Congrats to Riann and Morningstar for winning the Oxo ice cream scoops! Please email me your shipping addresses to staceyballisinfo (at) gmail (dot) com and I will get them out to you. And thanks to everyone for sharing their guilty pleasure foods and movies, I feel like I have a new clan.
I'm now going to have a bagel with butter and sliced dill pickles. Out loud. Because my Chickens make me brave enough to Own. My. Crazy.
Stay tuned for more fun giveaways...
Yours in Good Taste,
The Polymath
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Guilty Pleasures
Guilty pleasures are much on my mind of late. Charming Suitor and I started a Guilty Pleasure Movie Series with some friends of ours, about once or twice a month we have dinner and a movie night. We alternate who gets to choose the movie. The rules are, it has to be a guilty pleasure, not one of those movies in the pantheon of great films...nope, we are talking about those movies that if you are flipping channels and spot it, you have to stop.
Some of the movies we have watched so far include Ghostbusters, Wayne's World, Addicted to Love, Face Off, Lost in America, Airplane, Valley Girl, Modern Romance, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. Some really hold up surprisingly well. (Wayne's World) Some REALLY do not. (Valley Girl) But many discussions have been brought up about the idea of the "guilty pleasure". And how much the guilt and pleasure part are intrinsically connected, that the nature of the enjoyment is in direct correlation to how sort of sheepish we would be if people knew about it. It feels almost like getting away with something, stealing a couple of hours for a less than stellar movie that, for whatever reason, holds a special place in your heart.
The same thing happens with food. I love really good food. Top quality. I try very hard to stay away from processed foods full of unpronounceables. I buy meat, poultry and eggs from either a local farmer, or a butcher I trust. Charming Suitor and I mostly make our own lunches, cook dinners about 5 nights a week, and go to decent restaurants or dine at friends homes for the rest. We are lucky that even our last minute take-out options are pretty great nearby restaurants, a small family-owned Italian place, a terrific Japanese/Sushi house, an amazing Filipino soul food place, an organic rotisserie chicken joint, awesome Middle-Eastern, the best Thai food in Chicago. I would say that 98% of what I put in my mouth is made from amazing fresh seasonal ingredients by either myself or skilled chefs.
And the 2%?
Total, unadulterated crap.
Yup. The guilty pleasure foods. The ones that you would never admit to in public. The ones you don't even buy at your regular grocery store, hiding them under the QTips at Walgreens, or at a little convenience store off the beaten path. The ones you remember from college or early childhood, that evoke amazing sense memories, but are generally really bad for you.
I can give you fantastic recipes all year long, recommend delicious restaurants, but just because I am mostly devoted to great quality eats, I am not immune to the guilty pleasure.
Ramen noodles, so full of sodium that it is amazing they don't come with a defibrillator. Mac and Cheese, of either the neon orange Kraft or mushy pallid Stouffer's ilk, each carrying its own very particular type of delight. Speaking of Stouffer's, the spinach souffle still holds a weird little place in my heart. God help me, Buddig sliced turkey...not the actual turkey breast, the blended and reformed turkey PRODUCT. That plastic dip made with velveeta and ro-tel canned tomatoes and green chilies. SPAGHETTIOS for the love of Mike, those stupid squishy O pasta bits floating in that sickly sweet barely-tastes-of-tomatoes sauce. Preferably served with bread and butter for sauce dunking. White bread. (With real butter,TYVM. I may occasionally walk on the dark side, but margarine does not pass these lips.)
I know. It is shameful. These are horrible horrible things that can barely be considered food. They provide way too much carb, fat, salt and chemicals and nearly no actual nutritional value. But for whatever reason, once a year or so, they call to me. Usually when I am in the last month before book deadline and any type of real cooking seems to use too much bandwidth, and I'm in need of not only quick food, but also comfort. I seem to revert right back to college finals eating, minus the Jeana's steak and cheese subs and the Chinese delivery that weirdly came with poofy kaiser style rolls for free, but made you order white rice.
Unlike movies, which we have discovered can be shared with varying levels of enjoyment with friends, guilty pleasure foods sort of have to be eaten alone. You can't ask people over for dinner and serve them this stuff, they would never come back. And unless your significant other shares your particular guilty pleasure foods (CS does not. But I don't get his Popeye's chicken thing either, so we are even) you are stuck.
But there is a certain amount of psychological benefit to naming and claiming your guilty pleasures. To owning them, acknowledging them, and indulging them occasionally in moderation without beating yourself up about it.
So I am declaring this Name Your Pleasure week. And since Ice Cream is a pleasure sometimes guilty (whole pint of Chubby Hubby in one sitting out of the container while watching Real Housewives) and sometimes not (demure little scoop of organic gelato with a single wafer cookie and a sprinkle of fresh berries), I've got two Oxo Good Grips ice cream scoops to give away.
Comment below with your top guilty pleasure foods and movies by 11:59 CST on Tues May 14, and I will pick two of you to win these awesome scoopers.
