Well I hope you all had a good Christmas Holiday. Mine was (and still is) delicious. I'm still working on leftovers! We did a roast lamb this year with a nice Provencal marinade that consisted of simply fresh minced garlic, rosemary, thyme, basil, oregano, sage, parsely, lavender buds (you read right!), and olive oil. I find it odd that we Americans go through all that trouble to cook a turkey for Thanksgiving just to do it all over again a month later! I mean really, I just finished the leftover turkey and now I have to do it all over again? Nuh-uh. I don't think so. What's this blog about? Expanding our culinary horizons! So think about this next Christmas. Don't do another turkey! Do a roast or a ham. One year my mom and I even did a Harry Potter Christmas. For those hunters out there, try some venison or elk or goose or duck or Peanutbutter and Jelly Sandwiches! Ok, nevermind. But seriously, I love turkey but enough is enough!
There are certain things we have to have for Christmas in my family, some of which go back several generations. My grandfather Clarence Crandall served an LDS mission in Germany in the mid'1930's during the rise of Hitler. This led to a long carreer as a G-man, a Hoover, a Suit, a Fed. Yeah, he was in the FBI. His years in Germany also introduced our world to what became known as "Stinky Fish and Stinky Cheese". They are delicacies that my grandfather loved but my grandmother couldn't stand. So, they compromised and he was allowed "said delicacies" once a year during Christmas. The stinky fish is simply marinated herring. My mother is the only one who likes it. She says it reminds her of Christmas in New York. The stinky cheese is something called a Liptauer Cheesepot. Its a kind of cheese spread that is very sharp and robust, mainly because it has anchovies in it. Eventually my mom added a third German delicacy - Braunschweiger, or more commonly known as liverwurst. Store bought liverwurst is ok, but my mom's is "sehr gut!" Next to crunching pecans its my second favorite Christmas memory. Foodwise, that is. Nothing says Christmas like a bowl full of pecans and a platter of liverwurst, "stinky cheese" and crackers. If anyone wants the recipe, let me know.
Recently my sister Catherine came up for an idea for a new tradition that really doesn't have anything to do with Christmas at all. My dad did his missionary work in Brazil. So, naturally, there's a certain love affair with Brazilian food, especially Feijoada which is a black bean stew with about seven different kinds of meat and sausages and it's served over rice with a pico de gallo of black olives and palm hearts. MM MM MM. Sorry I drifted off for a second. Where was I? I know! I was in Brazil! Anyway, so now, every Christmas Eve we all get together for a Brazilian Feast. Don't forget the guarana!
I'm already planning something for next year. We got this idea from Bravo Channel's Top Chef. Their challenge was The Twelve Days of Christmas. You know, a partridge in a pear tree and all that. Twelve courses. Wow. What am I gonna do for Nine Ladies Dancing?! I'll let you know how it turns out, if I survive the feast hehe.
Until then - See you next year!
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, November 23, 2008
It's Fruitcake Weather, Buddy!
Ah, Truman Capote. His "Christmas Memory" has always been one of my favorite short stories. This is mainly due to the fact that I can relate to a part of the story where Buddy and his cousin go collecting pecans for their fruitcake. One of my fondest memories of Christmas in Phoenix is pecans.
We had a huge and very old pecan tree that produced pounds and pounds of pecans each Fall. My mom would send me out a few times each week to shake the tree and collect the pecans which I would put in a 5 gallon bucket. We would sit in front of the TV on Christmas Eve and New Years Eve and crack pecans while watching college bowl games. It was before the days of the BCS so the games actually meant something then. If I remember right, it was usually the Independence Bowl and the Peach Bowl which, sadly, don't exist anymore. Even to this day I love pecans, probably more than any nut. Yes, even more than peanuts.
We sold the house on West Virginia Avenue in 1984. We called Santa Barbara, California home, but Phoenix was, and still is, where our family, and hearts, lived. During one visit, we drove to our old house and saw a painful site. The pecan tree was gone. The new owners had cut it down. It was like losing a member of the family. This house my sisters and I grew up in (our little brother was too young to remember) was the same one our dad had grown up in. Our parents bought the house from our grandparents, Kent and Lavern in the mid 1960's. The tree predated the family even then, having probably been planted when the house was built in 1940. It was sad to think of that backyard, now empty of those nuts.
