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20 November 2011

Wagyu or Kobe? Angus, Hereford, or Holstein? Rib, strip, filet, hanger, flatiron, or skirt? And what about grain-finished versus grass-finished? Prime versus choice?

Rancho Margot, Costa Rica

From Food Arts Magazine, February 2008.

What's the Beef?


Katy Keiffer clears up any questions you might have about today's proliferation of meaty terminology.


Wagyu or Kobe? Angus, Hereford, or Holstein? Rib, strip, filet, hanger, flatiron, or skirt? And what about grain-finished versus grass-finished? Prime versus choice?

Beef quality and the selection of cuts are evolving rapidly in the restaurant world, with new terminology and concerns driven by both well-informed consumers and adventurous chefs. Food Arts has waded into the breach to clarify some of the misconceptions and confusion surrounding the complex business of raising, processing, distributing, and selecting beef.


Kobe, Wagyu, and Black Angus
Perhaps one of the biggest trends of the last 10 years has been the introduction of what was initially billed as Kobe beef. Now synonymous with Wagyu (assuming you got that memo), Kobe, to be precise, takes its name from a particular region in Japan. Just as a wine is labeled as Burgundy, a Kobe steer is from that area. More recently, consumers have been confronted with other labels identifying this delicacy as Wagyu, Omi, Matsuzaka, American Wagyu, or Australian Wagyu. Wagyu simply means "Japanese cow." Kobe, Omi, and Matsuzaka are all specific regional names. Americans and Australians are breeding Wagyu with native breeds, hence the additions of those terms. It's worth asking since there are significant differences among them in flavor and tenderness.

"At the inception of the trend," Mark Canlis, co-owner of Canlis restaurant in Seattle, says, "Wagyu was poorly documented and a fairly sordid business, with customers thinking that their beef was 100 percent Japanese, when it was actually crossbred with American cattle and raised here." That has now changed, and with better educated consumers, labeling has become more specific, as have the standards to which producers are held.

Canlis was possibly the first American restaurant to promote Wagyu on its menu, and the Canlis family developed a partnership with Uwajimaya—a Japanese market in Seattle—in conjunction with a breeding program at the University of Washington to crossbreed American cattle with bulls from Kobe. Canlis sold the high-end pieces, such as the filet and strip steaks, in the restaurant, while the store sold the low-end cuts for shabu-shabu and other dishes. The restaurant's success with selling these premium steaks gave birth to a trend that continues to grow in the United States.

The highest priced Wagyu is 100 percent Japanese stock, reflecting the highest fat marbling scores, ranging from 11 to 12. Those scores are hard to find in U.S.–raised beef, and indeed, meats of those scores may not suit the American palate, as consumers here tend to favor more robustly flavored beef. Americans and Australians crossbreed Japanese bulls with Angus or Hereford heifers to produce a steer with a more traditional beef flavor profile.

Most producers and restaurateurs use the Japanese marbling scale to describe their Wagyu. The average marbling score for American Wagyu tends to range between 6 and 7. Of course, it's the marbling that makes Wagyu so meltingly tender and juicy. Jay Theiler, marketing director for Snake River Farms in Boise, Idaho—a vertically integrated producer that supplies the likes of Wolfgang Puck and Thomas Keller—explains that Wagyu has a 3-to-1 ratio of fat to flesh, giving it a mouthfeel that is distinctive and irresistible to the point that it can command up to $160 for a 12 ounce 100 percent Japanese Wagyu steak! It is, by the way, the inverse ratio of Certified Black Angus prime beef, which has a 3-to-1 flesh to fat ratio, and until Wagyu came along, it was considered the very top of the beef pyramid in flavor and tenderness.


Grass-finished versus grain-finished
Initially, all cattle are fed grass, grown in pasture. At around 18 months they are typically sent to a feedlot to be "finished." Some producers swear by a grass finish, others by a grain finish, which can vary widely as to the percentage of corn used in the grain mixture. Interestingly, the mixture appears to be dictated by the personal tastes of the producer or the chefs who buy it for their restaurants. However, as Joe Bichelmeyer of Bichelmeyer Meats in Kansas City, Kansas, says, "the emphasis on grass-finished is just another fad," adding that he's "seen them come and go" in the years since his family business opened in 1946. He personally favors a grain finish and feels that Angus beef does best on a grain finish, developing a higher level of marbling. Canlis also favors grass-fed, grain-finished cattle but in a recent blind tasting flipped over the flavor of corn-fed beef.

