Quips of a Rambling Chef

What a Bunch o' Bellini

2013-02-10T05:50:00.002-08:00

One of our students Mitch convinced his employer to buy a beautiful commercial juicer. He is processing juices for gastriques, butter-mounted sauces, purees and other uses, but he came to me asking about how to use fresh peach juice in a Bellini without that spongy foam that makes it impossible to drink.

I had no idea.

In asking my buddy (the best bar consultant in the area), the response was that he had similar issues at a catered event. Fresh Bellini? Perfect....or at least in theory. But when they poured the contraption into a flute, the guest had to wrestle the foam, making a big mess in the process.

I contacted a food additive company in Canada that I have used before and they recommended xantham gum although it would alter the taste; needless to say that was off the table.

Off to the drawing board, I remembered a fluid gel recipe from a long time ago off of the Khymos.org site and investigated. Simply replacing the grape juice with peach juice and substituting the Prosecco and some Peach Schnapps for the wine, I had the answer and it was simple.

I made a peach puree utilizing Gellan Gum and thinned it out with Peach Schnapps to have my base. Then all I had to do was top it off with Prosecco, pour in a flute and drink away. Follow along and enjoy.

For the Gellan Gum, visit molecule-r.com and dig through their additive page.


Fresh Peaches and the efficient gellan gum


The peaches are pitted and weighed for personal curiosity on yield. Peaches juiced with skins

The resulting juice is weighed and amount of gellan needed is calculated (weight of juice x .01667)

Gellan is whisked into juice and froth and brought just to a boil

Gel is cooled while pulsing it with a stick blender during the process

The resulting gel is similar to a commercial puree or baby food

At this point, some Peach Schnapps are added to thin out the base. Use this within the day for freshness

The Fresh Bellini without the foam and mess. I think it's time to get ready for summer!

Here are the formulae I used for the base:

668g Fresh peach juice (skin-on) with foam
11.14g gellan gum (amount of juice x .01667)
75g Prosecco/Schnapps mixture (amount of juice x .11111) to thin out the base

A Chaplet of Little Miseries

2013-02-08T18:05:00.001-08:00

"Life is a chaplet of little miseries which the philosopher counts with a smile. Be philosophers, as I am, gentlemen; sit down at the table and let us drink. Nothing makes the future look so bright as surveying it through a glass of chambertin", or so said Athos as he invites his friends into his abode to discuss the follies of the days preceding.

The Three Musketeers is a new addition to my meager library, and as I had finished The Count of Monte Cristo last year, I was fearful of Dumas’ lengthy tomes, superfluous description and minutiae. What I found was a swashbuckling tale - with a touch of the aforementioned descriptive copy - but a fascinating book nonetheless.

Believe me, if you can sit through The Count you can sit through anything, but I digress.

Chambertin is one of the most sought after wines of France and the Premier Crus can fetch a handsome price per bottle, so suffice it to say that I do not get to drink it very often. But when I do think Chambertin, I think Lamb.

Based in the Burgundy region of France in the subregion of the Cotes de Nuits, the Chambertin are Pinot Noirs. White Burgundies are Chardonnay and Red Burgundies are Pinot Noirs (There are accessory grapes but don’t worry about that right now). Maybe this will help to demystify a small group of French wines. Known for their finesse and their full body, Chambertin may not be as over-extracted as some South American and American Pinots and for that matter, South Africa and Australia could be thrown in this category.

When looking at Continental wines, while they will have a formidable body, you might not get that ‘jammy’ and mouth-exploding fruit bomb that we find here. In reality, many of the wines of the New World are made to be consumed alone. On the Continent, however, food and wine share a symbiotic relationship and have for milennia.

While they might not be as huge in every case, they are still robust, well-founded and have their own terroir that the world has spent centuries trying to emulate. When the terroir of the wine matched that of the food (think local, no trains or planes, etc.) it was a no-brainer. As time and conquest have marched on, the wines have grown further apart from the food.

Just a little food for thought with your glass of Chambertin.

Perfect Grilling Weather

2013-01-18T13:43:00.003-08:00

A mild winter means the herbs can still be harvested and the wood grill fired

Sausage, Kale, Chopin & The Sex Pistols

2013-01-13T12:07:00.001-08:00

The soup is on the stove; the weather is damp and cool. The house is not as warm as usual, being a little chillier today since we just received last month's utilities bill, but it smells like garlic, onion and sausage. The potatoes have been blanched and are ready to go in, and as I walk around, I can't help but to reminisce on my youth far yonder across the bridge when my mother would have pots of soup on the stove on days such as this.

How many times have I written about the halcyon days of youth? It's hard to say. Either way, I don't mind. Nostalgia is a welcomed friend to someone my age. And I have to admit that some memories just make me laugh, if not a little proud.

As a teenager, I was placed into the care of the Catholic school system in hopes that they could straighten me out. While I would probably need to write a few chapters that would help to explain why, I must submit to brevity in order to avoid massive edits. But don't worry; I don't think that I was necessarily an evil child. I was just an unfocused mess.

As I entered Saint Mary's Annapolis in 1983, my favorite bands were The Clash and The Sex Pistols, the seminal punk bands of the Second British Explosion in 1977. I stole my brothers Pistols album in 1981, it was recovered by my mother, and then even later recovered by me from the waste bin when I was lucky enough to find it there.

Music was everything to me, and as I had already started studying classical piano at Peabody Prep in Annapolis, it was probably a bit strange that I leaned towards anything that was not mainstream or classical. Once I accepted that my teacher was not going to help me branch out into jazz, blues and more dissonant 'organized chaos' I decided to quit piano.

It happened to be right around this time that I walked into the Chart House in Eastport for my 15th birthday. One month later, I was a gunga din (salad bar knave). After one look at the line, I knew I wanted to cook. A tenacious youth (a euphemism for annoying little contemptible brat, maybe?) I convinced the managers to give me a shot and two weeks later the rest is history.

My consumption of sugar- and caffeine- laden drinks was staggering as the busboys would bring us each our own pitcher of soda all night every night that we worked.

The cooking was and is frenetic. Lots of things can and do go wrong. Two days are rarely ever the same, and I think this is exactly why I've been in the business so long.

But alas it's time to turn from memory lane and get a bowl of soup to go with the fond memories. I guess I'd call that a fair day.

