Dave the Cook

If I understand highchef's requirements, space is a huge -- perhaps the most important -- consideration. The largest Big Green Egg has less than half the grate area of the Weber Ranch (452 square inches vs. 1104). However, kettles -- in fact all round shapes -- are problematic for efficient, even grilling. In one of many "d'oh!" moments, I came across this in Modernist Cuisine (2.14): Based on that, if I had a grand to spend on a charcoal grill, I'd be looking at one of these or two of these. MC suggests lining the inside of the box with aluminum foil.

And here it is. What do we think?

Weird to us, but not weird to the producer. There's a convoluted formula in the regs regarding the ratios of milkfat, dairy solids, and non-dairy solids including "bulky" flavorings. So you add, for example, pecans, and you alter the applicability of the formula.

I don't think it's the whey itself that makes it a frozen dairy dessert. It's probably that the amount of whey, along with the skim milk, crowds out other things -- most especially milkfat -- and that legally disqualifies it as ice cream. FDA ice cream regulations here.

Right. My rule is if I can tear the stem with modest finger strength, I use it.

I think they're great: lots of choices (though I think think intensity of the smoke given up by different types is as much a consideration as the "flavor"); inexpensive; convenient. What else do you want to know?

The USDA has been making dietary recommendations since the late 19th century and published its first food guide in 1916. It followed up with all the schemes -- and more -- that BarbaraY recalls, but the pyramid didn't appear until 1992. It's interesting to note that it was conceived in part because a pie chart (or, erm, a plate) had gone through so many variations that it had lost its effectiveness. What goes around comes around. In 1993, the department published the story of the development of the pyramid. It's fascinating in some places, and stultifying in others, but worth looking through, especially if you're of the opinion that the symbol was just the product of a few bureaucrats screwing around with a flannelboard.

I loved them as a kid; I love them still. These days I batter, usually with the Blumenthal-based recipe revised by McGee. I trade the vodka for gin or some other spirit, and carbonated water for the beer (I really don't get the beer-fish batter thing), but the principle of the formula remains intact, and makes a great crunchy batter that even withstands refrigeration and reheating.

I'm impressed. Yeah, you kinda have to stuff it. But whatever you do, respect the skin.

The TV shows for Cook's Illustrated (America's Test Kitchen and Cook's Country) often feature the results of tasting panels, which are preceded by Christopher Kimball doing his own test of the trial products. I haven't done a serious accounting, but it seems like he disagrees with his own panel about half the time.

Welcome, skyhskyh! When measured by weight, all salt has the same salinity. People who say that one type is more or less salty are describing either a volumetric phenomenon (i.e., fewer salt crystals per teaspoon, therefore less salt); or the effect of crystal shape on the tongue -- big fluffy fleur de sel melts in a different pattern than Morton's table salt. I'm not sure what you mean by "marinate." If you're marinating in a solution of salt and water, that's brining, and it has two principal effects: thoroughly seasoning the meat with salt (assuming you leave the meat in the brine long enough), and tenderizing the protein. Not everyone cares for the latter -- it's often a distinct textural change. In any case, the water that's drawn our of the meat is replaced by brine, so there's no net moisture loss; in fact, it's the opposite: proteins gain weight when brined. Salting ahead of time will draw some moisture out of the meat, but it's not much. More importantly, along with that water come water-soluble proteins that enhance the Maillard effect. The tiny bit of moisture loss is more than compensated for by the salivary response that occurs when you drop a piece of nicely-browned meat in your mouth.

