David Ross

Among other frozen bits and pieces; -Sweetbreads I bought from D'Artagnan. Date of purchase, unrecorded but estimated to be in the freezer for 9-12 months. The label says "U.S. Inspected and Passed by Department of Agriculture, est. 2745." Lord only knows if the little nuggets are burned beyond compare or are still salvageable- -Frozen Pink Gooseberries that I bought this Summer just North of Salem, Oregon, in the Willamette Valley. They will be delicious in a holiday pie and a conserve for roast turkey and pork- -A bag of frozen fruitcake batter, date of creation unknown but most likely 1-2 years old. While the mix is still quite good, (its got a whole lotta booze in it), I'm actually a bit late for turning this batter into this season's fruitcakes. Good fruitcakes, really, really good ones, take at least two years stewing in brandy to be good-

At first, I wasn't really saddened or shocked at the news of the sudden closure of Gourmet. I had become increasingly frustrated with the Conde Nast corporate layout of the magazine in recent years—you know, the ubiquitous formula where the first 100 pages of a magazine are chock full of ads with barely a whimper of editorial content. One must slog through all the commerce to even get to the start of a piece about artisan cheesemakers, only to find the article opens with one photo and two paragraphs of type, then is shamelessly broken-up by more ads and a frustrating “continued on page 278” notice on page one of the piece. But as the days after the news of Gourmet’s demise passed, I reflected on what that magazine has meant to so many generations of cooks and the influence the magazine and its writer’s had on the way we dined and thought about food. Every year during the holidays, I bring out old copies of Gourmet and Bon Appetit to remind myself of how we’ve celebrated the holidays with food and drink through the years. When I heard the news of the passing of Gourmet, it hastened my annual search through the boxes for the oldest holiday issue of Gourmet in my collection—December, 1974. The editor at the time was Mr. Earle R. MacAusland. The slate of writers whose works were included in the December 1974 issue included such standard bearers in the food world at the time as Jay Jacobs, whose “Specialities de la Maison-New York,” was one of the most popular monthly features of the magazine. His reviews in this issue included Le Cirque, One if By Land…Two if By Sea and Ristorante Il Rigoletto. Go back in time 35 years ago in the history of Le Cirque and Sirio's kitchen was run by Chef Jean Vergnes. Mr. Jacobs review described dishes of “Consomme Celestine,” “festive” seasonal dishes like “Roast Baby Pheasant a la Souvarov,” served with wines like a 1967 Saint-Julien for the princely sum of $15 per bottle. (Entrée’s averaged $9.00 in 1974). Along with Mr. Jacobs, the issue included, among other pieces, Caroline Bates monthly feature, “Specialities de la Maison-California,” “London Journal” by John Bainbridge and additional pieces on “Skiing in Val Gardena,” “Madrid’s Café Gijon,” “Ductch Cookery,” and of course, a Gourmet Christmas Dinner feast with recipes. Losing Gourmet to me isn’t so much about the loss of learning new recipes, I can find other resources for recipes. And it isn’t so much about not having access to reading restaurant reviews. But there was something different, something old-fashioned and wise, something sage about the writing and the restaurant reviews printed on the pages of Gourmet. I’ll miss that voice of food writing from the past. This December, I won’t have a new issue of Gourmet to add to my collection. I won’t be adding new Gourmet memories to the memories of Christmas’s past. I think that’s the thing I’ll miss the most about losing Gourmet.

Yes... ish. I get what you're saying but I don't think a little creative license with culinary terms is always too over-the-top. I can see it being more fun for a group of vegetarians if a little creativity goes into the menu descriptions. It's sometimes more fun for non-vegetarians, so why assume vegetarians aren't into creativity as well? As long as the flavors back up the gimmicks, I'm fine with it. I mean, soy milk ice cream isn't ice cream but that sounds better on a menu than "frozen non-dairy soy product". Fair enough and a good argument of the other side of the issue--especially as it pertains to the naming of dishes in a vegetarian menu. At least I haven't harped on the "tomato confit" issue this year--until now. I seem to have heard one of the Cheftestant's using the term on one of this season's episodes. I'm not a big fan of tomatoes stewed in duck or goose fat, but I guess we live in times where anything can be called a "confit"--a liberal description of what is a specific form of cooking. Tomato "sashimi" or tomato "confit"--I suppose in the end what matters most is what the judges tasted.

