The culinary arts. This phrase is oft repeated and typically taken at face value. But, really, is it art? Painting is art, of course, as well as creative writing, architecture, and music... But cooking? I think not. There are creative aspects of the discipline to be sure. But the far more accurate description would be a craft. Cooking is a craft. I know that a lot of “foodie” types will bluster at this, and even a few well meaning, if not self-deluded chefs as well. But the result of physical skills that are consistently measurable and comparable from one chef or restaurant to the next is in fact, a craft.
Now I have an artistic nature, so perhaps I am at odds with myself here. I paint in oils, play classical guitar and enjoy reading as well as writing. These are clearly artistic pursuits for the most part and certainly the sensitivity I employ to these must inevitably bleed over into my work. And it does, because I can certainly admire the beauty of foods in their natural states as well as after they have been manipulated and arranged on plates. I can fuss over the different shapes and colors that will most pleasing to the eye, as well as to the taste. But the skills required being able to do this I have learned by many years of repetitive behavior; honing these tasks so that they become second nature, and not just a single statement. Perhaps my artistic side helps me realize the end results favorably—perhaps. I know a great many highly skilled chefs that are true technicians of culinary skill who have absolutely no inclination to the arts at all.
A recipe is a craft. If we put it on the menu, the expectation is that it will be made the same way over and over. Art is a little different in that you are typically taking some raw materials and bringing them together in some unique fashion. Nice, but if the salad dressing changes every time it is ordered I can tell you the pronouncement will not be ‘but it’s art!’ For me the trick is making that artistic statement within a craft discipline and I hope I am succeeding more often than not.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
French Paradox?
We have all heard of this: the alleged good health in a group of people that typically eat a diet high in fats and carbohydrates. But recent studies have shown that the phenomenon should be more correctly labeled the Mediterranean paradox.
The research is known as the seven-country study, and started out to find out why people on the isles of Crete and Sardinia were living longer and with little heart disease despite a high fat diet. What was discovered was that a major part of their diet included the drinking of red wine.
A closer examination of the red wines produced in this area found that they were richer in Procyanidins than many other similar wines from other areas. This same traits were discovered in the wines of southwest France, where the population enjoys overall good health. So the paradox has little to do with France itself, as heart disease and other diet related illnesses have proved to be regional. In fact Alsace, where the majority of the wines are white, has the highest rate of heart trouble in the country.
Procyanidins are part of the larger chemical group known as polyphenols, which are powerful antioxidants. If you are a red wine drinker you will also recognize another polyphenols -- tannin—that dryish, astringent taste omnipresent in these wines. Now white wines have these same compositions, but while red wines are the fermented juice of the grapes with skin and seed intact, white wine is the juice only. So the longer the time of the fermentation with the seeds, the more extraction of these polyphenols that you have, and thus higher levels of polyphenols.
So my recommendation is to sit back with your favorite Bordeaux (proyanidins), a creamy rougefort cheese (penicillin) and a loaf of French bread (yeast) for a most delicious medicine cabinet!
The research is known as the seven-country study, and started out to find out why people on the isles of Crete and Sardinia were living longer and with little heart disease despite a high fat diet. What was discovered was that a major part of their diet included the drinking of red wine.
A closer examination of the red wines produced in this area found that they were richer in Procyanidins than many other similar wines from other areas. This same traits were discovered in the wines of southwest France, where the population enjoys overall good health. So the paradox has little to do with France itself, as heart disease and other diet related illnesses have proved to be regional. In fact Alsace, where the majority of the wines are white, has the highest rate of heart trouble in the country.
Procyanidins are part of the larger chemical group known as polyphenols, which are powerful antioxidants. If you are a red wine drinker you will also recognize another polyphenols -- tannin—that dryish, astringent taste omnipresent in these wines. Now white wines have these same compositions, but while red wines are the fermented juice of the grapes with skin and seed intact, white wine is the juice only. So the longer the time of the fermentation with the seeds, the more extraction of these polyphenols that you have, and thus higher levels of polyphenols.
So my recommendation is to sit back with your favorite Bordeaux (proyanidins), a creamy rougefort cheese (penicillin) and a loaf of French bread (yeast) for a most delicious medicine cabinet!
Saturday, May 3, 2008
growing up
I’ve been talking with some very old friends lately, guys I lost touch with 30+ years ago, and it really got me to thinking about my personal chronology in a general way. Like when I have driven past the house I grew up in, which doesn’t happen much anymore because I moved far away many years ago, but when I am back up that way, it’s irresistible to go by at least once. It always strikes me as to how small it seems. I know that everyone says that, you know that when you are little everything is bigger, etc. but this house IS really small. I could fit 3-4 of them in my current address. And that’s not being a smart-ass or elitist, just offering the facts.
