Mjx

For a reasonable price, there's Les Halles. I've only had breakfasts at the downtown location (in the financial district), but have had lunch and dinner several times at the uptown location, and that's been fine (if rather crowded and noisy), and it seems reasonable to believe that the quality should be roughly equal at the two locations.

That may be the problem; it's an oven rotisserie, so the feature isn't its primary one (I can't find the spec.s on the motor in the manual). I have to admit that the 'bump' isn't a severe one (a momentary lag), but I'm plagued by the idea that I'm screwing something up, and should be doing whatever I can to get it right. Do the legs roast properly when they're trussed tight up against the sides of the chicken? The legs seem to be the problem: I've tried leaving them free (this causes the most uneven turning), and trussing them loosely (not much better), but have avoided trussing the legs tight against the body of the chicken, because I worry that they'd take forever to cook properly, and the breasts would dry out (but now I'm thinking that having the prongs sticking into the thighs would raise their internal temperature, and perhaps accelarate their cooking). The space between the prongs seems too wide to secure the front end of the bird (chickens are almost all 1200 or 1300 grams here [about 2 lb 10oz, and just short of 3 lbs], just a little too large for more than one to fit on the spit): I've been thinking about shoving a potato or something on the spit inside the front opening, to help anchor the front of the bird.

Anyone have practical suggestions for correctly positioning a chicken on a rotisserie spit, so that the weight is evenly distributed, and it turns smoothly, rather than doing a slow half turn, hesitating, then heaving the heavier side over? I've tried different arrangements based on various advice, but I cannot seem to find a protocol that works, and I'm a bit concerned that having to compensate for the imbalance is going to damage the motor. The rotisserie arrangement involves a spit, and two staple-shaped, pronged clamps that hold the bird in place; the clamps hold the bird securely, but since the prongs are about 5cm apart, it does restrict points of insertion, especially on smaller birds. Any suggestions on the logistics behind getting this right would be tremendously appreciated (I searched the site and didn't find a discussion of this, but if I missed something, please point me to it!).

I do press the meat out of the tail end, but don't eat the shell; I don't know whether the shrimp I've eaten have simply had remarkably robust shells or something, but a tentative nibble has always made it quite clear that my teeth are just not going to break down the chitin well enough for it to be pleasant to swallow... so I pass on that.

Hm. Anything else have a similar texture? I don't think mushy/pasty would put me off, in and of itself (unless it was in something that wasn't supposed to be mushy and pasty, e.g. a cut of meat). But I'm not great with the sort of scent I've heard attributed to jackfruit (I can't even deal with that of ripe bananas, and have to either breathe through my mouth or leave the room if someone is eating one nearby), so I've avoided trying it, although I've also heard the texture described more flatteringly as 'custardy'.

Texture reactions seem like they're far more individual than cultural. For example, I have no problem with things like rice pudding, which I never encountered growing up, although my boyfriend abhors the stuff, even though it is a traditional Danish dessert. Although I (Slavic and Italian background) can't think of any specific texture I dislike (although I had some salmon jerky once that had a weird, tannic effect in my mouth that I wouldn't care to re-experience), there are definitely certain textures that I cannot eat if they're associated with certain tastes. Specifically, a creamy texture in savoury dishes is nauseating to me, although I have no problem with the identical texture in a sweet.

Yes: I subbed in chestnut flour for 33% (by weight) of the AP flour I was using (made up the flour blend, then mixed in as much of the blend as the egg would take up). I found that it acts increasingly brittle yet floppy if you exceed that percentage of chestnut flour (I don't think there are any standards for chestnut flour, so if you have some that is coarser or finer, it is likely to behave differently). I've only tried this in an egg-based pasta dough, by the way.

Chestnut flour makes a great addtion to pasta doughs; I particularly like chestnut-flour pasta with game and winter squash. I usually make pappardelle or ravioli with it, the latter having been inspired by some chestnut pasta and venison ravioli I had in Bolzano. I also like castagnaccio, but I think it is an acquired taste, so if you make it, try making half recipe first. To me, it tastes of November. I also sometimes mix chestnut flour into soups and risotto; it adds a very subtle, earthy sweetness.

I think growing up around good food, and people who genuinely care about it helps, but isn't enough; inborn perceptual and character traits almost certainly have as much to do with the capacity to appreciate and create good food as environment, and can can definitely compensate for a childhood of boiled everything/fast food. I grew up in Italy, and food is a big deal there, which contributed to the way I feel about food and prepare it, but my boyfriend grew up in Denmark with the sort of cooking that makes you hate vegetables and fruit. A few trips to Italy, and his appreciation of food expanded dramatically; evidently, his tastebuds were just waiting for something they liked. And this isn't a passing vacation, mode, either, since he's completely responsible for the professional slicer in our kitchen, and the fact that we usually have something good to use it on (he's the guy who has to sample all the available prosciutti before making his selection). It hasn't had much effect on his cooking (he makes all the pasta, but that's pretty much it), but I doubt his lack of patience with recipes can be attributed to years of boiled cauliflower and spinach in cream sauce.

