Pasta con fagioli

The Tuscans really really love their beans. Among the Italians, they are sometimes referred to derisively as mangiafagioli (bean-eaters.)

White beans are not just a dish but a way of life.

We're gonna make a Tuscan classic, and we're gonna do it the Tuscan way, which is the ol'-fashioned anal-retentive way, which needless to say gives superior results.

This one trick over here gives it the serious complexity of a meat sauce, even though this is completely vegetarian. Of course, if you have some prosciutto or guanciale, toss the diced pig in post-soffrito, and pig out afterwards.

There is only one way to describe this dish: effin' delicious.

In fact, serve it lukewarm with some olive oil drizzled on top, and you can dump the pretense of the pasta too.

Ingredients

2 cups white beans (soaked overnight)

3 cloves of garlic

1 large onion† (diced fine)
2 large carrots (diced fine)
1 stick celery (diced fine)

† After they are diced, they must be in a ratio of 2:1:1.

12-16 tomatoes (passed through a food mill)

1 parmigiano-reggiano rind
more parmigiano-reggiano (grated)

1 cup red wine (use drinkable stuff)

1 bay leaf
2 cloves
1 stick cinnamon
1 dried red chilli pepper

1 branch rosemary

extra-virgin olive oil
parsley (chopped fine)
sea salt
black pepper

Recipe

First up, the beans need to be soaked overnight, and the water discarded at 12-hour intervals. The water will turn yellow, and those in the know, refer to it as acqua fartorum. Let it go. For your own well-being, and for those that sleep besides you at night.

The tomatoes need to put in boiling water for roughly 8 minutes each, and passed through a food mill. Yeah, this is hard work but since this is not Rachel Ray™'s Room for Rubes & Retards™, you must pay the price for good food.

Rotate, baby, rotate; get those triceps a movin'. Yeah, that means you.

The recipe is quite simple but needs patience.

First up, the soffrito of the Holy Trinity (just like the French mirepoix.)

At a low heat (you knew that, right?) fry the onions and garlic, then the carrots, finally the celery. If this doesn't take the better part of 20 minutes, you're doing it wrong, and you will pay the price in taste.




Add the cinnamon, cloves, red chilli pepper, and bay leaf, and fry for a bit.

Add the wine, and scrape the bottom to deglaze the pan. This is the last of the "hard work" so just scrape properly, okay? OKAY.

Just make sure you use a good Italian red, and the CC ain't talking about Roberto Rosselini neither.


Ignore the spillage at the left hand side of the picture. That's what happens when you try and cook and take pictures at the same time.

Add the beans, and the tomatoes, and the salt and pepper, and the rosemary and the parm rind.





Let it simmer (at a low heat) until the beans are soft. Timings are hard because they basically depend on the age of the beans but we're looking at the better part of 2 hours here.

Yes, this matters, it matters, it matters. Don't argue. Make it first the CC's way; talk back later.



You may need to add some water from time to time if the stuff starts sticking.

Now, it's time for a visit to the confessional. After about 2 hours, the beans hadn't even started softening while the tomato sauce was getting nicely caramelized. Outside, the hungry hordes were pawing at the kitchen door. The summer heat and the kitchen heat and the stomach heat was getting to everyone concerned. Tension was mounting.

So the CC unceremoniously dumped the entire melange into his pressure cooker, added some water, and the beans were ready 10 minutes later.

Serve with parsley, the grated parm, lots of black pepper, and an Italian red.

Mangia bene!

Pasta con fagioli

Variation

The CC's Dad suggested he do a post on this subject, and it's a terribly important subject. The CC is mortified that he didn't think of it himself.

What's the subject again? Variation.

There are two approaches to this subject, and we're going to explore them logically.

The first is that the chef is going to produce an exact product, and that everything is in the service of that. The CC has pontificated about the subject enough, and if you've lost your memory or your marbles, you can read about it here.

The second is that the chef explore the local variation in ingredients, and shape the recipe to his or her environment. Even to the point, the chef shapes the recipe to his or her mood.

Are you in a spicy mood tonight? Well, the CC doesn't know, my love, but he sure wants to find out how spicy you are.

Of course, this is a way for lazy people to be, well, lazy, but there's a difference between a minor variation based on a difference in ingredients, and just not bothering to follow the recipe at all.

What the CC is getting at is simple. Each recipe has a core, call it a soul if you will. Violate what makes the recipe tick and the CC will call you lazy; a mere variation at the edges is a variation. Of course, true mastery means that you make every variation come out exactly the way you want it to every single time.

