Archive for the ‘Food and wine’ Category


Blogging on Blogging

 


 

In the wake of the 2nd Annual Wine Bloggers’ Conference (or WBC 2.0 for the congnoscenti) and seeing “Julie and Julia” in the theatre, I pose this question; are bloggers writers? As I compile my thoughts and impressions, reduce them to words on a page, then read and edit for content and relevance; is this writing or blogging, or perhaps both?
 
The stream-of-consciousness style of Julie Powell’s blog, both in the movie and after subsequent readings is somehow just “TMI,” or “Too Much Information,” in the abbreviated lingo of the blog. Is anyone really interested in my unedited musings and late night insecurities? Or is it all part of that self-absorbed stream of daily details that characterizes this generation of writers? One of my friend’s comments (on facebook, none the less) was that at WBC 2.0, there were murmurs that food bloggers were merely riding on the reputation and coat tails of wine bloggers. It seems like such a chicken vs. egg discussion, hardly worthy of the paper (or screen) on which it is written. Is it the medium or is it the message? Is this really a new invention or merely the continued evolution of writing itself?
 
Writing is writing, be it scratching on cave walls or tweeting from your I-Phone or Blackberry. It is the delivery methods that are in flux. Back in the day, printed books were considered cheap imitations of scribes and scholars, often discounted by the truly learned of the times. Then the same book authors came to look down their respective noses at periodicals; magazines and newspapers. The writers featured in such ad-hoc publications must be of a lesser genre than those elite who spent their days, weeks and months writing books. Imagine the outrage at the thought of writing with a specific topic in mind, and to meet a deadline on top of that! Bloggers, due to the self-published and often unedited nature of their craft, are the new scapegoats, the non-conformists that drive the leading edge of change. 
 
What is writing, except creating or invoking a sensory experience via the printed word? Whether it is in a book, magazine, newspaper or blog, writers are painting pictures with language to elicit a response, even an affiliation, from the reader. One of the most wonderful aspects of blogging for me is the inclusion of images. Now, I have been known to make a reader hungry for a particular dish by just a few choice descriptors, but a full color image seals the deal instantly. As a chef, I have learned over the years that we “eat” with all of our senses. The auditory, textural, visual and olfactory aspects of food enhance the enjoyment above and beyond the simple sensation of taste. Think of curried chicken salad without the crunch of butter toasted almonds, without the golden hue derived from the complex spice blend, and without those characteristic earthy and tangy aromas reminiscent of an Indian bazaar. Many of our most pleasant memories are linked to sensory cues. Adding imagery to a written piece is often the tease that brings the reader close enough to capture their attention and draw them into the scene you are depicting. The proliferation of cookbooks as coffee table books, replete with dazzling photographs and the multitude of glossy food and lifestyle magazines attest to this reality.
 
Storytellers over the millennia have connected specific rituals to the practice of their craft. Sparking the creative process often requires achieving a meditative, receptive state, usually through the mechanism of repetitive tasks or surroundings. One of the unique aspects of blogging is that it is often more spontaneous. Mobile devices such as smart phones, net books or laptops enable the almost instantaneous capture of an inspiration, taking a moment in time and developing it as an expression of the writer’s perspective. Anything, from a memorable meal to an encounter with nature can be replicated for the reader, within moments of the experience, often complete with audio and pictures. Many writers struggle with the transition, as time tested but slower rituals must be cast aside.
 
What is the downside to all of this spontaneity? The virtual world is flooded with chatter. How then, to parse the true gems from all the background noise? New delivery methods allow the receiver to set up a complex set of parameters that screen the information delivered to them. Writers can also utilize these technologies to deliver a personalized message to a specific reader. We are on the threshold of a communications breakthrough that will change forever how we search for and receive information. Exciting, yet frightening, as the task of editing all of this content falls to the readers themselves. I saw a headline on a blog post the other day, “Sex Not a Prerequisite for Winemaking;” a title reminiscent of “Eats, Shoots and Leaves.” Upon reading the article itself, I realized that the proper object of the sentence was actually “gender” not “sex;” something that, in the days of newspapers or magazines, an editor would have caught and likely corrected. Editors also functioned as fact-checkers, validating the basic soundness of the information presented. Who will perform that role today? Are we left to find some new truth in the tired old adage, “You can’t always believe what you read?”
 
