Mi2Sweets – I’m just sayin’

01/13: Immortality or Chocolate?

Okay, I admit it. I’ve read the “Twilight” books (all 4 of them) at least three times. I’m a huge fan of the Charlaine Harris sexy southern vampire series and its television incarnation, the HBO series “True Blood.” I actively seek out new paranormal/ vampire fiction on Amazon. Given the success of “Twilight” the reason is obvious. Vampires (or immortals) are DAMN sexy! Not only do they have the whole eternal youth/ supernatural strength/amazing sex drive thing going for them, but most of them are cultured and well-read (they better be after living history for a few hundred years!).

A thought occured to me though, while I was sitting on the couch nibbling on a piece of Toblerone watching Bella declare her undying love to Edward (and she really meant “undying”) for the umpteenth time, that no matter how obsessed I was with my perfect vampire mate I don’t think I could ever give up the very human experience of enjoying food to stay with him forever.

I mean really, wouldn’t it eventually get kind of monotoneous to drink only blood? Even if you were able to treat your various “donors” as a metaphysical tasting menu, sampling different “flavors” in their blood through the food they consumed before you decided to suck the life out of them, it wouldn’t replace the pure sensation of, say, chocolate melting on your tongue. Biting into a neck ain’t the same thing as biting into a crispy piece of perfectly fried chicken, or a juicy sauce-laden rib. Great food, like great sex, awakens all your senses and can just as easily make your eyes roll back into your head.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Bella wasn’t really into food. Yeah, she ate it but she never seemed to relish in the experience of eating. So given the choice to stay human or turn into a vampire, it was really a no-brainer–Go Team Edward! Me? Well, what’s the point of all that “eternity” if you can’t sink your teeth into a freshly-glazed warm chocolate donut once in a while?

Here’s my list of the top 7 things I would miss if the vampire of my dreams came along and I (yeesh) decided to go the O-negative route:

1) Chocolate – pretty much in any form.

2) Fried Chicken – humans can’t be crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside.

3) Donuts – buttermilk bars, fritters, custard-filled, etc.

4) Ice Cream – need I say more.

5) Ribs – again, human neck not the same.

6) Dim Sum – hey I like a little of everything.

7) Sushi – pulling a live one out of the ocean ain’t gonna cut it.

Posted January 13th, 2009 | 2 Comments

01/09: Simply Put?

In hard economic times, we gravitate towards things that warm the soul and make us feel secure. Comfort food is one of those things–chicken-fried steak with gravy, buttermilk biscuits, strawberry rhubarb pie, po-boy sandwiches, ribs. We know what we’re eating and it makes us feel gooood. There is still a place for fine-dining indulgences, like an exceptional caviar or a beautifully prepared foie gras. It’s just getting harder and harder to justify spending what would amount to a day’s or even a week’s pay on a meal made up of dishes that are more vanity project or science experiment than food to be savored and enjoyed. If you have to ask what the heck is that when the server sets the dish in front of you, then you are having a culinary arts nightmare. As my friend Irene would say, “that’s no bueno.” Pushing the envelope can be a good thing…except when the contents have exploded onto your plate like a Jackson Pollack painting.

I’ve been known to do a “take” on a familiar dessert, like a cheesecake sundae. I’ve used quotation marks to indicate that it is being presented perhaps in a nontraditional way. It’s only fair to the guest ordering the dessert to know in advance your being a little cheeky. However, I think it is downright cruel and inhumane to lead the guest on–not to mention charge them up the whazoo–for something that in no way shape or form resembles or tastes anything like what they are expecting. Just because you think it is a cool idea doesn’t mean it will taste good or that you should expect the guest to get your point. When creating a new dessert, I always ask myself one very important question: What do I want to eat? Okay, granted some us have esoteric tastes, but I think what we crave is always a good starting point.

On the flip side of the dessert spectrum, is stark minimalism. Don’t get me wrong, a lovely slice of perfectly-baked pie with a scoop of ice cream is a wonderful dessert– in a low-key, casual place like a cafe or diner–not so much in a more sophisticated dining room where the average price of an entree is over $25. An $8 or $9 dessert better have something more than two things on a plate (and I’m not counting that dusting of powdered sugar as a component!). I love ice cream, but I wouldn’t pay seven bucks for two scoops in a bowl, no matter how wonderful the flavor, because in the end we enjoy the meal with our eyes as much as with our palates. Otherwise we’re just not getting our money’s worth.

