Dave the Cook

Neil, it sounds to me like what you have is dried hominy, rather than traditional grits, which are pretty much as you describe them -- like polenta. Grits come in a variety of grind-sizes, but "split-kernel" is bigger by far than any I've seen. The most common use for hominy is posole. There are a lot of other interesting ideas here, but I'm sure it's far from an exhaustive list.

This is more or less what I do, too, not having access to anything but suupermarket duck most of the time. I actually make a formal stock and render the fat separately, but it amounts to pretty much the same thing. Marcelle, it seems cruel to deprive someone of duck gumbo simply because the best ingredients aren't available on demand. I know that goes against the grain of local, fresh, etc., but it's not like the chicken you can get these days is the best of all possible specimens.

Just squeeze lime juice on it. Okay: I usually peel the seeded halves and slice them thin. Serve with orange sections and a dressing with olive oil, lime juice, garlic, cumin, ancho and brown sugar.

If you're absolutely committed to a gas cooktop -- and if you've got the money -- dual-fuel is the way to go. But in the $1000 to $2000 price spread, I'd maintain that an electric range with ceramic top and a true convection oven is the best value. Electric ranges have come a long way in the last ten years; during the same period, the gas cooktop has been subjected to some trendy choices that work against the main advantage of gas: its responsiveness. These days, electrics heat up and cool off faster, and ceramic tops are easily cleaned. Meanwhile, gas ranges adopted massive cast-iron grates -- I suppose because "that's what restaurants use." The problem is that cast iron is known for heat capacity. That's important in restaurants; in the home kitchen, it defeats the reason for using gas in the first place. It used to be that once you turned off a gas burner, the heat was off. On recently designed ranges, you can turn the gas down, but the burner grate will fight you with stored energy.

Just smash three good-sized cloves and drop them in to simmer. You might check for sweetness towards the end, and add a pinch or two of brown sugar to round things out, if necessary.

Michael says it's done, so I'm calling it done. It is firmer than I thought -- the ziplock adds a flop quotient, making the belly seem less firm than it really is. I'd call it, after the old rule for knowing when a steak is done, slightly less than thumb-pad firm. I am all about nibbly bits. I admit to keeping the fleshier trimmings. I might roast them off, or toss them in the smoker. Next time, I'll just leave them on. This is what I'm going to do. It's out, rinsed, dried and chillin'. Thanks.

Great idea, Marlene. Folks, post your results in the discussion following Maggie's article.As for the problem at hand, it sounds like you're after something simple. Riffing on Lan4Dawg's rosemary idea (and swiping a trick from Lamb Roasting 101), why not go even more traditional on the roast, and add a nice sauce? Something like: 1-1/2 C bread crumbs 1-1/2 t chopped fresh rosemary 1 t chopped fresh thyme 1 T minced garlic, knife-pureed with a healthy pinch of coarse salt 3 T vegetable oil lots of ground black pepper Combine thoroughly. I'm thinking you'll want to remove the fat cap, if the roast has one. These days, boneless roasts don't, or not much anyway. You could do it before roasting, or when you remove it from the oven. Roast the pork until it's about 115 F. Remove it from the oven, let the surface cool a bit, then dry it off as best you can. Brush it with mustard (I'd use whole-grain, but a brown or Dijon-style would be fine). Spread the bread crumbs out on a piece of parchment, aluminum foil, or a baking sheet. Roll the roast in it, then pack as much more of the crumb micture on as you can. Put the roast back in the oven and roast to desired temperature (for me, that's about 140 F; carryover takes it to the 150-155 range). You might have to crank up the broiler at the end to brown the crumbs, or torch them lightly. While all that's going on, make a jus: 12 ounces stock -- pork if you've got it, chicken if you don't 2 T roasted garlic 1 T minced onion, shallot or 2 T scallion whites 1/4 C minced fresh rosemary 1/2 t minced fresh thyme 1 lemon, skinned and cut into four chunks salt to taste Combine in a small saucepan and simmer, reducing to about one cup. Strain and serve warm.

