Toby
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Colman Andrews published a book of food essays in the earlier '90s, with an interesting essay called something like "Why Sean Can't Cook." His premise was that people graduate from cooking schools, get jobs in restaurants, become promoted to sous chef too quickly and then end up with their own restaurants while they're still too young and/or inexperienced (in terms of wide range of eating/palate education). The downside of this can be cliched foods with cooky cutter menus or odd combinations. The upside is great enthusiasm and physical endurance. Cooking in restaurants is such hard work. Most of my friends who started cooking professionally when they were quite young started to break down physically when they got to their late 30s-early 40s and are now looking for career changes. Of course, if you're a genius, none of this probably applies.
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A famous saying in China goes: "A perfect life is possible if one is born in Suzhou (home of the most beautiful women), dressed in Hangzhou (finest silks), dies in Luzhou (best willow wood for coffins), but eats in Guangzhou (Canton, capital city of Guangdong province and home of classical Cantonese cuisine)." Cantonese food was considered the most delicious by the Chinese themselves.
Non-Chinese diners in the U.S., familiar with Cantonese-style restaurants, might disagree with this assertion. Typical Cantonese food in the U.S. has been altered, sometimes beyond recognition, by circumstances; it's Cantonese in concept but not execution. Chinese workers from the districts of Toi San And Sun Tak (near Canton) were among the first Chinese immigrants to the West in the 19th century. U.S. immigration policy at that time seriously limited the number of Chinese women allowed in -- the idea was that when the railroads were built, the Chinese would go home. The laborers cooked for themselves, as best they could, and when the railroads were built, they settled in American cities and some opened restaurants. They cooked the food they knew -- village-style, home cooking -- and were further limited by climate, available ingredients, and distance from tradition, as well as their practical need to please Western palates. And so we got yucky Chinese food -- cloying sweet and sour pork with canned pineapple, awful chow mein and chop suey, eggy sticky shrimp with lobster sauce, tasteless brown sauces thickened with cornstarch, msg headaches.
The 1970s was a golden age for Cantonese cuisine in the U.S. because of changes in immigration policies that allowed many more Chinese from Hong Kong into the U.S. Huge dim sum restaurants opened, and many chefs from Hong Kong arrived. I was lucky to be studying Chinese in New York at the time, and got invited to many Chinese banquets, as well as wonderful family restaurant meals where I ate food much closer to the classic Cantonese repertoire. My best friend's mother often took me on day-long eating and food shopping expeditions in Chinatown. At that time, the meat, seafood and produce were exceptionally fresh, because people demanded it. I was amazed at how so many of the Cantonese people I met were obsessed with food (on an eGullet level). I watched people order what they wanted without even consulting the Chinese menu. They simply wrote down the dishes they wanted on a piece of paper and handed it to the waiter. Everyone seemed to know the best places to go to as soon as they appeared.
Guangdong province is in the south, with a long coastline and several large rivers down which produce can be shipped from the interior. The climate is semi-tropical; two rice crops are harvested a year. More than in many areas of China, there was usually enough food, and a great variety of ingredients. These factors shaped a delicious cuisine whose underlying philosophy is absolute freshness and a concurrent desire to preserve the essential nature and sweet flavor of each ingredient. Various techniques are employed to achieve this.
One method is to cook food for short periods of time, or to use very mild forms of cooking. Food is poached in boiling water and then removed from the fire to finish cooking in the slowly cooling liquid. White cut chicken is an example of this method, as is soy sauce chicken (both are the chickens you see hanging in restaurant windows). For these dishes to work, the chicken has to be absolutely fresh. (The Cantonese prefer chicken slightly undercooked to Western tastes, leaving a little blood near the bone.) The delicate flavor of the white cut chicken is set off by a dipping sauce of soy sauce, chicken broth, ginger, scallions and sesame oil. Shrimp are also cooked with this method -- boiling water is poured over very fresh shrimp in their shells, left to stand for a few minutes and then drained. More boiling water is poured over, drained again, and the shrimp are then eaten with a dip of tangerine juice, minced scallion, soy sauce and shredded ginger root in vinegar. Brief steaming is another method that preserves the fresh, sweet taste. Whole fish such as sea bass, bream or carp are steamed until just cooked and served with a thin sauce of soy, chicken stock, ginger, scallions and wine. A little oil can be heated just before serving and poured over the fish. Greens of all kinds are blanched to preserve the natural flavor.