Theiler is quick to point out that the industry is still negotiating standards to define grass-finished beef and that the American Grassfed Association recently rejected the standard proposed by the United States Department of Agriculture. The standard set by the National Cattlemen's Beef Association stipulates that grass-finished means the animal never goes to a feedlot, but rather directly to the packer from the pasture. An important fact to note is that, like many of the criteria used in the industry, there is considerable controversy among producers and a significant amount of latitude in how terms are defined. With no established industry-wide definitions, buyers need to be especially savvy in order to understand what they are actually getting, particularly since these terms denote a higher price tag.

The longer the finish on the feedlot, the more marbling, and the more likely the beef will be graded prime or choice. But it also costs more to keep an animal on the feedlot, so the economic balance between how long the animal is finished and how that will affect the ultimate price represents somewhat of a gamble for the producer. Beef can be kept on the feedlot for as little as three months and as long as 18 months.

Dry-aged versus wet-aged
Of course, everyone would like to dry age, but dry aging means losing volume. Losing volume means losing money. In spite of this dispiriting fact, some producers, such as the Bichelmeyers, continue to dry age, and many steakhouses dry age once they get their beef from their distributor. How long? Once again, there is great variation—from as little as 14 days to as many as 65 days. After 28 days the beef has lost most of its moisture, at which point it's simply gaining a more intense, gamy flavor. Longer aging also means that chefs will lose more to the trim, as the outer sides of the beef will have dehydrated to the point of being inedible. Tom Colicchio of Craftsteak (NYC, Las Vegas) offers a range of steaks, aged from four to nine weeks, and charges commensurately more for each stage to compensate for the loss of weight to dehydration and trim. Dan Drayer, the protein buyer for Charley's Steakhouse, a chain in Florida, expects a weight loss of 10 to 12 percent on 24 pounds in a 21 day aging cycle.

Wet-aged beef is the norm nowadays. In fact, all meat seems to ship in plastic packaging. The boxed beef of only a decade or so ago has disappeared, to the consternation of Colicchio and others. Wet aging accelerates the natural aging process inherent in the enzymatic structure of the meat. The meat will become more tender, while losing almost no moisture, making it a more attractive prospect from an economic standpoint. However, the operators we canvassed agreed that although wet and dry aging for 14 days render the same degree of tenderness, it's long-term dry aging under very specific conditions of temperature and humidity that produces a really superb, concentrated beef flavor.

Organic versus natural
These standards, defined by the USDA and the National Cattlemen's Beef Association, make it clear that to be a Certified Organic Beef product it must meet USDA National Organic Program standards. These standards state that the animal must be fed 100 percent organic feed but may be provided with certain vitamin and mineral supplements. If antibiotics are administered, the animal is removed from the program.

However, according to Kristin Schwarz of Snake River Farms, the biggest concern in the marketplace remains the definition of organic and natural, which, despite the USDA Organic Program standards, appears to still hold some ambiguities for producers. Theiler says the USDA standard for natural is merely that the product contain no artificial ingredients and is minimally processed. Clearly there is so much potential deviation inherent in this definition that a new criteria is being developed: "Naturally raised" mandates no growth promotants and no antibiotics. Snake River Farms has a natural program, meaning its cattle receive no growth promotants, and antibiotics are only used when necessary and not as a prophylactic.

The move toward organic and natural products is driven both by chefs who are concerned with the quality of their food and the sustainability of the programs providing it, as well as by increasingly well educated consumers who question where an animal comes from before it reaches their plate and how well it was treated on the way there. In speaking about how producers are responding to these concerns, Jane Gibson of the National Cattlemen's Beef Association says, "Being good stewards of the animals and the environment ensures that the cattleman's way of life can be sustained for future generations. These families treat animals humanely because it's ethical and because it's good business.

Prime, choice, and select 
We all have heard the terms, but what are the criteria for these labels? Only two things matter: the marbling of the meat and the maturity of the animal, which is determined by the color of the flesh. It goes without saying that most, if not all, fine dining restaurants try to insist upon prime meats for their steaks. But only about 3 percent of all beef cattle are graded prime, exclusive of Wagyu. Interestingly, some parts of a beast that have been graded as choice may still yield some parts that are prime.