There is an inherent tension between mastery and variation. The CC claims that you should just embrace it.

La cucina di povertà

All cooking starts in poverty, and ends up in a fancy restaurant.

The above quote, unhumbly concocted by the CC, so accurately sums up the idea behind so many dishes around the world that we may safely take it to be the First Principle of World Cuisine™.

Featured below is the rind of parmigiano-reggiano. What's left behind after all the cheese has been grated away. (Please note that you can still see the characteristic stamping of the name.)

This humble rind, negligible to look it, is still filled with enough "flavor" that it is traditional to add this to pasta sauces and broths to give them a little "something" extra. (The rind is fished out at the end, and tossed.)

That "something" is amping up the umami if you want to get all scientific about it. Parmigiano-reggiano contains the much desired isosinates in off-the-chart quantities.

Also, put this in your sauces, and your friends will swear that this is a meat sauce. Why? Because one of the purposes of the prosciutto, guanciale, etc. is to get you the afore-mentioned isosinates.

If there was one trick that fancy chefs use over and over and over and yet over again until the CC is ready to scream at the top of his lungs, this is it. Why it's not commonly known is a bit of a mystery!

So save your rinds, and watch your broths and sauces bloom. (ziplock + freeze works exceptionally well.)

Speaking of saving private rinds (har-de-har), now that it's summer and all, you should learn to save your watermelon rinds too but that, of course, is a tale for another day.

Sweet Sufferin' Siberia

One of the CC's close friends is leaving for Siberia to do environmental work. So she decided to throw a party that would be the perfect antithesis to a (future) Siberian winter.

Beach party, bright and early, at Brighton Beach.

After a hearty day of swimming, sun-tanning, watermelon-consumption and escaping from a swarm of jellyfish, all assembled to head out for some variegated Russian food.

First up, was a "green borscht" (made with sorrel and beet greens.) The CC's friends noticed that the CC was quite the enthusiast so they generously gave him more than his rightful share.

Next up, were vareniki with mushroom and potatoes (boiled dumplings like ravioli), blini with caviar (mmmmm ... salty), manti (steamed meat dumplings), and some excellent plov (lamb-lovers and rice-lovers, this dish is for you!)

For dessert, we had the vareniki stuffed with sour cherries.

The CC couldn't resist picking up some wondrous Russian rye bread (the smell, the smell) and some Bulgarian brined cheese. Also, a package of 100 vareniki was picked up to be placed in the CC's freezer. Cost? $11.

Aah, New York in summer: sun, sea, sand, and splendrous splendrous food.

Farmers' Market Bounty Summer Menu

Zucchini Fritters with tzatziki
♥
Gazpacho
♥
Cherry Granita
♥
Penne con zucchini

Kingsley Amis on Tipple

Amis, who was always seriously committed to the fine art of bibbering (a.k.a. topering), gives us a set of general principles on drink.

As we might expect from the author of the wondrous hangover scene in Lucky Jim, there is more to these aphorisms than meets the ear. They range from the tippling staple ("quantity over quality") to the wickedly acidic (see G.P.5.) Above all, they express a coherent world view (see G.P.7) that distinguish him from the average columnist.

His three pamphlets on the art of the piss-up ("food is the curse of the drinking classes") are well worth checking out.

G.P.1: Up to a point (i.e. short of offering your guests one of those Balkan plonks marketed as wine, Cyprus sherry, poteen and the like), go for quantity rather than quality. Most people would rather have two glasses of ordinary decent port than one of a rare vintage. On the same reasoning, give them big drinks rather than small -- with exceptions to be noted later. Serious drinkers will be pleased and reassured, unserious ones will not be offended, and you will use up less chatting time going around to recharge glasses.

G.P.2: Any drink traditionally accompanied by a bit of fruit or vegetable is worth trying with a spot of the juice thrown in as well.

G.P.3: It is more important that a cold drink be as cold as possible than that it should be as concentrated as possible.

G.P.4: For any liquor that is going to be mixed with fruit juices, vegetable juices, etc., sweetening, strongly flavored cordials and the like, go for the cheapest reliable article. Do not waste your Russian or Polish vodka, etc.

G.P.5: The alcohol in any bubbly drink will reach you faster than in its still version. Hence, or partly hence, the popularity of champagne at weddings and other festivities.

G.P.6: With drinks containing fruit (other than the decorative or olfactory slice of lemon, orange, etc.) it is really worthwhile to soak the fruit in some of the liquor for at least three hours beforehand.

