JAZ

What do you mean by that? lay a fish filet on the cutting board and salt it. come back 10 minutes later and it will have sweated. obviously, dunking pork in a brine overnight will have a different end result but the salt will still have an effect on how the meat cooks. i'm not saying so with a negative connotation either. But surface salt and brine solutions produce two different results. Brining increases the moisture content of meat.

Can you discuss the differences in quality please. Is it the thinness of the crystal? Or just design? Thanks... Sommelier glasses are lead crystal and are hand blown. Vinum are lead crystal, machine made. Overture are glass, machine made.

The magazine Taste of Home was mentioned in one of the recent magazine threads here, and since the IACP quarterly newsletter had a short article on the magazine, I thought I'd share some of the information it provided. Taste of Home, as previously noted, rarely shows up on lists of circulation because it carries no ads. But, according to this article, it has the amazing circulation of 4.6 million (more than Bon, F&W and Gourmet combined). It actually ranks 8th in circulation for all consumer magazines, right below Family Circle and Good Housekeeping. The demographics are interesting: the average age of subscribers is 60; only 30.5 percent work full time (13 percent of subscribers are male, which apparently is pretty high for a cooking magazine). North Dakota leads the pack in number of subscribers, followed by Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, South Dakota, Iowa and Wisconsin, where the magazine is based. Recipes for the magazine are provided by an unpaid staff of "field editors" -- 1,000 home cooks from all 50 states and Canada (none from New York City). The in-house (paid) staff numbers seven, who also work on other publications. Taste of Home began publishing in 1993 as a spin-off of Country Magazine. It has subsequently spun off two other pubs -- Quick Cooking and Light & Tasty, (which have circulations of 3.2 million and 1.2 million, respectively). The company also sells Taste of Home products, sponsors a traveling cooking school, and this year held its first Cooking Expo (6,500 people pre-registered for the event). The parent company, Reiman Publications (with 12 publications total), was recently acquired by Reader's Digest Association for $760 million.

Well, I just checked out all my food science books, and the only one who addressed this question (that I could find) was Robert Wolke in What Einstein Told His Cook. And he says that I was wrong. (Damn, I hate that.) In talking about the reason you don't place the thermometer near the bone, he says "Bone is a lesser conductor of heat than meat is. For one thing, bone is porous, and the air cells are heat insulators. Also, bones are relatively dry, and much of the heat transfer through a roast is due to the water in the meat. So when most of the meat has reached a certain temperature, it's likely that the regions surrounding the bones will still be relatively cool." So that blows my theory. But it did start me thinking (or maybe it was the martini). If "much of the heat transfer" is due to the water in the meat, then pork tenderloin, being relatively dry itself, would probably not continue to increase in temp once you took it out of the oven. Does that seem reasonable? You didn't brine this one, correct? So that would mean there was a lot less moisture in the meat than if you had. When I roasted my chicken, I did a quick soak in brine before roasting. Plus, the chickens I get have a fair amount of fat on them, which keeps the meat even more moist. So maybe my chicken temp rose because of the fat and water in the meat, whereas your pork temp didn't because there wasn't as much moisture. I'll email a question to Wolke at his web site; maybe we'll get an answer. Edit: pretty big chicken -- maybe 5 lbs. My oven temp was about 475; I took the chicken out when my thermometer (in the thigh) read 160 and it rose to about 168.

I always thought that much of the carryover was caused by heat from bones (which, I believe, get hotter than the meat itself). So it stands to reason that you wouldn't get nearly as much from boneless cuts. But 15 degrees still seems like a lot to expect. I roasted a whole chicken last week (big sucker, too) and the temp rose by about 8 degrees. And of course I have no idea where I got the idea about the bones. I thought it was Cookwise, but I couldn't find it in there.

I used up some leftover proseco in a peach sorbet once. It was pretty good -- sort of a frozen Bellini. It still had a little fizz, though.

I don't think you're oversimplifying because you're "respecting someone else's taste." I was merely stating that I could understand Dave's reluctance to cook a high quality ingredient in a way that he believes ruins it. I do think the refusal to even recognize that his reluctance might be understandable is oversimplifying. You'll notice, if you read what I wrote, that I never actually said what I'd do, or gave him advice as to what he should do. I said I understand the desire to accommodate one's guests' tastes. I also said that I understand the other side. Period. My example was merely something to think about, which is precisely what I said at the end of my post. It wasn't a rhetorical game; nor was it a straw man. But please accept my apologies, since it seems to have upset you so.