Unless you have a problem with alcohol, or just want to give yourself a bit of a break from the extra calories, this won't make a huge difference physically, since it doesn't build up in your system the way some foods can, if you overeat. On the other hand, it can be good to step back and look at things you normlly take for granted, like what you eat and drink. I've done a few fasting cleanses, which make me feel great physically, but unfortunately also make me practically homicidal, so I seldom do one more frequently than every couple of years; over the long term, I don't think they change much, unless you've really been rough on your body, although they do give you chance to consider what, if anything, you'll change about how you eat, once you resume.

When dealing with this kind of situation, the best bet is to look at the information provided for the species presented as 'sustainable'; if the chain of evidence, so to speak, is continuous, transparent, and confirmable, then I think it's fine to eat these things (with today's resources, this is simple and easy to determine). This does raise the question of a slippery slope, since many people are unlikely to care whether or not their food is raised sustainably: being able to say that it is is merely useful as a defence, should they get into an argument about their dinner, rather then being a matter of continuing to enjoy certain species in future (passenger pigeons, anyone?).

I used to poke holes in potatoes--two shallowish stabs with a fork--but then fell out of the habit; I was never given a reason for doing it in the first place. I've never had a potato explode, but this doesn't surprise me (despite the poke-or-explode warning), because when I was still poking holes, they always sealed up quite quickly. Slits and cut surfaces close up quickly too, so my question is, 'Has anyone had a potato that has been poked, slit, or sliced explode?'

That looks amazing, and sounds tasty too (unlike the liquorice sauce that I momentarily mistook it for, and that I once encountered in a Danish restaurant--in a savoury dish, no less--that prided itself on being innovative :sigh: )

Check out read McGee's essay on the 'windroot' in The Curious Cook The newest ingredient I've been playing with is citric acid. I know this stuff is used by the bucketload for all sorts of commercial applications, but I decided to get a packet of the granules when I wanted an actual flavour to echo the citrus aroma provided by the lime zest in some lime and clove truffles I was making. I didn't want to use citrus juice, since I've been less than thrilled by the results when I've tried this (the mixing of the flavours seemed murky and harsh), and felt that working a little citric acid into the cooled ganache had possibilities. I sprinkled the citric acid sparingly over the ganache once it had cooled (citric acid is not particularly soluable in cold fat), then sliced and rolled it so that it was incorporated into the truffles. The end result was tiny, tart 'sparks' in the ganache, which worked with, while remaining distinct from the chocolate phase. Now I'm considering how else this approach could be used.

I've been racking my brains to remember where I read this, so I can give credit, but I've had no luck: What I recall reading is that a cartouche is meant to be used without a lid, when you've reached the point at which you want to reduce, but not lose too much of the remaining fluid, avoid drying pieces that begin to poke above the surface of the liquid, and avoid the creation of a 'skin' on the surface; that you fold it because it is important to 'attend to the details' (which phrase makes me think I may have come across this in an Italian cookbook when I was a kid, and that the word stuck in my head because it was unusual). Since the paper is then crumpled, this reason for folding seems as probable as any. I'm also guessing (probably because of the colossal mess last night's peposo made of our stovetop) that a significant part of a cartouche's original function was to reduce/prevent the mess created by the spatter you tend to get, as reduction progresses.

The fondant is always rough because you need to work it from a very thick syrup to a creamy mass, and the viscosity is such that you really do want something very heavy/firmly anchored to do this on (rather than held down with your weaker hand, since your stronger one is wielding the paddle), otherwise it's possible to simply run out of strength and be unable to complete the processing; this happened the second time I tried making it. When I make croissants, the dough seems to be remarkably forgiving of what strike me as critical slips (keeping the butter from breaking through the layers of dough has been my biggest problem), but the slumping that inevitably takes place during rising is depressing, and I haven't managed to prevent that. Even though the end results have been texturally correct, I'd love them to not look as though they'd been sat on.

I have a vague recollection of this, and remember wondering why, since fibre from food sources (e.g. grains, other seeds) isn't a source of calories anyway, it just bulks things up. Now I'm guessing cellulose is just cheaper than other forms of fibre, or perhaps paler, so the bread doesn't look like whole meal bread.

