On the Move

 The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are                                         - Chauncey Depew

New Site: https://citp.food/ 

 

Make 'Em Laugh

Once upon a time, to be specific in 1945, the newspaper unions of New York went on strike. (There is still some clout in such actions, but is much diminished).  To attend to the needs of the City's youth deprived of the Sunday comics, and in a completely politically astute calculation, NYC Mayor Fiorello La Guardia directed the City owned WNYC to read them each week. These were read by La Guardia himself, in his weekly radio show.

The "funny papers" have value.

Recently, the owners of The Buffalo News directed the removal of most of the comics, as well as puzzles and part of the opinion page.It pissed me off. Keeping up my subscription was hard enough to justify...

In any event, I gave voice to my disappointment by submitting a proposed article for the daily "My View" column. I didn't expect it to get published, and they did tur it down for not meeting the guidelines for that column.

So, I thought Id share it here:

A Flock of Seagulls

When the seagulls follow the trawler, it's because they think

sardines will be thrown into the sea - Eric Cantona.

 

 

Being the first step in my journey toward the larger world of tinned seafood.

 

The first pick from my Father's Day hoard was Les Mouettes d’Arvor Sardines in EVOO w/ Lemon Confit & Chilli Pepper.

 

 Les Mouettes d’Arvor translates to the Seagulls of Arvor. The favorite football team of Jacques Gonidec of Concarneau, along Brittany's southern coast. Along with his parents he created Conserverie Gonidec, a canner of high quality seafood, including sardines. Brittany was once the center of seafood canning in France much as Stonington, Maine and Monterey, California were in the United States. In fact, modern canning began during the Napoleonic Wars, the invention of one Nicholas Appert, and in the 1830s, following Appert's method, the fish canning industry was flourishing in Brittany. Today Conserverie Gonidec is the last traditional seafood canner in the region.

Something Fishy

 

Is this chicken what I have or is this fish? I know it's tuna. 

But it says chicken. By the sea. - Jessica Simpson

It's been a while since I blogged. I guess I just lacked the right inspiration. But over the last months, I may have found that inspiration in the form of can seafood products – also known as tinned fish.

 

I'm not talking about canned tuna here – not that there's anything wrong with that. When I want a hunk of fresh tuna loin seared rare, I'm going to buy the freshest piece of fish I can find. When I want a tuna sandwich I look for chunk light tuna in oil. I also have no objection, not that it matters, to canned salmon for salmon salad sandwiches. I only object when these are served in cooked preparations. Thence came nightmares of my youth.

Twenty Years (Five Years Later)

Only a man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like - Sandor Clegane

Twenty years ago today, I almost died.

I came home from presiding over a successful meeting of my Masonic Lodge, did some work and went to
bed. I woke the next morning in the Intensive Care Burn Unit of the Erie County Medical Center. I wasn’t expected to survive the first twenty-four hours. Ten days later I was released.


It is that simple, and that complex. It was the worst nightmare that you can imagine. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It almost killed me, but it saved my life.

To understand how I can look back on a traumatic event as a blessing, you have to know my life as of April 21, 1994. I was wretched.

Elegy From a Cook (revisited)

My first (and only) shot at moving from Sous Chef to Chef at a another restaurant came at the urging of Fred Rzemek. I had known Fred for years, starting as one of his Lawyers (we even held our holiday parties at his various restaurants). He is the one who first induced me to enter cooking as a career, and when he decided to open Fredi, I was on board. Fredi was located in the quiet village of Clarence Center, part of the Town of Clarence – the next town east of here. Fred, and later Fred and Maggie lived in the coach house out back. The slogan “City Chic, Country Charm” summed it up.

My tenure there didn't last long – several issues had been building, including health and family. I would still pop in for the occasional shift when Fred needed me. At least until it caught fire a few years back, and Fred and Maggie moved back downtown.

Eighteen Years

I like children, if they're properly cooked. - W.C. Fields

Eighteen years. I was sous chef at a lovely suburban restaurant called DACC’s (I have mentioned it before, but the name was an acronym for Dan and Alice Welch, John “Crash” Cracchiola and Caren Ashkar– the owners. (Alice was out of the picture by that time.) I was having a hoot as a cook. It may have been the first time I was really happy in a job. Ever.

When I left the Law, I had no idea of how my career would change. I had no idea I would finally marry. Even then kids were not part of the equation. Then Trish got pregnant. We lost that one, but the idea of being parents had planted its seed in our brains. In 1998, we found out Trish was pregnant again. This time, it took.

