MarketStEl

The next Zagat? We need another set of vox-pop dining guides? Or are they going to rely on anonymous visits by seasoned food critics or paid testers? I can think of a bunch of unorthodox but potentially useful categories, some of which existing guides try to accommodate: Big Night Out, Small Budget (special-occasion dining that won't cost a bundle) Good Food Fast (full-service restaurants that get you in and out quickly if you're in a hurry) Sensory Overload (where to go if you want to be wowed by the setting, atmosphere or crowd as much as the meal) I'm Only Here for the Food (when atmosphere doesn't matter and all you want is a great meal) Great Resort Dining (used to be an oxymoron, but not any longer) Whaddaya think?

Before I offer them: Has Wal-Mart planted its flag in Hawai'i yet? Now on to my response. Supermarkets as we know them cannot afford to compete solely at the upper end of the scale. There are simply too many people who want to keep their food costs down for the stores to ignore them completely, and many of these are often the same people who like to indulge in higher-quality ingredients and timesaving prepared foods. Most of these people are also looking to complete their food shopping in a single stop--people like me who visit more than one supermarket to skim their respective sale items are in the minority--and will in all likelihood choose the one that offers the closest fit with their desires. I know of no supermarket chain that completely avoids competing on price, or at least feels no need to make a nod in that direction. (As a witty ad for Fresh Fields, a natural-foods supermarket chain in the Mid-Atlantic region that was acquired by Whole Foods, once put it, "We realized you wanted to eat our food, not invest in it.") In this region, even the chains that are generally perceived as emphasizing high quality over low prices--Clemens Family Markets and Genuardi's (Safeway)--run ads reminding patrons that shopping at their stores costs no more than the competition. The day your nearby Safeway gets rid of its 10-for-$10 specials is the day its slow death spiral starts. BTW, I also believe that the nation as a whole risks trashing a valuable myth that aids social cohesion by "going too upscale" on a number of fronts, but that's really a discussion for another forum.

Quite. I'd more likely become a vegetarian after seeing that than after seeing Jamie Oliver slaughter a lamb.

I concede your point. If that guide considers hotel restaurants a category unto itself, then 24-hour eateries definitely belong in a category of their own too. Hotel dining runs the gamut and probably encompasses more variety than even 24-hour joints do. Especially if you include motels in the category. I've been in towns where the restaurant at the local Holiday Inn was the ne plus ultra of fine dining (and come to think of it, I believe Calvin Trillin had a Holiday Inn restaurant in downtown Kansas City in mind when he wrote derisively about "restaurants spinning around on top of bank buildings" in American Fried). Howard Johnson motels always had one of the company's restaurants attached, giving guests an alternative to spending hours in front of the TV in their rooms. I doubt that any of us would put these establishments in the same category as the Fountain Room at the Four Seasons Philadelphia or even JW's Steakhouse at the Marriott (Annie's American Grille might be another story). I suspect, however, that the editors of your guide had in mind the type of hotel restaurant that dreams of being the Fountain Room someday: an elegant, wood-paneled, chandeliered space where people speak in hushed tones, with a menu heavy on the old-school haute cuisine classics--okay, maybe they've let some nouvelle stuff in--and prices that would probably merit three dollar signs in most local city magazines. But truthfully, how many of these can a typical city support? I'd find the 24-hour category far more useful. Special attention should be given to the Buffalo wings, the burgers and the omelets.

