It's About time

As I have yet to hear from Slashfood, I've applied for the position of Cooking Equipment Guide on About.com. Obviously, should either of the sites decide they want me, I'll withdraw my application from the other in order to avoid any concerns over conflict of interest.

Incidentally, on the subject of cooking equipment, the Sagaform cookbook page holder is an excellent gift idea for a home cook. I've found that it's perfectly weighted to hold even the largest and most page-heavy tomes open, but it does so without undue pressure on the pages themselves: the book stays flat, but the pages don't crease.

How about a glass of cobbler?

One of the earliest recipes for a Whiskey Cobbler came from Jerry Thomas in 1862. His version called for whiskey, granulated sugar, a wedge of orange, and a bit of Maraschino liqueur. One of the smoothest recipes, however, is a bit more modern.

The Playboy Bartender's Guide offers this twist on an old classic: fill a 12 ounce glass with finely cracked or shaved ice, then add 2.5 oz. blended whiskey, .75 ounces of lemon juice, .5 oz. grapefruit juice, and 1.5 tsp. orgeat or orzata. For those not familiar with either of those, orgeat is an almond-flavored liqueur, while orzaga is a non-alcoholic almond-based syrup. Once you've added all of the wet ingredients, garnish with a slice of brandied peach and -- as a nod to tradition -- a wedge of orange.

One of three submissions for Slashfood

Baklava, humbug

Who needs Christmas Cookies when you can have Baklava?

Unlike cookies (and pies, and most other dessert dishes), Baklava relies on sheets of phyllo dough -- dough made from unleavened flour -- for its base, and the final product resembles a light, airy, exceedingly sweet puff pastry.

For this dish, you'll need the following:

• 1 package phyllo dough
• 1.5 c butter
• 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1 lb chopped walnuts

For the glaze, you'll need:

• 1 c water
• 1 c caster/superfine sugar
• 1/2 c honey
• 1 t pure vanilla extract

While your oven is preheating to 350 degrees, gently unroll the phyllo dough, then cut it in half: this will allow it to fit a 9 x 13 glass dish (almost) perfectly. Don't forget to cover the unused dough with a dampened towel while you're working, though, or it will rapidly dry out and become unusable.

Mix the walnuts with the cinnamon and make sure they're fairly evenly coated. Butter your baking dish thoroughly, and make sure all the rest of your butter is melted. Now that your prep work is done, you can begin making the dessert.

Lay a sheet of phyllo in the bottom of your dish, then -- using a pastry brush -- thoroughly butter it. Make five layers of buttered pastry, then sprinkle 2 Tbsp of the chopped walnuts on top. Now you repeat, five layers of phyllo then a layer of nuts until you run out of nuts, then top with the remainder of the phyllo. The top layer of the phyllo should be between 5 and 10 layers thick. Cut the baklava into squares, then drizzle any remaining melted butter over the top and bake for 45-60 minutes, or until the baklava is golden, and the edges of the squares begin to curl.

While the baklava is baking, start the water boiling and add the sugar, stirring until the sugar is dissolved. Lower the temperature, then add the vanilla extract and honey and keep stirring at a simmer until the liquid has reduced to the consistency of a medium-thick syrup, between 20-30 minutes. Remove the baklava from the oven once it's done cooking and immediately spoon the syrup over the top, then allow to cool, uncovered, for a minimum of 30 minutes. Once the pan has cooled, place it uncovered in the refrigerator to finish setting up.

Enjoy!

One of three submissions for Slashfood

Oregon Truffle Festival: 25-28 January 2008

The Third Annual Oregon Truffle Festival is taking place in Eugene, Oregon, from 25-28 January 2008. Although you can purchase à la carte tickets to events such as the Oregon Truffle Festival Cooking Class, the Grand Truffle Dinner, and the Truffle Growers' Forum, the most cost-effective means of participation is to purchase one of the packages which includes the events in which you would like to participate. While certain limited-seating packages are already sold out, some general admission packages are still available starting at $425 per person.

If you're interested in Oregon Truffles, I strongly suggest you take this opportunity to attend the festival: the winter truffles will be at the peak of their flavor, you'll have the opportunity to partake in a fabulous set of events, and really, with it involving truffles, what's not to like?

