Culinary Anthropology – Part I

Listen, I know it’s the hip thing nowadays to consider yourself a “foodie”. I know it’s nice to think you have the inside track on modern cuisine because you have a season and a half of “Molto Mario” on your DVR and often snort dismissively at whatever the hapless challenger is throwing together on “Iron Chef America”. I know it’s a struggle to reconcile the abhorrent conditions it takes to fatten a goose with how num-num-nummy a bite of foie gras is. And I know you have a handmade jute shopping bag you tote around at the farmer’s market every weekend because Bobby Flay is so damn inspirational.

But you may want to downshift for a second and take a look at the big picture. See, America has a culinary heritage you just can’t escape. On one hand, it’s given us gastronomic miracles like gumbo and fried chicken and bourbon – but on the other hand, it’s the reason there are things like pasteurized process cheese food and SPAM and Jell-O.

Ah, Jell-O. Luminous, jiggly, delicious Jell-O. Because sugar water tastes better when it’s in 3D. What else can be a salad and a dessert? What else freezes bits of solid food in translucent, artificially flavored limbo, like a cut-away model of the human stomach in mid-digestion? Nothing that I know of. And yes, Jell-O molds have largely fallen out of vogue on the American table, hillbilly church pot-lucks notwithstanding. But you don’t have to go back very far to explore our profound and sometimes disgusting fascination with this crown jewel of powdered convenience food.



Case in point: the “Joys of Jell-O” cookbook. I can’t find a publication date on this beauty but I’m guessing it’s mid-20th century, sometime between “I Love Lucy” and “The Mod Squad”. I’m sure that at some point, we’ve all had a scoop of Jell-O thrust at us with the usual suspects thrown in – you know, crushed pineapple, diced pears, sweetened flaked coconut – but this cookbook takes Jell-O to the next quivering level. Oh yes. Consider the offering on page 65 – “Ring-Around-The-Tuna”.

What? A Jell-O ring mold with tuna salad in the middle? Of course not. As stated in the preface to the recipe, this is “A beautiful jewel-like entrée salad for your luncheon or buffett table”. See, what you do is, you take a package of lime (or lemon-lime in a pinch) Jell-O gelatin, dissolve it in 1 cup boiling water, then add ¾ cup cold water, 2 tablespoons vinegar (it’s getting good), and 2 teaspoons grated onion. Chill until “very thick”, then stir in ½ cup diced cucumber, ½ cup diced celery, 2 tablespoons chopped pimento, 2 tablespoons sliced stuffed green olives, and 1 can of drained and flaked tuna. That's right. The tuna - and everything else - goes right into your semi-set bowl of emerald green goo. See? The box says "Dessert". The recipie says "Salad". How did that happen? Magic, that's how. Now, pour this gruel "into individual ring molds or a 1-quart mold and chill until firm." If you want to get fancy, you can opt to serve it “with additional tuna and top salads with mayonnaise.”

If you didn’t totally screw it up, you can count on two things. One, you’ll have a "salad" that looks something like this:

And two, no one will ever - I mean ever - ask you to bring anything to any kind of pot-luck again. I know – it hardly seems fair. But next time you get angry at those snooty French chefs who laugh at what a “foodie” you are, remember Ring-Around-The-Tuna, and how people used to make and eat crap like this. Or how those hacked up radishes up there are inexplicably supposed to pass for roses. And try to understand.

Music Pairing: Pretty much anything by Ferrante & Teicher.

bolognese, come rain or come shine

jesus. 2009, not one i want back. the US retail business took a pounding. money is tight and i can’t remember when the last time i had US currency greater than a $1 bill in my wallet. i don’t even know where my bank’s ATM’s are any more and when i pass one accidentally i lower my head in shame and pretend someone is calling my cell. my kids have more birthday and xmas dollars stashed in the far corners of their unkempt toy chests than i have access to in a month.