The Cantonese even have a dish similar to sashimi -- a live carp is pulled from the water, knocked on the head and stunned, split, gutted, scaled and filleted and eaten immediately with a dipping sauce of ginger, soy, boiled peanut oil, scallion and white pepper.
Stir-frying also is designed to retain the pure flavors of ingredients. Only a small amount of oil is used and the food is quickly whisked through the oil under very high heat in a manner described as "flame and air."
The savory quality of Cantonese food is often achieved by combining seafood flavors with meat. Oyster sauce, shrimp sauce and shrimp paste are widely used (similar to the use of fermented fish in Southeast Asian cooking). Shrimp shells and heads are boiled in meat or chicken stock to add depth of flavor to soups and sauces. Sometimes meat is added to seafood dishes to enhance the savoriness. An example is the classic Lobster Cantonese, in which minced or shredded pork is stir-fried with onions, garlic, ginger and soaked, mashed salted black beans together with lobster (or crab). Chicken stock and wine are added at the last minute, creating a little explosion in the wok, and then again in your mouth.
The Cantonese specialize in crispy foods, where the skin of pork and poultry is crisp and crackling, such as Crispy Skin Roast Pork (belly pork). Here the crunchiness of the skin is set off by the plain white rice served with it. Chicken is prepared as Crispy Deep-Fried Steamed Stuffed Chicken or Twice-Marinated Crispy Skin Splash-Fried Chicken. Pigeon is also deep-fried. A Cantonese specialty comparable to Peking Duck is Suckling Pig, served with the deep brown, crisp skin (that's brushed with a marinade before roasting) peeled off, cut into squares and served, with the tender meat, with small steamed Lotus Leaf Buns, scallions and hoisin sauce. Cantonese- (or Hong Kong) style Chow Mein is cooked using more frying oil than in other regions. The noodles are pressed down into the pan to make them crisper, and then turned and fried on the other side, to create a sandwich of crisp outer noodles with tender noodles inside.
Home cooking features slow-cooked dishes in earthenware casseroles, among them beef stew braised with daikon radish and star anise (the beef cut is similar to flanken), fish head in casserole, and red braised pork knuckle or belly. Congee is also a common snack food in Canton.
For spiciness, fermented black beans and small amounts of chiles are used. Subtle scents and flavors are introduced by adding drops of sesame oil or by wrapping food in lotus or bamboo leaves, such as lotus leaf sticky rice with duck, roast pork, dried mushrooms and chestnuts, and aromatics. I've always been fascinated by the array of dried foods and preserved meats in Chinese stores -- pork sausage, duck liver sausage, bacon, dried fish maw (air bladder), dried scallops and squid and shrimp, all the different dried mushrooms, deep-fried and then dried squares of bean curd which are stuffed with savory meat or seafood minces and then steamed, and the salted preserved vegetables in earthenware jugs, and fermented bean curd (the latter often added to quickly wilted greens such as watercress).
Textural foods, such as bird's nest, tree fungus, beche-de-mer, fish maw, and shark's fin, are Cantonese in origin, and are mostly found in banquet cooking. Great Assembly of Chicken, Abalone and Shark's Fin is an extravagant banquet dish, in which the shark's fins are cooked separately for over 7 hours and then gently cooked together with lean pork meat, pig's feet, ham, onions and a hen for another 4 hours. The pork, feet, ham, onion and chicken are then removed and put aside for other uses. A young chicken is then quartered, parboiled and left to simmer with the shark fins for another half hour. Abalone and soy sauce are briefly added. The chicken and abalone are cut into thin slices and arranged at the bottom of a deep, ceramic cooking dish. The liquid in the pot is strained and returned to simmer with the fins for another 30 minutes. The fin pieces are then arranged on top of the chicken and abalone. Some of the sauce, now thickened, is poured over to moisten and the pot is steamed for 5 minutes and then served. The shark fins are there primarily for their texture, but that's the point of the whole time-consuming process.