Potato Kale Soup

makes 1 gallon

4 cloves garlic

1/2 ea. shallot

1/2 ea. white onion

2 Tbsp. European butter

1 qt. Chicken stock

2 c. half and half

1 qt. Heavy cream

8 oz. Cooked sausage

12 oz. potatoes, blanched

2 c. kale, stemmed, cleaned and chopped

S&P to taste

1. Heat butter until foaming subsides but butter is not burnt

2. Add shallots and onion and cook until translucent

3. Add minced garlic and cook for 3 minutes, ensuring that you do no burn it

4. Add chicken stock and bring to a boil

5. Immediately reduce to a simmer and reduce soup by 1/3

6. Add half & half and cream and bring just to a simmer, being careful so as to not boil soup over onto stove

7. Reduce by a fifth and add sausage. Cook for 15 minutes

8. Add kale and potatoes and cook until kale is cooked but still a nice, bright green

9. Do not season before this point since you will probably have salt in your sausage and/or chicken stock if you are using a store bought stock

10. Season with salt and black pepper to taste

My Apologies my Amazing Wife

2012-08-26T18:54:00.001-07:00

Homemade sea salt Lavash crackers, hummus,

chilled pepper salmon and balsamic glaze.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I recall random movie quotes or lines from books and plays at the strangest of times; almost all of the time. I guess that makes my life a touch strange.

Maybe I see the relevance of such quotation while I regurgitate, always seeming to find such aforementioned quotes to be a propos; whether they are or not is often subject to review and opinion.

Shakespeare is oft heard from my mouth and inked from my pen. I am no scholar but the Shakespearean Literature courses I endured in college still remain among my favorites.

At other times I might be reminiscing Emerson or Bukowski (as diametrically opposed as lamb chops and vegans) recalled from previous readings.

Now, for no particular reason, I find myself remembering Steven Spielberg's Amazing Stories, a short series from the 1980's.

In one shockingly poignant albeit inane short entitled Hell Toupee, the antagonist is a rather annoying murderous hairpiece. Our faithful protagonist is an ultra-nerdy lawyer who at one point of an uber-frenetic caffeinated panic attack speaks off-topic, spouting with great fortitude "I will not rest until I find a less embarrassing name for the penal system."

I cannot tell you how formative this simple phrase has been throughout my life. I have used it as retorts in important arguments and debates. It has found its way into more than one college paper, and I even used it in a breakup; one of the funnier uses I might add.

It has served as an ice breaker, and I even used it as a pickup line. In fact, it's how I met my wife.

Again, the previous statement is subject to review.

Given my druthers, I would forget such irritating cranial activity but that is never going to happen. It is just one more thing that makes me, me.

And being me can be a tough thing for a wonderful woman such as my wife to handle. But she does an amazing job. When it comes to the family budget, she's the genius. For a serious answer to an important question, the smarter among you would consult Julie and avoid all contact with yours truly.

And when all is said and done, it becomes my duty to cook her something delicious, nutritious and fun to ease the pain of having to explain the things I write. So go and make this. And make everything OK; at least in your own mind.

Just Not a Muskrat Fan

2012-04-20T04:00:00.000-07:00

The Horror. The Horror

“The horror. The horror.”

The famous last words from Apocalypse Now repeated themselves in my head for two days; lifeless and soon-to-be headless bodies looking at me with great disdain, ironically with their eyes having already been removed making the entire episode even more reminiscent of a bad Tim Burton movie.

The rabbit was fine. I’ve worked with that plenty of times. Breaking down the walleye, brining the filets and smoking them was old hat.

Breaking down the saddle of antelope was great and as I was working with a talented young apprentice, it was a pleasure to be given the opportunity to work with such a variety of proteins.

Not even the greatest pincage could rid the stew of muskrat love

No, it was those muskrats, those gnarly toothed, furry paw-still-attached creatures that haunted me last weekend as we prepared a game dinner for some guests at the country club.

Those damn muskrats. I will apologize as I know that I will offend some local readers, but while I am happy to have worked with them, I will be just as happy to never have to do it again.

Last year’s challenge was Raccoon Stew and I took care of that, so I was given the honors of the Muskrat Stew this year.

The idea was to build a muskrat ramp stew and then top it with a gorgeous bacon-wrapped rabbit loin. Ramps are a wild leek and work beautifully in mildly hearty dishes, and as such are perfect with rabbit, veal, bison, emu and some of the leaner beefs.

Many jokes were had as we worked with the skinned rodents and we wondered why anyone would eat them. I was sure to call one of my student’s father to ask his advice since he is an avid muskrat aficionado. I followed his instructions (being sure to thoroughly remove the musk glands) and then made a beautiful stew.

A perfect rabbit loin stuffed with forcemeat

I did my best and the guests loved it; but then again, they loved the raccoon stew last year too so I have to go with it. Muskrat just is not my thing. They tasted very rich and gamey and they did not suit me one bit.

I considered sending a picture to the paper of the crime scene that a bowl of muskrats is but opted to not submit one for the article. I feared that it might not only dissuade some from trying muskrat but might also make a new vegetarian or two with its posting.

A good rabbit loin will fix anything!

As it is a professional kitchen, a term used loosely in this case, the opportunity could not be passed up to scare and shock a few unsuspecting people. As such, and since I am a man who believes in giving credit where credit is due, the muskrats served a great purpose for us.

As for eating muskrats? I’ll let you decide, but they were not my cup of tea. One of the new cooks enjoyed them and again the guests loved the stew, so it worked. I was feeding them and not myself; the culinarian’s creed.

Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to do with the road kill for next year’s dinner.

The horror. The horror.

Pokey's Poke at Da Poke Shack in Kona

2012-04-09T12:38:00.000-07:00

I have a newfound love; Poke (a Hawaiian raw fish dish pronounced ‘po-keh’). Coming off the beach with a poke bowl in one hand and a Kona Longboard in the other is a fine way to end any day.

Add to this the fact that my late father’s nickname for me as a kid was Pokey, and it’s even more fitting that I would love this.

In Kona I had a Poke cake at a good restaurant, and it was adequate; nothing earth shattering but in hindsight a bastardization of the real deal with the poke crammed together and seared.

Where I had my awakening or moment of Zen was at Da Poke Shack in Kona on Ali’i Drive. Owner Al Cobb-Adams (Background) and Keoki walked me through poke and I was amazed at not only their care of the almighty Ahi but also at their love of the craft.

The Ahi was brined for 24 hours in a cooler to draw out blood and then prepared in a slew of styles ranging from Pele’s Fire (akin to our spicy tuna although made with habanero instead of Srirachi) to a sweet ginger-soy sauce and everything in between.

Albert, the owner, makes his poke practically on the hour as opposed to many supermarkets on the island which make them in the morning to last all day, and this is what makes the difference. It’s always as fresh as can be.

He also explained that poke refers to anything cut, sliced or cubed. In his case he also had clam, mussel, shrimp and tako poke.

