Marco_Polo
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Posts posted by Marco_Polo
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IS the size-related difference in price just because there is less wastage (i.e. the ratio of inside to surafce is better) or do people think the flavour of the bigger ones is better?
It's not just weight that determines price but eveness of shape as truffles that are too knobbly may be difficult to clean and just aren't as attractive for shaving at the table. And while I'm not sure anyone says larger tartufi necessarily have better or more intense flavour, as in all things, SIZE MATTERS.
Me, I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival tomorrow of my friend Mario from Barolo, who is bringing out not just his wonderful Cascina Fontana wines but also 160-180g of tartufo di Alba (depending on price) for a special meal I've organised on Monday. He'll be bringing the tartufi in his carry-on luggage - gawd, I hope he makes it through customs. The sniffer dogs will have a field day and might well go ape-shit berserk if they get a whiff...
MP
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Hi dodz and welcome,
If it's blue cheese you're after, then you must make a pilgrimage to Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, located in the Aveyron of the Haut Languedoc in the hinterland above Montpellier. If you visit one of the largest producers, Societé Roquefort, you will gain a fascinating insight into the production of this magnificent cheese. First you put on sheepskin vests before descending into the moist and cool natural caves. You'll see the large rye loaves that are specially baked, then allowed to go mouldy to provide the bacterium known as Pencilium roqueforti; you'll feel the cool natural exhalations of air known as fleurines that circulate through the caves, you'll see the ewe's milk cheeses being turned by hand, and tasted by the maître affineur. And afterwards you'll taste this magnificent cheese yourself.
Contact Societé Roquefort, 12250 Roquefort-sur-Soulzon, tel 65 58 58 58.
If you're in France in summer, it's wonderful to visit the Alps and climb into the high mountain alpages where the beasts are transported for the summer transhumance. The farmers stay up here for months and make their summer cheeses in situ, wonderful, fragrant, creamy cheeses made from this rich summer milk, such as the inexpressibly delicious Reblochon fermier, truly one of the great cheeses of the world.
This friendly couple make wonderful Reblochon in the high pastures above Lake Annecy (call before you trek up here):
Marguerite et Alain Deloche
Les Languières
74450 Le Grand-Bornand
tel: 50 27 00 20
I adore the creamy, full fat cheeses of Normandy. If you are in this area, visit the Musee de la Camembert in Vimoutiers, then seek out a farmhouse producer who uses lait cru and makes the Camembert in the traditional way, that is moulé a la louche, the curds scooped out by hand with a ladle. Here's another good producer:
François Durand
Ferme de la Héronnière
61120 Camembert
tel: 33 39 08 08
Hope this is some help,
Marc
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Plymouth Gin 57% was the last gin and tonic my wife ever drunk and that was about 7 years ago.
Made her a nice strong one and then we jumped on our bikes and peddled as quickly as possible to the cinema. When she hopped off the bike she went temporarily blind (for about 2 minutes) and has never touched gin since.
Jeez, that's a scary story. I assume she also gave up cycling? And going to the cinema? Good thing you hadn't just eaten white truffles (imagine having to give those up). Or just had sex. Gawd, the mind boggles.
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Thank you for this, Francesco. I stand corrected and it's fascinating to read about the production of fattened goose liver in Friuli-Venezia Giulia. The historic links with the Austro-Hungarian Empire have certainly influenced the foods in that particular corner of the country.
However, it still seems to me (and I may be entirely wrong) that the use of something like fegato grasso in top restaurants in Italy is more closely linked to the simple fact that foie gras is nationally and internationally perceived as a luxury food product that any top end place with aspirations must utilise than because it is necessarily part of a regional, local or even national canon of Italian dishes or culinary tradition. Of course creative cooks don't need to be straitjacketed to regional, local or national culinary traditions, which is after all one of the main points of this thread. I don't mind if fegato grasso is or is not part of such tradition when I'm in a restaurant; I do mind if it is not done very well and is just a sop to so-called top-end dining.
