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Archive for the ‘Restaurants’ Category

This just in from the Online Etymology Dictionary:

restaurant (n.) 1821, from French restaurant “a restaurant,” originally “food that restores,” noun use of present participle of restaurer “to restore or refresh,” from Old French restorer (see restore).

In 1765 a man by the name of Boulanger, also known as “Champ d’Oiseaux” or “Chantoiseau,” opened a shop near the Louvre (on either the rue des Poulies or the rue Bailleul, depending on which authority one chooses to believe). There he sold what he called restaurants or bouillons restaurants–that is, meat-based consommés intended to “restore” a person’s strength. Ever since the Middle Ages the word restaurant had been used to describe any of a variety of rich bouillons made with chicken, beef, roots of one sort or another, onions, herbs, and, according to some recipes, spices, crystallized sugar, toasted bread, barley, butter, and even exotic ingredients such as dried rose petals, Damascus grapes, and amber. In order to entice customers into his shop, Boulanger had inscribed on his window a line from the Gospels: “Venite ad me omnes qui stomacho laboratis et ego vos restaurabo.” He was not content simply to serve bouillon, however. He also served leg of lamb in white sauce, thereby infringing the monopoly of the caterers’ guild. The guild filed suit, which to everyone’s astonishment ended in a judgment in favor of Boulanger. [Jean-Robert Pitte, “The Rise of the Restaurant,” in “Food: A Culinary History from Antiquity to the Present,” English editor Albert Sonnenfeld, transl. Clarissa Botsford, 1999, Columbia University Press]

Bouillon_de_volaille

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Winter is Icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm.
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.

— Ezra Pound

Winter is icumen in and so is our all but universal desire for carbohydrates. Thanks be to the New York Times’ Melissa Clark for offering up a simple formula for great grain bowls: one or more grains, preferably whole grains; greens; pickles (think kim chee); protein (plant-based eaters will go for tofu, hummus, nuts or nut butter, and will know not to worry); textural surprises such as avocado, nori, seeds; and a sauce to wrap it up with a bow. Her post, Grain Bowls: How to Make Your Own, is printed in full below; click to watch the video. Ezra Pound added for funsies.

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The rice bowl has come a long way. Once relegated to health food restaurants and natural food shops, it was a humble, healthful, often vegetarian one-dish meal reminiscent of Japanese donburi and Korean bibimbap, rice bowls topped with meat or fish, vegetables and pickles.

Now, you’re just as likely to run into a grain bowl, made with the likes of quinoa, farro or freekeh, at the trendiest restaurants as you are at the cafe adjacent to your yoga studio.

Black rice topped with kale, eggplant and salmon at Dimes in Chinatown.

Black rice topped with kale, eggplant and salmon at Dimes in Chinatown.

Case in point: At Dimes, a new restaurant in Chinatown, you will find a barley bowl topped with pickled salmon and cabbage slaw. At Sqirl in Los Angeles, heirloom brown rice is mixed with cumin and Swiss chard and topped with crisp chorizo. At El Rey Coffee Bar and Luncheonette on the Lower East Side, grits cooked in cashew milk is topped with slow-roasted pork and pickled onions.

For evidence that the bowl has gone mainstream, look no further than Chipotle, whose burrito bowl is the biggest selling item on the menu.

A Swiss chard rice bowl at Sqirl in Los Angeles.

A Swiss chard rice bowl at Sqirl in Los Angeles.

Bowls are excellent vehicles for leftovers, no matter how motley. They can accommodate the ever-widening variety of available whole grains (quinoa, kamut, farro, freekeh, wheat berries, barley and grits) that we are all supposed to be working into our diet. And they are ideal for picky eaters in the house, who can build it to suit their own tastes while ensuring that none of the toppings touch.

Gerardo Gonzalez, the chef at El Rey, calls a bowl the perfect dish, one in constant movement.

Grits cooked in cashew milk and topped with slow-roasted pork and pickled onions at El Rey Coffee Bar and Luncheonette on the Lower East Side.

Grits cooked in cashew milk and topped with slow-roasted pork and pickled onions at El Rey Coffee Bar and Luncheonette on the Lower East Side.

“Eating your way around a bowl is a little like tai chi,” he said. “The perfect bite doesn’t mean you have all the components together on the spoon, it’s about getting the balance of acid, sweet, salty. Every bite is a surprise, a little different from the one before it.”

When assembling a grain bowl at home, Jessica Koslow, the chef and owner of Sqirl, advises embracing variety.

“We change our bowls seasonally, varying the recipes to reflect different ingredients at their prime,” she said.

While the type of grain matters, the real artistry of the bowl is in the combination of toppings. You could spoon almost anything over your grains and call the result a bowl (and some do). But the best bowls have a balanced combination of flavors and textures, and of vegetables, proteins, sauces and garnishes. Ideally, choose a grain that complements the other elements, pairing delicate ingredients (simple steamed vegetables or fish, for example) with milder grains (white rice, grits, barley). But pretty much any grain will work with nearly anything you pile onto it.

As for vegetables, anything goes, but greenery is iconic, be it raw, steamed, roasted or sautéed. At Scratchbread in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn, my bowl (served in a paper cup) had grits on the bottom, with raw kale, chunks of crisp bacon, a soft-cooked egg and jalapeño sauce layered on top. I especially like the purity and softness of steamed greens — kale, mustard, chard, collards — against the nubby grains. Feel free to use leftover vegetables on top: Those florets of sautéed cauliflower, cubes of baked beets or silky slivers of roasted red peppers can have no better home.

Now you need a protein. Think of small amounts of braised or roasted meats or fish, whether left over or freshly cooked. Vegetarians can go for tofu, tempeh, seitan or beans. And anyone can add a soft-cooked egg, preferably one with a runny yolk to coat the other ingredients like an instant sauce.

