THE GURGLING COD

Please comment on your level of football preparedness.

They say that cheese is milk's leap towards immortality. What that tells us about the cheese bra, I do not know. I don't really know how to unpack this, but considering it exists at the intersection of food and sports, I feel a duty to share it. If this Packers fan has young children, I hope they have a psychiatrist on retainer. The cheese bra can be yours for a nickel shy of thirty dollars, plus shipping and handling. Just the thing to wear to a viewing of a painstakingly restored VHS of SB XXXI  highlights, I bet. How fortunate New Englanders are to live in a land where the cheese is good enough to eat, rather than fit only for novelty purposes. You could even say that New England cheeses are fit for champions. As an artifact, the cheese bra seems innately tied to the Frozen Tundra, betraying as it does a very architectural notion of the foundation garment. In Miami, I bet this would be 1 Kraft single cut into 2 triangles, and connected with string cheese. Curiously enough, the image reached me by way of a short film by Fiona Maazel, former managing editor of the Paris Review. "Film" might be stretching it, but imagine if Gorey had lived to see Power Point, and he was compelled to make a presentation about cheese.

Grilling Nemo

Tireless ATL correspondent the Fiddler gleans  the following:

ATLANTA — Bernie Marcus has long promised that the Georgia Aquarium would be a feast for the eyes and the intellect. On Tuesday, he invited the taste buds to the banquet.

As the Beatles song "Octopus's Garden" played in the background and two whale sharks swam on the water side of an enormous foot-thick acrylic window, the Home Depot co-founder pulled back the curtains — just a bit — on the biggest fish tank in the United States.

Marcus, who is spending $200 million of his fortune to build the aquarium in downtown Atlanta, gave the public its first up-close glance at Ralph and Norton, the whale sharks for whom the aquarium was designed. And the 76-year-old billionaire announced that he had landed another big fish: celebrity chef Wolfgang Puck, whose company will operate catering services at the facility.

"I think this is the new diamond for Atlanta," Puck, in his thick German accent, told the three dozen reporters and photographers at the event. "I think it will be an international destination."

So, will fish be on the menu? Certainly, said the creator of Spago Hollywood. But the catering staff will participate in the Seafood Watch program pioneered by the Monterey Bay Aquarium. The program encourages consuming only seafood from sustainable sources.

"We will try to educate people [about] what to buy and what to eat," Puck said.

(Images above culled from an earlier Wolfgang foray into the world of urchin processing.) Stay tuned for Vongerichten's Las Vegas interactive eco-petting zoo. Also, we live in a world where philanthropists with thick German accents drop $200 mil on aquariums, then name their prize attractions after the Honeymooners. Have a nice weekend.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

It is Christmas in July, sort of:

LONDON - JULY 28: Glamour model Jodie Marsh poses in a candy g-string and candy bra to launch the Gift Of The Year Awards, at The Savoy on July 28, 2005 in London, England. The product worn by Marsh has been shortlisted in the fashion category for this evening's event, dubbed the "Gift Oscars", which features 18 award categories including tableware, cards and collectables, fashion, home accessories, prints and gadgets, all vying for the title of Gift Of The Year.

No word yet on which gift will be gift of the year, but the smart money is on "not candy pulled out of a glamour model's ass." For  food-related gifts, I am a fan of Zapp's, or you could check with the folks at Food and Wine. Tip of the fin to the Fiddler.

Speaking of BTUs

Hot fun at the old ballpark.
Via The Red Seat.

Flickr has no images of an heirloom tomato on a motorcycle jumping over a shark tank

but they should. Cornielius Bear takes an even harder line than Max on the ugly tomato phenomenon:

There is no more succinct way to put it: I am absolutely sick to death of heirloom tomatoes and basil. Téodor, bless his intentions, is so in tune with seasonal cookery that he is blinded to the notion of satiety in these items. Night after endless night we are waylaid with salted tomato atop grilled bread, tomato-basil risotto, caprese salad, stuffed roasted tomatoes, gazpacho, pizza margherita, pico de gallo, capellini pomodoro...the combinations are as interminable as they are ruinous to the digestion.

The problem is partly fighting the hype, but also seasonal. No one wants to be in the kitchen when it is wicked hot, and tomatoes, basil etc ad infinauseam are an easy default. I always enjoy when it cools off enough that I can cook, rather than chop and scatter. But in the meantime, I would welcome any novel solutions to the challenge of eating at home when it is hot out.

17th Century Presybyterians say the darndest things

You wonder why some words fall out of favor. Came across one yesterday that is overdue for a revival: "Ignaries."
It means "ill-informed persons." Viz: "The ignaries on television called the governor a man of integrity." A tip of the fin to Robert Baillie for bringing this word to my attention, and generally bringing the Glaswegian, won't find it in no OED ruckus. Out there in Codland--use it three times today in a sentence.

According to the Kinsey report

Threatened the cinetrix with shepard's pie and hugs, and she promptly fled to the rep house. It is, for those Taming of the Shrew with no music purists, too darn hot. I wolfed down a slice in a Newbury St. izza bunker that I am always so astonished has not morphed into a shoe store, gallery, or Brazilian awning concern, that I get a slice before I remember the pizza is not that good. Evidently, LaD is made of sterner stuff. So courageous, like Willis Reed--and the Pasta alla Checca sounds like good eating too.  Also  props to Willis  Reed for not pimping for the devil right after his heroic, one -legged  playoff appearance.

