Now what you’re gonna do is a really classy Euro touch. You’re gonna take your stale bread, heat it over a burner until it gets toasty. . .
You’re gonna rub it with a little butter, and a half a clove of garlic. Break up pieces of that in the bottom of two soup bowls, and ladle that hot soup over it. That is a big bowl of love!”
I thought I could throw her a curve, but she nailed it. The questions would need to be more challenging .
Since she does her show from Minnesota, and she’s also known for Tuscan cooking, I wanted see if she could come up with a fusion of Northern Italy and Minnesota. What might be called . . . Tuscanavian cuisine. I suggested she use walleye . . .
“First of all, it’s a fresh-water fish, so it’s really, really simple. In most of Italy, fish is done SO simply. It might be done with a few sage leaves, in a pan, with olive oil or butter—in Minnesota, you’d probably use butter—
Anyway, you do a slow sautée of it, and literally just salt, pepper and maybe some slivers of garlic. You’d slow-cook it so you can be really careful of not overcooking, and you’d serve that with a few wedges of lemon and THAT IS IT.”
Alright, she got that one, too. Unfazed and unrattled. There had to be a side of her that the listening audience never hears. I think deep down, we all want to imagine a cursing, angry Lynne Rosetto Kasper . . .
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . there’s a very colorful vocabulary that lurks just beneath the surface. There are things that aggravate me.
For instance that lovely pot of braising, slow-cooking loveliness? And you go to pull out the rack when the rack wasn’t seated properly to begin with?”
“I love doing stock. I do it every three or four months. Make a big quantity, and stick it in the freezer. I’ve got this down to an art. I leave it to sit overnight on the stove, very slow bubble.
It’s utterly delicious, it’s like money in the bank. It’s very easy to do.
Right now, I have a bad knee, so I’m in pain when I’m moving around the kitchen. So, I got this together, it was done, the pot was really heavy . . .
It was too big to fit in the fridge, and I wanted it cooled down really fast, and it was very cold outside, so I thought I’d put it on the back porch.
“I was trying to get the screen door open, and I slipped with this pot, and the grease was still hot from the stove, and this stuff sloshed over the threshold, onto the cement steps . . .
Now there’s freezing fat on the porch, I’m ice-skating on this fat. It’s midnight and I’m chiseling the porch . . . you have NO idea”
While I tried to get the image of this lovely woman ice-skating on chicken fat out of my head, I learned some random things about LRK as a chef:
Do you listen to music when you’re cooking?
“Generally it’s just me and my food.”
If you could only use one spice or herb for the rest of your life, what would it be?
“The thing I turn to most often . . . it’s a tossup between basil and some member of the chili family, leaning toward basil because it’s a blending herb.
Then there are ‘umami’ ingredients like soy sauce and fish sauce that ‘lift’ other flavors—you keep those babies around the house and a little bit goes a long way to make food taste good.”
While she wouldn’t say she hates any particular foods, but she did say,
“Okra has yet to engage me.”
Ms. Kasper also mentioned that she no longer eats grains, and as much as she loves raw seafood, she avoids it
“Because of problems I’m aware of. It’s very disturbing that I have to, with what’s happening to our food supply . . . Don’t get me started. I know too much.”
As intriguing as the phrase ‘I know too much’ is, I chose to move past the fact that apparently our entire food supply is full of ‘disturbing’ problems.
For a bonus question, I like to ask chefs where and when in history they would like to time-travel. Lynne gave me this answer, in the form of a history lesson:
“I would like to be in the early 1500s, in the palace of the Dukes of Ferrara, in the Emilia-Romagna region of Northern Italy, during the height of their power.
Lucretia Borgia had married into the family, and it was one of the great ruling houses of the Renaissance . . .
To be the fly on the wall, to be both at those secret tables and observe what was going on in those kitchens. You would also be a first-hand observer of how poisons are prepared, all of the intrigue . . .”
