Babette's Feast: Creation, Serving and Eating

Of all the movies I have seen (and I have seen quite a number), Babette's Feast resonates most strongly with my internal experience.

While the theme of sacrifice doesn't match my own, the other themes of intense preparation and cooking, as well as sharing your efforts with diners hits a deep chord in me.

Since I first learned to eat, my mother tells me I have been an exceptional eater.  I have no doubt this is true.  For me, the satisfaction from eating can be found along a spectrum: from the truly mundane (as in, "I'm so hungry I must eat (almost anything)") to the transcendent and the intense focus a truly wonderful dish can bring.

Let me address the three themes in the title.

Creation: By this I mean the construction of a particular set of dishes. A meal should be an ensemble of tastes.  And these tastes can only be assembled by considering how the flavors will blend together.  Most meals I serve has this in mind.  What ingredients are fresh right now? Is the meal balanced?  Are all the food groups supplied?  Does the main have a complement?  If not, what can I add that will complement the main?  Additionally, what wine(s) can complement the food?  When a character of the wine matches the dish, it can augment and push the dish into a different realm.

Serving: Cooking is sharing.  I image that anyone who enjoys cooking also enjoys the act of sharing their efforts.  Serving is simply "Here is this meal, which I created for your enjoyment.  Please enjoy!"  And, of course, I  also created it for my own personal enjoyment, but that doesn't give me the same satisfaction.

Eating: As mentioned before, eating can provoke a number of different sensations.  But for me, when eating with friends, I often find my enjoyment multiplied.  In Babette's Feast, it's the combination of  extraordinary food, exceptional wines and deep conversation that creates a truly transcendental experience.  Yes, such meals are few and far between in one's life.  But when they happen, you know it.  You arise the next morning and feel elevated and residually happy.  If all meals were like that no doubt we would feel jaded.  But they are not.  And so, let us celebrate these meals when they happen.

European travel - Summer 2013

When the opportunity presented itself (dropping offspring off in Paris), it seemed like a very obvious thing to do: redeem those frequent flyer miles and check out Paris more than 25 years after our Lune de Miel.  Unfortunately, by the time the program acceptance arrived, it was no longer possible to fly into Paris.  So, we flew into Frankfurt and out of Geneva.

It's always been one of those conundrums (should that be conundra?): How can I have traveled around Europe without ever being in Germany?  No, the Frankfurt airport doesn't count.  Since there was a request that we actually visit Germany, we selected Heidelberg, a city with an extremely old university (1386!) and relatively close to Frankfurt.

It's fascinating to me: Heidelberg is approximately 15 miles from the Rhine River.  And yet, when one crosses into France, the architecture is quite distinct.  Heidelberg has a baroque "old town" with architecture dating back to the 18th century.  The building ornamentation is quite different from France with an emphasis on corners and roof lines.  The river Neckar (a tributary of the Rhine) flows through Heidelberg and certainly serves as a vital connection to other cities - barges continue to ply the waters.  We had some classic German food the first night including a very unusual cheese: it was marinated in the sauerkraut brine.  It was advertised as not being suitable for the unwary but we found it both intense and enjoyable.

From Heidelberg we moved to Strasbourg where our first experience was a pair of delinquent girls who pushed the kid into a pole on the bus and kicked my backpack (resting on the floor) as they ran laughing out the bus.  Jet lag did not help here so I wasn't as swift or observant as I might have been.

Strasbourg rests on the Ill, a rather famous river in gastonomy.  The Michelin *** restaurant Auberge de l'Ill (located some 30 miles south of Strasbourg) features modern Alsatian food.  No, we didn't eat there.  Because I delight in sauerkraut, I am a fan of Alsatian food and cooking.  Braising sauerkraut in wine or beer tempers the flavor and when combined with smoky meats (like ham or bacon), it becomes a sumptuous whole.  The well known Choucroute Garnie is an exemplar of this style of cooking.  It's one of my favorite meals in winter (although I don't do it much).  Classically, it is served with boiled potatoes and rich, spicy mustard.  The recipe in Julia Child (Mastering the Art) is easy to follow and produces excellent results.

From Strasbourg, we took the TGV to Paris.  Of course I have to rave about the TGV: it puts everything in this country to shame.  Built by the government, this train network extends all over France and into Switzerland and Germany.  The ride is fast, smooth and quiet.  And yet, we can't get it done in the Northeast Corridor.  A national shame and disgrace.

Paris has changed.  The availability of travel meant I saw many more races in Paris than 25 years ago.  I would say there are many more Africans and Asians today.  I saw so many Japanese restaurants I wonder what changed?  Have the French discovered sushi?  Was it the influence of French chefs (notably Bocuse and his disciples) that drew the Japanese to France?  Apparently, today one of the big trends is Japanese-French style fusion.