 

A Tale of Two Dinners

It was the best of Dinners, it was the worst of Dinners – apologies to Mr. Dickens.

Today’s Buffalo News carried two stories about dining. The first, in the way I read the paper,  was about the new Coach of my Bills entertaining some our best players from the Glory Years, at a downtown Steakhouse. I can only imagine the discussion.
The other was a review of a long standing Southtowns Beef on Weck institution. It was a gathering of friends and family. I was at the latter. As much as I would have liked to have listened in at the former, the latter provided a much more satisfying dining experience.
I’d take it anytime.

In For A Nickel

Some dishes are of such indisputable excellence that their appearance alone is capable of arousing a level-headed man's degustatory powers. All those who, when presented with such a dish, show neither the rush of desire, nor the radiance of ecstasy, may justly be deemed unworthy of the honors of the sitting, and its related delights - Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

I have often described the Western New York restaurant community as small and incestuous. It is. But, at the time I started my cooking career, there were few opportunities to hang with other cooks. They’d gather after shift at places like Mother’s, a downtown location. That included my Chef, Dan Welch. But I lived in the suburbs and was a cook at suburban restaurant. I often walked to work.

My after shift activities with local co-workers was heading to Rooties for beers and Wings (and to my mind they were the best Wings in Buffalo – and there was a really HOT bartender)

An End To My Cooking Career

I have decided today to cease my 20 plus year cookery career. It is a thankless job, filled with low pay, long hours, idiot bosses, even stupider customers never happy with what they receive. It is a world of fools who think that food is a medicine – an anodyne for all their  ills. The Glutards. The Kale fanatics. The people who think “organic” = good for you, even if it is over processed crap. The Yancey’s Fancy fans who think that’s what “cheese” is. The MSG haters. Those who think a Fish Fry is a proper way to enjoy a fish.  The vitamin supplement freaks. The people who think “may” fix something means “will”. The people who think macaroni salad is gourmet – and easily replaced by a prepared product.

The people who put Ketchup on a hot dog.

And so, I am giving it up to my first true love: Country Music. Appropriate when a Hank Williams biopic appears.

I love the twang. I love the whine. I want my dog run over by a car, my wife to leave me, the transmission to drop out of my pickup. I want to wear a big hat, as if I’d ever been closer to a real ranch than T-Meadow farms.

I want to bitch about everything.

So, look for my first single release: You Can Pry My Foie Gras Out Of My Cold Dead Hands, You Petaphile. The B-Side is: Bone Broth Cured My Herpes.

"I was born a duck minders daughter . . . "

Dear Alton Brown

The only unitasker allowed in my kitchen is a fire extinguisher - Alton Brown

Dear Alton:

May I call you Alton? I feel like I know you. After all, you spend a great deal of time in our home, via a variety of media.

Alton, you recently did a video that is everywhere on the Internets, regarding the dumbest kitchen gadgets of 2015. I also heard the guest spot on NPR. I am with you (mostly) on unitaskers, and I agree there are a lot of useless hardware on the market. That egg extruder? Yep. Banana slicer? Ditto. But, there are some items that deserve a second look.

Catharsis

Is that how one says it? As simply as that. "Craig is dead. Craig Henderson of DeMolay is dead." "The soup is hot; the soup is cold." "Craig is living; Craig is dead."

This post isn’t about food. It’s about my friend Craig Henderson, who died two weeks ago today. He was 49 years old.

He was one of the best friends I have ever had. Craig was a big man – with a bigger heart. I miss him, and I needed a way to vent my thoughts in the way Bob Siebold did with his beautiful eulogy. Bob couldn’t read it himself. I am sure that I couldn’t have either.

Remembrance of Things Past

I don't deserve this award, but I have arthritis and I don't deserve that either – Jack Benny

Yesterday afternoon, I was winding down after work and getting ready for a “date night” of Pho with my wife. A flag popped up on Facebook telling me that there was a message in the local Chef’s group. A message from Dustin Murphy one of the best young cooks in town, now at the helm of one of the areas better restaurants. You don’t get a perfect 10 from The News if you aren't putting out good product.

His message was simple:

“Anybody wanna kick it with some cool dudes tonight? We're down a guy!”

To B or not To B

In contemplating the present opening prospects in human affairs, I am led to expect that a material part of the general happiness which heaven seems to have prepared for mankind will be derived from the manufacture and general use of Maple Sugar - Letter to Thomas Jefferson from Benjamin Rush, August 19, 1791

I have long proclaimed to the world my adoration for that true nectar of the Olympian Gods, that Elixir of Life, known as Grade B Maple Syrup.  I was introduced to it on our first of what became an annual family Syrup pilgrimage. That first tour started at Maple Glen Sugar House in Gowanda, a location that is also where I learned not to follow my wife's directions.

