January 24, 2010

Range Rage

It's Bolognese Sunday... the best kind of Sunday™. Which is always great. Especially when it's the inaugural Bolognese Sunday of a new home. But as I start encircling the new range with bowls, bottles and cans of mise, I'm forced to ask a question:

Who the hell designed this?

I'd like to know so I can "thank" him.

Really, what kind of designer, when given a 30x22" space in which to work, says to himself, "I know, self... rather than running the knobs up the length of the cooktop, let's stack them side-by-side to take up as much real estate as possible, and then cram all four burners into an 18" square so that using a plain old pot or 12" fry pan on the big burner knocks all of the others out of commission."

I mean, at the VERY least, wouldn't you shift the big burner an inch or two the right and, you know, actually utilize some of that vast region of unexplored space in the upper right corner so maybe you only lose that little simmer burner, leaving just enough room for another medium-sized pan on the bottom left and maybe a little one on the top left? And what's with all of the dead space, anyway? Is it being reserved for future burner expansion? Because I'm pretty sure this thing isn't modular. Or is that where they put the bud vase in the promotional photos?

Ahhh... I see Whirlpool was founded in 1911. I guess these are the kinds of little kinks it takes a company a century to iron out.

July 22, 2009

Top Chef Masters Episode 6 - Postmortem

Awwww... Christmas for everybody except Michael Cimarusti, and the old battleship is the only one who can't fully embrace the spirit of giving. And bearing in mind that no fish for the seafood specialist is as nefarious as our secret shoppers got this evening, can you imagine the train wreck this challenge would be with the usual field of Top Chef contestants? *shudder*

And thusly, all of Hubert Keller's dashing silhouettes are filled and we move onto the finals, with Chicago representing a third of the finalists, which I'd feel better about if Art Smith didn't rub me the wrong way. The guy could be the sweetest fella in the world. But every time I see him on television, whether by virtue of his words or the edit, I find myself saying, you know, Art, I'd like to hear a lot less about who you've cooked for and a lot more about what you've cooked.

So let's review:

  • Hubert Keller
  • Suzanne Tracht
  • Rick Bayless
  • Anita Lo
  • Michael Chiarello
  • Art Smith

My money's on Keller or Lo. Lo beacuse she totally smoked the opening round. Keller because I can't say no to that radiant silver mane. Plus: ability to use dorm shower for good rather than evil. Dark horse? Tracht. Critics love them some understated brilliance.

Whaddya think?

November 18, 2008

In Defense of the McRib

The McRib Photo Courtesy of Gary Wiviott

No, I didn't spend the three month layoff in Des Plaines, Illinois undergoing intense psychological reprogramming in a bunker beneath McDonald's HQ. But today, I'm going to stand up for the McRib. And not just for the McRib, but for that which the McRib represents, though we'll get to that later. This discussion starts with the discovery not only of the fact that I dig the crime against food pictured above, but that I'm far from alone... even among otherwise discerning food nerds.

With the most recent reintroduction of the sandwich to the Chicago market (are boneless pigs in season again?), an old thread over at LTH Forum, started two years ago by one Mr. Gary Wiviott in a moment of exasperation, was bumped back into action. Gary, you see, is a hardcore BBQ enthusiast, and not of the "slather a grilled chicken breast or boiled ribs with ketchup and liquid smoke and call it BBQ" variety. No, Gary's a true devotee of the low and slow method of turning meat into succulent, smoky bliss that is, along with jazz, one of the few true American art forms. As such, what surprised me about the thread wasn't Gary's violent reaction to the reappearance of his nemesis. Though he's able to maintain good humor about the subject, I've no doubt that on a deep, emotional level, Gary sees the McRib as an affront to all that is good and true in this twisted, cruel world. His reaction was (and is, every time the McRib resurfaces) entirely predictable, and the thread is certainly not lacking for like-minded individuals. Less expected, however, was the outpouring of self-loathing love for the meaty monstrosity that also followed.

