Dave the Cook

Excellent price for All-Clad. But anyone who says that A-C (regardless of which line) doesn't warp is either inexperienced or lying.

In general, any electric juicer is not only a waste of money, it's a waste of time. For a cocktail class, we once needed a cup and a half of lime juice. We divided the limes in half and put one person on an electric and gave another a stainless-steel squeezer. The hand-held guy was off dividing scallions into white and green parts before the electric dude was half-way done. The juice was better, too.

If you're frying chicken in anything other than cast iron, you're being silly . In any case, frying chicken is, in part, about allowing moisture to dissipate, which a rondeau inhibits. There's no agitation involved in frying a chicken, so the necessary margin is minimal. I have a 3-quart Calphalon saute pan. It is the same diameter as my rondeaus -- it even takes the same lids -- just with shorter sides and a single long handle instead of two loops. For me it does not accommodate a standard bag of raw washed spinach. In other words, if you empty the bag into that pan a bunch of it comes over the sides. Tried once, never again. It may be possible to bunch it precariously together so that it mostly stays in, but then when it's time to stir there can be troubles. Also in my experience the saute pan fits the steamer (of course, because it has the same diameter) but you can't steam very much stuff if you also want to put the lid on. Some things, like broccoli, when you steam them you need a lot of volume. ← But a saute of spinach requires a lot of turning, no? What's the difference between lots of tossing and just adding the greens in portions? I regularly steam a pound of broccoli in a basket in a 3-1/2 quart saute. With a domed lid, no problem. Just curious about this. The main difference between the rondeau and the saute pan is the height of the sides. When frying, won't the high sides on the rondeau get in the way when you go to turn or remove food? ← the intermediate height of the sides is such that it is still easy enough to get in and turn or remove food, while preventing much more grease splatter than a saute pan. this is especially beneficial when cooking items that only need to be turned one or a few times (i.e., pre-braise browning, pan-fried chicken, etc.) ← The higher sides of a rondeau are definitively inferior to those of a saute pan. Easier is easier. ← Well, that depends: to repurpose an earlier comment of yours, fact or opinion? It's easier to me to have to deal with an extra 2 inches of pan than to have to clean the stove. Even with a splatter screen, the stove gets messier with a shallower pan. ← Do you want well-prepared food, or easy clean-up? Yes, the stove is a mess. But with a shallower pan, you're in more control of the cooking. Which matters more?

In what recipe does two inches of fat equate to shallow frying?

A steamer basket works fine in a 3-1/2 quart saute pan, too (excepting All-Clad, which has silly lids). A similar pan accommodates a bag of spinach, and once the greens cook down, a chicken as well. I've done similar things many times. How is a rondeau superior? Just curious about this. The main difference between the rondeau and the saute pan is the height of the sides. When frying, won't the high sides on the rondeau get in the way when you go to turn or remove food? ← the intermediate height of the sides is such that it is still easy enough to get in and turn or remove food, while preventing much more grease splatter than a saute pan. this is especially beneficial when cooking items that only need to be turned one or a few times (i.e., pre-braise browning, pan-fried chicken, etc.) ← The higher sides of a rondeau are definitively inferior to those of a saute pan. Easier is easier.

Without for a second impugning the very valuable "Understanding Stovetop Cookware" course, this is not a fact; it's an opinion. I suspect the conjecture about true sauteeing is correct (my opinion), but the rest is questionable. It depends on what one cooks and how one cooks it. The rim-to-bottom ratio of a frypan is inefficient for shallow frying (I'd also assert that a frypan is a better vessel for sauteeing than a saute pan, anyway); the sides of a rondeau (likewise most sautee evassees) are too high for easy turning of fried items. Saute pans come with lids; frypans don't. To each his own.

