Missing a Rant or Two

Having been a tad busy with work, family and the like, I haven't had my chance to rant recently. So here goes.

As a kid, there appeared to be few "chain" restaurants out there. Yeah, we had McDonald's White Castle, Wetson's and the like but we didn’t refer to then as "chains." Rather, they were "fast food." We had a great number of single owner, mom and pop and family operated restaurants. Food prices at the time ran from $4 to $15 for a decent entree of pasta, veal, pork or steak. Things were prepared by chefs and cooks of every nationality under the sun. The food, by and large, was uniformly terrific. What happened to these restaurants? Did the "mid-priced” chains run them all out? I think so. You know the ones we are talking about: Applebees, Chilis, Olive Garden, Carrabbas, TGIF Fridays and such---owned by huge multinational corporations that appear to weather any financial storm by reducing quality and quantity so the "numbers work." They contract with a "chef-celebrity" and pretend it is quality food prepared by the chef-celebutant. I think these places are terrible on many levels. The old lady known as Mama who cooked at one of my favorites in the Bronx, Louis', would never dream of such. If the price of Broccoli Rabe was too high, she didn't serve it.  If the clams didn's smell right, she didn't buy them. She didn't stretch, cut corners, or worse yet, cheat. Now we have "production managers" and "food assemblers" and kids putting themselves through school serving a prepackaged, prefrozen, self declared culinary masterpiece.  These are not chefs and cooks at these monolithic chains where the food is literally factory made, cryo-vaced and sent in frozen from every corner of the world to these so called "family and neighborhood restaurants.” Their staff have degrees in management and accountancy rather than in the culinary arts. We settle on this as food??? Why? They are literally numbing our taste buds with flavorless, boring food. Do some good: Take a stand. As Nancy Reagan would say: JUST SAY NO! Avoid them at all costs. Let them know that we don't settle for a pasta and vongole, where the pasta had never been in the same room with a live clam; that they can’t sell essence of polpo. I want a big ol' piece of octopus in a fra diavolo.

I tried to explain this to a few not too bright folk the other day and apparently, liking to be led around by the nose by those more blinded than them, they suggested that "not everyone can eat at expensive restaurants." Clearly these folk missed the point: A well run family, chef owned restaurant can and usually is less expensive than these chains. These restaurants do nothing more contribute to the “dumbing” of America's culinary education and expectations. Think about the last time you had a memorable meal (or an inexpensive one) at one of these chains??? Go ahead it’s a Brave New World out there----find a privately owned restaurant and you'll be pleasantly surprised.

More Mis-labeled Food

Although I am desperately trying not to have this blog turn into a food critic's page, such is becoming more difficult.  Another rant.  If  a chef is going to change the main ingredient of a traditional dish, PLEASE tell your customers.

With the arrival of fall, one of my favorite dishes, ossobuco alla milanese, makes a greater and grander appearance on menus. My wife and I headed to a local establishment, the Chop House,  for a weekday night out dinner.  There it was on the menu:  ossobuco.  A cool crisp fall evening just cried out for braised veal with a sultry gremolata. Had to go there. What was on my plate when served was not veal ossobuco, but rather pork ossobuco. In other words,   braised fresh ham hock---not a veal shank.  I would not say  I was disappointed but surprised that I had no warning that that chef opted to go with pork rather than veal and not inform this guests. (Then a horrific thought:  Perhaps  Tennesseans think ossobuco is supposed to be made with pork????) Should I inform them that traditional ossobuco is made with veal????? Is this another reason why Tennessee is certainly a "different" kind of place, if you know what I mean.  BTW the dish was terrific but not as expected.

A few days later, having theatre tickets, we headed out to Nashville for an early dinner and a show. Tried a restaurant we had yet to venture into,  The Bound'ry.  Again, on the menu was my yearned for ossobuco.  Karen, our supremely professional server, looked at me like I was nuts when I asked if it was veal rather than pork ossobuco. "Veal, of course, with a fork placed right in the marrow for your convenience" she responded.  Embarrassed  I had to inform her that we recently were surprised with a pork hock rather than a veal shank and once bitten twice shy. Chefs should learn quickly that changing a dishes ingredients is fine and they should not limit their creativity---just let us know before we order. Labeling is really, really important in my opinion.  By the way, the Bound'ry is, in our opinion, one of the best restaurants in Nashville.

