→ September 21, 2012
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A Separation.

My notes on Yu Darvish, Zack Greinke, C.J. Wilson, and Brandon Belt are up, as is a short piece on Baltimore promoting Dylan Bundy. I also chatted on Wednesday.

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The Iranian film A Separation won universal acclaim from critics on its release last winter, landing the top spot on Roger Ebert’s list of his favorite films of 2011, winning the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, and prompting Will Leitch to harass me to see the film. (He’s since moved on to taunting me about Trouble With the Curve.) I did finally see it this week and it is among the best movies I have ever seen, and had it been filmed in English it would have been a lock for a Best Picture nomination – and should have gotten one anyway.

The separation of the title refers to the dissolution of the marriage between Nader (Peyman Moaadi) and Simin (the beautiful Leila Hatami), a schism spawned by Simin’s desire to leave Iran permanently and raise their 11-year-old daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi) in another country, while Nader refuses to leave his ailing father, who suffers from Alzheimer’s and is rapidly fading. The film opens with Nader and Simin arguing in front of a judge who refuses to grant her petition for divorce, because Nader doesn’t consent and she lacks sufficient grounds. Simin moves out, so Nader hires a woman, Razieh (Sareh Bayat, frumped up to appear less attractive), from a lower economic stratum to take care of his father during the day. Razieh struggles with the job, leading to an accident that draws her, her volatile husband Hodjat (Shahab Hosseini), Nader, and Simin into a legal battle that threatens to tear both of their families apart.

The power of writer-director Asghar Farhadi’s script, which was nominated for Best Original Screenplay but lost to something written in English, is in its simple, unsparing realism. At several points the film seems to move as if in real-time, with painfully rendered arguments between Nader and Simin, Nader and Razieh, Hodjat and pretty much everyone in sight, and eventually Termeh, who naturally finds herself caught between the warring sides. The drama is organic, growing inevitably about of a few small misunderstandings, many of which are never cleared up (as they might not be in real life), each of which adds exponentially to the misery of the people involved.

This degree of attention to the mundane aspects of the conflict allows Farhadi to populate the film with small, intense details that punctuate the pervasive despair of the central characters. Nader doesn’t want to leave his father, who doesn’t recognize his own son but asks several times for his daughter-in-law, and feels her absence more than he would Nader’s. Hodjat’s fury is driven by his own unemployment and lingering resentment over the injustice done to him by his former employers. Nader tries to comfort Razieh and Hodjat’s young daughter, Somayeh, played by a first-time actress, Kimia Hosseini, who probably should have won the Academy Award for Best Eyes. And the final plot point hinges on something so small and so brilliant that a simple request unravels the entire resolution, leading to a final scene that may just rip your heart out for good, assuming you still had it after the first 110 minutes.

Truth, or the futile search for it, lies at the heart of A Separation, as every crime or offense that takes place in the film leaves room for doubt about culpability or even whether a crime was committed, with unreliable witnesses and dubious motives shading nearly every character’s words and actions. With the truth thus obscured, Farhadi gives us terrific portrayals of human responses to this uncertainty – usually interpreting events to fit their predetermined notions. The five principal actors are all superb in roles that demand that they show a broad range of emotions and convince the viewers that there is real empathy underlying much of the suspicion and the senses of betrayal.

It’s a small miracle that Farhadi was even allowed to make a film that is far from subtle in its criticism of life under an autocratic government in Iran. The oppressed status of women is central to the plot, in Simin’s inability to unilaterally leave her husband, in her (never fully elucidated) reasons for wanting to raise Termeh somewhere else, and in Razieh’s difficulties in finding and holding a job. The absurdity of the justice system and the stark differences between economic classes – especially Hodjat’s fear that he will be and Razieh will be treated unfairly by the authorities – also play significant roles in the story, and the overall picture painted of Iranian society is quite unflattering.

A Separation blows away most of the other 2011 films I’ve seen; of the four Best Picture nominees I’ve seen, only The Descendants comes close, yet a head-to-head comparison makes the Clooney vehicle seem ham-handed and superficial. I don’t know if A Separation was the best movie to come out in 2011 – I still haven’t seen Shame, for example – but it is the best I’ve seen from that year by far, and the presence of subtitles shouldn’t deter anyone from watching such a precise, heart-wrenching work of art.

If you’ve seen A Separation already, check out Children Of Heaven, another Iranian film that shares this film’s subtle approach and deep empathy for its main characters.

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→ September 20, 2012
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The Tiger’s Wife.

Tea Obreht’s debut novel, The Tiger’s Wife, won the Orange Prize for Fiction (now known as the Women’s Prize for Fiction) in 2011, making her the youngest author to win the award, given to the best English-language novel written by a female author in the preceding year. It’s an unusually thoughtful book for an author of 25, reflecting Obreht’s upbringing in the former Yugoslavia until age 7, when her family moved to Cyprus to flee the war, eventually settling in the United States. The book employs magical realism and obvious yet strong symbolism to cover the tragedy of her native country’s brutal sectarian civil war, although the story was surprisingly antiseptic for such an awful, emotionally-charged subject.

Obreht’s protagonist/narrator is Natalia, a young doctor who has recently lost her grandfather, to whom she was extremely close as a child and who often told her stories of his encounters with “the deathless man,” a man who could not die and claimed to be an agent or acolyte of Death itself; and of the tiger’s “wife,” a deaf-mute woman who befriends a tiger that escaped from a local zoo and lives in the woods outside of the town where the woman lives with her abusive husband. The deathless man draws from just about every major work of magical realism you can think of, as well as more overtly spiritual works like The Alchemist, and as a result is the less interesting of the two major subplots. I understand his relevance in a country repeatedly torn apart by wars, both civil and continental, where death becomes an ordinary part of life, and could see his value as a symbol of something that cannot die or be killed (national pride, family, love) even when death is everywhere.

