Food & Wine pulled a major bait and switch on me. I am not best pleased. The offer was that if I would renew my subscription they would sweeten the deal by including "Our 20 Best Recipes Ever!" (basically a pamphlet) as well as Food & Wine's "Best of the Best - the Best Recipes from the 25 Best Cookbooks of the Year," a hardbound book.
When you boast that "Macaroni and Cheese with Buttery Crumbs" is one of your best recipes ever, you're not that good a cook, are you? Many people have have mastered mac and cheese from scratch by age 12.
I glanced at "Tofu with Spicy Meat Sauce" and wondered briefly if I was hallucinating. I thought tofu was a meat substitute. It is and I wasn't.
Of note, but not much - Robert Duvall's mother's recipe for pan-friend crab cakes. No disrespect, Mrs. Duvall - fine boy you've got there and all, but I have never heard your name associated with cooking, fine or otherwise.
The hardcover book is truly insulting to any intelligence greater than that of a horsefly. You remember the part about "from the 25 Best Cookbooks of the year?" (2012 being the year in question)
"Molto Batali" was published 5/3/2005 which is not 2012.
"The Mozza Cookbook" was out in 20/25/2011.
Same for "Essential Pepin" published 20/'18/2011.
This 280-page "book" is nothing more than an advertisement for the books listed. Of the 25 books listed, from which the recipes in this book have been selected, I'd only heard of 10 of the chef-authors.
Using an ad to sell more advertising ... the backlash is that Sauveur made a similar offer and I was considering it. Not any more. I'm reminded of the remark attributed to Judge Judy, "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining."
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Where Did I Go Wrong?
Well, perhaps the blame isn't entirely mine...in high schools in Kansas City, Mo, (and everywhere else as far as I know) there were mandatory classes. They began in the 8th grade when all of the boys went to "Shop" and made simple things and all of the girls went to "Home Ec" and learned to cook and sew.
If there had been any precedent for it back in the mid-50s I could have taken Shop instead. There wasn't.
To cut to what I'm really talking about; last week Truck had to go into the shop because she "Runs rough in the morning; choke not working causing the truck to run to rich. We fixed choke vacuum and replaced fouled-out spark plugs."
Spark plugs $22.76
Vacuum hose $ 2.25
Carburator cleaner $7.49
Total supplies: $32.41
Labor: $141.72
If only I'd been allowed to take Shop...
If there had been any precedent for it back in the mid-50s I could have taken Shop instead. There wasn't.
To cut to what I'm really talking about; last week Truck had to go into the shop because she "Runs rough in the morning; choke not working causing the truck to run to rich. We fixed choke vacuum and replaced fouled-out spark plugs."
Spark plugs $22.76
Vacuum hose $ 2.25
Carburator cleaner $7.49
Total supplies: $32.41
Labor: $141.72
If only I'd been allowed to take Shop...
Monday, January 28, 2013
The Head Cold From Hell
Saturday morning I woke up with stuffed sinuses. I don't know what lives in our sinuses, but whatever it is, it was in full production mode.
My eyes bulged out and my nose spread halfway across my face such was the volume of inner manufacture.
I blew my nose so often that I figure that I expelled my entire body weight into Kleenexes. Several times.
Happy news though! This morning I woke up toasty warm and wet with sweat. The fever (a terrifying 101) was broken.
I was so much better that I showered and shampooed this morning. But I couldn't help thinking about the utter slob-iness of living in a hoodie track suit for 48 hours. Admittedly it was quite pleasant. Maybe tomorrow I'll be well enough to wash the track suit -- and put it back on and settle onto the couch! Not such a bad life...
My eyes bulged out and my nose spread halfway across my face such was the volume of inner manufacture.
I blew my nose so often that I figure that I expelled my entire body weight into Kleenexes. Several times.
Happy news though! This morning I woke up toasty warm and wet with sweat. The fever (a terrifying 101) was broken.
I was so much better that I showered and shampooed this morning. But I couldn't help thinking about the utter slob-iness of living in a hoodie track suit for 48 hours. Admittedly it was quite pleasant. Maybe tomorrow I'll be well enough to wash the track suit -- and put it back on and settle onto the couch! Not such a bad life...
Saturday, January 26, 2013
"Something Big Is Coming Down!"
"Last night the Murphys and the Brodskys sailed in stately fashion into Charlie's, A New York Joint (preiously reviewed) for a bit of dinner.
We ate well, conversed with some vivacity and when I was through eating, excused myself to go outside for a cigaratte. Happily it wasn't raining which it had been on and off most of the day.
