Eat, Pray, Review

At my day job, I sell books. In particular, I sell lots of copies of Eat, Pray, Love – I just don’t sell them to guys, at all, ever. So on behalf of men everywhere, I lab-ratted and read Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Love, Pray to find out what the XY set was missing. This wasn’t entirely a James T. Kirkian “To boldly go where no man has gone before” adventure; my interest with food doesn’t end with how it is prepared and tastes. Our relationship with food, the choice of what and why we eat what we do is endlessly fascinating.

Gilbert's memoir is divided into thirds -In Eat, I was expecting her to confess a lifelong ill-ease with food; replete with bouts of vegetarianism, veganism, dieting & binging, followed by an obsession with breaking food down into its constituent parts of carb/fat/protein with a Rainman type knowledge of the fat and carbs found in a specific village-made bagel. Rather than confess dietary habits, she uses the titular Eat to explain the circumstances of her divorce.

At 30, the age she and her husband have agreed to start a family, Gilbert is struck with a crisis of existence, setting in motion the events that lead to her eventual divorce. It isn’t that the book is overly ‘chicky’ - There is a ‘Sex and the City’ type of reliance on what her funny and wise friends think of her situation, but that works well with the tone of the book. Gilbert is likable and funny, like an old friend who you call or email occasionally; someone who really gets the small things and can make you laugh at the quotidian but is really overwhelmed by the bigger stuff (yeah, Pot: Kettle you’re black) - But the circumstances of her separation fail to achieve gender neutrality; I cannot imagine her being so generous and forgiving if, instead of her, it were her husband, who decided, on the eve of starting a family, he didn’t really want all that and took up with a hottie actor of all things. Just sayin’, that would have been a different book altogether, but Gilbert is exasperated by her soon to be ex’s lingering hurt.

In quick succession, a divorce decree, a book advance and a breakup with the thespian precipitate a trip to Italy - where she learns to speak Italian, goes off the anti-depressants, gets to know Italy both geographically and culturally. Gilbert makes friends, doesn't have sex, debates the theological implication of protestant and Catholic postal systems and finally eats really well. I believe her when she says the pizza in Naples is worth the trip.

The middle of the troika has the author traveling to India to pray at an ashram. The subject of prayer can be as interesting as any subject. I don’t fault her for not being Thomas Merton or Thich Nhat Hahn (Sorry, the depth of my devotional reading is shallow) but her combination of simultaneously being pilgrim and priest just doesn’t work. Worse - food is not explored at all. Shame too, the land of curry and she’s got nothing. Just as Eat wasn’t solely a diary of meals, Pray, could have addressed what food in a state of fasting and hunger means, it actually lines up well with the spiritual motif.

The book winds up in Bali. Food makes a minor comeback, not as a specific pleasure, rather as vaguely described roots, leaves and other consumables prepared to be a stand in for western medicines; curing, most notably, a yeast infection. Having lost her way in Pray, Gilbert goes back to what she does well - offering an outsider’s perspective of a foreign lands with humor, wonder and acceptance.

At this point the problem is me: I am reading the 29th edition of the paperback, even without accessing imdb or having a subscription to Us, I somehow miraculously know Julia Roberts is supposed to be play Gilbert in the movie. I know this ends well for her, I don’t need to know the specifics, I want to know about coffee, spices, tea, mind-blowingly hot Balinese food, not a kind Brazilian named Felipe. Gilbert chooses to write about Felipe, I really can’t fault her for that any more than I can spite someone their happiness.

Friend of Saucyman, Anne, succinctly points out we all would be happier if we screwed Brazilians and ate more gelato. Added to that, we might become more thoughtful, if like Gilbert, we left all our comforts in an attempt to understand both our inner workings and the world better. Like MFK Fisher’s tales of being a young bride in France, Gilbert’s writing makes you wish you were experiencing the world with her and that is about as good as travelogue gets.

Enjoy the holiday. Saucyman is all new on Tuesday.

You Say Heirloom, I Say Tomato

Saucer – What makes a tomato an heirloom? – Old School

Rather than an heirloom tomato being a general type of tomato, like a plum, or a specific cultivar like a San Marzano - heirlooms come from a plant that is ‘open-pollinated’. Bees, bugs, birds, wind, garden beetles and possibly gardening Beatles have to pollinate the plant in order for it to bear fruit.

Tomato growers agree open-pollination is a prerequisite for heirloom status; which is funny, because the very nature of open-pollinating means that the plant will change, however slightly from generation to generation, so today’s plant is different from the one being grown 40, 60 or 100 years ago. As you'd imagine with a word like heirloom, the issue of age matters a great deal.

