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Yesterday I bought a small pouch of Deep Foods' Dry Garlic Chutney. It is hot and garlicky and kind of dry and crumbly in texture. I would like to try this on my own. Anyone out there care to share a reciepe?

Green Tomato Jam Makes about 8 3/4 cups of jam; about ten 1-cup (8 ounce) jars. This recipe is adapted from the General Foods Consumer Center. 1-3/4 lb green tomatoes 1/2 c lemon juice 7-1/2 c sugar (3-1/4 pounds) 2 pkg (pouches) fruit pectin jell Wash the tomatoes. Grind, and measure 3 cups of tomatoes into a 6- to 8-quart nonreactive pot. Add the lemon juice. Add the sugar and mix thoroughly. Place over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. As soon as it reaches a boil, stir in the pectin. Bring to a full rolling boil, and boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim off any foam. Ladle immediately into hot, sterilized canning jars, filling to within 1/8 inch of the top. Wipe the rims and threads of the jars. Cover the jars with 2-piece lids and screw the bands tightly. Invert the jars for 5 minutes, then turn upright. Let cool for 1 hour, then check seals. Variation: I added some finely minced lemongrass and very finely julienned lime leaf, for a little more "exotic" flavor. Keywords: Intermediate, Vegetables, Condiment ( RG731 )

Green Tomato Jam Makes about 8 3/4 cups of jam; about ten 1-cup (8 ounce) jars. This recipe is adapted from the General Foods Consumer Center. 1-3/4 lb green tomatoes 1/2 c lemon juice 7-1/2 c sugar (3-1/4 pounds) 2 pkg (pouches) fruit pectin jell Wash the tomatoes. Grind, and measure 3 cups of tomatoes into a 6- to 8-quart nonreactive pot. Add the lemon juice. Add the sugar and mix thoroughly. Place over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. As soon as it reaches a boil, stir in the pectin. Bring to a full rolling boil, and boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Skim off any foam. Ladle immediately into hot, sterilized canning jars, filling to within 1/8 inch of the top. Wipe the rims and threads of the jars. Cover the jars with 2-piece lids and screw the bands tightly. Invert the jars for 5 minutes, then turn upright. Let cool for 1 hour, then check seals. Variation: I added some finely minced lemongrass and very finely julienned lime leaf, for a little more "exotic" flavor. Keywords: Intermediate, Vegetables, Condiment ( RG731 )

book signing at Book Ends in ridgewood. info here. i'm tempted to go, although i've never done anything like that in my life. although i walked past the guy who wrote Jaws once at a bookstore.

I just saw a preview for it while watching Date Plate. They will be working at his restaurant and the cameras are there to catch it all

Jamie Oliver restaurant snubs Clinton Even being a former president of the United States isn't enough to guarantee a table at Jamie Oliver's landmark London restaurant Fifteen, it appears. Bill Clinton was reportedly turned away from the television chef's restaurant because it was full and staff refused to bump other patrons with a booking. Fifteen, which is staffed by rookie chefs recruited and trained by Oliver in the television program Jamie's Kitchen, is so popular diners have to book three months in advance. The former US president wanted to visit the restaurant during a recent visit to London and a staff member rang Fifteen on a Thursday, seeking a booking for the following Saturday night. "It was impossible because that's the restaurant's busiest night," an unnamed staff member told British newspaper The Daily Mirror. "It would have meant cancelling a booking of other guests who made reservations weeks ago and that just wouldn't be fair. "If we're full we're full, and there's nothing that can be done about it - even if it is for the former president of the United States." Fifteen is booked out at night until 2004. A spokesman for Oliver confirmed that Clinton had been turned away. "Jamie was sorry the restaurant was unable to accommodate Mr Clinton, but his attitude was c'est la vie," he said. "Mr Clinton is of course more than welcome to come back at any time but he will have to give the restaurant a bit more notice." http://news.ninemsn.com.au/Entertainment/s...story_51809.asp

