THE GURGLING COD

Sifton Soundtracks: Recette b/w John Cale "Andalucia"

This week, Sifton reaches into the sleeve of his wizard robe and pulls out two stars for Recette, once again coming in on the high side of expectations. Sounds like a nice place, though not one that automatically translates into music. The chef, Jesse Schenker, used to run the place as a private supper club from a Harlem bakery, and now it's in the West Village. In a pinch, playing "Take the A Train" backwards would work, but who would want to know what kind of subliminal messages Duke Ellington has for us?

Sometimes, it appears that there is some sort of deal in place where Sifton is to deliver a more or less straight review, but gets a graf or two where he can indulge his whimsies, kind of like the Planet Drum segment of a Dead show. Ideally, this stretch will suggest just a little bit more about Sifton than one might want to contemplate about a restaurant critic. This week delivers:

Mr. Schenker’s foie gras terrine is revelatory, a single slice revealing a kind of glistening mosaic, perfect in its form, each lobe of the liver unmolested by the process: luscious, creamy, with a faint mineral tang. It’s a meat painting, an organ sculpture; like most complicated French cooking, it tastes utterly complete, perfect in the way a ripe strawberry is, or a fresh-shucked oyster. In that, the terrine plays ingénue to Mr. Schenker’s tête de cochon, also on the plate, a rough-hewn and big-flavored head cheese. There is some grainy mustard with it, a few sweetly pickled vegetables. These act as rings and scarves and kohl do for Jack Sparrow, played by Johnny Depp. They elevate toughness to beauty.

Yeah.

Sifton at good at making places he likes sound like places you would want to eat, a gift that is unfortunately not shared by all restaurant critics. Reading this review is like dining with an expansive friend who keeps calling the server back for more wine, and to try more apps -- you hang on for the ride, and hope very much that the friend will pick up the check, and wave off your halfhearted gesture in the direction of your wallet:

The codfish fritters come beneath a drizzle of curried aioli, bright and lemony, and above a few tablespoons of fiery lamb-sausage ragù. This is a head-scratchingly good combination. You may wish for a double order, though the fish ’n’ meat combination is revisited with those soft white cannellini beans in their porky chorizo sauce, beneath anchovy hats. Brightness and fire combine again in the presence of acidity. Some more of that grüner would be nice with this.

The Anchovy Hats? I have their first EP on blue vinyl. 

Here and there are moments that cloy -- not sure if "deconstructed s'more" is Recette or Sifton's conceit, but, please. Even if someone did get kicked out of the Boy Scouts for deconstructing a brownie in their tent. And:

Mr. Schenker’s ocean trout is sweetly nutty beneath its crisp skin, with an earthy dressing of smoked bacon and savoy cabbage, bluefoot mushrooms and a foam of emulsified shellfish broth that’s dated enough to be cheeky. It tastes of high tide and the sun. Pair it with a golden baby chicken served with soft grits and a rough mustard soubise. This makes for hearty eating and a strong case for more grits in your life besides.

Foams are now like edible legwarmers? You have your grits epiphany in a Spanish/French restaurant on West 12th? WhatEVER. But to return. The concept, according to Sifton, is "American food with Spanish flavors, cooked with French technique" the which could be an Epcotty nightmare, but sounds quite good. In the spirit of refined Spanish, "Andalucia," from Paris 1919. Classy, but a little bit eccentric, right?

Colic/Colicchio update!

A bit of research suggests that the fellow on the left is the fellow who so provoked the fellow on the right. I know. Three reactions:

1) "Life imitates Rushmore" was not an expression I expected to deploy ever in my life.

2) Kid's from Ladue, which explains a lot. 

3) Given that he's already been made, if he plans to pursue a career as a restaurant critic, maybe he can buy some of Gael Green's floppy hats.

Slash vs. the Spec, or putting the "Colic" in "Colicchio"

A well-placed friend we can call Boomer passed along the Columbia Colicchio contretemps, which had flown under the Cod's radar, what with a week with more than a little one-armed paperhanger to it. Basically, some kid from Columbia's student newspaper went to Colicchio & Sons, and did not enjoy his meal as much as Sifton enjoyed his. On what was a evidently a day lacking anything as newsworthy as a Chang burp, Grub St. picked up the story. It gets a little more interesting when Colicchio himself calls out both Grub St. and GG for mentioning the review.

