The CC comes across endless references in medieval cookbooks for turmeric as a "substitute" for saffron.
They are nothing alike.
Saffron depends fundamentally on smell. You add it as the last or semi-last step to a recipe with the volatile liquids suspended in warm water or warm milk as it were.
Turmeric has a strongly metallic taste that is sui generis. You wouldn't mistake one for the other in a million years blindfolded in your sleep. It would be like conflating cats and cheese.
It's obvious why one would be substituted for the other. Turmeric is dirt-cheap. Saffron costs more than gold. Even today the CC sees these two being "substituted" and he scoffs.
For the record, saffron is the only spice even today that you need to get from a really reputable source. What you get in the routine markets is garbage. They are hustling you silly.
Saffron is so valuable that there are specialized merchants in Spain, Switzerland, and India — the three prime producers — whose only job is to supply unadulterated saffron. They are banners of quality and you can bet your goddamn economic ass that they charge a premium to do so.
Which is still superior to getting ripped off.
The CC has met plenty of people who think that saffron is not "worth all that" and it's "over-hyped". To which the CC can only respond, you've been ripped off all your life. How would you even know? It's absolutely worth all that from pasta to pastries.
Sad, isn't it?
Even in the age of the internet where everything is everywhere, you need reputation to get the good stuff.
Where is the arbitrage, O Nobel-Prize Winnin' Efficient Markets' Theorists of Univ. of Chicago?
Friday, January 31, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Mexican Chili Linguistics
The art of Mexican cooking depends on understanding the chili landscape but you really need to know the various names. One of the problems is that the same chili has different names depending on whether it is dried or not.
This makes logical sense in a cuisine where the chili is so fundamental to the cuisine but it's a hurdle to people who are just learning it.
So the CC is just going to do a "brain dump" of all the names for various peppers.
† Be warned that sometimes Ancho's are labeled as Pasilla's in Mexican markets. However, they are nothing alike. Pasilla's are long and thin and Ancho's large and fat. Think Laurel & Hardy (respectively) and you won't go wrong.
This makes logical sense in a cuisine where the chili is so fundamental to the cuisine but it's a hurdle to people who are just learning it.
So the CC is just going to do a "brain dump" of all the names for various peppers.
There's more but that will do for starters.
Fresh Dried Poblano Ancho† Jalapeño Chipotle Mirasol Guajillo Pasilla Negro Puya (Pulla) Puya
† Be warned that sometimes Ancho's are labeled as Pasilla's in Mexican markets. However, they are nothing alike. Pasilla's are long and thin and Ancho's large and fat. Think Laurel & Hardy (respectively) and you won't go wrong.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Sopa verde de elote (Green Corn Soup)
This is an insanely brilliant dish made of innumerous "green" components and it's the ideal thing to be eating in the depths of this bone-chilling winter that we are having here in New York.
This recipe is quite easy but do follow the instructions scrupulously. The tastes do not quite come together until the end so you will need to have some faith.
The source is Diana Kennedy whose research is fastidious and the recipes correspondingly mind-blowingly delicious.
The idea is "green, green, green". There are five green components in the recipe and they are all necessary to get the taste right. The corn is the supporting player because, well, corn and Mexico, right? Originator of the product and all that.
The real stars are the greens.
Ingredient
4 large tomatillos (or 10-12 small ones)
1 large onion (finely chopped)
2 cloves garlic (finely chopped)
4 cups corn kernels (frozen is fine)
2/3 cup green peas (frozen is fine)
6-8 sprigs cilantro
2 poblano chillies (prepped, read below)
3 large romaine lettuce leaves
5 cups chicken broth
butter
salt
fried tortilla strips
Recipe
Remove the papery skin of the tomatillos and cook the fruit in water till they are soft. Drain and set aside.
Meanwhile, prep the poblano's. Roast them directly over an open flame till they are scorched. Put them in a paper bag or just wrap in aluminum foil for 10 minutes. When they are soft, remove the blackened skin. Do not wash them. Dip your hand in water if you need to and rub off the skin. When skinned, cut open and remove the seeds and the veins from inside and chop into large pieces. Don't worry too much. They will get puréed.
Turn the tomatillos into a sauce in the blender and set aside in a bowl.
Put the corn, green peas, cilantro, poblano peppers, lettuce leaves, and 2 cups of broth into the blender and blend to a fine mixture. Pass this mixture through a medium food mill and set aside in a separate bowl.
Heat up the butter in a large pot. Add the onions and garlic and let it fry for at least 5 minutes. Add the tomatillo sauce and let it cook until the raw smell disappears. This step is crucial.
Add the second blended broth with salt to taste and let it cook for 5-6 minutes. This mixture has a tendency to stick to the bottom so make sure you keep scraping. Add the rest of the broth and let it cook for at least 20 minutes.
Serve with the fried tortilla strips on top.
This recipe is quite easy but do follow the instructions scrupulously. The tastes do not quite come together until the end so you will need to have some faith.
The source is Diana Kennedy whose research is fastidious and the recipes correspondingly mind-blowingly delicious.
The idea is "green, green, green". There are five green components in the recipe and they are all necessary to get the taste right. The corn is the supporting player because, well, corn and Mexico, right? Originator of the product and all that.
The real stars are the greens.
Ingredient
4 large tomatillos (or 10-12 small ones)
1 large onion (finely chopped)
2 cloves garlic (finely chopped)
4 cups corn kernels (frozen is fine)
2/3 cup green peas (frozen is fine)
6-8 sprigs cilantro
2 poblano chillies (prepped, read below)
3 large romaine lettuce leaves
5 cups chicken broth
butter
salt
fried tortilla strips
Recipe
Remove the papery skin of the tomatillos and cook the fruit in water till they are soft. Drain and set aside.
Meanwhile, prep the poblano's. Roast them directly over an open flame till they are scorched. Put them in a paper bag or just wrap in aluminum foil for 10 minutes. When they are soft, remove the blackened skin. Do not wash them. Dip your hand in water if you need to and rub off the skin. When skinned, cut open and remove the seeds and the veins from inside and chop into large pieces. Don't worry too much. They will get puréed.
Turn the tomatillos into a sauce in the blender and set aside in a bowl.
Put the corn, green peas, cilantro, poblano peppers, lettuce leaves, and 2 cups of broth into the blender and blend to a fine mixture. Pass this mixture through a medium food mill and set aside in a separate bowl.
Heat up the butter in a large pot. Add the onions and garlic and let it fry for at least 5 minutes. Add the tomatillo sauce and let it cook until the raw smell disappears. This step is crucial.