Some feel the plants need a provenance of 100 years. Others think the tomato should have been around before World War II and a smaller faction advocates that to be considered a heirloom variety, the cultivar needed to be in existence before 1970. A 100, though a nice round number, seems a bit arbitrary. The 1970s seem like as good of date as any; early pioneers of the ‘organics’ movement were experimenting with different crops but if you have to have a cutoff date, 1945 makes the most sense. The post war environment brought about the advent of industrial tomato pickers, the burgeoning use of chemical fertilizers and the adoption of hybrid seeds by commercial growers, each moved tomato growing towards the picked-green & tasteless-thick-skinned-early harvested monoculture that defines tomatoes to this day.

I’m not sure age should ever be used as a criteria in judging anything and if you have a problem with that sentiment - use your circa 1997 cell phone to text me your opinion. The USDA has not weighed in on the subject, so there is no legal definition for the heirloom tomato. Tomato enthusiasts regularly trade seeds and information but it is done informally without a private organization, like a tomato version of the American Kennel Club to set standards for breeds/cultivars. However, tomato experts Carolyn Male and Craig Le Houllier have come the closest to setting universal standards by identifying 4 different types of heirlooms:

1. The Commercial Heirloom – Varieties introduced to the marketplace prior to 1940.
2. Family Heirloom – Seeds that have been passed down through family, friends and like minded enthusiasts for generations.
3. Created Heirloom – Like the green zebra, a tomato that has been bred for specific traits, then the plant is ‘de-hybridized’ to become an open pollinated plant.
4. The Mystery Heirloom – A volunteer or a spontaneous breeding that is the product of natural pollination.
   

Tomatoes might be the best known heirloom food but there are others. The notion of open-pollination, not age, conflicts with the concept of heirloom potatoes – potatoes are cloned from ‘eyes’ rather than grown from a seed that needs to be pollinated. As for heirloom chickens, I don’t remember my avian biology that well, but I am pretty sure chickens don’t pollinate – not even euphemistically. Growers seem to be using the term heirloom to market their foods, capitalizing on heirloom as a culinary buzzword, rather than a definitive term. Perhaps the British gardening term heritage would be a better term for chickens, potatoes, carrots, lettuce or non-tomatoey foods, otherwise the word heirloom runs the risk of being a synonym for expensive.

A Word From the Kitchen - Garnish

Despite the immediacy of the internet, there are no deadlines at Saucyman. My post on Eat, Pray, Love - I haven't finished the book, making hard, although not impossible to offer a review. I thought I could read the book last weekend. I mostly did but now I am stuck on Love - read into that as you will. Matthew Dickman's first post, delayed. The new op-ed on wine, still in the planning stage. The post I was working on about what it means to be an heirloom tomato will go up on Wednesday and Carl's monthly post concerning the etymology and language of the kitchen - considering all the delays - is thankfully more than monthly.


Garnish has two early usages. One was to furnish or supply, say like a military outpost. Its Old French stem garnir means to fortify or defend oneself. The other usage, the Oxford English Dictionary states is “a set of vessels for table use.” Now it seems to be a lemon wedge and a sprig of parsley.

Let’s talk about ideas, your perceived idea of yourself, the gages you read and go by, the Dow Jones of your body. Let’s speculate and say there is a form to society, that individuals find it easiest and most comfortable to live in an agreed upon way. We’ll call it the formalism of fitting in, of trying to be. But, the being of what, human? One doesn’t have to try. Your shoes and your hair: human. Your bra and your purse: human. Your underwear no one will see today except you: style.

If the world is a sonnet we all rhyme a-b-b-a and we are all compromised in the lone couplet. We shower. We wash clothes. We work at looking good. It comes down to preserving humanity with style, a grace and eloquence beyond everyday thinking, moment to moment thinking. It is to be naked, a lasting nakedness of expression. And now, we are not talking about the plate and the garnishing arts, but of something to archive. We don’t archive food. We consume it. Cooking is certainly a creative act, so you should present your food in a manner dressed to your liking, but keep in mind eating is not an art.

-Carl Adamshick

Not so Keen

Saucysauce – What is Quinoa or possibly what are quinoa? I honestly know that little about it. – Quinn O.

I understand, once a week I am haunted, Scrooge-style, by a ghost named Gerund, who is always quizzing me in my dreams about grammar.

Quinoa is an annual herb native to South America.
Its seeds are used a food throughout the Andes.

How was that?

Even with hippies being culturally on the wane, at the very least you'd think the people who avoid/scorn gluten (a group on the ascendancy) would have told you about the wonder plant known as Quinoa. Pronounced KEEN-wa, the plant is called a pseudocereal; meaning it is not a grass like wheat, rice or corn, but the crop is used like a grain. The plant is a chenopod, which literally means ‘goose foot’, here chenopod designates any member of the goosefoot family – beets & spinach are better known members of this clan.

Historically, Quinoa was second in importance only to the potato in the Andes. Cultivated from 5000 BCE to modern day, the crop fell out of favor in the post-Columbian or more accurately, the post-Pizarro years. The food was abjured for being ‘Indian food’ and additionally ran afoul of the conquistador’s sensibilities because it was used in indigenous religious ceremonies.

