I love baseball. The sport is slow but success is not measured in brief flashes so much as in consistently good play. Participants are always trying to get in the zone or on a hot streak. Whether the goal is to steal bases without being thrown out; maintain a batting streak; or simply show up, suit up, and do your job without complaint; some of the greatest individual achievements in baseball are characterized by repeating the same simple task again and again without fail. I was on a hot streak once. Sure I was never much of a factor in athletics, but in the kitchen I was in the zone. In fact, it took a year and a half of cooking before I faced the wing-clipping force of reality: I flopped my first meal.
I don’t mean to suggest that I was firing out platter after platter of Michelin star food night after night without fail. My sensibilities were rustic and inspired by my dad’s kitchen. The techniques had been drilled in me since a very young age and while I wanted to fashion myself a pioneer, I stuck largely to my roots. The result was not always perfectly executed, but it was at the very least palatable. I kept this streak alive despite changing countries and kitchens and having to mix and match ingredients. I started to feel like I could take on any task in the kitchen and produce with ease.
But when I flopped, it was a strike out on the scale of “Casey at the Bat.” My culinary hubris had led me to believe that I could tackle a dish I had rarely even tasted and certainly never seen prepared in person, a risotto. Risotto is a beautiful dish because it requires patience, skill, and persistence and rewards hard work with a transfiguratively creamy and flavorful dish that is so much greater than the sum of its parts.
But this dish is no simple rustic fare. Making risotto is about coaxing dry roasted rice kernels from their lifeless and exhausted state. With each ladle of stock, you provide a little more sustenance to the grains but you cannot indulge the thirsty outcries of the simmering pot. Like when making fine wine, you must force the kernels to struggle getting just enough water to keep from drying out altogether but not enough to let them drink freely. A good maker of risotto is a cruel chef indeed.
I started off by following the recipe of a chef I was familiar with and who would have met my Dad’s approval. Being a novice at recipe reading, I scanned the ingredient list to make sure that I was stocked and then proceeded to tell myself that I basically knew what to do. I scattered my rice in the bottom of a pan to toast some and went about organizing my other items. Moments later, as the rice began to issue forth a hitherto unknown burnt odor; I felt an overwhelming wave of fear that this dish was not going to taste good. I could imagine the velvety texture of risotto rolling around my tongue and with that in mind I determined that I would make this work. So I began to ladle in a bit of stock for my rice to dine on. I stirred vigorously hoping to integrate the stock and rice as quickly as possible. What remained at the bottom of the pan was a slurry of rice kernels, and a glutinous off-white roux like substance that was the stock mixed with the starches from the grain. Already unappetizing and somewhat thick, I determined to add more liquid to the risotto and to keep on stirring. I repeated this process almost a dozen more times. At each stage, the risotto grew to look less and less like something a person would eat and more like cement from a construction sight. Furthermore, the risotto preparation became an athletic event in and of itself. I stirred violently early on but as the slurry thickened stirring became a more and more difficult prospect until my arm simply gave out on the strain of trying to stir super glue around a pot. My girlfriend, apprehensive spectator but fervent cheerleader from the stands made a disgusted face when she saw my handiwork. She had been so committed to this project, offering support, and like any good fan, sometimes questioning my decision making from afar, that she had become invested in this project. Her look of dejection met mine, and the whole kitchen arena was quiet.
I believe my greatest problem was that I was afraid of under-nourishing the little rice kernel. While it had no mouth, it spoke in the dry crackling at the bottom of the pot when there was no water and in the satisfying gurgles it made when I plied it with stock. The sound of the kernels quietly sipping up the stock in the bottom of the pot became a sound of relief for me. I told myself that I was treating my ingredients well and that they would reward me in turn. Unfortunately, risotto, like a child, sometimes needs to experience tough love. I was not ready at that time in my development as a cook to strike the balance between love and restraint that makes risotto succeed. And so I met my first failure in the kitchen. A gloopy, stiff, concrete that had more business holding together stones on the Great Wall of China than being served as food in my kitchen. It took almost as long to scrape it out of the pot as I had spent making it.
