Archives for November 2008
…..Beeee-be-beat-Beeee-be-beat….
We interrupt the regularly scheduled pie programming to announce that Crispy’s own Jerry Brito appeared last night on NBC Nightly News.
As I drove home to watch, I pondered on the proper alcoholic drink to mark the occasion, because it is well know in the policy community that you’ve got to celebrate what you can, while you can, and alcohol is always appropriate.
The Cuba Libre? Trite and the wrong time of year.
Rye straight from the bottle? Sound in the old journalist tradition, a gustatory challenge for the consumer.
I wanted something solid, something seasonally appropriate, something evocative of the great journalists of old like Damon Runyon…
The hot Tom and Jerry?!
Perfect, except for the temperature outside… it’s just a tad too warm here in DC for the hot Tom and Jerry.
So I turned to my favorite cocktail book, The Gentleman’s Companion: An Exotic Drinking Book and being stocked with oranges settled on the classic …
The Presidente
“Now known to many but sound enough in its own right for listing in any spiritual volume”
“Put one pony each of Bacardi Gold Seal and dry French Vermouth into a bar glass with cracked ice. Donate 1 tsp of grenadine and the same of curacao. Stir and serve in a Manhattan glass with a scarlet cherry for garnish. Finally twist a curl of yellow orange peel over the top so that the oil strikes the surface of the drink, then drop the peel in.”
Such a drink in hand and Jerry’s appearance made watching the evening news almost tolerable. Nice work, Jerry!
Happy Geese, I’ve Got Those Happy Geese
If you’re not already obsessed with the TED talks, you should be. About one thousand of the world’s coolest, smartest English-speaking people get together and each give “the talk of their lives” in 18 minutes or less. The TED website posts a few talks per week in video and in podcast form. The talks are nearly always non-ideological, and they make you interested in things you never would have thought to think about otherwise.
As an hors d’oeuvre, try this one, released today from foodie Dan Barber on his revelatory experience with ethical foie gras production.
A Requiem for Sparkling Water in SF Restaurants
I travel a lot for business and love to order sparkling water in leiu of an alcoholic beverage. But in San Francisco, I can do that no more as restaurants have adopted an anti bottled water policy.
The irony, as I lunched at Zuni, was that I could order Aranciata or Limonata, which are flavored versions of Pellegrino, but I could not order a Pellegrino plain. I also could have fested on Zuni’s vast menu of beers and boutique sodas by the bottle, as well as their wine selection, all of which clog landfills as much as a bottle of Pellegrino does. But my ordering sparkling water resulted in my waiter saying, “Sorry Ma’am, we no longer offer that. I can offer you tap water instead.”
Michael Phelps to Promote Sub-Par Sandwiches in New Ad Campaign
At the end of last week, Subway announced that it would be entering into an exclusive fast-food advertising contract with Michael Phelps, swimmer extraordinaire, and winner of eight gold medals at the Beijing Olympics.
The new campaign will highlight Subway as a destination for indulgent meals, such as a meatball sub, as well as healthy choices, such as grilled chicken on wheat. “Subway restaurants have always given me the options that I am looking for — whether that’s healthy sandwiches before a big meet or the tasty meatball sub that I treat myself with,” Michael Phelps said in the company’s release. “I was ready to take my Subway fandom to the next level — I really think of Subway as a champion food option.”
Well, it definitely will be easy for Michael Phelps to promote these “indulgent meals”, seeing as he eats twelve-thousand calories per day during the season (which is about ten thousand more than most people eat). Great for Michael, and perhaps for Subway as well, but what about Jared? Now that he’s lost all this weight, Subway can’t use him anymore? Jared’s a man of the people, and he makes me want to eat a Subway sandwich (even if the bread does get too soggy sometimes and the toasters there are almost always broken), not Michael Phelps. Michael Phelps makes me want to throw up when I see him eating a Subway sandwich, because all I can think about is what he ate for breakfast a few hours before (probably ten pancakes, six pieces of bacon, four eggs, and four sausages – my dream breakfast, but still pretty sickening). Let’s bring back Jared. Phelps – you’re impressive, but you should stick with Speedo and Visa.
Do Lean Times Call for Expired British Canned Goods?