Crème fraîche: French for "delicious"

Whether you make your own with heavy cream, buttermilk, and just the right amount of heat, or you purchase it at your local grocery store, crème fraîche (pronounced "krem fresh") is a thick, tangy change of pace from sour cream, and is also the perfect whipped accompaniment to a lemon meringue or key lime pie.

As it's produced by culturing cream with bacteria, it's rather easy to make. In France, the cream is unpasteurized, so the bacteria has rather a great deal more to work with; however, in North America, most of the cream sold is pasteurized, so it needs a little help.

Start with a 1:1 ratio of buttermilk and cream: use 1 Tbsp buttermilk to 1 c. heavy cream. Combine the two together and carefully heat to between 83-87 degrees on an instant-read thermometer, then pour into a clean glass jar or bowl. Partially cover the opening, then let sit at room temperature for up to 24 hours, allowing the crème fraîche to thicken. Once thickened, stir gently and place in the refrigerator, then let sit for 24 hours before use.

Crème fraîche can be used in sauces, as a topping for fruit, to stretch and season scrambled eggs, as an addition to cream-based soups, as a whipped topping ... realistically, if you have a good imagination, it can be used just about anywhere. So go ahead, pick some up or try your hand at making it. It's a wonderful change of pace from sour cream, and a delicious addition to almost any meal.

One of three submissions for Slashfood

And so we shall see ...

I submitted an application for Slashfood, one of the blogs in the Weblogs, Inc. family.

I'm currently writing for Massively -- a blog focused on MMOs -- and it will be interesting to see whether or not I can make my voice heard on the second forum, as well. I know food and drink, and heavens knows I consume enough of it, so I think it'd be a reasonable fit. I'll just have to wait and see whether or not they agree.

As I told them, "I've been cooking since I was fourteen, and spent approximately three years in restaurants working as a waiter and a cook. I've never lost my appreciation for the aesthetic of fine dining, or my love of crazy foodstuffs."

Fine Dining: a minefield for the unwary

Even though many of us do not formally review restaurants, we have all had the opportunity to share with others our experiences and feelings about our dining experiences. And, inevitably, we've given advice that worked for us and didn't work for our listeners.

How often have you told someone that a restaurant is lovely and the food is flavorful, only to have them tell you that their experience included rude service and horrible food? And let's face it: the opposite is true, as well. I can't count the number of times I've shied away from eating at an establishment that displeased me earlier, only to find -- thanks to a friend or co-worker -- that they have truly turned around.

In some cases, however, it's more difficult to provide support or discouragement: what if the restaurant in question is owned by a friend? As a case in point, there's a small establishment I wanted to patronize because it's owned by a former co-worker; unfortunately, such was not to be.

A month after opening, they still hadn't completed the painting, the carpeting was coming up in some areas, the host stand was showing unfinished plywood, and the lighting was exceptionally dim. Add to that a menu rife with misspellings, a wine list that indicated no understanding of food pairings, an executive chef more interested in glad-handing and greeting customers than in overseeing their kitchen, and a crew filled with slow wait staff and undertrained cooks. The service was pathetic, and the food was abysmal.

My first meal there began with stale bread that appeared store-bought and a seafood-stuffed mushroom dish which tasted of nothing so much as soured artificial crab in motor oil-soaked cardboard. I also tried the Tuscan Bean soup, which reminded me of a taco cart's rather watery refried beans, only without the complexity of flavor brought forth via the cart's ambiance. My main course was a clam linguine with alfredo sauce: I'd never before had clams cooked until they become meal-filled rubber strips, and the pasta was surprisingly mushy in some spots while remaining exceptionally crunchy in others. The alfredo sauce tasted like cream of chicken soup ... condensed cream of chicken soup, fresh from the can, and before any additional liquid had been added. Needless to say, I was actually quite relieved that my dinner companion was called away from the table before we had to suffer through dessert. According to my friend, the desserts and pastries there were wonderful, but I was too horrified to try anything else. To be fair to the establishment, however, I went back three more times, hoping against hope that I'd have at least one good experience.

The second meal provided me with a limp, stringy salad as an appetizer, and a carpaccio of beef that could only have been improved had they used catsup on it. The wine served was forgettable: a thin vinegar scent only hinted at the horror contained in my glass. I was worried at first that the wine was oxidized or that it had been corked, but after sampling a second bottle, I'm forced to admit that it was just a poorly-chosen wine. To be fair, I bear part of the embarrassment for that selection: I was, after all, the one who ordered it.

