American Plate - Bite #44: The Rise of Thanksgiving

Are American schoolchildren still sold the myth of Thanksgiving? Are they still being taught that colonists took a break from ransacking land from and committing violence against the Native American population to sit down for a jolly meal together in 1621? I feel like the truth has caught on in the popular consciousness, and that Thanksgiving is celebrated in a far more modern context these days, which is all to the good.

Of course, a lot of time passed between the 1600s and now, so how did Thanksgiving really catch on? Celebrating it in late November is nothing new; having a post-harvest feast made all kinds of sense in our early agrarian society. However, the day of said feast was up to each individual governor. Such was life until the lead-up to the Civil War, when a ladies' magazine editor named Sarah Josepha Hale began to campaign to make Thanksgiving a national holiday, in part to help heal how divided and factional the nation had become. Good thing that doesn't happen anymore!

Hale got her wish in 1863, when Abraham Lincoln cemented Thanksgiving into the American calendar. The North took to it immediately. It was a celebration not only of bounty, but of a rapidly expanding economy. Though the war was far from decided, they were feeling pretty good about themselves, and Thanksgiving helped commemorate that. The South turned their nose up at Thanksgiving, associating it with Northern politics. They weren't entirely wrong; there was a huge push in the North to bring Thanksgiving to all the Union fighters, and masses of food were sent by civilians to keep the soldiers' spirits up.

After the war, Thanksgiving continued its spread across all of the states, until it became the bedrock of autumnal American holidays. History is still being made with Thanksgiving, as the plight of Native American populations has become part of the national discussion, and the feast has become more about recognizing our own personal gratitude than anything having to do with patriotic avowals. It's even spreading beyond the family circle, as "Friendsgivings" have continued to gain popularity.

My own Thanksgivings vary wildly. Sometimes, it's a large family gathering. Sometimes, it's a small dinner for two. Sometimes, it's dinner out at a restaurant serving a Thanksgiving meal. It's definitely one of my favorite meals of the year, and not just because it's laden with symbolism and history. It's simply got some of the best culinary components available. Roast turkey? Delicious! Stuffing? Delicious! Corn casserole? Delicious! Green beans? Delicious! Pumpkin pie? Delicious! Cranberries? Those...exist, too!

This year, there was an incredibly wide range of eating, as you can tell from the pictures. First, there was a traditional-type meal at my mom's house. Turkey, stuffing, etc. I made the pecan pie pictured, and did so without using the usual drum of corn syrup. This one used large quantities of eggs as a binder, and as a result, was a much nuttier pie that didn't reek of sweetness. I liked it! You can see that we also have a strange little family tradition in that we have fried oysters on Thanksgiving. I've never heard of anyone else doing that, but I'm certainly not complaining.

The weekend after the main holiday brought two Friendsgivings. The first one featured a fascinating concoction called a meatcake, which you can see above. A cake made of meat that's "frosted" with mashed potatoes? Yes, please! The second Friendsgiving eschewed American tradition by skewing Mexican, including olive-topped enchiladas, carnitas, and my sinful sopapilla cheesecake bars. The holiday obviously has a lot of significance, and not just for family gatherings. It's a time to express gratitude for all that I have, of course, but it's also the time of year to celebrate friendships and to experiment with fun recipes, both of which I cherish.

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American Plate - Bite #89: McDonald's

Of all the Bites of this project, there may not be one as controversial as McDonald's, and as such, may not be one so quintessentially American. This country certainly likes to display both its benefits and detriments full-force, and McDonald's certainly encompasses both. Fast food has had a variety of reputations in American history, but its rise came right alongside the ascension of gourmet cooking. One was not a response to the other.

Brothers Dick and Mac McDonald opened their first restaurant in 1948, and the story of what happened to their business is pretty darned American as well. They set everything up. It was their idea to cook things in an assembly line fashion and to rigorously train their clean-cut employees in specializing in particular tasks. Once Dick designed the familiar golden arch logo, it wasn't long before they'd expanded to multiple franchises.

Their happiness was not to last. A salesman named Ray Kroc who sold them the milkshake mixers invested in their business, and bought it outright six years later. What the book glosses over is how much he screwed the McDonald brothers over in the process, the story of which is told by The Founder, a movie I keep meaning to get to.

Obviously, McDonald's has come a long way since then, expanding into a global phenomenon with specialized dishes in different regions. They've certainly had their share of public ups and downs. In the '80s, McDonald's was a godsend to beleaguered parents who just wanted something cheap and tasty to keep the kids happy, and the Happy Meal was a huge step towards ensuring brand loyalty early. Recently, though, examinations of McDonald's by things such as Fast Food Nation and Super Size Me have really hit the company in the pocketbook, and they've begun to struggle against competitors that tout healthier food.

O'Connell and I have a similar take on the matter, which is that McDonald's food may not be the healthiest thing on the planet, but it certain has a place in the American food landscape, and isn't a total blight. Admittedly, after reading Fast Food Nation, I only allow myself to eat at McDonald's once or twice a year (or on road trips), so those pics above were a rare treat for me. I also worked for a few years at McDonald's as a teen, and maintain that it taught me very valuable job skills; everyone should have to work at a service job like this when they're young.

On the occasions that I actually allow myself to indulge in McDonald's food, I'm always happy with the result. It's become fashionable to bash on them, but in my mind, there's nothing wrong with a good ol' fashioned Quarter Pounder with Cheese, with some of those iconic fries on the side. And when it comes to breakfast, there may not be a breakfast sandwich on Earth that can compete with a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese. Is it good for me? Hell, no. But I had one anyway, because that's what being American is all about.

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American Plate - Bite #39: Mint Juleps

A lot of the foods and drinks in this project are things I couldn't wait to get to. Yay, I get to dive face-first into a bunch of pizza or sushi or barbecue! This is the first Bite (or Sip, really) that I was a little reluctant to get to. I'm in the minority on that one; most people have nothing but nice things to say about mint juleps. The word julep is from the Persian word gulab, which means "rose-water", but connotes any refreshing drink.

They're made by mixing mint, water, confectioners' sugar, crushed ice, and bourbon. Often associated with the Kentucky Derby, mint juleps are a popular drink all throughout the spring and early summer, and not just when watching the ponies. The first record of an iced mint cocktail in America is from 1803, but it didn't take long to become more widespread. By 1820, distillers had already standardized the sour mash process in places like Bourbon Country, Kentucky, which is where the liquor takes its name from (it certainly sounds better than "corn whiskey").

Over the course of the 19th century, an influx of Scottish and Irish immigrants brought their distilling knowledge with them, and whiskey eventually replaced rum as America's favorite liquor. It packed a punch, and could be distilled locally, which eliminated the need to import or smuggle booze. Though mint juleps started out as a Southern cocktail, Senator Henry Clay is credited with introducing it to the high society folks in Washington, DC. From there, it joined the ranks of elegant drinks nationwide.

So why my reluctance? Well, two reasons. I don't really drink a lot of bourbon and I don't really eat a lot of mint. Bourbon tends to hit me pretty hard, so I have to try and take it easy. Mint is an ingrained prejudice, but one I'm slowly getting over. I still detest sweet mint dessert flavoring, so I'm that lone voice in the wild that disdains Thin Mints, mint ice cream, Peppermint Patties, grasshopper milkshakes, etc.

Fresh mint, though, is a lot more enjoyable. I tend to like it the most in savory dishes, but on an evening when a springtime rainstorm had just swept through, and my friend asked me to pick some mint from his garden in order to make these drinks, how could I resist?

