balmagowry

Nope; the one I was fulminating about was by Ross King - same guy who wrote Brunelleschi's Pyramid and Michelangelo's Floor. Both of which I was looking forward to reading, but now I don't think I trust either of them. The other was absolutely marvelous - it's upstairs and I'm not and I disremember the author's name (uh-oh, mags will kill me, I think he's a friend of hers no less, and I shall certainly desire his more acquaintance, because this one grabbed me as much as the other repelled me), but I'll look it up later if you wish. Those fries are devastatingly beautiful and they fill me with desire. Are the green bits garlic shoots? or is there more there than the parmesan and garlic?

Not entirely par for the course. Having paid a delightful visit to mags at her bookstore last Friday, I came away with two historicals into which I plunged eagerly. Unfortunately the first one, set in the early-mid 17th century, put me off almost immediately with a plot point revolving around use of potassium cyanide. Hello? Only about 250 years early; and once you see something like that it makes everything else suspect. (That book had other flaws, in particular a coy and self-conscious style; but this sort of thing is not rocket science, not when it affects one's credibility so deeply.) Both. And of course there's the converse curse: how often have you read a book or seen a movie with historical elements, only to become so preoccupied with the presentation of food that you lose track of all other substance? Even aside from my own screamingly obvious instance, i.e. "Master and Commander," this happens to me all the time. And I'm not the only one. My favorite extreme illustration, comprising both food and history, is Careme's long impassioned essay about Napoleon's life on St. Helena, focused entirely on the dreadful gastronomic privations of that final exile, especially the shocking indignity of a former emperor being subjected to the work of a team of four chinese cooks! Definitely the kind of guy who would have photographed his food.... Loving your blog. Biscuits like that would definitely be worth seceding for! (Hmmm... think I feel a batch o' biscuit coming on myself. Don't have any southern genes, except maybe the south of Russia, but I generally acquit myself pretty well in the biscuit department.)

Second the welcome! About that thread - I sure wish Aidan would post a follow-up and let us know if any of the recipes offered proved to be the one he sought. I've chased him up, I've chased him down, I've even chased him all over your bio thread, but he always stays a step ahead of me, and the suspense continues to kill me. (Same with Rich and the Chicken Marengo thread, but of course you know I would never go that far off topic....)

Yeah, rosemary would be a tough match. I remember reading (somewhere -- Fine Cooking magazine) an article on using herbs in desserts, and I think I recall a match between grapefruit and rosemary, so maybe that's an avenue to pursue. Second the rosemary/grapefruit motion! Now I think of it, it seems strange to me that I've never tried it in a culinary or drinking context, but my favorite aromatherapy mix of essential oils is rosemary, grapefruit and lavender. For a bath I usually let the lavender predominate (damn, off the top of my head I can't remember the exact properties, but lavender is supposed to be relaxing whereas rosemary and grapefruit are different kinds of invigorating), but I bet you could do some really interesting things with a rosemary syrup and grapefruit juice and... rum? vodka? For that matter, it's almost lavender season - maybe when the flowers come in it'd be worth making a lavender-rosemary syrup. Something tells me lemon would work well somewhere in this mix too. Limoncello? I think in the back of my mind I'm remembering some sort of a dessert where lemon and lavender were the main flavor notes. Pity the back of my mind doesn't ever step forward; the memory is hazy as hell, even though no booze was involved at the time.

My latest coup: a copy of Gustave Desnoiresterres's 1877 Grimod de la Reynière et son groupe, which I've long desired but not been able to afford. Couldn't figure out why Powell's was selling it for only $15 (as opposed to the typical $200-$400) until it arrived and I realized it had been beautifully, lovingly rebound. Since I collect for use and not for resale, and since the end result is in gorgeous condition, I'm thrilled you'd better believe! Also got a copy of Nostalgia: Taste and the Dumas Grand dictionnaire de cuisine (I already had the abridged/translated ones, but this is the complete in one volume, original French), so altogether that's another 3 for me, please, Maggie. And me, as always, singing the praises of ABE.

Only "eggless" mayo I've ever encountered or made is not really eggless, it's only yolk-less - the idea being that using whites only will make a less rich mayo for those watching their cholesterol. You make it like any other mayo but with two whites in place of each whole egg. It's quite good, but won't be any help to your father if he's looking for something truly eggless. (I seem to have heard that one can also use the commercial egg substitutes, but IIRC those are also egg-whites with coloring thrown in to make them look yellow, so that isn't much help either.)

