5 second rule

Corn

photo by iowa spirit walker, reprinted under a Creative Commons License

Whenever I see a full page ad in a major newspaper, I'm immediately suspect.  I haven't a clue how much these ads cost, but I know they're not cheap. An organization, corporation, or religiously or politically-minded group willing to fork over that much cash simply must be on the defensive.

Don't you think?

Page A5 of today's New York Times features a huge ear of corn emblazoned with the words, "And now, a little food for thought."

Here's the accompanying text:

A little sweetness in life is good.  And what sweetens lots of our favorite foods and beverages are sugars made from corn, such as high fructose corn syrup.  It has the same natural sweeteners as table sugar and honey.  And the same number of calories.  But like most foods, sweeteners should be enjoyed in moderation.  Please visit our website and learn the facts.  We welcome a healthy discussion.

Of course, the ad was sponsored by the Corn Refiner's Assocation in response to the still-raging debate over the nutritive value, or lack thereof, of high fructose corn syrup.  I should have some clarity on this issue, but I don't.  I simply avoid HFCS because I avoid nearly all processed food and that's generally where HFCS is found.  (Please don't mention the occasional camping-trip Pringles.)

I've read for years that HFCS promotes obesity, is sweeter than sugar, is more concentrated, symbolizes big, evil agribusiness, and so on and so on and so on.  But not all of these things are true. At least, they may not all be true.  The noise on both sides makes the facts extremely difficult to parse.

But is a giant ad the answer, or will it simply create even more confusion?  The ad leads the readers to a website, where the CRA presents its "facts" through the lens of blatant self-interest.  That's going to do more harm than good, at least for me.

Respected author Michael Ruhlman recently offered these thoughts in the comments section of his own blog:

I haven't studied the situation carefully, but my understanding is ... [that] there's nothing inherently evil about HFCS, it's the fact that it's allowed agribusiness to create really unhealthy food very cheaply. the crappy food, sweetened by this cheap sugar, is the real danger. same as saying salt is bad for you. in fact you will die without salt. salt in the cheetos and ketchup and campbells chicken noodle soup is what's bad for you.

And I think I agree.  It's not the HFCS per se. It's what the syrup is in.  And what the syrup is in, I'm afraid to say, is usually gross.

Which is reason enough to avoid it.

Maybe I should take out a big ad in tomorrow's paper. 

Anyone got a few bucks?

Gift

 

I suppose I can't pinpoint the exact moment I became an adult, but it may have been around the time I starting buying gifts with my own money instead of my parents'.

Unfortunately, I've never been a creative gift-giver.  I'm stymied by the available options, and insecure in my own taste.  When I lived in Eritrea, it was easy: someone invited you over, you gave them sugar.  Done.

Now it's different.  People in my life are constantly giving gifts, thereby upping the ante.  My neighbors, for one, give me food -- radishes from their gardens, entire meals of rib-eye and mashed potatoes, and once, even, steaks of freshly caught salmon from an Alaskan fishing expedition. 

(And get this: I was traveling on the first night of Passover this year, and the next morning my friend Lisa actually dropped off a bowl of chopped liver at my house.  I mean, that's friendship.)

A few weeks ago my husband's colleague Sarah came over for an hour.  Just a quick visit, but she brought 2 offerings from the Bonny Doon winery: a bottle of Bouteille Call (cause the name cracked her up) and a bottle of framboise, a raspberry dessert wine. 

Had I done anything to deserve these offerings?  Negative.  But I accepted them graciously. 

We drank one bottle later that night. 

The other became dessert.

...

Recipe for White Raspberry Sabayon

A sabayon is a light, foamy custard made from yolks, sugar, and, traditionally, a fortified wine.  I topped it with white raspberries here because I had them, but you could absolutely substitute red ones instead.  Also be aware that this dessert is very, very sweet.  If you think this will bother you, fold in extra whipped cream or substitute a little prosecco for some of the framboise.