so i medicated heavily over the holidays with johnny mercer songs and gin martinis but the real damage came from my very own kitchen – prime rib, turkey, ham, crispy potatoes, bacon, pancakes, sausage, orange rolls, baklava, bongusto, christmas cookies, baked ziti with meatballs, twix bars, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, shitake mushroom au jus, super fried yorkshire puddings, beef fat, chicken fat, turkey fat, wiener schnitzel, braised cabbage in bacon fat, deviled eggs, fried potatoes, roasted potatoes, potato salad, prime rib sandwiches, turkey sandwiches, ham sandwi...you get the idea. i ate like a lost prospector in a jack london tale.

my editor was nice enough not to mention how fat i was getting over the holidays from all the food i made but now that we’ve acquired the Herminator (Hermie, after the xmas story about the elf who wanted to be a dentist) i’m running him 3 miles in the mornings (5:30am!) and things are looking up for 2010. after yesterday’s run i realized how much i missed the ampo blog and i talked with enough people over the holidays to realize there were more people reading than i thought.

so we’ll begin, again, in 2010 with an old school family favorite perfect for cold weather – bolognese. WARNING! this is not a low fat recipe. the ingredients and method are quite simple. but the time commitment is severe so if you work during the week you may want to save it for a weekend when you can get it started around 1pm and leave it to cook down while you catch some playoff football.


ragu alla bolognese / sauce bolognaise / bolognese sauce

1 large Onion, chopped
4 Celery stalks, chopped
2 Carrots, chopped
1.5 lbs Ground Chuck Beef
1 lb Italian Sausage (casings removed)
2 TB Butter and 2 TB Olive Oil
6 cloves Garlic, minced
2 sprigs Parsley, minced
6 oz Tomato Paste
1 cup Beef Broth
1 Bay Leaf
2 sprigs Thyme
1.5 tsp various dry Italian Herbs
1 cup White Wine
1 cup Whole Milk
Salt & Pepper to taste

1 lb Pasta (e.g. fettuccini, tagliatelle, etc.)
Shaved Parmesan Reggiano
Black Pepper

Notes:
if 2009 was kinder to you than it was to the ampo staff, you might want to buy some real imported parmesan reggiano to shave over the top and look for a sturdy chianti to guide you through the charred meat flavors which can be a little bitter. or you can adjust the mellowness with additional wine/milk/tomato sauce. you can use pretty much any noodle you like; i prefer a flat broad pasta like fettuccini or tagliatelle. chop the veggies to a very small dice. for the lipid use a combination of butter and oil.....butter for flavor and oil to keep the butter from burning during the high heat period at the beginning of the recipe. cook in a large (at least 5qt) dutch oven or heavy bottomed pot. be prepared to do quite a bit of stirring over the first 45 minutes; after the addition of the wine and milk you can bring to a slow simmer, cover and let it go for a few hours, stirring a little every half hour or so.

Method:

1. chop vegetable to a very small dice and cook in butter/oil over medium heat for 10 minutes. add meats and turn heat to high and cook for 30 minutes stirring and separating meat bits. there should be small patches of burnt areas on the bottom of the pan but don’t panic.....this is called fond and it blend into the final product once you add the liquids. just keep stirring so the meat/veggie mix doesn’t burn completely.

2. add tomato paste, reduce heat to medium stirring constantly and cook for 5 minutes.

3. add beef broth and scrape up fond and any burnt bits of meat. add milk and cook for 15 minutes.

4. add wine, herbs, bay leaf, garlic and parsely and bring to a simmer. cover and cook 1 – 3 hours, stirring every half hour. add milk/wine/broth if the sauce begins to dry out.

5. cook pasta to desired doneness in salted water; drain and toss pasta with sauce. garnish pasta with shaved parmesan and fresh ground black pepper.

wine pairing: Allegrini Palazzo della Torre '05, at BevMo $20
this wine is just good every year it’s been released and i recommend it for almost any pasta dish.

music pairing: Complete Johnny Mercer Songbook by Various Artists, at Amazon $32.49
a three disc collection, the first of which (Blues in the Night) will get you through a long winter day if the weather has you locked in doors. pour a gin martini which should warm you up by the time you hear Billy Eckstein sing Laura.