Add the second blended broth with salt to taste and let it cook for 5-6 minutes. This mixture has a tendency to stick to the bottom so make sure you keep scraping. Add the rest of the broth and let it cook for at least 20 minutes.
Serve with the fried tortilla strips on top.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Matar ka Nimona (Green Peas in Green Pea Curry Sauce)
This is a reasonably obscure dish from the Northern agricultural belt of India, and like all rural recipes, it is both simple and superb.
Even the name is outstanding. All those m's and n's caressing each other. The CC has been muttering (sic) the title to himself all day long sometimes a little bit sarcastically but mostly sweetly.
The recipe is made at a time when fresh green peas flood the rural markets which explains the dual purpose of the peas. You need to make the excess work somehow.
Let it be noted that this will not work with frozen peas. The curry portion will work fine but you need the starchy nature of fresh peas to make the other component work.
Lately the CC has been seeing fresh shelled peas from Georgia in the markets. He also sees them, of all places, in the Korean markets. So try and hunt around. You'd be surprised where they can be and you really don't want to miss out on this recipe.
Ingredients
3 cups fresh peas
2 cups cilantro leaves (yup!)
4 Thai green chillies
4 cloves garlic
1 piece of fresh turmeric (or 1/2 tbsp. ground)
1 tbsp. cumin seeds
water
salt
Recipe
Take 1 cup of the peas, the cilantro leaves, chillies, garlic, and turmeric and grind to a paste. A food processor makes quick work here.
Heat up some oil in a pan. When shimmering, add the cumin seeds. Let them color but not burn. Add the liquidized sauce from above. Be careful because it is wet and will splatter.
Let it fry until the "raw" smell has disappeared. Roughly 5-6 minutes. Add the remaining fresh peas and salt to taste until they are tender. Be careful not to overcook.
Serve with parathas or rice.
Even the name is outstanding. All those m's and n's caressing each other. The CC has been muttering (sic) the title to himself all day long sometimes a little bit sarcastically but mostly sweetly.
The recipe is made at a time when fresh green peas flood the rural markets which explains the dual purpose of the peas. You need to make the excess work somehow.
Let it be noted that this will not work with frozen peas. The curry portion will work fine but you need the starchy nature of fresh peas to make the other component work.
Lately the CC has been seeing fresh shelled peas from Georgia in the markets. He also sees them, of all places, in the Korean markets. So try and hunt around. You'd be surprised where they can be and you really don't want to miss out on this recipe.
Ingredients
3 cups fresh peas
2 cups cilantro leaves (yup!)
4 Thai green chillies
4 cloves garlic
1 piece of fresh turmeric (or 1/2 tbsp. ground)
1 tbsp. cumin seeds
water
salt
Recipe
Take 1 cup of the peas, the cilantro leaves, chillies, garlic, and turmeric and grind to a paste. A food processor makes quick work here.
Heat up some oil in a pan. When shimmering, add the cumin seeds. Let them color but not burn. Add the liquidized sauce from above. Be careful because it is wet and will splatter.
Let it fry until the "raw" smell has disappeared. Roughly 5-6 minutes. Add the remaining fresh peas and salt to taste until they are tender. Be careful not to overcook.
Serve with parathas or rice.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
The Fetishization of Seasonal and Local
One of the great tragedies of the culinary world is that it is not only faddish but also completely ignorant of science, history, economics, and the mechanics of trade.
In an ideal world, we would all eat seasonal and local but it's not an ideal world. For starters, there are 7+ billion people in the world and they can't all eat locally. An increasing amount of the world's population lives in cities so it is literally impossible that everyone in the city eat locally. It's just a simple mathematical argument about the population versus the amount of arable space and the steepness of its value. (The value comes from the fact that the population provides steep "value" on the economic food chain.)
Simple economics argues against it. The crux of a modern city — and by modern we have to understand that this is at least 500+ years old — is upwardly-mobile cheap labor. The desire to have a better life propels the cheap labor into the cities in the first place. The idea that these people can eat "local" is risible beyond the extreme. If cheap labor propels cities then by definition, it's cheap food that propels the cheapness of the labor.
So cheap means invoking Ricardo's principle of comparative advantage. Source the produce from wherever labor is cheapest and that means Africa, Asia and South America.
Seasonal is another bugaboo.
Places that have absurdly short growing seasons (think: Japan, Korea, Russia, Poland) rely to an unprecedented degree on pickled salted food.
Before World War II, Japan had the highest rate of stomach cancer in the world. It was so high as to be a routine tear-jerker movie cliché most memorably exploited by Kurosawa in his masterpiece Ikiru (生きる). It was definitely due to a heavy reliance on salted, smoked, and nitrate- and nitrite-rich foods (cured meats), the heavy incidence of the bacterium H. Pylori which thrives in stomachs with heavy salt diets, heavy tobacco usage, and above all, the lack of fresh vegetables for all but the briefest of growing seasons.
The same happened in Korea, Russia, and most of Eastern Europe. The common factor is the "short growing season" which means a reliance on "pickled foods".
Compare with both China and India where in spite of the heavy smoking and an equally important pickling tradition, the vegetable-rich diet traditionally traveling along trade routes had stomach cancer incidences at de minimus levels.
This is not just speculation. We have evidence for this.
After World War II, when vegetables flooded the Japanese markets thanks to free trade, the rate of stomach cancer plummeted precipitously. (Even then today, it's still 4x the rate in the UK!)
Do we really want to go "seasonal" so that we can go back to these bad old days?
To rephrase, going non-local caused stomach cancer rates around the world to plummet. Is this a bad thing?
Seasonal and local are not bad things.
For one, the seasonal component gives you an extreme rush of excitement. There's an anticipation to looking forward to something pleasurable that won't come around for another six months. There's also the fact that seasonal actually means cheap. Whatever is plentiful is cheap by the simple laws of supply and demand.
Local is a good thing too.
You can talk to the farmer. You can actually ask for something that lies outside the norm and since you are there to pay for it, they will do it. (Try doing that at a supermarket!)
What's wrong is the fetish. The hide-bound rules that don't allow for five thousand years of trading history (think: spices!), and science (think: stomach cancer) and a certain flexibility of both thought and process. A certain give and take (trade pun intended!) in the approach to food and markets.
Why not have a rich understanding of the subject and the best of both worlds?
In an ideal world, we would all eat seasonal and local but it's not an ideal world. For starters, there are 7+ billion people in the world and they can't all eat locally. An increasing amount of the world's population lives in cities so it is literally impossible that everyone in the city eat locally. It's just a simple mathematical argument about the population versus the amount of arable space and the steepness of its value. (The value comes from the fact that the population provides steep "value" on the economic food chain.)