But then, I freely admit that I'm coming at this, as we all do, with my own preconceptions and prejudices, based on dining experiences not just in Italy but France, Britain, Spain, elsewhere, carrying my own limited expectations of what I want and expect an Italian meal to be, whether in a simple trattoria or in a top-class ristorante.
And that returns us to Alberto's point: we approach dining in Italy, at whatever level, with our own expectations of what the experience should be.
Perhaps it also comes down to whether or not we go out to eat because we are hungry and wish to be satisfied, or whether, in this post-modern age, we go out to eat for new experiences, to be excited, titillated, amused. A simple working man's trattoria can most enjoyably accomplish the former; but for the latter, we need to go to a ristorante.
MP
PS Francesco, I just realised this thread is appearing at the same time as your review of Vissani and the wonderful description of the fegato grasso served there. It sounds like an amazing dish, and an interpretation that is wholly and brilliantly Italian in conception. So forget about everything I wrote above! I think Vissani's a truly original genius. Unfortunately when we were there (and it was some years ago) the course I referred to formed part of a tasting menu and was disappointing, greasy and not unctuous at all, hence my comment.
(Edited to add PS)
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my question was more aimed at the reasons behind the eating choices of people visiting Italy.
Ciao Alberto,
This is an interesting question. I'd by nature definitely consider myself more of a 'tratt' sort of guy, someone who likes nothing better than to sniff out places where the locals go, perhaps a little rough around the edges, wine poured from a big unlabelled bottiglione into simple tumblers (but good wine, vino genuino, you understand), and serving simple cucina casalinga or cucina della nonna, home cooked, genuine regional and local foods made from simple but ottimo ingredients. Yep, give me the choice and I'll opt for this most days of the week over a meal in most any 2- or 3-star joint, a ristorante with a hostess who looks you over and judges you by what you're wearing when you arrive, and those obsequious and sometimes obnoxious waiters in suits and ties, sort of place where if you need to scratch your backside it's anticipated in advance, where you can't even pour the wine yourself, and where you're served such un-Italian things as fegato grasso (which quite honestly even at Vissani can be disappointing).
We come to Italy, we stranieri, for an Italian experience, even if the experience we seek is based primarily on our own preconceptions and images of La Bella Italia. That is to say, we're not necessarily here in search of absolutely great food, but rather of that quintessential and unforgettable Italian experience and meal. And such experiences and meals are sometimes more often found in simple trattorie than in ristoranti that may be more international in style, service, ambiance, food.
We've all had such great experiences, great meals in the simplest, most unassuming and wholly simpatico places in Rome, Venice (yes, even Venice), Verona, Torino, and elsewhere. And for a week or so of eating, it may be all we ask for.
But, and but...hang around for a bit longer and the charms may begin to wane. In Tuscany, for example, the diet in such simple trattorie e osterie can be incredibly monotonous, in the provincia di Siena, a meal beginning most usually with a platter of cured salumi, perhaps a an antipasto of crostini di fegatini, then a primo piatto of pinci (or pici depending on where you are) al ragù, then carne alla griglia - simple plain grilled meats cooked over an open fire. Delicious the first time, pretty damn good the second, but, please, not for a whole week. And often there really is very little choice. So we begin to long for something more considered, more creative, more carefully prepared and presented: in short, we begin checking out the ristorante...
MP
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Have never thought of buying inferior wine just to use for cooking. Why would you? We cook a lot with wine, just throwing it into the pot as if it were any other required ingredient. My modus operandi is usually to open the bottle, pour myself a glass, pour a glass or half the bottle (as required) into the cooking pot, enjoy another glass while it's cooking, then open a new bottle (either of the same wine or something complementary) to have with the meal.
Of course, there are those pretentiously named recipes such as coq au Chambertin. Mais oui, it sounds wonderful, but who in their right mind would use that magnificent wine to throw in with an old hen, some lardons fumés, a handful of baby oignons?
