Fat Guy

I think your comments, while recognizing that times have changed, may underestimate just how much. The cult of celebrity chefdom is a very real and significant phenomenon that bears only vague relation to anything from the past. While it's possible to cite a few outliers from Escoffier to Child to Bocuse, the landscape now is fundamentally different, with chefs now having their own category of celebrity. That would be a valid explanation if celebrity chefdom remained limited to the Food TV universe. But chefs are now celebrities across all media. The Restaurant was not on Food TV. It was on NBC. In addition, Food TV may have started as a niche cable network but is now more significant, and food programming has spilled over to Bravo, Discovery, et al. Thank goodness for that. Although, I think you mean Dance Fever.

No lottery winnings, just an extremely generous host and an extremely generous kitchen. It's not clear how many courses we had, because there are a few ways to count them. But here's the quick rundown. Some of these photos, all taken with the cell phone and no flash, came out a lot better than others. Sorry for the bad ones, but I imposed a one-photo-per-presentation rule on myself so as not to interrupt the meal too much. We started off with two canapes and a soup. One canape consisted of gougeres and the other the signature salmon cornets. My soup was gazpacho. I should add, my host and I were each presented with a different soup. For almost every course, we each had something different, which when you think about it over this many courses is a pretty remarkable feat considering there were other people eating in the restaurant too. Logistics and good taste prevented me from photographing his dishes, so the photos are only of my own dishes. Anyway, my gazpacho was what I guess you'd call normal gazpacho run through the Per Se system: frothy, creamy, with marinated tomatoes and petite basil. My host's gazpacho was a white gazpacho ("ajo blanco") with Thompson grapes, English cucumber and green almonds. Both were superb. His was better. With those we had Laurent-Perrier 1999 Champagne, transitioning into Txomin Etxaniz, Getaria, Txakoli 2008. Then I had a cucumber sorbet with white Brooks cherries and the best, most concentrated French olive oil I've ever had -- a Nicoise olive oil that tasted like liquefied essence of olives laced with pepper and spice. My host had yuzu sorbet with dried plum, tatsoi and white sesame seed puree. Again, his was better. (We played this game with each course. It was academic whose was better since we shared everything, not to mention the baseline was already superlative. But it was a fun game.) I then had the signature "oysters and pearls" with sterling white sturgeon caviar. For my host, haas avocado mousse with the same caviar. Mine was better. Next, for me, madai belly sashimi with compressed Asian pears, Hakurei turnips and scallion emincee with kanzuri. My host had Hawaiian bigeye tuna sashimi with hearts of peach palm and heirloom radishes and Meyer lemon. I don't know whose was better for sure, but I'm thinking mine was better, which is why I neither tasted his nor offered mine. Next I had shaved Greek bottarga over fennel, sweet peppers, tarragon chips and currants with a saffron glaze. For my host, braised red abalone with Koshihikari rice. His was better, and was the best beverage pairing of the day with Blue Apron Ale, brewed for Per Se by Brooklyn Brewery. I then had the signature butter-poached lobster claw (referred to in Per Se terminology as a "mitt") with crispy bone marrow, Oregon cepe mushrooms, watercress and a Bordelaise-like sauce. He had big fin squid with Serrano ham, compressed melon, Picholine olives and compressed basil. The reason all the signatures were coming to me is that I don't eat at Per Se often, whereas my host dines there often enough that he's off the signatures program. However, the signatures were better than the alternate preparations. So, on this course, I won. These were paired with an aged sake, Hanahato, Junmai Kijoshu. Next, two preparations of coddled egg. Mine was a coddled egg with brunoise of black truffle (winter truffles that had been preserved). He had a coddled egg with a Bearnaise-like sauce and shaved Italian summer truffles. This course was too close to call. With Radikon 2003 from Friuli. I then got extremely thin slices head cheese with fresh beans and an herb puree. He had Per Se's rendition of pastrami, which I didn't try, again because I was sure enough that mine would be better that I wasn't inclined to share. Then I had an eggplant confit, which was gorgeous and I'm sure if you care about vegetables it was a great dish. He had snow peas with carrots and a carrot-ginger gelee. The best vegetarian dish of the day. Now, up until this point, I had been harboring one nagging bit of resentment about the