Seriously. This is a combination history, science and social studies book. Want to know why so many different foods come from milk? Perhaps you'd like to know that the word cocoa came to us through the Maya and Aztec from the word kakawa coined 3000 years ago. Ever had a kid ask "what's the difference between French Vanilla and regular Vanilla ice cream?" and not had an answer at the ready? Do you find yourself watching "Breaking Bad" and wishing you paid more attention in chemistry class? This book fixes all of that and more.
It is organized into 15 chapters:
1: Milk and Dairy 2: Eggs 3: Meat 4: Fish and Shellfish 5: Edible Plants 6: A Survey of Common Vegetables 7: A Survey of Common Fruits 8: Flavorings from Plants: Herbs and Spices, Tea and Coffee 9: Seeds: Grains, Legumes, and Nuts 10: Cereal Doughs and Batters: Bread, Cakes, Pastry, Pasta 11: Sauces 12: Sugars, Chocolate, and Confectionary 13: Wine, Beer, and Distilled Spirits 14: Cooking Methods and Utensil Materials 15: The Four Basic Food Molecules
Each of the chapters if chock full of tables to compare herbs; aromas; shelf-life of staples; etc. There are callouts throughout with interesting little snippets (like comments from cookbooks over 2000 years old; or what to do if you eat too much wasabi). The writing is interesting enough to merit reading it without a specific cooking agenda and I grab it often (though, for some reason, my wife is more troubled by me taking THIS book into the bathroom than others...sorry, family issue).
Here is the big revelation for my family: this book changed the way we approach both cooking and education for our children. We have a third-grader, a kindergartner and a pre-schooler. They love cooking (and have their own aprons and kid-friendly implements). Each of their schools has assigned "food" homework (Mexican appetizers for Cinco de Mayo; Native American foods; etc.) Now, before any cooking occurs, we break out this book and research all of the ingredients and methods we use. For the third-grader, it ties in her math work (the differences between English and Metric systems; weighing food vs. measuring volume), her science work (esters, enzymes) and social studies (the relation of food to culture). When we combine disciplines like this, we find our childrens' retention is much higher (as well as their energy level while "studying"). The school developed a cross-discipline program called "Quest". One of the assignments was "Gross Foods with Fancy Names". The children researched things like how gooey foods get their consistency; where food colorings come from; and how we learned to use different parts of animals for different cooking purposes. For all I know, one of the teachers bought On Food... and got the idea from Harold McGee. Our third-grader was blown away that she knew what rennet was, what it was used for and where it came from when her Quest team explored cheese. This book is almost never on the kitchen book shelf -- it is constantly in use by someone in our family.
Jason Epstein's comment in the Times is the definitive one: "Indispensable".
We get off to a bad start because I break a fundamental rule: never send anyone shopping for you. Donna hits a wall quickly as Kings has no whiting or trout (see Cassoulet de Poissons below). I give her several alternative suggestions and the guy working the counter tells her "you know there's a big difference between tilapia and whiting, right?" She'd better love this dish.
Summer Harvest Salad -- Artichokes! I now know why I should have considered myself lucky in avoiding working with them for all these years. This is a mean-ass plant! The spikes on the end of these leaves defend themselves to the last (in clean-up the next morning, I am stabbed again from hell's heart by an artichoke burr hiding on the floor). But my wife loves them. It garnered me nothing (save the gratitude of an aging but still cute woman and half a dozen holes in my hands) but it was tasty. The big improvement here is in my mayonnaise-making skill. I've been working this concoction for years, but for some reason became hooked on blender mayo. This time, attempting to be faithful to the book, I go back to hand-made. Wow, it's clearly better! And my track record of blender mayo, no disrespect to my wonderous Cuisinart high capacity pureeinator, is 50-50. Half of the attempts separated. I do the whisk-work and am reminded that I can do this successfully 100% of the time. Now, it's wrist-breaking work, but as someone who has been working his right hand on a steady regimen since age 13, I am up to the task (sorry for the reference in the middle of a mayo discussion).