G.P.7: Never despise a drink because it is easy to make and/or uses commercial mixes. Unquestioning devotion to authenticity is, in any department of life, a mark of the naïve -- or worse.

G.P.8: Careful preparation will render a poor wine just tolerable and a fine wine excellent. Skimping it will diminish a pretty fair wine to all right and a superb wine to merely bloody good. That is about as much difference as it will make. Much more important is price, which is normally a very reliable indicator of quality.

G.P.9: He who truly believes he has a hangover has no hangover.

G.P.10: Everything fattens you.

Pad Prik Khing

Not for the "vegetables". Shrimp paste is essential. So are long beans.

Bellini-ssimo

Named to honor the famous opera by Bellini, Pasta alla Norma is a cult Sicilian dish.

Chances are that the dish was already a Sicilian staple but it took the eyes of the theater director, Nino Martoglio, to declare the dish "una vera Norma". In his eyes, the dish and the opera matched each other's perfection.

What eggplants and tomatoes and ricotta salata have to do with an aging druidess whose lover runs out on her with a younger woman, and who declares this all her fault, and decides to immolate herself with him is best left to the imagination.

And the pleasures of the dish are definitely far from the "Casta Diva" of the opera.

Food is anything but chaste; food is pure unashamed unabashed sensuality. The idea of food being "chaste" is as ludicrous as ludicrous can be.

Not to mention that the pairing of food and tragedy is a bit of a travesty too. Try telling your dinner guests next time that the food portion of the dinner will end in a tragedy next time. Drop the CC a line if that works out for you.

Pairing of dinner and tragedy? Probably takes a particularly Teutonic mind to do so. Definitely un-Sicilian.

However, if we can accept the metaphor that there is something quite lovely about both this dish and the opera, then in the spirit of that mindset, the CC can begin to show you how to make the dish.

Just like a dramatic coloratura soprano is non-negotiable in the opera's title role, you must use ricotta salata. It's a salted cheese made from sheep's milk but pressed (sort of like a very dry feta but less crumbly.)

If you don't use it, the CC will find out about it, and come by and immolate you.

Ingredients

2 large eggplants (sliced vertically; see here)

1 large onion
4 cloves garlic (finely diced)
8-10 tomatoes (or use canned "San Marzano" peeled tomatoes)
3 dried red peppers

basil (snipped)
sea salt
black pepper

ricotta salata (grated or just chopped)

Recipe

The recipe proceeds in three separate parts all of which you will "assemble" at the end. They are respectively: eggplants (two different sizes, fried), tomato sauce, and the pasta.

If you use fresh tomatoes, they must be peeled.

Y'all already know how to make a tomato sauce but the pictures are repeated for emphasis.

Heavily salt the eggplants, and let them sit for at least an hour. They will let out copious moisture which you must discard.

Then you must wash each slice individually to remove all the salt.

Half the eggplants must be cut into "small" pieces, and the rest into "large" pieces. See below for a picture.

Fry the garlic.

And the onions, and the dried red chilli peppers. Fish the chilli peppers out at the end of the frying.

Add the tomatoes.

Let the tomatoes reduce at a very low heat. Yeah, this takes time. Go drink a martini or something.

Add the snipped basil leaves towards the end.

Fry the smaller pieces of the eggplants.

Push them to a side, and fry the larger pieces too.

The dish is a straightforward assembly of the al dente pasta, the two kinds of eggplants, the tomato sauce, and the ricotta salata on top, garnished with basil leaves.

Part of the pleasure of this dish is that you leave the different components separate; a sort of "mix 'n match" of different textures and tastes. Exactly the same thing that Norma's ex-lover, Pollione, was attempting with his chippy on the side except things didn't quite go his way, and he got scorched.

Pasta alla Norma

Puntastic Spice : Organic Fuel

(Courtesy: xkcd)

Rules for Restaurants

Over the years, the CC has evolved a set of rules for selecting restaurants. Naturally, they are tuned to the CC's preferences, and if you don't like that, you can just go write your own blog (make sure you send the CC a link.)

The CC will state his biases up front.

The CC prefers "performance" over "flash 'n sizzle". He doesn't need white tablecloths and fancy interiors. He will happily eat at a rickety formica table as long as the food kicks ass. The memorability of the meal depends only on the food and the company.

The CC simply doesn't care about "service". Rarely does the CC ever go to a meal pressed for time, and he prefers that the meal unfold leisurely (how Italian!) If a dish takes an extra 30 minutes to make it better, so be it. The CC doesn't pack his social calendar tightly.