(Thanks to a press pass and some very generous vendors, the only out-of-pocket expenses we incurred were for tacos at El Verano Taqueria, which we thought were fair.) I sampled Jim 'n' Nick's first thing Sunday. Like zEli173, I don't understand the attraction. The sausage itself was dry and lacked a good smoky backbone to support mild seasoning. The sauce was excellent, but you shouldn't rely on sauce to dress up product. The pimento cheese was good. What constitutes a 'real' bbq rib to you? I didn't have every example on offer, but it seemed to me that most styles were represented, with of course the exception: Agreed on both counts, though Blue Smoke does a very respectable version of KC ribs. The value of the BABBQBP is the opportunity to sample a bunch of product and compare styles in close proximity. That's something that even people who live in barbecue country (such as it is, with the regional emphases that barbecue engenders) can't do. Where else could you sample two versions of whole-hog, four different shoulders, three briskets, etc., all in the same day? (I'm not sure I agree that Salt Lick is better than Hill Country. Also, the cucumber salad at Hill Country gets my vote for best side.) I agree, though one must keep in mind the "90% of everything is crap" rule. My biggest problem with this is that I just can't seem to gear up and be ready to sample 4 or 5 different kinds of bbq at 11 in the morning. ← Wimp.

Well, there's the fact that on the Food Network, sautes probably outnumber rondeaus (rondeaux?) by roughtly seven-to-one, so that's the model people follow. However, for me, it's the handles. A saute pan is more controllable, and lets me maneuver the pan without getting my hand too close to the heat. It can do almost anything a rondeau can except pasta. It takes up less space on the pot rack and in the dishwasher. None of that is to say that the rondeau is not a great piece of cooking equipment. There's almost always one on my cooktop for some reason or other. It's just not my go-to vessel.

I also wonder why no one talks about this place. We're just back from five days in New York, where we ate at Momofuku Noodle Bar, Corton and Beacon. Also six or eight barbecue places that are, in a triumph of zoning rules, cleverly located one right next to the other around Madison Square Park, allowing us to sample several things from different restaurants, but that's another story (though I do wonder how they -- every one of them open-air -- manage to stay open year-round). And last night, rather than head out to Brooklyn for a highly-rated cocktail experience, we hit Craftbar. We had the sausage-wrapped sage leaves; the fried oysters; one salad of baby beets, bacon, pickled egg and whole tarragon leaves; and another salad of asparagus, truffle vinaigrette and Grana Padano. We finished by sharing the skate wing with fingerling potatoes and sauce Gribiche. I agree with Nathan that the sausage-sage thing is filling; I disagree about the oysters. Most likely, they've dialed back the breading, because I thought them balanced, though the Old Bay aioli could use a little more punch (as could the dipping sauce that accompanies the sausage). The salads were beautiful to look at and a pleasure to eat. The only complaint we had was that the beet salad could have used a little more bacon (though it's possible that two days of ribs and shoulder at the BABBQBP had skewed our pork-o-meter). Tarragon with beets is a terrific combination that wouldn't have occurred to me in, well, a lot of years. The skate seemed to me to be a riff on fish-and-chips. A pile of halved, roasted fingerlings inhabit the bottom of a funnel-shaped bowl, having been tossed in vinegar and chives. The dish is accompanied by a sharp sauce with a vinegar tang and some interesting additional elements -- capers (maybe), little bits of egg (I think) and other herbage -- in case you don't know what gribiche is. The wing was floured and fried, then laid atop the potatoes. The food was good-to-excellent, but the value was eye-opening: our check was within five dollars of our tab at Noodle Bar a few nights earlier. Make of that what you will, but Craftbar is worthy of more attention.

