Sourdough Tells a Story
Sourdough. The trick is a sticky glob of yeasty magic called “starter.” This stuff turns lame loaves into crusty boules that are chewy and flavorful on the inside.
Nathan Leamy, sourdough extraordinaire and recipient of a Watson Fellowship (he traveled the world studying bread eating habits and baking techniques), taught a bread baking class at the new Brooklyn Kitchen Labs last weekend. Each of us in attendance walked away with our very own jar of sourdough starter.
Take care of it. It will respond well – even grow, Leamy told us.
He likes baking bread because it’s a slow, leisurely process that he finds “meditative.” Also, sourdough “has personality,” he explained. Each loaf depends on various factors. Temperature, of course, plays a role, but what’s really interesting is the impact of a baker’s mood on the final outcome. In between handing out samples of bread and bowls of flour for us to taste, Leamy talked about a French chef he’d met during his fellowship.
“Keep a log of qualitative (moods, sleep, etc.) and quantitative (weather, time of day, etc.) factors for each loaf you bake,” the French chef commanded.
Turns out Leamy’s moods dictated his kneading and, as a result, the final product.
Another lesson I took from the class: “bread” can refer to any bread-like thing, from croissants (love them) to baguettes (also love them) to cakes (they’re alright). This means it’s finally okay for me to call “bread” my favorite food group. Lest you think I’m exaggerating, know this: my brother nicknamed me “Loaf” years ago because I devoured the crusty Arthur Avenue loaves my dad started buying every weekend …
Look for my interview with Leamy, coming up some time in the next few weeks.
Unraveling Scott Conant’s “Tomato Sorcery”
Facial expressions are universally understood when words fail. And yet, writing has the power to be incredibly evocative. A cook friend of mine was telling me about a Frank Bruni review of Scarpetta, which he’d read last July. He’d been in New York for only a few months at that point, and although he’d been reading Bruni reviews for a while, he was swept away by the description of Scott Conant’s “tomato sorcery.” Living in New York seemed to have lent even more gravity to Bruni’s words:
“ … however Mr. Conant is choosing and cooking the Roma tomatoes with which he sauces his house-made spaghetti, he’s getting a roundness of flavor and nuance of sweetness that amount to pure Mediterranean bliss.”
More than a year later, a year in which he’d cooked in several Manhattan restaurants, this friend of mine said he’d come to terms with something: there is considerable space between the lofty words of a restaurant review, and the brick and mortar restaurant itself. He’d been “romanced” by Bruni’s words into thinking that such euphoria-inducing food was out of his reach, beyond his talents or skill level. Experiencing high-caliber, New York Times-reviewed restaurants firsthand, however, had shattered the romance, making him aware not only of his own quite respectable skill level, but also of the power of words. He felt no less respect for Mr. Bruni or for the chefs of the revered New York restaurants, but rather a pleasant sense of acceptance, a calm realization that all of it — the food, the words — is really just as human as he is.
Approachability in the Kitchen: Ray vs. Stewart
I may have spoken too soon. Regarding Rachel Ray.
In a previous post, I had harsh words … something about burning her cookbooks … but I’ve just watched a few minutes of Ray’s appearance on the Martha Stewart Show (via Eater) and I feel differently. First of all, Rachel sounded a little hoarse. The woman was sick! And she still made a cheerful attempt to bake with the icy Martha, despite admitting that she hadn’t baked in years and is really intimidated by things like rolling pins and flour. Plus, smiling politely and humoring Martha’s ridiculous penchant for rap music can’t be easy.
The audience seemed truly excited when Rachel walked out on stage. While this probably shouldn’t sway me because audiences always seem excited, I felt a pang of appreciation for Rachel’s approachability, which is no doubt part of her charm. If she’s helping more people muster up the courage to actually prepare a meal at home (even if it’s more preparation than cooking) then more power to her. She’s not my cup of tea, per se, but she’s doing alright.
