tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post2131544512025255273..comments2010-11-13T09:32:21.436-08:00Comments on The Art of Boiling Water: Julia Child meets Caliban: More Adventures with a Culinary VirginRachel Resnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06377767453059698225noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-34828050668328689772010-08-18T10:28:35.267-07:002010-08-18T10:28:35.267-07:00Love your adventures at the nyc cafe and of cours...Love your adventures at the nyc cafe and of course the tart for a tart.Jamie Rosehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10770708627188563210noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-59235611467659787282010-08-17T15:04:59.252-07:002010-08-17T15:04:59.252-07:00Just want to say that you're an awesome photog...Just want to say that you're an awesome photographer and visual designer as well as a magnificent writerAmelia Phttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03470718551389135751noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-12671226880438187792010-08-17T11:30:13.801-07:002010-08-17T11:30:13.801-07:00Love this post. Great to see the pictures of Ange...Love this post. Great to see the pictures of Angel bearing the green plate, and your smiley melon rinds. Shows what a powerful thing it is to share good food. Beautiful writing as usual :-). Eli Zabar and Elizabeth Ray - fascinating stuff.Amelia Phttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03470718551389135751noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-6983173639306171222010-08-17T10:42:08.771-07:002010-08-17T10:42:08.771-07:00OK, officially hooked. Where are my fucking pancak...OK, officially hooked. Where are my fucking pancakes? Let's defrost. See you next week Madam Cookstress....Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-12969197577361168692010-08-17T09:37:58.975-07:002010-08-17T09:37:58.975-07:00"....Elizabeth Ray, the woman who'd broug..."....Elizabeth Ray, the woman who'd brought Congressman Wayne Hays to his downfall in 1976. who declared "I can't type, I can't file, I can't even answer the telephone."<br />A tart for a Tart. Life Is so poetic sometimes you just have to smile.<br />Terrific as always Rachel.<br />Donzo, lol where's your blog?<br />Peace!Unknownhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05566015010583748927noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-32133172051151627492010-08-17T04:34:34.967-07:002010-08-17T04:34:34.967-07:00When I was in college, I had the work-study job of...When I was in college, I had the work-study job of working in the coffee shop, which was one of the centers of social life at Reed. On a Saturday night, when the movie let out, people would trickle into the coffee shop and start ordering snacks and sandwiches. The custom orders got absurd very quickly. <br /><br />A student ordered a chocolate shake. The next would want the same but with coffee grounds added. A game of "Can You Top This?" ensued. A young woman dressed in a medieval gown would want a chocolate shake, coffee grounds, malt, and vanilla extract. A bearded Lou Reed in Bay-of-Pigs wraparounds would order all of that, plus a scoop of strawberry ice cream added in. And so it went, Saturday night, one blender, a line clogging the food prep area, resembling a stalled New York elevator. <br /><br />Sandwich orders were warped. CST -- Cheese, sprouts, tomatoes -- on whole wheat would evolve into: <br /><br />"I want a three-cheese, tomato, avocado, mushroom, green pepper, peanut butter sandwich with jelly, gravy, sardines and ketchup." <br /><br />The crowd would chuckle and hoot: "Oooooh!" "Awwwww!" "Omigod!" Some folks would drop out of line to watch the poor bastard eat that sonofabitch whole grain cluster cloud, all toasted and melted and spiced. And, when it was over, there was curiosity. How far could they push themselves in ordering? In eating?<br /><br />It was a game for absurdist dorks, who would, ultimately, find one another at forty-five in the dirt pathways of Burning Man, in full Napoleonic regalia or dressed as semi-nude medflies. <br /><br />Was there any value to it? Well, the sense of "What the hell?" served them well to live life a little fuller, more freely, more daringly, in color. <br /><br />I make salads fearlessly, partly due to those experiences. It's like improvising music. Flavors have a tone and there is a (musical) scale on which they can be played, intuitive modal choices for any salad bowl. No recipe, just imagine flavors combining. Sometimes I'm not sure about a flavor, or a spice, and I have to play it, add the spice, taste it. Once I do, I know more. I found that cardamom pods busted open, fresh seeds spilled into any salad usually works. Playing makes for growth in every endeavor.<br /><br />Julia inspired creativity and playfulness even before she was famous. I remember kids buzzing about home-made chocolates on Irving Street one Halloween. We rushed there. They were disappearing. Oh, man! The big lady served them on a large tray, warning: <br /><br />"No more than two. Share them with the others!"<br /><br />This was war, man. This was taste bud heroin. <br /><br />We all ran home and created new costumes so she couldn't recognize us. I remember laughing at some of our combinations: flippers with a Fred Flintstone toga, bee antennae, and six guns.<br /> <br />JULIA CHILD: "Oh, Good Lord, what are you supposed to be?"<br /><br />KID: "Existential Dilemma." <br /><br />JULIA CHILD (To Paul): "A lot of professor's kids tonight."<br /><br />It wasn't a good thing to do. But we pushed ourselves out of the box. We knew enough to know outstanding chocolate. What the Hell?Donzohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08852112954134505896noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-78780737309374366082010-08-17T04:06:43.267-07:002010-08-17T04:06:43.267-07:00This comment has been removed by the author.Donzohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08852112954134505896noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3036733495424243473.post-21284026040028206362010-08-17T03:45:54.810-07:002010-08-17T03:45:54.810-07:00I grew up with Julia Child. She was my neighbor. I...I grew up with Julia Child. She was my neighbor. I can still remember when we realized the huge, funny lady was on television. It seemed more amazing that she was an object of interest, to others, than that she was cooking tasty things in an offhand, quirky manner. At least at first. <br /><br />I had to share my Christmas Carol Book with her and her little husband, Paul, when the neighborhood gathered for caroling the block. (Daniel Patrick Moynihan did the sleigh bells, a long string of real sleigh bells that wrapped around him like a python. Galbraith's kids, Peter and Jamie, would yell "Trick or Treat!" as we caroled each home.) So, I saw her in full-on "What the Hell" mode, more so singing than cooking. And it was the kind of singing you'd expect from Julia, like a truck-horn blaring, like a bagpipe through a speaker system, like a flock of poisoned geese. Paul was the silent one, making them the original Penn and Teller.<br /><br />But she wasn't 'what-the-hell' when she shopped! She shopped like a Ph.D candidate, researching every detail to make sure the orals would be flawless. She wouldn't buy shrimp, because she couldn't find out exactly where and when they were caught. She was very fussy about certain types of fish and meat, tossing leafy greens like a comic magician juggling tissues. (And she wasn't such a good politically correct model for progressive thinking, either. But I'll let the uninitiated dream on about her goodness.) She was a lot of fun, a horrible but full-volume singer, and once the extremely picky process of finding her ingredients was over, she had a great joy of life in the kitchen, endless stories, generosity in sharing favorite recipes.Donzohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08852112954134505896noreply@blogger.com