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.
Friday, 12 July 2013
Friday, 1 February 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, 17 January 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, 8 December 2012
Pancakes
Although overused, Proust's madelines demonstrate an important neurological fact: memories associated with smells are very powerful and long lasting. For example, the very distinct odor of petouli oil is enough for me to be transported back to the latter 1960s and early 1970s. But, I digress.
Today's Proustian memory is the smell of pancakes. I grew up on pancakes (on the weekends only). My mother cooked them using the time honored recipe from the Joy of Cooking (her standby). Once, before college, my mother sent me to Macy*s with her credit card and told me to get something "useful" for college. I came back with the Joy of Cooking. She wasn't pleased, she wanted me to buy clothes.
I've been cooking pancakes since college. Surely the hardest aspect is flipping the little devils. The edges must be firm but not too firm (otherwise they're burnt). And the inside must have bubbles. The recipe from JoC is nothing but simplicity itself: flour, egg(s), baking powder, salt, milk and oil. I used to sift the flour but I really think it doesn't make a noticeable difference to ignore that instruction. If I'm feeling awake, I might separate two eggs and whip the whites: that creates a truly fluffy pancake. And if I really want to duplicate my childhood (not very likely!), I should serve bacon or sausages with my pancakes --- my father worshiped breakfast sausage.
And that leads me to this morning: because I made buttermilk bacon cornbread to accompany the cashew chili, I had leftover buttermilk. This was an intended consequence, because I planned on baking with it (yes, pancakes are baked in the pan). Buttermilk pancakes are old style: the only rising agent is baking powder and egg whites. I also used half whole wheat and half white: I like that combination because the whole wheat gives it a little more "punch" and flavor but without that heaviness I find in 100% whole wheat breads.
The recipe I used comes from James Beard's American Cooking. He wrote "Practically no one makes pancakes from scratch these days. With the mixes, refrigerated batters and frozen pancakes available on the market, there seems little need. However, I feel that homemade cakes are better and worth the trouble". Just better? Maybe completely different?
When we have guests staying the night, I often make pancakes in the morning. One guest, an Italian, had previously told me how his sister's American boyfriend had insisted that Krusteaz pancakes were delicious and he didn't think so at all. I told him I'd make him some fresh pancakes in the morning. He came away converted. And then, there's my in-laws: Lenny Bruce has a wonderful monologue about Jewish vs Goyish. Pancakes are definitely goyish. But my in-laws really appreciate them. Sure, they're not a bagel, but they are hot and smell of memories.
Today's Proustian memory is the smell of pancakes. I grew up on pancakes (on the weekends only). My mother cooked them using the time honored recipe from the Joy of Cooking (her standby). Once, before college, my mother sent me to Macy*s with her credit card and told me to get something "useful" for college. I came back with the Joy of Cooking. She wasn't pleased, she wanted me to buy clothes.
I've been cooking pancakes since college. Surely the hardest aspect is flipping the little devils. The edges must be firm but not too firm (otherwise they're burnt). And the inside must have bubbles. The recipe from JoC is nothing but simplicity itself: flour, egg(s), baking powder, salt, milk and oil. I used to sift the flour but I really think it doesn't make a noticeable difference to ignore that instruction. If I'm feeling awake, I might separate two eggs and whip the whites: that creates a truly fluffy pancake. And if I really want to duplicate my childhood (not very likely!), I should serve bacon or sausages with my pancakes --- my father worshiped breakfast sausage.
And that leads me to this morning: because I made buttermilk bacon cornbread to accompany the cashew chili, I had leftover buttermilk. This was an intended consequence, because I planned on baking with it (yes, pancakes are baked in the pan). Buttermilk pancakes are old style: the only rising agent is baking powder and egg whites. I also used half whole wheat and half white: I like that combination because the whole wheat gives it a little more "punch" and flavor but without that heaviness I find in 100% whole wheat breads.
The recipe I used comes from James Beard's American Cooking. He wrote "Practically no one makes pancakes from scratch these days. With the mixes, refrigerated batters and frozen pancakes available on the market, there seems little need. However, I feel that homemade cakes are better and worth the trouble". Just better? Maybe completely different?