It seems like you're asking two questions, Nancy: 1) is weight a problem? and 2) is diameter a problem? The manual for my ceramic-top range doesn't say anything about how much weight the top will support -- and this is a manual that is bursting at the seams with warnings. I regularly make stock in a 16-quart bottom-clad (aluminum in stainless steel) pot, and it's often filled almost to the brim with ingredients. Stock being an all-day affair, I almost always have to make dinner while the stock is simmering, and that might mean a cast-iron skillet for proteins, a two-or three-quart fully clad (again, aluminum in stainless) pot for pasta or veg, and a little copper pot for a sauce. Now, I'm not sure what the warning signs of imminent catastrophic failure might be, but I've neither seen nor heard them. That's a lot of weight, but as Michaela points out, it's spread across quite a few square inches. As to size: the bottom of that stockpot is 11-1/2 inches. The manual says not to use a pan that exceeds the diameter of the burner by more than either one inch or two inches -- it depends on which part of the manual you choose to believe. I doubt that this is a safety issue; it probably has more to do with performance expectations. The biggest burners I have are 9-3/4 inches. My stockpot works on it just fine. So in the end, it's the configuration of the burners that's going to limit pot size. If a burner is tucked into a corner of the top, the rim will get in the way. For example, on my range, the burner in the right rear -- the one I usually use for making stock -- is 1-1/8 inches from the back and 1-1/2 inches from the side. So the largest pot I could put on it, assuming I want it centered, is 12 inches. Different manufacturers have different burner arrangements, so it's worth some research. You also need to consider the combination of vessels you'll be using together. When I'm making stock, the stock pot crowds one of the adjacent burners, limiting the size of the pan I can use on it. (I hasten to point out that this can be a problem on any type of cooktop, regardless of power source.)

That's the common wisdom -- I think I've even heard it from a plumber -- but the manual for mine says to throw ice down it to help keep the chamber clean. That makes more sense, since disposal blades aren't very sharp to begin with.

It's pretty expensive, but since MC is basically about what is possible in the kitchen, now, you could argue that it is for everybody. MC is really just about paying attention and thinking about what happens in the kitchen, so cooking doesn't just 'happen', but is the outcome of conscious decisions; the cook acquires active control over the outcome. A little historical context makes MC more accessible: Many of the things that are done in MC are not new, but rethink very traditional ideas. Anyone can use the underlying thinking and approach to MC, and from a practical standpoint, there has to be at least one recipe in the set that is accessible to any given person. The book offers an empirical description of what culinary modernism is; you can read it in the wikiGullet Project article. But as time goes on, I've come to think that Myhrvold et al erred in choosing their title, which makes the set sound like a manifesto. It is, but it's much more than that, to wit: Ostensibly, they included this information to ensure proper application of low-temperature techniques that are part of the modernist oeuvre, but it's not inherently modernist; it's what should be taught in as part of the essential cooking curriculum, along with most of the entire first volume. As a chef friend of mine said while he looked though my copy of MC, "It's not just foams and spheres, it's practically a culinary school in a book!" He's not that far off -- it will probably take most of us a couple of years to digest the wealth of information that's in there. The title "Modernist Cuisine" belies that treasure -- and creates the problem that Peter is having. Good point. For most classes, we set out cheese and crackers or fruit and pastries, depending on the time of day. For this class, maybe we pass out something -- made ahead of time -- overtly modernist instead. In the hands-on part of the class, we'd concentrate on practical techniques that could be applied in the typical kitchen of an enthusiastic cook. For the most part, we teach at The Cook's Warehouse in their midtown Atlanta location.

There are some great ideas here. Thanks, and keep them coming! I'm not sure I agree that it's the most important principle, but certainly it's one of the central techniques. We'd been asked multiple times to do a sous-vide class -- the store where we teach sells the SVS -- but until we hit upon the context of modernism, sous-vide by itself seemed like a class in watching paint dry. We agree, and this is how we teach, though in our most popular class, "Kitchen Basics," recipes are extremely important. But even there, we teach them how to read a recipe before they start cooking, a skill that we hope broadens their ability to plan and adapt in the kitchen. In the end, though, we have to feed the students, and the food should be good if not excellent. Like almost everything else that goes on in a class -- especially a hands-on class -- recipe selection and menu construction are teachable moments that we don't like to miss. Yeah, flank steak seems like a good candidate, given the timing, and as you say, starting out with sous-vide is a natural place to discuss safety and sanitation. So far, the biggest impact the book Modernist Cuisine has had on my cooking is what you allude to in your first graph: I'm thinking a lot more in the kitchen. The history might be fun; whether there's time for it as a separate lecture subject, or if it's just stuff that comes out in the course of preparation, is something we'll have to work out. Exactly. Teaching a philosophy is more effective when you can put your hands on stuff and play with it.