Now I live in Utah and still I pine for those nuts. But now, I have to be content to buy them at the grocery store. Utah's climate is too cold and it's altitude too high to support pecan trees. Otherwise I would have planted one by now. I honestly believe that absence not only makes the heart grow stronger, but cravings stronger as well. Each winter, as I watch the snow fall up and down the Wasatch Front, that craving grows stronger. Maybe it's not so much a craving as a longing to relive a memory. The Independence Bowl and Peach Bowl may no longer exist and my winters now are by far more colder than when I was a child, but I will always think of that tree everytime I eat a pecan straight from the shell.
We had a huge and very old pecan tree that produced pounds and pounds of pecans each Fall. My mom would send me out a few times each week to shake the tree and collect the pecans which I would put in a 5 gallon bucket. We would sit in front of the TV on Christmas Eve and New Years Eve and crack pecans while watching college bowl games. It was before the days of the BCS so the games actually meant something then. If I remember right, it was usually the Independence Bowl and the Peach Bowl which, sadly, don't exist anymore. Even to this day I love pecans, probably more than any nut. Yes, even more than peanuts.
We sold the house on West Virginia Avenue in 1984. We called Santa Barbara, California home, but Phoenix was, and still is, where our family, and hearts, lived. During one visit, we drove to our old house and saw a painful site. The pecan tree was gone. The new owners had cut it down. It was like losing a member of the family. This house my sisters and I grew up in (our little brother was too young to remember) was the same one our dad had grown up in. Our parents bought the house from our grandparents, Kent and Lavern in the mid 1960's. The tree predated the family even then, having probably been planted when the house was built in 1940. It was sad to think of that backyard, now empty of those nuts.
Now I live in Utah and still I pine for those nuts. But now, I have to be content to buy them at the grocery store. Utah's climate is too cold and it's altitude too high to support pecan trees. Otherwise I would have planted one by now. I honestly believe that absence not only makes the heart grow stronger, but cravings stronger as well. Each winter, as I watch the snow fall up and down the Wasatch Front, that craving grows stronger. Maybe it's not so much a craving as a longing to relive a memory. The Independence Bowl and Peach Bowl may no longer exist and my winters now are by far more colder than when I was a child, but I will always think of that tree everytime I eat a pecan straight from the shell.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Me salsa es su salsa
Ok, so last post I promised a salsa recipe. First I’d like to show the difference between Pico de Gallo (pronounced ‘gah-yo’) and salsa. Salsa is Spanish for “sauce”. Salsa Verde, is green chili sauce. Salsa Picante is hot sauce. Pico de Gallo on the other hand means “peck of the rooster”. Why it’s called that I have no idea and every Mexican I ask has no idea either. Same thing goes for burros (ok, the rest of the country may call them burritos, but in Arizona they are always called burros). I have no idea why they call them “donkeys” or “little donkeys” The English have funny names for everything they eat, (Bubble and Squeak, anyone?), but at least they know why. So if anyone knows why they are called burros (or burritos), please let me know! Anyway, Pico de Gallo is not salsa. It is a mix of diced fresh tomatoes, onions, chili peppers, cilantro, garlic and either lime juice, vinegar or, hey, why not, both.
Salsa has always been a staple in my house. Every year we grow tomatoes to turn into salsa which my mother cans for just the winter. That’s about how long it lasts in our house. By spring, we’ve either eaten it all or are down to our last bottle. When I was growing up, my Grandma Laverne told me that the best thing for a cold is the hottest salsa you can find. Wouldn’t you believe it if she was right. In fact, after experiencing a bhut jolokia I know she’s right. A good dose of chili peppers warms up the body and sweats out the cold. It’s true! If you don’t believe my Grandma Laverne (Shame on you!), try it yourself. You will believe!
In my opinion, the best salsas are fresh. Nothing is cooked. However, many times, canned tomatoes or tomato sauce is a better bet than fresh tomatoes because they will have a stronger tomato taste. I like to use both.
1 16 oz canned tomatoes - stewed, diced or crushed.
½ - 1 bunch cilantro
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp fresh minced garlic
2 jalapeños or your choice of peppers - seeded, not seeded, it’s your choice
½ white onion, cut in large pieces
2 T lime juice
2 large tomatoes, seeded and cut in large pieces
3 green onions, chopped
Put everything but the fresh tomatoes and green onions in the food processor and blend well. Add the tomatoes and green onions and just pulse the food processor. This will make the salsa nice and chunky. Taste for salt and you can add a little black pepper too if you like.
