Jeffrey Steingarten

Hamburger Recipe will be appearing soon. Keywords: Beef, American ( RG2035 )

But does all the dissection — not to mention photo- and note-taking — take away from the enjoyment of the meal? If chefg is trying to guide diners a progression that engages all their senses — waxing and waning throughout the meal — doesn't that disrupt the flow and energy? And, perhaps this is another question, but if the meal is so cerebral, are you thinking so much about each component of the dish that it deadens say, your visual sense or sense of smell? As an example, you know how when you're driving and you're looking for an address, you have to turn down the music? You're concentrating on several things at once. Would you be able to savor the taste of the PB&J and enjoy the company of your friend in the passenger's seat at the same time? And thanks for the biggrins... I'm not trying to be obnoxious. I'm seriously curious. ← Liz is right, of course, and in no way obnoxious. That's why I find the pod people fair game for satire and even frontal attack. It's hard to think of a great meal that is not, quite simply, delicious. Along with that comes one or more of: cerebration, celebration, humor, visual beauty, the sacramental, admiration and gratitude for what one is eating, a sense of historical and cultural connections, etc., etc. Great meals don't have to be fun, but great hypermodern meals do; every fine dinner I've had by Ferran Adria, Grant, Jose Ramon Andres in D.C., Wylie Dufresne, and the other hypermodern cooks are full of fun and often witty. Ferran walks around the diningroom during dinner watching to see if his customers get the jokes; if they're too serious, they probably won't get another reservation. The pod people can forget about it.

Dear Rob, With 2 and a half weeks to spare, you might well get a reservation at Alinea. Remember that it's open on Sunday evening. Call immediately. It's worth some effort. Many wonderful places to eat at in Chicago. You know the names. For modern food, Charlie Trotter can still not be beat, although Tru is seriously good. For hypermodern, after Alinea, there's Avenues and Moto. Green Zebra for terrific vegetarian; Blackbird for wonderful American bistro cookng (htough that sounds as though I don't take it seriusly enough), very good Italan and Spiaggia, Arun for very fancy Thai, Everest for the best modern French cooking I've had all year, and finally Topolambampo for Mesican food that may be the best in the country. These are all famous places; I live in Manhattan and haven't been to Chicago often enough over the past ten years; when I return to Chicago, I'll try some less-known places. Good luck! Jeff Steingarten P.S. I hope that at Cafe Atlantico you ate at the Mini-Bar. That's what I mean by hypermodern. Jose Ramon Andres is a wonderful cook and wonderful restaurateur.

Yes! Those are Ferran's blackberry ovaries! Good photo. What is the square underneath the ovaries made of? ← Actually no...that is a blackberry that has been cut in half. The square that it is set in is a tobacco infused cream. ← I was fooled by the little ovaries that seem to have fallen off, and by the revolting quality of awful photograph. Just kidding--about the latter but not the former. I guess that Grant took the easy way out--or, more likely, he wanted the resistance and then the crunch of a half-intact berry. Is the tobacco infusion made with smoke or some form of the plant itself? Jeffrey

Yes! Those are Ferran's blackberry ovaries! Good photo. What is the square underneath the ovaries made of?

The City of Chicago--no, the entire country--is in grave gastronomic peril when one of us writes that a friend of his found Grant's Milkweed pod "the most delicious pod she's ever tasted." It is time to eat a pastrami sandwich.

Ferran Adria has a recipe for blackberry caviar. First you freeze the blackberries. Then you pick off each little sphere (I believe they're ovaries) with a very finely pointed knife, eat those that aren't perfect, and save the rest.

That's way gross, Luisa. About the stem: it was only my friend Michael Ruhlman who alleged that the cool part was leaving the stem connected while you peel the grape. I'll have to try this several dozen times, but I believe that this adds only a small amount of effort to the actual peeling.

And then you knotted the stem with your tongue? ←

I was trying to make a point. Grant is a brilliant chef. Alinea is or will become a great restaurant. Some of Grant's achievement may originate in his technical mastery, but peeling a grape is no excample of this. The French have served peeled grapes for the past 50 or 100 years, in for example Sole Veronique. This is not one of Grant's inventions, though the dish is amusing and good to eat. That's what I meant to say--no need to be amazed by peeled grapes.

When I dined at Allinea, they peeled the grape while it was in my mouth.