Change only becomes cemented in our way of life when it leaves the fringes and becomes the new mainstream. Already, some bloggers are finding themselves left behind as newer, faster, and more abbreviated forms such as Twitter and video become the stock in trade of the early adopters. It is ironic to hear someone who has been blogging since “the nineties” complain about these new and annoying mechanisms for delivering content. “Back in my day….” Any one of us can fill in the blank. When it gets right down to it, words are words; and unless there is a reader, no matter how prolific you are, you are not a writer. The challenge lies in finding context in your daily life that remains appealing to those who wish to peer through the frame of your written words into picture that you paint with them. 
Post by Julia Conway on August 17th, 2009

In Praise of Pig

 

 

I had the pleasure of attending Slow Food San Francisco’s Golden Glass 2009 at Fort Mason this weekend. As one of their chosen artisan food producers, we were invited to sample our Stella Cadente olive oils for the enjoyment of the media, trade and public patrons. One of the collateral benefits of participating in this event was the opportunity to taste some of the wonderful artisan products from the Bay area’s diverse Italian food and wine community. Conceived initially as a venue for Italian wine importers and producers to introduce their products to the northern California market, this event has grown into a showcase of good, clean and fair food and wine, and has become an informal get-together for a family of restaurateurs, farmers, artisan producers involved in the Slow Food movement.
 
Perennial favorite restaurant A16, named for the primary highway into Rome, arrived first, with their golden roasted porchetta, the front halves of young pigs, boned out and stuffed with a mixture of innards and fresh rosemary, skin and heads intact. One of my cherished marketplace treats when I am in the Italian countryside are the rustic bread rolls stuffed with chunks of this juicy roast pork, a good mixture of tender meat, chunks of fat and crispy skin. These sandwiches need no condiments, and the juices soak into the bread and meld the flavors into a delicious whole. Today, the mixture was served on thin slices of crusty bread, as tasting portions were the norm.
 
 
Perbacco, one of several restaurants specializing in fabricating their own salumi, was presenting a Tuscan fermented sausage known as finocchiona. This salami-style concoction of pork shoulder and fatback mixed with fennel seeds is stuffed loosely into a 4” natural casing and hung until dried and slightly chewy. Traditionally sliced paper thin, allowing the large chunks of fat to virtually melt in your mouth, accentuating the velvety texture of the meat. Rather than dominating, the taste of the fennel seed underscores the savory flavor of the free range pork. I returned to their table several times, unwilling to let go of the incredible combination of taste and texture reminiscent of a visit to Maceleria Falorni on the square in Greve in Chianti, where I first tasted this sausage made in the ancient manner. Commercial American versions are much drier and saltier and do not begin to convey the character of the traditional version.
 
I was a bit disappointed with the offerings from Fra’Mani, Paul Bertolli’s artisan salumeria in Oakland. I find their sausages better and more authentic than most commercial products, but still leaning closer to the north American flavor profiles and preferences. Their sausages tend to be leaner and less unctuous, with a nod to our cultural obsession with reducing fat content. Their mortadella was tender and smooth, but still did not have the incredible texture of the Bolognese version. True mortadella should also melt on your tongue, almost a mousse-like consistency rather than the grainier texture of American bologna. The surprising addition to their offerings was a turkey roulade, which, though a version is produced in Italy, is not usually sold as salumi. I would choose this over generic deli turkey rolls, but it lacked the singular piquancy of properly cured pork sausages.
 
