maggiethecat

Back home at last, and this has so inspired me that I'm going to give one more shot at my egg-poaching technique. I am an expert at disastrous poached eggs. Which led me to try, a few weeks ago, a method of "poaching" that Bourdain mentions in "A Cook's Tour." He mentions that he saw Arzak (I believe) wrap a duck egg and some sort of delectable fat in a piece of plastic wrap, then place the bundle in simmering water. I tried it, and it works, although I did get some funny looks when I was observed tying up a raw egg in Saran Wrap with twist ties. It was fun, and I suppose that technically I was poaching an egg, in some primitive form of sous-vide. But it was fussy. Back to basics for me, and thank you, Steven.

Um, still waiting for the Ode to Okra -- and black and blue Porterhouse. Deadline: Midnight February 14th in a time zone of your choice.

Whahoo! 56, 707.

No, mags don't count, but food reference and reminiscence do. And welcome, Devotay. 56, 272.

Welcome to eGullet, Geoff. I'll try those capers!

Exactly. With a few shining exceptions (including those of some talented people here at eGullet) I find most restaurant reviews to be mind-bogglingly tedious bits of writing. If I have an interest in a restaurant, I might wade through the boring bog, but I've probably ignored very good ones because I couldn't get past the first graf. It can, and does get carried to extremes when the writer lavishes more attention on him/herself than on what's in the glass or on the plate. But otherwise, gimme some juicy writing -- like Anthony Giglio's.

You didn't invite me, but I want in on that. Where Nero goes, I go. Congratulations Invento and Hobbes. I know you have been working very hard. I can't wait to see what you've done with the place. And where Ronnie and Julie and Susan and Nero and Dawn go -- I feel honored to trail along --if the date's out a couple of months. And, my Lady, if you were not planning to take your notebook, I'd make you write notes on, say, the back of my phone bill. You remain, seriously, my favorite restaurant reviewer.

Man, I feel stoned just reading this sentence! It conveys perfectly those passionate discussions about nothing that wasted away my parents' hard-earned tuition money. I agree with the dangers of brownies. Back in the day, new to Chicago, I attended a baby shower for a co-worker. These were all rosy, well-scrubbed pearl-necklace-wearing midwestern girls. I seem to remember a salad and a fondue, with a pan of brownies for dessert, donated by the store designer -- we all worked for Crate and Barrel at the original store. It took me waaaay too much time to figure out why we were all rolling around on the floor, giggling helplessly when the mom-to-be's in-laws showed up at the door. All she could think of to say to her father-in-law was "Dad, want a brownie?"

Is your oven relatively new or old? I have an ancient gas range and oven and I'd be worried about leaving it on whilst I slept. But then again, I'm a pantywaist. Dear Pantywaist: My oven's about eight years old. I thought for awhile that indeed the oven might haver has an automatic shut-off at the twelve hour mark, but I was wrong. Simply raising the temp twenty-five degrees works perfectly

Hell, no! If the restaurant looked good, and positive press from some buddies, I would eat at a "B" without a qualm. And have. When I'm in LA, I enjoy checking out the letter ratings. My Angelena daughter told me that the joke is: C's for Cool. You probably won't die, the food might be good and almost invariably reasonable. I tell myself that it's smart to remember that my own kitchen, by Board of Health standards, could barely scrape a B on a busy day.

I used to lay in the Smarties to give out as little thank you/affiramtive message gifties for the very young American kids who worked for me. "Duuuuude! Way better than M&Ms! Cooler colors, too."

Be still my heart: good Vietnamese just down the road in Wheaton! And I'm determined to get to ByBy's, which is even closer.

I'd like to recommend Jacques Pepin's Onion Soup recipe from Jacques and Julia Cook at Home. It's just first class onion soup and hang on to your toques, mes amis: He uses chicken stock! As I am 96% likely to have chicken stock in the freezer on any given night, and .01% to have a container of beef stock tucked away, I am making this sublime soup way more often than I used to. The caramelized onions darken the soup, the flavor is just as exciting and intense as the beef-based version and I truly doubt that I could tell the difference in a blind taste test, especially as it has the requisite croutons and gruyere garnish. This recipe is one of my happiest finds of 2003.

Nope, never enough! Add three more for me. That's 55, 933.

Yeah, Beef, that sweet Big Lunk! Untie the ribbon that wraps that bundle of old love letters, Maybelline.

