Exercise

Thanksgiving, Mom-style

On the seventh day of Christmas blogging, my favorite newspaper reminded me that even through my biggest and best meals, running still works.  This particular study found that of three groups whom they fed huge breakfasts, the group that ran before breakfast gained -- wait for it -- no weight.  Now, the group that didn't exercise gained the most, and the group that exercised after eating gained about half as much weight as the non-exercising group.  Not to mention running's effects on mood during the stressful holiday season.  So for giant meals, make sure you run sometime after your coffee and before your breakfast (my favorite running window). 
 

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/15/phys-ed-the-benefits-of-exercising-before-breakfast/

12 days of Christmas food blogging

There's nothing like December for family, friends, parties, stress and tight scheduling.  The holiday season offers another reliable highlight -- great, decadent food options.  I don't want to let this season fly by without attempting to capture a few of these moments.  And so it begins - 12 days of December blogging about some of the highlights of food experiences.

Kitchen to Couch

In the last six months since it was published in The New York Times, Michael Pollan's article, Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch, has stayed with me, acting like a small voice, a call to action. In it, he reports on and explains our society's move away from time in the kitchen actually cooking to instead watching, discussing, and writing about food. If you didn't read it, you should, especially since you're reading this blog and probably have some interest in food writing: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/02/magazine/02cooking-t.html.

Winter weather stimulates my appetite for slow-cooked, lovingly prepared foods. But am I making them? Nope. Sure, I will host a dinner party (or New Year's brunch), but when it comes to my daily food needs, I am far more likely to defrost a frozen meal or eat out rather than come anywhere near "cooking." Yet I write a food blog, watch cooking shows, discuss food and restaurants with my friends, and generally think about food.

It's apparent I'm not alone. Pollan ponders the disconnect. He reports that our food preparation time has halved since the time Julia Child was on television to about twenty-seven minutes a day, roughly half the time of an episode of Top Chef. (My ratio is more pronounced, with about five minutes of preparation to a full hour of Top Chef watching). When did we trade time in the kitchen for, as Pollan eloquently puts it, "hyperexuberant, even fetishized images of cooking that are presented on screen"?

In case it's escaped you, let me underline one of Pollan's points: today's cooking shows teach you nothing about how to actually prepare the dishes. I've certainly been sucked into Food Network's "Challenge" series about building the largest structure out of sugar or the cake that looks most like a cartoon character. Um, learning about cooking? Not so much. Pollan suggests that what used to be education has now become more about selling -- a brand of chef, a prepared sauce, and whatever else fills the content of the commercials.

Pollan closes on two notes that smack of hard truth. Pollan points out that cooking strikes "a deep emotional chord" in us, an anthropologically identifiable part of our culture, and then throws in this doozy: "obesity rates are inversely correlated with the amount of time spent on food preparation." And cites the studies, admonishing us in the end that the diet to embrace is to "cook it yourself."

So, in January, in this time of acknowledgements and resolutions, I confess that I watch more food television and eat out more than I cook, that I cannot cook a meal without following a recipe, that I cannot remember the last time I cooked for myself after work, and that I want to change. I resolve in 2010 to "cook it myself," not to stop eating out, but to perfect a routine of home cooking that works into my life and is healthy and workable long term. Wish me luck.

I Heart Eric Ripert

If you think Chef Eric Ripert is too good to be true, think again. I am pleased to report that the man who is known for commanding respect while still being both extraordinarily kind and extraordinarily attractive lives up to his reputation, and then some.

Ripert appeared at his restaurant, 10 Arts, at the Ritz Carlton on March 26. Although labeled a book signing, the event was in fact a cozy cocktail hour, devoid of the assembly line drudgery of the Martha Stewart event (see my earlier entry). The Ritz lobby was wide open, well populated without feeling crowded, with people clutching Ripert's new book, On the Line. I looked to my left to see that Ripert was sitting on an arc-shaped booth, happily posing for photographs and chatting with people. There was no line. Servers were bringing complimentary canapes to people.

I was overwhelmed. Here I was going to be given the chance to sit down - not humbly ask for a signature, but sit down - with one of my all-time favorite chefs. Co-owner of Le Bernadin in New York, pal of Tony Bourdain, James Beard Award winner, Ripert captured a place in my heart with his appearances on Top Chef. Adopting a Tim Gunn-esque ability to relay insightful criticism while still being supportive, Ripert presented as a soft-spoken culinary genius who genuinely cared about both food and people.

And here he was. I reported to the host stand to retrieve my copy of the book and expressed my anxious enthusiasm. The host relayed how pleased she was about how kind he was in person, and how different that was from a typical executive chef. I attempted to queue in the small circle of people milling around Ripert's table and a kind soul offered to take my picture with Ripert. I casually replied that this would be nice, inside thinking, "yes! double yes! Thank God for you, kind stranger!"