That said, I was in Alba the other week with a winemaker friend who's mother is a great cook. When she wants to make brasato al Barolo she sends Mario down into the wine cantina below the house to draw a jug of deep, foaming Barolo out of the large 250hl oak casks in which that magnificent wine ages. Does it make a difference to utilise such a fine wine to cook with? I'd say yes: Mario's mother's brasato al Barolo is definitely the best beef-in-wine stew that I've ever eaten anywhere (it helps, of course, that the dish is accompanied by more of that wonderful Barolo to drink).
MP
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Bottarga is fantastic, not just over pasta but in any number of ways, thinly sliced like carpaccio and marinated to serve as an antipasto, used in salads, mixed into a paste or spread to have on crostini. Basically it's the roe from either tuna or grey mullet, first salted, pressed, then air-dried. It comes mainly from Sicily and Sardegna. The taste is assertive and robust, deeply intriguing, salty but never overly fishy. Gustiamo is a source for the US; Savoria has bluefin bottarga for the UK.
MP
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What about the old Café des Fédérations on the rue Major-Martin in the old quartier. We've enjoyed straightforward and delicious working class Lyonnais fare, great charcuterie (notably rosette), as well as the likes of pissenlit aux lardons, tablier de sapeur that was bigger than the plate, boudin aux pommes and delightful house Morgon by the pot. I wonder if Raymond is still there?
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just a suggestion regarding cheese...
Grazie Alberto, I'll definitely take your suggestion and look out for pecorino stagionato from Tuscany, Umbria and Marche. I know what you mean about the dominant salty assertiveness of pecorino romano. I've also had some great pecorino from Abruzzo.
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Not pancetta. Guancale. (cured pork cheek) which I believe is more traditional. If hard up for guancale, then pancetta.
For carbonara, I prefer pancetta to guanciale; for amatriciana, that other favourite Roman stand-by, it's the reverse. Both are of course variations on a cured theme, mostly fat, with some lean to add flavour, texture and bite. Guanciale, from the pig cheek, can be stronger and earthier in flavour, and it seems to go well with the garlic, tomatoes and chilies which I use in my amatriciana. The main thing I'm looking for with carbonara is some meaty bite in the pancetta (cured belly pork), the firm fried cubes of meat and fat, richly peppered, not too crisp and crunchy, the hard bite of the meat a contrast to the smooth and deliciously creamy egg sauce. Flabby old English back bacon, or thin, crisply fried American bacon just doesn't pass muster, in my book at least.
In fact, I've just today ordered some Tuscan pancetta tesa (what would, I think, be called rigatino in and around Florence) from UK on-line Italian specialists Savoria. Also some pecorino romano which I also prefer to parmigiano reggiano for either carbonara or amatriciana - that particular grainy flavour of sheep milk cheese just seems to be right. Oh and heaps and heaps of coarsely ground or freshly cracked black pepper - impossible (almost) to have too much.
Eunny, your egg ravioli sounds delightful. What about adding a few cubes of crisp fried pancetta inside each raviolo along with the uncooked yolk and cream? Again, it's the crunch of the meaty, fried cubes contrasting with the smooth runny yolk that for me would be most intriguing.
MP
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Hi Robert,
Sorry for the delay in posting about this extraordinary event. It's taken a little while to digest it all, metaphorically as well as literally. Five days in Piedmont, focusing exclusively on food and wine is an intensely enjoyable and filling experience in every way. The Salone itself offers simply so much that is excellent and exciting, from all over Italy of course, as well as from throughout the world. The Slow Food Presidia projects are particularly fascinating.
Terra Madre, taking place simultaneously in the nearby Palazzo di Lavoro, was even more overwhelming, seeming the whole world gathered under one vast roof - farmers, fishermen, nomadic herdsmen and women, cheesemakers, winemakers, food producers, women's cooperatives - from 130 countries and five continents - all there to share and discuss common problems and solutions, to meet, make bonds and exchange friendship, ideas and visions for the future.
Here's my Salone del Gusto and Terra Madre report complete with some pictures.
