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My friend Bill Ives and I spend a lot of time eating, drinking, and talking about food. He’s involved in a new website, TVissimo which is a search engine for TV schedules. It lets you search for, mark, and get notified about upcoming shows that you want to see. Perhaps he knows exactly how much TV I actually watch.

As part of their TV Schedule blog, he asked me for  my favorite Food TV show. Never one to pass up a chance to pontificate, I sent him a list that he was gracious enough to post. Like everything you dash off at 10 PM, there are some comments I might edit, but I stand by it. Can’t wait for part 3, the shows I hate.

It is interesting how Food TV, at least on primetime, has evolved from cook in front of a stove to reality shows and travelogues. There are relatively few shows that simply show you how to cook or different things to cook. Rather, it has others cook while you and the host watch, although the recipes are often available on-line. I miss those shows. Watching 12 aspiring chefs create dinner from the contents of a vending machine or on an airplane or using only pork, beets and chocolate syrup is fun but somewhat unappetizing. Perhaps I’m simple, but I like watching someone saute a cutlet and reduce a sauce, especially if the sauce is unusual and looks like it tastes really good.

My friend Ron Miller interviewed me for daniweb.com. He and I go back a long time and both have been professional tech writers for our working lives. Aside from getting to vent over some common frustrations, the part of it that interested me most was towards the end when he asked how tech writing and food writing compared to each other. I stand by my comments, although I would always like to revise them.

When I asked a friend what he thought about my Salt article, his first comment was that my tech writing background stood me in good stead. Can’t get away from it, though food writing is a lot more expressive, not to mention fun.

I was talking to someone about the Deerfield Inn and her attitude is that it’s good but you pay for it. Whether you want to or not is up to you.

Also, I don’t think I emphasized enough was well made the food was. The presentation was very clean, very confident. Everything was at a high standard. The lobster ravioli could have used some more lobster, the clam chowder had sat in the bowl long enough to form a skin, and the Indian Pudding was more runny than I am used to, but all in all, nothing was disappointing, no one felt like theirs was the clinker.

Sitting on the back porch of an house in Lake Union. The sun has burnt through this morning’s haze and the sky is blue and summery. My stepson and his wife have an entire ecosystem of birds they feed in their backyard. Watching the groups of sparrows swarm to the bird feeder, the hummingbirds,  the comings and goings of five Stellar blue jays between the feeder and the peanuts they leave on the porch, and the careful approach of one bold pigeon to all this largess, it is easy to think yourself into some prehistoric watering hole.

Spent the afternoon at the Bite of Seattle. Friday afternoon-perfect time to go, like going to a matinee. We walked there, about a mile and walked home, burning, no doubt, all of the calories we’d ingested. We ate at The Alley—seven restaurant tastes on one plate. The line took 15 minutes and, while you waited, you got to chat with Tom Douglas while he grilled the chicken.

For me, the standout was the “Ancient” Roman Meatballs. Small meatballs simmered in red wine, honey, and spices, no tomato. Delicious. I wanted to go back in line again, just for another serving. Halibut, some sun-dried tomatoes, a spinach leaf, and a cooked shrimp surprise at the bottom of some really smooth Dijon cream sauce. The cherry-glazed chicken was juicy and slightly sweet. The bacon-wrapped scallop on a melon relish was also I want to make at home.

I was talking to a friend about salt and perhaps I got a little carried away. My friend, Eric Green Greene, runs Treasure Mountain Mining, a mail order web site and E-bay crystal seller. He asked whether I wanted any halide halite crystals and mentioned that he had a few. I asked him to send me some pictures that I could use and the attached ones are some of what he sent.

On the upper right is a crystal from Argentina (don’t know if it’s that red in real life) [Eric says that it’s shown under short-wave ultraviolet light, so I guess it isn’t that red in real life]. On the left is a Halide Halite crystal from Germany and on the right is are Salt Crystals from California. If your love of salt extends to objects d’art, take a look. Of course, you’ll need a sign: Look, don’t lick.

[I must have gotten carried away because Eric sent me a bunch of corrections. Sorry Eric.]