Posted January 9th, 2009 | 1 comment

01/09: All in the genes or in the head?

I’m hardly what anyone would call a “health nut.” I mean really, if carb-pushing was a capital crime I’d be on death row. So there is great irony in the fact that one of my favorite shows is “You Are What You Eat” on BBC America. I guess you can call it a “self-improvement” show in the similar vein as “The Biggest Loser” only the focus is usually on one or two individuals–battling the bulge. Instead of the ultra buff uber fitness trainer Jillian Michaels cracking the whip, it’s the tough-talking food-nazi nutritionistista Gillian McKeith.

I’m utterly fascinated by the willingness of the participants to quit their “bad” eating habits cold turkey–which Gillian cruelly lays out in a stomach-churning buffet table of a week’s worth of gluttony–and submit themselves to eight weeks of a stringently monitored “detox” diet. Everyone is told at the beginning that if they don’t eat “healthy” and exercise immediately–they will DIE, sooner not later. And so a grossly overweight chocolate and cheese-obsessed housewife from Hampshire, for example, having been poked, prodded and subjected to a colonic, is scared straight. After eight weeks of torturous self-denial and sucking down gallons of nettle tea, she emerges victorious, sporting a new do, stylish clothes and make-up, and at least twenty pounds lighter. She, like the other participants, has succeeded in overcoming her evil, unhealthy habits. She apparently no longer craves the “bad” stuff and is perfectly satisfied with life without chocolate and cheese. Ah, a happy ending for all. Uh huh.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it is fantastic that these people had the determination to get healthy and the fortitude to stick to a regime. But will they really be able to live like that forever? And more importantly, is it all that bad to let yourself enjoy a little vino and chocolate occasionally? Will a couple pieces of bacon be the death of you? Do we have to live life in such extremes–french fries in gravy, butter sandwiches, sausage rolls and chocolate bars on one end and nettle tea, aduki bean stew, beet root juice, and dandelion greens on the other? God I hope not.

My cousin, who ironically, by his own admission, is on the obese side of the scale, is an oncologist. He has spent years studying the causes of and treatments for cancer. He’s come to the conclusion that, despite our best efforts to live healthy–eat right and exercise–some of us are just genetically predisposed to have high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and even cancer. This explains why a person who lives a seemingly healthy lifestyle and appears fit can still be popping Lipitor, like my aunt, while my sedentary cousin cheerfully carves up rib eye on a weekly basis.

Well, that sucks! So it’s basically a crapshoot whether you are one of the lucky ones who’s genetically blessed with a body that efficiently processes cholesterol–like my cousin apparently–and can eat whatever with little ill effect. Okay, you may be fat but it ain’t gonna kill you.

What’s truly mind-boggling though, is that according to Ed your state of mind is far more important to longevity than anything else. If you are essentially optimistic and happy-go-lucky, chances are you will not only enjoy life more, but will live longer. Sure there are things you can do to improve your chances of not getting cancer or a heart attack–like regular exercise and not smoking or eating/drinking excessively–but to deny yourself the pleasures of food is not one of them. If eating the occasional maple bacon donut or seared foie gras makes you happy, go for it. Just chase it down with a little nettle tea for good measure.

Posted January 9th, 2009 | Leave a Comment

01/04: Remembrance of things past

“Whatever happened to the Blue Fox?” asked my Uncle Alan, as we drove through the financial district on our way home from a wonderfully gut-busting family dinner at the R&G Lounge. “Long gone,” I replied. “And Ernie’s? Remember those classic red velvet curtains?” he reminisced. “Yeah, made famous in “Vertigo”, I pointed out. “It’s gone too.”

Uncle Alan, not having lived in San Francisco for decades, doesn’t really keep up with the ins and outs of this city’s turbulent restaurant scene, so his memories of those fine dining institutions are warmly faded around the edges like those infamous red curtains at Ernies. “What’s happened to this town?,” he lamented. “Nobody seems to want to do the classics anymore. Is the House of Prime Rib still doing good business at least?” I reassured him that, yes, the “Hopper” was indeed hopping seven days a week–serving up juicy slabs of prime rib accompanied by a stellar roundup of traditional sides, including the strangely addictive house salad (yes, I’ve gone back just to buy the damn salad dressing). The Hopper isn’t exactly “fine dining” as defined by city’s new paradigm, but it most definitely a place to go for special occasions, for when you want to treat yourself and loved ones to a really good, satisfying meal. It’s success is a testament to it’s ability to cut across economic and cultural lines, even in the rough and tumble San Francisco restaurant scene. There is something truly comforting about a menu that stays true to its concept, year in and year out, not to mention a level of service that doesn’t waver.