Sorry, Liz; I'm not generally that snide. And I know how the urge to use a metaphor can overtake a writer and wipe out whatever knowledge of grammar or vocabulary one possesses. I shouldn't have pounced on it. Nice article.

I think you're oversimplifying the problem. Yes, of course you want to accommodate the tastes of the people you're cooking for. But mistreating a high quality and expensive ingredient is a difficult thing to do, and I think Dave has a valid point of view. Let's up the ante a little. If you'd bought, say, a couple of Wagu rib eye steaks, and your guest asked to you bread hers and fry it, then top it with cream of mushroom soup and simmer it for 45 minutes or so, could you honestly say you'd do that? If not, why not? Just something to think about.

Ahhh, Pernod... Speaking of unfortunate drinking experiences, one of my worst involved that yellow liquid. It was ten years before I could face the stuff again.

I love my Waring, which Cook's also rated high (the price was their main concern -- at $100 or so, it's a lot more than the Oster they gave top honors to). Tall narrow jar, one-piece design (no gaskets to lose, no jar bottom to fall off), two speeds, purees anything quickly and completely. My only complaint -- and it's extremely minor -- is that the jar sits on the base a bit precariously. And it looks cool.

Quick Pickles by Chris Schlesinger, John Willoughby and Dan George. I pulled out this book from the shelf to look up a recipe and it struck me again what a beautiful little book it is. Photos include ingredients as well as the finished pickles. Nice looking and easy to follow layout as well. (Good recipes too.)

I posted a couple a while back: cocktails And one that was more a discovery than an invention is mandarin vodka with a splash of Lillet Blond, stirred and served up in a cocktail glass with an orange twist. It's good with Absolut Mandarin; sublime with Hangar One Mandarin Blossom. Now I'm mostly working on non-alcoholic cocktail recipes.

Too bad the author doesn't know the meaning of the phrase "to pull a punch."

A couple of thoughts, Jonathan. First, I think, for most writers it's not so much a calculated choice between the approaches as it is a process of finding what works the best for you. For example, I use some personal experience in my writing, but I could no more write a "Mr. Latte," Amanda Hesser-style article than I could turn into a major league baseball player. I think it's a mistake that a lot of beginning writers make -- they try to sound like someone else. And I don't think there's anything worse than reading an essay or article or book in which it seems the author is forcing a personal voice or in which the tone appears to be a calculated decision. And of course you didn't imply that the aspects you discussed are all-or-nothing choices, but I think that's a point that bears emphasis. Take "personality" again. John Thorne's writing is highly personal, as are many food essays these days. But take a book like Harold McGee's The Curious Cook. It's not personal in that same sense (you don't find out anything about McGee's personal life) but at the end of it I think you certainly have a sense of what kind of person he is. Even in the most "anonymous" food writing, some sense of the personality of the author comes through. [The sole exception that comes to mind is Cook's Illustrated magazine. I find the articles in Cooks positively eerie -- I see different names on the various articles, but there isn't a shred of personality in any of them that would give me the impression that they're written by individuals. Except for Christopher Kimball's opening essays (which for my taste are way too personal), there's nothing human there, which is the main reason I have a hard time reading it; even when I'm interested in the subject, I can't get past that omnipresent CI voice.]

It depends on the type of potatoes I'm roasting. Russets and other "baking" potatoes obviously get a different treatment from new potatoes. One thing I learned from a cooking instructor friend regarding new potatoes is to roast them past the point where they're tender. I always used to consider them done when they were easily pierced with a fork, but if you continue to roast them for another 20 to 30 minutes after that point, they develop the most wonderful creamy texture inside -- you'd almost think you were eating mashed potatoes, cream, butter and all.

Damn! This is a fantastic idea. Several of my friends would just love this. In my opinion, it ranks above actually eating the fruitcake, but then, most things do. (Best thing to do with a fruitcake? Give it away.)

I can remember one occasion a few years back. It was before Chirstmas, and the dive bar where my then boyfriend worked was selling these horrid fruitcakes for some kid's organization. It was slow; we were bored and somehow decided that making a blended drink with one of the fruitcakes would be a good idea. Crumbled that sucker right up in the blender and added brandy, Bailey's, cream, cinnamon schnapps (seemed as if it would go with the fruitcake flavors) and probably something else as well. The drink, oddly enough, didn't taste too bad. Texture was weird though. And the blender stalled severely from all those nasty little fruitcake modules sinking to the bottom and gumming up the blades.

