As the holidays wind down and before we look forward toward 2014, I’m looking back on a few of the more popular posts of the year. One of the most trafficked was inspire by a report, picked up at face value by all the media it seems, that urged people not to wash their chicken because it sprayed bacteria all over the place. The ever sensible and funny Alton Brown, tweeted a post-it commentary that inspired this: Bacteria! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY! America’s ridiculous and idiotic fear of bacteria. Of course, we all want to be happy and healthy. Here’s my advice: Cook Your Own Food. Eat What You Want. (Think for Yourself.) The irony of it is that I don’t think you should follow it, as I explain in the post. And more ranting on the general Read On »
Posts Tagged: The Book of Schmaltz
The Book of Schmaltz: Love Song to a Forgotten Fat is available today. And while I love the impact of schmaltz on classic Jewish dishes such at kreplach and helzel, I also love the new uses I’ve found for the much maligned fat—these Parisienne gnocchi, for instance, pâte à choux made with schmaltz instead of butter, boiled, then sautéed in schmaltz. Here’s a post on pâte à choux, or use this ratio to make as much or as little as you want. Schmaltz, rendered chicken fat flavored with onion, is one of the great flavors and fats to use in cooking. It’s too good to be relegated to Jewish cuisine alone, though, I have to admit, there’s not a lot that can beat pure schmaltz spread on warm rye toast. L’chaim!
When Donna and I published The Book of Schmaltz as an app for iPads, I never expected it to be published as a book book. (Yes, even though it’s called “The Book of.”) And yet, I always knew that would be its most valuable form. The book’s muse, for instance, my neighbor Lois Baron, had never even held an iPad, and she’s the ideal customer. And I’m lucky my editor at Little, Brown thought publishing an actual book was a good idea, too. Tomorrow, The Book of Schmaltz is officially released as a book book. David Leite wrote this about the app when it came out. Max Gross wrote about the book in this weekend’s New York Post. (Though I must take issue with the use of “grease” in the headline. Schmaltz is a Read On »
All I wanted for my fiftieth birthday was to eat all the lobster I could, with a good white wine and a Blanton’s bourbon after. I remember when my mom turned fifty because Donna insisted on doing something special for her, while I lamely lay in bed, scratching my head (within the hour she’d marshaled friends and chartered a plane to Key West for lunch). My dad did a fifty-mile bike ride on his fiftieth with his girlfriend Pat; she was incensed by the arduous journey (“Rip,” she hissed, “you don’t need a woman, you need a machine,” to which he replied, “I just realized it’s my fiftieth birthday”). They were so much older, fifty an impossibly remote age to me, a 25-year-old. Yet here I am now, on that very day. In a wistful Read On »