Lobster Souffle II Adopted from Didier Elena Serves 8 as Appetizeror 4 as Main Dish. 4 lobsters, each 1 1/2 pounds, preferable female 6 T extra-virgin olive oil 1 medium onion (about 2 1/2 inches in diameter), peeled and chopped medium-fine 1/2 carrot, chopped medium-fine 1 large rib celery, chopped medium-fine 3 medium tomatoes, cored and chopped into half-inch pieces 2 heads of garlic, each cut in half crosswise but left unpeeled 2 T tomato paste 1 tsp fennel seeds, lightly crushed 1 c of cognac 2 generous cups dry white wine 8 c of salt-free chicken broth 4 slices lemon 1 large basil stem salt and pepper an ounce of black truffle or several shiitake mushrooms (or cepes), briefly parboiled in water, cooled, and cut into 1/8-inch cubes, to yield 3/8 cup 6 tarragon leaves, finely chopped 2-1/2 Tbs. butter for the bechamel, plus 2 Tbs. softened butter for the roe, plus 1 Tbs. for buttering the souffle dish 1/4 c all-purpose flour 5-1/2 cups hot milk 6 egg yolks 10 eggwhites a good pinch of cream of tartar 20 tarragon leaves, crushed salt and fresh pepper For the Lobster and Lobster Jus 1.The day before you make the soufflé: Put the lobsters in paper bags in the freezer for a half-hour. Take out one, place it on the counter shell up (and feelers down) with the eyes facing towards you. Place the point of a heavy knife or cleaver where the large, rounded body shell (carapace) meets the tail, and drive the point into the shell as you forcefully bring the knife down and towards you, splitting the upper half of the lobster in one swift motion. Yes, you can do it! Repeat with the other lobsters. (This procedure is probably the most humane way of killing a lobster, especially if you halve the tail at the same time. To do this you would use a longer knife and start instead at the head. Lobster lack centralized brains; halving them in one stroke cuts through all eight ganglia. But in this recipe, we do not want to cut the tail and its shell in half.) 2.(If you wish to postpone the day when you master the method in the previous paragraphs, simply steam the whole lobsters in a large stockpot as described below, but only until they stop moving and turn at least partially red.) Wait until the lobsters stop moving before proceeding. Twist off the tails and claws (leaving behind the joints or knuckles—the arm sections of the claws) and put them in one or more plastic bags. Refrigerate. Collect in a bowl all juices that emerge from the lobsters, now and after steaming. 3. Prepare the halved lobster bodies one at a time. Behind the eyes and continuing an inch or so back, right under the top edge of the shell, just where you’ve split it, is the translucent stomach sac. (This is the first time I’ve been able to find the sac, mentioned in all lobster recipes.) You may have cut it in half or pushed it entirely to one side of the body or the other when you split it. Pry it out with your fingers and discard. The light green or tan creamy material vaguely in the center is the tomalley, the liver—just leave it where it is. The dark green shiny stuff in female lobsters is the roe or coral (so named because it turns a brilliant coral color when you cook it). With a spoon, remove every last bit of the dark green roe and save it in a bowl. It is indispensible. 4. Chop the lobster shells, arms, joints, legs, and so forth into one-inch pieces. This is messy, too. In a heavy eight-quart saucepan or casserole set over a medium-high flame, heat four tablespoons of the olive oil and cook the chopped lobster shells, arm joints, and legs, and any available scraps of lobster meat in it, until the shells take on a roasted aroma and color, 10 to 15 minutes. While they are cooking, alternately stir them and, with a large stone or wooden pestle, crush them further. Meanwhile, heat the two remaining tablespoons of olive oil in a four-quart saucepan, add the onions, carrot, celery, and garlic, stir, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook until they have become translucent but have not taken on color. Add the tomato paste and and cook for about ten minutes. 5. Scrape the vegetables and their liquid into the heavy pan in which you cooked the lobster shells and mix together. Add the fennel seeds. Pour in the cognac and turn the heat to medium-high. If the cognac is of high quality, just cook it down until only a few tablespoons are left; if not, ignite it as soon as it begins to bubble and, shaking the pan, let it nearly boil away. Add the white wine and reduce by half, stirring occasionally. Add the chicken stock and cook, partly covered, at a strong bubble, for twenty-five minutes. (As most recipes for fish brother will tell you, cooking for longer than this will produce a bitter taste. That’s what Didier says, too.) Remove from the heat. 6. Using a pair of tongs, discard any large pieces of shell. Strain the rest through a fine sieve—a conical chinoise is ideal—into a two-quart saucepan, pressing the pieces of shell and vegetables to squeeze out every drop of lobster jus. Lay the lemon and basil on the surface, allow to steep for fifteen minutes, and remove them. Add a quarter cup of liquid you’ve collected from the lobster bodies. Remember? (The sand should have gone to the bottom of the bowl; otherwise, first strain the lobster liquid through the finest mesh.) Reduce the jus to 3 cups. Add fresh black pepper to taste and, if it is necessary, salt. Refrigerate overnight. 7. Meanwhile, steam the four lobster tails and eight claws you’ve stored in the refrigerator: Pour an inch or so of water into the bottom of a twelve- to fifteen-quart stockpot, and set over the highest heat. Put one of those petal-shaped steaming racks or similar device into the water to keep the lobster pieces from boiling instead of steaming. When the water is furiously boiling, put in the lobster pieces, cover, lower the heat a bit, and steam for ten minutes. (Subtract any time that you’ve steamed the whole lobsters if you were too squeamish to cut them in half, alive.) Quickly remove the lobster with a pair of tongs, let cool for a few minutes, and remove the meat from the shells. Store the lobster meat in a plastic bag in the refrigerator and discard the shells. For the Souffle 1. Preheat the oven to 400 dg. F. Butter the souffle dishes. 2. Cut the lobster meat into neat ¼-inch cubes. In a one-quart bowl, mix the lobster, the truffle (or mushroom), and the tarragon. Remove and reserve about half the mixture in a small bowl, then cover and refrigerate. 3. Rub and scrape the reserved roe through a sieve. Whisk it smooth with two tablespoons of softened butter. 4. Over medium heat, reduce the jus to two cups. Lower the heat, whisk in the roe-butter mixture, and at a bare simmer, cook until the roe is completely incorporated and has lent its coral color to the liquid. Remove from the heat. This is the sauce. 5. Remove one scant cup of the sauce and mix it with the lobster meat and mushrooms in the one-quart bowl. 6. To make the bechamel, melt the 2 1/2 tablespoons of butter in a two- to three-quart saucepan over medium heat, and add the flour. Cook, stirring constantly, for between three and five minutes, until the flour glistens as the butter separates but before the flour colors. Gradually whisk in the hot milk, at first a tablespoon at a time, then in larger volumes. Cook over low heat, stirring, for 15 minutes. Let cool for a few minutes. Whisk in the egg yolks and the lobster-truffle-jus mixture (which is still sitting in that one-quart bowl). Add 20 crushed tarragon leaves, salt to taste, and lots of fresh pepper. This is the souffle base. It will be mixed with the mounted eggwhites and so can stand lots of salt and pepper. 7. Whisk, by hand or with a mixer, the egg whites until they begin to foam. Add a good pinch of salt and the cream of tartar. Whisk more vigorously until the egg whites form firm peaks. Stir about one-fourth of them into the souffle base. Delicately fold this mixture back into the eggwhites. Pour and scrape into the two buttered one-quart souffle dishes. Smooth the top of the souffle mixture, which should come to the rim. Run your thumb all around the inside of the rim to create a three-quarter-inch-wide-and-deep moat, ditch, or channel. This will create the “top-hat effect.” 8. Bake the souffle in the preheated, 400 dg. F. oven for twenty minutes. The souffles are done when a thin knife slid into its center of one of them (and removed) shows that the souffle is quite moist near the bottom (though not completely liquid) and quite dry in its upper third. 9. When the souffle is nearly done, heat the sauce but do not boil it. As soon as you take the souffles from the oven, present them to your guests. Then with a large serving spoon and fork, pry apart an opening in the center of the crusts and extend the hole down nearly to the bottom of the souffles. Pour in one-four of the sauce into each, then divide the souffles among your guests. Spoon additional sauce over each serving. Keywords: French, Fish, Seafood ( RG806 )