Just to keep the record straight, I did say that I do that with eggs. I'm unsure about what to do with sushi grade tuna, just as I would be with a high quality steak. I would hate to spend that kind of money on something and cook it to a point where I feel it's ruined, regardless of how someone wants it. That's why I suggested switching to something else -- salmon, in this instance.

Interesting list, Jonathan. Some of the categories seem more innately disgusting than others (rotting food, I'd imagine, is probably universally disgusting, whereas eating dogs or insects is not). And some of your categories I wouldn't say are commonly thought of as disgusting but are rather just unappealing -- for instance, I'd say that uncooked or undercooked foods are often thought to be disgusting, but I don't think overcooked foods are. There are theories out there that we find some foods disgusting for valid reasons (or at least they were valid back when our ancestors were evolving with their feelings of disgust), such as rotting foods, or some of the internal organs of animals, which tend to harbor more harmful bacteria and other toxins than the muscle tissue. And it seems reasonable to lump in some textures in this category, such as your "squidgy" or, as John points out, "slimy," -- textures that are often found in rotting foods. But others on your list seem to lack any features that would make them instinctively disgusting (not that I'm denying that they are disgusting for many people). Certainly, animal flesh does seem to carry the biggest potential for causing disgust, and maybe that's due to the fact that meat is much more prone to bacterial contamination than plant food. Maybe, as a species, our attitude toward meat is ambivalent -- yes, it's a great source of calories, protein, minerals and vitamins that we need, but it can also be host to harmful and even lethal bacteria. How any one particular person reacts to meat products might be an individual response to the ambivalent tendancies we all share. One friend of mine can't even stand to eat any meat with bones -- loves bacon, won't eat a bone-in pork chop; will eat a hamburger but not a T-bone steak. (I asked her why she's not a vegetarian, and she replied "because I really like the taste of meat.") Which may actually bring us full circle, back to Dr. Korsmeyer's original point that delicious and disgusting might be different sides of the same coin.

Mark, I was merely reporting the theory of one scientist; I'm not saying I think he's got the whole story. While the theories you've outlined probably have some basis in reality, the best evolutionary explanation I've yet heard for the appeal of spices, including chile peppers, involves the "antimicrobial" properties of these plants. The thoery, which was explained in an article in American Scientist (March-April 2001 issue), is borne out by both the ability of most spices to kill the microorganisms that attack our foods and by the scrutiny of spice use throughout various culinary traditions. Although onions, oregano and allspice are more potent against microbes like bacteria, chiles are right up there, killing about 75% of the little pests. Interestingly, the very toxins that destroy the microbes can also act to induce mutations in cells and even miscarriages, which may explain the fact that many pregnant women lose their taste for spices in the early months of pregnancy. It would also explain why very young children don't tend to like spicy foods -- their bodily systems are still developing, and could still be susceptible to damage from these plants. (Understand that I'm not saying that this is what goes through the minds of children and pregnant women, just that it may be an evolutionary explanation for the behavior.) All of this is definitley in line with your point about the capsaicin in peppers having developed to deter predators -- that's exactly why the plants that give us our spices contain such toxins. It's just that we capitalize on their natural protection systems.

Tough question. My ex-fiance used to insist on scrambled eggs cooked to the consistency of little egg pellets, and so I used to cook my eggs the way I wanted, remove them and continue to cook his until they resembed egg-colored Grape Nuts. But eggs are not sushi grade tuna, and I think I would feel differently being asked to mistreat something like that. Maybe you could buy salmon instead?