White Castle's Chicken Rings
I shouldn't have been that surprised. Except for the most hardcore fuelers and dogmatic natural organic cheerleaders -- and let's face it, those people are boring -- I don't know anybody who doesn't have some culinary skeletons in the closet. Scour your kitchen cabinets, try to remember what you demolished in your last alcohol-induced haze, search the dark recesses of your soul for that fatty, salty, megasweet, oveprocessed and mass marketed guilty pleasure you try to forget about until the craving strikes (or, more likely, its commercial airs), and try to tell me it's intrinsically better than what you see pictured above. I don't mean to suggest that there aren't those who are genuinely outraged by the McRib, nor that they shouldn't be, necessarily. We all pick our poisons and the McRib may not be yours. But presuming that we can all find common ground in loving certain highly offensive foodstuffs -- armed with the knowledge that the picture above could just as well be the thing you're embarrassed to admit you ate last week -- what is it about the McRib that is so inherently offensive to so many?

The answer, I think, is in the moniker Gary chose to attach to the object of his scorn: The McFib.

Personally, I find the McRib's lack of real food qualities to be rather endearing. But there was a level on which I could completely sympathize. I've been similarly afflicted by a burning hatred for The Olive Garden since first visiting them in high school. But when I reflect upon the true root of my scorn, I'm forced to admit that it has nothing to do with the food. It's terrible, sure, but... well... look up. I'm in no position to throw stones. Rather, what burns me every time I see an Olive Garden ad is that it's being presented as authentic Italian cuisine that's lovingly prepared by chefs who have trained in Tuscany. It's the lie that gets me. So for a hardcore 'cue nerd, what's not to hate about the McRib? It's a meat patty slathered in sauce. There's no smoke. There are no ribs. Hell, I'm not even entirely certain the thing is made of pork. Yet I've no doubt that over the next month, the River North McDonald's will sell more fake ribs than all of the south side BBQ shrines combined will sell real ones. For a huge segment of the population, the McRib IS BBQ. And that chaps Gary's ass.

The thing is, in this golden age of irony and self-awareness, it doesn't need to be this way. McDonald's could take a cue (no pun intended) from White Castle in embracing the McRib's fakeness. Why go through the pretense of making the patty vaguely rib-shaped? White Castle had the right idea with its Chicken Rings. If you're going to process something so thoroughly into oblivion that it can't possibly hope to resemble the original beast in any way, why not embrace the fakeitude and make it the most unnatural shape possible? I, for one, think they should stamp the McDonald's logo into the patty, shape it like the silhouette of a cartoon pig and call it the McVaguelyPorkish. All absurd questions of authenticity fully preempted, we'll be free to simply enjoy the sandwich for what it is: processed, fused meat paste in a sickly sweet sauce. It won't be any closer to actual BBQ, but it'll be honest. And perhaps more importantly, it will help us to be honest with ourselves. As food nerds, we can labor all day over the perfect Ragu alla Bolognese, we can scour the nation's strip malls in search of that undiscovered gem of an ethnic restaurant, we can travel thousands of miles for fleeting moments of gastronomic bliss unattainable at home... and then we can have a McRib. Without feeling guilty about it.

May 07, 2008

Case In Point

For those who felt the $10 challenge on Top Chef last week was obviously rigged, this is the exact dish (thanks, Mr. Vongerichten) I'm making for dinner tonight:

Dominic Armato

My itemized bill from Whole Foods:

4 bone-in chicken thighs$2.18
1 lemon$1.00
1 lime$0.50
1 grapefruit$0.67
loose greens$1.12
1 red chile$0.21
TOTAL:$5.68

Out of my pantry, I'll be using some leftover sour cream, a spoonful of miso, half a cup of rice (not pictured), oil, salt and pepper. There's easily enough room under $10 there to get some more chicken (I'm only feeding two and a half, and am only using half the citrus and greens) and some sour cream. A tub of miso would put me over, but I'll let you decide whether or not you believe I could have come up with a tasty alternative. And I assume we can all agree that a cup of rice, oil and salt are pantry staples that, even if you added in prorated costs, would be dirt cheap.

Point being, $10 for dinner for four, even at Whole Foods, is not only doable, I just did it without even trying.

April 03, 2008

An Open Letter To PR Firms

Dear PR Firms,

I understand that getting the word out can be a tough job. And I'm flattered that you value my writing enough to contact me. And I love it when you alert me to new restaurants and products and make yourself available if I have questions. Even if it isn't something that interests me, I like to know what's new.

