Wisdom from the 42nd Page

The Making of a Chef

On the forty-second page of “The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America” author Michael Ruhlman wrote (some emphasis added):

the date on a dime at the bottom of a gallon." Vic noted this on the large piece of paper. "Flaaavor," Pardus continued. "A nice rich flaaavor, the flavor of the main ingredient. What else?"

Greg said, "Full body?"

Pardus concurred: "Full body, nice mouth feel, a rich, full body. Overall appearance?"

Ben said, "Not greasy?"

"Not greasy. Clean. Another?"

"Temperature?"

"Temperature," Pardus said. "Hot. This is not a jellied consommé." Pardus paused for a moment to look around. And here was what made Pardus a good teacher in my mind. He showed you the classic method, told you why, but then would let some of his own biases show through, broaden the subject to include his own personality. He'd get a little sparkle in his eye and his lips would start their unusual convolutions for popping emphasis. "Though you could make a jellied consommé," he said. "It's classical. You see how gelatinous this stock is? We made this clear and poured it into bowls, floated some garnish in it, and chilled it? It gels up. That's very classic, very European summer appetizer—chilled jellied consommé. You don't see it much in this country because people think it's like eating meat-flavored Jell-O. But if it's done right, it's very delicate. You wouldn't want a spoon to stand up in it. You couldn't do Jell-O shots with it. Delicate. It's very cool, very refreshing in the summertime. Jellied quail consommé? Little bits of truffle and foie gras set into the gelatin. Nice. Rich, refreshing."

He stirred the consommé with a wooden spoon, released from his reverie. He had put it on a low flame and warned everyone about scorching and the need to stir frequently. "Don't throw your pot away until after I've looked at your consommé." The danger, of course, is that the egg whites will fall to the bottom before they coagulate, then stick there and burn. This gives the consommé a beautiful, deep amber color, but it doesn't do much for the flavor. Pardus knows the color so well, he can take one look at someone's soup and say, "Lemme see your pot." And sure enough there will be burnt egg white on the bottom.

Adam, who typically hovered at the back of the crowd and was tall enough to do so, asked, "I was wondering, does the clarification take out the gelatin?" Adam was always asking questions like that.

"No," Pardus said.

More information about “The Making of a Chef: Mastering Heat at the Culinary Institute of America” (and the book itself) is available from:

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(Holt Paperbacks, 19991015. TP, 320 pages. ISBN: 0805061738; EAN: 9780805061734.)

Gardening When It Counts

On the forty-second page of “Gardening When It Counts: Growing Food in Hard Times” author Steve Solomon wrote (emphasis added):

only four tools are essential: an ordinary combination shovel, a common hoe, a bow rake, and a 10– to 12–inch-long (25– to 30–centimeter) metal file (with handle) to periodically sharpen the shovel and hoe. If you are not fit, then you'll probably want to get someone else to work the earth for you the first time it is dug (or have it rototilled). If you are physically unable to shovel or hoe, you'll probably have to consider the second-rate practice of mulch gardening. I do not recommend permanent mulching unless, because of infirmity, there is no choice.

Please do not buy cheap discount store tools. If you are what Australians call "skint," (broke), you will do better pawing through secondhand shops until you find good ones. Where can you find quality new tools? I suggest a visit to a commercial hardware store, landscaper's or nursery supply company, or contractor's supply store and inspect what they sell to tradespeople. People working with such tools all day long can't afford to be resharpening one every half hour, breaking one every other day, or wearing them out every few months. Quality tools aren't cheap, but they work out to be the least costly in the long run.

On the other hand, in some mail-order catalogs you'll find tools, supposedly of extraordinary quality, offered at extraordinary prices. These status symbols are usually no more effective or long-lasting than the ordinary tradespersons' gear.

The shovel

There are different kinds of shovels and spades, each designed for a different task. Industrial hardware stores and landscapers' have makers' catalogs on hand showing each design, weight, and size. I suggest you ask to study the catalog—and take your time with this.

Some shovels are designed to move piles of loose material from one place to another—for example, to fill a wheelbarrow with sand or small gravel that is spooned up from a heap of loose material. Blades on these kinds of shovels are broad and deeply curved so as to hold a lot, like a soup spoon. This tool is designed to be thrust into a heap of soft material with the strength of the arm and upper body and then to life out a large measure, so the blade rarely has a rolled-over top (to cushion the foot pressing it into the earth). It is not easy to dig into the earth with one of these.

More information about “Gardening When It Counts: Growing Food in Hard Times” (and the book itself) is available from:

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(New Society Publishers, January 2005. Paperback, 340 pages. ISBN: 086571553X; EAN: 9780865715530.)