And it should be noted that inspection for wholesomeness and grading for quality are two distinct programs. Inspection is paid for by the taxpayers and is mandated by law, whereas grading is voluntary and is paid for by the producers. Grading can offer a distinct marketing advantage and is money well-spent if producers are looking for a certain class of restaurant and consumer buyers. Although beef grading is done in conformance with USDA criteria, it's done on such a huge scale that there's a great variety in quality within the categories despite the standardized criteria established.

That being said, graders work at an incredible pace, sometimes assessing as many as 400 carcasses an hour, with only two or three graders looking at the meat. They base their decisions primarily on the measurement of fat around the rib eye, the only part of the carcass they have time to scrutinize. This measurement, the color of the beef, and whatever marbling they're able to see in their swift inspection are what distinguish the grades. Given the speed and intensity of the work, the USDA is working hard to identify other more consistent and scientific methods for reliable grading, so as to reduce the disparity in quality in a given grade. Among these initiatives is the addition of more inspectors to the line, a measure that will reduce repetitive motion injuries for the inspectors, as well as ensure a more reliable outcome.

For info: www.fsis.usda.gov/fact_sheets/inspection_&_grading/index .asp; www.ams.usda.gov/lsg/mgc/instructions/500docs/MGC509.htm.

Some suppliers are creating their own grading systems, such as Sterling Silver Beef, a division of Cargill. For the last 12 years they have been refining a "camera vision" grading system that gives it the ability to not only grade meats more reliably but to track the meat in order to give producers solid feedback on the results of raising and finishing programs. Sterling Silver works closely with producers on every aspect of their cattle to ensure the most consistent and best possible product. Sterling Silver's customers tend to be high-level restaurants and country clubs, so clearly the attention to quality, detail, and accurate grading is paying off. Sterling Silver's success will likely drive others to adopt similar new technology.

The cuts!
What is the deckle? Where does a flatiron come from? And what about a hanger steak, a culotte de boeuf, or a petite tender? All of these tasty, economical, and nontraditional cuts of beef are gaining in popularity with chefs and consumers. The flatiron, a chuck steak that is very tender and has great flavor, is probably getting the most play in restaurants right now. Colicchio serves a flatiron and admits, "If I had the guts, I would take filet off the menu."

Triangle, or tri-tip, is a tough but tasty cut that must be thinly sliced to be appreciated; hence Charley's Steakhouse uses it for a beef carpaccio. Deckle—tender, juicy, and flavorful—is the meat encased within the fat cap of the rib eye. And there is a rather dizzying roster of different names for the same cuts. Mike Walsh, product line manager for Sterling Silver, notes that even within the industry, the product names have not been standardized. For example, some chefs refer to the culotte as a triangle or tri-tip, while others know it as a piece off the top butt, sometimes referred to as the gaucho because of its popularity in Brazilian restaurants. The petite tender, a piece of the shoulder or chuck that has been seamed out, looks just like filet mignon but is not as tender. Hanger steak, flank steak, and skirt steak are all part of the plate—the under rib/belly section.

These cuts all have their proponents, but steakhouses in general stick with the tried-and-true rib eye, New York strip, and filet, and with porterhouse or T-bone for bigger portions. They offer different types of beef, such as American or Japanese Wagyu in the traditional cuts, alongside the familiar Black Angus. Tom Kaplan, senior managing partner at Wolfgang Puck Fine Dining Group, says that although they are able to get top dollar for their Wagyu, the 100 percent Japanese Wagyu accounts for only about 20 percent of steak sales, while American Wagyu captures a 34 to 40 percent share at Cut, Puck's steakhouse.

Interestingly, Texas Roadhouse, a steakhouse chain established in 1993 in Indiana, has resisted all trends toward different types of beef, unusual cuts, and differences in finishing. Texas Roadhouse was conceived as a moderately priced establishment where the food and service are "legendary and all the food is made from scratch." They sell only the basics in steaks (all choice grade) and have no interest in adding new cuts or exotic brands. Their basic philosophy of good food and good service has led this chain to open 281 locations in the past 15 years, a phenomenal rate of expansion that shows that selling good food at moderate prices and at a consistent level of quality is a successful formula.

