So every once in a while, the CC gets into the mood, and into the nude, and into the...
Hang on! That's not what I wanted to talk about.
Anyway, every once in a while the CC gets into the mood of possessing a kitchen instument that he needs, but since the CC is mortally afraid of becoming one of the Williams-Sonoma crowd, the CC shies away from mortal possession of true-and-tried tactical tools.
The CC happens to be just wrong!
Hail Italy!
We should never have doubted you (as far as food is concerned.) Your governments suck, and have sucked since WWII, but why doubt your food?
Anyway, back to the point.
The CC bought a cheese grater for a party.
The CC also bought some kick-ass parmigiano-reggiano to serve over the risotto.
The CC has been humbled, and acknowledges his need for instruments after understanding the true nature of a cheese grater.
The combination of cheese grater and authentic parmigiano-reggiano over fresh risotto is something to behold!
Here's how it works:
The risotto is served rather warm, the "parmesan" (pardon the Americanism) is shredded fresh with an instrument into such tiny threads that it falls over the rice, and instantly "cooks". The threads of cheese (and they are truly tiny) are so divine that the CC is shocked.
And for you fat-phobic fatties, true parmigiano-reggiano is a hard, skimmed cheese. You probably eat more ten times more fat in one of those crappy "fat-free" yogurts because the US FDA allows companies to advertise "zero" fat if it contains less than one gram of fat per serving.
Even a tablespoon of pure oil is "zero" fat if the CC defines 100,000 servings per tablespoon (get my drift, fatties?)
Consider this a plug for authentic parmigiano-reggiano (and only incidentally, a plug for a good cheese grater.)
Monday, May 8, 2006
Saturday, May 6, 2006
Dinner at the CC's
•
Seafood risotto
•
Pomegranate granita
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Food of the Gods
When one of the enlightenment figures, Carl Linnaeus, the father of modern taxonomy, completely and utterly loses his reason and christens the seed as theobroma cacao, what more can the CC say?
It is truly the food of the gods.
It is truly the food of the gods.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Food, sex, love
Massaman curry from my beloved,
Redolent of cumin and other spices.
Any man who happens upon its aroma
Is powerless to resist.
♥
Latiang is like the pillow on which I dream
And to the heavens from which I rise,
Yet upon my unsettling return
I find close comfort only with you.
Friday, March 31, 2006
R.I.P.
Edna Lewis (1916-2006)
A bit late, but better late than never!
Most of the current greats owe her more than they honestly acknowledge, and she was ahead of all these new-fangled fads (which are nothing more than old-fashioned tradition in a spanking-new "scientific" bottle.)
A bit late, but better late than never!
Most of the current greats owe her more than they honestly acknowledge, and she was ahead of all these new-fangled fads (which are nothing more than old-fashioned tradition in a spanking-new "scientific" bottle.)
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Tomato Soup (in winter) - Part 4
The "fabled" recipe at long last!
Ingredients
3 lbs tomatoes (chop them in eighths -- fast and simple)
2 large red onions diced coarsely
1 large potato diced coarsely
1 tbsp whole peppercorns
2 bay leaves
2-3 tbsp cumin seeds (read below!)
2 tbsp "home-made" tomato paste (but substitute commercial, you wimps!)
salt to taste
3 tbsp of olive oil
Required Kitchen Instrument
Food mill
Recipe
The recipe is simple but don't try to "hurry" it. Patience is rewarded. You can coax good taste out of crappy-ass winter tomatoes. Trust me!
Heat 2 tbsp of olive oil. Add the onions, and the let them "sweat" (as the Italians say.) When the onions are dark pink (but not caramelized), add 1 tbsp of the cumin, the bay leaves, all the peppercorns and saute for a whole minute.
Then, add the tomatoes, and turn the heat down real low (this is the patience part.) Let the tomatoes slowly "melt", and release their juices. This will try your patience as it will take the better part of anywhere between 20-40 minutes. Resist the temptation to turn up the heat. When the fat rises to the surface...
Skim, baby, skim!
When done skimming, add the potatoes, cover the pot, and let it stew for 20 mins or so, on medium heat. The fat's in the pot. No point in the low heat now.
What you need to do is pass this soupy mixture through a food mill but in the interest of time, effort, and the general hatred of washing up dishes, read below!