So it came to pass that I marched up to Chef Ripert, extended my hand, announced my name with some measure of confidence, and sat next to him. Ripert leaned in as the aforementioned kind stranger took our picture. Even post-flash, Ripert remembered my name asked if I would like the book to be made out to me. Trying to get past my thoughts of "he just! said! my! name!" I responded that yes, that would be great. I asked him how he managed to stay so calm and patient with the chefs on Top Chef, to which he replied that he understood they are faced with difficult tasks and he wants to be helpful and constructive. I struggled to memorize the words and the moments, realizing how great he was.

Lest you have any doubt about the man, you need look no further than the way he signed the book -- he spelled out his name after his signature. Amazing.

10 Arts is located at the Ritz Carlton, 10 South Broad Street, Philadelphia. Ripert's personal blog can be found at http://www.aveceric.com/.

Love her!

Many thanks to e, over at Foodaphilia (http://www.foodaphilia.com/) for naming this blog one of her top 10 favorite philly food blogs (http://www.blogs.com/topten/top-10-philadelphia-food-blogs/). E cooks, dines out, and blogs more than I do, so if you're looking for some great food blogging when I haven't posted in a while, I highly recommend it.

We hope to live to up to her compliment. By we, I mean me.

Image courtesy of Crate and Barrel.

Martha, Martha, Martha

Last Friday night, at the Williams Sonoma at the Bellevue downtown, I met one of my heroes, Martha Stewart. Although to be clear, when a colleague asked me incredulously, "do you like Martha Stewart?" I responded, "well, not in a friend way."

But certainly in an icon way. Martha's recipes have provided me with great food; her decorating efforts have inspired me. There are times when I have had to draw the line at the level of effort, or as described in my "Pumpkin Soup Meltdown" entry, simply not been able to rise to her challenges. Nevertheless, she has been a consistent role model in my adult, home-making life.

Which is why seeing her seemed like the only choice for me on Friday. Martha was doing a book signing of her new "Martha Stewart's Cooking School," a large and colorful book, full of step-by-step instructions for classic recipes. In the same vein as The French Laundry Cookbook and Julia Child's The Way to Cook, this type of cookbook was long overdue for Martha. After some confusion about needing tickets and Williams Sonoma graciously calling me (thanks, Anna!) when a ticket freed up, I waited in the long but well-organized line. The store even served us samples of some of its Thanksgiving options, which were delicious.

Then the moment of truth. Martha was handled by no less than two people before you could approach and three (plus one security guard) to see you out. I was reminded of the part of the movie, "A Christmas Story," when Ralphie finally meets Santa only to be herded in and out by pushy-but-smiling elves. Everyone seemed kind, but they were clearly there to make sure you did not linger, nor pose for photographs, nor ask Martha to make out the signature to you, personally (she wasn't doing that).

Martha greeted me with a "hello" that made me want to somehow connect with her, a sentiment likely echoed by each of the hundreds of people that came before me. I responded, "how are you hanging in there," which could have only been some product of an IQ-dropping adrenaline surge. She gave me a look and shrug that to me said, "you know, it's a book signing, not prison" but could also perhaps be read as "fine." I recovered to spout my rehearsed line, "Your Quick and Healthy Cookbook revolutionized the way I think about cooking." [While nerdy, this is a true expression on my part, reflecting how impressed I was with the way the book is organized by seasons and uses the simplest combinations of ingredients.] To which Martha responded, looking directly into my eyes, "good, good." With a solemn seriousness only someone that reserved can convey in the fewest of words.

As I turned my head slightly, the three post-signing elves smiled and gestured for me to move along. For the record, Martha Stewart is more beautiful in person, perfectly put together with the right hair and lovely outfit, complemented by a modern, grey jacket. I felt heady as I left, as though I had encountered more greatness than my small brain could handle. After all, I just had a conversation, however small, with this woman, whose books grace my shelves and whose magazine arrives in my mailbox monthly, all telling me how to live my life just a little bit better. So I continue to adore her -- just not in a friend way.

Williams Sonoma is located at 200 S. Broad Street, Philadelphia.

Books!

This Christmas, I was lucky enough to have received a veritable shelf full of books, all about food and cooking. For these bitter cold days, nothing beats reading about food, snuggled up on the sofa. Or, should I find myself with actual energy, I may also cook some of the recipes.