Only rule? No judging here, Chickens, we all have our stuff. Please keep comments positive and supportive. And if someone names something you love too, let them know so they don't feel so alone.
Yours in (mostly) Good Taste,
The Polymath
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Consider the Artichoke
When I was growing up, artichokes were a mysterious vegetable, closed and secretive, and impossibly elegant. They were a thing of myth that I read about in books, descriptions of lavish Victorian dinner parties where they were served hot, dipped in clarified butter, or cold at luncheon, stuffed with crabmeat.
Every once in a great while we would have them at home, always served with butter for dipping, and maybe a wedge of lemon. They were festive and delicious and rare. More often than not, my experience with artchokes was in the form of canned, mixed with all sorts of unctuous cheeses and mayonnaise and secret ingredients that my godmother used to make insanely good hot artichoke dip, served with cocktail rye. I could eat a vat of the stuff.
The canned versions showed up on salads, when we started getting more creative at home, but those whole, fresh, steamed beauties were still a rarity.
There are certain moments I remember vividly from my childhood that imprinted and made me make early decisions about how I was going to handle my business as a grown up. I remember the old black and white movie my dad and I watched one sunday afternoon, where a guest arrived unexpectedly at the home of the heroine and was offered a drink. "Champagne, please." the guest said without a second thought, and the lady of the house went to fetch a bottle of bubbly. The idea that someone could just ask for and RECEIVE champagne, on a random weekday afternoon and not on New Years or at a party seemed insanely fabulous, and I swore I would always have bubbly at the ready when I was a grown up, and not only drink it on special occasions. And you can ask any of my friends about "Tuesday Champagne" at my house, it is a promise I kept.
Some of my vows weren't the smartest. I hate coming home to a dark house. Years of parental admonitions to "Shut the lights off!" when leaving rooms made me mutter under my breath that when I had my own house I would leave the lights on all the time. And I do. Compulsively. All over the house. Makes my poor Charming Suitor crazy, and he is forever shutting lights off behind me and tsking.
Artichokes are like that for me. The Champagne of vegetables. I always loved them so much, and hated that they were relegated to special occasions, that they were so infrequent. So when I started cooking for myself, one of the first things I wanted to master, in addition to a perfect roasted chicken, was the simple, steamed, artichoke. Despite their look of vegetal armor, the little spikes that draw blood if you aren't careful, the furry choke that threatens to live up to its name if you accidentally try and eat it, artichokes are simpler than you think.
Buy them fresh, look for ones that feel slightly heavy for their size and have tightly compacted leaves. Artichokes are best between May and July, but whenever you spot them, just give a squeeze to see what kind of shape they are in. The leaves should almost squeak under your hands. And for every two artichokes, be sure you have one lemon handy.
First off, use a sharp serrated knife for your trim work. These prickly thistles love to roll around on you and you need something that grips. I use an 8 inch serrated bread knife. If you are prepping them for a dinner party and aren't going to cook them right away, make a large bowl of acidulated water (juice of one lemon or 2 T white vinegar to every 4 c water) for storing up to 6 hours. If you are prepping for cooking right away, you can just rub all the cut edges with a half a lemon to prevent browning.
Slice off the stem end flush. I know the restaurants love to peel the stems, but frankly it is annoying and you don't get enough extra meat to make it worth your while. You want to be able to work fast and this is the best way. Using your serrated knife and cutting away from you, trim the hard covering off of the bottom in about one inch sections until the whole thing is exposed, you'll take most of the outer leaves of as a result, which is a good thing. You just start at the center and slice outward, all the way around. Any leaves remaining that look sad or brown, you can just snap off. Then put the thing on its side and slice the top off, taking all the prickles away in one fell swoop. Don't forget to either rub the edges with lemon or drop in your water bath, or you will have ugly brown bottoms and leaves.
To cook, place the artichokes bottom side up on a steamer basket over 2 inches of cold water in a large pot. Don't boil them, they'll get waterlogged. If you don't have a steamer basket, turn a colander over and prop them on there. Cover and cook on high about 30-40 minutes until the bottoms give easily to the poke of a fork. uncover and let sit there upside down for 10 minutes. You can serve hot or cold, but my fave is room temp, all their flavors really come to the front then. And while usually I would not shy away from any butter-delivery-device, I don't do the butter dunk with my artichokes. I make a pungent and thick vinaigrette with shallots, lemon juice, dijon mustard, capers, and extra virgin olive oil, going far heavier on the lemon and dijon than I would for delicate lettuces. The acid brings out the richness of the artichoke meat instead of competing. But you should dunk however you like.
The best part is that artichokes are very good for you, low in calories (about 50 per), high in fiber. When they are in season, Charming Suitor and I eat as many as we can...I will make 8 at a time and keep them in the fridge for snacking or quick easy lunches. Artichokes and a roasted chicken is our idea of a heavenly spring or summer dinner. And nothing goes with it better than a crisp glass of champagne. Especially if it is Tuesday.
