Restaurant Widow

Book Review::Elements of Cooking

When I first heard about the Elements of Cooking - from Ruhlman's blog, no less, gotta love the old blogosphere - I was completely intrigued.  At first, the idea of the cookbook seemed a little mundane - revisiting the classics, etc. etc., but this book is about reinterpreting the cooking of the chef for the home cook.  Frequently, for those who have never trained as a chef (or line cook or even server, for that matter) can lack a fundamental understanding of just what it is which makes restaurant food so good, and so much better than home cooking.  It's something Bourdain touches on in Kitchen Confidential (it appears I am incapable of reviewing any book without somehow referencing Bourdain.  I wonder what that means), when he talks about why you can't cook better than a chef.  Home cooks make lots of mistakes - using cheap, old, or inadequate ingredients, overcooking everything, being afraid of high heat, strange ingredients, or strange shopping locales, being intimidated by fishmongers or butchers, being afraid to ask questions, all sorts of things.  This book confronts all of those fears.  And it points out a few you might not realize you have.

The book begins by explaining a few basic ingredients in great detail - stock, eggs, butter.  It explains why you need the very best of each ingredient, it tries to explain the importance of veal stock - I think it's one of those things you just have to use to understand; most people have no idea how much veal stock they consume, as it is a base in many meat-accompanying sauces in restaurants.  Using stock as a base, many different types of sauces and other ways to use stock are discussed. This section also goes into great detail about salt - how to salt, how to salt water for starch or green vegetables, how to brine.  This section is of particular interest because many home cooks are afraid to salt heavily, especially when cooking starches.  The different types of heat are also discussed - dry heat, steaming vs. boiling, braising, etc.

The remainder of the book is an alphabetical listing of cooking terms and helpful hints.  When I say helpful hints, I'm not being trite.  There are tips for making your own croutons, buying meat, and cutting vegetables.  Perhaps the most helpful aspect of the book is in translating "chef" cooking terms for the home cook.  There are lots of terms restaurant people and cooks tend to throw around which the lay person might not immediately understand.  Even I am guilty of doing this in recipes, I think - I might say "deglaze the pan with 1/2 bottle of red wine," because I think everyone knows what deglazing is.  Or exactly what "nonreactive" or "reduce" mean. There are also helpful hints I always think of writing about, but never do, such as "Keep a Sharpie on hand in the kitchen and label and date your food," a favorite trick of mine, being that I have the worst memory. 

There are very practical hints for buying cookware - what you really need, such as a chef's knife and a good, large saute pan. 

The book can also help diners parse out menu terms; rouille, jus, cured, sous vide - even terms such as saute or risotto, which I am always amazed when diners don't recognize - are explained in great detail along with advice on how to use these terms in one's own kitchen.

The book also includes a list of Ruhlman's own favorite sources, many of which I also have constantly at hand, which should be used as a guideline for any wannabe foodie.  Occasionally I will be talking to a table and I'll start to discuss some term or cooking method, and a guest at the table will say "How do you know that?" and I'll just shrug and say "Harold McGee."  Ruhlman also sites McGee a lot, typically with a (see McGee) at the end of a statement, something I plan to copy. 

Elements is an extremely accessible and very smart kitchen companion.  It can be read cover to cover or in fits and starts.  I highly recommend it for any home cook who wishes to move from the level of casserole to cassoulet.

Book Review::Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian

   
A good sign when I get a new cookbook - lots of flags for waiting recipes.

One of the best things which has happened to me as a result of this website is being sent books for review.  Anyone who knows me or has ever been to my house knows I love books of all sorts - so much so that, when I haul new purchases home from Barnes & Noble, Husband has been known to sigh, pat me on the head and say "We need to get you a library card."  But I've digressed, and haven't already begun.