I'm going to go out on a limb and speculate that the reasons why this is the case are: 1) At least in Manhattan, most of the main thoroughfares in residential districts are chock-full of restaurants offering reasonably priced food. By and large, these are the places you never read about in the New York Times restaurant reviews. 2) Space being at a premium in Manhattan, and not all that abundant in three of the other four boroughs, most supermarkets do not have enough room to put in a kitchen where meals, soups and the like can be prepared. Whole Foods Market stores have lots of ready-made entrees, soups, dips, sauces, salads and stews--including a decent vegetarian selection. Isn't there now a WFM in New York? As for Philadelphia: Most local supermarkets remain purveyors of ingredients first and foremost (though note my comment about Whole Foods above). However, some chains--in particular, Genuardi's (Safeway family) and Wegmans (two stores in the suburbs)--have large selections of prepared foods. (Wegmans might better be thought of as a cross between a supermarket and a restaurant.) In the city, one independent supermarket operator--The Freshgrocer--has made prepared foods a larger-than-usual part of its business; the reason may have something to do with the location of its first store, right on the edge of the University of Pennsylvania campus. (The company operated regular supermarkets under a different name in Delaware County; these have also been converted to the Freshgrocer format, which proved to be a hit in West Philly--so much so that the company built a new, larger store about 2 miles west of the Penn campus, where the population is blacker and less affluent. It has amenities comparable to the campus location.) I do not see competitors rushing to upgrade their prepared-foods offerings, though: Acme, the region's dominant chain, seems content to offer the usual rotisserie/fried chicken, baked ham, mac and cheese and other traditional comfort foods at its stores. On the whole: These developments strike me as of a piece with the phenomenon, noted elsewhere on eG, of dishes made primarily with canned soup and frozen vegetables being classed as "homemade." I certainly hope Toliver is wrong about people who bother to cook from scratch being a dwindling minority, but I fear he may be right. Edited a day later to get rid of an offending "pre-". I agree with the poster downthread that new words incorporating this prefix are unnecessary; "prepared," "packaged cooked" (to distinguish from packaged foods that need cooking rather than reheating), "ready-made," "reheatable," "heat-and-eat," "ready-to-serve" and similar adjectives that do the same job already exist.

Well, the olive oil and soy sauce marinade worked--and cutting the steaks in half allowed them to cook through without becoming completely dry. I'm trying to post images to the "Dinner!" thread, but I'm having problems with ImageGullet. You can view the thumbnails in my "General Pix" album if you like.

Okay, here goes. The friend whose opinions about my cooking I value won't be coming over for dinner tonight , but I'll give you a full rundown over on "Dinner!" after everything's done. This morning, I took the tuna steaks--which I'd say were about 2 inches thick--and cut them in half. Then I prepared the olive oil marinade described upthread, put the steaks in a storage bag and poured the marinade over them. I have my countertop grill at the ready. It has no cold spots I'm aware of, but it heats up and cools down quickly. I figure I can achieve the proper searing effect by turning it to High at the outset, cooking the steaks briefly on each side, then turning the grill down to Low to heat the steaks through. Finally, I will probably not cook them until they're completely beige. I think I'll serve them medium-rare and see how that goes over. Wish me luck, folks. And thanks again for all your suggestions!

That's a shame. I agree with you that restaurant guides should include, if not separate ratings, at least a list of rated restaurants that are open round the clock or serve later than the usual closing time in the given city. However, I don't think that "24-hour restaurants" are a category separate and distinct from the usual system of classifying by type of cuisine. Especially when you consider that many of these 24-hour establishments are diners. I too could use some clarification on what makes a restaurant a bistro and what makes it a brasserie. I've assumed that a bistro is a casual eatery that features relatively uncomplicated fare.

1) How long is your morning commute, and what time do you need to be at work? 2) Where is your Crock-Pot? Let it do the work for you. Brown the meat, chop the onions and peppers, drain the beans, chop the tomatoes or open the can of (tomatoes|sauce|paste), toss everything in the slow cooker, add the spices, stir, cover, turn it on to Low and go about your day. What? You don't have a Crock-Pot? Never mind.

So Sunday I had at it again, with a more or less regular pepperoni pizza, only the cheese I used was extra sharp New York State cheddar rather than mozzarella. The sauce was made with a 6-ounce can of tomato paste, 1/2 cup water, 1/2 tablespoon basil, 1 teaspoon oregano, 1/2 tablespoon garlic powder and 1 teaspoon onion powder. The pie came out sweet, but with a bit of a bite from the Cheddar and garlic. However: I cannot for the life of me get the hang of hand-throwing the crust. Every time I've tried it so far, I get dough bunched up around the edges and holes in the middle, and ultimately I resort to the rolling pin. Should I be doing something else first before stretching it out over my fists?

The difference (IMO)? The lobster, crab and fish don't get dismembered before you cook them. The first two die by scalding to death and the third dies once it's out of the water. There's no blood or gore. Similarly, all the gory stuff is long past by the time the chicken appears in the meat case. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. Which is why Jamie's act was a valuable public service. I would have also encouraged my children to watch, if I had any.

Actually, I don't hear "Chef" used as an honorific in this fashion that much in the U.S., either, though it does happen from time to time. Those newspapers (coughThe New York Timescough) that religiously use honorifics in followup references to people do not use "Chef"; the followup reference would be to "Mr." or "Ms." <chef's name>. In most newspapers, the word "chef" might precede the name on the first reference only. But inquiring minds want to know: What do you all call Ainsley Harriott?