As for Turin itself, it's a delightful city, extremely friendly (in spite of stereotypes of the cold north) and a lovely place to explore (seemed to spend quite a lot of time - very late at night - sitting out under the arches, drinking grappa gialla). Enjoyed dinner with friends at C'era una volta - a lovely small place in an grand old palazzo, plus an amazing meal the following night at the Villa Sassi (just outside of Turin) as guests of the Campania region (incredibly vivid foods and wines from Campania).
Then down to the Barolo wine zone to visit winemaker friends Mario and Luisa Fontana of Cascina Fontana and to sniff out white truffles in Alba.
Marc
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Interesting timing. Just yesterday, my trusted local wine retailer recommended the 1975 Gran Reserva from Toro Albalá ($26US, 375ml). We'll probably drink it next weekend -- I'll post again after we do.
Hi Alex, thanks for the great link. I didn't know about Bodegas Toro Albalá, and from the link I guess it's in the DO of Montilla-Moriles centring around Cordoba, right? Also I didn't know that such PX wines were made from single vintages rather than from the solera system of dynamic continuous ageing (as per sherry). Absolutely fascinating, and the web site even describes PX wines going back to 1939! I've tasted very old sherries and madeiras, as well as some astonishing ancient Tarragona wines, and the rich, caramelly, buttery oxidized flavours that emerge can be truly unique - and incredibly, beautifully persistent.
I love PX and, as we're coming up to the holiday seasons, it's worth reminding that it's just about the only wine on earth that can actually partner and enhance traditional English Christmas pudding. I like the Domecq Pedro Ximenez: it's widely available, an absolute bargain, and richly, raisiny complex and sweet.
MP
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Of course one of the defining elements of Christmas lunch is the Christmas cracker. Joining hands crisscrossed and pulling the crackers which go off usually with a whimper not a bang, putting on the coloured paper hats, and reading out the cheesy jokes one by one at the start of the meal is all an essential part of the ritual. My father-in-law (he who loves pork pie for Christmas breakfast) also likes to put out streamers and pea shooters, and with some 11 grandkids (ranging in age from 26 to 10) it gets pretty racous. Personally I could do without the streamers and spit-sodden paper 'peas' in my crystal goblet of claret (pulling out old Bordeaux from the cellar another tradition), but there we are. You gotta go with the flow and it's all part of the essential English Christmas. (So far that matter is going for a walk in the the wind and rain: when we're down here it's along Exmouth seafront, and afterwards of course for a pint or two at The Bridge Inn).
As for the pies, no apple, no cranberries, no turkey and ham: just the pure basic unadorned pork pie. For the uninitiated, this English standby is a hefty and solid yeoman's fare, a hand raised hot water crust (traditionally raised around wooden moulds) filled with ground pork meat seasoned just with salt and pepper, baked, then, once cooked and cooled, filled with pork gelatine to fill up the gaps between crust and meat. This solidifies to a solid clear jelly. Nothing else. It's cut into slices and always eaten cold. Tarka, your lack of knowledge of this 'Midlands tradition' confirms what I have long suspected: that eating it for Christmas breakfast is probably not universal throughout the region - in fact probably not done anywhere else except in my in-laws house. For me, eating pork pie on Christmas morning (with the pink Champagne) is a form of penitence: I always make an immense and histrionic fuss about having to do so (though in truth, I've rather come to like it, though I don't care to admit it); but then, I'm just getting my own back for the grief I have to put up with each year about pumpkin pie.
MP
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sounds about right, but did you forget breakfast? a full cooked breakfast?
No full English cooked breakfast here. My wife being from the Midlands, Christmas breakfast is always, wait for it, pork pie. This took some getting used to in the early days of our marriage (I think I nearly vomited the first time, but somehow manfully managed to swallow back the regurgitation, otherwise who knows what might have happened?). Apparently, pork pie was/is traditionally the breakfast of choice in the Midlands to give the hardworking mother/wife of the family a break from having to prepare anything in the morning since the Christmas lunch itself is such a big deal. My father-in-law is very particular about his pork pies (he likes Pork Farms best): they must be quite peppery and also have a good layer of jelly, with a hot water raised crust that is thick and crusty, never mushy. Must be served with Colmans English mustard, no other will do (and certainly not French!).