Lobster Souffle II Adopted from Didier Elena Serves 8 as Appetizeror 4 as Main Dish. 4 lobsters, each 1 1/2 pounds, preferable female 6 T extra-virgin olive oil 1 medium onion (about 2 1/2 inches in diameter), peeled and chopped medium-fine 1/2 carrot, chopped medium-fine 1 large rib celery, chopped medium-fine 3 medium tomatoes, cored and chopped into half-inch pieces 2 heads of garlic, each cut in half crosswise but left unpeeled 2 T tomato paste 1 tsp fennel seeds, lightly crushed 1 c of cognac 2 generous cups dry white wine 8 c of salt-free chicken broth 4 slices lemon 1 large basil stem salt and pepper an ounce of black truffle or several shiitake mushrooms (or cepes), briefly parboiled in water, cooled, and cut into 1/8-inch cubes, to yield 3/8 cup 6 tarragon leaves, finely chopped 2-1/2 Tbs. butter for the bechamel, plus 2 Tbs. softened butter for the roe, plus 1 Tbs. for buttering the souffle dish 1/4 c all-purpose flour 5-1/2 cups hot milk 6 egg yolks 10 eggwhites a good pinch of cream of tartar 20 tarragon leaves, crushed salt and fresh pepper For the Lobster and Lobster Jus 1.The day before you make the soufflé: Put the lobsters in paper bags in the freezer for a half-hour. Take out one, place it on the counter shell up (and feelers down) with the eyes facing towards you. Place the point of a heavy knife or cleaver where the large, rounded body shell (carapace) meets the tail, and drive the point into the shell as you forcefully bring the knife down and towards you, splitting the upper half of the lobster in one swift motion. Yes, you can do it! Repeat with the other lobsters. (This procedure is probably the most humane way of killing a lobster, especially if you halve the tail at the same time. To do this you would use a longer knife and start instead at the head. Lobster lack centralized brains; halving them in one stroke cuts through all eight ganglia. But in this recipe, we do not want to cut the tail and its shell in half.) 2.(If you wish to postpone the day when you master the method in the previous paragraphs, simply steam the whole lobsters in a large stockpot as described below, but only until they stop moving and turn at least partially red.) Wait until the lobsters stop moving before proceeding. Twist off the tails and claws (leaving behind the joints or knuckles—the arm sections of the claws) and put them in one or more plastic bags. Refrigerate. Collect in a bowl all juices that emerge from the lobsters, now and after steaming. 3. Prepare the halved lobster bodies one at a time. Behind the eyes and continuing an inch or so back, right under the top edge of the shell, just where you’ve split it, is the translucent stomach sac. (This is the first time I’ve been able to find the sac, mentioned in all lobster recipes.) You may have cut it in half or pushed it entirely to one side of the body or the other when you split it. Pry it out with your fingers and discard. The light green or tan creamy material vaguely in the center is the tomalley, the liver—just leave it where it is. The dark green shiny stuff in female lobsters is the roe or coral (so named because it turns a brilliant coral color when you cook it). With a spoon, remove every last bit of the dark green roe and save it in a bowl. It is indispensible. 4. Chop the lobster shells, arms, joints, legs, and so forth into one-inch pieces. This is messy, too. In a heavy eight-quart saucepan or casserole set over a medium-high flame, heat four tablespoons of the olive oil and cook the chopped lobster shells, arm joints, and legs, and any available scraps of lobster meat in it, until the shells take on a roasted aroma and color, 10 to 15 minutes. While they are cooking, alternately stir them and, with a large stone or wooden pestle, crush them further. Meanwhile, heat the two remaining tablespoons of olive oil in a four-quart saucepan, add the onions, carrot, celery, and garlic, stir, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook until they have become translucent but have not taken on color. Add the tomato paste and and cook for about ten minutes. 5. Scrape the vegetables and their liquid into the heavy pan in which you cooked the lobster shells and mix together. Add the fennel seeds. Pour in the cognac and turn the heat to medium-high. If the cognac is of high quality, just cook it down until only a few tablespoons are left; if not, ignite it as soon as it begins to bubble and, shaking the pan, let it nearly boil away. Add the white wine and reduce by half, stirring occasionally. Add the chicken stock and cook, partly covered, at a strong bubble, for twenty-five minutes. (As most recipes for fish brother will tell you, cooking for longer than this will produce a bitter taste. That’s what Didier says, too.) Remove from the heat. 6. Using a pair of tongs, discard any large pieces of shell. Strain the rest through a fine sieve—a conical chinoise is ideal—into a two-quart saucepan, pressing the pieces of shell and vegetables to squeeze out every drop of lobster jus. Lay the lemon and basil on the surface, allow to steep for fifteen minutes, and remove them. Add a quarter cup of liquid you’ve collected from the lobster bodies. Remember? (The sand should have gone to the bottom of the bowl; otherwise, first strain the lobster liquid through the finest mesh.) Reduce the jus to 3 cups. Add fresh black pepper to taste and, if it is necessary, salt. Refrigerate overnight. 7. Meanwhile, steam the four lobster tails and eight claws you’ve stored in the refrigerator: Pour an inch or so of water into the bottom of a twelve- to fifteen-quart stockpot, and set over the highest heat. Put one of those petal-shaped steaming racks or similar device into the water to keep the lobster pieces from boiling instead of steaming. When the water is furiously boiling, put in the lobster pieces, cover, lower the heat a bit, and steam for ten minutes. (Subtract any time that you’ve steamed the whole lobsters if you were too squeamish to cut them in half, alive.) Quickly remove the lobster with a pair of tongs, let cool for a few minutes, and remove the meat from the shells. Store the lobster meat in a plastic bag in the refrigerator and discard the shells. For the Souffle 1. Preheat the oven to 400 dg. F. Butter the souffle dishes. 2. Cut the lobster meat into neat ¼-inch cubes. In a one-quart bowl, mix the lobster, the truffle (or mushroom), and the tarragon. Remove and reserve about half the mixture in a small bowl, then cover and refrigerate. 3. Rub and scrape the reserved roe through a sieve. Whisk it smooth with two tablespoons of softened butter. 4. Over medium heat, reduce the jus to two cups. Lower the heat, whisk in the roe-butter mixture, and at a bare simmer, cook until the roe is completely incorporated and has lent its coral color to the liquid. Remove from the heat. This is the sauce. 5. Remove one scant cup of the sauce and mix it with the lobster meat and mushrooms in the one-quart bowl. 6. To make the bechamel, melt the 2 1/2 tablespoons of butter in a two- to three-quart saucepan over medium heat, and add the flour. Cook, stirring constantly, for between three and five minutes, until the flour glistens as the butter separates but before the flour colors. Gradually whisk in the hot milk, at first a tablespoon at a time, then in larger volumes. Cook over low heat, stirring, for 15 minutes. Let cool for a few minutes. Whisk in the egg yolks and the lobster-truffle-jus mixture (which is still sitting in that one-quart bowl). Add 20 crushed tarragon leaves, salt to taste, and lots of fresh pepper. This is the souffle base. It will be mixed with the mounted eggwhites and so can stand lots of salt and pepper. 7. Whisk, by hand or with a mixer, the egg whites until they begin to foam. Add a good pinch of salt and the cream of tartar. Whisk more vigorously until the egg whites form firm peaks. Stir about one-fourth of them into the souffle base. Delicately fold this mixture back into the eggwhites. Pour and scrape into the two buttered one-quart souffle dishes. Smooth the top of the souffle mixture, which should come to the rim. Run your thumb all around the inside of the rim to create a three-quarter-inch-wide-and-deep moat, ditch, or channel. This will create the “top-hat effect.” 8. Bake the souffle in the preheated, 400 dg. F. oven for twenty minutes. The souffles are done when a thin knife slid into its center of one of them (and removed) shows that the souffle is quite moist near the bottom (though not completely liquid) and quite dry in its upper third. 9. When the souffle is nearly done, heat the sauce but do not boil it. As soon as you take the souffles from the oven, present them to your guests. Then with a large serving spoon and fork, pry apart an opening in the center of the crusts and extend the hole down nearly to the bottom of the souffles. Pour in one-four of the sauce into each, then divide the souffles among your guests. Spoon additional sauce over each serving. Keywords: French, Fish, Seafood ( RG806 )