Some times you get it right. For dinner last Saturday, I wanted to do spare ribs. I started with a rub on Friday night–a mix of ancho and pasilla chilis, paprika, onion and garlic granules, brown sugar, and some cumin. I added some smoked paprika and smoked salt for a little smoke flavor.

By Saturday afternoon, the ribs were slightly wet and ready to go. I used a gas grill with a box of hickory chips, and cooked the three racks slightly offset on one another for about 3 hours at 300. By then, the tips were a little dry and the meat pulled away from the bone with some gentle pressure.

Meanwhile, I was making my usual sauce. The technique is to cook garlic cloves, cumin and coriander seed, and black and dried red pepper in molasses and honey for a half hour, then add tomatoes and vinegar and simmer for a couple of hours. It is a great sauce to make and I tinkered happily with it, adding a little scotch, some squab spice mix left over from a French Laundry recipe. My wife and her ex-sister-in-law ate the pineapple I was planning to add, so I used orange and lemon juice.

The punchline, of course, was that I hated the taste. There was a bitterness that I couldn’t get past. “It tastes like all your sauces,” my wife said, which did not improve my mood. So I made a quick sweet sauce with ketchup, brown sugar, ancho chili and dried mustard powder. No vinegar, no molasses, no tinkering. It was sweet and a little spicy and that’s what I served.

Time to research the traditional sweet sauces BBQ sauces again: the Molasses-Cumin-Coriander-Vinegar vs Ketchup-Chili-Mustard versions vs. the versions yet to be discovered.

Thanks to Nomi Leidner for the pictures.

Of course, my inital goals of all six of us tasting each salt in turn, making trenchant observations, and moving on, collapsed early in the tasting when everyone went for the flavored salts and then started tasting randomly. In another life, I will be able to grill chicken thighs and try them with table, kosher, maldon, and sea in order to really taste the differences. I provided a tasting sheet, with a description and places for notes on each salt.

For much much more on salt, see The Meadow.

Thanks again to Cinda and Jonathan, Cocoapelli Chocolates. I especially loved the soft and runny caramels.

Here are some random comments from the tasting:

Ille de Re Sea Salt:

A little bite. “Salter” on tomato than on cuke.

Maldon:

Very powerful flavor.
Smoother, more subtle than the Ile de Re.
Best on tomato. I guess he’s [Mark] right. Strong flavor.

Sel Gris de I’lle de Noirmoutier:

Sharp. Salt with teeth. Stands on top of the cuke. 
Warm, gentle flavor.

Fleur de Sel de Guerande:

Well rounded-all different flavors.
Smoother. More a part of the base than Sel Gris. [melts into it more]

Coarse Hawaiian Red Salt:

More subtle than Alaea. 

Turkish Black Pyramid:

More mono-flavored but quite tasty.
A little sweet.

Halen Mon Gold:

Milts Mild to strong. Develops on the tongue. 

Iburi Jio:

Good on Cucumber. Gets lost on bread.
Smokey and fish overtones

One question still not answered: which is the best salt for a margarita glass? I’m thinking a sel gris, something with a softer crystal and not overly large or coarse grains.

For a more detailed description of the Greenbrier salt tasting, see Ellisa Altman’s piece on Huffington Post.

It’s mid-May, around when the ladyslippers bloom. The only orchid in this part of the country, they bloom pink for a week in May. I went to the Atkins reservoir where there are some patches, but nothing. I saw some pretty white star flowers and some other tubular white blooms, but it seemed early. There was a deep freeze a couple of weeks back which killed the asparagus and I thought that might have done in the ladyslippers too.

I went to the tiny spit that sometimes connects with the tiny island–the entire reservoir is pretty small–where the largest patch I know is. One green flower, not yet opened. Two more plants without blooms.

On the way back, I checked another stand. As so often happens with ladyslippers, I looked fruitlessly and when I turned around, there was another unopened flower.

In a week, maybe this weekend even, I’ll come back and check out the blooms.