service at this lunch. Per Se is one of those restaurants where they wait to bring bread and butter until after the amuse. But an amuse had come and, still, no bread and butter. Then I had a horrible realization: we were still eating amuses. Everything up until this point was just the kitchen warming up. We hadn't really started the meal. They brought the butter, salt and bread arrangements. It wasn't a service glitch. It was attempted murder. So, for the first official course of the actual meal, they brought out quail in a jar. This is a seriously old-school dish: a farce of quail and foie gras cured in quail gelee in a jar. It was then returned to the kitchen and plated up with a peach that could be smelled across the room, some frisee and 100-year-old balsamic vinegar. Yes it was good. I thought for sure that on this one we'd get the same thing, but no, my host did not receive quail in a jar. He had a foie gras torchon. Too close to call here on taste, but the quail in the jar had the coolness factor going for it. So I won on this course despite neither dish tasting better than the other. These were served with Domaine des Schistes "Solera" from Roussillon. The next course we did have the same thing: a whole roasted kingfish (moi) from Hawaii's Big Island. This was presented whole: Then plated up with dates, Belgian endive and red endive, and a bit of Madras curry. We both anticipated that the kingfish would be kind of dense and dry, as kingfish has always been for us. But this was fatty, moist, luscious stuff. Totally redefined my expectations of kingfish. Now we're having lunch. The kingfish was paired with a cocktail, the Per Se dark and stormy, which I think was a better pairing in theory than in practice. Based on the unexpected flavor and great fattiness of the fish, maybe something with absinthe would have been the way to go. Next I had Scottish langoustines, poached and then finished on the plancha, with tomatoes and an olive oil emulsion. He had a gigantic day-boat scallop with pole beans, purple-top turnips and a French pickle sauce, which was also great, but mine was better. There was one element of his that was better, though: the roe (or whatever that red stuff is) from the scallop had been cooked separately and emerged as a richer, more haunting relative of uni. (This was my host's observation, which I happily incorporate as my own.) Yes we were getting a little full. With Antoniolo "Osso San Grato," Gattinara 1999. A pasta course followed. Mine was buckwheat rigatini with fresh shaved Australian black winter truffles, which packed more punch than I'd have imagined. He had porcini lasagna. Too close to call. Finally some meat. I had pork confit, which I figured had to be the last savory course. He had rabbit presee. Another too-close-to-call course. I was expecting that at this point surely desserts would be immediately forthcoming, however the table settings indicated that there was more meat to come. This was getting a little scary. What arrived was, for me, veal tenderloin with morels and asparagus and sweetbreads. It was so great I rose to the occasion. My host had lamb. As an interesting comparison, it was served with lamb sweetbreads. The lamb sweetbreads were far more rustic and assertive than the veal sweetbreads, which were delicate and subtle. Hard to say which was better. The meat courses paired beautifully with Granges des Peres, vin de Pays de l'Herault, Roussilon 2005. I sort of forgot about cheese, but a massive cheese course arrived before dessert. Between us we had 13 cheeses, 7 on each of our plates with one duplicated between the two plates. Also 4 condiments: marinated beets, orange honey, spiced walnuts and mostarda, and a couple of varieties of bread. If I had known at that point that there were six sweet items still to come then I might have run screaming from the building. I had plum sorbet, a fluffernutter float, the "pina colada" dessert, "coffee and doughnuts," "mud pie," and several chocolates. My host had strawberry sorbet, a pineapple float, a hazelnut torte and a "brownie" with chocolate malt. And also chocolates. With the dessert courses, first a Riesling from Hexamer, 2007, then a PX Sherry from Perez-Barquero, "La Canda." At the end of the meal, after 5pm, we were granted an audience with the chef, who I imagined would be Jonathan Benno. But when we entered the kitchen Thomas Keller was there, and Jonathan Benno too. I'm not sure which of them worked the lunch service and which was just coming in for the dinner service, or if they were both doing doubles. We all chatted for a bit and then we left with full stomachs and great memories. Needless to say, this was an over-the-top meal. However I can't think of another restaurant in the city with the capacity to produce this level of meal, with the level of service we received. Per Se is truly in its own category.

