Gastronomic Thoughts

What is the difference between food and art? Some say none, some may say a little, but I say that there are more similarities than differences between the two. Sure, food is art, but when was the last time you ate a painting or smelled a picture? That is the major difference, to me, food becomes more personal since you are actually ingesting the creation and not simply admiring it. Food can be heightened to the level of art, but can also remain on the level of simple sustenance. When food becomes art it should appeal to all of the senses. The visual flavor of food should make your eyes salivate; the aroma should build the anticipation of the first bite; the sound of a good conversation served over a meal should enhance the flavor of the food, and finally the last part, you ingest the first bite and the piece of edible art finally consumed can either be a Monet or a Monot, but that is the beauty of it all. The autonomy of art related to food is once a dish is created the cook's opinion is null and void, but it is up to the consumer to decide. Not sure why I decided to write this little rant, but I did. So eat whatever you want to eat, and trust your own opinion.

Heading Home

Been away for a while, in the midst of a suspension and redirection of the culinary journey a few things have developed. New Orleans, the place I call home, is the next stop on this adventure. Been out of New York, and in Boston for the last two months, honing my cooking and mannying skillz with the family. Whilst in Boston, I have had the privilege of creating meals seven nights a week for a family of six, seven including me. The dishes have ranged from boxed macaroni and cheese to deconstructed fried risotto (think fried rice, but not all together). The volume in the house has ranged from above shouting to the simple quiet of a family enjoying a good meal with each other. Moving forward the next stop on the proverbial food train is New Orleans. Not sure what type of employment will present itself, but I have a place to live, a dog, and some developing gastronomic ambitions. The food on this evening's menu is a bit out of season, but taking advantage of some stale bread, decided to make an oyster mushroom bread pudding. The savory baked delight will be served alongside grilled tuna, poblano vinaigrette, and some sauteed broccoli. So cooking is continuing, traveling is on the horizon, and the future holds itself to be quite interesting. It will be a festive weekend in the land of the baked bean (Boston; Beantown)...birthday, first communion, and mother's day. Hope all is well out there.

I ain't Irish, but I like to party.

My last name is not Murphy, but of German origins. It just so happens that if your name is Murphy, then St. Patrick's day seems to be your day. The states represented on this journey were Louisiana and Georgia. The Celtic sun was shinning brightly on all the Irish with not a cloud in the sky. The adventure had no real destination, instead letting the gastronomic winds of St. Patrick guide the vehicle to where it belonged. Gusts blew us across the Hudson river towards the mountains that entertain our eyes everyday from the food school. Moving through New Paltz, and past the Guilded Otter we came to a bridge, and crossed it. Across the bridge, a right turn presented itself, and we took it. Heading down the road, the signs leading up the mountain pointed towards Mohok Mountain and this was the path we took. The Spring sun was just laying down behind the mountain, but once we hit the top, she woke up for a little while longer. Traversing down the other side of the mountain, the road ended. And at the end of the road was a building, an esoteric southern hippy looking building, so we parked. Egg's Nest was the name on the sign and we walked in, almost. Behind the restaurant was a patio that we explored, but found it not open, nor had been for a while. Inside was just as phunky as the outside, paintings of flowers on the walls, several different rooms, and nice people (for the most part, it is the North). Christine was our host, as she kept bar here for the past several years. The Egg's Nest was established in 1973 by a gentleman with the last name of Murphy. He had been a waiter at the resort up the road, saved up a cache of cash, and opened his dream with not a "nest egg," but his "egg's nest." Clever. So we reveled in the glory of St. Patrick's day with some artichoke dip, turkey terrific sandwich, and green ice cream. We departed our unintentioned destination with southern eloquence, and headed back to the food school. Riding through New Patlz, there was one more beacon which called out on this holiday, the used bookstore. It was there that Galileo did his best impression of the Indigo Girls, a sight never before seen, and hopefully never again. It was an adventure carved out by southern gastronomic adventurers north of the Mason Dixon Line. Happy St Paddy's Day.
Yeaux