Simple economics argues against it. The crux of a modern city — and by modern we have to understand that this is at least 500+ years old — is upwardly-mobile cheap labor. The desire to have a better life propels the cheap labor into the cities in the first place. The idea that these people can eat "local" is risible beyond the extreme. If cheap labor propels cities then by definition, it's cheap food that propels the cheapness of the labor.
So cheap means invoking Ricardo's principle of comparative advantage. Source the produce from wherever labor is cheapest and that means Africa, Asia and South America.
Seasonal is another bugaboo.
Places that have absurdly short growing seasons (think: Japan, Korea, Russia, Poland) rely to an unprecedented degree on pickled salted food.
Before World War II, Japan had the highest rate of stomach cancer in the world. It was so high as to be a routine tear-jerker movie cliché most memorably exploited by Kurosawa in his masterpiece Ikiru (生きる). It was definitely due to a heavy reliance on salted, smoked, and nitrate- and nitrite-rich foods (cured meats), the heavy incidence of the bacterium H. Pylori which thrives in stomachs with heavy salt diets, heavy tobacco usage, and above all, the lack of fresh vegetables for all but the briefest of growing seasons.
The same happened in Korea, Russia, and most of Eastern Europe. The common factor is the "short growing season" which means a reliance on "pickled foods".
Compare with both China and India where in spite of the heavy smoking and an equally important pickling tradition, the vegetable-rich diet traditionally traveling along trade routes had stomach cancer incidences at de minimus levels.
This is not just speculation. We have evidence for this.
After World War II, when vegetables flooded the Japanese markets thanks to free trade, the rate of stomach cancer plummeted precipitously. (Even then today, it's still 4x the rate in the UK!)
Do we really want to go "seasonal" so that we can go back to these bad old days?
To rephrase, going non-local caused stomach cancer rates around the world to plummet. Is this a bad thing?
Seasonal and local are not bad things.
For one, the seasonal component gives you an extreme rush of excitement. There's an anticipation to looking forward to something pleasurable that won't come around for another six months. There's also the fact that seasonal actually means cheap. Whatever is plentiful is cheap by the simple laws of supply and demand.
Local is a good thing too.
You can talk to the farmer. You can actually ask for something that lies outside the norm and since you are there to pay for it, they will do it. (Try doing that at a supermarket!)
What's wrong is the fetish. The hide-bound rules that don't allow for five thousand years of trading history (think: spices!), and science (think: stomach cancer) and a certain flexibility of both thought and process. A certain give and take (trade pun intended!) in the approach to food and markets.
Why not have a rich understanding of the subject and the best of both worlds?
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Avocados
Something about avocados in the markets sends the CC into a apoplectic rage.
The culprits are the little stickers that say "Ripe".
Are you fuckin' shittin' me? This is complete and utter horseshit!
If they were ripe, we'd know it so we don't need you to hustle us because your avocados suck. In fact, the CC has never found an avocado that needed less than 10 days worth of "ripening". More like 15 days.
They just sit on his counter radiating guilt about how fucked up the supermarket system actually is.
What is the problem?
Supermarkets assume that shoppers want "green" avocados because "green" is the color of "fresh" which in this case means totally unripe. A ripe avocado is almost black and melting and supermarkets want stuff that doesn't spoil but that's not going to work for the avocado.
So it sucks. And we put up. And rant endlessly.
Such is life.
The culprits are the little stickers that say "Ripe".
Are you fuckin' shittin' me? This is complete and utter horseshit!
If they were ripe, we'd know it so we don't need you to hustle us because your avocados suck. In fact, the CC has never found an avocado that needed less than 10 days worth of "ripening". More like 15 days.
They just sit on his counter radiating guilt about how fucked up the supermarket system actually is.
What is the problem?
Supermarkets assume that shoppers want "green" avocados because "green" is the color of "fresh" which in this case means totally unripe. A ripe avocado is almost black and melting and supermarkets want stuff that doesn't spoil but that's not going to work for the avocado.
So it sucks. And we put up. And rant endlessly.
Such is life.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Cod in Pistachio & Za'atar Crumbs
Cod is one of the most versatile fish out there. It's light and neutral so it takes on the flavor of whatever it is that you serve it with.
Sadly, for decades it's been overfished so it's gone from being one of the cheapest fish of all times to relatively expensive. Do try and get line-fished cod instead of the generic overfished crap. It really matter. Its flavor is so delicate and mellow that it will quite literally melt in your mouth.
Ingredients
2 fillets of cod
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup ground pistachio nuts
4 tbsp. fresh bread crumbs
1 tbsp. za'atar
1 tsp. nigella seeds
salt
1/4 cup olive oil
Recipe
You will need three shallow plates — one with the flour; one with the beaten egg, and one with the mixture of the ground pistachios, bread crumbs, za'atar, nigella seeds and salt combined.
Heat the oil in a large nonstick skillet.
Dredge the cod in the flour, followed by the egg mixture and finally roll in the bread+spice mixture.
Cook for about 2 minutes on each side until golden brown. This depends on the thickness of the fillet. The CC likes it barely cooked so that the interior is still moist.
Drain on paper towels and serve at once with a tart green salad.
Sadly, for decades it's been overfished so it's gone from being one of the cheapest fish of all times to relatively expensive. Do try and get line-fished cod instead of the generic overfished crap. It really matter. Its flavor is so delicate and mellow that it will quite literally melt in your mouth.
Ingredients
2 fillets of cod
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup ground pistachio nuts
4 tbsp. fresh bread crumbs
1 tbsp. za'atar
1 tsp. nigella seeds
salt
1/4 cup olive oil
Recipe
You will need three shallow plates — one with the flour; one with the beaten egg, and one with the mixture of the ground pistachios, bread crumbs, za'atar, nigella seeds and salt combined.
Heat the oil in a large nonstick skillet.
Dredge the cod in the flour, followed by the egg mixture and finally roll in the bread+spice mixture.
Cook for about 2 minutes on each side until golden brown. This depends on the thickness of the fillet. The CC likes it barely cooked so that the interior is still moist.
Drain on paper towels and serve at once with a tart green salad.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Fusion
The CC has never been against fusion. How could he?
We are nothing but the sum total of all our influences and that is true about all cuisines.
Indian food, both classically and modern, is an outgrowth of Persian cooking and New World foods. Japanese curry owes itself to British traders and an American commodore. New Orleans cuisine is based on French and African models with innovations (shrimp!) pushed by Filipino workers. Brazilian food grows out of Portuguese and African models and is reinforced by the importation of Japanese agricultural workers — the largest Japanese-speaking population outside of Japan.
