Friday, January 23, 2009

Things that are from Brittany, and things that aren’t

January 23

I wish I looked like my name. Because, seriously, Bret Thorn is a dead sexy name. It's the name of a romance novel character or a porn star. If I looked like Bret Thorn, I swear I’d never wear a shirt.
Thorn is the German name for Torún, the Polish city that my paternal grandfather’s side of the family claims to come from. When they left Poland they lived in Krakow, but they said they were from Thorn, which is weird because Thorn is in Pomerania and Jews weren’t supposed to live in Pomerania.
So who knows if my last name is accurate.
And my first name means “from Brittany,” which I’m not. I’ve never even been to Brittany. As far as I know, none of my ancestors ever set foot in Brittany, either.
But chef Cyril Renaud is from Brittany, and so I was happy to check out his new restaurant, Bar Breton.
I suspect that places like Bar Breton will be the ones that succeed in New York in the near future: focused without being hokey, casual yet distinctive, restaurants that have something to say for themselves that isn’t “you’re going to have to sell a kidney to eat here.”
I went with my friend Birdman, aka biology professor David Krauss, and as we drank pear cider out of what looked like oversized teacups (our waiter said Cyril said they were traditional cups for drinking cider), we spoke of things that annoy us.
I had been annoyed at a restaurant opening the night before — a crowded affair whose door was being manned by the staff of a PR firm that, in my experience, is always stressed out in that way that a certain class of New Yorkers always are: Put-upon, with too much to do to be bothered with the niceties of civil behavior.
“Hold on,” the publicist said to me, her hand up to halt me, as though she were directing traffic.
"Come on in,” she said to a cluster of statuesque blondes who, to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, I’m just going to assume were important friends of the restaurant.
With the VIPs taken care of, she turned to the rest of us, so I introduced myself and she was all goodness and light, sweetness and smiles, as though that would make me forget that she had just stuck her hand in my face.
It’s true that I’m not an important person to that restaurant. I don’t make or break restaurants by reporting on food trends. I can give them press or not, but regardless of what I do, the restaurant won’t be transformed, and whether I like the publicist has little to do with what I’ll write. If there’s something interesting to say about a restaurant I’ll say it even if the publicist is a simpleton who doesn’t understand that you’re supposed to treat everyone with respect, if for no other reason than because, even if you don’t know who they are, that doesn’t mean they’re not someone important, and if they're not someone important now, that doesn’t mean they won’t be important someday.
It was another reminder that, just because someone has a job, it doesn’t mean that he or she is good at it.
Anyway, Bar Breton had a good crowd. Former Times critic Mimi Sheraton was there, too, and a couple of other food writers whose faces I remember but whose names I forget.
What Birdman and I ate:
Denise's sardines with white pepper and cornichon vinaigrette
suckling pig & foie gras terrine with apple & breakfast radish
braised lamb shank galette (that’s a Breton buckwheat crêpe) with roasted winter vegetables
Roasted baby vegetables and parsley butter
French fries
Black sea bass, endive, bacon, chervil, walnuts and balsamic reduction
Pot de lait with chicory gelée
Far Breton Brûlée

Friday Nibbles - The Return

It had been a staggeringly, disgustingly, painfully, outrageously and downright scandalously long time since I posted a ‘nibble’ on this fair blog.

I was just getting into a routine as well. Things were settling down and I was building up a steady following of lovely, warm and delightful readers who were kind enough to leave their own thoughts to supplement my own verbal culinary ramblings.

And then it just…g r a d u a l l y s t o p p e d. Sorry about that. My bad.

In 1968 Elvis stunned the world with his comeback special. It was a staggering performance that proved he was an artist of incomparable talent, revitalised his ailing career and guaranteed that he was destined to enter the highest echelons of rock fame. And I plan to do the same. With, erm, rice.

One of the four main cereal crops that form the carbohydrate staple part of the diet for 99 per cent of the world’s population, rice is amazing. Despite the numerous variations of this humble crop there are, in fact, only two species of domesticated rice. All the hundreds of different types from Basmati and Jasmine to Carnaroli and long-grain are just variations of a mere two progenitors.

Archaeological evidence suggests that rice was first domesticated in the Asian sub-continent at some point between 10,500 years BP (before present) and 6,500 year BP and from there spread to other parts of Asia and Africa. The grain didn’t reach Europe until the development of the Spice Route in the fifteenth century CE and finally made its way over to The Americas by the late 1600s thanks to the Slave Trade.

Now over 20% of the world’s population rely on rice to provide the bulk of their diet with the Chinese way out ahead in terms of consumption. They get through about 80 kilos of the stuff per person (per year, obviously. Not all in one go) which is a lot. For comparative purposes, that is about eight times the amount we chew through in Europe or America.



There are now so many varieties of rice (some estimates put the figure at about 100,000) that to talk about them all would be both fool-hardy and dull so perhaps it is best to concentrate on a few key ones that would make an excellent addition to most store-cupboards.

Basmati is a must. Its fragrant, almost floral, flavour completes a curry in the way that nothing else can. Even its smell is unmistakably reminiscent of Indian food in the same way that the aroma of cumin or Garam Masala is. A pan of basmati bubbling away on the hob is sure to make you feel hungry and start hankering for something warming and spiced to go with it.

Moving slightly further east, we come to Jasmine rice, as characteristically Thai as Basmati is Indian. It too has a fragrant deliciousness, not dissimilar to Basmati (thanks to the appearance in both of a compound called 2-acetyl-1-pyrroline). When cooked, Jasmine rice has a slightly stickier texture which makes it useful for soaking up the highly flavoured and aromatic sauces for which Thai food is justifiably famous.

Finally, we come closer to home and touch upon risotto rice. There are three main varieties (Arborio, Carnaroli and Vialone Nano), all defined by their ability to soak up vast quantities of liquid without splitting and turning into a soupy, glutinous mass. My personal preference is for Vialone Nano although any of the three will produce an excellent risotto, providing you have some decent stock and about forty minutes to spare for stirring purposes.

I’m fairly sure I’ve made a glaring omission, please let me know if I have. And if you’re good there will be a recipe to follow: roasted beetroot, ginger and dark chocolate risotto. Not as strange as it sounds and pant-wettingly delicious.

Have a great weekend.

happy birthday babe





HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUU!!!

HAPPY 20TH BIRTHDAY

~ SHAFINAZ MARUAI~


u're a big 20 years old girl today...
and i know, while i'm doing this...
u're own ur way back to malaysia!
whee~~~ i'm so excited 2 see u again.
guess this is da best bday present u've got?
bkn senang tu nak blk malaysia dr russia. hee...
wishing u da very best in everything u do
more n more success, and no stress...
have a blessed and wonderful birthday
and i wanna thank u
4 being such a best friend of mine
and i just want u to know
no matter how bz i am
no matter how weird i am to u
i'm still da same old aqilah u used to know
i still love u, and will always love.
friends 4evermore!!!
=]