Most people know Mark Bittman as the Minimalist, the column he writes for the New York Times' Food section - one of the few food-related things I read in any newspaper.  Bittman's recipes are known for their simple, straightforward use of a only a few really good ingredients - just my kind of cook.  He is also known for starting the no-knead bread craze, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

This was my first experience with one of Bittman's cookbooks.  At first glance, I've always thought the cookbooks were too large - how could the recipes be good and focused if there were so many of them in one cookbook?  Now, I also dislike tiny, one-topic cookbooks, such as a pasta cookbook (you don't need a cookbook for pasta.  No, you don't), but this just seemed too overwhelming a project for a one-author cookbook.  Fortunately, I think I'm wrong. 

At this point, I feel maybe I should digress again for a second and admit something: I haven't yet made any recipes from this cookbook.   A few years ago, I heard an interview with 2 cookbook reviewers, one who felt she couldn't be honest if she hadn't tried some recipes, and one who felt he was savvy enough to read the recipes critically and determine if they made sense.  I was scandalized: review a cookbook without making any of the recipes?!  Mon Dieu!  I don't really feel that way anymore.  I can pretty much read a recipe - especially these sorts of simple recipes - and know if it's going to work or not.  And I'm sure I will eventually cook from the cookbook, but the book hit my doorstep with an assertive THUD last week and we already had our meals planned.  And our bacon purchased.  Remember, this is How to Cook Everything Vegetarian.

Okay, so I'm not, and probably never will become, a vegetarian.  I can't help it.  Pork is just too delicious to give up.  I'm all about paying extra for a happy piggy, but I still want to eat him. There are a lot of good reasons to become vegetarians, or what I prefer, the new term of flexitarians (people who are meatless many days of the week.).  The truth is, there are lots of days I don't eat meat.  Or only one slice of bacon, minced into some sort of otherwise vegetarian pasta or veggie dish.  I know it might appear as though I eat fabulously beautiful food every day, but the truth is, on a lot of days I eat spaghetti or packaged, dried cheese raviolis from Trader Joe's with olive oil, salt and red pepper flakes.  Because I am busy, and lazy.

But, let's get on with the book, shall we?  First of all, this book is very educational.  I think it's a great first cookbook for anyone interested in cooking, not just vegetarians. 

Bittman's premise is that the vegetarian diet consists of numerous dishes consisting a meal, vs. the carnivore's diet, which centers around a meat-based entree, with side dishes.  The book begins with a few tutorials on ingredients you should always have on hand, and then a few you might have if you are going to be adventurous, as well as equipment you should have.  The thing I've always loved about Bittman is his completely un-snobby approach to these sorts of things.  Of course we'd all love to have a $1000 set of All-Clad pots, but the truth is, it just isn't practical for everyone.  It's also impractical to insist upon the finest $50 per litre extra virgin olive oil, and $100 5 ounce bottles of balsamic vinegar.  This frugal practicality makes the cookbook very accessible.  Beginning cooks will find the recipes approachable, while food snobs will recognize the cues and substitute the best ingredient for the most practical, if the time arises. 

There are also instructions on cutting veggies, along with nicely rendered sketches (in the Cooks Illustrated manner - the illustrator here is Alan Witschonke), as well as instructions on numerous cooking terms which are frequently thrown around and rarely described, such as "deglazing."  For all you crazy vegans, there are instructions for the basics of turning the recipes into vegan recipes; many of the recipes also give instructions for veganizing the dishes.  There are instructions for using leftovers, for reheating, for almost everything you can imagine.  This is what would make this cookbook perfect for a recent graduate.

One of the best things about the book is there are several "master" recipes, and then there are 20 ideas for changing the recipe - these are the things which will help you become an intuitive cook.  An example: there are instructions for poaching eggs, and then there are ideas for flavorful liquids in which to poach your eggs, and then there are 6 great sauces for poached eggs, and then there are 19 things to serve under poached eggs.  See?  One master recipe, and loads of additional ideas.

