maggiethecat

Peter, if there were a "Cutest Food Photo" topic, that pic of your son would lead the rest. What I love is his complete concentration -- apples and trees.

The miracle of the eG Society! What a spectrum of terrific ideas. (I guess I'm gonna have to allow him to buy that big ugly thing!) Keep the ideas coming, and I promise to update y'all, with pix. I'm feeling more hopeful with every post.

Damn you, Dave, this is a truly crack topic. But it's a pleasure to introduce neglected cookbooks to the eGullet Society literati. I've talked up this book for a few years on single dish topics, but now I'm just gonna say it. Go to Amazon and order Cooking From Quilt Country. Marcia Adams is a brilliant food writer. 1) It's a beautiful book . The photography rivals the great days of the Time-Life cookbooks. 2) Marcia Adams describes, intimately and respectfully, a culture most of us don't know -- the Amish and Mennonite communities of NW Indiana . 3) Oh God, the recipes. They all feel as if they're just under your hands, simple and bursting with flavor. Pickles, pies, preserving, the best ham loaf you'll ever taste, the best coleslaw dressing (yes, she's serious about that cup of sugar!) , the tomato fritters, the Burnt Sugar Cake with Two Frostings. Your palate feels as innocent and virginal as it was when you were six. Green beans with Peanut Sauce? Lemon Sponge Pie? 4) Every single recipe deliverers. 5) It's a Heartland riposte to the current food writer magnolia- scented fog that talks smack about how Southern is the real American cuisine. I love it and all, but it's wrong.

Put on your lederhausen and pull out your accordion. This meat loaf recipe rocks Milwaukee-style. To say I was dubious is an understatement. I don't like sauerkraut. But the view from the fridge and a scan of the much-underrated food writer Marcia Adams's "Heartland"resulted in tonight's dinner. "German Meat Loaf." Two pounds of ground chuck. One pound of drained sauerkraut. Two cups of fresh rye bread crumbs. Two eggs. A T of ketchup. A big pinch of caraway seeds. Pepper. A half cup of diced onions. Mix, form, bake at 350. Astounding! It didn't taste like sauerkraut, caraway or rye bread. It was light textured, deep flavored, mysterious and brilliant. And come to think of it, all that cabbage had to be good for us. It rocked. (If I ever read "flyover country" from anyone here I will discount anything you write about stuff starting with momo, Keller or Masa. A good chef would put this on his menu tomorrow, with twiddly bits.) Edited to add:Eat it hot. It doesn't rock as hard cold. Rats!

So is it the the salty nap that transforms it?

Thanks, Dana -- that's so counterintuitive it just might work! Keep 'em coming.

The local supermercado has whole eye of round on sale for a price so low it could provide semi-tasteless tough protein for a family of six for a month. An eight pound solid red log. The only decent purpose I've found for this jaw- breaking cut is homemade Chicago Italian Beef, and that's only if you own an electric meat slicer. Braises and stews are out, unless you like beefy shoestrings hanging from your molars. Pounding helps, but how many braccioles can two people eat? Please tell me your culinary alchemy to do with eye of round. I'm out of inspiration, but Himself is saying "It's such a great deal!" And no, I don't own a dog.

To me, it's not a neurosis, it's invoking grace. I'm going to take it up.

Yes! I can always find the recipe for Perfect Cinnamon Rolls because the pages are stuck together. And the Braised Short Ribs with Carrots, Parsnips and Red Wine on page 438 ... !

Chef's Dad is a real and I mean real, charmer. I asked about where we could find excellent Lebanese food in Chicago, and the server cocked her thumb and said: "Ask him. He's at the bar." Dad was forthcoming and educational, and so proud of his daughter, whom I think of as Chicago's Gabrielle Hamilton. Or Melissa Kelly. Get into your car, brave the expressways and go: Chef Nadia is cooking with some soul.

David Rosengarten's 2004 Beard winner It's All American Food is a chunky 487 pager, and when I'm considering the contents of my pantry and fridge trying to, well, think like a chef, I often remember it too late. This is a majorly useful book, studded with historical sidebars and useful how- to illustrations. The tone is breezy and proletarian and every recipe I've tried is a winner. By far the longest section is "Ethnic America" and it could replace several single-cuisine cookbooks I own. Soup dumplings, Chicken Parm, Duck a l'Orange, American-style Lasagna, Cholent, Ajiaco, Tex-Mex Rice,Tostones, Liptauer Cheese, Ceviche, Goulash, Crepes Suzettes, Side Dish Dal. I made Chinese Restaurant Sprareribs from this section last Saturday. I thought one rack for two people would be enough. It wasn't. Next up is "Regional America" and it's similarly encyclopedic. Boston Brown Bread, Barney Greengrass's Scrambled Eggs with Cheddar Cheese and Horseradish, Egg Cream, Philly Pretzels, She-Crab Soup, Memphis Dry Rub Ribs, Pickled Okra, Oysters Bienville, Carne Adovado, Granola, Crab Louis. Then there's "Classic America". Tuna Melt, Homemade Sausage patties, Pot Roast, etc. I hope I've given you the scope of the book, but the sheer number and breadth of the recipes is, well, vast. If you can't find something good from this collection for breakfast, lunch, dinner and frequent snacks from the 400 recipes therein I won't believe you. This book provides me quick inspiration when I'm at my most jaded. Dave: "Great topic, man!"

I'm with Serena: "When do I get to go?" Thanks, Peter: It's been a fair treat, as my Lancashire Nana would have said. (And if you ever want to send me something for Daily Gullet , please shoot me a PM. Yet another Canuck who can write!)

I was there a couple of months ago at a media dinner. I reviewed it here.

