| VIDEO POST 007 |
[Jul. 20th, 2010|08:21 am] |
I suppose it goes without saying after my last post that I'm throwing my money behind Mr Perrault. Obviously, I did not, nor would I have wanted to, make a bid for the nomination myself, but perhaps I can lend my entrepreneurial savvy to his campaign.
Nevertheless, best of luck to all, especially the bloggers here. |
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| BLOG POST 006 |
[Jun. 29th, 2010|08:05 am] |
And now for something a little bit different, I am going to take a break from my usual postings on food and culinary technology to muse for a bit on the upcoming special election in New York City. The character of each new district has yet to assert itself, and I find that I honestly couldn't predict the results of this election.
By no means is this an expression of interest, but I am genuinely curious: what would the citizens of District 2 expect of their representative? What sort of unique problems would the district's special makeup cause? What can be done on the local level to improve the lives of foreign nationals in America?
As a British national living in District 2, I find myself unsure of what to think or expect, and admittedly rather pessimistic about the chance that this change in the city government can do much for those of us whose problems can only really be solved at the national level. The recent, drastic changes in the city's structure will surely pose a number of issues in the upcoming months, perhaps years, and in more than just confusing names. |
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| BLOG POST 005 |
[Jun. 12th, 2010|02:00 am] |
First, I would like to thank those of you who responded to my previous post. I know I haven't responded, but rest assured that I read them thoroughly. I may not respond at all -- I wouldn't want to sound insincere posting a response that says, "This is so very interesting," even if those are my true feelings.
In any event, thank you. My own food story, I'm afraid, is far too long for me to recount here, as most of my memories do tend to be tied to taste. For example, I couldn't tell you if it was cloudy or sunny the day I first arrived in America as a young lad of twenty, but I could tell you that the first thing I ate in the United States was a Hebrew National hot dog topped with mustard, sauerkraut, and sweet onions that I bought off a street vendor.
On the opposite end of the culinary spectrum, it was a red cabbage gazpacho served with pommery grain mustard ice cream that made me realise what sort of chef I wanted to be. Though I appreciate the classics and the comfort foods and eat those primarily in my daily life (& post about them most frequently in this blog), the culinary world, as any other, desires and requires a forward motion.
Generally, I believe that change is good. Even if the changes aren't permanent, or if the change fails, then at least it was something different, and perhaps having had that experience with change and difference can inspire a better, more effective change. Little depresses me so much as a missed opportunity.
And that is why, for the reader who asked me about my opinions on the catfish farm at the World Trade Center site, I am in favour. But what would I know, I am an Englishman after all. I ate my first hot dog at twenty. |
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| BLOG POST 004 |
[May. 30th, 2010|10:35 pm] |
Hello, my friends. In lieu of my usual, topical posts, I would like to propose an exercise, a meme if you will. Answering in the comments is by no means necessary, but I encourage all to consider the prompt in regards to their own lives regardless.
Anyway, you may have noticed that, lately, I've been feeling a bit sentimental about food. I do have a number of fond food memories, and I'm sure it wouldn't be difficult for me to define the stages of my life and my relationships based on the sorts of things I ate. What I am asking is for you to do the same.
At first, this may seem a daunting task. A life can be quite a long time, and with three meals a day over thousands of days, how can one know where to begin? Thus, I provide you with the following questions as a jumping off point, but don't feel the need to be slavish to them:- What do you remember eating as a child? Who cooked for you, and what was your relationship like with this person? How did the food reflect the relationship?
- What is your favourite thing to eat? When did you discover this? Is there any food that you can't stand?
- What did you eat on your first date? If applicable, what did you serve at your wedding?
- Do you cook? What is your favorite thing to cook? When did you first make it? What was the first thing you cooked?
- When you shop, do you have specific recipes in mind, or do you just pick out whatever strikes your fancy? Do you grow anything yourself?
- How does food factor into the way you live your life? Do you plan out each meal? When you eat out at a favorite spot, do you have a favourite dish that you always order, or do you like to try new things?
