JAZ

Her essay (I think it's in More Home Cooking) on bad dinner parties is one of the best pieces of writing about food that I've ever read. As is her essay about her first kitchen.

Although I'm not a professional chef or cook, I have decent if not amazing kitchen skills. I teach avocational cooking classes and am adept in the kitchen. But even though I know better and swear virtually every day that I'm going to correct it, I have one really bad habit that I just can't shake. Because I worked for years in cookware stores, I have a whole rack of knives from which to choose when I cook. So, what I do is this: I use a knife, set it by the sink to wash, and then get another knife for the next task. Somehow, when I'm cleaning the kitchen, the dirty knives are always left at the end. Instead of just washing and drying them -- which would take virtually no time -- I leave them, thinking I'll do them in the morning. Of course I don't, and then when I'm prepping the next meal, I just keep picking up clean knives and adding them to the dirty pile. When I'm down to the 9-inch bread knife and a paring knife, I break down and wash the pile. Then I start over. Yes, I know better. Yes, I know it's bad for the knives, and easy to remedy. And yet. It's my shameful secret, but I keep doing it. Now, you might not have this particular bad habit, but I'll bet everyone's got one. So, confess -- what's yours?

Ah! That makes sense. I guess 12 quarts of soup would be a lot for anyone to store, and it would solve the problem of people feeling as if they had to take a soup they knew they wouldn't or couldn't eat. It's a brilliant idea.

I'm confused. Wasn't the point to make one soup and leave with six different ones, or twelve, or however many were made? Why didn't everyone just get one of each? (Or, given allergies and dislikes, do some swapping.)

Talking Heads, Life During Wartime ("This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around. This ain't no mudd club, or CBGB, I ain't got time for that now.") Be that as it may, I agree with Steven -- I did know both of the referent songs, and I still don't understand why Sifton was quoting them. All I can think of was that he wanted to seem cool and hip, and as usual, when a writer has to reach to sound cool, he doesn't.

Bumping this up because I'm planning on experimenting with this again. I found a different recipe online here, which doubles the amount of sugar in the recipe quoted above and increases the corn syrup as well. The other major difference is adding some baking soda at the end with the peanut butter, which from what I know about candy would seem to make for a flakier and lighter texture. I'd like that, but I don't want them sweeter than my first batch. My question is, if I cut back on the sugar, will that change the way the baking soda acts?

I like six. More than that and you have to contrive ways that everyone can talk to everyone else. With six, you can (barely) all follow one conversation, or you can split up into two or three smaller ones. I like bigger groups, but find that sit-down dinners aren't the best way to handle them.

I think it definitely depends on how experienced and determined the crab picker is. I know my brother can get every last shred of meat from a Dungeness, and I'm sure his yield is 10% higher than mine. That being said, I think 25% is a good average for Dungeness.

I'm not suggesting that anyone should get rid of cookware or kitchen tools they haven't used recently, unless one is moving or has very limited space. Now that I rediscovered those two Pyrex items, for instance, I might well start using them again. I just find it curious that something I used so often for so long became completely dormant in the kitchen.

I recently went through my kitchen (details here, if you're interested) and got rid of a lot of stuff I realized I didn't use. As an aside, I worked for cookware stores for 10 years, so I had a lot of stuff to go through. So, you'd think I wouldn't have much stuff in my kitchen that I don't use. And yet, yesterday, I was looking for a dish I could use to cool some chicken thigh-leg quarters. I thought of my Pyrex pie plate, which I always used to use for this kind of thing. I got it out of the cupboard and realized that it wasn't big enough, but I also realized that I hadn't used it since I'd moved. It was dusty in that way that an unused pan gets. Next to it was an equally dusty Pyrex casserole dish -- you know, the 8x4 or whatever it is, that fits into the basket thingie. I don't know where the basket holder went, but I do know that that baking dish used to be a workhorse for me. I used it for everything. Now? I can't even remember if I've used it since I moved. Why did I stop? I have no idea -- I have more baking dishes now than I did when I bought those two pieces, and maybe that's it. But it seems strange to me that within a few years, I simply stopped using cookware that used to be a regular part of my batterie. Another example: A long, long time ago, I posted about a new knife that I'd fallen in love with. It's not a bad knife, but now about the only time I use it is if my other chef's knives are packed (for class) or dirty. I don't know why I stopped using it, but it certainly no longer holds the appeal it once did. Do I just have too much cookware? Does anyone else stop using things that they once loved, or at least relied on?