Sam Sifton’s Reviewing “Style”
I’m trying to like Sam Sifton – I really am. I don’t know the guy, so this is more about liking his writing, or liking his persona as a writer, than liking him as a person. But I’m finding it hard to approve of his overuse of questions, semi-colons, commas and parentheses in his restaurant reviews for The New York Times.
His writing is jaunty, and I can never find its rhythm. Just when I’ve started to fall for a sentence or two, he throws in a curve ball — a jolting, short sentence that kills the flow. It almost reminds me of the notes I scrawl in my notebook — like he’s keeping track of his sensory observations for an article he plans to write later. There’s something that feels unfinished and thrown together about his work, and what’s worse is that I think it’s intentional. Some might call this his “style,” but I find his prose lazy, less unique than unsure and floundering.
His frequent snarky remarks come out awkwardly, trying too hard to be entertaining. As a result, we’re distracted from what should be the focus of the review: the food. Most of what I remember from a Sifton review is, well, Sifton.
Some doosies from his latest review: A Voce Columbus
Example 1. Punctuation and Odd References
“Service is clinical, almost silent, beyond language. Wine is what a chairman would expect, what most would order: a lot of big California cabernets, excellent chardonnays.
That’s on purpose.”
a. What is “beyond language” supposed to mean? Are the servers expressing themselves with eyes only?
b. THE COMMAS. This is The New York Times, not your stream of consciousness journal.
c. His use of “That’s” is ambiguous – I’m honestly not sure what he means by it: the wine or the clinical service? Or both?
d. The “chairman” reference is tired. Not all chairmen drink Chardonnay. There’s something sad about a reviewer at this caliber of newspaper who makes such generalized stereotypical statements.
Example 2: Ambiguity
“…but more streaked and less scented with rosemary, somehow more country, almost brave. It would be nice to have that in Dallas, in St. Louis, in Phoenix.”
I’m lost here. Would the lardo be nice in these cities because these cities are “country”? Or, is he saying A Voce’s lardo isn’t good enough for New York?
Example 3: Weak Descriptions
“Chicken marinated in fennel and chili, then cooked under a brick and served with Tuscan greens, huge white beans and Yukon Gold potatoes was fantastic: crisp, salty and sweet all at once.”
How very, to put it in Sifton parlance, “meh.”
Here’s Adam Platt’s take in NYMag (for comparison’s sake. Read both. Which one makes you feel something?) “That old Tuscan warhorse chicken al mattone is spiced inventively here with chiles and set on a bed of gravy-soaked bitter greens and sliced Yukon Gold potatoes.”
Same deal with the Bomboloni.
Here’s Platt:
“Best of all, though, are the fluffy, fresh-made bomboloni alla Toscana. The little fritters are rolled in sugar, injected with vanilla custard, and served with a dipping bowl of melted Italian chocolate that raises this hackneyed old comfort-food dish perilously close to the level of art.”
And Sifton:
“Or for those who ordered the steak: Tuscan doughnut bombs filled with sweet cream and served with a bittersweet chocolate dipping sauce that is essentially a melted chocolate bar. (Bring your own insulin.)”
a. Bring your own insulin??!!! NO. This is the kind of generic line that could be used in reference to any dessert. It lacks originality.
b. The chocolate is extremely bitter (I’ve tasted it), so why the sugar emphasis?
c. It’s not “sweet cream,” it’s “vanilla custard.”
d. Why is it just for those who ordered the steak? That’s just silly – insinuating that steak and “doughnut bombs” will be preferred by the same type of diner (a chariman from Phoenix, perhaps?)
At least the Sifster is entertaining. Wait, is he growing on me? Meh.
Also, do check out this related post on Miami-based blog Food For Thought, which so eloquently pinpoints Sifton’s missteps. The link was found by the ballsy Gastropoda.
Subway Scribbling and Kitchen Table Typing
As with most things in life, writing assignments tend to come in droves or not at all.