The center of Paris is inundated with tourists.  They were everywhere.  It was only when I ventured out of the inner ring of arrondissement that I felt like the old Paris was returning.  Otherwise, it was packed with both tourists and Parisians.  One interesting trend was the number of American families: We saw many families with children traveling together.  Since we've been dragging the kid with us since he was 9 months old, I can only view this positively.

The senses of Paris are the same: because the buildings are not that high (most places), the light filters down to the street.  The wide boulevards also bring spaciousness.  The smell is mostly the same, particularly in the Metro.  When I lived in Paris, the streets and sidewalks were washed and swept every morning.  This created this earthy smell I still recall.  But now, they seem to have switched to the American model of using street sweepers.  A pity.

To be honest about it, there is a lot less dog poop than there was.  I don't know what changed, but it used to be that you had to keep one eye on the sidewalk because you never knew what was in front of you (interesting side note: why is it that some cities are dog cities and others are cat cities?).   To compensate, there were a lot more bicycles.  Paris has created bicycle lanes and established a lending system (Velib) that is widely used (but also apparently heavily vandalized).  Instead of looking out for merde de chien, you now have to look (both ways!) for speeding bicycles.

Begging seemed to be everywhere.  I remember running into les clochards here and there 25 year ago  but now it was constant.  And interestingly, a fair number of them owned dogs.  I wonder how much of their income was spent on dog food.

What is it about the French and smoking?  Thank goodness smoking is now outlawed in restaurants but when you walk, you are inundated by smokers left and right.  Is it a matter of personal liberty?  It is blatant disregard for health?  Whatever it is, the French continue to smoke and drink.  One out of two ain't bad.

I found the food markets to be much the same.  The same wonderful selection of cheeses, the incredible variety and selection of wines (I saw some wine bottles with prices less than bottled water; would I want to drink it?  Probably not.).  Our local butcher shop was spectacular, with such finds as Guinea Hen.  I bought a rack of lamb (I was told it was the last of the season from the Pyrennes) and the flavor was delicious, even if the cooking time given by the butcher was too long.

I have to say that English is everywhere.  It's the lingua franca between different peoples: it's the one language that the chinese and french can speak.  Even the word "geek" has been imported into French.  I have to admit though, when your brain just can't manage to find the right word in French, it is useful to drop back into English.

As for my French, it did come back to me in fits and starts.  I did manage to conjugate a few verbs into the past and future tenses.  I did manage to remember words that I had forgotten and every once in a while I found my self speaking nearly at full rate.  Speaking another language is always interesting: at first I find myself surrounded by words from Russian (of all things!) and then on occasion I get words in Italian.

The offspring asked an very interesting question: Is Paris just New York with more light?  I think this cuts to the central point: globalization has made Paris much more international and multicultural.  In this sense I must agree.  But Paris has the arts support of the government, something the US does not (and will not) have.  So, I consider the musical arts scene to be more vibrant than New York.   I can not comment on the visual or performing arts.  And, of course, the food culture of France is vastly more developed than in the US.  The US is doing better, but it's still not France.  And while New York can compete with Paris on restaurants, I still think that the Parisians have it beat overall.

From Paris we went (again by TGV) to Lausanne.  Lausanne is close to the Geneva Airport (a direct train goes very frequently) and also home to a well known technical university (EPFL).   It's quite a walking experience since the town is built on a hill.  It starts at the beach on Lake Leman (also known as Lake Geneva) at Ouchy and goes up the hill to the cathedral and beyond.  A train system can be used to move up and down the hill if you wish.

We made a side trip on sunny (but foggy) day up to Les Pleiades via a private cog railway.  You can buy tickets from the National Swiss Railway system that include private railways.  I've always wanted to take a cog railway: the center rail is a rack and the engine provides the pinion gear.  Unfortunately, I couldn't see the drive gear since the body of the engine went nearly all the way to the ground.  Supposedly the top offered fantastic views but with the haze it was all but impossible to see clearly.  And, thanks to a couple going to lunch at restaurant on the "Route Gourmand" (my kind of route!), we actually had instructions about how to follow the trail.  And, thanks to the use of text messaging, we were able to rendezvous with Bart on the geared train.