The fable, presented as fact, of the tiger and the woman known in her village as the tiger’s wife is more complex and more compelling, even though it starts with one of the worst cliches and ends in hatred and intolerance. The tiger is the outsider, escaped from a zoo elsewhere in the country, scraping out an existence on the periphery of this village, apparently aided by the deaf-mute wife of the abusive butcher (the cliche, right down to his back story). Her unknown relationship with the tiger, especially after her husband’s disappearance, becomes the subject of gossip in the town, fueled by fear, ignorance, superstition, and hate. Here lies the book’s greatest strength – where Obreht could have beaten the reader over the head with “bigotry is … bad!” commentary, she allows the story itself to make those points subtly, further softened by the use of a non-human character who appears more often in conversation than in the flesh.

Natalia herself, however, is surprisingly bland, more of an outside observer in the mold of Nick Jenkins without the latter’s wry observational humor. Her relationship with her grandparents is sweet, but draws little sentiment from the reader because so much focus is on the two secondary stories. Her own relationship with her friend Zora, another doctor with whom Natalia visits an orphanage to deliver vaccinations, is an afterthought, as is the story of the band of gypsies tearing up a local field to find the remains of a cousin buried there during the country’s civil war twelve years earlier. It’s rare that I write that a book could have been longer, but Obreht cut herself off too soon and could have tried to tie the four main plot strands together more fully.

Ultimately Obreht’s book reminds me of the two novels by Khaled Hosseini, both strongly symbolic novels that attempt to tell a specific country’s tragic history through smaller narratives, yet both books I enjoyed reading more than I enjoyed pondering after reading them. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with reading for pleasure, but for whatever reason, I prefer novels that stick with me more after I’m done.

Next up: I finally went back and finished Rudyard Kipling’s Kim, which was borderline unreadable, and am about to begin Lush Life, by The Wire writer Richard Price.

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→ September 18, 2012
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Plenty.

I’m not a vegetarian – I like bacon way too much to be so crazy, and duck confit too for that matter, and sushi, so really this isn’t going to work out – but I do believe in eating less meat as part of our overall diets. It’s better for the planet, and it’s better for the wallet, even if you choose, as I do, to spend some of the savings on buying better-quality meat, like grass-fed beef, wild-caught fish, or organic chicken. It’s probably better for your health as well, although I think that’s still up in the air. The problem is that a diet based around meat is pretty easy to plan and prepare – most meats can be marinated and grilled, or brined and roasted, or even pan-seared with a quick sauce, without a ton of active work. If you want to eat more vegetables, either with or in place of meat, you need more time and more creativity to make them taste better and fill the void left on the plate by the reduction in animal proteins. Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty: Vibrant Recipes from London’s Ottolenghi, a book of vegetarian recipes written by a chef who eats and cooks with meat, has filled a critical hole in my bookshelf.

Ottolenghi was born in Israel, trained as a chef in London and operates one restaurant, Nopi, and four shops in that city. His food is heavily Mediterranean, although it has strong Turkish, Italian, and Arab roots as well as the obvious Israeli influences, and at the same time grabs from other cuisines around the world, often crossing boundaries – such as his insistence that cilantro has a place in dishes that are fundamentally Italian. Plenty brings that sensibility together with the idea that a vegetable can be the star of the show, filling its pages with potential main courses and luxurious side dishes across the spectrum of vegetables, even stretching into pulses and grains before the book concludes.

I’ve tried a half-dozen recipes from Plenty so far, with broad success overall. The hits included zucchini and hazelnut salad with parmiggiano-reggiano; stuffed zucchini with rice; mushroom ragout with croutons and poached eggs; roasted sweet potato wedges; and caramelized endive with Gruyère, although that latter one suffered slightly from the way the cheese melted right off the endive halves in the oven. In general, Ottolenghi uses every non-meat tool available to boost the flavor of vegetables and make them more suitable for the central role on a vegetarian plate, including spices, herbs, acids, sharp cheeses, yogurt, crème fraiche, and the occasional runny egg. The resulting dishes burst with strong yet balanced flavors and are bright and appealing on the plate, with most recipes within reach of a moderately skilled home chef. The one disappointment, lentil galettes with a lemon-yogurt dressing, wasn’t bad, but even with all of the spices and herbs included in the mix, you’re still left with a plate of lentils, just nicely seasoned ones. Every recipe I tried was clear enough to make substituting ingredients (e.g., swapping out pine nuts because my daughter is allergic to them) simple.

The drawback to Plenty is that the instructions for several recipes don’t seem to have been tested on home stoves. When the text says “simmer gently,” what they actually seem to mean is “boil.” Oven cooking times all seemed too short, even with a thoroughly preheated oven. The book also includes volumetric measurements when weights would be more accurate. It’s a better cookbook for someone with a little more home cooking experience than a beginner would have, but if you’re like me and want to find new ways to get vegetables into your diet, whether as side dishes or as main courses, it’s perfect.

So here’s my take on Plenty‘s stuffed zucchini recipe, tweaking some of the ingredients to suit our tastes and allergies. Removing them from the pan after 40 minutes of cooking was a little tricky because I used very long zucchini, so look for short, wide fruit that will allow you to stuff them without requiring an engineering degree to extract them once they’re done.

Stuffed zucchini
Adapted from Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty

1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 tbsp olive oil
2/3 cup short-grain rice
2 tbsp chopped pecans
2 tbsp minced parsley
½ tsp dried thyme
½ tsp ground cumin
½ tsp ground coriander
¼ tsp ground allspice
3 Tbsp lemon juice
2 wide zucchini, sliced lengthwise
¾ cup boiling water
1½ tsp sugar
1 tsp toasted sesame seeds
about 1 oz Pecorino Romano
salt and black pepper

1. Saute the onion in the oil until translucent but not brown. Add the next seven ingredients, a pinch of salt, plus 2 Tbsp of the lemon juice and cook on low to medium-low heat for five minutes, stirring to avoid sticking, until highly fragrant.