I Love Creativity....but not with Surprises

A friend from Rhode Island was coming to visit for a few days and I hooked up with a local pal to make dinner plans in Nashville.  A few drinks and dinner then a tour of the Broadway honkey tonks for live music was the game plan.  Reservations were suggested at Sambuca's and at 8:30 we were there.  Interesting decor and ambiance but my first impression was a throwback to the 1980s:  Brass, ferns and countless yuppies throwing around big bucks for mediocre food. As I trust my Tennessee  friend's judgment emphatically, I hid my frown of concern but for a while I felt out of place not wearing a three piece suit with a pinky ring and pretending to be a rich investment banker. Sambuca's has rebranded the 1980's theme as "Sensually Sophisticated" and the live music and some wonderful fusion jazz was indeed welcome. The waiter was reasonably knowledgeable with enough pretentiousness to border on unearned snobbery--but again think the 80's---people liked that.  His training perhaps was obtained at a local Meat and Three.  More on him later. Sambuca's menu is that of an an eclectic steakhouse with a couple of trendy and certainly mislabeled menu items.  For instance "deconstructed sushi " as an appetizer.  The concept of deconstructed food is appalling in my opinion but more importantly isn't "deconstructed sushi," nothing more than sashimi?? Enough bastardization of accepted nomenclature, in my opinion. I noticed the Blackened Red Snapper Etouffee on the menu and decided to inquire.  Upon questioning, the waiter assured me the Snapper was fresh.  I allowed him to lie to me outright, and being in a sporting mood and wanting to see how far he would go to sell a piece of fish, I asked him to please check.  A few minutes later he dutifully returned informing me that the Snapper was fresh and recently caught out of the Gulf. Well, I reasoned, another lie as the Gulf's Red Snapper season has been closed since August 1.  OK they were going with it being blackened and in an Etouffee, and I thought,  it would be fine even if it was frozen, so there I went. Now you're right I didn't neglect the possibility of farm raised redfish-----but they offered Red Snapper not Redfish and the former are not farm raised, so I was confident I was being served frozen fish.  Just to let him know I was somehow confident that the fish was frozen, I asked if they even owned a freezer.  We both knew the answer.

At any rate, the mislabeling part comes from the use of the term "Etouffee."  The dish, although marginally passable, was served with a side of dirty rice and spinach. The fish was a fairly large filet with an unidentifiable sauce of some sort.  Although the provenance of this vitreous liquid was unclear, I was confident it did not involve a roux.  Nor did I ever see what appeared to be a "disassembled" Etouffee: A couple of shrimp, a lump or two of crabmeat and fish---with the sauce separated from its constituent components. At a minimum, they should have called it something other than an Etouffee. An "Etouffee Variant" perhaps? I hate creativity with surprises.

Interesting Way of Serving Food

Well it seems that it has been a while since I have picked on some Tennessee folk, and I was having withdrawals.....

Before moving to Tennessee I thought I was well traveled and certainly well experienced in the culinary arts---the eating part of the art that is. I have been traveling on business it seems for well over 25 years and can't think of a major city in America  that I haven't dined in. Like the Food Network's popular show Diners, Drive Ins and Dives and  I thought I had eaten in places that only few people would believe existed.  From roadside stands in Guatemala to places called EATS in the middle of nowhere, to some of the finest restaurants in America, I have been there.  Then we came to Tennessee to discover something called a "Meat and Three." Never heard of them and had no idea what they were until my sister in law, a local Tennessean, thought I was "ready" to expand my gustatory horizons.  Recognizing I was a full fledged food brat and an all around pain it the neck when it comes to food, she knew full well that I would research the restaurant's provenance, the chef and the owner before agreeing to meet her for dinner in one of "Tennessee's best."

To solve this problem and not wanting to watch me pout, she refused to tell us where we were heading and insisted that we meet in a Big Box parking lot not too far from the restaurant. We cautiously followed.  We ended up at a classic "Meat and Three."  I was told it was the best in Middle Tennessee.  I started to wonder what the worst looked like.  Well, apparently the plan here is something akin to a buffet where you pick a meat and then three or two sides.  Only here, they serve you tableside.  Meat choices involved such delicacies as meat loaf, "broasted" chicken, chicken fried steak, hams slices, etc.  You get the picture.  The sides offered were fried okra, mac and cheese, string beans (that lost their color years ago), mashed (boxed) potatoes and puree of something that once was a vegetable.  Of course the service is appropriate for the kind of restaurant it is, and they do push the desserts.  By this point, my appetite, such that it was, was long gone and I had no intention of eating more----or there again or any other "Meat and Three." Garbage by any other name is still garbage......

And Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread....