But when you send me a full page of text and ask me to post it, no matter how nicely you phrase the request, it's mostly just insulting. This blog isn't a conduit for your press release, and if you'd bothered to take 20 seconds to scan it, you'd know that.

Thanks,

Dom

January 27, 2008

Attention, Restaurants...

A lazy winter day at home today has presented me with the opportunity to both cook up an Armato/Scudiere household favorite and also to address a long-standing culinary pet peeve.

Attention, restaurants that purport to be Italian...
 

This is NOT Ragú alla BologneseTHIS is Ragú alla Bolognese

Don't misunderstand, I don't mean to cast aspersions on your tomato sauce with meat. It might be a spectacular tomato sauce with meat. But Ragú alla Bolognese is NOT tomato sauce with meat. It is a meat sauce with a little bit of tomato. Sounds like a fine distinction on paper, I know, but I hope this visual aid demonstrates that it most certainly is not. By all means, please continue to serve your tomato sauce with meat. I may even order it. But please don't call it Ragú alla Bolognese. Especially if it's pink, for cryin' out loud.

Glad we got that cleared up, guys... thanks.

May 29, 2007

Layers of Absurdity

Dominic Armato
I know I shouldn't let stuff like this get to me. I know I should just smirk and move on. But I have to call this out.

This week, the Boston Globe saw fit to publish a comprehensive comparative tasting of Japanese food, conducted by a nine member panel of whom "two were native-born Japanese, three had studied and lived in Japan, and four were sushi devotees." What could require such a carefully selected panel? Various types of sake? Brands of soy sauce? Wagyu steaks? Try supermarket California rolls.

No... really.

Setting aside, for the moment, the fact that California rolls aren't even Japanese, the absurdity here has more layers than a three-tiered wedding cake. Don't get me wrong, unlike some sushi purists I have absolutely nothing against the California roll. But do you really need to assemble a panel of "experts" in Japanese food to judge fake sushi featuring fake crabmeat sitting next to fake wasabi lovingly (I trust) prepared by a fake sushi chef? And I have to wonder, what purpose does this tasting serve, exactly? As awful as it is, I can understand grabbing grocery store sushi if you happen to be shopping and are looking for something on which to nosh. But even if you subscribe to the theory that grocery store sushi is worthy of a taste test, it isn't as though this is valuable comparison shopping. I've never seen a grocery store that carried more than one brand. Are we to believe that readers might actually use the information contained within this report to plan their shopping excursions? I mean, I know there's a certain amount of hysteria that goes along with the Red Sox riding so high, but I didn't realize the good people of Boston were THAT delirious.

And then the piece is filled with howlers, like the explanation that they "judged presentation, which is important in Japanese cuisine," and inaccuracies, like the claim that if pickled ginger is pink, that means it has been dyed (it frequently is, but pickled ginger will also turn pink without the benefit of dye).

This would all be kind of funny coming from some random blog with its tongue planted firmly in its cheek. But this is the Boston Globe we're talking about here, and it seems clear that this treatise is being delivered with a totally straight face. I have to say, I can't wait for them to convene a panel of Mexican immigrants for a comprehensive survey of movie theater nachos. Maybe they can get Rick Bayless to dispense the cheese gloop. And in the meantime, I've bookmarked the article so that anytime I get annoyed by an inane article in the Trib's food section, I can thank my lucky stars that Debra Samuels' byline won't be found therein.

March 21, 2007

Postscript of Evil

I'm sorry, I'll leave this subject alone in a moment, but I just got back from the grocery store, where I saw the following. Observe:

Anything stick out as particularly evil? How bout:

"NOTHING IS MADE FROM SCRATCH"

So just to be clear, Sandra's emphasis is not on ease. It's not on speed. It's not on cost or number of ingredients. Oh no, no matter how quick amd easy it may be to make hordes of delicious recipes from scratch, the fact that this book contains none of them is not just a hook... IT'S A SELLING POINT.

