and a small salad, I was a happy woman.
Steak with Linguini Alfredo - Yes, occasionally the Italian nature that creeps nowhere in my historical lineage, but demands the attention of my stomach, gets the better of me. A 6 oz offering of expertly grilled sirloin, resting neatly atop a bed of linguini (think thick fettucini) in a slightly peppery alfredo sauce? You had me at "A". And, just because I'm in a nit-picky mood, alfredo is the sauce. Fettucini is the noodles. You literally cannot have "fettucini alfredo" on penne. Unless you put one pasta dish on top of a bed of entirely different pasta.
La Favorita - Another completely baffling discovery on a seemingly-common place menu from a local "Mexican" restaurant. You know what I'm talking about: the place that would horrify people expecting the same thing they ate in a tiny town outside Cancun on vacation, but still tastes delicious and keeps getting better with every beer? That's the place, and let me tell you about the dish! This tantalizing plate begins (for me) with a tostada. Top that corn tortilla that's been deep fried with refried beans, some seasoned ground beef, shredded lettuce, fresh tomato and maybe some sour cream or rice if you're feeling frisky. Next, the burrito. Classic beef burrito, lying quietly next to the shredded chicken enchilada. Both of the tortilla wrapped yums are covered in a queso blanco. Whenever I'm starving and want "Mexican", my stomach leads my mouth here before my brain knows what's going on.
Salads
Caesar - I love it. Raw egg, sardines, whatever. Give it to me. Put hard boiled egg crumbles or bleu cheese crumbles on it? I'll plead not guilty and the judge will understand.
Naked - I don't like dressing. Americans by and large drown our food. I happen to enjoy the taste of lettuce, and most of the ingredients I would normally put in a salad. Sometimes, the addition of a small bit of dressing enhances the opportunity. For me, however, I've learned to ignore the odd looks when the waitress asks what dressing I'd like and I say, "None, thank you."
Desserts
Cheesecake - It's simple. It's heavy. It's delicious. Leave it alone. I don't need berries in gross syrup, powdered sugar all over the plate or a drizzle. I don't like chocolate for the most part, and I'll ask for a drizzle when I want it, I promise. Put the squeeze bottle back where you found it, and quit adulterating my dessert so egregiously.
Stout Ice Cream - When you hang out with a lot of people who love beer, this happens. I don't mean they are alcoholics, I mean I spend a lot of time with awesome, amazing, intelligent people who care very passionately about quality beer. Some of them are even in the beer industry. Coming across a stout ice cream made from craft brewed oatmeal stout (yum), I couldn't resist. I'm glad I didn't. Fun, tasty, a go-to item.
Strawberry Shortcake - I take my strawberries very seriously. I know this. I should probably apologize for some of the resulting behavior, but usually I don't. Strawberries are my thing. I am an idiot for strawberries. Having said that, there is a dessert out there called Strawberry Shortcake that is not what you're thinking. Or maybe it is, I don't know. I don't think it is, though. It wasn't what I was expecting. Imagine a gigantic, buttery biscuit-like cake. Now put fresh vanilla ice cream on it, as smooth as Haagen Daaz and twice as awesome. Pile on fresh strawberries, slightly mascerated (meaning they've steeped in sugar so long they've made their own light-and-in-no-way-syrupy sauce). Top that with whipped cream. I've elbowed people out of the way for this. I would eat it every day, rotating what meal I replaced with it so I didn't get bored.
Ben & Jerry's Black and Tan Ice Cream - Once in a while you meet a taste that speaks to you on a cellular level. I love Guinness beer. One of the classic Guinness drinks is called a black and tan - a stout and a lager hanging out together in a glass without mixing. Hence the top is tan and the bottom looks black (yay names that make sense). Now, take deep chocolately ice cream and mix in stout ice cream. That's it. No gimmicks, no chunks of anything. Just two astoundingly delicious ice creams that come together in a baffling taste few could conspire to create. Phish Food is good, but this is just great.
Drinks
Mudslide - Hey, sometimes a girl just wants her damn ice cream spiked with chocolate syrup and booze. Yes, sometimes it's just about having a better day.
Hey, what's that blue thing? - I have a tendency to point, ask questions, and from time to time I'll make friends with my bartender, smile and say, "This is the mood I'm in. I would really appreciate a drink to match, and to be honest, I know you're a pro." This is how I ended up with a bright blue drink that everybody kept asking "Hey, what's that blue thing?" It wasn't a Blue Hawaii, so don't ask. I still have no idea what was in it, or what it was called. It was a $7 drink. I tipped $10 on that one. Worth every penny.
White Russian - Classic. I trust your intelligence.