Steingarten's Julia Child/Jacques Pepin Lobster Souffle Serves 8 as Appetizeror 4 as Main Dish. 4 lobsters, each 1 1/2 pounds, preferable female 6 T extra-virgin olive oil 1 medium onion (about 2 1/2 inches in diameter), peeled and chopped medium-fine 1/2 carrot, chopped medium-fine 1 large rib celery, chopped medium-fine 3 medium tomatoes, cored and chopped into half-inch pieces 2 heads of garlic, each cut in half crosswise but left unpeeled 2 T tomato paste 1 tsp fennel seeds, lightly crushed 1 c of cognac 2 generous cups dry white wine 8 c of salt-free chicken broth 4 slices lemon 1 large basil stem salt and pepper 3 T butter for the bechamel, plus 2 Tbs. softened butter for the roe, plus 1 Tbs. for buttering the souffle dish 2 c heavy cream 4 T all-purpose flour 1-1/3 c milk ¾ tsp. salt ½ tsp. white pepper 4 eggs yolks 8 egg whites 2 T grated Parmesan For The Lobster and Lobster Jus 1. The day before you make the soufflé: Put the lobsters in paper bags in the freezer for a half-hour. Take out one, place it on the counter shell up (and feelers down) with the eyes facing towards you. Place the point of a heavy knife or cleaver where the large, rounded body shell (carapace) meets the tail, and drive the point into the shell as you forcefully bring the knife down and towards you, splitting the upper half of the lobster in one swift motion. Yes, you can do it! Repeat with the other lobsters. (This procedure is probably the most humane way of killing a lobster, especially if you halve the tail at the same time. To do this you would use a longer knife and start instead at the head. Lobster lack centralized brains; halving them in one stroke cuts through all eight ganglia. But in this recipe, we do not want to cut the tail and its shell in half.) 2. (If you wish to postpone the day when you master the method in the previous paragraphs, simply steam the whole lobsters in a large stockpot as described below, but only until they stop moving and turn at least partially red.)Wait until the lobsters stop moving before proceeding. Twist off the tails and claws (leaving behind the joints or knuckles—the arm sections of the claws) and put them in one or more plastic bags. Refrigerate. Collect in a bowl all juices that emerge from the lobsters, now and after steaming. 3. Prepare the halved lobster bodies one at a time. Behind the eyes and continuing an inch or so back, right under the top edge of the shell, just where you’ve split it, is the translucent stomach sac. You may have cut it in half or pushed it entirely to one side of the body or the other when you split it. Pry it out with your fingers and discard. The light green or tan creamy material vaguely in the center is the tomalley, the liver—just leave it where it is. The dark green shiny stuff in female lobsters is the roe or coral (so named because it turns a brilliant coral color when you cook it). With a spoon, remove every last bit of the dark green roe and save it in a bowl. It is indispensible. 4. Chop the lobster shells, arms, joints, legs, and so forth into one-inch pieces. This is messy, too. In a heavy eight-quart saucepan or casserole set over a medium-high flame, heat four tablespoons of the olive oil and cook the chopped lobster shells, arm joints, and legs, and any available scraps of lobster meat in it, until the shells take on a roasted aroma and color, 10 to 15 minutes. While they are cooking, alternately stir them and, with a large stone or wooden pestle, crush them further. 5. Meanwhile, heat the two remaining tablespoons of olive oil in a four-quart saucepan, add the onions, carrot, celery, and garlic, stir, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook until they have become translucent but have not taken on color. Add the tomato paste and and cook for about ten minutes. 6. Scrape the vegetables and their liquid into the heavy pan in which you cooked the lobster shells and mix together. Add the fennel seeds. Pour in the cognac and turn the heat to medium-high. If the cognac is of high quality, just cook it down until only a few tablespoons are left; if not, ignite it as soon as it begins to bubble and, shaking the pan, let it nearly boil away. Add the white wine and reduce by half, stirring occasionally. Add the chicken stock and cook, partly covered, at a strong bubble, for twenty-five minutes. (As most recipes for fish brother will tell you, cooking for longer than this will produce a bitter taste. That’s what Didier says, too.) Remove from the heat. 7. Using a pair of tongs, discard any large pieces of shell. Strain the rest through a fine sieve—a conical chinoise is ideal—into a two-quart saucepan, pressing the pieces of shell and vegetables to squeeze out every drop of lobster jus. Lay the lemon and basil on the surface, allow to steep for fifteen minutes, and remove them. Add a quarter cup of liquid you’ve collected from the lobster bodies. Remember? (The sand should have gone to the bottom of the bowl; otherwise, first strain the lobster liquid through the finest mesh.) 8. Reduce the jus to 3 cups. Add fresh black pepper to taste and, if it is necessary, salt. Refrigerate overnight. 9. Meanwhile, steam the four lobster tails and eight claws you’ve stored in the refrigerator: Pour an inch or so of water into the bottom of a twelve- to fifteen-quart stockpot, and set over the highest heat. Put one of those petal-shaped steaming racks or similar device into the water to keep the lobster pieces from boiling instead of steaming. When the water is furiously boiling, put in the lobster pieces, cover, lower the heat a bit, and steam for ten minutes. (Subtract any time that you’ve steamed the whole lobsters if you were too squeamish to cut them in half, alive.) Quickly remove the lobster with a pair of tongs, let cool for a few minutes, and remove the meat from the shells. Store the lobster meat in a plastic bag in the refrigerator and discard the shells. For the Souffle 1. Wrap these lobster piece in a sheet of aluminum foil and return it to the refrigerator. 2. Rub and scrape the reserved roe through a sieve. Whisk it smooth with two tablespoons of softened butter. 3. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter the gratin dish. 4. To make the sauce: In a two-quart saucepan over medium-high heat, reduce the cream by half. Add the jus, and bring to a simmer. Lower the heat and whisk in the roe-butter mixture. Cook without boiling for a few minutes until the roe is incorporated and colors the sauce pink. Remove from the heat. Taste and add salt and fresh pepper, if you think they would improve the situation. 5. To prepare the souffle base: Melt the butter in a two- to three-quart saucepan over medium-low heat, and add the flour. Cook, stirring constantly, for five minutes, to cook the flour, which has been accomplished when the flour glistens as the butter separates; the flour must not color. Add the milk all at once, bring to a boil, stirring, and cook for ten seconds. (This is Jacques’s astoundingly simple method.) Remove from the heat and let cool for a few minutes. Whisk in the egg yolks and the grated Parmesan. 6. Making and baking the souffle: Whisk (by hand or in a mixer) the egg whites until they begin to foam. Add a good pinch of salt and the cream of tartar. Whisk more vigorously until the egg whites form firm peaks. Stir about one-fourth of them into the souffle base. Delicately fold this mixture back into the eggwhites. Pour and scrape into the gratin dish and smooth the top, which should come to the rim. 7. Put into the preheated oven and bake for about twenty-five minutes. It is done when a thin knife slid into its center comes out nearly clean except perhaps at the point. This is not a liquid souffle. When the souffle has about ten minutes left to cook, put the aluminum foil packet of lobster meat into the oven with it. Warm eight wide soup bowls or deep dinner plates. When the souffle is nearly done, gently reheat the sauce—without boiling it. 8. To serve, distribute the lobster meat equitably among the eight soup bowls. Pour a scant quarter-cup over each portion. Set ample servings of souffle over the lobster, then pour a few tablespoons of sauce over the souffle. Pass the rest of the sauce. Keywords: French, Fish, Seafood ( RG805 )