So, what was the verdict? They were actually very tasty! I doubt I'd be able to drink a bunch of them without getting completely blitzed, but kicking back with a couple of them to while away a pleasant spring evening with friends was the perfect reintroduction to a drink I hadn't given much of a chance before.

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Research: The Brunch Backlash

We are always in the midst of a lot of shifting social conventions. You never know what aspect of society these shifts will affect, and in an odd twist of fate, the ostensibly simple concept of brunch has become a big target.

A target of what? You name it. Sometimes, it’s singled out as the purview of irresponsible people with nothing more productive to do with their time. Chefs are accused of using brunch as an excuse to peddle substandard food, and diners are accused of using brunch as an excuse to eat without the courtesies afforded to the other meals of the day (tipping, for example).

There’s also the big matter of race and class privilege. It's tough to articulate, and I’m finding it tough to land on a position in regards to protesters’ tactic of interrupting diners’ brunches in order to address issues such as police brutality. It’s definitely an issue worth addressing, and the activists have a point when they point out that brunch is a public gathering at which a lot of affluent people who feel unaffected by the conflict tend to gather. Getting their attention is precisely the goal. It’s just such a strange situation we find ourselves in, in which it’s considered safe to assume that someone who’s done nothing more than go out to eat waffles must either be uneducated or uncaring.

Even leaving that aside, brunch has been facing some tough critics lately, not least of which springs from an article in the New York Times, which proudly proclaimed that “Brunch Is for Jerks“. Lots of people jumped into the fray after that, complaining about the self-entitled hipsters who pat themselves on the back for being so awesome as they guzzle their bottomless mimosas. Or they wrote about how terrible brunch is for the poor, overworked service industry.

If you’re a fan of brunch, take heart. Defenders have started swinging back against the haters.

All of these overwrought articles have left me more puzzled than anything else. I’m neither smug with satisfaction that these brunch-eating jackasses are finally getting what’s coming to them, nor am I angry at the snarky writers taking aim at these innocent diners just trying to enjoy some eggs and a drink with friends. It’s more a wonder at just how symbolic brunch has become for highlighting so many American social issues.

Who knows how much further the battle will go? Perhaps “Bloody Mary” will take on a terrifyingly literal meaning as the war over brunch gets waged.

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Research: The Pepper Heat Index

People are always competing to set some extreme record or other. Who’s built the tallest building? Who can swim the farthest? Who can live the longest? Competitions are not confined to the human race, though. For example, every time we think we’ve discovered the hottest pepper on Earth, another upstart comes along to set an even more painful fire on our tongues. In the past few years, the Ghost Chile, the Naga Viper, the Trinidad Scorpion Moruga, and the Carolina Reaper have all held the coveted title of Hottest Pepper. There are so many different types of pepper, though. Where do they all fit in? And how do we go about comparing heat levels from pepper to pepper?

Until recently, the traditional method has always been the Scoville scale, named after a test that Wilbur Scoville devised in 1912. That scale measures Scoville heat units (SHU), which is a function of capsaicin concentration in each pepper. Way down at the bottom are our friends the bell peppers, which have a SHU of zero. Then come the milder zings like paprika and pimiento, which won’t crack a SHU of 1,000. In the 1,000-3,500 SHU range, you’ll find Pam’s and my current pepper of choice, the poblano. Jalapeño is the level above that, in the range that goes up to 10,000 SHU.

From 10,000-30,000 SHU, you’ll find serrano peppers and peperoncino. Cayenne and tobasco peppers lie in the 30,000-50,000 SHU range, while 50,000-100,000 SHU contains lesser known peppers, such as piri piri and malagueta. My painful experience with habanero makes sense, because it shares the 100,000-350,000 SHU range with Scotch bonnets. A specific type of habanero called “Red Savina” lies between 350,000-580,000 SHU, but even that pales in comparison to the peppers I mentioned in my opening paragraph. None of those peppers is less than 855,000 SHU.

All that SHU measurement is nice, but there’s a fatal flaw in the Scoville scale. It’s completely subjective, which I was shocked to learn. Decreasing concentrations of the extracted capsinoids are given to a panel of five trained tasters, until a majority (at least three) can no longer detect the heat in a dilution. OK, but... People’s taste buds differ from each other, and even on the same tongue, a taster’s receptors can be worn out or overused with multiple tastings, changing the results. Can you imagine if the official daily temperature was taken by people wandering outside and saying “Eh. It feels like it’s about 56° F today.”

Fortunately, these days, there’s a system that’s a lot more scientific. Using high-performance liquid chromatography, it can be determined how many parts-per-million of alkaloids (the heat-causing agents) are present in any given pepper.

Tastes in pepper heat vary across cultures (Asians seem to favor a sharp punch of heat at the beginning, while Americans favor a lower heat that sustains for a longer period of time), and some people have made it a personal mission to find the upper limit of what their taste buds can handle. I’ll leave all that record-grabbing to them, and just enjoy the gentler wallop of a dish spiked with cayenne.

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Research: Goulash

I love paprika, but I am far from its only fan. Paprika is especially popular in Hungary (the plant that yields it has been grown in Budapest since 1529), and frankly, I don't have a lot of experience with the best-known use of it: Goulash. Goulash is the national dish of Hungary, though it’s a popular dish worldwide. Paprika is the sole defining feature of goulash – all of its other components are variable. Paprika was used from the very beginning; the first recorded goulash recipe in 1748 specifically recommended its use. Hungary loves paprika so much that they haven’t even restricted its use to the culinary world. During the 1831 cholera epidemic, Hungarians used red paprika powder, red paprika schnapps, and red paprika wine as medicine. I can’t recommend following this treatment regimen for any illness you might contract, though, so let’s stick to paprika’s use in goulash.

There seems to be some internet confusion over whether it’s more properly referred to as a soup or a stew, so let’s indulge in some research history. Let’s see… Goulash is eaten hot, served as a main dish, and though paprika is the most important ingredient, its flavors center around the meat and vegetables. Survey says: Stew.

Goulash traces back to the 9th century, to stews eaten by Hungarian shepherds. Cooked and flavored meat was dried with the help of the sun, and packed into bags made from sheep stomachs. Just add water, and the meal is complete. In fact, the word goulash derives from gulya, which is Hungarian for “herd of cattle”. Goulash can be made from pretty much any meat, from beef to veal to pork to lamb. It’s typically made from shank, shin, or shoulder cuts. Those cuts are rich in collagen, and when they break down, the collagen converts to gelatin, giving goulash its thick texture. This may be why goulash is one of the few stews that does not rely on flour or roux as a base.

The meat is cut into chunks, seasoned with salt, and then browned with sliced onion in a pot with oil (or lard, if you’re going old-school). Paprika is added, along with water or stock, and then left to simmer. Then you add garlic, whole or ground caraway seed, and vegetables such as carrots, parsley roots, bell peppers, or celery. Other herbs and spices are also generally added (chili pepper, bay leaf, and thyme, usually). Diced potatoes are a popular addition, since they provide starch as they cook, which makes the goulash thicker and smoother. A small amount of white wine or wine vinegar may also be added near the end of cooking to round out the taste. Modern cooks have also started adding tomato, but those are not included in “traditional” goulash. Once it’s done, the goulash can be served with egg noodles, called csipetke in Hungary. Csipetke are not a side of pasta, though. They’re prepared by boiling them in the goulash itself.

