Wilfrid

I thought I was invited. Thanks for the report. Shame no-one had the braised tripe.

With time for only two dinners in Rio, I decided to try to eat something indigenous other than rodizio. A lot of pointers led me to a restaurant called Siri Mole & Cia, which features the cooking of the Bahia province in North Eastern Brazil, a subject about which I knew nothing. Siri Mole turned out to be a bright, colorfully decorated little bistro between Copacabana and Ipanema beaches. It was about half full on a Sunday evening, with a mixture of locals and tourists. They start you with some appetizers, fairly described on the menu as "optional" because there's a small cover charge. A salad of black olives, a creamy puree of tuna, a selection of breads. I ordered a specialty for my first course, the alcajare con pilar. This is a rich mash of white beans flavored - strongly, indeed - with crab. On this occasion, it was served studded with small shrimp (in their shell, which made them a little tricky to eat without getting jammy fingers). A simple fresh salsa was served on the side, along with a large, crisp, freshly fried croquette which tasted just like a very good hush puppy. Entree, bobo de camarao. A deep, earthenware bowl was filled with fat (peeled) shrimp in a thick, yellow sauce speckled with fresh herbs. Another big bowl came with plain rice, and the familiar manioc powder was served on the side. The shrimp dish had the look and consistency of a very rich, buttery shrimp korma, but the flavor was different of course - tangy, but somewhat cloying. I may have ordered badly here; this was the kind of dish you wanted a couple of spoonfuls of, along with some other tastes and textures. I should've come with a party. I couldn't finish it, even with the help of a light, fruity Brazilian chardonnay (Terra Adina '00). Undeterred, I ordered another specialty for dessert - cocada branca. This looked like a plate of shredded coconut meat, but was profoundly sweetened and enriched, perhaps with some kind of coconut syrup. Woke my cavities up. I'm sure I'd have done better here in the company of someone who knew the food, but the $32 check cheered me. Lunch next day, organized by some Brazilians acquaintances, was the unavoidable rodizio - grilled meat carved from large skewers, until you scream at them to stop. We went to Porcaon (or "great big fat pig"), one of a small local chain. This branch was beautifully set on the side of the bay, and must have featured about three hundred covers. Vast. Help yourself salad bar (I took a little ceviche), plates of appetizers (pasteles de queijo, empanadas, etc). Then the meat. Chicken and linguica sausage - fine. Then the beef. Perhaps less marbled than American beef, a real chew to it, deeply flavored, long aftertaste. Well, you know it's good stuff. And the range of cuts seemed endless. I was particularly impressed by a fatty cut from the hump on the bull's neck - don't ask me the name - looked a little like skirt, but was much more tender. Also noted "baby beef" - meltingly soft, and the only place I've seen it outside of Blue Hill in NYC. Aside from the number of cuts, the beef enjoyed a variety of seasoning. Some pieces were well salted, others rubbed with garlic. One piece of filet mignon seemed to have a sort of eggy coating (no, it was very good). I also ate a large quantity of grilled chicken hearts, but missed the leg of kid, which sadly showed up after dessert. The latter was a rich papaya cream. Traditional caipirinhas to cut the fat. This was a killer meal, potentially in every sense. On my way to dinner that evening, I was pleased to reflect that Claude Troigros is renowned for its "light" cuisine. Well, it was light by Rio's standards. From the hushed reverence accorded this place, I was expecting a formal temple of gastronomy. Turned out to be a cheerful joint with big, colorful oil paintings, which wouldn't have looked out of place in the West Village. Not a big restaurant, by any means. It was festooned with CT memorabilia, but his level of involvement with the restaurant was unclear; some of the postcards and books were pretty old. Attracted by the escargots tempura and slow-cooked rabbit on the carte, I nevertheless took the chef's surprise market menu. A shot of asparagus soup, followed by a terrine of smoked and fresh salmon with tomatoes and peppers, which was unremarkable. The terrine was served on an earthy, dark sauce, which tasted a little like green tea, but was doubtless based on a local ingredient (my interrogation of the staff was limited by my poor Portuguese and my inability to spell what they told me anyway). Next up was indeed a surprise. Good old Lobster Thermidor. Mustard, cheese and mushrooms all present, along with the neatly cooked lobster meat. I thought there might be some dark stock in there too. A pause for Kirsch sorbet. There is a story about me, a bottle of Kirsch and Runcorn Hospital, which you must remind me to tell you some time. Not my favorite flavor. A pair of lamb filets (unexciting cut, I think) came topped with some strange green, slightly cheesy stuff, and garnished with small roast potatoes. I then took the cheese plate, mainly out of curiosity, but it turned out to be pre-packed, chilled bits of camembert, brie and some sort of blue. The French wines on the list were about half New York prices, which meant they were quite expensive compared with the rest of the meal. So I drank what my notes describe as a fairly young Tarrazza Reserva. Argentinian, I think. Malbec, for sure. But I was write to order a glass of Sauternes with my dessert, because they were gaily pouring it by the half pint. And dessert was a doughtyy apple and mango crumble with vanilla ice cream. A decent dinner, but nothing I found to make this a destination restaurant. Service was adequate. Still, thanks to the exchange rate, it was about $80 for everything, and I doubt if you could pay much more for a meal in Rio (except perhaps at Cipriani in my hotel, which looked elegant but dead as a dodo). That's all, folks.