Steingarten's Julia Child/Jacques Pepin Lobster Souffle Serves 8 as Appetizeror 4 as Main Dish. 4 lobsters, each 1 1/2 pounds, preferable female 6 T extra-virgin olive oil 1 medium onion (about 2 1/2 inches in diameter), peeled and chopped medium-fine 1/2 carrot, chopped medium-fine 1 large rib celery, chopped medium-fine 3 medium tomatoes, cored and chopped into half-inch pieces 2 heads of garlic, each cut in half crosswise but left unpeeled 2 T tomato paste 1 tsp fennel seeds, lightly crushed 1 c of cognac 2 generous cups dry white wine 8 c of salt-free chicken broth 4 slices lemon 1 large basil stem salt and pepper 3 T butter for the bechamel, plus 2 Tbs. softened butter for the roe, plus 1 Tbs. for buttering the souffle dish 2 c heavy cream 4 T all-purpose flour 1-1/3 c milk ¾ tsp. salt ½ tsp. white pepper 4 eggs yolks 8 egg whites 2 T grated Parmesan For The Lobster and Lobster Jus 1. The day before you make the soufflé: Put the lobsters in paper bags in the freezer for a half-hour. Take out one, place it on the counter shell up (and feelers down) with the eyes facing towards you. Place the point of a heavy knife or cleaver where the large, rounded body shell (carapace) meets the tail, and drive the point into the shell as you forcefully bring the knife down and towards you, splitting the upper half of the lobster in one swift motion. Yes, you can do it! Repeat with the other lobsters. (This procedure is probably the most humane way of killing a lobster, especially if you halve the tail at the same time. To do this you would use a longer knife and start instead at the head. Lobster lack centralized brains; halving them in one stroke cuts through all eight ganglia. But in this recipe, we do not want to cut the tail and its shell in half.) 2. (If you wish to postpone the day when you master the method in the previous paragraphs, simply steam the whole lobsters in a large stockpot as described below, but only until they stop moving and turn at least partially red.)Wait until the lobsters stop moving before proceeding. Twist off the tails and claws (leaving behind the joints or knuckles—the arm sections of the claws) and put them in one or more plastic bags. Refrigerate. Collect in a bowl all juices that emerge from the lobsters, now and after steaming. 3. Prepare the halved lobster bodies one at a time. Behind the eyes and continuing an inch or so back, right under the top edge of the shell, just where you’ve split it, is the translucent stomach sac. You may have cut it in half or pushed it entirely to one side of the body or the other when you split it. Pry it out with your fingers and discard. The light green or tan creamy material vaguely in the center is the tomalley, the liver—just leave it where it is. The dark green shiny stuff in female lobsters is the roe or coral (so named because it turns a brilliant coral color when you cook it). With a spoon, remove every last bit of the dark green roe and save it in a bowl. It is indispensible. 4. Chop the lobster shells, arms, joints, legs, and so forth into one-inch pieces. This is messy, too. In a heavy eight-quart saucepan or casserole set over a medium-high flame, heat four tablespoons of the olive oil and cook the chopped lobster shells, arm joints, and legs, and any available scraps of lobster meat in it, until the shells take on a roasted aroma and color, 10 to 15 minutes. While they are cooking, alternately stir them and, with a large stone or wooden pestle, crush them further. 5. Meanwhile, heat the two remaining tablespoons of olive oil in a four-quart saucepan, add the onions, carrot, celery, and garlic, stir, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook until they have become translucent but have not taken on color. Add the tomato paste and and cook for about ten minutes. 6. Scrape the vegetables and their liquid into the heavy pan in which you cooked the lobster shells and mix together. Add the fennel seeds. Pour in the cognac and turn the heat to medium-high. If the cognac is of high quality, just cook it down until only a few tablespoons are left; if not, ignite it as soon as it begins to bubble and, shaking the pan, let it nearly boil away. Add the white wine and reduce by half, stirring occasionally. Add the chicken stock and cook, partly covered, at a strong bubble, for twenty-five minutes. (As most recipes for fish brother will tell you, cooking for longer than this will produce a bitter taste. That’s what Didier says, too.) Remove from the heat. 7. Using a pair of tongs, discard any large pieces of shell. Strain the rest through a fine sieve—a conical chinoise is ideal—into a two-quart saucepan, pressing the pieces of shell and vegetables to squeeze out every drop of lobster jus. Lay the lemon and basil on the surface, allow to steep for fifteen minutes, and remove them. Add a quarter cup of liquid you’ve collected from the lobster bodies. Remember? (The sand should have gone to the bottom of the bowl; otherwise, first strain the lobster liquid through the finest mesh.) 8. Reduce the jus to 3 cups. Add fresh black pepper to taste and, if it is necessary, salt. Refrigerate overnight. 9. Meanwhile, steam the four lobster tails and eight claws you’ve stored in the refrigerator: Pour an inch or so of water into the bottom of a twelve- to fifteen-quart stockpot, and set over the highest heat. Put one of those petal-shaped steaming racks or similar device into the water to keep the lobster pieces from boiling instead of steaming. When the water is furiously boiling, put in the lobster pieces, cover, lower the heat a bit, and steam for ten minutes. (Subtract any time that you’ve steamed the whole lobsters if you were too squeamish to cut them in half, alive.) Quickly remove the lobster with a pair of tongs, let cool for a few minutes, and remove the meat from the shells. Store the lobster meat in a plastic bag in the refrigerator and discard the shells. For the Souffle 1. Wrap these lobster piece in a sheet of aluminum foil and return it to the refrigerator. 2. Rub and scrape the reserved roe through a sieve. Whisk it smooth with two tablespoons of softened butter. 3. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter the gratin dish. 4. To make the sauce: In a two-quart saucepan over medium-high heat, reduce the cream by half. Add the jus, and bring to a simmer. Lower the heat and whisk in the roe-butter mixture. Cook without boiling for a few minutes until the roe is incorporated and colors the sauce pink. Remove from the heat. Taste and add salt and fresh pepper, if you think they would improve the situation. 5. To prepare the souffle base: Melt the butter in a two- to three-quart saucepan over medium-low heat, and add the flour. Cook, stirring constantly, for five minutes, to cook the flour, which has been accomplished when the flour glistens as the butter separates; the flour must not color. Add the milk all at once, bring to a boil, stirring, and cook for ten seconds. (This is Jacques’s astoundingly simple method.) Remove from the heat and let cool for a few minutes. Whisk in the egg yolks and the grated Parmesan. 6. Making and baking the souffle: Whisk (by hand or in a mixer) the egg whites until they begin to foam. Add a good pinch of salt and the cream of tartar. Whisk more vigorously until the egg whites form firm peaks. Stir about one-fourth of them into the souffle base. Delicately fold this mixture back into the eggwhites. Pour and scrape into the gratin dish and smooth the top, which should come to the rim. 7. Put into the preheated oven and bake for about twenty-five minutes. It is done when a thin knife slid into its center comes out nearly clean except perhaps at the point. This is not a liquid souffle. When the souffle has about ten minutes left to cook, put the aluminum foil packet of lobster meat into the oven with it. Warm eight wide soup bowls or deep dinner plates. When the souffle is nearly done, gently reheat the sauce—without boiling it. 8. To serve, distribute the lobster meat equitably among the eight soup bowls. Pour a scant quarter-cup over each portion. Set ample servings of souffle over the lobster, then pour a few tablespoons of sauce over the souffle. Pass the rest of the sauce. Keywords: French, Fish, Seafood ( RG805 )