YeauxBreauxGastreaux On The Reaux'd

It was an eventful road trip, which began in Hyde Park, New York on early Saturday evening with the final destination of Marshfield, Massachusetts, but the gastronomic meandering was what set this trip apart. Canoeing the cement tributaries of the Hudson Valley road system in a Georgia tagged vessel, we departed south for the big city of Manhattan. The day was special, in of its own, because it was the second day of sunshine in an otherwise dreary Northern Winter. On the way to the Taconic we happened upon a farm, Sprout Creek Farm to be precise, with a quick u-turn and a wrong turn we were chatting with Georgie and petting some goats. Goats have an interesting looking eye, with the pupil running in the middle of the eye like a line. It was explained, that their peripheral vision is amazing in order to see approaching predators. The goats are on the farm for education and milk production, which goes into some amazing fromages. Moving towards the market area, the little calves were running around like puppies with their awkward gait and worldly curiosity. Leaning over the fence to pet the little cow, she decided my shirt was to appetizing to pass up and grabbed a nibble through the fence, it was one of the funniest memories in a while. Moving then into the market, we were able to taste the variety of cheese made by the farm, hung out with our new friend Caitlin for a little while, tasted some cheese, and got to meet the head cheese monger. A new bit of information learned as to discern between different cheeses based on the color. Yellower cheeses are generally cow's milk cheese, and the more yellow/orange differs between their feeding habits. Winter milk is whiter based on their hay diet, Summer milk is more yellow from the betacaratine in the grass they eat in the Summer, niiiicccceee. After the farm, the journey continued further south heading towards Laguardia Airport. Well, a few tolls and a rest stop in the Bronx, the airport appeared out of no where at the exact moment it needed to. After the success of the first leg of the journey, the cooking to follow needed to be equally as good, and it was. The menu for Sunday was as follows:

Steak Trio
Pomme Puree
Really Green Spinach
Estragon Vin Rouge Sauce
Hock Stocked Split Pea Soup

Trio meaning three, the three types of beef used were filet mignon, tri-tip steaks, and sirloin tips. Each of the steaks was brined in a solution of bay leaf, peppercorns, thyme, salt, sugar, coriander, and red pepper flakes. Placed in the fridge to hang out for a while, the meats were becoming saturated with the flavors of the brine. An infused cream of rosemary, peppercorns, and bay leafs was left to cool infusing the flavor of the herbs in the cream. The potatoes were peeled, reserving the skins for potato stock. Once the potato stock was made, slowly simmered potato slices in the liquid until for tender. The potatoes were riced into a soubise made with the infused cream, then folded in room temperature butter. The spinach also profited from the infused cream, Parmesan cheese was added along with some butter to make a delicious creamy good base. Blanched off two boxes of spinach, shocked in ice water to set the color, and then squeezed of any excess water remaining in the leaves. Chopping up all the spinach, placed half in the creamy goodness base and stick blended until it was a bright green creamy goodness, then folded in the remaining spinach. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon was combined with some shallots, tarragon stems, peppercorns, and tarragon vinegar until a syrup remained. Tempered three egg yolks into the strained liquid, then whisked in clarified butter, finished with chopped tarragon, niiiiccceee. Using a new technique learned from a New Mexican culinary compatriot, the meat was dried and placed on a bed of celery and thyme in a 175F oven until an internal temperature of 125F, about forty five to an hour. The meat was then seared in hot oil, and pouleted with butter, thyme, and garlic. Rested, sliced, and sauced the meat was on the plat with the spinach and potato. It was a good meal, with a good story, that ended with family enjoying a meal.
Eat Well!

Yoooo Mexicoooo

It was a solitary beginning to the evening in the lodges, which gave me time to talk with the food before cooking. After our conversation, the cooking just happend. A trip to the market yielded ideas of cooking Anglo-Latin food. The states represented at the meal were Louisiana, Georgia, New Mexico, Massachussetts, New York, Colorado, and Texas; and the visiting country of Mexico was ever present. The menu was a simple hearty one:

Sunshine Enchiladas

Passionate Pinto Beans

Gringo Red Rice

Chips & Salsa

There was more to the post, but it went away with the internet connection.
Good Food, Good People
Cheers