It’s all a slow slide until we’re all wearing Snuggies, I suppose.  While the tailless dinner jacket got its start from the tailor of Queen Victoria’s son, Prince Edward, it got its American name due to its adoption by members of the exclusive country club in Tuxedo Park, New York, where members wore it to dinners.  The founder of the tony club, Pierre Lorillard VI, was a tobacco magnate and avid horseman. It’s safe to assume that he and his blue-blooded cronies enjoyed a cocktail or two.  Which brings us to the cocktail named for Lorillard’s club – cocktails named after fancy clubs tend to be among my favorites.

The Tuxedo Cocktail

2 oz. dry gin

1½ oz. dry vermouth

¼ oz. maraschino liqueur

2 dashes orange bitters

Stir with ice; strain into an absinthe-rinsed, chilled cocktail glass.  Garnish with a brandied cherry and lemon peel.

This precise formulation is from the magnificent PDT Cocktail Book, but the drink itself shows up in many early cocktail guides.  It often appears in two versions, the above, which is often labeled “No. 2”, and a “No. 1” from the Old Waldorf Bar Days.

No. 1 swaps an ounce of fino sherry for the dry vermouth, and omits the maraschino and absinthe rinse.  They’re both great, the No. 1 as a Martini variation with a dry nutty backbone, the No. 2 as a Martinez variation, but all told I prefer the No. 2.  Also, I’m more likely to have a dry vermouth open than a fino sherry.  Either way, the result is one sophisticated tipple.

Drink up,

After years of toiling in hardcore obscurity, definitive Bay Area “power violence” band Ceremony is on the cusp of international recognition and (relative) mainstream success. From their smashing debut—the appropriately titled Violence Violence, 13 songs in 13 minutes—through 2010′s redefining Rohnert Park LP, Ceremony has been recognized for their decidedly artful approach to lo-fi brutality. Over the past 8 years, Ceremony have jumped from label to label, releasing 2 LPs and 4 EPs in the process. Now, after signing to indie powerhouse Matador, the music press is finally taking notice. The more “mainstream” jump is a move that diehard fans, such as myself, view with equal amounts of excitement and skepticism.

The new record—Zoo—is due out next month, and has already received press for its stylistic change. The lead single, “Hysteria” (featured on our January Mixtape) finds the band channeling new pop and experimental sounds, a move that I was initially less enthused by. Despite my apprehension, I was still exceedingly excited for their February 4^th performance at Le Poisson Rouge. And they didn’t disappoint.

Ceremony – Hysteria

Upon arriving at the Bleeker Street venue I see signs noting how the show was sold out- Le Poisson Rouge holds 700 standing. Luckily, I snagged my ticket long in advance. After grabbing a limited release show poster, I lined up with the best of the waning NYHC movement. Within the time of arriving and merchandise scouting, the show room doors had swung open and birthed 500/700 drenched-in-dedication fans looking to rejuvenate their lungs before Ceremony took stage. I capitalized on this moment to go find decent spot for a better live experience, especially having missed the opening acts (sorry, Pissed Jeans).

It was an easy squeeze for me to make it up front stage left where I had planned on spending a few short songs to nab photos. The people around me were already swinging fists and spiting beer on each other, I acknowledged their presence, pointed to my camera and started to mention I’d only be there for a short span. Before finishing the sentence my ears were met with the dissonant chords of “Violence”. I turned my attention to the stage just in time to receive an accidental right hook by a hyped fan stage diving.

The air was thickening with hate as the anxious crowd pulled and pushed in every direction. After the quick face jab I ducked down and squeezed back out of the chaos. Readjusting my clothing I scrambled to an upright position further back just in time to see the boys blast into “Hysteria”. The crowd went nuts, the floor opened up and everyone was now in a huge circle pit. The song performed live was untouchable; I was absolutely floored. In a live setting, “Hysteria” thrived with a 3^rd dimension that the recorded production sorely lacks. It wasn’t too long after that when Ceremony started getting heavy into some older tracks.

They plowed through an abundance of songs off Violence Violence, nailing every little nuance. A quarter of the crowd had left the stage after joining to scream some lyrics from “It’s Going To Be A Cold Winter” and another oldie; so the boys were then able to treat us to a new song. Yet to be heard or released, the new song blew me away again. Continuing on the sounds they explored on Rohnert Park, these new tracks fall a bit closer to conventional punk, not necessarily in a bad way. I encourage you to see their new material live before making snapshot judgments on the hard pressings.

After the new debut the song selection grew better and better. Mid-set the crowd again joined in to help sing the popular cover of Red C’s “Pressure’s On”. Together, the crowd and the performeds digested the agreement of anti-societal importance just in time for a transitional face melt to the raw punk sounds of “M.C.D.F.” Ceremony, at this point, is really feeding into the crowds energy. Every song the stage is again swarmed with fans emerging from the pit. Whatever vocalist Ross Farrar threw out, the crowd threw it right back. They blasted through some more classics such as “My Hands Are Made of Spite”, “Along”, “Kersed”, “Terminal Addiction” and “ He God-Has Favored Our Undertakings”.

Ceremony ended the night with “Lines In My Forehead”; at this point Ferrar is his usual half shirted, mic-wrapped-around-neck angry self. (If he didn’t have his shirt off by then I can guarantee the bombardment of admirers would have left him that way anyhow.) The crowd was now louder then the amplified instruments all screaming, “Shake the earth head through floor!” in unison. It was a chilling moment to share such a profound lust for the lyricism of Farrar with 700 other beating hearts. After seeing Ceremony live you walk tall, can fully breathe and annihilate any task at hand. They are able to produce such an energetic performance you will feel no other show can compare- and your future findings will mostly be correct.

Contrary to my early skepticism, their performance of “Hysteria” and the other new songs pressed me to revisit the track. After scooping up the 7” on my way out, I have been unable to spin much else. Kudos, Ceremony you’ve done it again. This show really excited me for the release of Zoo, and Ceremony’s mini-US and UK tours in support. Find the nearest city to you and treat yourself to a night of hardcore which will propel you into a blunder of emotions.

Nicole Pettigrew is a sound engineer and photographer in New York. Keep your eyes peeled for new FP content from her in 2012.

Despite suffering debasement from low-quality acts and living as a cultural punchline for the better part of the last decade, emo has persevered as a legitimate sub-genre. Songwriters like Jesse Lacey, Patrick Stickles, Max Bemis and David Bazan have managed to preserve the essence of intelligence, self-awareness and honesty that has defined the genre as far back as Minor Threat, while still progressing the sounds in their own ways. After an explosion in popularity (and an equal and opposite backlash) in the late 90s and early Aughts, great emo records are certainly harder to find than they were 20, or even 10 years ago. Which makes the gift of Attack on Memory (Carpark Records), the enormous and fantastic new album from the rapidly rising Cloud Nothings, that much more powerful.