About a year ago I bought two cans of already-well-expired Heinz Spaghetti at a British-themed shop in Arlington, VA. (Low in salt!, the can brags.) The cans sat in my cupboard since. Oftentimes, when I wasn’t in the mood to cook, and we were out of food, I’d suggest to my girlfriend that maybe now was the time to indulge. She was never game, making it clear that she thought doing so would likely lead to, how shall I say, exdulging.
But she went out one night recently and I decided, after digging around in the freezer and finding only some old Girl Scout Cookies, a couple bags of hot peppers, a waffle, and some hot dogs, that there was no time like the present to eat what could potentially be my last meal.
Alas, as I am here typing, I did not die. But I cannot recommend Heinz Spaghetti–even if recently canned–for the mere reason that its “tomatoey sauce” is both low in salt and, relatedly, utterly lacking in flavor. More unsalted ketchupey, really.
The moral of the story is that lean times do not call for expired British canned goods. Instead, they call for two hot dogs and a few hot peppers on a waffle, with a side of mashed Trefoils.
Pie #2: Chocolate Chess Pie or Thursday’s Sin
Yes, I know. It’s Saturday, and I baked the pie on Friday. But the pie is Thursday’s Sin, a Blue Ribbon Winner in Historic Lexington Cooks. Even on Friday, it was a hit at the office.
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1/2 c. butter
2 (1 oz.) squares unsweetened chocolate 2 eggs 1 1/4 c. sugar 1/4 c. milk 1 tsp. vanilla extract 1 unbaked 9″ pastry shell Melt chocolate and butter; set aside to cool.Beat eggs well. Add sugar and beat until light. Add chocolate mixture, milk, and vanilla and beat well. Pour chocolate mixture into pastry shell. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until set. Let cool completely. Yield: 1 (9″) pie.
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Respect for Crust
My friend Julie tells a heart-warming story about her grandmother teaching her and a friend how to make the famous familial pie crust recipe. They were in high school at the time, and Julie’s friend was a sweet, shy, people pleaser sort of girl.
Grandmother instructs girls on how to make the crust, starting with the cutting of fat into the flour. Girls start cutting away. Grandmother observes Julie’s technique for a while and then turns to Julie’s friend. Next thing Julie hears is her Grandmother’s piercing shriek.
“You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined the pie crust! No one will be able to eat that! We’ll have to throw it out! I told you to cut it to the size of peas! That’s like (a horrified pause) CORNMEAL!”
Whilst fuming, Grandmother heaves mixture into the trash. Pale and wan, friend recuses herself from the scene and flees for haven in Julie’s bedroom. Julie leaves kitchen to run emotional triage on friend. And that was the end of the lesson.
It’s the sort of story where the heart bleeds for both sides really. I feel for the tender teenager (who I fear may have developed a life-long aversion to pie), but I confess I tip my hat to Julie’s Grandmother. I like her crust. Horrors are being perpetuated under the name of crust, and it is time to take a stand.
I lay my crusts on the table: Crust is the sine qua non of pie. If you’re not going to go to the “trouble” of providing a decent crust, just bake the filling without a crust. Or go make a cake. Or skip dessert.
Remember, Julie’s grandmother is watching.
This Week in Bacon
Besides being a tasty anytime snack, bacon is increasingly becoming a ubiquitous accessory pattern.
Everyone knows about Archie McPhee’s bacon bandages. You probably recall–even if you don’t want to–the bacon bra (gross, if NSFW). You may even know about the bacon tie.
But how about the bacon iPhone cozy? Pretty cool in my book, even if the pattern looks as much Body Worlds as bacon.
Thanks to Erik at Flash in the Pan for the tip.
Pie #1-Kentucky Apple Pie
Crust:
2/3 cup of lard
2 cups of flour
1/2 tsp. salt
ice water to bind
Cut the lard into the combined flour and salt until it is the size of dried peas. Bind with ice water. Divide into two balls. Roll out one and line the bottom of a 9 in pie plate. Roll out other for top. Reserve.
Filling:
Peel, core, and slice enough tart apples to fill a 9 in pie plate (Unhelpful I know. I think I used about 7 medium apples, possibly 8, when all was said and done, but then I also used a 10 in pie plate. As you can see, precise measurement is not my gig. This may explain issues with cakes.)
Combine apples with
1/4 tsp mace ( I used mace because I could, and because I am out to prove Mario Batali wrong. (My spices and herbs get a lot of turnover, thank you, Mr. Molto.) You could use nutmeg or something else. Never let ingredient lists cramp your style, but remember the story of the strawberry cake.)
