Chris Amirault

Oh man oh man, that is the most exciting thing that's NOT in my fridge. I became addicted to dates during many trips to Saudi Arabia in a previous job, and the dried-up cylinders of dung that pass for same here in the States have now become... well, dried-up cylinders of dung. May we see photos to enable more viscous drooling, please? Shoukran.

A quick point: while I understand and appreciate the appeal of a bar-only espresso joint a la Italia, even here in Providence on Federal Hill or in Boston in the North End there are no (to my knowledge) espresso bars without at least a few small cafe tables and chairs. I don't know about Saskatoon, but down here the lack of places to sit and drink would have a seriously detrimental effect on business.

Ditto all that, jayt90. I just boned and grilled a leg of lamb tonight using real hardwood charcoal on my Char-Broil faux Weber kettle, bought at Home Despot on super reduction last summer. It was fantastic -- and I have to say that it would have been mediocre on a cooler, non-charcoal gas grill. But: those Weber performers sound dandy.....

Here's a link to more fridge porn -- and to the shame some members feel baring all.

I think in Long Beach that's called "Free Breakfast."

A vial. Great idea! Maybe I can find a rather scientific looking one, kinda like a test tube. That would be cool. ← Good idea. If you have a vial and anyone asks, you can mumble something about Chef Adria, molecula culinaria, and "the prototype."

Nyleve Baar wrote something compelling that got me thinking: I'm thinking of a meal I had at Daniel, and another I had at a two-star place, name long forgotten, in the Loire. The excellence of those meals can probably best be described by combining these two sentiments: highly constructed, aesthetically pleasing, and beautiful dishes that exude love, soul, and the reality of solid good food. Having read a bit about what Adria (among others) has to say on these subjects, I believe that this is precisely what he is going for with his cuisine.

Welcome! I'm eagerly awaiting the unfolding of your blog! I can already tell I'm going to need a glossary now and then. To wit: Perhaps I need a whack upside the head, but what is a "whack" of onions?

Not Chris, but I'll give some input. I do soak it overnight. I often forget too, so I end up having Jasmine rice instead, for a Thai dinner, if I didn't remember to soak the sticky rice the night before. I love it, and that just reminded me... I want to have sticky rice with something tomorrow night. I'll set the bag out now, so I remember. I wonder if there is an amount of time ahead that is too long to soak it... ? ← Hi Jason and Susan, Just so happens that, using half of the pork butt I ground to make homemade breakfast sausages for Mothers' Day, I made a bunch of really amazing sausages from (of course) Hot, Sour, Salty, Sweet this weekend, using the Northern Thailand recipe in there as a base. I screwed around with the recipe some -- added aromatic rice powder, extra bird peppers, this and that -- and then just fried them in their own fat. Served them with a cucumber salad, some fried scallions, and sticky rice. Which brings me to the question at hand (ahem): I had soaked the rice for about 30 hours, more than I had in the past, and when cooked the rice had lost that wonderful toothy quality I get when I soak it more like 8-12 hours. More than that, I think, is too much.

My goodness! These pix are positively mouth-watering! Thanks all for contributing so much -- and keep it up! Meanwhile, we have another cook-off dish to choose. Any ideas? Remember we want to choose things you wouldn't usually make at home, from different regions of the world, that enable us to learn new techniques but don't require second mortgages for equipment or ingredients. So: what d'ye think, eh?

Get some decent stock from your freezer and defrost while you saute some onions and garlic. Then add the linguica in slices. Add the stock, some cubed potatoes, and some kale (or another leafy veg). Salt, pepper... heaven.

Rice-a-Roni. Draw your own picture, people....

Marsha, I am very grateful for your excellent mint julep recipe (which you should certainly put on RecipeGullet!). As a northerner, I can't claim the status of an expert, but I drink these babies all summer, and your recipe will get some good green-finger-stained use around this house. I'll second your advice about a hefty mint sprig: the bouquet off of that sprig is crucial to the drink's appeal. My favorite part: Oh, the sun'll shine bright on my old Providence home....

Excellent ideas! Keep 'em comin'.

I've got some fine, fine sources for excellent pork belly, and even have some in my freezer as I type. What are some ways to prepare it as a featured item (not, say, as a minor ingredient, as in cassoulet)? As always, photos of the holy hog before, during, and after are always much appreciated.

The pizzas with eggs in them, as well as a Mother's Day event I'm preparing Sunday, prompts me to play Linda Richman: "Brunch pizza. Discuss amongst yourselves."

I am deeply, profoundly, irrationally envious.

So much to say here... -- I would like to request one of our New Yorkers to bring a digital camera to the Cupcake Cafe on 9th Ave at 39th and provide us with a glimpse of its wonder. If Sartre himself were alive to choose the perfect, cramped locale in which to stage the the bodily and existential drama of measuring relief against hygiene a la No Exit, this is the place. Get those cupcakes to go, friend. -- The bathroom at Al Forno here in Providence is quite beautiful, done over in slate, with a wonderful sink and simple spigot. Unhappily, there is no sign that says, "Turn the super-high-pressure spigot verrrrrrry slowly," so most people leave the bathroom looking as if they lost control of their overful bladders during a titanic seizure. -- As a father of two with a new infant, I am now looking forward to reliving the pleasures of changing our precious daughter while kneeling on many, many urine-pocked, shite-stained men's room floors. The really fun part is banging your head on the sink as you lift your changed child out of the filth. Fun!

Click here for a previous thread on this subject, at which you can find this wonderful dialogue between our own Jason Perlow and the checker:

I've been eating blanched, sauteed New England fiddleheads since I was a child and haven't experienced a single problem. I really do think that a quick dip in cold water to shock them is worth it; they have a tendency to turn a nasty brownish-green color without that.

Or maybe because you DO have a deeply ingrained sense of what is proper. I sure don't. By the way, I think that this little fellow captures precisely the expression I make when the umpteenth order arrives at the table, everyone's thinking, "He's done it again," and I'm thinking, "Did I order that, too? ... Which is what, exactly?"

I find myself unaccountably yet inextricably absorbed by the little ceramic jar of fermented (aka "preserved") bean curd sitting on the top shelf. A few days ago, I transformed a pile of yard beans with one small square, and my mind wanders frequently to other foodstuffs that might accommodate the same treatment wonderfully....

If anyone goes to the Madison WI farmers' market at the State House, please post some photos. I miss it terribly and want to convince a few people that it is, indeed, as spectacular as I've claimed.

Tommy, I've been having similar experiences lately, but there's something in my screwed up noggin that resists more often than not. I sometimes feel like (pathetic admission alert) The Man isn't gonna keep me from ordering that crab cake, dammit, that sort of thing. "Adolescent," I believe it is called. Perhaps your own fifteen years of resistance can help those of us who still struggle confront the beast, eh?

Of course they're gonna bring you your food. Unless the restaurant suddenly closes between courses without informing you. Since that'd really suck, it's probably best to anticipate that possibility. You know, "Be prepared," Boy Scouts, all that. Such fears are perfectly reasonable for those who lived through the Fish Taco Crisis of '74. You spend a few hours in a line baking in the hot LA sun, arrive at the front only to find that they're sold out, and get handed a number based on your last name that determines your chances for the next day's supply... well, you'll start thinking twice about who's sane and who isn't, my devil-may-care friend.