You gotta love it when a Cheftestant calls a raw slice of tomato "sashimi" and then watches with anticipation as the diner's ooh and aah over this earth-shattering culinary technique for putting vegetables on a plate. Thankfully the judges on Top Chef are smart enough to look beyond these gimmicky, trendy menu descriptions and focus on the flavors of a dish. Kevin demonstrated his skill through bringing out the natural flavors and textures of the mushrooms and kale without relying on the often silly types of techniques I described above. And the results prove it.

The Scottish Grouse average 10 to 14 ounces each. One bird will easily serve one person. I haven't had domestic American grouse, but from what I've learned, the wild Ruffed Grouse from the West are slightly larger than the Scottish birds.

I think part of the intrique of this "low and slow" oven cooking method is that it is somewhat of an arbitrary process in terms of the length of cooking time. Unlike the saute/oven roast technique of searing meat for a few minutes on the stovetop and then finishing it for under 30 minutes in the oven, the boundaries of this "low and slow" oven process are much looser. The basics of the method seem to be the same-meat and a pot with a cover. Salt, pepper and other seasonings appear to be optional. Unlike braises where additional liquid is added, the natural juices and fat in and around the meat serve as the cooking liquid for the "low and slow" technique. Oven temperature is in the very low-ranges. The big variable seems to be cooking time-lamb anywhere from 6 or 7 hours up to 24. I won't venture to place hard parameters on cooking time, but I'm sure the scientists in our group can chime in on the chemical processes that take place with slow roasted meats at differing hours--the 6 hour, 12 hour, 18 hour and 24 hour marks. In my little world of "low and slow," I've gotten wonderful results with lamb and pork at the 8 hour mark under a temperature of 250-275. I think it would be safe to say that lamb roasted at 250 for anything under 3 hours won't produce the results we're looking for.

I tried this on Friday/Saturday. I only got to the 12 hour mark though as I could not stand the "intoxicating" porcine aroma that filled my tiny little house. And following on that "I could not stand" statement, I was so focused on the pork roast that I didn't take any photos. Not a one, even though the camera was right on the table. The end result of the "low and slow" cooking method was pork that was the closest to what I remember from my childhood, (in the days before pork became "the other white meat."). It was fatty, juicy, porky and delicious. No other cooking technique would have come close to this result. This week I am still savoring the pork--in cold sandwiches, hot sandwiches, sliced and eaten cold, sliced and eaten hot, and with pinto beans. Low and slow is the way to go. Thanks Maggie for the recipe.

Well, it wasn't an earth-shattering show of cookery in "Battle Cora vs. Walzog." The secret ingredient was cherries--three varieties including Bing, Ranier and Sour. Cora took the win. Walzog nearly the blew two of the judges off the panel with his cherry salad with chiles--lots of chiles. His lamb chop, while getting decent praises from the judges, looked nearly similar to the afore-mentioned, (in my post above), raw veal chop. Apparently it was saved somewhat by the accompanying cherries.

You can dine at Boulud in Wynn--but only until April. Word on the Strip is that the lease won't be renewed when it expires next April. I'm not sure if Boulud made the decision or if it was Wynn--or they mututally agreed to part ways. Too bad as it was one of the better restaurants not just at Wynn but on the Strip. Any of the charcuterie plates are delicious.

There's a lot of discussion here right now over who will the the "Next Iron Chef America." But let's back-up to the actual show itself--the Chef's, (and sometimes the judges), certainly give us enough cannon fodder to lob a few volleys in their direction. When I saw the preview this evening for tonight's episode, "Cora vs. Walzog," it immediately took me back to a horrific dinner I had at SW Steakhouse last May. Chef Walzog holds down the kitchen at SW Steakhouse at the Wynn--purportedly the highest grossing restaurant in Las Vegas for both food and wine. (Those statistics are of course based on the Las Vegas casino/resort style of accounting). The low-point of the dinner in May was a $46.00 grilled veal chop that was absolutely raw. The black grill marks must have been painted on with a magic marker because there was zero evidence that a flame had even touched this piece of meat. And what a shame. The Chef was in the kitchen that night and when he came to our table, he gasped in horror at the havoc that had been wrought on that plate-shards of meat cut into bits in search of just one little tidbit that was cooked. My dining companion, a local, told me that Chef Walzog apologized for days after the veal disaster. He really didn't need to apologize--he should have made sure the veal was cooked properly in the first place. Apparently the Chef wasn't watching over his crew on the line closely enough that evening. It will be interesting to see what "secret ingredient" the Chairman will choose for Cora and Walzog tonight. Let's just hope it isn't veal. Edit to add that the episode was shot months ago, far in advance of our dinner at SW Steakhouse last May. Maybe we just caught Chef Walzog and crew on an off night and he really is an "Iron Chef."

