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.
Friday, 1 February 2013
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!".
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Cassoulet and me
Mark Bittman's recent post on Cassoulet hits a highly resonant note with me. As many people know, I prepare Cassoulet once a year (I dub it "Cassoulet-fest"). This celebration of meat and beans can only reasonably be prepared in winter. I consider it one of the high points of rustic French cooking because not only does it have that rustic "stick to your ribs" quality, but it also demonstrates how various cooking techniques (confit, braised meats, sausage making, etc.) combine to form a harmonious whole.
I use the recipe from Julia Child's masterpiece "Mastering the Art". My copy was given to me by my friends and colleagues at Bell Labs when I was recuperating from back surgery. I used to read it in bed as I waited to heal. The recipe itself is somewhat long and involved, but not complicated. Julia, in her humorous style used the phrase with the subtitle "Order of Battle" --- but that overstates the case and I suspect frightens many off this very hearty and savory dish.
Let's start with confit. I used to buy this from D'Artagnan at about $10 a "pop" (thigh and drumstick). The conventional recipe uses a kind of Catch-22. You're supposed to confit the duck in a pot of duck fat. But you're supposed to use the leftover duck fat from your last confit! The new style recipe is to use Olive Oil to partial cover the meat and then slow roast (and I mean slow, as in 200-225 F). So, not only do you control the cooking, you save money. Big time money.
Next: the beans. Of course, one can buy the French white beans. When we lived in NJ, I bought the beans and also saucisson d'ail from the famed Balducci's at 6th Ave. and 9th. (Conveniently right around the corner from the PATH station). But today I just buy a two pound bag of Great Northern Beans (a wonderful bean) and deal with the sausage question myself.
And, speaking of sausages: You can, of course, use any one you find. I don't personally feel the need to use sausages. Julia has a delightful subrecipe for garlicky pork patties on the cassoulet page. I've made these numerous times. But if I'm feeling lazy, I just don't bother, particularly if I'm making the roast pork loin.
What makes Julia's recipe so nice (in my opinion) is the use of lamb. She slowly braises the lamb in a tomato white wine sauce. The result, when combined with the beans, is nothing short of delightful. The real fun of course is the "assemblage": the layering of beans and meats until both are gone. Then, top it off with the juices, cover with the breadcrumbs and away you go.
I've occasionally produced that wonderful crust, but I'm content just to pull my Paderno pot out of the oven to see the parsleyed browned breadcrumbs on top. Then pull the cork on a bottle of red from Southern France (Rhone, Languedoc...) and inhale the fragrant vapors. Who can resist?
I use the recipe from Julia Child's masterpiece "Mastering the Art". My copy was given to me by my friends and colleagues at Bell Labs when I was recuperating from back surgery. I used to read it in bed as I waited to heal. The recipe itself is somewhat long and involved, but not complicated. Julia, in her humorous style used the phrase with the subtitle "Order of Battle" --- but that overstates the case and I suspect frightens many off this very hearty and savory dish.
Let's start with confit. I used to buy this from D'Artagnan at about $10 a "pop" (thigh and drumstick). The conventional recipe uses a kind of Catch-22. You're supposed to confit the duck in a pot of duck fat. But you're supposed to use the leftover duck fat from your last confit! The new style recipe is to use Olive Oil to partial cover the meat and then slow roast (and I mean slow, as in 200-225 F). So, not only do you control the cooking, you save money. Big time money.
Next: the beans. Of course, one can buy the French white beans. When we lived in NJ, I bought the beans and also saucisson d'ail from the famed Balducci's at 6th Ave. and 9th. (Conveniently right around the corner from the PATH station). But today I just buy a two pound bag of Great Northern Beans (a wonderful bean) and deal with the sausage question myself.
And, speaking of sausages: You can, of course, use any one you find. I don't personally feel the need to use sausages. Julia has a delightful subrecipe for garlicky pork patties on the cassoulet page. I've made these numerous times. But if I'm feeling lazy, I just don't bother, particularly if I'm making the roast pork loin.
What makes Julia's recipe so nice (in my opinion) is the use of lamb. She slowly braises the lamb in a tomato white wine sauce. The result, when combined with the beans, is nothing short of delightful. The real fun of course is the "assemblage": the layering of beans and meats until both are gone. Then, top it off with the juices, cover with the breadcrumbs and away you go.
I've occasionally produced that wonderful crust, but I'm content just to pull my Paderno pot out of the oven to see the parsleyed browned breadcrumbs on top. Then pull the cork on a bottle of red from Southern France (Rhone, Languedoc...) and inhale the fragrant vapors. Who can resist?
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