mizducky

That duck is absolutely gorgeous, junehl. And the stuffing! Alas, I think I have a snowball's chance in hell of ever finding the time or patience to debone a duck like that. Oh well ...

Hmm! And here I had been so annoyed at the way candy bar overall sizes had been shrinking over the years (while the prices kept climbing), that I never even stopped to consider that there might be an upside to small sized bars. (Sez she who, when she was still eating candy bars on a regular basis, always went for the biggest Three Musketeers bar in the rack, because she was stuck in the Bigger is Always Better mental rut.)

Especially now with the wonders of the Internet, I'll often Google a bunch of different recipes to research all the various ways one can do a dish. (Sometimes this strategy is thwarted when I discover several of the recipes I've Googled are identical, obviously all copied from one source). I'll also check at least a couple different "dead tree" cookbooks (i.e. ones printed on paper). Most times I'll merge ingredients and procedures from several recipes; occasionally I'll decide to go with one particular version as written, for any of a variety of reasons (I like the assortment of seasonings, or actually have all of them in the house, or ... just because). There are very few recipes that I do exactly as written, down to the last detail--mainly baked goods, because, as has been pointed out, these foods are much more dependent on precision in ingredients and method to get their chemistry to perform correctly. However, as I become more and more experienced with cooking techniques in general, I'm becoming more and more aware that there are certain other dishes that also benefit from a more precise approach (one example off the top of my head: a recent topic on getting the skin on pork belly to really crisp up properly). But then I still wind up looking at a bunch of different recipes--and often as not, find several that contradict each other. So then I'm back to the "pick one or merge several" routine--and taking notes on what worked and what didn't for the next attempt.

Hey, that sounds like a dish that my Mr. E might really get into -- although, knowing how adverse he is to spicy foods, I'd probably have to sub a mild paprika and regular stewed tomatoes for the chile powder and Rotel. But he loves stuff smothered in cream of mumble soup (my family's old nickname for those soups), so I bet this would be a winner. He's such a creature of habit, though, is Mr. E. I have developed a "chili con carne" recipe that he likes lots--actually, I humorously call it "carne sin chile" since there is no hot stuff in it whatsoever, just all of the warm gentle spices like cumin, cinnamon, nutmeg, etc, which leaves it tasting somewhere in the direction of a Cincinnati style chili. Anyway, I made this for him last night, and decided on a whim to make mashed potatoes to serve it over. This really confused the heck out of him--in his head, chile is meant to be served in a bowl only, and absolutely never over anything. Even though he really liked the "chili", he couldn't help himself blurting out that it struck him as a "funny-looking" meal. I can only imagine what he would have thought if I'd tried to serve it over spaghetti like they do in Cincinnati.

I love crisp crusts, but even more than that I like chewy crusts. Crusts that make your jaws feel like they got a good workout. Certain squishy breads are alright by me--I love a good soft eggy challah, for example. But generally my preference is for bread with which you have to go mano a mano. I dunno why so many other people seem to be stuck on the Wonder-type bread. Every time I'm in the supermarket and see racks and racks of the stuff, I'm in disbelief--who in the world is buying and eating it all?

Oh, what a wonderful trip, Ah Leung! Enjoy it--you deserve it. I am totally looking forward to your coverage of Hong Kong food--especially the street food. You know how I like the everyday people's food. Having it documented by somebody like you who knows the stuff so well is going to be a real treat.

Crazy Seafood Buffet Just a couple of miles west of that major monument to the art of the Asian buffet, East Buffet (now renamed Acme Buffet but still fine), is this more modest but very enjoyable alternative. The lowslung building doesn't look like much from the outside. The dining room inside has pretty-looking faux trees... and some neat, not-dumbed-down-for-Euro-American seafood. Like the big sea snails. Getting these out of their shells required some non-trivial seafood mano-a-mano. And the prize was not the most tender morsel in the world. But--damn, they were big-ass snails on a buffet, man! How cool is that? And then there was the baby octopus salad ... Other seafood highlights the night I went were the chunks of salt-and-pepper blue crab, oysters both raw and steamed with black bean sauce, and steaks of a fish whose name escapes me but was quite flavorful. Also notable were some decent roast duck, and the veggie offerings, including steamed Chinese mustard greens and thick asparagus spears. Bevies of high-school/college-age Asians were partaking that night, as well as families with young kids. I need to pay this place another visit.

