Mjx

Recipes share the same fundamental problem as software: If the instructions are flawed, the process will produce rubbish. The organizations that produce software (including the Unix core of the Macbook I'm typing on) are therefore based very heavily on peer review. Code from all sources is screened through both preliminary testing and the watchful eye of experts before actually being used to run, say, the New York Stock Exchange. Overall, it works quite well. While there's no admissions organization for potato spaetzle, it's possible to obtain very similar function. Many authors proudly link to others who document their recipes, and any comments are frequently filled with such references. Even in the case of more baroque configurations, it's trivial to google the URL to see if others link to it. I've found some of my favorite recipes by reviewing the results of others with similar preferences to my own. The combination of peer review and multiple documentation I find very effective indeed. If it works for you, that's great! I find the open source format intrinsically vulnerable to certain flaws, including someone 'fixing' a previously solid recipe (e.g. changing weights to 'more accessible' volumes, and really blowing the conversions), effectively reducing it to uselessness; and while it's easy to see whether or not someone has linked to something, this doesn't guarantee that they've tried it (it my just be on their 'must try' list). I do research professionally, much of it online, and I have to admit that the idea of trawling through the internet swamp to find recipes isn't particularly attractive; I prefer to go more closed-pool for that. So, most of what I do in the kitchen relies on a tiny, carefully selected range of books that are heavily focusd on the science of cooking, augmented by past experience, and a file of recipes and notes that I've built up over time.

Only if those eyes belong to not-idiots. Unfortunately, this is seldom the case, and let's face it: ten thousand imbeciles is five thousand times worse than two. All you need to do is to go to Yahoo! Answers to see that in action. Technology may have changed, but humans are exaclty what they were, only they can can now share their wisdom in a way that was once impossible; today's self-styled pundit may have been yesterday's village idiot. Open sourcing may have done wonders for software development, but it's not truly open; you need to be able to code to contribute, so the pool of actual contributors is relatively small, compared to the pool of people adding their two cents to wikipedia, for example. The fact that anyone can contribute to wikipedia it makes hideously unreliable. Open source source recipes? No thanks, unless I'm well-acquainted the people who happen to be contributing the advice I'm reading and considering acting on.

I'd bet you just haven't tried a reliable recipe. Most cookies really do seem impossible to screw up; once, to my horror, I realized I forgot the baking soda called for by a recipe for spice cookies (I had this revelation as I was forming them), and they were still okay. Maybe not ideal for people with poorly attached teeth, but still tasty.

I'm mildly concerned about jaccarding and safety, too; since you're leaving the dry rub on long enough to penetrate the meat without jaccarding, I'm not sure it's worth it. How low of a temperature are you planning on using, if you're rendering out the fat for half an hour? I generally start a duck breast skin side down in a cold pan, turn the heat to medium, and just keep an eye on it. Takes maybe 15 minutes for most of the fat to render out and leave the skin nicely crisped and browned (at this point, being a Luddite about this sort of thing, I turn up the heat, flip the breast, and brown the other side for a few minutes, which gives me a nice pink centre and well browned exterior). If you're doing this sous vide, you might just want to remove the skin and crisp it between a couple of Silpats; in a bag, it's just going to be flabby (after dirtying a pan, to boot).

This. One of the reasonable expectations of dining out is 'service is more or less polite'. I'm not disagreeing with the discussion about how one takes a comment, regardless of intent, but it seems reasonable to expect restaurant waitstaff to meet some sort of basline for courtesy, and there's no getting away from the fact that this is not it. Put it another way: I've worn glasses since I was about nine, and it certainly isn't something that I'm troubled about (or I'd wear contacts much more often), but if I got a bill that listed me as 'four-eyed freak', I'd be annoyed. Not because it is hurtful (it isn't, to me), or 'reduces me to a pair of glasses and freakiness' (see previous), but because, dammit, if I wanted to eat someplace where food comes with a side of snark, I don't want to pay for that, I could just dine with my family!

Thanks to some amazon gift certificates from my sister, I recently added Francisco Migoya's Elements of Dessert and Judith Benn Hurley's The Good Herb to my collection (I'm not sure whether 'added' is correct for the latter, since I owned a copy that mysteriously vanished at my sister's place, where it may still be lurking).

