Food Network Kitchens: What's going on in food

The pictures of Dave blog:

Dude, also, legitimately not an attempted viral marketing campaign; we actually do this (not always with Doritos — previous iterations have been Cheez Whiz, Spam, and, much less compellingly, pork tenderloin), and we take it fairly seriously, to the extent that it’s no longer judged, as certain people had a tendency to get a little out of control with the bragging rights winning bestows. [us via eater and videogum]

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

Apologies for the long hiatus — what better to come back with than this, via the New York Post, on potential new careers in the culinary world, and our very own Dave:

Image courtesy Michael Sofronski/NYDN

Which is sort of oddly reminiscent of old careers available in the culinary world, by virtue of this shot from former ICA challenger Ludo Lefebvre‘s cookbook:

Image courtesy Stephen Wayda/Crave

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

I don’t dine out much. But recently, upon the advice of Rupa B., I found myself in a wonderful Swiss restaurant, accompanied by mom, dad, and girlfriend. The momdad was in town on a brief visit. Parents and girlfriend were meeting for the first time. Ice was being broken, jokes were being cracked, good feelings were in the air. Menus were passed.

I immediately zeroed in on an appetizer that Rupa had been singing hymns to for months, the dish that in truth, though unbeknownst to anyone else at the table, had landed us there in the first place: braised, breaded, and fried duck necks. Not legs, not breasts, not even livers. Necks. Rupa had described it in its crispy, bony, messy glory as a sort of ennobling of the Buffalo wing, which was more than enough to sell me on it. My mother scanned the menu and honed in on the same. Somewhere a needle spun wildly.

My mother, you must know, is a woman of strong opinions, strenuously expressed. Her moral compass is nothing if not a sensitive instrument. I have known this for 38 years. I have also known that it can chart some very odd courses. And yet somehow one is prone to forgetting. Until something comes up. In a restaurant. Something like duck neck.

I was on the verge of ordering the vertebral morsels when my mom got wind of it and went…BALLISTIC. It was as if the chef had put the contents of his shower drain on the menu under the cynical supposition that someone would be idiot enough to pay for it-and that someone turned out to be her own flesh and blood.

“Ridiculous! $8.50 for DUCK NECK!? There’s no meat in it! This is Depression food! No, worse, shtetl cuisine!  Your great grandparents did not come to America for you to eat duck neck. Leave the duck necks in Kiev! Blechhh!!!”

The notion that a restaurant would show such little regard for its customers as to attempt to serve them the NECK of a DUCK; and worse, the idea that her son would show such little self-regard, would actually encourage the practice by ordering a DUCK’S NECK, produced paroxysms of maternal indignation that nearly derailed the entire evening and resurfaced in blood pressure-raising spasms throughout the weekend. I’ve long been fascinated by the ways different cultures value types and cuts of meat, the ways meaning gets inscribed in meat, such that animal anatomy can be read as a kind of map of a culture. But tonight was not the night to engage in a discussion of cultural relativity, sociology, or the ethics of offal-eating. The duck neck would have to wait.

Until last night, that is, when I returned with Rupa. This time around the menus were unnecessary. We sat at the bar, we drank good ale, and we gnawed our duck necks with extreme relish, in peace and without compunction. They turn out to be extremely, um, skeletal. And delicious.

Mom, you missed out.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian

For this librarian’s money the must-read article of last week was Adam Gopnik‘s brilliant, lyrical meditation on the pull of cookbooks and what they teach us about desire and disappointment. Though Gopnik at times risks overburdening the cookbook with significance (“Anyone who cooks knows that it is in following recipes that one first learns the anticlimax of the actual, the perpetual disappointment of the thing achieved.”), his essay got me thinking about why it is that this deep into the digital age, with old media fast collapsing around it, with the proliferation of blogs and unending flows of free content/recipes/instruction, the cookbook — the kind you can touch and stain and dogear and shelve, the object -- endures, a bright (i.e. profitable) spot in the beleaguered world of book publishing. And it seems to me that cookbooks have held up so well because as books go there is something fundamentally different about a cookbook. It’s an obvious point, but it’s not simply that a cookbook is also a sort of manual, a tool (plenty of self-help guides fit that description), or that a high percentage of cookbooks are purchased as gifts (it’s tough to wrap a bow around an e-book).