My friend's mother used to make a medicinal soup using the double pot method of cooking. She put blanched squabs inside a pot with chicken stock, ginger, scallions, ginseng root, and rice wine. The pot was then covered and placed inside a bigger pot filled with water, which was then covered and cooked for a long time.
And then there's dim sum, which epitomizes all of the savory deliciousness and love of eating found in Cantonese cooking and among Cantonese people.
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What's the deal with Griswold?
My best cast iron pans are Griswold, made in Erie PA. I got them years ago in thrift stores. I suspect they're no longer made. Sometimes you can find them at yard sales, swap meets. They never ever lose their seasoning.
I have an 11" ridged cast iron pan for grilling -- it says made in USA on back. It works fine.
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Limit on space? How about a limit on number of tastings that can be accomplished on one occasion? If everyone brought, say, six samples, that's one hundred and twenty varied mouthfuls. I am starting to feel slightly queasy.
Yes, we need a plan, some sort of menu.
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It just so happens that on this one I do hold the dominant view because I'm aligned with multiple convergent consensuses covering just about every imaginable dining subculture save for the amorphous Plotnicki-and-his-friends and of course all those now-humiliated journalists who thought Ducasse would make an easy target.
Excellently constructed sentence, especially the rhythmic flow without the use (or need) for commas.
I still wonder if there is that much consensus (on anything) in the professional community -- people are often reluctant to publicly state negative opinions about people they have worked with in the past or may work with in the future.
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I also love Tu Lan at 6th and Market. Although I guess I'll admit that at some level my appreciation of Tu Lan stems from its seediness, which is the analogue to those whose appreciation of SD is based on its trendiness. (see thread on reverse snobbery.)
I did not enjoy going to Tu Lan at all. I found the seediness to be off-putting rather than charming. Also, the neighborhood (6th and Mission) is not one I felt comfortable walking in at night, even when accompanied by two guys. Most of all, though, the food was not as good as I had expected it to be given its relatively high Zagat rating. I don't recommend it.
If you think 6th and Mission is sketchy now, you should have seen it in the 70s.
Is Meade's Cafeteria still there? Talking about seedy.
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Slow roasted pork shoulder (slathered all over with rough paste of garlic, dried Calabrian red peppers, anise seeds, sage, rosemary, salt and pepper), cooked for 6 hours in 300 degree oven; lamon beans cooked Tuscan-style, with minced onion and pancetta sauteed in butter and added for last 30 minutes of cooking and then a little red wine vinegar added at end; separately lightly boiled greens -- arugula, dandelion, swiss chard and beet greens -- dressed with olive oil and salt and served with fresh ricotta cheese.
(I cannot tell a lie -- this was late lunch, several days ago.)
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I've read many of Steve Klcs posts with interest, and my usual reaction is -- so that's how these guys think, doesn't bear much relationship to my view of the world, its almost like occupying a parallel universe. And I'm certainly not going to accept the premise from a professional that I am mistaken unless I accept his point of view just because he is a professional.
And, of course, how monolithic is the professional community's view of things? Surely there isn't just one opinion, or even an overriding consensus in the professional community. That would be boring.
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Just the other day, someone gave me the bare outlines of their "West Indian fruitcake" preparations, which they were starting now -- soak yellow and red raisins, currants, pitted dates and pitted prunes in a mixture of 2/3 white rum and 1/3 port or Madeira. For the rum, I was told to use "overproof" but have forgotten what that meant -- is it just very high proof?
Does anyone have a good recipe for stollen?
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Tarte tatin -- apple tarte tatin, pear tarte tatin, quince tarte tatin.
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The recipe for Passard's Mustard Ice Cream is on page 148 of Patricia Wells Paris Cookbook.
Thanks, Laura. The recipes for the eggs with maple syrup and the gazpacho (at least it seems to be Arpege's recipe) are also in Wells' book. Also, Passard's recipe for turnip gratin.
No sugar in the mustard ice cream -- just egg yolks, milk, cream and Dijon mustard.
