Once upon a time, I was proud to call myself a "hacker". Those were the often bearded long-haired guys who knew every intimate detail of the machine. But then of course the media got a hold of the word and it came to mean a teenage kid trying to crack passwords and steal information --- also known as the "script kiddies". I suppose that these days the preferred word might be "coders".
So, I saw a reference to the book "Coders at Work" and checked it out. It is a collection of interviews with noted programmers and edited by Peter Seibel. Of course, it's impossible to be completely impartial and his preferences leak out over the course of the book. I should note that I actually know two of the interviewees and have talked to three others.
I thought I'd also use this book to remember some of my history about learning to program and various trials I've had along the way. Seibel begins with the same question: "How/where did you learn to program?". How and when depends critically on the interviewee. For example, the younger members had opportunities that the older ones didn't.
For myself, the first program I ever wrote was in Sunday School. My mother believed that children should have a religious education even if they never believed, just so they could at least see what others believed. Strangely enough, in 8th grade some member of the Palo Alto Unitarian Church agreed to teach the class programming. We were taught ALGOL-60 --- which was amazing in itself. Why ALGOL? Because SRI had a B5500, that's why. And so I grabbed some equations from my friend Tracy Mallory's father's physics PhD thesis --- something about waveguides I'm fairly certain. And I coded it up on special coding sheets. And it ran. Of course I had no idea if the numbers were right or not. As Hamming so famously put it: "The purpose
of computing is insight, not numbers". But it wasn't until I landed in the Hewlett-Packard Microwave Lab that I really started to write programs. One of my sponsors suggested that I should learn to program. There was a small room with four noisy ASR-33 teletypes. The passwords were on the wall. The programming language was BASIC, either on a GE-645 or the Tymshare SDS-940. I liked the Tymshare system better but was getting bored writing BASIC and was up for a challenge. So, I started to write a program to use as many of the OS system calls as possible. I was spending hours and HP's money. Because I put my name in the code, I was eventually asked to cut it out. But by then it was too late, I had found the East Meadow machine room of Tymshare and I was hired that summer.
Back to the book: There are various quotes that stood out. Here's one from the first chapter: Seibel: "Do you like Perl or is it just handy?" Zawinski: "Oh, I despise it. It's a horrible language. But it is installed absolutely everywhere."
Absolutely 100% in agreement. Using Perl is awful. It reminds me of the old Lavoris commercial: "Do you like the taste of Lavoris? It's awful, but I use it twice a day!". I only use Perl when I feel awk is just too painful. It doesn't happen that often. The next interviewee totally disagrees with the Perl hate and professes his love for Perl. I know there are people like that. I don't understand it.
Seibel:: "I've noticed that one thing that separates good programmers from bad programmers is that good programmers are more facile at jumping between layers of abstraction..."
That's a critical aspect of programming and I don't know how to teach it. The idea that you can "drill down" to the bug, fix it and then pop back up without understanding most of the code is challenging to many. Of course, it depends on the bug. Some are just too entwined.
Seibel: "Is there a key skill programmers must have?" Zewinski: "Well, curiosity -- taking things apart. Wanting to know what's going on under the hood."
I disagree. For me, absolutely, it's all about the machine. For others who don't have that aspect, no.
Seibel: "Do you have any advice for self-taught programmers?" Fitzpatrick: "Always try to do something harder... Read Code... Then I really enjoyed reading code, because whenever I didn't understand some pattern, I was like, "Wait, why the fuck did they do it like this? ... Wow that is really clever..."
Yes, reading code is how I learned the SDS-940 assembler as well as the PDP-10 assembler. There's really no substitute for reading code. I spent most of my latter high school years code at night. Sussman at MIT once told me that the way to teach a new language was to have students read code and augment it. I tried this and was impressed how much the students benefited from this approach.
Seibel always asks a question about Knuth's books. Everyone admits to at least glancing at them. Some of the interviewees admit to being not very mathematical (and Knuth's books can get very mathematical) but my impression is that everyone asked the question knows and appreciates them. I got my first volume as a going away present from Tymshare when I went to college (Thanks Norm and Ann!)