If you want me to remember your name, you should write it on your forehead with a Sharpie the first few times we meet. If you want me to remember your address, you should insist that I etch it into my forearm with a tat needle. We got turned around coming out of the subway, so I called the restaurant to get directions. The hostess recited a precise instruction set, including how to negotiate the tiny park at 6th and West Broadway -- a malevolent intersection that, earlier this year, caused significant confusion for a native New Yorker. We emerged from the green space on the correct street, but by then I'd forgotten the street number. Once we'd decided we'd gone too far, I swallowed my pride and pulled out my phone again. This time, a man answered. Immediately. "Mr. Scantland?" "Yeesss?" "Turn around." "Okaaaay . . . " "There is a woman. She is dressed in a white blouse and black skirt. She is waving at you." "Uh huh . . . " "Please wave back at her so that she knows you have seen her." "Okay . . . " "Now please come join us for dinner." And so we also made it to Corton the night of the 12th. * * * We had the tasting menu, too, though we opted for the second-tier ($85) wine pairings. I have just a few things to add to what others have said: There was what I guess was a pre-amuse: an excellent gougere and a pretty, and pretty tasteless disc of spring pea genoise. The amuse delivered after we had placed our order was an oyster of unusual size, by which I mean enchantingly small. Other details escape me; I recall it being very good. The squab was perfectly cooked, though I can understand how a mere visual inspection might cause one to think otherwise, as it's deep magenta -- the color of the raw bird. Just poking at it with your fork will reveal the deception; the meat is firm. And tasty. In some instances, I think the lesser pairing has some advantages. For example:A flute of excellent sparking wine to start -- Cotilde Davenne Cremant de Borgogne; We got two pours with the uni: Takasago Ginga Shizuku and Albert Mann Riesling Schlossberg Grand Cru Alsace 2007 -- an enlightening "compare and contrast" exercise. I think the match we got with the "Old Fashioned Palette" -- a Corton-style Manhattan -- was probably better than Rogue Dead Guy Ale, which, though a very good beer, is still beer. dagordon, what did you think of it? With the pate de fruits, we got a nice surprise: Hitachino Nest White Ale. Yes, I know it's a beer, but it worked very well. Having impressed us with a startling introductory service coup, the staff did not disappoint. Service throughout was impeccable.

That's the question, of course:

This evening, I found myself in the middle of a domestic argument -- another couples' discussion, which drew in my SO, who disagreed with me. So what spices are appropriate for spice cookies? Here's a partial list: cinnamon cloves nutmeg ginger cumin cayenne black pepper What belongs? What doesn't? What's missing?

Gravy separators work pretty well. They're not as effective as an overnight rest, but I think they meet the 80/20 rule.

I'm not sure what you mean by "top end": best in the city, or best in category. I think the consensus on the four best restaurants in the city is (without ranking them): Bacchanalia, Quinones, Eugene and The Dining Room, with a long list of fifth-spot contenders.

I think experience tends to make peeps overbowl, since underbowling is a much more inconvenient sin. Perhaps you could point Ellen towards contemporary plating trends, which have two bites of food casually-but-artfully arranged on a plate the size of a Congoleum floor tile.

In this past Sunday's New York Times, Amanda Hesser took the First Lady to task for not setting a better example. Describing the fallout from two media opportunities, she says: Then Hesser supplements her argument with some research: She quotes another study, done at UCLA, which involved 32 families -- not what I'd call a decent sample: She follows up with a list of suggestions: And finishes the list with: I'm all for getting people to cook, and I'm all for getting people to enjoy food, as opposed to thinking of a meal -- or the creation of one -- as an obligation. But Hesser's advice is misguided, because it's misinformed. The past that Hesser (and to be fair, she's hardly alone) remembers never existed on any large scale. Cooking wasn't the glue that held families together. To the extent that food played a part in family cohesiveness, it was the dining, not preparation, that supplied the adhesive. Convenience foods can save time and money, but you have to choose wisely. Pre-washed romaine hearts is a cherry-picked example. What about frozen fruits and vegetables? Bread? Have you ground your own corn lately? There's a group of people -- and it's a pretty big group -- who think of cooking as a chore, and will always do so, because it's a reasonable choice. I know people who like to vacuum, like to launder, like to dust. And I know people who hate those things so much that they avoid them like the plague. But these tasks contribute to a wholesome family experience. What makes them different from cooking?

I don't think anyone is air-freighting olive oil, and ocean shipping is the cleanest major transport there is -- which also means that materials shipped from China have a relatively low transportation-related carbon footprint. The major olive-oil producing countries all have regulations about ingredients; Italy in particular is very picky. As for age, who would keep product sitting in a warehouse, when they could sell it?