I whipped up a batch of cayenne mayonnaise this morning. I had some leftover roast turkey and wanted a sammich. I was out of mayo. So I thought, "what the hell?" Can't be that hard can it? Nope. It's a little thin, but damn tasty. Now for the question. Every book I've checked says to refrigerate immediately. Makes sense to me. A raw egg emulsion at room temperature seems to be a one-way ticket to a lengthy survey of the bathroom decor. But Alton Brown in "I'm Just Here for the Food" has a sidebar in the food safety section that says to leave fresh mayo out for 8-12 hours. Covered, I assume. His rationale is that the acids in the lemon juice and vinegar work best at room temperature and that they'll be more effective than refrigeration at doing in any nasty bugs that might be lurking. At best, he says, if you refrigerate, bacteria will stop reproducing but won't be wiped out like they will by the acids. Collective minds, what say you? Chad

A few people on the Maggi thread say they find the widespread use of this "enhancer" in various countries quite disturbing and unnecessary. Having only encountered it at a distance (as far as I know), Maggi doesn't bother me much. But when I see people putting ketchup on their eggs, it's enough to put me off my food. Nor do I much like to see people pouring huge amounts of HP sauce over everything on their plate, as is sometimes the case here in Canada and in the UK. What misuse and abuse of a condiment bothers you the most?

i have recently seen a documentary on avantgard cooking in which ferran adrias el bulli was featured. in on shot they show someone injecting some kind of liquid jelly mixture out of a syringe into a bucket filled with (cold?) water. the next shot shows the outcome, which were perfectly round fruit caviar´s.... i bought the big black el bulli book "1998-2002" but couldnt find a recipe there... then i tried to make my own mixture which consisted of fruit juice and agaragar and gelatin in different concentrations.... but when the drops were injected into the water they always dissolved rite away or were badly deformed into little rings :-) which were also cute but not quite what i wanted... is there anyone who did those fruit caviars ??? i know there maybe other ways to do them but i really want to get them the "el bulli" way... dammn... cheers torsten s. cologne/germany