Fish and Bean Stew -- I substitute black-eyed peas for great northern white beans. A deft use of a pantry item, but a mistake as these beans shed and break up under heavy cooking. As the tilapia also breaks up, I wind up with some sludge. Very tasty, though. Deidre likes it. Andre loves it. LFP was a no-show. We get lots of leftovers and I freeze four portions (an update will come after the thaw).
Sponge Cake with Creme Anglaise -- I am keeping my commitment to dessert. It keeps the Fuss Pots engaged with my cooking exploits, if not bought into every production. This one goes over like a sister-kiss
Onion Tart -- delicious, and a double winner. The first win is that four of the five of us love it. The second: my wife is now convinced that our friend, who recently made a similar dish, used a store-bought crust. It's a rare feat to get a victory from a couple of jagged, overbaked edges. This keeps nicely in the fridge and would be a good choice for Donna's future luncheon meetings where she needs food she pretended to make for her fellow charity moms and board members. The crust was slightly overworked.
Mussels with Wine and Cream Sauce -- deferred.
Vanilla Bavarian Cream with Coulis -- (substituted blueberries we have in the freezer for raspberries called for in the book). This came out perfectly. I used a small spring pan and got a beautiful looking, delicate tasting dessert. Even LFP loves this one, though my attempts to get her to mix in blueberries (which she loves separately) fail. Some future therapist is going to have a yacht from the fees this kid will have to pay.
John and Kendra were the first to invite us over since my return from CO. This is a severe departure from my usual Good Friday routine (dinner with former members of Cheers and the all-important start of Vodka Season) as we have postponed our annual dinner to April 9th.
The good news: I only needed to prepare an appetizer. The bad news: I chose risotto. So did Kendra. Ugh. How could this happen?!? They were planning on grilling -- who accompanies grilled warm-weather food with risotto (why was I doing it, you ask? See prior posts about Donna's endorphin rush when I use "in-inventory" ingredients).
A little good-natured teasing about the risotto cook-off (my good nature completely depending on everyone thinking mine was superior, of course) and we decided to split the two offerings into courses. Kendra's had shrimp and corn (an unusual crunchy combo that worked nicely) and mine was with exotic mushrooms and truffle oil. After repeatedly pointing out that I used homemade stock (Kendra used canned), the crowd was on board with my need for approval and assured me that mine was better. The truth mattered not -- I was only interested in winning, no matter how false a victory.
We also had filet mignon on the grill, accompanied by a "left rack" bottle of Chateau Leoville Las Cases St. Julien, 1998. It was excellent. We started with a bottle of Franciscan Merlot and a bottle of Catena Malbec, both of which were quaffable, but not in the same plane of existence with the Leoville. The riesling Kendra served with the onion tart (which I disrespected by calling it a quiche -- I apologised to both the cook and the creation, then ate a second piece) was phenomenal, but I neglected to write down the name. It was memorable.
Happy birthday to my dearest friend, Michael. He's 50, which makes me old by association. He's hungry, which makes me fat by justified ingestion. He's surly which makes me think I have a personality. He has a camera which ensures that I can't make any claims to being good looking or happy-go-lucky.
I've remembered his birthday (read: I was reminded by his loving wife). This may not seem like news, but Michael and I have perpetually forgotten each others' birthdays. My excuse has always been confusion with my next door neighbor, Larry (whose birthday is March 18, 1962). Michael's difficulties have been more vague. More importantly, he has the most memorable story overlooking my birthday. Friend Smerk and I visited Thrifty when he moved to Southern Cali. We had dinner overlooking Pirates of the Caribbean in Disneyland. Casual conversation turns to birthday celebrations. Michael casually asks "when is your birthday, Glenn?" Today. Hey, at least he picked up dinner.
So why "Thrifty"? I asked for a blender. He has one. It doesn't do anything. I ask him why he doesn't buy another one -- the market is chock full of efficient, inexpensive gear. He reminds me that he just bought one in 1996, so he's not rushing out to buy another one any time soon. I feel quite comfortable abusing the birthday boob until his 77-year-old mother arrives and fixes the 14-year-old machine. Ebineezer Stooge is vindicated. I am wondering if his 77-year-old mother can fix me.