Do Not Rue The Day

Nouvelle Cuisine, roughly translated, means: I can’t believe I paid ninety-six dollars and I’m still hungry — Mike Kalin

I have been to Rue Franklin. It was 25 years or so ago. I haven't been back. I have lived in Buffalo on and off since 1976 - spent most of my adult life here. Throughout most of that time, the Rue was the number one destination for fine dining.

There were challengers. Oliver’s with its parade of  great local cooks. The Hourglass, with WNY’s best wine cellar. All the others mere pretenders.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

I can't cook. I use a smoke alarm as a timer - Carol Siskind

I have been aware of the limitations of the home ventilation hood since long before I became intimately acquainted with those in a professional kitchen. The latter, unconcerned with aesthetic or quiet operation, does a fine job of removing smoke and vapors. The inside surfaces, especially the filter screens become encrusted with grease and other airborne particulates. Cleaning becomes a dreaded, if necessary evil.

It does its job.


The same cannot be said of the standard home unit. It is underpowered and not particularly well designed. The filter may contain something like activated charcoal, but in most cases is overlapping layers of metal mesh. It does collect grease and needs to be cleaned regularly, but the grime that builds up on nearby surfaces highlights its limitations. 

The problem is two-fold: in addition to being underpowered the unit is mounted too low and because of this the skirt of the hood does not reach out far enough to cover the cooking surface. Otherwise you’d whack your head, and there are enough ways for me to do that.
The length of the skirt is especially an impediment if, like ours, your 14,000 BTU power burner is in the front. It's usually my first choice for cooking.

Enter the smoke alarm. Enough smoke makes it through the filter to set it off on a regular basis. You can reduce these problems if you are lucky enough to have a hood vented to the outside, but they still persist. I had one for the last 11 years, and still had to pull the battery out when I cooked.

Frankly, a passive chimney - centuries-old technology – would seem more effective.

Perhaps the worst system I have ever encountered was the Jenn Air, installed by my parents in our first new family home. Typical 70's build with a kitchen island, it was hoodless. The system was vented to the outside, but it drew downward - fighting both gravity and thermodynamics. Doh!
Until we moved, that is. The new home has the "convenience" of a microwave mounted over the range. The apron is shorter and the skirt is even lower than a standard hood. So low that my pressure canner blocks access to the microwave. Forget about using the back of the stove or a larger stockpot.

The filtration system is nonexistent. Using the fan makes it certain that the alarm will sound. Making things worse, the hood fan has a heat activated sensor. When that kicks on you can’t shut it off manually. You have to wait until it shuts itself off.

So, this has my vote for the worst home system ever. Did I mention that the exhaust for the unit is right in front of your face?

Smoke does get in your eyes.

A Moment of Bliss

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Alchemy of the Kitchen

You will never get out of pot or pan anything fundamentally better than what went into it. Cooking is not alchemy; there is no magic in the pot - Martha McCulloch-Williams* †

With respect to Ms. McCulloch-Williams (Who I am fairly certain would bristle at the honorific “Ms”. Good.) cooking is most certainly alchemy. 

The bringing together of base materials which, through the manipulation of four basic elements (air, fire, water and earth), are transmuted into something sublime. If all you care about is nourishment, try Soylent. If you want to create a spagyric or an elixir of life, you need the magic that is cookery.

Everything Old is New Again

The mission of the ideal woman is to make the whole world more homelike. - Frances Willard

How typical! Over the years I created multiple blogs to reflect different aspects of my interest in cookery. I create and launch the new CITP website to gather these varying strains together in one place. Organizing them in an easy to understand display.

And the first blog post that comes to mind bends the rules.

It's about a cookbook, so it should be in Coquus Libris, shouldn't it? After all, I made the arbitrary decision. But, it came up for a search while launching this page. So I hereby decree an exception.

Twenty Years

Only a man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like - Sandor Clegane

Twenty years ago today, I almost died.

I came home from presiding over a successful meeting of my Masonic Lodge, did some work and went to
bed. I woke the next morning in the Intensive Care Burn Unit of the Erie County Medical Center. I wasn’t expected to survive the first twenty-four hours. Ten days later I was released.


It is that simple, and that complex. It was the worst nightmare that you can imagine. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It almost killed me, but it saved my life.

To understand how I can look back on a traumatic event as a blessing, you have to know my life as of April 21, 1994. I was wretched.