Or the plant never gained favor because its ‘grains’ are coated with the bitter compound, saponin. The root, Sapo-, despite what you might have heard about the bathing habits of the ancient Romans, is Latin for soap. Pre-industrial and post-industrial ‘natural’ soaps were/are made from plants rich in saponin. Saponin is removed from the Quinoa plant by washing and friction – soaking causes the bitter compound to seep into the seed, not outward towards the soaking water – saponins aren’t poisonous, if ingested but certainly not pleasant, the taste has been sincerely described as ‘soapy’.

Whatever the reason Quinoa fell out of the food rotation, it is a shame: The crop grows well at very high altitudes, up to 13,000 feet. It thrives in poor soils and continues to be grown throughout the Andes to this day. Nutritionally, it is high in protein, about 12-16% (cow’s milk runs 4%) and contains essential amino acids to help make the most out of those proteins. High in fiber, rich in vitamins and an excellent source of essential minerals like zinc and iron - Quinoa is recommended for those with a meat-free diet.

Historically, Quinoa was ground and used like a grain in flatbreads. It was used whole in soups, stews, gruel/porridge and was/is used to make a fermented beverage known as chicha. It can be popped or boiled like rice. Presently, Quinoa is used as a gluten-free substitute in pasta and the USDA lists it as whole grain despite its non-grain like linage. As a result of this designation, Quinoa has seen a bit of a resurgence as an ingredient in whole grain products. I know a person who swears by their Quinoa breakfast cereal but I think most people would be more likely to recognize Quinoa from the unfortunate popular multicultural tabouli/tabbouleh recipe. You know, the one that went largely uneaten at the last vegetarian potluck you attended. Begging the question: Why do people with the least amount of cooking skills use the oddest ingredients: It would be like me doing advanced calculus when called upon to bring some math, rather than some addition or a little multiplication if I was feeling cocky.

Out of all the ‘alt-grains’ – teff, amaranth, millet - Quinoa might be the least objectionable, which is far from a ringing endorsement. Specifically, I find it least objectionable when it is baked with other ingredients, otherwise its flavor overwhelms me. Others have described the flavor as ‘umami’, ‘strong’ and ‘very earthy’. If by ‘very earthy’, they mean reminiscent of dirt, sure I can agree with the latter. I feel whole wheat is a half step removed from pica issues, so I might have the best palate to comment on Quinoa.

That’s B-E-E-T-S, not B-E-A-T-S

Saucyperson – Recently, you posted some ideas for meals that could make without a special trip to the store. Are there any meals you would make a special trip to the market for? Shopping List Scribe

PS – I like the ones with recipes or at least cooking instructions.

I am like the opposite of Sam’s Club, in my ideal world I would do my shopping one egg at a time. Just as some wish they could decamp to become gentlemen farmers, I wish I could retire to the position of grocery fella: Start each morning thinking about lunch and dinner, then go shopping - hitting some combination of bakeries, produce markets, specialty stores and the occasional trip to a more conventional grocery in search of the right ingredients. Of course this aspiration would require money, someone to cook for and I’m not really so sure it is the much of a career.

Lately, the meal worth leaving the house for involves beets and surprisingly lentils – Summertime is salad time and the two items meet for an outstanding combination.

Life in the Express lane

1 cup Lentils – Brown work very well, the small French Puy lentils are way good, but are really expensive for a legume.

1 bunch – about 5 medium beets with their tops –red, golden or chioggia beets are all good choices. Shortly before cooking, sever the greens from the root, leaving about an inch of greens left on top.

1/4 cup rice or apple vinegar

2 Tablespoons oil - Canola is good, walnut better.

Salt and pepper.

By and large, the lentils and the beets will take the same amount of time to cook. If you have a steamer, which fits on top of pot, you can cook them both at the same time. So don’t wait until the lentils are done before cooking the beets.

Lentils, especially the Puys cook way totally fast, so you don’t need to soak them ahead of time. Rinse the lentils and add to a pan with about 4 cups of cold salted water. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat until you are maintaining a robust simmer and start checking for doneness after about 20 minutes (10 if using Puys). While the lentils are cooking, rinse and coarsely chop the greens – you can use the stems but they need to be cut smaller than leafy part.

When the lentils are chewable but still chewy, add the greens to the to the pot, wait 60 seconds then drain the water (a little remaining water is fine, the lentils will reabsorb it).

Let the lentils cool until they reach room temp. The larger the surface area, the quicker things will cool. A cookie sheet works better than a cylindrical pan – especially the still hot pan they were cooked in.

A cook can boil, bake, steam, microwave or pressure-cook the beets. No matter the cooking medium, cook the beets whole in their skins/jackets. I like steaming them, baking caramelizes the sugars beautifully, but this method takes the longest and some days firing up a hot oven for a half dozen beets is too much.

