Deathmatch: The Inn At Little Washington vs. The French Laundry

My wife and I have stratospheric standards for eating fine cuisine. I write that knowing how nauseatingly pretentious italicized phrases look. So, as I float here, uncontrollably drifting backwards from my desk, I wonder why I bought a frictionless chair on wheels, with hardwood floors.

Anyway, we do know how to judiciously differentiate between fine dining and regular good food. I would never waste my time comparing a Sonic with Café Bizou, but I am going to host a deathmatch between the Inn At Little Washington and The French Laundry.

There is no way this will be a balanced and objective comparison. The Inn has history with us. We have had the best meals and some of the best times there. I don’t know Thomas Keller from Helen Keller, but I can only assume he lives up to the hype, this renegade of remoulade. To prove my prejudice, the rest of this article will glorify the Inn.

The Inn is a benchmark by which all others are judged, usually unfairly. We have kept a rambling, erratic oral history preserving the long string of establishments that were compared to, and failed to equal the Inn at Little Washington .



If God were a chef, this would be His restaurant. As it stands, the god's name is Patrick O'Connell. Together with his partner, Rinehardt Lynch, they have crafted a unique and sublime restaurant and inn located 90 minutes outside of Washington in the lush Virginia countryside.

Fortuitously, or perhaps serendipididdly, I received his latest cookbook in the mail today, Patrick O’Connell’s Refined American Cuisine, The Inn At Little Washington



I have been sitting on this article for a few days now, and it just worked out that this new Louvre of food was delivered to me on this day. His food photographer, Tim Turner, captures the food and countryside in exquisite detail. Patrick himself writes “No one can squeeze more glamour out of food than Tim.” So true, that you can’t flip a few pages before getting hungry.

I know I’m setting myself up for copyright infringement, and I’ll be very disappointed if I receive a cease and desist letter from my hero, but I have to share a couple snapshots of the plates.



To use text to describe something so vivid would be an injustice, so in a modest act of civil disobedience, here are a couple more.




The story of how the Inn evolved is as engaging as their food. Not established initially as a fancy destination restaurant, the Inn opened in 1978 in a converted garage. The cheapest item on the menu was $4.95, a far cry from the opulent $168 prix fixe per person. It slowly built up a reputation over the years, and evolved from modest restaurant, to a comfortable inn, to its current lavish, opulent configuration.

Aside from the opulence of the interior, part of the Inn’s mystique is Little Washington. As with the French Laundry, you have to truck yourself about an hour and a half outside of Washington to get there. Who cares, it’s a fabulous ride. Route 29 is one of those rare highways that has such beauty, you actually slow down and admire the countryside.

If it is fall, it will take even longer, because the landscape looks as if Jackson Pollack threw paint all over the forest. The town itself is comprised of only five buildings, as I recall, and the Inn owned at least three of them. There has been some controversy as to the Inn’s expansion in recent years, but I live 3000 miles away, so the desperate politics of a town of 36 has been under my radar for a while.

Stepping into the warmth of The Inn is like entering Hogwarts. Lush tapestries and inviting fires greet you in the lobby. It feels regal and overwhelming, but whimsy soon reveals it’s mischievous and graceful secrets.

As in the pages of the book. Patrick’s writing style is breezy and engaging, and Tim almost conjures aroma from his pictures. Here is a small sample of some recipes:

Scallop, Ham and pineapple ‘Sandwiches’…the scallop is the sandwich.
Brussels Sprout Petals with Coriander Vinaigrette and Pickled Cranberries



Pistachio-Crusted Lamb Chops on Rutabaga Rosti with Gingered Carrot Sauce

Mmmm. mmmmm. The thing about the Inn, like Patrick, is it never takes itself too seriously. The cheese cart…is a cow. They push it around and it moos. This is not some stuffy five star restaurant.

But it is a five star restaurant, the first inn to earn it in Mobil’s Travel Guide. As their own brochure says:

“The International Herald Tribune picked the Inn as one of the 10 best restaurants in the world and Travel + Leisure Magazine rated The Inn number 1 in North America and number 2 in the world in their World’s Best Awards.”

I don’t really weigh awards when deciding if I like a restaurant, but I wanted to establish that the Inn isn’t a McDonalds. They have culled a wide assortment of accolades and achievements, and I’d concur with many of the superlatives heaped on it. I am definitely going to hit this book, and pull out a few numbers, perhaps for the superbowl party…but then again, I should save the good stuff for my family.

The Whole Deal Against Whole Foods

I'm only going to say this once.

I wish I had never found the Whole Foods in Glendale. Previous to that, I was able to comfortably avoid the place, passing it off as a hippy outpost that catered to the guilty Earth hugging crowd. Yet, that's precisely what they are hoping for.

Whole Foods has built an empire on marketing to aging hippies that believe using organic and holistic products will usher them into the radiant embrace of immortality. Have these people looked in the mirror? Grandma picking her way through vitamin B enriched band-aids with her scraggly grey dreadlocks, who has smoked pot for the last fifty-two years, is not going to salvage her health eating hormone free cheese.

I have a grim disdain towards bogus herbs. Without FDA regulation, these companies -and when I say that, I really mean criminal enterprises- market their phony snake oil to desperate masses looking to solve their insurmountable problems. I'm certainly not sympathetic to the gluttonous slob who doesn't have the motivation to get off his ass and exercise, but I don't condone unregulated bullshit artists that pawn their useless and potentially harmful concoctions on an admittedly dumb and uninformed public.

Whole Foods buys into, and endorses that philosophy, to their shame and discredit. In the guise of saving the planet and keeping you healthy, they cynically stock their shelves with 'natural' products as if the very character of natural is benign. I know plenty of naturally occuring poisons. Arsenic, methane, hemlock, venom, these are all natural. Wild animals are unpredictable and deadly. Who determined that nature was safe and healthy?

I resent marketing of holistic and organic products that make pseudo-medical claims while nimbly wording their labels to deceive the consumer. "Has been known to contribute to..." "Promotes healty..." "Sometimes works without killing..." are all phrases that veer the legal distance necessary to deflect lawsuits based on false claims.

To further intensify my aggravation, every piece of food has a goddamn backstory. I can't just buy a loaf of bread. I have to buy the sun dried tomato and nicoise olive rosemary salted French torpedo bread. I have to sit through the info card on the back of the basket detaling the harsh and sad life all the ingredients endured to make this slab of dough.

The sundried tomatoes were beaten and kidnapped from Madrid, and spirited forcefully along the underground trade routes of Afghanistan through Khetarian controlled regions in the remote nether trails through China.

The bulgar wheat was surrepticously harvested by guerillas from Greenpeace out of the Nile basin and shipped clandesinely on a restored Confederate Ironclad for processing in Minagua, before burros risk their lives backpacking it through El Salvador and Mexico.

The eggs are harvested from penguins in the Antarctic, hitched by nylon netting to the neck of a South American South Pole Egg Diver, and swam back up 3425 miles of Brazilian coast to meet his vendor who will pay him 6500 real per egg, amounting to about 12 cents, which will pay for one semester of medical school at the University of Rio de Janiero. The bread is $6.50 a loaf.