There are tons of great condiment recipes, along with ways to use them, ways to reinterpret them, etc.  There are loads of great bean recipes (we here at Chez Widow love beans); good descriptions of each bean, and grain recipes with descriptions of each grains ditto rice, as well as pasta recipes, including how to make several types of pasta, dumplings - including Asian dumplings, gnocchi, and spaetzle.  The soup recipes are also very comprehensive.  There are a few basic stock recipes which would definitely come in handy if you are a meat-eating cook trying to cook vegetarian.  We go through about 2-3 quarts of chicken stock a week if we are doing a lot of cooking, and try to have vegetarian stock on hand, too.

I have to admit I sort of got lost on the meat-replacement recipes. Perhaps I should make those the first I try. 

There are lots of things in this cookbook I haven't even touched on - descriptions of oils and vinegars, types of meat substitutes, descriptions of flours, the bread or dessert sections, etc.  But I have to leave something for you to discover, don't I?

All in all, I found this cookbook to be loaded with easy to follow recipes, instructions, and descriptions.  It is packed with information - there is even a breakdown on the lack of supervision of the chicken and egg industry (read: free range is meaningless).  Even for non-vegetarians, I think the cookbook is a good buy at $35.  It kept my attention from beginning to end and there aren't even any pretty photographs (truly a feat, as I have a pretty short attention span).  There were lots of times when I was reading the recipes and thought to myself "all of those things, plus bacon," or "all of those things and sausage."  But that's just me; it also shows how a meat eater can still find this book helpful.  If you want to add bacon, add bacon!

How to Cook Everything Vegetarian has just been released and costs $35.  Click below to order it from Amazon.com:

Book Review::Morimoto, The New Art of Japanese Cooking

When the nice folks at DK emailed to ask me if I might be interested in a copy of Morimoto's first cookbook, barely a breath passed before I said yes, yes, YES!  Although I was a little skeptical.

It probably has something to do with his larger-than-life persona on Iron Chef (the only thing worth watching on the Food Network, by the way*), but I wasn't quite sure what to expect.  Certainly not this cogent, awe-inspiring and lovely work of art.  As a matter of fact, I carried it everywhere I went for the 36 hours after I received it in the mail.  Although I was too greedy to let the chefs at work look at it. 

The book begins with a bit of a sushi and sashimi tutorial, complete with stunning pictures of vast sushi presentations and detailed instructions - along with lots and lots of pictures - on preparing one's own sashimi.  There are even directions to prepare your own salmon roe.  These instructions will probably even offer an eductation for experienced chefs - especially Western chefs, who filet their fish in an entirely different manner than Japanes chefs.  There are instructions for preparing octopus, curing fish, and cutting sushi grass.  One of most striking series of pictures in the beginning of the book is Morimoto preparing vegetables.  For those of you who think the only way to cut veggies is into sticks by the slice, turn, slice method, think again.  As a matter of fact, spend some time at a sushi counter in hopes that you can see a chef practicing the art of Katsuramuki - slicing veggies into continuous, paper-thin sheets.  The chef trims the ends of the vegetable - say a daikon radish - and peels it, and then cuts the daikon by sliding it over the length of the knife.  Properly done, the daikon will end up in one long sheet - as tall as the chef!  These sheets can then be folded and cut into perfectly sized toothpicks, such as the sort which end up going into sushi rolls.  It's pretty amazing.

There is an interesting piece on the perfection of preparing and flavoring of sushi rice, and the insult the sushi chef takes when someone willy-nilly blends wasabi into their soy sauce and then dunks the rice in. 

One section of interest is on nori, the seaweed wrapper which I think is misunderstood by lots of Western sushi eaters, myself included.  It was a few months ago that Husband and I realized we really enjoyed the nori at our favorite Japanese restaurant - it really had snap and bite.  When we mentioned to the chef that he had the best nori, he just laughed and said "not the best, just the most expensive."  Morimoto mentions that he reserves the use of his best nori for those sitting at the sushi counter, because the snap of the nori will disappear by the time the wrap reaches the table.  It's something you just have to experience to believe, and it won't do any good for me to tell you about it, because you really have to become a good regular at a sushi counter to taste it for yourself.

There is an essay on plating, something which is very important in Japanese cuisine, and is inspiring in itself.  The food styling and the photography are stunning.  It's one of those times when you just want to pack up your camera and stop taking pictures of food. 