When we have guests staying the night, I often make pancakes in the morning. One guest, an Italian, had previously told me how his sister's American boyfriend had insisted that Krusteaz pancakes were delicious and he didn't think so at all. I told him I'd make him some fresh pancakes in the morning. He came away converted. And then, there's my in-laws: Lenny Bruce has a wonderful monologue about Jewish vs Goyish. Pancakes are definitely goyish. But my in-laws really appreciate them. Sure, they're not a bagel, but they are hot and smell of memories.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
An ode to quenelles
A quenelle is a fish mousse. Poached in a court bouillon, it is napped with a sauce of your choosing. I was introduced to quenelles when I worked in Paris. I can no longer remember the place, but it was an amazing dish to taste: the quenelles were light and fluffy and the sauce was Sauce Nantua, a very classic french sauce built from a bechamel with the stunning addition of crayfish butter.
Now, this blog entry was inspired by finding perch at my not-so-local supermarket. Perch is a fresh water fish (sometimes combined with pike). I was wondering what to do with it (I bought it "on spec"). Then, on my way to teach my class I suddenly remembered quenelles.
If you look at the recipe in Julia or even the more classic Escoffier, you'll see they both make a panada by combining flour with melted butter and then adding the ground fish. But I have tried this and found that this is more like a dumpling than a mousse. Other recipes (like Pepin's) go straight to the fleshy part: combine the fish with an egg white and cream. Blend in the food processor. This is what I elected to do.
One of the hints in making quenelles is to have cold ingredients. The friction of the food processor blade will heat up the mixture, so keep everything cold until the last minute. You can even refrigerate the the processor bowl and blade. I used a pound of fish, one egg white and cream. How much cream? Well, in theory more than a cup. But I quickly ran out of cream (not something I typically have at home) but fortunately I have creme fraiche. This makes a great substitute. I added this until I felt the texture was right. I think it's better to have less than more. One can also add pepper (I recommend white pepper, not black).
I should add a note on the fish: I used my salmon slicer (a very thin knife used for slicing lox) to remove the skins from the flesh. Basically, I slice vertically and then angle the knife along the skin. It works perfectly.
Now, while I was preparing the mixture I started the boullion. I elected to go simple and used just celery and very large bay leaf. When you're ready, take the bowl of fish mix and using two tablespoons, scoop and smooth the top of the mixture. Then push this out of the spoon and into the waiting bubbling (but not boiling) broth. When you're all done, you should have a pot full of tasty pillows!
While they are cooking a little, make the sauce. Again, I elected for a simple sauce (I don't happen to have crayfish butter hanging around). My first thought was a mushroom sauce. But then I remembered I had shucked oysters. So, that lends itself to a sauce veloute' ... You start with a roux (1:1 ratio of butter and flour) and then I added white wine (a NZ Sauvignon Blanc). I proceeded to add more and more liquid from the poaching broth. When it smoothed out, I finished it with the oysters (n.b. if I had added mushrooms, I would have sauteed them first and then added them to the sauce veloute' in place of the oysters).
Then to serve, I removed the quenelles from the boullion and napped them with the sauce. I elected to serve them with simple white rice. And yes! They were light and fluffy! The sauce could have used a bit more to it I thought. But it was still a nice light addition to this very cream based classic french dish.
Perhaps one of the big surprises was how little time this took. You can schedule it by making the broth first, then making the quenelles, then the sauce. The rice can cook before the quenelles if you wish. There's really no reason why you can't do this as a standard weekday dish. And when I taste a quenelle, I think of Paris. Maybe you will too?
Now, this blog entry was inspired by finding perch at my not-so-local supermarket. Perch is a fresh water fish (sometimes combined with pike). I was wondering what to do with it (I bought it "on spec"). Then, on my way to teach my class I suddenly remembered quenelles.
If you look at the recipe in Julia or even the more classic Escoffier, you'll see they both make a panada by combining flour with melted butter and then adding the ground fish. But I have tried this and found that this is more like a dumpling than a mousse. Other recipes (like Pepin's) go straight to the fleshy part: combine the fish with an egg white and cream. Blend in the food processor. This is what I elected to do.
One of the hints in making quenelles is to have cold ingredients. The friction of the food processor blade will heat up the mixture, so keep everything cold until the last minute. You can even refrigerate the the processor bowl and blade. I used a pound of fish, one egg white and cream. How much cream? Well, in theory more than a cup. But I quickly ran out of cream (not something I typically have at home) but fortunately I have creme fraiche. This makes a great substitute. I added this until I felt the texture was right. I think it's better to have less than more. One can also add pepper (I recommend white pepper, not black).
I should add a note on the fish: I used my salmon slicer (a very thin knife used for slicing lox) to remove the skins from the flesh. Basically, I slice vertically and then angle the knife along the skin. It works perfectly.