The most challenging thing I've made has been fondant; I don't have a marble slab, and have always done this on a plate, which is actually more than challenging, it is hellish, and probably really stupid; however, I love making fondant-based sweets, and hate the flavour of corn syrup in it, so have little choice but to make my own, although I can't afford a marble slab where I am right now. I think most kitchen challenges come from not having the right equipment/instructions/comprehension and willingness to follow the instructions; if you have those, and sweat the details, it's hard to go wrong. Croissants have been challenging too, but the the texture of both crust and interior have been so good, I persist in trying to get them right (they weren't a 100% success: each time they slumped considerably when I set them to rise in the steamy oven – I've never been able to discover the reason for doing this – and plan on skipping the steam next time I make them, to see what happens).

Ugh. I found that out the hard way, when I once (and only once) ordered a 'regular' coffee in NYC, thinking it would have to mean 'plain'. And, my particular coffee fetish is that it cannot contain any dairy product or facsimile thereof, as I find such substances disgusting in coffee. Seriously: I can drink virtually any coffee, with any flavouring in it (raspberry? in coffee? ridiculous, but okay, whatever...), at any temperature, with any amount of sugar, and be philosophical about it. I think I could even handle salt in my coffee; I know, to my mild sorrow, that I can handle pepper in it (this involved a very strange mistake). But dairy in coffee renders it undrinkable to me: I find caffé latte entirely incomprehensible. If I'm feeling exhausted or otherwise enfeebled, even the smell of coffee with dairy in it makes me feel queasy. (I do have actual standards, but I drink so much coffee made by others that I'm pretty tolerant of less-than-perfection.)

I have to agree, this isn't something you'd want to take hearsay advice on. According to this article on the Mayo Clinc's website, there can be serious interactions between at least some statins and grapefruit juice. For a more in-depth discussion, 'Drug-grapefruit juice interactions' goes into the biochemistry and physiology. The bibliography given here may be useful, if the previous article isn't as relevant as you'd like, or you're interested in the way the research has developed in the last decade.

At its simplest, you need flour, leavening, and water to make bread; a bread made with just these will contain the fewest possible calories per gram. The calorie count per gram goes down (a bit), as the fibre content of the flour goes up, but as Will and Jenni pointed out, you can also add more air (not as easy at home as in an industrial facility), which becomes harder to do, as the amount of fibre present increases. Adding fibre to a simple flour and water dough is probably the your best bet, though, since--even in a bread with no added fibre--there's an upper limit to how much air you can incorporate into your dough. If you hate fibre-rich bread, this would have the additional (if questionable) advantage of making you feel less inclined to eat it. I adore bread, and am one of those who gains weight really easily from even small amounts of carbohydrates, but I can't bring myself to turn the consumption of one of my favourite foods into a combat zone: I just try to save bread for an occasional, smallish treat, and eat the kinds I like.

HP Sauce. And I'm not sure whether this counts, but virtually any dark gravy, at even the divey-est diner; if meat/potatoes are involved, the concept of 'too much' does not really apply to this stuff. Does this question include sweet condiments (e.g. dessert toppings), or only savoury ones?

Hydration may be the issue. I bake bread two or three times a week, and derived my current base recipe from ATK's sandwich loaf, slowly modifying it until I got results that were satisfactory, using locally available ingredients: This meant upping the fluid (360 ml fluid for 500g flour), so the final forming step of the original recipe is not doable--the dough is close to pourable--but I get an impressive rise even when I swap in half rye flour (which cuts the gluten down to about 6%). I usually add an autolyse step (unless time is short), and the resulting texture is firm and even, but moderately open (just right for a sandwich). If I have time, I let it rise overnight in the refrigerator (the loaf is fine without it, if less flavourful).

I'd like to add this internal link for fixing broken ganache, which I tried just a few minutes ago, and found very effective, even though I used the crudest possible version of the less elaborate of the two techniques described (i.e no thermometer, just warmed the ganache to blood temp., tested it on my wrist, set it aside for a minute to bring it down to about 35 C, then added small splashes of boiled milk, mixing after each until it came together). N.B. There is a good chance that your ganache will look much worse before it comes together, but persist, and it should be fine.

Just tried this, and although it initially looked like a disaster--the ganache went from being merely grainy to looking like oil-slathered, chocolate-covered muesli--it eventually came together. Only complaint is that the flavourings (lime zest and clove) are now rather muted and bland. But the consistency is lovely; I'm waiting to see how this sets up (usual firmness, or softer, owing to added fluid). Update, nearly an hour later: The ganache seems to be setting up firmly enough to form, but is either going to be a bit softer than usual (for base recipe using 200g 80% c.m. chocolate and 125 ml 38% cream), or is taking longer to reach its final firmness.