2. Use a spoon to scoop out the centers of the zucchini for stuffing. Place them in a shallow but wide saute pan that is large enough to fit all the zucchini. (You can use more zucchini if they’re small enough to fit in the pan.) Fill them with the rice-onion mixture. Pour the boiling water, sugar, a pinch of salt, and the last tablespoon of lemon juice around the zucchini (but not on top yet).

3. Cover and cook at an active simmer for 30-40 minutes, basting with the cooking liquid several times to allow the rice to cook. They’re ready when the rice is al dente.

4. Plenty suggests serving these cold with yogurt as a sauce, but I liked these hot, topped with sesame seeds, freshly ground black pepper, and shaved Pecorino Romano.

Note: Thicker grains of rice may require more cooking time, so you might parcook them about ten minutes to get them soft before adding to the remainder of the stuffing ingredients. I’d also recommend the same if you wish to use brown rice, although that might require even more pre-cooking.

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→ September 17, 2012
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The Worst Intentions.

I had two pieces go up late last week for Insiders – one on the Yankees’ dimming future and another on Josh Beckett and Lance Lynn.

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I’ve been blogging a little out of order (and often late) recently, but before I forget I wanted to throw a quick post up on Alessandro Piperno’s 2005 novel The Worst Intentions (Con le peggiori intenzioni), a huge best-seller in Italy that won several major literary prizes there and appeared in English in 2007. Piperno, an Italian writer and literary critic born to a Jewish father and a Catholic mother, has produced the Italian equivalent to Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint, equally crude and funny but without Roth’s trademark self-indulgence and with a more satirical eye turned toward the hypocrisy of the protoganist’s family members and friends.

Piperno’s narrator, Daniel Sonnino, is the sexually immature 33-year-old heir to a nonexistent family fortune, squandered by his extravagant and crooked grandfather, Bepy, who, along with Daniel’s father, believes in keeping up appearances over all else. The novel eschews the traditional narrative for a stream-of-consciousness approach to the family history of the Sonninos, chronicling their decline from his grandfather’s bankruptcy and flight from debtors, leaving his family to clean up the mess, to his father, mother (who views the Sonninos as frauds), uncle, and his grandfather’s one-time business partner, cuckolded by Bepy, and whose granddaughter, Gaia, becomes the object of Daniel’s puerile obsessions.

I’m not a fan of Roth’s writing, primarily because I find his central characters so self-absorbed despite their development being so arrested, but Piperno’s Daniel, while still immature both emotionally and sexually, is better able to observe his family from a detached perspective, and can even turn the lens on himself and recognize the impacts of his own failures and his inability to form meaningful relationships. His own worst trait is a sometimes-subtle misogyny that often bubbles over into not-subtle forms, particularly with Gaia, who enjoys having Daniel as a follower but dates the most popular boy in the school – one of the only other Jewish students and Daniel’s best friend. The entire final chapter is devoted to this triangle and its devolution, including Daniel’s own destructive action that follows him for years afterwards, which, given Gaia’s name, is fraught with metaphorical implications as well.

Piperno also separates himself from Roth by populating his book with enjoyably quirky side characters, similar to the way the TV series Arrested Development acquired such a devoted cult following – its narcissistic characters helped create a new genre of television comedy. Piperno’s characters aren’t all so awful; some are merely amusing, such as the Arab waiter who only reads Tolstoy’s War and Peace, over and over, reading nothing else over the last thirty years:

But every time, as he returned those old familly volumes [of Stendhal, Flaubert, Proust], the Arab’s face displayed a slightly fastidious expression, as if to say: “Thank you for the suggestion, my friend, but, you see, once you’ve read War and Peace you are condemned to read nothing else all your life!” And who’s to say that he wasn’t right?

Piperno’s previous book was a work of nonfiction looking at anti-Semitic elements in Marcel Proust’s work, and the Proust influence is strong here both in word choice and in the meandering flow of the story, although Piperno’s sentences and paragraphs aren’t quite so endless as Proust’s. Here he’s taken Proust’s narrative style, merged it with the neurotic realism of Roth, and produced a slightly difficult but clever and incisive work that was worth the effort required to get through it. His subsequent novel, Persecution, was just released in English in July, and its sequel, Inseparabili, won this year’s Premia Strega, the Italian equivalent of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, so it appears that this book may just be a taste of his capabilities as a writer and satirist.

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→ September 16, 2012
→ By

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret.

When I decided seven years ago to try to read every title on the TIME 100, the book that intimidated me most wasn’t The Recognitions, Gravity’s Rainbow, or Infinite Jest. It was a 150-page book aimed at children, one I refused to read until it became available in e-book format because I couldn’t be seen reading it in public – Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, in which the title character has to deal with moving to a new school, facing the onset of puberty, and exploring religion in the midst of a family battle over what faith, if any, she should follow.

The book touches on a few themes I’m not really prepared to cover here, including the ardent desire by Margaret and her classmates to get their first periods. (Given what many of the women I know have suffered as a result of this process, this must be the greatest example of “be careful what you wish for” in literary history.)

Blume’s broader theme in the book is about the need to fit in with one’s peers, especially for children approaching such a sensitive stage. Every child character in the book acts in some way on his/her insecurities about fitting in socially or even physically. While the treatment of the one girl in the class who sprouted early (in fourth grade, which would mean she hit puberty at nine) has an obvious resolution to any adult, it matches lessons my wife and I try to teach our daughter when she notices kids picking on other kids at school, that the bully and the victim often both need others’ help.

Even the subplot of Margaret’s search for God or religion works within this broader theme, although in this case Margaret is trying to fit in within her family, where her parents, one raised Jewish and one Christian, don’t practice any religion, while Margaret’s mother is estranged from her parents because of their fury over her marrying a Jewish man. (They eventually make a horribly awkward appearance toward the end of the book, straight out of central casting.) Of all the various strands within the book, this one was the most sophisticated and thoughtful, as Margaret, who generally sees herself as behind her peers, shows a more mature side in her desire to at least understand more about religion and her open-mindedness about the subject.