Now you see why I hate Whole Foods? I get drama, and now I have to pay six times what it would cost at Ralphs. Furthermore, I'm tired of making two distinct trips. I have to go to Whole Foods to get my protein, granted.

Then, I have to go to Ralphs or Vons or Albertsons to get my toilet paper, because I'm not going to wipe my ass with the ten dollar sandpaper Whole Foods calls organic, fresh composted wood pulp. It's like scraping an unsanded plank between my cheeks.

Oh, I've just begun.

Everything is organic, which means it is laden with disease and bug shit. You like bug shit? I don't. I want my raw vegetables to be free of vermin and dead insect carcasses. I've made this joke before, so excuse me, but 'organic' is Sumerian for 40% markup. Slap 'organic' on a vegatable and it means the farmer saved 50% overhead on not using pesticide, shipped you product full of worm holes and fecal matter, and charged you three times what it would cost in a regular store.

California drives me to tear my wisdom teeth out. More than any place else, flaky drones buy into this marketng ploy. I'm not naiive, I know this is LA's steadfast reputation. You'd think that even the most brain addled stripper could see that aloe vera capsules might not improve her complexion, but contributes to her unrelenting tide of diarrea.

Not a good condition for a stripper.

I wish I could separate Whole Foods into two divisions. The delusional baby boomer store, with the beeswax suppositories and Tofurkey rueben sandwiches, and the cheese, fowl, meat and seafood outlet.

All I want is quality meat, which Glendale excels. I don't need the hippy propoganda and infinite loop VHS reels describing the plight of the wild salmon I'm going to grill.

I don't need to choose my food motivated by guilt. I don't need to eat based on a loose moral thread. I eat because of the quality of food.

Whole Foods delivers a high quality of food, no doubt. It is only that reason I enter the front door. Beyond that, they can take their propoganda and long winded justifications for kindly slaughtered meat and shove it up their sanctimonious asses.

Buffalo Goulash In the Heart of America

Well, we're more like the Edge of America, and I've been a little under the weather, so my sense of taste might be askew. It's not like you're going to taste it anyway. That's one of the things I love about cooking shows and Food TV. It doesn't matter if the ancho roasted pork tastes like diseased carrion, the host and guests will cheerfully choke it down for the camera, opining how succulent and wonderful the flavors are. So, too is Gastrologica. For all you know, buffalo tastes like armadillo.



No, nothing that looks that good could taste like armadillo. I discussed the qualities of bison in my earlier post, so you know it tastes like rich beef. The problem with buffalo is how lean it is. I've written about this earlier, but buffalo steaks are best served rare, and stew meats should be cooked low and slow.

Goulash, I have also discussed before, so I won't go into the details or recipe, but it is quite simple to make. In this case, I used one can of beef stock, a tablespoon of blended chipotle, several heavy pours of paprika and the meat. Cook on low for eight hours.

Chipotle? Is this a Cthulu hallucinogen? A Chipotle is a smoked jalapeno. You can't get much better than that. It wraps up two of the greatest flavors in one cleverly produced pepper. You can buy chipotle in dry form, powder it up and use it for flavoring.

You can also buy a can of Embasa chipotle peppers in adobo sauce. I don't know if this is available nationwide, but it the more desireable of the two. The peppers are canned with a smoky tomato sauce, which is also spiced. Be prepared, these are not dumbed down in any way, they are hot. What I do is blend all of it and keep it in the fridge, it is the most versatile condiment you can own. Any time you need heat and smoke, you can knock a few teaspoons into the mix.



Goulash is such a pretty dish, dark brown chunks of meat blanketed by vibrant crimson that has the heavy punch of paprika. The buffalo is tender, and falls apart like classic ropa vieja.

So, you have the answer. Yes, I will be buying more bison from Linder Bison despite their purist, sunshiny disposition. Ok, I'm exaggerating. She was a nice and informative person who was easy to deal with, but if James Frey can take exxagerative license, so can I. I still don't like hippie marketing, and you'll find out why when I blast Whole Foods.

So, for an interesting twist on any meat dish think about using bison instead of beef, if you can get it. I don't know if it is better for you, but it is certainly leaner. Just watch your cooking times.

Gastrologica Frappr Map

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Grassfed Bison

Tomorrow, I will give you a full report on bison goulash. Tonight, all I can tell you is I may have a new best friend if this exemplifies the quality of bison they sell at the Hollywood farmer's market.

Whole Foods is the only other place I can regularly get bison, and Linder Bison may be my other source. They offer a variety of cuts, from chuck and round to sirloin. I bought two pounds of top round and chuck for my goulash, which I'll crock pot tomorrow.

They had an abundance of propoganda, which she shoved into my bag, scornfully radiating her brainwashed, and halcion fueled sanctimony. The pamphlets incessantly prostletized about the benefits of organic, grassfed bison, and the holistic benefits of free roaming buffalo. I don't care. Excuse me if I seem insensitive. As long as it fuels my unsettling lifestyle, they could force the buffalo to sit through a Woody Allen marathon and I wouldn't give a flying crank.

As long as it turns out tender and wild. I love earthy stews that showcase game meat, and I still consider buffalo game meat. It is the most widely proliferated range meat and has a slightly richer taste then beef. The only problem is its anorexia. Buffalo, by virtue of their free range nature, have little fat. That's great if you want to broil Calista Flockhart, but it works against you if you want a succulent cut off bison.



So, do like I do and crock pot it. Low and slow for several hours should make it fall apart and absorb the paprika overloaded stock. One day I want to try a confeit of buffalo.

Michelob's New Glitz

Ocassionally, a huge brewer like Anhauser Bush will sneak in a specialty brew for small distribution. Their latest step into this arena is Michelob Celebrate which, admittedly, sounds more like an erectile dysfunction pill than a microbrew. Celebrate's label boasts "Oak-Aged Dark Vanilla," punctuated with "Premium Lager." It drones on to give us the entire, dull backstory of this self-important release. It is all printed on a dramatic black label embossed with gold, taking a step and three-quarters in the general direction of audaciousness.

Yet, it pours with a hearty density and the vertical whirpool at the bottom of the glass swirls with decent effervescence. The aroma does have a sprinkle of vanilla, but it teeters dangerously close to a fat Belgian Ale or worse, Scottish Ale.

Let me slide over to this tangent, since it is the perfect segue to rant about thick, sickly sweet, syrupy turpentine.

The most expensive beer I ever bought was $8.99 for a 6 ounce bottle of Thomas Hardy Ale. It was like drinking Jaegermeister mixed with chocolate syrup. I took one sip, recoiled and contemplated throwing away the whole bottle.

But wait. I paid almost nine bucks for this tiny beer. It was at that moment I heard Cartman's voice in my head.

"Go ahead, throw it away.
Just pour it down the gutter.
Do it.
Oh, you can't.
You won't throw it away even if it tastes like goat piss.
You're a Jew.
You'd like to throw it away but...
you're...
Jewish.
You can't do it, you spent nine dollars on the tiny bottle."
It's true. I'm Jewish and I couldn't throw the tiny beer away even though it was progressively making more sick than the drink before. Each swig trucked me one mile closer to Nauseaburg. And I wouldn't throw it away because it was almost ten dollars.
I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It was a horrible experience.

