Potato chips

The food industry has its tentacles around us all, with advertising, market research and trade associations galore. Which is why a snippet the other day caught my eye. The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition published a piece saying that teens who snack were found to be less likely to be obese than other teens. The article sounded legit, and there is such a journal. But are we to believe that teen snacks are all healthy fruit and vegetables, or that the Snack Food Association, an international trade group, wasn’t somehow behind this? I’m asking nutritionist friends what they think, and looking for more data. Where’s Michael Pollan when you need him?

Austin skyline

Nothing like lists to spark interest. Trolling through the maze today, I noticed a WalletPop article listing Austin, Tex., as the top restaurant dining city in the country — more money is spent on eating out there than anywhere else in the US.  Who knew?

And Boston diners are No. 19, way under Irvine, Tex., San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Nashville, Tenn.! Doesn’t anyone cook at home in those cities?

Remember when the experts advised real foodies to eat out only in the middle of the week, avoiding the dreaded suburbanites on weekends? Remember when being a Special Occasion restaurant could brand a place as cluelessly old-fashioned? Remember when the chef’s word ruled — no substitutions, no questions, no mercy? Remember when prices at even scruffy places were astronomical, and money was thrown around at will on $200 plus wines? Remember when?

I was struck by a comment by Mc Slim Jb, the Everyman’s King of Boston dining, tweaking Valentine’s dining as Amateur Night. I don’t think too many in the restaurant industry are  scorning Special Occasion dining this year. When chefs are bemoaning empty rooms and lost revenue, any packed house is welcome. Bring on the amateurs. Every night should be Valentine’s!

We’re just back from South Beach (and, yes, it was gloriously warm). I don’t think the dining scene there matches Boston, SanFrancisco and certainly

Chef Rodriguez

not New York, but maybe the sun is too bright.

However, we did happen to drop in on D. Rodriguez Cuba’s second night. This is Douglas Rodriguez (OLA, “godfather of Nuevo Latino, Top Chef), who has a new spot that’s dedicated to only Cuban cuisine. It’s a little more downscale price-wise than OLA, and has some interesting twists on what can be a delicious but pretty heavy cuisine

Octopus salad esbache was delicious and so were the short rib skewers (though they tasted sort of pan-Asian — wasn’t that soy sauce), but the arroz con pollo, tried because it’s such a classic, was odd. The rice and peas were just right, but the chicken, advertised as thigh meat, was definitely breast meat covered with a creamy sauce. That was tangy and tasty but overall, it wasn’t the homey dish one might expect but instead a kind of hybrid — Cuban meets Continental??

Because the liquor license had’t been finalized, the restaurant was offering rum cocktails gratis — a lovely lime daquiri and a rum punch, both well-made, not too sweet, and not too boozy.

The staff was pleasant, friendly, and really nervous. Even the laid-back feeling of South Beach, and the beautiful surroundings of the Hotel Astor didn’t seem to calm them. And when I happened to see Chef Rodriguez with his wife Nelly in the lobby, he too seemed jittery. I guess that’s understandable in an economy that’s affecting even the golden edges of Florida.

But give Rodriguez and his staff a little time. I’d definitely go back to graze through more of his Cuban food — and I’m sure others will, too. Maybe Nelly’s roast chicken would be a better choice. Next time.

A Mad Hatter feeling is coming over me. I seem to be rushing to catch up, and blogging is sliding farther and farther behind. But I just have to tell you about “Teach a Chef to Fish,” an event being held in Boston, Chicago, and Toronto. The subject is saving the sea, and the object is to introduce chefs to sustainable species. Boston’s event is Monday, Sept. 28, at the Fairmont Battery Wharf, and will include presentations, discussions, and lots and lots of examples of how to get going on serving sustainable fish. It’s from 3-5 p.m. and is $50; part of the proceeds will go to the New England Aquarium.

Coincidentally, that’s the day I’m taking 15 people from around the country participating in an Elderhostel (soon to be Exploritas) Dine Like a Critic to see Legal Seafood’s plant and to hear Max Harvey, of Jasper White’s Summer Shacks who lectures at BU on sustainability.

Saving the sea will be the hot topic for Monday — and beyond.

Dill spears and bread and butter pickles

September’s here; summer’s gone. A few Sundays ago, I put up some pickles, all the while remembering watching my aunt Florence can beets on a broiling hot day many years ago. My father’s sister was a no-nonsense mother and aunt. Every summer when I was small, I’d go to visit her and my cousin Susan on a farm not at all like the idyllic view we might have of rural life now. No indoor plumbing, swimming in a mossy horse tank, walking to call in cows in the evening through rough terrain where rattlesnakes hid — for a timid girl who longed for city sidewalks, the farm in Southwestern Kansas held little allure.