Is it me or have we forgotten our history?  Our culture? Our sense of decorum? Why is it that at too many restaurants we need to ask for bread, then butter, a tapenade or olive oil.  When it arrives, it is not bread in the sense of a fresh, yeast driven pane of texture and flavor.  More often than not it involves either something more akin to Wonder Bread or related to shoe leather as the baker, today for some reason felt increasingly inspired to expand his baking horizons with the inclusion of Gorilla Glue, seeds of some sort, marbles and small stone-like ingredients as if we as humans needed a gastrolith. He then calls it "hearty."  Go to hell.  Expand your horizons with some acid like we did in the 70's.  What is wrong with flour, yeast, water, salt, sugar and some heat  (and steam) and make some bread that has a chewy crust---with semolina on the bottom----and a hot delicate texture chock full of oolitic-like voids of absolute yumminess. Keep your raisins, apples, granola, pears, bananas, nuts, fruits, candy, tree bark, bird feet, candied fruits, organic cow turds and anything else the hell out of my bread. If my bread baker wants "inspiration" they should go to church.  Make bread---- not dessert and don't give me the "its organic, you'll love it" BS.  Hell, nicotine is organic too and I'm quite certain it is a poor addition to food.

Food Crimes

Had I been born Supreme Ruler of the World, I certainly would have outlawed many of the things currently outlawed.  Murder, mayhem, robbery, drugs (sorry, son), having sex with an ugly intern when you are the POTUS, ruining a  perfectly good cigar, etc, but I certainly would add a few. 

Misdemeanor Offenses: Punishable by up to one year of having to eat at IHOP daily.

1. Not knowing who Auguste Escoffiere is and his contibution to your dinner plate. Three month enhancement for not caring.

2. Referring to him as "Augie."

3.Thinking Mario Batali is a chef rather than a restaurateur, huckster of all things cooking related and a one man media circus. (A chef he is not---Ron Popeil watch out. "It dices, slices, cuts, chops, dyes your  hair, etc..." but it can't cook.)

4. Preparing any meal for loved ones when not knowing the difference between a cookbook and a recipe book.

5. Buffets:  offering, preparing or eating at one is a crime.

Basic Felony Offenses:  Punishable by up to 3 years of being banned from any restaurant rated one star or higher.

1. Thinking one of the four (not five) Mother sauces was named  after your mother.

2. Eating meat ---of any sort---- well done, unless you come from Texas where you are excused from knowing how to prepare meat.

3. Preparing boxed potatoes for people you claim to love.

4. Being 40 years of age and not having attended---and eaten at---- the Feast of San Gennaro in NYC.

5. Being 30 and never having eaten properly prepared and served alici.

Major Felony Offenses: Punishable by up to 10 years having to eat only food items that come out of a box.

1. Not knowing the difference between salami and salumi.

2. Selling cheap, nasty olive oil in fancy expensive bottles and referring to it as "e.v.o.o." A waste of 5, 8 or 50 dollars.

3. Speaking of Rachel Ray, admiring her as anything other than a bad actress and flippant debutante of culinary dogma and claiming to like her garish cooking while acknowledging that you will never be sleeping with her.

4. Using cottage cheese---for anything. It is really the garbage curd left over from making butter.  Munch on that with your next diet involving pineapple tidbits.

5. Substituting  Prosciutto Daniele for Prosciutto di Parma.

6.  Believing the Food Network put Giada on our screen as something other than eye candy.  Q: Why does it appear that her cleavage is somehow an important part of the recipe??? By logical extension then, if we all cooked naked would our food taste better??? Sorry, off with their nipples heads!!!!

Capital Offense: Punishment is a  lifetime of eating only in restaurants that specifically cater to pre-pubescent children

1. Putting ketchup (or catsup) on a hot dog, frankfurter or wiener.

2. Putting mustard on a hamburger or anything not a hot dog or a knish.

3. Failing to recognize an emulsified sausage or pretending you are above eating one.

4.  Thinking haute cuisine, nouveau cuisine, classic cuisine, Italian cuisine, good cuisine, or non BBQed cuisine or something other than buzzard on a plate is readily available here in Tennessee.

5.  Erroneously believing that Alabama's newest food campaign ("Possum---the other white meat!")  is a joke.

Major Capital Offense Penalty-No  food that involves olive oil FOR LIFE; NO appeal possible

1. Not knowing what a maitre fromager does.

2. Using a lobster bib when you are older than 10.  Learn to eat.

3. Eating frozen fish when you live within a 100 miles of an ocean.

4. Not knowing how to cook crustaceans.

5. Bringing untrained, whiny, screaming children to a romantic restaurant---on Saturday night no less.

Bacon: A Major Food Group?