Another popular question for Seibel is "What is the worst bug you have ever had to track down"? For me, the answer is easy: it was the compacting relocating garbage collector in Bravo, the first WYSIWYG editor. The problem was that it would crash but of course this was the result of a bad pointer. And when you have a compacting GC, you are moving data around and possibly not updating pointers. As I recall, it took me two days of concentrated and painstaking work.
Seibel: "Because, like the Spanish Inquisition, no one really expects floating point".
One assumes that the realm of floating point only belongs to the numerical analyst. In fact, numerical programming haunts everyone when they deal with signals from the real world. And so I discovered when I wanted to process audio signals.
Seibel: "As a programmer, do you consider yourself a scientist, an engineer, an artist or a craftsman"?
I think this is a matter of self-perception. These days I view myself as a kind of sloppy engineer. The advantage of software is that mistakes can often corrected rapidly. In hardware, it can be horrible --- like the time I reversed a 32 bit bus and had to unwrap all the wires and then rewrap them. (Wire wrapping is why rock and roll was invented, I am sure).
Guy Steele: "I set out to be a pure math major... and then discovered I had no intuition whatsoever for infinite dimensional Banach spaces. That's what did me in."
I regret to say that's what did me in, in a matter of speaking. In my case it was Real Analysis. I realized I just didn't have the insight. It didn't matter that I could do multi-dimensional calculus until the cows moo-ed. This was different.
Steele: "It's hard to find good code worth reading. We haven't developed a body of accepted literature..."
I couldn't agree more. With the emphasis on open source, we (as a community) recognize various programs as being exceptionally well written. Of course, who makes that decision?
Peter Deutsch: "If you look at programming languages I would make the strong case that programming languages have not improved qualitatively in the last 40 years. There is no programming language in use today that is better than Simula-67"
No comment!
LPD: "The reason I don't program in Lisp anymore: I can't stand the syntax."
This is remarkable. Peter wrote one of first interpreters of LISP for the PDP-1 (he was in high school). He wrote his dissertation in LISP (as I did as well). And now...
LPD: "Well, my description of Perl is something that came out the wrong end of a dog. I think Larry Wall has a lot of nerve talking about language design --- Perl is an abomination as a language. But let's not go there."
Tell it!
Ken Thompson: "But I love the teaching: the hard work of the first class, the fun of the second class. Then the misery of the third."
Amen! Tell it!
KT: "The PDP-11s a great LISP machine. The PDP-10's a great LISP machine. There's no need to build a Lisp machine that's not faster."
This was lesson of Symbolics and the lisp machine craze. The moral of the lesson (I learned this as well) is that Moore's Law waits for no one. And you can emulate a Lisp machine on stock architecture as faster than custom hardware. A hard lesson.
KT: "99% of the time something simple and brute-force will work fine."
This is really important. Often we often tend to grab these real fancy dancy all-singing all-dancing data structures but in fact a simple linked list search will do Just Fine.
Fran Allen: "We have seriously regressed since C developed. C has destroyed out ability to advance the state of the art in automatic optimization, automatic parallelization, automatic mapping of a HLL to the machine. This is one of the reasons compilers are ... basically not taught anymore in the colleges and universities."
I disagree. That's not the issue. In fact, much of compilers have become boiler plate --- lexical analysis and parsing are both table driven these days. So, what does that leave us? Also, the regularization of machine architecture means that the wide variety of machine designs are gone. So all those fancy algorithms are not required (remember Call by Name?!?). Also, there are Domain Specific Languages (DSLs) that require compiler construction techniques.
The last interview is with Don Knuth. And that's an appropriate end to an interesting book --- I'm not sure I learned anything new, but I enjoyed seeing how other programmers approached their art/craft.
Monday, 17 February 2014
Monday, 29 July 2013
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.
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.
Friday, 12 July 2013
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.
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, 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?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