Thanks for your patience, Paula.

In the unlikely event that anybody believes Bill's comment, let me begin by disabusing them. And now, Food TV. Being a TV host or presenter is sufficiently trying and difficult that most research and writing is done by the staff. For shows shot largely in the studio, Food TV has the host(s) come to New York and make, say, eight shows in four days. The exhausted hosts may end up just reading the script from a half-mirrored prompter in front of the camera lens. Hosts are chosen for their looks, their voice, and their charm--not for their ability to discover lost American food traditions or the deeper meanings of Kaiseki. There's a research staff for that. With the death of the serious TV documentary, and with the exception of some excellent programs on public television, original research is not the strength of TV journalism. Except for an occasional "60 Minutes" program, TV rarely investigates (very expensive) and rarely sees the relevance of reading the literature on a subject. Journalism, even at the NY Times and the Washington Post, often consists of quoting people--and usually one person on each side of an issue and then an elder statesman in the field who synthesizes the two. This method is supremely ridiculous when the issue is, "Was Hitler a Bad Man?" or "Does the FDA have any evidence that young raw milk cheeses endanger consumers in France?" You'll notice that the daily agenda on TV news is usually the NY Times, the Washington Post, and sometimes the Chicago Tribune and the L.A. Times. On Food TV, the research sources, either initially or entirely, are things that have been written on a subject, especially those available on the Internet. Neither my Vogue articles nor my books can be read online, but I flatter myself in thinking that some researchers at Food TV know what I've written. But in journalism, as I was told by a former food editor at the NY Times who had stolen and was about to print something I had discovered at considerable expense and told to somebody who told one of their writers, nobody owns ideas. Credit never needs to be given. And newspapers like the NY Times can even plagarise if they feel like it; when an editor at the magazine discoved that one of their writers had lifted a recipe nearly verbatim from one of my articles--which appeared in my first book--the writer's reply was, "Sure, but it's never appeared in the Times." Sure, TV people call me all the time on subjects I've written about. Recently I've become less generous with my time, unless the caller is friend. If anything, I mind it more when an article appears in the Times or a program is shown on Food TV that doesn't even take into account research that I've published, for example on the variety of boutique salts, which appears in "It Must've Been Sometihng I Ate." Or when a less accurate account of the FDA's campaign against raw milk cheese gets a Beard award. But those are the breaks. When Ed Levine and I did our TV show, on the Metro channel, I tried to speak only about subjects that I had written about or at least researched and never written about for Vogue. Otherwise, I would keep quiet. We had very little time to do original research before a show--just a phone call or two, the journalistic standard. Metro had no research staff; assistant producers were frantic most of the time. Sure I'd love to have a TV Food program. But I don't think that TV is my medium, except on shows such as the one I did with Ed Levine. Otherwise, I prefer radio.

