Accidental Hedonist

One aspect of food establishments that is often overlooked is how a place that is ostensibly designed for retail transactions becomes a community center. This happens all of the time.

Here in the states, I’ve seen it in three types of establishments. The local bar is the most obvious example. Coffeeshops also fit the bill in many of a locations. And for some reason, I’ve seen diners that serve breakfast become the de facto hang out joint for folks before they head off to do the days chores. In the latter group, they are often discernible by waitresses who address customers as “Hon’” There’s restaurant not three blocks from my house that fits this bill. Of course, in typical Seattle style, they are also tattooed and have brightly unnaturally-colored dye jobs. I love these types of places.

Seattle, infused with taverns and bars, coffeeshops, and these ironic post-modern breakfast diners, seems to have more than our fair share of these types of places. Introducing a new food establishment is tricky, often because of the dearth of other similarly-minded locations. Things are getting so odd, that places like The Bohemian (pictured above) is both coffeeshop AND bar.

More than any other type of restaurant, I feel these types of locations are far more important to the food world than the highly-rated, Beard-winning, Michelin-Star having restaurants. These are the places that we go to on a regular basis, drawing us into, and eventually allowing us to feel as if we are part of our community.

With all of this talk about local foods, and maintaining regional identity, I have to conclude that an integral part of establishing “local food” credibility includes finding a place that allows you to feel a part of the community.

The truly great establishments on this planet do exactly that. One of the maxims that is heard while traveling is that, if one wishes to eat well, avoid the tourist traps and head to places where the taxi drivers/policemen/reporters hang out. “Hang out” is the operative phrase. If it is a place where one hangs out, it is sure to be a place that develops or defines a community.

So while we talk about local food, remember that this concept goes beyond simply eating from a farmers market. It means heading out into your neighborhood and getting to know those who live near you. Take a book, hang out, get known.

Out of all of the odd coincidences that have occured in the history of food, the one that sticks out in my mind revolves around a small piece of dough with some filling placed on it, and then folded in some way that it becomes a small little treat.

Think of an individual piece of ravioli. It’s really not all that complicated to create. So easy is this type of food that we see some variation of it all across the world.

The Russians have pirozhki, little half moons of pasta-like dough, filled with potatoes, or onions, or cheese. It is then baked or deep fried. The pierogie of Poland is a direct descendant of this Russian dish.

India has the tiny pastry called the samosa, but this is but a relation of the middle eastern pastry called sanbusak. Filling can be anything from meat to cheese to raisins. The samsas of the Turkish regions and the sambosa of Afghanistan can all trace their lineage to the sanbusak. These are distant cousins of the ravioli, the dough being far less glutenous.

However, when I look at jiaozi of China, I often wonder if there is a historical connection between it and the stuffed pasta of Italy. The dough looks similar, although being a little larger in size and the dough being a little thinner in width.

Directly related to jiozi is the mantou, also found in China, but likely originated in Central Asia where it can be found in Iran, Afghanistan and other coutries in the area. Sometimes mantou can be as large as a fist. And if we’re going to look at larger stuffed pastries, I could create a post that lasts for another two thousand words. And I didn’t even touch wontons, mochi, or the multitude of other smaller stuffed pastas/pastries that are out there.

What I love about all of these items is that, while you can trace some of the influences throughout food history, many of the foods mentioned above were introduced without influence from one another. It might not be a big deal to some. After all, sticking a filling in a square of dough isn’t really that big of a stretch of the imagination, it does show that people do think alike, even when they live thousands of miles apart. When it comes to food, we should celebrate those foods that bring us closer together, whether it is in a communal, or (as in this instance) a historical context.

My camera died.

Yes, the beautiful Nikon Coolpix that has been with me since my backpacking trip to Europe in the summer of 2005 has finally snapped its last shot. I’m taking it to the camera doctor tomorrow, but it has been a long and slow death, and I don’t have high hopes for its future.

For most people, the death of a camera is not such a big deal. Most of us just pull out our cameras for crazy nights out or trips, and the rest of the time it gathers dust somewhere on your desk. For me, however (and most of the food blogging world), my camera is an integral part of my daily life. I take pictures of all of my dinners, some of my lunches and the outsides of every restaurant I ever visit.

Food bloggers usually think of themselves as writers, first and foremost. I know that I do: food writing is one more way that I express myself in written form, next to travel journalism and the fiction writing that I do in my spare time. But food blogging has also turned me into a photographer of sorts, and as I look through the last two years of posts, I’ve come to realize that blogging has taught me a lot about food photography.