Y'know, I have wrestled with similar issues when cooking for Mr. E. I have found that he really does like a nice rare piece of beef ... but he lacks the coordination and hand strength to cut it unless it is really freakin' tender. His complaints come out in the form of "the meat's too tough", partly I think because it's hard for him to perceive that the issue is not with the meat but his physical deficits. Whenever I start taking his comments personally--which I do a lot!--I remind myself about these gaps in his insight. Meanwhile, I look for ways I can solve the problem through cooking technique. I've had my best results recently with serving a London broil style steak, sliced very thin. He still struggles a little cutting it, but the rareness motivates him to prevail. I totally feel your pain. My cook-ego has had to come to terms with the fact that perhaps my biggest culinary hit with Mr. E is when I cook Hamburger Helper stroganoff. I'm trying my damnest not to be an elitist about it ... in a former life, I would have loved this stuff, but now all I can taste is fat and salt. But E loves it to pieces, and if it makes the old guy happy, I wanna roll with that. So I make the stuff as nicely as you can make this mix out of a box ... and I just try to mollify my culinary passions elsewhere. It's like we're psychologists as much as cooks ... there's no denying that at least some members of this population need their food to be super-familiar. It really gives whole other levels of meaning to the words "comfort food." Such foods are a little like therapy; the diners need the solace of something in a changing world that reminds them of their roots.

Damned if I know. I confess I always found the stuff kind of boring, myself.

and here I thought I was the only one to do that..... ← Nope. Wandering around grocery stores is one of my favorite therapies too--right next to cooking. Especially ethnic groceries. All those fascinating and unfamiliar labels and aromas and shapes and colors. Especially when I'm feeling blue over the slenderness of my wallet, browsing through an ethnic market is like a free vacation to another country. (And I can even justify buying a few "souvenirs," because after all, I still have to eat... )

And did he like that idea? ← He seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. But he was bar staff, not bar management, so who knows what might happen when/if I find time to run the idea past the Dudes in Charge...

Heh. Maybe I should do this too. A couple of weekends ago, I ordered a manhattan in a dance club--I know, I know, but I like to be foolish that way--but at least the bartender confessed to me, with no ego whatsoever, that he had no idea how to make one, and then when I gave him the recipe he followed my instructions to the letter. I got one of the better manhattans I'd been served in recent memory, and the young bartender was all agog about having learned something new. (How the hell he got employed as a bartender without learning that one I shudder to think--but then I bet all he's ever called on to make in this town, and in that bar, is Margaritas, Long Island iced teas, and overly sweet shooters). I even wound up suggesting to him that maybe someday I could host a classic cocktail seminar in that bar--teach a whole new generation that a martini is not just any old assortment of crap in a martini glass, and is definitely NOT a sweet drink. It would be a boon to humankind.

Oh yeah--I am a certified turkey giblet gravy freak, so I will go to the lengths of re-arranging my menu so that no other dishes will claim major attention in the half-hour while the turkey's resting, so that I can devote that half-hour to making proper gravy with the pan drippings. While the turkey's roasting, the neck and giblets simmer away with some aromatics to make broth for the gravy, to be augmented as needed with broth either from freezer or market (I love liver, but not in giblet gravy, so that becomes a cook's treat). The giblets get chopped; the meat from the turkey neck gets shredded. And once the turkey's out of its pan and resting, the gravy zen begins. Others may make other dishes their priority; it all depends on what food most says "Thanksgiving" to each person, as it's a meal fraught with childhood and familial emotional significance. To this day, I listen to all the folks advising all the wise reasons for cooking stuffing outside the bird--and to this day, I can't bring myself to roast an unstuffed bird, because stuffing the bird was MY job growing up, and I loved it.