Bacon, in my opinion, should be a major food group in and of itself.   (They should put me in charge of rearranging that stupid pyramid, but we'll discuss that in another post.) We have regular bacon, whatever that is, thick cut, slab, fake, real, flavored, smoked, streaky, green, Irish, Canadian, Italian (pancetta) and even bacon made from parts not from the much maligned pork belly.  A few tips on nomenclature.  Bacon is made from the pig's belly, at least here in America.  Bacon not made from the belly is so labeled, like jowl bacon, which is made from the pig's cheek, also known as guanciale.  Bacon is cured and smoked.  Pancetta is cured and dried---but not smoked. Canadian Bacon is the loin also known as back bacon---not the belly. Irish bacon is  from the loin and is similar to Canadian bacon, but not quite.  Streaky bacon is what folk from the UK call American bacon.---which you really can't find in America. Green bacon is not quite bacon---just cured pork belly---unless it is green Irish bacon, which really isn't bacon at all, as it is the loin and also known as back bacon.  Got that?  Now makin' bacon is easy.  I learned after experimenting with  recipes found in Michael Ruhlman and Brain Polcyn's Charcuterie. It is truly not hard to cure and smoke some of the best bacon you've ever eaten.  Start with a piece of pork belly.  Now if your not fortunate enough to live near an organic pig farmer, don't go nuts looking for it, just head to a local Asian market---but buy the best you can find---nice milky white fat with enough meat to make it worthwhile.  Cut it in 1-2 pounds squares, cure it for 5 to 7 days in the refrigerator and smoke for a few hours and you'll never be burdened with that store bought stuff again.  Now, this sounds easy but there are many ways to cure bacon, with an unlimited array of spices, flavorings, ratios and many more ways to smoke it. Make sure the internal temperature of the belly hits 165 in the smoker and you're all set. Lots and lots of recipes and formulas out there--and there are few limits.   I leave that to folks to experiment with.  My first bacon venture tasted more like a salt lick than bacon, but experimentation and trial and error helped.  Whatever you do, never cook bacon in a microwave---it's just wrong and should be a food based capital offense.

Now if you want to learn about bacon, go here or here or here or here or here, but for $30..00 Charcuterie will teach you all you really need to know.  There  are even fairs, clubs and bacon groupies out there.  Contrary to what a cardiologist may say to you, massive amount of salt and pig fat are good for you. Really. I wouldn't make that up.  Think about it---if cardiologists are so darn smart why is heart disease still the leading cause of death??? Cardiologists are really the folk that could not get into podiatry school. Go ahead eat the bacon, ignore the docs.

Food Trends and Things That Keep Me Up at Night

It seems to me that anytime someone wants to take a bad culinary idea and make it universally accepted, they call it a "food trend."  Many of these so called trends are just bad ideas on a plate.  Take, for instance, the gourmet, upscale, overpriced  "mac and cheese" often offered as an ala carte side for $12 bucks. Bad idea.  Mac and cheese, in my opinion, has to be made by my mother (now deceased) or from a box.  Now Mom's had no ingredient that cost more than .50 cents and the box stuff costs in toto around .50 cents. One restaurant I frequent makes their version out of gnocchi and 4 imported cheeses to justify the cost. Melisse in Santa Monica offers a $95.00 plateful of mac and cheese---the truffle is free, I guess. Bad trend.

How about "foam as food?"  Foam belongs on beer. Period.  Tapas---small undersized portions are now called Tapas. Tapas are a wide array of snacks and apps served in classic Spanish cuisine---it is not dinner or an excuse to under size food and overprice the menu.  If you are not Spanish you should be banned from selling Tapas. If I wanted small food I would head off to White Castle.

Four choices of bottled water at a price equal to a decent vino is a bit much.  I'm sorry but NYC has the best tap water on the planet; Cleveland the worst. Sell the $12.00 water there.

Buffets have always been a nasty, nasty trend and getting worse.  If they can ban smoking, polyunsaturated fats and artificial color, why can't they ban buffets as nothing more than a giant bin of germs spewing off people's dirty fingers and kids drool. How about the little street urchin that takes a giant sneeze right on the puree of unidentifiable vegetables????  Plus who in the world can cook 8245 items at one time and make them edible.

Wagyu burgers and hot dogs.  The noble Wagyu  line was not nurtured to become a hot dog.  This is just wrong as probably invented by the same folk that claim Wagyu and Kobe are synonyms. 

Children in fine restaurants annoy me more than just about anything on the planet. Until these untrained critters of devastation can control their puking, throwing and screaming reflex, they---and their parents ----should be banned by any restaurant that doesn't advertise with an animated character.

My daily rant is over--for now.