Disc: 1
1. Blues In The Night (My Mama Done Tol' Me) - Louis Armstrong
2. I Thought About You - Billie Holiday
3. Come Rain Or Come Shine - Anita O'day
4. Hit The Road To Dreamland - Mel Torme
5. Dearly Beloved - Margaret Whiting
6. Goody Goody - Buddy Rich
7. Skylark - Ella Fitzgerald
8. Laura - Billy Eckstine
9. Day In-Day Out - Sarak Vaughan
10. Early Autumn - Woody Herman
11. I Remember You - Dinah Washington
12. Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home - Helen Merril/Gil Evans
13. Too Marvelous For Words - Joe Williams
14. Autumn Leaves - Dee Dee Bridgewater
15. One For My Baby (And One More For The Road) - Billie Holiday
16. Jeepers Creepers - Bing Crosby/Buddy Bregman's Orchestra

Pea Soup Wine

by Citizen Jon-O

280 miles north of Los Angeles (middle of nowhere) lies the tiny dust covered hamlet of Santa Nella. Existing entirely due to the fact that interstate 5 runs straight through the middle of it, Santa Nella is loaded with gas stations, truck stops, and fast food joints. Overall, Santa Nella is unremarkable in every way with the exception of one distinguishing landmark…a big windmill that is visible from a good two or three miles away. This windmill serves one purpose and one purpose only…it’s to let the hungry traveler know that they have arrived at the world famous (in my mind anyway) Pea Soup Andersen’s, home of the world’s greatest split pea soup.

Like many old school travel stops, Andersen’s has a theme and their theme is glorious Denmark! As you enter the giftshop/bar/coffeeshop/restaurant/hotel, you’re immediately thrust into a world of faux Danish delights and décor. Most of these tacky monuments to all things Danish beckon you to enjoy Andersen’s famous split pea soup, and for decades, enjoying the split pea soup is exactly what my family, the Anderson’s (with an O, not an E like the restaurant) has done.

As luck would have it, I was fortunate enough to be able to drive my wife, kids, and mother in law from Orange County to Fremont last month, and, as luck would have it, the kids took my side and agreed that the place to eat along the way on our eight hour journey was Andersen’s. In all the years of going to Pea Soup Andersen’s, I’d only enjoyed their ‘Travelers Special’ (all you can eat split pea soup and bread…with a milkshake or soft drink for $8.95…yum) with the occasional French dip thrown in if I was feeling hi-falutin and continental. However, on this particular visit to Andersen’s, my wife was going to take over the driving duties for the last 90 minutes so I decided I’d live large and enjoy a glass of wine with my split pea soup. The decision to have a glass of vino was a huge shift from family tradition and a major ‘adult moment’ for me. I’d never felt more in charge of my own destiny.

I knew the evening was going to be a special one when the hostess seated us in the dining room (which was closed at the time), instead of the coffee shop. With its 20 foot high ceilings adorned with dozens of large multi-colored Danish inspired banners hanging from the rafters, the dining room is a much more sophisticated environment than the coffee shop, and, as such, is only open to distinguished guests such as myself. With only one other family in the dining room, I felt the time was certainly right to break the decades old tradition of ordering the Traveler’s Special alone and go with a nice glass of red wine as an add-on.

To set the stage, a description of the personnel attending to us at Andersens is required. The hostess, who we’ll call Rosa, was a small town girl who, by the looks of her hair and makeup, didn’t venture more than five miles from I5 very often. Rosa was clearly built for breeding, was unattractive, but had a look in her eye that told me she knew her way around the bedroom in a big way and she didn’t get cheated when it came time for fucking. Our waiter, who was also the manager, we’ll call him Daniel, was a very earnest and hard working young man who was slightly bumbling, short, and moderately overweight. Although he clearly had his challenges, the way Daniel wore his logoed tie, had his shirt ironed crisply, and did his damnest to do a good job told me he was the type of guy who is the salt of the earth, the kind of dude who finds a wallet and doesn’t take the money…a simple yet honorable man. Admirable. This pair, unbeknownst to them, had been chosen by fate to serve me, the man accused by all of being a ‘food snob’ and the wine columnist for the Floral Park Neighborhood Newsletter…the greatness was among them and they didn’t even know it.