The difference, I think, is not in the uses the cookbook is put to; it runs deeper and relates to how a cookbook is, or rather is not, read. Because in a way we don’t read cookbooks so much as we reread cookbooks. Unlike other forms of printed matter, we return to cookbooks again and again. And in the process a relationship forms, an intimacy results. We need cookbooks on our shelves because their presence matters, because their materiality is a form of companionship, and because nothing the digital age has come up with confers presence, offers a person something they can form an attachment to. Respected newspapers my close, beloved magazines may shut down, but cookbooks, I suspect, won’t be going away any time soon.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian

The restaurant critic Jonathan Gold may have won a Pulitzer for criticism (the first food writer to do so), but I prefer to think of him as LA’s poet laureate. Check out the profile of Gold in this week’s New Yorker (subscription only) and you’ll understand why. Or better yet click on over to the LA Weekly for an all-you-can-read buffet of Gold’s writing. He’s the best.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian

Am pretty sure the latter was posted a few months ago, but is there a new trend I’m not aware of, of discussing food and wine in Radiohead terms?

From Jarrett Wrisley‘s piece in today’s Atlantic Food Channel:

And this: “Black pepper, cumin, soil and leather. Elegant. A hint of fruit, but not a lot…Cherries. They’re playing ‘Paranoid Android’, which is also nice.” I wrote that about the Meerea Park Terracotta 1998, which an iPod at the wine bar decided to pair with Radiohead’s best album. Welcome to the New World.

Then there was a Thomas Wines Kiss 2007 that was aggressively oaked and very fruity, and finally the Brokenwood Graveyard 2005. The Graveyard Shiraz is probably the Hunter’s most celebrated red. That wine, which was equal parts red fruit and savory earth, tasted like it would age wonderfully, but it was admittedly strange at first. Sort of like OK Computer.

Which is all completely fine, and understandable on the face of it, but in the context of my recently having seen this in McSweeney’s, I have to wonder.

(Unrelatedly, Daniel Maurer over at Grub Street had a whole analogy comparing David Chang to Fugazi-era Ian MacKaye, which I can totally get behind, though if it were my metaphor, I’d probably err on the side of Minor Threat-era.)

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

photo courtesy Rent-A-Ruminant

Meanwhile, The Onion provides the goat’s side of the story.

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

This arrived at my house yesterday — presented without comment:

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

So much win:

Everyone looks glum. “I must console myself,” Marcella says. She orders a Jack Daniel’s.

[via]

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

In another of a series of fantastic food articles in Salon, Alex van Buren sums up what I’ve been trying to articulate over the last couple days and haven’t been able to — that sure, it’s an easy cheap shot to call Gourmet elitist and out of touch, but one thing overlooked by all the Monday morning quarterbacks is that Gourmet was the rare magazine that managed to really capture the inherent emotionality of food, which I’m phrasing poorly, but that grasped that food could bring both joy and suffering, and told the stories of both. Van Buren on Reichl:

I would suggest that Ruth Reichl was not a snob, but — at her best — an egalitarian badass. She is a lover of food in all its sensuous, unruly glory. She put haute French chefs like Daniel Boulud in line for a food cart on the street. She ran features about politics and poverty — the life of a tomato laborer, a brilliant Chinese cook serving $7 entrées in Toronto, the travails of a restaurant parking valet. She asked Dominican novelist Junot Diaz to wax poetic about his Bronx childhood and sent readers from all corners of Gotham scurrying onto the 4/5 train to eat crunchy arroz con gandules (rice and pigeon peas).

The brilliant Julia Langbein, writing in New York magazine, has similar to say:

But what makes me sad about Condé Nast’s decision to shutter the magazine isn’t the death of this iconic American image of the good life, but rather the end of the kind of work done behind that image.