Learn to Drink Like A Brazilian

With the 2016 Olympics heading to Brazil, we Americans  will have a few years to get accustomed to drinking a Caipirinha, the popular and admittedly nearly lethal drink of Brazil.  The Caipirinha is Brazil's national drink and is made with Cachaça, sugar, muddled limes and ice.  Obviously, variations exist with the use or addition of other fruits but the Cachaça is the constant. Cachaça, is distilled from sugar cane and aged in oak or other casks for years.  The sugar cane is fermented and distilled then, of course, aged. Cachaça, used for the Caipirinha is generally raw in that it is not aged or aged for a short period of time. Hints of the Mojito sans the mint come to mind, probably due to the related bloodlines of rum, molasses boiled from sugar cane and Cachaça, made from sugar cane.  As we get closer to 2016 I expect to see more more establishments offering up this superb cocktail.  Although drinking responsibly should be everyone's goal I suggest that more than one of these is not being responsible.  It seems that these have the habit of making the face go numb then sabotaging good judgment.

Life is Too Short for Bad Coffee.

Not caring for store bought coffee, I roast my own.  Once you drink fresh roasted coffee---properly roasted, de-gassed, ground and brewed, there is no going back to store bought.  IAll other offerings becomes what I call "bad brown beverage" as I can not defame the name "coffee" with an attribution to the floor sweeping passed off as the product sold in markets.  Inferior beans, improperly roasted,  and invariably stale is not coffee.  Even Starbucks, lovingly known in the home roasting circles as CHARBUCKS or CHAR$, doesn't hold a candle to home roasted coffee.  Now Stumptowns  or Peets does offer a well roasted, well brewed cup of Joe, but again no comparison to home roasted.  I buy my "greens," as they are known, from Sweet Maria's in Oakland, Although there are a great many places to get quality beans, Tom of Sweet Maria's takes most of the guess work out of purchasing by offering his extensive cupping profiles.  After the initial outlay for a roaster and a good burr grinder, most home roasters find that ther price per pot decreases significantly.  First, greens are cheaper generally running for $4.00-7.00 per pound. No premium well roasted coffee approaches that price and besides all roasted coffee is stale within 4 or 5 days (at best) and ground coffee is stale in 10 minutes---vacuum cans notwithstanding. Second, you save a fortune by not drinking $6.00 per cup boutique, gas station, fast food or any other offering of bad brown beverage pawned off as coffee. Third, you get to steer clear of those punked out, twentysomething, vendi-speaking, condescending brats who think they are baristas because they know how to work a superautomatic espresso machine or an idiot proof Clover.   Few of these charmers really know the difference among a ristretto, lungo, machiatto, Americano or cup of brewed Kopi Luwak.  (Throw a lever espresso machine and a Reg Barber tamper in front of them and watch them whine and wince.) That's worth the price of admission right there. Once you have fresh roasted, fresh ground and properly brewed coffee (use a Technivorm) it is impossible to go back. It takes me 20 minutes every 4 or 5 days to have great coffee.  Not a bad investment of time.

Oops, Maybe There is Fine Italian Dining in the South

With relatives coming to town, the family grouped up and headed out to Volare's in the Opryland Hotel for dinner last evening.  Since it was an Italian restaurant and we ARE south of the Mason Dixon line, I had my concerns, but others made the arrangements and I was prepared for a "grin and bear it" dinner. Boy was Iwrong.  There was nothing to grin and bear---just grin and grin and grin.   Since we have three family members that work for the hotel, a private room was graciously arranged bu one of my BILs.  The staff was nothing short of perfect and the the sous chef sua sponte prepared a salume and formaggio plate along with an assortment of hand prepared condiments that were second to none.  The highlight, in my opinion, was the mozzeralla de bufula, topped with a ricotta curd suggested to be topped with an Hawaiian Black Lava Sea Salt.  Uncanny.  A special was the braised short ribs and ravioli di patata with white truffle oil.  Now, not really a fan of such oils (overrated, overused and over priced) I rarely pass up an offering of short ribs in the fall . Each bite was more succulent  than the previous one and the ravioli was dense, flavorful and matched the hearty short ribs perfectly.  Hmmm, maybe I have been too hard on the Nashvillians......

I Love You Man!!!!

Just noticed this column out there in the NY Times.  I had to provide a link as this warms the cockles of my heart.  I don't know Bruce Buschel and never heard of him, but I can tell we're of kindred spirit.  A couple of his rules for servers: "Do not make a singleton feel bad. Do not say, “Are you waiting for someone?” Ask for a reservation. Ask if he or she would like to sit at the bar" or "Never say “I don’t know” to any question without following with, “I’ll find out.”  There are 50 of these gems in the column with another 50 coming next week.(Update: Here they are.)  Such common sense, so rare however, that he sounds stunningly brilliant and a cut above the rest.  His new Bridgehampton restaurant should be a stunner.  Recently, at an upscale restaurant, I asked our server how  a particular shrimp offering was prepared.  Her untrained response was "I don't know, I know they're cooked, (Duh!!) but  I don't eat shrimp"?  (See Bushel Rule #44). The look on my face I am sure said it all. I suggest all waitstaff memorize Mr.  Buschel's lists.