If you’ve heard anything about Attack on Memory, you would know that production was handled by the infamous Steve Albini, known for his awe-inspiring resume of being involved with nearly every great alternative album of the last 20 years. But there is a whole lot more at work over these 33 minutes that isn’t characterized by Albini’s signature sonic touch. First off, the album pulls absolutely no punches, noteworthy in our current days of adult contemporary indie rock. In eight songs, Dylan Baldi and his newly acquired bandmates (more on that later) have done more for heavy, schizophrenic pop than any album since Red Medicine. (update: This may be an overzealous comparison, but you get what I mean) (update 2: How about Analphabetapolothology? These two records are definitely closer related than Red Medicine, one of the greatest rock albums of any generation.) The grippingly explosive first track “No Future/No Past” starts the attack on the offensive. With a thesis of “Give up/Come to/No hope/We’re through” (the only lyrics of the song, save a chant of the title), “No Future/No Past” plays like a fight song for the negative voices in your head.

If you thought track one was heavy, just wait for “Wasted Days.” Clocking in at almost nine minutes (26.6 percent of the entire record) and featuring a four-minute, boiling jam that would make King Crimson and The Wipers quite proud, “Wasted Days” is an early contender for song of the year. At this point in the record, you begin to notice the immense power and weight the new rhythm section adds to Baldi’s personal soothsaying. “I thought I would be more than this,” Baldi screams. Dude, how can you ask for more?

Cloud Nothings – Wasted Days

A shift of gears without losing any momentum showcases the versatility of Baldi’s songwriting. Killer, hooky pop gems like “Fall In” and “Stay Useless” use a bit more of the major scale, sure, but it’s important to note that the rhythm section still sounds as huge as it did on the earlier tracks, which is likely a combination of fantastic musicianship and Albini’s recording techniques. “Stay Useless”—featured on FPs January Mixtape—is a perfect example of an emo song that is appropriate to play at a house party.

Cloud Nothings – Stay Useless

From there, Attack on Memory bounces between the dark, ominous and rage-filled and the catchy, more approachable themes artfully. Whether it’s the pit commanding instrumental of “Separation” or the relative tenderness of closer “Cut You”, the album succeeds at communicating the desperation Baldi no doubt wanted us to hear.

Cloud Nothings – Cut You

The general negativity towards emo is unjust, but understandable. A member of the ever growing family that is punk rock, emo at it’s best provokes thought and reflection through ambiguity, expression and a touch of personal philosophy. Ok, maybe more than just a touch. But it’s in exposing the close relationship between personal feelings and collective (and sometimes unnamed) societal woes do the trademark emo bands do their most damage, in a good way. Favorites like Cap’n Jazz, Pedro the Lion, Brand New, The Promise Ring, Braid, Fugazi, and oh so many others succeed in communicating what goes unsaid in our modern times.

Conversely, it’s the bands that fail to understand the beauty in ambiguity and the power of earnestness are the ones that have failed at making good emo. And most unfortunately, the public remembers the high-profile embarrassments of From First To Last and late-My Chemical Romance more so than they do of the triumphs of others, more artistically accomplished members of the genre. Offense intended, Sonny Moore.

Attack on Memory—and its positive reception—show that great, thoughtful emo can still hold weight in 2012. Baldi certainly did his homework, as evidenced by his clutch hiring of a truly stellar band, his choice in producers and above all, embodying the restless emo spirit in the best way a songwriter can these days. It’s entirely possible that this record will be revered as a genre classic, should others continue with Baldi’s lead. And between now and then, there are no wasted days.

Peter Lillis is a staff writer for Frontier Psychiatrist. He is an Advocate for the Proliferation of Emo Rock. Check out our newly established tumblr this week for some discussion on his favorite emo albums of recent years.

Regardless, until the springtime bounty arrives, we must make proverbial lemonade!  Potatoes are longing to be transformed into latkes and homemade chips!  Onions are waiting to be caramelized!  There’s a silver lining to most “boring” winter veggies, and with a bit of an adventurous attitude, you can really transform the blah into something special.

For example, this dish is truly the creation of an optimist.  Some of winter’s most daring survivors–red onions, mushrooms, kale, and sunchokes–all come together in a harmonious salad perfectly suited for the season.  The onions are caramelized to tender, candy-sweet slivers, and the mushrooms sauteed until crisp.  The kale and farro supply heft and heartiness, while the sunchokes, frankly, steal the show.

What’s a sunchoke you ask?  Yes, this is where the adventurous spirit comes in handy.  Winter produce is largely ignored.  Sunchokes?  Kohlrabi?  Celeriac?  These are not ingredients I grew up with, but with easy access to farmer’s markets, I have begun to explore the world of these unknown winter veggies.  Sunchokes, also known as Jerusalem artichokes, are not exactly lookers.  They resemble ginger root (or twigs), with their knobby joints and thin, beige skin.  They actually happen to be a relative of the sunflower, but the part you cook is the root, a tuber, and flavor-wise it has more in common with the parsnip.   When cooked, the root becomes incredibly creamy, so it’s often pureed into soups or “smears” at fancy restaurants.

When it comes to roots, I always like them better roasted.  It seems to be the secret to turning the hard, resilient vegetables of winter into sweet and tender morsels.  So when I saw that the original recipe for this dish called for pan-frying thin slices of sunchoke, I had to change course.  I’d say it was quite successful.  Because of all the natural sugar, sunchokes become very crispy on the outside when roasted, but the center stays creamy.  I taste a subtle smokiness beneath the sweetness, too, and a bit of a bite.  That sweetness, bolstered by the onions, plays well off the earthy mushrooms and  fresh kale.

Some lessons learned: I used a combination of roasted sunchokes and parsnips, as you’ll see in the photos, but I would just go with all sunchokes.  The flavor is more complex and fitting with the dish.  I also added pine nuts to the recipe below, because I think it needed some crunch.  You might experiment with other nuts, like almonds, too.

Roasted Sunchokes with Farro, Kale, and Caramelized Red Onion
Adapted from Food & Wine3/4 cup farro
2 1/2 pounds large sunchokes, peeled, cut in half lengthwise and then cross-wise into 2-inch pieces
Salt
1 pound Tuscan kale, tough stems discarded
5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 small red onion, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1/2 pound oyster mushrooms, halved if large (could also use a combination of mushrooms, including cremini or shiitake)
Freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup pine nuts

1. Pre-heat the oven to 350*F.

2. In a medium saucepan, cover the farro with 2 inches of water. Bring to a boil, cover and cook over low heat until the farro is tender, about 25 minutes. Drain the farro and set aside.

3. Coat the sunchokes with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and sprinkle with salt.  Spread evenly on a baking sheet and bake for about 15 minutes, stirring halfway through, until tender and lightly browned on the outside.

4. Fill a large saucepan with water and bring to a boil. Add the Tuscan kale and cook until just tender, about 3 minutes. Drain the kale and let cool slightly. Squeeze the kale dry and coarsely chop it.