Heading out in a few minutes for lunch at Per Se. As I only go once every few years, it's likely that this will be my last chance to visit under the Jonathan Benno regime. For those who are sitting home bored on this potentially rainy day, I plan to post course-by-course updates on Twitter. This is me: http://twitter.com/stevenshawnyc In addition, if I have it in me, I'll post some photos to my Flickr photo stream: http://www.flickr.com/photos/38011667@N03/ I'll circle back later and put all the info here, but for those interested in the real-time account, those are the links. Starting shortly after noon.

I have very little experience dining in Morristown but was very impressed with Mendhi (Indian) and Ming II (pan-Asian ecelctic, both 3 Speedwell Avenue) when I visited. They're operated by the Mehtani family, about which I've written extensively in books and articles. They operate restaurants in Edison and Morristown, and are probably the top Indian-restaurant and -catering company in the region.

I guess there are reasons why anybody might buy anything, but when I walk into a rich dude's kitchen and see a gleaming set of All-Clad it screams ignorance to me. It means someone gave into marketing hype instead of actually buying the best, no less the best value. Whereas, if I see a gleaming set of Falk copper at least I think, hey, this guy may not cook much but he knows what's good and I wish I had it. A well-used set of Falk copper, now that's cool. I've recently had occasion to cook with All-Clad and it wasn't bad, except for the handles which, unfortunately, many other brands have started emulating. It wasn't bad, but it was unremarkable and given that it costs as much as professional Bourgeat or something else really great it's hard to see why anybody buys it save for the fact that it's so well marketed. I've got to guess that the professional kitchens equipped with All-Clad are getting some sort of marketing promo tie-in deal.

I see a lot of home kitchens, some of which are the kitchens of people with an alarming amount of disposable income. I see a lot of things where I say, if I had that kind of budget, I'd want those things even though they're expensive. But some stuff I see, I think no matter how much money I had I still wouldn't buy it. Nominations? I'd like to put forward, for my first nomination, the cookware of All-Clad.

That's what I see in restaurant kitchens: pots like that 28-quart "brazier." And the people in those kitchens seem usually to call them rondeaus, not that my sample size is big enough to support a claim of "usually."

So I was in the store a while back complaining to the bread-counter guy that they put their bread in plastic bags instead of paper, and he said "But this kind of plastic breathes." Fast forward a few months and I saw some spinach packed in plastic packaging that claimed to breathe. It's not that I don't believe it, but is it true? Have plastics evolved to the point of true breathability? How does that work? Very small holes, I guess.

A few thoughts here: Time is the big advantage a home cook has over a professional cook. I don't have the skills of a line cook at a good restaurant, but I only have to make dinner for a few people and I have plenty of time to do it. So when it comes to things that, with time, I can do better than restaurants, I do them. Repetition makes a huge difference. The first few times I cook a dish I'm on the learning curve. I take plenty of time, over the course of several iterations over a period of weeks, months or years, to get the dish up to the point where I can't make it any better. But then some dishes become part of my repertoire, and then making them more efficiently (defined as quickly without loss of quality) becomes the goal. I don't like to make people wait. It upsets me. Last week I was half an hour late to meet some people and I was almost having a panic attack. That kind of lateness happens to me once every couple of years. So when I tell people dinner will be on the table at 7:30, I usually have it on the table at 7:30 plus or minus a minute. So there's definitely a subtraction exercise that goes on when I prepare dinner. If I have less time, I accelerate. I probably enjoy it less in the moment, but I love the feeling of getting it all done in time.

Recently tried the frozen wild salmon -- nice-size individual fillets in cryovac pouches -- and thought it was quite good. It's also incredibly convenient.

I'm not sure there is a tremendous amount of top-level advice specific to food. The subject you're writing about is a detail. If you want to be a professional writer, there are really two components: 1- the actual writing, and 2- the business aspects of writing. Of those the latter is much more important, because there are plenty of successful writers who don't write all that well. With respect to 1- the actual writing, there are many ways to write well, and most specific guidance is not going to apply to everybody. With respect to 2- the business aspects of writing, there are many paths. If you can score an entry-level position at a place like Gourmet then that's one way. If you can develop yourself as a non-food journalist, you can perhaps eventually transition into food (this is how the past two New York Times restaurant reviewers have happened). If you're coming from outside the journalism business, your best bet is probably to get yourself some exposure and audience online, through a blog, heavy participation in online communities, or most helpful a combination of both plus social networking and real networking.

The Society is pleased to welcome Bakin’ & Bacon as an eG Ethics code signatory. Bakin’ & Bacon is a blog by Minnesota-based Darcie B., who says of herself "I like baking, and bacon, and I even like baking with bacon." Welcome!

There are variants by dish and cuisine, but the chef-instructor at the French Culinary Institute who recently schooled me on chopping scallions insisted on the following procedure: 1. Wash thoroughly and trim off the nasty ends of the white parts as well as the top inch or two of the green parts. It's possible to do this with a large number at a time. 2. Working with a small bunch at a time, start chopping finely at the green ends. When you get to the denser part of the green, where it's almost starting to transition into white, stop. 3. Take each one and quarter lengthwise, or halve it if it's a very thin one. 4. Chop the rest finely.

I think calling a very short or very tall pot a rondeau probably stretches the admittedly vague definition to the breaking point. I think "two handles and medium height" is a good working definition.

I think also a nod to Michael Graves and the Target people.

