slkinsey

From this post in the making Limoncello thread: I have always found zest infusions of the 'cello variety (both commercial and homemade) fun and nice, but ultimately very one dimensional compared to something like Cointreau. I've mixed a few drinks with high quality commercial arancello, and they all turned out no better than I could have done with cheap triple sec.

Why should we assume the servers at Per Se will be taking a pay cut at all? Or, if they are, that it will be more than one or two percent? Besides, it has been a fairly standard practice for some time in good American restaurants to add a set service charge for parties of 6 or more.

Interesting. "Chief" is a title in the Navy that accompanies the highest noncommissioned officer ranks (e.g., "Chief Petty Officer," "Senior Chief Petty Officer," etc.), and it is common for people with this rank to be called simply "Chief." For this reason, "Chief" is often used by people who have been in the Navy or Coast Guard as an informal general-purpose honorific (sort of like a way of saying "sir" without the "you're my superior officer" vibe). My Grandfather, a career Navy officer and 1918 graduate of Annapolis, had colleagues who continued to call him "boss" informally, even after they had advanced to a higher rank than his. Not sure what this meandering contributes to the dialogue, but mention it anyway.

Yes! As much as I have enjoyed all the Ti Punches, Rum Swizzles and Gin Fizzes of the summer, I am looking forward to heavier, darker liquors when the weather cools down. Most likely I'll be picking up my Laird's 100 proof Bonded Applejack obsession at that time. My main success with this spirit has been with an old fashioned cocktail of nothing more than 2 ounces Laird's bonded, 1 teaspoon rich demerara syrup and two dashes of Fee's aromatic bitters, stirred, strained and garnished with a fat twist. But I really want to experiment with this and find some more good drinks with Laird's bonded. Muddling in some cranberry might be a cool direction to explore. I tried making a cranberry champagne cocktail to start my over the top Thanksgiving dinner last year (Cava, cranberry puree and a sugar cube soaked in orange bitters). It turned out okay, but I had some trouble with the cranberry puree I made being a little to cohesive due to the pectin and therefore not diffusing into the drink as well as I might have liked. Looked like this:

Sounds like you're talking about Bonefish Grill. Chain? Kind of like a fish version of Outback Steakhouse? These guys?

I guess I was thinking of the size/shape of the burger rather than the cooking style. The burgers ar Shake Shack and the burger joint at Le Parker Meridien have more or less the same diameter and thickness. The burger joint is able to achieve a char with a medium rare inside most likely because heat transfer by radiation (grilling or broiling) is much less efficient than by conduction (frying). On the other hand, I find that grilled burgers tend to have more of a "burnt" quality to the char rather than that "maillardized beef drippings" flavor the best fried burgers have. This likely contributes to the overall beefier flavor of the burgers at Shake Shack, although I think Shake Shack is probably also using better beef, a better mix of beef cuts and a fresher grind. I'm not sure there is any "official" name. I don't recall seeing any signage to that effect there (although I may not be remembering correctly), and Le Parker Meridien's web site doesn't give it a name either -- although they do name the other associated restaurants (Seppi's and Norma's).

This is a discussion for another thread, but the sad fact is that 95% of bartenders couldn't make you a Negroni if you pointed a gun at their heads. Because 95% of bartenders are there to serve beer, shots and the occasional highball.

Although no more so than "guv'nor" I suppose.

"Oi! Squire!" is likely to get the ass-kicking kind of attention in any number of bars on this side of the pond.

This is actually an interesting question. Back in the day, the bartender or tavern owner was likely to be one of the most respected men in town. Top bartenders like Jerry Thomas were celebrities. Then Prohibition happened; then the highball era began post-Prohidition; then youth rebellion in the 1960s caused several generations of young people to reject cocktails in the 1960s and 70s, and with the rise of drug culture alcohol came to be valued more for its intoxicating qualities than its gustatory gualities; etc. By the end of that cycle, the title "bartender" came to be associated with a relatively untalented old guy who pushed cheap beer and shots of watered down booze across a bar. The overall image of a bartender is still more or less the same, except that it now also includes relatively untalented but copiously endowed and scantily clad young women and men pushing expensive beer, overpriced "superpremium" vodka and the occasional sugary concoction. A long fall from the Jerry Thomas days. So I can understand why a true craftsman (craftsperson?) in the cocktails area wouldn't want to be associated with the modern day image of "bartender." And, of course, there is a huge difference between the people shaking drinks at bars like Pegu Club, Milk & Honey and Flatiron Lounge and the people pouring beer and shots at the local bar or, worse yet, serving premix Margaritas at the local Bennigan's. On the other hand, I can also understand how someone with a real appreciation for cocktail history and an understanding of the proud provenance of "bartender" (which includes just about everyone at the aforementioned establishments) might prefer to stick with the old title. Another interesting question is what to call people like Dale DeGroff, Audrey Saunders, Julie Reiner, Dave Wondrich, Sasha Petraske, et al. -- people who design cocktails and cocktail lists, but who don't tend to do so much shaking behind the bar any more? If the men and women shaking drinks every day are like the "line cooks" and "sous chefs" of the cocktail world, Julie, Sasha and company are like "executive chefs." I suppose the best comparison to the culinary world might be with a sushi bar like Sushi Yasuda, where Yasuda-san is the head guy who determines the style and oversees the other sushi chefs, but the various sushi chefs at Sushi Yasuda interact directly with the customers and may make some adjustments/creations tailored to a specific customer or based on a request. For me, I'm not fond of "bar chef." I like "bartender" and sometimes "mixologist."