5. In a small skillet, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Add the sliced red onion and a pinch of salt and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 12 minutes.

6. Add 1 more tablespoon of olive oil and the mushrooms. Season with salt and pepper and cook over moderately high heat until browned, about 3 minutes (longer for other mushroom varieties, up to about 10 minutes). Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil along with the farro, kale, onion, and pint nuts, and cook, stirring, until heated through. Season with salt and pepper and serve.

Freya Bellin writes alternate Wednesdays for Frontier Psychiatrist. Her recent FP recipes include The Ultimate Roasted Chicken, Coffee Roasting 101, and A Dinner Party for New Year’s Eve. 

Sharon Van Etten

After Lana Del Rey’s tortured pop princess act last week and Madonna’s gladiator-cheerleader jukebox musical on Superbowl Sunday, the new Sharon Van Etten record came as a welcome burst of understated authenticity. There’s nothing flashy or pretentious about Van Etten.  Her new music is harder and a bit more country than her prior folky material, but still a far cry from hard rock, and as far from the dance floor as a wallflower at the prom. Her songs are still mostly about heartbreak, with plainspoken titles like “All I Can,” “We Are Fine,” “Give Out,” and “In Line.” Her lyrics are still filled with earnest lines like:  “You’re the reason why I’ll move to the city/And why I might leave.” And apparently her real name is Sharon Van Etten.

Sharon Van Etten, Give Out

Unlike Del Rey, there’s nothing controversial about Van Etten’s life story: She grew up in New Jersey, moved to Tennessee, then settled a few years ago in Brooklyn. The new record is called Tramp, as in vagabond, not prostitute. (Apparently, she’s done a bit of couch surfing). And there’s no controversy about her critical acclaim or any charges of unwarranted overnight success. Her profile has grown steadily from her Pitchfork-blessed debut in 2009 to recent mainstream press for Tramp, which includes Jimmy Fallon, NPR’s First Listen, and a profile in The New York Times Magazine. With all that attention, it’s easy to forget that only a year ago she was “shitting her pants” when she played the Bowery Ballroom.

Tramp is longer, louder, sleeker, and more musically sophisticated than Van Etten’s first two records. Both Because I Was In Love and Epic centered on her solo voice –a middle ground between pretty and gritty–and workmanlike acoustic guitar. They sound one step up from the coffeehouse. The new album has professional polish, with layered vocal harmony, electric and acoustic guitars, organ, ukelele, and drums. Most songs follow the classic arc: quiet beginning with an instrument or two, a gradual increase in volume and complexity, followed by a peak, and a quiet denouement. The album follows a similar pattern, from the reverb soaked electric guitar that opens “Warsaw” to the feedback fade that ends the final ballad “Joke or a Lie.”

Credit for Tramp’s tasteful aesthetic and high level of musicianship goes to producer Aaron Dessner, guitarist and main songwriter for The National. Other guest musicians include Dessner’s brother Bryce (The National),  Zach Condon (Beirut), Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak), Matt Barrick (The Walkmen), Thomas Bartlette (Doveman), and Julianna Barwick. That’s a lot of indie rock royalty. But unlike, say, Schoolboy Q’s Habits and Contradictions, the guests never upstage the main act. Van Etten is always the star, even when she shares lead vocals with Condon on “We Are Fine,” one of the album’s few light-hearted spots.

Sharon Van Etten, We Are Fine

Van Etten’s lyrics are specific enough to seem rooted in experience, but vague enough to apply to anyone who’s struggled to make a relationship work, mourned an ex-lover, or suffered from a broken heart.  In “I’m Wrong” she sings to a long-distance lover: “Tell me I’m worth all the miles you put on your car.” In “Ask,” she realizes: “I think I need more than flowers and letters, man.”  As the rest of Tramp makes clear, she doesn’t want the trapping of love; she wants the real thing.

While there’s plenty of angst, the songs stop short of despair and self-pity. For all the pain in the lyrics, Van Etten keeps a lid on her emotions. She never sounds unhinged or desperate or besotted or angry or vengeful. One could argue that Tramp is too restrained, too tasteful, too appropriate –and cite the album as futher proof that indie rock has become too adult contemporary. But if Van Etten lacks the experimental edge of Merrill Garbus or Annie Clarke, there’s no doubting her sincerity or her skill at rendering a new take on a classic formula: girl, guitar, and grief.

Keith Meatto is co-editor of Frontier Psychiatrst. He recently wrote about Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die, part of a dialogue with L.V. Lopez. In 2011, he saw Sharon Van Etten at the Bowery Ballroom in January and in December at the Beacon Theater, where she opened for The National.

Because I often expect more complicated pop from Madonna, I lamentably find her latest cheerleader ditty “Give Me All Your Luvin’” insipid.  Besides its generic lyrics, the song doesn’t even use its guest spots, by Nicki Minaj and M.I.A., in compelling ways.  With the pall of this song hanging over this new Madonna era, I was a bit unsure how she would fare at the Super Bowl half-time but it ended up being a pretty fantastic show.

The over-the-top Roman gladiator entrance (gold, feathers, shirtless men galore!) to “Vogue,” was divine, and a highlight of the set.  “Vogue” segued seamlessly into “Music” which showcased some terrific backup dancing.  The Madgesty seemed a bit constricted in those leather high-heeled boots, through she did some impressive cartwheeling.  With its booming bass and electro stabs, the song still sounds great 12 years later.  The mixing of “Sexy and I Know It’ was cute, but I’m not sure how necessary LMFAO was to the proceedings.  ”Give Me All Your Luvin’” featured Madonna doing the twist (a dance that should come back!) with a gold pom pom and Nicki and M.I.A., adorned with gold headpieces, enthusiastically giving it their all.  I would have preferred Madonna doing her classic “Like A Prayer” solo, even if Cee-Lo did add some nice harmonies.  Admittedly, his black sequined frock upstaged hers.  Overall, after “World Peace” was shouted out in giant glimmering lights (my friend cynically mentioned, “that is so Madonna”), I was happy to see her perform so lovingly and graciously spotlight some newer acts.  With decades of catchy music behind her, she still loves to put on a grand show and remains our most magnetic female pop star.

Compared to past halftime shows, Madonna definitely trounced last year’s Black Eyed Peas robot hodgepodge and the performances of the previous solo female headliner, Janet Jackson, who was only memorable for ‘Nipplegate.’  I may have to return my gay card to say I found the shows of Prince, The Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, and U2 more electric than Madonna’s set.  I guess M.I.A. flipped the bird, but there are much more offensive things on network TV (like Republican debates and the nauseatingly frequent ads for “Smash”).

Jeffery Berg is a poet who lives in Manhattan and a regular contributor to Frontier Psychiatrist. His recent pieces include the Top 10 Poetry Books of 2011 and a review of the Drive soundtrack. He edits poetry for Clementine and Mary and writes about film, guilty pleasures, and various obsessions on jdbrecords.