I vary the ingredients I add to my fried rice, but the one thing I don't ever vary is the technique I use for cooking the rice. I typically use Basmati rice--probably not the first choice of most home cooks. I prefer the long-grains and the earthy scent of Basmati rice. I soak and rinse the rice in at least 5 changes of water to remove as much starch as possible before I cook the rice in a basic rice steamer. After the rice cools down, I cover the rice and let it sit overnight to allow the rice to chill down and any remaining starch to set back down. On day two, I'll separate the chilled rice in my fingers so that I'm not faced with big chunky rice balls. I was getting frustrated in recent years when I cooked fried rice because it continually came out "soggy" and just didn't have the same texture as fried rice from a restaurant. (Obviously I didn't realize that it was probably due to the fact that I don't have a high-output flame heating the wok on my home stove). My cooking technique may sound a bit odd, but it seems to work for me in coming close to replicating the fried rice I find in restaurants. I heat a large, non-stick skillet over high heat. No oil, no butter no fat, just a dry, non-stick skillet. Then in goes the rice for a blast of dry heat. The rice gets a little crusty and a few black, charred bits on it--just the way I like it. I stir the rice around just for a minute or two, then in goes the garnishes--ham, egg, chinese sausage, shrimp, carrots, whatever. Next in the pan is a few dashes of sesame oil and a slug of soy sauce. On a rare occasion I'll add a dash of rice wine or Chinese black vinegar. I always finish my fried rice with a scattering of peas and chopped green onion.

Jen blew it, plain and simple. Given her background, she surely knows the standing of Chef Moonen and his regard for seafood. She must have at least considered the fact that given her background and association with Chef Ripert that Chef Moonen and the judges would have expected more. Yet rather than push herself to do a more creative and challenging seafood dish, she chose a pedestrian treatment of a common trout dish. The trout dish looked horrific, (it was kindly described as "beige"). But the presentation was merely a precursor for the tasting comments of the judges--a terrible dish with a broken sauce. I agree with the thrust of Collichio's comments about Jen's trout--that Chef Ripert would have been very disappointed in her poor effort. Her emotional reaction to the judges comments bore out the fact that she was disappointed in herself. Unfortunately, disappoint doesn't win out in the end. Top Chef is a competition that is quite unusual and in many ways different than the day-to-day challenges the Chefs face in their restaurant kitchens. I would agree with those who say that a "competition" Chef is not necessarily a great "restaurant" Chef and vice versa. I mean really, how often will a "Top Chef" cook over an open campfire in the desert outside the Las Vegas city limits? Maybe Jen falls somewhere in the middle of that pack--a talented Chef in a restaurant setting that doesn't hold up well to the stress and challenges of a competition? I don't know, but it's a point worth considering. However, history demonstrates each year that "Restaurant Wars" is probably the one challenge that most clearly gauges the overall abilities of the Chefs to prove themselves in the same type of environment they face every day in the "real world." Unfortunately, history also shows that each year the weak can't stand the heat of the kitchen during "Restaurant Wars" and that's often an ominous sign for the final weeks of the competition.

Good Lord! What's scary is that when I first viewed your photo, I thought it actually looked like a baby suckling pig--like some sort of dwarf piglet that you'd normally see in a jar in a biology class! Is it just me or does anyone else see that little ear, closed eye and snout? I guess you've got something porcine there, but I'm just not convinced it's the foot of Mr. Porky!