The great thing about this recipe is nothing is written in stone. You can omit the canned tomatoes and use 4 large tomatoes. You can omit the tomatoes and use 2 canned tomatoes. You can also use tomato sauce if you want.
Here’s something I found while reading about Brazilian food. This is supposedly something from the region of Bahia. It really blew me away when I read it.
1 large tomato, diced
½ white onion, diced
1 bunch cilantro
Juice from one lime
20 (yes twenty!) Serrano or Thai chilies, seeded and chopped
Dash salt and pepper
Mix everything together in a bowl, say your prayers and enjoy!
Salsa has always been a staple in my house. Every year we grow tomatoes to turn into salsa which my mother cans for just the winter. That’s about how long it lasts in our house. By spring, we’ve either eaten it all or are down to our last bottle. When I was growing up, my Grandma Laverne told me that the best thing for a cold is the hottest salsa you can find. Wouldn’t you believe it if she was right. In fact, after experiencing a bhut jolokia I know she’s right. A good dose of chili peppers warms up the body and sweats out the cold. It’s true! If you don’t believe my Grandma Laverne (Shame on you!), try it yourself. You will believe!
In my opinion, the best salsas are fresh. Nothing is cooked. However, many times, canned tomatoes or tomato sauce is a better bet than fresh tomatoes because they will have a stronger tomato taste. I like to use both.
1 16 oz canned tomatoes - stewed, diced or crushed.
½ - 1 bunch cilantro
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp fresh minced garlic
2 jalapeños or your choice of peppers - seeded, not seeded, it’s your choice
½ white onion, cut in large pieces
2 T lime juice
2 large tomatoes, seeded and cut in large pieces
3 green onions, chopped
Put everything but the fresh tomatoes and green onions in the food processor and blend well. Add the tomatoes and green onions and just pulse the food processor. This will make the salsa nice and chunky. Taste for salt and you can add a little black pepper too if you like.
The great thing about this recipe is nothing is written in stone. You can omit the canned tomatoes and use 4 large tomatoes. You can omit the tomatoes and use 2 canned tomatoes. You can also use tomato sauce if you want.
Here’s something I found while reading about Brazilian food. This is supposedly something from the region of Bahia. It really blew me away when I read it.
1 large tomato, diced
½ white onion, diced
1 bunch cilantro
Juice from one lime
20 (yes twenty!) Serrano or Thai chilies, seeded and chopped
Dash salt and pepper
Mix everything together in a bowl, say your prayers and enjoy!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
We Want Chilie Willie!
“Part of the secret to success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside” - Mark Twain
If I had the chance to go back in time and meet Mr. Twain, I’d say, “Amen!” I was watching a couple of cooking shows on PBS’ CreateTV and I was really amazed by what I saw. Actually, more dumbfounded than amazed. Both shows were obviously marketed to the health conscious, or, as I say, “the Hippie Caucus,” and that’s ok. I don’t believe in the Fast Food Nation or the United States of the Golden Arches. I’ll admit I do indulge once in awhile, especially if I’m short on time. For the most part I do prefer fresh and healthy as apposed to fattening and, as the British would say, “Ready-Made”. But, I do have my limits.
On both of these shows, and I’ll keep the name of the shows to myself for obvious reasons, they mixed this healthy ingredient with that healthy ingredient and I had no idea what any of the ingredients were or where to get them. And why where those particular ingredients used? One was high in Vitamin C. Another was a great source of antioxidants. A lot of fiber. A lot of Tofu. Very little carbs. Very little sugar. What’s the point?
The three most important things in cooking are: Taste, Texture, and Color. What I saw on these shows was just texture with lots of grains, nuts, vegetables and fruit. I’m sure it all tasted good but all the chefs talked about were the vitamins and minerals and ways to get your blood flowing in twenty minutes or less. If I add something to a dish it will have nothing to with vitamins and such. Of course, I want what I cook to be healthy, but what’s the point of being healthy if I can’t enjoy it? I like TV chefs who can describe how the flavors, textures and colors of the dish are going to interact with each other. That’s what stokes my passion for good food. That’s what I think about when I read or write recipes, not how it’s going to affect my body. Call me a glutton for punishment, but that’s the way I am.