Ok, the food. Sister Donna has flown in with Italian goodies from New Jersey (hard cheese, sausage, pepperoni, dried pasta) and bread and cookies that just aren't available in Texas. This last point shouldn't be a surprise, but I am still struck by the lack of respect for Italian cuisine in this part of the country (or should I say "this country" to show respect to the fact that Texas is not really part of the US). The following map of Italian American concentrations clues me in that pancetta is not going to be on sale at the local grocery store.
I should also feel forewarned that the name of this grocery store is HEB. Their website says it stands for Here Everything is Better, but Thrifty assures me it stands for Howard E. Butts. Uh oh. There's a chance that this name is an Ellis Island casualty, right? Humberti Nessuno Melo Ficca Inculo, anyone?
The menu is driven by two things: Michael's need for real Italian food made by real Italians (hey, I'm adopted -- for all we know, I'm a descendant of a fine Italian chef)
and his parents' reminisces about the best Italian restaurants in New Jersey. We review the state of Trenton's Chambersburg restaurant scene; the pizza
;
sauces; and their all-time favorite (which I have somehow never visited), Bella Napoli.
This sends us into a frenzy of hunger. We inventory the ingredients Donna has muled from NJ and the Guadagno pantry, then head to the grocery store. Uh oh. This is not going to go well. When you get to the cheese section and you are overwhelmed by the red and blue Kraft packaging, you are not breaking into O Solo Mio. When the pignoli are only labeled "pine nuts" (and they're buried under giant bags of peanuts), you aren't tempted to put your fingers to your lips. And when the butcher refuses to make you a ground veal, pork and beef mix, there's only one thing to do (and no fear of reprisals because no one here can interpret it):
We do find grana padano cheese (though we find later that it lacks flavor). The deli has prosciutto (we buy some, but don't discuss it aloud for fear the local yokel will call it pro-SKEW-toe -- it's Texas, so we assume he's armed behind the meat counter). And they do have some decent oil, if not the exact brands we were hoping for. Donna tries to buy wine before Noon on a Sunday. The checkout clerk points out our error, which I am sure is a capital offense in Texas, but the clerk laughs at our pathetic attempts to flout the laws of the great state of Tex-ass and let's us live.
So the menu is set: three kinds of pasta, four kinds of gravy:
Vodka sauce
Pesto sauce
Red (meat) sauce (with meatballs and sausage)
Alfredo sauce
The local tomatoes look ok (and it gives all of us a chance to say "these are NOT Jersey tomatoes" -- a guaranteed endorphin rush for Jerseyites) so I decide to make bruschetta. Geri spots the fresh cilantro and warns me that Thrifty Fifty will blanch. I go into a long tirade about ingredient affectations. Not unlike the repaired blender, I will come to regret this (see this article -- stupid New York Times, stupid timing).
On Monday, laden with leftovers (and denial about our burgeoning stomachs), we do it all again. I add a quick appetizer I learned from The Monsieur: Smoked oysters w/goat cheese. After much carping about oysters, they are accepted, the way I am treated like an Italian.
The Verdict:
Vodka Sauce -- very good. We make it the way Mr. G prefers it, with peas and prosciutto. (N.B. I make this for the family in New Jersey with blanched lardons and it was a big hit).
Alfredo Sauce -- excellent. Added nutmeg as a spice to good effect.
Red Sauce -- excellent, except the meatballs suffer from lack of pork and veal, but the sausage makes up for it. Better the second day.
Pesto Sauce -- good. The Texas fresh basil is not bad at all. The Texas cheese is not up to our standards, but we adjust, drink more wine and enjoy it thoroughly.
I am very happy to be with what is really family for Michael's birthday. There are more pictures of the festivities, but I'm not allowed to publish them. I don't know why, as the attendees are all beautiful (and seemingly immune to aging), but you are stuck with only that hideous picture of me scowling over the food. Deal.
