Comments re yesterday's blog on Texas food:
A woman from Kentucky wrote: "I love chicken-fried steak! Your description made my mouth water and made me hungry. I haven't done that in a couple of years. Maybe I should move to Texas..."
A proud scion in East Texas (and a great American) wrote: "Obviously you are uneducated in the finer cuisines of Texas and have only frequented the poorer-quality restaurants and their roadkill fare. I myself have not eaten many things to compare with the lack of taste that California provides. Please! Sprouts and nuts?
The Mexican food there is a blend of New York and Oregon and is hopeless at best.
Come on back and we will show you good food. (Also, no place better than German communities in West Texas for food.) Always welcome!"
This correspondence is so typically Texan that I smiled. In the beginning, he does everything but call me a Christian; at the end he is displaying the courtesy and warmth that pervades all of Texas -- "Y'all hurry on back, heah?"
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Dueling Editions
Saveur and Bon Appetite arrived the same day last week. One is all "The Texas Issue!" as if that was a good thing. It's not. Texas has more bad food per capita than any other state that I can think of. If they'd make it "The Louisiana Issue!" they'd a been onto something.
Let us examine the "classic" chicken-fried steak which is a piece of beef that's had the hell beat out of it, then dredged in flour, then a milk and egg mixture and then flour again and fried until cirsp. Think: wallpaper paste-crusted steak. The accompaniment is thick white gravy, ladled generously over the poor old beat-up beef.
In Texas they savor Tex-Mex (too mild to be commented on here -- don't they have any hot chilis in Texas?) and they put tomatoes and beans in their chili. That is, quite frankly, an abomination. Chili is pure meat, spices and a little onion -- maybe some chopped green pepper if the cook is feeling frisky.
They eat waffles. Waffle Houses are strewn across Texas with an abandon not seen since Starbucks. We were having breakfast in one (Richie's idea, not mine) and asked the little 17 year old waitress (a good five months pregnant) what time it was and she said, "Oh, honey, I don't have a watch no more; my no-good sister done stole it to buy dope." Which is one good thing about Texas restaurants -- the female servers (and they are all women) always have a story. Can't remember the town, but one of ours actually sat down with us in the booth and bewailed the actions of her drunken daughter! Really, you get much more than just food down there.
Texans can often, however, grill up a good steak. That's when they keep portions reasonable. We ate once at a restaurant in Huntsville, Tx. that served 32 oz. steaks which were so big they hung off the large plate edges. A group of beefalos roamed in and all six of them ordered it. I edged my chair away, fearing for the floor.
That's what's bad about Texas -- if "some" is good, then by God, a ton of it will be better.
The only exception that I can think of is The Club, a restaurant in Beeville, Tx. I look forward to eating there every time. They serve Cajun food.
Let us examine the "classic" chicken-fried steak which is a piece of beef that's had the hell beat out of it, then dredged in flour, then a milk and egg mixture and then flour again and fried until cirsp. Think: wallpaper paste-crusted steak. The accompaniment is thick white gravy, ladled generously over the poor old beat-up beef.
In Texas they savor Tex-Mex (too mild to be commented on here -- don't they have any hot chilis in Texas?) and they put tomatoes and beans in their chili. That is, quite frankly, an abomination. Chili is pure meat, spices and a little onion -- maybe some chopped green pepper if the cook is feeling frisky.
They eat waffles. Waffle Houses are strewn across Texas with an abandon not seen since Starbucks. We were having breakfast in one (Richie's idea, not mine) and asked the little 17 year old waitress (a good five months pregnant) what time it was and she said, "Oh, honey, I don't have a watch no more; my no-good sister done stole it to buy dope." Which is one good thing about Texas restaurants -- the female servers (and they are all women) always have a story. Can't remember the town, but one of ours actually sat down with us in the booth and bewailed the actions of her drunken daughter! Really, you get much more than just food down there.
Texans can often, however, grill up a good steak. That's when they keep portions reasonable. We ate once at a restaurant in Huntsville, Tx. that served 32 oz. steaks which were so big they hung off the large plate edges. A group of beefalos roamed in and all six of them ordered it. I edged my chair away, fearing for the floor.
That's what's bad about Texas -- if "some" is good, then by God, a ton of it will be better.
The only exception that I can think of is The Club, a restaurant in Beeville, Tx. I look forward to eating there every time. They serve Cajun food.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Staycations
You don't have to live in a tent in a forest for 30 days; you can get a very nice pick-up in just a morning.
We went to the Palos Verde library book sale which involves a beautiful drive up The Hill, past million dollar homes and breath-taking views of greater Los Angeles and out to the Pacific.
Once there, we scored a bunch of throw-away books -- for the trip to France. Read 'em and leave 'em.
Then, ravished by hunger at such hard work, we went to Fatburger and had hamburgers and split an order of onion rings.
Made the noon Farmers' Market at 12 on the spot and wandered around. Granted we go every Friday, but there is something about the carefully heaped glistening fresh fruits and vegetables that soothes the eye's soul. Bonjour Laurent (imported cheeses) had a photo of his new son with his older sister -- adorable kids.