Spanish cooking is based on Arabic models. In fact, most of the words for food substances have Arabic origins — aceituna (olive), azafran (saffron), naranja (orange). The word "lemon" comes from the Spanish limón which in turn comes from the Arabic laymoon which in turns come from the Chinese limung (modern-day Chinese: níngméng - 柠檬.)
Chinese food owes itself to Persian models with the extraordinarily heavy influence of Buddhism from India. Japanese food is an import of classical Chinese models. Even the language is an import of Chinese (kanji) and Indian phonetic models (Sanskrit - hiragana and katakana.)
Americans brought beef to Japan and its influence owes itself to the British Empire which in turn owes itself, ironically, to classical Persian models. The idea that meat was the food of the "rulers" not the "ruled" is based in ancient Persian hierarchical ideas about cuisine.
In the native Americas, Mexican cooking was heavily influenced by the Spanish invasion. Filipino food is based on Spanish and Mexican food because it was administered by Spain through Mexico.
If one wants to look at the truly ur-models then it would be the Babylonian and after that Persian models (wheat, barley) because that's where the crux of all political organization (and hence cooking) began.
So whither authenticity?
All food is ultimately fusion. It just matters how far you go back and look.
That's because humans have been trading with each other for millennia and good ideas have a way of germinating in other places and great ideas spread fast.
The traders were the original internet.
The Chinese traders taught the Indians how to steam circa the 10th century. The British brought curry powder to the Japanese and the French. The French brought classical technique to Haiti and New Orleans.
So anytime someone complains about "fusion", the CC just goes "Huh?!? What are you smokin'?"
For the record, even marijuana has Persian origins. Quelle surprise?
We are nothing but the sum total of all our influences and that is true about all cuisines.
Indian food, both classically and modern, is an outgrowth of Persian cooking and New World foods. Japanese curry owes itself to British traders and an American commodore. New Orleans cuisine is based on French and African models with innovations (shrimp!) pushed by Filipino workers. Brazilian food grows out of Portuguese and African models and is reinforced by the importation of Japanese agricultural workers — the largest Japanese-speaking population outside of Japan.
Spanish cooking is based on Arabic models. In fact, most of the words for food substances have Arabic origins — aceituna (olive), azafran (saffron), naranja (orange). The word "lemon" comes from the Spanish limón which in turn comes from the Arabic laymoon which in turns come from the Chinese limung (modern-day Chinese: níngméng - 柠檬.)
Chinese food owes itself to Persian models with the extraordinarily heavy influence of Buddhism from India. Japanese food is an import of classical Chinese models. Even the language is an import of Chinese (kanji) and Indian phonetic models (Sanskrit - hiragana and katakana.)
Americans brought beef to Japan and its influence owes itself to the British Empire which in turn owes itself, ironically, to classical Persian models. The idea that meat was the food of the "rulers" not the "ruled" is based in ancient Persian hierarchical ideas about cuisine.
In the native Americas, Mexican cooking was heavily influenced by the Spanish invasion. Filipino food is based on Spanish and Mexican food because it was administered by Spain through Mexico.
Ancient Greek and Egyptian cuisine grows out of Persian models and even ancient Roman cooking is unambiguously based on Greek and Egyptian models (thanks Cleopatra!)
The CC can go on forever.
The CC can go on forever.
If one wants to look at the truly ur-models then it would be the Babylonian and after that Persian models (wheat, barley) because that's where the crux of all political organization (and hence cooking) began.
So whither authenticity?
All food is ultimately fusion. It just matters how far you go back and look.
That's because humans have been trading with each other for millennia and good ideas have a way of germinating in other places and great ideas spread fast.
The traders were the original internet.
The Chinese traders taught the Indians how to steam circa the 10th century. The British brought curry powder to the Japanese and the French. The French brought classical technique to Haiti and New Orleans.
So anytime someone complains about "fusion", the CC just goes "Huh?!? What are you smokin'?"
For the record, even marijuana has Persian origins. Quelle surprise?
Simon Hopkinson's Amazing Parmesan Biscuits
This was completely outside the CC's comfort zone but if we don't try new things, what good are our paltry lives?
Simon Hopkinson's recipe is similar to a "shortbread" but it's not really. It's not as crumbly and has a lot more "chewy" conventional texture.
It's also absolutely smashing with champagne. Did the CC mention that he made them for New Year's?
Do follow the measurements exactly. In baking this matters a lot but this recipe is pretty forgiving.
The CC doubled the recipe and yet, three women, just three, went through the entire batch like a bunch of banshees. You have been warned. There will be no leftovers no matter how many you make.
Pictures? Surely you are joking!
Ingredients
(makes around 15 biscuits)
100 grams flour
100 grams butter
50 grams cheddar (finely shaved)
50 grams parmigiano-reggiano (finely shaved)
1 cup garlic chives (finely minced)
1 tbsp. fine salt
1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 egg
4 chili peppers (sliced at a bias into elliptical rounds)
1/2 cup parmigiano-reggiano
Recipe
(The CC modified the recipe to add garlic chives. They rock but you can skip them.)
This recipe is easy to remember if you think 100-100-100.
100 grams of flour, 100 grams of butter and 100 grams of cheese combined.
Stick your mixing bowl in the freezer for an hour. Yes, this will make your life eminently easier later.
Chop the butter into tiny pieces. Add the flour, cheese, garlic chives, salt and mustard and start cutting it with a pastry cutter. You want to mix everything together but make sure that the butter doesn't melt.
Add freezing water by the tablespoon. Be really really careful. You want to make sure the dough is comes together but stays cold and that the butter stays in pieces not melts.
This can be done in a food processor and it does an awesome job. You will just need to trust the CC that the processor will need to run for a lot longer — think 6 minutes but the dough will come together so just let it run.
Wrap the dough in some plastic wrap and stick it in the fridge for at least 30 minutes. Pull it out and put it between two sheets of parchment paper. (Aluminum foil works in a pinch.) Roll it out carefully to about 1/2" thickness.
If the dough heats up, stick it back in the fridge. (You see the pattern?)
Cut with some cookie cutters and place the biscuits on a heavily greased baking tray.
(You can reuse the dough as long as you chill it again before you roll it out. The CC had to do it thrice to use up all the dough to eliminate all wastage.)
Stick the baking tray in the fridge before you are ready to bake. You can do this even a day ahead of time. This is pretty fool-proof stuff.
Pre-heat the oven to 350°F.