Lana Del Ray, Video Games

L.V.,

It seems that we’ve come to some basic agreement about Lana Del Rey: She has talent, her songs are catchy, and the negative reaction to Born to Die says more about the biases of her critics than it does about her music. But perhaps I was too quick to dismiss your claim that her presence on the album matters less than the songs themselves. It’s true that in pop music, the song often carries more weight than the singer. If this weren’t true, wedding bands, cover bands, jazz and blues bands, karaoke, and American Idol simply would not exist.  This got me thinking: What would a Lana Del Ray song sound like minus Lana Del Rey? Fortunately, this is not a hypothetical question.

The web is filled with amateur covers of Lana Del Rey songs, many recorded after some of her songs leaked last year but before Born To Die came out this week. Obviously some are duds. But the fact that several of them are compelling as live performances with stripped down instrumentation and without professional production, speaks to the strength of the songwriting. And some of these unknowns sing as well as, if not better than, Del Rey.

Beyond the adoring amateurs, actual professionals have also covered Del Rey songs, a fact that further sanctions the strength of the original material. Kasabian gives the piano ballad “Video Games” a classic rock spin. Bombay Bicycle Club takes a more twee approach, with a toy piano and vocals split between its male and female singers, making a lonely lament into a dialogue. Now what to make of the fact that both of these bands are English? Do our former colonial overlords appreciate aspects of Del Rey that Americans have missed? It wouldn’t be the first time. The Brits love plenty of music that we find tacky or trashy in America (Muse, for example). This is not because they are Philistines: they’ve brought us great music from The Beatles to James Blake. It’s just more evidence that cultural biases are at play in the evaluation of Born to Die, including my own predilection for anything British, from BBC News to Premier League soccer to the original Tinker Tailor Soldier spy miniseries. Lana Del Rey is already on the cover of the new issue of British Vogue. Can we expect her in the next season of Downton Abbey?

Still, if all these covers have given me a deeper appreciation for the songwriting on Born to Die –and temper my claim that Del Rey’s presence is essential on the album –I’d still rather listen to the original. Del Rey sings with a compelling rawness that transcends the quality of her voice and her lyrical clichés. Hearing her try on voices, masks, and attitudes feels like re-reading an old journal filled with stuff that you thought was too boring or trite or honest or weird to tell your friends. However awkward or pat or immature her answers might be, she’s asking fundamental human questions about life, love, money, death and –an aspect we both neglected to address earlier in this dialogue – the search for God.

To answer your question about my “final” take on the album, I’ve had Born to Die on repeat all week, literally to the exclusion of all other music (except the new Rodrigo y Gabriela record, Area 52.) I imagine my enthusiasm will fade in a few weeks or months –as it often does after a period of intense listening to a new album. We shall see.  Regardless, I doubt I’ll switch to Diet Mountain Dew. When I crave grapefruit soda (and I often do), I’m loyal to three brands: Izze, Fresca, and Jarritos. Maybe Lana can incorporate these beverages into her next album? For now, I’m looking forward to our next Dialogue. Until then, please don’t read my journal.

Keith Meatto is co-editor of Frontier Psychiatrist. His first impressions of Born To Die appeared on FP yesterday. He does not play video games.

Lana del Rey - Born To Die

Lana Del Rey – “Off To The Races”

Keith,

I must admit that your critiques are valid: I certainly short-changed LDR’s vocal capabilities (unfairly so), and I am most certainly a cynic!  Allow me, then, an opportunity to re-evaluate and rephrase.  I suppose I was trying to say that, although Lizzie Grant is certainly a capable vocalist, her presence on the album didn’t dramatically affect my impression of the record.  Yes, I enjoyed her efforts on “Off to the Races,” but I would have enjoyed the song just as much had her singing been replaced by rhymes from Kendrick Lamar and Schoolboy Q.  As a matter of fact, this song from Rick Ross’s Rich Forever mixtape would have fit in perfectly on Born To Die:

Rick Ross feat. Kelly Rowland – “Mine Games”

All of which is to say that, while LDR certainly has some talent, that talent isn’t what makes the record’s high points high, and it isn’t what makes the record’s low points low.  I don’t think this should come as a shock to people: pop music history is full of great songs that were great regardless of who was singing them (think, for example, of anything Frank Sinatra ever sang, or any blues song).  And so, if Lana del Rey’s actual influence on Born To Die is not particularly dramatic, why are the critics evaluating the record so fixated on her? You wrote in your previous entry “Who cares about her fake name or fake lips,” yet the answer seems to be: a lot of people.  I wholeheartedly agree with your sentiment that such things are not relevant, but I remain intrigued by why so many critics seem to think they are.

Luckily, I think I may have found the answer to this question.  I have recently been reading Thinking, Fast and Slow, a fascinating study of why human beings cast judgments the way they do, by Nobel Laureate Daniel Kahneman.  In it, Kahneman makes the extremely evidence-based argument that, when confronted with an intricate and challenging question, the human mind will unconsciously replace it with an easier one, answer that, and then convince itself that it has in fact answered the initial question.  We do this in many interesting ways, but perhaps the most powerful is known as “the affect heuristic,” whereby the difficult question “What do I think about this?” is replaced by the easier and  more intuitive question, “How do I feel about this?”  This switch is simple, and we do it constantly: it is the technique that most often leads us to choose a college, buy a car, or elect a presidential candidate..

It is also, I think, the underpinning of a lot of the negative sentiment surrounding Born To Die.  The question “is Born To Die any good?” is actually quite difficult.  You have to have some sense of the record’s goals, compare and contrast it with its historical antecedents, be able (as you mentioned) to separate its lyrical and musical content…it’s a lot of work!  By contrast, the question “How do I feel about Lana del Rey?” is quite simple for most people in our demographic.  She is the artificial product of corporate engineering.  Her lips are fake.  She’s filthy rich.  Success has been handed to her.  We hate her.  She sucks.

It is of course a quick trip from this answer to “the album sucks,” and as we’ve both mentioned the album provides plenty of post hoc justifications for this conclusion (“Feet don’t fail me now/Take me to the finish line?”  Really?).  But, the conclusion also forces you to ignore or even deride the album’s many engaging qualities, not the least of which is that it’s incredibly infectious.  Like all difficult questions, the true answer is nuanced and complex, and it cannot be  arrived at without acknowledging one’s biases.

The affect heuristic is the constant enemy of the cultural critic, and it is one with which I frequently struggle.  In this case, however, I may have found my way past it: I was admittedly pre-disposed to mock Born To Die, but I find myself increasingly drawn to it, if for no other reason because of its confounding mix of compelling strengths and distressing flaws.  I wonder then, Keith, what your final impressions of the album are.  Do you think you’ll find yourself tossing it aside, spinning it nightly, or allowing it to fade into the recesses of your memory?  Or, at the very least, do you think it will have you drinking more Diet Mountain Dew?

