On Fish

Here are my rules on buying seafood: 1) Don't buy farmed salmon. Never mind that farmers frequently dye the flesh pink and most practices are bad for the environment. Farmed salmon tastes like crap. It’s mushy and bland and good for nothing. Wild salmon, while not perfect for the environment, is a world apart from the farmed crap. Just look at Copper River salmon next to a fillet of pale and floppy farm stuff and you wouldn’t think they were from the same planet, let alone species. Don’t even get me started on the taste difference. Coho, Sockeye, Copper River, King – I’ll eat them all. 2) Never buy farmed shrimp. That’s just because of the environment. 3) Steaming your own live crab is far superior than buying the precooked stuff. It’s not even worth it to buy the precooked stuff. I’ll either buy the refrigerated canned crab from Southeast Asia or I’ll steam my own Dungeness crab. It’s a pain in the ass to shell it and it’s no fun dumping those poor little crustaceans into the Pot of Death but it’s one of my top ten foods. The sound of crab claws banging against the pot can be haunting. “Tell me, Clarice. Have the crabs stopped clanking?” 4) Buy fresh local stuff whenever possible (tough luck, Kansas) or, if not, buy flash frozen stuff. A lot of seafood is sold defrosted. You just don’t know when they did it. Could’ve been that morning, could’ve been last Tuesday. Luckily, recent USDA laws make it mandatory for sellers to specify the fish’s country of origin and whether it’s fresh or frozen. 5) Not all farmed seafood is bad. Farmed oysters are benign. Vegetarian fed fish like catfish and tilapia aren’t terrible, though they’re often fed corn. Is industrial corn worse than overfishing? Vegetarianism is sounding better and better. 6) Above all, avoid escolar. Why? I’m glad you asked. Now, I love the succulent fish. The kind whose flesh is on the fatty side; it can be like the Kobe beef of the sea. It tastes decadent and it’s easy to cook; it’s almost impossible to overcook. But since Chilean sea bass hit the top of the unsafe list and sablefish, or what my people call “black cod,” is kinda pricey, what’s there to eat? So when the dude at Fish King said that escolar was like Chilean sea bass and it was under ten bucks a pound, I pounced on it. I had John and Ole over for dinner where I served fillets with a watercress pesto. During dinner, we all were freaking out on how amazing the texture of the fish was and how odd it was that we’d never even heard of escolar before.

Watercress Pesto 2 big handfuls of watercress 2 garlic cloves 1 squeeze of lemon 1 small handful of pine nuts Extra virgin olive oil Stuff everything but the olive oil with some salt and pepper into a jar. Slowly add olive oil while zapping it with a hand blender. Keep adding and mixing until it comes together.

So after dinner, I looked it up on the Internet and I read this article out loud about how some chefs call it the evil fish or something like that. Apparently one of the fats that makes escolar flesh so luscious is indigestible by humans which can lead to “intestinal discomfort.” An oceanic Olestra. We all laughed nervously. The article recommended that you grill it so the fat can drip away in portions no larger than three ounces. I baked 14 ounce fillets – extra juicy. Oops. Oh well. How bad could it be? CUT TO: MORNING. I woke up with a rumbling in my stomach. Hm. Gurgle. Uh. Oh no. Then something terrible happened. Something unspeakably horrific. And then I made it to the bathroom. This continued on and off for a couple hours until I gathered the strength to call Ole and John. Ole had no problems. John was fine. So I thought it was me. And then I got calls from both of them not two hours later. I was not alone. For three days, we suffered in ways that – well if you need a description, just read the side of a nonfat Pringles can from the ‘90s.