James Villas: Extracts from Between Bites James Villas’ memoir recounts his experiences of life, love, and libations beginning with 1961 cross-Atlantic trip to France and spanning over the next 40 years. The author offers vignettes of his intimate relationships with the famous personalities who have impacted his admittedly unconventional views of the evolution of cuisine. With his southern storyteller’s warmth and humor, he chronicles his own hedonistic adventures, including these three extracts. "Between Bites - Memoirs of a Hungry Hedonist" was published by Wiley in May, 2003. Editor's note: "Craig" mentioned in the extract below, is the late Craig Claiborne, Food Columnist for the New York Times and author of numerous books. He was a good friend of the author and they used to cook together in the Hamptons. "Don" is Don Erickson, who was the executive editor at Esquire. He mentored James as a young food writer. "Pierre" is Pierre Franey, a French chef who became famous as the chef of Le Pavillon restaurant in New York City from 1945 to 1960. While I'm the first to credit Craig as being one of the most brilliant, exacting, and dedicated journalists I've ever known, it's also true that this legend who taught America so much about cooking was himself not a very accomplished cook and would never have attained such heights of success had Pierre (and other professional chefs) not been at the stove. Not that Craig couldn't turn out a perfect breakfast omelette or, so long as he followed a recipe to the letter and was given plenty of time, produce delicious moules marinieres, a correct osso buco, and genuine chili con carne. What he lacked was Pierre's natural instincts for the mechanics of cooking, the ability to conceptualize a dish and bring about its execution deftly, comfortably, and with a sense of total control. From vast exposure to good food, Craig generally knew whether a dish was right or wrong-and he could explain in detail the reasons why-but when it came to actually reproducing a brandade de morue, chicken Pojarski, or even Brunswick stew, the amount of time he would spend analyzing the recipe, his nervous assemblage of components' and his awkward cooking gestures betrayed an insecurity in the kitchen that could have translated into serious problems without the help of the experts who usually surrounded him. Nor was Craig's interpretation of certain dishes always as valid as implied in some of the recipes he published, as when he once decided to reproduce authentic North Carolina chopped pork barbecue after a trip to Goldsboro and stubbornly insisted on using two loins instead of fatty shoulders and on cooking the meat in the oven. "But Craig, you can't use loin," I protested when he called to tell me his plans for a dish I was weaned on. "The flavor and texture will be all wrong, and the meat's got to be slowly roasted somewhere over hickory or oak coals and mopped with sauce-even if it's an ordinary kettle grill. " No amount of argument could convince him. Shoulder had too much fat for health-conscious readers, he insisted, and there'd be too much waste. He wasn't about to dig a pit outdoors, nobody wanted to go to all the trouble. of searching for wood chips, and besides, he had figured out exactly how he could barbecue lean pork loins in the oven for five hours at 250° degrees, then simulate a smoky flavor by placing the roast for a while on a charcoal grill. Suffice it that, in utter frustration and near anger, I finally capitulated and left him to pursue his fantasy. In late afternoon on the day of the big feast, scheduled at 8:00 P.M. and attended mainly by non-Southerners, he called to say that the barbecue looked and smelled "fantastic" and asked if I'd mind driving over with my hatchet so he could chop it properly. When I arrived at the back door, Craig, smiling proudly, offered a piece of meat he'd pulled off for me to taste. "That's delicious roast pork, some of the best I've eaten," I declared truthfully, "but it's not Carolina barbecue." "Oh, you're just a prejudiced Tarheel from the western part of the state," he mumbled, slightly wounded by my candid verdict. "My version is like the eastern -style barbecue they do in Goldsboro." Since the damage has been done, I determined not to pursue the matter, nor to ask why traditional Brunswick stew and hush puppies were not on his menu along with what turned out to be a credible barbecue sauce, delectable cole slaw and potato salad, and exemplary pecan pie. Then came the ultimate shock after all the excited guests were seated. To wash down all this earthy Southern food was not standard iced tea, or beer, or even water, but. . . French champagne! I truly thought this man from Mississippi had lost his mind. Still, I held my tongue as Craig and the others relished the food and bubbly with imperceptive glee, just as I bit the bullet of professional friendship when Craig ended the feature he soon published with a little more than poetic license: "It so happens that James Villas, food editor of Town & Country, is a good friend and neighbor, a native North Carolinian, and, if you will pardon the expression, a barbecue freak. I invited him over for a sample, and he pronounced my barbecue the best home-cooked version he had ever sampled. That is high praise." To point out a few of Craig's salient limitations might seem scabby and disrespectful, the only justification being that his flawed example taught me that an eminent food journalist need no more necessarily be a master chef than an acclaimed connoisseur of Bach is expected to perform the composer’s preludes and fugues with immaculate precision. Even after some formal training, I knew at an early stage in my career that I would never become—nor aspire to be—a gifted chef, a realization that might well have affected my ambitions and abilities as a food writer had I not witnessed how Craig Claiborne dealt so naturally and sensibly with the issue. My Authentic Carolina Chopped Pork Barbeque (Serves at least 8) The Barbecue One small bag hickory-chips (available at nurseries and hardware stores) One 10-pound bag charcoal briquets One 6- to 7-pound boneless pork shoulder (butt or picnic cut), securely tied with butcher's string The Sauce 1 quart cider vinegar 1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce 1 cup catsup 2 tablespoons prepared mustard 3 tablespoons light brown sugar 2 tablespoons salt Freshly ground pepper to taste 1 tablespoon hot red pepper flakes Soak 6 handfuls of hickory chips in water for 30 minutes. Open one bottom and one top vent on a kettle grill. Place a small drip pan in the bottom of the grill, stack charcoal briquets evenly around the pan, and ignite. When the coals are gray on one side (after about 30 minutes), turn them over and sprinkle 2 handfuls of soaked chips evenly over the hot coals. Situate the pork shoulder skin-side up in the