But first things first; Ahi. Ahi is not bright pink vis a vis the nonsense that some restaurants are pushing. This cartoonish ‘ahi’ is merely a mid-grade tuna that is cold smoked (USDA jargon for ‘introduced to carbon monoxide which induces a change in color and rids the fish of fishy taste and smell’) to render it neon pink and somehow exotic.

Have I used it? I can admit that I have. Have I called it Ahi? I am embarrassed to say that I did albeit a very long time ago. I now merely label it as cold-smoked and I’m done with it. It is a fair product and one that lends itself to certain inexpensive dishes very well. It’s just not Ahi as far as I’m concerned.

True Ahi is a deep burgundy color and more expensive than you can imagine but it is worth the money. If you buy #1 tuna, ironically difficult to find down here, then you are on your way. One little secret you can employ is to talk to your local sushi house to see if they are willing to sell a chunk of premium grade tuna for you to do your magic. Just don’t be surprised at the price.

Even in the Honolulu Market, whole Ahi is close to $8 per pound. Put in the waste and gas needed to transport it and it’s easy to see why it wholesales for $16-20 per pound skin-on.

Pictured is my version of poke, made the day after I returned home from the islands. The slaw is my concoction but was the perfect fit with the crispy vegetables countering the soft bite of the fish.

Traditional poke is served with short-grain sticky rice, a staple on the Big Island, but I decided to forego this and have a lighter plate. It worked and was fresh and vibrant just the same.

So, until the next time that I am in Kona, I have to make my own poke and add it to any menus where I work. I can’t wait to see what fresh fish the fishermen bring me this summer and can’t thank my new friends Al and Keoki enough for their hospitality.

Mahalo and Aloha!

Now on Nook!

2012-03-29T19:02:00.000-07:00

Now on Nook. Go to Barnes & Noble online and get the most scintillating, and obnoxious, short tome on culinary nonsense for only $3.99!

Buy The Heart of a Kitchen Now!

Now on Kindle! Coming any day to Nook!

2012-03-26T08:54:00.000-07:00

Hey folks, the book that started it all, The Heart of a Kitchen; Quips of a Rambling Chef is now available for your Kindle by clicking below:

Get Paul's Awesome Book for the Kindle!

It has been uploaded to Nook and will be available any day. I will let you know when that happens. Please, please, please share the love!

Thank you my fellow foodies

Consomme in Hi-Def

2012-03-14T03:36:00.000-07:00

Start with Homemade stock, and don't forget to use your Remi!

The critical ingredients: Egg whites, tomato, ground lean chicken and ground mirepoix

Start with cold stock and ingredients: That's the secret

As the raft develops, carefully poke a hole in top and it

will act as a coffee filter and do your dirty work for you

Strain through four layers of muslin to remove any particulates

A very simple and non-traditional garnish of carrot and kale

Cook your garnish in a separate pot of reserved consomme.

Note how cloudy this is.

You don't want your finished soup to look like this, do you?

The Golden Nectar of the Soup Gods: Consomme

Beautiful Consomme, the Forgotten Soup

2012-03-13T13:46:00.004-07:00

Consommé is beyond the shadow of a doubt the nectar of the soup gods.

Unbeknownst to many people and misconstrued by others, consommé is simply a carefully clarified and fortified stock, making it laborious and luxurious, not to mention a bit expensive to craft.

The end result is a clear and succulent essence, perhaps dotted with a small garnish, which lends its rich mouth-feel and potency to the guest without all of the fat. It is pure flavor.

Chefs simply don’t make consommé on a regular basis anymore. These soups are time consuming, uber-expensive and are in many ways misunderstood by most diners, so the effort may very well be lost on many. As such, these factors are relegating consommé to the history books as if to say that they are not worth making anymore.

Nothing could be further from the truth and when talking with a friend about it recently, he gave away a telltale sign and a normal mistake by saying “I tried it once and I ended up with egg drop soup.”

One simple fix and he will be all set the next time that he goes to make it.

The secret of the consommé is to utilize natural ingredients which will act as a filter and to keep them cold. The filter is comprised of proteins by means of egg whites and ground, lean meat. Then, tomato product is added which adds flavor, a bite and somehow works with the protein to form the raft, something I will cover in a bit.

Simply combine the cold (and note that I stated cold) stock, egg whites, tomato product and the other ingredients listed in the recipe and stir in a stockpot.

As the soup slowly heats up, we can stir a little bit, but as the proteins heat up, they will rise to the top, forming the raft or a thick chunk of the gobbledygook that you have put in the stockpot. We want to stop stirring now.

This raft is the key to the whole shebang. Without it you will just have a tastier and fortified cloudy soup which would defeat the purpose.

As the raft forms, poke a hole in it and carefully baste the raft with the stock as it simmers. The stock will separate from all of the particulates and you will have a crystal clear consommé before you know it.

The entire process is really done in about thirty minutes, but you want to cook it for an hour or hour and a half in order to extract the flavors and essence from your ingredients. After all is said and done, your raft ingredients are going in the bin so you might as well get everything you can out of them.

When it comes to making your garnish, use whatever comes to mind but consider two things. First, The garnish should not overpower the consommé. With the time and effort put forth, you don’t want to showcase some carrots and some kale, do you?

Second and most important, Cook your garnish in a separate pan and in consommé that you will not use again. The cooking process will cloud the liquid, again a stalemate situation. Simply cook and rinse your garnish and place in the service bowl. Then slowly pour the consommé around the garnish and you’re done.

Yes, consommés are time consuming, but then so is laundry and both are very important to understand albeit for very different reasons. Don’t shy away from this. After you make this once or twice, you will realize how easy it is and when you have friends over for dinner, you can tell them about the hours of grueling work that you suffered at their very hand.

You can revel in the fact that they will never try to make consommé themselves and then will elevate you to a pedestal of culinary mastery. They may even call you a soup god.

**My next post will be a step by step with pictures. Wait for it.....just wait for it.....

Waffles Anyone?

2012-03-07T03:17:00.000-08:00

I can remember many a night in Baltimore when we would find ourselves celebrating our youth, ending up at Jimmy’s Restaurant in Fell’s Point at 6:00 in the morning to enjoy a big burger and a beer. There was something about a rich meal, and mayhap rich isn’t the word that does it much justice, on mornings such as these.

The high fat levels would satiate every craving for calories and you would be ready to pass into a deep slumber, bordering on hibernation.

Having put more than a few years between me and those Jimmy’s mornings, I sometimes still like a plate of rich and delicious breakfast foods.

Recently, as I plundered my cupboards, I ran across an old standby; our waffle iron. I don’t make waffles often enough, although every time that I do eat them they are the perfect self-contained standalone meal.

Crispy on the outside, soft and steamy on the inside, the fresh waffle has so many applications that it shames me to think of how dismissive I am of their genius.