And..? Arguable: at least some of the people doing the judging are fellow chefs and others who are equally knowledgeable. Regardless of the truth of the statement, it is irrelevant. Seriously, stop and think about it: The chefs are preparing food for which they wish others to pay. If these 'others' don't consider the food worth seeking out and paying for, then this process comes to a halt. Cooking for the unappreciative/clueless can be unbelievably frustrating and disappointing. Even I know this, from personal experience, which is one of the reasons I'd never, ever even consider being a chef. If I'm cooking for a bunch of people who simply stuff their faces with food, chewing without even pausing in their conversation, automatically pouring a flood of Heinz's over a reconceptualized, deconstructed Beef Wellington, that's not going to happen twice. I know that people don't really change (neither the diners or the chef). Surely, professional chefs must know this too, having lived on this planet amongst their fellow humans for several decades. The fact that a chef may know more about food than the diners is not relevant, because the restaurant exists for the diners, not the chef. It would be wonderful for chefs if virtually all the diners in a restaurant were dining out because they were interested in thoughtfully conceived, skilfully presented dishes, but that's never going to happen, since most people don't devote much conscious thought to food and eating. And some diners are unquestionably self-important ego trippers, just like some chefs. However, even if it is apparently unbearable, you bear it if you're a restaurant chef, because unfortunately, this is what you signed on for: restaurants are full people, and, well, people can kind of suck. Hurling babyish abuse makes no sense (and if we move past its putative shock value, calling someone a 'cunt' is as infantile and unintelligent as calling someone a 'poo head'). At best, no one will care. At worst, it alienates the small number of people who genuinely care about and appreciate a chef's efforts, but find screaming tantrums and public scenes so distasteful that they wish to distance themselves from its source, which is sad, because these are the diners are the restaurants should be paying attention to, the ones they want to attract. 'I'm off an a rampage because I'm standing behind my commitment/integrity' doesn't hold up as an argument, either, since that is accomplished by doing one's best job (i.e. they've probably already done that). If it really comes down to defending one's restaurant, fine, but credibility is only going to be maintained if the defence is couched in language that doesn't suggest a fight between small boys at a playground. Is the possible relief of blowing off steam in public really worth the longer-term cost to the restaurant? It would make more sense for chefs to form local supper clubs, where they could dine out on diner horror stories: the chef with the best (i.e. most appalling) diner story doesn't have to pay for his or her share of dinner that time round

Does it have the complexity of a traditional roux? What he said. I'm curious; what would be the advantage of a pressure-cooked roux? If it's a question of saving time/effort, seems like the microwave option would be at least as solid an option.

At this point, what you are actually asking is 'Would you like to save money?' The answer to that is almost always 'Yes'. That doesn't mean anyone is going go for this product, since without tring it, there is literally no usable information on which to base any feedback. People don't regard money as saved unless the cheaper product meets some minimum standard, and there's no way of knowing whether or not this is the case without trying the product. The only way you're going to get useful feedback is if you get samples out there, and then start asking questions.

Since we're on the subject of modernist roux, does anyone know whether or not this could be done in a microwave (I may have seen something like this in MC, but a [quick] look isn't revealing anything). Until recently, I'd held the microwave in mild contempt as a second-rate device for preparing food, but recently I've found some interesting things it can do, so it's more or less at the front of my mind.

This topic continues in Dining in Las Vegas: Part 2.

I'm completely on board with the more traditional concept of the chef being in the kitchen and waitstaff acting as liaison (of course, the tipping aspect isn't usually a part of the equation in EU countries), but it seems to me that the chef's presence in the front has become standard in restaurants with a strong modernist aspect. In fact, I can't think of any restaurant of this sort where I haven't seen the chef wandering about. These chefs seldom look particularly comfortable; I get the impression that as a group, restaurant chefs aren't particularly gregarious, so being out front is probably an added stress. Going out front also means moving from an environment over which the chef has control, to one in which he (so far, all the ones I've seen have been men) has no control, which would make most people feel a bit vulnerable and defensive; understandable, but hardly an ideal state for either eliciting an honest yet tactful critique of your labours, or discussing it calmly. In such cases, since the chef is already face to face with the diners, restoring some of the his or her sense of control over the situation via occasional one on one conversations might do a lot to avoid public messes, since most people seem to be more thoughtful in their criticism of someone with whom they've spoken directly (looking at the online/blog review end of things), while the chef would have the opportunity to address criticism directly, and be spared unpleasant surprises.