center of the grill about 6 inches directly over the drip pan (not over the hot coals), lower the lid, and cook slowly for 4 hours, replenishing the coals and soaked chips as they burn up but never allowing coals to get too hot. Turn the pork, lower the lid, and cook 2 hours longer. Meanwhile, prepare the sauce by combining all the ingredients in a large, nonreactive saucepan. Stir well, bring to the simmer, and cook for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and let stand for 2 hours. Transfer the pork to a working surface, make deep gashes in the meat with a sharp knife, and baste liberally with the sauce. Replenish the coals and chips as needed (maintaining a low heat). Replace the pork skin-side-down on the grill, and cook for 3 hours longer, basting with the sauce from time to time. Transfer the pork to a chopping board and remove the string. Remove and discard most (but not all) of the skin and excess fat and chop the meat coarsely with an impeccably clean hatchet, Chinese cleaver, or large, heavy chef's knife. Add just enough sauce to moisten the meat further, toss till well blended, and either serve the barbecue immediately with the remaining sauce on the side or refrigerate and reheat in the top of a double boiler over simmering water when ready to serve. (The barbecue freezes well up to 3 months.) Serve the barbecue (plain or on a hamburger roll) with Brunswick stew, cole slaw, and hush puppies. When it came to his writers, Don took everything personally, even to the point of criticizing work of mine he happened to notice in other magazines. "Your Jovan piece is a knock-out, and it's good to see you so deft in conveying character," he once began a letter on a profile I'd done on a famous Chicago restaurateur. "I have to be honest and say that you've written the best words of your descriptive career for someone else and not for me. They are, of course, 'cushioned tirades.' I wonder if you know how good that is. But you don't get away unscathed. Your editor should have seen that 'individual (kitchen) duties strictly defined' and 'working as a team' are not, as you would have it, two different things necessarily. And I think' nefarious' is the wrong word for the place you've put it." Such frank, unsolicited memos from Don arriving out of the blue became routine, pithy commentaries that he simply felt compelled to write and that, perhaps more than anything else, taught me what a truly dedicated editor and friend are all about. Although Don was as obsessed as Alexandre Dumaine with classic French cuisine and revered every recipe Julia Child ever composed or demonstrated on TV, this hardly meant that he was not interested in and receptive to any gastronomic topic that might make a substantial impact in the magazine. As a result, over the next few years I produced a slew of articles that were as disparate in subject as they were often controversial in nature. Under Don's weighty influence and guidance, I wrote about making my own wine, working undercover at a fancy French restaurant, the joys of eating raw meat, menu ripoffs in restaurants, college cafeteria slop, the horrors of yogurt, Carolina pig versus Texas beef barbecue, how stupid government regulations were destroying great country hams, and the evils of the martini. "Fried chicken!" I remember hearing someone yell in the distance. Looking across all the roaring traffic to the other side of a busy midtown street in Manhattan, I spotted Don rushing somewhere with Nora Ephron, his hands cupped at his mouth. "Fried chicken!" he repeated loudly. "Do fried chicken! We'll talk later." And that's how I was assigned an article that almost brought on a second Civil War and, thanks to Don, was so unorthodox in style that it was eventually anthologized in a number of college textbooks. Obviously, the subject of fried chicken had been mulling in his brain for weeks. I’m bored to death with dull, formulaic food writing," he exploded when we sat down to discuss what he wanted. "Let's really break some balls in this piece, take a definitive stand, and present it in a way that keeps the reader guessing what in hell is going on." This, he explained, would mean first setting myself up daringly as the world authority on fried chicken, followed immediately by the in-depth, perfect recipe itself, followed by an intricate analysis of the recipe details, followed finally by a scathing attack on what's wrong with all other fried chicken. In other words, everything in reverse. This also meant demonstrating for Don himself the entire cooking procedure, from actually cutting up the chicken to seasoning and battering to frying and draining on paper bags-all before I committed one word to the page. And to pass this initial test, which would prove to him without any doubt that I really knew what I was writing about, nothing would do but for me to show up in his small, nondescript apartment in Greenwich Village at the crack of dawn with three whole chickens, the right heavy cast-iron skillet, the right styles of shortening and flour, the right seasonings and buttermilk, and of course, the exact right paper bags for shaking and draining the chicken. Suffice it that by eight o'clock A.M. in that tiny, unventilated kitchen, I had cooked up some twenty-four pieces of golden, moist, crisp-skinned chicken, three of which Don devoured with approval for breakfast before heading for the office. As for myself, I couldn't face eating fried chicken again for months. The Quintessential Southern Fried Chicken (Shortened Version) (Serves 4) One 3-pound fryer chicken, preferably freshly killed 3 teaspoons salt Freshly ground pepper to taste 3 cups buttermilk 1/2 lemon, seeds removed 3 cups (1 1/2 pounds) Crisco shortening 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 cup bacon grease Cut the chicken into 8 serving pieces, rinse the pieces under cold running water, dry thoroughly with paper towels, and season with 1 teaspoon of the salt plus pepper. Pour the buttermilk into a large bowl and squeeze the lemon into it. Add the chicken pieces to the bowl to soak, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Remove the chicken from the refrigerator and allow to return to room temperature. While melting the shortening over high heat to measure 1/2 inch in a large cast-iron skillet (add more shortening if necessary), combine the flour, remaining salt, and more pepper in a heavy brown paper bag. Remove the dark pieces of chicken from the milk, drain each momentarily over the bowl, drop into the bag, and shake vigorously to coat. Add the bacon grease to the skillet and when small bubbles appear on the surface, reduce the heat slightly. Remove the chicken pieces from the bag one by one, shaking off excess flour, and using tongs, lower them gently into the hot fat. Arrange the pieces of dark chicken in the skillet so they cook evenly, reduce the