In a separate pot, heat 1 tbsp of oil. Add 2 tbsp of cumin, fry for 15 seconds. Then add the tomato paste. While this is frying, place the food mill over the second pot, and add the stuff from the first pot into the food mill, and start rotating.
Rotate, baby, rotate!
When you are bored, toss the crap in the food mill away. Let the other stuff come to a gentle rolling boil for a while, and simmer for 10 minutes.
Add the salt to taste.
Ambrosia, baby, ambrosia!
Honest Confessions:
1. In the interest of being complete, if the soup is too tart which it may very well be, thanks to crappy-ass tomatoes (F**K YOU, genetically modified, crappy-ass tomatoes!), add some sugar to balance the taste. Marcella Hazan, the doyen of Italian food cooking, recommends this, and even though this is an Indian recipe, who am I to argue with her?
(To be fair, if you need to do this with tomatoes at the height of summer, your cooking skills suck!)
2. The CC used 2 potatoes producing a thicker soup, and had to thin it.
3. Don't bother peeling the potatoes. The CC wasted his time. The food mill will take care of it. DOH!
4. I've seen cooks fry curry leaves in the very first step. Didn't have any so didn't add them.
5. I wish I had used more cumin. So will you!
Ingredients
3 lbs tomatoes (chop them in eighths -- fast and simple)
2 large red onions diced coarsely
1 large potato diced coarsely
1 tbsp whole peppercorns
2 bay leaves
2-3 tbsp cumin seeds (read below!)
2 tbsp "home-made" tomato paste (but substitute commercial, you wimps!)
salt to taste
3 tbsp of olive oil
Required Kitchen Instrument
Food mill
Recipe
The recipe is simple but don't try to "hurry" it. Patience is rewarded. You can coax good taste out of crappy-ass winter tomatoes. Trust me!
Heat 2 tbsp of olive oil. Add the onions, and the let them "sweat" (as the Italians say.) When the onions are dark pink (but not caramelized), add 1 tbsp of the cumin, the bay leaves, all the peppercorns and saute for a whole minute.
Then, add the tomatoes, and turn the heat down real low (this is the patience part.) Let the tomatoes slowly "melt", and release their juices. This will try your patience as it will take the better part of anywhere between 20-40 minutes. Resist the temptation to turn up the heat. When the fat rises to the surface...
Skim, baby, skim!
When done skimming, add the potatoes, cover the pot, and let it stew for 20 mins or so, on medium heat. The fat's in the pot. No point in the low heat now.
What you need to do is pass this soupy mixture through a food mill but in the interest of time, effort, and the general hatred of washing up dishes, read below!
In a separate pot, heat 1 tbsp of oil. Add 2 tbsp of cumin, fry for 15 seconds. Then add the tomato paste. While this is frying, place the food mill over the second pot, and add the stuff from the first pot into the food mill, and start rotating.
Rotate, baby, rotate!
When you are bored, toss the crap in the food mill away. Let the other stuff come to a gentle rolling boil for a while, and simmer for 10 minutes.
Add the salt to taste.
Ambrosia, baby, ambrosia!
Honest Confessions:
1. In the interest of being complete, if the soup is too tart which it may very well be, thanks to crappy-ass tomatoes (F**K YOU, genetically modified, crappy-ass tomatoes!), add some sugar to balance the taste. Marcella Hazan, the doyen of Italian food cooking, recommends this, and even though this is an Indian recipe, who am I to argue with her?
(To be fair, if you need to do this with tomatoes at the height of summer, your cooking skills suck!)
2. The CC used 2 potatoes producing a thicker soup, and had to thin it.
3. Don't bother peeling the potatoes. The CC wasted his time. The food mill will take care of it. DOH!
4. I've seen cooks fry curry leaves in the very first step. Didn't have any so didn't add them.
5. I wish I had used more cumin. So will you!
Friday, March 24, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Monday, March 13, 2006
Sourdough
Sourdough = obsession.
Serious obsession! You know, the adolescent kind? When you rationalize stalking your beloved on the internet. Not that the CC ever did that. They hadn't invented the internet then; you had to use the telephone.
Why is it obsessive?
The answer is rather easy. Complete and utter lack of control. And good cooks tend to be control-freaks (along with good programmers, and good just-about-anything.) Perfection is only a detail away, and if only you could control the details...