3 egg yolks
1/2 cup raspberry wine (framboise), or a combination of framboise and prosecco or other sparkling wine
1/4 cup sugar
a few drops of lemon juice, optional
3/4 cup heavy cream
1 to 2 baskets white raspberries

Makes 6 servings

Fill a large bowl with ice water.  This will be your ice bath.  Set aside.

Fill a large pot with a few inches of water and bring to a simmer.  In a large metal bowl, whisk together the yolks, wine, and sugar.  Set over the simmering water without letting the bottom of the bowl touch the water.  Immediately begin whisking.

Continue whisking, nearly constantly, for about 10 minutes, or until the mixture is light and very thick.  (Mine reached about 122 degrees on an instant-read thermometer, though some recipes tell you to go much higher.)  Taste it, adding a few drops of lemon juice to offset the sweetness, if desired.

Immediately plunge the metal bowl into the ice bath, continuing to whisk for a minute or two longer or until the sabayon cools.

Using an electric mixer, whisk the cream until soft peaks form.  Gently fold the whipped cream into the sabayon.

Divide the mixture into 6 glasses or serving dishes.  Top with raspberries.

printable pdf

Cannibalism

Catchy title, I know.  And you'll notice, I'm sure, that there's no accompanying photo today.  I mean, what do you expect under a heading like that? 

Honestly.

So I had a completely different, and more appetizing (truth be told), post lined up for today, but then I got my mail.  And in my mail was a postcard.

Now, food writers get a lot of free stuff in the mail, nearly all of it unsolicited.  Some stuff's good.  Some, not so much.  Today's postcard was an advance for a new book called Human Cuisine that was just released by Ken Albala & Gary Allen (eds.).  Albala is a food historian at the University of the Pacific in Stockton, Calif.  In fact, he just won a prestigious award for his book, Beans: A History, and I've heard of him.  He's well-reputed.

On the postcard is a cutesy picture of a colorfully iced gingerbread man with its leg broken off.

Here's what it says on the back:

Go ahead, admit it: Cannibals are fascinating.

The stories, essays, poetry and drama (not to mention recipes) in this anthology reveal that cannibalism can also be disgusting [you think? -csr], sometimes frightening, sometimes hysterically funny, sometimes touching, but always interesting -- once you get past the gag reflex.

People like to discuss eating people -- supposedly, the ultimate taboo -- once someone else is kind enough to bring up the subject.  Editors Ken Albala and Gary Allen have done just that, assembling an anthology that is guaranteed to give the curious reader something meaty to chew on.

That's it. Then there are a few urls for more info.  I mean, really?  If I hadn't heard of Ken Albala, whom I dearly hope has tenure, I would have thought it was just a weird joke.  But he's a real academic.

Anyway, I hotfooted it over to his blog, and his description of the book makes clear it's intended to be a light read.  In fact, he even says the title is a coy reference to a Chinese restaurant (Hunan Cuisine) from his youth in New Jersey. 

Would you want to read a book about cannibalism, even if it were funny?

Untravelogue

 

 

Days 2/3

Let's be honest: most travel-related blogs are boring.  I know there are plenty of people who find food blogs even more insufferable, and I wouldn't necessarily disagree, but reading about someone else's trip is just a baby step away from looking at their family photo albums. 

Torture.

In deference to you and how much I value your time, which is precious, I won't post any more details about my trip.  I certainly won't describe any of the food you didn't get to eat, because I know you couldn't care less.  Hearing about the tempura cod tacones with chili adobo and pea shoots, or the seared tuna sandwich with spot prawn mayo would just piss you off.  You might even unbookmark me, and as a relatively new blogger I just can't have that.

In the same vein, I won't describe the picnic we had at Cherry Point Vineyards or the pinot noir we purchased in the tasting room. 

Why would I mention the organic olive breads, or the crisp baguettes, at True Grain Bakery?  I wouldn't.  I mean, I'd like to (because they were really good), but I flat out refuse. 

Finally, if you want to learn more about Marley Farm's fruit wines -- made completely without grapes but with pressed quince, rhubarb, and even kiwi -- you'll have to visit another blog.  I've simply got nothing to say about them.

