slkinsey

So true...

And in books, for even longer. So if I catch either of you repeating the notion, any time post-1998, that Italian cuisine is ingredient-driven, minimalist, etc., it's okay for me to label those statements as trite? If so, I think I have an appointment with the eG Forums search engine. Seriously, though, Reichl is not making a claim to originality any more than a critic explaining a basic point in any other field is making a claim to originality. She's explaining a tradition and she's explaining it in an accurate distillation. In other words she's doing her job well. I think there is a difference between pointing out elements of the Italian culinary aesthetic where it is appropriate and/or edifying to do so, and the way Reichl has done so in the review. For example, when Reichl wrote about the simple beet salad or the simple dish of rapini with sausage and garlic... these are situations in which it might make sense to weave in a little digression on the fact that these minimalistic preparations are part of the Italian culinary aesthetic (and presumably part of what makes Da Silvano noteworthy or good). This would have been edifying as to Italian cookery, informative as to the restaurant, organically woven into the narrative and not preachy. Instead, she starts off using this as an example of all the things Americans don't know about Italian cooking, contrasts it with the absurd strawman of an American chef cooking up "spaghetti with bananas and octopus with strawberry jam" as Italian food, and then fails to follow on upon this meme or relate it to Da Silvano later in her review. What she does do is make plenty sure the reader knows she's been to Italy. Not edifying, informative or organic. So, sure... if you catch me starting off a post about my experiences in a restaurant by saying that "the best Italian cooking starts with great raw materials and allows them to speak for themselves" when that sentence does not frame the main thrust of everything I am about to say about the restaurant, by all means point it out. "Assertive" is a worthy flavor adjective, whereas the description "tasted like pet food" is trite even by the standards of CitySearch reader comments. As for "assertive" versus "tastes like cat food". . . The former tells us very little about how the crostini taste, considering that one would expect chicken livers, capers, anchovies and onions to have a strong flavor. It is good assertive or bad assertive? All I get is that it was sharp. Or is that strong? How did the anchovy come through? Maybe she means that it was salty? Capers are pretty assertive, too. Or maybe the onion was raw, and its spicyness was what made the crostini "assertive"? We don't know. "Tastes like cat food," on the other hand, immediately conveys information that the crostini were not good, and associates that with the sense memory of anyone who has ever opened a can of cat food or dog food without a clothes pin on his nose. ETA: fixed quotes

Even if I were to concede that her characterizations of Italian cooking are not trite (which I don't), I would still point out that they were certainly not her own, they didn't necessarily demonstrate a deep understanding of Italian cooking other than the ability to read and repeat phrases and ideas that had been in circulation for years from other writers (Marcella Hazan? Paging Marcella Hazan?), nor do they present this information in any particularly edifying way, and they don't meaningfully contribute to an understanding of Da Silvano in 1998. And there are the other mainfest weaknesses in her review. I'm not going to stand up and say that I think Bruni's Da Silvano review is a great piece of restaurant criticism and food writing. But I also don't think that this Reichl review evidences a deeper understanding of Italian food.

Just to put some dates on all this: - The Ruth Reichl review ran in 1998 - Babbo opened in 1998 - The first episodes of Molto Mario aired on the Food Network in 1997 So I hardly think Reichl was writing in post-Molto Mario America, where everybody allegedly knows the basics about Italian cuisine. She was teaching, in a way appropriate to her time and place. Bruni, for his part, is teaching pretty much nothing. In addition, I think Reichl's teachings from 1998 are still not well understood outside of the gourmet community. Outside of a few dozen top restaurants, the Italian-restaurant cuisine that's popular in America today is just as bad as in 1998 -- probably worse when you consider the rise of Olive Garden etc. That's what Americans think Italian food is. So I think Reichl's statements are as true today as they were a decade ago. That doesn't make those characterizations any less trite. It's not like Mario Batali was the first one to say those things. People had been saying that sort of thing on Italian cooking shows for years and years. Meanwhile, at the time of Reichl's review, Felidia had been open since 1981; Po had been open since 1993; etc. More to the point, I don't think that any of the things she said were particularly edifying in the context of that review, nor do I think that the context of a restaurant review is necessarily the right place for that kind of "teaching."

