bourdain

SYSCO!! Dude!

Don't worry Spencer--there has NEVER, EVER been anything even resembling a script on the show-. And the last-minute improvised skitty business with Detective Powers (who was nice enough to play along)? The whole "I've got a Food Network Show--Kitchen Confidential? You--know? Don't Eat Fish On Monday?" was intended to be stomach churningly, cringingly humiliating. Glad at least, that it had the intended effect. It will probably say "That Asshole Who Told Us Not to Eat Fish on Monday" on my gravestone- something I am all too painfully aware of.. Now--if you thought the show just, well--sucked--that's another matter. Mea culpa...It was a LOT of fun to shoot--sorry not so much fun to watch apparently...There's not so much screwing around in most of them. It's just so EQUALLY false when you do all those necessary-to-the-form "transition" scenes--those little bits where the host has to say "..and now I'm off to a real taste of New Orleans..blah blah blah.." Or "boy! I'm STILL hungry.." to lead into the next scene--which was probably filmed out of sequence anyway. Or even the straight "approach"--the "walk-in" where our humble guide introduces the audience to the next restaurant/eatery/person with the usual answers to "Where are we? Why are we here? What do we expect to find?" I find those scenes on my own and other shows grueling to watch--and even more grueling to shoot. That I didn't "get" New Orleans in 20 minutes of footage is a given. You could spend the rest of your life shooting all the great places down there that locals will rightly tell you you "have to" go to in order to represent the town well.. Some locations--and some people we meet on the road-seem to lend themselves to having a really good time with and messing around. Next week in Salvador--was NOT an example--it's a pretty straight (though cashasa-soaked)) show. Ditto a coming BBQ overview, Chiang Mai, Singapore, Hanoi...But The first Australia show? Given that we were shooting on the exact same hallowed ground they shot Road Warrior? With easy access to junker cars and dogs with neckerchiefs? There is NO WAY we ain't fuckin' around with that! Always wanted to shoot a high speed car chase. And there are just some times when we're shooting--as on this incredibly posh island in Halong Bay recently--where the commies had really rolled out the red carpet to promote the "opening up"--that Chris and Lydia and I just looked at each other, the slinky dancers, traditionally garbed servants, identical sets of twins as attendents, martial artists and menacing looking guys in suits with shades--and thought: "A cheesy Maurice Binder title sequence!" Got to !! I'm not going to make a case for whether you should like the show or not. I will say only that unlike the happy shows, if I don't like what I'm eating? I'll tell you it sucks. If I'm having a bad time? The audience will know it. If I'm enjoying myself--and having a good time? Same. I'm not an expert. I'm not a critic. I'm not even a guide. I'm an enthusiast. By the way--they cut the porno soundtrack and a Ron Jeremy reference on the TV set during the flop hotel scene: "Pizza delivery Ma'am" "But I don't have any money to pay you" (heavily reverbed music begins) But that Verti Marte sandwich WAS fucking great.

Richard Thomas, Cheesemaker and Consultant 0411 551 951 e-mail cheese@netspace.net.au

At Les Halles, we halve the steak--cutting along both sides of the center (indigestible) seam, then we butterfly the two halves and give each a light whack or two with a meat mallet. The raggedy bits at the end we trim off and use for onglet salad. Hanger (it IS "er", from "hanging tender"--despite Les Halles' misspelling) is best grilled (a l'echalotte for instance) or pan seared rare to medium rare--it gets tough beyond that. It does take marinade well--including tandoori-esque yogurt marinades, soy-based, or vinegar based but true onglet fans love that slightly kidneyish flavor--and the somewhat chewy, ropy texture of unadulterated. There are those who adore it when used for tartare. I think they're out of their minds.

I love what Gabrielle Hamilton is doing at PRUNE. Very fine cook, smart, cool menu (including an exact reproduction of Fergus Henderson's bone marrow app--my single favorite dish in the world) substantial flavor, human-size portions, great crew . It's always a pleasure to go there. And Gabrielle can indeed write--and well. ( Note to editors/publishers) Every day she DOESN'T write the chick version of Kitchen Confidential she's missing out on a nice-sized score. One of my favorite chefs in NYC.

Chanko-nabe!! Of course.

Which stores keep stashes of bootleg and unpasteurized stuff for the serious cheese-eater? THAT'S the benchmark.

