John Whiting

I wouldn't assess it; I would content myself with experiencing it.

A name I haven't seen mentioned is the Belgian manufacturer Demeyere. FG's warning about a single method of construction being unsuitable for all uses is one which they have taken to heart: There is more information about their history and philosophy at: http://www.jwpltd.co.uk/Demeyere.htm .And an item I haven't seen mentioned is a pressure cooker. I have the largest one made by Demeyere, 8.5 litres. It doubles as a large saucepan/stockpot and has such a heavy base that it's perfect for sauteeing foods before pressure cooking them. Like their saucepans, the bottom inside corners are generously rounded so that they can be easily scraped with a large wooden spoon. I'm so impressed with their quality of construction and absence of hot-spots that I'm about to lash out around two hundred dollars for their 32cm frying pan.

Yvonne, if you will allow to view your palate, I promise to do so without condescension!

There seems to be a widespread difference of opinion not only about the definition of "artisanal" but also how to spell it. Sometimes it shows up spelled more than one way in the same post. For the benefit of the nit-pickers among us, it's spelled just like "artisan" with an adjectival -al suffix tacked on.

Whatever the chemistry there are a lot of skinny alcoholics. (I'm not one of them. )

Karen Hess discusses the origin of corn bread in _The Taste of America_ , p. 22, and also in her _Carolina Rice Kitchen_, pp. 126 ff. It was one of the foods learned from the Indians, who had a large variety of corn species as well as many ways of cooking it. One thing is certain: since the process of extracting vegetable oils had not yet been invented (except for olive oil, which was not indigenous), the bread would certainly have been made with animal fat of some kind, and the corn would have been coarsely stone ground. Taking cognizance of another heated topic working its way to an ambiguous conclusion, this is not say that the above are the *correct* ingredients of cornbread. I'm only speaking historically.

Not according to Dr. Richard Mackarness, one of the pioneers of the diet in this generation: I've allowed myself a generous half-bottle of dry white or red with every meal, with occasional meals when I just don't get around to it. This hasn't appeared to hold me back.Edit: The whole point of the low-carb hi-fat diet is that it does not obey the arithmetical rules that the calory-counters lay down. The law of "conservation of energy" seems to behave in a different way. I didn't believe this for years -- until I finally tried it after so many intermittently successful attempts at self-denial..

Sez You! Margaret, you've struck gold! I'll be there with pick and pan.

There is a consensus amongst sophisticated diners as to what sort of wine to drink with one's food, but it is quite different from what was the consensus amongst discerning diners in the nineteenth century. A century ago sweet German wines were more highly valued that the dryer French classics which are now so dominant in the most expensive restaurants. A wine, they thought back then, should be of approximately the same sweetness as the sauce which it accompanied. Who is right? And why?

There are people who are not ignorant, but who don't like to make trouble. They would rather eat them anyway, or just throw them away, rather than confront a shopkeeper and complain. It's not a uniquely British charactaristic, but it's especially prevelant here, under the long, long shadow of "Don't you know there's a war on?!"There's another aspect. I grew up eating green (runner, snap) beans from my father's garden, cooked to perfection by my mother. One day at the age of about eight I came home from a friend's house and announced that I'd had green beans that were different and really good. My mother phoned our neighbor who had fed me and asked what she had done to them. She admitted shamefacedly that they had come out of a can. I of course had never tasted canned beans and so they were an interesting novelty. Were they objectively better by any reasonable standard? I would say no. But the open, still unformed palate of a child who liked good food had tasted something which he found interesting, and it was specifically the metallic edge of that primitive canning process of more than sixty years ago, in impact not unlike the tannic edge of an immature red wine. I have never had a canned green bean since, but I can still remember the surprise that came when something that looked familiar tasted dramatically different. Note: I consider this, not a refutation of Steve's argument, but merely an added dimension.

spqr writes: Certainly. I'll explain them as soon as I've finished fucking them. Edit Indeed, as Karen (who wrote the food history part of _The Taste of America_) demonstrates, the expertise went back two and a half centuries to the early settlers. Her edition of Martha Washington's cookbook goes into a great deal of detail on this.

If you go to the Chez Panisse website, you'll find the menus posted a week at a time. http://www.chezpanisse.com/downmenu.html Robert may be confusing the menus with the reservations, which are in fact taken a month in advance. Edit: It's easier for Chez Panisse to plan ahaed than it is for most restaurants, since so much of their produce is grown to order.