Although the overall market share for underutilized and economical cuts is still rather small in comparison to a behemoth in the industry like Texas Roadhouse, it's happening, and no doubt more unusual choices will sprout up on menus in the future. The broader acceptance and use of these "off" cuts has only added to what is already a very strong consumer interest in traditional forms of beef. Gibson offers these figures showing an impressive gain in sales in the last year alone. Volume sold through foodservice: 8.67 billion pounds in the 12 month period July 31, 2006 to August 1, 2007 versus 8.38 billion pounds sold during the same period the previous year." ("Beef Foodservice Volumetric" report by Tech nom ic, for The Beef Checkoff Program). To quote Bill Buford writing in a recent issue of the New Yorker, "Is it possible that meat is now openly enjoying a renaissance—that it's finally cool to be a carnivore?"

For info: www.meatingplace.com; www.usda.gov/wps/portal/usda home; www.beef.org.

Why do we cling to beliefs even after seeing facts that contradict them?

Marilyn vos Savant:

Because people get freaked out at the notion of being wrong about anything. It makes them feel insecure. If you can be wrong about this or that, what about all the other stuff that you think you know?

And the more important the subject, the more unnerving the emotion. It’s not too scary to be incorrect about a math concept, but how about the car you bought? Or the doctor you chose?

Your question goes to the heart of much unsound thinking.

Then, after we leave school, we tend to head down one of two roads: 1) We close our minds to new or different information while becoming more and more sure of ourselves as we get older; or 2) we watch, listen, and continue to learn as we get older. The second road has way more bumps and curves, but it's also the path to wisdom.

How to make soft, silken tofu at home, by Kuniko Yagi and Meiji Tofu.

Tofu at Robata Jinya

Homemade tofu

Total time: 15 minutes

Servings: 5 (3-ounce cup) custards

Note: Adapted from Sona's Kuniko Yagi and Meiji Tofu. Nigari water is a brine used to set the soy milk. It is available at Japanese markets. Serve with grated ginger and soy sauce, or with a chiffonade of herbs, such as shiso or mitsuba, and yuzu.

2 cups cold soy milk (must contain more than 12% soy)

1 teaspoon nigari water

1. In a medium bowl or measuring cup, stir together the soy milk with the nigari water. Pour the liquid into 5 ramekins; each should hold about 3 ounce.

2. Place the ramekins in a stove-top steamer, cover and steam just until the tofu is set on top, 5 to 10 minutes, depending on the heat, type of nigari and soy concentration in the milk. (It will jiggle when tapped, like creme brulee.) Remove from heat, cool until just warm and serve. Or cool to room temperature and chill; serve within two days.

Each serving: 46 calories; 3 grams protein; 4 grams carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 2 grams fat; 0 saturated fat; 0 cholesterol; 64 mg. sodium.

*************
Ginger Syrup

Total time: 20 minutes, plus cooling and overnight chilling time

Servings: 2 1/2 cups syrup

Note: Although it is excellent on top of your fresh, hot soy pudding, this versatile syrup can be used to dress up everything from fruit salads to iced teas. Add more ginger and simmer a bit longer if you want your syrup to be spicier. The strained syrup will keep, covered and refrigerated, for 2 to 3 weeks.

3 ounces fresh ginger

1 cup brown sugar

2 cups water

1. Peel and cut the ginger crosswise into thin slices. Combine the ginger with the sugar and water in a small saucepan. Bring the mixture to a boil, then lower the heat to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes to bring out the flavors. Remove from heat and cool completely.

2. Pour the syrup into a nonreactive container with a tight-fitting lid. (You can strain the ginger slices, or leave them in, as you like.) Refrigerate the syrup at least overnight to allow the ginger flavor to infuse the syrup.

Each 2 tablespoons: 42 calories; 0 protein; 11 grams carbohydrates; 0 fiber; 0 fat; 0 cholesterol; 3 mg. sodium.

Copyright © 2011, Los Angeles Times

********
Do-it-yourself fresh tofu

Two ingredients and a steamer, and you're on your way to amazing tofu at home.