As I stood alongside the building, deep in thought, a young woman came tripping down the sidewalk toward me. She was small in her pants and hoodie top. Just as she reached the door to Charlie's, she stopped dead and sniffed the air. "What's that smell?" she wondered aloud.
"Oh, hellfire, a cigarette Nazi" I thought with despair ino my heart. I held it up and said, "This?"
"No! No!" she said impatiently and sniffed noisily some more. "I think I'm smelling sardines! Do you remember when they all came ashore?"
"I certainly do; my husband and I spent an afternoon helping to clean up the marina." No reaction from her.
"I think they've come back -- (gesturing vaguely) All a this weird weather. Something big is coming down," she announced ominously and she shuddered. She added, "I was out in Ontario today and I smelled the cows. My sniffer (pointing to her nose) has been busy today!" flipped open Charlie's door and slithered inside.
I thought, "Well, Daddy's gift strikes again.* As I pondered this, the door swung open and a couple with two little boys came out. One of the kids said, "Daddy! What's that smell?" and Daddy sniffed and said gently, "That's just the way the ocean smells, son ..."
I finally remembered that Bob and his cronies had been sailing that afternoon and Bob didn't report seeing or smelling sardines or anything else for that matter. We were still safe.
*Daddy's gift: If there is a certifiably insane person in a crowd of 500 or more, then that person will immediately appear at his side, his New Best Friend. Me, too. Thanks, Dad.
We ate well, conversed with some vivacity and when I was through eating, excused myself to go outside for a cigaratte. Happily it wasn't raining which it had been on and off most of the day.
As I stood alongside the building, deep in thought, a young woman came tripping down the sidewalk toward me. She was small in her pants and hoodie top. Just as she reached the door to Charlie's, she stopped dead and sniffed the air. "What's that smell?" she wondered aloud.
"Oh, hellfire, a cigarette Nazi" I thought with despair ino my heart. I held it up and said, "This?"
"No! No!" she said impatiently and sniffed noisily some more. "I think I'm smelling sardines! Do you remember when they all came ashore?"
"I certainly do; my husband and I spent an afternoon helping to clean up the marina." No reaction from her.
"I think they've come back -- (gesturing vaguely) All a this weird weather. Something big is coming down," she announced ominously and she shuddered. She added, "I was out in Ontario today and I smelled the cows. My sniffer (pointing to her nose) has been busy today!" flipped open Charlie's door and slithered inside.
I thought, "Well, Daddy's gift strikes again.* As I pondered this, the door swung open and a couple with two little boys came out. One of the kids said, "Daddy! What's that smell?" and Daddy sniffed and said gently, "That's just the way the ocean smells, son ..."
I finally remembered that Bob and his cronies had been sailing that afternoon and Bob didn't report seeing or smelling sardines or anything else for that matter. We were still safe.
*Daddy's gift: If there is a certifiably insane person in a crowd of 500 or more, then that person will immediately appear at his side, his New Best Friend. Me, too. Thanks, Dad.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Quibbling
Quibbling - raising petty or frivolous objections.
Jeez, Agree On A Name!
A well-known Italian salad is: slices of fresh tomatoes, slices of mozzarella, garnished with fresh basil and often dressed in olive oil and vinegar or another dressing.
In Italian, I understand that it is called "Caprese." It was spelled "Caprice" on a menu for an New York-Italian restaurant. But I think Marie's (recently reviewed) is the most egregrious insulter. It's simply listed as "Capri."
This Restaurant Guy Could Be Filled with Mozarella...
Page 145, opening line of the chapter headed Sour Grapes: No bottle of wine costs more than $5 to make. He's talking about the grapes themselves but, er, wine does come in bottles? Many wines do have artist-designed labels?
He goes on to say that wine is a commodity and that the price is driven by supply and demand; mystique and marketing and ratings. That I can believe based on all of the cork sniffers I've seen over the years.
His riff on restaurant smells is interesting. He said that there's no linen pick-up on Sundays so Saturday's linens sit until Monday. Despite being tightly closed, they smell.
The grease trap in every kitchen is the worst smell. So bad that he hired a guy to come in and dump it and clean the containers for him. But today, he says that his Del Posto restaurant has a filling station and that he runs two box trucks and his Excursion off of this scrap oil.
Okay, to do that reason tells me he's frying a helluva lot of stuff in his various kitchens.
He wrote that he changes the toilet seats on every toilet once a month. I have no idea what he does with the old ones, but brand-new ones are put in place every month. (At $20 a seat.) I'm no clinician but this sounds maybe a little bit over-the-top? As in obsessive compulsive? Extreme horror of bodily function off-shoots?