Reminiscing with my uncle had me thinking about another place, long since gone, that had a profound effect on my way of thinking about the restaurant dining experience–Le Cyrano. Le Cyrano was my family’s “go to” fancy non-Asian restaurant whenever we wanted to celebrate something or treat an out-of-town visitor. Everyone loved the place because, despite the language and cultural barriers, you could safely order off the classic French menu with a certain degree of confidence. The menu there, like at the Hopper, never really changed. Dad could order his favorite sole meunier or frog’s legs, my grandmother her trusty rack of lamb, and my mom her chicken cordon bleu. I, of course, knew there was chocolate mousse or peach melba in my near future. Okay, once in a while, I’d be tempted by the lure of the floating island special. And, as always, the service was top-notch. We went back year after year, until sadly there was no more Le Cyrano to go back to. Mom tried to get us to go to another “French” restaurant out in the avenues–oddly enough owned and operated by the Chinese chef, with Chinese servers–but something was lost in translation. The food was fine, but ambiance just wasn’t there.

Having worked in the restaurant business for over a decade, I know how much effort it takes, both front and back of the house, to give each and every guest a great dining experience. Yes, as sometimes is the case, shit happens. But the overall goal is to maintain a high level of consistency. Looking back on it now, I can fully appreciate those early “fine dining” experiences because it set the standard in my mind of how things should be. Regardless of how innovative a menu or restaurant concept may be, the core value should always be about consistency and service, because that is what makes a place truly a “classic.”

Posted January 4th, 2009 | Leave a Comment

01/04: Not all in my head

What I miss most sometimes working for and by myself is that I don’t have a restaurant kitchen full of like-minded cooks to bounce ideas off of. Even though I do know what I’m doing most of the time (I’m pretty sure of that), it’s still nice to get some positive feedback or input from another source. Sure, I can text, call or email a friend for ideas or suggestions, but the response isn’t always immediate and you kind of want to strike while the creative iron is hot.

I think I’ve always gotten my best ideas out of impromptu brainstorming sessions with friends/colleagues. My friend Nicole loves to tease me about having my “Dr Evil” moments during our brainstorming–that’s when a “brilliant” idea pops into my head and I instinctively put an unturned pinky to my lips. And no, I don’t follow that up with “Mmmwahhh!” I just bob up and down on my toes like a giddy school girl.

It’s the thrill of coming up with new things that really gets me going. Sometimes I can find the inspiration on my own or figure out a way to do something I’ve never done before–in a MacGyver sort of way–like replicating a skateboard out of fondant and cardboard. But for me, the most satisfying, creative things are born out of collaboration–a kind of jam session–when a little help from my friends can take me out of my own head and outside the box.

Posted January 4th, 2009 | Leave a Comment

01/02: Reality check

You know that old axiom, “truth is stranger than fiction?” Well, perhaps. But “truth” isn’t always as entertaining or as palatable. I mean, does anyone really want to know how much that crazy fondant-laden wedding cake on Ace of Cakes actually costs? It just looks cool. Who wants to suffer sticker shock? That would be a serious downer. In the world of reality television, oftentimes it takes a little creative intervention (aka editing) to jack up the entertainment value, especially when it comes to “foodie” shows like Top Chef, Food Network Challenges, Hell’s Kitchen, etc.

For most people I guess it’s the thrill of the challenge/competition and the foibles of the participants that compels them to watch. For me, not so much. It would be easy to say that, as a food professional, I’ve seen it all before–the temper tantrums, the creative meltdowns, the colossal equipment failures, etc.–and it’s nothing new. But that’s really not it–though there is nothing like trying to fit an entire collapsed walk-in full of food into another one at already full capacity during a 100 degree heat wave (now that’s drama). Like everyone else, my heart still thunders and stomach lurches when I see a beautiful wedding cake collapse or slide off its stand, especially when I personally know how long it takes to create one of those masterpieces. It just pains me more to watch “culinary professionals” (or in the case of Hell’s Kitchen, wannabes) slugging it out in what looks more like a smack-talking foodie version of WWF than the original Iron Chef, which for all its theatrical flourishes, was still a competition focused skill and creativity. Sure the participants were definitely out to prove themselves, to earn some bragging rights–I am or I beat the Iron Chef–but they obviously wouldn’t have made it that far if they weren’t supremely gifted and loved their profession.