June 24, 2009|Betty Hallock

In the slightly cramped kitchen of Sona restaurant in West Hollywood, chef de cuisine Kuniko Yagi is standing over six bowls of tofu that she has made using three different methods in the interest of soybean curd experimentation.

It's not that she hasn't already discovered a recipe for making her own tofu perfectly -- silky-smooth, creamy and luscious, with the fresh -- really fresh -- flavor of soybeans. But she's making a point. "It seems so simple, but it means you have to get everything just right," she says.

Traditional tofu makers start with the beans, and coax them through a long, involved process to create tofu. But with just soy milk and a brine called nigari (a coagulant derived from seawater), it's easy to make kinugoshi (soft, silken) tofu at home, at least in theory. It isn't that easy to get the exact-right consistency, but for anyone who loves tofu, it's worth the effort. Kinugoshi tofu is delicate and pudding-like and almost melts on the tongue. Made fresh, it's exponentially better than any store-bought blocks of tofu.

It was shame that led Yagi down the path of tofu making, she says: "I have so many vegetarian customers that love it, and I felt embarrassed I couldn't make it, being Japanese." Maybe being an obsessive chef had something to do with it too.

Several failed attempts (including starting from scratch with soybeans, as well as using various kinds and brands of soy milk and nigari) left a trail of discarded soybean curd mush. "I was so [mad], I couldn't sleep well," she says. "I was struggling for the perfect tofu and kept asking myself, 'What's wrong with it?' "

So she made some calls that eventually led her to Shogo Kariya, the owner of Meiji Tofu in Gardena, whom Yagi calls "the tofu master."

This is his recipe for making tofu from soy milk, and it's the one Yagi uses: Add a teaspoon of liquid nigari to 500 milliliters of cold soy milk and stir. Then pour it into heat-proof bowls and cook (in a water bath or steamer) until it sets like custard. That is it. There's no heating the soy milk to bring it to a certain temperature before adding the nigari. No separating liquids from solids. No straining once it's cooked.

Kariya had figured just the right amount of soy milk (which he makes -- so he knows that the brix, or percentage of dissolved solids, is 14%) to use with a certain amount of nigari (which he imports from Japan and has magnesium chloride and other trace minerals), so that his tofu recipe works consistently. He sells both the milk ($3.50 for a half-gallon) and the nigari, which isn't cheap but will make a lot of tofu and will last almost indefinitely ($25 for a pint).

As for the method by which to cook it, Yagi uses her combination steam/convection oven.

But on a recent Saturday morning, she experimented with cooking it in a microwave and in a water bath, both on top of the stove and in the oven. It is, after all, a "matter of science," Yagi says. Hence, the six bowls of tofu.

The first three bowls of tofu were made in a 1,000-watt microwave for various cooking times (Kariya had recommended using a 700-watt microwave); they all look, to some degree, wrinkled or curdled as well as slightly discolored.

But the other three bowls of tofu, cooked in a water bath (two on the stove for different times and one in the oven), are smooth and white and slightly jiggly like creme brulee. Yagi suggests setting filled custard cups into a pan, pouring warm water about halfway up and then putting it in a 350-degree oven for about 15 minutes. A steamer works really well too, is easy to use and seems to cook the tofu more quickly.

Kariya's recipe definitely works best with his soy milk and nigari. But if you don't live within convenient driving distance of his Gardena shop, his method does work with other soy milk. It should be fresh soy milk made from just soybeans and water, the kind sold at Japanese and other Asian markets in half-gallon plastic jugs.

Japanese markets also carry liquid nigari, which has been riding a wave of popularity for its purported health benefits. "Japanese housewives put a drop or two in their tea," Yagi says. (Even Kariya suggests adding a little to soup.) The amount of nigari you use may need to be adjusted.

The better the soy milk, the better the tofu; the flavor of the soybeans really comes through, clean and slightly sweet.

Yagi tops chilled tofu with uni, diced big-eye tuna, hijiki seaweed, dashi, white soy sauce and yuzu. For vegetarians, she serves it warm with hon-shimeji mushrooms, grated ginger and garlic, white soy and finely cut nori.

It's also delicious topped simply, with a sprinkling of sea salt and finely sliced green onions, or with grated ginger and soy sauce. Or pour over a little ginger syrup, and it's almost like dessert.