Those are just the basics of Hungarian goulash. There are tons of variations:

Gulyás à la Székely: Reduces the amount of potatoes, and adds sauerkraut and sour cream.

Gulyás Hungarian Plain Style: Omits the csipetke, and adds vegetables.

Mock Gulyás: Substitutes beef bones for the meat, and adds vegetables. Also called Hamisgulyás (Fake Goulash).

Bean Gulyás: Omits the potatoes and the caraway seeds, and uses kidney beans instead.

Csángó Gulyás: Adds sauerkraut, and omits the csipetke and potatoes.

Betyár Gulyás. Uses smoked beef or smoked pork for the meat.

Likócsi Pork Gulyás: Uses pork and thin vermicelli in the goulash instead of potatoes and csipetke, and is flavored with lemon juice.

Mutton Gulyás: Uses mutton as the meat, and adds red wine for flavor. Also called Birkagulyás.

There are also countless variations on goulash in other countries. Since I'm writing this from America, I’ll just mention American goulash briefly. The American tweak is a casserole mentioned in cookbooks dating back to 1914, and has plenty of its own variations. Originally it was a seasoned beef dish, but now usually includes various kinds of pasta (usually macaroni or egg noodles), ground beef cooked with onions/garlic, and tomatoes. Cheese, melted into the dish during the cooking process, can also be added. Now that’s American. At least we have the good grace to maintain the use of paprika to connect it back to its Hungarian origins.

How about putting this research to good use? Instead of the usual pot roast or meatloaf at your next dinner party, how about trying out a hearty goulash? Your guests will thank you! Maybe even in Hungarian.

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Research: The Reputation of American Fruitcake

A couple of Decembers ago, my friend Chris and I enjoyed some of the truly wonderful julekake he had baked for the first time. And a couple of days later, I devoured a terrific little pannetone cake that came in a Foods of the World assortment. If other countries have mastered the method for baking an actually tasty fruitcake, why does that word send a shiver down every American spine?

In a way, terrible fruitcake is all our fault. Back in the 16th century, European fruitcake was humming along quite nicely as a symbol of a successful harvest season, when suddenly, cheap sugar poured in from the American colonies. Candying fruit became a simple way of preserving it, making it available to places with a dearth of fresh produce. Inserting the sugared fruit into cake was a convenient way of making a buck, and since fruitcakes were heavily produced in the American South, cheap surplus nuts found their way into the recipe as well. Soaking it in booze helped counteract some of the sweetness, and no doubt gave people a handy way of coping with their families around the holidays.

Fruitcake was popular enough to become a Christmas staple, so what precipitated its fall from grace? A lot of it has to do with marketing, a problem that plagues white bread as well. In the early 20th century, industrialization transformed the food landscape. Mass-produced fruitcakes were sold via mail-order, and these newly available cakes definitely did not represent the height of quality. Fruitcakes became heavy and dry.

From there, its popularity began a steady decline it has never recovered from. It became associated with other bygone recipes of your grandmother’s kitchen, like aspic casseroles. Tales and jokes about people’s hatred of fruitcake proliferated; one article I found mentioned a soldier who received a gift of fruitcake on the front lines of WWII, shoved it in his bag, and discovered the uneaten cake 40 years later in his mother’s attic. Johnny Carson joked that “The worst gift is fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other,” a jibe that people have been repeating almost word-for-word to this day.

Some American bakeries claim that fruitcake is making a comeback, but this doesn’t really pass the sniff test. Christmas baking displays often exclude them. Restaurants don’t serve them. Nobody I’ve talked to about it can seem to remember the last time they spotted one at a family gathering, unless one was served as a joke.

It’s not all bad news for fruitcake, though. There does seem to be one country that appreciates American fruitcake. Japan apparently can’t get enough of the stuff, enjoying the sweetness of the fruit and the dense texture of the cake. So, in the interest of the season of goodwill, let’s strike up a mutually-beneficial trade agreement. Japan can have all of our fruitcakes, and we’ll take Norway’s.

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American Plate - Bite #52: Oysters Rockefeller

John D. Rockefeller is heavily associated with New York City, but the Big Apple has pretty much nothing to do with the iconic dish that carries his name. For that, we have to jet to another one of America's well-known food destinations. In 1840, French immigrant Antoine Alciatore founded Antoine's Restaurant in New Orleans, and it was an immediate hit, which makes sense, given the city's embrace of its citizens' Cajun and Creole backgrounds. In fact, if you'd like to have a more personal experience with this restaurant, you can, as it's amazingly still in operation, having been owned and run by the Alciatore family since the very beginning.

Antoine's son Jules is who really put the restaurant on the map. In 1899, he created the original recipe for Oysters Rockefeller. Its status as a decadent dish with an indulgent, rich green sauce inspired the name; if you're going to serve a fancy dish as a status symbol, why not name it after one the Gilded Age's wealthiest and most notorious financiers? Since then, Antoine's has served more than three million servings of this iconic dish, and its popularity has spread across the country.

The fact that this dish was invented at and served at a restaurant is no mistake. When have you ever had Oysters Rockefeller at home? Some dishes and ingredients are welcome in multiple dining spheres, but these almost demand to be eaten out in public, which is exactly what I did.

They're deceptively simple. Oysters Rockefeller is just oysters topped with other ingredients (usually parsley and other green herbs, bread crumbs, and a rich butter sauce) and then baked or broiled. That said, I've never had two servings that have tasted the same. Every restaurant seems to have a different twist on this classic.

As you can see, the ones pictured above were served on ice in order to keep them chilly, and they turned out to be quite good. I like eating oysters in pretty much all their forms (on the half shell, fried, and so on), but Oysters Rockefeller will always have a special connotation in my brain. It's a dish to be enjoyed out on the town, and as such, are symbolic of a certain kind of fun and friendship. That's a pretty impressive accomplishment for such an unpretentious little preparation.

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Research: The Rise and Fall of White Bread

We've all got our favorite breads, but it's unlikely that plain old white bread is at the top of your list. These days, if you refer to something or someone as “white bread”, it is emphatically not a compliment. It wasn’t always so. Once upon a time, white bread had a sterling reputation, and even served as a status symbol. So how did it go from being respected to being mocked?

White bread (and Wonder white bread in particular) has the reputation of being not only unhealthy, but classless. The term “White bread” stands for everything bland and uncool, but back in the Middle Ages, you had to really be someone to enjoy white bread. Refining flour cost a lot of money then, and only the aristocrat class could afford such a product. The peasants had to make their own bread from whole wheat flour. That was the status quo for a long time. Around the turn of the 20th century, 90% of bread was baked in home kitchens by women.

Industrialization took care of that. A combination of new technology that made the refining process infinitely cheaper, fear that home kitchens weren’t clean enough, and some good old-fashioned xenophobia about local bakeries run by immigrants led to a huge shift; by 1930, mass-produced bread claimed 90% of the market. Suddenly, everyone was eating white bread. And you know what happens when “everyone” is doing something. The counterculture shows up to disdain everything about it – what we’d call hipsters today.

In the 1960s, those in the counterculture identified white bread as the symbol of everything they hated. It represented big business. It was unnatural. It was boring. To be fair, this wasn’t the first time that white bread came under cultural attack. Anti-white bread sentiment stretches back as far as the 1840s. Once in a while, a nutritionist or diet expert would come along and blame all sorts of things – from cancer to insanity – on factory-made white bread.