I’m no whiz… there are a lot of people out there in the food blogging world that have a knack for food photography that I have never been able to achieve. But I’ve learned that natural light is best and that all food looks better on a plain white plate. I’ve also learned where my macro-close-up button is, which turns any photography novice into a whiz.

But most importantly, I’ve learned that food is a visual experience as well as a tasting one. I now make sure that all of the food I make, even if it’s just for me, looks as appetizing as it can before I start eating. It’s an important lesson to learn for anyone interested in cooking, and I look forward to continuing to learn more about it.

As soon as I get a new camera.

emily
Tomato Kumato

For some, it not the type of toppings that matter, it’s the amount of them. Today’s poll asks you to defend your topping amount preference. Do you go for a cheese and Sauce only, or do you prefer those deep dish monsters that have a multitude of options within?

My preference is for one topping, although about 5% of the time, I’ll get all crazy and up the topping amount to two. It’s usually a meat product (depending upon the place where I order…and yes, I do consider anchovies meat), with mushrooms or onions providing the supporting role. Yes, I am aware of the California style pizza, and find it amusing that they believe that artichokes on pizza is revolutionary. I also find Hawaiian pizza quite wonderful. But even with these new options available, I am, for lack of a better phrase, an American Pizza traditionalist.

So, what’s your pizza choice? How many toppings and which ones? Add your preference to the comments of this post.

Jon Eick over at So Good had a post a week ago that said….well, this:

Pepperoni pizza is not that good. I mean, yeah, it’s good, but it’s not THAT good. Seriously, it’s not. If you think it is, it’s time to get over it, and get over yourself. Wake your boring ass taste buds up, there are many delicious pizza options out there, and the pizza world doesn’t revolve around pepperoni.

If pizza is high quality, a mere slice of cheese is delicious. If pizza is mediocre, I understand the need to add toppings. But I have news for you pepperoni: you ain’t all that and a bag of chips. Pepperoni, while ok, is simply NOT good enough to have earned it’s place as the default pizza order of choice on merit alone.

There’s so much here to talk about. Firstly, from a pure historical POV, Jon raises an interesting question. How did pepperoni become the default choice of topping? My guess is that we Americans migrate towards the spicy and flavorful over the bland and subtle, and pepperoni simply powered its way over other mediocre offerings such as hamburger meat disguised as sausage, second rate cheese, and canned, CANNED, mushrooms. With offerings such as these, pepperoni wins by default.

Second, Let’s stop playing up the Italian influence on Pizza, because for the most part, we Americans have rarely tasted a truly Italian flatbread. I’m talking pizza from coal or wood burning oven with minimal amount of toppings, toppings which, by the way, could stand on their own. Great pizza makes me weep with joy. American pizza mostly makes me sigh with disappointment.

Part of the sadness with American pizza comes from the fact that we treat our pizza dough so horribly. Much like hamburger buns (which we also ignore taste-wise), the crust of the pizza should works in concert with the toppings, and not merely be an edible plate on which toppings are served. A great crust is a work of art. A mediocre crust is just sad. A mediocre crust requires toppings on top of it that make up for the crusts lack of flavor. Hence, spicy pepperoni.

We here in Seattle have a very odd problem. There’s a lack of really great pizza joints that deliver. On the East Coast, I had dozens of options in each major city in each of the cities where I had lived. Here, it’s less so.

Now most people here will point to Pagliacci’s as perfectly acceptable. But in truth, their crust suffers the same fate as most American crusts. It’s tough, and after a few minutes outside of the oven, it becomes difficult to chew. So how do they compensate for this failure?

Their toppings – which includes a pepperoni made by Salumi. Yes, that Salumi. This ends up being sort of the inverse of putting a lipstick on the pig, where in this case the pig improves the mediocre product.

So, I’m with Jon in this. Listen America! Stop settling for the merely average. Quit accepting canned mushrooms, and horrible, horrible, pizza cheese as an option. And for the love of all that is holy, please understand that a mediocre pepperoni can never save a terrible pie.

This might be a short post, because there are few things about cooking I actually hate. But the things that bug me, bug me a lot.