Whip the egg. Pull the sheet out of the fridge. With a pastry brush, gently coat each biscuit with the egg wash and top with one chili pepper round each. Sprinkle the remaining parmigiano-reggiano over each biscuit.
Roast in the oven for about 10-15 minutes. Check at the 10-minute mark. You want the tops to be golden-brown. It sometimes take closer to 18 minutes depending on the thickness.
Pull out of the oven and let them sit for 5 minutes. They are still cooking. The CC knows you are tempted and heaven knows, the girls just wanted to grab them but do resist. The CC set a timer to cool off the maenads and yes, when the timer went off, guess what happened?
Simon Hopkinson's recipe is similar to a "shortbread" but it's not really. It's not as crumbly and has a lot more "chewy" conventional texture.
It's also absolutely smashing with champagne. Did the CC mention that he made them for New Year's?
Do follow the measurements exactly. In baking this matters a lot but this recipe is pretty forgiving.
The CC doubled the recipe and yet, three women, just three, went through the entire batch like a bunch of banshees. You have been warned. There will be no leftovers no matter how many you make.
Pictures? Surely you are joking!
Ingredients
(makes around 15 biscuits)
100 grams flour
100 grams butter
50 grams cheddar (finely shaved)
50 grams parmigiano-reggiano (finely shaved)
1 cup garlic chives (finely minced)
1 tbsp. fine salt
1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 egg
4 chili peppers (sliced at a bias into elliptical rounds)
1/2 cup parmigiano-reggiano
Recipe
(The CC modified the recipe to add garlic chives. They rock but you can skip them.)
This recipe is easy to remember if you think 100-100-100.
100 grams of flour, 100 grams of butter and 100 grams of cheese combined.
Stick your mixing bowl in the freezer for an hour. Yes, this will make your life eminently easier later.
Chop the butter into tiny pieces. Add the flour, cheese, garlic chives, salt and mustard and start cutting it with a pastry cutter. You want to mix everything together but make sure that the butter doesn't melt.
Add freezing water by the tablespoon. Be really really careful. You want to make sure the dough is comes together but stays cold and that the butter stays in pieces not melts.
This can be done in a food processor and it does an awesome job. You will just need to trust the CC that the processor will need to run for a lot longer — think 6 minutes but the dough will come together so just let it run.
Wrap the dough in some plastic wrap and stick it in the fridge for at least 30 minutes. Pull it out and put it between two sheets of parchment paper. (Aluminum foil works in a pinch.) Roll it out carefully to about 1/2" thickness.
If the dough heats up, stick it back in the fridge. (You see the pattern?)
Cut with some cookie cutters and place the biscuits on a heavily greased baking tray.
(You can reuse the dough as long as you chill it again before you roll it out. The CC had to do it thrice to use up all the dough to eliminate all wastage.)
Stick the baking tray in the fridge before you are ready to bake. You can do this even a day ahead of time. This is pretty fool-proof stuff.
Pre-heat the oven to 350°F.
Whip the egg. Pull the sheet out of the fridge. With a pastry brush, gently coat each biscuit with the egg wash and top with one chili pepper round each. Sprinkle the remaining parmigiano-reggiano over each biscuit.
Roast in the oven for about 10-15 minutes. Check at the 10-minute mark. You want the tops to be golden-brown. It sometimes take closer to 18 minutes depending on the thickness.
Pull out of the oven and let them sit for 5 minutes. They are still cooking. The CC knows you are tempted and heaven knows, the girls just wanted to grab them but do resist. The CC set a timer to cool off the maenads and yes, when the timer went off, guess what happened?
Monday, January 13, 2014
Mung Beans with Caramelized Onions & Nigella Seeds
This is a truly superb dish. It is apparently one of the most loved recipes at the Çırağan Palace in Istanbul and this version comes courtesy of Silvena Rowe.
It's a masterpiece of textural contrast so do follow all the steps as mentioned down to the last step.
The salad is on the bottom right. (Remaining recipes to follow.)
Ingredients
1/2 cup mung beans
2 small onions (sliced fine)
3 shallots (sliced fine)
1/4 cup olive oil (your regular)
3 tbsp olive oil (your finest)
6 tbsp. red wine vinegar
2 tbsp. finely chopped parsley
1 tsp Dijon mustard
sea salt
black pepper
8-10 sun-dried tomatoes (chopped)
1 tbsp. nigella seeds (toasted)
Recipe
Cook the mung beans for about 30 minutes until tender. Be careful not to overcook them. You want a little bit of crunch. Drain and set aside.
Toast the nigella seeds lightly in a skillet. Be careful since they will burn easily. Set aside.
Heat the regular olive oil in a large skillet over low heat. Add the onions and sautée for 20-25 minutes until they are soft and lightly golden. Do not let them caramelize. Add a tbsp. of water if they seem to be cooking too quickly.
(Note: the onions are cooked but the shallots are not! The textural game is important.)
Combine the fine olive oil, shallots, vinegar, parsley, mustard, sea salt and black pepper to make a fine vinaigrette.
Toss the vinaigrette with the mung beans and the sun-dried tomatoes. Top with caramelized onions and the toasted nigella seeds.
Serve warm or at room temperature.
It's a masterpiece of textural contrast so do follow all the steps as mentioned down to the last step.
The salad is on the bottom right. (Remaining recipes to follow.)
Ingredients
1/2 cup mung beans
2 small onions (sliced fine)
3 shallots (sliced fine)
1/4 cup olive oil (your regular)
3 tbsp olive oil (your finest)
6 tbsp. red wine vinegar
2 tbsp. finely chopped parsley
1 tsp Dijon mustard
sea salt
black pepper
8-10 sun-dried tomatoes (chopped)
1 tbsp. nigella seeds (toasted)
Recipe
Cook the mung beans for about 30 minutes until tender. Be careful not to overcook them. You want a little bit of crunch. Drain and set aside.
Toast the nigella seeds lightly in a skillet. Be careful since they will burn easily. Set aside.
Heat the regular olive oil in a large skillet over low heat. Add the onions and sautée for 20-25 minutes until they are soft and lightly golden. Do not let them caramelize. Add a tbsp. of water if they seem to be cooking too quickly.
(Note: the onions are cooked but the shallots are not! The textural game is important.)
Combine the fine olive oil, shallots, vinegar, parsley, mustard, sea salt and black pepper to make a fine vinaigrette.
Toss the vinaigrette with the mung beans and the sun-dried tomatoes. Top with caramelized onions and the toasted nigella seeds.
Serve warm or at room temperature.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
New York, New York
The CC realizes that this is not useful for many readers but here's an absolutely smashing set of articles on where to buy groceries in the five boroughs of New York.