Yours in Good Taste,
The Polymath
Every once in a great while we would have them at home, always served with butter for dipping, and maybe a wedge of lemon. They were festive and delicious and rare. More often than not, my experience with artchokes was in the form of canned, mixed with all sorts of unctuous cheeses and mayonnaise and secret ingredients that my godmother used to make insanely good hot artichoke dip, served with cocktail rye. I could eat a vat of the stuff.
The canned versions showed up on salads, when we started getting more creative at home, but those whole, fresh, steamed beauties were still a rarity.
There are certain moments I remember vividly from my childhood that imprinted and made me make early decisions about how I was going to handle my business as a grown up. I remember the old black and white movie my dad and I watched one sunday afternoon, where a guest arrived unexpectedly at the home of the heroine and was offered a drink. "Champagne, please." the guest said without a second thought, and the lady of the house went to fetch a bottle of bubbly. The idea that someone could just ask for and RECEIVE champagne, on a random weekday afternoon and not on New Years or at a party seemed insanely fabulous, and I swore I would always have bubbly at the ready when I was a grown up, and not only drink it on special occasions. And you can ask any of my friends about "Tuesday Champagne" at my house, it is a promise I kept.
Some of my vows weren't the smartest. I hate coming home to a dark house. Years of parental admonitions to "Shut the lights off!" when leaving rooms made me mutter under my breath that when I had my own house I would leave the lights on all the time. And I do. Compulsively. All over the house. Makes my poor Charming Suitor crazy, and he is forever shutting lights off behind me and tsking.
Artichokes are like that for me. The Champagne of vegetables. I always loved them so much, and hated that they were relegated to special occasions, that they were so infrequent. So when I started cooking for myself, one of the first things I wanted to master, in addition to a perfect roasted chicken, was the simple, steamed, artichoke. Despite their look of vegetal armor, the little spikes that draw blood if you aren't careful, the furry choke that threatens to live up to its name if you accidentally try and eat it, artichokes are simpler than you think.
Buy them fresh, look for ones that feel slightly heavy for their size and have tightly compacted leaves. Artichokes are best between May and July, but whenever you spot them, just give a squeeze to see what kind of shape they are in. The leaves should almost squeak under your hands. And for every two artichokes, be sure you have one lemon handy.
First off, use a sharp serrated knife for your trim work. These prickly thistles love to roll around on you and you need something that grips. I use an 8 inch serrated bread knife. If you are prepping them for a dinner party and aren't going to cook them right away, make a large bowl of acidulated water (juice of one lemon or 2 T white vinegar to every 4 c water) for storing up to 6 hours. If you are prepping for cooking right away, you can just rub all the cut edges with a half a lemon to prevent browning.
Slice off the stem end flush. I know the restaurants love to peel the stems, but frankly it is annoying and you don't get enough extra meat to make it worth your while. You want to be able to work fast and this is the best way. Using your serrated knife and cutting away from you, trim the hard covering off of the bottom in about one inch sections until the whole thing is exposed, you'll take most of the outer leaves of as a result, which is a good thing. You just start at the center and slice outward, all the way around. Any leaves remaining that look sad or brown, you can just snap off. Then put the thing on its side and slice the top off, taking all the prickles away in one fell swoop. Don't forget to either rub the edges with lemon or drop in your water bath, or you will have ugly brown bottoms and leaves.
To cook, place the artichokes bottom side up on a steamer basket over 2 inches of cold water in a large pot. Don't boil them, they'll get waterlogged. If you don't have a steamer basket, turn a colander over and prop them on there. Cover and cook on high about 30-40 minutes until the bottoms give easily to the poke of a fork. uncover and let sit there upside down for 10 minutes. You can serve hot or cold, but my fave is room temp, all their flavors really come to the front then. And while usually I would not shy away from any butter-delivery-device, I don't do the butter dunk with my artichokes. I make a pungent and thick vinaigrette with shallots, lemon juice, dijon mustard, capers, and extra virgin olive oil, going far heavier on the lemon and dijon than I would for delicate lettuces. The acid brings out the richness of the artichoke meat instead of competing. But you should dunk however you like.
The best part is that artichokes are very good for you, low in calories (about 50 per), high in fiber. When they are in season, Charming Suitor and I eat as many as we can...I will make 8 at a time and keep them in the fridge for snacking or quick easy lunches. Artichokes and a roasted chicken is our idea of a heavenly spring or summer dinner. And nothing goes with it better than a crisp glass of champagne. Especially if it is Tuesday.
Yours in Good Taste,
The Polymath
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Freeeeee-gu-laaaaa
Chickens-
Your Polymath has a Spring Cold. Sore throat, low grade fatigue, vague achiness (which is probably more related to many hours of tennis than a virus, but still). Ick.
Working at home alone is actually sort of awesome when you are sick. You can stay in your PJs, sleep in, make yourself tea and toast, catch up on Love It or List It and see what those crazy Canadians are doing with their houses. And you don't feel guilty at all, because unless you are really knocked out, you can still get some work done.
