As the ongoing recession/inflation/credit crunch drives the cost of food higher and higher, British chain Sainsbury's has begun working to minimize food wastage. Meanwhile, ever-increasing numbers of consumers are cooking from scratch in an attempt to stretch their food budgets. Clearly, thrift is back!
As you rush around in your search for cheap things to eat, it's worth remembering that, in the kitchen at least, poverty can definitely be the mother of invention. Although cheap gas, greenhouse gardening, and factory farming drove down the price of food for most of the last century, the vast majority of human history has been characterized by the desperate search for sustenance. Keeping that in mind, here's a reminder about a few of the techniques that long-gone chefs once developed to preserve the harvest, get their vitamins, and avoid throwing anything away:
Organ meats: In the days before easy canning and greenhouse gardening, it was incredibly difficult to get the necessary daily allowance of vitamins. In the absence of fresh fruits and vegetables, medieval farmers turned to organ meats. For example, rich in iron and Vitamin A, the liver was a dietary staple for generations. Similarly, kidneys, sweetbreads, and brains are also great sources of necessary vitamins. Much later, immigrants and the lower classes continued to eat these organs, as they were relatively inexpensive.
When most people look at commercials for Klondike bars, I imagine that they see silly people doing fun, wacky things in return for yummy ice cream treats. Personally, I see cruelty, torture, and the dark side of addiction. Hunger is a harsh mistress; luckily, I've never been placed in a situation where I've had to do something embarrassing or illegal to get fed. To my shame, I have to admit that, under the right circumstances, I would probably humiliate myself for a Klondike bar. If the reward was a nice crême brûlée, there's no doubt: all bets would be off.
Because of this moral shortcoming, I can, to some extent, understand Tremayne Durham. A Brooklyn thug who was being held in an Oregon courthouse, Durham recently admitted that he did, indeed, kill a man in cold blood over a failed business deal. In return for his candor, he's probably facing life imprisonment.
What caused Durham to admit to his wrongdoing? Was it depression, guilt, a need for forgiveness, the first step on the road to redemption? No, Durham plead guilty to aggravated murder in return for a gargantuan fast-food feast. He received a bucket of KFC chicken, a bucket of Popeye's chicken, a serving of mashed potatoes, a serving of coleslaw, a slice of carrot cake, a pizza, two calzones, a tray of lasagna and a bucket of ice cream. The entire proceeding cost the state of Oregon a mere $41.70.
As Durham discovers that justice is sometimes served with a side of cole slaw, I'm going to start taking the idea of fast food addiction a lot more seriously...
Over the past few years, fast-food joints like McDonald's and Burger King have cashed in on nutritionists' advice that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. At this point, they all have a breakfast value menu. So, it's no surprise that food service businesses, such as Denny's and IHOP, which built their restaurants on the fact that they provide breakfast, are getting competitive with fast-food alternatives. An article from the Baltimore Sun explains that Denny's is going to offer breakfast skillets for $5.99. IHOP is now selling more to-go breakfast meals.
Restaurant analysts state that Denny's and IHOP will have to compete with the convenience, speed and low prices available from their fast-food competitors. Nevertheless, they should probably also realize that they may be targeting a different demographic alltogether.
Would you sign up for Denny's Real Breakfast Club? Signing up means that they'd send you emails with promotions, news, and offers.
This recipe is too great to ignore, and looks like an easy and tasty re-introduction to the world of Pop Tarts. That being said, I'm not talking about your box kind. I'm talking fresh, easy-to-make pastries with jelly inside.
Pim has thrown up a recipe for her style of Pop Tarts. They not only look tasty, but have a ridiculously simple list of steps that I just might have to break out the rolling pin later. Her recipe is just pie crust, jam, and a little bit of finagling. She outlines each step with a picture guide, but really, there's not much to it at all. In a world where food prices keep rising, there's nothing like a quick, cheap, and tasty way to make kid-friendly treats right in your own home.
Okay, I'm going to get something out in the open here: I am somewhat biased when it comes to Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Just in case the title of this post wasn't enough to make my feelings clear, I want you to know that, from where I stand, the famed ice cream makers share moral ground with Kim Philby, John Walker, and Robert Hanssen. In my house, we don't use the term "Benedict Arnold." For us, the gold standard of betrayal takes the form of two Vermont pseudo-hippies, and the phrase "You're a total...Ben and Jerry!" can be the prelude to a massive battle royale.