Anyway, the Michelob was far from that disappointing experience. Even though I don't believe the label of old world, patient crafting, it pleasantly cranked back the sweetness to a tolerable level, and the dark sparkle added to its appeal.

Celebrate had a sweet nose with a faint whisp of vanilla, but it didn't seem like the flavor was infused after the fact. There was a shadow of cognac hiding behind the malt.

The taste (gulp, smack, smack) has a hearty spike of alcohol, which helps diffuse the fragrant malt. I wouldn't say the vanilla is even discernable, but it is lingering in the background somewhere, waiting for it's big chance to solo for the American Idol judges.

Overall it is a great winter beer. I read on a beer-snob site (let's face it, I'm a food-snob site, but I'll lob a grenade in this glass house for the sake of argument), dissed it up and down as a meekly produced hairball from a major brewer.

I was much more forgiving, in that anything bearing the Michelob label which does not taste like anal discharge is an inconceivable achievement. It is remarkably flavorful, and screw the fact that its head "dissipates quickly." It is a real strong beer, walking a tightrope between unpalletable goo and complex brew.

My conclusion: A good buy, just once. It's nothing you would drink on a daily basis, but to try a six pack once (7 ounce bottles @ 10% alcohol) and you will be pleasantly surprised.

Phenomenally Apologetic

I realize I said phenomenal more times than Emeril says 'Bam' in a single episode.

Comments

Just got some feedback that comments may not be working. Email me if you've tried to leave a comment and it didn't take...I made some changes, hopefully it will work now.

The Gastrologica Show II

Can't wait until next week for a new show? Gastrologica Show #2 is now available through the feed! I cover apricot chicken and gravlax. So, sit down and listen intently, or while you are jogging.

Remember, next week is a whole new ballgame!

Podcast Sources

Hello everybody!

Well, the podcast has really taken off, I see the overnight ratings are in and we've put up modest numbers for downloads so far. You can follow the link under description to get a copy, and we are now listed in Apple iTunes, Podcast Alley and Podcast Pickle. I appreciate the listing in Podcast Pickle but I have no clue what on what the marketing motivation was for the title.

Some show notes, the first episode was just me. Subsequent shows will be what I intended: Me and co-hosts talking about food topics. On board right now are the lovely Seem, a dynamite gal who will bring a stabilizing influence and counterpoint to my rantings, and Chef Dan, who brings his professional expertise, keen observation and wit. This is the format going forward, provided we don't scare off Seem (she can hold her own).

The next episode is coming shortly, if you wish us to cover any topics, email me at my address. See you on your iPod...

Gastrologica Podcast Has Launched

Amid great fanfare and nervous trepidation, the Gastrologica Podcast has officially launched. You can download Episode I here. If you have a podcast aggregator (don't know what one is? Follow this link), you can paste this link into your RSS feed: digriz60.libsyn.com/rss

Happy listening, and as always, I appreciate any feedback you have.

Destination: French Laundry

Many of you have heard of the French Laundry, Thomas Keller's west coast mecca of allegedly spectacular cuisine. I haven't eaten there, so I take it on face value that it lives up to its reputation.

Even if you've heard of it, you may not have eaten there. It is located in the verdent forest of Yountsville in Napa valley. It's sister restaurant is Bouchon, of which I gave a tepid endorsement in an earlier post, not even realizing it was another Keller venture.

Because of its world-renown status, the process of making a reservation adheres to a strict schedule. Keep up with me, this is tricky. Two months two the day is the only permissible window to make a reservation. So, if we are planning on eating there April 23, and therefore, I've had to leave myself a popup to activate February 23 to make the call. If I miss the window, we lose the date. You cannot make the reservations earlier or later.

It seems to be a popular place. I will be keeping you up to date as we progress closer to our San Francisco trip, the French Laundry will assuredly not be the only place we eat.

Tea Smoked Chicken, Chinese New Year

Kung Hee Fat Choi!

I get a lot of insipration from Mary Sue Miliken and Susan Feniger. This is no coincidence, their show is on Sundays from 9am to noon on 640 KFI here in Los Angeles. You probably remember them as the Two Hot Tamales on the Food Network. I love both Ciudad and Border Grill, and their breezy style of conversation pulls you in and demands your attention.

Yesterday, they were describing a traditional Chinese New Year dish, tea smoked chicken. The symbolism of serving a whole chicken is the representation of family togetherness. It sounded like it had a complex flavor, but minimal preparation. Was it? Read on.

My pantry is pretty complete and eclectic so I actually had most of the primary ingredients. There are two stages to cooking the chicken, and each requires its own spice mixture.

First, nab yourself a three pound chicken. Clean and pat dry. In a grinder, put two tablespoons of Chinese five-spice, two tablespoons szechwan peppercorns and salt. Rub the chicken liberally inside and out and refrigerate for 8 hours, but not less than two.

You will be steaming the chicken first. I used a lobster pot, but any large pot that can accomodate a whole chicken will do. You want to steam it, so make sure the steamer is high enough off the water so it doesn't boil the bottom of the chicken. Cover tightly and steam for 45 minutes, checking periodically to replenish water. I got a crazy idea to squeeze an orange into the liquid and use sake as well. I took the leftover orange and stuffed it into the chicken cavity.

Stage II, the smoking. Dont make the same mistake I did. I used the same large pot with the smoking elements wrapped in tinfoil. It scorched the entire pot. Better to use a smaller pot that can be entirely lined with tin foil than spend the rest of snowboarding season grinding away at soot.

The smoking compound is as follows:

1/2 cup black tea leaves
1/2 cup sugar
few cuts of orange zest (use this orange to stuff your chicken, as in above)
few chunks of ginger

When the chicken is done steaming, carefully remove from the pot. If jostled, it will fall apart and irrevocably damage your New Year. Your family will fall apart and house will collapse. Prepare your pot or wok and place the chicken on a grate in the pot. Cover and seal with tin foil, this will trap all the smoke inside. Smoke for 25 minutes, this will be enough to infuse the chicken.

When complete, carefully remove and put on a serving plate. It may not be thoroughly brown, but the flavor will be pronounced and delicious. The steaming process guarantees the meat will be moist and juicy, and therefore the smoking won't dry it out. My first try: A complete success with the exception of the chicken falling apart when removing from the large pot. My home is in ruins.

Gingergrass Redepmtion

I didn't set out to go to Gingergrass. Actually, I was going to Red Lion Tavern to prove I felt no lasting derision against it. Wouldn't get an opportunity on this night, there was a line and the frigid wind was motivating us to get inside quickly. Frankly, we weren't looking to knock back a few beers -I was already swooning from a well established bender- we just wanted to eat hearty German food.

So we settled for hearty Vietnamese food. And when I say settled I should have said begrudglingly. I love Vietnamese food, and I especially love a Vietnamese place if they take credit cards, because thats more rare than finding a pearl in a lobster. But I had a problem with Gingergrass.

Gingergrass has so many things going for it, a minimalist space, fresh twists to standard favorites, a focus on healthy preparation and sleek presentation. The only thing going against it was the food. I thought it was tasteless.

