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Oink If You Love Paula

Oh, she looks gentle and sweet. She makes biscuits like your mama did, and tells y’all to come to supper anytime. But when you weren’t looking, Paula Deen got into bed with Smithfield Foods, the Evil Empire of porcine husbandry. In September, Deen struck a deal with Smithfield to promote the company’s products in a series of personal appearances, webcasts, and other forums.

Recently, strong words were launched at the Southern-fried butter queen. Does Deen know nothing about Smithfield’s controversial labor and safety record, with practices so execrable that Smithfield was cited by Human Rights Watch? Or does she just not care?

The protesters who have dogged Deen’s appearances are particularly incensed with her silence regarding Smithfield’s extensive history of workplace and safety violations, employee intimidation and harassment, and the firing of workers who attempted to join a union.

Deen’s response to such concerns, quoted in Texas newspaper the Journal Gazette? “I don’t know enough to talk about it, but that’s just not the Smithfield I know … The people at Smithfield are some of the most ethical people I’ve ever met.” Um. Yeah. They tend to treat their spokes-stirrer a little better than the average Jane Punchclock on the line, Paula.

Stripping!

Mmmm, thrift-shop cookware. Is there anything sweeter than buying a well-loved piece of cast iron for a song at a garage sale or Goodwill?

But what if your perfect piece is sticky with old fat and/or riddled with rust? There are a million great suggestions for seasoning your cast iron, but fewer out there about unseasoning your precious new skillet.

Curbly, a DIY design site, has come to the rescue with step-by-step instructions on how to salvage and season cast iron. (While you’re on the site, poke around a bit. There’s a neat piece on making your own tortilla press.)

Many (maybe even I) will take issue with the first step: dousing the piece with oven cleaner and leaving it in a bag overnight. But the results look pretty good.

In Search of Wasabia Japonica

This quarter’s edition of The Art of Eating contains what is almost certainly the last story on wasabi that you’ll ever need to read. If you’re intrigued by the fact that shoguns used to reward retiring warlords with plots of wasabi, or by the contrast between capsaicin and isothiocyanates, which accounts for the difference between chile heat and real wasabi heat, you’re in luck.

Also: The Japanese mafia is rumored to be taking over Japan’s supply of real wasabi. Just in case you were wondering what the yakuza’s been up to since Into the Sun.

At times, the story borders on fetishism (while a ginger grater works for grating wasabi, you apparently need to use a sharkskin grater in order to truly appreciate the full flavor and texture of the rhizome). But it also contains some down-to-earth advice for those of us who must struggle to get by with the gooey green shot-from-a-tube variety of faux wasabi: Don’t mix it into your soy sauce, where the flavor gets lost; instead, apply it directly to the fish that you’re eating.

First, Catch Your Cicada

Red eyes, fragile yellow-tipped wings, and mating calls that drown out all other summer noise: Cicadas are what’s for dinner.

After hibernating for 17 years, billions of loud-ass insects that are known as Brood XIII will swarm their way across Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, and Illinois this summer. They don’t bite, sting, or otherwise hurt humans in any way, and certain animals actually find them to be quite tasty. The idea that birds and squirrels look hungrily on cicadas as an acceptable nosh isn’t all that surprising, but, according to the MSNBC piece, dogs really like them as well.

‘They’re going to have quite a meal. It’s going to be like Thanksgiving for them,’ said Tom Tiddens, supervisor for plant health care at the Chicago Botanic Garden.

You know what? They aren’t the only ones. David Hammond writes for the Food Chain, a blog attached to the Chicago Reader, and if you want to know how to whip up your own cicada-based meal, he’s the one to ask.

In his piece “Stalking the Wild Cicada—and Cooking Him,” Hammond carefully explains what you should be thinking about when considering snacking on cicadas. First off, you need to get your hands on “the right bug.” Hammond says:

I try to snag the little guys coming right out of the ground. The youngest of any breed is usually the most tender (think veal, suckling pig, etc.), and the younger cicadas have a softer exoskeleton. Once the cicada hits a tree, it begins to transform into a larger, winged creature; to eat these, you have to clip the wings and they look a lot less appealing (though I realize to many this is a fine distinction).

Young, local, free-range cicadas: check. Do you think they’re organic?

Next, Hammond explains the various ways of cooking the little buggers and warns that since cicadas are arthropods, you shouldn’t eat them if you have a shellfish allergy. One cooking method is to treat them like minuscule lobster or crab and parboil them until they turn slightly red, but, as with many things, frying seems to be a tastier option.