I hope no one minds if turn back the clock a bit to pork belly. I've got a couple of questions. I got a five-pound belly (yes, nipples and all). I cut it in half, squared each part up and applied the cure -- since I was dealing with the same size belly as described in the book, I stuck to the recipe (btw, Michael, props on using weights as well as volumes). I put each half in a ziplock bag and stuck them in in the refrigerator. I've turned and redistributed the liquid religiously. This project commenced last Friday. I'm wondering how to tell when it's ready to come out of the cure. I suppose it's not as limp as it was to start, but I'm at seven days, and my belly is still pretty damn floppy. Second question: I'm guessing what y'all are going to tell me is that I just need to wait a few more days. That's going to put me early to mid-week. Add two days or so for the pellicle, and we're close enough to the weekend to make it work. The problem is that I'm not going to be able to smoke it immediately, or even next weekend. Can I freeze the cured belly? If I can, should I do it pre- or post-pellicle? I'm guessing the former, but you guys are more experinced than I am. Or should I just roast it off? (Even if the advice is to freeze, I might roast off one piece just to see how it tastes.)

It's hard to parse the restaurant-within-a-restaurant that is One.midtown Kitchen. On the surface, it's a lively, well-designed bistro that employs a slightly twisted, upscale interpretation of the traditional fare: hanger steak comes with parmesan frites; halibut gets a bed of artichoke puree and tomato marmalade; lamb sirloin, cooked sous-vide with lots of pepper and honey (the best lamb I've had outside of ADNY) is accompanied by a complex falafel refashioned as chick-pea fries (Chef de Cuisine Chris Bischoff volunteers a debt to Daniel Boulud's recipe). Even the list of (sometimes not so) small dishes includes perennials like sourdough stuffed with goat cheese and lamb riblets in a nice sticky sauce. But poke around, and you find something else lurking underneath: the avant garde restaurant that Chef Richard Blais tried to make a success of two years ago. Finding it is a pleasure and a challenge; you rarely know where the tweaks will pop up. Tiny cubes of Worcestershire and soy jellies speckle the tartare and tuna, respectively. New-wave rice crispies show up in the tuna as well -- the dish itself is a reimagining of Korean picnic food. Order fried green tomatoes and what comes to the table isn't the familiar corn-meal-coated slices. Prepared in chunks, the tomato gets a buttermilk bath and a tempura treatment; the pieces are plated surrounding a scoop of ranch ice cream. Little tricks hold it together: a sliver of parmesan keeps the ice cream from floating out of position, and a drizzle of basil oil shimmers on the plate. It's not quite a triumph -- the tomatoes were underseasoned and the ice cream fell just a bit short on assertiveness -- but it's a good study in tart-sweet/hot-cold/crispy-soft, the sort of round-the-world in a dish adventure that Blais has made something of a signature. The same -- and more -- goes for a dish labeled "Impasta." A broad noodle made of sweet potato hides a melange of duck confit and crumbly ricotta. A dotted garnish of balsamic vinaigrette that lends its high notes to a dish that might otherwise collapse under the weight of its earthy components (smart diners quickly learn to check out the garnishes at O.mk. They're rarely provided just for visual balance). Mushroom bubbles and brown-butter foam shrouds the noodle. According to Bischoff, there's a difference between bubbles and foam; I will have to pay closer attention. What matters is that the aerated combination is so robust in flavor and ephemeral in texture that I almost destroyed the integrity of the dish by continuing to fork dollops if it to my tongue. If you're one of those tempted to dismiss foams, airs -- and even bubbles -- as empty prestidigitation (I am often among your number), you owe it to yourself to try one in context, prepared by a kitchen that understands how to make and use them. Setting aside the Guinness reduction that accompanies the flounder, and the vaporized beer -- yet another aerated preparation? -- that accents the mussels (I've had both of these in