Sorry.

Victoria

Day 1

  

 

What happens when two Le Cordon Bleu graduates entertain one snap-happy food blogger?  A whole lot of good food, more than a little catching up, and a photographic record of the event.  What you see above are just the appetizers. 

(You already witnessed the Father's Day dessert.)

I first met Denise in 2006 at the annual meeting of the International Association of Culinary Professionals in Seattle.  Both conference newbies, we started chatting at the Food Expo, a cavernous hall filled with food samples, gadgets, giveaways, and culinary paraphernalia.  I made her, a total stranger, tell me if I had food stuck in my teeth, and an instant friendship was born.

The following year in Chicago, she brought Karri, her friend and former Cordon Bleu classmate, and we traipsed through the Windy City, arms linked.  I visited them both last summer in Victoria. 

This summer I returned yet again.  If you've ever been to Victoria, you'll instantly relate to the pull of this small, glorious island, one of the most beautiful, light-filled places I've ever been. 

To jumpstart our dinner, Karri brought an exquisitely cut platter of crudites, pictured above with fruit kabobs she prepared for the kids.  Denise made the Vietnamese salad rolls, along with a halibut ceviche she adapted from this Rick Bayless recipe in Food & Wine. 

(Be advised that Denise omitted the orange juice, sugar, and olives from the recipe, and substituted grape seed oil for the olive oil.  She also added the tomatoes, cilantro, and chilies just before serving.)

There was so much more food -- individual pizzas, spinach salad, glazed nuts, prawns, plus the Father's Day cake and an UNBELIEVABLE coconut cream pie. 

Yes, you read that right. 

(It deserves its own post so be patient.) 

(Seriously, back off about the pie.)

The best part? I contributed absolutely nothing to the meal but ate better than I have in a long, long time.

Water

photo by darkpatator reprinted under a Creative Commons License

So there's a new water.  But this isn't just any water.  It's not Fiji water, which has been working hard to burnish its image.  It's not Smart water, which is "vapor-distilled" (huh?) and brimming with electrolytes.  It's not Evian natural spring water, the official sponsor of Top Chef.  It's not Poland Spring or Voss or Volvic or Vitamin Water or Aquafina, Arrowhead Mountain, or even Dasani.

It's O Water.

The label, as you'll see here, lets us know that it's unsweetened, AND, as if that weren't enough, that it's "ultra premium."

Ultra premium.  Let's think about that for a minute.  It's not premium water.  No, it's so much more.  It's ultra premium water. 

I guess those of us who've switched from bottled water back to tap are really missing out on something special. 

And is it me or does the phrase "ultra premium" actually make you think of gasoline?

'Za

There are certain things you’ll never find me doing: making my own sausage, making my own puff pastry, and making my own pasta.  I learned how to make all three in culinary school, but the time/effort to results ratio never seemed to work in my favor.  (I even own a pasta roller.  It’s in the garage snuggled up next to the broken treadmill.)

It’s a different story if you’re talking about chicken stock and pizza.  Homemade chicken stock is so far superior to the canned stuff it's almost laughable.  I don’t make it frequently (blasphemy!) but when I do I marvel at how much better it is. Then I turn it all into soup and eat it until it's gone.  Then I berate myself for not making a double batch because, really, how much extra effort would it have been?  Then I get mildly depressed at my own lack of forethought. 

Pizza occupies its own category.  I’d tried making it lots of times before and had all the accoutrements: the stone, the peel, the pizza wheel, even a round, perforated pan.  But after the dough would rise all hell would break loose.  I’d stretch it and it’d go all Swiss cheese on me, busting out holes in all the thin spots, snickering Failure! just loud enough to turn my head.

I gave up for a while.

But then, then, I came across a recipe in Cooking Light, and it instantly poofed all my other crust recipes into oblivion.  It relied on whole wheat flour and a good dose of honey.  I spent several weeks tinkering with it to really make it my own and changed up all the toppings.  (Basil in the dough? A distraction.  Feta on the pizza?  No way.  Kneading it by hand?  Um, why?)