Those critics weren’t wrong about some of white bread’s problems, though. The refining process may have given affluent citizens in the Middle Ages an excuse to pat themselves on the back, but it also removes all the components that make bread healthy. Necessary vitamins, minerals, and fiber were being stripped away, and although everyone knew that was the case by the early 19th century, industrial breadmakers didn’t want to do anything about it.

Once wheat bread gained popularity as a healthful alternative, they started paying attention. In 1956, it became law to add the vitamins and minerals back into white bread, but by then, it was too late. People were fleeing in droves to wheat bread, which was billed as healthier and cooler than that stodgy old Wonder Bread your parents ate. The advertising did its job; Wonder Bread went into bankruptcy in 2004.

They’ve made some strides in clawing their way back onto the grocery store shelves, but white bread has never reclaimed the cachet it once had. It’s a little sad, given how important to the American table it used to be. So, in honor of this once great staple, a loaf of Wonder is in order. It should still make a pretty tasty grilled cheese.

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Research: Sushi Terms

I’m a full-blown sushi “fanatic”. I'm literally always in the mood for it, and will probably wander off for some as soon as I publish this entry. But even though I have a grand passion for sushi, its terminology can sometimes be a bit of a muddle. What better opportunity for some research? Hopefully, this can serve as a bit of a cheat sheet for all your sushi glossary needs. Grab your chopsticks and let’s dive in!

Sushi: Let’s start with the important one. We like to say “sushi” as a catch-all term for the style of cuisine we’re eating, but its precise definition is “cold, boiled rice moistened with rice vinegar”. Yep! Sushi is just rice! No fish required! That said, don’t let pedants drag you down with semantic hair-splitting. But if it’s just vinegared rice, then what the hell are most people thinking of when they picture sushi?

Sashimi: Sliced or prepared raw fish, without the sushi rice.

So what we think of as a piece of sushi is actually sushi and sashimi put together – generally with a dab of wasabi (Japanese horseradish) to glue them together. Ironically, this is the most common form of sushi you’ll see outside of Japan, and yet most people are unfamiliar with the term describing this combination: Nigiri-zushi. The other big category of sushi-eating is rolls vs. nigiri:

Maki: Sushi (and other ingredients) rolled up using a bamboo mat, and normally wrapped in nori (sheets of dried seaweed). The maki roll is then cut into several pieces and served. “Maki” is an extremely broad term, though. You can have futomaki (an enlarged maki), hosomaki (small, simple assemblies of maki, often with just one additional ingredient), temaki (hand rolls that are often served in a cone shape), and uramaki (medium-sized rolls with the nori on the inside).

Nigiri: A single piece of sliced fish with a molded ball of rice underneath. This is the shorthand term for “nigiri-zushi”, and is what most people picture when you say the word “sushi”. While there are some outstanding maki, there isn’t a lot of widely-accepted terminology. There’s some amount of agreement (spider rolls, California rolls, etc.), but restaurants can generally name their rolls whatever they wish. Nigiri is more standardized, and it’s where sushi can really shine, so let’s get into some specifics.

Pop Quiz: What will you get if you go to a sushi restaurant and ask for tuna? Sorry, I shouldn’t ask trick questions like that, because tuna is a world unto itself when it comes to sushi.

Otoro: Fatty tuna (from the belly, usually the most expensive type)
Ahi: Yellowfin tuna
Hamachi: Yellowtail tuna (not the same thing!)
Maguro: Big-eye tuna, not to be confused with…
Siro Maguro or Shiromaguro: White, albacore tuna – And just to confuse the issue even more, Kampai refers to a separate nigiri as “Albacore”, which is seared.

I could actually go on; in researching this post, I found honest-to-goodness flow charts attempting to categorize the various types of sushi tuna. The ones above should probably suffice for now, but if you’re interested in a deeper dive (no pun intended), poke around the internet.

There’s also the matter of roe, which is fish eggs. You can get various type of roe in sushi places, generally resting on a bed of sushi rice and wrapped in nori. As mentioned in the episode, salmon roe (Ikura) is my absolute favorite, but you can also usually find smelt roe (Masago – gathered from the capelin fish) and flying fish roe (Tobiko).

When people hear “fish eggs”, though, their mind generally goes to caviar, so is there a difference between that and roe? Of course there is! “Roe” refers to the fish eggs themselves, while “caviar” is roe that has been salted and tinned for storage and aging. Caviar also tends to come from sturgeon roe, which is not considered a sushi fish.

There are also a ton of other nigiri, and while it’s impossible to list them all here, I’ll leave you with a nice sampler platter. Go enjoy some!

Fugu: Puffer fish – A delicacy, but poisonous if not prepared properly.
Taco: Octopus
Saba: Mackerel (mentioned in the episode as speedily racing its way to the top of our list of favorites)
Anago: Salt-water eel
Unagi: Fresh-water eel – We recommended this one highly.
Uni: Sea urchin
Tamago: Egg omelet – A strange inclusion on a fish-based menu, but can be very good.
Ika: Squid
Kani: Crab
Hotate: Scallop
Ebi: Shrimp – Can also be served as Ama Ebi (sweet shrimp).
Mirugai: Giant clam – Also called “geoduck”, one of the ugliest creatures on the planet.
Hirame: Halibut

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Research: Crab Types

As a native of Maryland, I take crab meat very seriously. Then, when Kyle and I tucked into some shellfish at a local seafood restaurant, we realized that this was a good opportunity for some research. The kinds of crab that people enjoy can largely depend on the region and the season. Everyone has their own favorite, but a handful of crabs have clawed their way (zing!) onto a pretty solidified list of popular types.

There’s only one type of crab that has had a television show devoted to it, and it’s no surprise that it’s the Alaskan King Crab. These guys stand out not only because of their remarkable size and mellow flavor, but because fishing for Alaskan King Crab is one of the most dangerous professions there is (the Bureau of Labor Statistics has ranked crab fishing as having staggeringly higher fatality rates than pilots and loggers). For diners who don’t owe any taste or geographical loyalty to any particular type, Alaskan King is likely to be the crab that most people know and love.

Snow Crab is similar to King Crab. They’re both found in cold, northern oceans, and both are prepared and eaten in the same way. The claws are where it’s at, meat-wise. 80% of the snow crab eaten in the United States is imported from Canada, though it’s caught in other northern places like Greenland and Norway, too. If you’re at one of those all-you-can-eat crab leg buffets, chances are you’re chowing down on snow crab.

The Chesapeake Blue Crab is my favorite, and that’s the one I'm talking about whenever I get that faraway look in my eye and reminisce about Baltimore. I'm not only biased because that’s the crab I grew up with, but because it’s the most versatile of the crab meats. You can eat the hard-shelled ones steamed and covered in Old Bay seasoning. You can fry up the soft-shell type in flour and spices. Blue crab meat is perfect in crab cakes. Blue crab is rarer and more expensive than the larger crabs mentioned above, but they’re more than worth it for diners up and down the Eastern seaboard.

Over on the other size of the continent, you can find Kyle’s favorite, Dungeness Crab. Named after the port of Dungeness, Washington, a full one-fourth of this crab’s body is meat. Unlike other types, which have been fished down to dangerous population levels, Dungeness crab is abundant. A popular method of preparing them is “half-backing”. The crab is flipped upside-down and chopped in half lengthwise. This makes the guts and gills easier to scoop out, and the remainder can be quickly steamed or boiled. If you’re ever in San Francisco, make sure to get cioppino, chock full of Dungeness. You won’t be sorry.