My one diner at Blue Smoke was absolutely the most wretched, pretentious, utterlly bogus restaurant meal- of the year-the whole barbeque experience dumbed down and tarted up at the same time. A noisy, ugly room, (fine if the food is good),the ambiance of a yuppie roller arena, presentations that couldn't decide if they wanted to be just ugly but virtuous (as at the very fine Arthur Bryants--and thousands of other 'real' bbq joints for instance) or prettied up for the city slicker rubes. The bbq mussels define the word "pointless": leathery, smoked rubber butt plugs. The "pulled" pork was like cat food, oversauced, chopped, seemingly 'pulled' from nowhere but a can of Fancy Feast. The brisket was shamefully, disgracefully dry, no "pink ring", no nothing, redolent only of wolverine jerky. Instead of just slopping some really good bbq on your plate with a few proud slices of free white bread, no rocket science here, they seem to prod you into a Disneyfied version of pan-Southern, (corn bread) an atrocious rebuke to America's inargably home-grown regional cuisine. On a recent exploration of KC, Texas and NC bbq, I cosntantly inquired of various demigods of the BBQ circuit if they'd eaten at Blue Smoke--and what did they think? Many had been honored guests in the early days of the restaurant--and all held the consultant advisor chef in high regard. But not one thought Blue Smoke got it right--or anywhere close. Danny Meyer inarguably runs some of the best restaurants in town. But I think this place is cruising on residual goodwill. And with the world's largest filter cigarette pumping (granted heavily scrubbed) wood smoke into the neighborhood, I still can't --in these last moments of civilization--smoke at the fucking bar.

My one meal at Blue Smoke was absolutely the most wretched, pretentious, utterlly bogus experience--the whole barbeque experience dumbed down and tarted up at the same time. A noisy, ugly room, (fine if the food is good), presentations that couldn't decide if they wanted to be just ugly but virtuous (as at the very fine Arthur Bryants--and thousands f other 'real' bbq joints for instance) or prettied up for the city slicker rubes. The bbq mussels define the word "pointless": leathery, smoked rubber butt plugs. The "pulled" pork was like cat food, oversauced, chopped, seemingly 'pulled' from nowhere but a can of Fancy Feast. The brisket was shamefully, disgracefully dry, no "pink ring", no nothing, redolent of wolverine jerky. Instead of just slopping some really good bbq on your plate with a few proud slices of free white bread, no rocket science here, they seem to prod you into a Disneyfied version of pan-Southern, an atrocious rebuke to America's inargably home-grown regional cuisine.

What I drank I don't know--a very very impressive array of Aussie wines. Sadly, as they did not appear on my printed menu, and I am a neophyte on the subject, I can't reconstruct for you.

Lesley C. For whatever reason, Tetsuya seems to lose something on export. The businesses he's consulted to or helped set up abroad have disappointed many observers--and I have to agree with you about the Wagyu beef--unctuous to a fault and not a strong point. He's much much stronger on fish and birds, I think--not so on beef. But that bavarois thing really worked for me. The ocean trout was right up there with the classic Troisgros salmon with sorrel--and will, I hope enter the same realm of cherished dishes. I think he's one of the most signifigant figures on the culinary radar--and a must-visit when in Sydney.

I like Donovan and Philippa Cooke. I like their style. like that they're mad, bad and dangerous to know. I like the classic French sensibility that runs through their cooking . And I am awed by the maniacal attention to the art of sauce-making going on here. Donovan can talk about sauce for hours. And he delives the goods. Here's what I had at Ondine this time around. My initial disappointment that they were not running the Tuna a la Ficelle with smoked hock ravioli, hock broth and horseradish cream I'd flipped over on a previous visit was quickly put aside: Assiette Champenoise: Oyster and Lettuce Veloute with Truffle Oil accmp by a 97 Pirie Pipers Brook Tasmania Roasted Yabbie Tail with a Confit of Tomato and Apple alsa accmp by NV Veuve Clicquot-Ponsardin Poached Quail Egg with Foie Gras and ouble Chicken Consomme en gelee accmp by NV Krug Grande Cuvee Tomato Consomme Scented with Basil, a Courgette Flower Stuffed Prawn and Horseradish--accmp by Emilio Lustau Jarana Fino (chilled sherry) ( Noone I've met has ever coaxed so much out of a tomato) Lightly Smoked Barramundi with a Red Wine Poached Egg, Baby Shallots, Bacon Lardons and Essence of Parsley accmp by 2000 Rene Rostaing La Bonnette ( The WINNER--lush, over-the-top rich, delicate, lavish--and comfortably classic. I knew I'd love it just looking at it) Pigeon en Vessie with Braised Celery Heart, Truffle Sauce and Mushroom Foam accmp by 1999 Gilles Barae Cote Brune (non-carmelized pigeon, a damn-near fistful of truffle--and killer) Warm Peach Shortcake with Sauternes Jelly and Gingerbread Ice Cream accmp by 1999 Robert Weil Grafenberg Auslese Pyramid of Strawberry Sorbet and Almond Parfait Glace with a Salad of Summer Melons accmp by NV Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin Demi Sec ( Philippa's ice creams, sorbets granitas etc. are unparallelled in this life) On whole--the meal mopped up the floor with Flower Drum (also a very fine meal there--but nothing like this) The Cooke's Rule.