Service Included: Four Star Secrets from an Eavesdropping Waiter. The first book from Phoebe Damrosch about her time as a waiter at Thomas Keller's Per Se in New York was also the first book I picked up from my presents and then couldn't put down. Like many very watchable two star movies, I gained no particular insight into life or literature, but I did enjoy the backstage peek into fine dining. With Thomas Keller, no less. Told from the point of view of an intelligent, twenty-something friend fascinated by food but unsure of her life's direction, Ms. Damrosch takes us through training, serving, and leaving, along with her romances throughout. Honestly, I could have done without the romance, finding her descriptions of and tips for diners eminently more interesting. Also, although I always suspected it, I was surprised to hear that six figure salaries were the norm for that level of servers. Her comments on the gender differences among servers were also insightful and worth the read.

Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink. Edited by David Remnick, this collection of short pieces delivers what I've always wanted: an endless supply of New Yorker stories devoted to food. Having read Bill Buford's piece many years ago, and subsequently his amazing book, Heat, about his travels with Mario Batali and through Italy, I have been hooked on the quality of the articles in New Yorker and their ability to peel off more layers of the onion, if you'll excuse the pun, to reveal the full answers to my food questions.

Beard on Food: The Best Recipes and Kitchen Wisdom from the Dean of American Cooking. In a word, hardcore. Reflecting an intense love of food and a more traditional approach to cooking, the book features articles ranging from preparation to memories of great meals. Old school and great.

The Hooters Cookbook. Because TPB has a sense of humor, and, on a good day, so do I, I received the Hooters Cookbook. Which would theoretically allow me to enjoy the wings without the degradation. It does sort of funnily include "shortcut" tips which include going to Hooters and picking up the wings, but hey, it is a restaurant. And I did laugh out loud when reading Amazon.com's product description, "The Hooters Cookbook salutes the 'Man Food' and carefree lifestyle that makes Hooters restaurants a worldwide destination." I mean, "Man Food"? really? Hilarious.

The Sneaky Chef: Simple Strategies for Hiding Healthy Foods in Kids Favorite Meals. Although I have no children, TPB and I share a penchant for kid-friendly foods like pizza, hamburgers, fries, and other such super-healthy options. Here is the solution, finally: sneak in healthy foods, but have them taste unhealthy. You might think it's for kids, but face facts: it would work for you, too.

The New Intercourses: An Aphrodisiac Cookbook. If you're a foodie, I'm going to guess that you also enjoy the social aspects of sharing a meal: the revelations that cooking brings, the act of selection, the carefulness of preparation, the sacrifice of time, and the sharing of something visceral. You may have also seen Like Water for Chocolate, the ultimate movie about how food affects love and mood. So follows Intercourses, which offers recipes ranging from oysters to pumpkin and ginger soup, grouped by aphrodisiac ingredient. The recipes are also interspersed with stories of love and food, certainly two of my favorite things.

My thanks to the gift-givers.

Pumpkin Soup Update

Perhaps the key to a good dinner party is going with the flow. It's a practice that I've heard about, but never quite got the hang of. However, equipped with a burnt arm, an ambitious menu, and one ever-positive helper in the form of my cousin, I'd like to think I did just that. Guests arrived while my cousin and I were still cooking (as it turns out, a recipe that will produce 50+ blinis cooked in batches of 8 max takes a long, long time), but I think it was okay. You can't really wrap a slice of filet around a lump of crabmeat, but it didn't stop me. The hollandaise sauce approached solid form as it waited to be dolloped, but I plowed ahead. About an hour after the party was scheduled to start, I took off my apron and sat down.

And the soup? I warmed it up but it took a sideline to the hors d'oeuvres. In fact, a few people were too full to eat it. But it was good.

My lessons learned: 1) creme fraiche is better spread thin on bread than something savory like a sweet potato pancake; 2) everything you have planned to make will take double the time you allotted for it; 3) next time, explore the "chafing dish" option; 4) have a bar at the ready with an ice bucket for guests to help themselves; 5) give serious consideration to the concept of catering; and last but perhaps more important, 6) remain grateful for your friends.

All in all, a great evening.

Pumpkin Soup Meltdown

Never bite off more than you can chew. All of us have recurring lessons that we never quite learn or process and this particular cliche is my cross to bear in the kitchen. The lesson was brought home last night in my four hour foray into pumpkin soup.

Harvest Pumpkin Soup, to be exact, a recent Martha Stewart recipe. My approach to cooking is often to research recipes (preferably on epicurious.com or any site with reader feedback), and then modify them with anything I think might improve the dish. With guests coming on Friday night (and my working during the day), I needed something to make in advance. And I trust Martha's judgment, which often errs on the side of adding butter. This approach really works, by the way.