So what gets my culinary gander going? I’ll give you a hint - I’m from Arizona, remember? They call it a dry heat, but it sure does make you sweat. Just about everything I eat is spicy. In my refrigerator right now, there are probably four or five different kinds of salsas, Tabasco or Louisiana hot sauces or enchilada sauces. I even have a bottle of Tabasco soy sauce made by Kikkoman and Mcilhenny’s Tabasco Co.
Any pepper will do for me. Jalapeñ o, Anaheim, Poblano, Habanero, Scotch Bonnet, Seranno, Thai, Fatali, Devil‘s Tounge. You name it I’ve eaten it. For those who say that green chilies are hotter than red - you are wrong. A chipotle pepper is a red jalapeñ o that is smoked and either dried or marinated in an Adobo sauce. Ancho peppers are red Poblanos. Both are hotter than their green counterparts. Also, until recently, the Guinness Book of World Records listed the Red Sovina Habanero as the hottest pepper in the world. That distinction now goes to a pepper from India with several names. It was originally called Bih Jolokia which means “Poison Pepper.” Now it’s called Bhut Jolokia because it comes from the Bhut region of India. Locals from that region refer to it as the Ghost Chile. In England, some people have been able to cultivate a slightly milder version called Naga Jolokia. There are several websites that sell the seeds. Some even sell the peppers in smoked (like a chipotle) or dry powder version. You can even buy the fresh peppers, available in early Fall, but that’s a crap-shoot. They are delicate and hard to grow.
So how do I know which peppers are hotter than others besides the wanton destruction of my own taste buds and esophageal lining? There’s a chart called Scoville Heat Unit that’s like a Richter Scale for peppers that measures the concentration of capsaicin oil which is where all the acid is. A sweet Bell pepper has a rating of zero. A jalapeñ o has a rating of 5,o00-8,000, but a chipotle pepper has a Scovil rating of 8,000-10,000. The Red Sovina Habanero has a rating of about 350,000. The new champ Bhut Jolokia has a rating just above 1 MILLION. Yes, million. Sweat much? Let me tell you, if you do manage to try some of those caustic chilies you will more than sweat. With jalapeñ os or habaneros, you will burn. With the Bhut Jolokia, you will sweat first. Next, your body temperature will rise slightly and you will sweat more. This will give you a false sense of security and you will eat more, and more and more. Before you know it, you’re burning inside and out, clean through your entire digestive system and there’s nothing you can do about it. What a rush! Of course, it's all relative but still...what a rush!
Actually there is one thing you can do about it. Dairy. Milk, heavy cream, half and half, sour cream, yogurt - they all work in neutralizing the acid. Yogurt is the best. The worst thing you can do is drink water or eat ice. Water doesn’t dilute the acid, it just spreads it around. There are some that say alcohol helps too. However, I wouldn’t recommend it because only hard liquor is said to work. Beer and wine have way too much water to help.
Next week I’ll do a couple of nice salsa recipes.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Welcome fo Lil Chef's Blog
As the late (and great) Cajun chef Justin Wilson would say, “How Y’all are!?” I am the Little Chef and if you are reading this, consider yourself a charter member of my food blog! First, let me tell you about myself, then we’ll get down to business - FOOD!
I was born in New York (Long Island - Manhassett to be precise), raised in my parent’s native Phoenix (and you think fire is hot?), went to high school in Santa Barbara, California (yes, it‘s true what they say about California girls), and currently reside in Utah (insert green Jell-O joke here). I’ve also been to Mexico several times (I grew up in Arizona…what’d you expect, Canada?), Canada once (gotcha!), and spent two years in Japan (insert Mormon missionary joke here).
So, yeah, I’ve been around. Okay, maybe not as “around” as I would like. I do tend to find myself living vicariously through travel shows on PBS. But still, unlike many people (*coughs* Utah!), at least I haven’t been stuck in the same place my entire life. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy living in Utah, and one can find great food in Utah. The problem is, it’s all transplanted, generalized, popped from the corporate cookie-cutter mold chock full of preservatives, or super-sized for the family.
For example, when you go to the Deep South what do you expect? BBQ, Gumbo, Fried Chicken, Cornbread, and so on and so forth. New England is famous for it’s chowders and incredible seafood. Chicago is the sausage capital of the U.S., and if you were to go to the Southwest, you’d get the best Mexican food outside of Old Mexico.