dishes on other nights, and they're great), not everything is beer and skittles. Sous vide does nothing for the strip sirloin that wouldn't be better accomplished with careful use of O.mk's wood-fired oven -- though the potato "tots" are great. The aforementioned lamb riblets are crowd pleasers, I'm sure. According to everyone I talked to, they're at the top of the charts, and with good reason. But I would have appreciated more of a kick from the smoked jalapeno (I'm reluctant to assert that these are really chipotles -- after all, I don't know the difference between bubbles and foam), and its listing on the small plates side of the menu is misleading. But when O.mk clicks, it's hard to beat. The best dish of the evening was labeled simply "Organic Salmon," a humble name for a respectful and superior preparation. It starts with a filet on a sizzle plate in the wood-fired oven, passes through a plating stage that adds asparagus risotto (blanched asparagus, asparagus butter, water) and a vivid asparagus coulis, and ends with a tempura scallion and a sprinkling of pepperoni spices. Again: an expert balance of elements, and respect for the essential elements of a composition. We shared just one dessert: a truffle cake with mint chocolate chip ice cream. The two main elements sit separated on an oval plate, the cake on a pillow of cremieux (untorched creme brulee, I'm told), in a puddle of chocolate ganache. The ice cream crouched on a croquant -- chocolate, I think, but it was mica-thin, and though wonderfully crispy and admirably resilient, couldn't stand up under the melting onslaught, so I couldn't quite figure it out. Sprinkled over the ice cream were tiny chocolate beads (admittedly not a product of the kitchen), the name of which I could only obtain as "Vahlrona Crunch Balls." I'm not much for desserts. This one started off with me resigned to "This will be a bunch of really good chocolate" -- not that that's a bad thing -- and ended with me wondering how much trial-and-error it took to get it right. This respect carries through other sections of the menu. Raw oysters (Beausoleil-PEI the night we went) were impeccable. I should have ordered six, the better to discriminate between the half-dozen condiments that come with an order: yuzu mustard (they should reconsider this one and send the yuzu juice over to the very competent but noisy bar, and have them formulate it into a Asian margarita); cocktail sorbet (a holdover from Blais's old place, I think); salsa verde (concentrated through freeze-drying); Vidalia (onion, I presume) mignonette; Guiness jelly; and oyster pearls (oyster meat, pureed, then dropped, bead by bead, into liquid nitrogen). The restaurant-within-a-restaurant usually knows when details are better withheld from general view, though the servers are eager to provide details. The menu, printed daily, is no longer so transparent as to reveal most of the jellies, beads, foams and formulae that populate the carte -- all the better to lure bistro diners into the most delectable of O.mk's standard offer. Of course, the truth is that you're not going to get the very best of what Blais and his team can do unless you partake of the Sunday-Monday tasting menu -- on those nights, the subversive side restaurant prevails, at your request and at the chef's whim. Even so, on any other night, you could do a lot worse than One.midtown Kitchen. Just keep an eye out for the wild side, and follow the call. A final note: I'm happy to report, in case anyone had doubts, that Richard Blais is a real executive chef. There's not been much apprehension about his cooking, his imagination or his interpretive abilities, but an essential test of leadership is how a team performs when the leader is absent. Top marks all around here: the service staff is attentive and knowledgeable, ingredients remain first-rate and continue to be treated with respect, and the dishes are executed professionally and consistently. Disclosure: I'm on the radar at One.midtown Kitchen. They acknowleged eG Forums when we were seated and at the end of service. We were comped the dessert, but only after my brother's girlfriend told them that it was my birthday. Upon this notice, the waiter (Jeremy, highly recommended) brought out a nice strawberry, impaled by a single discreet candle.