One of the kitchens I teach in has one of these: Gaggenau telescopic swivel ventilation system. I've never used it because 1) it's located oh-so-logically next to the VK 230 in-counter steamer instead of the more appropriate VF 230 Vario deep fryer, which is on the other side of the kitchen (where there is no ventilation at all); 2) it scared the crap out of me when I accidentally activated it before I knew what it was, and I've never gotten over it. It's not clear if this is supposed to be vented to the outside or if it recirculates (I'm certain that the specific installation I'm familiar with isn't vented, but it's as much a showroom as a working kitchen. I'm teaching there tomorrow and Sunday. I'll see what I can find out.

Assuming Caldera is still in business, the product looks worth closer examination. I'm not thrilled about the burner layout, especially on the 30-inch. The center rear burner appears to be the high-output one. Assuming that's where you'd use a wok or other large pot, using that burner will block the other two on the back. Make sure you're going to be comfortable with that arrangement. Personally, I'd rather have four usable burners all the time, but that's the way I cook. In the $1000 range, you don't have too many other options. GE Monogram has a unit, but it seems underpowered for your purposes. For a few hundred more, you can get into a 30-inch KitchenAid (with a 17 KBTU burner) or a Thermador. Everything else (BlueStar, DCS, Viking, etc.) is upwards of $2000.

The parts list (here) and owner's manual (here) tell pretty much all you need to know. You're right that it doesn't have an element accompanying the convection fan, but I'm not sure that's a terrible thing. Convection for household ovens is a mixed bag because the design is inherently flawed. My oven has an element attached to the fan, but I rarely use it, because rather than eliminating hot spots, it just creates its own. I find the fan much more useful when the upper and/or lower elements are on, and the fan just recirculates hot air.

The recipe is here.

Yep. That's why I usually pay a slight premium for loose fruit rather than the cheaper pre-bagged. A heft and a quick squeeze tells me whether it's a worthy specimen: juicy citrus is heavy for its size; thick skins don't have much give to them.

Picking up from here . . . Three days in a pH ~4.5 brine didn't seem to bother the belly. I let it dry for a day, then gave it 12 hours of cold hickory smoke in a Bradley, finishing in a 225 F oven to 160 F. (This is all pretty much SOP for me.) So far so good. It sliced nicely -- maybe a bit soft, but I might be projecting. Upon frying up, though, we went off the rails. My usual bacon-frying technique is to start on medium heat in a cast-iron skillet, then reduce the heat as the bacon cooks. This produces a reliably crispy rasher with less chance of burning. But this bacon almost immediately burned along the edges. I quickly turned the heat down and salvaged the meat, but it was clear that I was going to have to adjust my cooking style. The next time out, I started very low and left it there. Of course, this didn't allow as much fat to render out as usual. No burning, but no crispiness, either. Next time, I'll try on a rack in an oven. As for the flavor, it's unremarkable, and tastes of Coca-Cola not a bit. It's probably the least interesting bacon I've yet produced. I'd love to hear theories on why this didn't work. Here's mine: much of the flavor of Coke comes from oils, and these molecules are too big to sneak into cells along with the rest of the brine. In fact, I suspect that the oils created a surface barrier, crippling the osmotic process. The meat is nice and pink, indicating that nitrite managed to do its job, but salt and sugar is lacking. The bacon just tastes underseasoned. One other clue, which I neglected to follow-up on when I should have: the brine developed a brown precipitate -- little Coca-Cola-colored flecks. Now I wish I'd strained them out and tasted them. Thoughts -- on what happened, and how to proceed?

Try Bass Pro Shop Outdoor World on US 1 in Foxborough (map here). I found not only pink salt but a stash of Bradley bisquettes at the one near me.

It's not just the culinary-school culture, it's food-interested culture at large. I teach classes at a cookware store, and students, none of whom have ever attended culinary school or worked in a professional kitchen, call me -- who has never attended culinary school and whose restaurant-kitchen experience ended more than 25 years ago at the level of garde manger -- "chef" with disturbing regularity.