The best strategy for avoiding conflicting statements would be to get in-person responses that were truthful in the first place. Whether or not any criticism can be respected depends on how it's presented. I just can't see taking many bloggers out there particularly seriously, regardless of what they say. I pay attention to a reviewer's tone, their level of awareness of their own subjectivity. This blogger was not anyone who was getting a significant amout of attention, until chef whatsisname decided this nearly invisible person's opinion mattered enough to blow up. He pulled the roof down on his own head. Ignoring people isn't always a good strategy, but how could he imagine that this response to the blogger was going to do anything other than make readers think, 'You know, this blogger may have a point'? To elicit honest responses in the first place, all I can really suggest is what I think I'd do, if I were a chef (something I could never ever even begin to handle; the pressures involved are not the sorts I'd be able to deal with), which would be to ask customers whether they'd be up for a bit of a chat. Surely it would be possible to pull one party a week aside, and talk with them a bit? Particularly in places that have restricted numbers of seatings? I'm thinking back to a lunch my boyfriend and I had at Osteria Francescana, not that long ago. The chef kept popping into the dining room, and spoke with us a couple of times. I loved the meal, but couldn't help noticing that the chef looked a bit anxious and tense (or maybe had a toothache, what do I know). When, at the end of the meal, he asked how everything was, we were able to truthfully say that we'd loved it. The thing is, if there had been something I didn't like, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself mention it to the chef. He seemed to be so invested in it, and there were other people around to hear, and... I would have incredibly uncomfortable criticizing the food or wine (and in that case, I would have addressed any problem as delicately as possible in my review and indicated that because I'm a gutless wimp, I hadn't mentioned this while I was at the restaurant). On the other hand, if, he'd asked whether we'd be up for talking about the meal for a few moments in the back, over a glass of wine or something, I would have been forthcoming with any criticism. As I said, the meal was great, so that wasn't an issue, but still. I did once have a meal where one of the courses was a tartare that frankly reminded me of catfood, and was a bit clammy. It was a sort of textural/visual thing, and the flavour and scent were fine, but I didn't really enjoy it. And no, I didn't mention it while we were there. In fact, I didn't mention it in my review, either, because I've never been sure whether or not it wasn't just me, and that's the way this tartare was supposed to be. However, sitting head to head with the chef, I would definitely have asked questions about this, mentioned my reaction (probably not using the cat food simile).

It would be necessary for chefs to find a way to set up a situation where they could ask questions and get honest answers, before the customer leaves the restaurant. Obviously, this couldn't be done with every customer, but carefully selecting intelligent waitstaff would mean you'd have people in the front of the house who could identify diners who were sober/thoughtful enough to give an objective opinion of their experience, as well as communicating to the kitchen what diners were saying. Then, chefs would need to listen to the diners they spoke without becoming immediately defensive or hostile; they'd be requesting a critique, and reassuring the diners that they wanted honest feedback (the herring ice cream that seemed like such a brilliant idea may be so awful that it's destrying the entire evening). It would be important to speak with diners who were really interested in what was going on, not in throwing their weight around. Hell, I'd LOVE to speak with chefs about the meals I eat, but quietly and comfortably, not in the main dining area, which is where diners are usually asked 'How was everything?' I guess I'm saying that both parties would need to act like grownups interested in an intelligent discussion.

Owing to my parents' careful efforts to shield me from popular culture, frozen dinners have always been kind of off the radar for me, sort of like dentures or chaps; I've always been peripherally aware of them, but could not imagine they would have any relevance to my life. But I've been curious. And my while my boyfriend is jet-setting around India and the Alps, I'm snowed under with work, and have little inclination and even less time to prepare actual food. After a few days of pinto beans, edamame, and bresaola, this seemed like an excellent time to explore frozen dinners, particulary since there's a line of these things that I've found a bit eye catching: Thai - Cube. Seriously, how could this possibly go wrong? The instructions say to just remove the plastic outer wrapping and shove the thing in the microwave for 4 to 6 minutes, but I decide to investigate a bit: Hm. Well, okay. I pack everything back inside, microwave it, and carfully pry open the flaps with chopsticks, to avoid getting scalded: Ah. That shade of orange... At this point, I realize the damn thing is leaking remarkably unappetizing-looking liquid all over the my boyfriend's mouse mat (by his computer is where the lighting is best). I put the whole thing in a bowl, tidy up the mat, tip the top container of mixed chicken and veg stuff onto the rice clump, and mash about with chopsticks. I go to a dimmish corner, and eat this. It's... adequate? Not really gross or anything. Not delicious, either. Some heat, but otherwise bland. The chicken is not remarkably rubbery, and the vegetables could be quite a bit worse. This was all about half an hour ago. I felt kind of queasy immediately after, but I think that had mostly to do with the really unfortunate colour of this thing. I feel fine now. If I had to eat one of these in the future, I wouldn't kick, but this is definitely not an experience I'd voluntarily seek out. I should mention that of the frozen offerings at the local supermarket, this line of products struck me as the least unattractive; frankly, I can't see myself trying any of the other options anytime soon. If the frozen dinners of my parents' era were worse than this, I'm honestly not surprised that they made sure I never went near one!

With a small sharp knife I make a longitudinal cut in the wrapping about as far along as I'm going to take off a bunch of slices. This notch give a starting point that makes it easy to peel off the band of wrapping.