The third meal was chicken. I skipped the appetizer. To say that the breast I was served was slightly dry is to say that the interior still needed a few minor touch-ups. The pasta was reasonably well cooked, and not overdone; however, the sauce served with the chicken was not what I had expected: I had ordered alfredo, and received pesto. When it was sent back to the kitchen, I received marinara in return.

The fourth meal was my breaking point: after waiting nearly half an hour for my order to be taken, the waitress was rude and abrasive. When my fish came out, it was so dry that it squeaked when I attempted to cut it, and did not flake so much as snap and crumble. I asked if the waitress would take the meal back so that I could get a piece prepared properly, and was told that this was how the fish was prepared, and if I did not like it, I could patronize another establishment. Needless to say, I paid my check and left, planning never to return.

I was informed about two weeks ago that the owners had made sure their servers were trained, made some changes to the restaurant, and had hired a new executive chef. I was not glowing with anticipation, but I agreed to accompany the friend who had first introduced me to this location for lunch.

The plywood host stand was gone, but the walls still needed paint. The lighting had been improved, but the menu was still riddled with misspellings. The tables had been rearranged, but they were crowded together. Spare glasses and plates were now displayed in bookcases around the establishment, but the bookcases themselves were aesthetically unpleasant. Artwork was strewn around the walls, but the choices detracted from the atmosphere. Their new executive chef was their former pâtisserie chef -- at least the desserts would still be good -- but the fact that they were promoting rather than seeking outside assistance made me wonder if the rest of the staff was still the same. I felt tentatively hopeful, but I was -- luckily, as it turned out -- not expecting perfection.

Once again, we had the seafood-stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer, but this time they were edible. The bread was fresher, although I'm still tempted to say it's store-bought. While my salad lettuce was more chewy than crunchy, they did bring me the dressing on the side, as I requested. My main dish was fettucini with chicken in a carbonara sauce. The chicken was slightly overdone, but the pasta was cooked quite well; however, the carbonara was ... interesting. Ostensibly, it had pancetta; however, the taste and texture was far more reminiscent of slightly soured bacon or aging Spam. Ironically, even with the melange of flavors, everything was exceptionally bland, and I wound up using far more salt and pepper than I prefer to get some flavor into the dish. Our waitress, while pleasant, was exceptionally slow: she had three tables with two patrons each in her section, and all were kept waiting.

Ultimately, it's unlikely that I'll return any time in the near future. I want to support my friends, but I prefer to support restaurants that know what good food is, how to prepare it, and both how and when to serve it. I do hope, however, that this particular restaurant continues the turnaround they've started: I want them to succeed, but they're going to have to do it without my patronage.

Answers to yesterday's questions

1. The German town of Dortmund is the home of Dortmunder.
2. The stems and leaves of the Coriander plant most often season Mexican cuisine, and this portion of the plant is known as the herb Cilantro. It's also used in Asian, Caribbean, and Latin American cooking. One individual also remarked on the cuisine, noting that Coriander root is also used quite frequently in Thai food, and that Caribbean cuisine frequently uses Coriander's cousin, Chadon Beni, an herb indigenous to Trinidad.
3. Kochujang/gochu jang is known as a Korean hot pepper paste. As well, it's also known as Chilean bean paste, and is used to spice up Hunan and Szchechuan dishes as well as Korean fare.
4. The fee some restaurants charge to open a patron-provided bottle of wine is called corkage.
5. Fugu contains lethal amounts of tetrodotoxin in both the skin and in certain internal organs such as the liver.
6. Zhen shou nai cha is one of the many names for bubble tea.
7. Another name for Oregano is Wild Marjoram.
8. Cornichons are most commonly served with smoked meats and smoked fish, and they're also quite good with patés. Cornichons are also essential in tartar sauce, or sauce tartare.
9. Mayonnaise, Hollandaise, Bearnaise, and Sabayon are all examples of tasty emulsions.
10. Horehound is used to make Horehound candy, and it's used to make throat lozenges; as well, its extract is used to make Horehound-based cough elixer.
11. A Reboham contains 4.5 liters of wine.
12. I need to more carefully phrase my questions. I was reminded that leaf lard is typically considered the best type of lard, as it is drawn from the thicker fat that sits around a pig's kidneys; however, lard itself is exclusively rendered and clarified pork fat, and--outside of its uses in cooking--one of lard's most traditional uses is in the manufacture of soap. The "solid white fat around the kidneys of many animals" I was looking for is suet: this is raw beef or mutton fat, is delightfully rich and moist when used in cooking, and was also the base ingredient in tallow candles.
13. A clementine is a small citrus fruit, one of the varieties of the Mandarin orange.
14. Chambord is the cordial in question.
15. The Short Loin includes both the Tenderloin and the Top Loin.
16. Naga Jolokia--also known as Bhut Jolokia--is the pepper that provides such a distinctive warmth in certain Indian and Asian dishes.
17. Quinine is what gives both tonic water and bitters their distinctive flavour.
18. Spotted Dick is, in the words of one accomplished cook, "a steamed suet pudding - so flour, suet, water and then currants. I'd put some [sugar,] spice and lemon zest in as well. Serve with creme anglais."
19. Scotch Woodcock is softly-scrambled eggs and cream resting on anchovy paste-topped toast squares.
20. A float of Galliano is required to turn a Screwdriver into a Harvey Wallbanger.