Uh, oh. This Isn't Kansas Anymore, Toto!

Striking out, at least for the time being, for a Jewish Deli in the middle Tennessee area, I ventured out to find a good Italian market.  Certainly there would be an Italian Market with shelves and coolers stocked with soppresata, (soupy for you RIers), dried and semi dried sausages, mortadella, pancetta, ham cappicola, Prosciutto di Parma, aged Romano and Parmesan located right near the bin of bufalo mozzarella. The smell of crusty bread just out of the oven wasn't far I mused.  Not quite.  Not even close.  We found one that might have potential only to find out that the selections were sparse, at best, and fresh, meant something very different here in Tennessee.  With the exception by finding a gallon of very good olive oil at a reasonable price, another strike out.  What is a man to do under such dire circumstances. "Call a lawyer," I said to my wife in desperation.   "What is a lawyer going to do for you?" she exclaimed.  Not just any lawyer, I said, I will call "Jules--problem solver extraordinaire."  Jules my age old and dear friend who still lives in RI and works just a few short blocks from Federal Hill (RI's Little Italy) could certainly find a temporary solution for my cravings while I worked out the details of my crisis. As always, Jules came through and within a few days I had a giant box on my doorstep filled with spectacular meats and cheeses as if handmade by Mother Italy herself (knowing Jules it probably was.) Crisis averted, for now.  As for bread, I have resorted to baking my own.  They must be allergic to anything with a crust down here.

Other Nashville Outings

As any one who has read this blog, probably all four of you, know that I am not from Nashville.  A month or so  before packing up to parts unknown, I researched several things that were important (Read: Imperative).  An Italian market and a Jewish style Deli.   Since I am  not here to out anyone or give anyone any additional problems, I will not share my discoveries.  Although the internet based research suggested that I need not pack my Italian meats and cheeses or arrange for care packages, I did find the reality of the situation bleak at best.  My first venture out brought me to what was considered a Jewish Deli. Nothing Kosher in the place, but they certainly called themselves a Jewish Deli.   I saw pastrami in the display case, and although not a piece that I found overly attractive, I asked for a one pound slab unsliced.  While preparing my order the woman behind the counter asked how I used a slab of pastrami. I explained that I would hand cut slices and probably steam them for a bit and place on a a couple of pieces of rye bread, a touch of brown mustard and off we go.  Being cordial I asked "and you."  I should have kept my mouth shut.  She explained that they put it on "EYEtalian" subs.  Why I asked in almost utter shock, as pastrami is certainly not an Italian cold cut?  She, of course, with her nicest southern mannerisms, said I was wrong: It ends in a "vowel and like salami, and cappicola,  pastrami IS an Italian cold cut."  No point in arguing, I concluded, paid for my purchase and left. True story.

Diversity

Diversity evokes passion.  Whether it evokes negative or positive passion is often a concern.  Many fear diversity for xenophobic reasons; many welcome it as a sign of breaking down historical barriers.  Many take the view of if it "ain't broke, don't fix it." Diversity does not seem to be an issue in the culinary scene here in Nashville.  There is none, unless, of course your concept of divesity involves choosing among Memphis, St. Louis, Kansas City and of course, the ever present, Chinese Style ribs.(Which don't count in my opinion)  Now don't get me wrong, ribs in the South are second to none and certainly whether smoked, grilled or BBQed low and slow, these folk have raised the preparation to an art form. Frankly, I never had a bad rib here.  Smokers and grills line the highway rest stops and every piece of vacant land as far as the eye can see.  Every respectable rib joint has its adjacent smokehouse warming up at midnight for the next evening's dinner crowd.  Pork is king around these parts and although I have fun abusing Nashvillians about, well, just about everything, I can't complain about the ribs.  I just don't understand how all these rib places stay in business.  It seems just about every household has a smoker.  From the ubiquitious Weber models, to the Big Green Egg to the giant truck size, tow along, custom made smoker parked somewhere in the backyard, I don't think I know a household without one.  Now, if you want to see passion just ask a neighbor for the best way to prepare ribs.  There is less passion at a UT-Florida game.