I appreciated the subtle humor of the book, even though some of it would likely fly over younger readers’ heads. Margaret commenting, without meaning to pick on the boys who haven’t seen their voices drop yet, about music class where “mostly the boys sang alto and the girls sang soprano,” or her grandmother using the expression about Mohammed coming to the mountain in the midst of the family’s battle over religion, or her matter-of-fact observation that her mother can talk her father into anything, each kept the book from becoming dry and preachy with its simplistic morality.

But unlike a lot of classic young adult novels, Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret comes across as juvenile to adult eyes, not due to gender differences but because it’s so thinly written. The plot is highly predictable, and the stories are all flimsy enough that you’d have trouble stretching this into more than a half hour of television. Most of the adults in the book are ineffectual, while the boys are mostly creeps (as is the 24-year-old sixth grade teacher who can’t stop staring at the girl who has already hit puberty). It feels like a book you might give your nine-year-old daughter to prep her for a Big Talk, but it’s not the kind of book that’s serious enough to answer any questions on its own. Its main value may be in making its readers feel better about their social anxiety around puberty, changing schools, and generally fitting in with peers, which is worth something, but maybe isn’t as ambitious as the book could have been. None of which made it any less awkward for me to read, although at least now I can cross it off the TIME 100 checklist.

Next up: I just finished Téa Obreht’s Orange Prize-winning The Tiger’s Wife, which blew away my modest expectations.

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→ September 13, 2012
→ By

Top Chef Masters, S4E8.

Is it just me, or is this show kind of limping to the finish? Perhaps it’s the lack of urgency from chefs playing for charity rather than for personal gain or career advancement. I’m not seeing the tension I would expect on Top Chef: Original Recipe.

* Quickfire: The chefs are paired up, Chris and Patricia vs Kerry and Lorena, and must work in tandem with one chef in the pantry and one on the hot line – but with neither chef able to cross to the other side of the kitchen. So that means the chef working pantry must rely on the chef at the stove to fire his/her dish correctly.

* Intelligentsia coffee makes its appearance in the pantry, which is only notable because I made my first visit to one of their shops this morning. The espresso was outstanding, smooth yet with plenty of character – I guess by smooth what I really mean is that the flavor wasn’t interrupted by unwanted bitter notes. I was very impressed and am grateful to reader Stan, who works for Intelligentsia, for hooking me up and joining me for coffee.

* Pretty sure I heard Awful Chris ask Patricia, “do you want water in the salt?” I believe Thomas Keller would approve of that phrasing.

* Patricia was once Chris’ boss, so the two are working very seamlessly and without conflict. Kerry and Lorena aren’t communicating as well, and Lorena ends up frustrated that Kerry blows her dish off to make sure his is cooked correctly. This, it turns out, is also a function of scoring – the judging is based on a single dish, not on a team’s output of two dishes together.

* Patricia, working pantry, chooses to make a tempura-fried tuna dish that cooks for only two minutes, to make it easier for Chris (and, I presume, herself).

* Lorena is making a tom-a-teeeeeeyo sauce. She’s pretty clearly playing that accent up for the camera. It’s like watching Dora. Anyway, her salmon dish ends up incomplete when the rice is never plated, which is apparently Kerry’s fault but I’m not sure why.

* Guest judge: Johnny Avello, who runs a sports book in Vegas that also takes bets on entertainment events, including Top Chef. 

* Chris’ dish: Berber style duck with dates, pine nuts, and mint. Curtis and Johnny both thought Chris could have rendered more fat; Chris chafes at the suggestion, but I’m with the judges here – render more of that fat out so the finished product is mostly crispy skin and duck meat. Duck fat is a glorious cooking medium but you don’t really want a mouthful of it in its solid state.

* Patricia makes a nori and wasabi-crusted tuna with ginger and scallion vinaigrette. I’m guessing this was expertly made but not adventurous enough.

* Kerry: Farfalle with shrimp and a yellow tomato fondue that was “tangy,” so I must have missed an ingredient in the sauce, something like goat cheese or creme fraiche. This was boxed, dried pasta, which is fine for home use but not really what I expect on Top Chef.

* Lorena: seared salmon filet over salsa verde (with tom-a-teeeeeeyos) and an arugula/cherry tomato salad. Johnny says it’s “just salmon.” I don’t see how white rice on the side was going to rescue this dish.

* Kerry’s pasta dish wins, even though Lorena’s dish flopped, and the two split the $5K prize. That’s a bizarre way to judge a team challenge. 

* Elimination challenge: Like Awful Chris, I’d never heard of Diner en blanc before this show. It’s a pop-up dinner party where guests all dress in white and bring the tables, chairs, linens, and so on. The all-white getups push this over the line from cool to pretentious. 

* This dinner party will include 300 guests in the plaza at the Venetian. Each chef will have to serve a three course packable meal to be eaten “picnic style” (yet with silverware and plates, which is rather fancy for a picnic), and each chef is responsible for feeding 75 attendees.

* Lorena going to make a spicy jalapeño chocolate mousse, because, you know, she’s from Latin America, which she might have mentioned before.

* Kerry says he got inspiration for his cold cauliflower soup from Hillary Clinton, who uses it in place of cream. I may have heard this wrong too because that sentence makes zero sense to me. I don’t even get the whole mashed cauliflower in lieu of mashed potatoes thing. You’ll never get the texture right without loading it up with fat and cooking the cauliflower to death (also known as “English-style”). So why not just use potatoes?

* Chris and Patricia are still cooperating, which really pisses off Lorena. Who cares? Shut up and go cash another check from Taco Bell.

* Awful Chris is making a terrine with pork belly and chicken livers, which makes some sense because it’s a dish designed to be eaten cold. But forcemeats are apparently very fussy dishes (I’ve never made one, since no one else in my house would eat it) and Chris even acknowledges the risk involved in rushing one and slicing it before it can chill and set fully.

* Chris pushes Kerry to get his stuff on the cart in time, which Kerry later credits him for doing during judging. I have no objection to seeing cooperation among the chefs, but I think that’s why this show feels so much less dramatic than the regular version.