heat to moderate, and cook for exactly 17 minutes. Reduce the heat slightly, turn the pieces with the tongs, and fry for 17 minutes longer. Quickly repeat all procedures with the white pieces of chicken, adjusting the heat as necessary and frying exactly 15 minutes on each side. Drain the chicken on a second brown paper bag for at least 5 minutes, transfer to a serving platter without reheating in the oven, and serve hot or at room temperature. By ten o'clock, the Long Island sun is blazing. Our buckets overflowing with exquisite berries, Mother and I return to the rough country road to pay the farmer for our bounty, then drive to my home on the south fork so she can begin immediately to make the preserves that will last us through the year and help fill all her holiday gift packages. For years at home in North Carolina, Mother was never at a loss for relatives to participate in this annual summer ritual. But time passes, people disappear for one reason or another, and today there's only Mother and me left to carry on a tradition that is as sacred to her as making fruitcakes for Christmas. Of course every June when she comes to visit me on Long Island, she complains about her stiff knees and. weak hands and threatens not to go strawberry picking. Then, after she rages about the poor quality and outrageous prices of market berries, prompting me to suggest that we just ride over and check the northfork field, she inevitably forgets her ailments and off we go. "I need a drink," she announces in the kitchen, reaching for the Bloody Mary mix while I begin rinsing some ten quarts of strawberries and placing them on paper towels spread out over every inch of counter space. "Now, sort them carefully, honey, and make sure the ones for preserves are firm and the same size," she instructs as if I hadn't been through the procedure a hundred times over the years. She then opens a new package of pectin, measures cups of sugar, and takes a big slug of her restorative libation. Cooking strawberries for preserves is a very serious and private affair for Mother, and nobody, not even my neighbor Craig Claiborne when he was alive, would ever risk distracting her. Once the hulled berries are in a big kettle and the first measurement of sugar is added, I step away as she brings the mixture very slowly to a boil and begins stirring attentively with a large wooden spoon. More sugar, a little lemon juice, a slight heat adjustment, then further careful stirring as she quietly watches the berries gradually yield their juices, blend with the melted sugar, and almost magically turn a deep, glistening red. Her concentration is intense. "Quick, help me move this pot off the heat," she suddenly directs, lifting one side of the large vessel up before I can grab the other side. "I thought you said you had no strength left in your hands," I jest. "Hush. I don't have time to think about that now," she huffs, stirring pectin into the mixture. "Have you got those bowls ready?" Together we slowly pour the hot berries into two large mixing bowls, after which Mother begins the tedious but important task of skimming foam off the tops so that the preserves will not be cloudy. "Here," she says, handing me the spoon, "stir them steadily till they cool slightly and begin to thicken. I'm dead." She wipes her hands on her apron and reaches for her drink. Quite often, the cooled strawberries must stand overnight so that they will jell and plump enough to remain in suspension when preserved. After we've had lunch and taken well-deserved naps, however, Mother determines by early evening that the texture and consistency of the berries are already ideal, rousing her to begin sterilizing half-pint canning jars and lids in a steaming water bath while I melt paraffin in a saucepan. At one point, she drops a lid on the floor and asks me to pick it up, complaining about how she can't bend down that far. "Sometime I'd like to drop a hundred dollar bill on the ground and watch you scramble for that!" I jeer. "Smart aleck," she mumbles, popping me on the rear. As I ladle luxurious preserves into the jars, Mother, with her experienced and expert touch, pours hot paraffin over the tops, slowly tilts each jar back and forth till the waxy substance begins to set and seal every edge, and caps each with a lid and ring band as a precaution against any improbable but always possible seepage. We then take each jar and apply a label that reads "From Martha's Kitchen." "Pretty, aren't they?" Mother comments quietly, standing back with her tired hands on her hips and surveying the twenty-odd jars lined up across the counter. "But Lord, that's a lot of work and . . . well, honey, I really do think my strawberry-picking days are over." Playfully I put my arm around her broad waist, tell her not to be so ridiculous, and suggest that she go change clothes so I can take her for a good dinner. Outside, the warm setting summer sun now filters gently through the towering oak trees, and as I gaze wistfully at this season's fresh, brilliantly red preserves that will bring such happiness to so many, I'm once again seized by all sorts of confused childhood, adolescent, and even recent nostalgia pertaining to the lady known to family as Martha Pearl, to friends simply as Martha, and to me as Mother, Missy, Big Mama, and, when she gets particularly overbearing, Brunhilde. Although this piece refers to strawberries, you can use the same technique to make peach preserves, which are now in season Peach Preserves Frankly stated, most people familiar with Mother’s pickle and preserves agree that there are no peach preserves on earth that can touch the ones she makes with Southern Elbertas each and every summer. They are undoubtedly my favorite of all her preserves, and there’s never a time when my basemetn shelves in East Hampton are not loaded with jars aging up to nine months. As I have learned by making the preserves repeatedly with her, the secret is impeccably fresh, firm, sweet peaches that are allowed to cook very slowly in syrup that must be watched carefully for just the right thickness. Martha Pearl Says: To test the thickness of the syrup in these preserves, I spoon about a tablespoon of the hot liquid onto a saucer and place it in the freezer for about 5 minutes. If the syrup is not ready, it will be thin and runny. Ingredients: 3 pounds fresh, firm peaches, peeled pitted and sliced ¼” thick 6 cups sugar Procedure: In a large pot, combine the peaches and sugar, cover, and let stand overnight to allow the peaches to leach out and moisten the sugar. The next day, bring the mixture slowly to a boil, stirring frequently, then reduce the heat slightly and cook till the fruit is clear and the syrup is thick, about 40 minutes. Spoon the peaches into hot, sterilized jars, seal, and store in a cool area. Refrigerate after opening. Post your questions here -- >> Q&A