Both the Chesapeake Blue and Dungeness crabs have meaty bodies, but we go back to the extremities for the crabs eaten in the Southeast, the omni-present Stone Crab. Stone crab claws are proportionately enormous to the rest of their bodies, to the point that it’s the only part of the crab that’s served. In addition to being caught in the Northern Atlantic Ocean, stone crabs are harvested from the salt marshes in South Carolina and Georgia. Going out for a seafood feast in Florida? Stone crab will be heavily featured. It doesn’t have as strong a flavor as other crabs, and is often dipped in a sauce.

Those are the main crab types, but just like in any food family, there are specialty niches. Red Rock Crab is related to Dungeness, but are smaller, and have a thicker shell. The claws of the Spider Crab are are spindly as their namesake, but their bodies have a nicely chunky, sweeter meat than other crabs.

The United States is far from the only country that is love with crabs, and Asian countries have their own preferences. The Horesehair Crab is about the ugliest one there is, but Japanese diners heartily enjoy them. The Chinese Mitten Crab is vicious and aggressive when alive, but once they’re steamed and served with ginger and vinegar, it’s one of the most popular dishes from China to Korea.

So no matter what your favorite type of crab is, there’s a multitude of flavors out there for you to enjoy. It makes us wonder why people call an ill-temper “being crabby”. Eating crab makes us pretty damned happy.

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Research: Seitan

Whether you’re an omnivore, a vegetarian, or a vegan, chances are you already know a fair bit about tofu. You may not like it, but at least you understand it. That’s not the case with another specific meat substitute. Seitan is a relative newcomer to the meatless scene – at least in America. So I thought it’d be the perfect subject to tackle with some deeper scrutiny. What makes seitan tick?

“Seitan” is a very Asian-sounding word, and there’s good reason for that. It’s a lot more fun to say than “wheat gluten”. OK, there may be actual geographical reasons, too, but let’s not lose sight of the fact that “wheat gluten” sounds like a bummer, and “seitan” sounds awesome. It first appeared in cuisine during the sixth century, when it popped up as an ingredient in Chinese noodles. From there, it spread to Japan and other Asian countries, where it has been enjoyed for hundreds of years, especially by strict vegetarians, such as Buddhists.

The word “seitan” was coined in 1961 by George Ohsawa, and it took another eight years to be exported to the States as a finished product for consumption. Oh, we were eating it way before that, just not calling it seitan. Western doctors often prescribed it for diabetics in the 1830s and Seventh-Day Adventists were big supporters as well.

But let’s get back to those Asian roots. In Chinese, it’s called mien chin which translates roughly to “dough tendon”. It’s often deep-fried into small puffy balls, though it’s also popular steamed or baked. Pre-prepared seitan is often eaten at Chinese breakfast as an accompaniment to congee. In Japanese, seitan is called fu, and is generally eaten in one of two forms. It can be consumed raw, in which case it’s often formed into whimsical shapes or filled with sweeter things like red bean paste. Or, it can be leavened with baking powder and dry baked into long sticks. In this form, it’s often added to broth, such as miso soup.

Here in America, seitan enjoyed a popularity boom in the 20th century. It’s high in protein, and became a natural meat substitute alongside tofu. It’s sold in blocks, in strips, or in familiar shapes such as burger patties. And it’s not just for humans; seitan is often used to provide protein and bind other ingredients in pet food.

That may make it sound unappealing, but like tofu, seitan seems to take on the flavors of whatever you cook it with, which allows for some delicious experimentation. If your morals or your diet doesn’t allow for consumption of animal products, seitan has been a reliable fallback since King Arthur was in charge.

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Anglaise-Philes

Ever since The Great British Baking Show started airing on American television, it has consistently been one of my favorite shows. It's the perfect blend of competition and cooking show, and nothing has ever come close to matching it.

That doesn't mean people won't try, though, and TV executives weren't about to let all of us fervent American fans of the show slip through their fingers. They attempted to capture the same lightning by producing The Great American Baking Show, which premiered last year. Rather than a generalized baking experience, it aired around the holidays, which naturally drove all the challenge inspirations as well. That was probably a wise decision, even if I soon tired of Christmas-themed bakes. Mary Berry agreed to tie the show to its foreign counterpart by acting as judge, along with Johnny Iuzzini, who has already acted as a reality show judge, with limited success. In place of Mel and Sue, the show is hosted by Nia Vardolos (My Big Fat Greek Wedding) and her husband, Ian Gomez (Cougar Town).

Here's the thing about capturing the spirit of a runaway hit show: It's really, really, really difficult to do. And the first season of The Great American Baking Show was so unsuccessful, it struggled to even rise to the level of pale imitation. On the most basic level, it just didn't have any of the chemistry that makes the original program so enchanting. The judges didn't gel, the hosts were visibly trying and failing to capture the giddy enthusiasm of Mel and Sue, and the contestants... Well, that was the worst part. I'm sure they're all lovely people, and I know this is a show for amateurs, but as with inaugural seasons of a lot of competitive reality shows, they suuuuuuuuuuucked. All of their bakes looked terrible. It got to the point where I was literally embarrassed for us as a country.

I chalked the show up as a failed experiment and moved on with my life. Until about a month ago, when I noticed Hulu recommending the second season to me. Against my better judgement, my curiosity was piqued. Were any lessons learned? Could the show improve, or was it just destined to languish in the shadow of its older cousin? Well, I have some good news!

Season 2 was much, much better. Nia and Ian are still a bit over-hammy, but they've settled down to an acceptable level. The judges (Johnny specifically) are still a bit awkward, but their explanations are better articulated now, and they seem to be in better moods. That may be because the contestants are worlds better this time around. It's night and day. Sure, there was some obvious chaff, but the wheat was soon separated out, and I found myself really invested in their success. Finally, some American bakers our nation can be proud of.

The second season was again holiday-themed, which limited what it could do, but I was so giddy over the show's rise in quality that I hardly minded. Does The Great American Baking Show stack up to the Great British Baking Show? Hell, no. Not in any way whatsoever. But it certainly takes home the engraved cake plate award for Most Improved.

The Great American Baking Show - Season 1: C
The Great American Baking Show - Season 2: B

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Research: Brazilian Cuisine

When I say “Chinese food” or “Italian food” or “French food”, chances are that your brain is prepared, and has got some images primed and at the ready to spring to your mind. But what’s the first thing you think of when I say “Brazilian food”? That one’s a bit of a mystery. What a perfect opportunity to do some research!

Brazilian food is not one, big, monolithic idea, of course. It’s a huge country, so just as there’s a difference in the United States between “Southern food” and “Northeastern food”, Brazilian cuisine varies by region. It’s also similar to the USA in that the differences are influenced by geography and the immigrant groups who chose to settle in each area. As far as country-wide ideas go, Brazilians love their coffee, and their national cocktail is named caipirinha, made with alcohol derived from sugar cane. In the food realm, if there’s one dish that your brain can file away as wholly Brazilian, it’s the dish that any Brazilian restaurant worth its salt will be serving: Feijoada.

Feijoada is basically a mixture of black beans and salted/smoked meats cooked over a low fire. Vegetables are then added to be cooked by the steam of the beans and meats. It is traditionally served with a dark broth alongside white rice, oranges, and greens.