Hmm. That's a hard one to get over. What do you do if everything else is good but the food? Well, I don't have to worry about that anymore, last night Gingergrass perfectly redeemed themselves with every dish.

There was one other problem. My problem. The thing about being a prodigious drinker living the Tiki Life is the startling loss of memory. Therefore, I left the camera at home. Actually, I had every intention of going to the Red Lion, and since I already lambasted it in another post, I didn't really see the need to tote the camera along. My bad assumptions always undermine me. I should know by now when I leave my house without the camera that will be the night I see Paris Hilton and Kevin Federline filming a homemade porno at The W Bar.



This is pretty much what the place looks like. As you can no doubt tell, it is an active, neo-hipster crowd. It is loud, with a feel that reminds me of the vibe at Border Grill. It it spartan, with one wall covered with a looming cork grid. It is open, but it doesn't feel like a concrete wasteland.

A large blackboard over the register displayed the night's specials and there it was...as incongruous as Pat Robertson endorsing Brokeback Mountain, was the most fascinating dish I've seen during the last year: Lemongrass Venison. I had to try this. Because it had the potential to go so kinetically wrong, the feverish anticipation literally had me shaking. Or was it the booze?

Oh, Gingergrass now proudly serves alcohol. I think I had a Hue (pronounced "Hue"), which has a crisp bite and gets the job done.

Just as I was savoring my first gulp of beer, they served us our first plate, the functional Asian equivalent of dinner rolls. They were puffed rice meal chips with a plum sauce. I really like the innovative use of rice cakes as a light starter.

I love the bluntness and raw honesty of an Asian menu. If the dish is cat nuts simmered in pig entrails and brown sauce, the menu will proudly highlight "Cat Nut Simmer in Pig Entrail and Brown Sace."

The Italians would just call it Gatta Coglione con Maiale Frattaglie. So regal. Anyway, our appetizer was Fried Squid. No euphamistic calamari bs.



Arriving simultaneously with the squid, were the summer rolls. Unfortunately, they really were the weakest component of an otherwise perfect meal. I know my way around a summer roll, which are usually hearty logs of fresh leaves and meat. But, these were a bit petite and, I mean this in the best possible context, gay. I'm not talking about the burly gay guys, I'm talking about the dainty ones. These whispy and frail rolls cut on a bias barely made a dent in my appetite, and merely served as decoration.



Finally, the evening's highlight came. Like I said, lemongrass venison has catastrophic possibilities, but the aroma grabbed me by the shoulders and kneed me in the groin. This dish had presence, a bold arrogance.



Presiding over a bed of lettuce and spotted liberally with red peppers, the venison was a perfect balance of ginger, lemongrass (why not use the name of the restaurant, after all), sugar and salt. The venison glistened with a dark brown glaze and melted on the tongue. Explosions of flavor are an overused sentiment, but why not throw in a cliche. It was an explosion of flavor. I tore through it like flesh eating bacteria tears through third world nations.

I was perplexed by the tenderness of the venison. Vietnamese meat usually isn't incredibly tender (pho excepted), but this was silky and rich. The waiter told me was was venison tenderloin so it all made sense. Like I said, I ate at Bastide a while ago and none of the dishes were this innovative.

My wife ordered the pork bowl.

Air Date: Confirmed

About a month ago we were taped for an episode of "Sell This House." The house hasn't sold yet, but we have an airdate. Set your Tivo's for Sunday, March 19th at 5pm (PST) on A&E.

See the frozen expression of my camera shy wife!

Witness the blood curdling tension as my son paints the wall with the wrong color!

Watch me blunder through misfired jokes and the resulting awkward silence and as I turn a home improvement reality show into a one man improv sketch!

Experience the blistering excitement of human drama, as only A&E can bring you!

Sunday, March 19th, 5pm (PST) A&E

Thank You All

Met the contributors to LA Foodblogging, and it was a fun evening of introductions, overfood and bellydancing. We went to Papa Cristo's, and I'll leave the details until I sleep off the meal until tomorrow.

It was great meeting with all the fellow food writers, an insightful and good bunch to hang with...and we didn't even deconstruct the food. The clandestine shot of ouzo capped a hearty meal that I'll describe in further detail tomorrow.

Monte Cristo, and the Pomposity of Food

In a post on another site, someone remarked that a 'foodie' would never be caught dead in a chain restaurant, or at least, admit to it. Of course I emphatically disagree with two points of that statement.

First, the term 'foodie.' To me, foodie translates to culinary dilettante. Someone who loves eating food but has no idea how to prepare it. As it says under my bio, I am not a foodie. I am a glutton. I eat at chain restaurants.

The second point is that I don't think a foodie would be pompous enough to rule out an entire food source because they deign it beneath them. To be a gourmand, or even a foodie, you would embrace all food, and revel in taste, presentation and fellowship, regardless of the venue.

Why do I defend eating at chain restaurants? Because chain restaurants are where the gross excesses of American culinary imagination reside. There is a time and a place to merit excess, and chains like Claim Jumper have built an empire serving enormous plates of food that could feed an entire Pacific Island, let alone your teenage son.

Whoever thinks that a lover of food would never eat at a chain restaurant has never been in charge of entertaining a horde of kids. Any parent issued the unfortunate mission of having to feed a screaming battalion of children knows what I am talking about. You need lots of food to feed a swarm of unsophisticated palettes, cheap.

The fact is, chain food isn't all that bad. These restaurant groups spend millions developing recipes that mass audiences will devour like hyenas. That's how they make all their money. The Cheesecake Factory wouldn't have two hour waits if the food sucked.

So, let's quash this arrogant notion that 'real foodies' don't eat at chain restaurants. I eat at chains, delis, cafes, vending machines, fast food, dives, and stands, and I consider myself a competant and informed food critic.

So, what does this have to do with the Monte Cristo? Well, it is easily my favorite sandwich that happens to come from a chain restaurant, Bennigans. Yeah, Bennigans.

If you want to shuttle yourself to an early grave from either gross obesity or cardiac failure, the quicket way to establish your mortality would be to eat a Monte Cristo every day. This is the purest example of gross excess.



From their website:
A delicious combination of ham and turkey, plus Swiss and American cheeses on wheat bread. Lightly battered and fried until golden. Dusted with powdered sugar and served with red raspberry preserves for dipping.

No matter the description, it still reeks of stroke dipped in heart attack. Monte Cristo is to the club sandwich as deep fried Twinkie is to shortcake. They took something unhealthy and made it poisonous.

Don't get me wrong, this is one of the greatest sandwiches in the world, it's just inappropriate on every level. It gives an unapologetic finger to every credible medical journal, yoga class or hysterical diet in existence.

I love digging my way though the greasy, one-pound sandwich that comes quartered on a bed of french fries. Honestly, I've never finished one in a single sitting, I usually take home half or split it with someone.

So, if you want to elevate your spirit and cholesterol, if you can even find a Bennigan's, I dare you to eat a Monte Cristo. You might find you can't live without it.

Gearing Up for the Podcast

Gastrologica will be launching our podcast soon. I've been working on the technical details, and calculating how much the bandwidth will cost me. Stay tuned for more updates and of course, spread the word.

