Dave the Cook

This is more or less true. Legend (though not biology) asserts that the crawfish (crawdad/crawdaddy) is the descendant of the North Atlantic lobster, just wore down by the trek from Nova Scotia to Louisiana.

The Modernist Cooking Team sent this along for inspiration. Mad slashing skillz.

IIRC, the blade roast is Jacques Pepin's favorite for pot roast, and it's become one of mine, too. Braising reveals that there seem to be two types of connective tissue running down the center of the cut. Post-braise, the meat is easily separated from the tougher sinew, leaving a sticky layer of gelatinous tissue that some like and some don't. The meat is great for New Orleans-style roast beef po' boys, but, having been braised, isn't really suitable for slicing deli-style. If that's what you're after, @rotuts is giving you good advice. (Once, for a class in modernist techniques, we took out the sinew and put the roast back together with transglutaminase and SV'd it at 122°F. Then we cut it into 1-1/2" cubes, wrapped each cube with chicken skin (using more meat glue) and dropped them into 375° F oil: chicken-fried steak.)

I agree with @gfweb. The nice thing about GE is that their offering is so broad -- you can spend anywhere from $400 to $4000 on a range, for example -- that (especially with a brand discount) almost any budget can be met.

The Modernist Bread team has an email address for corrections: corrections@modernistcuisine.com Note that that is for errata only. As for suggestions, the best place to raise them is actually here, especially since we absorbed the MC discussion forum back in 2014. Their team is understandably busy with the book launch and its immediate aftermath, but we're hoping they'll be weighing here themselves before long.

Last time I checked, @Pam R, who's written (I think) three kosher cookbooks, also swears by Earth Balance.

Virginia Willis' Coca-Cola chicken wings are very tasty -- somewhat reminiscent of Vietnamese caramel chicken.

We've been using JDK & Sons' Peche liqueur for FHP. I admit to not knowing what peach brandy (or, for that matter, the original FHP) actually tastes like but this stuff makes a tasty addition. It's relatively high in proof (70 ABV) and has some funk, adding a mysterious note that, in context, isn't recognizable as specifically peach. DeKuyper is better known (on this side of the Atlantic, anyway) for high-sugar/low-proof novelties like the Pucker line and a variety of dubious "schnapps." Peche isn't like those.

That looks great! For those not up on the nomenclature, it's worth pointing out that ascorbic acid is the same thing as vitamin C. If you're having trouble finding it under the first name, just buy vitamin C tablets and crush them into powder (2-334)

Modernist Bread is out now, but maybe you haven't taken the plunge. Here's your chance to win your own copy, courtesy of the eGullet Society for Culinary Arts & Letters. The Cooking Lab has provided us with a couple of other prizes that will go to a second and third winner: second place will win an autographed poster and calendar, and third place will receive an autographed poster. They are also providing an autographed bookplate for the first place winner's copy of Modernist Bread. The rules are simple: we are going to post recipes from the book that the team at The Cooking Lab has graciously provided for this purpose. To enter into the contest, you need to bake one or more of these recipes and post about them in the official contest topics by the end of November 2017. Winners will be drawn at random from those posting pictures and descriptions of their completed loaves. Complete rules and other details can be found here. For part two, we're featuring another cornerstone recipe from the book: Direct Country-Style Bread. The only leavener here is instant yeast, so production time is considerably shortened. The relative lack of flavor compared to long-proofed doughs is offset by the use of whole grains. Courtesy of The Cooking Lab, here's that recipe (extracted from the book and reformatted for purposes of this contest):

Rick Rodgers' Thanksgiving 101 and Christmas 101 for $1.99 each. I don't have either of these, but Rodgers is a reliable author and teacher.

For the record, yes, knives can become magnetized. The two pictured here spent eight or so years on a magnetic strip, but for the last ten have lived elsewhere: Maybe -- probably -- it's no big deal. Still it's a little disturbing -- and just maybe, under certain circumstances, dangerous -- to have knives move seemingly of their own volition.