To say I came from humble beginnings is a little generous. We weren’t destitute—there was always food, toys for Christmas and all that, but it wasn’t until I reached high school that I realized how much more other people had. And they all seemed to wear it well; I guess being born to comfort, leads to comfort. But still, going to a private boy’s prep school that cost my family and me dearly, and to spend the better part of the day around what I considered the privileged, which earned and spent rather freely, certainly had its affect. While they were going to ski trips and the prom, I was busting my ass working in kitchens and stealing art supplies. I never really belonged in their world, nor they in mine.
And so it goes on. Through hard work, perseverance, a little luck and a lot of love, I clawed my way up and out. But never too far out. The fact is that over the years I have had to spend much of my time around the very type of people I eyed with such contempt in my formative years, but I still retain the simple old me from ago. I’m not wearing a badge of humility here—noble in the plight of the have-nots—nope, I am quite happy that I can sleep soundly and secure. I may look back with rose-colored glasses from time to time, but now is good. Still, I don’t ever expect to vie for the cover of GQ; I feel much better in t-shirt and jeans as opposed to suit and tie, thank you very much. Besides, facades bore me and hanging around with the suits slapping hands and lying to each other is a criminal waste of time and energy. Me? I never want to forget how to struggle. Because you know what? Struggle is good. It is rewarding in its self, and nothing of value has ever been obtained without it. Having to make an effort to attain is exercise for the character and should be required living for everyone for as long as it takes for them to appreciate the exchange.
A lifetime has been lived since last I talked to my dear old friends. And like the beat up old sweater that my Grandmother gave me 40 years ago that I still wear and cherish, it feels good on my skin again. We have all grown, sired offspring and built our little fiefdoms, but it is sooo good to renew the emotions. Damnit, I love these guys! And it’s nourishing to know that we all made it. Many, many others did not, and while I mourn them all, I celebrate the survivors.
So I raise a glass of good consciousness, fraternity and truth to renewed friendships.
To say I came from humble beginnings is a little generous. We weren’t destitute—there was always food, toys for Christmas and all that, but it wasn’t until I reached high school that I realized how much more other people had. And they all seemed to wear it well; I guess being born to comfort, leads to comfort. But still, going to a private boy’s prep school that cost my family and me dearly, and to spend the better part of the day around what I considered the privileged, which earned and spent rather freely, certainly had its affect. While they were going to ski trips and the prom, I was busting my ass working in kitchens and stealing art supplies. I never really belonged in their world, nor they in mine.
And so it goes on. Through hard work, perseverance, a little luck and a lot of love, I clawed my way up and out. But never too far out. The fact is that over the years I have had to spend much of my time around the very type of people I eyed with such contempt in my formative years, but I still retain the simple old me from ago. I’m not wearing a badge of humility here—noble in the plight of the have-nots—nope, I am quite happy that I can sleep soundly and secure. I may look back with rose-colored glasses from time to time, but now is good. Still, I don’t ever expect to vie for the cover of GQ; I feel much better in t-shirt and jeans as opposed to suit and tie, thank you very much. Besides, facades bore me and hanging around with the suits slapping hands and lying to each other is a criminal waste of time and energy. Me? I never want to forget how to struggle. Because you know what? Struggle is good. It is rewarding in its self, and nothing of value has ever been obtained without it. Having to make an effort to attain is exercise for the character and should be required living for everyone for as long as it takes for them to appreciate the exchange.
A lifetime has been lived since last I talked to my dear old friends. And like the beat up old sweater that my Grandmother gave me 40 years ago that I still wear and cherish, it feels good on my skin again. We have all grown, sired offspring and built our little fiefdoms, but it is sooo good to renew the emotions. Damnit, I love these guys! And it’s nourishing to know that we all made it. Many, many others did not, and while I mourn them all, I celebrate the survivors.
So I raise a glass of good consciousness, fraternity and truth to renewed friendships.
Friday, February 29, 2008
how sweet it is
‘The sweet smell of success’, ‘a sweet deal’, ‘ sweeten’ the pot’ and so on. How many familiar phrases such as these do we use to define the good things in our lives? What is it about sugar, in all of its forms, that makes us want to associate in this way? Everyone has heard of a ‘sweet-tooth’ and of course we know that this is a figure of speech, but still the lovely images persists. Then again, ‘the bitter end’, ‘a bitter pill’, ‘bitter winter chill’… quite a different impression, typically harsh or sad, and yet the pair—sweet and bitter—form a partnership that define the way we eat.
The clues lie in our basic physiology, more specifically our brains’ requirement for nutrition and our body’s need for protection. On an instinctual level we have two strong biases: one positive and one negative. The negative is generally represented as the taste of bitter, which perhaps is a defensive measure against some of the toxins that plants can produce. Many times pregnant women will become particularly sensitive to bitter tastes, say in broccoli, which may be nature’s way of protecting the fetus. So we can simplistically see bitter as a protective alarm for our body.