Chinese in NYC
Indian in NYC
Italian in NYC
Mexican in NYC
Thai in NYC
(Source: Serious Eats.)
Chinese in NYC
Indian in NYC
Italian in NYC
Mexican in NYC
Thai in NYC
(Source: Serious Eats.)
Friday, January 10, 2014
Orecchiete with Brussel Sprouts, Anchovies, Preserved Lemons & Hazelnuts
It may be counter-intuitive but winter is the season for citrus fruits. Of course, they all come from warmer climes than New York.
The CC is always reminded to update his batch of preserved lemons because of all the great Meyer lemons that are to be found in the markets.
So it's also time to use up some of them with this truly great recipe. You get umami from three separate sources — the anchovies, preserved lemons and the parmigiano-reggiano.
Also, the lemons are just mellow enough so they don't have that aggressive lemony flavor and yet they still have the all the fragrant citrus notes. This makes the dish easy to pair with wine which is difficult in the presence of aggressively sour flavors.
Lemon, black pepper and rosemary are a magical combination. Lemon and parmigiano-reggiano is also a magical combination.
The citrusy, resinous and umami notes pair perfectly while the hazelnuts act as the crunchy textural counterpoint to the dish.
Ingredients
18 brussel sprouts (halved)
1 onion (sliced into thin rounds)
1 whole preserved lemon (pith removed, cut into thin strips)
2 anchovies
1/2 cup hazelnuts
1 tbsp. finely chopped rosemary
olive oil
salt
black pepper
parmigiano-reggiano
2 cups orecchiete
Recipe
Pre-heat the oven to 350°F.
Roast the hazelnuts for about 12 minutes. They have a tendency to burn so make sure you don't overdo it. Remove from the oven. Process in a food processor until they are broken and uneven but not crushed to a powder.
Toss the halved brussel sprouts into the oven. Roast for about 18-24 minutes until they are just slightly brown but not charred.
After this, you need to time these two steps together:
Cook the pasta until al dente. Roughly 12 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat up some olive oil. Toss in the onions and let them fry for about 6 minutes until languid. Add the anchovies and fry for a bit. Add the brussel sprouts, rosemary, salt and pepper and toss together. Add some pasta water to make a thin sauce.
When the pasta is done, toss everything including the preserved lemons together.
Top with the hazelnuts, parmigiano-reggiano, and more black pepper.
The CC is always reminded to update his batch of preserved lemons because of all the great Meyer lemons that are to be found in the markets.
So it's also time to use up some of them with this truly great recipe. You get umami from three separate sources — the anchovies, preserved lemons and the parmigiano-reggiano.
Also, the lemons are just mellow enough so they don't have that aggressive lemony flavor and yet they still have the all the fragrant citrus notes. This makes the dish easy to pair with wine which is difficult in the presence of aggressively sour flavors.
Lemon, black pepper and rosemary are a magical combination. Lemon and parmigiano-reggiano is also a magical combination.
The citrusy, resinous and umami notes pair perfectly while the hazelnuts act as the crunchy textural counterpoint to the dish.
Ingredients
18 brussel sprouts (halved)
1 onion (sliced into thin rounds)
1 whole preserved lemon (pith removed, cut into thin strips)
2 anchovies
1/2 cup hazelnuts
1 tbsp. finely chopped rosemary
olive oil
salt
black pepper
parmigiano-reggiano
2 cups orecchiete
Recipe
Pre-heat the oven to 350°F.
Roast the hazelnuts for about 12 minutes. They have a tendency to burn so make sure you don't overdo it. Remove from the oven. Process in a food processor until they are broken and uneven but not crushed to a powder.
Toss the halved brussel sprouts into the oven. Roast for about 18-24 minutes until they are just slightly brown but not charred.
After this, you need to time these two steps together:
Cook the pasta until al dente. Roughly 12 minutes.
Meanwhile, heat up some olive oil. Toss in the onions and let them fry for about 6 minutes until languid. Add the anchovies and fry for a bit. Add the brussel sprouts, rosemary, salt and pepper and toss together. Add some pasta water to make a thin sauce.
When the pasta is done, toss everything including the preserved lemons together.
Top with the hazelnuts, parmigiano-reggiano, and more black pepper.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
The Oldest Recipe Books
Some of the oldest recipes come from Babylonia ca. 1750 B.C.E., the time of Hammurabi. They are inscribed in Akkadian and are clearly meant for experienced chefs because they are not detailed. Entire steps are skipped. Addition of fat and/or water is assumed. No measurements or timings are given. They assume a common culinary expertise. The recipes are both elaborate and call for rare ingredients which implies that they were meant for the royal palace or the temple.
This tablet includes recipes for 25 stews — 21 involving meat and 4 involving vegetables.
This one has seven detailed recipes. The second recipe involves "small birds".
This tablet includes recipes for 25 stews — 21 involving meat and 4 involving vegetables.
This one has seven detailed recipes. The second recipe involves "small birds".
Remove the head and feet. Open the body and clean the birds, reserving the gizzards and the pluck. Split the gizzards and clean them. Next rinse the birds and flatten them. Prepare a pot and put birds, gizzards and pluck into it before placing it on the fire.(Source: Yale Babylonian Collection.)
Put the pot back on the fire. Rinse out a pot with fresh water. Place beaten milk into it and place it on the fire. Take the pot (containing the birds) and drain it. Cut off the inedible parts, then salt the rest, and add them to the vessel with the milk, to which you must add some fat. Also add some rue, which has already been stripped and cleaned. When it has come to a boil, add minced leek, garlic, samidu and onion (but not too much onion).
Rinse crushed grain, then soften it in milk and add to it, as you kneed it, salt, samidu, leeks and garlic along with enough milk and oil so that a soft dough will result which you will expose to the heat of the fire for a moment. Then cut it into two pieces. Take a platter large enough to hold the birds. Place the prepared dough on the bottom of the plate. Be careful that it hangs over the rim of the platter only a little. Place it on top of the oven to cook it. On the dough which has already been seasoned, place the pieces of the birds as well as the gizzards and pluck. Cover it with the bread lid [which has meanwhile been baked] and send it to the table.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Tsukemono (漬物)
This is a world of discussion so a blog post can, at best, just be an introduction to the concept.
The word is widely translated as "pickle" but that is a bit misleading. Pickles, at least in the American concept, refer exclusively to vegetables that are preserved in either a brine or an vinegar bath. (Both of which are acidic in nature.)
Tsukemono would better be translated as "preserved vegetables" or as in the original, "fragrant vegetables". Pickling is encompassed as a side-category.