Perhaps one of the most interesting essays and photographs is a picture of Morimoto's knives, which are well-worn, well-treated and well-loved.  So much so that the handles and blades are wearing thin.  There's a great quote on the subject of lovely knives "...a great knife does not make a great chef.  Some chefs buy fine, expensive knives just because they look cool, but they can't use them correctly...Yes, you need a sharp knife, but a sharp arm - and eye - are more important."  It reminded me of a certain chef I know who has a giant box of fancy knives - some even pearl handled - which sit in an office in his restaurant, unused except for display purposes.  It makes me laugh every time.

Although there are some difficult recipes in this book, many of them are within reach of a home cook with some experience.  I think restaurant work would also help, because Morimoto is a restaurant chef, and the book assumes some familiarity with techniques and sources which would make perfect sense to someone in the restaurant business, but might not (yet) be second nature to the home cook.  A few of the recipes are fantasticly conceived Western interpretations of traditional Japanese dishes (foie gras chawanmushi, yes, please), some are pure, exacting Japanese, such as homemade tofu, and some are comfort food - curry pan (curry filled yeast buns which are fried to golden perfection). 

There is a prevailing theme of the samurai in the book, a rather natural comparison favored by sushi chefs, it would seem (most high-quality Japanese knife companies started out as sword makers, for example), there is a photo essay at the beginning in which Morimoto demonstrates the traditional dressing of the Samurai, a uniform which follows him into the kitchen.  Fans of Japanese cuising might realize that Morimoto isn't strictly a Japanese chef - a "criticism" he deals with on a few occasions in the book.  But the thing I love about the book is that it takes the exacting standards, the level of perfection, the simplicity and the beauty of Japanese cuisine and combines it with an entire globe's influences.  There are several non-traditional sashimi recipes - sashimi with buffalo mozzarella, anyone? I don't typically go for "fusion," but most of the recipes in this book make perfect sense.  I think you can see by all of my bookmarks how much I plan to revisit in this cookbook.  I will, of course, keep you posted as I try out a few of the recipes.

The book contains a few of my favorite qualities in a cookbook: namely, the fantastic photography (by Quentin Bacon).  There is also a lot of copy by the author; I am very happy when the history of the recipe is explained, or a tip or trick is offered up.  I love an education, and the book finishes up with a nice essay on sake, something which I am still learning about (very slowly - I'm still stuck on one brand of sake, Kira).  The book goes beyond cuisine; I really learned a lot about presentation just by looking at the pictures, and it is always good when a book so motivates you that you have to decide between spending time with it or putting it down in favor of running to the kitchen right now.

*the exception to the food Network rule is Jeni's on Unwrapped, Monday at 9pm.  Please don't take offense if you're a Food Network fan.  I just can't watch it anymore.  We'll discuss why when I finally publish my review of Heat.

Book Review::Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant

It had never occurred to me that eating alone evoked such passionate opinions.  Once upon a time in junior high, I remember eating alone.  A lot.  That's because there was this horrid girl I went to school with - let's call her Lara Vance - who ensured I never had any friends.  Hm.  Turns out I'm still weirdly bitter about it.  Fortunately, Lara Vance grew up to be just as boring and vacuous as most of my other classmates (excluded are CD, JB, and JS.  Yep, I think that's about it).

Remember that scene in Mean Girls where Lindsay Lohan eats in the bathroom?  Oh, I've been there.

Alas, primary school ended, but at some point I learned to love eating alone.  I still do.

What am I doing here?  Oh, yes, of course - writing a review.  Let's talk about the book now shall we?  Editor Jenni Ferrari-Adler writes the intro with thoughtful prose, recounting her own experiences as a young graduate student, forced to live and eat alone.  The editor doesn't offer a recipe, as many of the contributors do, only the suggestion of Fage Greek Yogurt (a favorite of yours truly) with a little honey mixed in.  She signs off writing about the dinner parties she dreamed of hosting while living in seclusion.