The following day, we said goodbye to Bart and had to change locations (not a bad thing in retrospect).  We moved to the nearby small village of Cully located in the center of the Lavaux wine district.  The Lavaux vineyards date back to the 13th century and were constructed by monks.  They go straight up the hill from the railroad tracks.  The vines have a southern exposure and it can get quite hot (I know this from personal experience).  We walked nearly the entire extent of the trail (which winds around and through the  vineyards).  The principle grape is Chasselas, which produces a very drinkable white --- the reds don't have much body (or "structure" as the wine folks would say).  When I talked to the wine seller in Paris about Swiss wines he said that the French thought that the prices were too high for what you got.  And I can see that.  But it's still a very nice thing to drink a wine that you know was grown a few miles from you and perhaps even produced next door.

Our B&B was part home, part guests bedrooms and in the bottom floor, a jazz club.  Our hosts asked us if we minded a practice session one night.  I told her that if they didn't practice then I didn't want to listen!  When we came back, I heard them rehearse Duke Ellington's "It don't mean a thing..." ---  including the lyrics in English.

Switzerland is expensive, there's no denying it.  The food was more than we were willing to spend.  A lunchtime stop in the heat for pizza, salad and bottled water was over $40.  But, do keep in mind that includes tax and tip.  This was the one incident where I wished I could have left less than the service compris: the server was surly and lackadaisical. But overall, this was the one exception.

We had a final breakfast overlooking the Alps and then it was train to the airport and the usual "deluxe" experience with US Air/American.  When we arrived at Dulles, we were confronted with a passport control line that I would guesstimate had perhaps 300 or more people in it.  This is a direct contrast with the Passport control at Frankfurt: 2 minutes.  US: 30 minutes.  Welcome back.

Remembering Andy Haas

I was preparing the morning tea yesterday when I was called in to ascertain the veracity of a facebook post: Could it really be that my grad school housemate of two years was dead from a sudden cerebral aneurysm?

Unfortunately, it is true.

Andy Haas was one of my "littermates" at Rochester.  He was the most eccentric character of the bunch.  He was tall and kind of lanky, but the most distinctive characteristic was his voice.  He had an unusual speaking style and mannerism.

Andy became my housemate in my third year at Rochester.  When I lived in the apartment with him, I became used to his habits.  For example, more than once, I came home to find him happily reading the bible in latin (Andy was a lapsed catholic).  He had a number of specific musical tastes: The Grateful Dead, Steely Dan and Bach organ works.  He adored a recording I had of the Toccata and Fugue in D minor - preferably played loud.

His diet was fairly simple: Meat.  He had numerous broiled steaks.  In fact, when I eventually moved out, I had to use a wire brush to remove as much of the hard carbon from the broiler pan.  He also liked beer, not wine.  In fact, he met his wife Jo-ann when they went to a party and discovered they both liked to drink beer.  A lot.

One Halloween, Andy arrived clean shaven and dressed up in a suit.  He proclaimed "Have you been saved?!?".  Since he didn't look like that the day before, the effect was striking to all present.

Andy left Rochester before I did and wandered through the academic life eventually settling at SUNY Albany.  I didn't know much about his life there except I knew he had a daughter Katie.  I asked him if it was true he named her after the Steely Dan album and he said that no, she was really named after his grandmother ... but that the Steely Dan connection was a bonus.

But this summer, since I was driving right through Albany, I decided to look him up.  As it turned out, it was most convenient to spend the night.  The guest bedroom was filled with books on ancient history and astronomy.  There were very few computer science books to be seen.

Haas was a raconteur extraordinaire - I believe no one would dispute that one iota.  He had a way of spilling out a story and finding a connection to a delightfully obscure fact.  And he had stories to tell, either personal experience (like the time he hitch-hiked to Alaska over the summer) or an anecdote about a person or concept in Computer Science.

If I was to categorize Haas, I would say he was a formalist.  He was extremely fond of set theory and first-order logic.  He was very careful when reading books on the subject, digesting each and every equation and savoring the symbols.

But I remember Haas from the last time I saw him this summer: We had invited him to visit us in the Berkshires where we were staying at a friend's house.  It was an absolutely glorious day, with low humidity and a view over the Hudson to the 'gunks.  Haas was delighted and we sat on the veranda and discussed Artificial Intelligence and Computer Science all the while viewing the shifting light.

I never saw him again.

How I learned how to cook

I've been musing lately about how I learned to cook.  I've never taken any classes or watched Julia Child say "Bon Appetit!" (much).  So, how did I accumulate my technique (such as it is) and knowledge?

Every cook has an appetite.  Seems like an obvious statement, but as I have discovered, not everyone likes to eat.  And most don't like to eat as fervently as I do.  If you ask my mother, she'll tell you that I've liked to eat since I was born.  So, to cook joyfully, you must like to eat.  Second, it helps to be obsessed with food --  I like to say that I live a "food centered life".  I used to think this was unusual, but then I lived in France.  The whole culture encourages discussion and consumption of food.  Third, you have to like to use your hands.  For me, cooking is engineering on a fast scale.  Typing into a computer doesn't satisfy my construction urges, but cooking does.