Hammond explains:

We drop the cicadas into tempura batter (just rice flour, egg, and water) and fry the creatures. [My wife] Carolyn rolls them with a little steamed carrot, chive, umeboshi paste, wasabi, and soy (the critters need a little salt). In nori rolls, the bugs look great, and they appeal to people because the nori roll is a familiar preparation and the insect is hidden inside.

But if you want to be literal about it, Hammond suggests you do what his friend does and make a version of “ants on a log.” Hammond’s pal Catherine Lambrecht smears endive spears with chèvre and sticks a bug on top of the fresh goat cheese. According to Hammond, “[t]he cheese provides the fatty base for the leaner cicada.”

OK, so now you know how to cook and serve the bugs, but what do they taste like? Well, Hammond thinks the cacophonous critter “has notes of peanut butter” and because of this, he decided to do the other version of “ants on a log” and combined the bug with blueberry preserves and a stick of celery.

So … not chicken?

The DIY Pause That Refreshes

If you’re tired of the eternal spiritual struggle between Coke and Pepsi, WikiHow has got your back. It has published a recipe for OpenCola, the “open-source cola beverage” you make yourself. The formula’s even licensed under the GNU General Public License so that users can suggest improvements to it.

The good news is that the recipe is available for free, so a sufficiently motivated cola addict could whip up a pretty good-size batch. The bad news is that making cola apparently involves getting your hands on stuff such as nutmeg oil, gum arabic, neroli oil, citric acid, and caffeine.

Oh, and it’s not all fun and games once you acquire the ingredients:

Many of the oils needed for flavoring can burn skin. Use caution when preparing. They can also dissolve the plastic lining of a refrigerator; store with caution.

For all of open source’s admirable qualities, it may ultimately be a little more practical to forgo the neroli oil and just grab a two-liter from the bodega. But for the true believer, open-source recipes may be the key to an unbranded way of life.

Is It Any More Ethical If Whales Are Really Delicious?

A recent BBC story ponders the following: Is it really all that terrible to eat whale meat while dining in Japan? And if that’s so bad, how about the following bits of grisly business?

I thought of halal abattoirs where cows are killed by draining out their blood, of fish impaled on steel hooks in the open ocean, of deer caught in snares waiting only for the relief of a huntsman’s bullet, the peeled but still twitching frogs that I had seen in a Bangkok market years before.

One correspondent’s gustatory dilemma provides a solid jumping-off point for considering the cultural biases that often define what makes a particular sort of animal taboo to eat—or the daily special.

Incidentally, word on the street is that horses are scrumptious.

Worcestershire’s Worldwide Reach

Britain gave the world cheddar cheese, scones with clotted cream, and (maybe) chicken pot pie. But of all British foods, Worcestershire sauce has had the biggest impact on world cuisine, according to a new poll of 3,523 people by UKTV Food.

How is it that Worcestershire tops far-reaching cheddar, the inspiration for so many top-selling processed cheez products? As the UK’s Metro puts it,

The fact it is a vital ingredient to one of the globe’s favourite hangover cures, the bloody Mary, perhaps explains the condiment’s place at the top of the pile.

I’ve also noticed recently that the sauce shows up in a fair number of “secret” burger recipes, (requires registration) and probably in countless sauces and marinades at even high-end restaurants. Has anyone discovered it in dishes or recipes where it’s unexpected?

In related news, a man from the county of Worcestershire, for which the sauce is named, recently became the second known person in the world to have an allergic reaction to a hamster bite.

Top Chef Is Bi!

As fans gear up for the June 13 premiere of Top Chef’s third season, it appears that the show is learning a second language. In an effort to appeal to Latino viewers, Bravo struck a deal with its sister network, Telemundo.

However, reading between the convoluted lines of the Broadcasting & Cable story …

Bravo and Telemundo have teamed up to produce a multi-faceted promotional partnership for the third season of Bravo’s hit cooking show Top Chef. The new deal will span platforms, with both digital initiatives and in-show promotions.

… it doesn’t sound like Top Chef will actually be broadcast in Spanish on Telemundo, just that there will be placement and spots and stuff.

Andy Dehnart at the blog Reality Blurred writes:

Why are they doing this? Apparently because the third season is set in Miami, and as any overgeneralizing person knows, Miami equals Latinos. If NBC Universal owned Logo, would Bravo have done this for the first season, which was set in San Francisco?