Even if the beets are improbably the exact same size - they will cook at slightly different times. They are done when, as the expression goes, stick a fork in it. More accurately, it is when you can extract the fork easily. Let the beets cool off at room temp.

When the beets are cool, peel off jackets, they should slip right off, but you might need to clean up with a pairing knife. Cut into one inch cubes, add to lentils and greens. Add vinegar and oil, salt and pepper to taste. You can serve here or let it cool for a couple hours or a couple days

Ch-Ch-Charcuterie

Char means flesh. Cuite, in this case means cooked. Together they form a word, Charcuterie - the French craft of preserving meats. Friend of Saucyman, Charles Seluzicki, fills us in on one such specialty, rillettes.


RILLETTES, or Going Medieval on Pigs (and Geese)

A recent excursion to a tapas restaurant in Portland, Oregon featured an encounter with rillettes, a little pot of overly smooth and heavily spiced meat, served with grilled apricot halves filled with whole grain mustard and a side of house orange marmalade. The matter of texture momentarily aside, my experience was a delightful one and my curiosity about this dish was reawakened.

I had not really thought of rillettes since my trips to Paris where it is a staple in the charcuteries. And, frankly, my associations with the dish there were not always pleasant. Some preparations appeared motley strands of gray protein, heavy with fat of who knows what origin. I tasted a bit here and there but never ate rillettes of legend in Paris which friends with palettes that I trusted assured me could still be had.

The etymology of “rillettes” is, in my preliminary researches, is uncertain. However, the word itself is richly suggestive. The Oxford English Dictionary gives the direct origin of the English word “rill” (a tiny stream) in the German “rille”. Which is exactly where my thoughts “go medieval.” Bear with me.

In the first chapter of her brilliant volume GREAT COOKS AND THEIR RECIPES (1977), Anne Willan makes trenchant observations on medieval cookery based on her examination of recipes in the first printed edition of Taillevent’s (1312-1395) LE VIANDIER (1490). “Where we try to develop the flavor and texture of ingredients to the full,” she tells us, “medieval cooks pounded and pureed them out of all recognition, then spiced them in such profusion that the original taste was lost.” This was done because food was always vulnerable to spoilage but also for reasons of what Willan calls “food snobbery.” Willan vividly elaborates. Taillevent, you see, cooked for kings and their courts and they derived considerable status from the elaborate use of spice. A pound of saffron cost the price of good horse, the same quantity of nutmeg was worth the same as seven fat oxen. Meat was almost exclusively the province of the rich, spice more so.

Rillettes are traditionally pork belly, pork shoulder (sometimes in combination with goose) very slowly cooked for hours in fine leaf lard. The mixture is drained and pounded to fine threads of meat, flavored aggressively with quatre-epices (pepper, nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon or ginger), packed in crocks and sealed with the reserved drained fat that has been scrupulously separated from any meat juices. Jane Grigson describes all this in detail in her indispensable first book THE ART OF CHARCUTERIE (1968). She indicates that the mixture must never be ground and, if not using the pounding method, dropped cold into an electric blender, making sure not to “reduce the meat to a porridge-like slush.”

Which brings use back to the mysterious matter of etymology. Might not the German root of the English “rill”- a little stream- visually invoke the little threads of meat in what has become rillettes with its distinctly French identity in our time? It seems possible. In French, pave is the term for the ubiquitous cobblestones of Paris, but the word is used to describe a particularly thick steak, even certain forms of packaging.

As time progressed and meat and spice became more and more the province of the middle class this distinctly medieval recipe has survived, at least in France, as a convenient picnic food. In America, in its most industrial incarnation, Underwood’s Deviled Ham with its mixture of mustard powder, turmeric and “spices” is a not so distant relation. Its’ paper wrapped tins, replete with awards, seem fancy next to competing products, betraying the company’s European roots and echo the even more elaborate packaging of specialty meat preparations in better shops around the world.

-Charles Seluzicki

I'm a Thieving Fructer

Note: Today’s post is going to have a little bit of Latin flavor to it, that is papal Latin, not Caribbean Latin.

Urbs in horto; A city in the garden, this is actually Chicago’s motto but it fits Portland pretty well too. And while North Portland is not known specifically for its agricultural output, at this time of the year, postal code 97217, does have a garden like aspect to it: things just grow like crazy.

And not just stuff like grass, trees and zucchini but edible things as well. Taking the dogs out for a walk is almost like stepping into a farmer’s field - except I don’t have to bleed, toil, cry and sweat in an attempt to make the garden grow nor do I have to water and weed - equally taxing but not quite as Churchillian in scope. Right now, in a three-block radius there are apples, plums and cherries free for the taking. In a few weeks there will the fruit from neglected fig trees - followed by pears, so many pears. Rosemary and mint are abundant year around – with the mint I am ever mindful to avoid the low growing leaves, funny how a boy dog can make you cautious about anything too low to the ground.