1/4 t. cinnamon
2/3 cup of brown sugar (if you use sweeter apples, drop the sugar to 1/2 cup)
2 T. arrowroot. (Again, I used it because I could. I am slightly obsessed with arrowroot. My mother, not having this obsession, would use 3 T. of minute tapioca, which works splendidly.)
a generous jigger of bourbon.
Pour into lined pie plate, top with other crust, crimp edges, and cut vents in top, bake in a 400 F oven for 45 minutes or so (until browned to your liking and bubbling). Remember to cover the edge with foil before baking to prevent burnt edges.
In Praise of Pie
Someday the NAS will see fit to give me a grant to fund my ground-breaking studies on the genetic component of baking, but until then I am just going to have to put it as a truth universally acknowledged that some people have the cake gene, and some people have the pie gene, and it’s the rare mutation that gives a person both.
There, there, calm down. Stop waving around your fingers and spluttering, “Pastry chefs!” As in most things, genetics is not destiny. You can overcome your genotype, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. With much patience, wittering, and the invaluable guidance of the splendidly anal Rose Levy Beranbaum, I can bake a decent, even an above average, cake, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am the possessor of the pie gene. Cake is hard. Pie is simple pleasure.
I know from whom I inherited this gene too. My mother. Now, I know she’s my mother, and I love her, and no one else’s cooking beats that of your mother, but I wish to state truthfully, without bias or reservation, that my mother makes some of the best dang pies I’ve ever eaten.
And I’ve eaten a lot of pies. I am the Diogenes of pie. I am looking for a honest pie in a deceitful world, and let me tell you, they are hard to find. The things that some people do in the name of pie make my knotted and combined locks do the fretful porpentine dance.
This is a great pity, because pie isn’t hard to make, and good pie is a national treasure. Oh I know other countries have pie, and some are even quite good, but the American pie is its own category of wonderfulness, and as we lead up to one of the most American of holidays, it seems only right that we celebrate the American pie.
Let the pie blogging begin!
Morning, Coffee Achievers!
Anton Ego, Age 12
Read the great feature on David Fishman, probably the first twelve-year old Manhattan restaurant critic profiled in the NYT. It’s cool that he takes notes and all, but WTF with the kid not having a blog?
I’ve got $50 that says he was inspired by the Ratatouille character.
Wisconsin food police tackling beer before cheese
The New York Times has a piece today in which it looks down its arugula-eating nose at Wisconsin’s drinking culture. The article starts by explaining that 15-year-olds are routinely served beer at bars there—so long as they’re accompanied by a consenting parent. This is no doubt meant to shock, and I was indeed shocked that Wisconsin still manage to receive federal highway money.
The point of the article seems to be that Wisconsin, apparently alone among the states, has a population that gets drunk a lot, and that public health people there have had enough. Specifically, a group led by the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine and Public Health plans to start a campaign to “to dramatically change the laws, culture and behaviors in Wisconsin.” How? “[S]tate agencies would use a $12.6 million federal grant to step up screening, intervention and referral services at 20 locations around Wisconsin.” Do you know how many PBRs and shots of Yeager $12.6 million can buy?
Now, I can do without puritan moralizing; I drank plenty in Spain the summer after I turned 15 and I’m the better for it. But what about drunk driving? Is that not the definition of negative externality? I was a bit surprised to learn that in Wisconsin drunk drivers “are not charged with a felony until they have been arrested a fifth time.” Have I lost my libertarian credentials for thinking that you should be free to drink as much as you’d like as long as you don’t get behind the wheel of a car? What’s the right way to tolerate, if not encourage, a healthy cultural relationship with alcohol while keeping drunk folks off the road?
Oh Deer
North Dakota saves lives by throwing out venison shot with high velocity ammunition and requiring that all deer donated to food banks in future be shot with arrows! The CDC is investigating whether game shot with high velocity bullets is safe to eat! Thank goodness the government is there to protect us from the perils of lead shot otherwise we’d apparently become stupider by the day.
Today’s Best Overheard Conversation
“So her Dad gave her this meat to try, and after she tried it, she said, “Yum! That’s good. Is it goat?”
He said, “No, it’s rabbit.”
And she said, ” Agggh! But they’re fluffy!”
–An 11 year old interlocutor describing to her sister a friend’s recent dinner experience.