Maybe this time, I'll be lucky. Maybe this time, it'll stay. Maybe this time, for the first time, it'll rise...
But, will it? And if not, why not?
You're dealing with a rather delicate symbiosis which you can actually turn into a rather robust symbiosis. (Once again, perfection is only some details away.)
Native yeast (they're in the air), and benign bacteria aid each other, and you can use them to make bread. (this is a complex subject for future discussion.) Suffice to say, for a couple of thousand years nobody has died of botulism thanks to this symbiosis.
Why is it not controllable? Too many variables. Temperature is one, but there are plenty of others.
So sourdough takes the traditional cooking attitude (="take a recipe and make it"), and puts a stake through its heart.
Take that you control-freak, bitch!
No wonder cooks obsess about getting it right (what did I say about obsession?)
Alas, the CC is hardly immune to this obsession. I have tried for two years and I openly admit to being less than perfect. (The failures can be converted into "alternate" successes for rather beautiful chemical reasons. Isn't that peachy?) But if the CC were to be honest, he has only had a handful of successes (and to be fair, more recently than initially.)
Incidentally, sourdough encompasses more than bread. Anyone, from the southern states knows of sourdough pancakes (the real kind not the modern crap!) And traditional idlis, dosas and utthapams from Southern India are actually sourdough.
Why the south in the last two examples? They tend to have warmer climates, and hence are more conducive to sourdough (although San Francisco is an exception for rather technical reasons.)
Is this a blog entry or a lecture? Not sure, really!
Serious obsession! You know, the adolescent kind? When you rationalize stalking your beloved on the internet. Not that the CC ever did that. They hadn't invented the internet then; you had to use the telephone.
Why is it obsessive?
The answer is rather easy. Complete and utter lack of control. And good cooks tend to be control-freaks (along with good programmers, and good just-about-anything.) Perfection is only a detail away, and if only you could control the details...
Maybe this time, I'll be lucky. Maybe this time, it'll stay. Maybe this time, for the first time, it'll rise...
But, will it? And if not, why not?
You're dealing with a rather delicate symbiosis which you can actually turn into a rather robust symbiosis. (Once again, perfection is only some details away.)
Native yeast (they're in the air), and benign bacteria aid each other, and you can use them to make bread. (this is a complex subject for future discussion.) Suffice to say, for a couple of thousand years nobody has died of botulism thanks to this symbiosis.
Why is it not controllable? Too many variables. Temperature is one, but there are plenty of others.
So sourdough takes the traditional cooking attitude (="take a recipe and make it"), and puts a stake through its heart.
Take that you control-freak, bitch!
No wonder cooks obsess about getting it right (what did I say about obsession?)
Alas, the CC is hardly immune to this obsession. I have tried for two years and I openly admit to being less than perfect. (The failures can be converted into "alternate" successes for rather beautiful chemical reasons. Isn't that peachy?) But if the CC were to be honest, he has only had a handful of successes (and to be fair, more recently than initially.)
Incidentally, sourdough encompasses more than bread. Anyone, from the southern states knows of sourdough pancakes (the real kind not the modern crap!) And traditional idlis, dosas and utthapams from Southern India are actually sourdough.
Why the south in the last two examples? They tend to have warmer climates, and hence are more conducive to sourdough (although San Francisco is an exception for rather technical reasons.)
Is this a blog entry or a lecture? Not sure, really!
Thursday, March 9, 2006
One more book (sigh!)
OK, so the CC was so enchanted by the last Jennifer Brennan book, that he has gone ahead and ordered another one.
It's vaguely on Polynesian food entitled Tradewinds and Coconuts, and it's just about as likely to be "faithful", "true", and "authentic" to the cooking of these islands as the original "Raj" cookbook was to Indian food.
But the CC is a sucker (sometimes.)
Alas!
Whither authenticity?
It's vaguely on Polynesian food entitled Tradewinds and Coconuts, and it's just about as likely to be "faithful", "true", and "authentic" to the cooking of these islands as the original "Raj" cookbook was to Indian food.
But the CC is a sucker (sometimes.)
Alas!
Whither authenticity?
Tomato Soup (in winter) - Part 3
So the CC was at this Mexican restaurant in NYC earlier this week, and as soon as he entered, he was delightfully pleased with the warm cumin-scented atmosphere reminding him of the tomato soup of his youth.