The obvious serving suggestion would be with maple syrup, as plain-Jane as it gets.

Served with some ice cream, hot fudge sauce and maraschino cherries, it becomes the perfect base for a sundae.

Lining the inside of two waffles with some ham and cheddar turns it into instant sandwich bread and bread that I promise won’t disappoint. With a small slather (there it is again) of sour cherry preserves, your bready buddy just gets better and better.

Or, as I did this morning, simply use the waffle as your breakfast toast. With a few adjustments to the all-star skillet you find in many restaurants, you will have that rich and creamy breakfast that will give you plenty of energy…after you sleep it off for an hour or so.

I like to play on themes, and one common breakfast theme is sausage and gravy. Making a similar cream-based sauce, I simply laced it with some Old Bay and it accompanied the salmon magnificently. Salmon?

Yes, a piece of seared salmon is wedged between the pieces of waffle as is a sunny side up egg. I don’t recommend that you eat your eggs over easy or sunny side up unless they are pasteurized. Mine are, so it’s always a treat to eat them this way.

By the time that your fork runs through the egg yolk, the waffle, and the salmon and down to the cream sauce, you will notice a few drops of Pavlovian drool as your mouth anticipates the goodness, but we’re not finished yet.

Adding to the mix a roasted Roma tomato and some quick-fried spinach will lend a sharp and fresh flavor to the dish, the acid from the tomato helping to cut through the fats on your plate. And there are plenty of fats in this behemoth.

Now this is a way to eat in the morning, especially on a cold and damp one. And once breakfast is done, I think it will be back to bed for me. The kids don’t know it yet and will probably disagree quite verbally if not physically with a battery of pillows, but that’s fine.

At least I’m not repairing myself from a night of celebrating my youth. I’m just repairing the damage of getting old.

Pan de Mallorca

2012-02-01T02:01:00.000-08:00

Not one to sit in front of Andrew Zimmern’s Bizarre Foods on the Tele, I was entranced recently when my daughter haphazardly paused on an episode of him in Puerto Rico, the latter yet another destination on my bucket list.

We did not remain on the channel to watch Zimmern enjoy snouts, ears and tails. Nor did we watch the eighty year old grandmother make the boudin noir (a charcute that I have had several times but only once that was not only not disgusting but rather amazing. Not surprisingly, it was at a Keller restaurant.)

I agree that the show as a whole can be important for a nation like ours; we eat conservatively and when we do eat, most meat products come from sterile cabinets and are miles if not states away from the nearest kill floor. In the words of Emerson, “You have just dined, and however scrupulously the slaughterhouse is concealed in the graceful distance of miles, there is complicity”.

I know where meat comes from. I have hunted and I have fished. I have been to the bullfights. I have visited processing plants and I have participated in livestock slaughter. And I cannot say that I have ever enjoyed any of it.

As a result, I just don’t enjoy the watching a show that focuses on a man who travels the world eating strange, morose and on occasion downright morbid foods. So be it for me to challenge the show, as it is successful and Zimmern himself is a fascinating host; it’s just not my speed.

So as we sat and watched the introduction to his episode in Puerto Rico, I was shocked to learn that the first segment was not bizarre in the least. It was enjoyable and quickly inspired me to try my hand at the bread on which his eyes were fixed.

After meeting his guide for the week, Zimmern was taken to an eatery known for its pastries and breakfast foods, a hot spot for more than a few years where the locals would sit over a plate of freshly made food and steaming hot coffee.

I watched a hundred-plus year old restaurant pump out Pan de Mallorca for hundreds of patrons as it does every morning. I could tell by watching the episode that the dough was similar to the rich dinner roll recipe I use myself, but with a fair amount of sugar added to sweeten the pot.

Used as a simple accompaniment to morning coffee or served as an 'al fresco Monte Cristo' as my wife called it, Pan de Mallorca is phenomenal!

As you can see, it is a very loose dough, so have your flour ready!

After rolling and proofing, the Pan is drenched in more butter!

Finished with a dusting of confectioner's sugar, you can then eat as-is or make it ham 'n cheese!

2012-01-28T03:41:00.000-08:00

Tonight is a good night to sit down to a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup. Our anomolous weather patterns are torturing us with 18 degree mornings followed by rain and wind at night. It makes no sense.

Officially at the mid-point of January we have yet to see snow, much to my chagrin but not to that of many others, so I’ll leave it right there.

Suffice it to say that, as a teacher and a parent, I love snow days for my kids’ sakes. Who doesn’t love to see the joy on their faces when the phone rings at 5:30 in the morning? They will sleep in on any other morning, but that phone call has the kids out of their beds and as active as bees in a shaken hive. They are ready for action.

But no, there is no chance of that happening any time soon, so the upswings and downturns in the mercury will leave us wondering what is in store next week and the one after.

But one thing is certain; chilly or downright cold, soup is a welcome friend as it soothes us to our very core. And the way that I made it today it could not have been any easier, short of opening a can and throwing it in the microwave.

I rarely write about the slow-cooker pots, since in many ways I am opposed to them. While I try to adhere to the concept of slow cooking and fresh foods, it is evident that many cooking techniques are missing from throwing product in the slow cooker and leaving for work.

Where’s the sear? Where is the love? Where are the layers of flavor that marry at the end to give us this magical dish?

I can tell you where they were today; they were in the felled tree that my son and I were chopping into firewood while the Misses and a daughter removed the carpeting, padding and staples from the stairs.

In between the wood chopping and removing of Christmas decorations (yes, I made it to January 15, a personal record) I finished getting a certification needed for a class that I teach. It’s all in a day’s work. Suffice it to say that we had a busy, busy weekend and slow-pot soup won the coin toss.

Finishing the soup off with the simplest of garnishes, a sweet and savory roasted butternut squash, I was pleased realizing that bliss filled the room; even the children ate the soup. It was a good meal.

There are some merits to one-pot cooking; fuel efficiency, reduction of carbon footprint, maximum flavor and moisture retention and of course ease.

So while you do forfeit the added flavor of the sear on the meat and the various tricks of which I have written over the course of the last seven years, you will not be disappointed, especially when your joints and bones ache from the work and cold.

Enjoy the rain and the wind and with any luck, we will see that snow storm come across the plains and throw us for a loop. Then we’ll have another reason to break out the slow cooker again, only next time it won’t be so dusty.

2012-01-03T16:36:00.000-08:00

The New Year is here and apparently this year marks the last year of the earth’s existence according to the Mayan Calendar. That sure puts a damper on things.

All I can say is that, with the impending apocalypse a mere four days before Christmas, we are sure to save an awful lot of money on gifts, so at least we’ll have a financial head start on next January if it does in fact not occur as predicted.