A little Q & A

This list of questions is currently being asked on my LiveJournal page, and will be updated with the answers as they come in. Of course, you're more than welcome to take part in answering them here, too.

Depending upon the interest level shown, I may make this a quarterly event. It's a fun way to share knowledge, and to get to know other people.

1. Darker than Pilsner but paler than Münchener, where in Germany did Dortmunder originate?
2. The stems and leaves of the coriander plant are used in what ethnic cuisines, and under what name?
3. What is kochujang/gochu jang, and in what sorts of dishes does it appear?
4. Some restaurants charge a fee to open and serve the wine that a patron brings. What is this fee called?
5. Used in both Sashimi and Nabemono preparations, Fugu is deadly when improperly prepared. Why?
6. You've just been informed that you've had zhen shou nai cha. What is it?
7. What's another name for Oregano?
8. Cornichons are very tiny, very crisp, and very tart pickles. What do they usually accompany?
9. What are two of the most well-known emulsions world-wide?
10. A member of the mint family, what extract can be used to make both candy and cough lozenges?
11. How many liters are contained in a Rehoboam of wine?
12. What is the name of the solid white fat around the kidneys of many animals that is frequently used in puddings, pastries, and mincemeats?
13. What is a Clementine?
14. What is the French liquor with the flavor of black Raspberries and the color of aged rubies?
15. The Tenderloin and the Top Loin are the two main muscles in what cut of beef?
16. A Jalapeño chile ranks between 2,500 and 8,000 on the Scoville scale, and a Habañero chile between 100,000 and 300,000. While Guiness used to rank the Red Savina as the hottest at 577,000 Scovilles, what pepper was confirmed by Guiness at over 1,000,000 Scovilles in early 2007?
17. What contributes the base flavor for both Tonic Water and Bitters?
18. Aside from the giggles, what are the four primary ingredients for Spotted Dick?
19. What is Scotch Woodcock?
20. What turns a Screwdriver into a Harvey Wallbanger?

What is owed, and to whom

Dining out is a give and take relationship. We, as the diners, expect certain behaviors from all levels of the establishment we patronize; and, in return, they expect our return custom, our word of mouth referrals to our acquaintances, and payment for the meal.

And yes, call me old-fashioned, but tipping is--and should remain--optional.

I've worked as a table busser, a dishwasher, a host, a waiter, and a line cook, and they all have their ups and downs. Each plays upon the other's strengths, and balances the weaknesses. For example, a dishwasher setting out a tray of unwashed plates can be counteracted by a sharp-eyed line chef sliding them aside and grabbing clean ones. As well, the disquiet noted when a busser forgets to crumb a table can be offset by the host addressing the issue before seating the patron. All things being equal, though, whether discussing a chain or a sole proprietorship, a restaurant is known for two things: the quality of its food and its wait staff.

I am willing to accept a reasonable delay for a good meal. If my server checks in with me at reasonable intervals to advise me that my dish is being prepared, or to ask if I need more wine or bread, I'll happily chat with my friends or read a book whilst waiting. And, if the food is not cooked to my liking when I receive it, I have no qualms about politely requesting that it be returned to the kitchen for further preparation.

I like my steaks blue-rare, and I will return them if they're served medium-well. I prefer my eggs over medium, and I loathe receiving them over easy. And, in most instances, the wait staff is perfectly ready to address my concerns.