Why do you think it's better? 1. It's less focused on the self-aggrandizement of the writer. 2. It's not preachy (which Reichl's is). 3. It's not full of trite, meaningless conventions about Italian food (which Reichl's is). 4. It has more to say about the actual quality of the cooking, what was good what was not good. 5. It lets the cat out of the bag with respect to how the restaurant has devolved into "Elaine's South" (which was no less true in 1998 than it is today). I would argue that this was the main thrust of the review. 6. Reichl's review, while ostensibly more narrowly food-focused, is full of weasel words (crostini toppings are "assertive"; broccoli rape is "satisfying"; pastas "beautifully cooked") and in many cases consists of simple recitations of dishes on offer ("anchovies are marinated and served, all by themselves"; "the grilled and roasted meats, or the vitello tonnato, or the orata (sea bream) al forno . . . have the straightforward goodness") without saying much more. 7. Reichl's review seems to be at least as much about telling her readers about how much she knows about Italy and how many times she has been there than it is about the restaurant ("most Americans do not understand the basic principles of Italian cooking"; "he best Italian cooking starts with great raw materials and allows them to speak for themselves"; "slow-cooked veal ragu that tasted just the way it would in Italy"; "reminds me very much of eating in a trattoria in Tuscany"; "if you really were in Italy, you would not find yourself quite so crowded or shouting quite so loudly"; "a restaurant in Italy would undoubtedly cost less money"; "a meal in a restaurant in Italy would probably end just as badly"; "it was exactly like the panna cotta I was served on my last visit to Florence"). None of these things particularly add to the reader's understanding of the restaurant, but they certainly do hammer home that Ruth's been to Italy. Meanwhile, it's not like Da Silvano is particularly noteworthy for its authenticity today, nor was it in 1998. 8. Bruni's review has more information as to whether the food is particularly good (Ruth's "assertive" crostini "tasted like pet food"; osso bucco was "overcooked and over-flabby, with nightmarishly liquefied marrow"; "entrees include roasted pork shoulder (flavorful enough to rise above a surfeit of salt), vitello tonnato (hugely flavorful despite leathery meat), a breaded veal chop (too oily)"; "I can't forget the bitterness of fava beans, served with pecorino, or the rubbery disgrace of the overcooked broccoli").

Yes.

The Reichl stuff all sounds trite and superficial to me, as though she feels that she has to "explain" Italian food for her readers. Saying things like, "the best Italian cooking starts with great raw materials and allows them to speak for themselves" is simply repeating something that we had already been hearing ad infinitum for years by 1998. I'd suggest that Bruni presupposes that his reader already know the basics of Italian cuisine by now, considering that it has been the most popular "ethnic" cusine in America for quite some time. Reichl clearly starts out with the goal of teaching her readership a thing or two about Italian cooking. The first words from her pen are: "There must be thousands of Italian restaurants in New York City. Why are so few of them good? I think it is because most Americans do not understand the basic principles of Italian cooking." She also feels the need to remind her readers that she's spend time in Italy, by writing things like ". . . orata (sea bream) al forno reminds me very much of eating in a trattoria in Tuscany" -- which is interesting, since I wouln't say that this is a dish that particularly evokes Toscana. And some of the stuff she says is demonstrably untrue, such as "if you really were in Italy, you would not find yourself quite so crowded or shouting quite so loudly." If she believes this, I can only assume she's never been in a busy trattoria in one of the larger Italian cities. And she uses hackneyed descriptions of Italian restaurant cooking such as "straightforward goodness that characterizes the rustic restaurants of Italy." Really? What does that mean? How is this different from the straightforward goodness that characterizes the rustic restaurants of France? Or Spain? Bruni, on the other hand, clearly does not feel the need to use this review to teach his readers about the Italian aesthetic and repeat such tired characterizations as "Italian cooking is about choosing a few pristine ingredients and treating them simply" that have been repeated a million times in post-Molto Mario America. And he offers tidbits that demonstrate a deep familarity of Italian foods without slapping the readers' faces with it in Reichl's self-aggrandizing manner. For example: "'Just like in Italy!' That's a fair tribute to the buffalo milk mozzarella, among the best in the city. It had a dead-on degree of the oxymoronic sweet sourness that this cheese is all about." He also puts it in the proper context of "Italian restaurants that are neither proudly hokey red-sauce joints nor stylized, self-conscious destinations" and explains how it has lost whatever Italian cred it once had over the thirty year process of devolving "from a trailblazing showcase for unadorned Tuscan cooking to something of a downtown Elaine's." Certainly there is nothing much on the menu there that requires much explanation, or that might benefit from Bruni explaining "how they do things over there in Italy."