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This is a completely over-the-top cornbread with grits and black or red pepper.
First, you slowly cook 1/4 cup real (not instant) grits (either white or yellow) in 1 cup half and half, a little minced garlic, black pepper and salt in a little covered pot for about 15 minutes, until they're done. Let cool.
Then, make a cornbread batter, sifting together 1 cup cornmeal, 1 cup flour, 1-1/2 tablespoons sugar, 1 tablespoon baking powder, 1/4 tsp. baking soda, and 3/4 tsp. salt. Melt 3 tablespoons butter in either a cake pan or a cast iron pan in the oven. Beat the grits, 1 egg and a mixture of 1-2/3 cup buttermilk and creme fraiche, together until smooth. Add 2 tablespoons of the melted butter to the grits and then mix quickly with the flour mixture. Pour into the cake or cast iron pan and sprinkle black pepper, red pepper flakes, or a mixture of both peppers over the top. Bake in a preheated 450 degree oven for about 35 minutes, until the top is set and the cornbread is coming away from the sides of the pan.
The cake pan gives a softer, more cakelike bread; the cast iron pan makes a very crusty bread with a very moist interior that doesn't seem to rise as much.
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I promise you that the best $10 wine you will ever buy is Domaine de Pepiere Muscadet
Where do you get it in NYC, Steve?
Nina, the wine store on 1st Avenue between 22nd and 23rd Streets (1st Avenue Wine, I think it's called) has Domaine de la Pepiere Muscadet for $8.99.
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Regarding prune juice and steak: Paul Prudhomme wrote a cookbook called Fork in the Road, an attempt to cut the fat in his recipes to under 30%. He was having trouble getting a complete, "round" (sweet, salty, spicy) taste without using butter or oil. He came up with reduced fruit juices (apples, prunes, grapes) used in place of butter with meats, giving a "hint of sweetness, a richer color, a slightly fuller texture."
(Just an aside.)
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Excellent, thoughtful review. Looking forward to write-ups of your other meals.
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I also love Tu Lan at 6th and Market. Although I guess I'll admit that at some level my appreciation of Tu Lan stems from its seediness, which is the analogue to those whose appreciation of SD is based on its trendiness. (see thread on reverse snobbery.)
My first experience of Vietnamese food was at Tu Lan in 1979. I've always loved the place, although I think it declined in relation to other Vietnamese restaurants that subsequently opened in the Tenderloin. But the palpable greasy mist that hung over the upstairs dining room made it really special and reminded me of my favorite coffeeshop in New York's Chinatown (now cleaned up), where it was the custom to throw one's used napkins on the floor, where they piled up like snow until the end of the day, and everyone chainsmoked.
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On my trip to West Virginia, I was being hosted by a friends grandma. She froze tomatoes daily.
At each meal, she served sliced tomatoes. These were from her yard... They were "Mortgage ....?" variety.. and very good.
Radiator Charlie's Mortgage Lifters (I may have transposed some of the words?). The story about them is that during the depression, a mechanic named Charlie paid off the mortgage on his garage by growing these very big pink heirloom tomatoes. I think he lived in West Virginia (although I may be wrong about that too).
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Is the Mayflower (out on 27th and Geary???) still there? They had good dim sum. (Yank Sing (sp?) isn't real dim sum.) I haven't lived in San Francisco for a while, but the Chinese food out in the Avenues was usually much better than in Chinatown. (With the exception of Yuet Lee on Stockton & Columbus (or Broadway)?? -- I'll repeat, best salt and pepper squid I've ever tasted -- they used to have a restaurant in the Mission near my house painted the most appalling green, but great squid, village-style braised duck, white cooked chicken.) There was also a Chao Chou-style restaurant in Chinatown -- I think on Stockton? It was upstairs in a corner building -- they had Chao Chou braised goose.
I thought the Slanted Door was terrible, food had no taste; anywhere in the Tenderloin was better. Also, wonderful Cambodian food in San Francisco -- a little place in the Outer Mission (around Mission and 34th Street) -- don't know if it's still there; a couple of places around Larkin Street. Cambodian food may be the most delicious of all the Southeast Asian foods -- very delicate, lots of herbs.