It is aptly named. Start with a bunch of losers, sprinkle in some actual chefs, and scream, yell, and set men against women, and what do you have? Maybe one or two of the women on this show could run a professional kitchen, but most of the men are sexist losers (don’t care about the sexism per se but it seems to keep them from actually cooperating). Some of the women seem to be able to rise above it and actually try to cook to Ramsey’s standards. But his goal, like some drill sergeant from the CIA, is to break them down. Rebuilding seems optional–this season more than the others. It’s like the waterboarding channel–you’re watching something that is essentially hideous.

Yet I watch it week after week. What does that say about me?

In town for a family event, we went looking for barbeque. My brother had taken me to a place nearby and we’d gotten takeout from them as well. In between the synagogue in the AM and the party at night, my cousin and her husband (Manhattanites), my sister and my wife and I got the name from my niece and directions from my brother and piled into the rented mini-van.

Mitch, my cousin’s husband, wanted something authentic. Little Richards looked the part–a small roadhouse kind of place, set incongruously in a road lined with strip malls–and it smelled of wood smoke. Inside, it was bright and covered in old metal signs and the like.

“Coarse chopped plate,” advised my brother so we got three, substituting baked beans for one of the fries. The plates came with a pile of meat chunks that were tender enough to pull and tasting mostly of slow-cooked pork. The fat was cooked out, there was a tinge of woodsmoke, and a light drizzle of vinegar and hot pepper sauce. Lexington style isn’t my favorite barbeque (I confess to being a dry rub rib man and with a hot and sweet tomato sauce on the side.), but this was good. The chopped slaw was marinated in the sauce without mayonaise. The beans were good–sweeter than the meat. The family style boat of hush puppies was amazing. Slightly sweet, crunchy, tasting of corn meal and without grease, they were the best part of the meal.

Some of the Chowhound comments were iffy, but this is the place.

I saw them today. The maple trees have tiny green fuzzies on the leaves and the willows are pale green. If you look closely, you can see that the fuzzy growth on the maples is not leaves, but instead green flowers. They’ll be there for two weeks, then fall, littering the ground with wet red blotches, a little Autumn. I grilled last night, first time of the season. A variety of steaks–rib eye, tenderloin, loin strip–with a Bordelaise Sauce, roast potatoes and an orange vinegrette over California asparagus.

I’ve always liked applesauce. My wife loves to make applesauce. She also likes roast pork, which, of course, is a natural pairing. Often, there will be a lot of loose apples in the vegetable bin of the fridge that, rather than watching them go bad, she whips up into applesauce.

It is incredibly easy and requires very little in the way of a recipe: wash and cut 3-5 lbs of apples (macintoshes work well) into sixths, place in a pot with a couple of splashes of water. Bring to a boil and simmer until the apples are well cooked. Add a tsp or two of sugar if you need to. Puree in a Foley food mill. The skins give an appealing pinkish cast to the sauce and the texture is sublime–larger pieces than a puree but smooth.

She was out of town last night and I had the taste for the sauce. It was 8 and I didn’t feel like cooking or cleaning up, so I stopped at Whole Foods and bought some unsweetened organic applesauce. Ugh. Puree smooth, it was baby food without the fresh taste of apples. Now I’m left with most of the jar and wondering what to do with it. Sorry, my dear. I’ll never stray again.

I’ve been writing restaurant articles for a year now. Everyone calls them reviews, but I am specifically directed not to review the place, but to describe it. A review makes value judgements, awards stars, and so on. What I do is go in, describe the food, tell what I liked and didn’t and why, and interview the chef or owner, usually by phone. I don’t trash places and if a place is bad, I move on.

The difference? Here’s an example. At a Bavarian restaurant in a party of four, we had the strudel. The apples and sauce were delicious; the pastry was soft and chewey. Our baker hated it–she wanted flaky. The rest of us weren’t as negative, thinking perhaps that microwaving it had softened the crust. When I asked the owner about it (”I was surprised that the strudel crust wasn’t flaky.”) his immediate response was “It’s not Viennese. It’s Bavarian. You need it chewey.” So, the strudel was done the way he wanted it.

Without the interview, I probably would have trashed the strudel, calling it soggy, perhaps. Was he simply spinning? I don’t think so–he was pretty direct throughout the interview.