The world of "preserved vegetables" globally is a little broader in its conception of what it means. The Japanese concept encompasses extremes where things are "lightly pickled" for as little as a few hours to everything that requires pickling for a few months. It also encompasses a style where vegetables are lightly cooked and then steeped in a marinade for a few hours.
That is a very broad range indeed.
The idea is to produce versatile side-dishes as accompaniments to the meal which are complex in nature and yet have an intense flavor either intrinsically or one that is drawn out from the vegetable in question.
The nature of the "preservation" also means that these dishes will last for a few days in the absence of refrigeration which can be rotated by the combinatorial game.
You "preserve" whatever is available fresh in the markets always rotating the ideas and serving different combinations at different meals that way keeping the meal fresh while still not wasting anything and sticking to the seasonal concept.
O Grandma! (Or in this case o-baachan — お祖母ちゃん.)
Them bitches be clever. What else is there to say?
Modern technology has really enhanced the ease of making these pickles particularly with the concept of a "pickle press". It's basically a plastic container with a lid and a screw press which allows you to compress the vegetables below the water line — a key concept in pickling without which they would rapidly spoil via fungal decay.
Japanese-style pickles are classified by what you are pickling with. The choices are multitudinous:
All of the above pickling is taking place in an acidic medium with the explicit (miso) or non-explicit (salt and/or vinegar) introduction of the lactobacillus family of bacteria with which we are deeply symbiotic. They are salt-tolerant and feed on the sugars present either explicitly or implicitly (vegetables) producing lactic acid which is deeply hostile to other microbes and particularly fungi. The result is, you guessed it, preservation.
The simplest pickles are the ones which only have salt. They are typically made with vegetables which will give off a large quantity of water, e.g. cucumbers. You salt the vegetable and compress it and as it gives off water, it both ferments and inundates itself below the water line. After that you pull it out and enjoy its concentrated flavor which has been modified by the bacteria. The solution is solidly rich in bacteria and you'd use it going forward to inoculate your next batch of "pickles".
The Japanese being Japanese, the concept of umami is never very far from the palate. The bacteria naturally produce intense umami flavors but they can be enhanced by the introduction of konbu or mushrooms or both. The result is lip-smackingly delicious.
The others all follow roughly the same principles. The combinations are traditional and the mixing and matching is largely a matter of style matched to the nature of the vegetable.
Hard vegetables (like burdock — ごぼ) are suited to the shoyuzuke style whereas watery vegetables like cucumber fit the simplest shiozuke style.
The CC loves making misozuke which can range from the simple to the hauntingly complex.
There's a world of exploration out here!
The word is widely translated as "pickle" but that is a bit misleading. Pickles, at least in the American concept, refer exclusively to vegetables that are preserved in either a brine or an vinegar bath. (Both of which are acidic in nature.)
Tsukemono would better be translated as "preserved vegetables" or as in the original, "fragrant vegetables". Pickling is encompassed as a side-category.
The world of "preserved vegetables" globally is a little broader in its conception of what it means. The Japanese concept encompasses extremes where things are "lightly pickled" for as little as a few hours to everything that requires pickling for a few months. It also encompasses a style where vegetables are lightly cooked and then steeped in a marinade for a few hours.
That is a very broad range indeed.
The idea is to produce versatile side-dishes as accompaniments to the meal which are complex in nature and yet have an intense flavor either intrinsically or one that is drawn out from the vegetable in question.
The nature of the "preservation" also means that these dishes will last for a few days in the absence of refrigeration which can be rotated by the combinatorial game.
You "preserve" whatever is available fresh in the markets always rotating the ideas and serving different combinations at different meals that way keeping the meal fresh while still not wasting anything and sticking to the seasonal concept.
O Grandma! (Or in this case o-baachan — お祖母ちゃん.)
Them bitches be clever. What else is there to say?
Modern technology has really enhanced the ease of making these pickles particularly with the concept of a "pickle press". It's basically a plastic container with a lid and a screw press which allows you to compress the vegetables below the water line — a key concept in pickling without which they would rapidly spoil via fungal decay.
Japanese-style pickles are classified by what you are pickling with. The choices are multitudinous:
- Shiozuke (塩漬け) — pickled with salt
- Misozuke (味噌漬け) — pickled with miso
- Suzuke (酢漬け) — pickled with vinegar
- Amasuzuke (甘酢漬け) — pickled with sugar and vinegar
- Shoyuzuke (醤油漬け) — pickled with soy sauce
All of the above pickling is taking place in an acidic medium with the explicit (miso) or non-explicit (salt and/or vinegar) introduction of the lactobacillus family of bacteria with which we are deeply symbiotic. They are salt-tolerant and feed on the sugars present either explicitly or implicitly (vegetables) producing lactic acid which is deeply hostile to other microbes and particularly fungi. The result is, you guessed it, preservation.
The simplest pickles are the ones which only have salt. They are typically made with vegetables which will give off a large quantity of water, e.g. cucumbers. You salt the vegetable and compress it and as it gives off water, it both ferments and inundates itself below the water line. After that you pull it out and enjoy its concentrated flavor which has been modified by the bacteria. The solution is solidly rich in bacteria and you'd use it going forward to inoculate your next batch of "pickles".
The Japanese being Japanese, the concept of umami is never very far from the palate. The bacteria naturally produce intense umami flavors but they can be enhanced by the introduction of konbu or mushrooms or both. The result is lip-smackingly delicious.
The others all follow roughly the same principles. The combinations are traditional and the mixing and matching is largely a matter of style matched to the nature of the vegetable.
Hard vegetables (like burdock — ごぼ) are suited to the shoyuzuke style whereas watery vegetables like cucumber fit the simplest shiozuke style.
The CC loves making misozuke which can range from the simple to the hauntingly complex.
There's a world of exploration out here!
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Za'atar
This is always a pain-in-the-ass to explain because it's one of those complete linguistic fuckups.
It refers to a specific herb but also to a specific spice mixture. Most of the time it's the latter not the former but it still requires a ton of explanation every single time.
These linguistic faux-pas are not entertaining.
This one is the mixture.
It's terrific baked as a bread topping or even just for dipping with fresh pita bread.
Ingredients
2 tbsp. dried oregano (preferably Mexican oregano)
2 tbsp. sesame seeds (lightly toasted)
1 tbsp. crushed sumac.
1 tbsp. dried marjoram
salt
Recipe
Crush in a mortar and pestle and mix together.
It refers to a specific herb but also to a specific spice mixture. Most of the time it's the latter not the former but it still requires a ton of explanation every single time.