Jeez - color me outdated, I guess. (And talk about fruity!) No wonder Newsday is no longer using the slogan "On top of the News; ahead of the Times." Maybe I'll just have a Negroni or something. :resigned sigh:

Maybe, but in that regard it ain't a patch on the Preakness's Black-Eyed Susan!

Who knew? According to today's Newsday (Everything You Need to Know about the Belmont), there is in fact an official drink; I for one plan to give it a try. Diet creamsicle, my foot. A little peach bitters wouldn't come amiss, though!

Yeah, the more I think about that the better I like it. I suppose one should be wary of gussying up that sort of recipe too much - sometimes there's actually a reason for using the most boring mundane bread in the world, as a foil for other strong flavors. But what the hell. Artichokes and mayo/aioli is already a proven combination. Onion. Cheese. What's not to like?

Back on the fatty-cheesy side - I'm suddenly reminded of a cheese puff sort of thing my mother used to serve with drinks when I was little, one of those Clever Unguessable Recipes of the Suburban 50s which later passed out of her repertoire as her cooking became more sophisticated and adventurous. The thing is, the combination of flavors really did work - and I don't think it would be at all difficult to develop a more "grown-up" version. As I remember one made a thickish paste of mayonnaise, grated parmesan, and grated onion; spread it on smallish pieces of toast; browned it under the broiler. Back then, of course, it was Hellman's Mayo and Wonder Bread and, no doubt, Kraft pre-grated parmesan - though it sure looked/smelled/tasted more exciting than the sum of those parts. But imagine it with fresh parmesan and your own mayonnaise (even a light aioli, maybe?), on something more interesting though not too assertive by way of bread. Or pastry. Or artichoke hearts! I think it has potential.

OK, this is getting creepy again. What you don't seem to remember is... he was looking at the camera when you took the picture; the picture, however, has changed since then....

Hard winter pears - called Wardens - are a very old tradition. OK, both of you, help me here. Mabelline says Seckels are HUGE? Biggest Seckel I've ever seen is about 2" long. In other respects they are as you describe, though. Meanwhile, Jackal10 brings up the Warden pear as if it's an everyday thing. Oy vey, J10, where you been all my life? or rather, where were you when I was so desperately trying to find Wardens (for the Warden Pie in L&SD), and finally threw up my hands and assumed they were no longer to be found? They aren't, in this country, of that I'm pretty sure; but I didn't limit my search to this country. There is, however, apparently a pear called the Worden (sic) Seckel - though I couldn't actually get my hands on that either. But I always wondered.... Actually, if memory serves (and this would be memory of The Swiss Family Robinson, so you know the source was accurate!), you don't boil it; you grate it and squeeze out ALL the liquid. The flour is fine; it's the juice that'll kill ya. Personally, I'm not sure how confident I'd be of having squoze it sufficiently. Is it worth the risk? Not for tapioca, at any rate.... And yes - with this, as with Fugu, as with rhubarb, as with any number of things (who was the first person brave enough to eat a lobster?) - you gotta wonder how they figured these things out. Presumably the hard way; but it's amazing that anyone persevered after that. Fifi; your enlightening post about whole-grain vs white flours irresistibly reminds me of a passage from Nancy Mitford's The Pursuit of Love ("I feel sure that your delicious bread contains the germ"...) - if you don't know it I'll hunt out the passage for you. EDIT: Damn, knew I should have read ahead and seen that NeroW beat me to the lobster question. OTOH, gives me an excuse to mention that lobsters were trash food at one time, especially in coastal New England; can't call the details to mind but vaguely remember reading somewhere about a suggested reform in household employment contracts, mid-19th-c or so, which stipulated that the employee not be required to eat lobster more than twice a week.