Upon sitting down, Rosa strutted up to the table, all the while eyeballing me like she was trying to figure out whether or not she’d break me if the situation presented itself. Homely at best, but oozing raw untamable sexuality, Rosa asked me if I’d like something to drink. I told her I’d have a glass of red wine. To this, Rosa said “Would you like to see the wine list?” I replied “There IS a wine list?”. At this point, Rosa’s face changed and she looked at me like she wanted to have a little meeting with me, a rope, and a tree…she clearly didn’t appreciate my humor. Rosa brought the wine list, a laminated sheet of paper, and presented it to me. The Pea Soup Andersen’s wine list is a who’s who of low rent jug wine that wouldn’t be fit for a hobo, but at the very bottom, at $4.25 per glass, I found what I was looking for, the ‘house’ cabernet sauvignon. For those who’ve never had the pleasure, the house cabernet at Pea Soup Andersen’s is ‘Copper Ridge’, a non vintage wine that I was sure would have great character and depth. I ordered the house cabernet and bid Rosa and her sexuality adieu. And now, the tasting……

The Presentation:

When I saw Rosa inform Daniel that someone had ordered wine, it looked as if she had told him she was knocked up and the kid was his. Shock and awe are the first words that come to mind when I recall Daniel’s face. When Daniel promptly returned with the wine, he looked as if he was carrying a flaming beehive; it was as if something was going to explode and he needed to unload it as soon as possible. While lacking in elegance and grace, Daniel made up for the freakish nature of his delivery with sheer volume. I don’t know if the tab on the box had stuck open or what, but the wine glass was filled to the very rim with Copper Ridge Cabernet and, as Daniel set it down, the wine sloshed over the sides and splashed on the table. Looking at the heaping glass of wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if Rosa had struck a deal with Daniel and she was trying to get the ‘out of towner’ drunk so she could take advantage of me in the handicap stall in their Denmark themed men’s room…tee heee.

The Nose:

Back in the day, a certain someone who likes wine played himself a little football and he played it pretty well. Additionally, back in the day, terms like “hazing” and “hate crime” and “abuse” were really just funny words that educated people used and were of no consequence to us football stars. As such, when we had football practice, some of us gentlemen on the team would ‘play a game’ where we’d give some of the other guys on the team a little something we liked to call “The Mustachio”. The way the mustachio worked was, you’d do your warmups..the standard pushups, wind sprints, sit ups, stretching, etc. and get a nice sweat going. Once one knew they were good and sweaty, one could get started with Mustachio implementation:

Step 1: Take two fingers and shove them down your pants, all the way down to your taint (the taint is the area between your legs where it aint yer balls and it aint your asshole)
Step 2: Firmly wipe the two fingers between your coinpurse and your thigh from your taint all the way up to your fuzz
Step 3: Find unsuspecting victim (had to be someone you could out run or, if the need arose, someone you knew you could drop like third period French)
Step 4: Run up behind unsuspecting victim and wipe the two fingers across victim’s upper lip leaving a ballsweat mustache known as ‘The Mustachio’. Word on the street was that the delicate aroma of sweaty balls would stay with the recipient for hours on end.

Now that The Mustachio has been explained, just understand that when I brought the wineglass to my nose, it was as if every mustachio I’d ever given was given back to me in one mighty swipe, straight from the nuts of Satan himself. The Copper Ridge Cabernet was a hot batch of ballsweat and nitrates…but I was determined to drink it. After all, I am a professional.

The Taste:

As I brought the heaving glass of Copper Ridge to my mouth, it felt as if the whole world was watching, as if no one could believe a human would actually follow through with drinking it. I paused, took one more sniff of the putrid liquid, then drank.

Once the stabbing chest pains subsided and I regained consciousness, the Copper Ridge Cabernet gave a powerful burning sensation on the palate at first, eventually giving way to a taste that I can only describe as huge fruit and alcohol with strong notes of asphalt, sheep droppings, and the sweatband of a migrant worker’s hat after a day in the sun. The finish was powerful and shocking with a hint of hot grass cuttings and kerosene that lingered longer than a monstrous case of herpes.