How to Cook Everything

On the forty-second page of “How to Cook Everything: Simple Recipes for Great Food” author Mark Bittman wrote (emphasis added):

full-flavored chicken, meat, or fish stock is good enough to serve on its own.

Stock Ingredients

Stock need not be expensive. You can start with scraps of vegetables that you've frozen and saved over the course of weeks; I do this routinely. Use the trimmings and ends from celery, carrots, and onions (onion peels, especially, add a good deal of color to stocks), and other vegetables, bearing in mind that trimmings from strong-tasting vegetables such as broccoli and asparagus will lend a distinct flavor to the stock, one that you might not always want.

Save, too, every scrap (except for fat, chicken skin, and fish gills and innards) from trimming chicken, meat, or fish. Stock-making gives you yet another incentive to buying whole chicken and cutting it up; the meaty raw bones of a single chicken, combined with a few vegetables, provide enough flavor for a quart or two of stock.

Of course, it's easier and arguably better—if somewhat more expensive—to begin with fresh, whole ingredients. Take a carrot, an onion, a celery stalk, a chicken, some seasoning, at a total cost of less than five dollars (far less, if the chicken was on sale), and you can make three quarts of stock, enough for two or three batches of soup, or a batch of soup and a fantastic risotto. Keep the simmering time short and you can even make the soup and still have a chicken with enough flour to be worth eating.

Almost anything can substitute for anything else in stock, although onion, carrot, and celery should find their way into most stockpots. But if you have turkey and no chicken, use it. Use cooked meat instead of raw. If you have small amounts of many ingredients rather than the amounts specified here, substitute. Just leave out as much visible fat as possible.

Bones, of course, are an integral part of many stocks, and are highly desirable for the body they lend to long-simmering stocks. But a stock made only of bones tastes like bones rather than meat. Most raw bones are quite meaty, so that isn't so much a problem. But if you are making a stock with leftovers, and are using bones that have been completely stripped of meat, buy a few chicken wings, backs, or necks, and add them along with the bones; you'll improve the flavor significantly.

There are two extremely flavorful stock ingredients you should choose to include or omit based on your own taste. These are garlic and dried mushrooms. I like the scent of garlic in many savory soups, and dishes, and sometimes I put a whole head right into my simmering stock. I put a whole head right into my simmering stock. But once it's in you can't take it out, so I only do that when I'm making a relatively small amount of stock and know that the garlic will be a welcome addition whenever I use that stock.

The distinctive flavor of mushrooms is almost always a fine addition, and I usually throw some directly into the stock as it's simmering. There's really no reason not to do this; if I'm feeling economical and dried porcini are too expensive, I use dried shiitakes, sold as black mushrooms in Chinese markets and very, very cheap. The trimmings from fresh mushrooms, of course, are also good. But I don't include either of these ingredients in my basic stock recipes because, as I said, their inclusion is up to you.

Stock Techniques

Condensing fat

There are two special "techniques" for stock that concern fat. The first is really more something to remember than to learn: Don't allow stocks (or, for that matter, soups) to boil vigorously. This is a generalization; there are times it will do no harm at all. But once fat is rendered by the heat of the liquid, rapid boiling can cause it to become so thoroughly dispensed in the liquid that it will be difficult to remove it. This not only makes for a fattier

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Bottomfeeder

On the forty-second page of “Bottomfeeder: How to Eat Ethically in a World of Vanishing Seafood” author Taras Grescoe wrote (some emphasis added):

Two

In the Kingdom of the Oysters

Chesapeake Bay and Brittany—Oysters

This is a tale of two oysters.

It begins with Crassostrea virginica, the deep-shelled American oyster of the east coast of the United States, sold under the aliases Chincoteague, Wellfleet, bluepoint—too many names, in fact to list here—and concludes with Ostrea edulis, the flat-shelled, gray-flshed oyster eaten at least since Roman times in Europe and variously known as Colchester, Belon, and Ostende. At the same time, it is the story of biological invaders, pillaging by moonlight, man-made disease, low-tech solutions, ever-spreading dead zones, and terminal shortsightedness.

More important, it is the tale of two attitudes toward the world and of two very different philosophies of nature. The first of these, as ancient as humanity itself, sees the world as vast wilds of endless abundance, a kind of supermarket whose aisles are constantly being replenished by a higher power. It is the philosophy of the hunter, and it evolved in the time of expanding frontiers, when resources were seemingly endless and competition limited. The second, the philosophy of the farmer, sees nature as something to be cultivated and enriched in the present so it can be harvested in the future. Surprisingly, the clash of these prehistoric worldviews is still being played out in the twenty-first century, on the shores of our planet's great bodies of water. The way this conflict is resolved will determine not only the fate of the oceans but also all the life that depends on them.

