maggiethecat

Kerry: that's one serious cookbook collection 114,276.

111,776.

111, 642. Add Bill Buford's amazing "Heat" for me, 111, 643.

Bakewell tarts! Brilliant. This isn't specific, it's generic. Little lemon, lime or grapefruit curd tarts can be assembled at the last minute, and you can show off your collection of mini tart-shell molds. The secret is not making a pate sucre, but using a shortbread recipe, which can be pressed into the molds and baked earlier. No worries about sogginess and the premade curds can be spooned in at the last minute.

The Mayo as Weapon of Mass Detruction myth is incredibly ingrained. I have preached the sermon about the relative harmlessless of mayo weighed against the proteins it enrobes for years. People listen, express amazement and ignore me.

This thread propelled my to pull out my trusty board and give it a few long sniffs. Not a whiff of the basil and garlic I chopped upon it last night, to stay nothing of the stinky stuff I've cut on it for the last ten years. I'm happy to announce that hot soapy water works just fine.

I was going to say Pot au Feu, or Ye Roast Beef of Olde England, or Irish Stew, but hey, I have central air... bring them on. OK, lardo maybe. Yeah, straight pork fat might be better in cold weather months.

I will make it a point to get the requisite day off.

111,620, plus three for me:"Nasty Bits," "My Life in France" and "Reach of a Chef." 111,623.

Cooking might have saved Bourdain's life, and the man's a trained, hard-ass cook, but he was born a writer. His culinary life provided him with the bread-and butter subject matter, but if he'd decided on a career as a siding salesman and decided to write about it we'd read every word about his Mexican crews, the public misunderstanding about vinyl siding, and the lunch the hermanos bring in a big styrofoam cooler. "Nasty Bits" is not always his best stuff, it's a hodge- podge compilation, but it's a blast. I especially like his notes on each piece, back of the book. He fills in circumstances and explains when and how the article was written. This is crucial, because the Tony Bombast factor is annoying in a few of the early bits. He's had time to reconsider, apologize or stick to his guns. Although he has decided that Emeril is no longer a subject for contempt,Woody Harrelson is a fitter mark. (Good God.) The anger is still there, but it seems better focussed. For all the obscene in-your-face macho that's made Bourdain a Hunter Thompson- like cult figure, at heart he's deeply romantic. Anything he writes about Vietnam or the French "ocean liner dinosaurs" makes me wistful. (I wish he'd get another adjective for crazy fresh seafood: retire "screamingly," but that's the kind of thing an attentive reader and fan notices.) I loved "Is Anyone Home"and his mash note to Gabrielle Hamilton, "Hard Core." As Editorial Director of The Daily Gullet"" I mention with pride that "What You Don't Want To Know About Making Food Television" originated here as "The Bourdain Identity"

As Behemoth mentioned upthread, I suspect nasturtiums are the filling, not just the flowers but more importantly, the leaves. They are a dead ringer for watercress in a blindfold taste test. Watercress butties have been around for awhile, right? An aside: The commercial candied flowers from France seem to have eternal life. I was given some as a wedding shower present and have used them within the twelvemonth. The flavor has dissipated slightly, but the colors (mimosa and violets) and the texture are hangin' in there. (We have passed the Silver Anniversary by a couple of years.)

Yes, they rock hard, but others are just as good -- why the heck had I never before heard of Melissa Kelly, for instance? ronnie and russ have done a good job of both reviewing the book and hitting the important themes, but I read "Reach" cover to cover today and I thought I'd express my enthusiasm before I get sidetracked. I’d been a little worried that “Reach” would be a watered-down third-in-the “Of a Chef” franchise. Jeez the man has been putting out what seems to be a cookbook a year (all of which I own) and I was a tad afraid that this was going to be just a compilation of pieces on the various kitchen hotshots he’s come to know. Wrong, all wrong. Why had I doubted him – I reread “Making” and “Soul” at least once a year. “Reach of a Chef” takes on big issues here about the state of the restaurant business, “celebrity” chefdom, how a single chef like Keller or Emeril can make a huge contribution to raising restaurant standards or creating interest in cooking. All you Rachael bashers out there (he actually mentions the RR thread here at eGullet) will do well to read what Ruhlman thinks of her mostly positive influence. (Turns out she’s even prettier in person.) He spends time considering the career and trajectory of Grant Achatz (our own chefg) Melissa Kelly’s “Romantic Ideal” and the stubborn my-way-or–the– highway expensive perfectionism if Masa Takayama. (Lots of nice personal detail everywhere in the book: Masa loves Krispy Kremes.) I read it in a sitting, the ultimate seal of approval. (Like the courteous Midwesterner he is, Ruhlman gives eGullet credit where credit is due. Very nice.)

Hear, hear! I give a lot of credit to Le Creuset for maintaing their brand's mystique and their obscene pricing, but any good piece of thoughtfully designed and well-made enameled cast iron will do the job just as well. Not feeling ripped off is a happy side-effect. Those little lidded pumpkin casseroles, for example, are the cutest things! But that's big bucks for stuff that in most kitchens will be mostly decoration. Of course, I'd happily unwrap a piece of Le Creuset if you send me one for my upcoming birthday. But I'd be glad knowing you didn't pay full price -- and some discounted Staub, Boulud et al would be just as welcome. (Other brands of enameled cast iron have actually outperformed my LeC over time.)

Dear Sleepless in Sherbrooke: (I was sixteen when I last visited Sherbrooke.) Why not use Hesser's book as inspiration for your own courtship with you own Mr. Latte? Cook that duck, make the chocolate cake. The book and the recipes come pre-tested on adorable yet clueless men. And keep us posted.