Doc: Can't wait to see more of the menu, which, of course, has changed since I ate there with Chris, Dave, and Janet late last fall. (You were of course blessed with your own dining companions, Ron and Julie. The smartest and the nicest.) That meal was the greatest in my life, and my way more experienced companions agreed. I look forward to the rest of your dinner.

I get it. We tailor the dinner for movie nite. Pasta in a bowl, a rack of ribs with many napkins, pizza, a meatball sandwich. You should be able to eat it with your hands, or, at most, one implement.It would be a shame to relegate a great meal to a secondary position behind a movie, but you can make a meal movie-friendly.

Thanks David, tell that to my editor - Maggie the cat. She doesn't always like my use of that word. Besides that she is a great editor though. Thanks -- I think --Ivy. I'd never ban the Fbomb, but I follow the same editorial rule on it as I do on adverbs -- one every thousand words. The thing that really made me understand prep was your description of cutting a lemon against a post, because there was no room at the counter. That's crazeeeee. And it shows the difference between getting our mise together at home, and doing it in a professional kitchen. I'll never again complain that I don't have enough counter space.

I know you've all been holding your collective breaths (har!)so here's a picture of the finished product, snapped in front of the tire of a 2001 Tiburon, into it's interior it will reside. I didn't count (I should have) but scores of shopping bags avoided the landfill and I think the result has a certain funky charm. I'll do some things differently next time,and might even consider using the raw materials to make something fashiony. Knitters, this exercise would work well for you too. I'm never really happy unless I have some kind of needlework project handy to calm the nerves, and this one was terrific fun and meditative. My plastic bag mountain has disappeared. Feel free to PM me if you want the hooker details.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Janet. Your mother's fearlessness reflects your own recipe world view and culinary outlook. Constructing Hidden Valley Ranch from the ingredient list on the packet, having the MSG handy -- What a woman! And what a beautiful woman! My mother wasn't the scientist and supertaster your mother is -- in fact she was the opposite. It was all about luxurious ingredients, a wanton healthy hedonism, if that makes sense. I recognize that what I learned from my mother, (apart from the wonders of the Mixmaster when I was seven, )that through thick and thin, health scares, family traumas, political or fashion crises, dinner was a sacred four course. And because your mother is so beautiful, I'm taking the liberty of posting a pic of happier times -- an eight year old kitchen shot of Mummy (the only woman on earth who'd prepare osso bucco in a white cashmere turtleneck) my brother Ian (New Age Caterer, rugby Prop, motormouth) and me.

I think Ruhlman's "Reach of a Chef" does a smart job about the hopes and fears of the CIA as a culinary and an intellectual institution. He also has long pieces with Ryan and Metz. It's worth reading. But the positioning thing -- as if you spent 25 grand a year for a "prestigious" degree, like say, economics from the University of Chicago, med from Johns Hopkins, Harvard Law, Animal Husbandry at Penn State. Last I heard, no students at these schools were complaining the class work wasn't hard enough, but they aren't going to an upscale trade school. I'm all for, say, a BA in Food history, or even Food Media, but if the kids are complaining about Skills, they should walk, posthaste, to the best junior college program available, save their money for stages and travel, and work the line or the pastry station in their spare time. CIA or Kendall College, you're still going to be lucky to make 12 bucks an hour when you graduate.

Miz Quack: You are so right! Chix and rice casserole can be tweaked any old way you wanna, from dead simple, to pushed towards "French" with some mushrooms and asparagus, to "Italian" with some crushed tomatoes, olives and Parm, to "Chinese" with water chestnuts and a smidgen of soy, to "Mexican" with corn and peppers. It accommodates whatever cut of chicken is on sale this week. If the Goldsters don't eat it, it it heats up beautifully for the cook the next day.

I wanted to like JJ's, but I was severely underwhelmed. Not as good as home made, and although I love the idea that they have great delivery, but, why not just make yourself a sandwich? I admit to not buying sandwiches much, because to me it seems like paying for scrambled eggs. Better than Subway, better than Quizno's, not as good as Potbelly. (I feel different about regional hot sandwiches. A French Dip at Phillipe's in LA, an Italian Beef at Mr. Beef here in Chicago, a smoked meat at Schwartz's in Montreal, an oyster po'boy in NO -- I'm there.)

Yes, what do we do? I'm passionate about the dwindling of the fish population everywhere, whether it be West coast salmon, East coast cod, Great Lakes muskie or river-caught trout. I have nightmares about the very last salmon being caught -- like the whack who cut down the last tree on Easter Island. (I don't even know if salmon still rush down the Restigouche or Mirimachi.) I want to do something, and I feel ignorant and helpless. Advice?

My fingers crossed too. In a busy life, sometimes the website can't come first. But when yours is up, please let us know. U da Bomb.

My mother taught me that there were no short cuts. She taught me that if she and Daddy had to cruise in their LeSabre all afternoon for a bunch of watercress, it was work worth doing. She taught me that Georgian sterling and vintage linens bought at auction weren't to be stored away -- they were to be used every night. She insisted that Jamie Oliver wasn't a twit. On our Sunday night phone call she'd tell me about every dinner she'd made that week, every lunch, every tea party. When I was in Ottawa we'd hit the Byward market hard, and all the farm ladies knew her: "Bonjour Madame! "And when she was lying in hospice at Elizabeth Bryuere she opened her eyes and looked at me and my daughter. "Buy some Sauvagine cheese. Go to Les Fougeres for lunch." And she died with a strawberry Ensure in her hand.

We made a couple of pizzas tonight, both cooked on cast iron griddles. My husband was fussing, as usual, about transporting them to the pans, the necessity of very high heat, the stick factor. Duh, I'm just a baker. I recommended moving them on parchment paper, and cutting off any paper that peeked out over the edge of the pizza. (We've had parchment paper burn at 500.) He said I was a genius. A second generation Toscani doesn't say that often.