John Whiting

. . . and Funeral Director?

Ramsay in the Guardian Will Ramsay go down in hubris like a tragic hero? Here's the most ominous quote of all:

As in, "This turd doesn't smell as bad as the rest." Which is all you need to know about what C4 has turned into.

As a lover of ambiguous horror stories since early childhood, I much enjoyed the frisson which yours produced. It has a strong family resemblance to MR James' "The Mezzotint", which concerns a print in which an ominous figure gradually approaches a house which is the picture's dominant subject.

. . . a Whiting from Cape Cod, in fact. Large hand-cut English chips aren't traditionally as crisp as French fries. With their irregular shape, they would be partly crisp and partly burned (which, with the contemporary taste for crispness, they frequently are). As for the dryness of French fries, that is usually accomplished these days with transfats; it isn't acheived with lard, which is what Fryer's Delight uses. (But I haven't eaten there in several years; maybe they've gone downhill.)

Cheap balsamic tends to be rather sweet. This could be a clue; sweetness is one of the tastes that doesn't have to be learned.

. . . plus the complacent conviction that "I could do better!"

. . . and is it the one that opera goers used to drop in on after the performance half a century ago?

The most depressing thing about this program is that the producers assumed, correctly, that there would be so many ignorant punters watching it that they could get away with a level of total inauthenticity that would never be tolerated in, say, a sports "reality" show. In France, a program made to such ludicrous standards would be laughed off the screen.

I can't believe that the kitchen activity isn't set up more for the cameras than for culinary productivity. And how many soufflés got tossed out, not because they were failures, but because they weren't bad enough?

To the extent that there are degrees in infinity . . .

Thanks John. Several of my friends will be getting a copy for the holidays this year. It seems to be inexplicably out of stock on amazon.com, though available on amazon.co.uk. Last week it got special mention in the Guild of Food Writers' campaigning journalism prize category.

A couple of years ago, having chatted with Gennaro at a Guild of Food Writers do, I took a party of six to Passione and had a first rate dinner with excellent friendly service -- took our own Barolo with us and left a bottle for the staff, didn't get charged corkage. He was out that night, but the kitchen functioned perfectly without him. And the bill was very reasonable. For the past year I've heard nothing but bad reports, including from friends who used to go regularly. I count myself lucky to have ridden the crest of the wave.

Both are from the West Country. Devon cream is a particularly rich concentrated variety of clotted cream; Cornish cream is somewhat rougher. Both involve a slow and gentle heat treatment, which gradually reaches the scalding point. The original purpose was to extend its usable life when refrigeration was not so readily available. It closely resembes Near Eastern Kaymak and may have been introduced by Phoenician traders two thousand years ago (according to Alan Davidson).

My wife Mary Whiting's latest book, Dump the Junk, is a collection of over 300 tips from parents explaining how they nudged their children away from the highly advertised peer-pressured rubbish in the direction of real food. (There's a way of linking to Amazon in such a way as to benefit eGullet, but I'm afraid I don't know what it is. Tried once, couldn't make it work.)

I'm glad to see such unanimous condemnation of this utter rubbish. Kitchen Nightmares may have been partially faked as claimed, but it was genuinely informative: you could observe Ramsay's skill as a teacher and a leader. Not unlike a first-rate platoon sergeant in basic training -- you end up proud to have learned and proud to have survived.

Just into this thread. We're on the Abel and Cole Box scheme and have thus far found it not perfect, but certainly good enough to continue. About 70% of their produce is British. The prices are of course higher than market shopping but not outrageous. Re barley risotto: I've done it in the classic mode. With pearl barley it can take up to an hour and a half. It doesn't taste like rice risotto, but it's very good. A classic example of what Shaun Hill talked about -- a folk recipe adapted by migrants to fit ingredients that were available. I've taken to partially cooking the barley in a pressure cooker before proceeding in the usual fashion. Of course, it could be boiled, but for a longer time. When you're dealing with a total rewrite of a traditional recipe, nothing is definite -- you just have to arrive at what pleases you.

Please join us for Part Three/Sensory Issues. Part Two also addresses some of these issues. So much is interrelated. Our three perspectives touch on many different aspects of disabilities. I'm fascinated. This is of course at a lesser level of seriousness than motor disability, but I find it curious that it's not a subject often treated (or perhaps it's merely my own ignorance). A few years ago after a respiratory ailment I spent a year totally without a sense of smell. It was a challenge I'd rather not face again.

At a much lower level of seriousness, there are some dedicated foodies who develop sensory disabilities, either temporary or permanent, such as loss of smell, which can make one relient on extremely strong flavors and those sensations that may remain; e.g. heat, salt, sweetness. I realize that this is a totally different area from physical disabilities involving motor functions.

For those on a low-carb diet, blueapron's method with cauliflour makes it a delicious substitute for puréed potatoes.

One advantage of a (large) pressure cooker -- or at least I consider it to be an advantage -- is the possibility of steam-braising a large fowl or joint on a rack with a very small quantity of liquid. It's more or less like a steam oven, for which one can pay well into four figures.

My wife and I are fond of the French practice, not so common as it once was, of a dessert trolley. But that's because we don't demand that each course be a self-contained, stand-alone work of art. D'Chez Eux in Paris brings you at the beginning of the meal a trolley of salamis, later of salads, and at the end a trolley of cheeses, finally of desserts. (One of the waiters operates the traffic lights.) They also leave the soup terrines and casseroles on your table. Please don't bother to tell me all the reasons why an American Board of Health would immediately close them down. As for ordering dessert at the beginning of the meal, Schneier has made the point about omelettes that I would have made.

As a whiting, I am rapidly becoming a fish for their . . . forget it.

A sad program last night -- Ramsay at The Walnut Tree. My respect for Ramsay went up another notch; his hand at the tiller was firm, fair and intelligent. I don't know whether The Walnut Tree is returning to anything like its former glory; I hope so. I have fond memories of a place where you could eat supurb food in the public bar with locals drinking beer at adjoining tables.

Josephine Bacon points out that there are also "Eastern European flours that are deliberately milled not as finely specifically for making dumplings." "It would be very helpful," she adds, "to have tables of the flours."