I believe I began thinking about cooking by watching my mother.  My mother still cooks occasionally (at age 87) and she's a skilled practitioner.  I believe that a critical aspect of her cooking was her experience living in Italy after the second World War.  She came back with the idea that squid was something she could do at home.  And she did.  My mother also likes asian cooking (particularly Japanese) and so if she brought home a cold octopus tentacle from the  Japanese Market on Castro Street in Mountain View, we had that for dinner.

But, like many,  I would say my real education began when I left for college.  Initially of course I was subjected to cafeteria food.  I can't remember anything about it.  But it was expensive and since I was paying for college, I thought I could do better.  In my sophomore year, the college administration didn't think this one through and permitted students to drop the meal plan.  As a result, I started cooking on the one common stove found in the lounge.  But, so did every one else.  Which meant I was competing with all the guys (I lived in a single sex dorm) baking TV dinners.   But it was the next year when I really learned how to cook.

In my junior year, I shared an on-campus apartment with four other guys (Mike Schway was my roommate).  I was the only one who had a clue about cooking.  As a result, I became the apartment cook.  I learned how to meal plan, how to do the shopping and finally, how to cook as I worked my way through the Joy of Cooking.  It was an education.  I also was investigating simple chinese cooking, after all, Chinese food was (is?) the computer science dinner of choice.

And in my senior year, I moved off campus to share a beach house with Bill Seiter and Don Eigler (in Del Mar, what a place!).  I did a lot of cooking there too, including pancakes.  One meal I remember vividly: I found a recipe for shrimp and invited a friend and her friends over for dinner.  I rode my bicycle (I didn't own a car) up to Solana Beach and bought the shrimp and brought them back home.  The recipe said "devein". I had no idea what that meant.  But Bill Seiter did (fortunately).  So, dinner was later than I had planned because we had to figure out how to "devein" (a better word would be "de-intestine") the shrimp.  But, as I recall, dinner was a success.

But it was my summer in Paris that really changed my view of food and cooking.  Living in France, I discovered that here was an entire culture that valued the quality of ingredients and sophisticated cooking.  I also discovered a world of technique that I didn't know  including sauce construction, charcuterie, and butchery.  I came back from France with a different view of cooking and what was possible.   However,  the US was incredibly backward compared to France.  One must recall that it was around this point that Alice Waters (of Chez Panisse) was pushing the importance of fresh, high quality ingredients.

The next phase of learning was grad school, particularly Rochester.  The CS Dept. was inhabited by a fair number of guys (and yes, it was almost entirely guys) who liked to cook.  At this point, I could cook reasonably well and was beginning to branch out.   We discovered Marcella Hazan and began making fresh pasta with our new Atlas pasta machines.  The first time we made Marcella's  Lasagne with artichokes revealed how fresh pasta can make such a difference in texture and flavor.

One summer when I was working on my dissertation, I decided I was bored by western cooking.  Accordingly, I chose to cook my way through Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking.  I had a very good time and learned that what we eat in Indian restaurants is only a pale shadow of what is possible.  Indian cooking is incredibly aromatic and depends on fresh crushed spices.  My clothes began to smell like Indian spices.  They are powerful!  At the end of the summer, I had recovered from my boredom and went back to western cooking.

At Bell Labs, I fell in with Steve Fortune and Howard Trickey.  We discovered we all liked to cook and eat.  So, we started to do joint meals on the weekends.  This really started to push me since we all liked to do interesting substantial dishes.  In a total reversal of the usual situation, our girlfriends (eventually wives) would be on the side, drinking wine while the males would be slaving over the hot stove.  I learned a considerable amount through these meals since I would have to learn new techniques to make the dishes that appealed to me.  Also, courtesy of my back surgery gift, I was starting to use Julia Child's Mastering the Art to improve my cooking techniques and to fill in the gaps in my knowledge.  Simple things, like disjointing chickens or making a bechamel sauce became part of my standard repertoire

Unfortunately, we had to leave our cooking group behind when we left NJ (The disintegration of Bell Labs has produced a vast diaspora of former NJ residents).  So, in the last ten years I've been cooking the same dishes, more or less.  But every once in a while, I decide to extend what I do.  As an example, the cookbook from Alinea provides all the challenge I can handle (and more).  But most of the time I'm really a short order cook: how can I get dinner on the table in 45 minutes or less.  And I'm really OK with that (most of the time).

Lately I've been working on my baking but that is an entirely different skillset.  And that is the subject of another blog entry.