Currently, the alleys are full of blackberries, which are supposed to be an invasive species, but unlike crabgrass, they bloom and produce tasty fruit. Even the saddest vine growing out of a crack in the alley pavement yields a lots of berries – which retail in the grocery for about 4 dollars a pint. It seems odd that people would pay for blackberries – a former sweetie once cautioned me that finding men were like blackberries; if you look for in the good spots and be careful to avoid the pricks and you would never have to pay for them.

There is a word for taking the fruits off another’s property – usufruct. A compound of Usus- to use and enjoy & fructus which meant fruit in medieval Latin. The word, whose definition and spelling is helpful to know for crossword enthusiasts and a little less useful for scrabble players – but you never know when you will draw - 3 u s, a dissonant collection of consonants and have an open t on the board. Although there is slightly different legal usage, the word means the right to enjoy the fruits of another’s property or labor. And depending on your source, the word is as ancient as either Roman Law or English common law. If you believe the Roman law etymology, the concept evolved to legally sanction which party gained the profits realized from slave labor (Hint: It wasn’t the slave). Its use in English common law helped settle who gained the proceeds from the working abandoned lands.

Here in modern times, in my North Portland neighborhood, I use to word justify taking fruit from alleyways and easements rather than have it rot and go to waste. I am a badass usufructer and I don’t mind you saying so.

Friend of Saucyman; Charlie Seluzicki will be posting early next week as I am on assignment…I am spending the weekend attempting to be the first man ever to complete reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. Don’t worry, I think I will okay. If all goes well, I will file the first XY book report towards the middle of next week.

But the Cupboard Was Bare

Dear Saucyman – My cupboard is bare. I don’t cook at home a lot but I was wondering if you had any hints to what to keep around so I can make a couple meals without having to make a trip to the store? Ms. Hubbard

There are different opinions to what items a cook should keep around the house? Alice Waters has a great list in, The Art of Simple Food; Mark Bittman has a written about what gets stocked for the international pantry; Deborah Madison advises on how to stock up for the vegetarian provender and at some point every few years, most newspapers will run an article on kitchen basics, like the NY Times does here.

Rather than worry about what to keep in stock generally, I have 3 specific meal ideas for the occasional cook. All 3 recipes can be made in under 30 minutes, requiring only a couple perishable items - which is kind of a shame because Saucykitchens™ tends to favor elaborate cooking, trips to the grocery store and green salads, but occasionally it is nice to have a solid meal that can be made quickly and without too much forethought or for that matter, too much thought.

The Menu Selection

Risi e Pisi - Saffron Risotto and Peas.

Spaghetti Tapenade – Easy olive sauce, a good fit with that frozen piece of Tuna you bought from Trader Joe’s a couple months ago and have since been wondering why you bought and what to do with it.

Crab Cakes – Canned crab never tasted so good.

Risi e Pisi – Olive Oil, Arborio Rice, Saffron, Frozen Peas, Parmesan Cheese. Optional ingredients Chicken Stock and/or Frozen Shrimp.

The rice can sit in a sealed container for months on end. The other stuff can, like a bear, hibernate in the cold for at least one season. If you use stock, pour from a can – This isn’t so much a quality issue: the standard size for a can is 14.5 oz and fits this recipe better and it doesn't take up brain space figuring out what to do with the other half of 32 oz carton.

Heat a cup of water - the microwave is fine- when it is nearly boiling add ½ teaspoon of saffron threads and set aside. In a pan set over medium heat combine a cup (this will be enough for 2 servings) of Arborio rice with 2 Tablespoons of olive oil and a healthy pinch of salt, stir for about a minute, then pour in a cup of stock or water. Keep stirring, the rice will absorb all the liquid, then add the saffron water, keep stirring occasionally until all the liquid is absorbed then add the remainder of the stock or another cup of water and stir until this liquid is absorbed.

At this point it should be 22 – 25 minutes later, the rice should be a beautiful golden color soft enough to eat but still have a good bite to it. Stir in half a bag of peas (8ozs) along with about a ¼ cup of shredded parm cheese and some black pepper (Frozen shrimp would go in at this point). And look who is cooking now.

Spaghetti Tapenade – 1 pound of Spaghetti, 4 oz pitted black olives , ¼ cup olive oil.

After that it is a matter of preference –You can add 2 cloves garlic - if it is around, the juice of a lemon, a tablespoon of capers (very authentic- yet I don't really use them - they overwhelm stuff), parsley – not authentic, but I always use and 1 or 2 anchovy filets if you like. Tapenade tastes really good with fish like tuna – not canned and not sushi grade, just regular tuna works great as does a nice meaty piece of the more environmentally friendly tilapia. Even without fish or a side salad, this is a fine meal onto itself.