What A Crock

An obvious cliche, but I'm walking my talk with all the retro jive I was handing you the other day. I had some chicken wings I didn't grill last weekend, so I figured I'd dump them into the Rival Smartpot (they're a sponsor now) and they'd be ready when I got home.

So, last night I filled it with:
1/4 onion,
1/2 cup soy,
1 cup orange juice,
4 cloves of crushed garlic
2 glugs of Jack Daniels
1 teaspoon sage
1 teaspoon ginger
2 tablespoons ketsup

For international standardization, a glug equals 1/2 a shot.

So, there's not much more than that. I refrigerated the wings and marinade overnight in the removable ceramic dish (technology patented by Rival Corporation. Rival, If Someone Breaches the Seventh Seal, It Wasn't Us.) Set it on low for eight hours.



When I pulled into the driveway after work, I was mesmerized by the complex, tickling fragrance. The greatest allure of slow cooking is how the savory perfume infuses my home and spills out every crack and window sill I've been to lazy too repair.

The aroma of slow cooking yanked me back to a simpler time when I shuffled around in footie pajamas. It hypnotized me while I was perfecting my curveball.

Later, it tantalized me before heading out to the midnight movie with my friends. A few years later, when I woke up in a Bangladesh jail, I was seduced by daal, their rich lentil stew.

Well. So...anyway, everything's fine now. You're slow cooking for your own children. Better keep an eye on them.

Worst For You, But the Best

 

This is an unusually intense sensory delight. Take gruyere and chop it up. Fold it gently into a wonton wrapper. Fry for five minutes. Serve with blackberry jelly to dip.

Mussels Wassefeller

Did a twist on oysters Rockefeller last night, mostly to use up leftovers that are not weightloss condusive. Of course, the ingredients were rich and fatty, so it tasted phenomenal.



You will need:

1lb of mussels
1 slice of onion
2 strips of bacon
1 cup of shredded gruyere

Par boil mussels, about a pound. This should give you about 25 mussels or so. You need to par-boil them or you won't be able to open them without creating a huge mess. Just boil until open, not completely cooked through. Simultaneously, cook the bacon and drain.



Open the mussels, discard one shell, and arrange the mussels in a baking dish so they are all flat, facing up. Finely dice up one ring of onion and sprinkle onto the mussels. Crumble the bacon into the shells and sprinkle the gruyere over everything.

Set your oven to broil, these will cook quickly. Don't set the pan too high, we're looking to melt the cheese and soften the onion...not burn the cheese and char the shells.

Place the dish under the broiler and don't walk away. Keep checking every minute, but it should not take more than five minutes to complete. When the cheese is sufficiently melted and slightly browned, remove from the oven and let cool.



Plate up and serve with a cocktail fork. These are so flavorful you won't need a sauce.

New Food Trends

Here it is, Steve's declaration of the food trend for 2006. All media has been waiting for me to make this anncouncement, and that moment has arrived.

I'm going to hit you with a dumb phrase: Old is New Again. It's as incomprehensible as "Orange is the New Avocado", "40 is the New 30", or "Brown is the New Black". For those of you scratching your head, these are Gen-X's apparent theft of Baby Boomer ideas.

Women understand these phrases, they are splattered all over the covers of Vogue, Cosmo or In Style. Men's magazines don't have an equivalent, because old stereo equipment is never considered "retro" or "back in style."

"Nice reel-to-reel Teac, Steve"

"Yeah, I picked it up at a garage sale. Reel to Reel is the new HD-DVD."

"No, it sounds like shit. And what's with the simulated wood paneling? They build stereos out of wood?"

"Hey, back when Woody Allen made Sleeper, this was the vision of the future."

"Pretty bleak future."

"Yeah, kinda sucks doesn't it. I wasted my money."

What does this have to do with New Food Trends? Old is the New New, that's what. Comfort food. Fondue. Crock Pots. Sloppy Joe's. Meatloaf. Avocado colored stoves.

Last week I was listening to Mary Sue Miliken and Susan Feniger (hereafter refered to as the Two Hot Tamales). Even though they didn't say on-air, I had a suspicion the show was sponsored by Rival. The topic of the show was slow cooking, and how it is making a comeback..but the only product they talked about was the Rival Smart Pot...

Ok, I was skeptical, but I happen to own a Rival Smart Pot and it does do an excellent job at evenly heating the food and keeping it warm until serving time. Slow cooking is an easy way to cook a meal that is ready when you get home from work. By restraining the escape of moisture, whatever liquid you use to cook the meat will infuse itself throughout. You get a twofold benefit, first by keeping the meat moist, and second by imparting an enormous amount of flavor.

Some of my favorite liquids to slow cook are soy sauce, ketsup, barbeque sauce, orange juice, wine, beer, liquor (used sparingly), jams, jellies...there are really very few restrictions on what you can use. Its no wonder that this method of cooking is popular again. With the scarcity of time, its the perfect way to have something ready the minute you get home.

Don't worry about burning down the house, though. Any of the recent models have safeguards to prevent catastrophe.

Fondue is crazy simple, but you do need one specialized piece of equipment, which is why you probably haven't made it yourself: The fondue pot. There are a few varieties, some electric, some woefully inadequate, some outragously expensive. I picked up mine from Urban Outfitters for $15. It uses denatured alcohol as a fuel source instead of sterno. Denatured alcohol burns very clean, but I noticed it runs a little hot, so sterno might be a good alternative. There are more elaborate pots that have an ajustable knob which controls the flame like a stove burner instead of the random, dancing blue flame of sterno.

My favorite fondue is gruyere mixed with emmenthal. Traditionally, you prepare fondue by rubbing a garlic clove around the pot and discarding it. Lightly melt the cheese so as not to burn and cause oil separation. Add a dash of Kirshwasser, which is an obnoxious cherry brandy that I wouldn't drink, but it is imperative in fondue. Melt, transfer to the fondue pot, cut up your favorite food and dunk! Traditionally, bread is the vehicle of choice, but you can use shrimp, thinly sliced meat (cooked or uncooked, you can slice it thin so it cooks in the cheese), vegetables, even little smokies.

Ahh, meatloaf, the bricks upon which America was built. Meatloaf can go horribly awry if not tended properly, and chances are you were at one point in your life subjected to a brick of dense, tasteless meat. Here's an initial clue, and you can use this advice for any ground beef product.

Don't buy lean ground beef! Once you get below 10%-15% fat, hamburger meat gets tough and dry. You need that fat for moisture, texture and for God's sake taste. We've become paralyzed with fear about fat. Most fat drips off anyway, or you extract it after cooking, so it's not like the loaf will be swimming in its own oil. It will be when you pull it out of the oven, but you'll move it to a rack and let it drain a bit, or as you cut it, the fat will run off.

Use 85% ground chuck instead of the sirloin they've been pushing for the last several years. Chuck has more flavor and it more condusive to dishes using ground beef than sirloin, which is really best served as a steak or in stew.