Vino a Vino

A few years ago, in my pre-blog days, I invited my friend, Phil, over for a taste test. The goal was to compare value vs. quality. The contenders: Charles Shaw and Opus One. A showdown of famous cabernet sauvignons (O.K., Opus One is a blend but it’s mostly cab). For those of you who have never been to a free art gallery opening or a fundraiser, Charles Shaw is a bargain wine known affectionately as “Two Buck Chuck,” as it sells for $1.99 a bottle in California ($2.99 elsewhere). The Bronco Wine Company purchased the label of Charles Shaw, a failed Napa vintner, and used his name on bottles of blended bulk wines that the company buys from bankrupt wineries. Fred Franzia, the founder of Bronco Wines, uses this tactic with many of his wines: buy the name of a defunct winery, blend surplus wines nobody wants with his own mass produced juice until the wine is palatable enough to sell for a modest profit. When you multiply that modest profit by the number of cases they sell per year – 20 frickin’ million – and you’re talking about some serious dough-re-mi. In addition to the purchased labels – Napa Ridge, Rutherford, Montpellier, etc. – the Bronco marketing staff works tirelessly to come up with new, sellable winery names. Almost every bucolic sounding name you see slapped on a bottle in the wine section of your local grocery store is a Bronco wine. Sea Ridge, Crane Lake, Forest Glen, Silver Ridge, Salmon Creek – it reads like the Ralph Lauren paint catalog. There was a great article about Bronco in the New Yorker a few weeks ago that delves deeply into all their shenanigans. On the other end of the spectrum is Opus One, the pretentiously named chez d’oeuvre of Robert Mondavi, produced in partnership with the Mouton Rothschild folks. It’s the type of wine that revels in how classy it is. Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” blasts out when you land on their home page just to remind you of their immense sophistication. For over $150 a bottle, their wine better wear white gloves and bring me watercress sandwiches. And then when you multiply that price times the 25,000 cases they produce annually – think of how much Two Buck Chuck you could buy! If you can’t tell from my snarky tone, neither wine appeals to me that much. Even though my father has no problems with Charles Shaw – “It’s good!” – I’ve always found their wines to be flabby and characterless and sometimes cloying. Yeah, it’s decent for the price, but for a few bucks more you can get something that’s actually good, regardless of cost. With the Opus One, it’s the opposite. It’s good but then you think about how much it costs and think, “Is it $150 good?” Or should I have spent that money to save starving children in the Third World? Then it becomes impossible to enjoy the wine. But for many, that price and the pedigree are shorthand for quality. I remember when a friend’s wealthy father had a birthday party and offered to let me pick out the first wine. I carefully perused the extensive wine list and picked out a modestly priced but respected Burgundy, thinking of how it might match well with the poached Arctic char. After that, the father flipped to the end of the thick wine list and explained, “I don’t know much about wine. I mostly just go by price.” He then proceeded to buy bottle after bottle of 1988 Chateau Montelena Estate cab that went for over ten times what my choice cost. I was happy to let him order for the rest of the night. Had Opus One been 10 bucks more than the Montelena, we would have drunk that all night. Why did I own either bottle of wines I apparently despise? The Charles Shaw I bought out of curiosity. The Opus One was a generous gift. When I had both in my hands, it seemed like I had no choice but to have a face-off. Phil brews beer so he has a good palate but knows nothing about wine which made him the perfect candidate. I let him know what the bottles were but poured them for him blindly. I wasn’t surprised when he insisted the Two Buck Chuck was the Opus One. It’s more fruit forward and what few tannins were there were uncomplicated while the Opus One, while the same vintage as the Shaw (1999), was probably a couple years too young to drink. He described it as being flavorless and harsh. Wine bigwig, Steven Tanzer, wrote that the ’99 Opus One was, “Rich, sweet and tactile, with complex, tangy flavors of crystallized blackcurrant, caraway seed and smoked meat.” Go figure. Meanwhile, the New York Times wine guy, Frank Prial, said the ’99 Charles Shaw was, “light, pleasant and easy to drink and has little varietal character…Nondescript would not be too harsh a characterization.” You can see why many would find the cheaper wine more drinkable. It requires very little thought to process what you’re tasting. It’s wine, it’s inoffensive, drink more. In fact, a Charles Shaw wine won a California wine tasting. But half an hour or so after being opened, our Charles Shaw’s one dimensionality and acrid finish became more pronounced while the Opus One started to open up beautifully. It was still fairly austere but its layers of berries and violets and minerals became more evident...not to mention that it was rich, sweet and tactile? Plus something about seeds and smoked meat. So what is the lesson to be learned from this? To gladly accept any Opus One that someone gifts you? Sure. For me it was that there is a threshold for things that are good “for the money.” I was already pretty sure that the Opus One was going to be delicious, just not $150 delicious. But on the low end of things, when do you stop compromising quality for the sake of cost? If your shampoo gives you a rashy scalp and causes your hair to come out in clumps, you can’t justify using it just because there was a 2-for-1 sale at the 99 Cents Store. The Two Buck Chuck wasn’t quite that bad but I want my wine to be more than “nondescript”; I want it to catch my attention and make me feel better about having drunk it. I’ll happily pay two dollars for that privilege but such a wine hasn’t yet passed my lips.