The thing is, my experience is that chefs don't tend to ask this sort of question in a way that encourages anything other than a response somewhere between 'fine' and 'fabulous'. I have no recollection of any chef ever asking how I liked about my meal in a way that seemed anything other than a rhetorical question. And while I realize that some diners get the opportunity to chat with the chef away from other diners and staff, most don't, and I don't know about other people, but if I'm going to say something even slightly critical, I feel rude doing it in front of others. So, when I'm asked how everything was, I smile and say something nice, because the last thing I want to deal with is some sort of unpleasant scene. I also write reviews on tripadvisor. Most are positive, a couple, not so much. However, I don't think I've ever written something negative about a restaurant's food without having at least tried to get it addressed while I was eating there. Still, I'd be wiiling to bet that a couple of places might have read my reviews and resented them, simply because they were [partly] negative, even though I take extra pains to make my negative comments polite, fair, and objective.

I'm partial to dried thyme, rosemary, marjoram, sage, and savoury, which seem to withstand drying very nicely (on the other hand, I find dried oregano appalling, and I don't care for dried basil, either; I always detect a weird chewing gum note). Quality can vary significantly from brand to brand, which makes 'worth using' as much to do with the source (and personal preferences) as the herbs themselves. By the way, if watering your plants is the main obstacle to growing fresh herbs, do you have any way of rigging some sort of self-watering unit? They're very simple constructions, and work well.

A sort-of complaint would be servers who decide to confide in me while I'm eating. I'm talking about complete strangers, here. It's happened several times, usually when the restaurant was very quiet. And while I'm always glad to hear all about your private life/personal philosophy/that your disease yielded to treatment/turned out not to be an STD, maybe at least wait until bringing the coffee to unburden yourself? Some of these revelations do not really enhance the experience of eating actual food. Over coffee, I'm cool with hearing all about your happily resolved impetigo.

You're essentially asking a group of people interested in food to do a financial exercise. The things is, we get the point about the alleged savings, but 'cheap' is not enough, if it compromises quality (something very quickly noticeable in eggs); how has the quality of your product been assessed by your target market? Without having any idea of what your specific product is (other than cheap), how it differs from what's currently out there, and what it is about the product that might make it cheaper than what is already available (manufacturing process/location? ingredient grade? other?), there's no way of telling whether or not your product would be of any interest to your target market. Pasteurized yolks, whites, and whole eggs (both conventional and organic) are readily available in many countries at acceptable to highly competitive prices, even in the very expensive country where I currently happen to be.

My recollection of hot dog ingredients is that they include emulsifiers, to keep the mixture in emulsion when they're heated; you might need more/a different emulsifier.

Thank you, I'm looking forward to trying this! By the way, is there a particular base recipe you use?

Regardless of what you do with your pumpkins (in fact, any winter squash), I recommend splitting (or breaking down into smaller pieces, depending on how big they are), removing the seeds, rubbing the cut surfaces with a fat that works well with your plans, and roasting at 200 C/400 F until it's tender when you poke at it gently with a vegetable knife (I usually go for half an hour, but I'm usually using small hokaidos; if you need a longer time, you might need to cover the top surface with foil after half an hour, if you don't want it to char). A lot of the time I then just run the pumpkin (or whatever winter squash I'm using) through a food mill, and use it like mashed potatoes (as a side, or in things like shepard's pie). It's also great cut into chunks in stews (I love this with lamb and beans), or pureed with stock as a soup base (e.g. pumpkin chestnut is pretty amazing). I also use the puree with meat and other ingredients, as filling for things like empanadas.

What happens if no oil is used, if the canister is kept warm (not questioning the use of oil, but curious about this)? Also, couldn't CO2 be used instead of N2O?

I find creamy, milky substances in savoury contexts retch-inducing. This takes the following off the table: creamy sauces, cream soups, most cheeses; I'm put off by things that even look creamy or have a creamy mouthfeel (e.g. sauces with a lot of nut butter). I find any form of dairy/dairy simulacrum in coffee quite repulsive (ditto, Irish cream and their ilk), and although I'm mostly fine with dairy/dairy-like components in sweets, if I was told that dairy would never pass my lips again, it would not break my heart. I find the texture of cooked eggs off-putting, although I can swallow a raw one with no problem (although what with salmonella and all, I seldom do this). Even the smell of bananas will make me leave a room to avoid messy unpleasantness, although as a child I could eat them if they were green and essentially flavourless. Weirdly, although I could once eat nearly raw steak with no problem, it often puts me off now. No idea why. In case anyone is wondering how I navigate the cream soups, cream sauces, and compound butters that show up on friends' tables when I'm invited over to dinner, I have to admit that I do my best to discreetly determine whether one of the problem items is going to be present; if it is, or I'm not sure, this virtually guarantees that I'll be sitting down to dinner a bit buzzed, since in that state, my food issues recede from gag-inducing to merely 'somewhat unpleasant, but manageable'. At restaurants, I just ask a bit about what's in the various dishes, and choose something that poses no problems. None of this is my parents' fault, by the way; they did their best, but even threats of violence couldn't tame my gag reflexes, and they eventually became tired of my being sick at table, and gave up