Naughty and Yummy - Sometimes I like to corrupt the Great Loves of my youth. Nothing could get my attention faster than a drink of my own evilness: French Vanilla cappucino (I love using the international coffee house one, made with milk instead of water), and a healthy dose of Bailey's. Sometimes white hot chocolate substitutes, but either way I know the cool weather I adore and the peace-giving snow-gazing I live for are going to be that much more awesome with a treat for my lips that helps my insides stay warm.
Appetizers
Mozzarella sticks - How unoriginal, right? Hush. When done right, the crisp and herbed (yeah, herbed) outside married with a complimenting marinara..... Oh, my mouth waters with the mention! So there. My comfort food is nothing I'm about to apologize for, and I'd never ask you to compromise on food you love. Besides, what's a "Nice" list without the occasional "Naughty" to really set up the perimeters?
Bison Nachos - Okay, this title is sad. Let me make up for it: adobo-spiced ground bison with black olives, black beans, yummy salsa, couple different (and unambitious) shredded cheeses, sour cream, well-made tortilla chips, a touch of cilantro for brightness. I routinely ordered this as an entree.
Breaded Calamarie w/ Sauce - Bricco (listed on my links) has the description of this dish. What they don't tell you is that the balance is amazing, delicate and complex as soon as it hits your tongue. The buttery ease of the sauce hugging each piece of calamarie. Delicious, haunting, the stuff of which dreams are made. Did I mention the portion size is perfect for 2?
Hummus - Nothing better than a traditional, full fat, left alone hummus. The flavor, the texture and the exquisite taste of balanced ingredients always makes my heart sing. If all you order is the hummus, and you're happy with just hummus for the rest of the night, I'd call it a success.
Egg Rolls - What is the point of knowing the hole-in-the-wall places if they don't drive you crazy? There's a tiny little Chinese place I know, with bright red paint and absolutely no parking, that has egg rolls of gigantic proportions. The things are served, halved, on little white appetizer plates. Given the option, I would have a rather expensive meal of 6-8 plates of these delicious, hot, well-made delights.
Not-Your-Local-Pub's-Scotch-Eggs - There is a Scottish marvel in this world I would eat at once a month given the opportunity. At this delicious restaurant, hidden in the exotictly Scotch menu, is a gem of an appetizer sampler. Scotch Eggs, Baby Bridies, Sausage Rolls and (stay with me) Haggis Fritters.
- Scotch Eggs are hard-boiled eggs, wrapped lovingly in pork sausage and fried, accompanied by an exquisite honey mustard sause.
- Baby Bridies are little triangles of magic: sirloin that's ground and browned, seasoned delightfully and cooked inside a puff pastry.
- Sausage Rolls are the Scotch cousin of spring rolls. Pork sausage rolled in puff pastry that takes on a crisp wrap quality. Tasty little morsels.
- Haggis Fritters sound gross. I agree. They are not. Haggis = sausage. That's what it tastes like. You don't eat the stomach it was cooked in, and you'd never know what it was if I handed you this astounding "sausage in a biscuit situation" you just HAVE to try.
Main Course
Bo Luc Lac - Ever had one of those menus where you just point and nod, praying your waiter/waitress understands that you want what you're pointing at, not the thing underneath it? Honestly, I usually attempt the name. This was a delicious accident I stumbled upon in the midst of an impressive and somewhat intimidating menu of Vietnamese cuisine. Delicately spiced beef (usually cubed sirloin) is "shaken" in the wok as it bounces from side to side, getting seared. The sour, salty, sweet marinade of the meat, coming through in the cooking, makes the combination with fluffy rice one that I melt for every single time.
Ropa Vieja - Let's talk about Cuban food. I don't trust any other cuisine to shred a skirt steak, cook it low and slow in a tomato sauce, put it over yellow rice with black beans and pull sweet, smoky, and finally heat from the mixing flavors, textures, tastes. Sounds easy? Trust me, it's not.
Paella - If you are invited into the home of a Puerto Rican family who wants to make you paella, you say yes. Just shut up that nagging "what if I don't like it" voice and say yes. It was saffron rice, and smoky oysters, and rounds of carmelized andouille sausage, and clams, and stupidly delicious and I didn't have the lobster tails but I heard they were good. Oh, the taste of that delicious meal!
Coconut Chicken Curry - Just to clarify, we're talking Thai curry. Different from Indian curry. Yes, they're related, but not quite the same. Especially the addition of that exquisite coconut milk that thickens, coats, sweetens, harbours the flavors of the curry and the chicken, the veggies along for the ride. I lick my fingers if I get this sauce on them. In public.