Go Ahead. Guess

Ok, I have ask why?? Is this another Tennessee thing?  A way to keep us Yankees from exploring Tennessee's woods? Go ahead guess.

I am walking through the local market looking for a six of Bud and among the 18,765 varieties of beer now sold at every supermarket, and I notice this.  I assumed perhaps AB came out with another Octoberfest or Bock type beer or perhaps even one celebrating our glorious fall. ( I love fall in Tennessee---its still 70 degrees) Perhaps another beer offering, I wondered?   No, I soon discovered. Of course NOT, I sooned learned,  THIS is Tennessee, after all. These are camoflaged beer cans. Hmmmmm. Why would anyone want a camoflaged beer cans I asked silently. Never having been in the miltary nor having ever hunted I just couldn't figure out why camo??????  Well I said, they do sell camo golf bags, shoes and such and I never saw anyone shoot a deer from a golf cart, so why not camoflaged beer cans? Then it dawned on me:  These Madison Avenue genuises may be targeting hunters---no pun intended.  No, nah, no way that can happen---- too many Philly lawyers living and trolling outside of Philly to allow that to happen. Then another--rather terrifying-- thought occurred. Maybe, just maybe, the beer can is being "used," so to speak,WHILE hunting and the sight of a silver, blue or  red can would scare Bambi right into the nearest AA meeting???? Don't hunters use weapons?  Like guns. Like big poweful guns that shoot big nasty bullets??? Do hunters drink beer while holding a 30 ought six with one hand while resting another cold one on its super deluxe scope that can shoot the left ear off a flea on the  right side of a deer's ass?    No, not in this country and certainly not here in TN.  Why in the world would one want  or need  a camo beer can?  Now, I am no expert and  I am sure AB's legal eagles thought this through, but do guns and alcohol really go together?? I mean at the SAME TIME!!!!!  Beer before playing with a gun sounds dicey. Beer after playing with a gun sounds smarter.  Beer while playing with a gun sound really, really stupid.  But again i am from the North where Possum is NOT the "other white meat."

Imagine what they would do to a yankee walking through the woods.  Blame AB probably. The south is scarier than I thought.

Boy Do I Miss NY---Sometimes

Being a transplanted New Yorker, via Rhode Island, and then to Tennessee, I yearn for some of the food items that we took for granted. Growing up in the Bronx, we often went to the deli for lunch or dinner. It was the "deli." Period. Being of a different faith, we never realized it was an institution called a "Jewish Deli." Terrific corned beef, pastrami, tongue, chicken liver and onion sandwiches, knish, whitefish, lox and so on. You could even order "extra fatty" corned beef. Lean was not a positive description back then. Thoughts of our expeditionary trips to Katz' or Lindy's, or the Second Avenue Deli (not on 2nd Avenue anymore) in the "the City" still makes my mouth water. On the last few trips to lower Manhattan on business, I made sure that I stopped by Katz' for a trip down memory lane. I even made arrangements with my son--the Chef--- to join me as he lives just north of the City. He had never been to Katz' and I started to wonder if I was really that neglectful in raising him. He was 21 years old and had never been to a real Jewish Deli. Shame on me, but I would rather be late than never, as they say. Six inch high pastrami sandwiches; knoblewurst with enough garlic to stop a freight train and, of course, the pickles. Things couldn't be better. The $20.00 sandwich prices were tough to swallow, but the egg cream was as smooth as can be.

A day later reality hit and I was back in Nashville realizing that it may be awhile before I can enjoy Katz' pleasures again. I'll speak to Nashville's version of a Jewish Deli soon.....

Having moved to the South

Let me update you on my culinary thoughts over the past year. I recently move to the South (Nashville), originally from New York and then New England. I am trying not to lose weight but the South is different---very different. Scary too

1. Chitterlings. What and why? It’s not food.

2. Rinds. In a bag no less. Never going to happen.

3. Meat and 3. Three what?????? What kind of meat????? Not food, not edible. No way.

4. Brisket. Send it back to Texas. They don’t know good food either. Brisket should be used for corned beef or pastrami. Period. And it has to be made by a Jewish guy from New York.

5. Speaking of New York why can’t I get a chicken liver and onion sandwich down here?

6. Got duped with friends in going to a “Southern Surf and Turf.” Initially I had visions of a something akin to a Carolina Oyster Roast and spit roasted pig. Turned out to be catfish and fried chicken. They are no longer “dining out” friends. What the hell is wrong with people. This was a very cruel joke.