I think the extent to which French haute cuisine is an outgrowth of regular French cooking, rather than something created sui generis by a certain confluence of circumstances we've discussed on other threads, is often considerably overstated.

It would be amusing if it turned out to be an English coinage.

A salmis is any preparation of bird (usually game bird) where the creature is partially roasted, the breasts, wings and legs removed, the carcass discarded, and the nice bits finished in a pan with a sauce. The sauce would usually include red wine, maybe some stock, onions, garlic, a dash of cognac or calvado, maybe herbs - the usual culprits. So I don't believe it is the specific ingredients of the sauce that make it a "sauce salmis", but the way in which it's used. And just right for a squab, I would say.

Just had time to catch up on this thread. Picking up on Suzanne's last point, one thing I did notice last week was that Webster's (online) dates the first usage of "haute cuisine" from 1928. Unfortunately, I can't see whether that's the first use in French or in English. If French, it rather postdates Escoffier's glory years, let alone Careme's. I can't find a source for the French etymology, but it may be revealing to check this in a library. What we may well discover is that the cooking of well-known French chefs over many years was known by a bunch of different phrases, Where would that get us? Well, it might suggest the conclusion that "haute cuisine" is really not much more than a marketing label which chefs and restaurants apply to their cuisine in order to attract certain kinds of customers. Because all the possible common factors we've adduced so far - including mine back on page one - fail to delineate any one particular style of cooking.

wilfrid, i'd appreciate your input on your sloppy joe experience. please consider describing your first go-around with joe. I would say it was a good-minus experience. I used Hunt's Manwich, in the interest of taking in a classic American version of the dish rather than introducing my own creativity into the process. It gave the ground beef a mild tomato flavor, with very mild spiciness. I served the beef on a fairly soft supermarket roll. Subjectively, I did not like the combination of sloppy meat and soft bread, although I understand the dish is meant to be that way. I felt an urge to add some chopped lettuce or sliced cucumber or pickle -something to give it some crunch. However, the leftover meat froze well and contributed to last night's impromptu supper. Thank you for your enquiry.

Leftover "Sloppy Joe" ground beef; yellow plantains garnished with onion cooked in vinegar and strips of red and yellow pepper. Baby food. Two helpings.

Funnily enough, Adam, I was thinking about Rabelais only this morning. I started reading Gargantua and Pantagruel a while back, and somehow got diverted from it. There's a lot about offal and pies in there as I recall, and I was just thinking I should pick it up again. Otherwise, I am belatedly reading Gopnik's Paris to the Moon, but spoiling it by reading the food bits first. And just finished Derrida, Memoirs of the Blind - nice pictures.

Flew into Newark 5.30 this morning, but will get some reports up tomorrow. ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Mention of Ye Olde Tripple Inn reminds me that just over the other side of Eighth Avenue is a tiny "cocktail" bar called the Westerly. This is a dose of old New York. Very basic, very dark, and some deeply disturbed customers. I was just checking my memory, and found a web-site devoted todive bars. Click on the red dot for New York, and there's a very fair review of Smith's. Nice writing: "Smith's is absolutely real, with no window dressing. I'm pretty much an antisocial prick. I like approximately 8 people and think that's more than enough. But this past Saturday, I had about an hour-long conversation with Joyce and Shane, a couple from South Wales in for St. Patrick's Day. While I waited for my friends to show up, we bullshitted about music and movies and why beer in New York is too fucking expensive. Smith's brings out the best in most of the people I've seen there and everyone seems to enjoy the diversity at hand. And if there's a threat of a fight breaking out, Pete smacks a shillelagh on the bar and that's enough to put the fear of God into anyone."