I put the interchange into the article so anyone ordering it would know that what they got wouldn’t be flaky and it was intentional. Same result, different attitude. Truth be told, I prefer it flaky, but does that mean I deduct a star? What standards do you use to evaluate a dish? What does the chef’s intent count for? Being witty at someone’s expense is fun for the moment, but in print it lives past the moment and is it something you want to stand for after the moment is over?

I’d intended to arrive in Lewisburg a day early and meet up my friend Chip who teaches at Marshall. (3 hours drive seems like next door when you’re in the area.) Got to the airport, and confused the ticket counterwoman. “You’re scheduled for tomorrow.” “No I’m not” brandishing the boarding pass I’d printed out last night. The Lewisburg plane was canceled and I was automatically rebooked on the Sunday flight. None of the other options would get me in in any kind of time to see Chip, so I took the Sunday reservation and headed home. Free day, I thought, what to do. Nice dinner out? then remembered my stepdaughter was planning to visit and I’d have missed her.

The six of us hit a sugar house for brunch, I took a nap, drove to Hatfield beef to pick up some rib-eyes, met everyone in Northampton, spent some time organizing things on the computer, saw Seth and his family, came home and made dinner. I made a bunch of glace de viande and I’ve been making sauces with it. Got the texture right on this one. Now for a stronger au poivre taste. Not bad for a day that didn’t exist.

My article, Into the Fire, about the Italian Food Boot Camp I attended at the Culinary Institute has won the James Peterson Food Writing Passion Scholarship at this year’s Greenbrier Symposium for Professional Food Writers. Aside from the pure gratification of winning, a PDF of the original article appears on their site, photos included. Thanks to Lisa Ekus for steering me in the direction of the Symposium.

My friend Betsy came over this afternoon. We made three batches of Mozzarella and Whey Ricotta, with Organic Valley, Guida, and Mapleline milks. Afterward, I made Ziti with Ricotta and Roasted Eggplant and Pork Chops Parmesan with the Mozzarella.

The Organic Valley was the sweetest and tasted most like milk. Guida had a sharper taste that Betsy liked best. The Mapleline gave the most volume of curds, but the end yield was about the same –a softball sized piece. It was the rubberiest, but I’m marinating some to see how that works out. I want to like the Mapleline since the dairy is just down the road from me, but as of today, I’d go Organic Valley, especially for caprese or other uncooked use.

Fascinating. Fresh cheese’ll be great this summer. Sarah’s talking about cheddar and I’d love to make Camembert.

I just saw the final menu for the WGBY Wine Dinner. They did swap the first and second courses, which I think builds better, and omit the ostrich sausage. The menu appears below. Wines are not quite final.

APERITIF
Two Hands Brilliant Disguise Moscato 2006 — Barossa Valley, Australia
FIRST COURSE
Sweet Corn Cakes with an Avocado Salsa
Torbreck Woodcutter’s Semillon 2006 — Barossa Valley, Australia
Peter Lehmann Eden Valley Riesling, 2006 — South Australia, Australia
SECOND COURSE
Curry Seared Barramundi with Black Rice, Coconut Cream
d’Arenberg The Olive Grove Chardonnay 2005 – McLaren Vale, Australia
Rutherglen Estate Red 2005 — Rutherglen, Australia
SORBET
Green Tea Sorbet on Mint Leaves
THIRD COURSE
Sausage Kabob And Marinated Lamb Kabob With Onions and Peppers
Served over Purple Mashed Potato Infused with Truffle Oil
Penfolds Prestige St Henri Shiraz 2002 — South Australia, Australia
Clarendon Hills Moritz Vineyard Syrah 2004 — South Australia, Australia
SALAD COURSE
Mediterranean Salad with Grilled Haloumi
Dendor-Patton Wisdom Old Vines Zinfandel 2005 – Mendocino, California
CHEESE COURSE
A selection of Australian cheeses
Kenwood Pinot Noir Reserve 2005 — Sonoma, California
DESSERT COURSE
Pavlova with Fresh Berries and Cream
Campbell’s Muscat – Rutherglen, Australia
Grateful Palate- Lilly Pilly Noble Blend 2002 — South Australia, Australia
COFFEE
Benjamin Tawny Port

One of the perks of writing about food is that you get invited to events as an ostensible expert. Last week, it was the WGBY Wine Dinner tasting (http://wgby.org/wine/index.html). The theme this year is Australia. I put aside questions of what exactly is Australian cuisine and how can I tell whether is authentic in favor of dinner and a chance to opine.