I know there is such a thing as pricing yourself out of the market--given the type of operation you will have, you won't be able to get away with charging $15 for a burger and fries the way Rouge (a fancy bistro on Philadelphia's Rittenhouse Square; writer Alan Richman dubbed its burger one of the 10 best in America in a recent GQ feature, and I'd have to say I agree with him) does, but as you already have a following that loves your current product, you might be able to get them to pay a little more at your new restaurant if you can educate them about the quality difference. What is your current ground beef composed of (cuts of meat, fat content)?

Hmmmm. Reading through this topic, it seems that the distinction between "chef" and "cook" is something on which we all agree, including the wiseacre who called himself "a horrible cook and consider myself a 'master chef'". And actually, I think there is a workable definition for the former that even encompasses "personal chefs." Put simply: A chef is a cook who also--or even primarily--manages a kitchen where other people are involved in the preparation and presentation of the food. This is not precise enough, I realize, for the term could then describe me when I have someone helping me out with the prep work in my own kitchen. But it seems that the crucial distinction is that the chef has the ability to transmit his vision of a dish to others who then execute it, which is a managerial skill. (And what I have in mind is a little more complex--and a little more subtle--than simply writing down a recipe, which is also "transmitting a dish to others who [may] then [attempt to] execute it.")

So tell me--how often do you use your Ronco "Showtime" rotisserie? How well does it perform? As advertised? Better? Worse? Can you really "Just Set It..And Forget It!"? Ron Popeil has a way of working himself into your cerebral cortex. I like roast chicken and have been toying with the idea of actually getting one of these. You need a bag to make toast in an oven? As for your observation: If you're making a large quantity, absolutely. For one or two slices, or even three or four, well...

I thought it just magically appeared in my grocer's refrigerator, wrapped in plastic and styrofoam? ← What scares me is that there are probably people out there who really believe this is the case, or something close to it. If Jamie Oliver's graphic demonstration creates a new generation of vegetarians, so be it, but I think that it's all too easy these days to imagine that the process by which we produce our food is completely antiseptic and painless. As long as some of our food comes from animals we kill, it won't be. And as long as animals kill other animals for the same purpose, I wouldn't get all bent out of shape when humans do. I'm sure that the hen is no happier that it's a fox sinking his teeth into her neck rather than a meat cleaver cutting it in two.

I see I'm definitely a minor-leaguer in the small kitchen appliance department. I'd like to observe that larger microwaves (0.9 cu. ft. and up) don't really qualify as "small" kitchen appliances, as they take up a lot of counter space. Our microwave does just that--there's no convenient outlet near the one place in my kitchen where I can put my rickety microwave cart. As a result, the cart now houses cookbooks, phone books and mail. Our Sharp Carousel microwave sits on the counter, along with: --A 2-slice Sunbeam toaster I won as a bingo prize (used every day) --a 4-quart Hamilton Beach Crock Watcher slow cooker (used about twice a month) --Two knife blocks (I use the smaller knives in one block, which came along with the roommate, almost every day; the carving knife I use about once a month, and the chef's knives never--my Wusthof is in a protector sleeve in the silverware drawer) --A Braun electric coffee grinder (used every day) --A Sunbeam 10-cup drip coffeemaker (used every day) Splitting its days between the cabinet and the range top (so its fumes go into the hood) is: --A DeLonghi Alfredo countertop grill (used once or twice a week) Spending most of their time in the cabinets and drawers are: --A 15-inch-diameter Farberware electric skillet (used when I feel like making fried chicken, about once every other month) --A Braun immersion blender with chopper attachment and whipping disk (the blender is used about four or five times a year as a blender and about once or twice a month as a chopper; I've never used the whipping disk) -- A Black and Decker hand mixer (used two or three times a month, especially when I make whipped potatoes) The appliance I'd most like to add to the collection is: --A food processor

Depending on whether I get my paycheck in time, I'd like to join in. I too would need a lift, but can't say for sure whether I can go or not until Friday.

And I thought I had a serious cheese habit. I prostate myself before you, Sir.

Having now rummaged through that earlier thread on "appetizing" fare and the stores that sold it: Given that there was such a clear distinction between what an "appetizing store" sold and what a "delicatessen" sold, how on earth did supermarket operators come to refer to the latter with an abbreviation for the former? I certainly don't remember seeing an abundance of smoked fish at the Pathmark deli on Oregon Avenue, yet I was at the store's "appy" counter.