Eating alone is, for some, a strongly emotional experience.  While some of the writers spend their time eating alone wishing they were with someone, while others treasure their solo dining, such as Jeremy Jackson whose "Beans and Me" essay has him lying to well-meaning coworkers who invite him to dinner, just so that he can go home alone and eat his own beans and rice.  Other writers (Holly Hughes' "Luxury") dream of being able to cook for just themselves, instead of catering to the demands of husbands and children.

The low point of the book comes from the always overly precious and irritatingly self-conscious Amanda Hesser, who managed to snag a husband after ridiculing him mercilessly during the 250 agonizing pages of Cooking for Mr. Latte (no, I'm not linking to it.  If you want it, I'll happily send you my copy for free) for having the gaucheness to order a coffee drink with *gasp* milk after dinner.  The horror!  Fortunately, one can breeze through Hesser's oh so poignant recalling of her last lonely night as a single girl, all alone in the big city and eating truffled eggs on toast, to more mature writers.

Anyone who prides themselves in being a seasonal eater will laugh along with Phoebe Nobles' "Asparagus Superhero."  We all know what it's like to wait and wait for something to come into season, only to find our commitment to it flagging after a few weeks.

I loved Courtney Eldridge's "No Thanks," which finds her the looked-down-upon girlfriend of the son of a famous food writer.  Her boyfriend sneers to discover she was raised on canned food.  This is how Ms. Hesser's husband might feel if he were in touch with his emotions.

The always-simple writing of Haruki Murakami paints a picture of a lonely man, making pot after pot of spaghetti during one long year.

Of course, any book of food essays must include something by MFK Fisher, whose "A is for Dining Alone" writes of the trials of being a food writer, and therefore never managing to find herself invited into anyone's home for dinner.

I had written an entire essay of my own, upon receiving this book (and before being influenced by it), about my senior year in college, and how I loved eating alone but was frequently too poor to do it.  Unfortunately, I then got to Rattawut Lapcharoensap's "Instant Noodles," wherein he decries rich college kids who pretend to be poor and then go to their nice warm houses on breaks, and decided I was just being a brat.

I was surprised by Laura Calder's "The Lonely Palate."  She insists no one can possibly enjoy eating alone.  Doesn't everyone eat alone?  Breakfast?  How about lunch at work?  How sad to think one can never just be alone, with peace and quiet.

Personally, I'll just say this: I love to eat alone.  In fact, many of the recipes on this website are meals for just me.  Of course, I'm not cooking them just for me, I cook them for all of my readers, and when I say this, I don't want to sound precious or pandering: I spend a lot of time thinking about what to make and what I think you, my readers, will make and enjoy.  So, while I'm frequently eating alone, I still want everything to be beautiful because I'm not just cooking for one.

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant is a great group of essays, which can be read in any order but are also intuitively arranged; Ferrari-Adler does a great job, and I love that she compares arranging the essays to making a mix tape (please tell me we've all had that pleasure).  Most of the essays contain recipes, and it's great voyeurism to see what these great food writers eat when no one's looking.  Don't skip the recipes - most of them are very amusing on their own.  Of course, this is a book about the private lives of writers, so reader discretion is advised - the book is laced with light illicit drug use and the overindulging of spirits, which basically means mom, you can't read it.

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant will be released July 19th. 

At any rate, here's my recipe for what I eat when no one's looking:
2 ounces spaghetti (oh, who am I kidding, no one's looking, right?  5 ounces spaghetti)
Really good extra virgin olive oil (like, the $25 a bottle kind)
red pepper flakes
freshly cracked black pepper
crunchy sea salt

Boil spaghetti in heavily salted boiling water.  Drain and place in a bowl.  Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with pepper flakes, salt and pepper.  Curl up on the sofa with a good book and maybe some wine.  If desired, you can replace the olive oil with butter, and add some freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

Book Review::The Nasty Bits

I have discovered something about myself: I only like to write positive book reviews.  A few months or so ago, someone very nice sent me a wine book to review, and all I kept thinking as I read it was how I would have done it so much differently, and how it didn't really apply to me (there was a wine quiz in the back, and I already knew most of the answers, and when I gave the quiz to Husband, he pointed out all of the flaws).  Nonetheless, I felt bad writing a bad review of it, because, well, I'm a writer, and I'm sure that person had the best intentions and really thought their book was good.  It was even featured on Good Food.  It's just that, when you live with someone like Husband, most "beginner" wine books seem like a joke.  So, thanks for the free book, but I just can't bring myself to trash it.