Starting with, but certainly not limited to, the oyster.

More information about “Bottomfeeder: How to Eat Ethically in a World of Vanishing Seafood” (and the book itself) is available from:

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The Soup Mix Gourmet

On the forty-second page of “The Soup Mix Gourmet: 375 Short-Cut Recipes Using Dry and Canned Soups to Cook up Everything from Delicious Dips and Sumptuous Salads to Hearty Pot Roasts and Homey Casseroles” author Diane Phillips wrote (emphasis & hyperlink added):

Crabby Artichoke Dip

• One 8-ounce package cream cheese, softened
• 1 can Campbell's Condensed Cream of Shrimp Soup
• 1 teaspoon garlic salt
• One 14-ounce can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
• ½ cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
• ½ cup grated Swiss cheese
• ½ pound fresh lump or Dungeness crabmeat, picked over for cartilage and shells and flaked apart

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Coat a 2-quart baking dish with nonstick cooking spray.
2. In a medium mixing bowl, using an electric mixer, cream together the cream cheese and soup. Stir in the garlic salt, artichoke hearts, cheeses, and crabmeat. Turn the mixture into the prepared dish and bake the dip until it is golden brown and bubbling, about 30 minutes. Serve it hot.

Serves 8

This dip is so popular that I often make a double batch to keep everyone happy. You can vary the ingredients to suit what you have in the pantry, and it's delicious dipped with tortilla chips, crackers, French bread rounds, and cucumber slices. You can bake this dip in a bread shell or ovenproof serving dish.

Shrimpy Artichoke Dip: Substitute cooked bay shrimp or chopped shrimp for the crabmeat.

Crabby Artichoke Dip with Cheddar: Substitute medium-sharp cheddar cheese for the Swiss and Parmesan.

Crabby Chile Artichoke Dip: Add one 4-ounce can diced green chiles, drained and rinsed.

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The Greatest Stories Never Told

On the forty-second page of “The Greatest Stories Never Told: 100 Tales from History to Astonish, Bewilder, and Stupefy” author Rick Beyer wrote (emphasis & hyperlinks added):

1683—The siege that gave birth to the croissant

An invading Turkish army provides the inspiration for a breakfast delicacy.

The croissant is not French—it was first baked in Austria. And its shape is anything but an accident. The popular pastry dates back to 1683. In that year an army of more than a hundred thousand Ottoman Turks was besieging the city of Vienna. They surrounded it for months, and residents inside the stout walls began to wonder if each day would be their last.

When the Turks tried tunneling under the walls, bakers working through the night heard the digging sounds and raised the alarm. This early warning prevented the Turks from breaching Vienna's walls and helped save the city. Eventually an army under Polish King John III reached Vienna and drove the Turks away.

The bakers celebrated the end of the siege in a remarkable way. They copied the crescent moon from their enemy's flag and turned it into a commemorative pastry. It was called a Kipfel (German for "crescent") and it honored a victory that might never have happened but for the bakers themselves.

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Don't Eat This Book

Loyal 42nd Page reader Ben recommended the forty-second page of “Don't Eat This Book: Fast Food and the Supersizing of America” where the author, Morgan Spurlock, wrote (emphasis added):

learned from three women in my life—it's all their fault that I became so interested in issues surrounding what and how we eat.

It started with Mom. No, it's not that she didn't love me or that she locked me in a closet and beat me with her shoe (much). It's that this terrible woman, for as long as I can remember, loved being a cook and took great pride in teaching her kids about food. When I picture my mother, it's a struggle for me to imagine her anywhere but in the kitchen, either wearing an apron or with a towel draped over her shoulder, cooking up a storm and listening to NPR on the radio. She cooked dinner for me and my brothers almost every single day. It was at her dinner table that my food education began.

"This is good for you and this isn't."

You should eat this food this many times a week, but not this."

"This is a treat."

She wasn't a stay-at-home mom, either. She worked her ass off all day as an English teacher, ran us kids around all afternoon as we did kid things, then came home and made dinner. Every day. Why? Because it was important to her. Almost as important as making sure I never left any participles dangling (the downside of having an English teacher for a mother). She instiled in me many great habits for everyday life: opening doors for people, saying please and thank you, respecting my elders, and most important, what good, fresh food is.

Every summer my mother would plant a garden, and I would be put to work watering the plants, pulling weeds, hoeing, harvesting vegetables. Under the boiling summer sun I'd curse her name, but when I look back, I am so thankful this evil woman made her lazy son get off the couch and do some work. Hindsight is 20/20.

It's not like I was eating only greens and eggplant sandwiches, either. My mother was the farthest thing from a tree-hugging green queen. (No offense to the tree-hugging green queens. I myself am in love with

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