So why after all these years, do I dream of Florence, with her arms up to her elbows stained red with beet juice? She was known as the smartest in her family and could do anything in housekeeping — take a zipper from a purse to make a child’s pants, grow sweet, sweet watermelons, fry chickens to perfect crispness, stretch a dollar farther than seemed possible, and though she wasn’t the giggly type, comfort a visiting sick child. Putting up vegetables wasn’t a romantic notion — it was necessity. And if it took days to scrub away the beet stains, so be it.

Here are some of my pickles. I wish I had Florence’s beets to put in the pantry beside them.

Tomatillo

There’s no doubt that guacamole is popular. But there’s also no doubt that it can be watery, off-tasting and dull unless it’s been carefully handmade almost minutes before it’s consumed.

For years, I’ve been making a guacamole that includes tomatillos in the ingredients. I started out making the recipe because I love “Cuisine of the Water Gods,” one of my all-time favorite cookbooks. What I discovered was that this generously-proportioned guacamole with three avocados, plenty of serrano chiles, and 10 raw tomatillos didn’t separate, become bland, or discolored. In fact, I could take it to a party an hour or even two later and it was still vibrantly green and delicious.

Added as an accompaniment to Pinotepa-style Empanadas Stuffed with Shrimp, there’s no explanation given by author Patricia Quintana, but I theorize that the texture and acidity of the tomatillos (also called Mexican ground tomatoes) gives this guacamole its staying power. It’s great for chips, veggies, or for another Quintana recipe I love Tuna Taquitos.  Bring it to a party — it’ll be the star.

Guacamole with tomatillos

3 ripe avocados, peeled and roughly chopped                      2 medium garlic cloves, peeled, chopped

4-8 fresh serrano chilis, roughly chopped                              1/2 medium onion, roughly chopped

10 tomatillos, husked and roughly chopped                       Juice of 2 limes

1 1/2 tablespoons chopped cilantro or mint                        Salt to taste

Put all ingredients in food processor. Pulse until just slightly chunky. Add salt to taste. Refrigerate until using.

I’ve been puzzling over this for months as I read blogs and articles that go into detail — sometimes excrutiating detail — about how to cook something.  How to cook a hamburger, using six different fats and 10 different cooking methods. How to sear a steak, how to make a barbecue sauce. Most of them reference cooking chemist Harold McGee, and most of them make cooking sound like a long and arduous journey that’s worth it only if the discovery at the end is perfection.

I don’t cook that way; although I experiment, I’m not that exact. I never even practice a dish before I serve it to guests. Hopefully, it works out, usually it does, and there’s always homemade bread to fall back on (German lore insists on good bread) if something flops.

Nora Ephron

But the other day, I read a profile of Nora Ephron, whose famously combined food and literature (”Heartburn”, the screen play for “When Harry Met Sally.”) In it, she serves a meal with a medley of food and opines that she’s not a serious cook, she’s a “feeder.”

That’s it. I’m a feeder. And proud of it.

Tim's fantastic bacon

March is a cruel month, right before that cruelest month. Grocery stores are full of all the out-of-season, purchased-from-somewhere-else strawberries, asparagus, green beans. It’s so hard to resist them, and love those root vegetables when something green is what you crave. I’ve been trying to follow a mildly cocina povere or cocina pobre –  whatever language you cook in — using very little meat and lots of roots and dark greens. Sometimes it works beautifully — say with fantastic home-cured bacon from my friend Charlotte’s husband, Tim, which I used to flavor a salad of dark green lentils and walnuts. The bacon is so powerfully evocative of bacon I ate when I was young that just a few shavings give the lentils a smoky goodness.  My son loves BLTs, and this bacon would be perfect. Not that it’s going to last until tomato season. Maybe next will be a satisfying minestrone with just a touch of bacon. Or seared scallops with bacon. Or… What do you like with great bacon?

Some restaurant spaces are doomed.  The little restaurant tucked into the side of Louis Boston appears to be one of them. Its latest rendition  by Marc Orfaly had the life of a mayfly, a span so brief that the operating hours, not to mention the name, never really got settled. 

The space had previously been Boston Public, after being Restaurant L. Before that it was Cafe Louis, with and then without the Al Forno owners’ involvement. And then a long time ago it was Cafe Louis with Michael Schlow as its rising star. (The place was something before that, but I forget.)

The restaurant changed looks as many times as it did chefs and names, but it always seemed awkward — odd in a clothing store that is the ultimate in chic. Except for Schlow, the chefs — each one of them a star in other settings — never found their groove.

It’s time to let it go. I have an idea: Newbury Street could use a really good bakery/cafe. Why not invite Flour to set up shop? Lots of traffic, coffee,  reasonably-priced lunch, irresistible goodies to take home along with the fashion. Hey, Debi, call Joanne. Make a deal.