Another fine, fine meal at Tetsuya; and here's what we had: Caviar and snow egg sandwich Beetroot and Blood Orange Salad Gazpacho with spiced Tomato Sorbet Tartare of Tuna with Goat Curd and Wasabi Marinated Filet of Kingfish with Orange and Soy Jelly Tataki of Venison with Rosemary and Honey West Australian Marron Salad with Asparagus Tian of Soft Smoked Ocean Trout with Truffle Tataki of Bonito with Orange and Essence of Shiso Confit of Tasmanian Ocean Trout Loin with Kombu, Celery and Daikon (absolutely lovely, delicious, inspiring--a signature) Green Salad Lobster Ravioli with Shellfish Vinaigrette Carpaccio of Scallop with Foie Gras and Lime (also an amazement) Grilled Baramundi with Truffled Peaches and Bitter Green ( I have to agree with my friend who gripes that the farmed Barramundi is not as good as the wild--still very, very good) Angel Hair Pasta with Scampi and Scampi Oil Rolled Wagyu Beef with Asian Mushrooms and Citrus Juice Roasted Breast of Squab with Chestnut Mushrooms and Buckwheat Risotto Blood Peach Sorbet Blue Cheese and Vanilla Bean Bavarois ( another signature--and wonderful beyond words) Black Sesame Bavarois with Black Sesame Anglaise Hazelnut Soup with Chocolate and Hazelnut Sorbet Mocha Floating Island with Lemon Scented Anglaise Coffee and Petit Fours As always a top drawer dining experience from one of the world's most talented chefs.

I would take this proclamation with a grain of salt. While Blanc is very serious about the idea, I think words, in this case, have outpaced actual events. Hope he gets it( or something like it) off the ground. It's a good idea--and there should be plenty of American chefs who'd be happy for a free weekend in those VERY comfortable rooms.

Extra Cold Guinness is a sin against God, and an evil dumbing down of His chosen beverage for heretical rubes.

Oh thaat...Yes. I doubted very much that it was when I wrote it. Never stopped me before. As you might have noticed, English is a language with which I have only a glancing aquaintance. Knew I should have paid more attention in class.

Copy editor? They stilll have those in England?

Nope. This was a social call. But I'm working on it.

I have indeed viewed the CD Rom. And it is as amazing as described. When I was just over in Barcelona, Adria gave me the full tour of his lab--from kitchen/test facility,( equipment behind rising metal curtains, induction burners concealed beneath slide-out work-table, backlit ingredients/elements in clear glass jars), library, collection of "found objects" and toys, (for inspiration), spritzers (wet forest floor scent) flow charts etc. to a draft of next year's projects on a painstakingly assembled chart in the inner sanctum,/boardroom.It's like a friendlier version of Dr. No's lair, set in a former Spanish Gothic palace. Offices for his other enterprises are down the street. The man himself is delightful. Animated, down to earth--an admirer(surprisingly to some, perhaps), of the simple good things in life: rustic Spanish country cooking, good hamburgers, good ham, those tiny cans of oysters and cockles they do so well over there, Thai street food, and lurid Americanesque packaging.He was an extraordinarily kind and generous host--who loves talking about food--any food. I liked him. A lot. The Book--or "The Object" as one can breathlessly call it--is indeed a revolutionary reconceptualization of the whole idea of the cookbook. There has never been anything like it. Just flipping between photos of the "cocktails" watching them develop from year to year is a jolt.

Dear Eric, I was confused and intrigued by the use of the phrase "light in the loafers" in your masterful book, RETURN TO COOKING. (The perfect Christmas gift). I wonder what was meant by this phrase? Also. Could you please describe the relationship between overexposure to techno music--and the creative process of haute cuisine? EDIT BY Jason Perlow: Chef Eric, this is your 26th question. No book for you, Tony.