Me, I’m just sad. I’m sad for my friends who no longer have jobs, I’m sad for the industry that saw Gourmet as unsupportable, and I’m sad for the stories that won’t get told.

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

This morning I’m imagining the FN Library without Gourmet Magazine. From the stacks, I’m removing James Beard and M.F.K. Fisher; Jane Grigson and Roy Andies de Groot; Edna Lewis and John T Edge and Ruth Reichl and on and on, all the authors who at one time or other called Gourmet home. I’m imagining a skeleton library, a library impoverished, emptied of nearly all of its smartest, most evocative, most literate writing, of so many of my most beloved authors. These are the thoughts running across my mind as I mourn the sudden passing of Gourmet Magazine. And they leave me feeling ill.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian

Gael Greene breaks out the wayback machine, reposting her original 1979 review of the legendary, and  sadly-now-closed, Chanterelle:

From the a la carte list, a splendid mille-feuille of gently poached oysters spiked with garlic and anchovy in cream, and perfectly cooked chicken in a tasty sauce scented with morels and chives. Ripe pears in a tea sabayon… And all this from a menu written, refreshingly…in English.

Highly recommend reading the whole thing, if only for the remarkable sense of perspective it gives you about the New York restaurant world over the last 30 years.

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

Here’s a picture of the machine that dips all the bottles at Maker’s Mark:

Actually, there is no machine; every single bottle is dipped by hand.

Dave Mechlowicz, Culinary Purchasing Manager

To all afflicted by the unique claustrophobia of small kitchens, from a Bogota fritangeria comes a design solution:

Nice, though nicer still in red:

The shop pictured specializes in fritanga, a Bogotano specialty akin to Brazilian churrasco and Ecuadoran parrillada, which is to say it’s a mixed grill of sorts.

The difference being twofold:

1. in lieu of a variety of meats, fritanga opts for variety meat, or often does (cow lung and intestine, in my experience)
2. in lieu of a grill, fritanga is brought to fruition in hot oil.

Yes, the whole crunchy, chewy, beastly, and glorious mess is deep fried (thus the name, which translates to ‘little fried things’), thrown onto a plate with little potatoes (also deep-fried), harpooned with toothpicks (in lieu of knife and fork), and served with a mildly spicy, cilantro-flavored chile sauce (aji).

Delectate on this!

I was reminded of that delicious experience last week when the Food Network Kitchens had the pleasure of a visit from the master meat cutters of Fleisher’s Grass-Fed & Organic Meats, an independent butcher shop just up the Hudson River, in Kingston, NY. Owner Joshua Applegate, who has probably done more than anyone to revive interest in the butcher’s craft, argued persuasively for spending more for better meat and for eating the whole animal nose to tail and everything in between. But, for all his charm and oratorical skills, nothing he said so compellingly made the case for the ethics and economics of nose-to-tail eating as the lunch he and his team cooked up for us: pork skin gnocchi with wilted greens; braised and fried pork cheeks; a tongue taco bar; and sausages galore. A fritanga unto itself, indeed.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian (all photos courtesy Marlene Ramirez-Cancio)

As a Detroit Lions fan and a FN employee, I have to restrain myself daily from comparing the two, but now the new coach has gone and made it much more difficult:

“Isn’t there a show on Food Network where they give you six ingredients and say, ‘Make something out of this?’ ” Schwartz said. “That is a little of what this is. In Tennessee, our system changed a little bit each year. But it was incremental. One or two new players would come in, and we’d say, ‘This fits us better this year.’ This is a huge melting pot here. That’s probably the most difficult thing – nobody was familiar with the terminology or the system because the system was developed here.”

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

Day two in Kentucky.  Yesterday was a great day.  Kevin Smith, Master Distiller of Maker’s Mark, was our tour guide for the day.  We had about a four hour tour — about three hours longer than average.  I can now make bourbon with my eyes closed after that tour; check out some pictures.  Later that evening, we headed off to Bill Samuels’ house for dinner (so f-ing cool).  This guy is a character and a great host.  Charlie and I sat with his wife for dinner, heard stories about his family’s history in the bourbon business.  Now we’re off to Jim Beam…

Dave Mechlowicz, Culinary Purchasing Manager

This weekend is the annual Kentucky Bourbon Festival.  Charlie and I are lucky to be down here as guests of Maker’s Mark — we New Yorkers stand out in this crowd for sure.  This weekend we’ll be hitting up the Maker’s distillery, the Jim Beam distillery, having dinner at Bill Samuels‘ house and much more.  Stay tuned for pictures, and some good knowledge.