You should also have a sauce on the side for everyone to mix in to taste. Use ingredients that mesh with the flavors of the bowl. Combine soy sauce, sesame oil, ginger and rice vinegar or lime juice for Asian-inspired combinations. Pesto goes nicely with roasted red peppers, eggplant or anything else vaguely Mediterranean. Bottled hot sauce provides spice to the fire-toothed. And a basic vinaigrette will get along with practically anything else.

Once you have the bowl assembled — grains, vegetables, protein and sauce — it’s time to think about garnishes, which add character and depth. Something pickled or pungent (kimchi, preserved lemon, pickled peppers, a dash of fish sauce) keeps things interesting, and something crunchy (sesame seeds, nuts, toasted seaweed) diversifies the textures. Or combine these if you like: crunchy pickled carrots or radish, for example.

Mix and match. Then mix and match again. If you do it right, you need never serve the same bowl twice — not unless you want to, that is.

burrito-bowlP.S. I’m a big fan of Chipotle; they’re one of the few places who have successfully bridged my transition to a plant-based diet. OneGreenPlanet does a “100 percent clean version” of Chipotle’s veggie burrito bowl.

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lead

Yep, this is something different. I’ve been thinking about how to step up the frequency of my posts and my interactions with you, dear reader, perhaps by folding in news and/or commentary that interests me. This post, printed verbatim from The Atlantic, is such an experiment.

3d_hc_savethedate_mergedI have known and admired Jen Doll for many years, starting back in the aughts when we were members of writing group known as the Jane Street Workshop, led by the phenomenal Alexandra Shelley. (Among our illustrious alumni is Kathryn Stockett, author of The Help, and I can attest that both she and Jen are as smart and kind and important as you would imagine.) imagesJen writes for The Atlantic, New York Magazine, and other with-in pubs, and in May 2014, published her first book, the hilarious and moving, Save The Date, The Occasional Mortifications of a Serial Wedding Guest.

The following piece caught my eye in a recent issue of The Atlantic, which of course I now read cover to cover. Because my daughter. It reminded me of the fatigue that overcomes me in a pretentious restaurant or grocery store like, say, Whole Foods — and of the glorious meals my husband and I ate at a teeny tiny restaurant called Fuji, on a narrow back street in East Osaka, Japan, where  all it took to get the seven-course meal of the day (for approximately $4.50) was to nod with the politeness of a foreigner with limited language skills, hold up two fingers, and say, “futatsu kudasai,” which means, “two, please.” Thank you, Jen!

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In 1919 the Hotel Pennsylvania, in New York, opened its first restaurant, with offerings notable for their descriptive simplicity: “lamb,” “potatoes: boiled,” and so on. Nearly 100 years later, the Statler Grill, one of the hotel’s current restaurants, offers updated takes, from a “lollipop Colorado lamb chop” to “buttered mashed potatoes (Idaho potatoes with butter & a touch of cream, whipped to perfection).”

You needn’t be a linguist to note changes in the language of menus, but Stanford’s Dan Jurafsky has written a book doing just that. In The Language of Food: A Linguist Reads the Menu, Jurafsky describes how he and some colleagues analyzed a database of 6,500 restaurant menus describing 650,000 dishes from across the U.S. Among their findings: fancy restaurants, not surprisingly, use fancier—and longer—words than cheaper restaurants do (think accompaniments and decaffeinated coffee, not sides and decaf). Jurafsky writes that “every increase of one letter in the average length of words describing a dish is associated with an increase of 69 cents in the price of that dish.” Compared with inexpensive restaurants, the expensive ones are “three times less likely to talk about the diner’s choice” (your way, etc.) and “seven times more likely to talk about the chef’s choice.”

Lower-priced restaurants, meanwhile, rely on “linguistic fillers”: subjective words like delicious,  flaky, and fluffy. These are the empty calories of menus, less indicative of flavor than of low prices. Cheaper establishments also use terms like ripe and fresh, which Jurafsky calls “status anxiety” words. Thomas Keller’s Per Se, after all, would never use fresh—that much is taken for granted—but Subway would. Per Se does, however, engage in the trendy habit of adding provenance to descriptions of ingredients (Island Creek oysters, Frog Hollow’s peaches). According to Jurafsky, very expensive restaurants “mention the origins of the food more than 15 times as often as inexpensive restaurants.

Not that the signature elements of a fancy menu are likely to stay exclusive. Food terms—like food trends—have a way of traveling full circle, from rarefied to mainstream to passé and back again. Take the word macaroni, which rich Americans originally borrowed from Italy. In 1900, Jurafsky explains, it was found mainly on high-end menus but “slowly became more and more common,” ending up the purview of all-night diners. Until, that is, top chefs began reclaiming mac and cheese, mixing in delicacies like truffles, or, in the case of Keller’s deconstructed version, lobster.

Already, provenance-oriented menu language is spreading outward from the finer restaurants to the Subways and Applebee’s of the world. The first franchise to take provenance seriously was Chipotle, says the food developer Barb Stuckey. (“They’ve always menued Niman Ranch pork.”) Now some McDonald’s burgers are served not on “buns” but on “artisan rolls,” and TGI Fridays boasts of “vine-ripened tomatoes.”

In turn, high-end food purveyors may head in a different direction. “As this stuff trickles down, the rich need a way to be different again,” says Jurafsky, who notes the burgeoning menu trend of extreme minimalism, seen at the Michelin-starred San Francisco spot Saison, where the set price starts at $248 and the menu comes after the meal, as a souvenir. In some ways, this is “a return to 200 years ago, when you’d say, ‘Give me dinner,’ and they’d just give you what they’d cooked,” Jurafsky says.

Imagine what this could do for the speed of the drive-through lane.

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