What does this have to do with the original "tomato soup" postings? Not much. Think of it as a teaser trailer for the recipe later this week.
Dang, these Hollywood folk know more than a few tricks. I need a control group or something.
What does this have to do with the original "tomato soup" postings? Not much. Think of it as a teaser trailer for the recipe later this week.
Dang, these Hollywood folk know more than a few tricks. I need a control group or something.
Sunday, March 5, 2006
A most enchanting book
The CC is reading a rather enchanting book titled Curries and Bugles : A Memoir and Cookbook of the British Raj.
Whatever one's political opinions on The Raj, it would be most curmudgeonly to deride such a delightfully charming, part nostalgia-laden memoir, part cookbook.
And to top it all, it's filled with the most charming old-fashioned expressions that the CC hasn't heard in a decade.
Of course, it would be completely and utterly infra dig for the CC to actually list them.
The book, actually, goes back to a somewhat-dying tradition in cookbooks. Before they became formally recipe-laden, and filled with hyper-glossy near-pornish pictures, they had an almost whimsical air to them.
The first pan-Italian cookbook belongs to this genre (more on that in a later post.) For example, it describes the author's near death by cholera by a dish eaten at Livorno (it was dysentery really!) followed by a recipe of the dish -- a minestrone.
Wouldn't you just love to use a cookbook like that?
Alas! The modern world of interest-groups, sub-cultures, and Madison Ave.-consultants does not lend itself to such eccentricities.
Hence, the CC's delight at both the form, and the content of the book. Add to that, the recreation of some foods long forgotten from his youth, and you can guess why this post has a rather rhapsodic air about it.
Some rather enjoyable excerpts from the book:
"By the by, an omelette is never cooked to such perfection anywhere as by an Indian cook."
-- Harriet Tytler, An Englishwoman in India.
Yep, it's true. Julia Child, eat your heart out!
On the inscription on the tombstone of an unfortunate Rev. Isadore Lowenthal:
ACCIDENTALLY SHOT BY HIS CHOWKIDAR
Well done, thou good and faithful servant
Delightful, the CC says, simply too delightful for words!
And, for all the Californians (Californicators?) here, she runs a restaurant eponymous with the book in San Diego (although she must be rather old by now.)
Whatever one's political opinions on The Raj, it would be most curmudgeonly to deride such a delightfully charming, part nostalgia-laden memoir, part cookbook.
And to top it all, it's filled with the most charming old-fashioned expressions that the CC hasn't heard in a decade.
Of course, it would be completely and utterly infra dig for the CC to actually list them.
The book, actually, goes back to a somewhat-dying tradition in cookbooks. Before they became formally recipe-laden, and filled with hyper-glossy near-pornish pictures, they had an almost whimsical air to them.
The first pan-Italian cookbook belongs to this genre (more on that in a later post.) For example, it describes the author's near death by cholera by a dish eaten at Livorno (it was dysentery really!) followed by a recipe of the dish -- a minestrone.
Wouldn't you just love to use a cookbook like that?
Alas! The modern world of interest-groups, sub-cultures, and Madison Ave.-consultants does not lend itself to such eccentricities.
Hence, the CC's delight at both the form, and the content of the book. Add to that, the recreation of some foods long forgotten from his youth, and you can guess why this post has a rather rhapsodic air about it.
Some rather enjoyable excerpts from the book:
"By the by, an omelette is never cooked to such perfection anywhere as by an Indian cook."
-- Harriet Tytler, An Englishwoman in India.
Yep, it's true. Julia Child, eat your heart out!
On the inscription on the tombstone of an unfortunate Rev. Isadore Lowenthal:
ACCIDENTALLY SHOT BY HIS CHOWKIDAR
Well done, thou good and faithful servant
Delightful, the CC says, simply too delightful for words!
And, for all the Californians (Californicators?) here, she runs a restaurant eponymous with the book in San Diego (although she must be rather old by now.)
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Parisian Bakery (in NYC)
The CC doesn't even like desserts, but he does confess a hankering for both croissants and baguettes. Preferably, the former for breakfast, and the latter any time of the day. Preferably, to excess. Preferably. to serious excess!
Sadly, what passes in this country for either, would earn a place against the wall in the benevolent czarship run by the CC.