...Doomed for all eternity to walk the earth in the shape of a butcher... Yikes! But in that case maybe Lucy is the pure-hearted young woman who can break the spell, "and peace shall come to..." Saint-Nizier? Wait a bit, this is coming rather pretty. How's this: the curse was laid upon him by a woman whose brother/father/lover he unwittingly beheaded, a century or three ago, and this was the gist of it: because he had made a butcher of himself in so doing, she doomed him to walk the earth in the guise of a literal butcher until the day when a pure-hearted woman would come along and capture his soul on a piece of paper; the soul thus drawn away from the earthly manifestation would be freed from the spell and able to rest in peace. Now... let's suppose that this original episode took place sometime well before the mid-19th century, when there was little danger of this obscure antidote being understood, let alone implemented. She musta thought she had him good - all eternity indeed. So then what happens? Photography comes into the picture, and the breaking of the spell becomes a distinct possibility; curiously, it's around 1840 that those who frequented a certain butcher's shop began noticing that he was occasionally accompanied by an immaculate pink-sweatered woman. And as photographic technology developed she made increasingly frequent appearances; I think you'd find that it was in the late 1930s that sightings of the woman became daily occurrences. Oddly enough, that is also when the Polaroid camera came out. Coincidence? Hardly. There's a simple explanation for all this. That woman in the pink sweater... she isn't really his wife: she's the woman who cast the spell. OK, we all know the basic rules for spell-casting, right? You always have to supply an "out" clause (though there's no rule against making said clause utterly outlandish); and once cast, you don't get do-overs. Now all of a sudden there's actually a chance that new-fangled technology might be able to implement that bit of flowery language and thereby overthrow the curse - and there's not a damn thing she can do to prevent it but stick close to him 24/7 and make sure no nice young women with cameras come snooping around and noticing that he's picturesque! (The pink sweater is the source of her power: she has been wearing it for centuries, and it has magically adjusted its cut as necessary to keep it current and unobstrusive - I believe it started out as a stomacher or a kirtle or some such thing. I'm sure I don't need to explain why it can't be stained with blood or anything else. That is the nature of magic sweaters, pink or otherwise.) That photograph taken in 1930 - now there was a close call. But it wasn't taken by a pure-hearted woman and it wasn't really of the butcher himself, so the pink-sweatered one let it go. (Note, however, that she herself is not visible in the picture... and draw your own conclusions.) What were the odds that someone - let alone this particular someone - would find it and make the connection? The odds against must have been astronomical - yet so it fell out. Bruno Bettelheim would have a field day. After the fact, of course, she couldn't put that cat back in the bag - Lucy had already seen the face. All she could do was manipulate the image so that the evidence was no longer available. So here's Lucy's dilemma. If she wants to play Senta to this guy's Dutchman, she can storm the citadel and take the picture despite all attempts to stop her. Or I spose she could try stealing the pink sweater, if she has the nerve. Either way, though, that means losing one hell of a good butcher. So, Lucy... just how pure is that heart of yours? (Damn, I forgot all about working Dorian Grey into this. Maybe next time.)

:sniffle: Oh. I do so love happy endings!

Actually - I recently learned from The Boy, who explains it all by reminding me that he gres up in Wisconsin, that raw rhubarb can be pretty good. You have to wet it and dip it in sugar, and then it's quite tasty and refreshing, both crunchy and juicy. I think I prefer it cooked, but raw makes a nice change once in a while. And now for something completely... subjective: lutefisk. Once was enough, as far as I was concerned - and of course it doesn't really count because the processing it goes through to prepare it for serving is largely intended to undo the processing it went through to prepare it for storage. Doesn't much matter, as nothing I can think of would make it palatable. Poor little cod - it didn't taste bad when it was fresh. Anyway, for those who actually love lutefisk - and yes, I have met one person who sincerely did - it sorta kinda qualifies for this category. You sure couldn't eat it while it's still full of lye.... In fact, now I think of it, I suppose you could say the same about haggis. Not that I like haggis, mind you - I've made it, so by definition I can't also like it - but even I have to admit the final version is less revolting, more palatable, and yes, probably more healthful, than the, er, raw materials.

Wait, this doesn't make sense. We know that their flavor and quality were not poor, which suggests they hadn't autolyzed. And Anna didn't say anything about the shells being soft. A shedder doesn't grow into its new shell; it sheds the old one when that becomes too tight, and the new one is still soft when it emerges (hence "softshell"), but fits pretty snugly and continues to do so as it hardens. So something doesn't compute. In theory there shouldn't ever be a time when the shell is too big for the lobster; it should always be the other way round.

Thanks, Hathor! Just got home from it a little while ago, and I'm pretty wiped out. Not to put too fine a point on it, it was a whacking huge success, a total love-fest, a blast. Sold/signed a lot of books, met some good people, have been invited back to do future events on the ship. Had a long leisurely tour of the ship today - a gorgeous restoration, still in progress. (Seriously considering the possibility of trying to crank up the lecture activities - the travel part gets a bit wearing, but the gigs are awfully rewarding. I'd forgotten how much fun it could be.) And then I log on here and "View New Posts" nets me 17 pages of hits. Guess I'm back, all right....