Bring salted water to a boil. While the water is heating, gather ingredients. Canned black olives work okay, they come in those little 4 oz cans but they taste tinny. Kalamata Olives work great, they come pitted in jars and will keep in the fridge forever - just like anchovies and more amazingly curly parsley – the stuff keeps forever in a Ziploc bag. If you have parsley, rip a handful from the stems and roughly chop. Smash garlic with the side of the knife. Grab optional capers and/or anchovies if you are so inclined.

The water should be boiling at this point, cook the pasta. You have about 7 or 8 minutes until spaghetti is done. Use this time to make a paste out of your selected ingredients by chopping steadily and thoroughly with a knife or throwing in a food processor/cuisinart and pulsing a few times. When pasta is done, drain water, toss the pasta with olive mixture, olive oil, and if you are using it -lemon juice, black pepper and top with cheese.


Crab Cakes – 1 can 4 oz of crab, 4 -6 Tablespoons breadcrumbs, 1 egg, parsley, a splash of olive oil, salt & pepper.

Okay, these aren’t authentic crab cakes, but they aren't Krab Kakes either and for a quick meal, these are good. Chop parsley and then combine all ingredients together with salt and pepper in a bowl and if you like a little hot sauce. Heat up about 2 tablespoons of oil in a skillet over medium heat, form the crab mixture into little patties, you should have enough for 4 cakes: If the mixture is too dry add, a little more oil, if it is too wet add some more breadcrumbs. Cook about 3 minutes per side.

If you have a mortar and pestle and an extra egg you are almost legally required to make aioli. Separate the yolk and the white. Peel 2-3 cloves of garlic and crush them in the mortar with the pestle or vise versa, I get confused. Keep pounding until the garlic is a near paste then add the egg yolk, then add the olive oil (½ cup total = 8 Tablespoons) a tablespoon at a time - all the while continuing to pound away. When the mixture is thick and lovely, stir in a little lemon juice, pepper and if you are feeling really good - heat up a dozen saffron threads in a tablespoon of hot water - let cool to room temperature then stir in.

And I know what you are thinking – “Oh Mr. Saucypants thinks we should get our mortar and pestle out for some fancy Mediterranean mayonnaise”. Here is the thing…sometimes aioli is hard to make with a whisk, in a food processor or blender. Aioli turns out EVERY time in a mortar and pestle. The whole process goes slow enough that mistakes can’t be made. Just sayin’. And aioli goes really well with the crab cakes. If you don’t want to believe me or want something a little less heavy/complicated since you have the garlic, parsley and lemon around – you can whip up some gremolota.

Or just use that ranch dressing that has been sitting in the door of the fridge since you moved in. In that case just don’t blame your upset stomach on the shellfish.

So your shopping list is:

1 pound of spaghetti
1 can/jar black olives
Anchovies
Capers – if you like, skip if you don’t
Olive oil
2 lemons
1 head of garlic
A bunch of curly parsley
Arborio rice
A can of chicken stock
A can of crab meat
Bread crumbs – you really should make your own from old bread but I’ll cede this if you try to make aioli.
½ dozen eggs
Frozen peas
Maybe frozen fish
Parmesan Cheese
Salt, pepper, saffron

Less than 20 items for 3 meals and leftovers. And speaking of shopping lists – Minnesota wins here.

Cantaloupe, No Canaloupe!

This month's word coincides with melon season. Ever wonder why it is a cantaloupe. Carl has answers.

Cantaloupe

A little north and a little west of Rome is a town called Cantalupo. It has been nestled in a shallow valley for hundreds of years. Summer days start early and end late. The melon was named for the place where it was cultivated. Cantalupo: the singing wolf, home of the papal retreat. One can easily imagine some corpulent Pope sitting in a candle-lit belvedere thinking about God as he sucks on lush slices of melon and the valley fills with howls of the pack animals as they bury their faces in the warm flesh of a stag they have felled.

The cantaloupe has large heart-shaped leaves that provide a canopy and shade the melons from intense sun exposure. It is a low growing vine that sends out runners. The fruit takes three to four months to mature and ripen. As for the Pope, he just stares at the physical objects of the world, a knife, a plate, the table. They all seem abstracted. The melon, too, is an abstraction he can’t comprehend. God is the whole melon, he thinks, everything else is pieces.

In the kitchen, don’t forget to wrap prosciutto around some chilled cubes of cantaloupe or find yourself some vanilla salt and add a few pinches to a bowl of melon balls for dessert.
The Pope can sit for hours, thinking, or not thinking. He has that sort of time, people dress him, they bring him melon, everyone else has to take a knife to the rind and gut the seeds with a spoon.