An Inconvenient Lunch

Tomorrow at the movie theaters marks the theatrical release of Food, Inc. This is a documentary directed by Robbie Kenner about the industrialization of food. It incorporates a lot of the subjects covered in The Omnivore’s Dilemma and Fast Food Nation (Eric Schlosser is a co-producer) along with a bunch of stuff that’s happened since their publications. But before you nod off, this movie is will change the way you think about food. Take a gander at the visually dynamic and dramatically galvanizing trailer!

To be fair, I haven’t seen the movie yet and I don’t necessarily agree with all of what I’ve seen in the trailer (I’m not that worried about cloned livestock), but I believe this is an important film. Ugh. That sounds so pretentious. Le cinéma important. Full disclosure: I do know one of the film’s producer, but since I have a long-standing man crush on Michael Pollan ( the bald dude in the trailer), I’m pretty sure I’d have been first in line regardless.

They screened the film in Sacramento for agricultural lawmakers and it received a hugely positive response to the point where they were trying to organize screenings for the entire state legislature. I don’t know if that happened, but it should. And you should all see it, too. It opens in New York and Los Angeles tomorrow but it opens wider in subsequent weeks – depending on how well it does this weekend. Check here for the schedule. My friend promised me the movie won’t make you want to stop eating.

Now for a little business: Thanks to the few who are reading this silly blog. If you have any feedback, please lay it on me (thanks, Jenna, for the mac & cheese w/beans tip) or leave a comment. Topic ideas, criticisms and factual corrections are welcome. And if you like the blog or know someone who might, feel free to forward the link. I won’t complain.

Lastly, TOMATO UPDATE! The Earthboxes are going crizazy with fruit and growth. The Sweet 100s are living up to their name. A veritable fruit explosion. And I’ve got Yellow Pear, Big Boy, Roma and Early Girls coming up, too. They should start ripening in a couple weeks.

Sweet 100s on the left, Early Girl on the right

Coming along nicely

The DIY Earthboxes haven’t yet experienced the same bounteous growth spurt of the real ones, but I still think they are going to work out. They were planted a few weeks after the other ones and they are in a spot that receives less light. However, the other plants are sucking. They haven’t grown at all. No pictures of them. Too embarrassing.

To Toss or Not to Toss: Pizza - Part 2

If you made it through my first epic-length entry on pizza making, bravo. What can I say? I’m passionate about the ‘za. I will try to be more succinct here and in future postings. And I promise to never again use the term, "‘za."

So when I left off, I had made a bunch of dough blobs. Feel free to skip that step. It’s a bit of a production that is often hard to justify when you can just go to Trader Joe’s (or wherever) and get a sack of ready-made pizza dough for a buck and change. I will say that the premade stuff yields a harder, denser crust, but it’s oh-so-convenient. Especially when your backyard abuts the Trader Joe’s parking lot (as mine does).

Handling your dough – that’s a not a euphemism for something naughty – is not an easy skill to acquire. For me, it entailed a lot of pizzeria stalking. At Pizzeria Mozza, they have a guy whose only duty is to prep crusts for the toppings guy and I spent many a lunch at the bar parked right in front of his station watching his every move. “Hey, Joe. The creepy dude who stares at you all the time is back.” Honest Abe, my eyes were on the dough the entire time.

But seriously, watching pizza guys is a great way to learn the technique. I’ve also spent meals watching them roll out pizzas at Terroni where they do this weird finger pressing thing that gets the dough super thin, at Bollini's where they use a super fat copper rolling pin to get them to the DOC specifications, and at Lucifer’s where they toss wads of dough in a machine that spits out perfect round crusts. They all make good pizzas but I prefer the hand-tossed crusts that are thin in the middle and a little puffy and doughy on the outside. My experience is that rolling pins squish out the air bubbles in the dough, making a crisper, stiffer and more uniform pizza, so if that’s your thing, by all means do it that way. It’s way easier.

