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A century ago, Big Chocolate was a nest of corporate espionage, counterespionage, betrayal, and other intrigue. Yes, kids, Mr. Slugworth would definitely have paid Charlie to steal one of Wonka’s Everlasting Gobstoppers.
With a brand-spanking-new M&M’s World retail store opening in New York’s Times Square, the chocolate wars may be heating up again. The problem? The new 25,000-square-foot M&M’s superstore squats menacingly across the street from an existing (smaller) Hershey’s store. Newsweek has a piece that looks at the corporate rivalry between Hershey’s and M&M’s parent company, Mars.
Was the decision to put the store across the street from Hershey’s a malicious one?
‘We wanted to be in New York, we wanted to be in Times Square, and then we wanted to be in the best location we could find,’ John Haugh, president of the Mars retail group, says. ‘Coincidentally, that happened to be across the street from another chocolate brand.’
Well then, I guess not.
You’ve seen them around—waiting for the elusive email from El Bulli, snatching up tableware designed for Alinea, and ordering food-grade sodium alginate. They’re the fans of molecular gastronomy—mad scientists in the kitchen.
Food blogger Rob, of Hungry in Hogtown, is one of the faithful. When he’s not putting his sodium alginate to work re-creating El Bulli’s famous liquid ravioli (for the uninitiated, that’s ravioli without pasta to keep it together), he’s mixing white chocolate and sturgeon caviar, caramelizing trout roe, gilding a quail egg, and smuggling the El Bulli 1994–1997 cookbook, not yet available in North America, back from Europe.
Rob even credits early incidents of food experimentation (throwing disliked vegetables back onto his plate as a child) as attempts at culinary experimentation. “Grandma, do you remember that time I ‘made’ deconstructed spinach?”
This month, Rob is deconstructing Homaro Cantu and a meal at Moto. He imagines Cantu as the class nerd in school, president of the chess club. “Marginalized by many, poor Homaro … overcompensates for his nerdiness by being the biggest, baddest nerd he can be. In the kitchen … this makes Homaro Cantu a molecular gastronomy chef who thinks too much about the ‘molecular,’ and not enough about the ‘gastronomy.’”
While a comparison between Alinea’s Grant Achatz (whose innovative cuisine Rob recently sampled) and Moto’s Cantu leaves Moto in second place, Rob pays homage to Cantu as well. “A dinner conceived and executed by Cantu is not to be missed; to be debated, loved, and reviled, yes, but never dismissed.”
His notes from the dinner include:
Does anything say good eats quite like a notice that the cracker cum menu you’re about to eat is made using patent-pending technology? The menu is a neat trick, but the cracker itself is nothing special, being only marginally more savory than the paper it replaces.
The ‘plate’ for this dish resembles an overdone, hyper-modern Battleship board that has spent too much time on a fetish porn set…. Shame about the overdone presentation and the underdone beans, because the bison itself is succulent.
Goat cheese snow and balsamic—According to our server, goat cheese snow is made using a paint sprayer. I guess that means I need a paint sprayer for Christmas, because it’s wonderful.
And for those of you with an aspiring molecular gastronomist on your holiday shopping list, a paint sprayer is only one of the options for your gift-buying consideration. Wired News has released its list of “Gifts for the Nanogastronome”, which includes an industrial dehydrator (all the better to make your pineapple powder with), an immersion circulator to monitor the temperature of your sous-vide, and the Cuisine Technology Anti-Griddle, “a minus-30-degree ‘cooking’ surface that freezes foods on contact.”
All of which should make the Robs on your list very happy. But not nearly as much as a pair of those desperately desired El Bulli reservations would.
Following hard on the high heels of Lorraine Bracco’s wine involvement, yet another celebrity has dipped a toe into a vat of crushed grapes. Early in 2007, the fruits of Dan Akyroyd’s wine labor will be hitting the sold-out markets.
It’s not made by him exactly—he’ll be splashing his name across a line of Canadian wines put out by Diamond Estate Wines & Spirits. According to a press release from Diamond, the wines will be available in two pocketbook stages: “the Dan Aykroyd Signature Reserve Series of super-premium offerings and the Dan Aykroyd Discovery Series of mid-priced wines.” Super-premium sounds like a gasoline choice to me.
As the year draws to a close, the moneyed public is waiting breathlessly to get their hands on the first of these super-premium wines, the Signature Reserve VQA Niagara Peninsula Vidal Icewine 2005. (Say that three times fast after shotgunning an entire bottle.) However, if you’re hoping to get your hands on a bottle of the Signature Reserve VQA, etc., due to be released in 2007, tough luck. Aykroyd, who might have more in common with Louis Winthorp III than he thought, announced, “I am excited to report that every bottle of Dan Aykroyd Signature Reserve VQA Vidal Icewine 2005 has been allocated for sale to our key clientele and has been fully subscribed before even being released.”
Aykroyd told Wine Spectator that Otis Redding band member Steve Cropper introduced him to wine during the filming of Blues Brothers:
One night he poured me a Napa Valley Cabernet, and it changed my whole perception of what I wanted to taste for the rest of my life. From there he said, ‘How would you like to try something French?’ And after French wines, it was super Tuscans.
Aykroyd also told WS that he’s been holding on to a bottle of Château Trotanoy Pomerol that River Phoenix gave him. I’d be real careful about drinking what looks like sediment in that bottle, Dan.
... and I hesitate to open that, because it’s special, but you can’t let these reds sit around for too long. At 15, even eight to 10 years, I find these Bordeaux are fine, and then after that you take a chance. You open it up, and it could be salad dressing. You just don’t know. But I’ve had very good luck.
Cheap Fun Wines commented, “We kid you not when we first read the name of his new wine we thought it said ‘Viagra,’ which would be an interesting way to put a little punch in your vino.”