I've made a few recipes that use egg whites -- savory, with no sugar at all. I always thought the purpose of the egg whites was to make the coating adhere better. In my recipe, the sugar turns into a syrup and accomplishes the same thing (as well as making them sweet, obviously), so I've never considered adding egg white to the mix. In my experience, recipes that just use oil or butter (no sugar, no egg white) always seem to result in the spices falling to the bottom of the bowl, leaving the nuts underseasoned.

I got two of these (one large, one small) as a Valentine's Day gift a few years ago. All I can say is that they're elegant to look at and sensuous to hold. They also each happen to be the perfect size for several tasks I do frequently -- the large one may as well have been designed for scooping the flesh out of half an avocado, for instance. Considering how often one uses a spoon in the kitchen, why not have something really nice? Would you pay an extra $7 for the perfect knife, the perfect spatula, the perfect cocktail shaker? Why not pay an extra $7 for the perfect spoon?

I realized tonight that I although I may fall back on the same ingredient combinations, I do use them differently. Tonight, for instance, I made pasta with a sort of "deconstructed" pesto sauce -- basil chiffonade, toasted pine nuts, parm, and garlic infused cream. So I think you're right.

Over here, we're talking about all the cookbooks we have that we don't use. But in this topic, I want to talk about the books that we not only use but that were crucial to our development as the cooks we are today. I started thinking about this a while back when I was looking over a friend's cookbook collection. We both have a lot of books, but oddly, very few in common. Except for The Frog/Commissary Cookbook, which I noticed for two reasons: first, because his copy was just as stained, creased and warped as mine was, and second, because I thought I was the only person outside of Philadelphia (where the Frog and Commissary restaurants were located) who owned it. It turned out that we were both given the book at a time in our cooking lives when it spoke to us. I used it often back when I got it -- not only for the formal recipes, but for the lists of simple ideas in many of sections (25 quick hors d'oeuvres and appetizers, for instance) that inspired me to experiment in a way I hadn't before. It wasn't the first cookbook I owned, nor was it the "best" -- and honestly, I rarely actually cook from it these days -- but it was a big influence. When I thought more about it, I realized that at various points in my life, there were a handful of books that for whatever reasons were enormously influential in the way I learned to cook. Some were from very early on, but others came later. So, here's my annotated list (in chronological order): 1. Cooking with Spices and Herbs (Sunset Books) One of the first cookbooks I owned, this gave me a grounding in, well, spices and herbs. To this day, there are still a few recipes I go back to -- lamb curry, garlic creamed spinach, summer slaw and clove butter cookies. 2. Cook Book of Breads (also from Sunset Books) How I learned to bake breads of all kinds: yeasted, quick breads, biscuits, rolls. You name it, I made it. I've gotten more sophisticated bread books over the years, but this was my start. 3. Mastering the Art of French Cooking, vol. 1 and 2 My first "serious" cookbooks, from which I picked up technique as well as recipes. Still frequently consulted. 4. The Frog/Commissary Cookbook See above. 5. Real Beer and Good Eats by Bruce Aidells and Denis Kelly. Given to me when I was living with a homebrewer. Taught me a lot about beer, and provided great recipes. Come to think of it, I still consult this one a lot, too. Mostly rustic food, it taught me a lot about balancing acid and fat, and bold but not overdone flavor combinations. 6. Mexico One Plate at a Time by Rick Bayless I've always liked Mexican food, but never approached it systematically until very recently. This is the first book in years that I've actually cooked recipes from as written. Finally: Cocktail: A Drinks Bible for the 21st Century by Paul Harrington Yes, I know I said cookbooks, but this changed my way of thinking about cocktails at least as much as any of the others changed my cooking life. Maybe it didn't make me the cook I am, but it made me the cocktail enthusiast that I am. So, there are mine. What are yours? No more than ten books allowed. Five would be preferable, but obviously I couldn't make it, so you shouldn't have to either.

My market had short ribs on sale, so I bought some today, hoping against hope that I can try to recreate a short rib soup I had recently at a restaurant here in Atlanta. It was simple -- an incredibly dark beefy broth with shreds of short ribs and caramelized onions, topped with a bit of brie on a crouton. But it was the broth that was amazing (well, along with the melt-in-your mouth rib meat). I'll see what I can do -- otherwise, I'll be living at the restaurant this winter, eating that soup.