Now, while I was preparing the mixture I started the boullion. I elected to go simple and used just celery and very large bay leaf. When you're ready, take the bowl of fish mix and using two tablespoons, scoop and smooth the top of the mixture. Then push this out of the spoon and into the waiting bubbling (but not boiling) broth. When you're all done, you should have a pot full of tasty pillows!
While they are cooking a little, make the sauce. Again, I elected for a simple sauce (I don't happen to have crayfish butter hanging around). My first thought was a mushroom sauce. But then I remembered I had shucked oysters. So, that lends itself to a sauce veloute' ... You start with a roux (1:1 ratio of butter and flour) and then I added white wine (a NZ Sauvignon Blanc). I proceeded to add more and more liquid from the poaching broth. When it smoothed out, I finished it with the oysters (n.b. if I had added mushrooms, I would have sauteed them first and then added them to the sauce veloute' in place of the oysters).
Then to serve, I removed the quenelles from the boullion and napped them with the sauce. I elected to serve them with simple white rice. And yes! They were light and fluffy! The sauce could have used a bit more to it I thought. But it was still a nice light addition to this very cream based classic french dish.
Perhaps one of the big surprises was how little time this took. You can schedule it by making the broth first, then making the quenelles, then the sauce. The rice can cook before the quenelles if you wish. There's really no reason why you can't do this as a standard weekday dish. And when I taste a quenelle, I think of Paris. Maybe you will too?
Sunday, 13 May 2012
A plague of capacitors
On Passover, one of the rituals is the recitation of the 10 plagues visited upon the Egyptians. Next year, I'm going to add one more: the capacitor plague.
What? Capacitors?
That's right. Electrolytic Capacitors. They are a plague of my life (OK, probably not the ancient Egyptians).
Yesterday I took my ASUS motherboard from the first PC I ever built to the recycling depot. Why? Because it died on me one night. And when I looked inside, it was obvious: All the electrolytic capacitors had popped! No wonder the SCSI port had died months earier... I should add that all I did was move my disk to another PC that was standing by and I was back in service.
And today, I just repaired the converter box that allows us to receive television "over the air". I had to replace 5 capacitors. Now, what's interesting about this repair is that the capacitors didn't pop --- they just lost one of their electrical properties. In other words, no outside signs of abuse, just failure.
I also repaired my Dell LCD display for the same reason. And I've had other power supplies die for this reason. And not to mention our HP inkjet printer: it kept reporting a strange error code. Eventually I found a web post that stated it was the electrolytic capacitors. Let me add that at this point I was at the end of my rope: what did I have to lose? So, I took the printer apart and lo-and-behold, there they were --- standing there with their tops popped off. Replaced and it's worked since then.
So, you might ask, why is this the cause of our increasing electronic junk pile? The answer lies in several places. First, there was a rumor years ago that a foreign capacitor company stole the formula but made a mistake. Second, designers of consumer products cut corners, so they specify cheap parts with low temperature bounds and so the parts literally fry.
Whatever the cause, it causes me nothing but consternation and vexation!
What? Capacitors?
That's right. Electrolytic Capacitors. They are a plague of my life (OK, probably not the ancient Egyptians).
Yesterday I took my ASUS motherboard from the first PC I ever built to the recycling depot. Why? Because it died on me one night. And when I looked inside, it was obvious: All the electrolytic capacitors had popped! No wonder the SCSI port had died months earier... I should add that all I did was move my disk to another PC that was standing by and I was back in service.
And today, I just repaired the converter box that allows us to receive television "over the air". I had to replace 5 capacitors. Now, what's interesting about this repair is that the capacitors didn't pop --- they just lost one of their electrical properties. In other words, no outside signs of abuse, just failure.
I also repaired my Dell LCD display for the same reason. And I've had other power supplies die for this reason. And not to mention our HP inkjet printer: it kept reporting a strange error code. Eventually I found a web post that stated it was the electrolytic capacitors. Let me add that at this point I was at the end of my rope: what did I have to lose? So, I took the printer apart and lo-and-behold, there they were --- standing there with their tops popped off. Replaced and it's worked since then.
So, you might ask, why is this the cause of our increasing electronic junk pile? The answer lies in several places. First, there was a rumor years ago that a foreign capacitor company stole the formula but made a mistake. Second, designers of consumer products cut corners, so they specify cheap parts with low temperature bounds and so the parts literally fry.
Whatever the cause, it causes me nothing but consternation and vexation!