One of the dangers of working at home alone, especially when you are groggy and hopped up on cold meds, is that you may find that you talk to yourself. Out loud. You may occasionally narrate what you are doing around the house. In song. "I have to emmmmmmpty the dishwaaaaaaasher....but I don't waaaaaaaaannna....put dishes awaaaaaaaayyyyy...."
Hypothetically.
Also? The tiniest things can get stuck in your head and then you go off on a game of Name That Segue. "I should bring in the sidewalk salt off the porch. I have to refill the salt cellar. With Kosher salt, not sidewalk salt. Sort of weird contextually that I use Kosher salt to season pork. Morton's rhymes with Gorton's, which is funny, because fish sticks are from the ocean which is salty."
Yup. Welcome to my brain.
So of course, today I am walking around and looking for lozenges, which makes me think "Riiiiii-co-laaaaaa" and because I am me, that turns into "Freeeeee-gu-laaaaaa".
Do you know about Fregula? Sometimes spelled Fregola. You should. Fregula is a small pasta, about the size and shape of Israeli couscous, but it is toasted. Which brings a whole new flavor to the party. It makes a fabulous pilaf, is far more interesting in soups than regular pastas, it is delicious hot, cold, room temp. I love it.
Of course, it is a pasta, so with both Charming Suitor and I doing the low-carb thing, it has sort of been off the menu for a bit. Off the Menu! I wrote a book by that name, do you have your copy yet??? You can do that here. Sorry. Brain spasm. Where was I?
Oh, fregula.
Anyhoo, the other night we we having some friends over for dinner, and needed a side dish. I wanted to make something with fregula, but I also needed to make it as healthy as possible. I thought about our Healthy Crunch grains and cauliflower salad, where raw cauliflower is made the same size and shape as the grains to extend the bulk of the salad and lower the total carb intake. So that made me think about fregula and how to do the same thing. The solution? Lentils.
Lentils are about the same size and shape as the pasta, and the tiny legumes are both delicious and very healthy for you. You can get them canned, precooked in the produce section, or dried. Even the dried ones aren't hard to work with, since unlike other dried beans, you don't need to soak them overnight, you can just cook them in boiling seasoned water for about 20 minutes. And they have a sort of nutty flavor, which is a great complement to the nuttiness of the toasted pasta.
By mixing the fregula in equal portions as the lentils, I made a side dish that was both delicious and very good for us, as well as not being carb overload. You can change the herbs, nuts, or fruit as you like to best pair with your dinner. We were having veal chops, and this was the combo that we liked:
Fregula Lentil Salad
serves 6-8
1 c fregula pasta, cooked according to package directions
2 c cooked lentils
1/3 c pine nuts, toasted (you can use any nut you like, pistachios and almonds are also great)
1/2 c fresh pomegranate arils (you can also substitute dried fruit like cherries or currants or chopped dried apricots, or fresh fruit like chopped apples or pears)
1/4 c extra virgin olive oil
1/2 c fresh mint leaves (you can use the same amount of chervil or basil, or 1/4 c tarragon or chives instead)
1/2 c fresh flat leaf parsley leaves
Salt and pepper to taste
Just dump everything in a bowl and mix well. If it seems dry, add a little more oil, you want it moist, but not greasy. I like this at room temp, so if you make it ahead of time, take it out of the fridge an hour or two before you serve.
Do any of you have some interesting new ingredients you are loving these days?
Yours in Good Taste,
The Snuffly Polymath
Your Polymath has a Spring Cold. Sore throat, low grade fatigue, vague achiness (which is probably more related to many hours of tennis than a virus, but still). Ick.
Working at home alone is actually sort of awesome when you are sick. You can stay in your PJs, sleep in, make yourself tea and toast, catch up on Love It or List It and see what those crazy Canadians are doing with their houses. And you don't feel guilty at all, because unless you are really knocked out, you can still get some work done.
One of the dangers of working at home alone, especially when you are groggy and hopped up on cold meds, is that you may find that you talk to yourself. Out loud. You may occasionally narrate what you are doing around the house. In song. "I have to emmmmmmpty the dishwaaaaaaasher....but I don't waaaaaaaaannna....put dishes awaaaaaaaayyyyy...."
Hypothetically.
Also? The tiniest things can get stuck in your head and then you go off on a game of Name That Segue. "I should bring in the sidewalk salt off the porch. I have to refill the salt cellar. With Kosher salt, not sidewalk salt. Sort of weird contextually that I use Kosher salt to season pork. Morton's rhymes with Gorton's, which is funny, because fish sticks are from the ocean which is salty."
Yup. Welcome to my brain.
So of course, today I am walking around and looking for lozenges, which makes me think "Riiiiii-co-laaaaaa" and because I am me, that turns into "Freeeeee-gu-laaaaaa".
