Posts from — in the wee hours

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I have been reading Henry Hitchings’ wonderful book on the late great Samuel Johnson and his dictionary, Defining the World. I have found it quite enjoyable. One passage struck me quite hard as I read.
I do not, as a rule, talk about my childhood or my parents. Those closest to me know why. Only the wonderful times with my aunties make it into my biography. Reading last night, I read this:
“Johnson’s childhood was no idyll of scholarly precocity. Reading was, as it is for so many unhappy children, a retreat from the wretchedness of family life. [...] books afforded a vital escape from this curdled domesticity.”
Johnson himself had something to say about his mother. When she once became angry at him and called him a puppy, he asked her if she knew what they called a puppy’s mother.

As Hartley writes in the Go-Between, “the past is a different country.”

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Cooking is a swirl of failure, the constant possibility of failure, and the rare spark of success. Though I have been complimented of late, I cannot let go of my “Black Forrest Cake” disaster over Thanksgiving. My wife and brother-in-law were kind enough each to eat a piece, though I could clearly see the valiant workings of their jaw muscles as they struggled to choke down the rubbery substance that was the cake portion of the dish. This deflated dessert has led me to think of aspects that distinguish the great cook from the good, and the good from the poor. It all comes down to tools and philosophy. So, the next time you are invited over to someone’s house for dinner, look for these things to gage the upcoming meal:

1. The Knife.
I own a middle-of-the-road knife set and keep them very sharp. I think this reflects my overall abilities as a cook. I am average, with sharp occasional creations. If you spy a fancy German or Japanese model that is kept in excellent condition, you are in the hands of a professional. They not only care enough to shell out the bucks for the best, but obvious TLC means that they didn’t just buy that thing because the wallet was fat. And, unless your meal is coming straight from the microwave, every cook needs to cut. A good knife, little used and hanging around in a gadget drawer, signals rich people with poor taste. Expect a fancy dish made poorly or a catered dish plopped into a serving bowl. A bad knife ensures well-deserved self-mutilation. Is that a homemade marinara or blood from the finger of the boss’s spouse? If you are trying to become a better cook, forget the fancy books and exotic spices. Dole out the bucks for a knife that will last you a lifetime. I soon hope to be taking my own advice on this matter.

2. Stock.
I Follow Michael Ruhlman on this one (well, I follow him on almost everything. See “books” below). Canned stock and cubes are for the weak. If you want a ball-less, tasteless, cloudy, over-salted liquid defiling your expensive Italian risotto, then by all means, toss in the jarred bouillon and tap water. If you want to take the next step forward, make your own at least once a month. Though not difficult, it takes time. It is worth it. If you happen to glimpse a pan of bones anywhere in the kitchen, other than in the garbage, get ready to dine sublime.

3. Fresh
Except for cheese, certain steaks, wine, and scant other things, food is best fresh. The fresher the ingredients, the better the finished product. Period. Moldy apples in a fruit bowl or a lumpy gallon of milk in the refrigerator at your host’s place, whether they use them or chuck them out with shame, is a crystal ball for tomorrow’s all-day ride on the porcelain horse. Masking sauces are never enough because, though they may cover the two week-old asparagus, they cannot cover the silent shame.

4. Books
Many cooks have cookbooks. Good cooks have good ones. Look for these six on the shelves:
The Elements of Cooking by Michael Ruhlman.
On food and Cooking by Harold McGee (the most important book on food ever written in English)
The Professional Chef by the CIA
Les Halles Cookbook by Anthony Bourdain
The Auberge of the Flowering Hearth by Roy de Groot (the most beautiful book on food written).
Art of Eating by M. F. K. Fisher.

Notice that only one of these is a recipe book in the traditional sense. This is because very little of an excellent meal comes solely from what ingredients are put in it. Without technique and philosophy, there simply is no excellence. Did I say philosophy?

5. Philosophy
Good cooks have one. They may differ in detail, but all have one, and their opinions should be strong, almost to the point of pontificating. As for mine:

Fresh food, limited (and often simple) ingredients, limited and only necessary seasonings, precise heat, balanced flavor and textures. Rich food equals small portions and light fare balances rich food. A sample dinner (wines of your choice):

Tomato and cucumber salad in light balsamic
Mashed potatoes with goat cheese
Roasted whole chicken with garlic, bay leaves, lemon, salt, and pepper.
Soup of blueberries, cream, ginger ale, with a dollop of orange sherbert
Chocolate pots petite
Coffee.