You can’t always hit a home run. Sometimes you swing and you miss and just like for Casey, it is when you are trying your hardest to impress. But good athletes not only know how to preserve hot streaks, they know how to shake off a bad stretch. And so I have since started the streak over. 100 days on the job since the last food related accident. And after a few more years of seasoning in the minor leagues of cooking, maybe I will be ready again to step up to the plate and knock risotto out of the park, or at least get a hit.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Review of P&G Breakfast and Lunch
The only early mornings I know of in New Orleans are the ones where you have lost your way home in search of a late night meal and spend the first few hours of golden dawn stumbling between the trash strewn streets and trying to sort through that cacophony of sensations of sight and sound that produce a cocktail more punishing than anything served at the cheap daiquiri bars that long ago closed their doors to you. If you find your way back to your hotel and into a bed, a feat which escapes many of New Orleans weekeneder homeless crowd, you should not sleep too long or you may miss a special opportunity. At the corner of Union and Barrone Street in New Orleans hides P&G Breakfast and lunch, a restaurant that delivers on nothing more or less than what its name promises. But as the name implies, P&G keeps tight hours and closes at the obscenely early hour of one in the afternoon.
I made it in bed the night before, but the Mardi-Gras music blaring trombone in my head shows that I had pushed the limits of my personal consumption the night before. Despite many years of life lessons with alcohol, the prospect of tasting drinks more colored than flavored with fruit and with that subtle taste of paint thinner was too much to resist. I awoke in a cold sweat cursing my failure to properly seal the blackout curtains. The sun sliced through my window, cutting a narrow ray of sunlight right across my face. I stood up, celebrated this minor accomplishment, and used my remaining energy to fly to the bathroom. Now made thoroughly aware by the burning in my stomach and pounding in my skull I saw no alternative but to take to the streets in search of a remedy.
There is something gray and unappealing about the daytime in New Orleans. Seen through alcohol fogged lenses, the office buildings and apartments down Union Street become grey monolithic relics of soviet construction that should have never been built. We did win that war right? The empty looking buildings down this street tell a revisionist history. Nevertheless, the artifacts were great shelter against the burning sun that lurked down each side street. It alone cut through the numbness and reminded me of the wanting in heart, head, and stomach. A block before Barrone Street I sighted a nondescript black sidewalk sign for breakfast and lunch. The only prospect that could lift my soul higher than having breakfast or lunch was the logical possibility of breakfast and lunch at the same time. I picked up my pace towards what promised to be a boringly understated meal in an understated part of town. In a city known for big lights, big drinks, and big music, P&G almost disappeared into the façade of another drab office building. My stomach celebrated by reminding me of the previous night’s escapades. Nevertheless, I needed food now and my palate had been dulled by all of the punishment I laid against my taste buds the night before. I got to the end of the block and sized up P&G restaurant.
As I reached up to grab the old wooden door that marked the threshold between a maddeningly hot February in New Orleans and the inviting prospect of a breakfast and a lunch, I took a glance inside the restaurant. I immediately discovered long sterile steel trays lined against the side of the counter. My stomach rose again to meet me at the prospect of eating cafeteria food. I am known for being a food snob for many reasons, but consider my greatest personal act of snobbery to be the rejection of all things made a la cafeteria. The thought of eating that style of food takes me to a dark place I dwell on rarely, (http://willeatyourwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/review-of-maggies-diner.html) but paired with the depressing qualities of alcohol, a failed dining experience here could have been dangerous to my health in more ways than one. But the line appeared empty so I anticipated that I had avoided that part of the P&G experience. As I walked into the restaurant, I also noticed that it was devoid of customers or workers as well. I pressed onward, hoping that someone was available to cure what ails me.
I want to describe the shape of P&G as that of a long, ugly hallway but such a description does not do justice to the unusual design of the restaurant. The restaurant opens out onto a hallway with drab green walls (picked to match the Soviet exteriors no doubt) old chandeliers suspended above on unnecessary vaulted ceilings. Considering the size of the seating area it is troubling that at this time of day, no one was dining at P&G. The lack of patrons and huge dining space made me feel as though P&G received this office as a hand me down. It didn’t fit really well, but the needs of the family required that she wear it as best as she can. The menu, or what remains of it, was tacked so as to be visible from the door. In broken tiles I could make out a few fried Cajun classics. But my stomach had regained some of its pride and clamored for a meal more interesting than the typical New Orleans fare. As we reached the end of the hallway and came to the empty counter, I feared the worst for my cure.