Michael is the finest person I have ever known. His parents deserve to be called Mom and Dad. His sister, although I spent the first 10 years of knowing her burrowing under her skin like a tick, is funny, engaging and someone I should have spent more time with growing up. Tony is the nicest guy with a high IQ that I have ever met. We treat him like a busboy in the kitchen, but still he smiles and delivers good food. His baby-to-be is a lucky kid. And Michael's wife, Geri, can begin the beatification process now. It'll sail through. I love them all. So it is only fitting that I express my love for this man and his family with the following abuse:
Top Ten Things About Michael Turning 50 in Texas
10. In Texas, it was easier to know he was married. There were tobacco juice stains on both sides of his pickup.
9. The good news: fireworks are legal in Texas. The bad news: he'll probably mistake an M-80 for a suppository.
8. If Trevor were ever to "have to" get married, the phrase "shotgun wedding" is considered redundant in Texas.
7. The only thing there's less competition for here than seats at a Catholic mass on Easter Sunday? Front row seats at a synagogue on GayPrideSabbath.
6. This is the land of big and plenty, so Michael's opening an Italian market called Fon Du Lots.
5. In New Jersey, he had to tolerate people of different faiths. In California, he had to accept alternative lifestyles. In the UK, he had to live with gun control. Here, he can go back to being a turducken of intolerance.
4. Texas is big enough that he can take over a small town, become mayor, and rename it Glenthompson so I won't have to retire in the South Pacific.
3. It takes a place where everyone is parochial in their thinking to remind us of the value of being as worldly as Michael has become.
2. In a state where they execute the mentally challenged, it's a clear reminder of the value of someone as smart as Michael.
And, the Number 1 Thing about Michael Turning 50 in Texas:
1. In a state where everything is enormous, there is no larger gift than the friendship I have received from Michael and, for it, I will be eternally grateful.
Gratin of Hard-Boiled Eggs -- one of the oldest recipes known in France (cookbook claims there are copies from the 17th century), this is simple and elegant. The problem is that my family has preconceived notions about eggs -- what they should look like, when to eat them, etc. Their closed minds meant my intake went up (along with my cholesterol). Delicious, but not even The Boy liked them.
Poached Swordfish with Pearl Onions and Mushrooms -- A variation on the veal chop recipe (my concession to Donna's insistence that we limit meat intake). This is delicious! BFP pushed aside the pearl onions, but loved the 'shrooms and fish. Donna and Andre loved the whole thing. It was fabulous. LFP was a no-show.
Smoked Salmon Crepes -- Wow! A big winner all the way around. Macerating the salmon (soaking in milk for 2 hours) made it really tender and less "fishy". Disclaimer: I am intensely annoyed by the non-specific complaint "it's too fishy". When's the last time someone complained that a t-bone was "too meaty". It's a stupid comment that should die a quick and unhonored death. However, this maceration method will help certain people with the designation FP (Fuss Pot) transition into more fish consumption. LFP ate the plain (but homemade and nicely prepared) crepes. For the rest, it cut like a sushi roll. A big winner that should be repeated. Leftovers were (nearly) equally good. Update: Deidre has made this dish the buzz of Mendham Township Elementary School, Grade 3. Julia Neihoff tells Deidre: "I hate salmon, but I want to try it!" Confidence is low.
Roast Leg of Lamb -- Another bastardized recipe (hey, no one in France is actually reading this -- which reminds me: Deidre, Alaina and their friend Grace Shin call me "Uncle Fritz" for reasons which escape/do not interest me. Andre looks at me and says "Hi, Uncle France!" Ok, I'm Uncle France.) I used a yogurt marinade (Donna gets an endorphin rush when I use already purchased ingredients from the 'fridge), including thyme, oregano, garlic, marjoram, lemon juice and sliced onions. Will definitely do this again, but four hours was not enough -- this is what will now be referred to as a Spitzer -- it's an overnighter. Convection roasted it for about 50 minutes (6 lb. leg) and it came very rare.