There are so many variations of meatloaf, I will give you some general guidelines and you can mix and match as you see fit. All good meatloaf starts with ground chuck, we already covered that. To that, you will add eggs and breadcrumbs to bind. Now you add the flavor, and the choice is up to you. I like a few liberal dashes of worchestershire sauce, ketsup, sugar, salt to taste (or soy),diced onions, chopped arlic, barbeque sauce...pretty much anything that has a good base that can add to the flavor. Good earthy herbs like thyme, sage or oregano really add a punch of flavor.

The allure of comfort food, or traditional American dishes, is obvious. They are straightforward and hearty, harkening back to the days where people put in long hours of serious manual labor.

Cheesy, Sugary Jalapeno Corn Bread

There is nothing wrong with using a cornbread mix from a box. I'm a purist, but I'm also a pragmatist, and we don't always have time to make bread, pasta or biscuits from scratch.

I've always liked the idea of enhancing an already good product. This doesn't mean you can expect to buy a box of generic beef stroganoff and think you're going to doctor the powdered sour cream enough to deceive a roomful of formal diners. There's a limit, and it starts with using a quality product.

So, cornbread mix. By its very nature, cornbread is peasant, so we won't fret over the varying qualities of one brand over another. Any basic mix will do. Follow the instructions on the box or pouch.

At this point you can enhance the recipe. The problem with most mixes is they are not sweet enough. I don't like savory cornbread. I like a nice sweet undertone that offsets all the butter I'll cake on later. So, to a standard mix portion, add 1/4 cup of sugar. Shred either jalapeno jack into the mix or straight cheddar. If you use plain cheese then you can use drained canned chopped jalapenos, just about a tablespoon. Don't use the pickled ones, use the straight ones preserved in liquid.

Pour into your baking dish and sprinkle more cheese and sugar on top. Bake and enjoy. It should be rich enough that you won't even need to use butter. Also, feel free to expriment with any additional additived, cornbread is quite forgiving.

A Technical Aside

If you show up and either get a rash of 404 errors or weird behavior, I am adjusting my hosted account to eventually run WordPress. It will wreak some minor havoc, but shouldn't be too disruptive.

This Man is on a Diet

The man to the right of this post, Steve Wasser, is on a diet. Do not take culinary advice from him, he has no true sense of flavor or texture. In his attempt to drop twenty vanity pounds, he will try to convince you that you can have a fulfilling culinary life, at the same time eating lighter and more healthy.

Moreover, you will notice a bizzare absence of everything that is good and pleasurable in life. Processed cheese, summer sausage, Coke. He will explain that being on a diet gives him the license to spend a little more on foods he really enjoys, like sushi and seafood. And, in the guise of pushing his agenda, he will sneak recipes for chicken stew and 'lite' crabcakes into his articles.

Steve has an agenda, and it is up to the watchdog press to inform you, the reader, that his writing is not objective, and that he will purposefully provide you slanted material. You have been warned.

The Translucent State of Food Writing

I am not going to make any friends with this article, and I'm simultaneously going to come across as an insufferable elitist. Obviously, I am part of the food commentary pseudo-media, so self-reflexive statements about the state of affairs cast a biased pall immediately. For me to comment on what I think is the softening of food writing, intrinsically implies I can either do it better, or I am so brilliant I can offer advice to make everyone else better. Immediately, I'm at a disadvantage.

So, with that acknowledgement, food media has become soft. Mallomar soft. It is understandable. Food is a comforting thing in our lives, and it trades off neck and neck with sex as one of our top two drives. It only makes sense, therefore, that we talk about food in hushed, revered tones. Everything takes on a whispery, nice-nice sort of narrative, whether it is TV, radio or print.

Makes sense, really, food isn't exactly a hard hitting topic. Anthony Bourdain already made a splash with the miniscule controversies of kitchen life, but again, that focuses on the business and practices of selling food to the public, not the food itself. It's like trying to expose the salacious eccentricities of the textile industry. There's no there, there.

I was recently enbroiled in a minor scuffle on La Foodblogging, in which I was accused of being wordy, elitist, and abrasive. It brought into focus something somebody had previously posted about the insistence of food writers to use flowery terms and SAT words because they have a need to exude some sort of self-importance. The reaction to which was a straightforward and logical response that said something to the effect of "There are only so many ways to describe mashed potatoes."

Of course, the respondant was precise and accurate. As food writers, we have to keep searching for new and creative ways to express love for a food, and then describe the food. It comes as no shock that putting a new twist on a food description, adding humor, using literate terms will infuse new life into the same old description of mashed potatoes. Buttery becomes cholestoric. Mashed becomes fustigated. Otherwise, it's the same article your mother read in Good Housekeeping 40 years ago.

So, here we are, caught in a stagnant tide between two eras. Like art, the deconstruction of food has a very benign glow about it. Most art criticism does not take into account what people dislike about it, same with food. But I don't shy away from some of the negative aspects of food. Certainly there are negatives: overconsumption, weight gain, abuse, preservatives and other chemical additives, textures and flavors that go awry. Just because we love food doesn't mean there aren't bad qualities to food, we just ignore them in our reporting.

It took me by surprise that people were put off by negative comments, especially in light of being a restaurant review. True, I was railing against a particular food, not the restaurant, and people seem to defend all food as if it is lovely and huggable like a tribble. The product in question was surimi, synthetic crab formed and pressed from fish product. I call it K-rab. I also consider it one of the most vile creations man has ever inflicted on planet Earth, and my supposition is the Japanese created it in response to our nuclear attacks to end World War II. They succeeded.

I wrote a column earlier that instructed readers to be honest about what they eat, and where it comes from. I've been straightforward with my depictions of cruelty in the production of foie gras and veal.

My interpretation of the criticism I received is that we really don't want to be honest about food. We want to shroud it in euphamism, like calling something Sweetbread instead of fried thyroid.

Like the old saying says "Law and Sausage. Two things you don't want to know how its made if you love it." For that matter, nobody wants to think about how exact the phrase (referring to sausage production) "We use everything but the oink," is. Because, as you bite into a juicy Italian sweet sausage, images of rectum, eyeball, organ meat, cartilage, snout and testicles will dance around your head and onto your tongue.

But that is exactly what sausage is made out of: leftovers. And force feeding ducks is precisely how you make foie gras. And animals need to be killed to be eaten.

Yet, I know I will not radically change the landscape of culinary discussion. On these pages here I discuss food with honesty, but as I host a party of 10 I'm not going to describe gutting and filleting the trout amandine in front of them. A time and a place for everything, the bible notes...somewhere. And this is the time and place to discuss food with critical thinking.

This is a complete departure from what I read, watch and listen to in the media. Alton Brown actually comes closest to food honesty and information, with his giddy breakdown of food science. I like his show, which is informative and amusing. Food TV's remaining programming has degenerated into bland smiley faces that coo and sway over steamed haricort vert or the latest pasta dish from the Plunging Neckline Princess, Giada De Laurentiis.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, firmly entrenched, and virulently infecting the rest of Food TV, is the scourge of Rachel Ray. She is the demonically chipper host of 75% of Food TV's programming. Her unsettling maw eerily resembles The Joker, and you get the idea she could grind her arm (or YOUR arm) to the elbow in a carrot juicer and wouldn't miss a beat of her sunny disposition and laquered charm. She is poised to be the next smarmy know-it-all, taking the mantle from Martha Stewart once she is decapitated in a food processor.