In a bustle of activity, a round and gentle looking woman came through the kitchen door to greet me. She carried a look of grandmotherly experience, despite her middle age. The great food of my youth was prepared by a father and mother who looked the part of Europeans much better than that of down home American diners. But this woman, ironically a Spanish speaking native, carried the weight of experience in enjoying good food. I smiled at her and asked for a menu to translate the word puzzle excuse for a menu on the big board. She took me by surprise and told me to just ask for something and the kitchen staff will cook it up for me. Never one to disagree with the decisions of the chef, I was flummoxed by the idea of deciding the very building blocks of my own meal. Knowing that my stomach was close to rebellion if its demands were not met, I quickly settled on a cheese omelet with shrimp and bacon. To my surprise, the women acquiesced and pointed out that it was a favorite of the chef, even neither it or any omelet appeared on the menu. I took a seat at a cheap linoleum table and waited for my food to come out.
I respectfully decline to put the full force of review behind any food consumed while under the influence of alcohol. I have eaten many things I am ashamed of after bouts of drinking and have found nourishment in the oddest things while on a late night or early morning binge. But I am inclined to believe that this omelet was good in spite of my intoxication. From end-to-oblong-plate-end this large (probably 5 egg) omelet was perfectly browned on the outside yet creamy and gooey on the inside. The salty bacon permeated the whole dish and paired brilliantly with the sweet and delicate shrimp. I looked up from stuffing myself long enough to the see the chef peering out from behind the kitchen door to check on my approval. I threw him a weak thumbs-up and felt his smile glowing from across the hall.
Here, in a lifeless part of town, I had found the sustenance that could raise my spirits and right me enough to make some of the same mistakes again that evening that dogged me on this day. Because in many ways New Orleans doesn’t let you choose your fate. The lights, sounds, and siren song drive you on a beat that you can’t change. The different music blaring out of the bars melt into one song on the French Quarter that compels you to keep pushing the limits. P&G was quiet and empty on that Saturday morning. Perhaps that is because though P&G is patently New Orleans with its overly ornate style and odd pairings, this restaurant asks you to make the choices- a concept too often lacking in the heralded New Orleans.
I made it in bed the night before, but the Mardi-Gras music blaring trombone in my head shows that I had pushed the limits of my personal consumption the night before. Despite many years of life lessons with alcohol, the prospect of tasting drinks more colored than flavored with fruit and with that subtle taste of paint thinner was too much to resist. I awoke in a cold sweat cursing my failure to properly seal the blackout curtains. The sun sliced through my window, cutting a narrow ray of sunlight right across my face. I stood up, celebrated this minor accomplishment, and used my remaining energy to fly to the bathroom. Now made thoroughly aware by the burning in my stomach and pounding in my skull I saw no alternative but to take to the streets in search of a remedy.
There is something gray and unappealing about the daytime in New Orleans. Seen through alcohol fogged lenses, the office buildings and apartments down Union Street become grey monolithic relics of soviet construction that should have never been built. We did win that war right? The empty looking buildings down this street tell a revisionist history. Nevertheless, the artifacts were great shelter against the burning sun that lurked down each side street. It alone cut through the numbness and reminded me of the wanting in heart, head, and stomach. A block before Barrone Street I sighted a nondescript black sidewalk sign for breakfast and lunch. The only prospect that could lift my soul higher than having breakfast or lunch was the logical possibility of breakfast and lunch at the same time. I picked up my pace towards what promised to be a boringly understated meal in an understated part of town. In a city known for big lights, big drinks, and big music, P&G almost disappeared into the façade of another drab office building. My stomach celebrated by reminding me of the previous night’s escapades. Nevertheless, I needed food now and my palate had been dulled by all of the punishment I laid against my taste buds the night before. I got to the end of the block and sized up P&G restaurant.