The technique of cooking foods low and slow in the oven is often over-shadowed by the more popular association with the term--"low and slow" is usually a definition applied to championship barbecue. But low and slow cooking in the oven produces juicy meat that literally falls off the bone and is every bit as tender and delicious as a barbecued brisket. The technique for low and slow oven cooking is very easy. Once you've decided on the meat and the cooking vessel, (tagines, claypots and French enamel-ware casseroles are just a few), you basically add liquid, herbs, spices and vegetables and let time to do the work. I suppose the biggest challenge for me when I cook a dish "low and slow" in the oven is the anticipation of waiting upwards of 8 hours for dinner to arrive at the table. As the low temperatures dipped into the upper teens last week, I decided to cover the barbecue smoker on the patio and go indoors for some "low and slow" cooking in the oven. I had been holding onto a French recipe for a seven-hour roasted leg of lamb that I knew would be perfect for this cooking method. The recipe called for white wine as the base of the braising liquid, but I was looking for heartier flavors so I chose a blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and veal stock for my dish. To accent the rich flavors of the lamb and red wine, I added the spicy perfume of black peppercorns and fresh juniper berries to the mix of herbs that would flavor my lamb. It's impossible to find a whole, bone-in leg of lamb in my local supermarkets this time of year. The leg of lamb I found was boneless or butterflied--not a cut that I would recommend for low and slow cooking. I needed the whole haunch of lamb for my dish. The bone gives the meat flavor and acts as the clothes pin to keep the meat held together during the long, arduous cooking time. I decided upon a free-range Australian leg of lamb that I ordered through D'Artagnan. I appreciated the fact that the leg of lamb was left with a decent outer layer of fat--not as thick of a layer as I would have preferred had I butchered the lamb myself, but certainly more fat than I would have found on a supermarket "super-trimmed" leg of lamb. The leg weighed about 7 1/2 pounds- I seared the leg of lamb in olive oil in a large roasting pan- The flavors for the lamb came from fresh sage, thyme, rosemary, black peppercorns and juniper berries- I liberally seasoned the lamb with salt, pepper and crushed juniper berries. The braising liquid was a blend of one bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a cup of veal stock and about 3 cloves of whole, peeled garlic- I covered the lamb with foil and let it roast at 275 for 6 hours, basting the lamb with the pan juices every 30 minutes during the cooking time. I then uncovered the leg of lamb for the last hour of roasting. To accompany the lamb I chose a traditional French side dish of stewed white beans--in this case, Great Northern beans. I stewed the beans in the oven during the last three hours of the lamb cooking time. The braising liquid for the beans included veal stock and water and a bouquet garni of bay leaf, thyme, sage, rosemary, and black peppercorns- After seven hours of cooking "low and slow" in the oven, a thing of beauty emerged- A quick sear and flash in the oven is certainly an accepted cooking technique that we all use on a regular basis, but the less popular "low and slow" oven cooking technique is the only method that will deliver this delicious result- I've got a "Duck Civet" recipe from Daniel Boulud that I think would be quite good cooked "low and slow" in my oven and so that will be on the shopping list for next week. What dishes do you like to cook "low and slow" in the oven? Do you have specific side dishes you serve with a meat cooked "low and slow?" Do you find a certain cooking vessel works better than another? Do you keep the dish covered for the entire "low and slow" cooking time? How do you keep the meat from becoming too dry? Let's hear, and see, your best "low and slow" dishes cooked in the oven.

I'd like to add another note about the yield of meat from a Dungeness Crab. According to my fish guy, and proven through my own experiences, deep-water Dungeness crabs fished out of the Pacific are larger in size with harder shells than the crabs harvested out of bays. The deep-water crabs tend to have firmer meat and a slightly higher ratio of meat to shell. In the end though, I'd agree with what the folks at the Oregon Dungeness Crab Commission report--expect no more than about a 25% yield--regardless of where the crabs live. The Dungeness Crab season in Oregon and Washington typically begins on December 1, weather and conditions permitting. We avoid buying Dungeness this time of year, preferring to wait a couple more months until the season opens and the first, fresh crabs start to show up in our markets.

If you have the bucks, try Bartolotta Ristorante di Mare at Wynn for fresh seafood flown in from the Mediterreanean. The cafe at RM Seafood at Mandalay Bay is a casual place for fish in a bar, cafe type setting. The upstairs bar at RM serves small plates of seafood. I believe the main dining room is still closed due to the poor economic conditions in town. I'd avoid the seafood at Michael Mina at Bellagiw--overly priced, somewhat contrived "trios" of seafood dishes. One advantage,however, of dining at Mina is the fact that they have some of the best pastries and desserts in town.