Surely the design team at IKEA deserves a tip of the hat.

The Society is pleased to welcome Eating in Dallas as an eG Ethics code signatory. Eating in Dallas is a dining blog by Margie Hubbard, who has been described by the Dallas Observer as "banking specialist by day and influential food blogger by night." Welcome!

Our family's standard picnic salads are mozzarella-and-tomato, curried chicken salad, potato salad, and carrot salad. Of those, three violate the dairy and/or mayo prohibition but have not been a problem yet. I do think you need to be extra careful when serving those salads outdoors on a hot day, but I also think an absolute prohibition on mayo and all dairy ingredients may be overly cautious. In any event, carrot salad is all veg. The easiest way to make it is to take those "baby carrots" and cut them in half, then blanch, then mix with just enough vinaigrette to make a light coating, plus scallions, dill, raisins, salt, pepper . . . there are a lot of possible variants, including doing it with grated carrots or big carrots sliced on the bias. Mozzarella and tomato (I tend to use smoked mozzarella, which is pretty durable) can of course be made without the mozzarella to be just a tomato salad, as mentioned above.

The nomenclature is all over the map. Sitram even makes a "rondeau casserole."

Yes, for a fish fillet I would use something with the lowest possible sides, most likely a skillet. When I see them cook fish on the plancha in restaurant kitchens, I wish I had a large flat griddle at home, because with the plancha you can really approach from the side (assuming your turner's handle is at an angle). The next best thing is an oversize skillet. Then normal-size skillet. Then saute pan.

I'm only an occasional chicken fryer, maybe once a year. Then again I've had most of my current cookware for 10-15 years. So I've fried chicken in it a few times. I'll say that the most enjoyable vessel for frying has been one I don't have: the Lodge cast-iron Dutch oven. This combines great heat retention with nice high sides (relative to a skillet or saute pan) for splatter control. When it comes to turning chicken pieces with a spoon or tongs the high sides are not a problem. A stockpot would present a problem here, but not the Dutch oven shape, which is basically the rondeau shape. Since I don't have a cast-iron Dutch oven, and don't fry chicken often enough to justify owning one, I use the rondeau or, more likely, both rondeaus. There's nothing wrong with a saute pan or skillet for frying chicken. Indeed when I've needed to make it for a big crew I've used my 12" skillets because they accommodate more pieces than a 10" rondeau or saute pan. However there is more splatter when you use a skillet. Splatter gets worse as sides get lower. The rondeau seems to be a good compromise between splatter and access. If you extend the equation out to a stockpot it becomes so much harder to turn things that it's no longer useful as a frying vessel (though I have used a stockpot for French fries and done well with that). On the spinach front, adding it in bunches because your pan is too small to accommodate it all is a good workaround but does require more attention than using a pan that holds the whole bag. If you use a big enough pan, you dump it all in, do something else, stir to bring the bottom to the top, work on something else, then stir a few times to finish. If you're adding bunch after bunch and stirring, you're less able to multitask. At least I am. Two nights ago I made what was probably about 2.5 pounds of broccoli. I was able to do it in two batches in a rondeau, and would have needed three or possibly four batches with the saute pan. Last night I made a bunch of asparagus. I could have done that in either pan.

I have a 3-quart Calphalon saute pan. It is the same diameter as my rondeaus -- it even takes the same lids -- just with shorter sides and a single long handle instead of two loops. For me it does not accommodate a standard bag of raw washed spinach. In other words, if you empty the bag into that pan a bunch of it comes over the sides. Tried once, never again. It may be possible to bunch it precariously together so that it mostly stays in, but then when it's time to stir there can be troubles. Also in my experience the saute pan fits the steamer (of course, because it has the same diameter) but you can't steam very much stuff if you also want to put the lid on. Some things, like broccoli, when you steam them you need a lot of volume. The saute pan is surely better for some instances of shallow frying. A few times over the past decade I've said, hey, you know what, the saute pan would be better for what I'm doing today. But it happens so rarely that I can't even remember the last instance. Most of the time I'm choosing between the rondeau and a skillet.

Tonight I cooked in both rondeaus. In one I steamed asparagus using a basket steamer that happens to fit very nicely into the rondeau. In the other I pseudo stir fried garlic, ginger and spinach -- the rondeau just fits a bag of triple washed, though by the time it's done cooking the volume is of course way down. This was rounded out nicely by a purchased rotisserie chicken and a Balthazar baguette. But the point is that I used two pots, they were both rondeaus, and no others.

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P.S. Love the marketing mumbo-jumbo on the chili pot: "The bold, fiery flavors that make chili so good are easier than ever to attain."