Do you know about Fregula? Sometimes spelled Fregola. You should. Fregula is a small pasta, about the size and shape of Israeli couscous, but it is toasted. Which brings a whole new flavor to the party. It makes a fabulous pilaf, is far more interesting in soups than regular pastas, it is delicious hot, cold, room temp. I love it.
Of course, it is a pasta, so with both Charming Suitor and I doing the low-carb thing, it has sort of been off the menu for a bit. Off the Menu! I wrote a book by that name, do you have your copy yet??? You can do that here. Sorry. Brain spasm. Where was I?
Oh, fregula.
Anyhoo, the other night we we having some friends over for dinner, and needed a side dish. I wanted to make something with fregula, but I also needed to make it as healthy as possible. I thought about our Healthy Crunch grains and cauliflower salad, where raw cauliflower is made the same size and shape as the grains to extend the bulk of the salad and lower the total carb intake. So that made me think about fregula and how to do the same thing. The solution? Lentils.
Lentils are about the same size and shape as the pasta, and the tiny legumes are both delicious and very healthy for you. You can get them canned, precooked in the produce section, or dried. Even the dried ones aren't hard to work with, since unlike other dried beans, you don't need to soak them overnight, you can just cook them in boiling seasoned water for about 20 minutes. And they have a sort of nutty flavor, which is a great complement to the nuttiness of the toasted pasta.
By mixing the fregula in equal portions as the lentils, I made a side dish that was both delicious and very good for us, as well as not being carb overload. You can change the herbs, nuts, or fruit as you like to best pair with your dinner. We were having veal chops, and this was the combo that we liked:
Fregula Lentil Salad
serves 6-8
1 c fregula pasta, cooked according to package directions
2 c cooked lentils
1/3 c pine nuts, toasted (you can use any nut you like, pistachios and almonds are also great)
1/2 c fresh pomegranate arils (you can also substitute dried fruit like cherries or currants or chopped dried apricots, or fresh fruit like chopped apples or pears)
1/4 c extra virgin olive oil
1/2 c fresh mint leaves (you can use the same amount of chervil or basil, or 1/4 c tarragon or chives instead)
1/2 c fresh flat leaf parsley leaves
Salt and pepper to taste
Just dump everything in a bowl and mix well. If it seems dry, add a little more oil, you want it moist, but not greasy. I like this at room temp, so if you make it ahead of time, take it out of the fridge an hour or two before you serve.
 |
| Sorry for the crappy pic, have I mentioned that I have a cold? |
Yours in Good Taste,
The Snuffly Polymath
Sunday, April 14, 2013
A small little Sunday rant....
Dear Hipsters-
So you want to run a restaurant or coffee house. Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? A homey quirky place to gather and display
your various friends artwork or let your girlfriend’s band do an occasional
set. A place for painfully artisanally
crafted coffee drinks or cocktails, locavore-organic-farm-to-table nibbles in
small portions at elevated prices. Where
your pastry chef buddy can explore his desire for non-sweet desserts containing
vegetables and pork products. We totally
get it.
Here is what seems to be lost on you little darlings.
Somewhere between artfully mussing your ironic facial hair,
slipping into your skinny jeans and old concert t-shirts from shows at which
you might have been conceived, popping in the earbuds and hopping on your
Schwinn to blithely pedal to work in the middle of the street, you seem to have
forgotten that customer service? Is not
a random concept you can choose to ignore in a service business.
And I of course don’t mean that it is totally your fault
that somewhere between someone ordering the everything bagel, not toasted, with
white cheddar cream cheese and cucumber, some fabulous idea for a
non-for-profit your parents might want to stake you in weaseled its way into
your focus and resulted in you presenting a plain bagel, toasted, with
artichoke cream cheese and no cucumber.
I’m just saying that when the errors are pointed out to you, you should
not roll your eyes, huff, and then take eleven minutes to now provide an everything
bagel, toasted to charred bitterness, with the plain cream cheese (melting right
off the hot sandwich) and cucumber (wilting and weeping in the heat) and hand
it over with a look that dares us to tell you it is wrong. Again.
On the one hand, little hipsters, we do appreciate you. We agree that your barrista skills are
legendary, and the coffee truly is far superior to that at the green place up the
block. We just wish we could get it
sometime before the clocks change again, and without being forced to overhear your discussion
with your compatriots about whether jimmy should come out or not, in light of
his conservative parents footing the bill for his rent. We’d be happy to skip the painstaking leaf
design in favor of actually being handed our latte this century.
We love your willingness to brew your own bitters and source
small batch gin. And your cocktails,
once they finally arrive, are usually delicious. And had better be, since the going rate for
hipster cocktails is slightly more than the GNP of many Central American
countries.
Your food, while somewhat hit or miss, when it hits is
brilliant and inventive and delicious.
But why are you so adverse to training your staff in basic
food service etiquette and practices?
Things are pretty simple. First? Know your menu. If the nice customer asks if by “dry” soda
you mean “sugar free” and you aren’t
100% sure? GO ASK. Don’t say “of course”, bring it to her, and
then act shocked that on the actual bottle the second ingredient is cane
sugar.