But NYC is different, right? We all knew that, right?
There seems to be this rocking place in Harlem by French-Senegalese escapees (aka immigrants) from Paris. My friend who flies to Paris every two weeks claims it's better than anything she ate/eats/has eaten in Paris (and she, my good friends, is a foodie.)
There's only one way to convince you, my gentle readers, there's only one way!
So if you want a taste, you'll just have to visit.
Sadly, what passes in this country for either, would earn a place against the wall in the benevolent czarship run by the CC.
But NYC is different, right? We all knew that, right?
There seems to be this rocking place in Harlem by French-Senegalese escapees (aka immigrants) from Paris. My friend who flies to Paris every two weeks claims it's better than anything she ate/eats/has eaten in Paris (and she, my good friends, is a foodie.)
There's only one way to convince you, my gentle readers, there's only one way!
So if you want a taste, you'll just have to visit.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Tomato Soup (in winter) - Part 2
Just so you know, I cheated, but I cheated less than the current breed of drug-addled Olympic athletes.
Did I have a choice?
NO!
Tomatoes in this country, for the most part, suck! They suck so much, that the CC will take good tomatoes over sex in this country. (*)
In every other afore-mentioned "good-tomato" country, the CC will take sex over tomatoes.
Anyway... back to business. The soup, and how did I cheat?
A large spoonful of home-made summer "Heirloom-tomato" paste was used. But, that's it. No more tricks except good old-fashioned technique.
The soup rocked even with the pathetic "I-just-flew-in-from-Israel" tomatoes. Nothing against Israel. Nothing against flying. Certainly, nothing against the sucky-ass tomatoes.
Why do they have to pick the tomatoes in perfectly warm countries with great tomatoes while they are still raw? (Answer: to fly them across continents.)
This globalization stuff is beginning to suck, at least for food.
But, the CC doesn't mean to rant, and the CC has to consume some of the afore-mentioned tomato soup so as to get in to work in on time tomorrow, so tune in to hear the exciting saga of the "Tomato soup." (**)
(*) Some prefer chocolate but "de gustibus non disputandum est."
(**) Assuming you find it exciting.
Did I have a choice?
NO!
Tomatoes in this country, for the most part, suck! They suck so much, that the CC will take good tomatoes over sex in this country. (*)
In every other afore-mentioned "good-tomato" country, the CC will take sex over tomatoes.
Anyway... back to business. The soup, and how did I cheat?
A large spoonful of home-made summer "Heirloom-tomato" paste was used. But, that's it. No more tricks except good old-fashioned technique.
The soup rocked even with the pathetic "I-just-flew-in-from-Israel" tomatoes. Nothing against Israel. Nothing against flying. Certainly, nothing against the sucky-ass tomatoes.
Why do they have to pick the tomatoes in perfectly warm countries with great tomatoes while they are still raw? (Answer: to fly them across continents.)
This globalization stuff is beginning to suck, at least for food.
But, the CC doesn't mean to rant, and the CC has to consume some of the afore-mentioned tomato soup so as to get in to work in on time tomorrow, so tune in to hear the exciting saga of the "Tomato soup." (**)
(*) Some prefer chocolate but "de gustibus non disputandum est."
(**) Assuming you find it exciting.
Tomato Soup (in winter)
So now that everyone knows that the CC is a strange breed, a well-trained Indian chef-wannabe, etc. (Not that there were any losers reading this blog who didn't know that!)
The CC ventured out to make that age old hoary "Raj" relic known as "tomato soup" (perhaps we should call it "a la indienne"?)
Let's get down to the details.
Tomatoes in winter suck, so why the hell is the CC making "tomato soup" in winter?
Two reasons.
One, my hand was forced (more on this below.) Two, any retard (*) from Italy, India, Mexico (**) can make good "tomato anything" in summer. So there's a challenge, and never let it be said that the CC has ever shied away from a challenge!
More on the forced hand. The Chinese wife of an Indian ex-colleague wanted to know how tomato soups tasted so good in India. The CC quizzed her, and he quizzed her hard till she cried out, "I don't know."
Of course, at that point, the CC knew what she wanted.
She had tasted the vision, and I'm sure you, gentle readers, and one insane bitch, want to partake of the same.