Given the cult of personality built up around this disturbing trend of the “next food network star” it’s not all that surprising to see more and more culinary professionals and novices step into the ring. In a bad economy, it can’t hurt to do a little self promotion, right? So what if there is a good chance you’re going to come off looking like a complete ass in the process. Even those individuals who “come off badly” still manage to enjoy a certain level fame, months, sometimes years after the fact–oh the joys of marathon weekends of cooking shows. Reality television shows by their very nature (and I use the term “reality” loosely) churn out “personalities”(and I use that term loosely too) faster than McDonald cranks out McNuggets. Heidi Montag –need I say more? I’m not suggesting that everyone who participates in these “reality” food shows is willing to trade their self-respect for their 15 mins. of fame–and potential fortune. Some people are genuinely passionate about their craft and it shows through in their food. Though I think that it would be naive for anyone to assume that some part of themselves is not going to be compromised in the “editing” process. An entire drama can be built around a five second seemingly innocent sound bite. Hell, just look at the teaser ads!

To be sure, we’ve definitely moved way beyond the often hilariously simple production values of Julia Child and “The French Chef”–and that’s a shame. As many Julia devotees would agree, what made her so much fun to watch was not only her big personality–she made mouth-breathing endearing–but her lust for food, boundless energy and fascination with the art of cooking. No pithy sound bites were ever necessary to convey theatricality of Julia. So she dropped an omelet–but she made damn sure it was a tasty omelet. Wonder why Tom Colichio is always complaining about the chefs not tasting their food before presenting it or not able to master the “basics” like shucking a clam?

In the process of reviewing applications for culinary scholarships, a colleague of mine bemoaned the fact that a disproportionate number of applicants stated their ultimate professional goal was to be the next t.v. star chef and have their own show. Needless to say, those applications ended up in the trash can. I can see poor Julia rolling in her grave.

I’m well aware of the fact that, from a financial standpoint, the entertainment value of presenting only a “bite” of truth outweighs all other considerations. I’m just not convinced that these reality food shows do anything more than promote the networks themselves–because from where I’m sitting, it’s not doing all that much to elevate our profession or preserve its integrity.

Posted January 2nd, 2009 | Leave a Comment

01/01: The Hostess

Her cooking was at times inconsistent–the stew a little bland, the Chinese baked tapioca with red bean paste on the burnt side. But that really didn’t matter. My Aunt Christina knew how to entertain. She was a hostess with style, putting out her best silver and china to make even our hodge podge family potluck dinners look elegant, the first one to display the obligatory black olives, ranch dressing, carrot and celery sticks in a flight of fancy crudite bowls. My aunt’s been battling terminal cancer for a while now and the thought of her never hosting another family gathering has made me appreciate her incomparable skills even more.

We are, like alot of large Chinese families, a loud boisterous bunch spread out across the Bay Area and beyond. It takes more than a few phone calls, emails, cajoling and arm-twisting to coordinate a party these days. Not so when I was young. We used to get together every few weeks for dinner, sometimes a dim sum lunch. Of course back then both of my grandparents were alive and they were the ones who anchored us to certain family traditions, like a dozen rounds of mah jong before dinner or making steamed dumplings, which was always a group effort for a family our size. My mom and her siblings would take turns hosting, but it was my Aunt Christina always managed to make it look so effortless and polished, as opposed to the comfortable chaos that characterized our house.

Hands down, mom was, in her prime, a better cook. However, Aunt Christina knew how to make it look good. Beverages and ice were always set out along with assorted glassware and crystal bowls of potato chips and other snacks. At our house, we just expected everyone to get their own glass from the cupboard and help themselves to what was in the frig. or bust into the bags of chips and crackers.

As time went on, with my grandfrather gone and my grandmother getting frailer by the year, family parties were few and far between, taking place mainly on Chinese New Year, Thanksgiving and Christmas. I became the designated chef on Thanksgiving and Christmas–apparently my having a culinary degree negated everybody else’s ability to cook a turkey or rack of lamb. My aunt was thrilled to offer up her home for the festivities, especially when she could pull out all her good china, silver platters and serving utensils. Just like it was when I little, the party was a stylish affair.

More than anything, my aunt knew the value of making people feel comfortable and taken care of. Her desire to maintain a semblance of family tradition–she still set up the mah jong table–was the glue that keep us together. I’m deeply saddened at the inevitable lost of this loving family anchor.

Posted January 1st, 2009 | Leave a Comment