My menu includes the pumpkin soup, surf and turf appetizers consisting of steak, crabmeat and hollandaise (with a shout-out to Top Chef for the inspiration), sweet potato pancakes with creme fraiche and caviar, and good bread and herbed butter for the soup. My Chiles Rellenos friend is bringing dessert. Pumpkin cocktails, spiced sweet potato chips and dip and caramel popcorn complete the meal. Thanks go out to Whole Foods for carrying sugar pumpkins, the state store for miraculously carrying pumpkin liqueur, Caviar Assouline for not just caviar but also creme fraiche, and DiBruno's for their recently expanded meat and seafood selections. I've managed to collect decorations, carve a pumpkin and purchase an extra chair.

So back to t-minus two days until I will have officially bitten off more than I can chew. I made the classic mistake of not reading the recipe before beginning to cook. Which means, as you would predict, it was quite possibly the hardest recipe short of making bread. Martha asked me - yes, I began to take it personally - to make pumpkin broth first, which then is added to a more typical soup puree base. Of course, the recipe read something like this: 1. remove the seeds and stringy fibers from two sugar pumpkins. (done! threw those right in the trash!) 2. bake the pumpkins for 50 minutes. (they're in there! baking away!) 3. take the reserved seeds and fibers and begin the broth. (huh? really? the ones in the trash?)

After carving up additional pumpkins for the sole purpose of obtaining said seeds and fibers, and after chopping and cooking the numerous turnips, potatoes, and parsnips, I then was instructed to blend the mixture in the batches. A couple of blends went well and then things got ugly. The soup was probably a little too hot and I was a little too tired, but the lid popped off and pumpkin soup dribbled forth. Which would have been a good wake-up call, if I choose to heed that warning. I didn't. I only became less patient. The next batch I chose to blend more without any wait. Resulting in a pumpkin soup explosion. Over me. Over the kitchen. Over the cats. Later, as I discovered, over the ceiling, if that's even possible.

Prompting the meltdown. The Patient Boyfriend ("T.P.B.") fetched ice. I announced, "that's it! I'm not making dinner! I'm not finishing the soup! I'm done!" There may have been tears. T.P.B. tasted the soup and thought it was good. I modestly protested and was not so modestly pleased. Over the next two hours, I managed to clean the explosion, apply lidocaine and aloe to my arms, make dinner, eat ice cream and watch a scary movie.

And the dinner's back on. Wish me luck.

Maggiano's, Chain Restaurants, and Blogging

I have certainly thought about being a great food writer. In these dreams, I would endlessly opine about the latest high-end restaurant to open. Being able to recognize every spice in every mouthful and determine its appropriateness in the dish, I would be ruthless but fair in my evaluations. I'd know how every vegetable should be chopped and how the chef varied from classical cookery to achieve a particular effect. My days would be spent writing about my experiences. For variety, I'd research how feasible the slow food movement really is and whether the farm bill really expands the nutritional gap between the rich and the poor.

Back in reality, however, I have a full-time job that occupies much of my energy and has nothing to do with food. Unless you count memorizing the Marathon Grill menu, which every Philadelphia lawyer has down cold. I like to cook, but mostly elaborate things and as a result, I don't cook that often. I like to eat out, but lately, it's been more about comfortable restaurants -- predictable, fulfilling, and offering lots of booths.

Which brings me to my topic: chain restaurants. When I looked back on what the first restaurant I wanted to review was, I thought of the last place I ate out. On purpose, not as an afterthought, quickly after work (although quick props to the reliable Square on Square and the awesome Tequila's). And that place was Maggiano's.

And it was good. Maybe even great. From the uber-professional host to the chatty but nice waitress, I really enjoyed it. We were seated in a great booth by the window, and the wine list featured one of my favorite cabernets by Sterling. I giddily ordered "zucchini fritti" and their shrimp appetizer special that night, which featured jumbo shrimp not just deep fried, but deep fried with asiago. That's right, breading and cheese. Yet with dipping sauces that ended in the word "aoli," I didn't feel like I was contributing to the downfall of the American palate. The "fritti" preparation lent itself to its subject in the precise way one wants from fried food -- it made it better, more reliable, more comforting.

Then my entree arrived -- strip steak "al forno," which apparently means baked. It apparently also means a thick, but not tough, outer layer, and a perfectly grilled center. It was perfect. I mean, it was better than non-chain restaurants. That's how tasty it was.

All of this good cheer led to ordering dessert, although we were sober enough to agree to split it. It was tartufo and it was great. It involved bits of chocolate and cherry frozen into vanilla ice cream and covered again with a chocolate shell. I have never been trained in the art of desserts, nor anything culinary actually, but the mix of chocolate, cherry and ice cream was somehow perfect.

The valet was even wearing a branded shirt, which was oddly comforting. Heck, the bar even looked good. I'd go back. Which perhaps summarizes the explanation of the popularity of the successful chain restaurant: its predictability. And its booths. I'm a sucker for a good booth.