Last week brought a mini-tornado of gigs, and with them the realization that I will go to great lengths not to let myself down. No matter how early I must rise, how many packed subway cars I must cram into, or how close I feel to having a complete brain melt down (this feeling is always accompanied by a strange sense of calm knowing that “if my brain melts, there really is nothing more I can do”), I will finish the assignments that I truly want to finish. There’s a comfort in that. And there’s a fear in admitting it – admitting some confidence in my sense of self-responsibility. But maybe admitting it and moving on will make the next hectic week less scary.
Around 9 a.m. on the F train, mere hours before my deadline, I finished the most crucial article in my notebook. I wrapped up another one at 2:30 a.m. at my kitchen table, feeling eerily energized – has anyone else experienced this strange fear of going to bed once you’ve reached that level of energy? I worried closing my eyes would somehow change everything, and I’d wake up not knowing what to do next. There’s a clarity that comes with scribbling at 2:30 in the morning, a sense of purpose and a vision of reality that made me feel very in control.
Finally, I wondered at the conclusion of the week, does it really matter how much time one has to devote to writing? I’m not sure luxuriating in hours of editing and revising would’ve made the work I did this week any better. I wrote what I could with the time I had, and things seem to have turned out alright.
Then, there’s always the matter of burnout. Knock on wood.
How Jonathan Gold Interrupted My Hot Chocolate Quest
“The day he decided to find the city’s best espresso, he travelled with David Kendrick, who was then the drummer for Devo. After twenty-seven shots, Gold–sweating, trembling, and talking too loud–met up with Ochoa and some friends for dinner. He started to panic and begged the group not to get dessert. When Ochoa ordered tiramisu, he burst into tears, ran out of the restaurant, and took the bus home.”
(Exerpt from “The Scavenger: Pig’s ear, octopus, and fish-kidney curry with L.A.’s most adventurous eater” Dana Goodyear’s profile of Jonathan Gold in The New Yorker. Abstract online. Full article in the magazine only.)
I got my first paid freelance assignment for a travel publication last week (unfortunately, it’s the one that’s rumored to be shuttering tomorrow, but I digress …) and spent the weekend working on it. The work? Well, it may not sound hard, but drinking and photographing hot chocolate from nine different New York City cafes actually turned out to be quite exhausting. I joked before leaving that I was about to drink myself into a hot chocolate coma, but that’s almost exactly what happened. I left Brooklyn at 10 a.m., and by around 2 p.m., I was walking around half-dazed, stomach empty except for the thickest, creamiest, milkiest hot chocolate in our fair city. Pretty gross, right?
Too full of liquid to eat anything, I trekked from the West Village, to Tribecca, to Union Square, to Bryant Park, and finally back to Soho on the chocolate buzz alone. Riding the subway along the way, I read Dana Goodyear’s article, and as I slowly conquered the cafes, dealing with the uncomfortable feeling that comes with taking photographs in front of people when you don’t consider yourself much of a photographer, I felt my good mood slipping away like a slowly melting marshmallow in a mug of drop-it-like-it’s-hot-chocolate (one of the baristas actually said that when handing me my order).
Jonathan Gold planned to join the Foreign Service after college “so that he could go off and have adventures in the world,” but after a senior year dedicated to dining at “traditional restaurants” in the city and its outskirts, (Gold hates the word “ethnic”) “he realized that he could have just as exotic a life without ever leaving Los Angeles,” according to Goodyear.
Gold’s mentality is what I try to focus on nearly every day, when thoughts of travel and fleeing the country spring to mind. Sometimes I think leaving NY would be hard, and so I must leave. Other times I think staying here is harder, and so I must stay. Despite the ongoing mental tug of war, stories like Gold’s are encouraging – most of the time. But on days like today, I feel like I’m doing nothing right. I’m not traveling abroad, and I’m experiencing a watered-down, cookie-cutter version of NY.