As I reached up to grab the old wooden door that marked the threshold between a maddeningly hot February in New Orleans and the inviting prospect of a breakfast and a lunch, I took a glance inside the restaurant. I immediately discovered long sterile steel trays lined against the side of the counter. My stomach rose again to meet me at the prospect of eating cafeteria food. I am known for being a food snob for many reasons, but consider my greatest personal act of snobbery to be the rejection of all things made a la cafeteria. The thought of eating that style of food takes me to a dark place I dwell on rarely, (http://willeatyourwords.blogspot.com/2010/02/review-of-maggies-diner.html) but paired with the depressing qualities of alcohol, a failed dining experience here could have been dangerous to my health in more ways than one. But the line appeared empty so I anticipated that I had avoided that part of the P&G experience. As I walked into the restaurant, I also noticed that it was devoid of customers or workers as well. I pressed onward, hoping that someone was available to cure what ails me.
I want to describe the shape of P&G as that of a long, ugly hallway but such a description does not do justice to the unusual design of the restaurant. The restaurant opens out onto a hallway with drab green walls (picked to match the Soviet exteriors no doubt) old chandeliers suspended above on unnecessary vaulted ceilings. Considering the size of the seating area it is troubling that at this time of day, no one was dining at P&G. The lack of patrons and huge dining space made me feel as though P&G received this office as a hand me down. It didn’t fit really well, but the needs of the family required that she wear it as best as she can. The menu, or what remains of it, was tacked so as to be visible from the door. In broken tiles I could make out a few fried Cajun classics. But my stomach had regained some of its pride and clamored for a meal more interesting than the typical New Orleans fare. As we reached the end of the hallway and came to the empty counter, I feared the worst for my cure.
In a bustle of activity, a round and gentle looking woman came through the kitchen door to greet me. She carried a look of grandmotherly experience, despite her middle age. The great food of my youth was prepared by a father and mother who looked the part of Europeans much better than that of down home American diners. But this woman, ironically a Spanish speaking native, carried the weight of experience in enjoying good food. I smiled at her and asked for a menu to translate the word puzzle excuse for a menu on the big board. She took me by surprise and told me to just ask for something and the kitchen staff will cook it up for me. Never one to disagree with the decisions of the chef, I was flummoxed by the idea of deciding the very building blocks of my own meal. Knowing that my stomach was close to rebellion if its demands were not met, I quickly settled on a cheese omelet with shrimp and bacon. To my surprise, the women acquiesced and pointed out that it was a favorite of the chef, even neither it or any omelet appeared on the menu. I took a seat at a cheap linoleum table and waited for my food to come out.
I respectfully decline to put the full force of review behind any food consumed while under the influence of alcohol. I have eaten many things I am ashamed of after bouts of drinking and have found nourishment in the oddest things while on a late night or early morning binge. But I am inclined to believe that this omelet was good in spite of my intoxication. From end-to-oblong-plate-end this large (probably 5 egg) omelet was perfectly browned on the outside yet creamy and gooey on the inside. The salty bacon permeated the whole dish and paired brilliantly with the sweet and delicate shrimp. I looked up from stuffing myself long enough to the see the chef peering out from behind the kitchen door to check on my approval. I threw him a weak thumbs-up and felt his smile glowing from across the hall.
Here, in a lifeless part of town, I had found the sustenance that could raise my spirits and right me enough to make some of the same mistakes again that evening that dogged me on this day. Because in many ways New Orleans doesn’t let you choose your fate. The lights, sounds, and siren song drive you on a beat that you can’t change. The different music blaring out of the bars melt into one song on the French Quarter that compels you to keep pushing the limits. P&G was quiet and empty on that Saturday morning. Perhaps that is because though P&G is patently New Orleans with its overly ornate style and odd pairings, this restaurant asks you to make the choices- a concept too often lacking in the heralded New Orleans.
A Food Fantasy: Aether by Procter and Gamble
Philosophers, physicists, and culinary adventurers have been seeking the secret “fifth element”: aether. Now, thanks to Procter and Gamble-makers of everything you didn’t know you needed, you can add that extra little bit of metaphysical zing to your favorite breakfast, lunch, or dinner treat with canned aether!
But why aether and why now?
While leading scientists are still skeptical of the existence of aether, an all-naturally occurring substance that according to Aristotle, an expert in the field, permeates all things, culinary technicians have been taking advantage of its airy consistency and light taste for years. Long prized by great chefs, aether was too expensive and too difficult to trap for use in home kitchens. But not anymore! Now, thanks to Procter and Gamble technical advances, you can incorporate aether into meals in your own home! The secret is in our new aether capturing cans. Pop the tops off of these soda-can like devices and you will feel a whoosh of delicate energized aether molecules shoot into your dish. Open up a can into your favorite marinade for a bit of ethereal zing, or pour it over a salad instead of dressing and watch as your kids line up for seconds and thirds of the leafy stuff. You can even drink aether straight from the can!