It's especially common in Southeast Brazil, thanks to the domination of big cities like Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo over the region. The rice and beans are also used in many other dishes, such as one that combines grilled beef filet, rice and beans, farofa (toasted casava flour), and French fries. Corn makes an appearance in the state dishes of Minas Gerais, while Espírito Santo is influenced by the German and Italian immigrants there. Also, seafood is obviously a big part of the Brazilian Southeast.

Northern Brazil has smaller population centers, so the indigenous cuisine is a lot more present. The most well-known dish of the region is pato no tucupi. Duck is cooked, then prepared in tucupi sauce, which consists of broth extracted from cassava and boiled guava. It’s then served with white rice, manioc flour, and corn tortillas.

The Northeast gets a lot of its flavor from Africa. A popular shrimp dish (bobó de camarão) is from this region, as are many other shrimp dishes, such as an intriguing one called vatapá. Vatapá is made from bread, shrimp, coconut milk, finely ground peanuts and palm oil, all of which is mashed into a creamy paste. It can be sold with acarajé, a ball of black-eyed peas that are deep-fried in palm oil. Pancakes made out of tapioca are commonly eaten as breakfast, with fillings made out of cheese or condensed milk.

Finally, in the South, red meat is king. The United States has BBQ (or grilled meat – there’s a difference!) while southern Brazil has churrasco. It involves a variety of meats which are cooked on barbecue grill, often with supports for spits and skewers. American eaters may be tangentially aware of churrasco, due to the popularity of Brazilian steakhouses.

That’s the gist of Brazilian food, but it’s impossible to summarize fully in a brief blog post. I haven’t even mentioned grilled chicken, pizza, corn bread with fennel, Brazilian cheeses, pasta, or a metric ton of other foods that are popular down there, but I hope that I've at least gotten you started. The best way to continue this research is to go eat some yourself, and I'm willing to guess that once you’re done, your brain won’t consider it such a mystery association anymore.

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Research: Quick Questions #1

Sometimes, small research topics pop up. There's not enough info to delve too deeply into these questions, but they're certainly worth looking into. Here's a handful that we covered for one episode of the podcast, but I should definitely start collecting more.

What’s the difference between crawfish and crayfish?

That depends. Where do you live? If you live in the South, the Rockies, the Mid-Atlantic, or the part of the Midwest that stretches from St. Louis to Chicago, you probably call them crawfish. If you live in the North or New England, you’ll likely refer to them as crayfish. And if you’re one of those weirdos in the middle of the Midwest or the Pacific coast, you’ll disdain both, and opt for crawdad, instead. Here’s a handy visual representation.

OK, but what’s the biological difference between these critters?

There isn’t one. It’s all linguistic. Oh, America. Never change.

What is “Carolina Gold” rice?

A restaurant menu took the time to point out that one of their entrees was being served with Carolina Gold, and it struck Kyle and me as strange that a rice would need such a specific description. We wondered what makes Carolina Gold so special. Well, it turns out that it’s special because it’s basically the progenitor of all long-grain rice in the Americas. According to the Carolina Gold Rice Foundation (which...exists), this rice originated in Africa and Indonesia, but once it arrived on our shores, it took hold in the Carolina Territory by 1685.

It became the standard for all rice served in the States, but after the Great Depression, new rice varieties crowded it out of the public eye, to the point that it became virtually extinct. Luckily for Carolina Gold, an eye surgeon named Dr. Richard Schulz collected stores from a USDA seed bank in the 1980s, and repatriated it to the Carolinas. Nowadays, it’s considered an heirloom rice, so it’s no wonder that it’s an attractive grain to serve in nice places. It’s tasty! Give it a try if you see it somewhere.

What are hoecakes, exactly?

They’re basically an unleavened cake made with cornmeal. They’re called hoecakes because they were originally baked on hoes. Hoecakes are also known as Johnny cakes, and they differ from traditional pancakes in that pancakes are generally leavened. Pancakes are also considered a sweeter dish, while hoecakes tend toward the savory.

Paella is stuffed with seafood, but do clams belong in there or not?

Do they ever! Or they don’t. Paella is one of those endlessly tweakable dishes; I found plenty of recipes that made sure to include clams, and plenty that made sure to exclude them. The meats and shellfish that go into paella have infinite permutations, but I’d suggest making sure you at least include some chorizo as one of the meats, and shrimp as one of the shellfish. Here’s a paella recipe with clams that looks fairly complex, but wow, would it be tasty.

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Research: The History of Hamburgers

It’s endlessly fascinating how mysterious a lot of food origin stories are. We tend to think of history as “This happened in this place on this date,” but when it comes to who came up with particular foods, drinks, or cooking styles, it seems we run into conflicting information more often than not. Nowadays, the humble American hamburger is practically ubiquitous, so it’s no wonder that a lot of people want the credit for introducing it, even if that credit is purely nominal. All those people are destined for frustration, though, because the history of the hamburger is a complicated tangle. I wanted to take a stab at it, though. Hamburgers are immensely popular, and are often even symbolic of America, but where did they come from?

As with 99.9999% of American foods, the hamburger didn’t really originate in America. Several sources trace them back to the Mongols in the 1200s, who stashed raw beef under their saddles as they rode around pillaging and raping. Supposedly, their butts pressed the meat into a form tender enough to eat raw, and when this tenderized raw meat was introduced to Russia, steak tartare was born. Frankly, this story sounds a little apocryphal, but like I said...complicated tangle. In any event, it’s beyond question that plenty of raw beef was being consumed.

Apparently, it took until the mid 1700s for actual cooking to be applied to these cuts of meat (again – a bit suspicious). Seafaring traders in the port city of Hamburg, Germany brought in a great deal of ground, raw meat, which the locals shaped into steak shapes and cooked. It’s about this time that we finally have some definitive historical evidence, in the form of an English cookbook called The Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy, which published a recipe for “Hamburg sausage” in 1747. By 1802, the official Oxford dictionary was defining Hamburg steak as a “hard slab of salted, minced beef, often slightly smoked, mixed with onions and bread crumbs.”

This was a time that German immigrants were coming to America in great waves, and they naturally brought this preparation with them. A New York doctor named James H. Salisbury declared in 1867 that this cooked meat was a pretty healthy alternative to consuming raw beef, and the Hamburg steak soon took on his name as Americans embraced it. It was fortuitous timing that home meat grinders also became widely available about this time. The stage was set.

So, where did the modern American hamburger as we know it today come from? Good question! As mentioned above, a lot of people have laid claim to it:

-There’s Fletcher Davis (~1880), who historians believe served hamburgers in Athens, Texas before bringing them to the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904, where they were popularized.

-There are the Menches brothers, Frank and Charles (~1885), that Ohioans claim served hamburgers at the Erie county fair when they ran out of sausage and used ground beef, instead.

-There’s Charlie Nagreen (~1885), who sold meatballs at the Seymour, Wisconsin county fair, and apparently made sandwiches out of them in order to make them easier to eat while walking around.

-There’s Louis’ Lunch wagon in New Haven, Connecticut (~1895), run by Danish immigrant Louis Lassen, who is officially credited by the Library of Congress as selling the first hamburger.

-There’s Oscar Bilby (~1891), who is believed to have created the first bun specifically created for hamburgers in Tulsa, Oklahoma. A fry cook named Walter Anderson is said to have “discovered” these buns in 1916, and went on to co-found White Castle in 1921.

Whew! What a mess. It seems that without access to a time machine, we’ll never know if the hamburger can be credited to a single source, or if it was independently developed by a whole bunch of people. Happily, though, it doesn’t matter too much. Let’s just be grateful that it happened.