The standout pork offering of the day was, surprisingly, from Charles Phan’s Heaven’s Dog. Pioneering Asian fusion in San Francisco with the Slanted Door, Charles’ Vietnamese heritage merged with southern European influences has produced dishes that truly reflect the multi-cultural nature of San Francisco itself. The table was filled with a row of Iwatani butane burners topped with towering bamboo steamer baskets. Emerging from the baskets were warm steamed clamshell buns stuffed with a thick slice of long-braised pork belly and slivered scallions. Perfect striations of meat and fat melted together in your mouth, the juices redolent of ginger, sesame and soy. The spongy tenderness of the rolls absorbed the flavors and also melted into the whole.  The taste was pure Asia, but the texture was reminiscent of Lardo di Colonnata, the cured fatback of Tuscany’s northwestern coastal mountains. Having prepared pork belly without such spectacular results, I suspect the pork was brine cured prior to braising, transforming the cut to an almost butter-like consistency. The components of the flavor balanced salty with sweet, with the slight bite from the scallions as counterpoint, leaving me wanting another.
 
 
 
I was fortunate enough to share a row of tables with another popular restaurant, Emporio Rulli. The creation of pastry chef Gary Rulli, the casual shops feature the kind of sweets and cookies commonly found in homes in Italy’s countryside. During Slow Food Nation’s seminars last summer, I gorged on Amaretti, Brutti ma Buoni (Ugly, But Good) and small knuckles of pasta frolla stuffed with jams or poppy seed paste seasoned with fennel and bitter orange peel and dusted with powdered sugar. These cookies were accompanied by rich, dark espresso, making this table popular with the Italian wine merchants in attendance. A casual conviviality ensued, and the conversations merged English and Italian in a musical patois. On the other side of the table, his executive chef was busy preparing risotto. I was familiar with his expertise in this area, again from the hospitality suite at Slow Food Nation. Last summer, his plates of perfectly cooked nettle risotto sustained me between marathon sessions of pouring wine in the Taste Pavilion for the tens of thousands of attendees. Today he was preparing a Venetian style version complete with tiny rings of fresh spring onion and a paste of black summer truffles. Several of the Italian patrons slathered my L’Autunno Tuscan-style olive oil over plates of the steaming rice, adding a hint of bitterness to the creamy yet chewy delight. I was disappointed when, just as I was poised to photograph him lavishing the mixture with a fistful of freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano, the battery on the camera died. As a result, I am forced to convey his aura of absolute confidence and mastery via the written word. Whereas many prepare this dish with careful and concise measurement of all the relevant ingredients, he worked from instinct, adding just the correct proportion of hot broth to a pan full of parcooked Vialone Nano rice, stirring vigorously with a wooden spoon, and tasting for both texture and seasoning as the cooking progressed. At precisely the right moment, he added large dollops of sweet butter, letting them melt into to rice. To finish the dish, he added the onions, a lashing of salt, and a deep swirl of the black truffle paste. The risotto was then ladled into a large chafing dish, topped with the cheese, and served up to the awaiting patrons, lined up three deep in front of the table. With every batch, he scraped the edges and bottom of the pot, dishing up the fragrant and creamy goodness on a paper plate and passing it over to me with a wink and a smile. The trick is to eat from the edges to the center, consuming the risotto while almost too hot to swallow, but before it cools and thickens.  The Piemontese prefer their risotto firm and chewy, while the Venetian style dictates “al ‘onda” or “like a wave” as the correct texture. Both regions disdain the starchy yet mushy mouth feel of overcooked or reheated risotto, preferring to form any leftovers into cakes or balls, and breading and frying them for a crispy but creamy snack. This still remains one of my miracle foods of Italy, elevating the simplicity of rice, broth and seasoning to a gourmand’s delight that yet remains the ultimate comfort food.
 
My only regret is that I was unable to visit my favorite salumeria at the Ferry Plaza market, Boccalone, the retail outlet for Chris Cosentino of Incanto fame. Summer traffic in San Francisco precluded a quick jaunt prior to setting up for event. I will be reduced to prevailing on city friends to procure the tasty specialties, or to order online. Short of a trip to Italy, financially impossible at this time, it is one of the few ways I can reprise my cooking school experience there. We are incredibly fortunate here in northern California to have such a wonderful collection of artisans of preserved pork and other traditional Italian treats.  Ciao!

 

Post by Julia Conway on June 22nd, 2009