There’s something that’s brilliantly, deceptively pedestrian about a quiche Lorraine. We tend to think of it as elegant, perhaps because its name is French, or perhaps because Julia Child famously made one, or perhaps because so many people — so much to my confusion — seem to find shortcrust pastry to be a challenge. But in the immortal words of The Simpsons: would a rose by any other name still smell as sweet?
Not, conclude Bart and Homer, if you called it Stench Blossom. Or Crap Weed.
Culinary comrades, fellow food fanatics who follow this blog, if you have not seen Big Night — Stanley Tucci and Tony Shalhoub’s 1996 ode to a failing Italian restaurant — you simply must. It is delicious.
Big Night is one of my all-time favorite films about food. Along with a precious few others — like Scorsese’s The Age of Innocence, of all things — it landed at a malleable moment in my life, at a time when my interests could have gone in a lot of different directions, and it nudged me toward the kitchen. Primo, Shalhoub’s talented, unbending, self-righteous portrait of a brilliant chef, is exactly the kind of character I found fascinating in my teenage years. And the food — oh, the food.
Real saag! exclaimed my friend Allia, smiling as I put the dish on the table. Most restaurants say saag paneer, but what they mean is palak. Spinach. Saag is always mustard greens.
Allia would know. Not only is her family from India, but they are avid cooks. Her aunt alone, I am informed, is responsible for untold gustatory delights. She is the sort of person who converts food haters into food enthusiasts, the sort who teaches classes on the delicate art of Indian cuisine — and sets her own price for her time.
It’s been a while, it seems to me, since I’ve offered you all a quick and easy weeknight meal. I recall that there was a period in there where I did a pasta with greens and a fried rice, and told you, with some conviction, that this is really the essence of what it means […]
I’m sick. I’d wager that you’re sick, too. Or that if you’re not, you’re getting there. If the sensationalist media is to be believed, the whole United States is in the midst of a pestilential deluge — a microbial tsunami sweeping all the dry noses, and all the unsore throats, away and out to sea. […]
Please don’t misconstrue what I’m about to tell you. I do in fact think that sour pickles are great. I make them. I eat them. Like many of you out there, they were my introduction to fermented foods. And I even have a recipe for them here. But the thing is: cucumbers aren’t really the […]
Can you hear it? The cadence of our steps, faithfully attuned to the deafening drumbeat of holiday consumerism, marching us ever forward, onward toward the turning of the year, toward the yawning gates of Mammon. Seriously. It can feel that way, can’t it? But then, all things considered, there’s nothing to be done. Gifts for […]
Almost nine months ago, now, I made this post about the encroaching fingers of crass capitalism, stretching themselves over this blog, beckoning you (dear readers!) to buy, buy, buy. I added some (tastefully unobtrusive) advertisements over on the sidebar that would encourage you to click through, and support this site by indulging your wicked taste […]
Risotto is a dish on which Sarah and I disagree. For her, the pinnacle of rice is a long-grain variety like basmati, cooked dry and fluffy, firm but done, with enough nutty flavor to be delicious alone, but better suited to be a substrate for curry, or stew, or coq au vin. Risotto is okay, […]
Call it a gobbler, a motherclucker, even Big Bird (if you’re a certain, recently-former presidential candidate). I’ll know what you mean. Turkey is the centerpiece of almost every Thanksgiving meal. And it’s the centerpiece of stress — believe me, I know — for more than a few holiday cooks. For first-time turkey-cookers, the problem is […]