I share John Whiting's concern. On the one hand, you could argue that "flawless flavour engineering" is simply the gastronomic equivalent of a CD-ROM.... Yet there is something sinister about this -- just as there is about the CD-ROM, but this seems far worse: the experience of food is divorced from any setting of care, conviviality, hungers satisfied. I wasn't planning to add anything to this thread since I know very little about haute cuisine, post-modern, renaissance or neo-classical, but I do know something about taste buds and taste research. And I have to comment on that aspect of this thread. This discovery is not that big a deal. Really. Researchers have been screwing about with the sweet and bitter taste pathways of rodents (and humans) for years. (They can't interfere with the salty and sour pathways, incidentally; those are too direct.) There are chemicals out there that neutralize sweet flavors as well. You can neutralize bitter flavors with salt, if you care to. You can turn your entire mouth numb and neutralize most flavors by chewing on a couple of cloves. The cyranin in artichokes makes other foods taste sweeter to many people. There's evidence that capsaicin may temporarily block our ability to taste sweet and bitter flavors. So what? To assume that such research is the beginning of the wholesale destruction of cuisine as we know it is the quantum leap. The fact that a couple of chemicals can interfere with the cellular process that results in bitter tastes has nothing to do with "redefining reality." Taste and flavor "reality" is much, much more than a couple of neural reactions in taste cells. Our perceptions of flavor rely much more heavily on our sense of smell, which involves about a thousand receptor cells programmed by about a thousand separate genes. If you're envisioning a world in which we simply take some pills and all the sudden oatmeal will taste like coq au vin, it's not going to happen. Here's what will happen with these newly discovered molecules: they'll be used in medicine to reduce the bitter taste and make them easier to taste. They might be used with some bitter vegetables to make them more palatable to children. And that's it. The thing is, most people who eat bitter foods like bitter flavors. I don't want my coffee free of bitterness -- that's part of its appeal. It's like drinking beer without hops -- I mean, what's the point? Quite frankly, the development of natural and artificial flavors was much more potentially destructive to the world of cuisine than this research. (It's not like "flavor engineering" is anything new; it's been going on for decades. That's what MSG is all about, as well.) And flavor research is minor compared with the research on textures. Lots of work (and chemicals) go into making low-fat products, for example, feel like the full-fat versions. But have artificial flavors and textures replaced real foods? Not for most of us. Everyone with moderately accurate taste perception knows the difference between artificial and real flavors, because real flavors are notoriously difficult to copy -- there are simply too many flavor molecules in anything with any complexity. And that fake sour cream might seem "creamy" for a minute, but it doesn't take long to notice the strange cloying quality it has. If all those attempts haven't ruined cuisine, nothing will. Certainly not a molecule that blocks bitter flavors.

After reading your piece (as reprinted in Best Food Writing 2002) "The Reviewer and the Recipe," I was struck that I view cookbooks in much the same way that you seem to; that is, I use them for inspiration rather than for the actual recipes. So I'm wondering if you have a suggestion for an Italian cookbook that someone (like me) with the same approach to cookbooks might enjoy. And more generally, aside from the books you mentioned in your "Annual Food Book Review" newsletter, what are some of your favorites (current or "classic")? And why? Thanks.

In On Food and Cooking, McGee mentions a theory put forth by Paul Rozin about why some people seek out the burn of chiles. He thinks it may be the same drive that makes some people seek out other activities that provide a sense of controlled danger, such as sky diving, bungee jumping and the like. In other words, you get the jolt of adrenaline that comes from facing danger, but the “real” danger is minimized. Perhaps the appeal of “dangerous” foods is the same? Any time once faces up to a fear, whether real or imagined, one feels, at least, a sense of pleasure merely from overcoming the fear. I think it’s certainly true that many people have a fascination for foods they find disgusting – I think that’s part of the appeal of Cook’s Tour for many people, and it’s probably why the theme of eating disgusting things (either knowingly or unknowingly) features so often in literature and movies (The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover comes to mind here; and even that stupid 70’s song Timothy). Is it the same combination of attraction and repulsion that makes some people stop to look at car accidents? Or watch that Fear Factor show? It seems perfectly plausible to me that there is some connection to our feelings of mortality in such fascination. One unrelated point: As for Jonathan’s suggestion that disgust is simply a stronger form of dislike, I have to disagree. Personally, I can think of a couple of foods that I dislike very strongly, and how I feel about eating them is entirely different from the way I feel when even contemplating eating foods that disgust me. For example, I really dislike raisins in any foods, sweet or savory, but if I’m served something with them, I can eat them. If it’s possible without insulting the cook, I try my hardest to eat around them, but it’s not really awful when I have to eat them. Stinky cheeses present a different example, because the smell of some of those literally makes me sick to my stomach. But even with them, contemplating eating them doesn’t make me sick or squeamish, it’s the smell (in fact, if I have a bad cold, I can eat them). But insects are another story. All those scenes of Tony Bourdain eating bugs on Cook’s Tour literally make my flesh crawl (I covered my eyes during those scenes, actually). I can’t even stand to watch my cats eat them. I think I’d be willing to try most things – duck tongues, brains, sea urchins – but not insects.