* Lorena’a three items: huancaina style potato salad with aji amarillo and cilantro; jerk chicken salad with mango and caramelized pine nuts; spicy chocolate mousse with berries and whipped cream. The mousse became too thick and stiff overnight and the chicken salad gets lukewarm reviews. That potato salad does sound like a showstopper and is easily the best-reviewed item in her boxes.

* Patricia tries to do a Silk Road-inspired trio: daikon, edamame, and radish salad with whitebait; Uighur-spiced bison with chili jam; sumac-dusted flatbread with curried cauliflower and red chief lentils. The flatbread grew stale overnight and there are mixed reviews on the bison, with comments that the spice in the jam overwhelmed the meat. James says her dishes were too busy, required too much assembly, and that he wants his binky.

* Awful Chris: swordfish conserva (or confit – he uses both terms) with green beans, tomatoes,and olives; marinated wild mushrooms with toasted pine nuts; pork and chicken liver pâté with hazelnuts and truffles and carrots cooked in … Did he say hay? Everyone raves about the terrine, with the Diner en blanc founder saying it’s one of the best he’s ever eaten. Swordfish may have been slightly overcooked – that fish is so lean it dries out really quickly. I haven’t eaten it in ages because it’s been overfished and can contain more mercury than most other species. So hooray for us destroying the planet.

* Kerry’s French accent sucks. His dishes: cauliflower soup with saffron coulis; green bean and orzo salad with fresh mozzarella and pesto; grilled chicken and kielbasa with peppers and paprika pepper coulis. This sounds the least interesting to me of all the picnics, certainly the least experimental, with two dishes that I could easily recreate at home. Francis, meanwhile, says Kerry swung for the fences. He grilled chicken. That’s not even the right field fence at Yankee Stadium.

* “Robin Leach TV personality” is really its own punch line. 

* Judging: Kerry gets tons of praise, especially that the three dishes worked in a progression. Lorena’s chicken salad was too sweet, her mousse got too thick overnight, the potatoes were great but there was too much sweetness overall. Chris gets raves for the terrine, with Ruth pointing out the sea-forest-land theme across the three dishes. (Chris never says whether that was deliberate.) Ruth didn’t love the chili jam and bison together cold in Patricia’s dish, and overall it sounds like she prepared items that would have been better served hot.

* Awful Chris wins again, another $10K, which I think brings him to $36K total for the Michael J. Fox Foundation.

* James calls Patricia’s salad a “mouthful of bitterness,” and I suppose he would know what that’s like.

* Patricia is eliminated. It’s Understandable, as she didn’t make food that could survive sitting overnight. Chris has to be an overwhelming favorite as the next two best chefs are now gone, although next week’s challenge appears to involve cooking with kids, which seems like a big random variable to include.

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→ September 11, 2012
→ By

Pasta alla carbonara.

I’d made pasta alla carbonara many times, using the recipe from Joy of Cooking or similar recipes that all worked primarily the same way – beat some eggs and toss the pasta in that mixture along with a little reserved pasta water, then adding the grated cheese and some cooked bacon. Even using all the right ingredients – Pecorino Romano and either pancetta or the harder-to-find guanciale – didn’t solve the basic problem of texture. No matter how quickly I moved or how carefully I managed the heat, the sauce would cook unevenly and I’d end up with some bits of sauce scrambling on the bottom of the pan.

As I tried to figure out a reason this might happen aside from user error (always a possibility in my kitchen), I had a small breakthrough while frying eggs for breakfast. The egg white cooks more or less the moment it hits the hot pan, while the cook can control the cooking of the yolk and keep it runny for quite some time. The sauce in pasta alla carbonara might have cooked too fast because I was using the wrong ratio of yolks to whites – instead of one to one, why not use more yolks and fewer whites? It turns out that it’s wrong to think of carbonara as a sauce. It’s a custard, and the texture of the finished sauce should be comparable to slightly melted gelato (itself a custard, just with a small amount of air beaten into it).

This turned out to be a one of the two major adjustments I made to the recipe while experimenting with the ratios. The other involves the pasta water. Most recipes that call for pasta water use it for its thickening power (it contains starch from the pasta itself, as well as some of the salt you added before adding the pasta), or to thin out a sauce that might otherwise be too thick. In this case, however, I decided to reserve twice as much of this water as the various recipes called for, and then used some of that to deglaze the pan in which I rendered and crisped the pancetta, imparting substantially more bacon-y flavor to the finished sauce.

Pasta alla carbonara is often served in the United States with long, thin shapes like fettuccini or spaghetti, but I prefer to go with shorter tube-shaped pastas with ridged exteriors. The tube shape allows the pasta to grab some of the smaller pieces of bacon in the sauce, and the sauce clings more easily to shapes with ridged exteriors, like penne or rigatoni. You can use whatever kind you like, of course, but I do think the shape and the sauce need to work together, and long, smooth shapes just leave too much sauce at the bottom of the bowl.

So, the summary:
* Use more yolks and fewer whole eggs
* Use real pancetta (or the similar guanciale) and Pecorino Romano
* Deglaze the bacon pan with pasta water
* Choose the right pasta shape
* Work quickly once you begin constructing the sauce in the pasta pot
* Don’t add anything else – that means no cream, no butter, no chicken, no vegetables, nothing. The sauce is the star and this is a one-man show.

And, finally, I don’t want to hear about how unhealthful this dish is. I’m not suggesting you make this every night. This is peasant food for the soul.