That's a good one. Not to mention that -- having seen them make it -- the Mexican cheese fondue is something I can whip up in a few minutes in my trusty microwave. Granted, it will congeal into a semi-solid about 15 minutes or so after I pull it out, but it's about as Mexican as Taco Bell fare. If they were devoted to truth in advertising, they'd call that one "Football-on-TV cheese fondue." I hoped you tried the Wisconsin Trio cheese fondue. While the classic Gruyère-and-Emmentaler combo was good enough, I really liked this one, which combines Wisconsin blue, cheddar and provolone. Sounds like they assemble the fondue at your table rather than bring out a pot of already-completed sauce. One of the other guests at the opening party referenced Benihana of Tokyo by way of comparison and expressed relief that the meals weren't going to be prepared in that cross between kabuki theater and family-style dining. But I see they work a little theatricality into the presentation. Do they grate the cheese on the spot or is that done backstage?

i don't think we even wanna know how this turned out... ← Speak for yourself, mrbigjas. Of course, discussing this is OT for the board, so it'll probably have to be done via chain PMs...

Bringing this back from the dead because that Melting Pot is now open (see my post on the opening elsewhere on the Pennsylvania board). Going back through the comments on this discussion, if we were to group chains along a scale where Hamburger Mary's is at the "the only thing these places have in common is the name and the type of food they serve" end of the scale and the Olive Garden at the "everything is so standardized, they probably truck your meal in from a central kitchen in Illinois" end, The Melting Pot falls somewhere in between, probably just a little closer to the Hamburger Mary's end. The same couple--who were friends with the chain's founder when they were all college students in Florida--owns both Philadelphia locations (I didn't get their business cards), but from the comments I heard at the opening, the Chestnut Hill and Center City locations are completely different in atmosphere and character. (I really do like the way they made the Filbert Street space intimate.) As for the food: It's not great, but it is good--they use very good quality ingredients and have some very tasty cheese and (especially) chocolate sauce recipes. When I see restaurants with average entree prices somewhere north of $20 listed in magazines as "moderate," I wonder if I don't need to have my price scale recalibrated. Most of The Melting Pot's entrees hover right around this point, but given what they include with most of them, the prices don't strike me as that expensive. I didn't have a chance to experience the service. That will have to wait for another, quite likely far off, time.

The second Melting Pot in the city is now open on the 1200 block of Filbert, wedged in between the 7-Eleven and Chili's. (Its opening marks a milestone of sorts: the first business block in Center City comprised entirely of chain establishments. What's more, the block is bracketed by two chains owned by the same company, Brinker International.) In case you haven't heard, fondue is back. You remember fondue, right? It was all the rage in the 1970s, when it seemed that suddenly, right around the time of Watergate, everyone had a fondue pot, in which they merrily dunked chunks of beef in oil, or chunks of bread in cheese. Then, around the time Jimmy Carter was elected, everyone just as suddenly put their fondue pots in storage, where they sit and rust to this day. It was just before that time--1975, to be specific--that the first Melting Pot restaurant opened in Maitland, Florida. Now, 30 years later, there are 70 of them all across the country. Even though fondue is by its nature a communal experience, the Center City Melting Pot is cleverly designed to allow diners a great deal of privacy: the space is divided into a series of small rooms, with many intimate nooks perfect for a romantic meal. For those who do want a '70s-style communal feast, there is one large room up front by the entrance. The rooms are softly lit and decorated in a modernist style that's far classier than anything that existed in the '70s, the Four Seasons excepted. There's also much more to dip here than chunks of bread and meat: Items passed around at the opening party I attended yesterday included lobster, shrimp, stuffed mushrooms and asparagus. These can be dunked in a variety of sauces, including gorgonzola, seafood cocktail, curry, teriyaki, and--speaking of the '70s--Green Goddess. Consider these an extension of the place's reason for being. Each table has a fondue pot on an electric cooktop for every two diners, and these are used to heat several different varieties of cheese sauce, oil, boullion, and any of a number of chocolate dessert sauces. (If you go, try the "Franklin Mint" chocolate sauce for that minty fresh feeling.) Prices are moderate, and there's one real bargain on the menu: a four-course special-occasion dinner for $42 per person that they call the "Big Night Out." If the Filbert Street location is any guide, The Melting Pot has managed to take a '70s craze and turn it into a perfectly respectable meal for our time.

I see that the boards have gone up around the restaurant-to-be, although the "Bridals by Danielle" awning hasn't come down yet. I guess construction of the vanilla shell has begun in earnest?