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Research: The History of Eggnog

Hey, did you guys know that there was an event in American history called “The Eggnog Riot”? And that its alternate name is “The Grog Mutiny”? Really! It occurred in 1826 when a bunch of cadets sneaked whiskey into the U.S. Military Academy for a Christmas party, and wound up getting into a huge, drunken brawl. Twenty cadets were court-martialed, and one of the participants was future Confederate president Jefferson Davis. How come high school history classes never cover cool stuff like this?

Though eggnog is usually considered a holiday drink, a lot of people like to indulge in it throughout winter. As with a lot of drinks, there are ton of different ways to make it. When it first came about in England, it was made with wine. When it arrived in America, rum was favored. In the southern states, they prefer bourbon. In Puerto Rico, they add coconut juice/milk. Mexico intensified it with grain alcohol. And in Peru, they add a brandy called pisco.

Eggnog dates back to Europe in the Middle Ages, and probably evolved from a drink called posset, which is hot milk that has been curdled with wine or ale, with spices added. The concoction was often used as a remedy for colds and flu, and sometime during its rise in popularity, eggs began to show up in posset recipes. The “nog” part of the name is likely derived from noggin, a term for a small, carved wooden cup that was used to serve alcoholic drinks of all stripes.

In the 18th century, eggnog crossed the pond to the American colonies. Brandy and wine were heavily taxed, so America stuck out its collective tongue, and switched to Caribbean rum, which was far cheaper. In Britain, eggnog was a drink that was mainly consumed by aristocracy, but over here in America, its cost-effectiveness, plus easy access to cows (milk) and chickens (eggs) made it a popular drink for all classes. Rum became harder to obtain after the Revolutionary War, which is when domestic whiskey became the booze of choice to include. George Washington was a big fan of eggnog, and even devised his own extremely boozy recipe that utilized rye whiskey, rum, and sherry.

Weirdly, eggnog doesn’t seem to have any official historical affiliation with Christmas. It’s served warm, and it’s mostly served in social settings, so it makes sense that it would insinuate itself into the winter holidays. But no holiday is required to enjoy a cup of nog, and never has been. In Baltimore, there was a tradition in which young men would visit all of their friends on January 1. At each of the homes, the visitor would be offered some eggnog, and got progressively drunker throughout the day. How awesome is that?!? We tend to think of the past as stodgy and prudish, but once you start digging into the history of popular foods and drinks, it becomes clear that people have been cutting loose since the very beginning.

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Research: Food Terminology #2

Another upscale meal, another menu full of terminology that was either completely foreign to me, or that I'd heard of, but wanted to get a more precise understanding of. Let's tiptoe up to these advanced food concepts and enrich our culinary knowledge! First, let’s run through a few quick ones that may be unfamiliar to more timid eaters:

Brioche: A bread of French origin that is sometimes also referred to as a pastry, due to its high egg and butter content.

Aioli: An emulsion (like mayo), made of a base of garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, and egg yolks. An additional flavor is usually added (lemon aioli, basil aioli, etc.)

Mascarpone: A soft, easily-spreadable Italian cheese made from cream, coagulated by the addition of citric acid or acetic acid. When referring to mascarpone, please do not say "MAR-sca-pone".

Sweetbreads: The glands (usually thymus and/or pancreas) traditionally from a calf or lamb, though the term has expanded to cover more glands from more types of animals.

Tartare: A general term for dishes including raw meat or fish.

Now, let’s talk about some of the components of this particular meal that you probably don’t run across as often:

Arancini: Originating in Sicily, arancini are stuffed rice balls which are coated with breadcrumbs and fried. Generally, they are filled with meat sauce, tomato sauce, and mozzarella. Peas are also a popular arancini stuffing. Naturally, there are countless variants. The one that inspired this entry was a squid ink arancini, which was wonderful.

Chouquette: Similar to a cream puff, chouquettes are a light, baked pastry, usually filled with a custard or mousse, and sprinkled with pearl sugar on top. The one we got for this meal was far bigger than a traditional chouquette, did away with the pearl sugar, and had a filling that utilized some pretty boozy eggnog.

Cardoon: Also called “artichoke thistle”. Native to the Mediterranean region, it belongs to a plant family that also includes globe artichokes. This meal included the buds, but the leaf stalks are also often eaten after being steamed or braised. Several popular soups and stews in Spain and Italy call for cardoon.

Sabayon: A light, airy custard that originated in Italy. As with a lot of foreign words, it has several spelling variants (zabaione, zabajone, zabaglione). It's made with egg yolks, sugar, and Marsala wine, and is usually served as dessert. This version was included in the main portion of the meal, incorporated pumpkin, and was served on pasta.

Tortelli: A square-shape filled pasta, similar to ravioli. It's tortellini's big brother, and there is actually a special type served in the Apuan region of Italy that once was only cooked on Shrove Tuesday. This one was a lot less restrictive, and was served di zucca (with pumpkin).

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Research: The History of Fondue

Remember fondue? A lot of today's youths probably don't. Or at least, they never experienced the time that it was such a huge part of home entertainment. You couldn't escape it in the '80s. It's a dead food trend, but just because something is no longer a big part of popular food culture doesn’t mean it’s bad, or that it wasn’t worthy of its time in the sun. As you ease into the colder months, there’s actually a lot to be said for dipping hearty bread into bubbling hot cheese. So although fondue is about as hip as the Macarena right now, we should all still have a lot of affection for it. But how did it get its start?

Well, you’re going to have to go pretty damn far back for the answer to that. Like as far back as Homer’s Iliad, which mentions a dish made of melted goat cheese, wine, and flour. Unfortunately for Greece, they can’t claim credit for the idea of modern fondue, though. That honor goes to Switzerland. The practice of dipping bread in melted cheese cooked with wine first appeared in a Swiss cookbook in the late 17th century, though Swiss citizens were likely already preparing it during the colder months when bread and cheese were some of the few fresh ingredients they had access to. The word fondue is from the French for “to melt”, and was first referred to as such in 1735, making the jump to English in 1878. Took us long enough, didn’t it?

In the 1930s, the Swiss Cheese Union served as a cartel to retain control of cheese production. They very cleverly pushed for fondue to become a national dish of Switzerland. It worked, and after lobbying to restrict cheese production to a very few varieties, they were able to maintain a stranglehold on a massive amount of wealth. In fact, Swiss cheese makers pretty much ruled the country’s economy for about 80 years. And here you thought cheese was boring.

Cheese fondue isn’t the only kind, of course. In the Middle Ages, field workers in France would stick raw meat into a communal pot of boiling oil whenever they could catch a few minutes off. Chinese hot pot is basically fondue with broth as the cooking liquid. And Americans sweetened things up, as we are wont to do, by developing chocolate fondue in the mid-20th century. But if you want to honor the true origins of fondue, then go liquefy some Gruyere. You don’t need to be a trendsetter to eat well.

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Research: Soups vs. Stews

“Versus” implies an adversarial relationship, but in all of the Versus posts to date, the information I tracked down was delivered with a mostly precise, academic tone of voice. After all, it’s entirely understandable why you might not know the differences between Cajun and Creole food, so there’s no need to get emotional about it. When it came to discerning the differences between soups and stews, however? People have opinions. Strong ones! That’s probably because the soup/stew label is more about personal style, rather than an accepted historical taxonomy. There doesn’t really seem to be a standard definition that can be applied to either soup or stew, but that certainly doesn’t stop people from trying.