Last night was the launch of my annual return to cooking wild game each fall. I've been nervous about the availability of wild game this year. I had been visiting the D'Artagnan website regularly since mid-August and the wild Scottish game I enjoy every year was listed as "out of season." I was worried that I had missed the season or that something had happened to the supply of wild Scottish game birds. When I returned to the D'Artagnan site earlier this week I found that the availability of wild game had returned, so I quickly ordered, among other things, a wild Scottish grouse. The Scottish birds procured by D'Artagnan roam free in the Northern Highlands and are harvested during weekend hunts on private estates. As you can imagine, wild game from Scotland, hunted naturally and then processed and shipped to the U.S. within two days of the hunt, are not cheap. D'Artagnan currently lists the wild Scottish grouse at $43.99 per bird. But if you are a gourmand with a taste for wild game, and it's a once-a-year treat, then I certainly think the flavor is worth the cost. The grouse are delivered fresh: The wingtips are cut off the bird and the heart and liver are left inside the cavity. I would have used the liver, but it was terribly small and I had other plans for using another form of poultry liver in the dish. You do need to carefully go over the bird before cooking as there tends to be feathers and pin feathers that need plucking. As evidence that the grouse was harvested by the hunt, be careful of the buckshot: I seasoned the cavity with salt, pepper and sprigs of fresh rosemary, thyme and oregano. Since wild birds have little fat, slices of bacon simply placed on top of the breasts add fat during cooking to keep the birds moist. I typically leave the bacon on for the first half of the roasting process and then remove the bacon during the second half of cooking so that the skin can get browned. NOTE: wild birds have very thin skin so while it will brown, it won't necessarily get "crisp" like the skin of a domestically raised duck. Here is the grouse ready for about 20 minutes in a 450 oven: I served the roasted grouse whole, accompanied by a Huckleberry Compote. If you've followed my posts, you know that I savor the wild Northwest huckleberry as one of nature's most rare and delicious berries--a berry that grows wild and has to be harvested by hand. The huckleberry is one of the staple foods of bears, yet I imagine that grouse, partridge, chukar and quail most likely find the berry a source of energy. This year's crop of huckleberries was sweet yet tart, uniquely fragrant and the perfect accompaniment to the rich dark meat of the grouse: I decided to do a take on the traditional dish of roasted grouse served on a crouton spread with a pate made from the bird's liver. In addition to the grouse, my order from D'Artagnan included Foie Gras Mousse with Black Truffles. The plan was to serve little "Foie Gras Sandwiches" with the grouse. I used a biscuit cutter to cut small rounds out of a loaf of homemade white bread. The bread was very light, almost like a feather pillow. When I pushed the cutter through the bread, it sort of crimped down on the edges, forming the little rounds into the shape of a macaroon cookie. While unintentional, it worked out beautifully as the rounds of bread made for perfect little "sandwiches" to serve with the grouse: The grouse was delicious, and the huckleberry compote is probably what I would call my "signature" recipe. But those little sandwiches, toasted in butter and holding Foie Gras and Black Truffle were fabulous. And when I topped the "sandwich" with a spoon of the huckleberry compote, I found what I think I'll call my second-best "signature" recipe.

I'm with the cranky group that's not all to happy with the Producer's for not showing a new episode this week. It just adds to my aggravation of when they run two or three previous episodes to build up to the week's new show. It seems to me that they are teetering on losing viewer interest by changing up the schedule format, but maybe they have some chart on a piece of cardboard with arrows and graphs showing this is a profitable way to air a reality cooking competition.

I'll second the vote for CUT. The steaks are very good, and it's the sides that set it apart. Instead of "creamed spinach," think of "bone marrow custard." The decor is a bit too stainless steel and "moedaarn" for me and the 80's rock music is midly annoying, but the service and steaks more than make up for those minor quibbles. Try to ignore the waiters when they roll out a cart with linen wrapped beef. Things have gotten so crazy in Las Vegas that now they are featuring not just one type of Kobe, but various grades and various price ranges. All overly expensive. Their Midwest beef, dry-aged and either grass-fed or corn-fed, is really quite delicious at a fraction of the cost of that fatty stuff. Craftsteak at the MGM is also a very good steakhouse. Like CUT, what seems to set Craftsteak apart are the sides like roasted wild mushrooms and desserts based on seasonal fruits. It is not your cookie cutter style, chain steakhouse.