Signing off,

LVL

Lana Del Rey, Diet Mountain Dew

Who cares if Lana Del Rey’s daddy is rich or her mama’s good looking? Who cares that music tastemakers made her an Internet sensation, then tore her to shreds by the time her album Born to Die was released this week? Who cares about her fake name or fake lips? In short, who cares about the year’s worth of chatter about a 25-year-old singer? Here’s an idea: Let’s actually listen to the record. Let’s apply John Updike’s dictum to literary critics: review the album, not the reputation. By that standard, Born to Die is neither a masterpiece nor a catastrophe, but a satisfying piece of pop that sounds good as long as you don’t peer too closely under the hood.

On musical grounds, Born To Die’s harsh reception seems unwarranted. Ten of its twelve songs are polished pop tunes, anchored by trip-hop beats, strings, and splashes of reverb soaked guitar. Although the dark bubblegum sound is mostly languid, one of the catchiest tunes is the bouncy, irreverent “Diet Mountain Dew.” Admittedly, the fusion of clumsy hip-hop verse and Lady Gaga chorus (“National Anthem”) and the teen hooker tearjerker (“Carmen”) break the spell. But two clunkers hardly wreck a record, unless you’ve been writing or reading premature predictions of perfection.

Yesterday, L.V, you argued that any of one thousand singers could replace Del Rey with little effect on the album. Such hyperbole, however, seems to short-change her vocal capability. On Born to Die, she sings, slurs, growls, chants, chirps, baby talks, and raps her way through her tales of despair, debauchery, and darkness. She experiments with a variety of styles, among songs and often within the same song. A cynic could say she hasn’t found her voice. An optimist would praise her willingness to take risks to find it.  Either way, her versatility means she’s no mere flavor enhancement, but the main dish. If anything, the music seems like a garnish. At her best, Del Rey channels Fiona Apple, Amy Winehouse, and Regina Spektor. As for the weaker parts of her game, such as her rapping skills, perhaps she could take a few linguistic lessons from this woman.

But if Born to Die sounds good, the lyrics don’t stand up to scrutiny. Pop music doesn’t have to be poetry, but Del Rey drops enough clichés, well, to sink a ship.  The title track alone contains the following couplets: “Feet don’t fail me now/Take me to the finish line;” “Lost but now I am found/I can see but once I was blind” and “Take a walk on the wild side/Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain.” Elsewhere “heaven is a place on earth,” streets are “paved with gold,” and “love hurts.” Her cultural references –Chateau Marmot, The Hamptons, James Dean—are equally hackneyed, even if she intends them as satire. (Credit is due, however, for rhyming “shameless” with “Cipriani’s basement.”)  In a brief flash of high culture, Del Rey quotes the famous phrase from the first page of Lolita (“Light of my life/Fire of my loins”), then follows with a low culture rhyme: “Gimme them gold coins/Gimme them coins.”

Perhaps the most troubling part of Born to Die is Del Rey’s stance toward her gender. Her narrators act and feel like disempowered women from a bygone decade –or century. They are either victims or seducers. They crave love, but settle for sex. They fall for bad boys and losers. They get ditched and then wait for the guys to come back, sometimes “for a million years,” and sometimes for eternity, as in “Dark Paradise”, where a woman fantasizes about a reunion with her dead lover in the afterlife.  And in case you missed the point, the chorus of the last song declares: “This is what makes us girls/we don’t stick together/And we put love first.” The melody may be triumphant, but the message is tragic, not because love doesn’t matter, but because it’s matters too much to be reduced to stock situations and platitudes.

The title Born to Die now sounds like a joint birth announcement and epitaph, a meta-commentary on the vagaries of hype and backlash. Beyond any discussion of the album’s merits or flaws, the Lana Del Rey controversy raises questions about how we discover and appreciate music, or any art form. In a media world supersaturated with institutional and self-styled cultural gatekeepers, all competing to anoint America’s Next Top Whatever, can we trust any judgment beyond our own ears? And why is our culture so obsessed with extremes and contests where the winners take all and the losers go home empty handed? Is there any middle ground between the 1% and the 99%?

Back to you, L.V.

Keith Meatto is co-editor of Frontier Psychiatrist. He recently reviewed Extra Virginity: The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil. He prefers regular grapefruit sodato Diet Mountain Dew.

Lana del Rey - Born To Die

(Today we introduce our new column, Dialogue.  Every month, editors Keith Meatto and L.V. Lopez will discuss an ongoing controversy in pop music.  This month, the editors take on Lana del Rey’s Born To Die and the critical struggles surrounding it.)

Lana del Rey – “Born To Die”

For those of you who don’t follow such things, Lana del Rey is the stage name of Lizzy Grant, the 25-year-old daughter of multi-millionaire/”domain legend” Rob Grant, and the most hyped newcomer to the pop-music scene in at least a decade.  She slithered onto the scene in June of last year with “Video Games,” a sepia-toned video that highlighted her sultry voice and aloof strain of beauty and seemed to justify her outlandish appropriation of the title “gangsta Nancy Sinatra.”  Grant subsequently dropped the video for follow-up “Blue Jeans” and, on the strength of nothing more than two YouTube videos, signed a reportedly massive deal with Interscope Records, home to other small-scale DIY pop acts like, um, Eminem and Lady Gaga.

Then it all went bad.  Once the public-at-large came into the agreement with the press over Grant’s appeal, the press (and the hipster community that drives it) turned on Grant in a monumental way.  All of a sudden the popular discussion shifted away from Grant’s music and toward her monied past, her various cosmetic procedures, and her choice to cede her image to her corporate overlords.  She did herself no favors by appearing on Saturday Night Live, a performance so depressingly wretched that Brian Williams felt the need to publicly trash it (where have you gone, Peter Jennings?).

All of which leads us to January 31st and the release of Grant’s Interscope debut Born To Die.  Over the course of the last 6 months, the record has gone from “massively anticipated artistic statement” to “massively anticipated wanton catastrophe.”  Like a 18th-century public hanging or a 19th-century midget fight, the public is lining up to laugh heartily at the spectacle. The past two weeks have seen a series of efforts by rock critics web-wide to be the first to tell you how bad this thing sucks.

And so Keith, after one full spin of the record, I pass the following verdict on to you: it’s really not that bad.  By my estimation there are two songs that are quite off-putting (“National Anthem” and “Carmen”), but the majority of Born To Die is in fact quite enjoyable.  The moody, lilting, bubble-gum beats that underlie most of the tracks are nothing if not mood-enhancing, and I think anyone with two ears and a pulse will find himself humming some of these tunes throughout the day after one quick pass through the album.  If there is any obvious criticism to be leveled, it is that Grant herself doesn’t really add much; indeed, I have the feeling that she could be replaced by any one of thousands of singers and the record would have the same effect.  I’ll admit that there were a few times I thought she should have been replaced; she has a tendency to change the timbre of her voice drastically within an individual song, and this effect can be quite grating.  But all-in-all I felt like her vocals were kind of beside the point: she’s there to enhance the flavor rather than to provide it.