Yes, I have, but it was a few months ago. I''ll try to dig out my notes and compare with Jeff''s experience. Good luck.

I am not sure if I am doing the same thing as spqr, but I start at the top - the end nearest the body, and using the tip of my knife work around the bone. What I aim to do is actually to turn the whole thigh and leg inside out, so I end up with a completely inverted, but still intact, limb. I then push that back until it''s turned the right way again and stuff it. No cutting or sewing. Works for rabbit legs too, and I imagine for duck.

OOOf, rodizio. Just taking the opportunity to log in from an internet cafe behind Copacaban Beach, in case anyone needed to know how hot and sunny it is down here. I am also struck by the happy coincidence of demographics and fashion, which has put so many beautiful young women and so many tiny bikinis in the same place at the same time. Oh don't worry, there are hunky guys in briefs too. My current problem is that I have only five hours to digest a rodizio/caipirinha blowout at Porcaon on the bay here in Rio so that I can, er, recalibrate my tastebuds and enjoy Claude Troigros. I''m told the food at CT is quite light, and it had better be if I''m to fit on the plane tomorrow. Ah, to have such problems. Boa noite to all of you.

Well, you know I have a bone to pick - appropriately enough - about the expensive-baby-food theory. Historically, I do not believe that (French) h-c has necessarily been about making food slurpy. I have been meaning to get around doing some research on that (I have some Point and Dumaine menus, and Escoffier would be relevant too), but time doesn't allow: but certainly one could list classic dishes from that tradition which offer a variety of textures. I do wonder whether a range of developments over the last few years are pushing h-c in the teeth-not-necessary direction, and I also wonder whether that is to be regretted.

Bux, I am silly enough to think like that sometimes, and I have had people (non-eGulleters, of course) laugh in my face when I have thought out loud. GJ. Are you joking about taste? If not, I suppose rich and cloying might be the common denominator Soba. I think it's just a matter of which way we want the discussion to go whether we define it in terms of the tradition flowing down through Escoffier, which is what I had in mind, or whether we include analogous levels of cooking in any country. I just think the latter will make the task of defining it close to impossible.

I'm suprised to find a squid up a mountain path! Two friends who live in Switzerland dined at the Farm recently and spoke very highly of it: enjoy.

Kind of agree, Bux, but I like to save up raining on Steve's parade for occasions when it's really merited . I think there are some interesting issues around the extent to which the various things we call haute cuisine today have departed from that which originally merited the name (I almost said soubriquet, but I don't want have to call myself a pompous ass again).

I would venture to say that "high level" cooking in a number of countries, such as China and Japan, has come to be called "haute cuisine" by analogy with the Franco-European tradition. I think we'll get in a muddle if we try to look for a worldwide definition of haute cuisine. But don't let me stop y'all from trying.* *Note fancy American second person plural.

Mincing it I find easy, but peeling it can be a pain (unless I crush it first, which I don't always want to). Any brilliant insights?

All very fair.

Not an easy question. To get the ball rolling, I can suggest some things which strike me as characteristic of what has historically been described as haute cuisine: 1. The use of several cooking techniques at different stages in the preparation of a dish, thus typically making it time-consuming and/or labor intensive. 2. The presence of luxury (expensive) ingredients, sometimes just as garnishes. 3. Self-consciously artistic presentation. 4. The presence of made sauces (i.e., not just cooking juices). 5. A significant transformation of the main ingredient from its original state. None of these are sufficient or necessary of course. 1. would apply to cassoulet. But I am open-minded as to whether "high level" (if I may) cooking today remains in this tradition, or whether there has been a paradigm shift away from the approach well-exemplified by Escoffier. I am interested in what people have to say.

Are we talking about today - because it's surely changed over the years?

As long as it's not a new thread about Andrew Lloyd Webber...

Hmmm. Except that opera is not inherently more serious than rock and roll. Oh, just ignore me.