But in some cases, I'm torn. There are some establishments I patronize where one or two servers always leave me frustrated. The food is exceptionally good, but I inevitably wind up either leaving unsatisfied or requesting to be seated in a different waitperson's section. Then, too, no matter how good the wait staff, if the food is not up to my standards, I don't patronize the establishment.

If we are patrons, then it is our right to expect professional service and good food; and, if we are working in the service sector, it is our responsibility to provide both items. Conversely, if we are in the service sector, it is our right to expect customers to treat us professionally and to pay us what we are owed, and it is our responsibility as patrons to meet both of those expectations.

The service industry thrives on the social dynamic, and nowhere is this more obvious than when dining out.

So returning to my point about tipping above, if your server does a reasonable job, provide them with a reasonable tip. If they are oustanding in their interaction, show your appreciation in a tangible manner. And, if their performance is execrable, speak to their manager.

Dining out is a give and take relationship, and both parties need to work to keep that relationship healthy.

An Oregonian, and an American gastronomic legend

James Beard is recognized--and rightly so--as one of the greatest influences on the culinary habits of the United States. Hailed as the father of American gastronomy, he left a legacy as rich as his cooking.

One of his best-known works, Beard on Food, has been re-released. First published in 1974, it has been dusted off and given a new jacket for 2007, but its recipes and lessons are as timelessly perfect today as when they were first penned.

I grew up reading his books, and hoping beyond hope that--one day, somehow--I'd have the opportunity to learn from him. Alas, he died the year I left home for college, but he still teaches through his books, and through the skills he imparted to others.

And there's one other element I love about him: he grew up in Portland, Oregon, and many of his recipes and reminiscences hearken back to his time here.

If you purchase one book on the art of cooking this year, make it Beard on Food. Your hearth, and your heart, will thank you for it.

Haute wings

While I enjoy chicken wings, I don't always want to head out of the house and toddle down to the nearest sports bar to feed my hunger. Luckily, relief is just a kitchen away.

• Separate one to two pounds of chicken wings into their three constituent components (mini-drumstick, mini-thigh, and 'what in the dickens do I do with this fiddly bit?'): feel free to reserve the tips for stock by freezing them.
• Place the remaining pieces into a mixing bowl, then make a marinade of one lime's worth of juice, four cilantro leaves chopped fine, a pinch of salt, and a splash of dry sherry. Gently toss the chicken in this marinade, then let sit--covered, in the refrigerator--for at least one hour, turning occasionally to ensure the chicken is coated evenly.
• Place two to three tablespoons of olive oil into a small stock pot and place on a burner set to medium heat. Once the oil is hot, remove the chicken from the marinade and place into the pot, turning regularly, and cook until the chicken is done through.
• While the chicken is cooking, mix 1/3 cup soy sauce, 1/3 cup dry sherry, two tablespoons casters sugar, 1/2 teaspoon grated ginger, and two tablespoons tomato paste.
• Remove the chicken from the pot, remove the oil from the pot (wipe up any excess), and return the wings to the pot.
• Once the chicken is back in the pot, pour the sauce over the wings. Cover and simmer on medium-low for fifteen to thirty minutes, stirring and turning occasionally.
• Remove the pot from the heat, and place the wings on a wire rack over paper toweling to drain a bit.

While the wings are delicious warm with bleu cheese dressing, they're also excellent cold, especially if the meat is used as part of a salad.

Peter Piper only picked them

I enjoy making salsas and pepper-rich dishes, but I don't always like the biting heat some peppers provide. In order to keep the robust flavor of the pepper while moderating the heat, I roast and skin the peppers; then, depending upon the recipe, I de-seed and/or de-vein the pepper before using it.

• Take whole peppers (Chipotle, Banana, Jalapeño, or what have you) and place them on a wire grill rack over a barbeque grill, gas flame, or electric barbeque. If you do not have any of those available, you can pan-blacken them in a nonstick or cast-iron skillet, or you can place them on a baking tray under the broiler in your oven.
• Turn the peppers frequently and watch the roasting process carefully: you want them hot through, with their skins crisping and blistering away from the flesh beneath, but you don't want to burn the actual flesh of the peppers.
• Now remove the peppers from the heat and place them in a sealed plastic bowl or inside a lined paper bag and let them cool for approximately twenty minutes.
• Wearing gloves (latex or latex-free), strip the skin from the flesh of the pepper. The gloves protect your hands from volatile oils, and they facilitate the removal of the pepper skins.