I've been finding lately that I prefer thin. I do like a Double Shack Burger from time to time, but am perhaps more likely to want two single shack burgers as I think the single really nails the ratio of burger to condiments to bun. The main "competition" for this style of burger is the burger joint at Le Parker Meridien (it actually doesn't have a formal name of which I am aware, but is informally known as "the burger joint"). White Mana is really an entirely different style.

Yea, I don't understand the fries situation there. Making excellent fries isn't exactly rocket science. And indeed, when Shake Shack ran out of their usual crinkle fries at one point, I seem to recall several people here declaring that they had finally solved the fries issue -- only to find out later that it was merely an emergency replacement and they were going back to the old fries. As for the burgers, whether or not one likes them I suppose will depend on individual burger preferences. People who prefer thick steakhouse-style burgers are not likely to enjoy Shake Shack's style. Likewise, those who insist on rare-in-the-middle burgers may not like Shake Shack's style either, as their style emphasizes the crust and it's impossible to have both a good crust and a rare middle on a burger this thin. Personally, I've been finding thick steakhouse burgers disappointing (except Peter Luger) and find Shake Shack's to be the beefiest game in down in terms of flavor. Buit I can see how someone with different priorities would go a different way.

The problem with this kind of thing, in my mind, is when this rating is reviewed against the backdrop of other ratings he has made. I don't get the impression that Perry St. is a clear step up from lower-star-rated The Modern, nor do I get the impression that Perry St. isn't a clear step down from same-star-rated ADNY.

WRT pressed-herb pasta: The best thing to do, IMO, is to keep it whole as lasagne and serve it with a little butter and cheese. That way tou get the full visual and flavor impact of the herb. Lasagne aren't only for baked dishes. Depending on the herb, I'd recommend blanching/shocking it before incorporating it into the pasta this way. Otherwise something like sage is likely to be unpleasantly hard and/or fuzzy compared to the tender pasta.

Well, right. This I know, of course. But even with custom made bags I have found that it often seems like it would be possible to do a second seal much closer to the food. (My illustrations exaggerate for effect.)

Thinking about home sous vide cooking with a Tillia III Foodsaver "professional" model. . . has anyone thought about double sealing the bags to prevent some of the ballooning? A normally sealed Foodsaver bag looks something like this: I was thinking that, once the bag is sealed and provided that there is no liquid in the large, flat empty part of the bag (freezing the liquids should take care of that), you could place the flat part of the sealed bag on the Foodsaver sealing strip and manually seal the bag again much closer to the food. Then the extra part of the bag could just be cut away (and potentially used for something else). It would look something like this: That would presumably cut way down on ballooning, and also keep any exuded juices, melted oils, etc. confined to the area with the food rather than potentially migrating to the (inflated) flat part of the bag.

Or, there's option C: Get the line cook to give that one dish his full attention, making sure he knows that it's for an important customer. The point I'm making is that top chef does not equal top cook, and that some of the things chefs are doing to create a VIP experience (such as personally cooking a dish) may actually result in lower quality rather than higher. There is some question, however, as to how much better the experience can be made. Let's assume that the experience is bumped up for an important customer, including but not limited to a critic. How much better do we think it can be made? Five percent? Ten percent? A whole star rating better? So much better that the critic's opinions will be meaningless with respect to the "regular customer's" experience? Assuming that the critic is recognized (and it's either silly or pretentious to think that they aren't recognized 90% of the time), how much better do you think the restaurant will make the experience for a critic who has a relationship with the chef as part of his professional activities compared to a critic who has no relationship with the chef? Will it be better at all? Could it be?