Even so, I'll try to be fair.
When I was a kid, long before Ben and Jerry's became a household term, I met the pair at a book show in Washington D.C. They were hawking their ice cream cookbook and, as a young cook and avid bibliophile, I eagerly snapped up the signed first edition of their tome. Although I left the DC convention center that day with several huge bags of books, Ben and Jerry's slim volume was in my lap, and I read it and reread it repeatedly over the next few days.
Although it was to be a long time before Ben and Jerry's came to our neck of the woods, I mixed up several of their recipes in my little ice cream maker. I loved them all. In Massachusetts, where my family spent our summers, B&J's was available in a few of the markets, so my sisters and I were able to try out a few of the famous flavors. We absolutely adored them.
While I pride myself on my willingness to accept a weird culinary challenge, this trait has led me to put more than a few strange things into my mouth. Codfish pancakes? No problem! Raw fish in Tijuana? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Scorpion vodka? Slightly chitinous tasting, but it did the job. Rendered pork fat on toast? Well, once was enough...
Recently, however, an Asylum post about weird ice creams made me realize that there might be limits to what I'm willing to consume. Forget red bean ice cream and wasabi sorbet; those are just the table stakes, the bare minimum that you need to get through the door of bizarre frozen desserts. For something really different, try bacon and egg ice cream from The Fat Duck, a British restaurant. If that doesn't float your boat, how about a frozen dessert made from horse flesh, or perhaps a nice bowl of Japanese ox tongue ice cream? If you're in the mood for something a little more savory, there's always Rosa Mexicano's Tomato Habañero sorbet or their avocado, strawberry and white chocolate ice cream!
Okay, I'll admit it: I might be going down to Rosa Mexicano to try a few of these out. After all, the place has never failed me before and there are few culinary horrors that can't be rectified by the addition of a pomegranate margarita. That having been said, it'll take more than a couple of glasses of sake to put a double scoop of frozen ox tongue anywhere near my mouth!
These days in the cereal world, it's quite popular to take old favorites and spin them just a little bit, whether that means adding a variety of fruit or some extra flavor combinations. I've tried a number of these new variations, but they always left something to be desired. They were good, but they never reinvigorated my childhood cereal love ... until now.
I must have been living under a rock, because it took me over a year to spot Vanilla Flavour Rice Krispies, which debuted just over a year ago in Canada. They're just like the old classic with an extra hint of vanilla -- familiarity with a slight flair. I can't get enough of these damned things, and have gone through a box in a week. I don't know if they're available in the States yet (all my searches lead back to Canadian sites), but do keep an eye out. If you like the Snap, Crackle, and Pop, you'll probably dig these.
Gourmet's Ian Knauer has bacon on the brain ever since a fateful foray into one of Greenpoint, Brooklyn's omnipresent Polish groceries. The specimen in question is double-smoked, non-brine injected belly meat, has roots in the former Eastern Prussia, and is sold in Germany as Geräucherter Speck. Looks insanely delicious, no?
Mr. Knauer is also pretty certain that one's personal selection thereof over all other bacon formats is a potential indicator of, well, he's not entirely certain, but if nothing else, this meat-based emotional indexing is a lot yummier than the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator or the MMPI. Mmmm...delicious psychological profiling.
Looking for a good food project to tackle this weekend? Why not try making a batch of homemade ice cream sandwiches? Erin (of Erin Cooks) has a special press, which helped make these look as perfect as they do, but you can get similar (although your ice cream may not go all the way out to the edges) results with a small ice cream scoop and large cookie cutters.
So that 36-hour cookie (unless you make use of vacuums and cut the time) has been all the rage these days, and I've been itching to see what all the fuss is about. While I'm not crazy enough to make them in my AC-free apartment, I happily accepted some fresh-baked cookies from a friend of mine. You know what? I was far from a big fan. Very far.
I loved the texture, but there was just too much darned chocolate, and my mouth even rebelled at the taste a little, getting a bit itchy. Even though my friend knows his way around baking a chocolate chip cookie, there's a chance he fudged something up, but even still -- it should've been good enough for a "wow" instead of a "huh..." Any of you out there feel the same way?