The CC also loves "authentic" food whatever the hell that word means. If authenticity is sacrificed to please the gringos or even the vegetables, the CC generally tends to get very upset.

The CC happily chows down all kinds of food. Pig skin, pickled jellyfish, grasshoppers, langoustine brains, horse tartare? No problem, bring them on. There are many rooms in the CC's house but a sensual enjoyment of food is a prerequisite.

The CC has only lived in urban locales so the rules are, to state it mildly, not applicable outside urban or semi-urban locales.

The CC is a "value" hound. This is a dispositional thing. There is nothing he can do about it. However, even if you're rolling in the benjamins, the rules below still apply.

The CC evolved some of these rules independently but Tyler Cowen (economist, GWU) did a better job of "systematizing" them than the CC's ad hoc heuristics so he happily acknowledges his debt.

Take a deep breath now. Here come the rules:

[1] Don't eat in "high rent" areas.

The reason for this rule should be obvious. The only restaurants that survive are expensive ones, or chains that can use the franchise to subsidize the rent. You are unlikely to eat a great meal at the latter, and the former you can get anywhere.

The corollary for those living in semi-urban places is go search for places in strip malls. Seriously. It's all about the rents.

Even in cities, this holds true. You can certainly eat very well on the main strip of Chicago's Chinatown but if you just pop around the corner to the completely non-descript strip mall barely two blocks away on the north-west side, then tucked in the back are some truly amazing restaurants.

In the Bay Area, the best "home-style" Japanese restaurant (not sushi) is in far-out non-descript mall. Similar for the Cambodian place (much mentioned on this blog.)

You'd never guess if you didn't understand the reason behind the general principle.

[2] Go eat where the "natives" eat.

This is equally obvious. Go where the immigrant population lives. The restaurants there know where to source the ingredients best. Also, the populace is pickiest about their own food, and they will whittle the restaurants down until the mediocre ones shut down.

Pure survivorship bias (as they taught you in statistics class) but here it works in your favor.

[1 & 2] Corollary: Be prepared to travel.

Equally obvious after the first two points. Rents are cheapest further away from the "center". Immigrants tend not to be the richest of the populace. Please note that we're talking about fairly modest amounts of travel here (urban, we're talking urban, here.)

In New York, that means heading to Queens. Flushing for regional Chinese; Woodside for Thai and Filipino; Jackson Heights for Indian; Elmhurst for Indonesian; Astoria for Greek and Egyptian.

Also, in Manhattan, Harlem for Ethiopian, Senegalese and Haitian; Spanish Harlem for Mexican; Curry Hill (Murray Hill) for Indian, etc.

In Chicago, this means heading to Lincoln Square for Thai, Argyle (near the lake) for Vietnamese, Pilsen for Mexican, Devon for Indian, Edgewater for Ethiopian.

[3] Talk to the owner.

After you listen to the first two suggestions, have a chat with the owner. Ask them what's best. They will tell you. Don't ask them what to get. They will water it down thinking you're a n00bie.

This is a subtle point.

The difference between asking "what's best" and "what to eat" is vast. The latter suggests cluelessness; the former hints towards connoisseurship.

The first time the CC went with his Chinese friend to a great Sichuan restaurant in Flushing, he told his friend to tell the waiter that if the food was "dumbed down", the CC would send it back until they got it right. Unsurprisingly, they got it right. Not only that, the CC's presumptuousness got him major brownie points with the staff.

Everyone loves an appreciative audience. They will come out and chat with you, and tell you what to get. They will insist on packing you stuff to take home. They will also remember the "strange arrogant" Indian who insisted on the real deal.

Even better, if you are into cooking, ask them where they source the ingredients. They will tell you about the strangest grocery places that you would never ever have figured out on your own.

Be bold. Language holds no barriers for a love of food. The CC has chatted with Italians who barely speak English, and Vietnamese who can only manage a modicum of the language. None of this matters. They will be thrilled to chat.

[4] Be a repeat customer, and vary what you order.

This goes hand in hand with the above rule. Ask them what's good today, and be prepared to try something new.

Also, tip handsomely if you like the meal. These places survive on the barest of margins so consider this a form of "enlightened self-interest". You are ill-served if the best places shut down due to a lack of patronage.

[5] Scour the net.

In the good ol' days of blogging and forums, talk to others who are as enthusiastic about these things as you. They will tell you where to go, and you will find new stuff (most likely they will tell you the same things listed above but they will name specific names.)