If you’ve all but given up on making pizza, give it just one more chance.

...

Recipe for Pesto-Dappled Whole Wheat-ish Pizza

In my opinion, this partial whole wheat crust achieves texture nirvana: it's chewy and yielding inside but crisp and golden outside.  The honey adds a nice sweetness, too.

For the dough:

2-1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast
1 tablespoon honey
1 cup very warm water (100-110 degrees)
1-1/4 cups + 2 tablespoons white whole wheat flour, divided
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt

For the rest:

1 teaspoon olive oil
1 cup pizza sauce
1-1/4 cups shredded mozzarella
3 tablespoons pistachio pesto, or any pesto of your choice
1/4 cup perlini (tiny fresh mozzarella balls), drained, optional
freshly cracked black pepper

To make the dough:  In the bowl of a stand mixer, dissolve the honey and yeast in the warm water.  Stir to combine.  Set aside for 5 minutes until yeast turns foamy.

Add 1-1/4 cups of the white whole wheat flour, the all purpose flour, and salt.  Stir with a mixing spoon until a soft dough forms.  Place the bowl in your stand mixer, insert the dough hook, and begin allowing the machine to knead the dough on highish speed.  Slowly add the remaining 2 tablespoons of white whole wheat flour to prevent the dough from sticking to the sides of the bowl.  Knead for about 6 minutes.

Spray a large, clean bowl with nonstick spray (or olive oil spray).  Scrape the dough into this clean bowl and turn to coat.  Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled in bulk, about 40 minutes to 1 hour.  During the last 20 minutes of the rise, place a baking stone on the bottom oven rack.  Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.

If you have a nonstick, perforated, round pizza sheet, spray it with nonstick cooking spray.  Stretch the dough to fit the pan, pressing it gently to the edge and ensuring the thickness is relatively uniform.  Rub with the olive oil. (Alternatively, stretch the dough into a rough circle, or two if that's easier for you.  Transfer to a piece of parchment set atop a pizza peel. Rub the dough with the olive oil.)  Place the pizza pan directly on the preheated stone.  (Or, if going the parchment route, use a pizza peel to slide the parchment directly onto the stone.)

Bake for about 8 to 10 minutes, or until the dough is golden brown and looks nearly cooked.  Remove from the oven and spread with sauce, sprinkle with cheese (and perlini, if using), and dab with pesto.  Return to the oven for 2 minutes.

Turn the oven to broil.  Broil for 1 minute only, watching very carefully to prevent burning, until the cheese and pesto bubble and begin to turn a deep brown.

Serve hot, sprinkled with freshly cracked black pepper.

printable pdf

Fathers

I'm going to keep this short and sweet.  Thank you, truly, for your virtual visits and macaroni wishes on Friday.  It was a banner birthday, due in large part to all of you.  I could go on and on, because the number of shout-outs was really amazing.  I think my server had convulsions.

But today is all about dads.  I could certainly spend my time crafting a flowery ode to dads everywhere.  It would take time, as I'd probably try to strike a balance between being clever and touching.  I'd want it to make you laugh and cry simultaneously.  (Doubtful I'd pull it off, but I'd try.)

Instead, I'll spend the day with my husband and kids, and my friend Denise, and her husband and kids. 

Denise made the cake you see in the photo for Father's Day dessert.  You see how pretty it is?  It tasted better.  You'll be hearing more about her and our Canadian adventures later in the week.

Have a very happy father's day.

Birthday

Yes, so, today is my birthday. 

A few weeks ago my husband and I Netflixed Me and You and Everyone We Know.  I have no idea, really, how to describe this movie, other than to say that when it was over Colin and I looked at each other and said, Woah.  We couldn't decide if the film was just really quirky or so original that it was actually genius.

In any event, it stuck with us.  (Disclaimer: it has some freaky thematic elements.  Don't hold me responsible if you hate it.)