Please post questions to James Villas here.

I heard a rumor that Iberico ham would soon be available for export. Anyone know when and who in the U.S. might carry it?

What's the point here? A sweet note amid the fishy astringency? Totally out of place. Piquancy? Use lemon juice -- or capers, if you must. But not pickles. They stand out like little sweet 'n' sour jujubes. Here's another one: soft-shell crabs. Fingernails that taste like crab are still fingernails -- fingernails the size of a Kosher pickle.

Can anyone help me to answer this question as I have never made jam: I made some home made raspberry jam the other day (what a job that was!) and I don't know if I didn't cook it long enough or what, but it didn't thicken up enough. Is there a way to "save" this jam? Please say "yes"!

What's your favorite condiment? For purposes of this thread, "condiment" can mean anything from jams and preserves to spices and herbs to salsas and salad dressings to gravies and sauces to nut butters and dried seaweeds to miso shiru and wasabi paste, etc. As for me, it's a six way tie between kosher salt, cracked black pepper, fresh garlic, EVOO, Mrs. Dash and unsalted butter. Can't live without any of those. Everything else is negotiable, more or less. What are yours? Discuss.... Soba

Using Frozen Yolks to Make Mayonnaise The emulsifying power in a single egg yolk in its raw state is substantial. But it can be further enhanced by freezing the yolk first. A cup of mayonnaise can be made easily with as little as 1/4 of a frozen yolk, though it will be on the thin side; this is not because you use less yolk, but because, regardless of the amount of yolk used, the quantities of water (or water-based liquid, such as lemon juice or vinegar) and oil do not change. The repercussions from this are quite interesting, but perhaps better left for another thread, so I'll just put the basic quantities and technique here. If there's interest, I'll start another thread or find one to add it on to. I'm going to use whole yolks here, because the mayo base for the recipes above needs to be thick to accomodate an added 1/4 to 1/3 cup liquid. This should result in a good body for the finished sauce. And the addded liquid, if it's thoroughly whisked in, will stabilize the sauce. 1. For each cup of mayonnaise, freeze one of the following combinations: 1 whole yolk for four hours 1 whole yolk whisked with 1T lemon juice (not vinegar) for eight hours 1 whole yolk whisked with 1T water for 24 hours 2. Have ready: pinch salt 7/8 c oil, not more than 30% unrefined (e.g., EVOO) oil 1 T water or other water-based liquid, or a combination 3. Allow the yolk to thaw 4. Put the yolk in a bowl and add salt. Beat lightly. 5. Add oil 1/4 t at a time. Once the emulsion thickens, you can add larger quantities. If the mayo gets really thick and looks like it's sweating oil, whisk in a few drops of water. 6. If, by the time you've incorporated all the oil, you still have more than a tablespoon of water left, whisk in enough additional water to make about 1-1/2 T total. Note: use of more than 30% unrefined oil will result in an unstable mayo -- you'll have just a few hours before it breaks. The second mayo recipe, calls for two cups of oil. A single frozen yolk will easily accomodate this, and make a good medium-weight mayonnaise Keywords: Sauce ( RG576 )