Even if you are in a strange town, and forced to pick a restaurant with virtually no data at all, these rules will tip the balance in your favor. Seldom will you get a totally mediocre meal.

Happy noshing!

Herbaceously Yours : The Solution

Frying Eggplants

Ever heard the cliché that they "absorb too much oil"?

It's not rocket science, folks. You need to slice them vertically.

It's a question of which way the fibers are aligned. Think of it differently. If they absorb oil, it must be going somewhere. Cut the eggplant vertically, and you are cutting across the fibers that normally would store the oil.

Do it properly, and soon, you'll be frying them like a Sicilian mamma.

(And a little hat tip to my "culinary assistant" for taking such an excellent picture.)

Pasta with Pesto and Peas

Perfect for a hot summer's day.



Ingredients

Pesto

basil
walnuts
1 clove garlic
olive oil
sea salt

peas (frozen is fine)
pasta
parmigiano-reggiano (grated very coarsely)
black pepper

Recipe

Blanch the peas in some salt water.

Grind the pesto. Add the peas. For the love of everything culinary, do not "heat" the pesto.

Add the pasta cooked al dente. Parm and black pepper on top.

Characters

In the world of the interest groups, sub-cultures and Madison Ave., it is hard to believe that true characters ever walked the earth.

One of the finest is Pellegrino Artusi, an Italian who wrote the first pan-Italian cookbook barely twenty years after the unification of Italy.

It is important to remember that Italy was comprised of a whole bunch of nation states (no different than Greece or India) and that there was no such thing as "Italian" cuisine (and there still isn't.)

Anyway, La scienza in cucina e l'arte di mangiare bene (The Science of Cooking and the Art of Eating Well) is a masterpiece. It is a delight to read, and a delight to follow.

Modern ideas like weights and measures are simply non-existent. You need to be familiar with the context to start with. (Even in a modern setting, this is not too hard if you know what you're doing.)

But best of all, our guide is a raconteur par excellence. We get a lovely recipe of a minestrone which starts by describing the author's near-death experience by his ingesting a minestrone at Livorno. He thought it was cholera when he spent the night expelling fluids from two parts of his body and having to walk to the communal toilet, but it later turned out not to be cholera after all. So delighted is the author by the fact of not being dead that he follows it up in an adjacent sentence by not only telling you that he fled to Florence but also by giving you good advice of how best to chop up the onions that are needed for the recipe. And then the recipe continues for a whole page.

Madison Avenue, eat your heart out! Those interest groups never spent a night in a communal shitter nor ever started a recipe with one.

Shocking? Disgusting? Deliciously delightful?

You pick.

From start to finish, it's not just a compendium of recipes from all over Italy but it's filled with total and utter bullshit, fairly dubious scientific insight, and a style that would drive modern editors crazy. Nevertheless, it's also imparts a true understanding of how people actually cook (bullshit and all), and hence implicitly, what they are trying to achieve as a precise product.

Your knowledge of Italiana is incomplete without it, and the CC strongly urges anyone with an interest in Italian cooking that they get a copy pronto.

Pellegrino Artusi's Minestrone

Start by making the usual meat broth, and cooking in it a handful of shelled fresh beans. If the beans are dry, then simmer them in water until they soften. Then cut some Savoy cabbage, spinach, and a little chard into thin slices, and soak them in cold water. Then, to get the water of the vegetables, place them on the fire in a dry saucepan. Drain the contents well, pressing them firmly with a wooden spoon to get rid of the excess water. For a minestrone that serves four to five people, finely chop 40 grams of fatty prosciutto, a clove of garlic, and a sprig of parsley, and sauté them together. Add this to the saucepan, along with some celery and carrots, one potato, one zucchini, and very little onion, all cut into short, thin slices. Add the beans, and if you wish, some pork rind (as some people like to do), and a bit of tomato sauce or tomato paste. Season with salt and pepper and cook in the broth. As a last ingredient add enough rice to absorb most of the liquid, and before removing the minestrone from the fire throw in a good pinch of Parmesan cheese.

I should warn you that this is not a soup for weak stomachs.

Gobo

Root vegetable commonly known as burdock in English, quite delicious but hard to find.

Bring back the yummy vegetables of yore; what's wrong with the world?

Summer Corn Chowder

Corn chowder (recipe link)

Bowls

Possibly the most silly thing to write about on this blog but its summer which means silly, so here's a rave disguised as a rant. How's that for true inversion?