½ pound penne, rigatoni, or similar shape
3 egg yolks
1 whole egg
¾ cup Pecorino Romano cheese, finely grated
About 75 grams of pancetta or guanciale, finely chopped for rendering (this was about 3 thick slices for me)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Hardware: Pasta pot, saute pan, tempered glass measuring cup, strainer, long-handled wooden spoon or heatproof plastic tongs

1. Render the bacon in the saute pan. I prefer the method from the indispensable Ruhlman’s Twenty, in which you just barely cover the meat with water in the pan, put the lid on, and heat it on high until the water’s gone, reducing the heat as the bacon sizzles and browns. You can do this as you cook the pasta as long as the pancetta is done ahead of time. Drain and reserve the rendered fat, and reserve the meat, but do not clean the pan.
2. Cook the pasta according to the package directions, making sure to use plenty of water and salt it aggressively before adding the pasta.
3. Beat the eggs together until homogenous.
4. Here’s where things speed up.
a) When the pasta is just barely al dente, use the measuring cup to remove a cup of the pasta water. Use ¼ to ½ cup to deglaze the hot saute pan, scraping the bottom to clean it. Hold this water in the pan for now; it can simmer but don’t let it boil.
b) Drain the pasta and return it to the pot, off heat, tossing with enough of the bacon fat to just barely coat the pasta and keep it from sticking together.
c) Add the eggs to the pasta along with the deglazing liquid and stir or toss aggressively. Don’t let the sauce sit at the bottom of the pan. You want this to get warm, about 160 degrees F, but never hot.
d) Once the pasta is coated and the egg/water sauce is warm, add ½ cup of the cheese and toss. Then add the bacon, toss again, and season with freshly ground black pepper. Serve with the remaining cheese as an optional garnish.

The remaining pasta water has two purposes. One is to thin the sauce in the pot if it’s looking too thick. The other is to thin the sauce if it’s been sitting for a few minutes before anyone can get a second helping; this sauce thickens (or maybe just contracts) as it cools.

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→ September 6, 2012
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Top Chef Masters, S4E7.

I’ve got a family wedding to attend this weekend, so I’m not chatting today or appearing on the podcast. I will probably post here once or twice as my schedule permits, and you might spot me on Twitter. This week’s recap is a little brief, in part because I’m on the move, but also because it turned out to be less dramatic than I anticipated, probably because they crammed in four head-to-head battles in the elimination challenge.

* Quickfire: preppin’ weapon time. The chefs must separate 18 eggs, grate two pounds of Parmiggiano-Reggiano, and portion five 7.5-8.5 ounce filets from a beef tenderloin without using a scale. The first two to finish get to cook using their prepped ingredients. Chris is stoked. Lorena is not. The three chefs who don’t advance become the judges.

* Chris attacks the beef first, but Kerry notices Chris’ steaks are small – and sure enough, one is under 7.5 ounces and Chris is eliminated from the quickfire. Patricia is also out with three steaks under the minimum size. How reasonable is it to expect a chef to be able to hit that narrow weight window without a scale? I honestly don’t know the answer to that.

* There’s cross-contamination everywhere. Chefs touching the raw meat and then the Parmiggiano makes me want to bleach my television.

* Hand-grating two pounds of cheese sounds excruciating. This is what food processors are for.

* Takashi passes. Kerry just barely passes. Lorena doesn’t get to finish and is enfadada.

* The two advancing chefs get fifteen minutes to cook. Kerry makes a parmiggiano-crusted filet, pounding them by hand; his pan isn’t hot enough and they start to stick. He serves them with wilted arugula and sage brown butter; Lorena thinks they’re perfectly cooked even though Kerry thought he’d overdone one side.

* Takashi sautéed his beef with a sunny-side up egg and Provençal vegetables. The other chefs are all amazed he could prep and cook potatoes in fifteen minutes. He also gets credit for cooking the meat in time for it to rest so it doesn’t bleed all over the plate when cut, but the chefs all agree his yolk wasn’t runny enough.

* Kerry wins, so (in my view) the weakest remaining chef gets immunity. Coming into this episode, I would have ranked them Chris, Patricia, Takashi, Lorena, Kerry, top to bottom.

* Elimination challenge: Sugar Ray Leonard, a celebrity whom the chefs actually recognize (as opposed to pretending to recognize one for the cameras). On a more serious note, it’s nice to see a retired boxer who still has his faculties – he was mentioned in A Naked Singularity, which includes digressions on a famous boxer who ended up with early dementia – although I can’t believe he’s 56 years old and looks 35.

* Kerry’s immunity means he doesn’t cook in this challenge at all as the other chefs go head to head. Patricia calls him a “bum” for getting to skip the challenge entirely. I thought she was kidding until she told him to “get a job.”

* Round one: Chris faces Takashi, Lorena faces Patricia, which reveals that Lorena is still rather hacked off about last week’s tiff. Patricia wants to fight Chris in the final round.

* Sugar Ray rocks the purple shirt at judges’ table. Maybe James was smart enough to ask for some sartorial advice.

* The other guest judge is Jane Goldman, who founded chow.com, one of the most useful food sites around. Their “You’re Doing It All Wrong” videos are always fun even if I don’t intend to ever cook the dish described, and while I don’t like the tone of most of the restaurant discussions on their message boards, the recommendations I’ve found there are generally rock solid.

* Chris and Takashi’s secret ingredient is bacon. Or is it just pork belly, which would be uncured? Takashi mentions emphasizing the sweetness and saltiness of the bacon, so perhaps it’s cured and unsmoked? These things make a big difference and we should have had more explanation.

* Chris makes an extra everything because Takashi is always so perfect. This turns out to be pretty significant – he has to borrow another egg from Takashi, but then later gives Takashi his extra piece of bacon because somehow Takashi (maybe forgetting that there was an extra judge this time?) ended up a piece short. Chris says he wants to win on merit, not technicalities, which I fully respect while recognizing that this would probably never happen on the regular Top Chef. It’s easier to be altruistic when you’re already among the top people in your profession.

* Chris’ dish is his take on bacon and eggs, with a “cal-mex” twist, including a corn and julienned jalapeño slaw and a wedge of avocado. Everyone says his eggs are cooked perfectly, while Sugar Ray praises Chris’ hand speed – which I thought was a pretty good insight, something a chef might not necessarily notice but a man who lived (and could have died) by hand speed would pick up on immediately.