Simple, yes?

If you want to retain the heat in the pepper, remove only the stem. To moderate the heat, open the pepper and remove the seeds, leaving the veins. To remove almost all of the heat, and bring the pepper down to a subtle, smoky sweetness, remove both the seeds and the veins from the pepper.

I am not Robert Parker

Even though I'm not paid to rate wines, and even though I know I have much more to learn about my favorite tipple, I am still able to call myself an oenophile: I appreciate wine for its simplicity of presentation, its complexity in aroma and taste, its beauty, and its approachability.

While it's impossible to tell the exact year wine production first began, it's reasonable to say that it was approximately 8,000 years ago, give or take a few centuries. According to Archaeo News, drawing on information published in The Independent in 2003, "New discoveries show how Neolithic man was busy making red wine in Shulaveri (Georgia, the former Soviet republic). Although no liquid wine from the period has survived, scientists have now found and tested wine residues discovered on the inner surfaces of 8,000-year-old ceramic storage jars."

Trust me: if we're still trying to perfect wine production after 8,000 years, it's perfectly acceptable for both you and me to be somewhat unsure of what we like to drink, and why we like to drink it.

I'll admit it: I'm a red wine person myself. I've found very few whites that suit me. One of my closest friends, however, prefers whites, and finds almost all reds to be both too astringent and too robust. Every person will have their own tastes, their own preferences, and nobody is wrong.

Do not ever--ever--let someone tell you that your choice is absolutely incorrect.

If you're in a restaurant and you wish to order a Pinot Gris to go with your pot roast, do so. If you want to order a Shiraz with your fish and chips, feel free. And if you want to order Sauternes with your onion rings, knock yourself out. If that's what you want, if that's what you like, then go for it.

Now, there's a caveat to that: don't stick with what you've had in the past simply because you're afraid to try something else.

You may have a friend who loves reds, and you don't want to disappoint them: don't let that be your guide. By the same token, you may have a friend who hates reds, and has told you how horrid they are: don't let that frighten you off.

It's my belief that you should try a little of everything, and find out what you like. All of the critics in the world--whether they're using a 20-point system from France or a 100-point system in the United States--can only tell you what they like.

Go to wine tastings, visit vineyards, pick up some books or magazines on wine, browse the web, or ask your Sommelier or server what s/he would recommend with your meal.

Many people think nothing of going to a tavern and trying a flight of beers to find the general type they like the best (for me, it's stouts and porters, and that may tie in with why I prefer the punch of red wines), but they're afraid of being seen as "hoity-toity" if they do the same with a wine flight at their local wine store.

Don't be afraid, don't be off-put, and above all, don't be intimidated: wine is nothing more than grape juice with attitude.

Speaking of what you shouldn't do, you shouldn't let yourself be confused over the rather frequent divide between what you smell and what you taste.

I can tell you that a noteworthy Sauvignon Blanc has a nose redolent with a musk that's both sharp and acrid, and a subtle blend of dusty herbs, sunlight on shag carpet, green peppers, asparagus, and slightly soured beans. You might sniff the same glass, recoil, and say that it stinks of an athlete's armpits and cat urine. We'd both be noticing the same things: we're experiencing the distinctive characteristics of a particular grape, winery, method of production, and finished product for a given year.

Incidentally, that particular Sauvignon Blanc may be one of the best tasting wines you've ever had in your life; however, until you try it, you'll never know.

And don't let wine terminology confuse you: you need to know hardly any of it to appreciate wine. If you do opt to learn it, you'll be able to read a series of reviews and envision how a given wine will taste, but that's still not the same as tasting it for yourself.

I'll admit it: it's nice to be able to say that the 2006 Calina Cabernet Sauvignon from Chile pours like dusty garnets, has an old ruby meniscus, is eminently approachable in its youth, is comfortably able to be cellared for another five years, is fairly leggy, has a nose reminiscent of cold October nights and sweet graveyard dirt, is chewy with tannins, is reasonably astringent, has an acceptably long and complex finish without dissolving into acidity, and carries hints of pear, cheddar, and chocolate.

You know what else is nice, though? Being able to walk into a store, pick up a bottle of a wine I like and say, "This is drinkable."