Sticky is always bad, whether it's the doorknob, the flatware or the menu. (Not that I can attest that any of those things are stick-free in my house, but I'm not in the business.) Brilliant chefs take note: Your extraordinary creations will stay extraordinary if your restaurant has hired good waiters, waitrons, servers or whatever mildly disparaging appellation we're using for FOH these days. A good garcon or garconne makes sure the cutlery is clean, and keeps you and you masters in the best possible light. And although I think linking arms with the waiter to retire to the Ladies for a tinkle is not necessary, Emerils' adorable waiters at NOLA a year ago, who performed this service for me, made me laugh. They laughed too. Charming service.

In the classic department, I'd like to revive the Old Fashioned, beloved of serious drinkers and Grannies alike.

I enjoy the stirring and the fussing that are part of making risotto. But when laziness strikes, the only shortcut method (oh my, it's a no-brainer) that produces something close to Nonna's risott' is Barbara Kafka's microwave method in Microwave Gourmet.

A grilled Swiss and bacon sandwich, heavy on the bacon.

What fun, and I now know how to eat fish in Poland. (Watching the eating habits of my English great-aunts makes me want to dispute the English answer, though!) 8/11.

Eliot: It's not necessary to read them in order, but it would be more fun, and more interesting. (You've got a treat in store.)

Thanks, ronnie, for the enlightening review. I'm off to Amazon: I think I'll call it a belated Mother's Day gift.

110,210. ronnie: In the library under the candlestick?

I guess I set a precedent allowed my own copy of "The Epicurean," so PDF copies of entire books are OK.

This is my first restaurant review here, because we just about never eat out. But always be a good big cousin to your little cousins, because they may grow up to be rich generous foodies. My cousin Cort from Toronto blew into town for some serious eating and culture and he and his charming girlfriend offered to take us out to dinner – our choice. After a grueling Chicago walking tour directed by us, we stopped for a beer at the Palmer House Hotel at 5:45.A Saturday night, no reservations, they’d eaten at Trotter’s the night before… The wonders of eGullet! I remembered this thread, realized that Custom House was blocks away, and had the presence of mind to stop at the hotel's concierge desk. John called the restaurant. Bummer. Earliest available seating: 10:00 pm, no reservations for the full-menu lounge seating. But John came through: Custom House would hold a table in the lounge for us. Leaving the boys to pay for the beer, Susan and I bolted down State Street. As Ronnie said above: Yowza. Window seat, the charming Jolie our server, and the hits just came on coming. Refer above to descriptions of the sweetbreads, octopus and quail starters – Ronnie got it perfectly. Cort said the sweetbreads were the best he’d eaten anywhere, and the man has eaten everywhere. But, with my usual acumen, I choose the sublimest starter of them all: Foie Gras Brulle with macadamia and dried fig compote. It’s served in a largish shallow dish, acrackle with the thin crisp caramel lid. I broke the glass with my spoon, and dribbled some, silky unctuous foie custard onto a toast point, took a bite and pounded my plate with the spoon. I also moaned and bounced in my chair. The stellar sweetbreads, quail and octopus sat untouched as my companions asked for extra toast and said things like: “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life. Or: “I want this for breakfast. And lunch.” The serving was so large, the pleasure so intense, that the four of us could easily have skipped the three other starters. But we were glad we didn’t – I’ll remember all of them. The room was full and the lounge was packed with folks standing at the bar. We never felt rushed; it fact it felt cozy and relaxed. I typically skip the scallops because I detest both their taste and aroma, but Susan said I had to try one because she couldn’t remember a better. She was right. Cort had the lamb medallions, tremendously tasty, but not tremendously tender. My husband had the above-mentioned addictive veal cheeks. When Cort took a bite he flashed me a look of wild surmise: “Why have I never eaten veal cheeks? I’m on a permanent mission for veal cheeks. I’m talking to my butcher the minute I get home. “(He’s also a first-class cook.) I had the enormous, crispy on the outside, melting on the inside never-ending short rib, with the magical molten horseradish beignets. I slipped generous tastes to my companions, but it was getting to the I Can’t Eat Another Bite stage, abetted no doubt by the glorious truffle risotto. Naturally, I finished every bite. It started to rain, so my husband offered to walk the ten blocks and bring round the car. A sweet idea, especially because it allowed the three of us, who had mentioned we’d eat again on Tuesday, to order some furtive desserts. Yeah, you’ve had mango sorbet, but you’ve never had pastry chef Elissa Narow’s mango sorbet. Cort was struck dumb: “It’s nothing but mango mango mango! This is intense! I love this!” We also loved the rhubarb upside-down cake, nice homey stuff. But it was the scoop of ginger ice cream that lifted this dish. It was infused with the sharp/sweet unmistakable flavor of crystallized ginger—punchy and over the top. Cort (he’s a Wine Guy too) chose a couple of bottles of an outstanding Napa Syrah from a vineyard that started with E –Elisa? It went surprisingly well with everything, even the scallops. As we stood outside waiting for the car Susan squealed: “Ohmigod, this place serves breakfast! I wonder if you can get the foie gras for breakfast? “ Clearly, visits to chef Shawn McClain’s Spring and Green Zebra are in order. Gee, I hope Cort comes back to Chicago soon.

this is why I have bowls with lids. ← Princess Bowls. I go for fat asparagus -- there's more sparrowgrass to love, and the same amount of peel to pare.