Is this really what we like? The evolution of food media would suggest otherwise. We have never latched ourselves onto big breasted, hot models for cooking advice. In fact, it's the opposite. We want direction from a matronly instructor, who knows her shit and takes no crap. That, in Julia Child, we revered.

From men, we have a more forgiving tolerance on who teaches us how to cook. They run the gamut from ambiguously gay flamboyants like Graham Kerr, to obnoxious narcissits like Bobby Flay. For the most part, they are all the same, interchangable person...with or without the "bam"

Yet, for all the disparate personalities, they meter out advice and food talk with the same message. There is nothing really different or challenging for our consumption, so to speak.

I'm not setting out to be an iconoclast, nor is what I'm saying so much more important or groundbreaking. But let's face it. Cooking can be aggravating. Have you ever tried to make a souflee? Have you ever had to time 10 dishes to all come out when they are supposed to without keeping the 8 other dishes warm? The spin we see in magazines and television, nimbly dodge a very important point: it isn't as easy as they portray.

The one universal theme among culinary media is you can do this, too! We know there are different competancy levels in all human endeavor, and cooking is no exception. Some people have talent, others lack it. A recipe is just a formula, but without the right technique, the final dish will have a different character than the glistening torte on the page.

It's not all easy, and everything won't always come out right. That's why magazines make six dishes and take the best looking one for the picture. They just don't tell you that.

Chicken Kabobs Los Feliz Style

Iran wasn't always defined by fundamentalism and terrorism. Historical Persia has a radically different world image that influenced the world with culture, antiquities and food. This peaceful co-existence with the West started deteriorating during the '72 Oil crisis, and collapsed with the ouster off the Shah of Iran in 1979.

Still, there is a strong Iranian influence in food among many communities in America, and there is a grassroots Western-friendly focus among the progressive youth in Iran who are embracing Western culture while holding onto their traditions.

One of the most entrenched additions to American food is the kabob, which has its roots in the Middle East and Mediterranean. How ironic that something so purely American -meat on a stick- is completely co-opted from Middle Eastern culture. Last night I made chicken kabobs from a completely bastardized recipe, not one I think actually exists as a Persian dish.

Certainly there are chicken kabobs, but I have combined several elements and flavors from different kabobs to create this dish. One central component to the marinade is yogurt.

Yogurt is usually served as a drink, Doogh, which is salted, flavored, and mixed with mineral or carbonated water. I have never had it, and you're probably making the same face I did when it was first described to me. Yogurt also has a wonderful way of tenderizing meat. For this dish, I marinated the chicken for two days, although you can get away with much less time invested.

For the marinade you will need:

1 cup of plain yogurt
1 lemon
1 tablespoon of tumeric
salt to taste
1/2 onion
ground pepper
three breasts or five thighs, boneless

Cut up your chicken into uniform chunks. Mix all the other ingredients in a large bowl, making sure to be careful with the powdered tumeric, it will stain anything it touches. Once the mixture is uniform, coat the chicken, place in the refrigerator and marinade for a minimum of six hours.

When prep time arrives. Skewer the chicken. On a separate skewer, stab 1 roma tomato per person and several hearty chunks of onion. These will grill and char alongside the chicken.



I like basmati rice, it has a nutty flavor that is distinctively South Asian, which pairs well with kabobs. Boil up a pot of basmati rice, and if you are a Prince or Sultan youself, you can afford to throw a few threads of saffron in the pot. If not, safflower is an ok substitute, but nowhere near as regal.



Once everyting is grilled and charred to perfection, serve over the rice with one tomato and several onion leaves. My favorite thing to do is smash the tomato into the rice, making an almost Spanish rice. If you have ground sumac, sprinkle some on the rice, or mix with unused yogurt for a dipping sauce.

Paprika Infused Paprika

Hungarians and their paprika. What else do you know about Hungary? Goulash? Goulash is beef simmered in paprika. Covered with paprika. Served over pasta ears with a dusting of...surprise! Paprika. Scoff as you might, paprika is a noble and forgotten spice. After eating a hearty bowl of goulash, I discovered the rich, sweet, complex flavor of a slow cooked dish infused with the purest extraction of paprika.

Paprika is typically sprinkled on after the fact, to cast a vibrant, crimson spark on whatever it covers, such as an additive to induce a deep brick hue from chicken. But most people overlook its usefulness as a serious ingredient.

Oftentimes mistaken for a hot pepper, the misconception also has dampened its reputation here in the states. Although there are hot varieties of paprika, Hungarian sweet, Spanish and other varieties have no detectible heat whatsoever. In fact, it does catch you off guard, as the taste does resemble the bright flavor of pepper without any of the heat.

Paprika is closely related to the bell pepper, which itself is the mildest of the commonly cultivated peppers, used as the baseline zero for the scoville ranking of heat for peppers. Paprika, in its modern usage, almost always refers to the ground, bright red powder found in spice racks. In fact, Spanish paprika in its whole form are called pimentos, the very same used to stuff olives.

Not surprisingly, paprika holds center stage in the flavoring of goulash, a dish oven reviled by children because of its unfortunate name. Goulash is a grand Hungarian comfort dish I would revere with the same majesty as beef Stroganoff. This hearty, robust dish could fuel any hardened Alaskan wildcatter's frigid speculation.

Since I am bastardizing this dish for American consumtion, I am subsituting the dumplings Hungarians use with bow-tie pasta, but any short, wide, crinkly pasta will do. I suggest a crock pot, since it makes the best stew meat.

2 lbs of stew beef
3-4 tablespoons of paprika
1-2 cans beef stock
1/2 onion
salt and pepper to taste.
1/2 tablespoon flour (optional)

I know I've used this phrase before, but goulash is deceptively simple. Brown your meat, then throw everything into a crockpot and heat on low for eight hours. Optionally, at the very end, you can turn the heat to high, add another half hour, and stir in flour to thicken. Serve over pasta.

Yep, that's all there is to it. Hearty, flavorful and beefy. Where did I cheat? I found that boiling beef in liquid never imparts a beef flavor to the stew. That's where beef stock is handy. Using beef stock, you never have to worry about flavoring the stew, it is already flavored. This liberates you to concentrate on the main ingredient, beef chunks, and how to make them the most flavorful.

There are certainly variations to this dish, such as the addition of tomato puree, sage or rosemary in conservative quantities. So experiment a little! Take the basic goulash recipe and change it around, it is almost universally able to be modified any way you would like...just don't forget the paprika.

Go Redskins!

The Smartini

While developing alternative fuels for transportation, I came up with the Smartini.

1 part silver rum
1 part premium vodka
1 part orange juice
1 part pineapple juice
1 dash grenadine
1 dash aromatic bitters

Shake and serve in a chilled martini glass. Garnish with pineapple skewered with a mint leaf to get ultra super fab-tabulous.