The Wine Dinner, which seats about 150, is set for February 28th at the Springfield Marriott this year. I join Charley Rose, Susan Lofthouse, and Marie Waechter from WGBY at the Springfield Marriott for a tasting of the dishes that will be served. I am not a wine guy and not expected to be. My role is to comment on the food and make suggestions while the wine guys do their thing. The wine guys, James Holsing, Chair of the WGBY Wine Committee and Michael Ferry, local Sales Manager for the Martignetti Companies, are enthusiastic and producers and bottlings fly back and forth.

We start with a Curry-dusted Barramundi in a coconut milk sauce. Purple rice and a sautéed baby bok choy accompany the dish. After a few bites, I wonder why they need me. There is nothing to recommend or change in this dish. Gewürztraminer seems to be the wine of choice for this and I sip the sweetest of the two whites in front of me to get a sense of the pairing. I polish off the food while the wine guys go back and forth over varietals, the Australian wine industry, and the usual happy arcana of wine aficionados everywhere.

The second course is corn cakes with an avocado-cilantro salsa. Are the cakes a little too floury? Will the cilantro be too much for the wine? Bill Rounds, the Executive Chef of the Marriott joins us after each course for our comments. Initially Rich Rueda, Event Manager Springfield Marriott takes charge of the comments, but as we loosen up, we all offer our suggestions directly to Bill. He explains his efforts to identify typical Australian dishes for the menu. There is the Asian influence as well as the European that he can work with, hence the curry, coconut and purple rice in the first course. As a chef, Bill is less of an artiste and more of a professional. This means that he actively listens to our comments and is interested in discussing alternatives and enhancements.

A Green Tea sorbet arrives after the corn cakes and a discussion ensues as to whether we’ve eaten enough to cleanse our palettes at this point. We debate changing the order of the courses so that the sorbet cleanses the taste of the curry sauce. We all like the knockout punch of the barramundi as a first course, but the order might work OK reversed. The wine guys veto the drizzle of honey on which the sorbet sits. It is too sweet and will coat the mouth and interfere with the next course’s wine. Chef agrees. Perhaps a sprig of mint to anchor it to the plate? He laughs and I cannot tell whether it was his original plan or too obvious. The mint will tie into the next course, however.

The main course arrives, a skewer of lamb kabobs crossed with a skewer of chunks of pistachio-flecked ostrich sausage. The skewers are sitting on a bed of mashed blue Peruvian potatoes. The potatoes are almost purple and my initial reaction is the scene in True Love where the mashed potatoes are dyed sky-blue to match the best men’s tuxedos. Then I remember the purple rice on the first course and think that the chef is echoing the dark purple of the wines. A big heavily-extracted red is the plan for this dish, whatever heavily-extracted means. We all love the presentation and the idea of ostrich sausage, but the actual sausage which is supplied by the Marriott’s meat purveyor is far too lean. A fatty Italian sausage would stand up to the wine better suggests Michael.

Dessert is a Pavlova, a meringue covered with whipped cream and fruit, kiwi and strawberries. Passion fruit is traditional, but out of season. The dish is sweet, the meringue a little grainy, and it is not chocolate, but it is very Australian and has to stay. The wine dinner attendees like their chocolate apparently and Susan and Charley debate offering a plate of chocolates on each table as a final course, with a Port or some botrytis Riesling perhaps.

And then the dress rehearsal is over. The menu is set. The dinner will be different, of course, with 150 attendees and the acutal wines, but I love the behind the scenes look.