At this spot, the CC has decided to borrow from the grammar of television. Namely, watch this spot for more...
(*) I'm not PC. There are too many retard-chefs and chef-wannabes with no technique.
(**) The only countries that I know that have good tomatoes, in alphabetical order.
The CC ventured out to make that age old hoary "Raj" relic known as "tomato soup" (perhaps we should call it "a la indienne"?)
Let's get down to the details.
Tomatoes in winter suck, so why the hell is the CC making "tomato soup" in winter?
Two reasons.
One, my hand was forced (more on this below.) Two, any retard (*) from Italy, India, Mexico (**) can make good "tomato anything" in summer. So there's a challenge, and never let it be said that the CC has ever shied away from a challenge!
More on the forced hand. The Chinese wife of an Indian ex-colleague wanted to know how tomato soups tasted so good in India. The CC quizzed her, and he quizzed her hard till she cried out, "I don't know."
Of course, at that point, the CC knew what she wanted.
She had tasted the vision, and I'm sure you, gentle readers, and one insane bitch, want to partake of the same.
At this spot, the CC has decided to borrow from the grammar of television. Namely, watch this spot for more...
(*) I'm not PC. There are too many retard-chefs and chef-wannabes with no technique.
(**) The only countries that I know that have good tomatoes, in alphabetical order.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Crappy Valentine's Day
So the CC decided that a few days after the annual massacre of roses that yields men their annual blowjobs, it was time to rescue the roses for a higher cause.
Yes, the goal was cooking, and the object was to find organic, unsprayed roses to cook with.
My Persian cookbook had long been languishing in the boudoir (*), and every once in a while she made seductive noises while shaking her silky spine. She had earned her roses.
The first few places were rather uneventful. They didn't carry organic flowers.
Finally, the CC arrived at a store that sold organic flowers. The conversation is reproduced for your infinite amusement.
"So why do you want unsprayed roses?"
"I plan to eat them."
(Pause in conversation.)
I rapidly realized that I should've said, "I plan to cook with them", and so hastily corrected the awkward slip.
(More pause.)
"Not the roses, just the petals."
(Pause while giving me the "cretinous wanker" look.)
Somebody was clearly not having a good day but it's not like I said that I was planning to gamahauche her dead grandmother!
"So what kinda food is it?
"Persian."
(This was clearly becoming a waste of time.)
"So are you Persian then?
Jesus wept.
This woman in New York City had all the cultural sensitivity and intellectual depth of a lobotomized amoeba.
The question, "Are you from Oklahoma then?" floated through my mind but then realizing that all major religions have prohibitions against mistreating the mentally-deficient (particularly lobotomized amoebas), I just smiled beatifically.
Plus, I needed those goddamn roses.
I have just one question for this woman, "Do you have to be Austrian to like Mozart? Irish to like Joyce? Do you? Do you?"
It turns out she didn't have those roses.
In retrospect, I should've realized that this was an "X factor." The chromosome strikes back! No male florist would've followed this line of conversation.
You ask why, gentle reader? Do you? Do you?
Firstly, a male florist would be gay. Secondly, given the afore-mentioned attribute, they would've had a larger universe of edibleness. After all, if you include edible underwear, mere flowers can hardly be surprising! Thirdly, they would flirt with you which would both be good for business, and who knows if you might get invited to the dinner of the roses, and who knows what other friends there might be at that dinner, and who knows if you might find yourself romping later that imagined night in Persian (or non-Persian) delight?
No, it was definitely the "X factor."
As I walked home, mildly miffed and definitely dejected, I would love to tell you, kind reader, that a gentle drizzle commenced as if to commiserate.
But, no!
It was a gorgeous New York night, mild weather, gently darkening skies. Precisely, the kind of night that makes girls from Oklahoma on their first church trip to New York fall in love with the city, and find a rental, and call mamma to say that they ain't coming back.
In short, the gods are not without a sense of irony!
As for my sweet rose of Persia, she has been banished to the bookshelf, and the quest for organic, unsprayed roses continues...
(*) bouder (v. intr. Fr.), to sulk, to be sullen.
Yes, the goal was cooking, and the object was to find organic, unsprayed roses to cook with.
My Persian cookbook had long been languishing in the boudoir (*), and every once in a while she made seductive noises while shaking her silky spine. She had earned her roses.