Dave Mechlowicz, Culinary Purchasing Manager

I have been cracking myself up over this gallery of misspelled and otherwise odd restaurant menus from the Guardian all afternoon:

On a similar note, there’s this new blog, which has been fairly on point the last few days as well.
Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer

Returned from two weeks in Bogota, Colombia, with mind boggled by a country at once richer (culturally, agriculturally, ecologically) and more immiserated (4.3 million internally displaced persons, approx 10% of the population) than anything I had imagined.

As home to 10% of the world’s biodiversity and encompassing nearly every imaginable ecosystem–from the tropical rainforests, grasslands, alpine forests, deserts, temperate zones and on and on–Colombian cooking draws from a vast larder, and has evolved a fascinating array of distinct regional variations.

During my two weeks I was only able to sample the tiniest fraction of the country’s culinary riches, but I did bring back an insatiable craving for ajiaco santafereño, a soup of which Bogotanos are justly proud, and which must rival the hat and the scarf in providing warmth to the residents of chilly, drizzly Bogota.

Of course, to call ajiaco santafereño a soup is a bit misleading. And to call it a potato soup seems almost disrespectful. Ajiaco comes to the table as a soup, a yellow broth, full of shredded chicken, chunks of potato and corn. But it leaves as the meal itself. Served in black clay bowls, the soup is accompanied by separate bowls of heavy cream, capers and avocado, which are added according to the eater’s preference and which soon bind the soup into a sludgy, filling, and delicious mass.

I imagine it’s well worth attempting at home, but authentic ajiaco santafereño is near impossible to find outside of Colombia, depending as  it does on 3 native potato varieties–good luck finding them–and, crucially, the herb guasca–good luck finding that too–which gives the soup its unique flavor, one that reminds me strongly of artichokes. I imagine one could substitute cilantro for guasca and produce a perfectly delicious soup, but it would be hard to mistake for the real thing.

Jonathan Milder, Research Librarian

My pal Ben over at The Nation just sent me over their new monster food issue — it’s in-depth and fantastic, and a must-read for anyone interested in where food intersects with politics and the future of both. I’ll let him round up who and what’s in it:

• A forum on food democracy with Alice Waters (Chez Panisse), Dan Barber (Blue Hill), Grace Lee Boggs, Dave Murphy and LaDonna Redmond.
  • Alice Waters: School lunch reform is the best way to teach democratic values.
  • Dan Barber: The campaign for food democracy needs to start with boning knives and cast iron skillets.
  • Grace Lee Boggs: How Detroit came to see vacant lots not as blight but as opportunities to grow our own food.
  • Dave Murphy: People are beginning to understand the connection between our stomachs and our common destiny.
  • LaDonna Redmond: To engage a broader audience, food-justice activists need to change their language.
• Raj Patel and Eric Holtz-Gimenez on the Gates Foundation’s flawed approach to ending hunger in Africa.
• Dayo Olopade on DIY urban gardens in New Orleans.
• Anna Lappe on emerging “dining hall” activism.
• Habiba Alcindor on a community farming revival in one of America’s poorest counties. (With slideshow.)
• Michael Pollan on the lasting impact of food and farming visionary Wendell Berry.
• John Nichols on crucial food safety legislation pending in Congress.
• Brent Cunningham reviews several current books about famines and food shortages, challenging the good-food revolution to move beyond its evangelical phase.
• Plus, Katha Pollitt on Nora Ephron’s Julie & Julia, and Ten Things You Can Do to Start a Community Garden, a primer from Walter Mosely and the Editors of The Nation.

It’s fascinating, smart, and well-written. Have at it.

Rupa Bhattacharya, Culinary Writer