You get the idea by now, I hope. In simpler language: How does food factor into your identity as a person? |
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| BLOG POST 003 |
[May. 16th, 2010|10:39 am] |
For those of you who may have missed it or skimmed over it, my friend (and employee) Margaret Yazzie recently listed some very sound advice for getting through district raids safely. Among several other, equally wise statements was the following:If you're going to or from events in District 0, such as your job or maybe a friend's BFA showing at NYU Steinhardt, make sure you bring proof of where you've been going. You might get questions.
As the owner of an establishment in District 0 that people may very well be visiting, I know that for some places in District 0, it may be difficult to find proof of a visit. Some events may have no tangible evidence, and now that paper receipts are no longer in fashion, you may have to go through your online financial records in order to show a policeman where you've been.
If you don't feel comfortable with this, remember that you may always ask for a paper receipt, and most establishments should be able to accommodate. I know Diving Bell will provide paper receipts upon request. Should you even feel uncomfortable with showing an officer a single receipt, an assortment of paper menus are also available at the hostess's desk in the front of the restaurant. Feel free to ask for one as you enter or leave, and I promise there will be no judgement.
So long as you recycle, that is. |
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| BLOG POST 002 |
[May. 6th, 2010|06:51 pm] |
Now, as I'm sure many of you are aware, Mother's Day is nearly upon us. When I was growing up, we didn't have Mother's Day on the second Sunday of May as you do here. Instead, we had Mothering Sunday, which I'm told occurs at some point during Lent, but we were never particularly religious in my family.
Now, of course, I couldn't be at home for Mothering Sunday, although I did give my dear mumsie and Meryl both a nice phone call on a Sunday around the time it might have been (though the latter is not strictly a mother, per se). If I had been home, I know exactly what I would have done: I would have woken up early and surprised Meryl with breakfast. Then, the two of us would have hopped in the car, driven to Bristol, and done the same for my mother. It's a two hour drive from London, but my mum rarely rises before noon these days, bless her.
What would I have made? Simple. French toast ('eggy bread', to some), topped with butter, sugar, and perhaps fresh fruit.
For those of you more familiar with my restaurant fare, this may seem a bit of a surprise. It is, after all, fairly traditional. Where are the expensive foreign ingredients with difficult-to-pronounce names? Couldn't I substitute the fresh fruit for a foam? An emulsion? Perhaps a compote, that's a nice, foreign word. Why French toast at all? Why not something to do with slow-cooked eggs? They are, after all, a specialty of mine, and feature heavily on Diving Bell's special brunch menu.
The answer is simple: these fancier things are nice, and certainly they have their places, but they don't have the same emotional impact as simple foods, crafted with love. Few and far between are the children who have fond childhood memories of Dungeness Crab Cakes Benedict with Grand Marnier Prawns and Aioli, but most everyone can recall a time when they happily dove into a plate of French toast.
RECIPE AFTER THE CUT » |
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| BLOG POST 001 |
[Apr. 5th, 2010|08:10 pm] |
( Picture behind the jump. )
In past years, I used to take Easter off work and spent it with my wife, eating Cadbury Creme Eggs. Nowadays, it's a simpler holiday for me, and I spend it cooking eggs. Eggs are one of the most perfect and yet under-appreciated of all foodstuffs, and it warms the cockles of my heart to see that they receive their due on Easter Sunday. This entry concerns hen eggs, but of course I am appreciative of other birds' contributions, as well as fish roe.
White, yolk, shell; a single cell encased in a hard membrane. One might think an eggshell is very fragile, but in fact the opposite is true. Try to squeeze an egg in the palm of your hand, and I guarantee you it will not break. An egg is a marvel of natural engineering, just as fascinating chemically as physically. As any foodie might be able to tell you, eggs were a key focus of Hervé This, who was one of the pioneers of modern cooking methods. The proteins that make up the inside of an egg are very sensitive to heat, unwinding and then linking into solid chains. So much in the world of cooking depends on those precious proteins.
Think of sauces and foams held together by those very proteins. Think of rich chocolate cakes laden with egg yolks. Think of fluffy meringues. Think of creamy custards. Think of poached eggs, scrambled eggs, hard boiled eggs, eggs over easy.
Here's to eggs.
[Photo Credit] |
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