The first few places were rather uneventful. They didn't carry organic flowers.
Finally, the CC arrived at a store that sold organic flowers. The conversation is reproduced for your infinite amusement.
"So why do you want unsprayed roses?"
"I plan to eat them."
(Pause in conversation.)
I rapidly realized that I should've said, "I plan to cook with them", and so hastily corrected the awkward slip.
(More pause.)
"Not the roses, just the petals."
(Pause while giving me the "cretinous wanker" look.)
Somebody was clearly not having a good day but it's not like I said that I was planning to gamahauche her dead grandmother!
"So what kinda food is it?
"Persian."
(This was clearly becoming a waste of time.)
"So are you Persian then?
Jesus wept.
This woman in New York City had all the cultural sensitivity and intellectual depth of a lobotomized amoeba.
The question, "Are you from Oklahoma then?" floated through my mind but then realizing that all major religions have prohibitions against mistreating the mentally-deficient (particularly lobotomized amoebas), I just smiled beatifically.
Plus, I needed those goddamn roses.
I have just one question for this woman, "Do you have to be Austrian to like Mozart? Irish to like Joyce? Do you? Do you?"
It turns out she didn't have those roses.
In retrospect, I should've realized that this was an "X factor." The chromosome strikes back! No male florist would've followed this line of conversation.
You ask why, gentle reader? Do you? Do you?
Firstly, a male florist would be gay. Secondly, given the afore-mentioned attribute, they would've had a larger universe of edibleness. After all, if you include edible underwear, mere flowers can hardly be surprising! Thirdly, they would flirt with you which would both be good for business, and who knows if you might get invited to the dinner of the roses, and who knows what other friends there might be at that dinner, and who knows if you might find yourself romping later that imagined night in Persian (or non-Persian) delight?
No, it was definitely the "X factor."
As I walked home, mildly miffed and definitely dejected, I would love to tell you, kind reader, that a gentle drizzle commenced as if to commiserate.
But, no!
It was a gorgeous New York night, mild weather, gently darkening skies. Precisely, the kind of night that makes girls from Oklahoma on their first church trip to New York fall in love with the city, and find a rental, and call mamma to say that they ain't coming back.
In short, the gods are not without a sense of irony!
As for my sweet rose of Persia, she has been banished to the bookshelf, and the quest for organic, unsprayed roses continues...
(*) bouder (v. intr. Fr.), to sulk, to be sullen.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Sliced Apples
The New York Times has an article on pre-sliced apples "bathed in an all-natural flavorless sealant" so that the apples "won't turn brown".
It turns out that the apple "is simply too poorly designed for today's busy eater".
Doesn't Mother Nature realize how busy today's eaters are? And why doesn't she figure out that limp-wristed modern Americans can't summon up the wrist-actions to actually cut up an apple?
I mean, how lazy do you have to be so that you can't cut up an apple into eight pieces, slice the seeds off, and put it on a plate? (The assumption is that for various reasons, say, dentures, braces, etc. you can't just wash it and bite in.)
Here is the stroke-by-stroke action:
[1] The first cut halves the apple. (1 stroke.)
[2] Lay each half down, and slice again (2 strokes.)
[3] For each quarter, two more strokes for eighths (4 strokes.)
[4] Hold each piece up, and slice the crap off (8 strokes.)
That's 15 strokes, and only because you want each piece to look nice.
The CC just wants to vent spleen at the fools.
It turns out that the apple "is simply too poorly designed for today's busy eater".
Doesn't Mother Nature realize how busy today's eaters are? And why doesn't she figure out that limp-wristed modern Americans can't summon up the wrist-actions to actually cut up an apple?
I mean, how lazy do you have to be so that you can't cut up an apple into eight pieces, slice the seeds off, and put it on a plate? (The assumption is that for various reasons, say, dentures, braces, etc. you can't just wash it and bite in.)
Here is the stroke-by-stroke action:
[1] The first cut halves the apple. (1 stroke.)
[2] Lay each half down, and slice again (2 strokes.)
[3] For each quarter, two more strokes for eighths (4 strokes.)
[4] Hold each piece up, and slice the crap off (8 strokes.)
That's 15 strokes, and only because you want each piece to look nice.
The CC just wants to vent spleen at the fools.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
A Note on Technique
So everyone rants on the French for their high-fat food. Bullshit!