What about Utah? Jell-O. You read right. The official state food of Utah is Jell-O. Don’t get me wrong. I love Jell-O. Growing up in Arizona, every Saturday was “Hamburger Day” for our family. We’d all go to our grandparents’ house (Aunts, Uncles, cousins and all) for my grandfather’s legendary hamburgers. And yes, there was Jell-O. Couldn’t be a BBQ without a nice big side of fruit filled Jell-O (Don’t forget the whipped cream!). When I was in college at Arizona State, I would mix black cherry Jell-O with Dr. Pepper. I would use hot water to dissolve the Jell-O and then, instead of cold water to get it to set, I’d use Dr. Pepper. Mm mm good times!
There’s also a dish here called Funeral Potatoes which is nothing more than a “hausfrau” version of rösti potatoes, a German dish of shredded scalloped potatoes, ham and cheese that’s baked. It’s actually quite good and hearty and can be easily made in bulk. In the beginning days of the Mormon church, founder Joseph Smith’s wife Emma created a woman’s group called the Relief Society . Ever since, Mormon women have made these tasty potatoes for grieving families, hence the name Funeral Potatoes.
So sure, Jell-O is yummy and Jell-O is fun, and Funeral Potatoes are great for, well, funerals (and big families too!). But seriously, there is more to life than Jell-O. There’s a whole world of food out there to explore! There’s no shame in trying something new to eat. It never ceases to amaze me how some people refuse to indulge themselves in a little spice of life. They stick themselves in a corner of the world and never give themselves the chance to experience the many different cultures and cuisines the world has to offer. If there’s one thing I can’t stand is a fussy eater.
When I go out to eat, it’s more than just to stuff my face and feed the growling tummy before it feeds on me. I love to try new places that I’ve never dined at before just so I can get a taste of what other chefs have to offer. I mean, really. It’s called culinary arts for a reason. It’s art! Just because Monet didn’t paint like Da Vinci doesn’t mean it’s not good. Not every artist paints the Mona Lisa. I can almost imagine a fussy eater at an art gallery:
“They don’t have the Mona Lisa. I really wanted to see the Mona Lisa.”
“But honey, this is a French Impressionist exhibit.”
“I hate French Impressionism. They had a Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Why not here?”
“This isn’t the Louvre.”
“I know. The Louvre was better.”
“Good for them. Now, look, they have a Monet. Just look at a Monet and be happy about it.”
“Maybe if I just ask them to paint me a Mona Lisa”
“They can’t just pull a Mona Lisa out of nowhere.”
“Why not? My mom did it all the time.”
“Your mom’s house is not an art gallery, sweetie, and the artists here are not your mom. Every time we come to the gallery all you do is look at the Mona Lisa. I wanted to come to this gallery because they didn‘t have a Mona Lisa. Look at something else for a change!”
Ok, I’m getting beyond myself a bit, but I think you get the idea. From here on out we are going to lose our gastronomic inhibitions and go exploring! Don’t worry, I’m not going to go into extremely exotic things like bird’s nest soup (yes it is made with a real bird’s nest, or actually the spit from a Thai swallow used to glue the nest together), fried Amazon tarantulas or, heaven forbid, haggis. Let’s just say I find it my duty and obligation as a chef to eradicate fussy palates.
We’ll explore foods I grew up with in Arizona and California, foods from Brazil where my dad did missionary work in the late 1950’s as well as Japan where I did missionary work. We’ll also explore recipes from great chefs that I think all children should know about but most likely won’t (and that’s a shame) such as Graham Kerr, Justin Wilson and the immortal Julia Child. And, for those less experienced, I’ll even throw in some examples of poor restaurant etiquette (I mean besides burping ’hello’ to the table next to you).
So, where do I get this passion for culinary variety? There are many things I can blame my mother for. One thing we’re both well known for is mixing our syllables when we speak. For example, when I was in kindergarten I wore cowboy boots. One day my mom told me to pick up my feet and quit scuffing my boots. It came out, “quit scoofing your butts!” When I got older I noticed I had the tendency to do the same thing. My mom has since apologized. She claims she never intended to pass on that gene, but sometimes I wonder!