* Takashi makes a bacon steak with caramelized figs, dried apricots, dates, orange, and fennel salad, Kerry loves the mushrooms, which somehow weren’t mentioned in the original description; I can’t believe how many things Takashi managed to cook in twenty minutes on that small station. Despite that, Chris wins and advances to the finals.

* Lorena talks about putting Patricia in her place. Their secret ingredient is also bacon.

* Patricia, who cuts her vegetables like she’s meditating with them, snipes at Lorena’s loud cutting technique; I agree, as Lorena’s method, which involves lifting the entire knife from the board and hacking quickly at the vegetables, is dangerous. I cut the way Patricia does, balancing one part of the knife on the board and rocking it to cut. Patricia finishes early and starts cleaning up her station, which might be showing off for someone else but seems to just be Patricia’s personality.

* Patricia makes a “BLT,” a bacon, leek, and tomato salad, served slightly warm. Jane loves balance of the favors, James says the leek reduction is “piercingly sour,” Kerry says it really reminded him of a BLT, and Sugar ray says it was amazing. After the judging I felt like I still had no clue what it tasted like.

* Lorena makes a potato and bacon chowder with corn and bacon soffrito. Jane says the bacon got a little lost, but loved the texture and creaminess.

* Winner: Lorena. How did she win by deemphasizing the main ingredient? Either Jane’s comment was an isolated opinion, or the criteria changed. Bacon should be the star if it’s the secret ingredient … or even if it’s not. So my bottom two ranked chefs (ranked from my living room) are both guaranteed to advance, while chefs #2 and #3 have to fight to avoid elimination.

* Finals: Chris and Lorena get sugar as their secret ingredient. This is a huge disadvantage for meat-guy Chris, who makes a zabaglione with summer fruit. Zabaglione is a sweet warm custard of eggs, sugar, and usually Marsala wine, typically served with berries. It’s cooked slowly over a double boiler and the chef must whisk it constantly to avoid having any part of the eggs scramble because it stayed in contact with the hot bowl too long.

* Lorena backs into a three-item dish, making a flourless chocolate cake that doesn’t seem to be cooking fast enough, so she makes a dulce de leche sauce and serves it with caramelized walnuts and seared (and thus also caramelized) pineapple. Patricia and Takashi think making the chocolate cake was foolhardy, but they end up cooking correctly so Lorena serves everything.

* Chris’ dish gets dinged for a touch too much salt, but really, Lorena won this because she made three things and they were all very good. That’s $10K for her charity.

* Patricia and Takashi battle to avoid elimination. Secret ingredient: chicken livers. Patricia makes a warm asparagus salad with chicken liver and prosciutto, James complains – really, his voice can’t merely criticize, but always complains, almost whining – that his liver was undercooked, while Jane says it was perfect and Krista liked the clean pure favors of the dish.

* Takashi sears his livers and serves them with crispy prosciutto strips and pickled red cabbage. Jane praises the combination of textures and the aesthetic appeal of the dish.

* Patricia wins, so Takashi ends up eliminated. Takashi had already won $20K for his charity, so while I would have preferred to see Kerry go, it was a pretty successful run for him. Chris points out that Takashi cooks “better French food than the Frenchies.” I still say Chris and Patricia make the finals, but with Takashi gone I’ll go with Lorena over Kerry for the third spot.

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→ September 4, 2012
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Bread and Tulips.

Bread & Tulips (Pane e tulipani) was a huge success in Italy when it was released in 2000, sweeping their version of the Academy Awards and even earning “official selection” status at Cannes and at the Toronto International Film Festival. Yet it’s actually a light, tender-hearted comedy about second chances in life and love, especially where kind souls are involved. (It’s available on Netflix Instant video as well.)

Licia Maglietta plays Rosalba, a harried, unappreciated housewife who, while touring ancient ruins in the Italian countryside with her fatheaded husband and their two sons, ends up left behind at a rest stop, for which her husband blames her even though he failed to notice she was missing for a few hours. (He’s a real peach, the lone one-dimensional character in the film, but at least one used to good purpose as the plot’s main punching bag.) On a whim, she hitchhikes to Venice, a city she’s always wanted to visit but has never seen, and through another series of misfortunes ends up settling there, taking a part-time job, and rooming with an Icelandic waiter, Fernando (played by Bruno Ganz), who has to delay his plans to hang himself due to his unexpected houseguest.

The film marries two old movie tropes, the bored housewife making her escape and the stranger in a town of lovable eccentrics, in a way that shouldn’t work as well as it does. The script’s beauty is that it presents these various oddballs as they are, in favorable lighting but without commentary and often without much definition. Fernando’s neighbor, the “holistic masseuse” (and perhaps lady of the evening) Grazia, ends up in an intrigue involving the hapless plumber-turned-detective Constantino, who should be the story’s main antagonist as an extension of Rosalba’s husband but ends up winning our affection because of his determination and ineptitude.

Bread and Tulips is sweet yet seldom sentimental, and if it’s a little unrealistic at times, it’s more to avoid getting bogged down in the mundane details of a woman just taking off without much cash or means of support. There’s a fair amount of slapstick humor along with some good situational gags, such as Rosalba’s husband asking his mistress to iron a shirt or two for him, while Giuseppe Battiston handles the clownish role of Constantino in a way that engenders sympathy for him as even he tries to ruin Rosalba’s fantasy.

The only false notes in the film, to me, were the dream sequences, in part because they’re not set off from the film in any clear way, and in part because they felt like a clumsy method of demonstrating Rosalba’s own inner turmoil at her abandonment of her family obligations. Awake, she seldom shows any guilt, and relishes her freedom, her independence, her ability to put herself first and revisit long-dormant dreams, including an apparent passion for music that resurfaces when she finds a disused accordion in the wardrobe of the room she rents. The dreams seemed forced, as if the writer or director felt that we needed a reminder that she’d fled her family or that she at least loved her two sons.