I don’t buy many cookbooks these days. The receipes are all the same and the writing is very functional, with little personality. They feel like product rather than art. I don’t have any problem with someone making a living, but that doesn’t mean I have to buy them. All About Braising is different.

I recently received a copy of All About Braising. I know Molly Stevens’ work from Fine Cooking magazine and I like her style a lot. She is clear and direct and speaks to the reader with the voice of someone who knows the subject. The recipes are filled with the details that come from experience, like your older sister hanging over your shoulder showing you how she cooks. Stevens explains the technique of braising clearly and goes on to cover receipes from Asia, Europe and the Americas that range through all manner of ingredients, from vegetables to beef, lamb, pork, and poultry. If you like reading cookbooks, you’ll like this one.

I gave a copy to my daughter-in-law who has already cooked a number of Molly’s recipes. Katie has a new kitchen and, after months of microwaved food and pizza, has jumped back into cooking. She loves the book and the recipes have all turned out well for her as well as for me. This one isn’t like the Austrian self-sharpening razors–it’s worth it.

It’s Friday night on the Culinary Institute of America campus. My friend Bill and I will be taking a Tapas Boot Camp on Saturday morning, so we decided to stay over and have dinner at the Escoffier Restaurant. Bill is stuck in traffic in Waterbury, victim of messy snow showers, rush hour, and construction. The hostess and maitre d have been very gracious about moving our reservations ahead an hour, but Bill is never going to make it before the kitchen closes. “Have a good dinner for me. I’ll call you when I’m in Hyde Park,” he says, before turning off his cell phone to conserve the battery.

With the combination of grace and awkwardness that I have come to expect from the CIA restaurants, I am seated, given a menu, several wine lists, and had my drink order taken three times. Chewing on an incredibly good roll, I watch the room. Unlike many people, I enjoy eating alone. I can concentrate on the food and eavesdrop on the other tables and think my own thoughts. A low buzz of conversation, always the sign of happy eaters. A student nervously prepares Bananas Foster tableside. Six waiters assemble at a table, a silver-domed dinner plate balanced on each one’s palm, their other hand behind them. The dishes are placed on the table and, with a nod from the headwaiter, the domes are removed with a “Voila.” It is like watching a dress rehearsal rather than the play itself and I feel like a friend of the author, privileged to watch the show.

My appetizer arrives. A Fois Gras Oxtail Terrine with a Cranberry Compote. Cold foie gras is a little too much like eating butter for my tastes, but the oxtail is amazing. It is caressed by a port wine reduction I would drink by the glass. My entrée, Veal Cheeks with Mashed Potatoes is a homey, braised dish, enlivened by threads of orange zest. I get the “Voila” with my dish as well, although it loses some drama as a monologue. The accompanying vegetables—haricots verte, a few baby carrots, a slice of beet, and a baby turnip are all cooked to perfection. I chew happily, in a room fitted like the private salon of French chateau.

Bill arrives as I am finishing my cheese course. The kitchen is closed, but the chef sends out two desserts on the house while Bill finishes my cheese and a glass of wine. My meditative mood is a little shattered and the conversation I have continued with the student who has become my server falters, but it is good to see Bill. We talk as the room empties, the serving staff assuring us there is no hurry about our leaving. The bill includes a 15% gratuity which goes towards scholarships, but we leave an extra $10 by way of appreciation.

I have been writing about restaurants for a year now. I have had some good meals and good service and some disappointments, but I have not enjoyed most of those meals as much as this one. I am sure it is colored by my attitude towards the CIA, which I love as someone who has never been a student can, an outsider who sometimes takes classes here and wishes he were 26 again and choosing a profession. Some of it is that backstage feeling, where you can see the pins holding costumes together, the director calling tiny corrections to line readings. And a lot of it is the food, which reaches high, sometimes nailing it and sometimes missing, but always prepared honestly, without cynicism or (luck for them) financial compromise. How can I live here? I always wonder when I am on campus, knowing it would change if I did.

But tonight, the magic is there. Tomorrow, I will be cooking at the CIA. How cool is that.

Update: 1/31/08: See Bill’s post on the class with some nice photos of our dishes. I intended to write something, but sloth took over.