I've always expressed a lot of interest in the food, asked questions, shared my thoughts on wine with the sommelier but let him help me choose, etc. This is interesting, because I've also noticed that there are certain restaurants where I have always had what seems to be a better experience than most people who post about it. I never payed much attention to this, nor thought that the two might be related, because I wasn't expressing my enthusiasm deliberately to get a better experience. But after having read Steven's book, it's something that's been in the back of my mind. A few weeks ago I visited a very good NYC restaurant with a few friends and decided to pay attention to what was going on at the other tables. We had the tasting menu with wine pairing, but asked the chef to work in an extra foie gras dish from the appetizer meny. Throughout the meal, we talked with the waiter about the provenance of various food items, correctly identified which dishes had been cooked sous vide and talked a little about that, asked about the wines and commented on the ones we thought were particularly good, etc. . . more or less what we always do when we're out at a restaurant of this caliber. It also just so happens that we got a number of extras compared to another table doing the tasting menu. We got a few more amuses they didn't get, our glasses were topped off when it was a wine we really liked, we were comped the wine that was paired with the extra foie gras course, etc. Now, these people don't know me from Adam, and yet they were pleased that we were so interested in their cooking and so excited about their food that they were happy to give us some special treatment -- which is just what I would do in their position. Here's the thing. . . the meat cook very likely would have cooked the duck breast better than Moran. Who do you want cooking your duck breast: The meat cook at Daniel who has been cooking a zillion orders of the duck breast dish to chef Boulud's exacting specifications for years? Or Daniel Boulud himself, who has probably not prepared that duck breast dish himself in months, and who has cooked it several thousand times less than his meat cook? I'm afraid I utterly disagree with this. Critics have to decide who it is they're serving: the dining public or the dining industry. Perhaps it does require insider relationships in order comment 'meaningfully' for insiders; e.g. in the trade press. On the other hand, writing for a public outside the industry requires none of these relationships in that for a review to be useful, the experience of the critic should echo the experience of the diner, and not V.I.P. There are two issues here. Issue number one is the question of who the restaurants are cooking for? Are they cooking for the "general public" or are all high-end restaurants fundamentally cooking for regulars? I would argue that they are cooking for the latter, so why should a restaurant critic go into a restaurant and try to experience the lowest level of the experience -- that of a complete unknown? A related question is whether it is even possible for a restaurant critic to experience the "common man's meal" at a restaurant. You don't think Bruni is getting VIP treatment every time he sits down at a restaurant table? Really, I'm not sure that the critic's job is to serve any public at all. The job is to experience the thing-to-be-reviwed and say what you think about it. Issue number two is the oft-mentioned thought that restaurant critics' opinions will somehow be unduly influenced by their relationships with people in the industry. . . like writers and critics in all other fields are immune. Readers understand that these things happen no matter what. You think readers of the NY Times restaurant reviews weren't aware of Amanda Hesser's fondness for Jean-Georges? It's been known for years in the opera community that a certain NYT reviewer is enamored of Renee Fleming and that as far as he is concerned she can do no wrong. We all read his reviews of Ms. Fleming with this in mind. Or maybe there is an art critic who just doesn't like photorealism, etc. Everyone has biases, influences and relationships. Could you imagine an art critic who doesn't know any artists? Or a sports reporter who doesn't hang around with any athletes?

A good place to start is Ada Boni's "Italian Regional Cooking," if you can find it (it's out of print).

Cool idea. I'd never thought of soaking the cucumber slices. I've been doing Hendrick's Martinis with a single paper thin cucumber slice (gotta use the mandolin for something, right?) as a garnish for a while, usually with a little dish of cucumber slices on the side sprinkled with sea salt -- an idea I admit to ripping off wholesale from the bar at the restaurant Town. But I think your way of doing it must bring a lot more flavor to the game. Does it also make the cucumber slices more translucent?

This is very good (I was inspired to make one with Tanqueray, Vya and Campari) but are you sure we can still call it a Negroni? Once we start going 4:2:1, it seems like we're getting very far away from the 1:1:1 original -- perhaps to the extent that it's a different cocktail altogether, despite being made with the same ingredients. Gary Regan apparently came to that conclusion with his 4:1:1 Negroni variant, which he calls a Valentino in his Joy of Mixology book. Your formula strikes me as closer to a tweaked Valentino than a tweaked Negroni.

WHT's right on the money about putting them in the refrigerator, although I should add that I was puzzled by his first post as well. Once upon a time, "reefer time" had an entirely different meaning for me.

I had a similar dish at Blue Hill not long ago, minus the braised shoulder and sitting atop corn, black trumped mushrooms and chanterelles. The lamb was cooked sous vide, and consisted of one Frenched lamb chop and what looked like several pieces of lamb loin. We concluded that a few of the pieces of lamb must have been from the shank, however, as the texture and color was entirely different from the texture of the other loin pieces. This would fit with the general idea (more fully expanded in your dish) of giving the diner a taste of different parts of the lamb. Given the cooking technique, which should produce very uniform results, given the provenance of the source material, and given the chefs' reputations for excellence and detail, I can't imagine that a few pieces of "too chewy tenderloin" are making their way onto plates by mistake. Sounds like you had a great meal!

A good use of Navan, although a long drink rather than a short one, that I tasted just last night at Pegu Club is the Silver Lining. It's more or less a Silver Fizz made with rye instead of gin, and including a touch of vanilla liqueur (Navan, in this case).

Having had Joe's curries fresh out of the mortar, I can tell you that it does make a huge difference -- especially for green curry. As much as I love Sripraphai, the green curry I had at Joe's beats Sri's by a mile. I doubt there are any Thai restaurants in America (and few in Thailand of any size) making their curry pastes fresh to order, or even fresh daily. It's simply too time-consuming.