Sweet, on the other hand, is our positive taste impulse. We can even sense it in anticipation of dessert or a piece of fruit. It sates us in bread and even meat we consume. We almost long for it, and with good reason; humans are big-brained omnivores, and big brains require lots of glucose.
On average our brain represents 2% of our total body weight, but consumes a whopping 18% of our energy intake—and here is the kicker: that fuel must be in the form of a carbohydrate (sorry, low-carb dieters!), hence the glucose.
So when you go in blissful anticipation for that piece of cake, remember to tell everyone that what you are really doing is feeding your brain! Now if it was only that easy… well wouldn’t that be sweet?
The clues lie in our basic physiology, more specifically our brains’ requirement for nutrition and our body’s need for protection. On an instinctual level we have two strong biases: one positive and one negative. The negative is generally represented as the taste of bitter, which perhaps is a defensive measure against some of the toxins that plants can produce. Many times pregnant women will become particularly sensitive to bitter tastes, say in broccoli, which may be nature’s way of protecting the fetus. So we can simplistically see bitter as a protective alarm for our body.
Sweet, on the other hand, is our positive taste impulse. We can even sense it in anticipation of dessert or a piece of fruit. It sates us in bread and even meat we consume. We almost long for it, and with good reason; humans are big-brained omnivores, and big brains require lots of glucose.
On average our brain represents 2% of our total body weight, but consumes a whopping 18% of our energy intake—and here is the kicker: that fuel must be in the form of a carbohydrate (sorry, low-carb dieters!), hence the glucose.
So when you go in blissful anticipation for that piece of cake, remember to tell everyone that what you are really doing is feeding your brain! Now if it was only that easy… well wouldn’t that be sweet?
Saturday, January 19, 2008
cooking q's
In an interesting conversation with a member recently, I was asked how I could possibly know how to cook so many different styles of cuisines. This was in reference to one of our specialty nights, where we feature authentic representations of different countries. It was interesting because the member just assumed that we simply bought prepared items and served them. He was astonished to find that we actually prepare from scratch.
To tell you the truth, it never occurred to me that anyone would take this perspective. From my side of the ball, I know that we prepare about 95% of everything on our menus. We butcher the meat and fish, make the stocks for soup and sauce, mix, proof and bake the French rolls and pizza shells, cut all the vegetables…everything from scratch. It’s the only way I know how to run a kitchen and I would not do it any other way. Of course, this can lead to some variations. An eggplant picked and cooked in August will taste different than one prepared in December to exactly the same recipe because of seasonality—that sort of thing. If that sounds odd, just think of wine: the exact same grapes on the same vines in the same place produce different tastes from year to year because of soil, wind and other conditions. And of course we all know how much better corn is later in the summer as opposed to early. That is one of the reasons we change the menu so often. Only commercially prepared foods have the same taste and consistency at all times, and that would never do.
As to the aforementioned multiple cuisine issue: cooking, as a profession is no different than other disciplines. A mechanic, for instance, typically can repair most anything on a car, whether it is brakes, drive train, fuel system, etc. And who would be comfortable going to a dentist who did not know all of the facets of dental care? Like anything else, cuisine, any cuisine, can be learned if you understand the basic tenants of cooking. My job as a professional chef affords me the luxury of exploring the world when it comes to food, and that, to borrow a famous title, is the joy of cooking.
To tell you the truth, it never occurred to me that anyone would take this perspective. From my side of the ball, I know that we prepare about 95% of everything on our menus. We butcher the meat and fish, make the stocks for soup and sauce, mix, proof and bake the French rolls and pizza shells, cut all the vegetables…everything from scratch. It’s the only way I know how to run a kitchen and I would not do it any other way. Of course, this can lead to some variations. An eggplant picked and cooked in August will taste different than one prepared in December to exactly the same recipe because of seasonality—that sort of thing. If that sounds odd, just think of wine: the exact same grapes on the same vines in the same place produce different tastes from year to year because of soil, wind and other conditions. And of course we all know how much better corn is later in the summer as opposed to early. That is one of the reasons we change the menu so often. Only commercially prepared foods have the same taste and consistency at all times, and that would never do.
As to the aforementioned multiple cuisine issue: cooking, as a profession is no different than other disciplines. A mechanic, for instance, typically can repair most anything on a car, whether it is brakes, drive train, fuel system, etc. And who would be comfortable going to a dentist who did not know all of the facets of dental care? Like anything else, cuisine, any cuisine, can be learned if you understand the basic tenants of cooking. My job as a professional chef affords me the luxury of exploring the world when it comes to food, and that, to borrow a famous title, is the joy of cooking.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