I can't imagine most of this argument taking place in France a few decades ago. "Fine" dining and good peasant fare existed side by side, and Curnonsky spent half his time dropping in unannounced on Mère Poulard for an omelette and the other half meticulously writing up the local dishes of the impecunious. Of course France was riddled with social snobbery, but *food* snobbery as we are defining it? You would have found few to admit it or even acknowledge it. It's the child of ignorance masquerading as sophistication. Edit: This is not a criticism of any one contributor to this thread, but a sad comment on the culinary poverty which leads us down a blind alley.

If one's only objection to tap water is the taste of chlorine, this will evaporate if left overnight in a loosly covered bottle or pitcher.

Granted, I bet the mashed potato would give Robuchon's a run for its money!

Some people just aren't happy with what they eat and drink unless they've paid for it. In Hampstead Garden Suburb, where we live, most of the older houses had fruit trees in their gardens, as prescribed a century ago by the Suburb's founder, Dame Henrietta Barnet. Those trees that survive drop their wonderful fruit untended, to be gathered up as rubbish. Our next door neighbor has a splendid old apple tree. When asked why she didn't eat the fruit, she responded, "Oh I prefer *proper* fruit from the supermarket." Sigh

I know there are differences of opinion on this, but I remain wary of stuffing any large bird because of the cooking time differentiation, particularly in the inner thighs. And where goose is concerned, I dislike so much of the precious fat being soaked up by whatever the stuffing happens to be. Stuffings, I think, work best in very long slow roasts -- or better still, braises -- in which the heat has a chance to equalize and the flesh does not dry out. But we're into preference rather than right or wrong.

Sometimes I indulge in an old favorite -- Peet's Major Dickason's Blend airmailed from Berkeley to London. It goes into the fridge as soon as it arrives and is ground as needed. Within a couple of weeks the complexity of the flavor has partially disappeared. It's still good coffee, but more laid back. I'm now exploring beans from Union Coffee in the East End of London, run by two chaps who trained at Peet's. An excellent range of single estate, fair traded coffees, an espresso blend (Foundation) very close to Major Dickason's -- and shipping charges a fraction of the air mail cost from California.

A goose, being largely self-basting and self-flavoring, is easy to roast. I follow approximately Frances Bissell's suggestions in _The Real Meat Cookbook_. Count on a 12 lb. bird to feed four. There's less meat relative to weight and size than with a turkey or chicken. A rack of some kind is desireable, preferably the adjustible V-support variety. Don't stuff the bird; it prevents even cooking. Just fill the cavity with a few herbs of the sort you like. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (gas mark 4). I like to cook it on the slow side. Put the goose on the rack breast up and cover loosely with foil to prevent too rapid browning. After about an hour turn the bird over, breast side down (this is where the V-rack becomes very useful) and give it another 2 to 2 1/2 hours so that the fat is draining down into the breast. (Depending on your oven, it may take longer.) As the fat accumulates in the pan, drain it off so that it doesn't burn. It's precious! Finally, turn the bird back to breast up and give it another half hour to brown. You can do this without the foil, depending on how brown it's getting and how brown you like it. That's the basics. Anything else is detail.

SteveP : I haven't yet been to Chez Georges, but I think it's confusing to mix up criticisms of this apparently traditional "hi-fat" bistro with criticisms of La Regalade, which is much more modern in its ethos. Having gone with high expectations, I too had a very unsatisfactory meal at La Regalade, which I detailed on my website. I'm prepared to give them another chance. But the "type of palate" which is able to "appreciate" the one is not the same as that required to appreciate the other. At any rate, whatever my experience of Chez Georges, I'm not likely to describe the food as "greasy". I *love* good grease!

Does anyone remember the Admiral Codrington near So Kensington tube, which habitues referred to as the Odd Cod? An old Victorian pub with a cold case full of deli-type goodies which could be assembled into a plate of excellent salad, cheese, cold meats and condiments. Well chosen, well displayed, well kept, reasonably priced. Compared with the "normal" food in English pubs thirty-odd years ago, it was so spectacular that people came for miles to experience it. A few months ago I saw a TV documentary about it's being turned into a pub "restaurant" of the modern anonymous sort. Sigh.

Shredded with the new (no. 3) coarse Microplane grater, they cook down thoroughly at the same rate as other softer veggies and give that sweet, indispensible carrot flavor.In a chopped salad, even the dreaded iceberg lettuce, if narrowly sliced/shredded, provides acceptable bulk and moderates the flavor of overly intense ingredients or dressings -- the equivant of bread around an intense sandwich filling you wouldn't want to spoon up on its own.

And why no photo?!

Even if I had them I wouldn't dare report on them!

That's very witty! Edit: That echos Lenny Tristano's laconic remark: "The trouble with drummers is, they can't keep time."