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Memories of Joe Condon
Although completely unnoticed by the press, Joe Condon died recently. I want to remember Joe in print: Joe was an important mentor of mine when I was at Bell Labs. He knew an incredible amount about hardware design... And as well he should, since he was a physicist. He always looked at design problems through physics. He came from an illustrious family (his father, E.U. Condon was very important to 20th century physics). So, Joe's most important lesson to me was that engineering problems can be reduced to physics. And if you could reason about electrons and their (sometimes) irrational behavior, then you could find the problem in your circuit.
I can't remember all he taught me, but I do remember the time he found a power ground short in a wirewrap board by using a voltmeter and looking at the voltage drops. I also recall how he helped me to find a catastrophic bug. Tom Killian and I had invited Yamaha over to Murray Hill to see our multiprocessor synthesizer. We moved the machine to the conference room --- and it died. We couldn't figure it out. I took it back to the lab and it was still failing. Joe told me to use the Tektronix 2467B (what a 'scope, microchannel plate, 400 MHz, etc). He told me to turn up the intensity and look. Sure enough, there were glitches on a signal line. He then advised me to add a terminator, which I did (the reasoning was that this was due to an impedance mismatch between logic families). It worked.
When I first met Joe he was a smoker. His teeth were stained and he had a fierce coffee habit. In fact, when the first espresso machine arrived in Murray Hill, Joe was instrumental in getting it to work. The deal was that the management refused to pay for the machine, but agreed to pay for coffee for a year. So, a small consortium was founded and they arranged to buy a machine (as I recall, Alan Berenbaum asked his local coffee shop for help). So, when the machine arrived, every coffee drinker was in a powerful hurry to get it up and running. But, it used "house water". So, this required plumbing ... and a plumber. No body was going to wait for the work order. Joe took charge and together with Tom (another physicist), they just connected it to the water line (soldering with a torch, etc...). The end of the story is that management realized that the espresso machine was a huge draw (that's how I met many 1122 acoustics labs types) and agreed to pay for coffee.
So, Joe did eventually quit the tobacco habit: he went on vacation to Hilton Head with the express purpose of quitting. Joe often had a smile on his face and he would always ask me what I was up to. When I was maintaining the CAD system we would exchange thoughts on what was needed and what was in the infinite future. When the labs split into Lucent and AT&T Labs, Joe went to AT&T. I saw him there a few times but I lost track of him over the years.
He was always kind to me (which I appreciated in the aggressive atmosphere of the labs) and he took time to explain any and everything down to the last detail. Even now, when I am thinking about a circuit, I think: "What would Joe tell me to do?". The answer, as always, is "think physics!".
I can't remember all he taught me, but I do remember the time he found a power ground short in a wirewrap board by using a voltmeter and looking at the voltage drops. I also recall how he helped me to find a catastrophic bug. Tom Killian and I had invited Yamaha over to Murray Hill to see our multiprocessor synthesizer. We moved the machine to the conference room --- and it died. We couldn't figure it out. I took it back to the lab and it was still failing. Joe told me to use the Tektronix 2467B (what a 'scope, microchannel plate, 400 MHz, etc). He told me to turn up the intensity and look. Sure enough, there were glitches on a signal line. He then advised me to add a terminator, which I did (the reasoning was that this was due to an impedance mismatch between logic families). It worked.
When I first met Joe he was a smoker. His teeth were stained and he had a fierce coffee habit. In fact, when the first espresso machine arrived in Murray Hill, Joe was instrumental in getting it to work. The deal was that the management refused to pay for the machine, but agreed to pay for coffee for a year. So, a small consortium was founded and they arranged to buy a machine (as I recall, Alan Berenbaum asked his local coffee shop for help). So, when the machine arrived, every coffee drinker was in a powerful hurry to get it up and running. But, it used "house water". So, this required plumbing ... and a plumber. No body was going to wait for the work order. Joe took charge and together with Tom (another physicist), they just connected it to the water line (soldering with a torch, etc...). The end of the story is that management realized that the espresso machine was a huge draw (that's how I met many 1122 acoustics labs types) and agreed to pay for coffee.
So, Joe did eventually quit the tobacco habit: he went on vacation to Hilton Head with the express purpose of quitting. Joe often had a smile on his face and he would always ask me what I was up to. When I was maintaining the CAD system we would exchange thoughts on what was needed and what was in the infinite future. When the labs split into Lucent and AT&T Labs, Joe went to AT&T. I saw him there a few times but I lost track of him over the years.
He was always kind to me (which I appreciated in the aggressive atmosphere of the labs) and he took time to explain any and everything down to the last detail. Even now, when I am thinking about a circuit, I think: "What would Joe tell me to do?". The answer, as always, is "think physics!".
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