If you want to be a good chef, and the CC knows you do ("why else are you here?") buy lots of bowls.

Lots of glass bowls. Deep glass bowls. With rims.

Rims. Rims. Rims. Rims. Rims.

Did you miss it the first few times? Rims; glass bowls with rims.

You also need bowls of different sizes. Mostly for the mise-en-place (but that's obvious, right?)

The glass part is obvious. It's non-reactive, blah-blah-blah. All the chemists understand this , and so should you from your high-school chemistry beakers and pipettes and burettes, etc.

Rims. Now there's technical practice triumphs over theory.

The appreciation of the fine rim is subtle. It is in the the realm of the connoisseur not the amateur.

Let's enumerate the most obvious:

[1] covering with plastic wrap to store,
[2] filtration using stuff on top so you need a "grip" (e.g. food mill),
[3] cheese cloth cover tied with twine under the rim (porous but clean)

The list is endless. You will rue the day you refuse the rim.

The difference between a good and a great chef is whether they understand the need for a good rim.

Sea Urchin

It looks like "baby poo" but it tastes like the sea, all iodine-y and squishy. A completely acquired taste (which you may have encountered by its Japanese name, uni.)

It is totally necessary to first appreciate the role of texture as a primary determinant of culinary excellence. The Chinese capture the notion best by calling the idea of texture as kou gan or "mouth feel". Not a whole lot of prizes for guessing which side of the divide the CC comes down upon.

Just for the record, what you're eating are the gonads of the creature, and that's the only edible part. That it was considered an "aphrodisiac" by parallel association should be obvious.

Delacroix's Lobsters

One of the many masterpieces by the French Romantic, Eugène Delacroix, his "Still life with lobsters" (1826-27.)

Before anything else, take a good luck at the picture again.

First, there's a landscape receding into the horizon in true perspective. You see the horses and the huntsmen in the background; you see the muskets and the game bags; you see the shot hare, some other game birds, a pheasant.

And you see a lobster.

What on earth is a lobster doing in a scene about game? This makes no sense.

And even more bizarrely the lobster is obviously cooked (from the color), and the rest of the game is clearly raw.

Shades of Surrealism a century before it took root? A Dali before his time? Trying to outdo Nerval?

Not quite.

To understand the image, we need to take a tour to Galen (129 A.D.), an ancient physician whose theories dominated medicine and food for more than a millenium.

Each person supposedly has a temperament composed of four elements: air (warm and wet), earth (cold and dry), fire (hot and dry) and water (cold and wet.)

Likewise each food had a characteristic warmth and coldness, dryness and wetness. More importantly, cooking could transform this.

The goal was balance. (The Chinese, independently, came up with a similar scheme.)

Before you rush out to totally declare "scientific" bullshit on these concepts, permit the CC to forward two thoughts.

One is that this idea of balance is not particularly different from your modern idea of "balancing" proteins, carbohydrates and fats. The details are different but the idea of "balance" has propagated to modern times just in a different guise.

Secondly, if you believe in "vitamins" (which is a buncha catchall compounds which are totally unrelated), you're basically just as unscientific.

(Lest the above not be clear, nobody is denying the importance of the various "vitamin" compounds for the human body. What is being denied is that they have anything to do with each other. They don't. They are lumped together because they've always been lumped together, and nothing could be more unscientific than that. Even the name is bullshit because it comes from "vital amine" and yet, vitamin C is not an amine at all.)

So a lot of bad blather has propagated to modern times under a "scientific" guise.

Back to the original Galen balance. Whatever you feel about Galen, you are going to deal with it in an artistic context which is metaphorical not scientific.

The lobsters (cold and wet) are there to balance out the game (hares and jays - warm and dry.) The pheasant is provided as an idea of the "ideal" because it was considered the perfect balanced food. The metaphor of the soaring wing of the pheasant should be reasonably obvious in this context.

Like most imagery that comes out of a medieval context, Delacroix's is rather sophisticated. And it behooves us to understand where it came from, and where it is headed later in the context of surrealism.

Coffee Addiction?

Somewhere roughly between 1732 and 1734, Bach wrote, essentially, a miniature comic opera, popularly known as the Coffee Cantata (BWV 211.)

Featuring such lovely lyrics as "Schweigt stille, plaudert nicht" ("Be still, stop chattering"), it's basically an ode to the trials and tribulations of coffee addiction.

The mini-cantata ends with the trio which exults in the fact that "drinking coffee is natural".

And never a truer word was said.