Smartini(TM) is a copyright product of Gastrologica.com. All uses for the term Smartini are strictly prohibited without express, written consent and licensing fee paid to Gastrologica.com. Gastrologica.com shall be held harmless in the event of embarassment or pregnancy due to loss of inhibition. Gastrologica.com expresses no warranty as to the effectiveness of the Smartini(c) to cause inebriation, especially in cases exhibited by a lifestyle of continuous, excessive drinking like Whitney Houston or James Joyce. Gastrologica.com is a joint venture of ExxonMobil and Microsoft. For an illustrated deconstruction of the entangled legal and financial relationship between these two wicked and jealous mistresses, please call 1-877-446-8034. Ask for Giselle.

Cheesy Crescent rolls

Oh, this is so simple I forgot to write about it. I had some leftovers so I decided to cull two ingredients together to make this simple appetizer:

Pilsbury crescent roll dough
shredded cheddar.

Yep, its a cheat but it tastes so good! before rolling up the dough, put a heavy dose of cheese on each one, the cheese will bake in. Sprinkle cheese on top before baking for that nice burnt cheese crust.

Be honest about the food you eat: Veal and Game

I like guilty pleasures, and I think I covered that with my commentary on foie gras. Veal is one of them, along with Andalusian porn. There is no meat more tender and horrific than veal. Imagine living your poor, truncated life in a cage. Immobilized, you are left to flounder interminably. One day, you are killed, gutted, and parceled off to consumers.

Its tough to think about, but if you love food and understand the origins of the food we eat, you need to accept the raw, bloody, and sometimes cruel ways we raise and process our foods. I am not making a political statement. I eat these things and many other delicacies that would be considered vastly more horrendous, but I am honest about where my food comes from.

I've had this discussion with many people: the culture of hunting. Let me preface this next paragraph by emphasizing I am not a member of the NRA, or somebody who advocates issuing a firearm to everybody from your six year old nephew, to Michael J. Fox. But, I was raised around firearms.

Jews aren't rednecks by nature, but my dad is from West Virginia -another Jewish first- so that carried over into our refined but mercurial, Northern Virginia clique. My first rifle was a piddly Remington .22. Light and nimble, the .22 is the standard introductory firearm to any toddler. I was eight when I shot my first pickle jar. I soon graduated to TVs and refrigerators.

There was never a greater visceral excitement than shooting our rifles in the dumping ground behind my grandmothers house. Yeah, I sound like a hick, but if you think Call of Duty is fun, try popping off a few real bullets at a major appliance. I also happily announce to everyone cringing about this cavalier tribute to shooting and killing...that I never killed anything with a gun or otherwise. Honestly, I loved to shoot inanimate objects, but never had an opportunity to bag anything.

So, stepping aside from commercially processed meat, let's talk about the roots of meat and hunting culture in America.

You use everything you kill.
You do not kill indescriminately.
You do not poach.
You respect nature.

I know how ironic it sounds for someone espousing the rules of hunting to mention "respect nature" in the same breath. However you want to interpret it, hunting is about respecting nature. Don't focus on the singular act of killing. Hunting is about respecting your prey, only killing what is useful for your family, population control and only hunting adult males.

Population control? What kind of wacky euphamism are you selling me? It's wholesale killing! No, population control is a serious issue that can have a deleterious rippling effect to other species if not handled properly. And when I say handled I mean killing.

Think of it this way, as the top of the predatory chain, humans are the last control over a population that has few natural enemies. I will use the example of white tail deer. They are ubiquitous throughout the world, and left unfettered their population will explode like rabbits. This happened about seven years ago when I was leaving Virginia. The natural landscape could no longer handle the population of deer. Starvation set in and carcasses began to pile up in faster rates than usual. This not only spread disease, it brought scavengers.

Trees were dying as the population of buck, who use them to sharpen their antlers, grew out of control. So keeping a population under control that has few natural predators, is up to humans. And that means hunting and eating them.

I know for many who are not exposed to this sort of background, might find this appaling. After all, this is a culinary magazine. Well, meat comes from an animal, and that animal has to be killed and processed. Its no fun. As bare as it may sound, hunting is a natural way to feed your family. Hunting is a family tradition where the men venture into the forest, judiciously following the rule of law, to shoot their allotment of game for that season.

Contrast that to commercially processed meat, which packs millions of pounds of living animals together, to be trotted into disassembly lines of rending factories and hewn apart for our consumption.

I have a healthy appetite for game meats. I've eaten wild boar, buffalo, venison, elk, caribou, kangaroo, ostrich and rattlesnake. What is alluring about wild meat is somewhat credited to a gamey flavor, and the fact that no two dishes will taste the same since each animal let a separate and distinct life.

Contrast the growing trend to farm raise 'wild' animals in an effort to breed out any of the gamey flavor brought about by an uncontrolled diet. To me, this defeats the purpose of eating game meats. Truly, just as most white meat tastes like chicken, all red meat, if farm raised, tastes like beef. Why spend the extra $20 for a venison dish if it tastes like beef tenderloin?

Clearly, stripping away the gamey flavor cleans up the taste and makes it appealing for the masses, but it is also sterilizing the unique quality that makes wild caught game meat special. I feel the same way about catfish and crawfish. Although they've removed the muddy taste, the muddy taste was always a part of the flavor.

So, to my original point (I had one, really). Wienerschitzel. It was something I had been craving ever since going to Tahoe. Bavarian food and snow marry well, after all, and pink fillets of veal that have been caged all their short lives, then beaten down by a chef harboring an excessive and unhealthy internal rage, just beg to be dredged and sauted.

After tanking up on your favorite hefeweisen, boil off your spaetzle or in my cheap case, bow tie pasta. What? Spaetzle? Man, you are high maintenance. Ok, if you are a purist and have a bit more time on your hands after work than I do, you can use this recipe:

2 large eggs, beaten
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg

2 tablespoons butter

1. Combine eggs and milk; stir in flour, salt and nutmeg, beating until smooth.
2. Drop dough by teaspoonfuls into large pot of boiling water (or pass through a colander). Cook 2 to 3 minutes.
3. Drain and toss with the butter, or melt butter in skillet and gently fry spatzle until browned, about 3 to 4 minutes

I stole that from somewhere. Anyway, whichever tiny twisted pasta you choose, boil it al dente (die Schnauze voll haben).

Prepare your mushroom cream sauce. I had the priviledge of a concentrated demi glas, but you can buy a can of beef stock and reduce it. For the sauce:

crimini, or your preference of mushrooms
3 strips bacon
cream
salt
beef stock
vermouth
sage
rosemary

Fry the bacon and remove when crisp. Drain most of the fat, but not all. Sautee the sliced mushrooms, adding salt to taste. When the pan is dry, add a combination of vermouth and beef stock to deglaze the pan. Reduce the stock to almost nothing, barely any moisture inthe pan. When ready, transfer everything to a sauce pot and add 1 cup of heavy cream. Add the rosemary and sage, just a small dash of each. Simmer on low, stirring often. Reduce by half.

Meanwhile, season your flower and dredge the veal cutlets. Shake off the excess and sautee in a pan until done. They cook quickly, no more than 3 minutes a side, until browned.

Plate up the noodles, place the veal on top, liberally sauce since much of it will be absorbed by the noodles. Put on some lederhosen and play some oompah!