Personally, I'm going to stick with my faux Tollhouse recipe that's part of The Essential Baking Cookbook. It's great with chocolate, white vanilla, and sinfully delectable with butterscotch. Check it out after the jump.
A little over two years ago, my daughter was born. At the time, I was in moderately decent shape; although I smoked, I ate fairly well, walked all over the place, and generally kept my weight in an area that my doctor and I considered acceptable. However, my daughter's birth, my decision to quit the demon cancer sticks, and the fact that I spent an insane amount of time on the couch with her quickly bore fruit. Within six months of her arrival, I had packed on about 20 pounds.
After I had to buy new, larger pants, I decided that enough was enough. I started going to the gym, watching what I eat, exercising more, and generally trying to regain my svelte, pre-fatherhood body. I spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, looking at my measurements, and looking at my diet. When I moved to New York, however, my weight loss began to slow, sputter, and even reverse a little bit.
It wasn't too hard to figure out why I wasn't losing weight like I used to. While I was busy looking at the scale, I wasn't looking at my neighborhood. On the bright side, the Vietnamese restaurant near my apartment has several relatively healthy offerings and the taco truck a couple of blocks away is great if I don't order cheese, sour cream, and fried meat. However, the Dominican bakery, with its seductive tres leches cake, the Puerto Rican Cuchifritos stands, and the various pizzerias, Chinese food joints, and Gyro restaurants all taunt me with their wares. While I'm pretty good at avoiding the siren song of KFC, Burger King, and all the other fast food places, I am a sucker for homemade, high-fat goodies.
Okay, I'm taking a big risk here. In addition to showing off my unattractive, massively egotistical side, I'm also going to put myself in danger of a little self-incrimination. Here goes:
When I'm sober and clear-headed, I'm a pretty decent cook, but when I'm seriously impaired, I am a culinary god. In all honesty, imagine Drunken Master with a baking sheet. I'm that good.
I've allowed my skills to deteriorate since I left grad school, but, once upon a time, my addled forays into the kitchen were widely regarded as moments of pure magic. Admittedly, impaired kitchen godhood wasn't a quick process: after mastering the beer-and-cabbage ramen dish that my friend Julie was famous for, I played with various crudite, cheese, and dip combinations before moving on to seriously impaired baking.
While I won't endorse BWI (baking while intoxicated) on the grounds that it is incredibly stupid, I have to admit that the biscotti that I produced at 3:00 in the morning with a houseful of goofy friends were truly amazing. Perfectly crisped, with just the slightest touch of anise, they were a great late-night snack, and the perfect accompaniment to the coffee that I would inevitably be guzzling the next morning.
Admittedly, my forays into the world of BWI were not without their dangers: piles of filthy bowls and measuring tools were common, as were flour-covered counters. More important, although I never burned a biscotti, there were a couple of times when it got pretty close. With that in mind, I was particularly impressed by Dizzy Dee's Five-Minute Chocolate Cake. A mix of six simple ingredients, the recipe uses a mug as both the mixing bowl and cooking vessel, which makes clean-up a lot easier. Also, the cake cooks in the microwave, so you don't have to worry about torching your dessert!
In his forty-plus year career, Elton John has had no lack of awards: in addition to an Oscar for his work on The Lion King, he can boast five Grammys, a place in the Songwriter's Hall of Fame, a spot in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a CBE and a Knighthood, as well as hundreds of other honors, great and small.
However, in some ways, none of these honors is as sweet as the one recently bestowed on the famed singer/songwriter. This week, Ben and Jerry's will launch Goodbye, Yellow Brickle Road, an Elton John-themed flavor that it will sell in its scoop shops from July 18th to July 25th. Named after his seminal 1973 breakthrough album and unveiled in honor of his first-ever concert in the Green Mountain State, all proceeds from the sale of the ice cream will go to the Elton John AIDS Fund.
A chocolate ice cream base with peanut butter cookie dough, butter brickle, and white chocolate chunks, one wonders if "Goodbye Yellow Brickle Road" might spawn sequels. After all, is it hard to imagine a market for "Rocky Road Man," "Can You Feel the Carbs Tonight" or "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blueberry Bonanza"?