As we announced over here, Rosie is only retiring from her staff duties. We hope she will post as often as her busy schedule allows. With that, and with heartfelt thanks to Rosie for her tireless efforts on the part of eGullet.com and the eGullet Society, we're going to close this topic. Please PM Rosie with your appreciation.

We regret to announce that Rosie Saferstein has decided to step down from her manager and host duties to pursue personal work projects. Rosie was a founding affiliate of eGullet.com, and has tirelessly supported the Society through all of its growth and exciting change. We will miss Rosie's contributions to the management team, but we look forward to seeing her in our forums and continue to value her participation here.

Jason Perlow, one of the founders of eGullet.com and a director, officer and staffer of the eGullet Society for Culinary Arts & Letters, announced today that he's retiring from his active Society duties in order to pursue an independent food blogging project (Off the Broiler) and his career as a technology writer and consultant. With great appreciation for his years of selfless service and financial support on behalf of the organization, we wish him well in these ventures. Jason will remain an emeritus member of our staff and of course, he carries the title of founder. He will also continue to serve on the Society board of directors.

One of my favorite subjects! -- and featured not just on Janet's blog, but mine, too, as well as the Pig Pickin'. As Janet said, the key is low and slow, just like braising, but since you're dealing with a much less efficient medium, it takes longer. The upside is that the beef flavor isn't diluted by the braising liquid, and you get a nice crust, especially if you have a convection oven. My technique is based on what happens on the grill, which is how it started. It might not be the ultimate dry-heat short rib treatment, but it's a good start. Make a rub (for three to four pounds of ribs): 1 T kosher salt (if you have smoked salt, sub one half-teaspoon) 1-1/2 T chili powder (pure ancho, if you've got it) 2 t ground black pepper 1 T sweet paprika (if you have smoked paprika [Pimenton de la Vera], do half smoked and half sweet) 2 t ground cumin 1/2 t dried oregano 1. Preheat oven to 350 F/325 convection. 2. Sprinkle the rub on the ribs (all surfaces, but if you're running short, you can skimp on the bone side). Pat the rub in and let the ribs sit at room temperature for 1 to 2 hours. 2. Put ribs on an elevated rack and place in oven. Turn the oven down to 275 F/250 convection. 3. Roast for 2-1/2 to 3 hours, turning ribs every 30 minutes. After two hours, turn the oven down to 200 F (conventional or convection). 4. They're done when they lose their stiffness, and you can actually press a bit of fat/gelatin out with your finger. They will be almost as soft as braised short ribs, but with a crust.

Patrick is correct, though I doubt that it's a design flaw so much as an error in assembly. Properly made electronic devices shouldn't do this, and you shouldn't have to live with it. I would return the scale for a refund or replacement.

The debate on culinary plagiarism continues over here, with new examples and a bigger playground. It's not just about down-under duplicates: Join the discussion.

Friendliness is fine -- in fact, civility is very much encouraged, as is pride in community. It becomes a problem when friendship clouds judgement, or renders you unable to deliver an honest report on your dining experiences. When Fat Guy points out that the price of friendliness is decreased credibility, he's only encapsulating what Arne said earlier: You're free to post nothing but positive things about the restaurants you visit, of course. But a good friend (and for that matter, a good member) is honest. If your best buddy has BO, eventually you have to work up the courage to tell him, or accept that it's partly your fault that he can't get dates. In the meantime, the rest of your friends (and eventually everyone who knows both you and your buddy) will question your judgment on matters of scent.

Some good ideas here (and not just mine, honest).

What a good bunch of practical advice. Thank you. A couple of comments: I'm not disagreeing that "bitter" and "sour" are often confused; we'll have to let Sneakeater tell us. But both lime and grapefruit do have bitter components, at least to my palate. That's part of their appeal. I'd also amplify what you've said about sourness by adding that it's not only sour and (I insist!) bitter, it's also about sugar -- look at oranges and (again) grapefruits. If sour was all we were after, we could make up varying solutions of citric acid and be done. I knew I'd get in trouble for using shorthand. Assuming simple syrup is 1:1 by volume (that's how most people make it, isn't it?): 1/2 ounce of simple syrup = 1/4 ounce sugar (by volume) 1/4 ounce = 1/2 tablespoon 1/2 T : 1/2 t = 3:1 Setting aside powdered versions, sugar by volume weighs the almost exactly the same, regardless of granule size. For further information, I immodestly refer you to my own research.

Funny you should mention it. I've been looking for a slicer on Craigslist for several weeks now! ← I hear ya! I find the best way to get thin thin slices is to get the meat cold and use a serrated bread knife. ← I had to blow considerable dust off it, but there's some helpful information in this topic.

You used to be able to buy cola syrup at most drug stores in pint flasks for quasi-medicinal purposes. Is that no longer true?