For non-Asian casual food, is Liberty Cafe in Bernal Heights still there? She made great chicken pot pies.
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The Taste of Thailand by Vatcharin Bhumichitr (Atheneum, NY, 1988) has good recipes. Don't know if it's still in print.
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I used to find them occasionally in San Francisco in September (from the Sacramento River Delta)
Wow Toby I wish I could find these, I've only heard about them. The live crawfish I can get are Louisianan, and are good, but I'd love to try CA crawfish. September is their season? When I was a child there were freshwater crawfish in creeks even here in Southern California, but not any more.
Yes, I occasionally would find them, around Labor Day, in Chinese fish stores on Mission Street in San Francisco. They were good -- very delicate flavor. I made the crawfish bisque, and sometimes would do Chinese stirred eggs with crawfish and chopped green onions with just a very little oyster sauce dribbled over at the end.
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Wilfrid, where in New York do you get live crawfish? (I found them once in Chinatown, but the place is gone.) I used to find them occasionally in San Francisco in September (from the Sacramento River Delta) and make crawfish bisque (another misleading term, since this too is made with a dark roux and contains a lot of crawfish fat).
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... into the Cajun piano tuner's gumbo goes the typical load of chopped onion, and sliced okra (no celery!), a whole dismantled chicken or equivalent, andouille, cut up, and (what I think is key to the mysteriously delicious flavor) a little crabmeat, some crawfish tails--I have used shrimp, sometimes--and a pint of oysters. The seafood of course cooks visibly away over hours and hours of simmering, becoming just a seasoning. T. salt, 2 T. cayenne, couple t. black pepper, I believe are the spices, subject to personal adjustment.
The cooked down seafood is brilliant. I can't wait to make this. You don't even really need to start with stock, although that would give it even more depth.
Do you brown the chicken pieces and andouille first, or just throw them in?
Yes, I sometimes do the rice in timbale shape in center with gumbo moat. I almost always use hard-boiled egg, chopped up nicely for other people and sprinkled on with minced parsley and green onion, just mashed into the gumbo for myself. I never use file powder or okra anymore, but find that between the stock (I usually use chicken feet) and the mashed hard-boiled egg, the gumbo is thick enough for me (just coats a spoon).
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Marcella Hazen has a recipe for something called "Assunta's Beans" in the Marcella Cucina book. Fresh cranberry beans are put into a cast-iron pot, along with some olive oil and small amount of water, salt and pepper, mashed garlic cloves and fresh sage leaves. The pot is covered with a damp cloth and then the cover, and cooked over very low heat for almost 2 hours, adding a little bit more water from time to time. There should never be more water than is needed to keep the beans from sticking. They end up tender but not falling apart, and are drizzled with some more olive oil when served.
The whole point of the method is to use a minimum of water throughout to concentrate the taste of the beans, but to add spoonfuls of water from time to time to keep the beans from drying out. (Hazen has a recipe for parmesan-cooked carrot rounds in one of her early books which works on somewhat the same theory; the carrots have an incredibly intense flavor.)
There should be fresh cranberry beans in the farmers' market about now. In Pennsylvania the Mennonites grow something similar called "birdy beans."
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I have to second Toby's commendation of Paul Prudhomme's books. There is so much good information and technique packed into them, and everything he makes just tastes so good (to me; I realize not everyone would agree). I think he is one of the most underrated important influences on good American cookery, underrated or just plain uncredited.
Yes, it's as if no one could get past the blackened redfish (which takes up one page and some pictures in the Louisiana Kitchen cookbook).
Priscilla, what did you put in the gumbo? I'm always looking for new gumbos.
Arpege: dinner and lunch; 2002-2004
in France: Dining
Posted
Wilfrid has often brought up the fact that Melville's Moby Dick was totally unappreciated until long after the author's death. I think that Melville's vision was so far ahead of his readers that it may still be some time before Moby Dick can be completely understood in all its brilliance. For instance, you could read it and simply marvel at what he did with punctuation, even focusing on just his use of commas, and miss so many other aspects of the book. In that sense, his "right" readers weren't born when he wrote it, and may still not be born.