Swiss Chard Gratin -- Another surprise winner! First time cooking chard -- it's expensive (about $8 for two servings for the family). Difficult to work with the white part (it's stringy and needs to cook a while) but the greens, after blanching, baked up deliciously. I screwed up by layering too much gruyere cheese (12 ounces, grated) thinking that would be a selling camouflage for the kids. Turns out they would've been fine with half that much. Good for leftovers.
Chocolate Mousse with Hazelnuts and Whisky -- (substituted for Pineapple Sorbet, as I find non-machine-made ice creams and sorbets to be slushy ice baths...the kids enjoyed fresh cut pineapple much more than they would have liked the sorbet). I need to work on this one -- sugar did not dissolve properly. I skipped the hazelnuts (forgot to buy them) and that would have covered up the crunchy granules of sugar. Kids were ok w/it, but it wasn't ready for a more sophistimacated palate. Oh, and I was out of whisky, so I used dark rum instead. It was a good substitute.
*- Why do roast pans with drippings drive Donna crazy? And what possesses me to leave them crusting on the counter until the next day...every time?!?
Non-Lesson Meal
Grilled Swordfish (marinated in soy sauce, garlic, ginger, sesame oil and olive oil) -- wonderful! 5 minutes/side undercooked the fish...needed about 7 minutes/side to do the trick on the giant Weber grill.
Hamburgers -- again, a freezer leftover item that just sent Donna into happyland that we used it. I could smell the estrogen from across the room (but it resulted in nothing as I ruined the romantic mood by making her watch Hurt Locker...big Pollack dummy).
First day this year we were able to eat outside. Deidre and I had planned an April Fools joke to play on Donna (telling her I was taking a job in Taipei and she should start learning to speak Mandarin now...Deidre was ready to say "wo bu mingbai" -- I don't understand...Donna's key foreign language phrase) but we didn't get it done. I substituted with a trick on Deidre -- she cut her toe and I put a giant bandage on it, covered it with a plastic bag and told her she had to hold it up in the air all night. I even offered to get rope and tie it to the ceiling light in their room to help. She fell for it, but said afterward she was humiliated. She has such a good heart, she can't believe anyone would ever lie to her. I am a bad person.
Pratique de Base?!? Sounds like something I should've done as a kid if I wanted steady work in bar bands.
Lesson 1
Cucumber Salad with Mint -- this is the hit of the meal! Surprisingly, the whole family enjoys this simple dish. The only planning required is salting and draining the cucumbers. Fresh mint allows my "anti-mint" wife to enjoy the dish without her ingredient affectation rearing its ugly head (stereotype alert: this appears to be a very Italian trait -- see Thrifty Fifty post on garlic and cilantro).
Roast Chicken -- I've gotten very comfortable with roasts over the last decade. Three keys to success here: 1) know your oven. Too many people assume "425F for 12 minutes/pound" is a universal directive. That's like saying "buy her a drink and tell her she's got a nice ass" to get laid. Ovens, their installation/insulation and the size/shape of the items you put in them introduce variations that inevitably lead to overcooked food. Get an oven thermometer, a meat thermometer and practice. 2) Don't rely on {in pompous PBS-produced cooking show voice} "when the fleshiest part of the poultry reads 170F, it is done". Yup. In fact, it was done half an hour ago and will be at a gravy-evaporating 185F by the time people eat it. Get accustomed to pulling roasts out early and testing. When a chicken is at 160F, it will cook through on the counter while the juices return to the meat. 3) Brine. Briny briny brine. OK, Le Cordon Bleu doesn't call for brining chicken. Screw them. Brine the bitch. It is easy, doesn't cost much and only requires a little advanced planning (in this case, a 6-pound Perdue Oven Stuffer Roaster required only 4 hours in the salt bath).
Spring Peas with Lettuce, Chervil and Onions -- ok, just because it's 39F outside and raining, we're pretending it's spring vegetable time. Again, this went over surprisingly well, though LFP and BFP (Little Fuss Pot, aka Alaina and Big Fuss Pot, aka Deidre) pushed the pearl onions aside. And that after I painstakingly peeled 3 dozens of the little bastards...the onions, not the fuss pots.