Not wanting to insult Daniel or give that sex fiend Rosa the satisfaction of seeing me back down, I drank the entire glass of Copper Ridge lustily and acted as if it were the very nectar of the gods poured from the nipple of Venus herself! (In reality I was calculating how long it would take poison control to make it out to Santa Nella, there’s a prison nearby, so surely it couldn’t take too long…). Rosa quickly approached me and offered another glass but I declined and made a stupid pantomime of someone driving a car whilst shitfaced like some kind of dipshit Clark Griswold impersonator. She walked away with a smartass grin on her face and we quickly finished our soup and skeedaddled out of there.

In short, I do not recommend Copper Ridge Caberne to anyone unless you are planning on killing a dog in the most cruel manner possible or stripping the paint off your car. Overall, I know it will take me a long time to get over the post traumatic stress disorder that will surely follow my consumption of Copper Ridge Cabernet, but I don’t regret it for a minute. There are those timid souls who say life is too short to drink cheap wine, and then there are courageous wine drinkers like me who say: ‘Fuck that, I’m drinkin’ it all!’ The next time you’re afraid to drink shitty wine, just remember me and the Copper Ridge and know that it can’t get any worse than that.

walking chicken & rice porridge

they say failing to plan is planning to fail (they being elementary school administrators quoting john wooden) and i would tend to agree with them/him if it were not for the calculated generosity of my cube neighbor nguyen. it seems i’m always well fed at work, regardless of continually failing to plan for my lunch, because at any time during office hours nguyen has a cornucopia of exotic vietnamese foods at her desk.

what might i sample in the course of a work week? fresh kumquats, melon with chili powder, pho, banh mi, jackfruit with coconut milk, spring rolls, com tam, etc. apart from the northern mexican food i grew up on, it is quite possibly the best food i have ever tasted. with intense flavors and ubiquitous freshness modern vietnamese fare, at least on the outskirts of little saigon, is often conjoined with an essentially french methodology following on to some of the finest bread and most sublime soup bases in the world.

the terms of my strictly food oriented non-relationship with nguyen are as follows: 1) i take whatever food i want from her desk at any time i want it, without asking. 2) if she is eating something for herself, regardless of portion, i automatically have “dibbs” on half. 3) i make an honest effort to speak harshly to her as often as possible, not because i am cruel by nature, but by virtue of the fact that to have any kind of healthy, albeit solipsist, relationship with a her i have to earn her respect by providing equally matched force (i’m also pretty sure this is how it works in prison). if she is being polite to me i know that she is actually quite angry and i should take this as a sign of disrespect.

for her end i can only hypothesize through a skippy-smeared, wonder bread lens, but to the best of my knowledge this is what i can put together: 1) she can make fun of me when i’m asking for sandwiches in vietnamese, (banh mi). 2) i make myself vulnerable to pinches on my arm fat so hard i cry (very few people can pinch this hard, fewer still weighing a few fingernail clippings shy of 100lbs). and 3) i give her all my office work so she can look twice as busy as me, an enriching opportunity for her because in her culture laziness is automatic qualification for dante’s ninth circle(1).

you get the idea – i trade my dignity for food, most men have no problem with this. i’m constantly begging her for recipes. it usually goes something like this...

Am PoMo: that look’s good, what is it?

Nguyen: (immediate look of disgust) it’s rice porridge, you want some?

Am PoMo: sure, but just a taste.

Nguyen: oh please, you know you only come to my desk for food.

(later...)

Am PoMo: that was good. did you make it?

Nguyen: oh please, don’t pretend you don’t see us eat it every morning for breakfast! you want some more?

Am PoMo: no, i had lunch already.

Nguyen: don’t tell me you have a six dollar burger! are they good?

Am PoMo: are you going to give me the receipe for the porridge?

Nguyen: i’m so mad at you. you just take whatever you want, you think i’m your slave or something.

Am PoMo: if you’re referring to the M&M’s, you don’t eat them – and the bag is from easter! what are you saving them for?

Nguyen: (pinching) special collector bag! they only print it one time! i bought it on ebay.

Am PoMo: (eyes watering) so are you going to give me the porridge recipe or what?