I think it’s great that Top Chef is thinking of its Spanish-speaking audience, but it’s too bad that the same audience in California didn’t spur the show into such movements during season one in San Francisco and season two in Los Angeles.

Cross-promotion between the two networks will include an episode set at a mansion featured in Dame Chocolate. Dame Chocolate (Give Me Chocolate) is a Telemundo telenovela, and the Top Chef cheftestants will be tasked with preparing an “authentic Latin meal” for the soap’s stars.

It looks like former cheftestant Carlos Fernandez, who was sent home in the sixth episode last season, is going to make out like a bandit with this new deal. Not only will he be blogging in English for Bravo’s site and in Spanish for the Yahoo! Telemundo site, but he will also have three venues to prepare the week’s winning recipe: He’s got a weekly cooking spot on Cada Dia, a Telemundo morning show, and he will host two webisodes. One of these, Miami Spice: Hot Recipes with Latin Flavor, will be hosted on Bravo’s site and be in English, and the other, Sabrosazo’n, will be on Yahoo! Telemundo in Spanish.

Rubber Soul

Who doesn’t love a good theme restaurant? From jousting knights to aging movie stars, there is a dizzying variety of environments for you to enjoy with your burger.

But a Thai chain of restaurants, Cabbages & Condoms, wins the theme restaurant derby by a mile. According to a UPI article titled “Eat to Live: Cabbages and Condoms Pair Up,” the restaurant is festooned with condom art, condom displays, and free condoms.

Bowls of condoms sit on the table by the door under a sign that says, ‘Sorry, we have no mints. Please take a condom instead.’

The prophylactics glut is the brainchild of former Thai Minister of Health Mechai Viravaidya, who believes that condoms should be as ubiquitous, cheap, and accepted as vegetables. He is so bullish on the birth control method, his first name has become a slang word for love gloves. It’s an attitude that has won him a million-dollar award from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Hooters, the American version of a sexy theme restaurant, I predict will not be winning that type of award anytime soon.

Off to the Great Farmers’ Market in the Sky

Blogger Bakerina pens a thoughtful and heartfelt eulogy for L.A. Times (registration required) food writer Karen Hess, who died earlier this month at the age of 88.

Before Marion Nestle, before Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser, Hess and her husband, John, wrote about the straight-to-hell direction in which they saw American food headed, especially the meat, poultry, and produce that the average cook could find in a regular market. Their book, The Taste of America (The Food Series), published in 1977 and described by Bakerina as a “passionate, furious, though ultimately hopeful philippic,” should be on every food writer’s shelf of useful and inspirational reads. (A newly updated version is now available, complete with fresh slap shots at Gourmet’s Ruth Reichl, among others.) In fact, I’d trade one of Hess’s tart, scrupulously researched tirades for a whole pile of the more lionized M.F.K. Fisher’s rhapsodic but dated me-me-me memoirs. Hess took her anger at the growth of American agribusiness, the denaturing of our produce, and the dumbing-down of our cultural and gastronomic palates, and wrote polemics with style. Her books weren’t cozy, but they made you think.

Writes Bakerina,

I read The Taste of America for the first time in 2000, having spent years picking it up and almost immediately putting it down upon reading that the authors had harsh words for the reigning culinary lions of the time: Julia Child, James Beard and Craig Claiborne.

The Hesses weren’t interested in making friends; they were after the truth as they saw, tasted, and read it, and if they took down a few well-loved icons along the way, well, that was the cost of getting it right according to their lights. Known for their facility in ferreting out original source material from antique cookbooks and historic documents, they had no patience for the ersatz. (I still remember their dryly amused tone in pointing out that Martha Washington, supposedly the author of a recipe for “authentic” Mount Vernon gingerbread, would hardly have been using margarine, invented in France in 1870.)

But despite Ms. Hess’s occasionally cranky tone, there were invaluable lessons to be learned from her outlook. Bakerina, weighing her own love of Ms. Child with her respect for Ms. Hess, admits,

I cannot take all of Mrs. Hess’s culinary proscriptions—she would be horrified by the presence of Heinz ketchup and HP sauce in my fridge—but I can take her core message to all would-be cooks and students of food history: Learn from where your dishes came; learn from where you came; study the work of those that came before you, not only because it’s useful but because it’s just plain fun, and strive for honesty and care in your own work. I’ll say it again: there is room in one’s canon for both Julia Child and Karen Hess, and I wish that they could both still be here.

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