-Carl Adamshick

Favoring Curry

Dear Saucyman – What makes curry curry? Edith Pilaf

There is an actual curry plant, well, a tree anyway. Curry leaf is even used in curries, occasionally. The tree grows in tropical southern India, which, maybe not so coincidentally, is where the English had set up their colonial shop. Additionally, ‘kari’ is a Tamil word for a sauce or relish used over rice. The word curry, which has been used in the Western hemisphere since the late 16th century, could also possibly be a corruption of carriel, co-opted from the spice trading Portuguese who in turn borrowed the word, karil, from the Dravidian Kannada language.*

Contemporarily, curry designates a powder--that turmeric-rich, yellow, premixed, pre-ground, occasionally chalky powder sold in the spice aisle. Curry is also a generic term used to describe heavily spiced Anglo-Indian dishes. Particularly, it's how the Brits colloquially refer to Indian/Bangladeshi/Pakistani food, which is now generally recognized as the national cuisine of England. Not so imperial now are you, UK?

This is the problem: If the origins and usage of the word are vague and multi-sourced, so too is the spice mixture called curry. Perhaps a better term is garam masala. Literally "spicy mixture," this combination of spices is what we casually refer to as curry. Many garam masala mixtures originate from the colder, drier climes of northern India and, much like the style and substance of Northern Italian cooking differs from the foods of southern Italy, Indian food is not a homogenized product. It is not identical in every location, nor does it integrate every language, culture and religion of the sub-continent through cuisine.

Still, I prefer the term garam masala to curry. These mixtures allow for regional and personal variations rather than aspire towards uniformity. There are some constants. For one, the 4 Cs: cumin, cinnamon, cloves and coriander (the seed, not the leafy cilantro). Often, garam masala mixtures contain the 5th C, my favorite spice of all time, cardamom. Beyond, the blends can be augmented with saffron, and various seeds: fennel, sesame, mustard, pomegranate, peppercorns, chili, ginger, mace, laurel, nutmeg. They might also include the unfortunate hing, also aptly called asafetida, which doesn’t taste bad, but it is the assiest smelling thing this side of well, an ass.

Sameness of flavor should not be the goal of cooking, especially in a cuisine as diverse as India's. Spices differ from dish to dish. Here at Saucykitchens™, the peppery/cardayummy goodness of dry sautéed okra uses a different set of flavors than gingered chickpeas, while dals are flavored with a turmeric-centric blend of ground spices. And all of those combinations differ from the coconut milk curries used in the cuisine of Thailand and Southeastern Asia. So what makes curry curry? It is as hard a question to answer as what makes art art; there are too many variables to give a succinct response.

Next on Saucyman: Cantaloupe, a word from the kitchen.

Coming up: Like Mother Hubbard, the cupboard of many modern gals is bare. What essential items should a 21st century pantry contain? Saucyman has answers.


*The phrase "curry favor" is a little easier to track and has nothing to do with spice. To gain favor through obsequiousness is a corruption of "Curry Favel." Curry, the verb, means to groom, and apparently Favel was a horse in classic French literature, a symbol of duplicity, in a way that only French literature can explain. Anyone trying to win Favel over with flattery or grooming would stand accused, excuse me/moi, J’accuse, of currying Favel. Considering Favel is a horse and curry is something used in cooking. The thought of currying Favel/Favor suddenly has a more sinister and less tasty connotation.

No, I don't like Pina Coladas

Saucyman: Could you recommend a good book on bartending? Not a Mixmaster

There are good books available, but it's easier to say what to avoid. Pass on anything that promises over 1000 recipes--there just aren’t that many good drinks to make. Avoid titles, well, bars too, that pad their drink lists with drink names that include one or more of the words: nude, naked, wet, orgasm, beach, sex, spank/spanking, nipple, rusty or use the suffixes -jito, -rita, -colada or –politan non-ironically.

At home, I like having a copy of Hip Sips on the bookshelf; the pictures are pretty, the recipes are solid & inventive, but it's easier for me to walk to the bar the drinks originate from than to go to the store to gather ingredients. Mostly, I use William Grimes' Straight Up or on the Rocks. Besides telling the history of the cocktail, there are only about 75 - 100 cocktail recipes. It's easy to navigate and includes only the classics.

Recently, I have been enjoying the way drinking is portrayed in the JFK period drama, Mad Men, especially the way Jon Hamm/Don Draper instructs his 8-ish-year-old daughter on the subtle art of making drinks. Also from a different era-- both years and mores--there is Kingsley Amis’ Everyday Drinking. In addition to being the author of Lucky Jim, the father of Martin and a Bond, James Bond enthusiast, Kingsley Amis was known to be enthusiastic about drinking.

Besides having a reputation as a someone who enjoyed not only a good drink but a second, third, fourth and beyond, Mr. Amis wrote about drinking, authoring 3 books on the subject: the early-70s On Drink, a decade later Every Day Drinking and How’s Your Drink, published in quick succession. Bloomsbury has combined the volumes into a collection titled Everyday Drinking with an introduction by Vanity Fair contributing editor, Christopher Hitchens.