Peeling potatoes. It’s not just because the only vegetable peeler I have right now is made for left-handed people. My left-handed sister gave one to everybody in the family, claiming anyone can use it. But I think it was just revenge on her part. No, I’ve always hating peeling potatoes. They’re slippery, and I always lose the side of at least one fingernail. It’s the main reason I don’t make mashed potatoes, the second one being I’m not that crazy about them and don’t think they’re worth the trouble.

Cleaning lettuce. Despite my undying love for the salad spinner, I hate this job. It’s for a completely bizarre (but no longer embarrassing) reason: I hate to touch lettuce. It makes my face twitch. I make myself do it on occasion, in a “facing your fears” kind of way, but I generally leave it to Logan.

Grating cheese. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Does anyone actually like doing this? If ever there were a reason for me to buy another the food processor, this is it. Alas, sometimes I have to suffer for my principles, because there is no universe, this one or an alternate, in which I would live without cheese.

Cutting up vegetables and fruit. Dicing veggies for a mirepoix is no big deal, even if it’s a huge amount. But cutting veggies for a vegetable plate or fruit for a salad is a big old pain in the ass, and I don’t have the patience. I usually just forego them for parties, or assign them to someone who’s crazy enough to volunteer. I made all the food for my wedding, but don’t think for a second that I spent valuable time putting together a veggie plate. God made grocery store delis for a reason.

Peeling tomatoes. It’s time consuming and messy. However, I do it when I think it’s necessary. The salsa recipe I use calls for fresh, peeled tomatoes, and, while I don’t mind some tomato skins in my red sauce, I don’t want them in my salsa.

Those are it, and considering how many things I will happily do to make a great meal, I don’t think that’s too bad a list. One of my on-line food friends, who is a professional chef and a cooking instructor, says that being a real cook means being willing and able to do anything and everything required. But I think we all have our limits, don’t we? We can’t do everything all the time, but that doesn’t negate our credibility as home cooks. Even having all the time in the world doesn’t mean I’m going to spend it peeling tomatoes if I don’t have to.

I’m riveted by the idea of what makes a real cook. My chef friend says that, in addition to being willing and able to anything and everything, being a real cook means doing it even when you don’t want to; that you’ll gladly stand on your feet for hours at a time, and put up with the heat and the aggravation and the mistakes. If you can’t or won’t do that, then you need a qualifier before the word “cook”. I was really put off by the suggestion at first, but I thought about it for a while and I can’t say I disagree with him or that I’m insulted by the suggestion. I think I do need a qualifier, and that would be “home”. I’m not a professional, and I have neither the skills nor the desire to be one. It would run all the fun for me. If being unwilling to peel potatoes means I have to call myself a home cook, I can live with that. It’s not a putdown, it’s just reality.

Look, I like and respect French cuisine as much as the next gourmand, but I think this is simple arrogance on the part of the French.

…around a half-dozen French chefs and culinary experts from the ad hoc ?French Mission for Food Heritage and Cultures? are preparing for war with weapons they know best.

They ate and drank their way through a three-hour strategy session recently to help their country face the daunting task before it: to persuade the United Nations to declare French gastronomy a world treasure.

Let me make this very clear: Gastronomy is an important part of each country’s cultural heritage. To imply or outright suggest that one is superior to another is the height of both arrogance and ethnocentrism. From my point of view, it also misses the point of gastronomy.

Food provides context, a historical reflection if you will, into a nation’s heritage. A great example is America’s fascination with the Dutch Oven, which gained popularity during the pioneer days 100 plus years ago. Or the Italians use of bread in their soup, providing evidence that the lower classes had to learn how to extend their foodstuffs. Or beer became prevalent in European countries that couldn’t grow grapes efficiently. I could go on, but I think you get the point. All food is culturally significant. From the article:

So by the time the roasted figs, the wine-macerated prunes, the chocolate mousse and the Earl Grey sorbet arrived in the private dining room of Guy Savoy, a chef with three Michelin stars, the men were in deep discussion about the magic of their country?s cuisine.

?It?s everything!? Mr. Savoy said. ?France is the only country in the world with such diversity!?

Except, Mr. Savoy, that figs and plums came from the Middle East, chocolate came from South America, Earl Grey came from South Central Asia (with a little help from the British), and sorbet came from Italy. The only French item listed above is the mousse, and even that has influences that extend beyond French History. Whipping eggs whites into a froth and adding flavoring is hardly a unique discovery.

Sometimes I think my own predilection for writing about anything except French cuisine is the result of the sheer arrogance they have about their food. This article only goes to cement that feeling.