For now, though, I am grateful to see another year pass us by. So far the dooms-dayers have been wrong, thousands of times the years over, and I am assuming that the writers of the Mayan calendar simply ran out of room on their tablet so I am not too terribly concerned about it.

As I am fairly confident that we will live to see another New Year’s Day, I giggle when I think about running into the frigid ocean again as I did with my children at the AGH Penguin Swim on the 1^st.

I am a proud man, as our three kids who were home were fiercely excited about the swim, although I think ‘swim’ is an ambitious word. It was more like a dunk, but sufficient to prove our point as the water temperature was 45°.

Luckily it was a balmy 60° on the beach, albeit with a brisk wind, so coming out of the ocean was an absolute treat.

I was so impressed with my children’s fortitude, along with the courage of the many other swimmers, young and old, that I could hardly contain myself. We have lived in the area for twelve years and had yet, prior to Sunday, to participate in the swim.

As I had written in November after the Tough Mudder in New Jersey, food became important to me as my body was instantly invigorated by the dunk in the icy water.

I was not thinking of healthy salads, lame New Year’s resolutions or false pretenses of living my life in a different manner because the calendar year has changed.

No, I was fantasizing about pizza, steak and soup; rich and creamy soup. Lobster Bisque to be exact.

This is one of my favorite soups to make for two reasons. Firstly, it is one of the most flavorful and decadent soups contrived. Secondly, it is a great way to utilize an exorbitantly costly protein. I have been in the food business for a very long time, and I still cannot get used to lobster prices.

Finishing this soup with a crouton topped with melted St. Andre Triple Cream and roasted tomatoes is a match made in heaven.

And it is not healthy. It will not help you to achieve those pesky resolutions. It is not on any fitness plan. It is just plain good; it will stick to your ribs, and that’s what we need now that winter is finally here.

Besides, if the Mayans are right, we could eat this all year and it wouldn’t really matter, would it?

HAPPY NEW YEAR ONE AND ALL!

May The New Year Bless You with Pork & Kraut!

2011-12-27T07:54:00.000-08:00

Edible (adj). Good to eat and wholesome to digest, as a worm to a toad, a toad to a snake, a snake to a pig, a pig to a man, and a man to a worm. Ambrose Bierce

As we celebrate the New Year, new friends, new enemies and newer members of the family, I find that it is also the time of year to never forget those who have gone before us.

None are safe from the one certainty of life, as so eloquently phrased by Franklin so long ago. We can only hope that our time comes when we have had a chance to change something for the better; to fix something we may have broken or to lend a hand to someone in need.

As the 31^st of December comes and goes a deep reflection passes through my mind; the leaves are long gone, the earth is slowly cooling to its normal threshold of temperature, and there are mosquitoes in our back yard. Not normal seems to be the new normal.

Is it global warming or is it the natural cycle of our great earth? Is it mankind’s contribution to the ozone, or is it merely time again for the polar cap to melt? Fairly convinced that smog and pollution were not responsible for the first ice age, I wonder what the new year will bring in condemnations and tips on how to live our lives so as to keep the melting at bay.

Either way, New Year’s Eve will come and go, and will stop for no one person in particular. As we prepare for the festivities, we also are reminded that while there are few things in life we can control, there is at least one self-inflicted wound that we can all avoid. If for some personal reason we find that it is unavoidable, we will at least have the power to nurse and nurture ourselves from the beast; the hangover.

As revelries go, New Year’s Eve tops the list, with amateur and professional alike vying for the leader’s spot on the scoreboard of fun lovers. But as many of us know, the day after seems to be a bit tough.

Not to fear, if you are a Bloody Mary lover and a carnivore. While I won’t address the former in today’s column, I am happy to tell you of a tradition, with a twist, that knocks out the greatest of hangovers with the ease of an acrobat at le cirque.

Roasted pork loin with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes is the shell for this New Years Nosh. Add a roasted vegetable ragout (with fennel which is great with its high levels of phytonutrients in defending our body against certain side effects of too much celebration) and fresh herbs.

Seasoned ever so gingerly to meet our own demands and tastes, we are left with a dish which will elevate us to new heights of vigor on a day on which we would rather crawl back into our couches.

Hangover or no, enjoy this festive tradition, making it your own to suit your tastes. Just don’t let it get past you. After all, it is our job to feed to worms well.

Pop Punk, Geno's & an Oyster Po Boy

2011-12-20T03:44:00.000-08:00

One thing leads to another, as was the case this past weekend upon returning home from a short trip to Philadelphia. I can declare with hand on heart that the city of brotherly love grows on me with every successive visit.

After taking our oldest son to a club concert to see Wheatus (5 other bands were there but we were there to see Wheatus on Mom's request, and since they don't play in the US but a few times a year, I had to make it happen), we found a late night showing of the new Sherlock Holmes.

Having thoroughly enjoyed the first movie, it seemed fitting that we would seek out the sequel on its opening night, and even more entertaining when considering that it would top off our already action-packed night.

When I was younger, the Sherlock Holmes that I read was apparently a watered-down version; the stoic and knightly gentleman with the double-brimmed cap. He was stolid, boring and proper.

When I watched Sherlock Holmes last year with our oldest son, I was embarrassed, myself upset that they portrayed this great man as a drug addict (or at least experimenter) wild man, insomniac, maniacal genius, and authority on perverse crime and the bizarre.

My son’s response was a simple “Dad, that’s the way he was in the books.”

I learned that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had in fact penned his character in the aforementioned fashion, and I now wonder if Doyle himself could have done a better job on the screenplay.

Holmes is now public domain, so you can download the originals on your Kindle and read away. After reading 1,500 pages of Holmes, it all came together. The movie was spot on.

So, with this relish for the precursor in mind, the sequel fit into our itinerary beautifully and we stayed awake and entertained well-past midnight.

As we left the theater, two things struck us; it was cold, and we were hungry. Not being able to do much about the former, the latter was easily quelled as we were favorably situated in South Philly.

It wasn’t long before we were upon the Holy Grail of late-night neon-emblazoned fare: The caddy-corner red zone known as Pat’s and Geno’s.

Opting for Geno’s we ordered our subs, of course with Cheese Whiz (it’s the Philly way), cheese fries and cokes and supped as we made our way back to the hotel.

We slept like babes. As we awoke on Logan Square the sun showed us what we hadn’t seen the night before; the dome of the Basilica, Franklin Institute, and in the distance, the Art Museum.

Making our way back to the shore, my mind reeled on the subs. Not wanting another steak sub, though, I decided to see what Danny had in the case at Chesapeake Farms to see if I could garner some inspiration.

It didn’t take too long to realize that the pints of local oysters were exactly what I was looking for. I hadn’t made a po boy in a very long time, and as the making of one is a short process, I was sold.