Of course, to understand someone who cooks, you need to know (you guessed it) what their favorite utensil is:
“It is my flat-bottomed wooden spatula, slightly curved at the bottom. Every time I see someone try to stir with a wooden spoon, it’s like trying to move around food in a pot with the edge of a dime.
With my spatula you can sweep across the bottom of your pan quickly when something’s threatening to burn.
I keep four or five of these at all times. When they look like they’re gonna crack I get another one, because they’re like four bucks.
There are (two additional) things that, without changing anything else you do, automatically make you a better cook. One is an oven thermometer. Every oven in the world is off. When you think you have failed—‘I can’t roast!’—it’s because your oven is messed up, not you!
The other is, you get an instant-reading thermometer. That’s gonna tell you, if your steak is really medium-rare, it’s 130 degrees before you pull it off the heat to give it a rest. You’re always in control.”
I wondered if our host had dealt with many ‘stressed-out’ callers in the midst of a culinary crisis. She offered this story about a newly married woman who called her special Thanksgiving advice show:
“Early on, when doing ‘Turkey Confidential,’ we had a young woman call in whose husband announced to his family that she was going to do Thanksgiving dinner all by herself, that she didn’t need any help.
He was inviting his whole family over, and she had never cooked. My first thought was, ditch the guy. This poor woman called close to tears!
I really was thinking, I wish there were some way I could send this woman the name of a divorce lawyer.”
You would think that, out of thousands of callers, Lynne might have dealt a few who were so clueless that they shouldn’t even be in a kitchen.
So, what’s LRK’s attitude toward those wannabes? Should they simply resign themselves to a life of ordering delivery?
“Nowhere is it written that everybody is supposed to cook. I can roast something and know, by instinct, whether it’s done, but can I figure out my computer? It’s not my skill set!”
As we wrapped up the interview, Lynne offered some great insights about cooking as therapy, and about what matters most in the kitchen:
“When we’re preoccupied with stress, or exhausted from work, to do something that occupies you physically . . .
Cooking involves all your senses, and if you can give yourself up to the pleasure of cooking, the goal doesn’t have to be ‘Did I get it right?’ or ‘Does it taste fabulous?’
That’s very nice, but the real delight in this is that, for whatever amount of time you have, you can give yourself up to the taste, and the smell, and the touch.
To trust in your senses, and trust in your common sense. It’s allowing yourself to become totally engaged in something that is tactile.”
Which might be the best I’ve ever heard of what cooking really means. Of course, she already had me at ‘big bowl of love.’
As a footnote, when I hung up the phone with Lynne, I made a donation to public radio. It wasn’t a lot – every month I’ll give about what you’d pay for an onion, a potato, a carrot, and a can of tomatoes. But now I can enjoy my Tibetan throat singing guilt-free.
Careful With That Blowfish!
Lately, I’ve started to read more about food than I have been, you know, eating it. I’m also discovering parts of the foodie ‘scene’ about which I had no clue. Like ‘trending�
�� foods.
I don’t remember Mom ever serving dinner and saying, “Here you go, this is the latest food trend.” I can’t picture asking my neighborhood butcher which meats are ‘trending’ this year.
Frankly, I don’t even like the word ‘trending,’ because usually I’m opposed to verbing nouns.
Apparently though, every year, a secret cabal of foodistas decide, for the uneducated communal palate, what foods will be hot in the next year.
Looking at lists from the past couple years, there seems to be no rhyme or reason behind what foods are ‘trending.’
I looked at several lists from the past year, and then I got a little sad when I realized how many food trends I had missed.
Bean Soup
Having been poor during much of my life, I had always thought of bean soup as ‘poor folks’ food, but I guess being poor is trendier these days, so it makes sense. Of course, this means that next year we’ll have to listen to hipsters whining about bean soup being too trendy.
Organic Chocolate
We’re hip enough here in the hinterlands to be familiar with ‘organic’ chocolate, but I try to go one step further. I only eat free-range chocolate—I don’t want to imagine thousands of chocolate bunnies crowded into some windowless shed.