I have to confess that my preference for the tossed crust has less to do with taste and more because it’s so much fun to throw pizza dough into the air. Haven’t you seen that commercial?

The basic idea is to punch the center of your dough down relatively flat while keeping it fat on the rim.

My apologies for the blurry photos

I first squish down a ring with my thumbs

Then I flatten the middle part

When it gets big enough, you drape the dough on your knuckles, slowly working and stretching the outside rim to make it wider while rotating the dough after every pull to keep things even. The dough should feel loose and elastic as you stretch it to a size that’s tossable. I don’t really know what the tossing does – maybe it helps retain a round shape – but it’s really, really cool.

I'm not yet ready to join the U.S. pizza throwing team. Sometimes my dough will get lopsided where I’ll have to dangle and shake it like a bed sheet to even it out. The goal is to work it until it’s fairly translucent in the center part, so whatever it takes to get there, right? A 200 gram lump of dough should make a nice, thin 10-12 inch pizza. Little holes can be fixed at the end with a finger pinch. But if your dough is correct, it should be surprisingly elastic and strong.

Ta-da!

If things do go south and your dough is tearing or lumpy and you want to start over again, I’d advise against it. If you re-wad everything, it won’t be as elastic and even the second time through and you’ll have worse problems. At that point it’s better to bring out the rolling pin and fix your mistakes with it. Or use the rolling pin to start with and quit being such a showoff. Or you can just screw it all and call Domino’s.

Next up: Toppings

Nouveau Spam

When I was a kid, I loved salami. If us kids were lucky, we’d get it sliced thin from the local deli and I’d stack it high with a ½ inch thick slab of cream cheese on white bread. A snack. Or else I’d just hack off giant hunks a salami, peel off the paper and eat them one after the other. And it was always Gallo Dry Salame (estranged younger brother of Ernest and Julio). It’s not like we had a choice; it was the only brand in town. Gallo Salame and Spam were pretty much all I knew about cured meat products for the first couple decades of my life.

Then in the early-90s, I became aware of the term charcuterie. You know, that trendy food craze that’s only been around since the 15 th century. I remember going to this Frenchy place in West Hollywood, Mimosa, and being dazzled by their charcuterie plate with its crock of mustard and the little cornichons. The rest of the food was not that remarkable but I’d never seen such a variety of pork products. Fat-speckled saucisson sec, aspic coated pâtés, pork rillettes, and other forcemeats I was too intimidated to ask about. I still don’t know much about French cured meats but that didn’t stop me from smuggling seven sausages when I went to the Dordogne a few years ago. La-di-da, aren’t I worldly?

These days, I never hear the word charcuterie. The new hip term seems to be salumi. Same thing, different country. And two names seem to be growing in ubiquity: the first is Paul Bertolli. A former executive chef at Chez Panisse, he latched onto Alice Waters’ slow food/local produce concept and pushed it to the geekiest levels. For example, he’s got a tasting database of 300+ tomato varieties and he mills his own flour for his pasta. I'm guessing he got beat up a lot as a kid. His book is amazing and also completely unrealistic for the home cook. I just don't see myself curing olives in lye anytime soon. But I’m glad that someone nerds out to the extent he does. He started curing his own meats in his restaurant basement for his restaurant, Oliveto, and then refined his techniques to where he created Fra’ Mani, a salumiere that distributes to restaurants and fancypants markets.

It’s very Whole Foods-y – sustainably raised pigs, no antibiotics, handcrafted, etc. Frankly, while it’s fantastic stuff, I haven’t had it enough to differentiate between their Salametto and the Salame Gentile and the Salame Toscano. They all have pork and salt and spices and wine and they all taste delicious. Clearly I need to eat more of it to appreciate their subtle differences. Please feel free to send me a gift order or two.

The other big name I keep hearing is the unimaginatively named Salumi Cured Meats. Started in Seattle by a retired aerospace engineer, they, too, adhere to traditional, artisanal techniques. They achieved prominence as the founder is the father and salumi provider of my culinary hero, Mario Batali. But make no mistake, its success is because of its dedication to quality, not nepotism. I’ve had everything from their guanciale, made from pig jowls, to their lardo, mouth-melting strips of pork fat and it’s all spectacular. But again, I think I need to sample much more of their offerings before I can truly make an informed judgment.