Anyway. Bruni's complaint about being reminded of the work and sweat that attend fine dining, which ends

I hear a pot clatter to the floor or notice a steamy nimbus envelop a hapless sous-chef and I wish I hadn't been reminded of how much mess and error attend a pan-seared skate. Sometimes the best show of all is an illusion of effortlessness, an insulation from the smoke and fire.

reminds me of my proposal  that every patron of a fine restaurant over the age of eleven should be required to read Orwell's Down and out in Paris in London, and pass an exam on  its contents before being allowed to enter a dining establishment that does not require you to bus your own tables. That said, stop the presses: Frank may have a point. Grownups ought to  be aware that people work hard to cook the nice food they eat, but from the standpoint of the cook, like my man William Perkins says, the point of the art is to conceal the art. I've thus far lived in places where the kitchen is detached from anywhere guests might plausibly be, and I like it that way. In a limited context, like sushi, watching the prep is part of the deal, but there is a big difference between deftly slicing some toro, and hastily deglazing a pan. As a home cook, it is pleasant to do that while your guests are somewhere else, eating cheese, and listening to ambient Norteno electronica ors something.  In terms of putting a damper on bleeding, sweating, cussing, and listening to the Misfits and important pro chef things like that, the open kitchen seems to have sprung from the mind of the restaurant consultant, not the chef. For once, Frank and I are on the same page, along with punk icons, puritan theologians, Eric Blair, and a Knick. It must be the heat, or some rare disease.

Take your swine to Tuscany

To return to our regularly scheduled food programming,and as reports elsewhere indicate, I was involved in roasting a pig on Rockaway Beach this weekend. This was pig #4  or 5 in the Caja China for me, and I feel as if I am starting to get the hang of it. The standard approach, codified by Babalu Blog, is solid, but injecting the red wine-based marinade seemed to yield slightly dull results, and the mojo can discolor portions of the meat in a way that is not appealing. I'd experimented with a sort of mostarda/marmalade made from the remnants of the citrus that go in to the mojo, but it never seemed to catch on. In terms of doneness, I'd had good luck extending the period that the pig roasts skin side up, so I decided to stick with that, but otherwise go in a different direction. I'd had some luck preparing a rib and loin roast of pork in the oven using a variation on this approach, and I decided to give this Tuscanish approach a try with the whole pig. I did not inject the pig, so I suppose Ozzie Canseco would have been a good name for this pig if I'd thought of that at the time. I put the rub from this receipt on the inside only, and added some rosemary and whole oranges to the roast peppers, and some other gametime decision tweaks that I cannot reconstruct. You can and should make the marinade and rub ahead of time.
It turned out pretty well, to judge from the response, and the late night return visits to the carving table. What I learned:
1) A smaller pig will have better skin for producing crackling than a larger beast. This specimen was about 40 lbs-with other food 1 lb dressed weight / person is about right.
2) You will be happy if you have the pig's head removed by the butcher, and possibly the trotters as well. It makes for a less impressive presentation, but it is much easier to carve. In the past, when I have done these at home, I've made a nice spicy fromage de tete from the head and trotters, though this tends to be a polarizing item. Alice Waters has a nice receipt for FDT in her Cafe Cookbook.
3) If you can, have the butcher butterfly the animal by cutting through the spine nape to tail-- it makes inserting the pig into the rack much easier, and also helps to produce coherent portions from the ribs at serving time. If you are in NYC, Curran's will do this, and it is worth the trip. 
4) Cook belly side up until you are close to where you want to be on an instant read thermometer, then flip and cook skin side up until the skin has an almost porkrind like crispness. You will have to watch carefully at this last stage--I had a bit of blackening on the highest points of the skin side, but nothing catastrophic. People will still like your pig if it is a bit overdone: less so if it is demonstrably underdone.
5) Have someone carve and serve the pig. Basically, there are six main units:  2 hams, 2 shoulders, and 2 rib/loin sections. With luck and a bit of practice, you can cut between the ribs from the inside, and produce something like a chop with skin attached. From earlier pigs, I know that if you leave the pig to the ministrations of a crowd that has been waiting to eat it all day, the carcass can get denuded of skin, and look pretty unappetizing pretty quickly. Serve and sauce as you go, or people may overlook the sauce. On a related note, plan your cooking and carving so that you are carving in daylight, or have a well-lit place to carve. In this case, total cooking time was slightly over 6 hours, which is considerably longer than advised for an animal of this size.
Enjoy, and let me know how it turns out if you try it.

Update: It is an honor just to be linked to by a pioneer like Mr. Babalu, but if you found your way here from there, you should know about the less good news for Cuban gourmands in Boston. Otherwise, make yourself at home.

Full of Mitt

The implausible governor of Massachusetts is at it again, putting his red state bonafides in front of the welfare of the women he purports to govern, and vetoing a contraception bill.

But while the nation remains so divided over abortion, I believe that the states, through the democratic process, should determine their own abortion laws and not have them dictated by judicial mandate.

Jackass. This approach worked like a fucking charm for other divisive issues, like slavery. I'd urge the citizens of Massachusetts to begin a recall action, so that he can focus full-time on his Oval Office aspirations. And then I'd ring dorbells on Christmas Day in a trailer park outside Cedar Rapids on behalf of Jeb Bush just to keep this dangerous zealot out of D.C.

On your left

Off the normal theme here, but a subject near and dear to my heart. Suggesting it with elbows seems not to be working, so I'll spell out some commonsense rules for using the bike paths along the Charles River.

1) Bikes and runners, single file on the pavement. No Ponch and John bullshit. Grassy areas open for pedestrians including dogs, but retractable leashes are prohibited.

2) No headphones.

3) A discotheque in North Station for in-line skaters.

4) Violators would be tossed in the river.

Welcome your input before I send this along to Mumbles.

ps- If you ride a bike and do not wear a helmet, encourage your partner to start internet dating now. It will take some of the sting out when you are in a coma.