--

betty.hallock@latimes.com

How to Make the Simplest Apple Tart, by Abby Mandel

The Simplest Apple Tart

Apple Tart

Active Work Time: 20 minutes * Total Preparation Time: 1 hour 15 minutes

*
1 (9-ounce) sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed 20 to 30 minutes
2 tart apples, peeled, halved, cored and thinly sliced (keep each sliced half intact)
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, chilled, cut into tiny pieces
Vanilla ice cream, for serving

*
Heat the oven to 450 degrees. Set aside a large greased baking sheet.

On a floured surface, roll the puff pastry in a 13-inch square, as thin as possible, about 1/16-inch thick. Use a 6-inch plate to outline 4 circles on the pastry, then cut them out. Transfer them to the baking sheet in a single layer.

Arrange a tight circle of slices from each apple half on each pastry round. Combine the sugar and cinnamon in a small dish. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the mixture evenly over each tart. Dot each evenly with 3/4 teaspoon of butter. (This can be prepared up to 6 hours in advance and refrigerated or frozen up to 1 week, wrapped airtight.)

Bake the tarts until browned around the edges, about 15 to 18 minutes. Use a metal spatula to transfer them to dessert plates. Serve immediately with small scoops of ice cream placed in the center.

*
4 servings. Each serving: 460 calories; 159 mg sodium; 8 mg cholesterol; 27 grams fat; 8 grams saturated fat; 50 grams carbohydrates; 5 grams protein; 2.79 grams fiber.

19 November 2011

A Memory of the Future - poem by Elizabeth Spires

from the July/August 2011 ATLANTIC MAGAZINE

A Memory of the Future

By Elizabeth Spires

I will say tree, not pine tree.
I will say flower, not forsythia.
I will see birds, many birds,
flying in four directions.

Then rock and cloud will be
lost. Spring will be lost.
And, most terribly,
your name will be lost.

I will revel in a world
no longer particular.
A world made vague,
as if by fog. But not fog.

Vaguely aware,
I will wander at will.
I will wade deeper
into wide water.

You’ll see me, there,
out by the horizon,
an old gray thing,
who finally knows

gray is the most beautiful color.

Elizabeth Spires’s most recent collection is The Wave-Maker (2008). She teaches at Goucher College.

Ian Shaw singing his jazz version of "Alone Again, Naturally" by Gilbert O'Sullivan




And here's Gilbert O'Sullivan himself:

Jeremiah Tower, father of California Cuisine, expounds on his six favorite chiles

Jeremiah Tower expounds on his six favorite chiles
Warning: No matter what I call these chiles, there are legions of you out there who know them by other names. Where you are and where you are from determine the nomenclature.