There are two things that Americans (and all non-French, in general) need to learn. Technique counts!
Yes, there's a lot of butter in French cooking. But, there's also a lot of skimming in French cooking.
In order to understand my rather incoherent point, we need to understand a few basic chemistry facts.
Firstly, fat and water do not mix. Secondly, they will mix if you beat them up real fine. This is called a suspension. They haven't really mixed, it's a bit of an illusion. Think vinaigrette!
Anyway, French cooking calls for stuff to be heated on a very low flame after a point. This is very, very important.
The fat and the starch bind and rise to the top, and therein lies the skimming part. This is as true of classic French Onion Soup as of Bombay's Pav Bhaji.
Americans suck at patience, and in this specfic case, the lack of patience translates into fatty food. Heating your food at high heat breaks up the fat molecules, and suspends them into tiny globules into the water.
Anyway, the moral of the story is to enjoy your fat, and then heat stuff real slow (yes, it will test your patience), and skim away.
The French know a few things, and patience is one of them!
There are two things that Americans (and all non-French, in general) need to learn. Technique counts!
Yes, there's a lot of butter in French cooking. But, there's also a lot of skimming in French cooking.
In order to understand my rather incoherent point, we need to understand a few basic chemistry facts.
Firstly, fat and water do not mix. Secondly, they will mix if you beat them up real fine. This is called a suspension. They haven't really mixed, it's a bit of an illusion. Think vinaigrette!
Anyway, French cooking calls for stuff to be heated on a very low flame after a point. This is very, very important.
The fat and the starch bind and rise to the top, and therein lies the skimming part. This is as true of classic French Onion Soup as of Bombay's Pav Bhaji.
Americans suck at patience, and in this specfic case, the lack of patience translates into fatty food. Heating your food at high heat breaks up the fat molecules, and suspends them into tiny globules into the water.
Anyway, the moral of the story is to enjoy your fat, and then heat stuff real slow (yes, it will test your patience), and skim away.
The French know a few things, and patience is one of them!
Today, I saw an almost perfect book concept. They had the "Collected Works of Joyce" in these little itty-bitty volumes. Perfect for slipping into a winter jacket.
Never mind the Joyce part. I think the idea is really cool. You can slip it into your pocket, and read it on the subway, etc. The shape and size of standard books is too inconvenient as far as both portability and jackets are concerned. (This is the main reason I like the concept of e-books; not the sucky-ass current implementations thereof nor the cryptographic aspect!)
If the books hadn't been on the "Gifts for Valentine" table, I would've bought them.
I mean, who the fuck buys Finnegans Wake (split up into itsy-bitsy pieces) for their valentine? (and that too for a fucking holiday invented by a greeting card company early last century, before Joyce wrote his masterpiece!)
It was packaged for a New York Irish audience, and they'll never read the books either! There was even a fucking shamrock on the covers.
Haul me to the porcelain goddess already!
On Orgies
So I woke up this morning feeling vaguely dissatisfied, and thought to myself that it had been a while since I'd indulged in an orgy. A blizzard was coming, and the thought of being sequestered in my apartment all alone was unbearable.
Naturally, I hauled my ass (sic) down to Union Square, home of the nubile NYU hipster-wannabes (and their aviator glasses) even though gentrification seems to be taking its toll on them.
After two hours of delicious delight, eyes glazed over with happiness, I hauled my treasure trove of books back to my apartment, Yes, it had been an orgiastic display of inconspicuous consumption (*) at Strand Bookstore.
Now, I'm ready to face the blizzard holed up in my apartment armed with everything from Buñuel to Baking. I even bought myself a book of food porn (**) on impulse, and another which is intelligent food porn (***)
My wallet feels lighter but I feel strangely euphoric!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
(*) Something most Wall Streeters wouldn't know about.
(**) Yes, this exists! Food porn is to food what regular (or irregular) porn is to regular (or irregular) sex. You should learn how to drop it in casual conversation like, "My friend has a fabulous kitchen but all she does is reheat pizzas because except for the cookbooks I gave her, all she owns is food porn." (No resemblance to living characters.)
(***) Intelligent food porn is porn, of course, but it may teach you a few new tricks (sic). Think of it as a Gastronomic Kama Sutra.
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