I’ve added two new lists in progress to All In: Foods to Buy and Recipes to Try. You’ll also find links to them in the Lists section on the right. I’ll be updating these often with additions and notes on those I’ve crossed off. I hope you find them useful and welcome your suggestions.
The last few weeks have been filled with great meals and company, though all that fun and quite a bit of work has gotten in the way of actually writing. Here are some quick updates on old favorites as well as initial impressions of new places from our outings in the last month .
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Although my father had left years earlier, the rest of his extended family did not transplant themselves from Iran to America until the revolution. Almost the entire clan now lives in Los Angeles, the home of one of the largest Persian Jewish communities in the world. They have a rich culture there–complete with their own grocery stores and television stations–that makes it possible to live as though still in Tehran, except for the sadness of exile and fortunes lost and that their new Jewish Ghetto is more widely known as Beverly Hills. My gentle poet aunt Guiti translated a proverb for me that she has been working hard to take to heart:
Regret of the past and fear of the future are the twin thieves that together rob you of the present.
She proceeded to declare herself a bad student.
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A few days ago I posted a link to an article called “Food Slut” and had the pleasure of a response from its author, Ann Bauer. The essay has garnered much attention in the food blogging community and sparked quite a controversy in Salon.com’s own letters section with nearly 60 responses so far. I have been amazed by one idea in particular that I fear may gain credence through the force of repetition: that thinking and talking so much about food is to blame for rising obesity rates in America.
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Vanilla ice cream-filled profiteroles with super simple chocolate fudge sauce.
I just got a copy of San Francisco chocolatier Michael Recchiuti’s Chocolate Obsession. I’ve read the book cover to cover and am, frankly, a little bit obsessed with the drool-inducing photos and recipes, fantastic stories, and intriguing tricks. For example, who knew that invert sugar (a liquid form of sucrose that has been separated into the simpler glucose and fructose) makes ganache smooth, helps it hold its shape for dipping, and enhances the chocolate’s flavor without making it any sweeter? I’m also looking forward to trying his tips on getting the most out of infusions and the benefits of using an immersion blender to mix ganache.
I was in charge of crab cakes and dessert for New Year’s Eve dinner at a friend’s. Though I’m still looking for an excuse (OK, really just for the time) to make this luscious ginger pear cake, it didn’t seem quite fancy or festive enough for the occasion. After the chocolate souffle (doesn’t travel well) and truffles (already have a large box of those), one of the most appealing photos in Chocolate Obsession is of a back-lit ribbon of burnt caramel sauce being drizzled over ice cream. How do you dress up ice cream and sauce? As profiteroles!
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Like many people, I have a rosy image of the life of a food critic. Former New York Times food critic Ruth Reichl’s books don’t glorify her life, but they don’t make the job itself sound too bad (if you can stomach the pay and lifestyle). This essay by novelist and freelance food writer Ann Bauer exposes the other side of professional restaurant reviewing: when the “scene” displaces meaningful relationships and food becomes a job rather than a passion. The article begins:
There’s a scene in the 1971 film “Klute” in which Jane Fonda, playing an aspiring actress who supports herself as a prostitute, is in bed with a client, pumping away, moaning, calling him “baby,” and then for one second her face changes, becoming ordinary and harried and mid-afternoonish, as she checks her watch behind the guy’s head. Fonda was heralded for her performance, for showing with a single gesture how the high-class call girl must engage simultaneously in two activities. How her mind and body could be entirely divorced from each other. How sex becomes work.
I get it.
It’s well worth a read and the approximately 4 seconds you will spend looking at an innocuous Bose ad to get past the first page of the article if you’re not a member of Salon.com.
There are secrets you share, like those deep or silly misives on PostSecrets. There are also secrets you keep. I had never thought of recipes as the latter, but this essay in last December’s Food and Wine Magazine gave me pause. The story has stuck with me for more than a year, resonating in part because I have my own asked-for recipe. Maybe some things really should stay in the family. As for my own specialty (shown above) I will gladly share the ingredients (I list most on the “key cards” I draw for each box); I will point you towards some tricks from Michael Recchiuti’s book Chocolate Obsession that I myself will be trying next year; but maybe I ought to keep the specifics of the recipe and techniques I learned from my mother secret a little longer.