Seafood a la Moi - I know this isn't on a menu, but it would be if I had the choice. Raw oysters at room temperature (one shot of tobasco and we're good), clams Rockafeller, 1 1/2 lbs of steamed King crab legs, shrimp scampi (easy on the white wine). A little salad comes before the meal. That's all you need. *passes out from protein overdose*
New York Strip - Had one of the best steaks of my life on my honeymoon. A beautiful 10 oz New York strip (which is a steak cut from the tenderloin, no bone; if bone was left in, the New York strip becomes a T-bone or Porterhouse depending on bone placement, etc) grilled until it was ready for me. Perfect score marks, delicious aroma, light and tender texture. Paired with colcannon potatoes and a small salad, I was a happy woman.
Steak with Linguini Alfredo - Yes, occasionally the Italian nature that creeps nowhere in my historical lineage, but demands the attention of my stomach, gets the better of me. A 6 oz offering of expertly grilled sirloin, resting neatly atop a bed of linguini (think thick fettucini) in a slightly peppery alfredo sauce? You had me at "A". And, just because I'm in a nit-picky mood, alfredo is the sauce. Fettucini is the noodles. You literally cannot have "fettucini alfredo" on penne. Unless you put one pasta dish on top of a bed of entirely different pasta.
La Favorita - Another completely baffling discovery on a seemingly-common place menu from a local "Mexican" restaurant. You know what I'm talking about: the place that would horrify people expecting the same thing they ate in a tiny town outside Cancun on vacation, but still tastes delicious and keeps getting better with every beer? That's the place, and let me tell you about the dish! This tantalizing plate begins (for me) with a tostada. Top that corn tortilla that's been deep fried with refried beans, some seasoned ground beef, shredded lettuce, fresh tomato and maybe some sour cream or rice if you're feeling frisky. Next, the burrito. Classic beef burrito, lying quietly next to the shredded chicken enchilada. Both of the tortilla wrapped yums are covered in a queso blanco. Whenever I'm starving and want "Mexican", my stomach leads my mouth here before my brain knows what's going on.
Salads
Caesar - I love it. Raw egg, sardines, whatever. Give it to me. Put hard boiled egg crumbles or bleu cheese crumbles on it? I'll plead not guilty and the judge will understand.
Naked - I don't like dressing. Americans by and large drown our food. I happen to enjoy the taste of lettuce, and most of the ingredients I would normally put in a salad. Sometimes, the addition of a small bit of dressing enhances the opportunity. For me, however, I've learned to ignore the odd looks when the waitress asks what dressing I'd like and I say, "None, thank you."
Desserts
Cheesecake - It's simple. It's heavy. It's delicious. Leave it alone. I don't need berries in gross syrup, powdered sugar all over the plate or a drizzle. I don't like chocolate for the most part, and I'll ask for a drizzle when I want it, I promise. Put the squeeze bottle back where you found it, and quit adulterating my dessert so egregiously.
Stout Ice Cream - When you hang out with a lot of people who love beer, this happens. I don't mean they are alcoholics, I mean I spend a lot of time with awesome, amazing, intelligent people who care very passionately about quality beer. Some of them are even in the beer industry. Coming across a stout ice cream made from craft brewed oatmeal stout (yum), I couldn't resist. I'm glad I didn't. Fun, tasty, a go-to item.
Strawberry Shortcake - I take my strawberries very seriously. I know this. I should probably apologize for some of the resulting behavior, but usually I don't. Strawberries are my thing. I am an idiot for strawberries. Having said that, there is a dessert out there called Strawberry Shortcake that is not what you're thinking. Or maybe it is, I don't know. I don't think it is, though. It wasn't what I was expecting. Imagine a gigantic, buttery biscuit-like cake. Now put fresh vanilla ice cream on it, as smooth as Haagen Daaz and twice as awesome. Pile on fresh strawberries, slightly mascerated (meaning they've steeped in sugar so long they've made their own light-and-in-no-way-syrupy sauce). Top that with whipped cream. I've elbowed people out of the way for this. I would eat it every day, rotating what meal I replaced with it so I didn't get bored.
Ben & Jerry's Black and Tan Ice Cream - Once in a while you meet a taste that speaks to you on a cellular level. I love Guinness beer. One of the classic Guinness drinks is called a black and tan - a stout and a lager hanging out together in a glass without mixing. Hence the top is tan and the bottom looks black (yay names that make sense). Now, take deep chocolately ice cream and mix in stout ice cream. That's it. No gimmicks, no chunks of anything. Just two astoundingly delicious ice creams that come together in a baffling taste few could conspire to create. Phish Food is good, but this is just great.
Drinks
Mudslide - Hey, sometimes a girl just wants her damn ice cream spiked with chocolate syrup and booze. Yes, sometimes it's just about having a better day.