Totally. I've been making this one at home, as noted above. I've also been thinking that a touch of citrus wouldn't go amiss. Kind of like a "Jack Sloe."

I would say that his mentions of regionality, such as contrasting the Northern aesthetic of agnolotti filled with chicken, veal, pork, preserved truffles and sauced with melted fontina versus the Southern aesthetic of cavatelli with chickpeas and bitter greens, demonstrate a respectable level of knowledge. I could say the same about his rapturous attention to the most simple dish on the menu (spaghetti al pomodoro) as well as to his discussion (more developed in the slide show) of how Conant takes the Nobu-inspired "black cod with sweet glaze" meme and executes it within the Italian culinary aesthetic. How else, in the context of this review, would you suggest that such knowledge be demonstrated? It's clearly not a restaurant that attempts to slavishly reproduce a microregional cuisine, so it's unclear to me how one would work any deep discussion of italianità into a 1,000 word NYT review.

Here's what I don't get: It seems that the coffee shop could clearly have anticipated that there would be certain requests that, for whatever reason, they did not want to serve. Espresso on ice is one of them. So is serving quadruple espresso with a cup of ice on the side. An easy way to remedy this, I would think, is to simply say that the store does not give out cups of ice and does not sell drinks that are not on the menu. Something like this ensues: Customer: "Gimme a quadruple iced espresso." Barista: "I'm sorry, we don't sell iced espresso. We're happy to make anything on our menu for you. Perhaps an iced Americano?" Customer: "Okay. How about you give me a quadruple espresso and a cup of ice on the side?" Barista: "I'm sorry, we don't give out cups of ice. Store policy. Listen, if you like iced espresso I bet you'll really love our iced Americano. I can make it with four shots for you. We think it's way better than iced espresso. Tell you what -- if you don't like it, it's on the house." Now, if the customer's response in line 2 is an expletive-laden diatribe, well then he's the one being a douchebag. All the barista has to do is stay calm and stick to his guns.

Most bars in NYC seem to use both Peychaud's and Angostura. I like it. That said, three dashes of each seems excessive in a two ounce drink. 2 Peychaud's and 1 Angostura is plenty, unless they are very short dashes. Audrey and I once tasted a bunch of Sazeracs made with different amounts of bitters, and any more than 2 + 1 seemed to make the drink all about the bitters. Seems like a reasonably good choice. Hennessy VS is bold enough for this drink. I've had, for example, Sazeracs made with Van Winkle Family Reserve Rye, which is a very smooth one. "Shaking"?!

Blanco tequila, I would assume? Indeed. Most likely Herradura Silver, if I know Phil.

Um... I think it's clear from the article that they are not talking about "folks with a little wine knowledge." I have a "little wine knowledge." Their "experts" were those who had taken "some form of [formal] wine training, such as a sommelier course." This is more than "a little wine knowledge." More to the point, the authors also make it clear that tasters of all stripes routinely enjoy more and give higher ratings to more expensive wines, when they are aware of the price (even when it is the same wine). One shouldn't discount the possibility that their "expert" tasters had been trained to detect the properties that are most associated with more expensive wines. Otherwise, the price/rating correlation might not be so strong, in consideration of the fact that we all acknowledge that there are some less expensive wines that are better than higher priced ones. Indeed, the authors conclude by asking: "These findings raise an interesting question: is the difference between the ratings of experts and non-experts due to an acquired taste? Or is it due to an innate ability, which is correlated with self-selection into wine training?"