It may (or may not) rain this afternoon and we've got leftover albondigas soup for dinner, perfect for not-so-clement weather. "Cosy food." With chips and salsa, of course.
Three hours - three countries -- The Land of the Rich (Palos Verdes;) America (Fatburger) and Europe (Farmers' Market.) Vacation enough for me.
We went to the Palos Verde library book sale which involves a beautiful drive up The Hill, past million dollar homes and breath-taking views of greater Los Angeles and out to the Pacific.
Once there, we scored a bunch of throw-away books -- for the trip to France. Read 'em and leave 'em.
Then, ravished by hunger at such hard work, we went to Fatburger and had hamburgers and split an order of onion rings.
Made the noon Farmers' Market at 12 on the spot and wandered around. Granted we go every Friday, but there is something about the carefully heaped glistening fresh fruits and vegetables that soothes the eye's soul. Bonjour Laurent (imported cheeses) had a photo of his new son with his older sister -- adorable kids.
It may (or may not) rain this afternoon and we've got leftover albondigas soup for dinner, perfect for not-so-clement weather. "Cosy food." With chips and salsa, of course.
Three hours - three countries -- The Land of the Rich (Palos Verdes;) America (Fatburger) and Europe (Farmers' Market.) Vacation enough for me.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
On Fame
Coming home from the gym, we heard a brief report on Scottish singing star Susan Boyle. It seems that she has been invited to sing for President Obama during the 4th of July events in Washington.
I haven't followed her story closely other than the headlines - Wins! Loses! Tantrums! "Rest Cure" so most of America knows a great deal more than I do. The announcer speculated that perhaps "it" was all too much for her. Which got me to thinking about fame.
What would you do if you woke up tomorrow morning to national and international acclaim?
If it was for something you'd worked hard on for years, you'd probably be pleased. "Ah, recognition! At last!" and then ... "How can I cash in on this?" (It would be un-American not to try to make a buck.)
Since it's extremely unlikely that this could happen to me (can't sing, can't dance; more than a few would add, "Can't write") I let my mind explore the possibilities and finally decided that there would be two of me. Public and Private. Public would be meticulous about being on time for appearances ("Hi, Oprah") and gracious to the public. "I'd be happy to sign your menu/piece of paper" "Of course, you can have your picture taken with me!" I would be well-groomed and appropriately dressed for the occasion, too.
Those are a celebrity's jobs. Too few of them seem to know that.
"Private" me would be exactly what I am today (and was yesterday and will be tomorrow.) In a word: plain.
But it is a fine amusement to picture myself (preferably in a gigantic, complicated hat) being gracious. To imagine murmuring swells of hushed, "Look! It's Her!" Nodding, smiling -- waving a hand to the adoring throngs...
But best of all would be knowing I can go right back to "plain" where none of my friends or family think I'm special. Fame -- it's just another job.
I haven't followed her story closely other than the headlines - Wins! Loses! Tantrums! "Rest Cure" so most of America knows a great deal more than I do. The announcer speculated that perhaps "it" was all too much for her. Which got me to thinking about fame.
What would you do if you woke up tomorrow morning to national and international acclaim?
If it was for something you'd worked hard on for years, you'd probably be pleased. "Ah, recognition! At last!" and then ... "How can I cash in on this?" (It would be un-American not to try to make a buck.)
Since it's extremely unlikely that this could happen to me (can't sing, can't dance; more than a few would add, "Can't write") I let my mind explore the possibilities and finally decided that there would be two of me. Public and Private. Public would be meticulous about being on time for appearances ("Hi, Oprah") and gracious to the public. "I'd be happy to sign your menu/piece of paper" "Of course, you can have your picture taken with me!" I would be well-groomed and appropriately dressed for the occasion, too.
Those are a celebrity's jobs. Too few of them seem to know that.
"Private" me would be exactly what I am today (and was yesterday and will be tomorrow.) In a word: plain.
But it is a fine amusement to picture myself (preferably in a gigantic, complicated hat) being gracious. To imagine murmuring swells of hushed, "Look! It's Her!" Nodding, smiling -- waving a hand to the adoring throngs...
But best of all would be knowing I can go right back to "plain" where none of my friends or family think I'm special. Fame -- it's just another job.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Sticker Shock
Richie had business at the meat counter at the supermarket, so I trailed over to the spice aisle. I must say McCormick & Co. is rather sneaky. They have a huge display of their red/white tins of stuff right next to a fancy rack with glass bottles of spices. That label downplays McCormick and stresses "gourmet." Either container, spices are wildly expensive. Average prices run beween $5.40 to $8.75 and those are often for less than an ounce of product!
But they've been selling spices for a long time. Willoughby McCormick founded the company in 1889 -- he was making fruit syrups and root beer in his Baltimore home. In 1896, he had prospered enough to buy out the F.G. Emmett Spice Co. of Philadelphia. By the 1900s, he was regularly importing spices from all over the world and that explains why spices cost so much.