FRESH
POBLANO
  • A triangular and tapered body up to six inches long, dark hunter green, and very shiny.
  • Mild chile familiar in chiles rellenos with a rich, nutty flavor that can become a habit.
  • Deeply satisfying when cooked with cream and corn, or when tossed with lime juice and mint to top sliced tomatoes. Also very fine combined with sour cream, cilantro, orange zest, and chipotle for fish, crab, and shrimp.
DRIED
ANCHO AND MULATO
  • Slightly round, four inches long, usually very wrinkled, maroon to dark red brown, with a sweet, rich smell. The mulato is darker, fruitier, and more full-bodied and earthier than the ancho, and is as mild or a bit hotter.
  • Both have earthy, brilliant flavors mixed with hints of dried fruit such as raisin. There's a reason these are on my list, whether powder or paste or whole: they're the most versatile, especially because they reveal all their haunting flavors with just the right amount of heat.
  • Puree with garlic, lime juice, and onion to magically transform mayonnaise, sour cream, or butter-thickened stock-based sauces for grilled fish, eggs, or chicken salads.
MORITA
  • Two to three inches long, half wrinkled, and garnet colored. Dried jalapeño, so medium heat to quite hot. Use with guajillo, which is a dried mirasol.
  • Smells and tastes like an ancho or mulato but with a little bit of smoke and more sweetness.
  • Brings heat and fruity sweetness to purees of ancho and mulato. Add to any type of mole—or ground dried chile paste—that's used for stews and soups. Amazing with avocado, and powdered and sprinkled on sliced oranges, mandarins, or raw carrots with fresh lime juice. Or stir into fresh lemonade.
FAMILY OF PASILLA DE OAXACA: CHIHUACLE NEGRO/OAXACAN/MEXICANA
  • Six to nine inches long, maroon, mostly smooth, very fruity, and smoky aromatic chiles from Oaxaca that range from mild to very hot. Some use the word "tobacco" to describe their aroma, but you'd have to be puffing on a luxurious Russian Sobranie. The Oaxacan and the Mexicana are the mildest.
  • This family of pasillas and chihuacles are the key to the whole family of mole dishes and sauces. Traditionally mixed with chocolate or cacao but amazingly complex by themselves.
  • Quite wonderful when added to pork leg braises with sour orange; degrease the stock and thicken with a paste of the pasilla de Oaxaca, garlic, cilantro, and corn oil. Cut into slivers and heat in olive oil with chunks of garlic for shrimp, baby eels, or scrambled eggs. Chop with a vanilla pod and serve over fresh pineapple. Pair ice cream flavored with these chiles with tropical fruits such as mangoes.
DE ÁRBOL (OR GUAJILLO AND PULLA)
  • Four to six inches long with a slender shape and pointed body. Retains its Chinese-brick red color when dried. Medium heat to very hot, with an almost citrus edge.
  • Toast to black in a pan over a fire (traditionally done in the jungle, as the acrid smoke produced is toxic), and then soak and make into the coal-black paste chilmole, used in the outstanding Yucatecan dish relleno negro (black stuffing, usually served with turkey)—truly one of the great ethnic dishes of the world.
  • Use the chilmole to make broth-based and butter- (or olive oil-) thickened sauces for poached red snapper and grouper, or ladle underneath a scooped out and sliced avocado covered with a julienne of fresh hibiscus flowers.
CHIPOTLE
  • A dark chocolate brown and usually very wrinkled smoked/dried jalapeño that's very hot. It's the only chile I know that is acceptable from a can.
  • The combination of its smoky, sweet-sour chocolate flavor and heat is irresistible. In small quantities it lends a very mysterious background and base flavor, on top of which citrus and fresh herb flavors sing.
  • Puree and sieve: add to sour cream with mandarin orange zest and cilantro for grilled fish; add a pinch to a French lobster sauce for scallops; or mix with fresh Key lime juice for poultry broths.
*************
by Gail Monaghan, a New York City-based cookbook author and teacher

Jeremiah Tower, a close friend, is and has always been a huge poetic talent with a larger than life personal presence. In 2001 Wine Spectator, describing Jeremiah's stint as co-owner and first chef of the nascent Chez Panisse, called him "the father of California cuisine," in that he was largely responsible for the restaurant's early rise to fame, for its celebrated menu nights, and for initiating the practice of replacing fancy culinary and menu nomenclature with plain English. When he outgrew Berkeley (which he always referred to as "the Birkenstock Republic") and moved to San Francisco, Jeremiah appeared in one of the first Dewar's ads, opened the legendary Star's in 1984 and then its satellites, started the Peak Café in Hong Kong, won a James Beard Award for his 1986 cookbook, New American Classics, and then in 1996 another James Beard Award for Farberware Millenium Outstanding Chef of the Year. He then took Stars to Manila before moving to New York City to write California Dish—his page-turner of a memoir—and other books and PBS projects. Over the years, Jeremiah has often been featured in Food Arts and in 1994 was the winner of a Silver Spoon award. In 2006 when David Kamp came out with United States of Arugula, the Chez Panisse chapter was almost entirely devoted to Jeremiah, and it was then excerpted in Vanity Fair with a photo spread of Jeremiah sitting by his pool in Mérida, the capital of the Yucatán.


I was surprised when soon after 9/11 and without much warning, Jeremiah upped and moved from New York City to the Yucatán, wanting to rest up a bit from his amazing lives (like a cat, at least nine) and to explore his passion for architecture (he has both undergraduate and architecture degrees from Harvard) while buying, renovating, and then selling beautiful old courtyard-style Mérida houses. The idyllic Mexican setting and lifestyle affords him the time he's always craved (but never had) to cook and experiment with local ingredients—the Mexican ones are many, varied, and fabulous—without the pressures of a restaurant existence.