Buying some ice cream (chocolate insanity and pumpkin cheesecake together married well) to take on a visit to a local nursing home, we moved onto that neck of our journey. An hour later, we were home and I was making my po boy.

This sub of all subs is uber-rich and goes a long way to fill the soul. If you are lucky enough to find a good chewy sub roll, then all the better. That, however, can be the hardest part of making this monstrous work, so you’ll have to search around on your own.

As I sit down with the rest of the ice cream (I have some strawberry and blackberry together) from Chesapeake Farms, I realize that I need to run tomorrow, and I really need to find an excuse to go back to Philadelphia. This is a vicious circle in which I can comfortably live.

2011-12-13T03:25:00.000-08:00

It was with great suspicion and disquietude that the Salvadoran women agreed to allow me to help them make tamales for Bellehaven’s employee party.

I didn't think it prudent or appropriate to ask whether this was a tradition bestowed among the traditional housewife, but only assumed it as the women kept laughing at either my ineptitude or presence in general; I preferred to think that the matter lay on the latter.

“No, Paul!” said Sylvia in her thick accent, “Foil too small!” she scolded as my aluminum foil wraps were apparently too thin. Karla laughed in agreement.

Now situated with the correct width, Sylvia again chided me; “No, Paul! Foil too big.” More laughter

Finally, she showed me a strip of foil, the size of my first attempts and said “perfecto!” And so I began to cut and lay out the foil.

Also on my to-do list was cutting the banana leaves which would lay in the foil, in which the maseca mixture and fillings would go before being tightly wrapped and secured by the foil.

Having worked with banana leaves plenty of times in the past, I was not too worried; until I saw Sylvia’s leer. She said nothing, but I waited for it; I felt like a wounded gazelle avoiding the stare of the leopard as it slinks its way up for the pounce.

But it never came. Apparently my unwavering skill at cutting squares of banana leaf wrappers was sufficient.

As a chef and teacher I always look for those teachable moments, and this was no exception. When someone is performing a culinary task with which I am not familiar, I am nigh ecstatic to jump in and learn whatever I can. It’s all for the cause, I constantly remind myself.

Attending the employee party was not an option as I have to be on this side of ‘The Crick’ for other obligations, i.e. my real job and our local chefs’ dinner. Yet, as much as I missed the gang in Alexandria, I was thrilled to know that Sylvia packed me two containers of these amazing tamales; honestly the best I have ever eaten.

These take time; just get ready for that. In the tradition as it was shown to me on Sunday, the chicken is left on the bone, and the tamales are carefully picked apart when served. Just as they do with stock, the bones lend their flavors and gelatin to the mix, affording a fuller, richer flavor than I have as of yet experienced in this standard fare.

In the recipe below, I say to pick the bones and just use the meat. The choice is completely yours. Either way, my eyes were opened as to what tamale could taste like.

I've had good ones, but never great ones before Sunday. And now my taste has transformed further into knowledge as I file away how to make a great Salvadoran Tamale. Keep laughing, my Salvadoran friends; keep laughing.

2011-12-07T03:46:00.000-08:00

I ate molten chocolate cake with homemade berry marshmallows for dinner. The kids ate leftover pizza. I’m not sure what my wife ate.

After a long weekend at the Country Club, it was a day of taking kids to the doctor and dentist, and what better way to end a visit to the dentist than with a big, bubbly pile of chocolate?

After ‘dinner’ it was off to my trusty laptop on the back deck to write this masterpiece while mom and a couple of the kids tortured the others by locking them out of the bedroom in order to wrap Christmas presents.

With so much evidence on and in the house, it is becoming increasingly harder to avoid the fact that Christmas is but around the corner. It is annually amazing to me to realize that, while my wife is typically done shopping for the holiday in June, I start right about now. I assure myself that, as it is in cooking, consistency is the most important part of any relationship.

As I sit out here on the deck, something else strikes me. We are well into the first week of December, it is after 8:00, and I am sitting on my back deck, comfortably, in shorts and a tee-shirt.

But normal weather or not, let’s get back to the chocolate cake. I can take no credit for the recipe as it was passed on to me by good friend Chef Tim Elliot, Executive Sous at Bellehaven.

Incredibly simple to make, this is a no-brainer. When he offers it up with an Asian flare, he flavors the chocolate with cardamom and serves it with candied chilies.

As for the other recipe you will see this week, the one for marshmallows, I well-noted its source; Khymos.org.

Khymos is a fantastic site that offers instruction and education in all manners of food and wine, and they have a fairly solid collection of recipes related to molecular gastronomy; the fancy term for cooking with weird things.

By weird I might mean agar-agar (derived from seaweed) or lecithin (found in egg yolks), or perhaps guar gum, maltodextrin, gellan or carrageenan.

But also included in this collection of the sideshow-substances are cornstarch and gelatin. Being hydrocolloids (substances that gel when hydrated properly), they come in handy when you are trying to attempt the new and super cool.

The easiest way to call yourself a ‘molecular cook’ or some other similarly dorky moniker is to just make marshmallows.

From there, you may start with any other chemicals, easily found online from such sources as “Molecule-r.com”.

Soon, you will be the Tesla of taste; the Einstein of edibles.

Not one for overdoing the scientifically weird, I just roll through the day still feeling that I need to get my head wrapped around this whole cooking thing without the chemistry set. What’s next? Only time will tell.

Either way, I have molten chocolate in my stomach pleasantly satiating my soul, so I don’t care what’s next in the culinary world. Maybe in a year or two you can eat this page and taste what I cooked. It could be that weird.

Vintage Wine Racks and Hurricanes

2011-11-12T03:28:00.000-08:00

We drove home from West Virginia after Hurrican Irene had romped up the Right Coast; it was easy to put the storm into perspective for the kids once we reached the Eastern Shore.

As the sky opened up, one could see the bottom of the hurricane from East to West, with that beautiful and impressive curve visible to the naked eye. The kids at that point understood the gravity of the storm that we had fled.

We evacuated as we are only half a block from the Bay, and as things were, we figured better safe than sorry.

The trip can be summed up thusly; Two adults, four kids, three cats and a dog in a minivan for the five hours it took us to get to Martinsburg, West Virginia and likewise in reverse, to get back home.

Never a family to shy away from an opportunity, and realizing that we were tied down with pets, we took the time to visit Antietam Battlefield. As children go, mine are normal in their ‘come on Dad, there aren’t any rides, gizmos or loud music’ attitudes, typically.

This time, however, they fully appreciated the battlefield, and as we drove through the maze of cornfields and pastures, they understood the gravity of what took place that fateful day. Although I am a shade embarrassed to say that this did not keep them from rolling down the hill.