P.S. I should mention that I've eaten rasmalai six or seven times since I feel in love with it in the Punjab (including a meal in Delhi), and I can remember why I used to hate Indian desserts.

Thanks, Russ.

This appears to be the most visited question on the chart. Thus, it saddens me to admit that I have nothing profound to say on the subject. Maybe I should stop while I'm ahead. Or maybe I'll give it a shot. There are several possiblities: 1. You are all wrong. For all you know, more plumbers care about good food than lawyers. We just never hear from plumbers. Still water runs deep. 2. It just seems that way. 62% of adult Americans are lawyers. Thus, they'd make a strong showing in any survey, e.g. drinkers of trockenbeerenauslesen; reenactors of the Civil War, renters of pornographic movies, charitable givers, etc., etc. 3. The connection is real but is an example of multiple determination. The factors are: a) Lawyers have more money than average; some good food is expensive. I could live on bread, rice, and noodles--if I could buy or make the best examples of each that I've eaten thus far--and these are nearly cost free. But every so often, I'd wonder whether white truffles are still a hyperwarp transport to heaven. Not truffle oil of course; I believe I dispensed with that fraud in Vogue. b) In the Freudian sense, lawyers are orally fixated. They talk a lot. Of course, they don't do badly at the other end, either. They obsess a lot. c) Lawyers write all day and all night. Some write well. Nearly all think they do. Some legal prose, notably some Supreme Court decisions, though not from the current court, and appellate decisions by the likes of Cardozo and Learned Hand, can be positively beautiful. d) Lawyers are trained in research, usually of a narrow kind, but some can widen their subject matter. Also, lawyers are taught to believe that they can master any field, from psychiatry to astrophysics, in a pretty short time. Some food writers believe in thorough research, though finding somebody to pay for it can be a problem. e) Most lawyers have had a tendency since birth to judge things, to judge just about everything. Law school heightens the characteristic. In practice, many lawyers forget about things like justice; others hone their ability to make ethical and other distinctions to the finest possible edge. They are critics, both born and trained, by nature and nurture, whether knowledgable or not. If the grandfather of all lawyer-gastronomes is Brillat-Savarin, then our father is Lucien Tendret. He was a lawyer from the town of Bugey, as Brillat-Savarin had been, and was a somewhat distant relation. His only published book, as far as I can tell, is La Table Au Pays de Brillat-Savarin (The Table in the Land of Brillat-Savarin) published in 1892 and available, inexpensively, in facsimile. It is largely a cookbook, though it contains extended discussion of stock and short philosophical passages, and it is one of my favorite cookbooks. (It's in French and it lacks temperatures and many measurements.) The food is rich and generally lavish , though there are fine versions of ordinary dishes like cauliflour gratin. Jacques Pepin comes from Bugey or nearby Bourg-en-Bresse, and I asked him about Tendret. (I suspected that his version of that dish was related to Tendret's, the way both of them sprinkle the vegetable with grated Parmesan both before and after pouring over the bechamel or mornay sauce .) Jacques told that when he was young, everybody attributed recipes to Tendret, though he had never read the book. And in Alice B. Toklas's great cookbook, she says that she and Gertrude Stein, who summered near Bugey, have come into possession of a stack of unpublished recipes by Lucien Tendret, and she gives us one of them. The Gertrude Stein papers are at Yale, at the Beineke rare books library (even though Stein and her brother went to Harvard), and they're still packed in fifty boxes, pretty much uncatalogued. I telephoned the library and spoke with somebody who is meant to be familiar with the contents. She had not come across the missing recipes. If my most recent New Haven pizza experience had been a happier one, I would be up there today. We have no reason to think that Tendret took the irreversible and self-destructive step of giving up the law to become a food writer. But one way or the other, let's hope that one of us, his spiritual descendents, will write a book the equal of La Table Au Pays de Brillat-Savarin.

Dear Richard and Bond Girl: Plese tell me how to send in the recipe. It's written in MS Word for Windows. I'd be happy to. Jeffrey P. S. And Bond Girl, why are you called that. Do you work at Bond Street? Are you a rich young Bond trader. Etc.

Dear Miguel, I hope you're kidding. Or is it a language problem. Can't be that because you've already told me how much you like my books. And you've otherwise been very charming. I said, of course, that I was deeply flattered that you, a Portuguese, would think I could have anything enlightening to say about Portuguese food. And that even if I could, I don't, because I've never been there, though everyone encourages me to do so, and I have it on my list. But I can't tell whether the seafood near the southern border with Spain is the best in he world, or on the northern border near Galicia. Can you at least answer that question? Yours, Jeffrey