At quick glance, my guess is 10-20 percent (and that's after I gave a box or two away). My excuses, lame or not, are much the same as Steven's (review copies, inspiration) with the addition of working in a cookware store for 10+ years with discounts and signings. How could I not buy a copy of Jacques Pepin's Fast Food My Way when I could get it autographed? How could I resist a copy of Rick Tramanto's Amuse Bouche when it was only $5?

Wusthof is very good with returns from the retailers it sells to, and because of that, customer-service-oriented retailers like W-S or Sur La Table will generally replace anything that's defective, regardless of how old it is.

Do you always use the same brand of chocolate? If so, maybe you could just say, "Made with 100% Callebaut (or whatever brand) chocolate." Or print up a little card explaining about chocolate quality and artificial coatings. You don't have to say that the other vendor uses the imitation stuff; you're just explaining that high quality costs.

I use mustard as well (dry, usually, but dijon style if I don't have dry), but have also used a pinch of cayenne instead when I didn't have mustard. You could try that.

In contrast, I like a very soft consistency with lots of sauce. When it congeals into a solid mass, I'm not happy. I think that's why leftover macaroni and cheese is never very satisfactory for me; it always seems to solidify after refrigeration and never regains its original creaminess.

Whether I'm formally developing new recipes or just playing around in the kitchen, I tend to fall back on a few combinations of ingredients or flavors. Some are traditional combinations from ethnic or regional cuisines, but others are just duos or trios that I've come upon and keep returning to. Here, for instance, on the "Reputation Maker" topic, I wrote about a cookie I make with browned butter, cardamom and cinnamon. Since coming up with the cookie recipe, I've adapted the flavor combination to both a cake and caramels. On the savory side, I use roasted red peppers, caramelized onions and aged gouda cheese in a soup, as a pizza topping, in twice-baked potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. Also as a topping for crostini, which is the recipe I started with. I'm in good company here. Tom Colicchio's Think Like a Chef contains a chapter on "Trilogies" -- his tried and true combinations. Yet I wonder if my use of such combinations borders on overuse. Maybe my guests think my trios are as trite and boring as some people think cilantro, chiles and lime are. Does anyone else fall back on a few combinations? If you do, what are they? And how do you know if your tried and true ingredients have put you in a rut, or whether they're worth returning to?

I first learned that trick with the potatoes from Linda Carucci, former dean at California Culinary Academy. It works with any waxy potatoes you're roasting. Let them go about 20 minutes longer than you think you should and the insides turn creamy -- almost as if they're mashed. Onions are another food that benefit from longer cooking than most recipes call for. I always see recipes for "caramelized" onions that call for cooking until they're light amber (the given times vary from 30 to 45 minutes) but I find that letting them go until they're a darker brown (anywhere from an hour to two, depending on the amount) results in a much deeper flavor and a texture that's practically melting.

I've never learned to truss or tie correctly, which is probably one reason I avoid it whenever possible. I tend to spatchcock chickens, which obviates the need for (or possibility of) trussing. Years ago, I decided to make a boned stuffed leg of lamb for Easter dinner, and not knowing anything about the anatomy of the leg or the technique of tying, I used at least 724 feet of twine to subdue the thing. Not my proudest moment.

Over here, people are discussing the relative merits of French toast, waffles and pancakes. Me? I'm just not a fan of any of them. In many cuisines, savory food for breakfast is pretty common. Americans might be alone in their predilection for sweet foods at breakfast. Sweet cereals, pastries, pancakes and all the rest seem uniquely American, or am I wrong? I prefer savory breakfast foods. Give me eggs, pork products, toast, potatoes. I sometimes like a touch of sweetness -- jam on my toast, for instance, if I have bacon or cheese and eggs -- but overall, I'll skip the sweets. I don't think I've ever ordered pancakes or waffles at a restaurant, for instance. I'm an omelet kind of person, or leftover pizza. (I once ordered a patty melt at 9am.) So, what do you prefer for your breakfast? Sweets? Savory foods? Both? Does it depend on when you're eating, or who's cooking?

One thing to remember is that college students who get care packages can trade heavily with the contents, so even if Diana doesn't have a big sweet tooth, she might like receiving sweets. Cookies are college currency. If she likes spicy, these spicy walnuts are a good snack. They ship well and keep a long time too.