And as soon as it started, it seemed to have ended. Our area was incredibly fortunate to not sustain the flooding and damages as did the northern states, and after the humorous reports from our friends brave enough to stay, it was time to return.

We took the storm quite seriously, and moved our valuables to the 2^nd floor, carrying our essential paperwork with us. When we walked back into the house, it dawned on us that it was much nicer the less cluttered it was. So we are now moving back in slowly, de-cluttering as we go, and the situation forced me to clean the yard, a task I regularly put off.

My lovely bride moved an antique milk crate from the Supplee Dairy in Supplee, PA off of the floor and noted that she wanted it off of the floor for good. With a few screws, a touch of thinking, a level and a drill, it became our new wine rack in the dining room. Nostalgia never tasted better.

For me, the best thing to happen was that my son found my wedding ring, missing for weeks. It was in the middle of the living room floor, so when we were moving things around in preparation, it apparently jostled loose and is once again on my finger where it belongs.

Vintage wine rack, clean yard, found wedding ring, history field trip, crappy food, broken sump pump (that’s a different story) and all heads present and accounted for. I think it’s easy to see that we found many silver linings in Irene’s clouds.

Peanut Shells, Steamed Shrimp

2011-08-28T06:49:00.000-07:00

There were peanut shells on the floor as we walked in. Everywhere we went in Baltimore in the 90s; well in public houses to be more precise, there were peanuts strewn across the creaky wood, some I’m sure falling into the cracks of the trap doors behind the bars. We were told that they were there to soak up the spilled beer as the night wore on and we bought that.

It became the norm if you were a Balti-morean (supplant –moron if you are in fact a Pittsburgh fan) and it was comforting as you made your rounds throughout town. East, west, north or south…it didn’t seem to matter. The peanut shells crunched under your shoes or sandals and they stood for something; the more shells, the better the establishment.

As is the case in every town, some places were good at food and drink, and others should just stick to one or the other. Try as we might to discern the obvious, there were always variances. However, when it came to the stalwart pubs, you always knew what you were going to get.

Kipling’s was an all-time favorite, and I was served a dish so simple yet revealing in the spring of 1992 that I could barely contain myself, as is obvious by the fact that I am writing about it nineteen years later: Steamed shrimp and red onion. As simple as it was, a platter full of steamed shrimp paled in comparison to one that was also served with some of the glorious bulbs thrown in the mix.

My revelation was later eclipsed by a trip to Northern California some years later where a restaurant served shrimp and clams, basted in beer, with a super-spicy Chorizo sausage. Could it get any easier?

Presently as I go through my repertoire trying to figure out what I want to cook, what I want to write about and what I care to remember, it brings a smile to my face when I think about the simplicity of this dish. Not only does it bring back great memories, but it also serves as a valuable teaching tool for the simplicity of good taste.

Three major ingredients with a splash of beer make for one serious late-night dish. It’s hard to ask for more than that.

Since we do happen to live on Delmarva, however, I will spare you the challenge of finding a good Chorizo. Hot Italian sausage will do just fine, as I proved this evening in my mission to entertain.

As you go through the recipe, bear in mind one very serious caveat. Where I have ‘cleaned’ shrimp listed in the recipe, there is a certain way to do this, but please be careful. If, and I mean only If, you have good control of knives, use a serrated knife to clean your shrimp with the shell still on. The added flavor is worth the effort but you must be careful.

And as you make this, save the shrimp boil safely and reuse. It will fortify similar to a remouillage (don’t remember? Shame on you) and age gracefully if carefully handled.

So, shrimp cooked, sausage grilled and onions cooked to perfection, you can only imagine the joy with which you will dive into this dish. And if you really want the full effect, have your kids (or grandkids) shell a bunch of peanuts and throw them on the floor. It doesn’t get any better than that…even if you are one of those Pittsburgh fans.

“Balti-Frisco” Style Shrimp

serves 8-ish

3# 16/20 shrimp, ‘cleaned’

Shrimp Boil (Recipe follows)

2 ea. Red Onion, peeled and quartered

4 ea. Hot Italian Sausage or Chorizo

1 ea. Heineken or other Pilsner

Old Bay Seasoning to taste

Grill the sausages. When they are done (and they are fairly bomb-proof) just keep them warm until service
Bring the Shrimp Boil to a rolling boil (hence the moniker) and throw the shrimp and onions in. *Perhaps you may not want to ‘throw’ but rather gently place the ingredients in the boil. No harm is done when caution is at a premium
Immediately remove from heat and let water slowly cook the shrimp and onions. Trust me, if you like beautifully cooked and tender shrimp this is the way to do it
Remove when cooked, and set the ‘boil’ aside to cool. Freeze until next time or refrigerate if you are going to use it soon
Serve with shrimp, sausage, onions and of course a chilly beer or pinot grigio as you desire. No alcohol? This dish is stunning with a plain sparkling water or drink of your choice. That’s up to you!

Shrimp Boil

for 3# of shrimp

1 c. Cider vinegar

Old Bay to taste

1 whole lemon, quartered

water to cover

Combine all ingredients and bring to a boil
Add the shrimp, being careful not to splash any of the hot liquid. This can be a tad painful
Cook for maybe 20 seconds and then remove from heat. The hot water will do the rest
Just let it sit for a spell until the shrimp are just cooked through. This prevents the ‘tire’ effect of shrimp that have been cooked to the consistency of your favorite Michelin. Great on the road…not so great on the tongue

The End of an Era

2011-08-07T15:02:00.000-07:00

So, in 2006 I self-published The Heart of a Kitchen and I am still fairly proud of this short work.  Coming in at a brisk 160-ish pages, it is a collection of short stories and articles from a bygone era; notably, my first year as a food writer.

I am compiling a second book that will be at least double the size, with recipes and color photography, that is already well in the works.  In fact, I am in the compiling stage at present, just trying to figure out how in the flip I am going to organize it and then propose it to publishers.

If you haven't seen the first book, it received good reviews from such esteemed individuals as the former-editor of Sante Magazine, Delmarva Quarterly Art Journal, OC Today, local radio stations et al.

Now that I'm writing off this chapter of my writing career, to use an easily inserted euphemism, I am offering this splendid little paperback beauty for a mere $8 plus shipping.  That's it!

Please visit The Heart of a Kitchen and pick up your copy.  All shipping costs reflect US shipping, and while I can ship overseas, please be ready for the cost of package delivery.

Cheers!

Paul

Sweet Sushi and Strange Dreams

2011-07-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

It’s not often that I speak to someone about being a food writer and not have them inquire as to the origin of my ideas. Foodies find it intriguing; and sometimes so do I.