Those other cookbooks with really fast, easy and delicious recipes? Instead of calling for Italian seasoning packets, they might ask you to add fresh basil AND garlic! Instead of calling for bottled salad dressing, they might call for vinegar, oil and a dollop of mustard! For the love of god, people, instead of adding powdered onion mix, they could even force you to chop an onion!!!

That was close. Good thing we avoided that mess.

Evil Is Semi-Homemade

Every morning at 8:30 AM, my TiVo wakes up to record Mario Batali, but then it mostly sits around idle until The Simpsons come on in the evening. What this means is that if I turn on the television at any point in between, I'm dropped directly into the Food Television late morning / early afternoon lineup. While I watched the channel quite a bit many moons ago, my recent viewership has been pretty much limited to the aforementioned Molto and Iron Chef, both varieties. But over the past couple of weeks, I've taken a couple of days to leave it on in the background to see what's new.

It ain't pretty.

While it's true that pure evil is Semi-Homemade, Sandra-bashing is bordering on passé, it's been thoroughly covered by those far more eloquent than me, and by writing here I realize that I'm preaching to the choir. And while it's also true that her "recipes" should rightly be feared and reviled by anybody who has a love for good food (the entire nation of Spain experienced a collective shudder when her tapas episode aired), I think most of the critics who savage her concoctions miss the point. There's a larger issue here.

Most of her recipes simply expose her as somebody with no tastebuds... or conscience, take your pick. But what makes her evil is not the quality of her food, but rather that she perpetuates the age-old frustrating myth that real, delicious, fresh food from scratch is just too hard and takes too much time. Her entire schtick is predicated on the big lie that hers is the only way to make delicious, beautiful food in a short period of time. Shredding store-bought ribs, cooking up a bottled chili sauce and taco seasoning mishmash, frying frozen potato chips and assembling the whole thing with packaged cole slaw doesn't take any less time or skill than, say, roasting a few potatoes, whipping up a fresh aioli, marinating some peppers and roasting a pork tenderloin. Marinating a salmon steak in store-bought salad dressing and grilling it on a cedar plank doesn't take any less time or skill than, say, wrapping a good piece of fish in foil with a little oil and butter, some garlic, a couple of spices and some greens. Yet in both cases, there are legions of people who are resolute in their belief that the former is doable while the latter is simply beyond their ability, and Sandra Lee only feeds this belief. What she's done is taken the noble and laudable mantra that beautiful, delicious food need not be a difficult time-consuming chore, and somehow perverted and reshaped it into her own dark, twisted, pre-processed vision.

What was most troubling about my afternoon viewing, however, was the revelation that Semi-Homemade isn't some freaky interloper, but rather the standard-bearer of the new daytime Food Network. I couldn't understand why people held TV cooks like Rachel Ray and Giada De Laurentiis in such high regard until I saw the shows they were sandwiched between. In the early years, FoodTV shows sought to educate. They taught people that good food needn't be this mystical other that was unattainable by mere mortals. You learned that if you're short on time, don't make a half-assed chicken and dumplings with heat-lamp chicken and canned biscuit dough. Take even less time and make an incredibly fresh and delicious roast chicken or a simple Italian sautéed chicken instead. But where Food Network used to encourage its viewers' enthusiasm and desires, it now prefers to prey on its viewers' fears and insecurities, focusing instead on "tricks" and "shortcuts" that rarely save any real time or energy, but almost always sacrifice flavor.

I don't know anybody so food illiterate that they can't see the difference between an average Sandra Lee meal and an average Mario Batali meal... but they both took roughly 30 minutes to prepare.

Well, more for the Sandra Lee meal if you factor in your tablescape.

March 02, 2007

Advice To Those With A Great Love Of Pasta And A Greater Lack Of Time


Dominic Armato

When you've been taking care of your (awesome) new son, and you're grocery shopping at Dominick's for the basics at 9:00 on a Saturday night because that's the easiest time to get away, and you think to yourself that you've barely cooked for months and you really have a hankerin' for a good Rigatoni all'Amatriciana, and the only ingredients available to you are the deli pancetta and Bel Gioioso "Romano"...

...just don't do it. Seriously. It'll only end in disappointment.

It's an easy target, I know, but this stuff is as closely related to pecorino as Parmigiano Reggiano is to string cheese. Ug.