At least the guy is very definite about his likes and dislikes. And unafraid to share these opinons with us.
Jeez, Agree On A Name!
A well-known Italian salad is: slices of fresh tomatoes, slices of mozzarella, garnished with fresh basil and often dressed in olive oil and vinegar or another dressing.
In Italian, I understand that it is called "Caprese." It was spelled "Caprice" on a menu for an New York-Italian restaurant. But I think Marie's (recently reviewed) is the most egregrious insulter. It's simply listed as "Capri."
This Restaurant Guy Could Be Filled with Mozarella...
Page 145, opening line of the chapter headed Sour Grapes: No bottle of wine costs more than $5 to make. He's talking about the grapes themselves but, er, wine does come in bottles? Many wines do have artist-designed labels?
He goes on to say that wine is a commodity and that the price is driven by supply and demand; mystique and marketing and ratings. That I can believe based on all of the cork sniffers I've seen over the years.
His riff on restaurant smells is interesting. He said that there's no linen pick-up on Sundays so Saturday's linens sit until Monday. Despite being tightly closed, they smell.
The grease trap in every kitchen is the worst smell. So bad that he hired a guy to come in and dump it and clean the containers for him. But today, he says that his Del Posto restaurant has a filling station and that he runs two box trucks and his Excursion off of this scrap oil.
Okay, to do that reason tells me he's frying a helluva lot of stuff in his various kitchens.
He wrote that he changes the toilet seats on every toilet once a month. I have no idea what he does with the old ones, but brand-new ones are put in place every month. (At $20 a seat.) I'm no clinician but this sounds maybe a little bit over-the-top? As in obsessive compulsive? Extreme horror of bodily function off-shoots?
At least the guy is very definite about his likes and dislikes. And unafraid to share these opinons with us.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
The Fascination of the Restaurant Business
I read Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential" and I was hooked. Yesterday, this popped into view at the library.
"Restaurant Man" by Joe Bastianich Viking Pres 275 pages $27.95
His parents are Felice and Lidia (yes, the famous Lidia Bastianich) and he grew up in the restaurant trade. In fact, they loved on the 2nd floor over their restuarant. Bastianich describes "Buonavia" as a "70's typical red-sauce joint." His father didn't cook - he'd hired a chef - but he did all of the front of the house things and all of the buying. His mother tended to stay in the background, running the cashier or the bar.
Family vacations were spent traveling in Italy and tasting everything they could get their hands on, looking for new recipes for their place. This is where Lidia came into play. She wanted local tastes, common to Italy but unheard of in the United States. For instance, she introduced polenta and rissotto to the customers and they came back for more.
Okay, that's historical, that's "how it happened," but the real story is in the Restaurant Man's duties. First and foremost of them is never get screwed in a deal. Keep a set of scales at the delivery room door and use them. Once you'e signed off on something, you're stuck with it.
Bastianich's advice: Thirty per cent of your monthly take is going to be the food and wine costs. Another 30 per cent is going to be labor and salaries; add 20 per cent for miscellanous -- including the rent -- and 20 percent is profit. Your rent per month should equal your gross take on your slowest day.
That's the kind of insider stuff that I love to know. And you should know that wine by the glass is usually marked up four times the actual cost.
"Restaurant Man" by Joe Bastianich Viking Pres 275 pages $27.95
His parents are Felice and Lidia (yes, the famous Lidia Bastianich) and he grew up in the restaurant trade. In fact, they loved on the 2nd floor over their restuarant. Bastianich describes "Buonavia" as a "70's typical red-sauce joint." His father didn't cook - he'd hired a chef - but he did all of the front of the house things and all of the buying. His mother tended to stay in the background, running the cashier or the bar.
Family vacations were spent traveling in Italy and tasting everything they could get their hands on, looking for new recipes for their place. This is where Lidia came into play. She wanted local tastes, common to Italy but unheard of in the United States. For instance, she introduced polenta and rissotto to the customers and they came back for more.
Okay, that's historical, that's "how it happened," but the real story is in the Restaurant Man's duties. First and foremost of them is never get screwed in a deal. Keep a set of scales at the delivery room door and use them. Once you'e signed off on something, you're stuck with it.
Bastianich's advice: Thirty per cent of your monthly take is going to be the food and wine costs. Another 30 per cent is going to be labor and salaries; add 20 per cent for miscellanous -- including the rent -- and 20 percent is profit. Your rent per month should equal your gross take on your slowest day.