It is fair to say that we live in a health conscious world. With diabetes and other food-related health complications on the rise, people are looking for any means to “trim the fat” out of their diets. Here again aether shows its versatility and promise as the culinary panacea of the future. Aether has all the same tastes and qualities of normal air, but without any of the guilt! Aether has naturally zero calories, zero grams of fat, and zero nutritional values. Aether has the same light flavor and vapid consistency as air but also includes a small amount of ethereal goodness that no packaged or non-packaged air can match.
You might be asking yourself why you should purchase aether from the grocery store instead of using free air from around your own home. The fact is, loose air picks up pollutants and circulates them all throughout your house. By the time that air reaches your food it has picked up unpleasant bits from all over. While you can’t see these particles, and you may not even be able to taste them either, our world renowned team of Procter and Gamble scientists and philosophers insist that the similar particles in aether are purer and necessary in order to conduct light and concoct great flavor in the kitchen. With such a bevy of scientific research into the health benefits and culinary advantages to using aether over traditional air, it is easy to see why so many people all around the world are making the switch to using aether everywhere from restaurants to home kitchens.
We wish we could share with you the secret to the aether production and bottling process, but these are strictly guarded company secrets. What we can tell you is that starting just in time for the holiday season; you can have your own aether-laden holiday straight from the grocery store. Every element of the holiday feast can be improved by adding aether from Procter and Gamble. Rather than using a traditional turkey stuffing for your holiday meal, open a can of aether instead of a beer and lodge that into the bird before cooking. Rather than coming out of the oven drunk and disorderly, your bird will exit the oven wiser and prepared to debate and delight dinner table guests with it’s understanding of the mysteries of the universe. If only people could stop from eating it long enough! The great tasting benefits of aether extend beyond the bird at the center of the table. Using the drippings from the turkey mixed with another can of aether from the fridge, you can make luxurious and metaphysically thick gravy to accompany all of your favorite sides. Holiday baking can also be dramatically improved by adding aether to your pie crusts and fillings. Aether pie crusts have the same airiness in traditional pie crusts, but they are so light that they seem almost unreal. That “beyond this world” lightness can be captured in whip creams, meringues, and zabagliones as well. Anywhere you might traditionally use air in your cooking try substituting aether and you will be very impressed with the results.
We are so sure that you will be impressed with canned aether that we are willing to let you try it risk free in your own cooking. If you call the toll free number on this advertisement our friendly and helpful staff will mail you coupons to pick up a free can of aether at your nearest supermarket. If you are at all dissatisfied with your aether, we will buy you your regular air free of charge! With so much opportunity and so little risk, why not try aether for your next luncheon with the girls, or family dinner, or philosophical musing in your favorite armchair. Let the light consistency and taste-so-empty that it must be good for you, dazzle your palate and delight friends and family alike. The mysterious fifth element that flummoxed physicists and occupied the dreams of philosophers can now be yours in the kitchen. Bring home the flavor of the heavens, aether from Procter and Gamble.
Aether-Infused Whipped Cream
1 Pint whipping cream
1 Can of Aether by Procter and Gamble
1 Whole nutmeg
1 Teaspoon of vanilla extract
Pour cream into a large mixing bowl. In one motion, open the can of Aether by Procter and Gamble and pour it into the bowl while beating vigorously with a whisk. (Even though the can may appear to be empty, continue to pour its contents out while beating.) When the cream is thickening, add the vanilla extract and continue to beat in the aether. When the cream creates stiff peaks on the end of the whisk it is sufficiently beaten. Grate a small amount of nutmeg over the top of the cream and serve with your favorite pie with aether crust or over an aether fruit compote. The opportunities are endless with Aether by Procter and Gamble.
But why aether and why now?