Canadian Cheeses
Why are Canadian cheeses on this list? Maybe they’re not as pushy as your typical, swaggering American cheese? “Try this goat cheese from Ottawa. It’s so well-mannered, not like those boorish American cheeses.”
Organ Meats
I’m not denying that there are people who love their animal innards, but I’m not gonna buy that they’re ‘trending’ until I see an ‘offal aisle’ at Trader Joe’s. ‘Organ meat’ doesn’t belong in the same sentence as ‘trendy.’ I’m still not sure it belongs in the same sentence as ‘food.’
Bacon-Chocolate Chip Pancake Mix
There is a difference between ‘trending’ and ‘a good idea I would try once.’ The only demographic group for whom this could be ‘trending’ would be potheads.
Whoopie Pies
All I know about whoopee pies is that they’re Southern. Even Wikipedia is confused, calling them “an American baked good that may be considered either a cookie, pie, or cake.” Also, I know that they aren’t exactly ‘trending’ where I go to eat.
Sometimes I think the foodie fraternity is just messing with us normal eaters. I imagine they hold a meeting, then decide on some bizarre animal to tout as the next hip thing in food.
Then they stand around the granite islands in their high-tech kitchens laughing at us for eating . . . otter tails. While they chow down on mac and Velveeta.
If foodies aren’t messing with us, explain the appeal of blowfish. I don’t mean the inoffensive late-nineties pop group Hootie AND the Blowfish, although I am confused by their popularity, as well.
I’m talking about the actual fish that, when prepared properly, “has the consistency of white tuna, but with a more delicate taste.” Oh—but when NOT prepared correctly, it will kill you.
Call me boring, but I think there are enough food items that definitively will not kill me, even if I screw up when I’m cooking them, that I don’t feel a need to try something that might kill me if my technique is a little off.
Another trendy food (apparently) is ‘black garlic,’ and when I first heard about it, I needed to learn more, because I use garlic in almost everything—clove upon clove of clovey goodness.
I went to a website for a company that sells the stuff, and there was a description of how ‘black garlic’ comes into being:
“Black Garlic, Inc. uses the finest garlic. Our direct relationship with farmers enables us to select the raw garlic that will produce the best black garlic.
.
Most of the magic happens behind the closed doors of our patented machine.”
Whoa, back up there! That first paragraph seems all ‘connected to nature,’ and then you throw us a curve. “Our patented machine?” Why “behind the closed doors?” Mind telling us what exactly happens to the garlic inside the machine?
You know who should look into this? The Garlic Council. There must be one—there’s an American Egg Board, and a Milk Advisory Board (which is where I go for all my milk advice).
There are dozens of other shadowy organizations, each bombarding us with propaganda for their special food interests. It always seems sad to me when foods have to lobby for our attention—we get it, pork, you taste good.
Of course, the list for following year was entirely different (foods only ‘trend’ for a year, I guess), and included ‘tiny pies.’ Please, for the love of Julia, explain to me why we need smaller pies, and why these freakishly small pies will suddenly become popular!
Maybe plate manufacturers are scaling way back, or maybe the Pie Council surveyed a bunch of people who said “I like pies just fine, and I’d eat more of them, but they’re always so big!”
Another food item that is supposed to be hot this year is, coincidentally, another example of the convergence of the foodie and stoner mindsets.
They’re called ‘cakeballs,’ and they are balls of cake . . . filled with ice cream. We’re talking dessert squared here. They may not be trending nationwide, but I’m sure they’re HUGELY popular with some twenty-somethings I know.
Ultimately, I think ‘food trends’ are a load of crap. I think they’re just PR campaigns. Maybe the ostrich egg market takes a dive, and all of a sudden ostrich eggs are on the cover of Gourmet and everyone’s buying gigantic skillets.
You know what food I think will be popular next year? Pizza. You know why? Because pizza will always be popular.