Well, over the years, I've come around to accepting the once-a-year-necessity of eating this on Christmas morning, but we have insisted that it is washed down with some good pink Champagne (the past few years a rather good Dom Ruinart - though I must say, the subtleties of the biscuity rich deluxe cuvée are rather overshadowed by the tongue-searing heat of the English mustard...)
As for the Queen's speech, not in this household, thank you very much. My in-laws are neither pro nor anti monarchy, but the speech is mercifully something we've always been spared: lunch is served precisely the moment Her Majesty begins and in all my years of living here I've never had to suffer through the bloody thing, stomach grumbling, waiting to eat.
I guess the two most important elements of the meal here (whether turkey or goose - we'll have the latter this year since we're cooking) are the roast potatoes (my mother-in-law's the best in the universe), and the sprouts - which I'm afraid I still despise much as I have tried, but which are just, well, the taste of Christmas in England.
Oh yes, another absolute indispensable, the ritual of the passing of the Port round the table at the end of the meal to accompany the Stilton. Now which way is it supposed to go?
MP
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I was in Alba on Monday and spoke with Alessandro Bonino from Tartufi Morra, one of the best and most reliable sources. He had plenty of truffles but was worried that last year's dry weather might mean that the quantity later in the season might be down. Prices vary according to each individual truffle and depending on size, aroma, shape (too irregular means difficult to clean and thus wastage) and of course supply and demand. As of Monday, an average price was around 2800 euros per kilo but Alessandro was hoping that it would go down in November. There seems to be a feeling locally that if prices increase much more than they all might be at risk of killing the oca that lays the golden uovo and that tartufi d'Alba will simply not be affordable to any but the super-rich (who might not necessarily appreciate them anyway). In the zone, a generous grating of white truffles over tajarin or even a little bit over a typical dish such as roasted red peppers bathed in pungent bagna caôda is still a quite affordable treat, at home or in simple trattorie and osterie alike: a very little of this overwhelming rarity does indeed go a long way.
Here is a photo of some real beauts. The whopper on the left weighed 410g, which is an exceptional size.
There were many smaller than this, with a good walnut size truffle at say 25 or 30g a more than worthwhile purchase for a really special family dinner. Here are some good examples:
Incidentally, at this time of year, the trifolau (truffle hunters) set up stalls up and down the Via Maestra, the main drag of Alba, or hang out on Saturdays in the communal market, pulling handkerchiefs out of their pockets furtively to show you their wares. The most important factor in buying a truffle, says Alessandro, is the intensity of the aroma.
Robert, what has been your experience so far this year with tartufi bianchi?
Marc
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Good morning Robb,
Are you just writing about huîtres from Brittany? For plates from Belon I'd also second cigalechanta's recommended Chez Jacky as well as the Huîtrières du Château de Belon right on the Port du Belon, a good place to both learn about and sample these delicious beauts. You might also wish to head further south to the Charente-Maritime and the tiny unprepossessing town of Marennes. Here there is an artisan industry based around the ancient shallow beds that are washed twice daily by the salty tide. These are the claires, disused salt pans rich in a green algae that gives the resulting fines de claires their exceptional green tinge and very particular lemony, iodine finish, and deep, lingering flavour. Of course it's a matter of taste, but for me, fines de claires de Marennes can almost match, for sheer sensuous pleasure, the richness and depth of flavour of natives plates from Belon.
Marc
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Hola Esperanza,
I was in Pátzcuaro a few years ago researching a story on the pescado blanco for Slow Magazine (Slow Food) and fell in love with place so I'll look forward to your article. I too loved the food, especially the corundas! Hopefully your article will be on-line. Can you please post the link when it is published.
In the meantime you might be interested in this photo essay which my wife Kim put together from our visit: Pescado blanco - myth and reality.
Hasta luego
Marc
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As I understand it, "schnapps" the generic term as it is used in Germany stands for an unaged distilled neutral grain spirit. Essentially German vodka. It's not clear to me that any of these are flavored.