While it's not exactly the most scientific and perfectly matched comparison, Ideas in Food took on the notion posted in The New York Times, where the perfect chocolate chip cookie takes 36 hours. I don't know about you, but whenever I want cookies, I'm sure as hell not waiting 36 hours, especially since that amount of time will usually end the craving and make me remember just how unhealthy and dangerous it would be for me to make a bunch of cookies for my single self.
Anyhow, to simulate the 36 hours, Ideas in Food vacuum-sealed the dough. "I did not make a test batch of cookies with unprocessed dough so this was an entirely unscientific experiment. What I can tell you is that the dough darkened and became fully saturated, similar to the way that the dough usually looks after a couple of days in the refrigerator. It also changed the texture of the dough, making it a bit more elastic to the touch." So, is there anyone out there with a vacuum sealer that wants to put the two techniques head to head?
Kind little rituals seem to go a long way toward making marriage work, so almost every weekend, I make my husband some sweet tea. He's a Southern boy by birth (Brooklynian by marriage), and having a big ol' pitcher easily grabbable in the fridge seems to right any Mason Dixon imbalance he might be suffering at the time. I've got it down to a science, proportion-wise, but this past weekend, his itch for a sugar fix kicked in while I was at the grocery store. What he made tasted divine, but there was just too much for one pitcher, and not enough refrigerator room for a second.
If nothing else, the nuns at St. Scorpacciata instilled in me the mortal fear of wasting food, and seeing how I'd been at the store to buy milk (which neither of us usually drink) for a Bolognese, I decided sherbet would be what saved our souls from eternal damnation. I suppose we won't know for a while if that worked, but it did taste pretty damned delicious.
.jpg)
As the ongoing recession/inflation/credit crunch drives the cost of food higher and higher, British chain Sainsbury's has begun working to minimize food wastage. Meanwhile, ever-increasing numbers of consumers are cooking from scratch in an attempt to stretch their food budgets. Clearly, thrift is back!.jpg)
When most people look at commercials for Klondike bars, I imagine that they see silly people doing fun, wacky things in return for yummy ice cream treats. Personally, I see cruelty, torture, and the dark side of addiction. Hunger is a harsh mistress; luckily, I've never been placed in a situation where I've had to do something embarrassing or illegal to get fed. To my shame, I have to admit that, under the right circumstances, I would probably humiliate myself for a Klondike bar. If the reward was a nice crême brûlée, there's no doubt: all bets would be off.
.jpg)
Okay, I'm going to get something out in the open here: I am somewhat biased when it comes to Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Just in case the title of this post wasn't enough to make my feelings clear, I want you to know that, from where I stand, the famed ice cream makers share moral ground with Kim Philby, John Walker, and Robert Hanssen. In my house, we don't use the term "Benedict Arnold." For us, the gold standard of betrayal takes the form of two Vermont pseudo-hippies, and the phrase "You're a total...Ben and Jerry!" can be the prelude to a massive battle royale..jpg)
While I pride myself on my willingness to accept a weird culinary challenge, this trait has led me to put more than a few strange things into my mouth. Codfish pancakes? No problem! Raw fish in Tijuana? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Scorpion vodka? Slightly chitinous tasting, but it did the job. Rendered pork fat on toast? Well, once was enough...
These days in the cereal world, it's quite popular to take old favorites and spin them just a little bit, whether that means adding a variety of fruit or some extra flavor combinations. I've tried a number of these new variations, but they always left something to be desired. They were good, but they never reinvigorated my childhood cereal love ... until now.
.jpg)
A little over two years ago, my daughter was born. At the time, I was in moderately decent shape; although I smoked, I ate fairly well, walked all over the place, and generally kept my weight in an area that my doctor and I considered acceptable. However, my daughter's birth, my decision to quit the demon cancer sticks, and the fact that I spent an insane amount of time on the couch with her quickly bore fruit. Within six months of her arrival, I had packed on about 20 pounds..jpg)
Okay, I'm taking a big risk here. In addition to showing off my unattractive, massively egotistical side, I'm also going to put myself in danger of a little self-incrimination. Here goes:
Kind little rituals seem to go a long way toward making marriage work, so almost every weekend, I make my husband some 
Chocolate-stuffed bananas on the grill
Tyler Florence welcomes new daughter
Beware kids' menus!