Sure, there may be years when thick crust is in, or some odd combination of toppings, but the basic template of dough, sauce and cheese can’t be beat.
Here’s how perfect pizza is, conceptually—if your slice is topped with something you don’t like, you just take it off and you still have dough, sauce and cheese! It’s genius!
I recently did a survey of more than five friends, and the results were interesting—when asked their favorite food, nearly sixty-seven percent chose pizza.
Granted, one person specified ‘a thin crust pizza with Roma tomato sauce and mozzarella, topped halfway through with prosciutto and arugula until the arugula just slightly wilts,’ but I got the impression that if it were a death row / last request scenario, he’d be fine with a plain slice of cheese from Domino’s.
When it came to ‘least favorite food,’ there was more of a range of replies—beef liver, chicken liver (yeah, organ meats are really taking the country by storm), sardines, horseradish, and for some reason, somebody said ‘creamed rutabagas.’
My question isn’t “What’s so bad about creamed rutabagas,” but “Why would you even try creamed rutabagas?” It sounds like the Rutabaga Council was just getting desperate—“Look, nobody’s buying these—maybe we should tell people to cream them, so they seem less like . . . rutabagas.”
Modern, Schmodern
Unlike your typical fifty-something, I’d go so far as to say, overall, I’m in favor of progress. I have plenty of tech toys and gadgets that allow me to do literally dozens of things I didn’t know I needed to do.
And, I actually know how to use most of the devices I own, although I’m pretty sure my phone is smarter than I am.
I also believe that every technological advance comes with a downside. Which is why, sometimes, I prefer the old way of doing things.
The telephone is a perfect example. Sure, now I can press three buttons and find the nearest dry cleaner, or Ecuadoran restaurant.
Still, the old-fashioned rotary phone had its advantages. Foremost among them: when you have a rotary phone, you’re a helluva lot less likely to drunk-dial employers, or ex-girlfriends.
With a rotary phone, you might want to tell her off, but by the time you’re through dialing the area code, you’ve had time to gain some perspective.
Which brings me to molecular gastron
omy. If you’re not in the loop, it’s like cooking, minus the nostalgia and warm feelings.
See, the theory is that we shouldn’t be locked into making food the way Grandma did, when we have all this technology now, and just try to tell me that Grandma wouldn’t have used a centrifuge if she could have (“Goshdurnit! I’m fixin’ to turn this pecan pie into an industrial-looking aerosol foam!”).
Me, I like ‘comfort food.’ Those two words just go together, like good and sex, or Turner and Hooch. Besides, on a certain level, shouldn’t all food be comforting? Nobody wants to hear the waiter say, “Our soup this evening will make you particularly uncomfortable.”
I appreciate creativity, but I think there’s a limit to how ‘challenging’ I want dinner to be. Yet that’s what molecular gastronomy is all about—using chemistry and physics to create new and ‘interesting’ meals.
If I understand it correctly, it’s designed for rich New Yorkers to enjoy from an ironic distance. Think of ‘molecular gastronomy’ as the bastard love child of Marie Curie and Mario Batali.
It’s perfect for people who feel, “I want to cook, but I was hoping there could be more exposure to dangerous chemicals, and lasers.”
The bible of the movement is called Modernist Cuisine, and it comprises five volumes and 2,438 pages.
The set even has its own trailer you can watch online. But I think six hundred dollars is a little pricey for a cookbook, unless it also, say, predicts the future. Six hundred bucks is two months of food for us.
Modernist Cuisine has a dessert recipe for something called ‘Garnet Yam Fondant with Sage Foam.’ Since I’m sure the name alone has your mouth watering, let me parse the recipe for you.
If you want to liven up your next pool party with this treat, you’ll need plenty of xanthan gum, isomalt and something called Versawhip; you’ll also want a vacuum sealer, three pipettes, and a mandoline.
Does This Taste Funny? A Half-Baked Look at Food and Foodies Page 11