My understanding is that 'schnapps' is indeed a generic term that can be applied to any number of potent clear liquors, but that it is can sometimes be interchangeable with 'eau de vie', that is a liquor that is distilled from pure fruit, not flavoured with fruit. Distiller René Legoll from Alsace explained to me, "To make good eau de vie, you must begin with fruit of the highest quality. The mirabelle plums from Lorraine are the best in the world, far superior to ours from Alsace. But our own cerises (cherries) are finer. I go down to Provence to seek the most finely perfumed poire Williams while much of the wild fruits and berries that I distill come from Eastern Europe."
The way it's done is that first the fruit must be fermented (like wine). Once the fermentation is complete, the resulting liquid is ready to be distilled. At Legoll's, the entire contents of the fermentation, including fruit solids, pips, liquid, the lot, goes into the copper pot still. Here it is heated indirectly, by bain mairie, in order not to scorch the fruit, and it is carefully double distilled, like Cognac. Legoll's Mirabelle Vielle Réserve, upwards of 50 percent alcohol, is amazing, hugely powerful, yet almost velvety with the fresh yet intensely concentrated character of delicious cooked plums.
Fascinating to read about the production of applejack. Certainly for a home moonshine it sounds interesting, but I'd be worried that the undesirable elements that remain might cause the mother of all hangovers (or worse). Double distilling, discarding the têtes heads and the queues and leaving only the coeur middle cut results in a very clean and safe spirit that is anything but rot gut firewater.
MP
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My favourite eaux de vie come from Alsace (though I'm sure that Boris's from Switzerland are superlative as well - as are those from Germany's Black Forest). The best are truly the essence, the pure distillation of the fruit from which they are made. Poire William is probably the easiest to enjoy for first-timers, for the sweet pear aromas and flavour in a crystal clear liquor that is at once clean, fiery and powerful is a potent and compelling combination. I've come now particularly to love Mirabelle and Quetsch (both types of plum) while Kirsch (cherry) can also be outstanding, not remotely sweet or syrupy, but smoothly potent, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. Make no mistake, these are true artisan products made by master distillers and they deserve to be tried though no doubt they are not to everyone's taste. The best are also always expensive. I love them (but then, I also confess to a terrible weakness for good grappa, preferably grappa gialla, and, hell, if we're going to be specific, grappa gialla di Barolo from the Distilleria Paolo Marolo).
MP
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Anybody else do the bicycle pump trick? That is, stick the end of a floor pump under the skin and then pump away to make the skin separate from the fat (it's a two man - or man/boy - job). Then do the usual boiling water, baste with honey and soya etc, hang from a hook in front of a drafty kitchen window, sleep on the floor of the kitchen (so as to be able to wake up and baste every hour or so), then, after 24 hours of constant attention, roast in a very hot oven. Dead simple.
Here's the way we do it. Jeez, this has made me hungry for duck, so it's about time we do this again...
MP
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As a member of both Red Sox Nation and eGullet, what are you planning to serve as your victory dinner?
Hey Robert, I've been enjoying (if that's quite the right word) the last few days along with the rest of you (what, you mean there are Yankees fans on eG?@!). The games finish so late/early over here that victory dinner is out of the question: the first I hear of the extraordinary happenings is when I log on to mlb.com first thing on waking to see the results, along with celebratory emails from my sister, brother and father. Believe me, breakfast has been tasting curiously, strangely good.
Anything can happen tonight, of course, and no one here is counting our poulet rôti. Win or lose, surely even Yankees fans must concede that it's been a brilliant few days for baseball: and as they say, it ain't over til the fat lady sings.
For the record, like probably half the nation, three-quarters of the world, my antipathy to the Yankees runs generations deep (alongside similar sentiments towards the Dodgers: my father was/is a New York then SF Giants fan and we were raised accordingly). In fact, my greatest claim to fame is that in 1962 as a six year old growing up in the Bay Area, I was pictured on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle (or was it the Examiner?) with a baseball mitt in front of my face, clearly blubbing. The caption read something like "Bye Bye baby, for those methodical Yankees have struck our Caseys out." I remember being particularly enraged because the baseball mitt that was given to me for the photo was a Micky Mantle signature model. Well, I sure hope not to be blubbing tonight/tomorrow morning. And hey, I'm really looking forward to meeting both the Easter Bunny and that nice Mr. Claus (who as every child knows is most definitely NOT a Yankees fan).
