Chris Amirault

Probably about two tablespoons of pretty finely ground pepper. If you keep it too coarse, it gets stuck in the wheels and tears the dough. Kristin, I'm not particularly capable of answering the flour question (I used all-purpose King Arthur, whose protein content I can't find on line, oddly), so I'll take a crack at the other question: I really think that this might be one of the problems. I find that you have to flour pretty liberally to keep the dough moving through the rollers without sticking. That shot above of your torn dough looks the way that sticky dough looks when I don't flour enough. I don't think that a humid day makes it impossible; rather, I think that you just have to be sure to dust regularly.

So I thought I'd post tonight's black pepper fettucini preparations. Here's the KitchenAid pasta maker attachment, well worth the cash, I'm finding: The prep table, including the resting pre-made and -kneaded pasta dough (2 cups AP flour, 3 large eggs, salt, bit of water), lots of dusting flour, the pepper, and the very important Campari and soda for cook sustenance: Finally, borrowed from the laundry room, the imported Italian pasta rack. I got it at Williams-Sonoma for $1,200, but sometimes we use it to dry underwear: I won't bore you with umpteen shots of the dough getting folded and rolled and folded and rolled; suffice it to say that you can't do that too much. (I will also say that dusting the dough with flour also probably can't be done too much.) So, instead, here's the hairy-armed cook cutting some fettucini: The finished product, ready for an enormous amount of extremely salty boiling water: Finally, after being tossed in some garlic- and red-pepper-kissed EVOO, the aglio e olio fettucini on the table:

Holy cow! I spent a good chunk of yesterday exploring the stores in the Rolfe Square area of Cranston, just south of Park Ave. Four fantastic stores within two blocks: Chinese American Mini Market, 834 Park Ave, just expanded massively, and they are now without question the best Chinese place in the state, bar none. If it had decent fresh produce and meat section it would rival Boston Chinatown stores. There are other Southeast Asian places that are better, but for Chinese stuff, this place is tops. European Food Market, 102 Rolfe, is a very extensive Russian/Eastern European place with a very wide candy, deli meat, sausage, and cheese selection. She had several kinds of head cheese, which I think is some sort of achievement. Freedom Seafoods, Inc., 12 Rolfe, is a Chinese seafood place with several tanks of eels, crabs, lobster, and fish, as well as a wide shellfish selection. Jerusalem Meat Market, 88.5 Rolfe, is a halal butcher who has chicken, beef, lamb, and goat, as well as a wide selection of quality Middle Eastern stuff. Seriously, if you're in the area, you really ought to check this place out!

New place to list in the Providence area: Jerusalem Meat Market, 88.5 Rolfe Street in Cranston, serving lots of halal meats and a very good selection of other Middle Eastern goods.

The things I've tried from Brazilian Cookery: Traditional and Modern by Mararette de Andrade have been great -- but it's published in Rio and I don't think it's widely available.

Apparently, there is an Egyptian drink that is very similar to the Mexican hibiscus drink. We served it last night with ground lamb kabobs, taboulleh, hummous, and a few other things: perfect. Anyone know a good mail order source?

Ohmigod.

That's the best wine recommendation I've read in a long while!

Ahh.... We just got back from Sun and Moon Restaurant in East Providence RI, and with our dolshot bibimbap, dumplings, and seafood pancake we had shikhye. Click here for a remarkably great thread on making it from melonpan. At the end of our meal tonight, we had small hard candies, which I think were also made of rice and malt.

Obrigado, johnnyd! Here's to you, kid:

The same sorts of people who don't like oysters and are bad in bed, I'd imagine. What about muddled cosmos? I read something somewhere referring to that...