While leading scientists are still skeptical of the existence of aether, an all-naturally occurring substance that according to Aristotle, an expert in the field, permeates all things, culinary technicians have been taking advantage of its airy consistency and light taste for years. Long prized by great chefs, aether was too expensive and too difficult to trap for use in home kitchens. But not anymore! Now, thanks to Procter and Gamble technical advances, you can incorporate aether into meals in your own home! The secret is in our new aether capturing cans. Pop the tops off of these soda-can like devices and you will feel a whoosh of delicate energized aether molecules shoot into your dish. Open up a can into your favorite marinade for a bit of ethereal zing, or pour it over a salad instead of dressing and watch as your kids line up for seconds and thirds of the leafy stuff. You can even drink aether straight from the can!
It is fair to say that we live in a health conscious world. With diabetes and other food-related health complications on the rise, people are looking for any means to “trim the fat” out of their diets. Here again aether shows its versatility and promise as the culinary panacea of the future. Aether has all the same tastes and qualities of normal air, but without any of the guilt! Aether has naturally zero calories, zero grams of fat, and zero nutritional values. Aether has the same light flavor and vapid consistency as air but also includes a small amount of ethereal goodness that no packaged or non-packaged air can match.
You might be asking yourself why you should purchase aether from the grocery store instead of using free air from around your own home. The fact is, loose air picks up pollutants and circulates them all throughout your house. By the time that air reaches your food it has picked up unpleasant bits from all over. While you can’t see these particles, and you may not even be able to taste them either, our world renowned team of Procter and Gamble scientists and philosophers insist that the similar particles in aether are purer and necessary in order to conduct light and concoct great flavor in the kitchen. With such a bevy of scientific research into the health benefits and culinary advantages to using aether over traditional air, it is easy to see why so many people all around the world are making the switch to using aether everywhere from restaurants to home kitchens.
We wish we could share with you the secret to the aether production and bottling process, but these are strictly guarded company secrets. What we can tell you is that starting just in time for the holiday season; you can have your own aether-laden holiday straight from the grocery store. Every element of the holiday feast can be improved by adding aether from Procter and Gamble. Rather than using a traditional turkey stuffing for your holiday meal, open a can of aether instead of a beer and lodge that into the bird before cooking. Rather than coming out of the oven drunk and disorderly, your bird will exit the oven wiser and prepared to debate and delight dinner table guests with it’s understanding of the mysteries of the universe. If only people could stop from eating it long enough! The great tasting benefits of aether extend beyond the bird at the center of the table. Using the drippings from the turkey mixed with another can of aether from the fridge, you can make luxurious and metaphysically thick gravy to accompany all of your favorite sides. Holiday baking can also be dramatically improved by adding aether to your pie crusts and fillings. Aether pie crusts have the same airiness in traditional pie crusts, but they are so light that they seem almost unreal. That “beyond this world” lightness can be captured in whip creams, meringues, and zabagliones as well. Anywhere you might traditionally use air in your cooking try substituting aether and you will be very impressed with the results.
We are so sure that you will be impressed with canned aether that we are willing to let you try it risk free in your own cooking. If you call the toll free number on this advertisement our friendly and helpful staff will mail you coupons to pick up a free can of aether at your nearest supermarket. If you are at all dissatisfied with your aether, we will buy you your regular air free of charge! With so much opportunity and so little risk, why not try aether for your next luncheon with the girls, or family dinner, or philosophical musing in your favorite armchair. Let the light consistency and taste-so-empty that it must be good for you, dazzle your palate and delight friends and family alike. The mysterious fifth element that flummoxed physicists and occupied the dreams of philosophers can now be yours in the kitchen. Bring home the flavor of the heavens, aether from Procter and Gamble.
Aether-Infused Whipped Cream
1 Pint whipping cream
1 Can of Aether by Procter and Gamble
1 Whole nutmeg
1 Teaspoon of vanilla extract
Pour cream into a large mixing bowl. In one motion, open the can of Aether by Procter and Gamble and pour it into the bowl while beating vigorously with a whisk. (Even though the can may appear to be empty, continue to pour its contents out while beating.) When the cream is thickening, add the vanilla extract and continue to beat in the aether. When the cream creates stiff peaks on the end of the whisk it is sufficiently beaten. Grate a small amount of nutmeg over the top of the cream and serve with your favorite pie with aether crust or over an aether fruit compote. The opportunities are endless with Aether by Procter and Gamble.
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