Armandino Batali

I should emphasize that I'm kinda talking out my butt. I'm just a consumer who has done no actual market research. I have no idea if these salumieres are making an impact on anyone besides myself. But there is no denying that salume is a significant culinary trend. Just last month my sister brought me some stunning fennel pollen salame made at a hotel restaurant in Seattle. I’ve never tasted salami that was so bold and meaty and at the same time complex and subtly layered. It lasted maybe two days.

The other porcine revelation I had was when I tasted La Quercia prosciutto. I read about it in the New York Times and was skeptical. How could a product from Iowa be better than the Italian DOC-controlled original? But just like Napa’s Chateau Montelena beat out Bordeaux in 1976, La Quercia has been hailed as being better than its Old World counterparts. Herb and Kathy Eckhouse, basically smartypants academics, spent years learning the art of prosciutto curing in Parma before returning to the States to ply their trade.

La Quercia Pork

Made from sustainably raised pigs – some from organic and Berkshire pigs (aka Kurobuta) – the meat is buttery and flavorful and the salumiere has a steady hand with the salt (the only other ingredient besides pork). The prosciutto slices are luscious; as sweet as they are salty. It is a completely different product than the overpriced, oversalted, German junk you get in the plastic packages at Trader Joe’s. Nothing against the Germans, but it’s a crime that they call that prosciutto.

So last weekend when my friends canceled dinner plans at the last second, I wasn't too bummed as I got to eat all the La Quercia prosciutto and Fra’ Mani Salame Toscano myself. Breakfast? Why not have a few shavings of salami? Afternoon snack? Why not have a couple slices of life-affirming prosciutto? And I’m not ashamed to say it: I chopped up the last three slices of prosciutto along with a handful of frozen peas to go with the Kraft mac & cheese I had for lunch. It was sublime.

I'm a Sucker.

I am not immune to marketing pressures. I’m sure you’ve seen the ads on TV, too. The one with the little cows and the little cowboys. Yes, I’m talking about Jack in the Box’s Mini Sirloin Burgers. It’s not that it’s a good commercial – using little people for cheap laughs ain’t cool – but there’s something irresistible about those cute little burgers. And I don’t even really eat hamburgers that often, let alone mini ones (I blame you, Eric Schlosser).

Though they’ve been around since the 1920s, over the past couple years mini-burgers, often called sliders, have become the hottest trend in ground beef cuisine. Even Thomas Keller serves a Wagyu beef version for fifteen bucks at his Bouchon Bakery. Or you can get them for a third of that at good ol’ Jack in the Box.

Earlier this year Burger King released Burger Shots, their version of sliders, but I went with Jack in the Box. One reason is that the Mini Sirloins look tastier. Jack in the Box, by and large, has better tasting menu items, i.e., more deep fried things and more stuff with bacon, and they make stuff to order. Also, it turns out that “sirloin burgers” isn’t just some marketing term. Turns out all sirloin burgers at Jack in the Box are actually made with ground sirloin, the steak-y part of the cow. The Burger Shots could be made from cow lips and butt for all I know.

I know people who won’t eat at Jack in the Box ever since four kids died from E.coli-tainted burgers in 1993. My feeling is that after that tragic debacle, Jack in the Box should be the safest place to get a burger. Since implementing the most rigorous food safety system in the industry, it probably is. So when I’m bored with In-N-Out, I’ll occasionally go to “the Box,” as the kids call it.

So yesterday, after passing a billboard, I caved and found myself in the drive-through line at my local “the Box” (actually, I have no idea what the kids call it). Not surprisingly, the mini-burgers are less cute when you see them congealing in a little cardboard tray and they smell strongly of ketchup. Not a great first impression.

Served in the Burger Coffin

I miss Clara Peller

The bun seems rather thick relative to the daintiness of the beef patty, too. It comes topped with ketchup (duh), a couple shards of barely grilled onions, and a scrap of American cheese.