Roger Ebert’s review of Bread and Tulips praised the film, but contains one line in the first paragraph that I found shocking to the point that I was slightly offended by it:

Not a classic beauty, not a ”movie star,” but a 40-ish dreamer who’s just a little overweight, with the kind of sexiness that makes you think of bread baking, clean sheets and that everything is going to be all right. 

Man, I like Roger Ebert, but this is a seriously cracked view of beauty. Maglietti – who was around 45 when the film was made – looks gorgeous as soon as she gets to Venice and out of her frumpy-mummy clothes, spending most of the film in flattering sundresses that would certainly have exposed her as “a little overweight” if she had had any weight over. And I’m not even sure where to go with Ebert’s opinion on what’s sexy about an attractive 40-year-old woman (or about the type of women who bake bread?). Besides, if everything’s going to be all right, maybe you’re doing it all wrong.

What Ebert might have said was that Maglietti’s sex appeal is paired with a youthful visage that makes her seem more approachable, not just for the audience, but to lend credence to the idea that strangers in Venice would just take to this woman, offering her a place to rent, a part-time job, or help keeping her location a secret from her husband (who seems to want her back to take care of the house, not to be his wife or lover). Maglietti doesn’t look close to her age in this role, playing a woman in her late 30s with a cuteness that renders Rosalba’s personality as something even younger. She carries the film, with plenty of help from her supporting cast, in the kind of romantic comedy that would never be made by a major U.S. studio because it relies too much on tired tactics like strong writing and actors who bring their characters to life.

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→ September 3, 2012
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The Descendants.

I’ve been less motivated to watch all of the 2011 nominees for Best Picture than I was the previous year, with a few films in this year’s batch in which I have absolutely zero interest (The Help and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close) and the winner, The Artist failing to meet expectations for me – to say nothing of the time I’ve spent watching rookie league games the last two months. I finally got around to watching The Descendants this weekend, and I’m struggling to find a credible reason why it wouldn’t beat out The Artist in a fair fight, one based strictly on the quality of the films rather than what I presume was a nostalgia move.

George Clooney plays the starring role as Matt King, a successful Hawaiian attorney whose wife, Elizabeth, suffers a serious boating accident at the start of the film, leaving her comatose and eventually without hope of recovery. Matt’s two daughters, the wayward Alexandra and the sassy Scottie, were already struggling before the accident, and the situation is made worse when Alexandra informs her father that Elizabeth had been having an affair. This revelation launches Matt, with Alexandra’s help, on a quixotic quest to identify and confront the man who has cuckolded him, only to find that he, too, has a family likely to be devastated if the adultery is unearthed. It’s clear as this storyline unfolds that this is not only Matt’s way of dealing with his two-headed grief, but a way that his remaining family nucleus can come back together and try to heal as a single unit, rather than three individuals drifting apart on a sea of sorrow and hurt.

None of the film’s characters, even side characters like Alexandra’s sort-of-boyfriend Sid, ends up one-dimensional, a rare trick in a movie with this many people in pivotal roles. The film could easily have demonized Elizabeth’s paramour, and while he’s hardly a good guy, he’s more than just a dark presence around the story’s periphery. Elizabeth’s father similarly appears with a purpose but with a severe underlying pain that governs his anger towards Matt and Alexandra, anger that presents Matt with a difficult decision near the end of the film. I had a little trouble with Judy Greer as the oblivious wife of Elizabeth’s lover, although that was primarily because every time she talked, I pictured Cheryl from Archer (whom Greer voices brilliantly).

The movie’s subplot, however, has all of the sentiment and overstatement that the main plot lacks. Matt is the sole executor of the trust overseeing the 25,000 acres of “pristine” land on Kauai that must be sold before the trust dissolves in seven years, and most of the various cousins involved in the trust want to sell out to a developer who’ll build a resort, golf course, and and other commercial properties, making the cousins instant millionaires. I doubt I need to explain what course Matt ends up taking, although the film offers minimal explanation for it beyond his soliloquy at the time he makes it (in which he acknowledges that he has no immediate solution to the problem caused by the rule against perpetuities); the parallel between his attempt to save the land and his newfound attention to the consequences of his actions and his similar efforts to save what remians of his family is obvious and forced, the one false note in a film that otherwise succeeds on how often it feels true.

George Clooney excels in the role of Matt, although I did find it hard to accept one of the most famous actors in the world in this sort-of-everyman role – doesn’t everyone around Matt realize he looks a lot like George Freaking Clooney? – and the attempts to frump him up a little, like tucking in his shirts, greying his hair, making him run oddly in flip-flops, and so on, only emphasized the disconnect between the character and the actor, much like Cary Grant in his final film role, Walk, Don’t Run. Clooney is at the point in his career where any performance in a serious film that isn’t worthy of an Oscar nomination is a surprise, so I was far more taken by the performance of Shailene Woodley, making her feature-film debut as Alexandra, who begins the film away at a reform school where she’s supposed to be getting help with substance-abuse issues. Her character develops far more over the course of the film, sometimes in mildly surprising ways, as she goes from spoiled, snotty, justifiably-angry daughter to her father’s main emotional supporter and partner-in-crime. Woodley had to show more range than any other actor in The Descendants, from the heartbreaking scene where she learns that her mother isn’t going to recover to the just-as-heartbreaking scenes at the end where the family says goodbye – delivering subtle grace notes like her movements as she brings her younger sister into their mother’s room – enough that I’m surprised she didn’t receive more attention come awards season. With that kind of ability and the requisite beauty (Hollywood accepts no less), Woodley looks like a star in the making.

Of the four Best Picture nominees I’ve seen so far, I’d put The Descendants on top, ahead of Hugo, which I loved but which didn’t have the subtlety of The Descendants and relied more on fantasy to drive its main plot forward. That’s not necessarily bad, but I think it’s harder to make a great film while trying to keep the characters and story firmly grounded in reality, and of course The Descendants couldn’t fill space with special effects or long flashback sequences. The Descendants also found significant humor in the cracks between the darker sequences in the film. Both movies make The Artist look like paper-thin in comparison.

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