Beef Mayo 1/4 c defatted veal-sherry reduction (he specifies 2 C stock reduced to 1/4 C, so adjust accordingly) 2 T neutral oil 3 T finely minced onion 3 T finely minced celery 2 tsp minced garlic 1 bay leaf 1 tsp ground black pepper 1 tsp dry mustard 1/2 tsp cayenne 1/2 tsp chopped fresh thyme 1 tsp brown sugar 1 tsp salt 1 egg 2 c neutral oil 1. Heat 2 T oil over high heat until it shimmers. Saute the pepper, mustard and cayenne for about a minute, stirring constantly to prevent burning. (You do want the veggies to caramelize, though.) 2. Add the onions and celery and saute for another minute, then add the garlic, stirring, until the aroma blooms, about 20 seconds. 3. Reduce heat to medium low. Add the sugar and salt. Saute another two minutes. 4. Remove from heat and stir in the thyme. Allow to cool ten minutes, then remove the bay leaf. 5. Whiz the egg in a blender or food processor for about 30 seconds. Add the vegetable mixture and puree for about 15 seconds. 6. Add 2/3 of the oil in a steady stream, then add the stock in the same way. Finish with the rest of the oil; continue about 30 seconds after the oil is gone, scraping bowl down frequently. Note: there's not much acid in this recipe, so either adjust the seasonings with white wine/rice vinegar or lemon juice; or keep it under refrigeration until it's time to serve it, and put it back in the refrigerator it as soon as you're done. Keywords: Sauce ( RG575 )

Lime Chutney Sherry Dressing--From the NY Potluck dinner This dressing is a creation of Floyd Cardoz at Tabla, New York City. The original recipe was published in the New York Times on December 8, 1999. Please give him his due: I would never have thought of this! I make a salad of butter or or Boston-type lettuce, thinly sliced red onions that have been "sweetened" and crisped by chilling in water for about 30 minutes and thinly sliced cucumbers. I also add slices or segments of navel oranges (remove all the pith, first, please....). Sometimes I serve the salad without cucumbers and add black olives and a spinkle of cayenne pepper... * * 1 part sherry (like an oloroso; not too dry and not too sweet) 1 part red wine vinegar 1 part EVOO 1/16 part Indian lime pickle, like Patak's Mild Lime Relish 1/16 part mango chutney (I use a sweet one, rather than a hot one) Chopped fresh tarragon Salt and freshly ground black pepper Over medium heat, reduce the sherry to two-thirds of its original volume. In a blender, process the lime pickle, chutney and vinegar until smooth. Blend in the sherry. While the machine is running, slowly add oil until emulsified. Add the tarragon, salt and pepper. Do not blend. Refrigerate unused portions (keeps for quite a long time in a cold refrigerator; bring to room temperature before serving). Keywords: Salad ( RG572 )

Hello, I am curious about what experience others may have using mustard seed oil. In Canada, by law mustard seed oil must be sold with the label "for external use only". I have spoken to members of the East Indian community in Winnipeg (who describe themselves in that way to differentiate themselves from First Canadians who call themselves Indians) and I have been told that they use it with no ill effects. I realize that this oil has been used for a millenia, but in modern times, has use of it been discouraged in any other communities? Thanks! Rick