There are never enough fresh clams in the stores that comprise my usual circle, so rather than go for canned (which can make a very tasty chowder -- I know, because in another life, I made it by the gallon, literally), I switched species and settled on shrimp. This is based on the clam recipe in the Frog/Commissary cookbook: 12 ounces shrimp, shells reserved Half a lemon, or the carcass of a whole one 1 C white wine 2 t minced garlic 4 ounces bacon (I used smoked pork jowl, actually) 2 T butter 1/2 C chopped onion 1/2 C chopped carrot 1/4 C chopped celery 2 T flour 6 ounces diced Yukon Gold potatoes 1-1/2 C half-and-half 2 T sherry 1T minced chives salt, pepper, cayenne, nutmeg to taste First, the stock. Shells, the lemon and a pinch of salt, covered with water. Simmer for about 20 minutes. Strain, then reduce to about a cup and a half. While this was going, I tended to the bacon: I've been using this stuff lately because for some reason, it's easier to find in the local grocery than slab bacon. Its got a light smoky taste, and not too much salt. Cubed, it fries up like little porky croutons: I left the fat in the pan -- about a tablespoon and a half -- and sauteed the mirepoix, garlic included. I deglazed with a little stock and let it reduce away to a glaze, then dumped in the flour and rouxed (if there's not such a word, there should be) it up. Stirred in the almost-cool stock and added the potatoes: (If I understand what johnnyd is recommending, this would be where I could stop and freeze.) After a ten-minute simmer to cook the potatoes and let everything come together, the rest is obvious. Stir in the half-and-half, and let it come to a simmer. Add the shrimps, stirring often so they cook evenly, about three minutes. Garnish with the bacon and chives (and some really disappointing pasteurized crab) and serve. Yum. Pink Chowder.

Don't feel bad. I read "Sazerac." But you could redeem yourself by inventing a Saranac.I've been thinking about this bitter thing -- not so much the cocktails you had at 5 Ninth, but the general idea of it. And since I've made Dave feel bad, I'll nominate his version of the classic daiquiri as a case study. He calls for: 2 ounces white Cuban-style run 1/2 ounce lime juice 1/2 t sugar He adds a note: "if this is absolutely, positively too dry for you, add more (sugar) -- but cautiously." I was sure this was going to be almost undrinkable and that I would have to disappoint the author. But in cooking, I have the rule that I always follow a recipe verbatim the first time I make it. So, with lips puckering in apprehension, I shook it up and poured it out. It was a revelation. The bitterness of the lime brings out the roundness of the rum, and there's just enough sugar to keep the sourness from taking over the drink, but not enough to mask the rum. You can taste everything, but nothing dominates. Compare this with Gary Regan's version: 2 ounces rum 1 ounce lime juice 1/2 ounce simple syrup To me (please, Gary, don't tell me I'm now hurting your feelings!), this is not nearly as satisfying. It's sweeter (three times as much sugar: 1/2 T vs. 1/2 t) and more sour (twice as much lime juice in proportion to the base spirit), and the undertone of bitterness that gives Wondrich's version elegance isn't there. It's a good cocktail, but it doesn't have the balance that Wondrich's does.

Slightly off-topic, but the way to do this is to make watermelon gin. The problem (okay, my problem; maybe I don't know how to make it) with watermelon puree is that it tends to separate out, and you're left with this sludge of little pink cells at the bottom of your glass. But gin and watermelon work beautifully together: cut up the melon into cubes (maybe 1" x 1" x 1") and cover with a decent-proof gin -- Beefeater works well. Let sit a day or so and strain. It will pick up some sweetness, so check before deciding how much syrup to add.

They certainly do. I've made most of those in the first two columns -- if I recall correctly, almost all of them are in Killer Cocktails -- and I wouldn't classify any of them as bitter. (In fact, I have a friend who occasionally complains of Wondrich's latent sweet tooth.) Personally, I find them all to be pretty well balanced -- enough so that even a heavy hand on the juicer shouldn't throw them too far out of whack. So if they're using Wondrich's recipes (and based on the publicity, I assume they are), I'm puzzled. Then I'll advance my woefully under-researched theory that it's not the recipes or the bartenders, it's the ingredients -- not just the citrus, but the base liquor itself. (Gin is just one example of a product that's become drier over time.) If you make a cocktail today from an old recipe, you're not really making the same cocktail. An analogy: if you throw a pork loin in the oven and roast it the way your Mom did 35 years ago, you'll wonder why you can't do it the way she did; you might wonder why you ever liked roast pork loin in the first place. You have to adjust for changes in the ingredients -- or adjust your palate.

Can we get clarification of "classic cocktails based on old recipes"? How old is old? Nineteenth-century-Jerry-Thomas-old, or mid-20th?