Okay!  Now on with my review of Anthony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits.  You may be asking yourself, why is she writing a review of a book that came out over a year ago?  Because I'm cheap, that's why!  If it isn't discounted in hardcover, I won't buy it until it comes out in paperback.  So there!  When I waited on a woman who was reading this in paperback, I ran to Barnes & Noble and snatched it up.  I wish I could say I ran to my local independent, but I didn't.  I'm sorry, Liberty Books & News.

So, say you do something - cook, write, play the violin, paint, whatever.  Do you ever come across someone who does it so much better than you that you briefly think of never picking up your tongs again?  That's how I felt reading this book.  Like a lot of people in the restaurant business, I devoured Kitchen Confidential when it came out, along with A Cook's Tour.  At first, I thought Bourdain was maybe just a swaggering, testosterone-filled kitchen miscreant with a slightly hyperbolic writing style and an insatiable lust for life.  I was completely right then, and it's okay.  Bourdain's embrace of himself as exactly what he is, and his continued, eyes-wide-open bemusement at his luck in life and his continued success makes me really, really like him. 

What makes Anthony Bourdain a particularly good writer - aside from his wit, humor, bitterness, love/loathing of humanity and celebrity chefs - is his effortless prose; the way his voice comes through his writing and off the page.  It's almost as though you are listening to a recording.

There are a lot of food and travel writers who don't deserve to be paid for what they do, quite frankly.  Nothing is more irritating than reading a holier-and more well-heeled-than-thou writer who writes from a lofty, all-knowing vantage point, here to grace you with their knowledge.  When reading AB, however, you feel the same excitement as each adventure unfolds.  He never hesitates to write about his embarrassing moments - groaning in ecstasy whilst dining at Masa, finding Bobby Flay's restaurant in Vegas strangely okay, being constantly drunk and full of distressed bowels.  AB is willing to be ambivelant about certain subjects - so-called "molecular gastronomy," dining in Vegas as a whole, celebrity chefs, but takes a firm stand on things close to the hearts of those in the restaurant industry - he really wants the world to know that it isn't the celbrity chef who is cooking your food, it's most likely a man from Mexico or Central America with questionable immigration status.  I love how he outright declares hatred the raw food movement and decries Woody Harrelson for spending time in Thailand and refusing to eat anything but raw fruit. 

Sometimes, reading Anthony Bourdain, I wonder if people who aren't in the restaurant business really "get" what he's writing about.  Can you really understand essays like "System D" if you've never had to rectify a nasty situation on the fly, with only your wits?  I suppose this doesn't only happen in the restaurant business, but I think it helps to have a few years in a restaurant under your belt.  I think everyone should have a few years in the restaurant business under their belts, they'd certainly be a better person for it, but I digress.

This is a collection of works that spans a few years, and at the end, there are a few new words on each essay, offering a little insight into the thought process behind each piece.  The writer is really, really funny, totally perverse and irrevrant at times, and occassionally completely awestruck at what the world has to offer.  It's great fun to be taken along on a ride with an ex-junkie, completely cynical New Yorker (from the old, crack-and-hooker-laden Times Square New York, mind you), and sit next to him as he enjoys an island meal, toes stuck in sand, and remarks that food does, indeed, taste better when one is barefoot.

Some people might find Bourdain's writing offensive - there's no shortage of foul language and R rated imagery, but for anyone who's been toughened by years of listening to fierce servers and line cooks string together a line of cleverly worded, profanity laden insults a mile long, it's a joy.