Lots of great suggestions already. I confess I've just skimmed through the topic so I don't know for sure if these suggestions have been made already, but I think they're important enough that they bear repeating: Turkey logistics--especially since you've never roasted a turkey before, be aware that there are some unique issues to wrangling a cooking object that big. I see you switched from a 20-pound to a 16-pound bird, so that'll cut down a little on the cooking time, but be aware that it still takes awhile for something that massive to roast. And all those minutes-per-pound tables can look helpful but be deceptive, because a lot of 'em are aiming at a finished product that a lot of us foodies would consider overcooked and dried out. Going by internal temperature from a properly-placed (i.e. thickest part of the thigh, not touching bone) meat thermometer or instant-read thermometer is much more reliable. I think I saw you're getting a fancy-shmancy turkey, so it probably will not have one of those abominable little plastic pop-up thermometer gizmos. But if it does, don't rely on those things--they're calibrated to go off at way too high an internal temperature. However, do NOT just remove the little plastic thing before cooking the bird--that will leave a gaping hole in the bird's skin that will let precious juices leak out while roasting. Leave the thing in, but otherwise ignore it. Also, make sure your turkey will fit in the size oven and roasting pan/rack set you're planning to use! Nothing is as frustrating as only discovering at the last minute that your bird and/or pan won't fit in your oven! And make sure your roasting pan and rack are sturdy enough for the task. Those flimsy disposable foil jobbies only lead to tears. Another potential logistical nightmare: getting your cooked turkey out of the roaster in one piece! Especially when it's a big bird, this can be extremely challenging. There are a variety of turkey-lifter gizmos available in kitchen shops. A strategy I've used is simply to put on some kind of insulating gloves and just reach down around the bird on each side, grab the roasting rack, and lift that sucker out to a waiting plate. (But you don't want to be doing that while wearing your dining/guest-greeting outfit!) Oh yeah, and maybe this is way elementary, but beware the secret bag of giblets tucked inside the bird. Yep, I have witnessed a turkey-roasting newbie roast his bird with that bag still inside (fortunately I and a fellow turkey-veteran intervened and rescued it). Totally off on another tack: I love brussels sprouts for Thankgiving (or anytime!), and have often run into the too-many-dishes not-enough-cookspace dilemma, so I've often resorted to serving brussels spouts in a nice maple/mustard vinaigrette. These are dirt-simple to do, can be done in advance, and do just fine served at room temperature.

Okay, here we go--most recent register tape from my local Asian market: As you can see, I was having a bit of a konnyaku attack. (The "yam cake-black" is actually some more konnyaku, the kind with little flakes of seaweed in it that gives it a dark grayish cast). The "KNR Tamarind Soup BS" is abbreviated from Knorr tamarind soup base--stocking up for the next sinigang soup crave.

Congrats, Jamie, on continuing to find unique ways to keep your spirits up while undergoing chemotherapy. As I too am an anal-compulsive geek--the kind who to this day still occasionally reads dictionaries for fun--I too am capable of finding something of interest even in the impersonality of grocery receipts. And as an avid shopper of Asian markets, I couldn't help smiling over this register tape: I love that the baby bok choy is listed as "choy, baby bok" -- Chinese-speakers correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall that "choy" translates as generic term for "vegetable," so listing the baby bok choy this way makes sense! And especially admirable when one considers that whowever originally entered that in the database is navigating between two languages (English and Chinese) that are so different in grammar and word ordering. Not sure, however, what's up with listing tomatillos as "peppers." I actually hang on to all my grocery receipts except those paid in cash for items exclusively for myself. Anything I run on the ATM or credit cards, and any tape including something I bought for Mr. E, goes in the files for record-keeping purposes. Let me see if I can find an interesting one to post ...

Man, this is inspiring. I need to lose my durian virginity one of these days real soon, sez the confirmed lover of stinks-so-good foods. It's the logistics that are holding me back. Finding a nice open airy space for my first experiment might be a bit of a challenge where I live. I suppose I could always take it on a drive out to the desert. Pick up a date shake on the way back. Fruit fantasmagoria.