Dr. Bader ("Mr. 10,001") conveniently lists spices and their country of origin today in his book.
Allspice - Jamaica, Central and South America
Caraway seeds - they're harvested at night (!) before the dew evaporates. Netherlands.
Cardamom - India
Chervil - France
Cinnamon - China, Indonesia and mainly Thailand
Cloves - Indonesia
Ginger - India and West Africa
Marjoram - France, Chile and Peru
Nutmeg - East and West Indies
Paprika - Hungary
Saffron - The most expensive because it is extracted from the stigma of a flowering crocus and is only imported from Spain.
Tarragon - native to Siberia, mostly imported from Spain and France
Tumeric - India and Peru
Vanilla - Also expensive as it is hand-pollinated when grown commercially. In the wild, one species of hummingbird (and one only) pollinates.
But they've been selling spices for a long time. Willoughby McCormick founded the company in 1889 -- he was making fruit syrups and root beer in his Baltimore home. In 1896, he had prospered enough to buy out the F.G. Emmett Spice Co. of Philadelphia. By the 1900s, he was regularly importing spices from all over the world and that explains why spices cost so much.
Dr. Bader ("Mr. 10,001") conveniently lists spices and their country of origin today in his book.
Allspice - Jamaica, Central and South America
Caraway seeds - they're harvested at night (!) before the dew evaporates. Netherlands.
Cardamom - India
Chervil - France
Cinnamon - China, Indonesia and mainly Thailand
Cloves - Indonesia
Ginger - India and West Africa
Marjoram - France, Chile and Peru
Nutmeg - East and West Indies
Paprika - Hungary
Saffron - The most expensive because it is extracted from the stigma of a flowering crocus and is only imported from Spain.
Tarragon - native to Siberia, mostly imported from Spain and France
Tumeric - India and Peru
Vanilla - Also expensive as it is hand-pollinated when grown commercially. In the wild, one species of hummingbird (and one only) pollinates.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The (Self-Proclaimed) Racist
"I'd Rather We Got Casinos and Other Black Thoughts" by Larry Wilmore Hyperion 224 pages $23.99
Wilmore is the Daily Show's Senior Black Correspondent and has also been a TV producer, actor, comedian and writer. I'm surprised he didn't include "Brotha can't keep a job" given his tone throughout.
He's on a crusade to have the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NACCP) change "Colored" to "Chocolate" saying who doesn't like chocolate? He posits that renaming a product often works out well. No one would go see a cowboy movie staring Marion Morrison, but John Wayne pulled 'em in big time. Of note, Ving Rahmes' real name is Irving and Wilmore writes "no brother should really ever be called Irving." Since Irving is a classic Jewish name, I found that racist!
He believes in the "Shetland Negro" -- smaller black stars such as Gary Coleman -- who never get taller and bigger and thus are unthreatening to whites.
He wants to run as a black -- sorry, chocolate - leader and wonders why they appoint themselves that and are not elected.
A guest on his radio show explains "nizames" which are not your real name nor your nickname, but a name that expresses your character. Example given: Puff Daddy was a nickname for Sean "Puffy" Combs. P.Diddy is his nizame.
Once I got over my shock at some of the stuff in the book (proud resident of PC So. Calif. for the past 46 years) I enjoyed his humor, but my jury's still out on exactly how racist he is or meant to be.
Wilmore is the Daily Show's Senior Black Correspondent and has also been a TV producer, actor, comedian and writer. I'm surprised he didn't include "Brotha can't keep a job" given his tone throughout.
He's on a crusade to have the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NACCP) change "Colored" to "Chocolate" saying who doesn't like chocolate? He posits that renaming a product often works out well. No one would go see a cowboy movie staring Marion Morrison, but John Wayne pulled 'em in big time. Of note, Ving Rahmes' real name is Irving and Wilmore writes "no brother should really ever be called Irving." Since Irving is a classic Jewish name, I found that racist!
He believes in the "Shetland Negro" -- smaller black stars such as Gary Coleman -- who never get taller and bigger and thus are unthreatening to whites.
He wants to run as a black -- sorry, chocolate - leader and wonders why they appoint themselves that and are not elected.
A guest on his radio show explains "nizames" which are not your real name nor your nickname, but a name that expresses your character. Example given: Puff Daddy was a nickname for Sean "Puffy" Combs. P.Diddy is his nizame.
Once I got over my shock at some of the stuff in the book (proud resident of PC So. Calif. for the past 46 years) I enjoyed his humor, but my jury's still out on exactly how racist he is or meant to be.
Monday, June 1, 2009
How To Blow Half of a Morning...
Visit PerrinPost.com and rove through the blogs -- I particularly enjoyed FlyerTalk.com (celebs in First on American) and CrankyFlyer.com.
Wendy Perrin is a very well-known travel editor for Conde Nast Traveller which, come to think of it, you can read online (save your postman's back!) CNTraveller.com
Wendy Perrin is a very well-known travel editor for Conde Nast Traveller which, come to think of it, you can read online (save your postman's back!) CNTraveller.com
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