That's the kind of insider stuff that I love to know. And you should know that wine by the glass is usually marked up four times the actual cost.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Best Pizza Crust Ever?
Yesterday we went over to the San Fernando Valley to have a farewell lunch with Richie's brother Charlie and his wife, Rosalind, who flew back to Long Island today. We deferred to them on restaurant choice and they both enthusiastically shouted, "Maria's!"
Maria's is one of the many restaurants located on Ventura Boulevard. Midway through lunch, I realized that the scene outside could be on Long Island itself - two-story buildings, not an inch of space between them, a mad mix of dry cleaners, furniture and clothing stores, and restaurants.
Maria's has a patio running the width of the building and two dining rooms that clearly indicate that at some time in the past, the restaurant expanded into the building next door. This room is more formal with white tableclothes and painted frescoes on the walls. We ate in the other half which has big banquettes behind the picture windows onto the patio and street. This is the take-out side, bristling with neon signs.
With our beers came a basket of wonderful warm bread -- thin, chewy on the outside and soft inside as well as cruets of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Our server, Julia, from Peru then brought a separate shallow dish with the above plus flecks of garlic and green onion. The bread was pizza dough that had been baked and cut into wedges. We were nearly growling and drooling as we ripped into it.
Rosalind was thrilled to find that the soup of the day was Cream of Broccoli. She astounded me further by announcing, "Oh, I love broccoli!" My sister-in-law is a strange one.
Richie and Charlie got minestrone -- a clear broth crammed and jammed with cut vegetables and then pasta with marinara sauce. I ordered a small Caesar salad and a thin-crust pineapple and pepperoni pizza.
I may have found nearly the perfect Caesar salad. The lettuce was so fresh and crisp that I could visualize it out in a garden, eagerly bouncing up to say, "Take me! Take me!" to the chef. Maria's makes their own dressing which may explain the excellence. It makes all the difference in the world as good as Girard's Caesar dressing may be. It also helps that they didn't drown the lettuce in dressing or add too many strips of Parmesan.
The pizza crust was perfect -- so light it had risen above the pan edge to bask in the oven's heat and so weighed down with sauce, pepperoni and pineapple that it was thin in the middle. I've made it last remarkably well -- two slices at lunch, two more for dinner last night and -- grand finale -- three slices for lunch today.
MARIA'S ITALIAN KITCHEN 13353 Ventura Blvd, Sherman Oaks 818-906-0783 mariasitaliankitchen.com
Maria's is one of the many restaurants located on Ventura Boulevard. Midway through lunch, I realized that the scene outside could be on Long Island itself - two-story buildings, not an inch of space between them, a mad mix of dry cleaners, furniture and clothing stores, and restaurants.
Maria's has a patio running the width of the building and two dining rooms that clearly indicate that at some time in the past, the restaurant expanded into the building next door. This room is more formal with white tableclothes and painted frescoes on the walls. We ate in the other half which has big banquettes behind the picture windows onto the patio and street. This is the take-out side, bristling with neon signs.
With our beers came a basket of wonderful warm bread -- thin, chewy on the outside and soft inside as well as cruets of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Our server, Julia, from Peru then brought a separate shallow dish with the above plus flecks of garlic and green onion. The bread was pizza dough that had been baked and cut into wedges. We were nearly growling and drooling as we ripped into it.
Rosalind was thrilled to find that the soup of the day was Cream of Broccoli. She astounded me further by announcing, "Oh, I love broccoli!" My sister-in-law is a strange one.
Richie and Charlie got minestrone -- a clear broth crammed and jammed with cut vegetables and then pasta with marinara sauce. I ordered a small Caesar salad and a thin-crust pineapple and pepperoni pizza.
I may have found nearly the perfect Caesar salad. The lettuce was so fresh and crisp that I could visualize it out in a garden, eagerly bouncing up to say, "Take me! Take me!" to the chef. Maria's makes their own dressing which may explain the excellence. It makes all the difference in the world as good as Girard's Caesar dressing may be. It also helps that they didn't drown the lettuce in dressing or add too many strips of Parmesan.
The pizza crust was perfect -- so light it had risen above the pan edge to bask in the oven's heat and so weighed down with sauce, pepperoni and pineapple that it was thin in the middle. I've made it last remarkably well -- two slices at lunch, two more for dinner last night and -- grand finale -- three slices for lunch today.
MARIA'S ITALIAN KITCHEN 13353 Ventura Blvd, Sherman Oaks 818-906-0783 mariasitaliankitchen.com
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