Make your menu clear.
An enormous bowl of olives with three tiny toothpick sized shreds of salami and two
peanut sized cheese curds lurking in the bottom of the bowl should probably be
described as “Seasoned Olives”. Calling
them Cheese Curds and Salami with Olives makes one think that they are getting
a small plate with cheese and meat and a few olives. And if you don’t think being accurate is
poetical enough on your menu, at least have your waitstaff know to tell
customers that two cups of marinated olives is not really a logical appetizer
course for one person.
Actually listen to the order being told to you, and WRITE IT
DOWN. Food orders are not a special test. We want what we order,
prepared in the manner we have requested.
I don’t care if you have a confirmed photographic memory, write down my
order. WRITE IT DOWN so that I don’t
just sit here and wait to be disappointed, and wonder if the imminent wrong
order will be wrong enough to be worth returning to the kitchen or if I am in
for another episiode of “suck it up and get on with your day, because it isn’t
worth the effort to make them get it right”.
Deliver this written missive in
clear terms to the kitchen staff, being sure to inform them of special details
like NOT TOASTED. And if there is some
sort of communication breakdown, and the order delivered is wrong or
incomplete, good staff apologizes genuinely, and goes to make sure it is right
the second time, with a little fire in their step. Because when you get the order wrong the
second time after half the morning disappears, us older non-hipsters? Will just sigh, take what we are given, eat
the lackluster incorrect breakfast which will not thrill, and then the next
time we think we should head your way?
We think better of it, and find some other ampersand to try.
Here’s some good news.
Good service? Gets bigger
tips. And return business. There is a direct correlation. Maybe your peers don’t care, and if they
don’t feel free to serve them however you like.
But keep an eye out for the gentlemen who enter without a jaunty knitted hat, the
ladies who don’t pair their vintage sundresses with battered motorcycle boots,
the ones who look like they are that generation that never “curates” anything,
and actually speaks to each other at meals without the assistance of any
digital equipment. And get your little
pad out, take their order, and put a tiny bit of pep in your step. You might get a tip big enough to pay for
half a cocktail in your own establishment.
Love,
The Polymath
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Hummus 2.0
Okay, Chickens, here is the thing about hummus. It's become ubiquitous, and as a result, sort of uninteresting. I mean, somewhere between "What the heck is this, wallpaper paste?" and "There are forty-seven flavors of hummus at my local grocery store" hummus lost it's appeal for me.
I first was introduced to hummus in college at Brandeis, where, in the main dining hall, there was a section called (horrifically) Nature's Way. Which I thought sounded like a laxative. And looking at the offerings, probably sort of was. If you chose this for your lunch or dinner option, the bored looking ladies in the hairnets would take a paper plate, cover it with shredded lettuce, a scoop of chopped cucumbers, a scoop of chopped tomatoes and then ask for your options. You got three. Among your choices were tabouleh salad, falafel, sprouts, some sort of cous cous, babaganoush, and of course, hummus. You would pick your items, they would get deposited on top of your salad, topped with a truly spectacular large pita bread, and off you would go feeling very virtuous. Which was useful when at midnight the Chinese Food guy would come down the dorm hallway and you would eat your weight in dumplings and pork lo mein.
The hummus at school was the texture of natural peanut butter from the 1970s. Gritty and pasty, stick to the roof of your mouth thick, and kind of unpleasant. Their version was lacking in lemon and salt and heavy on the garlic. I often ordered it, and never finished it. I thought I didn't like hummus. I was wrong.
After college, hummus suddenly started showing up at every party. The beige tub, usually accompanied by a bag of baby carrots and maybe a wan celery stick or pita chip, was at every event large or small. I would taste it here and there, mostly out of boredom. Some were bad, some were okay, a few were good, none were amazing. Then one night, somewhere around 1998, sitting on the porch of some pals with a bunch of fabulous people, I reflexively reached for a carrot and dunked it in the hummus. Delicious! Who knew? Velvety smooth, not heavy or pasty at all, and full of fresh chickpea flavor brightened with lemon and the umami undertone of tahini.
And I asked for the recipe. And then never made it.
Because if I need hummus, I am not going to remember to go buy the dried chickpeas, soak them overnight, cook them, let them sit till they cool, REMOVE THE SKINS...I get tired just thinking about it. I didn't need magic hummus that badly. I found a store brand that was as close as I could find to the texture I like, Basha, which they carry at my Costco, and let that be my go-to hummus, doctoring it up with a spritz of lemon, and a drizzle of olive oil and toasted pine nuts. Peeling chickpeas just wasn't going to be in my future. It's why I don't make fava beans, thank you very much.
Over the years, I have developed a recipe for a hummus substitute that uses canned white beans, which are softer and creamier than chickpeas, so if I feel compelled to make something from scratch, I go with that. And when I am in New York staying with my amazing friend Liz, we pick up some of the good stuff at The Hummus Place on Amsterdam, and go to town. I am sad we don't have one in Chicago, because their hummus is transcendant.