If you've read my recent Daily Gullet piece "Flameout," you know that I teach cooking classes. (If you haven't read it, please do so now. I'll wait.) What I didn't say in that story is that I have a full partner in these classes: Janet Zimmerman, known in these parts as JAZ. About three years ago, we asked Society members for their input on what to teach people who wanted to be intermediate cooks; it was extremely helpful for us in figuring out what to present and how to present it. So we're turning to you again. We've just committed to teaching a two-day class on modernist techniques, equipment and ingredients. Here are the details so far: No centrifuge and probably no liquid nitrogen. The former is expensive and impractical; the latter is probably impractical, and besides, Richard Blais is an Atlanta boy, and his restaurants have made the nitro-shake an every-day occurrence in these parts. We will have siphons, multiple sous-vide baths (SVS), vacuum sealers (but not chambers) and a steam oven. We have chemicals, and we're talking to the school about stocking the Artistré series. We'll have two hands-on sessions (Saturday and Sunday) of four hours each. So, should we teach? What are the principles, and what are the principal techniques we should teach?

Usually (I say that because names can vary by region, though Costco is pretty respectful of the NAMP conventions), the butt tender is the sirloin end of the tenderloin. Check it out here.

This is an unsupportable statement. In most of the US, supermarkets are much more efficient at delivering food to customers than farmers' markets.

Good point, but I believe that over time, you'll learn to love -- or perhaps hate -- whatever you get. Humans are odd in their proclivity for developing emotional relationships with inanimate objects. Indeed it does. Electrolux and Frigidaire both make such a cooktop. Despite the fact that they're part of the same company, the units have different configurations. Here's the Electrolux, and here's the Frigidaire. Miele doesn't have a hybrid, but they do let you pick and choose from various elements, called Combisets. Bertazzoni makes an interesting -- some might say odd -- combination of a single gas burner, an electric griddle and two induction elements. See it here. ETA: Samsung has two hybrid ranges. Here's one of them.

They put your name in the program twice; you needed a title worthy of such notice. Or maybe it's the other way 'round.

Seems like the first thing to do is get over to the restaurant and check the layout. If you go at about 3:30 pm, you should be able to chat up the bar staff on the idiosyncrasies of the place: how well the ice machines work; where the dishwasher is and how fast (and how well) glassware gets turned over; what the well and premium brands are. Most likely, that will lead to more particular questions, but it's where I'd start. I'd also ask if you're going to have any help. (Congratulations on your promotion to "mixologist.")

Out of curiosity, I checked out the Walmart Supercenter in the neighborhood where my ex lives with our two younger kids. This is in an middle/upper middle-class Atlanta suburb (when we moved there 12 years ago, it was an exurb, but that's Atlanta for you). Within three miles of this particular Walmart, there are two Krogers, two Publixes, a Fresh Market and a Super H Mart -- lots of competition, in other words. I found the store -- the food section, anyway, as I didn't venture into the rest of the building -- unremarkable. When it first opened, it had a fish and meat counter, which they've done away with in favor of an in-store "bakery" (they only do the final bake on site) and an enlarged deli section. The meat coolers were expansive, and held a few things that aren't commonly available in the area, or weren't when I lived there (tripe, goat, whole beef briskets). All of the pork loin cuts were "enhanced," as was about half the chicken, but that's not unusual; Kroger does the same thing. There were local (within 100 miles) chickens, chicken parts and eggs. All fish and shellfish was frozen. The produce looked fresh and was neatly arrayed, and the organic options were plentiful. I didn't see anything labeled "local," but outside of Whole Foods and Fresh Market, that's also not unusual. In other words, it was a pretty typical grocery store, with pretty average prices. The only thing out of the ordinary was the absence of a service counter for meat and fish, which you'd expect to find in this neighborhood. The store has been there about eight years, and as far as I can tell, hasn't put anyone out of business; in fact, a Halal butcher has opened just down the block. (Of course, the area population has doubled in the last ten years, so one wouldn't expect much failure among well-financed stores.) It's worth reading Corby Kummer's "The Great Grocery Smackdown" from the March 2010 issue of The Atlantic, in which he has identical meals prepared from ingredients purchased from Walmart and Whole Foods and serves them to a tasting panel. The results are revealing, as are a few bits of information he discovers along the way:

I was gonna say, with that pitcher of tea (if that's what it is) and the bottle of pickled peppers (if that's what they are), and the fresh flowers, maybe someone from the southern US. But then there's that corner of Sunset magazine . . .

Well, there's the noxious aroma of reheated fish.

Beat me to the punch, David. Fine Fare is the only grocery store within 1/2 a mile...the other store farther east on Grand St. is a...Fine Fare. There's nothing peculiar to NYC about this. It happens in pretty much every urban area in the country.