Of course, as someone who follows the machinations of the music press far too closely, I will admit that it is difficult for me to trust my own evaluation.  After all, my expectations were so low that the bar wasn’t difficult to clear, and my contrarian streak is so strong that I have to think it factored in to my favorable impressions.  Keith, as someone who views himself as something of a music purist, and more to the point as someone who does his best to stay clear of the often-catty cultural fray, I’m very curious as to your impressions of Born To Die.  You may be able to answer the question that is on many people’s minds: what does this music sound like to someone who hasn’t been biased by months of build-up?

Looking forward to your impressions,

LVL

Read the rest of our discussion!  Click for parts two, three, and four.

Every cook knows olive oil is essential. For Tom Mueller, it’s the lifeblood of Western Civilization. In Extra Virginity, his lively, earnest, exhaustive, and sometime exhausting debut, Mueller discovers oil not only as food, but as fuel, lubricant, medicine, skin care, perfume, aphrodisiac, religious symbol, and way of life. In the words of one aficionado, true extra virgin olive oil is the stuff that “makes you get down on your knees and say, ‘Fuck’.”

As Extra Virginity explains, all olive oils are not equal. Each country has its own varieties, such as biancolilla, cornicabra, and racioppella in Italy, picual and arbequina in Spain, and koroneiki in Greece. Oil tasters talk like sommeliers; to them, oil can have pleasant notes of cucumber and artichoke or taste like pipi de gatto (cat pee). More broadly, oils range in quality from lampante (lamp oil) to extra virgin, a term coined in 1960 by the European Parliament. Unfortunately, as Mueller reports in the book’s central exposé, rampant fraud and lax regulation have made “extra virgin” meaningless. If you buy a bottle labeled extra virgin, there’s a good chance it’s lower quality or adulterated oil that pretends to be the real deal.

With its tight and obsessive focus on an ostensibly mundane topic, Extra Virginity follows in the spirit of Mark Kurlanksy’s Salt and Michael Pollan’s The Botany of Desire. Mueller deftly alternates between reportage from the groves, factories, laboratories, kitchens, and tables of Italy, Greece, Spain, Australia, Israel, and California and historical background, which includes the following tidbits:

• Jesus’s foreskin and umbilical cord were supposedly preserved in olive oil in 11th century Rome.
• A Cretan proverb says, more or less, “Eat olive oil to come at night, eat butter to sleep tight.”
• Thomas Jefferson, impressed by olive trees in Europe, started an olive plantation in South Carolina and insisted on an olive branch in the eagle’s talon on the Great Seal of the United States.
• In World War II, Italian partisans hid from Nazis and Fascists inside the hollow trunks of olive trees.
• Don Corleone, of The Godfather, was based on a olive oil baron and mafioso Joseph Profaci.

Extra Virginity begins at an elite olive oil tasting session in Milan, an event Mueller mocks until he partakes and begins to appreciate its subtleties. As the book unfolds, he becomes hooked on the green Kool-Aid, as in this account of a three-day olive oil conference in Verona:

The audience tasted the oils on their own, after which the chefs explained how to blend them into the foods, pointing out how oil brought out hidden flavors in the dishes, and how each oil, with its own distinct pungency, fruitiness, aromatics, and mouthfeel, changed the fundamental character of the food in different ways, highlighting the succulent flakiness of the mullet and the floral notes hidden in the chickpea soup, and causing the mousse’s sweetness to linger luxuriously on the tongue.

Beyond such gourmet breathlessness, Extra Virginity joins a growing number of books about how food is produced, regulated, labeled, and sold. The book is less gloomy than Four Fish, Paul Greenberg’s apocalyptic appraisal of the seafood industry, less morally outraged than Eating Animals, Jonathan Safran Foer’s polemic against the meat and poultry industry, and less dogmatic than anything by Michael Pollan. Still, these books share a message: the food we eat has moral, economic, political, environmental, and health consequences. Ultimately, Mueller emerges as a champion of the underdog: whether it’s the small oil maker in Italy, Spain, Australia, or California or the consumer without knowledge or access to “the queen of fats.”

Keith Meatto is co-editor of Frontier Psychiatrist. His recent reviews include Adam and Evelyn, Sex on the Moon and Between Parentheses. For more reading recommendations, see his Top 10 Fiction Books of 2011 and Top 10 Nonfiction Books of 2011.

On Monday, our film expert Franklin Laviola shared his predictions for the approaching Academy Awards nominations.  Not surprisingly, he did quite well: 71 out of 104 nominations correct, perfect performances in the Best Director and Best Foreign Language Film Categories, and a spot-on prediction that Hugo and The Artist would lead all films with 11 and 10 nominations, respectively.  He also correctly predicted that Jennifer Lawrence would look like this:

Of course, the fact that Mr. Laviola correctly predicted many of the nominations does not mean that he agreed with them.  Thankfully, he stopped by to give us some quick thoughts on the best and worst of the Academy’s choices.  Let us know if you agree.

THE GOOD …

The Tree of Life nominated for Best Picture, Best Director (Terrence Malick), and Best Cinematography

Hugo nominated for 11 Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director (Martin Scorsese)

Nick Nolte (Warrior) nominated for Best Supporting Actor

Brad Pitt (Moneyball) nominated for Best Actor

Gary Oldman (Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy) nominated for Best Actor, shockingly his first (!) Oscar nomination ever

Rooney Mara (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) nominated for Best Actress

The standout actresses of The Help — Viola Davis (Best Actress), Octavia Spencer (Best Supporting Actress), and, especially, Jessica Chastain (Best Supporting Actress) — all recognized

Drive nominated for Best Sound Editing

Anonymous nominated for Best Costume Design

A Separation nominated for Best Original Screenplay

THE BAD …

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close nominated for Best Picture

The Artist nominated for 10 Oscars

The Descendants nominated for 5 Oscars

Bridesmaids nominated for Best Supporting Actress (Melissa McCarthy) and Best Original Screenplay

Transformers: Dark of the Moon nominated for Best Visual Effects, Best Sound Editing, and Best Sound Mixing

The Tree of Life snubbed for Best Visual Effects, not to mention a number of other categories

Drive snubbed in almost every category, including Best Picture, Best Director (Nicolas Winding Refn), Best Actor (Ryan Gosling), Best Supporting Actor (Albert Brooks), Best Film Editing, Best Cinematography, Best Sound Mixing, Best Original Score

Michael Shannon (Take Shelter) snubbed for Best Actor

The Adventures of Tintin snubbed for Best Animated Feature

Both of Werner Herzog’s films (Cave of Forgotten Dreams & Into the Abyss) not even deemed eligible for the Best Documentary Feature category

Franklin P. Laviola is a filmmaker and freelance writer, based in the New York area. He wrote and directed the award-winning short film “Happy Face,” which has screened at over twenty film festivals. He recently wrote on the 10 Best Films from the 2011 New York Film Festival. Stay tuned for his list of the best and worst movies of 2011.