Entertainment Weekly’s snarky column “Hit List” sniggers sarcastically that “Wine Spectator calls his Blues Brothers 2000 ‘extraneous with notes of desperation.’”
Hey, Elwood, I gotta ask, what wine goes well with dry white toast?
The latest issue of Time Out New York rates each of the city’s prominent reviewers (subscription required for all links here) on a scale of 1 to 6, turning the tables on the arbiters of taste. The judges—a pretty impressive group—use criteria like taste, writing style, and knowledge of the given discipline (art, music, film, etc.). For nearly every discipline, the top three critics have average scores in the 4.5–5.0 range. And then there’s food, where only one reviewer even breaks the 4.0 mark (Peter Meehan of The New York Times’s ”$25 and Under” column, who comes in at 4.08, outscoring the paper’s chief critic, Frank Bruni, by an embarrassingly wide margin).
Do New York’s restaurant reviewers really suck that much more than its other arts-and-culture watchers? Maybe, but that just seems so counterintuitive at a time like this, when food is being treated with ever-increasing seriousness in major newspapers all over the country. Are critics better in other cities? Is the ranking just a bunch of unscientific bunk in the first place?
Or perhaps part of the issue is that food criticism is inherently more difficult than other forms of criticism in certain ways. For one thing, I know that if I hate a film or piece of music and then read a super-smart review explaining the merits of the piece—putting it into a context I hadn’t understood before—I may well be inclined to soften my view; it would be a lot harder for a critic to persuade me to reconsider a dish or meal after the fact. There’s just no talking someone out of a gag reflex.
New London, New Hampshire
I was a little late checking out of Chateau Jack-and-Thelma this morning, as was George Sape. George is one of my heroes. He has far too many interests and hobbies spilling out of his overextended life as a top corporate lawyer, but he’s always ready to plunge intrepidly into yet another. The largest of his recent infatuations has been cheese. George travels around everywhere hunting for great artisanal little cheeses; has built a vast network of informants, porters, and facilitators who funnel the stuff into various caves he keeps around New York City; and prints up an annual thick, glossy compendium of cheese-tasting notes that’s the hip read for cheese lovers (I’ve been begging him to let me put the notes on Chowhound; negotiations continue).
George, who was knighted by the French government for his cheese activities, is so knowledgeable about the stuff that his entrance with a wheel under his arm is a magical happening akin to Santa Claus showing up with a big sack of presents. Best of all, George is fueled by wide-eyed enthusiasm rather than pomposity. I decided I’d make it a priority on the rest of my trip to find some amazing cheese George doesn’t know about. “That’s easy!” he booms. “Great undiscovered cheese is everywhere!”
Yep, I aim to be George when I grow up (hopefully without the lawyer part!).
Here’s George puttering around in the kitchen, communing with a wheel of something or other:
Here’s some audio of George at yesterday’s tasting, listing some of the exquisite cheeses he’d brought along, explaining terms like artisanal and farmstead, and revealing the barnyardy je ne sais quoi of French raw-milk cheeses. Check out the podcast: MP3.
Last night, George whipped up, la-di-da, the best Caesar salad I’ve ever had. It was pretty stark looking, and the anchovies were powerful, but in the mouth it was all about the romaine—considerable man-against-nature work was transparently devoted to elevating its natural goodness. I swear I could taste the chlorophyll. And the croutons, obviously from the photo, below, were just freaking unbelievable.
I believe George made this fantastic pasta too, whipped up from leftovers excavated from Jack and Thelma’s fridge.
Two chefs had been brought in this weekend: Ted Fondulas (of Hemingway’s) prepared the formal Saturday night dinner, and Andrew Gruel, of Jack’s of New London, did the less ambitious Sunday lunch. I got a kick out of Gruel’s touch and figured I’d try a bite at his restaurant on my way out of town.
I was surprised to discover that Jack’s of New London is no more than a coffee bar with soups and sandwiches. But what soups and sandwiches! Have you ever seen more bacony chowder?
And even if you’re not a wrap person (I’m not, much), you have to admit this one looks real good (fillings were consummately fresh and well balanced):
This week, Sam of Becks & Posh posted a roundup of entries from bloggers who took her up on her food-diary dare. Participants were supposed to photograph and chronicle everything they ate and drank for seven straight days, and at least 24 people were up to the challenge. Well, sorta—a lot of them fudged the drinking portion (“That’s probably for the best,” writes S’kat) and didn’t bother with repeat meals (“like leftover turkey soup or turkey sandwiches,” says Cookiecrumb). Many also found it hard to remember to snap a shot before digging in, and for some of the diarists, just knowing their food choices would be documented made them change their diets for more aesthetic appeal or to avoid embarrassment.
The strikingly different images and descriptions are fascinating—I’ve just spent nearly an hour drooling over them when I should be working, and I’m not one to get my head turned by just any old pretty food pic. It’s not even that all the diarists are amazing photographers, either; what makes this project so compelling to me is that it’s a window into an aspect of people’s lives that’s really, really private, even for bloggers who are used to writing about food every day (which is why I think that theme of embarrassment is so pervasive in people’s posts). Anyway, check it out, and be sucked into a highly enjoyable vortex.
Chika specializes in Japanese Western-style food, like meat sauce pasta. And they do it well. Mushroom (kinoko) pasta is better than any Wendy_san tasted in Japan, with noodles cooked perfectly al dente. More traditional Japanese fare, like tanuki udon, is also excellent.
This place has a more elegant and quiet feel than an izakaya. There’s jazz playing in the background and everything. Dinner for four, plus two pitchers of Sapporo, runs about $130 before tip.
841 Irving St., San Francisco 94122