If you asked most people to come up with the main difference between soup and stew, they’d say something about texture. Soups are thin and liquid; stews are thick and hearty. And honestly, this isn’t a terrible method of differentiating. After all, when you describe soups, you’re usually focusing on the broth. When you describe stews, you’re usually describing the solid ingredients that make up its bulk. Plus, stewing is a specific cooking method that involves slow cooking solids in moist heat, which would lend support to this argument. As one article put it, “When you make a beef stew, you are stewing the beef, which says nothing about what you’re stewing it in. On the other hand, when you make a chicken soup (or a chicken stock or broth which is the base of a chicken soup), then your objective is essentially to make chicken-flavored liquid – to extract the flavor of the solids into the liquid. If some flavorful solids remain, then that is incidental as opposed to intentional.”

The thick/thin dichotomy may be the main way of differentiating soup and stew, but it is not the only metric, though. There are plenty of soups that have as thick a consistency as any stew. So let’s take a brief look at some of the other ways people assign distinctions:

Serving Temperature: Soups can be eaten hot or cold. Some don’t even need to be cooked at all, and some are served for dessert. But while soups fall all over the spectrum, stews are always eaten hot.

Importance to the Meal: This was one of the stranger claims I found, but it makes a certain amount of sense. In short, stews are generally eaten as an entree, but soups are incidental. That is to say, if you’re eating a stew, it’s the centerpiece of your meal. Soup, on the other hand, is treated as an appetizer or a side dish. Some people even dug down into the size that the ingredients are chopped into. Big chunks of meat are important, and thus belong to a stew. Small ones are just there to flavor the broth, and are thus a soup.

Cooking Method: As mentioned above, when you “stew” a meat, you’re slowly cooking it in moist heat over a long period of time. So, if you’re making a stew, it’s more likely that you’re doing just that: Cooking the ingredients low and slow. Meanwhile, a great number of soups (though by no means all) can be made quickly and with a high, rolling boil. Plenty of soups can be knocked out in no time, but stews take patience.

Flavor Source: Are you relying on herbs and spices? Are you bringing out the flavors locked in bones or root veggies? You, sir or madam, have a soup on your hands. If, however, the main flavor of your dish is coming from meat (fish, vegetables, etc.), then it’s more likely to be thought of as a stew. This difference is a little too imprecise for me, but I did run across it, so I'm passing it along.

Cultural Background: Some sources noted that something that would be called a stew in one country would be considered a soup in another. The most fanciful thing I found suggested the following thought experiment: If someone you love isn’t feeling well, would you bring them this dish to make them feel better? If so, it’s a soup. If not, it’s a stew.

No matter what the differences between soups and stews, they're certainly always welcome, especially in the colder months, when we’ll all be spending a lot of time indoors. If you’re looking for something to do, why not whip up a big, hearty beef stew, settle in, and write a more definitive categorization for this food family? Both the culinary world and the linguistic world would appreciate it, thanks.

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Research: Mother Sauces

I love the feeling of curiosity that sparks in my mind when I encounter an origin, trend, or mystery surrounding food. When my friend Kyle got an entree that was served with an accompanying agrodolce sauce, I was as excited about looking into what its components were as I was in tasting it. During that minor research avenue, it struck me that it linked up to a major one. There’s an entire class of sauces that are far more defined, yet never receive a lot of attention in popular food culture. I'm talking about Mother Sauces, which as the name suggests, provides the basis for countless offshoots. Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard the term; it’s puzzling how little they’re discussed. Ready to get your taxonomy knowledge on? Let’s get saucy!

Before we get to the moms, though, here’s a brief description of that agrodolce sauce: For anyone who speaks Italian, it won’t come as a huge surprise that this is a sweet-and-sour sauce. It’s primarily used in Italian cuisine, and is made by reducing vinegar and sugar. Additional ingredients (in this case, it was ginger for use on a trout entree) are often added. If this method sounds familiar, give yourself a gold star for recognizing its almost identical cousin, gastrique. This is also a good place to point out that not all sauces trace back to one of the Mother Sauces: Gastrique, agrodolce, and many others are excluded from the family tree. And though those exceptions can be delicious, today is devoted to the sauce matriarchs.

Béchamel
Béchamel is also known as “white sauce”, and is often considered the simplest of the Mother Sauces, since you don’t have to make a stock. It utilizes milk as a base, which is thickened with a roux (flour and butter), and generally flavored with onion, shallots, and spices such as pepper, clove, or nutmeg. Béchamel is the mother of many cream and cheese sauces, and shows up in a lot of egg, vegetable, casserole, and baked pasta dishes, such as lasagna. Secondary sauces that owe allegiance to Béchamel include Mornay sauce, Soubise sauce, and the good ol’ Cheddar sauce that shows up in our mac & cheese.

Velouté
Velouté is also a white sauce thickened with a roux, but this time, the “white” refers to the stock it uses as its base (chicken, fish, or veal). The stock replacing the milk is the main difference between Velouté and Béchamel, although sometimes, a Velouté will be thickened with a liason (egg yolk and cream) instead of a roux. Velouté also has three main secondary sauces, serving as mothers of various sauces themselves. Velouté made with chicken stock and fortified with cream becomes a Suprême sauce. Using fish stock (plus white wine and cream) yields a White Wine sauce. And veal stock thickened with a liason is known as Allemande sauce. These three daughters then go on to propagate tasty sauces such as herb sauces, curries, or Normandy sauce for light poultry and fish dishes.

Espagnole
Espagnole is also known as “brown sauce”, and is more complex than some of the others. At first glance, it seems like it’s just brown (beef) stock thickened with roux, but unlike Velouté, this sauce has additional steps involved. Tomato puree and mirepoix (carrots/celery/onion) are added to deepen the flavor, and let’s not forget that brown stock itself involves more work than a white one. The sauce is then refined into a demi-glace, which is used as a starting point for the secondary sauces. The demi-glace step isn’t strictly necessary, but since it adds so much flavor and body, it generally piggybacks in on the Espagnole’s back. The secondary sauces in this family are often used on roasted meat dishes like duck and lamb, and include Bordelaise sauce, Madeira sauce, and red wine/port reductions.

Hollandaise
Hey, we’ve got places to be and things to do! How about a sauce that’s not so much work? Hollandaise to the rescue! In Hollandaise, all you need to do is slowly whisk clarified butter into warm egg yolks. Additional flavors can be added, of course, but that’s the basis. Hollandaise can be used on its own, but you shouldn’t ignore its secondary sauces, the most famous of which is Béarnaise sauce. Others include Mousseline sauce (Hollandaise with whipped cream folded in), and Mourtarde sauce (Hollandaise with Dijon mustard). Hollandaise sauces are terrific on eggs, but can also be used for vegetables and poultry.

Tomate
Tomate (or “tomato” or “red”) sauce is probably the most familiar to American eaters, but can be prepared in a plethora of ways. Obviously, it has a tomato base, but there are tons of methods for thickening that base. As with the other Mother Sauces, you can use a roux. Or you can thicken it with additional purees. Or you can reduce it. Or, like a lot of chefs, you can decide that the tomatoes are thick enough themselves. Classic Tomate is flavored with rendered salt pork, mirepoix, or meat stock. Tomate is good on pretty much anything, but especially pasta. In addition to Puttanesca, Creole sauce and Provençale sauce fall under the Tomate umbrella.

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