Today we bring you Side B of our January mixtape; you can listen to Side A here.  Even better, you can download the whole thing over at our tumblr.  This installment includes selections from two of our favorite January releases, Schoolboy Q’s Habits & Contradictions and Cloud Nothings’ Attack on Memory, as well as cuts from upcoming albums by Royal Baths and Blondes.  Enjoy.

1. Cloud Nothings – “Stay Useless”

2. Schoolboy Q feat. A$AP Rocky – “Hands on the Wheel”

3. Royal Baths – “Faster, Harder”

4. Blondes – “Wine”

5. Young Dro – “Gettin’ To Da Money”

6. Grouper – “Demona” (Dead Moon Cover)

7. Zammuto – “F U C-3PO”

8. THEESatisfaction — Do You Have Time

9. Dustin Wong – “Liberal Christian Youth Ministry”

10. Phedre – “In Decay”

11. Heems feat. Danny Brown and Mr. Muthafuckin’ eXquire – “You Have to Ride the Wave”

12. Julianna Barwick – “Never Change”

It’s been said before and hopefully it will be said again: hip hop is on the rise. Last year we learned that the Internet actually does work as a means for promotion, catapulting hungry artists from nobodies to somebodies over night. By removing the tawdry veil of fake success that defined hip hop of the mid-Aughts, the Internet empowered kids who were interested in expression first, fame second. Because of that exposure, the power in hip hop is gradually being transferred from out-of-touch superstars to those who care more about advancing the genre than their own ego.

So that puts us in 2012. If this is in fact the Return of Hip Hop, what exactly can we expect to hear? If Schoolboy Q’s Habits and Contradictions is any indication, near-future hip hop will be swagged out, expertly produced, often frightening and completely human.

As the first significant hip hop release of 2012, HnC sets the bar relatively high. Employing his knack for storytelling, Schoolboy Q takes us through 17 (18 if you purchased on iTunes) stories of depravity, sacrilege, honesty, violence and pills (lots and lots of pills.) The opener, “Sacrilegious” starts things off on an exceptionally dark tone, sharing the inner monologue of a conflicted gangster over a driving, guitar-based beat, courtesy of Tabu.

Schoolboy Q – Sacrilegious

While the contradictions are on full display on tracks like “Sacrilegious”, most of the album is dedicated to dangerous habits and those who do little to change them. Tracks like the hyphy “Druggys wit Hoes Again” featuring Ab Soul or the woozy Portishead sampling “Raymond 1969” are odes to poor decisions, be it carrying extra pills to a party or “loading pistols while getting high.” However, the centerpiece of the habits content is definitely “Hands on the Wheel”, an ominous banger featuring that pretty motherfucker, A$AP Rocky. Rocky and Q talk drugs like others discuss sports or literature, presenting substances as an integral part of their lives. “My philosophy upon living right, nigga: weed and brews and head every night.” It’s a pretty compelling philosophy.

Schoolboy Q – Hands on the Wheel (feat. A$AP Rocky)

Back on that contradiction tip, HnC ends with a surprisingly positive and tender tone with “Blessed”, a track about recognizing how far we’ve come. Over a Burial-esque beat, Q laments the struggles of the street while trying to remind himself that it’ll be ok. However, the album’s strongest verse is also the last, courtesy of collective-mate Kendrick Lamar. Lamar’s positivity is inspiring and chilling, reminding us all that we really are blessed. What he’s saying is important, but it’s his delivery that sets Lamar above the rest.

Schoolboy Q – Blessed (feat. Kendrick Lamar)

While HnC never introduces any new themes to the canon of hip hop, it is a triumph because both Schoolboy’s amped, yet composed flow and the jet black production, provided by Lex Luger, The Alchemist, A$AP Ty Beats, Best Kept Secret and Digi+Phonics, among others. Schoolboy sets himself apart from his depressed emcee peers (ahem, Cudi) in his strength of conviction. Rather than inciting yawns or worse, Habits and Contradictions succeeds by giving substantial insight into the complex yet compelling figure that is Quincy Hanley with a banging soundtrack to boot.

If 2012 will be the year hip hop returns, credit must be given to Schoolboy Q and the team for this release. The reality and earnestness of HnC is its strongest attribute, linking this release to other hip hop greats. It is apparent throughout that this is the album that Quincy wanted to make, which is an important distinction to make. While the Aughts were filled with meaningless, directionless hip hop, the new generation are making the music they want to hear. Ultimately, HnC is true hip hop, nothing more, nothing less. And if this is the beginning of a trend, then we are blessed, indeed.

Peter Lillis is a staff writer for Frontier Psychiatrist. Despite being MIA for a while, he looks forward to giving ya’ll some more music and wordy reviews with more consistency.

I regretfully did not have the pleasure of going to Zuni Café on my last visit to the Bay Area.  And so I must thank the kind Judy Rodgers, who, via the Zuni Café  Cookbook, has gifted us a glimpse into how it’s done.  This roasted chicken recipe is so straightforward and accessible that even a home cook such as myself, who still giggles and squeals pulling the liver and neck out of a whole chicken, can deliver an incredible, Zuni-licious chicken.  Now, I didn’t say it’s a short recipe, but truly, if you follow the steps, I think it would be hard to mess up.

But let’s not stop at chicken.  (Moist, tender, crispy-skinned chicken…)  The full Zuni chicken experience requires that it sit atop a bed of crunchy, zingy, garlicky bread salad.  The word salad is used here for lack of a more accurate descriptor.  It’s sort of a stuffing-like mish-mosh of all things delicious and flavorful.  The basic idea is that you broil chunks of day-old bread with some olive oil, add plumped currants, toasted pine nuts, and sautéed garlic and scallions, and then toss everything with a tart vinaigrette and some bitter greens.  It’s warm, soft, crisp, sweet, and tangy, all at once, like a sophisticated, elegant comfort food.

So, admittedly, it’s not the kind of meal you pull together at a moment’s notice.  You must dry-brine your chicken a few days in advance and leave time to let fresh bread go stale.  There are many steps, as you patiently flip your chicken and reheat your bread salad.  But this is one of those rare dishes that is 100% worth the forethought and the effort.  I mean, hey, it’s cold out – what’s better than staying inside, huddled around the stove?  I encourage you to persist!  Victory will be yours!  At the very least, I insist that you roast a chicken.  You will be grateful.