The Modernist Bread team also sent along this photo of a finished boule:

They do.

Maybe so, but as @FauxPas points out, it's a pretty expensive toaster. I maintain that if what you want to do is toast bread, get a toaster.

Even though they've improved, it still seems to be an objective fact that toaster ovens suck at making toast. I think you might have better luck looking at dedicated toasters that bear some European-influenced like this Russell Hobbs, the Dash, or even this side-loading thing. They all have wider, longer slots for non-standard shapes and sizes.

We buy this stuff at our grocery store in 12" x 60" rolls. (Look in the cleaning supplies section.) As Lisa said, it's useful for keeping cutting boards and bowls from slipping. It's not fabric-based (it's some sort of synthetic, soft, rubber-like material). It handles moisture pretty well, but it's not entirely impervious to mildew. (What is? This is better than cardboard by miles, though.)

There are actually two recipes (plus two variations) for pannetone. One is traditional, and the other, a modernist version, employs liquid lecithin and proplene glycol alginate as emulsifying agents for structural strength. This, according to them (I've never made any version of pannetone, so I can't vouch for this), makes it possible to get an excellent finished loaf in hours rather than days.

@ElsieD -- there are no indications of that, but then at this point in the evolution of Modernist Cuisine, there was no indication of such a thing, either.

Could be gas, could be electric. I've seen it both ways -- but it's just a flat slab of metal on top of a burner. The cookware looks like Sitram.

I've forwarded questions about web content, but their team is on tour right now, so it might be a day or two before we get answers. Meanwhile, I've been working my way through the first volume (History and Fundamentals). I'm obviously not as fast a reader as @Chris Hennes, nor am I as avid a baker. It is true that the tone is less "everything you know is wrong" than Modernist Cuisine was (though that's far from all it was), but there's still a fair amount of text spent on mythbusting, often in defense of the book's existence, i.e. answering the question: what makes such an ancient craft a subject for modernism? Partly, it's because while not everything you know is wrong, at least some of it is. For example:

This is an article recovered from the Daily Gullet archive, originally published in 2003. by Janet A. Zimmerman Thursday, March 27, 2003 FORGET POLITICS and religion. You think the insurmountable divisions are between liberals and conservatives, Palestinians and Israelis, low-fat and low-carbohydrate diets? Nope. The real division, the line in the sand that counts, concerns raisins. The conflict in the Middle East or Northern Ireland is nothing compared to a raisin hater faced with a raisin lover. Actually, the term "raisin lover" is probably a misnomer. People who like raisins never seem to be quite as ardent in their taste for raisins as raisin haters are in their abhorrence. I know. I'm firmly on the side of those who despise the nasty little fruits. To be precise, I have to say that it's mostly the texture of raisins that I detest. I don't dislike the taste of raisins at all, really. Give me a late harvest zinfandel wine or a raisiny port and I'm fine. Perhaps even stranger, I don't particularly loathe plain raisins on any grounds. I don't go out of my way to eat them, but they're not that bad. I would much rather eat raisins than, say, blue cheese or insects. (Blue cheese is the other thing I really hate; once my sister found a recipe for a blue cheese souffle made with a raisin bread crust, and sent it to me. So terribly amusing, my sister is.) But add raisins to food, any food, and all bets are off. Raisins are vile and loathsome in any dish at all, sweet or savory -- tiny desiccated Dr. Jekylls that, when added to innocent cinnamon rolls, turn into plump, slimy, nasty Mr. Hydes. I spent my childhood picking raisins out of spice cookies (my mother finally started making a portion of each batch without them after I fed so many raisins to the dog she became ill), sweet rolls, and cinnamon toast; I know what baking does to them. They should not be baked. They especially should not be soaked in brandy or rum and then baked (the true definition of "alcohol abuse"). Nuts and raisins together in baked goods are particularly evil; it goes without saying that fruitcake should be banned by Geneva Convention. And Raisinets? The spawn of Satan. Raisins should never touch chocolate. End of story. Imagine my dismay when I got a little older and more adventurous and found out that some cooks add raisins to savory dishes. My college roommate loved raisins. Fortunately, she never tried to bake anything. But she put raisins in fruit salad; I picked them out. She added raisins to rice; I picked them out. I thought it was the idiosyncrasy of a bad cook. Little did I know that she was not alone in this barbarism. The only thing worse than regulation raisins are sultanas (the golden variety), because they blend in like undercover agents. You'll be eating a nice saffron imbued rice pilaf, and suddenly -- squish -- there's an albino raisin in your mouth. And picking them out is hard work, as they can hide. (Note to raisin lovers: if you have to use them, stick with the regular kind -- they're much easier to recover and destroy.) And here's what really bothers me about raisins: they always seem to be in dishes that -- except for that blue cheese souffle thing, of course -- I would otherwise really like. I love curries, I love Middle Eastern foods, and I love cinnamon rolls. These things should not contain raisins. You want to add raisins to ambrosia? To Jello? Fine. But please, please don't pollute my couscous. And, whichever chef first added raisins to chicken salad should be forced to spend eternity watching Emeril reruns while sitting next to Rachel Ray. I try to be understanding, generous. I don't think people who put raisins in food are being deliberately malicious. But I'd like to know, honestly, why they do it. Really, think about it. Would you miss those little dried grapes if you didn't add them to the carrot cake, those cookies, or that chicken salad? What can they possibly add, besides a virtually indiscernible touch of flavor and little pockets of squishy stickiness? And yet I know that it's impossible to make a non-hater understand just how repulsive the little things are. People who like raisins look at me as if I'm crazy when I try to describe why I don't. I suppose it's no different with anything else. I have a friend, for instance, who hates celery. This is inexplicable to me. How can you hate celery? It's so, so innocuous. Isn't it? But undoubtedly that's what other people say about raisins. Except that they're wrong. Raisins have one legitimate use, and that is for Amarone wine. Aside from that, keep them away from me Janet A. Zimmerman (JAZ) writes about food and teaches cooking classes in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is currently working on a book, Matters of Taste.

If the first response to a plea for help is, in essence, "find some other line of work," some attitude is justified. But if we're going to help -- and it seems clear that some very qualified people here are willing to do that -- we're going to need more information: What kind of restaurant is it? How is the menu set up -- is it prix fixe or some sort, or a la carte? What is the revenue? Overhead costs? Labor percentage? What's the food cost? The beverage cost? Breakdown between food and beverage? Have you done menu costing or yield testing? Is there someone in charge of the line cooks? Who does the ordering, the requisitioning, and the portioning? Knowing those things will inform the answers of those of us who want to help you. And if you don't know the answers, we can help you figure them out. You're not going to fix everything overnight, but now you're one more night away from that. Getting pissed off rarely creates progress.

The reason you're not supposed to let stock boil is mainly to keep it clear, although there is some evidence that flavor extraction is better at temperatures slightly less than a boil. Reduction should take place after the stock is finished and strained, so you've already gotten the flavor and gelatin out of your ingredients, and there are no solids left to cloud your stock. At this point, you can boil away. As for how much to reduce it, it's up to you. We sometimes just reduce by half and freeze it in ziplocks like @Captain, so one pouch is reconstituted with an equal amount of water to make it stock-strength. Sometimes we do an 8:1 reduction and, like @cdh, freeze it. We have silicone ice trays that have compartments that are one ounce (or close enough); once it's frozen, we pop it out into ziplocks and use as necessary. We reconstitute it by putting a cube in a one-cup measure and filling the cup with water (this is technically 7:1, but again, close enough). It's also nice to have the ice-cubed concentrate around, as @cdh says, for adding some body and umami to a sauce or soup.

Here, I think.