At the end of the day, both phrases mean the same thing.

Conventions

There's something you need to know about me: I'm a heathen when it comes to food preparation and dinner parties.

• I don't chifonnade, and I hardly ever julienne, but I do like to make sure my herbs are sliced into ribbon-thin strips, and that my vegetables are cut into matchstick-sized pieces.
• I don't brunoise leeks, but I have been known to finely dice them.
• While I could set up a fairly complete mise en place for each meal I'm preparing, I prefer to get out what I need before I start cooking, then put it away when I'm done.
• I don't always prepare elaborate Hors d'ouvres to serve to my guests before we sit to supper; instead, I set out a few simple appetizers, and we amuse ourselves with light-hearted, and hopefully witty, badinage.
• While I know how to set a formal table, I usually lay out only what the meal will require.

Here's the point: while I know how to prepare, plate, and present just about anything, I'd prefer to focus on my guests, and not on making sure they know the correct technical term for each step of the preparation, or that they're using the correct utensil for each course. If we're in the kitchen together and someone truly wishes to help, I don't want to explain the difference between coarse and fine chop, dicing, mincing, and julienning: I'd rather hand them a knife and say, "see how those carrots are cut? Do that to the zucchini."

And when it comes to serving and eating, while I enjoy setting out grilled Tilapia on bone china with linen serviettes at every place, I also enjoy sitting down at a friend's house to barbequed beef ribs on plastic plates, especially when they're providing a huge pile of paper napkins and handy wipes to clean off fingers and chins.

When all is said and done, food is about life, life is about laughter, and laughter is a part of love. Concern yourself more with making sure that you and your guests are comfortable.

The rules of social etiquette can be learned as you go, but your guests are more likely to remember that they shared a pleasant time at your home than they are to remember that you served an Oregon Pinot in glasses meant for a California Cabernet Sauvignon.

Warm Pasta Salad

I had always enjoyed my mother's summery macaroni salad--heavy with cheese and slices of hard-boiled egg, swimming in a sea of mayonnaise and thick yellow mustard--but I wanted something lighter and more refined for my table, so I started experimenting.

I found that this recipe works quite well served warm and paired with a gamier meat such as duck, and is delicious cold when paired with a slice of pork loin.

• one quarter of a red onion, approximately one-eighth cup, coarsely chopped
• six to eight cloves of garlic, depending on their size, finely minced
• one-quarter cup mayonnaise
• one-half teaspoon mustard powder
• one teaspoon grated horseradish
• eight ounces dry miniature shell pasta
• one small sweet red bell pepper

Note: if you feel this dish to be too pungent with the horseradish and garlic, you can sweeten it by reducing the horseradish to one-half teaspoon and the garlic to no more than four cloves, and then adding one-quarter teaspoon of salt.

A word of caution, however: if you opt to use a salad dressing or sandwich spread as opposed to mayonnaise, it may well throw off the balance of flavors.

• Roast the pepper, then skin it. Remove the seeds and veins, then slice into one-quarter inch wide strips. Slice those strips into one inch long sections. Set aside on a small plate.
• Mince the onion and the garlic separately: you risk turning the garlic into fragrant mush if you try to chop it with the onion, and you want the shock of discrete garlic bits when you chew the pasta.
• Mix the mayonnaise, the mustard powder, the horseradish, the onion and the garlic in a glass bowl and set aside while the pasta is cooking.
• Cook the pasta according to the directions on the package.
• Drain the pasta well, but do not rinse it, then place it into a serving bowl.
• Gently mix the pasta and the dressing together while the pasta is hot.
• Fold in the pepper slices and any liquid that drained from them while they sat.

Enjoy.

À la cuisine!

A few years ago I began compiling my reviews of local and far-distant restaurants, as well as my recipes, in a now-defunct community on LiveJournal.

This blog will be used to republish some of those reviews and recipes; and, as time goes on, I'm going to be adding links to suggested shopping (for example, should I find a local retailer of Oregon truffles), providing my exceptionally biased opinions of fine wine and dining venues, and documenting further kitchen experiments.

Cooking is fun, dining out is enjoyable, and finding the right wine is a delight: none of these activities should ever evoke terror.

So why don't you come in to my kitchen, pull up a stool, grab a cloth, and polish up a few pears. I'll bring out some Stilton and a nice tawny port, and we can spend a bit of time together.

Let's talk about food, shall we?