It actually started when my mom and dad got married. As the story goes, my dad told my mom that he wanted her to explore different cuisines. He didn’t want to eat the same thing day after day, week after week. She was quite successful with the exception of the “Borsch Incident” which she has since fixed. My dad and his friend Nelson Reed would go down to Mexico to go scuba diving (I still remember the last trip we took! I was about 3-4 years old I think), and they would bring back some crabs and my mom, not a seafood lover at the time, was expected to cook them. My dad taught her how to fill an ice chest with warm water and cornmeal. The warm water was to put the crabs to sleep and the corn meal was for the crabs to eat to clean out their digestive system. She loves seafood now. When we lived in New York, my dad introduced her to pickled herring. She eats it every Christmas while reminiscing of those wonderful Christmas shopping trips to FAO Schwartz in Manhattan.
When I was in high school, I would sit on the couch with my mom and watch Julia, Graham and Justin on PBS while folding laundry (It was in prehistoric caveman days, B.C. - Before Cable). I think it was the only way my mom could get me to help fold the laundry. It was about my junior year in high school, I think, when I first started my recipe collecting. My mom eventually gave me a binder in which I specifically keep clipped recipes and menus from different restaurants. From there I found myself in college, sharing an apartment with my cousin Dan. I’d work out using his dumbbells while watching shows like Great Chefs of the West.
I never intended to become a chef, really, although in the back of my mind I think I always knew it would happen. I studied aeronautical engineering at ASU hoping to become an astronaut or at least help design rockets and airplanes. I worked part-time at a restaurant in Tempe, AZ to pay for college and after awhile I couldn’t resist the culinary bug any longer. So here I am, almost eighteen years working in restaurants and thirteen years a graduate of culinary school. Sometimes destiny is like an annoying telemarketer who keeps calling and calling until you can’t help but answer the phone.
I was born in New York (Long Island - Manhassett to be precise), raised in my parent’s native Phoenix (and you think fire is hot?), went to high school in Santa Barbara, California (yes, it‘s true what they say about California girls), and currently reside in Utah (insert green Jell-O joke here). I’ve also been to Mexico several times (I grew up in Arizona…what’d you expect, Canada?), Canada once (gotcha!), and spent two years in Japan (insert Mormon missionary joke here).
So, yeah, I’ve been around. Okay, maybe not as “around” as I would like. I do tend to find myself living vicariously through travel shows on PBS. But still, unlike many people (*coughs* Utah!), at least I haven’t been stuck in the same place my entire life. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy living in Utah, and one can find great food in Utah. The problem is, it’s all transplanted, generalized, popped from the corporate cookie-cutter mold chock full of preservatives, or super-sized for the family.
For example, when you go to the Deep South what do you expect? BBQ, Gumbo, Fried Chicken, Cornbread, and so on and so forth. New England is famous for it’s chowders and incredible seafood. Chicago is the sausage capital of the U.S., and if you were to go to the Southwest, you’d get the best Mexican food outside of Old Mexico.
What about Utah? Jell-O. You read right. The official state food of Utah is Jell-O. Don’t get me wrong. I love Jell-O. Growing up in Arizona, every Saturday was “Hamburger Day” for our family. We’d all go to our grandparents’ house (Aunts, Uncles, cousins and all) for my grandfather’s legendary hamburgers. And yes, there was Jell-O. Couldn’t be a BBQ without a nice big side of fruit filled Jell-O (Don’t forget the whipped cream!). When I was in college at Arizona State, I would mix black cherry Jell-O with Dr. Pepper. I would use hot water to dissolve the Jell-O and then, instead of cold water to get it to set, I’d use Dr. Pepper. Mm mm good times!
There’s also a dish here called Funeral Potatoes which is nothing more than a “hausfrau” version of rösti potatoes, a German dish of shredded scalloped potatoes, ham and cheese that’s baked. It’s actually quite good and hearty and can be easily made in bulk. In the beginning days of the Mormon church, founder Joseph Smith’s wife Emma created a woman’s group called the Relief Society . Ever since, Mormon women have made these tasty potatoes for grieving families, hence the name Funeral Potatoes.
So sure, Jell-O is yummy and Jell-O is fun, and Funeral Potatoes are great for, well, funerals (and big families too!). But seriously, there is more to life than Jell-O. There’s a whole world of food out there to explore! There’s no shame in trying something new to eat. It never ceases to amaze me how some people refuse to indulge themselves in a little spice of life. They stick themselves in a corner of the world and never give themselves the chance to experience the many different cultures and cuisines the world has to offer. If there’s one thing I can’t stand is a fussy eater.