Hitchens is an apt choice for the introduction:.According to the introduction, the two were acquaintances and occasionally enjoyed a drink together in England. It is also fitting that Hitchens has a bit of a reputation of an imbiber. The words "gin" & "gin-soaked" are often used in conjunction with his name. "Drink" is usually invoked to demean his flights of logic (a sidenote: Hitchens was against Mother Theresa but for the invasion of Iraq). He wrote that women are inherently unfunny (1)(2), that waterboarding is not torture unless it is done to Hitchens himself and other bits of sophism. Hitchens' own political arc, from angry young man to Bush dissembler, mirrors Amis' ellipse from a communist in his post-university years to an informal cultural advisor to Thatcher towards the end of his life.

While this collection is decidedly apolitical, it is surprisingly philosophical. There is the technical information you’d expect--how to stock a home bar, purchase wine and mix a drink--but the book excels at the metaphysical, addressing topics from how to deal with a hangover to the Bondian Martini. Amis was astute to point out the hangover must be dealt with physically but also spiritually or psychologically. Aspirin might mitigate some of the awfulness of overindulgence, but it would do little for depression and sadness that accompany over-drinking. These symptoms need to be addressed separately, and Amis takes the time to recommend measures to assuage those symptoms.

Elsewhere, Amis writes about the 1960's 007 confidently, assuredly ordering his martini shaken not stirred, stating his expectations with precision, knowledge and confidence. The ability to do so is presented as the platonic ideal of the modern man. Amis, who passed away in 1996, never saw this cold war worldview conflicting with the new millennium Bond, where Daniel Craig doesn't care enough about a martini to state his opinion in the new Casino Royale, he just wants a drink, leaving for others to decide how it is prepared. Doubt, ambivalence, confusion? I suppose brighter people than I, or at least the ones in need of a thesis topic, can figure out what that all means.

As far as a bartending book goes; Everyday Drinking has less to do with measurements and more to do with how to share a drink with friends and guests. The tone of the collection is refreshing; instead of detailing the minutiae of which brand, style of shaker, etc., Amis writes about the proper way to host. The good humor and good nature, which Amis explains how to share (time, thoughts, company and drink), makes this a far better book to own than a current volume that calls for blenders more than muddlers.


(1) Using Maureen Dowd as an example doesn’t prove that all women are unfunny, just one in particular.

(2) I wonder how Mrs. Hitchens took that article? I suspect that she didn’t laugh, which BTW, doesn’t make her unfunny either.

You Say Soffritto, I Say Sofrito…

Friend of Saucyman, (FOS) Charles Seluzicki, was curious about Sofrito. Unafraid to ask the big questions - What is Sofrito? Is sofrito a group of aromatics cooked at the beginning of a dish or is it like salsa used as a condiment at the end? Is there a universal definition of sofrito? - Charlie, came up with some answers, which he shares below.

Almost three decades ago, in the infancy of my awareness of culinary technique, I first encountered the word sofrito. My friend Carolina, half Cuban, shared her black bean soup recipe: “It is very important to saute the onion and then the garlic in the pot before adding the beans and the water.” She was as casual and unaffected about the amounts of each as an island breeze. For years my idea of sofrito was limited to this single recipe, my sense of adventure confined to explorations of Carolina’s obvious penchant for abundant garlic.

The Italian soffritto (fried ingredients) derives from soffriggere (to fry lightly) which corresponds precisely with the Spanish sofrito and its root verb, sofreir, in its distinction between the sauteed vegetables used as the foundation for myriad recipes and the technique used to achieve it. But national differences account for very different ingredients.

The Italians primarily use equal amounts onion, carrot and celery (as do the French in mirepoix.) Spain and her colonies increase the proportion of onion and add garlic, peppers and tomato. In Spain, the peppers tend toward milder varieties like bell or piquillo, sometimes mixed; Caribbean versions feature peppers hotter, more piquant, in combination with sweeter varieties. Cubans shy from these spicier versions. Cajun/Creole cuisine has its holy trinity of onion, celery and bell pepper spiked with layers of ground dry peppers, both pungent and fiery. In Spain the addition of saffron and sweet pimento is common, in Mexico, annatto deepens both color and flavor. The fats in which the vegetables are slowly sauteed- oil, butter, cured and uncured pork fat- vary with region as does the time in the pan, the degree of caramelization.

Curiously, the very idea of sofrito and its allied preparations seems so embedded in the consciousness of cuisine that one will search in vain through Spanish, Mexican, French and Italian cookbooks to find them indexed and explained. Yes, the concept is built into countless printed recipes but its importance as a building block of complex flavor, seems more the province of demonstration and oral transmission than the printed page. An emphasis on the very notion of sofrito in all its variety refreshes our understanding of a fundamental process that dramatically informs those allegedly main ingredients in any recipe.

- Charles Seluzicki