Nothing personal brother. But if you're sitting by the exit door when the plane's sinking? I'll be huffing and puffing right over your ass--with a lit butt clenched between my teeth and a "flotation device" under my arm.. Don't expect me to wait.

BUX: "Entitled to a healthy work environment" ?? Yes. Entitled to not be exploited, mangled by unsafe equipment, worked to death etc. Sure. Absolutely. But a bar is not a coal mine. You are ENTITLED as a worker to make reasonable choices--and working in a fucking SALOON, by centuries of glorious tradition implies working around drinkers, smokers, and persons who might, conceivably smoke, drink too much and say "I love you, mannn" or break into an unwanted display of air-guitar. Are you suggesting we walk into Desmonds or Rudy's or the Holland Bar. at 11AM and tell the bar regulars they have to go outside to smoke--to protect the bartender? It's absurd. It's arrogant. It's wrong. Is it conscious class war? Okay..No. not really. But who will take it in the neck first and hardest? Who will be left with the fewest options? For whom is a morning beer and a smoke at their local most precious? Flag smoking bars with a big red sign (on an elective basis) if necessary--a warning to the non-smokers. Let non-smokers drink in clean, mallified, Houlihanesque, purified environments, far away from the "mud the blood and the beer". Where does it end? What next? The answer is Singapore.

Simon--you magnificent bastard! As usual, I agree wholeheartedly with your incisive deconstruction of my recent rant. You are absolutely right--the same screwheads who think it's okay to sue after pouring hot coffee on your genitals after stomping on the gas at the drive-through McDonalds want to "protect the workers" by marginalizing them, taxing them and shoving them out in the cold. The "it's somebody else's fault" mentality has become pervasive and infectious...with noone taking responsibility for their own choices. (Let it be said that when I drop dead of emphysema, I won't have been spending my last days trying to sue Philip Morris--or my boss--for letting me smoke)But let us not think for a second that the US is the politically correct capital of the world. As I recall, in the UK, it is perfectly okay for roaming bands of violent felons to invade your home in the wee hours, have their way with your household pets, flat screen TV and lovingly assembled collection of Rick Wakeman records--and if you should be so foolish as to blow off one of their kneecaps with grandpa's blunderbuss (or God forbid--kill one of the adorable, misguided tykes) YOU go to the slammer. See London's street crime stats. And you might want to take a look at Australia. They are increasingly making Marin County look like Weimar Germany. (all the while quietly penning up immigrants on a prison archipelago) My country has no exclusive on silliness, hypocricy, political correctness or zealotry.

Who smokes? Who, exactly is sitting at the bar at 10AM, having a few pints, maybe a Cutty and water, a stack of wet singles in front of them, reading the Post sports pages, a Parliament or a Marlboro Light smoking in the ashtray? Who, exactly make up the majority of the huddled masses, hunched over their cigarettes , already herded out into the cold by their cruel yuppie masters? The working class..The immigrants. Secretaries, cooks, elevator repairmen, plumbers, electricians, day laborers, temps, dishwashers. It's class war--shoving these folks out into the cold, sniffing and coughing at their smoke when you pass them in the street. But of course, Rob Reiner and his kind know what's best for all of us, don't they? Rich white men who live in Westchester and Marin and Aspen, insulated from all those dirty, different people who they never liked anyway can make policy for all of us. Meanwhile, of course, these same non-smoking evangelists can feel free to topple their gas-guzzling SUV's on our highways, run us over with their Beemers and high performance murder-cars. The overfed can stuff their faces until they choke our hospitals with weight-related health problems, clog our emergency exits, take up three seats on the subway--and we are expected to enable them, subsidize them with the five dollar a pack tax whack we pay for smokes we can't even enjoy at our favorite dive anymore. Kick me out of your retaurants. Fine. I know that battle is lost. Most habitual smokers can't afford Danny Myers's bogus bbq anyway. But leave us our bars! You don't drink there anyway!

The new book is a mammoth--and I mean MAMMOTH--volume chronicling three years of recipe development for El Bulli. You can watch, from year to year--in pictures and in obsessively organized and detailed notes, exactly how each dish originated and evolved. It's..well..it has to be seen to be believed. A beautiful and intimidating object..can't stop looking at it. Said by author to be available in US in English six months. Even though it costs over 200 Euros a pop, the book is a best-seller in Spain.