7. Giovanni’s Ristoranti on 20th Ave. The best in Nashville. Not the best Italian restaurant, mind you---the best restaurant in Nashville. Period. I can identify everything on the menu (and on the plate) and nothing is fried in lard or pig fat to hide its real flavor. Not that I object to pig fat, as in my opinion, it is one of the major food groups and should be there right smack in the middle of that stupid pyramid. It just has its time and place.

8. Speaking of Italian food, it is pronounced "EYEtalian" down here. I guess they think we all come from "Eyetaly." What's the story with that?

9. Okra. Another “what's up with that stuff?” I think they fry it to hide its hideous taste. It should make good compost but I don’t want to contaminate the garbage I mix it with.

10. Pork Jowls. In Italian it is called “Guanciale” and it is a delicacy---or at least can be. In France it called a “Lardons.” Someone should tell these folk, IT IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EATEN LIKE BACON!!! It is a an ingredient in other dishes that contain FOOD.

11. So close to NOLA, and their idea of Cajun in Nashville, is dredging fish—catfish no less--- through fireplace ash. How about Andouille sausage, She Crab Soup, Turtle Soup, or even a simple Etouffee? Throw in a little mire poix on occasion and don’t forget roux is not something you make with crayons. What are they thinking?

12. Fried pickles. The worst trend in dining since “foam” as food and some pretentious 20 year old serving me “disassembled food” at $80.00 a plate.

Just venting....

What's in a Name?

After years of being abused somewhat by friends, family and occasionally strangers as to my culinary habits, I decided to complain. No, I said, I wasn't a "foodie." A rather yuppie adjective failing to describe anything. A "food snob" wasn't appropriate either as those that know me, know full well that that snobby is certainly not the case. My name and snob can hardly stand to be in the same sentence together. A "gourmand" is rather pretentious and is one of those self described, non-descriptive words of a class with whom I don't belong. A "culinary expert" was certainly not the case except by those that consider catsup and egg noodles as a form of pasta dish. Frankly, I am tired of the term "pasta." In my house, it either either spaghetti(linguine) or macaroni (everything else). "Chef" certainly wasn't the case as my son was the one with a degree from the Culinary Institute of America. He would chuck one of those very sharp knives he use if he heard me referred to as "Chef." "Home cook" seemed appropriate but as Michael Ruhlman, a well known chef, author and, from what I can tell, bon vivant of the culinary world, once mused, that is another term that means nothing. Technically, we are all home cooks, even those that just open a box of mac and cheese. "Home cook" is less than an ideal term. I do prefer to dine in the finer restaurants throughout the country; I do have refined but diverse culinary tastes. A few beers and run past a White Castle can't be beat; nor can Chef Paul Prudhomme's Turtle Soup or Chef Nobu Matsuhisa's Monkfish Pate with Caviar. I read cookbooks---not recipe books---- for sport and practice often. Too often making dishes, however, that end up in the compost or garbage bin as they didn't come out "just right." Mario Batale's culinary cruelty notwithstanding, if the Chef sends out a Lasagna Bolognese made with a Bechamel, it will go back as quickly as it will take me to hit the door.(True story, by the way.) If I can't have halibut in season in Anchorage, I will not eat halibut. Stone crab in Naples; Dungeness in Seattle; Striped Bass in New England. There are rules that shouldn't be broken. Keep your trendy Tilapia, Chilean Sea Bass (a/ka/ Patagonian Toothfish) and Orange Roughy in the freezer---where they belong. Bait by any other name is still bait. There are no substitutes for fresh. I prefer restaurants that do not even have freezers. There are many---ask the next time you call for reservations.  Hang up when they say, "Why Yes." They will get the message. My black pepper, always freshly ground, is a Tellicherry Pepper; my salt is French and looks like little white rocks. I have salt in 3 hues, 4 textures, 3 flavors and as many textures---- and some from Himalayan glaciers.  I roast my own coffee as anything in a can is a mere bad brown beverage and is not coffee, in my opinion.  I have more spices than Whole Foods sells and I know how to use them. Most will be used fresh or thrown out. My son watched me complain to a waitress that Cajun cooking does not involve dredging fish through fireplace ash--as her recent delivery suggested. My wife once winced as I spoke of plans to visit Ferran Adrian's El Bulli to experience molecular gastronomy at its finest while complaining that foam belonged on a beer not on a plate of food. Then it dawned on me: I am a brat. A food brat. Pure and simple. Sometimes childlike (thinking of El Bulli); sometimes spoiled (refusing to eat Lasagna ala Bechamel or whatever mistake was sent out as food.) I can be playful, like the time I ordered and tasted the entire entre menu at a new restaurant just so I could recommend something to guests the next time I came back. Yeah, I  concluded, brat fit. Brat worked and this is my blog to share and discuss with other culinary brats.