Yup - Stonyfield uses pectin, even in the Organic. Not sure they do in the full-fat, but I think so. Very annoying. Dannon is the cleanest starter I've found - and Axelrod is pretty good too.

Can't say I blame them. At the risk of raising the spectre of the whole argle-bargle about pure language vs. language as living breathing evolving entity, I still find it jarring to hear (or to say) "beuh, ouais, j'ai fait mon planning pour le weekend." (Hmmm - that wasn't clear. "beuh, ouais" sounds fine to me, I'm afraid, though the Academie would cringe - it's the "planning" and the "weekend" that make me jumpy.)

See, here's the philosophical difference between me and the resta youse. You guys are spending MONEY for your equipment, and in two cases MONEY for your starter cultures. I am opposed to this, partly on principle and partly because I can't afford it - don't know where one begins and the other leaves off, because I'm not literally unable to afford it, but I am certainly opposed to spending money on something whose functional equivalent I already own. Anyway, here as promised is my report on the latest batch. I did almost what I said I would. Last night I made a quart batch using a little of the previous (gummy) batch as a starter. Helen, I think you were right: the amount of pectin in the original starter was just enough to make the product gummy; but the amount of gummy yogurt used to start this batch did not retain enough pectin to affect the final texture. IAC, the new yogurt is excellent, as good as the second-best I've ever made (and I'm now pretty much convinced that the best one was a fluke, though I wouldn't be above trying to replicate it on occasion), so I'm happy, and I now have a nice self-perpetuating setup where the only thing I have to buy is the milk. And the occasional mother yogurt if mine should turn funky. I think at that point I'll revert to Dannon; the Brown Cow was lovely to eat, but I wasn't crazy about the gumminess - Dannon at least is nice and neutral. Oh - and I do still have that freeze-dried culture to play with as well. Hmmmmm... decisions, decisions. Anyway, as long as I have a pilot light, I'm in business. Oh - Jensen, if you should happen to look in here - I was right about the gritty problem being particles scraped off the bottom - straining the milk resolved it. I've also changed to a heavy cast-aluminum pan for heating the milk - so no more scorching. All in all, I'm a pretty happy and self-sufficient camper.

So make yogurt! I'm going through at least 1/2 gallon a week that way - all by myself. And the yogurt is great - even though I'm still just using store-bought plain old homogenized milk. Just starting to look around for local organic possibilities, now that my yogurt culture is getting pretty reliable....

Have never bought them from Chinese store (I'll have to try this - bitter almonds are supposed to be unavailable in the US unless by prescription), but can't see why they wouldn't be the same as other bitter almonds, which do indeed contain prussic acid. I can't give you exact chapter and verse on the safe percentage, but there are some useful guidelines in various historic recipes. I've written about several of these in the past few years, and have tested them both in a "safe" modern version (using all sweet almonds and adding bitter almond extract for the flavoring) and in a "dangerous" authentic one, substituting the kernels of apricot or peach pits for the bitter almonds. (The latter BTW was quite common practice in the 18th-19th centuries and is a legitimate substitution on all counts; apricots and peaches, as well as plums and roses, come from the same family as almonds , and their pits taste the same and are equally poisonous.) The proportions given in most old recipes call for anywhere from 1/10 to 1/4 bitter almonds; I have used up to 1/4 without any ill effects. The discovery of prussic acid's poisonous properties and its presence in bitter almonds dates to the early 19th century (in fact, Mrs. Beeton solemnly mentions the danger in 1861); yet recipes calling for bitter almonds persisted in cookbooks right up until about 1920. Anecdotally, you have to figure that if many people died or got sick after eating macaroons or ratafias made from those recipes, someone would have noticed the fact! So I venture to suggest that you're OK with up to 25% bitter almonds. But if it makes you feel safer, cut back on the proportion and compensate with extract.

Damn right. I for one would like to know where this "favorite local espresso bar" is, Owen - sounds like the kind of place I'd want to go to and/or recommend....

What a perfect reply! They must love it. The fact is, though they are sometimes so embarrassed by their "inferior" English - usually not so inferior - I'm always charmed by their attempts, and of course the accent only adds to the charm. (I have a dear friend who is Hungarian-German, and his slightly fractured English is one of the perpetual delights of my life.) I wonder whether ours sound as charming to them.... Well, if not, they never let on.