These linguistic faux-pas are not entertaining.
This one is the mixture.
It's terrific baked as a bread topping or even just for dipping with fresh pita bread.
Ingredients
2 tbsp. dried oregano (preferably Mexican oregano)
2 tbsp. sesame seeds (lightly toasted)
1 tbsp. crushed sumac.
1 tbsp. dried marjoram
salt
Recipe
Crush in a mortar and pestle and mix together.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Porn-tastic!
The latest internet trend in South Korea seems to be "dinner porn".
Dinner Porn Is South Korea’s Latest Internet Trend.
Dinner Porn Is South Korea’s Latest Internet Trend.
Young people in South Korea have a new hobby: It's live-streaming themselves gorging on enormous, sumptuous dinner feasts. Kotaku reports it’s called mok-bang, which is a portmanteau of the Korean words for eating and broadcast, and young folks in South Korea are totally into it. They broadcast their meals (from bunker-looking settings) to thousands of viewers a night. It's a really attractive online performance opportunity for people that eat food, wear clothes most of the time, and don't want to have sex on camera.
Mok-bang has bred chewing stars. One known as the Diva eats for approximately two hours each night, streaming her meal to thousands of viewers and consuming a huge amount of food, like 30 fried eggs, plus crab legs, or two medium pizzas. She estimates she spends between $3,000 and $6,000 a month on food, and that she's gained 20 pounds since she started mok-bang.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
The Pleasure Principle
If you want to understand that most cuisine is not about sustenance but pleasure, you don't have to look further than "spices".
Spices, by their very definition, are basically useless when it comes to sustenance.
However, they have been craved since time immemorial for the singular reason that humans crave novelty. They want things that taste "interesting" and different.
Humans crave novelty.
That should be tattooed onto every single critic's forehead when they discuss painting, music, theater, film or food. Such a monumental failure of imagination in so many different domains that it boggles the mind.
The same-ol', same-ol' didn't work three millennia ago and it won't work now, and given that we have fairly stellar memories connected to our senses, we demand that novelty not only reproduce the best of the past but surpass it.
However not too much novelty.
Take someone who's only eaten American food into a Sichuan restaurant and you are going to have an epic meltdown. The rules are different, the standards of excellence are different, and the entire experience is completely and utterly different. They are simply not relatable in any meaningful way unless a copious amount of explanation is forwarded.
And yet Americans do learn how to love Sichuan food. In fact, many become connoisseurs and go on to being passionate about it even though the foods are not "adjacent".
(This also explains the great difficulty that many people have in understanding the great modernist enterprise in art — literature, music, painting, theater. It's adjacent ironically but not "adjacent enough".)
Cuisines may be far apart and you may have to learn the rules of a new game like an experienced tennis player encountering rugby for the first time but it can be learnt. Different rules, different forms of engagement, and different skills of expertise.
Even the most ardent pork lover (or Ulysses-fan!) is unlikely to fall in love with huǒ bào yāo huā — fire-exploded kidney flowers (火爆腰花) on the first shot but it can be learned which brings us to:
Pleasure is a learned concept.
There is not a child in the world that is born loving red wine, blue cheese or stinky tofu. These are all acquired responses.
A baby will eat exactly one kind of food — anything sweet. Even salty is a bit of a stretch but they will eat it if accompanied by sweet food. These are genetic responses. These were the two safest kinds of food available to humans back when we still foraged for food. Foods with these properties (sweet, salty) are guaranteed to be safe to eat and so we are programmed to like them.
However, we don't stick to that stuff because as pointed out, we crave novelty. In time, we come to appreciate tastes that are astringent, bitter, pungent, metallic, stinky and sour.
The CC has always been wary of people who talk about food like its "just about sustenance". (Hint: Never ever date these people.)
Cuisine is about pleasure and the way to pleasure is through the brain. We learn new things and we experiment based on the solid knowledge of the cooks of millennia past. We are absurdly privileged to live in a world where one can have Turkish for breakfast, French for lunch, and Japanese for dinner.
So step out there whether it's the kitchen or the world and get your own personal slice of the pleasure pie!
Spices, by their very definition, are basically useless when it comes to sustenance.
However, they have been craved since time immemorial for the singular reason that humans crave novelty. They want things that taste "interesting" and different.
Humans crave novelty.
That should be tattooed onto every single critic's forehead when they discuss painting, music, theater, film or food. Such a monumental failure of imagination in so many different domains that it boggles the mind.
The same-ol', same-ol' didn't work three millennia ago and it won't work now, and given that we have fairly stellar memories connected to our senses, we demand that novelty not only reproduce the best of the past but surpass it.
However not too much novelty.
Take someone who's only eaten American food into a Sichuan restaurant and you are going to have an epic meltdown. The rules are different, the standards of excellence are different, and the entire experience is completely and utterly different. They are simply not relatable in any meaningful way unless a copious amount of explanation is forwarded.
And yet Americans do learn how to love Sichuan food. In fact, many become connoisseurs and go on to being passionate about it even though the foods are not "adjacent".
(This also explains the great difficulty that many people have in understanding the great modernist enterprise in art — literature, music, painting, theater. It's adjacent ironically but not "adjacent enough".)
Cuisines may be far apart and you may have to learn the rules of a new game like an experienced tennis player encountering rugby for the first time but it can be learnt. Different rules, different forms of engagement, and different skills of expertise.
Even the most ardent pork lover (or Ulysses-fan!) is unlikely to fall in love with huǒ bào yāo huā — fire-exploded kidney flowers (火爆腰花) on the first shot but it can be learned which brings us to:
Pleasure is a learned concept.
There is not a child in the world that is born loving red wine, blue cheese or stinky tofu. These are all acquired responses.
A baby will eat exactly one kind of food — anything sweet. Even salty is a bit of a stretch but they will eat it if accompanied by sweet food. These are genetic responses. These were the two safest kinds of food available to humans back when we still foraged for food. Foods with these properties (sweet, salty) are guaranteed to be safe to eat and so we are programmed to like them.
However, we don't stick to that stuff because as pointed out, we crave novelty. In time, we come to appreciate tastes that are astringent, bitter, pungent, metallic, stinky and sour.
The CC has always been wary of people who talk about food like its "just about sustenance". (Hint: Never ever date these people.)
Cuisine is about pleasure and the way to pleasure is through the brain. We learn new things and we experiment based on the solid knowledge of the cooks of millennia past. We are absurdly privileged to live in a world where one can have Turkish for breakfast, French for lunch, and Japanese for dinner.
So step out there whether it's the kitchen or the world and get your own personal slice of the pleasure pie!
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