It happened again tonight. (Actually, since it's now just past midnight here, it was technically last night.) I went to one of my favorite local Chinese restaurants, one of the ones that is emphatically not dumbed down to cater to non-Chinese. After exchanging hellos and nods of recognition from the staff, I perused the menu and selected a dish I had tried and loved before--somewhat deceptively labeled "steamed pork with preserved mustard greens" in English, the pork is actually pork belly, very tender and yummy, covered in a brown sauce full of finely minced preserved mustard greens. And that's when it started happening again: first the fellow who waited on me, and then seemingly all the rest of the waitstaff on duty, became fascinated with this Anglo lady who knew what pork belly was and liked it. I swear, all of the waitstaff dropped by my table sooner or later to see how I was making out. They all seemed pleased as well as surprised, making a point of telling me how this was one of the most popular dishes among their Chinese customers but that the few Americans who came by didn't usually care for it. One even pointed out another dish I might want to try next time, seeing as how I was so open to non-Americanized dishes. It was really a whole lot of fun! Nor is this phenomenon unique to Chinese restaurants in my experience. I've also had some very enjoyable interactions in Vietnamese restaurants when I've gone to satisfy my bun bo Hue obsession, and reassured the waiter that I know about the pork blood garnish and love it. I recall a lovely conversations in a Mexican market when the cashier noticed the bunch of epazote in my cart, and another in a grocery catering to African-American shoppers when I hit the checkout with hamhocks and a mess of greens. In almost every case, my interest in other people's food seems to surprise as well as delight the folks working these establishments. I'm delighted too, because I dig the cross-cultural bonding moments almost as much as the tasty eats. But their surprise also makes me a little sad, because it suggests to me that there must be few other folks of my ethnic heritage venturing across these cultural culinary boundaries. At least here on eGullet I see lots of it going on! Do others here run into similar reactions when they venture into markets, restaurants, etc. catering to ethnic groups different than their own? And is it just my left-over hippie idealism that makes me believe that this kind of cross-cultural bonding over food could, in its own little way, bring greater peace and understanding to the world? After all, everyone has to eat, it's one of the universal simple pleasures of life, and sharing food is such an ancient custom of hospitality...

Heh--I seem to have managed to miss the "Max Brenner" phenomenon until now. Seeing this photo sent me off to Google to investigate, so I am now aware of the fact that there is no individual named Max Brenner behind the enterprise. However, one of the founders did have Brenner as a last name, prompting me to wonder if I could flash my ID at one of their stores and get some freebies.

Hi Nina--I too relate both to your current hometown and your travel location. I made numerous trips with my family to visit my mother's sister and her brood, who lived not too far from the Kings Plaza shopping center. And during all the years I lived in Boston I made my share of visits to the beauteous Pioneer Valley. Looking forward to what-all else you plan to show us this week. Blog on!

Oh, I loves me some "Westernized" Chinese food. It's a taste I grew up with from childhood. I think I may have posted about this story before somewhere on eGullet, but my very earliest childhood memory--dating from age 2 or maybe even earlier--is of being taken to an old-school Chinese restaurant near my suburban New York hometown. Hey, when any dish is done well, it's good eating as far as I'm concerned. Westernized Chinese food is still one of my favorite forms of comfort dining. Though, like a lot of my childhood food nostalgia hits, my bod doesn't always cope with the stuff as well as it used to--just the other day, a dinner of takeout soft-noodle chicken chow mein went down really easy, but the sodium content made me retain water like a sponge for the next three days.

Thinking about it, I seem to like my steak done a variety of ways--most of the time I'll go for medium-rare (and in restaurants I'll often add "rather more rare than medium). But often I'll go for more rare to raw. It kind of depends on my mood, and random cravings, and maybe the phase of the moon. And I think it also depends on the cut of meat ... and to a certain extent, nostalgia. When I was a kid, my folks' favorite charcoal grill fodder was a big ol' seven-bone chuck steak, either marinated or seriously worked over with the meat tenderizer or slathered with barbeque sauce, and then slung low over a hot bed of the Kingsford. Lotsa flareups! Dad was not shy about pulling it while it still had lots of blood, but of course it also got lots of charred bits, especially if it got the barbeque sauce treatment. And I really loved the contrast of the juicy fatty meat and, yes, the bitterness of the charred bits. Don't get me wrong, I totally love a properly Maillarded red-in-the-middle steak too. But yeah, that cavewoman streak ... Now I don't like gray cooked-to-death meat any more than Mark the OP, but interestingly I do like that medium-rare point as a distinct alternative to rare-rare. To me, it's that point where the meat still has lots of juiciness, but the proteins have denatured just enough that the meat presents some modest resistance to the tooth--and I do really dig that kind of borderline tender/chewy mouthfeel.

I've yet to ever order one, but I've long admired the "Fruit Cake Confection" from Harry and David because it's nearly all fruit, with just barely enough cake to keep it stuck together.

A well-made chicken-fried steak is a thing of beauty. But the batter-dipped deep-fried salt-and-pepper squid served by my favorite local Thai joint are pretty darned beautiful too. Especially because the squid are cut not into rings, but into nice tender meaty strips.

Dude. That's one rockin' lifestyle you've got going on. Happy blogging! Edited to add: Damn. Now I'm craving a cigar too.