But sometimes you are just waiting for the right equipment.
You know that I do not, as a rule, advocate for the most expensive of anything, unless I really think of it as a long term investment. I think there are excellent kitchen products that are very reasonably priced and have terrific value. My most recommended kitchen tool is the $30 Kuhn Rikon Swiss Chop Chop, I give them to everyone, and use mine at least three or four times a week. Love it.
When it comes to small appliances, my usual rule is to look at how often I am likely to use something, and whether the difference between the options is truly function or just bells, whistles, and packaging. With the current juicing and smoothie craze, blenders are getting better and better. There are a lot on the market, and most of them will work well for general use.
Which didn't stop me and Charming Suitor from coveting the Vitamix. Those are the professional blenders you see on all the cooking shows, with the super cool black plastic plungers that the chefs can use to move stuff around in the container while the blades are still going. I don't think Bobby Flay could make a chili oil without them. Charming Suitor has been making noises about them for a year or so, and we know how I feel about shiny kitchen appliances. Our hesitation has always been the price. It is, without a doubt, an serious investment blender. But after two recent less-than-successful experiences with our standby Warings, one a chilled soup that never got smooth, and a set of sad milkshakes, not to mention that they are now sometimes available at Costco at reduced prices, we agreed that it was an investment worth making. We decided it is like a KitchenAid stand mixer. You can play with others, but at the end of they day, they are worth it, because they do everything they are supposed to do, and they do it FOREVER.
Vitamix is the Michael Jordan of blenders. It is just so head and shoulders above everything else, not to mention practically indestructible, that you realize it is a superior quality you are paying for. And don't get me wrong. If you make two batches of margaritas a year, and gravy for Thanksgiving and let your blender gather dust the other 362, do not make this investment. But if you use a blender more than once a month? You should strongly consider it. And if you use it more than once a week? You should just stop reading and go buy one RIGHT NOW.
With Passover this week, I knew I was probably going to serve hummus as an appetizer. And I thought, what better maiden voyage for the new machine than my nemesis. I was going to see if canned chickpeas with their skins on could substitute for the tedious prepared beans that my recipe calls for, and find out if I could flip the script on hummus.
To say that the hummus was successful would be to downplay the ridiculous ethereal cloud of delicious that erupted out of this machine.
We started simple.
Two cans of drained chickpeas.
12 oz. of tahini (get it fresh ground if you can, it is amazing stuff)
3 oz of lemon juice, 4 oz of grapeseed oil, some salt. 6 oz of water.
And then? MAGIC.
Can you see the smoothness of this, despite my continuing to be a crappy photographer? Not heavy, not gritty, insanely smooth and supple and light. It literally melts on the tongue. Charming Suitor took one bite and nearly passed out, since he likes most hummi, including the kind of crappy ones.
Yep. Vitamix fixed the hummus problem.
I was a little annoyed at the "don't put it in the dishwasher" part, since I HATE to wash dishes, but a half a container of water and a drop of dishsoap, a quick whiz, and the bowl was clean and just needed rinsing, so not nearly as onerous as it could be.
Stay tuned as Spring continues, because we are going to be testing some soups and other yummies, and will be passing on the recipes as we go. In the meantime, I can say that if you are ready to make a blender investment, or have been wavering on the Vitamix and wondering if it is worth it, wonder no more. If it could fix my hummus problem, it can do anything.
Yours in good taste, and wishing you happy holidays if you are celebrating this week,
The Polymath
I first was introduced to hummus in college at Brandeis, where, in the main dining hall, there was a section called (horrifically) Nature's Way. Which I thought sounded like a laxative. And looking at the offerings, probably sort of was. If you chose this for your lunch or dinner option, the bored looking ladies in the hairnets would take a paper plate, cover it with shredded lettuce, a scoop of chopped cucumbers, a scoop of chopped tomatoes and then ask for your options. You got three. Among your choices were tabouleh salad, falafel, sprouts, some sort of cous cous, babaganoush, and of course, hummus. You would pick your items, they would get deposited on top of your salad, topped with a truly spectacular large pita bread, and off you would go feeling very virtuous. Which was useful when at midnight the Chinese Food guy would come down the dorm hallway and you would eat your weight in dumplings and pork lo mein.
The hummus at school was the texture of natural peanut butter from the 1970s. Gritty and pasty, stick to the roof of your mouth thick, and kind of unpleasant. Their version was lacking in lemon and salt and heavy on the garlic. I often ordered it, and never finished it. I thought I didn't like hummus. I was wrong.
After college, hummus suddenly started showing up at every party. The beige tub, usually accompanied by a bag of baby carrots and maybe a wan celery stick or pita chip, was at every event large or small. I would taste it here and there, mostly out of boredom. Some were bad, some were okay, a few were good, none were amazing. Then one night, somewhere around 1998, sitting on the porch of some pals with a bunch of fabulous people, I reflexively reached for a carrot and dunked it in the hummus. Delicious! Who knew? Velvety smooth, not heavy or pasty at all, and full of fresh chickpea flavor brightened with lemon and the umami undertone of tahini.