Hey Wolfert, are you Paula? Happy Holidays. Hope your wonderful new book is walking out of the stores! My answer to your question was destroyed by my computer just as I was sending it. I think I can remember most of it. Ill get to the thorny issue of anonymity near the end. Yes, I always disguise myself in restaurants, usually as a tall, willowy, 23-year-old woman. Actually I don't have to. It doesn't matter if I'm recognized. First, a few restaurateur-chefs are friends or fans, and I can never review their work anyway. Second, my appearance is, apparently, not memorable. If the staff of a restaurant recognizes me, God bless them. They deserve any underhanded advantage they might gain from this. And third, I rarely review restaurants. Last week I was dining in a hot new downtown Manhattan restaurant. Of course, I was the oldest person in the place, which is a dead giveaway that I'm either a food person, or have Alzheimer's and forgot that I am a food person, or didn't know that people over 57 rarely go to hip downtown restaurants where they're welcome only if they spend enormous amount on alcohol, which I do to prove I don't fit into the Alzheimer's category. Anyway, the waiter seemed to recognize me. I tested this by giving him a mock hard time about something trivial. He handled me with humor and grace, which in New York City means that he feared me. One thing led to another, and between the main course (which, to my amazement, some morons still call the entree, which is of course the entrance to the meal and is used as such in its country of origin, which would be France) and the dessert, the waiter led me into the kitchen where, on a wall adjoining the staff lockers, were ten or fifteen photos of food critics, their names, and a brief description. I was described this way: "Has a slight stutter. Always orders many dishes and favors the exotic." I don't know any NYC restaurant critic, nor any in L.A. or San Francisco (though I don't know them all in those cities) who wear disguises. (Michael Bauer is known everywhere in the Bay Area, and Jonathan Gold, back in L.A., is easily recognizable.) When Ruth Reichl, whom I dined with frequently when she was the NY Times critic was making her transition to Gourmet, a P.R. genius there named Karen created a campaign that got Ruth into every publication you can name, including Brill's Content; the first paragraphs of the stories were all the same: "For twenty years she's had hidden in the shadows. Now the country's most famous restuarant critic comes out into the sunlight. Yet in all my dinners with her, I remember only one disguise, a pretty good one at that--she played a beautiful blonde who to my astonishment kissed me as she walked in. Ruth and I disagree about this. She believes that she was rarely recognized. I believe she was nearly always recognized. I remember one meal at 11 Madison, where I recognized for the first time a wonderful trick. The waiters, and there was an excess of them, fawned over everybody at the table, all seven of us, and brought us extra foode and little tastes of desserts, except for Ruth, whom they nearly ignored. Ruth doubted that she was recognized but the truth was obvious. Several years back, the N.Y. Observer had an amusing and amazing-if-true article on the lengths that restaurants go to when they recognize a critic. In one example, the chef and managers at Duane Park called lots of friends, relatives, and neighbors to fill up the place,and one woman followed the critic into the ladies' room to wax ecstatic about the lamb chops. I believe I was at Duane Park with Ruth near the opening when this happened. Also several years ago, I was on a panel at an NYU career day program with Mimi Sheraton and David Rosengarten, both of whom I like and respect. So you'll understand how painful it was to witness what ensued. Even though I had explained to the audience several times in a row that restaurant criticism was usually the least interesting form of food writing and that any one of them was unlikely to become a big-time critic, they insisted on asking only about the life of a restaurant critic. David had a show on the Food Network, and so somebody in the audience asked whether this wasn't an ethical conflict because every restaurant knew what he looked like. David explained that anonymity doesn't much matter because, among other things, a restaurant cannot radically change its cooking or its decoration to please a food critic. (I later asked Lee Hanson, chef at Balthazar, about this becauses David was then eating there frequently; Lee said that the main change they would make was the Lee Himself would cook the meal, and of course the wait staff would be informed.) Meanwhile, back at the NYU panel, Mimi strenuously objected. She told the famous story about one restaurant that reupholstered the banquettes when they learned that Mimi detested overly cushy red plush. Another time, a Northern Italian restaurant she had reviewed favorably had opened a very similiar establishment not very far away. When Mimi entered the new place, the owner sent for the chef whose food she had like so much and had him cook the meal. She said that was one of the reasons she had quit the Times after ten years was that she could no longer dine anonymously. Later in the panel discussion, Mimi was asked again about wearing disguises, and she said, a bit too pointedly I felt, "A restaurant critic who says that anonymity does not matter is either a food or a liar." Whew

Sure - Mexico. Seriously, if you are in San Diego than there is nothing easier than driving down to TJ or Ensanada (great in the late summer for fresh lobster). Yeah, there are people who like This Mexican restaurant or That Mexican restaurant in Old Town, but I think they are pale comparisons to what you can get if you drive an hour south. Jeffrey - thanks oodles. I appreciate the insight and I believe you are basically correct about the inhabitants. I admit, I lived there when I young, thin, and wanted nothing more than to party. But when I discovered good food, I realized I had to drive out of town to get it. I haven't lived in San Diego for over a dozen years and hoped it might have changed but all I hear from old friends is that traffic is hideously worse and nothing else is much better. Interestingly, a drive east to Alpine produces some rather interesting Basque restaurants (if you like entrails...) The border between San Diego and Tijuana makes me sad and angry. If the border were completely open, San Diegans, only 15 minutes away, would flock to Tijuana for food, and the restaurants would thrive. But the border is blocked by racism and now by precautions supposedly justified by September 11. As for the first, I drove back from a bluefin tuna farm in Ensenada with its owner, a Harvard educated (wow!) business man in his '60's with Mexican citizenship and a green card that allows him to reside in Rancho Santa Fe, one of San Diego County's ritiziest enclaves. This was before September 11. His name is Philippe and he was driving his new BMW, an extremely luxurious vehicle with a 50-pound farmed bluefin in the trunk. We were stopped at the border and our car diverted to an inspection area, where they viewed the underside of the car through mirrors at the end of metal poles (as though a smuggler wouldn't have known this!) --because Philippe had shown his green card. I had a US passport, not necessary to go from Tijuana to San Diego, and the border guard said to me, wearing jeans and a windbreaker, Ah, Mr. Steingarten, welcome back. He addressed Philippe, who was wearing a conservative and expensive gray suit, as Pancho. This got me angry and I began a long speech, which was cut off by Philippe, who waved me off. He said he is used to this and it doesn't really matter. Philippe's parents were Jewish leftists who fled from Russia in the '30's, I think, and settled for a while in Paris, where Philippe was born. When the Nazi's threatened France, they tried to emigrate to the U.S. and were rejected, as nearly everybody else was. So they ended up in Mexico, where Philippe's father went into some aspect of the fishing business and somehow sent their son to Harvard. And now he is subject to bigoted ignorant swaggering white border guards with big sunglasses. I've enjoyed Tijuana and the entire coast down past Ensenada enough that experiences like this didn't stop me, though they slowed me down. But the security measures that followed September 11 did. I'm sure that U.S. policy is entirely logical, although one Mexican woman I know who used to cross the border five times a week to supervise several relatives in cleaning houses in San Diego asked me why they would stop Mexicans--short and square--when they were worried about Arabs--tall and lean--just because both of them had darkish skin. The net effect was that crossing the border back into San Diego County took as much as six hours, and usually four. The best time to cross was at 4:00 in the morning, when two hours might do it. I've had excellent meals in Tijuana, Rosarito, and Ensenada, and lots of truly worthy tacos, but not any longer. You'd think that San Diego would have many good Mexican restaurants. It doesn't. Nor do Mexican-Americans play any part in the political elite, as they do in El Paso and San Antonio. And people don't pay much for Mexican food in San Diego. Speaking of Alpine: I know a lamb farmer who delivers his animals (not just the entrails) to Alpine. Now I know why! Can you recommend any good Basque entrail restaurants there?