As I mentioned, this recipe is remarkably long.  For the chicken and salad combined, it’s nearly 4 pages in the original cookbook.  I borrowed this shortened version from Smitten Kitchen, and shortened it even a bit further for simplicity’s sake.  Unless you have an oven situation that allows you to broil and bake at the same time, you’re going to have to roast the chicken first, then get started on the bread salad.  It’s no problem – all can be reheated.  Also, to help guide you at a high level, here are the basic steps:

1-3 days in advance:

- Clean and prep the chicken

- Buy bread; let it get stale in a paper bag

Day of:

- Roast chicken

- Cut and broil the bread chunks

- Toss bread with vinaigrette

- Prep salad ingredients (plump the currants, toast the pine nuts, sauté the garlic and scallions)

- Reheat bread salad (and chicken as needed) in the oven

- Toss everything together

Zuni Café Roasted Chicken

Adapted from smittenkitchen.com, which adapted it from the Zuni Café, San Francisco

Serves 2 to 4

One small chicken, 2 3/4 to 3 1/2-pounds

4 tender sprigs fresh thyme, marjoram, rosemary or sage, about 1/2 inch long

3/4 teaspoon salt

3/4 to 1 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

A little water

Season the chicken: [1 to 3 days before serving; give a 3 1/4 to 3 1/2-pound chicken at least 2 days]

1. Remove and discard the lump of fat inside the chicken. Rinse the chicken and pat very dry inside and out. Be thorough — a wet chicken will spend too much time steaming before it begins to turn golden brown.

2. Approaching from the edge of the cavity, slide a finger under the skin of each of the breasts, making 2 little pockets. Now use the tip of your finger to gently loosen a pocket of skin on the outside of the thickest section of each thigh. Using your finger, shove an herb sprig into each of the 4 pockets.

3. Season the chicken liberally all over with salt and pepper. Season the thick sections a little more heavily than the skinny ankles and wings. Sprinkle a little of the salt just inside the cavity, on the backbone, but don’t otherwise worry about seasoning the inside. Twist and tuck the wing tips behind the shoulders. Cover loosely and refrigerate.

Prepare your oven and pan: [Day of, total time is 45 minutes to 1 hour]

Preheat the oven to 475°F. Choose a shallow flameproof roasting pan or dish barely larger than the chicken, or use a 10-inch skillet with an all-metal handle (just the right size for a 3 pound chicken). Preheat the pan over medium heat. (Pre-heating keeps the chicken skin from sticking.) Wipe the chicken dry and set it breast side up in the pan. It should sizzle.

Roast the chicken: Place the chicken in the pan in the center of the oven and listen and watch for it to start browning within 20 minutes. If it doesn’t, raise the temperature progressively until it does. The skin should blister, but if the chicken begins to char, or the fat is smoking, reduce temperature by 25 degrees. After about 30 minutes, turn the bird over. Roast for another 10 to 20 minutes, depending on size, then flip back over to re-crisp the breast skin, another 5 to 10 minutes.

Rest the chicken: Remove the chicken from the oven and turn off the heat. Lift the chicken from the roasting pan and set on a plate. Carefully pour the clear fat from the roasting pan, leaving the lean drippings behind. Add about a tablespoon of water to the hot pan and swirl it.

Get out all those extra juices: Slash the stretched skin between the thighs and breasts of the chicken, then tilt the bird and plate over the roasting pan to drain the juice into the drippings. You can let it rest while you finish your side dishes (or Bread Salad, below). The meat will become more tender and uniformly succulent as it cools.

Serve the chicken and heat the drippings: Set a platter in the oven to warm for a minute or two. Tilt the roasting pan and skim the last of the fat. Place over medium-low heat, add any juice that has collected under the chicken, and bring to a simmer. Stir and scrape to soften any hard golden drippings. Taste — the juices will be extremely flavorful.

Cut the chicken into pieces, spread on the warm platter (on top of the Bread Salad, if using).

Capitalize on leftovers: Strain and save the drippings you don’t use, they are delicious tossed with spätzle or egg noodles, or stirred into beans or risotto. You can also use them, plus leftover scraps of roast chicken, for a chicken salad.

 

Zuni Café Bread Salad
Adapted from smittenkitchen.com, which adapted it from the Zuni Café, San Francisco

Generous 8 ounces slightly stale open-crumbed, chewy, peasant-style bread (not sourdough)

6 to 8 tablespoons mild-tasting olive oil

1 1/2 tablespoons Champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar (or Sherry vinegar)

Salt and freshly cracked black pepper

1 tablespoon dried currants plumped in 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar and 1 tablespoon warm water for ten minutes or so

2 tablespoons pine nuts

2 to 3 garlic cloves, slivered

1/4 cup slivered scallions (about 4 scallions), including a little of the green part

2 tablespoons lightly salted chicken stock or lightly salted water

A few handfuls of arugula, frisée, or red mustard greens, carefully washed and dried

1. Preheat the broiler. Carve off all of the bottom and most of the top and side crusts from your bread (you can reserve these to use as croutons for soup or another salad). Tear bread into irregular 2- to 3-inch chunks, wads, bite-sized bits and fat crumbs. You should get about 4 cups.

2. Toss them with just a tablespoon or two of olive oil, lightly coating them, and broil them very briefly, just to lightly color the edges. If you’d like to toast the pine nuts (recommended) you can put them on your broiler tray as well, but watch them very carefully — they cook quickly!

3. Combine about 1/4 cup of the olive oil with the Champagne or white wine vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. Toss about 1/4 cup of this tart vinaigrette with the torn bread in a wide salad bowl; the bread will be unevenly dressed. Taste one of the more saturated pieces. If it is bland, add a little salt and pepper and toss again.

4. At this time, you should heat the oven back to 475°F (for warming up the bread salad in step 6). Heat a spoonful of the olive oil in a small skillet, add the garlic and scallions, and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until softened. Don’t let them color. Scrape into the bread and fold to combine.

5. Drain the plumped currants and fold them in, along with the pine nuts, if they were not already mixed with the bread scraps from the broiling step. Dribble the chicken stock or lightly salted water over the salad and fold again. Taste a few pieces of bread — a fairly saturated one and a dryish one. If it is bland, add salt, pepper, and/or a few drops of vinegar, then toss well.

6. If you’re going to serve the salad under the roast chicken (recipe above), you can pile the bread salad on the serving dish you want to use (or any oven-safe dish) and tent it with foil. Hang onto the bowl you mixed it in — you’ll use it again.  Place the bread salad in the oven for 5-10 minutes, until heated through.

7. Tip the bread salad back into the salad bowl. It will be steamy-hot, a mixture of soft, moist wads, crispy-on-the-outside-but-moist-in-the-middle-wads, and a few downright crispy ones. Drizzle and toss with a spoonful of the pan juices. Add the greens, a drizzle of vinaigrette, and fold well. Taste again.

Freya Bellin writes alternate Wednesdays for Frontier Psychiatrist. Her recent FP recipes include Coffee Roasting 101, A Dinner Party for New Year’s Eve, Top 10 Kitchen Gifts for a Foodie.