As today wore on, I couldn’t escape the thought that I was spending hours and hours drinking expensive hot chocolate, with a publisher footing the bill, when Gold would probably have been scouring a remote suburb of Los Angeles digging up an incredible “traditional” plate of culturally rich and relevant food. Hot chocolate? It’s essentially fluff. Truth be told, I shed a few tears.
But maybe the tears were chocolate-induced. Maybe I’m just having a sugar come-down, and these thoughts are partly my equivalent of Gold’s epic espresso breakdown. Maybe I’ll pitch a piece on pig’s ears next.
What Makes a Street Food Vendor Great? Ask Dan Delaney
I had a cold when I met Dan Delaney for coffee on a rainy day at one of my favorite places in Williamsburg, Second Stop. By the time I left, I’d nearly forgotten about my stuffy nose. I felt energized, and my head was spinning with ideas. That’s the same effect Dan seems to have on the people he meets in episodes of VendrTV
He and his small crew travel the U.S. in search of the best street food, filming it all for online episodes. They’ve covered the Northeast, Washington State, Oregon (Dan’s favorite street food city is Portland) and California—and by covered, I mean Dan eats it all on film, talks shop and ingredients with vendors, and waxes on the history of each cart.
Dan’s greatest asset may be his passion for people. He cares about the vendors profiled on the show, is excited to learn their stories and to tell the world about their food. And, he finds great guests to accompany him on his eating adventures – for example, gaming and tech guru Veronica Belmont.
So, what type of personality is best suited to the life of a street food vendor?
“I love this question,” Dan said, before diving into a story about a Philadelphia vendor named Gus, who makes the best falafel Dan has ever tasted. Gus is up by 6 a.m., and then heads to the farmer’s market to pick up fresh produce for the side dishes he’ll serve with his falafel. “The menu changes every day,” according to Dan.
Gus is ready for service by 8 or 9 a.m. and is on his feet through lunch, until about 2 p.m. when things slow down and he begins a top-to-bottom cleaning of his cart. “He’s very fastidious,” Dan adds.
Gus is also an immigrant supporting his family entirely with his street cart profits.
At this point, Dan’s face is lit up. This is what he seems to love about street food—the personalities, the fire that drives vendors, the stories behind each truck and cart, how they got there, why they do it, the families, the bizarre world of food carts in some vendors’ native countries.
Street food vendors “have to be hard,” Dan says, but not in a cutthroat Wall Street way. It’s a day-in and day-out grind, and vendors have to keep rolling with the punches. The vendors who are in it for the wrong reasons are not succeeding. “You have to connect with your customers,” Dan explains.
That’s not to say customer service is the only factor in a cart’s success. In New York, Dan mentioned, there’s a respect for legacy. Established carts have staked claim to their spot on the street or sidewalk, and other vendors know not to park there.
Meanwhile, a friendly rivalry has sprung up between New York’s old-school vendors and the new crop of Twitter-generation trucks like Calexico and Schnitzel & Things; but the old guard is starting to realize the benefits. “If a hot dog vendor sets up near the Dessert Truck, he’ll get more business,” Dan noted.
Take a gander at Dan’s favorite episode, a trip to Red’s Eats in Wiscasset, ME, that epitomizes VendrTV. Red’s has a great story, and I can’t stop thinking about those lobster rolls …
A Dan Delaney (VendrTV) Precursor
What does it take to be a street cart vendor?
According to Dan Delaney of VendrTV, “You have to be hard.”
Dan should know – he’s met hundreds of devoted vendors across the U.S., many of whom rise before dawn, hit the morning farmer’s markets to pick up daily ingredients, stay on their feet all day and crash at 7 p.m.
My next post will include more insights into the motivations and personalities of street cart vendors, gathered from my interview with Dan. In the meantime, watch this VendrTV episode featuring the disgustingly delicious drunk food: Portland Potato Champion