Hey, what's that blue thing? - I have a tendency to point, ask questions, and from time to time I'll make friends with my bartender, smile and say, "This is the mood I'm in. I would really appreciate a drink to match, and to be honest, I know you're a pro." This is how I ended up with a bright blue drink that everybody kept asking "Hey, what's that blue thing?" It wasn't a Blue Hawaii, so don't ask. I still have no idea what was in it, or what it was called. It was a $7 drink. I tipped $10 on that one. Worth every penny.
White Russian - Classic. I trust your intelligence.
Naughty and Yummy - Sometimes I like to corrupt the Great Loves of my youth. Nothing could get my attention faster than a drink of my own evilness: French Vanilla cappucino (I love using the international coffee house one, made with milk instead of water), and a healthy dose of Bailey's. Sometimes white hot chocolate substitutes, but either way I know the cool weather I adore and the peace-giving snow-gazing I live for are going to be that much more awesome with a treat for my lips that helps my insides stay warm.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Thinking About One's Own Culinary Perspective
My favorite question on any Food Network show is: What is your culinary point of view?
My food perspective is simple. If I had a Food Network show, it would be called "The Language of Food." I love words, I love food, I love the way food and words interact.
What would an episode of my show look like? I would have one theme per episode, no overwhelming the audience for this girl! Let's say the theme is something simple and obvious like... salad!
Why would I do an entire episode on something a lot of people don't even eat? Because I believe that once my audience saw the words that could be associated with SALAD, the leafy stuff could be an amazing new dimension in culinary experiments!
I would start with the beginning of the word, which is routed in salt. Just like, for example, salsa. Many culinary food names come from this root, and speaking of roots! Let's travel around the world and explore the idea of salad.
Sometimes the best way to start with the familiar is to make it unfamiliar. A salad made entirely of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers and fresh onion, in chunky but not awkwardly sized pieces, marinated in vinegar and spices. Refreshing, light, crisp, delicious and lettuce-naked.
And here is where the fun begins in earnest. It wasn't enough to tease your idea of salad. Let's talk about where exactly this dish is from.
In India, this dish is offered as a break, a palate cleanser before that exquisite tandoori chicken. Perhaps most interestingly, this is served without having been refridgerated.
In Italy, after a marinade in the fridge, this is a traditional salad.
With these three ingredients, adding roasted peppers, a white brine cheese called sirene, and parsley. Once it's cool, this Bulgarian dish is called a shopska salad.
Leave out the onion, dice your cucumber and tomato, add parsley, olive oil, lemon juice and black pepper: welcome to Israel.
Tabbouleh adds bulgar, mint, often onion and garlic, seasoned with olive oil, lemon juice and salt to the Israeli choice, minus the black pepper.
It's about execution. It's about taste, and what the food culture developed with/ without. It's about the regions, and what they call each dish. It's about teaching each other that no matter how different it may look, under the wrapping the flavors are familiar sometimes. It's about believing adventures are worth the price of travel, every single time without hesitation or doubt.
It's about the language.
My food perspective is simple. If I had a Food Network show, it would be called "The Language of Food." I love words, I love food, I love the way food and words interact.
What would an episode of my show look like? I would have one theme per episode, no overwhelming the audience for this girl! Let's say the theme is something simple and obvious like... salad!
Why would I do an entire episode on something a lot of people don't even eat? Because I believe that once my audience saw the words that could be associated with SALAD, the leafy stuff could be an amazing new dimension in culinary experiments!
I would start with the beginning of the word, which is routed in salt. Just like, for example, salsa. Many culinary food names come from this root, and speaking of roots! Let's travel around the world and explore the idea of salad.
Sometimes the best way to start with the familiar is to make it unfamiliar. A salad made entirely of ripe tomatoes, cucumbers and fresh onion, in chunky but not awkwardly sized pieces, marinated in vinegar and spices. Refreshing, light, crisp, delicious and lettuce-naked.
And here is where the fun begins in earnest. It wasn't enough to tease your idea of salad. Let's talk about where exactly this dish is from.
In India, this dish is offered as a break, a palate cleanser before that exquisite tandoori chicken. Perhaps most interestingly, this is served without having been refridgerated.
In Italy, after a marinade in the fridge, this is a traditional salad.
With these three ingredients, adding roasted peppers, a white brine cheese called sirene, and parsley. Once it's cool, this Bulgarian dish is called a shopska salad.
Leave out the onion, dice your cucumber and tomato, add parsley, olive oil, lemon juice and black pepper: welcome to Israel.
Tabbouleh adds bulgar, mint, often onion and garlic, seasoned with olive oil, lemon juice and salt to the Israeli choice, minus the black pepper.
It's about execution. It's about taste, and what the food culture developed with/ without. It's about the regions, and what they call each dish. It's about teaching each other that no matter how different it may look, under the wrapping the flavors are familiar sometimes. It's about believing adventures are worth the price of travel, every single time without hesitation or doubt.
It's about the language.
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