Wow --I'm glad I checked in here! I've been researching a piece on Cookbooks for Kids and after looking at hundreds of recipes involving Bisquick grated cheese in a bag and nachos There's a Chef in My Soup was close to the top of my list of decent kids' cookbooks. Sad to say, it still might be. Note: I have never, ever seen Emeril, so I don't react when "Baby Bam" gets mentioned. Just looked like an OK spice mixture to me. And dannyboy: That Vincent Price cookbook, I'm told, is first-rate. Vincent and Danny Kaye were true Hollywood gourmands and passionate home cooks. Gad, could you imagine a Nicole Kidman or Kevin Costner cookbook?

Thanks, Sistergirl, but you're wrong. Just think about all those bacon fetishists! And you really should write a love letter to Butter Tart Squares -- or I will!

I love brussel sprouts more than I love most of the human race. I carry a torch for creme brulee. Mac and Cheese and me? That's some Crazy Love. For our First Annual Valentine's Day Smackdown, write a mash note to a food of your choice. Make that meatloaf (or larb or foam) feel the love. You're discreet, right? I'll let you read mine. *********** Baby: Don't be mad at me; I never tried to hide my past from you. I know I've got a Bad Girl reputation in bars, IHOPs and noodle shops from here to Ho Chi Minh City. Hell, my behavior has raised eyebrows in a couple of joints with Michelin stars. I bet you've even heard guys joking about me in locker rooms: "She's got round heels for rye bread. " "Forget roses, Buddy. You'll get to third base with rice pudding." "She's a spaghetti Slut." I've had affairs with every simple carbohydrate who so much as winked at me. A dab of butter behind his ear, some olive oil aftershave and I'm as easy as a bag of fast food fries. I can't bring myself to tell you about my squalid history with spuds and my unnatural acts with rotini---you wouldn't respect me. When I met you I was coming off a crazy fling with a risotto slick as a Lamborghini Diablo handrubbed with truffle oil. He hadn't told me about out his pencil-thin asparagus spears. Ciao, Baby. I'd heard about you of course, but I don't get south of the Mason-Dixon very often. But I thought you were kinda cute the way you called me "Ma'am" at that Waffle House – maybe not Potatoes Byron, but a nice change from a Saturday night with polenta. So I said sure, I'd meet you for dinner. I'll never forget the way you smiled at me across a crowded room, perched on that red-tiled bar. God, you looked so artisanal my molars floated! I remember thinking that you must have blown your whole paycheck on those shrimp. But Darling, I knew it was the Real Thing when I got up close for a sniff of your redeye gravy. Do you remember how good it was for breakfast next morning, after I'd rubbed you in melted duck fat and sizzled you under the broiler? A long distance romance is never easy. But look on the bright side, Valentine -- up here you won't need to worry about me whoring around with hominy. Because a good plate of shrimp grits is hard to find. I know I'm corny, Maggie Get mushy here.

Write a mash note to your fave food here.

This contest is officially closed. For the next stop on the tour, check out Competition Seventeen. You're beautiful!

Oh this revelation really shocks and amazes me! Your passion and perfectionism come as no surprise to us lucky enough to know you. BTW, Neil's school has, without a doubt, the coolest chef's jackets I have ever seen.

We Heartland eGulls know that as sure as the sun comes up on the east , Neil is going to be very, very famous. We knew him when! We will also swear on a book of your choice that not only were Neil's masterpieces knock-out gorgeous, but that they taste even better than they look---pure, exploding richness and flavor. About that final exam: How long was a period? God Lord, that was a heck of a final to complete in three periods. (And your final mark was how close to a perfect score?)

Maggie, is this the recipe you followed? It sounds great, and I like the idea of not having to fuss over the roast for most of the duration. The very one, although I skipped the rub this time. And after some discussion with various pork-loving eGulls, I think a concensus was reached that the initial period at high heat wasn't necessary. Fifi, you are elegant; you use a fork! I just rip bits off with my bare hands.

My poor bottom's waiting! Cafe Europa sounds wonderful, a little like the Berghoff in Chicago. Schnitzel and sauerbraten fend off the cold just fine, especially if they come with many, many potatoes. Creamed spinach. And beer. (Cold?? I doubt it. It's zero here. Beat that, DC.)

i have a tribe. everyone seems pretty cool and normal and like-minded. it's one of my most favorite places on the internet. See: There ya go! (I'm a tribal member.)