Marc
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I wouldn't eat a white pudding every day or even every month, but I think that an occasional one is much better then a steady diet of garbage filled ready-meals or for that matter regular Chicken Tikka type curry.
Hey steady on, Adam, is that what you think we whitepuddinghaters live on down here in the soft pansyish southern underbelly of Britain? Ready meals and chicken tikka? Never touch a ready meal, myself, not particularly fond of chicken tikka either. And don't misunderstand: I'm not fat phobic, believe me, actually love the stuff, cub's honour. Extra virgin olive oil, glug it by the litre; duck fat, can't get enough of it; the charred ridge of fat on a nicely fire-grilled aged sirloin steak, best bit of all; roast pork scratching, crispy and salty and dripping in oil, one of the greatest foods on earth; deep-fried local cod, deep-fried local scallops, hell, deep-fried anything at all (but not a Mars bar, pu-leeease), thank you very much. But some things you gotta draw the line at. Some things just don't seem worth even trying. And that sausage casing of, what, 40% solid white suet - looks like a whole lot more to me - well, it just doesn't inspire me. Honestly, I can say with my hand on my heart that I don't think I'm ever going to be a hog's pudding aficionado . . . though never say never.
Now Moby if you're reading this, I'm sure you'll take me to task and describe the most amazing things you can do with it, to make the proverbial silk purse out of, well, a sow's pudding . . .
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Scottish white pudding would be pinhead oatmeal, suet, onion, spice, salt. It is actually rather nice, sort of crumbly and nutty. I prefer mine deep fried. Not sure about the pansy Southern types.
Um, er, you mean, in effect, a big sausage casing stuffed full of fat (with a bit of this and that)? 'Fraid that's what I always suspected. 'Fraid that's what it always looked like. But obviously I was missing the master stroke of genius: deep fry the sucker! Yum yum now I know what I've been missing . . . better pop right out and get some . . .
While we're on the subject of British food phobias (mine), it's not particularly a breakfast food, but another thing that's always scared the shit out of me for, what, nearly a quarter of a century are those jars of pickled eggs you see on the bar top counter at least of my local, the Bridge Inn. I've always imagined it was the same jar, still sitting there after 25 years or more. I've never seen anybody eat one, though apparently some people do. Don't tell me, Adam, you like 'em deep-fried . . .
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My Korean grandmother had a good tip for making fried jon (just flour and egg, no breadcrumb): when mixing the eggs for the egg wash, use your hands to mix the eggs vigorously, not a fork or a whisk, which add too much air. The air is what causes steam which in turn causes the coating to lift.
The Toast Topic
in Cooking
Posted · Edited by Marco_Polo (log)
We once lived in a simple farmhouse in the wine hills above Florence. There was a huge open fire and we sat around this most every evening, usually burning but shivering at the same time (there was no other heating and Tuscany in the winter can be bitter). Our regular nightly treat was simply to cut slabs of dense, unsalted Tuscan bread and toast over the open fire, then rub the scratchy bread with a cut clove of garlic, then add a drizzle of new season olio extra vergine d'oliva from the farm we lived on, a sprinkle of coarse sea salt, a twist of black pepper. If the fire was too hot, sometimes we burnt the outside of the bread almost black, but it was still soft and chewy inside: this taste of sometimes burnt unsalted bread, combined with the back-of-the-throat prickle of the vibrantly green new season olive oil, the hotness of the garlic, the crunch of the sea salt, washed down with a tumbler or two of simple Carmignano wine also from our farm, is one I still long for, impossible to reproduce without all those precise elements. Fettunta, the ultimate toast, for me the simple but genuine taste of Tuscany. Here's how we like it:
MP
(edited to add photo by Kim Millon from Food Lover's Companion Italy)