When I note that it has been seven seasons, I further extrapolate that Sunday nights in my house are interesting to say the least. My children are often exposed to the Marine’s lexicon as I pace around the icebox and pantry, trying to extract just one more chicken article or one more juicy tale of deceit and salmon.

I can usually tell that it’s about to be article night with no ideas in mind when I have my recurring dream about the bullfights in Mexico, and please don’t ask me why. Seeing as how the bullfights make up one of the most intriguing memories of my life, mayhap it is not a bad thing, but perplexing indeed.

On this particular Sunday night, it was shockingly ironic to conjure the bullfight dream as I had already planned on writing about sushi. Bullfights and sushi; [with head cocked to one side in an inquisitive manner] what in the world would I do to tie the two together? On second thought, I won’t even try.

So I won’t even mention the bullfight dream and jump right into sushi. I awakened on this particular morning knowing that I had just served another charity dinner. An article would be easy, so what’s up with the dream? Move on, Paul.

As for the sushi, let’s talk about the hows and whys of this stately dish. Of course being Asian in nature (primarily Japanese but there are other cultures who delight in its presence, notably Korea) there is a bit of a learning curve if authenticity is a goal. Of course, I say this tongue and cheek as I make a crab and peach roll, unbelievable in the contrast of sweet and mild crab and the hot wasabi. Take it with a grain of soy.

Sushi-su, takuan, tobikko, goma, soya, kombu, wasabi and nori are a few terms that might come in handy if you want to undertake this regal roll and it is worth the trip to an Asian market to buy some of these ingredients. We often hear ‘don’t try this at home’ on TV; all I can say is ‘don’t try making this with ingredients purchased at your local larder in the international aisle’. It’s simply not the same.

Making sushi takes practice, but it is rewarding and from what I’m told, one of the healthiest foods rests at your fingertips upon completion. A fun thing to do is to do all of the prep and invite a bunch of friends over. Then, you can have a ‘make your own sushi’ party. It makes for quite an evening, albeit a messy one.

So while the weekend’s charity dinner was a success, and the sushi was a hit, I still had the dream. Oh well, at least the guests were happy. I guess I can have a strange dream every now and then, as long as the food is good.

Ogden Nash on Lettuce

2011-07-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

The Chef Has Imagination
or
It's Too Hard to Do it Easy

Ogden Nash, 1949

Hark to the lettuce lover.

I consider lettuce a blessing.

And what do I want on my lettuce?

Simply a simple dressing

But in dining car and hostel

I grow apoplectic and dropsical;

Is this dressing upon my lettuce,

Or is it a melting popsicle?

A dressing is not the meal, dears,

It requires nor cream nor egg,

Nor butter nor maple sugar,

And neither the nut nor the meg.

A dressing is not a compote,

A dressing is not a custard;

It consists of pepper and salt,

Vinegar, oil, and mustard.

It is not paprika and pickles,

Let us leave those to the Teutons;

It is not a pinkish puddle

Of grenadine and Fig Newtons.

Must I journey to France for dressing?

It isn’t a baffling problem;

Just omit the molasses and yoghurt,

The wheat germ, and the Pablum.

It’s oil and vinegar, dears,

No need to tiddle and toil;

Just salt and pepper and mustard,

And vinegar, and oil.

For Brillat-Savarin, then, and Hoyle

Stick, friends, to vinegar and oil!

Yachtsman, jettison boom and spinnaker,

Bring me oil and bring me vinegar!

Play the music of Haydn or Honegger,

But lace it with honest oil and vinegar!

Choir in church or mosque or synagogue,

Sing, please, in praise of oil and vinegogue.

I’m not an expert, just a beginneger,

But I place my trust in oil and vinegar.

May they perish, as Remus was perished by Romulus,

Who monkey with this, the most sacred of formulas.

And so it was that I found myself profoundly surprised by this poem as I read through a free volume I found in the lobby of the library. As I am not one to fall asleep without a puzzle or a good read, I perused most of the poems in bed over the past couple of nights and this one stuck out as well it should have.

It makes me laugh at all of the mystifying concoctions that I have made over the years as a budding cook and chef, and while I certainly admire Mr. Nash’s candor, I would be remiss of my responsibilities if I told you to stick with the straight-and-narrow in your kitchen explorations.

One thing I can say is that this piece of truthful humor does leave wide open the argument that there are more than four ingredients for a dressing.

Yes Mr. Nash, simplicity is the key, but if everything that we cooked were simple, all would be dull.

So let’s keep it simple, if for no other reason than to keep the old soul of Nash at bay. If we keep to Ogden’s formula, the variance of vinegars and mustards alone would keep your salads fresh and spritely for a couple of months at least.

So go forth, make a simple salad, relish in the fact that it is so easy and delicious and know that in this instance, simpler is better. And when you want to make a more difficult salad dressing, do it and do not be afraid, unless of course the thought of an angry bespectacled specter hovering over your shoulders is too much to bear.

I can taste the salad on my lips as I write this. I can smell the mustard. And I can feel a presence over my shoulder; thankful that I stopped to see what books were free to take.

Rainy Day and Buzzing Body

2011-06-18T04:53:00.000-07:00

Knowing the strange weather anomalies of 2011 around the globe, people tend to have a hard time comprehending that we have had rain three times in the last ten weeks.

Fifty miles to the west is green, but alas we are dry. As such, I was truly a rewarded man yesterday while walking the Culinary Institute's campus in Hyde Park, nested on the Hudson River facing massive cliffs across the water. It is truly prime real estate for storm watchers.

Having just finished three hours of meetings and lunch with colleagues and friends, I was paying more attention to getting my belongings in the car than the weather, but then the thunder came.

It was low and menacing, a sound I completely adore; very King Lear-esque in all of its tempestuous, guttural and earth-shaking majesty.

I quickly ran to the tallest mound I could find and watched the storm roll across the valley in all its splendor. It was breathtaking, and once it was close enough and the penny-sized raindrops began pelting down, I was on my way.

In short, the rain transformed my five and a half hour drive into a gridiron nine-hour jaunt; plenty of time to reflect on the meetings.

A Slim Jim and a Butterfinger later I was fed and finally home. Truth be told, I wasn't sure that the aforementioned delicacies qualified as a meal, but since they were both King-sized, I rest assured that I was fine.

And now it's onto the latest leg of my journey; developing a proposal for publishers to consider my second book. As my impeccable timing would have it, I am a day late, as publishing has taken a hit in the last five years. But as I often say, "off we go, good friends."

18 hours after I first turned the ignition, I have returned home and have my head wrapped around this project more than ever, and the storms played their part. They kept me awake on my drive home, a noble and difficult task I can assure you.

And now it is time to settle in, hope for some rain our way and get my work done; to share, to teach and to learn. I just need a little more thunder for inspiration.