Our favorite scene is when performance artist Christine (the protagonist) sends a video portfolio to gallery owner Nancy, who rudely brushed her off earlier in the day. Based on that interaction, Christine assumes Nancy has no interest in her work, but she doesn't give up.  We hear Christine addressing Nancy on the video:

"You'll probably never even watch this tape, will you?  I could do anything right now.  If you are watching this, then just call this number, okay? Just call this number, the number you see on your screen, and say 'macaroni.'  Okay? That's all you have to do.  Just "macaroni" and hang up.  No questions asked."

In the film's final minutes, the phone rings. Christine picks it up.

All you hear is "Macaroni."  Then a dial tone. 

It's a perfect cinematic moment.  And it proves that, yes, even when you think no one is listening, there may just be someone out there paying attention.

Anyway, here's what I'd like.  If you're out there, and if you've been reading the blog, I'd like you to write the word "macaroni" in the comments. 

That's it. Just "macaroni."

It would seriously be the best birthday present ever. 

Dealbreaker

Coconut is just one of those foods: either you love it, or you hate it.  Ain't no in-between.  And I don't mean to be all melodramatic, but I can't for the life of me understand how any person in their right mind can resist the stuff.  I'd pack it into all my pores if I could.

When I meet someone as loony about coconut as I am, I know they're a keeper.  We can be real friends, true companions, for a long time to come.  I'll let them watch my kids.  Have my PIN.  Drive my car when theirs is in the shop.  I mean, if they love coconut, we'll mate for life.

Now, if you turn your nose up at the stuff, beware.  I'm not saying I won't invite you for dinner, just that I won't bring my A game.  You'll get the London broil but not the filet.  The Two Buck Chuck, not the Veuve Clicquot.  After all, if you don't like coconut, you're inherently suspect.  And why waste the good stuff?  Our relationship won't last anyway.

Unless, of course, you come to your senses.  Jess, apparently, didn't like coconut until I showed her the light.  Now she's a true convert.  My work there is done.

(And if you want to read about someone who loathes carob -- yes, carob -- as much as I love coconut, check out food writer Charmian Christie's blog here.)

You got a little taste of my coco-obsession via yesterday's peanut-coconut sauce.  If, after today's recipe, you're still not a fan, you and I are probably through. I value your readership, but honestly, would we ever weather the tough times, traipse into the twilight of our lives, if we diverge this fully on something so fundamental?

I'm thinking not.

...

Recipe for Toasted Coconut French Toast Stacks

Here's a perfect use for the leftover coconut milk from the peanut sauce recipe you made yesterday.  The toasted coconut topping really brings the flavors home so please, for the love of whatever higher being you pray to, don't leave it out.  And if you can swing it, cook the French toast in butter.  From a flavor/browning point of view, it makes a noticeable difference.

Makes 4 stacks

2 eggs

1 cup well-shaken light coconut milk

1 teaspoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon almond (or vanilla) extract

pinch each salt and ground cardamom

a little butter (or cooking spray)

4 slices whole wheat sandwich bread, or bread of your choosing, cut into 4 squares each

1/2 cup unsweetened (natural) shredded coconut, toasted in a dry skillet

2 tablespoons powdered sugar

maple syrup, wholly optional

Whisk together all custard ingredients (eggs through cardamom) in a medium bowl.

Heat a large nonstick skillet (or griddle) over medium-high heat until very hot. 

Dip bread squares in custard for about 20 seconds, submerging and/or flipping to coat evenly.  Add a little butter (or cooking spray) to the skillet. Cook the bread for 4 to 5 minutes total, reducing the heat slightly if necessary, until golden brown and firm to the touch, flipping once halfway through cook time.  (Do not undercook or your French toast will be mushy.)  Work in stages and add a touch more butter as necessary.

Top each cooked square with a little toasted coconut.  Sift powdered sugar over top.  Stack the squares on top of one another, making 4 little towers of 4 French toast squares each.  Serve with maple syrup, only if desired.

printable pdf