I agree, and I think you've pointed out what I see as the keys to the Quickfire Challenges--how to present a dish that fits within the time constraints of the challenge and using techniques that lend themselves to quick preparations. That has to be balanced with a consideration for the "theme" of the Quickfire. Applying those principles by selecting the appropriate, and unique, ingredients seems to be what makes the difference in who loses and who wins.

Let me add that I don't discount how wonderfully delicious a "Crudo" can be. Last week I tasted three different plates of "Crudo" in a local restaurant that were fabulous. Two of the crudo were especially good--one using fresh escolar, the other using geoduck clam. I use that example because a crudo can be delicious, and innovative, if the Chef uses just a bit of whimsy and uses a variety of seafood that we don't typically associate with crudo. Scallops, not so innovative--but geoduck is a more unusual shellfish that can push a dish to a higher level. And of course, I qualify my comments by stating that I'm not aware of what the Chefs had at their hands to work with for the Quickfire. (And live, fresh geoduck probably wasn't available at Whole Foods in Las Vegas in May). Wasn't it just a few years back that Hung did that wonderfully creative dish of geoduck and chicken? Sometimes just one ingredient or one simple technique is what separates a "Chef" from a "Top Chef."

It would be interesting to actually know what the Chef's do have waiting for them in the larder. Yet if we are correct that there are foodstuffs other than scallops available, isn't it really a question of the Chef's showing their creativity and presenting the absolutely best dish possible under the time constraints and limitations of the Quickfire? If you share my opinion that it is quite reasonable for the judges to expect a very high level of innovation within the challenge-then it seems to follow that scallops, ceviche, raw tuna or pasta salad fall far short of what one should expect from a "Top Chef." I personally don't think that slicing a raw scallop, garnishing it with a few chives, a drizzle of olive oil and serving it with a lemon wedge, (Jennifer's "Angel" portion of her scallop dish), is anything more than a pedestrian effort to race through and get the dish out to the judges.

I subscribe to Bon Appetit, Saveur and Food and Wine. I also buy BBC Food at a local bookstore. I cut my subscription to Gourmet, although I will buy it at the newstand if the feature piece interests me. On occasion I'll get a complimentary copy of another food magazine looking for my business. I suppose somewhere along the way I've put down "food and cooking" as one of my hobbies on an internet form so the food magazines come knocking on my door. Saveur is, for my tastes, far and away the best magazine for people seriously interested in food, the traditions and history of food, where our foods come from and how they are cooked. The current issue has a fabulous feature piece on lamb. Issues in the past have featured pieces as far ranging as the noted Food Writer Clementine Paddleford and the cuisine of Trader Vic's. I happen to be a student of the history of cuisine and eating in America, so I suppose that's why I prefer Saveur because it focuses more on my interests in food. And I love the decidely non-trendy photos of the food in Saveur. The Editors have wisely chosen to showcase dishes in their natural state--if the juices from a Blackberry Cobbler ooze and seep over the sides of the dish during baking, that's what you see in the final photo--they don't wipe off all the spills drips, drops and crumbs. I remember a piece in Saveur about old-fashioned butchers. The knives the butchers used were obviously not new, nor did they look to be very sharp. But those natural, unadulterated photos of old butcher's knives is the image that tied the written word to one's memories of why we miss old-style butcher shops. The other magazines just don't portray food and cooking in such a personal way.

Yeah, and even then Colicchio spit out some of the ceviche. Yuck.

Did anyone catch a glimpse of any type of mobile refrigeration unit at the camp? I didn't. All I saw were their trusted coolers on wheels. I doubt that a cooler filled with ice would safely hold seafood overnight in the intense heat of the Las Vegas desert. I'm wondering if the Producers hid a mobile refrigerator hooked up to a generator or something. I don't really care to eat ceviche in the desert and I certainly don't want to eat it if the fish wasn't kept properly chilled before it was prepared. Anyone see any sort of refrigeration unit outside of the portable tailgate coolers?