Country-Style Vegetable Soup with Noodles -- wow! First time I'm cooking with cabbage as a main ingredient and realizing I've misunderstood this smelly beauty all these years (feel this way about several women I know as well). Thinly sliced, blanched, sauteed then boiled with the homemade stock, this stuff comes sweet and tender. Even the fuss pots (save FP extraordinaire, Alaina) love it! Used Contadina dried vermicelli to put in the soup (half a pound) but should have cut it in fourths instead of in half. Lots of tableside mess while we tried to cut down the brothy pasta into some size that was manageable.
Veal Scallops with Apples and Calvados -- the baked apples (used golden delicious) was a big hit. Will think about making desserts around this aromatic, simple dish in the future. Everyone loves the veal (even Donna "Eat Right for Your Aging Blood Type" Thompson). Of course, as with so many things, we have to call it "steak" to get the kids to eat it. I think when we take them to the dentist, we'll call it "lunch at Morton's" in the future. Had trouble finding calvados in the liquor store, but it's a nice addition. Thought I'd thrill the kids by flaming it on the stove and Deidre screamed bloody murder (dragging the other two down with her). I grumbled something stupid about never doing anything fun for them again (why didn't they think of me potentially burning the house down as fun?!?) and got on with the meal.
Caramel Custard -- this is a clear attempt to move outside my comfort zone (yes, I bring tired business cliches to the kitchen -- get used to it...I'm several months away from a diet and exercise regimen that will be called "rightsizing"). I typically don't do dessert. When guests come and insist on bringing something, I feign "just bring an appetite" before I tell them to bring a dessert. The problem is, with time constraints, health crazes and general American laziness, everyone goes to the store to buy dessert (and not even a bakery these days, people go to Kings for dessert -- yes, I'm aware them make desserts on the premises, but my snobbery forces me to look down on this practice). The Custard goes exceedingly well. I have used a bain marie before, so I'm ok with this (even though I am criticized for not using the hot water feature on our Poland Spring water dispenser -- I am so appalled at this hypocrisy in my tree-hugging approach to life that I pretend it's not there...except when I need a cold drink of water, of course...in which case I grumble something about my wife forcing me to do this and I chug it down). I use my creme brulee dishes -- first time they've had a dessert in them, even though they were purchased at a Chef Central splurge about 6 years ago -- which gets me a snide "'bout time" from the Unnecessary Expense Police. I make one without caramel for LFP, but she still doesn't bite. BFP puts up an argument about caramel until I show her what it is (sugar and water). In my fustication with BFP, I let the caramel cool too long in the pan and make stained glass instead of caramel. I have to reheat the image of the Virgin Mary that I've created and get it into the dishes. This is a serious imposition on my blustering (an important part of cooking), but I get the dish right. Delicious! I'm back in the dessert game.
*-The creme brulee dishes killed me here -- a full cycle through the dishwasher, then hand-washed, 2 minutes/dish.
**-Though there are no veal or custard leftovers, we have two full soup meals and stock chicken left over, so -- veal costs aside -- this is not as expensive as it first appears.
Nothing original here -- having seen Julie and Julia, I realized one item in my cooking armour that is weak is documentation. I often do things that surprise myself and forget them later. More egregious, I make mistakes and repeat them because I am compelled by my nature to have "oh shit" moments that recur like Groundhog Day.
The Le Cordon Bleu at Home cookbook is organized into entire meals that intend to assist the amateur cook in learning basic skills then building on them. My ego insists that I point out that I learned many of these basic skills from Jim Mandio (and the "other Jim" who's name now escapes my addled brain) back in the 1980s. The two Jims were both edumacated at CIA, cooked at the Sheraton in Bordentown (now a Ramada Inn) with me. Sunday's were a borefest until dinner time, so much free instruction (as well as unauthorized consumption) occurred. This is my systematic attempt to formalize what I have been doing for decades.
not bought into every production. This one goes over like a sister-kiss 