As someone whose day job involves the likes of this young Lion from Morningside Heights, I feel sort of obliged to have something to say, but the whole thing just puzzles me. College newspaper restaurant reviews, as a rule, are the most depressing food writing this side of last meals of people about to be executed. But three observations:

1) If Columbia still has some sort of expository writing requirement, not much of it rubbed off on this cub reviewer. He writes like he chews with his mouth open -- "vague iteration of bacon"? It's as if the kid took a Princeton Review course and wants to make damn sure he gets his money's worth. 

2) Ol' Slash is as thin-skinned as his namesake's bandmate. Working in a profession with a whole website devoted to circulating the whimsical criticisms of college kids,  I can say that generally speaking, the thing to do is not to call attention to the whole enterprise with rebuttals.

3) Call me old-fashioned, but the Spec's headline of "overpriced and grotesque" seems to permeate the entire business. Having a late adolescent from a college w/ a $37,470.00 sticker price reviewing a restaurant w/ a $125 tasting menu is just a little bit rich for The Gurgling Cod's blood.

If you got a nickel, and Badtz Maru* got a dime...

Hello Kitty is a pretty strong brand. Beyond the usual toys and accessories, one could enjoy a piece of toast, and then a personal reverie, without leaving the Sanrio brand cocoon. But what if after toast and quiet time, one wanted a refreshing glass of wine? I am late to the party on this, but now there is Hello Kitty wine. It is never too early to have a late childhood, and, evidently never too late in the day to learn that it is just another Guiteau Monday.

*"Badtz-maru panties" comes up in the autocomplete, but they appear to be apocryphal. Thanks, Google! And definitely do not look for them on the internet at work.

Wendy's Watch City Wizardry

Something very, very special seems to be happening at a Wendy's in Waltham, MA. This joke was funny twelve years ago, when Amazon folks were proclaiming the gritty neorealism of Bil Keane, and it's even funnier in a post-Yelp era. Via.

Rip it up and start again.

For the first time I can remember, an utter, throw-it-in-the-garbage-call-the-pizzeria-rally-car-off-the-side-of-the-mountain-smoldering-in-the-ravine fiasco last night. Not to say that I always hit it out of the park, but 99.9% of the time, something edible ensues from the attempt to make dinner. Not this time. I have been really excited about making the Momofuku pork buns, but it got a little late, and then I noticed there were two more stages of manipulating dough and waiting that I had missed. Tried to hurry the rise by letting the dough balls heat ever so gently, and they cooked on the bottom. Looking forward to a shot at redemption soon, (the pork is ready to go, sort of, and more on that later),  but the dough did seem on the wet and sticky side before I started, so a question -- does weather/climate/humidity affect rising times/volumes appreciably? The no-knead bread, the only thing I bake w/ any regularity or success, seems to do better w/ considerably more yeast than the recipe calls for. Welcome your thoughts. Play us off, Orange Juice, won't you?

Shanks! Or, is Martha Stewart the melting pot?

Nice to see Tony Maws get some love from Martha. Dropping Passover science, no less. And the haroseth-braised shanks might be just the thing, even for Easter instead of Passover.* It is a moment, however, with a few layers. Maws is a Jewish guy from the suburbs of Boston who has built much of his formidable reputation on his handy way with the trayf. Martha Stewart is a Polish lady from Jersey City, who has gotten rich teaching WASPS how to be WASPier. What better collab for these two than on Seder?

*Seriously -- the tribe is coming for Easter, and I'm stumped -- quasi vegetarians, meat and potatoes types, weather that could be 40 or could be 80. Thoughts?

Cash Money & Marvelous

Jesus built my Thickburger*

Via the keen-eyed cinetrix, news that portion sizes have been increasing. Even in depictions of the Last Supper. See?

Thanks, as always, to Penny Pascal, and for not even asking why the Cod might want a giant Thickburger in front of Jesus. It could be worse. 

*With apologies to proud new papa Gibby:

A useful resource

How to say "bacon" vs. "beercan." I wish there was something like this for my people.