Nguyen: (eye roll) oh please! don’t pretend you like it! it’s so easy even when you could do it. just boil walking chicken and add some rice. do i have to explain everything to you? sheesh.

Am PoMo: i think you’re holding out on me....there was way more stuff in that soup. i’ll buy you lunch.

Nguyen: (again with the pinching) not soup, porridge! you think all vietnamese food is soup. i don’t know exact ingredient.

Am PoMo: (whimpering) but i want to make it and post it on my blog.

Nguyen: what-ever, am pomo, you think all asian women the same. you think we your slave or something

Am PoMo: look, it was really good. i think people will want to know how to make it.

Nguyen: go away now. can’t you see i’m busy doing all your work for you. you’re dead to me.
Am PoMo: how about you just give me the recipe and shut up about it?

Nguyen: i’ll bring you the mushroom mix tomorrow. do you have fish sauce? you think i’m your slave or something.

now before you accuse me of racial discrimination or sexual harassment it should be noted that i don’t believe the chip on nguyen’s shoulder to be primarily cultural or at all gender based (although on the skin-whitening tour of our fluorescent-sunned work week, her beauty, as it would be in prison, is a problem). i daresay, no. if the ACLU (and the editor) will permit me, these are simply the politics of captivity.....only on the wretched cube farm do assets like these become liabilities, kindnesses a coiled trap.

enragingly, nguyen is also a better cook than i am. so naturally to keep the balance of power in her favor, when i do receive a recipe it’s frequently less than articulate....

1 walking chicken (very good for soup and a bit tougher to chew)
1 ½ gallon of water
1 rice bowl (1 cup) of jasmine rice (new crop)
1 pho spoon of salt
1 ½ pho spoon of suger -- or --
2 wo medium siz of rock sugar
2 pho spoon of good fish sauce
1 sleeve of ginger
½ pho spoon mushroom seasoning

this is the best i can tell you. i hate writing down instruction....

- clean the chicken
- when water is boiled, throw in the chicken (this way the water is not cloudy)
- thow a sleeve of ginger and an onion (optional)
- throw in all the seasoning
- clean/wash the rice until the water is clear
- dump the rice into the soup
lower the heat after 10 - 15 minutes to medium heat
- since you're an inspired chef, you know when the chicken is done
- once the chicken is done, remove the chicken from the pot to shread

what goes in the porridge to enhance the taste..

- dice cilantro
- dice green onion (opional)
- clean bean sprout
- and don't forget the chile sauce
- ground pepper


did i believe i was getting the actual recipe for the food i had just tasted? did i f@&%.

before i made my first rice porridge there were some practical issues i needed to resolve per the recipe above...like what the fuck is a walking chicken? but if correct/pure ingredients are the rubric of my cooking philosophy i can’t get squeamish about markets selling chicken-headed chickens. next to the hens, the walking chicken was leaner and more expensive (i can only guess this is attributed to it being more flavorful due to maturity).

nguyen agreed (only after mucho eye rolling) to take me to a vietnamese market. obviously i was far too slow a shopper – every time i looked up from my shopping list she had disappeared around the corner.

once i had the correct ingredients, the cooking method was fairly easy. so i will only add a few cooking tips to the recipe above.

1. nguyen was right, boil the water first.
2. i found it more settling to remove the head and feet from the walking chicken.
3. i only added half the sugar she suggested and i found the broth to be sufficiently sweet.
4. after the chicken is cooked (approx 30 minutes), strain out the ginger and onion before adding the rice.
5. i doubled the rice ingredient and this resulted in a much thicker, porridge-like porridge.
6. remove the bones and skin from the chicken and shred the meat.

7. add the “enhancements” just before serving.

musice pairing: kings of leon, “because of the times”
no wine for this staple dish; i would just drink green tea




(1) loosely speaking, postmodernists would be circling the drain of dante’s eighth circle of hell, often being the root of social discord. inverting dante’s hell, he obviously thought loyalty (and subsequently conformity) to be paramount in virtue; and even more obviously – he didn’t write his divine comedy in a 3’ by 3’ space (enough room to pivot on an non-ergonomic chair from email to phone to boss to knees. etc...) with low, burlap paneled aluminum walls and orwellian network surveillance.