Lupa could definitely expect to be packed by the time you would have been ready to leave.

I usually have mine strained and up in a coupe. But they're also pretty good old-old school, on a single gigantic rock. That's how they're doing them at Clover Club. . .

Jack, what was your thinking behind 2 hours? I would think that 15-20 minutes would have sufficed to bring the scallops up to 55C, and it's not clear that there is any culinary benefit to going longer than the minimum time for something like scallops.

Re the Improved [spirit] Cocktail: The whole point is that you can use pretty much any base spirit (and any bitters) that you like. I rather like doing it with Louis Royer's high proof cognac, but it's also delicious with genever or just about any American whiskey you might like to use. As noted, it's especially good with higher proof spirits that you can mellow on the ice.

6 gallons is a huge stockpot, but I think most people who like to make stock would want one. It's also a great sized vessel if you have a slip-on circulating heater for sous-vide.

Florida or Floridita?

Well, $47 seems to be the going price in NYC. In consideration of the fact that $25 is the going rate for a fifth (even in the fanciest NYC liquor stores), and that $30 seems to be the breaking point for most people at which they will start thinking about seeking out a less expensive alternative, something in the range between $25 and $30 would seem like the reasonable price point for a product that the makers hope will be used in relatively large amounts as a primary spirit and not doled out in half-ounces here and there as a precious modifier. In the UK example I provided above, a fifth of Plymouth Sloe was selling at around 6% more than a fifth of Plymouth Gin. I've seen UK prices for Plymouth Sloe that are as much as 24% higher than Plymouth Gin. Similar pricing structures would put US Plymouth Sloe at somewhere between $26.50 and $31.00 -- either one of which would be acceptable and a vast improvement over $35.00 to $47.00. Clearly, however, something fishy is going on with the pricing in the NYC market, which appears to be substantially higher than anywhere else.

Dean Beck of the Cornell Hotel School, long retired, used to walk the halls every day and had an announced open door policy. Robert Beck was a dean, not a president. That was his job. Hanging out and chatting with students is not traditionally the job of a president, whose job is fundraising, overall direction, etc.

Actually cooking pasta sous vide would be a bad idea, because the pasta will continue to absorb water so long as there is water in the bag.

That's a mistake. The blended product is only 35% apple brandy (compared to 100% for the bonded product).

Apropos to this discussion, Time Out has Mystery Science Eater, in which "TONY examines the original mass-market uses of some of molecular gastronomy’s latest tricks." For example: Sodium alginate or pectin and calcium Now: spherification Then: pimentos for stuffed olives Methylcellulose Now: foams, hot foams Then: pie filling, sexual lubricants, laxitives Transglutaminase Now: meat noodles, blocks of fish, frankensteak Then: crab sticks, chicken nuggets Vacuums Now: fanch sous-vide applications such as rare short ribs, spring eggs, vacuum-infusions, etc. Then: enhanced shipping, preservation and processing properties Peristaltic pumps Now: Johnny Iuzzini's rhubarb noodles Then: open heart surgery, moving harmful industrial liquids

This has been done. I've done it, in fact. Just roll the rough very thin; put down a bit of filling (I like a mixture of ritotta and some kind of bitter green) as a "base"; leave an indentation in the filling to hold the yolk; carefully put a whole, unbroken yolk into the intentation; cover with another piece of dough and carefully seal; leave plenty of dough around the outside when you cut out the shape (you don't want to eat more than one egg yolk-filled ravolo anyway); cook it in not-quite-simmering water for 4 minutes; plate immediately, sauce with brown butter and shaved truffles if you have 'em. The dough will be cooked, and the yolk will run when you cut into the center of the raviolo.