When I go out to eat, it’s more than just to stuff my face and feed the growling tummy before it feeds on me. I love to try new places that I’ve never dined at before just so I can get a taste of what other chefs have to offer. I mean, really. It’s called culinary arts for a reason. It’s art! Just because Monet didn’t paint like Da Vinci doesn’t mean it’s not good. Not every artist paints the Mona Lisa. I can almost imagine a fussy eater at an art gallery:
“They don’t have the Mona Lisa. I really wanted to see the Mona Lisa.”
“But honey, this is a French Impressionist exhibit.”
“I hate French Impressionism. They had a Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Why not here?”
“This isn’t the Louvre.”
“I know. The Louvre was better.”
“Good for them. Now, look, they have a Monet. Just look at a Monet and be happy about it.”
“Maybe if I just ask them to paint me a Mona Lisa”
“They can’t just pull a Mona Lisa out of nowhere.”
“Why not? My mom did it all the time.”
“Your mom’s house is not an art gallery, sweetie, and the artists here are not your mom. Every time we come to the gallery all you do is look at the Mona Lisa. I wanted to come to this gallery because they didn‘t have a Mona Lisa. Look at something else for a change!”
Ok, I’m getting beyond myself a bit, but I think you get the idea. From here on out we are going to lose our gastronomic inhibitions and go exploring! Don’t worry, I’m not going to go into extremely exotic things like bird’s nest soup (yes it is made with a real bird’s nest, or actually the spit from a Thai swallow used to glue the nest together), fried Amazon tarantulas or, heaven forbid, haggis. Let’s just say I find it my duty and obligation as a chef to eradicate fussy palates.
We’ll explore foods I grew up with in Arizona and California, foods from Brazil where my dad did missionary work in the late 1950’s as well as Japan where I did missionary work. We’ll also explore recipes from great chefs that I think all children should know about but most likely won’t (and that’s a shame) such as Graham Kerr, Justin Wilson and the immortal Julia Child. And, for those less experienced, I’ll even throw in some examples of poor restaurant etiquette (I mean besides burping ’hello’ to the table next to you).
So, where do I get this passion for culinary variety? There are many things I can blame my mother for. One thing we’re both well known for is mixing our syllables when we speak. For example, when I was in kindergarten I wore cowboy boots. One day my mom told me to pick up my feet and quit scuffing my boots. It came out, “quit scoofing your butts!” When I got older I noticed I had the tendency to do the same thing. My mom has since apologized. She claims she never intended to pass on that gene, but sometimes I wonder!
It actually started when my mom and dad got married. As the story goes, my dad told my mom that he wanted her to explore different cuisines. He didn’t want to eat the same thing day after day, week after week. She was quite successful with the exception of the “Borsch Incident” which she has since fixed. My dad and his friend Nelson Reed would go down to Mexico to go scuba diving (I still remember the last trip we took! I was about 3-4 years old I think), and they would bring back some crabs and my mom, not a seafood lover at the time, was expected to cook them. My dad taught her how to fill an ice chest with warm water and cornmeal. The warm water was to put the crabs to sleep and the corn meal was for the crabs to eat to clean out their digestive system. She loves seafood now. When we lived in New York, my dad introduced her to pickled herring. She eats it every Christmas while reminiscing of those wonderful Christmas shopping trips to FAO Schwartz in Manhattan.
When I was in high school, I would sit on the couch with my mom and watch Julia, Graham and Justin on PBS while folding laundry (It was in prehistoric caveman days, B.C. - Before Cable). I think it was the only way my mom could get me to help fold the laundry. It was about my junior year in high school, I think, when I first started my recipe collecting. My mom eventually gave me a binder in which I specifically keep clipped recipes and menus from different restaurants. From there I found myself in college, sharing an apartment with my cousin Dan. I’d work out using his dumbbells while watching shows like Great Chefs of the West.
I never intended to become a chef, really, although in the back of my mind I think I always knew it would happen. I studied aeronautical engineering at ASU hoping to become an astronaut or at least help design rockets and airplanes. I worked part-time at a restaurant in Tempe, AZ to pay for college and after awhile I couldn’t resist the culinary bug any longer. So here I am, almost eighteen years working in restaurants and thirteen years a graduate of culinary school. Sometimes destiny is like an annoying telemarketer who keeps calling and calling until you can’t help but answer the phone.
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