My first trip to NOLA was in the mid-80s, when I was finishing college and attending a conference. During my junior year and the subsequent year off, I had smoked through Paul Prudhomme's first cookbook, Louisiana Kitchen, several times, and naturally decided that I should make my way down to the restaurant and have dinner: my very first food-focused restaurant excursion. I grabbed a few people with me who had endured my attempts at "blackened redfish" back home, and we arrived at the restaurant as it opened -- along with several dozen other tourists. But, hardly a grumbling lot of irritable Yankees, this queue was filled with truly joyous people. Yeah, we knew we were tourists and K-Pauls was reputed to be more a national than a local phenomenon. But long before our family members had started calling us "foodies" with rolling eyes and NOLA celebrity chefs were using "Bam!" to sell product, we had finally arrived at this little temple to Cajun goodness eager for a powerful fine meal. And, shee-it, we were in New Orleans, friend, not blue law Boston. One person in line realized that we could get beers in plastic cups from a bar down the street to drink while we waited, and everyone just started bringing back trays of brew and handing them out down the line. When it was my turn, I walked down a bit further to a raw bar and ordered a pile of oysters and shrimp -- for some insanely small amount of money, a buck a dozen or so -- to bring back as well. I had not before and have not since enjoyed such a festive occasion with a group of complete strangers. When we finally were seated, we were treated to a fantastic meal. I had my first good bread basket in life at K-Paul's (the jalapeno cheese bread was remarkable, in particular), and, avoiding all things blackened, I consumed my and my companions' dishes -- a gumbo for sure, some jambalaya, who knows what else -- with a beer- and cayenne-fueled fervor. After the dinner plates were cleared and before my pecan pie came out, I went out the back of the house, though a long corridor exposed to the outdoors, passing the kitchen to my left, to the bathroom. On my way back, the dark, overcast evening skies finally burst open. I had seen a Louisiana rain storm a couple of days before, as I drove the 24-hours straight through from Providence to NOLA, crossing I-10 over Lake Pontchartrain, and it was no New England spring shower. I had pulled over because, after a few quarter-cup droplets thudded on the car, I suddenly stopped being able to see anything out the windshields or windows. While this night's shower wasn't nearly as voluminous, thunder and lightning were booming and snapping all around the restaurant, animating the sky just beyond my extended fingertips. I paused, briefly, at the kitchen doorway, and, emboldened by pleasure, asked if I could watch for a while. "Sure, but there's nothing much to see," said one of the many line cooks standing behind the massive ranges that shot blistering flames around the skillets and into the air. I watched as these focused pros tossed food and caught it, plated fillets and chops and who knows what all, and never missed a beat. There was just so much to see; here were people juggling three, four, six dishes at a time, while I struggled at home with a single cast-iron beast and burning roux. I was rapt as, suddenly, with transformer-busting crack, the kitchen and the surrounding restaurant went black. And this is the image of New Orleans that has stayed with me these two decades, that I have recalled so often over the last few, harrowing days: in a darkened kitchen lit only by the explosive gas flames licking pans and pots, amid a downpour drumming on the roof and incessant chatter, barking, and laughter, I watched the K-Paul's kitchen soldier on, with a greater sense of energy, confidence, and purpose than I could fathom, utterly devoted not merely to the patrons out front but to the foolhardy insistence that they sure as hell were not going to let Mother Nature show them who's boss.

I've got another one: the Studio Kitchen thread detailing the marvel that is Shola Olunloyo's remarkable apartment restaurant. Makes me want to jump on SouthWest and take that $39 Providence-Philly OW bargain flight just for the night.

Yeah, the water thing is annoying. But this from Our Faithful Ex-Critic seems a stretch: I wouldn't forget them, either. They sound like two of the most terrifically stupid men in history. Selecting cognac off a recited list blindly, and then being shocked, shocked, at the price? How the hell is that the restaurant's fault? Did the server trick them into choosing that cognac, Subliminal-Man-like? "Well, we have Remy Martin, Delamain youlooksohandsome Très Vénérable, Henessey, AE Dor didn'tIseeyouonthecoverofGQ? Reserve N°2 - 1889 Excellence...."

Thanks to this post in johnnyd's foodblog on making the perfect caipirinha, I have been muddling away. After a quick search, I found this thread, but I cannot believe that these few are the only muddled drinks out there. Surely there are others... yes? Also: with what does one best muddle? I have been finding that the handle of a wooden lemon juicer works very nicely when I'm too tired to pull out the KitchenAid grinder pestle. Does anyone have any of these babies?

Actually, I think that a lot of people who don't like octopus haven't had it prepared in a particularly good manner. Like squid, it's pretty easy to make inedible. I submit that dried cuttlefish is the best beer food in the world.

I agree -- save for black pepper pasta, for which I jones daily. Gotta be sure to grind that pepper finely, mind you, or the peppercorns get caught in the rollers and tear the dough viciously.

Kristin, what pasta recipe does Batali use? I'm starting to think about hunting down some "00" flour here in Providence somewhere, to use instead of the all-purpose King Arthur that I currently use. My ratios have been the basic 3 eggs to 2 cups flour, with dribbles of water and dusts of flour as needed. One other thought as I look outside at the rain: I've learned through trial and much error that those pasta sheets need to be nicely dusted before going through the final cut, especially using a machine. I've had too many fettucine blobs gather where delicate fronds should be!

Sorry -- to clarify -- I need a place to hang the spaghetti, say, while I'm rolling and cutting the dough. I don't really do it to dry it per se, just to put it somewhere. Living in the humid northeast, I can't always ball them with a bit of extra flour.

Please do keep us posted on this. I'm considering precisely the same purchase (at a scratch-and-dent place, too), so I'll be very interested to know all the ups and downs. Oh, and, it just so happens that, if you can swear like a sailor as needed, it'll help me comprehend your situation more thoroughly!

Well, "herb" in American English is "erb"; maybe someone pronounced "carb" that way, you know, "arb," and that kinda sounds like "erb." Or, then again, maybe not.

I really agree with transfattyacid. That Q&A is actually moving to me; I feel as though I'm listening to a conversation with a remarkable person who happens to care deeply about cooking and eating. Nose to Tail, truly a wonderful book, has much the same voice. I envy you your proximity, tfa! I've never had the chance to eat at St. John, sadly, but feel grateful for Chef Fergus just the same, which is a testament to that book and thread.

That's what we do now, too! I suppose there are better ways. Ideas?

Excellent.... Which begs the question: does anyone have an absolutely failsafe, tried-and-true gnocchi recipe that produces little potato pillows? I'm very much eager to master these buggers for a browned butter sauce (if only to use up some of the sage bushes that take over my herb garden annually).

I definitely meant Italian pasta (or, more broadly, Mediterranean) this go-round and will clarify above, but I'd be absolutely compelled if someone were to make fresh Chinese egg noodles. And don't forget the pad thai cook-off above!