And I asked for the recipe. And then never made it.
Because if I need hummus, I am not going to remember to go buy the dried chickpeas, soak them overnight, cook them, let them sit till they cool, REMOVE THE SKINS...I get tired just thinking about it. I didn't need magic hummus that badly. I found a store brand that was as close as I could find to the texture I like, Basha, which they carry at my Costco, and let that be my go-to hummus, doctoring it up with a spritz of lemon, and a drizzle of olive oil and toasted pine nuts. Peeling chickpeas just wasn't going to be in my future. It's why I don't make fava beans, thank you very much.
Over the years, I have developed a recipe for a hummus substitute that uses canned white beans, which are softer and creamier than chickpeas, so if I feel compelled to make something from scratch, I go with that. And when I am in New York staying with my amazing friend Liz, we pick up some of the good stuff at The Hummus Place on Amsterdam, and go to town. I am sad we don't have one in Chicago, because their hummus is transcendant.
But sometimes you are just waiting for the right equipment.
You know that I do not, as a rule, advocate for the most expensive of anything, unless I really think of it as a long term investment. I think there are excellent kitchen products that are very reasonably priced and have terrific value. My most recommended kitchen tool is the $30 Kuhn Rikon Swiss Chop Chop, I give them to everyone, and use mine at least three or four times a week. Love it.
When it comes to small appliances, my usual rule is to look at how often I am likely to use something, and whether the difference between the options is truly function or just bells, whistles, and packaging. With the current juicing and smoothie craze, blenders are getting better and better. There are a lot on the market, and most of them will work well for general use.
Which didn't stop me and Charming Suitor from coveting the Vitamix. Those are the professional blenders you see on all the cooking shows, with the super cool black plastic plungers that the chefs can use to move stuff around in the container while the blades are still going. I don't think Bobby Flay could make a chili oil without them. Charming Suitor has been making noises about them for a year or so, and we know how I feel about shiny kitchen appliances. Our hesitation has always been the price. It is, without a doubt, an serious investment blender. But after two recent less-than-successful experiences with our standby Warings, one a chilled soup that never got smooth, and a set of sad milkshakes, not to mention that they are now sometimes available at Costco at reduced prices, we agreed that it was an investment worth making. We decided it is like a KitchenAid stand mixer. You can play with others, but at the end of they day, they are worth it, because they do everything they are supposed to do, and they do it FOREVER.
Vitamix is the Michael Jordan of blenders. It is just so head and shoulders above everything else, not to mention practically indestructible, that you realize it is a superior quality you are paying for. And don't get me wrong. If you make two batches of margaritas a year, and gravy for Thanksgiving and let your blender gather dust the other 362, do not make this investment. But if you use a blender more than once a month? You should strongly consider it. And if you use it more than once a week? You should just stop reading and go buy one RIGHT NOW.
With Passover this week, I knew I was probably going to serve hummus as an appetizer. And I thought, what better maiden voyage for the new machine than my nemesis. I was going to see if canned chickpeas with their skins on could substitute for the tedious prepared beans that my recipe calls for, and find out if I could flip the script on hummus.
To say that the hummus was successful would be to downplay the ridiculous ethereal cloud of delicious that erupted out of this machine.
We started simple.
Two cans of drained chickpeas.
12 oz. of tahini (get it fresh ground if you can, it is amazing stuff)
3 oz of lemon juice, 4 oz of grapeseed oil, some salt. 6 oz of water.
And then? MAGIC.
Can you see the smoothness of this, despite my continuing to be a crappy photographer? Not heavy, not gritty, insanely smooth and supple and light. It literally melts on the tongue. Charming Suitor took one bite and nearly passed out, since he likes most hummi, including the kind of crappy ones.
Yep. Vitamix fixed the hummus problem.
I was a little annoyed at the "don't put it in the dishwasher" part, since I HATE to wash dishes, but a half a container of water and a drop of dishsoap, a quick whiz, and the bowl was clean and just needed rinsing, so not nearly as onerous as it could be.
Stay tuned as Spring continues, because we are going to be testing some soups and other yummies, and will be passing on the recipes as we go. In the meantime, I can say that if you are ready to make a blender investment, or have been wavering on the Vitamix and wondering if it is worth it, wonder no more. If it could fix my hummus problem, it can do anything.
Yours in good taste, and wishing you happy holidays if you are celebrating this week,
The Polymath
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Contest Winner!
Congrats to Liongoddess! You have won a signed copy of Dana Bate's new novel...
E-mail me your shipping address at staceyballisinfo (at) gmail (dot) com and we will get it out to you ASAP.
E-mail me your shipping address at staceyballisinfo (at) gmail (dot) com and we will get it out to you ASAP.
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