Dijon Mustard Here's my favorite Dijon Style Mustard: 2 tsp sugar 2 tsp kosher salt 2 T chilled lemon juice 2 tsp black peppercorns 1/2 c ground brown mustard 1/4 c ground yellow mustard 1 tsp gin (or 2 tsp juniper berries) 1 Bay Leaf 3 T minced garlic 1/4 c minced shallot 1/2 c minced yellow onion 1 c Dry white wine (I usually use a Sauvignon Blanc) 1 c Cider Vinegar 1/4 c Cold Water 1) Make a paste with mustard powders and water. 2) Reduce by 2/3 combination of wine, vinegar, onion, shallot, garlic, peppercorn, gin, and bay leaf over medium heat. 3) Strain/Cover/Chill reduction 4) Combine in the pan the reduction, mustard paste, sugar, salt, and lemon juice; mix and let stand for 30 minutes 5) Simmer for 15 minutes. 6) Jar it and put it on a shelf in a cool out-of-the-way place. Optimum results occur after about a month of aging. Of course, my idea of optimum and yours may be different, so check it every two weeks or so. If it's too wet, mix in some additional dry mustard; too dry, then add in some vinegar; too tangy, give it some more aging time. Once it's where you want it flavor wise, refridgerate it to stop the mellowing process. It'll keep for a long while. Keywords: Intermediate, Condiment ( RG557 )

source data Can anyone clarify what she's describing here? It seems so improbable. Since it's from last Dec I tried a search but nothing popped up.

Hi, I have a bottle of: Original Jamaica Rom Black Joe Serie:u No:111 I wonder if the bottle is worth something or should I just enjoy it? The bottle is probebly from 1960 or so. Best Regard Nicklas

Hi , I've got a question for which three facts are usefull: - I graduated last tuesday (so I now can call myself a teacher, although I'm already fulfilling that job for more than a year) - I celebray my birthday (july 12th) in combination with the graduation - two friends are going on a honeymoon to Jamaica and have asked repeatedley what they can buy me for the occasion What rums can you advise me to aks for this occasion that are not so commonly known like Appleton's, Myers or Wray and Nephew's? The friends are leaving on june 6th, so your advise would we wanted before that date... Thanks, John

Pickled Jalapenos This recipe, more properly a method, was inviented by my dad about 30 years ago. He had been doing some work in Mexico and was struck by the difference in the jalapenos that were always served in the restaurants. I did some checking when I spent some time down there and this recipe confirms that he was right. Spices and the amounts are at your discretion. I do know that they seem to use a lot more than you see in the stuff we buy. The vinegar that is used is milder, too. For each pint jar c vinegar (see below) c water tsp pickling salt tsp spices ( see below) T sesame oil Choose firm peppers and other ingredients (carrots, onion, garlic cloves, cauliflower, etc.) Wash thoroughly and pack into a pint jar pickling jar. Wide mouths are easier to work with. If you leave the peppers whole, slit the side so the pickling solution can fill the peppers. You might want to slice the peppers and remove the stem, seeds and membranes. This will make for a milder pickle. Distribute the spices into each jar while packing with the peppers. Bring the vinegar, water and salt to a boil and pour into each jar leaving 1/2 to 3/4 inch headspace. Heat sesame oil gently (less than 150 degrees) and add 2 tablespoons to each jar. Seal the jar and process in a hot water bath (barely simmering) for 10 minutes. Let stand for a couple of weeks before using. Refrigerate after opening. Vinegars: The classic is a homemade fruit vinegar such as pineapple that good cooks in Mexico keep going in a crock on the counter. The fruity flavor and milder acidity really makes this recipe sing. If you aren't up to making your own, look for a milder vinegar like rice wine. I have been known to cheat and add a couple of teaspoons of pineapple juice to a low acid vinegar. Spices: pickling spice mixture, bay leaf, Mexican oregano, cumin seed, corainder seed, allspice berries, whole cloves. A lot of preparations I have seen in Mexico seem to have more than the starter teaspoon. Add more or less of different ones to your taste. (I add a lot of almost everything. And I don't skimp on the garlic.) Keywords: Appetizer, Side, Hot and Spicy, Snack, Tex-Mex ( RG525 )

An episode of Good Eats, American Pickle, inspired me to start making homemade pickles last summer. I was very surprised at how easy it is. Anyone else pickle? What are some of your favorites? Do you make enough to can or do you keep them in the fridge for immediate consumption? My faves so far are Alton's Firecrackers, which are hot pickled baby carrots, and pickled dilled green beans.