Ate it anyway

Upon the first bite, I was immediately hit with an assertive beefy flavor. Must be that sirloin! The bun is pretty doughy and chewy (in a pleasant way). A little on the sweet side but I like it. As a whole, the burger is a little dry and it could use less ketchup and more (any) mustard. Plus, the two wimpy bits of onion don’t make much of an impression. But what really turned me off was gummy and decidedly un-cheeselike American cheese. Jack in the Box boasts on their site that their Swiss cheese is all natural. Their American cheese clearly is not. I ate it anyway.

All in all, it’s not bad. The quality of the beef and bun make it worth eating. I’d probably order it again except with extra onions, Swiss cheese and mustard. But probably not anytime soon since after I ate it, I stupidly looked up the nutritional information: 748 calories, 29 grams of fat and over 1600 mg of sodium. I know it’s hypocritical of me, the guy who just ate an entire box of mac & cheese for lunch, to complain about calorie overload. But if I’m going to debase my body with food, I want it to taste a heck of a lot better than a Mini Sirloin Burger. So props to you, Jack, for fooling me with your clever marketing. I won’t be so easily seduced by your new Mini Buffalo Ranch Chicken sandwiches. Mmm…Buffalo Ranch…

Mac & Cheese(ish)

One of the first things I learned how to cook was Kraft™ Macaroni & Cheese. As an adolescent, I would make a box of it after school and eat it straight out of the pot with a wooden spoon while watching “Dick Van Dyke Show” reruns. Even though the cheese powder is a bright orange that doesn’t occur in nature, I still hold a special place in my heart for this American staple.

Since then, I’ve graduated to real macaroni and cheese – pasta with béchamel sauce blended with a mix of sharp and mild cheddar, a healthy dose of blue cheese and a teaspoon of mustard powder. But I would argue that the foodstuff that comes in the blue and white box is not macaroni and cheese but rather, Kraft™ Macaroni & Cheese. To compare the two is like comparing apples and Apple Jacks – they’re completely different entities. Apples only served as an inspiration for Apple Jacks. And I should also mention that no other packaged mac and cheese comes close to Kraft’s. I’ve had everything from Velveeta to Trader Joe’s to Kroger’s but none of them can match the sweetish/processed cheese taste of the sauce or the slippery, almost mushy, texture of the pasta.

Still, I restrict my consumption of Kraft Mac & Cheese mostly to hangovers and sickness. I don’t need the MSG (though I ain’t agin it) and all that orange food coloring can’t be good for you. Plus, it’s kinda pricey. I was at the market a while ago and it was on sale: 3 boxes for 4 dollars. I thought, “Damn! I remember when it was 3 for a dollar!” A split second later, I realized that I’m an old man. All I needed to complete the picture was a cane that I could shake in my clenched fist. “Why in my day…”

But this past Sunday I was at Target in the bargain bulk section (I didn’t know that was a section either) and they had various Kraft products on sale – 4 packs for $2.39. In fact, Kraft offers 33 different Macaroni & Cheese products, everything from Easy Mac to Bistro Deluxe Creamy Portobello Mushroom Mac & Cheese. That day Target had three different offerings – Thick & Creamy, Spirals & Cheese and Whole Grain. I figured that for $.60 a box, I could relive my youth. How could I not buy it? But the Thick & Creamy sounded disgusting and the Spirals & Cheese had half an ounce less pasta than the other boxes so I was forced to go with the Whole Grain. Plus, because it’s made with 50% whole grain (shouldn’t they call it Half Grain?), it’s healthy, right? I get 5 grams of fiber per serving, gosh darn it! Never mind the 590mg of salt and all that sodium tripolyphosphate.

Long story short, in the past three days I’ve eaten three boxes of Whole Grain Macaroni & Cheese (think of all that fiber!). It’s almost indistinguishable from the regular stuff - the pasta’s slightly grainier - and the bright orange sauce hasn’t changed a bit. Of course, everybody augments their mac and cheese a bit – a few dashes of Tabasco, bread crumbs, a can of tuna, etc. Me, I toss in a handful of whatever cheese is at hand. Today it was a little mozzarella and some asiago.

Good And here’s my big secret: a giant blop of salsa on the side. I take a bit of cold salsa and hot pasta in every bite. It may sound gross but it’s actually totally boss. A mix of temperatures, textures and flavors (see McDLT). Still sounds gross? Try it on New Year’s Day or some other post-drinking morning. I guarantee it will taste like manna from heaven. Especially with a leftover beer. Better